#plain sailing (reblogs)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Steadfast 4

Warnings: non/dubcon, power imbalance, obsession, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: King!Bucky Barnes (Medieval AU)

A Knights, Kings, and Knaves Story

Summary: you serve Duke Rogers, but when his friend, the king, takes an interest, you find your work in turmoil.

Note: I’ve wanted to do medieval drabbles for years. I bit the bullet and now we’re all doomed. I was torn on whether to make this one Stucky however… I think Steve deserves a wifey in his own installment.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The days turn gray as you ride for the river. The nights are short but dark. You sleep by a fire under the king's cloak as he keeps watch. He dozes astride, often lurching and snoring behind you. His heat, his proximity, grows familiar if not smothering.

For all your life, the divide between servant and master has been kept wide. That rift between you always steep and retractable. Now, it is nothing but a whisper.

The king's hand remain on the reins despite his fatigue. Yours are lower down on the leather. You wear the mittens of lamb's wool he found for you along with a plain but lined cloak. He is a masterful barterer.

The horse snorts as it descends the bump incline. The smell of water dampens in your nose and nips at your cheeks. You see a dock ahead along the coastline. There are boats and barges, voices hollering up into the sky, the grind of wood and billow of sail. You lean forward and squint to see it clearer.

"Gander's Crossing." The king startles you with the declaration as he straightens in the saddle. "It will lead us to sea. It is those deeper tides I worry for."

"Worry?" The word wisps from you before you can stop it.

"Yes, even I worry," he assures you. "Why shouldn't I when I have more than myself to trouble my soul?"

"A whole kingdom," you murmur, "your highness."

He hushes you. "Certainly, yes, a people alone."

You rock with the horse as he guides it down the stony pass. He waves as he comes closer to the dockers and calls 'ho'. He dismounts as you feel gazes in your direction. You stay with the horse as he speaks with a captain.

"Double gold, for your trouble..." the offer rises loud enough to hear. You can see the reticence in the grey-haired man.

"...not the horse that's the problem..."

Their voices lower again. When at last, they part, it is with the clink of coin between them. The king stalks back to the horse and works at unleashing the saddle bangs from its rump. He sighs.

"Stay close as ever," he warns.

You obey and trail him down with the horse. He passes over the steed to a boatman and he beckons you with him. There are more gazes and you wonder if they know who he is. Yet, there eyes barely seem to snag him.

"Men of the sea are wary of women," he affirms as he herds you up the ramp.

You shrink down. Oh. You come upon the barge as the king lingers like a shadow.

You're shown to a cabin. The tilt of the boat makes you dizzy. You teeter and back into the king. He catches you with his hands on your hips.

"You'll get your sea legs yet," he bids. "Best to sit."

The room is small. There is something hanging from the ceiling. You feel along the wall and slide down to sit on your feet. You feel better, less treacherous. He goes to the fabric strung from above.

He spreads the cloth and turns. He maneuvers himself into it, landing in the odd sheath that cradles him. It rocks with the boats idling sway. You shift and sit on your bottom, hugging your knees.

"A hammock. A sailor's bed," he explains.

You dip your chin down. You've only ever slept on straw and floor. You'll do just fine down here.

"I will find us some food when we set off. Let the boatsmen lift anchor first," he says. "I wouldn't mind a moment to close my eyes."

"Yes, your highness."

He hums. "There is enough room for you as well..."

"Your highness..."

"Pip," he opens an eye and looks at you.

"Poppet," you correct yourself. He grins.

"Very well. Keep mind to the bucket in the corner, lest your stomach join the river in churning," he wiggles and closes his eyes again. He yawns and drapes his arm over his face. Your eyes dart to the pail. It might not be unwise advice.

👑

You shiver as you hug the bucket. Your back racks and you ready for another violent heave. Your stomach twists but does not upend. Cold sweat drips down your forehead. You temples throb as the waves lash at the side of the boat in a startling cacophony.

"Dear pip," the king kneels beside you and mops your brow with a wet cloth. "It will pass."

Your teeth chatter and you gag. There's nothing left in you to expel. You groan and shield your face with your hand. You are humiliated.

"Is this... death?" You babble.

He laughs softly, "no, sweet pip. You are unused to the sea, that is all."

You moan again. He pulls your hand away from your face and presses his knuckles to your cheek. You lean into their comforting warmth.

"Rest will do you well," he draws you over to him as he stretches his arm over your shoulder. You shiver and slacken against him weakly. He rubs your arm as he holds you. You're too sick to care for propriety.

"My apologies, my king. I've never... never been about."

"Oh, do not apologise, sweet pip," he cooes and pets your hair. "When I was a boy. Oh, you could ask the duke yourself. We went upon a large galley. I was rather eager to be upon it but once we could not see the shore, I was but a puddle of sick."

You groan and cling to his cloak as your insides constrict. The bile sears your throat but gets no further. He hums and reaches below your cloak to rub your stomach.

"Be calm," he caresses you through your dress. "You will survive this, pip. You are ever strong."

His hand continues to move as you shake. The water hits the boat and the voices of men carry on the wind whistling above. He leans back with you against him and extends his legs out. He keeps you again him and his hand crawls along your hip. You quiver and it falls onto your thigh. He leans his head against yours as you start to hiccup.

"This night will pass," he assures, fingers tracing the wrinkles in your dress. "And we will be here still."

[doyouknowthisbook-poll]

Do you know which book this is from?

Please reblog the polls, but KEEP IT SPOILER-FREE to make people read the excerpt with an open mind 💖📚 Title and author will be revealed after the poll's conclusion.

Note: this excerpt is too long for Tumblr’s alt text character limit, so for this poll, the alt text is below the read more.

Edit: The results are up here!

"This is just about the first painting I ever really loved," my mother was saying. "You'll never believe it, but it was in a book I used to take out of the library when I was a kid. I used to sit on the floor by my bed and stare at it for hours, completely fascinated-that little guy! And, I mean, actually it's incredible how much you can learn about a painting by spending a lot of time with a reproduction, even not a very good reproduction. I started off loving the bird, the way you'd love a pet or something, and ended up loving the way he was painted." She laughed. "The Anatomy Lesson was in the same book actually, but it scared the pants off me. I used to slam the book shut when I opened it to that page by mistake."

The girl and the old man had come up next to us. Self-consciously, I leaned forward and looked at the painting. It was a small picture, the smallest in the exhibition, and the simplest: a yellow finch, against a plain, pale ground, chained to a perch by its twig of an ankle.

"He was Rembrandt's pupil, Vermeer's teacher," my mother said. "And this one little painting is really the missing link between the two of them-that clear pure daylight, you can see where Vermeer got his quality of light from. Of course, I didn't know or care about any of that when I was a kid, the historical significance. But it's there."

I stepped back, to get a better look. It was a direct and matter-of-fact little creature, with nothing sentimental about it; and something about the neat, compact way it tucked down inside itself—its brightness, its alert watchful expression—made me think of pictures I'd seen of my mother when she was small: a dark-capped finch with steady eyes.

"It was a famous tragedy in Dutch history," my mother was saying. "A huge part of the town was destroyed."

"What?"

"The disaster at Delft. That killed Fabritius. Did you hear the teacher back there telling the children about it?"

I had. There had been a trio of ghastly landscapes, by a painter named Egbert van der Poel, different views of the same smouldering wasteland: burnt ruined houses, a windmill with tattered sails, crows wheeling in smoky skies. An official looking lady had been explaining loudly to a group of middle-school kids that a gunpowder factory exploded at Delft in the 1600s, that the painter had been so haunted and obsessed by the destruction of his city that he painted it over and over.

"Well, Egbert was Fabritius's neighbor, he sort of lost his mind after the powder explosion, at least that's how it looks to me, but Fabritius was killed and his studio was destroyed. Along with almost all his paintings, except this one." She seemed to be waiting for me to say something, but when I didn't, she continued: "He was one of the greatest painters of his day, in one of the greatest ages of painting. Very very famous in his time. It's sad though, because maybe only five or six paintings survived, of all his work. All the rest of it is lost—everything he ever did."

The girl and her grandfather were loitering quietly to the side, listening to my mother talk, which was a bit embarrassing. I glanced away and then—unable to resist-glanced back. They were standing very close, so close I could have reached out and touched them. She was batting and plucking at the old man's sleeve, tugging his arm to whisper something in his ear.

"Anyway, if you ask me," my mother was saying, "this is the most extraordinary picture in the whole show. Fabritius is making clear something that he discovered all on his own, that no painter in the world knew before him—not even Rembrandt."

Very softly—so softly I could barely hear her—I heard the girl whisper: "It had to live its whole life like that?"

I'd been wondering the same thing; the shackled foot, the chain was terrible; her grandfather murmured some reply but my mother (who seemed totally unaware of them, even though they were right next to us) stepped back and said: "Such a mysterious picture, so simple. Really tender—invites you to stand close, you know? All those dead pheasants back there and then this little living creature."

[late-to-the-party-81]

The best laid plans

AN: It’s so fluffy!!!! This is my first fill for this year’s ‘Into an alternate Juni-verse” and when I got Surgeon AU on my card I knew I had to revisit this pairing from last year's event…You don’t need to read it to understand this fic, but it will give you more context.

A big thanks to @metalbvcky for spitballing and cheerleading

Beta’d by the wonderful @drabbles-mc

Likes are loved, reblogs are golden

Mood board by me and dividers by @firefly-graphics

Bingo Fills - 

@stuckybingo G3: Migraines

@steverogersbingo D2: Monica Rambeau

Build a Bucky Bingo by @buckybarnesevents: Feb: Forehead kisses

Into an Alternate Juni-verse by @buckybarnesevents : AU: Surgeon

@caplanbuckybarnes Weekly Writing Challenge Week 1; “Holding you like this is where I’m happiest.”

Master list | Alternate Juni-verse Master list | Stucky Bingo Master List | SRB Master list | BaBB Master List

Summary: With Steve’s hectic work schedule, their relationship was never going to be plain-sailing, but they have an uninterrupted 48 hours coming up. Surely nothing will go wrong?

Relationship: Small Doctor Steve Rogers x Bookstore Owner Bucky Barnes

Word count: 3.8k

CW: Modern AU, Fluff, Insinuation of spicy time, Bucky and Nat friendship, Teasing, descriptions of migraine, caring Bucky, Hurt/Comfort, suggestive and happy ending, implied bottom Bucky.

Steve was well aware of how his life was currently a study in contrasts. On the one hand there was the hustle and bustle and bright lights of the hospital and on the other, the cosy warmth of the bookshop where Bucky worked and Steve spent a lot of his off hours. There was the inherent stress involved in working in the ER, with the requirement he always be ‘switched on’, but then there was the gentle pace that life with Bucky forced him into.

Bucky.

He couldn’t believe how much his life had changed since those two chance encounters nine months ago, one in a bar and the other right here in the ER.

Steve hadn’t been looking for anything, heart still raw from a break-up that had seen him upsticks and relocate from Los Angeles to New York, but something about Bucky had gotten under his guard. After their unexpected reunion in the hospital following a very memorable one-night stand, Steve had known there was no way he could go on without the young bookstore owner in his life.

