#⚔answer.⚔ (final answer) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

alwaysonthemend · 7 months

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Author's Note: Hello hello! She's finally here and I am SO very excited for you all to read! As I mentioned before, this story will most likely be around 12 parts and I will be updating with a new chapter every other week. I hope ya'll enjoy!

Finally, without further adieu!

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Part I: Into the Storm

Word Count: 5081

Warnings: Threats of violence / death of family members (in the past, non graphic)

:¨·.·¨:☾☆༺ 𓆩⚔︎𓆪 ༻☆☽:¨·.·¨:

Whence they come and whence they go

Ere ever the waves dance to and fro.

‘Cross cold grey stones and empty shore,

Ne’er rest or break since days of yore.

And from the depths a face doth creep,

Pallid and haggard from the deep.

And as I watch out on the sea,

I beg you please: come home to me.

:¨·.·¨:☾☆༺ 𓆩⚔︎𓆪 ༻☆☽:¨·.·¨:

July, 1709

The pitter patter of tiny feet slapping against the wooden floorboards breaks through the silence of the room.

“Get back here!” A voice calls angrily, followed shortly by the sound of heavy footfalls.

There is no answer other than laughter – a child’s laughter, as the chase continues. The girl – no older than eight or nine years old, runs past the doorway towards the balcony overlooking the town below. She skids to a stop at the railing, wide eyes staring down at the drop. Trapped and with nowhere to go, she turns to face her father with a guilty smile.

“Give it to me.” Her father demands, stepping out to meet her on the balcony. He’s angry, though her young mind has yet to place the seriousness of his tone.

“But Papa-”

“Now.” He silences her, thrusting his hand outwards towards her tiny frame.

Hanging her head in defeat, the young girl brings her hand out from behind her back, a thick, old volume clutched between her tiny fingers. Mercilessly, her father yanks the book from her grasp, an angry huff escaping him at the sight of her face contorted in anger.

“These,” her father seethes, waving the book about in his grip, “are not stories meant for children. Especially not for a young lady. Do you understand me?”

The girl huffs a breath, jutting her bottom lip outwards as she looks up to her father. Though he towers over her, there is a challenge in her eyes.

“Why am I not allowed to read them? They are just stories, Papa!”

He shakes his head at her, disappointment clear on his face.

“Stories that are not good for young girls like you. You are far too impressionable. Pirates and adventures are not the subjects on which you should spend your time. You would be much better suited towards placing your focus on your own lessons – instead of mucking about like a heathen.”

The girl rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest in challenge. The fire in her eyes has not dimmed at his words – but rather seems to have only grown brighter.

“Papa, I do focus on my classes. But I do not see why I should not be allowed to read such stories in my own time for my own amusement. It harms no one!” She does not stutter as she speaks, clearly a rehearsed argument.

“Enough!” Her father’s voice rises – his own frustration at her growing by the second. “I will not tell you again, Y/n: stop it with these stupid stories of pirates raids and mystical creatures. Piracy is nothing to be sneezed at or enjoyed – especially not by any daughter of mine.”

As he speaks, the girl turns to walk back inside, pointedly refusing to meet his gaze. Her steps fall heavy as she purposefully stomps her feet as she walks past him.

Fast as lightning, his rough hand darts out to grip her bicep – thick fingers wrapping around the delicate skin harshly. Without warning, he yanks her towards him, bringing their faces just inches apart.

“Listen to me, girl.” He mutters lowly, eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. “Any more trouble from you… and you will wish that you had listened to me the first time.” There is a warning in his voice now, unspoken but so very clear. He is no longer asking. She knows what punishment lies in wait for her. It’s a punishment she’s received before that she’s not eager to experience again.

“Yes, Papa.”

“We are finished here.” He releases her, turning on his heel to stride back inside.

The girl frowns as she rubs where his fingertips had pressed into her skin. A sigh escapes her. Her shoulders droop in defeat. It is not the first time that she has been ridiculed by her father, though she’s growing old enough now that it is no longer taken lightly as it used to be. She is old enough to know better now – and her father’s anger only grows with each passing day. She hates it here.

:¨·.·¨:☾☆༺ 𓆩⚔︎𓆪 ༻☆☽:¨·.·¨:

November, 1720

Easthallow is not a town of splendour – at least, not anymore. What used to be a prospering fishing town now reduced to nothing but a washed up port city, forgotten by the rest of the world. The town has fallen into disrepair, and its people are too tired to fix it.

The house is perched not so far from the cliffs of Tunstead and sits ominously atop the hill. It’s less of a house and more of a fortress. A fortified conglomeration of walls that only vaguely resemble something that could be considered a home. The Calloway mansion had fallen into disrepair, just as Easthallow had. Though, it cannot be said that the two are not connected. The Calloways had long been the sole proprietors of wealth for the sleepy little port town, and their wealth and influence had extended far across the waters, pulling in merchant ships and trade that made this little town boom into a home of bustling commerce. No one knew where the Calloway fortune had come from for sure – but most had their guesses that it had not come from a place savoury in nature. There was no doubt that the wealth of the Calloways came from their dealings with royals in the North, though no one was ever brave enough to ask them for proof. The people of Easthallow were more than willing to turn a blind eye to the dealings of the Calloways, and took pleasure instead in the fruits of their (most likely) illegal business.

But as the years went by, season after season of wealth and commerce, the Calloway fortune slowly began to run out. Their ships, once seemingly blessed with good fortune, began to sink on a regular basis. Old friendships (borne of blackmail, surely, but strong nonetheless) fell apart, leaving the Calloways to slowly rack up more and more debt until at last, the family fortune ran out. The masses of servants that tended to the mansion were let go, until finally there only resided a small number of Calloways left inside it, withering away alongside their fortune.

And now, all that lies within this rotting fortress of ill-gotten wealth, is my grandmother – the ageing matriarch of the Calloway empire, and myself. It’s sad, really, to think about what my family once was – but in a detached sort of way. My mother had died of fever when I was just three weeks old and my father had been a brute, driven mad by grief and loneliness. He was never home, constantly sailing off to… somewhere. He never told us. He died at sea and I didn’t even cry. And then it was just me and my grandmother in this God-forsaken house, surrounded by the ghosts of a past that I didn’t know. The mystical nature of my Calloway family history had kept my young mind intrigued for a time, but it had quickly dwindled with age. I know only as much as the rest of this town knows, as my grandmother had never been willing to tell me anything of my family history. I had given up years ago.

Instead, I spent my time in our library, content to busy myself in the stories buried within the thousands of pages – focusing my attention onto tales of magic and sea-faring adventures instead. I am not sure if it was the boredom, or some lingering resentment that I carried for my father that made me love them so. Either way, I was content – content in becoming a recluse as a child, content to sit with my books alone. My grandmother, I think, was simply grateful that I left her alone. There is no small bit of resentment in the old woman towards me – the very last Calloway. I know that, had I been a boy, she would have at least been comforted in that the Calloway name would be carried on after her death.

Though I still owe the woman much – as she taught me everything I know. But I am no fool; had my mother birthed a boy before she had me, I am sure that my grandmother would never have even so much as looked in my direction. But since I am all that there is, she taught me much in my youth. She taught me how to read the coded letters that my ancestors had left behind, and how to steer a ship, and how to travel following only the stars. All things that proper Calloways had to know back in their days of seafaring.

And as age continued to ravage her frail body, I know that she regretted not having been more affectionate with me as a child.

Grandmother died on my 20th birthday, and I had cried empty tears as I watched her casket be lowered into the ground. I think my sadness had been borne more of guilt than sorrow – what type of granddaughter was I to not be heartbroken over my last relative’s death?

–

The Golden Perch is a small, humble tavern just a five minute walk from the port. The earnings are meagre and the patrons rude but it is all I have to call my own. Thomas, the owner, had been the only one kind enough to offer a Calloway a job, and I had jumped on the opportunity. Bar work, though nothing glorious, gave me purpose at least. When the books ran out, when I read and reread them enough that I could no longer stand them, I needed something else to take up my time. And The Golden Perch had given me that.

Tonight, only a few patrons have braved the storm outside. Thunder rattles the dinghy wooden walls, the fire in the fireplace dwindles with each gust of wind from the chimney, and I am hopeful that I might get to close up early tonight. Thomas had gone home hours ago, leaving the tavern solely to me for the rest of the night.

The quiet murmuring of the patrons is interrupted by the slam of the front door, and all eyes turn to the threshold at the loud entrance. The storm outside rages on, and the cold wind entering the open door plunges the room into a damp chill. The fire flickers pathetically.

“Everyone on the floor!”

A deep voice cuts through the confused whispering and a man steps in from the chaos of the night. The tone of his voice leaves no space for argument, and the patrons all lower themselves slowly to the ground.

But I cannot move. I am rooted to the spot as my eyes take in the stranger and his men as they march into the small tavern.

Five men disperse themselves throughout the room, each of them drawing cutlasses from their waists and holding them out menacingly towards the tired, terrified fishermen who sit huddled on the floor.

The sixth man, clearly the leader, strides quickly across the room until he reaches the bar. He’s clad in black pants and a white billowy shirt unbuttoned down to his naval, covered from the storm by a long black coat that almost touches the floor. He’s got long brown hair that’s tied back by a black ribbon, and several expensive looking silver medallions rest against his chest. The golden handle of his cutlass glitters at his waist thanks to the light from the fire.

His face, despite the fear coursing through me, brings heat to my cheeks. His eyes are a deep brown and his lips are pink and plump looking. His jawline and nose are sharp, accentuated by the dim light. His tan skin is unmarred, save for a thin white scar starting at his hairline, cutting through his eyebrow, and ending just on the outer corner of his eye. It must have been lucky that the cut hadn’t taken his eye.

“Who are you? What do you want?” I will the tremor in my voice to subside as I raise my chin in defiance at him – hoping to give him the impression that I’m not afraid.

The man extends his arm outwards, splaying his palm against the bartop and tapping his fingers against the wood.

“My name is none of your concern.. And I’m looking for someone.” He says lowly, eyes glittering dangerously at me from beneath his thick lashes.

“And who might that be?”

He inhales sharply through his nose, straightening himself and pulling his hand from the bar top to rest it on the handle of his cutlass. Everything about him screams authority.

“Calloway.” He finally answers, and the air punches itself from my lungs. I fight to keep my expression steady as my heart pounds in my chest so hard I’m sure he must be able to hear it.

“Never heard of ‘em.” I lie, placing my hands on my hips to hide the way that they shake. “Must be in the wrong town.”

“Oh, I don’t think so, lass.” He smiles, revealing perfectly white teeth. “You see…” He starts, drawing his cutlass from its sheath and brandishing it proudly in front of him. “I need something from Edward Calloway, and I’m not leaving here until I get it.”

This time, I know that I fail in keeping my expression passive at the mention of my father’s name. Surely enough, his smile widens.

“Oh? So you do know of Edward Calloway." He hums, a sinister look spreading across his face. "You're going to tell me where he is, my good lady… or my men kill everyone in this room.”

At that, the other patrons all begin to panic, frenzied whispers breaking out amongst themselves as the other men step even closer to them, their blades gleaming dangerously.

“He’s dead. Edward Calloway is dead. Has been for a long time. There aren’t any Calloways left anymore.” I tell him, and I revel in the slight slump to his shoulders. He hadn’t been expecting that.

