#richie porte

[newwavesylviaplath]

derry, maine (technically)

[clownmovieyaoi]

rest in peace gayboy

[agirlnamedernie]

I'm a sydcarmy girlie all the way, but I respect my sydrichie siblings. I mean, I see it.

[baynton-nation]

Mathew Baynton with the CBS Ghosts cast

[pinkpogiclub]

comprehensive list of my favorite cycling moments in no particular order

the Mont Ventoux incident: twelfth stage of the 2016 tour de france. Sir Chris Froome is comfortbaly leading both the stage and the GC, wearing the maillot jaune. Less than 1k to go and the unthinkable happens: too many people are standing on the road and one of the motorbikes at the front suddenly brakes, resulting in one insane shot of Richie Porte face-planting against the camera. The result? Both Bauke Mollema and Chris Froome crash (no injuries for them, luckily) and Chris Froome's bike BREAKS. PANIC. It's very important to note that at this point team cars are stuck behind and are unable to reach him (both because of the narrow street and the absolutely staggerig amount of people there). So what does Chris Froome do? He starts running marathon style, ready to defend his advantage on the other GC guys tooth and nail. In the end he did keep his lead (after a bike swap from hell and twenty minutes under an amount of stress that could have killed a horse) but BOY was it an Experience to watch live.

the tiny couch of Milano-Sanremo 2023: otheriwise known as the one bed trope cycling adaptation and, in my opinion, a mandatory addition to every post-race waiting room. Not a single person on this couch wanted to be there apart from pippo, who was doing a very bad job at hiding his amusement. Look at this, incredible.

Lorenzo Fortunato's win and Alberto Contador's consequent metal breakdown: overall an incredibly wholesome moment from the 2021 Giro D'Italia. Lorenzo Fortunato (then 25 years old, relatively new and upcoming rider) attacks on the Zoncolan, one of the most famous and gruelling climbs of the Giro: everybody’s rooting for the kid, who then goes on to win the stage all by himself, reaching the top through apocalyptic weather. Admirable, right? Well, while all this was unfolding, Alberto Contador (who was at the time Eolo-Kometa's team manager) was live on Insta pacing around and having an absolute Moment on camera, literally hyperventilating and crying, begging everything and everyone for his protegé to win. He then went on to promise to ride from Pinto (his hometown) to Milan as a celebration. Iconic.

Sepp Kuss' Vuelta victory: AKA the birth of a legend and of my personal GC Kuss agenda. Vuelta de España, 2023: domestique extraoirdinaire Sepp Kuss wins his first stage and he's VERY elated about it (as we all are, tbh), smiling and high-fiving people even before crossing the finish line. On the podium he truly becomes man of the people by chugging down half a bottle of champagne without batting an eye: man of the people right there. By this point no one is really thinking anything of it, we’re all just vibing, happy for a rider who is partecipating in his THIRD CONSECUTIVE Grand Tour of the year. But THEN. It slowly starts becoming clearer and clearer that Jumbo-Visma (rip) has not one, not two, but THREE (3) possible final GC contenders, which is alone a very bonkers concept. In the end Sepp manages to keep the lead despite what looks like a messy (?) situation management from Jumbo-Visma and a stage finish on Angliru where the Jumbo-Vismen seem to be riding all for themselves, sprinting away from Sepp. All in all a display of incredible strenght by both the team (winner of ALL three Grand Tours with THREE DIFFERENT riders. INSANE) and Sepp himself.

Last time trial stage of the 2020 Tour de France: I could easily write a PHD thesis about this day alone. NOTHING encapsulates the drama of sports quite like this particular moment. In one already very odd Tour de France, ridden in mid-September due to Covid restrictions, Primož Roglic absolutely DOMINATES the GC from the very beginning: his team is strong and he keeps the yellow jersey up until the end, to the point where nobody really expects anything major to happen. Cue Tadej Pogačar (called by the italian commentators "il ragazzino terribile" aka "the terrible boy"), fellow countryman of Primož: he’s won a couple of stages and he's shown his worth, finding himself in a very honorable second place in the GC with a 57'' gap from the leader. Which could mean nothing. SO. Here comes the final TT, the very last chance for riders to try and make up some time before Paris: Primož is an excellent TT rider and he's got enough time over Tadej, which should grant him a comfortable victory or, at least, not too much lost time, right? WRONG. OH BOY. Tragedy unfolds as soon as Tadej starts his race and makes it clear that he's out for BLOOD: he clearly doesn't care about second place, he wants the yellow!!!!!! And so we're stuck at home, watching silently as this KID slowly makes up time, second by painful second, all while Primož is having the mother of all shit days on the bike, struggling so much that it becomes harder and harder for him to maintain his hard-earned lead. Tadej goes on to win the stage (surpassing Tom Dumoulin and Wout van Aert, who had both ridden an incredible TT) and, more importantly, his fist Tour at just 21 years old. I still get chills thinking about it. Fun fact: in Paris, Tadej wil also wear both the white and the polka-dot jersey. Totally normal behaviour.

Giulio Ciccone and his close call with excommunication: Tirreno-Adriatico 2023. Giulio is giving out an interview to a fellow italian journalist after the stage, when suddenly one team car speeds up behind him and very narrowly misses him, almost clipping his bike in the process. The result is Giulio breathing life into the infamous "porca mado.....nza", which is a revised version of an extremely NASTY type of blasphemy against the virgin mary. Iconic in its own way, threatened to take down catholicism as a whole in one clean swoop. 10/10.

Geraint Thomas' leadout for Mark Cavendish: last stage of the 2023 Giro d'Italia, Geraint Thomas has made peace with the fact that he’s lost his chance at winning La maglia Rosa. The peloton is steadily approaching the finish line and sprinters are getting ready to give it all for the win: suddenly, we see Geraint Thomas putting himself right in front of the leading group, effectively becoming Mark Cavendish's leadout man, guiding him to a beautiful final win in Rome (mind you, this was supposed to be Mark's last year before retirement). They're not teammates, so Geraint Thomas had no reason to do it except for the fact that he's known Mark for the better part of twenty years and he wanted to help him: INSANE narratives, we all cried at the sight of the two old men embracing eachother like little kids. SIGH

2023 Road-Race World Championship. This place has everything: rainy weather, beautiful landscapes, highland cows, Mathieu van der Poel taking a dump in a newly renovated house, childhood rivals standing together on a podium, Pogi in neon green. Also known as the day Mathieu van der Poel went from Good Rider to Insane Supernatural Being: from attacking with 20k to go in what probably was the hardest course ever designed in a Road Race World Championship ever, falling down while all the team cars were unreachable, tearing off a piece of his own fucked up shoe because it was bothering him, to winning while sopping wet and crying. INSANE. Bonus: this absurd newspaper front page that I wish I had framed in my living room.

