#caribbean-sunset-sail

[bipolareffigy]

i woke up at 3a in a cold sweat bc i'm going on a cruise with one of my sisters in march and i had the stupidest thought:

i take my deadpool and wolverine funkos ON the ship with me

because i SHIP them

[jeandejard3n]

Across the Sunset

[mondaydeadlines]

Pirates of the North

[demonic0angel]

I've been playing Dredge lately and had a thought:

Danny, a small seaside town's best fisherman, and his babies, Eldritch Dani and Dan, who prefer to live underwater and come up to see their dad, who goes out fishing every day.

His nets are always full, and his boat never encounters any problems. He always steers true, never goes off course, and keeps finding old sunken treasure in his haul.

Everyone in town knows Mr. Nightingale, and his boat sailing by becomes a sort of good omen for the folk of nearby towns. He always leaves on his own, comes back with his hold full, and two small children, which weren't in the boat in the morning, go running into town with their father at their heels. Then they all go to the beach at sunset, the children dive under the last big waves, just before the sun goes down, and twin masses of glowing lights swim into the distance, waiting for their father to go meet them again the next day.

It's good like that. The town prospers, the fish are good and plentiful for just having one or two fishermen go out every day, and the little family gets to live in a community that won't question their origins.

It's when one hero (whichever, Bat, Lantern, Martian or Super, whatever you prefer) in particular gets shot out of the air and washes into Mr. Nightingale's nets that questions start being asked, most importantly, where is the children's mother, and did Mr. Nightingale get intimate with the personification of the sea, like in Ponyo?

Extra: I know the favorite of the fandom is to ship Danny and a Bat, or a Super or Flash, or even Sam and/or Tucker.

But what if, in his late teens, Danny went off to learn from other Ghosts, met the ghostly embodiment of the ocean? They spent a few years being intimate, enough that they hosted Dani and Dan's unstable cores until proper maturity was reached, got two darling little ones out of the deal, and whenever Danny sails into the horizon, he goes to meet his partner in their own element, spends his time with them and comes back with gifts from his spouse, nets full of fresh fish, and gets the children for the rest of the day, so they can grow up in both worlds. They meet up at night at the beach so the little ones can play on the sand while their parents spend a few hours cuddling and watching the sunset.

Ooh, this sounds so interesting! Something about Danny being in love with an oceanic being sounds so ethereal? Like space and the deep sea, y’know? Two mysterious, deep places with hidden depths that humans cannot fully reach.

Not only does this remind me of Ponyo, but it also reminds me of the Pirates of the Caribbean (in a way), where two lovers are separated by sea and land. On that note, we could make Danny marry Davy Jones.

I have nothing to add, but I do think it would be funny if Danny was a hermit with a mysterious past and heroes start coming to his little sea port to ask for old, sage hero advice.

[ariwritessometimes]

Pirates of the Caribbean Masterlist

Captain Jack Sparrow

Sunsets and Black Sails series, x OC

Summary: Aria Swann fell in love too soon. Before they even have a chance to be married, her young fiancee, a captain for the East India Trading Company, is killed by pirates.

Or so she is told.Ten years later, she still refuses to even consider any other man. However, at her father’s insistence, a marriage seems to be inevitable. Commodore Norrington is kind enough, but he isn’t who she loves. A proposal gone awry leaves Aria staring into some very familiar eyes, but this scoundrel of a pirate can’t possibly be her dear captain… Could it?

Series Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Curses, Magic, Major Character Death, Miscarriage

Read on Ao3

Read on Quotev

Series Incomplete

Lazy mornings with Jack Sparrow headcanons

[emokilljoy97]

So like, I had a dream the night before last that they made a 6th Pirates of the Caribbean movie and they brought Johnny Depp back as Captain Jack Sparrow, but like it was the final movie and it began and ended with Jack in his old age telling the story of his adventures to a group of kids. The events of the movie were mostly part of a flashback, and the movie ends with elderly Jack bidding the awestruck children farewell before setting sail with the Black Pearl one last time into the sunset and disappearing beyond the horizon. Needless to say, I woke up crying.  🥲

[peterrsthomas]

Book Review: Mad Kestrel

I am a real sucker for a pirate novel. Throw some magic in there, and you’ve got me. One of my favourite books of all time is On Stranger Tides; one of my favourite movies is Pirates of the Caribbean. I’m not sure if this means my bar is set very high (I’ve read a lot of books about pirates) or very low (I’ll enjoy almost any book that has pirates in).

Mad Kestrel, by Misty Massey, I thought was a very enjoyable read. Again, I’m late to the party—the book was released in 2008. But I’ve only just found it in my local charity shop. Sue me. It’s a thrilling adventure with a compelling female lead. There are some wonderful action sequences and pulse-raising swordplay. And, of course, some sailing through rough waters (literally and figuratively), and intriguingly handsome—but also infuriatingly charming—men.

We follow Kestrel, a quartermaster aboard the Wolfsbane, as she attempts to rescue her captured mentor, Artemus Binns. Along the way she meets Phillip McAvery, a smooth-talking rogue who we don’t know whether or not to trust, and we are accompanied by a loyal, hard-working crew… or are we? Throughout, we are trailed by bounty hunters and a mysterious magical order, whose ceaseless pursuit keeps Kestrel constantly on her toes.

The magic system is probably the weakest part of the book. It’s used to drive the threat more than anything—the protagonist, a special kind of magic wielder, is afraid to use her magic lest she is found by magic hunters. So, we don’t really get to see how it works until the end. And, in the end, it seems almost anything is possible with magic. Because we haven’t really been exposed to it much throughout the book, it means the payoff isn’t all that great. Oh well: Less magic means more room for swords and swashbuckling! And the sword fights and action sequences are superb.

