#Anna watches Black Sails

[woozapooza]

Me getting all my leadership advice from Tony Soprano and Israel Hands:

[darlingshane]

fiesta in your mouth

Shane Walsh x F!Reader

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 2k

Summary: – @anna-hawk requested: I would love a sexy drabble with Reader being hungry... for food. The food is taking forever to arrive and they start bickering about Reader's impatience. It ends with Reader biting Shane's ass cause, well, HUNGRY. Except hungry for more now 😏.

Content/Warnings: explicit, smut, oral sex, food, eating, playful banter, crack, some fluff.

-- Read below or at AO3.

It's another lazy night, hanging out at your boyfriend's, waiting for the food to arrive. And as per usual, your stomach starts protesting impatiently after an hour of just sitting around, watching TV.

It's always the same when you leave Shane in charge of either cooking or ordering. He's not a bad cook, he just doesn't have the time, or he's too tired after work to do so. And when it comes to ordering via app, he's not very tech-savvy and often screws up the order.

“Ugh, when it’s the food coming?” you complain, lolling your head back against the edge of the couch to watch Shane coming out of the hallway half-naked with just a pair of black sweats hanging low on his hips after taking a shower.

“Why are you always so hungry?”

“Why are you not?” You whine, “you said we were eating an hour ago.”

“Don’t be such a brat. Food will be here soon,” your boyfriend states, plopping down on the couch next to you with his knees widely apart.

His curls slightly drip water on his bare shoulders while he flips channels on the TV, and you reach to swipe them with your fingers.

“Are you sure you ordered and paid right?”

“'Course, I’m sure. Stop being a pest. You should’ve eaten something before getting here.”

“You said you were cooking, I was saving myself for you.”

“You mean your virginity? I think that ship sailed a long time ago, sweetheart,” he quips, pinching the side of your hip, and you swat the back of your hand against his bicep.

“What did you order anyway?” You wonder.

“Mexican. I got all your favorites… arroz con pollo, crunchy tacos, nachos, enchiladas… A whole fiesta for your mouth. Better than my cooking, right?” He then reaches for his phone to check the Postmates app. “Look, it’ll be here in half an hour.”

“Another half hour?”

“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t have time to cook like I said,” his mouth draws a playful smirk, “but if you were that hungry, you’d have lifted that sweet ass off the couch a long time ago, and made dinner yourself like women are supposed to do. But lil miss grumpy pants here doesn't like cooking, doesn't she?”

“I could punch you for even joking about that, asshole.”

“I'd love to see you try.”

“Is that a dare?”

“C'mon, let's see what you got,” he grins, and stands up, tugging the waistband of his sweatpants higher.

Then, he pushes the coffee table towards the TV console to have some more space, and holds his palms up, inviting you to spar amicably.

You stand in front of him, wiggling your fingers before closing both hands into fists. You start punching either of his palms alternately while he taunts you about how weak your blows are, mocking your flimsy arms, and terrible posture. You double down and hit harder until your knuckles start hurting, while he relentlessly jeers at you.

Getting all worked up, you decide to go for his face instead, but your hook is keenly intercepted before landing.

Shane quickly pins your wrists at your back afterwards, and your boxing session turns into wrestling. You escape his hold several times, but then you end up pinned down on the floor in the most awkward position with your body held and twisted around him in a way that your face is facing his ass while he struggles to keep you like that.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna give up, sweetheart?” he drawls, half panting.

“Never,” you laugh and manage to get one of your hands free to pull his sweats down and uncover his stinking cute booty. Without warning, you take a big bite at the curve of his hips, firmly marking your teeth on his ass.

“The hell are you doing?”

“Told you I was hungry. I needed a nibble of those delicious buns,” you bite his butt again, pressing harder, until he releases you.

“You’re a savage,” he grumbles, as you unclench your teeth to see that bright, pink love bite you’ve stamped on his white ass.

“If you forfeit, I win!” you exclaim in victory, rolling on the floor to have your back against the rug, and pushing both your arms up.

“I don’t think so,” his tongue swipes his lips before having him on top of you again.

He pulls your arms down and straddles your chest, placing his crotch awfully close to your face.

“Let's see how hungry you really are,” his lips curve up lewdly, as he pushes his sweats and boxer briefs down, showing his limp cock.

You lick your lips in anticipation, watching him pumping himself a couple of times until he’s half hard.

Then, he playfully taps the bulbous tip of his length against your lips, purring, “want some of this, darlin'?”

You eagerly nod.

“Okay, show me your tongue, and I'll feed you.”

Doing as he says, you open your mouth and stick your tongue out.

With a fist curled around the underside of his cock, he places it on the wet surface of your tongue and strokes back and forth until his semi erection blooms into rock-hard perfection with a bittersweet wet dripping that comes out of his slit.

“Now close your lips and have at it.”

Letting him guide-boss you like this is one of your biggest turn-ons, and you can already feel the sweet arousal coiling madly in your core with just a taste of him.

Your eyes are locked with his when you wrap our mouth around his flared tip. You inhale and start bobbing our head forwards as much as this position lets you.

Starting slowly, you let your mouth take inch after inch, watching him bask in the delicious undoing of your ways. You hum and go a little faster as he braces his palms on the floor over your head.

“Keep going, darlin’,” he grunts between praises and curses, losing his breath the harder you go, “I’m almost… fuck yeah, just like that, sweetheart.”

The pace of your mouth picks up, sucking him dry, and moaning against his steel-erection throbbing against your tongue. It drives him wild. You can feel it in the way he erratically starts thrusting into your mouth at the same time with nothing but desperation pressing in his center.

“You wanted me to fill your dirty mouth exactly like this, huh?” he grunts coarsely, and you can barely nod, as his cock starts twitching a second before having his seed spilled at the back of your throat.

He comes with a loud strangled moan and after every drop is out he takes his cock away, and places a palm over your mouth.

“Sh, sh, sh. Don’t spill it, baby,” he grins at you, half panting, “I wanna see you swallow.”

Your lips quirk up beneath his palm before gulping every drop of his sticky essence down your throat. You then open your mouth and show him.

“Good girl,” he exhales, lying on top of you as he comes down from his high, “who’s the winner now?”

“You are, baby,” you chuckle, running your palms up and down his back as he presses himself between your legs. He’s not as hard, but you can still feel it behind the fabric of your leggings.

“Are you still hungry, sweetheart?”

“Hmm, a little. You promised a fiesta for my mouth and that was just a… a bitter spoon of yogurt past its expiration date at best.”

He snorts at your words, “say what you will, but I bet that made you wet.”

Pressing your teeth on your bottom lip, you give him a quick nod.

“Yeah? Do you want me to take care of that?”

“What do you think?”

“That you’re greedy as fuck, baby,” he laughs.

“Not as much as you are.”

“Yeah, probably not,” he accepts and draws in some air before sliding down your body, taking your clothes off, so he can give you the same release.

He buries his face between your legs and just as his tongue starts teasing your folds, the door buzzer goes off at the worst possible moment.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” you utter in frustration.

“Tough luck, sweetheart,” he pulls his head back, amused, glancing at you, “looks like we’re going to have to postpone this.”

“Ugh,” you let out as he pulls himself up, yanking his underwear and sweats on, to answer the door.

“Hey, don’t complain, the food is here. Isn’t that what you wanted?” he chuckles and buzzes the delivery guy in.

“I guess,” you mumble, hot and bothered, as you slip into your shirt, and take a seat on the couch, covering your kegs with the throw before Shane opens the door.

After collecting the food, he places the containers from your favorite Mexican restaurant on the coffee table, and drags it back to its former position near the couch.

You pick a random unlabeled container, open it, and instantly forget about the interruption after finding out he ordered churros.

Glancing at you as he pulls the lid off another, Shane catches you smiling while sinking your teeth into one.

“Those are for dessert.”

“Says who? I gotta get the taste of your churro out of my mouth somehow. This will do.”

“Well,” he licks his lips and yanks the blanket off you to uncover your legs, “if you’re gonna have dessert first, I should too.”

“Yeah, have at it,” you chuckle as he kneels on the floor, pushing your knees apart, and dragging your ass closer to the edge of the couch.

You take another bite of your churro and put it aside as he props your thighs over his shoulders.

He gazes at you one more time before diving into your pussy. The eager tip of his tongue slowly traces the shape of your lips, teases at your entrance, and every spot he can find to drive you out of your mind, avoiding your clit altogether.

Your fingers slide into his half-dried curls as he circles around it, barely grazing the peak of that swollen bud that’s aching for more significant stimulation. Filled with anticipation, your grip anxiously pulls at his hair as he takes his sweet time, savoring every inch of you.

His lips curve up against your folds, and you exhale, letting his name fall from your lips when he finally latches around your impatient clit.

Letting your head fall backwards, you close your eyes and drink in the mind-numbing sucking of his lips, taking you up to cloud nine with practice ease. One of his hands slips under your shirt to grab your breast while the other keeps a firm grip around your thigh with his fingers pressed on your mound.

Your body lights up with every lick and hum served in all the right places as he works you up to the highest level. He channels that electric jolt of your body to press a little harder until you fall completely apart at the mercy of his lips.

He pulls his head back, gently soothing his palms on your thighs while you slowly come down from your high. It takes you a moment to open your eyes, and when you do you see him using his fingers to clean the edges of his mouth covered in you.

“Welcome back, baby.”

Speechless, you simply smile at him as a response, as your breathing evens out.

“That good, huh?” he utters with his usual smugness, as if he didn't already know how to make you lose your mind like that.

He then rises from his knees and sits up, pulling you into his lap, linking his arms around your waist as you hug his neck.

“You taste sweeter than honey,” he whispers against your shoulder.

You let out a small laugh and pull back, so you can look at his eyes.

“Love leaving you without words, sweetheart,” he sweetly smiles, and you sigh, delighted, before capturing his lips.

[lonelycowgirls]

Staying Afloat aka yachtie!harry

Here we go... part one of Scarlett's story!

I can't wait for ya'll to read this and what I have in store for these characters. This is mostly self-indulgent because I LOVE Below Deck, but I hope you all love it, regardless.

Click here for the Character List if you want to really form a picture in your mind.

Please like, reblog and follow if you enjoy it!

My asks are also open for feedback and ideas to how this universe can continue.

Nel xo

~

Warnings: swearing Word count: 4.2k

~

Intimidating moustaches and pretty boys...

Scarlett

"Buongiorno, signora."

"Buongiorno." I handed the man with a very intimidating moustache, sitting behind the immigration inspection desk, my passport. My new bright orange floral leather sleeve sat in the crevice between his thumb and forefinger as he fingered through the pages to find the photograph page. I smiled genuinely at him before looking back to my phone to check the text that told me where I would be meeting my taxi driver. Normally the broker would arrange for the drivers to meet me with a sign in the airport arrival area, but this time it looked like I would have to meet them outside the airport in the taxi rank. Not that I minded, I just enjoyed the usual more - it made me feel famous.

"Business or pleasure, signora?"

"Business," I responded, tossing my hair over to the other side and hoisting my carry-on bag further onto my shoulder. "I'm working on a super-yacht."

The man nodded once, looking completely unimpressed, before stamping my passport and passing it back to me, waving me through to baggage claim. I smiled again at him, ignoring the fact that he looked past me with a blank stare. I got it, his job looked incredibly tedious. Having to deal with people like me; ignorant people who didn't speak the language and, worse still, refused to learn, entering his country every day. That's us Brits for you.

I wandered to the baggage claim area in pursuit of my bag. Before the upcoming season, I'd just completed a winter season sailing in Australia. My phone buzzed with the familiar 'Welcome to Italy' message from Vodafone. It buzzed again with a text from my mum.

Mum: Hope you're alright, hun. Text me when you land. Dad's still upset that you aren't coming home. Have fun. Mum x

My dad never got it, my ambition to travel. Probably never would. He hadn't been out of the country since he and Mum had split up when I was seventeen. He was happy with summers spent in Skegness and Blackpool. As soon as I found yachting I was on the first bus to Cornwall, where the training took place. My nanna had been an air hostess, so I like to think travelling is in my blood. She was brave and bold and was the first person to defend me at family gatherings for my life choices. I kept an album of her photos from her travelling days under my bed at home and kept a small Polaroid of us together in my purse. It helped when I was second-guessing myself in my job or if I was having a wobble about life. It was all the motivation I needed to keep going.

Walking through the bustling airport, I checked the screens above each luggage belt for the correct one. Amsterdam... Paris... London... Sydney. As I approached the Sydney belt, I pulled my headphones out of my bag to continue listening to the podcast I'd had on during the flight. I was in the middle of being lectured on why we were all wrong about Anna Nicole Smith by a pair of millennials - who were most likely barely birthed when she was actually alive - before the plane began to land.

The belt moved around and around for almost half an hour before any bags actually made their way out to its impatiently awaiting audience. I watched as a little boy ran to jump onto a giant black suitcase that was bulging at the sides, his dad rushed to pick both the boy and the suitcase up off the belt before they both found themselves winding back out to the mysterious place where the bags were handled. No one ever really questions where they come from or who handles them, they simply just appear. The boy's mum was in the middle of breastfeeding a very young baby but wasn't deterred from chastising the boy loud enough for me to hear over my headphones.

I watched a young lad from a group of tatted-up blokes, who I assumed were on a stag do, help an elderly man hoist his very large leopard print suitcase off the belt once he'd seen he was struggling. I then watched the elderly man wheel the case and its matching carry-on over to another elderly man who grabbed his hand to guide them both towards the arrivals exit.

I spotted my Gucci (T.K Maxx Special) monogrammed suitcase as it came steadily around the corner and stepped to pick it up, dragging it to land heavily on the shiny marble floor, being careful to not drop it on my sandalled feet. Then I just had to wait for my dad's old navy-blue duffle to wind its way through.

Walking out from the arrivals exit, the heat hit me straight in the face, but with a pleasantry that only came from the Italian Riviera. I sighed happily and slid my Dior sunglasses over my eyes. They were a gift from my last boyfriend, but for that price, there was no way they'd be going to the tip like the rest of his stuff.

Before looking for my taxi, I stepped to the side to toss my curls into a high bun. There was no way I'd make it through a hot taxi ride with probably no air conditioning with my thick black locks hanging around my neck and face. Once I was satisfied with the look after a quick check in a nearby parked car window, I lit a cigarette and checked my phone again for the licence plate number of the taxi I'd be taking to the dock.

