Severeaux stood atop the scrolled cabin roof of a cheerful, red-lacquered catboat as it slipped easily through the swells of the Ruby Sea, under a steady wind that belled their sail. He adjusted some knots in the rigging, then found himself simply watching the gilding horizon. Late afternoon was beginning to bleed towards sunset and all the gold had pooled across the line of the sky and ribboned the glassy, cerulean water with a shimmering runner. He’d gotten up early tonight to catch this sight, to wish for his paints, and to haul up their anchor and set them back towards Kugane, where they waited. Perhaps another sennight, as the wind made it, and the current from Hingashi had concurred, when he’d Listened earlier.
He wasn’t impatient to quit the sea, however; the sennights he and Lafeyette had spent out here had left him feeling as if he’d collected undeserved treasure in moments, his pockets overflowing like an ill-prepared thief. They’d learned to sail, haphazardly, from a ghost only Lafeyette could see, darting between the spatter of uncharted islands on the Sea to explore caves and reefs, sifting dunes for washed-up junk, and once nearly had their boat stolen by castaways. Between misadventures, they’d sail all night, Severeaux steadily filling a sketchbook with eerie seascapes, studies of his healing hands, and endless thumbnails and portraits of Lafeyette, in every expression he could catch or remember. She’d worried about his quiet, about talking too much, but Sev found he had no want of solitude in the right company, and his thoughts always ran more clearly when his hands were busy.
And his hands were healed, at last–near as he knew it–still stiff with deeper bruising, but the constant ache had dulled and finally left. The scar tissue from the nail wounds had grown over silvery, like unsettling constellations mapped out against his veins and dusky skin. Often, he wondered if he could sail until he found a place the stars matched his hands, to hide and be safe at last. Incredibly, he’d come to find that urge steadily overridden with a slow anger that was etching itself into his bones, nightly; what he wanted was to be free.
wow i really hope my brother doesn’t try to actually talk to me tonight or else i’m gonna slip up and be like “i’ve been wanting to kill myself for like the past three weeks but it’s chill, we all good” 🙂
Did a complete 180 on my opinion on my new roommates over the course of about 10 hours. Found out they were being overly nice to me to my face while talking shit behind my back and using me to be their worker boy. They think I’m stupid? I’m gonna use that to my advantage and mooch the fuck off of them. Sorry, but if you pull this kind of shit on me I won’t stand for it. I’ve worked too long and hard to get where I am just to be patronized and used. Get fucked
the howlies got in a lot of bar fights. you might think that the last thing a bunch of soldiers would want to do with their free time is fight people, but actually bar fights were a great stress relief. nobody really got seriously injured, and we tried to keep property damage to a minimum. (and we also almost never started bar fights, for the record. most of the time it was guys from another unit who wanted to prove how badass they were by taking on the infamous howling commandos.) so bar fights themselves weren’t that unusual.
but peggy’s bar fights…oh, they were glorious.
see, peggy never got in a fight for no reason; she was smarter than that. but when she did fight, it was truly beautiful. ive never seen a better right cross, before or since.
so one time we were on leave, sipping drinks in this english pub. the howlies were at the back table, enjoying a couple pitchers, while peggy was up at the bar, chatting with the barmaid. many of the bars and pubs back then had female bartenders–filling the gaps with the men off at war. and generally barmaids (which was what a female bartender was called back then) were the sort of girl pegs got along with–sensible, dependable, and not willing to take shit from any man. so she often enjoyed commiserating with the barmaids while we drank. she used to say she had to be free of us ‘charming gentlemen’ before she wound up blowing things up as erratically as we did. which was hurtful. our explosions were very intentional. mostly.
so peggy got to chat about the best ways to hurl drunken idiots out doors and we got to ply steve with alcohol to see how much booze it would take to make him drunk. (tragically, we never found out.)
on this particular occasion, peggy was sitting at the bar when this mountain of a man came in. and i mean huge. thor-sized. like the hulk’s pinker younger brother. and with him came a dozen or so of his closest friends, all locals. (they may also have been poorly disguised orcs. im not sure, but i wouldn’t discount it as a possibility after seeing all the nonsense ive seen) the group of them made their way up to the bar, wedged their way in, and started harassing the barmaid.
now, i don’t know what they said. peggy refused to repeat it. all i know is that one of the larger idiots said something stupid, laughed, and reached out to grope the barmaid. his hand made it about six inches from her chest when peggy’s fist broke his nose. he hit the floor like a tree falling, and the bar went quiet for a split second before one exceptionally suicidal idiot lunged at peggy.
everything went crazy. there were a good few dozen of us 107th guys in the bar, and all of us knew and adored pegs, so when the mountain-men went after her, every fine man of the 107th went after them. but it turned out that the locals defended their own, and we were pretty evenly matched for numbers. within seconds, everyone was throwing punches. bottles were thrown. dernier used a tablecloth to blind a man and threw him out a window. dumdum used one guy’s fists to hit another guy. i hurled bottlecaps at people’s eyeballs, because it’s fun.(im a sniper. we like distance) steve tried to wade through the chaos to get to peggy, but people kept punching him and then clutching their hands in agony, so he got kind of bogged down.
at the bar, peggy was demonstrating exactly why she was the 107th’s darling–because she could put a grown man twice her size on the ground in two seconds flat. she knocked out six men; seven more promptly fell in love with her.
as the chaos began to wind down, most of the locals had either been beaten down or fled, and only the mini-hulk and a couple others were left, brawling like berserkers. we were just about ready to turn steve loose on them when the barmaid handed peggy a stool. peggy took it, walked up behind where most of us howlies were still duking it out, and broke the stool over the big guy’s head.
he went down hard. the rest of them surrendered out of terror.
(and, possibly, they had also fallen prey to abruptly-in-love-with-peggy-carter syndrome. but really, who wasn’t?)
all my friends are stressed up to their eyeballs right now, and as it’s exam season hell in the UK, i made a ““helpful”” powerpoint about it. ft. shitty clipart. on a calming pink background b/c it’s pretty and i like it Enjoy my friends, i hope this helps :)
maybe we all have that one person that we’d always take back. bruised mouth, bloody ribs, you’re screaming at me and i’m taking it because no matter how bad it gets, there is always good to follow. and that’s what a lot of people don’t understand, the people who ask me why i can’t see the signs of an unhealthy relationship, why i can’t just walk away - that the good days outweigh the bad ones. i would walk away from you screaming one thousand times just to fall into your arms at the end of the night. i’ve learned how to catch your punches. i’ve learned how to find the beauty in pain. and i know: i should find happiness within myself or at least within people who are good for me, but i can’t help the way i feel and i can’t just leave something that makes me so happy. i will take you back until you literally throw me away.