One thing though: I was disappointed with the author’s choice for the ending…

SPOILER ALERT!

The protagonist, Kestrel, is presented with a choice to take her mentor’s place as privateer for the king, or to go about her merry way as a pirate. We’ve had a whole book building up this character as a strong, independent woman who is fighting to prove her place as a leader of men; but in the end, she chooses to be under the thumb of the king. We’re told she negotiated better terms, and women are now allowed to sail on ships in the kingdom (yay!), but it feels a little flat after all that’s happened. I’d have liked for her to stick it to her (male) mentor and the king, and go off pirating into the sunset. But I can understand why the author went the other way… it certainly feels neater, and ties everything up.

Despite some flaws, this is an enjoyable read, with thrilling adventure and strong characters. I’ll add it to the list of books I’ll recommend to anyone who dares ask me pirate stories!

[piratesgiftexchange]

The Fish Men Go to Therapy

by beemovieerotica, for @depressedvillainobsession

PROMPT: “The crew try to make Davy Jones go to therapy (can do a modern AU or have one of the crew be the unlicensed therapist lol)��

WORD COUNT: 5,218

“It’s a crying shame, what happened with Eugenia and all that.”

“Rest in peace, you old gal.”

“Too true, lads.  Though, could it have ended any other way, what with her being eighty-two, and Jones being—sod it, how old are we now?”

The crew men of the Flying Dutchman were gathered in the shade of a palm tree on the beach, a light breeze in the air, the waves lapping the shore.  Another cursed day in the Caribbean for the terrible fish men.  They looked down at their unique assemblage of digits and began a fruitless attempt to count off the years.  Maccus’s crab leg fingers clicked as he mouthed the numbers.

“One hundred and fifty…sss…seev—six?” Penrod asked, his antennae flicking in circles. 

“Oh my God, were you a 90’s baby?” Clanker asked.

“You too?  Damn!  Who else remembers the 1590’s?”

The group began chattering excitedly, caught up in nostalgia for decades gone by; but then from off over the sand, from the great cursed ship that was beached upon the shore, came an indignant, terrible shout.

“Get back to work!” Davy Jones’ distant voice echoed upon the wind.  “This isn’t a holiday!”

That much was true: it wasn’t anybody’s vacation.  No, the Dutchman had been stranded upon the shore—a loophole to Calypso’s prohibition against them ever “making port”—for the express purpose of removing a century-and-a-half worth of barnacles and gunk from the underside of the giant ship.

It had been a long time coming.  It was just that no one had ever wanted to do it.

The ship was disgusting.

Penrod snapped his claw in agitation.  “You heard the man.  Let’s get to it.”

The group groaned and sighed and made their way back to the hull where the other half of the crew was still toiling away, scraping off sea life.  By virtue of being practically sea life themselves, the crew had a paternal attitude toward the little creatures they removed from the ship.  It was incredibly slow work, taking the time to be gentle with each little barnacle, placing them into buckets to be safely transported back in the sea.  Jones hated it, but the crew wouldn’t stop.  Angler was currently enraptured with a tiny starfish in the palm of his hand, and he let out a giddy chuckle, the light on his lure flickering.

“This one looks like you,” Palifico said.  He turned to Hadras with a hermit crab pinched between his fingers, holding it up in the light.  Hadras leaned in very close to squint at it in judging appraisal, and then he let out a scoff. 

“My shell’s nicer,” he muttered.

The work proceeded, and the crew was not concerned with the time.  Because, truly, they had all the time in the world.  It was sometime near sunset when only a fraction of the ship had been cleared of hitchhikers that Jones suddenly appeared leaning out of the wood of the hull itself.  Ghostly men that they were, all could pass freely through the matter of ships, sails, and sea. 

“How far along is it?” Jones asked, the upper half of his body coming out at an angle, the wood warping around his torso.  He struggled to turn his head enough to see along the side of the ship without losing balance and falling out.

“It’s great,” Maccus said hurriedly, striding over.  “Peachy.  We’re running like clockwork, we are.”

Jones’ gaze was still fixed upon the ship, his eyes narrowed, assessing the hull as much as he could from that precarious angle.  The crew waited with bated breath for his verdict.  A shadow passed over Jones’ face: he didn’t like what he saw.

“Nine hours, and this is all you’ve done?” he cried.  He slammed his crab claw into the side of the ship beside himself, sending a reverberating thud throughout.  “None of you will rest tonight.  No man will be allowed back on board until sunrise when every barnacle is removed from my blasted ship.”

With one final squuooik from his octopus lips, Jones receded into the hull, the wood popping behind him.

The crew rolled their eyes toward the heavens and Maccus in equal judgment.  Maccus held up his hands in innocence.  “What?” he asked.

But he knew the answer from the faces on his men: it was the first mate’s job to keep everyone in line.  To ensure the conduit between captain and crew was smooth as always—that the captain was never too unreasonable, that the crew was never too unruly.  But lately, Maccus had been doing very little of either.  Something was amiss.

“You’ve gone soft, Maccus,” Palifico said.

“You need to talk to Jones,” Angler muttered.

“You’ve got to be mean to us,” Ogilvey chimed in.  “Teach us what’s what.  Kick us in the shins.  Steal Hadras’s head.  Shoot Penrod out a cannon.”

