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shipmodelling101 · 9 months ago

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Building Your Own Pirate Ship: A Guide to Wooden Model Ship Kits

Have you ever dreamed of sailing the high seas on your own pirate ship, like the legendary Black Pearl or the fearsome Queen Anne's Revenge? While you may not be able to commandeer a real pirate vessel, you can still experience the thrill and adventure of building your own miniature replica with a wooden model ship kit.

Wooden model ship kits are a fun and rewarding hobby that allow you to create realistic and detailed models of historical and fictional ships, using various tools and materials. In this guide, we'll show you how to build your own pirate ship with a wooden model ship kit, and give you some tips and tricks to make the process easier and more enjoyable.

What You'll Need

To build your own pirate ship with a wooden model ship kit, you'll need the following items:

• A wooden model ship kit of your choice.

There are many different types and brands of wooden model ship kits available on the market, but for this guide, we'll focus on the ones offered by Premier Ship Models, a leading online retailer of quality model ships and boats. Premier Ship Models has a wide range of wooden model ship kits to suit your preferences and skill level, from beginner to expert. Some of their popular pirate ship kits include the Black Pearl, the Jolly Roger, the HMS Bounty, and the HMS Surprise. You can browse their collection of pirate ship kits https://premiershipmodels.us/.

• A set of basic tools and materials.

Depending on the complexity and size of your chosen kit, you may need different tools and materials to assemble your model. However, some of the common tools and materials you'll need are: a hobby knife, a cutting mat, a ruler, a pencil, a pair of scissors, a pair of tweezers, a drill, a hammer, a file, a sandpaper, a glue, a paint, a brush, and a varnish. You can find most of these tools and materials at your local hobby store or online.

• A spacious and well-lit work area.

Building a wooden model ship kit can take several hours or even days, depending on your pace and skill level. Therefore, you'll need a comfortable and convenient work area where you can spread out your tools and materials, and work without interruptions. Make sure your work area is spacious enough to accommodate your model and its parts, and well-lit enough to see the details clearly. You may also want to cover your work surface with a cloth or a paper to protect it from scratches, spills, or stains.

How to Build Your Own Pirate Ship

Once you have your wooden model ship kit, your tools and materials, and your work area ready, you can start building your own pirate ship by following these steps:

• Step 1: Read the instructions.

Before you start assembling your model, it's important to read the instructions carefully and familiarize yourself with the parts and the process. The instructions will guide you through the steps of building your model, from cutting and shaping the parts, to gluing and painting them, to rigging and mounting them. The instructions will also provide you with diagrams, photos, and tips to help you along the way. Make sure you follow the instructions closely and in the correct order, as any mistakes or deviations can affect the final outcome of your model.

• Step 2: Cut and shape the parts.

The first step of building your model is to cut and shape the parts according to the instructions. Most wooden model ship kits come with pre-cut parts that are ready to use, but some may require you to cut them out from a sheet of wood or a strip of metal. You'll need to use your hobby knife, your cutting mat, and your ruler to cut the parts accurately and safely. You may also need to use your file, your sandpaper, and your drill to shape and smooth the parts, and to create holes or slots for fitting them together. Be careful not to damage or lose any parts, as they may be difficult or impossible to replace.

• Step 3: Glue and paint the parts.

The next step of building your model is to glue and paint the parts according to the instructions. You'll need to use your glue, your brush, and your tweezers to attach the parts together, and to create details such as planks, windows, doors, cannons, and ornaments. You'll also need to use your paint, your brush, and your varnish to color and finish the parts, and to create effects such as weathering, aging, or damage. Make sure you apply the glue and the paint sparingly and evenly, and let them dry completely before moving on to the next step. You may also want to test the glue and the paint on a scrap piece of wood or metal before applying them to your model, to avoid any unwanted reactions or results.

• Step 4: Rig and mount the parts.

The final step of building your model is to rig and mount the parts according to the instructions. You'll need to use your scissors, your tweezers, and your drill to cut and attach the ropes, the wires, and the chains that make up the rigging of your model. You'll also need to use your hammer, your file, and your glue to fix and secure the parts that make up the hull, the deck, the masts, the sails, and the flags of your model. Make sure you align and tighten the parts properly, and check for any loose or missing parts. You may also want to use your varnish to seal and protect your model from dust, moisture, or damage.

Tips and Tricks

Building your own pirate ship with a wooden model ship kit can be a fun and rewarding hobby, but it can also be challenging and frustrating at times. Here are some tips and tricks to help you make the most of your experience and avoid some common pitfalls:

• Choose a kit that matches your skill level and interest.

Wooden model ship kits come in different levels of difficulty and detail, from beginner to expert. Choose a kit that suits your abilities and preferences, and that you find appealing and enjoyable. Don't choose a kit that is too easy or too hard for you, as you may lose interest or get discouraged. You can always start with a simple kit and work your way up to a more complex one as you gain more confidence and experience.

• Plan ahead and organize your work.

Building a wooden model ship kit can be a complex and lengthy process, so it's important to plan ahead and organize your work. Before you start, make sure you have all the tools and materials you need, and that you understand the instructions and the steps. During the process, keep your work area clean and tidy, and sort your parts and tools by type and size. This will help you save time and avoid confusion or mistakes.

• Be patient and careful.

Building a wooden model ship kit requires patience and care, as you'll need to work with small and delicate parts, and follow precise and intricate instructions. Don't rush or force anything, as you may damage or ruin your model. Take your time and enjoy the process, and if you encounter any difficulties or errors, don't panic or give up. You can always consult the instructions, the diagrams, or the photos for guidance, or seek help from other modelers online or offline.

• Have fun and be creative.

Building a wooden model ship kit is not only a hobby, but also a form of art and expression. While you should follow the instructions and the steps, you can also have fun and be creative with your model. You can customize your model with your own touches, such as adding accessories, decorations, or characters, or modifying the colors, the shapes, or the effects. You can also create your own backstory or scenario for your model, and imagine the adventures and stories it could tell. The possibilities are endless, and the only limit is your imagination.

Conclusion

Building your own pirate ship with a wooden model ship kit is a great way to indulge your passion for maritime history and culture, and to unleash your creativity and craftsmanship. By following this guide, you can create your own miniature replica of a legendary pirate vessel, and enjoy the satisfaction and pride of completing your own masterpiece. Whether you display your model in your home or office, or sail it on a pond or a pool, your pirate ship will surely attract attention and admiration from others, and inspire you to explore more of the fascinating world of wooden model ship kits.

#model ship building #wooden model ships #pirate ship model #nautical crafts #model making #hobby #DIY project #pirate ship kit #beginner model ship building #wooden model ship kit

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naturecoastroger-blog · 2 years ago

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Wooden Model Ship Kits for Beginners

Description:

Find wooden model ship kits for beginners or easy skill level in relation to other wooden model ship kits from Naturecoast.com at a discounted price.As a novice, you will surely indulge in arranging these kits to bring forth a customized design based on your requirements.

For more information: Mail id- [email protected], Contact Number- 866-865-7900, http://www.naturecoast.com/, Address- 822 N A1A Highway, Suite 310 Ponte Vedra Beach, FL 32082, USA.

#Historic and Wooden Model Ship Kits

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tesalicious2 · 3 months ago

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Why you don't prank the Guard commanders

Since they are almost constantly tired and at the end of their rope, anything could set them over the edge and no one wants that

not only that but they will usually react very strongly because of their extenuating circumstances and it is often blown out of proportions

HOWEVER, the other battalions don't know that and just want to help their brothers have fun! what's wrong with that

THIRE:

Thire got off a three day mission with General Yoda that ends up with Thire covered in some giant monsters stomach fluids and snot

He had to sit in it for a ten hour ride back and is humilated, with Yoda attempting to comfort him which only makes it worse

On his way back to the HQ, some troopers from the 104th decided to hit a guard with fake slime, a funny little prank

When Thire is at the end of his rope, he goes for violence

Thire waltzes into the mess, calls out whoever pranked him, and proceeded to dress them down, chew them up, and spit them out in front of everyone in the entire mess (made up of a few battalions and some Padawan Commanders)

It boiled down to 'you morons, i will kill you, you tiny roaches are nothing to me and i will throw you in the trash compactor like the disgusting garbage you are' with much more colorful and degrading language thrown in

Many now fear Thire and Wolffe outright refuses to work with the man out of fear

STONE:

Stone had just stopped three prison riots, captured two escapees from said riots, updated the entire security system, and hadn't slept because of the previous items for four days

Some men from Kit Fisto's SCUBA battalion thought it would be funny to hide some of Stone's stuff that was in his office (ie, datapads, pens, etc) and moved his stuff three inches to any side

Stone, who usually just jumped onto the coach in his office with the lights off, missed the middle and went to far up and smacked his nose on the wooden arm of the couch and cracked a tooth

This was not a fun way to cap the last four days

He found the troopers and filled their SCUBA tubes with spiders for them to find when they shipped out. Too bad the spiders crawled onto their faces on the ship and not in the water :(

THORN:

Thorn had been assissting senators for three full days with only 5 hours of sleep while standing throughout meetings

He had been ready to sleep and was heading to his last meeting with General Kenobi and some of his troopers present

Wooley and Longshot decided to lighten the mood by setting their voice coders to a different language and telling him he was going crazy

They also removed the nonslip pads from the couch and it slid out from underneath him

This may not have been bad at all but after three days, every little thing is annoying as shit and exhausting

After that meeting, Thorn decides to take revenge

Thorn is a believer in you get what you give so he does something harmless

relatively harmless

He sneaks onto the 212th barracks on the ship and places a speaker into the vents of the barracks, above Wooley and Longshots bunks (as close as he could get, the sound reverbs so everyone is pretty mad about this prank)

Every so often, in random intervals (no more than 4 hours, no less than 1 hours) a beep would sound, not too loud but loud enough to be annoying after 2 days

At night, it gets louder and more frequent and quieter during the day

Many troopers lose sleep over finding the thing (Thorn literally unscrewed wall panels to hide it), its been 3 weeks and they arrive at their new battle field in a week

Four days before their arrival, as the speaker is about to die, in the middle of the night, the speaker goes to full volume and shouts 'THIS IS COMMANDER THORN. I MAY BE THE CAUSE OF YOUR SLEEPLESSNESS BUT LONGSHOT AND WOOLEY STARTED THIS. I WILL DO IT AGAIN ASSHOLES. THE SPEAKER IS GOING TO DIE SO ENJOY YOUR *TEMPORARY* FREEDOM. HAHHAHAHAHAH-' and then the speaker dies (Thorn hacked the cameras and enjoys playing the screaming arguments and shouts at the speaker during rough days)

Longshot and Wooley never hear the end of it

FOX:

Fox had been going through hell the entire week and he was ready to kill someone, even though his shift wasn't over yet.

Jesse, Fives, and Hardcase had decided to help Fox lighten up by shooting him with silly string throughout the day, switching armor with blank armor to keep hidden

Fox was paranoid and had to be sedated. He eventually tracked down the three and had his revenge not through their own annoyance

At first, he replaced their weapons with modified silly guns that quickly ended, leading them to believe they were free (the whole revenge lasted an hour ish as the three enjoyed playing with the silly string)

Unknown to them, Rex's entire room had been filled with silly string, his blasters, the padding in his matress, the drawers in his dress, the hair wash was liquid silly string, the soap was frozen strong, his pillow, his chair was broken then 'welded' back together with silly string and fell apart when he sat on it, etc.

He kept finding it and it lasted for days, the moment he thought it was over, more string came up. He was paranoid, everything was silly string

When he finally complained to the command chat, Fox told him that Jesse, Hardcase, and Fives caused it and that he overheard them planning it

When Rex punished them, they said they never did anything with silly string but many others saw them spraying each other with the silly string FOX pranked them with so everyone assumed they were messing with the leftovers from Rex's prank. Not only that but they weren't quiet about pranking Fox so everyone thought he was the warm up for Rex.

No matter what they said, Rex didn't believe a word and they were stuck on latrine duty for a whole month

When Rex found out about Fox getting pranked as well, Rex let them get punished by him too

Fox made them clean out all the massiff kennels and play areas, cleaning any stains from the puppies and getting used for bite practice by the adults everyday for their next leave.

