#or the bo'sun for that matter

[somfte]

Hey you. You're finally awake.

#black sails #shipposting #black sails poll #no you cannot be the captain or the quartermaster #or the bo'sun for that matter #(john silver coded roles are allowed cuz he sure as hell doesn't want to be doing them if given the option)

[boytickler35]

Peter Pan and the tickle Pirates

            Captain Hook looked on in triumph as the last of the boys was tied to the mast. Finally, after all these endless years he has not only Peter Pan but all of his Lost Boys too. Peter looked out defiantly while the Lost Boys wore varying looks confusion and fear. Hook began to speak in his shows man voice as he addressed the crew, “Well men, after all this time we have finally done it, we have them! Now what shall we do to them, I want to hear what all of you have to say!” He didn’t really care what they wanted, he was sure he would torture them, then display them for a few days until he got bored, and finally kill them and be done with it but he wanted the crew to feel they had input on such a momentous day.

“Keelhaul them!”

“Make them walk the plank!”

“Slit their throats!”

“They can fly you idiot I say we skin them alive!”

“Sew their lips shut!”

“Poke their eyes out!”

            Yet all of these responses failed to get what Hook wanted. Peter Pan still looked as defiant as ever. He didn’t want to kill the boy yet, first he wanted to break him, pay him back for all the torture and humiliation. “All fine ideas boys but I think we need something more original for our honored guest.” Smee spoke up, “Captain if I may there is one thing all boys fear right?” Hook and Peter both looked intrigued by the bumbling bo'sun statement. “Really Smee and what is that?” “Well, just tickle them.” Hook saw what he wanted to; fear in Peter’s face and as an added bonus, in all the other boy’s faces. This would be torture for them, humiliating torture and Hook loved the idea. He was brought out of his revelry by the shouts of his crew who obviously were not as observant as their captain.

“That’s a stupid idea!”

“We’re pirates not nannies!”

“Tickle them!”

            Hook was about to silence the outraged crew but to his surprise Smee actually spoke out on his own behalf, “Well sure it’s not a piratey thing to do but I think the Captain wants to enjoy their company for a little while and they’ll last longer this way.”  The boys looked terrified and the crew finally noticed; Bear ended up sealing the deal though when he pleaded, “Oh no don’t tickle us! Please just slit our throats.”

“Quiet you moron.”

“Shut up Bear.”

            A few of the lost boys hiss comments at Bear and Skunk glared. Hook was delighted but his thoughts where cut short by Peter saying, “Listen up men, no matter what they do to us, we’re not going to give them what they want I don’t want to hear a peep from any of you, not a scream or a giggle.” Bolstered by their leader’s brave words the Lost Boys went stoically silent, all the more fun for Hook. He approached Peter, tied to the mast with the rest of his boys and kneeled in front of him, “Well Pan, do you think you have the self-control to follow your own command?” Peter was clearly unhappy about the thought of getting tickled, but Hook knew that Pan couldn’t back down from a challenge in front of the boys. Hook leaned in and began gently running his fingers over Peter’s stomach he earned a smile for his effort, in the meantime Smee started tickling Fox’s sides, “Hehehe.” Smee rather easily coaxed a few giggles out of the boy and that was all the other pirates needed to enter the action. The cook began digging his fingers into the twins’ sides, sandwiching them in between his massive arms, the gunner roughly kneading Rabbit’s stomach and the ships carpenter had driven his fingers under Skunk’s arms and was pinching the flesh and the helmsman delivered several hard pokes to Bear. Instead of laughter, most of the boys emitted cries of pain except for Fox who was still giggling up a storm under Smee’s artful hand and Peter and Rabbit who had steeled themselves against the treatment. Hook glared at the crew and yelled, “You blasted idiots you’re hurting them not tickling them!”

            Smee also looked up and called out to the man next to him, “Cooky, try a little gentler not so hard, and pinching doesn’t tickle, try drawing circles, poke softer same for the kneading.” Smee went around to all of the crew, helping them tickle the boys more effectively. When he reached the captain he was greeted by the sight of an ever defiant Peter Pan and a frustrated Captain Hook. “Captain, why don’t we have the crew tie the boys’ hands above their heads.” He offered the advice in hopes of giving the Captain something else to think about other than the frustration of dealing with Peter Pan and hoping that said boy would respond better to tickling somewhere else. He didn’t dare try tickling the boy himself though; Peter Pan was the Captains to tease. Hook growled out to his men, “Do as he says.” The Lost Boys and Peter all had their arms untied and then retied above their heads. Smee leaned down and slowly tickled Fox’s armpits, scratching lightly at the hollows. “HEHEHE.” Smee stopped as soon as he got his laughter and Hook noticed the despair in the eyes of the other boys. Soon all of the pirates where tickling the lost boys like they were expert ticklers “HAHEHAHEHAHEAHEHAHEHAHEHAHEHAHA” The screams of laughter were music to his ears and he took a moment to look around, the cook was lightly caressing the twins’ stomachs, he, like most of the crew had cut flaps into the boy’s costume to allow for easy access to bare skin. The man’s short, stubby fingers danced with surprising nimbleness along the smooth bellies of the boys. The gunner, an immensely hairy man, was using his hairy hand to tickle the hairless armpits of Rabbit, where he had cut holes big enough for his hands and part of his hairy arms, adding to the boy’s torture. The carpenter blew raspberries on the exposed stomach of Skunk. Smee was still succeeding in making Fox laugh louder than all of the other boys by quickly grabbing his ribs and then tracing patterns on his underarms and then sticking a finger in the boy’s bellybutton and then swirling his finger around. The unpredictability of his tactics encouraged fresh peals of laughter with ever new and surprising contact. Bear was squealing as the helmsman scrubbed his immense stomach with a brush left on deck.

            But Hook had yet to get as much as a giggle from Pan. They boy had smiled plenty of times and squirmed a few as well but not a single giggle yet. Hook was furious and felt like a fool he was just about to move on to just killing them when Smee murmured in his ear, “Now now Captain you must loss your temper, try something else.”

