I moved most things and the username is the same but PLEASE DON’T FOLLOW YET OR YOU’LL GET SPAMMED WITH SAVED POSTS. I’ll start following from there and write a post when the spamming is done!
It’s gonna take a while but... I will be moving Morgan to a main blog. Firstly, there are some posts I want to save there, notably posts from others I have saved here and my own asks. I should move drafts there too, instead of answering them here. I am feeling overwhelmed already but I think it’s the best...
He lays his head on the pillow and, staring into her eyes, he curls a lock of her hair around his finger. “When you left home to become a pirate—a captain, no less—did no one stop you? Not even your mother? You were fairly young, and I’d presume…inexperienced. Someone had to be concerned.”
❤ @pilawforhire
She smiled softly, not quite believing Law to be asking such a question, while believing it enough all the same. It was silly of him to think anyone in a town of pirates would stop her - the Lord’s only daughter to boot - from becoming one herself. They would not stop her from becoming any other thing, either.
Still, instead of feeling bitter over the fact his question hinted at him deeming her too soft for a world of pirates, a woman best left to her homely comforts and entertainments, Morgan preferred to focus on the sweet idea such a notion entailed: that Law cared about her. She did not think him the type of man who would make such remarks, though his crew’s deficient female contingent did not do much to put him in any headstrong woman’s good graces; and she could not blame him for accusing her of a crime she had indeed committed in her younger days: naïveté.
By the way Law spoke, one would think Morgan to be much older than she actually was. It was true she had matured in a few years what many others don’t in many more. She could not be mad at him but he certainly was fond of having her upset, wasn’t he?
She pressed the tip of her nail to Law’s cheek. Then once again and another time, as the words were punctuated with non-verbal provocation. “Are you calling me old, Old Man? Saying my youth has passed?” And a more soothing caress was offered as an ending to the jest.
Had Law asked it differently, Morgan might have joked about who, exactly, would stop her from doing as and travelling wherever she pleased? Would he? Her own father knew better.
But Law asked about Morgan’s mother and that, while not necessarily a painful topic, did not deserve a laugh or dare. Why he would ask about Elizabeth when her name had never, not once, been delivered to his ears, Morgan could not tell. Maybe that was exactly the reason why.
Whatever it was that prompted Law’s sudden curiosity in the Carnahans, he would find no disappointment in his lover’s reply. Oh, she would just tell him everything he wished to know! Open up to him like a book.
“Father was concerned, naturally. I imagine that should be any parent’s natural response. However, he knew the day would come. It was to be expected that I, being a pirate’s daughter from a pirate town, should become one myself” Morgan couldn’t help giving Law a new smile, a silly one this time, to remind him of his own silliness. “As for my mother… Well, she could not have stopped me for, you see, she’s not among us anymore. She died shortly after birthing me”
She expected to hear him express his sentiment, not doubting it to be real even his voice came out devoid of emotion. But, finding the words not to be that important in the present moment, Morgan continued her story, not giving Law a moment to either talk or keep quiet as a means of expressing his lack of knowledge regarding what to say in a situation such as this one.
“It’s a simple story that should not take more than a minute to tell. My mother was always sick. All her life, I mean, at least my father never knew her as a healthy woman. I guess pregnancy took a toll on her and…” Her lips wobbled as though they contained not only the emotion she felt, but the one Law might have expressed, too.
God. There were tears in her eyes and a woman only seen in photos on her mind. Morgan could have made use of her lady privileges and asked for a moment - as the gentleman, Law should give her as much time as she needed to get her strength back; all the time in the world if needed - yet she removed the tears off her cheeks with her fingertips and carried on.
Unlike others in the same situation, the woman did not blame herself for her mother’s fate. Firstly, it was a matter of logic. Then, it was a matter of faith.
Morgan knew there would be times her religious father would ask God ‘why?’. Why had He taken his Beth away? Why had He made her sick in the first place? They never spoke of it, but silence in itself did not mean the absence of ideas, questions, feelings. Silver would cope by accepting things the way they were, how God intended them, and perhaps he was right in doing so. It certainly helped trusting things to another, higher, more powerful being instead of hoarding volumes and volumes of emotional and mentally precarious baggage.
