#captain wench

[killianxswan]

yelling at me eventually works (thank you discord mutuals<3)

welcome to abby’s ongoing captain swan drabble series

(random, unbeta’d, unrelated, filthy)

majority smut with some whump in there, but feel free to send any type of requests/prompts/anything to my inbox ! i want to start posting more, and these come naturally to me, so i figured this could be good practice :))

as always comments/kudos (and requests!) much appreciated <3

[zaharadessert]

The Halloween Gambit (7/7)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Whump

Length: 7 Chapters, about 12k in total? yeah I lied it’s about 14k now…

Summary: Bar wench and orphan, Emma Swan is taken captive to lure Captain Hook to the noose. Things don't turn out as her captors expect.

Notes: Well, this is it… the final chapter… the comfort after all that hurt. I have to say a huge thank you to @cshalloweek​ for the wonderful prompts and the push to come up with something new, again. I have such a good time writing this fic and it really was so refreshing when things haven’t been flowing as easily recently. Once again, a massive thank you to @kmomof4​, I couldn’t do this without you, and your insights and suggestions are invaluable. Also I totally forgot to credit you for a certain bloodthirsty paragraph in yesterdays fic, and you deserve praise for that beautiful imagery, so thank you also for that. I really hope you all enjoy this final instalment, do let me know what you thought!

Tagging: @jrob64​ @xhookswenchx​ @kmomof4​ @wefoundloveunderthelight​ @superchocovian​ @lfh1226-linda​ @teamhook​ @jonesfandomfanatic​ @tiganasummertree​ @onceratheart18​ @snowbellewells​ @karlyfr13s​ @itsfabianadocarmo @ouatpost @ultraluckycatnd​ @winterbaby89​ @thepirateandhisson​ @xarandomdreamx​ @xsajx​ @captainswan21​ @spaceconveyor @pirateprincessofpizza @sparlecorn93​ @hollyethecurious​ @ammelia​ @pawshapedheart​

As always, let me know if you’d like me to add you to my taglist for future fics :)

From the Beginning on AO3

- - - - -

31st October Bones / white discover | cost | “Do you hear that?” | bare

- - - - -

“Come on, Love. Need to get you out of these wet clothes,” he said gently as he lifted Emma into his arms and carried her down into his cabin. The kind of gentleness he’d only ever been able to show with her. Milah hadn’t wanted gentleness from him, not really, though he’d learned exactly when to show it so that she appreciated it.

The anger that had been consuming him since reading Beckett's letter had mostly drained out of him as he’d attended to the mewling curr on the deck of his ship. Feeling her breaths ghosting across his chest had further soothed it. But as he helped her shed her wet and filthy garments and the brutality of her treatment was confirmed, he felt it rising in his gut once more.

He found himself breathing heavily, jaw clenched and ticking with the tension building inside him again. He should have drawn it out more, should have kept him here to torture and starve for days. The pain he had caused her, the torment that would haunt her for who knew how long demanded it. He should have broken every bone in his body, waited for them to heal and then broken them again for what he had done.

The way the bruises marred her pale skin, the thinness of her limbs and the way her hair hung, limp and bedraggled across her shoulders enraged him. Every time he looked at her he discovered another scrape, another bruise… He patched up everything he could, bandaged her wrists and elbows, carefully cleaned the dried blood from her lip, applied a strange smelling salve to any bruises he could find until she squirmed at the sticky discomfort of it. But at the same time, the care in his touch, the tenderness with which he did his best to mend every hurt kept his focus on her and the fury at her treatment at bay.

- - - - -

Continued on AO3

[aamusedly]

♚ - put a hand on my muse’s knee while sitting next to them, to discourage them from standing up

Harker had caught him at a soft moment, but domesticity had become easier over the years for him. Out on the balcony, coffee in one hand, newspaper in the other. He was pushing through a crossword puzzle, fairly easily by the looks of it. It had been his therapist's suggestion, a way to exercise his brain daily both to curb his propensity towards overactivity and his getting rusty in his retirement. It seemed Dr. Morgan was one of the few people the Devil genuinely listened to.

The 'good morning' had been a smile and kiss to the cheek, but Devil had kept his silence as he paused in his puzzle and tapped his pen against the folded pages of the New York Times. His cup was empty.

It was an excuse to get up and stretch, and to of course get his wife some dark roast to match his own, but her hand stalled him. Amber eyes turned over, wreathed in fine lines of an age he couldn't come by honestly.

"The pot's gonna get cold, you know."

[ayyyyysexual]

Tumblr on the Seven Seas

🏴‍☠️ white-beard Follow

Can we stop all normalising the use of "sc*rvy" as a fun little thing to call people?? I literally had sc*rvy last year and it was even worse than when I got my hand cut off. Fuck anyone who uses the S word without even considering how triggering it can be to those of us who have ACTUALLY suffered though it

🌅 castedaway Follow

No wenches?

🏴‍☠️ white-beard Follow

Honestly you people are so insufferable I genuinely hope you walk the plank

🌅 castedaway Follow

AHOY???

🍑 plundermebooty Follow

Okay but OP is literally a landlubber, mateys

🌴 pegmeg

nahhh why is it literally always landlubbers faking scurvy and sending plank threats ☠☠

768 notes

🗡wagscallion Follow

everyone says "land ho!" but never "land ma'am"

💨 matelotsaboteur

Really makes you think

2,041 notes

💃 crossdressing101 Follow

this whole crew was so gullible ngl, i just cut my hair and dressed in my fathers clothes and they all fell for it, hook line and sinker??

💃 crossdressing101 Follow

honestly im surprised no one has found me out yet. surely i dont seem that much like a man? i mean it makes this way easier but like. im still a woman. obviously

🕺 crossdressing101 Follow

mateys i have come to a shocking realisation,

34 notes

⛵ privatesteer Follow

wildest argument for piracy i've ever heard was that the gold stored on government ships is dangerous cause it weighs them down, so they're just 'lightening the load'

🧜‍♀️ kiss-pretty-ocean324 Follow

աaռռa ʟɨֆȶɛռ ȶօ ֆɨʀɛռ ֆօռɢ?

⛵ privatesteer Follow

no thanks

🕶 monstermaterdeactivated16520210

outta my way gayboy im boutta get it

🕶 monstermaterdeactivated16520210

i have drowned at sea

36,251 notes

⚓ shiveringtimbers Follow

14,811 notes

🌏 boat-enthusiast Follow

i am SO sick of the term "ship-shape" like, matey, which shape?? Ships come in so many fucking shapes like have non of you ever boarded more than one vessel in your career???? Anyway fake ship fans DNI with this post i can NOT be bothered with your tomfuckery today

💦 longjohngolder Follow

girl its not that deep ☠

🌏 boat-enthusiast Follow

to YOU. i just get it

1,147 notes

🙍‍♂️ dudeindistress Follow

honestly being held for ransom isnt that bad. kinda nice to be held

4,733 notes

🦜 pollypockets Follow

SQUAWK

🐦 aviated Follow

CAW SQUAWK SQUAWK

🦜 pollypockets Follow

CA-CAW

790 notes

🍑 plundermebooty Follow

the cabin boy just winked at me?? after offering to help clean my gun? privately. in my quarters. tonight.

🍑 plundermebooty Follow

i think i hauve scurvy

142 notes

🌊 swabmydick Follow

mateys I SWEARR my captain and his first mate are gonna kiss before our next voyage. they literally have so much romantic tension every time i see them its nauseating

🕶 longjohngolderdeactivated16511205

wtf its so problematic and harmful to ship real people?? unfollowing rn i thought you were better than this

🌊 swabmydick Follow

i literally rob and kill people for a living?????? that's where you draw the line???

🌴 pegmeg

op killed them

🌊 swabmydick Follow

even better news mateys, they kissed ☠☠☠

96,538 notes

[wonbin-truther]

˚⊹ ᰔೀ dream boyfriend: incoming ˚⊹ ᰔೀ

college student! mark x college student! yn

featuring! san of ateez, moon sua of billlie, yuqi of gi-dle, and soobin of txt

synopsis! it wasnt your fault mark was the first profile to appear on your instagram! and it was most definitely not your fault when you told your annoying older cousins that mark lee, the captain of your unis soccer team, was your boyfriend and somehow got him invited to the next family reunion ...

other! smau, fake dating to ?? to lovers, slight jaemin x yn, yns cousins are assholes, mark is the ideal son in law, hes also an asshole, kys/kms jokes, mark kinda leads yn on, will add more as i go along

ongoing! tags are open (reply or send an ask)

updates every monday /wednesday / friday!

╰┈➤ hot bitches • ball is life

letter 0. prologue (written)

letter 1. blocked but not forgotten

letter 2. SPOTTING!! (written)

letter 3. white to a wedding

letter 4. shot o clock

letter 5. hangover and spiderman

letter 6. unbothered

letter 7 here comes the bride (written)

letter 8. the dad talk

letter 9. lets break up (or not) (written)

letter 10. wake ups (again)

letter 11. yap

letter 12. kissing the homies (written)

letter 13. debrief

letter 14. soccer team captain

letter 15. winning match (written)

letter 16. mysterious figure (written)

letter 17. oh shit

letter 18. enter jaemin?

letter 19. jealousy

letter 20. soft launch

letter 21. familiarity

letter 22. idgaf warrior

letter 23. friends don't kiss (written)

letter 24. goodbye mark lee

letter 25. accidental confessions

letter 26. mitski lyrics

letter 27. family dinner (written)

letter 28. who shot up the taco bell

letter 29. silence

letter 30. mixer pt1

letter 31. mixer pt 2

letter 32. fuck

letter 33. hehe (scared)

letter 34. just a girl

letter 35. let the light in

letter 36. why are you so messy?

letter 37. whos mark lee? never heard of him

letter 38. common wench.

letter 39. oh! well ... ummm

letter 40. man ... her again?

[dumbbitchgalore]

Part 2: Old man!Price wants his birdie to fly away 🕊

Part 1

Part 3

Part 4

Sitting on the couch in the middle of the living room, eyes red and puffy as you nurse an almost empty bottle of wine. The click of the bedroom door opening was louder than any car horn honking during a road rage.

Out she comes, the lustful wench who's sinful presence wafted into every single crevace of your santuary. She gives you a smug look before leaning down to whisper in your ear.

"Your man was a good fuck." She smirks before strutting out of the front door.

You sit there gritting your teeth and downing the remaining liquid in the bottle only to smash it against the wall, shattering it to pieces mirroring the state of your heart. Broken by the man who words are definite and his promises as sanctity. Now only for you to find yourself shackled in the throne vines of his vows.

You sigh heavily, closing your eyes and leaning back into the plush couch. You energy depleted from the silent tears you shed while John and his bitch fucked like rabbits in heat.

Soft, yet heavy footsteps are heard as they come to a halt behind the sofa. A hand comes up to caress your hair. You let it be, not bothering to stop him or maybe because you didn't want his soft caresses to come to an end. They always every touched you tenderly, never once raised to harm you. And yet those same hands have played a part in the adultery that he has committed.

John sighs, "Birdie-"

"Why?" You choke out a question before he could finish speaking.

He moves his hand away from your hand, walking up in front of you before crouching down to meet your doleful eyes.

"You want the truth, love?" He says.

You nod in response and do not utter a single syllable in fear it will betray you by letting your tears run freely.

John clears his throat preparing his answer, "Well, we've simply been together for too long. I guess I needed something new, birdie."

Birdie

That name he called you so affectionately in the past felt like vemon making its way through your veins.

Your head felt heavy, you heart tightening simultaneously. Did he really just say that? His response was so simple, not an ounce of guilt in sight.