It was Clanker who came up beside Maccus and rested a hand on the silent man’s shoulder.  He squeezed him there with a firm understanding and looked deep into his eyes.

“Go to a goddamn doctor.”

The crew frowned in confusion. 

It had gone unremarked upon by all except Clanker that Maccus had been wearing a shirt for the past few weeks.  The crew would occasionally try on clothing taken during raids of other ships—they had fuckall else to do—and Maccus’s shirt-wearing had been understood as just another temporary fashion experiment.  But Clanker had prodded and pressed him, and even followed him when he wasn’t aware—and in the dark beside Maccus’s hammock, that’s when he knew—that’s when he saw the first mate’s terrible secret.

“Behold!” Clanker cried, and with a theatrical flourish he completely ripped Maccus’s shirt from his body.

Maccus instinctively threw his arms over his chest like a blushing maiden, though there was nothing to be covered there, for the real problem was on his back.  There, where his spine erupted into long crab legs, was the problem.

Oh, but they already knew about the crab legs; he’d had those for a century.  What they hadn’t seen before was how every single leg was curled in tight, like fingers balled up into a fist—rigid, unmoving, unable to open.

“Holy hell, Maccus…” Penrod breathed, scuttling around for a better look.  He gingerly tapped one of Maccus’s spine-legs with his claw, and the thing didn’t respond.  “Did you molt this year?”

“Yes, I molted,” Maccus snapped back.  He grabbed the tatters of his shirt from Clanker’s hand, and he struggled for a moment to distinguish the arm holes and the head holes and the new holes from one other before giving up with a hiss.  He balled up the shirt and chucked it into the sand.  “I’m fine,” he said.

The whole crew began tutting in judgment, and the tutting continued for some time.  They seemed to be enjoying the opportunity to make that sound at Maccus, more than anything. 

“You sit yourself down,” Clanker began, and he bodily shoved Maccus down onto the sand.  “You take a rest, leave the cleaning to us, and then we handle this all on Tortuga.”

Maccus looked up with dread in his eyes.  “What’s on Tortuga?”

Clanker replied with a grin.

——

The establishment owned by the mysterious Signora Isabella, purveyor of fortune, omens, and occasionally shrimp soup, rested on a lone hill on the island of Tortuga, surrounded by spooky trees.

Maccus lifted a finger at the strange vegetation.  “Are trees supposed to look like that?” he asked.

They were not.  In her boundless mystery, the Signora had trimmed every tree in a thirty foot radius so that only the branches facing toward her house remained.  What resulted were several dozen lopsided trees, weighed down and bent at the trunks, like so many bowing devotees gathered in praise of her.

“It’s a bit much,” Penrod said.

The trusted mates continued up the hill and arrived at the front door, which had been painted a deep red in strange, incomprehensible sigils.  Angler brought his hand up to trace the symbols.

“What do you think it says?” he whispered fearfully. 

“It says Remove your fucking shoes.  In Italian,” a voice called.

Signora Isabella, draped in a robe the colors of twilight, emerged from around the side of the house holding a broom, followed by two chickens.  Her graying hair was tied up in a bun, sweat flecked across her face, clearly having just been interrupted in the midst of some urgent chores.  She shooed the birds away and gave a hacking cough before spitting in the dirt, wiped her mouth with her hand and then opened the front door for the crew.

“Get inside, make yourselves at home,” she muttered.

There were two things about the Signora that the crew noticed first: one, she did not seem at all Italian—her accent was something adjacent to Maccus’s.  And two, she was completely unbothered by the arrival of the monster crew at her doorstep.  The crew decided not to address the first issue, and they gladly stepped inside…barefoot, of course.

The interior of the Signora’s house was riddled with clutter: it looked like she was both in the midst of spring cleaning while simultaneously adding more odds and ends to the mix.  Books, bottles, pots and pans, blankets, and even a giant cauldron sat in the middle of the floor, hot charcoal beneath it.  Penrod cautiously neared the bubbling broth and peeked one eye over the edge.

“Were you expecting us?” Clanker asked.

Signora Isabella turned around on her heel, her pointy-toed slippers squeaking on the floor.  “No.  Why?”

“Oh,” Clanker paused.  “I thought, you know, because you didn’t seem surprised at all about us showing up.  Given how we look.”

The woman—who on scrupulous examination couldn’t really have been more than forty, though they had been expecting a wizened old crone—cast her gaze over the cursed men with tight lips.  A tense silence followed.

“I’ve seen worse,” she finally said.

The crew exchanged bewildered stares.

“Right, let’s get to it.”  She swept what appeared to be balled-up dog fur off a chair and sat down with a sniff.   “What brings you here?”

Wordlessly, the crew turned to Maccus.  A moment passed before he carefully removed the shawl he had thrown over his shoulders and back, and he revealed the curled-up crab legs, as stiff as if they’d been boiled.

“By the stars and moon,” Isabella gasped.  She rose from her chair and hurried over, reaching out a hand toward Maccus’s back.  Maccus remained still, and he allowed her to tap her fingers along his back, testing the pliancy of the legs, prodding the skin around where they emerged from his spine.  The crew watched as she made her assessment, and she leaned back, picking at her lip in thought. 

“I’ve seen this before,” she murmured mysteriously. 

The crew reeled around in disbelief.  “What?” Penrod snapped.

“Oh, sorry,” Isabella cleared her throat.  “Of course I’ve never seen it.  Force of habit.  I just say that to make the customers feel better.”

The crew couldn’t blame her for this.  But she clapped her hands and rubbed them together, a new enthusiasm seizing her.  “What you’re suffering from is something that we like to call ennui.”

