#titanic🚢

[fablesuntold]

@musingmemories sent: [ swipe ] sender notices a smudge of something on receiver's face and gently wipes it off — From Rose DeWitt Bukater to Jack Dawson ✨

The steady rocking of the ocean as The Titanic effortlessly parted through the waves in all her unsinkable glory, enticing quiet creeks and groans from within his cabin with each gentle sway the motions made was almost enough to lull Jack back to dreamland. He may have given into the idea of sleep.. had it not been for the tender brush of lithe fingers skimming against his cheek— a pleasant reminder that he wasn’t the only occupant of his bed made for one. Her perfume still lingered in the air from last night, scent rich in aroma, the familiarity of it causing a lazy smile to tug at both corners of Jack’s lips. He already knew who was keeping the space beside him warm before he even opened his eyes, but the fact that she actually stayed the entire night given how risky it was with Cal constantly ready for a fight? That was a surprise.

“Morning..” Voice hoarse and smile turning slightly impish, long lashes finally fluttered open to gaze up at that perfect face. Now that was a sight he wished he could wake up to every morning. “You actually stayed..” Just like she said she would even with his voiced concern that maybe she shouldn’t. It wasn’t like he didn’t want Rose to stay— he did. But was he really worth the trouble she’d no doubt get from Cal?

That was if he’d even notice she was gone from what Rose had mentioned about him in passing.

Thoughts that were soon interrupted when another brush of her thumb against his skin sparked up memories from last night. They’d danced and spun each other around wildly on deck to the music in their minds, nothing but giggles erupting from the both of them with each silly, over the top move. But their night hadn’t ended there— as much as it should have. Rose had requested he paint her, one thing led to another.. and now here they were, basking in last night’s aftermath with not much left to the imagination with their bodies pressed close together.

She was probably attempting to wipe away a smudge of leftover paint from where they’d ended up practically flicking the whole pallette of it all over each other— youthful and crazy which pretty much summed up their entire relationship thus far. “Maybe if you try kissing it away, it might work better.” Tone flirtatiously playful, Jack leaned up on both elbows to flutter those crystal hues at her. “C’mere..” That said, his lips found hers to give her the proper Good Morning she deserved.

While their relationship would be considered wrong in the eyes of others for so many reasons including the fact that Rose was being unfaithful, what with her already being engaged to another man with Jack being the ‘other guy’, plus they were both from the very different worlds.. Jack found himself wondering how something so wrong could feel oh so right the more time he spent in her company.

[stabbyapologist]

God, this goes to the top 5 worst sequels I've ever seen: the CGI, the romance angle, the characters, omfg

[fablesuntold]

@musingmemories

Had his eyes been deceiving him?

Art being his biggest passion and drive in life, it was within his nature to seek out only the most beautiful subject within view and burn it into memory for future reference. But to come across something — or rather someone, in this case — as overwhelmingly breathtaking as she? Jack almost couldn’t believe what he was seeing. How could he not marvel at a sight so stunning? Even the vibrant oranges and reds of the descending sun retiring over horizon for the evening couldn’t compare to her beauty. Whoever she was? She was truly a sight to behold. The most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on.. and unfortunately, the type that would probably look down her nose at the less fortunate as though they were something she’d find on the bottom of her ridiculously overpriced heels.

Jack knew the type all too well, from the fancy clothes and shoes all the way up the expensive jewellery dangling from around her neck and wrists. Jewellery that he wouldn’t ever be able to afford in this lifetime, or the next. More money than sense, he’d always joke with the few friends he had. And still.. Jack couldn’t pry his eyes away from her. Especially not within the few split seconds their eyes met for the very first time.

Those eyes.. they almost took the breath from his lungs. But just as quickly as she’d acknowledged his staring.. she was gone. No, that couldn’t be it.. he needed to know more. So before he could think twice about his next move or consider the consequences of chasing after someone way out of his league? Jack rushed towards the grand lobby where he was sure his mystery woman had headed.. and thankfully, he’d been right with his assumption. Heading for dinner with the rest of the rich folk, he assumed. But surely she could spare a minute or two for him, right? After all.. he hasn’t been the only one staring.

Positioning himself in the middle of the stairwell, his plan seemed to have worked when she collided with him, a gasp escaping his lips as arms flung out to grip the bannisters at either side of her waist. After all, he was simply an innocent bystander who she’d been too busy to notice.. that was his story, anyway. One that he’d stick to.

But then came the scolding and accusations, causing Jack’s bright blues to widen in faux surprise. Busted.

“Purposely placing myself in front of you?” Repeated in feigned disbelief, a breathy chuckle escaped him. “Excuse me, Madam, I don’t know what you’re talking about. You bumped into me. I was simply admiring the view.” The view of the lobby, or of her? Jack refused to elaborate any further. That was down to her to speculate on. But the cheeky smile that spread across his lips clearly gave away exactly what he’d been hinting at. “If you’re going to slap me though, can I at least know the name of my attacker?” Could he be anymore obvious with his fascination of her?

As wrong as it was, given the fact that she was either married or engaged — that glistening rock on her finger gave it away oh so clearly — Jack couldn’t fight how he felt. “I’m Jack Dawson, by the way.” With that said, one hand left the rail and with his arm outstretched, offered it out to shake.

The ship of dreams. Staring around at the hustle and bustle filled with charged excitement, Rose couldn’t help but reflect on her own dreams soon to be found in America. Ghosting the constant nagging of her mother — the usual nitpicking, this time her dress being a touch too tight around the bust — Rose was in desperate need of fresh air… and a cigarette wouldn’t hurt either. Once out on the deck, Rose could finally breathe and hear her own thoughts again, away from the claustrophobic atmosphere that was the first class cabin cry her a river, right? The most calming part? Staring at the open sky where it met the sea. Rose felt so small, insignificant, like she could just disappear and no one would know. Exhilarating and terrifying.

Sensing an audience, Rose was bewildered to find a piercing gaze staring at her head on, shameless with admiration than slack jawed gaping. Ever the lady, Rose met those beautiful eyes in stride, before swiftly turning cheek to look back out at the view, and leaving him wanting more about the mysterious apparition that’d graced his life by disappearing away from the deck. Dinner would soon be served, and she was certain her mother would have the entire ship in a tizzy, a search and rescue ready to be set out, if she didn’t return in time.

Descending the steps, busy hands occupied her focus, smoothing out the layers of her dress, almost knocking someone completely down the stairs before he caught the rail just at her waist, his other hand on the adjacent side to steady himself. The man from before. Those eyes… they matched the horizon. Where sky met sea. Now Rose was the one gawking, a blush rising to the porcelain skin of her clavicle and cheeks, forced disapproval in her own blue-greens. “This is certainly a clever way to make yourself noticed. Purposefully placing yourself in front of me, having us bump into one another, you’ve no choice but to catch your fall around my waist. Any other woman might’ve slapped you senseless. I’ve still half a mind to.” The tease, had he known Rose, would’ve been obvious. She let it show, in a dimpled cheek.

@fablesuntold ♡’d for a starter

[omniluci-estumbra]

“Titanic was called the ship of dreams and it was…it really was…” 🚢🚢🚢

Did I lose my mind because I drew every sparkle individually? Or did I draw every sparkle individually because I’ve lost my mind? ✨

More Dramione Titanic AU! Hermione is still Jack and Draco is still Rose but I think some things happen “the same” as the movie…like outfits! So the dress Hermione borrows from Molly Weasley (originally bought for Ginny) is Rose’s dress from the film and Draco is in Jack‘s tuxedo

Also Jack’s “to make each day count speech” at the dinner table is very Hermione coded to me

[hitlikehammers]

draw me like one of your french girls ♥️ steddie ✨established relationship✨ future fic (specifically 1997, I wonder why 🚢🧊)

“Draw me.” Eddie blinks, comes back into the still-warm-and-soft here and now. “What?” “I want you to draw me,” Steve’s tone is pitched a little particularly, so it takes a second to sink in but: oh my god. Now the robe makes sense.  Or: late 90s!Steddie see Titanic (of course) and get ideas.

rating: m ♥️ tags: established relationship, future fic: 1990s, late 90s rockstar husbands, baby, boys being ✨inspired✨ by nudity on film cinematic history being made, it was ARTISTIC DAMNIT, fluff, romance, softness, Eddie Munson is not a portraitist, (please don’t hold that against him), he believes with every cell in his body in the truth of his husband being the most stunning human being in the history or future of the entire cosmos despite however his attempt to capture it may suggest otherwise ♥️

for @steddielovemonth day twenty-two: 🎬 Titanic

“What?”

Eddie asks it—holds off a while because he loves the feeling of Steve’s eyes on him, and prolonging the sensation is generally his go-to tactic—but eventually he asks it: soft and warm and as gooey as it’s been for just over a decade, now, so he doesn’t foresee it changing, like, probably ever.

He’s good with that.

“Your fingers,” Steve comes up to him in a robe that lives on the hook on the back off the door in the bathroom, but Eddie has genuinely never worn, nor seen Steve in before. They tend to either get dressed or just stay naked.

“Why?” Eddie puts the pencil near-down to its nib down and wiggles them around in a bid for seduction that always lands in absurdity instead, and almost works better for it as he commits to the low purr in his tone as he asks:

“Giving you…ideas?”

And Steve does smile, warm and pillow soft, reaches and catches those fingers and slides his touch up their lengths, caresses the knuckles, sends shivers down Eddie’s spine for it so fucking delicious; so perfect.

Steve’s so fucking perfect, in every way, for every part of Eddie, his soul slid into place just right: it takes Eddie’s breath away all the time but sometimes it just…hits him.

This really is his life.

“Draw me.”

Eddie blinks, comes back into the still-warm-and-soft here and now.

“What?”

“I want you to draw me,” Steve’s tone is pitched a little particularly, so it takes a second to sink in but: oh my god.

Now the robe makes sense. Seeing as they spent the whole three-hours-and-fuck-knows-how-many-minutes in those shitty theatre seats last weekend just to argue about the floaty-capacities of doors in saltwater to the point of calling Dustin for further insight—who was absolutely no help beyond yelling ‘It’s called buoyancy!’ and hanging up on them which: rude.

Anyway: it all makes his answer easy enough.

“Like one of my French girls?” He flutters his eyes until his lashes catch on themselves.

Steve’s grin, though, is somehow shark-like and coquettish all at once as Eddie twirls his hair around his index finger and bites his lower lip, never breaking eye contact while Steve closes the distance between them a little more.

“Wearing this,” and he pulls the chain that never leaves his neck out from the crossed ‘v’ of his robe: the red pick Wayne had given him back after his demise had finally be allowed to come out as greatly exaggerated; the tie of a bread bag that’d long lost the papery covering and was worn down enough not to poke or scratch; and the plastic half-moon of a ring pop, broken off the rest of the setting and joined with the finest of duck tape to make the ring complete. The story of their…their everything, so far. The promises they’ve made, and the way they keep each of the them close to the heart every second.

Wearing this.

Fuck you if you think that doesn’t sting in Eddie’s eyes a little.

“And only this.”

It’s a rumble. It’s a tease. It’s lidded eyes and fire under lashes. It’s a visceral kick of Eddie’s heart to the cage of his ribs.

“Jesus fuck, Stevie,” Eddie exhales slow, a little shaky. “I’m not actually an artist.”

Steve’s brow quirks immediately.