[rogloptimist]

all of the ways that it’s too late now

credits under cut!

worst case kid - tommy lefroy // tadej pogacar and primoz roglic - stage 15, tour de france 2020 // tadej pogacar and primoz roglic - giro di lombardia 2023 (IMAGO) // tadej pogacar, primoz roglic and richie porte - podium ceremony, tour de france 2020 (sirotti) // tadej pogacar and primoz roglic - stage 20, tour de france 2020 // primoz roglic - stage 12, tour de france 2024 (marco bertorello) // tadej pogacar and primoz roglic - podium ceremony, tour de france 2020 (daniel novakovic) // tadej pogacar and primoz roglic - stage 21, tour de france 2020 // tadej pogacar and primoz roglic - tour de france 2020 // tadej pogacar and primoz roglic - itzulia basque country 2021 (getty images) // tadej pogacar and primoz roglic (nik jevsnik// tadej pogacar and primoz roglic - tour de france 2020 // tadej pogacar and primoz roglic - itzulia basque country 2021 (kenzo tribouillard)

[anonymouscheeseball]

I wonder who was in the mascot costume in the Two Dead Dragons episode.

Who was that guy who seemed to know a lot about Brad and Hunter's deaths, who knew Twitchy Richie had all the tea and that the guy was possibly involved in their deaths (if he didn't actually straight-up know).

Let's make that guy an honorary detective. Or at least like, an offical, living informant.

Because God knows Port Townsend police is useless.

Is that guy even the real school mascot? Is he a student or did he choose the costume to walk incognito amongst the student population? Was he one of Brad and Hunter's teammates who knew they were douchey as hell and had a hunch they were actually a lot worse than just that?

Let's give this legend a backstory, he deserves it.

[rorywritesjunk]

There's no race, no ending in sight

r rating. title comes from "two of us on the run" by lucius

(some Buggy now. The clown always falls fast in my works and of course he's a bit of a mess)

Taglist: @hey-august

pt 1 + pt 2 + p3 + p4 + pt 5 + p6 + pt 7 +Pt 8 + Pt 9 + Pt 10 + Pt 11 + Pt 12 + Pt 13 + Pt 14 + Pt 15 + pt 16 + Pt 17 (End)

Pt 4

Nothing was going right for Buggy since Crocodile, Sunny, and Mihawk showed up. Not only did Buggy constantly get reminded of his debt to Crocodile, the clown accidentally became the face of the Cross Guild due to his followers enthusiasm and loyalty. But for him, that really wasn't even the worse part.

For Buggy, the worse part was he found himself thinking about Sunny a little too much in the two weeks since they met.

She was Crocodile's wife. She wasn't always nice to Buggy, but there were little things she did that made Buggy see her in a different light.

She asked him to show her how to juggle after his failed attempt at wowing her. He had hesitated, thinking this was a joke to her, but she seemed to genuinely want to learn so he did, being mindful of how he taught her, trying to keep the touching to a minimum as he first showed her with a ball first, thinking it was easier.

The accidental joke about her handling his balls had her laughing. An actual, genuine laugh that Buggy thought was the prettiest sound.

That led to her judging the state of his jacket, noticing one of the cuffs coming loose from the jacket. After explaining Richie snagged it while Buggy was trying to get him to perform before Sunny showed up, she offered to fix it for him. No charge or anything. He must look his best after all.

When she returned it a few days later, the jacket looked brand new. She cleaned and ironed it for him, insisting that she did it because if he was to put on a proper performance for her then she wanted him to dazzle her.

She insisted he put it on to make sure it fit and he hated that he listened to her. He hated it even more how red in the face he got when she crowded him, buttoning it up to make sure it looked right on him.

Days later she showed up again, asking him to keep teaching her fun little tricks like juggling and plate spinning. Did she think this was a playground? He and his men had work to do! But she actually asked nicely, twirling a lock of her hair around her finger, looking a bit uncertain, and he found himself agreeing to it.

"As a kid I thought it would be fun to run away and join the circus." Sunny told him as she practiced juggling two balls in the air. "My mom caught me trying to sneak away one night."

"Why, were your parents awful or something?" Buggy asked, catching one of the balls when she miscalculated a throw. He tossed it back to her. "Watch what you're doing."

"My parents are absolutely lovely." Sunny smiled as she tried again to juggle. "I was just excited after seeing the show. My dad is a big softy and cried when he found out while my mom thought it was funny. She said if my dad hadn't been so upset she would have let me sneak away."

Buggy frowned at that. As a kid on Roger's ship, he threatened to run away multiple times when he was upset. Shanks always offered to join him and often as soon as the boys hatched the plan, the ship was already sailing away from the port, preventing them from following through. He couldn't imagine doing it just for fun.

"Huh." Buggy shrugged and suddenly tossed her a third ball, catching her by surprise. "Well, never too late to run away and join the circus, you know."

"Oh? Your circus is the only one around. Maybe I'll run away and join yours." Sunny chuckled as she failed to maintain her rhythm, dropping them. "Maybe I'm not meant to juggle."

"You just started learning." Buggy rolled his eyes as his hands went to collect them. He tried not to think of her showing up at the tent with a bag, ready to leave her husband to join him instead. "Don't give up yet."

"As long as you keep teaching me then I won't." She smiled at him and Buggy paused, swallowing heavily as his face started to turn red. She looked so pretty when she smiled.

Now he was sulking in the tent, nursing his injuries Mihawk and Crocodile inflicted upon him after the fliers were dropped, showing him as the head of the organization. They both laid into him and the bumps and bruises all over would certainly take some time to heal. He had a bottle of rum in one hand and an ice pack in the other, cursing their names.

It didn't make it any better that Sunny showed up shortly after, frowning when she saw the clown's head hanging from Crocodile's hook while his body lay at his feet. Buggy couldn't believe she was scolding her husband, but not for hurting Buggy so much, more on the fact that she just finished getting stains out of Crocodile's shirt and now it was dirty again.

Of course, she had no reason to worry about Buggy. She had her husband after all. Why would Buggy think she would show any interest in his safety when she had her husband to think about?

He huffed in annoyance, taking a few drinks of his rum as he sulked on the couch. He didn't want to think about her at all because he felt that would just get him into trouble. She just... She was so pretty. That was the first thing that came to mind. When she smiled, her face would light up and eyes sparkled and Buggy thought that was almost as wonderful as all the treasure in the world. Almost.

But he just met her a few weeks ago. He shouldn't be thinking about her this way when her husband wouldn't hesitate killing him.

And why would he think she would even consider him? If she was bored of her husband she would go to someone like Mihawk, wouldn't she? Not some pathetic clown who she saw crying in front of her husband, begging for his life to be spared. Buggy wouldn't be surprised if she started keeping her distance after that. Maybe he needed to tell her to, but would that do any good? She was stubborn and would probably ignore him if he told her that.

He finished the bottle and threw it aside, grumbling to himself as he tried to not think about her.

~

It was dumb to do it.

Dumb, dumb, dumb. He was a dead clown for sure but he couldn't stop himself.

Mihawk and Sunny were outside together, actually gardening. Sunny was in her overalls and a duck printed tank top. Buggy tried not to stare at her exposed arms, free of marks and bruises from a night with her husband. She had a big floppy hat on, shielding her face from the sun. He noticed her hair was in two braids, though a few strands were loose that she kept brushing out of her eyes. She looked... Cute.