Glancing around, my eyes landed on a sleek black Tesla. My eyebrows raised, sliding the glasses down my nose, I double-checked its plate number with my phone once more. If this luxury travel was anything to go by, this charter season, I was in for a treat.

"Grazie mille." I said as the kind man, who I learned was named Tullio, tried to carefully remove my heavy bag from the boot of the car. "It's okay you can just drop it." He smiled and wiped his brow and began to wheel it up the dock. I rushed to stump out my second cigarette on the top of the nearest bin, then trotted to catch up with him, attempting to take the handle from him. "Oh, please, um, per favore, I can take it from here." He waved me off and gestured for me to lead on. I blew a few stray curls from my forehead, smiled tight-lipped at him and stepped to start making my way up the dock.

Mega-yacht after mega-yacht passed by as I searched for the one I'd been hired on, Andiamo. I felt the awkwardness creep up my spine at the thought of meeting the crew and captain alongside Tullio. I didn't want them to think I was one of those stewardesses. I already knew that I'd give that impression with my choice of designer bag - even if it was a knock-off. I didn't need a small, sweaty Italian man in a too-tight suit trailing behind me with it to make that worse.

"Ah, here we are, grazie, Tullio." I smiled widely, stopping outside a random boat. He looked at me, one bushy brow raised in question, then shook his head and continued up the dock. My face fell and I followed him sheepishly. He must have thought I was barmy.

As we approached the end of the dock, I spotted a tall man, arms folded, looking sharp in a uniform. He was standing at the stern of a boat that the closer we approached became clear to be named, Andiamo. I couldn't see how many stripes were on his uniform but my guess was that he was the captain. The rattling of my suitcase along the creaky wooden boards of the dock grabbed his attention and he opened his arms wide, laughing sharply before clapping his hands twice.

"Ciao, bella!" The man on the boat exclaimed loudly in a very American twang, making poor Tullio jump slightly and mutter incoherently in Italian. The dock was so quiet otherwise. I smiled and brought one hand to shield my eyes and the other up to wave at him. He jogged around the side of the huge ship, practically skipped down the passerelle and hopped onto the dock as we met in the middle. "Welcome, Scarlett!" He yelled, even though we were barely two steps apart. Americans.

"Ciao, you must be-"

"Captain Bobby, a pleasure to meet you." He held a hand out for me to shake, which I did with gusto - always eager to make a good first impression and wanting to match his energy. He turned to Tullio who stood beside me. "Signore, grazie, I'll take it from here." Bobby nodded, but Tullio didn't move. "Oh, right." Bobby jumped into action, patting the pockets of his trousers in search of his wallet. Pulling it from the back of his very tight white trousers, he plucked out a note and handed it to Tullio who saluted us both and meandered back up the dock. Bobby sighed awkwardly while putting his wallet back, but he recovered quickly. "Alright, let's get you on board." He clapped his hands again, rubbing them together before hoisting my suitcase onto his shoulder with surprising ease. My eyes wandered to the bulging muscle of his upper arms in his smart white shirt and epaulettes, but only for a second before I shook it off and followed him up the passerelle, kicking off my shoes in the process.

"She's a beauty, Captain." I said, glancing around the gorgeous boat before me.

"Yeah, we've got ourselves a looker, that's for sure!" He shouted again, leading me into the bridge.

"So, Scarlett-" He said, placing my suitcase onto the pristine burgundy carpet and rolling it to sit in the corner.

"Oh, please, call me Lettie. It's what all my other boats called me." I corrected with a shrug and a smile. He nodded.

"Alright, Lettie. I've obviously read over your resume many times, but please, tell me a bit about yourself." He leaned back against the arm of the big leather captain's chair and folded his arms across his chest. He smiled and I noticed how kind his eyes were, with the way they crinkled at the corners. He was a pretty young captain from my experience, I hoped that that fact would bode well.

"Well, I'm 27 years old, I'm from Liverpool originally but I've been travelling and yachting since I was 19. I've just come from a season in Oz which was a 74-footer, and I-"

"ROBERT?!" I jolted slightly at the loud interruption that sounded like it came from the dock. I whipped around whilst the captain clapped his hands again and laughed as he squeezed my shoulder, darting out of the door. I frowned as I watched him leave and moved to look at what all the fuss was about.

"Hey hey! Harold! You're looking fresh, my man!" I leaned against the small entryway to the bridge to watch the captain jog to meet a long-haired man at the end of the passerelle. The man had round black sunglasses on, a patterned shirt that was undone to just past his chest, and loose brown shorts. He'd brought half his wardrobe if his baggage was anything to go by. I counted four black duffle bags that were bursting at the seams resting on the dock. It's a good job Tullio only had to pick me up from the airport...

"You're telling me?! Get in here you handsome bastard." The two men hugged closely, clapping their hands on each other's backs. I rolled my eyes at the bro fest and stepped back into the bridge to wander down the stairs and through to the interior of the boat. It was beautiful; varnished wooden surfaces, a luxurious curved sofa as a centrepiece, all leading to wall-to-wall double glass doors that led out to a stunning view from the aft deck, and loads of vast space. I ran my finger along a windowsill and lifted it to see a coat of dust. Sure, it was stunning, but it was fucking filthy. I sighed and looked out the window, I imagined who I would be working with and hoped that they were ready to put in some hard work because I wanted to make good money this season. I heard the low timbre of male voices approaching again and turned to see them coming down the winding stairs, still chatting and catching up.

"Ah, there she is! Harry, this is Scarlett- oh sorry, I mean Lettie. Our chief stewardess for the season." I smiled at the men and stepped to extend my hand to shake.

"Great to meet you, Scarlett. I'm the bosun." He said, smiling around a deep British accent. As he took my palm in his, I noticed how rough his hands were, the classic sign of a deckie.

"You too, Harry. You're quite young for a bosun, eh?" He shrugged and smirked.

"Maybe I'm not as young as you think."

"Harry's been my first mate for three years now, we were on another boat though. I trust you guys will work well together to figure out everything on Andiamo." I nodded dutifully and hoped that Harry wouldn't be what I suspected he'd be from first impressions. But something deep inside me secretly hoped that he would. I supposed that only time would tell.

We walked further into the interior and on down to the crew mess. The captain led the way through to explain where the crew quarters were. I was surprised by how big the space for the crew was, my previous boat had had tiny living quarters. "So, Lettie you'll have two stews under you, a girl and a guy, if I remember correctly." I nodded. "And you've actually got the same under you, H."

"Nothing new there then," Harry smirked to the captain, who rolled his eyes playfully.

"I don't wanna know, man." Captain Bobby put his hands up in surrender and wandered back out to the mess. Harry glanced back at me and I quirked a brow in his direction, before moving past him to check where the uniforms had been stored.

Just as I started sifting through the laundry room and placing uniforms into piles for everyone, I heard the captain yelling again above. The crew mess was normally very soundproof, due to all the debauchery that usually took place there - he was really that loud. I guessed that more crew were arriving.

"Hey, Harry what size t-shirt are you?" I called out to him.

"Depends, is it Fruit of the Loom?"

"Um, no. They're unbranded." I looked at the label on the neck of the bright teal-coloured shirt in my hand. I walked back out to the mess to see him sprawled out on the bench seat, munching on an apple. He'd put his shoulder-length hair into a bun that didn't look much different to my own. "They're soft though. This one's a large? What do you think?" He jumped up from where he sat in the mess and bared his chest, holding the apple in his teeth. I scoffed a laugh and held up the shirt to his chest, he nodded with a smirk, his dimples poking through each side of the apple.

"This'll do, Scar." He took the shirt from me and put it over his shoulder as he took another bite of his apple, moving past me to go into his room. My move to return to the laundry room was halted by a girl coming down the stairs.

"Hi! I'm Marnie!" The girl exclaimed, her blonde hair whipping to catch up with how quickly she'd bounded down the stairs. She pulled on the straps of her enormous backpack to readjust it on her tiny shoulders.

"Oh, hi Marnie, I'm Scarlett. But you can call me Lettie." I smiled and shook her hand and tried not to be blinded by her perfect white teeth, bared in a bright smile. "I'm the chief stew."

"Great! I'm a deckie." She explained, her strong Australian accent caused a ripple of warmth through my veins. I already missed Oz. Hearing footsteps, I turned back to see Harry jogging through the narrow corridor towards us.

"Is that a deckie, I hear?" He said, still chomping on his half-eaten apple. "Hey, I'm Harry, bosun" Marnie didn't miss a beat, opening her arms up to signal a hug, which caused Harry to hesitate slightly before accepting.

"I'm so excited for this season! Is anyone else here yet?"

"Just us and Cap so far."

"Oh, pick of the rooms then!" Marnie winked, if her speech was written down, every sentence would be finished off with an exclamation mark. I loved her already. I led her to the bedroom next to Harry's, which she'd be sharing with the engineer, who, I was pleased to see, was also female.

I continued sorting through the laundry, placing fresh uniform packs onto each of the free beds. Each pack had a pair of white shirts with epaulettes, corresponding to each role, a pair of teal polo shirts, and a pair of shorts or a skort, depending on the person. Then I started unpacking in my room.

I was in the middle of organising my knickers and bras neatly into a drawer when I heard a crash. Rushing out into the hallway I was met with Harry's confused face across from me. We looked at each other for a second before he tilted his head for me to lead the way towards the crew mess.

I gasped, "Oh, Christ, are you okay?" I reached to help the girl that was trying to lift herself up off her enormous, metallic silver, hardshell suitcase that was lying flat on the polished wooden floor.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry, I'm so embarrassed."

"Did you fall down all those stairs?" I asked, Harry moved the suitcase to sit back on its four wheels, rolling it to the side of the crew mess table. The girl nodded, rubbing her elbow.

"Why didn't you get Cap to carry your suitcase down here for you? Or he could've radioed me." Harry leaned against the table, folding his arms across his chest. I took her arm in my hands and turned it inspect the possible damage.

"Wanted to do it myself." The girl said in a smaller voice. She was so petite, but I could see the lines of muscles in her bare arms, she probably could have done it herself if the stairs weren't so narrow. "I'm fine, honestly. I'll just go to my room." She shrugged her arm out of my grasp and moved towards her case. I frowned in her direction and caught Harry's eye as she moved down the hallway, he smirked, confirming that we'd both had the same thought. She was a stew.

"Um, hey, I can let you know which room you're in, what's your name?"

"Molly," she sighed in an accent I could tell hailed from either New York or Boston. "I'm second stew, I think." She stopped and glanced to look at me expectantly.

"Oh, yes. I'm Scarlett, but you can call me Lettie. I'm chief stew." I smiled slightly, I felt like I was treading on eggshells around this girl. "You're in with me," I said, beckoning her towards our room. "I hope you don't mind the top bunk, I just prefer to be on the ground." I laughed lightly. Molly smiled tight-lipped at me and lifted her suitcase up onto the top bunk with minimal effort. I knew it.

We continued to unpack in silence, I hoped that this frost that had come to rest upon the beginnings of our relationship was temporarily caused by her unwanted trip down the stairs. I'd just finished making my bed when I heard another voice, this time deep and masculine, I counted my lucky stars as I left the room.

"Hi!" It was my turn to say everything with an exclamation mark. The man jumped as I rushed towards him. He had dark shades on and just a large backpack slung over one shoulder. His megawatt smile made my belly flip - he was fucking gorgeous. "Sorry, I'm Scarlett, I'm the chief stew." Stepping forward, I collected myself and held a hand for him to shake. His bulging muscle flexed as he shook it, before lifting his shades to sit on his head and slinging his backpack to the floor.

"So nice to meet you Scarlett, I'm Jesse. I'm a steward." I quirked my brow at him, but inwardly rolled my eyes at myself for assuming that he would be a deckie.

"Nice to meet you, too! Looking forward to working with you this season. Let me show you where you'll be staying." I led Jesse to where he'd be staying with the male deckhand and left him to settle in and unpack.

I looked at my Apple Watch and decided to take a smoke break before heading up to start organising the boat. I let both of my stews know to be ready to help within the hour and headed up to the aft deck.

The sun was just beginning to set over the line where the sky met the steady waves of the sea. I sat on the teak and slid my legs through the bars to dangle over the edge of the boat. Taking a cigarette out of the personalised case my Grandma had given me and lit one. I sighed the smoke out and swung my legs back and forth in front of me, leaning an arm back to rest on. I thought about quitting every time I left a boat - smoking that is. But every time I boarded a new one all I could think about was having a ciggy out on the deck. It was just too easy, the culture was smoking and, to be honest, I'd find myself desperate for one after a hard day on charter.

I took another deep drag and brought my gaze to the crystal-clear water below me. I watched two bright blue fish swim in circular patterns, one of them chasing the other. I smiled softly, leaning my chin on my arm on the metal rail. The warm breeze blew through my curls and made me feel content for a few moments.

"Hey, mind if I knick one of those?" I jumped slightly at the interference of my peace but recognised Harry's low timbre. I turned to face him, his figure stood in the golden sunshine, making him look rather yummy. I nodded and passed him my case and lighter. He flicked it open as he swung his legs through the bars to sit beside me. Lighting up, he looked closer at the metal case, turning it in his hand. He ran his thumb across the raised imagery and wording. "Is this supposed to be you?"

I laughed, blowing another puff of smoke through my lips and nostrils. "What do you think?"

"I think if it's an accurate portrayal, I can't wait to see you in a bikini." I laughed again, taking the case back and looking at it myself. On the front, there was an illustration of an extremely voluptuous woman, naked apart from the flames engulfing her intimate parts. Her head was tilted back, eyes hooded and mouth agape sensually. But her flowing dark curls were where our similarities ended, I could assure him that much.

Yeah, nana wasn't your average grandma.

"I bet. Shame I only brought one-pieces, then, isn't it?" I said, side-eyeing him as I blew more fumes from my lips. I moved to put the case to my side on the teak.

"Ah, I'm sure I've got something you can borrow." He rebuffed casually, looking out to the sunset before us. I side-eyed him harder.

"You've brought bikinis?" I questioned, running my tongue along my the edges of my top teeth in curiosity, a slight lift in the corner of my mouth.

"One or two may have ended up in my suitcase, comes with the territory." I scoffed and rolled my eyes playfully at his cocky wink in my direction. He was one of those guys who had a permanent smirk on his lips. I always got on with guys like that, at least at first. I was never one to take to people who took life too seriously. They usually ended up taking the joke a step too far though.

