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partyanimal167 · 5 months

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A Chef's Treat- Sanji x F!Reader

Not gonna lie, I've been a little nervous to write Sanji's character, but I want some practice, and I love the idea of someone cooking for that man. (As a chef, that's all I ever want) Here's a little fic to test the waters with that sweet boy.

CW: none, fluff, fem reader, black fem reader in mind, not proofread bc I'm emotionally exhausted

It was your job to feed people, and you took it very seriously. There wasn't a reason for anyone to be hungry when you're around.

You saw a lot of people come and go on your island. The bright, hot weather meant that people to could vacation year-round, and there was plenty of yummy food always in season. It was your own personal paradise, and while you did like to see other islands, your home was in that busy seaside town.

And the sea meant all kinds of people, so who knew what your customers would be like to day. You had just finished up your small break when you heard a good amount of commotion at the entrance.

"Food time!"

The servers peeked from the back and whispered amongst themselves nervously.

"What's going on?"

The group turned towards you before looking back on the dining floor. "It's the Straw Hat crew!"

"...okay, and? We see pirates every day here." you grumbled as you fixed your apron around your waist.

"They're dangerous!"

"They destroy towns!"

"Look at the bounties!"

You rolled your eyes. "As long as they have Berry, then I don't see a problem." You walked out to the main dining area, waving at your regulars as you saw the crew settle in.

A red-head pulled on the cheek of Straw Hat. You were a bit surprised yourself. You heard the tales and read the paper, but up close and personal, the crew seemed like a hungry bunch of friends who were goofing off.

You placed a basket of bread down which was immediately grabbed by the captain. "Welcome, I'm the chef here. Thanks for coming by. What can I get you to drink?" A mess of orders was shouted by the captain--mainly being meat--but you did here the drinks ordered: sake, wine, milk, tea, orange juice, water. You nodded and went to back where you glared at your servers who gave into your stubbornness and prepared the drinks.

When you returned, the woman reached into her bralette and handed you a stack of berries. "This is just to start. I have no idea how much this idiot is going to eat." You were shocked by the amount but giggled to yourself. The money was secured, so there was nothing to fret over.

The crew was there for a few hours--eating and drinking--when a blonde man entered and joined them carrying four large bags filled with groceries from fruit to cured sausages. He placed the items down carefully before squeezing himself on the edge and lighting a cigarette.

"Got everything you need?" the long-nosed one asked.

The man sighed deeply but looked satisfied all the same. "Yes thankfully. I'm surprised Luffy hasn't eaten everything from this place yet. I could use a bite to eat myself."

"Well, I'm glad to be of service." you beamed at the man as you placed a plate of vegetable pasta in front of him. "Here's somethin' light for you." the man looked up at you, and it was like his eyes became hearts.

"Mademoiselle, the heavens must be blessing me if I get to me you on this simple day." he cooed at you.

You chuckled before waving your hand. "Just call me, y/n. And eat up!"

"I'm Sanji," he then paused, "I'm never one to refuse food, but how could I take the fruits of your labor?"

You giggled before shaking your head. "Don't refuse the chef! I want you to enjoy my food. You must know how I feel."

And Sanji did, so he took a forkful and placed it gently in his mouth. The flavors bombarded his tongue, and he felt his cheeks warm from the obvious care and attention that was made. He practically melted in his seat and looked up at you with soft eyes. "Delicious," he purred.

"Great!" you clapped your hands together. "There's more where that came from!" you turned to go back to the kitchen.

"Wait," Sanji stood and called, "I must learn how that's made! Let me follow you to the kitchen."

You pushed him back into his seat by the shoulders. "This is the time for you to rest. Us fellow cooks rarely get treated by others, so enjoy this Sanji. Please~" you winked.

The man seemed to enter his own loving, floaty headspace. He swayed in his chair as you came back and forth with dishes to try. The Strawhats spent the entire day in your establishment, and while the navigator didn't seem too pleased to hand her money over, everyone had a good time.