They were taking it one step at a time though. Steve’s job was obviously full-on, especially so as he’d decided to continue working towards becoming a surgeon, something he’d done most of the work for out in California. Between his ER shifts, and the work for his qualification, both practical and theoretical, they sometimes went days without seeing each other and Steve didn’t want to force Bucky into something he wasn’t able to cope with - there was a reason why a large number of people in the medical field struggled to maintain relationships.

Therefore he maintained his apartment, and Bucky still had his own over his shop. Admittedly that warm, lived-in space, as small and covered in white cat fur as it was, felt more like home to Steve than his larger, pristine loft that still looked like something out of a brochure. Also, Bucky’s place was a lot closer to the hospital than his. It made sense, really, to spend most of his time there. He kept thinking about ‘taking the next step’, but something was stopping him.

Steve let out a sigh. He hadn’t seen Bucky in a full 48 hours now, and there was still another six to go until he could leave.

Today was an observation day, where Steve would be watching his mentor while she performed a heart by-pass and she would ask him questions as she did so. He was excited for it, but even that couldn’t dull the ache within him which he knew would only be soothed by a Bucky-hug ™.

He watched Doctor Rambeau - Monica - scrub up, dexterously turning off the tap with her elbow, and then waited for her to move out of the space so he could do the same. He might not be performing the operation, but he still had to follow all the protocols. He knew what an honour this was, having her as his mentor. She was one of the best in her field, and under her tutelage he knew he would be able to make a difference to so many people. With his own history of health issues, he knew what it was like to have his life saved and was ready to pay it forwards. 

“You ready, Doctor Rogers?” He turned to see one perfectly shaped eyebrow rise at him from behind an eye-shield.

“Absolutely. Lead on, Doctor Rambeau.” He knew his smile was hidden behind his mask, but hopefully she would hear it in his voice and see it in the crinkles around his eyes. He suspected not much got past her. The junior doctors were always making remarks about how Doctor Rambeau could see things that other mere mortals couldn’t.

“Soooo,��� Nat drawled out and Bucky got ready for another round of being teased. “You’re seeing him tonight?”

“Yes,” replied Bucky. “He’s coming over after his observation shift and then he’s off for the next two days. Don’t expect to see much of me outside of work hours.” He waggled his eyebrows at his best friend and grinned as she rolled her eyes in return.

“Don’t I know it. If it wasn’t for his shifts I doubt I’d see you at all.” Despite her words, Bucky could hear the joking affection in her voice. However, what was the point in being best friends if you didn’t wind each other up at every available opportunity?

“You’re one to talk? How are you and Doctor Wilson going? I know he knows his way around….” Bucky’s dig at Sam’s field of specialisation was cut off by Nat placing her finger over his lips.

“Shush, you. We’re going just fine. Keeping it casual. He’s busy. I’m busy. Who wants to put labels on things?”

Bucky’s lips twitched. “Whatever you say, Natty-Nat-Nat. I believe you, thousands wouldn’t.”

She stuck her tongue out at him and then grabbed another armful of books to reshelve. “So apart from fucking, what have you got planned?”

Bucky shrugged. “Not a lot. Depends on how wiped out he is. Dinner tonight - I’m making lasagne - and a film. Probably far too much wine. Tomorrow? Maybe the Brooklyn Museum, and lunch. I know he wants me to test him on some theory, so I need to limber up my tongue so I can say complicated words I don’t understand.”

“Please don’t tell me how you’re going to limber it up,” Nat said with a snort, and Bucky squashed down the urge to throw a book at her. He knew from his own painful experience what it felt like to have a hardback, or several, bounce off his face. The only upside of that situation had been that he’d seen Steve again and gotten his number, even if it had been mortifying at the time.

“Things are still going well, then?” Nat questioned more softly.

“Absolutely.” Bucky let out a sigh as he thought about his diminutive blond boyfriend. Even before their eyes had met across the bar he’d been intrigued. There had been something in Steve’s movements, the way his fingers had held - near caressed - his beer bottle, that had filled Bucky with want.

That feeling hadn’t waned over the past months, and while he inevitably got frustrated when Steve’s shifts kept them apart, he also had an inkling that the periods of separation were also what had kept them in the ��honeymoon’ phase so long. It heightened the anticipation, and when they did get to spend time together? Well it was a good thing that Bucky had no neighbours and Steve’s apartment had thick walls.

Bucky had always had voracious… appetites… but had been more than pleasantly surprised when Steve proved that he could, most of the time at least, keep up with him. He also hadn’t thought that such an outwardly respectable doctor could be so kinky, but….

“Earth to Barnes!” Nat snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Stop thinking about Steve’s dick on work time.” 

He pouted at her. “Spoilsport. And anyway, it wasn’t his dick I was thinking about, it was his fing–”

Nat threw her hands up over her ears. “LA-LA-LA,” she shouted before walking back towards the front desk and the customers who had just walked through the door. Bucky giggled and continued to restack books while indulging in his daydreams.

Steve slowly pushed the surgical gown down his arms with a sigh and winced at the bright lights in the scrub room. He hadn’t even been doing any of the heavy lifting during that op, but he still felt absolutely wrung out. However, it had been the most wonderful experience, getting to see Monica performing the by-pass so assuredly and asking her questions as she did so. He was also proud of the fact that he’d been able to answer her questions too, although those had been more inquisitorial than plain curious like his. But it was the end of his shift now - more or less on time too, for a change - and he couldn’t wait to get to Bucky’s apartment and relax in the arms of his boyfriend for two whole days.

He washed up and said good-bye to Monica and the rest of the surgical team and headed towards the staff room and the locker containing his street clothes, keys, and wallet - he hadn’t spent this much time in scrubs since medical school. As he made his way along the white walled corridors, the sounds of a hospital at work swirled around him - the beeping of machines, pained cries of the young and old, the urgent, hushed conversations of other medical professionals, the weeping of family members and loved ones. He liked to think that he was partially immune to these noises - they were the soundtrack to his daily life after all, but for some reason, they felt rawer than usual, scraping across his bones like nails down a chalkboard, and Steve couldn’t hold back an involuntary shudder. The fluorescent lights in the ceiling appeared to be taunting him too, their beams piercing his eyeballs and the almost inaudible humming making his teeth itch.

“Bucky,” he muttered to himself. “I just need to get home to Bucky, then I’ll feel better.”

When Steve finally made his way outside the sky was dark, but the streets were lit up with street lamps and car headlights. Each shaft of light felt like a needle sliding into his brain via his temples and he took a deep breath in through his nose to stave off a wave of dizziness. 

There was a light drizzle in the air, making it blessedly cool, and despite the damp Steve decided to walk to Bucky’s apartment instead of schlepping it on the much dryer, but ultimately more cramped and warm, subway. It took him longer than anticipated though, his shoes feeling like lead weights upon his feet, getting heavier and heavier with every step.

Finally, he reached the bookstore, the interior shrouded in darkness, but with lights shining from the windows above. Steve walked, half staggered, down the alley at the side and let himself in through the door that would lead him up the stairs and to Bucky. He was glad that Bucky had given him a key a few months back, otherwise he would have had to wait in the rain while Bucky came downstairs to let him in. That had happened enough times at the beginning that Steve was now very much over that part of their relationship. Having keys felt good. What didn’t feel good though were his sodden socks, or his throbbing eyeballs.

He trudged up the stairs, each step harder than the last, until he reached the top and all but fell through the interior door. Bucky must have heard him because Steve’s name was called out joyfully, a sound that normally made his heart leap in his chest, but in this moment, all he could do was let out a pained whimper as Bucky’s voice cut through his brain like a chainsaw.

He heard Bucky’s footsteps get closer and he squinted against the brightness of the room.

“Hey, Stevie!”

Bucky pulled him into a rough hug, squishing Steve’s face against the ubiquitous black t-shirt he always seemed to wear on days he was working. The smell of Bucky’s cologne, normally one of his favourite scents, assailed his nose, combining with the smell of garlic that permeated the apartment and Steve felt his stomach roll.

“Buck… please,” he slurred as he uncharacteristically pushed himself away from his boyfriend’s embrace. Everything around him just felt like too much and he felt himself tip backwards against the wall.

“Oh, Steve. You don’t look too hot.” Bucky’s voice was full of concern, and Steve was sure that if he could manage to focus properly, he’d be able to see Bucky’s dark brows pulled together in a frown. 

“Jeez, thanks,” he managed to push out with a small upturn to his lips. “Just what I wanted to hear after not seeing you for two days.” He closed his eyes, intending to do so for just a moment, and felt the ringing pain in his head lessen minutely.

Bucky’s body brushed against him as his holdall was taken from him by gentle hands and his coat was slipped from his shoulders.

“Is it a migraine?” Bucky had modulated his voice to a whisper and Steve decided that he hadn’t ever been so glad for anything in his life.

Eyes still closed, he nodded and let out a noise of confirmation from his lips. “Mmm-hmm.”

“Okay. Let’s get you to bed then. I’m prescribing Advil, earplugs, an eye-mask and an early night.”

Steve snorted and instantly regretted it. “I thought I was the doctor here?” he quipped, his voice low and gravelly.

“You are,” Bucky replied, his lips brushing Steve’s temple. “But I’m the boyfriend, so what I say, goes.”

“Is that so?” Steve queried, a note of amusement in his voice.

“Very much so,” Bucky confirmed. “Now you keep your eyes closed if you want, I’ll guide you.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but still kept his lids closed. He had a feeling it was the only reason he wasn’t throwing up right now.

“Such a mother hen,” he chastised without any real bite and allowed Bucky to steer him, arms looped together, through the small apartment. A soft bump against his ankle let him know that Alpine was now part of the proceedings.

“It’s why you love me. Right, you just sit down here…” Steve felt his shoulders clasped by Bucky’s hands and he sat down, completely trusting that he wouldn’t fall on his ass. “Can you manage to get undressed while I go find the pills?”

Steve cracked one eye open. “Sure. I love you, you know that?” Bucky shot him a soft smile, pressed another kiss to his forehead and then went through to the small bathroom, rattling around inside the cupboards.

Steve kicked off his shoes, glad he had on loafers that came off easily, and struggled out of his shirt. It felt like an octopus trying to envelope and suffocate him. He flopped down onto the mattress and squeezed his eyes shut again, feeling the bile begin to rise in his throat. Not only did this suck, big time, but he also felt so guilty, a feeling he vocalised when he felt the bed dip on Bucky’s return.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I know that this wasn’t what we had planned. What were you making for dinner?” He felt Bucky’s hands on the waistband of his slacks, deftly pulling them from his body in the most un-lust-filled, and therefore strangest, way possible.

“Lasagne, but it will keep until tomorrow. And you don’t need to apologise. These things happen and you have been working really hard. I’m actually surprised you didn’t have one of these sooner.”

Steve shuffled under the coverlet, letting out a sigh at the coolness of the sheets against his skin. Bucky pressed two tablets into his hand, and he propped himself upon his other elbow so he could pop them in his mouth, swallowing them down with a drink from the glass of water Bucky proffered him.

“I’ll make it up to you, Buck. I promise.”

