Europe is literally the creation of the Third World. The wealth which smothers her is that which was stolen from the underdeveloped peoples. The ports of Holland, the docks of Bordeaux and Liverpool were specialized in the Negro slave trade, and owe their renown to millions of deported slaves. So when we hear the head of a European state declare with his hand on his heart that he must come to the aid of the poor underdeveloped peoples, we do not tremble with gratitude.
THE STYDIA KISS (and hug)- an Extra™ frame by frame analysis
ok so we start out with this shit. even before this frame, dude is staring at them Martin lips like he’s in the middle of the desert and they’re the only water for miles. Then we get here and they both go in OPEN goddamn MOUTH for this kiss. she is PUCKERED for him. She was puckered ten feet ago, she was puckered when she walked in the damn door, hell, she was puckered 3 months ago. She got her tongue fucking ready to dock at Port Stilinski Lips.
She comes in fucking Little Caesar’s Hot ‘N Ready with the hands on the neck. goddamn. And they are PRESSED into each other. If they were kissing any deeper they would swallow each other. Which now, come to think of it, might have been their goal.
Space Fact: This will be the 200th spacewalk performed on the space station!
You can watch their entire 6.5 hour spacewalk live online! (Viewing info below!) To tell the two astronauts apart in their bulky spacewalk suits, Whitson will be wearing the suit with red stripes, while Jack Fischer will have white stripes.
Space Fact: The first-ever spacewalk on the International Space Station was performed on Dec. 7, 1998.
For Peggy, this will be her ninth spacewalk! She actually holds the record for most spacewalks by a female astronaut. For Fischer, this is his first time in space, and will be his first spacewalk. You can see from the below Tweet, he’s pretty excited!
Once both astronauts venture outside the Quest airlock, their tasks will focus on:
Replacing a large avionic box that supplies electricity and data connections to the science experiments
Replacing hardware stored outside the station
Specifically, the ExPRESS Carrier Avionics, or ExPCA will be replaced with a unit delivered to the station last month aboard the Orbital ATK Cygnus cargo spacecraft.
Ever wonder how astronauts prepare and practice for these activities? Think about it, wearing a bulky spacesuit (with gloves!), floating in the vacuum of space, PLUS you have to perform complex tasks for a period of ~6.5 hours!
In order to train on Earth, astronauts complete tasks in our Neutral Buoyancy Laboratory (NBL). It’s a gigantic pool with a full mock up of the International Space Station! Here’s a clip of astronauts practicing to install the ExPCA in that practice pool at Johnson Space Center in Houston.
In addition, Whitson and Fischer will install a connector that will route data to the Alpha Magnetic Spectrometer and help the crew determine the most efficient way to conduct future maintenance on the cosmic ray detector.
The astronauts will also install a protective shield on the Pressurized Mating Adapter-3, which was moved in March. This adapter will host a new international docking port for the arrival of commercial crew spacecraft.
Finally, the duo will rig a new high-definition camera and pair of wireless antennas to the exterior of the outpost.
A commision for @marcholight who wanted a reader more like them and a big cocky lion pirate to match the likes of Bray.
The island you live on is usually a paradise. It’s always been peaceful and quiet, even when it became a port for docking ships. But a few months ago your island had been taken over by a pirate lord and his entire fleet. The once peaceful place had become a cacophony of loud and obnoxious noises.
Day and night ships came and left the port. They brought in strange cargo and even more people. The island had once been a place of family, now there were so many strangers you started having to ask for names wherever you went.
Characters: Bucky Barnes, Natalia Romanoff, Clint Barton, Tony Stark, Wanda Maximoff, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Peter Parker
Warnings for this fic: Angst, eventual smut in future chapters (slow burn), running away, profanity, violence.
Word count for this chapter: 1,759 (IM SORRY)
Captain James ‘Bucky’ Barnes was a peculiar man, how he sailed the seas for most of his 27 years. He was born at sea, he would most likely die at sea. All pirates, including those in the farthest corners of the maps, had heard of the infamous Captain. You? You were the governor’s daughter, secretly hoping to be taken out to seas and to be set free.
