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bookshelf-in-progress · 4 months

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For Love of the Princess: A Sleeping Beauty Retelling

The court was leaving. A colorful parade of nobles in richly-embroidered robes, with bright banners flying, were abandoning the palace with the king and queen.

And leaving Princess Aurora behind.

"We've no choice, dear," the queen had told her daughter in tears the evening before. "The whole palace will sleep when the curse falls. We've a duty to our people. We can't abandon the kingdom for a hundred years."

Princess Aurora, who'd been fairy-gifted with grace and compassion, had sweetly said she understood.

Margaret, who had no such gifts, thought the queen deserved to have her eyes pecked out by birds.

All of Aurora's ladies-in-waiting had talked late into the night--had been working over the problem for weeks as Aurora's sixteenth birthday drew ever closer with no chance of averting the curse. They had planned and theorized, but all decided at last that there was only one thing to do. They were, to a woman, going to stay with the princess. A hundred years would pass while they slept. They would wake to a strange world where everyone they knew was dead and gone. But not for all the gold in the kingdom would they abandon Aurora to face such a world alone.

Now they stood together at the palace gate. Anne, the eldest of them, with strands of gray in her hair, who had been lady to the queen before coming to serve the princess. Lydia, younger even than Aurora, fair and tall and full of energy. Celia, little, sweet and copper-haired, only a year older than Aurora. Margaret herself--tallest and most practical, with wisps of golden-brown curls fluttering in the wind. And exactly in the center, Princess Aurora, with her fairy-gifted beauty that outshone the sun itself. Margaret had come to view these girls as sisters, but as they watched the courtiers leave, she suddenly realized they were all the family she was going to have--that any of them were going to have--for the rest of her life.

When the last face, the last horse, the last banner, disappeared over the horizon, all five of the women stepped back inside the palace walls.

And were immediately faced with a problem.

"Which one of us is going to close the gate?" Celia asked, gazing up at the wicked-looking portcullis. None of them had ever touched the winch-and-chain that moved it. Who knew if they'd even have the strength to? Five women staying alone in a castle for a hundred years could not leave the palace gate open for any passing brigand to come through.

With a groan and a rattle, the chain moved, the portcullis lowered, and the metal bars fell to the ground with a bone-rattling thump.

All of the women screamed.

Had the curse come upon them already? Were they to be trapped here for a hundred years, never to escape? Margaret's heart raced--she hadn't realized how suffocating the palace would seem.

A man stepped out of the guardhouse. He wore the livery of the palace guard and had the first whispers of a mustache on his upper lip. He bowed to the princess and her ladies.

"My apologies, ladies," he said, in a baritone that sounded surprisingly deep for one who appeared barely old enough for that facial hair. "I did not intend to startle you."

He looked young and strong of limb. He carried himself with the dignity and grace of a much older man--had something in the eyes that made him seem wiser than his years.

Aurora gave a deep royal nod. "We thank you for your service. If we could know the name of our servant?"

He bowed crisply. "William of Avenroth, your highness."

Aurora gave her sweetest smile. "We are pleased to know you, and we beg your forgiveness for our outburst. We had thought ourselves alone in the palace."

"You are alone, your highness," William said. "Everyone left, save for me."

"You did not wish to escape the curse?"

William bowed again. "I have a duty, your highness, to protect the princess. All other considerations fade before that calling."

"Some would say such devotion goes far beyond duty," the princess said.

Serenely, he said, "Perhaps it does, your highness."

Aurora opened her mouth, then closed it. She bowed her head. "I am grateful for your loyalty, William."

She turned back toward the palace, and her beautiful face was pensive.

As Margaret and the other ladies followed Aurora back toward the palace, Aurora asked, "Ought I to send him away?"

"Send him away?" Anne yelped. "Why?"

Aurora hushed her, looking back over her shoulder. "I can not ask him to risk the curse for my sake."

"You haven't sent any of us away," Lydia pointed out.

"You all know me well," Aurora said. "He barely knows me."

How little Aurora understood her power. She was princess of the realm, fairy gifted, bright and shining. No person who saw her ever forgot her.

"He has served you from his boyhood, highness," Margaret said. "Though you do not know him, he is quite familiar with you."

Anne said, "He chose to stay, just as we did."

"It is not fair," Aurora said, "for all of you to give up your lives because of my curse."

Margaret said, "It's not fair that you were cursed. You did not choose it--but we can choose to love you. Let him make that same choice."

Aurora stopped, tears in her eyes. "Never has a princess had such true friends. I am afraid I can never be grateful enough."

She embraced each of them in turn, all of them caught between laughter and tears. Then she turned back toward the guard and invited him inside for supper.

In the Great Hall--now echoing and cavernous in its emptiness--they made a merry birthday supper, rejoicing over the coming of the princess' sixteenth year, and not letting themselves think about the doom that came with it. The king and queen, though not staying to celebrate the day, had left a celebratory meal behind them--roasts and fruit and cakes and punch.

Margaret had been afraid that the guard William would be out of place among them, but he blended in with ease. He was quiet, respectful, courteous, seeming to enjoy being in their presence, not minding being on the outside of their shared jokes. He helped to serve the meal, even brought some of Aurora's favorite treats from the palace stores, pointing out that they would not last the hundred years. Aurora was gracious, and, as the night went on, genuinely warm. She smiled at William with the smile she reserved for her friends, even drew him into private conversation once or twice.

Despite her assurances to Aurora, Margaret couldn't figure out why William stayed. Margaret had noticed him at the palace, had seen him serving with distinction. He was loyal, dutiful, diligent--but a man didn't become the only guard in the entire palace to risk a hundred-year curse out of duty.

It puzzled her, but she had to admit that she was glad for his presence. Having another person there made the world seem not so small.

The next day was a tense one. No spindles had been seen in the palace since the day the princess had been cursed, but curses had a way of making themselves come true. Margaret and all of Aurora's ladies stayed with her, trying to keep up her spirits and keep watch for any stray spinning wheels. William kept watch at the gates, hoping that he could fend off any evil that might try to approach from outside.

The sun was nearly below the horizon when Margaret and the other ladies followed Aurora into her room in the castle's highest tower. They all sat beside the window, watching the sinking sun, waiting for the moment when the day would end and the danger--so long feared--might pass by forever.

The last sliver of sun sank below the horizon, and all the ladies gave a sigh of relief.

"Could it be over?" Celia asked, with suppressed joy.

"Perhaps the king's plans worked," said Lydia.

Margaret could not shake a sense of foreboding. "The sun is gone, but there's still light in the sky."

Anne rose angrily. The shawl she'd been desperately knitting all day fell to the floor. "We've only a few minutes! What more could happen?"

The ladies began to quarrel--everyone's nerves were tight after the tension of the day.

Aurora rose--quietly, gracefully, but her movements attracted every eye. "Girls, let's not quarrel."

She reached beneath her bed to pick up the ball of yarn that had rolled away from Anne's knitting. "Oh!" she said in surprise, drawing her hand back. "I think I found your knitting needle, Anne."

She drew back the ruffle at the base of the bed. Beneath, they saw, not a knitting needle, but the shining, wicked point of a drop spindle.