“I know you will, you lug. But for now here’s the eye mask.” Soft satin was placed over his head, settling over his eyes and helping to black out the last of the light making it through his eyelids. “And here are the ear plugs.” Bucky dropped them into Steve’s palm and curled his fingers shut over them. “Now don’t worry about me,” he placated. “I have a whole garlic bread and a salad to make my way through, plus a date at Stars Hollow with Lorelai. I’ll be fine. We’ll pick this up tomorrow if you’re feeling better, and if you’re not I’ll just pump you full of drugs until you are.”

Steve smiled into the darkness. “You know that’s not how that works?”

Bucky placed his finger over Steve’s lips. “Ssh, sexy Doctor Boyfriend has spoken. Sleep now.” He moved his finger and replaced it with his lips, kissing Steve softly.

“Sir, yes Sir,” Steve replied, bringing his hand up in salute.

“Punk. Sleep well. I’ll come cuddle you later.”

“I will, jerk. And thank you.”

He heard Bucky mumble under his breath and then pad across the room before he pushed the earplugs into his ears, cocooning himself in silence to go along with the darkness, and snuggled down into the sheets to pass out.

Bucky closed the bedroom door with a soft ‘click’ and padded back through to the living room, trying to quell the disappointment. It wasn’t Steve’s fault. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. Migraines happened, and he hadn’t been lying when he’d said it was a surprise that Steve hadn’t had one already - he really had been pushing himself to the limit. But, Bucky supposed, that was one of the things that made him love Steve. His tenaciousness, bordering on stubbornness, was endearing, and was probably one of the main reasons they were still together. He wasn’t going to lie - those early days had been tough, but Steve had found every spare moment he could and made it available to Bucky, whether that was hanging out at the bookshop during the day in the middle of a split shift, or rolling into the apartment just to curl up beside him in bed for the eight hours between the end of a late shift and the start of an early one. There were the surprise DoorDash deliveries when a shift had run over and dinner plans had had to be cancelled and Steve knew Bucky wouldn’t have anything in. There were the long nights of loving and the frantic, heated quickies and everything in between. And he couldn’t be prouder of what Steve was achieving right now. Once he’d passed his surgeon’s qualification things should get better for them - less double shifts, although probably more that would run over. Swings and roundabouts he supposed.

Crossing to the small kitchenette, Bucky pulled out the lasagne, watching the cheese and white sauce bubble on the top as he placed it on a trivet to cool. He was glad he’d cooked something that wouldn’t spoil from not being eaten right now. He then picked up the bowl of salad, and the garlic bread that had been keeping warm in the toaster oven, and meandered over to the couch. As he ate and watched the residents of Star Hollow navigate complex family relationships, Bucky realised that even though he was in this room and Steve was asleep in the bedroom, he didn’t feel alone. He could feel Steve’s presence in his home and it just felt so right.

A couple of hours later he snuck quietly into the bedroom, the only sound the soft snores emanating from Steve’s mouth. He brushed his teeth in the bathroom, careful to only turn the light on after he’d entered and turn it off before he exited, and then tip-toed over to the bed with only the light from the street outside to illuminate his way.  He slipped in behind Steve and gently tugged him into a hug. Steve mumbled in his sleep, but didn’t wake.

Bucky reached up to lightly stroke over the top of Steve’s head and pressed a kiss to his bony shoulder blade.

“I love you, Stevie,” he whispered. “Holding you like this is where I’m happiest.”

Maybe tomorrow would be the day he took a leap of faith and asked Steve to move in with him?

When Steve woke he felt entirely disorientated. It took him a moment to remember what had happened the night before, and when he pulled out the earplugs and lifted the eye-mask he was happy to note that the stabbing pain in his head had reduced to a dull throb. He blinked a few times to get the sleep from his eyes and then focused on the clock next to the bed. 

12:37pm

He’d been asleep for almost eighteen hours!

The bed beside him was cold, indicating that even his slug-abed boyfriend had gotten bored with sleeping at some point and decided to get up. He had vague recollections of being pulled against Bucky’s front in the night, but that was it. He frowned to himself - he’d gone far too long without consciously touching him, something that he needed to rectify immediately.

He pushed himself upright, and took a long drink from the water glass next to the clock. He still remembered the first time he’d woken up in this bed, in the middle of the night and getting ready to make a hasty exit after an alcohol fueled hook-up. Now he didn’t think there was anywhere he’d rather be than right here. 

From the end of the bed, Alpine lifted her head and narrowly opened her eyes, obviously not happy to be disturbed from her slumber. Steve reached out and scratched her under her chin in apology.

When he stood, it was on slightly wobbly legs, and he took a moment to grab a pair of sweats from Bucky’s drawer, taking care to pull the drawstring tight and roll the waistband over. Steve then walked quietly through to the living room, stopping to lean on the back of the sofa as he watched an oblivious Bucky, also only in sweats, singing along to the radio, a spatula in hand acting like a microphone, as he made a grilled cheese sandwich. It was the cutest thing Steve thought he’d ever seen and it just made him want Bucky more.

Steve padded closer, and when he reached out to touch Bucky’s shoulder, Bucky jumped with a shriek.

“Jeez, Steve. You scared me.”

Steve grinned at him and looped his arms around Bucky’s waist, drawing him closer and nuzzling at his neck.

“I’m sorry, baby. Maybe I can make it up to you?”

Bucky let out an amused chuckle. “So you owe me twice, that’s what I’m hearing. You feeling better then?”

Steve fastened his mouth to Bucky’s throat and gave it a suck, creating a dark pink patch on Bucky’s already flushed skin. “Absolutely. Although I can think of something else that will make me feel even better.”

“I bet you can,” replied Bucky with another giggle. “Do I have enough time to eat my grilled cheese, or…” he trailed off as Steve pushed his hand under Bucky’s waistband. “Oh! L-let me just turn this off…” Steve smiled into Bucky’s skin as he leant across to turn the stove dial and move his pan onto a cold ring. “Okay - you were saying?”

God, how Steve loved this man. The hand he had down Bucky’s sweats and shorts moved - encompassed -  and Steve watched as Bucky’s eyelids fluttered, his dark lashes fanning his cheeks, and how his mouth dropped open into an “O” shape. First he was going to do what he hadn’t been able to last night and then he was definitely going to ask Bucky if they could move in together.

Tag list: @christywrites, @alexakeyloveloki, @doasyoudesireandlive, @galactusdevourerofworlds, @crayongirl-linz, @km-ffluv, @wheezy-stucky, @kmc1989

[ocsoficeandfire]

Lady Galyne Borrell

Status: Free!

I've used her in a small fic before, but I didn't like where it was going so I deleted it. Galyne grew on me, though, so I would love to see someone using her for their own imagine / fic / drabble <3 Send me a PM, an ask or reblog if you are interested in using her for a story :)

Divider by @anlian-aishang

Lady Galyne Borrell of Sweetsister

House: Borrell

Region: The Vale

Parents: Father Waylar Borrell (dead), Mother Sanda Longthorpe. No siblings, but has living male Borrell cousins.

Time: Can be used for every era. During the Dance of the Dragons, Jacaerys Velaryon got the Borrell's support for House Black. The Borell's overlords - the Sunderlands - got them involved into the Blackfyre Rebellions. Ned Stark sailed from Sweetsister to White Harbor. Ser Davos Seaworth is left on Sweetsister in ASOIAF.

Age: 19

Religion: Faith of the Seven

Marital Status: Single

Spice level: ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥🖤🖤

Personality: Galyne is relatively quiet and modest. She usually bites back most remarks and even though she is not well-versed in courtly life, she can adapt very well through her stoic attitude. She is a fast learner and even though she tends to be quite distant and even ruthless when the situation escalates, she is generally a pious, well-meaning young woman. She is very proud of her heritage and will defend it to great lengths.

Physical Appearance: She is described by others as 'plain and awfully average'. She's chubby, of average height and has green eyes. Galyne has remarkably long, wavy mouse-brown hair, which she takes great pride in. She is relatively pale, has ruddy cheeks and a smattering of freckles over the bridge of her nose.

Special quirks: She tends to embroider the Borrell crab on every dress she wears. Because she is a Borell, she has 'the mark' - a sort of webbing between her three middle fingers.

Face Claim: None

Moodboard prompts: Dark Sea, Sea Storms, Irish coast, siren aesthetic.

[the-strawhats-kitchen]

Royalty AU (ASL)

!!Likes do nothing, Reblog instead!!

Masterlist

•Asl royalty AU. Where they were all -minus Luffy- born not as nobles, but as normal kids. One day Roger -who’s “enemies” with Garp- gives the king his infant , claiming that the tiny human would be more then safe and secure with him. Garp takes the infant, after some small protest.

•From that day forward the infant -named Acrux- was raised inside the Goa kingdom palace, surrounded by servants that were at his beck and call. But the only one he truly ever liked, or even semi respected, was a lady in her late 30s called Dadan that was part of the guards. She took care of little Acrux and he would always go to her before anyone when needing someone, even his own grandpa.

•One day, however, Acrux got bored and left the palace in a “disguise” and with a fake name, Porgas D Ace. Acrux, or Ace now. Roamed around the capital of Goa, meeting various people who, in his opinion, were super mean rude and just plain boring. That is until he met a boy around his age named Raka. The boy was shorter than him by a bit and had blond short hair. He dressed like a noble but didn’t act like one, in fact he seemed to hate being one.

•So Ace did what anyone else would do and took the kids out with him to the jungle. They stayed there for a few days and decided that the two will continue to stay hidden so they can finally be free of their duties as nobles. That is until Dadan managed to find the two and drag both of them with her back to the palace. Raka’s -who decided to go under the alias Sabo- parents were waiting at the palace, worry painting their face.

•But Ace didn’t let them take his new brother back. So the two left Sabo at the palace, delighted that the crown prince had taken a liking to their little boy. And so Sabo became a prince. He attended etiquette lessons with his brother -he got so happy when he called him that- and went everywhere with him.

•One day the two boys were called by their grandpa, Garp, to the throne room. The two thought it was just another one of his weird harsh training sessions, but instead were greeted with the sight of young boy with black hair and the brightest smile ever. Garp introduced the boy as Nika, his biological grandson. Nika was more than delighted to meet them and decided to cling to them from that day forward.

•At first Ace and Sabo hated the kid and his clinginess. But as time went on the two ended up warming up to Nika and started treating him like their own brother. They taught him things that they knew. They took him with them places. And soon they took him with them to the treehouse and they did what both of them did in that treehouse, finding a different name for him, and that name was Monkey D Luffy.

•And that’s how the three grew up. Ace, the crown prince, Sabo, second in line for the thrown and Luffy, the shining star for the Goa kingdom. Years passed by like this. A few things did change however, Sabo getting more into politics, and Luffy somehow managed to recruit a bunch of random people throughout all the blues and make alliances with a bunch of countries.

•One day Luffy gets an invite to a banquet at a faraway kingdom, it wasn’t unusual for the young prince to get invites to various things from the most random people -he was extremely loved by young and old alike- so of course he accepted the invite without hesitation. But there was a minor problem, he couldn’t be left unsupervised and no one was free or could free up their schedules to go with him -except zoro but that was worse then him going alone-, so Garp assigned one of -if not- his most trusted knights, Koby.