            Peter was certain that if there was a hell it was this. Being continuously tickled by Captain Hook and not being able to give any indication of how much it tickled was torture but the thought of giving Hook what he wanted and letting the Lost Boys down was worse. So he steeled himself and didn’t let out a single giggle even though he was cracking up on the inside. Hook finally gave it a rest and stared at him with pure hatred smoldering in his eyes until Smee appeared at his side and whispered to him. Peter got a very bad feeling when Hook looked at him and smiled from ear to ear. Hook approached him and sat down in front of him, “Well Peter I have to commend you in resisting for so long, it must have taken a massive effort for a boy like you to keep silent but unfortunately I’m going to break you.” Peter was confused for a moment, Hook couldn’t reach his upper body from where he sat, in fact the only think in his reach were Peter’s…feet. Then the boy understood with horror what was about to happen and it must have shown on his face because Hook’s horrible smile only widened. He pulled Peter’s feet onto his lap and pulled his shoe off. The green tights the boy wore also doubled as socks and these green clad feet were now Hook’s targets. His arch enemy now teased his poor arches with agonizing slowness and Peter struggled to contain the laughter welling up inside him. Then Hook changed his tactics, instead if one finger being slowly dragging up and down his soles, the man now skittered all five fingers across both soles at the same time. “Heheheheha.” Peter couldn’t help but let out a few giggles. As soon as he giggled Hook stopped and grinned with triumph; Peter turned red with shame as he saw the Lost Boys’ looks of defeat. He had cracked, Hook had won.

            Hook only left him to brood for a moment though; soon the captain was back to tickling his feet. Now Hook was playing with the underside of his toes and Peter couldn’t even mitigate his laughter to a giggle anymore, “HahAHeHAhEhaheHEhAHeHA!”  He felt terrible about laughing for the pirate captain but he couldn’t stop himself. Then it got even worse again, Hook cut the ankles of his tights and removed the lower part, leaving Peter barefoot. Hook’s fingers tickled his now bare soles, bringing forth more screams of laughter, “HAHAHAHASTOHAHAHAHAPHOHOHOHOOK!”

            Hook ate the laughter up, speeding up his tickling he coaxed more and more out of the boy and around him the crew had followed his example, cutting the bottoms off of the Lost Boy’s costumes and tickling their bare feet. Smee had disappeared at some point and now reappeared going directly to Hook and murmuring in his ear, “Captain I have something you may want to try.” Smee produced one of the Captain’s spare hook mounts from behind his back and had outfitted it with feather instead of the customary hook. Under any other circumstance Hook would have been furious at Smee for meddling with one of his spares but this time he was willing to let it slide. He outfitted himself with the new prosthetic and set about using it. He pried Peter’s toes apart and sawed the skin in between them with the feather. Peter howled with laughter and Hook heard what he had waited what felt like a short eternity to hear, HAHAHAHANOHOHOHOHOHHOOHAHAHAHAKPLEHEHEHEHASESTOHAHAHAHAPIMSOHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHARRY!” Hook halted the torture and looked at Peter; the boy was panting and sweating as he gazed up at Hook. The captain for his part was shocked, he was certain the boy was too proud and immature to ever admit fault in anything so he asked, “Did I hear that correctly?” Peter nodded shamefaced and Hook couldn’t resist his own curiosity and asked, “Are you sure, that doesn’t sound like the Pan I know.” He forced his voice to be condescending so that Peter wouldn’t think he cared but to his surprise instead of denying what he said as soon as the torture stopped Peter maintained he felt sorry. Hook looked over his archenemy again and announced to him, “Well I have to make sure of that I can’t let you go without being certain.” Peter’s look of shock was quickly replaced by a giggle fit as Hook returned to tickling the boy’s body, upper body and feet and Peter allowed himself to laugh long into the night when the Lost Boys and the pirates had worn themselves out. Then Hook ordered the release of the boys and the crew didn’t question him. Peter and the boys immediately took flight with a sarcastic comment from the leader about “sissy pirates” and a grateful look at Hook.

            After this, their game had new, unspoken rules. While the boys would taunt the pirates from the sky and raid the ship when they were in the mood, and the pirates would respond with much swearing, yelling, and fighting there was no longer the animosity or deadly seriousness that had pervaded the game previously. In fact the game was just that, a harmless game that was fun for the boys and the pirates. Every once in a while one of the boys would “accidentally” be caught by the pirates and by the time the other boys “rescued” him, he would be red-faced and laughing. Peter himself was “caught” a few times. Another marked difference was that Peter went barefoot from then on. The immortal boy would often tease Hook by wiggling his toes, only to be “punished” for doing so minutes later when he was caught. The new game lead too many fond memories like the time the pirates raided the boys’ hideout in the dead of night and capturing the boys, taking them back to the ship for a late night of tickling. Or the time that the boys raided the ship and tickled the pirates themselves, calling out, “Aww, who are the ticklish little boys now?”  In the end, the total capture of Peter and his Lost Boys lead to many happy, endless years spent tickling and being tickled.

#ticklestory #ticklishfeet #ticklefic #ticklishboys #tickle content #tickle thoughts #sfw tickling community #sfw tk community #boyfeet #peter pan #captain hook #the lost boys #mr. smee

[trickstercaptain]

@harringtontm sent a meme: no matter what happens, i will always love you. : ' )

       Elizabeth's heading had certainly led them somewhere. Just outside of his cabin was sight of Isla Cruces — Jack recognised it by the ruined church in the distance, a grim fable of what Beckett's supposed progress would bring to this part of the world — and, if this last-ditch, desperate gambit did indeed pay off, the location of Davy Jones's still-beating heart. An odd place for him to bury it, but then the island was deserted. Supposedly haunted, too, by the ghost of the vicar himself. A good enough place as any.

       Though no matter how flippantly he tried to play this off, Jack knew what was at stake here. So did Steve, and apparently the nervous energy in the room was shared as Jack sat on the end of their bed, wrapping up his palm in a cloth to once again conceal the black spot. Steve had seen it; there was no use trying to hide what he was doing from him. His partner and ship's bo'sun came to sit beside him and, only after a short while sat in companionable silence, did he finally speak.

       “ You're making this all sound very final, love. ” Jack's response was a little too quick, toying with a loose thread. He didn't really want to hear this from Steve. Not now. But, after a moment of pointedly avoiding his gaze, Jack finally stopped. Lowered his boot back to the floor. Slowly turned to face him. At some point Steve must have grabbed his hand, because he held it now tightly in his own.

       Jack had always hidden behind smoke and mirrors. A myth he'd created to obscure the truth. Or merely just walls he'd built to protect himself. Steve had scaled them long ago. He loved him, more than he'd ever thought he was capable of loving another person. He loved him and he was still terrified.