Of Elizabeth’s disease, there was not much for Morgan to tell, as she lacked the knowledge to talk about it. If it was a medical chat Law wished, then he would be luckier if he spoke to Silver in Shipwreck, if he ever visited the island. When he visited the island, for Morgan would have him see it someday.
“But you are right. Carmen, my nurse - my babysitter, if you will - was concerned about my becoming a pirate. I had never left Shipwreck; never seen any of the world.” Morgan fondled Law’s goatee the way she loved. He should like it enough as well, because he had not complained about it to date. “I thought I was ready. I was wrong.”
Morgan fell quiet, exchanging words for caresses as her fingertips brushed against Law’s cheek, forehead, played with his hair. Though his question was personal and practical, now partly answered with efficiency, it did stir a thought.
Law was wrong in saying Morgan was young when she’d left home. Why, she was already a lady of marriageable age then and no longer virginal. He was right in assuming so if by that he meant she was still too foolish to believe things would go her way. ‘Inexperienced’, that had been the word he had used, a more polite term than the one she would use in regards to herself: stupid. Inexperienced she had been.
“Law…? Do you think anyone is ever ready to face this world of ours?”
Who was to say Morgan would have been luckier if she hadn’t left home until her 19th birthday? The 20th? The 33rd? The world wouldn’t become any better, life any easier just because she collected years and years. It would always be the same shit to a woman regardless of her age - as a young woman, Morgan had found no respect or affection in Bones’s men; as an older one she might have been seen as too decrepit for setting sail anyway.
The question made her think of Law himself. He was older by seven years but he couldn’t have started his life of piracy just a handful of years ago. Well, he could, but Morgan had the faint idea she’d heard Bepo talk of the many years they’d known each other for. It just didn’t seem likely that he and Bepo would wait years between befriending each other and starting the Heart Pirates. For all she knew, Law could have started sailing just two years ago, that much was true. However…
Law could speak as though he’d seen much of the world and done much in his not too old lifetime. Compared to her, he had. He’d been to the New World. The question was, had he seen all of this during a great span of time or condensed in just a couple of years? He seemed fierce enough for it… Morgan had no idea what to make of him. He was a mystery under crudeness and eye bags and that was partly what enchanted her about him so much.
“Were you inexperienced, when you became a pirate?” Morgan was itching to know, as she found out the moment she asked. Coincidentally, there was also a sudden urge in her to share more of own past and both wills fought for attention with the same ardour.
She felt as though this was the proper time to talk of Him. If she didn’t do it now, she might never tell Law of Him, even if she wished it so to tell him everything, to put her story as bare before him as if it were her own body. Perhaps Law would find no interest in it, but Morgan wanted to be sincere. No one but Silver knew and she wanted Law to be just as knowledgeable.
“Forgive me. You do not have to answer me, unless you want to. I do want to hear your story but I wonder... Would you rather listen to mine for tonight? Darling?”
“Hey, sister Mo! I can call you that, right? Sister Mo. I need your help! But wait—I have something—“ Georgia handed Morgan a box of bamboo chocolates. It was exactly that. Each chocolate contained a bite-sized piece of bamboo in the centre. “Here! Oh, and, what do you normally do for Valentine’s Day? Can you teach me how to ‘give Bepo a good time’? Someone said Valentine’s is about that, making the other person happy! Oh, by the way, are you happy, Mo sis?”
❤ @hopefulgeorgia
‘Sister Mo’ was a curious duo of words that made Morgan feel uneasy, or something like it… It sounded nun-y. Morgan almost heard heavenly music and felt a divine llight shine down upon her, which was not as exquisite as it sounded. It made her religious self feel dirty. Shouldn’t nuns be chaste? She wasn’t. In fact, given her current arrangements, being called Sister Mo made the lady feel like the dirtiest person in need of spiritual cleansing and when her eyes closed shut she promised later that night she would pray like she hadn’t done in a long time! She would even visit a chapel if possible.
