I can really see Gates as a super-serious Christmas fan. Like, not everyone on board the Walrus is a Christian, but it’s not about that anymore, it’s about family. The Walrus family. It’s Nassau, so it’s hot af, but Gates starts knitting everyone new pairs of socks at least three months in advance. You better not die between the moment Gates started knitting your socks and Christmas Eve. (Sometimes Mr DeGroot joins in but no one knows except Gates and Randal and Mr DeGroot would rather die than admit it)
I imagine that everybody is pretty skeptical at first, but then, they have this joy on the very day when they do a little ceremony to receive their socks that it becomes a thing.
Flint thought it was utterly ridiculous (“Hal, those are murderers and thieves, and they’d steal their grandma’s knitting needles if they could, I am not hunting down cargos of oranges and wool just so you can have your Christmas celebration by 34°C”) so Gates has to go make a pact with Eleanor and the next leads the Walrus is given are…. Cargos of oranges and wool. In exchange, Eleanor receives her own pair of socks. (Max always thought Eleanor had new socks every year because she was rich and laughs so hard she cries when she learns Eleanor lies to Flint every year for new socks)
Scourge of the seven seas and of the British Empire Captain Flint wears his orange socks every day.
The entire month of December is ruled by the ‘No in-fighting during Christmas’ policy, enforced by Gates himself. (Except that one time he beat someone who was trying to raise up a mutiny and, when the man protested that it was against the Christmas spirit, he answered ‘It’s December 10th!’)
On Christmas eve, there are no prayers, just a lot of grog, an orange each, and a very formal distribution of socks.
Once, Billy tried to give the favour back by knitting a pair of socks for Gates, but he failed so hard Flint took pity on him and taught him under the guise of ‘teaching him how to read maps’ in his cabin. Gates cried.
Once Billy innocently asked a member of the Ranger crew what they did for Christmas and the Ranger crew laughed, resulting in one of the biggest fights in the tavern.
Tag: this is fucking adorable
When the sorcerer found the dragon, it was attacking a grape.
This was only possible because the dragon was not much larger than a grape itself, but she still had to do a double take to be sure the object it was fighting with such animosity was in fact inanimate.
She crouched so that her eyes were level with the top of the table and squinted at it. The dragon sank its tiny fangs into the grape’s skin and gave a great tug, succeeding only in throwing it and the grape into a backwards tumble. The tiny green reptile rolled to a stop with its whole body wrapped around the grape and shook its head ferociously, managing to pull its teeth out but also launching the grape across the table. It gave a mighty roar of anger (about as loud as a human clearing their throat) and stalked after it, tail swishing dangerously.
“Do you need help?” she offered.
The dragon froze mid-prowl and whipped its head around to look at her, looking so offended she almost apologized for asking.
“I mean, I could peel it for you, if that’s the problem.” She wasn’t sure it was getting the message. One could never tell how much human language these little creatures picked up by hanging around the magic labs. Some understood only such essentials as “scat!” or “oh fuck, that sure did just explode”, while others could hold entire conversations — if they deigned to interact.
This one looked like it was deciding whether she was worthy. Finally, it sniffed daintily and flicked its tail, scales clacking together. “Little monster is my prey, and you can’t have it. Found it first. Will devour it!”
“Oh, sure,” she agreed. “But you know it’s a grape, right?”
This was the wrong thing to say. It glared at her and then bounded away to the other end of the table, where it slithered up to the grape and pounced on it.
Grape and dragon promptly rolled off the edge of the table.
The sorcerer quickly went around to that side, alarmed that it would be stepped on. The labs were bustling with shoppers stopping by to watch demonstrations this time of day, and a small dragon wouldn’t be easily visible on the blue and green tiled floor.
“Horrible! Dirty!” The tiny dragon was screeching at the top of its lungs, holding onto its prey for dear life. It would have been hard to hear anyway, with all the noise of the labs, but with the sorcerer’s diminished hearing it took several seconds to locate the screaming creature.
She scanned the pattern of the tiles for it and sighed. “Oh, hold on, we mopped this morning.” She cupped her hands around it and deposited it into her skirt pocket, an indignity the dragon endured only with more screaming.
“An outrage! Put me down!”
“Shh,” she advised. Lab workers were strongly discouraged from bringing creatures into the back rooms, which was where she was heading, picking her way through the crowded front lab.
“Fuck pockets!” her pocket responded.
“Oh, you can curse. Wonderful.”
The dragon seemed to take this as an actual compliment. “Am multitalented. Can also compose poetry.”
“Really? Can I hear some?”
“No. For dragon ears only.” It sounded viciously pleased to hold this over her head. The bulge in her pocket rearranged itself, and she thought it might be trying to gnaw on the grape.
She felt herself smiling even as she tried to squash her mouth into a straight line. She liked this little bad-tempered thing, even though its spiky feet were digging into her thigh.
In the much quieter kitchen of the back rooms behind the lab, she transferred the wriggling, scaly handful from her pocket to the table. The dragon hissed out a few more insults as it got up and straightened itself out, but its jaw fell open when it finally took in its surroundings. She’d set it down next to the fruit bowl.