Aurora fell onto the bed--lost in a deep sleep.

There were tears, gasps, shrieks--but they fell to work. Margaret could already feel sleep pressing down upon her, but she urged the girls to move quickly. They lifted Aurora fully onto the bed, arranged her limbs to lie flat, put pillows under her head, and covered her with blankets. If their beloved princess was to sleep for a hundred years, they could make sure she was comfortable while she did it.

Celia was the first to drop, falling to the floor in a deep swoon. Margaret placed a pillow beneath her head, and then did the same for Anne when she fell asleep at the foot of Aurora's bed. Lydia fell almost on top of Aurora, and Margaret moved her so she was stretched across blankets on the floor.

All this time, Margaret's eyelids drooped, her limbs became heavy, and her head split with yawns. She fought the curse as long as she could, trying to arrange a hundred years' worth of comforts in a few moments. But at last, even her will could not overcome the magic. Her legs gave out, and she crumpled to the floor, with half her body draped across the foot of Aurora's bed.

Her last thought as she fell into a hundred years of sleep was that she'd have such a backache when she woke.

Margaret woke to a world covered in dust. She scraped it off her face, shook it off her hands, brushed it from her dress and hair. Around her, the other ladies were waking with similar ablutions.

Aurora's chairs, wardrobe, dressing table, even Anne's abandoned half-finished shawl, were all covered in dust. The windows were covered with rose bushes, so Margaret couldn't see what a century had wrought upon the world outside. On the bed, the other girls were clearing the dust off of Aurora--but Aurora remained fast asleep.

"I don't understand," Celia said, as the hours dragged by with no sign of Aurora's waking. "We're all awake."

"The hundred years has passed," Margaret said. "But the princess has to be woken by a kiss of true love."

"Where's that supposed to come from?" Anne asked. "Any suitors the princess had will be dead and gone by now."

"Maybe one came from this century," Lydia suggested. "It's possible some brave prince grew up with the stories and came to save the sleeping princess."

That seemed as good a theory as any, so after they'd tended to their ragged old dresses as best they could, Celia sat at Aurora's bedside, and Margaret went into the halls with Anne and Lydia, in the hope they could point some wandering prince in the right direction.

The rest of the palace was as dusty and decayed as Aurora's room. Tapestries were moth-eaten. A kitchen's worth of food had decayed to nothing. Suits of armor were covered in rust.

When they found no princes inside, they decided to head outdoors. With all three of them pulling together, the kitchen door came open with a shriek of rusty hinges.

The doorway was completely blocked by a wall of roses and thorns.

Margaret's throat tightened. They had nothing to break through those branches. They were alone in a palace with no food. If Aurora didn't wake soon, they'd all starve.

Looking at their stricken faces, Margaret could see the other girls were coming to the same conclusion.

Then they heard rustling in the branches. The thick wall showed gaps of sunshine. There were flashes of silver, the sound of a man's groans. At last, the branches parted before a blade, and William burst into the kitchen.

His mustache had darkened a bit over the decades, but he still looked as young and dignified as ever. Though his face and hands were bleeding with a thousand scratches, he bowed with his usual courtesy and a hint of a smile. "Good morning, ladies. I trust you slept as well as I did?"

"What's it like out there?" Margaret asked.

"Overgrown," William replied. "The entire palace is covered in roses--a precaution of the fairies, though I'm not certain whether it came from the good or the bad ones."

William cast his gaze across the room, and suddenly became solemn. "Where is the princess?"

"Still asleep," Lydia said, near tears. "It's awful! There's no one to wake her!"

The look of selfless devastation on William's face made everything clear.

"William," Margaret said. "You love the princess."

This unflappable young man blushed and looked at the ground. "It is not my place--"

"You stayed a hundred years for her! Of course you love her!"

"I could never be her true love. I am only a guard--"

"It's been a hundred years! Some other king rules the kingdom. There's no one alive who'd object. You have to kiss her awake!"

William turned white and his jaw fell. "I could never take such liberties!"

Margaret put her hands on her hips. "Look, if Aurora was drowning, you'd jump in to save her, right? Even if it meant touching her without asking permission."

"Naturally."

"This is no different. If you don't try, Aurora will die."

William thought, then bowed. "I will do what I must to serve the princess."

Margaret seized William's hand and led him toward Aurora's tower.

Celia jumped to her feet as they entered the room. Her eyes brightened as she saw the guard.

"William! Have you found the prince?"

Margaret and Lydia pushed William toward the bed. "He's right here," Margaret said.

William stood beside Aurora, looking down into her serene, flawless face. "What if she doesn't welcome such an advance?" he whispered. "How could she care for a man she barely knows?"

Anne said, "Why don't you ask her when she wakes up?"

William bent over Aurora--then stood up. "This might not work."

At once, all four of Aurora's ladies said, "Kiss her!"

Ever so gently, with impossible tenderness, William brushed his lips over Aurora's.

Aurora's eyes opened. "William?" she breathed.

William bowed his head. "Forgive me for taking such liberties, your highness--"

Aurora threw her arms around his neck. "I'm so glad it's you."

Caught in her embrace, William stood flabbergasted.

"Your highness," he said. "Under the circumstances, I do not expect you to return my affection--"

Aurora pushed him away and looked in his face. "How could I not? You stayed true to me when every other man in the world abandoned me."

"You do not know me."

"I know that you stayed. I have a whole new century to get to know everything else." Aurora sat up on the edge of the bed. "If we decide that marriage suits us, I have plenty of bridesmaids."

With laughter, all of Aurora's ladies embraced her in turn, sharing stories about their hundred years of sleep.

Margaret went last, holding Aurora tight.

Aurora said, "I can't thank you enough. All of you, so true. You gave up a whole world for me."

As Margaret looked around the room at Anne laughing over her ruined century-old knitting, at Lydia and Celia teasing William--the women she loved like sisters and a brand-new brother--Margaret felt justified in saying, "If I lost a world, I got a better one in return."

#the bookshelf progresses #fairy tale retellings #sleeping beauty #i came up with this one on a whim #it developed beyond what i intended and probably still isn't developed enough #the ending kind of fizzled out but i hope it's not too embarrassing

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hometoursandotherstuff · 4 months

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Lovely 1885 Queen Anne Victorian in the beautiful town of Mt. Holly, NJ. 7bds, 3ba, $690K.

This home is so authentic- it really looks like a Victorian may have looked, back in the day.

Original millwork.

The only thing that ruins it, is, you guessed it, the ever-present gray paint of homes for sale, no matter what the era.

Will this trend ever die, already?

I hate this, they even did the ceiling.

Beautiful rich wood fireplace and shelving.

Pocket doors do not look good with modern gray walls.

Beautiful pedestal sink and stained glass window in the powder room, plus the height of modern decor, a contrasting griege upper wall.

Lovely fireplace and alcove. I actually prefer a creamy off-white to dreary gray- it looks like constant rainy days.

Great original pantry with a door to the porch.

The kitchen was completely renovated. I don't mind white cabinets in classic Shaker style, and I love the chandeliers. The counters are okay, but I would've liked a more vintage-look backsplash.

Stairs and landing to the 2nd level.

Beautifully curved walls. Love the stripes and wallpaper border.