Fox came by and watched them everyday, laughing at their misery

HOUND:

Hound loves pranks and jokes and will happily engage and laugh at them

however, the timing has to be right and most don't get that part (only the other ARF troopers know)

Some troopers from the 41st took his bed sheets and pillows and blankets and towels after some of his troopers and Hound ended a four hour chase through the sewers (they didn't know about the chase).

Hound normally would've thought this was hilarious but after spending two hours covered in sewage looking for towels around HQ just to shower, he was pretty mad

After cleaning up and ready for bed, he snuck into the 41st barracks and woke them up with a growling, snarling grizzer leaning over their face and a hand over their mouth.

He whispered, 'don't scream, you touch my shit again, I will end you and everyone you love.'

Rinse and repeat then he sneaks away

#crack #clone wars #clones #star wars #sw tcw #commander fox #coruscant guard #commander thorn #commander thire #commander stone #sergeant hound #pranks #doesn't work on the commanders to much #they won't kill you #but you'll wish they did

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unholyhelbig · 11 months ago

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the oversight part 5? i love that series!

Title: The Oversight [Part 5/7]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Wordcount: 7589

Warnings: Blood, guns, general violence, empty threats, angst, and horrible grammar.

[A/n: Listen, I straight up just finished watching 'The Iron Claw' and if you value your ability to hold it together, I suggest not seeing it. But also... go see it because it's phenomenal. Oh, and Happy Holidays!, like with most things, I regret my direction on this.]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

Softly, you denied the small wooden bowl that was passed person to person, filled with numbers scribbled haplessly on strips of paper. There was a pit of guilt in your stomach for not bringing a white elephant gift- but as the honorary plus one of Darcy Lewis you succumbed to your fate. She’d drawn a middle grade number and sidled up next to you with her third vodka tonic.

You took a swallow of your own cranberry flavored drink, something that masked the sharp taste of alcohol. You were feeling fuzzy, but in the light way that would assure you’d get through the rest of party and the competitive game of gift swapping.

“Thanks for doing this,” Darcy said to you, nudging your shoulder “it was a little too fancy for my liking.”

She had stressed that she needed your presence to get through all the small talk about science. Darcy was an expert engineer but she could only go so far when it came to awkward co-workers murmuring amongst the twinkling Christmas lights and pre-paid meals. She got along well with most, but you could sense her anxiety well.

“Of course, you know I’d never turn down smoked salmon.”

Truthfully, it sounded a lot better than what your own work was planning. It took some quiet background checks and calling babysitting references, but you eventually conceded to a teenage girl that was certified in CPR and didn’t charge interest.

Your own holiday celebration at the Diner had been lackluster and consisted of much more alcohol. This was quiet and subdued, and a welcome break from the usual chaos that surrounded your life. You were more than happy to watch people tear paper from candles and blankets and ornaments.

“How much money do you want to put on Jimmy bringing some sort of magic kit?”

You hadn’t noticed the girl that hugged the side of the bar, waving down the bartender wordlessly. She was drinking something sweet and garnished with orange. She had a beautiful smile and the clearest eyes you had ever seen. Darcy smiled at her with familiarity and it eased you.

“I don’t bet on things I’m going to lose.” Darcy said with finality. “Y/n, this is Monica Rambeau.”

“It’s nice to meet you,”

Her grip was firm, and you squeezed her hand back with the same amount of pressure. Her smile widened at that before the bartender returned with a fresh drink garnished with another twirled orange peel. The two of you separated.

“So, Monica, what do you do?”

Something in science, the answer was obvious if she was at this holiday party. But she humored you all the same, turning her back to the counter and leaning close to you. There was pride in her answer, and it bloomed in her chest.

“I’m a mechanical engineer, specializing in astrophysics and astrobiology.”

“Don’t’ sell yourself short.” Darcy interjected with a watery laugh “She’s the head of our S.W.O.R.D division.”

Darcy had spoken about this before and the name rang familiar. Her company was looking at alternative fuel sources that could supply space exploration. All the while, they focused on vertical growing and bettering the community. From what you understood, this was a big deal. She was a big deal.

“Wow, that’s very impressive Ms. Rambeau”

Your voice was filled with genuine awe, but your conversation was cut short when the number sixteen was called out. Monica sheepishly pulled herself away from the bar and held her strip of paper up before approaching the table filled with wrapped gifts. She went for a medium-sized one adorned in reindeer.

“Oh wow!” She forced a smile, voice sweet like honey “A magic kit!”

The air in your room was stale and fought you as you pulled it into your lungs. You’d, at some point, kicked off your comforter and were splayed out on your sheets in nothing but a pair of boxer shorts and an oversized shirt. Sweat hat soaked through both and the fabric clung to your skin.

On a blind instinct you grabbed at the gun under your nightstand, fastened by nothing more than duct tape. You could feel your heart in your throat and struggled to swallow it down again. You weren’t sure when this became second nature for you, something within the last two months of accompanying Natasha to the gun range for hours a time.

All the same, you held the tip of the weapon to the ground and rounded the corner of your bedroom into the dark hallway. You were unsettled from the dream you’d just had. The memory. Your subconscious had finally connected the woman who stood at Carol’s side. Her familiarity.

Monica Rambeau.

It was true, there was a stark coldness to her when you’d met at a Christmas party just the year before. It was only in passing and there were moments, like at the fair, when Darcy would mention her co-worker.

This changed things. Anxiety spiked haplessly, even as you diligently searched and cleared each room the way you had been taught. Keep your gun down, keep your eyes on the darkest corners of the room, ready to fire your weapon at any point. Especially if it was aimed at Natasha.

There was the slight movement of a shadow to your left and you quickly raised the gun, aiming it directly at the disturbance. Veronica stood on a chair in the kitchen, struggling to fill a glass with warm water, the only temperature that the faucet would allow.

You let out a quiet, mortified sigh before tucking the weapon into the waistband of your shorts. Your daughter blinked with wide eyes and that same guilty feeling flooded you at once, overtaking the anxiety.

“Baby,” You breathed, closing the distance between you and flicking on the overhead lights. You both flinched at their harshness but eventually blinked the shock away. “What are you doing up?”

You didn’t expect an answer, nor did you get one. Instead, you scooped her up under her arms and set her gently on the linoleum. There was water in the fridge, but she always had issues pouring it from the large jug. Ronnie was stubborn and shot you a frown at your intrusion.

“Don’t give me that look, kid.”

Her expression eased and you dumped the water down the drain before refilling the glass with something colder and more refreshing. Ronnie gulped it down eagerly, soaking the collar of her shirt with the liquid. She let out an appeased noise and wiped the rest of the water away from her mouth. She stood on her tip-toes and placed the glass in the sink.

“Couldn’t sleep, huh? Me either.”

You tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She blinked tiredly at you, your heart melting at the sight. It was easy to remember the words Natasha had trusted you with on the Ferris Wheel. Veronica would talk when she wanted to, but you had become quite good at reading her expressions and movements. Within the last month, you had stopped the long drives and the specialists. It eased you both.

“How about a sleepover?”

The exhaustion turned into joy and then combined within her look. You couldn’t help but chuckle as you scooped her up. She was getting too big for this, but you didn’t much care. You’d gotten stronger in the last few months and even if you hadn’t, you’d do the same.

With a show of dramatics you tossed her onto the bed and replaced the duvet that you’d flung off. Carefully, as Ronnie’s stare averted, you placed the gun in the drawer next to your bed. The last thing you did was prop the window open, letting out the flat air and letting in the sound of the city.

Ronnie was pulled flush against your chest in a matter of moments, though you had suddenly lost all exhaustion. You listened to the sirens, to the calls of people just ending their nights. If you listened hard enough, you could hear the horns of the boats that settled into the harbor.

“I love you so much.” You whispered into the small of her neck, “One day I’m going to get us out of here.”

Veronica didn’t respond, but the squeeze her little hand gave yours was all the reassurance that you needed.

Clint swallowed down steaming black coffee without blowing on it to cool it down. The nutty scent filled the cab of the car and warmed your nerves. He drank like your daughter did, but with the purpose of waking himself up before the sun. You never did get back to sleep and were wired enough to refuse the cup he offered you this morning.

He’d knocked on your door as the orange sun moved over the horizon. You were to accompany him to the docks to check on business. This somehow seemed less intimidating than the dinner you’d attended with Natasha.

“It’ll be easy. We have a chokehold on the harbor, we just have to check with a few of the vendors to collect their dock rent and call it a day. Everything else is done under the table. People aren’t too happy because at the end of the day, we’re the ones that take money from them. But it’s a necessary evil.”

You nodded and watched as the city went by. It was peaceful, quiet. There had been a single foster home that you stayed in that had a view of the entire skyline. You were too far away to see the bustling people and the everyday chaos that accompanied it.

There were, of course, moments of calm when you would work the early morning shift at the diner. But that would always shatter by the time you made the two minute walk from your apartment to the back door that was choked with the scent of garbage and cheap cigarettes.

“We have some invitations to hand out too. In the glovebox.”

You furrowed your brow and popped it open. His weapon (or his second, or third) sat upon a stack of manilla cards with elegant writing on them that had to be done by hand. You inspected them but didn’t’ dare separate the paper.

“What are these for?”

“Nat throws a party for her benefactors every single year. It’s real fancy, a suit and tie thing. Her renters are invited too and if they have the balls to show up, they always have a good time. She makes sure of it.”

“We’re expected to attend?”

He nodded, “It’s a requirement, really. As Natasha’s right hand. You go where she goes and once your probationary period is over, you’ll be on her like glue. Though, I don’t think that’ll be much of a problem.”

You frowned at his statement, his insinuation. Sure, you had gotten close to Natasha, had even grown to like her. She had a way of getting under your skin until it felt like she lived in it. Otherwise, you would have cut your losses long ago and let her slit your throat the first moment she met you.

There was a feeling of devotion that you felt the need to uphold. She had spared your life, after all. You’d spent the last two and a half months with her guiding you, teaching you how to obey her every word. Without fault, you would. Clint knew it, Kate and Yelena knew it. You knew it.

Instead of admitting it, you frowned and slumped further in your seat, struggling to ignore Clint’s own shit-eating expression. By the time he pulled to a stop, it had started to drizzle enough for him to flick his wipers on. The sound of them scraping against the window filled the silence.

You took careful attention to stay quiet and observe. Your gun was strapped carefully to your side and the invitations rested in your side pocket. You didn’t dare get them wet and let the ink run in a soupy mess. It had been years since you’d been out here and part of you was unsteady on the aged and slick wood.

“Sam is a cool guy. His family has hold on a good portion of the harbor. He likes to joke, so don’t pay him any mind.” Clint jabbed you with his elbow. “And loosen up a little bit, would you?”

You glowered at him and rubbed the stiff spot on your ribs but felt your shoulders lower a bit. There was a lot of weight behind this, that had been made clear to you the second you were inducted into this system.

Instead of heading directly down the long stretches of worn dock, Clint took a turn just before the asphalt ended. A small structure that looked less weathered than the rest of your surroundings rested at the lots end. The windows were thick enough to withstand the watery winds.

Clint stilled his large hand shooting out across your chest. It took you a few seconds to clock the shattered glass on the front door. Small smears of crimson pocked the shards that remained. Much like the evening before, you drew your gun on instinct, and Clint did the same.

He didn’t take care to hide your presence. Instead, he took the brunt of his large boot and cracked through the doorframe with the force of one kick. Wood splintered, raining down on linoleum and a desk that was easily from the 70’s.

You could smell the blood before you saw it, nearly sliding on the flooring. You caught yourself before that happened, heart pounding in your ears. “Fuck!”

“Jesus Christ,” Clint mirrored your sentiments.

Whoever had been here was long gone, but they’d left quite the mess. They’d torn through the filing cabinets, leaving legal papers and folders scattered against the desk and the expanse of cabin space.

You tracked the source of the pooling blood with little difficulty. A man- one that you had rightly never seen before- was laying on his back, facing the ceiling. From edge to edge of his throat was a long cut leaking an ugly red color. His stare was frosty, soaked into his sweatshirt.