•And so they sailed away. Koby -Luffy noted- was younger than him but very tense and nervous, especially around the prince. And no matter how many times Luffy told him to refere to him by his name as they are friends now, Koby kept referring to him by his honorific -Prince Nika-. As they spent more time together the two grew closer and closer. Koby started to open up to the young prince -even calling him Luffy once, which he beamed at- and Luffy opened up to him and hyped him up in return.

•By the time they returned the two had basically became best friends, and would seek each other out at random. Luffy would also always seek out the other whenever he had to leave, whether that be on a walk, a party or when going away on a voyage. At this point everyone knew that if you’re looking for Prince Nika, simply find Koby. And if you’re looking for Koby, simply find Prince Nika.

•As time passed people had noticed something shift between the two. While everyone knew how clingy and touchy Luffy can get, he was especially touchy with Koby.

•Whenever Koby was in the same room as him -weather it was just to hang out or for formal business like talking to the king- Luffy would always find a way to attach himself to the young knight. And Koby wouldn’t even flinch or back away nervously like how he does when anyone else gets too close to him. Instead he would lean into his touch. The people closest to them -the strawhat crew(the people under Luffy) Sabo Ace and Helpmo- also noticed how they would always take about one another and would always get excited when the other was brought up.

•The first one to bring this up was, of course, Nami. One day her and Luffy were sat in his study, her actually doing work while the teenager played with something. She started by testing the water, asking what Koby has been up to. And just as she predicted Luffy gave up right away and started yammering about how Koby was up for a promotion and what not. After around, 20 minute? Nami asked him the question.

•“Luffy, do you like Koby?”

•And of course being the idiot that he is Luffy didn’t get the question. So Nami explained it him. And after what felt like ages the young prince looked out the window, where the pink haired knight was talking to Ace, and smiled softly at the two.

•“Yeah” he said softly, voice filled with adoration and love “yeah I think I do”

!!requests are open!!

comments are more than appreciated. but reblogs help the content reach more people so please reblog if you want to like<3 likes do nothing. Seriously, don’t like, reblog.

Tag list🏷️: @dibbledoodle @midnightmah07 @siphoklansan @jade-s-nymph @carameldansan @drdepper

[tiderider]

the little things questionnaire .

repost, don't reblog.

favourite tea . lemongrass ginger tea. given the limited and often contaminated resources brought to the isle, harry had limited options as far as tea went. before the barrier's removal, harry would drink plain fermented dark tea. it was bitter, and leaves a strong and dry aftertaste that lingers for hours. he was introduced to lemongrass ginger tea while in auradon, he considers it a luxury treat.

favourite coffee . he doesn't drink coffee. if he has to he'll have a plain black coffee or a red eye but will suffer for the rest of the day because it makes him overly jittery and hyperactive.

favourite sweet snack . crab cakes. harry doesn't have much of a sweet tooth and eating a lot of sugary things will make him nauseous. but crab meat ( as well as crayfish, lobster, and shrimp meat ) has a natural sweet and savory taste. he also likes chili dark chocolate truffles. they're strong, bitter, and spicy, he considers these a luxury treat too.

favourite savory snack . roasted winged termites. he eats them like trail-mix. most insects and rodents on the isle became an ample food source, most food stalls or carts have roasted, fried, or deep fried insects like spiders, weevils, crickets. the termites have a vegetable-like taste to them and are more of a seasonal luxury on the isle so he will eat them sparingly.

favourite flower . red anemone. harry doesn't spend a lot of time learning or identifying the kinds or types of flora unless absolutely necessary ( or allie's talking ), but he likes red and i can imagine someone telling him the story of adonis and aphrodite. forget-me-nots are a second favourite, he likes the colour.

favourite colours . sea blue / sea green. the water around the isle is dark, muggy, and dirty from trash and pollution but he can see the water past the barrier and he loves the colour. it's calming, the shades remind him of the sea, of the horizon, and of uma. red is his second favourite colour. it's bold and loud, it's an aesthetic warning and is his trademark colour. he prefers darker and more muted shades like wine or oxblood reds.

favourite fruit . lemons. sour and bitter, he'll eat lemons like most people eat apples. he likes citris fruits, feijoa's, grapefruit, tamarillo, dragonfruit, are other fruits he enjoys. he'll eat banana's, oranges, and berries, but he prefers the sour ones.

favourite vegetable . potatoes. they're very versatile and he's most familiar with them. he's not had a bad experience with potatoes, though he did react some kind of way the first time he had sweet potatoes ( not a fan ). he likes peppered hash browns the most.

favourite season . summer. the isle didn't experience the full spectrum of seasons, generally they had storm season and not-storm season. summer on the isle was just a somewhat dryer heat. with the barrier gone, the isle now experiences proper seasons and their summers are hot and breezy given the isle's coasts. sailing during the summer is a favourite pastime, as is visiting the beaches with the crew or attending concerts and summer festivals.

favourite time of day . late afternoon. the isle generally wakes and becomes active in the early afternoon with most businesses opening and schools starting around the same time. 3-6pm is the busiest time of the day and gives harry a lot to do.

favourite kind of weather . cool and slightly cloudy. harry works and moves around a lot so he prefers cool weather. most of his activities are spent outdoors and extreme temperatures can be really annoying and inconvenient. it helps that it's the best kind of weather to go sailing.

love language(s) to give . acts of service. harry is very action and goal orientated. when the people he cares about need or want something done, he does it. whatever shape or form that might take. often harry doesn't need to be asked to do these things, but he does enjoy when his people ask him for favours. in a lot of ways it means his people trust and need him. the flipside of this, is that harry can and does commit acts of service against his people's wishes, sometimes ignoring their objections entirely. it's something he's trying to work on. physical touch. harry is an extremely tactile person, he seeks with his hands, grasping for purchase, holding, squeezing, embracing. he'll often instigate physical contact with others, showing a possessiveness when he does it.

love language(s) to receive . physical touch. harry finds physical touch grounding, physical affection ( especially casual physical affection ) endearing and pleasant, he'll gravitate towards that touch. seeking it out, waiting patiently for it, drowning himself in it when he gets it. he finds the act of physical contact keeps him rooted in reality, it makes him feel real and alive. quality time. harry appreciates spending time with his people almost more than he enjoys touching people. for someone to seek him out, to spend the time with him, whatever he might be doing, makes him feel appreciated, liked, loved ( though he wouldn't use that word himself ), makes him feel that his people want him around, that they value him beyond just what he can do for them.

specific niche love language . arguing , passionate discussions . harry is very opinionated and very hardheaded. his morals and belief system isn't universial and definitely isn't agreeable with most of the people he cares about. he needs his people to be able to stand up for their own morals or beliefs, he needs them to feel safe enough with him that they can disagree, that they can discuss their own perspective with him even if they differ. being able to have those discussions, being willing to teach or show him something he hadn't or didn't consider before is important to him because he wants to understand where his people are coming from. on the flip side, his people being willing to understand him and where he is coming from is just as important to him.

favourite hobbies . sparring. harry will never turn down an opportunity to spar or train. he enjoys the powerplay, the competition, he enjoys learning new things, new moves, he likes the challenge of finding new ways to beat someone, and he likes teaching others too. sailing. obviously, he's a pirate who loves the sea and seafaring. he'll take any opportunity to take a boat or a ship out. especially now that the barrier is gone. he and the crew disappear for days on end just exploring, he even enjoys teaching and training others how to sail and navigate. drawing. it's more of a relaxing pastime, something stationary that gives him time to sit and focus on something simple and trivial.

favourite book(s) . the velveteen rabbit, margery williams. harry doesn't and won't ever have much interest in reading, beyond not having the skill for reading for leisure or enjoyment, he just doesn't have the patience. harry only really starts to learn to read once the barrier is gone and the velveteen rabbit is a short story. the writing is traditional and easy to read and understand, and the moral / themes of realness, love, and identity are things that harry at least would find compelling. generally, he prefers plays.

favourite movie(s) . the blair witch project, or an in-universe alternative. i see harry being a casual horror / slasher movie fan. enjoying the violence, gore, over-the-top acting, and the audience reactions. given auradon's overall culture, i don't see there being many production companies that cater to that kind of genre and i think any kind of horror / slasher movie would be deep underground indie films, acted, shot, and produced by students and aired in secret or in home movie theaters rather than at any auradon cinemas.

favourite song(s) . before i forget, slipknot, or an in-universe alternative. harry's a metalhead. with the crew it's sea shanties, hip hop, pop, alternative rock with a side of r&b and soul all day every day, but when it's just harry, it's metal. he finds the song as a person breaking the mold, rising above while taking pride in where they came from and staying true to who and what they are.

favourite musician . avenged sevenfold, fire from the gods, iron maiden, bloodbather, or the in-universe alternatives. like i said, he's a metalhead. i see harry being a bit of an isle purest, always preferring isle artists more than artists from anywhere else.

favourite animals . sharks, especially those around fisherman's wharf which were probably bull sharks. while bull sharks are typically solitary creatures, they would have been forced to adapt to isle life and likely began operating and hunting in packs. harry spent a lot of time with the sharks, both on and offshore, studying behaviours and hunting techniques, and like the rest of the crew he learned to swim with them.

favourite insect . longhorn larvae. a fat, white, timber eating grub. the full grown grubs that are preparing to pupate have no undigested wood pulp inside of them, so they taste the best. they taste like peanut butter or buttery chicken. he also thinks the longhorn beetles that they evolve into are neat, he's seen them brawl and they tend to hack off each other's limbs which he finds funny.

favourite terrain . the ocean. harry's explored the majority of the ocean terrain surrounding the isle, both above and below water level. discovering and exploring various caves, tunnels, gorges, and gully's. the removal of the barrier has allowed much of the surrounding isle terrain to thrive and recover, now there are even coral reefs and many new species of sea creatures.

tagged : nada tagging : @memuntos ( ophelia hatter ), @nosestealer , @hadesheiir , @vengefulwins , @jayjayjet

[justsome-di]

The Fairest of All Stars: Chapter 12

Andy didn’t mean to become a pirate captain, but after killing the captain of her ship, she finds herself thrust into the role. Years after the incident, she is fierce and feared and recovering from a tropical fever that wiped out half her crew.

Just as they’re about to dock, they find an injured siren left behind by her choir. Andy, drawn to her, pulls her onto the ship and decides to keep her there until she recovers. But with the Navy hunting for both pirates and sirens, Andy has just made her ship an even bigger target for an iniquitous captain looking for revenge.

Warning for suicidal thoughts and violence. Will contain mature scenes.

Also available for free on Patreon (paid members are five installments ahead and will get exclusive bonus stories) and on AO3. If you enjoy reading Stars please consider leaving a comment on AO3, Patreon, or reblogging these chapters! Follow for more updates! (note: billing is actually paused for Patreon through the end of the year so new paid members cannot join until it turns back on)

Andy gathered her nerves after a few minutes of a stand-off with Bettridge. The silence between them spoke louder than any words could, but eventually, Andy knew that she had to say something.

“So,” Andy said. “Are we going to just sit around and catch up? Or do we get to kill each other?”

Bettridge laughed and began pacing along the length of the deck. As he moved, Andy’s crew’s eyes followed. Bettridge’s men, sweaty in the heat and under their thick coats, kept their swords trained on the pirates.

