#(eleanor more directly than others)

[kivaember]

sits bolt upright

bringing Umbra into 1999 is a really good idea bc imagine the interesting dynamic he can have with Eleanor because he is, literally, a physical embodiment of her fears: of losing to the infestation and killing those closest to her and potentially losing all aspect of herself with only the memory of that haunting her - but he's also a physical embodiment of hope, because despite all of that Umbra still came back to himself, in a way, in some form of fashion, even if it wasn't completely whole and back to the person he used to be.

me initially about bringing umbra to 1999: teehee umbra getting to space dad drifter in the past and the hex needing to get on his good side while drifter gets on theirs

me after thinking about it so more: oh my god there is so much potential for interesting character interactions between umbra and eleanor, and umbra and quincy, and umbra and-

[wonder-worker]

people really do not know what they're talking about when it comes to Elizabeth Woodville's social status, huh?

[warframe1999]

1999 loreposting i have rattling around like glass shards in in my skull…

oops, everyone’s infested!

so given the short bios we got from albrecht’s classified dossiers for the protoframes, it seems that according to eleanor’s saying that she has the most pronounced presence of the technocyte, we can infer that this means they all have the techrot in them as it is. this is backed up by eleanor’s voice line:

“I don’t think Doctor Entrati expected me to survive. I had a lot more than just a cough. But… survive I did. And Lettie has not forgiven me for it.”

i believe that the line about lettie is actually explained by lettie herself, in one of her own voicelines!:

“The boss says care for his sister I care for his sister. As long as you still are his sister… and as long as I feel like listening to him.”

the “boss” undoubtedly refers to arthur, as the leader of the group, and then she interestingly says “you,” speaking directly to eleanor who she assumes already is in her head, listening. (there are many lines from all of the characters making reference to eleanor being in their heads.) this quote though, further insinuates that eleanor’s contact with the technocyte is much more concerning than the others’.

lettie’s concern isn’t a one-off, either: there are posters all around the mall implying that this sort of distrust was commonplace throughout society at the time of the outbreak:

to be exact, THIS ONE! the full text of this poster (which i had translated in this post) reads

“IS YOUR NEIGHBOR STILL YOUR NEIGHBOR, or is he contaminated? Make the call. Keep us all safe.”

which echoes the same sentiment that lettie is expressing in the aforementioned voiceline.

but why can eleanor be in their heads anyways?

i believe that because of the infestation that is wracking her brain and body, and with the small amount (comparatively) of infestation that the others are also subjected to, this creates a subtle link between them, as we already know that the infestation works as essentially a hivemind (implied heavily through the lore surrounding deimos) only eleanor is able to effectively take advantage of this due to the increased exposure, making her exertion of the outgoing connection stronger on her end than on the rest’s.

excited to see if/when this resolves!! let me know your thoughts too :)

[lamentable-comedy]

I made a supercut of every instance of the word partner (or partnership) in Black Sails... mostly as a side effect of wanting to analyze how the word was used in the show. More information/breakdown under the cut.

"Partner", "partners", or "partnership" is said a total of 92 times in the show, not counting 11 times when it's part of a "previously on". Of those 92 instances, 11 are in Season One, 24 are in Season 2, 33 are in Season 3, and 24 are in Season 4. Some form of the word gets said at least once in all but eight episodes (1x01, 1x05, 3x01, 3x04, 3x09, 4x02, 4x03, and 4x05). The episode with most instances is 3x02 with a grand total of 7. In the video, the clips are arranged in chronological order according to when they appear in the show. I used the transcript site to double-check my work so I'm pretty confidant I didn't miss anything.

A lot of the time the relationships that get called partnerships also get referred to with other terms (friendship, alliance, husband/wife), either at different times than they're called partnerships or in conjunction with the term, but "partner" as a term interests me because it is non-specific in a way that allows for it to hold a lot of different meanings, sometimes all at once. Black Sails is clearly very specific about what terms are used for relationships, just as it is specific about what name a character is called by, and often there is significance placed on moments when a relationship is called a partnership. (Miranda and Flint in 2x06, Jack and Anne in 2x10, Flint and Sliver in 3x03, etc.)

SO I've made a full chart with details on each of the 92 instances which you can look at here. It has the episode each instance is from, who says it, and to what partnership they are referring. Generally this is pretty straightforward, though sometimes a character is directly referencing one partnership in a way that implicitly applies the label to another, i.e. when Silver says he's "not the first to have been a partner to [Flint] in this way", he is referring to himself as Flint's partner, but also implicitly stating that Gates and Miranda were each Flint's partner as well. Whenever this happens I've noted it in the chart. I've also noted when characters are speaking hypothetical partnerships that do not (yet) exist, or do not (yet) exist in the form they are currently discussed, and when partnerships are referred to in the past tense.

Highlights of some stuff I found interesting:

Silver and Flint are referred to as partners (or as having a partnership) a total of 7 times, and implicitly labelled as such once. This is more than any other partnership between individuals, and depending on how you count more than any partnership between groups, too (see below). The first time they're ever referred to as partners is by Silver in 3x03

Jack and Anne are just behind them with a total of 6, followed by Eleanor and Rogers with 5

The individual relationships between Jack and Max, and between Max and Anne are each referred to using some form of partner/partnership three times, and Jack, Anne, and Max a group of three are referred to using the term once by Max and once by Jack-- though when Jack uses it (while speaking to Marion Guthrie) he doesn't specify who he's speaking about could arguably also be including Featherstone, and possibly Idelle

The pirate and maroon alliance is referred to using partners/partnership 6 times (7 if you count one instance where Flint is used as synecdoche for the pirates as a group), and there are two instances of partner/partners being used when discussing another person or group joining the alliance (Jack in the first case, and Julius and his men in the second), for a total of 9 times that some form of the alliance is discussed using partners/partnership

Other than Flint, the only person who is ever referred to as Silver's partner is Max

Eleanor says partner (or some variation) more than any other character, for a total of 14 times. Runners up are Max (12) and Vane (9)

4 out of the 9 times Vane uses partner/partnership, he's talking about a partnership between Eleanor and someone, though that someone is not always him. Of the remaining 5 instances, two are in reference to his partnership with Teach and two involve Jack in some way (one with the two of them and Flint, and one in the context of Jack joining the pirate/slave alliance)

Max never uses the word partner to describe any relationships that she is not directly a part of, unless you count one instance of speaking broadly about her own experiences in a way that also includes Eleanor's (when she says the chair "demands you win partners" to get it)

Flint doesn't say any form of the word partner until 3x05, though before that point there are other people who call him their partner or apply the term to relationships he has

Thomas says "partner" a total of 3 times, two referring directly to Flint and one speaking generally but in a conversation about a partnership between him and Flint. Miranda says "partners" twice, both times about herself and Flint

"Partner" is used as a verb exactly once, by Madi

Madi, Mr. Scott, and the Maroon Queen each only say partner(s) once (they're not the only characters who only say it once, but i did think the family pattern was neat)

[piratefishmama]

Prompt being this post about daycare worker Eddie and Single Parent Steve right here

Eddie was a professional. He couldn’t flirt with the kids parents, especially since he didn’t actually know which ones would be interested in him. Single fathers were always kind of… 50/50 in terms of whether or not they’d be into another guy, so Eddie was pretty comfortable not flirting with parents.

Until Steve Harrington.

Little Ellie, or Nora, or Eleanor depending on the brand of shenanigan that she’d gotten up to during the day, had been going to Tiny Terrors Day-Care for a little over four months now after the parent and child had moved into town a week before she’d joined them. Eddie had met Steve twice. Once, where Ellie had spectacularly ran head first into a door pretending to be a T-Rex, and the second time, was when Robbie, a little shit, pulled her pretty pig tails out and ran off with her hair ties.

They had little green T-Rex charms on them, Eddie had never seen such a thing before, it turned out they were custom made by one of her uncles. Priceless treasures basically.

She hadn’t done anything to Robbie, no. Robbie was four and just acting out. The five-year-old knew better than to hurt Robbie, no. After she’d gotten her hair ties back, she, with an impressive amount of force, booted one of the helpers directly in the shin, when said helper suggested Robbie must have just had a crush on her.

Physical violence had been paired with her furious little voice demanding they never tell girls that boys hurting them means they have a crush, cause her daddy said that’s the dumbest thing ever. Boys shouldn’t hurt girls!! And nobody should be excusing boys hurting girls!!

It was a pretty spectacular verbal beat down for a five-year-old to be giving a grown adult, Eddie didn’t actually have anything bad to say to her about it either. He just had to tell Steve that she’d injured one of the staff, because… protocol.

Steve had given her a high five and promised her ice cream when he’d found out why. Eddie kind of wanted to kiss him.

It was fine. Totally fine, he’d only seen him twice and he’d managed to contain his urge to flirt even with Steve looking at him in a way that could definitely be construed as interest. He didn’t want to assume, assumptions could lead to chaos and chaos didn’t belong in the lives of toddlers.

So, he was pretty sure that he’d be fine for the easter hunt.

Steve had RSVP’d that he would be attending with Ellie when the little newsletter went out about it, since wherever he worked was closed for the holiday, Eddie had… understandably freaked out a little, but he’d done it in the office.

Away from the staff. Away from the kids. He’d be fine to witness Steve being a great dad for the day. Totally fine. He’d had his little freak out, he was fine to spend the morning of their little hunt hiding eggs with the staff, definitely not feeling his nerves skyrocketing at the idea of Steve helping little Ellie find them later.

They weren’t real eggs, oh no, definitely not real eggs. They were hiding little colourful plastic eggs, each colour holding a value, so the more plastic eggs you found, the bigger your easter haul could be! It wasn’t just eggs either, they had cakes, cool prizes, sweets, and other things donated to the day care for the kids by members of the community, someone had donated a bike for crying out loud. It was silver and gold and had removable stabilizers, totally gender neutral so any kid could enjoy it without it being too girly or too boyish.

