#new ship in the harbor folks

[bleedingcoffee42]

OH COME ON, you can't plant the idea of Sparky stealing pipes for Grant in my brain and then not continuing it in a story!

Lol, I feel the research will fuel you for the next 10 years. Can't wait to see what is going to be born from it. We are all going to patiently wait :D

I can do a quickie fic on that. Tons of hand holding. Too much research into German tobacco and pipes and lighters and smoke paraphernalia. Hands on other things. Physical Therapy at it's finest.

Starts here:

Or earlier because Chuck doesn't even have his gun out? And his shirt is wide open. Babe...when did you find the time?

[mybrainproblems]

hello, i'm finales georg...

i don't want to further clutter up the notes on this post while responding to the tags below but the persistence of the "finale is short/scenes are missing/extra ad break” conspiracies drives me absolutely bananas when i've watched the finale ten times and have posted about this A LOT trying to clear things up. (disclaimer that yes, i'm a goddamn destiel shipper but i care about Facts above all.)

ok but this is weird because i'd swear the episode was shorter (11 missing scenes!) but okay. maybe we all mandela effected ourselves into #beleving that. because it felt shorter. but i will die on the hill that it had another ad break. i understand this person has the thing #recorded with ads so i am thinking maybe different ad breaks in different idk time zones??? #because the finale did air an hour earlier in canada so maybe idk i am reaching here but maybe different states or whatever had different #ad breaks??? as for the last minute changes - wasn't the cover band asked for permission to use their version of carry on like a week before #the thing aired??? so even if the episode was 42 minutes and had no additional ad break - which i am side eying but lets say all was normal #i will always say they were changing thing until the absolute last minute (carry on my wayward son X 2 #the crew on the bridge which is not only giant 4th wall breaking but also wow they really got all those people in one place in times of #covid???) #anyway. tinfoil hat stays on sorry guys :/ (via @officialmisha)

short and snarky: there are plenty of real and sourced examples of network homophobia and scripted/directed destiel scenes being cut to point to. we don’t need to make this stuff up just bc the finale wasn’t what we wanted. so it’s not the mandela effect — it’s ppl repeating a conspiracy/rumor bc it supports their narrative and it’s easier and more fun to repeat something that supports a narrative they already believe (misha or something destiel was cut) vs the boring act of fact checking.

longer circumspect answer with links bc like many ppl i am in my debunking era and i rewatched "roblox_oof" last night.

like i said. i've watched the finale ten times. i’ve gone over the episode with a fine toothed comb and posted a detailed breakdown of timing marks on my blog. it’s actually extremely obvious where the ad breaks are once you know roughly where to look for them (they have a longer fade to black instead of a quick cut scene change). there’s no room for extra ad breaks and i think this conspiracy/rumor persists in part bc the episode feels so sparse in terms of cast and the fact that the episode’s momentum hits a barn post (and rebar) less than 20min into an hour-long programming block.

also i’m begging ppl to actually look at that timing mark post. it’s very straightforward and i spent a lot of time on it. i don’t care if ppl plagiarize it at this point if it means this conspiracy stops. i've got almost every second accounted for.

the "eleven missing scenes" that you're thinking of are probably from the finale script of questionable authenticity that @spnscripthunt acquired back in 2021 which can be found here. it's dated as the “final draft” from 11 sep 2020 and filming on 15x20 wrapped on 10 sep 2020. as noted at the bottom of this superwiki page "[the] script came from someone claiming to have been the person who did the closed captions for the show in Russia. There are some indications that it possibly may not be authentic, but this has not been confirmed."

if we go with the possibility that this was a transcript meant for subtitles, the "omitted" scenes were probably written but never filmed since it's the "final draft" and not a color revision (blue, green, yellow, etc). unfortunately, i’ve lost track of where i read it and a preliminary duckduckgo search isn’t bringing it up bc there's a program for script writing called final draft, but iirc the “final draft” version of a script is a transcript of what was filmed (e.g. there are parts of that 15x20 script that ended up being deleted scenes on the DVD). spnscripthunt also has an example of a confirmed final draft for 09x02 (funnily enough, also a dabb-penned ep). if anyone can confirm with a source that i have the purpose of the “final draft” version designation wrong, please let me know! i love being proven wrong with Facts.

i do want to acknowledge that the two “final drafts” do look different from each other and the 15x20 one doesn't look like a “real” final draft script since it lacks the revision/versioning dates that a script would normally have on the cover page. it could be that it was intended for subtitles; there's the chance it's been re-typed to anonymize it if there was anything indicating who the "owner" was, tho that seems a wee bit cloak and dagger to me. and again: it's considered of questionable authenticity. there are some things that don't quite line up but oh dear god i don't want to get even further out into the weeds than i already am.

i won't disagree that it's weird as hell that neoni only got asked about using their cover seven days prior to the episode airing (tiktok here). my personal theory is that they were hoping to get a more expensive song (maybe a zepp song, idk) and didn't manage to secure the rights in the end. again: this is pure conjecture on my part! but i could absolutely see someone working on the show hearing neoni’s cover and liking it and then maybe they were using it as a placeholder until it got down to the wire and they had to make a call/send the ep to networks. because yes, it is baffling they played a song and then a cover of it with only a 40 second break between. (i do actually really like the neoni cover! the placement is just weird and i think it could have worked if they had the kansas version at the beginning and closed with neoni's full cover.)

as to the 4th wall break COVID stuff: robert singer talked with variety magazine about filming the last two episodes and the logistics of filming during a pandemic. whether they should have been filming during a pandemic is a separate discussion but their use of office vs set pods, strict quarantining and daily testing meant that they had zero positive tests in the month they were filming (18 aug to 10 sep). so given all that, i personally don’t think it’s totally out of pocket to have everyone standing outdoors on a bridge for maybe an hour to get a drone shot of them together. (i won’t get into incubation periods and viral load, but if everyone tested negative that day and every day for a month prior, it was a fairly low risk scene to film outdoors and for all we know everyone was masked until the last possible second. there were plenty of outdoor masked protests in 2020 that weren't superspreader events.)

and before anyone brings up “but misha was in vancouver!” i know someone who looked into it and they said no dice, nothing matched up between the backgrounds in those pics and places in vancouver. his statements about “us” going back to set over the summer were pretty generic in hindsight and “we”/"us" could be him or the spn crew generally. unfortunately i’m not able to find those tweets but the use of “we” was likely so as not to give away he wouldn’t be returning to set. (bc we were absolutely casbaited!) and bc it comes up a lot: the "onion field pic" was from when they were filming 15x17 and was not taken while filming 15x19 and 15x20.

besides, it would be ridiculous to go through the financial and logistical headaches of bringing someone into the country to film during a pandemic, only to cut their scenes in the end! honestly, the script is pretty tight when the scenes are given so much breathing room! the only thing i could see being further cut down is The Monologue and even then, i don’t think there was any intent to cut it down given it was filmed in fairly long takes.

i’ve said it many times before, but i believe the finale was fucked long before they returned to set. walker got the green light in sep 2019 and it was being marketed heavily as a “follow on” show to spn given jared’s involvement. the demo they were courting for walker has little to no overlap with the demo for destiel fans — why would they want a finale that catered to a demo they weren't interested in courting? we just went through a historic double strike that exposed so much of the rot of business interests overriding creative vision. this isn't completely unfounded conjecture.

i will not apologize for the length of this bc i wanted to be thorough, but i do want to give context that i think the reason these conspiracies and rumors grind my gears so much is because anyone can fact check all of this. the truth is out there and absolutely none of it is that hard to find. the most time consuming/difficult part of this was finding someone who had a DVR’d copy of the finale from when it aired live and they actually found me themselves after i’d been low key asking around for a year!

and like. i get it. conspiracies are fun. but there are so many sourced instances of network homophobia and destiel being cut that it's like. why is this something folks are hanging onto? the cw is notorious for having upper level meddling with finales bc there's a follow-on show they want to shuffle fans along to and spn is no exception.

[blackcoldcrackedheart]

For @v88sy

"Nothing beats a real 3 alarm fire, right Bobby?" Chimney joked as he and crew started to make their way out of the trucks.

They were covered in grime and soot after dealing with said 3 alarm fire at a shipping distributor. The fire took nearly 4 hours to put out, fortunately for the 118 they didn't lose anyone but a lot of workers were critically injured.

Despite the rough call, Bobby felt invigorated. It was only his fourth shift back as Captain but he felt like it was his first day ever as Captain. The same energy he felt decades before buzzed through his veins as he watched his team tiredly make their way to the showers.

"You guys did great." Bobby noted to his team, "Hit the showers and I'll whip something for us for a late lunch. We're off the roster for an hour."

Bobby was ready to hit the showers himself when he noticed a few folks were sniffing the air.

Bobby inhaled as well, face scrunching in confusion as he smelled something spicy but sweet.

"Unless we're all having a collective stroke, I smell barbecue." Eddie said excitedly, already running up the stairs to the loft, followed up by the others and Bobby.

Bobby half expected Athena to be up in the kitchen, but instead he saw a familiar 6' 2 frame standing over the oven.

"Tommy?" Buck was all smiles as he rushed over to his boyfriend, pulling in the man for a kiss and causing both men to laugh as the soot from Buck's face transfered over onto Tommy's face.

"What are you doing here, man?" Chimney asked, patting the other man on the back. Eddie pulled Tommy in for his own hug along with Hen.

Tommy shrugged, nudging his chin towards the multiple items on the stove top. "I heard about the massive fire you guys had to deal with. Figured I could come by and give Cap and Evan a break in cooking for you guys."

"Tommy, you didn't have to do all this." Bobby looked at the multiple dishes, "i know how busy the harbor team gets, you should be enjoying your time off."

Eddie had already opened the over and took a dramatic deep inhale. "And if in his time off he enjoys making us delicious barbecue, who's to say we shouldn't accept?" Eddie clapped his hands and rubbed them excitedly, "All this gonna be ready after we shower?"

Tommy laughed, catching how annoyed Buck was looking at Eddie. "Yeah, you guys go shower." He turned to Buck, "I got it from here."

Buck stepped closer, a playful smirk was all Chimney and Hen needed to see before declaring "No! No hooking up in the showers!' Chimney reminded the younger firefighter who only looked sheepishly over at fed up Bobby.

"We know that look Buck." Hen reminded him teasingly.

Buck let out a frustrated loud sigh as he pouted at Tommy. Tommy was all smiles though, he pulled Buck by his turnout coat and kissed him quickly.

"I'll be back." Buck promised as he followed the others down the stairs to the showers.

That only left Bobby.

"I didn't know you knew how to cook." Bobby mused as he watched Tommy start to pull out the larger serving dishes from the cabinets. Bobby was even more surprised that Tommy remembered where everything was still.

"Yeah," Tommy rummaged around the drawers for serving utensils, "Learned off and on over the years, picked up on cooking mostly during quarantine. I figured might be fun to learn new recipes during the lockdown so I got really into smokers and barbecue so..." he waved serving tongs over the trays of chicken and ribs. "Voilà, I guess." He laughed.

Bobby raised a brow, not at the food but at Tommy.

This definitely wasn't the same man who worked under Bobby years ago.

This Tommy was definitely more confident and self-actualized. There was an easiness to Tommy that wasn't there before.

Tommy caught him staring, "Foods gonna be ready in a minute Cap, go ahead and shower."

Before Bobby could respond Buck came running up the steps, freshly showered and in clean clothes.

It occurred to Bobby at that moment he had never seen either men smile that brightly before. Buck was looking damn near giggly as Tommy's eyes gave away on how gone Tommy was for Buck.

"Ready to help." Buck smiled bashfully as Tommy pulled on a still wet curl hanging over Buck's forehead.

"God, you're cute."

That was Bobby's cue to leave.

By the time Bobby came back the loft, the food was already dished out and the crew was already seated. Bobby figured the cheers was more so about the team being finally able to eat rather then Bobby finally sitting with them

Eddie was the first to go at the food. "Buck," Eddie's eyes were all stars as he grabbed at everything, already drooling. "You should know, if you and Tommy were to break up, he gets me in the divorce. Ankles be damned."

"Me too." Hen moaned as she started to eat. "Tommy, where the hell did you learn how to make this?"

As Tommy and the others started to talk about cooking, Bobby caught Chimney’s sad smile.

"You good Chim?"

Chimney nodded, looking wistful as he told Bpbby in a low voice. "I guess I just realized how stuck Tommy was back in the day." Chimney took a moment to stare at Tommy who was whispering something to Buck that had the other man turn bright red and laugh, the reaction had Tommy looking all too pleased.

"Gerrard used to bug him about bringing over his girlfriend over so she could cook for us. Tommy would make a bunch of excuses about why his girlfriend never showed to the station or to the bar after work."

Bobby nodded, understanding where Chimney was going with this.

After dinner Bobby insisted that Tommy let the others clean up, with Buck pushing his boyfriend to sit and relax with Bobby.

"You're good for him." Bobby told Tommy in a matter of fact voice.

Tommy looked taken back, Bobby caught the flicker of worry and something else that was too familiar for Bobby. That certain fear of not being enough.

"You honestly think so?" Tommy asked softly, his eyes following Buck around the kitchen.

Bobby didn't want to jump to conclusions or anything, but he knew love when he sees it.

