#also never noticed how long margaret's nails are

[comrade-pierce]

#mash #m*a*s*h #mash 4077 #alan alda #hawkeye pierce #margaret houlihan #loretta swit #this episode is too much #alan looks so sweet lol #also never noticed how long margaret's nails are???? girl how are you a nurse #s6 #s6e12 #mine #mine: gifs

[zealous-whispers-of-us-redux]

a different kind of song

(A/N: no one ever asked for this, but there isn't enough merman!Bucky/reader fics out there, lol. Also, her song is basically "Siren Song" by Margaret Atwood)

Warning- allusions to sexual assault. Do NOT read if that bothers you!

Summary: The sea swallowed her whole, and she was reborn with saltwater on her tongue and webs between her fingers.

🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

She did not remember her life as a human. All she remembered was the war, and the hunger, and the men raiding her village. She remembered the sweat-soaked skin of a warrior snatching her up as she cried out for help. She felt the slide of his body, his blade against her throat. Then when he had finished, she remembered being thrown away into the deepest part of the sea, left to die. But she was blessed by the primordial sea god Phorcys, a child of Artemis, and was allowed to live again. Her new body was formed from misery and blood, and the reward for her suffering was eternal life with the chance to kill as many humans as she wished with no divine interference. The killing of human men, for men were the chosen victims of any siren. Women were not drawn in by their song, and if, by chance, a woman stumbled across a siren, that siren would leave her alone.

Slowly, she began to forget the trappings of humanity, the sound of her mother's voice, and the taste of human food. She aged with the world, hidden deep beneath the waves. Countless men fell prey to her beautiful song, and she learned how to kill quickly. She grew to love the taste of flesh, the sound of someone drowning. She forgot what it was like to be lonely. 

Now, she only knew starvation.

An all-encompassing hunger clawing at her belly made her whine with pain. Humans had avoided this part of the sea for a few years, and she last ate three months ago. She'd had to survive solely on fish, which, while technically food, were not filling nor even tasty. She was beginning to hate fish.

There were no boats; she checked three times in the past hour. It was dangerous for her to be so close to the surface because the air outside was toxic. There was also a very likely chance that she would be spotted by anyone who could harm her. But she was so hungry that she forgot herself. She floated just beneath the surface and sang, letting her voice ring out through the water, enticing any man into approaching. The setting sun shined down on the outcrop of rocks above her.

And there! A flash of something!

She sang louder, opening her eyes underwater. There was a man with darker hair than she had ever seen lying on a gigantic rock. He was acceptable, she guessed. She barely knew what that meant.

He had yet to notice her, dumb as he was. She could see her song was affecting him as his eyes started to close, and his hand inched unconsciously closer to the water. His finger just barely skimmed the surface before she lunged, yanking him into the sea with her. He began to fight back as she dragged him down to the sandy bottom. Thrashing against her hold, he scrabbled to gain purchase on her body, but to no avail. Her skin was as hard as stony coral and difficult to cut. She sang her trumph, mocking him as she brought him up to break the surface, only to bring him right back down.

But this man had a tail, and she did not realize it until it hit her in the face. She squawked in surprise, her song cutting off. The merman twisted out of her slackened grip. She snarled, baring her teeth as she swam at him. Sirens were stronger than mer, especially in deeper waters, so it did not take much to grab him again. They wrestled, flipping over each other. She sliced his side with one of her nails; his tail knocked the wind out of her. He pulled her lure too hard, and she made a pained sound, biting at his hand. He cried out as she ate clean through one of his webs. Blood leaked into the water, making her ravenous.

"This is the one song everyone would like to learn: the song that is irresistible," she began, "The song that forces men to leap overboard in squadrons, even though they see the beached skulls!"

The merman ceased struggling. He stared at her, his eyes growing vast and dreamy. She grinned toothily. She had only had mer meat once before. It was harder to draw in mermen than human men, so because of that, she was only able to entice a single merman. But that was years ago, and he wasn't nearly as delicious to look at as this mer.

She dropped the tone of her voice to a seductive curl. "This is the song that nobody knows because anyone who has heard it is dead, and others can't remember. Shall I tell you a secret? And if I promise to, will you come nearer? I will tell my secret to you, to you, only to you. Come closer, closer to me."

She lifted her finger, tempting him to come over so that she could take a bite. The merman swam closer until their chests were pressed together. He said something in a language that she had never heard before.

"This song is a cry for help, my dear. Help me! Only you, only you can, for you are unique!" she cried sadly.

His tail curled around hers, and she frightened at the gentle touch broken out of her song. She spat and gnashed her teeth, but still, his tail stayed where it was. He opened his mouth and said something, but she still could not understand. She went to bite his nose off, but he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers so plainly that she stilled. She was not sure what was happening. She was not sure what she was supposed to be doing. She floated there, letting him mash his mouth against hers. His mouth tasted bizarre.

Finally, the merman stopped. He pulled away only minutely, still looking spellbound. Strange. Her song had ended. Why did he continue to look at her like that? He reached out and lifted her chin to meet his eyes. His own were darting back and forth across her face, searching for something. He spoke more things that she didn't understand.

"Uhh-h- hello," the merman said in a language she could understand. "Hi."

"Why were you crushing your mouth onto mine?" she asked.

"What, never heard of kissin' before?"

His smile was much too pleasant. That was unacceptable. Food was never supposed to look nice. She wanted to claw the smile right off of his face.

"Kissing?"

"Yeah, touchin' lips. Usually done as a sign of love or, you know, desire."

"Desire?"

"Sweet Thetis, you're fuckin' gorgeous," said the merman, ignoring her confusion.

His hand shot out to touch her lure, but he thought better of it and withdrew.

"What does that mean?" she asked.

His smile grew bigger, how funny: "Beautiful. Pretty."

"Pretty? What's that?"

"You know, like when you find a shiny thing, an' you wanna keep it forever?"

"I do not know," she grumbled (How dare this mer make her feel unintelligent!). "I have never had shiny things."

"Never had… Hold on, my pretty one."

Mystified, she waited just as he'd asked as he ruffled through a pouch that she had not noticed before. She had never seen anything like it and wondered where she could acquire one. Of course, she never had a reason to have a bag since she had no use for possessions. Perhaps it could hold weapons! Or bones to snack on!

"Ah-ha!" the merman said, thrusting something in her direction.

She stared at the thing in his hand.

"Looks even prettier underneath your lights," he said, avoiding her eyes.

"What is it?" she replied, her hand darting out nervously to touch it.

She pulled back almost instantly, but the merman grabbed her wrist.

"It's called gold," he explained, tipping it into her hands. "The humans use it to get other shiny things. D'you like it?"

"I am not sure. I do not know what I like."

"You can keep it."

"What kind of trickery is this?"

"No tricks. As I said, you're beautiful, and beautiful things should have beautiful things."

"No tricks, certainly, but what do you want in exchange?"

For the first time tonight, he looked sheepish. She noticed that his stomach was turning pink, but for what reason, she was unsure. She wondered what he was trying to work up the nerve to say.

"Well, er, matin' season is comin' up," he began.

"Not yet."

"Right, it isn't for a few months yet, but I was taught to woo the mer, er, the creature that I choose with shiny things. It's my first matin' season, you see."

"Mhm."

"An' the wooin' part takes a while. An' then there's the courtin' stage, which takes even longer."

"If you need a mate, there are mer all around this area during this time."

"Well- heh." The merman rubbed the back of his neck. "I-I'd like it to be you."

"Why?"

"Because you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"Ah."

"I have more shiny things if you want 'em," the mer said, reaching for his pouch.

She shrugged. "I have no use for them."

"You don't gotta have a use for 'em. Where's your home cave? I can bring 'em there."

"I do not have a home cave," she said.

"Oh, right, where is your family's cave, then?"

"I have no family."

"No family? You mean, you're out here all by yourself?"

"Yes."

"Aren't you lonely?"

"What is lonely?" she asked.

"Sad, because you have no one with ya."

"What is sad?"

"Whaddya mean, 'what is sad?' It's sad! Don't you know what that is?" the merman twisted his face up like he was in distress, though what kind she was not sure.

"I only know hunger," she told him.

His eyes lost some of their shine. "Oh, yeah, right. How long's it been since you ate properly anyway? You don't look so good."

"I have not caught a human in months."

"D'you need help huntin'?"

"Can you ensnare a human with your singing?"

"No, but I know some good spots for fish."

"I am not in the mood for fish," she said.

"You just haven't found the right kind," the merman replied, closing his left eye.

He turned tail, swimming away from her before glancing back to see if she would follow him. The hunger in her belly was making her act quite strange in that she was willing to go along with this merman. She felt, oh, what's the word, she knew this, like mer, she was curious. She decided to follow him, keeping a bit of distance between them until the merman flipped around in an impressive display of tailfins and long dark hair, and decided they would swim side by side. His hand kept brushing hers, trying to grab onto her fingers for some reason. She tugged away, unsure of what he was trying to do. She still had not yet decided if she wanted to mate with him anyway. Sirens did not mate in the same way that mer did, that much she knew. They called it breeding, and it was over in a frenzy of teeth and claws. There were no gifts of shiny things or "kisses."

"What's yer name?" the merman asked.

The question stunned her. She could not remember her name before the sea took her in, and she had no use for a name now. No one else called to her. Her name was simply another memory, another casualty to add to her list.

"I do not know," she said.

"You know what a name is, right? Like, I'm Bucky, for example."

Her fingers drifted up to her lips, searching for her name. If she remembered the shape of her mouth as she spoke it aloud, perhaps she could remember the correct sounds. She thought back as far as she could, to the feeling of water filling her lungs, to the sounds of screams, to the smell of a fire burning down her village, to her blood staining her tongue. She wanted to remember her name. She had not even realized this was something she had lost until she needed it.

Then there was a flash of memory, jagged and cutting. Her heart began to race. In her mind, she heard it. Her mother had been crying. Her mother had been screaming at the men to stop. Her mother had been shrieking to let go of her, let go of my daughter. Her mother yelling at her to be brave, hold her breath, be strong, my love, my dear. Her mother. She remembered her mother.

Her lips parted, and she whispered the name into the water. The merman, Bucky, repeated it.

"Again," she said.

He did, and oh, she felt something new, something besides hunger. A hole opened in her chest. Her lower lip wobbled, and then she was singing a new song, never before heard from a siren. It echoed around her and Bucky, reaching out to the farthest depths of the sea. It was filled with desperation, isolation, and salvation, but it was hope and home too.

"Is this what sad is?" she asked Bucky once her song was over.

"Yeah, it is," he answered, curling his tail around hers.

When he went to wrap her up in his arms, she let him, falling into his embrace.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mermaid au #angst #fluff #merman!bucky #siren!reader

[myfearless-love]

The Wildest Place You Run (4/?) - It Was Awfully Dark

Another addition to this story that I hope you like! Thanks again for my beta, @thejollyroger-writer for the amazing beta work! Also, check out the beautiful art she made for chapters 3 and 4!

Summary:

Vampires, Werewolves, Mages, and Elves. For centuries, they kept their existence a secret, but the constant rebellions against the strict laws of the Guild had led to a terrible tragedy. In an open clash, it became apparent to humans just what kind of monsters lived among them. Emma Swan loses the love of her life in the first battle of the war. A few months later, while still trying to process what happened, a mysterious and terrifying figure worms his way into her life. But the man is hiding far more terrible secrets than he reveals to her, pulling them both into a horrible situation...

Chapter: 4/? - It Was Awfully Dark

Fandom: Once Upon a Time

Rating: M

Relationships: Killian Jones/Emma Swan

Read on: FF.net or AO3

Words: ~4.1k

Previous parts:

Ch 1 II Ch 2 II Ch 3

TW for this chapter: Graphic depictions of violence

.

"So, what was that all about last night?" Mary Margaret watched disapprovingly as David grabbed five sandwiches off the tray and thoroughly drizzled the tablecloth with mayonnaise.

"Some patrolling Mages reported that a small group of Vampires were fighting next to a club. They called us in to check it out," David shrugged. "But the Vampires left as soon as we arrived. Some humans, on the other hand, couldn't behave and started shooting."

"They didn't realize we were just trying to protect them," Leo rolled his eyes.

"That's it?" Emma raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah," David nodded. "By the way, the guys are coming over for a little party. Now that Leo's out of the hospital, we need to celebrate."

"Great," Emma sighed, mentally canceling her plans to read her favorite book in peace tonight. "Who's coming?"

"Well, Leo obviously, Robin, Ruby, August…"

"August?" her eyes lit up because August was the only person besides Mary Margaret with whom she could talk relatively freely.

"Oh, yeah," David nodded enthusiastically, and Emma could see the tiny little smile hiding at the corner of his mouth.

He was convinced that she had a crush on August and he would be the one to replace Neal. Then she would be her old self again as if nothing had happened. But there was nothing between them at all, she wasn't attracted to the man. He was just a good friend that she really needed now. Nothing more.

"Eloise, Will, and Killian will be coming too…" David listed, but Emma was no longer listening.

-/-

She spent most of her day, as usual, huddled up in her room. The whole situation with the creatures got weirder and weirder. The open attacks almost completely ceased after Neal's death, but still, no one could live in complete peace. They all felt that something was very wrong, and they were also sure that the creatures had not quenched their bloodthirst. They were preparing for something, and Emma and the others had no idea what they should do.

She just lay motionless on the bed, staring at the ceiling as her thoughts chased each other in her head. Her eyelids slowly grew heavy as lead, and the monotonous ticking of the wall clock soon lulled her into a deep sleep.

She woke up in a musty basement, her face resting on dirty stones. It was difficult to bring herself to a sitting position. Moss grew on the walls of the basement and water stood in puddles on the damp floor. To make matters worse, it was freakishly cold. Her breath wafted white in the semi-darkness.

The bumpy, cobblestone corridor was lit pale silver by the waning crescent moon. Above her head, instead of a proper ceiling, there were only grids dripping with rainwater between the walls.

She was shocked to realize she was wearing nothing but her favorite red satin shorts and a black tank top. Confused, she scrambled to her feet, her legs covered in dirt. She seemed to be standing at the end of a long corridor. The double-iron door that loomed behind her was locked with a chain and padlock, so there was no turning back...

The hallway opened into a single cell. The room was lit by torches, and in the dancing light of the flames, she spotted rusty chains attached to the wall.

A figure crouched in the middle of the tiny dungeon, tremors running through their body.

Her breath caught in her throat as she realized it was Killian. His black shirt hung on him in tatters, he was bleeding profusely from multiple wounds. Standing next to him was none other than David and Neal.

Eyes widening, she stared at Neal. Was he alive after all? How was that possible? Her heart flooded with warmth, but as she got closer to the two of them, she stopped, horrified and confused. Killian's wounds were visibly severe and he was shaking like a leaf. David and Neal, on the other hand, didn't even lift a finger to help him. They watched Killian with deep disgust and hatred on their faces.

"And how long have you been doing this? Since the beginning, huh? Is that right?" David roared as loud as he could, he was shaking with rage and the veins on his neck, as well as his temples, were visibly swollen.

Without any warning, they both attacked Killian. They punched and kicked where they could, not even sparing his head.

"How do you like that, you bastard? How could you?"

Emma had perhaps never seen David so rave with fury before. But with Neal, she was even more shocked. Her feet were rooted to the floor, and not a single voice came out of her compressed lips.

What the hell had gotten into him?

He'd never been so cruel before.

As the soles of Neal's shoes stung Killian's stomach again, life returned to her feet. "Neal, stop it! Don't hurt him!" She was about to grab his arm to pull him away, but her fingers slid over Neal's body as if he were nothing but air.

Stunned, she stared at her hand, which shone translucently with pearly light. Apparently, she had no physical body, nor was her voice audible. She was completely invisible to them, an idle observer of events.

Killian fell onto his side, half-consciously, blood dripping from his ears, nose, and mouth as well. The ground around him was completely black, and she slowly realized that it was Killian's blood as well. Dried blood. She turned her head to the side and pressed her hand to her eyes.

What the hell was going on?

Suddenly she heard a loud, sickening crack, then Killian's gut-wrenching scream. When she looked back at him, she already knew what had happened. Open fracture of the femur. Killian's eyes widened in horror, gasping for air as his spine writhed in agony.

She shuddered in shock and fear.

"Emma! Come on, wake up!"

The air grew much warmer and her brother called her name. Suddenly she slipped into darkness and then her head cleared. She was lying on her bed, and David was shaking her not-so-gently by the shoulders.

"Let go of me!" she growled, trying to push his hands away from her. The image of Killian in the dungeon still floated before her eyes.

He didn't need to be told twice. David backed away from the bed and scanned her face anxiously. But he wasn't the only one in the room. Mary Margaret, Leo, and Robin also witnessed the whole show.

"Are you okay?" Mary Margaret settled on the edge of the bed. "You were screaming…"

"I'm not really surprised," Emma muttered, then sat up and buried her face in her hands. "It's okay, I just...had a bad dream, I think," she glanced up at the boys.

They took the hint immediately. As the door closed behind them, Mary Margaret looked at her with a frown.

"Are you sure it was just a dream? We thought you were awake and...having a seizure. Your eyes were open, Emma."

"It was so real. But it couldn't be a vision. It didn't make sense," she shook her head.

Besides, she had never had such a protracted vision before.

"Are you going to tell me what you saw?"

"Of course."

Emma tried to brace herself and collect her thoughts. She did her best not to miss a single moment of the dreamlike vision.

"Are you sure it was Neal? And David?" Mary Margaret asked.

Emma answered with a firm nod.

"And Killian... Did they seriously torture him together?"

"Yes, but I already told you that," Emma moaned in exasperation. She didn't want to think about that part of her nightmare.

She hopped off the bed and started pacing in front of Mary Margaret.

"I'm sorry to say this, Emma, but it was definitely a vision," her friend explained. "I don't know what else it could be."

"Anything else! Neal… he's dead."

"Yes," Mary Margaret nodded sternly and grabbed her by the arm. She stopped her nervous pacing and turned Emma to face her. "I'm not so sure whether you actually saw him in your vision. You said yourself that it was awfully dark. I'd bet anything it wasn't him. Because if it's the past…" Mary Margaret bit her lower lip thoughtfully and a frown appeared on her forehead.

"Is it possible that I saw part of the past?" She repeated Mary Margaret's thought in astonishment. "We would've known about it." Emma shook her head.

"Yeah, that's why it doesn't make sense," Mary Margaret agreed. "If all this had happened, Killian wouldn't be here with us now…"

"So, what do you think?"

"I think you should get yourself together and freshen up, it's almost seven. The others will be here soon. I don't think you want to show up in front of everyone in this condition."

"Why not?" she shrugged, but obediently headed towards the bathroom anyway. This had been a long day, and it wasn't over yet.

-/-

People were already gathered in the living room when she came down the stairs. They were sitting around the coffee table playing cards. August, Eloise, and Killian were chatting a few feet away from the designated playing area.

She directed her steps straight to the talking squad.

Eloise noticed her first, and her pretty face immediately contorted into a grimace. Emma didn't like her, and the feeling was obviously mutual. Her shiny red air fell in huge waves to her shoulder, and as always, she was dressed head to toe in blue. She had even painted her nails a beautiful shade of aquamarine.

"Hey, guys!" Her mood was already a bit depressed when she spotted Eloise, but one glance at August brought a smile to her lips.

"Hello, stranger. It's been quite a while since we last saw each other," August took a step forward, right between Killian and Eloise.

He hugged her tightly and pressed his cheeks against hers.

He was a full-blooded Elf, he had turned one hundred and seventy years old last week, but he was still a novice, a mere adolescent of his kind. His slightly wavy, short brown hair hid most of his pointed ears, at least that didn't make him stand out on the streets. He wasn't noticeably tall; he was only four inches taller than her. His figure, however, was anything but frail. His muscular body was quite unusual among his kind. They didn't need the visual display though, they could easily throw vehicles across a road if they needed to.

"Yeah, I missed you, too," Emma remarked, a little annoyed as he let go of her and stepped back a bit.

"I'm really sorry. Please forgive me, I've been traveling a lot." He tilted his head cautiously, but she could see in his dark blue eyes that he didn't feel any guilt; in fact, he was quite amused by her annoyance.

Time passed quite differently for him.

"You all know each other already?" Emma looked at the three of them, but her eyes involuntarily lingered on Killian, even though she had prepared herself upstairs not to stare at him at this party.

It was silly, but she was looking for wounds on his body. Or traces of them. In the end, her gaze fell on his thigh. That, of course, seemed to be completely intact, as did all of Killian's other body parts.

Killian, on the other hand, noticed her gaze, and he failed to mask the surprise on his face in time. Emma felt her cheeks redden and looked back up at August again.

"Actually, we just met," the Elf replied, clasping his hands politely behind his back.

"I thought you wouldn't be here," Eloise remarked, fixing her eyes on the opposite wall as if she found the deep green, serpentine-patterned wallpaper extremely interesting.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see August's face twitch slightly. He always found it difficult to tolerate unwarranted hostility.

"Why wouldn't I be here? I thought you knew I lived here, in this apartment. Does my presence bother you that much?"

