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hannahssimblr · 2 months ago

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Days slink by, a haze of heat, blank, blue skies, the lazy buzz of insects, the trickle of a fountain. We enjoy the sights, eat the food, take a trip to Pompeii to wander on ancient, cracked stone. Crumbling pillars, sun worn brick, frescoes of decadence, excess, figures draped in togas, languishing about. Through glass enclosures we view plaster casts of Vesuvius victims with solemnity, feeling perhaps self righteous in our thoughtful sobriety while other tourists laugh and take photographs of themselves.

The sunburn that follows feels almost poetic. At least that’s what Astrid says. Like the pain we feel is only a whisper, a ghost of what those poor people went through. Sometimes she says things like this to me, just, like, on the bus, or something, with such a serious face, and I’m forced to think of Jen. Jenny Smythe, laughing at the sad poetry kids in their thick, ugly shoes, waxing lyrical, interpretations of Plath’s work to the point of extreme awkwardness. What would she think of all this? Of the things I listen to, and in fact, actively indulge, without laughing at all. Without pointing out what may actually be hovering perilously close to the line of ‘honestly, a bit stupid’. “Well, yes, that’s a good point. I would have never thought of that,” I’ll say, and in so doing, allow it to continue.

Mornings, I’ll wake, normally alone, and make breakfast, sometimes delighting in plucking a fresh orange from the tree outside, digging my thumbs into the flesh, eating it segment by segment in the garden, basking in the view while Astrid swims, or reads, or speaks to someone on the phone, fragments of conversation, Danish, floating through the foyer. Strange sounding language.

It twinges, still, the intimacy thing, like a sprain, as does the conversation we avoided the morning after. I don’t internalise, I compartmentalise, make a choice to not think about what it means; a young couple, five months in love, two gorgeous, fit, sensual bodies, and one, luxuriating in the bath upstairs, while the other masturbates in the shower, dodging the water. The hot, burned skin of his neck.

Silvio and Suzana, of course, are still a factor of our afternoons and evenings. Trips together, meals, drinks, lounging beachside. Them, tongue kissing, practically dry humping on the sunbeds while Astrid reads a book and applies, methodically, punctually, on the hour, factor 80 sun cream to her tattoos.

I hate them, actually. Loathe their very existence, there, touching each other, cooing into one another’s faces like infants. Can I do that for you, baby? What do you need, baby? That drink looks so yummy, can I try some? You’re so cute, no you, no you, no you.

There’s an understanding, a fact not lost on me, that I don’t actually hate them. Only their love and their affection. Why should they have it? What have they done to deserve it? Why not me? Et cetera.

Astrid, when she’s feeing social, is not socialising with me, but Suzana. There by the shore, laughing like that, while I’m stuck with Silvio, trying to talk to me about Formula One racecars or something. Lewis Hamilton? Oh, yeah, I’ve heard of him, I think. Going out with the hot one from the Pussycat Dolls.

He’ll always throw some comment in about his girlfriend, too. Like, “Look at her there, isn’t she gorgeous?” Like, yes, objectively, I suppose, but why are you asking me?

Sometimes, for no reason, I’d like to punch him, but I picture it happening like a cartoon, where my fist would go kind of inside his head, turning his face inside out, and it’d take a second or two to pop back, like rubber. The reality would be like punching Fitzy on the rugby pitch in sixth year. When I flung myself at him and pretended it was an accident. “How’s your Chinese girlfriend?” he said. “The lads were saying you smell like fried rice.” I felt his nose crunch under my knuckles. It was weird. Blood on his face, up my arm, and when he collapsed onto the pitch with a groan, the exhalation sprayed a fountain of blood up my jersey. A gruesome victory.

If I did that to Silvio, for what? Not being racist, for annoying me. How would that look? An intrusive image comes, him, clutching his face, blood pouring between his fingers while everyone screams: There’s a violent maniac on the beach! Like, no. I’m just a nineteen-year-old boy on holidays, and I’m very bored.