I decided to chance it and give him a once over as he looked out to sea. His hair was still pulled back in a hair tie, with wispy baby hairs dancing in the warm breeze. Green eyes, squinting in the sunlight but still glittering in the reflection of the ocean beneath us. He had a prominent nose with large nostrils, but it only served to enhance his distinctive face. He interrupted gruffly, a slight cough directed into a fist brought to his mouth. "You should know that. Been in the industry for an age, haven't you."

I glanced back outwards, lining up the tip of my cigarette between my two fingers with the edge of where the sky met the sea. "Certainly feels that way," I mumbled slightly, closing one eye as the scorched tip continued to sizzle away. "Yachting years are like dog years. My body would definitely agree." I decided not to question how he knew the length of time I'd been yachting, it wasn't uncommon for staff to read each other's files before a season, especially the bosun.

"Your body definitely speaks for itself." Harry side-eyed me again, taking a long pull from his cigarette over smirking lips. He was going hard, but I couldn't afford to let my imagination run too wild. He was the bosun and as the chief stew, we needed to have a strong relationship onboard. Which meant avoiding a catastrophic relationship off-board. Although, I let my mind wander to all the ways I could make him feel catastrophic.

Shaking my head and ridding myself of the thoughts, I stubbed my cigarette out in the crystal ashtray I'd found behind the bar in the main salon and moved to stand.

"Alright, pretty boy," I said, before leaning down to speak into his ear, hands squeezing his broad shoulders. "I think it's time we did some work, yeah?" With that, I left him with a parting tap, but I could feel his eyes on me as I walked away. Looking into my reflection before the double glass doors began to slide open, the suspicion was confirmed with a glance at him behind me.

This was going to be one hell of a season.

[0ur-diabolikal-rapture]

the past month or so has been really strange for me in terms of my current fixation/interest/idk the word for with toby stephens

In 2010 I studied jane eyre as part of my english class and my teacher made us watch the 2006 bbc adaptation with him and ruth wilson in it, and although I didn’t read the book cover to cover, I really loved the adaptation

In 2013 I went to see him perform in private lives in london. at the time I was really into the tv show the hour, and seeing anna chancellor being cast really made me want to see the show, and recognising toby from the promo material made me even more excited about going

after the show my friend at the time and I waited at stage door to try and meet anna, and we were lucky enough to meet the entire cast as it was literally just me and my friend waiting there. all of them were really great but toby in particular went out of his way to interact with us and was really sweet I’ll never forget it. the show itself was so funny and was definitely a highlight of the theatre trips I’d been on that year, and I’d even got clippings of interviews and other promo bits that anna and toby had done during that time too

and then in 2014, I’d always been obsessed with period dramas but I’d managed to watch north and south (2004) for the first time, which honestly changed my life it’s still one of my favourite things ever. and as a collector I’d obviously wanted to have it on dvd, so I opened up amazon and added it to my basket and I’m not sure why, maybe it was offered as a recommendation? or having watched a period drama it made me think of others I’d enjoyed? but I bought the dvd for jane eyre as well.

and since then, even through the many times I’d culled my dvd collection I always managed to keep those two even though I didn’t watch them, because I knew how much I’d enjoyed them in the past I couldn’t part with them

since around 2021 I’ve watched north and south maybe once a year maybe twice but I was still reluctant to rewatch jane eyre in case it wasn’t as good as I remember but finally in 2024, after a little period drama resurgence I rewatched it. and I couldn’t stop thinking about it for weeks. I wanted to rewatch it immediately, I’d completely forgotten how good it was all those years ago and I was so glad I’d chosen to watch it again

about a month ago now, I’d seen a edit on my twitter of toby for black sails, I didn’t even know the show existed I had no idea of the context or anything but I saw it and was so intrigued by it that I went out the same day and bought the entire boxset, I had no job and I really didn’t have the money to purchase it but I just had a good feeling about it. (for context: I don’t have wifi at my place so I buy dvds to watch things) but after a couple of episodes I was so happy that I got them and I knew it would be my new favourite show ever and I was obviously obsessed with flint

since finishing black sails I bought a few more dvds of toby’s work and I’m having such a good time and I genuinely don’t know why I didn’t do this after seeing private lives because that’s my usual pattern after seeing things that I really enjoyed. I really admire his craft and there’s just something about him I can’t really describe but I’m just a little fascinated at the moment

it’s just been a strange but interesting time for me having loved an actor’s work for such a long time, having met him such a long time ago and only now really exploring his work properly. I’m obviously having the best time but it feels so.. bittersweet? illogical? like I’ve missed out on a lot? life is strange…

but anyway I watched the tenant of wildfell hall today and baby toby holding a puppy healed me

[333creolelady]

14 final scenes that inspired LOTBB, A thread:

1. "Black Sails” (2014) is a historical drama set in the early 18th century and serves as a prequel to Robert Louis Stevenson's "Treasure Island." The series is about the adventures and political intrigues of Captain Flint and his crew of pirates in the Caribbean. John and Madi's relationship stood out to me. John is a former British naval officer and Madi is an enslaved woman and the daughter of an African leader. Just from their descriptions you can imagine how different they are. I found that some of the themes in the show overlap with my intentions for LOTBB. It’s not often you see a black woman on a boat with pirates on a tv show. However, every few years we see something different. As their personal connection deepens, it becomes entangled with the larger conflicts and ambitions that drive the narrative of the series. I chose two scenes for you those interested. Scene 1 and Scene 2.

2. “Becoming Jane” (2007) is a biographical drama about the early life of Jane Austen. The film explores Austen's relationship with Tom Lefroy. Their romance, which faces societal and economic challenges, serves as an inspirational story. The film blends historical facts with fictional elements to illustrate how Austen’s personal experiences influenced her novels. Jane and Tom have such good chemistry in this movie and I think this scene perfectly encompasses the tension between Roman and Jane, especially in those early days when their relationship was still undeclared and seemingly vague. I loved the literary element of the second scene so much that I found some way to work it into the story . Watch scene here & Here .

3. “Belle” (2013) is a historical drama based on the true story of Dido Elizabeth Belle, the illegitimate mixed-race daughter of a British admiral. Raised by her aristocratic great-uncle in 18th-century England, Belle navigates racial and social issues while becoming involved in the fight against the slave trade. The film explores her personal and legal struggles, her relationship with a young lawyer, and her impact on the broader movement for justice. Belle (Dido) who was born in the West Indies like Jane. This movie was really popular here in the early days of tumblr. This scene was sweet to me as Belle learns how to manage her hair as a black woman in such a difficult and tumultuous time. I relate Jane with this character as she navigates Europe while being black and a woman. She learns the beauty of self care and begins to enjoy things like styling her hair and dressing up. Jane begins to accept that it’s okay to be perceived in her new life. Readers will see Jane in a new light in the last chapter, as she fully embraces her differences and even falls in love with them. Watch it here.

4. “Anna Karenina” (2012) revolves around Anna Karenina, a woman trapped in a loveless marriage who embarks on a passionate affair with Count Vronsky. This movie birthed MANY Aaron Taylor Johnson fans. I personally gravitated more towards Kitty and Levin in the story. Their story was allll about patience and growth. No did not mean never. This proposal scene is heart warming and a Hint for chapter 9. Watch the scene here.

5. “Chevalier” (2023) is a historical drama about the life of Joseph Bologne, the Chevalier de Saint-Georges. Set in 18th-century France, it portrays Bologne as a talented Black composer, violinist, and swordsman who rises to prominence despite facing racial prejudice. The film explores his achievements, personal struggles, and the impact of his extraordinary talents in a society that is both fascinated by and hostile toward him. Roman’s backstory is based heavily on this portrayal of Joseph Bologne. I recommend this movie to any of you period piece lovers out there. It’s the embodiment of “you have to work twice as hard to get half”. I also appreciate a nod towards the people of color who lived in Europe during this time. All too often movies like these use black people as props or decoration. However, Joseph’s mother introduces him to a whole new world that the “others” create for themselves when nobody is watching. Those who are “othered” have always made space for themselves—even during the darkest points in their history. Paris will be eye opening for Jane. This is a Hint for chapter 9. Watch the scene here.

6. Castlevania:Nocturne (2023) Edouard and Annette's relationship is marked by a deep bond rooted in shared experiences and mutual support. Edouard, a skilled and determined vampire hunter, is initially focused on his mission to vanquish the vampire threat. Annette, his close ally, provides both emotional and practical support. Their relationship evolves from professional partnership to a more personal and affectionate connection, with Annette often serving as a source of strength and encouragement for Edouard. Annette’s backstory helped shape Jane’s backstory, especially as she finds herself. Annette begins to understand that she is not defined by what she’s been through. She pushes past the labels placed onto her and finds her strength. Edouard uses his talents to disarm and survive much like Roman did at one point in his life. However, Edouard is on a mission and Annette joins the cause proficiently. Watch the scene here.

7. “Pride & Prejudice” (2005) a film adaptation of Jane Austen's classic novel. It follows Elizabeth Bennet, a witty and independent young woman, as she navigates issues of class, marriage, and morality in 19th-century England. The story focuses on her relationship with the wealthy and initially aloof Mr. Darcy, exploring themes of first impressions, social expectations, and personal growth. I’m sure that most people have heard of this movie by now and it’s certainly a slow burner. However, my favorite part of the movie was Elizabeth asking for her Father’s blessing. A close second was Darcy’s second attempt at a proposal. It was so touching and it will be a hint for chapter 9. Watch the scene here.

8. “ Sense & Sensibility” (1995) is an adaptation of Jane Austen's novel. The film focuses on the Dashwood sisters, Elinor and Marianne, who must navigate love and hardship after their father's death leaves them in a financially vulnerable position. Elinor, who represents "sense," is practical and restrained, while Marianne, embodying "sensibility," is emotional and impulsive. As they contend with romantic entanglements and societal expectations, the story explores themes of love, class, and resilience. I found this movie touching and the element that I hoped to extract from the male lead was the patience of Colonel Brandon. This movie is age gap done right especially considering how much older the Colonel is than Marianne. Watch the scene here.

9. “ Hunger Games: Catching Fire” (2013) needs no introduction or explanation. There’s a good chance you’ve seen it or have seen enough clips to understand what this movie is about. It’s nothing short of devastating. However, the monkey mutts idea is an idea I pretty much stole (not without tweaking a few things of course). Do I feel bad about it? Considering some of the political affiliations/opinions that the directors and producers/actors have—-no I don’t. Watch the scene here.

10. “Annihilation” (2018) is a science fiction film based on Jeff VanderMeer's novel. The story follows a group of scientists led by biologist Lena, who enters a mysterious and rapidly expanding zone known as "The Shimmer." Inside, they encounter bizarre and deadly mutations affecting both flora and fauna, challenging their understanding of reality and human nature. As they delve deeper, they confront existential questions and personal traumas, leading to a gripping and surreal exploration of transformation and the unknown. The island in chapter 8 is inspired by this movie, especially the encounter with the Monkey’s. I highly recommend this sci-fi if you’re into aliens. Please proceed with caution with this scene as it has gore and the death of a character. Watch it here.

11. “ Damsel”( 2024) The talking dragon. Need I say more ? Watch the scene here.

12. “ Alien” (1979) directed by Ridley Scott, follows the crew of the spaceship Nostromo, who encounter a deadly extraterrestrial lifeform after investigating a distress signal from a remote planet. The alien creature, initially discovered as an egg, grows into a lethal being that picks off the crew members one by one. The film builds tension and horror as the remaining crew, including Officer Ripley (Sigourney Weaver), must fight to survive and ultimately confront the alien. This scene is such an organic depiction of how a group interacts during an impossible situation. There’s frustration, fear, disbelief, anger, paranoia and exhaustion. I wanted the conflict for my story and I did that to the best of my abilities. Watch the scene here.

[deancasbigbang]

Title: The Siren and the Viking

Author: Fred

Artist: reafre

Rating: Explicit

Pairings: Sam/Eileen Past Lydia/Dean

Length: 50000

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Tags: John Winchester’s A+ parenting; Minor Character Deaths; Sexual Content; Frottage; Dark Fairytale; Historical inaccuracies; Mythical inaccuracies; Enemies to Friends to Lovers

Posting Date: October 13, 2023

Summary: Once upon a time, in the deepest dwellings of the sea, was a Siren who stared up at the skies with fascination and wonder.  Once upon a time, up on the explored and unexplored lands of the world, was a Man that longed for nothing more than to sail at sea, the dangers nothing when aboard his drakkar.  Once upon a time, there was a story of war and blood spilt between two peoples. But there was also a story of built trust, forged peace, and, unbelievably, love, between the two most unlikely of beings.

Excerpt: Before he could move near close enough to speak to Anna, a war cry erupted amongst the storm. The Men’s spears jabbed through the darkness of the sea. Castiel watched, horrified, as the blood of his brethren mixed with the ocean. Anna screeched in anger, but none of the men crumpled, instead shouting louder as they pulled new blades from their furs. As Castiel swam closer, intent on helping his brothers and sisters, one of the Men jumped at the helm of the ship, shouting instructions to hurrying figures in the darkness. The wind blew through the sails, propulsing the ship forward as the Men shouted triumphantly to the Gods. Castiel swam closer, following them, staying in the shadow of the boat so that they wouldn’t see him. The Man at the helm let out another shout, and Castiel’s eyes snapped back to him only to be spellbound by what they saw. The man was tall compared to his kind, clad in armor and furs, his great sword thrust in front of him, pushing his crew onwards. The sea had drowned his figure, and although the dark skies painted him in sombre shades, he still shone like the sun, golden under the grime. His hair was the color of wet sand, hanging in wild strands around his neck, and his beard threw droplets wildly as he turned and shouted his orders, leaving smears of water that immediately blended into the furs around his neck. Black claw marks had been painted across his face in four slashes, and surrounded by the dark makeup, his eyes popped, the color of ice under a layer of freezing water. Eyes shining like the emerald jewels hidden amidst the coffers of shipwrecks. Eyes green like the sea. Castiel’s breath caught in his gills. The ship broke the wild waves, as the Man continued to push his crew forward. Castiel traced their path and sighed in dismay as he realized they were sailing toward The Pit, a cropping of rocks that were closely knit together, creating tight passages impossible to navigate for anyone lacking the speed and grace of a tail. Many ships had crashed against The Pit, the Men aboard drowning in its depths as the Sirens shrieked in joy around. Castiel’s heart beat a sharp staccato rhythm in his throat as he watched the ship and its fascinating Steersman, the man who had managed to fool them and spill more Siren blood than he had ever seen, sail toward his annihilation.