One of his men, a man with light brown curly hair, turns to look at his leader, his eyes carrying in them a silent question. The two stare at each other for a moment, seemingly carrying on a conversation without words. Finally, the leader steps towards the door.

“Kill them all.”

“What?” The curly headed man asks with wide eyes. He looks horrified.

“Did I stutter?”

“Wait!” One of the fishermen shouts, causing a blade to be pressed into his neck. “She's a Calloway!” He says frantically, pointing towards me with an accusing finger. "She's Edward Calloway's daughter!'' He says it like it's an insult, spittle flying from his lips as he points at me.

Dread overtakes me like ice water being dumped over my head, but I cannot blame the man. Old sins cast long shadows after all, and no one in this town would be willing to give up their lives for a Calloway.

The leader turns on his heel, a menacing expression on his face. I feel as though I’m nothing but a small animal, cowering in the face of its predator. He rounds the bar top, gripping my bicep in his hand and squeezing tightly. I can’t help but to wince as his fingertips press into my skin harshly. He leans in close, so close that his lips just barely graze the shell of my ear.

“That true, lass?” He asks, pressing the blade of his cutlass into the skin of my neck.

I swallow and nod, body trembling in his hold.

“And you live here?” He asks again, nodding his head towards the stairway that goes upstairs. It’s a vacant room though, reserved only for patrons that are too drunk to make it home.

“No.” I whisper. “Not far from here, though.”

He nods, tightening his grip on my arm even more before turning to the curly haired man again.

“Joshua, return to the ship. Wait for me there.”

Another man, this one with long brown hair that reaches all the way down to the middle of his back, speaks up.

“You’re not going alone. Have you lost your mind?”

“Jacob, you're being reckless. This isn't-” Joshua speaks up, pinning his leader (apparently named Jacob) with a fiery expression.

“Enough! My brothers the two of you may be, but I am still your captain. You will not question me.”

The rest of his men only look on in silence, eyes darting between the three men as they stare at each other. Finally, Joshua’s shoulders drop in defeat. He keeps his cutlass drawn but lowers it, the rest of the men following suit.

“The rest of you,” Jacob orders, scanning his eyes across the terrified faces of the fishermen, “Get lost. You never saw us. We were never here.”

They all clamour to their feet, tripping over themselves in their bid to get out the door. The storm outside has finally died down to nothing but light rain, and each of them scatter our into the darkness like mice abandoning ship. Jacob’s men follow after them, Joshua stopping to look over his shoulder one last time before stepping out into the night, leaving you alone with their captain.

“Are you going to kill me?” I whisper, the tremble in my voice obvious.

“Not yet." He whispers. "You said you did not live here.” He says, voice growing louder as he drags me roughly towards the door. I fight to keep my balance as he all but lifts my feet from the floor.

“I do not.”

He stops, grip still tight on my arm. He looks at me, waiting for me to continue, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction. He sighs heavily, eyes rolling backwards at my defiance.

“I do not have time for this. I need something. Now. And your father was the man who had it.”

I weigh my options silently. There is no doubt in my mind that I will most likely be dead before the night is over. There is no mercy in the eyes of this stranger. I can refuse and no doubt he would kill me right here… let me bleed out alone and my body grow cold until it’s found tomorrow morning by an unsuspecting Thomas. Or, I can take him back to that wretched place that I call home and pray that he finds whatever it is that he’s looking for. Maybe then, I could convince him to spare me.

“My father’s things are still in his study. I have not touched them. If he really did possess whatever it is you seek, it would be there.”

Jacob nods once, sheathing his cutlass at last. I sigh in relief.

“And you will take me to it.” It is not a question, more a demand that he’s phrasing nicely.

“Yes. I will.”

“And is there anyone there that might get in my way?” He asks, and I shake my head.

“I live alone.”

He hums, and I can feel it as the sound reverberates through his chest.

“I am going to let you go now and you will lead me there. Try to run…” he warns, lips once again pressed against my ear, “You’ll be dead before you even realize that I've caught you.”

I nod.

He releases his grip and I bring my hand up to rub where he’d been holding me so tightly. I know that it will bruise. A brief flicker of… something, flashes through his eyes at the action before his expression smooths over, once again becoming blank as he waits for me. The rain has stopped but night has fully fallen. I reach upwards and grab one of the lit lanterns from above the bar top, holding it aloft in front of me as I lead us out into the night.

–

I watch out of the corner of my eye as his gaze sweeps upwards, taking in the rotting fortress as we ascend the steps. Though my last name may be Calloway, I have never felt any sort of ownership over this house – it has always been, simply, the place that I must stay. I have never felt embarrassed at its disrepair before, but as I watch Jacob’s eyes scan this terrible place, shame begins to pool deep in my belly. I hate the feeling.

“You never told me your name.” His voice startles me from my shame-filled thoughts and I cut my eyes to him quickly.

“You would not give me yours.”

His lips quirk into a smile.

“And yet you still learned it anyway. It seems only fair that I know yours in return.”

“Y/n.” It slips past my lips with hardly a second thought and I curse myself for giving it to him. I cannot say why I told him, only that I felt powerless to deny him.

“Y/n.” He repeats, and the sound of my name from his lips sends a shiver down my spine.

The front door creaks as I open it, making me cringe slightly at the loud sound. We step through the threshold, and immediately the cold dampness of the house envelopes us.

“Lovely place.” Jacob says with a grin but I don’t glorify him with a response. Instead, I begin to ascend the ornate staircase that leads to the second floor.

“You live here alone?” He asks, following behind me closely.

“Yes. My grandmother died this past spring. We’re the only ones in the family left.” I tell him as we reach the top.

“Hardly a place for a young woman to live alone.”

I scoff at him, leading him down the winding hallways. It angers me the way he says it, as if he truly is concerned. As if he has not just threatened my life.

“Why do you care?” I snark, stopping in front of the mahogany door that leads into my father’s study. I had not stepped foot into the place since his death all those years ago.

“I don’t.” He says coldly.

I nod once and push open the heavy door.

Immediately, my nose is assaulted by the dust that floats through the air. Every surface is covered, and I fight the cough that tries to claw its way from my throat. I step forward and enter the room fully, holding the lantern up so I can see his old desk. It’s a massive thing – taking up a whole corner of the small study. It’s expensive, that I know – imported from somewhere overseas. I was never allowed to touch it as a child. I place the lantern onto it before jumping upwards to sit (enjoying the small bit of satisfaction that the action gives me, even though my father is not here to see me do it).

Jacob rounds the corner of the desk, pulling the drawers open and beginning to rummage through. Little bits of his hair have fallen out from where he has it tied back, and the way they frame his face makes him seem softer somehow.

“And what exactly are you looking for?” I ask him, sliding the lantern closer to the edge of the desk so that he can see better.

“Directions.” He supplies, not looking up from his task.

“To what?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Okay.” I sigh. “Why did my father have it?”

Finally, Jacob stills his movements and looks up, appraising me silently.

“He traded a lot of money for it. It took me a long time to track it down.” He finally answers, looking back downwards to continue his rummaging. “Your father was involved with some dangerous people.”

“I wouldn’t know. I know nothing of my family.”

It’s silent between us for a long moment, broken only by the sounds of him pulling open drawers and searching through papers. After what seems like forever, he finally throws his hands up in defeat.

“God damn it!” He exclaims, and I startle.

He falls into my father’s chair, chest heaving as his eyes frantically scan the desk. The desk is bare except for a few sheets of paper covered in my father’s lilting handwriting, an accounts notebook, and his reading glasses. The drawers have been completely searched through on both sides.

“It’s not here.” He sighs, shoulders dropping as he places his head in his hands. A distant feeling of fear still thrums through my bloodstream, but I cannot help the sympathy that flows through me at the sight. He just looks so… sad.

“I am sorry.” I tell him, and I am shocked to find that I mean it, somehow.

He looks upwards at the sound of my sincerity. His dark eyes have pooled with unshed tears that glisten in the light of the lantern and I am struck suddenly with the desire to reach out and touch him – to comfort him somehow. His pain seems to radiate from him, enveloping me in a blanket of misery.

“It is what it is.” The sorrow in his voice causes a dull ache to thrum in my sternum.

I glance around, desperately trying to find somewhere else that my father might have hidden something important. The walls are covered in old paintings – family members that I never met and don’t even know the names of. A bookcase sits off to the side, but it is empty. My grandmother had taken the books and placed them in the library downstairs years ago. There would be no way to know which ones had been kept here by my father before. The fireplace, filled with old, dusty ashes sits barren and cavernous. There is a cracked leather armchair in front of it and nothing else. I look upwards to the mantle, decorated only by a round mirror with gold accents and a framed painting of my mother.

I pause.

Grabbing the lantern, I rise and walk slowly over to the mantle. I grab the picture frame and bring it back to my father’s desk, noting the way that Jacob’s eyes track my every movement. Placing the lantern down, I turn the frame over and take the back off. The painting of my mother flutters out and lands on his desk, along with a yellowed, folded up stack of papers that had been tucked behind the picture.

Jacob reaches forward, a slight tremble to his hand, and slides it towards him. I watch in rapt attention as he unfolds it and leans in closer to the lantern in order to read the first page. I watch as his expression falls from hopeful to defeated yet again.

“It’s nonsense.” He says angrily, slamming it downwards onto the desk with a loud smack. “Utter nonsense.”

I peer over at it, tilting my head and squinting to read it. My heart rate picks up as I scan the page, brain working tirelessly to try and remember the symbols and patterns.

“It’s not nonsense. It’s in code.”

Jacob catches my gaze with wide eyes, lips slightly parted at my words.

“Can you read it?”

I nod.

“With time.” I tell him, reaching out to grab them. “There’s a lot here and it's been a long time, but I think I could read it.”

“I don’t have a lot of time. I need to leave. By tonight.” He says, tone suddenly demanding as he stands abruptly. “You will translate it. Now.”

I furrow my brows, holding the pages tight to my chest.

“Well you’re going to have to make time. This is not something that can be done right away. If I read them.”

Fast as lightning, Jacob places a palm in the middle of the desk and lunges across it, using his body weight to shove me backwards and slam my back into the wall. I keep the papers clutched tight to my chest, breath stuttering out as fear overtakes me once again. It’s like a flip was switched – the man standing in front of me now reduced to nothing but a wall of rage and aggression. He presses in close, breathing heavily as his hand reaches upwards to wrap around my throat. He doesn’t squeeze, but the threat is there, loud and clear.

“You will read it.” He orders, a growl deep in his throat.

“Or what?” I goad him. “You can’t kill me.”

He sighs. He knows I’m right. He moves his hand from my throat and I flinch away from him – afraid that he’s going to strike me.

But he shocks me instead.

His rage is still palpable, and I can tell by the twitch of his fingers that he wants nothing more than to use physical force to get me to obey him, but the fight drains from his tense shoulders as he sinks to his knees at my feet, dark eyes staring up at me in the dim light of the lantern.

“Please.” He whispers.

I know immediately that I cannot deny him. It’s as if my very soul is calling out to him – drawn to him in a way that I cannot begin to understand. It feels like he was meant to find me here, alone in this terrible place – rotting away along with the walls around me. Whether by God or by Fate, he was meant to find me. His sorrow and anger radiate for him in waves, threatening to choke the air from my lungs. He needs this.