Oh, good night. The primary bedroom is gray.

I love that little ceiling fixture. It's so cute.

Small sunporch.

Renovated shower room.

Currently, a children's play room, but it could be anything.

Stairs to the upper most level.

Another bedroom up here.

And a new bath with a jetted tub.

The porch is so pretty.

And, it's a wraparound lemonade porch.

10,677 sq ft lot makes a large yard, plus the house has a pretty big back porch.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/48-Broad-St-Mount-Holly-NJ-08060/38133028_zpid/

#queen anne victorian homes #old house dreams #houses #house tours #home tour

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queen-paladin · 10 months

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disclaimer: yes, I am complaining about cheating in media. Because, yes, writers have the freedom to create what they want but if the morality in creation is free for all forms of media, but no piece of art is exempt from criticism, and that includes criticism on personal moral grounds. I betcha if I said Harry Potter is good, actually, everyone on here would flood my blog telling me I am wrong because of the author's intense prejudice. That being said, I am criticizing cheating in fiction, If you don't like that, don't interact

So often lately I see period dramas where the husband cheats on the wife (ex. Poldark, The Essex Serpent, Queen Charlotte, The Great)...and not only do I despise the cheating trope with every fibre of my being to where I get panic attacks when I consume the media...but specifically with period dramas...

Do these writers not understand the greater implications of a husband cheating on a wife during these periods? More than just the humiliation and heartbreak in the case of a loving, good marriage just like it is today.

In the Western world, probably until certain laws were enacted in the 1900's, if a woman married a man, she was legally his property. She had no legal identity under him. She was financially dependent on him. Any wages she made would automatically go to her husband. Her children were also not legally her children- they belonged to the father. If the husband died, even if the wife was still alive, the children were legally considered orphans.

Women could only rarely gain a divorce from their husbands. In England in the mid-1800's specifically, if a wife divorced a husband she had to prove he had to not only cheat but also be physically abusive, incestuous, or commit bestiality. On the other hand, a husband could divorce a wife just for being unfaithful. Because, kids, there were sexual double standards.

Getting married was often the endgame for a lot of women during that time. Sometimes you couldn't make your own living enough- marriage was a way to secure your entire future financially, with more than enough money to get by. If you were a spinster and middle class, you could get by with a job. But if you are an upper-class lady, the one thing a lady does not do is get a job and work. So upper-class spinsters basically were dependent on their families to get by (ex. Anne Elliott in Persuasion faces this with her own toxic family). As strange as it sounded today, marriage gave them some freedom to go about since a husband could be persuaded sometimes more easily than a father and one had a different home, their servants, etc. A husband was your foundation entirely for being a part of society, and standing up as your own woman.

So if a husband cheated on a wife, that was a threat to take all of that away.

He could give a lot of money that could be used to support his wife and children to the mistress. He could completely abandon said wife for the mistress. And since the wife legally couldn't get a job as he still lived, she would be dependent on any money he would said- and that is IF he sent over any money.

He could take her to court and publicly humiliate her to get a divorce away from her (look up the separation of Charles and Kate Dickens, he would call her mentally ill and say her cooking was bad and that she was having more children than they could keep up with all while having an affair and divorcing her to be with the misteress). And even if the wife was the nicest, more proper, goodest, more rule-abiding never-keeping-a-toe-out-of-line lady in town...as a man, the law was default on his side (look up Caroline Norton's A Letter to the Queen which details exactly that, the poor woman had her earnings as a writer taken by her husband and was denied access to her children from said husband)

So yeah...even if there was "no love" between them (and anytime the wife is portrayed as too boring or too bitchy so He HaS tO cHeAt is brought up is...pretty victim blamey)

So yeah. Period drama writers, if you have the husband have an affair ...just consider the reality of these things and address them, maybe punish the husband for once (*gasp* men facing consequences for their actions?!?!!), and if not, just please find other options and other tropes and devices for once.

#tw: cheating #cw: cheating #period dramas #feminism #history #books #tv shows #movies #television #tv series #costume drama #period film #queen charlotte #the essex serpent #the great #poldark

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whump-tr0pes · 2 months

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The Honor Bound Series: The Final Chapter

This is a series. Start here, continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound, Honor Bound 2, Honor Bound 3, Honor Bound 4, Honor Bound 5, and the prequel Vera.

AO3

Masterlist

Contents: the final arc, fluff, recovery, sibling tattoos, surprise party, slow dancing

Whoever was in charge of the music was mostly playing slow songs now. Isaac estimated that it was past midnight – far later than he was used to staying up these days, but he didn’t want to go home yet. His chest warmed as he and Gavin sat and watched the two dozen or so people still dancing; although at this point, they were mostly just leaning on each other and swaying in place. Gray and Kali had their arms around each other, her head resting almost on their upper stomach, they were so much taller than she was.

Isaac smiled at that. Their friendship had taken him a little off guard – but, he figured, maybe it shouldn’t have. Kali was kind, and gentle, and strong in that quiet way that Gray was. They were alike, in as many ways as they were different. And having her over to the house, watching how she loved Gray – it had helped them all trust that this place was safe.

Gavin raised his head off of Isaac’s shoulder as Sam wandered over to them and sat in the chair beside Isaac. Without a word, Isaac leaned over and kissed the top of Sam’s head. He sat back in his chair and glanced around.

“Where’s Zachariah?” he said, stretching his shoulder.

Sam pointed. “There, dancing with Aditi.”

Isaac rubbed his eyes. “Shit, sorry,” he murmured. “You’d think I would see him. Second tallest person in the room. I’m just…” He paused to yawn. “…sleepy. Sorry.”

Sam chuckled and stretched their legs out. “Why don’t you head home? It’s late.”

“I will,” Isaac said. “Not just yet, though. I want to stay a little longer.”

“This is nice,” Gavin said on Isaac’s other side. “Just… being with people.”

Isaac nodded. His gaze moved slowly across the room. He took in the people dancing, the fairy lights hanging from the worn walls of the community center, the mailboxes in the far corner, the darkness waiting just outside the windows. He wished the whole family was here; Vera and Tori had left hours ago, and Finn and Ellis had taken Iris home about an hour after that. Edrissa had slipped out at some point in the night.

Still, everyone he knew, everyone he loved – they were all here, in this town, within a twenty-minute walk from his house. He could see Vera and Tori tomorrow, if he wanted. And the day after that, and the day after that, and the day after that. He could watch Iris while Finn and Ellis rested – watch her grow, and change, seemingly right before his eyes – and he did, every week. He could walk to Kali’s house and she would sit him down and make him tea and they would talk about the snows this winter, or the supply of flour coming into Laporte, or the way it was still sometimes hard to leave his gun in the car. He woke up every day next to Gavin, and saw Sam every day as well – and they were happy with the new extension built into the house that gave them their own room. As he looked around at the slow-dancing people around him, his throat tightened, and he swallowed the thick lump that tightened in his throat.

As if Sam could read his mind, they reached out and squeezed his hand gently. He squeezed back.

With their arm extended, he could see their tattoo: a sprig of Queen Anne’s Lace that wound around their left wrist. He had a matching one on his own wrist, over the shackle scars there.

