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screaminglygay · 7 months

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KINKTOBER day 1

pairing: siren! natasha x reader

summary: working on a boat sounds like a fun, but what if there is a cold weather?

word count: 3.6k

warnings: heavy manipulation!!!, mind control, toxic dynamic, humping a tail, dirty talk, just smut!, badly written description of what sailors do

an: so the time is here!!!! I’m exited and also anxious, aghh. I’d appreciate any of your feedback and don’t be scared to send me some thoughts! If there are any typos, i sincerely apologize, just let me know and I’ll fix it!

an2: there is a part that was inspired by hp and goblet of fire, i’ve changed most of it, but left some parts, since natasha is siren. felt like it was fitting. and it’s exactly how I imagine natasha’s style of singing.

(italics = your thoughts)

!MDNI!

Enjoy this spooky time and be safe!

Working on a coast was an incredible experience and for such a long time you were happy to have the oppurtunity to see new things, but most imporantily feel new things.

This spontanious work trip helped you with your mental health more than your therapist in years. You didn´t even mind working alone somedays, since your coworkers had some days shift off. You enjoyed those quiet days, where you didn´t even overthink, you just let your thoughts peacefully be and surprisingly they did the same thing to you.

Seeing things, the old things but with a different font was something you never get tired of. Everything was bigger and prettier. Colorfull sunrises and sunsets, bigger and shiny stars. But when the warm and fuzzy wind was changed by heavy rains and scary thunderstorms, you were really changing your opinion and wishing you were back in your comfy king sized bed, watching another stupid show on Netflix. Not everything was so colorful all the time.

Especially when the weather got cold and nothing was so warm and fuzzy as in the summer. When the first storm came you thought that you can hadle it, alone. You did, but barerly.

But from todays morning, you knew something big is coming and nothing could prepare you for that. You woke up and checked your phone, like you did every signle day and noticed you have one unread message, saying that your coworker, Tobias, can´t make it, because he got sea sick, from all the sailing he did this week. Which is little weird since you´re positive he´s been sailing the day he was born. But even the best of us can get sick sometimes. So youre all alone. You let out a big sigh. You werent mad, no. You were just little scared of the storm that might and most probably will come today.

When you finally got up and looked from the window you could feel that the wind was freezingly cold. Goosebumps begin to form on your arms and neck. The cold feeling seeps through your skin deeper, like a stealthy intruder, sending shivers down your spine. It's an icy touch that grips your body, making your muscles tense.

It´s gonna be a long day.

As always you packed your stuff, fuzzy socks, warm coat, another shirt just in case youll get wet. Lastly you took some snacks and a big amout of soup, hoping your heater wont let you down. And last but not least a lots of tea. As your boss always says "Tea and rum is better than a warm coat." Well you dont have the rum, but the tea will do, at least that´s what youre saying to yourself.

When you got to work, you checked all the papers from yesterday, made sure to know what your tasks will be today. And of course you had to check if the boat is in a good shape to sail the next day. It´s a lot of work, but at least you have a job to do. Not like a week ago, where you just sat and watch as the waves hit the rocks for 12 hours. You noticed that even waves have a simple patterns, its was so hypnotic to watch it hit the big rocks again and again and again.

You slowly checked all the papers to not miss anything important and undeerscore everything that you need to do today. You checked your watch and made a mental note to put the kettle on soon.

Youre working here for about a 5 months now and you still havent figured out your routine. Even though most of the times youre still doing the same job all over again, checking something, writing what needs to be fixed, checking the load, or just watching over the boat, you still do everything at the same time. So sometimes (read it as most of the times) you just forget to do the simple things as taking care of your basic needs. When you and Tobias have shift together, you two kinda take care of eachtoher, but when he´s not there it´s just so easy to forget about it.

But today you did quite good job, after checking the lower deck you came back up to unlock the kitchen and put the kettle on. When youre water was getting ready for your favorite and only tea you had here, you wrote some documentary about the first ship load you had to check. Everything was correct and you were happy that you didn´t have to unpack it and count it manually. Your first break of the day fly past very quickly as you finished your tea, that didnt make you feel warm at all. You put the cup in the sink and went on another round of checking the boat lower deck.

As you stood up something red caught your eye in the distance, you took a few steps closer to the window, hoping you would see better at what it is. It was weird seeing something so bright in the distance, where only the gray waves were moving. But to your disappointment, you didnt got the answer, it was probably some coral from the shore. You shake your head slightly and moved to another task.

When you came up you noticed that it was already dark outside, shockingly it was the same tempetrure as throghtout the day. Which was a positive thing.

How long have I been downstairs? What time is it? I didn´t have lunch... again.

As many thoughts at the same time speed through your mind, you heard something under the boat. You just closed your eyes, taking few deep breaths to calm your nerves. You put down the paperwork and the pen you were holding. Making your way to the kitchen, youve notice that you didn´t even drank much water. Cursing yourself, you drink a half of the bottle right away. The fresh water finally hitting your needs. Refreshing shockwave going through your body. Every cell awaken and all of your sences light up. Already feeling better, taking a moment to make soup and overall just refresh yourself. As you´re finishing your food, you hear it again.

Bang.

This time is was way louder, so you took all of your courage to go out and look what it was. Sometimes you were tought, or maybe you just act before you think things through. You were terrified of the dark and most importantly what´s in it, but this time something made you go out. You were surprised by yourself, but you didnt question it, much.

When you got out you checked the boat, slowly analyzing if something is wrong.

Was it an animal? A fallen brench into the water?

"Hello?" You immidietly cursed yourself. "Im an idiot." You mumble as you walk around. "There is no more pathetic and stupid way to die then just say hello to the dark." You mumble under your breath.

After a while walking around the boat a big strike apeared on the sky. And after few second of a complete silence there was a big thunder coming, that made you run back inside. There it was the big storm you were so terrified of. It was way worse than the last time and you were hoping to survive it.

That´s a little bit dramatic, but your heart was pounding fast, your hands started to shake and even in this cold you very still incredibly sweaty, like if you just ran a marathon in the desert. After few hours of tinkinkng you´ll die, the storm suddently stopped, leaving you all tired and scared at the same time. Until youve heard another sound, it wasnt another bang, it was more like a humming.

Maybe someone from the sailors is here? But they are all men. Maybe someones wife? Again, your thoughts are running milions miles per hour.

The humming sounds so warm, like the old days, back in summer, where everything was colorfull, fuzzy and it felt generally so good in your ears. You stood up and without second guessing you step outside. There was complete silence, not a single person outside, The sun slowly coming out, trying to fight those stromy clouds that were showing the only evidence of heavy storm.

As soon as your hand laid back on the door handle a beautfiul voice start to sing a melodic song. You didnt understand it, it was some language you never heard, but you liked it, your brain might not understand the words, but your body understood the melody. And suddenly you didn´t felt cold, it was the other way around actually. Your cheeks were on fire, like you were running a fever, but you didn´t feel bad, no, you actually felt the best you ever did.

When you turn around you saw her. Unbeiebly beaitiful, goddess looking woman. Her hair was red, not like an apple red, more like a bright fire that is keeping you warm at the coldest nights. Each strand seemed to catch the sunlight that was finally going up, setting her aglow with a vibrant, fiery aura. Her green eyes were pierced at you, she was looking at you, waiting for your move. But you just stood there and watched her, your breathing started to speed up. You tried to remeber evertything about her, but as soon as your eyes fell lower, you noticed how light her skin looked. It reminded you of a fresh marble that was just ready to be cast in. But what caught your off guard the most, was her tail. You´ve never seen aynthing like that and it was very obvious, because youre face made it very well known. It was mixed feeling between shocked and amazed. The siren's tail was a fluid masterpiece, a shimmering blend of oceanic blues and greens. With each sinuous movement, it created a mesmerizing scene.

"Hey sailor." she smirked, her voice sound way raspier than it did when she sang.

"I- I- I´m not a sailor. This is uh not my uh- boat... I just work here." You stutter out, cursing yourself for seeing the prettiest woman your eyes have ever laid on and you ramble out this sentence.

"You just work here? Oh what a pity, I wanted to ask for some help." The red haired frown, which made you feel sad right away.

"I can help! I just... not my boat." You awkwardly chuckled out.

Her eyes immidietly fell back on you. "Oh really? I don´t want to bother since you´re not the sailor of this boat." Her voice sounded so soft, yet harsh at the same time. It was luring you, by every word she said, you felt different emotion each time. A good emotions.

"I mean I´m on a shift now, so teoretically I am sailor of this boat." You smiled, youre pupils were so big and you felt like you were in euhporia.

She smiled softly. Her smile could make a whole army fall to their knees. You knew it, but most imporatnly she did too. But there was only one person she want to fall on their knees. And that person was you.

"Okay then, sailor..." her raspy voice now coming lower to your body, slowly eletrucing you. "I just need a little favor, my tail..." She let out a little whine, completly changing her body language. She didn´t seem so confident, she looked so fragile and sad. And you have to help her.

"Are you hurt?!" You imidditetly walk closer to her. Crouching so youre on the same eye level. She place her hand on yours, looking at you and finally, she bonded. Her touch made you feel cold and warm at the same time. Butterflies flying everywhere not just in your stomach and her eyes. Her captivating eyes has already read you like a whole book. Her eyes were an entrancing shade of emerald, deep and captivating like the hidden depths of the sea. They held an enigmatic allure, with a hint of mischief and ancient wisdom that drew you in, ensnaring your heart and mind.

"A little-" she sigh and looks away. "-maybe you can help me get back, to safety, where no one can find us." The soft spoken woman look at you, making eye contact again, while her hand is still on yours.

"Us?" Your words caught her off guard.

"Yes, us, darling. You know, not all people are kind as you are. Youre the only one who ever made me feel safe. Youre the only one i can trust now. Youre-" she blinks a few times, leaning closer to you. "-youre my saviour. Will you help me, darling? Help us to get to safety? The world is too cruel and we need to decide right now."

This was the task you were waiting your whole life on here. Make sure she is safe, there is nothing else that is more important than this. You nod, still making eye contact.

"I will. Of course!" You nod again, taking this job very seriously, as you felt like you were born for this.

"Say it. Say what you were made to do, darling." Raspiness was now the only thing that you´ve heard. You were less and less interested in your work and your tasks before her.

Before her there was... was there anything before her?

"I will help you. I will help us get to safety." Your eyes scanned her face, hoping these words will help her.

"Thank you my darling, will you follow me? Please?" her eyes were watery, she´s holing back tears and that tears your heart.

"Yes." You say without hasitation.

"Yes, what, darling?" She asks.

"Yes, uh-" suddnely you feel this sensation, your head feels fuzzy and your view is more and more bright. Your words are caugh up in your throat, when you looked at her lips you can see them moving, but your ears cant catch the word she´s saying. But your mind does.

"Yes, mistress." you whisper back as it´s the only thing you can say.

As you closed your eyes for a second, the world around you seemed to blur and fade. The warm feeling never leaving your side.

Time itself shifted, as if you were wrapped in a comforting cocoon. The soft, rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the shore became a lullaby and there is it was again. Her singing. Her soft and heart warming singing.

When you finally stirred, it was as if you had awakened in a dream. The dimly lit cave, adorned with iridescent seashells and many other decorations, that suited the cave. And there, before you, was a siren of unparalleled beauty, her emerald eyes reflecting the cave's soft luminescence.

"Hello, darling..." she slowly moved towards you "...slept well?" her smirk grew wider as she saw your hand immidietly going between your legs as there was some unbeliveble aching you were feeling.

"I- uh huh" You only nod, not realizing that your hand is going lower on your body.

The siren´s hand falls on your cheeks as she tuck some of your falen hair behind your ear. Not even for a second breaking eye contact. Without second thinking you grab her hands and put them on your body, that was covered in your wet clothes.

"P-please!" Was all you could have said. She just chuckled and squeezed your breasts.

"You don´t even know my name and you want me to fuck you? Aww darling, youre way easier than I thought you would be. So so so easy" She tsked and suddenly, you didn´t felt her hands on you anymore.

"I don´t care!" You yelp as the aching was even worse now. Is this what drugs do to you? You just want more and more and still it isn´t enough.

The siren looked at you shocked, her hand was placed on her chest as a sign of being offended. "Darling, you don´t care what my name is? That´s rude." She pout. Tears immidietly filling her eyes. "And I thought you don´t want to hurt me, yet you´re just like the others." She looked away.

"Wait- No, no, no! Im not like the others, Im sorry! Im so sorry! I want to know your name. Oh gosh I didn´t want to be so selfish!" You grabbed her arm. "Please, tell me your name, I bet it´s beautiful just like you!"

"You think Im beautiful?" Her green eyes falling back on you.

"Very." You nod.

"It´s Natasha." She wiped her tears.

"Okay, Natasha. Im sorry for being selfish, It was really mean, let me make it up to you, please." You felt so sad, like every joy just left your body forever. Like you didn´t even experience a single happy thing in your life. Like everything was just dark.

"You´re right, you did act very selfish and mean. And you should definetly make it up to me, (Y/N)." Natasha seems so small right now, like a small fish in a big dark ocean.

"Anything you want, just please- forgive me." You basically whined at this point.

"(Y/N), you truly hurted my feelings, I don´t know. How can i trust you not hurting me again?" The horrible feeling of guilt is forming not just in your stomach, but also in your head now.

Natasha looked really hurt by your words. And you felt like if you´ll lose her, you´ll lose yourself, forever.

You squeezed her hand. "I will never. How can i prove it to you? Please..." You knew this will work. "... mistress, let me prove to you, I won´t ever hurt you and Im truly so sorry!"

Her eyes shifted, her pretty green color in her eyes just dissapeared and turned into black.

"Take of your clothes. They´re wet, you will get sick. Aren´t you cold, darling?" At her words you did feel the cold breeze. Actually you were freezing.

"Y-y-yeah, Im freezing." You said while your teeth chattered.

"Oh, darling! Clothes off, righ now!" She ordered and you did as she told. "I don´t want you catch a cold!" Her voice was caring, so caring you didn´t think you deserve it, after how mean you´ve been acting towards her.

As you stand there, completly naked the shivering didn´t end, it got even worse and your nipples could cut dimonds now.

"You´re still cold? Oh, darling, come here." She pointed at her tail. "My tail is warm, it´s gonna keep you from freezing to death." Her smile could cure everything negative thing in this world.

Without second guessing you almost jumped at her, your hand wanting to touch her tail, but you stopped yourself. "May I? Mistress?" Natasha just nodded. You hand immidietly touching her tail.

It´s so soft, oh my god and warm! So so warm.

"Sit on it, darling." She take your hands and guided you on her tail. "It will make you warm, so warm, it will end the shivers, I promise."

So you did. You sat on her tail and if you felt tingles everywhere before, then now there are tignles even in places you don´t have. Running your fingers along its sleek, supple surface was like caressing a piece of heaven. Its velvety texture and gentle, soothing warmth enveloped you in a sense of euphoria, as if you were touching a living embodiment of comfort and enchantment, a sensation that melted away all of your less important other thoughts.

Natasha noticed you´re still shivering and put her hand on your hips. "Darling, if you start to move you will stop shivering. Fast friction makes heat and you really need to be in heat now, darling." Natasha was right, her words were exactly what you needed, but you just didn´t know how.

How can I do this? I don´t want to hurt her tail.

"You won´t hurt my tail, darling. I will guide you, okay?" Her strong hands squeezed your hips and slowly made you move back and forth. "Just like that, you´re doing so good."

After a little while you start to get the hang of it and you felt that amazing friction again. Everything started to feel so good, all the lost joy, all the good feeling are back. All the happy thoughts.

"Oh my god- it´s really working!" You screamed.

"I know, darling. I can feel you on my tail. Keep going." She wispered in your ear.

You did. Oh boy, you did. You moved your hips back and forth faster and faster. And at the same time it got easier, maybe it´s the tail, or maybe it´s the fact that your juices were all over Natasha.

You definetly felt the heat.

Few moments before you came and let all of your juices on the siren´s tail, she started to sing again. In the same language you couldn´t understand before, but you can now. It´s like you know the song all your life.

"Come seek us where our voices sound,

We cannot sing alone in the dark,

And while you're searching, ponder this:

We're gonna take what you'll sorely miss,

But not for long you gonna think,

Let us help, and you won´t sink.

Your life might have been so perfect,

Too late, it's gone, it won't come back."

After the red head stopped singing, she looked at you and finally closed the gap between you two. Your first kiss was a moment of exquisite tenderness, a meeting of souls that overlap the boundaries of land and sea. As their lips brushed together, it was a gentle, captivating exchange of warmth and desire. In that soft, lingering kiss, they found a connection that was as deep and boundless as the ocean itself, a love that defied all expectations and left you utterly in her arms.

"I forgive you, darling." Natasha said and you knew, you found your life task. As she holds you close on her tail your eyes fell back into the warm fuzzy feeling, you didn´t mind be in forever.

Hope you enjoyed first day of KINKTOBER!

Thank you for reading!!!

#adele writes #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #kinktober 2023 #marvel universe #natasha romanoff smut #siren!nat #first day

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saintvainglorious · 3 months

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My First Fanbind! A Black Sails Fic Anthology Series

It took me a year (and a lot of anxious research) before I worked up the courage to bookbind fanfiction, and after months of on-again-off-again work, my first fanbind is finally done!

I knew that if I was going to bookbind fic, I had to bind something from the Black Sails fandom, aka the fandom and show that have had the biggest impact on my life. Y'all, I almost went into academia to study slavery in the 17th-18th century Caribbean because of this show - when folks say this show rewires your brain chemistry, they are NOT kidding. THEE show of all time. Happy 10th anniversary to Black Sails! This fandom is small but mighty. May we continue to get our hearts and souls blasted to smithereens by this show for many years to come.

Ao3 abounds with magnificent Black Sails oneshots, so I decided to put together an anthology of my favorite Silverflint fics under 20k, which I split into two volumes. Included are works by @justlikeeddie, @vowel-in-thug, @balloonstand, @annevbonny, @francisthegreat, @nysscientia, and more! Thank you, thank you all, you brilliant wonderful people, for gracing the Internet with such amazing writing. When I read the fics in these anthologies I want to fling myself into the sun.

More on the design and binding process below the cut!

Vol. 1 Page Count: 270 (12 fics) Vol. 2 Page Count: 248 (11 fics) Body Font: Sabon Next LT (10.5 pt) Title Font: Goudy Old Style Other Fonts: IM Fell English, pirates pw

The typeset (which I did in Word) took a while, mainly because I'd never done it before. Manually adjusting the hyphenation line-by-line was especially tedious. After making these books, I abandoned Word in favor of InDesign, in large part because InDesign gives you way finer control over your justification and hyphenation settings.

Regarding my actual design choices, I'm happy with how the ocean motif on the title page turned out (it's not the same pattern as my endpapers, but they're complimentary) and I'm very fond of my divider dingbats, which are little swords! Goudy Old Style was a fun title font to use, since it's the font that Black Sails uses as its logo. The stories in Vol. 1 are divided into parts based on what Silver WAS at that point in the show (cook, quartermaster, or king), and Vol. 2 is split up into comedies, histories (AUs set in the canon universe) and tragedies - befitting Black Sails' Shakespearean ~vibes~.

I stuck to a flatback binding, as I wasn't feeling quite ambitious enough to try rounding and/or backing. I've learned that I ~Anakin Skywalker voice~ hate sanding, enjoy folding/sewing, and don't LIKE edge trimming but enjoy the results enough to make it worth it.

The real adventure was decorating the cover, which remained bare for months. After agonizing over Illustrator and experimenting unsuccessfully with HTV and lokta paper embossing, I ultimately turned to using stencil vinyl to paint on the designs. There was a bit of seepage under some of the stencils, but I was able to scrape off the excess with my Cricut weeding tool without damaging the coated surface of the bookcloth (probably Arrestox Blue Ribbon from Hollander's). Even though it was very time-consuming, I'm so happy with the end result of the stenciled paint job and I intend to stick with stencils for my foreseeable future binds.

Are there things I would change? Sure. It was humid out when I printed, so the pages have got a wave. There’s an extra two pages in Vol 2. that I have no idea how I missed, and I got a line of glue in the middle of one of my Vol. 2 endpapers. I’m pretty sure I didn’t case in quite right, since my endpapers pull away from the case at the spine. I think the inner margins are a bit too big, and despite going line-by-line there’s still some wacky justification spacing in the typeset. But man, am I proud of these books! It is so satisfying to learn a new skill - MANY new skills, if we’re being honest - and to make something both beautiful and practical. If I’m still binding in two years or so, I can see myself redoing the typeset in InDesign, cutting out the existing text block, and reusing the cases. I’m also already planning for Vol. 3, which will be Silverflint Modern AUs.

Thanks for reading!

#bookbinding #fanbinding #ficbinding #my books #black sails #silverflint #fanfiction #bsanniversary #10yearsblacksails #10bsfest

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natlovesls2 · 4 months

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Right Where You Left Me

Lando Norris x Fem!Reader

Warning: no use of y/n, swearing, some angst, all images used are not mine and are from pinterest, possible grammatical errors, mentions of blood once or twice, randomly changes pov, brief mention of mental illness (and the slight misunderstanding it/ disregarding it), I'm American (I think that should be a warning 🤷‍♀️ ), a little rushed, there might be more that I missed, feel free to correct me

Word Count: 1.4k

Summary: Lando living in the past or literally Taylor Swifts RWYLM

Quick note: italics are flashbacks and normal font is present time

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

Lando sat on the bar stool at the restaurant you both had frequented during the relationship, a place of sentimental value. He stared at the table where it had all happened– where your relationship had started and where it had ended. The table next to the window that overlooked the bustling streets, where on that rainy day he had mustered all his courage and asked you to be his girlfriend. The small table that barely fit both of your food and was often uncomfortable to fit at. The table with the mix-match chairs because the original were old and Lando had broken one of the chairs on your first date. The same table that he continued to seek out despite its lack of hope.

He looked up from his menu and stared at you, admiring how your face filled with concentration and indecision despite frequently eating there. You would sit there staring at the menu for minutes, occasionally asking for his opinion on what to order, asking the waitress for more time when she approached to take your order. It was the same routine every time the two of you went out, he knew you would eventually sigh and order some type of pasta.

“Okay, okay– I’ll just get the soup of the day,” you said, catching him off guard. He quickly looked up from his own menu, brows furrowed in confusion at your choice of food.

“Soup?” he asked, tilting his head as he asked, watching as you nodded and looked at the window being hit by a steady stream of rain.

“It’s cold outside,” you said with a shrug and a soft smile that reminded Lando of all the reasons he had fallen for you. He watched as you smiled at the elderly couple beside you and the way you quickly stood up to help the man when he dropped his silverware.

“How long have you been married for?” you asked the couple as you placed the silverwave back on their table. The dinner went on with you occasionally making conversation with the elderly couple, smiling widely at them. You would turn to Lando a few times, whispering about wanting to be exactly like them when you both got older.

“Marry her, don’t let her get away,” the older man said to Lando, patting him on the back as he and his wife left, causing Lando to chuckle.

“He’s not wrong… I shouldn’t let you go,” he said, nervously playing with the food on his plate. There was silence– not an awkward unmanageable silence but the thoughtful, yet comforting type. He glanced up from the table, noticing your small smile and it gave him enough courage to finally ask; “Well, I guess what I’m trying to say… umm– will you be my girlfriend?” he whispered, quickly averting his gaze back to his plate.

“If you’re not joking right now, I would love to be your girlfriend.”

The couple that approached the table and sat there brought him back to his senses, forcing him to turn away, reminding him that the table and its memories no longer belonged to him. The table had been snatched from him, you had taken it and destroyed every last bit of it. Using its worn wood to make a boat which you had used to sail away from his life– metaphorically of course.

He supposes he doesn’t know the exact point in which the relationship started to deteriorate. One moment you both seemed to be hopelessly in love with one another, and the next you were distancing yourself from Lando and your shared friendships– playing it off as being busy focused on your work and studies. He could still somehow vividly remember the day you left– still feeling the weight of the night suffocating him.

“Let’s just go and have dinner, if you still feel bad we could leave early,” Lando whispered as he wrapped his arms around you from behind, resting his head against your back.

The drive to the restaurant was silent– the type of silence that made anyone feel uneasy. The type of silence that would push you to nervously pick at the skin around your nails until it bled.

“Do you want me to order for you?” Lando asked, looking up from his menu to see you staring down at your hands as you continued to quickly and nervously pick at your skin. “Hey are you okay?”

“Hmm? Oh yeah, I’m fine– you wouldn’t mind ordering for me would you?” you asked him, your voice sounding distant and void of emotion as you finally noticed the small pricks of blood– carelessly wiping it off on your jeans.

“I don’t mind at all… are you sure you’re okay?”

“I think we should break up,” you impulsively said, nervously running your hands along your thighs in order to stop the urge to continue to pick at your skin.

“If this is because of your… issues then we can work through it together. You don't have to struggle alone,” he whispered, desperately attempting to save the relationship, which he thought was stronger than ever.

“That's not what this is about, Lando–”

“Then what is it? Because I don't see why we have to break up. I love you and I thought you felt the same way.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Then what do you expect me to do? I’m not going to sit back and watch you destroy this because you’re going through a mood” he reaches over the table to grab your hands in his own, as an attempt to calm you.

“I don’t… I don’t find joy in this anymore– it has nothing to do with my mental health. We aren’t the people we were when we first got together, Lando. I want more than this– I know I want more than this” you responded, moving your hands out of his own.

“And I can’t give you more?”

“I’m sorry” you abruptly stood from your chair, walking out of the restaurant. Lando stayed there for what felt like an eternity, body frozen with shock and slight embarrassment.

He felt the eyes of their waiter, who you had become rather close with over the years, sympathetic eyes that made contact with his own as he attempted to keep himself together.

“Haven’t seen you here in a while, you want the usual or something new?” Alex, the waiter who had witnessed the whole relationship, asked.

“You still remember my order?”

“Of course I do,” Alex let out a small laugh, “You and… you practically lived here before you stopped coming.”

“Yeah, I guess I did. I’ll take the usual then” Lando turned to look at the table once more, envying the happy couple that now claimed the weathered table as their own.

“I don't mean to overstep but I’ve seen her come with some guy. I think it's time for you to move on– I mean, clearly she has”

Lando nodded, slowly turning away from the table watching as Alex sadly smiled at him before walking towards the kitchen. You had been here with another man– moved on, as Alex had put it. He struggled to look straight ahead, the table in some weird way had a sort of magnetic pull on him. It urged him to take one final look at it– it wanted to taunt him with what ifs and happy painful memories. The sound of cheers finally pushed him to turn towards the table once more. Watching as the couple that sat there promised to marry one another– the table had issued one final blow. A reminder to Lando that you would never want that with him, he would never be able to promise himself to you at that damned table– it now belonged to someone else.

He supposed it never really belonged to him to begin with. He had been stupid to think that a table would be the glue that would forever hold your relationship together. Of course, he would be lying if he said he didn't still love you or yearn for your affection. If you ever thought you were wrong about your decision that night, he would take you back in an instant. But as he sat there in the suffocatingly happy atmosphere, he couldn't help but think that perhaps the table wasn’t as important as he had thought it to be. Maybe, just maybe, it was time to move on– to start over.

“Hey,” said a voice from beside him.

He couldn’t help the smile that came to his face as he turned to look at the source of the soft voice, “Hey.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

#lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 x female reader #f1 au #right where you left me

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marlynnofmany · 2 months

Text

The Good Perch

“You would think,” Captain Sunlight said drily, “That a spaceport organized enough to have a whole section for courier ships would have a more visible labeling system.”

“Yeah, really,” I agreed with a frown at the small sign marking our ship’s berth. The thing was barely ankle-height and a thin font. Not even a bright color; it hardly stood out from the pavement in its gray-and-black subtlety. With all the spacefarers parading past in a rainbow of body types and clothing styles, not to mention the equally wild spaceships everywhere, those signs were easy to miss. I asked the captain, “Have you been here before? Is this normal, or did the wrong person take charge of designing things?”

“It’s been a while,” said Captain Sunlight, crossing her scaly arms. “I don’t recall this being a problem before. But I suspect our wayward client is still wandering the walkways looking for us.”

“Normally I’d say our ship would stand out, but the visibility’s not great for that either.” Lemon-shaped spaceships with foldable solar sails were pretty uncommon. The one parked behind us would have been easy to spot from a distance if not for the larger ships looming close on either side. These berths were too close together.

Captain Sunlight pulled her phone out of a belt pouch. “Still says they’re on the way.”

“Maybe we need to scoot forward a bit?” I suggested. “Make the ship easier to see?” I stepped up to the walkway for a better look at the view from there.

This turned out to give someone else a better view of me.

“Hey, person who climbs things!” called a cheerful voice. “Come help me brace this.”

After a confused half-second, I located the speaker on top of the gray-brown ship next to ours. I realized with a start that this wasn’t the first time our ships had been parked side-by-side. “Hey, Acorn!” I called back. “Are you waiting for clients too?”

“We were,” the fellow courier called back, waving something that looked like a wrench. She herself still looked like a baboon crossed with a crocodile. “Now it’s time for errands and maintenance, and this needs fixing before we get back into space. Care to give me a hand? Everybody else is either busy or too much of a coward to get up this high.”

“Sure thing!” I said with a glance at Captain Sunlight, who was waving me on. “What’s the best way up?”

Acorn directed me to a row of handholds on the other side of the ship, which made for a nice easy climb. A pity her crewmates didn’t appreciate heights; the spaceport was a beautiful, chaotic sprawl of color from here. And the top of the ship was flat enough to feel plenty safe.

“Welcome to the good perch,” Acorn said, offering me a wrench. “It’s a very exclusive club. Can you hold this part in place so I can adjust that?”

“Absolutely,” I told her. “This end, right? Wait, got it.” I actually had no idea what this open panel was for, but I like to think I hid it well. The job was a simple one with two of us. I could see how it would have been awkward with just one, though. I wondered if she’d resorted to using her feet to hold things in place. I sure would have.

“Got it!” she said. “Now to close it all up. I knew that would be quick.”

I removed the wrench. “What’s the saying? More hands means less work?”

“Makes sense to me. Though by that logic, your friend there could get everything done by himself.”

I looked down to see that Mur had joined Captain Sunlight, in all his many-tentacled squidlike glory. “He probably could, actually. Though I don’t know how he is with heights.”

“Well, no need to share the good perch,” Acorn announced, snapping the panel shut. She spread her arms. “Look at this panorama!”

“It is a nice one! I was just thinking that. What kind of ship is that blobby green one over there? I haven’t seen it before.”

Acorn stood up for a better look. “I think it’s a Waterwill design?”

“That makes sense.” I got to my feet too, glad the ship we stood on wasn’t one of the shiny racer models. Those were much too slippery to make good sightseeing towers.

Not that Acorn seemed bothered either way. She probably would have found grippy shoes somewhere and run up the side just to prove she could. Her appreciation for climbing had been a nice change the first time I ran into her, and was no different now, given how much time I spent among alien crewmates who didn’t have tree-swinging monkeys in their family trees.

“That ship looks like it would make an excellent climbing structure,” she said, pointing at a pink model with grooves along the sides. “Pity it belongs to a security force who are likely to be uptight about such things.”

I laughed. “Isn’t that always the way of it? There’s a police station in my hometown with a roof that slopes down to meet a very climbable wall, and you have no idea how tempting it looked. Well. Maybe you know.”

She definitely understood, and we spent an enjoyable few minutes talking about which buildings and spaceships looked like the most fun to climb.

Then I spotted someone wandering from one berth marker to the next, looking both lost and a little nearsighted, and I had a suspicion that I’d found our missing client. This was a fellow human wearing the kind of drapey clothes that spoke of dignity and no little wealth. Her expression was exactly the kind I’d wear if I had to deal with those hard-to-read signs long enough to be late.

“Hey Captain!” I called down to Sunlight. “Is that her?” I pointed.

Captain Sunlight hurried forward with her phone out, matching the look of the person with an image there.

Yup. Called it.

Acorn chuckled while the pair of them exchanged greetings and complaints about the station layout. “Nice one. The wisdom of the heights strikes again. Do they need you down there now?”

“Probably,” I said. “Actually not yet, this package is a small one. Mur’s got it.” As I spoke, Mur pushed a hovercart forward with a box on it liberally covered in “fragile” stickers. It had a carrying handle on the top, which it had come with, and rubber bumpers on every corner, which Paint had added just to be safe. All precautions had been taken.

“Oh good,” Acorn said. “Then enjoy the view with me a little longer.” She bent to pull something from the toolbag’s side pocket. “Top-of-the-tree snack?”

“Are those the ones you’re named for?” I asked, remembering a conversation the last time I’d seen her. Translations being what they were, her name meant a similar nut from her homeworld. It had been an amusing conversation, since we were both named after things found in trees. She didn’t know what a robin was, but once I explained it, she claimed to have met a number of people back home with similar names.

“Yes, the salted version,” Acorn said, opening the bag. “I recall these were on the safe list for your species.”

“Safe and tasty,” I agreed. “Thank you.” I accepted a handful of alien acorns and marveled quietly at how universal salt was on snacks. Well, for some species. I don’t think Waterwills or Strongarms were that into overly salty food in general. Probably for slug-like reasons. Eggskin the medic would know. I should ask him later.

Acorn peered over the other side of the ship. “Ohh, Riverbrook’s wearing his goofy helmet. I owe him some acoustics since he played that loud music while I was working.” She crouched, peering down at a crewmate who had just emerged. With care, she selected a nut from the bag. “Think you can thwack him from here?” The grin she threw over her shoulder was full of teeth.

I joined her at the edge. “I like my odds.”

The crewmate was one of those people made of crystals instead of flesh. I forget the species name. Very interesting to look at, and unlikely to be hurt by a high velocity acorn no matter where it hit. The helmet was golden, shiny, and probably a fashion statement of some kind.

“First we throw, then we hide.”

“Got it.”

“One, two, throw!”

Ping! Ping!

“Ow, what was — Acorn, is this yours?!”

We both giggled in childlike glee, just out of sight.

“No thanks, you can have it!” Acorn called back.

“I’m going to put this in your fruit drink next mealtime.”

“Good luck with that!”

I nodded. “Ah, a prank war. A noble pursuit.”

“See, you get it.” Acorn offered me more nuts.

I took them and made myself more comfortable. “I don’t suppose you know what a rattlesnake is?”

“Nope.”

“Then let me tell you about the time I got Trrili — the big scary Mesmer on my ship — with a classic prank from Earth.”

“Oh, do tell!”

I didn’t have to get back to my ship for a few minutes yet, which left plenty of time for more anecdotes and snacks on the good perch.

~~~

The ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come! And I am currently drafting a sequel!

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justanotherfanfolks · 12 days

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IM PITTING HIS HATS AGAINST EACH OTHER!

Moment of silence for BALD! (hatless from Phantom Bride and technically ceremonial robes) and Mad Scientist Era (those Science Club goggles), which didn't fit on the poll.

#twisted wonderland #twst #rook hunt #me seeing rook in phantom bride hatless the first time “bald bald bald! MY EYEEEEES!”

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storiesbyjes2g · 11 days

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3.113 Respect your elders

Since we were right down the street, we walked to the cemetery to lay fresh flowers on my grandparents' graves. As soon as we stepped outside, a chilly wind brushed past us, and snow began falling. Summer was just days away. Newcrest wasn't the warmest city I'd lived in, but the cold and snow should have been over a long time ago. I expressed my desire to see Gammy again, but knew it probably wouldn't happen in the middle of the afternoon. But Sophia, my sweet Sophia, was a great cheerleader.

"You'll see her," she said.

"But it's daytime. I don't think they come out in daylight."

"She'll come out as soon as she hears your voice. She loves you so much."

"Well...I hope you're right. I won't hold my breath, though."

"While we wait for her...it's still Love Day, and I love you," she said sweetly, inching toward me.

My eyebrow went up.

"You look like you're looking for trouble."

"Trouble?" she asked, cocking her head to the side. "I don't know her."

"Mmm hmm. I love you too. You and your trouble."

No sooner than she planted a kiss on my cheek, mist poured out of Gammy's headstone.

"Oh my Watcher," I shouted. "You were right! She's coming!"

The mist spilled onto the plot and swirled around our feet. Gammy's ghost popped as orange as a sunset.

"I know y'all not trying to get busy in the graveyard," she shouted. "I'm not mad, though. Come here, my baby!"

I laughed and threw my arms around her.

"Hey, Gammy! Happy Love Day!"

"Oh! Is that what day it is? Happy Love Day to you!"

She squeezed me tightly, and just like Mama did when I announced I had proposed, she pushed me aside and turned her attention to Sophia. Pope women. I shook my head lovingly at her.

"Let me see that ring!"

Sophia extended her hand and let Gammy ooh and ahh.

"Okay, Luca," she said. "You did well! Let me see some pictures! I want to know everything!"

Sophia whipped out her phone and scrolled through the wedding pictures she was tagged in.

"Oooh a beach wedding," she shouted. "That dress was perfect! Awwww look at my baby! You were so handsome, Mr. Cute Face!"

Now I had to know. Did Mama name me that, or did she steal it from Gammy?

"Oh, look at my child," she said with a tremor in her voice. "She was always so beautiful. I miss her so much. Hmph...I see she's still messing with that ol spineless...let me be nice. Oh! You had Ali officiate? That's so special. And there's my other baby, looking like a model! She probably doesn't remember me. That venue was perfect! Was that Tartosa?"

"Yes, ma'am," Sophia said.

"I would have loved to get married there, but we eloped at the romance festival."

Sophia's face lit up.

"Really? I always heard of sims doing that but never met anyone who did."

"Now you have! It was magical...but oh so cold! That fool has us out there in a blizzard! Speaking of, let's get you out of this cold."

We went inside the building, but it didn't provide much warmth. It was eerily cold in there, and I thought I saw a figure floating around the casket in the font.

"Gammy...are you okay? You don't seem like yourself. And you're orange."

"I am," she said. "Don't worry about me. Tell me about you. How's married life? Are you trying for babies yet?"

I glanced over at Sophia, who nodded at me, giving her blessing to share our story with Gammy.

"Married life is amazing. I've never been happier. We're moving to a bigger house in San Sequoia tomorrow. And...uhhh...we're still working on a baby."

"Oh noooo. Are you..."

"Yeah."

"I'm so sorry to hear that. That kind of thing can knock the wind out of your sails. I personally haven't gone through it, but I'm familiar with wanting something really bad and not getting it. Don't give up, you hear? It'll happen! Just be good yourselves and don't get stressed out. You'll see!"

"Thanks, Gammy. We're trying to stay positive."

"Good. Well, you two should get out of here. It's Love Day! Take this young lady home and blow her back out until you pass out! Put THREE babies in there, ha ha!"

"Gammy!!"

I'd always been one to respect and listen to my elders...

#ISBI challenge #sims 4 story #sims 4 gameplay #adolting #adolting gen 3 #luca winston murillo #sophia aguilar #amina pope

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built-on-sand · 8 months

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[image id: Photo of a diagonal shot of a beach at sunset, with footprints in the sand and a small boat (launch) sitting at the edge of the water. The words "Built On Sand" are displayed above in a script font, it has a color gradient of black to sandy brown. The words "Collection Reveal" are below that in a black serif font . /end id]

Hello folks, welcome to REVEAL NIGHT~~

Feast your eyes, the Built on Sand Collection is now live!

We have added over 20 new works to the Black Sails fandom as a result of this event, WOW. What an amazing turnout, that's a DELUGE of fresh creative works to enjoy.

Over the next few weeks, we will be showcasing the art created for Built on Sand using this blog. We encourage you to check out the AO3 collection and show your appreciation for our event artists via kudos, comments, likes, reblogs, and replies. <3

We had such a blast running this event. Congratulations to everyone and thank you for participating!

(Last little reminder, for our Creators, don't forget to make sure your Tumblr posts are public and that the link is updated on the AO3 posting. Thank you and good night!)

#black sails #built on sand #black sails fanfiction #black sails fanart #black sails fanvideo #black sails fanedit

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aphroditesmoon · 1 year

Text

golden (part iii)

jacaerys velaryon x reader

summary: the prince bumps into an escaping slave and offers her his protection.

warnings: mentions of slavery, ep8 dinner-esque but different font, aegon being aegon, alicent is stressed, reader is confused half the time.

taglist: @ireallydontcareanymorebrooo @hiatuswhore

part 1 part 2 part 4

°°°

Jace finds you in the garden, picking andromeda and white roses for his aunt Helaena. He was relieved to see you assigned to her, for the princess was probably too busy counting butterflies and knitting to notice something was wrong with her servant.

"Helaena." He spoke first. The blonde looked up and smiled at him. "May I borrow your her? my chamber needs a but cleaning." He lies. "Of course Jacaerys." Helaena nods carelessly before going back to her stitching.

You follow him into his room and he quietly shuts the door. Before you could breath out in relief, he attached himself to you, his arms wraps around you as your head meets his chest. Your own hands finds his back as you reciprocate his hug.

He breathes in the scent of lavender in your hair, the same smell of the soap he used lingers all over your body.

You are the first one to pull back. His hands remaining on your side as he scans you. "You're alright?" You nod.

"I'm sorry, I tried to convince my mother to just let you hide in here but she-"

You cut him off of his apology and smiled. "It's okay. Payment, for food." You informed him, trying to sound assuring to lessen his worry.

Instead of relaxing he shook his head and tense up even more. "No, I told you, there should be no payment. I brought this upon you and I should be the one who-"

He starts rambling and his eyes turns away from you. Your palm meets his cheek and your turn him to look at you.

"Jace, it's okay. Its alright." You speak again softly.

His heart stops when he hears you call him by his name for the first time. Not Jacaerys, not 'my prince', just Jace.

He breathes out and closes his eyes, reveling in the warmth of your hand againts his face.

"I'm sorry, I just - I worry, that's all." He says finally, opening his eyes to look at you.

You nod wordlessly. "I need to leave." You state. He holds you closer. "No, no it's fine, Helaena wouldn't even notice-"

You interject before he finishes, shaking your head. "No, I need to leave. I need to leave all this. You." You explain. A sorrowful look shadowing over your face.

Jace turns speechless. "What- Alright, I know, this all seems a hassle, but I promise, my mother and i- we, we'll figure something out. Look, this isn't my home, tomorrow we're sailing back to Dragonstone, come with me and I promise you'll be safe there, you wouldn't have to hide anymore."

His words were fast, you almost couldn't grasp what he was saying.

"I cannot Jace, too dangerous. For me and for you." You insisted.

He sighed loudly and walked away from you to sit on his bed. "We're not talking about this until my mother says something, how bout' that, alright?"

You think over his suggestion and nod.

You immediately notices his and swore loudly, taking it in yours. "Yeri yalli, what have you done with yourself?" You scolded him.

The prince only shrugs and walks towards his cupboard to take out the bandage the maesters had given him. "This happens during training, it's no big deal."

You eye him suspiciously. "No healer?" He shook his head and smiled at you. "It'll heal in no time, won't even scar I bet." He calmly assures you as he sits on the bed to wrap his wrist.

He looks at you questioningly when you stood in front of him and pulls the bandage from him. "I help? You let me help yes?"

He was taken aback by your offer but nods nonetheless. "If you wish to."

You were quiet as you carefully wrap his arm, so he starts the conversation first.

"What you said just now, when you saw my scar, what language is that?"

You cocked your head up at him and your eyes widen. "Hm? I did?"

He nodded. "Yer yassi?" Your face breaks into a wide smile as you let out a giggle at his butchering pronunciation.

"Yeri Yalli." you corrected him. His eyes brighten and he agrees. "Yes that one, it is not the common tongue?"

You shook your head. "Dothraki." You explained. He ahhs at your words and asks again, "And what does it mean?"

You smile at him mischievously before telling him. "It means 'you child.'"

His face contorted into an offended expression earning another fit of laughter from your.

His frown then turns into a slow smile as he cherishes the sound of your laughter and the glint of joy in your eyes.

His bandage held his scar well enough for him to sleep without worrying over it.

His mother though fretful, let's her stay in his room to sleep, in fear of the other servants noticing her if she slept in their quarters.

He was sure to put a distant between them in the bed, but he wouldn't really mind waking up the same way he did that morning.

Jacaerys fell quickly into sleep, though the same peace had not found you. You stayed awake for a good hour and a half, thinking of princess Rhaenyra's words. You doubted Jace had any idea with the way he was talking to you before. He was kind, and perhaps a little taken with you, and though you appreciated the attention, you would not risk hurting him like that.

So you will have to accept the princess's offer to deliver you to the known Martell house to work there.

You know it is the best offer you'd get, and the safest, when you followed Jacaerys' back, you had not thought such luck of getting a job and promised safety would ever miraculously happen, but it did.

Yet, selfishness tugged at your heart, the little girl full of childish dreams in you longed to stay here with your prince.

°°°

The princess Rhaenyra had pulled aside her husband, the prince consort, Daemon Targaryen to discuss the concerning issue at hand regarding her son and the escaped slaves he might or might've not abducted.

The dark sister holder only laughed it off at first, assuring her it'd be fine, with all the shit he and his own brother had went through as teenagers, what Jace was doing was nothing bad. Especially compared to the rumours of Aegon ii's own rumours of whoring and fathering bastards.

Though of course, the girl being a slave did make things harder. He offered to have her hand cut off, surely that would permanently hide her slave brand.

The suggestion unfortunately was reprimanded by his wife, with a very annoyed glare.

"I am serious, Daemon. If it's some random commoner, this would be far easier to handle. Gods know I wouldn't mind him favoring whores as long as they aren't some sort of criminal." She admitted.

The prince tilted his head in consideration at her words. "Then just say she is a whore, sell her to one of the pleasure houses down the red keep. If she's good enough for Jacaerys to bring her home, than I'd wager they're willing to take her in without much convincing."

His words, once again received the frustrated look.

He was playing with her of course, he knew she already had things planned out in her pretty head, she always does. But unfortunately she never thinks them good enough until she's sure she has considered every living possible outcome and choice.

Which was pretty smart he guessed, though he'd never be that patient.

"Our house, are close allies with the Martells..." She started.

"I had offered to ship her there, it's far and less riskier to be caught, she'd live well as a kitchen girl or something." Daemon nods at the idea. It was smart of course, if they manage to do it without being caught themselves.

Shipping off a random servant girl away isn't exactly normal.

"I have men for that, you know. Just tell me when she's ready, we can have her shipped off by tomorrow."

Rhaenyra seems to relax at his words and nods silently before downing the glass of wine she's been holding.

°°°

Jacaerys curses as he woke without any sight of you.

It's been two hours since and you were still out if sight. He relieves himself by concluding that his mother must've had you stationed somewhere less crowded with people, though he's not sure how much he believes his own thought.

When dinner begins, the sky darkens, and he sits opposite of his mother who's eyes stares right into his soul, that's when he got really worried.

The awkwardness breaks when the queen Alicent starts with a prayer. He finds himself unable to eat, anxiety crawling up his throat. Had you ran away? How could you have?

He hears snickering and slowly side eyes Aegon and Aemond. The latter remained with his unreadable face and terrifying features, while Aegon seemed to be already drunk, glancing over Jacaerys and his mother.

When his eyes met Jacaerys', he does look away, instead his grin widens.

Aegon sighed loudly before waving his hand, motioning the servants for a refill of his red wine.

Very commonly an Aegon thing, he thought. Except no, it wasn't. Because as his gaze roamed over the room and landed on you walking over to pour him a drink, he realizes his uncle had started to grow less stupid.

He slowly turns to look at his mother, who had apparently already seen her before him. Though she did not seem suprised at all.

His jaw tenses when he catches a glimpse of Aegon's finger grazing your forearm.

Instinctively he bolts up, causing his chair to screetch loudly, and his wine being spilt unto Aegon.

"You twat-" Immediately his words were cut off by Alicent, chastising his son for his language.

"Apologies I-, I didn't see the cup." He says blankly without any actual remorse.

Aegon's hollow eyes rolls backwards. "Then why were you standing up?" He snapped.

Jacaerys fakes innocent as his sighs sadly, "Needed to piss." A bad lie.

One that has Daemon holding back a shirt behind the back of his hand.

"Then go, piss." Aegon says emphasizing the piss for some reason.

Jace blinks at him before shaking his head slowly. Letting out a short laugh, he sits back down. "I...changed my mind. Perhaps after dinner. You however, should get that cleaned up." He reasons.

The blonde cocks his head in a confused and annoyed manner before things clicked. His eyes gave a pleased look once again.

"Perhaps not." He drawls, a smirk making it's way to his face.

He tilts his head back and meets the sight of you, stuck at where you first stood, head bowing low the whole time.

"You." He called out, wiggling a finger at you.

Your eyes snap up and meets his gaze.

"Wipe me." You were actually taken aback, your face showing disgust for a second before you composed yourself.

"I don't -" Jace hesitates at the same time you start walking and halts in your step.

For the first time that day, you two faced eachother. Both bearing an expression that looked like you two were inches from throwing up from your nerves.

"I don't have all day, Its going to stain." Aegon breaks the trance.

Immediately Alicent's voice fills the room, interfering in the uncomfortable odd situation. "Aegon go clean yourself, we do not have time for your childishness."

For the queen's interference you were grateful, but unfortunately it only frustrated the drunk prince more, who then, reached out his hand to pull out yours that weren't that further apart from him.

You yelped as he dragged you to him.

Alicent moved to stand up, a hand slammed to the table, but she wasn't quick enough to prevent Jacaerys pulling off his uncle's hand from you before slamming a glass plate with a quarter filled roasted beef, on his face.

"Jace-" Rhaenyra finally yells at the same time Alicent shouts her son's.

Aemond wastes no time to shove you away before punching Jacaerys right on his eye.

Without thinking, you lift yourself up the floor and shove yourself on the one eyed prince from his side, making him slam into the dinner table, unfinished wines spilling onto roast beef and pork, earning a scream from the princess Helaena.

The princess jumpa off her seat, running off to the corner of the dining room, away from the fighting.

Mix of shouting voices fills the once silent room before Alicent screams with all her might for everyone to 'shut your tramp up'.

In an instant, the room was quiet again.

Except for Daemon's short giggle. Which earned the queen's and princess Rhaenyra's glare.

The queen's eyes then immediately snap to his son's.

"Your room, now." She demanded.

Aegon looked flabbergasted as he stuttered. "He was the one who started it, if he didn't make such a fucking fuss on this trollop anyway-"

"The only trollop here is you, Aegon." Jace snaps, hand clutching his bruised eye.

Rhaenyra moved to interfere but immediately hushed by her husband who was very much enjoying the show.

"Oh yeah well at least I'm honest about fucking around you hypocrite-"

Alicent's smacks the back of Aegon's head before pulling him towards the door by his hair. "That is enough from you-"

Surprisingly to the mother, her second son spoke from behind, clear enough for everyone to hear. "He's not wrong mother. Jacaerys started it, and for all the act about honoring women as a resemblance of the maiden, it seems he doesn't honor them that much to not fuck this one."

Aemond's eye turns to you, a smile that looked more of a glare, making you wince at the memory of you shoving him seconds ago.

Alicent stops on her feet for a second, sighing deeply.

"Aemond, to your room, now." She tiredly demands. Pushing Aegon out the door. Helaena quietly following with the food stained prince.

She finally turns to look at you, absolutely stunned in the corner as if you haven't pushed her son into a pig's arse.

She stares at you for a few second, and you had to restrain from looking towards Rhaenyra. And when she opens her mouth to speak, the princess finally speaks.

"My son-" Alicent's head snaps towards Rhaenyra and Daemon. "-was completely out of line. I apologize, my queen, for such a disaster." She speaks, seeming sincere.

You notice then her husband was staring at you. When you raised your eyebrows at him, he smirked and nods his head towards the door, signaling for you to get out.

"-I as well will speak to Aegon, I do have to check on Viserys for now-" was the last thing you heard from Alicent as you tiptoed behind her and ran out to the door.

You breathed out, relieved at the empty halls and immediately made your way towards Jacaerys' chambers.

#house of the dragon #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon #hotd x reader #jace velaryon x reader #game of thrones #house of the dragon x reader #jace targaryen x reader #hotd #jacaerys targaryen #jace velaryon #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys targaryen x reader

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epitomereally · 1 year

Text

Renegade Winter Exchange 2022, part 1/2: Ship of Theseus by GallaPlacidia for @queercore-curriculum

When Harry gets amnesia and forgets he and Draco were ever married, he refuses treatment to remember.

You can find an archive of Galla’s work here hosted by the wonderful @geesenoises

Thoughts, details, and description behind the cut. The other book I bound for the exchange here.

I was incredibly honoured, excited, and intimidated to be matched with @queercore-curriculum for the Renegade winter exchange. They were one of the original impetuses for me to begin bookbinding — their gorgeous longstitch binds of some incredible Drarry fics have been so inspiring & their bookshelf photos make me want to cry with envy. @queercore-curriculum makes graceful and restrained binds, using color choice and stitching patterns carry the weight of the fic, instead of heavily-illustrated covers. I wanted to bind this fic to fit in with the other books on their shelf.

The first fic I bound them was GallaPlacidia’s Ship of Theseus. This is a gorgeous fic about forgiveness and falling in love and building a home together. One of the central motifs of the story is the garden that Draco grew at their shared cottage, and specifically the calla lilies in it. I designed a stitching pattern that evokes a more organic, floral shape than the criss-cross pattern I’ve tried before, and used white, buttercup, and emerald green thread stitched through a spine of dark grey bookcloth. I wanted the bind to be hopeful, to convey that spring was coming through the winter, just like in the fic. I then printed Gustav Klimt’s Bauerngarten (1907), which is in the public domain here, as joyful endpapers.

The floral motif carries through the typeset: California poppies as my bindery logo, a lily as the ornament to start the fic, and a small flower ornament as scene dividers, but I had to diverge for the title page. In the fic, when Harry proposes:

“I changed it,” said Harry. Draco brought it closer to his face, and saw that in the gold there were fine engravings. A ship in a full sail, a ship in a state of decay, a ship that had been rebuilt, slightly different. A repeating cycle.

I had to try to illustrate this because, really, I was tearing up when I got to that line. I’m not 100% happy with the final result (would probably rotate it to have a fully-built ship at the ‘top’ of the circle to make it more legible), but I am happy to include this part of the story on the title spread.

Title font: Mantinia

Body text: Dante

Ornaments: Bodoni Ornaments

Endpapers: Gustav Klimt’s Bauerngarten (1907)

Bookcloth: Duo bookcloth in Birch (no longer available)

Some notes on process: I always make a ‘test book’ that I keep before sending out a copy to someone else—this is to make sure everything works well & looks good together (which you can see in the photos). Happy to answer any questions about process improvements between test & final copy, or chat about this stitching pattern!

This is also my first time making a quarto letter book. I don’t actually love the size; the page is a bit square for me. Next time for a shorter fic, I’m going to experiment with a quarto legal book or A6 size.

#my fanbinding #renegade bindery #2022 renegade exchange #gallaplacidia #ship of theseus #tears my heart out every time & then puts it back together #posts i actually wrote

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theficblog · 2 years

Text

FORTUITOUS

JEONG JAEHYUN

Prologue: The plan was simple, all you had to do was to pretend to be on a date with this hot stranger, but your heart won’t always listen.

Genre: Fluff + Strangers to lovers + Fake date Jaehyun

Wordcount: 1,203

Warnings: None

The orange sun in the clear sky that the evening offered was about to set as you found yourself standing outside the fine dining of your five-star. Today was the day, it was a Friday night, and this was when the week's most anticipated dinner took place. Staying in a room all alone was barely something you looked forward to, and that's exactly how the last five days went by, alone.

You stood patiently in line, humming along to random jazz tunes, right before your attention was caught up by something unexpected.

"ONLY COUPLES ALLOWED" The red cushioned board held in all capitalised fonts.

"Damn it!" You cursed under your breath, the only good thing was slipping out of your fingers like the sand. This could not get any worse, you thought to yourself as you seriously pondered the decision to spend a fortune here if this was all that you were getting.

Just at that time, your eyes landed on one fine man, who also appeared to be sailing on the same boat as you, alone and disappointed.

"Umm.. Hello there? The guy in the white shirt?" You hesitated at first, but on the inside, your gut told you to give it a go. However, it did not turn out well, for he did not even look behind. Maybe because there were too many men dressed in white this evening.

"Excuse me? Room number 509?" The man immediately turned back to face the source of the call, you.

For a second, you thought he confused you for hotel staff as you read his bland facial expression, but were soon relieved when that turned into a formal smile.

He must have seen you, after all, he had been staying in the room adjacent to yours for the same amount of time. All you ever saw of him was alone.

You stepped closer. "Hello" and gave him an awkward smile.

"Hey!" The same awkward smile was reciprocated from the man's side.

A moment or two passed by in silence, trying to comprehend the surrounding environment and focusing on the velvet overcoat of the woman standing in front of you.

"Do you mind pretending to be my fake date? ... They are only allowing couples inside." You blurted out abruptly, making direct eye contact with him.

"Ahhh.." He hummed, nodding his head a few times as if he tried to contemplate it.

"Listen, I know, you too, want to get in. I don't think that there is a better option." You reasoned, trying to somehow get him convinced.

"I mean, it's not a bad idea." He nodded in agreement.

Minutes later, the two of you sat at the table next to the window, as you managed to get inside. The atmosphere of the place was just as you expected, the ambience, the decor, the lighting, and even the picturesque aesthetic of the stone blue river that flew through the city did not disappoint you.

You diverted your focus to your date.

"Just to clarify, I am only here for the food." You explained yourself, placing your palms on the table.

"That's totally fine-" His lips stopped mid-sentence, just like his eyes did, to your left. That look of concern on his face automatically made you turn your head in the same direction.

The waiter saw you and put up a questionable face.

"Do you think he heard us?" You whispered, in the terror of being kicked out. All of those previous thoughts dominated your mind again.

"Babe~" Your date whined out of nowhere. "Are you still mad at me about last night? I'm sorry I couldn't make you dinner." He held your hands in his and lowered his eyes. "I know I promised."

"But you know what?" His voice got deeper, bringing your hands even closer. "I'll make up for everything once we get back home."

This was followed by a gentle smile, and his eyes turned into little crescent shapes, almost disappearing.

You were sure you thought he was attractive in the first place, and this act only accelerated your emotions. You swear you could hear your heartbeats, which were higher than what they usually were.

Eventually, the waiter left, seeing couples involved in these lovey-dovey conversations must have been everyday entertainment to him.

"I'm sorry-" He was in the middle of apologising when you cut him off. "That was smooth!" The compliment turned his skin red, just like tomatoes. The blush on his face spread faster than the speed of light.

The food, the day's main event, soon came to the table. The real couples around you held hands, made cheeky promises, and some of them even excused themselves to the bathrooms, for better privacy. Nobody in the room seemed to be caring for the food, except for the two of you.

You both did not talk, the only thing you did was exchange glances at regular intervals.

Never under the sun did you think that you could be so enamoured by some random man you would meet on a vacation.

And it must have been obvious by now, he caught you staring at him a couple of times already.

At last, the fake date came to an end.

The two of you stepped out of the restaurant and into the lobby where you met not too long ago, ready to take your different paths.

"Thank you for this, though!" You offered him the same awkward yet formal smile.

"Thanks to you!" He nodded, signalling his intention to leave after expressing his gratitude.

"Wait!" You grabbed by the arm, unconsciously. Letting go of it instantly upon realising what you just did.

"What's your name? By the way?" This was the point at which you considered getting his name after having a fruitful two-hour date with him.

He held his hands behind his back. Giving you that cheeky smile, those dimples that were beyond perfection, the ones that you mentally appreciated for the hundredth time now.

"The guy in the white shirt."

He teased, making you look away, breaking eye contact as you finally let out a giggle out of embarrassment.

"Jaehyun." His eyes met with yours again, they were deep, and you felt as if you could see way more than the surface.

"Y/N" You smiled.

"Would you like to go on a date with me? Y/N?" He chuckled. "A real one." His glossy eyes were sparkling.

"Are you asking me out right now?" When things were too good to be true, it was only human nature not to believe them.

"I think I am." He paused and shook his head. "Actually you know what, I am confident. I am asking you out."

"To be honest.." You commenced. The sudden look of fear on Jaehyun's face was evident. Were you going to say no? Even after all of those giggles and stares?

"I was thinking of asking the same, just in case you didn't." You completed your sentence, washing away all the worries like the tides of the ocean.

"So is that a YES?"

You nodded your head, smiling incessantly at him. "YES."

Now call it destiny or whatever. When love comes to you, it knows just how to make its way.

LET ME KNOW YOUR VIEWS + ALSO SEE : MASTERLIST

PLEASE REFRAIN FROM PLAGIARIZING ,TRANSLATING, OR POSTING OUTSIDE THIS PLATFORM.

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jeysecretive · 3 months

Text

So, this story was written on inspiration from those fics: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29411574/chapters/72254715

https://archiveofourown.org/works/53701390

You also have to give credit to the music: https://youtu.be/IW-oVKrHupY?si=cPkeacsJjVej10id

And most importantly, who I wrote it for. @blu-ish , this is for you :)

Important Mention!!! This chapter mentions injuries and the use of weapons! Plus, this fic is kind of OC × canon. THE TITLE OF THE FIC IS EXPERIMENTAL!

The Dark Secrets

of the Deep Sea

Chapter One: The Hunt

Chapter two

Important text notes!:

🔵= Sonic

🔴= Shadow

🟣= Indirect characters

🟢= Omega

💓= Rouge

italic font + bold font = Capitan Ghost

Italic font + any color = Thoughts

Simple italic font = special moments

Bold font = special moments

"Oh, come on! Can't a marvellous captain like you take down such a lowly opponent!"

A bullet flew over the head of the hedgehog who said those words with a howl, nearly taking off his ear. But he was abruptly torn backwards by a red echidna, shouting "Look out!"

With an offended snort, the hedgehog struggled to roll to the other side of the deck to continue his taunts.

***

A storm was raging at sea. Huge waves were rising and crashing down, threatening to sink the two ships as they circled round each other in a frenzied dance.

But it was as if none of the captains of these ships paid any attention to the storm, and continued to fight. Though only one of them was really fighting, the other was manoeuvring between the shells and trying to strike at the most important parts of the enemy sailing ship.

"Go Omega, show them your strength!!!" A young hedgehog with dishevelled blue quills exclaimed in a fervour, slide across the boardwalk deck on one foot.

In a threat to his life, he was leaping all over the ship and teasing the men from the other vessel, as if he didn't notice the shells whistling over his head.

A huge mechanism made of ship's debris and covered in iron hoops threw up its arms in protest at the young man's frantic plea.

"We're running out of shells, sir! There's no way cap will allow us to waste them on this!"

"WHAT?! WE HAD PLENTY OF POWDER AND NUKES WHEN WE SAILED!!!"

"You wasted half your war supplies on a game of 'who can shoot the furthest', sir! AND IT'S NOT MY FAULT!!!"

"But you did enjoy being a part of-AAA!!!"

Hedgehog was grabbed from behind by the scruff of his neck and dragged towards the bilge. As he tried to fight off the strong hand squeezing his scruff, he heard a venomous hiss.

"Oh, come on, captain! I'm not done sending them curses yet!!! If you weren't mute, I swear you'd like it too!"

Instead of answering, the hedgehog was shoved sharply down the rickety stairs. The hatch cover slammed sharply over his head.

"Oh, well no! Sonic the Hedgehog is never left out!!!" Screamed the kid, trying to open his way out with his fist. But the boards stayed in place, proving that the hold door was securely locked from the outside.

"Hey! That's not fair! I want in too!" he wailed, hammering on the lid as hard as he could. But when he realised he couldn't get out that way, he sighed and put his hand on his hip, feeling the hilt of his blade with his hand.

***

The wind tore at his cloak as the captain of the brigantine called the "Black Wind" made his way to the helm.

The steering wheel was not occupied by the helmsman, for in times of battle or storms, the control of the ship was entrusted to the captain by default. No one could handle the "Wind" better than its master, and the crew understood that very well.

"HEY GHOST!!!" he heard a loud roar from the side of enemy frigate "STOP YOLOING AND FIGHT LIKE A TRUE FIGHTER, OTHERWISE THE WHOLE SEA WILL KNOW YOU'RE A COWARD!!!"

He snorted contemptuously upon hearing the voice. He had many names whispered by people all over the world, but this one specifically was used quite often. Threats didn't bother his hearing, it was far more important right now to fight off the enemy and keep the people on deck alive.

***

There wasn't a sea on this planet he hadn't sailed, and there wasn't a kingdom whose vessel he hadn't managed to plunder from. The fastest ship in the world belonged to him, and the captain of the "Wind" was elusive.

Despite the fact that he had only appeared on the open ocean about a year ago, the Cap had instantly become a household name as an outlaw.

He worked alone almost all the time, and getting on his ship as an employee was a big hit with the pirates.

No one knew his real name, but he was most often called "Ghost" or "Spirit". Not so often referred to by the simple name "Jack", but his rank and fame as an undead remained unchanged.

Rumours spread across the land that Captain Ghost possessed the most powerful spells in the world, thanks to which he always came out of any situation victorious and kept his ship intact. For this reason, he was constantly hunted, wanting to get the power he possessed. But no one had ever managed to learn his secrets. Perhaps it was the merit of clever magic tricks, but no one knew the exact reasons.

"Black Wind" and its master were covered with legends and tales like an old barque with clams, which made them even more desirable prey for all the pirates and sailors in the world. And perhaps that's the reason why this battle began.

***

Turning sharply to the left, the "Black Wind" nearly toppled over on its side. A hook with four iron claws was sharply thrust at the spot where the bow of the ship had just been. With a loud gurgle in the abyss, it attracted the attention of several crewmen.

"IT'S THE OTHER PIRATES! THEY'RE BOARDING US!!! Shrieked one of the crew. It was so obvious that the cap's tongue clucked unhappily.

But on the other hand he knew that ordinary people were not as observant as he was, so he continued to manoeuvre between the crests of the waves, shuddering unhappily at the rumble of thunder and the shouts of the people around him.

Something was wrong... He couldn't recognise what it was. The danger of being a prey to the waves did not let him forget about himself, and with all this it was necessary not to fall into the trap of "neighbours" and to keep an eye on the condition of "their own". But the sensation of a chill running between his vertebrae was so tightly lodged in the captain's soul that even now, fully absorbed in the battle, the alarm of unknown danger still tickled his nerves.

***

This crew he had taken to his ship a fortnight ago. The pirates, who introduced themselves as 'sea vagabonds', needed to cross the Sol Sea to meet up with, they said, old friends. Ghost knew that such explanations usually amounted to the phrase "it's none of your business," so he didn't go into detail.

These guys were generous with their pay and helped him with the ship, even though the cap was doing just fine on his own.

He hated being around people, and knew that anyone on his ship was a threat.

Despite their friendliness, all these pirates, including their blue-quilled leader, looked at him as dainty prey, and he could feel it.

A target for everyone he met, a target for the whole world.

But the money pouring faithfully into his coffers helped keep him in check.

Being dependent on bits of metal was horrible, but the brigantine needed immediate repair and maintenance after each adventure.

***

Which was why the captain now stood on deck, clutching the helm and trying to get away from the enemy. The pirates of the Wind, securely fastening themselves to the deck with ropes were monitoring the condition of the masts.

Another hook, this time on a longer rope, broke through the railing near the captain's cabin.

Damn it!

If the storm had cleared, he would have had no trouble rounding this frigate and disappearing into the distance.

At the thought that the ship might be captured, Ghost hissed quietly.

His passengers were favourable customers, and there was no desire to surrender into the hands of the enemy just yet.

At this time, a huge wave came up from behind, causing the Black Wind to tilt nose down. Feeling gravity pulling his body closer and closer to the edge of the ship, the captain used his secret weapon. His embossed-soled boots skidded across the deck, but the black cape wearer take some time to slamming them against each other. With a metallic click, sharp spikes came into view, catching tightly on the planks.

Tilting the helm as hard as he could, he tried to leap off the crest of the wave to keep the Wind from being turned into splinters.

But suddenly he was struck from behind, and Cap let go of the helm to avoid breaking it. Almost beside the helm was a hole from a cannon-ball.

At the same moment the sailboat tilted, losing control.

Realising that it was time to prepare for the worst, everyone on the Black Wind grabbed with all their might at the handrails and ropes by which they were tied to the main mast.

***

But a sudden cracking sound made everyone jump.

The sailboat suddenly levelled out and jerked sharply.

The ghost recognised the sound.

They were being hooked.

A thousand devils... Now we'd have to deal with three times as many problems.

Seconds later, hooks rained down on the deck in a hail, ripping boards and making holes in the hull.

A low growl rose in the captain's throat.

Glancing around, he realised that the storm was abruptly ceasing.

Of course it was the enchantments!

If he had more time to sleep, he would have been able to smell and dispel them.

But now...

It was a hopeless trap.

***

A huge frigate was approaching the Black Wind. The inscription on its bow said that the ship was called the Threat of the Seas.

Ghost recognised this ship.

It was worth preparing for the worst.

The pirates huddled together on the deck stared hopelessly at the approaching behemoth.

"We're screwed..." Rattled Omega in terror. The others murmured fearfully in agreement.

This ship's fame spoke for itself: sunk fleets of the Kingdom of Eggmanland, many robberies of Soleanna merchant ships, and a rumoured kinship with the leader of the Pirate Community.

Attacks on peaceful islands and robberies of other pirates were not uncommon either. All of their atrocities could be listed forever, but to all of this there was a loud rumour that since time immemorial the captain of the Thunder of the Seas had been stealing other pirates and killing them with a painful death. Mostly it was about captains, but occasionally people mentioned ordinary sailors as well.

Legends said that the leader of the Thunderstorm thus wants to gain power over all the seas and become the only pirate captain on the entire planet. He calls himself "Shadow", and this nickname has fully justified him.

For three hundred years, he has been considered the main threat of all seven seas. Invariably he led his crew, remaining a constant danger to every ship he encountered. All pirates who managed to see the captain with their own eyes and escape alive spoke of a black aura hovering around him.

Rumours crawled around the planet that Shadow had made a deal with the devil himself to stay forever young. In return, he would bring the blood of the pirates he killed.

No matter how embellished the legends were, Ghost knew that somehow some of these rumours were true.

He prepared himself for an unpleasant encounter.

***

A large sand-coloured bear landed on board. Its weight made the deck shake slightly. He raised his huge club on his shoulder, and swiftly headed towards the pirates.

But he failed to fulfil his intentions as something black and clearly unstoppable came at him from above.

The big man roared in fright and fell to the ground, trying to throw the unknown creature off him. But suddenly there was a strong blow on his neck, and the bear fell motionless to the ground. The club landed close by, half breaking through the boards.

"Bilge!" Ghost signalled, urging the crew of the Wind to wait out the attack in safety. But none of them moved.

It was strange.

The air around the captain thickened slightly.

That's it. That weird sense of danger... It wavered in him more and more, but Ghost realised that he had to fight off the enemy first.

He stepped behind the ledge so that the next attackers wouldn't see him before his time. Cap glimpsed a glimpse of his crew. They all looked pathetic and confused. Everything inside him cringed.

A very strange feeling was emanating from the entire group. No, not hypnosis or suggestion.... But some bitter, long familiar feeling to the captain. But now was not the time for such thoughts.

It would be easier if these oafs would at least obey a little. Especially Sonic! The important thing was that they didn't find him. Or at least kept alive. He's the only one who handles the money in this gang. Even if they manage to get away without casualties, this youngster will definitely be pissed that his safety wasn't preserved...

But the captain was no longer sure of his thoughts.

This was too strange behaviour for everyone, and knowing the hedgehog, he should have gotten out of the hold almost immediately after being imprisoned.

Too many weird details...

***

Three more pirates jumped out onto the deck. From the looks of it, they were much weaker than the first guest. But unlike him, they were not going to attack the ship so quickly.

Respectfully, they gave way to the one who was honoured and feared by the whole world.

Captain Shadow, in all his splendour, jumped from the outstretched cable onto the planks of the Black Wind's deck.

His hair looked like tar in the faded sunlight, and Ghost could see that it was more like Sonic's quills in texture. Concluding that Shadow was also a hedgehog, Cap continued to watch carefully.

Something dark was indeed emanating from the hedgehog... Something incomprehensible and tense. And somehow it was connected to the change that had occurred in the pirates.

A feeling consumed Ghost and he tensed up, preparing to attack and choosing the right moment.

Something was going to happen.

Shadow slowly made his way towards the pile of Wind pirates. Stopping five paces before the group, he looked them over from head to toe. Even from this uncomfortable angle, Ghost observed the cold menace that cast the dark Capitan eyes.

The small red arrows on his upper eyelids gave his gaze the sharpness of a dagger. The same lancet marks were also on the ebony quills, but they looked paler. These marks were like needles digging deeper and deeper into Captain Ghost's mind.

It was definitely for a reason.

Suddenly, in the silence that hung over the whole sea, the tar hedgehog asked:

"Where is your captain?"

***

Space froze in mid-air. Thoughts and guesses exploded in Ghost's mind, causing his head to blaze.

There was something in that hedgehog's tone. He wasn't... An order. It was a tone one might use to ask a question about the weather, but not--.

He knew the tone one used when addressing prisoners. This one on the other hand was as if Shadow and these pirates were--.

"Right behind you, sire!" Rang out a ringing, cheerful voice behind Ghost's back.

"...Sonic."

He turned around sharply.

The peephole of a carved pistol was staring directly into his forehead.

"Ah-hu-huh, mate! You shouldn't make a move like that, you don't want me to take your brain away, do you?" the blue hedgehog said, chuckling merrily.

This was it. The feeling that haunted him.

All these pirate invasions were just cheap scenery.

It couldn't be said that Ghost was surprised. Disappointment was the overriding feeling in his soul.

How typical.

"Okay, now you're going to have to put your hands up, Cap. I don't want you stabbing me with a dagger or anything" said the blue hedgehog with a smile, watching as the dark cloaked figure noiselessly followed his order. "Oh, I know what you're thinking, mate: "Ah, why did my crew betray me! Were they so intimidated that they refused to listen to me?", weren't they? Well, Cap, I'm afraid to disappoint you further, but this whole mess was a set-up from the start!"

A smug grin spread across the hedgehog's face.

That was the signal.

***

Ghost. A nickname given to him for disappearing from the scene of a crime without leaving a trace. But there's a second bottom may to have every nickname, isn't there?

The flesh thinned to dust, forcing his consciousness to move to the object of his desire in a throbbing lump. Time slowly flowed and wavered as if it were a thick fog.

The bullet had no sooner left the muzzle when Ghost dissipated into the air.

Sonic didn't know what had happened.

The one he had held at gunpoint a moment ago had dissolved without a trace.

A blow from behind caught Blue off guard. He went face-first to the ground.

The gun fell out of his hand and landed with a clatter on the boards, but was picked up at the same second by a black-gloved hand.

Lifting the hedgehog by the scruff of the neck like a cotton doll, Captain Ghost walked to the edge of the ledge where he had been sitting. In his hand a weapon glimmered coldly.

Eyes hidden beneath the hood caught the bright red pupils of Shadow. In the fleeting meeting of the dark hedgehog's gaze glittered a fury almost elusive to those around him, but vividly discernible to the experienced eye.

The ghost realised how much this blue hedgehog meant to the dark one.

"What do you want?" The ebony captain asked calmly. But there was clearly an embittered animal growl in his question.

A flapping of wings was heard from behind. No ordinary man in the world would have heard it, but Ghost's ears felt the rustling as clearly as the splashing of the sea around him. It was clear that the trap was slamming shut.

***

A duplet sounded.

Two shells fired simultaneously from different guns raced towards the people standing on the edge of the wooden ledge.

"To let a stray bullet take a young life would be too low. No matter how violently this boy saw the world, his blue quills should have felt the wind of the sea, not rot in a coffin. Many things he had yet to see and do.

One was to pierce the spine, heading straight for the heart, the other to enter the lung. Death in forty-two seconds from pain shock, cardiac arrest, fear and loss of breath.

There's a 48.6 per cent chance my body would be unharmed. The wind did its job.

Let's hope I can still get out of here.... My energy isn't that durable."

With a sharp whistle, the two small balls flashed past each other and flew far out to sea. And five metres away from the boardwalk, space warped for a moment.

***

Sonic's head snapped up sharply. He didn't realise why his feet were now on the ground. Everything had happened too fast even for his supersonic mind. The dark figure beside him swayed to the side, letting the blue one go.

But there was something clear that Sonic could sense.

Two capsules launched through his body. He could feel their coldness.

But at the same time, he realised he was in one piece. No wounds, no marks. Only an eerie sense of consequence.

"What are you...?" Whispered the hedgehog in confusion, but he was interrupted by a loud whistle.

The bat that had been behind them only a moment ago was now hovering about six metres to the left, clutching a pistol with a perplexed and angry expression. Sticking two fingers in her mouth, she let out another signal before rushing to the attack.

"She shouldn't be there..." flashed through Sonic's mind.

In the next couple of seconds, he was pushed away by a strong arm.

Instead of pointing the weapon at Blue hedgehog again, Ghost forcefully pushed him away from him along with Blue and dashed in the opposite direction.

At exactly the same moment, the enraged girl struck the boardwalk with force, intending to punch her opponent in the head.

And Sonic realised with horror that she wouldn't have stopped, even if his life was in Ghost's hands.

***

Once again, a gunshot rang out. This time the source of the sound was very close to Sonic. Looking up sharply, he saw Captain Shadow standing on one of the zadarn planks left of the captain's cabin.

A blue smoke was billowing from the gilded muzzle of his pistol, confirming that it was the weapon that was causing the noise.

Tracing the direction of the barrel, the hedgehog spotted a dark cloaked figure standing in a fighting stance. Literally three centimetres from his fingers, Sonic discerned a small, sparkling copper puddle.

"Macarter blood. Instantly sedates and paralyses the victim for several days. So they want to take me alive."

"Let me tear him apart, sire!" The bat yapped impatiently, keeping his eyes on his enemy.

"There's no need, Rouge. He's already shown us enough." The black urchin replied in a level tone "...You're a smart captain who knows how to stand up for his own skin," he turned to Ghost. "And I'm prepared to offer you a choice: either you surrender to me, and I'll spare your life if you can be of any use to me.... Or, " his eyes glittered dangerously, "You can die nobly by my bullet and be buried forever in the ocean. Don't worry, the mere movement of your finger will be enough for me to shoot you, so the trick you pulled before won't work. So, what's your answer, Cap?"

A deep silence hung around.

Time seemed to start flowing three times slower again, but this time it only stretched for Ghost alone.

The first sound that rang out in that visceral silence was Sonic's exclamation.

"Oh my god, Shadow, did I forget to tell you about--?"

That was enough.

#sonic the hedgehog #sonic #sonic fic #my fic #sonic fanfic #my fanfic

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johannestevans · 2 years

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Our Flag Means Death S01 E01: Close Textual Analysis

Examining OFMD E1: Pilot in close detail and liveblogging/analysing the text.

A still from Our Flag Means Death E1 via IMDb.

I’ve done these before, but just to set some expectations:

This is going to be a rewatch liveblog going through E1 and closely reading and responding to the text, bit by bit, in chronological order.

It’s going to be pretty casual in tone, I will be swearing and making sex jokes and blah blah blah, this is close reading for fun and isn’t academic in tone, but it’s still close reading and commentary on the text with some analysis here and there. For fun.

I’m gay, gay, homosexual, gay, and I’m not editing out the bits where I get distracted by being horny for the benefit of your entertainment and also my own lack of shame. You’re welcome.

I have seen the whole series, I will be making constant reference to other stuff later in the text, so there will be spoilers for later in the series.

I’ve been meaning to do one of these for a while and I’m planning to go through more of the episodes if not at all of them, but I was definitely inspired by some of the YouTube compilations of background details in the first few episodes, such as by YouTube user swashbuckling sweethearts and YouTube user Rindecision.

Roach and Izzy are my favourite characters in the show so in case you haven’t seen it, Samba Schutte did a really cool interview with JUST ADD COLOR the last day so check that out as well.

This analysis of E1 is a little over 14k.

1717. The Golden Age of Piracy.

Wealthy landowner Stede Bonnet set out to find adventure and renown on the high seas.

Things did not go as planned…

Rindecision pointed out in one of their YouTube compilations that they use the same font and justification for the introductory panel as they do to introduce Black Sails which I really appreciate — I know Taika Waititi’s favourite romance movie is Master and Commander, and I love stuff like the homages to Black Sails in this show as well because like… queer sailors, man, it all comes together.

Anyway, I love and adore Frenchie and I adore his lute and I love his silly little lyrics and his accent. It’s like a West Country thing, I’m guessing Bristol? It’s Joel Fry’s own accent, and I’ve been looking up to see but I can’t see him talking about it anywhere, but I love it.

One of the things I really love about the show consistently is how people mostly have their own accents (the real characters, not the Spanish/British/French cannon fodder), and especially like, seeing the variety in English accents between Oluwande, Frenchie, Izzy, and Lucius, especially.

I never noticed until rewatching just how much Oluwande and Pete really get on each other’s nerves, and especially how Oluwande, who’s honestly quite an understanding and easygoing guy, is constantly the first one to tell Pete to shut the fuck up when he’s being a prick, and I love that for him.

They’re all playing cards and Pete’s fidgeting and like:

ROACH: It’s your bet.

PETE: I know it’s my bet.

OLUWANDE: Then bet. Why are you always taking long?

PETE: Fuck this! I’m out.

And he slams his cards down, and like… So I know that there’s the crew as family and that there is a vague sense of like, sibling/bickering family member dynamics between the crew later on, but the thing about the first episode is that you can see a lot of characters do not necessarily like each other or learn to get on with each other as they do later on?

Which, to be fair, is because they have nothing to ally against and all they have to do is have a go at each other, even without Pete’s constant temper tantrums.

I love that they appear to be betting seashells with each other as they gamble, especially because Wee John’s doing rope stuff in the background, Oluwande apparently walked away from the table to do his own rope stuff, the Swede is shuffling cannonballs around, and Jim is just… brooding. As they do.

I love how all the lads go hey! when Pete shuffles up the cards on the table because it’s such an asshole thing to do, but one thing I really love about Samba Schutte’s approach to Roach is how expressive he is with his body — he does so much acting with his hands and arms and he does so many like… plaintive gestures and stuff, and it kills me.

Oluwande rolling his eyes at Pete gives me so much love and strength.

So Buttons is calling out over the ship, “On your feet for your captain!” which I think is interesting — I do kind of get the impression that of the people on the Revenge, Buttons is the one with the most formal experience? Or the most formal proclivities anyway.

Love that Pete is already on his feet, as is the Swede, Roach, Frenchie, Jim, and Lucius reluctantly get up, and Wee John stays sat down because fuck authority — and so does Oluwande, because he’s the real authority.

Frenchie’s so much shyer in the first few episodes than he is later on and like, I really appreciate his meek defence of Stede saying maybe he’s just a sort of slow pirate, but ditto like, how quiet and sweet his voice is when he goes, “Um, bottle it up?” in response to Bonnet’s talk it through prompting — I really wonder about it because like…

So obviously later on we see Frenchie so much more confident and excited before obviously becoming withdrawn and quiet post-marooning in the final episode, and I think it’d be easy to think that with Frenchie’s conman abilities that the shyness is an act, but I don’t think that’s the case? Like, he can be a good conman, but in episode 1 he’s very much learning who he is on the ship and who he can relax and play with, and I like that by default he’s quite shy even though he’s also a very cheerful and optimistic guy.

Stede goes, “No, Frenchie, that’s the worst thing you could do!” and he goes, “No? Oh, oh, sorry…” and he backs down and he looks so nervous and like…

I really hope an interviewer goes through all the cast and their personal backstories for the characters at some point because I know Frenchie mentions being in service and I’m so curious about like, how much of his uncertainty and meekness in conversation comes from uncertainty around, you know, white people — or at the least, rich white people like Stede.

I like how tired Wee John is of the whole situation, especially when he goes, “We talk about it?” and then looks annoyed at Jim and the Swede — he’s not present much in the passive aggression episode later but I will undoubtedly have thoughts to express on like, Irish approaches to English imperialist ideals around “politeness” and whatever, but also like… compliance with forced politeness to get it over with as soon as possible versus resisting out of awkwardness and then drawing it out.

When Stede screams “places everybody” and just sort of toddles about awkwardly without any idea what he’s doing it’s. Funny. He’s such an awkward mess of a man. Made of spaghetti.

I have to wonder if Swede is meant to be in the position of master gunner because it’s him that hauls cannonballs around and awkwardly drops one down on the poor auld fellas and it’s like… Why is it him? Like, “why?” is a good question to ask about this entire crew and ship but. Seriously, why? He can’t lift one cannonball.

WEE JOHN, disapprovingly: They’re just a couple of old geezers…

My subtitles say that the person coaching Stede over the side to awkwardly clamber down with the ladder is Buttons, but it’s not — it’s Oluwande. I love that it’s the Swede and Roach trying unsuccessfully to hold the ladder still at the top and everyone else just watches with disgust.

I’m crying I didn’t realise that when Stede pulled his hat off his head and bade the fishermen farewell they did the same thing and said, “Take care of the plant!” These poor fucking old guys.

STEDE (about the plant): Really fills the space, doesn’t it?

LUCIUS: … Yeah. (wide-eyed, staring at Stede like, “is he fucking serious?” but of course he’s serious, because it’s Stede.) It’s fine. (little widening of the eyes/eyeroll to himself and half-shrug as he stares down at the journal to save himself from the awkwardness).

STEDE: Now, where was I?

LUCIUS: Um… being a pirate captain…

I’m just very curious about Lucius’ position and how he found his way onto the Revenge and into Stede’s employ because literally at no point does he look comfortable or certain of where he is and what he’s doing in the first few episodes — we know he’s a pickpocket and that he can read and write, but also pushes reading and writing as quite impressive? And I think Nathan Foad has mentioned somewhere about him doing some work as a molly and like…

He’s just in a tenuous position in general and I can see how it’d be (relatively) safe under a man like Stede who’s an obvious fruit and also an idiot, but like… he’s at sea? Surrounded by violent men who may or may not hate mollies like him? Like I just die over how it seems to be that the people other than Stede that Lucius talks most with, and who he’s most comfortable with, are actually Pete and Oluwande, who obviously hate each other but like… are the other two queer men on the ship.

Stede’s got Problems (autism and anxiety same hat lmao) but what I find so funny is that Lucius is so fucking unprepared for them — Stede comes down, sweeps his coat aside with a flourish, sits, is sitting for less than a second, walks across the room, opens the curtains, leans against the wall for two seconds, then just starts walking out of the office, and Lucius is watching him like, “wait, wait, where are you — “ and then is awkwardly chasing after him with his book and quill and it’s so funny. This poor fucking man.

The language Stede’s using with Lucius is really interesting too — when Stede’s talking about how he pays the crew a salary, he’s saying to Lucius, “For example, if your average pirate doesn’t steal, he doesn’t eat. That’s a lot of mental pressure.” And Lucius is genuinely interested, or at the very least, concentrated — he’s making notes as he follows Stede, but he’s also making eye contact with him and matching his expressions. “So… I pay my crew a salary — same wage every week, no matter what.”

What’s curious to me about this set-up is that Lucius is being treated like an outside observer or an interviewer. The journal is not being paid for or organised by an outside party or authority, and it’s not like Lucius is doing this of his own accord — this is a vanity project, Lucius is Stede’s scribe, and Stede is paying him for this, but Stede talks to him as if it’s Lucius asking him questions rather than Stede directing his own journal.

It’s not that he sees Lucius as a peer, because he calls Lucius “boy” and gives him orders and instructions, but what he is doing is thinking constantly of the eventual intention for his journal to be read by others, his own peers, perhaps the boys who used to bully him at school, men he knows in Barbados. Lucius is therefore serving as an extension of them while Stede is talking, and like… It’s no wonder Lucius isn’t fucking used to that, because while he can read and write, I do not get the impression he’s ever served as a clerk, or that he’s educated enough to get a position like that in a real office rather than with someone who’s not Stede.

Lucius is under a lot of stress here because it’s a weird position to be in — a lot of personal assistant jobs are strangely intimate and have a weird sense of boundaries because you’re expected to act as an extension of another person’s will, but Lucius isn’t just a PA, he’s Stede’s fucking diarist, and he just has to write down all of Stede’s thoughts while Stede (to Lucius, possibly seemingly at random) swaps between talking to Lucius politely, like the two of them are having a measured and even conversation (when Lucius is acting as a scribe and an extension of Stede’s own peer group) and like his servant (the rest of the time).

I’m not saying Lucius can’t have had experience with that, especially because if he has worked in mollyhouses, sex work often has a similar vibe when you’re testing someone out and seeing who they want you to be to them/act like you are to them, but this specific scenario is almost undoubtedly a new one to him, and a weird feeling to juggle.

I would also point out that Stede says, “I pay my crew a salary…” — the use of the personal pronoun here excludes Lucius. Now, is Stede talking to Lucius, bearing in mind he makes eye contact with him that Lucius returns and engages with as if he’s an interviewer, or is he talking entirely to his imaginary readers? Because it sounds like, from Lucius’ perspective, that Lucius doesn’t count as a member of the crew, that he’s separate from the crew.

Which, yeah, that could track, in that Lucius is a secretary and is separate from the crew proper, much as on many ships now, ship’s sailors and maintenance crew separate from those responsible for domestic tasks and customer service, but also like… Lucius is very much on board with the mutiny and puts himself between Pete and Oluwande, on their side, and obviously considers himself a part thereof.

Unionise, I guess, is what I’m saying.

I do find it telling that Stede says the crew “came around” to the idea and then starts telling Lucius all about amenities that the crew do not necessarily seem massively into though, because like… Stede’s whole thing is having great ideas and not discussing their execution or the appeal of them with the crew.

STATE OF THE ART EN SUITE where Pete’s having a shit and Roach is stuffed into a tiny little tub that his legs and his arms both stick out of having a bath — but we know that Stede has a literal massive full-sized tub elsewhere? Classic Stede.

Swede’s polishing cannonballs because… It’s the Swede — I do find it interesting that Stede feels the need to go around calling everything the rec center or jam room or whatever when like, it’s literally just the interior of the ship, but it is cute that everyone’s playing music together even if it’s because Stede’s doing a TV interview-style supercut three hundred years before TV was invented.

STEDE: And, of course, a full library! The crew is free to borrow books whenever. So far, you’re the only one to take me up on it.

LUCIUS: Well, I’m the only crew member who can read.

STEDE: That’s not… Is that true? Ough.

Stede’s face in this scene is so interesting because the harpsichord is doing this background smug thing as Stede haughtily walks away, and he genuinely acts as if it’s distasteful and unthinkable that the crew can’t read, but like… It is not sympathetic or compassionate about them.

He acts as if the crew have all actively made a choice not to be able to read, and as if it’s something they should be looked down on for, and it’s interesting seeing Lucius’ face as the camera goes back to him because Lucius is like… annoyed.

Not massively! He’s not going to kick up a fuss.

But he’s furrowing his brow and curling his lip a bit and he’s looking at Stede so intently, and what I love about the Lucius we see in the early episodes versus later on is the way we constantly see him exhibiting and exercising significant restraint in telling Stede what’s up because like… his position is tenuous. None of the crew know what Stede is really like yet, and they definitely don’t trust him or think of him as a particularly reliable employer.

I REFUSE TO BE ATTRACTED TO RHYS DARBY BUT READING GLASSES A BIT HOT, ACTUALLY.

I love how the crew are lined up and all just look so disgusted and annoyed with Stede, even before Stede effectively opens up his notes and critique session by praising himself and saying how “inspiring” his own opening speech was.

PETE: Stealing a plant is hardly swashbuckling.

ROACH: (laughs)

WEE JOHN: A fecking disgrace is what it is.

I love Roach and Wee John, I don’t think I’ve observed their friendship closely enough but they do team up a LOT, and I’m like… good. Let them tell Stede he’s a prick.

I love what comes after though because it’s about the reframing of power dynamics and stuff where like… Stede is such a hypocrite and is obviously rich and white and clueless about literally everything, and that’s the core driver in his tensions with much of the crew in the initial few episodes, but the places where I find myself having the most genuine affection for Stede are where he opens himself up to criticism. He doesn’t do it every time, he’s got his own sensitivities about it, but I really appreciate it when it’s obviously something that’s uncomfortable by definition, and the thing is like —

Because everyone on the crew is so used to brute force as a response to insults, every time Stede does it, or praises them unexpectedly, they’re really caught off guard and engage with it.

STEDE: What was that? Who said that? Wee John, was that you?

Stede has such primary school teacher vibes, and I do actually love that he says “what?” and “who?” before he directly addresses John, and also asks if it was him even though they’re standing 6 feet away from each other and they both know damn well it was him — it’s Stede’s politeness going, where just outright retorting to John would be overly direct and therefore rude, but it’s also quite a non-threatening way of approaching the conflict in a way that establishes surprise and disapproval that someone would say something unkind before directly addressing the unkindness, just like teachers do with kids.

WEE JOHN, raising his shoulders and his head: And what if it were? (starts raising up a weapon)

LUCIUS: (silently looks at Stede with his lips pressed together, willing Stede to make eye contact with him so he can tell him to back down)

STEDE, flustered: Well, I’d…

LUCIUS: (literally rocking slightly on his feet)

STEDE: I’d simply ask you to, uh, reframe that criticism… as a suggestion.

I have the show on pause here and I’m fascinated by Wee John’s chance, I want to cup Kristian Nairn’s face between my palms and tell him that I adore him unconditionally, it’s like…

Stede says those words and Wee John is just immediately emotionally — and physically — disarmed. He puts his blunt instrument down by his sides, his arms come down, his shoulders come back, he raises his head and leans back the slightest bit on his heels, his jaw is agape, his eyes are slightly wide, his eyebrows are raised. He’s aghast at this. It doesn’t compute.

Wee John, a few minutes ago, wouldn’t get to his feet just because he was told to do so, but he was also the one who looked vaguely irritated with the crew when no one else gave Stede the obvious right answer to his question — and now, Stede is responding to Wee John’s offer of a fight with like…

Tell me what you’d like to do better.

Tell me how to change.

Tell me, your captain, how best to please you.

STEDE: What’s one thing you’d change around here, if you could?

WEE JOHN: Well, we don’t even have a flag, for one.

EVERYONE: (murmurings of agreement)

STEDE: Oh.

WEE JOHN: Any pirate worth a damn has a flag.

So firstly I’m guessing this scene was cut shortly for time — I really wish that in the cut between Stede asking what he’d change and the camera returning to John that we were able to see John’s transition between his shock and surprise at being asked his opinion to him actually gearing himself up to give that opinion, because he goes from very open body language to a much more businesslike, closed-off stance. I know that OFMD is sitcom and they don’t like, have the time to go through all the organic motions of character work unless it’s for the bigger emotional beats, but I’m just hungry for this kind of character acting and every single member of the cast is so good at it, but in this scene obviously like, especially Nairn.

Anyway, all the crew agree, and you can see Stede listening and taking it really seriously, Rhys Darby does the dad approval thing where he presses his lips together and raises his eyebrows and gives one big nod of the head, which I really like, because it’s like…

The crew are so just weirded out by it, but I love what it says about Stede’s management style as you see the crew go on and like each other.

Waht I really dislike about some people’s readings or surface-level takes from the show is this idea that Stede is somehow like, “civilising” the crew, and that’s not it. His way is not more “civilised”, which you can tell by the way that Stede upholds so much racist shit — what Stede is introducing is not present in “polite” society.

What Stede is introducing is not what he grew up with, or what he’s used to, or what rich people do in general.

What Stede is instead instituting is a management policy where management are open to criticism and, as much as he’s capable of in his tone-deaf way, a working environment that genuinely fosters open communication — and especially rewatching this episode now and thinking about how much conflict everyone has with each other and how much they all get on each other’s nerves versus later, like… This approach works and does have a positive effect, even just in them all being more confident speaking with each other and Stede, not just with criticism, but with positive feedback as well.

Fuck me though, Lucius’ background anxiety is incredible, Nathan Foad really did put his whole fucking heart into this role and I’m a little distracted by his chest hair on the still I paused on right now but like… When Stede and Lucius are putting out the silks, Lucius keeps glancing at Stede and the rest of the crew, and fuck, the anxiety that’s coming off him in waves, like…

So Stede’s putting out the silks and even before Pete starts off on his “that’s women’s work” posturing, Roach and Frenchie look baffled and a little bit annoyed with it. The whole crew are a bit like “what the fuck, mate?”

And Stede isn’t experiencing any tension because he’s austistic and under several warm, comfortable blankets of denial at all times, but Lucius?

Also like, watch Pete deliver that line by the way. When he says “That’s women’s work,” he’s looking someone up and down, but the way that Lucius rolls his eyes immediately after, it definitely comes off as Pete doing that at Lucius rather than Stede.

Lucius a gay man who’s obviously gay on a ship full of, presumably, heterosexual pirates, many of whom have violent inclinations, and Lucius is not used to violence in the first instance, but in the second, like —

Lucius refers to himself as a crew member and sees himself as a crew member, but there’s very much that awareness that he’s often separated from the rest of the crew and in many ways acts as an extension of Stede, and do the crew see him that way or see him as one of them? Especially when Stede talks to Lucius the way he does and Lucius is afforded special treatment? Even if everyone mutinied and didn’t directly go for Lucius, how well would he do in that situation?

The background acting choices are just… so much.

OKAY PRIMARY SCHOOL TEACHER STEDE AGAIN LIKE…

STEDE: How many of you sew? Be honest…

ROACH: (slowly raising his hand) Sewed my shoulder up once… after I’d been stabbed. (pulls back his shirt)

EVERYONE: (groans)

STEDE: Oh! Did you hear that, guys? Roach sewed his own arm up!

I love Schutte’s delivery of these lines because like, again, none of these men are used to being asked their opinions or to share, let alone with the whole crew as a collective with no ranks, but Roach comes off as so like… uncertain? He genuinely is shy, he’s treading carefully and trying to figure out exactly how to approach this situation.

Everyone’s responding with a bit of horror because it’s a nasty injury, Lucius is stood there next to Stede with his eyes fixed to Roach as if Roach is about to be the new star of his nightmares and Lucius is already dreading it…

And how does Stede respond? With praise. He gestures to Roach and goes “sewed his own arm up!” in a very demonstrative way, then follows it up with, “Sounds to me like sewing can be pretty tough!”

(And Roach gives a serious little nod.)

How do you get your crew on board with an activity? Praise the person that opts into the activity, hold up their behaviour as a model and praiseworthy, and then pinpoint the insecurity others are feeling about the activity, (in this case, loss of masculinity) and demonstrate that it’s not a concern.

That’s how you model good behaviour and it kills me that Stede does that so fucking well, especially when his desire to communicate this way is borne out of his own childhood where he consistently got the opposite.

Love that Wee John immediately wraps himself in a nice fabric and that everyone gets to work, but also I love that what Stede models consistently is like… Praise. He does encourage everyone to express themselves, but then goes, “Oh, that’s very good!” and engages with everybody one on one, asks what they’re doing and makes sure he gets it and understands.

Also him going, “Don’t you look holy!” and Wee John going, “Oh, thank you.” I adore him.

“A lot of the guys are sweethearts, deep down… (Roach tries to steal something from the Swede, the Swede grabs him, the two of them commence to beat the shit out of each other. Oluwande confiscates the scissors from Roach before he can use them as Stede breaks them up.) … they’re just dealing with a fair amount of trauma.”

I find it really interesting that Stede says this and knows this, but he also did that massive bitchy thing about the crew not being able to read — there’s a few layers to that I think in that like…

So the conversation about the crew not being able to read was one on one between him and Lucius and was an actual conversation, whereas what Stede is saying to Lucius as his diarist is a performance that’s intended to make him look as palatable and like… especially kind and charitable as possible?

But also, to go back to the primary school teacher vibe, like, there’s no way not to think of Stede’s school teacher-esque approach, his parochial, condescending attitude, and also the like, thing about piracy which to him is like, an adventure, but amounts to this weird trauma tourism? Oluwande and Jim sit down and discuss this with him a bit later, I think in this episode, but like —

The way he goes “fair amount of trauma” feels so charged with racial and class implications too with the way the voice over is applied to him splitting up the fight, because if Stede is a primary school teacher, he’s the very rich and comfortable teacher who’s just gone to volunteer at an underfunded school in a “diverse” area, and he’s incapable of being normal about it.

It’s not that he’s wrong about any of the crew being traumatised, it’s the fact that he scoffs at the crew not being able to read and talks about them being traumatised with the exact same huffy, superior tone — they’re traumatised and can’t read, unlike their betters (him).

Like! David Jenkins mentioned in an interview about the value of a legitimately diverse writers’ room and I just want to quote this bit:

[Charles Pulliam-Moore]: The show about the slave-owning pirate should probably have some people of color in the writers’ room.

[David Jenkins]: Right, and it’s not checking off a diversity list with a golf pencil but really being honest with yourself and asking, “Do I have the perspectives and terms of race, gender, sexuality to create a shared sociological imagination?” It’s fucked up because you write a show and a lot of the plaudits go to you, the showrunner, and it’s like you’re using all of these brains. You know, you have this horsepower of all of these writers like this. The season is the function of all of these brains coming together and creating one sociological imagination.

And when it comes to stuff like this, specifically where you see all these levels of awareness and implication layered on top of each other, on top of the fact that you’ve got a cast of incredibly talented character actors who are putting in a lot of work and effort internally but then with each other, like…

It just feels so real, and that’s so evocative — and it makes it so much more real then when you have these moments of cluelessness, especially like, thoughtless cruelty or callousness, from Stede or the other characters, and it’s part of the broader tapestry of the character proper.

And what’s really refreshing about OFMD too is like… The way that it depicts race, the way it depicts class, gender, sexuality, neurodivergence, disability, basically anything you can think of, is that they’re all a constant and continuous part of the characters and the world, they’re intrinsic to them.

No one is being Black or queer or disabled to try to teach the audience about something, or to represent a nebulous category that’s supposedly meant to satisfy all manner of “diverse” people at once, as a monolith, and similarly, when characters are being racist or homophobic or just generally dicks to one another, it’s not to hold the audience’s hand and teach them a valuable lesson, or stroke their ego and say, “it’s okay, champ, I know you would have done the right thing, not like this racist guy!”

Instead you see stuff like this where like, there’s a lot more overt racism and classism from Stede later in this episode, but here the schoolteacher attitude giving a voiceover interview to a presumed privileged audience, all condescending over his “underprivileged” employees, that’s a thing I’ve heard and seen again and again and again in fiction and in actual documentaries and stuff— and is also parodied in Abbott Elementary with Chris Perfetti’s character, Jacob — and it feels real, because it is real, and it’s stupid, and it’s funny and quite horrid.

There’s just so many TV shows where the characters are written in such a way where it’s like… When you look away or turn the screen off, they’ll stop being Like That because no one’s watching — it’s not just that the characters themselves don’t feel organic or real or richly considered, it’s that any bigotries or structural oppressions they face only apply when writers and directors feel that it will make an interesting story beat, rather than those aspects being intrinsic to the character.

The fact that the whole team has put such consideration into what struggles to portray and what ones to leave offscreen, and how they want to present everything, takes away that uncomfortable feeling and just leaves us with much realer, more complex characters.

STEDE: (to Roach, doing the stern dad finger point) So, first of all, you should have asked… (to Swede), And second of all, what could you do with your large bit of fabric?

THE SWEDE: Talk about it?

STEDE: No, shared. You could have shared it.

THE SWEDE: Oh.

They don’t know the right answer. They have no idea what the fuck kind of game Stede is playing, so whenever Stede asks a question they all assume it’s a bizarre trap, and when he asks more questions, they respond with a rote answer from one of his previous questions, because this isn’t how anyone runs a pirate crew, and I do love that.

I also think it’s so sweet how the Swede holds the whole swathe of fabric to his chest like it’s a teddy bear or something.

PETE: Well, guess it’s time…

OLUWANDE: For what?

Pete: To kill Captain.

Obsessed with how Oluwande’s response to Pete shoving his knife through the table is literally to put his hands down and roll his eyes and look away like, “Oh my God, this shit, what the fuck — “ He’s so done. He’s so fucking tired of Pete being Pete.

I do love that Pete apologises to Frenchie for ruining his fabric when Frenchie goes, “Come on, mate,” like, Pete is capable of… some manners.

STEDE, looking dramatically over the ship: If I can help this crew grow, as people, then I’ve succeeded as a pirate captain.

Like…

I’ll be asking this question a lot as the series goes on, but you do wonder like… Why piracy? Or more specifically like, who is Stede doing piracy for? His stupid fucking diary is so important to him and like, everything he does is for this imaginary audience of people who actually think he’s impressive instead of thinking he’s a bellend, and it’s an interesting parallel, I think, to Ed who does exist in the midst of this heavily constructed personal mythos and feels very trapped by it, especially because Stede is posh and is hiring a diarist and is also white, and his control over his own narrative is very different and can presumably be more directly targeted to a broader audience? I’ll probably ruminate on that parallel further as we go on.

I love that it’s Buttons who immediately goes to Stede and says mutiny’s on the cards, and Lucius is like “aw fuck,” because they’re getting snitched on, but God, the way that Stede laughs before he goes, Oh, really?

Like, yeah, really, my guy. You are not great at this.

“Stop writing!” is so interesting because like…

Of course he doesn’t want the people reading his totally authentic and cool pirate diary to know he’s getting mutinied against seconds after he was saying how impressive and charitable he is.

LUCIUS: Sorry, I’m confused. You said to record everything, warts and all, so that’s what I’m doing!

STEDE: (snatching out a page) Well, not this!

I like the idea of this scene contrating with what we later see on the French vessel and the specific things that Stede considers to be lying or deception or fuckery, versus the things he just considers to be polite or proper — there’s so much deception inherent to his position in society as a matter of course, and what’s fun about seeing him alongside Lucius, and then the rest of the crew, are the things that he considers to be the norm that he ends up having to express outloud and put explicitly into words…

And as soon as he does so, his own hypocrisy or sheer lack of consideration is put into such stark relief.

Lucius is so offended, too, when Stede tells him to go for a walk, being summarily dismissed like that, and why shouldn’t he be offended?

He obviously knew that Stede didn’t want him to write it down, and it’s fun to see that bit of resistance and rebellion there, especially because he immediately sweeps off and snitches to everyone else that they’re found out.

Wee John sounds so tired and annoyed when he says that Pete’s never sailed with Black Pete, and especially the way Oluwande keeps rolling his eyes and Roach laughs, I have to wonder just how constantly Pete brings up his fake Blackbeard stories.

FRENCHIE: Can you pass the black thread, pretty please? (rubs his hands together, grinning) Cheers, me dears.

I love and adore him. Desperately I do. Everything this man does is so unspeakably endearing to me.

ROACH: What is that, a cat? The flag’s supposed to be scary.

FRENCHIE: Yeah, cats are terrifying. Everyone knows that.

I love Frenchie’s little sailmaker’s palm that he’s using to sew with — I don’t think everyone’s wearing them, but it’s a nice little detail that some of the crew are using them for flag and sail repair to help them push their needles through, even if their sewing on the flag and stuff looks clumsy.

Oluwande’s face through Frenchie’s delivery here is such a journey, the way he furrows his brow and raises his head like, eh?

FRENCHIE: ’Cause they’re witches. And they’ve got knives in their feet.

He just says it with so much certainty and I’m just like… I am constantly thinking about the fact that Frenchie is a really adept conman and social manipulator who’s so full of gentleness and affection for others, is generally full of energy and likes to have a laugh, and also, he believes in the most specific and bizarre aspects of folklore or conspiracy. What a man.

WEE JOHN, on the subject of mutiny: If we can light him on fire, I’m in.

As if Stede Bonnet wasn’t already flaming, John.

It’s noteworthy to me that Lucius immediately goes to the crew and advises them that Buttons told Stede about the mutiny, and goes, “I’m still in, by the way,” immediately. Lucius is the one that spends the most time with Stede and gets most irritated by him, but also displays the most anxiety with a lot of the crew, especially in moments of potential violence? And I’m just so fascinated by that juxtaposition and what he thinks of like… What he’d be on the ship without Stede there, you know?

He’s got a bad back and isn’t adept at most of the ship’s labour, so.

When Stede and Buttons come out of that weird front passage at the prow of the ship, I do wonder if that’s one of Stede’s various secret passages or what, because Buttons does look curiously about before he peeks over to see if the crew are paying attention.

Anyway, no one is steering the ship at this point, which is a constant in this show, but it is a funny aspect of the muppet ‘verse.

STEDE: I can’t believe it! Why?

BUTTONS: I wouldn’t take it personal. It’s just that they don’t like you, or the way that you do things.

STEDE: Hmm. I’m supportive, caring. Responsive to their needs…

Thinking about Mary’s POV, and how Stede in her perspective does nothing of value, takes up space in the house, expects Mary to attend to his every whim, do various domestic work for him, takes up the entire bed and doesn’t notice that Mary’s uncomfortable, et cetera.

There’s something to be said about feigned helplessness and weaponised incompetence that some people use within their relationships to avoid their fair share of labour, especially when it’s people who realise early on that they don’t have to contribute for whatever reason (for example, in regards to gendered labour), and then coast on that — but what I find interesting in cisgender men like Stede is that like…

It’s not enough that he never actually listens when people communicate with him, because it’s part of his identity and his own opinion of himself that of course he listens. The fact that he only listens when people say the things he’s coached or pressured them to say is irrelevant to him, because ultimately, all of his kindness, his approach to his duties, and now his management style, is about his own ego and how he appears to his imaginary audience.

He is all for communication, so long as that communication ends with the result he imagined in the beginning, and because of this he can never compromise or even listen to outside perspectives, because Stede is writing a social script for himself and he expects everyone to say the lines he imagined for them even before they start speaking.

BUTTONS: See, that may be what’s contributing to the poor overall impression.

STEDE: What is the overall impression?

BUTTONS: That you’re weak… soft-bellied, yellow.

STEDE: I see.

BUTTONS: Craven, ill-equipped to lead men.

STEDE: Understood! … Thank you.

I really want to keep track of how much Buttons begins to list things when someone starts speaking to him because it’s such a funny and specific tendency — I know it’s a standard improv technique, but Ewen Bremner just does it so well as Buttons and it goes in so well with his like, gruff, slightly overly-procedural characterisation.

Buttons here is being so blunt and so honest with Stede in large part because he feels it’s his duty as first mate, and what really stands out to me is that Stede is asking for him to be honest about what people’s impressons are, but like...

Stede has such an unrealistic idea of himself, yes, but also so much of his identity is based in self-deception and denial? And I never know with Stede how much he’s being honest when he’s trying to act confident, what his self-esteem is like at any one moment.

He’s so certain he’s a loving father, even though he abandoned the family to fuck about at sea; he’s so certain he’s a great husband even though he makes Mary’s life a living Hell with his constant self-obsession; he’s so sure he can just do whatever he likes, and the world will open up to him.

He’s got protagonist syndrome out the wazoo, but simultaneously he despises himself and takes every criticism to heart — it’s not quite on a level with Ed’s own Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria when we see him later, but it’s all about those layers of identity.

STEDE: What I’m hearing is they could do with more structure. Perhaps, a firmer hand?

BUTTONS: Or an iron fist. Give ’em something to really stick their teeth into, make them earn their keep. Know what I’m saying?

STEDE: I get it. Toughen up.

Rhys Darby really can stick his lower lip out so far, which I am noticing in this particular profile shot more than I have ever realised before. He really puffs himself up here, and I have to wonder if he’s thinking about his father and what he was taught by him, if he’s thinking about bullies at school, who exactly he’s thinking of and considering emulating.

The way everyone laughs and hisses at the idea of Pete being captain of the vessel while Pete is completely certain of his ability is interesting — Stede and Pete really are paralleled so much in this episode, I think, in terms of being out of touch as the cis white guys that cannot read the room and have unrealistically high opinions of themselves.

Everyone loves Jim, and… me too.

PETE: No offence, I know you’re… mates.

Love that Pete puts emphasis on the word mates when he’s talking about Jim to Oluwande. Love that implication.

It’s great too that Jim is just sharpening their dagger on a strop this whole time and isn’t even trying to sew. What a champ.

Buttons doesn’t appear to need to use the spyglass to look at the approaching vessel, which is interesting — eagle-eyed? Gull-eyed? Whatever.

Oluwande’s skills at de-escalating conflict are so fascinating to me — obviously he has a vested interest in keeping Bonnet in command so that the ship can remain sufficiently stable as a hiding place for himself and Jim, but he’s so subtle about it, firstly in shrugging off Pete’s criticism of Jim and Roach’s suggestion that Jim be the captain by saying that Jim isn’t interested in politics (while Jim keeps their head bowed and doesn’t engage meaningfully in the conversation at all, letting Oluwande take on all of it, which is fascinating to me); secondly, by shrugging and saying that he has no beef with Bonnet and immediately pointing out the story-telling as, “That’s one nice thing about him.”

It’s such a curious thing to lead with, the niceness of Stede Bonnet, because, yes, of course he’s nice, and yet it’s his niceness that the rest of the crew have such a problem with.

The way they all bully Lucius to do the voice when Lucius knows he can’t do the voice is so funny, but if you look at everyone nagging him to do it, Oluwande isn’t actually joining in — he’s successfully redirected attention on him and Jim as members or not of the mutiny elsewhere, and everyone is just distracted by Lucius Spriggs’ shitty voice acting to keep at them.

STEDE, with his hands on his hips, the fruitiest he’s been so far: Well here’s the deal, buckos!

He’s such an idiot. I want to keep him in a jar.

Roach interrupts Stede here after asking if it’s really a big ship this time, and goes, “I’m not asking you, I’m asking him,” and gestures to Buttons, and it’s so funny because it’s like… They just can’t and don’t rely on Stede because they know he’s disconnected from reality, and it cracks me up.

Wee John’s pyromania rears its head again, and then…

The Swede is sharpening blades in a way that seems neither efficient nor safe; Jim is throwing knives; Black Pete is cleaning his guns while looking directly into their barrels; Frenchie is singing about how they’re all about to die.

Stede’s trauma around blood and violence is so funny to me because of course you’re frightened of blood, you absolute fop, I can’t wait to see you drenched in it in S2, my darling disgusting man.

He really does reach out to Buttons in quite a vulnerable way though, and Buttons is a bit esoteric in his answer, but he doesn’t comment on Stede’s anxiety — I do find it funny that with his iron teeth he comments, “Getting too old for hand-to-hand violence.”

Like, are you? As in, are you getting too old to go hand to hand, but teeth to throat, that’s just fine? Fascinating. Tell me more.

I think it’s tumeric that Wee John’s smearing on his face, or some sort of yellow powder, anyway? Which… I don’t even know what that’s about.

Anyway, trauma flashback for Stede, woo hoo!

The blood spatter on Rhys Darby’s wee son is so well-shot, and I actually really love the way they show his wince away from his da with the camera at young!Stede’s level, with his father cut off at the neck — it emphasises his smallness and his vulnerability as a child and how intimidating he finds his father, but it also really puts across the impersonal nature of their relationship and the lack of intimacy in it.

He can be close to his father’s butchery, and is being forced to be so, but not to the man himself.

OFMD is obviously so concerned with varieties of masculinity and the toxicity inherent in so many of them, but his father really does pivot from saying, “This is what a man’s work looks like,” to then lecturing young!Stede broadly about class, but in such a way that’s quite disconnected from reality, or at least, his own reality or place in it?

BONNET SNR: One day, all this will be yours. Not ’cause you deserve it or ’cause you’ve earned it, Lord knows you haven’t done that. Because you lucked into it. What do you suppose that makes you?

STEDE: Fortunate?

BONNET SNR: (laughs) Fortunate?

STEDE: (smiling, but begins to fade)

BONNET SNR: Oh, no. (while smiling) A weak-hearted, soft-handed, lily-livered little rich boy. That’s all you’ll ever be, Stede Bonnet!

Like, my guy, that’s your son. You made him this way, but also like — You’re rich? Also? The way Bonnet Snr leans physically down into his space is obviously designed to make him feel as small and talked down to as possible, but it’s like…

If Stede is indeed weak-hearted, soft-hearted, and lily-livered, there is something to be said for the nurture as well as the nature here — why are you only showing him animal butchery at like, ten years old? Why are you surprised that you, a rich man, have raised a rich son? What is not clicking here?

Anyway, love Stede’s insecurity and dramatic muttering to himself while wrapped in his dressing gown.

“I find the feel of silk very invigorating.”

Literally, what is Stede talking about at any time?

The fact that Oluwande comes down to check in at Buttons’ behest with Jim as his shadow and immediately puts that aside to ask if Stede’s okay when he’s visibly not okay is so precious to me, but he does immediately offer to go, and like —

It’s such a weird position that Oluwande and Jim are put in because like, is anyone ever prepared for their manager’s weird mental health issues when they start being unloaded on them?

STEDE: I was just gonna say, uh, it’s actually been a minute since I’ve, uh, done the old hand-to-hand.

Oluwande looks around with such curiosity and interest as he crosses the threshold into Stede’s cabin — it’s such a huge and luxurious space, and it’s so evident that apart from Lucius, most of the crew do not regularly (if at all) see the inside of it despite Stede’s assurances that they can dip into the library at any time.

Oluwande and Jim’s dynamic in the beginning is so brilliant to me, because Jim does come into the space with Wande and instead of keeping their head bowed as they have with the rest of the crew, they do actually make eye contact and engage more with Stede — I suppose that of the people on board, Stede is the least likely to potentially see through their disguise and recognise them, particularly as he presumably hired them.

Jim lets Oluwande take care of most things, but here Oluwande immediately defers to Jim on matters of combat, but like… Fuck me. They already know that Stede’s a soft touch, but the way that Stede is like, “uhhh, refresher?” as if he’s ever fought in his life, and like —

OLUWANDE: Listen, Captain, you know, if I may…

STEDE: You may! Come on. (pats the couch either side of him) Have a seat. Please.

Obsessed with the look that Oluwande share with this exchange, Oluwande and Jim’s both, complete uncertainty and bafflement at this situation because it’s just so fucking awkward and they are so uncomfortable.

OLUWANDE: Look, Captain… You know, pirating is not for everyone.

JIM: (hunkered forward, brim of the hat pulled down, looking bodily away from both of them, shaking their head)

STEDE: Oh, no, yeah.

OLUWANDE: It’s a really dangerous lifestyle.

JIM: (nodding their head)

STEDE: (looking to Jim, then Oluwande) Yeah, some of us thrive on danger, don’t we?

OLUWANDE: (having regrets for a moment as he stares into the middle distance) Yeah…. Yeah, but look. Me and Jim, we don’t do this because we like it. We do it because… we don’t have any other choice.

STEDE: Oh, I hear that.

OLUWANDE: (visible disbelief)

STEDE: I mean, here we are just the whole band of us. Killing and… having to kill. I mean that’s… having to, having to kill…

He’s just here having this whole mental breakdown over a job he spent a great deal of money on throwing himself into with no experience or awareness of what it was like or what it entailed, and here Oluwande is really showing him a kindness by trying to gently point out to him the way he’s blinkered by his privileged upbringing?

He’s pointing out, as nicely as he can (and as nicely as he very much is forced to by the disparity between his and Stede’s positions) that what Stede is doing is like, you know, trauma tourism that he’s not even emotionally prepared for.

And Stede is completely and utterly oblivious, buried simultaneously in his own manufactured narrative and his childhood trauma.

And… fuck.

STEDE: I’m not a pirate. I’m an idiot. Oh, God. Oh, no…

And fuck, but those deep breaths he takes, the way he almost sobs, and the way Oluwande looks at him and puts his hand on his chest, staring at this man with genuine concern because like —

Yes, Stede is an idiot, and yes, he’s an arse, but also this is quite an unwell man in front of him and Oluwande feels some sympathy for him, but there is no fucking time for that when the cannon shot comes across.

Stede’s surprise and affront at how big the ship is cracks me up, especially because she’s so heavily crewed, but —

BUTTONS: Have you been crying?

STEDE, in too deep: What? No… No.

Anyway, so… The English vessel is interesting. I love that there’s a fella with a tiny spyglass, and then the talking guy with a medium spyglass, and then Rory Kinnear as Nigel Badminton, with a big spyglass.

Something about his penis, I don’t know.

I really like that Badminton says “eye” and some other fella puts a folded handkerchief over his eye instead of just closing it himself, that’s so unnecessary, ditto his horrible rich sherry voice as he’s talking.

ENGLISH CUNT, coming up in the tender: I say, does one of you happen to be Stede Bonnet?

STEDE: (looks helplessly at Jim and Oluwande)

JIM: (gestures for him to get up)

OLUWANDE: What are you waiting for? Get up!

Stede cowering on the floor in his dressing gown is me when my washing machine beeps and lets me know it’s time to unload it.

Stede being met with a bully from school is so wild, especially becaue the crew are all advising him not to do this in hushed voices, and Stede ignores them because like… I don’t know, he’s admittedly in a pretty poor mental state, but also even outside of that his decision-making capacities are never good.

Anyway, there’s literally no reason at this point for Stede to pretend all the Black and brown crew members are his slaves and/or servants, and that the white ones are his buds. He like, does not have to do that at all. That is a choice he makes because he wants to impress a guy that bullied him at school and it’s like…

Bro.

I do like that while everyone’s scrambling to dress themselves from Stede’s back-up closet, Wee John is playing the fucking harpsichord, he’s white but he’s also Irish, and decides he has no place in this absolute fucking debaucle.

Shirtless background Roach for the second time this episode. More shirtless Roach in S2. Please. Thanks.

The way that Badminton says, “Tell me about your colourful crew.” while he’s looking Roach up and down in that skeevy way he has, and then the camera shows Frenchie’s concern and the way he’s measuring the situation so carefully says such a lot about Frenchie’s like, laser focus on tension in pretty much any situation — Stede’s obviously blinkered, but it’s like… Frenchie knows how this works, and we know from his admission on the French ship that he has experience here, but this must be such a fucking stressful situation for him, Roach, and the others, when like —

They’re already thinking of mutinying because Stede is straight-up just too soft, but what Stede’s done here is put them in a physically dangerous position, inviting fucking English soldiers aboard and then having the crew pose as servants when they literally could have hidden below decks and been safer for it, made themselves scarce; he could have just said they were free men and members of his crew, or that they were passengers or friends of friends — anything other than this, putting them in full view of the Brits, degrading them, but most crucially putting them physically in harm’s way.

Pete’s got his gun trained on them under the table, but it’s interesting seeing the way that the Brits look to the white pirates and feel that something’s off, the pirates just smile awkwardly in response.

ENGLISH CUNT: [The tea] has clearly been made by savages…

OLUWANDE: (closes his eyes, disgusted, rolling his eyes)

FRENCHIE: (looks hurt and extremely vulnerable on the other side of the table)

Thinking about the way Frenchie asks, so gently, “What did they do to you, man?” to Ed in the French episode.

Like, Frenchie, what did they do to you? Every time Frenchie does anything I want to wrap him in a blanket and dote on him forever, but here especially like… There’s so much pain here, and you don’t know how recently he was in service, if this is a recent escape, or if it’s dredging up past memories — and it’s such an important parallel, that cut of Frenchie’s face journey for only a moment before it goes to Stede, where for Stede we actually get a flashback and an internal story.

Frenchie’s eyes are flitting here and there, his lips are pressed together, his eyes have a shine to them like he wants to fucking cry, and the thing about every expression between the Black characters here is that like… They can make whatever faces at all, and the white characters (Stede and the white pirates included) won’t even fucking notice.

I just… Like, the thing is, this part of the story is still broadly Stede’s POV, and the focus is on his current mental breakdown, but because Joel Fry is just such a good and emotive actor like, you have these bare seconds of shot between Oluwande and Frenchie forced into this position and the depth of fucking feeling here is unspeakable.

I really do hope in S2 we get flashbacks for the rest of the crew and their backstories more as well as more of Ed’s, but, yeah, fuck.

BADMINTON: We were rowdy school chums. (chuckles) Always playing pranks on one another.

STEDE: (facial expression that clearly communicates he does not remember it that way)

BADMINTON: Hmm? Do you remember the day with the rowboat?

STEDE: The rowboat?

BADMINTON: Oh, come on now.

STEDE: No, I can’t.

BADMINTON: The rowboat. (laughs) It was hysterical!

STEDE: (looking down as the flashback begins)

There’s something so claustrophobic about the long-table separation and the cut between Stede’s face and Badminton’s — something about the candles lit between them along the table and the close frame really does just narrow down the room to just the two of them, and it really does make Stede feel and appear so fucking trapped in the whole scenario, even though it’s a trap partially of his own making.

That’s something that comes through again and again with this show, I think, how attempting to match yourself to rules of politeness or etiquette that you don’t actually believe in just ends up causing you damage because you’re allowing yourself to be hemmed in by the established oppressive ruleset, and it would show not only more integrity but less vulnerability to refuse to play by those rules at all.

I love that we see poor young Stede literally just picking fucking flowers before he’s chased by the others, runs into a tree, and then the way his hands are tied to the rowboat’s oars (which will be relevant later on in the episode, actually) as they all throw fucking rocks at him, he’s got a fucking tricorn hat on, and like…

As Stede comes out of this flashback, with the implication as Badminton chuckles that he’s just related this story out loud, we then cut to the white crew members’ reactions…

The Swede, laughing awkwardly while looking entirely pained by what he’s just heard, stopping laughing at soon as Badminton ceases to make eye contact with him and looking sadly at his tea and into the middle distance.

And then, too, when Stede tries to sort of stand up for himself and Badminton goes, oh, and the horse, do you remember when we made you French kiss the horse? And the British crew are laughing, but like —

Lucius looks disgusted and upset, is pressing his lips together, but to a visibly gay man he almost certainly received similar bullying that was sexually charged or forced elements of perversion, exactly like, for example, making a boy get too close to a horse’s mouth.

Like, the dislike of Stede in his youth and the decision for him to be the subject of bullying was very much one based in Stede’s effeminacy, but that itself is based in homophobia.

One thing I like about this scene and that I’m grateful for, but that also lends a real additional layer to it is like —

So we see Frenchie, Roach, and Oluwande’s expressions of pain, disgust, discomfort, fear, uncertainty in this scene, and what we don’t see is flashbacks for them — and none of the white crew are noticing, because at the moment they’re sympathising with Stede who was bullied as a child, sure…

But I really appreciate and am grateful for the fact that as well as not showing Buttons and Pete’s responses to Stede being bullied — the Swede is obviously bullied a lot on the ship now, and Lucius has likely had his own experiences being bullied, whereas Buttons and Pete perhaps not — it doesn’t show us Frenchie and Oluwande sympathising with Stede. Not because they don’t feel compassion for him, I’m not saying they don’t or that they’re likely unaffected by this, but like…

Especially because they are currently literally undergoing a traumatising and unsafe situation because of Stede, ignored by the rest of the white crew and the British interlopers, I’m glad that the camera doesn’t spend time trying to show us them feeling for Stede and his trauma as a child, showing Frenchie and Oluwande like, distracted from what’s currently happening to them to feel sad for Stede.

In another show, I think that would have been the case? That the Black characters put aside their own literal current suffering to be sad for the white guy’s previous suffering, even though he’s put them in their current predicament?

And I’m just glad that it’s not here.

I like the contrast of Stede’s flat tone asking if Badminton would like a tour when at the beginning of the episode he enthusiastically led Lucius on a tour, with Lucius’ gaze representing one of Stede’s peers. It’s such a nice little book-end of contrasts between the intro and the beginning of the end of the episode.

When Badminton comments on the impracticality of the library and all the books falling out, it’s so interesting because like, yes, Stede’s rooms are hugely impractical — in large part because it’s such a huge space with so much loose furniture, which means there’s so much more space for things to slide and shake to when there’s a storm or rough seas. Badminton remembers most about Stede his impracticality and his lack of common sense, and those go hand in hand, I think, with Stede’s gullibility and the ways in which they could presumably trick or manipulate him on top of just, brute force him into X or Y.

Badminton’s just so confident in his cruelty here, in his utter domination over Stede and his right to speak to him this way, and Stede, hemmed in by his own sense of politeness and propriety, barely says a word to put him off — not just not directly disagreeing or whatever, but he doesn’t even imply that Badminton’s being rude or impolite and put the onus on Badminton to safeguard his reputation, you know?

Stede’s just not deft in these matters, and it’s fucking sad.

I like the parallel we see of Mary and the children at one end of the dinner table and Stede at the other, the isolation it communicates for Stede, but then the recreation of that close-framed shot up and down the table, of Mary looking coolly at Stede and then looking back to Alma, and cutting to Stede, again with the candlelight taking up some of the shot. It’s such a cool little motif, and so communicative.

It hasn’t come up so much in this episode so far, but I know that Stede does have some body issues that come up later in this ep and the series, and the way that Mary goes, “And which is your favourite pig?” and says the word with that specific emphasis, like… That idea of Stede being lazy, fat, unpleasant, boorish…

I know that the point of this scene in Stede’s sense of rejection and isolation from Mary in the context of the episode, but when you recontextualise it knowing how frustrated Mary is in her own life with Stede’s laziness and how much of her life he takes up, plus the fact that she can’t directly refuse him or say anything about his lack of contribution?

So much depth here.

I love the music here and the way that Stede stands up for himself just a little bit — “I mean… It’s true.”

And the way we see Badminton raise his head, abruptly become so much more serious before he starts to laugh harder than ever before, and Stede laughs, and he knows he’s being treated so fucking cruelly, he knows it’s the same as what he’s sufered at school, he narrows his eyes, it’s so goddamn tense —

And then we cut to the Brits and the pirates.

And fuck me, I love Foad’s performance in the background as Pete is sipping at his drink and doing his big dick bullshit act, because Lucius looks like he wants the sea to swallow him fucking whole, chin against his breast, so small in his seat; the Swede not making eye contact, also freaking out a bit.

Frenchie in the background, on the other hand, actually looks a bit hype that the Brits are going to offer real commentary on their flags.

As they go to the next flag Lucius looks like he’s either about to cry or throw up or possibly both, he’s so fucking freaked out, and I’m pretty sure it’s because he knows that the Swede and Pete are going to bicker and potentially blow their cover — Frenchie goes from enjoying a bit of change to grimacing and looking more concerned, and I’m pretty sure he’s realising the same thing too.

Lucius is doing fucking breathing exercises, Frenchie is awkwardly trying to laugh alongside the Brits, and like —

God.

Anyway, why the fuck does Stede think his little whale paperweight is the ideal to knock the fella out? Oluwande did say like, a blunt, heavy object, but it’s such a small little thing, I know it does the job, but is it just that he wants it to be easily concealed?

BADMINTON: But you were so fat… and soft, and weak.

STEDE: I thought I was slender.

BADMINTON: No, no, no, no. No, I recall you were a plumper.

I’ve seen a few people’s consideration of this scene and the way that the fatphobia is leveraged against Stede when like we saw Stede, and yeah, he was a pretty slim boy — one of the things about fatness leveraged as an insult is that it’s associated so much with a lack of manliness because of this idea that to be fat is to somehow be lazy or less active, but one note I would also point out is the way that fatness goes hand in hand with this idea of softness and weakness — curves, plumpness, like a woman as opposed to a man, the idea that a man should be square and hard, and a woman round and soft, you know?

Stede’s being lied to here and Badminton’s laughing in a way that’s meant to make Stede really doubt himself and his own view of his body, his childhood, but again it’s a jab at his effiminacy, even before Badminton starts talking about Stede’s tears or his enjoying to pick flowers.

STEDE: (in a whisper) A little bit.

He was soft, yeah, a little bit soft — he did like to pick flowers, a little bit.

He knows that about himself.

And here he is, on a ship where he’s trying to embrace that that’s nothing to be ashamed of, that there was nothing wrong with him, and fuck, like… He’s just being backed into the corner by this ghost of his own past.

The Brits laughing over Frenchie’s flag makes me sob, because he breaks in with his, “Actually, everyone knows cats are very evil because they steal children’s breath,” and he knows it’s a huge risk and I don’t know if he forgets himself because he was already insecure about his flag or if he just couldn’t handle it, but fuck, the way he flinches and draws back so fucking much, like.

Ugh.

ENGLISH CUNT: Enough interruptions, slave! Your captain may suffer uppity behaviour, but not me!

And Frenchie’s expression is so fucking serious, is so somber —

And it’s Jim that breaks.

It’s been pointed out by quite a few people that it’s notable that Jim is the one that breaks and snaps at the Brits when Jim is a person of colour, but they’re the most light-skinned, but like… I’m still glad they did. The dagger through the hand is so good, and so deserved, and Frenchie points and he laughs, and good! Make that man laugh! He deserves it! He deserves a nice time and to see this cunt get skewered in front of him!

Poor Lucius has since fainted and fallen back into his chair, and then, boom, the fight begins.

I think it’s Oluwande that pours a kettle of hot tea into the one Brit’s lap; Buttons holds a razor to another Brit’s throat; Wee John literally breaks down the door and comes in and it’s so hot Kristian Nairn please slide into my DMs just like that; Pete screams “Fuck it!”, Lucius comes to and screams —

And we cut back to Badminton and Stede listening to the chaos.

I really love how this show does flashbacks, they’re so well-cut — in Stede’s stuff but also in Ed’s later on, they feel so real and so accurate to how it feels when you’re really processing a traumatic memory in the moment.

The squish when Badminton lands on his sword cracks me up every time.

I’m gonna be pausing several times in this next sequence to really appreciate the chaos, so like, firstly, we cut to:

Oluwande has his hand around a Brit’s throat, and is threatening to smash his face in, I think with a teapot

Pete is on the other side of the table, holding his little gun at the same fella’s head, and isn’t it nice that Oluwande and Pete are bonding together?

Frenchie is standing up on the bench wearing a tricorn hat and brandishing his cat flag

Buttons is quaffing wine in the background

The Swede has wrapped another of the Brits in a net and Wee John is helping him

Lucius is hiding almost under the table

And when Stede calls, “Excuse me, you guys? I need a hand with something…” I’m obsessed with how Pete tells everyone to shush and they all go quiet, and it’s Lucius and Oluwande who extricate themselves from the chaos and go to help him out.

STEDE: I used the stun move.

LUCIUS, sitting in a chair and looking in the other direction because he’s freaked out by the dead body of Nigel Badminton with a sword through his eye: Yeah, no, he looks pretty stunned.

I don’t think I’ve mentioned this specifically so far, but OFMD episode to episode does these fucking great like, dramatic shots where they really make use of the whole shot and like —

So here, we see Lucius to the right in the foreground, looking horribly stricken and as pale as the hideous suit he’s wearing; Oluwande is stage-left and staring down at Badminton’s body in the middleground; in the centre-background we see Stede in the exact same vulnerable position as Lucius is, knees together, shoulders hunched, barely able to look directly at the body.

It just creates so much fucking depth and and is such a good use of the space and I love it.

Anyway, Oluwande’s face is killing me in this scene. He’s just like, oh, well. He sure did that.

Even as Stede goes on blabbering about how it was just an accident and he’s leaning forward, Lucius is doing the exact same thing silently in the foreground, and it’s such a clever parallel between the two of them, I really like it.

OLUWANDE: Hey, hey, hey, this is happening. Okay? Do you want to live?

Allow me a moment’s distraction with just how attractive Samson Kayo looks in this scene. He looks so good in purple.

Okay.

STEDE: That’s a tough question.

OLUWANDE, grabbing him: I said, “Do you want to live?”

STEDE: I think so! … Probably!

OLUWANDE: Well, pull yourself together then! Yeah, because everyone up there wants you dead.

LUCIUS: It’s true.

Lucius Spriggs. My dear and delicious and potentially dead boy.

Whose side are you on?

(The most important side: his own.)

But God, I love it when Oluwande girlbosses and manipulates and he’s very much notgoing to let Stede fuck this up for him and Jim when Stede’s ship is the safest place for them — I just love how sensibly he orders Stede through not saying that killing Badminton was an accident and Stede is already just destroyed with guilt and not feeling great about it.

Oluwande’s forearms…

The way the fucking crew looks at Stede after he drops Badminton’s body cracks me up — Buttons is looking at Stede so fascinatedly, Lucius is serious, Jim is unreadable, Frenchie is enjoying himself and loves this violence and good, give my man everything he desires, the Swede is like :o, Roach is having a grand old time, and Pete looks genuinely impressed.

I love how John says “Respect!” He’s so good. And how Frenchie gags the English cunt from earlier.

So with the English cunt they do put back on the boat, right — obviously tying his hands to the oars is a parallel to Stede’s own childhood trauma, but what I really like is the three little coconut Brits they put in the back of the tender — you can see Frenchie’s first cat flag making up the chest of one of them, now stained with blood, so I suppose that’s why it goes from Frenchie’s cat licking blood of its paw to Frenchie’s cat on its four paws.

Roach looks so cute when he wears his chef’s hat and it pushes his hair out at the sides, there’s so much shape there — Pete is so fucking upset about the fact that Stede’s actually done something fucking cool for once, and it cracks me up. Pete and Stede are both just blagging their way through this and it’s so sad for Pete when Stede wins a point.

PETE: Making us dress up like a bunch of fancy boys?

Um, Pete? Not everyone got dressed up like fancy boys?

There’s another really good shot here that uses the depth of the lens so well -Pete in the foreground, Roach with his arm around Pete and his hand on the Swede’s back, Wee John in the back with the focus on him.

I don’t think I ever noticed how much Wee John is an authority in the first episode and how much he drives a lot of stuff forward — he keeps quiet a lot, but it’s not because of a lack of strong opinion or consideration.

There’s this balance here that Stede has to manage between the “nice” things about him that he wants to prioritise and a certain bloodthirstiness, and especially because this specific moment is borne out of deception, it does make you consider the Blackbeard mythos and the weight it puts on Ed’s shoulders, what must have or could have gone on in its construction, you know?

LUCIUS: He’s a terrible captain.

OLUWANDE: We’re not exactly the best crew though, are we?

Fuck, I love how close they are together in this scene and like… I said before about how much I appreciate the way that Lucius puts himself close to Pete and, separately, Oluwande (and Jim) here because they’re the other queer guys, but here is such a valuable and important moment like… They’re both so close together, and it really is a moment of shared vulnerability because they’re both carrying Stede’s deception, and it is a strategic choice.

Oluwande’s right that they’re not the best crew or a particularly good crew — they’re small and chaotic and ridiculous and a lot of them don’t know what they’re doing; Oluwande wants to make sure he and Jim have a safe place there, whereas Lucius like —

I wish I knew exactly what he wanted, or what he envisions for himself, because his broader ambitions are kind of an enigma to me. Much to chew on as the episodes go on.

OLUWANDE: Besides, as long as he’s around, we’re gonna be paid, fed, and we don’t even have to work too hard.

LUCIUS: (looks at Oluwande, then back at Stede)

OLUWANDE: He’ll be dead soon. We might as well enjoy it while it lasts.

LUCIUS DOES A SNEAKY LITTLE GLANCE DOWN AT HIS MOUTH BEFORE OLUWANDE LOOKS BACK AT HIM, I SEE YOU, I SEE YOU.

There’s so much Lucius/Izzy stuff and the obvious Lucius/Pete and Lucius/Fang, but Lucius wants so badly to participate just a little bit in Oluwande and Jim’s dynamic and I for one think we should let the boy be as slutty as he pleases.

Oluwande is so practical and I really think it’s interesting that like… So he obviously has a lot going on trying to ensure he and Jim are in a secure position, but them two and Lucius are the youngest of the crew by like a decade, and it’s great to me that Oluwande is so keenly practical but not because he particularly likes Stede or whatever, like… He’s looking out for himself and Jim, and now he’s sharing his thought process with Lucius and Lucius is engaging with him, and although Lucius is obviously shaken in this scene, I think it’s probably the most comfortable and open in terms of communication he’s been with anybody throughout the episode so far.

OLUWANDE: Would you rather be captained by that?

And it cuts to Frenchie taunting the Brits, and it’s like…

That thing of Stede being “one of the good ones” but it’s not even that he’s like, self-aware? It’s that he’s vaguely trying with no idea what he’s doing, he’s going to die over it, but in the meantime, they can get safety and security?

It’s so important to me that Oluwande and Jim are the like, secondary narrators and MCs aside from Stede and Ed because like, it’s just the contrast you need between Stede’s condescension and self-assurance versus like, the facts of the matter, and the crew with their own agency. None of them is with Stede because they’re grateful for Stede’s charity or civilising influence or some other racist bullshit — they’re there because they need the work, they’re being practical, and putting up with Stede Bonnet is safer than putting up with any fucker else.

LUCIUS: (grimace, slight grunt)

OLUWANDE: Exactly.

Fucking slow pan onto Stede looking out over the ship, sweaty, shaking, crying a little bit, and like…

Here we see the table set up differently — Stede’s place setting and his chair are much closer, they’re not at the end of the table as before, he’s closer to Alma, and all the family are laughing together.

They’re wearing the same outfits as they were in the other flashback — was it the same night? Was it a different night? Which of those set-ups were more typical of Bonnet family life? Which had the most impact? Which does Stede remember most often?

Stede’s traumatised and his POV comes with so much bias but also is so unreliable, we don’t know exactly what the truth is or how much it stretches, and that kills me, like… Playing High on a Rocky Ledge here while Stede thinks back to Mary and the kids, what are we thinking here? That he regrets leaving them? That he misses Mary?

Because like, I keep going, “Who is Stede writing this diary for? Who is he trying to impress, and get the attention of?” And here’s a verse from High on a Rocky Ledge:

Then spoke a spirit, “If you would win your Lady Love There’s only one way: fall to your death from high above You will begin to grow in snow beside the one You have waited for to be mated with”

(x)

Is that it?

If he risks his life as a pirate, is that what it takes for him to earn all his riches? To prove himself as a real man? Make him no longer lily-livered and soft-handed and weak-hearted? And therefore be worthy of his family, and his wife, by falling to his death?

And no.

Because Stede doesn’t say, oh, I want to be worthy of her or them. Stede says to himself, “My family’s here now. At sea.”

And like, my guy, that is not what your crew signed up for. They did not sign up for you to be their da, even if they do enjoy that you read them bedtime stories. They did not sign up to be your substitute for your children that didn’t want to play pirates enough for your liking.

But it’s such an interesting contrast, this song that’s ultimately about a man throwing himself into death and destruction to be with the woman he loves, and Stede is doing that to get the fuck away from her.

The expectations of hetero society will do that to a man.

I love the choice of Pinocchio as his storybook — I think it’s interesting that Stede reads to the crew from children’s tales (from the future, at that), but obviously Pinocchio is all about someone achieving a level of reality and authenticity that was considered unachievable for him, and that’s so big for both Stede and Ed, I think, in the course of the show, but also for a lot of the crew, what they want from life, goals considered achievable and unachievable, the varities of the self they display to each other, etc.

I really love that Pete’s in a hammock on one side and Frenchie’s on the other and Frenchie’s wearing a little mask over his eyes. Sensitive man. Needs good darkness to sleep by.

It’s just so —

Domestic.

Wee John crying as Lucius looks at him like “um, okay,” all the crew lying on the floor…

And fuck, but the Jim reveal is so good. Jim’s been so much in the background for the entire episode and always there but never like, looked at so closely, and here we see them shake out their hair, remove their nose, lean back, relax without all the fake beard and hat and ephemera. They just look so fucking tired.

Oluwande’s great knocking on the door — I really like how easily he swaps between telling them to have dinner in English then telling them to eat in Spanish when he knocks on the door, and like, Oluwande just drops food and goes and lets them eat before he zips and I have… feelings about it.

Roach and the Swede lying close together when they were trying to kill each other earlier is so sweet; I love how Lucius huddles under his blankets and smiles to himself as Stede does the puppet voice better than he could, and obviously we see the first introduction of Karl, who’s standing on Buttons’ head as Button lies back in his own hammock below the British hostages.

STEDE: Lights out!

WEE JOHN: Can we have just one more?

STEDE: I know you love it, but you’ve got a big day tomorrow, okay? Night night!

Oh, he’s dad.

And just like he abandoned his real children, he abandons his new fake adult children on his next mental breakdown. 💖 There’s lots of dads who walk out in their families but there’s not many who can do it consecutively like Stede Bonnet can.

Anyway, I love the slow pan up all the crew’s flags because he just can’t pick one, exactly the same energy as the proud dad who just has to put everyone’s drawings on the fridge, and Frenchie’s new cat flag at the top!

Episode directed by Taika Waititi because of course it was.

I’m really hype to do more close focused readings of the rest of the episodes because like, fuck, there’s so much depth to this show, it’s so fucking well-crafted and I just lose my fucking mind over it. I wish all television was like, even a fraction of how good this show is.

Thanks for reading! Tune in next time, I guess?

#our flag means death #episode analysis

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cinimon01 · 18 days

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You meet a better sort of bum in a marina.

1st of April 2024: I know, April fools day. However it was the day we chose to start to live on board our new boat. We had meticulously packed so we each had 30kg, as allowed by Qantas. This process took into account the things already on board, those we may need, those things we just wanted to take whether we needed them or not and those things we want to have just in case. Another 3 hour flight and 3 hour car ride. We hired a car for a week to be able to get to all of the shops and buy all of the stuff we would need. Mainly food and gas and fuel.

3rd April 2024: Paid a visit to customs as our customs form stated we were able to stay in New Zealand on Mai Tai until June 2024. We wanted to stay for the allotted 2 years each boat receives when they first arrive, but somewhere in the purchase this was changed to June. So we started the process at customs. We found out that having a foreign boat in New Zealand allowed us to avoid all taxes on any purchases. Wow so if we needed a new freezer @ $2500 NZ we would get $375 off. Not too shabby.

5th April 2024: Went to my first yoga class in Opua. So close to the Marina, I just walked about 10 minutes and the community hall was next to the car ferry. Great view of the BOI from the front door. Great class run by a lovely lady called Ines who was selling bananas from her tree.

We had to sort out our gas cylinders as they were foreign and we couldn't get them filled here in NZ. They didn't meet their high standard but fit perfectly into our cubby hole for cylinders in the cock pit. So on the last day before we returned the car we drove to Keri Keri where a cylinder servicing centre was only too happy to help. They said the cylinders were aluminium and worth about $400 each. They would be good for a few more years yet. Great news as we were thinking of just getting new ones. Back to Whangarie delivered the car, taxi to bus station, bus back to Opua, walk down the hill and now we are truly living on a boat without any other form of transport.

On the morning of the 5th our good friends from Bali were here on a cruise and we were able to pick them up and bring them to the boat. Still no sailing as we were waiting for a sail track installation. It was great to welcome aboard our first guests and they loved the boat. Ironically, they will be back next week on a different cruise, so we will see them again and go sailing.

While we we in Whangarie, the good guys from New Zealand Yacht Services came to check everything was ready for the sail track install. It just happened that they were able to get the boom off easily, remove the old track easily and so they decided to install the new track. We weren't even there. Job done and now we can go sailing.

11th April 2024: Extreme weather conditions saw us stuck on board for nearly 2 days and during the night the font hatch in the main cabin leaked. My pillow and mattress was wet and my enthusiasm dampened. So since we bought the boat, the sail track needed replacing, the gennaker was torn to shreds so a new one was ordered, the helm clutch break knob fell off and had to be repaired and replaced and now the hatch leaked. Luckily the boat came with spares and David re installed a new one and its water proof! yay!

15th April 2024: Peter and Diana arrived and we took off. We stretched our sails into nearly zero wind and had a fun day trying to make Mai Tai go without much help from the westerly. We picked up a mooring for $600 for 6 weeks in Kororareka bay, just off Russell old town. Beautiful spot.

18th April 2024: Went to yoga in Russell. First time David drove me to shore in the tender and went for a walk while I made new acquaintance with my muscles. Then off to Opua for a Rally meeting. It was extreemly informative and there are about 60 to 70 boats going between May and June. Some are going to Tonga, Tahiti, Fiji and Vanuatu. We are excited to go in 2025, but seriously need to get to know our boat first.

16th April 2024: Yoga again in Opua, washing and we got our yellow customs form! So David bought a fishing rod and some new lines and a custom step we designed so we can easily step up onto the roof when sailing. Looks great. Now we just need some great weather and we are off to explore the Bay Of Islands and catch a fish.

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fabulouslygaybean · 4 months

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hello i saw you were looking for new names!!! as someone who changes names like i'm in witness protection my advice, esp if you want names that are unusual and not really human names you'd find anywhere, i name myself after things i love or feel connected to or abt to represent or embody. basically dress for the name you want, not the name you have!!

i got the name sesame because i love sesame things - sesame oil is my fav oil, halvah is literally My Favorite Food Of All Time, yknow!!! and i though oh man, that'd make a great name.

i got duck from this photo album of dykes in the 80s and 90s - one of the butches had the nickname "ducky" and no other name given and i thought that was just So Cool. this is back when i id'd as butch, so that was a way of connecting to the identity for me. i still use it because i got very attached to it during that time even though i don't id as butch anymore!!

nauta is latin for sailor - i am sure you are aware of my many years long special interest in the age of sail. that's another thing, taking names that are meaningful in other languages is a good way to get unique words that you feel connected to!! be delicate with that though ofc there is cultural importance to these kinds of names. i'm comfy with using latin because it's a dead language.

helvetica i actually got from a comic character, but it's a font too!! one of my friends is named sylfaen which is another font - i absolutely recommend looking through font lists, some actually make great names :)

there are plenty of names i have thought of that i don't think fit me but are definitely cool - adrenaline, roulette, audacity, null, i have a bunch tucked away in my brain somewhere. i definitely recommend just making lists of words you like and seeing if any of them appeal to you!!!!

this took me a bit to get to, but thank you!!

ive always really liked just,,, random word names? for lack of a better way to describe them? but ive been too much of a coward to try em out myself i guess. i should definitely brainstorm a bit to find some ones that might fit me though

#asks #also. adrenaline as a name.......... wait a second #sorry. adrenaline is unironically one of my favorite words and now im gonna be thinking about that for a while #that sounds so fucking cool

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a-edgar-allan-hoe · 2 years

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With Fire and Blood, and the Darkness in Between

Darkling/General Kirigan/Aleksander Morozova x Targaryen!Reader

Part 2

Shadow and Bone and Game of Thrones crossover

Part 1

A/N: Part 2 is finally here lovelies! Just wanted to provide some backstory for the character before she meets General Kirigan in the next chapter. I hope y’all enjoy! As always, comments and reblogs are much appreciated, I love hearing you guys’ thoughts! 💜💜💜

Summary: Imagine being the youngest Targaryen and the half-sister of Daenerys. You had lived most of your life in captivity, shut off from the world after your brother Viserys married you off to an old lord at the age of 12 as means to get rid of you for being a half-breed. You used to be a bright and free-spirited child who saw nothing but the goodness in those around you, but the experiences you faced made you grow cold and distant with a lack of remorse for the wicked. Not wanting to live the life your brother had chained you to, you ran away and finally reunited with your sister and helped her win back the throne. (Season 8 never happened) Wanting to build a life of your own, you set sail across the seas with your dragons and army, traveling far and wide before venturing into foreign land in a place called Ravka where you stumble upon a kingdom with a king who you loathe, believing him undeserving of rule. During your stay there, you cross paths with a certain raven-haired general with aspirations of his own. Will you stand alongside him in his mission, or will you take the throne for your own and rule as Y/N Targaryen, the Dragon Witch Queen of Ravka?

Warnings: vulgar language, mentions of rape and abuse and suicide, mentions of abuse against a minor, mentions of incestuous themes, violence and gore, sexual themes. This series will have some dark themes so please read at your own risk.

Notes: slow burn, angst, enemies to lovers trope. Flashbacks are in italics. Current time is in normal font.

Day had turned to night, and all the light that remained of the rays of the sun touching upon the earth, had disappeared into blackness like the life you just left behind. You had remained by Ser Bjorn Maurinus's side that entire evening, seated on one of the wooden crates as you stared out into the pitch black depths of the sea that not even the moon itself was able to cast it's light upon.

Your hands were tucked into the pocket of your dress, the wool fiber of the fabric irritating the softness of your pampered skin as your fingers played with the glass vial that Sir Bjorn had given you. Contemplating the event that was ever so quickly dawning near, you had half a mind to throw yourself into the ocean and let the obsidian waters consume every last ounce of your very being. And though you so desperately longed for those cold hands of death to wrap it’s claw like fingers around your heart and tear it out, your thoughts only ever returned to your sister who would only be waiting your return until death itself stood in front of her.

You had attempted to strike a conversation with the forbidding Braavosi whose resemblance you found to be similar to a hawk, but your words only fell on deaf ears, for the man had not uttered a single response in your direction, his expression as stony as the last. And so you sat in silence, shivering against the cold ocean breeze that felt like daggers across your cheek, with nothing but the furs of your cloak and the howling of the wind to keep you company.

"M'lady." you heard a gruff, slightly slurred voice from behind you, turning around to see that one of Lord Pythias's men had approached you, a small lantern held in his grimy hand and a piece of dried beef in the other. The small yellow flame kept within the lantern illuminated parts of his face in almost a ghoulish manner, darkening every line and indentations that marked his skin. His face and overall appearance was poorly kept, as was with many of the sailors and the men aboard this ship. His hair, like sticks of straw, thinned at his scalp before dropping down to his shoulders in a knotted mess, and his clothes hung loosely about his frail body as if they recently belonged to someone of a much larger size. His beady, yellowed eyes roamed your tiny frame as he chewed on the piece of meat like a dog would on a bone, flashing his blackened rotted teeth and his swollen gums which you had noticed as signs of scurvy from the books you came across from your days spent in the library back home. "Lord Pythias demands your presence."

You twisted your lips at the sight, clutching your cloak closer to you from his gaze before quickly searching to Ser Bjorn for any kind of support in the matter, but the man only looked ahead at the darkness of the sea that mirrored his dark eyes. "Alright." You nodded, refusing to meet the sailor's eyes, making sure to steer clear of him as you made your way over to the chambers of his lord while your mind remained ever so focused on the vial in your pocket. The ship swayed amongst the waves beneath your feet as you maintained your balance, but the prying eyes and snickers of the men around you made you cower, wanting to fall right through the wooden boards beneath you.

The world seemed to close in around you as you brought your hand up the door that separated you and your unworthy husband, the very thing that would soon dictate how tonight and the rest of your days would end as you shut your eyes in a small prayer to the gods. You had never thought yourself to be a religious person, but in this moment where it seemed as if the whole world was waiting to devour you whole, you plucked out whatever faith you had left in you, begging the gods to your aid before rapping your knuckles lightly against the slab of wood. "May I come in?"

"You may."

The room was dull and lifeless as you entered, lit only by a few candles that somehow seemed to darken the area despite its purpose, as if it were sending you a warning about the dangers you would soon face. You could not help but scrunch your nose in disgust at the dampness of the air once you stepped in and closed the door behind you; the smell of sweat and mold reeking heavily about. Lord Pythias was stationed at the foot of his bed, finishing away his plate of bread and dried meat, wearing nothing but a cotton tunic and his trousers. Twisting your lips at his mannerisms, from the crumbs falling from his mouth and bouncing off his big belly before falling at his exposed and hairy feet, to the sound of the smacking of his lips that echoed across the room convinced your ears to want to tear themselves from your head.

Lord Pythias gave you a once over, licking off his sausage-like fingers before beckoning you over with his grubby hand. “Come here.”

You hesitated, your nails digging into the skin on your palms as you compelled your legs to move from their stubborn place despite no matter how much you wanted to run in the opposite direction away from him. Slowly, you made your way over to the man, your each step seemingly smaller than the last while your eyes remained glued to the wooden floor. Your footsteps resonated in the chamber until his hand landed a heavy strike to your cheek, catching you completely off guard as the sound echoed through the silence of the room.

“You will answer me with m’lord. Is that clear?”

The burning left over by the strike of his hand spread through your face as you stared at the floor for a moment, frozen in shock with your hand pressed to your stinging cheek. You could have sworn your nails were going to tear through the skin of your palm as you forced yourself to look up at him with misty eyes masked by the rage behind them, your voice small though every inch of your skin burned with the urge to slit his throat. “Yes….my lord. Forgive me my lord.”

“Now fetch me a glass of ale there on the table.” The man let out a loud and heavy burp before setting the plate aside and wiping his hands off at the front of his tunic, his hands leaving stained streaks of yellow from the oil that coated them as his bulging eyes watched you hungrily as you walked away. “And when you’re through with that. I want you to undress yourself.”

“.......Yes my lord.” You muttered in response with your back facing him as you wiped away the hot tear that fell down your cheek. Your hands shook as you uncorked the warm bottle of ale, pouring the amber colored liquid into his goblet and remembering what Ser Bjorn had told you at your wedding feast. Just a single drop. Slowly, you ever so slightly turned your head to make sure he wasn’t looking in your direction. Seeing that he was currently preoccupied with undressing himself, you slipped your hand into your pocket, pulling out the small glass vial and staring into the slightly tinted liquid, your eyes distant with the thoughts that filled them. Damn you Viserys, damn you and your ambitions.

You found yourself wanting nothing more than to return home, even preferring to be in the presence of your brother than here with this vile old man. At least back home, you had your sister. Here, you had no one, not a single soul. You were alone, a Targaryen alone in the world. Popping open the cork, you let a single drop fall into the cup before returning it to your pocket, watching the potion ripple out like the clouds of an oncoming storm. Swirling the contents of the goblet in your hands and watching the potion disappear into the drink, you headed back to where Pythias sat on the bed, disgusted and terrified with his naked appearance. After all, you had never seen a man unclothed before, nor was it something that you wanted to see in the first place. With trembling hands that thankfully went unnoticed, you handed him his goblet, watching the man lift the cup to his lips.

Lord Pythias tilted his head back, downing the drink in one go. And as you expected it to soon be over, that you would be able to taste just the smallest amount of your short-lived freedom, your heart skipped a beat as he grabbed your wrist roughly, yanking you closer to him. "I thought I gave you an order, little bitch."

“P-please.” Tears once again formed in your eyes as you tried to twist out of his hold, but his large clammy hand only grew tighter around your delicate wrist, his rough fingers like sandpaper against your skin while his other hand seized the fabric of your dress in an attempt to tear it off.

Thump! Ba-thump!

Came the sound within the confines of your mind, repeating against the violent throbbing in your head.

Thump! Ba-thump!

You could not tell if it was the chamber door or the beating of your own heart that enfolded your senses as the terror within you only increased. Your heart pounded rapidly by the minute, growing steadily against the silence around you. Trapped between your panic-stricken fear and the strength of the man more than twice your size, there came this sharp pain that felt as if a thousand needles had pierced through your ribcage, as if your own heart were to burst through it’s cage. Your skin dropped in temperature, loosing all warmth as you began to tremble.

You were beyond terrified, unsure of if you would scream or vomit at the situation at hand between the spiked drink and his nakedness and the fact that he was still conscious. In fact, you tried to scream, but not a single sound escaped the hollowness in you. Even if you did, who could have heard you or would even come to your rescue. No one. And that fact alone filled you with dread. You began to fear the potency of the potion that Ser Bjorn had given you, wondering whether it would do what was promised in order to protect yourself from this man before you. You were frightened of what would happen if it did not work, of what were to happen to you. What if it were a test? What if there was nothing in that vial in the first place and that this was all just a test of your loyalty to your new lord?

But your hopes were soon granted, for as you stood, you watched Lord Pythias sway in his seated position, slurring out something incomprehensible as his eyes slowly shut before his large body fell back on the bed in a deep sleep. A breath that you had kept in this whole time was finally released from your lips in a trembled silent cry as you stepped back from the bed with staggering steps, your eyes glued to the sleeping form of the man who was just a second away from assaulting you.

A small glint against the candlelight had caught your attention, and as you turned towards it, you found Lord Pythias's small knife sitting almost invitingly upon the table. You gazed upon the blade in a tranced state as if it were calling out to you, beckoning you to it. Your mind jumped to complete desperation as you returned your attention to the sleeping form of Lord Pythias, listening to his snores rumbling through the emptiness of his chamber. Refusing to leave your eyes off him in fear that he would stir from his state of unconsciousness, you closed your fingers around the handle of the knife and clutched it tightly in your sweaty palms. Your breaths heaved in your chest as you neared him with the blade raised above you, the room seeming to darken around you until a hand covered itself over your mouth.

Your eyes widened at the contact, feeling an arm wrap around your midsection as you tried to scream, but your voice was only muffled as the intruder yanked the knife from your hands and set it back on the table before lifting you up and carrying you out from the chamber. You thrashed violently against the individual, your arms flailing about as you tried to tear away at him, but your efforts came fruitless as he only held you tighter, dragging you out before taking you away to a darkened corner of the ship. His hands loosened around your torse to toss you to the floor, and as you fell down to your knees, you looked up at your captor to see none other than Ser Bjorn standing above you with a scowl on his thin lips.

"You?" You gasped, bringing yourself up to glare right back at him. "What was that for?"

"Have you lost your mind GIRL?" Ser Bjorn bent over to hiss at you, grabbing you roughly by your arm and pulling you further into the darkness, away from the prying eyes of the immoral men that lurked about the ship. "What in the seven hells did you think you were doing?!"

"I was trying to kill him." You scowled.

"With what?" Ser Bjorn let go of your arm with a scoff, straightening up his tall frame as he did so. "A dinner knife? Has the girl even held a blade before?"

"I want him dead!"

"Oh? And what then? What of the rest of the men here hm? You think one dead fuck is going to keep the rest of these cunts from doing anything to you?"

Your lips twisted into a frown, fighting against the tears that threatened to spill as your voice grew quieter, your frame shrinking in the shadows casted by the small lantern hung up on of the posts. "I just........I want to go home. I.....I-want to go home."

"There's no going back now girl.” Ser Bjorn spoke firmly, looking pathetically over your trembling form before ushering you to be quiet as he pulled something out from behind him. "Here, take this."

You glanced down at the item in his hand; a small dagger. You had recognized the simple yet intricate blade at his hip when you first saw him approach your brother at the hall. “But it’s yours.”

"Take it girl." Ser Bjorn exasperated at your hesitation, gritting his teeth as he did so.

You gave the man a quick look, observing his serious expression with distrust before taking the dagger from his hands, pulling the blade out from its sheath to stare at the shine of the sharp metal. "Why?"

"For when the time comes that you may need it. But use it you will not."

"What do you mean? How am I not allowed to use it?"

"The potion you will use daily when necessary."

"But that doesn’t make any sense-“

"You will do as I have told you. Does the girl understand?"

"But-"

"Does the girl understand? I will not be saying it again." Ser Bjorn glowered down at you, his obsidian eyes boring into your own.

".........Yes." You muttered out with a tight jaw, wondering whyever he would bother to help you despite being of alliance to Lord Pythias and being the cold hearted man that he was.

"Good. Now rest. The journey ahead of us is long." The Braavosi turned his back to you, returning to his speechless state. Not a single ounce of emotion had passed through him during the whole conversation, not even a shrivel of empathy, just as when you had first met him.

Being the stubborn young girl you were, you let out a huff of air, sticking the small dagger into the belt of your dress before finding a spot in the corner where there sat sacks of flour stacked upon the floor. Laying yourself on top of the rough burlap sacks, you brought your knees up to your chest with your back facing Ser Bjorn as he stood watch. You clutched your cloak closer to your small frame to protect yourself against the coldness of the night air that you were not used to, shivering as you shut your eyes and finally released all the anger and all the despair that you had locked within to keep yourself from appearing weak. Your face became wet from your emotions as you curled into a fetal position, using the fabric of your cloak to muffle out your cries as you let the tears of your worries drown you to a deep slumber.

The sun rested high amongst the pale blue sky, nestled between the porcelain clouds like a drop of gold in a field of cotton. It’s rays shined down on the city in streaks of gold as you sat on the grass that covered one of the hills overlooking the sea, watching the ships depart and arrive at the wooden docks of King's Landing. The cool breeze blew against you, blowing back the loose strands of your hair that framed your face from your elaborate braids as you listened to the bells that rang out through the city. You could almost taste the salt of the ocean air upon your tongue from where you sat in the distance, your small leather bound sketchbook spread open on your lap and your stick of sanguine chalk held between your fingers as you tapped the end of the chalk lightly against the parchment.

In the distance, there came the sound of something above you, a flutter of wings about the air and an echo of a screech. And as you looked to the sky, squinting against the sun as you did so, you saw your two dragons drawing near, the large span of their wings blanketing the area in shadow as they soared down to the ocean. You smiled at the sight, watching the siblings play with each other while others stopped to stare and point at the large beasts that were once thought to be extinct. For once, you felt at peace. And yet, the past always seemed to find its way to haunt you. You had been much too preoccupied, your mind focused on your drawings as you failed to notice someone approaching your spot, the heels of their boots crushing the grass beneath them.

"I thought I might find you here."

“Dany.” You turned at the all too familiar voice, seeing your sister with the wind blowing through her silvery blonde locks, a warm smile on her face.

“I was beginning to worry. I had not seen you since dinner last night.”

"I'm sorry.” You set your pencil down, turning to face her as she stood next to you. “I didn’t mean to trouble you. I just....haven't been feeling well. Thought I might come out here and relax my mind for a bit.”

"As long as you're caring for yourself." Daenerys placed her hand on your shoulder as she watched the ships and your two dragons with you before glancing down at your sketches of the wooden vessels and your other sketches of the dragons, admiring the life like details you had put into them. “You’ve gotten better. I remember when you used to draw on the walls until you found your hands on some parchment.”

“Well, I was a little girl then.” You chuckled.

“And look at you now, grown into a beautiful young woman with skills that I could never dream of or accomplish.” Dany looked down at you as she softly stroked your head, running her fingers through the thin silver streak of hair similar to her own that had formed at your front strands, a stark contrast to the rest of your hair. You never really did explain how you got it, that silver streak of hair, except that it just appeared one fateful day.

Her heart swelled at seeing you now, seeing how much you had grown in both spirit and age since she last saw you. And though the two of you were only a year apart, she would do anything to protect you like the older sister she was. You used to be such a soft spoken little girl, one who had always bent to the will of others, one who was constantly pushed around by those stronger than herself. And here you were now, a woman who bent herself to no man and wielded her own sword and survived so much to find your way back to her. A woman who had even led her own battles while fighting her enemies at the forefront. And there was nothing that made Dany happier than to have such a strong and spirited woman as her sister.

"Gods. It's been so long hasn't it." You muttered out in a soft breath, thinking back to the day where you were sold off like cattle by your own brother and torn away from your only sister. "It feels as if it were just a year ago when I set foot on that ship and was shipped off to the north."

"Hm. It has been a long time indeed. But you're here now, with me, and that is all that matters." Daenerys caressed your head lovingly before placing a kiss at the top of your head. "Come, supper should be ready soon."

Wiping off the chalk from your fingers, you closed up your sketchbook with a snap, wrapping the suede string around the leather binding with your chalk tied to it before slipping it into the pocket of your coat dress. Interlocking your arm with your sister, the two of you walked through the small field to return to the castle, making your way to the dining hall.

"The redecorations are coming along nicely." Daenerys spoke up from beside you.

"Thank the gods." You sighed. "Anything but the ghastly décor that Cersei had left. What she had done with the castle walls is blasphemy. The place needs more color, more plants, more…..life. I want to feel at home, not like I’m stuck in prison.”

"Well I’m sure you’ll find the newer decorations to your liking." Daenerys chuckled at the passion behind your eye for the arts.

"I trust your judgement sister." You patted her forearm before facing the path ahead of you, focusing on the stone steps that led up to the castle. And as you lifted your gaze, an enormous smile appeared on your lips as you saw a familiar head of dark curls up ahead that belonged to none other than your dear friend. "Jon!" You left your sister's side to quicken your pace and engulf him in a hug.

"Oof.” Jon grunted against the impact as you almost knocked him over before pulling away to beam down at you. “It's good to see you too y/n."

You twisted your lips in a teasing scowl, punching the man playfully in the chest as if the two of you were children. “Back already I suppose. Where did you leave off to in such a hurry huh? You didn’t even wish me a farewell.”

“Well I had to see my cousins, make sure everything is settled in the North.”

“How are Sansa and Arya and Bran? Are they well?”

“They’re well. They do miss you.”

“You did tell them that I miss them as well, didn’t you?”

“Of course,” Jon smirked, “it’d be a crime not to.”

“Alright you two.” Dany smiled at the sight as she stepped up between you both, placing her hands on both your backs. “Let’s not keep everyone waiting.”

By the time that you had finished your supper and remained on your glasses of wine, mostly everyone had left, leaving just you, Jon, Dany, and a very drunken Tyrion who volunteered to share his delightful stories.

“And I said to him…..” Tyrion slurred out, squinting his eyes and pointing his finger in front of him as if the man he had confronted earlier at the market was standing right before him. “……..and I said to him….”

“Well what did you say to him Lord Tyrion?” You quirked a brow at the man on the opposite side of the dining table as you raised your goblet of wine to your lips, sending an amused look to your sister who sat on the end of the table next to you.

“I’m getting there.” Tyrion wagged his finger at you before returning to his story. “So I said to him……….” He stopped, confused for a brief moment as he turned to you. “Wait, what DID I say to him?”

“I’m afraid I do not know. And I’m afraid we STILL will not know until you tell us Lord Tyrion. So please, enlighten us.” You answered with a smile, eliciting a soft laugh from Jon who sat on the other side of Daenerys, across from you.

“Now don’t get smart with me.” Tyrion rolled his eyes in a teasing manner. “Ahah. I remember now. So…….the man comes up to me…………insults me to my face about my height…….calls me an imp. And I said to him…………listen here you half wit………I may be small………………..but your cock is merely an arms length from my fist, remember that.”

“Oh gods.” You rolled your eyes, throwing your head back as soft laughter broke out at the table before Tyrion went on with another story.

Your thoughts drifted off as you sat at your seat, your face illuminated by the candles on the table as well as the ones of the chandelier above. Your fingers traced along the rim of your silver goblet, your eyes glued to the wine resting motionless inside like a mirror of crimson, it’s deep red liquid bringing you back to your past.

Days had turned to months when you had arrived to the North at Lord Pythias’s manor, a land that was completely foreign to you, a land in which you knew no one except for Ser Bjorn, though the man never spoke much. Each day you spent inside the odious stone walls of the manor was as cold as the next, and each night the same as the last; a glass of ale and a drop of the potion from the vial, and an unconscious Lord Pythias that allowed you to protect yourself from his hands and his immoral intentions.

In the time that you had spent away from the old man, away from everyone, you would stay confined in your room. And at night, when the moon was high and when everyone was asleep, you would sneak off to meet with the Braavosi, who had offered to train you in the art of the dagger. And each weary night you spent training and sparring with him, each night leaving you scraped and bruised, you became more skilled than the last, when at last you were the one to hold the blade to his throat. And in that moment, with you standing over him, the sharp end of your blade pressed to his neck, you could have sworn you saw a hint of a smile on the face of the man who remained ever grim.

But one night; one cold, moonless and windy night had changed everything. You were in your room, dressed in your nightgown while you braided your hair, preparing yourself for bed until you heard someone slam open your door and barge into your room. Startled, you looked through the reflection of your mirror, thinking it was one of the maids when your heart dropped at the sight of Lord Pythias stumbling into the room, more drunk than ever. You did not know what had happened. You gave him the potion, you were sure of it. You could not understand why the effects of the potion did not take place that night. Perhaps he had built an immunity to it, you would never know. But everything that happened next was a blur, like a smear of chalk across one your sketches.

You remembered him pinning you face down on your bed, crushing you beneath his weight as he held your wrists together behind you. You remembered screaming, your face and the mattress soaked with your tears. You remembered his hand pushing up the skirt of your nightgown as he struggled with the button of his pants. And then, as of some strange occurrence, something stopped him before he could do anything. You could not figure out what had spawned within you. Next thing you knew, you were on top of him with his throat slit, the dagger that Ser Bjorn had given you held tightly in your hands, your white nightgown and your skin covered in his blood, soaking the mattress beneath you as you stabbed him, over and over.

What came over you, you had no knowledge of, nor could you remember. You tried to tell yourself that it was purely fear, that you were just a scared young girl of age 12 who protected herself against her attacker. But your reflection in the mirror; your face painted red and the faintest flicker of an ancient flame behind your eyes told you different. And yet, the strangest part of it all, even more so than your very reflection that haunted you to this day, was that the dagger was nowhere within reach, tucked away in the drawer of your desk.

“Lady y/n………..lady y/n.” You heard Tyrion call out to you, bringing you out of your thoughts.

“Hm?” You blinked, turning your attention back to the present.

Daenerys had noticed how you had zoned off just a moment ago, recognizing that familiar scrunch towards the middle of your brows and the way your eyes glazed over as you became lost within your own thoughts. You felt her place her hand on top of yours, her fingers sending you a reassuring squeeze, to which you returned a smile that meant you were alright.

“You didn’t…….hiccup….listen to a word I said did you.” Tyrion waved his finger at you, a sly smirk on his lips as he let out another hiccup. “Or is it……………Princess Y/n now, considering…………your sister is……….officially queen.”

“I am whatever you wish to call me, Lord Tyrion.”

“Don’t say that.” Tyrion gave you a stern yet puzzled look. “That……..just gives others an excuse…….to call you nasty names………..something you might not like. So princess……or……..your royal highness it is!”

“I think you’ve had enough wine for tonight, Lord Tyrion.” You chuckled.

“That!” Tyrion started, “…………is entirely true, I will not deny. After all………what kind of a man would I be…………….to deny myself being drunk. To deny something as obvious as being drunk………..is to deny other things.”

“Always the wise man with the wise words.” You gave Tyrion a soft smile.

“That………is also true.” Tyrion started to get off his seat. “Now, if you would as to be so kind………..Princess y/n…..to walk me back to my chambers before I make a further fool of myself.”

“Of course Lord Tyrion.” You smiled, sending Jon and Dany a look that meant you won’t be long as you walked Tyrion back to his chambers, making sure he did not fall over in the process.

By the time that you returned to the dining hall, a slight sway in your step as you held your hand up to stifle a yawn, you walked in on Jon and Daenerys speaking to each other in hushed tones, the two of them halting their conversation upon seeing you enter, their eyes following you as you returned to your seat.

“You two weren’t gossiping about me were you? If so, I’m afraid I don’t have my tea with me.” You teased, a smirk playing on your lips as you sat back down on your chair. You quirked a brow in curiosity as you saw them give each other a look that usually meant that something serious had to be discussed, a look that you had seen often many times before. “I know that look. What is it?”

“There is something you ought to know.” Daenerys spoke up as she looked at you, her manicured fingers lightly drumming against the table as she was unsure of how you were going to react to the news. “Something we have not told you.”

“Oh?” You eyed their expressions carefully as you straightened up in your seat, taking another sip of your wine. “What is the matter?”

“Jon and I……”

“You’re in love, I know.” You interrupted with a smile, holding your hand up before setting it down on the smoothness of the wooden table. “There’s no need to tell me. I’d have to be either blind as a bat or a complete fool to not notice the…longing looks the two of you share. Not to mention the amount of times I have caught the two of you sneaking kisses-“

“Y/n….” Jon cleared his throat, embarrassed with the fact that you had caught the two of them together, not once, but multiple times.

“Jon is a Targaryen.” Daenerys finally spoke.

You froze, staring at Daenerys as if she had uttered the most absurd thing known to man.

Daenerys and Jon watched your face with the utmost observation, their skin turning cold from your lack of response as they waited for something, anything from you, but all they were met with was silence on your end. You had only sat still, unmoving like one of the statues in the garden.

“……….what?” You spoke out in a whisper, your voice almost inaudible as you let out a laugh of uneasiness. “Is this some sort of a jest?” Your eyes traced over the features of your sister, trying to figure out if she was playing some form of a twisted trick or whether either of you had too much wine even though you only drank a cup, but the seriousness of her countenance spoke enough.

“Y/n.” Jon sighed, knowing not only how much it must come as a shock to you, but also how you might feel utterly betrayed by them keeping such a thing from you. “My father was Rhaegar Targaryen, and my mother Lyanna Stark. My real name is Aegon Targaryen.”

Aegon Targaryen. Jon was the son of your eldest half-brother Rhaegar. So the stories you heard were false.

“It…..it can’t be.” You shook your head in disbelief, finding it hard to fathom that Jon, the man whom you have known for years, your close friend, had been your kin this whole time.

“Y/n you know I would never lie to you.” Jon looked at you, knowing how much it pained you to hear of this now as you stared back into his dark eyes.

You let out a laugh, a smile appearing on your face as you were not quite sure how to respond or even feel about the matter. You were shocked more than anything. “You’re……..you’re a Targaryen.”

“I am.” Jon blinked, slightly confused at the brightness of your face. He could not quite figure out how you felt about what had been revealed. Were you…..were you delighted with the news?

“Well that’s good yes? That means Dany and I aren’t the last two remaining Targaryens. When did you find out?”

“During our time in Winterfell.” Daenerys answered, her gaze ever so trained on your face as she watched how your eyes darted in thought.

“Winterfell? You’re……you’re telling me this now?” You let out a scoff as you stood up from your seat, pushing your chair back with a loud skid against the floor as you moved to pace about the room. “Why did you not tell me then?”

“We meant to tell you earlier.” Jon frowned.

“We were afraid of how you would have handled the news.” Daenerys watched you from her seat, her violet eyes following you as you still paced slowly about.

You started to play with the ring on your finger, the pads of your fingertips running over the grooves of the silver band and the gemstone that sat in the center. Your mind was reeling as you tried to piece everything together, from the stories you were told and how many of them turned out to be lies. It all started to make sense, Jon being a Targaryen. Laughing in disbelief, you turned to face them once more, but your face dropped as the sudden realization came to you. That meant Jon was your half-nephew, and Daenerys, oh gods, that made Daenerys his aunt. “Seven hells.” You breathed out, unable to prevent your lips from twisting into revulsion as you pointed between the two of them, knowing fully well that they slept together. “You two……gods……but the two of you……oh I think I’m going to be sick.” You held a hand to your stomach, pressing your other hand to the table to keep you up as you bent over it.

“Come now y/n.” Daenerys scoffed at your reaction. “I admit it came as a shock to me as well. But it’s not like it is anything foreign within our family. After all, our own father married his sister, and our grandparents and ancestors before them. Even I thought I was to marry Viserys when I was a little girl.”

“But Dany, this is wrong.” You exasperated before turning Jon. “Jon, are you not a bit……I don’t know. Does this not disgust you?”

“Y/n, I understand how you might feel about this.” Jon tried to calm you down.

“You’re her nephew! Dany, you’re his aunt! You do understand that don’t you?”

“Now don’t try to act like you’re better.” Dany stood up from her seat, offended by the way you were treating her as if she were suddenly beneath you and that the whole issue was completely out of your own bloodline despite being a Targaryen yourself. “You yourself were married to a Sta-“

“Don’t!” You snapped with a flicker of your eyes, your hands shaking at the mention of your late husband as a frown made its way on your lips. “You really should not have said that.”

“Y/n-“ Jon stood up from his seat, his heart sinking from the reminder of your husband’s death as well as the expression that now settled in the features of your face.

“I…I can’t deal with this right now. I can’t believe you would mention him Dany.” You stood up, your heart tearing apart though you held your chin high, fighting against the tears that threatened to spill.

“Y/n please, let’s sit down and talk about this.” Jon gestured.

“No.” You spoke firmly, your jaw tight. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go clear my head.” Avoiding to meet their eyes and ignoring their calls, you stormed out of the dining hall, leaving a worried Jon and a rather displeased Daenerys.

“Don’t worry.” Jon put a hand on Danny’s shoulder. “Let her think this through on her own. I’ll go check on her.”

It was not long till you barged into the confines of your chambers, slamming the door behind you with clenched fists as you pressed your back against the wooden door. Your chest rose and fell with each heavy breath that felt like daggers in your lungs as you plopped down at the edge of your bed, burying your head into your hands as tears streamed down your cheeks. Your frame trembled as you became trapped within a whirlwind of emotions that tore themselves at you; from the shock of learning Jon’s true lineage, to the affair between your sister and him, to your sister bringing up your late husband’s name, to being confused about your own marriage. The last two had hit you the hardest, striking a blow against you, especially when it was something you tried so desperately to forget. Learning of Jon’s connection to you made you question the relationship you had with the man you loved and married. And the more you pondered on it, the more you did not know whether to feel horrified or heartbroken.

You wanted to leave, to pack your things and set sail far away from Westeros and disappear from the land that only reminded you of all that you had lost. Your soul yearned to start a new life for yourself, to gather your dragons and live a life free of pain and torment and war. And yet, a small part of you, the Targaryen blood that ran through your veins, desired to gather your army and lay claim to land that has yet to be claimed, to build your own kingdom. You had even begun to pack some of your belongings, your luggage tucked away under your bed to keep out prying eyes that might turn a single utterance of a word into a string of gossip. But more importantly, you were unsure of how to go about telling your sister and Jon that you wanted to go away, to travel to foreign land that one has not seen, without the slightest idea of your return. Nor did you have the heart to tell them.

There was a soft knock upon your wooden door, drawing you out of your thoughts, and as you turned towards it, you saw Jon enter, his face filled with concern at your weeping figure.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to be left alone.” You turned your head away to hide your glistened face.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” You huffed out, wiping away at your tears as you straightened yourself up.

“Well you don’t look fine.” Jon sighed as he took a seat next to you, your bed sinking slightly from the weight. “Look, y/n, I’m sorry we didn’t tell you sooner.”

“Hmph. Who would have thought you were my nephew this whole time even though you’re older than me.”

“No one. Not even me I suppose.” Jon chuckled softly, his eyes cast downwards. “I’m sorry that Dany brought him up. I’m sure she didn’t mean to.” He apologized, knowing how much it pained you to be reminded of him, especially with how you still blamed yourself to this day for his death.

“I just……..I miss him so much.” You sniffled, not being able to stop the tears that now flowed freely no matter the times you wiped them away. “Gods, I can’t even say his name nor think of him without breaking into tears.”

“You loved him very much, you still do.” Jon smiled, seeing that you still wore the ring that was given to you at your wedding, your actual wedding. “And he loved you. I’m sure if he was here right now he’d tell you just that. He would tell you how proud he is of you, to see how far you’ve come and how strong you were. And being the person that he was, he would brag to the world of it, of how his wife led an entire army and helped win back the throne in her family’s name.”

A small smile formed on your lips at Jon’s words, a smile that held more sorrow than gaiety as you imagined he would have said the same exact thing. “I just…..I wished there was something I could have done, then maybe he would still be here and maybe……” you reflected to the night of your husband’s death as your hand moved over to place itself at your stomach, your fingers grazing over the groove of the scar hidden underneath the fabric of your dress.

“You shouldn’t blame yourself.” Jon comforted you, placing an arm around you as you leaned into him, wetting the fabric of his coat with your tears as you cried onto his shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault. None of it was your fault.”

As the two of you sat there for a moment, mourning the memory of the man who was not only your husband but also someone that Jon himself had shared a strong bond with, your thoughts began to once again drift off to the past, of the day that you first met the man you would grow to love.

The night of Lord Pythias’s death, Ser Bjorn had arrived swiftly to your chamber with his sword in hand upon hearing the sound of your screams as he feared for the worst, but what he came across was not quite what he had expected. His face remained still as he unraveled the scene before him; Lord Pythias lying dead on your bed with his throat slit as multiple stab wounds lined his chest. And then there was you, huddled up in the corner covered in his blood, your face expressionless and the dagger that the Braavosi had given you held tightly in your hands, and the hint of a flickering of a flame behind your hollow eyes. And in that moment, that is when Ser Bjorn knew.

You looked up from your dazed state, seeing Ser Bjorn stand over you with your cloak and a bundle of clothes in his hands as you suddenly remembered the dead lord on your bed, thinking you were going to get executed for your crime. “Ser Bjorn. I’m sorry I-“

“Quiet.” He threw the clothes down at you, keeping an eye on your door in case any of Lord Pythias’s men decided to show as he handed you a rag. “Wipe your face and put these on. Quick.”

“But these are boys clothes.” You looked at the dark muddy colored wool tunic and pants with skepticism, not really understanding what the Braavosi had in mind.

“Do as I say GIRL.”

You wanted to ask the Braavosi what he was getting at, to understand just exactly what plan had formed in his mind as he carefully went over to your door to scan the hallways. But you decided against it, thinking twice about asking any questions at a time as threatening as this.

With your brows etched in dread, you threw the clothes on top of your nightgown, lacing up your boots before tying the leather belt around your waist and sticking your dagger in it, making sure to wipe your face with the rag to the best of your abilities while Ser Bjorn kept a lookout.

“Hold still.” The man ordered as he turned you around, using a knife to cut off your braid as your felt your hair fell down to your face.

With widened eyes, you reached a hand back, feeling your hair now end at your jaw instead of your lower back before glancing at your reflection. It was now that you realized what Ser Bjorn had in mind, a plan to disguise you as a boy in order for you to escape with your life.

“Now listen carefully girl.” The man turned you around, placing his hands on your shoulders as he did so. “You’re going to head farther up North until you reach the walls of Winterfell. There you will meet a man of the name Ned Stark. Tell him I sent you. Stay on your feet and DO NOT turn back.”

“But what about you?” You frowned, tears of fear forming in your eyes as you stared into the dark eyes of the man before you, the eyes of a man whom you might not see again.

“Do not worry about me. I taught you to use the dagger, now use it. Remember girl, valar morghulis.”

“Valar dohaeris.”

Ser Bjorn gave you a push towards the door. “Now go.”

“But-“ Your lip quivered as you became overwhelmed with fright, the fear of once again being left out on your own settling within your bones like a disease.

“Go!”

Giving Ser Bjorn one last look, you ran out from your chambers, making sure to lower your head as you hurried through the hallways and out the building, leaving the warmth of the fireplace that was in your room and being faced with the cold wintery air of the North. You did not know how far or how long you ran, but all you could remember was the ache in your legs, the pounding of your heart and the adrenaline that rushed through your veins as you kept moving, running through the woods in the middle of the darkness that belonged to the night, the branches of the trees slicing across your face until you no longer set foot in Lord Pythias’s land.

Night had turned to day, and all the energy and strength that flowed through you when you left the manor had now diminished, leaving you exhausted and begging for rest. But no matter how much your eyes drooped, or how much you wanted to collapse on the dirt beneath you, you remembered Ser Bjorn’s words. ‘Stay on your feet and do not turn back’. And so you did as much as your feet allowed you to. You began to worry on what could have happened to the Braavosi since you left, praying to the gods to keep him safe and that you would soon meet again. And as you trudged along, your boots and the hem of your cloak caked in mud, your face showing signs of weariness and your lips chapped from the lack of water, you heard the snap of a twig behind you. Turning around, you saw three older men approach you from the distance, their appearance as unkept as the dirt beneath their feet.

“Well what have we here?” One of them smiled, flashing his poorly kept teeth. “What are ye doing out here boy?”

“Ya think he’s one of the Stark boys?” The other man nodded in your direction as he gave you a once over.

Stark boys? That must have meant that Winterfell was near.

“Are you a Stark, boy?” The first one spoke, eyeing the clothes on your back before becoming irritated from your lack of a response. “You deaf, boy? Or just mute”

“He don’t look like a Stark.” The third of the group shook his head, his eyes roaming your person as to search for any signs of coin or wealth. “You got anything for us boy?”

“Stay back!” You pulled out your dagger from its sheath, barely able to hold the blade out in front of you from the lack of food and water as your heart beat rapidly in your chest while the men only laughed.

“Now what exactly are you going to do with that, huh little boy?” The first one laughed as he eyed your dagger. “Hey, that’s a pretty knife. I think I’ll have to get me it.”

The man who seemed to be the boss lunged at you, his hands held out in front of him as he tried to grab you. Remembering Ser Bjorn’s training, you stepped off to the side, slicing the man across the face as you did so.

“Agh!” The man grunted in pain, pressing his hand to his face before bringing his hand down to see his blood coating his palm. “Why you bastard cunt! You cut me! Get him!” He shouted at his two men.

You nearly tripped over yourself as you faced the other direction you were originally headed, running as fast as you were able from the three goons that chased you down. Your legs felt as if they had turned to wood as you sprinted once more through the thicket of trees, your each step seeming to get more heavy than the last as you kicked up the dark mud from beneath you, your clothes only starting to weigh you down from the mud that clung to it. And as you darted through the trees, fearing that you lost your way and that there was no escape to this endless maze of your fate, the sharp branches grabbed ahold of your cloak, tearing it from your body as you ducked beneath the trunk of a tree that had fallen over.

Turning your head back, you saw that the men were starting to gain on you, their faces furious from your attack on their leader. You tried to push yourself to quicken your pace, to keep going until you reached the land that Ser Bjorn informed you of in hopes of your own survival, but to no avail. No matter how hard you tried to outrun them, you were at a disadvantage. They not only outnumbered you, but they also overpowered you in both size and strength. You turned your head back to the front, facing the path in front of you until you felt something hook around your ankle. There was a harsh pull at your leg as you attempted another step, and as you looked down in horror, you saw that your foot had gotten caught between one the roots that belonged to the trees. With a gasp of fright, you fell down into the mud, letting out a scream from the sharp pain that suddenly spread from your foot and up your leg.

“There you are! You little bastard!” The leader hovered over you as you fought against him, grabbing you by the collar before bringing his fist down to connect with your jaw.

A snarl ripped out of your throat as you bared your teeth, the taste of copper filling your mouth as you ignored the throbbing pain in your face and your ankle once your fight response kicked in. Your tried to struggle against the man’s grip, scratching at his face in an attempt to gauge out his eyes like Ser Bjorn had taught you, but the man only swatted your hands away, hissing at the scratches you left behind.

“Agh! You fucking cunt!” The man barked, picking up your dagger that had slipped out of your hand from your fall, pinning you down against the mud as he held the blade up to your face. “You’ll pay for what you did. I’m gonna carve your face up like ye did mine.”

Your eyes widened against the sharp blade of the dagger, the terror in your eyes evident in your own reflection held in the shiny metal. The other two men surrounded you, watching you being held down with amusement in their smiles. Beads of sweat formed at your forehead, contradicting the iciness of your blood as you twisted beneath the weight of the man above you, watching the point of the dagger come closer, and closer. You tried to scream for help, praying that your calls would soon be answered and that someone might come to your aid. But there came no one. And it was in that moment, that you thought you might breathe your last.

A blood curdling scream tore itself from your throat as the man pressed the sharp point of the dagger into the skin of your forehead, dragging the blade over your brow and down your cheek, making sure to take his time as to provide you with as much torment possible. You squeezed your eyes shut against the excruciating paint that overtook your face, nearly passing out from the sensation. It was as if your body was close to shutting down. Your vision became blurry as a numbness circulated through every inch of you, your throat raw from your screams as you could no longer cry for help. You believed that this was it, that death had finally appeared himself before you as you looked up to see the man hold your dagger up above him, a rage filled grin on his face as he was ready to end your life.

“Please.” You rasped out in a desperate attempt, uncertain if you were speaking to the man who was about to kill you or the gods above. And then, as if your prayers were answered, you heard shouts in the distance, their voices muffled out by the fatigue that began to overcome you as you watched an arrow pierce itself through the goon’s shoulder. The man let out a yelp, dropping your dagger near your head as he fell off you. Time seemed to slow around you as you laid there, unmoving, your eyes glossed over as you listened to the clashing of swords. You tried to keep yourself awake, afraid that you would be no more the moment you shut your eyes until a figure hovered over you.

“H-help.” You breathed out, coughing from your own blood as the lids of your eyes grew heavier by the second as you slowly lost the will to fight.

“It’s alright.” You heard them speak. A boy from the sound of it as he called out for his father before turning back to you, a glimpse of soft brown curls and a pair of blue eyes that searched your face. “You’re safe.”

“H-help.” You spoke once more, the world around you fading into black as your ears picked up on his father calling out his name.

Robb.

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