Maccus tilted his great hammer head.  “What’s that?”

“It’s a French word,” Angler muttered from a far corner, holding a cat-shaped tea kettle in his hands.

Maccus let out a cry of anguish.  “I don’t want no French disease!” he wailed. 

“It’s not a disease, it’s a state of being,” Isabella cut in.  “You’re suffering from a terrible thing.  You feel listless, sad, untethered—without a true place in the world.  Nothing is enough to fill the empty corners of your life.  You seek joy and the spark of existence but find only meaningless drudgery.”  She paused.  Maccus’s eyes had grown unfocused, and he was staring off into some unfathomable distance, his lips slightly parted.  “Do I have that right?” she finished.

Maccus blinked once.  “Nahh,” he said, and he let out a snort of laughter.  “Doesn’t sound like me.”

Clanker was the only one still truly present for the conversation, as the rest of the mates were poking around the psychic’s home, uncovering all kinds of bewildering treasures.  Angler had found a dining platter with a gold engraving of a giant penis on it, which he did not seem to want to part with, and Penrod was subtly dipping various items into the bubbling cauldron to see if it might melt them.

Clanker looked at Maccus with mixed condemnation and pity.  “You’re not even going to consider it?” he asked cuttingly.

Maccus shrugged.  “I dunno.  Depends on what the cure is.”

The two looked to Isabella, who frowned in thought.  “It’s a bit tricky,” she began, tapping one toe.  “Usually I would recommend someone go out and see the world, but—well, you’ve already done that.  What I think you need,” she said, and the corners of her mouth flitted up, “is a proper spa day.”

All the crew members in the house turned with their jaws open, gasping in excitement.  Angler almost dropped his dining platter. 

“Can we?  Can we, Maccus?” Penrod asked, scuttling over.  “Can we please have a spa day?”

“I do provide group discounts,” Isabella whispered.

Maccus let out a growl, eyeing the psychic and then his eager crew mates. 

Jones had been driving them a bit mad.  Too much work, too many unreasonable demands—and Maccus hadn’t been doing his job of tempering the captain’s anger.  Why he hadn’t been standing up to Jones at all—why, whenever the captain spoke to him, Maccus could only stare at the other man’s face, his heart booming in his chest, his throat gone dry—was a question not even he fully grasped.

“Alright then,” Maccus grunted.  “We’ll do it.”

The crew let out joyous cheers.  Relaxation was on its way.

——

Six crew mates sat in a small round hut filled with steam by the Tortuga river, with nary a care in the world.  The men had wet cloths draped over their heads and little glasses of fruity drinks in their hands.  Isabella was tending the fire, pouring cold water over hot stones to send hot fizzing air wafting up toward the rafters.  Maccus peeled up the edge of the cloth from over his good eye and squinted through the mist at the rest of the group. 

They’d had to rope Palifico and Hadras into it as well, as the discount was valid for up to six: Palifico’s coral arms were dripping like a tree in a rainstorm, and he shook them off, sending spray flying all about.  Hadras had removed his head entirely to let it rest on his knees, and he was now polishing his shell with his cloth while humming a tune—both seemed to be enjoying the unexpected day off.  Angler, Clanker, and Penrod were half-asleep in their utter relaxation, slumped upon their benches, and Maccus was—well, worried as always.  The rest of the crew back on the ship (and Jones himself) didn’t know any of this was going on.  Didn’t need to know.

Maccus strained his neck to peer back over his shoulder to try and assess the situation on his spine.  The legs were slightly twitchy.

“More steam,” Clanker mumbled.

Maccus was about to protest, his skin already feeling too hot, but he figured the discomfort was all part of the healing process.  He needed to get back into top shape before Jones realized anything was amiss.  Just the thought of disappointing Jones in any way—God, he felt a constriction in his heart. 

Isabella stoked the fire, and the hut continued to grow hotter.

“Hoo, I feel like a boiled oyster,” Hadras said.

Angler let out a snorting chuckle, and the other men shifted their lounging positions to get more comfortable.  All of them except Penrod.  Maccus leaned forward in his seat and peered at the little man. 

Penrod had not stirred for the last five minutes; Maccus had assumed the man had drifted off to sleep.  But Penrod’s mouth hung open with only the slightest flutter of breath from it, and his claws dangled limp at his sides. 

His claws…

His very, strangely…red claws?

Maccus leapt to his feet and let out a scream.  “We’re cooking Penrod!”

The healthy green-blue sheen on Penrod’s whole carapace had begun to turn red—a crustacean on the verge of boiling—and a last weak gasp escaped his parched throat. 

The crew sprang to his rescue, shouting, shrieking, tearing across the hut to fling open the door flaps and let the oppressively hot air out.  Isabella panicked and dumped a full bucket of cold water on the limp shrimp man before Clanker picked him up in one arm and raced out toward the stream.

The crew followed, breathless and near tears.

Clanker lay the shrimp man down in the cool water, the sunlight glinting along the surface, the dark river stones smooth beneath Penrod’s back.  He gently held Penrod’s head up above the surface to breathe as the rest of the man’s carapace sizzled beneath the rejuvenating, life-giving balm of island spring water.  A long silence passed as the crew watched and waited—and the most distressed of all was Maccus.

Penrod’s eyes fluttered open.

Maccus fell to his knees in relief, his face wet with tears.  He was sobbing openly now, his arms clutched to his chest.  Penrod reached out a quivering claw and laid it tenderly against Maccus’s cheek.