“Bullshit.”

And Eddie ducks his chin, bits his lip against a grin: Steve still to this day uses that word sparingly. Only when he means it.

Eddie loves him for so many reasons; for all that he is. His blind faith in Eddie himself is…not a small thing that Eddie loves.

But it remains blind, and apt right now because Eddie may have artistic panache in the musical realms but…drawing?

“And portraits,” he whines a little because seriously, people-drawing is a whole other beast on top of everything—but Steve just eyes him, unwavering.

And Eddie is weak before the wants of his husband; this man that he loves more than lungs long for air.

“You can’t judge me for what comes of this.”

Steve’s grin is blinding, and Eddie’s heart shifts from kicking to fluttering for it, as always.

“You also can’t think that I could ever think you look as horrible as this is going to turn out,” Eddie wags a finger at him, almost daring him to back out, but also just as much daring him to try to make that case because Eddie has never, ever, believed in anything less than Steve’s otherworldly beauty, or been anything less than vocally and persistently worshipful about it.

Oddly, that’s what softens Steve’s grin into a smile, like he’s watching Eddie through eyes that see the same in reverse—insanity. But Eddie feels the caramely warmth washing through him again for it, and, fuck.

Of course he was always gonna play along with whatever Steve wants. Of course he was.

“Over on the couch then, Mister Harrington,” Eddie gestures grandly, and Steve wastes no time, drops his robe and stretches languid, nudges the chain on his chest just a little before mimicking the scene from the movie as best he can, hand lifting the still-near-constant coif of his hair all the higher; all the more tantalizing for the way the tendons in his neck stand out for the angling it encourages.

Eddie swallows hard, feels his pulse in his throat.

Holy fuck, but he’s a lucky son of a bitch, ain’t he?

So Eddie…gives himself a few stretched-long minutes to appreciate his stretched-long lover laid out for his appreciation before the nerves get to him because…it’s not false modesty. Eddie doesn’t think he knows what false modesty actually is.

So he wants fucking demurring or whatever when he said he can’t draw real people for shit. Let alone Adonis-like subjects such as the one whose only indication of the years that have passed are every possible hint that he’s gonna be the finest fucking wine the world’s ever sampled.

And the only one who gets to sample is Eddie fucking Munson.

Again: lucky fucking son of a bitch.

The minutes turn to hours, Eddie thinks so at least. He takes ample time in the parts of Steve’s form that demand that most attention—all of him does, really and truly, but some things…lend to themselves not just to the aesthetic eye but to even attempting to capture appropriately. Even by the less-than-amateur.

Steve asks if he can stretch just a little, if the arm he wants to shake out is safe from fucking up Eddie’s composition—as if Eddie needs any help doing that.

“You know I think every part of you is gorgeous,” Eddie bites at his lower lip and looks over the top of his little sketchpad; “nothing in the cosmoscompares, never has,” and Steve smiles at him indulgently, like he does when he knows Eddie’s being genuine, even if he thinks that genuineness is a little over the top—the amount of latitude Eddie’s earned over the years is impressive, in that regard. Might have something to do with just…loving someone this big. Adoring your partner thisdeep.

“Never will,” he adds, tone low and a little breathy, as he runs the tip of a fingernail over his work—he could try and fix a few things, here and there, but.

He’s never gone get it right, so.

“The muscle here,” he traces it on the paper—Steve’s left pec, he put extra care into the bits of Steve’s body he maybe worship most frequently—then touches the paltry twin on his own body, since he hasn’t turned the final product yet for Steve’s appraisal.

“And the way your hips kinda curve here,” Eddie moves his own hand to the jut where Steve’s hands still hand in judgement when he’s scolding someone for being a shitstain.

“You sure that’s my hip there, that’s curving?” Steve raises a brow; he’s not self-conscious, but he’s also implying something fucking nonsensical. Yeah, the whole Party had been faced with how they’d spent literal years as soldiers, so with the actually end of it all, when it came, they all made the slow-crawl journey from survival to looking like well-fed humans who sometimes got sleep. if Eddie’s honest, a healthy Steve Harrington, where he’s leveled and mostly stayed since maybe ‘89, definitely not later than ‘92, is his favorite. Because it’s his Steve right now, and his Steve is playful, bitchy, happy.

And the way he’s trying to find enough flesh to pinch to make his non-point is silly, really, like his smile. Maybe because he knows it’s moot. Or maybe because Steve could be the size of a woman with six nuggets in her belly and he’d love this man with everything he is in the exact same fucking way.

And Steve? He’s finally come to know that, and believe that, in this bones.

“You’re exquisite,” Eddie waves off the specifics to focus again on his very uneven show of anything like skill on the drawing in his hands; “I don’t know what’s different just now, all of a sudden,” he tilts his head, studies the parts he put real effort into, then flicks his eyes back up to Steve, gaze narrow, precise before he meets Steve’s warm-waiting eyes:

“I drink you in as much as I can every goddamn day,” Eddie murmurs low, and the slow stretch of Steve’s lips in response is hot in the pit of his belly.

“It’s like your body was waiting for enough peace,” and he ventures to add; “enough happiness,” and Steve smiles even bigger for that one:

“For you to really grow into it,” Eddie ultimately decides, after mentally comparing first times in his memories to the exquisite display spread out before him now; “in, like, this way that made the whole thing glow,” and he can’t stay sitting, he needs to stand, to cross even just this little space between them to get closer, to touch the places on Steve’s body that song to him just now in a heavenly pitch, as Steve’s everything always does; fuck if that body doesn’t write half Eddie’s songs for him, just to witness and call his own.

“Like it was waiting for every inch of you to soak up you, and fully come alive,” and he puts his sketchbook on the table; cups Steve’s cheeks, then, fully breaks the pose and traces those cheekbones, glorious, glorious, back and forth as he breathes:

“You’re stunning, Steven Harrington.”

Steve smiles a little smaller, sweeter, private almost and he tips his chin to better catch Eddie’s touch.

“Please don’t think anything less,”Eddie whispers as he drops a kiss at the corner of Steve’s lips and hisses fierce: “ever.”

Steve hums, and then reaches for Eddie in kind, traces his cheeks before catching his gaze and saying so soft and sweet:

“Show me the sketch.”

God-fucking-damnit.

It’s not like Eddie didn’t mean every word, okay? He means all of it and more with his whole fucking soul.

He was just hoping he’d be able to kinda…distract his beloved from the original reason for the present situation. Ideally with the introduction of a newsituational, capitalizing on Steve’s already delicious nude body.

Eddie really should have known better; Steve’s had his number clocked for fucking years.

“No,” Eddie tries a hail-Mary—he’s learned things over the years too, so, ha—capturing Steve’s lips full-on, relentless in drawing moan after moan from Steve’s throat, licking into his mouth, crawling over him to press—

“Eddie.”

And he pauses mid-climb, dick not even fully pressed to Steve’s yet, to see one of Steve’s hands darted out on top of Eddie’s sketchpad. Turned over, deliberately, just Steve’s eyes are unmistakable: he won’t violate Eddie’s privacy, that’s a long-established trust for them, especially when it comes to any form of the artistic process—but.

But.

“You’ll think I was just yammering bullshit because you’ll see what I drew which, again,” Eddie groans as he makes himself sit back on his thighs, straddled near Steve’s knees. “I doodle creatures for fake games and little mini-maps of squares to judge distances, that’s not,” and he peters off, doesn’t even know how to quite say I think you’d give the artists hanging in the Louvre and shit a heart attack if they saw someone as breathtaking as you in real life but only half of what’s on the other side of the sketchbook is even defensible as a human figure and I’m sorry, it’s not accurate, don’t take it as lifelike at all.

Or something like that.

“Eds?” Steve asks, gentler this time, but Eddie waves him on, gives his permission, then collapses forward hides his face in Steve’s chest: one of the parts he did put some real effort into in his sorry excuse for a portrait.

“It’s really not true to life, I swear,” he whines, muffled into Steve’s skin when the silence stretches long enough to be…noticeable.

“You’re sure?” Steve asks, his tone…weird.

Kinda…kinda oddly bright?

“I kinda love it,” and Eddie lifts his head to see Steve smiling so soft, so…endeared, which is almost heartbreaking when Eddie had to give up on drawing his perfect mouth with just subbing in a smiley-face curve, in the end:

“Most flattering I’ve ever looked, really.”

And the weird part is that he doesn’t sound like he does when he’s fucking with Eddie—which he’s gotten good at, truly, and often does string Eddie along for a good while but: he has his tells, and knows it, and always relishes Eddie finding them eventually.

Nothing’s standing out as a giveaway now, though.

“How much if I wanna buy it?”

“Buy it?” Eddie repeat dumbly, because fuck if he understands.

“Paying customer gets to do what he wants with the finished product,” Steve shoots back primly, before piling himself up, sliding enough from underneath Eddie to coax his half-chub out of the lounge pants he’s been wearing all day, and fall over to take him into that oh-so-talented mouth.

Eddie gasps when Steve’s first move is to lick his slit like a goddamn lollipop, slow and just shy of too deep and, and—

Fucking hell.

And like, Eddie was already well on his way to hard and ready to make the very most of this moment, right? And Eddie’s long over being anything but euphoric about those perfect glimmer moments they fall into sometimes that conjure the whole-ass absence in him of anything remotely resembling stamina or restraint when Steve touches, moves, looks, exists just so sometimes, the right hit to Eddie’s veins just for the sake of Steve’s beingshooting clean and sparkling-sharp from the pump of his blood to…

Shooting elsewhere, otherwise, in the space of a fucking heartbeat.

Steve barely works a fifth of the way up the straining vein of him before he’s quick to lower his jaw and take the way Eddie comes down his throat without any warning, just as shaken and surprised as anyone by the way he lasted less than five minutes by a longshot.

More likely closer to three.

“Goddamn,” Eddie mouths more than speaks, pants into the warm bubble of aftershocks rippling through the room around them, making the air thick and soft; hazy-like, a little.

“That in the price range you’re maybe thinking?”

And Eddie can be entirely forgiven for not catching on right away to the point of Steve’s far-too-put-together smug little volley as he tucks Eddie back into his briefs, but he does get there eventually, and smacks Steve’s still distractingly naked chest with the back of his hand for it because:

Paying-fucking-customer.

Jesus H. Christ, but he’s married to a menace.

“What’re you gonna do with it?” Eddie asks, mostly resigned to Steve’s will not so much because Steve’s so convincing (he is) or demanding (rarely ever, else: not that way), but more because it’s long been the orienting rule of Eddie’s life that he does whatever lies in his power to give the man he loves all he wants and more.

Even if, in this specific case, the magnitude of humiliation involved aggrieves him.

“Frame it,” Steve threads his hand through Eddie’s hair as he stretches back across the cushions, as Eddie finds his spot in the center of his chest to lie; feels him stretch back, toss his head over the arm of the couch. “M’gonna hang it in our room, for when I’m feeling less than,” Eddie shifts as Steve tips his chin to look kinda-down toward Eddie, he shifts a little more to meet Steve’s eyes as he asks:

“What did you call it?”

And now, now? Now, Steve sounds like he’s teasing.

So Eddie doesn’t feel bad at all for grazing his teeth across Steve nipple before settling back down and digging out his answer, kinda unavoidably dreamy around the word:

“Stunning.”