DCBB 2023 Posting Schedule

[dear-indies]

hi cat! do you have any suggestions for a fc (woc, preferably) who could play a pirate character? thank you so much! 💛

Jessica Parker Kennedy (Black Sails) Black Canadian / Ashkenazi Jewish.

Son Ye Jin (The Pirates) Korean.

Han Hyo Joo (The Pirates: The Last Royal Treasure) Korean.

Ilia Isorelýs Paulino (One Piece) Dominican.

Haven't watched the show but they were on a boat in some gifs:

Amita Suman (Shadow and Bone) Bhojpuri Nepalese.

Anna Leong Brophy (Shadow and Bone) Irish, Chinese, and Kadazan.

Jessie Mei Li (Shadow and Bone) Hongkonger / English - is a gender non-conforming woman who uses she/they.

And not pirate specific media but:

Adwoa Aboah (Willow) Ghanaian / English.

Erin Kellyman (Willow) Afro Jamaican / Irish - is a lesbian.

Cara Gee (Strange Empire) Ojibwe.

Devery Jacobs (Blood Quantum) Mohawk - is queer.

Claudia Kim (Marco Polo) Korean.

Ming-Na Wen (The Mandalorian) Macanese, Chinese, Malaysian.

Danai Gurira (The Walking Dead) Shona Zimbabwean.

Zoë Robins (The Wheel of Time) Nigerian.

Madeleine Madden (The Wheel of Time) Eastern Arrernte, Arrernte, Kalkadoon, White / Gadigal and Bundjalung.

Sarita Choudhury (The Green Knight) Bengali Indian / English.

Tao Okamoto (Westworld) Japanese.

Ellora Torchia (Beowulf: Return to the Shieldlands) Indian / Italian.

Dianne Doan (Vikings) Vietnamese, 1/8 Chinese.

Anya Chalotra (The Witcher) Kashmiri Indian / English.

Anna Shaffer (The Witcher) Black and White South African Jewish.

Sophia Brown (The Witcher: Blood Origin) Black British.

Jessica Matten (Frontier) Métis, Saulteaux-Cree, Chinese, British.

Kylie Bunbury (Tut) Afro Guyanese / Swedish, as well as Polish, English, and German.

Malese Jow (The Shannara Chronicles) Chinese / English, Scottish, Cherokee.

Chu Ja Hyun (Arthdal Chronicles) Korean.

Kim Ok Bin (Arthdal Chronicles) Korean.

Hope these suggestions help!

[annadia-thorn]

Aralya'diel

The clipper Aralya’diel cut a sharp profile moored at the docks below Paw’don village; her lines and craftwork showed the vessel as one from Suramar’s shipyards, although the cut of her sails, for those with an eye, bore the influence of Quel’thalas. A lanky figure with long tusks and a shock of upright hair stood on the forward decks, a three-fingered hand held over his eyes as he peered towards the village above.

“‘ey, Cap’n Tightpants,” the troll called out, “I tink dat be your sister comin’.”

Annadia ducked out of the clipper’s aftcastle, adjusting a tricorn hat adorned with a nigh-ridiculous feather to just the right rakish angle. Black leather pants, fitted tight enough to earn the troll’s epithet, were tucked into knee-high cavalier boots buckled close around her calves, the outfit topped with a bishop-sleeved loose linen shirt left dangerously unbuttoned and secured only by an elaborately embroidered half-corset.

All the ensemble required were her blades and pistols but those? Those remained below decks. The conditions of Paw’don's dockmaster were strict, and the local Pandaren had not forgotten the memory of what had once been Garrosh’ar Point.

“Yeah, that’s Seraa,” the sin’dorei agreed, walking across the deck to join the troll at the clipper’s forecastle. The distant figure was making her unhurried way along the winding path from the village to the docks, followed by a shadow far darker than could be accounted for by the springtime sun. “I’m surprised you remember her. And Ko’jin - you’re gonna have to stop calling me that when we get a full crew.”

Annadia gave him a sidelong look, golden eyes narrowing as the troll burst out in laughter.

“Only when you stop dressin’ like de covah o’ some cheap trash book,” the lanky troll retorted after his laughter subsided, “or mebbe you be plannin’ for an early Hallow’s End, eh?” His broad smile, echoed by Annadia a breath later, dulled the sharp edges of their banter.

She lifted a lazy hand with one finger extended in a near-universal gesture. “Let me have it, huh? It’s fun to play the part. We’re still breaking her in,” Anna patted the carved railing, “and I’ve been dreaming of my own ship since I was little. Besides…”

She checked the cinch of her waspie and adjusted her bosom emphatically, “If they’re distracted by my tits, they won’t see how blind we’re stealing them.” Her grin grew sly, long brows raised with hints of salacious intent.

“If it’s larceny on ya mind, you gon be needin’ more den dose baps,” Ko’jin snorted with mock derision, only to wince and move away from the punch Annadia aimed at his arm. “Spirits, ya be abusin’ yer crew already! Fine cap’n you gonna make.”

Annadia huffed an exaggerated pout of aggrievement before looking back along the path. Her sister was near halfway from the village, close enough that Annadia waved and shouted a greeting, the shadowed figure raising a hand in silent response.

A nudge from Ko’jin pushed Annadia in the direction of the gangplank. “You go’wan an’ meet her. Ghaz won’ be back from Two Moons ‘til mornin’, an’ I still gotta finish wit’ inventory in de hold.” He considered Anna for a moment, “You still tink settin’ aside dat space be a good idea?”

“…Yeah. I got a feeling.” She gave a curt nod, still looking towards Seraanna’s approach and waving again. “This time.”

“Best t’be trustin’ a captain’s hunches, ‘den. Mebbe I’ll stop in t’greet you an’ her after y’both had some time for catchin’ up.”

“Captain.” A pleased smirk. “I still like the sound of that. Don’t lose yourself in the hold, or all the wine’ll be gone by the time you’re out.”

“An’ here you be tinkin’ I didn’t lay in extra.” Ko’jin made a shooing gesture. “Now git, ‘fore she boards an’ takes de helm while we’re jawin’.”

Annadia flipped the bird at him again and left, boots clacking along the gangplank as she debarked. Ko’jin watched, the troll‘s thick fingers worrying a dull amulet worn about his neck until he saw the two sisters - sin’dorei and ren’dorei - meet in an embrace still a hundred-odd yards from the docks. Only then did he make his way belowdecks.

"Dreamer be walkin’ again..."

* * *

mentions: @longveil

Ko'jin & Ghaz have appeared in: Old Bindings (Seraanna, flashback) and Extinguished (Kyuusei)

[exiled-eyes]

Never Task : 0 0 2        Nightmares

{ TW: Body horror, eye gore, mouth horror }

it isn't uncommon for Cecco to suffer from nightmares. Regardless of what they do before laying down, nothing prevents the nightmare from creeping into their skull. Warm tea? Nothing, but it is nice for their throat when they can get their hands on it.

The smell of burning oak and ignited ale fills their lungs, as though they were back on the cursed ship that they had lost so many loved ones to, are the first things to greet them. When their eyes open, the skies, which should be decorated with the silver glisten of the stars against the otherwise blackness of the night, was instead flickering with a radiant orange hue. Their stomach drops, faster than a corpse with cannonballs tied to their ankles. No. Not here. Not again. A tightness forms in their throat as the hand of fear crawls up their spine before firmly grasping the back of their neck. Just like that, it is in control, once again. In their nightmares, no matter how hard they try or how much they desperately attempts to sober up their comrades, even just a little bit, the drunken hold is never loosened.

Shaking, slapping and doing everything short of physically harming their comrades, the same response greets them. Cecco is either ignored, or scorched by the flaming mugs of grog that are raised towards them. Their throat tightens, stinging as the fumes of burning leather and paper begin to rise from below decks. Like a fireplace, cracking in a pub, inviting those from the outside to step in, the sound of splintering and cracking wood grows ever louder as more and more of the deck is engulfed in flames. Unable to get their comrades to acknowledge the danger surrounding them, Cecco pushes past the crew in hopes of finding something to use, anything that would help save their lives. They call out to those who are nearby, to any who can hear their voice, their call to arms, praying, damn near begging for someone to join them in their attempts to extinguish the fire that threatened to consume the ship. Bucket after bucket, they rush around the burning deck in an attempt to douse the hungry flames.

A hiss dissipates in to the air as they dump the water on to a trail that is leading to a barrel of grog.  It is a fruitless task as the water simply evaporates as soon as it leaves the pail. A plume of smoke that disappears in to the air, not even a drop will ever reach the ground. No matter how much they try, there is nothing they can do to even dim a small fire. Trying to spit on it only shows that they cannot produce any saliva from their dried mouth. No one seems to even notice them, or their efforts, for the crew is too caught up in the moment, cheering and drinking from mugs that burn no sooner than the grog leaves the charred cask. To watch their friends drinking from burning mugs, seeing the skin of their lips boil and melt, dripping into the fiery drinks, it is enough to make their stomach twist. Brothers and sisters in arms, attempting to then smile at them, with chunks of their noses caved in, entirely hanging off, or missing.  Their words turning in to garbled murmurs of what cannot be deciphered, what should not be heard by mortal ears.

As they search for any sane person, praying to Neptune that someone is capable of helping, they discover that Anna is plagued by the same affliction. Cecco's heart stops for a moment. She sways alongside their Captain, Bowen the Bloody, as the sails overhead begin to rain down blackened ash. What was once a symbol of their joy, now aglow with hellfire. They celebrate their bounty, oblivious to the searing heat that begins to surround them. It is always them, that go first. To watch the flames take hold of both Anna and the Captains pants before they are engulfed by the blaze that rapidly crawls up their bodies. Their silhouettes revealing through the bright fire, how quickly it will consume them all. For it takes very few moments before the two are nothing more than skeletal remains, the skin that is home to their numerous scars, each one a thrilling tale, melts away. Falling in thick clumps that mix with hair, and the smell . . god the smell. Bowen's face begins to slide, as though he were made of nothing more than pig fat. Anna is disfigured by the intense heat. It leaves unnatural dips in her arms and figure, as though something had taken large bites out of her.  In their last moments, they are waving their arms in glee before collapsing onto the deck. The two turn to look directly at Cecco. It is the first time anyone really notices them, the only moment where it not longer feels like a nightmare, but as though life before this had been a dream they were just awaking from.

Cecco's tortured screams are drowned out by the rest of the crew beginning to sing or laugh jauntily. The quartermaster falls to their knees, surrounded by their peers as tears attempt to fall from their features. Nothing comes, however. The  heat that is circling them immediately dries out their eyes, forcing them to hold their eyes tightly shut. The sounds that fill their head however, are much different than what they have seen. They can hear desperate calls for help, pleas, crying from their brothers in arms. A horrific reality where the illusion before them holds no power. Bartering with what possessions they had, crew members begged for the gods to spare their lives. People called out for Cecco, and yet, when they open their eyes, returning to their feet . . . the noise is replaced by the facade of singing and cheers. A reminder of how little, how insignificant, they really were, no matter how hard they tried. In this hellscape, they are the only one who can see the destruction of the ship.

A snow storm of ash and soot falls down from above. Burning pieces of the crows nest begin to fall towards the deck. Some pieces will fall on top of oblivious crew. If they are lucky, it will knock them out, otherwise, it will lodge itself in to their melting scalps. Shielding their face, Cecco listens to the laughs of the crew and clanking of metal mugs. For those who are drinking, their mugs are char, faintly glowing red as they embed into the palms that should only know the feeling of swords and pistols. They are rendered helpless to watch the skin of their crewmates slosh off, chunks landing on the caving deck with a sickening wet sound followed by harsh crackling. Stairs collapse, causing those who were leaned against the rails, to fall below deck, some pieces of them remaining on the upper deck or on the railing. A loud creaking grabs Ceccos attention, causing them to look up, only to discover that one of the mast has snapped, weakened by the raging inferno.  As it falls, towards them, a slightly familiar figure steps in front of them. Someone who once brought them such delight, made them feel as though they were able to have a home regardless of where they were, now brought nothing but fear and a desperate desire to flee. The sight is grotesque. Danik attempts to smile at his friend. Heat radiates off of his burning body, causing Cecco’s nostrils to flare as they struggled to breathe. Their friends hair has become tattered, singed and choppy. Pieces of his scalp having melted in to his neck, the long hair now decorates various parts of his body, like a monster. The brown eyes Cecco had always found warmth in were deflated, for they had burst and left mangled shreds of the vitreous body, dangling from the sockets. His jaw was hanging loosely, as though it were barely holding on.

No matter how hard Cecco tries, they cannot form a word. Each attempt to speak just fills their lungs with more smoke, and the desire to cough in an attempt to expunge it arises. Flames lick at Cecco's legs, the pain ricocheting up through their gut as Danik steps closer. The heat radiating off of their friend burns, causing their body to beg them to step back, to retreat in hopes of finding a cool breeze. But their body won't move. For they are paralyzed. Danik places a burning, mangled hand on the quartermasters shoulder. Warmth grazes Cecco's cheek as their friends hand melds with their own skin. As the burning mast prepares to collapse on top of them, a woman's voice calls their name. It is barely above a whisper, but it echoes as though the owner was surrounding Cecco on all sides. When they turn to look, piercing eyes are gazing from just over the railing of the ship. It is the blonde woman from the shores water. Locking with her gaze, their chest tightens, breathing becomes harder. Between wheezes for air, Cecco watches the woman disappear from sight, sinking back down in to the glowing waters below. The feeling of heat grows intensely, their eyes shut tightly, preparing for the crushing impact, and then-  and then, nothing. Shortly after, they will awake in a cold sweat, breathing hard and gripping at their pained shoulder.