       Inching closer, Jack finally raised his gaze to meet his. “ I'm not giving in. Not yet. I can't. Not when both of us are still here. I can't... I won't leave you. ” He felt his voice break a little as he said it. Steve would go back to Robin in the event of his death, he knew. Marry her, maybe. Whatever he had to do to continue to keep her and Sarah safe. But as the shell of the man he once was. It wasn't fair to Robin to give Steve back to her in that state. Jack had taken to fiddling with the hem of Steve's shirt instead. “ Davy Jones will simply have to tear me off of you. ”

       He wasn't sure whether he leaned forward first, or whether Steve got there first to pull him in. But Jack's forehead bumped against Steve's chest, head tucked under his chin, and the tension, the pressure left his shoulders at once. They stayed like that, holding each other, until Jack finally turned his head. “ I keep thinking about what might happen — ” If. “ — when I finesse my way out of this. How long do you reckon is left in us? Another twenty years? ” Jack looked up at Steve with a faint smile. Supposing nothing bad happened, of course. Conversations like these were always uttered with such a notion left unspoken. “ When one of us gets too old — I suppose it has to happen sometime — then maybe we could try the whole... retirement thing. Chances are I'll drive you mad and you'll be begging me within a week to go back to being this, ” he gestured with his eyes down at the rest of him, “ and I may just be romanticising the thought because for nearly as long as I can remember, for nearly as long as I've known you, my life has just been a thirteen year clock counting down to its own demise. ” Thirteen years had felt like a long time when he'd first made that deal with Jones. It wasn't. Not at all. “ But Robin and Sarah seem happy with it. Maybe I could be too? If it was with you? ”

#harringtontm #&. and you want to turn pirate yourself. is that it? ( answered. ) #&. verse. what bodes ill ( dmc. ) #&. dyn. found me somebody to love ( jack & steve. ) #sdkfjsdfd just knowing that this is the last real conversation they have before they are separated and jack dies :)))) #and it's jack talking about their future ? end me now #it's the way that in steve jack actually has something to live for in addition to his fear of death/survival instinct #i'm a little obsessed #and even if it hurts... i have to say it's so nice to write jack this open about how he's feeling #but yes so a bittersweet birthday treat for you both !!! happy happy birthday !!!

[ltwilliammowett]

Hello! Sorry if someone has already asked this, but what's the difference between warrant officers, petty officers and standing officers? These terms seem somewhat interchangeable to me, although I am not a native speaker. Are these all non-commissioned ranks? Thank you in advance.

Hi,

do not worry i will answer the question even if it has already been asked. Which it is not, in this case.

Oh yes, the ranks, they can be damn confusing. Let's start with the lower ranks, this is the Petty Officer, a sailor who, due to his special skills performs a task on board. This includes, for example, the sailmaker, the ropemaker, the coxwain, master at arms and so on, and these men also received slightly better pay than a simple sailor. They are appointed to this position by the captain, by the way.

Then come the Warrant Officers, people who have received their promotion and employment through the Navy Board. (The Navy Board was, let's call it an office in the Admiralty, responsible for all organisational matters, supplies etc.)  The Warrant Officers included the Master, Surgeon, Chaplain and Purser. They also had the right to wear a uniform and were allowed to stay in the wardroom and had a cabin.

The Standing Officers are the Bo'sun, the Carpenter and Gunner and they are called so, because they stay on this ship together with the Master. Even if it is in the harbour they are there and have to take care of repairs and so on.

Commissed officers get their orders directly from the Admiralty and they are all from the rank of Lieutenant. The admiralty is also responsible for them when it comes to payment, orders etc.  

I hope I could make some sense of it and help you.

[johannestevans]

Livetweeting Hook & Smee in Barrie’s Peter Pan: Part One

Going from the Gutenberg edition for copy and paste ease. 

I’m gonna be separating this into parts because I get long-winded when talking about how I love these piratical homos, but I just want to state for the record in case you’ve never read Peter Pan before and think that you might want to based off of these two, like... 

Fair warning, Peter Pan was published at the beginning of the 20th century, and it is racist as fuck, particularly with anti-Black sentiment and some nasty stuff about Native Americans. The latter is not as bad as it is in the Disney adaptation, where they actually added in a lot of extra racism, but it’s still present.

With that said, I was raised on Peter Pan, and the queer vibes and gender vibes from the fairies were really positive for me, and I do still love it - what I don’t want is anyone to think “oh, this book Peter Pan looks fun” and then getting a gut punch when it has That Shit. The book is honestly not all that great, and Peter Pan himself is a violent serial killer and abuser disguised as an eight-year-old, so if you want to give Peter Pan a pass, you absolutely should.

So, first, their introductions!

...and the Irish bo'sun Smee, an oddly genial man who stabbed, so to speak, without offence, and was the only Non-conformist in Hook's crew...

I love Smee... so much. I love that he stabs without offence - Hook is very regularly described as evil and intimidating and scary, whereas Smee is constantly established as this kindly-looking uncle figure who is going to disembowel you with charm, and yes, that’s absolutely a contrast I have firmly internalised and that shows up regularly in my own work.

In the midst of them, the blackest and largest in that dark setting, reclined James Hook, or as he wrote himself, Jas. Hook, of whom it is said he was the only man that the Sea-Cook feared. He lay at his ease in a rough chariot drawn and propelled by his men, and instead of a right hand he had the iron hook with which ever and anon he encouraged them to increase their pace. As dogs this terrible man treated and addressed them, and as dogs they obeyed him.

This isn’t actually the initial introduction of Hook in the book - he’s initially talked about in conversation between Peter and the Darlings, where Michael just bursts into tears at the mere mention of the man.

Hook is terrifying, not just to children, but to his crew, who he kills so casually - there’s a lot to be said about why Hook is so frightening, because it isn’t just how easily violent he is, but his comfort in commanding others. Hook is a posh cunt who went to Eton, so he obviously lacks a soul in the way that people like that do, but conducts himself as though he’s the centre of the universe, and uses that to intimidate.

In person he was cadaverous [dead looking] and blackavized [dark faced], and his hair was dressed in long curls, which at a little distance looked like black candles, and gave a singularly threatening expression to his handsome countenance. His eyes were of the blue of the forget-me-not, and of a profound melancholy, save when he was plunging his hook into you, at which time two red spots appeared in them and lit them up horribly.