Sanji went on and on about how much he enjoyed your food that it did have you blushing and giggling a bit. It was always nice to feed people, but it was great to hear compliments from people who cooked as well. The Strawhats promised to come back the next day, but as they were leaving, you grabbed the cook and pulled towards your kitchen--ready to see what you could cook up together.

~~~

Sanji!!! I promise to write you more next year! You deserve it.

I want more chef fics! I feel like it's such an overlooked profession in fandoms, but I wanna come home from a long day in the kitchen and read about the kitchen with my favs lol

#one piece #one piece x reader #vinsmoke sanji #black leg sanji #sanji x reader #fem reader #black fem reader #fluff #partyanimal167

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thunder-threnodies · 5 months

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Francis Morgan Dargor, captain on the "Requiem" eats. But not for sustenance, no. For the pleasure of taste and texture of the food. While in London, you may be invited in their weird, yet beautiful zee znail zhell turned seaside house.

Everything that is delicious to the human tongue will be offered to their guests.

But when we're out at Zee things are different. We hunt and fish for our survival.

The crew goes silent. For three false nights I'll fish and hunt nightmares from the minds of my sleeping crew. Then bring them to this side of the mirror and let them lose. Living bait. Through mirror and silver and jet black we sail. We hunt. We kill. The prey is taken overboard. Skinned. Cut to pieces. Nothing goes to waste. Who wants to partake in the feast is welcome. Everybody else will be served... Boring food later.

Teeth will sink in tender flesh, blood oozing and spilling on the deck. A hunger for warmth and liquid life takes hold. Nails tear the meat asunder, mouthful gulped down without much chewing.

Then when only the blood stains and bones remain, we take our knives out. Patiently and slowly we transform them in something else. A memento and a prayer to the entity we consumed. And those scrimshaw pieces will be returned to the Zee.

Honey I brewed from the dreams of the strange beasts below, reflected within the black mirror that the Unterzee turns herself into sometimes, will be served in high quantity. Honeyed brandy too.

Tonight, no nightmare will disturb my beloved crew. Strange dreams will be their zee and they'll swim.

As for me, I'll light a Candle, as I always do, and keep dutiful vigil, for no man will be lost.

#fallen london #thunder threnodies #oc: captain dargor #oc:captain francis dargor

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squiddokiddo · 1 year

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So I know you've seen this one before but I'm trying out a bit of writing and I wrote a snippet for this drawing and I want the fic and the art to be together. Criticism is welcome but please be gentle, this is my first posted fic.

Edit - I originally made the mistake of thinking Whitby was in Cornwall so that line has now been changed.

‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚ ꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚ ꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊꒷︶꒷꒥꒷˚₊‧

"Carry me?"

–• Fandom: Thunderbirds, Thunderbirds are go • Genre: Fluff • Characters: Gordon Tracy, OC (Seasquirt Tracy) • Pairings: None • Warnings: None •–

• • • • •

Gordon had booked the day off to give himself and his so called apprentice a break, they'd both been training hard all week and had definitely earned a little down time. They'd taken a trip to Whitby, an old seaside town located in England, it definitely wasn't his first choice mind you but Lady Penelope had highly recommended the location for a relaxing day out.

Gordon and Squirt had had a chilled morning browsing little village shops and stopping for a light breakfast and coffee in one of the cafés, maybe filling a 12 year old with caffeine wasn't the best idea but it was Squirt's treat and no one was going to tell him off for letting the kid have a little fun, not Scott, not Virgil not anyone. Gosh his brothers could be so overbearing sometimes.

Currently they we're waiting for the sun to reach a high enough point to make the sea warm enough to swim in, in the meantime they'd both decided that sight seeing would be a good time killer, that and hopefully all the wandering around would use up that coffee energy. First stop the 199 steps.

They'd just arrived at the bottom where cobblestone streets turned into paved stairs, Gordon gripped the black painted railings and started his assent, one, two, three, four steps up when suddenly:

"Carry me?"

Gordon halted and peered over his shoulder at the source of the request standing a couple of steps below. Good god he'd wished they hadn't decided to ask this now.

"Aren't you a little old for that, Squirt?" He replied half smirking, turning around to face them.

"Scott carries Alan and he's 16." Squirt protested, jokingly pouting a little.

Squirt was right, there wasn't technically an age limit on being carried in the Tracy family, heck in their line of work it was common to need a little help to get around after exhausting themselves with missions.

"Yeah well Alan's a wimp." He chuckled "All that space flight is making his knees weak." Obviously not a true statement but since when did taking jabs at your siblings have to involve facts?

Squirt rolled their eyes biting back a laugh "Gords, you know that's not what I mean!!" They hopped a couple of steps up to meet their bro.

"I want a piggyback ride, wait no - uhh - a squiddyback!!" They exclaimed reaching their arms up "Please?"

Gordon laughed "Squirt I love you bub but I am not carrying you-" he paused to mentally count the steps "another 195 steps up the hill, come on you can't be that tired already."

He went to climb another step when Squirt grabbed the arm of his T-shirt.

"Pleeease."

Suddenly Gordon realised what this was about, it wasn't about not wanting to climb the steps or being tired or lazy, Squirt just wanted their big brother. Piggybacking was an expression of affection between the Tracy siblings and it hadn't really occurred to him that Squirt hadn't experienced that kind of love before becoming a part of their family.

He thought for a minute, it was a long trek up the hill but he could make an exception just this once. He sighed, turned away from his little sib and knelt down.

"Hop on."

The kid beamed and wasted no time in clambering onto the aquanaut's back, wriggling around and getting comfy as Gordon stood up and steadied himself under their weight.

"All set?" He asked.

"Aye aye, captain!!" They replied giving a little salute.

"Next stop, step 199!!"

• • • • •

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderfam #thunderbirds fanart #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderfluff #gordon tracy #sea-squirt tracy #thunderbirds oc #squiddo's ocs #squiddo's fanfic #kidthunder's art #sfw interaction only

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hmshermitcraft · 10 months

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Ren is a king! A pirate king no less!! He and his right hand man (re. Husband) Bdubs live on rens ship, nicknamed the crastle for the strong, albeit janky, defenses they've set up.

Being pirates they aren't the most moral of people, and they were running out of money and supplies so it was time for them to stop by the nearest kingdom and do some pillaging. Ren put the crew in charge of getting supplies like food and comfort stuff like soap, while he went out to get a ransom. Bdubs was left on charge of the ship because he would honestly rather not deal with the general hoity toity crowd that comes with a seaside kingdom.

It's a successful trip! Cleo even managed to raid a bakery for some treats and pastries, and ren got the best prisoner yet!! A prince!

Etho isn't the crown prince but he'll do just fine for a nice chunk of money, at least ren thought he would. Etho is the youngest of the royal family and is generally regarded as the mistake of the group, because he was. His parents didn't mean to have another kid but that's not his fault, nor is it his problem. He isn't a useful son either, unlike his brothers he isn't super into swordfighting or diplomacy and unlike his sisters he isn't people pleasing and strategic. He's an inventor, he likes making little machines that sort marbles or set timers.

So when the great pirate king ren kicked down his door and told him to come quietly, he didn't really have any knowledge of how to defend himself.

Ren and Bdubs treat him very well, he gets books and fruit and a comfy bed and lots of great stories from the crew, but he's never been on the sea. There are sirens and krakens and rouge waves, these are frightening to him. So frightening that one night Etho finds himself unable to sleep.

He's afraid he's becoming a victim of stockholm syndrome when he knocks on the door to the captains quarters, but when Ren and Bdubs welcome him into he warm light of their room he knows he's not being manipulated.

They're genuinely worried about him and are sorry about taking him from his home, they still need money and Etho's parents seem to have completely forgotten him, which Bdubs explains with pain in his eyes. They're not telling him to trick him, they're genuinely sorry about Etho's circumstance and the fact they've caused it.

It isn't really a surprise to Etho, the scar over his eye and down his face wasn't an accident, and he's still shaken from the nights previous scares, so he cries about it. He's not a coward, he'll cry about anything! Ren and Bdubs console him with gentle hugs and a big glass of water before sending him back to his room. They like Etho but they don't want to take advantage of his state of mind, they'd rather he come to them when he isn't afraid and grieving his past life.

A month later, he does just that. He tucks his head comfortably under rens chin as Bdubs snuggles up behind him.

The captains bed is so much softer than he could've imagined.

In truth, Etho knows there's things he could have done when Ren kicked open his door. He could have shouted and screamed. He could have struggled, at the very least.

But what would the point have been? To get his heart broken earlier when nobody came?

He doesn't know if he's ever experienced care like Bdubs' and Ren's. They don't treat him as weird for enjoying books - they even encourage him to help some of the pirates that can't read. Otherwise, he'll sit and read stories to them, Ren or Bdubs watching on fondly.

They proudly supply Etho with pieces of scrap metal to see what he makes. They don't mind that he's not strong, or inclined to fighting. He's already added so much to their crew.

#hermitshipping #ask #etho tag #bdoubleo tag #rendog tag #rendubstho #mod 🎀#weekly theme: pirates!#child abuse tw

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pennys-thick-thighs · 2 years

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‘no! i’ll take him. i’ll take all of you. and i’ll feast on your flesh as i feed on your fear.’

welcome to my tumblr account :)

this list is who i’ll write for

all future works will be tagged under their show/film/universe

!! WITH SMUT I WILL ONLY WRITE DOM!READER OR WHERE THE PARTNERS ARE IN THE SAME ANOUNT OF CONTROL !!

marvel: natasha romanoff, steve rogers, bucky barnes, sam wilson, thor, loki, peter parker, wade wilson, eddie brock/venom, steven grant, jennifer walters, matt murdock

asgardian ~ jennifer walters

the umbrella academy: klaus hargreeves, viktor hargreeves, diego hargreeves

stranger things: robin buckley, steve harrington, eddie munson, karen wheeler, jim hopper, joyce byers, chrissy cunningham

eyeliner ~ eddie munson

love ~ robin buckley