[elsanna-shenanigans]

November/October Contest Submission #2: Nightmare

Words:  ca. 8,000 Setting: Scandinavia circa 800 CE Lemon: lime Content: explicit horror, descriptive images of death and decay, PTSD, slight BDSM, MCD

~~~

The Viking Age

Air filled the space between bone and flesh as her arm rose into the sky.

And escaped with the fall of the hammer on steel.

With each breath, frigid air resonated with the rhythmic ringing of metal. The blacksmith’s chest rose and fell with the tempo. The forge raged in the cold with tempestuous embers kicking and licking at the sweat on her exposed skin.

Muscles burned and tendons stretched; every sinew and vein drove every ounce of strength deeper and deeper into the glow.

“Anna, you are a sight to behold.”

Anna became shrouded in steam as she plunged the white-hot steel into the trough of water with a sharp sizzle.

“If you keep staring at me like that, Eric, I may have to tell your wife that her husband has an eye for another redhead. Should I expect a challenge from her?”

Eric sat on a stump as he watched the blacksmith dull the glow on his blade, unaffected by the steam and sweat that stuck strands of fiery hair to her cheek.

“Ha! She would be no match for you.”

“You’re no match for me.”

The black wolf pelt across his broad shoulders bristled with his chuckle.

“Truer words have never been spoken. Perhaps she should challenge that husband of yours. Would be a fairer fight, I think.”

Eric nodded toward the fenced area on the other side of Anna’s house. A meager hamlet with a forge on one side and a farm on the other. A wide-eyed and wide-smiled man stood in the pen with a reindeer calf in his arms and a carrot in his mouth. He caught the pair of eyes looking his way and gave an awkward wave in their direction, nearly losing his grip on the calf and stumbling over.

Anna did not wave back. Instead, she returned her gaze to the cool steel in her hands.

“Is there a reason you’re wasting air in my forge, or did you come just to tease Kristoff and pine for things you can’t have? Your sword won’t be ready until tomorrow.”

Eric brushed raven locks out of his face in an attempt at seriousness.

“I came for your answer.”

“You know my answer” was Anna’s reply, swift and sharp.

“I know the lie that you tell yourself. Come now, Hammerfall, you can’t expect me to believe that you don’t miss it? Just one more is all I ask.”

Anna brought a whetstone to the blade and began to smooth the rough edges. Her eyes were focused entirely on her task, yet they seemed elsewhere at the same time.

“I don’t raid anymore.”

Eric let irritation show on his brow. He directed that irritation toward Kristoff, the reindeer, the forge, at anything he perceived to be the cause of Anna’s weakness.

“You’re wasting your life, Anna! You are blessed by Thor himself yet you sit at your forge, growing old with that oaf. Your hammer is meant for more than fixing swords and shoeing horses.”

“My hammer is meant for whatever I choose to strike with it. If you don’t want that to be your head, then I suggest you take my answer to heart. And never ask me again.”

Eric closed his eyes and let the irritation and disappointment dissipate through his feet and into the permafrost.

“Very well, shield-sister. It won’t be the same without you.”

Anna showed a moment of forgiveness for her brother-in-arms when she looked up from his sword and gave him a reassuring smile.

The sky bellowed with a deep rumble that shook their chests. Anna placed the sword on her anvil before walking to her gate. There she looked toward the fjord from the side of the hill where she made her home.

“Whose longboat is that?” Anna asked as she stood next to Eric. It pulled up to the dock, ropes flying from each end to secure its mooring. Eric could just make out the motif of a black horse’s head painted on the sail.

“Loki’s ballsack. That’s a Westergaard longboat.”

Anna squinted her eyes in a vain attempt to get a clearer look. A young man disembarked before all the rest, seemingly younger than everyone else on board yet clearly in command.

“Which son is that you think?” Eric wondered as he put his hands on his hips.

“The youngest, I would guess. Hans, maybe? I wonder what he is doing here—”

Anna’s words trailed off as her eye was caught by the second figure leaving the boat.

Tall, and shrouded in a white bear cloak that covered her face behind a hood encircled with teeth and jawbones.

Hans reached out to assist the mysterious person onto the dock.

“Who is that?” Anna’s words were almost a whisper, but Eric shared her wonder.

“His wife? Doesn’t look like a warrior. Why bring her with a raiding party?”

Anna pulled herself away to return to the rapidly cooling sword and returned it to the forge to re-soften the metal. As she stoked the fire, the visiting party hiked their way up the main trail from the docks that weaved its way through the village toward the massive longhouse that sat overlooking the valley.

Eric had moved away from her gate as the party passed by the edge of her homestead. Anna continued to work, but through the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of the cloaked figure.

The shrouded woman hesitated just for a moment, lingering for a single, chilled breath. Just long enough for her head to turn. Long enough for Anna to be caught in the gaze of two massive orbs of pure glacial water. They stared at each other, transfixed for an eternity until the spell was broken.

“I don’t like the look of her,” Eric said, cutting the silence.

Anna blinked and the party had moved on toward the longhouse. And when the mysterious figure left Anna’s sight, her chest expanded with a forgotten breath.

~~~

The sun burned through Anna’s eyelids causing her to turn away from the unwelcome sensation. She stirred in her cot underneath the furs with groggy reluctance.

“Rise and shine, honey.” Kristoff’s voice was not much more welcome. Anna simply groaned in response. “It’s nearly midday. Did you have trouble sleeping?”

Anna finally rose, attempting to wipe the fog from her eyes, and yawned through her answer.

“Just some weird dreams.”

After eating breakfast, she began the meticulous process of starting up her forge for the day’s work. A smoldering piece of wood from the fire Kristoff had started in the morning stoked a budding flame within the bed of charcoal. As the embers began to wake, she gathered long iron rods with hatch marks running down the length. Soon enough there was the familiar sound of ringing metal as she hammered a chisel through each mark, cutting segments of equal length to fall into a bucket below the anvil.

She quickly got into a rhythm, breaking piece after piece.

Breathe. Hammer. Chisel. Breathe.

Breathe. Hammer. Chisel. Breathe.

A glance toward a pair of blue eyes watching her.

Hammer to chisel.

Hammer to thumb.

She cried out with both pain and surprise toward the figure of a bear-cloaked woman standing just feet away with an intense stare. Anna pulled her glove off and rubbed at her thumb while she kept her own gaze on the woman who had yet to say any words.

“Can I… help you… my lady?” Anna wasn’t sure how to address her. She wasn’t sure of her status. She was dressed in quality not known to most save for a Jarl’s wife.

“I’ve never seen a woman blacksmith before”, the stranger said. Her voice was soft and carried a curious wonder with the question.

“I suppose there aren’t many of us.” Anna was visibly confused at the lack of social decorum. “They call me Anna. And you are?”

“Elsa. Was your father a blacksmith?” The woman’s stare never ceased and the uneasiness was growing.

“Yes—”

“May I watch you?”

Anna looked the woman up and down, not sure what to make of her.

“Sure… I’m just making nails today. Nothing exciting I’m afraid.”

“That’s fine.”

Elsa pulled back her hood so that the ring of tooth and bone stood erect along her shoulders. A bundle of braids of varying lengths and thicknesses tumbled alongside her neck and against her chest. They were unnaturally white as if the bear fur was a part of her mane. Her skin was a pale hue Anna only ever saw on corpses except for a thick band of black paint that stretched across her face from each temple painting her massive eyes in a sky of black like twin moons against a starless expanse.

Anna’s heart skipped a beat.

Elsa began to sit on the stump next to the forge, but Anna got a sudden urge to stop her.

“Wait. That stump’s not very comfortable. Let me get you a chair.”

Without waiting for a response, she entered her house to grab the chair she usually sat on at the table. She placed her hands on it but then hesitated and looked toward the other chair, still occupied by her husband. Determining that his chair was larger and thus more regal she issued a command.

“Up. Now.”

Kristoff stood without a word but with his question in his eyes. She swapped their chairs and proceeded outside with the larger and her husband was left to sit and ponder.

When Anna returned outside, Elsa was looking toward the fjord. She placed the chair over the stump, trying and failing to have it level. Elsa sat and folded her hands across her lap when a glint of a silver ring caught Anna’s eye. The blacksmith returned to her task, having forgotten completely where she left off, and having forgotten completely to breathe during the whole ordeal.

Having neglected the fire, she furiously began pumping air into the coals. Her hands gripped the bellows tightly, veins beginning to stretch against the skin of her exposed biceps as the heat rose to her face.

Anna was keenly self-conscious of the mysterious woman now staring intently, and intensely, in her direction, but without any word. Silent as a hunter.

“So…” Anna attempted to break the silence as she grabbed her hammer and chisel from the anvil. “Would you like me to make you something? I’m afraid I’m not very skilled at jewelry. I could make a bronze clasp for you or your husband—”

“I don’t have a husband.”

Elsa’s stare didn’t break but her fingers reflexively flinched around the silver ring on her middle finger.

“Oh. I’m sorry, I thought that Hans—”

“He is… my master.”

The stare was finally broken and the silence returned and all Anna was aware of was the slow rise of her chest and the frustrated heartbeat underneath.

“You have no thralls in your homestead?” Elsa said as she returned to watch Anna awkwardly place a small length of iron into the burning coals.

“No. I… don’t need them. Kristoff and I manage fine on our own.”

The woman said nothing more and Anna went about her mundane tasks for the day, all with the intense but curious onlooker watching every movement.

Every rise of the hammer and twist of the tongs;

every loose strand of hair against a cheek,

every bead of sweat.

And every breath that Anna struggled to take in time with her tempo.

~~~

Anna tossed and turned in her cot. Sleep was not coming easily. She looked toward her husband, soundly dreaming beside her, then looked toward the ceiling. She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing.

She felt the cool air enter her windpipe and flow through her chest causing it to rise. Her chest rose even higher with a deeper inhale through her nose and fell with the escape from her mouth.

Then her chest refused to rise.

She breathed. And breathed. And breathed and breathed and breathed.

But no air entered her chest.

It didn’t rise, it couldn’t rise. It was as if a great weight sat atop her body and rejected the needed expansion of space.

She opened her eyes, and the expected sight of a darkened ceiling was blocked by something completely unexpected.

Twin moons against a starless night, glowing, radiant, and with a hovering gaze just above Anna’s face.

Anna couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak. She looked down and saw Elsa’s naked body lying atop her, the furs pulled away, their chests pressed against each other, and her legs draped across Anna’s thighs.

Then a hand came over her mouth.

She looked toward her husband, still next to her, still dreaming.

She tried to shake her head. She tried to reach for her axe that slept next to her pillow.

She tried to breathe.

Elsa pressed her hand against Anna’s mouth and the weight on her chest grew even heavier. She feared it would collapse under the pressure.

Anna’s vision began to blur. Stars began to fill the darkness as a red haze encroached, threatening to black out her mind.

Suddenly Elsa pulled her hand away and Anna made one last attempt to take one last gasp of air.

But lips pressed against her mouth.

The air did not come.

Instead, she felt Elsa’s chest expand above her, taunting her desperate lungs with their swollen bounty.

Anna felt as if her very soul was being consumed, pulled out of her body through her lips and into the chest of the ghostly woman straddling atop her very life.

Redness turned to black and the stars blanketed her eyes concealing the rising moons.

And her chest finally rose.

She coughed. And heaved, and gulped for air. She launched herself out of her bed, stumbling over the edge with her vision still blurred. She desperately grabbed for her axe and scoured around her home. Finding no sign of the woman, she ran to the door and searched.

And found nothing.

No bear skin cloak or ghostly figure of a naked woman glowing in the darkness; not even a moon in the sky. Just a blanket of stars and Anna’s breath billowing in the night air.

~~~

Anna awoke the next afternoon, her fiery mane in a tangled mess and her eyelids heavy and plastered shut.

“You don’t look so good, honey. Are you feeling alright?”

Anna chose not to tell Kristoff about the night. She chose not to tell him many things. Her problems were her own and she would deal with them on her own.

The waking routines proceeded without incident. Kristoff left to shepherd their herd of reindeer, leaving Anna behind to finish her meal and start up her forge. She pulled the hide that covered her doorway to go outside, and standing there in her forge was Elsa.

Anna froze for a half second before lunging to a rack of unfinished swords, pulling out the bare steel, and pointing it at the woman. To Anna’s surprise, Elsa had a look of shock on her face in response.

“What are you doing!?” Elsa exclaimed as she backed away.

“What am I doing? What are you doing? Why did you attack me last night?!”

“Attack you? I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

Anna stepped forward and Elsa stepped back twice as far.

“You tried to kill me!” Anna’s rage pushed Elsa back against the gate. She was visibly distraught, and it gave Anna pause.

“I didn’t attack you! I don’t know anything about what happened to you last night. I was with Hans, at the longhouse. Ask him, ask the guards, ask you’re own warriors that stay with the Jarl. I was there all night.”

Anna’s breathing was furious but her mind was growing more confused.

“I don’t understand… You were there. You were on top of me. You were choking me! You…you kissed me.”

“I kissed you? I tried to kill you then I kissed you?”

She lowered her sword. She looked toward the ground as her mind tried to walk back the events.

“Was your husband home? Did he see any of this?”

“He was asleep… He didn’t see anything…”

Elsa took a few hesitant steps forward, glancing at Anna’s sword but also looking at Anna with concern. She reached out and touched her arm and Anna felt the cool steel of the silver ring against her skin.

“I think you had a bad dream, Anna.”

“I felt my chest burning. I felt my life leaving me! I felt you, your hands, your skin, your lips… I… I…”

Anna’s cheeks flushed and her eyes grew wide under the recognition of the revelation she didn’t realize she was making.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry! I’m so sorry. I’m so so so stupid. Dreams can be such— you know? I can’t believe I—”

As Anna spoke she went to the forge and began pumping the bellows at a rapid pace, not realizing that she had yet to begin the fire and the coals sat cold in the basin.

Elsa came over and put a reassuring hand atop Anna’s, halting the futile motion and letting Anna catch her much-needed breath.

“It’s ok, Anna. Dreams are funny things. They can be informative, but also mischievous. Windows into our souls, as well as our imaginations.”

“We don’t have to speak of this again.” Anna moved a loose strand of hair from her cheek to behind her ear as she looked away awkwardly.

“May I watch you again today?” Elsa asked, nodding toward the chair that remained from the day before.

“Sure,” Anna responded as relief began to cleanse the awkward moment.

The day finally resumed at a more comfortable pace. More words were exchanged, mostly Anna recounting the parts of her life she was willing to share, mostly about smithing, or Kristoff. Elsa was far less free with her conversation. She preferred to ask, not answer. Anna noticed that she was particularly tight-lipped about her past or where she came from. She did not press the matter.