“There you go. Food mountain.”
The dragon’s shock didn’t last long. Abandoning the grape, it scraped and scrabbled its way up the side of the bowl and from there onto an apple, its claws leaving tiny puncture marks as it hiked to the top of the arrangement. “Food mountain!” It repeated, its gleeful crowing much clearer and almost sing-song without having to compete with the noise of the crowd.
She watched it turn in a circle, surveying the feast. “But… cannot eat it all,” it observed after a while, crestfallen. “Human-sized. Big shame.”
“Don’t you have nest-mates who can help you with it?” she asked. She had assumed not, from the way it had apparently been foraging for food on its own, but she needed to be sure she’d found a loner.
“No nest. No mates. No nest-mates. You’re rude.” It flopped down ungracefully, wings spread out flat on the apple like it was trying to hug the entire much-larger fruit.
She gave it a moment to be dramatic, and then offered it the grape, minus the peel. “You seem to have a good grasp on human-speak.”
It grabbed the grape without so much as a thank you. “Yes. Have composed poetry in both Dragonese and Humanese. Not for humans to hear, though.” Bragging cheered it up a little.
“You mentioned. I can’t hear very well, anyway.” She pulled up a stool and sat down. “Actually, I’ve been looking for a helper.”
“An assistant,” it said, apparently showing off its Humanese. “An attendant. An aid.”
She watched it bury its snout in the grape, juice dribbling down onto the apple it sat on. “Yes. A hearing aid. How would you feel about having a job?”
It smiled craftily. “Would feel positively, if job comes with chocolate chips.”
“It could,” she said, grinning. She had some friends who employed bird-sized dragons as messengers, but this was the first time she’d heard of one negotiating its salary for itself. “It certainly could. What’s your name?”
“Peep,” said Peep. “It is self-explanatory.”
“Don’t worry, I got it.”
Peep expressed its doubt that humans ever got anything, but she thought the tiny, prickly creature might be warming up to her.
Fuck pockets! XD
Commission for @significanceofmoths ! Thank you so much for commissioning me<3
headcanon that james’ ears get rly red when he blushes and this is thomas’ favorite thing. sometimes he whispers scandalous things to james just so he’ll blush and thomas will sneakily press light kisses to the tips of his ears. this continues after they’re reunited- james had thought that nothing could make the erstwhile terror of the new world blush like a schoolboy again but he underestimated thomas hamilton <3
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
comtessedebussy: OH MY GOD I need multiple fics of Thomas using James as a writing desk. Please and thank you.
James blew out all the candles except for the one he sat beside the bed. The only other candle in the room was beside Thomas, who was hunched over in bed, quill scratching furiously over paper. James bit back a laugh at the sight.
Thomas had a pillow over his lap. On the pillow was a book and on the book was his piece of parchment. His bare knees stuck out from under the covers.
James climbed in beside him.
“You look absolutely ridiculous,” he said.
Thomas scoffed.
“That chair is unbearably stiff,” he replied defensively. “My back isn’t what is once was. Besides, I like the cushioning,” he added even as he arched his back and James heard it snap.
“Yes that looks much more comfortable,” he drolled out.
Thomas gave him a frown.
“If only I could find the right angle…”
Suddenly his eyes lit up.
“Would you lie down on your belly, darling?” he asked in his sweetest tone.
James eyed him suspiciously but did as he was asked.
“Just make yourself comfortable,” said Thomas. James grumbled that lying on his belly was anything but. Thomas removed the pillow and book from his lap.
“This had better be some kind of foreplay,” said James over his shoulder. He had stretched out, one leg crooked at an angle for comfort, his arms folded under his chin. He was totally nude. Thomas hummed out his approval, then placed his papers on James’s back, shuffling them around until they were directly in the middle.
“Thomas Hamilton!” James boomed. “You are not going to write on me.”
“Nonsense,” said Thomas, not remotely dissuaded from his task. “I am writing on this paper, which happens to be resting on your back. Now hold still or I’ll drip ink on you.”
“Oh Jesus,” James muttered. The quill jabbed him in the back.
“Ow!”
“Quit wiggling please,” came the reply.
“You shit,” James retorted over his shoulder.
Thomas grinned broadly at him and that was all it took to break his discontent.
Thomas scribbled away on James’s back for twenty more minutes. James enjoyed the sounds of the quill, his partner’s occasional breathy utterings, and the smell of fresh ink. Then he began to cramp. Thomas released him from his servitude.
“And are you satisfied with what you’ve written?” James asked him.
“With what I’ve written, yes,” replied the blonde. “Your back is an excellent writing desk. But now I am more interested in what other uses your body has.”
James grinned slowly, looking at him through his brows.
“Oh? Well let me show you.”
***
headcanon: James tells Thomas that he cherished that one special copy of Meditations during all those years they spent apart, but he lost it at some point in the war. So Thomas now writes things for James in all the books they own, from the most poetic love-declarations to just random silly notes and inside jokes.
James. Every day I wake up next to you is the best day of my life.
My truest love. Thank you for doing the dishes.
The little chickens!
Meg's Mumbles 