harry potter: james potter, sirius black, remus lupin, lily evans, harry potter, fred weasley, george weasley, neville longbottom

rain ~ james potter

scream: tatum riley, sidney prescott

orange is the new black: alex vause, stella, nicky nichols, pousséy washington, brooke soso

hate ~ alex vause

shameless: veronica fisher, kevin ball (s), fiona gallagher, ian gallagher (platonic or male only), mickey milkovich (platonic or male only), svetlana

pirates of the caribbean: jack sparrow, will turner

twilight: rosalie hale, alice cullen, jasper hale, emmet cullen, carlisle cullen

scars ~ rosalie hale/cullen

sex education: maeve wiley, otis milburn, adam groff, aimee gibbs, jackson marchetti, jean milburn

midsommer: danny

dc: harley quinn, poison ivy

it: richie tozier, bill denbourgh, beverly marsh, mike hanlon

knives out: ransom drysdale, marta cabrera

the boys: annie january, billy butcher, queen maeve, frenchie, kimiko

doctor who: 10th doctor, 11th doctor, rose tyler, river song, rory williams, 12th doctor, donna noble

kingsman: eggsy unwin, harry hart, merlin

the last of us: joel miller, platonic!ellie williams

shit about me

bisexual non-binary british

obsessed with horror films stephen king addict

favourite films: it chapter 1&2, deadpool 1&2, bohemian rhapsody, misery, venom, venom: let there be carnage, silence of the lambs, red dragon, rocketman, the green mile, the shining

favourite bands/musicians: queen, elton john, mötley crüe, the beatles, abba, david bowie, nirvana, mitski, mother mother, arctic monkeys, melanie martinez, amy winehouse

current favourite songs: wicked game - chris isaak, strawberry fields forever - the beatles, rhiannon - fleetwood mac, gold dust woman - fleetwood mac, don’t try suicide - queen, seaside rendezvous - queen, something in the way - nirvana, two slow dancers - mitski, life on mars? - david bowie, blackbird - the beatles, five years - david bowie, save me - queen, seven seas of rhye - queen, evil woman - electric light orchestra, 1979 - the smashing pumpkins, tears dry on their own - amy winehouse, my girlfriend is a witch - october country, dreams - fleetwood mac

favourite books: the green mile, misery, thinner, it, turtles all the way down, horrible histories collection, captain fantastic (elton john’s stellar journey through the ‘70s)

favourite programmes: stranger things, orange is the new black, shameless, gogglebox, bbc ghosts, sex education, the umbrella academy, doctor who (2005), taskmaster, good omens

send requests for fluff/smut/angst but i won’t write them if i’m uncomfortable with them

‘he thrusts his fists against the p-post but still insist he sees the ghost. he thrusts his fists against the p-p-p-post… fear.’

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whimsicallyenchantedrose · 2 years

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What a Lovely Way to Burn, or, Killian Learns the Upsides of a Storybrooke Heat Wave

Pairing: Duh! Captain Swan (with a generous helping of Captain Cobra Swan)

Rating: T–although Killian is definitely having very M or even E rated thoughts .

Genre: Season 3b canon divergence–I realize it was winter during 3b, but for this story’s purposes, I needed a very not-winterlike heat wave.

Summary: Written for the un-official CS Heatwave event several CS writers have decided to engage in given the heatwave that much of the US is facing right now. After returning to Storybrooke after the missing year, there's a lull in the search for the Wicked Witch on one of the hottest days of the year. Emma, Killian and Henry decide to take advantage of the downtime by going to the beach.

Tagging a few people who may be interested (Let me know if you want to be added or taken off the list): @sailormew4 @annaamell @flslp87 @emmateo26@bethacaciakay @ultraluckycatnd @ineffablecolors, @ilovemesomekillianjones @kat2609 @brooke-to-broch @missgymgirl @galadriel26 @the-lady-of-misthaven @charmingturkeysandwich @jennjenn615 @laschatzi @kimmy46 @snowbellewells @iamanneenigma @daxx04 @nickillian @a-rose-for-a-savior @in-spirational @gillie @britishguyslover @ginnyjinxedandhanshotritafirst @kmomof4 @linda8084 @golfgirld @captain-swan-coffee @searchingwardrobes @hollyethecurious @laughswaytoomuch @deathbycaptainswan @allyourdarlingswans @killiarious @winterbaby89 @facesiousbutton82 @therooksshiningknight, @lfh1226-linda @tiganasummertree

(ao3) (ff.net)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Killian frowned fiercely as he felt a bead of sweat make its way down his back beneath his thin, cotton shirt. He’d long since shed his leather duster and even the vest beneath. Damn this infernal heat!

Had Swan brought him back to Storybrooke in that yellow vessel of hers, or to the pits of hell? Being a seaside burg, he’d been under the impression he was in for a temperate climate.

He had most assuredly been under the wrong impression.

This morning, when he’d ventured from his room into the common area of Granny's establishment, one of the other guests had turned on the moving picture box (the TV, he believed he’d heard someone call it), and a man stood before a map of the area and detailed the weather they could expect for the day.

“ Well folks, we’re in for a hot one, ” he said. “A heat wave of epic proportions is set to hit the Storybrooke metropolitan area today. Temperatures are expected to hit the high nineties. We might even hit triple digits! We haven’t seen weather like this since the curse broke–the first curse, that is. I have no idea what the weather was like during the missing year, mainly because I have no idea about anything during the missing year.”

Killian shook his head as he sipped at his morning coffee. First wicked witches, then flying monstrosities, and now a heat wave. Why had he ever come back from the Enchanted Forest?

Emma walked from the back room into the diner, her arm slung around her lad and a lovely smile on her face. Ah yes. This was why.

He’d endure far more than a hot day in order to be with her.

“Hey, Killian!” Henry said, hurrying over to his booth and taking a seat. “You guys making any progress on the skip you’re chasing?”

Killian hurriedly moved his left arm under the table so as to hide his hook from the lad. He knew Swan wished to keep up the ruse, as Henry’s memories had yet to return, but he wondered how much longer they could keep him in the dark. There were, after all, flying monkeys about, and Henry was a perceptive lad. He was bound to figure out something was amiss sooner or later.

Emma reached the table, face reddening. “Henry! You can’t just intrude on someone’s breakfast!”

Killian waved to the other side of the booth where Henry had already taken up residence. “It’s no intrusion, love. You both are more than welcome to join me.”

She smiled gratefully at him, before sliding into the booth. “Looks like it’s gonna be a hot one today,” she said, glancing up at the TV.

“Aye,” Killian said with a grimace. “So it would seem.”

“Hey Mom! Are you gonna be busy with your case all day?” Henry asked excitedly. “Maybe if you guys have a little extra time, we could go swim at the beach!”

Emma shrugged. “I mean, we’re kind of at a standstill right now. No sign of the Wick–uh, I mean the skip. I don’t see why we couldn’t get some beach time in. What do you think, Killian? Wanna join us?”

Killian’s smile lit up his entire face. “I’d be delighted.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

By the time their beach excursion began, Killian was rethinking his state of mind. She was trying to kill him. There was no doubt about it. She was trying to burn him alive with desire–in a way that was most certainly not appropriate with her lad about.

It all started about an hour after breakfast ended and Killian, Emma,, and Henry went their separate ways. Swan had knocked on his door and presented him with the strangest article of clothing he had ever seen. They appeared to be short pants of some sort, but never had he seen pants like these. They were a deep, royal purple, and throughout were drawings of songbirds. Across the arse was emblazoned the single word “Charming”.

“So, I figured you probably didn’t have any swimming trunks,” she said, her tone a touch self-conscious. “I asked David if he had any spares, and he gave me these. Apparently Mary Margaret had them custom made to reflect who he is or something, and when I told him they were for you, he thought it would be hilarious. Told me to take pictures.”

“I’m…I’m meant to wear this to go bathing in your realm?” he asked, holding the abomination of an article of clothing between two fingers and pouring over it.

“I mean…you can’t exactly swim in your leathers,” she said.

He grinned saucily at her, playfully wiggling his eyebrows. “I could always not wear my leathers.”

She rolled her eyes, grinning and shoving him playfully. “Yeah, let’s try not to traumatize my son any more than we have to. Plus public nudity’s a crime. I’d rather not have to arrest you on my day off.”

He chuckled. How he’d missed this–the flirting, the playful teasing. He’d missed everything about her, but he’d especially missed how buoyant she made his spirits.

“Very well,” he conceded. “In the interest of not corrupting your son–and not seeing the inside of your brig–I shall wear these–what did you call them?--swim trunks. But what manner of shirt am I meant to wear?”

She looked flustered at that, averting her eyes. “Uh…well, most guys just wear the trunks and no shirt.”

He grinned again. “Why Swan, I’m shocked. If you wished me to get half-naked for you, all you had to do was ask.”

She rolled her eyes again.

Suddenly it occurred to Killian that he had one more difficulty that most men of this realm did not. He reached up to scratch behind his ear. “But what am I meant to do about this?”

He waved his hooked arm before her.

“Well, I mean, you can leave the brace and cuff on if you want,” Emma said, “but Killian, you can also take it off.”

“I rather doubt you wish to be subjected to the sight of my stump, love,” he said in a small voice, eyes looking at the carpeting. “The wound had to be cauterized and stitched quickly, and I’m afraid it is rather unsightly.”

She was silent for a moment, and then she reached up, turning his face toward her. “You don’t have to be ashamed of your missing hand, Hook. You know that, right? Neither Henry, nor I care about your stump. It’s just a part of you.”

He felt warmth suffuse him. Though he didn’t have Swan’s superpower for detecting lies, there was no doubt that she spoke with absolute sincerity and conviction. “Thank you for that.”

“Welcome,” she said breezily, “although I can’t guarantee Henry won’t ask you awkward questions about amputation. He is a twelve-year-old, after all. I’ll talk to him about appropriate topics of conversation.”

Killian chuckled. “I’m well aware of the inquisitiveness of the pre-teen lad. Not to worry, Swan.”

They stood smiling at each other for a moment, and if Killian didn’t know better, he’d have believed Emma wished for his company–perhaps even wished for a repeat of the kiss he’d tried at her apartment door (preferably without the knee to his nether regions this time). But after a moment, she seemed to think better of it, shaking her head slightly and taking a step back.

“Yeah, so I’m going to get Granny to put together a picnic for all of us. Meet out in front of the diner in, say, half an hour? We can take the bug down to the docks.”

“Sounds good, love.”

Seeing the blatant look of interest–maybe even want–in Swan’s eyes when he emerged from the diner and headed toward her vehicle almost made it worth his while to wear these absolute travesties of “swim trunks”.

“Like what you see, love?” he purred as he reached her, standing tall so his chest–bare of all but a generous peppering of hair–showed to full display.

Her cheeks reddened, and she stammered, “Just get in the car, Hook. Henry’s waiting.”