They’d hidden a golden egg for the bike. It was extra hard to find.

Eddie had hidden it personally under the roots of an old tree stump just beyond the tree line, in a little hollow half hidden by moss and foliage. The other eggs just hidden around the park. The only reason he’d hidden it beyond the treeline, was because the parents would be looking with the kids. No child would be going beyond that tree line without their parents present.

So, with all the eggs hidden, some a little more obvious than others, Eddie and the rest of the staff waited for their attendees, who slowly began trickling in sometime around noon. The hunt was supposed to start at one, and Eddie was definitely not craning his head side to side, searching through the rapidly growing crowd of parents and children for that specific dynamic duo, he absolutely wasn—

“Eddie!!” Eddie’s eyes snapped to the left just in time to catch his favourite, even if he wasn’t supposed to pick favourites, tiny terror, Ellie, just before she’d have bulldozed into his legs. He hoisted her up and into his arms with a pleased little,

“Elliesaurus Rex!!”

“Quick, tell daddy that the shirt looks fine!” Eddie found himself focusing beyond her at the request, finding his smile growing wider at the dressed down Steve Harrington, wearing an incredibly stupid Hawaiian shirt that didn’t even remotely look like it belonged to him, and a pair of quarter length jeans rolled a little further up his calves and sandals fuck.

The shirt was baggy enough to hide what would no doubt be an absolutely spectacular rear fitted snugly into those jeans though, sadly enough.

“The shirt looks fine.” He parroted with a mischievous grin, a grin that widened as Steve rubbed at the back of his neck bashfully.

“It’s laundry day, the only clean shirt I had was something my old man ‘passed down’ to me, I… don’t usually wear this sort of thing.” There was a story there, Eddie wanted to hear it. Maybe some other time though.

“You look good in it! It suits you” honestly a garbage bag would suit Steve Harrington, it wasn’t fair how pretty that man was.

“It does not” Steve laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling in such a way that Eddie had to internally remind himself that he should not flirt with the parents of the kids. Definitely don’t do that. “You though—you uh… I like the uhm… the apron.” Eddie’s eyes widened a fraction, before he looked down at himself, sure enough, he’d left his apron on. The one still covered in dried paint hand prints and dirt. “The dirt looks good on your knees too.” Aaand the dirt on his knees from where he’d been kneeling down in the grass.

“Haaa-hah, we can’t all look like we just stepped off a run way in Hawaiian chic, Mr. Harrington” Eddie definitely didn’t think he was imagining the soft rosy hue to those perfect cheekbones but—maybe it was just the heat. God he was beautiful. “Okay! Okay it’s uhm. It’s almost one, so—So we should probably get everyone gathered together, would you like to take your minion back?” He offered Ellie back to her dad, who let out a soft chuckle at his daughters whine of disappointment, before plucking her from Eddie’s hands.

“But—But I wanna stay with Eddie” was the immediate complaint, which frankly melted Eddie’s already gooey heart even further.

“I know sweetheart, but Eddie’s gotta do Eddie things, yeah? We can hang out with Eddie after we find you some eggs, okay?” Eddie raised a single brow at the assumption, but Steve just offered an apologetic grin, sneaky sneaky, Mr. Harrington.

Especially sneaky since Ellie perked right up, chirping, “Okay!!” placated by the promise of Eddie time later making it impossible for Eddie to say no. Eddie couldn’t even be mad, he wanted Steve time too. Maybe not around some thirty kids and their parents, but… he wanted Steve time too.

“Alrighty” he didn’t refuse Eddie time, Ellie and Steve could have all the Eddie time. “Everyone, could I have your attention please!!” All eyes on him, he stepped to the front of the group “Behold my glorious little adventurers! Behind me is a park FILLED with possibilities. There are one hundred and fifty colourful plastic eggs hidden within this park, the more eggs you find, the bigger your Easter haul will be! Not only that, but somewhere, in this glorious wonderland of opportunity, is a SINGLE golden egg. The finder of such a treasure, will go home with the grand prize of the day, a brand-new bicycle, donated by one of the incredibly generous members of our community.” The excitement in the crowd only seemed to grow, be it for the chocolate, or the bike, Eddie didn’t know, he was just happy everyone was excited.

“To keep things fair, we’ll have staff members monitoring the hunt to ensure nobody steals any eggs from anyone. If you can’t hold any more eggs, you’re welcome to come and ‘bank’ them with the staff over here by the main gates, you’ll get a little slip with a number on it for how many eggs you’ve banked! Now. Are we all ready?” Ohhh they were ready “Aaaare we set?” They were set!! “Aaaand, GO!!”

Chaos. Complete and utter chaos descended upon that park in an instant. Kids diving into bushes, Parents climbing up trees, Eddie had hid at least three eggs on that jungle gym, but nobody had even checked there yet, too busy looking in bushes and—

“Get it, munchkin!!” Steve Harrington, with a little terrible terror on his shoulders, Ellie reaching up to the top of the climbing frame to grab the little green egg from where one of the girls had left it poking out of a post that’d lost its end cap, the larger rounded bottom of the egg resting in the top of the hollow tube perfectly. “Into the bucket! That’s my girl!”

Eddie could watch him all day. Could watch him climbing a tree to get the one egg Eddie had left up a tree, could watch him bent over -oh my god that shirt rode up and hello perfect ass- pushing his daughter up the tube slide to grab the little egg one of the girls had stuck to the inside of it with double sided sticky tape. Could watch Ellie running to her dad with an arm full of eggs she’d found half hidden in a shrub, could watch him celebrate by lifting her up and twirling her around all day long Eddie was so very screwed.

He could also watch, fascinated, by the way Ellie found the golden egg. She found it, all on her own while hunting in the bushes around the stump. She didn’t yell about it, she didn’t throw it into her bucket, she sneakily showed her dad, who glanced around him as if making sure nobody saw, then whispered something to her, Eddie didn’t know what the man said, but whatever he said, it had her hurrying off, egg in hand, eyes scanning the park and everyone in it for a little while, before very sneakily depositing the little egg into a bush and grabbing a boy by the shoulder to point at it for him.

“Look, look it’s the gold one!” She chirped, shaking the little boy, and nudging him toward it “you take it! Quick!” Now, Eddie knew all of Ellies friends in day care. And this little boy… wasn’t one of them. He was new, from a family who didn’t have much, relied on coupons and the generosity of the staff at the day care to keep him while his single mother worked long hours for low income.

It was something Eddie had to ask about, but he only got a chance to do that once everything was over. Once the prizes had been doled out, chocolate eggs, cool colouring sets, accessories, the bike to one VERY excited little boy and one baffled and emotional mother, Eddie sidled himself up to Team Harrington, the pair piling their haul into the trunk of Steve’s minivan?

The fuck did he need a mini van for being a parent of an only child? Didn’t matter.

“Sooo, was I seeing things, or did I see one very sneaky little lady giving away a bike earlier?” Ellie only giggled in mischievous glee as she hurried away with the biggest of her chocolate eggs, taking it to go gorge herself on chocolate by the swings, leaving her dad and her favourite day care person all by themselves in the carpark.

Steve smiled at him, amusement dancing in his beautiful hazel baby cow eyes good lord Eddie was so screwed for this man. “It’d have been a bit weird if the person who donated the bike took the bike home, don’t you think?” Surprise must have shown on his face because Steve continued “I knew people were donating stuff, so I uh… I got a few things together and Ellie’s uncle dropped them all off the other day.” Dustin had dropped them off, left the goods with one of the girls. Eddie hadn’t seen who’d left it all. “Didn’t think I’d be the only one donating something big but… I dunno, it’s nice to see it go to someone who’d appreciate it.” He wasn’t bragging, he wasn’t flaunting wealth, he seemed genuinely happy that some random kid now had a bike.

Don’t flirt with the parent, don’t flirt with the parent, don’t flirt with the—fuck it

“Uh… so uhm, stop me, if uh… if—if you’re not like… that way inclined but uhm… are you free on Friday? For uhm… dinner… maybe…?” It was out there, Steve was looking at him, eyes wide in surprise “shit—that was. Too forward. Super unprofessional, I’m sorry, ignore me I’ll just—I gotta—” he was about two seconds into running away when Steve grabbed his arm in a gentle but strong hold.

“Wait! Wait… like, a date?”

“…Yes?”

“Y-yeah! Yes, yeah, absolutely I’ll… I can uhm—Robin, my sister, she can look after Ellie, so yes, absolutely I am absolutely free on Friday. Let’s say… eight, I’ll pick you up? Maybe dinner at my place and a movie?” Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.

Holy shit. “Eight and that, sounds perfect.” The love life, it has risen!

“Perfect, eight it is.” Hallelujah!!