Mihawk noticed Buggy first, looking up from his task with narrowed eyes. Sunny was standing, leaning on a rake as she turned to look at Buggy. She grinned when she saw him.

"The clown lives!" She chuckled as she looked him over. He wasn't in that goofy red outfit now, instead in pants and a shirt, something a little more practical. "I hadn't seen you in a while. Thought you may have run off or something."

"I was busy, okay?!" He shot back, only to recoil slightly under Mihawk's glare. Buggy straightened up and cleared his throat. "You stopped coming around to bug me about teaching you tricks. I... Was just checking on you."

"Checking on me?" Sunny repeated with a frown. "Oh, sorry, I figured you wanted space after everything that happened. And Mihawk wanted to start a garden and I asked to help him."

Buggy tried to ignore the swordsman, choosing to keep his attention on Sunny instead. "Yea, well, how are you going to get better at juggling if you stop talking to me, huh?! Didn't you want to learn all of this stuff?!"

"I do..." Sunny frowned. "But why don't you help us out and then you can teach me some more? I wouldn't mind learning more tricks from you, if you're free."

"What sort of 'tricks' are you teaching, clown?" Mihawk asked. Sunny laughed as Buggy tried not to shake with fear in front of him.

"I want him to teach me to juggle and spin plates, Mihawk!" She told him with a smile. "I get so bored sometimes. I thought it would be fun and he's a great teacher."

Mihawk looked between the two before his gaze fell on Buggy. "Is that all you're doing?"

""Y-Yes! What else would it be?!" Buggy exclaimed nervously, any remaining calm now gone from his body. He didn't want Mihawk getting the wrong impression and telling Crocodile. He would be dead for sure. "That's all! Nothing else, understand?! Just some little tricks!"

"Very well." Mihawk pointed to the rake Sunny was leaning on. "Help her with some of the weeds. The sooner this is done the sooner you can 'teach her little tricks'."

Sunny handed Buggy the rake before going over to where she left some bottles of water. Once she was out of earshot, Mihawk stood up and grabbed Buggy by the front of his shirt, startling him.

"What game are you playing?" He asked Buggy.

He put his hands up, shaking his head. "Nothing, I swear, she wants me to teach her things and... And if she's happy then her husband will be happy, right? Less chance of him killing me, right?"

Mihawk narrowed his eyes, studying Buggy's face for any signs of ulterior motives. Supposedly the clown was telling the truth, that this was just to entertain Sunny, but he didn't trust Buggy. He released him and pushed him back.

"Yes, keep her happy, that's the best thing you can do, clown." Mihawk told him before he returned to his task. Sunny came back over, adjusting her hat as she smiled.

"C'mon, Buggy. I'll show you what to do." She told him, touching his arm, causing him to stiffen up for a moment. He glanced at Mihawk who was watching them, so Buggy pulled his arm away and let Sunny show him what to do.

Oh, he was a dead man for this. Mihawk wasn't stupid.

[derrydyyke]

rewatching It 1 before my trip to port hope (as if i need refreshing. this shit is so burned into my memory.) and the way bill looks so hurt when eddie says he doesnt wanna end up like georgie and then stan agrees with him and says that this is scary n disgusting and theyre both just like fuck this and then richie just looks at bill and shrugs KILLS MEEEE.

richies like 🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️ i don't mind. don't worry abt them. i'm here. i got you. i'll follow u into this dark, wet, sewer drain where there is most probably the body parts of our deceased classmate bc we just found her shoe. idc bro. i'll go with you. i'd follow u anywhere. i look up to u. i love u. i'd die for u. bro. now hold my hand.

It 2 didnt do them justice bro chapter one richie was so far up this lil motherfucker's ass 😭😭

[blogger360ncislarules]

Love is in the air for Ghosts.

After a failed attempt at romance with car ghost Jessica and an ill-fated long-distance crush on Lenape spirit Shiki, Sas will get another chance at love in Season 4, it was revealed during the show’s San Diego Comic-Con panel last weekend.

Not much is currently known about Sas’ love interest, except that “we have a crazy way for Sas to meet someone this season,” co-showrunner Joe Port teased at the event. (Could it be courtesy of Pete’s power? Port did tell TVLine that the troop leader will be bringing one of his new ghost pals back to the mansion.)

The new paramour’s introduction couldn’t come at a better time, because “I just think Sasappis is really excited to fall in love,” his portrayer, Román Zaragoza, tells TVLine’s Keisha Hatchett in the above video. “I think he’s got the taste of it. I think he wants to just dive more into what that could be for him. And I think he’s got a lot of support from all the other ghosts about how to handle situations now. So it’s cool to see that vulnerable side of him.”

And Sas isn’t the only one whose heart may be opening up to new people. Now that his pal Pete can travel beyond the premises of Woodstone, he’ll be taking advantage of that ability to venture outside the B&B and interact with other ghosts.

“I hope, in this coming season, he’s going to get to continue to explore either relationships that he’s already started” — like with Allegra Edwards’ Donna? — “or new relationships,” says Richie Moriarty, who plays Pete. “It’s exciting because, like, a whole new world truly has opened up to Pete. So he’s going to be meeting a ton of different ghosts this season, and I’m very excited to play all that.”

One spirit that Pete won’t have to travel far to encounter is Patience (played by Mary Holland), the Puritan ghost who dragged Isaac into the dirt. And if you think that was scary, just wait until you learn what she can do with her special ability.

“We get to learn what Patience’s ghost power is, and the power is intense,” Moriarty teases. “I think it throws everyone in the house off. So we all are a bit standoffish with Patience at first. We’re all a little bit terrified.”

Elsewhere in the interview, Zaragoza and Moriarty preview the fallout from the Season 3 finale cliffhanger, and talk about Sas and Jay’s unique friendship.

Ghosts Season 4 premieres Thursday, Oct. 17 at 8:30/7:30c on CBS.

[gorlygorlx3]

Human! DJ Music Man Headcanons 🕷🎧🎶

Here's to our favorite giant enemy spider

🎧As said in the general headcanons, DJ’s “main arms are covered with inner wiring and skin, making them look muscular. The extra four are not covered in skin and wires (because the designers thought it would freak people out of he looked like he had six arms attached to his body.) The four arms are connected by battery sized port that’s rooted into DJ’s back.

It’s sensitive.

And it’s not covered by any skin.

Why? Fazco’s dumbfuckery. 

So be careful when you hug him. Aim for his lower back so you don’t touch the pack. 

🎶There was a concert at the Fazcade until he stop it after seeing someone getting harassed. Security immediately came to take the harasser away and the party started again. Assault is not allowed on the dance floor.

🕷️He doesn’t have a room (Damn Fazco! *shakes fist in the air*) so he lives in the tunnels. Either him or the little music men scavenge for random stuff left over from the day. Sometimes Moon brings a gift or two to him when he visits. 

