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dragonsarecool · 2 years ago

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Whumptober Day 28 - Headache

Twenty Eight: Headache

A/N: Set after ‘Tintin and the Picaros’ and takes place in a timeline where ‘Alph-Art’ never happens.

They don’t come as frequently as they used to, but he swears that it was one of those things that wasn’t improving with age.

He knew it would happen at some point; it was almost inevitable, given the amount of head bashing and trauma he’d experienced. Some doctors would remark how they couldn’t believe he was still awake and talking, and that he should either be in a vegetative state or in the morgue.

Now he looked back on those comments with the same amount of disbelief.

They seemed to come sporadically at the start; the first time he remembered having an excruciating headache was when he was being held captive by Mitsuhirato in China. He could remember running from gunshots near the train line that they had blown up, yet he was never able to remember actually slamming his head into that tree.

That headache had lasted long after he’d faked being injected with the madness poison, and had persisted well into the early hours of the morning.

At the time, he’d thought nothing of it. He attributed it to the extreme stress of the situation and nothing more.

But they continued to make appearances, with each one being worse than the last. Sometimes he would press his fingers so aggressively into his forehead that the indent marks would take days to fade.

If he was ever asked about his current wellbeing, he would insist to every single doctor he encountered that his head was never the same since that Bordurian agent managed to graze his skull and keep him hospital-ridden for weeks.

But he never told them how bad he really felt. I can handle it, he would tell himself. I’ve always handled it.

The Captain and Nestor had grown increasingly used to his sudden bouts of ‘illness’ over the years. Sometimes he couldn’t even make it through eating his breakfast without having to return to bed, cradling his head as he wished for the knife that stabbed him between his eyes to finish the job. Nestor would usually produce a cold pack for his forehead and leave a glass of water that often remained untouched for fear of regurgitating it all over his bedsheets.

His breaking point had been once they’d returned from rescuing Calculus in Borduria. He’d woken the entire household a few nights later with his screams, which everyone automatically assumed was due to another nightmare. Haddock and Nestor had abandoned the warm comforts of their respective beds to sprint to Tintin’s room, their concern mounting as the screams grew louder.

As soon as Nestor had thrown the bedroom door open, both men had sprinted inside, only to grind to a halt at the sight before them.

Tintin was kneeling at the foot of the bed, his head buried so deeply within his pillow that Haddock initially thought he’d cut a hole through the centre. His pyjamas were soaked with sweat, his hands trembling as he moaned from the flames of agony that were burning furiously inside his skull. Colourful spots were flashing in disorientating patterns across his field of vision, and any sort of external light that infiltrated his eyelids was enough to make him start gagging in agony.

For some reason he wasn’t taken to hospital for that incident, though the exact reason why was something he would never know. He couldn’t remember much from that night, apart from vomiting profusely all over the Captain’s slippers, something which he would be mortified about until the day he died. All he could recall was seeing the doctor at Marlinspike the following morning, who’d informed him that what he’d experienced was a migraine, and that it was possible they could become a long-term issue. He’d provided a prescription for some strong pain relievers, and advised him to start taking when he felt a headache beginning to brew.

Tintin had shot back, claiming his head seemed to be hurting every day at this point: “Do you want me to destroy my liver? No way am I taking those! I can handle it!”

“Young man,” The doctor had looked down at Tintin over his glasses, his brow furrowing with concern, “are you telling me that you are used to being in pain?”

He’d instantly denied it at first, as was typical for Tintin when it came to anything medical-related. He retracted his statement and managed to usher the doctor out of the door before any further probing of his condition could be conducted. I can handle it.

But as the weeks went by, he found that he could no longer work in the office, for the noise and lights were often too overwhelming, and he’d be curled up under his desk weeping with pain. The boss was supportive and understanding at first, but as the number of calls to the local doctor while Tintin was on the clock became more and more frequent, he started to lose his patience, and eventually asked him to re-evaluate his choice in career: “I can’t have my journalists doing their work from under the desk instead of at it.”

Tintin had packed up his cubicle and went straight home to Marlinspike once his boss had finished giving his ‘recommendation’. He’d stolen one of the Captain’s whiskey bottles that night and drank until he was satisfied he’d have a massive hangover the following morning. I can handle this…

It had taken months before he managed to settle into a new routine. He was able to negotiate with his workplace to research and submit articles from Marlinspike, although he was now limited by his condition as to how far from home he could travel to investigate potential stories. He would go through periods where he could go for runs around the estate with Snowy, but he would also have times where he was bedridden for days.

“Why do I deserve this, Captain?” Tintin asked at breakfast one morning. “W-Why do I have this…this ‘condition’, this problem? I was only doing my job!”

Haddock had no comforting response he could give the young man. Considering you used to get bashed on the head practically every five minutes, it’s no wonder that it caught up with you in the end. Instead, he kept his thoughts private and reached over the dining table to give his friend a pat on the hand. “Every day when I see you, I think the same thing over and over: I’m just grateful that you’re still alive, lad.”

Tintin’s eyes had watered furiously at that statement, even though he refused to let them spill over. I can’t cry; I can handle this.

Every morning he awoke and catch sight of the bottle of painkillers that remained untouched on his bedside table.

Every morning he thought about taking one, before he decided otherwise.

I can handle it.

I’ve always handled it.

I have to handle it.

#tintin #the adventures of tintin #adventures of tintin #fanfic #fanfiction #whumptober #whumptober2022 #whumptober 2022

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focsle · 3 years ago

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In which William Abbe characterizes two of his shipmates:

“Happy Jack and Johnny Marlinspike—This last is a thorough sailor in feeling + habits — so is Happy Jack—but Johnny is the merriest chap alive hardly for a moment forgetting to play some fantastic trick or make some ludicrously foolish speech — while Happy Jack laughs at everything + seldom says anything himself. Both can growl in good strong language, when the grub or mate don’t please them — + both when in port would sell the shirt off their backs for rum. Happy Jack takes anything he wants no matter from whom + makes the weakest possible excuses to the owner when caught. “I couldn’t help it” “I hadn’t any myself” “You wouldn’t refuse a poor fellow that would you” + with a laugh disarms all resentment. He turns in and sleeps during all his watch below day or night — has a very knowing look + makes the most sagacious remarks about the weather + whales + dreams most prophetic dreams— but though about as correct as an old almanac— yet he always explains away his mistaken prophecies by the aid of some superstitious omen or some unlucky event. He is firmly convinced that we shall take no whales this cruise — + goes to the masthead with all the air of a martyr + shakes his head knowingly when ‘thar blows’ is sung out. A more indifferent, careless, reckless, superstitious, good for nothing happy wretch doesn’t live than poor Happy Jack — light fingered — good natured — laughing singing Happy — a glass of rum seized by thee with trembling-eager hands + drunk ravenously as by a parched + way-worn traveler transforms thee from a light hearted Jack to a sorry drunkard — and thou drinkest long draughts of fiery liquor that blazes in thy eye + makes haggard thy look — gives to thy cheery voice a piteous moan as thou beggest of any friend a drink, or changes thee at times from the best natured to the sullenest ill-tempered of companions.”

[Now, of Johnny Marlinspike] “From beneath an old velvet cap stuck on the back + side of his head — where it is in perpetual danger of a fall, Jack’s—for we call Johnny + Happy both Jack — Jack’s rugged weather-beaten tanned face with round eyes full of a comical sly light + a mouth always in a grin disclosing tobacco stained ivories + a porthole he calls it where one his teeth has been knocked out + through which as a convenient porthole he spits his tobacco juice — from beneath this cap his face looms out - while beneath supporting his comical head is a bare neck and breast — hairy + brown —the upper timbers to a stout hull of a boat that boast a pair of arms all covered with India ink tattooings — the figure of American Liberty — Christ on the cross — an American Tar holding a star spangled banner in one hand + a coil of rope in the other — a fancy girl — + anchors, rings, crosses, knots, stars all over his wrists + hands — the memorials of different ports he has visited — for Jack has been in all kinds of vessels from a man of war to a blubber hunter — + has consequently been to many ports. An old shirt wide open in front — with the sleeves rooled up — covers Jack’s stout hull - while an old pair of breeches supported by a belt—quilted and patched—like the old Constitution they have very little of the original timber left—encase Jack’s legs — and such legs surely never before did dungaree or duck grace — Jack’s upper works seem too heavy for his lower— for his legs are spread like two back stays with a spreader between + Jack goes rooling about as if he carried all his ballast in his head — while his feet are like his hands large + awkwardly pointing towards each other — But for all this, Jack is not an unhandsome fellow — with a blue shirt + light pants he looks a neat, tight sailor + if from his own accounts he has done no little damage among the girls he left behind him.”

Happy Jack was a man named Andrew Kimbank from Leroy NY, 23 years old at time of sailing in 1858. Abbe spoke with him at length about his history earlier on in the voyage. Jack had worked on packet ships, steamers, and the railroad, making a fair amount of money but finding himself spending it all on drink and traveling and finery (as well as being robbed on one instance). His well off family members offered to help him out of his debt but, saying he was ashamed of his actions, he didn’t accept. He then killed a man in a drunken brawl, fled to Canada and was caught there. He spent 11 months in jail before being discharged as the jury couldn’t agree on his case. Was betrothed during this time and spoke of the woman’s ‘beauty + gentleness + power to win him from drink’, and she visited him in jail. However, on being discharged he never went back home, showing up on the whaleship drunk and remaining in that state for several weeks. His aspiration was following gold in California to make enough money to settle, with the whaler being his passage there. Abbe said “his ambition is humble but that his decision seems sincere to settle down and become a good man” but Abbe also doubted his resolve to hold to it. Jack’s predictions of a poor voyage would prove true, as the Atkins Adams would only take 281 barrels of oil over a 5 years’ cruise.

Jack Marlinspike was a man named John Hews from Buffalo NY, also 23 years old at time of sailing- For a time his nickname was ‘Johnny Come Lately’, known for his musical inclinations and dancing. He got the name ‘Jack Marlinspike’ more recently when he accidentally dropped a marlinspike from aloft and almost hit someone in the head with it.

#wm abbe #awhalin

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normal-thoughts-official · 3 years ago

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Aftermath

The MC survives Richard Sutcliffe's attempted murder.

This is what happens after.

Fandom: It Lives (Visual Novels)

Relationships: Main Character & Tom Sato & Imogen Wescott & Danni Asturias, Elliot Vance & Main Character (It Lives Beneath), Danni Asturias/Imogen Wescott, Robbie Sutcliffe/Elliot Vance (mentioned), Richard Sutcliffe & Dying

Additional Tags: Crack, Humor, Canon Compliant, Mentions of Sex, that's basically it honestly this is just crack, also yes my character is named That Bitch that is his name, i do not have the maturity to pick my character's names and be normal about it, and since this is a crackfic i thought it was fitting to keep the name i had originally picked, anyway. enjoy, no beta we die like men, honestly the whole thing with robert trying to murder the MC was so crazy, im just like, theres no way to react to this that isnt crazy

Read it on Ao3

When Robbie and Elliot get back home from their date, the first thing they see is That Bitch making fishsticks, as expected. However, the kitchen is half-destroyed and That Bitch is drenched head to toe in lake water, which is considerably less expected. Richard Sutcliffe's corpse, which had apparently spawned into their kitchen for the purposes of quick visual storytelling, was also there.