[natjennie]

so like obviously we the audience couldn't have known about the ghosts' deaths before the show introduced them to us, largely via alison as an audience surrogate. but the way they're presented so often means that they are mysteries to the ghosts themselves. some of them are pretty unmistakable and obviously the ghosts that were there when it happened know, but even then. it seems like they just don't talk about it.

for example, when fanny opens up about being pushed by george and thomas says "I did know that, I was there" but like. you never brought it up before? in the couple hundred years of knowing her, you never mentioned it. and in the thomas thorne affair, which is all about the ghosts having different perspectives on thomas' death, the information each of them reveal is like. new to the other ghosts. which implies that they've never really talked about it together before.

which is fascinating because it could read either as like. being respectful of their privacy. which is sweet. or you can believe the sadder version which is that they just didn't talk to each other. hundreds of years together and they never asked. they never said "do you want to talk about it?" they never offered comfort on a death day. never shared the details of their own deaths. this read is corroborated pretty solidly by the bone plot and pineapple day.

and then there's also the aspect of the order the deaths are revealed making perfect sense with each of the ghosts' personalities and openness as people.

pat is an open book, trusting and genuine, and his cause of death is unmistakable. and his death day flashback is the earliest in the series. humphrey's cause of death is obvious but the circumstances are not, but when asked he's willing to share. and then most of the ghosts stop listening when they think he's a hero. hesitant to initiate conversation because it was so drilled into him by sophie's disinterest, and forgotten as soon as he's not important. thomas believes in the most romantic version of his own story, editorializing and glamorizing his betrayal to alison and being devastated when the truth is pieced together, mirroring his constant attempt to make things more idealized than they are, and his rare and poignant moments of sincerity. kitty's naivety and optimism made her truly believe she just fell asleep, never bothering to question the details of her death, and the ghosts knew just enough about eleanor's bullying to suspect her, but would never confront kitty about it directly. her episode comes late in the series and has a lot of intrigue and staging for a very mundane truth. and the captain!!! the last death reveal of the show, holding on to his attempted deception and secrecy until the very end, trying to bolster his image as a leader to the other ghosts and only succeeding in looking silly, being made to perform a role he isn't very good at for the chance of acceptance. and oh, look at that, that's exactly how he died.

anyway, this post got away from me but like. the utter craft that went into this show astounds me it's all so perfect. are you hearing this.

[obviously-im-a-boyo]

LARRIES I HAVE SYCO LORE

This is copy pasted from my rambles to friends about my research, so if some common knowledge is overexplained, that's why. Basically, Syco has a history of closeting boyband members and it's not just Larry.

Sources at the end :3

it starts with simon cowell's former spokesperson, max clifford. clifford was charged with like 8 or 11 counts of pedo shit in 2014, but more importantly he was simon's primary spokesperson during the prime years of one direction (2011-14, before his conviction and subsequent cut ties with syco)

max clifford's wiki page has a whole section about how he is known as the guy who helps keep gay celebrities in the closet. a quote from him, when asked how he would go about squashing gay rumours- "i would create a [hetero] relationship." this ties into a lot of peoples theories about harry and louis' ex girlfriends (particularly eleanor, she was friends with the son of modest management's founder. modest management is the management syco uses and they managed 1D) as well as apparantly common music industry shit. theres like whole lists of gay musicians who have dated, married, even had kids with women as part of their PR.

so max clifford is heavily involved in simon, and thus syco's public image. he probably had a hand in who was hired to manage any of simon's talents, especially one direction with how quickly they became globally famous.

now im gonna veer off to syco's other boyband, union j. in 2012, one of the members jaymi came out as gay. this was around the time syco was getting backlash for allegedly closeting harry and louis. jaymi stated he was encouraged to come out, which combined with george's story later has led to theories of his coming out being a way to squash allegations against syco about closeting. george, another union j member, came out after leaving the band and originally came out as bi, before gay. he said in his coming out that he was NOT encouraged to, that he was told boybands cant have more than 1 gay member, and a lot of the same "career ending" shit that one nsync guy got told back in the day. louis walsh, x factor judge, has also been quoted saying that if hed known 2 members of union j were gay, he wouldnt have put them in a band together.

so the conclusion is that simon's company, syco and modest, are known for closeting boyband members in the same years 1D was famous, that things like fake girlfriends are industry standard, and that theyre calculated about it with the timings of jaymi and george's coming outs and how jaymi was encouraged while george was discouraged. while harry styles cut ties with syco, he is signed to columbia records which is also under sony. louis was still directly signed to syco until 2020, and is now signed under sony as well. so theyre still both under syco's parent company and of course the same industry thats known to closet boyband members/soloists heartthrob types.

Sources:

[cephalonsugma]

Ok so i looked back at the tennocon lobby voicelines and I noticed that most of the lines seem to make way more sense if the protoframe who's talking is directly speaking to a protoframe in front of them, rather than just shouting across the mall at them or saying something as if they were there.

Some Examples:

“One day, Aoi. No more roadblocks and checkpoints. Just you and me and the bikes, open road for miles, all this bullshit far away. I swear to Sol.” -Arthur, could be to himself but I think it makes more sense if he's saying it directly to Aoi

“Yo, Aoi. Chill, hermana. Do something for yourself, for once. Arthur ain’t going to blow away if you blink.” -Lettie, to Aoi

“The boss says care for his sister I care for his sister. As long as you still are his sister… and as long as I feel like listening to him.” -Lettie, to Eleanor

“Oi, Lettie! Grab y’ strap and let’s go. Best a five buys the drinks?” -Quincy, to Lettie

Some of the lines definitely are supposed to imply that they're either shouting at the person from afar or that the other protoframe is elsewhere, but my point still stands:

“I oughta get some headphones. Then I wouldn’t have to hear Quincy work off all that surplus testosterone!” -Aoi talking to you about Quincy

“Eleanor? Are you there? Can you - can you give my brain a hug please? Thank you.” -It would be weird if this happened while you were playing as Eleanor and standing right there

My theory is that if these lines do get reused in 1999, it means that we'll be able to choose which protoframe we want to use while in the mall lobby (i assume by using transference on them) and walk around as them before going into missions.

I still think that eleanor's lines are still within the context of being the only one who sees the drifter though

[statementlou]

Why is Eleanor following Maya fascinating? Do you think it’s because of things she encountered with Louis or more because of what she saw with Liam?

I mean it's tempting to think it's because they have some commonality as women linked to band members (and despised and attacked by the fandom) or that she is signaling support, saying I was there and I believe the things Maya is saying to be true, but also? It's not hard to believe she might also be even more interested than most in keeping tabs on whether someone is going to start spilling behind the scenes secret info, I sure would want to know if I were her!! It directly effects her! Still it's also worth remembering that Eleanor was around for most of the run of the band, it was her life for years and years like many other people, she might just be interested in drama about it and that wouldn't be strange.

[somedaylazysomeday]

Captured - Part Three

For the first time, you're in the infamous Guthrie's Tavern. It goes about as well as expected.

Captain Charles Vane (Black Sails) x fem!reader

Rating: Explicit. Minors DNI

Word Count: 5,800

Warnings: Concealed gender, drinking, mentions of prostitution, brief reference to public sex, reader is disappointingly heterosexual, mention of anal sex, unprotected sex, brief anal play

Previous | Masterlist

---

The liquid in your pewter tankard was foul. 

You had tried to set it back on the scarred wooden surface of the table several times, but it barely rested on the surface before someone was offering to fill it once more. By this point, it was near-overflowing and you could hardly manage more than an occasional sip. 

It was loud, the large room filled with men boisterous from their work. Fights broke out every few minutes and you were uncomfortable with the women milling about half-dressed. Even worse were the ones sitting on laps around the room, caressed by the patrons - or taking part in less tame activities. 

It was hardly somewhere you wanted to be, but the men had wanted to go to the tavern on Nassau. You were flattered that they had wanted to bring you along. 

You did your best to relax and enjoy the coolness of the shaded room on the hot island and the excitement buzzing in the air. The stories and jokes being shouted by your crewmates around the table made you smile, and you braved another sip from your tankard. 

Vane rumbled a laugh, which lightened your mood still further. He had managed to seat you two beside each other around the table, accomplished due to his own need to have his back at a wall and the fact that you had been leading the group through the chaotic room. 

He had been quiet since the beach. More accurately, he had been brooding. One of the men had told you they were going to ‘the tavern’. You, unaware of any issue, had asked if it had a proper name or if it were known as ‘the tavern’ because it was the only one on the island. The answer had been that there were a few, but everyone knew Guthrie’s was the best one. 

The uncomfortable silence and venomous stares from the other crewmembers had been your first hint that something was amiss. Vane pushed past them all, swaggering in the direction they had been moving. You only picked up on the clues when one of the pirates elbowed the one who had spoken, telling him not to say that name in front of the captain. Not if he wanted to keep from pulling night watch for a fortnight. 

You had trailed behind the group, trying to put together all of the pieces of information you had gathered during your time on the Ranger. But Vane seemed to be in better spirits now. Perhaps it was the company. Perhaps it was the temporary release from the stress of captaining a pirate crew. Perhaps it was the two tankards he had managed to drain, or the third he was currently nursing.

In any case, you were happy to listen to your fellow crewmates regale each other with stories, remembering the men who had crewed the Ranger before or tossing around names of potential new recruits.

That casual atmosphere was shattered when a pretty blonde woman marched through the room. 

The men at the table went silent, and something told you this was more than appreciation for a beautiful woman after months at sea. Perhaps this was the famous Eleanor Guthrie. 

She was halfway past your table when her blue eyes landed on Vane and slowed, her eyes dragging over him like they were reluctant to move elsewhere. But they did, and unfortunately, they moved to you. 

It took only a moment of studying your face for her lip to curl and she came to a stop directly in front of your table. 

“Charles,” she greeted, her tone flat and unwelcoming. The men tried to pretend their focus was elsewhere, but your attention was glued to the scene. 

“Eleanor,” Vane ground out. You had never heard him sound so hostile, especially in only a single word. 

“Your hubris is almost to be admired,” Eleanor told him icily. She jutted her chin toward you. “Most men refuse to sail with a single woman on their crew, and yet you have managed to find a second. Was Bonny alone not enough to tempt fate?” 

A stunned silence fell, and you watched the muscles in Vane’s jaw flex. A slap to your shoulder nearly knocked you from your chair. 

“What, d’ya mean Simon?” Elias asked. “He’s a man if I’ve ever seen one.” 

“Yeah,” Murphy agreed with a guffaw. “A young ‘un, but he’ll have his whiskers soon as his balls drop.”