She was tired of being polite, tired of being kind to her. Her gaze glowed with anger as she raised it to Eloise. The woman had tried to seduce Neal more than once, in increasingly insidious ways over the years, but to her utter disappointment, she had never succeeded. And that irked her to no end.

Now she seemed to be trying to ensnare one of the boys as well.

"I think a bit of fresh air would do us good. Emma, would you like to go for a walk?" August asked.

"That would be great, actually," she forced out through her clenched teeth and headed toward the hallway with August on her heels.

On the way out, Emma's gaze floated to David's face, and she almost let out a laugh. His expression was overwhelmed with hope that she would soon throw herself into August's arms.

"Where did that red-haired bitch come from?" August asked with an unflinching expression as they walked to the edge of the woods behind the house.

Her heart leapt in her chest, for Emma had never heard him use the word "bitch," though he was already unfortunate enough to know a few.

"I heard her thoughts, saw her memories… it was simply stomach-churning," he explained at the sight of her stunned expression.

The fact that he could see into Eloise's head so easily meant that she was truly as blunt-witted as she seemed. He was still very young for an Elf, and at the moment, he could only peer into the minds of individuals with more modest intellectual abilities. Emma kept asking him if he could hear her thoughts and see her memories, but he replied in the negative every time. She didn't know if he was telling the truth, but she hoped he wasn't lying to her out of pity.

"And where have you been for so long? I really missed you."

"The Guild sent me to France. The situation there is pretty depressing, too. The open street clashes stopped there just as suddenly as they have here. I don't understand it either," he shook his head. "But there's little we can do about it anyway. I'd be more interested in how you survived this month without me."

"I did nothing, as usual," Emma shrugged.

"Nothing worth mentioning again?" he raised an eyebrow in mock disapproval.

"You know I would tell you otherwise. It was unnecessary to even ask."

"I didn't know that man you were dating, but I have to admit, you're making me more and more curious. What was it about him that left such a deep impression on you?" he asked, the question directed more at himself than her.

She wouldn't have had the strength to answer him anyway. Instead, she told him about her dream-slash-vision. She was genuinely curious about his opinion.

"Strange," he muttered, staring thoughtfully ahead for a few minutes. "It can't be a vision since the man you were seeing is already dead. It can't be from the past, either, because then you'd surely know about it and this Killian guy wouldn't be here now. It's rather annoying, but I have to admit; I have no idea what it could be."

"I see."

Of course, she was disappointed; she was very confident that August would shed some light on what was going on.

"But I would appreciate it if you could tell me more about this Killian. When did he join the Hunters?" His eyes twinkled with eagerness and curiously, obviously excited about what he knew so little about.

"About two or three months ago," she answered, tossing a branch from the path.

"He is rather strange," August remarked.

Emma understood, he wanted to know more about Killian. "To be honest, I know very little about him. His magic is pretty strong, and apparently, there were Elves among his ancestors."

"Elves?" he frowned and shook his head imperceptibly. "Strange. I didn't sense that in his aura, though I should have…"

"I don't know from which side of his parents and how many generations back," she added hastily. "Maybe it's just a distant relative, that's why you couldn't sense it."

"It's possible," he nodded, but she could see he wasn't entirely convinced. "He's also quite taciturn," August continued, and Emma realized with a weary sigh that he wasn't going to give up on the subject of Killian.

He was as stubborn as a mule.

"Why do you worry so much about him?"

"His aura…" he shuddered as he thought back to their encounter. "It's even darker than yours."

"Darker? What's that supposed to mean? You never said mine was…" she paused.

August reluctantly came to a stop beside her and turned to face her. "Usually, the aura of people with a dark past, an evil personality, or dying individuals turns black. But it also happens when someone has gone through a terrible trauma or grief and can't get over it. General malaise, depression. Such people are usually very lonely, in some cases even antisocial," August replied.

Emma knew exactly what best described her of the things listed, but she had no idea about Killian. She couldn't really decide. Apparently, neither could August, and she could see that it bothered him.

"But… since when can you see the aura of Mages so clearly? Until now, I thought you could only do that with humans."

"My abilities are getting stronger," he smiled, visibly proud of himself. "Anyway, I feel sorry for the boy. I'm not sure why, but when I'm around him, the feeling just floods over me."

"I get it. I mean, I really don't, but that's probably my problem. Anyway, I think we should get back soon, I don't want David to get the wrong idea…"

"Yes, let's," August smiled and they both turned towards the house.

-/-

Meanwhile, in the living room, people at the coffee table got bored with playing cards and were discussing where to continue the party. The Hunters, of course, weren't bound by the curfew, they could go wherever they wanted.

Emma cut across the hall and marched straight to the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. But unfortunately, David was already leaning against the refrigerator.

"Well? What's up with August, Ems?" It probably wouldn't have been possible to scrape the taunting grin off his face.

"Thank you, he's fine," Emma replied measuredly.

She was beginning to get rather annoyed at his behavior. She had decided long ago never to let anyone get close to her heart again, certainly not another Hunter she could easily lose.

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah, and so does August. But we both just laugh at your attempts. We're friends, that's all. We've even talked about it a few times, if I remember correctly," she stared fixedly at David's face, whose good mood was disappearing like a gray donkey in a fog, and his bleak expression didn't make her feel better.

"And how long do you plan on doing this, huh?"

"What are you talking about? I'm not doing anything you could object to!"

"But you do! You drive everyone crazy with this world-weary widow behavior! You act as if nothing matters to you anymore!"

"Maybe it doesn't!" she began to lose her patience and she, too, raised her voice.

"You're not even trying to get over him. You're just… you're just a… selfish, stupid girl! You only think about yourself!"

The hot tea she was pouring into her mug flew straight into David's face. She didn't think he had any idea how much his words hurt her.

David let out a yell, and as if on cue, August stepped into the kitchen. He was astonishingly angry; Emma had probably never seen him in such a state before. If he could have killed with a single look, David would have collapsed dead on the floor.

"The others are getting ready to go to the Witchland Club. You better hurry up and change into something dry before they leave." August's voice was low, but his temper sounded undisguised.

He was one of the few people David never argued with. Without a single word, he left the kitchen.

She shivered all over and turned away from August bitterly. That was when she noticed the figure leaning against the counter at the other end of the kitchen. Killian. He could have seen the whole thing. He had a mug of something in his hand and was watching August and her with a stunned expression. He muttered something under his breath that Emma couldn't make out and shuffled out of the kitchen, leaving them alone.

"Are you okay?" August put a hand on her shoulder and turned her to face him, concern written all over his face.

"No… David is right. I'm selfish."

"You're not. If anyone's selfish, it's David. He has no idea what you're going through. He doesn't understand that the wounds of the human soul heal over time, not through violence and feigned negligence. Your pain will pass, I promise you. I'm not saying it will happen tomorrow, but it will take effect soon. David is also trying to protect his own soul, it's hard for him to see you like this. We can't blame him either."

She couldn't think of a reply, just watched the tiny drops of the tea on the floor. And then August did what he never usually did apart during greetings. He hugged her. Emma blinked in surprise for a while, then returned the gesture uncertainly.

"I don't understand you. Why do you care about me?" she asked, lips pulled into a smile.

"I have a few special quirks. You count as one of them," he winked at her.

"I need a serious answer, though," she insisted.

"I like you. You're a good friend of mine. I knew you before Neal died, and I wish you were like that again…"

"August…" she turned her head and broke away from his embrace.

"You asked, I answered," he shrugged.

"We're leaving now! Hurry up, guys!" Leo stuck his head into the kitchen.

"I'd rather stay home tonight, if that's all right," Emma replied.

"Me too," August nodded.

"Too bad," Leo said and walked back out of the kitchen.

Emma walked into the living room, August behind her.

"Come on, Killian! You better come with us!" Eloise urged him relentlessly.

"I'd rather go home," Killian shook his head.

"Let him! Once he makes up his mind, there's no changing it," Robin waved it off and followed David and Will out of the apartment.

Ruby shrugged and made her way to the exit as well. She was still limping a little, but otherwise, she seemed fine.

"You could stay here, too," Emma only saw a blur of gray as August slid next to Killian.

He smiled charmingly at Killian, and Emma knew immediately what he wanted. He was curious about Killian, there were too many secrets around him, and August endured it terribly hard when he didn't understand something.

Eloise expelled an angry breath, then left the house behind Mary Margaret and Leo, but the door remained open.

"I really should be going," Killian shook his head.

His face was calm, his gaze indecipherable.

"Are you sure you can't stay?" August frowned and put a hand on Killian's shoulder.

He used all his compelling skills, of which he had plenty as a full-blooded Elf.

"Aye, I'm sorry. Maybe next time," Killian nodded and his icy magic flared up again.

She was more than a foot away from the two of them, but she shivered at the feeling. August's face, on the other hand, didn't even twitch. At that moment, Emma found Killian more terrifying than ever.

"Good night," he turned on his heel and stepped out into the night.

August stared after him for long seconds, then whirled around and settled on the couch.

"What was that?"

"That's what I'd like to know. I'm going to suggest David keep an eye on him," he stated firmly, his gaze hardening instantly. "I tried to read his mind, and he noticed. I've hit a wall I wasn't expecting. And it's not the same wall I bumped into with you. It's a line of defense, and his magic… well, that's the most disturbing thing. He's not a simple warlock, that much is clear. But even if there was Elven blood in him, I couldn't sense it. However, there is something else that I cannot identify in any way. And I must admit, that worries me greatly."

"Not knowing exactly what and how much power resides in him doesn't necessarily make him evil," she explained, slightly surprised at August's sudden hostility.

"I didn't say that either," he nodded. "But it can't hurt to be careful."

#captain swan #cssns21 #cssns 2021 #cs ff #cs fanfic #killian jones #emma swan #captain hook #ouat #ouat ff #once upon a time #emma x killian #captain swan supernatural #thejollyroger writer #TWPYR #my fic

[let-it-raines]

I Hope We Never See October (2/?)

When his personal life and football career go up in flames, Killian Jones escapes England for America, finding seclusion in Martha’s Vineyard in order to hide from his demons. It’s a fresh start, or at the very least a paused moment in his life, and all he needs is a few months alone to allow his heart to heal. He doesn’t count on meeting Emma Swan.

Emma’s life depends on tourists who come to the island every summer. It’s how she makes her money working in restaurants and clubs across the vineyard, but every year, she cannot wait until autumn comes and her life returns to normal. She especially cannot wait for Killian Jones to leave.

Rating: Mature

a/n: Thank you guys for reading the first part of this! I cannot say enough how much I appreciate all of you and how glad I am little things like this bring you guys joy! Thanks to @resident-of-storybrooke for reading over these words. ❤️

AO3: Beginning | Current

Tumblr: One | Two 

-/-

“Emma, the couple at table two wants to talk to you, and the woman at table seven has a complaint about the quiche. Something about there being eggs in them.”

Emma groans and closes her laptop to look at Ashley, one of the new waitresses she hired this summer. She’s good, courteous, and she’s always here on time. Emma is going to hate to lose her for a few weeks when she has her baby, but come hell or high water, the girl is getting maternity leave even if Emma can’t manage more than three weeks without the owner getting involved and likely trying to fire all of them. She deserves months more than that, but Emma can’t change the system.

It’s a shit system, especially for moms.

“They don’t want eggs…in their quiche? Are you serious?”

“She’s vegan and claims she’s been misled.”

Emma rolls her eyes and stands from her chair. She pulls her jean shorts down, the frayed edges covering just a little more thigh, and unties the bottom of her button-down. She probably needs to start dressing up more for this job, but she can’t be bothered. She managed to wear her Blue Dog Tavern polo last week, so that seems like enough effort. “We have symbols on the menu to indicate dietary restrictions, but this isn’t really a restaurant for dietary restrictions beyond one or two items. I’ll deal with it. Thanks, Ashley.”

It’s Sunday morning, which is their second busiest time after Friday and Saturday nights, and the Blue Dog is packed. It’s all hands on deck this morning, but Emma was hoping to get some scheduling and produce ordering done in her office during it. But this is a restaurant, so of course there’s never any time for a breather when she needs it the most. She’ll finish all that later, she guesses, because she has a feeling neither of these conversations are going to be a short one.

And she’s right about that. The woman hating on the quiche pitches a fit and demands her money back before threatening to sue the place and, quite frankly, threatening to cut off Emma’s legs, and Emma has to resolve that without losing her cool when all she wants to do is punch jerks like that straight across the jaw. Then the couple at table two asks her to run through every item on the menu and whether or not everything is organically sourced.

They serve fried mac and cheese balls at ten in the morning and have kitschy, slightly tacky artwork nailed onto the darkly stained wood. If you eat outside on the patio, you get a nice view of people taking off a little more than they should while sunbathing on the surrounding beaches and docked boats. There’s also the occasional ferry that drives by and blows a loud horn that tourists seem to get a kick out of. Do they really think everything is organically sourced?

God, sometimes she really hates tourists.

This is a nice place, though. It’s not somewhere you go for fine dining, but their brunch is divine, it’s got a good atmosphere, and the new bartenders she’s hired this summer make better drinks than you can get at any reasonably priced bar in a ten-mile radius. She likes this little part of the island, and even though she hates tourists, they do fund her entire life. So maybe she hates them a little less than usual when the paychecks roll in.

Today is not a day where the paycheck is rolling in.

Emma notices some of the tables are a little slow, so she picks up the slack, getting drinks and refills and checking on meals. It keeps her on her feet for most of the morning and through the lunch rush, but when it’s over, she collapses on a stool at the end of the bar.

“Chip, can you get me a coffee?” she asks without looking up. “I don’t care what milk or creamer you put in it as long as you don’t bring it to me black. Though, I think I need the caffeine so badly that I’d drink it. I don’t know why I agreed to work the late dinner shift at The Oaks last night. I’m exhausted.”

When she doesn’t get a response, she looks up for Chip. He’s nowhere to be seen, and when she checks her phone schedule, she realizes it’s his break time. Of course it is.

“Lass, I don’t believe the barkeep is here anymore.”

“Yeah, it’s his break, but I can help you. What’s your poison?”

“The coffee you’re having.”

Emma nods and turns to look at the man talking to her, and if she wasn’t so tired, she would have recognized the voice a hell of a lot faster than she did. A lot of different accents pass through this place, but he’s the first British one in awhile. Also the first one to show up in her backyard. Or the Fishers’ backyard, technically, but she’s been renting it for long enough for it to feel like her own even if she’s changed very little of the furniture and decorations outside her bedroom.

Killian. She thinks that was his name. Honestly, she’s surprised she remembers anything because she was in such a rush to get to work that she didn’t have time to deal with all the people at her house. But he was unexpected and attractive – she’s not blind to attractive men no matter what Ruby and Mary Margaret think – and he threw her off for a minute. He looked familiar, but she has no idea why. There’s no way she would have met him before.

But she also doesn’t care. She’s got a gut feeling that she needs to watch out for him, that there’s something that’s not right, and him being at her job is proving that to her. What are the odds that he’d wander in a few days after meeting her when she’s pretty sure he’s never been here before?

Then again, maybe that’s why he’s familiar. It’s June. A lot of people come through here, and she’s not going to remember all their faces. Sometimes she does, though, in the back of her mind where vague, slightly blurry memories reside.

“Sure thing,” Emma sighs, standing from the stool. “Do you have a server?”

“Aye. Heather, I believe, but…”

“But she’s on her phone.” Emma shakes her head. “My boss’s niece. Not much I can do about it, but I’ll get you your coffee, a water, and take your order right away.”

He nods, going back to his own phone, and Emma takes that as her cue to get behind the bar and start making some coffee. She doesn’t usually work this machine, so it takes her a minute to get it right all while she feels Killian staring at her.

“Do you need any suggestions on the menu?” Emma asks as the coffee percolates.

“How are the salads?”

“I prefer things with more calories, but they’re good. Our vegetables are fresh, and I personally enjoy the strawberry poppyseed with chicken, but I know not everyone loves fruit in salads.” He hums behind her as his mug fills, and she grabs some milk from the fridge under the sink, turning to show him. “Milk okay?”

“It’s perfect, Swan.” She raises her brows, which he mirrors, until he cocks his head forward and his lips form an obnoxious little smirk. “On the nametag, love.”

“Now, what did I say about being your love?”

“That you’re not.”

“Exactly.” She finishes making his coffee and hands it over. He’s a customer, she reminds herself. She’s got to try to be a little bit nicer than she wants to be. “So, the salad? If you’re looking more toward the healthy options with protein, the grilled chicken breast on its own is fantastic. You get two sides, which you can find at the bottom of the menu.”

He nods and looks at the menu for half a second before looking up. “The salad would be great. Thank you.”

He picks up his mug, pointing it toward her, and Emma takes it as a dismissal so she can put his order in, and hopefully she can get Heather to do her damn job and serve him for the rest of the meal. She doesn’t like that he knows where she lives and works, and even though she doesn’t think Ariel and Eric spend time with shady people, something about him gives her weird vibes.

His face just looks so damn familiar, and usually she’s really good remembering faces. Huh.

And Emma is usually right about these things. He’s likely nothing more than a rich man looking for a break from life by renting out a large house on the island. He’ll spend a week or two, maybe a month depending on his work situation, here, sleep with as many women as he can, and then he’ll go, never thinking of Martha’s Vineyard again. And she’s pretty sure Ariel does something having to do with high-powered people over in London, so he fits the profile. God, she must have seen him before with Ariel or something. That has to be it.

But for now, he’s a customer, and since Heather seems to be completely checked out, Emma guesses she’s going to have to deal with him. After this morning, he won’t be the worst person she has to deal with all day, and since she’s working at The Oaks tonight, she imagines being treated like shit then will outshine all of this.

Why the hell did she decide to pick up so many shifts at The Oaks? It’s a stuffy country club where tips reflecting the price of the meal aren’t even guaranteed, but it’s extra money with a flexible schedule. She’s doing okay on the money front right now, though, and if she were sane, she’d take some time off and relax, maybe enjoy the beach or any of the hundreds of good restaurants around here.

She is obviously not sane.

-/-

“Oh my God,” Emma grumbles as she strips out of her jean shorts, kicking them to the ground before unbuttoning her shirt. “I’m so tired of people.”

“I’m people,” Ruby says. “Nice bra, by the way. The girls look great.”

Emma rolls her eyes, but she does glance down at her boobs and hike them up a bit. They do look great today. “Shut up.” Emma picks up the black dress she has to wear at the country club and slips it over her shoulders. “You know I’m not tired of you.”

“That’s because you’ve barely seen me.”

“Busy. I’m busy. I work way too much. Speaking of that, why the hell aren’t you at work?”

Ruby stands from her couch and grabs her name tag from the end table. “I’m in between shifts. Granny’s in charge downstairs. I have a five-second commute to work, unlike you. Why are you changing here again?”

“Don’t want to run into any of the people at my house.” Emma smooths her dress and turns to Ruby’s mirror to reapply lipstick and put on some mascara. She’s got to wash her hair tomorrow. It’s hanging by on a thread today, if that thread is a little greasy and has a hell of a lot of dry shampoo in it. “But don’t worry, tomorrow, I will be out of your hair as they will soon be out of mine.”

“You know I’m always fine with you being in my business. Mary Margaret and David are coming here for dinner tonight. Any chance you can slip away?”

Emma finishes another coat of mascara. “Can’t. Working until past closing and then heading straight home to sleep in my house of strangers.”

Ruby laughs, carefree as always, and for a moment, the jealousy stings. Ruby has plenty of her own shit going on, but she always handles it with such ease. She’s the most carefree person Emma has ever met, and Emma can’t imagine living like that without way too much alcohol in her system.

“I told you that you could stay with me this week. Have I ever said it’s batshit crazy that they come to visit and are okay with you still staying there? Because that is batshit crazy.”

Emma shrugs and pulls back to take in her appearance. This is as good as it’s going to get. She doesn’t think she’ll be using her looks to get her any tips tonight, which is a crying shame since that’s half the reason she took this job in the first place. She knows exactly how to charm some of the older men into giving her more money by flirting a little, and she’s not ashamed that she has to give away her dignity to do it. She had to hire a dinner-shift manager at the Blue Dog because she was doing the work of two people with the pay of one. Now she’s doing the work of five people with the pay and of one and half people, so obviously she’s winning at life.

“I’m never there, and they seem like good people. I think they’re just glad I actually maintain the place and am slowly but surely getting through some of the renovations.” Emma looks at her hair again and ties it up in a ponytail with the elastic from her wrist. “Any way you can make me a grilled cheese to go?”

“Only if you agree to go to a bar with all of us sometime in the next month.”

“Yeah, fine. Whatever you want.”

God, she hopes Ruby doesn’t remember this conversation. The last thing she wants to do right now is go out with her friends and then end up sitting alone as they all make out with their partners and leave without telling Emma goodbye.

Actually, the last thing she wants to do is go to work again today, but here she goes.

-/-

Emma quietly turns the key in her front door. She saw that the kitchen light was still on from the street, and while the Fishers likely just forgot to turn it off, she doesn’t want to run the risk of seeing them tonight. It’s their last night here, so she only has to make it through one or two more awkward conversations before she has the house to herself. It’ll be just her and the creaky floors. She can collapse on the couch in her dress instead of having to walk all the way up the stairs and make it to her bedroom like a responsible adult.