Steve’s hum is a warm, marveling, but softly satisfied thing under Eddie’s cheek as much as in his ear and it’s like melted chocolate, or sweet caramel—yes, he nuzzles closer. Fucking sue him.

“Yep,” Steve nods, meets Eddie’s nuzzle by burrowing into the top of his head, kisses through his curls; “right on the wall.”

Eddie pouts deep enough that Steve chuckles to feel it pressed against him.

“It’s not nice to put evidence of my absolute lack of skill on the wall we fuck up against!”

Steve—and this is fucking rude of him, like, entirely unfair—but Steve just chuckles, all the warmer through his chest where Eddie’s head sits, and kisses his head again as he murmurs low, and so fucking self-assured as he slides one palm along Eddie’s hip:

“Our absolutely enviable skill at fucking makes up for it.”

Eddie means to groan, to put up any level of protest. His body betrays him entirely and what escapes his mouth is a lot closer to a whine, maybe even a whimper.

Like he said: betrayal.

“I really do love it, y’know.” Steve eases him up slow as he sits up himself, grabs for the drawing and sits Eddie between his legs, before balancing the sketchbook on his knee, taking a long, considering look.

“It’s like you focused in on what you saw as most important.”

Eddie makes a sound that might agree, or come out more like ehh. Six of one, half-a-dozen of the other.

“This,” Steve taps the carefully-if-not-skillfully rendered tousle of his hair, and the shaded curls on his chest, same ones Eddie’d previously been enjoying as a pillow.

And a hideaway.

“This, of course,” he points to the not-entirely-terrible attempt to draw Steve’s gorgeous cock—but then, Eddie’s a guy, all guys have been doodling some version of a penis since the learned to hold a pencil, it’d be shameful to have fucked it up as the worst part of gunshot attempt, but Steve just grins, and yes Eddie with heat as he chides happily with a poke to Eddie’s ribs:

“Horny fuck.”

And it’s not like Eddie can, or would ever try, to deny it.

“These,” he points in a trail of moles, oddly precisely compared to the rest of it, Eddie’s favorite trails to any part of the treasure of his sweetheart’s body.

“The eyes were just dots so I’m assuming also these,” Steve pauses to trace around the way Eddie paid actual attention to trying to capture the swell of muscle along Steve’s front, then the tantalizing peek of his back thigh: majestic. Eddie’s glad they’re noticed as such, because Eddie really does count his life as most fulfilled in getting free rein to worship them daily.

But he needs to be very clear:

“Your eyes are intoxicating,” Eddie leans, twists to him his thumbs around the shape of both, to watch as the touch makes Steve’s mesmerizing lashes flutter.

“It’s just a bridge too far for me to capture, can’t you see how much I erased?” He pokes at the paper where the dots betray his shortcomings.

“Same for here, then?” Steve asks wickedly, when swoops a fingertip along Eddie’s sad excuse for a mouth on the portrait.

“Lips suck, man,” Eddie whines, realizing most of Steve’s face really is just disjointed pieces of a peace-love-smiley sticker, fucking hell, he should be ashamed—

“Yeah, man, literally,” Steve nods, serious as anything and Eddie glares when it clicks—lips suck. Literally.

Steve’s very recently demonstrated as much.

Good god, he loves this man.

“Yours are divine,” Eddie turns to capture them as deep and earnest as he possible can given the angle—they’re both breathless for it when they break apart, so.

Good enough.

“But then,” Steve splits is middle and index fingers and taps Eddie’s attention to the shoulders: “here.”

And Eddie contorts himself to kiss what he can reach of one said shoulder, because Steve’s arms are temptation, bar none, but the breadth of his shoulders, the stretch when he crosses his arms over his chest—

“Even if this is life-model accurate,” Steve’s turning the sketch, probably taking note of the little details where Eddie didn’t just give up the cause as hopeless: the notch of his throat. The crease of one elbow.

How the rest of him kinda matches the smiley face, very late stick-figure period.

“I told you it wasn’t—“ Eddie protests, because he needs that to be clear and beyond the realm of even potential doubt, but Steve rests a single finger on his lips to shush him, so he turns again and only stills when the sheer weight of love in Steve’s gaze ensnares him.

“If this is what you see when you look at me?” Steve says, voice soft and a little…awed?

“Not as if I didn’t already know, but it’s proof, y’know?” And then it’s Steve leaning in, kissing him for all he’s got after murmuring against his lips:

“I’m the luckiest fucker alive.”

And they’re just as breathless when they part this time around, so the pitch when Eddie makes it is maybe a little weak for panting:

“How about you be the luckiest fucker of me, hmm?”

Steve stares at him blank.

“I legitimately just sucked you off.”

“In the world’s most true-to-the-name fucking quickie!”

Which was…not Steve’s fault but was Steve’s doing, so.

“You came, didn’t you?” And Steve, the fucker, he licks his lips, pretends to consider and then concludes dramatically:

L”Oh, yep, definitely did.” At which point he has the audacity to lift Eddie up and deposit him on the sofa as he grabs for the long-discarded robe on the floor—as if the show of strength and the view of his naked ass at the bend was going to help matters at all.

He kisses the corner of Eddie’s shock-parted lips before he makes for the kitchen:

“I’ve gotta start dinner.”

And then he’s gone.

And it takes Eddie a second, which is justified given the tent he’s starting to pitch, but he’s on his feet, only stumbles a little for forgetting his pants weren’t fully shedded when Steve pushed them down to suck him earlier, but then he’s jumping to pull them up faster and scramble for the kitchen, calling out all the while:

“I can be very flexible! And you know how well I do against the countertops!”

All he gets in reply is laughter, light and airy and it lands the same in Eddie’s chest, bubbly like champagne, and: fuck—but that’s kinda the whole point, isn’t it?

His Stevie.

Too stunning, too much his whole heart to be captured in anything as simple as pen and paper, anyway.

♥️🖤♥️

✨also on ao3

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @ajeff855 @allmyfavoritethingsinoneblog @anthrobrat @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @disrespectedgoatman @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @dreamy-jeans137 @estrellami-1 @friendlyneighborhoodgaycousin @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @gunsknivesandplaid @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @kimsnooks @live-laugh-love-dietrich @madigoround @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @ollyxar @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here

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[averagewriter-inthedark]

The Ship Of Dreams 🚢 | Twilight Imagine

Set during the events between New Moon and Eclipse & after Breading Dawn Part 2

Twilight Masterlist

Characters & Pairings: Cullen!reader (female), Bella Swan-Cullen (platonic), Edward Cullen (adoptive ‘twin’ brother), the Cullen family (platonic/adoptive family), family OC!s, Alex Mason!oc (past romance)

Content Warnings: major angst, smoking, details of historical event disaster, profanity, descriptions of stalking and death | female!reader (she/her) | wc: 9.4k

Requested 📨 yes/no (rules for requests)

Premise: Bella Swan always wondered what the story was of her vampire boyfriend’s so called ‘twin’ sister. Quiet and reserved, she had a mysterious aura to her, and what many would describe as a lady lost in time. Though she appeared no older than the age of 17, Y/n Cullen had eyes that saw a multitude of lives. Though in April 2006, the anniversary of a fateful night, finally reveals the truth behind the ‘youngest’ Cullen’s history with the Ship of Dreams.

Note: I had this Twilight x Titanic work in the making for two years 💀😭 back when I visited the Titanic Museum in 2023! I had done the TGM x Titanic AU and immediately started working on this but then, as usual, I got hyperfixated on other things and pushed this to the back burner...but anyway hope y'all like this! ❤️ also I cried writing the hospital scene. I mean I literally had to pause and gather myself at times while writing it because I was making myself so sad.

———————————

April 2006

In the year since becoming involved with Edward Cullen and learning of the secret he and his family share, Bella had yet to uncover the story of his ‘twin’ by name and nature, Y/n.

Calling them twins was a far reach. Sure they had the same golden eyes and inhumanly beautiful physique, but that was it. Unlike Rosalie and Jasper who were blonde and could easily pass as twin siblings, Y/n and Edward appeared nothing alike save for the tiny detail they shared the same birthday of June 20th and were both turned at the age of 17. But whereas Edward was born in the year 1901, Y/n’s was 1895–the same year Esme was born. 

Bella only learned this by doing the math, after Edward let it slip Y/n was technically six years older than him. 

Like Alice and Jasper, Y/n had not been turned by Carlisle but, to Bella’s surprise, was the first to join his coven. Well before Edward came into the picture. When asked about this, following Edward’s explanation of Carlisle’s origin to her the night she visited his home for the first time, Edward plainly stated with a look she couldn’t decipher, “You’d have to ask her, it’s not my story to tell.”

But Bella never could bring herself to ask. Y/n’s exterior was as cold as Rosalie’s. Guarded and reserved. Quiet to the point she hardly added input during times the Cullen’s faced conflict. Always glued to a corner, hidden from the shadows. One glare was enough to send goosebumps along Bella’s arm. Understanding it’d be better to either not know Y/n’s story all together or silently hope one of the Cullen’s would tell her. Since it was obvious the vampire was going to keep her secrets to herself. 

Well….she was hoping to. 

“We can’t watch it here,” Edward’s voice was serious. More serious than ever, causing confusion to etch Bella’s face, taking the DVD case from Edward with a frown. It was a movie she’d seen a handful of times, a classic and one she thoroughly enjoyed whenever it played on TV. The only reason she was suggesting it now for their weekly movie night was for an assignment her history teacher gave on the historical event it was based on considering the upcoming anniversary was the following week.

“Don’t tell me you don’t have a DVD player.”

“I do,” he rolls his eyes, yet still carries the serious strain of his tone “but we can’t watch that here. We’ll go to your place.”

Her frown deepened, a little annoyed with the vampire changing their plans considering she drove all the way out to his. “I don’t understand, Edward….why is it so much of a big deal to watch Titanic here.” 

Lightening fast, Edward held a hand up, freezing the two in their places while Bella watched him turn his head to face the open doorway. Tilting it slightly as though to strain his hearing. When it appeared whatever coast was clear, he let out a breath of relief before facing her again, noting her visible confusion. “I’ll explain everything once we get to your house. I promise just…” he pleads with his eyes, gently taking the DVD once again to tap at the title Titanic with his finger, “don’t mention this when we’re here or in front of my family.”

The entire drive was quiet. Save for the soft remedy of the radio. The music gave Bella the distraction she needed to not say anything about what took place in Edward’s bedroom until they reached her house. All the while she replayed the moment in her head, followed by how eerie the Cullen house became right after the famous ship’s name spilled from her lips.

Titanic.

“You wanna tell me what that was about?” She did not hesitate the second they entered, hanging her coat on the hanger and moving past him to set up the DVD player. She heard his sigh, igniting her annoyance, “you promised me an explanation.”

She felt his presence behind her, then a second later Edward kneeled to her level and took the DVD once more.

“You once asked me about Y/n,” he began, eyes lowered to the ground, “What her story was and how she was the first to join Carlisle” Gold met brown, his gaze shifting upward, while holding the disk cover up. “This isn’t just a movie, Bella. Not to her.” Heart pounding, Bella felt the air catch in her throat, realizing his implication. 

It’s her life.

“You’re saying…” She glanced at the cover. The iconic image of Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet as Jack and Rose. The love story that ended in tragedy. Bella’s heart skipped at Edward’s nod.