“Go…to…therapy,” Penrod wheezed.

——

Jones couldn’t care less that one of his men had almost been boiled alive. 

The trusted mates brought Penrod back to the ship—carried between Clanker and Angler on a blanket—and they resigned themselves to telling the captain the whole truth.  There was no way to really get around explaining what had happened.  And they had expected Jones to be outraged at the near loss of someone who had served him for over a hundred years, to fly into one of his signature tantrums, to threaten to whip the crew before promptly forgetting where the whip was and then stomping off to his cabin to brood.  But instead…he grew very quiet. 

He looked at Penrod lying like a wet rat in the blanket, his brows furrowed in displeasure.  He gave the smallest hm of acknowledgment, and then he turned and walked away.

The crew was baffled: Maccus most of all.

The first mate followed after him to the bow of the ship where the captain fished around in his coat for his smoking pipe.  He was completely nonplussed.  Jones lit the tobacco and puffed silently, the smoke rising around his face like hot steam.

Maccus clenched his trembling hands.  He had to just come out and say it.  “I’m not well,” he squeaked.

Jones raised a brow and looked back over his shoulder at Maccus.  “You’re unwell?” he repeated.

“Yes,” Maccus said.  He jabbed a thumb back over his shoulder toward his spine.  “My legs are all scrunched up.  They won’t move.  I’ve got a bad case of the ennui.”

Jones swiveled fully around and stared at Maccus.  “You’ve contracted a French disease?”

“Tragically,” Maccus replied.

Jones’ eyes flickered over Maccus’s shaking hands.  Was that a flash of sympathy?  “And what’s the cure?”

It was at this point that Isabella came up to the bow—she had apparently followed them all the way down the hill to ensure that her customer had not died—and she now stepped up beside the two and cleared her throat importantly.  Jones regarded her with undisguised suspicion.

“An acquaintance of mine practices the noble art of bone cracking,” Isabella began.

“Who is this?” Jones asked, gesturing his claw at the woman.

“That’s the psychic who almost boiled Penrod alive.”

“Chef,” Isabella corrected.  “I’m the psychic chef who almost boiled him alive.”

“That’s far worse,” Maccus muttered.

“His name is Doctor Stevens, and he achieves excellent results,” Isabella went on.  She produced a leaflet from her pocket bearing a middle aged man’s likeness along with an address and an extensive list of services.  Maccus’s eyes fell upon the one just beneath “bone correction”: therapy.

He glanced sideways at Jones.  And maybe it was a projection, or maybe it was the truest realization he’d ever had, but he saw in Jones’ sour octopus face the essence of a man who truly, desperately, one-hundred-years-ago needed therapy.  Why had they never tried that?

“Let’s get the doctor on the ship,” Maccus said.

——

Dr Stevens arrived not a minute behind schedule on the deck of the Flying Dutchman with his little medical bag in tow.  He was a tall, balding man with patient eyes and a crook in his spine—Maccus wondered if that was a bad sign for a doctor of a particular problem to have that particular problem.  He decided not to think about it.

“Good afternoon, gentleman,” the doctor said, giving a nod to the crew.  “I’m here to see…” he paused, and he drew out a little slip of paper from his pocket with something smudged upon it.  “Devi Johns?”

Jones swaggered over toward the doctor, snorting in disapproval.  “You’re here to see the first mate, not me,” he corrected.

“No no,” Stevens said, flapping the paper gently, “this says it was a double booking for the captain and first mate.  A two for one special.”

Jones frowned, and he opened his mouth to protest just as Maccus hurried over.  “Yep!” Maccus called out.  “Right this way, my good sir.”

He ushered the man toward Jones’ great cabin, and with an affronted blink, Jones stalked after them.  Maccus thought Jones might put up a fight, but the captain said nothing, merely glaring between them.  Although he was definitely not pleased to have his living space commandeered for the purpose of this visit, he was—surprisingly—tolerating it.  It was for Maccus’s well-being, and this, he seemed to care about a great deal.

The door shut behind them and the doctor wasted no time in beginning to clear off Jones’ great oaken desk in the center of the room for his purposes.  Jones let out a stutter and promptly took over stuffing his personal belongings into drawers.  Maccus caught a glimpse of numerous drafts of letters, the script flowery and effusive—addressed to whom, he had no idea.

“Please,” the doctor gestured to Maccus, “lie face down.”

With a glance to Jones, Maccus clambered up onto the desk and carefully lowered himself face down, his spine legs curling in upon each other like hands folded in prayer.  The doctor then pointed Jones toward a desk chair.

“You may take a seat,” he said. 

Jones settled down with a sigh in the full belief that he was merely waiting his turn for this unconventional bone cracking session.  Which—if he was being totally honest—didn’t sound all that bad.  He’d had a time of it, getting around on his pointy leg, which did no favors for his lower back.  He watched in keen curiosity as the doctor started on Maccus.

“So.”

The doctor ran the edge of his palm down the center of Maccus’s back, and the legs crackled in reply.  He let out a low huh, shrugged, and continued on unbothered. 

“Tell me about yourself, Captain Jones.”

The doctor brought his other hand up and began to knead the painfully tense muscles of Maccus’s back, to which Maccus let out a sad, puppy-dog cry.  He resisted the urge to dig his saw-like teeth into the edge of the desk.

Though Jones was normally allergic to small talk, he was aware of the necessity for good relations with one’s doctor…if one wanted good treatment.  He sighed and spoke in a mutter.  “I was born a very long time ago,” he began, “in Scotland, a century and a half ago, and now I am still alive, lingering on, with a crew and a ship with no purpose.”