In another world, Emma would like to own a house like this. It’s charming. That’s the best way to describe it. It’s two floors, three bedrooms, has bay windows and built-in bookshelves, and the cabinets in the kitchen are a light green. She likes that it’s not cookie cutter white all the way around like some of the nicer houses around here. It has character, and though there are a few things she’d change beyond the needed repairs she does for the Fishers, it’s got good bones. Plus, the location is fantastic, and the backyard is spacious. It allows Emma to spend time in the sun without being stuck on a crowded beach or near a busy dock.

But this is not another world, and Emma could never afford a house this close to the coastline. She’s got no idea why she still lives here. Well, that’s not true, she knows exactly why she still lives here, and it’d be possible for her to pick up and move inland toward Boston. She just…she can’t. She’s been here for ten years after leaving her last foster home in Brockton, and it’s been a comfortable reprieve. She’s got her friends and her job(s), and even though she’s got years of hospitality experience, there’s no guarantee someone like her with a GED can get a job this well-paying and accommodating somewhere else. Plus, her housing is almost free, and she really can’t pass that up.

It all comes back to the house, which she’s dreading going into now no matter how much she wants to collapse onto her bed.

(Or the couch. She really misses the couch. It’s the best for napping.)

Emma steps inside, avoiding the places that make the floor groan, but it’s impossible to dodge them all. She tenses, then hurries across the living room toward the stairs, only turning to the opening to the kitchen at the last minute.

“Holy fuck,” Emma gasps, dropping her purse. It hits the ground in a gentle thud, her keys spilling out and clacking along the floor.

“Didn’t mean to scare you there, Swan.”

Emma’s breath hitches as she realizes who it is sitting at her kitchen table.

Killian…whatever his last name is. She’s got no clue and doesn’t care to ask. What she does want to know is why he’s sitting here alone at two in the morning like a fucking serial killer.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

He takes a sip of his drink, coffee she thinks from the smell, and leans back in the chair, the front legs tipping up with him. “Getting sober so I can drive home. Had two drinks with dinner, and it appears I’ve become a bit of a lightweight.”

“Don’t drink much then? I thought all you Brits liked going to the pub.”

He laughs, smile bright against the black of his stubble despite her poor attempt at his accent. “We do, but not so much me anymore. Trying to cut back.”

“Yeah, I get that.” She leans down to pick up her bag, grabbing her keys and tossing them back in. “I also get that we have Uber here. You might want to try that the next time you have a little too much to drink. You look like a murderer sitting in my kitchen like this.”

“It was two glasses of rum, nothing excessive. Wishing Ariel and Eric well before they leave in the morning.” He leans forward, the chair landing on all four legs, and downs the rest of his mug. “I don’t make a habit of drinking too much.”

“I don’t care what you do in your personal time. Just don’t make a mess in my house…or your friends’ house, I guess. And sleep on the couch if you want. There are blankets in the basket.”

She doesn’t know why she’s offering him the couch. She should be making him leave. Her heart is still leaping out of her chest from him scaring her, and even though this has been her home for years, she technically can’t ask him to leave. In reality, Ariel has probably offered him the couch already.

What a long day.

She wants it to be over.

“That’s surprisingly kind of you.”

Emma’s step falters, and while she was turning away from the man, she decides to turn back and narrow her eyes. What the hell is that supposed to mean? “I guess I’m full of surprises for men who don’t know me.”

“Just who are you then, Swan?” he asks, standing from the chair and putting his mug in the sink, turning the faucet on while never losing eye contact.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Perhaps I would.”

A shiver runs down Emma’s spine, but she ignores it and walks up the stairs. This is a weird week, one she doesn’t want to repeat, and the last thing she needs is to spend too much time with a man who thinks he can charm his way into anything with a few smooth words and a smile. She’s been around enough men like that in her lifetime, but it doesn’t matter with him. Tomorrow, he’ll be gone with Eric and Ariel, and she’ll be back to being able to walk around her house without pants whenever she wants.

Tomorrow, this weird as hell week will be over, and she’ll be back to normal…mostly.

-/-

-/-

Tag list: @qualitycoffeethings @marrtinski @klynn-stormz @scarletslippers @elizabeethan @jrob64 @snowbellewells @therealstartraveller776 @thejollyroger-writer @galadriel26 @galaxyzxstark @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven @teamhook @spartanguard @searchingwardrobes @jamif @shireness-says @ultimiflos @onepunintendid @bluewildcatfanatic @superchocovian @killianswannn @carpedzem @captainkillianswanjones @mayquita @mariakov81 @jennjenn615 @onceuponaprincessworld @a-faekindagirl @scientificapricot @xellewoods @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @singersdd @tornadoamy @cluttermind @lfh1226-linda @andiirivera @itsfabianadocarmo @captain-emmajones @ilovemesomekillianjones @taylrsversion​ @dramioneswan​ @jonesfandomfanatic​ @wefoundloveunderthelight​

#I hope we never see october #cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfic #cs fanfiction #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #captain swan fanfic #captain swan fanfiction #captain swan

[fckinsupreme]

How about a blurb of Xavier with reader fooling around in the woods and Margaret catches them in the act? Only reader notices her show up and makes eye contact with her before scaring her away. If Chet could make an appearance too that would be great but if not I understand. Please and thank you! 💙🙂

The summer sun is high in the sky, beating down on the camp in heavy heat. You and Xavier Plympton decided to have a fun afternoon regardless, starting with cooling off in the lake and ending with a picnic in the shaded woods. Xavier stole some spare peanut butter & jelly sandwiches and bags of chips from the cafeteria, and also managed to talk Ray into giving him a bottle of red wine that he had smuggled into camp.

The two of you ate, but you were barely finished with your sandwich before Xavier started touching you. It was innocent enough at first—his fingers brushing your bare knee, his hand massaging & squeezing your thigh, running the back of his finger over the dip in your knee. It soon morphed into something more, with his hand snaking under your sundress and rubbing his finger over your groin. That resulted in you grabbing him and smashing your lips together, kissing him hungrily as his hands massaged your tits through the fabric of your dress. You climbed into his lap, straddling him, cupping his cheek as you deepened the kiss. He tasted of peanut butter, strawberry jelly, and the smallest hint of wine, and you felt a pang of sadness when he pulled back. You never wanted it to end, but you knew it was only beginning.

And now here the two of you were, with Xavier discarding your dress and lying you flat on the spread blanket with his mouth on your neck. You’re naked before him as his hands trail your sides, scraping his nails over your skin as he leaves hickeys on your neck & collarbones. Another mark is formed as he sucks between your breasts, but he doesn’t touch them yet. Instead, he grabs the bottle of wine, smirking at you as he does so. He takes a swig of the wine, swallowing before pouring a generous amount over your breasts. You cry out in surprise as the liquid hits your heated skin, looking at him in bewilderment.

“What was that for?” you ask.

“This,” Xavier replies, dipping down and licking a long, slow stripe over your wine-coated skin. You shiver, meeting his eyes as he continues cleaning the mess with his mouth. “Mmm. I don’t know if it’s you or the wine that’s so sweet. Probably you.”

“Ha ha,” you say with a giggle, inhaling sharply as his plump lips find your nipple. He sucks quickly, harshly, his tongue swirling around the erect bud as his icy hues flicker to yours. “Xavier...”

“The most perfect tits I’ve ever seen,” he murmurs, your hand landing in his frosted hair as you tug roughly. “Fuck, do that again.”

You make a fist, pulling as hard as you can as he moans against your skin. You can feel his cock throbbing through his swim shorts, and he grinds against your thigh for the friction he’s craving. You moan, eyes squeezing shut as he moves to your opposite breast. He licks away the excess wine there, gently scraping his teeth against your nipple before he sucks on it. The sounds of it are filthy, obscene, seeming to echo in the woods around you.

“You’re making me so wet,” you breathe, grabbing one of his hands and guiding it between your legs.

“Shit, babe,” Xavier groans, rubbing his fingers through your labia as you get even wetter. “You’re soaked.”

“Do something about it, then,” you rasp, smiling at him as you try to push his head down. “Taste me. Eat me out and see how sweet I really am, Xavier.”

He immediately sinks between your legs, taking the bottle of wine and pouring some down your thighs. He slowly licks it all away, before pouring wine over your cunt. You whimper in protest, but Xavier just offers a goofy grin before saying: “I just wanted to see your pretty pussy covered in wine, baby. Don’t worry; I already know how sweet you taste. The wine isn’t going to hurt.”

***

Margaret stomps through the woods, fury coursing through her veins. Thanks to a not-so-anonymous tip, she knew that two campers were out here committing sin. She knew something like this was bound to happen, but within the perimeters of her camp? Not even having the decency to go off the property and lie about it? It was crossing the line, and she planned on doing something about it. Something that neither of them would like; they were going to pay for their bodily sins, for their lust.

They were going to /repent/.

She hears them before she sees them—or rather, she hears /her/. The little harlot that was tempting all the men at the camp, only it appeared she just wanted the Plympton boy. Margaret had seen the way she looked at him at the nightly campfires, the flirtatious glances and suggestive manners they used this morning at breakfast, the way she shook her ass at him in her skimpy clothes. She rushes toward the sound of the moaning, reaching a clearing surrounded by thick trees. She hides behind a thick trunk, peeking out at the sight before her.

Y/N was completely nude as she lie on her back, Xavier’s head between her thighs. Her thighs, breasts, and some of her stomach were covered in something that was reddish-purple in hue, something that appeared to be a bit sticky as it dried to her skin. Margaret soon realizes it’s wine, seeing the bottle of it in Xavier’s hand as he dumps some on Y/N’s pussy. She giggles, and his mouth finds her cunt again as she cries out in delight. One of her hands is in his hair while the other toys with one of her tits, pinching the nipple and rolling it around as he shakes his head rapidly.

Margaret feels like screaming. The rage boils at an all-time high, and she wants nothing more than to walk out there, grab them both, and give them a little “baptism” in the lake. Sinners must suffer and be punished, and what better way than to cleanse them of their sins? She takes a step to do just that, to show them that they /will/ repent for their actions, when a twig snaps under her feet.

Y/N notices, but Xavier does not. He’s too absorbed in eating pussy that he hears nothing, but Y/N does immediately. Her eyes snap open and flicker toward the sound, and she freezes in fear. Margaret is also frozen, unable to move, eyes wide behind her glasses. Oddly enough, Y/N isn’t alerting Xavier to their intruder. She isn’t stopping him and she isn’t making a move to signal that’s what she wants, and soon, her fear is seemingly all melted away. She winks at Margaret, keeping eye contact and moaning hotly as Xavier plunges two fingers inside of her, his mouth on her clit as he hums generously.

“I told you so,” a voice sounds from behind Margaret, causing her to jump and clap a hand to her chest as she wheels around to face him.

“Ever hear of warning, Chet?” she asks, getting her breath as she turns to the scene again. Xavier is eating her out more enthusiastically, and her moans only grow in volume. “I’m trying to see what, exactly, is going on here.”

“I think it’s pretty obvious,” Chet says in annoyance. “Aren’t you going to do anything about it?”

“Soon,” Margaret says, looking at him with an amused grin. “Why don’t /you/ handle it, Chet? You’re the one who is jealous of Xavier, because he got her first. I don’t know what you see in such a whore—“

“Watch it, Margaret,” Chet says angrily.

“—but maybe you should fight your own battles,” she finishes, turning around just in time to see Y/N cumming. Chet winces visibly, pain clear on his face as he looks at the ground. “Go on. Get in there and claim her, if you want her so badly.”

“I don’t have time for this,” Chet says. “Do something. You’re always bitching about us ‘sinning,’ and it’s happening right in front of you.”

Margaret watches as Xavier removes his shorts, his erection slapping his lower stomach as it’s freed. Her stomach turns, and she feels an urge to vomit at the sight. But that same rage returns as he thrusts inside of Y/N, her wine-soaked legs wrapping around his waist as he starts to drill her. Margaret takes two steps forward, now almost fully in sight, but she’s stopped in her tracks as Y/N speaks again.

“Xavier?” she asks, looking at Margaret with a smirk. “Someone is watching us.”

Margaret immediately hides, and just in time. Xavier looks over his shoulder in her direction, chuckling as he gives a sharp, deep thrust. “Let them watch, baby. We could give them one hell of a show.”

Margaret walks back to Chet, nodding toward the two of them. “I’ll deal with them later. If you want something to be done right now, do it yourself.”

“But why—“ Chet asks, but he realizes he’s talking to himself as Margaret rushes away.

Chet leans against the tree with a deep sigh, his jealousy reaching a tipping point as he takes in the show. He cracks his knuckles, letting his anger be his guide as her moans and pleasurable cries of Xavier’s name flood his ears. He steps out of the clearing, heading straight for them.

——————

Baby taglist: @littledemondani @wroteclassicaly @leatherduncan @littlegirlsdontplaynice @lvngdvns @whatcodysaid @babyyyodas @blakewaterxx @melodylangdon @dark-mei-rose @xavierplympton @xavierplymptons @langdonshellion @frenchlangdon

#xavier plympton #xavier plympton blurb #xavier plympton fic #xavier plympton imagine #xavier plympton smut #xavier plympton x reader

[elliebartlets]

TWW REWATCH: Two Cathedrals (2.22)

• look, if you don’t wanna read my recap on this episode because you’re sick of me constantly posting these recaps, then I respect that. But if you don’t wanna read it because you’re too lazy or you can’t be bothered, then God tumblr followers, I don’t even wanna know you.

• I am so excited to watch this and I have no idea whyyy

• I guess I’m just ready to feel all of the emotions

• I honestly only noticed everyone’s dressed in black cause all the assistants were wearing black which they usually never do

• the boarding school is the one used in dead poets society and maggie rogers went there

• I like how Bartlet’s dad asks Bartlet to tell his friends not to smoke in the chapel...like sir you are the headmaster why don’t you do it?

• I’m pretty sure I say this everytime but they did an excellent job casting young Bartlet and Mrs. Landingham

• god I’ve been to DC so many times and still haven’t been to the national cathedral. I wanna go so bad. yes because I like historic buildings but mostly because of this episode. to go there and stand where they filmed Mrs Landingham’s funeral and that iconic scene of Bartlet?? I’d die

• stop showing Mrs Landingham’s empty desk 😫

• the transition from present day Bartlet to younger Bartlet doing the jacket flip is so smooth. I wonder how long it took that actor to do that correctly.

• why is it always that drunk drivers come out of the crash alive while the sober ones they hit end up dead?

• Abbey really doesn’t want him to run again. You can tell by how she’s talking to him in the limo, trying to reassure him the democrats can keep the White House.

• I like that Charlie and CJ are sitting next to each other

• “In my family, we don’t talk about money.”

“That’s because you have money.”

• Carol crying 🥺

• woah they have to lift up the coffin over their shoulders??? I’ve been a pallbearer twice and never had to do that (thank god or else I would’ve dropped the casket)

• also why wasn’t Bartlet a pallbearer? I’d say it’s cause he was too distraught but he’s one at Leo’s funeral *sob* we are not thinking abt that yet

• Kiersten Nelson really nails Mrs. Landingham’s mannerisms.

• “Why do you talk to me like this?”

“Cause you never had a big sister and you need one.”

As a big sister I feel this

• one of my goals in life is to memorize Bartlet’s rant

• also shoutout to this show for making history by banning further filming in this cathedral kmaosjsj

• “You get Hoynes.”

• Martin Sheen is very catholic so I wonder how hard it was for him to talk to God that way, even if it was just acting

• wait Leo got Toby a job offer because he knew he’d refuse and wanted to show Bartlet that?

• Bartlet’s dad is an asshole

• even when Mrs Landingham’s dead she still teases Bartlet for not knowing how to use the intercom

• brothers in arms always makes me tear up

“We have just one world, but we live in different ones.” like I’m sorry but that line just takes me out

• Charlie talking off his rain jacket cause Bartlet refuses to wear one ♥️

• Bartlet doesn’t decide to run until he talks to the ghost of Mrs Landingham, and while his announcement wasn’t out of malicious intent, it was still a dick move to break his promise to Abbey. The ending is still so great but I can’t watch it now without feeling bad for her.

• I personally don’t like Leo’s “watch this”. I can’t put my finger on why, but somethings are best left silent. We don’t need the verbal confirmation when we have the visual confirmation, which is Bartlet sticking his hands in his pockets.

• However I do like the shots showing the staffs reactions, waiting for his response. Especially Donna and Margaret idk why.

#the west wing #two cathedrals #tww #rewatching the west wing

[captcas]

hoax

exile by capthamm

your faithless love’s the only hoax i believe in

part five of capthamm’s captain swan’s folklore read on ao3 / read the ao3 series

Grounding herself, Emma fists her hands until her fingers irritate the road burn coating her palms. Regina just got off the phone with Cruella DeVil and Ursula. Cruella and Ursula.

What the fuck?  

Killian arrives and she immediately feels the cool touch of his hook rest on her slightly exposed hip. She’s not sure when this became second nature but she’s glad it has— the consistency grounding her further.

Storybrooke. Chernabog. Town line. Cruella. Ursula. Killian. Hook.

Captain Hook.

She’s dating Captain Hook while co-parenting with the Evil Queen who's trying to decide if she should give Cruella DeVil and Ursula a chance at redemption.

What. the. fuck.

She doesn’t have to deal with these looming realizations as often as she did when the curse broke (the first time), but every once in a while something throws her into a tailspin and she has a hard time finding her way out.

If it weren’t for Killian she’d bet her life savings that Storybrooke was all a delusion and she was sitting in a hospital somewhere compensating for years of home hopping and abandonment.

But then there’s Killian.

There’s been three moments in which Emma knew she wasn’t living a lie.

The first was when Henry came back to her after biting the poisoned turnover. The moment he hugged her… that moment was so visceral, she knew it had to be real.

The second was when Neal died, when she felt a wave of feeling wash over her too great to comprehend. More sobering than any event in her life before, it was a direct reminder nothing is permanent.

The third is every moment she’s spent with Killian since the moment she’s met him. Maybe that’s cheating, shoving hundreds of moments into one, but since she’s met Killian everything has changed.

She was standing in the middle of Cora’s attack, heartless corpses scattered at her feet and she felt another loop setting in, then there was Killian. And so their story goes. Every moment of what the fuck and you’ve got to be kidding me, Killian’s been there— whether on the right side or not is here nor there.

She grasps his hand tightly, drawing a small “x” with her thumb near his wrist and she notices him nod slightly before addressing their ragtag fairytale army, “Emma and I are going to head to Granny’s for some food and then we’ll meet Belle at the library to research our new winged friend.” Everyone nods enthusiastically and leaps into action, David delegating the rest of the group out as Killian squeezes Emma’s hand and leads her away from the chaos.

Once they’re out of ear shot, Killian speaks, “Are you alright, love?”

She loves him. It’s weird, the moment you realize something so profound, but she guesses the small moments are as good as any. “I will be. It’s just… a lot.”

“Aye, Swan. I’m sure it would be for anyone not of our land, but you’ve made great strides in making your own place in this world.” He pulls her in tighter and Emma breathes in his welcoming scent. She always envisioned pirates smelling awful, but Killian is probably the cleanest person she knows. Pirates. She takes a deep breath before diving too deep into that thought.

“Thanks.” She smiles up at him, and she can tell Killian knows how much she means it despite her lack of flowery sentiments he is so versed in. He kisses her temple and she welcomes the silence.

She could handle Elsa making her way into town. Emma was on a level playing field with everyone else, backstories practically nonexistent until Anna entered the picture, but with the arrival of Cruella and Ursula, something shifted in everyone.

There’s history there Emma isn’t a part of and no one is being very forward when it comes to clueing her in. Killian’s holding something back, but she assumes it’s out of shame and knows he’ll tell her on his own time– she didn’t fall in love with a man unscathed; dismal pasts are just part of the package. What’s killing her are her parents, both clearly hiding some dark past with these villains. It’s resurfacing all the anxiety she felt the day the first curse broke. Everyone was so elated, families reunited and memories restored, but Emma felt exactly the same– her relief Henry was going to be alright aside. Snow White hugged her daughter for the first time while Emma hugged her friend Mary Margaret for what felt like the hundredth time.

The playing field was anything but level.

The Enchanted Forest was only a further extension of that, Emma constantly on edge yet feeling 6 steps behind. When she got back to Storybrooke, she felt herself level out— at least she knew how to use the restroom here.

Emma hates to say it, but besides the fact Henry was kidnapped, Neverland was a welcome challenge. Killian warned them the island was greatly unknown even to those who reside there permanently. The playing field leveled itself out completely as everyone seemed just as clueless as she was.

Don’t even get her started on her magic.

Henry has had that book memorized since she met him, the stories practically his now despite him not being alive for the majority of them. He’s always on pace with the rest of the group, knowing references to past dalliances and squabbles without so much as turning a page. She’s glad he’s not feeling this level of anxiousness, but wishes beyond all belief that she could take some of that photographic fairytale memory for herself.