🎧Speaking of Moon, the two are good friends. Ever since Moon helped a poor little music man that was stuck in a hole, DJ’s respect and trust for him increased. The little music men love Moon now and DJ got a new friend. Both would hang from the ceiling in the tunnels, chatting for a bit. If Moon needed a little extra help on lullabies, the two would brainstorm. The little music men acting as their audience.

🎶And speaking of the little music men, they are not human. They look like the regular design from the game. Why do they follow DJ if they don’t really look alike? ‘Cuz he’s a cool dude 😎. Anyways, the music men like to explore through the plex, finding random stuff and bringing it back to DJ. If you’re ever in trouble, they would crash their cymbals together to alert the main man, to which he goes through the tunnels to find you. He loves the music men and so do they. 

🕷️A date would probably be either some sort of underground club or arcade. Imagine this man, with all six of his arms playing six different games at once. While you two brawl in some fighting game, he already has the highest score in PAC-MAN, Galactica, Donkey Kong, and some random 9-year old in air hockey. 

🎧He doesn’t get very jealous, maybe blasting some weird song loudly to ward off the potential threat…but if he hears that you’re getting harassed, the shades come off and he’ll glare at the attacker before walking you out of there.

🎶Very comforting. Will rub your back if you’re in need of affection. His voice is very soothing and somehow always has the right thing to say. He’ll also offer you a free personal love show. Just for you! 

🕷️VA headcanon: Either Zeno Robinson in his role of Deejay in Street Fighter 6 or Rich Brown in his role of Big Band in Skullgirls.

*Bonus Non-Human DJMM headcanon: I know usually people depict DJ being mute and having to use sign language to communicate (which I’m not saying I don’t like it but it’s a little repetitive. And hard to write.)

Other authors and writers have described him as having a deep, baritone voice or some AI generated male voice, which is fine but generic. I personally headcanon that DJ would communicate how Bumblebee (yes the one from Transformers) would talk. By using snippets of songs and forming sentences with them. Like he’ll say “yeah” but use the one from Ariana Grande’s “God is a Woman” (or some other song where she just says yeah) Or Lionel Richie’s “Hello” just to say hello. 

“No DJ. I can’t stay here, I got to get home.”

“I'm beggin', beggin' you~” [Beggin’ by Måneskin] As he raises his hands, pleading 🙏🥺

[miss-celestia13]

Devil in Paradise

Dark!Richy x Dark!OFMC One Shot

Aylins latest idea hasn’t turned out quite how she hoped. New identities. A cruise filled with the wealthy. Out in the middle of the ocean, Richy joins in with her scams, and she discovers it is possible for her to feel jealous…

These two have been waiting quite impatiently for me to come back to them. Expect plenty dark humor, more possessive smut, and a shift in their dynamic. Can be read alone without any knowledge of the fandom or pairing, but I have linked the last one below!

Flesh & Blood

People Aylin wants to kill or maim

1- The entire world. But especially the person who invented cruise ships. If they were already dead, she'd dig them up and kill them again just to please herself. She wanted to destroy it all. It all existed to piss her off. If she weren’t already living in a hell realm, she’d set it all on fire. Richy was already suffering. She took much enjoyment from it and didn't feel the need to add to it yet.

Aylin

Fuck this ship. Fuck the sun. Fuck the heat. Fuck it all, burn it down, and burn the fucking ashes. Sticky, moody, and annoyed. She was sick of it. They had managed to board without any drama; she’d sourced them new identities and paid handsomely for the privilege. Richy was delighted by his. His new name gave him a little more freedom, even if it made her snort laugh every time she tried to say it. Flynn. She was not calling him that. Not a chance. His beard was still a point of great pride for him, and she giggled every time she caught him staring at his reflection on any shiny surface he passed. The red dye had faded to a dingy ginger shade due to the sun and the thirteen showers she took to get the dried blood off when they finally found accommodation for the night after that night in the alley.

Richy had joined her at one point, and they’d broken the flimsy shower screen, but it was worth the loss of their deposit. The diamond ring had been pawned for much less than its worth but still a hefty amount that funded this whole project. No more lives had been taken, but she was close. She was on the treadmill again and did not know how to get back off. It gnawed in her chest. Every annoyance another person caused her made it rear up, and she struggled to force it back down. They could find jobs, settle down and live happily ever after. But that wasn’t them. Too mundane and boring. They’d kill each other before the week was out. Instead, they had bounced around high-cost resorts and hotels. Making off with cash, jewelry, and other valuables from the rich folk while making their way to the port.

It was exciting, and they had slowly built a good chunk of savings. Now they were far from Duskwood, or any other land, Richy could take part, and he was foaming at the mouth as they got ready. They were dressed to the nines, and she kept stealing glances as he moved about and pretended he wasn’t ogling her as she toed on her best heels. She didn’t know why he bothered hiding it. Part of the normal act he'd worn in his old life that he couldn’t shake off, she supposed. But it was stupid. He spent more time inside her than out. It was during one particularly memorable night that she had her “best” idea yet. Richy had been snoring beside her as she tossed and turned and tried to devise a way to get them as far away as possible. A cruise ship! It had felt like a stroke of genius. Until she boarded the fucking thing.

A giant floating city. It sounded perfect to get lost in and cause mayhem. She had read something about wealthy widowed people living out their golden years on those massive ships, and she knew the pickings would be easy. She had haunted more than one rich person's funeral so she could convince their crying heirs to part with a chunk of their inheritance. It would have been like shooting pigs in a damn barrel. But then the sun was there, hanging in the sky, a giant ball of hell that made her skin sticky, her hair frizzy, and her fair skin would have been roasted if she wasn’t militant about protecting it. She had taken to giving it the middle finger every time she was outside during the day.

Richy had it worse. A landlubber through and through, he’d spent the first few days a sickly green color and had kept her up at night with his retching. She was not made to comfort, but she had brought him some crackers she’d pilfered from the maid's cart on her way back to their cabin one night. It was the same thing in her mind, but he hadn’t been as grateful as she thought he should, considering she could have brought him nothing. Shaking herself out of her thoughts, she leaned into the mirror and admired herself, painted her mouth red, and turned to a suited and booted Richy.

He scrubbed up well, too well, a voice whispered as he fiddled with his tie and met her wandering eye as she looked him up and down. The suit had been her last demand before they boarded this teeming beast of a boat, and he'd bitched about it the whole time, but he was smirking now, and she almost wanted to stay in. Then he opened his mouth, and she rolled her eyes, the notion soon disappearing.

“Are you done yet? We're late.”

Leveling him with a glare, she said, “We're only late when they're dead. You go first. They'll think we're together if we arrive as one.”

He frowned, looking uneasy now, “How do I know who to choose?”

“You find the one that tracks your every movement. You'll feel it. It's like a brand on your neck. Make yourself noticeable but not too much, or you'll be remembered. You exist only for tonight. Tomorrow you will be someone else.”