Someone get a Ouija board and tell Barrie that there are ways to describe scary people that don’t involve pointing out how “dark” they are, Christ

ANYWAY, I do think it’s interesting that Barrie presents the guy as looking like a corpse, while also being like “he was a bit of a ride though, like, he was handsome”. I’m also just... so obsessed with Hook’s eyes, because Hook is consistently described throughout the book - as well as in the good adaptations, like Hook (1991) - as being a man utterly consumed by depression, anxiety, and doubt. Like, he’s this deeply sad, unhappy man, and I’m obsessed with the idea that you can see that when you look in his eyes - the only time it seems like he feels anything other than crushing emptiness is when he’s killing somebody.

Sexy!

In manner, something of the grand seigneur still clung to him, so that he even ripped you up with an air, and I have been told that he was a RACONTEUR [storyteller] of repute. He was never more sinister than when he was most polite, which is probably the truest test of breeding; and the elegance of his diction, even when he was swearing, no less than the distinction of his demeanour, showed him one of a different cast from his crew.

“He was posh which, as you understand, reader, means that he was a monster and a sadist, and he was at his scariest when he was at his poshest.”

A man of indomitable courage, it was said that the only thing he shied at was the sight of his own blood, which was thick and of an unusual colour. In dress he somewhat aped the attire associated with the name of Charles II, having heard it said in some earlier period of his career that he bore a strange resemblance to the ill-fated Stuarts; and in his mouth he had a holder of his own contrivance which enabled him to smoke two cigars at once. But undoubtedly the grimmest part of him was his iron claw.

I’m obsessed with the double cigar thing. Like, you know how Cruella de Vil’s whole thing is that she has her cigarette on one of those long cigarette holders? I wish that Hook’s insane two-pronged cigar smoker was as iconic a part of his character design as that is of hers, because it’s genuinely so funny and so unnecessary and also just...

Imagine how depressed you must be as a man to need that much fucking nicotine and tar in your lungs on one inhalation.

Hook fainting over his own blood, iconic, love it; Hook dressing himself in his red brocade and his long coats and with his calves on show because some guy one time told him he looked like a Stuart? Incredible. Adore it. Hook is literally a theatre kid with no self esteem to speak of.

Let us now kill a pirate, to show Hook's method. Skylights will do. As they pass, Skylights lurches clumsily against him, ruffling his lace collar; the hook shoots forth, there is a tearing sound and one screech, then the body is kicked aside, and the pirates pass on. He has not even taken the cigars from his mouth.

Such is the terrible man against whom Peter Pan is pitted. Which will win?

So this post is meant to be about Hook and Smee, not about Peter Pan, but I do want it said that while this is obviously a very horrible thing to do, especially because Hook killed Skylights for no reason than he messed his clothes up, Peter Pan traffics small children to Neverland and slaughters them in the woods, offscreen, when they’re too big to fit in his clubhouse anymore.

Tragically, huge spoiler, Peter Pan does win.

Anyway, ensues a description of stuff that doesn’t matter, and then the pirates find the hideout of the Lost Boys (Peter’s club of soon-to-be-lifeless-children), and the Lost Boys scatter, and the pirates want to find them so they can kill them, especially Peter.

“Shall I after him, Captain,” asked pathetic Smee, “and tickle him with Johnny Corkscrew?” Smee had pleasant names for everything, and his cutlass was Johnny Corkscrew, because he wiggled it in the wound. One could mention many lovable traits in Smee. For instance, after killing, it was his spectacles he wiped instead of his weapon.

“Johnny's a silent fellow,” he reminded Hook.

“Not now, Smee,” Hook said darkly. “He is only one, and I want to mischief all the seven. Scatter and look for them.”

Smee is so often described as pathetic, which he absolutely is, but - and Hook does later muse on this - although he is so pathetic and so not intimidating, he is completely content in himself and his life, whereas Hook is terrifying and very impressive, and wants to die all of the time with the depression, so who’s really winning here, James?

AND HE CALLS HIS SWORD JOHNNY CORKSCREW! HE IS SUCH AN ADORABLE UNCLE-ESQUE MURDERER!

“One could mention many lovable traits in Smee,” is so good, it delights me very time, because YES, one COULD, but you really should wipe your weapon, Smee, the blood will make the metal tarnish!

#as defined by dictionary #jas hook #smee #peter pan

[scarletwitching]

BO'SUN STUG BAR: Who's next? You perhaps, woman? Will you, too, waste your last breath with timid pleading?

WANDA: I wouldn't waste my breath on you. Period. As you seem intent on killing all of us, I may as well be next. So pull that trigger, warrior. If you dare.

BO'SUN STUG BAR: If I dare?! I'll show you what I dare!

JULIA: No, Wanda! Don't provoke him!!

WANDA: Well? Next time you point your weapon at a hex-mutant, Kree, don't give her time to alter the chances of that weapon misfiring.

Force Works #14 by Dan Abnett, Andy Lanning, & Dave Ross

This is my favorite Wanda moment.

She blew that guy’s hand off.

It's not an obvious choice for "favorite moment." It isn't kind or emotional or even particularly badass (though it does have an element of badassery). Instead, it's brutal and cruel, and best of all, I understand it completely.

I have this great, undying love for morally ambiguous or flawed female characters. It's a masochistic sort of love because enjoying those characters is an exhausting exercise. Not because I get frustrated watching them make the same kinds of mistakes or complex choices that male characters are granted so casually, but because people (real people) suck and don't want anyone enjoying a woman who isn't Pure and Likable. (I could unpack how "purity" and "likability" are often tied to powerlessness and a particular kind of suffering when it comes to female characters, but that's another subject for another day.) 

There are cultural reasons for this, namely that we tend to think of the actions of men as motivated by circumstance and the actions of women as motivated by their personality. Because of this, we find male characters more "relatable" and "likable." When you change a male character to a woman, they instantly become rated less highly by readers. The reverse is true too; when a female character's pronouns are changed to male ones, suddenly, with no change to the writing, they are vastly improved somehow.

I have a caveat for my love of flawed women though: I only love it when it makes sense. That can be hard to find. There are plenty of female characters who become morally ambiguous by way of bad writing. Certain versions of Wanda fit this to a T. A lot of people who can’t figure out why mid-2000′s Wanda did any of the things she did love to call her “complicated” because that’s easier than admitting they don’t understand. There’s nothing to understand though, beyond the editorial forces that really drove those decisions. Doing things because the plot requires you to do them and not because of organic, understandable reasons is not "complexity." It's bad writing. As a writer, you have to lay the groundwork to make a human being who makes sense.