Imagine the financial implications. The teeth alone. Teeth. I squint my eyes as he talks to me. It’s actually more like one tooth. One huge, horseshoe shaped tooth wedged into his gums. Uncanny. Ringing my dad, like, hey, I broke someone’s veneer. Singular. No, no, not the normal ones, but, like, one huge grotesque slab, the ones they put in animatronics. Do you have those in stock at the clinic?

Late evening, one night after saying goodbye at another bar, we take the seafront route back to the villa. We can see it from here, lights in the windows yawning from the mountainside, Astrid’s heeled sandals clacking on the pavement. She’s going on about Sorrento. Why did we book Sorrento, anyway? An extra thousand euros for two nights, all because Elias said to her it was nice. Two extra nights spent being acutely miserable, when I could have done it for free in Berlin. Maybe she will invite Silvio and Suzana, too, as a fun joke. Ha ha, Jude, you thought you saw the last of them, but here they are! In Sorrento this time!

These thoughts carry guilt. She walks ahead of me now, in a short dress that makes her body look sensational and the cruelty of life seem monumental. She’ll break up with me, probably, after all this, when she has squeezed the last she can from me. Used my money, sucked out my dignity. I flinch outwardly at that. Its viciousness shudders down my arms and out of my fingertips. This is the kind of thought to be ashamed of. An ugly thing. I never saw myself like them, those boys you’d get stuck with at school, their contempt for girls who didn’t like them. Stupid bitch, they’d say. She’s rotten anyway. Wouldn’t touch her if she begged.

Ugh.

“Astrid.”

She stops, turns. The expression of surprise suits her face, makes her lovely. I move to kiss her.

Slippery satin under my hands, the silk of her hair over my arm. She’s warm and real. Lips soft and inviting.

“No, come on,” she’s saying. “Let’s just go back to the villa. I want to finish my book.”

“Astrid.”

“What?” Already, she’s leaving.

“Come back.”

“Why?”

“Tell me what’s going on.”

She stops. “There’s nothing.”

“There is. You hardly let me touch you anymore.”

“Oh, Jude, please. We are in public.”

I look around us, vacant, cobbled streets. Cafes and shops shuttered. The perfect silence of night. “Sorry, what? You didn’t want to kiss me in front of all these people?”

A sound. Short, dismissive, and indignation surges.

“Why do you do that? You just brush me off and act like I’m a burden.”

“Oh, stop. Honestly.”

“Like that. See? You just did it.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did. You make me feel like I’m not worth speaking to.”

She huffs and stomps toward me, her arms crossed over herself. “Come, please. We can talk back in the villa.”

“We won’t. You won’t talk to me there. I know you’re just going to read in the bath for two hours until you think I’m asleep, and then creep into bed when you know I won’t pull the moves on you”

“So, you want to do this here?” She tosses her hands. “Standing in the street.”

“Please.”

“You’ve done this on purpose,” she says. “You kissed me here because you wanted to start an argument.”

“That’s bullshit,” I say, though maybe that is what I did. “It doesn’t matter anyway, does it? Here we are. I just want you to talk to me.”

“About what?”

“Preferably about what’s gone wrong, or what I’ve done to put you so drastically off me.”

She scoffs.

“We haven’t had sex in weeks.”

“Is that the only thing you think about?”

“Well, it’s not, actually, believe it or not, but it’s been on my mind pretty regularly, seeing as recently I’m not doing it at all. Out of nowhere, too, like you switched off the fucking tap.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“You’re so cold,” I cry, surprised by a swell of emotion. “I hate this, how I’m trying to talk to you and you stand there like that, like a robot or something. It’s like you’re punishing me. You won’t even tell me what I’ve done. Can you imagine how that feels?”

She hesitates, eyes flicking to the ground. “No,” she says.

“Well, tell me so I can be sorry for it.”

“Well, I don’t know.”

“You don’t.”

“No,” her eyes flicker to mine, an unexpected uncertainty in them. “No. I really don’t know.”

Along the shore, the waves hiss through pebbles. The clunk of wooden shutters somewhere, drawing in over a window.