“Edrissa says the flower means safety and sanctuary,” Sam had said when they suggested it.

“It’s perfect,” Isaac had said. It was one of the first tattoos he got.

Tears burned his eyes as he traced the pale, delicate design on their wrist with his finger. Everything was so calm, so warm. He smiled and swallowed again.

“This was nice,” he rasped. “I’m glad we were able to put this together.”

“Nice for you, maybe,” Sam said with a laugh. Their slinged hand tightened, then released again. “You didn’t have to try and keep this from Edrissa for a month.”

“That’s true,” Isaac conceded. “No, I only had to figure out how to source the supplies four dozen cupcakes without the town’s worst snoop finding out about it.”

“I think that’s an easier job than keeping her busy and away from here for the past few days while we set up,” Sam said, pouting out their lower lip. “Resourcing is a skill, but deception is an art.”

Gavin snorted. “Christ,” he huffed. “No, the hardest job was convincing Ciara to be torn away from her seedlings for an entire afternoon and evening, and that was courtesy of yours truly.” Gavin inclined his head and flourished his hand as if he was giving a bow. “And without her, we wouldn’t have had music. So, you’re welcome.”

As if on cue, the song changed again. Isaac smiled. He didn’t know any of these songs; he didn’t know any songs, really, but he liked what he was hearing. “Hm. I think Gavin wins.”

“No fair,” Sam protested with a grin.

Isaac laughed. “I mean, Meredith is the one who baked the cupcakes, so I can’t even take credit for that one.”

Gavin snorted. “You should just be grateful I wasn’t the one baking them.”

“We would have survived,” Isaac said, nudging him playfully. “As long as we had Finn to take care of us after.”

The three of them laughed together. The warmth in Isaac’s chest swept through him, so sweet that it ached. Once their laughter died down, they were all quiet for a while, watching the others dance. Isaac swam in the music, in the softness, in the joy.

Sam stood. “Wanna dance?” they said, holding a hand out to Isaac.

“Sure,” he said. He kissed Gavin’s cheek and followed Sam out onto the dance floor. Once they reached the center of it, they embraced and swayed in place. Isaac rested his cheek on the top of Sam’s head. They laid their head on his chest. Their slinged arm was carefully tucked between them.

Isaac felt the steady rise and fall of their chest, the slow shuffle of their feet on the floor beside his. His lips pulled into a smile as he held them tight, then tighter. When they shifted their arm in its sling, he loosened his embrace and held them gently again. They squeezed him, he squeezed back.

“Love you,” he said simply, his breath ruffling their curls.

“Love you, too,” they murmured.

He listened to the words, felt them spread through him like warmth. He looked up and saw Gavin watching them with a gentle smile.

I love you, Gavin mouthed.

Isaac felt those words, too. He felt the slow, steady beat of the music vibrate through the floor into his shoes. He felt the warmth of the air around him, and the glow of the dim fairy lights hung on the walls that made everything look golden and sweet. He felt his sibling holding him tight, their head resting on his chest, safe, breathing slowly in time with him. And he knew, close-by, the rest of his family was safe and warm.

He buried his face in Sam’s hair and smiled, and smiled, and smiled.

THE END

@womping-grounds , @free-2bmee , @quirkykayleetam , @walkingchemicalfire , @inpainandsuffering , @redwingedwhump , @burtlederp , @castielamigos-whump-side-blog , @whatwhumpcomments , @whumpywhumper , @stxck-fxck , @whumps-the-word , @justplainwhump , @finder-of-rings , @inky-whump , @orchidscript , @inkyinsanity , @this-mightaswell-happen , @newandfiguringitout , @whumpkitty , @pretty-face-breaker , @pebbledriscoll , @im-just-here-for-the-whump , @endless-whump , @grizzlie70 , @oops-its-whump , @kixngiggles, @1phoenixfeather , @butwhatifyouwrite , @carnagecardinal , @whumpifi , @squishablesunbeam

#honor bound 6 #the final arc #fluff #recovery #sibling tattoos #surprise party #slow dancing #the final chapter

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cottoncandiescupcakes · 20 days

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I can't believe real life Blackbeard took Stede's ship and instead of you know being a PIRATE and shooting, stabbing or killing him he was like

After they set sail, Blackbeard realized he was dealing with an amateur and decided to seize Bonnet's command. He kept Bonnet aboard Queen Anne's Revenge and sent his first mate to take over Bonnet's ship, with the consent of Bonnet's crew. The stout, upper-class Bonnet, Blackbeard explained, was not suited to be a pirate captain, and would do better to relax aboard the larger ship in his cabin than suffer the trouble of commanding his own ship

????????????????????

He was like 'this thicc fancy man should stay in my bedroom... for... reason...'

Unlike the show where Stede improves as a pirate, real Stede

Captain Codd, whose merchant ship was taken on 12 October, described Bonnet as walking the deck in his nightshirt, lacking any command and still unwell from his wounds.

And later

On October 24, 1718, Bonnet, dressed in women's clothing, escaped the home in which he was being held.

???? Why keep this alive Blackbeard

We know why. Those killer legs

#edward teach #stede bonnet #ofmd #our flag means death #blackbeard #blackbonnet #gentlebeard #history #historical

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amuseoffyre · 10 months

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I saw a comment on S2 along the lines of "I don't see why they brought in Ricky/The British as bad guys". As if the British empire hasn't been the big threat since 1x01. The Badmintons represent the empire's lesser sons. Ricky is a similar thing, but escalating.

It's not overtly said in the show, but the entire empire and colonialism is the villain. We have crews of various kinds of disenfranchised people - Frenchie (was in service), Olu (implicitly from a maroon community), Buttons (Scots), Wee John (Northern Irish).

And then we have the Queen Anne - Ed's background is woven with the history and legacy of the British school system in his Māori mother's dialogue. Izzy is a working class northern man with the scars of flogging on his back. Also Samoan Fang and south Asian Ivan.

In 1x01, we see how the British upper classes treat people they consider their "lessers". Everything they say about Stede's crew speaks measures for the views of the empire: colourful, savages, slave. The gratification of seeing them immediately punished is *so* strong.

We also see how they treat anyone who doesn't fit into the specific boxes they have assigned to people. Stede is a target of their scorn, violence and mockery and has been since childhood, despite the fact he should - on the surface - fit in with them as a rich white man.

While Chauncey's vendetta against Stede is his primary motive for hunting him, prestige, rank and station are more valuable to Wellington and Hornberry. They defy their commanding officer to elevate themselves when they have Blackbeard take the Act of Grace. It's all about empire - dining with King George himself.

Which brings me around to Ricky. He's a lesser son - like the Badmintons - but also he is the empire incarnate, a minor Prince from the royal family, with Daddy running the treasury. He wants what he sees Stede having. He thinks he can just walk in and take it. When he fails - and is punished - he doesn't grow and learn from it like Stede does.

While Stede willingly gives up everything to be true to himself, Ricky immediately goes running back to cling to the imperial apron strings and uses the wealth, prestige and his name - and royal ties - to bring the wrath of the empire down on the Republic as a whole.