"Uh… Watcha got there, That Bitch?" Elliot asks, frozen in place.

"Fishsticks," That Bitch replies, showing him the frying pan. "They'll be ready in a minute."

Robbie stares at the body, frozen in shock. "Is that my dad?" he asks.

"Hah, more like your dead," That Bitch replies, then does a double take. "No, wait, shit. I'm sorry, Robbie. I don't know why I brought his body here. Seemed like a good idea at the time. In my defense, I didn't know you'd be joining us."

"Robbie, uh, really likes fishsticks," Elliot says, face red.

"Yeah, no, I was stupid for thinking you'd spend time apart willingly, it's on me," That Bitch replies. "Anyway, Robbie, I'm, uh, sorry."

Robbie swallows. "Did you go looking for my dad's corpse in the lake, or…?"

"What? Oh, uh, no. No offense, but I kinda had other worries in my mind."

"Right, that's what I thought."

They stare at each other.

"Sooo… Fun conversation starters for the night... Why is my dad's corpse here?"

"Right. That's because I, uh, killed him. But in my defense, he started it."

"That sounds about right," Robbie nods. "What did he do?"

"Oh, you know. Showed up while I was cooking, struck me with tranquilizers, then shoved me into a coffin and threw me in the lake. The usual."

"I thought he was dead," Elliot says, dumbfounded.

"He is now! Better late than never. No, wait. Sorry, Robbie."

"It's okay," Robbie shrugs.

"Man, grandma kinda sucks at this whole murder thing. So many NPCs showed up in the story just to die, and she couldn't even take care of Robert? I thought her vendetta was specifically against the cultists anyway," Elliot says.

"Yeah, I remember I saw her running after Robert during the whole townpocalypse, she had a marlinspike and everything. I guess he just, like, survived being stabbed by a ghost."

"Wow, lame. No, wait. Sorry, Robbie."

Robbie shrugs. "It's okay. I mean, I already assumed he was dead, so it's not, like, news or anything. Also, yeah, your grandma kinda let you down on that one."

Elliot and That Bitch look at each other for a second. "Right. You kids should go into the living room do something appropriate for your age yet couple-y. I will get his body somewhere more hygienic, and then we can, like, properly talk about this."

"Sure, sounds like a plan," Elliot says, already grabbing Robbie's hand.

As if on cue, grandpa shows up. "Hey, kids. Sorry I'm late, I lost track of time. Hope you didn't do anything fishy. Heh. Oh my god, what is that?"

"Fishsticks," all three of them reply at once.

-----

The kids go into the living room, and That Bitch and Arthur debate what to do with the body.

"Maybe we should take it to the police?"

"Right, because cops are totally trustworthy to deal with something like this, particularly in this town," That Bitch replies.

"Touché. Why didn't you just dump him into the lake? People would just assume that he died during the flood like everybody else."

"His face is smashed in by what is clearly a hammer," That Bitch replies.

"And? Cops are stupid, they wouldn't question it."

"Holy fuck, you're so right. Damn."

----

They hand the body over to the body-fishing efforts, who predictably didn't ask anything about it. As a quick goodbye, Robbie said, "rest in piss, dad," before handing over the body. It was really emotional. Elliot put his hand over Robbie's shoulder solemnly and everything.

When they're leaving, they run into Tom, who was also volunteering to help with the efforts before he had to go back to college, because apparently at no point will he ever think he's done enough for strangers he's never met in his life. "Hey, guys, what's up?", he asks.

"Hey Tom. Richard tried to kill me."

"Oh my God, did you die? No, wait. I meant, are you okay?"

That Bitch shrugs. "You should see the other guy."

"Last time one of us said that, the other guy was completely unscathed."

"Last time one of us said that, it was you."

"Unprovoked???"

"Please stop referencing the Karl Marx K-pop Stan Fight every time we talk," That Bitch sighs.

"It fuels me."

"Right. Anyway, do you know where Imogen and Danni are? I kinda figured I should tell the details to you guys in person, and all. Feels weird to announce my almost-murder via text. WikiHow had no tips on how to do that."

"Oh, I know exactly where Danni and Imogen are," Tom says. "I've seen things, That Bitch."

"Good for them, good for them."

"Yeah. We should stop by Danni's place in like, three hours or something, and see if we can give them the details. Speaking of which, why is your grandma so bad at murdering the right people?"

"This is actually the one thing I don't have an answer to."

"Hey, cut Josie some slack," grandpa says.

"She tried to kill you," Tom points out.

"Yeah, but like, mood, you know?", he replies, shrugging.

"Solid point."

----

They get to Danni's house three hours later, as agreed, and knock on the door lightly to let them know they are there, and still See Things.

"Oh my god, Tom, again???," Danni screams, throwing an embarrassing capybara plushie at him.

"I should be the one saying that!! How are you back at it already??"

"'Back'?" Danni asks, frowning.

"He thinks we stopped at some point, babe," Imogen explains, with the patience of someone talking to a toddler.

"Oh, like, for snacks?"

"No, because we'd be tired or something. Like, for a few hours."

"Damn, lame. What do you think we are, 70?"

"I think you are very naked and making no move to fix that," That Bitch intervenes.

"Oh, right! Sorry, sorry," Imogen says, startling to hustle to find her clothes in the middle of the mess of the living room.

"You come into my house, you make Imogen put clothes on," Danni grumbles, pretending that she's looking for her bra, which is right in front of her and also bright yellow.

"Sorry, it's kind of an emergency. Richard, uh, tried to kill me."

"Yeah, but did you die?"

"Danni!," Imogen says, clearly going for a scolding tone, which is completely undermined by the way she's giggling at her antics.

"What? He looks fine to me. I'm sure Richard can wait a few more hours before we start looking for him again, or whatever."

"A few more hours?" Tom asks, shocked.

"Actually, I killed Richard already," That Bitch replies.

"Well, what the fuck are you doing here then? The case is closed. We'll see you tomorrow!" Danni says, shushing them out of the room.

"Tomorrow?" Tom squeaks.

----

Tom and That Bitch stare at each other as the door locks behind them. "I need more stamina," Tom says, pouting.

"Personally, I just broke a coffin while underwater, so I think I'm good."

"Damn bro, that's crazy."

"Well, you know how Fridays are."

"True. Did you guys have your fishsticks, at least?"

"Yeah."

"Cool. So, should we play videogames, or?"

"Sounds like a plan."

And that's that. Well, at least it was quick.

#it lives #it lives beneath #ilb #imogen wescott #danni asturias #tom sato #elliot vance #robbie sutcliffe #richard sutcliffe #dannimogen #it lives anthology #crack #im rlly on my bullshit huh

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mariinara · 4 years ago

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REDAMANCY. (Sam Drake x Reader) PART 1

Tags: @the-winchesterboys , @the-drakeboys , @missdictatorme , @s4mdrake , @samdrakeftw , @purplezebra68 , @hrgnm , @unchartedterritoria

Word count: 3,107

(PROLOGUE, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4)

Location: London, UK, Bloomsbury district

______________

The smell of cheap liquor and perfume filled your nostrils as you walked through the hotel's hallway, your eyes glued to the crimson carpet beneath your feet, a small shiver running up your spine as cold goosebumps riddled your skin.

Even in summer, London was chillier than Boston at night and you wore a grey sweater just in case it started to rain out of nowhere. You've been there before and you didn't want to repeat the same mistake. Not that the sweater made much of a difference.

When you were at the intersection of two hallways, you snapped your eyes up to look at the gold-plated signs on the wall that were engraved with a deep black color, indicating the range of the room numbers in both hallways.

'Third floor, room 303..'

You repeated in your head as you walked down the correct hallway, your eyes scanning the rooms on your left and right, in search of his room.

You were so engrossed in your search that you left Connor hanging on the phone that you loosely held against your ear.

"Babe?"

You blinked twice, "Yeah, I'm here.." You licked your dry lips, feeling them get a bit tacky from the cold weather and your shallow breaths, "Just, uhh.. Haven't been here for a while." You replied, a bit absentmindedly.

"So you're there?"

"Yeah."

"Keep me updated, okay?"

"I will, baby.." You stopped in your tracks once you saw room 301 and, suddenly, you didn't want Connor to get off the phone. You knew that as soon as you'd hang up, you'd feel the anxiety again.

"You wrap it up and come right back, okay?" He told you, and you could hear the cute little whine in his voice that made you smile.

"How could I do anything else?"

He chuckled softly, "Alright, I love you."

You pursed your lips, "Love ya, too, hun.."

A pang of guilt hit you. You knew you shouldn't be lying to him about your whereabouts and about what you'll be doing for the next few days. You'd told him that you were flying to Nate and Elena's house in Nassau to do big renovations for the place while they were away. Connor knew that you've always wanted to be an interior designer, and he got you multiple, big gigs in his show as prop manager and designer, which got you into the business quicker than you expected.

The lie you concocted was not fool-proof but it was the only thing that rolled off of your tongue once Connor asked who it was on the phone the other day.

You didn't like lying to him. Relationships were all about the truth. That was something you firmly believed in. But he wouldn't understand this. You promised you were done and just setting out to fulfill a childhood dream would actually sound really stupid to him.

You heard the line go blank, which made you inhale deeply. There bubbled your anxiety again, causing your stomach to do cartwheels. Uncomfortable ones.

'Room 303..'

You chewed down on your bottom lip and pushed your phone back into your pocket, switching your duffel bag to the other hand that wasn't as sweaty and, as you took cautious steps towards the assigned room, you felt the air getting thicker and everything grow silent, only hearing the pounding of your heart.

'You got this. He's just an old friend.. a-an acquaintance.. a.. brother..?'

You stood there, eyeing the wooden door with your eyes nervously flickering. With a shaky breath, you pulled up your hand to check the time on your wrist-watch.

9:10 P.M.

You were supposed to be in there ten minutes ago. As an extremely punctual person, something bothered you about that, and, hurriedly, you found yourself knocking twice on the door. When your hand dropped to your side, your chest filled up with instant regret.

'It's not too late to turn back around, is it..?'

You asked yourself, looking down the hallway you came through earlier, pondering the idea of making a beeline out of there.

But, suddenly, the door in front of you creaked open, and you whipped your head to look at the man standing there, staring back at you with an almost surprised expression, like he just knew that you wanted to turn and run last second.

There it was again. That feeling in the pit of your stomach that made your breath hitch in your throat. Just staring into his eyes brought back all those bitter memories, but you quickly shoved them to the back of your head, letting a shaky sigh leave your nose. It was then that you noticed that he was in a dress shirt that had the first few buttons open and the bowtie around his collar was loose. The shirt was tucked in formal suit trousers, too, which meant that he was getting into something fancy for.. what exactly?

He leaned closer towards you, looking left and right down the hallway. You'd pulled your face away with wide eyes when he got that close and grabbed onto his upper arms when one of them snaked around your waist.

"What.. are you doing?" You slowly asked him, staring at him with furrowed brows as he studied the hallway.

Without replying or looking at you, he pulled you into his warm hotel room and let go of you to close the door.

You blinked in confusion, staring at him with furrowed brows as he turned to look at you, his eyes studying you closely and intimately. His gaze trapped you and you almost felt as if he had a hostile air about him.

"Have a seat." He simply told you, gesturing to the table next to the terrace that had a half-finished bottle of whiskey, an ashtray with a cigarette still propped on, the smoke slowly rising in the air, and an array of maps and books, all stacked in a messy heap.