“I’m confused too,” she says. “I don’t know why I feel this way, and I wish I didn’t.”

“Because you don’t fancy me anymore.”

Lips open, close, and her hand comes to her neck, blotchy, I see. Pink, abstract blobs like the ghosts of bruising. Like months ago now, when I bit her there. Haven't done that for a while now, as it involves being close. Access to her neck. “It’s normal for a relationship to have periods like this.”

“It’s never been like this for me.”

“Never?”

“No, I–” I sigh. The past: Never asked about, never offered. “My last girlfriend, you know, from school. We were constantly at it. It wasn’t a good relationship, in so much as we fought all the time. She was a bit volatile in her own way, but in… you know, the sex department, things were good. I liked it with her.”

“How long were you together?”

“About eleven months.”

She nods. “Maybe it’s different for me.”

“Well, what about you, then, and your, um, your other boyfriends?”

Her eyes flash in the moonlight. “I’ve never been with another man for as long as I’ve been with you.”

“What?”

“No, never. This is the longest. The steadiest thing I’ve had. I met you and I thought you were so cute; that maybe my life would be calmer with such a nice person.”

I blurt it: “But you were engaged.”

“Excuse me?”

“Last year, you went to Paris with a man. He asked you to marry him.”

“How do you know that?”

“I just know. Someone told me months ago. Everyone knows.”

She stares, a light wind rippling across the hem of her dress. “Alright, well, it was meaningless. I said yes for fun. I didn't intend to actually marry him. It was like a play, and we were the actors. I hardly knew him at all. It was a thrill, and he was exciting for a while.”

“And me,” I say, foolish. “Am I exciting?”

She says nothing. A wrenching feeling in my chest.

“How was your sex life with him?”

“Don’t ask questions like that.”

“Well, there’s my answer then, isn’t it?”

“Jude, I–”

“What did he do for you I don’t? I do everything you say, I swear. At this point, I barely think about myself. I’m just,” I clench my fist, wanting to tear the front of my hair. “I’m just trying to make you happy, and it seems like the more I try, the further away I push you. That’s so confusing to me.”

“You are just… I do love you. Okay? You’re a kind person.”

“What do I have to do? Do I have to put you on the back of a motorcycle and whisk you away to Paris? How about Vegas? Would that be your taste? Lose all my money in a casino and marry you in a little Elvis chapel? Does that make you horny?”

“No, obviously not. That's tacky.”

“Then tell me what.”

“You’re…” exasperated. “You’re so nice. I know, and I’m thankful. You always do what I want you to do, but… I want you to do something else.”

Sharply. “What?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I don’t want to have to tell you.”

“I don’t get you at all, Astrid, to be honest.”

“You should just do whatever you like to me.”

“I already do. What I like is making you happy.”

“No,” she shakes her head. “It’s…”

Frustration is fading into numbness as she trails off. “Am I getting this? You want me to do what you ask, but at the same time, you don’t. Now you want me to do whatever I like with you, but not if that involves doing what you ask.”

“Yes, I think so.”

“You think I should want something else?”

“Maybe.”

“Tell me.”

She’s struggling, eyes darting around, settling on nothing. “Well, what about the things men say to each other, or think on their own, but would never ask a woman to do? Isn’t it what you all secretly desire? To take a beautiful woman and disrespect her?”

“Ah, so you expect me to hit you across the face or something.”

It’s an outrageous thing to say to her, and my voice sounds loud, bellowing it through the streets in indignation. I imagine people inside their houses, the windows cracked, and listening. “He wants to hit her,” they’re whispering. “A crazed man. Someone help that poor girl.”

“If you ever thought it would turn you on, I’d like to think you’d hold me down and do it.”

In the stunned silence that follows, she doesn’t waver. I reel back, abhorred.

“Have other guys done that to you?”

“Sometimes.”

Actual repulsion, then. A wave, like I might throw up over the pier. “Well, that makes me feel fucking sick, then.”

“You think I’m sick.”

“No, those guys are. They’re scum.”

