#hunt in Cape Cod

[sandwich-inn-and-suites]

Attraction in sandwich ma Cape Cod Caper Scavenger Hunt

The Cape Cod Caper Scavenger Hunt is a fun and engaging activity that takes participants on an adventure through the beautiful and historic Cape Cod region. Here’s how you can plan and enjoy your own scavenger hunt in Cape Cod: Planning Your Scavenger Hunt Select Locations: Cape Cod National Seashore: Explore the scenic beauty and rich history of this protected area. Pilgrim Monument and…

[devonellington]

Thurs. May 25, 2023: Using the Census for Research

image courtesy of  Clker-Free-Vector-Images via pixabay.com Thursday, May 25, 2023 Waxing Moon Pluto Retrograde Partly Sunny and cold The latest on the garden is up over on Gratitude and Growth. Today’s serial episode is Legerdemain: Episode 88:  Jed Smythe’s Apartment Who’s so tidy? The victim or his kidnapper? Legerdemain Serial Link Legerdemain Website Yesterday felt like a somewhat…

[nhlclover]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐊𝐈𝐃

madeleine chase x will smith

will goes on a podcast and reveals to the world his gushing crush on pop star, madeleine chase (wc; 1.11k)

༉‧₊˚. ꒰ notes! ꒱ this is lowkey inspired by how tate mcrae and cole sillinger first got together + what will said in a podcast about tate mcrae (literally every man is obsessed with her and so am i)

au masterlist

It had been about a week since Will had moved to San Jose and he was… settling. California was very different from Massachusetts and everything was new. From the weather to the people, everything was unfamiliar to Will. His teammates — another new thing Will was getting used to — had been nothing but welcoming. They had been showing him around the area and making sure he was settling in well—especially the Marleau family who were taking him in for his first year in San Jose.

He appreciated their efforts, even though the move was still overwhelming at times. The sunny, warm weather of California was a stark contrast to the often chilly and unpredictable climate of Massachusetts, and it was both a blessing and a challenge to adapt to. The culture here was more laid-back, and people seemed to carry an air of casualness that Will wasn’t entirely accustomed to.

In the midst of all these changes, he was dealing with the start of the hockey season, which brought on a lot of commitments. Despite today being a rest day from all of the beginning of the season media, Will was sitting in the Empty Netters podcast studio. Will had met Dan and Chris, the two hosts, a while back, promising them he’d come on when he got signed by the Sharks. Months later, Will was fulfilling his promise.

“Alright, Will, welcome to the Empty Netters pod! Glad to have you here,” said Chris.

“Thank you for having me,” Will said, smiling politely.

“So, you've been in San Jose for what—about two weeks? How’s the transition going? It’s gotta be a change from Massachusetts." Dan asked.

Will nodded, leaning into the mic a bit. “Yeah, about that but it feels like longer with everything going on. It’s been go, go, go since I got here but California’s great. And everyone’s been super welcoming, especially the Marleau family. They’ve really helped me get settled.”

Dan grinned. “Yeah, you got blessed with your living situation for your first year. I mean Patrick Marleau is a legend.”

“Not bad at all,” Will chuckled, relaxing a little. “They’ve been great. Showing me around, and introducing me to some good spots to eat. I’m trying to figure out the whole California lifestyle.”

The conversation flowed easily as they touched on his early career, what he was looking forward to with the Sharks and a few lighter topics.

“Okay, Will, to end this interview we just want to do some rapid-fire questions, alright? So these are just random.” Chris asked.

“Yeah, ok, sounds good,” Will replied.

“Great, first question,” Chris said, glancing at his notes. “What's your favorite movie?”

Will thought for a moment, debating between the movies he loved. “I'd have to say 'Good Will Hunting'. It's a classic and, well, it's set in Boston. Reminds me of home.”

Both Dan and Chris nodded appreciatively. “Nice choice,” Dan answered. “Alright, next up: what's your go-to comfort food?”

“Probably a good lobster roll,” Will replied instantly. “It's practically a staple back home.”

“A lobster roll from Cape Cod sounds fucking delicious.” Chris agreed.

“Alright, final question,” Dan says. “Who is your celebrity crush?”

“Madeleine Chase,” Will says without hesitation.

Both Dan and Chris burst into laughter at Will’s quick answer, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink as he realizes his eagerness. “Damn, you were ready for that question,” Chris says through laughter. “Can you expand on why she is your celebrity crush?”

Will chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to gather his thoughts. “I mean, first of all, she’s gorgeous. I keep seeing photos of her performing for Taylor Swift in Europe and… whew.” Will answers, getting another chorus of laughter from the podcast hosts. “But also there’s something about her vibe. She seems really down-to-earth and genuine. I’ve seen her in interviews and she’s got a great sense of humor.”

Dan grinned. “Sounds like you’ve thought about this a lot.”

“Yeah, maybe a bit,” Will admitted, laughing. “But, you know, it’s hard not to admire someone like that. She’s got the whole package.”

“Quick, favorite song of hers?” Chris asked.

Will didn’t have to think much before answering. “Close To You. It’s just such a fun song to listen to.”

“If you have a message for Madeleine that we might be able to get to her at some point, what would it be?” Dan asked.

Will chuckled, questioning if he really wanted to it all out bare on this podcast. “Answer my DM,” he said, confidence lacing his tone.

“No way you’ve DM’ed her.” Chris laughed.

Will simply shrugged, laughing along with the two brothers. Dan leaned in with mock seriousness. "Alright, Sharks fans, you heard it here first—Will Smith’s got game both on and off the ice."

As the podcast wrapped up, Will thanked Chris and Dan, and they walked him out. His agent was waiting, jumping straight into talking about his schedule, but Will wasn't really listening. He was still stuck replaying the last part of the interview in his head.

Did I really just say that? His mind replayed the last part of the interview—talking about Madeleine Chase with no filter, like some lovestruck kid. He cringed inwardly, imagining how it must have sounded to anyone listening. He could already hear the ribbing from his teammates once this went live, and he cringed. His agent's voice was just white noise now as Will’s thoughts spiraled, imagining the potential fallout.

Answer my DM. The words bounced around his head like an unwelcome reminder of how he’d opened himself up for a joke. What if she actually did hear it? He wasn’t sure what compelled him to be so bold, especially considering they didn’t know each other. Will had always been reserved, especially in public settings, and now he felt like he'd let his guard down too much.

“Will? You listening?” his agent said, snapping him out of his daze.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here,” Will replied quickly, though he wasn’t. He pulled out his phone, hovering over the podcast's social media page. Maybe I can ask them to cut that part out… no, that’s ridiculous. It’s too late. He forced himself to put his phone away, trying to focus on anything else but the possibility of his comment blowing up online.

Will sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to shake off the doubt. Maybe it wasn’t that bad. They laughed, so it couldn’t have been too cringey… right?

Still, the uncertainty weighed on him. California was supposed to be a fresh start, but at that moment, Will couldn’t help but feel like he’d already stumbled out of the gate.