He looked ready to argue, but his jaw clenched, and he nodded before striding to and out of their suite door. She decided to linger behind for a little while, hoping she'd have to rescue him when she arrived, but as she entered the glittering ballroom, she saw that he was doing fine. Women of varying ages and degrees of plastic surgery surrounded him. She idly wondered how they didn't melt during the day when the sun seemed determined to flay the skin from her bones. Richy held court in the center, multiple drinks in front of him as their eyes met, and she gave a single nod as she surveyed the room for her own mark.

Casting her mental fishing line wide, she waved down a waiter passing by with a tray of champagne, snagging two glasses. She downed one and left it on an empty table as she sipped the other. After two turns of the massive space, she felt a tug on her line, a scalding stroke down her neck as she turned and saw the fiftysomething suave silver fox toasting his glass at her. She had hoped for someone closer to Death's sweet embrace, but as she didn't plan to do anything other than flatter and pander to his ego, she gave him a demure smile. Turning her eyes to the floor as he approached, thinking of the many ways she could torture Richy later to force a blush to her cheeks and put on her best impression of an innocent virgin as the man greeted her.

“I haven't seen you around. I would have remembered you if I had.” He grinned, teeth so white they should be used in toothpaste commercials and so perfect it was almost unnerving.

“I keep to myself mostly.” She hedged, hiding her coy smile in her champagne as he edged closer, and she could feel Richy watching them.

“I'm Darren. Care to tell me yours?” His voice had that lilt to it, the one that spoke of a life of excess and having everything handed to him.

“Lilith, don't ask. My parents thought it was unique.” She giggled, hating the sound and glancing over at Richy to avoid Darren's observant eyes.

He had his arm around one of the younger women. Bottle blond hair, tits defying gravity as she leaned in to whisper in his ear. He met her gaze, seeing something in her expression that made him smile slowly and move closer to the blond. She clutched her glass and looked away, hoping she wouldn't shatter it as Darren told her he loved her name and invited her to drink with him. She nodded, taking his arm and letting him lead her to his table. Perching daintily on her chair, she smiled when he brought them drinks, and she noted his was premium while hers was the free champagne being handed out like water. She hated when the rich were cheap. Still, she thanked him with wide eyes and feigned interest as he told her how he'd ended up on the cruise.

Her focus kept returning to Richy. Basking in the adoration of horny, husbandless women with too much money and insufficient brain cells to keep hold of it. It sickened her, and she didn't know why. It wasn't until she caught him sneering at her as she'd reached out to lay what she hoped was a comforting hand on Darren's arm and squeezed, something green flashing in his eyes. She wanted to hit him for making her feel something as sickeningly human as jealousy. Redirecting her energy, she pointedly ignored the anger pouring from Richy as Darren leaned into her personal space and tucked her hair behind her ear. Another shy smile, looking away from his piercing grey eyes as she acted the timid young lady.

The silver fox's scent was as rich as his wallet, but she was glad when he moved back, earning some points in her mind as he sensed her reluctance and did not push her. They chatted about shit she had no interest in, and didn't remember a word the man said seconds after it left his mouth. He left to use the bathroom, and she watched him until he vanished, letting out a long breath as her gaze returned to Richy's table only to find it empty. He wasn't on the dancefloor or at the bar, and he didn't leave the bathroom even after Darren had come out and gone to the bar. Sinking the last of her champagne, she huffed and stood, storming out of the room while Darren still had his back turned. If she had to search this entire ship to hunt that bastard down, she would string him over the fucking balcony.

***

Thankfully, she didn't have to go that far and found him in the first place she checked. And she was attacked the second she walked in the door. He was pacing barefoot as she entered, spinning to her as she locked the door. Her heart was already racing, the promising thrill of a good fight hung in the air, and her skin crackled with it, blood heating at the blackness overtaking his eyes. He’d tossed his jacket and tie on the floor and she could tell he’d been pulling at his collar to loosen it while he waited for her.

“What the fuck were you doing in there?” He demanded, hands flying up and dropping back to his side with a loud smack as she kicked her shoes off and enjoyed the cool floor on her sore feet.

“Nothing that you weren't doing, Richy. Don't fucking start. Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy the way she was looking at you! Touching you!” She spat, teeth bared, and fists clenched as they circled each other.

Her mind flashed back to that first time back in Duskwood. The fury and uncertainty as they sniffed each other out before giving into the need to claim and tear and break. Her blood was singing, she wanted to pour it out and paint the world red, so it matched the fury riding her. Richy’s response didn’t ease her any.

“Now you know how it felt when I was locked inside a hotel room while you were off gallivanting with other men!”

“How many times?! I wasn’t gallivanting. I never once touched or thought about touching them! You were lapping it up!”

“Why do you care? I thought you didn’t do labels.” He reminded her, and she regretted the day she ever met him.

Scowling, hands itching to hit him, she turned on her heel, aiming for the door and intending to get black-out drunk on free booze and fuck the first man to smile her way when he grabbed her by the back of her neck and hauled her against him. She struggled, clawing and scratching his arms as they banded around her and held her trapped. He was chuckling in her ear, she could feel how turned on he was, and her inner voice was crooning that she got just what she wanted, but she ignored it. She wanted to fight.

“Let me go, Richy.” She clipped as he avoided her attempt to stomp on his bare foot.

“Not until you tell me why you were really upset.” He taunted, voice like gravel. It was so harsh, and she tried to ignore the rush of wet heat soaking her underwear, but it was nigh on impossible as Richy ground his erection into her ass.

They were volatile and explosive, but that’s how she liked it, and even now, her need to be well and truly fucked had overridden all her rage; in truth, her fury only heightened it.

“The day you came with me, you became mine. I don’t like people touching my things without my permission!” She snarled as he dragged her over to their rumpled bed.

“Good. Because you’re mine, I don’t like watching you fawn over those men any more than you do.”

His arms were unwound, but she didn’t bolt like she’d planned. She didn’t like most people, hated them actually, but she could tolerate Richy, and she was easy around him. He always knew what she needed. Her heart rate climbed as his hands came around, and one gripped and twisted her chin, the other dug into her hip as he lowered his head to kiss her. Her instinct was to lean away. It felt too intimate somehow. Still, she fought the urge and let him. It felt more like an argument as he breached her mouth and swept inside. She could only match every stroke of his tongue. It was awkward, and she needed some control back as heat and want spiraled through her so intensely she felt out of her mind as she turned in his hold to face him.

His eyes were black as night, thrilling her before she closed hers again and grabbed hold of his shirt, tugging him back down and catching his lips in hers. Pressing in, teeth biting at his lips and smiling into the kiss as he took the hint. His hand slid into her hair, a sharp tug and pain flickered over her scalp, and she moaned as she felt her wetness slide down her inner thighs. He did it again, smirking as she trembled, and she had almost forgotten why she was angry with him. But then she smelt it. The overly sweet perfume that did not belong to her clung to his clothes, and her fury flared once more.

Breaking the kiss, she glared up at him and stabbed a finger into his chest as she ground out the words, “I can smell her on you. How close was she?”