Somehow I know that he will not survive it should I deny him. My decision was made from the very moment I first locked eyes with him. I will help him in any way that I can.

“I will help you. But I need time. It cannot be done quickly.”

He nods, staying on his knees as if he’s too tired to rise.

“I understand. But I must leave tonight. The thing that I am seeking… I have only a few weeks to reach it. If not, it will all be for naught.”

His vagueness frustrates me to no end but I understand that I will receive no more from him tonight.

“Do you know at least in which direction you must go from here?”

He nods.

“Then you must take me with you. And I will do my best to translate it as we go. Is that acceptable to you?”

He nods again solemnly, looking up at me from his place at my feet.

“It is.”

:¨·.·¨:☾☆༺ 𓆩⚔︎𓆪 ༻☆☽:¨·.·¨:

Part 2

Mirror of the Damned taglist:

@jakeyt @joshym @sacredjake @carbondancingthroughtime @literal-dead-leaf @sinarainbows @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @aflame4goinghome @writingcold @ignite-my-fire @mysticalstarcatcher @brinlygvf @vanfleeter @chewbeka22 @starcatcherchords @char289

#mirror of the damned #dee's writing #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka fanfiction #pirate jake kiszka #jake kiszka

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pdrrook · 2 years

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WARNING for dark fantasy setting, dubious morality, blood, gore, graphic violence and depiction of death, on-screen murder, possible cannibalism and minor animal cruelty (demon characters), vomiting, suggestive themes, tyranny. Reader discretion is advised.

With your appointment as the royal Summoner, you were to expect glory. Instead, your short career ended with your death. Your achievements and past were buried under the wreckage, somewhere on a plot of barren land called the Crossroads. Death, however, wasn’t your end. It’s only the beginning.

Now, stifled under the thumb of Mastravisch Azvael Ories - the supreme ruler of the Overshadow realm, where ghosts and demons run rampant - you are bound by a life contract - that for an undead means eternal servitude.

Just when you begin to settle into your new life, building some semblance of normalcy, you are betrayed, left to perish. Though weakened, but with a body that finally belongs to you alone, you vow to get revenge on both your almost-destroyer and the damned tyrant that once held your leash.

- die (you’ll be fine, I promise),

- serve under a lunatic tyrant (under an unfair contract),

- end up betrayed (golly gee),

- hunt for revenge (or just answers),

- steal the tyrant’s crown (or not!),

- change the course of history (or fck it up!),

- dare to trust, again and again (and hope for the best).

☾ The Summoner - MC [placeholder name Sarto Demvir, customizable]:

≀ Lotár [♡] she/he - a demon (snake) [Playlist] [Pinboard]

⚔ Mirren [♡] she/he - construct [Playlist] [Pinboard]

⚔ Rez [♡] she/he - construct [Playlist] [Pinboard]

♝ Saltire Farros [♡] she/he - hunter [Playlist] [Pinboard]

✺ Malitiōse ‘Mal’ [♡] she/he - shapeshifter [Playlist] [Pinboard]

MISC: [Ko-Fi] [Patreon] [Itch.io] [Carrd.co]

PLAY: [HERE]

#happy near halloween!!! enjoy a spooky new story #update #fool me once #fmo

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inseparableduo · 5 months

Note

Send ➷ for a sports headcanon.

Meme || No Longer Accepting!

The two actually love baseball and football/soccer. They actually try to keep up with it when they can. The two over all enjoy going to a lot of sports games when they can and of course they are down to play any sport as long as they know the rules.

#Answered #swordduels #Mun Answers #finally a reason to share my useless hc #⚔; Headcannon

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convxction · 1 year

Note

"Oh no." The dark mage's voice drips reluctance and sarcasm. Almost as poisoned as one of her many hexes. Tharja takes a modicum of effort to turn and regard their leader as he enters her tent. Hard not to sense him what with all the 'puppy' energy that splashes off him much like a dog after a bath.

"Please tell me its not something necessitating I carry a conversation with you. I just had my nap."

Despite being granted entry to her tent, it did not seem she was that welcoming to him. It was not something that had bothered him, in all honesty. He knew the kind of person Tharja is and he does not ask her to be someone else besides herself. Recruiting an enemy right amidst battle was something crazy, let alone a dark mage whose infamous reputation proceed them. Frederick and others did voice their concerns pertaining to her presence in the army. Though, to Chrom the only key factor was if he can trust this person or not, and in his eyes, Tharja was not someone who would .. abuse his trust. Foolish, yes, but it is perhaps a gift from his ancestors and the divine dragon that he believes in people and sees the best in them.

"Worry not, my piece will be short. I'd like your opinion on the terrain that we will venture into, being a Plegian person. There is a mountain up ahead but there is an easy road into the desert. Once you are free, please come to the strategy tent.

unprompted | always accepting | @dcviated

#⚔ic.⚔ (let my action prove my worth)#⚔answer.⚔ (final answer)#dcviated #dcviated (tharja.)#[dont be afraid of the puppy :3c #[he does not bite lmao #[just dont hex him

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timetravelassasin · 2 years

Text

Married?

A/N: This was based off of this post check it out. I hope I did it justice and y'all enjoy it. I will do a Part with Damian after this one.

@taewinterbear95 I hope you like it. Sorry it took me a while to write this out.

@maanae Here you go. I hope I did it justice.

@swaggermcjagger hope you like it!

~⚔~🧵~⚔~🧵~⚔~🧵~⚔~🧵~⚔~🧵~⚔~🧵~⚔~🧵~⚔~🧵~⚔~🧵~⚔~

Summary: Everyone finds out that Damian and Marinette are married and freak out.

It had been close to a year since the marriage ceremony between the heir of the League of Assasins and the Grand Guardian of the Order. Marinette and Damian have so far met twice in the time given that they are both straight out of high school and entering University. After the marriage ceremony Marinette had gone back to her usual days. Damian as well went back to going by his usual schedule. It was only at certain times that the two would call each other up and update the other on their everyday life. Marinette would tell him of the new design she has drawn up as well as the clients she is currently working with. Damian would tell her about his pets as well as the new rescues he has hiding from his father.

"Marinette are you ready to go," Adrien asked from her living room.

"Yes, I just need my bag," she said, grabbing her purse.

After making sure that the kwamis were safe and had their snacks the two of the headed out to buy some new fabric Marinette needed. Adrien had volunteered to help her carry the rolls of fabric and other stuff she needed in exchange for some pastries. The two of them chatted basically updating the other on their daily stuff. Once at the fabric shop Marinette made quick work on searching for the fabric.

"Who is the commission for this time," Adrien asked, looking at the colorful material.

"Uncle Jagged, he needs a suite for a wedding his is going to be attending," she said, finding a green material.

"Oh, my husband likes this shade of green. Maybe I should make him something," she said, picking up an emerald green fabric.

"Your husband? Wait you're married since when," Adrien said, shocked.

He tried to remember when Marinette had even started dating and nothing came up. No one had even mentioned her dating someone.

"Yes, I got kidnapped a while back by some assassins and was forced into a magical blood-bound marriage contract with their heir. We meet every chance we get and spare with swords and needles. It's pretty fun," she said, a sigh escaping her lips.

"Wait are you serious how come you never told anyone," Adrien asked, confused.

"It never came up," she said, grabbing some other fabrics.

After getting everything she needed they headed back to her apartment and dropped off her stuff. Chloe had called earlier complaining that they don't see each other enough and wanted to meet for lunch. Chloe had managed to take over her father's hotel and became a well-known businesswoman.

"Adrikins, Mari, you made it," Chloe greeted as the two of them walked into the hotel restaurant.

"Chloe, it's nice to see you too," Marinette said.

"Is everyone else here," Adrien asked, searching for the others.

"Yes, you two are the last ones," Chloe said.

Kagami, Luka, Nino and Alya sat at a table chatting before the other three walked to the table.

"I see you two finally made it," Alya smirked.

"Hello you two," Luka and Kagami greeted.

"Yo, Dude, Dudette finally," Nino grinned.

Adrien and Marinette took their seats and ordered food before catching up. Halfway thru the meal Marinette's phone went off.

"Ah, It's my husband I should answer this," Marinette said, answering her phone.

"Wait, did she say husband," Alya said, shocked.

"HUSBAND," Chloe gasped.

"Hello, Oh I see well I should have time off next week if you wish to come visit. I do not mind. I do have a commission I need to finish for Uncle Jagged. Oh then I shall see you in two days. Yes, I as well," Marinette said before hanging up the phone.

She looked up at her friends all of them with shocked and confused looks on their faces.

"Is something wrong," Marinette asked, confused.

"Since when have you been married," Nino asked, confused.

"I believe today would mark ten months," Marinette answered, taking a sip of her tea.

"How," Alya asked.

"Oh, I got kidnapped a while back by some assassins and was forced into a magical blood-bound marriage contract with their heir. Would you like to see a picture of him," she answered, taking out her phone and pulling up a photo of him.

"This is him; he is planning to visit in two days but would rather spend his time with me than with other people," she said, showing them the picture.

"Wait, Mari that is Damian Wayne. He is Bruce Wayne's son one of the riches man in Gotham," Chloe said, shocked.

"Leave it to Mari-hime to attract the rich," Kagami chuckled.

"Oh, I didn't know that," Marinette said.

"Do we get to meet him when he visits," Adrien asked.

"Of course, you are all family and he has to meet you sooner or later. Mama and Papa already love him," she answered.

"Wait, your parents already met him and know you are married," Alya said, shocked.

"Of course, who do you think supplies the kwamis with their snacks," Marinette said.

"Well, Dudette you sure know how to keep us on our toes," Nino chuckled.

They spent the rest of their day talking about how Marinette and Damian got to where they were and every other little detail leading to it.

#timetravelassasin fics #daminette #marinette x damian #batboys #damian wayne #miraculous ladybug #marinette dupain cheng

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artistsfuneral · 4 months

Note

Ooh would you mind doing 83, or 38 please? Thank you, love your writing! 💙

just for you, the softe Lambden 38.

kiss prompts 🌼 ao3 🌼 2.669w

--- ⚔ ---

It was a calm afternoon, sunny and warm. Two days ago Lambert and Aiden had set up their camp far out in the woods, where no one would bother them as they restocked their potion supply. The last couple of contracts had gone well, a routinely find-contract-kill-monster-get-paid situation that left them with enough coin to finally replace Aiden's leather vest and buy Lambert a new tunic and a pair of pants that would hopefully survive the next hunt.

Away from the general population and bend over his brewing kit, Lambert was in his element. It was rare for Aiden's best friend to find a task that kept him both calm and concentrated and required him to use his brain. Brewing was by far Lambert's favorite past time, which was brilliant, given the fact that witchers required their potions like a fish required water. They could do without, but not exactly for very long.

And Aiden loved to see him like that, he really did, but after two days of calm and quiet he was starting to get restless.

Wanting Lambert's attention more than anything right now, he casually started poking the wolf's side.

The first few pokes were entirely ignored. But Aiden was a cat and everyone knew that cats had the natural ability to be persistently annoying. So Aiden kept poking Lambert. Nudging against his side until the wolf's concentration broke and Lambert swatted his hand away with a low rumble. Aiden grinned.

Very slowly he raised his arm and, just as slow, his pointed finger nudged right against Lambert's cheek just above his beard. He left his finger there, squishing into Lambert's face, even when the other witcher stopped his work to give Aiden his evilest murder stare. The cat's grin grew even wider.