“She lived it.” The air caught in Bella’s throat as the words left his mouth. “Y/n was on Titanic the night it sank--where she was turned by a vampire who wanted access to her family’s fortune.” 

“Family’s fortune?” Bella was processing multiple things at once. 

She was getting Y/n’s backstory she’d been curious about for over a year. 

The vampire was aboard the famous ship which sank nearly a century prior.

Y/n apparently came from a wealthy family. 

It was a lot to take in. 

Edward placed the disk in the compartment, pressing the button to turn on the tv. “Her family were first-class passengers.” He began to explain, “Her father was the co-owner of the Brooklyn Dodgers and her mother was the daughter of a wealthy banker who happened to be a popular socialite among their class. Y/n was privately educated, and set to study literature at NYU.”

“Wow,” Bella exhaled, taking in the information. The screen had projected the main menu but neither were focused on it. 

Discovering Y/n wanted to pursue literature was no surprise. From the massive book collection in the Cullen’s library which Edward said belonged to her, to the phenomenal school papers Bella had read in their English class during their peer review sessions, she knew Y/n was a gifted writer and storyteller. She made the simplest of words feel powerful. Brought scenes to life in the reader’s mind. 

Then there was the tiny detail that Edward made a comment months back saying Y/n had published several books under pseudonyms.

He won’t admit it, but Bella’s fairly certain Y/n wrote one of the books on their summer reading list. The suspicion formed when she caught him sending his sister a knowing look after the sheet was passed out. When she looked at Y/n, Bella noticed her amused smirk, followed by a chuckle as she winked at her brother. 

“I-I don’t--,” she had trouble putting the words together, flushing red. “I can’t imagine….”

Edward nodded, understanding what she was trying to say. “Talking about our past is hard for all of us. But for Y/n, it doesn’t help that every history class talks about it.” He lifts up the DVD cover, “or that Hollywood continues to make shows and movies.” 

Bella wanted to ask more questions but understood it wasn’t the time. She knew if she wanted more information, she was going to have to gather the courage to ask Y/n herself. A task easier said than done when the vampire had barely warmed up to the human since implanting herself in their lives. 

They settled on the couch and pressed play, but Bella’s attention was far from the film. Her mind drifted to Y/n. Thinking about her as each scene played out to the point Bella started to picture Y/n in Rose’s place. It brought chills to her arms, shuddering as she couldn’t help but wonder what it was like in those final moments as the ship sank. 

When the movie ended, Bella said goodbye to Edward and began her assignment. Again, she was distracted. Feeling off as she searched online for sources about Titanic and watched video clips of survivors. 

Eventually, after contemplating for over an hour, Bella picked up the phone off the receiver and dialed the number. It rang three times before the familiar voice with a slight transatlantic accent spoke through. 

“I’ve been waiting for your call.” 

Bella silently cursed, face and neck turning red as she cleared her throat before replying, “Can you come over? I’d like to talk to you.” 

20 minutes later, Bella and Y/n sat across from each other in her kitchen. Notebook in front of her, cup of juice on the table and pencil in hand while Y/n’s were folded in her lap. To Bella’s surprise, the vampire knew exactly why she had called her, for Alice had seen it that morning and warned Y/n. 

‘So much for easing my way into this,’ Bella thought to herself. 

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” She nervously said, fiddling with the pencil in her hand. Y/n gave her a soft smile in hopes of easing the poor girl.

“Bella, if I didn’t want to do this I would have said so over the phone.” 

“I know but…” she cringes slightly, more embarrassed with herself than anything. “This is your history. And I feel like I invaded your privacy by making Edward tell me why we couldn’t watch the film at your house.”

“You didn’t make him tell you anything,” Y/n’s words shocked her, Bella tilting her head in confusion. “Edward made a promise, and you were ensuring he lived up to it. I can understand given the way he behaved and made you clueless as to what the issue was. Granted,” Y/n paused, shuffling in her seat, “I would have rather you simply came to me, but I realize my part in why you refrained all these months since you got together.” 

‘Avoiding you like the plague,’ as one would say.

Y/n put her folded hands on the table, nodding to the notebook. “How would you like to start?” 

Bella straightened in her chair, bringing the notebook closer as she opened it to remove the paper listing the assignment. She skimmed over it, brows pinched, “Um, it says I have the option to write an essay on media--documentaries, movies, tv specials--about the event. Research and write a biographical report on a famous passenger. Or….” her teeth sunk into her bottom lip, peering at Y/n over the paper. “Interview a survivor.” 

Y/n hummed, elbows propped on the table to rest her chin on her folded hands. “And which option are you leaning toward?” 

A frown made its way on Bella’s face, shrugging lightly as she placed the sheet back down. “Honestly I’m not sure. I’ve watched the movie and a couple documentaries. Read a memoir from a survivor and searched about a few passengers on the internet.”

“Well my advice,” Y/n mused, shifting her arms down so they were crossed but still leaning on the table. “Options one and two are your best bet. Unfortunately the last remaining survivor, besides myself,” she paused briefly with a strained smile, “lives all the way in England. She’s I believe 94, and was only two months old when she was aboard. Frankly I do not understand why our teacher would have that option on the assignment.” Leaning back in her chair she let out a sigh before giving the girl a knowing look. “But Bella, you and I both know you don’t really need my help on this assignment.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks, making Bella’s pale face turn red as a tomato. Of course Y/n wasn’t going to buy her excuse of helping with homework. And there was no point in denying it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t really know how to approach the subject.” 

“You could’ve just asked,” Y/n teased, but waved a hand dismissively and huffed. “Again. I’m to blame for why you didn’t.” Straightening her already perfect posture, Y/n tugged at the sleeve of her turtleneck and got serious. Taking a moment before speaking as though she were preparing herself. “You want to know my story and I’ll tell you, but you have to understand that it is not like how you see in the movies. My experience,” a faint look reached her eyes. “Was very different.”

Bella swallowed thickly, closing her notebook and pushing it away. Giving Y/n her full attention. “I understand.”

“What all did Edward tell you?”

“That you were on the Titanic when it sank. Your family came from wealth, and you were targeted by a vampire who snuck on who wanted access to that.” Bella saw the way Y/n’s breath hitched, stiffening but quickly recovered herself. Making the girl mentally curse herself for possibly overstepping. 

“Okay. That at least gives me some insight on where to begin.” Clearing her throat, Y/n reached into her satchel and removed a silver metal tin. It was in great condition despite evidently being from the 1910s. “Do you mind?” 

The question confused Bella, who didn’t know how to respond until her gaze landed on the now open tin, revealing five pristine cigarettes on either side. “Oh,” her eyes widened in surprise. Not sure how to respond since this was new information to her. Instantly questions popped in her mind. ‘Can vampires even smoke?’ ‘Does anyone else in the Cullens smoke?’ ‘How does that work?’ 

Bella shrugged, “my dad smokes cigars in the living room at times. And my step-dad is a smoker so I don’t mind, help yourself. Whatever makes you comfortable.”

“Thanks,” Y/n plucked one from the tin, placing it between her lips before looking in her bag again to fish for her lighter. “You know, it pleases me that there are still some cigarettes from my time available. These are Camels,” she gestured at them with one hand while the other pulled out the lighter. It matched the tin. Silver, vintage, and in pristine condition. “I preferred Fatima’s back then, but these will have to do. I hate Malboro’s,” her thumb flicked the lighter open, the flame igniting. 

“Never tried them,” Bella commented with a small smile. Frankly she was quite stunned with how Y/n was speaking to her as though they had been friends for decades. Just telling her the favorite cigarettes she used to smoke gave a little insight into her past. 

Bella pictured the young woman on the terrace of a New York cafe, cigarette in hand with a martini in the other while gossiping to her friends of the latest scandals within their socialite circle. Pearls around her neck, diamonds on her ears. Standing in the powder room with said friends to reapply her rough lipstick and adjust whatever pillbox hat she chose to wear that day. 

Thinking of what Y/n’s life might have been before becoming a vampire saddened Bella. The possibilities, the opportunities. Would she have married and have children? Would she have gone on to do great things? 

“It doesn’t do anything to me, obviously.” Y/n explained, bringing the flame to the filter. The glow of it made her golden eyes brighten in color. Once lit, she flicked the lighter off and tossed it and the tin back into her satchel. Bella stared at Y/n with fascination as she inhaled deeply before tilting her head back to blow out a thick cloud of smoke. “But it makes me feel….human. I used to do it so much that having one in my hand became second nature. It was common for the times. Plus the taste of it reminds me of bitter coffee,” That distant look in her eyes returned, but was then replaced by annoyance, “Carlisle hates it--as does Esme but they tolerate it so long I do it on the terrace. Emmett and Rosalie will indulge me by partaking to get under their skin,” a light chuckle leaves her lips, taking another drag. “The others say nothing. As I said, it doesn’t affect us.”

Bella laughed under breath, “Honestly I can’t see Edward smoking.” Picturing it felt foreign, and Bella wondered if he had before turning. 

Y/n laughed with her. “I’ve tried tempting him, but he never breaks. Still tries to use the excuse that it is a bad habit.” Y/n scoffs, “believe me, I know. He just hates the smell of it--enhanced senses to blame for that.” Blowing smoke out, Y/n finished with, “Alright, enough of my bad habit.”

Y/n began to take Bella back to April 10th, 1912. To the day she and her family boarded Titanic to set sail to New York from Southampton, England. “Before they were the Los Angeles Dodgers, they were the Brooklyn Dodgers. And before that, they were the Brooklyn Superbas. My father co-founded and owned the team in 1883 as the Brooklyn Grays prior to all the name changes and eventual move. His father,” she took out a small antique ashtray from the satchel, tapping off the ash from the filter. “had accumulated wealth after hitting big during the Gold Rush. My father then used his part of the inheritance to go into business with Charles Byrne, Joseph Doyle, and Ferdinand Abell.”

Now it made sense for Bella why whenever the Cullen’s played baseball Y/n sported Dodger merchandise and would find her watching the team play on T.V during the season. She also was a fan of the Brooklyn Mets, but not as enthusiastic as she was with the Dodgers. Not to mention the intense rivalry with Edward for his love of the Chicago Cubs. 

“Now you know how my family’s fortune came to be,” Y/n waved the smoke she released away, “and as you can imagine, he was friends with some very rich, influential people in New York. The whole reason we were in England to begin with was to attend the wedding of one of those people. As for Titanic,” she swallowed the imaginary bile in her throat. “He wanted to have the ability to tell everyone that he and his family were amongst the ship's first passengers. To brag or whatever--I don’t really know. But it happened that the wedding took place around the time she was set to set sail to New York. Extending our trip to last three weeks instead of the two we planned. All because he managed to snag the tickets by talking to the right people at the right time…..”

“I do not understand why we couldn’t have left on the Lusitania last week,” Y/n complained as the car neared the boarding docks. Trying to peer out the window but was annoyed by the crowd of people taking up every inch of the pavements, making their journey last longer than planned. “We’ve taken the liner twice now--surely it would have been up to satisfaction. We’ve had no trouble traveling on it--why go through the hassle of staying a whole week longer just to be on this ship, father?”

Not looking up from the newspaper in his hands, Y/n’s father sighed and shook his head. Irritated by her complaining as she had yet to stop since he told her the news. “Because, daughter, this is no ordinary ship. The White Star Line has spent years crafting the perfect vessel for the sea and we are in an extraordinary position to be able to be amongst the first passengers aboard. How could you not be excited by that?”