“Why are you looking at me like that, dear?” Your father asked, his face bearing confusion.
“Oh, do excuse me father, I was.. day dreaming… may I be excused from the dinner table?” Your father gave you a curt nod as you exited the dining hall. Your father was a Governor, therefore you lived in a luxury house, big enough to fit a whole crew of men, you could wonder the premises for hours, but growing up doing just that deemed you bored, trapped even.
Living in Port Royal gave you barely any benefits, indeed, there were beautiful landscapes to be painted, warm sand beaches to be walked upon, but it wasn’t enough. You wanted to explore further than the village fences, the harbor docks, into the sea that waved at you, tempting you to come closer, closer. You would give anything to be set free of the corsets and the courtship, to be free to roam the ocean as you please, discovering new places and the thrill of being a…nevermind.
You had heard stories of countless pirates, Captain Tony Stark of the Mighty Veronica, a large ship painted crimson and gold, with white sails and cannons filled with such powerful gunpowder one hit from a three barrel could split another vessel in half. From Captain Rogers, an ex-commodore, to Captain Romanoff with co-Captain Barton, better known as the Hawkeye of the seas due to his skills as a perfect shot with a pistol, you had heard extraordinary things from the men that survived on.
As a little girl, you were brought up by the maids in the household as your mother had died during childbirth. You barely left the god-forsaken island, it was very rare to go on even a short voyage with your father and his men, ’having a woman on board is bad luck.’ and only to return empty handed and deprived of proper contact with the outside world.
You were sheltered and innocent, men of the guard pined after for you since you grew a bust and shed your baby fat, you understood the means of their stares after you asked your chambermaid, Marie, what it meant to be a ‘tight little virgin’ as the men would whisper amongst themselves as you walked by. You knew very well what a kiss was, in fact, you had had a kiss indeed, your dear childhood friend Peter Parker had bestowed a secret kiss upon you on your 16th birthday, underneath the main dock, though there was no 'spark’ on your end, therefore you had to tell him that his feelings were unrequited, he never stopped being your friend, though.
You came to know Peter after you had saved his life, he had been thrown overboard from the ship he had been sailing on, alongside his father, had been blown up from the below deck gunpowder barrels.
“Father, look, a boy!” You had gasped, your father had rushed to your side and bellowed man overboard, a team of men upon the vessel had reeled him in and left him under your charge.
He was handsome, to say the least, as your hand brushed his forehead, he grabbed your wrist-
“I’m Y/N Y/L/N, I’m watching over you.” You spoke in a hushed tone.
The boy had coughed out a spluttered 'Peter Parker’ before falling unconscious once more.
Bucky Barnes was many things, wealthy, handsome, 'built like god himself’ as some women would say as he swaggered past them in the night, also a skilled thief nonetheless. But he was a shell of a man, plagued by the things he witnessed whilst sailing the doldrums of the ocean. As he moored his ship by the docks of Port Royal he briefly tipped the manager and his assistant a shilling each to keep their mouths shut about him and his men, and that his name was Captain William Pintel, he had ordered his crew to change the sails to white before they got anywhere near the border of the island the sails to white so they could conceal their identities.
He had come to trade, to drink, and maybe get a little bit of action for the night before being on his way to Haiti. He was a wanted man, he had liberated slaves when he was not supposed to, and that resulted in him becoming branded a pirate. The brand grew on him, and he became exactly what he was called, he had grown tired of trying to be the perfect man of the sea and broke the code instead, he sought trouble wherever he went and that was his way of living.
Though Port Royal was not a large area, it was densely populated and it was guarded heavily, with men walking around the village with their guns and bayonets. Bucky had his head hung low as he made his way through the crowds with one of his men, Sam, a man of colour whom Bucky had freed alongside the rest of the slaves.
He needed a sword.