A soft sigh escaped your lips, "Nice to see you, too.." You muttered, discarding the black duffel bag on a bench pressed against the wall and dragging a chair to slump down on.

"How was your flight?" Came his voice as he made his way to the table, circumventing it to stand on the opposite side of you, picking up his cigarette and flicking the ash off before pulling it up to his lips.

You crossed your arms over the table and nodded, trying to avoid his intense gaze, "It was fine." You simply replied with a small nod.

Sam held the cigarette between his lips and unscrewed the cork of the whiskey bottle, "Drink?" He offered before pausing to raise an amused brow at you, fighting back a teasing smirk, "You do still drink, right?"

You sent him a glare, your hands intertwining together a bit tighter, "That's funny." You humorlessly replied, "I do. But no i–"

"No ice." He continued, pouring some of the golden liquid into a glass cup that he set in front of you, "I know." His eyes were on you as he sat down with a small sigh, his back relaxed against the chair as he took a drag from his cigarette.

You ignored his stare and brought the glass to your lips, "So.." You clicked your tongue, "What was that all about?" You asked, your fingers tapping against the glass. He shook his head slightly, his eyes narrow. "At the door? You looked like I'm not the only one you were expecting." You elaborated.

"Mmmm.." He nodded, leaning forward to put off the cigarette in the ashtray, blowing out a cloud of smoke, "I was expectin' star boy to be there.."

You rolled your eyes, "His name's Connor." You corrected him, sitting back to cross your arms over your chest. You saw his brows twitch up in silent agitation, a forced, lop-sided smile on his face, despite that. "If you don't trust me, why'd you call me?" You questioned a bit defensively.

He hummed while taking a swig from his drink and shook his head, putting it down, "I trust you. It's you who doesn't trust me." He pointed an accusatory finger at you, making your brows pull together.

"Can you blame me?" You retorted. He paused for a second to search your eyes and he immediately knew you were talking about what he'd done back in Libertalia. It stung, the way you viewed him. Especially you. But he swallowed his tongue, nonetheless.

His eyes flickered down to your hands, spotting the engagement ring almost immediately. It drew an amused smirk to his lips when his eyes met yours, "That's a big rock." He commented, "I take it he finally got his big break, huh?"

You looked down at your hand, turning it to take a look at the ring. Your eyes rolled and you put your hands on your lap, wiping your sweaty hands against your denim-clad thighs, "So, what're we doing?" You gestured to the papers and documents and maps all sprawled on the table.

He cleared his throat and started to search for something in particular and, finally, he pulled it out from the pile of papers, then silently passed it to you.

You glanced at the folded paper that seemed to be ripped out straight from an illustrations’ book and raised a brow at him, “This is..?”

Sam chuckled, “Open it, genius.”

“Right.” You unfolded the paper quickly and narrowed your eyes at the ink drawings of the Unicorn ship. It was illustrated at different angles, with very detailed focus on important attributes that made it special, “Fifty cannons.. Triple masted.. Two decks..” You nodded, “That’s our girl.”

“Okay, now look at this..” He quickly shuffled to look through the pile for a certain book and, when he pulled it out, you immediately recognized the cover of his favorite pirate book. You watched him flip through it quickly, humming under his breath. It was something he often did when he was deep in thought or onto something and you remembered how you would point that out, back when things weren’t so rocky with him, but the thought made you smile, nonetheless, “There it is.” He motioned you to come closer and you instantly scooted your chair to his side to peek at the book with him, “Sir Francis Drake from Marlinspike hall..”

You sighed at the pirate’s name, “This guy just didn’t know when to quit.”

Sam sent you a proud smirk, “Runs in the family.”

You smiled at him and, you could swear that you saw his younger self for just a split second, but once you realized that you were gazing at him for too long without uttering a word, you looked back at the book, “The last captain of the old, beaten Unicorn..” You read.

Sam’s focus was back on the book and he skipped a few unimportant lines, “The ship set sail from Barbados in 1676 on one of the most ruinous voyages in maritime history.” He had that part underlined lightly with a pencil and your eyes moved lower to spot another underlined paragraph.

“Ship never reached its destination.. Attacked by pirates, all hands lost except for one survivor, yadda yadda..” You muttered. But then, at the next line, your eyes lit up like a Christmas tree, “When Sir Francis Drake was rescued and brought back home, he was convinced his name had been cursed.” You glanced at Sam with a small snort, “Go figure..” He chuckled at you and listened closely as you read. “The Unicorn’s manifest states that the ship carried cargo of tobacco and rum bound for Europe, but, it’s been long claimed that it carried a secret cargo..” You slowly turned your head towards Sam, your eyes wide and a grin slowly spread on your face, "So, Drake was connected to Red Rakham's treasure.."

Sam returned your grin, "I'm willin' to bet that it wasn't even Red Rakham's treasure in the first place." When he saw your intrigued, yet contemplative expression, he looked at the book and pointed at a certain line, "Here. Look. When Sir Francis was questioned about the voyage, he replied with: "This treasure drowns with my bloodline and shall remain so. Only a true Drake will be able to find it.""

"The treasure belonged to Drake.." You trailed off, your eyes glued to the book, "Red Rakham's ship was the one that attacked Drake's." You concluded, sitting back and crossing your arms with an impressed nod, "And.. you found the link between him and Drake on your own.."

Sam raised a brow, closing the book, "You sound surprised." He smiled and you reciprocated it cordially, but something about it seemed too forced.

"Just take the compliment."

He stared at you for a couple of seconds, his smile faltering. You noticed it. How his eyes lowered to look at the carpet underneath the table. He seemed to want to say something. Like an apology of some sort, but you ripped your gaze away from him before he could speak. You didn't want him to apologize. You didn't want him to say anything that would remind you of the man you used to love. That was the last thing you needed.

Sam put the book to the side and cleared his throat, getting up from his chair and walking over to the dresser to retrieve a rolled up newspaper from there quietly, and walked back to the table to put it in front of you, "That's our next stop."

You raised a brow up at him and grabbed the paper, opening it to the front page, your eyes immediately landing on an announcement that there was an auction held near your district, which brought unpleasant memories to you, "The Bedford estate auction.." You muttered.

"Mm-hmm." His finger hovered over the page and he tapped at the auctioned items list, "Look here. Sound familiar?"

You squinted your eyes and read over the line he pointed at, "Battleship model, seventeenth century, reign of Charles the second.." You trailed off and inhaled deeply, leaving the newspaper and sitting back to look at him, "You do remember what happened the last time we went into an auction uninvited, don't you?" You asked him, an uninterested look on your face.

He smirked and nodded his head, resting his hands on the back of your chair, "Sure, but this time is gonna be different."

"How come?"

"We're invited." He wiggled his brows once, like he just let you in on the most dangerous, tempting secret in the world.

Your brows pulled together in confusion, "What?" You shook your head, "How?"

He sighed and turned his back to you, walking over to his bed, "I'll fill you in on the way." He then removed the white, signature hotel duvet, only to reveal a whole set of guns from different calibers, small boxes of bullets, extra magazines. Your eyes widened for a split second at the view and you looked up at Sam as he turned to you, his hands on his hips and a stupid grin on his face, "You still remember how to handle those?"

"Jesus!" You exclaimed, practically jumping from the chair and taking wide steps towards the bed to take a closer look at the weapons, "What— How did you even get those in here?"

Sam pushed his hands in his pockets, "Had to grease a few palms." He shrugged nonchalantly, sending you a calm smile.

"Why do we even need those?!" You whisper-shouted, behind clenched teeth, your eyes wide and crazed.

He rolled his eyes, "You do remember what happened the last time we went into an auction, right?"

"You said we were invited!"

"Never said I had the money for bidding." He retorted quickly.

You threw your hands up in frustration with a humourless laugh, "Well, of course not! You wasted it all on those!" You argued, gesturing to the guns on his mattress.

"Uh, no. First of all, those were already in my possession–" You rolled your eyes and opened your mouth to speak but he beat you to it, "Second of all, you're gonna need to be more lenient and cooperative or else we're gonna end up dead. Those people don't mess around."

Your eyes widened, "What?" You watched him walk past you and to the body mirror, buttoning up his shirt silently. You followed him and stood right behind him, "Is there something you're not telling me?"

Sam did his bowtie silently and ran a hand through his hair, glancing at you through the mirror. He then stopped completely and hummed, narrowing his eyes.

"Samuel–"

He stepped behind you, grabbing your upper arms and letting you see your reflection, his chest pressed against your back and his eyes roaming your body through the mirror, "You don't happen to have a pretty lil' red dress, do you?"

You snorted a laugh of disbelief, "What?"

His hands came up to hold your hair and twirl it in his hands, holding it into a low, messy bun, "That oughta show some skin, too.." He muttered, studying your pretty face that was hidden by your loose hair, "You didn't answer me." He reminded you.

You shook your head in confusion, "I.. do, but–"

"Perfect." He stepped away from you to go over to his wardrobe, pulling his black suit jacket from the hanger, throwing it on his shoulder and letting it drape there, "Wear your hair like I just showed you and put it on." He instructed you before tilting his head and reaching into his pocket for a cigarette, "And – y'know – doll up a bit." He put it in his mouth and lit it, narrowing his eyes at you as he took a drag.

You scoffed, watching him turn away and open the door to leave, "Sam!" You yelled for him as he slipped outside, and he stopped to look at you.

"Yep?" He looked over his shoulder and you swore you could see a smirk play on his lips.

You gave him an incredulous look, "Is there something you're not telling me?!" You repeated, slower and louder in case he didn't quite catch you.

His lips slowly curled up to a smile, his cigarette still held between them. He then glanced at the bed full of weapons and back at you, "Pick something inconspicuous, will ya? I'll be waitin' for you on the sidewalk."

"Sam!–"

He shut the door and left you in your predicament, making you growl out in utter and absolute frustration, your fists clenched and your breathing uneven.

And you wondered if this was all a plot of revenge from the older Drake for the way you treated him in Libertalia.

_____________

#sam drake x reader #samuel drake #sam drake #uncharted fluff #uncharted #sam drake fanfiction #uncharted4 #naughty dog #peakymarvels

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sun-choices · 4 years ago

Text

It Lives Series: A Guide For Those Who Are Bad At Horror

*ORIGINALLY POSTED ON REDDIT, I AM REPOSTING HERE*

I’m famously bad at horror. I’ve played every single Choices book and been into the app since early when it came out in 2017, but the one series I’d never dared to play was the It Lives series. I’ve been dying to play the series but the scariest thing I’ve watched is Caroline and I get nightmares from that. I’ve also got real bad anxiety, so it was a no-go for me. However, I finally sucked it up and went through both, and god damn, they do live up to their rep. There’s been posts before asking how bad it is, but I would’ve liked something with more guidance to keep the anxiety more at bay. If anyone out there has been holding off on playing, or wants to replay as safely as you can, I hope this helps you all out.This guide will contain some spoilers for those who haven't played it yet, but I’ll try to keep them at the minimum, just some of the scariest stuff. I will also talk about keeping your friends alive diamond free in ILB, a highly debated topic, so keep reading for that too.

GENERAL GUIDELINES

Use the wiki guide for both books. This is the safest way to make the safest choices, have slight but not full on spoilers, and keep your friends alive without spending diamonds willy-nilly.