It’s the squeeze of Killian’s hand that brings her back to the present and allows her to walk up the steps to Granny’s without tripping and making an ass of herself. Killian places their order and leans in close to tell Ruby something privately. Before Emma can wonder what he’s said, Killian is leading her up the back steps towards his room and unlocking the door.

“I thought you could use some familiar territory to decompress, love.”

Emma loves him. It’s the only thing that’s convinced her this isn’t some dream that is only minutes from being over. It’s what keeps her fighting tooth and nail for some semblance of normal in her new life which is decidedly anything but. It’s what grounds her when there are literal flying demons from hell trying to take her into the sky.

It’s the only thing that’s made perfect sense.

“Thank you, Killian.” He smiles and begins to turn away, not picking up the true gravity of her appreciation. Emma grabs his wrist and he turns back towards her, worry etched into his brow.

“Are you sure you’re alright, love?” She should answer, but finds herself too busy searching his eyes for any hint that this is a dream.

Emma’s known she loves him for a while now, since the moment they returned from the past– the monumental nature of his trade for her family’s safety winning her heart completely. She doesn’t dare tell him that though– she fears the moment she does is the moment she wakes up back in Boston… alone. Emma hasn’t been alone since the moment Henry found her, and while there are moments she wishes for time to sort out her thoughts, she relishes every moment with her family. At this point, she’s not sure she’d know how to be alone anymore and the thought of leaving this reality for the truth scares her everyday.

Killian’s the only one who seems to remind her this is as real as it gets.

His thumb brushes softly across her wrist where he’s slowly taken control. As though he could read her mind, Killian nods ever-so-slightly, a comforting smile breaking across his face. She squeezes his hand, purposely placing one of his rings in an uncomfortable position on her hand in a futile attempt to wake herself up before she jumps to the point of no return.

Emma finds his eyes again– somehow her anchor even though they’re as blue as the sea. She used to drown in them, the emotions she felt overtaking her as they acted as x-rays into her soul, but as time moved on all she found was comfort. Taking a deep breath, she decides she doesn’t want to live on this edge anymore. If this is all a hoax, she wants to know now before the pain of waking would be more excruciating than she already imagines it would be, but also before he tells her first, and the fear of the unknown stops her from returning the sentiment. Emma aches to tell him, so that she can finally know if the fairytale (literally) she’s been living is truly her life.

So she does.

“I love you.”

As Emma expected, he surges in for a kiss, his actions speaking louder than her three words -even long ago. He comes up for air, and for a moment, Emma refuses to open her eyes, sure the dream will have changed, or worse she’ll have woken up all together, but then that moment passes. Killian’s forehead is hot against hers as she feels the smiles lines grow across it. He breathes out and his breath graces her lips softly. In a seemingly impossible task, Killian closes what little distance remains between them. Emma moves in to kiss him once more, but he leans back slightly to stop her. It’s then, on instinct alone, that Emma finally opens her eyes. As she gazes into an endless expanse of blue, a weight lifts from her chest– a weight left long ago when she turned to find cops in that alleyway instead of Neal. She never realized how heavy it was, not until the moment it was gone– or if not gone, shared.

“I love you too, Swan.”

He brings her back to the here and now in an instant and she’s home.

His voice– light and full of the kind of happiness she truly thought was reserved for the best of dreams– buries itself deep into her mind, creating a sort of tattoo on the memories that lived there. Sure, she’d been told I love you many times, by many people, but the words that leave Killian’s mouth feel permanent.

They feel real.

She rushes forward to kiss him, once again. The electricity radiating through her body, the feel of his hands laced along her lower back, and the smile forming  against her lips finally convince her that, while her life may be part fairytale, it’s undoubtedly as real as any of the others in Henry’s ancient book.

. . . 

@mariakov81​ @lfh1226-linda​ @kmomof4​ @superchocovian​ @pirateherokillian​ @teamhook​ @nikkiemms​

#captain swan fanfiction #cs ff #cs canon divergence #emma swan #killian jones #capthamm #captain swan's folklore #taylor swift #hoax taylor swift

[conradscrime]

Lyle Stevik John Doe (Identified in 2018)

January 08, 2021

Ugh. I love a good John/Jane Doe case. 

However, I do want to just remind everyone that as interesting as these cases are, they are very sad. We need to remember that yes a person who is unidentified is very interesting because there are a lack of answers. The main one being who are they but also what happened to them? 

I think when it comes to John/Jane Doe cases we need to mindful and remain extremely respectful and not so judgemental. These people at one point were someone’s children, sibling, perhaps someone’s parent, someone’s spouse. They were most likely someone’s everything at one point. And now there could be a family or friend or loved one who has no idea what happened to them, has no idea why they haven’t heard from them or seen them. 

John/Jane Doe cases are probably some of my favourite to research because they are just that, interesting. But I especially think in these cases we need to be respectful because these people are no longer here to tell their story or defend themselves. And everyone no matter, deserves to have their name back. 

I’ve known about the Lyle Stevik John Doe case long before he was ever identified. I want to say around 2016 is when I first heard of the case and when he was identified in May of 2018 I was so happy, though his story is sad. Since being identified his family has chosen to keep his identity from the public which I do not blame them one bit especially because I believe the family assumed he was out living a life without them and had no idea he had been deceased for so long. My heart goes out to the family of Lyle Stevik John Doe. 

TRIGGER WARNING: This case involves the topic of suicide and someone taking their own life. If this is triggering for some I suggest not reading this case and to stay tuned for upcoming cases I cover! I have a lot planned and there will be new posts from me every Friday (and on days where I am not so busy with work and school I will have 2 cases uploaded!) 

On Friday, September 14, 2001 a man checked into a motel in Amanda Park Washington called the Quinault Inn under the name Lyle Stevik after arriving there via bus. The clerk told police that he may have been Canadian, as he spoke with what seemed to the clerk as an accent similar to a Canadian one. 

When registering for his room he entered the alias Lyle Stevik, and for an address he wrote down the address of a Best Western facility in Meridian Idaho. The police ended up locating the hotel and questioning the staff, but none of them recognized photos of him. 

The man was reportedly seen walking back and forth at the side of the highway near the motel, but it is uncertain whether these sightings were seen before or after he registered for his room at the motel. The man actually requested a different room after complaining about the noise outside the room was he given. 

The man was found deceased in his motel room on Monday September 17, 2001. An initial report said he had stayed at the motel for two nights, but he had checked in on September 14, which meant he had stayed there for three nights. He originally only paid for one night, but then planned to stay for a few more days. He had hung himself by his belt from a bar inside the closet. 

He had left a note that said “for the room” on the bedside table and left $160 in $20 bills to cover the remaining two nights of the weekend, which I think just shows what kind of person he was in life, a good person. The bills used to pay for the room looked fresh, it appeared that they had been recently taken out of an ATM machine. He had no wallet on him or credit card, so it seemed kind of strange that the bills looked so fresh, because how did he use a ATM machine if he didn’t have a card or wallet on him? There was also a note left that just said the words “suicide.” He is thought to have died on September 16. It is suspected that he may have died by suicide due to depression or because of a fatal disease, though the autopsy showed no signs of that. 

The man was described to have light-skin, and by his features some report that he could of been from Native American or Hispanic ancestry. He also had black hair which was trimmed and neatly combed and green/hazel eyes. He weighed between 130-140 pounds, and was about 6 feet tall. 

An investigator also claimed that there had been a piece of paper located in the trash bin that had “suicide” written on it as if the man were practicing how to spell it. Some believe he could not speak English well. I find this strange though because the clerk that gave him his room never mentioned that he could not speak english well from the research i’ve done, the clerk only said he had some sort of accent and like previously mentioned it was thought to be a Canadian accent, and I feel as though that would of been a very important detail that wouldn’t of been left out. 

Police also said he had closed the blinds of the room and lined the closet with pillows. The man had no luggage with him, he only brought a toothbrush and toothpaste which were found in the room. He was wearing a gray tshirt and  blue levi jeans and black timberland boots. There was also a blue long sleeve plaid button up shirt found laying on a chair in the room. 

So you may be wondering where the name Lyle Stevik comes from. Some believe that he came up with this name from a character in a book written by Joyce Carol Oates. The novel was called “You Must Remember” and it was released in 1987. In the story, the main character’s father, Lyle Stevik, contemplates suicide, and attempts suicide, however doesn’t suceed. The John Doe spelled the name Stevik, but in the book the character’s name is spelled Stevick, with a C.

The local coroner’s office also said the man could of been from African-American ancestry in addition to having Hispanic and native american ancestry. 

DNA analysis concluded he was at least one-quarter native american and one quarter hispanic or spanish. His teeth showed evidence of earlier treatment with braces. He had an old appendectomy scar which is when you get your appendix removed, and also a small mole on the left side of his chin. He also had attached earlobes which is a genetic characteristic. His nails were clean and trimmed as well. 

The man also was not wearing a ring on his left finger, and there was no tan line there or any indication that he had ever worn a ring on that finger. They also did isotope testing on the man and found that he had travelled to various states before his death. Isotope testing in criminal investigations is basically used to find out things such as locating the country of origin for a given explosive, or to identify drug trafficking routes. 

The examination also showed that he had recently lost a large amount of weight up to 40 pounds. The medical examiner estimated this weight difference after noticing that the size of his jeans were fairly large in comparison to his body. His belt also had extra holes that had been punched into it. His age was estimated to be between 20 and 30 years old, giving his estimated year of birth to be between 1971 and 1981. 

Some also found it strange that this man had committed suicide only a few days after 9/11 happened. Investigator’s tried to connect the two, some people thinking maybe he had lost someone in 9/11 and could not go on without them so he decided to end his own life. 

The man known as Lyle Stevik was a John Doe. They had no idea where he came from or where his family could be. He was buried in an unmarked grave at the Fern Hill Cemetery in Aberdeen, Washington, and went unidentified for almost 17 years. 

Because this man had only been deceased for a short period of time before being found, examiners were able to obtain fingerprints, dental characteristics and DNA. These identifying markers were placed in international databases, including CODIS, but no matches were made. It was believed that he came from Port Angeles or Aberdeen, locations from which buses daily traveled to Amanda Park. 

The man was not recognized by any of the bus drivers from those areas. There were also two men who had gone missing named Alexander Craig and Steven Needham, but both had been ruled out as possible identities of the Lyle Stevik John Doe. 

In April of 2007, Lyle Stevik was listed as the profile of the month for Missing From the circle, which was a public service initiative launched by Lamar Associates, a law enforcement advisory organization based in Washington, D.C. to help solve cases of missing and unidentified Native Americans. 

The case went cold. But in 2018, two genetic genealogists from the DNA Doe Project named Colleen M. Fitzpatrick and Margaret Press uploaded DNA profiles to GEDmatch to attempt to link the unidentified man to individuals living in New Mexico and Idaho. The DNA Doe Project is a non-profit organization dedicated to identifying unknown deceased persons. 

And then on May 8, 2018 it was announced by the Grays Harbor Sheriff’s office that Lyle Stevik had been identified through DNA analysis and comparison with genetic relatives, performed by the DNA doe project in collaboration with Aerodyne and Full Genomes Corporation. They found a cluster of matches of relatives, perhaps even two or three generations removed, in New Mexico. Through this they were able to find members of the John Doe’s birth family. 

The man was from Alameda County, California and was 25 years old at the time of this death. The Grays harbour county sheriff’s office notified the man’s family, who had believed him to be alive and had just thought he did not want to associate with them. His family had a set of his fingerprints that were taken in grade school, as part of a children’s identification program. 

The sheriff’s department compared those to the fingerprints of the deceased man taken in 2001 and made a positive identification. However, we do not know the man’s actual name because his family has asked to keep it private, they do not want him to be publicly identified. 

This case is oddly similar to a case that happened in 1996. A woman who went by the name Mary A. Anderson committed suicide in a hotel room in Seattle, Washington in October of 1996. However, this is known to be a fake name the woman used and they have never been able to identify her. 

She reserved a room via telephone on October 9 about 90 minutes before she checked in. She arrived with two bags and paid cash for two nights. She also entered a New York address and telephone number, which investigator later determined to be false. 

On Friday, October 11 her body was discovered by a hotel staff member after she failed to check out. She was found reclining in the bed, clasping a Bible to her chest with the pages opened to Psalm 23. There was a suicide note on the bedside table. She left no identification. 

The Medical examiner determined she had consumed a lethal mixture of metamucil and cyanide and ruled her death a suicide. The woman was white, said to be between ages 30-50, with well groomed manicured nails and neatly combed hair. She had an IUD inserted, and appeared to have had breast surgery at some point in her life. 

Police tried to identify her through fingerprint records on file with the FBI, as well as through missing persons reports filed in the US, Canada and through Interpol which is the International criminal police organization. They were unable to trace the origins of cyanide used and the medical examiner’s office said that the woman had purposely left out any way that she could be identified. I included a photo of her facial reconstruction down below along with Lyle Stevik’s.

Though I don’t really believe there’s any connection to these two cases they are eerily similar and as I mentioned earlier I think John/Jane Doe cases are especially important to cover, and especially important to be respectful of any friends or family if they ever come across this post. 

It makes me extremely happy that Lyle Stevik John Doe was identified in May of 2018. His family has asked to keep his identity from the public, however after doing further research I did find some websleuths who have supposedly found a picture of Lyle Stevik in a yearbook and have released his real name. Personally, the photo to me looks extremely real and does look like him, almost exactly. 

However, because his family wants to grieve in peace I will not be posting that photo or his supposed real name. I do not think that is fair to the family and I think we need to let this case rest. Lyle Stevik got his name back, his family has the closure they needed after all these years and that’s all that matters.

Thank you for taking time out of your day to read this post! I have included a photo of Lyle Stevik John Doe’s sketch but I will not be including photos of his  body or the supposed yearbook photo of him as I just find that extremely disrespectful to not only him, but also his family. 

Hope you enjoyed this case!

#true crime #crime #solved #johndoe #john doe #identified #2001

[langdvnshepherd]

Cabin in the Woods (Xavier Plympton x fem!reader)

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: smut and uhh... you’ll see

A/N: Happy AHS: 1984 premiere day! Just thought I’d pop in with a fun little something in honor of American Horror Story finally being back on our tv screens again! This was based on an anon I received about Xavier being the kind of guy that can dish it out but can’t take it. I’m anxiously awaiting the arrival of Xavier to Camp Redwood, so fingers crossed he’s everything we’ve imagined him to be! As always, barely proofread so forgive me! Also a special shoutout to my gorlieeeee @avesatanormalpeoplescareme for this brilliant ending!!!! Let me know what you think and what else you want to see from Xavier!

-

The Camp Redwood Wrap Party. Held on the night after all of the campers had been picked up by their parents to celebrate another successful summer in the woods. There was no more pitter-patter of tiny hiking boots at 6am, no more long days spent sweating your ass off and trying to keep small children from stepping directly into poison ivy and causing a disruption in your already chaotic day. The summer was finally over, and it was the last hoorah of camp before everyone went their separate ways.

Sitting across from you by the fire pit was Xavier, paper cup full of Montana’s famous punch in his tightly wound fist. His hooded eyes bored holes into yours over the vibrant, roaring flames, nostrils flaring with each bated breath. The girl beside him had practically crawled in his lap, fawning over his perfectly quaffed hair, fluttering her best doe eyes up at him in an attempt to seduce him. It had worked before, or at least he thought it had. He wasn’t sure if she was the same girl from a few days before or if that was someone else entirely, but at this point, he’d lost all interest in her. Nevertheless, she was far too intoxicated to realize her doting had no effect on him in the slightest, no matter how hard she palmed at his crotch with her long nails or sloppily ran her tongue along the hollow of his throat. Xavier was more focused on you, or rather the tall brunette whose hands were discreetly dancing dangerously close to the waistband of your nylon shorts, though he could see it plain as day. They were the shorts Xavier once told you you weren’t allowed to be seen in by anyone other than him. But you didn’t belong to him anymore, as he’d said it himself.

You wished you could live in the moment, submit to the handsome man that held you in his grasp and revel in the sensation that was his hands creeping steadily down your back towards the bottom of your spine, but Xavier wouldn’t let you. Fucking Xavier. You could feel the cold, icy stare of his beaming in your direction each time the guy you were with inched closer and closer to you, putting his hands in places that Xavier had only weeks ago. It was preoccupying every fiber in your body, rendering you unable to focus on what was potentially your last shot at getting laid this summer. 

“What’s with him?” your newest conquest gestured to the smoldering blonde that kept eyeing you two, mumbling against the soft skin of your neck with his sticky, alcohol-ridden lips.

“Ignore it,” you sighed, though you didn’t know if your command was directed more at him or yourself.

“He’s just jealous.”

“Clearly,” he chuckled, the quick puffs of air he let out through his nostrils fanning across your collarbone, prickling tiny, raised goosebumps along the surface.

“I can’t believe he passed this up,” he boasted, giving the plump skin of your ass a hard knead for emphasis.

You refrained from rolling your eyes at him, though it took everything in you not to. At the beginning of the summer, you firmly believed that Xavier was as arrogant as they come. You thought nothing could match the cockiness (both figuratively and literally) that emanated from his mere presence. That might still be true, but it was now safe to say that Xavier was only one of many sleazebags on the roster at Camp Redwood. 

Despite his smugness, somehow, in some way, Xavier had caught you in his trap. Wrangled you into his mind games and managed to have you at his mercy for the entire summer. Anything Xavier asked, whether it was meeting up in the woods while the campers were making macaroni necklaces in the arts and craft hall to blow him or him clamping his hand over your mouth and jaw in the middle of the night to keep you from screaming out while he fucked you next to your fellow counselor and bunkmate, you were at his will. You were addicted to him, and it seemed that he was to you as well. That was, until about a week ago, when he abruptly told you to he didn’t want to see you anymore and that there were plenty of women around camp that could “satisfy his needs.” It had been a jab in the heart, perhaps for reasons you weren’t ready to admit just yet, but you refused to let some pretentious asshole ruin your last few weeks of camp.

“What do you say we get out of here and go back to my cabin, yeah?” you suggested, fingers trailing down his color-block, cotton t-shirt and pausing at the beginnings of a bulge growing at the front of his shorts. 

Your eyes flickered over to Xavier to see if he was watching the scenario unravel, you fooling around shamelessly in front of the entire camp crew with someone that wasn’t him. No one would have even caught the way your eyes darted left and right almost simultaneously had they not been staring directly at you. And lucky, the right person was. Xavier’s stare, if possible, grew more rigid and terrifying, nostrils stuck in a permanent flare. He definitely noticed. 

Good.

The boy smirked down at you upon hearing your request, running his tongue along the skin of his bottom lip. His crass behavior didn’t have the same effect that Xavier’s did on you; it was borderline repulsive. Nonetheless, you persisted, dubbing this fool your latest conquest at whatever the cause. Anything to make Xavier realize what he was missing.

“Fuck yeah,” he exhaled forcefully as if he was already straining against his boxers at the mere thought of fucking what once was the most popular counselor’s personal plaything.

You began to lead him slowly back into the sparsely wooded area where the counselor cabins were located, though it looked especially eery in the moonlight. Twigs and rocks crackled beneath your shoes and the sounds of the wrap party began to taper off. Your hand held on tightly to the boy, whose name you honestly couldn’t recall due to the no-doubt deathly concoction of liquor Montana stirred into the punch. Just as you reached the wooden stairs that led to your room, a voice, not yours or his, broke the string of drunken giggles that had been falling from both of your lips.

“Y/N,” the voice called out, nearly making you jump out of your skin. 

“Fuck, Xavier!”

His face was barely visible via the shotty, yellow porch light that had a habit of going out every once in a while. Had it actually been out, you would have assumed that the man in front of you was definitely not Xavier and was most certainly Mr. Jingles, the campfire myth that everyone had been ranting and raving about all summer.

You rubbed your face aggressively with your hands, trying your best to steady your rapidly increasing heartbeat that was caused by the commotion.

“Sorry to startle you,” he dismissed your panic half-heartedly. 

He wasn’t sorry in the slightest.

“I was hoping I could get you to come back to my cabin to finalize your counselor paperwork. Margaret said you skipped a form when you filled them out yesterday and she really needs you to sign off on it for the camp records.” 

The words dripped from his lips so coyly, so effortlessly. As if he hadn’t intentionally cock-blocked your last and final attempt at getting some dick at this godforsaken camp.

“Now’s not a really good time, man,” the boy beside you interjected, clearly not seeing through the guise.

What an idiot. Xavier simply chuckled at his ignorance, pacing the porch step with his hands clasped behind his back.

“It’s urgent. It’ll only take a second, really. I’ll make sure she comes back to you safe and sound.”

“Whatever,” the boy scoffed, clearly not vibing with whatever he imagined Xavier was pulling.

“I’m going to find Brooke. At least she’ll blow me.”

And with that, off walked the snarky son-of-a-bitch, and so did your shot at getting dicked down. He wasn’t much, clearly, but he wasn’t Xavier. And your mind but not your body had convinced you that fucking him would distract you from the impending gloom that lurked within you about your little “breakup.”

When his foot falls dwindled down to distant thumps, Xavier gripped you harshly by the wrist, far less calm and collected than he had just been when thwarting off your newest catch. 