That was crass, but you appreciated the fond way Murphy reached across the table to tug your hat down over your eyes. You offered a weak smile when you had fixed it well enough to see again.

“Simon,” Eleanor repeated skeptically. “Simon what?” 

You gave your best attempt at lowering your voice into a male register. “Simon Grove, ma’am.”

“Simon Grove.” Eleanor folded her arms over her front, giving you a disapproving look. “How startlingly delicate you are for serving aboard a sailing vessel for… How long is it now? Several months?” 

Your mouth opened noiselessly as you processed the shock of knowing that Eleanor Guthrie had been keeping tabs on your time aboard the Ranger. 

Benny rested his elbow on your shoulder. “Aye, he’s a skinny little lad, but it’s only ‘cause he was an apprentice back in London. Worked for some man, didn’t you, boy? Doin’ sums?”

“I was an apprentice to a bookkeeper,” you agreed. “No time for physical labor.” 

“Physical labor,” James mocked. “Hear him, lads? Still speaks like a highborn lady, don’t he?” 

“Indeed,” Eleanor bit out. The men startled as if they had forgotten that she was standing there. “Quite feminine.”

“Leave it, Eleanor,” Vane commanded, his voice so deep that you could barely understand him. 

Eleanor eyed him for a moment, one brow raised challengingly. At last, she gave the barest hint of a nod. “My mistake, Simon. Enjoy your time in my tavern.” 

Everyone watched Eleanor Guthrie sweep away, but you finally recognized their attention for what it was: wariness. You distrusted her, and it seemed that you were far from the only one. It was only after she had disappeared into an office off the main room of the tavern that your crewmates relaxed. 

You struggled to regain your previous state of relaxation, though, and Vane returned to scowling. You had to wonder whether he was angry because of the sudden appearance of a past lover or that she had recognized that he had found another with whom to replace her. Eleanor struck you as the breed of woman to despise competition. 

Those suspicions were confirmed when you spotted a beautiful woman crossing the room with another trailing behind. Both of their gazes were fixed on the table, and you braced yourself for an incoming shock. 

“I am looking for… Simon?” the shorter of the two women asked. She had been in the lead, and there was something in her voice and posture that subtly announced her status as an authority figure of some kind. Her dress was of a higher quality than many of the others and bared less of her skin, but she was utterly sensual with the soft waves of her hair and the lilt of her French accent. 

“Bastard,” Elias cursed, even as he grinned at you. “He’s over there.” 

You lifted a hand, making the motion as quick and small as you could manage. 

She caught it anyway, smiling at you. “I am Max, the madame. This is Jeanette.” 

Max’s accent rolled Jeanette’s name the way it was meant to be, giving it the melodic weight it deserved. There was a pause, full of a meaning you did not quite grasp. You nodded, offering a smile to the women. “Nice to meet you, Jeanette.” 

“Pleasure,” Jeanette said, her seductive smile melting toward something more natural. 

“A man with manners,” Max remarked, also smiling. “Jeanette here is a gift from Eleanor Guthrie. She apologizes for her misstep. Your first hour with Jeanette has been paid for. Any further time will be your own responsibility. Enjoy.” 

Max slipped away, disappearing into the crowd as Jeanette held a graceful hand out in your direction. 

You balked. 

The crewmembers of the Ranger joked and complained that you were lucky, several of them offering to take your place. If only it were that simple. It was a master stroke. No red-blooded sailor would refuse time with a pretty woman in a tavern, especially if his time with her were to be free. Eleanor was trying to maneuver you into revealing your own secret.

“Captain?” you asked, hoping you didn’t sound nearly as desperate as you felt as you glanced at Vane. 

Murphy jeered. “He’s not your captain on shore, boy!” Vane shot him such a venomous glare that Murphy stared down at the table without offering another word.

“Go,” Vane ordered roughly. In a much lower voice, he added, “I’ll fix it.”

And he was gone too, disappearing into the crowd. You stared after him, feeling rather like a child lost in an unfamiliar and frightening place. 

“Don’t mind him, lad,” Benny said kindly. “He’s probably after a piece of his own.” 

Elias stood from the table, stretching his back as he did so. “Think I’ll go do the same. Shore leave ain’t complete without some tail to make you feel relaxed.”

“Hop to it, boy,” Murphy told you, grinning broadly. “Unless you need some help makin’ sure you leave her properly fucked.”

You knew a lot about properly-fucked women, but being on this side had you at a loss.

However, you were left with no alternative, so you stood and took Jeanette’s hand. She wove her fingers through yours, using your shared grip to lead you through the room. 

Jeanette moved confidently through the crowd, dancing through the masses as you followed clumsily behind her. Fear made your steps slow and graceless, your mind far too preoccupied to worry about your body. 

What would the pirates do when they discovered your ruse? Surely, they would react poorly. Like Eleanor had so kindly mentioned, most sailors believed that having a woman aboard a ship brought terribly bad luck. Would they remove you from the Ranger permanently? Would they kill you outright? Or would they simply abandon you to the shores of Nassau, leaving you to find your own way there without another moment of rough kindness or brotherly teasing? 

The mere thought made your stomach twist. Or perhaps that was your sudden proximity to the staircase. 

Jeanette’s pace slowed considerably when you reached the stairs. At first, you thought it was because of her shoes, but a downward glance proved her to be bare-foot. The only reasoning you could infer was that she was giving the other women time to ply their own wares for when you had finished with Jeanette. 

Scantily-clad women lined the staircase, lounging and chatting in a show of faux relaxation. They called their hourly rates to you, pairing them with lewd suggestions that made your face heat. The worst were the ones who reached out with graceful arms, offering to wrap them around you and stroking whatever they could reach. You managed to avoid most of them. With any luck, the few who encountered the long linen rectangle wrapped around your breasts would believe you were wearing a thick shirt. 

Vaguely, you recognized that a woman had pulled Jeanette close. They seemed to whisper for a moment before they shared a long, worshipful kiss. The sight of their searching lips and wandering hands made your body begin to react, though you were thinking of Vane rather than either of the women standing before you. 

At last, Jeanette broke away from the other woman, giving you a coy smile. “Pardon, lovey. Follow me.” 

As if you had not been doing that very thing? You bit back impatience as you continued up the narrow staircase, brushing shoulders with a dazed-looking pirate on his way back down. Your temper was high, but it was a thin facade. You had not decided how to defuse the situation and time was growing short. 

When you reached the top of the staircase, Jeanette opened a door and ushered you through. You stepped inside, observing the space with no small amount of curiosity. It was hardly what you had expected from the stories you had overheard in London. You had expected a dark, cavernous space, cramped and heavily perfumed. 

Instead, the room was high-ceilinged and airy. The doors that led onto the small balcony were closed, but enough wind filtered through the shuttered windows that the room smelled of salt air and sunshine. The furnishings were opulent, far more ornate than you would have expected… until you noticed that they were shabby around the edges. Everything that surrounded the pirates of Nassau was a little shabby, and that familiar quality helped put you slightly more at ease. That feeling dissipated slightly as Jeanette closed the door, shutting you in the room together. 

You half turned your head in an effort to watch Jeanette without being obvious. She gave you a small smile as she crossed the room, moving determinedly toward a folding screen set along one wall. That likely meant she would disrobe, and then you would have to do something. You were still uncertain of what exactly you would do. Fear and discomfort made it difficult for you to think. 

Jeanette moved the panels of the screen aside, revealing a set of double doors set into the wall. She drew them open, stepping back to watch you, her amusement plain.

There was a moment of loaded silence, you and Jeanette watching each other, but a voice soon broke the tension: “Simon. Enter.” 

You obeyed, stepping through the doorway before you had time to process that you had recognized the speaker. “Max.” 

The door from Jeanette’s room had led into this one, the rooms connected only to each other. This room was as light-filled and airy as Jeanette’s, but almost twice the size. There was a large desk on one side of the room, facing the door you had not come through. Max was sitting behind it, clearly having paused in the middle of writing a letter to glance up at you.

The young madame smiled, a dimple appearing in her cheek like magic. “Please, sit. We will have company soon.”

You looked nervous when you sat down across from Max. You could feel the trepidation written across your own features, no matter how hard you tried to mask it. In an effort to hide what little you could, you chose not to speak. 

As it happened, you were not given a choice. Max fixed you with a curious stare. “Tell me: was it you who found the discrepancy in the prices Eleanor Guthrie paid for the goods brought back on the Ranger?”

Lying seemed to be the wisest course of action, but it would do little good. Any of the crew would tell Max the same, so there was no need to be less than honest. “Yes, it was I.” 

Max dipped her chin in a slow nod. “Miss Guthrie had to part with a significant amount of her profits or risk a riot. Nassau’s crews did not take kindly to hear of their own being cheated.” 

“I told none other than the captain of my crew,” you replied, gaze even. 

“Of course.” Max smiled then, bright and mischievous. “I found myself well entertained while she dealt with the trouble. For that inconvenience, I am willing to look the other way for the odd situation. Especially when doing so protects a marvelous secret.”

Clearly, she had ferreted out your secret. You were beginning to wonder if your disguise fooled anyone at all. 

“I know no secrets,” you told her, lowering your chin to give her a look with more intensity. Men did not lift their chins when they argued, but lowered them for a deeper stare, a deeper voice, and greater protection. “And I have asked you no favors.” 

There was a knock on the door and you tensed.

“You have not,” Max agreed, turning her attention to the door. “You may enter.” 

With concentrated effort, you did not turn toward the door opening behind your chair. However, a well-placed mirror allowed you to watch as a familiar figure entered the room. 

"Max," Jack Rackham greeted, offering a nod as he walked through the doorway.