[55sturn]

✮ CRYING ON SATURDAY NIGHT

pairing: psycho!matt sturniolo x fem!reader [ implied/past tense ]

synopsis: in which matt has always leaned towards all things horrifying and brutal his entire life, his very obvious issues coming out in the form of a deeply disturbing interest in gore, murder, death. he’s always known that he needs help but he’s also always been capable of keeping his instincts under control, until that fateful saturday night.

warnings: angst, blood, gore, death, guns, fire, slightly descriptive murder, swearing. literally nothing happy.

THIRD PERSON POV

everyone knows that there are three extremely distinct signs of something evil, dark, and severely fucked up manifesting in someone. and they primarily show during one’s childhood.

the signs are bed-wetting, cruelty towards animals, and some sort of obsession with either fire or something that can seriously harm, maim, or even kill someone.

and for matt, he never showed those three specific signs, but he did show a heavy and deeply twisted interest in horror, gore, death, and murder from a young age. he loved watching horror movies from as young as six. he would grow giddy as the fake blood spewed across the screen, he would even laugh as the victims in the movies died gruesome deaths.

his traits manifested in the sign of extreme intelligence despite struggling horribly in school, a strong lack of remorse and empathy, no genuine emotional connection to anyone or thing, extreme poorly regulated anger, narcissistic behaviour, and ease when it came to manipulation paired with an unbelievable level of charm.

he was never harmed or abused as a kid, in fact he grew up in an extremely stable and loving family, so when his parents started noticing how…different, matt appeared compared to other children his age, especially his brothers, they were concerned. at first they thought it was a phase, him trying to be like the effortlessly cool guys he saw in the movies he loved, until he “accidentally” set his family home on fire one day while playing with matches.

he was striking the matches, letting them burn out until they were nothing but nubs before tossing them to the floor, and chris had walked into the room, ignoring matt’s actions until he got nervous, and then chris proceeded to yell for matt to stop and that just egged matt on, so instead of listening, he took a handful of matches, struck them, and threw them in the recycling bin full of cardboard boxes and newspapers before holding chris in his arms, preventing his brother from ratting on him. matt forced chris to watch as the flames grew to a increasingly dangerous height, his eyes glistening at the sight of his creation, before letting chris run to warn their parents.

from that moment on, matt’s parents were deeply worried and took matt to therapy, in hopes that it’d help, and it did, until the one saturday night that ruined everything.

THERE’S FIFTY-TWO WAYS TO MURDER ANYONE, ONE AND TWO ARE THE SAME BUT THEY BOTH WORK AS WELL.

matt mulled over every way he’s seen someone kill another person in the movies in his head, trying to figure out what the fuck to do with the unconscious douchebag in the trunk of his car. he knew about fifty-two ways to kill someone total.

if he had taken his meds this morning, he wouldn’t have hunted the guy that you went on a with down, he wouldn’t have picked the lock and snuck into the stupid asshole’s closest, holding a police grade flashlight in his hand, the weight of the metal cylinder heavy beneath fingers, waiting until tyler opened the door to clock him over the head with it.

but he had no time to dwell over what he didn’t do, and instead he drove to his family’s cape cod house, the first two ways that popped into his head were suffocation and strangulation, but considering tyler’s build, it’d take far too long. he took a moment to breathe as he reached over and popped open the glove box, finding a box of matches sitting atop the insurance papers and the glock that he bought as soon as he turned eighteen, and an idea came to him.

as he pulled into the driveway of the family lake-house, he pocketed the matches and tucked the gun into his waistband before popping open the trunk and dragging tyler over to the fire pit, throwing his body in the middle of it before grabbing the rope from his trunk, quickly binding the guy’s arms and legs together. as he waited for him to wake up, he texted you, telling you to come to the cape house, stating it was an emergency.

when tyler woke up again, he was quick to knock him out again, planning to lead you in through the front of the house. but when your car pulled up, matt wasn’t sure what to do because you were quick to climb out and run over to him, your body trembling as you realized what matt had done.

I KNOW WHEN YOU’RE HOME, I WAS THINKING ABOUT YOU // YOU GO VICIOUSLY, QUIETLY AWAY.

your hand shook as you covered your mouth, you couldn’t fathom what you were seeing. you knew matt had some issues, and that he had a few dark fantasies but you never thought that matt, the quiet, seemingly gentle boy from your history class, was capable of murder. there was no way that your best friend, your matt, was capable of something so gruesome but he was.

“what the fuck is wrong with you matt?” you scream, unable to move your feet, feeling anchored to the spot you stood in.

“listen i didn’t want to do this, but seeing you with him set me off. i wanted to drop by your house and surprise you because i was thinking about you and i know when you’re home, but you weren’t home. so i checked your location. and then i drove by and saw you with him.” matt spits, his mind racing as he tried to reason with you.

“so what? did you ambush him in the fucking parking lot?”

“no. i tracked him down and whacked him with a flashlight and drove him here before calling you. it wasn’t hard to track him down considering how well known his family is.” matt scoffs, rolling his eyes as if that was the most obvious answer.

“you’re sick. did you call me here so you could kill me too?” you seethe, growing angry with matt’s audacity and terrified of how dangerous matt truly was.

“no. i called you here to prove that i’m doing this for you. for us. without tyler, there’s nothing standing in our way and we’ll be able to finally be together.” matt hums, his demeanour eerily calm as he flicks a handful of matches, throwing them on to tyler’s now dead and gasoline soaked body, matt had underestimated how hard the last whack to tyler’s head was before dumping a can of gasoline on him.

your sobs echoed in matt’s head as the flames grew, once again finding himself entranced by the way he could cause such a beautiful thing.

“you’re fucked in the head! i could never love someone like you!” you scream, watching as matt laughs at your comment before turning around and walking over you to, taking you face in his hands, you wanted to rip yourself away from him, to push him off of you, but you stood frozen in fear as matt looks at you.

“you don’t mean that, sweetheart.” matt whispers, pressing a quick kiss to your lips, bringing you back to reality as you shove him away.

“don’t touch me you sick bastard! i will never love a demented monster like you. you should’ve been locked up from birth or even worse, i wish you died in the fire you started as a kid.” you screech, watching as matt’s jaw clenches, his hand slipping beneath his sweater, your heart pounding as you see the gun sitting in his hand, realizing it’s now aimed at you.

“take it back you bitch. say you don’t mean it and i can spare you and we can run away and live together and fall in love.” matt whispers, his voice cracking as your words cut him deep, all he wanted was for you, for someone, to actually love him, but the things you were saying were making him think you couldn’t and if he couldn’t have you, no one else will.

“no. i don’t want to love someone as severely fucked as -“ your words were cut off as a gunshot rang through the air, and you could hear your heart pounding in your ears, and suddenly you felt something warm dripping down the front of your body. you went to wipe it away but in the gleam of the fire you see the thick, dark liquid coating your fingers, as you slowly fall to your knees.

matt had shot you in the chest.