She knew where thralls came from.

~~~

Two women waded slowly through the thick soup of water and peat, their legs wrapped tightly in oiled leather and furs.

“You didn’t have to accompany me. Bogs are pretty messy. I can not guarantee the safety of your woolens.”

“I do not mind getting a little dirty”, Elsa said as she made her way through Anna’s wake.

They found their way to a small island, a raised hill of dirt, in the middle of the bog where Anna would often camp during her trips to gather iron. There was a small, makeshift structure where she stored supplies as well as stockpiles of iron ore. Anna grabbed a basket which she slung to her back and a knife for cutting through the peat.

“You’ve set up quite the hideaway here”, Elsa said.

“I like to come here and be alone with my thoughts. An escape from… a life I once had.”

Anna started a small campfire to warm up by when they returned.

“Does your husband know about this place?”

Anna didn’t show much reaction to the mention of Kristoff before responding.

“No. No one knows about it. You’re the first person I’ve ever brought here. I’m not really sure why, but I felt like… I wanted to share it with you.”

Anna caught a faint smile from the other woman, but also saw it tinged with what she thought was a sense of confusion.

“I’m glad you brought me here. It can be our secret.”

Anna smiled back.

“Well, ready to get dirty?”

And with that, both women returned to the water.

The bog was blanketed with a thin layer of mist that clung to their hair and chilled their cheeks. Anna scanned the surface of the brackish water for the telltale glisten of the iridescent film that would reveal her prey.

Once she found a spot where the water was slick, she punctured the film with her fingers and pulled layers of peat which she cut with a knife. On the underside amongst the mud and roots, she found what she was looking for. Small nodes of naturally occurring iron ore. She pulled them free of their rooted mooring and tossed them into the basket on her back.

“There, see? Once you know what to look for you can gather a good amount in no time.”

“This seems to be an odd task for someone who carries herself as a warrior,” Elsa said.

Anna bristled at the accusation.

“I am no warrior”, she said as she plunged her hand back into the mud.

“A murderer then.”

Anna froze.

“What did you say?” She looked up, hoping she had heard wrong. That Elsa’s voice was simply distorted by the wind.

But there was no wind. And there was no Elsa.

There was nothing but mist. She called out again and swiveled her head in all directions but saw no sign of her companion. She decided to pull her hand from the water and search.

Except her hand wouldn’t move.

A sharp pain pierced her shoulder as the unexpected force prevented her arm from following the movement of her body. She looked down at the mud where her wrist met the water and pulled. And pulled and pulled and pulled.

But her hand would not be let go.

“What the Hel?”

She positioned her legs in a more stable stance to get as much leverage from her thighs as possible. She feared for the strength of her wrist but finally, the mud began to give. Her hand was released with a slow suction of muck, but it was not alone. Her fingers were wrapped tightly around something.

She wiggled with her elbow to try and work her hand free yet her fingers refused to let go of the object in the mud, like a thick root buried deep in the earth. She grabbed it with her other hand and continued to pull. It was rough and rigid, and her hand was stuck to it as if by thick sap.

“Let go of me, you piece of—”

Suddenly the mist began to glow red and a crackling filled Anna’s ears.

The bog was on fire.

Seemingly out of nowhere Anna was surrounded by flame. Her heart began to race as she felt the onslaught of heat brush against her. She continued to pull at her shackle, and as she pulled the root from the mud she began to recognize it. A familiar set of carvings inlaid within a wooden body told her the impossible.

It was the handle of her axe.

The fear of the encroaching flames was now muddled with confusion. She didn’t bring her axe, and she certainly didn’t drop it in the bog.

As she pulled with all her might, the head of the axe finally revealed itself. And like her hand before, it was not alone.

The peat began to give way to something underneath, rising like a shallow dome from the bed. The slick film across the water became fibrous, like long strands of black hair. When Anna tried to pry her fingers from the shaft she found that the mud covering her hand had turned into a dark syrup. A coating of red stuck to her skin and spread from her forearm, over her fingers, and onto the wood.

When the surface of the bog finally broke, Anna saw that the steel of her axe was buried in neither wood nor mud, but bone and gore. A face rose from the water, covered in decay and staring at her with empty orifices. A skull of rotting flesh that peeled from charred bone. A row of teeth hung above an open maw where a lower jaw ceased to be. Strands of matted hair clung to the top of the skull where her axe sat embedded between the gaping eyeless sockets.

Anna screamed.

She pulled, and kicked, and punched. Strips of flesh stuck to the knuckles of her free hand. She stumbled backward, falling into the brackish soup. Her hand finally broke free of the axe, but now the corpse was on top of her, pressing her into the mud.

She couldn’t escape the gaze of the voids above her face. She felt the weight of the body grow heavy as mud, water, and peat began to cover her body. The back of her head started to sink, leaving her face alone to float atop the surface. Her gasps of air came rapidly, desperate to get enough breath to break free. She sucked as much air into her lungs as she could, but soon enough there was more than just air that entered her mouth.

Mud covered her eyes and seeped into her nose, eventually pouring down her throat and filling the space in her chest with earth and decay.

~~~

“AHHHHH!!”

“Anna! Wake up!”

Anna’s vision cleared from the red mist that blinded her. She saw Kristoff on the ground and herself on top of him. Her breath caught in her throat when she felt the familiar grain of wood in her hand and she saw that her axe was raised above her head, ready to come down on her husband. She dropped the weapon and jumped backward, falling over their bed. She lay there hyperventilating and staring wide-eyed with fear that matched her husband’s. He slowly rose and walked toward her.

“Anna, it’s ok. You were having a nightmare.”

Anna didn’t respond with words, instead choosing to leave their bed and storm outside. She nearly ran to the gate and gripped the top with white knuckles. She breathed in as much of the cold night air as her lungs would allow, desperate to get her heart rate under control.

Kristoff came out with a blanket in hand and worry all over his face.

“Leave me alone”, she said. “I… want to feel the cold.”

Kristoff hesitated for several moments before reluctantly returning inside, leaving Anna to watch the plumes of air escape her burning lungs.

~~~

Elsa did not come that day.

Anna stood alone in her forge with the smoldering coals growing dim and her hammer laying atop the anvil. She had a list of things that needed to be made or mended but she could not seem to bring herself to start the work. Instead, she stood by the heat of the coals, looking past the empty chair, over the gate, and toward the ship still moored in the dock.

~~~

Anna lay in bed, refusing to close her eyes. Kristoff wanted to stay by her side, but she forced him to set up another bed across the living space of their house. For his safety. She looked over to where he lay sound asleep. When she felt the fog of fatigue begin to encroach upon her, she rose from the furs and walked around, refusing to let sleep take her.

She decided to walk outside and let the cool air wash over her. She once again found herself gripping the wooden gate and watching her breath leave her body.

A scream filled the sky.

A cry of agony erupted from behind her. She spun around and saw the inexplicable sight of her house engulfed in flame.

“What!? Kr—Kristoff!”

She ran into the fire. Flames covered the walls and ceiling. Her lungs burned even hotter with the smoke replacing the frozen night air. She ran toward Kristoff’s cot only to find him laying there, a charred husk, his hands petrified in a grip of agony, and his skin peeling away.

Anna couldn’t breathe. Her eyes began to water and she backed away toward her door. But she was halted by a figure standing in the frame.

A woman, naked, with pale skin save for her hands and feet which were black as pitch. And the skull of a bear masking her face. She stood as still as a ghost with her hands by her side and the eyeless skull watching.

Anna let her anger and fatigue boil to the surface.

“You! You’re doing this, aren’t you!?”

Instead of fear, Anna let her anger propel her forward. She grabbed the woman by the neck and lifted her in the air with the strength of a blacksmith’s arm, knocking her against the wood of the door frame.

“Why are you doing this to me!?” Anna yelled as she tightened her grip around the thin neck.

A voice spoke from behind the bone.

“I am not doing anything. This is your dream.”

Anna didn’t believe her. She grabbed the bottom of the jaw and tore the mask off the woman’s face revealing the twin moons against the starless sky.

Elsa spoke again, soft almost as a whisper with every breath that Anna felt slip from the neck between her fingers.

“You have control, Anna. You can end the nightmare.”

Anna watched as Elsa’s eyes began to roll into the back of her head, her breath leaving her body and her hands still laying against her sides with absent protest.

She tightened her grip.

She felt tendon and veins constrict underneath the pale skin.

Then, with Elsa still pressed against the wall, Anna found her own breath leaving her body and entering through Elsa’s lips as she kissed her. Her hand let go when she felt Elsa’s arms wrap around her shoulders with black hands gliding underneath her hair. She held the woman against the wall with the force of their bodies embraced tightly together. She felt Elsa’s chest expand against hers. Smoke and ash still burned yet the women did not care.

Anna grabbed Elsa’s thighs, brought them around her waist, and swung her from the wall to land on the floor where both women now lay amongst the burning corpse of Anna’s house. She felt the heat rise in her core and let it burn as embers licked at her sweat. She let the weight of her body press against Elsa’s skin, making every breath a desperate gasp of ecstasy.

She lost herself in the gaze of the moons and the heat of the flames and sleep became a distant memory.

~~~

“Wow, you look as if you drank a whole barrel of mead last night.”

Anna sat in her bed. Her eyelids were heavy and nearly glued shut and her hair a tangled mass of fiery bramble. Kristoff brought her some water to help with her face. She placed her hands in the bowl and splashed the cool liquid against her cheeks and rubbed the morning crust from her eyes.

“I… I don’t even know anymore”, she said with a raspy yawn as she massaged her throat that chaffed from the dry air.

She moved about the house as slowly as a glacier. Each spoonful of porridge took its time to her mouth and lingered between her teeth. Kristoff had left to attend the herd, leaving Anna alone to recover from her dream-induced hangover. When she finally got ready for the day she didn’t even attempt to braid her hair. She merely walked out into the sun with a full mane of chaos.

And Elsa was there waiting for her.

“You… don’t look so good”, she said.

“Tell me about it.” Her words were almost slurred and she had to shield her eyes from the blinding sun bouncing off of Elsa’s white cloak. However, it did not prevent her from noticing the fresh split in Elsa’s lip. “Just… crazy dreams…”

“I’ve never seen anyone wake up from a dream looking like you.”

Elsa looked upon Anna with her usual gaze, but today it gave Anna an awkward feeling in her stomach with the images of her dream still fresh in her imagination.

“But then again… I’ve never had anyone make love to me next to the burning body of their husband before.”

Anna was inspecting her hammer. The words lingered in her ears for several moments, allowing her addled brain to register their meaning. Once they sank in her eyes grew wide and she dropped her hammer, causing it to bounce off the anvil and onto the ground.

“What… did you just say?”

Elsa remained casually seated in her chair, fiddling with the ring on her middle finger.

“Why did you sleep with me last night?” She asked as if it was a normal inquiry.

“No… no no no no no. This must be a dream. I’m still dreaming.” Anna began pinching her skin in various places.

Elsa stood from her chair and walked over to the anvil and the hammer laying in the dirt. She picked up the iron tool and weighed it in her hands.

Then she swung it toward Anna’s head.

Even with the fog clouding her mind and vision, Anna’s reflexes took over and she dodged the blow, but the sudden movement spun her compromised sense of balance and she stumbled to the ground. Elsa stood above her, but where Anna expected to find anger or hatred was instead a befuddled Elsa inspecting the hammer as if something was wrong with it.

“I still can’t seem to finish you off.”

Anna wasn’t sure if she was supposed to feel fear or confusion. She started to back away with her elbows digging into the dirt. She glanced behind her toward the house and her axe sleeping inside. She attempted to launch herself from the ground, but a sudden weight came down on her ribcage, knocking the wind out of her lungs. She winced and looked up to find Elsa sitting on top of her with her cloak draped above like a furry white tent.

“Why… are you doing this?” Anna could barely wheeze out the words with the pressure pressed against her chest.

Elsa continued to look at the hammer and gave it a few test swings against her palm.

“I didn’t come here for you, but you pulled me into your dreams. What else was I supposed to do?”

“I pulled you into my dreams? How is that—”

“Despite popular belief, we don’t cause nightmares. We are drawn to them like a moth to the flame. Especially when someone decides to dream about us. And besides, your dreams are far more fascinating than that stuffy Jarl of yours who seems to only dream of roast boar.”

Anna’s confusion only grew but she felt a slight relief from her ribs as Elsa shifted her weight to allow her chest more room to expand.

“The other night… you did try to suffocate me.”

“I tried to kill you. It would have been the easiest way to escape.”

“Then… why did you stop?”

“You kissed me.”

“What? I didn’t… you kissed me!”

“It was your dream, Anna. I was trying to kill you and your subconscious response was to kiss me. I was so taken aback I lost control and you woke up. I’ve never had someone kiss me while I was killing them before. Nor have I ever had someone cry out with such ecstasy in the middle of a nightmare where their husband was burned alive. Do you often have dreams where you mix death and sex?”

“What? No!? I don’t— Get off of me!!”

Anna struggled underneath the weight, shifting and turning, trying desperately to wiggle out from underneath the thighs gripping against her sides. She felt sudden momentum as Elsa stood and placed the hammer back on the anvil.

“There’s no point in killing you now. We are leaving tomorrow. I failed in my task and Hans is not happy.”

She gently touched her lip and a spot of fresh blood was left behind on her fingertip.

Anna finally got to her feet. She thought about running to her axe, she turned to look toward the door but Elsa seemed to lose any interest in doing her harm. She watched as Elsa readjusted her cloak to sit comfortably around her shoulders.

“What are you talking about?”

“I was supposed to kill the Jarl. But you kept dreaming about me. Dragging me into your mind. It’s partly my fault. I wasn’t too keen on leaving… But our time is done and I must obey my master.”

“Is there a way you can escape? Do you… have to leave?”

Elsa inspected the silver ring on her hand with a solemn look of defeated dejection.

“I am bound to him. I can’t break it. I can’t invade his dreams. Not while I wear this ring.”

“Maybe I can break it for you. I have the tools—”

“No. Only a dwarf has the skill to break a ring such as this. And last I checked, you are no dwarf.”

Something within Anna wanted her to push harder. They wouldn’t know unless they tried, she thought. She may not be a dwarf but she was the best smith out of all of the clans. There must be something she could do. Her hammer must have some use besides pounding nails and sharpening swords. Some use beyond death and the mundane.

Elsa began to walk toward her gate and once again Anna was torn as to whether or not she should attack this woman who threatened her or let her leave.

She grabbed Elsa’s arm.

“Wait! Please…”

Elsa raised her toothed hood over her head but looked toward Anna with a wanning sadness.

“It was fun while it lasted. Dream about me again, sometime. Maybe… I’ll answer.”

And with that, Elsa pulled from Anna’s grip and crossed the threshold of her homestead. She looked back once, and then proceeded up the winding path toward the longhouse. Leaving Anna to wonder what the night will bring.