“What are you doing?” Lambert asked, his voice a dangerous, deep grumble. It should have been a clear warning, but all it did was to send a delighted shiver down Aiden's spine.

“Nothing,” he answered as innocently as possible. Just to let out an undignified, loud squeak when Lambert suddenly turned his head and snapped his teeth at Aiden's finger. Only thanks to the cat's quick reflexes did Lambert end up with nothing but air between his toothy grin. “Careful, kitten. You don't want me to make a mess, do you?” he asked semi serious as he cocked his head towards the bubbling concoction in front of them. Aiden sighed loudly, letting his body slump to the side and fall down like a sack of potatoes. Lambert let out a snort and raised an eyebrow in amusement before returning his attention to their potions.

Used to Lambert's gentle but firm dismissal Aiden let out another, quieter sigh and did what he always ended up doing in these situation. He watched Lambert.

A habit he had initially started to annoy the wolf, because no one truly liked being stared at, but had continued once he realized just how nice Lambert was to look at. He had that handsome ruggishness that easily caught other people's eyes. His strong jaw, wide back and broad shoulders, the way he held himself, full of confidence thanks to Lambert's not-giving-a-fuck attitude often had people stop and look at him. Not that the cynical wolf was aware of how many heads turned for him. But at least that also meant he didn't realize just how many couldn't see past his rough exterior. Lambert's sharp wit and hot-headed reactions scared others off. Even Aiden himself hadn't fully understood the complexity behind Lambert's temperament when they first started meeting up. The wolf was difficult to read when he wasn't willingly open about his emotions, but once you were able to see the subtle signs in his body language and tone he was an absolute delight to be with.

Then there was the fact that Lambert was pretty. Handsome, of course, but any half decent man could be considered handsome in the right light. No, Lambert was pretty. Whenever it was just the two of them and the wolf got to take a breath and relax, it seemed like his entire being softened. His jaw would unclench and the harsh look in his eyes soften. His shoulders would slowly fall down, opening his posture and making his movements smoother. The first time Aiden had noticed this it had taken his breath away. Lambert's smile, his actual smile that brightened his eyes and created little crow's feet in their corners, was a view he held close to his heart. The way his black hair curled into tiny locks when the wolf let it grow out for once, how he unknowingly curled into Aiden whenever he got tired during the long nights neither of them could find any real sleep and how utterly adorable he looked on days he was slow to wake in the mornings, knowing Aiden had his back. Lambert was handsome and pretty and unfairly beautiful without even knowing it.

But of course it was more than that. Lambert was loyal to a fault and no matter how badly he tried to hide it, it was incredibly obvious just how much he cared for Aiden and that- That might just have been one of the many reasons why Aiden had fallen in love with his best friend.

It was a tragedy, really. Because Aiden knew these things never really worked out in the end. He had witnessed it too many times before, when his brothers and sisters came back, heartbroken and angry and without their best friend's shoulder to lean onto. It sucked and Aiden was not ready to risk Lambert. He'd never be.

So instead of sitting up and kissing Lambert stupid, he settled with another long and dramatic sigh, followed by the admission, "You are so gorgeous," just to see the way Lambert's eyes widened and the way the tip of his ears turned red. Just because Aiden couldn't kiss him, didn't mean he couldn't be nice to him. It helped a great deal that the wolf had no idea how to deal with compliments and therefore never said anything about it.

Basking in the knowledge that he once again managed to make the wolf blush oh so prettily, Aiden purred. “Stop trying to distract me,” Lambert grumbled, not looking at him. “Not trying to,” Aiden argued, “I just miss you.”

The look that was shot at him was one of pure irritation, but the darkening blush gave the wolf away. Aiden smiled sweetly. “Honestly, if I wanted to distract you I wouldn't do so by complimenting you.” Not saying out loud that it would be outright cruel of him to use soft words and compliments against Lambert. He didn't need to anyways, because Lambert raised his left eyebrow in challenge and Aiden wasn't one to back down easily. With a loud “Ha!” he darted forward, snatching one of the little ingredient pouches he knew Lambert would need next and hopped out of the wolf's reign.

“Aiden!” he yelled out, “You bastard, give that back!” Jumping up with one motion, Lambert was on his feet and darted into the cat's direction who, just as quickly, widened the distance between them. “Nuh-uh, no way,” Aiden laughed and danced out of the wolf's reach again. “If you want it you have to catch me!”

"Not funny," Lambert declared loudly as he ran after Aiden, but the grin on his face betrayed him. Aiden allowed himself to holler with joy, leaping away from the wolf and turning the chase into a cat and mouse game. With him ironically being the mouse. The two of them frequently chased each other in all kinds of terrain. The even forest floor of their camp was hardly a challenge, but the short burst of adrenaline that got his heart pumping and blood flowing after sitting in one spot for so long was a welcome change.

Aiden let out a loud squeal when Lambert's hand got hold of his shirt and tugged. Hard. To escape the wolf's grasp he ended up doing a less than graceful somersault. When he stumbled during the landing, Lambert took the chance to reach for the pouch. With his fingertips tugging at the fabric, Aiden only had one move left, so he raised his arms as high as he could, knowing full well that Lambert wouldn't be able to reach. He was almost two heads shorter than the cat. “Fuck you!” said witcher promptly cursed. One of his hands took hold of Aiden's shoulders and he used the momentum to push himself upwards, his free hand grabbing at Aiden's wrists and immobilizing him.

He barked out a victorious laugh before noticing that Aiden refused to give up just yet. His hands stayed exactly where they were, up in the air, wrists held together by the wolf's tight grip. Lambert tried to yank them down but the other witcher barely moved. “Come on, now. I won, fair and square!” he complained. Aiden, who was entirely enraptured by the close proximity of their faces, barely heard the mild complains. He might have reacted differently had he not spent the past ten minutes or so thinking about how pretty and kissable Lambert was.

“How do you always make me so happy?” he asked bewildered.

As if burned, Lambert suddenly let go of the cat and took a step back, his hands dropping to his sides. “You- You can't say things like that.” Aiden's face fell. It was the first time Lambert clearly objected to his remarks. “What- Lambs?”

“You can't just say that shit, alright?” Lambert got louder, drawing up his shoulders in self-defense. He wasn't supposed to do that, not in front of Aiden. He wanted to be safe. “I thought you didn't mind?” He sounded small, his thoughts racing. Had he messed up? Had Lambert been uncomfortable the entire time Aiden complimented him?

“No. I mean yes- It's just- Fuck, Aiden!” His wolf was almost yelling now, the frustration in his voice would have been obvious to anyone. “You can't keep saying this shit. Because- Not if you don't mean it. Because I will think that it means something and-”

Before he could continue Aiden grabbed him by the shoulders and dug his fingers into Lambert's tunic. “Do you want it to mean something?” He hated how desperate his voice sounded. Lambert stilled immediately, wide eyed and frozen he stared at Aiden, not daring to answer. Without really wanting to, Aiden moved closer to him. “Lambert?” His eyes, just as wide and confused, were searching Lambert's looking for a sign, looking for something that proved to him they were on the same page. “Do you like me?”

The wolf let out a defensive huff and looked away, “What are you, twelve?”

“Lambert!” Aiden sounded harsher than he wanted to. “This is really not the time to be stupid. Do you like me?”

“Yes, fine, for fuck's sake! So what of it?!” Lambert looked like he had bitten into a bad apple. Aiden couldn't believe it. “Fucking kiss me, you dumbass!” he demanded, slightly shaking Lambert by the shoulders. Between the surprised yelp and Aiden's loud giggle they somehow managed to smash their lips together.

Their teeth knocked together and Aiden couldn't stop smiling.

Their first kiss was clumsy and stupid and not at all what either of them had imagined but at the same time it was so them. When they broke apart they were still laughing, shoulders shaking from the sheer ridiculousness of the situation.

“Want to try that again?”

“Please.”

Their next kiss was everything.

Aiden leaned in slowly, his wide smile softening as he noticed his heart pounding inside his chest. He had thought about kissing Lambert countless times and finally being able to do it made his insides squirm.

Never before had he gotten so lost in a kiss. His hands wandered from Lambert's shoulders up to his head, cupping his face, pulling him even closer. He was warm and soft and felt so alive under the tips of his fingers.

Lambert tasted like sunshine. It made Aiden gasp, a sound that was quickly caught between the wolf's lips and returned with the same reverence. He felt one of Lambert's hands tangling up in his hair, felt his other hand settling in the small of his back like it belonged there. They kissed like they had done so a hundred times before, like they were made for each other. And all Aiden could think of was kissing Lambert. To kiss him like this each and every time. Every morning after they'd waken up, every evening before they'd go to sleep. Day after day after day he wanted to kiss Lambert again and again and again.

Soft gasps turned louder as the need for air grew more pressing, despite neither of the two really wanting to part. Lambert's hand on his back pressed them closer together, desperate for closeness in a way he'd never been before. Even as they were ultimately forced to separate, neither of them allowed the other to stray far. Pressing their foreheads together, ringing for air, unable, unwilling to let go for just a moment. Lambert smashed their noses together in a desperate attempt to keep Aiden from leaving him. Not that the cat would ever let Lambert go now. “I love you,” he whispered against his skin, unable to open his eyes no matter how very much he wanted to see if Lambert was blushing. It was the high-pitched whine that had his eyes flutter open. Just to find big, watery topaz staring right back at him. “Lambs? Are you alright?”

“Do you mean it?”

“What? Of course! Lambs, I love you so much!”

In all the years Aiden had known Lambert, he had never seen the other witcher cry. Not once. Apparently all it took was an honest confession of his affection. Lambert was hiding his face in the crook of his neck, absolutely bawling. It was kind of adorable. “Oh no, oh Lambchop, it's okay,” he cooed at the wolf, not able to hide the amusement in his voice. “Oh Labs, I love you. Love you so much.” He threw his arms around Lambert's middle and pulled the other witcher into a hug. “Don't make fun of me,” he grumbled into Aiden's neck.

“Not trying to, sorry.”

“You're laughing.”

“Not to make fun of you. Never that. I'm just really happy.”

That made Lambert pull back and look at the cat, “You're happy?”

He breathed out a laugh and gently wiped the tear tracks from Lambert's cheeks. “How could I not be?” A soft kiss to each corner of Lambert's eyes made them flutter shut. “I've been in love with you for a long time, Lambs,” he continued, pressing a kiss against the wold's cheekbones, “Never told you about it because I thought you'd leave me.” Another kiss, against his cheek this time. He didn't want to stop. Ever. Kissing the corner of his mouth, then slowly bringing their lips together once more. Lambert sighed happily, “Love you too.”

Aiden's stomach did a flip. The wide smile that spread across his face forcing them apart again. Letting go was easier this time, now that he was sure he'd be able to kiss him again. And so he did. Trailing soft kisses from Lambert's lips across his face and down his neck where he buried his nose against the soft skin of the wolf's throat.

It was a warm and sunny afternoon, the sun slowly starting to set between the tree tops when they opened the pace between them.

“I- The- Uh- The potions. I should continue,” Lambert stumbled over his words. The tips of his ears were burning hot and a red flush spread across his cheeks. His lips were red from kissing Aiden and he looked oh so damn pretty.