Anne Bonny was just behind him, silent and graceful as a shadow as she slipped through the door. She scanned the room and, having found no threats, nodded to you and Max as well. 

At last, Vane came in, closing the door behind himself. His focus was fixed on you, only you. He crossed to where you were sitting, looking more powerful than ever with tension coiled in his muscles. 

"What the fuck is happening?" he demanded without preamble. 

Max seemed unconcerned with Vane's lack of social graces. "Eleanor has discovered your little secret. Naturally, she will take her petty revenge where she can."

Vane growled. "Not me she going after." 

"Did you expect another reaction?" Max asked, curious. A tilt of her head sent a chestnut spiral of hair brushing along her shoulder until it came to rest on the swell of her breast. Abruptly, you understood how she had become a madame so young. "You have taken a new lover. She could never allow such a thing." 

"Hold on," Jack interjected. "The two of them aren't necessarily fucking just because we have a woman in disguise on the ship." 

Anne snorted indelicately while Max gave Jack an arch look. "Not necessarily, but it is obvious for any who care to look."

"What are we going to do?" you asked. The pirates and prostitutes in the room were observing, not judging, but you would prefer not to have your private affairs discussed in such a public place. 

There was a stilted pause as everyone in the room eyed each other. 

"It is simple," Max told you. Oddly, you found her directness soothing. "You and Jeanette will return to her room. She will loudly and repeatedly compliment 'Simon' on his skill and size. When what remains of your hour has ended, you may leave. If anyone - including Eleanor - asks about the encounter, both Jeanette and myself will swear Simon is a man. Is this acceptable?" 

Everyone looked to Vane. He looked at you. When you gave a nod, he returned it, the gesture taut with temper. 

"And what do you intend to charge for these generous services?" Jack asked Max, crossing his arms in a clear attempt to look more threatening. Meanwhile, Vane was standing beside you - loose-limbed with his hand resting just touching your arm - and looked like the most dangerous person in the world. 

Max smiled, an enigmatic expression. She tilted her head toward you. “We have already discussed payment. It has been settled.” 

Vane frowned at you, but Max rose, beckoning you back toward Jeanette’s room. “Time is short. You must begin. Everyone else will wait in the tavern.” 

“Like hell.” Vane’s growl was short, sharp, and unwavering. He had stood when you did, shadowing every step you took toward Jeanette and her bedroom.

“Charles…” Jack urged. 

“Surely you can see that your presence would add nothing to the situation?” Max asked him. “This office must be visibly empty while the performance is going, and none other than ‘Simon’ may leave Jeanette’s room at the end of their shared hour. You in particular, Captain Vane, must be seen in the tavern the entire time they are gone. Eleanor will be watching for your reaction to this development just as she watched Simon’s reaction to her gift. Both of your lives will be far easier if Eleanor concludes that she was mistaken.” 

Vane glowered at her, but stepped back, letting you continue forward alone. Jeanette gave you a kind smile and closed the door behind you both. Vane’s eyes burned into yours until the wooden panels of the door cut through your shared gaze. 

The following half-hour was one of the most mortifying of your life - perhaps second in comparison to the first time Vane had stripped you, discovered your true identity, and pulled unimaginable pleasure from your confused body. 

Jeanette was a masterful actress, moaning wantonly in a way that made your face burn. At her urging, you managed a few sharp groans and a particularly loud curse at a strategic moment. Jeanette’s compliments were as loud as they were lewd, and you could not decide whether it would be better or worse for them to have been overheard. At last, she prompted you to give a shout, one almost drowned out by her rapturous cry. 

A part of your mind had withdrawn into itself in a bid for protection, and it wondered if you should be more vocal in your endeavors with Vane. Thankfully, you could not ponder it for long, because Jeanette was toying with your clothing. 

Jeanette adjusted your belt, leaving it slightly looser than it had been, then misbuttoned one of your shirt buttons and tilted your hat to sit crooked atop your head. She pressed her fingers against your lips to swell them and - with your hesitant permission - gave a delicate bite against the side of your neck, leaving the mark clearly visible above your mussed collar. 

You were sure to thank her as you left. You had no illusions about what any Nassau resident would do with such valuable information, but you would not jeopardize yourself by failing to be kind. 

When you let yourself out of the door, Jeanette wound herself around your back, pressing a kiss to the mark she had left on your neck. You could feel that she was partially undressed, one bare breast visible to the tavern below. As you hurried down the stairs, you tugged your hat down, hoping to hide how flustered you felt. 

Vane was the only one sitting at the table you had shared previously. All the other crewmembers of the Ranger must have found other ways to spend their time. You preferred not to think too deeply about how they were currently occupied. 

You sat on a chair across from Vane, landing heavier than expected. Your knees were trembling a bit at the performance of it all, especially knowing that Eleanor Guthrie was likely watching you. Perhaps it had been a mistake to sit down with Vane at all. Perhaps the wiser choice would have been to go to the bar or find another group to sit with. 

“Want to get out of here?” Vane asked. Started from your thoughts, you took a moment to nod. “We can’t leave together. I’ll go wait by the beach. You have a drink and meet me in ten minutes.” 

You made a face at the tankard he slid your direction. “Do I have to drink it?” 

Vane watched you for a moment, uncomprehending, before mirth slid through his expression. “Do as you like.” For the second time that day, you watched him walk away. 

The next ten minutes passed agonizingly slowly. Eleanor made another appearance in the tavern, making her way slowly from table to table. Fortunately, there seemed to be a problem with the seal at the bottom of your tankard, and you only had to fight through a few mouthfuls of rancid ale before the pewter was empty. You pretended to drain the tankard, slamming it onto the table and standing before Eleanor could reach you. 

The unsteadiness of your gait probably came off like you were an inexperienced young man who had just had his first sexual encounter. You hoped so. However, the true cause was that your nerves seemed to grow taut under the attentive blue gaze of Eleanor Guthrie. 

When you rounded the corner away from Guthrie’s, a weight seemed to lift from your shoulders. You had survived an encounter with Vane’s ex-lover, the woman whose presence loomed larger than any other in his past. What you had done was finished, and there was nothing left but to see if she believed the ruse. 

Vane was waiting exactly where you hoped he would, and you fell into step as he led you onto one of the island’s most remote beaches. There, tucked between a collection of rocks and a small copse of palm trees, was a tent. 

The canvas along the sides of the tent was tattered, leaving his belongings coated with a thick layer of sand, but the canvas above you was unmarred. It would keep out the worst of the rain, and Vane cleaned the hammock efficiently by turning it upside down and giving a hard shake. There was a crate of alcohol to be dusted off and a collection of stubby candles that begged to be freed from the sand, but nothing that needed immediate attention. 

“Did she speak to you?” 

Vane never gave a name, but you were not confused. He was speaking of Eleanor. There was no one else he could have meant. “No.” 

“She should never have involved you,” Vane spat out, approaching closer behind you. “She and I were-” 

“I know,” you interrupted. In the stunned silence, you turned to eye him in skeptical amusement. “Your crew talks, as do the islanders. I know what you were to each other, and I know how relations have changed between you. There is nothing you must explain.” 

Vane was taken aback, watching you with confusion on his handsome face. Then it shifted to something darker, yet far more welcome. When he took your mouth in a hard, demanding kiss, you were ready. You gave and demanded in turn, meeting him with fervor. His hands wandered your body, noting your mussed collar, misbuttoned shirt, and too-loose belt. The belt worked in his favor, as a single firm tug dropped your trousers to the sand. 

“We- We need to be careful,” you panted, scarcely managing to speak. “Anyone could run across us here.” 

“Stop?” he managed, even if it was muffled against your neck. 

The idea nearly drew a whine from you. “Not if we can be sure no one will see us.”

Vane stilled, holding his position for long enough that you could feel your bodies pulsing against each other. “Trust me.” 

You did, completely, and allowed him to maneuver you into a different position. In the end, you found yourself on hands and knees on a blanket spread over the sand. It was a compromising position - though you still wore your shirt, the entirety of your rear end was exposed to Vane’s gaze. And other things. 

The position was unfamiliar. You and Vane tended toward eye contact when you were together. It did not escape your notice that you had seen dogs and livestock coupling this way. Your face burned with humiliation at the reminder that you were nothing more than an animal. Even as you thought crossed your mind, you shifted your weight eagerly. The heat in your face was matched with heat elsewhere as your body bloomed for him. 

A soft thump from behind you was your sole warning before Vane pressed himself against your exposed sex. You gasped, glancing back to find that he had unfastened his breeches only far enough to pull his cock free. 

“And if- if someone sees us?” you asked. 

“If they do, they’ll think I’m fucking your ass.” 

The idea made your body tighten, though not entirely unpleasantly. “That is an improvement?” 

“The world thinks you are a man,” Vane reminded you. “A captain fucking a crewmate… Not good, but not uncommon.”

You digested that silently, jaw dropping when Vane pressed his length along your seam. He felt much larger at that angle. “Or do you want to stop?” 

You shook your head, but Vane remained still. He wanted a verbal answer. “I don’t want to stop. Please…” 

Vane replied to you. He did, but it was so low and so incredibly deep that you could not begin to understand. However, the way he shifted made the head of him slip against you in a way that detailed his intentions as clearly as any words.

Some combination of the position, the kissing, and the general events of the day had left you wet and ready for him. That was lucky, since Vane sheathed himself in you, using only two long strokes to spear to your very core. 

He stilled when he was fully inside of you, both of you panting. You found yourself surprised that he had stopped - you could feel the way your body was gripping him, and the strength of it was likely just this side of torture. It was the same for you. Being on your knees with him behind you allowed him far deeper than you were accustomed to, and you could hardly breathe with the intensity of it. 