"I know so." He patted the younger man on the back. "It's nice having you back here, Tommy."

Tommy's smiled bashfully towards the ground before looking up. "It's nice being back, honestly." He promised.

Bobby clapped him on his back, "Good."

[nevermindtheweights]

Colorado looked at the pizza tray at the Mess Hall... empty.

She really did want pizza, and yet- it's all been eaten, and she didn't know when it would be refilled.

She wasn't... hungry, no. But she needed to eat, or else she'd stew in her thoughts about--

Right, so getting pizza... murmurs had it that a Ship named Italia was handling that, and so Colorado set out to track her down.

When she finally did track down the Italian-American ship, Colorado awkwardly cleared her throat. "Uh... you're the Ship who makes the pizza, right? Italia or something..." She asked, looking to the side instead of at the Ship herself, fearing the scorn she'd felt from some other Ships on the base already.

Soon she'll go back to Pearl Harbor... maybe, eventually.

"The pizza ran out... and I want more..." She sort of demanded weakly with a dejected pout.

Really her entire being seemed dejected, a soft layer of new pudge accentuated her baggy eyes, marred with exhaustion, alongside her extensive food baby that caused her white undershirt to rise just a tad revealing the beginnings of a potbelly forming.

In a lot of ways, the Mess Hall on Nozomi's base was a lot like a resort food hall. There was lots on offer, plenty of girls of all shapes and sizes around and of course, a team of notably slender or curve girls that were cooking or handling the replenishment of the food. There was a system here and it was effective. For the visitor Colorado, however, she might find the experience somewhat more lonesome than the social hub it was for the girls on Nozomi's base.

While no-one was saying anything overtly, it felt as if she was left alone. Which she was. After one crazed American, they didn't want to risk another one. It was hard to say if it was scorn or just unease. It was probably lucky she was a Colorado. The one on the base was well-regarded enough that some believed that another one cannot be all THAT bad, so there was that at least.

Finding Italia was pretty easy. She was somewhat tall, shapely and had orange-brown hair, a stand-out amongst more darker shades of the Japanese ships. Unlike other's she wasn't in a uniform but instead dressed more casually. Jeans, shirt and fastened apron, hair tied back. Italia herself was a somewhat known shipgirl on the base. A friendly Italian girl who had been on the base for sometime, known more so for her cooking than anything else. Not many folks knew much about her, aside from that Colorado praised her cooking ability, especially when it came to the American and Italian foods.

"Si! I am Italia! I make a lot of foods but si, today I am on Pizza duty!~"

Pizza tended to be popular when it was Italia on duty! She spoke English with a slight Italian accent.

"I have the refill nearly ready, Miss Colorado~ Where are you seated, I'll bring you the whole pie, if you like!"

She was not blind to the goings on on the base but she had once been an outsider here. Colorado, this base's one, had treated her kindly and with respect. To that end, she wished to return the favour to another Colorado. She smiled at her warmly as she heaved an empty tray from one of the buffet tables, ready to take it off outback to be cleaned.

[traegorn]

My original post on where to buy The Witch and the Rose was getting too long, so instead of reblogging it, I'm making a new one.

For those who (somehow) missed it, my debut (non-graphic) novel The Witch and the Rose is now available for purchase. It's a contemporary fantasy novel. It's got a witch, it's got queer people, it's occasionally a little spicy, it has the occasional bleed through of my witchcraft opinions... it's fun! It's the first book in a series, and I think folks will enjoy it.

So let's talk about how folks can buy it!

For one, it's on Kindle (also, if you pay for Kindle Unlimited, you can read it right now for free), but there's also a dead tree version too. While eBooks are exclusively through Amazon right now, the dead tree version comes in two (identical) forms. First off, there's the version listed on Amazon. This is the fastest way to get it, and probably the version with the cheapest shipping (since it qualifies for Prime).

I know some folks don't like Amazon though, which is why there's a separate Paperback edition done through a different printer. You can either order that directly, or booksellers can order via ISBN 9798869132666.

So, to quote the eminent critic Jay Sherman, "Buy my book!"

Random stuff under the cut:

The Rose House, a Victorian relic in the quaint college town of Parrish Mills, harbors a dark secret. A malevolent spirit haunts its halls, and seeks to claim the home’s newest owner, young professor Riley Whittaker. Riley seeks the aid of the enigmatic Mia Graves, a captivating witch with a mysterious past. Only Mia can stand against the vengeful spirit's spectral grip and the lingering enigma of Lila Rose, another ethereal resident of the haunted mansion. In a dance between danger and desire, Mia must unravel her own darkness to save Riley from the clutches of the supernatural.

Amazon:

Non-Amazon:

[mikashisus]

ABANDON SHIP

01. like a love song, the sea calls me home

The Remurian ports were exceptionally busy in the late afternoons, when the sun was falling slowly over the ocean’s horizon and the cerulean waves lapped roughly against the wooden docks of the harbor. Deep oranges and enchanting pinks filled the sky as the sun cast a golden glow upon the faces of the passerby. 

Merchants shouted eagerly, their voices overriding one another as they fought to ring in new customers. People from all walks of life filled the harbor, stopping briefly to awe at the wares being sold at the vendor stalls. The lively chatter echoed through the late afternoon air, accompanied by laughter and the occasional discord. 

A family passed by, their thick accents revealing them to be desert folk from the lands ruled by the Scarlet King. They gawked at the gorgeous, finely handcrafted Remurian jewelry a vendor was selling. The vendor welcomed them with a warm smile and a friendly wave. Despite the language barrier, the two parties grew to understand one another through mere gestures and patience. 

The heat from the bodies packed together in the vicinity and the warm Summer air did not help to alleviate your growing frustration. As you shuffled through the tight crowds of the busy harbor, someone shoved their way past you. You sent them a sneer and returned their sentiments with an elbow jab, before tipping your hat over your eyes and upping your pace. 

As you walked, the golden feather on your belt jingled loudly, joined by the sound of the tiny silver bells adorning your boots. 

A cool, refreshing evening breeze blew past, knocking your hat up. The sky was beginning to fade into a wondrous blue. The wind of the North appeared ever-present, causing a smile to break out onto your lips at the thought. 

Wherever you were in the world, her protection hovered over you like a safety net.

The heels of your boots clacked against the cobblestone as you turned your attention back to the task at hand. All you needed was a few tools to fix a cannon. 

The last ones you owned had been tossed overboard after one of your crewmates broke them in half due to his rather hardy grip. The matter was not one of utter importance, but you preferred to have working cannons at all times. 

Thankfully, you knew someone in the harbor who would be more than willing to give you the tools you needed. Your eyes wandered the harbor, searching for the shop with a wooden fist as its logo. The tools shop could be easily visible during the day, but not so much at night. It was a relatively small shop; It branched off from the well known blacksmithing shop in the city. 

One too many times have you paid a visit to the forgery owned by a man who was old enough to be your father. You spent way too many Summers in that forgery, hacking away at iron with one of his hammers and wiping the sweat from your brow. 

The forgery was always scalding hot, putting even the most blazing Sumeru summers to shame. The heat always made you feel dizzy and dehydrated, as if you would melt into a puddle right where you stood. Stepping outside after a long afternoon’s work always felt refreshing. The fresh breeze felt like icicles on your scorching skin as you dumped a bucket of ice cold water over your head. 

You were lucky you never suffered from a heat stroke. 

Absentmindedly, you kept a hand steady on your scabbard. Upon reaching the tools shop, you loosened your grip. The blade at your hip had not been pulled for quite some time, though you always kept a hand resting on its hilt. 

After years of carrying it with you, you adopted a habit of staying on guard. It was a mere precaution your father taught you to take during your childhood when he first let you pick up a sword. 

The excited chatter of the harbor began to dwindle as the sun fully faded over the horizon and the sky was cloaked in a blanket of blues and purples. The crowds that once took homage on the docks severed like the late afternoon breeze. Vendors packed up their wares for the night, and the loud hustle and bustle hushed into idle whispers.  

The loud clacking of your boots against the pavement came to an abrupt stop as you eagerly greeted the man standing behind the counter of the tools shop. A warm smile graced your lips. 

You couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief that this young man was the one manning the shop at this hour. The gods seemed to be on your side of the sails as of late. 

“Mory!” 

You tipped your hat in greeting and leaned your elbow against the wooden countertop. Your other hand came to rest in a fist on your jutted out hip. One of your legs crossed over the other as you let the counter support half of your weight. The golden chains on your hat jingled with your movements, as did the golden feather hanging from your belt. 

“Business boomin’ today, I presume? Sure looks like it did.” You motioned to the small amount of tools missing from their display, and the diminishing crowd behind you. 

The harbor was closing for the day. You were awfully lucky you arrived when you did. 

The young man before you scoffed. “Not much, ‘m afraid, Cap’n.” 

Mory Maye was a young man of only eighteen years old, with tousled dark brown curls on his head and striking hazel eyes that bore directly into your soul. His skin was perfectly kissed by the sun, a testament to the years of working harsh summers in the openness of his father’s forgery, as well as a depiction of his mother’s Sumerian genetics. 

It was the very same forgery you worked in before your father taught you the ways of the sword. 

His father, a kindhearted and deeply compassionate man who was undeniably loyal to those he considered his family and friends, was Tyler Maye; or, “Ol Ty” in the streets of the harbor. Due to the man’s ailing health, he assigned young Mory to take over the forgery for him in a few months’ time, when he would be leaving the comfort of his home to go stay in a hospital where his health would be monitored constantly. 

His declining health and your time out at sea hindered your chances of visiting him. The man treated you like his own daughter, yet you would not be able to see him from here on out. Your status as a criminal blocked out any chances you had at possibly paying him a visit while he was in the hospital. Although it saddened you, there was absolutely nothing you could do about it. 

As for Mory, he occasionally worked at the forgery with his two brothers, Lear and Nicolas. When he was not working under the blazing sun at the forgery, he was manning this tools shop and selling wares to the same few customers who stopped by— one of them being you. It was practice for when he would take over both businesses. 

His work at the forgery was evident in the calluses on his hands and his bulging muscles. Anyone could spot that he was a hard working boy that spent long hours refining weapons since he was ten years old. Many were more than impressed with his handiwork and physique— namely, the girls in the city that walked in circles around the shop just to watch him hack away at iron with a hammer you once used during your time working there. 

One of those girls was the daughter of a nobleman that stopped by everyday to start idle chatter with him. It was obvious to anyone with eyes that she was deeply infatuated with him and was desperately trying to get his attention. She was akin to a lovesick puppy. However, she was incredibly soft spoken, and it did not help that Mory failed to realize her shy flirting time and time again. He was a little dense when it came to love. 

“How long will you be ‘ere, Cap?” He questioned, watching as you placed a small bag of coins onto the countertop. 

A sigh escaped your lips. “Not long, I’m afraid. Plannin’ to leave Remuria and head off towards the Eastern Seas pretty soon.” 

A sound akin to a disgusted grunt left his mouth. His tone dropped down to a serious one as he made eye contact with you. “Better watch those seas, Cap. They ain’t kind… ‘specially since they’re close to that ‘Dark Sea’ the sailors keep talkin’ ‘bout.” 

He wrapped a small set of tools in a bag made of cloth and took the gold coins you gave to him. He stopped short as he finished counting, “You gave me twice as much the price, Cap.” He sent you a confused glance. 

A hand reached forward to ruffle his hair, messing his curls up further. A smile graced your lips. “Buy yourself that nice broadsword you been eyein’ from Idostin. Consider it recompense to Ol Ty for all that he’s done for me all these years.” 

A small pink tint appeared on his cheeks, hardly visible due to his finely tanned skin. A bright smile broke out onto his face, revealing his pearly white teeth. He nodded curtly. From his relaxed shoulders and his giddy expression, you could tell he was more than thankful. “Thanks, Cap. I reckon I will.” 

You nodded and sent him a pointed look. “And talk to that girl, while yer at it.” You took the bag of tools and tied it to your belt. “Ol Ty’s gonna start pesterin’ you ‘bout a partner soon. Hop to it before the naggin’ begins.” 

Knowing that old geezer, he was more than likely already bothering Mory about the matter of marriage and finding a partner. Your own father used to do the same when you were Mory’s age. 

The young man rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. A frown made its way to his face. “I know Pop’s wantin’ to see me married before he goes, but I don’t wanna force myself. Plus, I got my whole life to find the right person. I…” he sighed, “I think I already have.”

The look he sent you said it all. For many years, you have known of his obvious crush on you. The time spent together in the forgery and in your father’s backyard refining your swordsmanship spoke of years of longing glances tossed your way and standing way too close for comfort. His jokes and laughter that permeated the air as you slacked off instead of working, his invites to the beach, and the gifts that he brought you— they all told of his feelings for you.

But you were too old for him, and he needed to know that. 

Turning the boy down was never easy, but you felt as if you had to shout it in his face now for him to actually get it through his thick skull. The way his face fell, filled with heartbreak and despair, was also never easy. But it had to be done. 

He shut his eyes tight, a heavy sigh leaving his lips. His brows furrowed together in hurt. As his hazel eyes opened to glance up at you with the look of a kicked puppy in them, you felt the guilt well up inside you. 