Taking hold of Lambert's hand Aiden lead them back to their little alchemy station. His heart still fluttering inside his chest.

--- ⚔ ---

#the witcher #artistsfuneral about the witcher #witcher #lambden #laiden #lambert x aiden #witcher lambert #witcher aiden #first kiss #kissing

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iconocon · 2 years

Text

reminders of monaco | leclerc | 3

summary: what's more important your past or your future.

warnings: swearing, fluffy pierre, sexual themes

word count: 2k | ⚔︎ ANGST

part 1 part 2 part 4

→

no matter how hard you tried to slow down time the next morning came faster than you ever hoped. even when you choose to ignore the sun kissing your exposed skin, the heavy weight of the arm wrapped around your waist reminded you of the events of last night. you were sure that even with every word in the dictionary you couldn't explain each thought that was racing through your mind or even the emotions that came with them. I mean how do you explain going from fighting with the childhood love of your life to sleeping with your shared lifelong best friend all in less than 24 hours? what did this even mean for you? you had so many questions and as always not enough answers or explanations.

you did learn one thing though throughout this experience and that was being with pierre was completely different than you ever would’ve expected, It was so easy to be with him. pierre was attentive, he was so fucking attentive, it’s like he knew exactly what you needed making each kiss or touch about you. he was rough, when everyone around you walked on eggshells like you were gonna break at the moment notice almost as like they felt bad for you. but he never did and maybe you didn’t see that until last night but he has always been real with you (even if it ended up hurting your feelings) telling you how pathetic you looked, or how you deserved someone that looked at you like you looked at them. above it all one thought kept coming back to you ruining all your resolve about the new situation, he wasn’t charles. no matter how hard you tried pierre would never be your charles, not the one you fought with in that dumb ferrari motorhome but the stupid bowlcut charles that talked funny but knew how to make you laugh.

the soft movements of the hand migrating from around your hip to fingers being splayed out around your stomach brought you back down to earth remembering where you are and who you’re with.

“colobmbe”

the raspy morning voice was enough to have you turning your body to meet the closed eye sleepy face of the man you shared the bed with. god he looked so good. to be fair he always did but something about him right now especially after coming to your rescue made it all feel a lot more domestic. finding his face with your free arm you find your fingers drifting over his jawline and then to his cheekbones before settling themselves upon his lips tracing the bigger bottom one as it widens by your touch.

“pierre i think we sh-“

“you think too much” his response was once again enough to shut you up because he was right. you were happy right now, happier than you’ve been in months- maybe even years and still you couldn’t let yourself enjoy it without thinking of other people.

“but i’m scared” that was enough to wake him from whatever trance he was in as he finally opened his eyes to stare you down like he was reading your every emotion trying to understand them before you even knew what they were.

“scared of me?”

“no- well yes?” as soon as the words came out of your mouth it was like your flesh burned him causing him to be pulled away from you inch by inch, his face, his hands, and any combined body parts making you panic.

“not like that please" taking a deep breath you continue your plead to make him listen "I'm scared of losing you, I'm scared of losing him, you are all I have.” you didn’t wanna cry again. you were so tired of crying. the warm hands came back but this time they caressed your cheeks forcing you to look into his.

“if there’s one thing ma colobmbe you never have to worry about it’s losing me”

those were the last words spoken as you both laid under the italian sun sometimes kissing other times holding onto whatever limb was closest to you at that given time. you had nowhere to go and he didn’t want to go anywhere else.

⏤

that first night turned into days of a routine you would wake up together, cook together, he would do some work on the sim and then it would be repeated again the next day. you knew that it wouldn’t last long that even if you wanted to hide in pierre’s arms forever that it wasn’t realistic. you were a grown woman and with that no longer came the option of hiding from your problems, he had to go back to racing and you eventually back to monaco but as the days got closer you got more worried that you couldn’t fix your relationship with charles. or that you would even up ruining the one you built here with pierre. the love you felt with charles you knew you didn’t have with pierre but the love you had with pierre you knew charles couldn’t ever touch. it was maddening because there was no comparison you wanted both forever but again that wasn’t fair to anyone.

tomorrow was the 6th of june and also the day you had to make the choice of what was next for you. do you continue off to baku or do you keep running? now you knew by now that he knew where you were especially with your new roommates awful habit of instagramming every second of his life. also, you had promised you would give your answer by dinner so flights could be arranged but now sitting here with your head banging itself against the marble countertops you prayed for more time. the string of french curse words from the spare room reminded you of your own task as you stirred the dinner weighing out the pros and cons.

pros:

seeing charles

being with pierre

cons:

seeing charles

the media

you didn’t know what you and pierre were to even defend yourself

“ouch, what did the pasta do to you cherie” looking down you realize how you were basically chopping the almost finished pasta as it boiled in the pot making you blush a bright red before shutting off the stove. as you plate the dinner in respective bowls along with silverware you’re reminded once again why you enjoy being with pierre so much. admiring as he pours you both drinks before holding out your chair for you waiting for you to join him at the table. a kiss even finds itself against your temple as your pushed in closer to the tabletop once everything is passed leaving a familiar comfortable silence that blankets the room.

“pyry wants to know if you're coming or not” the sigh that comes from your lips is not mistaken from either party as you halt the forkful of food from touching your lips.

“do you want me to?”

“is that a joke?” there was another difference while he always pushed you away and didn’t want you around it was different here. you were wanted here, you were valued here.

“i’ll be there” wanting him to know you mean it you find yourself reaching out for his hand running your fingers over his knuckles as you repeat yourself. “i’ll be there for you okay”

⏤

from the apartment to the plane to the hotel you were a nervous wreck. you LOOKED like a nervous wreck that even the flight attendant asked if you were a first-time flyer and needed a puke bag. now you did take the puke bag but you definitely were not the first-time flyer but you were nervous because you knew that whatever would happen in baku would be life-altering. as usual, pierre was a dream he held your hand and gave you his own headphones because in your stupid rushed packing you left yours somewhere between monaco and milan. by the time you finally made it into the shared hotel room, you finally felt like you could breathe knowing you didn't have to face anyone else for the rest of the day.

"are you gonna be able to live without me for a few hours?" of course the only normal response to that was rolling your eyes. "yes, p I'm sure I can find something to do with myself while you are gone."

while you continue to unpack your bag you settle onto the bed eyeing as he paces around the room to collect his gym essentials to meet with pyry. his phone on the nightstand plugged in seemed to be the last item on the list as he made his way to be around you. kicking your feet apart he moves to stand between them before placing his hand under your chin to make you look up at him.

"pierre?"

"bébé" the strokes of his thumb against your now clenched jaw was enough to make your heart flutter against your ribcage. "Tu es la plus belle femme qu'il m'ait été donné de voir"

god, how could you not have seen him after all these years you could've been so deeply in love with a person who actually loved you back. you felt stupid so fucking stupid for not seeing it before all the things he did for you, all the things he said to you. wrapping your own hand around his wrist you find yourself pressing your lips to the pad of his thumb looking up at him through your eyelashes almost begging him to miss his training session so you could show him just thankful you were of each second with him.

you were not lucky though, as soon as your mouth opened to relay your thoughts the phone on the nightstand blares snapping you both out of your moment. without moving from his stance he answers it putting it on speaker immediately after hearing the frustrating sounds of pyry yelling at him through the other side asking what is taking him too long. getting off the phone quickly he reassures the man on the other side before hanging up and leaning in to give you what you would consider the softest kiss in the world.

"be good while I'm gone?"

"you know I can't promise that"

and with that, he was off out the door rushing while carrying a million things but somehow once again forgetting his phone on the nightstand. hoping to catch him before he was too far gone you too rush out the room but in opening the door you're reminded of what you tried so hard to forget arm raised about to knock on the very door you now clung to trying to hide behind its frame.

"charles, hi"

"we need to talk"

fuck. you were fucked.

⏤

i wanted at least one part that was filled with fluff but its def a filler chapter hopefully you guys still enjoy it however next should be the last and final part so be ready for that! dont mind the mistakes im begging.

translations

"Tu es la plus belle femme qu'il m'ait été donné de voir" - you're the most beautiful women to be seen (that i had to see) now my french friend gave me this translation so its on them pls

bébé - obviously baby

ma colombe - my dove/pigeon

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #pierre gasly x reader #f1 drabble #f1 fanfic #formula one x reader #f1 one shot #f1 x oc #driver x reader #pierre gasly #charles x reader #charles leclerc x reader #leclerc imagine #f1 x you #📗#monaco series!#PART 3

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mogwaei · 1 year

Photo

[Dragon Age: Ouroboros Codex - Precipice]

[Fen’Harel ⚔ Ouroboros]

The bad ending.

(codex text below cut)

“You are my dream. When you think yourself a nightmare, becoming or living one…remember that.”

He gripped her hand, heart lurching, “How would you stop it? If it exists within me?”

Her mouth twitched, briefly in to something forlorn, “Let our fortress protect you from it. You say I am a knight? Then you will have my sword and shield. Slip through the secret door and be free. I will follow, when I can.”

The simplicity of her answer stunned him into a silence of deep contemplation and he could only watch her walk away, returning to the camp alone. ‘A fortress to protect us from ourselves. Swords to cleave through the darkness. A secret door for the two of us.’

That night when he lay alone on his bedroll, Fen’Harel dreamed of a knight in the Fade that shattered a crumbling pillar holding the sky apart from the earth. As the heavens crashed into the land, through the chaos he witnessed the knight gather the pieces of the pillar heedless of the danger around them. Then, without looking back they secreted it away to a fortress built in a remote reach of the world. Far though the knight ran, they were pursued, for the pieces once holding apart the domains were highly sought after. He could not discern their hunters, whether they were armies mortal or mindless darkness, he knew only that they were intent on destroying their quarry in totality and finality.

Within the walls, the Knight prepared, shutting and barring all the doors and drawing up the bridges. Ghostly sentinels patrolled the battlements and he overheard talk of setting wicked traps and calling forth beasts from the Fade to guard the inside.

He felt a wrenching sorrow when at last the enemy arrived at their threshold and beat upon the walls with steel and magic. He did not know why, for any of it.

He found himself gripped by the dream as he watched the walls finally give way and the invaders flooded inside. He followed behind, through the ruined portcullis and into a wide courtyard, only to find that the shadowy invaders had come to a stop, emanating a perplexed air. He saw why.

There were no traps nor grotesque guardians. Of the sentinels there was no trace—perhaps an illusion all along.

Instead, they were greeted by frescoes adorning every surface, painted with pigments no mortal in present could possibly imagine. A thousand beautiful scenes that shifted and changed before his very eyes—mosaics made of gems and glass and stone glinting as though each piece contained its own soul. Gardens flourished all around that could only have been grown from dreams themselves.

The ache sank ever deeper, where no sword could reach as he watched the army disperse in search of the Knight and the Pillar. He seethed with anger, as they tore apart the sanctuary they had made. But he was powerless to stop them and he was filled with hate as desolation replaced beauty. Though he did not understand why they sought to capture the two, nor the enmity between the sides, he hoped the Knight and the Pillar would not be found.

After following what appeared to be the leader of the force, it seemed his hopes weren’t for naught.

They encountered a hidden door, overgrown by syl’sils. His throat constricted as the rare and fragile blooms were crushed and torn by hacking sword and clawing gauntlet.

When the door was finally revealed, only then did the hateful trespassers cease their assault.