“Fuck,” Vane spat, and you might have been offended if he had not been throbbing so hard inside of you. It helped when he leaned forward to brush a kiss over your shoulder blade, the shifting of him inside of you took both of your breath away. “How does it feel for you?” 

“I-” Your voice was so breathless that it startled you. “I need…” 

You pawed uselessly at your breasts, still confined beneath your shirt and the cloth you used to contain them. The intrusion of Vane’s length was teetering on the edge between pleasure and pain, your body struggling to surface in the ocean of sensations assaulting your system. 

“I know,” Vane said simply, instantly soothing you as he reached between your legs. The angle was trickier than you had expected, but he found and parted your folds with ease. Gentle upward strokes brought the liquid drenching him up to the top of your slit, and let him rub that small, sensitive pearl without irritation. 

It should have felt shameful for him to hold such mastery over your body, but all you felt was relief. Vane had you writhing into the palm of his hand in only moments. The iron press of him had turned from a source of strain to a promise of pleasure, and you canted your hips backward to press him more firmly inside of yourself. 

Vane choked out another curse, hips kicking helplessly toward you. His fingers convulsed against you, pressing your clit nearly to the point of pain. That sweet bite matched the pleasure-pain of him stretching you, and you moaned.

“Please,” you forced out. “Please fuck me.” 

Strong fingers sank into your hips, holding you steady as Vane began to move against you. Each thrust was brutal, devastating. His length seemed to stretch impossibly far, and an eternity passed in every cycle of pulling from your body only to push back in. The collisions between your bodies shook you both, making you sway your weight on your hands. Vane’s iron grip kept you in place at first, but his goal soon shifted toward urging you into a counter-thrusting pattern. 

Each of those collisions seemed to strike at the very heart of you. The head of Vane’s length delivered a glancing blow to that sweet place inside of you every few strokes, and the pleasure was so intense that you found it impossible to keep supporting your weight on your shaking arms. You scarcely managed to lower yourself onto the sand-covered blanket rather than collapse weakly onto the lean padding. 

It was a pose even less dignified than your last, and yet it offered still more benefits. Your trembling arms were relieved of your weight, your lower position allowed you more leverage to spear yourself onto Vane, and - most importantly - the new angle meant that he ground against your most sensitive place with every stroke. 

You found yourself hanging over the edge in only moments. You were so close to utter joy, but you needed something more. “Vane, please. Touch me.” 

“I am,” he ground out.

It was a fair point. His large hands cupped against the curve of your hips, occasionally traveling upward to your waist or downward to your ass. Your breasts were doubly held away from him, by virtue of your binding cloth and the way they were pressed firmly into the sand. And the frantic closeness of your coupling denied him access to your clit.

And yet, despite all of the logical thoughts you could summon, you could only repeat, “Vane, please. I’m so close. Touch me. Please please, please.”

“You don’t know-” 

“Vane!” 

He slammed into you and you pushed forward, bunching the blanket in the sand. That was your first realization that he had pulled a hand from his bracing grip on your hips. There was no warning at all before the broad pad of his thumb had planted itself firmly between your cheeks, pressing down on your rear entrance. 

If you had thought your position undignified, this was far more so. That was forbidden, taboo, and dishonorable. Perhaps that was why you found it so thrilling. The feeling was new and unfamiliar, but certainly compelling.

Vane dug in harder. You realized that he was holding his thumb with the tip well away from that virgin loop of muscle. He was providing pressure without the risk of truly breaching you. 

Just as you were beginning to think that you would not object if he were to breach you, the combination of such overwhelming sensation combined into one glorious, blinding rush. You cried out, hoping fervently that you were alone on the remote beach. There was no other interpretation of that noise than a woman overwhelmed by pleasure.

When you locked down around him, Vane’s hands flew back to your hips. He held you as still as he could manage with your spasms, thrusting frantically into you as he bit back a litany of noises from between clenched teeth. Just as your pleasure was beginning to ebb, he pulled free and emptied himself onto the sand. 

Your opinion of this new position was high, and lifted still farther when Vane did not pull himself free before collapsing onto the sand. Your rear end was pressed into the hollow between his hips and thighs, his softening length buried inside of you. 

Your thoughts were drifting slowly through the empty expanse of your mind. You felt blissfully detached from your body until Vane gently brushed away a bead of sweat from your brow. You smiled, knowing he would see the expression from the curve of your cheek, and kissed his palm. You tugged his hand down then, cupping it to your still-bound breast. Vane did not seem to object to the layers of cloth between you, and settled into place with a drowsy sigh. 

He dropped into sleep almost immediately, and you followed closely behind. Your last conscious thought was that you could see the waves washing onto the sunset shore of Nassau through the torn canvas of Vane’s tent. He had truly found a small patch of paradise there, and you were honored to share it with him.

---

Author's Note - In case this is your first introduction to this particular pair, just be warned that this story was written as an homage to classic "bodice ripper"-style romance novels. Accordingly, Part Two is a little violent and Part One is very dubcon. Warnings are listed on individual chapters, but I don't want anyone blindsided.

Thanks for reading!

[thelivingmemegod]

Belief in wayward children is soooo interesting to me

Spoilers for Every Heart a Doorway and Where Drowned girls go ahead

The act of believing is absolutely integral to this series. On some level: everyone knows the doors are real,

The people at the twin schools believe this to be fact, even if Whitethorn is designed to brainwash the belief out of its students and the teachers are nameless.

The principal, real and fake, both believe these doors are real, the kids on some level, believe these doors are real.

Cora starts Where Drowned Girls Go fully believing in The Doors and The Moors and the drowned gods that haunt her, she wants that haunting to stop so badly that she goes to whitethorn. There, they begin “teaching her to forget”

And yet.

She never forgets, she aches and yearns like everyone else there. She aches to feel water surround her, but she believes this is “helping” in so far as the rainbows and voices are fading and that will keep being the case as long as she stays up for air. It’s illustrated when she’s listening to Regan struggle during her “graduation”.

“Cora wouldn’t wait to be a Jack-o-lantern. Anything that meant she was still Cora in some way, and not the puppet of the Drowned Gods. She listened to Regan and she yearned, wishing with everything she had to be in the other girl’s shoes.”

Everyone aches and everyone years until they can bend themselves into the box whitethorn wants and then they can leave. Maybe.

Then Sumi shows up. The ultimate, absolute immovable object. She believes in what she wants and will bend and snap any system like perfectly tempered chocolate if it tries to change her. She knows for full blown fact how her story ends, she knows she goes home and she can extended that knowing to others, Cora included.

Cora comes to be a little more like Sumi, believing that she is more than strong enough to face down the Drowned Gods and tell them no. And she is. She makes their rainbows her own and she stops hearing their voices and plots an escape route for them all.

Cora and Sumi are good case studies on what belief can do in this world and that brings me to the reason Every Heart a Doorway is in the spoilers.

Doctor Katherine Lundy.

Kade says during the first book that Lundy thinks in stories. She thinks in beginnings, middles and endings.

Lundy is given a very high position of power, Eleanor’s right hand and the kids therapist, she uses this power well and treats her patients kindly. The kids love her, Eleanor loves her, Kade loves her and she loves them all in turn.

Everyone trusts Lundy

Everyone believes Lundy.

So when she tells the kids that lightning is more likely to strike twice in the same place than they are to find their door home, they believe her.

This is a belief Lundy carries into her grave and I think it’s a belief that dies with her.

The Wolcott twins go home after she dies, Nancy goes home shortly after everything has settled, a door from Confection opens DIRECTLY IN FRONT OF THE SCHOOL at the end of Where Drowned Girls Go.

It’s easier to openly believe in an everyday nightmare then to admit you believe in a beautiful dream, so the kids took Lundy at her word and locked up any hope they had left. Especially when the only women with a counter opinion accidentally looks like a hypocrite because her door is literally still there waiting for her.

I think Lundy’s belief leaked out into the students and kept many of them there. Of course this doesn’t make her bad or a villain by any means. I think she’s a testament to words having mass, unintended affects on people. Affects so deep it can change the very world around them.

I don’t know how to end this ramble thingy but I needed to thought vomit about these books they make me crazzyyyyyyy

[inlovewithregencyera]

transcript under cut : )

Thornfield House, July 7th, 1818

Isabella: And you did write to her father informing him of this, right?

Max: Yes. He wrote back to me an hour ago, and they're leaving for Hollow directly after her birthday. I've asked him to keep this in confidence of himself and Lady Grey, and he says he will as it would break his heart to tell Aurelia himself.

Isabella: *clutching hand* When will you tell her?

Max: I don't know, and I don't know why you're all tasking me with the impossible. It's not fair, truly. *sniffling* If I had a lover and I lay dying of consumption I wouldn't have Frederick tell her. It should be an intimate moment between them.

Isabella: I think she shall be very upset.

Maximilian: *voice quivering* She'll be plagued with perturbation. Perhaps it would be easier if that idiot thought about how his actions effected others for once in his damn life. He overwhelmed her with affection and now I must tell her he's dying.

Isabella: Oh, please don't cry. More than anything, I hate seeing you upset. I don't care much for people's emotions, but yours always tug at my heart.

Max: Luckily for you I have no more tears left to cry. My eyes have been soiled with tears for the past 12 hours, I believe I'm done for today.

Isabella: Dear Max, crying that long isn't good for-

Max: Don't you stand here and tell me what's good for me and what's not. I don't expect you to understand. You've rarely been emotional a day in your life.

Isabella: have been emotional many times in my life, I just know that crying *THAT MUCH AT ONCE* does you no service!

Max: *scoffs* You are heartless sometimes, you know?

Isabella: How am I heartless for telling you the truth?

Max: I cannot help crying if I am again watching someone I love die.

Isabella: *scoffs* He's not dead! And there have been cases where people overcame this disease.