Apparently the lass was so flustered she couldn’t even come up with her normal witty repartee.

He grinned as he obeyed and got into her vehicle, but his grin turned to a groan when she reached over to help him with the buckle of the car’s restraint and her hand brushed his chest. Had the temperature suddenly risen even higher?

But it wasn’t until they reached the beach that Killian realized he was in serious danger of spontaneous combustion before this day was at an end.

While the lad ran toward the water, ready to frolic, Killian helped Swan spread colorful towels along the sand, and then she reached for the hem of the short, rather formless bathing dress she wore, and before he could divine what she was about, she pulled it up over her head, displaying far more creamy white skin than he had ever expected to see outside of his lurid daydreams. Indeed, she was clad only in two tiny swaths of fabric which left very little to his imagination.

Killian felt his jaw drop.

“Like what you see, Hook?” she asked, turning his own question back upon him.

For a moment he merely swallowed hard, unable to speak, sure his desire for this woman would consume him whole.

“It’s…” he began, voice squeaking like an inexperienced lad. He cleared his throat. “It’s rather…daring, isn’t it?”

She laughed, before sitting gracefully on her towel and rummaging in the bag she’d brought with her. “It’s called a bikini,” she said, “and I had my suspicions you may like it.”

“Is this the customary attire for women of this realm when bathing?”

She shrugged. “For some. Others like a one-piece suit, or some combination of the two. Have I shocked you, Hook? I never would have taken Captain Hook for a prude.”

He scoffed, before looking her slowly up and down in a way that brought the heat to her cheeks. “A prude I am not. I’m just not accustomed to seeing a woman in this state of undress outside of the bedchamber.”

“So my question remains,” she said, leaning toward him. “Like what you see?”

He groaned again. “Gods, yes.”

Henry took that moment to reappear. Probably for the best. The thoughts Killian was having were hardly conducive to a public place. “Hey guys, hurry up! The water’s perfect!”

“Hold on just a second before you go running off again,” Emma chided, reaching once again into her bag and pulling out a plastic bottle. “Don’t forget the sunscreen.”

Killian watched curiously as Swan opened the bottle and squirted a generous dollop of white, coconut scented cream onto her hand and then began applying it to the lad’s skin.

“What precisely is sunscreen?” he asked curiously.

“You don’t know what sunscreen is?” Henry asked with a raised eyebrow. “It keeps you from getting a sunburn.”

Killian felt his face reddening yet again. “I’ve lived a rather sheltered life, I suppose.”

Swan snorted. “A swashbuckling pirate leading a sheltered life? That’ll be the day.”

“A pirate?” Henry asked, turning to him with eager eyes. “You were a pirate?”

“Er…” he said, looking at Swan, unsure how he was meant to answer that.

“Uh–yeah,” Emma said. “Didn’t I tell you, Henry? Killian, um, well, he does this pirate reenactment show thing on a ship. That’s why he was dressed like that.”

For a woman with the ability to spot lies, she was hopeless herself at prevarication. The lad, however, did not seem to notice her falsehood. Instead, he looked eagerly back at Killian.

“A pirate? Like Captain Hook?”

Killian shot a startled look at Emma, but she just shrugged. “Aye, I suppose so.”

Henry narrowed his eyes. “You don’t look like Captain Hook. No curls or mustache or anything.”

“Perhaps,” Killian said, “the problem is that your Captain Hook doesn’t look like me.”

Henry shrugged. “Can I go back to the water now?”

Emma nodded and the lad scampered off.

“Nice save,” she murmured as soon as Henry was out of ear shot. “I need to be more careful what I say around him.”

“No harm done I suppose,” Killian said. “I find myself quite curious, though, to see a rendering of what your world believes to be Captain Hook.”

She laughed. “We have got to watch Peter Pan sometime. The look on your face when you see your Disney counterpart is going to be priceless.”

Killian raised one skeptical eyebrow. “Something tells me I’ll rather dislike what I see.”

She laughed again.

“The lad is perceptive, though,” Killian continued, going back to the main topic of conversation at hand. “He’s bound to–”

He stopped abruptly as he watched Emma squirt another generous dollop of the sunscreen onto her hand and then begin applying it to her arms, her legs, her chest, her stomach.

Was the woman trying to kill him?

“Bound to what?” she asked.

Killian cleared his throat. “Bound to notice things are amiss at some point or another.”

“Yeah,” she answered, sounding utterly unaware of what she was doing to him with her ministrations. “I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Hey, can you do my back?”

His eyebrows raised nearly to his hairline. “Do…your back?”

“Yeah,” she said, holding out the bottle to him. “I can’t reach it on my own, and I don’t want to burn.”

She…she wished him to rub lotion onto her back? She truly was trying to murder him, burn him alive with the want of her.

He must have taken too long to answer, because she turned toward him with questioning eyes–that slowly widened as she saw the look in his own eyes. “I…um…I can have Henry do it if you don’t want to.”

Killian closed his eyes and groaned. He was on fire, but what a lovely way to burn. “The wanting is not the problem,” he muttered. “But no matter. I’m fully capable of completing the task you’ve assigned me.”

As he applied the lotion, caressing her silky soft skin, moving steadily from the nape of her neck down toward her delectable arse, he began to wonder if he’d spoken the truth. The thoughts he was having were most assuredly NOT fit to be engaged in in public or in the company of a child.

He was in need of a cold and bracing shower.

“Come on guys! Aren’t you ever going to be ready?” Henry asked, running back to them once again.

Saved by the lad again!

“As it happens,” Killian said, getting to his feet, “I’m ready right now. Lead on my boy.”

What followed were several of the most enjoyable hours Killian had spent in years. He was reminded of the days of his boyhood before his mother had passed. She’d often take Liam and him down to the beach, where they’d frolic and play until the sun went down.

Killian helped Henry build a sand castle–complete with moat and drawbridge built of twigs they’d found along the shore. They swam, all three playfully splashing each other. They dined on sandwiches prepared by Granny, and they combed the beach for interesting rocks and seashells.

Finally, as afternoon turned to dusk and then night fell, it was time to return to the inn. They gathered their things and headed back to the car while Henry chattered a mile a minute about all they’d done that day.

Later, back at their rooms, Emma closed the door behind Henry and then turned back toward Killian. “Hey, thanks for joining us today,” she said, smiling happily up at him. “I think we all needed a little break from the stress of Wicked Witch hunting.”

He reached up and brushed a flyaway lock of hair behind her ear, returning her smile with a tender one of his own. “You’ve no need to thank me, love. It was my very great pleasure.”

She smiled again, looking at his eyes, and then focusing on his lips, her hands flexing at her sides. He wanted nothing in the world more at this moment than to pull her toward him and kiss her breathless–and from the way she was looking at him, it would seem she wanted the same–but Killian was determined to let her set the pace. And so he waited for her to make up her mind.

After a moment where the tension between them sizzled as hot as the pavement that day, she took a deep breath, and then stepped back. For a moment Killian felt an intense stab of disappointment, but then he schooled his features. Swan may not be ready to give herself over to her feelings for him yet, but they were there. If there was anything this day at the beach told him it was that.

He was a patient man. He could wait until she was ready to move forward.

“Well…” Emma said awkwardly after another moment. “Guess I better hit the sack. No doubt it’s only a matter of time before the next crisis hits. Need to get rested up.”

“Goodnight love.”

He watched as she disappeared into her room and then shut the door before turning to his own room across the hall. No, Killian had never been a fan of hot, summer weather, but if it was to afford him days like this, he may need to reassess his opinion.

Notes:

–Like many places in the U.S. right now, my little corner of the country is experiencing a significant heat wave right now. Some of the ladies on my OUAT Discord decided we should use that fact to our advantage–keeping in mind the fact that literally EVERYTHING can be made into a CS fic if you try hard enough. And when I think of heat waves, what comes to mind? Swimming–it may be the only outdoor activity that feels even remotely tolerable in weather like this. And with swimming involved, I could not resist introducing Killian to the modern wonder that is the bikini. I suspect Emma’s right. He’d rather like the article of attire when it’s being worn by a certain blonde savior-princess!

–But lest this fic venture into territory far more explicit than a T rated fic should, I decided to add Henry into their swimming excursion. And after all, who doesn’t love Captain Cobra and Captain Cobra Swan?

–Shout out once again to the ladies of the OUAT discord for helping me design the swim trunks David lent Killian.

#cs ff #cs fluff #cs heatwave #my fanfiction #lots of UST #but also lots of fluff #and lots of captain cobra swan

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stratagemichor · 2 years

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@rebelichor - the continuation of Fate and Chance

To recap . . .

ARIADNE , twin sister to VERGIL , has been lost at sea following a storm that struck during her travels. After receiving no word from her, and no news of her whereabouts, Vergil has decided to leave in search of her. No matter how long it takes - and no matter how far he must travel - he is determined to find his sister and bring her home .

- - -

To this end, Vergil has traveled to the small seaside town of SEACLIFF , then onwards to SALTSTONE . There, he has met with NETIRI , an unexpected but welcomed help, and her assistance has granted him passage on THE CHAINBREAKER , under the command of CAPTAIN RIKA VIRKOW . Currently, he is upon the ship, and hopes to pick up Ariadne’s trail when the ship next docks.

- - -

Meanwhile, Ariadne has found herself washed ashore on an island somewhere far from land - and, while she is unaware of it, it is one not marked on any modern maps. There, she has met a mysterious being calling themself KALAN . This being has granted Ariadne shelter. A gift shall be given upon Ariadne’s awakening.

- - - - - -

And now . . .

Another clear day.

The sun was still not quite risen. The water was cool, refreshing over bare feet as Kalan walked along the shore, hooded head turned towards the ocean. How long had it been since anyone had sailed past the island? Far longer than their memory could reach back towards... and longer still since a lone person had found their way here.

It could have been an accident. The storms had gotten worse in recent decades... but they knew better. Though the reason remained unknown, Kalan knew there had to be one . Too much of the island’s magic had faded as the warriors had gradually passed over into the next realm, the one hidden behind the mists of death and not-quite-death.

For Ariadne to have come here...

... she was a powerful young woman indeed.

Perhaps the ocean had recognised that. Even if its chosen form was long gone, or still slumbered deep beneath the surface... something within her must have resonated, and the currents had responded.