“no no no. fuck!” matt mumbles as he pulls you into his lap, his hands trembling as he brushes your hair back, the blood in your mouth gurgling as you struggle to breath. the blood pools in your mouth causing you to cough and spit up a mouthful of blood.

“i’m so sorry sweetheart.” he whispers, tears falling down his face as he feels a strong sense of guilt for the the first time in his life, scared of what was going to happen.

“if you’re really sorry-“ you start, pausing to spit out more blood,

“you’ll turn yourself in.”

matt sobs against your shoulder, holding you tight to him as your body grows colder by the second, your breathing growing ragged and short, the time between each breath growing longer than the last. matt holds you for a long time after your last breath, softly brushing his fingers through your hair, whimpering as it grows matted with blood.

BUT THE BACKSEAT OF THE DRIVE-IN IS SO LONELY WITHOUT YOU // THERE WAS SOMETHING I FORGOT TO SAY, I WAS CRYING ON SATURDAY NIGHT, I WAS OUT CRUISING WITHOUT YOU, THERE WERE PLAYING OUR SONG.

as matt drove back to the city, his head filled with everything he forgot to tell you before you died in his arms. he had taken what you said in your past moments seriously, deciding that if he wants to genuinely make peace with himself and what he had done, he needed to confess to his crimes.

but a song on the radio caught his attention, BRIGHTSIDE by the lumineers, which was coincidentally yours and matt’s song. and subconsciously, he headed toward your favourite place. the drive-in theatre just outside of the city.

as he parked in the back row of the drive-in, he climbed into the backseat, listening to the rest of the song play as he sobbed against his hands. he knew what he had done, and there was no way to undo what he had done, so as the song finished, he climbed back behind the wheel and drove toward the police station.

AND THE COPS WONT LISTEN ALL NIGHT, AND MAYBE I’LL BE OVER JUST AS SOON AS I FILL THEM ALL IN.

as matt sat in the interrogation room, he mulled over what he could do if they set him free while the cops investigated. he figured he could possibly stop by your house, and sit in your room and smoke a cigarette, like you two used to do in highschool, one last time.

or maybe he could find a way to end his life, so he could see you one last time and hug you again, and apologize for how irrationally he acted.

but the one thing he did know was that he was coming clean for you, honouring your last words.

taglist: @worldlxvlys @gamermattsgf @vanteguccir @sturnioloshacker @mattscoquette @sugrhigh @bratzforchris @teapartyprincess4two @lustfulslxt @patscorner @guccifrog @muwapsturniolo @soursturniolo @solarsturniolo @sturnioloshacker @raysmayhem-72 @meanttomeet @breeloveschris @ghostofbrock @l9vesick @freshloveee @fawnchives @cindylcuwho @thc-bolter @freshloveforthefit @freshsturns @forevergirlposts @sturniolo-fav-matt @sturnifyed @querenciasturniolo @pinklittleflower @ellie-luvsfics @strniolo @junnniiieee07 @hearts4chriss @evie-sturns @hysteria-things @sturniolossss @iliketotalk @dazednmatthews @bambi-slxt @nickgetsmewetter @inkyray @jnkvivi @cdbabymp3 @certifiedstarrr

© 55STURN 2024 ! REBLOGS NOT EXPECTED BUT GREATLY APPRECIATED ! [ you do not have permission to copy or save or share my work to other platforms and devices! ]

[whencyclopedia]

Squanto (l. c. 1585-1622) was the Native American of the Patuxet tribe who helped the English settlers of Plymouth Colony (later known as pilgrims) survive in their new home by teaching them how to plant crops, fish, hunt, and generally acclimate to life in the so-called New World. He is also known as interpreter between the colonists and the Native Americans of the Wampanoag Confederacy led by the chief Ousamequin, better known by his title Sachem Massasoit (l. c. 1581-1661). Squanto's real name is believed to have been Tisquantum (as he is consistently called by colonist and chronicler Edward Winslow, l. 1595-1655) while “Squanto” is a nickname given him by the second governor of Plymouth Colony, and his close friend, William Bradford (l. 1590-1657). Squanto was kidnapped by the English captain Thomas Hunt in 1614 to be sold into slavery but either escaped or won his freedom in Spain and traveled to England where he learned English and worked as interpreter and shipbuilder. He returned to North America as interpreter on a trade mission and traveled with one Thomas Dermer back to his home village near present-day Cape Cod only to find his tribe had been wiped out by disease (probably smallpox) brought by European traders. In 1621, he was introduced to the settlers at Plymouth (who had founded their colony at the site of his old seasonal village) by the Abenaki chief Samoset (also known as Somerset, l.c. 1590-1653) who also spoke English. Squanto quickly became indispensable to the colonists and, recognizing his own power, he secretly worked to undermine the authority of Massasoit and empower himself. Once discovered, Massasoit demanded he be turned over for execution, but Bradford refused, a decision which endangered the treaty between the Wampanoag Confederacy and Plymouth Colony if Massasoit had insisted or tried to take Squanto by force. Squanto continued to serve as the colonists' guide and interpreter until 1622 when he died of fever or, as some historians have speculated, was executed by poison on orders from Massasoit. He is almost always depicted in history textbooks and children's books as “the friendly Indian” who saved the pilgrims and participated in the feast which has come to be known as the First Thanksgiving. These narratives ignore his plot against Massasoit or the circumstances surrounding how he came to learn English and, for the most part, he continues to be depicted as a one-dimensional character in the story of the pilgrims and the First Thanksgiving, although modern scholars and historians have made significant efforts to correct this image.

[thewitchandtheassassin]

A Pirate’s Life for Me Part Eight (Wanda M x Reader x Natasha R.)

Summary: You've been taken, now he's being hunted.

Warnings: Violence. Lots of violence.

A/N: I haven't died. I swear. I'm... hopefully gonna have more stuff soonish.

Taglist: @natasharomanoffswife​ @natasha-danvers​ @aaron-despair​ @username23345 @xjiasx​ @nowthisisliving27 @higherfurther-romanova​ @summergeezburr @imnotasuperhero @miscmarvelwritings @captain-josslett @onlyafewfindtheway @hayleyokami @b-5by5 @lostandsearching @evilcr0ne​ @nightingalexx​@suki-is-a-queen

Lingering between consciousness and slumber, Natasha’s arm tightened around the lithe waist of the woman tucked against her chest, dragging her closer into the embrace as she breathed in the earthy, addicting scent of Wanda. Her fingers flexed outward in search of the other woman often curled around the brunette’s back but found no warmth to satisfy her quest. She grunted in displeasure, both from the lack of you and the dull sounds of the world waking outside the four walls of their temporary bedroom.

Drifting deeper into the land of dreams, she was almost asleep once until the jarring sound of a sudden, sharp yell sent her upright. Wanda yelped in surprise, nearly toppling off the bed before Natasha’s strong hand caught her upper arm.

“Natasha!” Yelena’s voice was clear among ruckus, the familiar twang of metal meeting filling what should be silence.