You looked out of your window to see a dark ship rolling towards Port Royal, you could see the white sails calling to you at your bedroom window. The temptation to leave everything behind was screaming at you, beckoning you to go, liberty was practically screaming your name, bobbing up and down, you needed a disguise, you couldn’t board that bloody ship wearing a dress like this, it would blow your cover.
You had hastily run to your kitchen and fetched a satchel and filled it with essentials. you escaped out of your household in seconds towards the blacksmiths, where Peter should be. As you neared the large wooden doors of the building, you peaked through the gap and saw nothing, heard nothing, even. So you pushed open the door, he wasn’t there, you checked in the back room where he stayed; nothing, you rummaged through a small crate and found a pair of trousers and a shirt, you slipped off your dress and underclothes and shoved them under the bed, freeing your hair from its pins and letting it fall loosely on your shoulders and changed into the borrowed clothing..
You left the room feeling a little lighter, but a weight fell onto your shoulders as you realized you needed to tell Peter where you were going, being your best friend, he deserved to know, he didn’t deserve to worry. You grabbed a piece of parchment and a bottle of ink and a quill.
I’m sorry but by the time you read this I will be gone, I’m boarding a ship at the dock and never returning, I plan to find a new life, to branch out and roam the world to no end. I hate to leave you behind, I love you very much- the ship is black with white sails, it has a red star on the side also, if you ever need to find me, look for it.
All my love,
P.s. Please, don’t tell my father.
You could heard the door begin to open and you legged it to the back door, you didn’t know who it was but you prayed to the gods it wasn’t Peter, it was too soon, and it was easy for him to spot you in a crowd, he would catch you instantly, so you ran.
Bucky sauntered into the deserted blacksmiths, he peaked around to see if anyone was in there, but it was silent, he could smell the burnt out coal and could tell it had been deserted for hours, though, he came across a freshly written letter and noticed that his ship was mentioned in said letter. He was aware he was a wanted man, what if this was a trap? What if the company knew he was here? Breadcrumbs, you had accidentally left the first, so he took the affects he needed and ran towards his ship.
A girl upon my ship, this should be interesting… Bucky thought to himself.
As he arrived to the dock he could see the red faced manager run to him, “Captain Pintel!! A girl… has boarded… your ship… Sir!!” He huffed, Bucky pushed him aside and climbed onto his vessel, making sure he was as silent as a mouse.
He looked everywhere, and there was no sign of a girl. None of his crew saw a tresspasser, and begin to move the ship out of the dock on captain’s orders.
You tried to still your breathing as you saw the handsome man search upon his ship for the intruder, you were hiding behind a rum barrell as he neared. You could hear his footsteps come to a halt, thinking he had given up, then you felt yourself being yanked up by the collar of your shirt, being pushed again the wall of the ship. His large hand came up and his fingers wrapped around your throat as the other rested against the sword handle on his belt all you could do was stand there.
He was strong, you dared not to move an inch incase he added pressure to the hand on your throat. You mapped his features; dark hair, full lips, tantalizing blue eyes, you realied who this man was, it was Captain James Barnes, the most wanted man on the map, you knew this because you heard stories around the village, from men and women alike.
“Well, well, well, what pretty little thing do we have here?” He smirked, bringing a finger to tease one of your locks, “what’s your name, doll?”
“Y/N Y/L/N, s-sir.” You spluttered, you brought your hands up to try and pry his one off your throat.
“Uh-oh.. the Governor’s daughter, hm? Tsk tsk, oh darling, you’re in for a- you shouldn’t dig your nails into my skin, sweetheart, I saw your little letter in the blacksmiths and I won’t hesitate to take you back sweetheart, or maybe… dump you in the middle of the ocean?” He inhaled and tightened his grip around your throat, and narrowed the proximity between both your faces.
“Please- Sir I’ll do anything, please just let me come with you.” You hoped he wouldn’t turn out too bad, if he let you stay, but if he didn’t…
“Well, miss Y/L/N, welcome aboard the St. Brooklyn…”
A/N SOOOO that was the first chapter i hope you like it if people want me to continue im gonna need hella motivation!
this is not healthy, I need someone like ivar ASAP
at the port, watching the docking ships nervously. He was strong, the strongest
man you ever knew. He had to come back, but you were still scared. Valhalla
could wait, all you wanted at the moment was to be in Ivar’s arms again.