“Fine, then pick something else.”

“Something else? Something worse than that, is it?”

“Anything you’ve ever wanted.”

My head buzzes, the sound of my own breath in my ears. Of course, I’ve had fantasies, things I’d like, but never admitted to. What about the things in my head when I’m having sex? The words that make me certain biblical hell is not real, for if it were, God would cast me down there for the crime of thinking them. Impure. Does she want me to say them out loud to her? But doesn’t it turn me on a bit, the imagined freedom of speaking them? The whole dirty dialogue, out loud, like, yes, this is what I think of you. This is how you look to me when I have you like that. This is what I’m doing to you. Tell me you like me doing it, and so on. It’s theoretically possible to say those things, but looking her in the eye and doing it...

“I’m only nineteen,” I say, my voice tearing. “Can you not just let me be nineteen for a while and have sex normally? You’ve clearly done all of this extreme stuff, and it freaks me out, to be honest. I can’t live up to that. Maybe we can work up to it, but this feels too sudden. Like, it’s jarring me. You assume I have all these secret fantasies about you and I’m holding back, but I’m not. I just love you, and I think you’re beautiful and I want to kiss and make love to you and talk afterwards in bed. That’s basically all.”

I don’t know how to read that look on her face, but there’s a feeling in my chest. A piece bored out of it, leaving behind something hollow.

“Well,” she says, chin high. “That’s okay, then.”

“Is it okay?” I feel it is not okay, in fact, at all, but she’s already turning her back. “Astrid?”

“We should go back to the villa. My feet are hurting.”

A long, dreadful silence. “Alright,” and a finality in that.

We don’t walk together, but ten feet apart. Her ahead, the sound of her shoes, the moon rising, becoming full. The beauty of Amalfi, hills, sea, warmth in the air. I try to hold this; The way it feels, while I remember how it felt before. It wasn’t this way. Never had to be. Here I am wondering, in misery, if this is it. Adulthood. My parents, her parents, me and her. My life, a thousand times this, over and over again.

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#lucky boy 2011 #rough themes in this one guys #sims 4 story #simblr #simblr storytelling #ts4 story #racism cw

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fiendforbyler · 6 months ago

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wait y’all i just realised something that is probably niche as fuck but anyway! if you know/have read the Keeper of the Lost Cities series in it’s entirety you will understand the relationship/love triangle between sophie, fitz and keefe. from the beginning fitz is set up at sophie’s love interest, even as young kids (i believe she is 12 in the first book? and he is maybe a year older? not 100% it’s been a while). she crushed on him for majority of the series and finally in book 7/8 they get together with a seemingly very romantic gesture from fitz, with many hints during the series that fitz liked her back. point is: we were all rooting for them. it is imprtant to note that it’s also always been hinted at but later in the series confirmed that keefe has major feelings for sophie as well. for me, this is representative of mike/el/will love triangle, with sophie being mike, keefe being will, and fitz being el. now, i don’t really like fitz but i LOVE el so yeah this isn’t a flawless comparison but ANYWAY back to my main point!! keefe (will) is so likeable with a tragic backstory, troubling plot line, has a lot of trauma AND a sorry crush on a girl (boy) who (supposedly) has eyes only for one person since the beginning- something that has been clearly set up and formed into a seemingly sweet relationship readers have been rooting for from the beginning. yeah this is sounding familiar? here’s the problem (or solution for sophkeefe/byler shippers like i): ITS NOT WHAT SOPHIE THOUGHT IT WOULD BE. fitz pressures her into trying to find her bio parents so they could be matched, he is aggressive and possessive over her (not in a good way) and she breaks up with him. during this, i’m pretty sure she begins to crush on keefe as well- keefe in permanent denial she could ever like him back of course- and feels terribly guilty about it, because she still has feeling for fitz. (yeah i told you, not the perfect comparison but you understand what i’m getting at right?) while things with fitz get worse, sophie starts genuinely discovering how she really feels about keefe, with lines like “if she was really really honest- and really really brave- she had to admit that the idea of being with keefe sounded… kind of amazing. Yes, it was scary. and yes there were risks. but wouldn’t it be worth trying?” wouldn’t it be worth trying? ladies and gents, we just discovered mikes inner monologue!!! scary, risky, but worth it? its what will is to him! mike has always been “too insecure to let (him)self see what’s right in front of (him)” (a line taken from the book!!!!!!) will is in front of him. he is being so distracted by his internalised homophobia that he has NOOO idea what he is missing!! “‘SERIOUSLY, STOP!’ she told herself again…/ adding those kind of feelings to a friendship pretty much ruined everything. ( talking about fitz)”