On her feet in an instant, she was swift to find her discarded sword before charging out the door with a half-dressed, disoriented Wanda close behind, her own weapon in hand. Rushing at Yelena’s assailant as she barreled out of the room, she jammed her blade through his side with practiced simplicity before shoving his soon-to-be-lifeless body to the floor.

“What the fuck has happened?” she demanded, peering at her crew fighting with familiarly dressed men throughout the hall.

 Maria’s attacker was already on his knees, choking on the crimson gushing from his open mouth. Kate had a man pinned to the wall, her knuckles split from the repeated motion of her knuckles meeting his face as she screamed at him with a ferocity that would have normally made Yelena swoon, if the situation were any different. She was young but fierce, a trait that often left the blonde drooling (much to Natasha’s amusement).

But you were nowhere to be found – and that didn’t sit well with her.

“Rumlow. He’s kidnapped (Y/N),” Yelena grunted, driving her sword through another man as he stumbled past her. “She threw a rock through my window. Woke me before his men began their siege on the inn. She left us enough time to stop a massacre, but I could not stop him from taking her. She was fighting him when I last saw her but I lost her in the attack. I am so sorry, captain.”

For a moment, the world narrowed into a darkened tunnel, blood roaring in her ears. You were taken. You were taken and they hadn’t been able to stop them.

With a furious, guttural scream that could’ve terrified the bravest of people, Natasha stormed over to the man locked in battle with Darci and slammed him into the wall. Startled by the sudden movement, his hand smacked off the wall and his sword skidded across the floor away from him as it tumbled from his grasp. His throat bobbed nervously as the tip of her blade dug in just below his chin, the rage in her eyes chilling him to the bone.

“Where is he taking her?” she snarled, watching emotionlessly as blood trickled onto her blade.

“W-we were told to k-kill you all and meet him at the ship! If we did not return, he will set sail for Cape Cod. To wed Lady (Y/N).”  The man’s cheeks were flush with fear, tears sliding over heated flesh and the front of his breeches darkening pathetically.

Lip curled in disgust, she dispatched the man with a flourish, never breaking eye contact even as his head fell away from his shoulders. Turning as his lifeless body slumped to the floor, she returned to her partner and right-hand with determination in her gait.

“We must dress and see if those on our boat still live. We have to stop Rumlow before he reaches Governor Pierce and Cape Cod, lest we…” she trailed off.

Despite the fire in her gaze, Wanda could see worry and panic peeking through. She was certain there was a similar concern mirrored in hers. If they could not get to you before he made landfall, would you be lost to them forever?

-X-

Fidgeting with the iron cuffs locked uncomfortably around your wrists, you growled as the tension in the chains endured. You’d been unconscious when they’d tossed the metal upon you and there was little means of escaping from them. It didn’t help that were confined in the belly of the ship, tucked in a dark space, with no means of finding a way to extract yourself from them. You’d initially been given a bed in the Captain’s Quarters, but you’d been thrown into the belly so you wouldn’t “cause the captain anymore problems”.

(It wasn’t your fault he was not fast enough to stop your teeth from sinking into the side of his hand after he dared to caress your cheek. Clearly he needed practice in moving quicker.)

The hatch above your head slowly creaked open, a shadowed face peering down at you. Darkness danced along his features, but you could vaguely make out the outline of the man serving as Rumlow’s right-hand, Helmut Zemo.

Truly the epitome of young and dumb.

“Are you alright, miss?” he awkwardly squeaked, his smile curled in an almost unnatural way.

Snorting, you narrowed your eyes into unimpressed slits. “I’m trapped in the belly of this bloody ship after being kidnapped, with no food or water or warmth, in the dark and wearing chains. What do you think?”

His cheeks grew ruddy under the contemptuous venom in your words, eyes flickering over his shoulder for a moment.

"Ah, apologies. That was a stupid question." Smiling uncomfortably, he opened the hatch a little more. "Would some fresh air help? Maybe some rations? It's not much but I don't feel right letting you starve to death down here."

Kidnapping and holding me hostage is fine, killing my family is fine, but letting me starve bothers him?

Resisting the urge to let your eyes roll back into your skull, you forced a meek smile at him. "That would be lovely, sir."

Perking up at your sudden compliance, he slowly ushered you up the rickety ladder before leading you out onto the deck of the ship. Keen eyes were studious and discrete as you looked upon the frothy waters but you saw no sign of your ship. For a split second, you wondered if they would abandon you, leave you to this fate - or worse, if they were icy corpses back in some dingy inn - but you shook away that thought. You were not helpless. If they did not come, you'd save yourself and spend your life searching for answers or revenge.

Whatever may come.

-X-

The first time he allowed you onto the deck, the crew had watched you with wary scrutiny. So you kept your wits, eating and drinking what you could to the best of your abilities. You would keep your cards close to your chest, watching the waters in hopes of seeing the flying colors you’d come to love on the horizon. And after a few days of being let topside, the scrutiny faded. Even Rumlow would hover less, choosing to stare at you from a distance, his face a mixture of disgust and longing. He clearly hated you for the choices you’d made – choosing those harlot pirates over a dignified man like himself - but that boyhood obsession of his still remained, burning in spite of his revulsion.

On your seventh day of being allowed to drink in the fresh air, Zemo carefully unlocked the metal from your wrists, wincing at the raw flesh beneath. "You are expected to wear these in the evening, lest you be tempted to overtake the ship, but Captain Rumlow believes you will not lash out during the day."

Delicate fingers traced over the abused skin. Glancing up at him, you demurely smiled, batting your eyes.

"Thank you. I see there is no point in being a problem, it would serve my best interests to learn more about this ship and its people. If I am expected to marry Brock, I should know you all better."

The lies poured off your tongue with ease, so honey-sweet and gentle that Zemo was oblivious to the dangers lurking beneath the surface. In his line of business, it should have learned to never trust a pretty face and yet, here he was.

To be so dumb and trusting, you mused, forcing away the smirk threatening to overtake the innocent smile.

The sun was high in the sky when you first noticed it. A tiny blip on the churning waters. It was quite a ways back, but the strength of the wind seemed to offer bursts of speed for the somewhat smaller vessel. None of Rumlow's crew seemed to pay any attention to the ship, far too arrogant to acknowledge they might not succeed, but you repeatedly peered over to it as the day crept along...

And you knew what comes next.

-X-

Tucking away the spyglass, an unnerving expression befell the redheaded pirate as she considered what to do. She could see you atop the boat, staring at her ship expectantly. As if you knew they would come.

A small piece of her wondered why you were allowed to trudge about so freely on that repulsive creature’s ship after you’d been taken, but she trusted you. 

She always had.

“Is it them?” Wanda inquired quietly, following Natasha’s eyes.

“Yes,” she murmured, gripping the hand that fell into hers, “I can see her standing on the deck. She knows we are coming.”

Wanda’s brow pinched as her lips turned down. “Do you think -”

“No.” The answer was abrupt and severe, halting wandering insecurities before they ran wild. She wanted to shake herself for ever having such a concern; she didn’t want Wanda to slip down the same path of thought. “She is a brilliant woman. I do not doubt she has played into Rumlow’s ego and pride to give herself an advantage. I believe she is simply waiting for a sign.”