For the secret door was already cracked open. They had escaped after all.

He treaded forward, not quite believing what he was seeing propped up against the wall, just to the side of the portal.

But before he could get a closer look, the cobblestones dropped under his next step and the dream collapsed around him.

When he woke, his cheeks were wet and he had no explanation why.

#solas #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age origins #da4 #dragon age dreadwolf #solasmance #solas x oc #digital art #illustration #artists on tumblr #solas x maordrid #otp: ouroboros #i reused a passage from my fic..still one of my favs :3 #maordrid #mogwaei arts #mogwaei ocs #I AM SO WEAK FOR THESE TWO #maelgwn

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twstbookclub · 1 year

Text

How Oblivious Are You?

Summary: Cater helps you figure out your feelings for someone, but you're oblivious and his patience is really running low POV: 2nd POV Pronouns: Gender Neutral Admin/Writer: Kai ⚔ Tags: Cater Diamond, Platonic, Crackhead writing, unserious, i didn't take this fic seriously with proper grammar, it's supposed to make you laugh, Cater is my spirit animal, oblivious reader, will this get continued??? Word Count: 993

Cater sat criss-crossed on your bed, and stared blankly at you with his eyebrows raised. He was there for one reason and one reason only: talk to you and see what the gossip around the Heartslabyul dorm was about.

Just minutes before, he sent you a text saying, "I'm on my way." Those words? Didn't mean anything. He was already busting your door down by the time you read it.

"Cater..?" You asked while also staring dead into his eyes. You were nervous as to why he was there.

"So, my eyes and ears have been catching some behavior from someone we know. Do you know something?"

"Huh? Someone we know?"

"Mhm, but that's not what I want to ask. Do you have a crush on anyone, Prefect?" Cater tilted his head, a mischievous smile on his face.

You blushed at his question and thought about it openly.

"Well… I’m not exactly sure if I do…" You looked at Cater for a reaction, only to be met with a frustrated look in his eyes as he squinted.

"And who is this "not exactly sure"??" He tilted his head, anticipating an answer.

"It's complicated-"

"OH MY SEVEN. GIVE ME A NAME."

"DEUCE SPADE!"

You blurted and even surprised yourself. Deuce? Why did you say Deuce if he hadn't shown interest in you? Or did he? Seven, this was new to you too.

Cater was silent, but he stood up from your bed. Tension was so thick that a knife couldn't even compare for a way to cut it.

"Deuce…"

Cater walked around your room, slowly, and it felt suffocating. You couldn't read his thoughts like you usually could.

"And you didn't tell me?!"

"I didn't know!"

"Deuce never showed interest!"

"How could you not know?"

"Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding with me."

"What? I don't see any indication that he has!"

Cater's jaw dropped. Not in shock, but in utter offense.

"Seven, give me patience…" He sighed and rubbed between his eyes. He blinked a few times to gather his thoughts.

"Okay," Cater started. "There is a reason you said his name, and even if you don't know that reason. I'm gonna tell you straighter than a piece of pencil led."

You listened carefully with a small head nod.

Cater put on a sweet, soft smile. His eyes also smiled as he placed his hands on your shoulders so gently as if you were a glass painting.

You returned his smile, but something in your gut was screaming "RED ALERT, RED ALERT" at 100 miles an hour to run.

Cater's expression turned into a dead-eyed look after, faster than you could process.

"HE HAS LIKED YOU FOR SEVEN KNOWS HOW LONG. HE WALKS YOU TO CLASS. WILL BUY YOU SNACKS FROM THE SHOP. DENIES EVERY OTHER BEING ALIVE. DEUCE. LOVES. YOU. CAN'T YOU SEE IT? HOW ARE YOU SO DENSE? I THOUGHT HE WAS DENSE, BUT HE CLEARLY HAS COMPETITION. YOU BOTH ARE PERFECT FOR EACH OTHER."

Your body was shaken like some kind of life-size doll. Cater was merciless on you with how blunt he was. It felt like a major whiplash. Still, he wasn't done.

"YOU BOTH HAVE BEEN FLIRTING. THE BEHAVIOR I HAVE WITNESSED WAS FROM HIM, AND HE WANTS TO ASK YOU OUT, BUT THE GUY DOESN'T KNOW HOW. WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO?"

He finally lets you go, but not without helping you get back on your feet. You felt dizzy and your insides felt like they'd been turned into a milkshake.

It was a bit scary to see Cater in such a way, but you couldn't leave him hanging either.

"I mean, I don't know! This is new, and my brain feels like mush after being shaken like a snowglobe!"

"Alright! Fine. What do you want me to do?"

"Oh! I'm sorry! Please allow me to ease your pain and get rid of your woes with a pain relieving spell!" His sarcasm made you groan and try to think.

"Tell me what you think about Deuce," Cater suggested while pulling out his phone, opening a notes app.

"Well…"

"Well? It's just you and me in this room. Let it all out."

"Okay, okay. No more stalling."

You took a breath and let your emotions speak.

"I don't mind that Deuce is the only one who puts his attention on me. I don't mind that he buys only me snacks, but I did find it weird how he always rejected everyone else, yet would always accept my request."

Cater listened and wrote down your points, but then stopped halfway, letting you continue.

"He's nice, and sweet. Caring, funny, a bit of a troublemaker, but that's not a problem at all… I did question at one point why my heart would race whenever he was close to me, or why I would feel jealous if he suddenly got pulled away from my side. I just always thought this was normal, but I still don't know what it is."

You let out a sigh of relief as you felt a heavy weight was being lifted off your shoulders after revealing your emotions. You looked at Cater to see his reaction…

Only to be met with a Cater giving you a look that says, "There is no way you didn't know."

"What?"

"You like Deuce, dude."

"Is that what that is?"

"WHAT? YOU STILL—OH MY SEVEN."

Cater turned you around and pushed you out of the door, making your body face the Heartslabyul dorms.

"Go. March onward to the past delinquent, and ask him out. Just go 'Deuce, go out with me' and all is solved. Go on." His voice mimicked your own as he pushed you, closing the door.

"And don't come back until you ask him, I'll be watching you…"

He said the last part with an ominous tone and you quickly walked off to Heartslabyul, and going off to quickly find Deuce.

Well. Here goes nothing.

#cater x reader #cater diamond x reader #twst x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #cater diamond #deuce spade #twst deuce #twst cater #heartslabyul x reader #platonic #crack fic #twst crack #oblivious mc

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supermarine-silvally · 2 months

Note

❤️ + Portada pls!! -🍂

Part 2 of this!

❤️ first kiss / realization

Something was terribly, horribly wrong.

Ace had first noticed it at breakfast. He had stuffed his plate with as much bacon as Thatch would let him get away with and sauntered over to his usual spot, wedging himself between Yara and Marco. The First Division Commander had greeted him as per usual, but Yara didn’t even bother to glance up from the saddest bowl of oatmeal Ace had ever seen; the only garnishing on it two solitary raisins.

(He knew for a fact that she didn’t even like raisins. They reminded her too much of the crappy communion wine at the convent she grew up at, she’d told him once, scrunching her nose up in that adorable way she did whenever she found something particularly unsatisfactory.)

Throughout the rest of the day, things seemed to only get worse. She kept her gaze down and her answers monosyllabic whenever he tried to interact with her-- and that was when she didn’t outright leave the room as soon as he entered.

“Trouble in paradise, yoi?” Marco had asked him when he caught Ace moping around on the Moby Dick’s upper deck.

Ace let out a massive, depressed sigh in response, draping his arms over the gunwale. Part of him almost wished a strong gust of wind would come along and knock him into the water. “I think I did something wrong, Marco. I haven’t seen her this upset with me since before I officially joined the crew.”

The doctor placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You need to talk to her about it. I’m sure whatever it is can easily be fixed. Yara may be stubborn, but she’s not unreasonable.”

“That’s… true,” Ace conceded. He stood up straight, his determination renewed. “I’ll go find her. The sooner I can sort this out, the better.”

“Good luck, yoi,” Marco said, giving him a firm pat on the back.

And that was what led him here, hanging out near the entrance to the mess hall, biding his time. There was no way that Yara could avoid him forever… could she?

“Ace.”

He instantly perked up, a relieved grin spreading across his face as he caught sight of her heading towards him, a file stuffed with papers tucked under her arm. She, however, did not return his joy, but instead stared emotionlessly back at him as she handed him the file. “Pops said to give this to you.”

He nodded, receiving it from her. “Oh, thanks! …Right, these are the maps I wanted to see.”

Yara gave him a curt nod in return before pivoting back towards the entranceway.

“Wait, where are you going?”

She stopped, turning to face him again, her eyes narrowed. “I came. I gave you the file. And now I’m leaving.”

“Yara!” Ace called out after her, dropping the file onto a nearby table. He reached for her hand, but his fingers passed straight through her. His brow furrowed, confused. Now she was using her Devil Fruit powers with him? She never did that.

“I’m not in the mood, Ace,” was all she replied, her tone icy.

His entire body wilted, heart thudding pitifully in his chest as she left the mess hall without so much as a second glance. Oh, he had definitely fucked something up.

☠-----⚔-----☠-----⚔-----☠

“Yaraaaaa…” Ace knocked on her bedroom door. “Can we talk? Please?”

He held his breath, waiting. Finally, after a moment, the latch clicked. Yara opened the door a crack. She was wearing her nightdress, her loose hair cascading down her shoulders. Ace couldn’t help but notice the dark circles lingering under her eyes as she stared at him.

Swallowing, he took a step back. “Hi.”

“It’s late, Ace.”

“I know. I couldn’t sleep.”

“Then I suppose you’ve come to let me down easy,” she said with a sigh.

His brow furrowed. “Let you down what?”

“Never mind. I shouldn’t delay the inevitable. Shall we go somewhere more private than the living quarters?”

Nodding, he allowed her to step out of her room before following her down the hallway. She led him down the stairs and outside to the second level balcony. The stars glinted overhead as the Moby Dick gently careened along its path, cutting through the ocean’s calm surface. Yara leaned against the railing, the faint breeze catching the edge of her nightdress. Just the sight of her underneath the moon’s light was enough to make Ace’s stomach twist into knots.

He sucked in a breath. There was no way he could let this go on any longer. “It’s the stupid dare thing, isn’t it? That’s why you’re upset with me.”

“I’m not upset with you,” Yara replied evenly. “I’m upset with myself.”

“What? Why?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does. It matters a lot. Especially if I… if I did something to hurt you. Please, Yara. You’re…” He swallowed. “You’re one of my best friends. Whatever it is, I’ll make it right.”

Yara glanced away from him, a conflicted look flickering through her eyes. “I… made a foolish miscalculation,” she said after a moment. “I thought that… perhaps you might…” She hesitated. For a moment, he could’ve sworn he saw a faint blush spread across her cheeks. “That, well… That kissing me wouldn’t have been as intolerable for you as it evidently was.”

“Intolerable?” His brow furrowed. “Kissing you wouldn’t be intolerable.”

“Oh, please.” Her glare narrowed as it returned to rest on him. “You dragged your feet and then turned away at the last second. How the hell else could I possibly interpret that, Ace? From my standpoint, it was a fairly obvious rejection.”

Ace’s heart was practically beating out of his chest as the realization slowly dawned on him. “Hold on a minute. You… wanted me to kiss you?”