and it’s all oh so familiar…

BUT WAIT! THERES MORE! finally, FINALLY, during our long awaited kiss scene, she says this:

“some tiny part of her head had always wondered if kissing keefe could really be as great as everyone claimed. but kissing keefe was so. much. better.”

yeah. and then blah blah they get interrupted by who? of yes of course fitzy the ex boyfriend is here. and he says what when he finds out? OH YEAH. “you kissed him? you didn’t even kiss me!”

THAT SOUNDS A LOT LIKE “you never say it/i say it” AND “i didn’t say it/you didn’t have to” or pretty much the same way mike acts around will vs el.

you know what else? mikes inability to say i love you to el (hasn’t kissed fitz) but so clearly communicate it to will (kissing keefe)

if you haven’t read all this (and i don’t blame you!!) just read this next paragraph!

but back to my main MAIN point. sophitz was the ship EVERYONE (except maybe a select few) wanted right up until they got together!! it was perfect on paper, cute, with history and seemingly ‘connected’ character (as per the plot), and as soon as they got together, everything fell apart, as well as sophie closing herself off and beginning to lose fitz even before the downfall of their relationship due to her suppressed feelings about keefe. (cough cough MIKE) they need to break up for her to realise keefe was the better match all along. keefe, who never thought he as a chance. keefe, who loved her from the start. KEEFE, WHO LET HIS BEST FRIEND HAVE HER IF IT MEANT HAPPINESS TO THEM.

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? please tell me i’m not crazy!! thank you for reading this it took me a long time to write but it also felt great to write this out even if no one reads this. hail to byler and a reminder we are one day closer to seeing them on screen. have a great day/night!

#ranting #byler #byler endgame #mike wheeler #will byers #stranger things #keeper of the lost cities #sokeefe #this is a really long post and i’ll be suprised asf if anyone reads this in its entirety and i’m also rambling #please oh PLEASE someone catch my drift (i’m lost at sea)

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victorclays · 6 days ago

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But can we talk about, Fitzy telling Ned he has to take Lady Silence back with him, because she's upsetting the crew, says "you'll see." and then the scene plays out like something from a horror movie.

Edward walking all slow, the music is tense, you can hear voices but not clearly. And then he rounds the corner and it's just.... Lady Silence and Goodsir talking, sitting on the floor like kids.

She's teaching him her language, literally just how to say the word "foot". And there's some trinkets she's collected or made. Sitting on a shelf. And Edward is like ... ... ... okayyyyy

Like bro... she's not doing anything upsetting y'all are just superstitious and racist. Girl is literally trapped in a room, in a ship full of men who don't want her there, if anyone should be upset it's HER.

But y'all are upset by some trinkets and a language you don't know. Fuckin ridiculous.

Fitzy is like, oh you'll see what i mean when you get down there man, it's SPOOKY! and it's literally just Goodsir and Silna playing show and tell and learning things. It's language class. And they are FREAKING OUT.