It was like a car crash, something that you struggled to avert your eyes from until Clint physically grasped your chin and turned your attention to him. “Hey, you alright?”

“Yeah, yes. Good.” You answered cooly, swallowing whatever dryness was in your throat. “Who would do something like this?”

“Carol… one of her lackeys. This is an eye for an eye thing.”

Even if it was an act of revenge, this was extensive. It sent a clear message even if you didn’t’ exactly know all the specifics of the feud. Of course, you’d seen Yelena at work and even that was mild compared to the brutality of this.

The thought of Monica, if it even had been her, completing a task as unfeeling as this filled your veins with ice. You felt your nails dig into your palms, soft and stinging. There was a surge of anger, and sadness that mixed into resolution. Natasha was right to despise the Danver’s family. Any family that treated the world with this much cruelty.

Natasha was in the gym on the second floor. Large windows overlooked the backyard, and a prolonged view of the harbor. There were blue mats adorning the floor, and a few wracks meant for weightlifting.

You had never seen this part of the house before. Usually the weather permitted sparring outside, but the late summer rain had made that impossible. Sheets of water obscured your usual view, though, it wasn’t exactly trained on the windows.

Natasha had her back facing you, her breathing timed evenly with each punch she threw at an 80-pound bag filled with sand. She wore tight-fitting shorts and a sports bra that left little to the imagination. Not that you had imagined her in that situation before.

Her muscles tightened and relaxed with each movement. They were scarred in a deep orchid pink, long ago healed. At one point, she was lashed. You recognized the damage done by a leather belt and shivered at the memory of it.

Natasha was fit, she was coated in a layer of sweat that dripped across her strength. You had to be clear minded for this and the state of her wasn’t making it easy on you. Her knuckles were wrapped, and she would grunt with each thrust of her fist. For just a moment, you wished you were under her mercy instead of the punching bag.

That broke when she panted against the bag, stopping its swinging with a firm grasp on either side. “Are you just going to stand there and watch?”

Natasha had focused her green eyes on you through the reflection of the window. Of course, you hadn’t intended to gawk as long as you had. But you were leaning against the doorframe of the gym, practically drooling. You had forgotten yourself and you wouldn’t’ put it past Natasha to notice.

She turned to you, a wolfish smile on her face. “Take your jacket off. Holster too.”

You struggled to ignore the haughty expression on her face when you did exactly what she said without question, almost too eagerly, depositing them on the edge of the mat. You pushed your shoes off too, knowing not to track mud on any of Natasha’s carpets.

Her eyebrow lifted at the action. She’d moved closer during your actions, and you’d nearly run into her before noticing. Her presence was intoxicating. All-consuming.

“You’re here to tell me something,” She proclaimed “you’ve got that adorable look on your face. It’s good to know someone in this house still fears me.”

She was joking and it tugged at your heart to send that mood down to the ground before lighting it on fire. You’d expected her to be in poorer spirits after Clint had called her and let her know what had happened at the harbor. Instead, she responded in her same calculated coolness that she regarded you with now.

There was nothing about her demeanor that eased you, and suddenly, it felt like you were being scolded for a decision you had made. Even more so when she grasped your chin and forced you to look at her.

“That woman with Carol from the other night. I know her. Briefly.”

“Briefly?”

“As in, I met her at a Christmas party a few years back and… left with her.”

Natasha’s grip tightened against your chin, her thumb digging into your jaw. There was too much alcohol flowing that night and after making stinted conversation about how to disconnect two metal rings smoothly, the two of you went back to her apartment.

Before the sun came up, you left. There was shame in it, and the walk back to your own apartment punctuated with Darcy’s scolding was enough to make you forget the encounter altogether. It was one night- a fun night, but singular all the same.

Natasha let out a small noise of disapproval that sunk straight to your core. “Is that so?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Does she remember you?”

“It… didn’t seem like it.”

Her eyes narrowed, nose a short distance from your own. You could feel the hotness of her breath against your throat. How you had disappointed her. That much was clear from the lack of tenderness in her grasp. She eventually released you, trailing her fingers down the expanse of your neck.

She played with the small charm of your necklace, nothing more than a dainty gold chain with the tiniest whisper of a diamond in the center. Your skin prickled at the sensation, breath audibly catching as she worked her fingers over the length of chain.

“Well, I suppose this could be a problem. Especially with Carols violent behavior lately.”

Natasha sighed dramatically, and within an instant her nimble hand had tightened around your throat. She walked you the three steps backwards to the nearest wall. The small of your back landed with a heady thud and you used the last of your available breath to grunt out in protest.

Of course, you had seen her angry before, but it was never directed at you. Not like this. She wasn’t squeezing tight enough to injure you, not really. But the shock of the movement had made you think she would end you all the same.

“You should have come to me right away, pet.” Her grasp tightened; words growled. “And here I thought you were such a good, obedient, girl.”

Her words filled you with an immense shame for letting her down. Over the past few months, it had become impossible to be anything but perfect for Natasha Romanoff. The fact that you hadn’t connected the dots sooner was disillusioning.

The grip against your throat loosened ever so slightly as she leaned closer, her lips nearly ghosting your own. You could barely taste her, a strangled whimper escaping you. She pressed her body close. It was warm and overwhelming.

“I expect you to handle this on your own if it becomes a problem, darling.”

Before you could close the distance, Natasha pulled away from you entirely. It left you panting against the wall, wanting for something more. She knew exactly what she was doing. You craved her more than anything, and she had brought you so close to something you both wanted before denying it altogether.

Natasha sauntered, actually sauntered, across the gym and grabbed a towel from a nearby bench. She regarded you with flushed cheeks, her eyebrow raised as if nothing had just happened and you supposed that nothing did.

“Clint has told you about the party?” It took a few seconds before you found your voice, after her gentle urgings “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“Yes ma’am. He did.”

She reached for a water bottle, exchanging it’s spot on the bench for the towel. She takes three hungry swallows, and you watched the way her throat moved in response to the water. Each of her movements seemed deliberate, nearly calculated to get a reaction out of you.

“Perfect. Don’t worry that pretty little head of yours about what to wear. I’ll lay a dress out in your room.”

“My room?” Your words were squeaked.

There was a short hum in response as she gulped down another helping of water before setting it down entirely. That anger had ebbed away from her almost entirely. The fire that had been within her eyes excited you, and despite yourself, so did her demands.

“You’re so skittish. Come here. We need to work on your lead hook.”

Natasha didn’t offer to wrap your knuckles, nor did you ask. Instead, you leaned into the bag, letting the course material cut into your knuckles with a welcoming sting.

There was great thought put into any Romanoff party that was thrown. Lights were wrapped around the banister, and caterers walked through the teems of people with unwavering silver trays of finger food that cost more than your old salary for a number of months.

Back storm doors were opened to the pool, lit up and buzzing with an equal amount of people. Natasha had hired a piano player who haplessly pressed down on keys and drew a small crowd with each song that would crescendo into the dining room.

The overlapping theme was a dark forest green that reminded you much of the paint color slathered on Natasha’s bedroom walls. Something you hadn’t seen in months, but remembered so fondly. It was clear that she wanted to present a united force, something strong and unwavering in their power.

Clint was dawned with a finely pressed suit and a deep green tie that matched the shade of Kate’s dress to the very hue. She wore something silk and modest, reaching down to her heeled feet but leaving her muscular arms entirely bare.

Yelena stunned in a dress of her own, a crushed sage velvet that had a dipping neckline and sleeves that met at her wrist. By the confidence of her stride, you had no trouble believing she had chosen the outfit with the thought of how many weapons she could conceal. Her devilish smile only confirmed your thoughts.

As of you, Natasha had picked out something a little more revealing. Much like the maroon number she wore to dinner the other night, the dress she chose for you hugged every inch of your body. Its fern color complimented your complexion, bringing out the redness of your cheeks.

A slit moved from the base of your dress to the middle of your thigh. A halter neckline clung to your breasts, nearly pushing them up and out. It had been years, high school prom, since you’d worn something even close to this. You felt your shoulders flush red when you descended the stairs and struggled to blend in.

Natasha was sidled up by the mantel in deep conversation with someone who was a stranger to you. Most of the people here were. Though, their hands gave way to their high-ranking positions in the city. Few had callouses or oil stains.

She was in a three-piece suit that was color matched to your own outfit down to the shade. There were gold accents on her jewelry and the neckline of her waistcoat dipped down the tanned expanse of her skin.

Kate let out a low whistle in response to your entrance as she offered you a hand at the base of the stairs. You’d almost missed the last one due to your shameless gawking at the woman of the party. “Quite the looker, y/n. Natasha chose this?”

“Naturally,”

She chuckled softly, a small sound “Nothing if not calculating. Do you know how to socialize at one of these things?”

“Mm, as the caterer, yes.”

This seemed to amuse her more than you’d like. Katherine Elizabeth Bishop was a name that you had reluctantly googled early on in your employment. She had grown up wealthy and well acquainted with gatherings such as these. Of course, that was before her mother wound up incarcerated for white-collar crimes. The skills seemed to benefit her here, however.

Kate did everything with practiced fluidity that you envied. She plucked two champagne glasses from a nearby tray. “Only one of these, nurse it like your life depends on it. That way they won’t keep trying to shove alcohol into your hands. This is work, after all.”

You followed her lead and took a small sip of the bubbling, sour liquid. It was more expensive than anything you had ever had before and far-from-palatable. It wouldn’t be had to keep the drinking at bay.

“The man that Yelena is schmoozing over there is Billy Russo. Jigsaw. He’s in charge of the lower quarter. The Romanoff’s and the Russo’s have a cordial relationship and Yelena is much more feared than him.”

“Why do they call him jigsaw?” You whispered.

“He tends to chop people into pieces until they’re impossible to put back together. And that’s if you find all the missing parts. He has a very nice summer home up in the Poconos, so don’t get on his bad side.”

Suddenly the drink in your hand didn’t look too bad, but you held it right where it was. Clint was laughing by the window, obviously pushing his charm on a woman that you had never clocked before. She was running her fingers up his tie, tightening it before letting her hands drop.

“Barton is with Ophelia Sarkissian, the Viper. She is known for her cunning leadership. She’s got a huge organization in Hell’s Kitchen. Something called Hydra. I wouldn’t worry too much about it though because Natasha is keeping a tight eye on it.”

“Mm, cut one head off, two more grow back.”

“What?”

“Greek mythology. Hydra is a big water snake that has nine heads. Each time one was cut off two more would grow back in its place. It was practically unkillable until Hercules came through the marshes with his nephew. Hercules would slice each head off while Iolaus cauterized the wounds so the heads couldn’t grow back.”

Kate blinked at you with shock in her eyes. You simply gave her a shrug in return. People constantly underestimated you and your intelligence. Besides, when you were a child, you had a morbid fascination with Greek mythology as a whole.

She stared beyond your shoulder, lilting her head to the side.

“I didn’t realize that Natasha’s new plaything was so knowledgeable.”

Ice ran thorough your veins. Your eyes darted to the window where Clint and Mrs. Sarkissian had once been. It was vacant now, and an expertly painted hand drummed past your arm. They were sharp and sent chills down your spine as she rounded you, sidling up next to Kate.

“Trust fund kid, leave us.”

Kate drew in a sharp breath, straightening her shoulders. She nearly opened her mouth to stay something but thought better of it before shooting you a look of apology and vanishing into the crowd in the dining room.

Ophelia was intoxicating in her presence. She towered over you and wore snakeskin heels to widen the distance. She wore a tight-fitted black dress that had cuts on either side, exposing her toned stomach to the world. What she wanted with you wasn’t clear, but her hand toyed coyly with the neckline of your own dress, adjusting it.

“Word travels fast in this city. I just couldn’t wait to see it myself. Hearing that Natasha Romanoff of all people expelled her Winter soldier for a… Summer Sentient. All seasons are temporary, I suppose.”

“Expelled?”

The word had slipped from your tongue, and you quickly thought better of it when she settled her splayed hand against your shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. It was cold, unfeeling. Unlike the fire that Natasha had instilled in you earlier.

There was a demonic smile that spread across her face, both of her eyebrows lifting as she let out an exaggerated grasp. It was clear that this woman, this leader, couldn’t keep her hands to herself in any manner, including the internal affairs that she dangled in front of you like a prize.