“ Mommy! Mommy! Is
dad coming back? ”
“ Why are they
taking so long?!”
Your two sons
whined, the toddlers tugging at your skirts and mumbling excitedly. They
usually were very respectful and almost never complained, but not seeing their
father for so long took quite a toll on them . You threaded your fingers
through their hair, patting their heads in hopes to calm them down. The
past 10 months had honestly been a nightmare. You had never been separated for
so long, and you were almost twitching with the need to join him to battle. You
missed everything about him, being able to hold him, play with his hair, your
late night conversations and even pissing him off sounded better than not
seeing him at all.
You saw him
then. He had just been lifted off of the boat, and was now making his way
towards you, limping and trying to maintain his balance on the crutches – not accustomed
to being back on land after dialing for so long. You couldn’t help but run towards him. He had
dropped his crutches and moved to bear hug you.
yelled, pushing him off you with all your strength as your instincts kicked in,
immediately curling up around the small body that was hidden in your scarf. You
both landed on the floor, grunting a little at the impact.
He was shocked,
confused and beyond angry at your rejection. Had you stopped loving him? Had
you finally realized that you could find better? “What the hell woman? Are you
out of your mind?! What -” His eyes were ablaze and he growled at you, crawling
breathed out, smiling up at him brightly. You took the small baby that hung
close to your torso, pulling the scarf so that you could see its face. “This is
widened and he immediately quieted down, looking at the small creature you held
in your arms. He was entranced – it was the definition of beauty. It had his
bright blue eyes, with your amazing facial structure.
w-when, I ” He stuttered, trying to form a coherent thought. He reached to her
tentatively, stroking her soft face gently with the back of his fingers. The
little girl grabbed onto his hand, holding it close to her in curiosity.
started watering at the sight. She was so small, so fragile and so beautiful.
who had stared in confusion but had now managed to catch up to you two with
their tiny steps. “DADDDD!” They yelled out, tumbling over the both of you. They
jumped on his back, one of them already having grabbed onto Ivar’s neck and hung
across his back. Ivar leant in, making sure that they would not hurt the most beautiful
little girl he had ever seen. Your oldest son laughed, “Don’t worry dad, I will
do anything to protect my sister! We won’t be the ones hurting her!”
your head, laughing along with him, both you and Ivar’s hearts swelling with
home.” You whispered, leaning to kiss him on the lips as a chorus of soft “ewws”
Europe is literally the creation of the Third World. The riches which are choking it are those plundered from the underdeveloped peoples. The ports of Holland, the docks of Bordeaux and Liverpool owe their importance to the trade and deportation of millions of slaves. And when we hear the head of a European nation declare with hand on heart that he must come to the aid of the unfortunate people of the underdeveloped world, we do not tremble with gratitude. On the contrary, we say among ourselves, ‘it is just a reparation we are getting.’ So we will not accept aid for the underdeveloped countries as ‘charity.’ Such aid must be considered the final stage of a dual consciousness—the consciousness of the colonized that it is their due and the consciousness of the capitalist powers that effectively they must pay up.
Europe is literally the creation of the Third World. The wealth which smothers her is that which was stolen from the underdeveloped peoples. The ports of Holland, the docks of Bordeaux and Liverpool were specialized in the Negro slave trade, and owe their renown to millions of deported slaves. So when we hear the head of a European state declare, with his hand on his heart, that he must come to the aid of the poor, underdeveloped peoples, we do not tremble with gratitude. Quite the contrary; we say to ourselves: ‘It’s just a reparation which will be paid to us.’
Summary: Cursed three hundred years ago to take on ghost form and haunt his family estate, Killian Jones receives a reprieve once every hundred years to take on corporeal form in order to try and break his curse.