Do NOT play at night, and play with your sound off. Listen to cheery music even, if you want. I found the best time to play was taking on 2 chapters in the morning, and preferably when I had something to do for the day to take my mind off it later (school, work, etc)

Do not fret when you lose nerve. You might even fail nerve checks, but that doesn’t mean its the end for you all. Follow the wiki and think about how you want to play ILB, and everything should go fine in the end.

You don’t need diamonds to keep everyone alive in both books. However, a few calculated diamond choices can help make things less scary. I’ll go more in depth for each game, but as a general guide, weapons pop up over and over a lot in both games. If you want to spend, that’s a good choice.

Play differently than you usually do if you can. I usually play as a girl in non genderlocked books, so I played as a guy here with names very different from what I’d usually choose. Its a small thing, but can help separate things in your mind.

If you ever get really scared or you want to purposely do a darker play through and something disturbs you, remember we’ve basically all played the book, and these writers at PB were really just going all out on these books.

If you want to have a chance at winning diamond free in ILB or make it easier on yourself, everyone must survive in ILITW, and you must sacrifice Noah.

IT LIVES IN THE WOODS

IMO, I found this book scarier, while the other felt more like a mystery book. This is in part due to the scary artwork. There’s a pretty bad jumpscare early in the first chapter, of a purple zombified Dan, so beware of that and perhaps keep your hand splayed over the top. Monsters will also pop up throughout the book but they’re not so bad once you’ve seem them once or twice. The mud monsters can be scary as well for some. Redfield might look a bit creepy too at times but its manageable, look away from the sprite and cover it up if its too much for you. There’s a noticeable in Chapter 9 where the walls are filled with spiders so be ready to look away if that type of thing creeps you out. The next scariest thing I’d say is at the second to last chapter when the friends play Are You Scared in the cave and reading about your friend’s deaths and seeing their bodies splayed over the screen.

Scary story spoilers if you want them: Dan will be missing and then in a coma at first, but he will be found and turn out to be okay later on. Cody will show up impaled and dead on the tree outside your house at one point. Jane is Redfield. To complete the sealing ritual, someone else must become the monster (Noah or MC).

It is easier to keep everyone alive in this book, so don’t worry too much. Try to enjoy their friendships and any LIs you romance, because one of the best parts of these books is how well written everyone is and how intricate the story is.

You can make it through the story pretty easily w/o diamonds. However, as I said before, weapons are very useful to have and they reoccur the most often, helping tone down rougher scenes. Pets are nice refreshers, so if you want to buy one, thats cool too. The lore is what I feel least necessary, and you can google them up on the wiki anyways, but whatever you choose is fine!

IT LIVES BENEATH

This book is less scary, but harder to keep everyone alive. You cannot make one wrong choice without diamonds, and even then, everyone will be alive but Parker will abandon the group and go live elsewhere. This is okay if you don’t mind, but a few calculated diamond choices can help avoid this. Save up diamonds from ILITW to do so. Play with the wiki to get every choice right. You need a group nerve score of somewhere around 289 for nobody to die, so even if you fail minor nerve checks, even those sewer checks, get it up to there by then and you should be okay.

To win without diamonds: Choose EVERY right choice, so use the wiki or replay chapters. You MUST either dance or sit with Tom (you cannot lose your finger at the nerve check or you will need diamonds to make up and keep anyone from dying). Do note, I believe Parker will abandon the group regardless if you don’t buy at least one diamond choice, but he can still stay alive and nobody will die. Alternatively, you can keep him in the group for free but someone would have to die for him.

With Minimal Diamonds: Buy Parker’s stun baton. This boosts his nerve significantly throughout the book and I believe it’ll help get him to 55/100, the amount you need for him to stay in the group. I also bought the scene where you hide with him in a closet, and his end nerve was in the 80’s, so I think you’ll be okay with just the stun baton.

Disturbing scenes and spoilers: this book doesn’t have as many jump scares like the other. The first chapter has a gruesome bloody murder scene where you find MC’s parents dead and a bloody symbol on the floor, and MC remembers this in a flashback throughout the first half of the book. Maybe some of the animals are unsettling at first but they pop up so often its not too bad. The ghost monster from the lake is unsettling too but I’d put her at the same level as Benji’s statue in the closet you find in QB. Finally, I’d say towards the end when you go from the sewer into the water and find Josephine’s skeleton with the marlinspikes in her, that’s also unsettling. If you don’t like seeing ghost sprites, you will see Josephine’s and her angry expression is creepy as well, but again, try to avoid looking or cover up the sprite and you should be alright. Finally, in the last chapter, Richard will try to murder MC by putting them in a coffin. If your nerve is high enough and you use the wiki guide for the right answers, you will survive just fine.

Optional Diamond Purchases: if you have the extra diamonds, I highly recommend buying the bracelet as it serves like a little warning before something bad/scary will happen, and gives MC a major nerve boost later on. Again, weapons are great (I wish I had bought Imogen’s Bolas to keep her nerve higher but oh well), and weapons appear REALLY often in this book so its a worthy purchase. Next I’d say some of the rune items are helpful, such as the skeleton key and Danni’s seeing stone, and ofc the bracelet, but if you had to choose, I’d say weapons before most of the runes. Pets really only pop up once after the initial purchase, but they’re sweet if you want them. As for scenes with the group/one LI, those are nice too, they give MAJOR nerve boosts and since you kinda have to be selective of how you play diamondless, if you really wanna romance someone specific its a good way to get more interaction without risking someone else through the free options, and brings the group score way up regardless.

I hope this guide is useful to some of you, and if I’ve forgotten anything or you have questions, feel free to add on. This is a horror based series and I totally respect and understand anyone who wishes to play it as such and doesn’t mind characters dying, however the plot is so damn good, the friend groups are A+, and I figured I would’ve liked a guide like this when I played. Good luck everyone!

#playchoices #choices: stories you play #it lives anthology #it lives series #ilitw #ilb #pixelberry #parker #danni #imogen #tom #ava #noah #andy kang #lily #stacey #lucas #redfield #josephine vance

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ladykateofledfordpark · 5 years ago

Text

The Most Amazing Person (Parker x MC)

OMG this took so long to edit. I still haven't really finished, but I don't have any patience anymore. So I hope this is good enough. XD

This one-shot is dedicated to @pbmychoices! Hope you like it! =)

And thank you, @kinda-iconic and @choices-fam for your support! ^-^

If anyone wants to be tagged, comment below! Just don’t forget to specify if you want to be tagged in all my fics, or only specific ships! =)

Pairing: Parker x MC (Harper)

This story includes:

Talk about trauma and murder

Fluff

Summary: A few weeks before Harper leaves for school, she goes over for a romantic dinner at Parker’s house.

Word count: 1953

______________________

It felt like ages since Harper finally had time to relax. The last attempt on her life left her reeling, and it was still nearly impossible for her to let her guard down. She would wake up multiple times every night, every movement of Thumper a step of an intruder, every shadow a looming figure. She already made sure Richard Sutcliffe will never bother anyone again, but history taught her that nothing was ever certain. As far as she knew cult lackeys could still be hiding, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Richard’s ghost wasn’t an absurd theory either: if Josephine came back, who said he couldn’t do the same?

Harper’s only comfort was the marlinspike under her pillow. Every night she would take it out from its hiding space and hold it, her hand firn and the weapon ready to strike. In the moonlight it would shine like a beacon, warning any who dared come near. It was beautiful as much as it was deadly: the perfect weapon to kill anyone who dared harm the Vance family.

Harper didn’t know for how long she would sit in her bed, eyes alert and shoulders stiff. Sometimes it would be solely for minutes, while other times she would sit there for hours. Once the erratic beat of her heart slowed down she would force herself back to sleep, ignoring her shaking body. Everything’s fine, she would whisper to herself, everything’s fine.

And maybe everything was fine. Danni’s photographs were gaining more and more popularity, the demand growing the more time passed. Her smiles were much more common, her success in ClickIt the reason behind it. Tom was as excited as anyone could possibly be for his return to Hartfeld, talking animatedly about all the unique experiences waiting for him there. Imogen was finally free to find herself without the added weight of her parents, and she flourished now more than ever. Parker himself proved to be just as talented as Harper knew him to be, leading the police the way Pine Springs deserved.

As the time to leave neared, Harper found herself spending more and more time with Parker. He may have been much busier than his predecessor, but luckily for Harper, Pine Springs was a small place, leaving him more available than one would’ve guessed. She loved entering his office in the morning, holding warm coffees for the both of them, and seeing his brilliant smile. It was the highlight of her day, and by the way Parker showered her with affection- she was sure it was the same for him.

But somehow he still managed to catch her off guard when he casually asked if she wanted to eat dinner at his place. The offer was long overdue, considering Parker saw her house more than a month ago, but she still hesitated before giving a yes. She never reached this stage before, but this was the first relationship where she really felt safe. She could never turn him down.

That was how Harper found herself at the entrance to a vast house. It wasn’t exactly the size of a mansion, but neither was it as small as a cottage. It's security was more upkeep than the Sutcliffe's mansion, warning her that one small step could kill her on the spot. Harper frowned as she scanned the exterior. This building was hauntingly beautiful and yet strangely empty, like a memory from the past. Was she sure this was the right place?

She squinted at the address written on the house, and compared it with the one Parker sent her. Once she was sure that was the right place, she smoothed down her dress and pressed on the intercom. At first there was only static, but then Parker's familiar voice sounded from the device. “Harper?”

“I'm outside.”

Even without seeing him, Harper sensed the smile in his voice. “I'm coming.”

She didn't have to wait long before a tall figure opened the door and walked in her direction. Parker smiled at her, the twinkle in his eyes stronger than all the light of all the streetlamps combined. He was always radiant when he saw her, but now he stopped mid stride. “Harper, you look-”

She shrugged, a small grin on her face. “I wanted to surprise you.”

Parker shook his head. He walked toward the keypad, which was in safe distance from the entrance, and absentmindedly entered the code. “If I knew you were dressing up I would have done the same.” He frowned as he looked down at his everyday clothes.

The light on the keypad pulsed green and the gate slowly opened. Harper hesitantly walked inside as the gate closed behind her with a metallic grinding noise. The crunch of the grass beneath her feet was almost deafening in the silence, but that didn't erase her smile.

She stopped once she reached Parker, and a small smile rose to her features. “It's fine, Parker. You look good in anything.” She scanned him once again, admiring how his tight shirt hugged his torso and the way his pants hung on his frame. Somehow Parker managed to pull off even the most simple clothes- something that was no small feat.

Parker smiled as he gently snaked an arm behind her waist. His brown eyes appraised her sea green dress, admiring the way it shone in the weak light. He turned so she was facing him before he lowered his head, his breath fanning her mouth. “And you, Harper, will always be the most beautiful girl in the world.”

Harper wrapped her arms around his neck and smiled. “Really?”

Parker pulled her so almost no space stood between them. “Even if all the others would wear the fanciest dresses while you would wear a potato sack.”

He cupped her cheek, his eyes shining in affection. “Even then you would be too good for me.” His eyes met her own before his gaze flitted to her lips. He leaned in, his lips brushing hers, before he backed away and cleared his throat. His warm hand found hers and he gently pulled on it. “Let's go inside.”