He wants, so he takes. If he can't have, he will destroy. Even after he's demolished everything, he tells himself "well, I beat all the other pirates, so that makes me the best pirate" because he genuinely believes that. He doesn't see them as equals to him. They are to be controlled and beaten by him. We see it from his first scene, referring to the pirates as "rubes", saying that he and Stede are better than the other people in the Republic & telling Stede he wasn't good at what he did.

For him, this is just a game where he controls all the pieces. Much like the British empire did - do what you like for fun & profit & kill anyone who gets in the way.

The threat of the empire has always been there, right from the beginning. The Act of Grace was the first royal step to quash piracy. Ricky was Act 2. We're into the final confrontation now, building steam to the fall of the Golden Age and the end of piracy as it was.

#ofmd #ofmd meta #ofmd thinkie thoughts

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randomishnickname · 8 months

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Thinking about Amma Crellin and her actions as reflections of the social hierarchy she grew up in. (spoilers under the cut)

Amma is pretty much Windgap royalty. Not only is her family extremely wealthy, her mother holds power over the livelihoods of big parts of the population. Her family history is deeply tied to that of Windgap. The sheriff and other officials are at Adora's beck and call. Everyone knows Adora and deferes to her, and this status transfers to Amma:

She plays the star part in the school play as a matter of course. She can get away with everything, from shoplifting to breaking curfew, from taking drugs to insulting and taunting a police officer. She's hot shit and very good at being a hot girl to boot, on the way to being prom queen like Camille once was. Her friends do everything she wants. Boys, she feels, are hers to control. Others are her playthings. At home, she's at the mercy of her mother. In the rest of Windgap, she's invicible.

Then, Ann and Natalie. Both outsiders who moved to Windgap only recently, their family without social capital worth speaking of. Both freaks, misfits - tomboys and late bloomers, still running through the woods instead of following the norms of girlhood and femininity. Still lacking self-control, prone to tantrums and biting. In the social hierarchy both of the school and the town, they're near the bottom - it's interesting Amma was friends with them once at all, but then this keen sense for social status often becomes more prominent once puberty hits. I think it's a safe bet they were bullied. They were not cool girls. And so Amma, who never faces consequences for everything, who's royalty, who has friends entirely devoted to her - she's safe killing them, in her good right almost, they're nobodies, and Windgap, that she knows so well, proves her right by not even once suspecting her. Had not an other outsider and freak, Camille, disturbed the status-quo, she would have gotten away with everything swimmingly. Her friends laugh about it too - Ann and Natalie's lives don't seem to have had much worth to them.

[I do believe her choice of killing Natalie wasn't entirely out of convenience either - I have the suspicion that Amma had a childhood crush on Natalie's older brother John that got rejected, and that killing his beloved little sister was a form of punishment for this unheard of outrage. Amma telling Camille John fancies her (despite him treating her like a venomous snake in the pool scene) could be a sort of wish fullfilment. Would explain how viciously she latches onto the 'baby killer' narrative.]

And then, Mae. To me it's VERY MUCH not a random choice to have Mae be a black kid. The only people of color Amma has probably ever met in the conferedate nostalgia enclave of Windgape are domestic workers that obeyed her, or workers at her mother's pig farm who defered to her, all of them incredibly lower on the social hierarchy than the litte Windgap princess. And now she meets this black city kid, who lives in a rented apartment, maybe with a single mom. That's not someone Amma would respect, or consider on her level, but instead I think she'd have this deep belief that Mae was her inferior and should obey her, defer to her. Did she plan on killing her when Camille granted Mae attention? Or did Mae refuse her somehow, got sick of being bossed around, in this fight they supposedly had?

And I love how all of this is both implicit and subtle yet crystal clear, in everything we learn about Ann and Natalie, the way their peers describe them (in contrast to the adults who are more proficient liars), in every interaction we see between the white upper class of Windgap and POCs.

#amma crellin #sharp objects #sharp objects spoilers #spoilers #meta #sharp objects meta #my posts #this is about the show only haven't read the book

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bantarleton · 1 year

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The Painted Hall, Greenwich

During the king’s coronation I visited Greenwich's "Painted Hall." This series of rooms depict scenes relating to the success of British Protestantism and the beginning of burgeoning imperial expansion. Following the vital English naval victory over France at La Hougue in 1692, Queen Mary ordered that a hospital be built for retired seamen, in keeping with the existing hospital for former soldiers at Chelsea. While Mary died before its completion her husband, William III, saw the projected through. Sir Christopher Wren (of St Paul’s fame) and his assistant, Nicholas Hawksmoor, designed a grand series of buildings at Greenwich, in London. The Royal Hospital at Greenwich acted as a retirement home for sailors between the 1700s and late 1900s. And at its heart is the Painted Hall, a series of rooms where a relatively unknown artist, James Thornhill, was commissioned to paint scenes of British-Protestant triumph.

At the centre is King William III and Queen Mary shown overseeing ‘The Triumph of Peace and Liberty over Tyranny.’ Immediately above the couple and to their left is the allegorical figure of Prudence holding a mirror, one of the four Cardinal Virtues.

To her right are Providence and Concord, while to her left is Justice. Beneath Justice is a woman representing Europe, who is accepting the ‘cap of liberty,’ the ancient red Phrygian cap, from William, who in turn is accepting an olive branch from ‘Peace.’

Beneath William’s foot is the defeated Louis XIV of France with a broken sword, and a tumbling, discarded papal crown. Beneath them the ‘Spirit of Architecture’ along with Truth and Time are overseeing plans showing the actual construction of the hospital.

Above it all, Apollo rides his chariot, while the signs of the zodiac are arrayed around the edges. At the bottom, Pallas Athena and Hercules crush the Hydra and the Gorgon, ‘expelling the Vices from the Kingdom of William and Mary.’

Another section of the ceiling shows a captured Spanish galley laden with the spoils of war, a reference to the British capture of Gibraltar in 1704. Diana, Goddess of the moon, passes mastery of the tides over to British sailors. Beneath them are representations of the English rivers Avon, Severn and Humber.

To the left and the right, scientific advancement is celebrated by the presence of astronomers Tycho Brahe, John Flamsteed, Copernicus and Newton’s ‘Principia.’ The gods Neptune and Cybele oversee it all.

The next section of the ceiling shows HMS Blenheim being filled with the spoils of war by the winged figure of Victory. Beneath are more river representations along with the City of London and figures representing navigation and astronomy. On the left is Galileo, while Zeus and Juno watch from above.

The painted hall took decades to complete, and saw further dynastic change, as George I, originally of Hanover, became king after William III’s successor, Queen Anne, died. George maintained the Protestant ascendancy, as portrayed in the upper hall chamber adjoining the main hall.

Here we see George I, his wife Sophia of Hanover and their children and grandchildren beneath St Paul’s, overseen the a figure representing “the Golden Age” with overflowing cornucopia. The artist, James Thornhill, added himself on the right. Over them is an inscription quoting Virgil's Eclogues, which translates as ‘a new generation has descended from the heavens.’

On the left of the upper hall is a depiction of William III’s arrival in England at the start of the Glorious Revolution in 1688, while George I is shown arriving on the opposite side of the hall (rather unrealistically in a chariot) in 1714.