Y/n secured her coat tighter around her shoulders, frowning while keeping her gaze on the scene outside. “Forgive me for not being comfortable at boarding a ship that is set to make its first voyage across the Atlantic.” 

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Y/n. There is no need to be dramatic and consume yourself with worry. The White Star Line has assured Titanic passed every safety precaution and is unsinkable.” 

That did nothing to lift her unease, “Is that not what they said about the Tayleur? It sank three days into its maiden voyage?!” Her father grumbled, closing his paper to fold and place in his lap. 

“That was over fifty years ago. Times have changed. Technology has changed.” His hand waved dismissively, “That ship was doomed from the start despite what the papers make of it. Look, it would be foolish of them to not have learned from their mistakes. I’m telling you there is nothing to worry about.”

“But that feeling never left me,” Y/n put out the cigarette, blowing out the last bit of smoke. “Even after meeting the crew and the captain, there was an odd heaviness in my stomach. Telling me that something would happen. No matter what I did to distract myself--whether that be playing cards or chatting with other young girls my age aboard, thinking about my fiancé back in New York….it never left my mind.” 

Bella let out a gasp, eyes widening at the revelation, “Fiancé?” At the vampire’s nod, Bella felt her heartbreak. 

“Alexander Mason,” there was an airiness when Y/n exhaled, reminiscing at the memory of her lost love. “His father was a real estate mogul and big fan of the Dodgers. Our fathers met at a banquet, not long after they were invited to watch a game from our private viewing box and introduced us. Alex was a doll,” Another cigarette was lit, the woman shifting in her chair. “Handsome, intelligent. Beautiful eyes you could get lost in. Had a sharp tongue but a quick wit. I honestly wanted nothing to do with him,” Y/n chuckled at Bella’s gaped expression. “He talked my ear off that night.”

“And that was a bad thing?” Bella giggled.

“No,” Y/n defended, her own smile threatening to peek through. “It’s not a bad thing. It was just….odd. Took me off guard--especially because the conversation was centered around me. Which--,” her finger not holding the cigarette lifted up for emphasis, “most men in the 1900s of that class were not interested in the hobbies and interests of women. They desired a wife who would be a shiny doll to hang off their arm and keep the house in order.” The cigarette went between her lips. 

“I was not like that. I had dreams. Aspirations. I wanted to go to school, become a writer, and maybe see a little of the world before settling down.” The small, albeit sad, smile appeared. “He supported me--encouraged it actually. Then after several dates I was smitten. Alex was the first man to whisk me off my feet and make me believe there were truly good people out there. He was so sweet. So kind. Loving.” If her heart could beat, Y/n was sure it would have died on its own from being broken. “I knew I’d never find another like him. Which is why I said yes to marrying him after four months of courting. Under the condition we’d wait until I completed university--we were seventeen after all and the idea of marrying that young, despite it being common, unnerved me.”

“And he was okay with that?”

“He was. He agreed that it was too soon to get married, but he told me he’d rather refer to me as his fiancée than telling people we were going steady.” It was then Y/n peered down at her left hand. Bella followed her gaze, landing on the dainty diamond ring on the finger reserved for when one commits their life and love for another person until death do them part. Realizing what the ring was, and seeing how she never saw Y/n without it, Bella felt her eyes water. 

“Is that…?”

“Yes.”

“It’s beautiful,” it truly was. Timeless and the type of ring that belonged on display in an antique museum. It suited Y/n.  

“Thank you,” she beamed, lifting her hand up to inspect it. “His words when he proposed was he saw the ring and it reminded him of the way my eyes sparkled when I laughed.” Y/n tightened her lips, emotion flooding her. “Little did he know the only time I genuinely laughed was with him. He was the reason for that sparkle.” 

A pregnant pause fell over the two. Y/n shuddering as she blinked away the tears that would never fall. God if there was one thing from her human days she wished she still had, it was the ability to cry. 

“What happened to him? If you don’t mind me asking,” Bella’s tone was gentle, hand nudging slightly forward as if to offer Y/n comfort. 

“He lived a long life,” Y/n resumed smoking, though the sadness never left her tone and her gaze remained on her ring. “I watched over him for many years--even after joining Carlisle. He can attest to the weekends I’d go missing and return with a tortured presence.” The heaviness in her chest heightened, she quickly reverted the story back to Titanic knowing at some point Bella would ask more about her relationship. 

“Anyways, we boarded Titanic the morning of April tenth and I kept to myself most of the time. If I wasn’t in my suite, I read in the lounge or sat on the deck drinking tea. Played cards with wives and daughters in first class. Chatted with the crew whenever I had questions.” Y/n inhaled sharply, eyes turning narrow. “It wasn’t just the ship I was worried about--Twas the main reason for my anxiety, yes, but there was a sense that I was being watched. You know the feeling?”

Bella nodded, heat rising to her pale cheeks as she thought back to the first weeks she lived in Forks and first met Edward. Even when she could not physically see him, the feeling she was being watched hovered over her. Then of course the incident with James, and now with Victoria still out there, Bella kept looking over her shoulder believing she’d catch a glimpse of red hair. “I know it quite well.” 

“Then you know it brings the hairs on the back of your neck up,” Y/n snarls, clutching her fists together. “And it is frustrating because you feel as though you are going crazy scanning your surroundings every second hoping to find the one responsible.” Unclenching she shook her head and took a deep drag of the cigarette. Letting the nicotine, a placebo to her, linger in her system before releasing. “The entire time on that ship I knew I was being watched. On the deck--in the lounge--in the ballroom, God, on my way to the powder room, I felt like a deer being hunted. My father dismissed my concerns, naturally, because I had no evidence of this faceless individual stalking me aboard. My mother, God rest her soul, at least listened and advised me to not wander on my own after nightfall.” 

“I’m assuming this faceless individual is the vampire who…” Bella trailed off nervously, her suspicions confirmed by the firm nod she received. “Who was he?” This time she got a scoff.

“To this day I’m unsure if the name he gave me was in fact his real one. Hours prior to the sinking he introduced himself to me--Called himself Arthur Deveroux. Said he was an investment broker out of London.” The sneer returned on her visage. “And that he was on his way to New York to do business with Rockerfeller. I’d never heard of him, and to this day the name Arthur Deveroux is not on the list of first class passengers aboard Titanic. He was a stowaway,” Y/n explained with a grimace. “Snuck on minutes before the ship departed Southampton and imposed as a member of London’s elite. In reality, Arthur--or whatever his true name was--was a man who’s greatest power was the ability to deceive.”

A chill ran down Bella’s spine. Enough to make her shift in her seat. It wasn’t hard to picture the kind of man Arthur was based on the fury laced in the vampire’s tone. And as Y/n relayed the story of the night she met her creator, Bella felt as though she were there with her. 

“What did you say your name was again?” Y/n’s brows pinched, observing the man with skepticism as she removed her hand from his after he’d taken it to kiss her knuckles. Just before he approached her at the table where she had been retrieving a plate of custard for her mother, that inkling of being watched had pooled in her stomach. Sending off alarm bells when she turned to find a beautiful man appearing not much older than her with the most unusual eye color. 

Red. Deep like the rouge lipstick she wore. The sight of them made her take a cautious step back. 

“Arthur Deveroux, madam.” Never had she heard a voice like him. Smooth and echoey. Unique and the type one would hear singing on the radio. Or beckoning prey out to sea. 

“Arthur,” Y/n repeated, scanning his physique which was donned in a crisp suit. Matching the men around them present for dinner. “You’re from England I assume? What brings you to New York?”

“Business. My company hopes to collaborate with Mr. Rockerfeller.”

“Fascinating,” she wasn’t really. Many men attempted to get their hooks into the millionaire and turned up short. Y/n thanked the waiter handing her a martini, taking a sip while eyeing Arthur, who declined the waiter’s offer of making him a drink. “How come I have not seen you before tonight, Mr. Deveroux? Are you not one to mingle?”

His chuckle sounded like wind chimes. “I’m afraid not. I tend to stick to the walls during these gatherings and observe. The people here are far too ostentatious for my liking.” If he’d been anyone else Y/n would laugh. Agreeing with the statement. But something about Arthur screamed that he was hiding something.

“Well, do enjoy yourself these last days Mr. Deveroux.” She began to excuse herself, sneaking a glance to her table to find her parents watching the scene. “I hope New York is up to your standards.” 

The smirk that appeared sent goosebumps along Y/n’s arm. And not the good kind she’d get when Alex looked at her. Everything about the expression was eerie. As though Arthur was calculating an idea--and Y/n was at the center of it.

“I believe you might be right, Y/n. I think New York is going to be everything I envisioned.” Taking her hand once more, Arthur’s smirk never left as he felt her shudder at the touch. Cold lips pressing to her knuckles. “Perhaps we’ll see each other there.” Before she had the chance to reply, Arthur backed away slowly then turned on his heel. Striding toward the exit amongst a sea of guests, and Y/n let out the sigh of relief she’d been holding. 

When he disappeared from her view, Y/n realized she’d never given him her name.

As it came time to recall the final minutes of her humanity, Y/n was on her fourth cigarette and the golden color of her eyes had dimmed. Bella’s heart skipped and she swore to herself knowing Y/n heard it. The last thing she wanted was to dishearten the young woman further. 

“I’d got separated from my parents during the initial chaos,” her voice was barely over a murmur. Gaze fixated on the surface of the table. “Titanic had just struck the iceberg and the impact woke me up. My parents went to the deck for information and I was trying to find them when I was suddenly pulled into a storage closet by a force so strong I remember it knocking me off my feet. Dragging me into the darkness. I couldn’t see and the grip on me prevented me from moving--I let out a scream but then a hand covered my mouth causing me to freeze. That’s when I heard his voice.”

“I’m sorry it had to be this way, Y/n.” his icy mouth caressed the side of her ear. Y/n whimpered against the rock solid hand holding her still. “I’d hoped to continue our conversation in New York, but it appears this ship will not be arriving. Now I have to improvise, but rest assured….this will only hurt for a little while.” And before Y/n could react, a pinch on her neck turned to a searing, excruciating pain that exploded in every cell in her body as Arthur sank his teeth into her skin. 

Ensuring Y/n L/n was listed among those lost at sea when Titanic greeted the bottom of the Atlantic on the early morning of April 15th, 1912. Her name missing from the list of survivors recovered on the RMS Carpathia. To the world, the beautiful young socialite died along with the thousands Titanic took with her. Never knowing she was reborn into a creature of the night, destined to walk the Earth for eternity as a living reminder of the ship of dreams that was believed to never meet her end. 

“By the time I awoke Titanic was all but a memory. A blur. He kept me in that closet for most of the transformation as the ship took on water. Slowly descending further and further into the icy waters of the Atlantic,” Y/n finished the last of her cigarette, putting the nub out and curling her hands into her elbows. “I heard everything. The screams. The cries. Women and children saying goodbye to their fathers. The violins from the band who refused to stop playing.” The melody filled her ears, bringing Y/n back in time. “I focused on the music. Ironically enough, it brought comfort despite the chaos unfolding and served as a distraction for the torment I was going through. Mentally and physically.”

Bella wiped away a tear with a sniff but she remained quiet.