Somehow, the Victorian seemed even emptier once they entered. Everything was more advanced than Harper had ever seen: the door closed itself, the windows opened without waiting for a command, and a tiny screen blinked on with illegible writing. Warm air encased her, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She could swear that she could smell all the metal, even if it was hard to pinpoint exactly where some of the hidden technology lay.

Parker pulled her closer, a weak smile to his lips. “Abe wasn’t the type to spend his riches on big and fancy houses. Since he was the only one who lived here, he prefered to keep his house as modern as possible. Once we grew close he had more reason for such a big house, but he was never the generous type. Even I visited him only a few times.”

Parker shrugged nonchalantly, but his hold tightened on Harper’s hand. “He was always more of a loner. Sometimes I managed to break through and see a bit more of him, but never enough. I saw his fatherly side mostly at the station, but even then he still had his walls. I guess he just never wanted me to come close enough to find out everything he was hiding.”

A bitter laugh escaped him, and Harper’s heart sunk. She squeezed his hand, but his eyes still stared ahead. He was drowning in a sea of grief, and she didn't know how to fix it.

They passed through a vast living room, which was cluttered to a fault. Old clothes lay on the floor, thrown haphazardly in a careless mess. Police accessories were strewn around, while some albums lay open, revealing hundreds of pictures, all of them of Kelley: some were in color, while all the rest were in black and white.

Parker scratched the back of his neck. “Sorry about all this,” he cleared his throat and shifted his gaze, “ever since Abe died...” he trailed off, a faraway look in his haunted eyes.

“It's alright.” Harper smiled. She knew from experience how traumatizing death could be, and she didn't expect Parker to fare any better than he was already.

Parker sighed. “Somehow, even after everything he did, I miss him. He’s still the man who saved me all those years ago. Still the guy who took me in and turned me into who I am today.”

She squeezed his hand, and he shot a grateful smile her way. “Hey, it’s okay. I get it.”

It was hard to fathom how many of their group lost their parents in the bloody fiasco. Imogen was now all alone, barely coping with the nightmares of the horrible deaths she witnessed. Parker lost his only father figure twice: when he realized that the man who raised him wasn’t who he thought he was, and when Abe was murdered with a spike to his throat. Harper already lost both of her parents at the bloody crime scene Richard left in their home, and Josephine almost stole Arthur too.

She tightened her hold on Parker’s hand. A cruel string connected the three of them, tying them in a bond that would never break. Harper wished she could take all their pain away, but she knew better than that. Living in illusions wouldn’t help, but she could help them regain their strength. That way they could stand taller, and be stronger in their fight against the world.

Once they reached the kitchen, Parker hurried to prepare the ingredients. He didn't look at her as he emptied the fridge, though she could make out the slight blush to his cheeks. “I'm sorry you had to see the living room like that. I would've organized it, but there was something at work today that-”

Harper laughed, and Parker's eyes met her in question. “What's so funny?”

“I already told you it's okay. Why are you so worried?”

Harper walked toward the ceramic table, which was already piled with different ingredients. She could feel Parker's gaze on her, his warm brown eyes filled with adoration. Her whole body tingled as she reached for the cutting board, waiting for his answer.

“Harper… you're the best thing to ever happen to me. You know that?” Her hands froze and her pulse quickened, knowing he wasn't done. “I want to be the best I can for you, but then you come to Abe's old house, see the messy living room and watch me at my most vulnerable state. I guess that I'm just worried that maybe this is too much for you.”

Harper turned so she was facing him, a smile on her face. “Parker, since coming here I escaped crazy cultists, fought undead monsters and was almost killed more times than I can count. Somehow, through all of that, we stuck together. Do you really think that seeing a bit of a mess will make me run away?”

Parker's eyes shone, and in that moment Harper knew that he was the most beautiful person in the world. He walked toward her and stopped when they were only inches apart. “You're the most amazing person in the world. You know that, right?”

She took hold of the lapels of his shirt and pulled him so their lips were nearly touching. “Stop being so humble. You're the only person who would hurt himself before he would hurt others.”

“I guess we'll just have to see who's right, won't we?”

His lips brushed hers, and an unbidden smile rose to Harper's face. “I guess we will.”

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idiosynchronics · 6 years ago

Note

thomas & any or all of the ppl i have ships with lol

ULTIMATE SHIP MEME! Send in two (or more) names and I’ll fill all this out about the ship! / @threecardtrick

→ thomas and cesare

General:

How long will they last? - all their life in terms of affection and attachment and trust but they are not together together

How quickly did/will they fall in love? - very very slowly and their love is a combination of a lot of sentiments

How was their first kiss? - rough and hot

Wedding:

Who proposed? -

Who is the best man/men? -

Who is the braid’s maid(s)? -

Who did the most planning? -

Who stressed the most? -

How fancy was the ceremony? -

Back of a pickup truck | 2 | 3 | 4 | Normal Church Wedding | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Kate and William wish they were this big.

Who was specifically not invited to the wedding? -

Sex:

Who is on top? - both are incredibly dominant in nature but i think they would alternate - or maybe fight for the upper hand

Who is the one to instigate things? - both but each in their own way, thomas is more on the subtle, teasing side of thing whilst cesare has a much more in your face style

How healthy is their sex life? -

Barely touch themselves let alone each other | 2 | 3 | 4 | Once a couple weeks, nothing overboard | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They are humping each other on the couch right now | circumstances make this challenging

How kinky are they? -

Straight missionary with the lights off | 2 | 3 | 4 | Might try some butt stuff and toys | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Don’t go into the sex dungeon without a horse’s head

How long do they normally last? - it depends on where and when it happens but cesare has stamina

Do they make sure each person gets an equal amount of orgasms? - i think they do

How rough are they in bed? -

Softer than a butterfly on the back of a bunny | 2 | 3 | 4 | The bed’s shaking and squeaking every time | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Their dirty talk is so vulgar it’d make Dwayne Johnson blush. Also, the wall’s so weak it could collapse the next time they do it. | it depends, i feel that they could be rough but also gentle, depending on the mood and circumstances

How much cuddling/snuggling do they do? -

No touching after sex | 2 | 3 | 4 | A little spooning at night, or on the couch, but not in public | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They snuggle and kiss more often than a teen couple on their fifth date to a pillow factory.

Children:

How many children will they have naturally? -

How many children will they adopt? -

Who gets stuck with the most diapers? -

Who is the stricter parent? -

Who stops the kid(s) from doing dangerous stunts after school? -

Who remembers to pack the lunch(es)? -

Who is the more loved parent? -

Who is more likely to attend the PTA meetings?

Who cried the most at graduation? -

Who is more likely to bail the child(ren) out of trouble with the law? -

Cooking:

Who does the most cooking? - cesare

Who is the most picky in their food choice? - cesare

Who does the grocery shopping? - neither, i think thomas must have staff and cesare doesn’t bother

How often do they bake desserts? - never

Are they more of a meat lover or a salad eater? - meat

Who is more likely to surprise the other(s) with an anniversary dinner? - i don’t think they would do anniversaries (is there even any anniversary?)

Who is more likely to suggest going out? - thomas

Who is more likely to burn the house down accidently while cooking? - cesare

Chores:

Who cleans the room? - it depends on whose room they’re in

Who is really against chores? - cesare

Who cleans up after the pets? - n/a

Who is more likely to sweep everything under the rug? - cesare

Who stresses the most when guests are coming over? - i don’t think they would entertain guests

Who found a dollar between the couch cushions while cleaning? - thomas

Misc:

Who takes the longer showers/baths? - cesare

Who takes the dog out for a walk? - there’s no dog but i would love for marlinspike to make an appearance because thomas and a cat is a thing

How often do they decorate the room/house for the holidays? - n/a

What are their goals for the relationship? - oh dear, i think they’re both striving to preserve their friendship against life’s odds

Who is most likely to sleep till noon? - cesare

Who plays the most pranks? - neither but cesare would find ways to infuriate him

→ thomas and mary (arranged marriage verse)

General:

How long will they last? - until one of them dies, i can’t see either of them asking for a divorce

How quickly did/will they fall in love? - they haven’t - i’m not sure they will

How was their first kiss? - time will tell (or not)

Wedding:

Who proposed? - henry

Who is the best man/men? - is there any best man? i think a witness is the term and i feel it would have been gregory

Who is the braid’s maid(s)? - i think jane rochford would have been told to do it and shut up

Who did the most planning? - someone whose job it was to do it

Who stressed the most? - probably mary

How fancy was the ceremony? -

Back of a pickup truck | 2 | 3 | 4 | Normal Church Wedding | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Kate and William wish they were this big.

Who was specifically not invited to the wedding? - if thomas had had his way, all the boleyns

Sex:

Who is on top? - thomas i think - although mary would do it, she’s experienced enough to be confident

Who is the one to instigate things? - mary would at some point

How healthy is their sex life? -

Barely touch themselves let alone each other | 2 | 3 | 4 | Once a couple weeks, nothing overboard | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They are humping each other on the couch right now | hard to tell at the moment (it’s Complicated)

How kinky are they? -

Straight missionary with the lights off | 2 | 3 | 4 | Might try some butt stuff and toys | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Don’t go into the sex dungeon without a horse’s head | see previous answer

How long do they normally last? - i think it would be about average (thomas is not getting any younger)

Do they make sure each person gets an equal amount of orgasms? - maybe?

How rough are they in bed? -

Softer than a butterfly on the back of a bunny | 2 | 3 | 4 | The bed’s shaking and squeaking every time | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Their dirty talk is so vulgar it’d make Dwayne Johnson blush. Also, the wall’s so weak it could collapse the next time they do it. | it would be gentle at first but then again, i have not thought this far because it’s a terrible mess

How much cuddling/snuggling do they do? -

Children:

How many children will they have naturally? - one… officially if not technically

How many children will they adopt? - one for thomas

Who gets stuck with the most diapers? - a wet nurse

Who is the stricter parent? - thomas

Who stops the kid(s) from doing dangerous stunts after school? - they’re home schooled

Who remembers to pack the lunch(es)? - n/a

Who is the more loved parent? - mary (because of, well reasons)

Who is more likely to attend the PTA meetings? n/a

Who cried the most at graduation? - n/a

Who is more likely to bail the child(ren) out of trouble with the law? - thomas

Cooking:

Who does the most cooking? -

Who is the most picky in their food choice? -

Who does the grocery shopping? -

How often do they bake desserts? -

Are they more of a meat lover or a salad eater? -

Who is more likely to surprise the other(s) with an anniversary dinner? -

Who is more likely to suggest going out? -

Who is more likely to burn the house down accidently while cooking? -

Chores:

Who cleans the room? -

Who is really against chores? -

Who cleans up after the pets? -

Who is more likely to sweep everything under the rug? -

Who stresses the most when guests are coming over? -

Who found a dollar between the couch cushions while cleaning? -

Misc:

Who takes the longer showers/baths? - mary

Who takes the dog out for a walk? - they don’t have a dog

How often do they decorate the room/house for the holidays? - they don’t because it’s a very painful time for thomas, he still grieves for lizzie, anne and grace

What are their goals for the relationship? - to cohabit?