Yara’s nose scrunched up, her mouth drawing into a tight line like it did whenever she was frustrated by something. Finally, she turned away with a sigh. “…You’re an idiot of the most hopeless variety. Let’s just forget this ever happened.”

“Yara, wait.” He reached towards her, catching her hand. This time, her flesh stayed solid, and he curled his fingers around hers as he pulled her in.

She let out a surprised gasp as one of his hands moved to her waist, the other tenderly cupping her face. Her skin felt so soft as he lightly stroked her cheek, the butterflies that had been nesting in his stomach bursting to life.

“Last night, I really, really wanted to kiss you,” he breathed.

“Then why didn’t you?” she whispered, eyes widening as his fingers traced along the small of her back.

“Because I didn’t want our first kiss to be something either of us would regret,” he confessed. “You’re too special to me for that.”

“Ace…”

“I never thought I’d meet someone like you, Yara. Someone who just… accepted me so easily. Who didn’t care at all about my good-for-nothing father. The last thing I ever would’ve wanted is for you to think I only kissed you because Haruta dared me to, and not because I’m madly, stupidly in love with you, and I have been ever since Pops brought me onto this ship.”

Her eyes went unnaturally wide. “What?”

“Oh.” Ace blinked, his hand leaving her waist to awkwardly scratch the back of his neck. “Shoot, did I just say that out loud?”

He took her stunned silence as an affirmative. “So, uh… would it be okay if I kissed you now?”

“Please,” Yara breathed, leaning in. Their foreheads pressed lightly together, noses brushing as they revelled in each other’s warmth. His arms wrapped around her waist, the cotton fabric of her nightdress bunching between his fingers as he pulled her tight to his chest. She clung to his bare shoulders, the tips of her fingers smoothing along his collarbone, each feather-light touch setting off fireworks in his stomach.

“You’re so beautiful, Hellcat,” he murmured against her lips, feeling her breath hitch.

“Kiss me already, Fire Fist,” she whispered, the neediness in her voice sending a jolt of pleasure throughout his entire body, small flames flickering involuntarily off his skin.

He wasted no more time in closing the gap between them, lips slotting into place as if they were always meant to do so. The whole world ceased to exist around him as their mouths moved in sync, the taste of her flooding his senses, all the pent-up love he’d kept locked in his heart for so long finally flowing freely through him.

One hand slowly drifted upwards, tangling in her long violet hair as he cupped the back of her neck, pressing himself forwards to dip her down, stealing a tiny gasp of air before continuing the kiss. He could feel Yara’s lips twitch upwards, the sensation making him grin into the kiss as well.

They broke away, foreheads coming to rest against each other’s as Ace cradled Yara’s cheek in his palm. “I love you,” he admitted. “I’m sorry for not telling you sooner, and for being such an idiot last night.”

Yara laughed softly. “After that kiss, you’re definitely forgiven. And I…” Her face flushed, looking away for a moment before returning her heterochromatic gaze to meet his dark eyes. “I love you too, Portgas D. Ace. You dummy.”

“You love me too,” he repeated, unable to keep himself from grinning wildly. His heart felt as if it were on fire, burning with an intense, aching passion. I never thought I’d ever hear anyone say those words to me. I’m hardly deserving of them, yet… Yet it still feels so nice.

He slipped an arm around her waist, letting her rest her head on his shoulder as they both gazed out at the moon and stars beyond. “So… where do we go from here?”

She shrugged. “Wherever we want, I suppose. We’ll figure it out together.”

Smiling, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “That sounds perfect.”

tagging: @auxiliarydetective @oneirataxia-girl @daughter-of-melpomene (and @box-of-bats too if you want the narrative resolution to the last prompt hehe)

#oc: bravada yara #ship: portada #otp: i'd burn the world for you #portgas d ace x oc #asked and answered #my ocs #my writing #chats with alvita #tysm for the prompt!! i'm having WAY too much fun with these #and i legit think i'm getting better at writing kisses too #as i said before things will play out differently in 'and i'll surrender (myself to you)' but regardless #i do love a good confession scene #i am in FULL portada mode rn lol

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alwaysonthemend · 5 months

Text

Part IV: Storm's a Brewin'

Author's Note: Sorry in advance for the cliffhanger lol. I promise I won't make you wait too long ;)

Word Count: 3812

Warnings: Graphic depiction of death and violence / torture / blood / swearing / pirate shit

18+ only. Minors DNI

:¨·.·¨:☾☆༺ 𓆩⚔︎𓆪 ༻☆☽:¨·.·¨:

Sleep had been fitful – I had tossed and turned the whole night through, never quite falling fully asleep. Giving up, I had risen and sat myself at Jacob’s desk, prepared to begin the painstaking task of translating my father’s codes.

These codes are difficult to translate as they are all just a strange amalgamation of different symbols from all across the globe – some Norse, some taken from the Natives in America, some from old sailor’s journals. And some of the symbols are made up, unique to whoever wrote the cipher.

And that is where the difficulty lies in decoding them.

The first page had been relatively simple. Just a few cardinal directions and talk of a mountain-scape that lies “at the end of all things” – whatever that may mean.

Though I had become increasingly more nervous as I translated, as one singular word kept repeating itself.

Danger.

Over and over and over again that word was printed. Danger of what? It does not yet say. But it leaves a strange feeling in my stomach, as though we are all travelling towards something that we cannot begin to understand.

That one word, scrawled over and over again in my father’s hand felt wrong. My father was not a man who was easily frightened. Nor was he an overly cautious one. And yet here he was, repeating this one word over and over again. It leaves a sour taste on my tongue.

–

The sound of heavy footfalls above deck breaks me from my concentration. I straighten from where I had been hunched over the pages, straining my ears to listen.

“Avast! Hoist the black flag!”

That’s Jacob’s voice, calling loudly over the din.

A sudden booming noise rings out and I gasp as the sound hits my ears. The whole ship rocks and groans. Startled, I rise from my place and dart to the door. I throw it open quickly and begin a mad dash towards the stairs. Just as I reach the bottom step to begin my ascent, Daniel’s large frame makes its way through the hatch.

“Miss! Stay down here. We are under attack!” He calls, words frantic and spilling from his lips quickly. “It is not safe for you on deck.”

“Under attack by whom?”

Daniel does not answer right away, instead grabbing me by the shoulders and leading me back to the captain’s room.

“In here.” He ushers me through the threshold and shuts the door behind us.

“Daniel, by whom?” I demand, my voice rising a few octaves.

“We do not know, miss. They had black flags, so we hoisted our own but they continued their attack anyway.”

The ship rocks again as yet another boom sounds from above and I cringe at the sound of the wood creaking and groaning.

I look to Daniel, hoping that he might ease my nerves, but he looks just as concerned as I am. His eyes are trained on the door, his head tilted as he listens.

“Daniel?” I start, but he shushes me.

The distant sound of men’s cries make my heart begin to pound. Anxiety wraps itself around my chest like a vice, squeezing the air from my lungs as I think of Jacob up there. Skilled as he may be, he is injured.

“Daniel, please.” I whisper and finally he turns his eyes to look at me.

He quirks a brow, silently telling me to continue.

“The Captain… his fighting arm is injured. I-” I silence myself, unable to formulate my worries further.

Another loud crash from above. The ship rocks. Men are yelling.

“The Captain is skilled with both hands. He will be alright.” Is the only answer Daniel gives.

We both fall back to silence, listening.

There are no more sounds from above. The ship is steady and it seems that the attack is over.

“Stay here.” He says, before slipping out the door.

“Daniel!” I call, but he’s gone.

I stand there for a long moment, debating within myself whether to follow or not. The last time I snuck away had not ended well, but the worry brewing in my belly is too much for me to bear down here alone.

Huffing a breath, I slip out the door and follow.

:¨·.·¨:☾☆༺ 𓆩⚔︎𓆪 ༻☆☽:¨·.·¨:

Joshua POV

The adrenaline from the attack begins to wear off, leaving in its wake a bone deep exhaustion. We had not been prepared. Least of all for an attack from our own people.

We had been forced to kill them. Their bodies now lay on the deck, their blood oozing into the wooden beams of the Starcatcher. For some reason, the thought makes me nauseous. When we first set out on this God-forsaken journey… I never imagined that we would have to kill. Let alone so many. And yet here we are, our hands drenched in blood.

Jacob had sent the remaining crew (we had lost three in the melee) up to the deck to dispose of the bodies and clean the best that they are able. Myself, Samuel, and now Daniel, stand and watch in silent horror as Jacob drags the captain of the enemy ship (he calls himself Avery) across the floor – pushing him roughly into a chair. Jacob has his cutlass drawn, its blade dripping red already as he points it. I hate the sight of it.

“Who the fuck sent you?” Jacob demands, a dangerous edge to his voice. His eyes are narrowed and that terrible, stone-like expression sits on his face. My twin he may be, but sometimes I find even myself intimidated by him.

Avery only narrows his eyes before spitting a glob of saliva at Jacob’s shoes.

“No one.” He answers, eyes blazing defiantly. “No one sent me.”

“And I don’t believe you.” Jacob answers back.

“You’re not special. We saw a ship. So we attacked. We weren’t sent by anyone.”

“You attacked another ship with black flags?” Samuel demands from beside me, but there is a tiny tremble to his voice.

He had been rattled, too, by the death that had taken place above. I forget how young he is, sometimes. There is no doubt in my heart that he can handle himself and I worry not that he can carry his own. But still… he is only just a few years past boyhood.

“Guess we didn’t see ‘em.”

Jacob hums before turning to me.

“Ropes?”

I nod, stepping forward towards the man and rounding behind him. With little care, I roughly grab Avery's wrists and cross them behind the chair. I wrap the rope around them tightly, making sure to secure the knot well before stepping backwards. Jacob ‘s eyes flash to me and then towards Daniel and Samuel. I lock eyes with him for a moment. We stand frozen there for a moment as I read the words behind his eyes. He wants us to leave. Subtly, I shake my head and return to stand next to Sam and Daniel.

“You see,” Jacob starts, turning back to Avery and sheathing his cutlass. “I just can’t seem to believe you.”

“Pity.”

Jacob laughs suddenly, stepping in close so that he stands between Avery's legs.

“You have one more chance. Who sent you?”

“Fuck you.”

It barely registers as Jacob rears back and slams his fist into his face, the blow making his head snap to the side and a groan of pain to leave his lips.

Daniel gasps quietly beside me and Samuel takes a step forward. I grab his arm and hold him back.

I wish desperately that Jacob had sent them away at least.

“I asked, who sent you?” Jacob demands again, grabbing the man’s collar and leaning in close.

Avery spits out a wad of blood onto the floor.

“And I said fuck you.”

In a flash, Jacob’s hand reaches down, gripping his pointer finger and snapping it backwards. Avery cries out in agony, tossing his head back as his chest heaves. Jacob reaches down and grabs another finger but this time Avery stops him, his words tumbling from him frantically.

“Fuck, okay!”

Jacob pauses, hand still wrapped around his middle finger. He stares, and though I cannot see his face, I know what emotions lie there. Doubt, surely. And stone-cold rage.

“I don't know who he is. He sent me to find you."

“I'm not so sure I believe that, either.” Jacob answers ever so calmly, as if he has not just snapped this man's finger in two. I refuse to look at the damage. I would rather spare my mind of the sight.