You don't know what you should feel. Anger? Sadness? Maybe both is the correct answer. But you feel neither. A sense of emptiness engulfs you, the love you carried for John dissipating in a mere second.

You don't look at him once, simply staring at the wall behind him.

"I expect your stuff moved out of this house by the end of the week, Captain."

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

Hi I just learned Kinktober is a thing

So here's my four favorite boys and their kinks.

Or is it five this time? *dramatic sound effect*

And yes, I'm still working on ABCs of Kink, I've got the next one about halfway done and it may be posted today, and I'm still working through the ask requests, and still

But headcanons shiny need more

Ooooh...Kinky ;D

Very obviously NSFW.

LA!Zoro X AFAB!Reader, LA!Sanji X AFAB!Reader, LA!Shanks X AFAB!Reader, LA!Mihawk X AFAB!Reader, LA!Buggy X AFAB!Reader (I'm on my second watch of OPLA and he's kinda grown on me).

Zoro

"I hope you like it rough, baby."

Zoro's not super kinky, but he definitely likes it rough, which goes hand in hand with the couple kinks he does have.

You're going to want to have a safeword/signal if you're giving him a blowjob—he's thick and he loves seeing you gag and choke on his cock. Literally the biggest turn-on.

Holding tight onto your hair the whole time.

The sight of your make-up trailing down your flushed face while he's fucking your mouth and throat makes his knees weak.

Pulling your head all the way down to come down your throat, shaking, groaning, swearing.

He's a little cautious about outright choking you during sex—he doesn't want to get too wound up and unintentionally hurt you—but if you ask him to, he's going to, because it's still an enormous turn-on.

"God, I fucking love it when you gag on it...."

Sanji

"If I make you dinner, do I get to have you for dessert?"

Like, do I even have to say it?

Food play.

Chocolate sauce, whipped cream, caramel, it's going to get messy. Any reason to trail his lips and his tongue over your beautiful body is a very, very good reason.

(BTW I recently learned Taz Skylar has a tongue ring so it's now canon that Sanji has one and do not argue with me I will die on this hill.)

He's never going to do or say anything to degrade you...but if you want to do so to him? By all means, be his guest.

You're his queen and he's your loyal subject, the man has no qualms about you doing anything you want to him.

Shove him into a wall, call him names, tie him to the bed, step on him, whip him, spit in his face—he will thank you for it. If it brings you pleasure, it brings him pleasure.

Literally everything you do turns him on, and he's beyond happy to be your personal toy.

"You, my love, are the sweetest thing that has ever touched my lips."

Shanks

"Oh, come on, sweetheart. Where's the fun in life without a little risk?"

Honestly the kinkiest of the four (but not the five). Super playful, and one hundred percent open to absolutely anything you suggest trying.

I mean anything. If you tell him you want to dress him up in frilly lingerie and call him your wench, he's totally game.

But he reserves the right to crack stupid jokes about it the whole time.

His own biggest kink is public sex. The riskier the better.

Reaching under the table at a tavern and creeping his hand up your thigh and under your skirt to rub you through your panties...or just flat out pulling you onto him to straddle his lap, make out with you, grind against you with absolutely no concern of anyone seeing.

Pulling you right into the mouth of an alley, barely concealed in the shadows and just having you right there against the wall, where any passersby might catch a glimpse of what you're doing.

He doesn't care—it's not like anyone's even going to attempt to stop one of the most notorious pirates on the Grand Line.

He enjoys a little role-play as well. You're the little marine cadet he took prisoner and decided to keep as his personal playing. The enchanting stranger from a tavern he's seduced.

Call him "captain." It drives him wild.

"Oh, what a good little wench you are, love."

Mihawk

"You seem to have forgotten who's in charge here, little one."

One hundred percent certified professional Brat Tamer™.

He's not going to let on that your pestering and testing his patience is anything but a casual annoyance—but the whole time he'll be thinking about how he's going to punish you later for being such an endearing little pest.

You're getting tied up. Cuffed to the bed. Clothes torn off of you. Spanked. You're getting teased beyond the point of sanity, within an inch of your life.

There's a fair chance he won't let you come for literal hours.

That he'll leave you tied up while he sits back and has a glass of wine and just revels in your pleading for more, revels in being in total control of your agony and pleasure.

You're going to have to beg, to promise you'll be a good girl for your master (even though you both know that's not true) before you get anything more out of him.

Big kink for lace and nylon as well.

He's constantly having to buy you new tights, new underwear and lingerie, because seeing you in them sets him on fire to the point that he's very likely to literally rip them off of you in a fit of desire and fuck you absolutely senseless.

"For the last damned time, no, your safe-word cannot be Yoru."

Buggy

"You know you're my favorite freak, babe."

Couldn't not include Buggy this time because it's pretty obvious that he's the kinkiest motherfucker at this party.

The guy has removable body parts, for gods' sake, of course he's going to utilize them in the most creative ways possible. He could be on the other side of the ship and still have his hand down your panties.

Degradation, cuckhold, ropes, whips, chains, knife play, you name it and he's probably into it. It would be a miracle for you to come up with something he hasn't tried at least twice.

He's going to call you every degrading name he can think of. Spank you and slap you. Choke you until you nearly pass out. And he's fully open to and expects you to do the same to him.

Dom or sub, doesn't matter, he's just having a good old-fashioned filthy time either way.

Totally open to threesomes, he's bi as fuck.

Also totally open to chaining you up and letting the entire crew run a train on you while he watches.

If you can imagine it, he's done it, wrote the book on it, and you're going to be doing it with him.

"Don't even pretend you don't like being my slut."

[everythingispirates]

🏴‍☠️lowlyseaman

I love not having scurvy 👍

1 note

🦢w3nch

breaking mutuals with @/forgeguy don't ask me about it this is the last I'll say on the matter

🍹jackoff follow

omg did something happen :(

🦢w3nch

shut the fuck up never fucking talk to me again I'm so srs

🍹jackoff follow

kys

12 notes

🦢w3nch

i miss him so fucking much i can't fucking do this anymore

2 notes

🩻bigbarbie

this fucking meeting sucks I'm going to firebomb shipwreck cove

67 notes

👁️raspghetti

little life update I feel like I'm honestly really coming around on this prosthetic eye idk it's really starting to feel like a part of me now :') I hope I never have to lose it or anything

0 notes

🇬🇧kingofenglandofficial follow

piracy is a SCOURGE on these seas!!! EMBARRASSING!

🏴‍☠️iheartstealing follow

give me your stuff

☠️quarterdeckmain follow

omg I can't believe we still have piracy antis on this website to this day like this is literally the high seas piracy website go back to ye olde twitter

🩻bigbarbie

"piracy antis" girl that's the king of england

12,429 notes

⚔️forgeguy

I can't keep going like this I can't believe I did that to her I'm such a failure I should just kms like I literally don't deserve to be on this earth

⚔️forgeguy

just remembered some things. nevermind lol

⚔️forgeguy

remembered some more things and I want to die again I was so fucking wrong

4 notes

🍹jackoff follow

and when I drop the ***** aka ********* receipts then what. lol. lmao even

🦢w3nch

bitch give us a fucking vowel

🩻bigbarbie

yeah um just so everyone knows op literally shot me on isla de muerta so I'm really not interested in their receipts

🎣humblefisherman follow

what the fuck is going on on pirate ye olde tumblr

572 notes

🍹jackoff follow

everyone keeps calling me a liar they just hate to see a wench who tells it like it is

⚔️forgeguy

literal 100+ pages ye olde google doc of times op has lied

104 notes

🦑partofthecrewpartoftheship follow

you would actually not believe how much harder it is to girlblog when your fingers are turning into fucking shrimp or whatever

🦑partofthecrewpartoftheship follow

captain has it fucking easy

🦑partofthecrewpartoftheship follow

they're gonna whip me for this one lads :/

5 notes

🦢w3nch

anyone else riddled by guilt? clap if you're riddled by guilt

2 notes

🦀 follow

the second I'm free of this stupid flesh prison I'm putting a curse on this entire fucking website

🦐morehumblerfisherman follow

op what the fuck is this why do you not have an url

🦀 follow

the sea will claim you in five years. use your remaining time wisely

🦐morehumblerfisherman follow

sure yeah whatever. I'll fucking do that I guess.

196 notes

🏴‍☠️lowlyseaman

got scurvy 👎

0 notes

[darkdemeter]

𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐍, 𝐁𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐈

— BUCKY BARNES COLUMN (ONESHOT)

Dark Pirate! Bucky Barnes x Siren! Female Reader

—- not my gifs, credit to original posters! -—

| A/N | DISCRETION |

A/N — Ey yo let’s go! Here it is, part 2!

Dark, pirate Bucky — possessive Bucky, also feat. possessive reader — profanity — angst! — mention of alcohol — pet names ("Siren") — SMUT 18+ Minors DNI — unprotected (given) p in v sex — mention of marks/hickeys — there be depiction of wenches/prostitutes — semi-exhibitionism — mention of memory wipe through magic — minor cigar consumption (not reader) — very brief depiction of harm against a crew member — Rumlow, he's a bit of a sly creep — I think that's it?

| SUMMARY |

You are his siren. Why do you insist on your curiosity when you know it will only get you into trouble? In your captain's search for the ancient treasure, a temple only you know the location of, the voyage will take momentary port in Nassau. Mina, a fellow siren, reveals to you the dark truth that you have been blind to. Lied to. She encourages you to take back the necklace. The time to be a siren is now, to lure your captain into a false sense of devotion, that your sights and desires only draw to him; and not the necklace bound to his hand and the secrets he's been keeping from you.

*6.1𝐤 ────────────────┘

| M-LIST | TAGLIST:

@identity2212 @sebastianstansqueen @openup-yourmind @kandis-mom @calwitch @cjand10 @ashdoctor @missmarvelophilic @mostlymarvelgirl @daddy-bucky @thegirlwholoveslivesfanfiction @armystay89

────────────────┘

Dawn kisses the horizon’s rolling waters, erasing the wicked hue of intermingling black and blue with colours brighter, more promising, to bloom over sky and sea. A sight that portraits serenity in order to inspire a welling of hope. The flaming orb of heat commands to stir the once slumbering crew into action. Little does it work to awaken your captain, already awake and buried deep in the channel of your cunt, his cock surges forward aggressively, tip kissing your cervix with each powerful snap of his hips. 

  Relentless, he rolls in tandem with the rock of the ship, a string of grunted breaths and deep, stuttering groans thrum in the cavern of his large chest, heart hammering against his ribcage. 

  He pulls from you another countless orgasm to add to another countless hour of this tortuous bliss. A flushing, white and hot, seizes hold of you and beckons your body to respond accordingly, trained in his art of greed your legs drag over the terrain of defined muscle to bring him impossibly closer. Skin melding to inked skin, sweat laced bodies mingling in heated, frictional euphoria. 

  “Y’love that, Siren? Huh,” he pants on the shell of your ear, “love it when I have you full of me?”

  You mewl a small, whiney sound. 

  “Yes—” you intake sharply, “C-Captain…”

  “Aye, say it again.” He growls deeply, teeth nip the lobe of your ear, his nose buried in the crook of your neck inhales deeply the sweet dew of your flushed skin. Rough and strong, his hands have yours pinned, as he does your entire body, pressed against blood-red and snowy white velvets and silks and dark, exotic furs once belonging to pompous princes. Now, they belong to the king of the sea and his siren. Hips rolling together in time, fingers interlacing, woven together in bound strength to hold each other as guarded lifelines, the webbing between your slender digits draws and withdraws from their tucked beds of skin. Pupils conflict between dark, slitted lines and circular globes of blackness blown in pleasure. 