She said nothing of it, not wishing to hurt the panda’s feelings. It was the sweetest thing to have Georgia call her ‘sister’ and Morgan would sort of enjoy it if Georgia made a habit of it. She left little space for reactions, anyway, as she presented her gift and a question too.
“Thank you, Georgia, That is really sweet of you!” The chocolates looked safe enough as she lifted the box’s lid ever so slightly. Their small differences showed they were homemade, prompting reservations regarding their provenance.
She had not forgotten the panda, of course, and after this encounter Georgia would find a big, nice, beautiful red velvet cupcake inside a pretty box the apt colour; just something Morgan had ordered from a professional pastry chef last time she was in town.
It was unlikely, though, that Georgia would have copied her lady friend and ordered custom-made chocolates, an option which, once excluded, had to mean the mink had made the gift all by herself, with her own two front paws. Now that was a sweet notion, that dear Georgia would give herself the trouble… All the sweeter, Morgan thought, because her mink counterpart was himself a bit of a baker and the idea of them teaming up in the kitchen was cute as could be! Bepo’s human dad would think so too.
Alas… coming from the panda, there were high chances of the chocolates containing bamboo. Oh it had to be cleverly hidden, yes, cut very small indeed, but it was impossible for anyone who knew Georgia not to distrust her offers as Trojan horses in bamboo guise.
Bamboo chocolate... It did not sound too tempting a treat. In fact, it sounded dreadful. But Morgan did not voice her true thoughts once more out of politeness and respect for the panda. One did not refuse gifts made with that not-so-secret ingedient called ‘love’ and it was by all accounts unfair to refuse a gift from someone who did not have that many friends.
“Normally I reply to whatever letters I receive.” Morgan shifted in her seat and lifted her index, pointing it upwards, then bending it in a lock. “You see, Georgia, it is customary for people to write letters to those they love for Valentine’s Day. It’s only polite to write back.”
She would have volunteered to help Georgia write letters to her friends, if she wanted to, even going so far as to hint about a special letter for a certain polar bear… Georgia’s next question, however, disarmed her. Baffled her. Shocked her!
See, though Morgan knew Georgia to be an adult, she couldn’t help seeing the mink as a child. A bit like Law saw Bepo, she guessed, from a few things she had observed in the way captain and navigator interacted, plus things Law had said to her. And to hear a child talk of giving someone ‘a good time’ was… It did not sound so childlike!
Oh dear… Morgan blushed. Georgia wouldn’t mean…? She couldn’t! She was a child! They were children! Certainly not! Seriously, what nonsense were the boys shoving inside the panda’s fuzzy head?
As Georgia went on - did she ever stop? - Morgan understood the question in full and gave herself a well-deserved self-reprimand for thinking naughty things! After all… Georgia was a little girl.
“Yes. Quite.” She cleared her throat and adopted her former pose, as though these were things she must teach Georgia before she could be introduced to society. The earlier idea did not have to go to the dustbin after all. “As I was saying, it is customary to send letters and cards. You could write Bepo a letter. Talk about the things you like in him. Like…”
What would a bear like about another? Being human, Morgan could not know. She guessed one could appreciate the other’s hunting or fishing skills, but unless using a fishing rod counted, then Bepo did not have many opportunities to show how much of a Mr. Wildlife he was.
Perhaps a bear would fancy the other’s mastery of collecting honey or the way they scratched their back against tree trunks? Oh, but that was not panda and polar behaviour!
“Talk about how pretty his hair is. I mean fur” The lapsus linguae was quickly corrected as Morgan understood she was talking about her own likes. No, not about Bepo’s fur! Not that it was bad fur… It was actually very pretty! Niveous. Moving on… “Or how good a baker he is. A good dancer, possibly. Maybe you like the shape of his…ears?”