#painted hall #the painted hall #greenwich #history #british history #art #art history #william iii #william of orange #william and mary #george i #queen anne #17th century #18th century

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dumplingtrait · 11 months

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nikolai lorens // for @wastelandwhisperer's sims and sensibility bc

✧ mid twenties, bisexual, european descent ✧ mansion baron ✧ ambitious, snob, materialistic, cunning, family-orientated ✧ likes queen anne decor, art, deception, silly behaviour, blue, elegant fashion ✧ dislikes egotistical sims, small talk, basic fashion and decor

nikolai lorens, a seasoned traveler, roams the continent with a certain finesse that masks the shadows of his past.

orphaned at a young age alongside his twin sister, dana, nikolai never felt a true sense of belonging. the siblings eventually found themselves in england, where the hardships of their youth diverged their paths.

while dana distanced herself from society, seeking solace in nature and art, nikolai took a different approach. driven by the challenges they faced, he honed his social skills, becoming a charming and adept navigator of high society. behind his graceful facade, however, nikolai harbours a secret disdain for the superficial structures of the upper class. he finds the concerns and intricacies of the privileged amusing, a private irony that has fueled his determination to climb the social ladder.

in the grand halls of the elite, nikolai dances on the edge of authenticity and manipulation, his journey marked by a relentless pursuit of success. the shadows of his past lingers, shaping a man who, beneath the charm and wit, harbours a complex relationship with the world he sees to conquer. nikolai lorens, a social chameleon, navigates the intricate tapestry of society with a wry sense of humour, all while secretly longing for the stability that has eluded him since childhood.

#ts4 #sims 4 #the sims 4 #ts4 cas #show your sims #simblr #sims blog #sims and sensibility bc #hope you like him !! shudve been made with no sliders but i may have fiddled with his shoulders i cant remember

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slowd1ving · 3 months

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I: DELIVERANCE・゜MIGUEL O'HARA

"And him. The scarlet and navy glimmer of scales was always probing at the edge of your conscious thoughts, demanding to be let in. You leaned your elbows on the railings to get more comfortable. Ever since you’d helped Miguel out with those mythical creature hunters, he plagued your thoughts like an incessant gnat. " No one ever tells you just how lonely the swashbuckling life is. Can you be blamed when you begin to long to see your new friend? When your morally ambiguous buddy makes a comeback, you can't just spoil the fun and foil his goals. Merfolk AU + Pirate GN! Reader warnings: death, violence, blood, hurt/comfort

THE TIME YOU MADE FRIENDS WITH A MERMAN AND WERE FORCED TO JOIN IN TRICKERY AND SCHEMING MASTERLIST

MISC. MASTERLIST ゜・MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

NEXT PART

You’d ordinarily consider yourself a lucky person. Sure, you got into a few unsavoury situations here and there (to say the very least), but you came out relatively unharmed! This led you to the unfortunately untrue assumption that the heavens smiled upon you. No, in reality, they were likely toying with you so you’d live a day longer to amuse their capricious whims.

In fact, you were positive that they were absolutely cackling at your current predicament.

“Deliver me from my doom,” you muttered under your breath to your only faithful companion, the one and only pistol on your hip. Silence (and maybe the crashing of the waves against the timbers of the ship’s hull) was the only response.

Of course, after all your reprieves and days off on considerably cooler days when the Queen Anne’s Slightly Malevolently-Intentioned Revenge docked, there had to be a catch. Today, when the arid air carried no trace of any cool breeze, when the blistering heat sunk into your very bone marrow, the first mate had elected you for guard duty while your crewmates slunk into the shadows of the port town.

Was it somewhat relaxing? No, not even that. Not in that horrible, humid heat that clung to you. You couldn’t escape it, not even when you stood in the shadows of the upper cabins.

Who could blame you when your mind began to wander? Guard duty was a farce, especially in this heat, when no one would be bothered to commit shipnappings. Still, maybe if you did your job, you’d be promoted to first mate when the crew switched out. Or even captain if the old fart kicked the bucket (heavens forbid).

And him . The scarlet and navy glimmer of scales was always probing at the edge of your conscious thoughts, demanding to be let in. You leaned your elbows on the railings to get more comfortable. Ever since you’d helped Miguel out with those mythical creature hunters, he plagued your thoughts like an incessant gnat.

You hadn’t seen him once in the past few weeks. Just like that, he’d upped and vanished somewhere beneath those deep waves. You wouldn’t say you were lonely, but friends came few and far-between in your profession. Who could fault you if you wanted companionship, or even just a few friendly words? Though, you sincerely doubted that he’d be friendly .

Still, he had promised to repay you; yet there wasn’t even a glimpse of him in your life. You didn’t even care about the damned repayment! Your own Good Company did not suffice to ease the discomfort gnawing away at you. Sure, you expected as much when you shook hands with the wizened captain: expected the loneliness, expected the lack of camaraderie, expected the harsh life the sea crashed against. Was it selfish, then, to seek the Possible Good Company outside of yourself and your pistol?

“Ignore me,” you crooned to the flintlock wedged in its worn leather holster. Were you slowly having your brain fry in the sun? Maybe. “You know I’d never replace your company.”

There was no sign of the sun setting anytime soon; there was no sign of your crewmates coming back to relieve you of duty either. You could jump ship, so long as you stayed on the dock and remained alert. The islet that hosted the crew was significantly smaller and less populated, so you’d see anyone approaching from a good few hundred paces away.

Maybe you’d sit on the creaking wood of the docks, dipping your feet in the cool water to ease the heat-induced discomfort. Maybe you’d dip into your secret stash of cured meats to sate your gnawing hunger. Maybe you’d even take the time to paddle around in the lagoon nearby after you were given the permission to stand down.

You set your jaw resolutely. You were absolutely going to cool yourself off in the lagoon. That snug little inlet off to the edge of that cliff was causing you to practically salivate over the premise of relief. Please be back soon . You’d slip out once a grunt took your place and have a whole few hours to yourself before curfew. Not that it was actually enforced. It was either get back on ship before we sail in the morning or get left behind in port to live out the rest of your miserable, low-life existence .

Huzzah! Your knight in pirate breeches was not, in fact, a grunt with whom you could leave the prestigious honour of ship-guarding. No, it was the drunk old captain, stumbling back up the gangway with the third mate. Not a grunt, but he’d do. You saluted and made your way down to the docks, ignoring the exasperated sigh of your shipmate.

Just you and your trusty pistol, ambling their way towards whatever paradise this dingy little town could offer.

Piracy really was boring when it came down to it. Rarely ever did your captain ever give the go-ahead to loot another ship (his idea of piracy was more along the lines of copying expensive manuscripts and selling them). Plus, it’s not like you could even put it on your resume if you did change career paths. You came for adventure, and stayed for what? Bad pay? That grey slop the chef affectionately called porridge? The net hammock that gave you unbearable back aches?

The stinky breath of your shipmates?

Yawning, you cast the thoughts out of mind for the time being. It wasn’t like you truly wanted a career change, deep down. The constant travel sated your curious mind, and visiting various cities was an adventure in itself. Still, the captain was far too reserved in your humble opinion (perish the thought!).