Andy’s men stayed huddled together, weapons drawn but not raised. Not threatening but prepared. It was the only way they could be, cornered like that. Prematurely shooting or slashing would only rile up the Navy. They were buying themselves time.

And with every additional minute Andy got, the higher her chances of saving the ship were. They still remained abysmally low, but it gave her time to plan.

“Do you know how I knew this was your ship?” Bettridge asked.

“Oh my fucking God, he’s going to monologue,” Andy groaned.

“I remember how old it looked. It’s outdated. The sails have holes in them. Your bow has seen better days—really, you do need to be maintaining that. And you are very slow. I always knew that if I ever found you again, I wouldn’t have to try very hard to catch you. It’s like having to chase a snail.”

“Okay, are we done insulting my ship? Of course, it’s old. It was stolen a long time ago. It’s gone through multiple captains.”

“I don’t think it’s that bad,” Syan whispered.

Andy swatted at her discreetly, reaching behind her and smacking her hip with the back of her hand. It wasn’t the time for Syan to be making wisecracks, drawing attention to herself. She was hiding in plain sight.

“The thing is, Captain Andrea,” Bettridge said, taking a slow, dramatic step forward, “good always prevails. The Navy will always find pirates. No matter what edges of the ocean you go to, we always find you.”

Andy wanted to gag.

If Bettridge hadn’t become a Naval captain, he would have made a fine Shakespeare actor. Andy could picture him on stage all dressed and powdered and eating up all the attention of having an entire room of eyes on him.

Asshole.

Andy didn’t listen to the rest of his speech as he continued to drone on and on through cliches and purple prose. It sounded like he had spent a lot of time preparing what he would say to Andy when he caught her. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of listening.

She looked to her crew instead.

The whole situation was different now. Asking them to fight Bettridge wasn’t like asking them to fight any other Naval officer. Bettridge was her enemy, not theirs. She was the one he had been chasing.

Andy didn’t want him to have the satisfaction of killing them. Their deaths wouldn’t be honorable if it was Bettridge who killed them.

They had to live so that they could die a better death someday.

“Killing pirates is like exterminating pests,” Bettridge said. “I know you all think that you’re on top of the world, but your prevalence is only temporary. We’re wiping you out.”

“Or is it the other way around?” Andy asked. “Last rumors I heard, pirates are commanding the seas. No Navy can do shit. Not even your glorious Royal Navy.”

“You look fairly weak to me. Scrawny. Barely a crew behind you.”

It was true. Andy had lost all her weight and muscle from her fever and had barely gained any back. Her crew was pathetic.

“Bite me,” Andy snapped. “I fucked you up once, I can do it again. You’re nothing more than a little bitch for that idiot, manwhore of a king of yours.”

Bettridge’s face turned from contemplative and restrained to bright red. His mouth twisted up. His nose wrinkled up to his eyes.

And he lunged forward, grabbing Andy by the front of her shirt with his good hand and throwing her to the deck. It hurt. Andy’s shoulder crashed into the wood. Her head bounced once. And she landed in such a way that her breath was totally knocked out of her.

Out of the corner of her eye, Andy could see Pinkey put a hand on Syan’s shoulder, gently holding her back.

Andy tried taking a breath in and tried lifting her arms to pull herself up. The longer she was on the ground, the weaker she looked.

But just as she was starting to get some of her breath back, Bettridge kicked her in her chest. His boot hit one of her ribs directly, and pain blossomed all through her side.

“Fuck,” Andy groaned out.

It had been ages since she had taken a beating. She wasn’t ready for it. Her heartbeat pounded in her head, its rapid tempo sending a steady rush of pain through her. Reminders of her tropical fever froze her to the ground. Searing pain in every joint and muscle. Every movement caused her to be engulfed in a fresh wave of pain. Her lungs felt like they were made of iron, unable to expand with her desperate breaths in.

Hands on her shoulders were the only things that shook her out of her panic.

“Get off of her!” Bettridge yelled. “Don’t help her!”

But Joseph did help her. He helped her to sit and held onto her shoulders until she nodded at him that she was fine.

“You may have mistaken me for a pirate,” Joseph said to Bettridge. “I’m not a pirate. I’m a doctor.”

“I can attest to that,” Andy said.

Bettridge still ripped her away from Joseph. Andy held back another groan as she was forced to her feet. She fumbled for a moment before gaining her balance and pushing away from Bettridge.

What a revolting man to put his hands on her. She wanted to rip his throat out. She wanted to see him bleed to death with his flesh in between her fingers, under her nails. She wanted his blood to stain her hands for days.

She should have killed him all those years ago.

“You’re dragging this out,” she said. “Are we going to kill each other or not?”

Bettridge looked at Andy’s men. “No.”

“No?”

Shouldn’t that have been his only goal? Shouldn’t he have been hungry for bloodshed and carnage?

“I’ll make you a deal,” Bettridge said. “You come with me, and I’ll let all your men go.”

Bettridge’s men turned to him in shock.

“Why?” Andy asked.

“I’m only interested in you. I don’t want my men to waste their energy on slaughtering your crew. Not that I think it would take much energy, mind you. But I… I have other plans for you.”

Resignation settled heavily on Andy. She knew what she had to do.

“Fine,” Andy said.

She didn’t have to think about it. If she could let them all go free for the time being, she would do it. She would complete Bettridge’s little revenge scheme and he could move on with his pathetic life. Her ship could continue on, and the crew could grow.

It wasn’t a sentimental decision. It was just the honorable thing to do. It wasn’t her crew’s battle to fight. It was between her and Bettridge.

She had no intention of going quietly, either. As soon as she was on the ship—she would raise as much hell as she could before they killed her. She’d see how much of Bettridge she could bite or punch. Maybe she could give him another permanent reminder of her to match his hand. The least she could do was curse him forever to remember her through the damage to his body.

And Syan…

If she could protect Syan, even if it meant giving up her own life, then she would do it. She would sit in a cage and starve to death or bake in the sun or be beheaded in Britain. If it meant that Syan was going to be safe on the ship with good crew around her—with Pinkey and Joseph still around to look out for her—Andy would do anything.

Bettridge’s men took her sword and her gun and patted her down.

“Captain, no,” Pinkey said. “We had a plan.”

“Plan’s change.”

“But—“

“This is my final order. I know you were ready for a fight, but just let it go. This doesn’t involve any of you anymore.”

Pinkey clenched his jaw and nodded.

“Tobi,” she said. “You have command now, I guess—but if I figure out that you’re screwing anyone over, I will reach up from hell and drag you down through the earth. Am I understood?”

Tobi lowered his gaze for a moment. “Understood, captain.”

Syan looked at the rest of the crew. Their guns and swords were lowered. Joseph had tears in his eyes.

“Don’t cry, you oaf,” she said.

She turned to Pinkey next who stood half a step in front of Syan. “Don’t let anything happen to her,” Andy whispered to him. “Look after her.”

Pinkey nodded. “I’ll take care of her.” His voice was thick. “Promise.”

“Andy,” Syan said, breathless, “you can’t do this. What happened to fighting?”

“Fighting’s for chumps.”

“Andy.”

“It’ll be fine.” Andy swallowed past a rock in her throat. “You’ll be fine, alright? You’ll have Pinkey and Joseph. They’ll look out for you. You can kill Tobi if he tries to fuck with you.”

“But—“

“Syan, don’t fuss about it. This has been a debt I’ve had to pay for a long time.”

Syan looked pale, and her eyes were wide. Her mouth gaped open. Andy took her hand, laced her fingers around Syan’s long ones. Felt her broad palm one last time.

“Goodbye,” Andy said.

“Don’t say goodbye.”

“What else do I say?”

But Syan didn’t have an answer. Her lips trembled. Andy turned away.

She felt the rough wood under her boots, warped and lifting in spots. It would be her final time walking across her deck. Andy took a deep breath.

Gently—for reasons beyond Andy’s comprehension—Bettridge took Andy by the elbow.

As Bettridge led Andy toward the edge of the ship, toward the ropes, Syan cried. Louder than Andy had heard her since the first night they met, she screamed.

“It’ll be alright,” Pinkey said.

Andy looked over. Pinkey held her back. Usually so stoic, Syan’s face was red and contorted with grief and desperation. It made her look even more like a monster. Her wide mouth stretched to reveal her subtly sharp teeth, snot and drool rolled down her cheeks and chin.

Joseph came to her side to help restrain her.

She weakly tried fighting the men. As if her her heart wasn’t really in it. As if she was more heartbroken than driven to fight for Andy. Joseph and Pinkey gradually stopped holding her back from running forward and began supporting her as her legs started crumpling under her.

Syan already thought of herself as a widow. She was going limp in despair.

And as she was seemingly prone to doing, she let the whole ocean know her pain. Andy’s vision jolted for a split second from a particularly mournful sob.

“There, there, my dear,” Joseph said. “It’s alright. We’ll be alright.”

Andy turned away.

“Let’s go,” she mumbled to Bettridge.

Before they climbed down, Bettridge looked hard at Syan. Her hair obscured most of her face, her head having fallen forward toward her chest, but he still tried to get a good look. Andy huffed to distract him.

On the rowboat, Andy’s wrists were handcuffed together.

“That woman—” Bettridge said.

“She’s my lover,” Andy cut him.

Bettridge curled his lip in a snarl. “Blasphemous.”

“And, I assure you, titillating.”

She could still hear Syan screaming. It seemed to bounce off the sea even as they began rowing back to the Navy ship. Andy felt a pull of nausea and could see one of the officers shudder. Syan might not have been a particularly strong siren, but she at least had a talent for making others listen to her pain.

Bettridge’s hand clamped down hard on Andy’s shoulder—so tight that it made her bone ache. It continued to tighten the whole way to his ship.

[queengiuliettafirstlady]

Sunbathing in Love

Sunbathing in Love

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire

Pairing: Jean D’Arc x OC (Julia Lesser vampire)

Part of Summer Days Sultry Nights Content Creator Challenge hosted by @violettduchess and @aquagirl1978

Prompt: 1. A walk on the beach & 12. Barefoot in the sand

Tag: Established relationship Fluff Kisses

Word Count  702

Author’s Note A summer day leisurely spent at the beach give the two lovebirds a much needed time together, to enjoy one another company basking in the warmth of their love. 🥰

Tag list

@kissmetwicekissmedeadly @aquagirl1978

@william-rex @candied-boys @writingwhimsey

@fang-and-feather @moonstruckmelancholic

@wistfulwanderingone @rjthirsty @lichtluv

@ike-garden2024 @jollibeeshappiness @starzyquee              

@maeko-kun @rkmaru

You can find me on AO3 as QueenJuliet 😊

Thank you for everyone who will like, reblog, or comment please be gentle with me english is not my first language so please do not leave rude comments I apologise for eventual errors I hope you will like it 😊

It was a pleasant summer day, the warmth of the sun melting well with the fresh winds rustling through the luscious vegetation surrounding the beach, offering a much needed shelter for the ones who tried to escape the scorching sun of the noon, sat comfortably on a patio overlooking the sea two figure looked at the small sailboats sailing lazily in the distance, their white canvas starking against the azure sky melting with the sea below the horizon so much one did not know where one end and the other begin, enjoying an homemade meal she cooked herself, basking in the moment carefree smile curling their lips, as he caressed her hair, tighten his grip around her form sat between his legs on a chaise lounge, talking leisurely about everything and nothing, dozing off from time to time, crickets and seagulls creating a peculiar sea melody he was grateful to hear for the first time with her lover, taking in the sight of everything basking in the scorching sun kissing over his skin as they relaxed in the fresh wind rippling above water creating little waves she admired crashing over the shore, paying no mind to the way her light sundress billowed in the breeze showing the hem of her long drawers to his sight alone.