Max: And you think he will be an exception?! That he's some sort of miracle and will prevail through?

Isabella: He could be. Why you've given up on him I do not know.

Max: He's given up on himself! Why should I have hope for his survival if he's not going to even fight for it!?

Isabella: Because he's family, Max! You don't give up on someone even when they've given up on themself. When Eleanor gave up on herself, you-

Max: Damn it don't you bring her up. I told you I was done crying for today, so stop wherever you're going.

Isabella: Your tears won't bring her back, so what use is it?

Max: You are heartless! When you love someone, and they die-

Isabella: Damn you Max if you are trying to insinuate I didn't love her! I loved her more than anyone ever to walk this Earth!

Max: That's not at all what I meant Isabella and you know that! I just can't believe you're telling me that I shouldn't cry now. Name a time when any one of our household was dying and I didn't?

Isabella: When Uncle Percy had a stroke! He was as good as gone right after and I don't recall you ever shedding any tears then. And there's hope for Frederick, he's not coughing blood.

Max: Frederick is much thinner than the last time I saw him and that cough tops it all off. So no, I will not tell myself there's any hope. And I apologize for not crying in front of my sickly, invalid Father, SOMEONE had to be strong for him.

Isabella: Are you saying I wasn't Maximilian? Really? When you went off to do Ducal business and whatnot who sat with him that whole time until you returned? I endeavored just about as much as you to ensure his comfort, *voice cracking* and how can you accuse me of not being strong when you and I suffered the same trials?

Max: Bell…

Isabella: WHAT?! *covering eyes*

Max: I didn't mean to upset you, dear. I'm sorry, and you're right, we experienced the same sorrow. Perhaps we go about it differently when reacting to it.

Isabella: *sniffling* It just hurts that you'd call me heartless for saying crying does you no good. I'm not saying you shouldn't cry, because Lord knows I have moments sometimes, but I know it's not helpful in the long run. He's not dead yet, t-that is to say, *eyes welling up* if he was truly dying, *burts into tears* in which he is-

Max: *extending arms* Come here.

Isabella: *sobbing into chest* Oh Max! Whatever will we do?

Max: *kisses forehead* What we always do I suppose. Deal with whatever God throws at us.

Isabella: *sniffles* Yes. Let us not quarrel as we shall need each other more than ever in the coming weeks.

[purslanes]

alisha boe, twenty-seven, she/her   ⟡   —   is that ROSALIND WILDE i just saw walking around kilmer’s cove? i heard they’re a RESIDENT who’s been here for TWENTY YEARS. it slipped my mind, since they just tend to hang out at THE CLIFFS. at face value, they’re said to be DEVOTED and DAUNTLESS, but i don’t know… some people have said they can be quite SPITEFUL and SHELTERED. just don’t get on their bad side, i guess! don’t tell them i told you this, but i’ve heard they DO believe in all the ghost stories around town. who knows what the future holds for them!

character parallels. ophelia, hamlet  /  eleanor vance, the haunting of hill house  /  sorcha of sevenwaters, daughter of the forest

to you ...

she was seven when she slipped into the strangeness of kilmer’s cove.

the clock struck 3:00 a.m. when she came to an awareness; the witching hour, as her mother would call it. the nightlight near her door flickered once, twice, before winking out. it was as the inky blackness descended that her heart squeezed. the spindle-thin fingers of moonlight stretched across her comforter, throwing her room in a strange contrast of darkness. every shape in the black took on a form, and the longer she stared the more they seemed to sway. but one was different. this one remained as still as she, pressed tight into the corner beside her closet. it wasn’t until it began to move that it caught her eye, one terrible, pale arm extended into the light of her bedroom, every finger curled into a fist but its index. and it was pointing at her.  

rosalind would come to describe it as an out of body experience, pure instinct pushing her muscles as she fell out of bed. it was only when she thunked to the ground in a tangle of blankets that she screamed. i was startled, she would laugh, years later as she recoun ted the experience. that was the reason i screamed, like my body had to find another outlet because i couldn’t feel the pain. she wouldn’t say that it was the screaming that poured the terror back in as though she were restrained beneath a waterfall, filling her nostrils and mouth and lungs, a very tangible flow suffocating her. she wouldn’t say it was her first time seeing a ghost, but not the last. 

they were restless, always restless. it was a figure peeking around the corner of the hallway, dissolving once it had her attention. a movement from the corner of her eye. but the worst ones were the ones that accompanied people. they were fish on a hook trailing behind, some closer than others. their eyes had a wild quality to them, and rosalind learned very early on to never look directly at them. 

it was difficult to sleep in her own bed or exit the house lest her nerves overcome her. she’s still adjusting. maybe even acting out to see if she can push us back west. it’s an awful lot on a kid her age, moving from chicago to a town like this. give it a little more time. she overheard her father insist one night, cradled in bed between her parents. she kept her breathing even to pretend sleep, but dared to crack an eye open. if you think so…another month at most. her mother had replied, lips pressed tight.

when things did not settle, and the figures still lurked in her periphery, her mother finally summoned rosalind and her elder brother to the living room. pressing a hand over her heart, she had said, “you’re both unique children with unique perspectives. you see things hidden, by accident or by purpose. this will give you many advantages in life even when it feels more burden than blessing. when the rain pours from the sky and the rest of us are soaked and are carried away by the tides, you’ll have moved to high ground. do you understand what i’m saying?” and she hadn’t, but nodded anyway. it was a personal responsibility she had felt, passing this ability from her own mother down to her children, flesh to flesh. these things tend to skip generations, but you can always feel the effects of it like a ripple in a pond. and so, rosalind had inherited a sense from a grandmother she had never met, stirred awake by the anomalous kilmer’s cove.

as she outgrows her clothes, her dolls, her room, that little touch of peculiarity remains. she learns to live with it. there’s always that prickle of fear when she sets her sight on something not quite there, but she no longer lingers on it. a reputation for wild eyes that follows her through her schooling years is the only reminder many have to ever think her strange to begin with. it’s writing that helped her channel her encounters, she’d credit. she begins to widdle the horror and terror onto paper, and it’s only through words that any of it makes sense. relating the complexity of emotions through another person’s story is the closest to a cathartic experience she’d ever have. 

it’s her brother, lysander, that reads them first, and pushes her to do something with them. “you need something of your own now.” he had shrugged, casting a pointed look to the cradle in the corner of her room. rosalind was no longer the youngest in the household, and she had learned the same lesson lysander had: everything you are and own is halved. those nights she wrote at her desk were when her baby sister viola was quietest, eyelashes feathered against round cheeks. 

and as the seasons turned, from gray winters to stormy summers, rosalind never left that room. her brother went away to college and then back again to town, and viola claimed the vacated room as her den. when it was her turn for higher education, she only attended as far as she was willing to commute, never straying too far from home. she was not born to kilmer’s cove, was not a creation of fog and salt slick cliffs and the tumultuous sea. but she was shaped by it; by the silvery shade of specters and howls on the wind. it would always be her home. it would always be who she is. 

supplements ...

lysander, rosalind, viola – yes, her mother is a self proclaimed shakespeare nerd. 

rosalind was the baby of the family for the longest time, it’s hard for her to shake that facet of her identity even years later. in many ways she’s still very indulged and sheltered by her parents. her brother is still very protective of her. but there’s no denying that viola loves being the center of attention in the way the youngest always does. she was always forcing the family to watch her singing performances after dinner with her pink little karaoke machine. at thirteen that need to be in the spotlight hasn’t changed.

lysander has a knack for finding lost things. the car keys, a misplaced phone, even the page in your book you forgot to bookmark. that’s about where his ability begins and ends. viola has so far manifested no strange abilities or sights like her elder siblings.

when they had first moved to kilmer’s cove to be closer to rosalind’s father’s aging parents, they had quite a bit of money saved up and were doing well for themselves. it was as the years went on that they fell on hard times and money became tight. her parents relationship grew strained and there had been talk of divorce until they reconciled (resulting in happy accident viola). the house is still nice, but reflects this loss of finances via some much needed repairs and updates it needs. 

the beach and the cliffs are rosalind’s favorite haunts and she can often be found there with a cup of coffee and her sketchbook early in the morning.

in spite of seeing dead people, rosalind has a very grounded, realistic character. i wouldn’t say she’s so dreamy as she is wild.

rosalind would say she’s a writer or even a struggling artist, but really, she’s jobless. she got a bachelor’s in creative writing at rhode island university and has claimed to be working on a book ever since she graduated. she keeps herself afloat with odd jobs and short stories she writes for contests/magazines (the little that still exist). her parents are definitely at their wit’s end with her currently. it’s not that she wants to freeload off her parents or that she’s lazy; she finds it hard to stay motivated and driven with her goals. they’ve been very understanding with her, but are forcing her to look into something part time to contribute stably to the household now. 

[m--rtyr]

okay so i mentioned my little marvel insanity to @that-one-i-think but i never elaborated, soy:

most of my thoughts are post-endgame, but some are obviously pre-endgame. Like a black-widow trilogy, not having the Jewish-Roma characters join a Nazi organisation, and so forth.

But i'll focus on post-endgame for now.

For one, I don't think it should've been a MULTIVERSE saga. It feels really soon to hop from 'oh yeah magical stones' to 'theres sooo many fucking universes bro what the fuuuuck' without proper set-up. Y'know what was set-up, though?

time. WHICH IS DIFFERENT.

Firstly, Time travel was introduced in Endgame - no better way to set up future projects than to introduce the core of it at the end of the initial run. Especially because Endgame was not even the first occasion of time-fuckery, Antman played with it and it was even brought up in infinity War with Dr Strange saying there is only one way the fight with Thanos will end well. Even if Time Travel was only a subsidiary of the Infinity Saga, time itself is established enough to create a somewhat seamless transition into the next saga.