~~~

“Anna… Anna! Wake Up, Hammerfall!”

Confusion awoke Anna as the sound of Eric’s voice was not accustomed to her bed.

“Eric? What are you… It’s the middle of the night…”

Anna rubbed her eyes and saw Kristoff had lit a fire despite the late hour.

“Somethings happened. The Jarl is calling everyone to the longhouse. Get dressed and bring your axe.”

Eric promptly left the house. Anna haphazardly donned her garments and cloaks for the cool night air and strapped a belt across her waist with her axe settled into its iron ring at her hip. She took a torch from Kristoff and met Eric outside her gate.

They quickly made their way up the hill. The village was alight with activity, torches making their way through trails to converge at the overturned ship that made the home of the leader of their clan.

Inside, was a half-awoken army of Anna’s fellow clansmen, all facing toward the imposing throne of the Jarl that sat occupied by a mountain of a man with a bristling grey beard that lay against his barrel of a chest adorned with matching gray wolf pelts.

As Anna made her way deeper inside, she overheard an argument already in progress.

“We demand justice!”

She did not recognize the voice. One of the Westergaard men she assumed.

“Justice? Is this a joke? You demand justice for your own lord-lings stupidity?!”

Anna and Eric slithered their way toward the front of the gathering. Eric leaned against one of his fellow warriors and quietly inquired what had happened at a low enough whisper so as not to draw attention to himself.

“Hans has been killed,” the man said.

“What!? How?” Eric’s voice rose slightly, drawing a few looks but nothing more. Anna stood silent next to him, her hand gradually tightening around her axe.

The man leaned toward Eric and Anna so that he could speak low.

“That woman he brought. She was a mare. He brought her here to kill the Jarl, but she turned on him. Killed him in his sleep. His chest was crushed. Like a boulder was dropped on him!”

“By the gods…” Eric could hardly believe the words if not for the body on the ground before the men from Westergaard with his jaw hung open and his chest collapsed in on itself like a crater on the moon.

The Jarl continued to speak.

“You bring that creature into my home, planned to use it against me, and when you couldn’t control it you demand justice of me? I will save you from further dishonor by allowing you to leave my sight. Bring the foolish boy’s body back to his father. Let his stupidity be a lesson to your whole clan. Take what shred of dignity you have left onto your boat before I command every warrior in this house to take it from you.”

The men hesitated, contemplating their chances or their bravery, but resigned themselves to their fate. They picked up Hans’ body and begrudgingly walked out to the cold and made the hike toward their longboat.

Murmurs began to fill the hall as the men gathered all gossiped and stoked their fears of the revelation that a demon had been among them.

“Eric,” the Jarl said. “Gather a hunting party. I want this creature found and killed before it can invade any of our people’s minds.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Anna turned back to her home and to sleep but was stopped by the Jarl’s voice.

“Take Hammerfall with you. I hear the creature has spent some time at the forge. She might have insight on how to track it.”

Eric nodded his acknowledgment and gave Anna an excited grin at the prospect of hunting together. Anna did not return his excitement.

Upon returning to her home, she began to change into clothes fit for a long hunt. Leathers and furs of a lighter make for added mobility. Her axe and hammer sat on opposite hips and a well-worn bow nestled against her back with its quiver of arrows fully stocked.

She walked outside to find Eric and a handful of men waiting with torches and hunting dogs.

“She spent a lot of time here, didn’t she? Do you know which way she may have headed?” Eric’s voice was commanding, but familiar. He could hardly contain his enthusiasm at seeing Anna geared for a fight.

Anna pondered the question. Her response was hesitant and Eric looked at her with mild concern. After a few long, lingering moments she spoke.

“We head toward the bog.”

~~~

The party made their way quickly through the forest with Anna leading the charge.

“What makes you think she went to the bog?” Eric asked.

“She doesn’t know there’s a bog, but this is the only direction she could easily have gotten to on foot. If she didn’t escape through the fjord or over the mountains, she came to the bog.”

“And she probably got stuck with all her fine clothes. Good thinking, Hammerfall.”

Anna had steel in her stare and did not look toward the rest of the party as she led them through the darkened forest. When the trees and rocks began to give way to moss and muck she halted the group.

“We should split up”, she said.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. The fog is pretty thic—”

Anna cut Eric off with a sharp and commanding voice.

“The bog is expansive. We won’t have any chance finding her unless we cover as much ground as possible. We split up.”

Anna began issuing commands to each man, sending them off in various directions. Eric still looked unsure of the idea, suggesting multiple times they should at least go in pairs, with him by her side. After multiple rebuffs he finally acquiesced to her commands and reluctantly followed her orders.

Dawn began to break, infusing the fog with a pink glow.

The hunting party moved slowly and silently through the peat and brackish water, bows drawn and eyes failing to pierce the thick blanket of mist that covered the morning.

Anna waded through the water, her bow still on her back and her axe by her side. The water came up to her knees and her feet stuck to the mud with each step. She knew the bog like no one else and quickly made her way to the familiar hill of dirt where her usual camp resided with stockpiles of iron and enough supplies to survive for weeks in the wilderness.

And there was Elsa, standing in her brilliant white cloak reflecting the morning light as if she was formed from the fog itself. Anna rose out of the water and stood before her.

Anna couldn’t help but breathe deep with a sigh of relief.

“Why did you do it?” Elsa said.

Anna reached into her tunic and pulled out a silver ring.

She held it up so that Elsa could see. Elsa’s eyes widened and she raised her hand to look at the ring still banded around her finger.

“So, am I to be your thrall then?”

“No!” Anna clutched the ring. “I just…”

She took deep breaths, letting the wetness of the fog seep into her.

“I didn’t want the nightmare to end.”

Elsa’s eyes grew even wider with surprise and confusion.

And then shock overtook all else when an arrow flew by Anna’s ear and entered Elsa’s chest.

“No!!”

Anna dropped the ring, spun on her heel, and threw her hammer blind, her instincts taking full control and guiding her aim toward the source of the arrow. The hammer flew through the air and struck raven locks.

Eric fell backward from the impact. Anna was already running toward him with her axe drawn and her feet breaking across the peat like an icebreaker through the frozen fjord.

Eric shook the stars from his head in time to see Anna’s axe heading toward his head and he drew his sword to block the oncoming blow.

“Anna! You’re bewitched! Snap out of it! It’s me, Eric!”

She kicked him in the abdomen, sending him careening back into the mud. The mud and iron deposits in the water made his hand slick and the grip on his sword was unsteady. Anna swung at the weapon, sending it flying into the misty void.

She stood above him with her axe raised above her head.

“Anna, wait! Stop!!”

Air filled the space between bone and flesh as her arms rose into the sky.

And escaped with the fall of steel.

Anna buried the axe between his eyes and let his limp body fall into the mud where it slowly began to sink and become one with the iron.

She returned to the hill within the bog to find Elsa’s prone body laying in the dirt with an arrow erect in the air. She ran over and saw the nearly imperceptible rise and fall of Elsa’s chest. She fell to her knees and gently brought Elsa’s head into her lap.

“I’m here, Elsa. I’m here. Don’t worry, everything will be ok.”

Elsa’s eyes opened and she looked toward a glint in the ground. Anna followed her gaze and saw the ring she had dropped. Elsa’s hand stretched toward it, quivering in the air with a weakened strain. Anna reached over, picked the ring up, and placed it in Elsa’s hand.

“Here. Your freedom. It’s yours. You can do what you want now! You’re not bound to anyone anymore.”

Elsa held the ring toward the sky, letting the rising sun bounce off its tarnished surface. Her breathing had slowed to a crawl.

She took Anna’s hand and placed the ring on her finger.

“Wait… What are you—”

Elsa placed her hand against Anna’s cheek. The cool silver brushed against her skin and wiped mud and tears from her face.

“Dream of me… and maybe I’ll answer…”

Anna felt one last breath leave Elsa’s lips as they shared their first and final kiss.

~~~

[woozapooza]

Working on a Melfi gifset and I am once again asking why Lorraine didn't win the Emmy for s3. The scene where she discusses the Rottweiler dream with Kupferberg is literally Whitecaps-tier acting.

[lovingpromise]

Დ ▫ Yamano Arai

BASICS.

Full Name | Yamano Arai (family name is Yamano), 山野 愛空 Nickname | Bosun, Lion-Heart (by her Captain), Mostly goes by Yamano unless she is close with someone only then will she let them call her Arai Birthday | Pending. (Tokugawa/Edo Period) Age | 21-28, verse dependent Gender | Cis Female (She/Her) Orientation | Lesbian Nationality | Japanese Ethnicity | Asian (Japanese) Species | Human Language | Japanese, English Occupation | Pirate, Bosun

PHYSICAL.

Eye Color | Dark Brown Hair Color | Black Height | 5' 1" Skin Markings | "Claw" marks on the back of her left hand that has scarred into five lines. They serve as a reminder of what she has done. Face Claims | Anna Sawai

MEDICAL.

Mental | Arai fully believes that she is cursed like her father before her. It is hard to get close to others without fearing that something will happen to them. Physical | She is in top physical health. She doesn't tend to get sick often but when she does it takes her a few days to recover fully. Phobias | N/A Eyesight | 20/20 Vices | Alchohol (Socially), Tobacco (Smoking)

CHARACTER.

Zodiac | Pending. Alignment | Neutral Strengths | Courageous, Steadfast, Decisive, Insightful Weaknesses | Blunt, Stoic, Anti-Social, Reactive Skills | Unorthodox Swordsmanship (a mix of styles), Hand-to Hand Combat, Sailing and Ship maintenance, Intermediate Chess Player. Abilities | N/A

BACKGROUND.

Birthplace | Sawara, Omigawa-han, Japan Current Home | The Sea upon The Vengeful Servant Headcanons | Links will be here

Yamano Arai was born in the town of Sawara located within Omigawa-han, Japan. Her mother, Yamano Minoko, died during childbirth. Though she would never meet her, she came to hear stories of her kind and gentle demeanor. It was her mother who named her Arai.

Her father, Yamano Naagari, was a merchant sailor and spent most of his time at sea. Unable to care for a newborn child, he remarried. His new wife, Yamano Sago, cared for Arai during her early childhood. It was said that most did not know that Arai was not Sago’s birth child as she seemed to love her as if she was. She did so until Arai was the age of five before unfortunately also succumbed to childbirth, this time taking her unborn baby with her.

The deaths of both Minoko and Sago led to rumors surrounding Naagari. Those within Sawara thought him cursed and that anyone else who would marry him would suffer a similar fate. He struggled to find another wife, and so instead five year old Arai would come to accompany her father on his shiply travels.

For three years, Arai lived aboard her father's ship, learning the ropes of seafaring and observing him as he worked. Most of her time was spent at sea, talking with sailors, and watching the waves. It was not orthodox for a child to be raised as she was and so she grew more mature than other children her age. During the few months of the year that Arai and her father spent on land in their hometown, she could not find herself connecting with her fellow peers. Instead, she continued to stick by her father’s side, preferring to speak and hear stories from those much older than her.

This period of her life ended abruptly when she was eight. During their time at sea, pirates attacked their vessel, killing Naagari and the crew. Arai, the sole survivor, was taken prisoner and forced to work on the ship of the crew that killed her father as a slave. Aboard the enemy ship, Arai endured forced labor alongside other captives. They worked from sun up to sun down and were often treated worse than scum.

Despite the hardships, Arai formed a bond with her fellow slaves, many of them seasoned survivors, who taught her essential skills without drawing too much attention. One that stood out the most was a man named Clayton Ramsey, who went by Clay. He had been the first mate aboard a British vessel before his capture and had been too useful to kill. Perhaps it was because he was a father, he spoke often of a wife and son back home, but Arai felt safe under his wing. That said, all the captives did their part to look out for one another, and under Clay’s guidance they began to formulate a plan to free themselves.

That plan was executed a bit quicker than anticipated. At thirteen, Arai had the misfortune of catching a crew member’s attention. She was growing into the beginnings of her womanhood and he attempted to take advantage of that fact. Before anything could happen she grabbed his dagger and took his life in self-defense. It was the first life she had ever taken, but it unfortunately would not be her last. Knowing that Arai would likely be punished with death for killing a crew member, the captives sprung into action and began their rebellion. It was a hard battle, people dying on both sides, but when the dust cleared the slaves had overpowered their captors and seized control of the ship. They were free.

The ship now theirs, a decision was made. Some sought life on land, eager to get back to the family they missed, while others, including Arai, felt a connection to the sea. Clay, via a unanimous decision, took up the mantle of Captain and those that wished to stay aboard became part of a new crew. Most that stayed did not have a home to go back to. Arai, who had lost her father, did not feel much of a connection to her homeland. Instead of going back to an unknown, she decided to stay by Clay… Captain Clay’s side.

Under the captain’s guidance, Arai continued to learn the ins and outs of seafaring and how to defend herself. The ship, now named The Vengeful Servant, was disguised as a merchant’s ship whenever they went into a port that asked too many questions. About a year after taking over the ship, they were in one such port. Arai hadn’t asked why, but the Captain had avoided coming to Britain when possible. Though he was a father and husband, he hadn’t attempted to go back to see his family. She could tell that things were complicated for him.

Yet that year he had taken her with him into port and they visited what she assumed was his old stomping grounds. It was there, in a pub, that he learned that his wife had died a few years ago and his son was being raised by her parents. Clay didn’t cry or fall apart at the news, but Arai could tell that he was sad by the look in his eyes. She asked him if he would go to see his son, but he told her that he would be better off without him. She disagreed and told him so. She put herself in the shoes of his son and said that she would have been waiting for him to come back home. It was her words that persuaded him to reconnect with his son. She did not go with him, but he thanked her upon his return.

Not long after that was the first time that Captain Clay spoke to the crew about an ancient treasure that he wanted to find. It sounded outlandish, a pipe dream, but they all joked around and told each other what they would do with a cut of that kind of money. When they got to Arai… she could not find an answer. The future wasn’t something she thought much about. Clay told her that one day that would change.