#it cracks me up everytime #like bro. chill.#james fitzjames #lady silence #silna #harry goodsir #the terror #mine #terror watching

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vestaclinicpod · 1 month ago

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Audio Drama Sunday - 29th December ✨

It's the final Audio Drama Sunday of 2024! What a great year of listening and I have really enjoyed sharing all my silly little thoughts!! 🫶

🔎 @224bbaker (14) Eek, help, Fitzy is really growing on me!! I need to remember in my soul that he is probably a duplicitous fuck!! It would make me laugh SO much if the admirable Dr J Watson was actually at home this whole time and Hampton just didn’t see him. And, oh. Oh, Archie. The trouble in paradise is because you want to bake not cook?? And instead of expressing that, you’re now hiding in a pub where you’ve heard information that’s made you even more annoyed at James?? Perfection! I’m buckling in for a whole season of James And Archie Fail to Communicate. Pray for us.

🦋 @remnantspod (21) HELLO! Who or what is this other ?person ?thing sneaking The Apprentice high value remnants and scuttling around when he wakes?? The entire dynamic between Sir and The Apprentice makes me need a chew toy!! The trope of the protector watching over their person as they sleep but make it AWFUL. Sir really let slip just how obsessed and dependent he is on The Apprentice this episode. Charlotte watched ‘Edward Pocket’ trick everyone into thinking he was just interesting enough. Imagine being able to do that with a cosmic-moth-being-?angel !! It makes me think that The Apprentice has a lot more power in this situation than he currently realises.

🌵 @desertskiespodcast (5) If someone told me that my favourite mental image this week would be a coyote doing donuts in a buick skylark, I don’t know if I would have believed them. Alas, my heart is warmed and I can’t wait to be done with my latest exam next week and take Mac’s advice!

🦀 @thesiltverses (Q+A Part 1) Ah, it was so lovely hearing these voices again and getting and insight into people’s stand-out moments from the show. I’m absolutely obsessed with Muna’s insane levels of emotional blackmail for Hayward’s sake. I love how insightful the answers to even the ‘silly’ Qs were. God, I miss this show!!

You may have seen, but I am also doing my annual 12 Days of Podmas where I leave reviews for my standout shows of the year that I haven't previously reviewed. It's made me think that I'd love to listen to at least 12 new shows next year. If you have any recommendations please hit me up! I have a list of five so far but I am flexible and easily swayed hehe.

Have a wonderful rest of your 2024 💙

#audio drama sunday #podcast recs #audio fiction #fawx & stallion #remnants pod #desert skies #tsv

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ellena-asg · 3 months ago

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I've just seen a blog with prompt/tropes list and there's that one: "I've always hated your kind but I just can't hate you" and it kills me because imho it's so much Jack about James. All the time.

Sins of the father (my beloved). Gosh, in this book Jack is not only tired of his father's but also of other people's bullshit and existence. And these people are aristocracy. Jack there is literally like "hate you all aristocrats", he even says to them that they're the worst. That they're bad not only to pirate world BUT also to each other. The way he sees them... like they're a nest of vipers. And big hypocrites. The real criminals.

And there are two guys he hates the most and both of them happen to be James' family (poor boy): Lawrence Norrington and Fitzy Dalton. That scene when Jack meets them, what he says to them and about them and what he thinks, oh, to say he is disgusted with them is not enough. Jack smashes them with his words. What he does there is #Lawrence and Fitzwilliam character bashing (well, they deserved). The rage and insults he has for them, oh my! He not only attacks them for what they do and for the system they live in, he also hates them for their character (they annoy him, Lawrence's cruel nature annoys him, Lawrence being an abusive father for James annoys him, Fitz not really caring about James annoys him, Lawrence and Fitz being pathetic spoiled pompous people annoy him, Fitz being a liar and traitor annoys him, they are terrible in his eyes, he also sees them as boring and foolish etc - just look at his talk with Fitz).

Yeah, he hates this family so much. BUT. Not James. He is so tired of these people, of their world, of what they do to pirates, he is so bitter and, you know, it's his sacred right to be bitter and to hate them all. But he doesn't hate little James. And he doesn't hate adult James. He doesn't want, he can't. He sees little James and he sees all. This boy is not his enemy. He is enemies' family but he's not enemy of Jack. He's a kid, an innocent one. And a very poor one - a kid living with vipers. Jack looks at this boy and sees himself. They both are there, between their fighting families. Both are their families' victims. Both are abused. Both are forced to live like that, to be kids watching the war (and to be each other's enemies one day). Both deserve to be saved from this. No, he can't hate him. He has only warm feelings for James. Compassion, a very strong one. And he just... believes in James' goodness. He hopes that James can be good, he roots for him. He sees the light.