A blink of light. They breathed in deep, taking in the salt of the ocean and the crisp, fresh scents from the island’s plants. The sun began to peek over the horizon, and the sky bloomed brighter. Beautiful... The sight had never lost its beauty, not in all the years since Kalan had settled upon the island.

Ariadne would wake soon. It would be polite to provide a meal for her.

---

With that in mind, Kalan made their way back to the shelter. A fire was soon lit, some packets of salted fish opened for the pieces to cook. On the low stone table nearby sat some wooden bowls, filled with sliced fruit.

If the scents of fresh food didn’t wake Ariadne, Kalan would wake her so she could eat.

#rebelichor #⊞ | ‛ verse : wayward moonbeams ’#ch1 : by sea and sail

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tales-of-snaktooth · 2 months

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Welcome, Captain Seaside | Year 287 | Part 3

First | Prev | Next

New matriarch just dropped

#monohorn time! yahoo!#had a lot of fun with those first few panels. love gettin scribbly with it #Stone Era #Olsa Patchfern #Elass Dunecuts #The Patchcalls #Monohorn #Ehsel Shimmerface #(they're covered but still here lol)#Bugsnax #Comic #Tales of Snaktooth #Welcome Captain Seaside

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bookgeekgrrl · 1 year

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My media this week (9-15 Apr 2023)

ᵍᵘᵉˢˢ ʷʰᵃᵗ ᶦ ᵇᶦⁿᵍᵉᵈ ʸᵉˢᵗᵉʳᵈᵃʸ

📚 STUFF I READ 📚

🥰Love Exactly (darter_blue) - 64K, zimbits AU - fluffy AU with a chance meeting in a bar and instalove - fun read, like wrapping a warm blanket around yourself

😊👂‍Death Beside the Seaside (Lady Hardcastle Mysteries #6) (T.E. Kinsey, author; Elizabeth Knowelden, narrator) - Emily & Flo try to take a holiday at the seaside but there's no sea and a surprising number of internal spies. -

😍Wish Granted (ambut) - 40K, stucky no powers AU - reread of this fave D/s getting together fic

😊👂‍A Botanist's Guide to Parties and Poisons (Saffron Everleigh Mystery #1) (Kate Khavari, author; Jodie Harris, narrator) - entertaining enough cozy mystery set in 1920s British academia with the standard 'plucky & smart-but-also-foolish' amateur detective (newly minted botanist) trying to exonerate her mentor from murder charges. I enjoyed it enough that I might read another but I'm not feral for it

🥰Winter's Children (Neery) - 66K, stucky - "When their attempts to recreate the super soldier serum failed, Hydra started trying to breed Captain America clones from his genetic samples. Unfortunately, the serum's effects aren't passed down genetically, so instead of an army of tiny Captain Americas, they get a bunch of tow-headed, asthmatic, allergic, immuno-compromised little Steves. And then the Winter Soldier stumbles across Hydra's failed experiment…" - just a great fucking fic. I stayed up until 1AM to read and I am too fucking old to be doing nonsense like that, but it was totally worth it.

😍Fourth Floor (dirtybinary) - 41K, stucky modern magic AU - "The one where Steve is an angry millennial wizard, Sam is a Disney prince, Natasha is a shapeshifter, and Bucky is a spoiler."

🥰👂‍Rattling Bone (OutFoxing the Paranormal #2) (Jordan L Hawk, author; Tristan James, narrator) - another enjoyable & spooky ghost hunting adventure with the OutFoxing The Paranormal found family, this time dealing with Oscar's actual family history/trauma.

🥰You're the One That I Want (PR Zed (przed)) - 53K, stucky modern no powers AU - reread, angsty arranged-marriage-for-insurance that is so satisfying

💖💖 +203K of shorter fic so shout out to these I really loved 💖💖

toasty warm heart (wearing_tearing) - Stranger Things: steddie, 9K - TOO FUCKING CUTE AND WARM AND FLUFFY

as sunshine falls on the wretched (KivrinEngle) - The Hobbit: gen, 18K - a very sweet canon-divergent AU where bilbo adopts a lost little dwarf baby

Handy (softestpunk) - The Sandman: dreamling, 3K - ceramicist Dream lusts after handyman Hob, doesn't make his move, is sad but is saved when he meets the hot professor he's giving a guest lecture for - short and sweet!

the game is on again (ReinventAndBelieve) - The Witcher: Geralt/Jaskier/Eskel, 7K - hot and tender af!

📺 STUFF I WATCHED 📺

Dirty Laundry - s2, e5-7

Ted Lasso - s3, e5 [x2]

The Brokenwood Mysteries - s9, e1

Uncommon Comfort Reads with Malka Older, Martha Wells, KJ Charles, and T Kingfisher - super fun panel

Schmigadoon! - s1, e1-6

Schmigadoon! (Schmicago!) - s2, e1

🎧 PODCASTS 🎧

99% Invisible #316 - The Shipping Forecast

The Sporkful - Bill Nye, The FOOD Science Guy!

Big Gay Fiction Podcast - A Trip to the Ballpark with KD Casey

The Atlas Obscura Podcast - Places Our Families Took Us

The Atlas Obscura Podcast - Ashley House

The Atlas Obscura Podcast - Fairy Circles

Vibe Check - A Satisfied Geriatric Millennial

99% Invisible #532 - For a Dollar and a Dream

⭐The Atlas Obscura Podcast - Fun and Funny Science with Mary Roach

Off Menu - Ep 187: Lily Allen

Into It - Are We Into Taylor Swift's Breakup, Lofi Girl, and a Baby Shark Podcast? {worth a listen to hear whatshisname Alwyn described as 'sentient mayo'}

You're Dead To Me - Al Andalus

ICYMI Plus - Meet the Internet’s Princess

Welcome to Night Vale #226 - Creditors

⭐Hit Parade Plus - The British Are Charting Edition

🎶 MUSIC 🎶

CREDITS: Burt Bacharach

AM In The A.M.: '70s Pop Morning

Classic Sunny Afternoon

Best Of '81 To '85 [Ratt]

Essential Glam Rock

Ratt radio

"Summertime Girls" [Y&T] radio

The Fixx radio

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diningwiththeasquiths · 1 year

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Krilver ficlet (CK era), watersports Been wanting to write something watersports-themed for this fandom for ages now, and today I finally wrote it, yay!

It's early morning and there are two urges rising inside of Terry. These days, the urge to do a bump of coke is not among them. No, he longs for freshly brewed coffee on his seaside terrace. The other urge is slightly more urgent; a pressure in his bladder.

The only problem is John, currently straddling his thighs, apparently fully recovered from their activities last night and ready to start another round. He has yet to lose that great stamina of his.

"One moment, I have to use the bathroom, I'll be right back."

But John doesn't budge. Instead, he places a wide hand right on top of Terry's bladder. Not pressing down, but the threat is certainly there.

"You need to piss, huh?"

Terry narrows his eyes, calculating. It's been ages that John has been able to surprise him like this, unpredictable even to him. It makes him feel slightly out of balance, even though he's lying on his back.

"Yes. It'll only take a minute."

Part of him is annoyed at having to ask permission. He's in his seventies for christ's sake. Then again, in one way or another, John will always be his Captain, whether he likes it or not. It used to be a relief to follow orders, then it became a rush. Nowadays it feels like putting on an attire that suits his body perfectly, but of which he doesn't like the color.

"Why don't you go right here."

It's not framed as a question, and the hand on his full bladder has begun pressing down.

John can't be serious. (Sometimes he does like to see just how far he can push him, how far Terry's loyalty goes. It's only recently begun to feel like a test instead of yet another way of showing John his utter devotion.)

Terry snorts. "Very funny."

"Does it look like I'm joking?"

He searches John's time-worn face, eyebrows knitting together at what he finds there. The pressure on his bladder becomes painful.

"I can't go here," he protests.

"What, like you can't afford to buy a new mattress?"

They hold eye contact for several long seconds. Then, Terry wills himself to urinate. It takes him a couple of seconds more, partly because of his age but mostly because it's very strange to do it lying down in bed while your partner of more than 45 years still has his hand on your lower abdomen.

Eventually he relaxes enough to soak his silk pajama bottoms and the bed below in warm urine. The smell of it hits him right as John says, "Jesus, you actually did it."

"You told me to!" Terry snaps back, both embarrassed and indignant.

John doesn't reply, but his hand is already dipping lower, groping Terry through the wet fabric. Terry's breath hitches. He grows hard under John's rough, frenzied touches. The silk sticks to his skin. When he writhes he can feel how sopping wet the mattress is. Their bedroom smells like a truck stop toilet.

Things get frantic from there. John yanks down his pajama pants and pushes his legs apart. Since John always sleeps in the buff and Terry is still slightly wet and loose from hours before, the only thing he has to do then is slide home into Terry's welcoming body.

The rhythm he starts makes squelchy sounds, coming from the bed below them. He fucks Terry fast and eager, panting into Terry neck. Terry holds him tight, barely able to keep his eyes open as pleasure courses through him. John might not get as hard as he used to but he's still got moves.

The pleasure inside of him is building steadily, making his usually sharp mind go hazy. He doesn't realize what's about to happen until right before it does. Which is coming untouched between them for the first time since their early twenties. It takes them both by surprise. The waves of it are still hitting him when he feels John groan something into the crook of his neck. By the way his body tenses and his thrusts become erratic, he can tell that John has reached his own climax.

John sags down on top of him and they take a moment to catch their breath. When he softens and slips out of him, Terry allows the trickle of come that follows to drip down onto the already ruined bed.

Lying in his own filth suddenly and quickly loses its appeal, but he doesn't want to move just yet. And John was right, he'll have a new mattress delivered before the day is over. And, he decides, another mattress for one of the other bedrooms. A waterproof one.

#I wasn't kidding when I said 'happy w@tersports weekend' in the tags of my prev reblog 😂#I added a 'read more' just in case #krilver #cobra husbands #evil karate husbands #dining writes

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claudia1829things · 2 years

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"THE A.B.C. MURDERS" (1992) Review

"THE A.B.C. MURDERS" (1992) Review As I had pointed out in my REVIEW of the 2018 adaptation of "THE A.B.C. MURDERS", the 1936 book upon which it is based is one of my favorites written by Agatha Christie. And as I had pointed out, there have been at least four adaptations. In this review, I have decided to focus on the 1992 television adaptation from the "AGATHA CHRISTIE'S POIROT" series.