“Oh, did Natty not tell you? She had Bucky under her thumb for years, nearly a decade. A few months back, he was just gone. There’s a lot of gossip in these streets and not much of it is plausible, but I’d put money on this one.”

Again, her fingers danced over your collarbone. “Miss Romanoff is not known for her mercy, but after beating the Winter Soldier within an inch of his life, she let him go. He ran like any sensible man would, of course. But he left a trail of blood behind him. I’m quite sure he’s somewhere out west struggling to move in an upper body brace.”

She laughed cruelly at the look on your face. There was no use in masking it. You knew that Bucky had been absent, but through your own turmoil you had forgotten all about it. Your stomach twisted in unease. What if Natasha grew tired of you? It was inevitable, really. You’ only prolonged your fate by bending to her whim.

“Ophelia,” Natasha’s voice drew your attention first, and then the heat of her touch on the small of your back. “Have you tried the lamb?”

The woman faltered, gritting her teeth “I was about to.”

“Oh, you must.” Yelena seemed to materialize out of nowhere, looping her arm around Madame Hydra herself. She pulled with intent. “I haven’t seen you since Moscow. We need to catch up!”

“I was never in Moscow.”

“That’s a shame. I can paint you a brilliant picture.”

Their voices faded away into the rest of the party. It was then that you noticed Clint by the door, his stance stiffened. Kate glowered next to him, not following her own rule and downing the rest of her drink before plucking another off the passing tray.

You stepped out of Natasha’s grasp, not wanting to be anywhere near her at the moment. Her perfume was intoxicating. Its floral scent made you dizzy and took away your ability to think straight. It was part of the reason you had been lulled this far into complicity. It scared you that you were willing to do anything for her.

“y/n,” she urged.

“I don’t want to hear it.”

Natasha’s stare hardened. She gripped the back of your neck in a movement that would otherwise be familiar, sweet, even. However, the way she led you down the hallway made your stomach drop in a feeling of doom. “Not here, Malen'kiy krolik.”

Natasha’s office was strictly off limits, but you found yourself in the warmth of it in a matter of moments. There was no wall that wasn’t adorned with floor to ceiling bookshelves, and a large cherrywood desk was at its head. It was kept neat like the rest of the house.

There was a PHD on the wall, and an associates under that. Each bore Natasha’s name. She closed the doors behind her. Without regarding you, she went to a shelf in the back of the room, pouring herself a glass of bourbon, much like the one she was drinking when you stirred in her bed.

She swallowed it back, before pouring another. This time she sipped it. Your own back was against the far wall, heart pounding mercilessly through you. Yelling at Natasha had a lot more weight behind it than you anticipated.

“You’re going to do the same to me.” You eventually whispered.

Her body stiffened, muscles tightening and then releasing before she turned to you, her eyes reddened. “What?”

“I’ve been entirely blind to my purpose here. I’ve never… I’ve never understood why you chose me. Why not go for someone who knows what they were doing? Who knew how to protect you and care for you? You had that with Bucky.”

Her eyes hardened. “Don’t you ever mention that name in this house.”

“It’s the truth, Natasha! You could have let me die, just like that, and you didn’t. Instead, you took me in and trained me, and for what? Just to throw me into the harbor with cement blocks chained to my ankles.”

“That is an entirely outdated practice and frankly, it’s insulting.” Her words were soul deep, but they barely broke your skin. “I would never do that.”

“A bullet through the head, then?”

“No.”

You were gaining traction enough to pull yourself from the wall and take heady steps towards her. If you didn’t do it now, you would never. Part of you was certain that you’d never see the outside of this room again. That she’d snap and do exactly what you were imploring her to.

“He served you for years and within a singular night you nearly kill him.” Your breath shook, you were so close to her now. “What is stopping you from doing the exact same to me?”

“No, no” She reached up and grasped both sides of your face. There were tears against your cheeks, something you hadn’t realized dripped from your chin. “Malyshka, no don’t cry.”

Everything had come to a head; the months of non-stop training, the pressure of keeping this side of your life away from your daughter, away from Darcy. A true friend that you had been lying to. And now, knowing that it could be all for nothing. It was easy to dispose of someone like you.

There was no reason to show weakness in front of the woman who was training you not to feel anything at all. Above everything, you found yourself ashamed. She still held your face within her grasp.

“He hurt you.” Her jaw clenched and unclenched, there was a fuzzy vulnerability in her green stare. “I can show mercy, y/n. But I’ve learned, not when it comes to you. Even before all of… this, there was something that I saw within you. Something that made what I did to Bucky all the more worth it.”

You breathed in a watery sniffing sound that was replaced by nothing but a whimper. Natasha softened even more, letting her shoulders fall. She tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“He was pulling back for months, and you were the final straw. I had never seen someone so resilient, someone who didn’t beg for their life but recounted it. In a moment of weakness, I let you go. I thought that training you, that making you mine, would absolve my sins but it’s only deepened them. My feelings for you have only deepened.”

Her forehead was pressed against yours, her ministrations, and God help you, her apologies were startling. Her lips were so close to yours; you could nearly taste the liquor on her breath “Natasha,”

Suddenly, she was all you could feel. Her hand was against you back, pulling you into her body to fit directly on hers. There was such a strong guiding power to her. Your shock was muffled by her mouth on yours, your whine swallowed in moments.

You melted into her, kissing back with enough fever to leave you both breathless. There were stars dancing in your vision, you lungs burning eventually pulling you both apart. She panted twice before pecking your lips once more, you nearly chased after her.

“Fuck,” she growled “you… are absolutely delicious.”

Your cheeks suddenly heated up and you hid your face in the small of her neck, letting out a small groan in embarrassment. You felt Natasha’s laugh rumble through her.

“No need to be timid, pet. There will be plenty of time for that later.” She raked her nails up your back, “Right now, I have a snake to behead.”

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piratecaptainscaptainpirates · 2 months ago

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I just bought the worst model ship kit I've ever seen because it was 10 dollars at Walmart. It is just several sheets of wooden pieces with no numbers or anything to indicate how to assemble it. The instructions are basically going "lol good luck. Look at the pictures and figure it out you dumbfuck." It does not include floss for the rigging (I make a lot of models so I have my own, that's okay). Gonna have to put this together based only on my knowledge of What a Boat Should Look Like. Will report back

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sovietpostcards · 3 months ago

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Vintage Matryoshka travel sewing kit holder (1989)

This wooden doll opens at the bottom to reveal a thread & needle holder. Size of the doll: 7.5 cm (3"). Looks new. There's a label tucked inside that says that it was made in Konstantinovo village near Zagorsk in 1989. Zagorsk (Sergiyev Posad) is an ancient Russian town, part of the Golden Ring, and famous for its wooden toy craft including matryoshkas.

Available for $16 + $16 international shipping with tracking number

Message me if you want to buy this! Other items in my shop. I combine shipping. How to buy.

#sp: available #sp: available: other

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woodenmodelkits · 7 days ago

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#wooden ship model kits #wooden ship models #wooden ship kits #wooden ship kit #wooden model ship kit #model wooden boats #wooden boat model kits #wood ship kits #wood ship kit #wooden model boat kits

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erikcarson · 13 days ago

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#wooden boat model kits #wooden ship model kits #wooden ship kits #wooden ship models #wood ship kits #wood ship kit #wooden ship kit #model wooden boats #wooden boat models for sale #wooden model boat kits

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naomihatake · 1 year ago

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In search of freedom (Ch. 4)

4. One step forward

Chapter 3 ; Chapter 4 ; Chapter 5

⠀⠀⠀⠀She's been searching for freedom her entire life and everytime she thought it was laying right in front of her eyes, she was mistaken. She was running around the East Blue, seeking herself and her dreams, meeting people she never forgot. No matter how much she traveled, she could only catch a glimpse of peace before realizing everything would crumble at her feet.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Maybe it was destiny that brought her on that ship with three strangers — foolishly, that's what she tried to believe when the moon shined beautifully and hope settled in her chest, squeezed by the same ribcage where feelings were blooming.

Pairing: female!reader x OPLA Zoro Roronoa

Warnings for this chapter: fluff, some angst, alcohol

Word count: 3.8k

Theme song: fic spotify playlist (click on the link)

A/N: Tons of interactions between Zoro and reader. Not a long chapter, but I wanted to offer more insight about the reader's past and the relationship she has with her crewmates. I know they travel from Syrup village to Baratie in a day, but I wanted this exact scenario, so let's say it took a half a day longer ;) Not proofread yet.

The reader is referred to as "Witch" because I have no intentions of using "Y/N".

I'm open for comments and opinions! <3

They spent the rest of the day buying supplies for the journey. With no previous discussions, they all came to the conclusion that Nami would handle the berries, with some opinions from the witch who was used to always saving up money.

The witch has loads of information and experience about the map of the stars above, so she decided to save Nami from a sleepless night. She already took a nap after they set sail a few hours before dawn, falling asleep after she laid down on the sofa in the cabin. She completely forgot about her wound, too tired to mind the pain at that time, as if she's got hit in the head again.

Now, she was purposely ignoring the ache. She analyzed the stars for long enough to figure out where they were heading. From Zoro's perspective, the way she counted the stars and figured out the cardinal points was witchy. Realistically, he knew that Nami must've had the same way of figuring out how to sail during the night and not only her, but other sailors as well.

The witch sat on the deck, her back resting against the mast, her head tilted back to gaze up at the stars. The wound stung and it was uncomfortable, but she didn't want to bother herself with cleaning it up. Also, she had no clue where some bandages might be, and she didn't have the energy to go around and ask about it.

Meanwhile, Zoro knocked two times at Nami's door, opening it after receiving a sign he could enter. The navigator was sitting on one of the hanging beds in the room with some notes and maps in her lap.

"Do you know where's some first aid kit?" Zoro asked.

"Hm?" she raised her head at him, frowning. "Did you trip after drinking too much booze and got hurt?"

He rolled his eyes with a sigh.

"I didn't even drink today. Just tell me where it is."

"Should note it down in the calendar," she scoffed with a smile. "There should be one in the chest over there," she pointed at it by tilting her head.

In the corner of the room, under a small desk, was the chest she mentioned. He opened it and found what he was searching for.

"Oh," he heard Nami whispering.

When he looked at her from where he was crouching, she had a shit-eating grin on her face.

"What?"

He was absolutely clueless. The most oblivious man Nami has ever seen and, for the record, they were all oblivious as fuck.

"Nothing," she smiled innocently.

What is she up to? Zoro wondered.

With the first aid kit box in his hand, he got out of the room and walked back to the deck, where the same woman stargazed. His hand was still resting on the hilt of his sword while he stomped on the wooden planks. She hasn't moved one inch, except for the gentle smile that tugged at her lips.

The only source of light was a gas lamp on a barrel close to her and she glowed. He stopped in his tracks to gaze at her the same way she looked up at the sky and he realized quickly that his lungs stopped functioning.

I'll need some booze after this.

He let the kit fall in her lap and he was surprised by the lack of discomfort she showed at his sudden appearance. Each time someone came from behind, he saw her step away or react in some kind of way, be it a grimace on her face or a sharp inhale.

"What's this for?"

"Take a guess," he shook his head.

She was impossible. Did she do it intentionally?

"Shit, I completely forgot about the bandana," her eyes widened in surprise.

She undid the knot of said material as fast as she could, inhaling through her teeth at the sharp pain.

Only then he noticed an unopened bottle of something — he hoped it would sting his throat — sitting to her other side. He sat cross legged and leaned in over her legs to wrap his fingers around the bottle, tugging with his teeth at the cork.

"That was mine," he heard a faint voice complaining.

"It was."

He hid the smirk threatening to show on his face by placing the bottle at his lips, taking some long gulps. The alcohol stung so pleasantly against his tongue and he anticipated a sense of calm once he'd drink enough.

A restrained hiss got his attention. The witch's lips were knitted together and she tried to clean her wound with a wet cotton ball — it was alcohol, he guessed. After swallowing hard, she continued to tap the skin lightly. Her other hand was digging into her thigh, distracting her with another kind of ache. She was obviously concentrating, the reason why she didn't spit out smart remarks at him.