Nodding, a steely resolve refined Wanda’s features. A thirst for blood and war shined treacherously in emerald irises, a sheer contrast to the sweet woman who often graced the boards of their fine ship.

 Back straightening, Natasha was transported back in time, to their early years of pirating. Watching her lover carve through pirates and imperials alike, her grace unfathomable even as she ended lives and bloodlines without a second thought. Remembered her bewitching dance of death, the vicious and beautiful intricacies of what was normally such a brutal act slowly earning her the name of Scarlet Witch, whispered across the seas in fear and awe.

And she could see herself, eyes empty and blade meticulous. Could remember killing her mentor and hearing him whisper the name, “Black Widow,” as blood spilled into her hands and onto her worn boots.

Swallowing down those memories, Natasha’s resolution became tangible and clear.

“Aim for that ship – and ram it.”

[haveyouseenthishorrormovie]

SUMMARY: When a killer shark unleashes chaos on a beach community off Cape Cod, it's up to a local sheriff, a marine biologist, and an old seafarer to hunt the beast down.

[mybeingthere]

Elmer Crowell: Sculptor, Painter, Decoy Maker

A. Elmer Crowell (1862-1952) of East Harwich, Massachusetts, is known as one of the greatest decoy makers and bird carvers of all time. The lifelike quality of his three-dimensional portrayals of American wildfowl is unsurpassed. He acquired his intimate understanding of avian anatomy and plumage patterns over the course of a lifetime spent observing and hunting Cape Cod’s abundant indigenous and migratory bird populations.

Before establishing his carving studio in 1912, he worked as a hunting guide, camp manager, market gunner, cranberry farmer, and exterminator. Crowell was inspired to start his studio by the passage of the latest in a series of federal and state hunting laws aimed at bird conservation. He decided to focus fulltime on making decoys and decorative bird “models” for sale. Although Crowell had carved decoys for his own use since he was a teenager, and later for a “who’s who” of well-to-do patrons, he found a new market for his decoys and ornamental bird carvings in collectors and tourists who appreciated them as exquisite works of art.

The ten works showcased in this online exhibition have been selected from Shelburne Museum’s collection of more than 150 carvings, paintings, and drawings by Crowell. Most works were given to the Museum in 1966, by Mrs. Stuart M. Crocker in memory of her late husband, who was a lifelong friend of Crowell and a major collector of his ornamental birds. Each object was chosen because it either demonstrates his talents as a sculptor and painter or is a milestone in his artistic career.

[belltari]

Happy (early) Halloween!!

I finished editing this today but I couldn't wait until Halloween to post it so here it is, an EXTREMELY self indulgent ghoap sex-in-the-closet Halloween fic.

If you're under 18, you shouldn't be reading it.

warnings & tags: plot with porn (a halloween party, its what the boys deserve), terrible dad jokes, flirty banter, established relationship (I'm imagining that it's still new, like only Price knows and Gaz is putting the pieces together), some dom!ghost tones (nothing too dominant), pleasure dom!Simon (that man just wants Johnny to feel good), public sex (it's a blowjob in a closet), face rutting, cum eating, someone gets called a "good boy" a couple of times

it's about 3 thousand-ish words

This was my first time writing something this explicit, so please keep in mind that I have a lot to learn. The other writers in the cod fandom are excellent teachers and inspire me a great deal.

If you just want to read the porn, start reading after the ' -- '

Anyways, I hope you enjoy and have a great rest of your spooky season!

Approaching the mess hall, Johnny chuckles at the purple and orange 'Happy Halloween!' banner hanging above the doorway, it's very clearly homemade with streaky paint and clumpy glitter making up the words and what looks like an old, tattered tarp as the banner. He wonders if it was a team-building exercise for the recruits, as this whole party was a mixer for them to get to know each other better.

Paper party streamers act as a curtain on the wide doorframe, blocking Johnny's view of the interior of the mess hall, he can feel the bass of the music thumping in his chest and hear cheerful laughter from the other side. Pushing the curtain aside, he steps through to see the short corridor has been decorated. Plastic bats with light-up red eyes hang on strings from the ceiling, jack-o'-lantern string lights flickering along the walls accompanied with signs with sayings like "enter if you dare" and "turn back" written on them. When he gets to the end, he surveys the now-repurposed dining hall, more streamers, banners, and cheap plastic decorations decorate the room. The lights have been turned off and the windows covered, floodlights and spotlights covered with coloured transparent pieces of plastic are the only lights illuminating the room creating a dramatic scene.

Several tables are being used as pumpkin carving stations, one of the recruits is ripping the guts out and complaining about the smell, and another is stabbing their pumpkin with a hunting knife. Gaz is there, dressed as a vampire with a long cape and plastic fangs in his mouth, to supervise. He's laughing with them telling them they need to work on their techniques a bit more when he catches Soap's eye giving him a smile and a quick wave, he returns the gesture and continues scanning the room.

He turns to where the music is coming from, tables cleared from the corner creating a makeshift dancefloor. Recruits dressed as ghouls, goblins, witches, and all sorts of different costumes grind and dance together to the music, drinks in hand, and smiles on their faces. 'No better team bonding than getting absolutely shit-faced together' Soap thinks to himself with a grin across his face. He notices Price standing with a group of other captains and lieutenants, he's got a glass of whiskey in one hand and is using the other to help animate whatever story he's got everyone laughing at. Price is dressed in a tri-corn hat with a tall feather sticking out of the side and a knee-length red coat with gold adornments on the sleeves and lapels. 'Gotta be Captain Morgan' Soap smiles, shaking his head. Price notices him, giving Soap a smile and a quick nod which Soap returns.

Finally, he spots the man he was looking for, his broad back facing away from him. Soap approaches walking up to grab a drink next to Ghost. He has his balaclava rolled up to his nose, a half-eaten cupcake in one hand, and a plate of other confections in the other. "Thought you'd put a little more effort in L.T.." Soap says as twists open the bottle of beer he's picked up and turns to smile at Ghost.

Ghost is wearing his normal skull balaclava and skeletal gloves, but his 'costume' has the addition of a hoodie with the skeletal system of a torso and arms.

"Didn’t put much effort in 'cause my heart just wasn’t in it." Ghost response points to his chest where his heart would be.

 Soap snorts. "Bet you've been waiting to say that all night."

"Gotta 'nother one for ya."

"Go on then."

"Why are skeletons so calm?" He pauses. "Because nothing gets under their skin."

"Ugh please no more." Soap says in a playful tone shaking his head.

"What are you supposed to be then?" Ghost asks, pointing to Soap while eating the rest of his cupcake.

"Thought it was obvious? The fluffy tail and ears, the roguishly good looks?" Soap pauses, looking at Ghost with a wolfish grin. "C'mon Ghost, I thought you were good at this?"