A renowned restorationist, Emma Swan takes on the project of bringing the three hundred year old Jones Manor back to its former glory. A manor that is reportedly haunted by the notorious Captain Killian Jones. Good thing Emma doesn’t believe in ghosts.
Rated M (for sexy times in Part 2) / Also available on ff.net and ao3 / Line breaks indicate a change of POV / scene
A/N: All thanks, flails, hugs, kisses, chocolate, ticker tape parades, baby animals, and my love to @kmomof4 and @artistic-writer. Without your enthusiasm and prompting (and art!!!), I never would have committed to actually writing this. (I know, @winterbaby89. You tried to have my back, and for that I am grateful! We both should have known better than to go up against momma…) Hope you all enjoy this Ghost/Cursed!Killian Two Shot!! Happy Halloween!
Dust filled the air as another heavy canvas was
removed from the piece of furniture it had been tasked with protecting for many
decades. Suppressing a cough, Emma Swan opened a few more windows in order to
allow some fresh air in and let the staleness of the room out.
She was well accustomed to the stagnant and
musty remnants of disuse in old homes. In fact, she made her livelihood off it.
Well, restoring it, anyway. The homes, not the mustiness and decay. That would
Emma Swan was a sought after restorationist of
historical homes and buildings. She loved history, and with the assistance of
her handy brother and sister-in-law, she’d been able to turn her love of the
past into a successful business that provided for her and her son’s present and
Her latest endeavor had brought them all the way
to a small port town in England. Misthaven boasted a proud history tied to
local lore of pirates and privateers, thanks to the grand three hundred year
old manor house that sat upon the cliffs just outside the village that was once
reportedly owned by a notorious sea captain.
Over the last several decades, the manor had
fallen into disrepair due to its vacancy. Though it was still owned, in trust,
by descendents of the original family who built the manor centuries ago, no one
had actually lived there for nearly forty years. The family and local historical
society wished to see it restored to its original splendor, hoping to draw in
some tourism dollars with tours and activities, no doubt.
The manor’s curator, for lack of a better term,
had led Emma and her team up to the attic where many of the original furnishings,
artworks, and heirlooms resided. It was as good a place as any for Emma to
begin her investigative work on the property. Research would have to be done in
order to determine the course of decisions made about the restoration. Several
remodels and renovations had occurred over the manor’s lifetime, and getting it
back to its original state (with some modifications for modern convenience -
hello electricity and running water) would take some sleuthing into
historical records and references. The more Emma could learn about the manor
and its original owners, the better.
Which made the attic’s contents a veritable gold
mine of information. Furnishings, portraits, trinkets, knick-knacks, books,
personal documents, it was like Christmas morning for Emma as she painstakingly
uncovered each piece. Her excitement and intrigue sparked with each fresh
discovery, but it was probably the large portrait she had located late in the
day that had caught her interest the most.
Her son, Henry, had just arrived with Emma’s
sister-in-law, Mary Margaret, telling her that they had picked up dinner, when
she’d pulled the last heavy canvas from the framed artwork that was at least a
foot taller than she was. Standing before her was the life sized rendering of
an incredibly handsome man, garbed in full leather and braced at the helm of a
ship. The bronze placard displayed on the ornate frame identified him as Captain
“You’ve found our local legend, I see,” chirped
the curator, a petite blonde woman with a tinkling voice and bubbly exuberance
“Legend?” Emma inquired.
Though she preferred to ground her decisions
about a project in fact, Emma knew that legends, tales, and folklore could hold
valuable pieces of information as well. The stories had to have a basis of
truth behind them somewhere, and those little nuggets could often lead her to
revelations about a property and it’s history that records never could.
“Oh, yes,” the curator answered
enthusiastically. “His story is well known around these parts. He’s part of the
reason we’re eager to have the manor restored. The Legend of Captain Killian
Jones is a big draw to the area, his family built the manor.”
“What makes his story so compelling?” Mary
“Oh, probably the fact that he’s the ghost that
haunts this place,” she quipped in reply.