This moment makes sense. The guy whose hand Wanda blew off is one of the Kree responsible for the death of Wonder Man (the time with ion cannon, not the first time with Baron Zemo or the time in Uncanny Avengers). She hates him, and she's in a bad situation. You can say, "Well, a nicer, sweeter version of Wanda wouldn't have done this," and I'd agree. There are plenty of versions of Wanda who wouldn't have, but this is 90's Wanda, who existed in a world of badly drawn ultraviolence. This was the era of Every Character Is Wolverine, and that context matters.

The characterization matters too. Abnett and Lanning's Wanda wasn't prone to brutality. She was kind to her friends and those in need, but more than anything, she was determined and no bullshit. This issue was a tipping point for her, a moment when she got to indulge her darker side and have her 90's revenge. This felt like something she would do. I don't know that we're meant to see this moment as ambiguous, given the era it was written in, but it was, even if not by design. Abnett and Lanning's Wanda was complex in a real, human way. She had agency and a point of view. She was tough and stubborn and vengeful. She felt like a person, not a plot device.

And she totally blew that guy's hand off, oh my god.

#scarlet witch #wanda maximoff #spider woman #julia carpenter #force works #dan abnett #andy lanning #dave ross #616 #meta #comics meta #comics annotations #written by me #favorite moments

[readbookywooks]

The Pirate Ship

One green light squinting over Kidd's Creek, which is near the mouth of the pirate river, marked where the brig, the JOLLY ROGER, lay, low in the water; a rakish-looking [speedy-looking] craft foul to the hull, every beam in her detestable, like ground strewn with mangled feathers. She was the cannibal of the seas, and scarce needed that watchful eye, for she floated immune in the horror of her name.

 She was wrapped in the blanket of night, through which no sound from her could have reached the shore. There was little sound, and none agreeable save the whir of the ship's sewing machine at which Smee sat, ever industrious and obliging, the essence of the commonplace, pathetic Smee. I know not why he was so infinitely pathetic, unless it were because he was so pathetically unaware of it; but even strong men had to turn hastily from looking at him, and more than once on summer evenings he had touched the fount of Hook's tears and made it flow. Of this, as of almost everything else, Smee was quite unconscious.

 A few of the pirates leant over the bulwarks, drinking in the miasma [putrid mist] of the night; others sprawled by barrels over games of dice and cards; and the exhausted four who had carried the little house lay prone on the deck, where even in their sleep they rolled skillfully to this side or that out of Hook's reach, lest he should claw them mechanically in passing.

 Hook trod the deck in thought. O man unfathomable. It was his hour of triumph. Peter had been removed for ever from his path, and all the other boys were in the brig, about to walk the plank. It was his grimmest deed since the days when he had brought Barbecue to heel; and knowing as we do how vain a tabernacle is man, could we be surprised had he now paced the deck unsteadily, bellied out by the winds of his success?

 But there was no elation in his gait, which kept pace with the action of his sombre mind. Hook was profoundly dejected.

 He was often thus when communing with himself on board ship in the quietude of the night. It was because he was so terribly alone. This inscrutable man never felt more alone than when surrounded by his dogs. They were socially inferior to him.

 Hook was not his true name. To reveal who he really was would even at this date set the country in a blaze; but as those who read between the lines must already have guessed, he had been at a famous public school; and its traditions still clung to him like garments, with which indeed they are largely concerned. Thus it was offensive to him even now to board a ship in the same dress in which he grappled [attacked] her, and he still adhered in his walk to the school's distinguished slouch. But above all he retained the passion for good form.

 Good form! However much he may have degenerated, he still knew that this is all that really matters.

 From far within him he heard a creaking as of rusty portals, and through them came a stern tap-tap-tap, like hammering in the night when one cannot sleep. "Have you been good form to-day?" was their eternal question.

 "Fame, fame, that glittering bauble, it is mine," he cried.

 "Is it quite good form to be distinguished at anything?" the tap-tap from his school replied.

 "I am the only man whom Barbecue feared," he urged, "and Flint feared Barbecue."

 "Barbecue, Flint -- what house?" came the cutting retort.

 Most disquieting reflection of all, was it not bad form to think about good form?

 His vitals were tortured by this problem. It was a claw within him sharper than the iron one; and as it tore him, the perspiration dripped down his tallow [waxy] countenance and streaked his doublet. Ofttimes he drew his sleeve across his face, but there was no damming that trickle.

 Ah, envy not Hook.

 There came to him a presentiment of his early dissolution [death]. It was as if Peter's terrible oath had boarded the ship. Hook felt a gloomy desire to make his dying speech, lest presently there should be no time for it.

 "Better for Hook," he cried, "if he had had less ambition!" It was in his darkest hours only that he referred to himself in the third person.

 "No little children to love me!"

 Strange that he should think of this, which had never troubled him before; perhaps the sewing machine brought it to his mind. For long he muttered to himself, staring at Smee, who was hemming placidly, under the conviction that all children feared him.

 Feared him! Feared Smee! There was not a child on board the brig that night who did not already love him. He had said horrid things to them and hit them with the palm of his hand, because he could not hit with his fist, but they had only clung to him the more. Michael had tried on his spectacles.

 To tell poor Smee that they thought him lovable! Hook itched to do it, but it seemed too brutal. Instead, he revolved this mystery in his mind: why do they find Smee lovable? He pursued the problem like the sleuth-hound that he was. If Smee was lovable, what was it that made him so? A terrible answer suddenly presented itself--"Good form?"

 Had the bo'sun good form without knowing it, which is the best form of all?

 He remembered that you have to prove you don't know you have it before you are eligible for Pop [an elite social club at Eton].

 With a cry of rage he raised his iron hand over Smee's head; but he did not tear. What arrested him was this reflection:

 "To claw a man because he is good form, what would that be?"

 "Bad form!"

 The unhappy Hook was as impotent [powerless] as he was damp, and he fell forward like a cut flower.

 His dogs thinking him out of the way for a time, discipline instantly relaxed; and they broke into a bacchanalian [drunken] dance, which brought him to his feet at once, all traces of human weakness gone, as if a bucket of water had passed over him.