Ghost eyes rake over Soap’s form. Starting at his furry-eared headband, then down to his bright red collar around his neck. He pauses there for a second, Soap can see his Adam’s apple bob under his balaclava, before continuing further down to his distressed dress shirt that he’s left open at the top exposing his chest, he’s half tucked in his shirt to his jeans that he often wears on ops, the ones that hug his hips and thighs just right. And between his legs, a dark furry tail hangs ending just above his knees.

"Oh, I see you're one of those yappy little lap dogs."

"Oh aye. I'm very territorial and I never shut up. Watch your ankles L.T., I always go for those." Soap says stepping closer to Ghost. He looks down at the collar he's wearing, lifting his eyes back up, over Johnny's chin, to his smirking lips then setting on his bright blue eyes.

"Hmm" Ghost hums. "And is he a good boy too?" He said as he bites into a ghost-shaped sugar cookie.

"Depends on who's giving the orders, sir." Soap looks up through his lashes at Ghost, taking a swig of his drink.

Ghost looks around to make sure no one is paying any mind to them. When he's sure no one is, he hooks a finger under the collar pulling Soap even closer. He then leans into Soap's ear and whispers "Be a good boy then and go to the utility closet, lock the door, and don't open it until you hear three knocks of a beating heart." He doesn't wait for Johnny to respond before pulling away and walking over to Price, where Gaz has now joined him at the other end of the room.

Soap takes a deep breath, downing the rest of his drink, and grabs another one before joining the rest of 141.

When he approaches, Gaz is in the middle of telling Price about the pumpkin carving recruits and their 'interesting' techniques. But Soap's not listening, he's watching Ghost eat another cookie, licking the crumbs from the corner of his lip, laughing at something Price had said.

Soap's face gets hot, he downs a couple mouthfuls of his beer to try and cool down. "You good, Soap?" Gaz asks smiling at him.

"Aye, but this beer isn't. Has to be the weakest thing I've ever drank."

"It's probably a lot better than at piss tequila you drink." Ghost jokes.

"Think I'll go find ya some then LT. Maybe I can get you to come round to it." Soap winks at Ghost and turns to leave, only to be stopped by another captain holding a camera. "Group shot for the books, boys?" She asks. Soap looks over his shoulder at Price as he answers "Alright, come on then," waving the boys closer.

Price throws his arms over Gaz and Ghost's shoulders, Ghost rolls his balaclava back down over his jaw and Soap takes his place on the end next to him, snaking an arm around his back placing his hand on Ghost's waist.

"Say 'Happy Halloween!" The captain says as she readies to take the picture. Soap throws up the peace sign and the boys say the words the captain wanted when the camera flashes.

She comes over to show them the picture, they all look happy, even Ghost looks like he's smiling under his mask. They deserve a break like this after their last op. They move apart and Soap tells them he is going to find that drink for Ghost and excuses himself.

"Ma'am, could I get a copy of that picture?" Soap taps the captain with the camera on her shoulder on his way out. "Of course, hun! I'll make sure to give Price a few extra copies once I get them printed."

"Cheers!" Soap says raising his bottle in response "Enjoy the rest of your night."

"You too!" She says, giving a short wave to Soap.

'Oh, I will.' Soap thinks as he makes his way out of the mess hall and into the corridor leading to the utility closet Ghost wants him to wait in. He walks as fast as he can without looking suspicious, a tightness growing in his stomach and a heart wanting to break free of his ribs in excited anticipation of what's to come.

Rounding a corner, he meets a group of recruits.

"Leaving the party already Sarg?"

"Don't cha worry I'll be back, I'm only out looking for a little something stronger to drink." Soap responds with a wink as he walks backward down the hall coming to a corner. "You lads better get back there, don't want the captain to catch you out here." He turns the corner, hearing the recruits retreating footsteps as he approaches the utility closet door.

When he's standing in front of the door, he grips the handle, checking both ends of the hallway to make sure he won't be seen entering. Taking a deep breath through his nose, he opens the door and steps inside, reaching to his left to flick on the light and shutting the door behind him locking himself in.

--

He waits for what feels like ages. He finished the last of his drink a while ago and is now pacing around the small room.

"The things I do for this man." Soap signs. "This is ridiculous, what am I even doing in here?"

He checks his watch, 20 minutes have passed.

He's been waiting in a closet for Ghosts for twenty minutes.

"Oh, I'm so making you pay for this LT." He leans against the wall, readjusting his headband to distract him from the tightness in his pants that has been there for the last 15 minutes.

'Fuck it' he thinks, 'I'm not waiting any longer.' He reaches to palm himself through his jeans, moaning at the feeling of finally being touched. His briefs are wet with precum and creating a slick surface that his cock twitches against earning another sign from him. He reaches into his shirt to grab his nipple when a knock from the door startles him.

Knock-knock

Knock-knock

Knock-knock

Soap takes two long strides to the door, unlocking it and flinging it open. Ghost pushes his way in, closing and locking the door behind him.

"Jesus Simon, I thought you were going to make me wait here all night," Johnny says moving to stand chest to chest with Simon. He places one hand on Simon's waist and moves his other to take off Simon's mask.

Simon grabs his wrist and moves away. "Thought you were being a good boy? Think you need to learn some patience."

"My patience ran out 15 minutes ago." Johnny groans, freeing his wrist and ripping Simon’s mask off, throwing it somewhere on the floor behind him. His hair is an absolute mess, sticking up in all directions and a smirk is plaster across his face, he's looking down at Johnny hungerly.

Johnny smashes his lips onto Simon's in a desperate sloppy kiss, tongue and saliva pushing into Simon's mouth. A moan escapes Johnny. Simon reaches one of his hands up to the back of Johnny's head, caressing his nape first then gripping the back of his mohawk to deepen the kiss.

Johnny pulls away breathing hard when Simon's other hand touches his cock through his jeans. "Fuuuuck" he moans into Simon's neck, placing several open-mouthed kisses there and bringing his hands to wrap around Simon's broad back grabbing fist fulls of his hoodie.

Johnny ruts against Simon's hand earning a chuckle from Simon, "Desperation looks good on you, Johnny."

"Can think of a couple other things that might look even better."

Simon pulls away from Johnny, placing a hand on his chest pushing him away, "Stay." He says as looks down at him with half-lidded eyes. His gaze wanders down Johnny's face to the collar he wears on his neck, then to his chest that heaves in excitement, shirt half unbuttoned showing off his well-defined pecs that are covered in dark hair. Simon takes his hand and brushes Johnny's shirt where he knows his nipple sits underneath, drawing a shutter out of him. He smiles, looking up to Johnny's eyes that are already staring back at him. Simon looks down to see Johnny has clenched his fists that hang by his sides and sees that he's straining against his jeans, a wet spot has formed where the head of his cock has been twitching, wishing to be free from the confines of his jeans.

"You gonna me show how good you are?" He asks Johnny.

"Simon, please I-"

Simon walks Johnny backward until his back meets the shelf full of cleaning supplies behind them, shaking when they collide with it. Simon goes to plant a kiss on Johnny's mouth when Johnny tries to meet him halfway, "Ah-ah, I said stay" he scolds as he grabs Johnny's jaw with a firm grip. He places a gentle kiss on the corner of his mouth, then on the scar on his chin, and then one more on the pulse on his neck, he can feel it racing under his lips.