He rolled his eyes, and she didn’t even think; she lifted her hand, intending to slap him, but he caught it as it swung for his face and took hold of her other before she could attempt it again. Turning her around again, moving so fast he had her wrists in his firm grip behind her back before her brain realized what was happening. The fine bones bent and twisted as he shoved a knee between her legs and bent her over the bed.

“Not this close. You smell like a different man every night, and I’m supposed to accept that, Aylin. You can do the same.”

Head shaking, arms straining as she tried to break out of his hold, huffing and giving in when he only held her tighter, and she sensed him drop to his knees behind her. She could see him between her split thighs, free hand eagerly reaching up her dress, and her underwear was pulled down to pool around her ankles. She was panting as she stepped out of them, blood racing in her veins as his fingers dipped into her dripping folds and made even more mess as he spread it around. Her teeth were buried in her bottom lip as he teased her with featherlight grazes over her clit, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a moan or whimper even as her legs shook and another flood of essence soaked his busy hand.

When he rose to his feet, the burn in her core became intolerable, and she was close to begging when he suggested something she usually refused.

“I want to bind your hands before I fuck you.” He muttered as he unzipped her dress and shoved it down her arms, leaving her completely bare while he was still fully clothed.

The idea of being under his control did not frighten her the way it had in the past. He had allowed her her way many times and had never complained. Black excitement filtered through her as she loosed a breath and nodded her consent, shifting on her feet as the emptiness inside her demanded relief. She couldn’t see him, but she felt his surprise in the loosening of his hand around her wrists. He let her go, stepping away, but she didn’t look as she straightened and flexed her hands as he shed his clothes. Her pulse jumped in her neck when his hands settled on her shoulders, whirling her around and giving her a biting kiss she felt in her curled toes before she was shoved hard. Landing on her back, arching a brow at him as he smirked down at her.

Oh, thank fuck, she thought he’d lost the rage, but it was there, in his eyes, flickering like a shadow flame as she arched and raised her hands above her head, crossing them at the wrist as he licked his lips. They were two monsters with the same damn hunger, and she did not have a lick of shame about it as he crawled over her, his belt in hand. She closed her eyes at the feel of the leather looping around her wrists, the metallic click on the buckle as he pulled it so taut her fingers soon tingled and the sound echoed like a gunshot in her lusty mind. There was nothing for him to tie her to. His growled warning made her press her thighs together as he moved down her body.

“Keep them there, or I’ll stop and leave you here until you learn.” Her thighs were wrenched apart when she chuckled and gave him a nod of agreement.

Testing her shackles, she found no give, and her heart was in her throat as she waited for his next move. Trust. Did she have it for him? She wasn’t entirely sure, but she trusted he wanted her more than he wanted to harm her and forced herself to go loose and pliant at the touch of his fingers as he parted her folds. His mouth was on her a second later, tongue gliding up the seam of her, hands pinning her thighs to the bed. Two fingers sank inside her, and he repeated the move, making her shake her head and sob as he drank her down, humming so low in his throat it vibrated through her. The rough scrape of his beard on her tender flesh drove her to distraction as he worked on her. Her hands grasped at nothing, the urge to bring them down and grab his head almost impossible to ignore as he crooked his fingers and pulled as she cried out at the flick of his hot tongue on her clit.

Blunt nails cut into her thighs as he consumed her relentlessly. Her throaty cries turned to warbling moans as he alternated between quick darts of his tongue and languid licks of her essence, his fingers moving within her and taking the edge off of the ache as her body writhed under him. He was determined to make her whine his name, lapping at her clit as her hands fisted uselessly, and she yearned to pull his hair. Tilting her hips, trying to stop him from moving away from where she needed him, the lewd sound of his devouring and the deep groans spilling from him made it impossible to hold her orgasm back.

Keening too loudly, his mouth sealed over her clit, sucking her into his mouth whole as his fingers teased her inner walls with delicious friction. He gave her no mercy as she shivered and sobbed, his tongue swirling over that swollen bundle of nerves incessantly until she tensed and jerked so violently he chuckled. Her trembling thighs, his skilled tongue, and the fingers in her cunt were a sweet torture as she clenched her teeth and panted through them, cries going wild as release suddenly swelled and crashed through her so hard she curled in on herself. She was sobbing, body twitching and spasming as the flutter of his tongue on her clit became too much to bear, refusing to back away as heat and sweat spread over her skin. He did not stop until she said, ‘Please.’

Aftershocks zinged through her muscles as she cracked an eye open to watch him sit back on his haunches, beard soaked and glistening before he wiped the back of his hand over his mouth, making her inner walls clench on nothing. He did not give her respite, and she was not thinking about anything as the fire in her veins turned her blood to steam. Her legs were arranged to suit him, laid against his shoulders as he grabbed her hips and dragged her closer, impaling her on his thick length. In one effortless slide, he was buried so deep she couldn’t draw a breath in. Her bound hands prickled and burned as he bent her body back. Her muscles already burning, his cock filling her up and banishing the ache.

A low thrumming began under her skin as he moved, a tinge of pain, cunt gripping his cock tight and turning his grip on her hip punishing. He touched her as if he owned her, eyes never leaving her face as she absorbed his brutal thrusts, bound hands pressed to her chest in a mockery of prayer. Deep darts of his hips, circling and retreating to plunge back inside her, all of it sent pleasure sparkling through her. Her anger simmered in the back of her mind, growing quieter with every drag of his cock against her slick walls and the black look in his eyes. There was always a thread of hate between them, never more obvious than when they fucked, and usually, she did the possessing. It was her turn to be possessed, and it didn’t bother her the way she thought it would.

In the game they were playing, she wasn’t sure who was the slayer and who was the slayed as he slid free of her cunt. He ignored her indignant snarl as he ordered her to get on her knees. Her hackles lifted at the dominance in his tone. A scalding retort tried to sneak free of her teeth, darkness crossed his eyes, and she got just what she wanted. She was grabbed and flipped so fast she couldn’t track it. Ass in the air, face buried in the pillows, he shoved her legs apart and pushed down on her back to make her arch deeper, turning her head so her fierce cry as he pushed inside her could be heard by anyone walking past their cabin door.

Her arms strained, hands cramping and making her balance feel wrong with them trapped under her as he brought his hand down on her ass so hard she jolted. Rocking back into his thrusts, wetness out of control as he hit her again, and she was lost in sensation as he fucked her. Tensing herself, delighting in the pain and pleasure of being thoroughly invaded, she stopped caring that he had all the control. Her skin flared with goosebumps, her stomach tensing at the vicious snap of his hips; she let herself enjoy it. It was addicting, the desire and sense stealing pleasure. Each hit was the closest thing to heaven either would experience.

“You were made me for me, Aylin. Don’t ever forget that.” He muttered, pounding into her mercilessly as she thrashed her head in denial.

Richy laughed, the sound like black magic to her crazed mind as his hand slid around her hip and travelled over her stomach to dip into her folds and tease her clit.

“Don’t fight it. You clearly like it.” He baited her, still shaking her head despite the intense pressure building within her and the wetness seeping from her, doing nothing to convince him otherwise.