  “Shit… fuck– so fuckin’ tight, Siren!” he hisses, “mine… only mine.”

  Already your core burns enticingly, welcoming another orgasm that follows closely behind your one just prior. His navel arcs to brush your clit, the girth of his cock strikes true each time, he pummels harder and faster, his tip the only portion to remain before he thrusts forward with a moistened glide.

  Corded notes of pleasure are threaded into hitched knots, producing small, hiccuping whines as your abused, slickened walls constrict around his cock to milk him of every drop. The small bridge of your back arches, the smooth surface of your salty skin gliding over the defined divots and scars of his muscular front, inch by inch you feel him everywhere; both outside and inside. 

  He’ll never let you go. As a man who prides himself in the fine freedoms of piracy, he’s a blackened heart that guards you with vigorous possessiveness. Nor do you think you’re capable of ever leaving him. He is all you have. He is yours just as much as you are his. 

  The treasure he covets with unmatched greed. No woman on this earth could ever encounter what you have above you and between your quivering legs that loop tightly over his strong waist. And because of this, you equally covet this treasure of yours. 

  His cock ruts your cervix roughly, tugging forth a long, high noted yelp underlined with a breathy huff, the rhythm of his hips stutters at the sound. His pink lips find yours, tongue drawing over your own, your submission allowing him to do as he pleased. He feeds off the chorus of your breathless song, a song meant just for him. Because of him. 

  “Fuckin’ hell…” His voice rasps, teeth sinking into the bend where your shoulder and neck meet. “Love it when y’sing for m— me.” A gut-emitted groan reverberates in his chest, Skin meets skin in synchronised slapping, raw and primal with need. Wooden legs rub and claw the floorboards with heavy creaks. 

  “L–look atcha… huh, whiney and cock drunk– mmm, gonna make you scream for me, Love.”

  His thrusts grow as ruthless as the brewing storms of the sea, lashing and rocking you beyond the point of refusal. There is no denying, no pushing away. Not when it comes to your captain. 

  “C’mon, Siren—” He pants with a series of rushing thrusts that pin you down. “Sing for me.” 

  The erected peeks of your breasts are tender as they push against his chest. You whimper softly. 

  “Captain…”

  “Aye, louder,” he growls. Of his flesh hand, his knuckles whiten dangerously until the skin melts over bone. Another harsh snap of his hips sends you spiralling on the verge of your orgasm.

  “Captain—” you gasp and he bites down into the bevel between your collarbone with a rasping growl. “Captain!”

  Your velvety walls tighten around the hardened length penetrating you, filling you, his cock encumbered by the vice of your cunt. The blinding flash covers your vision and heat spreads through every corner of your body, leaving nothing but a siren blinded in lustful bliss. He groans with each drag and push, muscles glistening in the soft glow of the rising sun. The flowing wave of his precious seed finds purchase in your lower abdomen. 

  It’s not until he completely empties his hot load, does he finally slow his pace to a stop. Above you he pants heavily, each breath reminding you of the sea’s spray and sun-tainted breeze that tousles the darkened locks of his hair. 

  Your energy sapped from the unbridled temper of your beloved captain, you find reprieve in the gentleness of his tongue tracing the numerous dark marks covering your skin - his marks. 

  “Know this…” His voice rumbles lowly, his flesh hand harbouring the necklace dangles it mere inches over your parted lips. “There is nothing for you to find in a dried pearl, Siren. I am all you need.” 

  Metal squeezes your jawline, pursuing your understanding. The pink tip of his tongue wets his lips and he arches a brow.

  “Yes…”

  You needn’t be jostled twice by the threat of his grasp, you whisper, voice barely audible, “…Captain.”

  “Atta girl.” 

   Arriving at port in Nassau means safe haven for the crew of The Avenger, a chance to rekindle spirits with a few dozen barrels of liquor and a woman’s belly to keep any weathered sailor happy. In the Caribbean’s turning and heating morn, gulls scavenge for pickings of food, the white banks of sand converging with the blue tinged tide bathe the nudity of your feet with absorbed heat, it brings an irate wince to cross your features. Over the vast stretch of beach and headed further inland, the jolly tune of harboured pirates emit from the wooden, creaky shacks, if not counting the ruckus of noisy patrons enjoying their paid company. 

  Never did your captain have need for such sleaziness, such lazed women who lounge in wait for coins to fill the near-always empty drawstring bag tied to their thigh. He had you.   To hold you close to the scorching warmth of his battle hardened body, to passionately entangle your limbs in an endless thread of desire, and to bask in the radiance that is one another; the possession of a companion no other can have.

  And your own guard for your beloved captain doesn’t go unnoticed, by either him or the hungering gazes of those women yet in wait, your arms encircling around the bulk of Bucky’s flesh arm, in your neck the muscles strain as your fangs become elongated in a threatening display, the disguise of your eyes falters into narrow strips of glaring obsidian. 

  These women are no strangers to the presence of sirens, in spite of the limited number of population, a siren’s prize is never to be taken from her. 

  “Easy, Lass,” Bucky coos, lips drawn on either side into a charming grin. “There’s none suiting my fancy but you.”

  His assurances brighten refocused pupils and the lines around your mouth pull into a smirk. The now scornful glares of ladies unworthy of his time burn into you, and you in turn purse the tip of your tongue between your lips in retaliation. Behind, you hear a few members of the crew huff in their amusement. 

  With the crew tailing loyally behind their captain, each body a weighted husk ready to drown themselves in all that Nassau offers, the striking colour of a scarlet coat saunters forward in the corner of your vision. In a briefly stolen glance to your side, the brilliance of her green irises invade you with a soulless engagement, full lips drawn into a thin line and below the crimson stripe of her bandana, her brows are furrowed. 

  It comes to mind Bucky’s attendance on deck to anchor the ship at port, and so too does the possible thought that during that increment amount of time, Bucky could have very well informed Wanda of your curious skirmish ending in upheaval, caught red handed in the act. 

  And yet the events, the memory of what you experienced - the estranged bond you shared with the necklace - all of it remains. No bouts of stomach churning nausea or blurred hazes that leave you to stumble on your two feet, abandoning you to the mindless plane of confusion where memory is your worst and forgotten enemy. 

  And you prefer to keep it that way. These invasions that leave you more curious, sensing something greatly amiss the more of its occurrence is known, perhaps it’s best if you surrender the search. Your captain is all you need. Nevermind the ghostly songs that haunt the realm beneath the surface. Maybe, just maybe, there is good reason why you don’t remember anything. And if you cease this affair, then maybe with the grace of your beloved, that there will be no need to be swallowed into the misty thicket of her dark, scarlet magic. 

  I am my captain’s siren. I must remain with him. He is all I have. All I want to have…

    ‘Mm hm, mm hm, mm~hmm~hm~mm… mhm.,.’

  The melody chimes to lure your attention, the trickery of the voices blooms thickly throughout the forefront of your mind. You press to ignore the empty promise of their secrets revealed. This search ends now. No more. In defiance to the woeful, bleeding song of murmured hums, your arms hold tighter to Bucky, his chin dips low as his blue eyes look you over, gorgeous eyes of the ocean, captured within the handsome sculpture of his visage. A forbidden make of marble, carven with perfection in mind. 

  ‘Mm hm, mm hm, mm~hm—’

  “Something the matter, Siren?” thrums the husky drawl of your captain. You turn your eyes - your entire form of attention - to him, devoting it to him alone, and not to the tune that wanes with grieving cries that drown in the mists of that plane. You shake your head with refined elegance and bring a smile to grace him with. 

  “Nothing, my Captain,” you purr sweetly. Voice soft enough to easily die in the crashing of heavy waves, but so throbbing to the heart that the lilted beat of your voice could never be lost to him. Bucky grins at your words, respite is found in the security of your vow. Not only does your answer satisfy him immensely, but it draws Wanda’s intense focus away from you. 

  The quartermaster, Steve Rogers, is met in an engulfing embrace by a striking brunette with bouncy curls, lips bright and red and grinning, brown eyes sparkling in the Nassau’s brimming sun. Truth be told, she was far too pretty to be a mere human, her beauty akin to a glistening ruby, and maybe it saddens you the littlest bit that she foresees you with eyes of weariness rather than friendliness. 

  Perhaps if she were a siren herself, you’d both have settled together rather fondly as friends - as bonded sisters. But alas, with her own treasure now ashore for now, she takes to him and welcomes him with moaning cords and absorbing kisses, Bucky chuckles slyly with a wink to his exhausted friend. 

  Weather-beaten tables score the large deck of the tavern, most of them being vacant outside, but given the beginnings of your skin drying out, Bucky takes care to situate you as close to a shaded spot. Something you are noticeably grateful for with your cheek nuzzling into the openly revealed space of his chest, the belted strips of leather strapped over his chest warm your skin as well as his skin. 

  Casting you in flittering shadows are the swaying palms, their long and prickly spine leaves howling in the sea’s constant winds driven ashore. While other members of the crew flee to their own affairs to relax, those of Bucky’s inner circle remain close, like cards held to his chest, and you being the winning ace of his games, are held the closest. 

  “Restock of the ship’s supplies will take all day, not to mention, the girl needs a few restorations herself,” says Bruce, spectacles resting low upon the bridge of his nose, eyes finalising his scrawlings as his voice confirms. His hand runs over the plump of his cheek with a drained sigh, middle finger pushing the brass loop of his glasses upwards. 

  “And that’ll spend us… half our funds.”

  “Wouldn’t need to waste so much coin on crackers ‘nd other shite, had someone not snuck ‘round like a rat.” Clint’s eyes squint in his accusation towards none other than the master of maps and navigation, Stark, who partakes in defending himself behind a weak shrug. 

  “There’s actual rats aboard. T’wasn’t me.”

Clint’s upper lip curls into a sneer, the ship’s cook primed to render Stark into salted meatloaf, a dullened knife he took to using in both battle and kitchen is held in his nimble fingers. 

  “Fuckin’ thievin’—”

  “Quit your squabbling,” rumbles your captain, “strike what isn’t needed for the voyage. Double on reinforcements and armoury.” His gruff voice sends tingles through your still connected cheek to his front, content in hearing its booming and steady beat. Bruce nods and returns his gaze downward to his leatherbound companion, quill resipping ink, he scribbles into his book once again, humming and murmuring to himself. 

  Bruce Banner, though quite brutal in the midst of battles, is a relatively quiet man who tends to keep to himself for most of his membership as a crewmate. Often he dwells below decks, counting stock, taking note of damages and overall engaging the skin of parchment rather than a woman. 

   Not to completely disregard the sometimes scarce glances between himself and the fiery, flintlock dancer herself, Natasha, eyes meeting between the wooden blanks separating their worlds from dark to light. If history is planted there, there is little to know in your knowledge - your hazy knowledge. From what you’ve gathered, Natasha has a tongue that leaves many of the males on board chest torn and heart bleeding, in dire need for her to bandage them with a moment of her time. Time that she rather spent either dancing in the heat of conflict, pulling the ship in order or occupy herself with you. 

  In comparison to the neighbouring woman often skulking silently by Bucky’s heel like a prowling animal on a leash, Natasha offered you what nobody else truly had; a connection. Someone you can maybe call friend. 

  By no means is she completely softened around you, she pushes you beyond your limits, but in her interactions with you, she layers herself with a bout of steadiness and calm to keep you level headed at best. She even takes the time to teach you letters and words of human speech. Too nervous to ask such a tedious task of your own captain, it had been Natasha called upon to teach you.