Zoro sighed heavily and let the bottle down with a low thud.

"Will you need stitches?"

"No," she muttered.

If she wouldn't have been hurt, her face would've looked almost cute.

Since when did he start thinking that way about people? It must be the booze.

She seemed relieved when she finished. The next step was to apply some ointment, which was less troubling.

Then, came the impossible task: wrapping her wound with one hand. Since her other upper arm was hurt, she couldn't do it any other way. The wheels before her eyes worked well enough — certainly, there were a few ways she could do that.

It couldn't be that hard, right?

The swordsman by her side achieved inhuman abilities, because telepathy wasn't something that happened naturally. She needed help dressing the wound.

The real issue was will she ask for help?

He didn't know exactly why he wanted to hear her say something. Anything. The smallest word leaving her lips would sound like a yes in his head and he would act accordingly with the alcohol swimming through his veins.

It wasn't in his nature to be so calculated. Nonetheless, exceptions always existed.

He didn't need to be proud about helping her. No, it was far from that. He had another kind of pride and it settled in the scabbards still holding his swords at his hip. Zoro wanted to see how far she'd go until she realized that asking for help wasn't a sin.

"Um," her lips parted.

"Give me the bandages."

He opened his hand for her to place the white material in it.

"I wanted to say that you owe me a bottle of booze," she blinked up at him confused.

He didn't wait for her to give him the bandages, instead, he took them by himself and positioned himself a bit closer. Suddenly, the alcohol seeping in his bones helped more than he guessed the first time he saw the bottle.

Was he holding back his usual strength at that moment? There were no coherent thoughts in his head while he wrapped the white material around her upper arm as gentle as he was capable of. Zoro avoided grazing his fingertips over her skin, but it was impossible any other way, so he found himself in a weird stance: his hand would hold her arm still from time to time while he rolled the bandages.

A cruel mistake was to look into her eyes, which he unfortunately did. The witch was also looking at him. Probably, he should be more grateful about the way her intense gaze didn't falter when it met his own, even if it made his stomach tingle.

He drank too much. Or too little.

There was one way to find out and that would be taking another bottle to drown down his throat.

He was never the one to look away first, be it an enemy or a friendly staring contest. However, he failed that time.

There must've been some potion in that bottle. Otherwise, there was no explanation.

"Thank you."

It was the second time she thanked him in a day. The swordsman didn't see much in these things, but he was genuinely intrigued about the nature of his own gestures. As someone used to actions, questions sounded pointless in between his thoughts. Then, why did he suddenly ask instead of straight up finding out the answer?

Why did he do these things without being asked to?

"Sure," he let out softer than it was meant to be.

He got up and headed to the galley to grab two more bottles of alcohol.

There was a different feeling than the usual duty he felt about people. She didn't need his protection or help, she could perfectly do it all on her own. She skillfully tossed knives through the air and was awfully proud about her abilities, a confident smile on her face.

Zoro never asked, but he guessed she was part of that world long before they appeared in her life. It wasn't possible to follow the rules of the sea unless you sailed before and she conquered the power of water itself.

And the strength of his heart on top of that.

"Zoro!" Luffy's enthusiastic voice beamed. "Let's learn the stars."

"What?"

Wasn't that the reason why Nami and the witch were on that ship? They already knew a lot.

"It's fun! I didn't know there were bears in the night sky!"

"Of course there aren't bears in the sky!" Usopp commented.

"They're just constellations, Luffy," the woman chuckled.

Both of them came to her like curious owls with big eyes, begging her to show them some stars; now, all of them sat on the deck. Of course their supposed captain would learn about anything only to forget half of it the next minute, but the intention mattered, right?

She didn't expect the swordsman to accept Luffy's invitation, but he did so, sitting in the same place he did a minute ago. Only the booze would determine whether or not he'd have enough patience to concentrate.

"Why is it called Ursa Major? Is there another one?" Usopp turned his head.

"Yes: Ursa Minor," she pointed her index finger at the sky above. "The Ursa Major is there, right? They look the same, but the other one is smaller."

The sky was filled with stars and there were so many of them, it was almost impossible to spot a specific one. They sparkled beautifully, as if they smiled back at the pirates eager to learn their names.

"Where, where?" Luffy looked up, confused.

The witch moved her hand to the side and pointed at another constellation.

"Search for the same figure, but in smaller form."

"Fount it!" Luffy and Usopp exclaimed in unison.

She let out another soft chuckle and the swordsman paid more attention to that lovely sound than the stars she mentioned.

"See the tip of the bear's tail? That is its brightest star and it's called the North Star. Whenever you point towards the spot on the horizon directly below it, it means you're pointing north."

Luffy's lips were opened in surprise while he looked at the sky.

"So you're also a navigator!"

"Just because I'm better than Zoro at directions doesn't mean I'm a navigator," she joked lightly.

"I think you're overdoing it," the swordsman huffed.

"That's why you were so late?!"

Usopp was already cackling.

"The mansion was in front of your eyes and you still decided to go the other way," she nudged at him.

"I was just checking around," he muttered between gritted teeth.

"You're so bad at lying, Zoro," Luffy teased him.

Their captain and the sniper were laughing colorfully, until tears gathered on top of their lashes. The sound was accompanied by the same reaction coming from the witch, who was unaware of the palm she placed on Zoro's shoulder, while the other hand was holding onto her stomach.

However, the swordsman was hyper aware about it. It warmed him up almost as pleasantly as the booze, but it was a foreign sensation settling into his stomach. Those gentle fingers that wielded knives and had been dirtied by blood touched him and he didn't have an ounce of will within to push her away.

It's just a touch, what am I getting so worked up for?

"We just need to find a musician and the crew is complete!" Luffy smiled brightly.

The witch's hand dropped from Zoro's shoulder, gripping at one of the bottles he brought with him.

"I can sing," she whispered as if it was meant to be only for herself.

"I can dance!" Usopp grinned. "Guys, you have no idea how I was the star of countless parties! Captain, you have everyone you need right here."

Before the Straw Hat could say anything, the witch opened her bottle.

"With a guitar, Luffy, otherwise I won't start disturbing the fish in the sea," she let out a short sigh.

"If we find a guitar at our next destination, do you promise to play the guitar?"

The puppy eyes boring holes into her forehead couldn't be ignored so easily. Defeated, she nodded and took a long gulp from the bottle.

"Great!"

And with that, Luffy got to his feet, his chin tilted down to look at his friends.

"Good luck with the night watch."

"I'll come to watch over you, Luffy," Usopp solemnly touched his heart. "Who knows when an enemy will sneak in. I need to be prepared and protect my friends!"

"So tonight we find out about your snoring habits," the swordsman arched his eyebrow.

"I don't snore!" he frowned while he walked side by side with Luffy.

"Good night, you two," the witch smiled in their direction.

Zoro continued drinking from the bottle in his hand, the first one he picked up already empty, sitting by his side. The witch had far less resistance than him and none of them got some well deserved sleep in the last two days. He acknowledged the proximity between him and the woman sitting at his right, but annoyance crawled up his throat — why he wanted to be near her was beyond him.

"For how long have you been on a ship?" he wondered out loud.

"Is it obvious it's not my first time?"

They turned towards each other at the same time, locking gazes the same way they did when he bandaged her wound. At least that time there was a plausible and logical reason — one he created on the spot. The second time it happened, he was just pulled towards her like a magnet.

And maybe they were not exactly opposites nor each other's mirror, but they always found themselves in the presence of the other.

"This can't be your first journey on the sea," he shrugged. "You're not scared at all."

"Did you just imply that I'm scared of water?" she cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Then are you scared of land? You were damn anxious back in Syrup Village."

The witch crossed her arms under her chest in a defensive manner.

"It was my intuition."

"You were losing your shit."

His teasing comment received a wide-eyed stare from her.

"That's not true."

Her lips were pulled in a thin line right after and she averted her eyes, looking back at the stars. She was searching for the right words to tell him lame stories she was fond of.

"I'm used to sailing, yeah. Was part of a crew for almost two years and then left because I couldn't find my place there. It was my father's crew."

"So it runs in the family."

"Kind of," a sour smile creeped on her lips. "My mother hated pirates. How come she married one? He didn't become a pirate until years later."

After another long glance towards a constellation she just noticed, she brought the bottle to her lips and gulped down until half of the bottle was gone. The memories flowing back always left a bad taste in her mouth, a sensation she wanted to fight against with some more alcohol.

"And you are a pirate."

The conclusion was obvious.

"I don't think I have to say it out loud, do I?"

The sad smile on her lips didn't falter. The spoken admission that her mother hated her guts for choosing the same life as her father would've hurt more than the silence that spoke for itself. Memories sucked her into the past like a water vortex in the middle of the sea.

"What do you mean by 'I'm leaving in the morning?" her mother had furrowed her eyebrows at her.

The tension could've been cut through with the knife resting against the young girl's hip. She resembled her father too well: they walked the same, they had the same gaze and far too similar weapons.

Before her mother's eyes wasn't standing a daughter anymore, but a pirate, monsters she hated from the bottom of her heart. Cruel, ruthless, merciless monsters with no hearts. People with egos bigger than their bounties and strength that could wipe away entire islands.

Demons.

Her daughter has become a demon.

"You're talking after your monster of a father," her mother spat out after slapping the table with her palm.

"We both know he was more humane than you."

"Where did you learn such words from, girl?!"

"You."

The witch was still standing in front of the door with a bag hung over her right shoulder. A merely sixteen years old with fire burning in her irises.

"He's a criminal and a thief on top of it! A liar! A betrayer!" the woman's voice rose higher, threatening to break glass.

"Maybe you didn't agree with his living style, but he's never done anything to us! The sea is a battlefield, it's kill or get—"

"I've heard that excuse coming from him countless times, I don't need you to quote that man!"

"If he is just 'a man' for you, just know that he was always more of a father for me than you were a mother."

A sharp sound bounced off the walls and the young witch's cheek stung after the woman's hand flew across her face. Her head turned to the side, but no whimper left her lips.

"I dare you to say that again. As if you didn't live under my rooftop ever since he became a pirate — a monster."

The young girl used to be bold even at that time. Her left cheek ached painfully, but it didn't stop the fire from burning. No, it was like pouring gasoline over it, thinking it would stop.

She turned her head towards her mother and rolled her shoulders back, eyes boring holes into her forehead.

"He was a better father than you were a mother."

A stable voice and clear words filled with venom to the brim. She didn't falter, nails digging into her palms as she tried to contain her anger — her hatred.

"Is that what you wanted to hear? You lack self awareness, mom. You seem to forget about the times when you'd tell me I'll become a failure just like him. You intentionally brush aside the speeches you gave me about how no matter what I wish for, I have to just suck it up and accept the fact that all I will ever be is an obedient girl. I'm not obedient and I'm not a girl — I'm a pirate. No one on the sea cares whether or not I'm a woman."

"These are fairy tales for children! You won't be able to survive for longer than a day. You will come back crawling at me and I'll remind you who was right!"

"See? Exactly what I was saying. You're just proving my points and yet you cease to realize. Everytime you hit me, everytime you degrade me, every single time when you want to show me you have power over me — all of these are pointless."

A reckless teenager grasping for the first time at the notion of freedom after mourning her deceased father for five days. A flame learning how to burn.

She made one step closer, the furrow between her eyebrows deepening.

"Kill me. You've always craved seeing my father dead, didn't you? Why don't you kill me too? Wouldn't that make you happy? I bet it would, since you always acted like it."

Words could hurt and she learnt it from her mother, it seemed like. She's never heard someone use words like she wielded knives better than that woman and that time it backfired.

Before she even realized it, the bottle her fingers gripped at was almost empty, making it easier for tears to gather in the corners of her eyes. She's been silent for so long and Zoro glanced at her from his peripheral.

"And him?"

"Been dead for three years. I became a part of his crew right after. It didn't make any sense to continue living in my hometown any longer. They're like a shadow ship — they refused to give the title of Captain to someone else, even if technically the one in command now is the Vice Captain. Whenever they need to make a decision, they think of what their deceased Captain would've done."

The swordsman by her side crossed his arm over his chest and grinned.

"That's one hell of a loyal crew."