You were a simple being. A dip in the lagoon would leave you deliciously revived and a Model Pirate With Not A Trace Of Mutiny. Of course, you weren’t in a mutinous mood anyway , just Slightly Critical of your captain. Besides, who else would belch affectionately at you before giving you a stack of manuscripts to copy?

Maybe one day, you’d captain your own vessel. You’d finally taste the sweet nectar of adventure . However, that day wouldn’t be now. For now, you could occupy yourself with the simple pleasures of life.

And that included taking a bath. Gods, you stunk after spending a full day in the humid summer heat, sweating your ass off unloading cargo. You still had some modicum of decorum and hygiene, even if your peers (see: stinky louts) didn’t.

The cool waters of the bay in front of you practically made your toes arch with how pleasurable the sensation was against your too-hot skin. There wasn’t a soul in sight in the turquoise waters of the small lagoon; you could relax for a bit. Fuck it .

You waded deeper into the cool waters, towards the towering rock structure in the middle. Hastily, you peeled your hand-me-down Pirate Shirt and Pirate Pants and Pirate Scarf and Pirate Accessories off. The water at the centre was chest height, perfect for wading across and letting you put your belongings on the rock formation. You were left in your Pirate Underthings and not an ounce of Shame.

“Oohh…” your quiet appreciation trailed off as you closed your eyes and sank slightly in the water so it’d wash over your shoulders. You swirled your hands around the water; the currents created a semblance of a cold breeze. Moving back towards your belongings, you rummaged around in your Pirate Pockets, before grabbing a soap bar encased in (clean! new!) ship netting.

You lathered away the grime of the day in the shallower waters. It was a quiet ritual of listening to the shrub-shrub of the net against your skin, and you revelled in it. Amongst the cacophony of everyday life, amongst the shouts of your shipmates, amongst the smell of muck and burn of rope, this moment was yours .

But apparently not!

As soon as you rinsed and placed the soap carefully on top of your Pirate Pants, the sudden swish of the water several paces behind you had your body twisting to turn around instinctually. Your hand scrabbled for purchase on a chalky rock, before tossing something in the intruder’s vicinity.

“Pervert!” you yelled, though it caught in your throat as you met the gaze of one puzzled merman.

Where have you been?

Those red eyes, widened with what could only be surprise. Then, almost imperceptibly, a furrow of his brows as he slowly registered what you just said. You let your gaze drink in his face, trailing down on those scarlet scales that appeared in small patches along the length of his torso, and those tensed shoulders-

Why’d you leave?

“Human!” the adorable yellow octopus tumbled her way past her companion, slowly bobbing to you in the cool waters. “We found you!”

“Lyla!” you wailed inconsolably. “This brute over here was peeping at this poor defenceless pirate! This poor, hapless pirate’s honour has been besmirched! You… you must fight for my honour, my little yellow knight!”

The little yellow octopus paused as if you’d given her the shock of a lifetime. Then, she began shaking mischievously, and dare you say , conspiratorially.

“ Miguel !” Lyla sounded as if she was doing her very best impression of a scandalised gasp. “Did you come here, knowingly , when the human was in the middle of an intimate nude ritual?”

Pause.

Okay, that was too far-off.

“I was bathing, Lyla,” you frowned, almost melting at the way she practically shrank at your disappointment. Immediately, you felt deep and utter Shame and Self-Disappointment at her pitiful little tumbling (you supposed that yes, her knowledge was superior to yours after all). “Actually, whatever you said.”

“Can you two-” Miguel cut himself off as your gaze clamped back down on him. His upper cheekbones had begun darkening in a ruddy maroon, and your brows couldn’t help but raise at his sudden flustered state.

“We can come back another time-”

“No, it’s fine,” you easily interrupted. You lithely swam your way over to where he and Lyla were currently sandwiched in the waist deep waters of the lagoon. You didn’t particularly care about your near-nudity, not when he (see: sugar tits) didn’t seem too preoccupied with clothing either. Still, you couldn’t help your Scheming and Tomfooling nature:

“So, come to proposition me or something?”

His indignant spluttering sated your desire to mildly inconvenience him. You held your hands up in a demure gesture of Peace and Serenity.

“Relax, I was joking,” you rubbed salt in the wound further, almost preening at his glare. Really, your mind was currently yelling at you to stop antagonising the very being you had wanted to see.

Meanwhile, Lyla was having the absolute time of her life, gurgling away at his misfortune. She was much too close , you realised in horror. And Miguel clearly noticed the way you tensed up; the deep, throaty chuckle that he released convinced you he was an absolute sadistic fucker, because you were about to be suckered to death by that adorable-

“Relax,” he mocked your earlier tone. “She’s not poisonous.”

Ordinarily, you would’ve stewed pettily in your petty thoughts at his pettiness. Though now, you blinked in slow realisation, then pure and utter delight . Awwww .

“You’re not?” you turned to Lyla so fast that you swore you just had an intimate and passionate encounter with Whiplash.

“You thought I was?” she floated closer to you, and you swore her tone was slightly miffed. Your brow furrowed apologetically, and she clearly noticed, because suddenly you had a tiny yellow octopus nudging your arm. Awww . And you melted .

Awww.

You used one hand to cup her as a finger from your other hand was used to gently scritch her on her head. The texture under your fingers was like soft foam, and you were sure you’d turn into a puddle of gloop if this continued.

Awww.

And she practically nuzzled herself into your touch further, bobbing up against your finger so her head was resting against your palm.

Awww .

“Can it?”

The both of you turned to look at Miguel with nothing short of contempt. How dare he besmirch your good Honour as a pirate, then interrupt your Bonding and Friendship with Lyla?

“Can you not?” Lyla replied for the both of you - it’s as if she read your mind.

“Like, ever?” you chimed in; nothing like being an Annoyance to someone else together to make for better friendship. Miguel sighed, defeated.

“Fine, whatever, steal my familiar right in front of me,” he griped moodily, looking off to the side. Was he a petulant child ? “Not like I came here for important business or anything.”

Goddamn. His passive-aggressiveness was contending your own.

“I hate to say it, but bossman’s right,” Lyla gurgled apologetically in your hands; though, she still didn’t move out of the way.

“Bossman?” you faintly heard Miguel mutter incredulously. You let your eyes rake over him; he was currently pinching the skin connecting his nose to his brow bone.

“You have a mouth and I have ears,” you said, exasperated. Whatever Important Business he had was less important than your Friendly Bonding with Lyla. “I also have hands. I can listen and get better acquainted with my new best friend.”

“Why do I even try?” he continued his frustrated mutterings (his slew of annoyed remarks kept getting cut off by Lyla’s chirps of “Best friend! Best friend!”).

“Anyways,” he got over that fast . Though, you couldn’t help but notice that his glances at you - those hesitant red eyes - were becoming furtive instead of annoyed. Almost as if…

“Are you shy?” Lyla crooned from where she was currently being pampered by your head rubs.

“He’s totally shy,” she wiggled around in your grasp, prompting you to let her go in bewilderment. “He was scavenging around for weeks for this.”

“Lyla..” Miguel’s groan of frustration petered out as she knocked her head several times on his bicep. You blinked in surprise. Was that (this so-called Important Business) what had kept him?