“I know, Cap.” The hurt in his cracked voice did not help with the guilt you were already feeling. “I’ll talk to Lady Madeline the next time she stops by Pop’s forgery.” 

Through your guilt, you mustered up a small smile and clapped him on the shoulder. For a young man with experience working in a forgery and muscles bigger than most boys his age, he winced at the impact of the smack. You didn’t hit him that hard, did you? 

“Glad to hear it. I’ll see ya when the sea brings us back to Remuria.” You bid him farewell, the guilt from before leaving your veins as you began to leave the shop. 

He returned your warm smile and waved high into the air. “May the North Wind bless your sails, Cap!” 

The ship rocked carefully along the incoming tides on the edges of the shore. The sun had completely fallen over the horizon, long replaced by a blindingly white moon high in the dark sea of stars. 

It was a quiet night. The sounds of water dripping from the ceiling of the cave and the soft chatter of sailors on the ship were a welcome melody. In the distance, a bird chirped as it flew through the cloudless sky. 

Taking a seat on the edge of the ship and dangling her feet over the side, she listened to the soft gossip of the sailors working on the ship behind her. Before the captain returned, lots of work had to be done. The ship had to be thoroughly cleaned, everyone’s clothes were to be washed, a new import of fresh food and water had to be picked up from the harbor, and the small boy on board had to be fed and babysat. 

She recounted the day’s events. 

Before the captain left for the harbor, she helped in thoroughly cleaning the ship and fixing the cannons. The captain also helped out with retrieving the fresh goods from a friend of hers nearby. After all of that work was finished, she gave a few final orders to her crew, and disembarked on a small trip to the harbor to buy new tools to fix one of the cannons. 

Leni let out a content sigh as she closed her eyes. It was the perfect night for a stroll. She had taken one earlier during sunset. It was a quick stroll, as she had to return to the ship and carry out the captain’s orders in her stead. Though it was only a few minutes, she was thankful for the respite from the constant rocking of the ship. 

Although she had gotten used to being on a ship, there were times when she missed being on land and on stable ground. Months out on the sea were quite tiring. A small break from it to take in the Remurian Summer breeze was very much needed— not just for her and the captain, but for the rest of the crew as well. 

In the distance, she spotted a familiar figure making their way towards the cave. She squinted, trying her best to make out the figure in the darkness. Upon seeing their hand wave high into the air to greet her, a bright smile erupted onto her face. She jumped up from her spot. 

The sand was damp in the cave, causing your boots to sink as you walked. Due to the criminal record The Night Howler’s crew possessed, you had to dock the ship a safe distance away from Capitolium, Remuria’s capitol. That was why the ship had to be hidden in a grotto behind a waterfall. It was a safety precaution. 

You walked up the sturdy wooden ramp leading onto the ship and greeted your crew with a tip of your hat. You placed your hands on your hips as 

you began barking orders around the ship. 

“All hands! We take to the seas in ten minutes!” 

Letting out a sigh, you untied the bag of tools from your belt. Vincent, your main handyman on board, walked up to you. You placed the bag of tools into his large, callused hand. 

He was a rather large man, with scars all over his biceps and a full beard that made him look older than he was. He was taller than most of the crew and acted as everyone’s big brother. Any heavy duty work was passed to him to handle. Out of the entire crew, he was one of the most reliable. 

He took the bag and let out a heavy sigh. “‘M rather sorry ‘bout the tools again, Cap’n.” 

He had a thick South Remurian accent that most of the sailors in the royal navy possessed. A majority of the South Remurian population had this accent, as did you and your late father. However, your accent was not as thick as Vincent’s. 

A reassuring smile made its way to your lips. “No worries, Vin. Those ones were old anyway. We needed a new set.” 

Some of your crew was idly standing by, chatting amongst each other as they prepared the ship. The loud clapping of your hands drew them out of their stupor, making them flinch. You sent them a pointed look as they turned to you. 

“We leave in less than ten minutes! Do you lot not know the meaning of ‘get to work’? Or do I have to show you?”

They vigorously shook their heads and picked up their pace, preparing the ship faster than before. 

“No, Captain!” 

Your brows narrowed. “Then get to it!” 

The sound of your yell prompted them to move faster. They scrambled along the deck to do as they were told. You turned back to Vincent with a sigh and an expectant look that told him to get moving. He did not need to be told twice. He cleared his throat and excused himself before shuffling his way down below the deck to fix that stubborn cannon. 

A smooth voice permeated the air as your first mate sauntered up to you with her hands on her hips. “Look who’s back from the port!” She let out a giggle, “You sure know how to make an entrance, Captain!” 

Leni, your first mate, had luscious black curls that were currently tied up into a high ponytail with a bandana. A few stray strands of hair fell to frame her round face. Her copper skin shone like bronze under the light of the lanterns littered around the ship. Her viridescent eyes were a welcome sight after the hours you spent in the harbor. 

The sleeves of her tattered white blouse were rolled up to her elbows, exposing a few of the cultural tattoos dancing along her forearms. Two of the top buttons of her blouse were undone, and a beaded necklace lay flat against the curvature of her collarbone. A few golden bangles adorned her left wrist. 

As she stopped in front of you, your shoulders immediately relaxed at her presence. You let out a huge sigh of relief and brought her in for a tight hug. The smell of saltwater and Sumeru roses wafted off of her person. They were a contrasting combination, but it comforted you nonetheless. 

The two of you met during your days of working in Ty’s forgery, when the sun beat down harshly on your damp skin, and the heat from the furnaces made you dizzy. At that time, she was only a visitor to Remuria. She claimed to have been on vacation, but appeared to be by herself with no one to accompany her. With what little money she had, she asked you in her native language to repair her mother’s old polearm. 

You didn’t quite understand what she said at first, but you could tell from her hand gestures alone that she wanted the weapon repaired. 

With careful and precise work, you dutifully restored the weapon. You admired the finished work, complimenting the original craftsmanship of the handle, and the cultural symbols engraved into it. 

Leni, with as much effort as she could muster, thanked you for your work in Remurian. To your surprise, she picked up the language quite quickly by listening in to the conversations happening around her in the city. You offered to teach her the language in its entirety, and she gratefully accepted. 

You learned more about her family when she moved in with you. 

Both of her parents had been born into a tribe in the Sumeru Desert. There, they were dancers who carried dual swords and practiced a sacred art passed down through many generations. At the time of Leni’s thirteenth birthday, her parents had passed away unexpectedly due to reasons that were unknown to you. However, with the way she spoke, you knew it most likely had to do with matters within their tribe. 

In a hurry to escape, Leni fled the desert and sought refuge in Remuria, where she began anew after meeting you and your father. 

Despite whatever she may have faced before you met her, you were more than grateful that she was here, standing tall in front of you with a blinding smile on her face and filled head to toe with enthusiasm. Her smile was always a welcome sight when you harbored any stress or worries. 

Whenever she smiled, her eyes would close and crinkle together, dimples would dent her cheeks, and her small nose would scrunch up. She always showed her teeth as well, where you could spot a small gap in between two of her teeth on the upper left side of her jaw— supposedly from a time when she got a tooth knocked out of her mouth. She had freckles, too; They were just barely visible, but if you focused hard enough, you could see them. 

Vincent returned from below the deck, wiping the sweat from his brow. He walked towards you, his hands covered in grease and the smell of gunpowder wafting off of his person. 

“We’re ready for departure, Cap’n.” He told you. Before you could ask, he answered your unspoken question with a hearty smile. “Tha’ stubborn cannon is fixed, too. No need ta worry ‘bout it anymore.” 

You returned his smile and let out a relieved sigh. “Good. Make way for the Eastern Seas!” 

At your command, the ship began to take off, slowly rocking as it gained speed and disembarked from the cave. As it passed through the waterfall, freezing water poured over your head, drenching you head to toe. You let out a small laugh. 

The cold water felt refreshing on your hot skin after spending your afternoon in the blazing sun. The nighttime air was brisk, though it was not cool enough to fully get rid of the sweat forming on the brows of your crew. 

The ship picked up speed as it left the mainland, easing into a steady pace as the waves passed gently underneath. The ocean was calm tonight. It was a stark contrast to the raging storm you faced upon entering Remuria two months ago. The sails of your ship were blessed with a fairly serene voyage this time, it seemed. 

As the wind blew, ruffling your hair, you noticed a look of contemplation on Leni’s face. She stood shoulder to shoulder with you, her hands on her hips and her chin held high. An aura of confidence radiated off of her. It was one that dared others to challenge her. The crease in her brow made you wonder what was on her mind. There was a subtle movement in her thin lips that looked almost like a tug at her bottom lip. 

She had a habit of biting her bottom lip whenever there was something troubling her. That, and she would begin playing with the gold bangle on her wrist. At that moment, she reached for the bangle on her wrist and began fiddling with it. Immediately, you knew that something was worrying her. Before you could open your mouth to ask what was on her mind, she spoke. 

“Where are we headed now, Cap?” She questioned, gently jabbing you in the side with her elbow. 

“Inazuma.” A smirk appeared on your lips as you watched her verdant eyes go wide in mixed horror and surprise. “The land of the Narukami is a frightening one, but we’ll conquer it like we always do. Plus, I know someone within the merchant’s guild that would be more than willing to take that bounty off our hands.” 

The wooden deck creaked under your boots as you retreated into the captain’s quarters. With a bit of hesitation, Leni followed. She allowed the door to slam shut behind the two of you. The cabin was encased in a brief silence, the only sound being the splashing of the waves outside your closed windows. 

The bounty you mentioned sat on your table in the middle of the room, the pure gold and vibrant emeralds glittering in the light of the moon that filtered in through the glass window to your left. The stolen crown of Queen Catalina weighed heavy on the ship like an anchor. The prized possession was worth more than the entirety of Mondstadt and King Remus’ treasure vault combined. 

Next to you, Leni sent you an uneasy glance. “(Name)... is this really going to sell for a high price? It’s not even from Remuria… it’s from Western Mondstadt’s god king.” 

Unlike you, Leni did not know much about the gods of other lands. She had been born into a tribe that worshipped The Scarlet King and the Goddess of Flowers. They did not have much knowledge on other gods— besides Morax, but that was an entirely different story. 

As you approached the table, you reached for the crown and picked it up, being careful not to touch the emeralds embedded into the gold. This crown was the real deal, with authentic emeralds carved expertly to fit into the base, and a special engraving on the inside that spelled out the queen’s full title: 

The god of memories, Queen Catalina Elizabeth Blair. 

“It’ll sell for higher than the price we require,” you reassured Leni. “Do ya know how famous Mondstadt’s Queen is? She’s the firs’ god to ever roam the icy, Northern plains. The Thousand Winds themselves answer to her. Celestia favors her. That god king has the whole of the world an’ the heavens wrapped around her finger. Her stolen crown will land us a heap of gold— more gold than we’ll know what to do with!” 

An exhausted sigh escaped Leni’s lips as she closed her eyes. She crossed her arms over her chest. “What beats me is why the crown was in King Remus’ treasure vault. Why is it in Remuria if it belongs to a god of Mondstadt?” 

You let out a small scoff and gently placed the crown back onto the table. You shrugged and leaned back against the table. “Who knows? The gods are always at war. It was probably stolen by one of King Remus’ royal fleets after the Daybreak War that lasted a hundred years.” 

The Daybreak War landed itself a spot in the history books in the wake of its aftermath. It was a notorious war spanning over an entire century, involving two relentless god kings: King Remus and Queen Catalina. It was said to have begun at daybreak, and ended a hundred years later at the very same time. 

Historians claimed that almost half of Teyvat’s general population had been wiped out during the war, and that Celestia itself had to personally intervene before the two gods called a ceasefire. 

It all began when King Remus attempted to invade Queen Catalina’s territory and disturb the peace and tranquility of the Northern icy plains of Mondstadt. He took half of her people under his rule, proceeded to treat them poorly, and took away any rights they had to their prior freedom. This act of defiance and unfairness severely angered the Queen of the North. 

Talk that spread in the streets of every nation spoke of how the Queen’s wrath towards King Remus was enough to bring down the heavens, rip open the sky, and shake the very core of the earth. Her undying love towards her people and desire to regain their freedom was incredibly admirable. It was also extremely rare for a god to have that much kindness and compassion in their heart. 

The Queen of the North called for reinforcements from the Thousand Winds, upon which they answered her calls. She emerged from the war as the victor. Her power and her strength was a force to be reckoned with, and the gods that roamed the lands of other nations were well informed not to pick a fight with the Queen of Mondstadt— lest they face retribution from the endless whipping winds. 

Even Decarabian, the god of storms who resided in the opposite direction of the Queen’s territory, knew better than to test her patience. However, in recent years, he slowly began inching towards her land, and soon enough, he would begin to cross the border. 

You awaited any news from the friends you had in Mondstadt regarding any signs of potential war. If another war were to unfold, you would be called back to your mother’s homeland to fight alongside the Queen and her knights. 

The Queen of the North had your utmost trust and loyalty. If she commanded you back, you would go without hesitation. 

The Night Howler, the ship you inherited from your late father, was a fugitive ship in Remuria. It was not only because you had stolen directly from King Remus’ vault, but also because you pledged loyalty to Her Majesty, his sworn enemy. However, you had no intention of returning the crown back to her. 