“When the upper deck flooded, that's when Arthur moved us. Edward might have told you before that when a vampire bites a human, the amount of time it takes for the venom to course through all depends on where they bite them.” Bella nodded slowly, remembering the conversation from when she first went to the Cullen’s home and he told her that Carlisle suffered for days during the transformation because he was bitten on the hand. For Y/n, Arthur bit her neck. Closer to the heart and therefore it would only take hours. 

“I was nearing the end--and he knew that, but it was minutes before the ship would submerge and he did not want us to get stuck. He gathered me up, hauled me over his shoulder and made our escape. To everyone on board scrambling to stay afloat it looked like a man carrying his lover to safety. What they didn’t see, however,” Y/n paused briefly to gather her emotions. “Was Arthur throwing us off the railing on the opposite side and swimming away. For miles and miles in absolute darkness. Until we finally reached the shore.”

Bella pictured a newly turned Y/n dragged from the waters onto the sands of New York. Returning home as planned, but without a beating heart and newfound thirst for blood. Scared. Confused. One minute she’s aboard a sinking ship, the next she’s on land. Life stolen by a man with sinister intentions. Depriving her of the future with Alex she dreamed of. 

“What happened next?” Bella carefully asked. 

Y/n’s expression remained dejected, offering a light shrug. “Arthur kept me hidden for days. Forcing me to feed on innocent humans. The RMS Carpathia would be arriving in New York and he needed to confirm if my parents had survived so he could blackmail me into stealing my inheritance.” Pushing away from the table, Y/n gathered the ashtray and discarded the remains into the trash. Running it under the faucet before wiping it dry with a paper towel.

“What the bastard didn’t anticipate,” she said with a tone Bella couldn’t decipher, but it sent a wave of unease through her. “Was the level of rage I experienced when I finally got a hold of my mind. It’s easy for creators to manipulate newborn vampires, but they have to be precise and hope that the person does not remember what preceded the bite. Unfortunately for Arthur, I remembered everything.” Y/n returned to the table, tossing the ashtray in her satchel and Bella saw the darkened expression that had encased her. “And once I realized what he’d done to me…let’s just say Arthur should’ve thought twice about taking on a newborn vampire for the first time.”

Bella didn’t have to hear the words to know what Y/n was implying. Gulping as she muttered, “You destroyed him. Like Edward did to James.”

Their eyes locked, and Bella felt her breath hitch by the blankness in Y/n’s. “Does that bother you?”

“No,” there was no hesitation. How could Bella blame her for wanting revenge on the man who stole her life. Y/n deserved her revenge and from the sound of it, Arthur had never turned anyone prior to her. Leaving him unqualified for the intensity a newborn experiences adjusting to their new life. 

Y/n would’ve been stronger. Faster. Combine that with rage and the taste for vengeance and Arthur was no match for her. 

“Carlisle found me three months later--in July of 1912,” Y/n wrapped up the story, fiddling with the cuff of her sleeve before moving to play with her ring. “I knew immediately he was like me, but his eyes were different and I wanted--needed--to know what my future was like. Considering I didn’t really give Arthur the chance to explain,” A sheepish look came over her. “Carlisle had this aura, and I knew I could trust him.” A soft chuckle escapes her, “It’s funny, you know, my intuition never failed me when I was human. It was so strong even then and becoming this only enhanced it. Just look at how the entire time on Titanic I could not shake the feeling it wouldn’t reach America. Then Arthur….Carlisle believes it to be my gift and If I’m being honest I didn’t believe it myself until decades later.” 

Bella instantly became curious, “What made you think otherwise?”

Y/n tensed, and the crushing expression replaced the somber one. Folded hands going in her lap, but her thumb still stroked the ring. “Remember how I said I used to watch over Alex?” Bella nodded slowly, chest tightening at the implication, followed by confirmation. “Well I always felt,” her left hand went to the part of her chest where her heart lay. Unmoving. “In here, beckoning me to be near him. That I needed to see him--even if it was for a split second. And so, for seventy years--,” Bella’s mouth parted with glistening eyes. Y/n mirrored her, but unlike Bella the tears wouldn’t fall. “I would go to him. Observing from afar of course I could never…get close.” Y/n squeezed her eyes shut, placing her hand back in her lap. “There were times he saw me.”

A gasp left Bella before she could stop it. “He did?”

“Yes,” Y/n murmur was more of a whimper, and Bella let the first tear fall. “I knew it was wrong, but I’d let our gaze lock. Then the second he blinked or turned I bolted. I know,” she huffed, “It was selfish of me. I hated myself because I was quite literally a ghost haunting him. But God I just needed to see his eyes--they were always my favorite thing about him.” 

Y/n cleared her throat loudly, rubbing her arms as she gathered herself. She knew telling Bella about Alex her years watching over him would come to this moment, but nothing could prepare her for the pain surfacing within her. 

“The uh--the last time I saw Alex was on his deathbed,” her eyes were closed but she heard Bella’s reaction. From the stutter of her heart to the sharp inhale. “In the days leading up everything felt off. I knew he was sick--he’d been for awhile, but I hoped he’d pull through like the other scares. This was different.” Her hand went back to her chest. “My intuition never failed me,” she let out a watery laugh, “and this time…it was warning the inevitable. Then Alice gave a look I’ll never forget, and I knew I needed to get to him as fast as I could.”

Bella couldn’t even imagine, just envisioning it made her heart sink into her stomach and throat dry up. Before she could ask the million dollar question, Y/n answered for her. “I got to say goodbye. It’s what Alex deserved. After everything I put him through he deserved to have closure.”

“Why did you never…?”

“Turn him?”

“Yeah,” Bella frowned, immediately regretting the question upon Y/n’s look of torment. 

“Same reason why Edward has yet to turn you,” it was harsh and Y/n knew it. But Bella needed a wake up call, if she could be the one to deliver then so be it. Yet at the same time, Y/n finds it aggravating that Edward would put this much effort into a relationship with Bella to not turn her. With Alex, Y/n never pursued him and kept her distance for a reason. Yes, she tortured herself by constantly checking on him, but at least she committed to it. 

A flash of hurt was evident on Bella, but she recovered as Y/n continued, “Alex lived a long life. Maybe not always happy, but he went on to do great things. He became an engineer, and dedicated his career to advancing ships for cross-Atlantic travel. Because he never wanted another disaster like Titanic to happen again,” a small smile curled up on her lips, a proud look in her eyes. “Eventually he married a nice woman, had a daughter, and three grandkids. Turning him would’ve taken that all away.”

Despite feeling broken-hearted for Y/n, Bella understood her reasoning, even though she herself desires becoming a vampire to be with Edward. Unlike Y/n, who sacrificed her chance at having her love with her to give him the ability to live a full life. 

“Did you,” she bit her lip, leaning her elbows on the table after wiping a stray tear. “Did you at least get to talk to him? Before he died?”

Y/n was silent. Gaze drawn down to her lap where it focused on the diamond ring. And while her undead heart broke for the man she’d never see tending to his garden or placing fresh flowers on her ‘grave,’ ever again, Y/n smiled at knowing he was in a better place. 

“I did.”

“I-I knew--I always knew,” the old man croaked in anguish as tears welled in his beautiful eyes that still held the color and sparkle they did when he was a seventeen-year-old boy. Now covered with wrinkles to match his withered skin and silver hair. He laid in a hospital attached to different machines, heart monitor picking up in pace at the rapid beat due to the emotions consuming him. But no matter his appearance, he was still the sweet, darling, Alexander Mason Y/n fell in love with all those years ago. “I-I saw you--after Carpathia docked I scoured the area for you.”

“I know you did,” Y/n whispered with agony. Grabbing his hands gently, making him gasp by how cold they were but he clutched them like a lifeline. Holding them to his chest because he feared that if he let go she’d disappear. 

“They told me you were lost at sea,” the first tear fell, and Y/n felt a sob in the back of her throat. “They said you sank to the bottom and would never be recovered. They--they told me I was making it up--but I knew you were out there. I saw you.” He shook his head as more tears cascaded down his cheeks like a never ending waterfall. “I saw you at my graduation. At the cemetery when my mother died. At the docks when I left for France--when I was in France.” Y/n shuddered at the memory surfacing. 

America had entered World War I and despite Alex coming from wealth where he easily could’ve dodged the draft, he enlisted and spent the year in Europe fighting. And the entire time Alex carried a photograph of Y/n in his pocket close to his heart. Removing it when he was about to go on the frontlines to take one last look at her face and press a kiss to the image. Men in his battalion often asked about the lady Alex held in his pocket, and each time they were met with shock and regret when he revealed she was on Titanic when it sank. 

That was the longest time Y/n had been away from Carlisle. He advised her not to go as she did not know any of his friends that lived in Europe, but Y/n refused to be an ocean apart from Alex. Especially when there was the high chance he may never return home. No, she needed to be close to him. To ensure he was safe. Eventually when the war ended, and Alex was back in New York, Y/n tracked down Carlisle in Chicago. Discovering that during her departure he turned a 17-year-old boy dying of Spanish Influenza. 

“I was there,” she breathed, confirming his statements as she stroked his hand and wrist. Aged skin contrasting with hers frozen in time. It pained her to see him like this. Pained her to have gone decades as a shadow in his life. Observing from afar while never drawing close. 

“You were there,” He repeated with awe, the memories of each occurrence flooding his mind. She wasn’t a figment of his imagination, conjured by his grief. She was real. “At the docks.” Y/n nodded. “At the hotel opening.” Another nod, this time slower. “At my wedding.”

Y/n couldn’t take it anymore. Her head dropped between her shoulders, leaning forward to press her forehead against their conjoined hands. The tearless sob released, echoing along the walls and hitting her straight in the chest. Her undead heart breaking into pieces. “I’m so sorry, Alex. I am so so sorry. Please forgive me--I couldn’t come to you no--no matter how much my soul begged for me to put an end to the suffering.” 

“What happened out there, my darling?” He brought her attention back to him. Not wanting to go another second without looking at her face. The beautiful face he fell in love with as a boy. The face that haunted his dreams. That he swore he saw on a crowded street and when he looked out his window on every birthday and anniversary that passed. The face he thought of when fighting for is life in France--praying he’ll see when he was called to the heavens. 

Now that face was in front of him after decades of mourning. When people called him crazy for always believing Y/n to be alive and forced to hide away. “You’re still as beautiful as the day I lost you.” One hand let go of hers to caress her cheek, wrinkled thumb stroking the area below her eyes. “Except your eyes have changed. They’re not the color they were when you left New York.” His hand rested on top of hers, still perched on his chest right by his heart. “But nonetheless, still beautiful.” 

Y/n swallowed thickly, trying to find the right words to say but none of them seemed appropriate. “You remember all those stories of creatures in the night we used to read about that our parents said were incongruous?” His nod was slow, but attentive. 

“Like Dracula?”

“Yes,” Y/n choked out a laugh, “Like Dracula. Turns out all those stories are not fairy tales.” His sharp intake filled her ears.

“Are you saying…?” This time Y/n was the one to nod. “Good Heavens. You--you are a--.” She shook her head roughly, not wanting to hear him say the word. 

“I’m not the same I was when I left for England all those years ago. There are things--dark things, that exist in the world, and unfortunately I’m one of those.”

Alex rescinded her words, “No. I don’t believe that for a second.”

“It’s true, darling.”