When Arai was fifteen she went with Captain Clay, as she always did now, in search of new members for their crew. Not long after stepping off the ship, a younger redheaded boy bumped into her and ran away. It only took Arai a moment to realize he had stolen her coin purse before she began to chase after him. Clay called after her, but she was too focused to listen. The boy was fast but did not yet have good control over his limbs, it wasn’t long before she caught up with him in an alley.

She hit him a few times over the head as punishment before Clay reached them and pulled her off. Her coin purse was retrieved and the Captain asked the boy who he was. Ten year old Conrad, a street urchin by the state of him, held a fire in his eyes as he introduced himself. Though a bit bruised, he wasn’t afraid. Arai simply saw him as a silly child, but the Captain saw something different. For reasons unbeknownst to her, he offered Conrad a spot on their crew as their cabin boy if he wanted it. He accepted.

Arai found Conrad to be an extremely annoying addition to their ship. Perhaps it was because they were the two youngest crew members, but he followed her around everywhere. He tended to mess up a lot, having never worked on a boat, and she had to take extra time to teach him. She tended to sigh heavily at him and he would joke that she sounded like an old man when she did. Such comments usually ended with her hitting him on the back of his head and he would just laugh. She found him so strange, yet as much as she would never admit it they did grow close. She came to see him as a younger brother of sorts.

By seventeen, Captain Clay gave Arai the title of Bosun, claiming that the title had always been waiting for her when she was ready for it. She excelled at it, realizing that he had been preparing her for it all this time. It was refreshing. Those who had been with them since the beginning welcomed her into the position with open arms, but those who had not taken time to get used to taking orders from someone younger. Arai did her part to prove herself and leave no room for doubt. She became known for taking no nonsense on deck.

Years later, a new face would find its way onto The Vengeful Servant. Rose Fletcher was not the type of person that someone would take for a pirate… nor did she seem made for such a life. Once again, Arai was unsure of her Captain’s thoughts on his choice of crew members, but his intuition had never been wrong. They had been in need of a Navigator and it was clear that she had the skills to fill in that role at least. She was usually not one to worry too much about new crew, but she found her eyes gravitate in Rose’s direction more than once. Eventually that led her into helping out the young woman, teaching her how to defend herself in a proper fight, and from that perhaps something more.

— Timeskip —

Arai knew that it was her fault the crew of The Vengeful Servant disbanded, everyone scattering to the wind. Captain Clay’s blood still stained her hands despite the passage of time and the angry scratches he had left on the back of her hand had scarred over as a reminder of her deeds. For the briefest of moments, after everything had been said and done and the dust had settled, Arai tried to go back to Japan. Tried being the keyword. She had found nothing for her there. Her birth mother had extended family, but she could not bring herself to reveal her existence. She felt like an outsider the moment she stepped on land.

Instead, Arai found work on various ships over the course of those next few years. The harder and more backbreaking the better. She punished herself in this way until she was approached one day in between jobs. A man approached her, wanting her to return to being a Bosun for a lucrative trip. He said that his boss had wanted her specifically and no one else. Arai was prepared to turn him down but the man mentioned that in the event that she tried to tell her these words: “It’s not the perpetrator who gets to decide their punishment.” He would not reveal who the person was unless she came to see him herself, and so against her better judgment, she did.

It surprised her greatly when she was met with Morgan Ramsey, Captain Clay’s son. She could tell, by the way he looked at her, that he did not like her. Nor would she blame him for it. He asked her again to join his crew, which she could not understand. He showed her his father’s journal and explained that he wanted to continue where his father failed. Arai reminded him of the dangers of such a quest, of what had transpired with his father, but Morgan insisted. He told her that she owed it to the memory of Captain Clay to see it through. That finishing his quest should be the punishment that she so desperately sought.

Unable to find it in her to refuse, Arai re-took her title as Bosun for The Vengeful Servant. Morgan had already convinced most of his father’s old crew to rejoin for the trip and so she saw many old faces that she had avoided for some time. Morgan, however, said that they had one person left to convince… Rose. Arai disagreed that she was needed, but Morgan insisted. Captain Clay had hand picked his crew, the people on board of The Vengeful Servant were some of the best. If Clay had entrusted Rose as his navigator then Rose was who they needed.

The problem was, Rose had already turned down Morgan’s middleman. So, Morgan thought that perhaps Arai would have a better time convincing her.

RELATIONSHIPS.

Mother | Yamano Minoko, nee Abe (Birth Mother, Deceased), Yamano Sago (Step-Mother, Deceased) Father | Yamano Naagari (Birth Father, Deceased), Captain *Name Pending* (Father Figure, Deceased) Siblings | Unnamed (Still Born, Deceased) Other Family | N/A Significant Other | Rose Fletcher (Ex-Girlfriend @fatescattered) Children | N/A Pets | N/A

VERSES.

Verse Name | Pending.

[boutny]

Mast-er-ful, mast-er-less

The planned route - as long as we made good progress along the South Coast, it seemed achievable

Boutny was on a buoy in Falmouth harbour, where she had hosted Anna and Esme while I was in Scotland for a few days. The first week of September looked just right for completing Boutny's voyage of the summer - the plan had been to get from Faro to Brightlingsea in Essex, and it looked as if Wednesday to Sunday would bring 70 hours of Southerlies and South Westerlies, and then maybe 30 hours of Easterlies. So if Boutny made the 200 miles or so to Dover in the 70 hours, the Easterlies would allow us to make Brightlingsea the next day after turning the corner from the Channel to the North Sea.

That was the plan. And as I have quoted before on this blog - what does God do when they want to laugh? Watch people making plans...

I emailed the group of potential crew the weekend before, and I was delighted that John once again put his hand up. He knows Boutny and he knows me, and he is both a hugely useful person to have aboard and a great sailing companion. We took the overnight train, me from London, he from Basingstoke and met up at 7am on Truro station, where we connected with the train to Falmouth.

Lovely way to travel ... except sleeping while sitting is an art

We got to the quayside too early for the late-rising water taxi. The port was still and we had a little bit of a ticking clock - we needed to get to Madgik, John's boat, to collect his wet weather gear before his mooring dried onto mud.

Waiting for the water taxi at Falmouth town pier

The wind started light, and the dolphins accompanied us out of the Fal estuary.

The first of many dolphins who'd accompany us over the next 36 hours

We soon got the big Spinnaker up, and it would stay up from about 11 on Wednesday to 5am the next morning. We had a full supermoon and a blue moon, and despite cloud cover, the night Spinnakering was magical. Here we are in the evening, the filming obviously designed to show how well we eat on Boutny.

The moon, of course, also meant Spring tides, and one of the challenges of the route is that the tides around the headlands can be pretty ferocious. Portland Bill is the famous tidal race, but the other headlands have mini versions of these going too.

The Samsung phone camera trying to cope with a moonlit sail. Of course, the sky was grey-black, not that absurd blue it has filled in

It settled into wind with rain, and was surprisingly wonderful sailing. John surfed some lumps and thought he might have broken at Boutny speed record. When I was helming, I preferred to gaze at the sea and make the occasional tiller correction to maintain our heading. We hit the contrary ebb off Salcombe, and despite Boutny giving every appearance of powering through the water, the lights ashore were hardly moving. I took down the Spinnaker early in the morning because the wind was backing, and we needed to stay offshore to clear the Portland Bill tidal race by a (very safe) 15 nm.

We hit the ebb again off Portland in the early evening of Thursday, and we were looking forward to the turn, and being powered at speed. By then, the wind was fresh, and we had taken a little gib in and taken the foresail down entirely to have a calm night. There was a messy swell, and to stop unwanted sail movements, I had tethered the clew of the main to cleat on the outer beam. We were powering along very nicely, John and I chatting in the cuddy. We reckoned we were in with a chance of making Dover before the winds turned.

And that is when it happened.

A great cracking sound.

"That's the mast breaking!" was John's immediate thought. I was not sure - maybe my echo-location is not so good. We were frozen for a moment.

"Do you agree I should take the main down?" I asked.

Yes, John agreed, and I pulled the main down as fast as I could. We looked up, and there was the crack. About 2m from the top of the mast, a great big split in the planking.

"How are we going to stop that falling on top of us?", asked John, very sensibly...

As quickly as I could, I took a hoist from the foremast, secured it to a hoist on the main, and pulled both of them up - if the top of the mast was going to finish breaking off, it would dangle off the foremast rather than fall onto us into the cuddy.

We sailed into Portland Harbour on the gib. The tide turned in our favour and we made 4kts-5kts and arrived around 11pm. Enough time to anchor safely and get a good night's sleep. The next day we had the wonderful surprise of finding a really helpful crane crew at the Weymouth and Portland National Sailing Academy - hugely recommend the place - and the split mast was soon lying flat on Boutny's deck. I will be repairing the mast, and inspecting the foremast thoroughly, over the next few weeks in Portland.

So ... what are the lessons from this adventure?

The first is simple - be patient. Boutny spent 18 months on the hard in Sete. I really went over the hulls and decks thoroughly. But for some reason, I never decided to take down the masts and give them the same treatment. Soon before launch, in June last year, I had gone up the masts and found a bit of rot here and there as well as traces of old repairs.

My departure had been delayed by all sorts of frustrations - mainly to do with a bad choice of epoxy primer undercoat paint - and I was feeling frustrated. I should, of course, have decided then to take the masts down and give them a good servicing. But my impatience to get going led me to the wing & prayer strategy instead. Very short-termist, obviously.

But not just short-termist - just misguided. When sailing, the point is not really to get anywhere. The goal is the way. The end is the means. The means is the end. So frustrations like that, of having one more step before being ready, really have no place. So maybe the second lesson is to have a regular reminder when wishing for speed: are you actually constrained? are you doing this for the way or the end?

Of course, on Friday morning in Portland, I started out with feelings of frustration - I had to jettison all those plans I had related to Boutny having reached her winter destination ... I would be able to empty her of 18 months of accumulated stuff, I would be able to start to think about the rain-cover/tent, indeed, I would be able to plan the proper refurbishment of the masts.

But the more the day progressed, the more I found myself surrounded by the helpful crew at the academy, and the more I reminded myself that my destinations were fictions, on this adventure with Boutny, the happier I found myself in Portland Harbour. I quickly started to look at it as somewhere that might be home for the winter, and what had seemed in the morning like a disaster was now appearing in a quite different light. So maybe if I had been able to do that in June last year, I would not have been in Portland that day at all.

Evening on a visitor buoy in Portland Harbour; the guys in the boat were catching Bream, the kite in the background had delighted us all evening with their foiling.

[acekatherineplumber]

End-of-year book asks!

How many books did you read this year? 500. No, that's not a typo

Did you reread anything? What? I reread a lot of things/ I reread RW&RB, The House in the Cerulean Sea, A Christmas Carol, Vinegar Girl, Written in the Stars, Romeo and Juliet, The Iliad, The Odyssey, The Giver, The Handmaid's Tale, War and Peace, Pride and Prejudice, Macbeth, The Count of Monte Christo, Les Mis, Taking Flight: From War Orpha to Star Ballerina, Hamlet, the works of Edgar Allan Poe, Emily Windsnap books 1 and 2, Ballet Shoes, The Testamants, Annie On My Mind, The Mark of Athena, Alexander Hamilton, I'd Tell You I Love You But Then I'd Have to Kill You, Fun Home, Orange is the New Black, Simon vs the Homo Sapiens, and Rhinoceros. I read Les Mis and Rhinoceros at least once a year because they're so relevant.

What were your top five books of the year? In no particular order, Sailing By Orion's Star by Katie Crabb, The Hate You Give (Angie Thomas), Macbeth (Jo Nesbo), The Language of Fire (Stephanie Hemphill), The Hacienda (Isabel Canas)

Did you discover any new authors that you love this year? Dhonielle Clayton, Jo Nesbo, Hafsah Faizal, Jess Rothenberg, Stephanie Hemphill, Julia Ember, Alice Oseman, Katie Zhao, Silvia Moreno-Garcia, Isabel Canas, Sarah Penner, Samantha Cohoe, Ashley Herring-Blake, Maya Prasad, Amanda Bestor-Siegal, Grace Li, Vaishnavi Patel, Farrah Rochon, Courtney Kay, Darcy Coates, and Celeste Ng

What genre did you read the most of? Fantasy

Was there anything you meant to read, but never got to? Babel, The Ballad of Never After, Foul Lady Fortune, Bloodmarked, and The Shattered City

What was your average Goodreads rating? Does it seem accurate? 3.7. I'd say it's accurate/

Did you meet any of your reading goals? Which ones? My goal for the year was a 50 states plus DC challenge, and I managed to do it!

Did you get into any new genres? Underwater horror! Yes, that's a thing.

What was your favorite new release of the year? Sailing By Orion's Star by Katie Crabb

What was your favorite book that has been out for a while, but you just now read? The Hate You Give by Angie Thomas

Any books that disappointed you? This Is Not the Real World by Anna Carey. It was unnecessary.

What were your least favorite books of the year? Her Majesty's Royal Coven by Juno Dawson, Hotel Magnifique by Emily Taylor, Husband Material by Alexis Hall, and Shylock is My Name by Howard Jacobson

What books do you want to finish before the year is over? I'm done reading for 2022. All current reads are going to be counted towards 2023.

Did you read any books that were nominated for or won awards this year (Booker, Women’s Prize, National Book Award, Pulitzer, Hugo, etc.)? What did you think of them? I don't keep track of that sort of thing.

What is the most over-hyped book you read this year? Her Majesty's Royal Coven

Did any books surprise you with how good they were? Marie Antoinette: The Journey by Antonia Fraser

How many books did you buy? At least 20

Did you use your library? Every single week

What was your most anticipated release? Did it meet your expectations? Foul Lady Fortune, and idk, I haven't read it yet

Did you participate in or watch any booklr, booktube, or book twitter drama? I keep out of drama

What’s the longest book you read? Les Mis at 1,463 pages (my travel edition)

What’s the fastest time it took you to read a book? 30 minutes

Did you DNF anything? Why? Plenty. For even petty little things. There are too may good books out there to continue reading bad ones.

What reading goals do you have for next year? I'm doing an A-Z challenge!

[fiercestpurpose]

okay, enough of this. everybody reblog this post and recommend your favourite piece of actually good media that centers queer characters and their stories. i'll go first by saying please listen to friends at the table.

[fiendslothful]

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