She sighed dreamily entwining her fingers with his as he gently curled it on her tummy, nuzzling on her neck playfully leaving feather light kisses making her giggle, that sound enough to fill his heart with the warmth of thousand suns, bursting with love he tried to convey leaving a kiss on her hair basking in the brightness of her smile as she tinder around leaving a tender kiss on the scar above his right eye, placing his eyepatch on its place once more, taken aback by the soft yet passionate way his lips melted on hers in a sweet pure kiss filling her heart with all the love she felt for him alone, reluctantly he pulled away hugging her closer to his chest, cupping her face in his hands he looked into her eyes.

“Je t'aime plus que tout au monde Julia.”

“Je t’aime de tout mon coeur Jean.”

They stayed like this cuddle to one another all afternoon until she suggested to take a walk on a beach, idea he promptly accepted taking her hand in his as she took the lead, the sand was surprisingly warm and soft beneath his feets as they strolled lazily on the shore, he had never felt that way but his hesitation was easily won over as she guided him, her eyes glimmering as she saw him walking with her, courage he got admiring her bright features looking at him so proudly he had not the courage to let her down, even though he knew she would have stick up to him no matter what, before he knew it their movements had tuned on their own accord as they admired the sun setting below the horizon everything in sight was painted with his warm colors, glimmering on the little waves rippling through the otherwise plain surface of the sea, they mindlessly walked into smiling carefreely as the pleasantly tepid water washed over their feets not minding the hem of their clothes getting soaked, tiredness washing over her he lead her to sit on the warm sand next to him, one arm wrapped around her waist as she leaned her head on his shoulder smiling to herself as his kindness melted her heart, she nuzzled closer to him basking in that bright smile lighting up his gorgeous features, talking of anything and nothing as he entwined his fingers with hers, enjoying the frizzy breeze of the early evening until it was time to return home ready to show off their love to one another as only they could with kisses so warm to put even the summer sun itself to shame, outwin even by the brightness of their smiles curling up their lips as they drifted asleep in their embrace, landing together in their dream land following that feeling they had neve believed possible for them, bonding their heart together for mighty and unbreakable was the power of love.

[wordsandrobots]

Iron-Blooded Orphans fic rec list, August 2023

I have never written one of these before but you know what? I should. There are a lot of great writers who've done stuff for IBO over the years and while it isn't the biggest fandom going, I'd like to call out a few fics I've really enjoyed in case they've passed you (presumed fan of IBO) by. Please be aware that spoilers abound; most of this is post-canon.

I did think about categorising these somehow but couldn't settle on anything that made sense so the only grouping is 'by the author, as I remembered them'. My personal taste biases are that I don't tend to read crossovers much and . . . how do I tactfully say I have very little interest in the most obvious/popular pairing in this show, as a ship? There are probably a lot of very good Mika/Orga stories I won't have seen, basically.

But anyway! On to the list, and if anybody has any recommendations of their own, please reblog/append via the option of your choice. :)

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Outside Aid by ghostwriterofthemachine (G)

Post-canon, Akatsuki-focused, via the medium of ghosts (hah). Sad in all the right ways.

---

Of Things Left Behind (and amongst them, I) by isuilde (T)

Post-canon, a heartbreaking story about Eugene and Yamagi helping each other through moving on.

Five Seconds by isuilde (T)

AU, Yamagi/Shino, nicely engaging with the idea of a happy ending not being plain-sailing, emotionally.

---

unknown daybreak by ewagan (T)

Yamagi-focused, a beautiful post-canon character study.

---

Rusted Bolt by alchemicink (G)

Yamagi and Yukinojo, post-canon, likewise lovely.

rainwater running down her face (G) and Takin' your ghosts for a walk (G) by alchemicink

Very sweet post-canon stories about Atra and Kudelia.

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Falling Short by ceepetite (G)

Eugene-focused, really nice exploration of a character that I, like the author, adore far more than he gets screen-time.

---

Basically all of penitence_road/@stillness-in-green's fics, but I have a special fondness for the Yamagi/Chad post-canon ones.

Misery Loves Company (G)

Going out for drinks

The Urgency of Care (G)

and the Takaki/Aston AU The World Takes (T)

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Pillow Talk After A Nightmare by rinnenotsubasa (T)

Juleta/Gaelio, a nice little post-canon vignette.

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someday, the birds must land by dawn in the fields (ewidentnie) (M)

An absolutely not nice and in fact harrowingly good McGillis/Gaelio AU. Very heavy emphasis on the 'of sorts' in 'fix-it'.

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unstitch that shed-off soul by puru2 (T)

Great little character study of Orga.

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a constellation of blood drops by @sheepibum (parts: i | ii | iii | iv | v)

Fantastic Mika/Gaelio AU based around the idea of Gaelio being taken in by Tekkadan after his Mackie-related oopsadaisy in Season 1.

[vollesroah]

Reblogged

This is the internet. No one knows you are black unless you choose to share it. You have the same respect and support as white women. Your age and experience counts for much more than your skin. If you meet idiots, move on and don't waste your time. If you have experiences you want to share, whether specifically to being black or not, or just your hobbies, do it, so we can all learn from them. You only need the strength to make the first move. After that it is nearly plain sailing. On good days, the community is almost tranquil ;)

yo being black and depressed is hard as fuck. being black with anxiety is hard as fuck. being black with a chronic illness or disability is hard a fuck. everybody expects you to be ‘strong’ at all times and no one sees black people as complex or nuanced enough to be capable of suffering. no one ever thinks we could possibly need help. and if you’re a black woman, the moment you stop thinking about others and try to tend to yourself you’re a selfish lazy ungrateful bitch.

support black people, esp women, who need help. don’t just call us strong or tell us we’ll get through it, help us. protect us. uplift us. allow us to be beings capable of suffering. give us the same space you’d give white women to express our pain and be there for us like you would for anyone else. 

[unclebrine]

daily reports keeping YOU up to date on the comings and goings of everyone's favorite domain, courtesy of the OCEAN OVERLORD!!!

...

ocean overlord rp blog for the @pushingblueroses timeline of the bedrockverse!!! this blog and events within it take place several hundred years prior to the events of the dsmp

run by @thunderbottle

...

tags:

#running a tight ship (daily report)

#whale of a time (ic posts)

#plenty of fish in the sea (ask)

rock the boat (advisor posts)

#between the devil and the deep blue sea (heavy content)

#plain sailing (reblogs)

#ships in the night (xxwitherrosexx) - lady death

#neither fish nor fowl (pushingblueroses) - phil

#big fish in a small pond (enderkingscourt) - ender king

[kawaii-angelanne]

shot to the heart | xavier thorpe x reader

CW/TW: none i can think of!

KEY TAGS: spoiler-free (can be interpreted as pre-canon), gender neutral reader, second/third pov (told in xavier's perspective), strangers to ???, flustered xavier <3

WORD COUNT: 1189

CROSS POST: ao3

OPENING NOTE: thanks for clicking on this! please do not repost, copy, modify, or overall plagiarize this work anywhere else please. plagiarism is never acceptable, both in mla 8 format and in fanfiction! for translations, message me, and we can talk about it! reblogs, comments, and likes are super appreciated :>

SUMMARY: "The moment the words leave your lips, he lets go along with a breath he wasn’t even aware he was holding in. In the blink of an eye, the arrow shoots no more than an inch above the target’s red center. That was the closest he’s ever been to bullseye, and his heart pounds from both the achievement and how your body is still pressing against his."

Or where you teach Xavier how to properly shoot a bow and arrow, landing an arrow straight into the target and into his heart.

“So, are you the only member of the Archery Club?” 

Xavier Thorpe, caught-off guard by your unexpected entry, prematurely lets go of the recurve bow’s string. The arrow sails weakly in the air before sinking sadly into the leaf-covered grass and not into the target. 

“Uh, yeah,” he awkwardly lowers his bow and turns to look at you, confusion coloring his features, “Are you…interested in joining?” 

“Maybe,” you shoot him a playful, close-lipped smile before launching yourself off of the small pyramid of hay you were sitting on, “How long have you been doing archery for? A few weeks?” 

“More or less,” he returns to shooting arrows while paying you no mind, “What about you? Ever shot a bow and arrow before?” 

“I have,” you answer just as ambiguously, whistling as his last arrow lands on the blue outer ring, “For the two arrows that are on there, you don’t have terrible grouping. At least they’re all in the same ring! What’s the distance? Fifteen to twenty yards?” 

“...Fifteen,” his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek, slightly irritated that you’re acting like you’re the member of the Archery Club, not him. 

“Can I see your stance again, please?” you move closer to him with your hands behind your back.

His brows furrow with an unwelcome sense of inferiority, “Why?” 

Your lips curve into another impish grin, eyes gleaming with unknown intent, “You’ll see.”

With a grievous sigh, he follows your request, placing his feet apart and standing perpendicular to you. He adjusts his posture, squaring his shoulders.

“Okay, so far so good.… Now, pull back on the bow, please.” 

What are you, an archery instructor or something? 

Still, he does as you ask. After slotting an arrow below the nocking point and above the arrow rest, his three fingers grip the bowstring. He pulls back on the string. With minimal struggle, he tries to remain as still as possible, refusing the bow to lean one way or the other. His expression pulls into itself, brows furrowed even more for better concentration. 

“I see, I see…” you merely mutter to yourself, leaning in closer to further observe his archery ability, “Now, release.” 

At your command, he wastes no time shooting the arrow, relieved after having to pull back for so long. Due to the prolonged drawback, Xavier’s accuracy severely declined, the arrow plunging its tip into the upper-left corner of the target. 

“Your problem,” you point a finger up, as if you solved the mystery, “is that you seem to have a little difficulty maintaining a stable posture when pulling back on your bow and when releasing the arrow. Not enough to be concerning, but enough to affect your performance. Do you know how much your drawback is?” 

“Uh,” he searches the bow for an answer but to no avail, finding only plain wood, “This is just the bow the school has. I have no idea.” 

“You’d think the school would offer better recurve bows then, with the money we pay them,” you crack a joke, lightly jabbing him in the ribs, and then extend a hand out, “May I?” 

Xavier just stares blankly at you and then your outstretched hand, confused as to what exactly you’re asking for. With an urgent wave of your fingers towards the bow, he finally understands and quickly hands it over, slightly embarrassed that he didn’t understand you at first. 

You get into position and pull back on the bowstring with ease, soon letting it go and returning the bow to him, “Yeah, this bow’s drawback is a few pounds outside of your range. You should be handling a bow with a drawback of forty to fifty-five pounds. For today, you can use that bow, but let’s see if we can ask Weems for another bow.” 

“…Okay…” he replies, uncertain as to how to respond to such a level of authority from someone he’s never even met before.