With a sickening crack, Jacob breaks another finger. This time, Avery's scream rings out louder before trailing off in a pained whimper. All bravado gone, he looks up at my brother with pleading eyes.

"Fuck, stop!'

“Keep fucking talking! Everything. Tell me everything.”

“No.”

Jacob hums, stepping backwards and crossing his arms. He places his hand on the handle of his cutlass, running his fingertips over the metal.

“Keep talking. Or you lose your whole fucking hand.”

Avery whimpers again, shaking his head and blinking up at Jacob. No doubt the pain is making his thoughts fuzzy.

“He found me.” He finally relents, his shaky voice ringing out in the silence. “At Nassau. Said he wanted a ship called Starcatcher hunted down and sunk.”

“He knew my ship by name?”

He nods once before casting his eyes downwards to look at his mutilated hand. Immediately, he shuts them tight and looks away again.

“He said… He said leave no one alive except the girl.”

Jacob’s face twitches - a barely there sign that he's startled.

Daniel and Samuel both turn to look at me with wide, questioning eyes, as if I somehow know the answers. I do not look at them, instead keeping my eyes trained on my twin.

I knew that bringing a Calloway with us was dangerous, especially one who holds those damned papers. The papers that Jacob has dragged us all over the fucking seas for. They're a dangerous item to possess. Few know of their existence… but those that do want them. Covet them. The last remaining information on where it is. And it seems now that the secret is out. A target has been painted on our backs. And on her back as well.

Jacob leans in close to the man, his face merely inches from his and his voice is low as he speaks again.

“What was his name?”

Avery meets his gaze, a renewed fire in his eyes.

“I will not tell you.”

This time, the blow that Jacob lands on him is even harder. The crack of his nose beneath Jacob's fist makes me cringe. Blood pours down his face, coating his lips and chin.

Jacob rears back and strikes again. And again. Once more before finally Avery relents.

“Thomas! Thomas Lowe. Fuck, please. That's all I know! I swear that's all I know!”

The breath punches out of my lungs and it feels as though ice water has been dumped on my head. It feels like a dream… a terrible, awful dream that I must wake up from at any moment.

“You're a liar.” Jacob growls, fisting Avery's collar in his grip. “Thomas Lowe is dead. I killed him.”

The man shakes his head frantically, a crack in his submissive character at last. With a wicked smile - his lips stretched wide to reveal his red stained teeth, he shakes his head.

“You sunk his ship, aye. But did you ever see his body?”

“He's fucking dead.” Jacob says through clenched teeth, his body visibly shaking as his anger mounts.

“Killed your girl and you couldn't even kill him back.” Avery says with a grin, huffing a laugh as he watches Jacob’s face contort with guilt. “Some Captain you are.”

That does it.

“You don't know shit!” Jacob’s voice cracks as he screams the words, spittle flying from his lips before he strikes again.

With a ferocity I have never seen from him before, he lands blow after blow on the poor man. The sound of knuckles against flesh is sickening and the barely there groans of pain are muddled and wet with blood.

“Captain! Enough!” Daniel finally calls, running to grab Jacob by the shoulders and pulling him off.

With a mighty yell Jacob shoves him away, sending Daniel crashing to the floor. Without missing a beat Jacob turns back to continue his assault.

“Sam!” I bark, grabbing his arm and yanking him forward. “Help me!”

Jacob does not cease in his attack – only growing more frantic with each strike. There is no pause, no moment where he slows down. Blow after blow until at last Avery no longer moves, his head only lulling to the side with each strike as blood cascades down his face. His chest is still.

Jacob’s teeth are bared in a feral snarl as he fights against us. Samuel grabs his arms and pins them behind him as I grab his shoulders and pull him backwards.

“Jacob, he's dead! He's dead! That's fucking enough!”

It's like he can't hear as he keeps struggling against us. It takes both of us to keep him restrained, but he keeps fighting to break free.

“Stop!”

All three of our heads whip quickly around to see Y/n, her face awash with horror, standing just on the inside of the threshold. There are tears brimming in her eyes.

“Please stop.” She echoes, a tremble in her voice.

Like a switch has been flipped, Jacob stills.

As he does so, Daniel rises from his place on the floor, wincing quietly.

“I told you to stay in your room.” He murmurs, eyes casting towards my twin with a look I never thought he would ever give to Jacob: Fear. He is afraid of him.

“And I didn't listen.” She says, pushing her chin up and attempting to hide the shake in her words.

Samuel - our sweet, young Samuel, watches Jacob with wary eyes. He's afraid too.

Jacob does not speak for a long moment. His chest heaves and his hands - clenched at his side and sticky with blood, tremble. Finally, he shrugs his shoulders from my grip and with slow, deliberate steps, he walks to where Y/n stands.

She shrinks away from him, pressing her back into the doorframe as he passes by.

Just like that, he disappears out of sight.

“How much of that did you hear?”

She casts her eyes to me, a determined glimmer in her eyes.

“All of it. And I think you owe me an explanation for what the fuck is going on.”

I nod at her once, staring after where Jacob had disappeared. I feel as though I may vomit after such a display from him. Whoever that was… it was not Jacob. Not my Jacob at least. My Jacob would never have done such a thing. Least of all in front of his own little brother.

Samuel and Daniel are afraid of him. His crew – once his closest friends, are terrified of him. This poor girl, plucked from her home with no explanation, is afraid of him.

Dear God.

I think with detached horror.

I might be afraid of him, too.

:¨·.·¨:☾☆༺ 𓆩⚔︎𓆪 ༻☆☽:¨·.·¨:

My heart pounds as I close the door behind myself and Joshua. For once, there is no aggression in his form as he regards me – in its place nothing but a sadness that makes me feel as though he might shatter before my very eyes.

“I am tired of the secrets, Joshua.” I tell him, sitting down heavily in the chair by Jacob’s desk. “Tell me the truth. All of it. I think I am owed that, at least.”

Joshua nods, sitting himself on the foot of the bed.

“It is a long story, lass.” He sighs, brown eyes boring into my own.

“We have time.”

He sighs deeply, his shoulders drooping – like he’s folding in on himself.

“What do you know of your father? Of your family?”

I shake my head, clasping my hands in my lap.

“Very little. My mother died when I was a child. My father not long after. I never was told anything.”

Joshua nods once, one hand coming up to tap his pointer finger upon his bottom lip. He looks so much older now as I look at him. For the very first time since meeting him, a pang of sympathy shoots through me.

“The Calloways used to be famous – they were always sticking their noses where they didn’t belong, inserting themselves in others business… and somehow always managing to make a profit from it. Your father was just like them. Until your mother died. He fell off the face of the planet.”

“After my mother, he was driven mad with sorrow. Or so my grandmother told me. I never knew what he was like before. I only knew the man he became.”

Joshua’s gaze feels piercing – like he’s looking right through me. This time, it does not make me feel threatened. There is pity there in his brown eyes. And though a part of me hates it, a small broken little part of my soul is oddly comforted.

“Rumour began to circulate that he was on the hunt for something… something that could bring someone back from the dead.” He pauses a moment and I hold my breath, afraid that if I break the silence he will stop speaking. But he carries on. “And apparently he found it. Or at least was told where it is.”

“It?” I ask him, leaning forwards slightly, my palms growing clammy.

“A mirror. A mirror that is said to grant one wish. And your father found where it was.”

“He was always gone.” My eyes fixate themselves on the dim glow of the lantern. “We never knew where he was.”

“He was all over looking for its location – asking and begging and bribing until… I guess until he finally found someone who knew. But word got out, people heard that he had found what he was looking for. And of course… The promise of any wish granted had every living pirate out on the hunt for him. We are all doomed to one of two endings, Y/n: a watery grave or a noose. To wish for freedom… money, jewels… It is a tempting thing.”

“That is not what the Captain is after, is it?”

Joshua shakes his head.

“He seeks something worth far more than that. Just as your father sought to bring back your mother, Jacob wishes to bring back his wife. They killed your father for the information – And I fear this quest may claim Jacob’s life as well.” The last part comes out as only a whisper – an admission likely not meant for my ears at all.

The information swirls around in my brain – pieces clicking into place for the first time in my life.

“They killed my father, but he had already left the directions back in Easthallow… so they did not get them.”

“Aye" Joshua affirms with a nod. "But still people want them. And they know that you have ‘em. Jacob got to you first, but there is a target on our backs now.”

Detached dread courses through my veins. There has always been a part of my mind that knew that I would return home one day… that all this would just be a thing of the past in a few years time.

And yet here Joshua is, squashing any hope I once had. I am wanted. We all are. And as much as I resent Jacob for convincing me to come along on this journey… had someone else found me first I might not be alive now.

Either way, this knowledge changes everything.

“I cannot go back home, can I?”

Joshua meets my gaze with a sad smile.

“Afraid not, lass. Not now, at least.”

I nod, folding my hands back in my lap. My eyes prick with tears. This is more than I ever bargained for.

“Those papers,” Joshua starts, pointing at where they sit on Jacob’s desk, “they are the key to all of this. If we can just get to the mirror before anyone else does… before someone takes it for their own selfish uses, this all can end. We can find you somewhere safe. Somewhere where no one would think to look for you.”

“Thank you.” I whisper, casting my eyes to the glow of the lantern. There is one last piece though, one last question... though I know it is not my place. I ask anyway.

“Thomas Lowe… who is he? Jacob said that- that he killed him.” I cannot help but to stumble over the phrase. The thought of killing – especially Jacob doing it… it leaves a bitter taste on my tongue. I fear that I may have misjudged him. I thought he was different, kinder. I believed there to perhaps be a good man beneath his anger and cold exterior.I thought that he was not like all those other pirates that I have heard stories about.

“We thought he did. And there is still a part of me that hopes that man was lying.” He trails off, no doubt thinking back to what Jacob did to him. “There is no way for us to know, now.”

“Thomas Lowe killed his wife?”

“He did. A sick, twisted version of revenge.” Joshua says sadly. “It is a long and sad story.”

“I want to know it.”

Joshua opens his mouth, no doubt to decline, but I interrupt him.

“You all took me from my home. Your brother threatened to kill me. There is a target on my back and now you tell me that I cannot ever hope to return home. I am owed the full truth, Joshua.”

His shoulders slump. He senses that I will not back down.

“Before I tell you, you must understand that Jacob cannot know that I told you anything. He barely speaks about it even to me. And I was there when it happened.”

“I promise.” I tell him honestly, meeting his piercing gaze. “I would rather not be on the Captain’s bad side, anyway.” I murmur, clenching my hands nervously. Still, I am angry at myself for misjudging him so harshly. Charismatic and handsome as he may be… he’s a cold blooded killer like all the rest.

Joshua must sense my unease. Perhaps he sees the fear in my eyes as he suddenly sits upwards, eyes looking into mine almost frantically.

“My brother… the man you see today is not him. Not really.”

I raise a brow. I cannot yet bring myself to believe him.

“After everything that happened, he changed. He’s had a difficult life, Y/n. I beg of you to not judge him too harshly.”

“We’ve all had a hard life, Joshua. That’s the way of the universe. We all have dead people.” I argue, crossing my arms over my chest. “He killed a man with his bare hands.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Enlighten me, then.”

:¨·.·¨:☾☆༺ 𓆩⚔︎𓆪 ༻☆☽:¨·.·¨:

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