#ft. marion

[ofsvnlightt]

Ugh i love marion and luc 🥺

[deadlydiviniity]

@ghosthowls​-marion

Well, this was interesting. She certainly hadn’t expected to come across someone asleep on a bench. Then again, given how much alcohol appeared to be consumed by the town so far...maybe he was just sleeping it off? Regardless, there were better spots to do it. Which is why Mira was crouched down, giving the man’s shoulder a nudge. “Um...you might want to find a better spot to pass out. Just a thought.”

[davidfumero-blog]

at home with @maricns, february 24

“Please, I have nerves of steel and a steady hand,” David scoffed at Marion’s threats, expression schooled into one of ultimate focus. Damn it, he would not be beat at Jenga, he promised himself, eyeing the brick tower for his next move. They’ve only each played a few moves so far, an abundance of them left, but the stakes in the competition rose with each block to move up. Seated in their living room, the other roommates having all gone about their ways, the two of them had resigned themselves to a night in, that just might turn out to be more stressful than anything the others might deal with.

[ronmanmob]

Reggie’s Damsel - A western!verse short

Three ‘n somethin’ months had come between the gang and the icy cold of the mountain - months full of moving and change, new faces, old ones, and the finding, after a week or so of wandering, of something of a spot to call their own. Their circled-wagon and tent-made camp was nestled deep in a lush, far off the beaten track kinda area about two hours ride outside of the nearest large settlement - far enough that Ron’s wracking paranoia had finally begun to gentle back into simple caution following everything that’d transpired up in the snow. With a little honest work and a lot of hunting putting food on tables and medicine in store, the gangmaster’s chief concerns had switched from simply ensuring survival to actually living; to diversions, jobs, the building of a bit of a wholesome (if not entirely accurate) reputation for his band of hoodlums, and, most recently, to giving a fucking HELL of a berth to his sister-in-law - Mrs Frances Kray.

To look at she was a delicate thing, all soft white skin like new snow; hair like rubies if you caught it in the right light, and dark, dark eyes that were pretty when she smiled but died the second she thought no one was paying attention to her - which, sadly enough for her proclivity towards that dead-eyed expression, wasn’t half as often as she reckoned it was. Being Reggie’s Mrs meant she had a bit of clout about her in gangland terms, if only because Reg was a fool for her and would buy her the world if it’d make her smile. Everyone knew that if she said as much as boo against ‘em life could get real difficult, so they kept their tongues respectful around her; let her do what work about the place she wanted to do and no more, even if that wasn’t her fair share. 

Even if they weren’t happy about it.

Ron though...well he wasn’t made with that there filter, which was why he was making with the berth giving. If he heard her simper once more today about having to wash linen, give chef Garvey a hand in the galley or run a brush through a horse’s mane he’d take her damn head clean off. And doing that, he knew from bitter experience, would only bring on stress.

Distance worked for a little while. Chores kept Ron hopping enough that even if he did need to cross paths with the fiery-headed damsel it was only very briefly, and he did his best to hold his tongue as she too’d and fro’d about the camp - peeping in on others getting on with their days; flitting here and there. When she suddenly retired to the tent she and Reggie shared though, citing the need for a break loudly enough that folks would know where she was, Ron couldn’t help himself. He leaned to the ear of his current working partner - Marion - and murmured as she fixed up one of the camp’s various buckets --

‘Y’know if tha’ girl was a fruit pickah f’a livin’ - if she fed ‘erself off  ‘er own work as a  fruit pickah - she’d’ve fuckin’ starved t’deaf by now.’

A lil request from @cajuncur

[fpannortheast]

Interesting image from George Gardner's St. Augustine newsletter.  Osceola's grave at Fort Moultrie in South Carolina.  He was interred in St. Augustine at Fort Marion (now the Castilllo de San Marcos) and many people believe he died and was buried here.

Featured today in George Gardner's St. Augustine Report and featured a link to St. Augustine Bedtime Stories: http://library.constantcontact.com/download/get/file/1102180019322-1331/order+parchment.pdf