No. Morgan was not talking about her own likes about a certain grumpy man anymore. He’d sooner become a pig farmer than a baker - and what a hellish vision that one was!
At being asked if she was happy, Morgan moved the strands of hair covering her cheeks, locking them behind her ears, and with a pearly smile and eyes just as shiny she said “Yes. I am very happy. Gigi sis. Love makes people happy”
"Do you have any sexual fantasy other than 'having sex with the man that I love and he loves me back'?"
❤ @post-mortem-lullaby
Emil asked such things! She’d ask without fair warning beforehand. Was that so bad that Morgan’s one fantasy - if it was a fantasy; it certainly did not seem like asking for the stars - was exactly the one described?
She was sure the fishwoman could sense the embarrassment in her, even if she couldn’t lay eyes on the shade of red that flourished from Morgan’s cheeks to completety tint her face. Embarrassment had a way of making itself known. Even though Morgan had been taught how to tame it and thus kept her expression as solemn as before, she was sure something about her would tell Emil what she needn’t but may find fun to know.
Morgan was mortified on the inside. Not used to talking about her intimate life, the bold question came as a shock. As she reigned in her nerves, she came to the conclusion that it was not so bad. Emil could have outright asked if she’d care for this or that form of fun but had been careful enough not to disclose too much information.
In fact, she hat nailed it all right by saying ‘having sex with the man that I love and he loves me back’. It showed how well she knew her. Alternatively, what it did show was how predictable the lady was in these affairs, but Morgan did not think too much about it. If she was, indeed, predictable, so what? People were free to think as they wished. Her sex life was no business but her own (and her partner’s). As long as people did not bother her with inappropriate curiosity the kind Emil was making use of, everything was fine. At least Emil was a lady friend
Morgan wet her lip and answered, in a collected way. To freak out was beneath her. “No, I don’t. I confess your words are so accurate they could have come out of my own mouth. Yes, that is my only fantasy. However…” There was a subtle yet still perceptible extra dosis of confidence on her voice now, almost as if to challenge whatever image of predictability Emil might be having of her. “Were my partner to have them, other interests, I mean, then I might be willing to try”
Though the lady didn’t approve of the nonny’s choice of word, nothing in Morgan revealed so, her posture and face both as stoic as those of any marble statue. If telling others how to phrase their questions was not her duty, then others shouldn’t be given reason to mock her distaste.
The question could, however, be answered without the need for her to feel upset or harrassed. It was rather innocent, as far as queries of the kind went, that is.
“I would rather sleep with a man, thank you”
Here, ‘rather’ was not a matter of placing one before the other. As it happened, Morgan did not fancy taking women to bed, even if she strongly loved them in non-debauched departments.
the lavender in sunsets . flowers in the rain . sunlight slipping through clouds . lazy summer afternoons . the heavy scent of musk . flickering candlelight reflecting off the gold titles of books . fireflies on a cool summer night . being wrapped in fresh bed-sheets . the ache of wanting what you can never have . dripping sunlight like gold . loving someone so exquisite . soft lips and soft whispers . fingers through hair . names of lovers carved in trees . broken glass . the insistence of being perpetually dreamy
F. SCOTT FITZGERALD.
mahogany wood . crisp winter skies with cold bright stars . the solitude of an early autumn morning wrapped in fog . empty bottles on stacks and stacks of books haphazardly placed in a messy room . pale bruised arms reaching out into the darkness . cigarette smoke just barely hiding the scent of blood, dirt alcohol . a wall of books all poetry and old and weathered . a bad thunderstorm occurring at the end of a beautiful day . the way tragedy strikes in your heart but ends up stopping your breathing for a moment . your favorite sweater . parties spilling into four a.m. with the stars above spinning and dancing . the contrast of blood against snow . a purple split lip oozing blood. black eyes fading to blue to pale skin . the butterflies of falling in love for the first time . the statues falling apart over time in cemeteries . the romanticization of self-destruction
FRANZ KAFKA.