 "Quiet, you scugs," he cried, "or I'll cast anchor in you"; and at once the din was hushed. "Are all the children chained, so that they cannot fly away?"

 "Ay, ay."

 "Then hoist them up."

 The wretched prisoners were dragged from the hold, all except Wendy, and ranged in line in front of him. For a time he seemed unconscious of their presence. He lolled at his ease, humming, not unmelodiously, snatches of a rude song, and fingering a pack of cards. Ever and anon the light from his cigar gave a touch of colour to his face.

 "Now then, bullies," he said briskly, "six of you walk the plank to-night, but I have room for two cabin boys. Which of you is it to be?"

 "Don't irritate him unnecessarily," had been Wendy's instructions in the hold; so Tootles stepped forward politely. Tootles hated the idea of signing under such a man, but an instinct told him that it would be prudent to lay the responsibility on an absent person; and though a somewhat silly boy, he knew that mothers alone are always willing to be the buffer. All children know this about mothers, and despise them for it, but make constant use of it.

 So Tootles explained prudently, "You see, sir, I don't think my mother would like me to be a pirate. Would your mother like you to be a pirate, Slightly?"

 He winked at Slightly, who said mournfully, "I don't think so," as if he wished things had been otherwise. "Would your mother like you to be a pirate, Twin?"

 "I don't think so," said the first twin, as clever as the others. "Nibs, would -- "

 "Stow this gab," roared Hook, and the spokesmen were dragged back. "You, boy," he said, addressing John, "you look as if you had a little pluck in you. Didst never want to be a pirate, my hearty?"

 Now John had sometimes experienced this hankering at maths. prep.; and he was struck by Hook's picking him out.

 "I once thought of calling myself Red-handed Jack," he said diffidently.

 "And a good name too. We'll call you that here, bully, if you join."

 "What do you think, Michael?" asked John.

 "What would you call me if I join?" Michael demanded.

 "Blackbeard Joe."

 Michael was naturally impressed. "What do you think, John?" He wanted John to decide, and John wanted him to decide.

 "Shall we still be respectful subjects of the King?" John inquired.

 Through Hook's teeth came the answer: "You would have to swear, `Down with the King.'"

 Perhaps John had not behaved very well so far, but he shone out now.

 "Then I refuse," he cried, banging the barrel in front of Hook.

 "And I refuse," cried Michael.

 "Rule Britannia!" squeaked Curly.

 The infuriated pirates buffeted them in the mouth; and Hook roared out, "That seals your doom. Bring up their mother. Get the plank ready."

 They were only boys, and they went white as they saw Jukes and Cecco preparing the fatal plank. But they tried to look brave when Wendy was brought up.

 No words of mine can tell you how Wendy despised those pirates. To the boys there was at least some glamour in the pirate calling; but all that she saw was that the ship had not been tidied for years. There was not a porthole on the grimy glass of which you might not have written with your finger "Dirty pig"; and she had already written it on several. But as the boys gathered round her she had no thought, of course, save for them.

 "So, my beauty," said Hook, as if he spoke in syrup, "you are to see your children walk the plank."

 Fine gentlemen though he was, the intensity of his communings had soiled his ruff, and suddenly he knew that she was gazing at it. With a hasty gesture he tried to hide it, but he was too late.

 "Are they to die?" asked Wendy, with a look of such frightful contempt that he nearly fainted.

 "They are," he snarled. "Silence all," he called gloatingly, "for a mother's last words to her children."

 At this moment Wendy was grand. "These are my last words, dear boys," she said firmly. "I feel that I have a message to you from your real mothers, and it is this: `We hope our sons will die like English gentlemen.'"

 Even the pirates were awed, and Tootles cried out hysterically, "I am going to do what my mother hopes. What are you to do, Nibs?"

 "What my mother hopes. What are you to do, Twin?"

 "What my mother hopes. John, what are -- "

 But Hook had found his voice again.

 "Tie her up!" he shouted.

 It was Smee who tied her to the mast. "See here, honey," he whispered, "I'll save you if you promise to be my mother."

 But not even for Smee would she make such a promise. "I would almost rather have no children at all," she said disdainfully [scornfully].

 It is sad to know that not a boy was looking at her as Smee tied her to the mast; the eyes of all were on the plank: that last little walk they were about to take. They were no longer able to hope that they would walk it manfully, for the capacity to think had gone from them; they could stare and shiver only.

 Hook smiled on them with his teeth closed, and took a step toward Wendy. His intention was to turn her face so that she should see they boys walking the plank one by one. But he never reached her, he never heard the cry of anguish he hoped to wring from her. He heard something else instead.

 It was the terrible tick-tick of the crocodile.

 They all heard it -- pirates, boys, Wendy; and immediately every head was blown in one direction; not to the water whence the sound proceeded, but toward Hook. All knew that what was about to happen concerned him alone, and that from being actors they were suddenly become spectators.

 Very frightful was it to see the change that came over him. It was as if he had been clipped at every joint. He fell in a little heap.

 The sound came steadily nearer; and in advance of it came this ghastly thought, "The crocodile is about to board the ship!"

 Even the iron claw hung inactive; as if knowing that it was no intrinsic part of what the attacking force wanted. Left so fearfully alone, any other man would have lain with his eyes shut where he fell: but the gigantic brain of Hook was still working, and under its guidance he crawled on the knees along the deck as far from the sound as he could go. The pirates respectfully cleared a passage for him, and it was only when he brought up against the bulwarks that he spoke.

 "Hide me!" he cried hoarsely.

 They gathered round him, all eyes averted from the thing that was coming aboard. They had no thought of fighting it. It was Fate.

 Only when Hook was hidden from them did curiosity loosen the limbs of the boys so that they could rush to the ship's side to see the crocodile climbing it. Then they got the strangest surprise of the Night of Nights; for it was no crocodile that was coming to their aid. It was Peter.

 He signed to them not to give vent to any cry of admiration that might rouse suspicion. Then he went on ticking.

#PeterPan

[readbookywooks]

The Return Home

By three bells that morning they were all stirring their stumps [legs]; for there was a big sea running; and Tootles, the bo'sun, was among them, with a rope's end in his hand and chewing tobacco. They all donned pirate clothes cut off at the knee, shaved smartly, and tumbled up, with the true nautical roll and hitching their trousers.