Really, he’s grateful for all your help, but, as a member of the severely underpopulated Archery Club, he feels as if he should be the one telling you this. However, he will admit, even though he has no idea as to what your skill level actually is, you do sound like you know what you’re talking about. So, he supposes he can play along for now. 

“I have to go to the Weathervane soon to meet up with some friends, but let’s improve your shot first,” you now move behind his back, “Reload your arrow, please.” 

With a resounding click against the taut string, he sets the arrow in place and pulls back. He adjusts his posture and is ready to release before a set of palms suddenly rests on his shoulders, your chest brushing against his back. He flinches greatly at the surprise contact but not enough where he would have to reset his posture entirely. His eyes saccade rapidly between you and the target, unsure as to where he should be focusing on. 

With a hard swallow, he tries his best to form a coherent thought before speaking, “What…what’re you—?”

“Relax your shoulders,” you’re practically whispering in his ears due to your close proximity, which sends his heart beating so fast, he’s afraid you can hear it, “Lower your aim a little to the right…. Now down…. Perfect. Steady your breathing, remain calm…”

How is he supposed to “remain calm” with you so close to him!?

You remove your hands from his shoulders but still stay right behind him, your voice prickling his skin, “Now…let it fly.”

The moment the words leave your lips, he lets go along with a breath he wasn’t even aware he was holding in. In the blink of an eye, the arrow shoots no more than an inch above the target’s red center. That was the closest he’s ever been to bullseye, and his heart pounds from both the achievement and how your body is still pressing against his. 

“Great job!” you cheer and step away, picking up your bag that was slumped against the haystack you were sitting on before, “Well, I got to go now, but I’ll see you next time! Toodles!” 

Too overwhelmed from what just happened, he watches your retreating form become smaller and smaller. Unlike him, you weren’t fazed at all, even bobbing your head to whatever music you were listening to with your headphones. 

Just who are you? He never even got your name! Are you in the same year as him? How come he’s never seen you? 

Questions flood his mind, and, before he ends up drowning in them, he decides to end the day and packs away the bow and arrows. He feels his cheeks heat up remembering how your body felt against his and how your instructive tone, distinctly different from your lighthearted one, sent shivers down his spine. 

Run. He needs a run before his memory of you, albeit brief, consumes him entirely. 

Zipping his bag, he slings it over his shoulder and heads straight to his dorm to change into more comfortable wear, hasteful to try to forget about you until the next Archery Club meeting. 

ENDING POST: xavier thorpe is my everything. i eat, breathe, and sleep xavier thorpe.

no, seriously, this is the product when you multiply my hyperfixation of xavier thorpe, my toxic trait of "i can shoot a bow and arrow better than xavier thorpe can even though i have not touched a bow in years," and my procrastination of homework.

and i have just been so inspired by the fanfiction everyone is making for this man! seriously, i have not found a greater treasure trove of fanfiction for a character in so long (the jealousy and friends to lovers trope <33) ; amazing kudos to the talented authors of this fanbase! i hope i contributed to such an incredible collection of stories for xavier thorpe just as much as everyone else has <3

[a-captions-blog]

[Image descriptions, partially adapted from alt text: 1. Tweet by Quds News Network @QudsNen [verified] from 24 April 2024 that says, ‘Nelson Mandela’s grandson joins the Freedom Flotilla set to sail to break the Israeli blockade on Gaza.’ The attached video thumbnail shows Chief Mandla Mandela speaking into a mic while standing on a boat. 2. Tweet by hard mike @ButtetBreaker that quotes the first Tweet and says, ‘in this video a spokesperson for the flotilla says the Israeli military has not only been practicing to raid the FF but they have make it known publicly that it’s their intent to raid the FF.’

3. Wikipedia screenshot that reads: The Gaza Freedom Flotilla, organized by the Free Gaza Movement and the Turkish Foundation for Human Rights and Freedoms and Humanitarian Relief (İHH), was a flotilla (small fleet of ships) carrying humanitarian aid and construction materials with the intention of breaking the Israeli blockade of the Gaza Strip. In normal circumstances, aid is brought to Israel to be inspected and then transferred to Gaza. On 31 May 2010, Israeli forces boarded the ships from speedboats and helicopters. Following resistance on one of the boats, nine activists were killed by Israeli forces. Widespread international condemnation of and reaction to the raid followed, Israel-Turkey relations were strained, and Israel subsequently eased its blockade on the Gaza Strip. \End descriptions]

[Reblog plain text: if you’re wondering what you can do to help them reach Gaza: [caps] call!!! [end caps]

the amerikkkan govt is putting pressure on the turkish government to refuse the Freedom Flotilla passage to Gaza!!! if you’ve been looking for a free way to help the Palestinian people, here is your chance!! you can call any of these numbers during office hours: US State Dept: +1 (202) 501 4444 US Embassy in Instanbul: +90 212 335 9000 US Embassy in Ankara: +90 312 294 0000 Press “0” to talk to an info specialist and demand them to allow 5500+ tons of crucial aid to reach Gaza!!! \End PT]

It's not the first time that has happened

[tsundere-isopods]

Please help me save my cat ~ Ko-fi link included

Edit: Thank every single one of you. I can't express how grateful I am to everyone who donated and reblogged.

Continued edit: Sebastian passed away on March 18th. The money that didn't go to vet bills has gone to his end of life care.

I genuinely think this might be the hardest post I will ever have to write. I have been trying to stay positive and keep hoping for the best, but I can't pretend like my cat isn't sick after this last week. And I am so scared. He's my best friend in the whole wide world. (As I tell him often "My sweetheart, my darling, my love, the light of my life, the wind beneath my winds and in my sails, I love you more than there are stars in the sky, fish in the sea, and atoms in the universe. I have never loved or will love anything more than I love you." Followed usually by "You absolute pest." or "Get up!")

I am apparently incapable of writing this in one go because I can't stop crying. Christ.

For the moment, there is an estimate of $1200 to do the biopsy on his liver (they need to confirm whether it is liver cancer before anything else). This includes ultrasound, x-rays, medications, and having it sent off to the lab. And I can't afford it. Plain and simple. So, I come asking for help. Because I don't want to lose my cat for being poor. It's not fair to him. He's 10, and I promised him that he'd be a fat cat in his late teens before we had to worry.

I don't want to make one of those donation posts where I can't give anything in return. Because I feel like I should show my gratitude somehow. I don't have the ability to draw or paint or anything like that. I have decent sewing skills, and I can write. It isn't much in terms of repayment, but it's all I can offer along with my eternal gratitude and a little bit longer with my best friend.

I have so many pictures of him (even some old ones from when I started this blog, if you can believe it. x x x x)

I am going to link my new Kofi page, and if you would like to donate through PayPal, please just message me. (I'm not comfortable sharing that because of dead naming.) I'm hoping I can offer 250-500 word stories for donors. (Possibly more. We can talk about details.)

For now, enjoy more recent picture of the Light of my Life, Sebastian.

[pandoras-princess]

Turn Back In Time (Ronnie Kray x fem!reader)

*gif not mine//credit to the owner

A/N: Hellooo my lovelies! 🌸 Long time no speak I know. I’ve had a rough few months and stepped back from writing for a while. Buuut I’m back. I started writing this months ago and it somehow turned into 5k long and no where near the end so I’ve decided to split it into two parts. It’s an AU world in which Ronnie never went to prison and has instead been married to you for 5 years. I’ve been watching both Legend and The Krays (kemp brothers version) and the depiction/story of Frances really struck me, so I’ve decided to centre this fic around her and the impact the Kray’s had on her. I’ve kept some parts of the original plot from the movies, although following a different timeline, as I feel they’re key to Frances’ story but I’ve put a little twist on them. Happy Reading People’s! 🥳🥳 As always I appreciate every like, comment, reblog and follow so thank you so much for the love shown already on this blog 🥰🥰 feedback is always welcome 😌

Summary: Everyone has something to say about the Kray’s, but only you know the full story...

Pairing: Ronnie Kray x fem!reader

Warnings: swearing, violence, blood

━◦ ♡ ◦━◦ ♡ ◦━◦━◦ ♡ ◦━◦ ♡ ◦━

“Serving as keeper of the Kray’s was an impossible feat. An impossible feat that always came as second nature to me. It wasn’t until Frances came along that I realised just how hard it really was.

She was a kind soul. As delicate as a dandelion swaying in the wind. A kind soul, but a troubled one nonetheless.

So often would the darkness take her. Wrapping her up in conflicted thoughts and shattered dreams. Reg didn’t make it any easier, dressing her up like a doll and parading her around for all the world to see. As soon as he slid that ring on her finger, she stopped being Frances Shea and became Reggie Kray’s wife...”

“Is that so?”

“Course it’s so. Sure as the day is long, that girl couldn’t handle being part of the Kray’s. It weren’t her fault mind, you had to be bloody barmy to put up with those two.”

“Are you calling yourself barmy, Mrs Kray?”

“Course I am. We’re all barmy really, till some man in a white coat says different. My dear Ronnie, God rest his soul, never suffered a dull moment that’s for sure. Another part of the Kray life Frances couldn’t handle. If you married Reg, you married Ron right along with him. Drove her mad it did, not that Reggie ever noticed. That’s what did it in the end, I think. Reggie never noticed...”

[Many years before]

“That’s it dear sit down, sit down. Ron get her that little stool- that’s the one. There you go, now you put your feet up and we’ll sort out the tea.”

You do as you’re told and rest your aching feet on the footstool provided, sinking back into the cushiony chair as everyone fusses over you. You’re now into your 20th week of pregnancy and every opportunity to put your feet up and relax is shamelessly exploited. It hasn’t exactly been plain sailing so far, but the time spent at home surrounded by the ones you love make up for it all.

Ron stands behind the chair, on guard for anyone that dare to touch you. Given the complications with the pregnancy Ronnie’s protectiveness had reached it’s peak or rather what you hoped was it’s peak. Despite your wilful protests it was now akin to signing a death warrant for anyone to get within a foot of you.

“Ronnie sit down! You’re putting me on edge!” you hiss.

Reluctantly he perches himself on the edge of the sofa, sticking his bottom lip out like a sulking child.

Rolling your eyes you turn your attention to Violet carrying in the tea and for the first time you notice the petite young woman standing in the doorway of the kitchen. Her hair is pruned to perfection and her clothes are as dainty as a dress up doll. With her big brown eyes and high cheek bones she is undeniably beautiful... but she is definitely new.

“Who’s this then?” You ask no one in particular. You’re quite surprised the two of you hadn’t been introduced yet.

“Oh, I’m Frances-”

“She’s with me.” Reggie cuts in and snakes an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against his side. She smiles sheepishly in response and tucks a non existent strand of hair behind her ear. You don’t miss the look of disapproval from Violet.

“Well then... nice to meet you.” You offer her a polite smile and decide to stop asking questions.

After an hour or so you’re feeling much more tired than you would’ve liked. One look at your face tells Ron the same thing and he is soon helping you into your coat and saying his goodbyes. It’s a short ride back to the flat but you can barely keep your eyes open, settling for resting your head on the cool windowpane as Ronnie’s hand finds your thigh.