You did not harbor any guilt, as you were already aware that she did not care for the item in the first place. You were free to do whatever you pleased with it. You could even keep all the money you received from selling it off. 

A worried call from one of your crewmates drew your attention away from the conversation. 

“Captain!” 

You shared an uneasy look with Leni, before she rushed forward to swing open the door to the captain’s quarters. You followed her out onto the deck. The crewmate that previously called out to you handed you a spyglass. You took it without question and adjusted it as you held it up to your eye. 

An involuntary groan of frustration left your lips. On the horizon, encased in a thin layer of fog, was a Remurian ship belonging to the navy. Its sky blue sails billowed in the wind as it sped across the restful waters. The intense glow of the moon passed over the shimmering golden crest of Queen Iris. 

A chill ran down your spine as a breeze passed by. It served as a warning of the upcoming chase that was likely to occur. 

A scowl formed on your face. Of the entire naval fleet of Remuria, the ship that had to be tailing The Night Howler was one of Queen Iris’. It seemed your luck was starting to dwindle. 

Leni sent you an expectant look, to which you placed the spyglass in her hand. After a moment, a small gasp escaped her lips. 

“Queen Iris. Of all people.” 

A scoff left your best friend’s peach colored lips. She tossed you a glance filled with exasperation. “She wants the crown back for her King.” You couldn’t help but agree with her. 

The infamous Queen Iris was the Southernmost ruler of King Remus’ territory, overlooking the Irenian Sea that connected Remuria and the ancient land of Natlan. Among King Remus’ four lords that were given a snippet of his power, Queen Iris was the most feared and wealthy. 

The woman was strong-willed, strategic, and witty. She possessed the largest naval fleet of the four lords. Currently, the estimation stood at ten thousand men and women alike. She required the best of the best. Those who wished to join her ranks could not be seen as mediocre. They had to be perfect— no more and no less.

That said, the expectations and pressure she held over their heads was an inexplicable amount. Any sailor was lucky to not work under the devilish lord of the South. 

And to be on opposing forces of Queen Iris was to be doomed with a fate worse than death itself. Lucky for you, you were smarter than the scrawny, brainless men she sent after you time and time again. You, on countless occasions, out-witted her fleets and sent them running with their tails between their legs. 

Needless to say, you haven’t seen the same men twice. You could only assume they were disposed of after their failed attempts of dragging your ship and your crew back to their beloved Queen. 

Instead of treating this like a life or death situation, you treated this like a game of cat and mouse. 

Queen Iris liked to believe you were the mouse simply because your ship was smaller than her fleets, and your crew was not made up of trained soldiers. Trained soldiers or not, your crew was some of the finest swordsmen you have ever met. They outclassed Iris’ royal fleets anyday. 

If Queen Iris wanted to play another round of this seemingly endless game, who were you to not entertain her? After all, you were used to being on wanted lists. She could try her scare tactics all she wanted, but you were well informed on her battle strategies by now. You had the upper hand. 

Although she was given power by a god, it did not scare you in the slightest. She was not even half of what King Remus claimed to be. Neither he, nor his four lords scared you. The only god that did was the wrathful god that was Queen Catalina’s lover. 

“Full speed ahead, men!” you yelled. “If it’s a game Lady Iris wants, then it’s a game the devil will get!” 

The sound of laughter filled the air as the crew rushed around, preparing the ship accordingly as it lurched forward at the highest speed it could possibly go. You placed your hands on your hips as a smirk made its way onto your face. 

Leni let out a sigh. “You’re enjoying this too much, Captain.” Her verdant eyes were glossed over with a tinge of annoyance for your behavior. You simply nudged her with your elbow. 

“Am I? Come now, my dear Leni. The Queen is gracin’ us with her attention once more! This is more attention than any of those snotty royal navy boys will get from her in their lifetimes!” You wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into your side. 

Another sigh escaped her lips. This one was filled with exhaustion. A smile tugged at her lips. “I have no doubt in your abilities to outsmart her, Cap. Lead us to victory once more.”

wc: 5.7k

notes: chase scene next chapter yippee!! also insert sexy badass female pirate mc who’s canonically a muscular woman who’s skilled in swordsmanship 😍 i love myself a confident, boisterous, strong mc who is extremely flawed and doesn’t realize the error in their ways until they’re forced into a position of conflict and the rose colored lenses are removed and they do the best they can to right the wrongs from the past. also love myself a side character (leni) who is aware of the mc’s wrongs but knows that anything they say will not change the mind of the mc and they’re in a hopeless situation where they’re fiercely loyal to the mc but don’t know how they can possibly stop the mc’s behavior. and then they just… decide it’s useless and stop fighting... totally not foreshadowing what’s going to happen in the future haha… yeah totally not… 😅

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[thewhitewitch-bitch]

In Astris Supra (Chapter I: Viam Quaeris ad Omnia Foeda et Pulchra)

Agatha Harkness x F!OC (Aislin Stuart)

Read it on AO3

Summary: "No new horror can be more terrible than the daily torture of the commonplace." - H.P. Lovecraft Agatha Harkness is certainly not commonplace. Nor is the witch who came to Salem one cold night in the autumn of 1691. And when the two of them collide, the world will certainly never be the same. But will it be for better or for worse?

Salem, Massachusetts 1691

The stars were different in Salem. They weren't as dim as they were over Shrewsbury, though they still seemed restrained, like they couldn't shine as bright as they wanted to when the children of the Divine Mother were so restrained themselves. And the air, it hung heavy like a woolen cloak upon my shoulders as I stepped off that wretched ship and onto the fog-laden dock. There was no greeting from local folk, no word of welcome as I and a handful of others passed the harbor master and carried on to the small cluster of homes and shops. Smoke wafted from chimneys and the scent of roasting meat caught my nose as I followed the trodden path through the town. Children were nowhere in sight, contained within the confines of their homes, and with good reason, I could wager that anyone caught wandering after dark met a rather sticky end. 

No one dared meet my eye as I walked through the town, though that could have easily been attributed to the attire that I wore which had passed me off well enough as a man to sail to the New World without hinderance. I'd be a fool to say that I didn't prefer breeches to corsets, though if any onlookers got too close of a glimpse they would have tried to see me hanged by first light. 

"Return to your homes! Seek not the devil within the cover of night!" A voice called over the ringing of a crier's bell from somewhere within the rows of houses. One by one, men and women vanished as the night grew darker and the moon in its waning cast its silvery light down upon the path before me. I planted my feet, feeling the light of the moon bathe my skin as I felt raw, natural power wash over me. 

"Divine Mother, give me strength." I whispered, feeling as though pure starlight coursed through my veins. A gentle breeze kissed my cheeks as my eyes fluttered shut. The quiet that settled in Salem after the doors were all closed, and the windows were shuttered was welcome after the sloshing of the sea and roaring of the breakers for the last three months. It was grounding, solidifying, peaceful. Until it wasn't. The breeze grew into a gust then into a small gale, before it finally ceased. A knowing smirk twitched at the corner of my mouth as I opened my eyes to see that I was completely surrounded by women dressed entirely in black. 

"Bold of you to venture into a town such as Salem... sisters." I greeted, "From what I hear you're all on the verge of being burned at the stake." 

"Mind your tongue, girl." a veiled woman snapped, "You stand in the presence of the most powerful coven in the New World." 

I bit back a laugh, "Good. That means I ended up in the right place." 

"Just who do you think you are, whelp?" 

"A covenless witch of the stars," I replied with a shrug, "seeking solitude and safety." 

The veiled woman scoffed at me, "Ha! You will find neither here. Leave this land and do not return."

"Or what?" I dared to ask, sauntering up to her with a darkened expression, "You'll kill me? Because I would love to see you try."

The witch drew back her veil and revealed an older, graying woman with a pointed, stalwart face. I met her eye with a fierce gaze, my natural power flowing off me in silver wisps. To my surprise, this woman, this leader of the Salem coven, seemed to shrink beneath my glare. A flicker of fear flashed in cold, unkind eyes. I stepped away and turned to address the rest of the coven. 

"I came here to seek solitude, and I will have it. So, let's make a deal. I'll retreat into the expanse of the wood and remain there without issue. I shall not venture to Salem again, so long as you leave me in peace. And in exchange, you can go about your business as you always have, unhindered by any intervention of mine." I scanned every witch's face for any sense of doubt, any inkling of waver and found none until my hazel gaze settled upon the deep blue eyes of a girl no older than myself. She was stood beside the old crone, but her eyes were not filled with fear or indignation like the others. Instead, they gleamed with fascination and intrigue, shining bright in the darkness against her pristine pale skin, like sapphires freshly polished. I lingered on her for a moment too long, finding that my cold exterior began to crack beneath her gaze and I was willing to allow it. 

"Do we have a deal?" I asked with a far too gentle tone, my eyes still locked on her. Beside her, the crone set her veil back upon her face and nodded. 

"The terms of your agreement are acceptable. Go now and do not cross our path again." 

I allowed myself a final second to look upon the girl beside this wicked witch before tearing my eyes away to fix them on the path that would carry me into the forest beyond. My feet led themselves away from the coven, pushing through their ranks and past the array of homes and hovels. As I walked on, the chill of the night finally began to sink in past the thin white wool shirt I wore and against my will, I shivered. That shudder was accompanied by the sound of footsteps behind me, fast approaching. I paused and glanced over my shoulder to see the girl that had caught my eye chasing after me, her dark hair following behind her in long, illustrious waves. 

"Wait!" she called to me, holding up a bundle of cloth in her hands. I was almost inclined to keep walking, but my feet remained glued to the ground as she stopped mere inches from me and caught her breath. 

"You should not be here." I told her, daring to glance back at the town in the distance, "Your coven mother is not too keen on having me here. Nor am I one to be caught associating with witches who are supposed to keep their distance from me."

"My mother is a cruel and unkind woman," she answered rather harshly, "And I've never been one to follow her rules to the letter." 

I scoffed, "Well, then you and I are rather alike, it would seem." 

I turned fully to face her and found myself captivated once more, not wanting to move an inch. There was something about this girl that was... enthralling to say the least. It was as though I were coming face to face with pure, untapped power and I had no way to contain or control it, though I had the feeling that I did not want to do either. 

"What do they call you, stranger?" she asked me, tilting her head to the side ever so slightly, a delightful smile spreading across her face. 

"Aislin Stuart." I replied with a smile of my own and little bow which loosened a few strands of my brown hair from the tie at the back of my neck, "Daughter of Dorcas Topsfield, the Scourge of Shrewsbury."

Her smile grew wider and wilder. I took a slow step forward, getting within a heartbeat from her, whispering into her ear, "And what do they call you, pet?" 

Her breath hitched, sending a pleasant shiver down my spine. A chuckle rose from deep in my chest as I pulled away. Her mouth hung slightly agape as I took a step back to get a good look at her again. It took a minute for her to recollect her thoughts and reply. 

"A-Agatha. Agatha Harkness." 

"Hmm," I hummed with a softened expression, "Well, Agatha, I suppose I won't see you again. Ta." 

I started to move away, but she stretched out her hand and caught my arm with surprising deftness. 

"Wait, I, uh, wanted to give you this." she offered up the bundle of black, heavy cloth in her arms, which upon quick inspection was a warm, winter cloak, "Winter is nigh upon us, and it would seem you don't possess the proper clothing for the cold months ahead."

I took hold of the rough wool, my hand brushing against hers as I did, sending a spark up my arm and into my chest. The air became heavy again, though not due to the fear of the Salemites behind me. This was a comfortable heavy, one that shielded me from the cold for only a split second before the chill of the autumn air came rushing back. 

"Thank you." I said softly. Taking the cloak into my arms, I tossed over my shoulders and immediately felt the cut of the wind come to an end. "I suppose I should be off."

"Can I see you again?" Agatha asked me quickly. Looking back into her brilliant blue eyes, I felt a flutter in my chest. I had come here to escape other witches, only to end up being entranced by one as soon as I arrived. I took hold of a ring on my right hand, crafted from fine silver bearing a gleaming white pearl.

Holding it up to my lips, I whispered, "Invenias quod petis apud me in manu tua."

Stepping back toward her, I pressed the ring into her palm and closed her fingers around it, "When you wish to find me, simply put on the ring and it will show you your path. When you wear it, all roads shall lead to me."

I released her hand and stepped away, vanishing from sight before she lifted her eyes from the ring back to the road.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

She sought me out three days later. It had given me enough time to venture far enough into the wood that I would remain untouched by any who dared to seek me out, while also granting me the opportunity to make use of a summoning spell to establish a sturdy enough shelter until I was able to conjure something permanent. A heavy frost coated the leaf litter on the floor that morning, casting an ethereal shimmer across the wood as I sat upon a rotting oak stump and took in my surroundings.

The protection circle had continued to do its job, I had remained undisturbed during the night. The small fire that I had built was steadily growing as I continued to feed it, heating up the kettle I had hung on an iron hook. Freshly snared rabbit was roasting on a small wire spit, the scent of its roasting flesh making my mouth water as I readied a cup for morning tea. The forest was quiet, save for the rustling of leaves when a squirrel skittered past, or a deer came by to investigate. Glancing up at the sky, I could see that it was going to a clear day, a good day. It had been a long time since I had had one of those. 