 It need not be said who was the captain. Nibs and John were first and second mate. There was a woman aboard. The rest were tars [sailors] before the mast, and lived in the fo'c'sle. Peter had already lashed himself to the wheel; but he piped all hands and delivered a short address to them; said he hoped they would do their duty like gallant hearties, but that he knew they were the scum of Rio and the Gold Coast, and if they snapped at him he would tear them. The bluff strident words struck the note sailors understood, and they cheered him lustily. Then a few sharp orders were given, and they turned the ship round, and nosed her for the mainland.

 Captain Pan calculated, after consulting the ship's chart, that if this weather lasted they should strike the Azores about the 21st of June, after which it would save time to fly.

 Some of them wanted it to be an honest ship and others were in favour of keeping it a pirate; but the captain treated them as dogs, and they dared not express their wishes to him even in a round robin [one person after another, as they had to Cpt. Hook]. Instant obedience was the only safe thing. Slightly got a dozen for looking perplexed when told to take soundings. The general feeling was that Peter was honest just now to lull Wendy's suspicions, but that there might be a change when the new suit was ready, which, against her will, she was making for him out of some of Hook's wickedest garments. It was afterwards whispered among them that on the first night he wore this suit he sat long in the cabin with Hook's cigar-holder in his mouth and one hand clenched, all but for the forefinger, which he bent and held threateningly aloft like a hook.

 Instead of watching the ship, however, we must now return to that desolate home from which three of our characters had taken heartless flight so long ago. It seems a shame to have neglected No. 14 all this time; and yet we may be sure that Mrs. Darling does not blame us. If we had returned sooner to look with sorrowful sympathy at her, she would probably have cried, "Don't be silly; what do I matter? Do go back and keep an eye on the children." So long as mothers are like this their children will take advantage of them; and they may lay to [bet on] that.

 Even now we venture into that familiar nursery only because its lawful occupants are on their way home; we are merely hurrying on in advance of them to see that their beds are properly aired and that Mr. and Mrs. Darling do not go out for the evening. We are no more than servants. Why on earth should their beds be properly aired, seeing that they left them in such a thankless hurry? Would it not serve them jolly well right if they came back and found that their parents were spending the week-end in the country? It would be the moral lesson they have been in need of ever since we met them; but if we contrived things in this way Mrs. Darling would never forgive us.

 One thing I should like to do immensely, and that is to tell her, in the way authors have, that the children are coming back, that indeed they will be here on Thursday week. This would spoil so completely the surprise to which Wendy and John and Michael are looking forward. They have been planning it out on the ship: mother's rapture, father's shout of joy, Nana's leap through the air to embrace them first, when what they ought to be prepared for is a good hiding. How delicious to spoil it all by breaking the news in advance; so that when they enter grandly Mrs. Darling may not even offer Wendy her mouth, and Mr. Darling may exclaim pettishly, "Dash it all, here are those boys again." However, we should get no thanks even for this. We are beginning to know Mrs. Darling by this time, and may be sure that she would upbraid us for depriving the children of their little pleasure.

 "But, my dear madam, it is ten days till Thursday week; so that by telling you what's what, we can save you ten days of unhappiness."

 "Yes, but at what a cost! By depriving the children of ten minutes of delight."

 "Oh, if you look at it in that way!"

 "What other way is there in which to look at it?"

 You see, the woman had no proper spirit. I had meant to say extraordinarily nice things about her; but I despise her, and not one of them will I say now. She does not really need to be told to have things ready, for they are ready. All the beds are aired, and she never leaves the house, and observe, the window is open. For all the use we are to her, we might well go back to the ship. However, as we are here we may as well stay and look on. That is all we are, lookers-on. Nobody really wants us. So let us watch and say jaggy things, in the hope that some of them will hurt.

 The only change to be seen in the night-nursery is that between nine and six the kennel is no longer there. When the children flew away, Mr. Darling felt in his bones that all the blame was his for having chained Nana up, and that from first to last she had been wiser than he. Of course, as we have seen, he was quite a simple man; indeed be might have passed for a boy again if he had been able to take his baldness off; but he had also a noble sense of justice and a lion's courage to do what seemed right to him; and having thought the matter out with anxious care after the flight of the children, he went down on all fours and crawled into the kennel. To all Mrs. Darling's dear invitations to him to come out he replied sadly but firmly:

 "No, my own one, this is the place for me."

 In the bitterness of his remorse he swore that he would never leave the kennel until his children came back. Of course this was a pity; but whatever Mr. Darling did he had to do in excess, otherwise he soon gave up doing it. And there never was a more humble man than the once proud George Darling, as he sat in the kennel of an evening talking with his wife of their children and all their pretty ways.

 Very touching was his deference to Nana. He would not let her come into the kennel, but on all other matters he followed her wishes implicitly.

 Every morning the kennel was carried with Mr. Darling in it to a cab, which conveyed him to his office, and he returned home in the same way at six. Something of the strength of character of the man will be seen if we remember how sensitive he was to the opinion of neighbours: this man whose every movement now attracted surprised attention. Inwardly he must have suffered torture; but he preserved a calm exterior even when the young criticised his little home, and he always lifted his hat courteously to any lady who looked inside.

 It may have been Quixotic, but it was magnificent. Soon the inward meaning of it leaked out, and the great heart of the public was touched. Crowds followed the cab, cheering it lustily; charming girls scaled it to get his autograph; interviews appeared in the better class of papers, and society invited him to dinner and added, "Do come in the kennel."

 On that eventful Thursday week, Mrs. Darling was in the night- nursery awaiting George's return home; a very sad-eyed woman. Now that we look at her closely and remember the gaiety of her in the old days, all gone now just because she has lost her babes, I find I won't be able to say nasty things about her after all. If she was too fond of her rubbishy children, she couldn't help it. Look at her in her chair, where she has fallen asleep. The corner of her mouth, where one looks first, is almost withered up. Her hand moves restlessly on her breast as if she had a pain there. Some like Peter best, and some like Wendy best, but I like her best. Suppose, to make her happy, we whisper to her in her sleep that the brats are coming back. They are really within two miles of the window now, and flying strong, but all we need whisper is that they are on the way. Let's.

 It is a pity we did it, for she has started up, calling their names; and there is no one in the room but Nana.

 "O Nana, I dreamt my dear ones had come back."