An echoing crraack! sounded from Maccus’s back, and he let out a hooo in relief.  The doctor had pressed hard on the back of one of the man’s ribs, pushing it back into its rightful place. 

“Purpose,” the doctor said, not looking up from his work as he addressed Jones.  He tested the flesh on the back of Maccus’s elbows.  “Have you met many men with purpose?”

Jones frowned, his eyes not leaving Maccus’s ever-increasingly relieved face.  “Elaborate.”

“Meaning—” the doctor jerked Maccus’s left shoulder back, and another crriick sounded out, “—is there any man you’ve come across, who has such a clear and plain sense of purpose, that he can in every moment see the path toward the end of his days?”

The other shoulder now, this time louder.  Jones licked his lips.  “Such certainty does not exist,” he replied.  “No man can anticipate where fate will find him.”

“Then why expect the very thing of yourself?”

Maccus was in a state of bliss, every muscle cramp loosening under the doctor’s skilled hands.  He had begun to drool on the desk.

Jones considered the doctor’s words.  “I had purpose,” he began.  “I was the ferryman.  But with all that—that abandonment that followed, I am merely a wandering wraith.”  His voice dropped to a murmur.  “Only love may free me.”

“Ooohh, baby, do that again,” Maccus purred.  The doctor had cracked Maccus’s neck, relieving his perpetually stiff vertebrae from all that strain of holding up the weight of his terrible head. 

“Love, hm?” the doctor repeated.  “Love is not so difficult.”

This, neither Maccus nor Jones could believe.  Both swiveled their heads around in unison—to Maccus’s great surprise, he found his neck much more flexible than before.

“Love is literally the most difficult thing in the world,” Maccus said.

“Love is the cruelest, most unforgiving thing any person undertakes,” Jones added.

The doctor chuckled softly and reached into his medical bag to moisten his hands with oil.  “It’s very interesting how your skin is smooth in one direction and rough in the other,” he remarked.  “First patient I’ve had that might give me blisters.”

“Don’t change the subject,” Maccus grunted.  “What do you think you know about love?”

The doctor let out a breathy, longing-filled sigh.  He stood contemplating for a moment, rubbing his palms together, staring off toward the algae-covered back windows of the cabin where faint beams of sunlight still filtered through.  “Falling in love is oh so easy,” he finally said.  “But invoking that love…calling it into existence, taking the other person by the hand…well, there are men who would rather go off to war and face down a row of cannons than do that very thing.”

Jones and Maccus both went very quiet. 

Maccus’s heart had begun to beat very hard, and he wondered whom Jones was thinking about.  Calypso, probably.  He chanced a glance in Jones’ direction and saw the captain staring back—they both abruptly looked away, embarrassed—but something had stirred there.

“Deep breath out,” the doctor said.

He jabbed the base of his palm into Maccus’s lower back, and Maccus let out a howl. 

Jones stood up, a great concern washing over his face.  “That will be enough,” he said sternly.  “Do not push him beyond his limits.  I need him—we need him,” he stammered.  Another furtive glance at Maccus’s face.  “Our first mate is essential to the proper sailing of our ship.”

The doctor gave an abiding shrug and wiped his hands off on his trousers.  “Very well.”  He clipped shut his medical bag and lifted it, ready to head out the door.

“Hold, are you not giving the same treatment to me?” Jones asked as Maccus climbed off the desk.

The doctor tilted his head.  “No,” he said.  “The first mate was booked for bone adjustments.  You were booked for therapy.  Though, I can’t say we made very much progress.”

A pause.  The doctor’s gaze passed over the two men who were now standing side by side, and the corner of his lip twitched.  “Or perhaps we did.”

Jones and Maccus looked at each other.  And it was Jones who noticed first that the crab legs on Maccus’s back were moving once more, stretching out like so many spider legs, but now they were reaching toward a very particular person.

“Ah,” Jones cleared his throat.  “Maccus, your legs…”

Maccus looked back over his shoulder to see the tips of his crab legs brushing at the shoulder of Jones’ coat.  “Oh, apologies, excuse me, captain—” he took two long steps back and crossed his arms over his chest.  “There we go,” he said. 

They stared at each other across this little, forced distance.  Maccus’s crab legs were now arched over his shoulders in Jones’ direction, and neither had yet noticed that Jones’ entire beard was reaching out in reply.  It was like watching a spider and a squid try to hold hands.

The doctor gave a knowing smile and ducked his head.  “I’ll send you an invoice later,” he whispered, and he trotted out the door. 

Jones’ face had turned a deep green, and Maccus couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen him that color before.  No, it happened when Jones was playing his music, thinking about her—

He folded his hands and began twiddling his thumbs in anxiety, his body erupting in a cold sweat.

Jones opened his mouth to speak, and the whole world seemed to stand still.

“I…” Jones began.

Maccus’s head was spinning.  He didn’t know what he would do if he heard it.

“I think that I…”

His knees began to shake.  Oh God.  Oh Christ.

“Maccus, I think I love—”

No.

“—I love my job.”

Maccus felt his entire existence go dark.

Jones went on, oblivious, a deep melancholy overtaking his tone.  “I miss aiding the souls of those lost at sea,” he said.  “I miss the purpose it gave me, the glimpses into the wellspring of life, crossing the veil to the other side where the spirits pass on.  Do you miss it too?”

Maccus steadied himself with a hand against the desk.  “Yep,” he wheezed.  “Miss it.  So much.”

He felt like he was going to die.