The kettle began to whistle, I grasped hold of the rag-wrapped handle and filled my cup. The calming scent of black tea, calendula, and cornflower wafted up to my nose, the heat radiating from the cup warming my hands as I raised it to my lips and took a careful sip. 

"I hope you have enough to share." 

My head whipped around to see Agatha Harkness standing at the edge of my circle, a gentle, innocent smile on her face as she stood with a deep violet shawl wrapped around her shoulders. She was entrancing in the dark of night, but in the light of day, she was as radiant as the sun. Her dark brown hair shone brightly in the pale autumn light, her porcelain skin pristinely white. The shawl meant to stave off the morning chill covered most of her, though I could see the intricate black lacework of her gown's bodice peeking through it. 

"Transite in sacrarium meum, et estote suscipite." I said, gesturing to the space next to me on the stump, "I have plenty to share. Come, sit." 

With a snap of my fingers, a second cup floated up from its place amongst the personal effects I had summoned over to where the kettle was. Without lifting a finger, the kettle filled the cup and returned to its place. Agatha cautiously stepped past the ring of white stones and found no resistance upon passing fully through. Taking the cup from its place in midair she lowered herself next to me and took a sip, letting the warm liquid bring some life back into her chilled bones.

"You know I wasn't completely convinced that your little spell would work but," she glanced down at the ring nestled perfectly upon her right middle finger, "as soon as I put it on, I felt a pull in my chest, and it led me here."

"Well, I certainly wasn't going to lie to you. I only lie to those who deserve to be lied to." I replied simply, "I haven't known you very long, but I see no reason why you shouldn't be told the truth."

"Ah, then you and my mother would be quite at odds. She refuses to teach me." 

I arched a curious brow, "What witch would refuse to teach her child the craft?" 

Agatha's grip on her teacup became tense, her eyes remained downcast. She was withholding something, though what it was I couldn't be sure. I watched her sit in abject silence for a while, until she finally worked up the courage to speak again.

"My magic is dark. It aligns with evil, and because of this my mother will not teach me."

I had heard an eerily similar story many years ago. My own mother's tale of how she came to acquire her power was one of turmoil, anguish, and death. Over the centuries, she had become known to lure witches into her thrall, tell them she was establishing a coven, then like a leech to an ill man's neck drew every drop of magic from them and absorbed it for herself. The corpses piled high outside the cottage where I was born. I'm sure if I were to return to that place tucked within the forests outside Shrewsbury, they would have grown higher still. 

"My mother refused to teach me as well." I confessed, " She is a proponent of the dark arts, using power to gain more power. But my magic is rare, volatile, more in tune with the eldritch magic of sorcerers. It's as ever changing as the phases of the moon and it takes a great deal of self-discipline to master, something my mother disregards entirely. I had to spend some time studying with the Ancient One in Kamar-Taj to truly understand it myself. But... in time you could learn to master yourself as well." 

"You would teach me?" Agatha's tone suddenly became hopeful, excited even as her eyes met mine. I nearly choked on the sip of tea I had just taken, coughing up my drink onto the frost-laden ground at my feet. My gaze fixed on my shoes, drifted back up once I had regained my ability to breathe again. 

"I... apologize." I said with a hoarse tone. "But I'm not much of a teacher, Agatha Harkness." 

"Well, I'm not much of a student, Aislin Stuart," she answered smartly, a smirk dressed upon her face, "but I'd be willing to walk this unknown path if you walk it with me." 

A tightness formed in my chest. My heart pounded against my ribcage. I couldn't turn away from her, and she knew it.

"Very well then. Down the road we'll go. Our own secret coven of two." 

Part of me wished that I had leaned toward divination in that time, perhaps then I would have seen what was to come. The passion, the anger, the heartache that would certainly arise from it all... but knowing it wouldn't have made a difference. There was truly no way to predict what Agatha Harkness would do.

I only wish I had known it sooner. 

[esther-dot]

Braavos is For Lovers 3k

Tired of fighting, Jon and Sansa run away to Braavos to get warm. They take new names, find work as common folk, and struggle with a forbidden attraction to each other.

Jeyne and Bael 7k by @wendynerdwrites

Jon and Sansa escape to Essos after Jon finds her again in the Vale. They adopt to their fake married aliases so well, they forget they are not actually married.

Bittersweet Symphony 1k by @captainbee89

For the prompt I got: Could you write a Jonsa fic in which Jon and Sansa lose the war and they'll change their names and live somewhere (let's say at the seaside) in bittersweet happiness

Alive 2k

“Where will we go?” “Somewhere warm. Far from here.”

We Should Run Away 2k

“We were children,” he tells her when she asks for his forgiveness, a long since given thing. But they are not children any longer and he does not know what to do with this sister in a woman’s body. or Jon and Sansa run away to Lys, and they don't look back.

Setting Sail ficlet by @azulaahai

At twilight, on the brink of night, a ship sets sail from White Harbor. Based on a prompt by @thimbleful: "After the resurrection, they decide to be selfish and go somewhere warm after all."

Tomorrows ficlet by @misshoneywheeler

It’s raining today, a softer rain than the sort that fell in Winterfell or the Vale or even King’s Landing. Most things in Essos seem softer so far: the winds, the ground, the people. And Jon.

Voyage to a New Life ficlet by @alczysz17

The shift between them was gradual. It was so easy to forget who they truly were here. Easy to forget their old lives and even their past relation to each other. Easy for the lines to blur when playing husband and wife.

take me apart and I'll flow like water 2k

“We can leave here and not look back,” he says, as he steps nearer to her, unsure of how close to get to this sister of his, this sister who had only ever offered him cold, blue Tully eyes and a frost-lined frown that had mirrored her lady mother’s. “We can start over,” he adds softly, and he knows he has her then, can tell by the broken, tear-laced sigh she delivers, her breath visible even in the warmth of Jon’s solar. OR the one where Jon and Sansa escape to Braavos before the BotB.

PRE CANON - WESTERN - FAIRYTALE - REGENCY - LITTLE WOMEN - HOLIDAY - SEASON 6 - ANNE OF GREEN GABLES - THE GIRL IN GREY - FAIRYTALE PART II - POLITICAL MARRIAGE - SALTY TEENS - POST CANON

[dianasson]

Witches on the Wind: Weather Magic in New England Folktales

Zephyros Craven, 2023

".... The young shipmaster known as Skipper Perkins is about to set sail from Kittery with his fishing crew. Old Betty Booker, a known witch from the town, asks him to bring her back some halibut. He laughs at her and chastises her for begging, so she promises to take her revenge. Sure enough, old Betty Booker scratches her way into his house one stormy night, strips him naked and bridles him, then rides him ragged through the wind and rain down to York Harbor and back before sunrise. In the end, Skipper Perkins “more dead than alive” has learned to be kinder to his neighbors. But before old Betty Booker bridled the shipmaster, she had performed a feat of weather magic: she had summoned a storm, which had battered his ship, ripped his sails, driven away the fish, and made his men sick. Her use of weather magic endangered the safety and livelihoods of these sailors. As striking as this story is, what surprised me most was not its peculiarity but rather how commonplace it is among the region’s tales. The coast of New England is teaming with folk stories of witches summoning storms or holding the wind hostage, of wicked men buying wind from the sea, and of Finnish wizards selling their skills for shaping the waves and weather. The motifs encapsulated in these tales and their presence in English, Scottish, and Irish stories tell us about their history. Europeans brought these stories with them when they made new homes here, but New England was not the only region inhabited by people from those countries. What factors made weather magic stories so prominent in New England? ...."

Comment or DM for a link to the full essay!

[ahamkara-apologist]

The only thing I want to know is #1 for Aeris.

Mildly concerned by the intensity of the bolding that you've got going here friend

1.) Do they sleep with a stuffed animal? If they have multiple, who’s the favorite?

-As of right now? None :( Aeris being a guardian means that he's got basically no personal belongings that are actually his, outside of what he's received for work. His bedroom is extremely spartan and rarely occupied; it's mostly just used to stash the various miscellaneous stuff he collects when he's out on call, like extra spinmetal sheets, festival of the lost masks, random crap Archie brings him, the like. Marcelline (his half-sister) tries to get him gifts sometimes, but since he doesn't really have any hobbies outside of getting bitten by venomous snakes (for research purposes) and is shy about receiving gifts, its just a lot of touristy knickknacks and shit. No stuffed animals :(( he just hugs the blankets in a ball in the rare event that he does sleep in a bed

When he was a kid in the Dark Ages, though, he did have one: a chocolate-brown stuffed hare made from a repurposed mink stole, given to him by a passing delegate who took pity on ambassador Yusif's* strange, quiet bastard son when they were visiting. It was just one of his kid's extra toys tied up with a ribbon to match Aeris's eyes, but he loved that thing to bits. He used to carry it everywhere, chew on its ears to stim, and be unable to sleep unless he was curled up around it. It was creatively named Mr. Rabbit- not by him, but by Marcelline, who had a whole fleet of stuffies herself

Yusif got rid of it when he hit his teen years, because he was embarrassed of Aeris's attachment to it and wanted his son to become a 'real man'. Aeris resented him deeply for it, and it just served to make him withdraw even more into himself, which didn't exactly help his case of growing from a strange, quiet little boy to a creepy, unsettling young man that most people stayed away from (unless he was bringing them food he'd poached from the forests). It was a raggedy mess by that point, but it was one of the only things that he'd had that had been really his

*Aeris's father, Yusif, used to work as a delegate of sorts between warlords and the common folk in the Austrian Alps. He was a very slick-tongued, political sort who had a knack for fawning over powerful Lightbearers well enough to get in their favor, but he had a remarkably short temper and a rather outdated view of gender roles, even post-collapse. Aeris was his eldest son, but he came about after a drunken one-night stand with an Awoken soldier who'd been scouting Earth on Mara's orders (scouting mission- I'm not well versed on Dark Age lore but there's no way that Mara wasn't keeping an eye on Earth one way or another), and his subsequent dumping at his doorstep once he'd been weaned severely fucked up Yusif's brand new marriage. He harbored a resentment for the boy after the fact, which only grew worse when it turned out that Aeris inherited all of his mother's awkward eerieness and none of Yusif's charms, and then grew to outright hatred when Aeris's rudimentary medical training failed to save the set of twins he had with his actual wife when Aeris and Marcie were young adults. Aeris left for the Cosmodrome soon after that with Marcie in tow, seeking a ship to fly them both to what was soon to become the Last City, but they died in a blizzard before they could reach it, trying to shelter in the rusted-out car that Ghost found us in a few centuries later.

OC ask game

[blazingstaro]

DotS: Knights of the Stars file #04 — Sir Meta Knight

Name: Sir Meta Knight of the Stars Age: 514 yrs (Young Adult Dream Puff) Rank: 4th Star Knight Captain

Seemingly aloof with cryptic tendencies, Sir Meta Knight is among the more mysterious members of the Star Warriors' knight faction.

He earned his title "The Lone Swordsman" over 300 years ago after the loss of his original squadron of Star Warriors, due to an ambush by both regular Demon Beasts, and led by a ferocious True Nightmare. This was among the first emergences of True Nightmares, and so his team stood no match against the terrors they faced.

Following the demise of his best friend gone Demon Beast, Jecra, he swore to a path of solitude. Many say it was due to shame, or guilt, but in truth it was out of fear for others. Knowing he would inevitably face great horrors, he chose to seek great strength so that he may take on these trials alone, so that no others would suffer the losses he had.

Even in today's age, Sir Meta Knight tends to keep his intentions close to his chest; however those who know him well enough can rest assured knowing that said intentions are with the benefit of others in mind. Though this tendency of his leaves others in the dark, as they usually don't know his plans until he's in the process of executing said plans. This leads to frequent misconceptions and miscommunications surrounding his motives.

Despite being the leader of an entire personal army and battleship, he falls into his loner habits often and leaves his men to piece together his schemes. Senior staff are accustomed to it, though it does frustrate many of his crew members, new or old.

He does patrols around Popstar regularly, be it with his crew, a handful of men, or most commonly solo. As a result, however, he has established a decent relationship with many towns, villages, and a handful of cities along the peaceful star.

Unbeknownst to the public, Sir Meta Knight has a playful side. Although it's frequently seen that he adores donning various costumes for certain occasions (such as cosplay events or festivals), there's more than meets the eye with this blueberry lad!

Since he was a young boy, he's harbored a strong fascination for monsters and collecting information in general. As a result of this, he's comprised an extensive database featuring every monster, Demon Beast, True Nightmare, Boss Class Beasts, and mythical creature discovered in the Galaxy. Most he personally has encountered, and gathered valuable intel from other warriors as well.

He compiled it all into a handy mobile application which he has lovingly titled "MonsterDex". This app is used Galaxy-wide by Star Warriors and fellow Knights. With intention, it's saved many lives by arming newer warriors with expert knowledge on dangerous, or surprisingly docile, encounters.

Meta's a bit of a nerd when it comes to his fun facts, and likes to share his knowledge with others in hopes of finding a fellow enthusiast. It tends to backfire, as his pointers are frequently lost on common folk.

As implied, he's also incredibly savvy with technology, and is something of a coding wonder. He rivals but one tech genius from his childhood, though she was always a few steps ahead of him.