   Under her mentorship, she had governed you away from the native tongue of your sea dwelling folk, and what had at first been mistaken as the ship’s adored feline, Alpine coughing up a fish bone, had just been you taking the first step in learning to speak the language of humans. Only then and afterwards did your captain also take part in your teaching, albeit through a more erotic means of lessons behind the closed door of his cabin. 

  Steve returns with a sway to his step, Peggy held snug to his hip, the two bound by invisible, sticky sap that glues them together. “We’ve drinks comin’, Cap!” He laughs with a clap to Bucky’s broad shoulder, jostling you forward with a startled whine, eyes stinging and dry in alertness. 

  You miss catching it at first, the sharpened glare of ice in his eyes towards Steve for his abrupt disturbance of you, the blonde haired man, lass-drunken already, clicks his tongue with a grimace of offered sincerity, uttering a quiet apology under his heated breath.

  Bucky is only willing to let his scowl go after you assure the quartermaster that there is no harm done, excusing yourself that your fatigue had gotten the better of your guard. 

  Flared tempers now cooled, Steve leans back against the rickety stage of the deck’s plank railing. The ruffled skirts of his companion’s dress ride a little higher on her thigh as she rests it over his lap, drawstring bag visible… and fattened with coin. Paid very early in advance. Paid full with at least three weeks worth of salary strapped to her leg. 

  A chorus of cheers spill out into the open air when tankards of foam-headed refreshments are delivered. Tony’s chapped lips bend around a cigar stick, catching a flame to his match by the heel of his boot, he lights it and puffs a smog that brings your nose to wrinkle and lungs to jump. 

  “Right,” he says, the end of the word lost in its pronunciation, “Down ter business.” The master of maps of navigation procures from his coat rolled parchments and lays them flat to the wooden rot, he knocks a knuckle hard in indication of the pirate’s haven. 

  “We’re here, Lassy. Show us where it is.” Silence falls over those of the inner circle, each pair of eyes lace between the strewn papers and your expression, gauging the lines around your eyes that speak of your concentration. In wait for either your truthful answer or another lie. 

  The tips of your fingers run the inked lines that describe the landmarks of islands, points of interest, known ship routes and x marks, whilst your captain’s own fingers trace along the outer of your thigh teasingly beneath the cover of your robe and the table. His touch is distracting you, but could you be to blame for their failure in search of the ancient treasure? After all, your memory wasn’t of best quality these days. 

  Tony rolls his fingers in a drumming pattern, each minute it grows louder and pounds in your eardrums, the wafting curtain of thick, cigar smoke clouds your senses. 

  Your captain, scowling at this, shoots his metal arm forward and plucks the cigar from Tony’s mouth and pushes the burning ash and tobacco into the veiny hide of his bare hand. Tony bites a string of curses as his hand retracts. 

  “Next time, it’s shoved down your fuckin’ throat, got it?” 

  “Aye, Cap…,” mutters Tony. He shoots you a seething glare but nevertheless, relinquishes his attempts to intimidate you into answering. 

  “You forget, sirens speak a certain way.” Comes the low purr of his lilt, breath hot against the shell of your ear, the encouragement of his hand snakes your thigh over into his lap, leaving your core, though hidden to others, exposed to his addictive touch. Your breath becomes latched in your lungs, struggling to be free and your toes curl as his flesh hand slips between your parted legs. “You just need to know how…” 

  You barely hide the hiccup in your erupting breath. His thumb, rough and firm, toys with the delicate bud that spurs the welling of arousal to moisten your folds. Behind the sealed line of his lips, he breezes a rich chuckle that courts you with promised, devoting attention to your clit, circling it slowly as the long, thick body of his middle finger runs further down your folds. The chill of gold grinds into your skin gently, the pearl hums lowly in the deep reverie of your mind once more, grazing your skin with a harmonic resurgence against the combating of Bucky’s explorative touch. 

  If the air had been thick with the sun’s heat before, then it was downright unbreathable now, your skin aches and itches to be submerged in the tranquil waters. You all but claw a single rocky formation on the far edge of the map. All eyes zero in on the point, taking in the towering form of inked rocks. 

  “You’ve to be jokin’,” Clint hisses quietly. Sam Wilson is the next to speak with a sigh, “That’s a death wish, Captain.”

  “Siren, you’re sure?” Your head bows slowly to Bucky’s question and his thumb ceases its movement. Your finger situated over the landmark trembles, your throat is dry, saliva collects in thick rivulets and makes it difficult to swallow your despair. 

  Hushed whispers fall over the crew as Bucky’s smouldering eyes darken in thought, contemplating the high stakes. For your finger lands not just on the precise location of the temple harbouring the world’s greatest treasure horde any pirate or king alike could dream of. 

  It spans over into dangerous, uncharted territory. Territory that resides as a mass graveyard for ships and souls. The Misted Song Isles. 

  A bedded corner of the world untouched by sunlight, forever shrouded in a mist that never falters in its opacity, leaving many blinded to the ambushing predators that await them. 

  These cousins are the cause of your repulsion. They are not sirens. They do not possess the ability to sing beautifully anymore. That which haunts the mists are not curated melodies to turn a heart soft and a man stirred in longing, no, but devilish shrieks and wallowing howls that scream in revel of their kill.

  “Captain, think about this for a sec—” The quartermaster, as is everyone else, silenced within an instant. You yelp and pull your hand close to your chest as the sharpened point of a blade punctures right where your finger had been. Your heart races against your ribcage. 

  “We set sail at dawn.” 

  His command goes unchallenged and hangs in the eeriness of uncertainty. His lips formulate into that smirk, daring of the course ahead, ready to face whatever thrilling adventure awaits him and his hardened crew. 

  “Prepare yourselves. We’ll soon amass a fortune like no other. Riches beyond belief,” Bucky preaches with a deepened, growling cord, thumb reviving the pleasing buzz between your thighs. Your head presses back into his shoulder, arching your core slightly into his hand. “I’ve never known those of my crew to shrink away from glory and plunder. So what of it, mates? Are you lot ready to take what’s ours?”

  “Aye!” erupts a booming throng of cheers and hollering, tankards fly skyward with trickling, foamy ales, and fists pound the tables enthusiastically. From you, Bucky draws a softened, pleasured whine only captured by his ears, a musical note he licks his teeth in savouring delight. 

  “What a rousing speech, Captain Barnes. Touches my own heart.” The inner circle becomes disrupted, parting into a narrow corridor to give their captain sight of the outsider. Bucky’s thumb comes to pause again, much to the displeasure of your quiet grumbling, your eyes seek out the intruder and gape with widened eyes. 

    “Rumlow,” growls Bucky. His hand bares upon your thigh a tightening squeeze. 

  Brock Rumlow, captain of The Lady Strike, stands present, brown coat beaten and done in by the rough life at sea, tricorn equal in match to the rest of his dishevelled attire. Dark, matted and oily hair is swept behind his ears, stubble very much unkempt and in need of a shave. His brown eyes take in the near bareness of your form, your hand pulls the robe’s fabric over your already covered breasts, and Bucky curls you further inward, protecting you from the fowl leering of Rumlow’s dark eyes. His jaw is set hard as a deep, possessive growl emits from his large chest, the storm of his jealousy on the rise. 

  With a cock of his head, Tony shoves the plans back into the confines of his coat with a huff, missing the tangy flavour of his cigar.

  By now, those of Rumlow’s crew move in behind him, a battle of glares and curled snarls, only one amongst the opposing crew brings a grin to fall over your face, eyes brightened in relief. Long, raven black hair sweeping down the curve of her back, strips of plaits are decorated with beads and small shells, A tall and lean build of a woman a few years older of your age, eyes the shape of almonds and disguised as kindly, sparkling hazels of greens and browns. 

  Her thin lips form a smile to match her tender features. You barely have another chance to second guess your next move, taking care to keep the intricately patterned robe around to protect your modesty, you push yourself away from your captain and fly into her open arms, her embrace a welcomed one after all these weeks. 

  “Mina!” 

  She greets your name with a softened breath, the calming lull of a siren’s power. The prodding of shells poke into your chest, but you pay little heed to them, too much absorbed into a fellow siren’s hold. To be held and nurtured by one so connected to the sea as you, and who is also held prisoner above its beckoning tides. 

  “My dear, your skin!” she gasps. Her lithe fingers skim the lengths of your exposed shoulders, shoving under the flowy sleeves to do the same along your arms. “How long has it been since—”

  “She does not speak that way anymore.” 

  The voice of your captain is sharp, cutting right through to the bone, it chills you. You know you did wrong by your actions, caught in the flurry of your excitement to meet Mina. He hadn’t expressed his permission for you to leave his side.

  Her eyes forecast the irritated slits, the ridge of her mouth shifting. You shake your head quickly. “Don’t…”

  She listens to your plea and directs her gaze aside, retrieving back a more composed appearance. “Apologies, Captain Barnes. I forget her tongue falters and is now consumed by human speech. Please, forgive me.”

  His eyes stare point blank akin to the barrel of his flintlock, finger locked ahold of the trigger and primed to fire a metal ball right between her eyes. He takes into account that her voice is dry in its sincere case that begs forgiveness. A case he finds unmoving. 

  And so it falls to you. Her arms fall from around you reluctantly, you press on towards Bucky, hands caressing the carved shape of his jawline. “Please, Captain… forgiveness?”

  For a moment he is silent, his stare unwavering and unblinking, it churns your innards unassuredly. “Aye.” His response brings you to breathe again with a smile. You swallow thickly, steadying yourself with the words you have become accustomed to, at first rehearing it over in your thoughts before you speak.

  “May I go to the Pools? My skin… is dry.” As if to further accentuate, the inflection of your voice matches your statement, having to clear your throat gently. 

  He nods. “Very well, Love. Hour’s half.” Ingratiating yourself in his good graces, you capture his lips in yours, his own chase after your brief kiss but the embarrassment that they give away just how parched your body is steers you away quickly. 

  You are blind to the narrowing of cold, steely eyes following Mina who walks at your side, arms encircling around you protectively, her own eyes meeting the ferocity of Bucky’s glare, her own hardened stare watered down to save you from being caught in the crossfire for her temper. She knows that you would suffer just as well as her if Bucky turned his decision around. 

  The conversing crews are drowned out noise in the back of your head, Mina guides you along the dirt path towards the haven’s centre. 

  The Pools, a central hub that extends low into the island’s heart, and a system of interconnected tunnels for sirens to rejuvenate their exerted bodies, confining them to an enclosure with no means to swim directly back into the ocean. By all means, it was a natural formation turned into a cage. 

  Peering over the rocky lips, the inviting waters below reflect minute glimpses of the sun, a portion of it concealed under the shrubbery and towering palms. The hue of bright blue blankets the surface before the long stretch of abyssal black that cascades down the rock walls.

  The waters, as expected, are vacant of any other sirens, and those scarce few could only be seen in flashes of shining scales and shadows moving beneath, dipping into the mouths of the tunnels. Hidden from sight.

  You shed the covering of your robe and set it aside, its luxurious fabric smelling of yours and Bucky’s intermingling scents, the decorative stitchwork and colours flaunt it as one of a kind, a nabbed piece from a Japanese merchant schooner Bucky and his crew pillaged, and which your captain presented to you as a gift. The first of many he would later present. Intriguing artefacts.

  Mina didn’t have need to discard herself of human-given clothing, plunging into the heavenly waters before you, her attire made with the natural ingredients of the sea, leather strips and woven cords stretch around her chest and back with rings of shells to fasten over it, keeping her breasts pushed together. The wispy lengths of her skirt flows with sheeted seaweed, circling around her slim waist as a ghostly curtain. You follow not long after with an eager dive, your nude skin is soothed by the cool waters. Your legs morph together into the singular, powerful tendril of your trail, the webbed fins attached to your lower back flutter like the wings of a dove finding freedom on the winds. 