They were my family, even if they would drink late in the night and have awful cooking skills. They would laugh and offer me advice, they taught me what a pirate's pride is about.

"You still seem regretful."

The witch turned her head towards Zoro and he swore he'd never seen so many emotions flowing in those beautiful eyes of hers. They glowed with golden sparkles hence the gas lamp. There laid honesty and fierceness, a human who turned against its nature and decided to go further.

"I never regretted leaving. I don't regret any of it. Maybe there were things I shouldn't have said or done. I could've been kinder, less revengeful. If I am to be honest, despite being aware of the consequences and effects of my actions, I don't regret it. It can't be undone and there's no place for apologies when I meant what I said."

"The crew scolded you."

It wasn't a question, but a statement. Obviously, the crew was formed by men and a few women past twenty. They had more life experience than her.

"A little bit. They were, indeed, more mature than me," her head turned towards the horizon again.

Vague and cryptic answers, harder to decipher than Poneglyphs. However, Zoro wasn't an archeologist and he didn't ask for more than she was able to share, which made her shoulder relax. The witch didn't even notice when she tensed up.

He stretched out his legs from their crossed position and leaned better against the barrel. It seemed like the pirate hunter didn't have any intention of leaving the deck.

Their shoulders remained close and none of them moved closer or farther away. Both of them were content with burning a little more before admitting the truth even to themselves.

Tag list: @emelia07 @dimplewonie @tfamidoingwithmylife @murnsondock @the-skys-musical-echo @conspiracy-crows @hallow33nz @ramae17 @gaslysainz @bunntsu @katt58 @katiemrty @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @freyademartel @boofy1998 @ponyboys-sunsets @melsunshine @loveyluv7 @waddlingwanderer

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barn-anon · 8 months ago

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Odysseus wonders if this conflict within himself would ever end. The endless war between his duty to the Emperor and his bond to his human. In front of his human, he's proud and confident, the bravest person to ever walk the Earth. Once she’s asleep or away for a while, his doubts claw back in. They mock him with familiar voice of his Master, for letting himself be leashed to a mere human. If he truly was a worthy Custodes, he would've freed himself from this chain binding him to his human. If he truly was loyal to the Emperor, he would be well on his way back to him by now.

Humans are fragile. It would be so terribly easy to just... end her. It's him that's the problem here, he just can't do it. How could he when it's only with her that he truly learnt what it’s like to be loved? He's not a fool, he knows he's just a tool to the Emperor. One that's cherished, sure, but a disposable tool in the end.

Yet here his human is, stubbornly letting him stay and showing him care and affection. He feels guilty about it at times. He wants to freely return her care with tenderness… but he’s a Custodes, such things aren’t that clear cut and straight forward for him in particular. His Master didn’t make him to be a companion to some lowborn human. He was to be His Companion, what he once loved to be is now what he hates about himself.

He knows it’s unfair to her, having him as her bonded. He will never say it out loud but he does think that even a Chaos Marine would be a better bonded for her. Better than him… he must climb mountains and swim oceans before he is able to freely embrace his bonded the way he should.

Ceramic plates clatter and the sound of flowing water. His human is in the kitchen washing the dishes. The sunlight filters in and hits her hair making the hairclip glint slightly. He watches from the living room as she hums along with the radio, unaware of him as she scrubs the plates clean and places them on the dish rack.

The sound of knife hitting a wooden chopping board. How should he feel about this domestic life? He no longer has his duties to worry about, still has the freedom to pursue his hobbies. Without the Emperor though... is he still a Custodes? In this world, he feels like a man lost at sea. There's a ship on the horizon but he doesn't know how his life might change if he swims towards it. The life raft that is his life guarding the Emperor will always stay afloat, but every moment that he clings to it, the ship on the horizon seems more daunting to swim to.

A yellow plate with apple slices and grapes is placed on the coffee table before him. He looks over to see his human smiling at him. A gentle pat on his arm before she moves off to tidy the storeroom. Picking up a grape, he wonders if he would ever be ready to let go of his life raft.

Tagged: @kit-williams • @egrets-not-regrets • @bleedingichorhearts

edited this at 11pm so, if weird I’m sorry.

#Odysseus the Custodes #space marine husbandry #space marine husbandry sentience #warhammer 40k

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knight-princess · 1 year ago

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Willow month: tropes: childhood sweethearts

Ok so we don’t know exactly how old Kit and Jade were when they met so this one is very much up to personal interpretation, but they were definitely young, and Tanthamore really is one of those ships that just screams childhood sweethearts to me (headers by @hgstuff)

Like, just imagine baby Kit, the princess, the wild hearted little firecracker of a child you know she was, sneaking off to find Jade, her hanging off stable doors while Jade works and chattering the whole time, Kit grabbing Jade’s hand and the two of them running riot through the marketplace. Just two kids being silly. Kit sneaking into Jade’s room and the two of them having sleepovers together. Jade starts training to become a knight: imagine putting small wooden training swords in their hands. Imagine them growing up together, these two kids who’s comparative status within the castle should have kept them forever separated, but refusing to be parted. Imagine them realising they’re in love. Enemies to lovers gets all the attention as the angst and drama trope, but childhood sweethearts has some pretty stellar ones too. Do I just like this person as a friend or as something more? Do they feel the same way about me? Can I risk jeopardising the friendship of years for the possibility of romance?

What happens if I kiss her? What happens if she kisses me and I kiss her back?

#willow 2022 #kit tanthalos #jade claymore #tanthamore #willowmonth2023 #save willow #savewillow

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ratherbefangirling · 7 months ago

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Mi casa (3.5)

Previous | Next

Genre: omegaverse, Angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

Pairing: ot7 x reader

Warning ⚠️: funeral, insensitive comments, suicide ideation(please if you feel this way please get help)

It's rare that you and namjoon fight the two of you avoid fighting each other like plague. Always ready to be understanding, to forgive, to let go , to kiss and make up. When one of you is stubborn the other yields and is generous.

But when it did happen then the two of you are stubborn as mule and it gives Jin a headache. Because every one comes to complain to him. He's the pack alpha. He knows it's his job. Normally he loves being the Alpha. But in times like this he can feel his blood pressure shoot through the roof.

The most common fights he has to break are between Taehyung and Jimin. But it's usually simpler. Yoongi and Hobi try to make Jimin understand and Namjoon and Jungkook handle Taehyung. But when it's about the other soulmate pair namely you and Joon it's tough. Because you are closest to each other. Like some sort of cocoon. He doesn't mind he sort of gets it. But in such situations. He's extra stressed about not hurting the either of you. Because its easy for both of you to feel alienated.

If he takes Namjoons side you may feel like he hasn't accepted you as pack and if he takes yours Namjoon may feel like everyone is against him and its not a pretty scene.

Jungkook comes in the kitchen whistling as Jin sits and contemplates the situation. Jugkook takes a bottle of water from the fridge and chugs it and keeps it back. He slaps Jin's butt as he sits next to Jin and opens a bag of chips and starts eating.

"Ya Jeon Jungkook. I've told you not to eat those they are Y/n's"

"I'll buy her more." Jungkook replies and Jin gives him a look of disbelief.

"It's fine. She'll forgive me. She's too busy being mad at Namjoon hyung anyway"

"Do you have any idea why they fought."

"I do." Jungkook says taking another bite.

Jin rolls his eyes.

"And when were you going to mention it?"

Jungkook shrugs. "No one asked me. Besides you always say not to interfere between the two."

"I know. But from now on tell me... only me"

"Y/n-ie found invitations to Namjoon's company dinner. So she asked him. He said it wasn't a big deal. But he's getting an award and perhaps bonus. He said he didn't tell her cause he knows she hates the events and he didn't want to force her."

"That's it?"

"Nope. Then she said are you embarrassed of me. To which he was like you're my soulmate and then she said that's not an answer to what I'm asking and then it got pretty ugly."

"And how did you hear this?"

"I was using her bathroom cause the others were busy."

Jin can't help but smile at the other boys antics.

Yoongi comes in carrying a parcel.

"Jungkook did you order something?"

Jungkook perks up excited. "Its here. Me and Y/n-ie ordered embroidery kits. I'll go take it to her." Jungkook takes the parcel.

Yoongi pats Jin's back. "It'll be alright we've been through worse."

Jin nods. Its true.

Jungkook decides to take a banana milk and other flavored milks pack and grabs a couple snacks. Seamlessly balancing everything and going towards your room.

You and Jungkook often did things together. The two of you bonded over buying new things and DIY kits often taking help if needed or even just including other pack members. Like the time you needed Joons help with the planting kit and Yoongi's help finding sand paper to complete your DIY wooden ship. The time you tried Resin was fun. You still use the trays you both made with Jimin and Tae. You'd even made a book mark for Joon. You also did self DIY projects like the time you had begged Hobi to give up some of his shoes so you could paint them. Sometimes when you went to the Sunday Market. You'd stop with Joon at the book stall. Once you'd found an old recipe book and then it was you and jungkook and Jimin and failed attempt at some sort of microwave cake which was as hard as a stale cookie though the kitchen did smell great.

Your life now was filled with all these little moments which made it so beautiful. Ofcourse sometimes you do wonder. Was it really necessary to loose your old family for this one and you put the thought away because you cannot be ungrateful you must not be or you might loose this as well.

(Before)

You've worn a mourning black dress. You're exhausted from meeting the lawyer to doing paperwork and emptying your room at the shelter. It was a bit silly but you'd stayed till the very last moment. Hoping against hope and silently praying that your mate would come. But hope was a painful thing and a luxury you couldn't afford. So you cried a little inside your new bathroom or rather your old one at your uncle's place. Which was now your own. Wondering when would it be over.

You're the chief mourner. And you can't help but think it's good your soulmate chose their pack over you because you seem to kill everyone around you.

A lot of people come. Offering their condolences.

He was a good man.

He loved his wife so much.

A great man the likes of whom we don't see.

He will be missed.

Such a loss.

Untimely death.

You supposed the death of a person forgave their sins.

The whispers are everywhere.

You go outside for a while. To get yourself water. The panic is settling in its too much its all too much. You hide behind a tree gulping the cool water and its heaven down your throat. It's almost magical one pill and the world is more bearable.

"I heard his niece put false charges on him. Poor man." A lady discusses

"Not only that she's going to inherit his assets." Her friends adds.

"They said her pack died in a car accident and she was the only one who survived."

"Not only that they said she doesn't have a scent."

"What a freak."

"It gives me the shivers."

Someone covered your ears. You could smell it the sweet familiar scent.

You turned. Face to face with yoongi.

"It's fine." You said gruffly removing his hands from your ears harsher then you intended to.

Your alpha awakening had given you more strength. Strength that scared you. Strength that made you even harder to kill.

The words were already branded in your brain.

"Are you ok?" He asked softly.

"Why are you here?" You asked instead. He smelled like your old bestfriend but he wasn't. It would be better to remember that. He too had a pack. Just like your soulmate. Just like everyone else except you.

"We need to talk."

"About what?... wait don't tell me... you're not my soulmate are you?" You stagger backwards clenching your fist. You want to hold him someone anyone.

"No I'm not but.."

Ofcourse he's not it can't be that simple ofcourse.

"Then there's no reason. Excuse me I have to wrap this up. People will be wondering why the chief mourner is missing."

Before you could leave Yoongi stopped you giving you his card.

"Call me if you need anything. I'll come see you later."

You don't say anything. So he leaves.

You wonder if you can have two pills quickly. You wonder if you can mention those ladies in a suicide note. Won't that be funny though you won't be there to see it.

You stare at the casket as it lowered down. You envy your uncle. Wishing you could trade places.

Would anyone cry if I disappear?

It's fine I wouldn't even know the difference once I'm dead afterall..

Everyone leaves. Some people even try to comfort you. You put on an understanding face as you tell them words they want to hear.

And thats that. You go to a convenience store nearby. Sit eating instant noodles. The noodles taste bland so you play with them more than you eat them.

What next?

The world is right infront of you. What are you even supposed to live for. The person you might have wanted revenge on is dead. You can't kill yourself after surviving your family. You have money and a house. You could go to college but studying you don't think you can do that anymore. You used to have dreams. But they seem a childish fantasy and nothing more. Even your soulmate doesn't want you. You don't blame them you wouldn't want a person like yourself. A joke of an alpha.