He suddenly pulls away and crouches down to settle on his knees in front of Johnny. Simon reaches for Johnny's belt unbuckling it, he unbuttons his jeans pulling them and his boxer briefs halfway down his thighs in one fluid motion, letting Johnny's cock spring free in front of his face.

A string of precum hangs from the half-covered head of his cock, creating a string that connects to the inside of his briefs. It twitches and another pearl forms under Simon's gaze. The pearl drops to the floor when Simon's gloved hand connects with his shaft, slowly moving his foreskin back to reveal his glistening, swollen head.

"Ahh, fuck" Johnny sighs, throwing his head back to smack against the self with a bang, knocking over a couple of the bottles.

"Careful, Johnny. Need to stay quiet, don't want anyone finding us do ya?" Simon teases as he starts lazily stroking his cock. He gets a hiss from Johnny, as he slides his gloved hand down his shaft to the base, creating a rough sensation for Johnny.

Simon's hand slides back up to his leaking head, thumb going to Johnny's frenulum drawing agonizingly slow circles on it. Simon looks up at Johnny to see his face contorted in pleasure with the overstimulation he's causing and that his headband has been knocked out of place. He brings his other hand to grip Johnny's balls, pulling them down gently. Johnny's chest heaves in when he releases a heavy breath, his hand shooting out to grip the edge of the shelf he's leaning on, his other hand hovering over Simon's head, hesitating to grip his hair. He looks down to Simon for permission, to which Simon responds by releasing his hand from Johnny's cock and catching it on his tongue.

"Yer gonna kill me." He breathes, getting a open-mouthed grin out of Simon. He wraps his lips around him before sucking on his head, flicking his tongue on the underside.

"Simon." Johnny warns.

Simon sinks his whole cock into his mouth, nose pushing into Johnny's pubic bone, a burning feeling in the back of his throat. He sticks his tongue out to caress his balls while he starts messaging them with his hand. Drool drops into his palm helping ease the rough feeling of his glove for Johnny. He slides Johnny's cock out of his mouth to take a deep breath.

"Think yer enjoying this more than me." Johnny chuckles at Simon looking down at the saliva dripping from his wet lips. Simon only looks up at him in response before pulling his cock back into his mouth, sucking and bobbing up and down his cock with a relentless pace this time. He never breaks eye contact with Johnny as he starts playing with his balls and moving his forefinger to brush against his taint. This makes Johnny buck forward deep into Simon's mouth and grip his own pec, wanting to place pressure on his nipple. Simon pulls Johnny's hand away, ripping his shirt open making a couple of the buttons fly free. He finds Johnny's nipple and pinches. Hard.

"I'm- I’m gunna-!" Johnny pants out. Bucking forward once again, pushing his cock farther down Simon’s throat, making his eyes water.

Simon can feel him twitching and pulsing inside his throat. He pulls his head away quickly just as Johnny starts to come, he tastes it briefly on his tongue before releasing his cock with a pop and feels Johnny's cum land on his face. One release squirts up his cheek stopping on his cheekbone and another across the bridge of his nose just missing his eye. More oozes out as Johnny grips the sides of Simon’s head to rut through his orgasm, rubbing and grinding his cock against Simon's face, his balls slapping against his jaw with a wet sticky sound. Simon closes one of his eyes as Johnny’s cock gets dangerously close to it, even more cum is leaking out of the tip as Johnny overstimulates himself. When he stops, he's breathing hard and hunching over, shaking from his orgasm, his cock jumps against the bridge of Simon’s nose. The cum pooled there drips down his face and over his chin, dripping onto his neck and disappearing under his shirt.

"Good boy." Simon says as he pats Johnny's thigh.

"Lemme be even better than,” he says, as he unsteadily crouches down in front of Simon, “and help clean you up." He sticks his tongue out, licking the cum off Simon’s neck, trailing up to his chin, then up and over his cheek. After he's collected it all in his mouth he kisses Simon, holding eye contact when he pushes it into his mouth with his tongue, smiling when he accepts it. Johnny pulls away, looking very impressed with himself, a string of saliva connects them and Simon swallows what he’s given him. Wiping his mouth with the back of this hand, Simon stands them both up, pulling Johnny's pants up, tucking him back in his briefs, and making his best attempt to fix his shirt.

Johnny places an arm around Simon's neck pulling him into a sweet tender kiss. "Let's get you sorted then." He smiles into Simon's lips, he reaches underneath his hoodie to brush along Simon’s abdomen, running his fingers through his happy trail, flattening his hand to slide into the top of his cargo pants.

Simon pulls away slightly, reaching up to fix Johnny’s fluffy-eared headband. "You know I don't need that."

"I know" he pauses "but I want too," Johnny whispers into his cheek. "I'll come to your room later. This time you'll have to wait for me." He smirks looking up at him.

"I'll be waiting." Simon kisses Johnny one last time, then steps out of his reach, picking up his discarded mask from the floor and slipping it over his head back into place. He grabs Soap's long-forgotten empty bottle and says, "Wait five minutes before leaving, yeah?"

"I know, Ghost. This isn't my first time." He smiles.

"And remember that piss tequila you were supposed to be findin'."

"You won't be callin' it that by the end of the night."

"Mmm, I doubt that." Ghost opens the door quietly to listen for anyone outside, when he hears nothing, he looks back at Soap over his shoulder and nods a 'see you' then steps out closing the door behind him.

Soap takes in a deep breath. 'Think I gotta start wearing a collar more often.' He thinks. 'Maybe I should start wearing the throat mic again?'

[fanofspooky]

Jaws

1975 • PG • 2h4m

When a killer shark unleashes chaos on a beach community off Cape Cod, it's up to a local sheriff, a marine biologist, and an old seafarer to hunt the beast down.

[hmslusitania]

At the beginning of house hunting: I don’t know! I think I want an interesting house in maybe a Victorian, or craftsman, or cape cod style. Would love two bathrooms, and a good kitchen I can cook in. Not too much yard but probably not a zero lot line or a condo. Don’t like carpet and would prefer wood floors but like real wood not fake wood you know? Want it to have good vibes and not be creepy and like some fixing is fine but mostly aesthetic but we’d be willing to do some of the—

One month later: I would like. It to have a fridge. And if it has a basement, I don’t want the basement to feel like it has been the site of murder. Haunting via attic murder is not a deal breaker

[wizardhecker]

Favorite soup?

ive been chasing the high of a lobster bisque I tasted a sample of in cape cod for almost a decade. Always I order it at restaurants and never does it taste the way that burst of flavor from a small paper sample cup in a shack did. The worst part is, I'm lactose intolerant so the risk to reward ratio of trying to hunt down that soup is a costly one. It might be that the original soup was imaginary, a holistic taste created by gestalt of sea brine air, exhaustion, and warm sun

Otherwise - bean, sausage and kale soup.