Jones looked to the dim light streaming in from beyond and slowly nodded his head.  “We will return to the care-taking of the dead,” he breathed.  “You and I, in service together.”

Maccus nodded vigorously, hoping that if he made his face a blur it would hide all the tears.  “Sounds swell,” he squeaked.  “Just excellent.”

Jones turned to walk out the door, and as he passed Maccus, he placed a hand on the other man’s shoulder.  Maccus felt a sob catch in his throat.

“You’re the best first mate a man could ever have,” Jones said.

And as the captain left the room, the door shutting behind him, Maccus finally fell to his knees and let out a strangled, kicked-dog wail.

“Why are men—” he cried into the ship’s creaking, uncaring walls, “—so FUCKING stupid?”The Dutchman, in her ancient, silent wisdom, had no reply for the heartbroken man.

[sailluna]

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[alex123456moralas]

Most Beautiful Towns In Venezuela

The journey to Venezuela isn't for the faint-hearted. Travelers must be aware of their plans for travel and mindful of their surroundings. However, for those who have the confidence to take on the challenge the adventure, you will reap huge benefits. Expect cities filled with tradition and history, as well as a natural world that is brimming with beauty. Explore the most stunning towns in Venezuela.

Hence, to enjoy a classic beach holiday, book your cheap flights to Venezuela around April to June (the summer season) and make sure to carry your beach wardrobe.

Barquisimeto

It was founded in 1552. Barquisimeto is the fourth-largest city in Venezuela and also one of the oldest cities in the country. Barquisimeto is situated at the mouth of the Turbio River and has a mild and pleasant climate. Alongside the Spanish-style, old structures, more contemporary and innovative styles have been incorporated into the design of the city's skyline. The most notable of the area is Barquisimeto Cathedral, which was completed in the year 1968. Over the years the mix of styles in architecture has created a unique landscape and awe-inspiring. Barquisimeto is also believed to be home to one of the most stunning sunsets in the world. Find a romantic spot and take in the views.

Canaima

Canaima is a small city that is if you could even consider it so. It is situated within Canaima National Park, which is a UNESCO World Heritage site, Canaima National Park, the town is primarily an adventure-seekers outpost. From the village, visitors can begin with their own hike or backpacking excursion or engage an expert tour guide to assist visitors to navigate the vast national park. Most certainly, the most renowned attraction is the stunning Angel Falls: the tallest waterfall in the world. Before you set to the top of the world for your epic adventure, be sure to take into the stunning sights around Canaima. The Carrao flows gently towards the town and its Laguna de Canaima forms at the base of a couple of smaller waterfalls. The entire area is seen from several of the campsites and lodges located in town.

Caracas

Caracas is considered to be the capital city of Venezuela as well as a big city. It has received an unfortunate negative press due to the rise in crime however, don't let that put you off. With a bit of research and skilled street skills, it is possible to do without risk. It is possible to hire a tour operator and touring in an organized group could be a smart idea. The safety of a group. For those who are willing to ignore the risk, Caracas is a wealth of art, history, and culture. Geographically, the city is at the foot of a stunning mountain range, which creates the scene for a breathtaking view. The Avila mountains are a great hike for those looking to have a birds-eye perspective of the city. If you're looking for the city there are many places to visit, including historical sites as well as restaurants and the zoo.

Porlamar

Porlamar is located at the foot of Margarita Island in the Caribbean Sea. Since the discovery of the island by travelers during the fifteenth century the island is known for its abundant pearls. The pearl industry is an integral part of economics to this day. Porlamar is the hub of the pearl industry on the island as well as the tourism industry, which has seen a dramatic increase in the past 40 years. Tourists come to the beaches to relax and sunbathe, and also to the waters for water sports and sailing. With palm trees in motion and white sand beaches, it is the perfect Caribbean paradise. The city itself has beautiful architecture and historical places, as well as a relaxed and beachy atmosphere.

Valencia

West of Caracas, Valencia is one of the biggest cities in the country. It is a hub of manufacturing and business. Valencia lies within the mountains with the exception of its eastern side which overlooks Lake Valencia. Valencia has a variety of monuments and museums, such as The Museum of History and Anthropology which houses the remains of the indigenous people who inhabited the region prior to colonization. In addition to many statues and monuments and monuments, the city has more than a dozen large public parks that are ideal for recreational activities and sports. With lush tropical trees and green everywhere, an entire city seems like it's going to be taken over by green Venezuelan mountains.Explore the incredible attractions of Florida and make your trip worthwhile. Also, book flights with the Lowest Flight Fares to avail of impressive deals. There are several places to discover here and learn more about this place. So take flights from Coimbatore to Chennai, and make sure to spend ample time strolling the area.

[waymonds]

The World's Best Sailing Spots: The Ultimate Guide

It's no secret that some of the best sailing spots in the world are located in exotic locations like the Caribbean or the Mediterranean. From crystal-clear waters and stunning sunsets to lush landscapes and unique cultures, there's something for everyone when it comes to sailing around the world. This guide will take you through some of our favorite places to go sailing, so read on if you're looking for some great spots!

Croatia Croatia has become one of the most popular sailing destinations in Europe, thanks to its crystal-clear waters, stunning coastline and hospitable locals. Whether you're looking for a relaxing cruise along the Adriatic coast or a more adventurous journey around Croatia's many islands, this is an ideal spot for sailors of all skill levels. Plus, with its numerous ports of call and plenty of restaurants and bars nearby, you'll never be short on things to do during your stay.