Who is most likely to sleep till noon? - neither

Who plays the most pranks? - neither

→ thomas and giulia (arranged marriage verse)

General:

How long will they last? - as things stand now, until their death

How quickly did/will they fall in love? - they haven’t fallen in love but they are learning to know to each other and they enjoy each other’s company

How was their first kiss? - i imagine it would be very soft

Wedding:

Who proposed? - alessandro farnese

Who is the best man/men? - i’m playing the gregory card again

Who is the braid’s maid(s)? - an appointed lady in waiting

Who did the most planning? - someone whose job it was to do it

Who stressed the most? - i think both to some extent

How fancy was the ceremony? -

Back of a pickup truck | 2 | 3 | 4 | Normal Church Wedding | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Kate and William wish they were this big.

Who was specifically not invited to the wedding? - no one i think

Sex:

Who is on top? -i can see giulia on top at first

Who is the one to instigate things? - probably both but giulia would instigate them further

How healthy is their sex life? -

Barely touch themselves let alone each other | 2 | 3 | 4 | Once a couple weeks, nothing overboard | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They are humping each other on the couch right now | hard to tell at the moment

How kinky are they? -

Straight missionary with the lights off | 2 | 3 | 4 | Might try some butt stuff and toys | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Don’t go into the sex dungeon without a horse’s head | see previous answer

How long do they normally last? - about average although giulia would try to make it last longer

Do they make sure each person gets an equal amount of orgasms? - yes

How rough are they in bed? -

Softer than a butterfly on the back of a bunny | 2 | 3 | 4 | The bed’s shaking and squeaking every time | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Their dirty talk is so vulgar it’d make Dwayne Johnson blush. Also, the wall’s so weak it could collapse the next time they do it. | hard to tell but giulia has it in her to raise the bar

How much cuddling/snuggling do they do? -

Children:

How many children will they have naturally? -none i would say

How many children will they adopt? - none

Who gets stuck with the most diapers? - n/a

Who is the stricter parent? - n/a

Who stops the kid(s) from doing dangerous stunts after school? - n/a

Who remembers to pack the lunch(es)? - n/a

Who is the more loved parent? -n/a

Who is more likely to attend the PTA meetings? n/a

Who cried the most at graduation? - n/a

Who is more likely to bail the child(ren) out of trouble with the law? - n/a

Cooking:

Who does the most cooking? -

Who is the most picky in their food choice? -

Who does the grocery shopping? -

How often do they bake desserts? -

Are they more of a meat lover or a salad eater? -

Who is more likely to surprise the other(s) with an anniversary dinner? -

Who is more likely to suggest going out? -

Who is more likely to burn the house down accidently while cooking? -

Chores:

Who cleans the room? -

Who is really against chores? -

Who cleans up after the pets? -

Who is more likely to sweep everything under the rug? -

Who stresses the most when guests are coming over? -

Who found a dollar between the couch cushions while cleaning? -

Misc:

Who takes the longer showers/baths? - giulia

Who takes the dog out for a walk? - they don’t have a dog

How often do they decorate the room/house for the holidays? - they don’t because it’s a very painful time for thomas, he still grieves for lizzie, anne and grace but giulia would try to convince him

What are their goals for the relationship? - to make it work for various reasons

Who is most likely to sleep till noon? - neither

Who plays the most pranks? - neither but giulia loves teasing him

#threecardtrick #muse {cesare borgia}#muse {mary boleyn}#muse {giulia farnese}

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seerstella · 2 years ago

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Tintin + Texts from Last Night (1/?)

#tintin #captain haddock #ship: haddotin #haddotin #just to be safe #marlinspike from last night #texts from last night #i made these ages ago #i miss them so much #comic: the adventures of tintin #movie: tintin and the blue oranges #movie: tintin and the mystery of the golden fleece

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theseagullspeaks · 6 years ago

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Where the Waywords May Go Chapter 1

Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. This wasn't supposed to be a trap, a setup. But, there Skut was, back pressed against the wall, with only a bullet or two to spare. And, someone was coming around that corner.

Or, a fanfiction written in short parts back and forward between me and a friend, where we're both blind and neither of us knows where the other will take it next.

Panting and sweating, Skut tried to make himself smaller than he was. Lanky legs and bony elbows wedged into some alleyway corner, pressed against shadows, with an automatic drawn.

Stupid! Stupid! He cursed internally, taking a shaky breath, How could they have not seen this before?

It had started last Friday, really, at Tintin’s old flat, moving furniture and packing the last of years awaited boxes. It had been two years since he’d lived in Marlinspike and Mrs. Finch was more than happy to have her long awaited mover finallyget his crap and leave. Of course he’d paid the rent while he was away, chasing questions and criminals and black coats. He’d even pecked her on the cheek before he left. Mrs. Finch would be missed, dearly, of course. And they thought it’d be the last they’d ever hear of that old place.

That is, until, when sweeping the empty flat, Mrs. Finch found a letter addressed to the old renter and forwarded it to him.

Scrawled handwriting had detailed a nearby smuggling deal, a treacherous member had written the streets of the next shipment of arrival, upon a freighter in the port.

They would’ve called the police, they really would’ve, except that when looking at the clock, it read 10pm, less than 10 minutes before the shipments arrival. Much to his protest, Skut intended to travel along. No way was the boy and his companions going alone.

Except, how they have not have smelt it being a trap? A clever one at best, Skut mused, shifting through his pockets for extra bullets, playing on that dumb spark of the moment action. Real smart.

He looked around the stinkin bin he was hiding behind, muffled gunshots ringing out in the port. There was the barking of a dog, men yelling, tins being turned over, a huge commotion.

He heard something else, someone approaching. Skut’s eyes widened.

And seeing he was only two bullets full, prayed they, whoever they were, wouldn’t see him in that dark corner.

Haddock pushed open the front door to Marlinspike, returning from his nighttime stroll of the grounds, in awe of the endless stars overhead.

“Tintin!” he called. “You’ve got to see-” he stopped abruptly in the dark hallway. Where in the blue blazes was everybody?

“Tintin!” He called again, turning into the den. “Skut!”

The dying embers of the fire were enough to illuminate the shadowy shapes of the furniture, and reveal the absence of the reporter and pilot.

Turning to search upstairs, he felt a scrap of paper under his boot. Picking it up, he saw Tintin’s hurried scribble scrawled across it.

Captain,

Skut and I have just recieved word of a smuggling happening tonight at the port. Be back as soon as possible.

-Tintin

“Blue blistering barnacles!” Haddock grumbled, turning and running into the foyer.

“There you are, sir!” Nestor cried, coming down the stairs as Haddock barreled towards the door. “Where are you going?”

“To save Tintin and Skut from a gang of smuggling troglodytes!”

“Smugglers?”

“According to Tintin! You know he can’t ignore the opportunity to bust an undercover operation!” Captain Haddock shouted as he ran outside again, jumping into his car and making for the port.

Skut held his breath.

The person was coming closer, shoes squeaking against damp cobblestones and gently uprooting a can. It rolled in his direction and Skut pressed himself against the wall again, seeing if he could sinking into the brick.

Don’t look. He prayed, hand coming up to cover his open mouth, Don’t look.

The footsteps and rustling stopped.

A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead, damping his button up, his pilot uniform sticking to his skin.

Biting his tongue, he reached into his pockets.

He couldn’t see who it was, only felt their presence, a warmth of another human being, breath between lungs.

His fingers fell on a bullet and, as meticulously as possible, he loaded it.

The gun clicked and the figure shot around, uprooting newspapers and trash in his wake.

Skut shot up from his hiding spot.

“Freeze!” He screamed.

Then there was the sound of a gunshot.

Haddock swerved into the parking lot close to the port, barely waiting until the car was off before leaping out and bounding towards the shipyard.

Gunshots and yells echoed off of the brick buildings as Haddock dodged between the walls, hoping against hope that Tintin and Skut were safe.

The sounds of fighting grew closer, until they sounded like they were coming from just around the corner of Haddock’s hiding spot. Haddock silently picked up a trash can lid to use as a makeshift shield, finding a pole to use as a weapon, if needed. The sounds grew louder, and Haddock steeled himself before running into the alleyway.

However, he had underestimated the distance to the fighting, and found himself facing empty shadows. He began to creep forward, inching towards the sound of a barking dog.

Suddenly, a figure ran backwards into the alley in front of him, holding a gun pointed the way he had come. Haddock caught a flash of red hair and a small white blur before the figure was swallowed in darkness again.

“Tintin?”

Tintin whirled around, gun pointed at Haddock, and froze.

“Captain! What are you doing here?”

Captain Haddock rolled his eyes. “My nighttime stroll took me further than I expected. What do you think I’m doing here?” He looked behind Tintin. “Where’s Skut?”

“He’s over here!” A harsh yell sounded from around the corner, and Tintin fired a shot before running to Haddock, the pair ducking behind a sturdy brick wall, Snowy at their feet. There was silence for a moment, a moment tense with anticipation, but no figures ran past their refuge.

Without turning to look away from the entry, Tintin whispered, “It was a trap, set by none other than Allan Thompson. Right when we got here, Allan came at me, and Skut tried to take out some of the other men between us, but had to retreat. I haven’t seen him since.” He took a shaky breath. “I hope he’s okay.”

“What happened with Allan?”

Tintin shook his head. “I thought I heard Skut yell, so I ran in this direction. Allan was following, but I think I lost him in the crowd.”

“Then who was following you just now?”

“One of the other sailors. I didn’t recognize him.” Tintin raised himself slightly from the crouching position he had assumed and crept towards the entryway, Snowy right behind him. “We need to get going if we want to find Skut. The crew will be over here soon looking for us.” His brow furrowed. “It’s odd…”

“What? What’s odd?”

“Since we’ve been hiding back here, it’s been silent.”

“And?”

“Well, the crew isn’t going to shoot at each other, now are they? So that means that they don’t know where I am, and are probably on their way over here now. And they either have Skut, or he’s hiding somewhere, waiting to be found.” Tintin met Captain Haddock’s gaze. “And we have to find him before they do.”

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Haddock stood, gripping his lid and rod. “Let’s go get him.”

At that moment, a gunshot broke the silence, echoing throughout the shipyard.

Tintin gripped Haddock’s arm. “Skut!”

This wasn’t happening. Skut thought, hands trembling with the weight of his gun, This isn’t happening. Wake up.

Lowered to a knee, Skut could only stare as the crimson pooled off his shoulder, arm hanging limp at his side.

Fingers found its way around the wound, pressing to stop the sudden bleeding. Grimacing, he looked up to face his attacker, raise his arm in an attempt to defend himself. Only, an attack never came. Instead, Skut was surprised to find a circled figure on the ground, a pained gasp emitting from the hunched figure under the sweater.

Standing unsteadily, Skut rushed over to the figure, kicking the gun they held in their lose hand. Hands trembling, he held his own weapon tighter, metal pressing against the wound of his now useless shoulder.

Looks like he wasn’t the only one to get hit.

He stared at the moaning figure, and cautiously, took a foot to turn him over in order to properly see his face.

Skut felt his eyes widen.

“Tom.” He breathed, mouth falling open in a breathless gasp. His eyes hardened, “Where’s Allan?”

A breathy, almost gurgling laugh escaped the sailors lips, the man grimacing and curling up shortly after, “Gone.” He hissed, “Coward ran the moment he got the chance.”

Tom gave a lopsided frown, pressing both his hands into his side as a purple stain spread across his sweater, “Lucky ass. May he rot.”

Skut blinked, “He not bring you with him? I thought you friends.”

“The word you’re missing is were.” Tom hissed, “We were friends.”

A heavy silence hung over them both, humid, hot summer air and still pumping adrenaline making them sweat in the buzzing night.