A can hits the noodles. And the scalding hot broth falls down your hand and lap. They seemed to have been trying to throw the can in the Dustbin right infront of where you sat. And with your terrible luck it ruined your dinner.

You instinctively stand up. Someone takes your hands pouring cold water over them.

"Are you okay?"

You look up to see the most charming face. Kind eyes, strong hands, taller than you and the scent that makes you want to dissolve in it.

"No.." Your voice is foreign to you as you reply. Tears dripping out of your eyes.

He hugs you wrapping his arms around you.

"I'm sorry I won't ever leave you alone again I promise."

Yeah so that's that. I've been away for a while. I haven't written anything but I wanted to post something.. so I did this.. If you've read belong. I'm not in the mindset to write belong currently it's way too happy for me and I can't do it justice right now.

Please let me know your thoughts!!

Taglist : @kaceypdf ; @ghostlyworld ; @thelilbutifulthings ; @hijabae2019

Permanent taglist : @exfolitae ; @cryingpages ; @outrobtsnd

#bts x reader #bts fanfic #bts au #namjoon x reader #jin x reader #bts ot7 x reader #bts angst #kim namjoon #omegaverse au #omegaverse

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missameliep · 29 days ago

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Bonds of Sea and Fire - Part 4 (Blades of Light and Shadow)

Book: Blades of Light and Shadow

Pairing: Tyril Starfury x Arwen (MC - F!Elf)

Characters: Arwen of Riverbend (MC); Imtura Tal Kaelen; Mal Volari; Nia Ellarious; Threep Pompedorfin; Tyril Starfury.

Summary: The long hours at the sea are used for training. The long hours at land are used for walking. Everything in between is strenghtening the bonds of their friendship.

Word count: ~4.300

Rating: M

Notes:

English is not my native language;

Characters belong to PixelBerry;

Parts of a dialogue from Book 1 - chapter 7 were used, and are in bold letters;

This fic takes place between chapters 6 and 7 from Blades of Light and Shadow - Book 1;

TW: Suggestive language;

This is my submission to @choicesprompts' Flufftober 2024 - day 4: Found Family/friendship.

Arwen changed the short sword to her left hand and sliced the air again.

Leaning against the wooden wall, watching her through narrowed eyes, Tyril remained impassive. The silence is received as approval, and she repeats the movement for a diagonal cut this time.

Lowering the sword, Arwen asked another question, “Do all elves have magical affinity to become battle mages?”

“The vast majority does,” Tyril replied, his tone deep and unemotional, like the eyes staring her. “If properly trained.”

Pushing himself off the wall, he circled her and pointed out in a commanding tone, “Spread your legs wider.”

“Hmmm... Are we done training?” she asked over her shoulder, meeting his eyes with a smirk.

“Not until you improve your stance,” he replied curtly, oblivious to what was implied.

Mal, who had been watching the whole scene unfold while sitting atop a wooden crate, cackled. Slapping a hand against his thigh, he cried, “He’ll have you jumping through hoops before that happens, Kit!”

“Hoops?” Tyril echoed the word, confusion frowning his brows as he stared at the human. “How could that help?”

His reply prompted the other two to double over with laughter; Mal wheezed, and Arwen used the back of her hand to wipe tears of her eye as the jokes kept flying between them.

Tyril crossed his arms in front of his chest, “This is childish. You shouldn’t joke about proper stances. Losing your balance in a fight might cost your life.”

Mal apologised, wiping a tear from the corner of his eyes, not looking sorry at all. “There’s absolutely nothing funny about that. Ask Arwen.”

Taking a deep breath, Arwen stifled a giggle. With a glare Tyril demanded the human to leave them be – which the latter chose to ignore in favour of aggravating the elf. However, by the time Arwen recovered her breath to continue training, Mal had already lost interest in the elves, focused on the small piece of driftwood he was carving.

“I’ll behave,” Arwen promised Tyril, and adjusted the stance, moving her legs further apart, much more used to the sway of the ship by now. “Better?”

“Foot.”

She corrected the position of her right foot and lounged forward. The seriousness of his expression softened a little as a small smile hinted at the corner of his mouth.

“You are a fast learner.”

Tyril is not one to offer compliments freely, therefore, whenever he does, the rare inputs fuel her confidence. Unlike him, Arwen received no proper combat training. Her knowledge was acquired by observing the guards training and helping test the swords forged by Aylin, the village’s blacksmith. She never had enough coins to afford one, no matter how much she wanted to, and had to make do with the arches and bows she crafted herself.

“Are you a battle mage?”

He raised one black eyebrow at her, and she laughed.

“Relax! I’m not planning to seduce you like Auriollo did. At least not to steal your powers, anyway.”

Blushing at the joke and flirty wink she threw his way, he avoided her gaze when speaking his next words, “This is reassuring...”

With three long steps, he returned to where he was standing before, leaving her room to strike the air again.

“So, are you?”

Watching her through a curtain of long hair, he tucked a few strands behind one ear, nodded and folded his arms in front of his chest. The elf’s statuesque figure returning to the same rigid posture.

“Can you teach me?”

“I’m not a teacher.”

“Please,” she said with her most adorable pleading eyes, and his gaze lingered in her face as if struggling to understand her words.

“Why would you desire to learn this sort of magic?”

“We’re facing the Shadow Court, Tyril,” she replied as if the reason should’ve been obvious. “I need to learn all I can.”

“An untrained mage can be dangerous. To themselves and others.”

“Not if you train me.”

“At Undermount, children are tested and spend years studying to master a single craft. Time is not a luxury at our disposal.”

“Teach me just the basics. We can start with that lightning chariot. That sounds cool and useful. No blisters on these feet...” she laughed at her own joke, but he did not. The seriousness creasing his features.

“Magic is not the only thing you should rely on. Build your abilities first. Use your senses. Learn how to hold your own with a sword... and to be patient. That’s what you need most.”

“Patience without action is useless,” she muttered, frustrated with the condescending tone, lowered the sword and wiped the sweat from her face. She craved a bath – a real one, with clean and not salty water –, but that won’t be possible until reaching land.

“Look at Nia,” Tyril said firmly, and Arwen glanced at the priestess on the other side of the ship, she was practicing evasive movements with a young orc pirate like Tyril had suggested. “Light magic is powerful but isn’t free. Like everything, it comes with a price.”

“What do you mean?”

Tyril crossed the distance to stand beside her, maybe to be certain she understands his next words.

“Every time someone uses their magic, it’s fuelled by some of their own lifeforce. They’re trading away their life for it.”

“What?” the question came out too quick and her gaze darted from his face to Nia’s, who has been teaching her magic but failed to mention anything about this high price or the costs of helping them in this journey. “It’s draining her life?”

Tyril sighed and nodded. The silence lingered while Arwen processed the news.

“The Light has great purpose, but shouldn’t be spent frivolously. A trained mage learns the time to use their magic and the time to spare it.”

“I’ll try to... remember that,” Arwen sighed still looking at Nia, wondering about what she learned, and he nodded before walking away to where the Priestess was.

Seeing Tyril approaching, Nia waved him and Arwen, oblivious to their conversation; and the orcs dared the elves to come spar with them. Tyril declined the offer, but suggested Arwen could use the practice, and she'd very much enjoy any distraction from this terrifying concept.

The first one who volunteered was too young and eager to prove herself. When she lunged for an attack, Arwen batted her sword away with her own. A final blow and the orc fell. All finished in a couple of minutes.

The second one was also very young, but his body was massive and all solid muscles.

“Think you can beat me, landrat?” he cried, slapping a massive palm against his bare chest.

Arwen defended herself from the blows and the quips; but didn’t anticipate when her opponent managed to get close enough to punch her side with his free hand. The force made her lose her balance, and he tripped her. On the ground, she managed to roll over and avoid being kicked in the ribs.

“Can he do that?” Nia asked with concern, watching Arwen clutch her side before getting up. “It doesn’t seem fair, does it?”

“Don’t expect the enemy to be fair,” Tyril answered, but his words and gaze were fixed on Arwen, who had gotten back to her feet and was standing next to Mal. “We must use whatever advantage we have.”

The advice hit the mark. Even though the orc is stronger, she’s got agility and another ability that can’t be quelled with force – and few resist.

“Don’t fuss about it,” she dismissed Mal’s concern and winked at him before turning around to face the orc, placing a hand on her hip. “I like it rough,” her voice had that sexy breathiness that matched perfectly the flirty look she threw at her opponent.

The suggestion in her words was not lost on him.

“Can you really take it rough, landrat?” he quipped; and they circled each other, none taking the initiative to a new attack. “There’s a lot of me to take.” His thumb glided from the tip of the sword to the hilt slowly and deliberately.

Smirking, she looked appraisingly from his chest to the bulge on the leather trousers, and teasingly licked her lips. “Oh! I surely can take it,” she said with a sultry voice, come-hither eyes focused on him. “All of it.”

“Bold words.”

“And so very true.”

Mal snorted somewhere behind her, but she ignored him.

“Why don’t you come here and show me what you got, big boy?”

“Wanna put on a show for yer friends, do ya?”

He let his sword fall to the other hand, before changing hands again. A distraction. She could be patient and offer a distraction too.

She bit her lower lip, slow and deliberately, while gliding with unexpected elegance to one side, pressing him to continue their dance around each other.

“Didn’t peg you as the shy type...” Her words finally reached her intent when the other’s sword was readied for an attack. Already counting the steps when he lunged forward, she smirked. Spinning aside, out of his reach, his sword hit a wooden crate, allowing her to hit his side with a turning kick, then hooked her knee behind his knee, which caused his weight to lean dangerously to one side. The final blow was a strike with the hilt of the sword against the unprotected area under his ribs, and despite the solid muscles, he let out a pained groan and kneeled.

The tip of her sword lightly touched his chest, and it was over.

“Well played,” he laughed off, self-aware of the looks upon them. Taking the offered hand to stand up, he whispered close to her ear, “Are ya still showing me those other moves ya have?”

“Impress me next time, and who knows...” Arwen winked and handed him back the sword.

“Maybe, I’ll do that.”

“I wouldn’t count on that,” Mal muttered watching Arwen walking away to receive Nia’s praises, her gaze already locked with Tyril’s.

“That was unwise,” Tyril chided.

“But it worked.”

“You cannot...” he paused, searching for the proper word, “...charm your way out of a confrontation.”

“Do you want to bet?”

Tyril scowled at the suggestion.

“I'm in!” Mal joined the conversation, jumping from the wooden crate and landing with a loud thump on the deck. “5 golden coins you can’t!”

“Do you even have that kind of money?” Tyril asked.

“Won’t you like to find out?” Mal wriggled his eyebrows and smiled at Arwen.

With a shake of their hands, the challenge was accepted.

“If I can charm my way --”

“You get the gold, Kit.”

Cursing the tidal currents under her breath, Arwen struggled to walk to the berth. The closer they got to the shore, the more difficult to stay on one’s feet, and the more she craved to step on dry land.

Even the hammocks were swaying less than gently and squeaking in a haunting manner, like they were voicing the souls lost at sea.

Mal, however, didn’t seem to mind any of that at all. Lying down in one of them, he ignored the fuss before debarking and looked pensive, a distant gaze fixed on the ceiling. An unusual quietness; she wondered what could have possibly gotten to him.

From the berth, Arwen picked up a blanket, shoved inside her bag and glanced at him.

“We’re almost ready to debark,” she said, sitting cross-legged on the lower berth, giving him the opportunity to talk, if he wished. “Got your supplies?”

“All settled.”

Mal jumped from the hammock, leather bag under one arm, hitting the ground with a loud thump. Sitting on the berth with knees bent, elbow on one knee, he stared at her with intense brown eyes and she knew something was definitely off.

“Do you trust them?” he asked in a low conspiratorial tone.

“What do you mean?” she asked, confused, but he gave her a knowing look and she knew exactly who were they – Tyril and Imtura.

“I do.”

He tilted his head, examining her expression like when they play card games.

“You’re not convinced.”

“Nope,” he replied, an annoying popping sound accompanied the last syllable. “But if you’re certain...”