[devonellington]

Fri. May 12, 2023: When The Idea Bulb Lights Up

image courtesy of Colin Behrens via pixabay.com Friday, May 12, 2023 Waning Moon Mercury and Pluto Retrograde Early showers, then sunny and pleasant Somehow, yesterday seems like a very long time ago. Today’s serial episode is from Angel Hunt: Episode 32: Beliefs & Hypocrisy Drogo confronts Lianna regarding her beliefs in being a witch. Angel Hunt Serial Link. Meditation was great, and…

[ambiggg]

Jan 6 2025

Chapters 24-28 🐳

Chapter 24

“For a whale- ship was my Yale college and my Harvard”, says Ishmael (pg 118.) in this chapter which is appropriately named The Advocate.

It is exactly what it sounds like, a heartfelt treatise in defense of the whaling industry. It’s no better than war, he says, and it brags a rich history. He’s not wrong- though it’s funny, because he seems to be the only person in doing it for philosophical reasons.

Chapter 25

Ishmael, our beloved autodidact continues with his legal defense in the name of whaling, seemingly cross examining the world for a reason why whaling shouldn’t be considered honorable.

Ahaha!! Wait, Quoggy?

An alternative spelling of Quaggy,

Definition: flabby

So the defense rests his case. Alright, if you’re reading this, you’re the jury. Cast your vote wisely

Chapter 26 / 27

With both chapters having the same name, ( and being on the same subject), I’m looking at them together

Here we are formally introduced to the three mates and their respective harpooners, or knights and squires as the title suggests

We have Starbuck, the first mate from Nantucket who is tall, slim, and very hardy. He’s courageous but not in a flashy daredevil way. He has lost too much kin to be reckless. Because of this Stubb and the others are inclined to regard him as very careful.

Starbuck’s harpooner is Queequeg, from Kokovoko, but we know Queequeg. He needs no introduction.

Next is Stubb, who is pretty chill. I could it end it there, but there’s a little more. He’s from Cape Cod, and doesn’t seem to take much seriously except smoking and relaxing. He is neither moralistic nor depraved and approaches everything with the same laissez-faire attitude.

His harpooner is Tashtego, a native Gayheader from Martha’s Vineyard who before he took up the harpoon, had been hunting moose.

Last comes Flask. Flask is just a little guy. Salt of the earth. He’s squat, sturdy and possessive of an almost prehistoric simplicity. He seems to enjoy killing whales and getting paid. Flask is from Martha’s Vineyard.

To Flask is his physical opposite, Dagoo , who is a 6’5 African who has visited the shores of Nantucket and taken up the industry along the way. He has golden ring earrings, and probably enjoys a clear view in crowds and those who refrain from making weird remarks

Chapter 28

Ahab appropriately has his own chapter named after him. This makes enough sense for him to follow the knights and squires, as he reigns supreme, and is named so after a biblical king

Ahab has an interesting physical description. Though he doesn’t appear to be convalescing, he has somewhat of a singed appearance to him, as one who has just been licked by flames. There’s much reference to flames, and lightning about him with mention of Perseus, and a description of an erratic, pale scar which sits like lightning on his clouded brow.

Much speculation exists about the reclusive captain, so when he emerges at last it can only go to reason that everyone is alight with their own separate assertions of the truth.

Tashtego’s elder has one story about the scar

The Manxman has another

the general consensus though, is uncertainty

[thepastisalreadywritten]

Titanic sub suffered 'catastrophic implosion,' all five aboard dead

By Joseph Ax and Steve Gorman

23 June 2023

June 22 (Reuters) - The five people aboard a missing submersible died in a "catastrophic implosion," a U.S. Coast Guard official said on Thursday, bringing a grim end to the international search for the vessel that was lost during a deep-sea voyage to the wreck of the Titanic.

"These men were true explorers who shared a distinct spirit of adventure, and a deep passion for exploring and protecting the world's oceans," OceanGate Expeditions, the U.S.-based company that operated the Titan submersible, said in a statement.

"Our hearts are with these five souls and every member of their families during this tragic time."

An unmanned robot deployed from a Canadian ship discovered the wreckage of the Titan on Thursday morning about 1,600 feet (488 meters) from the bow of the century-old wreck, 2-1/2 miles (4 km) below the surface in a remote area of the North Atlantic, U.S. Coast Guard Rear Admiral John Mauger said at a press conference.

"The debris field here is consistent with a catastrophic implosion of the vehicle," Mauger said.

The five aboard included the British billionaire and explorer Hamish Harding, 58; Pakistani-born business magnate Shahzada Dawood, 48, and his 19-year-old son, Suleman, both British citizens; French oceanographer and Titanic expert Paul-Henri Nargeolet, 77, who had visited the wreck dozens of times; and Stockton Rush, the American founder and chief executive of OceanGate, who was piloting the submersible.

Rescue teams from several countries had spent days searching thousands of square miles of open seas with planes and ships for any sign of the 22-foot (6.7-meter) Titan.

The submersible lost contact with its support ship on Sunday morning, June 18, about an hour and 45 minutes into what should have been a two-hour descent.

Mauger said it was too early to tell when the vessel's failure occurred.

The search operation had sonar buoys in the water for more than three days and had not detected any sort of loud explosive noise during the period, Mauger said.

The buoys had picked up some sounds on Tuesday and Wednesday that temporarily offered hope the people on board the Titan were alive and trying to communicate by banging on the hull.

But officials said analysis of the sound was inconclusive and that the noises might not have emanated from the Titan at all.

"There doesn't appear to be any relation between the noises and the location of the debris field on the sea floor," Mauger said on Thursday.

Robotic craft on the ocean floor will continue to gather evidence, Mauger said, but it is not clear whether recovering the bodies will be possible given the nature of the accident and the extreme conditions at those depths.

Five major pieces of the Titan have been found, including most of the pressure hull, officials said.

SAFETY CONCERNS

The search had grown increasingly desperate on Thursday, when the estimated 96-hour air supply was expected to run out if the Titan were still intact.

The Titanic, which sank in 1912 on its maiden voyage after hitting an iceberg, killing more than 1,500 people, lies about 900 miles (1,450 km) east of Cape Cod, Massachusetts, and 400 miles (640 km) south of St. John's, Newfoundland.

The expedition to the wreck, which OceanGate has been operating since 2021, cost $250,000 per person, according to OceanGate's website.

Questions about Titan's safety were raised in 2018 during a symposium of submersible industry experts and in a lawsuit by OceanGate's former head of marine operations, which was settled later that year.

The sweeping search covered more than 10,000 square miles of ocean - about the size of the U.S. state of Massachusetts.

On Thursday, the deployment of two specialized deep-sea unmanned vehicles expanded the search to the ocean's depths, where immense pressure and pitch-black darkness complicated the mission.

The missing submersible and subsequent hunt captured worldwide attention, in part due to the mythology surrounding the Titanic.

The "unsinkable" British passenger liner has inspired both nonfiction and fiction accounts for a century, including the James Cameron blockbuster 1997 movie, which rekindled popular interest in the story.