Underneath that stoic, enigmatic knight persona hides a rather sweet young man with a huge heart. His love and passion for others fuels his core, and is his primary motivation behind all he does— be it well executed or poorly shown.

Sir Meta Knight's motivations lie in his selfless desire to protect others, especially those he cares about most to a point of detriment to himself at times. Several sleepless nights spent fixing a prosthetic limb for a friend; using his body to absorb a frightening blast to shield a young Waddle Dee; going by his lonesome to rescue his ship's kidnapped captain whilst the Halberd lie crashed behind him. He will do anything and everything necessary to do what's right, even if it's on the extreme side at times.

On one final note, he loves jokes! He's grown real clever with it, and enjoys sliding a quick pun in conversations when people least expect it. Surprising people is one of his favorite hobbies, hence why he enjoys sneaking up on people, only for them to later discover his presence when he makes himself known, or they happen to look at his direction.

He has a strong playful attitude hidden behind many of his more laid-back endeavors, and his younger, more cocky and witty side may show itself in certain situations. He's strongly situational, so how he interacts with something or someone highly depends on context.

For many years, he was consumed with searching for the truth behind Eave's disappearance; however, the trail went cold centuries ago. It wasn't until recently that a great discovery landed almost quite literally into his hands, and set the trail ablaze once more... thusly re-sparking his obsession. Perhaps now he'll come ever closer to solving the mystery, and finally achieving the closure he's long sought.

[happyminyards]

i'd be interested in the titanic fact-check post if you'd still like to write it 👀

Oh tumblr user @burr-ell, i am giving you a friendly little kiss on the forehead for asking this. I would love nothing more. 

Let's give the rundown of some common Titanic "facts" that people love to parade around especially nowadays and why they're either fully wrong, misinterpretations or actually close to the truth! With sources, because I'm nice like that. 

This will be long, but I feel like it needs to be to actually give y'all the proper information and context, and frankly I think I'm writing this mostly for myself. 

I'll divide it up into two parts, so here's "not enough lifeboats", "untrained crew", "no lifeboat drills" and "speeding & ignoring ice warnings".

Part two featuring "half empty lifeboats", "locking folks below deck", “missing binoculars", and "fire sank the Titanic, actually" is here!

"They didn't have enough lifeboats because they thought the ship was unsinkable"

Almost ship back then had enough lifeboats for all its passengers. Lifeboats were considered a very, very last ditch attempt at safety and more often than not resulted in the deaths of the people in them due to capsizing in bad weather, accidents while being lowered, drifting off etc etc. (SS Clallam, SS Valencia, SS Atlantic). 

If they had to be used, the idea was to use them as ferries to other boats. Ocean liners started getting more watertight compartments, bulkheads and double bottoms, meaning they were able to survive collisions and stay floating for longer. Since the Atlantic shipping lanes were VERY busy back then and most accidents happened near the harbor someone was expected to be in reasonable distance at all times when such an accident occurred. 

Besides that, ships had just gotten new, sparkly wireless machines, the Marconi transmitters. While their operators were technically not employed by the ship and their tasks consisted of sending letters from passengers, it was expected that they'd facilitate communication in accidents. And that system worked, for a while! 

Best example is the sinking of another White Star Line ship, the RMS Republic in 1909. She got rammed, sunk, every ship nearby ran up to help her, all her passengers got transferred over, how nice, our procedures worked!

So while it's true that regulations for the amount of lifeboats hadn't kept up with the steeply increasing size of the new ocean liners (Titanic was actually carrying more than her size demanded), the authorities expected that these new technological advancements were sufficient. 

Titanic showed them that this was not correct, so they were adjusted mainly through the SOLAS treaty (which actually resulted in tragedy itself, when ships not designed to fit so many lifeboats suffered from accidents due to the refitting, like the SS Eastland, who rolled over in dock, killing 844 people)

As for the ship being unsinkable, some surviving advertisements described Titanic and her sister Olympic as "And as far as it is possible to do so, these two wonderful vessels are designed to be unsinkable". Which was fairly common at the time (Captain Rostron actually does it in the inquiry after the sinking) due to the aforementioned new, fancy safety features. Hubris? Yes, but not a stand out characteristic of the Titanic.

"The Titanic Crew was untrained & overwhelmed"

Captain Smith had been at sea for 49 years, a commander for White Star for 25 years and the captain of their maiden voyages for ten years, including the then biggest ships in the world Baltic and Olympic. He was regarded as a "safe captain" by both the line and passengers, some who only booked with him. His most notable incident was probably when Olympic collided with the HSM Hawke, but he wasn't even in command of the ship at the time. They were under compulsory pilotage, i.e. a harbor pilot was giving the orders.

All her officers were also very experienced. From Chief to Sixth:

Wilde, on sea since his teens, with White Star for 15, including Majestic and Olympic

Murdoch, on the sea since he was 18, 12 years at White Star line, including Olympic, Celtic and Adriatic

Lightroller, with White Star for 13 years, including Oceanic and Majestic

Pitman, on the sea for 16 years, White Star for 5/12

Boxhall, on the sea for 13 years, with White Star for about 4 1/2 years 

Lowe, on the sea for 14 years, with White Star for 15 months

Moody, on the sea for about 9-10 years (including his Navy education), with White Star for about half a year on the Oceanic

So really the only one you could clock for being inexperienced was Moody, who was the sixth officer. And he was well educated and perfectly qualified for that position. Wilde was actually pulled in sort of last minute just after Titanic's sea trials, bumping down Murdoch & Lightroller one position and causing Officer David Blair to leave the ship entirely, presumably so that the well-oiled team of officers from the Olympic could set Titanic up for a good start. 

(This also caused the supposed missing binoculars, more on that below).

This was White Star's newest, biggest ship. White Star's whole sales pitch was luxury and comfort, they're the line running the "Millionaire's ship". They're not gonna risk anything, even if it's just their rich passengers having to deal with inexperienced officers. They were gonna put their best on it.

There were no lifeboat drills

Titanic needed drills to get her certifications and completed them in early April. The officers (minus Wilde plus Blair) were all there and involved, everything got checked and a bunch of the lifeboats lowered. 

There was also a separate Board of Trade drill on the 10th of April. Lightoller, Pitman, Lowe, Moody and "[nearly all seaman], including able-bodied seamen, ordinary seamen, lookouts and quartermasters" were all involved. There was also the bulkhead and the emergency boat drill.

Now there is some confusion around the "Sunday Drill". This was another drill involving the crew, not the passengers. 

It's essentially a muster plus a check of the boats, not actually anything to do with the procedure of loading the boats. This didn't happen on Titanic, but there seems to be no clear reason why. Some crew members state it was scheduled, others said the drill didn't happen due to weather, some said they only happened on Sundays "in New York", potentially because otherwise the firemen wouldn't join in. The "Sunday in New York" one is the one that gets mentioned the most, but truly this is anyone's guess. 

However, it's clear that this drill would have changed nothing. The crew already had undergone similar drills before, this one was not new information. Here's a really good, well sourced article on the whole drill issue.

The Titanic was speeding & ignoring ice warnings.

Titanic had received multiple ice warnings throughout her journey. This was nothing unusual, it was April in the North Atlantic. The ice warnings were communicated via the wireless, given to the bridge and marked on the board. 

We know of a bunch of specific warnings that were received and posted on the bridge, mainly from the Caronia and the Baltic. The Baltic one is the famous message that made it to Bruce Ismay's, chairman of the White Star Line, pocket. He showed it to some passengers before giving it back to Captain Smith.

There's two warnings that probably didn't make it to the bridge, captain or all officers. One from the Californian to the Antillian that the Titanic happened to overhear, warning of "three large bergs 5 miles southward of latitude 42° 3′ N, longitude 49° 9′ W". Harold Bride, junior wireless operator, testified he delivered this warning to the bridge, but Pitman testified he wasn’t aware of it. It could be that Murdoch, who was actually on duty at time of collision, was, but he ended up dying in the sinking. 

The other one is from the Mesaba at around 9:40 PM, stating: "In latitude 42° N to 41° 25′, longitude 49° W to longitude 50° 30′ W, saw much heavy pack ice and great number large icebergs, also field ice, weather good, clear". While this message was received by Phillips, Titanic's senior wireless operator, we’re pretty sure it never made it to the bridge.

There's also the infamous Californian warning at 11:00 PM, about 40 minutes before Titanic hit the iceberg, that Phillips interrupted with a seemingly harsh "Shut up, I'm busy, I'm working Cape Race". Now, that seems rough, but was actually a really common "tone" between the wireless operators of the time:

They were a fraternity of pioneers, considered to be cranks, and had the curious habit of addressing one another as O M ("Old Man"). A common signal exchanged between them was GTHOMQRL ("Get to hell, old man, shut up, I'm busy"), or A S O M ("Wait a minute, old man!"). [James Bisett, Commodore of the Cunard Line, “Tramps and Ladies - My Early Years At Steam]

What happened is that Phillips was working through a backlog of messages, Titanic's wireless had been broken earlier and he had fixed it against standing orders from the Marconi company (which actually made it possible for any of them to survive in the end). 

He had cranked the power all the way up to be able to understand the messages of Cape Race, which was on the edge of his receivers' span. Californian's operator, Cyril Evans, chimed in in the middle of that with a "I SAY, OLD MAN, WE ARE STOPPED AND SURROUNDED BY ICE!" essentially blasting Phillips' ears off, since Californian was much closer. 

Phillips told him to pipe down, Evans signed off and went to bed. The issue is: no one is at fault here. Phillips had already received and delivered multiple ice warnings, Evans was telling him nothing new or indicating that it was an urgent message, so Phillips had no reason to consider it important. Evans, in his inquiry, literally states that he was "jamming" him and gives no indication that Phillips was acting rude.

Titanic's speed at the time is debated. Boxhall says he estimates it at around 22 knots based on the propeller speed, Lightoller at 21.5, the US inquiry at "no less than 21". However, that is an estimation, and we nowadays think that Titanic was going around 20-21 knots. 

The officers were also unsure about the exact position of the Titanic, Boxhall actually calculated her a good 13 nautical miles further west than she was, so some mis-estimates are to be expected. We actually aren't quite sure what her exact top speed would have been, Lightoller estimated it at 22-23 knots based on "general rumours", Lowe at 24 to 25, which is a really hefty difference. 

We can assume Titanic's top speed to be similar to her sister ship Olympic's after Olympic got refitted with a three-bladed central propeller, which was around 24.5 knots (according to Chirnside). So while we can't be fully sure of her potential, it's a pretty safe bet that she wasn't going full speed, she was essentially going "cruising" speed. 

Now, was Titanic ignoring all the ice warnings? No. The surviving officers testified they were aware of them, and that Smith had told them to expect ice at around midnight and to get him immediately (his cabin was right on the bridge) if anything changed. 

Now, was she speeding? That, actually, comes down to your interpretation of events. Some could say that going "cruising" speed at night with ice warnings would be constituted as reckless speeding. However, all evidence indicates that holding your speed and posting look outs, only reducing once you actually spot dangerous ice yourself, was the common procedure. Here's an excerpt from the UK inquiry that sums it up well:

It was shown that for many years past, indeed, for a quarter of a century or more, the practice of liners using this track when in the vicinity of ice at night had been in clear weather to keep the course, to maintain the speed and to trust to a sharp look-out to enable them to avoid the danger. This practice, it was said, had been justified by experience, no casualties having resulted from it. I accept the evidence as to the practice and as to the immunity from casualties which is said to have accompanied it. But the event has proved the practice to be bad.

Titanic, by her best judgment, was not acting recklessly. She was following common procedures for a ship her size and built at the time (very, very unlike the Titan, since I see that comparison often). 

The idea that "as long as the weather is clear, you go top/normal speed" is also backed up by other captains in the inquiry, mainly Pritchard (commander of the Mauretania, who as mentioned was much quicker) but also Andrew Braes, Hugh Young, Edwin Cannons and William Stewart as well as others. They all say the exact same thing: if they were warned about ice and it was clear weather, they'd go their normal speed, day and night. They would only add extra lookouts in bad weather conditions, and only do "what they thought was proper" once they actually saw any ice themselves. 

They really emphasize the "in clear weather" part, and we know that the Titanic thought they were traveling in clear weather (Smith and Lightoller had even discussed it that very night). And they were! 

The issue is that it was almost TOO clear. 

The waves didn't even break on the iceberg, and the stars didn't even reflect off it. Meaning they saw it way later than they would usually. This was very, very unusual. Lightroller said that "the first time in my experience in the Atlantic in 24 years, and I have been going across the Atlantic nearly all the time, of seeing an absolutely flat sea.". 

This was an unprecedented condition for them, and they had no way of knowing how it would impact visibility of icebergs.

Cameron shows a scene where Ismay urges Captain Smith to go quicker to reach New York a day earlier. This seems to be entirely based on the testimony of Elizabeth Lindsey Lines, who states that she overheard Ismay and Smith discussing Olympic's and Titanic's maiden voyages, and that Ismay was saying:

"Well, we did better to-day than we did yesterday, we made a better run to-day than we did yesterday, we will make a better run to-morrow. Things are working smoothly, the machinery is bearing the test, the boilers are working well". They went on discussing it, and then I heard [Ismay] make the statement: "We will beat the Olympic and get in to New York on Tuesday."