  Your bodies take refuge below the surface, skin no longer assaulted by the lacerations of the sun’s light and blazing scorch. How sailors could idle by whilst under the cruelty of it, you will never understand. Your back arches into a spiralling twist, a high pitched chirp bouncing from your throat and coursing through your gills. 

  You bask in the excitement with Mina who twists and bends, circling you with a teasing swish of her tail, she gargles a sweet note that bubbles around her lips, her forehead presses to yours affectionately. 

  She intends to regard you with the native speech of your kind but stops, brows falling into a firm, saddened line over her eyes. In shame, your head bows. 

  Those of your crew may have stripped you of your right to recollect the siren dialect, but if she can count on anything, it is the motion of her hands and arms. The common communication of one’s body. 

  In a sequence of expertise, her arms rotate and her fingers stretch and curl. 

  What do you remember?

  Your eyes analyse her movement, careful to decipher her code. Not as fluent, given the occasional puzzled twist of her head, followed by a nod of understanding and correcting signal, she encourages through your hesitation, wanting for your answer. 

  I… remember a necklace. Bound to my Captain’s wrist.

  And what did this necklace look like?

  Again, it takes you a moment to find the rhythm of your response, her eyes narrow in their deep seated concentration, almond curved eyes that widen upon realisation.

  You tell her of the golden chain, sleek and elegantly thin yet strengthened, the many, tiny crystallised pearls that line the gilded netting over one larger pearl, with a finer shaped one looped beneath it that dangles.

  Given her momentary pause, you nervously motion. 

  What is it? 

  She raises her hand over her head, webbed fingers fused together, she rotates her wrist in circles.

  Royalty. Pearls represent royalty. 

  The sudden confusion presently blinking in your eyes gives Mina reason to continue. She moves quickly, it’s hard to exactly understand, you motion for her to pace herself, that you’re struggling. With an apologetic chirp, she starts over. 

  You must get it back. That necklace is more significant to you than you realise. Undoubtedly, a gift from your late mother—

I don’t understand! What… of my mother?

  Mina truly sees the sickening infection of your hazy memory, all too aware that it’s the doing of that scarlet witch, tainted by the dark magics that spawn from the mangroves, the teachers there no strangers to utilising sirens as part of their rituals. And all by the order of your captain. A crew lacing you with deceit. 

  Her waterline is touched by tears that form into uplifting bubbles. She organises her words slowly. Each one brings a sharp pang to your chest and your stomach to drop further and further down into the abyss below. 

  Your mother - the Queen - is dead. 

  Your heart is scored by the penetrating daggers of Poseidon's trident, the creeping of unnatural coldness sweeps the back of your neck and down over your shoulders, you huddle into yourself. You shake your head and it ensues into a maddening display of denial, your body trembles, the water grows increasingly troubled, once a calm settlement over the surface now laps at the surrounding edges of the enclosure. 

  This cannot be right, this cannot be the truth. No, you don’t wish to believe it. A weight is crushing around your chest, you want to resurface. For the first time, you crave to be out of the water. All you seek now is the scent of your captain washing over you, drowning you passionately in his possessive devotion, to be treasured by him and him alone, bathed in his dominating presence. His shadow. 

  At this point, you’d happily let him fuck the knowledge out of you. 

  In your abrupt desperation you take to moving swiftly, your head breaches through the barrier with a sputtering fit of coughs and gulps, but Mina follows you. Her webbed hand catches your wrist, her voice plucks through the ripples like the baritone string of a guitar. She calls for you to wait. Gently, she coaxes you to delve below once more, her eyes imploring you to remain, to not go running off to the very same man who wants for you and holds you captive. 

  The milky glaze of your eyes brim with tears, tiny bubbles run to the corners before they float upwards. 

  She rests her head to yours, silky thumbs caring over the form of your cheeks, running smoothly under the bend of your tearful eyes. When she believes you have calmed, she asks another question. 

  What else about this necklace can you tell me?

  I hear… voices. A-a melody. I don’t– don’t understand the words. It plays faintly.

  If the crew who harbours you stays for the festivities tonight, get the necklace and bring it to me. I may be able to appraise it.

  A lump catches in your throat, eyes bearing your terror, the harrowing thought of being caught again. You aren’t sure if the potential of another scarlet mist is worth the risk. 

  Steal it? I-I can’t! He’d know if I stole—

  You cannot steal what’s already yours, young one. Besides, you know just the way to get it from him. I saw the softened regard in his gaze for you. 

  What she suggests is laughable, and your disagreement shows, your head shaking and throat bobbing in motion akin to a scoff. But still, her insinuation brings warmth to bloom in your cheeks. Her brows furrow at this display, tail idly swaying, the length of her hair creating a dark, winding halo behind her. She dissects the gestures of your words. 

  His gaze never softens to me…

  In spite of this, she rolls her eyes, but they are hopeful in their stare towards you. You were done with the search… before. Now, you want answers. 

  “Siren!” A familiar voice booms, tone muffled by the watery barrier. Answering his summons, you return to the world above, sighing a deep breath of air, the few faces you recognise are mere blurs, unfocused in your vision. Your eyes meet the wintery cold of his eyes, not softened, and clouded in their ever present desire to have you under him - pinned skin to skin to him - and his beautiful lips shaped into a smirk. His stance high above you dominates you in his darker shadow that casts over the water. 

  “Hope you’re in a festive mood, my little Siren.”

[zaharadessert]

The Halloween Gambit (2/7)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Whump

Length: 7 Chapters, about 12k in total?

Summary: Bar wench and orphan, Emma Swan is taken captive to lure Captain Hook to the noose. Things don't turn out as her captors expect.

Notes: Title and Chapter Titles are all chess moves. I have no idea what they are, I just liked the names. Huge thanks to @kmomof4​ for betaing, and a massive thank you for the cshalloweek2022 prompts @cshalloweek​! The interpretations of these prompts is so loose, but I hope you all enjoy!

Tagging: @jrob64​ @xhookswenchx​ @kmomof4​ @wefoundloveunderthelight​ @superchocovian​ @lfh1226-linda​ @teamhook​ @jonesfandomfanatic​ @tiganasummertree​ @onceratheart18​ @snowbellewells​ @karlyfr13s​ @itsfabianadocarmo @ouatpost @ultraluckycatnd​ @winterbaby89​ @thepirateandhisson​ @xarandomdreamx​ @xsajx​ @captainswan21​ @spaceconveyor @pirateprincessofpizza​ @sparlecorn93​ @hollyethecurious​ @ammelia​

As always, let me know if you’d like me to add you to my taglist for future fics :) Sorry to those of you for whom the tags don’t seem to be working...

From the Beginning on AO3

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26th October

Potions / purple

cook | lust | “The things we do for love” | cursed

- - - - -

With coffers full of gold, Captain Hook stood proudly at the helm of his beloved ship. The ship that had once been captained by his brother before his death and Killian’s defection from the Royal Navy.

Up until recently, the Jolly Roger was the only thing that really mattered to him, other than his revenge. His revenge would not see him lose his ship, not when it had been the home he and Milah had shared, the home he had dreamed of making a life for them in.

Only, he had not expected to meet Emma.

Had not expected that landing in a different port would have opened up quite so many opportunities, but the bright eyes and enticing figure of the bar wench had made his mouth go dry in a way he hadn’t experienced in years. He’d asked her to join him, and before he knew it, an entire evening had flown by in her company that had involved less rum than normal but his mind had quieted as though he’d had twice as much.

She self-professed to be nothing special, but Killian had dismissed that without question and had done his best to show her that even if it was just for one night, she meant everything to him. But in the last few months, Killian had found himself drawn back to the same port more often than he wanted to admit, and she was the reason. She was just so vibrant and vital despite the humble situation she’d found herself in. The shadow of abandonment in her eyes called out to him in a way he’d never expected and had him returning to her side as often as he could, just to see the spark of joy in them when he walked through the tavern door.

It had taken him a night or two to confess his true profession, but she’d simply smiled and assured him she’d always known what she was getting into. Assured him that his ongoing interest was reciprocated, and that it was offering her some amount of protection from unwanted advances, even in his absence.

- - - - -

Continued on AO3

[aamusedly]

@captain-wrench-wench .

The constant look of weariness about Russo seemed different as he crawled under the blankets to fall asleep next to Josephine Harker. It wasn’t bitter sweetness but a pleasant exhaustion, a sort of languid affection. He’d been deliberate in wrapping his arms around her and pressing his chest to her back, pulling warmth greedily from her beating heart. 

But he certainly could sleep like the dead. Concerning, maybe, in how he didn’t have a pulse and his skin had gone a slate-like color. At some point Russo had rolled onto his back to lie motionless well after the sun had come up and started to hide behind forest and clouds. 

The deep-set bruises along his chest and back hadn’t gone down. It didn’t help in how corpse-like he looked. But eventually his eyes would start to open, bleary and sunken, to try and register the room around him. Not his.

Oh, right.

[holylulusworld]

Flowers (3) - Soapwort

Summary: Soapwort is the essence of bewilderment and confusion.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: angst, mentions of FWB arrangement, Bucky is still confused

Flowers (2) - Snapdragon

Flowers masterlist

Rule number one. You should never trust a man. If you let them between your legs or in your heart, you are done for. 

Grandmother Y/L/N was right. Men don’t deserve your attention, love or to feel the warmth of your pussy.

Especially when said man is a cheating cunt. The kind of man who fucks you straight into the mattress only to give a red-haired bitch sunflowers later.

“Sergeant Barnes asked if you changed your mind,” Maria watched your reaction. She's not interested in getting involved in your relationship drama with Bucky but worried about the upcoming missions. “You worked well together in the past. Like a well-oiled machine.”

“That’s in the past,” you huffed. “I thought you were on my side in this. What changed? Did the man-baby ask his buddy Captain America to help him get what he wants?”

“This has nothing to do with Captain Rogers. Sergeant Barnes seemed to be desperate about your sudden change of behavior,” she pointed out. “Is it possible that he’s not cheating on you? Maybe he’s just…dull.”

“Dull?” You cocked a brow. “James Buchanan Barnes may be many things, but he’s not dull!”

“Y/N, believe me. Men can be unbelievably dull when it comes to recognizing feelings.”

“We never talked about feelings, Maria. This is not the problem here. It’s that he had sex with me and gave that woman something he never gave me. Flowers. And he dared to give her my smile.”

Maria dipped her head to watch Dolores walk past you. You didn’t even recognize the red-haired devil, but Maria did. She saw the glint in Dot’s eyes and the smug grin on her lips when she glanced at you for a moment. 

“I think, you should talk to Barnes. I know from experience, that men sometimes can’t distinguish a lonely woman from a lying wench.”

You wrinkle your forehead and consider her words. No. Even if he didn’t have anything going on with Dolores, he still gave her flowers. Who knows what else he did with her behind your back?

“I don’t get it Steve,” Bucky threw his hands up. “I thought everything was going in the right direction. We talked for hours and had fun together. She loved my bike and going on a ride. The sex was mind-blowing. Y/N and I just clicked.”

“Did you go on dates with her?” Steve questioned, raising a brow. “Did you tell anyone about your relationship? Because I know for sure you didn’t tell me about it.”

Bucky huffed, beyond frustrated. “We wanted to keep it a secret. Y/N never said that we wanted to tell anyone. I waited for her to tell me she was ready.”