Your cabin was directly across the way from his, the Head Counselor Cabin. He wasn’t the head counselor by any means, just knew whose and how much ass to kiss in order to get it. He bunked alone and had his own bathroom, unlike the rest of you who got stuck with often smelly bunkmates and a nasty communal shower that never stayed upwards of lukewarm for longer than 3 minutes at a time. It was where you’d spent most of the summer when you weren’t, ya know, doing your job. Countless nights you’d spent sprawled out on Xavier’s sheets with your legs spread wide and pussy glistening in the moonlight, writhing beneath Xavier while he dismantled you thrust by thrust, leaving you whimpering and shaking by the time he was done using you. Back then, you could have sworn there was no other place you’d rather be, but due to the recent turn of events, that wasn’t so much the case anymore.

It didn’t more than a handful of steps to get there until Xavier flung the flimsy screened-in door of his cabin open, shoving you inside and forcing you to stumble into the darkness of the room. 

“What the fuck was that about, hm?” you snarled when you regained your balance.

There was no way in hell this was really about paperwork.

“I could ask you the same thing. What the fuck was that about? You and I both know he is far from your type.”

His stance was demeaning, overpowering you easily with the way his hands were planted on either side of his hips. Xavier had his head cocked to the side as if you having the audacity to sleep with someone else was a mystery he was unable to solve.

A laugh bubbled up from your chest and out of your mouth before you could stop it. He looked far less intimidating after more or less admitting that he acted how he did out of jealousy, though you still couldn’t deny the way butterflies blossomed in your tummy and heat began to pool in your abdomen at the hidden confession.

“That’s bold coming from you, Xavier. You don’t want me anymore, remember? And besides, that red-head was basically tongue-fucking your ear back at the campfire. Why aren’t you with her right now? Making her ‘satisfy your needs?’“ you mocked him using air quotes to remind him of the harsh words he’s spouted at you in a fit of rage.

Xavier was walking towards you now, backing you into the corner of the wall. The knocking of his footsteps against the aged cedar floor, similar to how your heart was thumping in your ear. Even though it had only been but a week since your last interaction, Xavier sure knew how to rile you up.

He blocked you in, filling the empty space between you by pressing his body against yours. You felt the air in the room disappear through a vacuum, his proximity causing your throat to go dry your ears to ring loudly. His fingers on one hand caressed the skin of your jaw, while the other slithered in between your meshed bodies to cup your heat through your shorts. 

“I’m the only one that gets to touch you like this. Do you understand?”

You couldn’t speak. Xavier’s touches sparked a fire in your belly that was raging inside of you. Had he not been holding your jaw in place, you wouldn’t have even been able to look him in the eye.

“I said, Do. You. Understand?”

He ground the palm of his hand harshly against your clothed pussy once more, forcing a whimper out of you.

“Fuck you,” you spat through gritted teeth, in fear that your voice couldn’t get any clearer.

As much as you wanted to be mad at him right now given the shit he’d just pulled, there was no denying the arousal coursing through your veins.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Xavier clicked his tongue, smirking down at the mess he’d already made of you with only the simplest of touches.

“I’m about to.”

The kiss he pulled you into was feverish, a rushed formality of his, although he couldn’t deny that he’d missed the familiar taste of your lips even after such a short passing of time. You savored the taste of him as well, knowing for certain it would be the last time you’d have the pleasure of doing so, whether it was due to the nature of your relationship or the fact that camp was over in the morning. Both of his large, strong hands fell to the sides of your thighs, a gentle tapping on your skin indicating that he wanted you to jump. He lifted you with ease from against the wall, then carried you the quick distance to his bed where he tossed you haphazardly onto the squeaky mattress.

You reached for the waistband of his shorts, gasping when your fingers fumbled over the tent that formed near his zipper.

“You feel that, baby?” Xavier moved your fingers away from the button that you were working open and back down to his crotch, pressing the flat of your palm against his impossibly hard member.

“Can you feel what you do to me?”

A moan strangled through your closed lips as you ran your thumb up and down his length. It never got old. Feeling how hard Xavier gets right before he fucks you into the mattress or the dirt, or a tree, or the floor of his van.

Xavier’s breathes grew heavier ear with each pass of your fingers over the underside of his clothed dick, fighting the urge to take you right then and there. As much as he wanted to, he had plans for you, plans to tease and punish you for going so far as to even think you had authority to fuck anyone other than him.

“Yeah,” Xavier was pulled away from his thoughts by your answer.

“I can feel it.”

Your voice was high pitched and whiny like Xavier had managed to dwindle you down to nothing but a needy hole that was desperate to be filled. You batted your eyelashes up at the blonde, which nearly made him falter. It appears as if he’d already ruined you, and the thought of it had his cock twitching prematurely in his boxers.

“It’s pathetic,” your docile demeanor faltered in an instant, revealing your stoic, seemingly bored expression.

“I’ve barely even touched you and you’re already this hard? That’s embarrassing, X,” you mocked demeaningly.

You closed your fist tightly around his cock that was constrained against his shorts, eliciting an unwanted, wanton groan from Xavier’s plump lips. He looked angry, but his eyelids forcibly closing and his breath hitching in the back of his throat suggested his disdain was laced with arousal.

Xavier took the hand he was using to brace himself on the mattress and brought it towards your face. He caressed your cheek lovingly, any inkling of previous annoyance vanished. His touch was tender as he smirked down at you.

Silly girl. If only you knew.

“You know what’s really embarrassing, kitten?”

He paused to dance his fingertips along your jaw, then moved down even further to graze the sensitive skin of your neck. In a flash he had wrapped his hand wrapped firmly around your throat, squeezing hastily so that your mangled gasp filled the room at the same time as his words that followed.

“Thinking you have the upper hand in this situation.”

Before you could catch your breath, Xavier had you flipped over, upright on your knees and pinned to his chest while he worked at removing your clothing. He paid no mind to the buttons on your blouse, the poor old thing clattering to the ground in dozens of pieces as the ripped it right from your chest. His hands molded to the shape of your body as he felt you up, nibbling on your earlobe when your head fell back into his shoulder and cupping your breasts over the fabric of your thin bra.

You shorts were easy to discard, as there wasn’t much to remove to begin with. Xavier always said they made your ass look incredible, hence why he spent some extra time admiring how the undersides of your cheeks hung from beneath the hem.

Xavier released his grip from you, forcing your front down onto the bed but keeping your ass up high, wiggling and on display for him and him alone. He slid your shorts and panties the rest of the way down your knees and over your ankles, tossing them behind his shoulder to lay neglected with the rest of your clothing. 

“And to think, Y/N,” Xavier began as he worked at removing his own clothing.

You heard the rustling of his windbreaker and the zipper of his shorts coming undone as you lay motionless against the pillow that smelled of the musty cologne Xavier was known for drenching himself in before camp began every morning.

“I was gonna take it easy on you tonight.”

His lips ghosted the shell of your ear, catching you off guard when he’d lowered himself to your level. Goosebumps prickled your shoulder and spine as he retreated to his original position on his knees behind you.

Xavier parted the mounds of flesh on your ass, reveling in the sight of your folds glistening with arousal in the moonlight that bled in through the open curtains. He let out a low half chuckle, half groan at your hypocrisy. You’d mocked him only minutes ago about his own predicament, yet here you were, dripping for him.

As if he even needed to, you heard Xavier hawk from deep in the back of this throat, then felt a hot spat of stringy saliva make contact with your core and quickly dribble downwards towards your clit. Xavier’s thumb began massaging the skin close to your heat, anywhere but where you wanted him. He took pride in watching you squirm, watching you whimper and listening to the small string of please’s that fell from your lips at barely above a whisper.

When he’d decided you’d had enough, he ran his fingers through your velvet folds, pushing two of his fingers in up to the last knuckle. Your walls welcomed him with ease, swallowed him as he resisted the urge to crumble on the spot.

“Seems like I’m not the only one who’s turned on right now,” he amused himself as he toyed with the excess of wetness that coated your cunt, thumb prodding at your clit each time he felt like you weren’t making enough noise for him.

“Will you just shut up and fuck me, Xavier?” you called from your position on the pillow, the low thread cotton beginning to leave imprints on your cheeks.

“With pleasure, doll.”

In an instant, his fingers left your core, causing you to shiver at the emptiness. However, his fingers were quickly replaced with his cock, that had been neglected, bobbing in the crisp air, leaking with the desire to fit inside of you. Xavier ran his flushed, pink tip through the shining petals of your folds for ease before inching his way into you. 

You both sighed in unison as Xavier’s long, thick cock split you agonizingly. Despite only a week’s passing, your tight, warm cunt was no match for Xavier’s length, or his girth. Each and every. fucking. time. it felt like he was tearing you in two. He paused when he was fully seated in you, letting out a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding. His hands reached out to steady himself on your hips, nails digging harshly into your sides.

He set his pace in no time, not quite giving you enough time to adjust to his size, although there was no negating the pleasurable burn left behind each time his hips rolled into your ass. Your whimpers turned to full-blown moans as he assaulted your pussy, fingers reaching out for something, anything to grasp to sate the impending coil tightening deep within your belly. 

You became more desperate, wanting more from Xavier despite him snapping into you at rapid speed. His cock pumped in and out of you with a harmonious string of squelches, each more wet-sounding than the last.

In attempt to spur yourself on faster, you began working in tandem with Xavier, rocking yourself forwards and backwards onto his length.

“How many times do I have to tell you, pet. You’re not calling the shots here,” Xavier growled as he ripped you up by the roots of your hair, pulling you flush against his sweat-slick chest.

All you could muster was a mewl as the burn of both his cock buried in your cunt and the burn of his grip on your hair consumed your body, blossoming into something akin to pure, raw rapture.

“Fuck,” Xavier hissed as you clenched around him.

“Your pussy’s so fucking tight. Gonna make me cum soon, baby,” he purred in your hear, causing your toes to curl and your lip to bleed from how hard you were biting down on the skin.

“Please let me cum, Xavier,” you begged, unsure if you could hold out for much longer.

You knew for certain that if you came before instructed, Xavier would continue to tease you until you couldn’t stand it, and leave you high and dry. He’d force you to finish him off in your mouth, force you to swallow every last pearly bead of cum and then walk off in the opposite direction, with no regard to the ache between your thighs, only caring about the appearance of his hair that he’d check out through the reflective lenses of his infamous sunglasses.

“Hmm, I don’t know,” he pondered in between thrusts.

“You’ve been awfully naughty tonight. I’m not so sure that bad girls deserve to cum.”

“Xavier, come on,” you whined.

The blonde chuckled in your ear, cherishing your neediness, your desperation to be pushed over the edge by his hand and his cock.

“I supposed I could let you cum. On one condition.”

“Anything,” you writhed in his strong grip, lungs running out of air from how tightly his was holding you against his chest.

“You have to scream loud enough for the whole. camp. to hear you. Think you can do that for me?”

All it took was the weakest nod you could muster and Xavier dropped you back down onto the mattress, never once pulling himself out of you. His pace increased by tenfold, sparks shooting deep inside of you at your release that was to come.

Withing a few tight circles of his gentle but calloused fingers against your swollen bundle of nerves, you were cumming. Hard and loud, loud enough for everyone to hear. Just as he’d instructed you too. He refused to let up on his thrusts, fucking you long and deep through your orgasm. You tucked your head into your chest the best you could to come down from the waves of euphoria that never seemed to stop flowing through you. But you weren’t done yet.

“Fuck, Y/N. Keep clenching me like that. Just. Like. That.”

You held out for him, fighting the urge to collapse. The muscles of your walls pulsated around him, hugging him in the warmest embrace. Had he not ran out of condoms three days ago, he would have come inside of your cunt that was overflowing with your own juices.

When Xavier had reached his end, he withdrew himself from you. With a few jerks of his cock into his furled fist before he found his release. Ropes of his warm seed overflowed onto your back and up your naked spine and he came loudly with a grunt. He came much quicker and much harder than you’d ever seen him go, as you felt the bed dip almost simultaneously after silence overtook the room. 

You laid there for a prolonged period of time, head still tucked into your chest, waiting for Xavier to retrieve a warm rag from the bathroom to clean up his...mess. When he still hadn’t moved after a solid handful of minutes, you called for him. No answer. 

“Xavier, what the fuck? Go get a rag.”

It wasn’t until you felt small, slippery droplets run down your arms and pool in between your elbows that you shifted from your position. 

There was no denying, even in the darkness, what you were seeing reflecting from the moonlight in the window. Coating your entire backside, arms, and legs was a metallic-smelling, dark substance that nowhere resembled Xavier’s cum in the slightest. Looking over at Xavier, you realized why he hadn’t moved in several minutes. 

Standing directly over you was a tall, brooding black figure, a crescent-shaped dagger raised above his head, ready to strike again.

And attached to his hips? A set of bulky keys that suddenly began to jingle in the draft caused by the caved-in screen door of the cabin.

//

@alice-is-happy @lathraios @rocketgirl2410 @langdonskillerqueen@nickisgirl @hecohansen31 @blakewaterxx@divinelangdon@sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @littledemondani@little-grunge-flowerz@this-isnt-madness @w0nder-marie@d4dasher123@breakingsupernaturlbad101 @asstichrist@avesxtxnas @satcnas@langdonsdemon @babyboy-cody@avesatanormalpeoplescareme@chirpdesu @littlepsychos-world@soph3218 @michaellangdons @daddyjiel @venusxxlangdon@readsalot73 @wroteclassicaly@gold-dragon-slayer @venusbloodlust @avocxdy @contanto-que-voce-me-queira @admire123 

#xavier plympton x reader #michael langdon x reader #duncan shepherd x reader #jim mason x reader #american horror story fanfiction #ahs fanfiction #ahs: 1984 #american horror story: 1984 #american horror story #xavier plympton fanfiction #michael langdon fanfiction #duncan shepherd fanfiction #jim mason fanfiction #xavier plympton smut #michael langdon smut #duncan shepherd smut #jim mason smut #my writing #fic #mine

[believerindaydreams]

Me: guys I wrote you an *ending*

The unholy polycule I have summoned into existence: tough luck, keep writing

Carla

If there's anything that does suggest their quartet weren't always complete idiots, it's that the community they started seems to have kept going just fine without them.

The leaders are all women, it turns out- Shari, the best doctor they have and busy training more. Sierra, who seems a little scattered but will chat with anyone and offer them a bottle of her homemade Nuka-Cola brew. And Catherine, who describes herself as "useless in the field, but very good at telling you how to plant it."

Catherine being the only one who's also a mother, it's reassuring having her expertise around; even when Daisy is just contentedly napping in her carrier.

"And of course you were the impetus for our gang of four- always the one to put your foot down when a decision needed to be made. Deciding to accept former raiders, for instance- ooh, I was a dither about that and so was Sierra. But you said no, this community was going to take anyone in until they'd proven otherwise, and you did, and why, it's gone very smoothly. Of course, it's easy when there's so much money flowing in- the bottle trade alone, my dear! Caravans are big business these days."

"But the boys," Carla says, rather confused. "Don't they do anything?"

"Ah, well- your husband was always popping off again, you used to call him your own cartographer. Couldn't rely on him, I'm afraid. Vargas we all agreed would be perfect for the Rivet City liaison, so that keeps him busy, and Arcade Gannon...? I don't know if you've noticed, but he is so terribly shy. No bedside manner worth speaking of, he used to joke."

"...then what did I do?"

"Oh, anything and everything! Running back and forth all hours of the day and night, Daisy in her carrier and your hands full of knitting. Directions, breaking up quarrels, assigning schedules and then getting people to do them, which are by no means the same skill- but you could do anything you turned your hand to, it seemed. We were- we were rather intimidated, when you told us that you had to go with your husband. Goodness, please don't do that again any time soon. There's far too much in the wind for you to vanish on us again."

"Then perhaps you had better tell me. Because I am badly out of the loop."

Catherine taps the side of her nose. "It's Margaret, you know- well, it's Three Dog really, but he doesn't say everything that he knows. The Brotherhood has him body and soul- I mean, they do guard the station. But we have a mole named Margaret who works the early morning shift even though she doesn't like it, and it's very kind of her. Because then she can give us the word on things like Liberty Prime being brought online."

Whatever effect Catherine is hoping to make, it's wasted on her. Carla occupies herself patting her baby instead, letting Daisy suck sleepily at her breast.

"And that, I understand, is because Doctor Li's team is planning some sort of...well, plan, about the Tidal Basin water- now they've said that before but the Brotherhood seems to think it's serious this time, because they are planning to send Liberty Prime in to destroy it or something. And that's just as well for us, because if there was cheap water for the taking- why, poof! Nacochtank might as well be Big Town or Dave's Republic, just any old settlement scratching out existence. All those lovely plans of yours up in smoke."

She wishes she'd known this when she'd come back- no, she doesn't. It's taken this long just to be able to recognize people in her own settlement, to rest and bond with her child and start putting Raven Rock out of her mind.

It's good that she left people who could be trusted to carry on without her.

She won't allow that state of affairs to continue; but it was smart.

*****

Arcade

There is nothing so definitely clear cut as remembrance, while he lies flat against the dirt in his own herb garden; but he's sure it's doing him good all the same.

"I don't think I would have even made it here without you," he says affectionately to Boone. Books were all very well up to the point that the constrained walls of the Rivet City Clinic began reminding him of the Enclave; and it's lucky that Boone had seemed to have a knack for those bad patches, his simple presence a trustworthy constant.

His lover grunts, cuts xander greens from the root with his machete. "No problem."

A wave of affection rolls over him, mixed with the inevitable disbelief. He plucks a flower to chew and opens up the lovingly bound thesis he'd found in his tent. Dry, a touch arch, but the contents aren't so alien as they perhaps should be.

Which gives him hope for some type of reversal, although it would be a long way off yet.

"Hey, guys? Family meeting," Manny says.

"I'm here, you're here, Arcade's here," Boone says. "Just get my wife and we can have it right here."

"Behind you."

"Aww, I was going to surprise him with a kiss- well, have one anyway."

"We should move, though," Manny says. "Out of the way of listening ears."

Arcade groans, sits up to dust himself off. "Don't tell me we're going into a subway or a bunker, I've had quite enough of that."

"How about a boat?"

***

So that's how they end up all sitting in a rowboat above who knows how much dirty water. At least they've left the baby on shore.

"Thing is," Manny says, and pauses. "Look. I know none of you are at your best right now, that you have no reason to trust me-"

"Bull," Boone says. "We left Daisy with you."

"And everyone I have met does respect you," Carla points out.

"And I trust them," Arcade says simply.

"Okay then," Manny says, after a fairly pregnant pause. "Look. I gotta know- what is it we're pulling for at this point? A safe life for Daisy? Nacochtank's welfare? Revenge on the Enclave? Cos a whole lotta things are about to go down and before I can start planning, I need to know what way you all want to jump."

"Brahmin before the cart," Carla says briskly. "Tell us what info you have, and then we'll decide based on all the facts."

"Agreed," Arcade says.

So they sit and compare notes, which overlap. At the Jefferson Memorial.

"...you never would help the Rivet City science lab," Manny says, pulling a splinter off an oar. "Never nailed down a reason why, but I suppose we can guess now."

"If we know Autumn will be at the Memorial, I wouldn't mind giving him a bullet for a parting gift," Boone says.

"If the Brotherhood doesn't beat you to it- I wish I knew what a Liberty Prime is," Carla says, trailing her hands in the water. Boone scowls at her and she wipes them on his shirt. "Arcade, what do you think?"

He thinks he'd just like to be at peace, with books and herbs; and feels vaguely guilty that he can't immediately recapture the drive for humanitarianism that landed him in this position. "I think it's going to end with a war starting uncomfortably close to our homes, unless we can do something very clever."

"Such as?" Carla sounds as dubious as he feels.

"Like- a temporary truce of some kind, perhaps while fighting another enemy."

"Ashur?"

"I confess, I can't think of anyone better suited.

Manny heaves a sigh, starts rowing back to shore. "This is gonna need Veronica."

#ttw draft

[sada-siva-sanyaasi]

For Her - Part 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (Modern Royalty AU)

Genre: Romance, fluff, angst.

Words: 1,418 words.

Warnings: Maybe in the future? None for now.

Series Summary: He was just supposed to attend her coronation, possibly make a new ally out of her country. Not fall in love with her.

Prologue | Part 1 

The ride back to the castle was silent, in the beginning. Bucky looked out the window with awe as he eagerly took in the empire in front of him. Steve sat beside him and silently took in the limousine and the people in it.

The Princess of Themyscira sat a seat away, looking up every now and then at Bucky before turning away, her lips set in a pout. Her bodyguard pulled his phone out and typed something in before setting it down, and a second later the princess pulled her phone out, her pout twisting into a sneer as she turned to glare at him.

Steve bit his lip, a small smile on his face as he took in the exchange, but was pleasantly surprised when she turned to them and decided to initiate the conversation.

“There will be a long Royal tour around the empire soon, Your Majesty. You don’t have to drink it all in at once. A meal is best savoured with each bite.” The amused smirk on her face made Bucky smile as well, a soft laugh escaping him.

“Oh I’m sure the Royal tour will be fantastic. Your country is just too ethereal for me to take my eyes off it, Your Grace.”