It's true that Titanic was being quicker than Olympic, but we know now that that is mostly down to Titanic's superior propellor system (something we actually didn't know until someone dug up an engineering notebook like a decade ago). We have zero other evidence that Titanic was trying to be quicker, or that Ismay somehow was trying to force Smith to speed. 

No other passenger or crew member testified anything of that nature. Titanic was also not gonna get the Blue Ribband, as mentioned previously Mauretania was a whole few knots quicker. Arriving a whole day earlier would only throw the travel plans and hotel bookings of the passengers into chaos. There was nothing to gain from speeding.

[veterantrainerray]

Sorry ‘bout the delay in updates from yesterday. It’s mornin’ now… Handled the Slowpoke fine, obviously, but when we moved up to the mountain to do the same with bird Pokemon (for demonstration reasons specifically) I got blindsided by a Skarmory. Nothin’ like a few dozen pounds of metal plated anger smackin’ ya square in the gob to put your lights out. I figure it was after Gala, I was helpin’ her to change apples at the time. Didja know the shiny ones change the red apples to yellow? I’d always figured they just refused the red ones, but there’s apparently some chemistry magic that happens instead. Anyway.

I’m told Pyrite hit it outta the sky with a rock from a distance that’d make a Tinkaton jealous right after… And he needs a new ball. He broke his old one when he came roarin’ out. Scared the students somethin’ fierce, seein’ the big guy that mad. Heard some kids talkin’ about a steel-type user in the school’s mini-League almost havin’ their whole team stomped before subduing him… A failure on my part, that, lettin’ my partner cause that kinda trouble. Guess he at least left an impression on some of the students ‘bout how scary strong a well-trained partner can get, but a silver lining ain’t an excuse. At least he wasn’t aimin’ to cause permanent damage, even when he got that worked up… A sign of a good heart, that.

Oh, and the Slowpoke’s a Slowking now, apparently. Ain’t sure when or how, but I’d wager he’s half the reason I’m awake so soon. Guess they got Galarica trees somewhere in that dome. For the folks who ain’t in the know, Galarian Slowking are dab hands when it comes to medicine and first aid. So I already owe him one. Goes to show you never know which Pokemon’s gonna have your back in any given moment, and battle strength ain’t the only factor.

Soon as I’ve got the x-rays of my noggin and Pyrite in a new ball I’m fixin’ to head on home to Galar with the next ship. My motorcycle should be waitin’ at the harbor for me. Between the Polywag, Dratini, Lapras and now Slowking… Yeah, got most of a functional team in the works just with that. Already gettin’ tactical ideas, but those will just have to remain ideas until I see how these guys develop. Already bettin’ this Slowking and Old Spooky are gonna be fast friends once we’re home. Got a Kings Rock in my battle closet, and I can already tell this Poliwag’s gonna be happier as a Politoed than a Poliwrath. He wouldn’t want that intimidating presence. Dratini’s keen on more training, probably gonna use him while trainin’ folks on the ranch to help him build practical battle experience. The Lapras is cozy and recovering in a Dive Ball, she’s gonna make a full recovery with some time. Gentle soul but she stands her ground. Old Spooky’s apparently been a huge help to the twins in my absence, helpin’ them mind the things I’m usually keepin’ tabs on.

. . . And don’t yall worry ‘bout me none, you hear? I’ve taken harder knocks than this and bounced back. Remind me to tell the story of when I took a Solar Beam to the chest one of these days. Still got a tiny bit of the burn scarring ‘round my belly and shoulders. That was the end of my previous jacket, though.

Sorry to any students my partner frightened yesterday. He’s a gruff bloke, but he ain’t one to let loose like that if he ain’t on a proper battle court. It’s just been a long time since he saw me take a hit like that, since he makes my safety his business. Don’t let this dissuade any of yall from raising your own Rhyperior. They make damn fine partners, sturdy and loyal. Ya just need a firm hand with ‘em. And the Rhyhorn in that savannah are fine specimens. I’d know, it’s in my blood.

[jiubilant]

dockside solitude has been taking shape in my mind for awhile as the portion of the city in which fabulous wealth brushes elbows with poverty. there are fishers and whalers fishing and whaling (imagine) in the bay but haafing harbor is known mostly as an advantageous port of call for merchant vessels bound back and forth from the bretic fiefs and northern morrowind. dockside boasts lots of warehouses where imported and exported goods are stored on their way inland or overseas. lots of factories (as in trading stations where factors do business rather than the modern definition). customs-houses. drydocks where ships are refitted and cross-planked for journeys through the northern pack ice. local merchants like erikur often manage to shoulder in and make lots of money but, despite its grand and slow decline, the king of all this industry is still the east empire company

but in addition to being a commercial hub dockside is also the home of all the working people (not the merchants and investors, who mostly live in more fashionable tenements "on the rock," i.e. within the city walls) who grease the wheels of the company's trade empire. its clerks and customs-folk and fishers and whalers and dockers and sailors are fed in public-houses and fishmarkets and housed in tenements of the more cramped and rickety kind. conditions are particularly miserable for the dockers (longshoremen) whose work is back-breaking and dangerous and whose efforts to establish their own guild and advocate for higher wages have been blocked for years. clerks do comparatively "comfortable" work in the factories—and are afforded more opportunities for advancement than the hard laborers—but are equally downtrodden and underpaid. the frustrations simmering in dockside threaten to come to a boil in 201 with the new dangers posed to maritime trade—and consequently the livelihoods of everyone in the community—by war and piracy and dragons trying to devour the world etc. interesting times

[tour-de-pants]

Guys, I did a thing...

Just a quick alt meet RPF of Watson and Holmes... You know I ship it, don't @ me! Let me know if I should do more :) -Pants

If he’d been paying any attention, Watson would’ve noticed the aggravated stare from the woman one table over. He’d been tapping a slim wooden stir stick against his mug for five minutes that must’ve felt to her like fifty. He wasn’t the sort to annoy strangers, or anyone, intentionally. Usually he didn’t even mind someone else running late to a meeting. But if Lestrade didn’t turn up soon he might just lose his mind.

Training diets were a hell he put himself through willingly, and after fifteen years, the strain was fairly easy to take. Without much of a sweet tooth to speak of, he had it better than many—especially poor Anderson, who harbored a desire for pain au chocolat to rival his want for a mountain win. Not a lot got to Watson anymore, but the smell of freshly roasted coffee beans in this place… damn if he wasn’t about to crack and down a massive hazelnut concoction worth half a day’s calories. 

“‘Ugh, honestly,”’ the woman one table over grunted, drawing Watson’s attention away from the door. He frowned as she met his eyes with a look of disgust. A lifetime in London wouldn’t be enough to understand these people. 

“‘Hey John, sorry ‘bout that. Perils of mass transport, you know how it goes.” ’Lestrade slid into the seat across the table, the bizarrely small size of which Watson was noticing for the first time. They really didn’t want folks to hang about, he guessed. 

“‘It’s alright, Coach,”’ Watson answered, gulping his unexpectedly still hot tea. 

“‘Aw, don’t you do that, mate. Makes me feel like an old man in charge of a bunch of teenagers.”’

“‘I know.” ’Watson smiled. Lestrade was a good guy—and a good coach. Maybe he was jumping the gun with this whole retirement thing. “‘So what are we doing here? Besides testing my resolve against the Kenyan roast of the day?”’

“‘Need to let you in on something before the Prologue, being team captain and all. I wish I could tell the whole group, but it’s a bit sensitive.”’ The clasping and unclasping of Lestrade’s fingers told Watson this wouldn’t be a time for jokes, regardless of what he was about to hear. Something distinctly non-chamomile turned in his stomach.

“‘What’s up? Is someone injured?”’ He leaned forward the few inches it took to bring their heads close. “‘Worse?”’ 

“‘Oh, no, no. Nothing like that, thank God. No, it’s…you’re getting…it’s a new teammate.”’

Watson leaned back in his chair. Of course it was a new teammate; it’d have to be, what with Sholto out. After that crash last year, the doctors said he would never mount a bike again. He’d managed to stay out of the media once he’d stabilized and been transferred to a rehabilitation facility. It’d been a big hit for the team in terms of the Tour and fears for their own safety out there. Few teams in recent years had been as cohesive as Speedy’s; the idea of bringing in someone new was hard enough, but—

“‘This close to the Prologue, though? Why can’t the other guys know? And why didn’t you just ring me about it?”’

“‘John, it’s…”’

Watson waited, stir stick tapping against his saucer now. He heard the woman next to him mutter a curse as she scooped up her laptop and walked off. Some people were just grumpy, he supposed. 

“‘John, it’s Sherlock Holmes.”’

It was Watson’s turn to curse under his breath. Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock Holmes who rode the Tour ten years ago? Sherlock Holmes who left the race and the cycling world in a cloud of cocaine use allegations and rumors about a tryst gone bad with his own teammate? Sherlock Holmes whom no one had heard from since?

“‘Sorry Greg.”’ Watson blinked hard in an attempt to make sense of the news. “‘I thought you said Sherlock Holmes.”’

“‘You can’t tell anyone, mate. And sorry for laying it on you like this. There are more things beyond my control than I’d like, but I can assure you he’ll be riding clean and is physically fit for the job. Listen, I hate surprises as much as the next guy, but my hands are really tied with this one. I’m letting you know now because I anticipate I’ll need your help.”’

Watson ran a hand through his hair, short and light despite it only being late June. He still couldn’t figure out why he’d had to come out all this way to hear about this, but Lestrade always had reasons for what he did and he was usually right.

“‘Ok. Yeah, alright. Thanks for the heads up. Whatever you need, I’ll back you.”’

“‘Great.”’ A relieved smile flashed across Lestrade’s face as he rapped his knuckles on the tabletop and stood to leave. “‘Now get yourself out of here before temptation wins the day.”’

“‘As if it ever could.”’ Watson nodded and returned the smile, waiting for the door to close behind Lestrade before moving to add his cup and saucer to the mounting pile of dirty china above the trash bin behind him.

“‘Ceramic,”’ intoned a deep voice behind him.

“‘Pardon?”’ Watson asked, furrowing his brow but not turning.

“‘The dining ware isn’t china. It’s ceramic.”’

Watson stepped toward the bin, tossing in his stir stick and paper napkin before precariously balancing his ceramic cup and saucer on the returns shelf. 

“‘Are you my conscience?” ’he asked, laughing lightly as his own joke and holding up pleading hands in front of his mug until he was fairly certain he wouldn’t be the one to send the whole lot tumbling to the floor.

“‘Unlikely. Though I suppose we’ll see how the early stages go.”’

Early stages? Watson turned slowly, eyebrows rising and jaw dropping as recognition dawned. Holy hell, you’re—

“‘Sherlock Holmes, yes. Kind of you to remember me, though perhaps the memory you’re recalling is not in itself so kind.”’

“‘What are you doing here?”’ Watson looked around suspiciously, feeling as though he ought to be paranoid though he didn’t know what he might be trying to spot. 

“‘Seeing as how it is a coffee shop, one might suppose I stopped in to purchase coffee. And as much as I do hate to be predictable, in this particular case, that supposition would be the correct one.”’

“‘Well yeah, ok, but I mean why are you here, in this coffee shop? Now?”’

“‘I take it an odd experience has befallen you in the past hour—no, half hour—and you haven’t yet processed whatever it is. News of some kind, I should imagine. However, blocking the bins with your jaw wagging like a goldfish, while apparently a natural choice for you, is in fact not typically the most productive one.”’

“‘Oh, sh—sorry, I’m very sorry,”’ Watson said to the miniature queue of patrons waiting to deposit their china.

“‘Ceramic,”’ Holmes noted impatiently. “‘Sit down at that set of chairs there. The place is emptying, I should return with my order in three minutes.”’ He cast a glance at the register. “‘Four, it’s the cashier’s first day.”’

Watson didn’t see him walk away, nor did he feel himself cross back to the small dining area and settle into a surprisingly uncomfortable armchair. It was impossible. Sherlock Holmes had been missing from the public eye, from the entire world as far as he knew, for nearly a decade. Now within minutes of being told the man had spontaneously resurrected to join Team Speedy’s/Sussex Honey, here he was in the flesh. Watson looked around the cafe. He didn’t believe in magic or kismet or any of those mystical type things. After forty years of life, he was sure he’d know by now if there were weird crystal-swinging forces at play. But what were the odds?

“Three thousand seven hundred and eighteen.” The tap of a paper cup on the low table by his elbow punctuated Holmes’s statement. “‘Of course that’s not the actual percentage chance of us encountering each other here and now, simply the approximate number of coffee shops available assuming we were both entering one at the same time.”’

“‘That’s one massive coincidence.”’ Watson eyed Holmes in the chair beside him, sipping slowly at his own paper cup’s contents. 

“‘The universe is rarely so lazy, or so Big Brother says.”’

“‘Big Brother?”’ Watson was now only ninety percent certain he wasn’t in a movie. Or a simulation. Or whatever the thing was you were supposedly inside of. 

“‘My big brother, Mycroft. Though if he had it his way, the capital letters would be spot on. The chances of us meeting here are slim indeed, but there’s something more…why is it you—oh. I see.”’

“‘You see?”’