“Buck, you told me that you had sex with Y/N that morning,” Steve shrugged at his friend’s angry expression. “And then you go and give Dolores, a woman you barely know, flowers.”

“ONE FLOWER! STEVE!” Bucky yelled and rammed his metal fist into the wall. “It was one flower. If only Y/N had stayed a little longer and not played hide and seek, I would’ve given her the rest of the sunflowers.”

“Why didn’t you give them to her first, Buck? Why give the flower to Dot first?” Steve yelled back. He barely raises his voice, but Bucky turns a blind eye to Dot’s foul play for too long.

“I bought the flowers for Y/N, Steve. I was on my way to her apartment, and then Dolores started to cry. I tried to soothe her, punk. I faked a smile, handed her the sunflower, and walked away.”

“If that’s the truth, go and explain things to Y/N instead of moping like an angry child. I love you like a brother, but if I must watch you pout for one more second I’ll punch your face.”

Bucky wrinkles his nose. “Uh-I don’t know how to start. I didn’t even know Y/N was mad at me. I’m so…” The brunette shrugged. "Confused."

“Buck, you’re not a confused puppy. Go,” Steve pushed Bucky toward your room, “and get your woman back. Oh, maybe you should offer more than a pout to her…” But not flowers. This would only make her mad.

Part 4

Tags in reblog.

[aka-indulgence]

A Kraken’s Rage

So after making this post I’ve decided to make it. Here’s a kraken, angry because someone stole his wife >:(

————

The rain beats down on the deck, the sound of crashing rain and storm surrounding you. You hear men shouting as the ship rocks back and forth. Your dress is soaked. If it kept you warm before, you’re cold now. The chill bled right under your skin down to your bones. You shiver and shudder uncontrollably.

I’d rather be tied up under the deck…

You strain against the thick, rough ropes that tied your middle. You were hoping that, maybe with the rain, you’d somehow be slippery enough to slip out of them. Of course that wasn’t the case- you felt stupid. You wanted to itch your arms so bad, the rope was horribly coarse and whenever you moved the frayed parts would scratch your skin. You grab onto the rope with the edges of your fingers and pulled at it, to no avail. None of the men were paying you much attention, too busy attending to the ship.

Except for one, apparently.

“Ay lass, why don’t ye stop your strugglin’,”

Your face sours as the captain of the ship walks over to you, back straight and shoulders wide, like a soldier. And just because he mentioned it, you try twice harder to pull at your ropes, trying to throw your weight around to no avail.

“I see ye keep struggling fer hours now. Why don’t ye give to the sky? Yer not gettin’ out of them ropes. They’re tight, I made sure of that.”

You growled at him. “What are you doing paying attention to me? Isn’t the captain supposed to pay attention to his crew and make sure this ship doesn’t fall apart?!”

He laughed. Oh you hate him, you hate him so much. You hated how he looked at you. His band of pirates raided your seaside town and he had the gall to ask you to be his wench. Of course you said no, but the big man apparently got offended by a little woman saying no, and dragged you to his ship. You’re not sure what he’s planning to do to you by the end of this, but he does enjoy causing your displeasure.

“Never been on a ship while the storm be raging? This here ship ‘as handled just fine. Ye on the other hand might run off an’ do somethin’ stupid again.”

You shut your eyes and muttered under your breath. “Please… save me Sans.”

“Who be ye prayin’ to, lass?” You opened your eyes and decidedly looked away from the captain. “I’m surprised ya ‘aven’t abandoned hope. No one can save ye. Ye can’t save yerself less than throwin’ yerself overboard.”

You flinch when you hear the sound of a sword being drawn, and the menacing glint of the captain’s sword close to your neck. You strain against the rope, trying to keep your distance.

“Unless ye want me to end yer voyage right now.”

“N… no…” you whisper, gritting your teeth, shuddering in fear this time.

The captain’s chuckle was stopped when there was a sound, off in the distance.

It was no thunder, and though you don’t think you’ve ever heard something like it, you felt a shiver up your spine. Like the sound of landmasses creaking before they split apart. You’re sure the men felt it too, because all of them stopped what they were doing, their voices falling silent. Even through the rain and the waves, you could hear your breath. The captain turns his head towards the crow’s nest and yells.

“Wayland! What it be!?”

“I-I don’t know sir! But there be something in the water!”

“Going to need more than that there, Wayland!” The captain growls. The rest of the men have run to the railing, trying to get a better look.

“I-it’s coming… It’s huge!”

Everyone collectively yelped when something bumped into the ship, sending a couple of men off their balance. The captain himself grabbed onto the mast to steady himself. The men still at the railing start to yell and curse, throwing themselves off and towards the middle of the ship.

“It’s a foul beast captain!”

“Then what be it?!” the captain shouts, getting impatient.

The men get increasingly frantic as another sound shakes the whole ship, this time much clearer and closer. It rumbled deeply, as if the ocean itself was growling at the ship.

There was a moment where everything went quiet, and all you could hear were the crashing waves, and the rain.

…

A wail rips out of the water, the sound of a hundred grieving whales. Then, tentacles the size of redwood trees split the waves, slamming onto the deck and taking a tight grip on it, sending a couple men flying out of the way.

Your mouth opens. The captain murmurs under his breath.

“No…”

“KRAKEN!!” Wayland cries, as a tentacle wraps around the mast above him.

“I see that now, Wayland!” The captain growls, as he runs off to bark orders at his crew.

Your heart pounds as a familiar skeleton hand digs its fingers into the deck, causing it to splinter and crack under it. A skull rises out of the water, big red lights in his sockets swimming red with rage, the monster gritting his teeth, staring at everyone on the ship. He rises halfway up his ribcage. His eyelights scan over the scene, looking at every person until you meet his eyes. In a blink, his expression changes, eyes turning into a familiar seafoam color.

The unmistakable sound of his purr cuts through the screams of the panicking men for a moment.

“Sans,” you breathe.

A ‘small’ smile widens on his mouth, and you see a tentacle approach you- before someone slices their sword into it.

Sans cries, the sound as loud as thunder. His eyelights shift to red once more, glaring at the man who’d done it, still attached to the hilt. He grimaces, sending a wave down his tentacle, flicking both the man and the sword off as if he was merely a mosquito. He slams down both hands on both sides of the ship, making it look like a toy.

He shrills, his voice rippling through the air and no doubt striking fear down to the pirates hearts. A voice booms through your mind.

YOU

TOOK

HER

AWAY

FROM

ME!

Screams erupt. Chaos takes over around you as the men try to fight off his tentacles with guns and swords, to no avail.

Your jaw goes slack as you watch them get tossed around like ragdolls. You squeak when a man gets slammed down next to you, his sword thrown out of his hand as a tentacle weighs heavily on him, before he gets wiped over the deck. He snatches them one by one, throwing them off into the raging skies. You see a man’s cry end as he gets choked by the tentacle constricting him.

One man’s scream fade as he’s picked up high above the sea, in front of Sans’ snarling face. His mouth opens, revealing the sharp monstrous teeth, like sharp rocks below the cliff, and he lets out a sky-splitting shriek, drowning the sounds of the man. Lightning strikes, coloring the sky white and leaving their silhouette as black as night.

You hear an awful crunching sound, then silence.

Rain trickles down your face like a river, from your forehead, over your nose, down your cheek to your chin.

Ahead of you, liquid falls to the deck. It isn’t rain.

The portside of the deck has been ripped off.  A tentacle grabs onto the bowspirit and snaps it off like a twig. His shadows move and dance over everyone. A lot of men have resorted to retreating below deck.

This… this Kraken’s Rage… his anger, the tentacles hooked on the ship, making it creak beyond what it’s capable of…

This was all for you. Maybe you should be afraid like the men much bigger and stronger than you, running for their life. But all you felt was wonderment for Sans, who had miraculously found his way to you.

The storm surged along with the kraken. The ocean a deep teal and the sky dark gray. Thunder crashed as he cried. It was as if he was the storm itself.

“W-whoa!” you exclaim, as the ship starts to rock back and forth so violently, that a wave crashes over the deck, seawater spraying your face.

“Sans! Help!”

He turns to look at you, and reaches with his hand. A finger as big as tree bark start to claw and pick at the ropes, until they split apart. You stumble out of your bindings and make your way to his hand, when you hear a yell.

“Fire in the hole!”

Your heart drops as the world slow downs for a few seconds, a cannonball shot at Sans’ ribcage.

“N-no!”

Fear strikes you, as you worry for a moment that your beloved kraken had just been shot through the chest with a bullet. It hits his rib and you hear an awful crack. Sans wails like a whale that’d just been harpooned, and your jaw falls as he falls backwards.

… But it doesn’t last long.

He growls, a flash of red in his sockets, and his fingers run through the starboard, the men falling with their cannons. You look over the side, seeing how long it takes for you to hear their splash. You swallow. The ship was bigger than you thought it was.

You shake your head, looking away from the water, and back to Sans. You make for him, but before you could get his attention, a pair of hands close around your arm.

“Agh!”

“Yer not going anywhere, lass.” You grit your teeth when you realize the captain’s dragging you away from what’s left of the rails.

“What are you doing?! Your ship’s a wreck, you should abandon ship!”

“We might ‘ave a fightin’ chance if we can get farrr away from that there beast ‘o yers. He might stop if he sees he might hurt ye…”

“Urgh… let go of me you scoundrel!”

You go back and forth from the captain, struggling for your life. You stomp the captain’s boot, but that only gets him to curse and pull you harsh enough that it felt like he’s trying to twist your arm off. You yelp, hating that despite using all your effort, the captain was still too strong for you to escape.

Luckily for you, there was someone far stronger than him.

As soon Sans saw what was happening, he shrieks, bringing both of your attention to him. His eyelights had locked on the hands on you, and that set him off. He let out a continuous high-pitched gurgling sound, and before the captain could unsheath his sword, a hand had slipped in between you and him, separating the both of you. The captain roars in frustration- sounding like a helpless seadog compared to Sans- eyes widening when a huge shadow looms over him, a tentacle posing to strike.

He manages to dodge at the last second by scrambling out of the way as it hits the deck like a cannonball. The cracks and crunches as the tentacle continues downwards makes it sound like it reached all the way to the bottom. You peek out of Sans’ fingers.

“Ah, ye missed me ye foul beast!” The captain shouts triumphantly. You grit your teeth and brace again Sans’ finger, wishing you could fight him yourself.

The captain celebrates too early, however, as the planks below him creak under his weight and cracks, screaming as he falls down the floors of the ship.

You see a flash- water was quickly filling the ship. Without further ‘encouragement’ from Sans, the rest of the men were jumping into the water.

You’re raised to Sans’ shoulder, and he lets you climb onto it. You fold, clinging onto his neck, as Sans lets out the last of his frustration, ripping what’s left of the ship into splinters, the sails falling and some screams going silent as he drags the ship under the waves.

You pant, shuddering in the cold, as you see the ship turn to nothing but frothing bubbles and driftwood. Sans puffs his chest out, as if he’d just taken down a competitor.

A speck moves in the water- and the captain surfaces, flailing onto a piece of wood. His moment of peace is quickly broken by the snarl Sans emits, shaking the air around you. As the captain looks up, a tentacle raises above him, and it sways from the base up to the tip. He thrashes his legs, trying to swim out of the way, crashing down on him like a wave, surely crushing him under the water.

He won’t be bothering you anymore.

Sans stares down, bellowing a steam of breath from his mouth. There’s a group of men on a tiny lifeboat, but Sans pays them no mind. He turns around, and they yell when a tentacle drifts near them, sending a tiny wave that rocks their boat.