Skut shook his head, raising his automatic, “Doesn’t matter. Those gunshot would cause anyone to call police. They be here any minute. Hope you smuggle in prison.”

Tom, through his discomfort and pain, raised his head, “Wh-What the hell you talkin’ about?”

“The note,” Skut explained, breath shuttering, “there was note. Said there was undercover operation here. Said your crew was part of it.”

Tom’s eyes widened. His breath wheezed, a bit of crimson dribbling out his mouth and down his chin.

“We’re not smuggling anythin’. Haven’t been, for months now.”

“Bull.”

“Itsa truth! I swear.” Tom gasped, “Look. I know i gotta history. I - I get it, but, you gotta believe me1” He paused, a hand finding its way around the pilots ankle “Whoever sent you that letta’ was a damn dirty liar. A cheat.” He paused again, breath caught in his chest, “We was set up. We was…”

There were the sounds of rapid footsteps approaching the alleyway and Skut, in a flash of blonde hair and stained blue shirt, raised his automatic to whoever was barging in.

Friend? Foe? Skut didn’t know.

But, he wouldn’t be a sitting duck again.

He was prepared for anything.

“Tintin, wait!” Haddock grabbed the back of Tintin’s sweater as the reporter made to fling himself into the waiting alleyway.

“Skut!” Tintin protested, panic making its way into the usually calm reporter’s voice. “Captain, he’s hurt!”

Haddock could hear hurried footsteps in the alleyway, and pulled Tintin down beside him, slinging an arm over him. “Wait!”

The reporter obeyed, arms twitching with fear and rage as the crewmembers ran past their sanctuary, their shadows dancing across the pair’s faces. Snowy shrunk against Tintin’s legs.

“That Tintin kid’s gotta be around here somewhere!” A husky voice spoke from just outside of their alleyway. “Split up and find him!”

Haddock and Tintin locked eyes, and, with a nod to Tintin’s unspoken plea, Haddock released the young reporter and grabbed his weapons again. Silently, Tintin stood again and crept towards the voices. Haddock stood behind him, waiting. After a moment, Tintin whispered. “We won’t be able to get out of this alleyway without them seeing us. And there’s way too many for us to fight off andescape to find Skut.”

“What do you suggest, then?” Haddock asked, but Tintin was already scanning their alleyway, his usual in-control demeanor returning as he did so.

“Where can we go?” he muttered, pacing towards the back of the alleyway.

Haddock risked a glance towards their enemies. “They’re getting closer, Tintin.”

Tintin tugged on something in the shadows; Haddock heard the faint creak of metal. Tintin sighed. “It’ll have to do.”

“What’ll have to do?”

Tintin whistled softly, and Snowy ran to him, allowing Tintin to tie the dog securely to his back with his coat. “We’ll have to go to the rooftops, Captain.”

Without any further instructions, he grabbed a hold of the rain pipe he had been testing and began to climb, ignoring the quiet, yet ominous creaking.

“Tintin!” the Captain protested. “There’s no way it’ll support both of us!”

“It’ll have to,” Tintin said matter-of-factly from above him. “Are you coming?”

Grumbling, Haddock hoisted himself onto the metal pipe, climbing up carefully behind the reporter.

A shout sounded behind him, followed by a gunshot that lodged a bullet into the pipe below Haddock’s feet. Haddock yelped, but Tintin calmly turned and, balancing precariously with only one hand on the pipe, returned fire.

Another muffled yell, and Tintin turned and scurried up the pipe, turning to kneel on the rooftop, firing at their attackers. Haddock scrambled up as fast as he could, bullets raining around him but never quite hitting their target. Tintin continued to shoot from above him, only stopping to help the Captain hoist himself onto the rooftop.

“Go!” he yelled, firing the pipe until it broke away from the wall, preventing pursuit. Haddock backed away from the edge, crouching behind a tall vent until Tintin joined him.

“The first gunshot was that way,” Tintin said, pointing towards the bay. “We’ll have to go across the rooftops. It’ll be faster.”

“What about the alleys, Tintin? We can’t jump those.”

“We’ll figure it out as we go,” Tintin said, eyes landing on an abandoned ladder laying beside them. “We can use this as a bridge.”

And without waiting for Haddock to protest, he pushed the ladder across the alleyway and crawled across to the other side, Snowy still tied to his back.

“You can do it, Captain! Just don’t look down!”

Haddock had no choice but to follow, gripping each rung with white knuckles, fearing the long drop from the tall buildings. Tintin hauled the ladder onto the rooftop behind him, then ran to the other side.

“I can see them, Captain!”

“Who?” Haddock said. “The crew or Skut?”

“Skut! He’s just over there!” Tintin’s face clouded. “He IS hurt! His shoulder, by the looks of it!” He squinted at the dark figures that Haddock had only just begun to make out.

“Who is that with him?”

“One of the crew,” Tintin muttered, looking down at the ground below. “We’ve got to get down there!”

“The gutters on the other side,” Haddock offered.

“No, the crew will be over there.”

“They’ll be over here before too much longer,” Haddock replied.

“No, they won’t. This alleyway is walled off on their side. They can’t get to us from here.” Tintin’s eyes landed on a rusty fire escape. “Of course!”

He jumped down, landing on the top landing of the fire escape and quickly climbing down. Haddock followed, sliding more than climbing down. Gunshots still rang out behind them, but Tintin only cared about the figures not far from their alleyway.

By the time Haddock had climbed to the ground, Tintin had untied Snowy from his back and set the terrier on the ground again. Snowy shook himself out and began to trot towards the entry of their alleyway.

“Come on, Captain!” Tintin whispered, raising his automatic once more. “Skut isn’t far!”

And without further hesitation, the pair charged around the corner.

Footsteps. Coming. Rushing closer.

There were the shouts of men, their pursuit, metal against concrete.

Something was happening.

They were getting closer.

“Shit!” Skut muttered, “Shit! Shit! Shit!”

Tom, grimacing stared at the man as he looked wildly about, automatic trembling in his hand.

“What is that?” Tom muttered, eyes drifting towards the sound. “What’s going’ on over there?”

Skut didn’t even pay any mind to his question, choosing to turn his back to the disarmed man for a place to hide.

There were trash cans, rain beaten cardboard boxes, flat and useless.

He had only one bullet and arm. He had to take them by surprise. Hide behind something large, then come up from behind.

Only, there was a problem, unrelated to bullets and handiness.

He glanced down at Tom.

“Can you get up?”

Tom, baring his teeth, gave a sputtering laugh, “Do ya’ think I would’ve waited if I could?”

Skut, face growing hard as flint, placed his automatic in his hip holster, sighing in defeat.

There was only one way this could go.

“Here.” Skut snapped, croutching down, “Don’t make sound. I mean it.”

Tom, eyes narrowing, spat. “Fat chance!” He shouted, filling his lungs and opening his mouth to scream.

Skut narrowly had time to muffle his shout with his free hand, fingernails digging into his skin.

“Shut up!” He hissed, wenching the man up to a sitting position, “Shut up or I swear!”

Tom, in his panic, began to fight, against Skuts grip, gaping open wound in his side forgotten as his hand found their way around his wrist.

“Let me go!” He choked, “Let me go! Halfwit!”

Paying no time to insults, Skut grabbed the man's lapel and, with limbs hanging, managed to drag the limp, wounded man behind a leaning wooden palate. Stumbling, Skut fell back behind it, and forcing his wounded appedance to move, pulled Tom in with him, the body falling atop of him. Tom squirmed in an attempt to push himself off and up, but, with a quick hand, managed to wrap an arm around his neck and chest, pulling him further behind.

Tom, through the dizziness in his pain, gave a weak muffled scream, limbs failing uselessly in an attempt at escape. Skut pressed the automatic to his back, hissing close.

“Don’t move. I still have one.”

Instantly, the struggling and movement stopped, Tom falling back against Skuts chest weakily. It was a relief, he could see. The man’s face was turning ashen, and his hands weakly clutched his side again, blood still flowing but a bit slower now.

Just in time, too. Skut mused, as the footsteps finally began their heavy approach into the alleyway.

He was prepping on turning his gun to shoot, when the soft barking of a dog could be heard in the near distance, and he saw a familiar set of wingtip shoes step into the alleyway.

Skut, hand lowering, felt his eye widen in shock.

“Tintin?”

“Skut?”

Tintin’s call seemed to greet an empty alleyway. Haddock crept up behind him, looking around the shadows.

“Tintin?”

“Sh!” Tintin hushed him. “I heard my name, I’m sure of it!”

Automatic drawn and pointed, Tintin crept further into the alleyway, Snowy and Haddock just behind him.

“Tintin! Over here!”

“Skut!” Tintin dropped the automatic and ran to his friend as the pilot rose from behind leaning boards. “You’re hurt!”

A groan sounded from behind the boards, and Haddock roughly pushed them aside to reveal-

“You.”

Tom lay on the ground, weakly clutching at his side, where dark blood was pooling on the ground around him.

“Captain, no!” Skut protested as Haddock glared daggers at his fallen former crewmate.

Haddock looked over to the pilot, who was now seated on the ground, Tintin anxiously holding a wad of cloth to his bleeding shoulder.

“He set up. Just like us.”

“Set up?” Haddock growled. “It was one of them that sent the note and got us into this mess!”

“The note…. Lied…” Tom moaned weakly, harsh breaths rattling in his chest.

Haddock glared at him again, then started as Tintin rushed past him to hold another cloth to Tom’s side. With a sigh, Haddock turned towards the entry to guard the group.

“Why would someone send a letter about a false operation if not to be a trap?” Tintin asked.

“I don’t know…” Haddock heard Tom murmur. “We ain’t smugglin’ nothin’, I swear….”

Shouts rang out from the alleyway, causing the group to jump. Snowy growled.

“Time to go!” Haddock said.

“Can you stand?” Tintin asked Tom, who shook his head.

The shouts were getting louder now, and Haddock grabbed Tintin’s arm. “We need to go. NOW.”

Skut, breath panting, pulled himself back to his feet.

Indeed, the footsteps were coming closer. Fast, drumming feet of men as they came closer, looked further.

Skut shared a glance with Tintin before staring at the curled figure of Tom, still bleeding on the filthy cobblestone.

He swallowed.

“We can’t leave him.”

Haddock whirled around, shocked.“What?”

Tintin looked calmly back at him. “He’s coming with us.”

“So, what? We’re taking a hostage?”

Skut and Tintin were already standing Tom up between them, a limp figure supported between the two. They shared a glance. “Yes. Yes, we are.”

“And we do it quietly as possible.”

Haddock stared at them in disbelief. “Why?”

“We need information,” Tintin said, as the three began to approach Haddock like odd 4 legged race contestants. “Are you coming or not?”

Through bated breath, they followed Haddock to his out of sight car, tucked away at the edge of the parking lot near the port. However, as it came in sight and they emerged from the dank and dark pathways, the whiz of a bullet came flying over their heads, and the three conscious men looked behind them. The burly forms of dark men came around the corner, brandishing their weapons high over their heads and screaming like sirens.

Despite his his injured shoulder, Skut pulled Tom’s hanging body closer, grunting as it pressed against his own, throbbing wounds.

“Get to car!” Skut half-shouted, “Quickly! Quickly!”

“Open the trunk!” Tintin called to Haddock. “Captain, open the trunk!”

Not pausing to question, Haddock flung open the trunk of the car, helping the two others to shove Tom’s limp form into the compartment, then slammed the door closed, not paying any mind to possible fingers or toes trapped in the door. Scurrying, he jumped into the car, pulling away as Tintin and Skut pulled their doors closed.

The sound of squealing tires rang out into the air, drowning any sounds of fire as they tore across the asphalt streets and into the darkening night. A dog barked, a woman shouted from a nearby apartment, and the sleepy sounds of sirens made their way towards the port, Haddock’s car and headlights slicing in the opposite direction.

Skut, white faced and just as white knuckled, kneeled over in his seat, face pinched.

Well, so much for leaving quietly.

#the adventures of tintin #tintin #captain haddock #snowy #tom #Piotr skut #fanfiction

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grcatsnakes · 7 years ago

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A holiday to Marlinspike was the phenomenal approach. How excited the child seemed when Tintin announced they’d be visiting Captain Haddock was just enough to have Tintin load the car as quickly as possible. This had been the happiest he’d seen the boy since everything started, and Marlinspike Hall served well. It had been a tiring drive, but well worth it to see their friends again; the Captain especially seemed to glow at the sight of the young child, and immediately welcomed the duo back into his home.

And more importantly, they were away from whatever lurked in the flat. The Prince hadn’t struggled to climb into the incredible bed, and nor did Tintin find any trouble lulling the boy to sleep -- a first in a very long time.

He slowly shuts off the lights, stealing one last peek of the child sleeping soundlessly. How long had it been since he had a proper night’s sleep, or even allowed Tintin to leave the room? It all seemed like a foggy memory. One he was determined to fix.

Closing the door behind him, he recalls a primary purpose. Why he chose Marlinspike: simply to get as far away from the flat as they could, not only for the Prince’s sake...but to steer away from unwelcoming ears. The office was around the corner, a slimmer of the dim lamplight indicating that it was being occupied. The Captain had long since retired. He opens the heavy ornamented door to find the room empty. The light -- as promised -- illuminated atop the Captain’s desk, and though it seemed to be rid of life, it was the sound of tiny claws crawling behind the walls.

“...My,” he calls quietly, “are you in here?”

@weebiter

#weebiter

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elsewhereuniversity · 8 years ago

Text

It’s a hard thing to explain to someone. Love, that is. It’s even harder to explain Love to one who hasn’t and harder still to one who Is Not You because not everyone Loves the same.

The hardest is describing unrequited Love. Love of an old flame that has since ceased to shine for them but still gives you paltry candlelight to read by. Love of an Old House, yours or someone else’s for it’s age, it’s floor’s scuffs speaking of families and life lived.

Love of things you may never see the whole of, the sea, the sky, the stars.

So many things can be Loved.

You chose the Sea. Like a Dreamer. Like a Fool. Like a Sailor.

It is unrequited. You Care for the Sea. Love her even. And it’s a pity and a shame that you can never tell someone in words how you Love her. They can’t fathom that.

So you ran. Or drove, rather.

Far from the cold coast in the East with it’s green water and old lighthouses.

Farther still from the warmer, bluer waters in the west, making war with high cliffs and desert sand

And farthest of all from the warmest waters in the south, where oil is found, dolphins male their homes and families revel in the sun baking them on white sand.

In your running from all this compass points, West, East, and South you went North. Then North-East, North-West and all the points between.

You found a college in all that time running. Your just as wise as the sophomores and some juniors. In time you enrolled in classes and found Love for other things. Practical things. Cooking classes, art, carving, dance. So many choices. A scholar would be drunk upon the knowledge in this place. Some did. Most never leave.

You were a fool twice for never reading the pamphlets and not heeding your RA when they told you to not go wandering alone. Not paying heed to the lack of students in campus when the sun was too low on the horizon. Dawn and Dusk reeking of Magic. Of things older than any boat you’ve seen or sailed.

And like a fool thrice, you followed that smell.

A footpath turned deer trail that had faded to a long thin trail that swallowed light as much as unwary fools.

You came to a field with a table before you, the sky above had shifted from high noon to dusk and the food and drink smelled better than any galley, diner or your mother’s kitchen ever could. The hosts and guests seemed delighted, joyful and… Wrong.

A man turns to usher you to a table but his hand stops short of your jacket. The one you wore all last sailing season. His lips curl into a snarl as teeth like a wolves jut from his gums.

“Salt.”

He spits the word like poison as you take a step away and he closes the distance and reaches for your neck and closes like a vise.

The pressure lasts seconds, squeezing your windpipe like plastic straw before you smell… Burnt meat? His pale hand yanks from your neck and you see blisters and scorch marks in the shape of the anchor you wore so close to your neck to keep it with you aloft.

You scrabble through jacket pockets for your knife, digging past bits of tarred rope and when you grasp something cold and… Steel!

You brandish it forward, shoulders set only to find a heavy spike of cold, old patinaed iron in your hands. The Not Man snarls as do the other guests as you slowly back towards the forest’s edge and make haste back to campus grounds. Clutching your anchor and marlinspike like your life depended on it. This time it did.

You, fool, Sea Lover, she may not know of your infatuation but your obsession with her saved you this night.

Dumb luck, your RA called it.

You picked up pamphlets that night, and salt, and cream and learned more shanties and old folk songs to sing. You busied your hands with lanyards and bracelets and carvings. And learned Old Stories of your new home, Elsewhere University.

Beginners’s luck only happens once.

And you cannot wait for someone, something, to save you every time.

This is knowledge, freely given, without debt nor lien.

Welcome students. From a fool.

[x]

#this is literally everything i've ever wanted #stories #ianweston57 #FOR MY LIFE MY LOVE AND MY LADY IS THE SEA #submission

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dragonsarecool · 2 years ago

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Whumptober Day 13 - Fracture

Thirteen: Fracture

A/N: A short, alternate version of Haddock's injury from 'The Castafiore Emerald'.

He had intended to get that step fixed. He really had.

He just wished he'd gotten it fixed sooner.

Even though he had literally witnessed Nestor nearly kill himself on that step two minutes prior, it had already slipped from his mind as he was passing a telegram to Tintin. "Who knows? Perhaps Bianca Cataclysm has been held up!" He smirked proudly, sipping his whiskey.

Ignoring the Captain's quip, Tintin unfolded the paper and quickly skimmed through the telegram. "It's from her, all right. Sincere regrets, stop. Cannot come-"

It was as though Christmas had come early. An enthusiastic grin rapidly spread across the Captain's face, as he let out a whoop of excitement that interrupted the reporter. He carelessly threw his glass in the air, oblivious to the large spray of whiskey that rained. "SPLENDID! Heaven be praised!"

"Captain-"

"NESTOR! Nestor, I won't be needing my bags!"

"Captain, that's not all she says…" Tintin snapped, glancing down at the telegram.

Haddock froze at the young man's tone. "What?!"

"Sincere regrets, stop. Cannot come seventeenth, stop. Arriving sixteeneth, stop. Regards, Bianca," Tintin gazed up at the Captain as he finished reading, watching the horror in the older man's eyes blossom by the second. "The sixteeneth?"

Oh, bollocks. Haddock spat out what was left of his whiskey. "…The sixteenth?! It's the sixteenth today!" Slamming the empty glass down, he began to sprint for the doorway to the main hall. "All hands on deck! Abandon ship! I'm off!"

Tintin rolled his eyes. Que diable, not this again. "But where, Captain?!" He shouted. "Where would you go?"

"…I don't know! Doesn't matter! I don't give a damn!" Haddock yelled over his shoulder. "Milan, perhaps! I never been there in case I met her!"

Leaving the confused young man in the living room, Haddock jogged along the corridor, his heart thumping in his throat. Maybe if I'm fast enough, she'll see my taxi leaving just as hers arrives! "Nestor! My bags, at once!"

He began running down the stairs two at a time. Who the hell does this woman think she is? How she can just 'invite' herself over and expect ME to host her! Me, Captain Bartok! I swear, if I have to see play host to her stupid face under MY roof-

He didn't see the step until it was too late.

It was as though time stopped completely while he sailed through the air, his right leg soaring to an eighty degree angle as he fell. He caught a brief glimpse of the magnificent ceiling above, and briefly pondered if the moment before death would be a good time to choose a religion.

His back slammed onto the ground.

His ankle gave off an audible crack.

He screamed.

*******

Tintin couldn't remember the last time they had called an ambulance for the Captain instead of himself. It was definitely turning into one of those rare, unusual days where he wasn't the one half-dead in a hospital bed.

It didn't mean he didn't feel sorry for him. He definitely felt sorry for the Captain. Infinitely and truly sorry.

Because now, after a one-night reprieve, he was being discharged from the hospital, and she had arrived at Marlinspike. He is going to absolutely love his welcoming-home committee…I hope Wagner can talk her out of singing to him.

As Tintin made his way through Haddock's ward, he could already hear the older man's incessant ranting, despite having the bed closest to the window at the far end of the twenty-bed ward. "Billions of blue blundering blistering barnacles…"

He entered the Captain's room, fighting a smile as Haddock crossed his arms like a child, fuming in his hospital bed. The older man's face lit up upon seeing the reporter. "Tintin! Ah, lad, can you just pass me that spare pillowcase and it tuck it over my head? I'd be most grateful."

Tintin couldn't help but chuckle. "Captain, I think these people may frown upon murders being committed in hospitals."

"For the love of God, lad, don't let them send me home!" Haddock grabbed the younger man's hand, grasping it with surprising strength. "I can't bear it, Tintin. I can't stand that woman. She's already sent me a bunch of flowers, and I've only been in here for one night!"

The noticeable lack of flowers on the bedside table told Tintin that the Captain had definitely done something suspicious to them, but given the thick plaster that was currently enveloping his foot, he wondered if he'd bribed a nurse to throw them in the rubbish bin. "Calm down, Captain," Tintin attempted to sound reassuring, but he was vainly fighting the laughter that longed to escape his throat. "Once you get started on the painkillers they'll send you home with, you'll be too tired to notice her-"

"Tintin," Haddock's voice was low, but carried a distinct hint of desperation, "Please, for the love of everything that's holy, talk some sense into these people. Tell them…tell them I'm supposed to be leaving for Italy today!"

"Italy, or any travel in general, is completely out of the question," The curtains were roughly pushed aside and a middle-aged doctor poked his head in, hands clutching a clipboard overflowing with papers. "As I told you yesterday, Mister Haddock, you've got a lateral malleolus fracture, which means you are strictly resting that foot for at least six weeks."

Haddock's anger ebbed slightly; he realised he was losing this battle. "…Can't I just wheel myself around Italy?"

Without replying, the doctor produced a stack of paperwork and handed it to Tintin, a condescending look in his eye. "You're free to take him, but make sure he stays off that foot. I don't want him back on this ward with another fracture."

"Absolutely, doctor," Tintin tucked the discharge papers in the pocket of his coat and turned towards his friend, a slight grin appearing on his face. "Now, do you want the wheelchair with the racing stripes or the pink ribbons?"

If looks could kill, Tintin would've been vaporised in that moment. He released a small giggle, which did nothing to deter the Captain's soul-destroying glare. "Okay, okay. No funky wheelchairs. But I can't promise I won't let her write on your cast."

A/N: Que diable = what the hell

#tintin #the adventures of tintin #fanfic #fanfiction #whumptober2022 #whumptober

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