 Nana had filmy eyes, but all she could do was put her paw gently on her mistress's lap; and they were sitting together thus when the kennel was brought back. As Mr. Darling puts his head out to kiss his wife, we see that his face is more worn than of yore, but has a softer expression.

 He gave his hat to Liza, who took it scornfully; for she had no imagination, and was quite incapable of understanding the motives of such a man. Outside, the crowd who had accompanied the cab home were still cheering, and he was naturally not unmoved.

 "Listen to them," he said; "it is very gratifying."

 "Lots of little boys," sneered Liza.

 "There were several adults to-day," he assured her with a faint flush; but when she tossed her head he had not a word of reproof for her. Social success had not spoilt him; it had made him sweeter. For some time he sat with his head out of the kennel, talking with Mrs. Darling of this success, and pressing her hand reassuringly when she said she hoped his head would not be turned by it.

 "But if I had been a weak man," he said. "Good heavens, if I had been a weak man!"

 "And, George," she said timidly, "you are as full of remorse as ever, aren't you?"

 "Full of remorse as ever, dearest! See my punishment: living in a kennel."

 "But it is punishment, isn't it, George? You are sure you are not enjoying it?"

 "My love!"

 You may be sure she begged his pardon; and then, feeling drowsy, he curled round in the kennel.

 "Won't you play me to sleep," he asked, "on the nursery piano?" and as she was crossing to the day-nursery he added thoughtlessly, "And shut that window. I feel a draught."

 "O George, never ask me to do that. The window must always be left open for them, always, always."

 Now it was his turn to beg her pardon; and she went into the day-nursery and played, and soon he was asleep; and while he slept, Wendy and John and Michael flew into the room.

 Oh no. We have written it so, because that was the charming arrangement planned by them before we left the ship; but something must have happened since then, for it is not they who have flown in, it is Peter and Tinker Bell.

 Peter's first words tell all.

 "Quick Tink," he whipered, "close the window; bar it! That's right. Now you and I must get away by the door; and when Wendy comes she will think her mother has barred her out; and she will have to go back with me."

 Now I understand what had hitherto puzzled me, why when Peter had exterminated the pirates he did not return to the island and leave Tink to escort the children to the mainland. This trick had been in his head all the time.

 Instead of feeling that he was behaving badly he danced with glee; then he peeped into the day-nursery to see who was playing. He whispered to Tink, "It's Wendy's mother! She is a pretty lady, but not so pretty as my mother. Her mouth is full of thimbles, but not so full as my mother's was."

 Of course he knew nothing whatever about his mother; but he sometimes bragged about her.

 He did not know the tune, which was "Home, Sweet Home," but he knew it was saying, "Come back, Wendy, Wendy, Wendy"; and he cried exultantly, "You will never see Wendy again, lady, for the window is barred!"

 He peeped in again to see why the music had stopped, and now he saw that Mrs. Darling had laid her head on the box, and that two tears were sitting on her eyes.

 "She wants me to unbar the window," thought Peter, "but I won't, not I!"

 He peeped again, and the tears were still there, or another two had taken their place.

 "She's awfully fond of Wendy," he said to himself. He was angry with her now for not seeing why she could not have Wendy.

 The reason was so simple: "I'm fond of her too. We can't both have her, lady."

 But the lady would not make the best of it, and he was unhappy. He ceased to look at her, but even then she would not let go of him. He skipped about and made funny faces, but when he stopped it was just as if she were inside him, knocking.

 "Oh, all right," he said at last, and gulped. Then he unbarred the window. "Come on, Tink," he cried, with a frightful sneer at the laws of nature; "we don't want any silly mothers"; and he flew away.

 Thus Wendy and John and Michael found the window open for them after all, which of course was more than they deserved. They alighted on the floor, quite unashamed of themselves, and the youngest one had already forgotten his home.

 "John," he said, looking around him doubtfully, "I think I have been here before."

 "Of course you have, you silly. There is your old bed."

 "So it is," Michael said, but not with much conviction.

 "I say," cried John, "the kennel!" and he dashed across to look into it.

 "Perhaps Nana is inside it," Wendy said.

 But John whistled. "Hullo," he said, "there's a man inside it."

 "It's father!" exclaimed Wendy.

 "Let me see father," Michael begged eagerly, and he took a good look. "He is not so big as the pirate I killed," he said with such frank disappointment that I am glad Mr. Darling was asleep; it would have been sad if those had been the first words he heard his little Michael say.

 Wendy and John had been taken aback somewhat at finding their father in the kennel.

 "Surely," said John, like one who had lost faith in his memory, "he used not to sleep in the kennel?"

 "John," Wendy said falteringly, "perhaps we don't remember the old life as well as we thought we did."

 A chill fell upon them; and serve them right.

 "It is very careless of mother," said that young scoundrel John, "not to be here when we come back."

 It was then that Mrs. Darling began playing again.

 "It's mother!" cried Wendy, peeping.

 "So it is!" said John.

 "Then are you not really our mother, Wendy?" asked Michael, who was surely sleepy.

 "Oh dear!" exclaimed Wendy, with her first real twinge of remorse [for having gone], "it was quite time we came back,"

 "Let us creep in," John suggested, "and put our hands over her eyes."

 But Wendy, who saw that they must break the joyous news more gently, had a better plan.

 "Let us all slip into our beds, and be there when she comes in, just as if we had never been away."

 And so when Mrs. Darling went back to the night-nursery to see if her husband was asleep, all the beds were occupied. The children waited for her cry of joy, but it did not come. She saw them, but she did not believe they were there. You see, she saw them in their beds so often in her dreams that she thought this was just the dream hanging around her still.

 She sat down in the chair by the fire, where in the old days she had nursed them.

 They could not understand this, and a cold fear fell upon all the three of them.

 "Mother!" Wendy cried.

 "That's Wendy," she said, but still she was sure it was the dream.

 "Mother!"

 "That's John," she said.

 "Mother!" cried Michael. He knew her now.

 "That's Michael," she said, and she stretched out her arms for the three little selfish children they would never envelop again. Yes, they did, they went round Wendy and John and Michael, who had slipped out of bed and run to her.

 "George, George!" she cried when she could speak; and Mr. Darling woke to share her bliss, and Nana came rushing in. There could not have been a lovelier sight; but there was none to see it except a little boy who was staring in at the window. He had had ecstasies innumerable that other children can never know; but he was looking through the window at the one joy from which he must be for ever barred.

#PeterPan