The storm was merely showers now, water dripping from your hair.

You were still so cold, shivering every few seconds.

There’s an inquisitive sound in Sans’ trill. He picks his hand up close to you and lets you climb on, and you practically hug your knees to keep yourself warm. You’re grateful when he covers you with his other hand, shielding you from whats left of the rain. And his hands were starting to feel warm… like there were little flames in his palms.

His eyelights dilated. As he tries to get a better look of you, you get a clear vision of his eyes. Those seafoam orbs look so kind when they look at you.

He trills again, sounding like a mix between a dolphin and a baby whale. Timid, checking you. It’s hard to believe that your gentle giant really was the same kraken from legends that have brought many to their watery dooms.

“It’s… it’s ok Sans. I’m ok, I’m ok now. Thank you.”

He didn’t need to speak in your mind for you to understand. He purrs, as gentle as lapping waves on the shore. He smiles as sunlight penetrates the heavy clouds and the drizzle fizzles into nothing. He brings you to his face and instinctively you take a step closer to press your cheek to his.

Mmm… he’s so warm.

The sun starts to warm you and though your hair and dress were still soaked, they weren’t dripping as much anymore. Your skin started to dry. Your breaths are shaky and you smile.

You kiss him.

“Thank you, Sans…”

[monstrousdesirestudy]

So I forgot that Ao3 makes it so that you need an invite to join and they are telling if I’ll get the invite AUGUST 4th. So. I’m posting my lesbian pirate x selkie romance here lol.

Prologue

From the bobbing ship deck, a small child watched as her home burned. She had long since stopped sobbing, though the tears continued to run freely down her cheeks in silent trails. Flames engulfed the shore, so brilliant and bright it hurt the child’s eyes to watch. But she dared not look away. Not from the smoke that choked the sky, from the monastery which could hardly be seen as it was swallowed whole by fire. Not from the bodies of the clergy that lay limp and still on the dark sand, between the thick copses of trees.

The acrid smoke tore at her throat, the tender skin of her wrists raw from the rope biting into them. A scream was building inside her small body, expanding in her lungs and crashing against the back of her clenched teeth like waves breaking against the cliff sides. The child dared not make a sound.

There, just behind the crumpled body of Brother Eamon was the tree she used to climb at least once a week. Flames consumed it, eating at its pine foliage and thick truck before the great tree snapped with a tremendous crack, hurdling to the ground. She had never seen bodies so still, not even while they slept. Eamon had always been a restless sleeper, tossing and turning in his narrow cot. He had never been this still before. Nothing more than a lump of rumpled robes.

All those busy clergymen who had hustled to and fro within the monastery like bees in a hive, their robes flapping around them as they chastised her for stealing from the kitchen or tended to the herb garden, just. Gone.

Beneath the roar of the fire, she could hear a low, unearthly, groan building. She caught glimpses of the monastery through the shifting veil of smoke and fire. Was it a trick of the heat, her own eyes failing her, or was the structure actually shuddering?

A heavy hand speckled with blood and ash clapped her shoulder, causing the child to flinch. She hadn’t even heard the man walk up behind her.

“Come, boy,” the man commanded.

She didn’t move, not yet. Not as she watched the monastery where she had been taken in as a small child collapse. It died much in the same way the clergymen had, giving one last painful breath before folding in on itself and toppling to the ground in an ungraceful heap.

“Come,” the man said again, this time with impatience.

She followed, but even as the ship began to sail, she did not take her gaze from the island. She did not look away when the island became small and inconsequential. She did not look away when the island had all but disappeared on that long, lonely horizon.

Chapter 1

There were many places that Síleas could be found: hunched over a table assessing maps and coordinates in her captains quarters; tangled in the unwashed sheets of a random wenches’ bed, her face buried between buxom bosoms or twitching thighs; at the bottom of a bottle, slumped wherever her drunk carcass decided to fall. And since their raid had gone rather successfully that week, if she did say so herself, she would no longer be relegating herself to the perfect, wretched, confines of the Luath.

Tonight—and for a blissful, agonizing, week— she would be free from the unwashed stench of her crewmates; from Cabbage’s poor excuse for cooking; from Crux’s rattling cough that kept everyone up on the ship, no matter their vicinity to his hammock.

She would also be free from the wide open world all around her, the smell of cannon powder coating her nostrils, and the salty wind against her burnt cheeks.

Sìleas stopped short at that thought and peered around her small room, grimacing. It was a room she commonly got at the Fat Goose Inn while they all marauded around the island, drinking, fighting, and fucking themselves into enough trouble that someone inevitably drove them out of Perthlochry and back onto the Luath. Tavern owners who had enough of the gambling sessions her boatswain Santino hosted, and cheated at; the drunken fights her powder monkeys and gunners wound up in, because they were still riding the highs from raids; angry citizens whose wounds got worse after seeing her surgeon Twoosies. And then there were the hefty unpaid tab bills that she and her first mate, Asher, racked up. Even with purses fat with stolen gold, it could never amount to how much they drank together.

Sìleas considered herself lucky she could even count on room and board at the Fat Goose because of her piss reputation, however, her schmoozing of the inn owner’s wife Maggie had helped her considerably. Then again, it wasn’t always a given: she had been tossed out in a fit of jealousy a few times after being caught with another woman.

The room was sparse and worn, but clean enough for it to be a reprieve from her quarters in the Luath, which had begun to take on a stench and needed to be aired out for a few days. Her room had a rickety, wooden chair in the corner; a lumpy but decently-sized bed against the wall; and a bedside table with a melted candle that had fused itself to the surface after years of use. If she managed to find herself in Maggie’s good graces, Sìleas knew she could have a hot meal, on the house no less. Tonight it smelled like some sort of stew and fresh, chewy bread. The cook wasn’t superb, but was certainly better than Cabbage.

Her trunk sat in the corner, ragged like a defeated stray dog. For a moment, Síleas felt an overwhelming urge to tear through the trunk’s innards to find her tin box of cigarillos, buried somewhere under her clothes. Tension crept into the back of her neck, a tremble settling in her hands. She needed a drink; no–she needed to get drunk.

It was always like this after docking. She couldn’t really blame her powder monkeys and gunners for being lawless animals constantly looking for a fight; being on land after long durations on the Luath made her agitated as well. The crew knew to scatter like the roaches they were after pulling into the harbor, far from her dour mood. All except Asher, who weathered her surly glares and grunts. Asher knew that Síleas’ mood was not long-lived and after enough ale and port, she would be back to yelling shanties at the top of her lungs and howling with laughter at bad jokes. It didn’t hurt if a few beautiful women were involved as well.

A knock on the door shook Síleas from her thoughts. Answering it, she found Maggie on the other side.

Ah, Maggie.

Maggie brushed the fringes of her brown blonde hair from her face with fluttering hands. It was as if she couldn’t keep them still as Síleas grinned and leaned up against the door frame. Maggie’s hands oscillated between her hair and her skirts, where she wiped her palms against the stained fabric, trying in vain to smooth them.

“Ah, I see you’re settling in well,” Maggie said, clearing her plump throat. Her eyes darted from Síleas to the room behind her. The perpetual flush in her cheeks darkened.

“Mhm. All thanks to you,” Síleas replied. Maggie stammered out an incoherent sentence, her hands even more restless as they twitched at her hair and clothes. Síleas’ amusement rose. “Where’s Robert?”

Síleas already knew where Robert was: far, far away from the inn, oblivious–or perhaps, uncaring–of his wife’s actions. Robert often left Maggie in charge of the inn while he went to trade for booze and metal goods in the Arasen desert. It left Maggie exhausted as she was to now look after the business of the inn on her own, on top of chasing their three children. It did, however, afford them to have their trysts without having to sneak around and, more importantly, provided Síleas free room and board. Not that Robert was perceptive enough to spot anything so clearly under his own nose.

“Another one of his trips to visit the Yurukhan. He shouldn’t be back for another fortnight,” Maggie said, feigning casualness, but Síleas could see the bright gleam in her eyes. It was a look she knew well, one that normally led to them closing the door and retreating to the darkness of her bedroom, but Síleas found that tonight it made her stomach ache.

Maggie had once been a beautiful woman–she still was a beautiful woman, but life and all of its responsibilities had lay claim to her body: deep-set lines bracketed her pursed mouth and cut between her furrowed brow, her face appearing to sag with a defeated weariness that dulled her brown eyes. She had once asked Síleas if she could leave with her on the Luath, to never come back to the Fat Goose or her children or her husband. And in a moment of weakness, that was less of a moment and more a habit, Síleas had talked her out of it. She wouldn’t have liked it, Síleas had argued, the ship was disgusting and full of farting, vulgar men. It was too dangerous, too uncomfortable.

But the truth of the matter was, if Maggie was with her on the Luath, where would Síleas stay when they docked? She had enough enemies in Marauder’s Cove without adding Robert to the ever-growing list, who would invariably be furious that his wife had upped and left him with their children and the inn. The reality that presented itself in that turn of events was a bleak one: Robert in a probable fit of rage burning down the inn to free himself of it once and for all, and Maggie everywhere on her ship, around every corner. Síleas knew she’d never have a moment to herself after that. Maggie would be waiting for Síleas in her captain’s quarters with hopeful eyes that Síleas couldn’t bear to look at: hopeful that she’d stop drinking so much, stop fighting so much, stop slinking around and fucking so much.

Maggie stepped closer, trailing a finger up Síleas’ shirt, her knuckles chafed from continuous handling of boiling-hot laundry. She forced herself to stay still, to not put distance between them, as Maggie raised her head and gave a coy smirk. “So, you can stay for however long you like. No need to rush back to the Luath. Hope you’re not too tired from your travels.”

It was now Síleas’ turn to feign casualness as she shrugged. “I could definitely eat.”

Maggie’s face fell, her eyes dimming briefly, before she nodded and found her momentum again. “Of course, you must be half-starved after all your travels,” she soothed, her fingers playing with Síleas’ shirt strings. “We can go down to the kitchen and fix you some supper right quick. I’ll join you–”

A loud raucous crash came from downstairs and both Síleas’ and Maggie’s heads swiveled towards the cacophony. Baritone voices were yelling, arguing, the noise cut by the adolescent squawking excuses of children. Children that Maggie immediately recognized.

“What is going on down there?” she yelled, bolting down the hallway and leaving Síleas behind, forgotten.

Síleas huffed a relieved sigh and darted back into her room to grab her cigarillos from her trunk. It took a moment too long for her to find the tin before she rushed from her bedroom, almost forgetting to lock her door.

The fighting downstairs was still ongoing, only now Maggie’s voice had joined the pandemonium. As Síleas crested the staircase at the end of the hallway, she pieced together the scene within the dining room: three, large men, dirty and tired from their travels, were yelling at Maggie with aggressive, jabbing fingers. She stood firm, a barrier between the men and her two eldest boys, who hid sulking behind her. The drama didn’t seem to affect the other patrons within the dining room, who either watched with detached amusement or kept their heads down in their drink and food. From the chaos, Síleas could pick out snippets of the argument, something about Maggie’s children trying to pilfer from their coin purses; which, having known Maggie’s shithead children for some years, Síleas could absolutely believe. Perhaps they were the way that they were because Maggie was more concerned about keeping the inn up and running than raising her children; or perhaps it was because all sorts of dubious figures–herself included–came and went at the Fat Goose while the children grew up. Síleas was suddenly struck with the memory of teaching the middle child, whatever his name was, how to play pinfinger when he couldn’t have been older than six. In her defense, she had taught him with a dull butter knife. Nothing the child could have really hurt himself with.