“Fuck you.” She managed, knowing it was futile, as her cunt clamped down on his cock.

“You will. Your turn first.” He returned, picking up his pace, fingers ruthless in rubbing that bundle of nerves.

Her muscles were tied in knots as the first waves rippled from her center and grew so potent she could do nothing but wail as he crowed his victory. It seized her like a vice, stealing her breath as darkness crept into the edges of her vision. She quaked under the onslaught, flame and its overwhelming heat flooding her system as he fucked her, groaning with every flutter of her cunt around his cock. She slammed her eyes shut, her mind fracturing into cracks and jagged lines, her distressed whimpers barely audible over the rush of blood in her ears as Richy slammed home one last time with a smile in his voice as he cursed her name.

His body blanketed hers as he slumped over her and pushed her down into the mattress, neither capable of speaking for a long while. The power had shifted, she could feel it as his heart thudded against her back, and hers found it’s usual rhythm. He was coming into his own now he was free of the chains of humanity and could be himself with someone that wouldn’t judge his darkest fantasies. She wasn’t sure if it was good or bad. In the past, it had always meant her doom and suffering. Giving someone power over her had never ended well, and she couldn’t see how this would be any different.

Still, when he rolled off her, neither had enough shame to feel awkward as he dragged her up by her hands and clumsily untied her. She rubbed at her red wrists, rolling her shoulders as he padded through to the bathroom, and she sighed when the door closed. Shaking her head, staring blindly at her own reflection in the night dark windows, Aylin decided to hell with it all. If she went down in flames because of him, she at least enjoyed herself first and hadn’t had to hide who she was in her last days. Many didn’t get that chance, and she was already tired of thinking about it. The bed sheets were damp on her side, so she took Richy’s side instead. He called her a bitch when he finally crawled into bed, and she was smirking, her back to him as she succumbed to the lure of sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. I was laughing at myself the whole time I wrote it because it's just ridiculous 😂 See you later! ❤️

[this-should-do]

fuck it, say hi to my newest little darling richie, hes a xenobiologist who specializes in fungi and works in the advanced bio labs seen in questionable ethics, hes a nervous wreck and is trying his best, hes roomates with gordon cuz when i played hl decay i didnt realize that the peopel who ported it to pc moved the anme montague to gordons dorm so i thought they were roommates so now thats just my canon, i made him cuz ive been making a map in gmod of gordons dorm and to fully decorate the other room i needed to knwo who lived there, currently writing a fic about him becuz i love him alot, ask about him if you want or whatever lol

[baynton-nation]

Mathew Baynton with the CBS Ghosts cast

[secondskin007]

"Elia Viviani, Richie Porte, Salvatore Puccio, Giro d'Italia 2015" by Claudio Martino is licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0.

[krikeymate]

Abandon Ship - Chapter 1

Chapter 1: abandon everything you know

Samantha – Sam – Carpenter shuffles back into town heavily cloaked and with her face obscured. She doesn’t need to hide, but it’s probably better this way. They’re larger than the average community on this side of the mainland, and yet everyone still seems to know everybody. Sam’s not sure how, barely able to recall a handful of names that aren’t people you need to avoid and people you can exploit. Tara probably knows everyone, the sweet girl that she is, always ready to stop and chat, to help, to lend a hand – even to those who most certainly don’t deserve it.

The thought of her sister brings a warmth to Sam’s chest. That’s why she’s here, why she keeps coming back to the place that’s only ever hurt her, scorned her, demanded more of her than she could ever give. Everything she does is for her sister, to give her a better life. One away from here, one day. One away from their mother and the lamentable legacy she’s left them. It’s the thought of the town pariah that is her mother that has her sitting in a tavern choking on a piss-poor beer instead of back home hugging her sister tight.

She can’t face her mother sober. Not after their last conversation 3 months prior.

The job out west had been pre-arranged, and it couldn’t have come at a better time. Her mother had been pushing at her to get married. 20 and without a suitor in sight was a disgrace, apparently. Her mother is certainly one to talk, 18 and fucking some passing sailor, her own enamoured husband waiting for her at home. It got out, of course. There are no secrets in this place. The port town of Modesto is a shameless hub of gossip and misinformation, and the truth too, for a price.

Had she not come home pregnant, perhaps it could have been discounted as mere whispers on the wind, simple jealousy from others less fortunate, for her husband was of noble stock, highly sought after and of a gentle nature to boot. A man who marries for love, they say, takes unfaithfulness like a knife to the heart. And he had loved her so very dearly.

Nathanial Arden was not a cruel man, but he would not raise a child that was not his, not one conceived after their oaths had been spoken. What man would, what man could stand for this betrayal?

He left her a sum and the house, a far kinder fate than she was owed, but she was stripped of the name she had so recently taken, all claims and vows forsworn.

Christina had enjoyed being the talk of the town, and now she was destined to remain that way, awe and curiosity shifting to scorn and mocking. She buries her head in the sand, or rather, the bottom of a bottle, while her daughters take the burden of her name and her choices. It’s no easy thing, to grow up under the knowledge that your mother is considered a cautionary tale, for the world to know you as a fatherless bastard. Sam has always done her best to protect her little sister from this truth and the cruelty of others, as much as she is able. Sometimes that protection takes the form of a fistfight on your way out of town for a seasonal job elsewhere, to give the people something to talk about, something to focus on. If their eyes are on Sam, they aren’t on her sister.

Eying the man across the room whose nose she broke months ago – now far too crooked, she pulls at her hood to better cover her face. No, it wouldn’t do to be recognised right now at all.

Sam takes another sip of her drink, the sour taste making her wince. She does her best to tune out all the chatter around her and focus on her own thoughts, it’s a useless endeavour however.

“Did’ya hear? Christina’s gon’ and cleared ‘er debt! Gave Ol’ Bailey’s Master Richie somethin’ ‘e couldn’t refuse—”

Her mother’s name is oft on people’s lips here and it’s the last thing she wants to listen to, but to hear it uttered alongside Richie’s – ugh – is peculiar, and of immediate interest. She has no choice but to listen.

” – An’ Young Master Richie is well pleased, ‘is father gave ‘im a new name an’ all,” speaks a dock worker to another at an opposing table. “But why the Carpenter girl? Surely, he could ‘ave his pick of the litter, so ta speak. No need to stoop so low,” his better-spoken companion responds. “Oh ay, per’aps, ’tween you an’ me, I ‘ear it’s abou’ revenge. Wants the girl ta fuck over ‘er sister, afta she, ya know.”

The two men share a laugh, clanking their tankards together, as Sam sits there seething, fingers white from their grip on her own cup. Her mind is racing, trying to make sense of their words. Her mother, Richie, Tara, what is—

“ – Me an’ the lads’ll be collectin ‘er in the mornin, the muvers got ‘er all locked up tight. ‘E wants the weddin’ quick, the sister’s due back ‘fore the end of the month. An-”

Sam stands, slamming the tankard down on the table. Her blood is boiling from within, the situation becoming all too clear. She storms from the room, cloak billowing and hood blowing back from the speed of her walk, oblivious to the heads turned her way as she flings the door open, narrowly missing another, and begins to head home.