And the contrast between little James and his family (and other aristocrats), gosh. Them being like dark clouds and him - a little sun (but always covered by them). Them being no good and no hope in Jack's eyes (Jack doesn't even hope they will change, he doesn't trust Fitz anymore and he doesn't want to) vs James forever having Jack's "I'm rooting for you. I'm still rooting for you" (I'm sorry but I think that Jack was serious about it, about believing in James, James choosing goodness and also, I don't think that Jack meant situation with Lizzie, especially that he rooted for his bestie Will in that case). Them being loud, rude and full of themselves vs poor silent and scared James. Them craving for war and James who doesn't want to be there. Doesn't want to watch this. Them being hated and mocked by pirates vs James making pirates (not only Jack but also Gibbs, Teague and probably many others) like "Good heavens, what a poor child".

And holy, Jack thinking about throwing Fitz overboard and being like "he deserves worse", Fitz being in the water and Jack not helping and not caring vs Jack seeing James falling into the sea and being like "Oh no, not this one! Help is coming! *Superman Jack*".

Jack hating Lawrence and not liking Fitz at first (and soon not liking him forever) vs Jack being gentle to James (and about James) at first and also later (cause adult James is still more decent than his family and he's just a fine man). All the time.

Jack being super gentle to James, let's say. What enemy is treated like that? Even when there are moments in the movies Jack is a bit bitter/sarcastic, he is still kind to James. He never insults him. The only time Jack is pissed off? Oh, because James interferes with pirates' rum business 😂 Yeah, two times Jack is like "Don't you see how wrong your decisions are?" but there's no hate, it's just the world being not fair and James still being on the wrong side. But Jack still roots for him. Jack agrees to take him on Pearl. He wants to give him a chance. Give him a lesson too (but it's not hate and not revenge for James' father's or cousin's sins). Jack understands. Jack hopes. Jack forgives. Even when James takes Davy's heart... Usually Jack rants about (or insults) people who mess with him or fights with/kills them. But here Jack is silent, very silent about that.

And when Jack heard that his favourite Norrington chose the right side in the end? His Jamie helped his pirates? I bet Jack was proud and happy for him. And not very surprised. And when he heard his Jamie died? On a damn ship on a damn sea (like Lawrence wanted). Both Lawrence and Fitz outliving James (cause if I remember correctly his shitty father wasn't dead). Oh Jack 😭 (and Jamie 😭).

Jack really looked at James, felt "that one, he can be good, this one I don't wanna hate" and he was so damn right. It kills me 😭😭😭

#pirates of the caribbean #sins of the father #james norrington #jack sparrow #sparrington #and pre sparrington #potc #I'm sorry these two just break my heart

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janeways-coffees · 19 days ago

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Whose am I, then?

#oh fitzy your identity crisis is about to get a lot worse #silver rereads rote #rote spoilers #ra

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dawning-novelty · 14 days ago

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God

Its

FITZY

#well shit #fawx & stallion #224bbaker #there was more screaming the car as I figured it out

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epic-kotlc-crossover · 3 months ago

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Dangerous

presenting: my favorite vengeance saga song!!!

@thesfromhms @myfairkatiecat @bookwormgirl123 @sombrathedragon @justalunaticfangirl

@ham-cheese-toastie

Fitz stared out into the sea belatedly. Escaping Linh’s island should’ve been exhilarating, freeing, but all he felt was emptiness. Seven more years had been wasted.

Marella would be twenty. Sophie would’ve moved on, especially after ten years without him reaching out telepathically.

And his brothers—his family for thirteen years—were all dead. “Six hundred deaths under my command.” Fitz squeezed his eyes shut, tears prickling. Because I had one goal in mind.

No fleet. No friends.The raft beneath him swayed slightly in the sea, little flecks or salt flying into his face.

“How will I reach Ithaca?” He’d left Linh because of a god. He’d probably only survived the war because of a god. And the only god near him right now hated his guts and would probably kill Fitz the first chance he got.

Fitz looked up suddenly, scrutinizing the surrounding sea. Poseidon hadn’t shown up at all, which was really… weird. He’d expected the god to be on him the minute he left the shore.

Laughter echoed around him, and Fitz blanched. Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no, no, not him. Anyone but him.

“All you have to do is not open the bag this time, Fitzy.” Hermes flew in a circle around him, dark eyes scrutinizing.

“Hermes?” Fitz whispered. Though the god annoyed him, it was refreshing to see a familiar face.

This sent Hermes into a fit of giggles, his sunglasses slipping precariously down his nose. “Hello, old friend!” Did he—?

Did Hermes save him? Fitz hadn’t realized the god counted him as a friend, but he wasn’t complaining. “Were you the person Linh talked to?” Thank you, thank you, thank you. “Thank you,” Fitz told him, a waver in his voice that he tried desperately to hide. Hermes had probably saved him from spending the rest of his life with a woman who liked him way too much.

To his surprise, Hermes shook his head,a flash of guilt crossing his face. “No, but someone’s given you one last chance to make it back home!” The god waved his right hand, and a very familiar bag appeared.

Keefe’s face flashed before Fitz’s eyes, and he could feel himself paling. No… “If you make it back home, you’ll be able to wash the blood off your hands, and I know you will.” The god looked solemn for the first time since Fitz had known him.

“If your plan’s so great, then why’d you wait to say it?” Fitz asked. That seemed to shake Hermes out of whatever was going on, and he started laughing. Again.

“It’s a little dangerous, my friend!” Hermes clapped Fitz on the back, making him stumble forward, almost into the water. He looked back up at the god, brushing hair out of his eyes. Really? We’re on a tiny raft.

“You can’t play safe in this situation.” Hermes told him, a grin playing at his lips. “You’ll need a whole…” He gestured toward Fitz. “Mindset change to be able to go through with it.”

I can do it, Fitz thought.

“You’ll need to put everything on the line, Fitzy.” Sometime when he was talking, Hermes stopped floating and stood in front of him, swaying along with the waves.

Fitz nodded. I’m ready for this. “Alright. I’m in, what do I need to do?” Hermes grinned, and spread his arms out.

“Follow the north star until you think you’ve gone enough, then keep going. You’ll need to go through uncharted waters, where danger greets you with a smile. And—” Hermes giggled, the wings on his shoes flapping and taking him airborne once again. “It’s going to be dangerous, my friend!” The god wiggled around in the air, spinning in circles around Fitz.

He blinked. “Are you–? Are you actually dancing?” Hermes laughed, and brought out the wind bag again. The glowing blue designs looked… eerie, and not just because of the memories of–the memories associated with it.

“We went through so much to get this…” We? Fitz mused. Probably the same person who helped free me. “Remember, you need to keep the bag closed if you want to get home! Letting out the storm inside would ruin your last chance to return to your wife.”

This was a cruel joke. Fitz swallowed, feeling a lump in his throat. Mustering up all his courage, he flashed a cocky grin. “Don’t you know danger is my friend? I’ve trained for this,” he gestured to the wind bag, “for my whole life. I have to get home, I’ll be ruthless and put an end to this foolishness.”

I have to see Sophie. “Don’t you know that I’m dangerous?” Fitz took the bag from Hermes. The storm inside seemed to fight with him with every movement, trying to get out. “And, Hermes?” The god paused, halfway in the air. “Thank you.” He’d saved his life twice now.

Hermes laughed. “Don’t thank me, friend. I’m not the one who fought for you.” He gave Fitz a two fingered salute and one last smile before turning around and shooting up into the sky.

Fitz stood there, staring at the sea and wondering if he’d be able to survive this one last obstacle.

Shaking his head and sighing, Fitz secured the bag to the raft and started rowing.

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