Thailand Thailand is home to some of the most beautiful sailing spots in Asia. With its palm tree-lined coasts full of hidden coves and deserted beaches, it's easy to see why Thailand has become a top destination for sailors from around the world. And with its friendly locals and vibrant culture, Thailand is sure to provide plenty of unforgettable experiences during your trip.

Greece The Mediterranean Sea has long been a popular destination for sailors looking for an adventure on the high seas. But Greece stands out as one of the best spots in this area thanks to its warm climate, stunning scenery and rich history. Whether you're visiting ancient ruins or taking in breathtaking views from atop a sailboat, Greece has something for everyone who loves sailing.

No matter what type of sailor you are—whether you're a beginner or an experienced pro—there's no denying that these three destinations have something special to offer those who love spending time on the open water. So pack your bags and get ready to explore some of these amazing sailing spots around the world! With their crystal-clear waters and stunning landscapes, these destinations are sure to provide plenty of unforgettable memories that will last a lifetime!

[exploresdestinations1]

Luxury Travel Experiences: Exploring the World in Style

For those who seek the finest things in life, luxury travel experiences offer a chance to explore the world in unparalleled comfort and style. From private villas and first-class flights to bespoke adventures and gourmet dining, luxury travel is about indulgence, personalization, and creating memories that last a lifetime. Whether you’re celebrating a milestone or simply craving extravagance, here are some of the most exquisite travel experiences to inspire your next journey.

1. Private Island Retreats

Imagine escaping to your own private island where pristine beaches, turquoise waters, and exclusive villas await. Resorts like North Island in Seychelles or Necker Island in the Caribbean cater to discerning travelers with personalized service, luxury amenities, and breathtaking natural surroundings. From snorkeling in crystal-clear lagoons to sunset dinners on the beach, these secluded paradises redefine serenity.

2. Luxury Train Journeys

For a blend of old-world charm and modern elegance, luxury train travel is an unparalleled experience. The Venice Simplon-Orient-Express, connecting European cities like Venice, Paris, and London, immerses passengers in vintage glamour with art-deco carriages, fine dining, and impeccable service. In South Africa, the Rovos Rail combines wildlife safaris with opulent interiors, offering a front-row seat to stunning landscapes.

3. Bespoke Safari Adventures

A luxury safari offers a unique blend of adventure and indulgence. Stay in lavish lodges or tented camps, such as those in Tanzania's Serengeti or Botswana's Okavango Delta, where private plunge pools and gourmet meals complement thrilling wildlife encounters. Expert guides ensure personalized game drives, and optional hot air balloon safaris add an unforgettable touch to the experience.

4. Yachting in the Mediterranean

Sailing the Mediterranean aboard a private yacht epitomizes luxury travel. From the glitzy shores of Monaco to the picturesque Greek islands, a yacht offers the freedom to explore exclusive destinations at your own pace. Enjoy onboard amenities like fine dining, jacuzzis, and personalized itineraries, with stops for swimming in hidden coves or exploring historic towns.

5. Overwater Villas in the Maldives

The Maldives is synonymous with luxury, and staying in an overwater villa takes the experience to new heights. Resorts like Soneva Jani and The St. Regis Maldives Vommuli offer private infinity pools, direct lagoon access, and unparalleled views of the Indian Ocean. Indulge in spa treatments over the water, savor world-class cuisine, and unwind in ultimate privacy.

6. First-Class Flights and Private Jets

Getting there is half the journey, and first-class flights redefine air travel with lavish perks. Airlines like Emirates, Singapore Airlines, and Qatar Airways offer private suites, gourmet meals, and personalized service. For ultimate exclusivity, chartering a private jet ensures complete flexibility and privacy, allowing you to arrive in style and comfort.

7. Culinary Adventures Around the World

Food lovers can embark on luxurious culinary tours to savor the best flavors the world has to offer. From dining at Michelin-starred restaurants in Paris to private cooking classes in Tuscany, these experiences immerse travelers in the art of gastronomy. Exclusive wine tastings in Napa Valley or Bordeaux and truffle-hunting tours in Italy add a gourmet touch to the journey.

8. Exclusive Cultural Experiences

Luxury travel often includes access to exclusive cultural events and behind-the-scenes tours. Imagine a private tour of the Vatican Museums and Sistine Chapel after hours, attending an opera performance in Vienna’s grandest halls, or having a renowned historian guide you through the pyramids of Giza. These curated experiences offer deeper connections to the world’s treasures.

9. Wellness Retreats

For travelers seeking rejuvenation, luxury wellness retreats provide the ultimate escape. Resorts like Amanpuri in Thailand or SHA Wellness Clinic in Spain combine holistic therapies, yoga, and personalized wellness plans with opulent accommodations. Detox programs, spa treatments, and serene natural settings create the perfect environment for relaxation and self-discovery.

10. Polar Expeditions in Comfort

Luxury polar cruises offer the chance to explore the Arctic or Antarctica in unparalleled style. Ships like the Scenic Eclipse or Silversea Expeditions feature spacious suites, fine dining, and expert-led excursions. Witness towering icebergs, polar bears, and penguins while enjoying gourmet meals and a personal butler service aboard your floating five-star hotel.

Conclusion

Luxury travel experiences are about more than just extravagance—they’re about creating unique, personalized adventures that connect you with the world in a meaningful way. From private islands and overwater villas to cultural immersions and wellness retreats, these journeys offer unparalleled comfort, exclusivity, and unforgettable memories. Whether you're planning your next getaway or dreaming of far-off destinations, luxury travel ensures every moment is extraordinary.