“You might have different eyes, but you’ll always be my Y/n. You’ve been my guardian angel all these years. Any--anytime I felt lost, you were there. Anytime I-I felt like I was forgetting your face, there it was in the distance.” 

Y/n let out a pained sound, but it was so soft Alex couldn’t hear it. His words struck her. Like lightning hitting a tree. How could he still have devotion to her after all the suffering she put him through. 

“You still wear it?” He brought her attention to their hands, where his frail finger traced the ring. “After all this time?”

Y/n stared at him with absolute love, “I’ve never once taken it off.” Bringing his hand to hers, she kissed his weathered skin. “And I never will.” For a moment they just sat there. Staring at each other while the beep of the monitor filled the room. Getting slower and slower to the point Y/n felt herself starting to crumble. “I’m breaking all the rules coming here,” she eventually said, wanting to hear his voice until the inevitable arrived. 

“Rules?”

“Things in this life are not so different from yours. There are rules to follow and the reason why I had to stay away from you. It would’ve put you in danger--and I couldn’t let that happen.” Alice assured Y/n her visit with Alex would remain hidden from the Volturi, but part of her still worried. Thankfully her intuition wasn’t screaming at her, otherwise the situation would be different. 

“Will you get in trouble if you’re caught?”

“Yes. But I don’t want you worrying about that. Alright?”

“Does anyone know you’re here?” The fact Alex was concerned made her smile. 

“The man who took me in does--and the family he and I found along the way.” One of her hands came up to brush away a silver hair that had fallen in front of his eyes. “He found me shortly after I…became this. He knows I would've moved mountains and fought my way through anyone who got in my way to prevent me from being here with you.”

Alex sighed, eyes fluttering shut as they fought against the sleep his body desperately craved. Y/n saw it too, and the look of anguish overcoming her made Alex understand why she waited until now to make an appearance. 

“This is it, isn’t it.” Not a question, a statement. 

“Yes,” she whimpered, scooting closer so she was sitting beside his torso rather than his legs. Leaning into his space as he kept her palms pressed to his slowing heart.

His smile was gentle, “I guess I should find some solace. Dying with the last thing I’ll see being the love of my life I lost a lifetime ago.” Another groan left her. “I always regretted not coming with you to England. That damn Yale interview.”

“I’m grateful you didn’t,” she defended, tone serious as though appalled by his confession. “Had you who’s to say we would’ve made it on a lifeboat. And if they refused to let you on, I would’ve leaped off.” The chances of him surviving would’ve been slim. The lifeboats took women and children first and therefore the majority of those who died aboard Titanic were men. Including Y/n’s father. “You would’ve never done the amazing things you accomplished, Alex. You would’ve never got your Nobel Prize--or had your family.” 

A sigh left him, knowing she was right, and another wave of tears fell as he whispered, “I would’ve joined you.” He would’ve become a vampire for her. Traded in his future of living to remain unmoving in time with her. 

It devastated her. “I know you would have,” her bottom lip trembled, “But Alex, you deserved to live. You deserved to do all those great things. You’ve embedded your name in history--thanks to you, there hasn’t been a commercial passenger ship to sink in seventy years.”

Alex let out a snuffle, “I didn’t want--I didn’t want anyone to experience the pain I did. Losing you that way…I never recovered, Y/n.” 

Now that destroyed her. Worse than she ever imagined. Y/n audibly reacted as the pain tightened and exploded in her chest. “Oh, Alex.”

“You’ll stay, right?” The monitor decreased in pace. Alex used what little strength his heart had left to stay alive to treasure the last moments the universe afforded him with Y/n. His time was coming, and he was ready, but he needed to see her face, hear her voice, and feel her touch, one last time. “You’ll be right here.”

Y/n leaned forward, holding her weight up but still keeping her body close to his. “I am not going anywhere,” She vowed, lacing their fingers together, pressing them into his chest so she could feel the light thump of his heart. “I’ll be right here every second.”

And Y/n did. She sat there, holding his hands until they went limp. The beeping decreased. Alex’s breathing turned into soft pants, eyes fluttering as the darkness beckoned him. The last thing he felt was cold lips pressed to his forehead, and the melody of her voice in her ears sending him off to the Heavens, “I love you, Alexander Mason, I will love you until the end of time. And when the day comes, I’ll meet you at the docks.” 

April 14th, 2012 

The Cullens stood together in silence as the cool wind breeze passed them and clouds drizzled light rain above. The smell of salt from the sea filled their senses, the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks, causing the boats docked to lightly sway. 

Bella, now possessing golden eyes and skin so pale and cold, leaned into Edward’s side while brushing a hand down their daughter’s hair. Like her family, she remained silent as she watched her sister-in-law stand alone at the edge of the docking port. Staring ahead into the deep, quiet ocean. 

In the middle of the night one hundred years prior and 1,300 miles away, the ship of dreams known as Titanic sank to the bottom of the Atlantic. Carrying 2,240 souls on her maiden voyage to New York, only 706 made it to their destination. The rest were lost to the sea. 

Y/n L/n may have survived the sinking, but she died aboard Titanic. As the ‘unsinkable’ vessel took on water, her heart stopped. Never to beat again. Becoming frozen like the waters consuming them, she went on to outlive the 706 survivors rescued on the RMS Carpathia. The last one leaving the docks forever in 2009. 

Flowers in her hand, with the same face that boarded Titanic, Y/n approached the edge of the dock. The wind breezed past her, stronger this time but she remained afoot. Crouching down so her knees hovered over the wood. And when she leaned over to stare at the water, the reflection of that 17-year-old passenger stared back at her. 

With a shuddered breath, Y/n gently lowered the bouquet, watching as the current grasped the flowers, allowing them to drift away in the direction Titanic would have traveled when she reached her final destination. 

Golden eyes followed the flowers as they grew smaller and smaller in the distance until Y/n barely made out the color. When it was gone from her vision, she tilted her head up to the sky, smiling at the sight of the sun breathing through the dense clouds. 

They’d have to go indoors eventually, but Y/n rejoiced in the feeling that the universe was sending her a sign. They might be gone, but they are never forgotten. The people we love are always watching over us. Sometimes it’ll feel like a gentle touch to the shoulder. Or comes as a whisper. Or in a crowded room you might find their face. 

However it may come, they are always there. 

And as Y/n began to stand, wind picking up once more, she felt the caress of a hand on her shoulder, a gentle murmur filling her ears. 

“I’ll always wait for you at the docks.”

[supermpn]

tagged by @ @eriklehnsherrr

Thank you!!!

last song: loving machine by tv girl

favorite color: pear green

last book: Bible

last movie: titanic 😔🚢🧊

last tv show: impractical jokers

sweet/spicy/savory: sweet 🍦🍩🍪

last thing I googled: burger king menu 😔🍔👑

current obsession: stalker 2☢️, titanic 😔🚢

looking forward to: buying iced coffee tomorrow! ❄️☕

Tagging: @ @bruceewayne @moviesaremylife @choiiminho @swkywalker @rebeljyn @ragnarockz @peterpcrker

[bricktoygrapher]

Titanic junior 🚢

[thatsmyjamjam]

Ships 🚢

There are a lot of really cool ships in One Piece, but there’s only one that is properly named according to the traditions (Western) of sailors.

First, a boat must be named by the captain as it’s an extension of the captain.  Now we don’t know who named most ships in One Piece, but we do know Merry named the Going Merry and Iceberg named the Sunny, not Luffy. Both are improperly named.

Second, a boat must not be named something boastful or prideful as it’s said to bring bad luck. That means naming it directly after yourself (as Captain—so the Queen Mama Chanter, Big Mom’s Flagship) is bad as is calling it something like the Titanic, or Unsinkable.  Now a lot of boats fail to follow this rule, and yes I am aware they are pirates, but I love sailing traditions. 

Finally, a boat has to be named after a woman as it was believed to bring good fortune and a safe return home.  It was also thought that a Captain would better take care of a woman---that's why they name cars with women names as well. Proper sailors follow this tradition.

Out of all the ships in One Piece, only one pays homage to a woman that is not also named after the woman captain herself: The Victoria Punk. And you’re not going to tell me Kid didn’t pick out that name himself after his dead childhood crush. This makes it the best ship and I'll say that with my whole chest.

Now, for half credit, Bartholomew Kuma used a drawing made by his daughter to base his Warlord ship on, but the ship is named Kuma. Still, it's cute he thought of Bonney when designing it.

I am unaware if Japanese ship names follow different naming conventions from those typical in the West for private ships. I do know Merchant ship names often have the suffix -maru (translates to circle), while warships are typically named after grand objects (mountains, islands, weather phenomena, or animals).

I despise what happened to the Victoria Punk and to the Polar Tang.  These last chapters with no update about either crew have been maddening. *Shakes fist at Oda* I need to know their fates.

[suzukiblu]

Winner of the "🚢❓️" poll: "🦭", which is another new WIP which we will be calling "selkie Kon" for the moment.

Kon misses Hawaii. Misses the easy access to the ocean, and the beach, and the sun and sky. But especially just misses the water. 

Kansas doesn’t have water. Metropolis at least has a harbor and a river, and Cadmus wasn’t that far from Metropolis, but Kansas . . . 

Super-speed or not, Kansas has nothing. Smallville’s got, like, ponds. A river that barely counts as one. A few creeks that everyone calls “cricks” and looks at you funny if you don’t. 

But no real water. No sea. No ocean. Just . . . land. Miles and miles of flat, empty land with nothing to break it up and nowhere to go in it and nothing else whatsoever. 

He fucking hates it. 

Kon hates a lot of things about Smallville, though. He even hates being a Titan, sometimes. 

It’s nothing like Young Justice was. Young Justice was theirs. 

And Smallville is Clark’s, and just so damn small. The sky and the land go on forever, but there’s no water, no energy, no life, no depth to it. Clark loves it here, but Kon can’t understand why. 

And he doesn’t love it enough to ever be here except to tell him he’s fucked up again, apparently, so what’s the point? 

Kon guesses he’s just never understood Clark, though. Even when he thought he did, or at least thought he almost did. 

He definitely never has, though. 

He definitely doesn’t now, if nothing else. 

There’s just–there’s no water here. It seems like such a stupid little thing to complain and obsess about, but it makes Kon feel held-in, crushed-down, flattened-out, trapped. It makes him feel . . . 

Small, somehow. Like he’s just this tiny, isolated little thing that doesn’t belong to anything, that isn’t a part of anything, that’ll never go home again. Which–he doesn’t even have a home, so it’s not like that feeling’s wrong. Not like other people do. 

The Titans don’t fix that. The open sky doesn’t fix that. Everything Clark tells him there is to love here doesn’t fix that. 

Even the new name with “Kent” in it doesn’t fix that.

[conscbgb]

Seonghwa wanting his Titanic moment 😍💞🚢

Hongjoong: "I'll just throw you overboard!"☠️💀☠️🙅‍♂️💀☠️💀🙅‍♂️

Poor Seonghwa 😆🤣😅

[fablesuntold]

@historiavn sent: “Can you keep a secret?” — From Anastasia Andrews to Jack Dawson ✨

Life didn’t get any better than this, did it? At least not for someone of Jack Dawson’s class— the lucky son of a bitch who’d managed to snatch the last golden ticket onto the promised ‘ship of dreams.’ Who knew that winning a mere game of poker would change his life for the better? Jack sure couldn’t have fathomed it even in his wildest dreams. Good things didn’t come his way. They were strictly for the rich, and unfortunately for him? He was severely lacking in the money department; poverty an unwanted friend. Sailing on The Titanic had always been a pipe dream of his since the cruise had first been announced. A ship that he figured he’d be forced to marvel at from afar in all of her unsinkable glory, now the very same ship whose deck he sat on watching the beautiful arrays of oranges and reds paint the sky.