Apparently the accusation was not far-fetched for Maggie to believe either. As Síleas crept down the stairs, careful not to draw attention to herself, Maggie turned on her boys. Síleas kept close to the wall as she reached the bottom of the staircase and slunk to the left, behind the fighting group. Maggie had turned her back towards the men, new lines drawn in the sand as the men and Maggie began yelling as a unified front at the boys, who had long since given up on their martyred, silent-suffering appearances and shouted in return.

Síleas was so close to freedom, the door a stone's throw from her. She knew that once she left the Fat Goose, it would be easy enough to find Asher and begin their night of revelry. Perhaps she could convince the owner of the Smoking Fox to let them in; she had plenty of gold this time around to cover her outstanding tab. Their ale was cheap and the barmaid was a young woman who thought Síleas was charming, charming enough to fill her glass to the top every time.

Without warning, her stomach growled and Síleas hissed in frustration at the reminder. She hadn’t lied when she told Maggie she could eat; the smell of stew, with whatever mystery meat they put in it, permeated the air. But if she stayed any longer Síleas knew that she would be spotted and pulled into the mess or made to stick around. At the moment, she would have rather danced with Jack Ketch, which meant she would have to skip supper, to her chagrin.

Síleas weaved around the last table, her hands quick as she snatched a piece of bread from the plate of a pock-marked patron who was paying more attention to the escalating scene than her. While it wouldn’t satiate her, it was enough to take the edge off her hunger. Besides, Síleas tried to reason with herself, drinking on an empty stomach was much cheaper.

With the hunk of bread clamped between her teeth, Síleas opened the inn door and escaped into the night without a backward glance.

Read the rest of the first chapter on Ao3 here!

[marichive]

𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 : 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄

Writing / roleplay prompts collected from the POV chapters of Catelyn Tully / Stark in A Game of Thrones , the first book of the ASOIAF saga. Feel free to adjust pronouns / etc. as needed.

tw: dark & mature themes, death, violence, suggestive / sexual content

❝ Where are the children? ❞

❝ Is he afraid? ❞

❝ He is only three. ❞

❝ He must learn to face his fears. ❞

❝ Winter is coming. ❞

❝ The man died well, I’ll give him that. ❞

❝ You would have been proud of him. ❞

❝ I’m always proud of him. ❞

❝ The poo man was half mad. Something had put a fear in him so deep that my words could not reach him. ❞

❝ It will only grow worse. The day may come when I will have no choice but to call the banners. ❞

❝ He is nothing for us to fear. ❞

❝ There are darker things beyond the Wall. ❞

❝ You listen to too many of her stories. ❞

❝ No living man has ever seen one. ❞

❝ You did not come here to tell me tales. ❞

❝ I know how little you like this place. ❞

❝ What is it, My Lady? ❞

❝ There was grievous news today, My Lord. ❞

❝ I did not wish to trouble you until you had cleansed yourself. ❞

❝ I am so sorry, my love. He is dead. ❞

❝ Is this news certain? ❞

❝ It was the king’s seal, and the letter is in his own hand. ❞

❝ I saved it for you. ❞

❝ That is some small mercy, I suppose. ❞

❝ His memory will haunt each stone. ❞

❝ She needs the comfort of family and friends around her. ❞

❝ The letter had other tidings. ❞

❝ The king is riding to seek you out. ❞

❝ We should send word to your brother. ❞

❝ And he gives us no more notice than this? ❞

❝ Where the king goes, the realm follows. ❞

❝ Please, guard your tongue. ❞

❝ Kings are not like other men. ❞

❝ Can’t you see the danger that would put us in? ❞

❝ I never asked for this cup to pass to me. ❞

❝ What is it? My Lady, you’re shaking. ❞

❝ There is grief in this message, I can feel it. ❞

❝ This is no time for false modesty. ❞

❝ My father went south once, to answer the summons of a king. He never came home again. ❞

❝ There must always be a Stark in Winterfell. ❞

❝ He must learn to rule, and I will not be here for him. ❞

❝ He must be ready when his time comes. ❞

❝ You know how he loves to climb. ❞

❝ This is hard, I know. ❞

❝ He is my blood, and that is all you need to know. ❞

❝ He cannot stay here. He is your son, not mine. I will not have him. ❞

❝ A boy with a bastard’s name . . . you know what they will say of him. He will be shunned. ❞

❝ How can you be so damnably cruel? ❞

❝ When the time comes, I will tell him myself. ❞

❝ I can’t leave him, even for a moment. ❞

❝ I have to be with him. ❞

❝ He’s not going to die. ❞

❝ What if he needs me and I’m not here? ❞

❝ I need you too. I’m trying, but I can’t . . . I can’t do it all by myself. ❞

❝ He needs to hear them sing. ❞

❝ Don’t be afraid. ❞

❝ Swear to me you’ll sleep. ❞

❝ It’s good to know my son’s life was not sold cheaply. ❞

❝ What I am about to tell you must not leave this room. ❞

❝ You have my oath. ❞

❝ If this is true, he will pay for it. I’ll kill him myself! ❞

❝ Never draw your sword unless you mean to use it. ❞

❝ I must go myself. ❞

❝ The honor of carrying a lady like yourself is all the reward I need. ❞

❝ The captain was just telling me that our voyage is almost at an end. ❞

❝ I have not been the most valiant of protectors. ❞

❝ The moment we go ashore we are at risk. ❞

❝ There are those at court who will know you on sight. ❞

❝ It’s one thing to be clever and another to be wise. ❞

❝ A man must make his own choices. ❞

❝ Even in a place like this, one never knows who may be watching. ❞

❝ Why have I been brought here in this fashion? ❞

❝ You were not mistreated, I trust? ❞

❝ I am not accustomed to being summoned like a serving wench. ❞

❝ I’ve angered you, My Lady. That was never my intent. ❞

❝ A wife is allowed to yearn for her husband. ❞

❝ Please don’t expect me to believe that. ❞

❝ This sudden trip of yours bespeaks a certain urgency. ❞

❝ I beg of you, let me help. ❞

❝ I know things. That is the nature of my service. ❞

❝ I am soaked through. Even my bones are wet. ❞

❝ There is an inn at the crossroads up ahead. ❞

❝ I hope I have not spoken out of turn. I meant no offense. ❞

❝ Frank talk does not offend me. ❞

❝ You are far from home. ❞

❝ Your home is in my heart. ❞

❝ Take off your helm. I would look on your face again. ❞

❝ I have not been a child in many years. ❞

❝ Suspicion casts a long shadow. ❞

❝ It seems to me she is only playing at courtship. She enjoys the sport. ❞

❝ A woman can rule as wisely as a man. ❞

❝ Pride? Arrogance, some might call it. Arrogance and avarice and lust for power. ❞

❝ I, however, am innocent as a little lamb. Shall I bleat for you? ❞

❝ I promise you, my lady, no harm will come to you. ❞

❝ I do not frighten easily. ❞

❝ I am going to die here. ❞

❝ I . . . I cannot do this. ❞

❝ I’ll come back for you. ❞

❝ I don’t want to look. ❞

❝ Keep your eyes closed if you like. ❞

❝ Have you taken leave of your senses!? ❞

❝ Isn’t he beautiful? ❞

❝ The seed is strong. ❞

❝ Not in front of the baby. ❞

❝ These are not times for delicacy. ❞

❝ You’re scaring the boy. ❞

❝ We’re safe here. ❞

❝ Don’t be a fool. No one is safe. If you think hiding here will make them forget you, you are sadly mistaken. ❞

❝ No castle is impregnable. ❞

❝ Tell me the rest of it. ❞

❝ I should have been woken. ❞

❝ Isn’t it a lovely morning? The gods are smiling on us. ❞

❝ Alive, he has value. Dead, he is only food for crows. ❞

❝ It’s said that poison is a woman’s weapon. ❞

❝ He’s too fond of the sight of blood on that sword of his. ❞

❝ Stand and fight, coward! ❞

❝ My son is leading a host to war. ❞

❝ When night falls, there are said to be ghosts, cold vengeful spirits of the North. ❞

❝ Remind me not to linger here. ❞

❝ You’ve grown a beard. ❞

❝ You are as fair as ever, a welcome sight in troubled times. ❞

❝ Can you understand why I might fear? ❞

❝ The real message is in what she does not say. ❞

❝ I know the sound of a threat, even whispered. ❞

❝ They have her hostage, and they mean to keep her. ❞

❝ Our best hope, our only true hope, is that you can defeat the foe in the field. ❞

❝ You cannot afford to seem indecisive in front of men like these. ❞

❝ It is not my intent to linger here long. ❞

❝ I’ll speak any way I like, damn you. ❞

❝ I have agreed to take them as wards. ❞

❝ Let him grow as tall as his father, and hold his own son in his arms. ❞

❝ You should let the men see you before battle. I will give them courage. ❞

❝ And who will give me courage? ❞

❝ So this is what death sounds like. ❞

❝ I would offer you my sword, but I seem to have mislaid it. ❞

❝ It is not your sword I want, ser. ❞

❝ He . . . he killed them . . . ❞

❝ If they hadn’t tried to stop him — ❞

❝ Your men did what they were sworn to do. ❞

❝ Grieve for them. Honor them for their valor. But not now. You have no time for grief. ❞

❝ Your grief is mine. ❞

❝ I swear it, you will have your vengeance. ❞

❝ Will that bring him back to me? ❞

❝ I prayed to know what to do, but the gods did not answer. ❞

❝ I shared his bed and bore his children. Do you think I love him any less than you? ❞

❝ I will mourn for him until the end of my days, but I must think of the living. ❞

❝ I want you to live your life, to kiss a girl and wed a woman and father a son. ❞

❝ I want to write an end to this. I want to go home. ❞

❝ Why shouldn’t we rule ourselves again? ❞

❝ It was the dragons we married, and the dragons are all dead! ❞

❝ There sits the only king I mean to bow my knee to. ❞

[theartofdreaming1]

Some more Captain Swan (or would this qualify as Captain Duckling? idk)

This started out as a simple, mindless ouat doodle, but then my brain decided to come up with bits and pieces of a story for this while I was working on it, so... If you're interested, you can read the basic premise under the cut:

Basically, we have bar wench Emma teaming up with infamous pirate Captain Hook to bring down the Dark One: Killian has finally gotten a way to get rid of the damn crocodile and Emma has learned of that while the crew of the Jolly Roger stopped by the tavern she works at; for Emma, it's about getting her son back (Neal/Baelfire is still Henry's father in this AU, but left the realm to escape his father, so Rumple's trying to use Henry to track down Neal, i guess)... Anyway, Emma steals onto the Jolly Roger (to steal whatever magical item required to best the Dark One or to stowaway on board, your pick), gets discovered by our good captain ('feisty lass' that she is, she still manages to hold a dagger to his throat before he gets the best of her - there are on his ship, after all), she reveals why she's doing this in the first place - to reunite with her son - and they strike an accord to work together as they share a common goal... Shenanigans ensue, (and no, there is connection/bond between them that's growing closer over time, Emma is absolutely positive of that, thank you very much ;), plans go awry - they are chased by a monster of some sort, Killian decides to fight it off, to give Emma some more time to flee - she has to make it back to her son, after all - and tells her to go, to leave him behind... (but we know she doesn't listen... she never does ;)

Something like that, I guess ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (and hey, if any Captain Swan writers out there feel like writing that story for me, let me know - I'd love to read it!)

(Also, I'm kind of happy how dynamic the poses in this drawing have turned out! I reworked the lineart a couple of times, not sure if I was wasting my time but while I liked the og sketch, I think the end result is a definite improvement)

Og sketch/doodle: