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melo-yello · 5 years

Text

Bloodie Knuckles

Not my moodboard

Pairing(s): Sweet Pea x POC Reader

Warning(s): swearing, angst, fluff

Summary: Y/n has got an axe to grind and some missed placed rage. Who better than Sweet Pea to help her out.

A/N: This takes place somewhere in season 2. I like my Sweet soft but tuff around the edges so be prepared. Also reblog or comment and I'll add you to the Taglist.

Word Count: 4k+

Wrappers and loose leaf pages decorated the floor around your feet. The awful mood that hung on your shoulders since receiving the worst news of your life only seemed to pile higher and higher.

“Where the hell is it?” You curse ripping yet another item form your locker and tossing it to the tiled hallway floor.

The pastel pink snake plushie flew from the top shelf. Sweet Pea had won you that on your last trip to Midnight Park , a cruddy little amusement park just pass Greendale barely worth the trip. The small theme park had been a home away from since you guys were kids. Fangs and Pea would compete for prizes at every single booth while you and Toni took on every coaster in sight.

Naturally Sweet Pea would take you there as a first date. Insisting Pop's just wasn't special enough. After taking down three 8 year olds, a 12 year old and two 14 year olds in a water gun race Sweet Pea presented you with the goofy pink snake with enough charm to rival his own.

The teddy usually proudly positioned at the top of your cluttered locker now lay on top of your dingy white canvas high tops.

The longer you searched the small confides of the metal walls the more your temper edged over its peak.

You slammed the now empty locker enough force to rattle a few beside it. It rang up and down the corridor. The mob of teens rushing to morning classes almost shrieked to a standstill to find the source of the abrupt commotion.

“Jeez Y/n, are you okay!?” The former lead pussycat turned river vixen asked placing a concerned hand on your shoulder. One of the last people you wanted to see at the moment. All too easy of a target to lose the full weight of your rising temper.

Cynical laughter erupted from your chest as you turned to face her. She had no idea the unbridaled flames that wait behind that glass smile you gave her.

“You would know wouldn't you, Popstar Princess. Or are you too busy to care about what happens to the Southside?” You quipped down at the girl who barely made it past your shoulders.

Out of the corner of your e/c eyes you see Toni and Fangs turn the corner just in time to watch the scene unfold. You shrug. Your rage in every sense was grounded.

Toni knew that wild look in your eyes all to well. She tugged the taller serpent down and whispered something to him. Fangs simply nodded and pulled out his phone. He exchanged a few phrases and then hung up all without his eyes leaving your face.

Too bad you couldn't bring yourself to care.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

Hostility steeping dangerously hot between the two of you.

“Oh just that your Mom is doing great job of screwing over the Southside!” The venom that had been boiling in your veins finally slipping over.

“My mom is just doing her job!”

“I'd sure as hell hate to see what it looks when she doesn't!”

“What is your problem?”

“Don't even get me started. Shit, even you aren't that blind, Primadonna?! Let me see I can't pick between her being a hypocrite or forcing me and family out on the street.”

“Y/n, I'm so so sorry it's jus-”

“But tell me how does she possibly fit the time in her busy schedule to pull all nighters with Sheriff Keller in sleazy little motel rooms.” You hissed pulling your ring clad hands into a tight fist.

Each finger arrayed in metal and cheap gemstones. Your h/c curls hung freely as a menacing glare settled onto your features.

Astonished gasp sweeps through the crowd.

“What the hell are you trying to say?” Josie's remorseful confusion melted into furious indignation.

Wild eyed embarrassment made its way onto her face. Your lips curl in sneer as you clear your throat. Before the words could leave your lips grunts and curses rippled from the back of the mob of teens.

“Move the fuck out of my way.” Rang the gruff voice of the tall dark haired serpent pushing his way through the crowd and glaring down at anyone who dared to question him just to plant himself directly behind to you.

A firm warm hand grasped your shoulder. His touch nearly cold compared to the searing heat broiling just below your brown skin. You glance long enough to meet the soft pleading expression that played across his features.

For a split second your confidence crumbled into conflicted confusion. The hurt just below the surface peeking through. A lapse in your molten fury that was cold and vulnerable revealed itself to his piercing deep brown eyes.

“Y/n. Don't.” He warned gently. A simple request to leave that night where it was.

To leave that night at Shady Palms a memory. A memory swallowed in secrets. Secrets that didn't belong to either of you. You both just witnesses to one of the many lies that litter this town. A lie on the Northside two serpents were never supposed to see.

…

“How about we grab some snacks then we can try that corkscrew thing I was telling you about.” You giggle pulling Pea's blazer onto your shoulders as you both exited the motel room. Hiding away the lacey f/c bra from the outside world as you straighten your black pencil skirt and shuffle into your shoes.

The defined h/c curls that crowned your head and elegantly framed your face at the beginning of the evening were now ruffled and slightly frizzed. Strong thick fingers had worked themselves in and out and around them. Pretty much ruining the style.

Not that you could complain. His methods were proving to be quite satisfactory to say the least.

“Baby, if I knew all you needed to be absolute freak was a room at Shady Palms, I never would have waited for a special occasion to bring you here.” Pea laughed tucking his hands into his slack pockets not bothering to button the top half of his white dress shirt. He wore the red trail of hickies down his neck and chest with pride. His thick charcoal locks were smoothed back and out of eyes. Making those chocolate irises even more captivating.

Sweet Pea finally dawning something without leather or a snake on it.

You didn't look like serpents tonight.

You just looked like teens. Teens with trouble in your eyes and hope hidden behind every smile. You almost looked like you belonged on this side of town. Like maybe you crept from your bedrooms as your loving parents held each other in their own bed as the tikes slept soundly down the hall and your golden retriever curled up on the edge of your bed.

The only tell of Southside on you both was the serpent ink.

You shoved the giant teen and nearly tripped over your creme colored pumps.

“You still can't walk in those things?” Pea snickered offering his arm to steady you.

“I wear them to keep up with you. It's not my fault I've got to look like a giraffe to do that.” You grumbled while accepting his arm and tucking yourself into his side.

A smirk settled on his face genuinely happy to welcome your warm frame close to his own. You rest your head on his shoulder.

“A sexy ass giraffe.” Sweet Pea chuckled.

You couldn't help but laugh at him and how matter of factly he said it. A snort escaping your throat only made him laugh even harder.

“Right this way Mayor McCoy.” The hardy voice of Sheriff Keller rang out as he stepped into the hazy fluorescent light with a self assured grin on his face.

The laughter died in your throats. Your feet cement themselves to the ground. Pea slid his hand from his pocket and laced his fingers into yours. You pressed your palm flush against his.

A silent promise of loyalty.

Not matter what.

Mayor McCoy shook her head latching onto his arm.

“Oh come Tom, how many times do have to tell you. Call me Sierra.” She giggled tugging a puppy dog eyed Sheriff Keller into a room a few doors away from where you and Pea stood frozen. But not before she pulled Keller’s lips down to hers.

“Shit?!?” Pea muttered as you both stared transfixed on the Mayor and Sheriff tangled around each other.

Both watching as the door shut to the cheap room. Waiting for the click like it was permission to breath. With that the tension in the air fizzled.

“I really hope they don't need anything from the vending machine.” You snickered awkwardly looking up at Pea doing your best to resurrect the bubbly energy of before.

Sweet Pea took the bait as he pressed a kiss onto the back of your palm and wrapped his arm around your soft hips.

“I don't think Skittles come in a self righteous flavor yet so we're safe.”

Your steps retake the aimless trot to the machine glittering in the moonlight at the corner. Little jokes tumble back and forth from your lips to his. Leaving whatever those two were doing in that room. Leaving the illusion of the North side intact.

Here was so Safe. And so Honest. And so Pure.

...

You snatch yourself free from his grip pressing the overflowing emotions back down in their bottle.

“Are all you northsiders that dense? It seems that our beloved Mayor McCoy is busying putting in overtime screwing-”

“Oh Fuck You, Trailer Trash!” Josie screamed pushing you square in the chest ruffling the grey tee with sleeves cuffed and blood red script reading Try Me Bitch.

You stumble back.

Ooos ripple from the surrounding crowd.

“Take it back, Pussybrat!” You demand stepping up to her.

“Why should I! Hey maybe you tell your parents to pay their damn rent and they wouldn't have these problems when someone actually does what their job.” The mob continued to instigate.

Your chest tightened. The rapid drumming of your own heartbeat filled your ears.

“You'll be lucky if you can stand after saying that shit to me!” You snarled her sweater dress filling your fist and drawing back with the other.

No hesitation.

You swung full force only for your body to be snatched backwards and slung into the air and finally over an impossibly broad shoulder.

“What the hell!”You bark trying to shake yourself free from the constrictor grip Sweet Pea had on your hips.

His signature scent of cheap cologne and wildflowers gave him away immediately.

“Josie you okay?” Pea mused ignoring your protests as he helped her to her feet.

“She sure as hell won't be if your let me finish what I started. Put me the fuck down!” You growl slamming your fists into his back over and over again.

“She's sorry too.” Sweet Pea shrugged making no indication he even felt your hits.

Josie just nodded waving him off as she straightened her mustard mini dress with off the shoulder puffed sleeves.

A steady ache in your fists made that clear he was unphased so you stopped.

“You can bet your pretty ass I'm not.” You spat wiggling in Pea's firm grasp.

He kissed his teeth and turned away from her as the crowd parted letting him through. No one was willing to chance the absolutely definite asskicking they'd get if they didn't step out of his way.

Your curses circled the hallways as he rounded the corner. It wasn't until he stepped inside the empty gymnasium did he place you on the ground.

“You crossed a line back there.” Sweet Pea scolded staring down at you in utter disbelief.

“No Pea I didn't you made sure of that!” You huffed crossing your arms glaring back at those disappointed dark eyes.

Don't gimme that look.

“You know what I'm talking about! Shit,Y/n! We made a promise not to say a word. That was not your shit to unpack!”

“Someone had to pop the wannabe teen idol's bubble! She was gonna find out eventually!”

“You didn't do that for her! That's not why you said that shit! You had half school watching! THAT IS NOT HOW YOU HAN-”

“I HAD THAT SHIT HANDLED, PEA!”

“LIKE HELL YOU DID, L/N!” Sweet Pea shouted throwing his hands in the air. His own temper flaring which only fueled yours. Sweet Pea cut his eyes away from you.

“YOU HEARD THAT COCKY LITTLE BITCH, PEA! YOU HEARD HER CALL ME TRAILER TRASH! SWEETS, YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE THE ONE ON MY SIDE!! AM I THE ONLY ONE THAT CARES THAT THE NORTHSIDE IS TRYING TO SNUFF US OUT!” You raged eyes wild as you press your curls away from your face and those e/c eyes of yours settle on the ground. The shame of it all beginning to set in.

“I heard it and any other day I would have chewed that brat out, but I'm not standing by so you can total McCoy's ass and get suspended. Babe who else's side could I be on? Why do think I tossed your crazy ass over my shoulder? You've got to chill you're starting to sound like Jones.”He snickered rolling his eyes doing his very best to lighten your mood.

But the tension pressed into your features didn't clear.

“SWEETS I'M SERIOUS! IT'S LIKE THEY'RE TRYING TO ERASE THE SOUTHSIDE! FIRST OUR SCHOOL! THEN OUR JACKETS! THEN OUR CLOTHES! AND NOW OUR HOMES! THEY'RE TAKING EVERY PIECE OF THE SOUTHSIDE FROM US! Before we know it ...they'll be...nothing left.” You fumed stepping toward him and taking his hand in yours halfway expecting him to pull away.

He didn't.

Instead he curls his warm fingers around yours without hesitation. Perfectly surrounding your hand so naturally as if his were made to intertwined with yours.

“Gonna take a wild guess this doesn't have shit to do with Josie.”

Your words stick to the mucus that starts to coat your throat. Eyes glassy now, you just nod as you try to swallow the lump forming in your throat.

He always could read you like an open book. Hell most people could but he was good at it. All the hidden meaning and subtext were child's play for him. He just knew you.

Pea's your even match. He always made you feel safe and like nothing could get to you. Like the world just couldn't knock you down. Like as long as you had each other there wasn't anything that could tear you two apart. That you didn't have to cry if you didn't want to.

But not now…

Everything just kept crumbling. The hot tears you'd been sealing away since you tore that eviction notice from your door stung at the corners of eyes.

“Aye Y/n, we're fine. We're gonna make it Serpents always do.” He whispered confidently pulling you into him and your head to his chest gently stroking h/c curls away from your face.

“Sweets, I'm sorry. Just sorry. So fucking sorry.” You muttered wrapping your arms tightly around his waist. Trying pull him as close to you as possible. Anchoring yourself in his frame. Hoping to hide every fallen tear in the fabric of his black shirt. Teeth tearing into your bottom lip as you beg yourself to be strong.

"No you're not Baby. What did you do? Why are you apologizing?” He hummed trying his best to just hold you. Hold onto your trembling form while you unraveled in his arms. Wrapping himself around your broken parts so he could brace your fall.

Vulnerably for you was the hardest. You hated to let him see you break down and hurt and cry. Giving him part of the weight of the pain you carried always gave you pause.

Could he still love me when I break.

Could he still love me when I fall apart in front of him.

You had a tendency to hold it all in usually until it all came pouring out. Sweet Pea gently rubbed circles into your back and tangled his fingers into your soft h/c curls.

And waited.

“Yes I am. I'm so sc…so scared. Sweets, I'm sorry because I'm scared. I've been so scared for days. I haven't been sleeping. Barely eating. I don't have anywhere else. Sunnyside is all I've got. I can't go anywhere else. Aren't you scared, Pea? I'm terrified. I haven't been this scared in a long time. I was trying to be brave. I wanted to be brave for you, for Cass, for the serpents, for everyone , but… I just can't. What are we gonna do?! Fuck I can't be some foster kid! What if they take me from all of this. All I've ever known! What if they take me away from the serpents! What about Cass? What about Fangs?! What about Toni?! What about Jug and FP?! What about you Sweets?! I Can't Lose Everything Again! I Can't Lose You! Fuck Keller! Fuck the Mayor! Fuck My Folks…fuck them…they.” Your voice hitched in your throat. You couldn't bring your lips to form those words.

You trembled steadily.

...

The morning after your older sister's graduation. The stillness of the small metal house.

The quietness.

Completely uncanny. No fussing baby brothers woke you that morning. No 4 year old sister to throw a fit as you move her toys from the middle of the hallway floor. No smell of burning bacon and oatmeal filled the air. The loud curses traded between your mom and her boyfriend never came.

The tidiness. Like it had been professionally cleaned. Just an empty trailer and 10 year old.

A freshly sober big sister sat on the rickety sofa with an unopened beer next to a crumpled sheet of notebook paper. Her diploma tossed on the far side of the room. She just stared at the place where the tv should have been. Your little fingers unraveled the wad of notebook paper only to find a half assed letter.

Princess,

I'm done waiting for him. We're Leaving. Cass will take care of you.

Good Luck, Sweetheart.

scribbled in your mom's handwriting smeared with her signature peachy pink lipstick. Just below that a dingy 20 was taped to the page. Hot tears barreled down your cheeks as Cass stood snatching the beer from the table.

You latch yourself to her wrist. Pleas for her to stay rip from your lips. Snot trailing down your face as she freed herself from your grip.

“Screw them! Princess my ass! What the hell does she think a 20 is gonna do for the rest of your life!” She hissed slamming the trailer door.

The motorcycle revving and spraying the loose gravel by the trailer as she sped off out of the Sunnyside. You sat sticky faced with your knees tucked to your chest on the steps and prayed that someone would come back home.

...

“You don't have to say it. Baby, I know. Trust me I know.” Sweet Pea breathed unevenly as he squeezed you gently. He held the same tension in his shoulders as you.

The last couple days Sweets had been busy doing jobs for the Serpents. Pulling gigs well into the night. A welcomed distraction from the mass eviction of Sunnyside Trailer Park.

His home and the home of over half the Serpents.

His family.

Everything was falling apart.

The look of ruin that flashed across his aunt's face only to be replaced with solemn hopelessness sent chills down his spine.

Everything you both had ever known was teetering by a thread and you had been trying to shoulder it all by yourself.

You had hidden your terror in texts and in silly jokes and songs when he called. Assuring him that the Northside couldn't phase you. No matter what.

You lied and he believed.

Moments like these made it painfully clear in the grand scheme of this war between North and South you were still children who knew too little and whose voices didn't matter enough.

The silence was almost suffocating.

“Baby, you don't have to apologize,”He paused to cup your face in hands just to be sure your eyes met his, “We're all pretty damn scared. I've had knots in my stomach for days. I thought it be easier to ignore this bullshit. Wait for it to blow over, but only seems grow. Shit's hit the fan. Every time the Southside makes a statement it's punished. Drowned out like we don't deserve this town. Like we couldn't possibly know what this town does in the dark. The crime. The murder. The theft. The drugs. Hell even the psychos. Somehow are all thought to be spawns of serpents. Like all the demons of this town must be ours. But if their honest with themselves every monster that haunts this hell hole is of their own making. Lies are the only thing holding everything together. But we won't roll over and die. They can't tear us apart. Or scare us into submission.” He spilled out as if he'd been holding his breath. Pea bit his lip as a tear or two dribbled down his cheeks. His deep brown eyes holding such a courageous fear.

Like he was too afraid not to be brave. He had somehow managed to push all his fears and his worries into unadulterated boldness.

“Pea look at us we're a mess. Cryin and shit.” You smiled brushing a tear from his cheek.

“Baby, I'm not afraid of what I feel. You shouldn't be either.” He teased pressing a chaste kiss on your lips which was probably salty and snotty and gross. He made no indication he cared. He just returned your weak smile.

“I'm trying. It's just hard you know.” You mumbled placing your forehead against his chest.

“I know. I know. You did pretty good.”

“Really?”

“Really, Y/n. Just don't attack anymore cheerleaders. I think they put people off the squad for that shit.” He chuckled lifting your chin and placing a kiss on your forehead.

“I owe her an apology, don't I?” You wince rolling your puffy e/c eyes and taking his hand. Sweet Pea shrugged.

“You told like half school about her mom's affair so probably.” He nodded following you to the doors to the hallway.

Before you could reach them; the gymnasium doors swung open to reveal a very worried Fangs, Jughead, and Toni.

Your faces still wet and tear streaked. Especially yours.

“So this where you love birds ran off to.” Jughead snarked the worry peeling off his face.

Fangs without hesitation pulled you away from Sweet Pea and into a bear hug.

“Oh Y/n,” He cooed then held you by the shoulders scolding you, “What hell is wrong with you?!? Picking fights with the mayor's daughter?!? You wanna get rounded up all over again?!”

Sweet Pea snickered at the over affectionate serpent, but he still shifted to catch your expression to be sure Fangs wasn't upsetting you all over again.

“Sorry Fangs.” You smirked sheepishly.

Fangs nodded and pulled you in for another hug before letting you go. Toni shoving him eagerly aside.

“Outta my way, Mama Bear.” Toni said meeting your eyes with a burning ferociousity.

Toni's fairy-like stature was entirely inconsequential when she hit you with a face like that. Just a reminder she was very capable of kicking the ass of anyone in the room.

She traded death glares between you and Sweet Pea.

“Toni, I kno-” You cleared your thought to offer an apology, but she cut off with a hand.

“That was really stupid and-”

“And I shouldn't have done that.” You sighed hanging your head. Your temper had put Sweet Pea's shame.

“AND really bad ass!” She smiled punching you in the arm and then hugging you.

“Get over here Pea. Thanks for snatching up this crazy bitch.”

“Somebody had to.”The larger serpent just cheesed motioning for the other boys to join the hug.

The ring of bell brought the full house moment to the end. The five of you headed out attempting to pretend nothing had happened and get to 2nd period on time.

Taglist:@sweetwatersnake @nongmac001 @wayward-river @baileyboo22

#sweet pea #poc reader #poc representation #riverdale sweet pea #sweet pea x reader #josie mccoy #fangs fogarty #toni topaz #jughead jones #sweet pea imagine #sweet pea headcanon

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radiojamming · 5 years

Text

hungry-hobbits

tom hartnell and his dad crozier hang out

@hungry-hobbits YES VERY YES

tom, pointing at francis: is this a father figure?

(or; francis crozier and his newly-adopted son have a heart-to-heart on the gunwale)

- - -

It’s one of the few fine nights they’ve had. That is to say, there’s no frozen fog or heavy snow riding on merciless winds. Visibility is clear for miles in every direction, and even the clouds seem to have bowed away for a time, allowing for an indescribable view of the heavens and the moon. For a late winter evening in the Arctic, it’s not the worst they’ve had, and Francis intends to make the most of it. Besides, time away from his cabin will do him good.

He leaves Jopson to a moment of well-deserved rest (”Oh, oh, thank you, sir,” Jopson says, trying to sound less weary than he is, and he hardly offers another word of protest before making for the tables like a man possessed) and takes to the upper deck. Unlike his time in the Antarctic, being locked in the ice does not mean they discard the watches--the beast has seen to that. Under the canvas and in the thin shafts of lamplight, Francis sees the shapes of men in the form of shapeless lumps of wool, marked only by the crests of their hands or the frosted barrels of their guns.

A few greet him with a surprised but respectful, “Evening, Captain Crozier!” Samuel Crispe almost runs into him but literally stops on heel with a gasp. He makes his way through about five apologies before Francis eases him and pats him on the shoulder, telling him that he’s doing well. Crispe gives him a sharp salute, grins, and then makes his way back under the canvas.

Aside from these greetings, there’s not much activity on the upper deck of the Terror. Two men near the foremast are talking about summer in Hyde Park. William Sinclair hums to himself and punctuates his song with little skips in the march of his patrol. And Tom Hartnell--

Well, he can’t be blamed for nearly jumping out of his skin when Francis approaches his post near the mizzen. The boy is nervous on a good day, and after all of that reprehensible business with Mister Hickey and Mister Manson, he’s acted as a dog shying from a particularly violent master. Not that he’s done anything terrible since. Quite the contrary, according to hearsay; he’s been good as gold.

He fumbles to switch his gun to his left hand, giving Francis a shaky salute. “My apologies, Captain. I had no idea--”

Francis waves him off with a smile. “At ease, Mister Hartnell. I come unannounced.”

He watches Hartnell’s shoulders relax, but only just. Again, the boy could be forgiven for thinking that Francis comes with dual purpose. To further ease him, Francis walks towards the gunwale, looking out at the endless fields of ice, shattering now to form crooked pyramids like a sea of ancient ruins. The half moon peers down with indifference, but provides enough light to make out the strange shapes that the Arctic freely provides. Out of habit, even at this wistful point in the winter, Francis’ eyes look for telltale marks of leads. Of course, he finds none.

“You boys came from Chatham, correct?” he asks over his shoulder.

A pause. “Yes, sir,” Hartnell says, his voice much softer now.

Francis nods and turns his gaze back out towards the pack. “I’ve had plenty of occasion to be in that area. The Dockyards, and all. Did your father ever take you fishing upriver?”

He can’t mistake the soft draw of breath, and knows his mistake before Hartnell speaks.

“No, sir,” he replies. “He died when I was ten years old, and worked for most of the time I remember him.”

That seems to be the story of most of the Terror’s crew; broken, half-dead families and bruising heartache. In Hartnell’s case, he’s lost more even in the time they’ve been away.

“My apologies,” Francis says, and means it wholeheartedly. He turns away from the gunwale, resting his back against it. Hartnell, apparently detecting that Francis means to speak with him for more than a cursory minute, has made his post at the base of the mizzenmast, cradling his rifle in the crook of his left elbow. In the pale moonlight, he looks like some sorry spirit from a story, cast from the sea to warn for dangers ahead. It’s what struck Francis about him, the way he carries his sadness even in times of levity.

And it strikes him even more now, as Hartnell eases out of the stiff posturing of a man meeting his captain, and into his usual structure like a bent church steeple. There’s a fanciful part of Francis that considers him in the amused, poetic way that Fitzjames might; Hartnell acts as if he’s at a moment’s notice of offering the entire world an apology.

At first, Hartnell makes no immediate sign that he’s accepted what Francis has said. Then, at last, he bobs his head a bit and turns his gaze downward. Francis doesn’t miss the way he bites down on his bottom lip. Then, quietly, “It was a long while ago. You’ve nothing to apologise for.” He shakes his head, and offers something of a shy, watery smile. “My brother, however, did take me fishing.”

Francis returns the smile. It marks something--progress, perhaps--that the late elder Hartnell is invoked at all. “Did he now?”

“Aye, sir. We were both awful at it. Half the time we would end up in the water rather than out of it.” He gives Francis a look that can only best be described as conspiratorial. “I’d take lashes over how our mother would scold us for coming home soaked.”

That draws to mind some charming tableau of two knock-kneed little boys trying their best to avoid their mother’s wrath. He can almost see it, their soft giggling as they dare each other to hurry upstairs before she could catch them, and their twin looks of horror once they hear her voice. It warms him far more than the sputtering lanterns on the hooks around them now.

“He was a good man, I’m sure,” Francis says. He means this, even though he saw the elder Hartnell in brief glimpses in his life, and for the longest while during his funeral. His brother’s portrayal is by far more pleasant.

Hartnell nods, and even though he wears the same sadness, it seems to be cut of a lighter cloth now. Then, hesitation sparks across his face like it’s been struck from flint. Francis recognises it as a statement or question that fights to be asked, but is only kept in place with something like propriety or deference to authority. Aside from dour situations and unruly sailors, Francis has never enjoyed that look on his men. Hartnell may be an Erebus transplant, but Francis has resolutely counted him among his ranks regardless.

“You have leave to speak, Mister Hartnell. The only things that will hear you are myself and the ice, and the ice is not a keen listener at all.”

Hartnell nods, and perhaps tries to smile for Francis’ benefit (an amusing conversation partner he is not, and Hartnell doesn’t have to pretend). “Sir, I... I feel as if I haven’t properly apologised for my... for my actions with Mister Manson and Mister Hickey. I--”

Francis cuts him off. “No need, Mister Hartnell. A lash is a strong apology in itself.”

“There is a need,” Hartnell persists. He looks stricken now, and Francis knows with a sort of sense (parental, perhaps, in a way that comes only with his men) that this thought has been weighing on him. “What I did was reprehensible, and that I acted without consulting my captain is...” He pauses, thoughtful. Then, “I wouldn’t have forgiven myself, sir.”

The fact that Hartnell seems to believe that being coerced into Hickey’s company and machinations is on par with mutiny is striking to Francis. And although he holds all his men in similar esteem, Francis also knows that the weight of grief is not one easily alleviated, let alone one that causes men to make sound decisions. If anything, Hartnell was the one that Francis was most inclined to forgive for such an action. The fact that he felt no need to tell Hartnell that he expected better of him (the look on his face had been enough to tell him that the words needn’t be said) spoke of that esteem.

Francis furrows his brow. “Is there any reason you feel a need to say so?”

Hartnell swallows hard, and then nods. “John would have had a fit if he knew what I had done,” he says quietly. “When he was... When he--”

When he was dying, Francis fills in, watching the strange contortions that the thought makes on Hartnell’s face. “Towards the end,” Francis provides.

Hartnell lets out a breath, and seems grateful. “Towards the end,” he repeats. “When he could barely speak, I told him that he didn’t have to worry. I’d do him proud, I said. And he... Well, he seemed to understand that. Smiled at me, even, like he believed me.”

Guilt, then. That’s been the weight on him. Lord, does Francis know every pound of that same weight to a degree that he’s ashamed of.

Hartnell presses on, blinking hard in the moonlight. “After all of that business with Mister Hickey, I had this awful dream that John stood beside me during the lashing, and he was furious. He didn’t say a word. It was the most miserable dream I’ve ever had, sir. I woke feeling like I had let him down.”

It explains nearly everything: Hartnell’s flawless behavior since the incident, the way he pointedly avoids both Francis and Hickey in equal measure, the way he stoops like a penitent, and, if Francis means to get poetic, the way he frequently turns his eyes north like Beechey Island is just over a ridge--where the source of his guilt is quietly ensconced in ice and gravel.

Francis concedes this. God above, does he understand. His own heart weighs him down like a stone about his ankle, frequently causing him to spill into maudlin moods. Again, Terror is nothing if not home to heartache and old wounds. It’s been something that Fitzjames and Sir John had prodded him for before, but the truth is as stark as the white stripe on the bow. Hartnell is, if anything, a darkly amusing testament to this. Faced with his own grief, he turned to Terror like he knew that its hold was the place to store his sorrows.

(“It may be disrespectful for me to say, Francis,” Blanky had told him, not so very long ago. “Has it ever struck you as coincidence that we were the first ship to lose a man? Serves our reputation right.”

Francis had only offered him a wan smile. “And Erebus still had to upstage us somehow by losing two.”

Now it seems a brittle thing to have joked about the second loss.)

It may be the state of the night, with all the cold clarity surrounding them, but Francis motions for Hartnell to join him on the gunwale. Hartnell does so, settling himself against it and turning his gaze to the mizzenmast.

“If it means anything at all to you, Mister Hartnell, I’m proud of you,” Francis says. He’s not an expert on finding the right words for heartfelt speeches the way Fitzjames is or Sir John had been, but it feels like the correct thing to say. Hartnell has had no father to say those words to him, and has lost the only other man who may have done so. Far be it from Francis to try to take their place, but all the same.

Hartnell looks at him, eyes like clouded starlight. “Sir?”

“For your honesty, which is always commendable. Never once did you try to hide your involvement or lie on your own behalf. And for your resolution to do better once the punishment had been doled out.”

“Sir, I--”

Francis waves him off, and then redirects the movement to clap on Hartnell’s right shoulder. Hartnell looks at his shoulder like Francis has just pinned a medal to his overcoat. “I did not know your brother, and I’m sorry for that. However, I believe he would be proud as well, for those same qualities and for what you’ve accomplished in the time since.”

“Th-thank you, sir,” Hartnell replies. He ducks his head down, hiding his face from the moonlight. Lamplight, instead, makes a warm golden stripe on his face. Then, softer, he repeats, “Thank you.”

Francis lets his hand stay on Hartnell’s shoulder for a moment more. And in that moment, it feels like that’s the only weight on Hartnell at all.

“I’d like to hear more of those stories of yours,” Francis tells him as he withdraws his hand. “Fishing or falling in the Medway, which ever you’d like to tell.”

“Of course, sir,” Hartnell says with a shy smile. “Which ever you’d like to hear.”

#amc the terror #the terror #francis crozier #thomas hartnell #also francis: IS THIS A SON #idk where half of this was going but OH WELL

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penny-p-pen · 5 years

Text

Simon

Knowing Eyes

They say eyes are the windows to the soul, I first fell in love with his eyes, so I guess also quickly fell in love with his soul. Those eyes of his, so warm yet so bold, they always seemed to be wanting something, wanting something more out of everyone, more out of life, he just wanted more.

No. More isn’t the right word; he wanted something better, more acceptances, a greater willingness to change. Those eyes wanted to see people grow, watch them make decisions that would better someone else’s life, better the world, and yet, they were never demanding, never glaring or cold. Those eyes of his looked at you, looked past the physical you and looked at your soul. They pleaded with it, yearned for that soul to be a beautiful one, one that caused change, he wanted that from everyone, but I think he wanted it from me the most.

He saw into me, saw the timid little mouse of a man I was. Saw that there was something more I wanted from life. Those mesmerizing eyes looked into mine and somehow knew I was here for something important. That I held a far greater purpose then I would ever allow myself to believe. His eyes knew from the beginning, they needed no convincing, he knew I was meant to be something more. His belief in me was confirmed before I could even allow myself to dream that I could believe in myself.

So much had led us to that moment, allowed us to be there, staring soul to soul, heart to heart. Somehow time’s plan allowed us to be there, together and in that moment on that snowy night, that moment of bliss, I was finally free. Lip to lip he set my soul free and gave me the courage I thought I could never have. I pulled him in closer and smiled into it. I was finally free.

But I’m getting ahead of myself, a big event can only happen because of smaller ones, ones that a set a ball in motion without anyone knowing. Those small events called life are important, to me and to him…

A Latte and a Laugh

We met in a coffee shop, both of us were laughing as the barista messed up name after name, saying strange variations of names that shouldn’t have been too hard, K-all for Kyle, Laura turned into Bora and m’lady was supposed to be Melody.

Marcus was the first to talk, first to start the ball rolling, he started the first conversation we’d ever have, started our connection.

“I’m lucky; they can’t really mess up my name. Well I suppose they could say it in an odd way but Marcus… pretty hard to mess up.”

I admired how easily he started up the conversation, I was a stranger, he didn’t need to talk to me, but he did. My mouth opened before my brain could spiral into self-doubt. “You are lucky. I’ve had a few uh…. Interesting… mess ups on Simon. Gotten Simone, Siman and uh… heh… seamon…”

He turned to face me, blinking in silence, my mind raced, ‘stupid,’ I thought. ‘I’m so stupid, why did I just tell a him all th-“

He burst out laughing. His nose crinkling as his laughter came out louder, a warm and genuine sound. “They messed up Simon? SIMON? Damn man, I am so sorry.” He set a light brown hand on my shoulder, bending forward, trying to get over his fit of laughter. He dried those tears you get from laughing from his eyes taking a deep breath. “I am so sorry man.”

He was about to say something more when the barista called out the next name, “Mareus? Is there a Mareus?... Grande vanilla cappuccino with skim milk?”

I couldn’t help but chuckle as Marcus let out a small huff, “guess I spoke to soon, they canin fact mess up Marcus.”

She called another name, “Simon? Peppermint latte for Simon?” Marcus and I looked at each other, shaking our heads and smiling; they got my name right for once and oddly enough messed up Marcus’s. We stood there for a minute, not wanting to part ways. Marcus shrugged, “well enjoy Simon, I’ll see you around.” He walked off, leaving to continue his day.

I stood there, grinning like a goof, maybe this was what happiness was like, and maybe this was what confidence was like.

Sketches

Days passed and those days turned into weeks, I didn’t see Marcus again until I went back to the coffee shop.

I sat in the back corner, soft chairs with large fluffy pillows that faced a window, I loved this back corner. It was always warm and always empty. It was like a little nook, a private place for me to relax. I sat there, watching people walk by, pulling out my sketch book; I pressed my pencil’s eraser to my lips, looking for inspiration. There was an elderly couple across the road, sitting on their usual park bench. He always held her hand in his; he looked like he did it so gently, as if she was an old china doll that needed to be treated with care. Her cheeks were always rosy and her eyes always bright and full of love, full of life. I glanced down the blank page and back up at the couple and started sketching.

“…That’s really good.”

His voice startled me. I looked up, not knowing my eyes had gone wide in fear, not realizing my hands had tightly latched onto the book and pencil. He took a step back, raising his hands in front of his chest. “Hey… hey it’s okay.”

I blinked a few times, “Marcus?”

He nodded, smiling a little, “thought you almost forgot who I was. Sorry if I startled you.” He sat down next to me, still looking at my work. “It really is nice Simon, you like drawing?”

I nodded, “sort of. I’m really no good at it but it’s always been a fun hobby.”

He snapped his fingers, causing me to jump slightly, “you should come to the art class I’m teaching at the Rec Center!”

“Wha’?”

“The art class I teach! It’s a beginner level painting class; we’re starting the new course next week. The first one seemed to be really popular but there’s still room in this one! Come on Simon, please.”

His eyes were sparkling, two emeralds, two dazzling orbs that sucked me in and would never let me go, and I felt myself nod, “okay…” Those eyes gleamed brighter, drawing me closer, slowly melting my fears while building up my confidence.

“That’s great! We meet on Thursday’s at 6:00! If you paint half as good as you sketch- well you’ll be a natural!”

As quickly as he came into my corner of the world he left, leaving me blinking in silence, ‘what had I just committed to?’

Art and the Heart

I stared up at the large brick building, gulping slightly. The place had always intimidated me, it seemed too large, too imposing, and someone like me couldn’t make it in there. Sure it was a ‘community cente’r; sure anyone could go in but someone like me… I knew I would be eaten alive by people who were better than me. I was about to turn around, about to jump back into my car and drive away, go back into me little home and hide, but I walked right into him.

“Hey Simon, you ready?”

“I- I uh… well Marcus maybe I shouldn’t-“

“You’ll be fine Simon, come on!”

He took my hand and pulled me in not allowing me time to protest. I couldn’t think, I was running on auto pilot, just following where he pulled me. His hand felt like it could manage a strong grip but the flesh of his palm was so soft. I shook my head, “nuh”, ‘you can’t be falling for him Simon.’

“You say something Simon?”

“N-no- I uh… I-“

“Hey, you’ll be fine; no one is expected to be perfect their first time painting!”

He pulled me into a large room, gesturing me to sit at a table near a large window. “Best seat in the house. Even at night that window can provide you inspiration.”

I nod, sitting down and waiting for everyone else to file in, waiting for the class to start, hoping that I’d just be able to blend in. They soon did, Marcus started teaching, telling us to paint from the heart, to not question our instincts, to believe in ourselves and then he set us free, told us to just, paint.

I hesitated with every brush stroke, even with his words fresh in my mind I couldn’t seem to let go of my fears and just let my brush move freely across the canvas. Marcus walked around the room, stopping at every canvas, giving advice and praise, but never criticism. He came to mine, watching my motions with curious eyes.

“Having trouble getting a certain color?”

I nodded sheepishly, “yeah, I want to paint the sky, it’s well… it was an inky black but a black that looked blue with… with silver from the stars… I’m sorry that probably doesn’t make any sen-“

His hand was next to mine, gently taking the palette knife out of my hand, mixing black and blues. “Try that.”

I blinked a few times, looking at the color; it seemed perfect on the palette, so hesitantly I dip my brush, closing my eyes as I let it sweep across the canvas. I peak at the canvas, hesitantly cracking one eye open. The color was exactly what I wanted. I turned to see Marcus smiling at my expression. “That the color you wanted?”

I nodded, “yes, its perfect thank you.”

“I’m glad, now for that silver; mix a little grey with a lot of white. We have an almost clear color that leaves a shine, which should work.”

I nodded again, “th-thanks.”

I’m smiling, the rest of the painting seems to come naturally, I’m so transfixed by watching it progress in front of me that I’m startled when Marcus addresses the class again.

“Alright guys, 8:00, we have to start cleaning up now. If you didn’t finish don’t worry. Leave you canvas where it is and you can cover your paints with the lid the palettes came with.”

“Simon?...”

I jump as I turn around, not expecting to hear anyone other than Marcus call my name, My heart seems to jump and sink at the same time. “…Daniel?”

“Surprised you still remember me.”

I hate it, his voice is cold, his eyes, once full of joy were now a stormy grey. They now held so much sorrow, a sorrow that as much as I wanted to, I could never understand and never take away.

“What do you mean? We dated for like- five years, I- I really can never forget you.”

“Yeah,” he rolled his eyes. “Seems like you’ve moved on though.”

He glanced towards Marcus, making his point painfully clear.

‘Is it that obvious?”

“Have to be pretty damn blind to not notice. Finally getting comfortable with your sexuality? Finally gonna actually show love when out in public?”

I let out a small growl that sounded more like a whimper, “Danny, you know that’s not fair I-‘

“First,” I notice his hands ball into fists, “don’t ‘Danny’ me. And second, it is fair to bring up that you never wanted to be affectionate with me when we were in public!”

I couldn’t argue, I was terrified to even hold Daniel’s hand when we were out together, and now here I was blushing when Marcus walked by. “And for that I’m sorry Daniel. I really am, I- I was scared, both for my safety and for your own.”

“Why did you leave me then? We could’ve handled the hatred together.”

“We- we were going different ways Danny. You wanted to leave this town, go make a better life in the city and I- well you know I like the familiar, I wanted things to stay stable. You were so set to leave and all I wanted to do was stay…. Why didn’t you leave?”

He didn’t answer; we were silent as people started filing out. Daniel finally shrugged, “things just- didn’t work out. Place I was gonna stay fell through, couldn’t find work and then the... my… I- well things just got fucked up. So why are you here Simon? You never wanted anyone to see your art. So why take a class where it’s likely a lotta people will see it?”

“Marcus sort of convinced me, he... he told me I was good… told me I should come and I… He pulled me in before I could chicken out. What about you? Thought you were never one for anything creative”

“My fucking housemate made me join up. Thought I needed to get out of the house and do things. Said it was bad for me to just sit at home. Connor’s such an idiot, an art class isn’t going to help me with anything.”

‘Come on Danny I bet he isn’t that bad, and I’m sure this class will help you.”

I reached out to comfort him, but he quickly slapped my hand away. “DON’T TOUCH ME! AND DON’T CALL ME DANNY! That part of us is gone Simon! Don’t start bringing what’s dead back to life!” He pushed past me, fuming and angry. I watched him leave, watched his back as he headed for the door, watched as he seemed to limp a little with every few steps. “…Daniel.”

Marcus walked over to me, “hey, no tears, it’s alright.”

I blushed, mumbling as I dried a tear, not realizing it had fallen.

Marcus sighed, “Daniel doesn’t mean to be like that. A lot has happened in the last few years.”

“How… How do you know?”

“Connor and I are pretty close,” he laughed, “actually dated for a few months. Didn’t work but we remain close… Daniel doesn’t want to hurt you Simon. And I promise I won’t hurt you either.” He took hold of my hands smiling warmly, silently convincing me that I would be okay.

He walked out with me, heisting to leave. “You’ll be okay?”

“Yeah… Yeah I’ll be okay. I’ll see you next week Marcus.”

“I’m looking forward to it Simon.” He smiled as he got into his car and drove away.

#detroit become human daniel #detroit become human #detroit become human simon #detroit become human markus

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