“‘You’ve only just found out that we’re more than distant former colleagues of a sort. Quite the coincidence after all, then.”’ Holmes took another long sip of his drink. “‘Do make a start on that before it goes cold,”’ he instructed, pointing at Watson’s cup. “‘Wasting it would be a crime.”’

Heat radiated through Watson’s palm as he wrapped his hand around the cup. The scent of fresh coffee reached him halfway to his mouth, allowing him a moment to brace himself. He never was able to drink it black, but this was hardly the time to cause offense. He could almost hear Holmes smirking from a foot away. He can’t really read minds, I must have some rude look on my face. Wouldn’t have to if he’d only asked before he went ahead and ordered for me. Haven’t even properly introduced ourselves yet.

“‘You’ll have to trust me sometime. Might as well start with my impeccable taste in coffee.”’

“‘Right, yeah. Thanks. Cheers.”’ Watson took a careful sip. Then another. Whatever this was dancing across his tongue was like no coffee he’d ever tasted. He tipped his head back a moment, unsure whether he wanted to consume it all instantly or draw it out as long as it would last.

“‘You’re not being shipped to a desert island, it’s only the Tour de France. You can have another one of these in hand in a matter of weeks.”’

“‘This is the best coffee I’ve ever had in my life. This…what even is this?”’ He strained to see the board over his shoulder. “‘That Tanzania blend thing?”’

Holmes scoffed. “‘As if a blend of the day could produce such a depth of flavor. No, John—may I call you John?”’

Watson nodded. Day was already weird, why not. 

“‘No, John, this is not a blend. Look at the wall behind the baristas, over to the left.”’

“‘I didn’t even see that before,” ’Watson said, squinting at a large apparatus. 

“‘You do see, but you do not observe. That,”’ Holmes gestured with the cup in his hand, “‘produces this. Kyoto Slow, by name.”’

“‘How does all that even work?”’

“‘Perhaps if we both make it home from Paris,”’ Holmes said, sighing into another sip, “‘I’ll walk you through it.”’

------------- //irl author's note: Kyoto Slow is an awesome Mystrade fic, highly recommend. read on AO3.

[xtruss]

The Notorious Pirate King Who Vanished With the Riches of a Mughal Treasure Ship

In the late 17th century, Henry Avery—the subject of the first global manhunt—bribed his way into the Bahamas

— Sean Kingsley and Rex Cowan | April 2, 2024

Some said the pirate king went to ground in London or Scotland, others that he died penniless and was buried in an unmarked grave in Devon. Or was he sipping fine French wine in the hills above Marseille? Public domain via Wikimedia Commons

Henry Avery stealthily steered past Hog Island. In the English-controlled waters of the Bahamas, his crew was under strict orders to call him Captain Henry Bridgeman. The Fancy’s gold, silver and diamonds, plundered off the coast of India from a Mughal emperor’s treasure ship, the Gunsway (or Ganj-i Sawa’i), were tucked away under false floorboards in Avery’s cabin.

Palm trees bowed toward the battered ship and the newly nicknamed pirate king. Sea oats shimmered in the early morning breeze. With blue skies and light winds, it was going to be a beautiful day. The final leg into Nassau’s calm harbor was tricky. It took a skillful old hand to squeeze through the narrow channel. On either side, shifting sandbars waited to chew up and spit out wayward traders, nationality be damned. One false move, and all the months of jeopardy would be for nothing.

It was April 1, 1696—a day to make fools of the smartest of men. Luckily, Avery knew all about the island of New Providence. He understood what made the darkest of souls tick and was skilled at turning any man to his way of thinking.

New Providence was the perfect place to make landfall. It straddled the ancient sea lanes between the Province of Carolina and Jamaica (both British colonies) and the Caribbean Sea to the south. Havana was just a three days’ hop away. From Nassau, would-be pirates could watch the panorama of New World trade gliding by.

At 28 miles long and 11 miles wide, New Providence, the heart of the islands of the Bahamas, was big enough to lay low. Best of all, it had a reputation for aiding and abetting villains. The pirate mantra “Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies” could have been invented for this dodgy outback.

Avery knew the bad folk of New Providence were as rotten as a shipwrecked barrel of apples. In fact, he was banking on it. The Bahamas’ motley mob included experts in fishing wrecks sunk along the Florida coast, locals who rushed to salvage Spanish, British, Dutch and French valuables lost to hurricanes and storms. It was easy and generous work that beat breaking one’s back tilling the hateful earth.

A view of New Providence today. Sean Kingsley

The New Providence of 1696 was a long way from becoming the world’s wickedest Republic of Pirates, its chaotic lanes home to such notorious figures as Benjamin Hornigold, Blackbeard, Calico Jack Rackham, Charles Vane, Mary Read and Anne Bonny. By the fall of 1717, as many as 800 pirates would rendezvous in New Providence to divide spoils, fence looted cargo and party away their ill-gotten gains. At times, the lair swelled to a thousand cutthroats, commanded by a changing “who’s who” of crazed leaders. Brawn and brains were respected, but strength always won control. All pirate captains understood that on these shores, the “strongest man carries the day.”

Avery had a knack for reading places and people like others read books. As an ex-Royal Navy sailor who became the skipper of the meanest pirate ship on the high seas, he needed to decide in a blink of an eye who he could trust and what gossip peddled in some mosquito-infested East African tavern was hogwash. His gut rarely let him down.

Peering through his eyepiece, Long Ben—as Avery’s crew called him on deck—made out a few dozen makeshift huts inland of the trees screening the coast. He spied what was little more than a shantytown on the make. Locals were gathering salt to hawk to passing cod-fishing traders from Newfoundland and New England, who used it to stop shipboard meat from rotting too quickly. The New Providence of 1700, with 160 houses and a church, was still a few years away. Up the slope, piles of masonry were being cut and plastered into foundation trenches to build the town’s desperately needed Fort Nassau, paid for by port customs’ profits. Equipped with 28 cannons, its gates would only open in February 1697.

Aurangzeb sits on a golden throne while holding a hawk. Public domain via Wikimedia Commons

Avery, the man who put the world’s economy on a knife-edge by plundering the flagship of Aurangzeb of India, possibly the richest person in the world, drew deeply on a pipe filled with Virginia’s finest tobacco. The gray smoke billowed into the charred rafters of the Wheel of Fortune inn and out the chimney stack to freedom. Avery was thinking about liberty, too. The hard knocks of family life as a child, and betrayal by the Royal Navy, had shattered any dreams Avery once cherished. These days, he was a cold-blooded hyper-realist.

Avery had just become the first pirate commander to chase down a Mughal emperor’s treasure ship. Overnight, he and his crew were millionaires, celebrities, notorious. The pirate would enjoy the moment before deciding his fate. There was much to be said for staying in the Americas—the laid-back lifestyle, the tropical mood, the sun on your back standing next to the tiller.

But he viewed the people as vermin. And the culture. What culture? Avery had rolled out his deadly plans with all the guile and strategic know-how that his navy training had taught him. His scheming wasn’t over yet. Ever since he’d stripped the stricken Gunsway off the coast of Surat, Avery had been thinking about payback: to the family of his old governor who cheated him out of his fortune, to his country for betraying his men in A Coruña, Spain, and pushing him to mutiny.

An 18th-century illustration of Henry Avery. Public domain via the Internet Archive

Avery wondered how much power a man with a fortune like his could buy. To him, power meant returning home to England, the land of his fathers, and Bideford in Devon, a town thick with bittersweet memories. Yet again, he would prove the world wrong.

The nectar of the pirate’s sweet tobacco was a welcome respite from the anarchy of New Providence. The town had no proper governing body and little order. Human waste and garbage choked the alleys. Outside the tavern window, Avery saw the bones of repairs, abandoned hulls and burned-out prizes littering the shores. The island’s wide, open beaches were perfect for careening hulls, beaching ships and listing them to one side to scrape off the foul barnacles and shipworms that infest the tropical Caribbean.

Avery sipped his glass of wine. His plan had gone just how he’d hoped. On paper, Nicholas Trott, governor of New Providence, was an upstanding pillar of the community. Avery knew better. He had gained intelligence about the top dog’s true nature.

Trott liked to frog-march around the harbor with his crisp leather ledger tucked under his arm, all-important. But make no bones about it: Avery knew that the governor was a snake in the grass without a shred of experience serving king and country. As Richard Coote, the powerful First Earl of Bellomont and the governor of Massachusetts Bay, warned London in 1699, Trott was “the greatest pirate-broker that ever was in America.”

An 18th-century depiction of Avery, with the Fancy shown in the background. Public domain via Wikimedia Commons

The king of the pirates would play nice, try diplomacy. If that failed, he would have no qualms strangling Trott’s neck until his eyes popped out.

To Avery, dropping into Nassau and dealing with Trott held no big risk of being slung into a dungeon for piracy. Trott was no gamble. Here was a man who could be bought, greedy to top up his demeaning £30 annual salary. Money meant power. Power meant status. The question was: What was Trott’s price?

To be sure his reckoning was sound, that morning Avery had moored the Fancy off the island’s coast and sent three of his men to New Providence with a personal note for the governor. Avery, in the guise of Bridgeman, pretended his ship was a slaver bending the rules as so many did, trafficking enslaved Africans and elephant tusks without the seal of approval from the Royal African Company, which owned the British crown’s monopoly over the trade.

The Fancy’s tall tale claimed the crew needed permission to take on provisions before going straight. Avery sent a purse stuffed with pieces of eight to make sure the governor got the point. In return for the courtesy of letting him land, Trott could expect a tip of 20 silver pieces of eight and 2 pieces of gold from each crew member. Avery would pay double as captain.

Trott’s fawning reply played the innocent to perfection. With a nudge and a wink, he embraced Avery’s crew as “soldiers of fortune” who “had done no Christian nation any damage and were the king’s subjects.” Trott sent the trio back to the Fancy, weighed down with a cask of wine, a hogshead of beer and a cask of sugar, as well as permission for Avery to land at his leisure.

A proclamation for Avery's apprehension. Public domain via Wikimedia Commons

Avery knew full well that the clincher for Trott would be the offer of the added tip of the Fancy, with its 46 guns and 100 barrels of gunpowder. French forces had recently seized the island of Exuma, 140 miles away. Rumor had it they were heading for Nassau with three warships and 320 men. Fear filled the air. Nassau had no men-of-war ships, and Trott’s stone fort was still a building site. But with dozens of guns lining the shore, the French would think twice about raping and pillaging.

By the time Trott grounded the Fancy on Hog Island and started stripping its bones bare, he had raked in a small fortune. The strong man was rich and had hardly needed to lift a finger.

As the weeks unfolded, however, only one winner emerged. Avery’s crew scattered. The pirates were spotted openly walking the streets of Philadelphia, thick as thieves with judges and sheriffs, the Gunsway’s riches buying influence and power. Others preferred spending their loot in New York, Connecticut and New Jersey. A few of the crew stayed local. Two men settled in Bermuda. Some seven of Avery’s crew married in New Providence and bribed Trott to sign royal pardons. Most of the pirates went straight.

All the while, the rumor mill churned alarmingly. The wrecking ball of Avery’s recent past was catching up with him. East India Company agents were seeking the pirate king in Bombay and Calcutta. The Royal Navy was thinking about dispatching battleships to hunt for the Fancy in the waters between West Africa, Madagascar and Arabia. Bounty hunters crisscrossed the world from the Indian Ocean to the English Channel. Avery was the most wanted man in the world. The world’s first global manhunt was underway.

As the number of guns for hire searching for the pirate grew, proclamations for his apprehension flew from port to port. The legend of Avery the pirate king echoed through the world’s taverns, smoky coffee shops and fashionable ladies’ salons. Avery had shown the world how to unpick the richest treasure box on earth and revealed the wealth waiting to be stolen from heathens’ pockets.

A 19th-century illustration of Captain William Kidd. Public domain via Wikimedia Commons

Every pirate wanted to match Avery’s strike. The golden age of piracy had begun. Men of fortune flooded the Red Sea and the Indian Ocean. Captain William Kidd, the Scottish privateer sent on a mission in September 1696 to hunt down and destroy pirates, instead joined the free-for-all by seizing the Quedagh Merchant. Four years later, Kidd ended up dangling from the end of a rope at London’s Execution Dock.

Avery, for his part, wanted to keep his precious head on his neck. So far, his plan had worked like a dream. Trott was eating out of the palm of his hand. Avery was now the strongest man in Nassau.

The burning question in need of an urgent resolution was how to slip through the closing net. Should the pirate king hide out in the Caribbean or head to England for payback? Should he live a life of luxury in the West Indies or risk it all and be damned for retribution on far more dangerous British soil?

Within a few months of his arrival in the Bahamas, Avery was back on the waves. He was seen landing in Ireland in June 1696. That November, five of his crew members were hanged in England. But Avery himself escaped punishment. Some said the pirate king went to ground in London or Scotland, others that he died penniless and was buried in an unmarked grave in Devon. Or was he sipping fine French wine in the hills above Marseille?

Most ballads and books were convinced that Avery vanished in Madagascar, home to a supposed utopian pirate colony called Libertatia. But one fact was certain: When the Lords Justices of England offered the “assurance of our most gracious pardon” to all pirates in December 1698, only Kidd and Avery were excluded by name. The pirate king was still wanted, dead or alive.