Y/N’s smile fell for a short second, and she opened her mouth to reply when a sharp gasp left her. Bucky and Steve turned to look at her when she turned to glare at her bodyguard. “Why did you do that, Manny?” She hissed, rubbing her hip as he shrugged nonchalantly.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Your Grace.” She bit her lip and turned away, looking at her other guards and signalling something before smiling at her guests.

“Manny was being… Manny. Right, Captain?” Both of them glared at each other and Bucky coughed into his fist, a small smirk on his face.

“Your captain and you seem close, Your Grace.” Y/N noted the smirk on his face and she adjusted her watch, clearing her throat.

“Manny and I grew up together, he’s been my best friend since I learnt to walk. So yes, we’re close. Aren’t we, Emmanuel?”

The Captain grimaced and turned away, grumbling under his breath. Her smirk widened and she leaned closer to Bucky, lowering her voice. “He despises being called Emmanuel. And he can’t scream at me with you around. Wonderful, right?”

Bucky laughed, staring at her. “Absolutely.” Steve cleared his throat and Y/N leaned back in her seat, when her phone rang. She looked at it and frowned, before sparing Bucky an apologetic look.

“I apologise, but I must attend to this call. I hope you don’t mind, Your Majesty.” He shook his head, and she went to talking into her phone, staring at her nails. “And how long do I have for that? Alright. We’re almost there anyway, I’ll meet you in the hall, thank you Peggy.” She set her phone down and smiled at Bucky, eyes so apologetic Bucky was ready to forgive her for even bombing his country.

“We’re near the Palace right now, but I must apologise as I will not be with you for longer than half an hour as I need to go and attend to other royalties arriving as well, Your Majesty.” Bucky stared at her as she bit her lip and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, looking at him as though she was waiting.

“What? Oh, no please I don’t mind, Your Grace. It’s quite alright.” She nodded, smiling, when the limo halted and her guards stepped out, opening the door for them and bowing.

The moment Bucky stepped out, his breath hitched in throat as his eyes scanned the palace. Y/N stood beside him and sighed, smiling at the palace.

“I know, it’s a little too pretty. I heard the first Queen always wanted things she owned to be grand, didn’t realise until her great-granddaughter let me move in here a few years ago.”

He turned to her with wide eyes as they both began to walk towards the palace, their guards surrounding them. “Wait, what?”

“My great-grandmother, who passed away two years ago, is the first Queen’s great-granddaughter, and Themyscira’s first Empress. She lived a long and good life, I should say, having lived here her entire life.” Bucky nodded as he noticed his secretary and Prime Minister reach them right then, only a few feet behind them.

Tony and Natasha bowed to the royals, and Bucky nodded in return as Y/N just smiled and shook their hands, ushering them closer as they noticed the paparazzi nearby. “How about you smile for the cameras once, the paparazzi look excited.” Tony said, and Y/N chuckled, smiling along with all of them before motioning for them to follow her into the palace.

A lady walked towards them, bowing to all of them and then smiling at Y/N, almost looking relieved to see her.

“Y/N- Your Grace, welcome back. Welcome to Themyscira, Your Majesty, Prime Minister Romanoff and Mr. Stark. My name is Margaret Carter, I am Her Grace’s assistant, and I will also be in charge of your Royal Tour scheduled for tomorrow. Would you like me to escort you to your rooms?” Y/N raised an eyebrow as she stared at her. “You’ll leave me alone here, Pegs? With him?” She said, jerking her head in Manny’s direction who just scowled at her.

Everyone around her stared at her as Peggy just rolled her eyes and smiled. “I’m not leaving you alone in the middle of this palace, and I’m pretty sure he won’t hit you, Your Grace. Would you, Manny?”

Manny opened his mouth, but another voice said, “I would, she probably deserved it.”

Y/N sighed and clapped her hands, looking towards the stairs with a smile. “Please meet my siblings, Your Majesty.”

Two men and a lady walked towards them, everyone turning and bowing before returning to what they were doing. “Prince Thor, the oldest, Princess Diana, the second-born, and Prince Loki, the third sibling.”

Loki smirked as he stood beside Y/N. “You forgot to introduce yourself, little sister. Y/N, youngest and heir to the throne.”

Bucky chuckled as he greeted everyone, walking along as they all got seated in a room. Steve and Manny stayed outside, while Tony and Natasha had taken their seats beside Bucky.

“Thor is an architect,” Y/N said, watching Thor converse with Natasha while Tony and Loki engaged in a deep debate.

“I heard Princess Diana abdicated,” Bucky used, sipping his tea as he observed the sisters. “Any particular reason, Your Grace?”

Diana smiled, one that looked tired of the question making Bucky wish he could take it back. “Well, I was never interested in the throne and royal duties, my love was always for things beyond this empire. And I found him outside too,” she twisted the ring around her finger and gazed at it fondly, “he made me believe I was more than what everyone wanted me to be, and has stayed by my side as I made this decision as well. Now as Mrs. Trevor I feel more as me than I did as Diana, heir apparent to the throne of Themyscira.”

Bucky gazed at his own rings, the sapphires and opals glimmering under the fancy lights as he remembered the history of them. “I… I never thought of it, to be honest,” he sighed, pulling out the ring on his left middle finger; a gift from his grandfather. “All my life, I’ve been told that I was born to be King, and that Frigus was my right. But now that I am King, I see it’s more of a responsibility and honour than people make it to be.”

Y/N smiled to herself, opening her mouth, when her assistant walked into the room. “Pardon me, Your Grace, but it’s time.” Y/N glanced apologetically at Bucky before standing up, sticking her hand out.

“My apologies, Your Majesty. Duty calls. I will be seeing you soon, I suppose.” “Oh you will, Your Grace. Until we meet again.” Bucky shook her hand, but decided to call out to her just as she was about to leave the room.

“Also, why is it Your Grace? Aren’t princesses referred to as Royal Highnesses?” Y/N laughed, the sweet sound filling his ears and making him break a smile as well.

“Oh the ladies of this empire loved to be referred to as graceful rather than high, that’s it.”

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[wordlessbabbling]

The Anya-Margaret (Thomas Shelby)- Chapter 1

“I’m thinking of killing off a few characters just to jazz up my autobiography.”

Masterlist

“Can’t catch me!” The young girl fled around the halls of her stately home.

A young maid, who was on nanny duty today, had the misfortune of chasing after the relentless girl.

She ran through halls with ceilings that she would never touch, no matter how much she grew.

The carpet was lusciously red and rich- it tickled her toes which only made the young girl giggle more as she toddled around the home.

The walls had a green design that was bright enough to make the house not seem boring, but dull enough to drive one insane, should they spend too much time looking for a cosmic purpose.

But young girls like her had no time to contemplate philosophy and the cosmos, as girls like her were too busy running with time.

Time ticks fast, but she ticks faster- never letting it overtake her for fear of the unknown.

——

“Oi Tom!” Arthur trudged into the betting shop, “new business in town. Well-not that new-but either way- they ain’t paying for protection, so I propose we go n’ ruff ‘em up.”

Thomas placed his pencil down on the document he was working on. He’d heard about this business, and he actually had plans for them.

“Aye, Arthur.” Thomas nodded, better now than never- it’s not like he wanted to sit at his desk all day- “I’ve got a proposal for ‘em.”

Arthur’s face shifted slightly with minor satisfaction as the thought of letting out some pent up nerves while smashing a blokes face in just made him feel a bit better.

“Who am I bringing then? John-boy? Scudboat? You’re coming too, Tom, ain’t ya?” Arthur was now pacing as his hands itched with anticipation.

Thomas only lit a cigarette with a blank look on his face, “actually, Arthur- it’s just going to be you, John and I visiting. I have a business proposal first.”

——

The streets of Small Heath were grimy and unpleasant, but not nearly as unpleasant as how thick the air became when they stepped closer and closer to the establishment.

“What they done, Tom?” John had his game face on. He was ready to kick ass and fuck up some poor blokes marriage. It’s going to be great.

“Ah, ah. Not yet, boys. I have a business deal to make first, should they refuse, then maybe you can sling their hook. But for now, I just need intimidation.” Thomas almost felt uneasy lighting a cigarette when the air smelt as though he’d had thousands already- but then again, he had to keep up appearances.

The door to the establishment was open, which contradicted the notice on the wall next to the frame that read;

“NO WALK-INS ACCEPTED.

MUST CONTACT VIA LETTER OR TELEPHONE AND PAY UPFRONT BEFORE SERVICE IS PROVIDED.”

“What the hell...” John muttered as he tried not to cough and splutter when entering the hazy room.

The shiny razors sewn into their caps almost seemed dull as the thick smoke clouded the room and clouded their eyes.

From what they could see, the work space was actually rather done up. The walls were a lush shade of rich red and the skirting board was lined with gold paint.

There was little furniture though and the place wasn’t nearly comforting despite its warm colours.

“What is this place?” Arthur grumbled, suddenly feeling a chill as he was overcome with the sense that he was in a waiting room, tapping his feet mindlessly as he waited for an appointment for a cause that did not sit well with him.

“It’s a morgue and cemetery, Arthur.” Thomas quipped quietly. He raised a finger to his lips as he stalked through the corridors that contradicted the atmosphere.

The three rather scary looking men heard giggling sounds coming from behind a door at the end of a long corridor.

Arthur and John glanced at each other, very confused.

The laughter though, was not one of sweet nature that you’d hear from a lady who made sweets, but rather a giggle or cackle that sounded sick and mocking and condescending.

Before Thomas could break down the door, he heard a low voice coming from within that had a thick accent over it.

“I heard this funeral is going to be grave affair, Mr Daniels.”

Thomas noted that the voice sounded a lot like a Russian merchant he’d met before the war.

He knew this business was doing well, but he didn’t expect doing-business-with-the-Russians-well.

Arthur had enough of waiting around and barged through the door.

There was silence for a moment and the clattering of utensils on a metal surface. “What the fuck is this?” He bellowed.

The other two brothers made haste with scrambling into the seemingly smoking room.

The four walls in the rather large room were a steely grey and Thomas wondered if it was actually iron and they were in a cage- it certainly felt like one.

“What-“ John cried, confusion fat, “the holy fucking shit is that?”

Thomas darted his attention to two figures in the corner of the room, one laying down on a high wooden table and another hunched over it like a lion over a deer carcass with an open light bulb hanging over head.

But it was only when Thomas looked closer, did he see the purple fingers of the figure on the table and the top of its nose- so pale and blue.

His inspection of the body was interrupted by the sound of Arthur’s gun clicking as he raised it up pointing at the hunched figure.

“Oi!” He grumbled, “step back from the body! By order of the Peaky Blinders!”

The hunched figure sighed and put down the metal instruments they clutched haphazardly in their fingers.

Thomas stepped forward and put a hand on the top of Arthur’s gun, motioning for him to put it away.

“Miss Florence Kent, I presume?”

The woman in front of them was of average height and had this unruly red hair that looked like it hadn’t seen comb in weeks. Her shoulders were hunched forward and it appeared that she constantly just swayed from side to side on the spot.

She wore trousers that protruded out from her legs, but were tied back together at her ankles brown paper bag style. She also wore a dirty creme coloured top that had long flowing sleeves that, like the trousers, bunched around her wrists. She honestly just looked like she only got half dressed- not in a whorish way, but it clearly needed something.

“Yup. Youse are Shelby’s, correct?” She gestured up and down with her arm to three rather unimpressed men who didn’t like being addressed with such casualty. Arthur was all but ready to put the fear of God into her heart.

Thomas ignored her comment and stubbed out a cigarette; “I’ve been lookin’ through the books, Miss Kent. I’ve noticed that you, a rather successful business, does not pay the protection of the Peaky Blinders.”

The red-haired woman smiled although it seemed more like a grimace, “and why do I need protection? Eh? Is someone going to steal my precious bodies” she put her palms to her cheeks, “oh no! Gah!”

Thomas was nearly at his wits end and John had already grabbed the back of his cap, waiting for Thomas to make a move.

“It’s not just outside enemies you’ll need to watch out for, maybe ones in your own establishment.” He blinked slowly and stood stock still “speaking of other enemies, where is your friend who you were talking to before we walked in? Husband? Business associate?”

The woman’s eyes widened as she gasped at the three men, “you believed that!” She bent over forwards as she cackled into her hand, “oh that’s so perfect! I’m nailing that accent. Woo!” She threw her arms up in the air mockingly.

“Okay, Tom. I’ve had enough of this.” Arthur snarled, but Thomas once again put his arm up to silence him.

“That’s not nice, let you’re brother talk, Tom.” The lady pouted teasingly. Thomas wondered, for the briefest of moments if this woman was clinically insane, but despite that, he’d met worse. He clenched his jaw “Miss Kent I have a proposal for your business.”

The woman with hunched shoulders rolled her eyes at all the formalities, but she never passed down the opportunity for a few dramatics, “alright, and what if I reject your business proposal?”

“Well you might find yourself in a room much like this, except you’d be the one with your guts in a jar?” Thomas tilted his head to the side, matching her teasing tone. If it was a game to her, then he’d play the game just ten times harder.

The woman scoffed and shifted her weight so she was leaning against the table “orright. Go on then- I love a bit of chit chat.”

She lit another cigarette and waited for Thomas’ long dramatic pause to end.

“You know what we do. You probably read the papers-“

“Kindling.”

Thomas sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. In any other circumstance, he would have shot her where she stood, but he really needed this business deal to go through- God, he hated being dependant on people. Especially the insane ones.

“So you know bodies are being found, and are being traced back to us when they get picked up from the cut?”

The woman stood up straight again and took the bud of her cigarette and mashed it into the side of the dead mans face who was still on the table. Thomas internally cringed and could have sworn that he heard John gag.

“And you want me to ‘sort out’ all the bodies the coppers ‘find’?” She used air quotes as she strolled around the other side of the table. “Also, can you tell your brother, yeah, to put down that feeble gun. It’s not very polite, y’know? Besides, it would be like shooting a gravestone if went for me.”

“What the fuck’s she on about, Tom? What are you on about, lady? You pulling some smimey witchcraft on us? I don’t like her Tommy, we can’t trust her. We don’t need her, we can deal with them bodies ourselves.” John was getting violently panicked, “we’re the Peaky fucking Blinders— she can’t do shit.”

“You’re right, John. I can’t do shit, but there will be no satisfaction in killing me. Go on, Johnny-” She spread her arms wide and tilted her head back. She shook her hands like she was dancing to jazz music, expecting an encore for her performance, “-lay one on me!”

“Fucks sake!” Thomas, who was clearly antsy and agitated, slammed his fist down on the table “we want you to be our body burner, right. Can you do that?”

“Jesus Christ, Sir.” She pottered around the room, moving jars and opening up cabinets that lined the wall vertically and horizontally.

The silence hung in the room for a while until Florence shifted on her heels, “so uh... what do I get for all this hassle?”

Thomas lit another cigarette. Something about this room and it’s pungent smell just put him on edge and made him uneasy.

“You get protection by the Peaky Blinders.” He stated plainly.

The woman shot him an unimpressed look, “if I wanted protection, I would have paid for it. Besides, why the hell would I care for your protection? Eh? The monsters gonna come get me, Shelby? Are you the monster? Why are you a monster, Thomas?” She tilted her head and squinted.

“Definitely insane” Thomas decided.

“Sure. The monsters. That’s not the point though. With this deal, you’ll be affiliated with the Peaky Blinders, therefore making you a target.”

“I still don’t want your protection. I’ll take the deal, but I don’t want youse lot just fuckin’ breaking and entering. Anyway, you weren’t too good at it either. I heard you all the moment you stepped through that door.” She opened different mason jars and took all sorts of herbs out and laid them out on a cloth.

After examining the stalks of which, she put them in a cement bowl and started grinding them down, “you’re lucky that I was curious to see who would have the balls to come here so I didn’t waste ya as soon as you stepped through.”

John scoffed, “sure you did, love.”

Florence continued to smash and squish the herbs into a dry green powder that looked not at all appetising.

The three men just stood and watched—not for any reason probably, maybe just intimidation and curiosity.

Thomas watched as she strode around the table with a heavy sway which made him wonder if the woman was shit-faced drunk.

When she walked in front of him, instead of alcohol like he was suspecting, he smelled something acute to salt and flowers, a strange combination. She walked with her toes turned outwards, almost like she had a limp in both feet and it was clear she genuinely had no regard for appearances to the three dangerous men.

She dumped the heavy cement bowl onto the table next to the pale blue and white body that made everyone but her in the room feel queasy.

“Are you boys gonna stick around to watch me slice this man open or do ya want to get the fuck out of my working space?” She picked up an instrument, not too dissimilar from a knife you’d see on your kitchen table, just this one had a bent head.

Thomas stood stock still but the other two men looked at each other with confused and pleading expressions. They could take ripping people a part limb from limb, but this... this was insufferable.

With the others gone, all that was left was Thomas and Florence, and the body.

“If you’re gonna stay, you can at least help me?” She said with a snarky tone. Thomas didn’t do shit for anyone so instead he just lit another cigarette and watched.

The woman took her bent knife—that was probably genuine medical equipment, but if Thomas was bored enough, he could most likely fashion his own—and dragged the knife across the corpses abdomen, just under his diaphragm.

“Lucky for you, I’ve already bled this one, so hopefully you don’t feel like disembarking your dinner.” She took the bag of ground up powder and put it into the top of a funnel with a tube attached to the end.

If Thomas was being honest, he felt sick to his stomach, he’d rather quit drinking for the rest of his life rather than sit and watch this—hell, he didn’t think he’d be able to consume anything for a week after this—but he had to keep up an appearance.

To be fair to him, it worked alright- Florence was slightly impressed by his devout need to prove himself to everyone.

He did falter though slightly when she jammed the end of the tube of the funnel into the line of the mans abdomen. He inhaled sharply when she took a jug of water and poured it into the funnel so it mixed with the powder, creating a thick gooey clear substance.

She held the top of the funnel in front of her face and shifted her weight so the front of her hips were resting against the tall table.

Thomas wondered if this woman could stand up straight.

She cast her gaze to the side to Thomas who had his eyes locked onto the slice in the mans abdomen as the goo passed through achingly slowly.

He moved his head up so they met eyes now from across the room. Maybe if it was a different setting, the scene would have been romantic, had they not been in a morgue and she not pouring goo into a dead mans carcass.

The room was supposed to be tense, it usually is when Thomas decides to enter with his dramatic bitch face. But for some reason, this woman wouldn’t let him affect her. At first Thomas thought it was fear; next he thought it was insanity; then he considered that maybe this woman just didn’t give a flying fuck about who he was and what he was doing there.

He hated that, just as much as he admired it.

“I’ll return another time to discuss business agreements.”

As the rather threatening man walked out of the door, Florence wondered if he too, was only just pretending to be human like herself most of the time.

——

“I hear you’re in partnership with the Shelby’s.” The Irish accent that seemingly appeared out of nowhere startled the red haired girl.

Not because she didn’t hear him, just that you didn’t hear other dialects in this shit-hole of a city.

Florence didn’t look up from where she sat, examining the pages of a book. She took her index finger and held it up to the mans face as a silencing motion. “What’s you on about, Mister?” The woman answered finally.

She was curled up in a very uncomfortable looking dining room chair (even though there was no dining room) with a book in her knees and hunched shoulders.

“You we’re visited by the Peaky Blinders today, and you made an agreement with them, Miss Kent.” The man with the thick grey moustache snarled.

“Yes I did. You’re sounding a bit resentful there, Chester.” She didn’t move her head, but her large eyes shifted to where the man stood stiff with two officers behind him. Coward.

“I see they’ve told you about me.” He nodded smugly.

“No, actually. I just find these things out for myself.” She focused back on to the page and tuned out whatever the man who looked like he had a stick up his arse was saying.

“Why did they decide to initiate contact with you?” He asked plainly.

“Business.” She states in the same manor.

“Why didn’t they discuss business with your husband or superior?” He leaned in slightly.

“Because I don’t have either of those. This is my business and you clearly didn’t read the sign outside.” She yawned and sniffed quietly. She reached for her cigarette tin and lit one up.

“We are royal officials. Your sign does not bypass the need for law and order. Besides, your reports will not be acknowledged, so there’s no need- I have friends in high places.” He stated condescendingly.

“Yeah? Well I’ve got friends in low places.”

Campbell slammed his fist onto the wall next to him, which probably would have been more intimidating, had he not hissed in pain and the wall not had been made out of brick. “Why did you agree to business with those scum of the Earth rats!” He bellowed.

Florence didn’t flinch. She only sighed and put down her book, cigarette still resting in her mouth, “because I do business with people who offer money. Good money. Don’t take it personally, but take it all the same.” She folded her hands on her stomach and interlocked them with a dull look on her face.

“And what if I offered you your life for information on the Peaky Blinders?”

“Okay, lets get this straight. I don’t want shit from you. My death will not and does not burden me. I won’t give you information on the Peaky Blinders, because I can’t be arsed to listen to them. So go on, have at it!” She abruptly stood up and stalked to the door on the other side of the room, but not before turning round with a grin on her face, “oh, and by the way, Chester. Please do take this very personally... Man up soldier- oh wait.” She cackled and didn’t miss the inspectors fists clenching as his brow tensed.