Starring David Suchet as the Belgian-born detective, Hercule Poirot, "THE A.B.C. MURDERS" begin with Poirot welcoming his old friend Captain Arthur Hastings, who has traveled from his Argentina ranch for a visit to Britain. Poirot reveals a letter he had recently received from a possible serial killer named "A.B.C.", who declares his or her intention to murder a citizen of Andover, whose name starts with an "A". Following the death of one Alice Ascher in Andover, Chief Inspector Japp and Scotland Yard becomes involved when Poirot receives a second letter from the killer, who needles the detective with his/her intent to kill a second victim in a seaside town called Bexhill-on-the-Sea. After the murderer kills a third victim, an elderly millionaire from Churston; Poirot recruits the victims' relations and loved ones to assist him and Hastings in the hunt for the killer. And unbeknownst to Poirot and the police, a non-descript, middle-aged stockings salesman named Alexander Bonaparte Cust found himself present at the locations of each victim. As much as I liked the 2018 adaptation of Christie's 1936 novel, I must admit that I prefer this version over it. Unlike the former, this television movie managed to adhere a lot closer to Christie's novel. Unlike many, I would not consider the latter as a requisite for a good adaptation. I can think of a few first-rate Christie adaptations that were not that faithful to the original source. But in the case of "THE A.B.C. MURDERS", I believe Clive Exton was wise to be as faithful as possible to Christie's 1936 novel. Why? I believe it is one of her best creations and it is a personal favorite of mine. It seemed very rare for mystery writers - especially those like Christie - to create a story about a possible serial killer. The only other time I can recall Christie creating something similar was her 1939 novel, "AND THEN THERE WERE NONE". Another aspect of this story that I enjoyed was the sense of urgency in Poirot and the police's hunt for "ABC" after the second murder had been committed. This was especially apparent in Exton and director Andrew Grieve's use of fast-paced moments of newspaper headlines, newsreel narrations and close-up shots of A.B.C. railway guides. And thanks to Grieves' direction, along with performances by David Suchet and Donald Sumpter, the television movie included an excellent scene that featured Poirot's interview with the arrested Cust. Although "THE A.B.C. MURDERS" is a favorite of mine, it is not perfect. Once again, the series brought in Scotland Yard's Chief Inspector Japp to serve as the main police investigator in this story. I have always enjoyed Poirot and Hastings' interactions with Japp, but I do get weary of the series using Japp as the main police investigator in nearly every episode or television movie. Especially since none of the murders in this story were committed within Scotland Yard's jurisdiction. Arthur Hastings appeared in the form of two problems for me. One, I was not a fan of the running joke involving the dead Amazon Cayman that Hastings had shot and brought with him from South America. I did not find it funny or amusing. And two - as much as I have enjoyed Hugh Fraser's performances as Hastings over the years, I found Exeter's portrayal of him as this idiot rather excessive. Although I consider this adaptation superior to the 2018 miniseries, I must admit that the latter seemed to more style and punch in its production. This movie's first half had style. But after the fourth victim, I had to struggle to stay awake, due to the second half's more plodding style . . . at least until Poirot's revelation of the killer. I have a complaint about the casting, but I will bring it up later. But I do have one last complaint. The movie featured one of those scenes in which involved the police chasing the murderer after Poirot exposes the latter. God, I hate them. The "AGATHA CHRISTIE'S MISS MARPLE" with Joan Hickson was the first to utilize this trope. And unfortunately, "AGATHA CHRISTIE'S POIROT" continued it every now and then. The performances in "THE A.B.C. MURDERS" struck me as first-rate. David Suchet gave his usual fine performance as the Belgian-born private detective, Hercule Poirot. As stated earlier, I was especially impressed by his performance in a scene in which Poirot interviews the major suspect. Although I had an issue of how Captain Arthur Hastings was written for this TV movie, I cannot deny that actor Hugh Fraser gave his usual excellent performance as Poirot's companion and best friend. Philip Jackson was excellent as usual as the tart-tongued Chief Inspector Japp. There were two other performances that stood out for me. One came from Pippa Guard, who gave an excellent performance as Megan Barnard, the blunt and tart-tongued sister of the second victim, Betty Barnard. But the one stand-out performance came from Donald Sumpter, who portrayed the stocking salesman, Alexander Bonaparte Cust. Sumpter did a superb job in making such a non-descript personality so interesting and slightly creepy. The rest of the cast provided first-rate support - including Nicholas Farrell, Cathryn Bradshaw, Nina Marc, David McAlister, Ann Windsor, Peter Penry-Jones, Vivienne Burgess and Donald Douglas. Speaking of the latter - he had been cast as Franklin Clarke, the younger brother of the killer's third victim, Sir Carmichael Clarke. I have been aware of Douglas ever since I was a kid and have always regarded him as a first-rate actor. But I believe he had been miscast as Franklin Clarke, who had been described as a handsome, charming and charismatic man in his early-to-mid 40s. Although attractive, Douglas had been in his late 50s when he portrayed Franklin. Also, he seemed to come across more like some hale and hearty Englishman than what Christie had described the character in her novel. I have no problems with the television movie's production values. In all honestly, I would rate the movie's production as solid. There was nothing mind boggling about it. Rob Harris' re-creation of London and other parts of Great Britain struck me as solid. Only his discovery of the De La Warr Pavilion in Essex struck me as a godsend. I found Christopher Gunning's score solid, but not memorable, along with Peter Wenham's art direction. However, I must admit that Carlotta Barrow's set decorations; especially in scenes that featured Alice Ascher's store, the De La Warr Pavilion, Cust's apartment and various hotel rooms, and Poirot's own apartment; struck me as above par and worthy of notice. But I have to give kudos to Barbara Kronig, whom I believe did a superb job of re-creating the 1936 fashions for characters from various backgrounds and personalities. Anyone with common sense would know or realize there is no such thing as a perfect movie or television production. This certainly applies to "THE A.B.C. MURDERS", the 1992 television adaptation to Agatha Christie's1936 novel. The pacing for the movie's second half had threatened to bog down during a small period of time. The joke surrounding Arthur Hastings' dead cayman had become tiresome and never-ending. And I believe one of the characters had been miscast. However, these flaws seemed trifling in compared to the movie's virtues. The cast led by David Suchet struck me as first-rate. Most of the television movie possessed an energy and style, thanks to Andrew Grieve's direction. And screenwriter Clive Exton had written a first-rate adaptation. I believe he did this after recognizing the excellent quality of the source material. "THE A.B.C. MURDERS" is one Agatha Christie novel I will enjoy for years to come.

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queenfisher1 · 1 year

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A Flower's Beauty

Here's the fifth prompt of @writeblrfantasy's 12 days of writer's self love. Still a day late like last time. For this really short story, Captain Fisher is not going to be featured. This is going to focus on a previous character I added for the fourth prompt and her love relationship with another character, Simon. As I said, she is a very special character.

The cool breeze flowed in her brunette hair as the sun set on the horizon, welcoming the twilight. Waves of light that reflected off the shore mirrored into her golden brown eyes. Thoughts of pure melodies and harmonies created a soothing symphony in her mind. Who knew a world could be so small compared to entire multitudes of alternate universes? Could a rose be more magnificent if it had many unique petals of different colors and shapes? Worlds that connect to more fascinating beauties that are unforetold. Timelines branch off another with no form, creating a tree full of wonder and curiosity. So many possibilities that never end, too many to count. From grass in the wind to leaves on a tree, the multiverse grew diversely every moment, living every second. It was a unique and exotic rose garden that continued forever, from lush forests to hot deserts.

Seagulls flew overhead, swiftly gliding toward the edge of the world. The ocean flowed like a ribbon in the wind. The grass rustled and tore underneath the steps of a hefty and ominous beast. The air around became comforting to the soul and welcoming to the heart. A gentle claw pushed her hair back, revealing her gorgeous smile. She could feel their soft embrace envelop her torso.

“Hello, Simon,” she carelessly whispered. They took in a deep purring breath before giving out a great sigh. She quietly giggled as she looked at the fluffy canine’s face.

“What do you think you’re doing out here, alone on the seaside cliff?” he softly growled. He snuggled his fluffy mane against the top of her head.

“Sightseeing,” she responded.

“Here?” he sounded surprised. “There’s only ocean blue and dumb birds.”

“Dumb birds, huh,” she playfully frowned.

“Well, I mean,” he stuttered. “Those birds are just, well, not as pretty as you.”

“Really?” she smiled. “Are you saying I’m your little angel?”

“Well, you don’t have wings, but yes,” he sighed in relief. They began to laugh at each other, smiling ear to ear. A gust of wind flowed around them as their laughter grew to silence. Ocean waves crashed against the cliff wall, creating a calm ambiance of nature. “I got you something.”

“What is it?” she stroked the fur on his arm. He gently grabbed her hand and placed a little blue rose in her hand. It was almost unreal. Its radiant color mystified her soul. “Where did you get this?”

“Found it in an enchanted forest,” he combed her hair with his claws. The stem’s dark evergreen shade was a shadow compared to the bright flower. “It was oddly in the middle of a patch of red roses. An oddball.”

“Heh,” she spun it around, observing it from all angles. “You know, I think I love it.”

“Really?” he perked.

“Out of all the places I could’ve gone, I’m glad I ended up here,” she smiled, holding the rose close to her chest. He joyfully grinned, embracing Aspen’s arms. Just as long as he doesn’t find out I’m not human, our relationship will never falter, she thought to herself.

#My precious character #writeblrfantasy #12 days of writers self love #12daysofwritersselflove #writing prompt #love relationship #a dark secret to be yet revealed #the multiverse #alternate universes #story prompt #prompts #my writing #my characters #my ocs are my babies

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eleinwrites · 1 month

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Wild as the Wind

2500-word Short Story writing challenge genre: fantasy subject: domestication character: a sea captain

Summary: Sailors domesticated the winds thousands of years ago and culture has developed around the use of domesticated winds, leaving the sea and its community behind. Now a sea captain must transport refugees away from an oppressive society that has forgotten where it came from.

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“I can see why he stays on a ship!”

“You’ve got a face like a fish!”

The mocking laughter had a dangerous edge.

The voices were carried directly to the captain’s ear by a pet breeze that smelled like an arid city center, distinct from the rich humid air of the lowland bar.

The captain of the The Bloodline let the breeze circle around him unhindered. "Eh, the ladies of the ports aren't relying on pretty boys to keep them in pearls."

The deep sea pearls were a point of contention: highly valued by the city elite, they were more often worn as trinkets by sailors and sea folk. Sailors didn't make a lot of money, but they often came into port with treasures of their own, directly from the sea -- pearls, and shells, and scavenging from old shipwrecks or windfalls.

"Ladies, he calls them! Ha!"

"Speaking of pretty boys,” the captain drawled, “What's a group of city lads doing down here at a port?"

“Certainly not paying for someone to ignore my face!”

“No, I don’t imagine you are.” It wasn’t their faces that all the locals would be trying to ignore.

“A drink for you, Captain,” the bartender offered both a drink and a break in the tension. She’d been tending this bar for years, but her willowy figure revealed she had come from city stock herself. The litheness of a native city dweller stood out in this town.

The captain had a good amount of fat over his muscles, insulating him from both damage and cold, as did most people who successfully lived with the sea. Runaways who either wanted adventure or to just to get away from the upper echelons of society weren't always welcomed kindly, but were generally politely ignored. These men, just boys really, were clearly city folk with the sharp thinness to them that looked a bit sickly to the people of the sea. They lounged at their table with an arrogant entitlement that had the locals eyeing them warily like the threats they were.

Boys like these weren’t trying to fit in; they wanted to show off to each other, already convinced that no locals deserved respect and psyching themselves up for violence.

The captain didn’t need them to say why they were here, these boys who liked to show off what they had and forget what they came from. He had still hoped they’d prove him wrong.

It was sailors who first domesticated the wild winds to fill the sails of their boats. That oldest breed of wind still ran true, in continuous use for thousands of years, but their prominence had diminished over the centuries. Now there were hundreds of strains of domesticated winds, from a soldier’s tiny air bullets, to zeppelins with their massive airstreams. Every citizen of the upper echelons had a personal gust for travel and every child had a breeze or two to play with.

The skies were thoroughly domesticated. Cities grew up cliffs and into towering monoliths piercing the sky ever higher. Sails took to the air rather than the sea, and only the old, traditional, and poor continued to live with the sea. Rich societies prided themselves on their kites and their airships, and didn’t acknowledge the folk who still lived with the sea.

The seaside communities were the dregs of society across all the principalities, that the wealthy didn’t like to think about and often wished would just... go away… somehow. For the most part, the central societies in their heights left the sea folk alone to live and die without notice beyond collecting taxes and preventing excessive smuggling. Occasionally, though, a principality tried to actively clear them out. Sometimes that involved forcefully relocating seaside communities into the lower levels of a cliff-side city and indoctrinating them in what the city dwellers considered civilized. Other times it meant sending in armies and tossing their bodies into the sea. Among the sea folk, it was debated which fate was the kinder one.

Any individual city boy could be quietly killed in a back alley, tripped into the water, and made to disappear. With so little padding, the sea wouldn’t even have to work to suck the heat from their bones. But the presence of city dwellers in bold groups such as this forewarned of policy changes coming, and those rarely bode well.

The captain had planned to stay for longer on shore, but plans change as circumstances change. He told the barkeep, “I’ll be departing tomorrow morning at high tide. Can you spread the word to anyone interested in a crew position or passage?”

The Bloodline wasn’t a passenger ship, but when there was a clean-up planned in one principality, the locals knew to shift as they could to another for the duration. Every ship captain took on refugees when and where they could, and called them passengers to avoid instigating the massacres just waiting to happen.

The barkeep looked tired. She’d lived through a clean-up before. “I don’t need to spread the word, you’ll be full up with people already here.”

A quick glance around confirmed the interest. A few were sending their own breezes out to call in family and friends. The Bloodline was a well-known regular. They mostly carried correspondence and small cargo from the fringe of one principality to the fringe of another, the sea folk of each more of a community with each other than with their central societies.

“You just announce that you’re smuggling people?” The voice was as sharp and refined as the others, but older and coming from a man in the uniform of a port inspector. He’d been hidden away behind the younger group, keeping an eye on them maybe. Or maybe looking for an opportunity to crack down.

“Nay, I have my papers in order. We’re anchored at port, all proper like.”

“The port doesn’t allow immigration.”

“I don’t take on immigrants. We’re a small ship. Only has space for family members, does The Bloodline.”

There was a ripple of nervous smothered amusement in the rest of the crowd, for all that they were trying to stay quiet.

“Hmm, all these men looking to join you, none of whom you greeted personally, they’re all family, are they?”

“They surely are.”

The Bloodline was a small ship with just a handful of crew who regularly rotated from the dregs of even sea-faring society: people who loved the sea more than their own lives, and who didn’t turn away the instant they saw the small ship for such a vast sea.

Too small to be either pirates or pirate-bait, they didn’t get much attention from the official customs agents as long as they had their paperwork in order and the agents weren’t particularly bored. Their purpose wasn’t to make money to retire in comfort on land later, but simply to keep sailing. The ship had been making the runs across the sea for generations with a constantly rotating crew and impeccable records. The crew rosters of The Bloodline were the closest thing to a family tree many of the people had.

One prospective passenger came forward, brave in order to reserve her spot on the small ship. “My daddy came to port on this ship, so I might as well take it out again and see where I get.”

Another passenger, not to be outdone, said, “My father was named after this ship, because it was all my grandfather talked about before he sailed away again.”

And another, “Not all of us are sailors in my family, but we all take a voyage on The Bloodline.”

An old man, just entering the bar with the help of a handful of relatives all carrying bags, said, “I came into this world on that ship and I’ll leave this world on that ship.”

The barkeep had been right. People were ready to leave this town. The inspector watched the gathering crowd with calculating eyes. If violence broke out now, he couldn’t assume that his city lads would dominate. The tension in the bar had already been high. Things could get very ugly, very quickly.

“If that answers your question,” the captain addressed the inspector, “then I’ll go get my family situated before our departure.”

“You surely do have a large family,” the inspector observed. “For a man with your face.” They stared at each other for a bit, waiting to see if this would become a fight. But not yet. “You can go.”

The captain nodded a goodbye, collected his new passengers and led them back to the dock. They were all experienced sailors or from sailing families, and none of them wanted to delay the departure: they arranged themselves below deck quickly.

In the dark pre-dawn of the following day, the inspector personally boarded The Bloodline to inspect the cargo and review the paperwork, before stamping his approval and allowing them to depart.

The Bloodline set sail on the high tide, with strong winds, the deck packed with people praying for safety.

They cut cleanly through the waves and over the swells, away from people who looked at a man but saw a fish. Hope rose with the sun.

The attack was not unexpected.

It was an ambush in slow motion.

They were just out of sight of the land, with no chance of witnesses on shore, when the military formation appeared on the horizon.

The Bloodline’s winds were good and steady and had been with the ship for decades. They’d kept the ship safe and moving across thousands of miles, and had learned more than a few tricks in that time. But they couldn’t make an old sailing ship outpace high-flying kites on military gusts.

Still it took time for even the fastest kite to get that far and the captain and crew tried to race and the winds gave it their all. The passengers could only watch as the formation glided ever closer through the clear sunny sky, a formation of kites carrying soldiers tasked with “cleaning up” a population that didn’t fit in with the current social powers.

“Why are you wasting your time with us?” one passenger shouted, sending his words on a breeze towards the soldiers. The breeze was stilled before it could deliver its words.

The soldiers didn’t want to hear any words from the passengers. Nor any screams.

The captain had navigated them away from the main skyways, so the soldiers had to rely on their gusts rather than an established airstream. The soldiers had only so much time before their winds lost the stamina to return them to safety. This couldn’t be a sustained attack.

But the soldiers knew what they were doing. A squall dispersed The Bloodline’s winds, and a whirlwind created a perimeter. They didn’t bother to attack the people. They attacked the ship itself.

A specialized twister snapped the masts like twigs, bring them down with a crash that shook the entire ship.

The passengers screamed, but the sound was eerily muffled by the whirlwind.

One sail now covered the deck while another dragged in the water.

Focused blasts punched holes through the hull and set the ship to rocking wildly and the passengers trapped under the downed sail moaned in fear.

The captain could only watch it happen, gripping the railing tight. Wind couldn’t breach water, so there would be little immediate damage below the waterline, but the integrity of the hull was weakened and the rocking meant water flowing in. The damage would cascade.

The inspector had checked the cargo to ensure they had only trade items that might turn a profit, but no material to fix this type of damage.

The Bloodline’s Eastern wind, which had been with the ship for longer than the captain, broke through the whirlwind and swallowed a military gust whole, throwing its soldier into the water. It was far too late to save the ship, but it forced the soldiers to retreat.

The soldiers couldn’t save their compatriot or even spend time searching. Though one of them wasted a small breeze just to send a snarled “Damn fish!” back towards The Bloodline as they departed.

The Bloodline was left to founder and sink.

The crew and passengers struggled to get themselves disentangled from the fallen sails as the soldiers glided back towards the horizon, leaving just as slowly and gracefully as they had arrived.

Once the soldiers were out of sight the captain whistled in his winds and checked them for any damage, before directing the crew to lower him in a lifeboat.

City dwellers with ponds and streams thought they understood the sea. Those sent to manage the port population sneered at the sea. They refused to remember or learn that the sea was a world deeper than the sky and with less light to reveal its secrets.

The captain hoped he had steered them to the right place in their mad race before the attack. The moment of truth came when he leaned over the side of the lifeboat, looking into the depths to see if anyone was looking back.

He gave a great sigh of relief.

A face mirrored his own.

The people of the deep looked as much like the sea folk of the shore as the sea folk of the shore looked like the city dwellers. Maybe not attractive to his taste, but people like any other.

The captain reached a hand down into the churning waters and grasped the web hand that reached up to meet his. He pulled with a grunt and lifted the person out of the water and into the lifeboat. He was a large pale man, without clothes but well-insulated in fat, who coughed once, then said, “I suspect you’re interested in more than pearls this time.”

“I’m hoping for a mast, if you have one,” the captain said. “And patches for the hull as well. Our trade goods are the usual.”

“I’ve sent some folk to collect extra masts, but they won’t be good quality. You’ll still get some pearls to make up the difference.”

“As long as they let us reach a safe port.”

“You surely will. The Bloodline won’t be sinking today.”

“I appreciate it.”

“We’re family, for all the folk in the depths don’t care to recognize an airy person like yourself,” the sea trader said.

The captain shrugged and nodded. He was as welcome in the depths as he was in the heights of the cities. Just like the sailing winds, sailors had bred true for thousands of years, but their prestige diminished.

“I like my winds. They’re good sturdy winds who have served me well.”

“Hmm, the other wind folk don’t seem to like you much right now.”

The captain shrugged again. It was certainly true, but, “They forget where they come from. They like to talk about how we domesticated the winds, from the great to the small. They like to forget that it’s the sea that domesticated us.”

#nyc midnight #writing challenge #2024 writing challenge #original fiction #fantasy

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sydorax-squid · 7 months

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The Whale Skin

Rumors about the horror had circulated in my little English seaside town for centuries. Tales of the Hollow Whale had terrified children for as long as my town stood. Old men often claimed to have seen the thing late at night, pale and glistening in the moonlight, the bumpy surface writhing with undead life. But I have truly seen it, seen it clearly, and the memory is a stain upon my life.

As my grandpa told it, the Hollow Whale came from a depth so dark and unknown that God himself couldn’t see the bottom. There the whale waits and feeds on little squirming dark things, lazily drifting through the blackness until it hears a certain cry; the cry of dying men. Grandma would always shush him around this part and grandpa would always tell her to mind herself, that I needed to know what lies below the bows of boats. Grandpa then told me that the Hollow Whale sang. It sang to other whales, heard the sad stories of what men did to them, heard their mourning. The Hollow Whale hates mankind and pursues us, devouring all those unlucky enough to find themselves in the open ocean at night without a boat.

But, my grandpa would say, sometimes the Hollow Whale would swallow whole boats, especially whaling ships. He said that when people disappear in the ocean, they were damned for all eternity to be a part of the Whale. At this point my grandma would tell him to stop filling my mind with scary notions of undead beings because then I’d never go to sleep. I was a notoriously grumpy morning person.

Those were just old stories, things people passed around the fire on cool autumn nights. The Hollow Whale was nothing but legend, old superstitions that migrated to the modern era. That’s what I always told myself, at least. My fear of the Hollow Whale diminished as I got older and spent more time out on the open ocean. I come from a long line of fishermen, so I’ve always been intrigued by, drawn to the sea. However, my inclination was more towards the scientific, so I endeavored to broaden my horizons. I couldn’t afford college, so I instead took up work as a deckhand for an oceanic scientific expedition in an attempt to learn and forge some connections in the community. My first dozen or so excursions proved exceedingly fruitful so I had no reason to feel trepidation for this most recent venture.

My captain, James Dalton, had welcomed a group of marine biologists from Maryland aboard for a three-day run out into the open ocean to study monkfish. Nothing too difficult, except for appeasing the Americans’ fickle palates.

The first day and night were met with failure, but at the beginning of the second day, the biologists deployed a device that they claimed would call the monkfish to us. Captain Dalton agreed but insisted that they turn the device off by sundown. I don’t know if they simply ignored my captain’s request or if the device was left on by fateful accident, but I know the devastation this action incurred.

I awoke just before dawn; excited conversation and hurried footsteps lured my weary body up to the main deck. The biologists were crowded around the side of the boat that had housed the siren device, chattering and pointing excitedly at something in the water. I shuffled over to find a squirming black mass of thousands of devil-fish, many much larger than any I had ever seen of the species in question. Some were upside-down, their circular mouths and inward-facing teeth glinting in the new light. I saw the siren device on the floor, dripping wet and freshly retrieved. Captain Dalton had seen it, too, and his surly face went pale.

An argument erupted between the biologists, but my eyes were on the captain. He was staring off at the ocean, just below the horizon. I turned to follow his gaze and I found what had captured his attention. There was a pale silhouette in the water, approaching our boat silently, swiftly. The enormity of the creature was startling; larger than any submarine I’d ever seen (and I’d seen a few). My blood turned to icy slush as the monstrosity neared, it’s girth filling the ocean as far as my eyes could perceive. I could hear the biologists talking, sounding disappointed that the monkfish had dispersed but also intrigued by the strange texture now below the water’s surface.

I stepped to the side and leaned my body over the railing of the boat. I cannot say just what possessed me to do so. Beneath the gently lapping waves I could see a terrible mass slowly drifting beneath us. I could see what appeared to be a kind of rocky terrain, knotted roots of stone eroded by nature to form crude and jagged canyons and pits and hills. The more I stared at it, the more the formation looked like human bodies carved into a cliff-face. For some reason the artist had chosen to depict their subjects in excruciating pain, mouths agape in silent screams of endless agony. My stomach churned at the frightening realism of the images I was seeing.

Captain Dalton touched my shoulder, pulling me away from torturous images my mind was projecting on the thing beneath the water. He whispered to me, so low that I could barely hear, “No matter what, don’t scream.” I nodded.

Then it surfaced. The monstrosity that had been loitering beneath us suddenly lurched up, hitting the bottom of the boat so hard it threw everyone down onto the deck. We all scrambled to our feet, biologists and seamen alike, and we each dashed to the railings to see what had happened.

I so often wish that I hadn’t looked.

I stared directly into the pale, undead face of a man, a human man, who stared back at me, his mouth agape in a silent, eternal scream. My eyes darted away only to be met by another human face arranged in a similar way, but a part of this man’s face was slipping—no, merging into whatever was below it. I tried to look away again but found that the ocean was gone, replaced with a hellish orgy of bloated, half-dead bodies, all fused together at some point or another but still separate enough to writhe and squirm in ceaseless pain. The bodies looked almost layered, as if more horrifying and grotesque souls dwelled beyond what our eyes could see. Here and there an arm clutched frantically at the air, a leg kicked aimlessly. The bodies were everywhere, seemingly stretched to the distant horizon. And the faces, the faces of the people! They begged for help, pleaded for release, cursed our autonomy and mourned our fates. Suddenly homeless fish flopped around on the surface of the flesh desert, helpless to return to their world. I think my fellow humans realized that they were as helpless as those fish because they began screaming. I very nearly joined them but a glance at my captain steadied my shattered nerves.

The moment the screaming started, the horror began to move, tilting itself to roll our boat and our people into the ocean, into it’s thousands of grasping hands. I held onto the railing for dear life, managing to sustain one rotation of the boat, but not another. I fell into the writhing mass of undead flesh, felt hands grasping and teeth gnashing as I tumbled, finally landing in the sweet embrace of the cool brine.

The saltwater stung my eyes and I felt a huge motion in the water around me, something akin to a tempestuous wave, tossing me further along towards sickness. I managed to surface for a moment, long enough to snatch a single breath before I was overtaken by the sea.

I looked around below the waves and saw a fresh angle on the nightmare that had beset me this day. I believe it to have been the front of the creature, though I am merely guessing. It was enormous, but triangle-shaped with a broad, flat top and then two sides that tapered down to a rounded point. The four fins were smaller than I would have suspected, more reminiscent of the paw-like fins of a seal. They appeared to be more for the use of steering than for paddling. The front of the creature was also tapered to a rounded point, however, much to my everlasting horror, that tip cracked open and split like the mouth of a snake; the bottom jaw widening and spreading open as if it were a blanket being unfolded by two uncoordinated people. This made the maw of the beast so large that it obscured almost the rest of it’s unfathomably enormous body! I nearly fainted right then if it weren’t for Captain Dalton pulling me above the water. We felt the rush of movement in the ocean, the waves throwing us clean past the capsized boat. When I opened my eyes below water again, I saw the beast from behind, observing a long, cetacean tail that ended in a shape reminiscent of a Spanish fan.

The creature turned as if to look at us, but I saw no eyes. Not the kind eyes of a whale, not the inquisitive eyes of a dolphin, not even the haunting eyes of a hungry shark. It hovered there, alone in a universe of horrors. Captain Dalton and I risked surfacing, breathing as quietly as possible. When we were submerged once again by the tide, it was there, right in our faces; the beast had caused the tide! It was all I could do to not scream as a group of familiar American faces stared back at me, open-mouthed and agonized.

I will admit, my bravery faltered, my mind seized up and shut down at the overwhelming fear. I have no recollection of what happened after; my memory returns on the rocky shores of an English beach, a hundred miles away from where I last remembered being.

I’ve never been so happy to see foggy hills and jagged cliffs. Poor Captain Dalton, he was found a few weeks later in Italy. He had washed up around the same time as me, but he didn’t speak any Italian so it took awhile for people to realize what was wrong with him. I asked him what happened once he finally came home and he claimed not to remember, either. But something in his eyes suggested that he remembered a terrible, unspeakable truth. I’ll honor my Captain and let him take that truth to the grave.

As for me, I said nothing of the Hollow Whale to the police or anyone else, instead insisting it was a terrible and sudden storm that swallowed our boat and the American biologists. I doubt my own sanity and I fear the truth as I perceive it may land me in an asylum. I cannot remain by the water’s edge; I must move away from home to escape the memory, even though in my heart, I know I’ll never forget the deep, unknowable horror I have glimpsed out there on the open ocean, lurking and listening beyond our sight.

#short story #horror #eldritch #ocean #whale monster #body horror

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