the weight of dread that sits heavily in your stomach when thinking about the future . decrepit houses cloaked in mystery from children telling stories of people who died there . the way not even light can escape a black hole . the rich smell of old books . delicate veins in the wrist . ghosts filling lungs . shattered bones . raindrops on the tongue . rusting metal . nostalgia that aches . the way hope feels like a plastic bag over your head
H.P. LOVECRAFT.
the anxiety felt when staring into an unknown cave . pouring rain and mud . a child’s fear of the dark . thinking so many questions about your existence as you stare at the vast expanse of never ending ocean . the silence of three a.m. . danse macabre by camille saint-saens playing on a record in an empty house . the possibility of aliens and the weird feeling it gives you that you can’t explain . explainable phenomena , strange lights in the sky in the dead of night . ouija boards and urban legends
JACK KEROUAC.
the brisk pine air of being on a mountain . travels without a destination . those nights where you’re missing three hours of memory . screaming to a lifeless desert about how you’re so alive . coffee shops late at night . car rides at night spent speeding and laughing in the dark . naps spent in the sun . novels highlighted and underlined with notes and epiphanies in the margins . the way uncertainty sits on the shoulders . ignoring flaws and loving life . wind through hair , depression as fog in the brain . impossible ideals . a quiet sunrise . walks alone . when you think about trying to discover all the secrets to the universe . dazzling people . open lands stretching out into infinity . falling in love with being alive
EDGAR ALLAN POE.
the ocean’s horizon inseparable from fog . hollow bones . a preserved heart held in hands . twinkling stars above an old graveyard . the way everything turns to dust . silent black birds with eyes full of wisdom . self-inflicted flames . perfection depicted as a rotting corpse . death as bricks in the heart . lips barely brushing against each other . glassy glazed eyes . biting into a lemon . heart-shaped bruises . rotting flowers on a grave . dried blood and spilled liquor . the hush of dusk when it begins raining . the intimacy of a secret
In reality, Morgan did not want to shoot any of them, not even the lady. Especially not the lady! However, in a situation of peril, sorority would definitely be out of the question considering the duality of the two friends and, being a marine, “Lattice” would not escape being shot at.
Complimenting “Sanji” was so natural and easy. Not only because of his ability with fire and pots and the beautiful dishes he cooked, mind, but because of his gentlemanly predisposition. And he was handsome, too! There was much for Morgan to pay a compliment to!
Finally, she would hook up with “Law”… but that wasn’t news, was it?
Oh dear… Why? Of all the options in the world, why these? But the gam’es rules had to be obeyed.
One thing Morgan was sure of - if she had to watch porn in the company of another person, the last person she would consider would be Emil. The fishwoman would just have fun at her expense, and the worst part was that Morgan wouldn’t blame her. Between Aya and Bepo… It was more or less the same thing, wasn’t it? However, Morgan’s choice fell on “Aya”, simply because she refused to subject Bepo to such a thing. Much like a kid he was, still!
Human hunting was not a pretty thing, especially when the candidates were a mink and a fishwoman. Why did she have to choose between this horror and the better reviving, even if ‘reviving’ implied someone to be victim as well. Without any pride in her choice, Morgan said “Emil”. The other woman would defend herself just fine and, while Bepo was a natural with the martial arts, he might have a harder time separating this Morgan that would never come to being, this huntress from the Morgan he knew.
She would revive “Bepo”. In the end, all of Morgan’s choices were made for the bear’s sake!
All three presented options sounded disastrous to dance with. Yet, if Morgan had to have her toes stepped on, she’d rather dance with “Emil”. Georgia was far too clumsy - but don’t you hurt her feelings by telling her that! - and, most likely, the heaviest of the gang. Law may be lighter but was no more graceful then the panda… All in all, Emil might be the only one who’d give a damn about hurting her dance party.
Then, licking Georgia was out of the question and not only because the intimacy for it was lacking - think of all that fur! Then, think of some strands of it attachd to your tongue. Morgan would rather lick “Law”, whose head hair was more limited to the scalp and the chin. Not to mention it was a gross thing he might like.
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