Her mother has some explaining to do.

~

Sam bursts into the family home calling out for her mother. The walk had done little to quell her anger over the words she had overheard. She notes in the back of her head that the door was unlocked. Her mother never locks the damn thing, too drunk to even consider it most of the time, but Tara does. Sam had raised her to be careful, and that includes locking the fucking doors.

“Mother!” she yells out again, stalking through the rooms, searching. Empty. Empty. Empty. Her frustration only grows. She turns to head up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and finds herself smacking into Tara’s door when the handle doesn’t turn as expected.

“Tara?”

“Sam?”

Her sister sounds nervous, uncertain, scared. Sam aches to comfort her, to fix whatever is happening. “Tara, open the door,” she demands, wiggling the handle like it will suddenly give way.

“I can’t.” It comes out as nothing more than a muffled whimper from behind the wood. “Mom locked it, sh- she-” Tara’s words are cut off with a sob.

“Hey, it’s ok, just hold on for a minute.” Sam breathes deep, palm to the door. She needs to remain calm for her sister, no matter how much her insides are twisting. “I’ve got this, I’ve got you.”

Sam heads for her own room, untouched since she saw it last and now covered in a fine layer of dust. She walks to her bedside and kneels down, wrenching open the bottom drawer of the adjacent cabinet. She pulls its contents out of the way, reaching blindly for the back until her nails meet a groove in the wood. She digs her nail in, pulling it up until her fingers can reach underneath to grasp at the false bottom and remove it.

Inside the secret compartment is an assortment of notes, a bag of coins, a ring of keys, and a motley of other small items.

She grabs the keys – long since squirrelled away from her mother, just in case – and goes to stand again. She pauses and grabs the bag of coins, stuffing them into her pocket and already beginning to suspect the worst might come to pass.

The key has barely turned in the lock when Sam’s barrelled over by her sister, back thumping against the hallway wall. Tara clings to her waist, face buried in the folds of her cloak. “Sam,” she cries, “please don’t let her do this, I don’t want to marry him!”

Sam wraps her sister up tight in her arms. “You won’t. I won’t let it happen. I promise.” Sam pushes her sister away gently, kneeling down and cupping her face. She wipes away her tears and brushes back her hair. “Go get–”

They’re disturbed by a thud from downstairs as the front door is kicked open.

“Find them. I won’t have my bride disappearing before my wedding.”

The whiny tone of Richie Bailey fills the air, and the sound of half a dozen footsteps following his order tells them he’s not alone.

Sam mouths at Tara to move, pushing her back into her room. Sam follows close behind, grabbing the key from the lock and replacing it on the other side to lock them inside. When Sam turns around, it’s to the sight of her sister shaking, jaw clenched around her hand to hold back the whimpers she wants to release. Sam doesn’t think she can hate another as much as she hates her mother, but Richie Bailey comes pretty damn close.

The door behind Sam bangs as a fist smacks against it.

“I know you’re here Samantha, you were seen.” Sam doesn’t know how she ever put up with this smarmy asshole for so long, ashamed to have history with him at all. A history that is coming back to punish her sister. “The contract has been signed, she’s mine fair and square. There’s no point fighting it dear.”

Sam grabs a cloak from Tara’s closet as Richie grouses, clasping it around her sister’s neck and pulling open the window. It’s no accident that there’s a trellis beneath it, nailed to the outer wall. Sam always knew a day like this would come. She thought she would have a few more years left at least however, cursing her mother’s selfishness. Her sister is not some cattle to be sold.

She nudges Tara towards the window, nodding. Her sister gets the message, and doesn’t think twice before ambling over the sill and down the trellis despite the tears in her eyes and the way her hands shake. Her sister has always been brave. No doubt she would have married Richie without a fight, been his compliant little wife – though she knows Richie would have been more than delighted if Tara was dragged to the alter kicking and screaming – and stayed quiet no matter how much she was suffering inside. But that’s what Sam is here for, to protect her little sister, to keep her safe and defend her freedom from those who would take it from her.

~

The gates out of town are blocked, men in black and white – the Bailey colours – pad out the guardsmen patrolling the area. No doubt they’ve been ordered to apprehend them, feeding the officers lies, selling them enticing fabricated charges to ensure their capture, or maybe they simply deposited coin straight into their pockets. Which matters little, the end result is the same.

Sam briefly ponders the cliffs. They’re navigable enough, but risky, and Sam knows she wouldn’t want her sister traversing them even if the sun hadn’t already set. Her stomach begins to sink when she gets the whiff of salt in the air and her eyes are drawn to the docks.

No.  

They can’t.

Can they?

The docks are owned by the Bailey’s, it’s their domain. It will be full of their own men. Yet there’s something pulling her towards it.

Sam tugs on Tara’s hand in hers. She doesn’t have to look back at her to know what she’s thinking. She risks stopping anyway, putting a hand on her sister’s shoulder and meeting her eyes. “Do you trust me?”

Tara looks up at her so softly, “of course.”

The response makes Sam smile, and she jerks at the hood on Tara’s head, pulling it down further. “Great, we’re heading for the docks. We’ll stow away on a boat.” Sam tries to sound confident in her words, but the truth is that they sound as insane out loud as they did in her head. There’s something inside of her telling her to get to the sea.

She almost wishes Tara would object.

She doesn’t.

~

They stick to the shadows as they enter the docks. It’s a busy environment, people everywhere, appearing and disappearing through the evening mist, and it makes Sam grip her sister’s hand tighter and pull her even closer.

Her eyes rove over the scene. She feels stupid. She’s put them in such a risky situation, it’s like she wants to get them caught. Why even bother running if they’re going to run straight back into the lion’s den?

A caw from above snaps her out of her spiralling. Sam follows the bird with her eyes, watching as it lands on a boat not far from where they stand hidden.

Huh.

The boat has seen better days, as has its crew, which appears to have half as many men as it should, given the size of the large fishing vessel. That’s the one, her heart sings, her feet stepping forward before she’s even realised it.

“Sam,” Tara whispers frantically, desperate to know what they’re doing. Sam hushes her, throwing her arm around her sister’s shoulder and walking them confidently past the sea-worn men wrestling with heavy cargo. They pass by unnoticed.

She ducks her head as they step onto the boat to make herself smaller, and quickly ushers Tara down into the cargo hold.

Once they’re safely tucked between boxes and hidden from view, with her sister wrapped in her arms, Sam allows herself to finally breathe.

“What happens if they catch us,” Tara asks nervously, head tucked under Sam’s chin. “We’ll be fine,” she reassures her, hand rubbing up and down her back to comfort her. “These men are on their last legs, desperate, they won’t turn away working hands.” Sam isn’t sure where this confidence, or the knowledge, is coming from, but somehow, she knows it to be true.

The boat begins to rock as it leaves the dock, and for the first time in a long time, Sam feels safe.