He wanted to breathe. The silence blessed, filled with water, and the coolness upon his face. He felt the water move through his clothes. He knew he must be dying. His skin struggled to accept the water.

Breathe.

His lips parted. He felt lips on his own, closing over his mouth, cool as the water and soft. Moist air rushed into his lungs. It ( Read more... )

The following morning, the sun rose hot and swathed in mist. Amidst the broken corpses of uprooted trees and tiles pulled loose like rotten teeth, the coconuts burst open against the sides of buildings like sweet milky bombs, and the dead chickens in their heaps of muddy bedraggled feathers, Cutler returned through a milieu of cleaning citizens to ( Read more... )

Awhile back, someone requested that I write a Mercer/Norrington fic. I've been pondering it since, sort of casting my mind about in the dark, feeling around for a story. So far, no soap.

Anyone have any ideas?

Cutler reached out. Stella extended her wrist to him, allowing the webbed fingers to drape across his soft palm. He cradled her fine-boned hand and pulled it closer to his face. She shifted forward onto her knees, bumping into the bucket with her thighs. The water sloshed. He blinked several times, his lips softened and parted slightly. He trailed ( Read more... )

“I would show you something, if you would allow it,” said Stella.

The flames fluttered off the stone walls. Howling winds flung themselves against the narrow boarded windows.

Cutler sat in a plush chair with a crystal goblet of wine in his hand. “You may.”

Stella left the apartments and returned with a wooden bucket of water. She put it on the ( Read more... )

The servants of Beckett House took shelter in the kitchen. Being positioned at the rear of the house, its row of windows suffered at the mercy of blunted wind. Though being on the backside of the storm offered little relief; the shutters had been nailed shut with stout crosspieces and still they rattled and slammed and clattered together like ( Read more... )

Cutting out the entire 'Jack as cannibal chief' bit actually makes DMC a decent movie. What was the point of that sequence, anyway?

And this is a serious question, too:

Why is Cutler such a goddamn perv?
 

I really am this time.
I promise.

The frustration of immense storm-driven tides thrummed up through the cold stone floor.

By the guttering light of a single candle, James used a long steady finger to trace the wing-like shape of Flora’s shoulder blade.

He leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss there, as though  his lips were like anchors, as if they alone were heavy enough to ( Read more... )