Without another word, Inspector Campbell left the premise. He knew that he’d see to it that this arrogant, harlot woman would see consequences of her blind confidence.

——

Okay. A lot of things are really slowing down here and I have no idea when the next chapter will be up.

So sorry for the lack of continuity, but hopefully you can understand that everything’s a bit intense atm 😅

Thanks for the love.

Feedback and comments are wanted.

See ya next time!

#tommyshelby #peaky blinders story #peakyblinders #thomas #thomas shelby #thomas shelby fluff #thomas shelby x oc #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x oc #peaky blinder fanfic #thomas shelbys a dick #The Anya-Margaret #peakyblinderstv

[wroteclassicaly]

Dibs

A/N: Heeeeeeeey, loves! I’m back and pretty proud of this one! It’s a two part story, this obviously being the first part. Smut will be in the next one. I’ve wanted to write this idea since I came up with it the night of the season premiere. 

Reader is plus size in this one. She is also Chef Bertie’s daughter. There’s some major self-esteem issues and some self-bashing in this one, so be warned. I hope ya’ll enjoy! Lemme know what you think? :) 

P.S. I’ve changed a few things around to fit the reader in. Dialogue, mostly. It’s not that much of a change though, so don’t worry. 

Also, I can’t seem to get my taglist to work right, so I don’t tag anyone. I’m sorry. :(

Pairing: Xavier Plympton x Female reader

Word count: 2,691

Warnings: Explicit language, references to smut and virginity, self-esteem issues, poor body image issues

Looking forward to something during the summer months wasn't usually your forte, but this season seemed to be taking drastic approaching turns already. You'd been coerced into coming help your mom work the kitchen of Camp Redwood. Massacres and legends galore, bugs and snakes touring your housing. Sounded so fun to you. Your mom didn't want to leave you at your home alone, so you hesitantly agreed to get away from the dangers in Los Angeles and help out at the camp with her.

The drive up you imagined all sorts of various and vile scenarios. Woods and stories caught your imagination and refused to leave without a searing tongue lashed haunting. Your mom had assured you things would be okay this time around, that she wouldn't let anything happen to you, but it still felt so unsettling to be surrounded by nothing but dirt and trees and a large body of midnight fresh water. For your mom, however, you opted for the positive side of things, and sucked it up. You met with the eccentric and eerie Margaret, hovering closely to any exits you could think about, then escaped to the cabin you would be sharing with your mother to put your things away.

Margaret had informed you and your mom that a group of counselor volunteers would be arriving in the afternoon, leaving your stomach to tumble into the anxiety founded pits it always was. You hated much social interaction, even living in one of the world's largest cities. You avoided leisure activities and parties that were too high octane. You cared only about the peace and quiet, a few close friends, your books, and your music. You were grateful you had been permitted to bring along some albums and your record player, because without it, you could not function.

Setting out your music, you had tasked yourself out to sweep and mop the dining hall and kitchen. Covered in sweat and grime, hair pulled back into a messy mopped bun, the entire area became brand new once more. So much so that you had to stand and admire, the enriching draped melodies from Stevie Wonder casting a serene, echoing production to highlight your hard work. You hadn't noticed until Margaret jabbed a nail into your tank top clad shoulder, causing you to nearly deck her in the face with your broom handle. She raised a manicured brow, annoyance perched on her poker faced features, asking you to come meet the newest additions to the staff, as they would be arriving soon and you still had to bring food into the kitchen pantry.

Reluctantly, you followed your camp leader out into your new life for the next few months.

~*~

Present day: The First Night

Your insides feel as if they have all been twisted together like licorice, coolness spreading through your veins, erecting goosebumps all across your flesh. You self-consciously grip your noticeable stomach, already prepared for an array of flashy and skimpy clothed girls to accompany muscular, tight fitted guys. You don't fit in. Not being more than overweight, but what doctors seemed to call obese, with a swell to your face and the rest of you in places all around your thick form. In this day and age, not many girls your size are praised or celebrated in music and on television.

Sure, there were a few, but the movies you have seen are the overweight girl being an extra, a classmate, the bestfriend, the loner, the reject, or the propping joke. Fat is funny in LA, you aren't stupid. And no matter how far you run from it, you'd have to face scrutiny, even here. Your thinking is pregnant with triplets on this one, as you don't even bat a blink walking out with the Carrie White's mother - Margaret White -esque Camp owner, to meet everyone. Worn sneakers and boots from different brand names dusted in California soil is what you see before meeting the eyes of a very petite brunette.

That's the first counselor that smacks your self-esteem straight into the pits of hell. And the blonde girl near her in the colorful and tight outfit? Yeah, you want to find a hole and dig it twelve feet under. Six feet for your humiliation, adding on an additional six for your fat ass body. You want to run, but, yeah, right.

If you don't speak then you will look stupid, more so than you do now, covered in perspiration and dirt smudges. Margaret makes an introduction that collides right into you stepping behind your mom, getting an eyeful of the two handsome guys with the girls, reaching for a crate of eggs, attempting to look busy as to bay the awkward pause. Everyone says a few brisk words of greeting, those male counselors snickering. Why did you come here? The risks back home are far more tempting right about now.

Your nose catches the scent first, the sound of the person's shoes hitting ground second. Clad in this overly musky scent that seems to glide itself across the air, a rapturous, creamy silk-like voice hits the atmosphere and flips you head over ass.

"Dibs."

Your mom is snapping back with her wit, shoving her crate into his hands and moving away from his speechless face to leave you visible. Standing still, your box seemingly heavy, body light, you can't but help yourself to a heaping serving of observation. His pants are tan, or white, belt tightly securing those defined hips, his sneakers stretched over long feet (don't they say long feet mean... okay then, holy fuck), and sea-foam green muscle tank that leaves nothing to the imagination, except how much leverage you'd have to straddle his chest...

"And this is Y/N. She's joining us with her mother, whom is Chef Bertie. She won't be bunking with the ladies, however. But I still expect of all you to get along and make her feel apart of things, as she will also be partaking in counselor duties for the summer." Margaret's voice interjects, right smack into your looking into this guy's angelically crafted face.

You can't see what color his eyes are over his designer frames, just blue hued glimpses reflected off California sunshine. His plump lips are wet with amusement and surprise at your reveal, jaw sharp and alert, so arching and shaped it can cut through glass. There's a small cross dangling from his left ear, his hair is frosted at the top. He looks like some guitarist that has actual angel wings. His arms are steady, hands big.

You can swear there's a saxophone player somewhere playing a soundtrack for this very moment. You kind of, no, record SCRATCH that, you definitely need to find a seat somewhere and pour a glass of ice water over your head. For a fleeting moment you think you might need to attempt Olympic running towards the infirmary, cause this is some sort of General Hospital soap opera scene. You can't stop yourself from how you do react though. Biting your upper lip, eyes dashing mad all across his body, you're engulfed in more than the summer California heat.

You see the metal of his silver cross earring catch the light, and you know that even God himself can't help you now. Looking at this man in the blue shirt, you feel as if you've committed a lifetime of the most blood deep sins. You feel the need to ask Margaret to save you in the lake, some prayer needing to happen before you feel anymore guilt for objectifying this stranger. What feels like never-ending hours is merely a minute at most, making you look even more awkward and ignorant. Margaret does save you this time, introducing each counselor, the sensual blue eyed boy called Xavier Plympton, to your amusement, then with a seemingly arrogant grin on her peach painted lips, demands you take Xavier and the other two attractive male counselors - Ray and Chet, to finish carrying the crates of fruit and eggs to the kitchen pantry.

A dying 'hi' towards the friendly faces of the group is all you muster, rolling a shoulder back to the truck for the boys to take the hint. Xavier already has his share from what your mom gave him, so it's quick work for the other two. You don't talk, don't look at any of them on the way into the large dining area and back into the kitchen where your mom is hard at work. All the guys pile beside you, so you figure that now is the time to find your damn voice box and activate its fucking switch.

"You can just leave the stuff here, guys. Some of the other staff is in charge of stocking it anyways. They're real particular on everything, you know? We appreciate your help!" You ramble on, eyes widening when you spot Xavier - shades now clipped to his collar - smirking at you, pearly whites gleaming tauntingly.

Everyone, yourself included, all discard your food onto the chipped wooden counter. You fold your hands into fists on its hard surface, knuckles pressing together, lips pinched tight, feeling this tickle attack you from the tips of your toes and back, leaving you absolutely parched and winded both.

"So you're the Chef's daughter, huh?" Ray is the first to speak to you.

You turn to his direction to see him leaning a few feet beside you, propped against the end of the countertop by his elbow. His smile is genuine, calm, excited even.

He must really have wanted to be here this summer.

"Yeah." Is your proud response. Your mom is a hard worker with a zero tolerance policy for bullshit or dumbasses, so you're very proud to call yourself her child.

"Kind of a given you'd be here with her, right? That's cool. Most kids wouldn't volunteer their time to help their Mama at some sweaty ass camp in the middle of nowhere. You even gettin' anything in return from this?" Ray questions again.

Your body warms a little, not used to this duration of a conversation, let alone by someone this cute, this cool, who seems nice enough. You find yourself softening towards his presence, friendly and open in your answers.

"She'll share whatever she makes with me, so it's a win win. I have to clean the camp, so I'll also pull in my own money, then we put it all together. Living in LA is fucking expensive."

"Wait-" Chet cuts in. "You still live with your mom? Aren't you in your twenties or some shit? Don't you have any plans back home?"

Yup, there it is.

You were expecting some sort of snide commentary from at least someone in this group. You're unsure how to answer. It's not that your lifestyle is something you're ashamed of, it's just that you're beyond sick and tired at the ridicule it brings. Your mood is deflated, head bowing a little at Chet's laughter. Maybe it's not malicious, but to you, it isn't funny either.

"At least she didn't blow a chunk of cash on condoms and cheap ass cologne to impress Brooke. No one likes a cocky counselor, Chet." Sounds to your left.

Ray snorts into his hand, easing back at Xavier's biting remark. Your jaw becomes unhinged with a loud giggle that makes Xavier lick his tongue across the top edge of his teeth. He's super focused on you, sharing this knowing that eases and unsettles you all at once. Ray and Chet begin a bicker at Chet's expense, Xavier continuing to watch you in a similar fashion as you were observing him earlier. The floor feels like lava under your feet, your legs jello.

"Better get back outside, kids. Boss lady will be getting impatient." Your mom's helper speaks to you from the kitchen.

You give him a nod, trance broken. Moving one foot in front of the other is hard, but you get it right, breezing past Xavier and the rest, right back into the summer heat wave.

~*~

After the conversation your mom directed over her history with this Camp and her current decision to return, Margaret invited you to tour the grounds again with everyone else after formal introductions were completed. You weren't going to disagree, not with the possibility of sneaking looks in Xavier's way, hearing the things that came from his perfect mouth. You're fucking sickening, like some dingbat ditz on a sugar high that's having an affair with lust. The whole tour was boring and subpar, but worth it to see Xavier in action. Margaret stops everyone outside the cabin with, in your opinion, the finest views, to preach her rules onto everyone.

You're cringing, already choking on heaps of unshed laughter and snorts. Everyone but Brooke seems to be amused. Brooke seems the most like you, so it's a comfort. Xavier has his debate locked and gone, metaphoric smoke trailing behind of his tongue, following his words like a steaming mug of honey-hot tea. After his fist bump with Ray he makes sure to give a nodding little grin your way.

A bashful smile colors your mouth.

"Y/N is true to her pure body, to herself, to the Lord. She hasn't polluted it with the perversions of today, have you, sweetheart?" Margaret's voice is that bucket of ice water you could've used earlier.

You have to grab onto the other side of the doorway to keep it together, your heartbeat in your throat. How in the fuck does she know what you do, or for that damned matter, if you've done anyone before? The entirety of everyone's attention is on you now. Your eyes are sharp on Margaret's, her joy apparent. You see right through her bullshit.

She can read people, and she's just used that to her very public advantage.

Whatever. Fuck her.

"I don't know how you’d know about my personal life, or why it matters towards the situation of a damned summer camp, Miss Booth." You snap, cheeks hot with anger, neck flushed with adrenaline. 

Her head twitches as if she's some robotic experiment in a lab, but she catches herself, a plastered on smile melting back into place. "Damned is the farthest thing from the grounds on which this Camp sits, Y/N. And as for your earlier inquiry? I have known your mother for half of my adult life, so that means I also know you."

You're in place, still stunned. How does knowing your mom have anything to do with Margaret knowing you're a virgin? It's not something your mom would broadcast to anyone. Luckily, it's a dropped topic. You're given looks you expect, especially by Chet and Montana. Ray and Brooke, who stops to turn around and give a compassionate smile, are the more sympathetic and understanding.

That leaves... him. You're petrified to turn and see his cliché reaction. He doesn't say anything, not at first, only moving past you. But when stops, a partial pivot, there's an almost relieved expression on his face. The breeze picks up a little, making you brush a lock of escaped hair from your messy style.

The grass and dirt crunches under his weight as he approaches you, stopping a decent distance. You can't breathe, can't comprehend anything out of this shared airspace. The wind has the little cross swaying against his lobe, his lips are plump, the blue in his eyes darkening to the shadows of the summer shade. There's rain on the air. It's going to rain tonight.

"You know I teach at an exercise studio in Los Angeles, Y/N? I'm good at helping people learn."

So he's baiting me to come to his gym with my fat body? Prolong the shame?

You want to further scold yourself for thinking he'd be anything but a shallow Hollywood hottie. Typical.

Before the tears even make themselves form, Xavier is moving closer. You don't stop him, don't take the out his slow and respectful pace is giving you. He's tilting in a little more so that wisp of frosted hair brushes your nose, his breath warm and minty.

"A virgin, huh? I guess it works out that I'm a teacher."

#xavier plympton #xavier plympton x reader #xavier plympton x you #ahs fanfiction #ahs fic #xavier plympton fic #xavier plympton fanfiction #ahs #ahsfx #american horror story #ahs9 #ahs: 1984 #ahs 1984 #kristenwrites #ahs 1984 fanfic #ahs 1984 fanfiction #american horror story fanfiction

[let-it-raines]

your wonder under summer skies (5/?)

Summer in Storybrooke, Maine means one thing for its residents: tourist season. This year, for Emma Swan and Killian Jones, it means relationships ending and friendships changing all the while they attempt to figure out just what their relationship is. It’s somewhere straddling the line between friends and lovers, and there’s no guarantee of a soft landing if they fall into new territory.

rating: mature

a/n: thanks to @resident-of-storybrooke for reading over these words ❤️

And to everyone else, happy Friday! You’ve made it through another week!

ao3: beginning | current

tumblr:  1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 

-/-

“Where are you going?”

Emma twists her head to the side and tugs her comforter up to her chest. “To get some water.”

“I wore you out then, did I?”

Emma groans and tries to get out of bed before Killian’s hands wrap around her waist and tug her back. His lips press against the back of her neck, scruff scratching against skin, and she melts into the feeling of it.

Almost.

“Wait, wait,” she interrupts, pulling away from him and twisting in the bed until she’s back on her side and facing him. He’s got red pillow creases all across his face, and he desperately needs to fix his hair. It’s a mess. They probably both are. “We need to talk.”

His eyes flutter closed before his lips spread into a smile. “I’ve found when a woman says that I’m rarely in for a pleasant conversation.”

Emma swallows and pulls the comforter up a little higher. She doesn’t know how well this is going to go, but it’s been on her mind pretty much every other minute for the past week. Well, besides when she wants to pull her hair out over the insane specificities that her boss is giving her for every event they’ve got on the books. A regular Tuesday night dinner with twenty people does not need to be the most well thought out dinner in the history of dinners, but no one seems to understand that.

A part of her almost misses waitressing, but then she remembers the pay and how shitty people are to waitstaff.

“We need to make rules,” Emma blurts out. She’s got to bite the bullet or else she’ll never do it.

Both of Killian’s brows raise at that. “Rules?”

“Yeah, about this.” She motions between the two of them. “I don’t – hell, Killian, we’ve kind of fallen into…”

“Bed?” he laughs, his lips ticking up into a broad smile.

“Shut up.”

“What? It’s the truth.”

“I know, but I – look, we’re friends, right?”

“Aye.” He nods and sits up as the sheets fall down to his waist and she’s only slightly distracted by the dip in his collarbone and the way the ink on his shoulder stretches across his skin. “To be quite frank, you’ve somehow wormed your way into being my closest mate.”

“Your closest mate who you’ve now been sleeping with for, like, a week, and not to be too emotionally aware since that is not my expertise, but I feel like that’s going to blow up in our faces at some point since we’re not really talking about it.”

Whew. She got that out. That was the hard part, right?

“Ah, so you want to make rules?”

“Exactly.”

Killian clicks his tongue and points between them. “If we make rules, Swan, it means we’re continuing this. Do you want to continue this?”

God, yes.

“I mean, I feel like it could be beneficial to both of us.”

“How so?”

He knows exactly what she’s trying to say, but the asshole is going to make her say it. Maybe she didn’t get the hard part over. “I’m not looking for a relationship,” Emma starts, “and I assume you’re not either.”

“I’m not,” he confirms.

“So why don’t we continue this? No strings attached. I don’t have to be some poor, heartbroken woman as my ex walks around with the woman he cheated on me with without a care in the world, and you don’t have to find one of your women for the summer. I can be that for you.”

Killian hums and scratches behind his ear before tilting his head to the side. The light from outside is hitting his eyes so that the blue is even brighter than usual, and a shiver runs down her spine as he stares at her.

This is weird but good.

“Rule one would have to be that we don’t let sleeping together get in the way of our friendship,” Killian starts, holding a finger up. “I can’t stay sane without having you to vent to about customers and Liam and also Will purposely not restocking my rum at the bar.”

Emma huffs. “I can’t stay sane without middle of the night slushie runs and runs with Skipper.”

“So, we agree on that then? Our friendship comes first.”

“Absolutely.”

“And we’re both fully aware that the both of us are using each other for sex, correct?”

“Well, don’t put it like that.”

“Why?” he laughs. “That’s exactly what we’re doing.”

“Yeah, but if you put it that way, it makes it sound absolutely dirty.”

“Dirty, huh?” Killian shifts in the bed and moves over toward her. Emma falls back onto the mattress while Killian climbs over her until he’s caging her in and staring down at her with those blue, blue eyes. This shouldn’t feel so damn good, but it does. “I can show you dirty, darling.”

“I think you’re changing the subject.”

“We were talking about sex.” He leans down and nestles his chin into her neck until his teeth tug at her skin, quickly soothing the spot with his tongue. “I’m simply changing it from talk to the act.”

“We have to finish our conversation,” she protests, falsely, as her nails scratch down his back. He groans, and Emma can’t say she minds the sound.

“There will be plenty of time for your lovely little rules later. I can assure you I will listen to them and follow them and do every little thing you ask of me. That’s the benefit of sleeping with a friend who is accustomed to listening to you.”

Emma’s hips arch up into his, and she gulps down as heat licks along her skin and curls between her thighs. He’s more addicting than he has any right to be, and she could definitely get used to a no strings attached kind of situation like this.

Friends with benefits.

She never thought she’d be the type of girl to do that, but it was probably because the situation hadn’t presented itself yet. It obviously has now.

She didn’t have the right friends, apparently.

“You’re a bad influence.”

“I never claimed to be otherwise,” he whispers into her ear, his voice soft before becoming gritty, almost in a blink of an eye. “Now wrap your legs around me. I prefer to do more enjoyable activities with a woman on her back than spending my time talking.”

“I feel like nothing has ever stopped you from talking before.” “Well, if my mouth is otherwise occupied, it does become a challenge. But, you know, I do love a challenge.”

-/-

Killian Jones: Rule #2. We don’t tell any of our friends.

Emma Swan: Agreed. They would lose their shit.

Killian Jones: Liam and David would join forces to keep us both locked in our apartments.

Emma Swan: David would at least give me food and water. Liam might leave you hanging.

Killian Jones: I’d somehow find a way to get Skipper to bring me food. Or you could find a way to send me something.

Emma Swan: It’d be the least I could do.

“What are you doing?”

Emma hits the button on the side of her phone and stuffs it in her back pocket. “I was checking our schedule for today.”

Mary Margaret tilts her head. “We’ve got the Silver Club’s luncheon at noon, a group information session at three, and then we have the Welcome Dinner tonight. How did you forget that? We’ve been planning this for months.”

“I didn’t forget,” Emma lies as she stands from the chair. “I was double-checking the times.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I just want everything to go well, you know?”

“Emma.” Mary Margaret walks closer and leans against the wall next to Emma. “You just ended a long, serious relationship. It’s okay to not be okay. You’ve been frazzled, and I don’t mind picking up any of the slack that you need me to pick up.”

“I’m fine,” Emma lies. “I am not at all upset about Neal. I just want to, you know…”

“You want to what?”

Emma puts her hands in front of her chest and pushes forward. “I want to push past it, shove it away.” “Of course, of course.” Mary Margaret’s ballet flat scuffs against the hardwood. “I always thought you two were good together. There’s not a chance that – ”

“Fuck no,” Emma laughs even as she wishes she could be anywhere but here. “I mean, we had our good moments, but I’ve been through too much shit to stay with him. I think for the first time I – you know what, never mind, it’s not important. Let’s get back to the dinner. Do you think it’s going to go well?” Super smooth subject change there, Emma. Mary Margaret definitely didn’t notice it at all.

Mary Margaret sighs and wraps her arm around Emma’s shoulder. “It always goes well. You’re good at this. You’ve got to know that by now.”

“I pretty much live in constant fear that Regina is going to fire me because someone is unhappy with a color scheme or because a kid is going to tell their parent we didn’t have the right kind of lemonade and then the parent decides to take rare interest in their kid for once just to make my life miserable.”

“Yeah, I live in constant fear of that, too. Those parents are scary.”

“How many are coming to the information session?”

“Ten new couples, three returning who want an update, and then we’ve got forty kids already signed up to stay in the kids’ club all summer.”

Emma lets out a low whistle. “Ashley and Aurora are going to lose their minds if we don’t get the part-time hires on board.”

“Or if we don’t help them out more than on the excursions.”

She hums and opens up the door out of her office. “I’m too busy dealing with whiny, privileged adults complaining about how the pool isn’t the right temperature.”

“You’re right. It’s such a hard life.”

Emma snickers. “Maybe we’re not meant for this job.”

“Probably not, but you prefer this to waitressing, right?”

“Oh hell yes. I will not go back to that and sleeping on your couch. You were the best for taking me in since I was pretty much a walking human disaster, but there will be no more sleeping on your couch. I like having my own bed and being able to eat food other than kitchen leftovers.”

“I do miss you on my couch, though. Lots of good talks. And my hair was long then, and you were the best at braiding it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Emma laughs. She takes a deep breath, letting a little bit of the heaviness on her chest evaporate. Mary Margaret pushes her a hell of a lot, but sometimes she does know when to step back. “I know you do. Now come on, let’s go make sure that there are no pink linens or Mrs. Rose will absolutely lose her shit.” “And we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

“Oh, I would, but like I said, I also like my job.”

“Then no pink linens it is.”

-/-

“How did I know I’d find you here?”

Emma’s heartbeat picks up at the familiar voice, and she looks up from her spot to see Killian walking down the beach toward her.

“Because Mary Margaret probably told you.”

“Damn, I’ve been found out.” He takes a few more steps until he’s sliding down onto the lounge chair next to her and handing her a slushie. “Because they melted the other night.”

Her cheeks heat at the thought, and she’s got to stop doing that. They are adults sleeping together, and there’s no need for her to feel weird about that. It’s a little weird talking about it somewhere other than a bedroom or over text, though. Yeah, that’s why his reference made her cheeks flush. That’s the only reason.

“Thank you.” She takes quick sip. “Is there tequila in this?”

“I thought you could use it after your Welcome Dinner. I know that’s hell every year.”

“Oh my God, yes,” Emma groans. “It was the worst. I swear it’s more people every year, and they all show up thinking this is going to be like that episode of Mrs. Maisel where they show up at the summer camp and never have to lift a finger. I mean, to the point where I would be putting their food in their mouths, which I am not going to do.”

“Isn’t that kind of what this is?”

Emma glares at him, but Killian not-so-slyly takes a sip of his drink and avoids her stare.

That was smart of him because she’s just exhausted enough to want to slap him for being a smart ass.

“No. We’re not a resort. They just come to the club for meals and parties and leave their kids with us all day. They ask us where they can rent or keep their boats, and I obviously only recommend you, and then they have to go home to their own homes or rentals at the end of the day where I have nothing to do with them or what they ear.”

“Oh, yeah, totally different than it being a resort.”

“Shut up,” Emma chuckles as she drinks her slushie. She’s going to have to run in the morning to work off all of the food she’s been eating today. She had so many of the cookies before they went out to the tables. “It is different. I’m just at their beck and call for half of the day. I would lose my mind if I had to do more.”

“A job’s a job.”

“And when you’re not qualified to do much else…”

Killian kicks his leg out in the sand toward her. “If things don’t work out for you, you can come work for me.”

Emma sputters out a laugh. “Liam would never in a million years let me work with you guys.”

“Oh, come on. He definitely would…at some point…maybe two million years.”

She rolls her eyes and twists on the lounge chair until she’s facing Killian again. A breeze from the ocean wafts toward her, and chills pop up on her arms. Killian silently shrugs off his sweatshirt before handing it over to her. He’s got on a Henley underneath it, and he obviously is more prepared for the late-night chill than she is.

“Liam isn’t my biggest fan. It’s okay. I’ll just have to go back to waitressing when I lose my mind on a member and throw a drink in their face.”

“Hey, now, he does like you a little bit. Let’s not immediately jump to throwing drinks in someone’s face.”

“You don’t have to placate me, KJ. Your brother is a stubborn ass to me. It runs in the family, but one of you at least makes up for it by providing drinks and mediocre conversation.”

Killian scoffs before leaning back up against the chair and running his hands through his hair. The scars on his hand look almost silver in the moonlight. She’s never noticed that before.

“Mediocre conversation? Is that what this is? I happened to think I was a brilliant conversationalist.”

“Occasionally. Did you know they want me to start wearing a uniform?”

“What?”

“Yeah, Regina is losing her shit. She wants me to wear khaki shorts and a different pastel colored polo for different days of the week, but that’s only for the afternoons. At night, she still wants me to get dressed up so I can ‘look like a member and not an employee.’”

“You’re not serious.”

“I am.”

“Damn,” Killian whistles. “I am going to love giving you shit about that.”

“Ha, I’m not going to wear the polos. I already have to wear the damn khaki shorts when we do events on the beach, but I am not wearing the polos. I’ll get fired first.”

“It’s a good thing you’ll have a job with me in a million years.”

“Two, I thought.”

“Possibly three.”

Emma laughs and settles back down onto the chair as she keeps drinking. Killian got a little too much cherry in this. Or maybe that’s just the tequila. It’s good, though, and she needed it tonight.

God, the people at the club are all so obnoxious, and she’s desperately going to miss fall and winter when she didn’t have people hounding her with questions every day all day. She deserves hazard pay for every person that makes a snide remark about the linens or someone who they think doesn’t fit the type of person they want at the club.

They don’t know she’s the exact type of person they wouldn’t want to associate with.

Foster kid, no money, little education, run ins with the law…the list goes on and on.

But she’s not that person anymore. She’s not. She’s at least got her life together in that she has money and isn’t having to steal Pop-Tarts from convenience stores.

Now she just drinks slushies from them that have tequila mixed in.

At least these were paid for.

She hopes. No, she knows. Killian definitely paid for them.

“Oh,” Emma says, “I thought of another rule. It’s kind of a big one.”

“Is it now?”

“If you want to start sleeping with other people, you can. Just say the word if you meet someone like, you know, you usually do, and we can stop. There’s no need to do it if you’re sleeping with someone else.”

Killian’s brows furrow, and he scratches his chin. “I thought we had already decided I didn’t need to find someone? I don’t purposefully look for someone, by the way. It just happens.”

“Oh, yes, I’m so beautiful too that people just line up to sleep with me.”

“I mean, you are. You’d have to be blind not to know that.”

Emma swallows and tugs down the sleeves on the sweatshirt before crossing her arms over her chest, hugging her stomach tightly. She is not going to give herself enough time to process what he just said. “Anyway, I mean that if you meet someone and want to give it a shot, go for it. Give me the word, and we can start pretending I’ve never seen your dick before.”

“Well, I mean, you already did that one time at – ”

“That was an accident,” she giggles, “and totally your fault for leaving the door unlocked while you were changing.”

“There wasn’t a lock on the door.”

“Whatever.”

“Rule four,” Killian sighs, holding his fingers up, “is that I do not have to cook you breakfast if you spend the night.”

“No. That’s a shitty rule, KJ, and you know it! You cook me breakfast now. You can’t go back on it.”

“Alright, alright, if you insist,” he laughs as his hand reaches over toward her and curls her hair around his fingers. They’re warm and rough, and she has to admit that it’s comfortable to have him hold her hand like that. “You know, Liam is staying over at Elsa’s tonight?”

“Is he?” she asks. Emma swallows and shifts a little closer to Killian, the ocean breeze suddenly much warmer.

“He is, and he won’t be back until we open at ten.”

“So, enough time for breakfast then?”

Killian’s eyes crinkle with his laugh. “Is that going to be the only reason you come over?”

“Nah,” Emma sighs as she stands from her chair, “I also really like your dog.”

-/-

-/-

@qualitycoffeethings​ @mrtinski​ @klynn-stormz​ @scarletslippers​ @jonirobinson64​ @snowbellewells​ @therealstartraveller776​ @thejollyroger-writer​ @sherifemma​ @shardminds​ @captainsjedi​ @galaxyzxstark​ @galadriel26​ @idristardis​ @karenfrommisthaven​ @teamhook​ @spartanguard​ @searchingwardrobes​ @itsfabianadocarmo​ @jamif​ @shireness-says​ @ultimiflos​ @nikkiemms​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @onepunintendid​ @bluewildcatfanatic​ @superchocovian​ @killianswannn​ @carpedzem​ @captainkillianswanjones​ @mayquita​ @jennjenn615​ @onceuponaprincessworld​ @a-faekindagirl​ @scientificapricot​ @xellewoods​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @stahlop​ @kmomof4​ @tiganasummertree​ @singersdd​ @tornadoamy​ @cluttermind​ @lfh1226-linda​ @andiirivera​ @cluttermind​

#your wonder under summer skies #cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfic #captain swan fic #captain swan fanfic #captain swan ff #captain swan

[fckinsupreme]

PLease write something with Xavier+cockwarming... I would die for that ngl

Sunlight beats down on you, causing you to break out in a sweat. Normally, you would be complaining about too much heat, over the fact that you were getting soaked with sweat and feeling disgusting as a result, but now it was actually a perfect excuse. You sat on the dock at Camp Redwood with your boyfriend, Xavier, perched in his lap while your group of friends splashed around in the lake. The two of you were the first to arrive at the lake, and what was happening with you both right now had been Xavier’s idea. You replay it in your mind, grinning as you do so.

“Babe?” he’d asked as you spread your beach towel on the wood.

“Yeah?” you replied, adjusting your swimsuit as you looked at him. “I’m not spilling out anywhere, am I?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “No, no. I just wanted to suggest something for us to try.”

“What is it?”

“I want to sit here with you...with my cock inside of you.”

“You want to fuck me in broad daylight out here in the open?” you questioned, raising a brow as you attempted to stop a smile from forming. “Margaret is coming, too, you know. She would throw us out—“

“No, not sex exactly,” he said. “I mean, it isn’t /fucking/ in a traditional sense. I wanted to sit on the edge while you sat in my lap, my cock inside of you, but not really /moving/. Just...you know. Being inside.”

The smile broke across your lips then, and you looked over your shoulder at the cabins. No one was coming yet, and what would it hurt, anyway? You hated Margaret’s bullshit “no sex” rule as much as everyone else here, and if she somehow found out, it would be worth it. Maybe she could see what she’d been missing, or want some for herself. Xavier was, to put it a bit mildly, quite impressive in that regard. He always left you wanting more, and always basked in the compliments you gave him about the size of his cock. You had a feeling that this would difficult, but you wanted to try. You /needed/ to, especially if this would be the last time for awhile that you would get to experience it.

“Let’s do it,” you said, dropping to your knees in front of him. He gave you a confused look, and you chuckled. “I need to get ready for you, babe. And from the looks of things, you’re already rock hard.”

You pulled his shorts down and licked from his balls to the tip of his cock, making eye contact as you did so. You both knew how giving him head never failed to do the trick in getting you wet, and you didn’t waste too much time teasing; you had to hurry before the others showed up. You took him down your throat, his fist in your hair as you rubbed your clit over your swimsuit. It didn’t take long to get you soaking wet, and he practically pulled you to your feet and dragged you to the edge of the dock. He tugged his shorts back up and pulled his dick through the front of them, sitting down and gesturing for you to follow. You grabbed your towel, placing it next to you before sitting in his lap with your back against his chest. He pulled your swimsuit bottoms aside, and slowly pushed inside of you. You moaned, his arms wound around your torso as your nails dug into his skin, his own breathless, hot groans sounding in your ear.

And now here you were, with the towel concealing both of you from the waist down. It wasn’t long after until the others came down, with Margaret also in tow. Xavier thrusts upward a couple of times as she approaches, and you have to bite your cheek to keep from moaning too loudly. His cock was so massive that he always bumped against your G-spot from pretty much any angle or position, and this was no exception. You roll your hips, hearing his loud hiss as you turn to kiss him sloppily. His tongue meets yours before his lips do, his fingers snaking under the towel and rubbing along your clit.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he breathes, licking inside of your mouth as he thrusts upward again. “You—“

“Ahem!” Margaret sounds from behind you, and you jump so much that you nearly fall forward into the water. “What do you two think you’re doing?”

You see Chet, Ray, and Brooke swimming not far from where you & Xavier are sitting, but they don’t seem to notice you. Montana, however, smirks at you both as she swims closer, looking at Margaret with a wink before dipping under the water. You take a deep breath, turning your head to look at Margaret as your nerves begin to unravel. Your stomach feels tight, sick, and you’re terrified that she found you two out. Your “I don’t care” attitude from earlier was gone, replaced with stone-cold fear that she could severely punish the two of you for something like this.

If she knew what was going on under this towel.../Fuck/.

“What is it?” you ask as sweetly as possible, Xavier’s fingers carefully moving from under the towel and his attention still focused on the lake. Montana was swimming even closer to you now; you could see her in the corner of your eye. “Are we doing something wrong?”

“I don’t know, are you?” Margaret asks, and the tone of her voice makes you want to get up and slap her. She sounded so smug, so full of herself, so /calm/.

“No,” you say with a fake smile. “Just sitting here, admiring the view.”

Xavier pretends to shift on the dock, but he’s actually thrusting into you again. Your face twists in pleasure and you have to fight with everything in you not to moan or cry out his name. Margaret doesn’t notice, thankfully, but she’s still watching you carefully. The sun reflects off of her large glasses, making it harder to see her eyes, but you know she’s still looking at you. You can feel her gaze burning into you, deep and even /angry/. What she could be mad about if she wasn’t aware of what was happening, you didn’t know, but you didn’t like the vibe she was putting off. It was disturbing, to say the least.

“Hm,” she says. “Maybe you two should go swimming with your friends. Why sit here and look, when you can join?”

“We aren’t in a swimming mood right now,” you say. “We just want to sit here with each other and enjoy the view and each other’s company, that’s all.”

“Lift the towel, Miss Y/L/N,” she says, and your blood runs cold with terror. “It’s hot out here; why cover yourself? You’re sweating. You’re also in your boyfriend’s lap, which is also raising some other concerns.”

“I’m fine,” you say, breath shaky as Xavier moves again. “Really. It feels good. If I decide that I need to cool down, I’ll hop in the water. Honestly.”

“Well, I think you should—“ Margaret began, but Xavier cut her off.

“Loosen up a little bit, Margie!” he says, and you have to bite back a laugh at the appalled expression on her face. “Let the girl wear a towel! Maybe she wants to protect her modesty, which is something you should be proud of. Can’t have me popping a boner with her in my lap, able to see that delicious cunt of hers or those perfect fucking tits. Can we, now?”

She opens her mouth like a fish out of water, completely speechless with fury flushing her cheeks. She stomps off without another word, and he kisses you again as you start laughing. It’s as filthy as the last, and you only pull back when you feel a splash of cold water on your leg. You look down to see Montana there, a grin plastered to her wet face. Xavier kisses your shoulder, moving some hair from your neck and sucking a hickey there as you whine in protest. Montana reaches up to give you a high five through the air, looking toward Margaret on the far end of the dock before meeting your eyes.

“So,” she said, “did Mother Mary find out that the two of you are fucking right in front of her or not?”

—

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[multific]

In the Dark

Xavier Plympton x Reader

Warning: Smut

Request: grrr so tumblr swallowed my request, here it is then: reader is Xavier's gf at the summer camp, they're secretly dating. They flirt in front of everyone bc it's fun. Margaret comes and throw the guys out from the girl's cabin, right before that Xavier complained about having to shower at night, joking abt being afraid of going alone in the dark. He leaves, goes to the shower alone and his gf joins him a few minutes after and they have sex in the showers? She came even if she's afraid of the dark

A/N: I got it this time! I’m sorry if this is too short, but I hope you like it! Enjoy~

 You were very grateful that you could spend the whole summer with your boyfriend, being in a camp surrounded by nature just gave it the extra that you needed.

Xavier and you became a thing after he and Montana stopped fooling around, he said that it was because of you, he realized that he could be so much more than a simple guy with flings. Sure he had ambitions and goals in his life, but he also had a dark past, and you helped him get out of it. He was sure that on the night he told you about his insecurities and fears, you’d leave him and see him as a weak person, but quite the opposite happened. You confessed your love to him and instead of leaving, you stayed and healed him.

Neither of you were ready to tell about it to the others, yet. So you kept your relationship as a secret. You only flirted and teased each other in front of the others. And they never seemed to pick up on it. Chet always said that you should start dating because he was annoyed with the constant flirting in front of him.

And that is how you found yourself getting yelled at by Margaret. She was furious that the boys snuck into the girls’ cabin. After she had a small back and forth with the boys, they left, but not before Xavier let his voice heard one last time.

“I don’t want to shower in the dark, alone! That’s like the perfect scenario to get killed in the dark!” it made Trevor laugh but everyone nodded in agreement. You understood his hint that he wants to meet you at the showers, you two often met up after the others went to sleep. He knew how much you hated the dark, yet he wanted to meet with you at one of the darkest places of the camp…lovely.

When you snuck out to meet him at the showers, you didn’t expect him to be actually taking a shower. Not that you minded, as soon as you entered you saw his silhouette through the curtain and even in that awful lighting, you had to admit that his ass looked amazing.

You didn’t want to scare him, so you made sure he heard you as you took your clothes off. You figured it might ruin the mood if he out of reflex hits you.

“Not that I mind or anything, but what made you come here?” he asked as you entered the shower. He looked amazing naked, drops of water ran down his toned chest and his luscious hair was all wet. He made you wet with just the way he looked.

“Don’t act like you weren’t expecting me!” you said with the same playful tone.

It didn’t take long for the two of you to get filled with lust and desire as you soon found yourself trying to hold yourself up against the wall of the shower while he mercilessly pounded into you from behind. He often leaned down and placed kisses on your back. This position allowed him to hit places in you, places you enjoyed the most.

“Fuck, Baby, you feel so good.” he whispered into your ear. You made sure that you weren’t too loud, although even when he changed his angle and made you close your legs, then continued to pound you, it was rather hard. You didn’t want the others to hear you, you wanted to tell them, you didn’t want them to find out because Xavier fucked you so good and you couldn’t keep your voice down.

“X-Xav…I…You are so...big!”

Your hands started to ache because you held them up for too long. Xavier didn’t notice it, yet he soon changed your position and held you against the wall, one of your legs on the floor, the other around his hips held up by his hand. His other hand was busy playing with your nipple. Your hands were in his hair, pulling and nails scratching his scalp. His lips against yours, he soon pulled back and looked you deep in the eyes. He was close, and you knew that because he always looked you in the eyes when he cums, it's like a ritual to him, as if to make sure that he really was with you, and it was really happening. The other reason you knew that was because his hips began to mod quicker and the sound of your wetness, skin against skin got louder.

“I’m close.” he always announced, as if he waited for your approval that he could climax because you were also nearing your end. And even if you couldn’t cum at the same time, he wouldn’t leave you unsatisfied.

When you gave him a nod, he pulled you even closer by the leg, if that was possible, and he came deep in you. Since you were on the pill, you didn’t mind it, you actually found it to be quite intimate, and you always felt full whenever he came deep in you. The water was hitting his back as you grabbed his shoulders and you shook a little as you came, both of you let out a long and loud moan.

After you came down from your high and he pulled out his now lip cock out of you, you pulled him in for a hot kiss.

“I love you.” you said to him.

“I love you more.” he said and it made you smile, seeing the light in his eyes, his happiness, it was your everything, he was your everything.

You didn’t want to let go of him, not even when he walked you back to the girls’ cabin. You stood behind a tree in the dark and just kissed, but it wasn’t fast, both of you took your sweet time to show the other just how much you loved each other.

“I should go back.” you said as you watched him, his eyes shining bright even in the dark.

“Just one more kiss.” he said as he leaned closer, but you put your hand on his lips.

“It’s never just one with you, Xavier.” he mumbled something against your hand, and when you let him go, he said it again.

“I hate this. Hiding, I mean. We should tell the others, so I can kiss you all the time and not just when no one is watching.” he let a pout find its way against his lips, you always found his pouty face adorable.

“Alright, tomorrow, we will tell them tomorrow.” both of you smiled and he leaned in for a last kiss before he left to go to bed.

You fell asleep that night with the promise of a perfect summer, and that your relationship will no longer be hidden.

You expected the others to be happy for you and Xavier. Little did you know that all of them already placed bets on when you are going to tell them about your love.

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