The next thing you know he’s waking you up and helping you out. Once inside you waste no time and head straight to bed, clambering in as Ronnie makes you both tea. By the time he brings it up you’re snoring softly into the pillows. So, with a shrug of his shoulders, he strips down to his boxers and climbs in next to you. His arm settles around your ever-growing bump as your sleeping form curls into his side. Stroking it absentmindedly, a smile spreads across his lips. Images of your daughter-to-be dance through his mind, whirling and dipping perfectly in sync.

Would she have your hair? Wild curls the colour of burnt oranges and fallen leaves of autumn. Or would she have his? Smooth and silky... but boring old chocolate brown. Would hazel eyes come through? Or would she defy all odds with irises the colour of the deep blue sea? The excitement is intoxicating and the possibilities endless as they go bouncing about his head.

You were carrying a girl, he was sure of it. Everyone else says as much and he’d be lying if he said that isn’t exactly what he’s hoping for.

The comfort of your embrace wraps itself around him like a warm fluffy blanket and he is quickly lulled off to sleep.

You spend most of the next few weeks like that. You in bed, Ron joining you in between meetings and nights at the club. Soon enough though there are more good days than bad and you often find yourself strong enough to relax at Violet’s while the boys go about their business.

Today Ronnie had vowed to stay firmly by your side, supposedly irked by the ‘funny look in your eye and pale skin’ as he so elegantly put it. You sit nestled between him and Violet at the kitchen table while Frances busies herself with making the tea.

“This is so kind of you” Violet gushes. “A real treat, isn’t it?”

“Mm lovely yeah.”

You notice the complexion of the hot liquid as soon as she starts pouring it and wince for what’s surely coming next.

“Oh. No, no, Frances no, that won’t do. That won’t do at all. You go and sit with Mr Kray and I’ll sort it out.” Violet’s tone is dripping in disappointment and her face says it all...

Frances would never be good enough for her little Reggie.

She rushes off into the front room and hides herself away on the chair, oblivious to Mr Kray’s presence. Your heart went out to her; it’s not easy making your way into the Kray family. 

“She can’t even make a decent cup of tea!”

“Yeah, poor Reggie, ay? It was a good effort.” Ronnie snipes, quite obviously loud enough for Frances to hear.

“Ron!” Your palm connects with his bicep and his lips part in protest but the murderous glare overtaking your features stops him dead in his tracks. “Don’t be so rude!”

“Go easy on him Y/N, he’s only stating the obvious...”

“She looks like a budgie in that dress, don’t she?” Ronnie chooses to ignore the daggers you’re shooting at him, clearly egged on by his mother’s reassurance.

“The rag-and-bone man wouldn’t pick her up if she was laying in the gutter!” Violet chuckles.

“No... oh well, Poor Reggie. I shall, um, I shall flush that.”

The mockery proves too much and Frances leaves without saying another word, the slam of the front door casting a stunned silence over the room. Staring at the now empty seat, you can’t say you blame her. Ron’s tongue was razor sharp to the untrained ear and could slice open the toughest of souls in no time at all. Violet’s could be far worse, the apple having fallen none too far from that particular tree. 

Rumour has it she ran all the way home that day, rushing down the roads and stopping for no one on her way. You can’t say how true that rumour is, but more often than not the feet take on what the heart finds too much to bear.

The weeks roll by and before you know it you’ve passed 7 months. With only a couple of months left until the baby arrives, it should be a joyous time for you all. But disaster had struck, as it so often did in the chaotic gangland of the East End. Reggie’d been collared for an old warrant, the judge denied his appeal and he was to spend the last 6 months of it behind bars. He was ordered to surrender the next morning.

What should’ve been happy days quickly became solemn and with Reggie gone it was clear Frances was never going to be accepted into the family.

Spending so much time lounging in the cushiony chair you’ve laid claim to and walking the streets aimlessly for a scrap of relief as the baby makes a boxing ring out of your womb means you pick up on the things that go unmentioned by everyone else.

Frances is not happy. In fact, she’s miserable and in no way enthusiastic for the life she’d unknowingly signed up for. Reggie’s constant absence is taking its toll on the fragile woman and you aren’t sure how much more her shoulders can carry. In the months that have passed since your introduction she’s like a whole new person, in the worst way possible.

One evening you’re nestled beneath a number of blankets, engrossed in the copy of Moby Dick you’ve read a thousand times before when Ronnie comes home. He pours himself a whiskey and settles into the seat beside you bringing your legs to rest on his lap.

“Guess who I bumped into today?” He asks, completely disregarding the item already occupying your attention.

“Who?” 

“Good old Frances.” 

“Oh! How is she...?” 

“I don’t actually know. I shouldn’t think too well though. You see I told her- and before you say anything it’s fucking true -I told her that she’s turned into a ghost, right before our eyes. Now don’t give me that look love because with the right kind of lighting I’d be able to see through her clearer than a butchers window.” 

“You did not say that to her?!”

“I absolutely fucking did. Somebody had to tell her and it wasn’t very well going to be you or Reggie now was it.” 

“You can’t go around saying things like that to people, they don’t tend to like it very much.”

“Princess, I don’t give a fuck what other people like. Not a single fuck in the world.”

“Don’t you think she’s sad enough already Ron? She doesn’t need you rubbing salt into the wound.”

“What I think about that right, is that Frances is so sad she doesn’t actually know what sad feels like anymore.”

While you’re not a fan of Ronnie’s way of going about things, you find it hard to disagree with him on that one.

That night laying awake in bed it isn’t the baby keeping you from sleep. Images of Frances flash through your mind and as you nibble away at your bottom lip they show no signs of stopping. With an exasperated sigh you roll yourself out of bed, the shift in weight proving more than enough to wake your sleeping husband.

“Are you okay? Is it the baby?” He asks, voice laced with concern.

“I’m fine, the baby’s fine. I just can’t sleep. Help me with this please.”

Moving behind you he takes hold of the dressing gown you’re battling with and untangles it. Within seconds he’s holding it out for you.

Mumbling a quick ‘bastard’ you slide your arms into it and secure the belt around you. Ronnie chuckles, amused by your childlike frustration and draws you into his arms. His large hands settle over yours on your bump and he begins swaying the two of you from side to side.

“What’s up love? What is bothering you?”

“Frances.”

The swaying stops and he spins you around to face him, confusion etched onto his features.

“Frances? Has she done something? Or said something? I won’t be having that. It’s not on. Not on at all. You are a pregnant woman- my pregnant woman -I won’t be having her do anything untoward-”

“Ron stop. Stop- stop it’s okay.” Spluttering through your giggles you attempt to shut him up long enough to explain. “She hasn’t done anything to me. I’m just worried about her.”

“Worried about her? We’re all worried about her. It’s not any of our business.”

“Reggie loves her and that makes it our business. You said yourself she’s turning into a ghost. How can I sit back and watch? Just watch her fade away into the background without doing anything at all?”

“That’s easy love, you don’t watch her.”

“Ron!” You groan. “Be serious.”

“Look Y/N, you’re weeks away from giving birth, Reggie’s inside and I’m losing my fucking mind. You’ve got enough on your plate without worrying about her worries n’all. Focus on you and the baby and let Reggie worry about the sanity of his woman, yeah?”

“Reggie isn’t here to worry about her and I can’t very well ignore it and do nothing Ron. It’s not right!”

“What do you suppose we do about it then love? Invite her to move in? Tell you what she can share the cot with the baby how about that.”

“Oh stop it. I don’t know what, I haven’t gotten that far yet. I do know that I’m going to do something, before it’s too late to do anything at all...”

Your plans to save the day are very quickly derailed when it becomes apparent Frances isn’t the only one lost without Reggie around. Ron is completely distraught without his twin by his side and his grip on reality loosens that bit more with every day that passes. You’re sure he’s stopped taking his medication. Heavily pregnant, you don’t have the energy to run around after him so you manage his moods as best you can when you’re with him and pray to the high heaven’s for anyone unlucky enough to cross his path when you aren’t.

Those prayers weren’t to be answered.

A few days later you’re dozing in bed when three sharp knocks shake you from your sleep. As you slowly make your way to the door the three sharp knocks sound again.

“Alright alright keep your hair on I’m coming!”

Cranky and half asleep, you fail to hide how much of an unpleasant surprise it is to find Lesley Payne on the doorstep.

“Ronnie’s not here.” You quip, hoping to end the conversation before it had even started.

“I know Ronnie’s not here. I’ve come to speak to you.” His voice is a mixture of anger and panic, his suit entirely disheveled. Tufts of hair stick up on his head suggesting he’d spent quite a lot of time pulling at it.

“What could you possibly have to say to me?”

His eyes dart around the surrounding houses and scattered neighbours along the street. “Let me in and I’ll tell you.”

Growing increasingly agitated by his elusive behaviour you grit your teeth and fold your arms over your chest.

“I don’t think so. What do you want? Ronnie would have your head on a stick if he knew you were here. I’m half tempted to tell him.” 

“I’m here to tell you your husband has lost the fucking plot love. He wants me to take money out of the casino to fund some fucking pipe dream in Africa. I had him in my office today shouting the odds and throwing his weight around. Not only that he’s scaring away every customer half worth serving at the barn. I came here to warn you. He is dangerous. Put him on a tight leash and sharpish before he does damage that can’t be undone.”

Not giving you the chance to reply Payne mutters a quick goodbye and scurries off down the street. His body is hunched over his briefcase, which is held tight against his chest.

‘He’s obviously scared of something.’

You have no doubt that something is indeed Ronnie...

[h-l-vlovesvintage]

So, I'm gonna post a snippet of something I'm writing. Just to get something...really anything I've wrote out there.Please don't copy my work. Feel free to comment or reblog.

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For context: it's a Kaz Brekker x Privateer!Squaller!Original Character (Marlowe Carille). She looks like Grace Van Dien.

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Storm

The waters rose around and inside Kaz Brekker as he watched Marlowe almost fly over the side of the Consort as it rocked in the strong waves. His leather clad hand gripped the crow headed cane stronger becoming white inside.

Thankfully, she got hold of the side of the ship. Thunder raged and frantic rain fell onto the deck. She let out a slew of curses as she regained her balance and took her stance continuing to guide the ship through the storm. Kaz’s presence was unknown to her as he remained in the shadows and he intended to stay there. Marlowe had her back turned to him, summoning wind into the sails to push through the storm. How had she been doing this all by herself for so long, Kaz thought as Marlowe ran around the deck hoping the thunder and rain would soon cease. And it did. Over a quarter of an hour passed and the sky was clear again and the sun shined brightly.

//

Marlowe let out a breath as natural breeze’s took over and the ship moved forward, now much more smoothly. Now she felt how her hair and clothes stick to her ivory skin. All she wanted to do was head into her quarters and drink some Ravkan whiskey and wear warm clothes. She whipped around when she heard the thump of a cane.

“Brekker! How long have you been standing there?” She let out as she ran a hand through damp blonde hair.

Kaz had attempted to go back to his crew when he saw that she would be fine. He kept a plain look, “It doesn’t matter. I needed to see that my investment hadn’t flown overboard.”

“Huh, really,” Kaz only shrugged and limped away down the stairs.

Marlowe stood in place for a heartbeat before rolling her shoulders and heading to her quarters.

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What do you think?