You had to admit that it did look like it had kept him. His eyes kept darting around; it wasn’t fast enough to be called nervous, but judging by how reserved his expressions usually were, something was clearly going on. He looked almost… bashful?

Hold on.

“I got you something,” those red eyes were now focused on you, but his brows were furrowed as if he was heavily conflicted. This was the Important Business? The repayment ?

“You didn’t have to,” you scratched the side of your neck self-consciously. It was true; saving him from capture didn’t warrant a debt. You doubted your shipmates would say the same, but you didn’t particularly care about their input. Sure, you weren’t an Ethical Pirate by any means, but you still had standards , good gods.

“I wanted to,” his jaw was set resolutely. Right. Well, you couldn’t argue with that (ignoring the fact that arguing with this colossus would end badly anyway ). Before you could even think up a reply, he’d already moved closer to you (so close you’d felt the ripple of scales around your legs). He was practically towering over you, from where you were submerged to your shoulders where you’d sat down in the sand. Does he have no valuable self-awareness?

You weren’t scared, not at all (you were also a filthy liar). But his proximity (the way his tail was practically wrapped around you), his sudden closeness (your face was intimately acquainted with his chest right in front of you): all that was causing you to quiver in your proverbial Pirate Boots.

“Please don’t eat me,” you quietly shrieked. Where’d that come from?! “I’m only a poor, inexperienced, untouched, helpless pirate-”

“Where’d you get that idea from?” Miguel spluttered, leaning back from you. He looked utterly and completely out of his depth. There was definite incredulity laced within his tone, so you guessed merfolk really didn’t eat humans. “Besides, you’re far from helpless with those weapons.”

“Spur of the moment, sorry,” you shrugged sheepishly. “Warn people before you cozy up to them, though. And thanks.”

“I wasn’t-” he choked out, before his eyes narrowed. Gotcha . Lyla was practically rubbing her tentacles together in glee at his petulant glare. “Right. Fine. I guess you don’t want to see what I got you.”

“What?” you mustered up every ounce of Crestfallenness and Sorrow within. “You’re going to deprive this lonely, vulnerable pirate of the joys of life, free presents?”

“Children, both of you.”

You ignored Lyla’s remark. So did Miguel.

“What, ignoring me? I’m right!”

You ignored that as well. So did Miguel.

Instead, you chose to lean upwards and forward, mirroring his proximity from earlier. You felt his breath hitch as your thigh brushed up against his tail, but you paid it no mind. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying the way his lips parted slightly as you were now chest-to-chest (though still not touching) with him. And then you spoke, leaning in so your words would brush up against his ear, like the tendrils of the ivy blooming back at the docks:

“I’m terribly sorry for my transgressions. Please forgive my impertinence.”

Then, you ghosted back with a satisfied smile (it was much too wide and showing too many teeth to be even remotely considered friendly). Your mocking words seemed to have the desired effect, based on the way he was currently breathing rather erratically. Though, oddly, there didn’t seem to be any hint of the annoyance you were expecting. Instead, your eyes were pleasantly greeted with his bitten lip and averted gaze.

“Ooh, somebody’s got a-” Lyla’s taunting was immediately cut off by the nastiest glare you ever saw, coming straight from Miguel. You would’ve whistled lowly in appreciation had he not turned to you - maybe you’d have asked him to teach you his ways for the next time you caught your shipmates cheating you at cards. The sharp lines on his face softened marginally, and you found yourself waiting expectantly for whatever he’d do next.

“I believe we got-” here he eyed both you and Lyla with exasperation. “- sidetracked .”

“My ‘pologies,” you smiled derisively (not a hint of apology was present. Miguel knew it. You knew it). He exhaled. You waited. With one fluid motion, he reached underwater and brought out a peculiar, barnacle encrusted net that looked like it had been through the twenty-seven circles of hell.

“Nice net,” your lip quivered in a strenuous battle to contain the snort of laughter that was steadily rising up in your stomach.

“Shut it,” his teeth ground out. Busted . With one swipe of his claws, the crusty old net was sliced apart and in its place was a shoe-sized decorative box that seemed to be in fairly good condition. Swiper don’t swipe me like that .

You suppressed the tingle of fear and leaned closer to examine it; the miniature friezes delicately carved on had been slightly worn away from the time spent in the water (he must’ve found it in the ocean). It was still extraordinarily beautiful, and you doubted you’d have a chance to own something like this again.

“Thanks,” you murmured, stretching out a finger to trace over the smooth lid of the contraption. “It’s really pretty.”

“It’s just a container for the main attraction,” his voice lowered to match your volume, and you couldn’t help but look up in wonderment at his sudden shyness. Was he truly nervous about this? Awww .

“Lies,” Lyla interjected from between the two of you, as if she were a chaperone making sure two rascals weren’t getting Too Close And Personal. “He spent a week trying to find the best box he could.”

You stifled a giggle as you heard a low hum of air that was both making its way out through his clenched fangs and gills (it sounded comedically like a fishy, gurgly growl). Lyla took the hint and tumbled deeper into the water.

“How sweet,” your voice continued to keep that lowered cadence, but for what? What were you so afraid of breaking?

You heard several clicks in response, as if he was pleased (?) by your response. Carefully, he slid open the lid of the box. His tongue darted over his lips, as if to distract himself from gauging your reaction.

Though, you couldn’t suppress your widening eyes as you glimpsed what was within. The glimmer of a pearlescent knife was the first thing that caught your eye, but the mother-of-pearl encrusted metal quill was a strong contender. You held your breath as you grasped the unfamiliar weight of the weapon in your hand. It’d easily fit on your belt. But wait! Hiding beneath the knife had been a simple leather cord, which strung through a charming golden disc decorated with celestial patterns.

Heavens above .

You were sure you were just staring at the items like a churlish lout. It was almost an eternity of silence as you eyed the three items.

Three, four, five heartbeats. “Are the items not to your liking? I’ll find more, of course.”

“Huh?” you replied, the absolute epitome of Elegance and Eloquence. You still felt entranced by the trinkets within. “No, they’re perfect.”

Six, seven, eight heartbeats. You looked up; Miguel practically deflated under your careful gaze. Gone was that stony expression that always seemed to linger (even when he laughed at your expense). In its place was one of studious contemplation, as if your face held the meaning of life itself.

And in turn, you studied the way the dying sun encapsulated the planes of his face in a bloody palette. Your eyes caught on the taut muscles surrounding his lips, as if he were about to say something , but it was trapped somewhere within his larynx.

(He looked emotionally constipated.)

As the sun winked out at the horizon, meeting the sea’s embrace once more for the night, the two of you were haloed in the dying sunlight for a brief moment.

Shit .

Your eyes widened at the profound revelation. Curfew! Dinner! You wouldn’t get served your Appetising Bowl of Slop if you were late!

“I’ve got to get back before curfew!” you wailed despairingly, hurriedly placing the knife back into the box and shutting it. Briefly, you registered Lyla’s bewildered tumbling in the water, and Miguel’s bemused face, but you couldn’t bring yourself to spare any more time explaining.

It wouldn’t be the first time you’d walked back onto ship dripping wet and absolutely morose, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

#miguel x reader #atsv #miguel o'hara #x reader #res ･ﾟ writing

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