Not only that, but the concept for the Multiverse Saga is clearly to replace the OG avengers with the Young Avengers, who band together as a team because of time travel, to stop KANG, THE TIME TRAVEL MAN.

My ideas for Sagas are typically to focus, mostly, on either building up storylines/characters for a Big Movie, or introducing characters that are thematically relevant. soooo

Also, ideally, there wouldn't be series back-to-back-to-back. I understand why this was done in the context of Covid, but this is an isolated reality in my mind where real world bullshit doesn't matter. I think having shows more separated would help with preventing any fatigue.

im only gonna focus on P4 for now, just bc there's a lot to say.

Phase 4, I'm vibing with the... Legacy of it all. Not so much introducing the legacy characters themselves, but centring the characters they originated from, or originally emulate in the YA. I also want Grief to be a big thing. Because i can.

I think Wandavision works as a first project. It was kind of a sweet start, and after Endgame it was nice to start off slow, isolated. Wandavision plays around with Sitcoms Through Time, and whilst not directly linked to Time Travel, fits in thematically. Plus, using Fox Quicksilver as a cameo was neat, since he's not only a flash to the past (from a movie trilogy retconning the original trilogy via time travel), but speedsters always toe the line when it comes to their relationship with time.

(Introduces, of course, the twins)

Then, a Hawkeye movie, null Kate. Mostly because of how i want to set up the YA. I think Clint did deserve his own project, dedicated to HIM. A later Hawkeye series following both him and Kate would be cute, but for now... let's just keep it sweet and simple. Perhaps trying to clean up after his mistakes whilst having to face-off against Yelena. Eventually I want these two to come to an understanding, they both lost Nat, and they'll always be tied through her despite their distaste for each other. I think the humour could be fun. Since it would have a street-level, gang-fighting centre, we could also begin to introduce the kingpin/Eleanor stuff as a bit of a sneakpeek. I love street-level stuff ngl.

(ofc, Kate setup)

(i would also put the Gotg christmas special around this time. bc. christmas)

And then we allow ourselves another series, The Falcon and the Winter Soldier. Again, more street-level, more calm. After Endgame I don't wanna dive straight into drama. similar to what i kinda want with Hawkeye, i need there to be actual on-screen consequences for the gaping power vacuum left behind, both crime-wise and politically. Not just 'everyone was fucked over by the blip', but 'now the Avengers are gone people feel like they can do anything - who is gonna stop them?' I would need to rewatch it to state any changes. Maybe keep Bucky's long hair... hm.

(Eli would still feature in Isaiah's scenes. The legacy connection is established that way - Eli is Isaiah's legacy very explicitly in the comics. He does not do what he does to continue from Steve, or Sam, but his grandfather.)

And as much as I wanna not have too many series back-to-back, there are SO many. So, She-Hulk. Except screw all the like weird stuff they retconned as part of the ending. I want it to be a work-place comedy. of course with the set-up to Jen being a hulk and stuff, and superhero stuff on the side. Just have more of an emphasis on the little cameo characters she is a lawyer for, because... Sokovia accords would still be a thing. I hate that they just brushed it aside, if they happen, THEY HAPPEN, until something changes that fact. And i think Jen working to defend the innocence of people like her, and rallying for change in the accords, would be really neat. Especially since she's a Hulk, who are notoriously deemed dangerous for what they are. I think it would just be a little symbolic. This would not be entirely about Jen's grief, but moreso other people's, with the lives theyve lost and are losing due to discriminatory laws against supes.

She IS the Legacy, but i think it would be a nice moment for Teddy later on stating that it's people like Jen who make the world a better place for all superheroes, especially the big green ones. Even if he's not technically a Hulk.

From the fun and camp of She-Hulk, straight into a Super Gay Space film with the Space Lesbian, Carol Danvers. Another Captain Marvel solo (forgor to mention, OG mar-vell is a dude for YA reasons), but i still need to find a comic i would want them to adapt. HOWEVER, I do want her to find out about/mention the Impossible Prophecy, and the affair between Mar-Vell and the Princess Anelle. Because... Actually Setting up Teddy properly. This... I feel like will be kinda dramatic for being a space movie, but I don't want it to be too major. Maybe her vs the Supreme Intelligence, with a sprinkle of her being angry the whole time because her wife (Maria) is dead and she doesn't have healthy coping mechanisms.

Then, the Big Drama movie, Thor Love and Thunder. Because we gotta feature more of Carol's next lover, Valkyrie. I was kinda bummed by this movie. It is already a lot about grief, but I think it skims over Thor's grief for his family and friends rather quickly. More emphasis on Gor, obviously, because somehow this movie managed to have a cool concept and FUMBLE. Throw in some references to Gaia, especially regarding thor, because i liked when that was a thing in comics.

(Thor is who Billy emulates as a young supe, so... still in-legacy theme)

No Cassie, because... Ant-man is important later for my plotting.

We kick it all off with Loki. for obvious reasons. Gotta bracket the phase with saga-relevant content.

not only sets up Kid-Loki, but Kang, and thus Nate.

bc im super smart.

Obviously this cuts out a lot of projects, but the recent Phases are doing so much I think a trim is required.

im also just scared to touch No Way Home because. uh. we can't leave it too long, and it was a really good movie, but... this is about Time Travel broo... idk

[zalrb]

i am so so sorry if you have been asked this before but i have some trouble finding posts. but could you please shed some light on your thoughts on a good villain origin story, what makes a redemption arc compelling and what I'm most curious about : what a good morally grey character looks like?

OK, sure. So, for a morally grey character, actual complexity is something that is necessary. A go-to character for me would be Juan in Moonlight.

Juan [is] a man who loves Little 

he’s the first person (and perhaps the only person) to tell Little/Chiron/Black it’s OK to be gay, 

he gives Little a safe space

and he’s also a dealer who sells his mother drugs,

causing dysfunction in Little’s life, feeding one of the reasons why Little needs a safe space away from home at all

So, Juan is a morally grey character because he is not simply "bad" or the "villain", he clearly has true affection for Little and does what he can to provide him what he needs, but he is also not simply "good" considering that his vocation is one that directly destroys Little's family and most likely other families in the community, and though the movie never gets into Juan's backstory, we can infer that he's not simply a drug dealer out of greed, he is doing what he needs to do to survive but at what cost? The types of questions his character and his role generate are what make him a good morally grey character.

Or so many of the characters in Mad Men who make choices that can be understandable with context but aren't wholly moral or right.

In terms of a good villain origin story, for me

This is an odd example because I thought the origin story for the villainy was understandable/good but hated the kind of villain ths character becomes after the origin story because it was so unnecessary, but in Spartacus, there's Tiberius.

When we first meet Tiberius, he's gentle, not much of a fighter, and he has this intense bond with his friend Sabinus, which was strange because they never made them lovers even though Spartacus did not shy away from mlm/wlw ships at all, and yet they clearly weren't platonic either, anyway, they have a really strong bond

and Tiberius' father, Crassus, who was in charge of the army meant to crush Spartacus' rebellion realized that his army was too weak, his son was too weak because they retreated during a battle rather than stood their ground and fight so he decides that in order to win the war, his army has to be more afraid of him and the consequences that he will bestow on them than Spartacus so he implements decimation where the army was split into different groups, each of them had to draw from lots and whoever drew a stone would be beaten to death by the other men in his group, and he sends his son to be a part of it, which is already traumatic

but then during decimation, Sabinus is the one who must be beaten to death

and Tiberius has to lead the charge

and I believe does the final blow killing him

and at the end, he goes to his father and is like,

and he holds onto that day throughout the rest of the season and carries the stone with him

and after decimation, he's a monster, and like I said, while I don't like how they made him a monster, like the things that he did, I understood how that experience would make a villain because even though it's using "my friend/lover" died and "my dad was mean" tropes, it's not generic, the sheer brutality of what happened and his role in it has me like, yeah, that's a villain origin story.

In terms of what makes redemption arcs compelling to me, for me, they're never really "villains", like Zuko in ATLA was an antagonist, there was never anything he did in the show that I didn't think he couldn't come back from, or they're, again, morally grey characters like Eleanor in TGP where the entire show is dedicated to her learning to be a better person

[maremote]

Black Sails Monologuolympics BR3.1: Secondary Main Characters: ROUND 1

1/12: Eleanor vs. Jack

Eleanor, to Vane, in 309: "You're not a man. You're deformed. Unformed. Flesh, bone, and bile, and missing all that which takes shape through a mother's love. You cannot comprehend what you took from me or why it was good, because there is no goodness in you. There is no humanity in you, no capacity for compromise, nor instinct toward repair, nor progress. Nor forgiveness. You are an animal. Nassau is moving on from you, and so am I."

VS

Jack, to Anne & Max, in 202: "What I have found in my experience is the more elusive the puzzle, the more painfully obvious its ultimate solution. One just has to be willing to see it. Take our predicament, for example. You have a wealth of leads, but no means of exploiting them for anything other than a fee and risking retaliation from Ms. Guthrie in the process. I, on the other hand, have an unparalleled aptitude for the management of a crew, but am denied any and every opportunity to exploit the kill. And there it is… the solution, so obvious. You will provide all leads derived from this place directly to me. I will judge which to prosecute and which too likely to rouse Ms. Guthrie's ire. Anne and I will then take those chosen leads, we'll procure a ship, we'll recruit men, and we'll create, from nothing, a new crew from which we three will each hold a share. You asked for better captains… I give you Captain Jack Rackham. And one more thing… darling, I can understand why you wouldn't want to tell me about this, but please know that all I have ever wanted for you is to be happy. Come to bed when you're through."

BRACKET THREE ROUND ONE // BRACKET THREE // ALL POLLS