What a beautiful night it was, not a single cloud to be seen within miles of the setting sun; the main reason he was out on deck to begin with. Art being his greatest passion, Jack intended to broaden his skills in trying his hand at sketching something other than another human being for once; portraits his speciality. So with his old, worn sketchbook balancing on his knee, Jack’s stare shifted between the horizon and the paper, pen dancing carefully over the page with expert precision.. that was until a voice from behind called out to him and had piercing cerulean blues dart over his shoulder to seek out the source.

Anastasia Andrews. A woman he’d met just days ago, belonging to a higher class.. yet, still treated him with respect. Rich people with manners sure were hard to come by nowadays, but luckily for Jack? She seemed to like his company. The feeling was highly mutual.

‘Can you keep a secret?’ The words finally registered in his head, and Jack couldn’t help but to shoot her a cheeky but charming smile from around the unlit cigarette hanging loosely from the corner of his lips— an old habit of his.

“Luckily for you, secrets are my specialty. Scouts honour.” Bringing a hand up to his chest just directly above where his heart lay, Jack made a playful ‘cross’ gesture with his index finger. “Cross my heart, hope to die.” That said, he closed his sketchbook to show her that she had his undivided attention. Whatever she needed to say, whether she simply needed to get something off her chest to someone willing to listen or it was eating away at her mind, Jack was more than prepared to lend a listening ear. That was just the type of person he was. “You can tell me anything and I’ll take it to the grave.” Patting the deckchair next to him, he straightened up slightly to get a better look at her. “What’s on your mind?”

[madamspellmans-met-tet]

F I C A R C H I V E

My Art

if you’d like to join me on my journey of trying my luck with publishing, have a look at @madampayne 💕

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M

801 words

👻 baby, you’re just harder to see than most

(ghost!Farah x Reader)

Farah’s partner can’t come to terms with her death, and so, every night, she dances with her ghost.

E

2,026 words

🌬️ Grow Wings

While Farah is away on a field trip, Aster hits rock bottom. But after what happened last time, she doesn’t want to tell Farah—even when she finally returns. Good luck tricking a mind fairy…

M

21,631 words (completed)

🩸 Black Dahlia

(adoptive mum!Farah & Reader)

Miss Dowling discovers Dahlia’s self harm.

M

18,510 words (completed)

🎀 Sugar & Sweetness

(upcoming sugarmommy!Farah x Reader)

E

🧁 Common Burn

(upcoming Farah x Reader cottagecore AU)

Rhaenys Targaryen

👑 Camyla, the Petulant

(brat-tamer!Rhaenys x Reader)

All Camyla wants to do is run, all Rhaenys wants is for someone to stay.

When Corlys leaves Rhaenys on her own for years, to grieve the loss of their children all by herself, an old friend of her husband requests her help dealing with his misbehaved daughter Camyla. Rhaenys agrees to take her under her wing, but the young woman is hell-bent on driving her mad.

E

🎭 Gentle into the Night

(Corlys x Rhaenys)

Rhaenys survives Rook's Rest, Meleys does not.

M

1,631 words

Morissa

🌂 This Is What Makes Us Girls (prequel)

(Morticia Addams x Larissa Weems)

It’s Larissa’s 18th birthday, but she doesn’t get what she wants.

M

15,256 words

❄️ Roommates

(Morticia Addams x Larissa Weems)

When the Addams Family attends Larissa Weems' funeral, Morticia is confronted with the truth about the relationship she used to have with the woman.

M

49,965 words (completed)

🥶 Barren Cold (sequel)

(upcoming)

💨 Invisible (on hold)

On the night of their graduation, Morticia is forced to see that she can't have it all - Or can she?

E

14,520 words

🏰 Gwyneth of Rivia

“My name is Gwyneth of Rivia.” She gestured towards the cadaver. “And this is the beast I’ve slaughtered for you.”

E

3,686 words

Madam Spellman

🚢 Ship of Dreams

(Titanic AU)

Every year for the past decades, Lady Morningstar and Lady Blackwood have been meeting aboard an Ocean Liner. This year, it is the RMS Titanic, travelling from Southampton to New York.

E

26,174 words (completed)

🌆 Kiss Me Hard Before You Go

(Las Vegas AU)

“There’s no use in talking to people who have a home. They have no idea what it’s like to seek safety in other people. For home to be wherever you lie your head.”

M

14,420 words

(somewhat completed, but more could come)

🎤 It’s gonna take a Queen of Hell to sweep me off my feet

Lilith can't believe her eyes (and ears) when she returns to the Mortuary after a fight with Zelda.

T

1,096 words

💜 I plant violets every time someone leaves me

(Zelda x Reader)

Clara is about to end her life when Directrix Spellman steps in.

E

4,519 words

🔨 Kiss with a Shovel

One would assume that after all the times she’d killed and buried her sister, she’d have it down and she did, but the transportation aspect of it frequently proved to be rather arduous.

M

1,914 words

🎁 Pandora’s Box

Zelda Spellman has been begging Hecate to bring Sabrina back for months, but maybe she’s been praying to the wrong goddess all along?

E

50,042 words (completed)

🏷️ Whatever the Price

Sabrina has just come back from the dead, together with her boyfriend Nick, and now she wants to get married! But as it turns out, Aunt Zelda isn't the only one standing in the way...

E

91,097 words (completed)

😈 Cherubic Little Devil

About one year after the arrival of their grandson Magnus, Zelda and Lilith now have a child of their own on the way. A baby, created from a witch and a demon. Born to claim the throne of Hell as well as represent the Order of Hecate. What will their path look like?

M

30,211 words

🌙 Pavor Nocturnus

When Zelda and Lilith's daughter is 5 years old, something scary happens...

T

9,666 words

🥵 Heatwave

A heat wave has hit Greendale - but that is nothing against what's going on in the Spellman bedroom.

E

5,607 words

🐎 Calloused Heart

(upcoming Cowgirl AU)

Wolves, storms, and money turn into the least of Zelda Spellman's problems when her sister invites Mary Wardwell-Masters to stay at the family's ranch.

M

3,056 words

✨ Whispers at Witching Hour

Zelda and Mary met at the wrong time and apparently in the wrong lives. Still, they can't seem to keep apart and find themselves in the messiest relationship of all realms. Can they make it work despite their cosmic problems and personal issues?

-An attempt to make Madam Spellman canon from P1 to P4-

E

185,993 words

✨ Wishes at Witching Hour (sequel, on hold)

When Lilith came home one night, she hadn't expected her whole life to change. Now she's living in the constant ache of not knowing the answer to one question: What really happened that day?

E

45,204 words

Miranda Croft

🫒 Handcrofted

You’re Miranda’s former assassin-colleague and after five years, you’ve decided to pay her a visit on her olive farm.

E

6,625 words

[omniluci-estumbra]

“Oh forget it Hermione…you’re as like to have angels fly out your arse as get next to the likes of him” 🚢

Titanic Dramione but with the twist that Draco is Rose and Hermione is Jack 🥰

I feel like aesthetically they fit the other way around with how I draw them (especially Draco’s floppy 90s hair) BUT I feel like character wise this way fits soooo much better

[boatmediatourney]

🚢Boat Song Lineup & Links🚢

*links are on the boat emojis. most of the artists listed are specific to the linked versions, and many are folk songs with no single or known author. all the links are youtube links.*

🚢 32 Down on the Robert MacKenzie (Due South), Paul Gross

🚢 A Pirate Looks at 40, Jimmy Buffett

🚢 A Sailboat in the Moonlight, Billie Holliday

🚢 The Ballad of Gilligan's Isle (theme song)

🚢 The Ballad of Harbo and Samuelson, Shanghaied on the Willamette

🚢 The Bonnie Ship the Diamond, The Corries

🚢 Bluenose, Stan Rogers

🚢 Boat on the River, Styx

🚢 Canadee-i-o, Nic Jones

🚢 Come Sail Away, Styx

🚢 Day-O (Banana Boat Song), Harry Belafonte

🚢 Friggin in the Riggin, The Sex Pistols

🚢 Ghosts of Cape Horn, Gordon Lightfoot

🚢 Go to Sea No More, The Dubliners

🚢 The Good Ship Kangaroo, Planxty

🚢 Hard on the Beach Oar, Johnny Collins

🚢 Haul Away Joe, The Eskies

🚢 Highwayman, The Highwaymen

🚢 I'm on a Boat, The Lonely Island

🚢 I'm Shipping up to Boston, The Dropkick Murphys

🚢 James Craig, The Maritime Crew

🚢 The Last Bristolian Pirate, The Longest Johns

🚢 Leave Her, Johnny, Leave Her, Coda

🚢 The Leaving of Liverpool, The Dubliners

🚢 The Little Boat, The Wiggles

🚢 Lord Franklin, Pentangle

🚢 Lowlands Away, The Corries

🚢 Lukey, Great Big Sea

🚢 The Mariner's Revenge, The Decemberists

🚢 Marie Christine, Gordon Lightfoot

🚢 The Mary Ellen Carter, Stan Rogers

🚢 Mingulay Boat Song, The Corries

🚢 Mr. Andrews' Vision ("Titanic: A New Musical"), Maury Yeston

🚢 The Mistress, Dramtreeo

🚢 My Sails Are Set (One Piece live action)

🚢 Orinoco Flow, Enya

🚢 Overture/Prologue/The Launching ("Titanic: A New Musical"), Maury Yeston

🚢 The Pacific, Dave Malloy

🚢 The Pirates Who Don't Do Anything (Veggie Tales)

🚢 Proud Mary, Ike and Tina Turner

🚢 Race to be King, Seth Lakeman

🚢 Rolling Down to Old Maui, Stan Rogers

🚢 Roll the Old Chariot (sea shanty)

🚢 Round the Cape, The Longest Johns

🚢 Row, Row, Row your Boat (nursery rhyme)

🚢 Running Down to Cuba, Colm McGuinness

🚢 Sailing, Christopher Cross

🚢 Sailor's Farewell (sea shanty)

🚢 Santiana, The Longest Johns

🚢 Santiano, Hugues Aufray

🚢 Saturday, Jonathan Eng and Stephanie Hladowski

🚢 Save the Whales!, Country Joe McDonald

🚢 Ship in a Bottle, Fin Argus

🚢 Ship of Fools, The Grateful Dead

🚢 Song for the Bowdoin, Larry Kaplan

🚢 Song of the Volga Boatmen, Soviet Army Chorus & Band

🚢 Son of a Son of a Sailor, Jimmy Buffett

🚢 South Australia, Johnny Collins

🚢 Tow Rope Girls, Daniel Kelly

🚢 The Wellerman (sea shanty), Nathan Evans

🚢 The Wild Cape Horn, Friends Of The Shipyard and Fisherman's Fayre

🚢 The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald, Gordon Lightfoot

🚢 Warlike Seamen, Jerry Bryant and Starboard Mess

[kiragirl17]

So the writers saw Titanic and Poseidon and was like, "I can do worse."

🚢