“Any reason why we shouldn’t?”

“They are not like us.”

“Bold adventurers?”

“Aw, Kit,” he cooed as she were a little kid, and patted her arm mockingly. “I’ll miss your sense of humour when this is all over...”

“Then humour me, and say what it is worrying you.”

“My job is knowing the likes of them.” Them as in nobles and wealthy folks, she understood. “Can we trust them not to use us – the commoners and less relevant members of the party – to save their asses?”

“They are not that kind of people!” she protested.

“They are exactly that!” he retorted, keeping his voice low. “Elf boy is a fancy lord in some shady heroes’ journey and Immy probably only want to get back at momma dearest...”

“And what about you?”

“You know me,” he said with a smirk.

It’s been less than a fortnight since their paths crossed; despite all his bravado, charming smiles and attempts to keep his distance, the little he’s disclosed about himself, his family and his past growing up in the slums of Whitetower have been enough to give a sense of understanding about him at most. It would be imprudent to claim to actually know him – and he’s acutely aware of that –, but whatever pieces missing in both their lives – family, home, choice – is something relatable, that brings them closer.

“I’m here for the adventure.”

“And the gains,” she added, and he shrugged.

“That too. The more shards we get, the more I can sell in the end,” he winked at her. “I only need to guarantee there won’t be any stabbing in the back while I sleep...”

“Someone told me trust is forged like a sword,” Arwen said, repeating the concept heard from Tyril, “with fire and patience. Considering everything we’ve been through, there's been a lot of fire to forge these bonds! Practically unbreakable!”

Mal raised a brow, looking sceptically; and she continued, “I believe we can trust them.”

“Elf-boy clearly dislikes me.”

“Can he be blamed if you keep calling him that? And doing your best to get on his nerves?”

“Oh! I could do a lot worse. Trust me.”

They laughed.

“So, you admit you’re aggravating him on purpose.”

“Anger makes people show their true selves.”

“And punch you,” Arwen said. “First lesson learned at Riverbend’s tavern was to never piss off someone who could wipe the floor with you.”

“Is that why you treat his lordship so nicely?” he questioned with an amused smile, “Or do you really fancy him?”

“Tyril is the first elf I’ve ever met.”

Mal looked at her the same way he did that evening after learning how she and Kade had been taking care of themselves most their lives. And something clicked.

“Your family?” he asked.

Little does Arwen remember before Riverbend. Her mind is like a dark abyss that engulfed most of the memories of the early years of her life, including the night she lost her family. Her mind holds but fragments, images that could be memories or parts of a tale her mind weaved to offer some comfort: there’s the gentle face of a female elf who had the same lavender eyes she does, but hers glowed in the dark, like the ones from the felines who huddled in the barn during the coldest nights. The unnatural dark of a moonless night and a sort of ethereal music sang in an unknown language. The elf’s whispers telling her to run and follow the river before conjuring some spell over her head while anointing her forehead with something that smelled like rosemary and thyme and lingered long after she was rescued. The shouts. The smoke that makes the air taste like bonfire and suffocate. Too vividly not to be a memory. An orange sky. Sharp branches gnashing at her arms and face while she ran away, never looking back, only stopping when her eyes contemplated the riverside.

All the elements that feed her nightmares.

Countless nights she was awaken by images of herself running that same path again and again but not finding the river, and the suffocating smoke filling her lungs until she collapsed... But that does not matter now.

“Who knows?” she shrugs. “Probably dead. Vasol and Leoda found me wandering the woods, hurt and starving. I was too young, scared and alone to remember anything...”

How many times did she hear the tale of how the gods favoured her, allowing her to come out unhurt of whatever happened to the pilgrims, the fire and not perish in the woods? If not for the stray piglets that wandered, the farmers wouldn’t have ventured that deep into the woods that day and come across the starving child.

However, frequently, she wondered if she was truly deserving of the gods’ favours, why haven’t they spared her family from meeting a horrifying fate? Why was she left behind all alone?

Not elf, not human. Not really part of anything.

“Tyril might have answers for my questions, or maybe point me in the direction where I could find them...”

“And why would he do that?”

“Isn’t that what friendship is about? Helping each other?”

His hand patted her knee with uncommon gentleness, and he sighed.

“I hope your faith doesn’t mislead us.”

The word us leaves his tongue with such ease, that warms her heart.

“If I’m wrong, I’ll have your back, Your Magnificence. Trust me. You’ll get your treasure in the end.”

The fog enshrouds and covers everything like a blanket.

No more sky.

No more ship.

No sight of the shore.

The world’s existence reduced to the cold white nothingness and the roar of the sea trying to drown them.

The rowboat rocks beneath their feet; the waves crashing and crashing against it. Threep doesn’t leave Nia’s bag, while she holds it close to her chest.

Arwen shivers with the cold. She strains her eyes but cannot see the other boat where Tyril and Mal are. The turbulent sea washes away the memories of the sparkling blue waters from days ago, when she rowed a similar boat with Mal. Her arms struggle to manouvre the oar. If Imtura and the orcs have any fears, they hide it incredibly well.

The captain shouts louder than the waves.

They keep going.

It’s impossible to know how long it takes for them to get to the sands. The crunching sound beneath their feet is sweet music and brings instant relief. The boats disappear into the fog, and the six of them contemplate the path ahead.

Barely a moment to rest, they leave the beach.

After crossing the challenging sharp rocks close to the shore, they walked a path meandering tall grass blades undulating with the wind. Seabirds announcing the beginning of a new day as the sun struggled to shine through the fog.

When the first beams of sunlight shine over the immense estuary where the waters of the river and sea meet in a mix of the lightest and darkest blues, greens and golden, the world was reborn with mesmerizing colours.

Arwen stops a moment to admire the sight, grateful for the successfull outcome.

Distancing from the shore, the party followed the large river. Even when they lost sight of it, the sound of the running water guided their steps.

An hour later, they descended a path to the riverbank where it was safe to drink and fill their canteens with fresh water.

Arwen got greedy. Shedding her cloak and baring her arms, she washed her hands and face with the cold water. Filling her cupped hands, she quenched her thisty with loud gulps, and was met by Tyril’s curious or judgmental stare - she wasn’t sure which and couldn't care less.

When everybody was done, each retrieve their bag from the ground filled with blankets, bedrolls, and food enough to last till they reach a market in a village a day away. In the meantime, they might forage for food, before setting camp.

Mal and Imtura took turns leading the group through the woods, sharing tales and trying to convince the other who was tougher and the most adventurous. Their booming laughs would erupt from time to time, despite Tyril’s warnings in the back of the line.

“Let them bandits come, if they think they can take us!” Imtura cried, fingers gliding on the heads of her axes. “I could use the fun.”

“How daft can one be? To see a tree-sized orc and two elves and still try to ambush us instead of running the other way?” Mal said and nudged Tyril. “Not to mention me, Mal, the Magnificent! Don’t you think, elf boy?”

Tyril tried to shoulder Mal, missing the much shorter human; however, the other wasn’t imprudent enough to remain in the same place, whistling while prancing away.

“It’s not common bandits you should be worried about...”

With that last warning, there was still animated chatting and laughter, but they were considerably less noisy. Walking beside Nia, Arwen would get closer to Mal and Imtura to hear their tales, joining their laughter.

When they stopped next to eat the rations, the sun was high in the sky, long past midday. Nobody showed signs of tiredness and, except for Imtura, everyone was clearly satisfied to be walking on dry land once more.

A fallen trunk became an improvised bench where Arwen, Nia and Mal sat, Imtura picked the shadowed roots of a large tree and Threep was munching on dry fish bathed in sunbeam; Tyril, on the other hand, sat on a large bolder the furthest away from the party, but still close enough to join the conversation if he wished to – which he clearly did not.

At first, the conversation between bites was light and delighted the five sitting closer, but soon, other matters couldn’t be ignored. Since the could talk more freely, the Shadow Court became the main topic.

Nia tried to answer Arwen’s questions, but quickly ran out of answers; Mal could not be more amused by Arwen’s insatiable curiosity and the hundreds-of-questions-a-minute flying from her lips. All this questioning might be starting to annoy Tyril, who shoved a half-eaten piece of dried meat back in his satchel, and it amused Mal even more.

“How does this work exactly?” she asked. “Can you just feel anyone’s magic? Anywhere?”

He nodded, sipping the water from the canteen, then proceeded to put away his belongings.

The topic was fascinating. She wondered if her magic was strong enough to be sensed by others but refrained from asking.

Tyril stood and commanded the others to continue the journey; Arwen jumped from the trunk to follow him, while stashing her belongings inside her satchel.

“From what you said, shadow magic feels differently,” she stated, “and you can sense it in humans. How?”

“Can’t you?” he asked over his shoulder, looking somewhat disturbed by her lack of abilities.

Arwen simply shook her head.

His long strides halted, being replaced by a pace she could keep up with, and she welcomed the change. Walking beside him, Arwen looked him closely. The sunbeams filtered through the leaves illuminating his sharp features, and his eyes turned a slightly darker shade of the usual clear blue. A very lovely shade. But that was not the thing keeping her interest.

“Is it an elf thing?” she asked, “To identify the shadow?”

“Not exclusively, no. It’s possible for those with magical affinity to perceive the distinct aura surrounding them,” he explained, and Nia agreed. Her voice sounded from behind the elves, in her usual polite manners.

“But it’s hard to notice it, if you don’t know what you’re looking for.”

Arwen knew Nia's words were meant to make her feel better for not being trained in magic and so unfamiliar with such matters.

“Is it possible to hide one’s shadow?” Arwen asked nobody in particular.

Nia pondered for a moment. “I don’t believe it is,” she replied, shaking her head. “Magical affinity leaves a distinct trace. You can keep it controlled, make it less threatening to those around you, but... to hide it would take constant effort... and vigilance...”

Tyril fidgeted with one sleeve, then looked at Nia. The hesitancy was unusual, considering how he behaves so self-assuredly.

“From my research, I learnt, it’s possible that highly trained magic wielders with knowledge of old magic could conceal it better than some of the humans corrupted. The use of magical artifacts could enhace the power or help mask it. But to be in the possession of such artifacts could present a challenge to start with.”

“Not impossible, though,” Mal added, “You wouldn’t believe the market for relics from old temples!”

“That’s disturbing...” Nia clutched a hand over her mouth, and the worry creased her delicate features.

Now she understands Tyril’s hesitancy. To trust them with this knowledge could endanger him and his quest, and the fact he shared it with them is a good sign.

The silence drew Tyril’s attention to her, his stare fixed on her face. Was he analysing her reaction? Was regretting telling them? Maybe the silence after so much talking simply felt unnatural. Whatever his reasons, Arwen still had one more question.

“The mayor,” Arwen said softly, observing the absence of reaction to the word. “Was he the first?”

“No.” After a pause, Tyril added, “And certainly won’t be the last.”

Despite the emotionless words and expression, his breath hitched, and his jaw tightened – none of which remained unnoticed by her.

“You sound... regretful...” Nia’s voice sounded behind the two elves.

“It’s my duty.”

“It’s a heavy burden,” Arwen remarked, trying to meet his eyes. However, Tyril averted his gaze, looking ahead.

“It’s mine to bear.”

His words were sharp as usual, but much less filled with the certainty he’s trying to convey. At that moment, she felt the urge to hug him and tell him he was not alone, not anymore. Of course she wouldn’t hug him, he’d probably stab her for even trying...

“You have us now,” Arwen said, her words coated with a hopeful smile. “We’ll do it together.”

Similar words were uttered by Nia, and the iron-willed orc captain assured they’d travel to the ends of every world to defeat this evil.

Tyril’s steps faltered, but he didn’t stop his resolute march or looked at Imtura, Arwen or any of them.

“If we don’t rush, we’re not reaching Valenlon before nightfall.” His deep voice echoed, urging the others to match the pace he settled, but Arwen noticed a slight curl in the corner of his mouth.

It’s not much, but it’s a start.

#blades of light and shadow #choices fanfic #tyril starfury #mal volari #nia ellarious #imtura tal kaelen #mc: arwen of riverbend #threep pompedorfin #choicesprompts #choices flufftober 2024 #bonds of sea and fire #tw: suggestive language

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