#old midshipman

[ltwilliammowett]

Two little Midshipmen anecdotes

Not all midshipmen were young boys, there were also much older men, and these two little stories show that very well.

In 1779 a midshipman was hanged for murdering his mother, who had come aboard his ship at Spithead, and tried to make interest with the First Lieutenant to be allowed to attend the ship as bumboat woman. The son remonstrated with her for taking such a step as calculated to lower his dignity with his brother officers. She proceeded to sit down on a chest, and poured forth on him and his wife (and the fact that he is married and has been for a while shows that he must have been at least in his mid-20s, if not older.) such a stream of abuse that he, poor man, driven nearly mad, caught up a hanger and made a push at her, and unfortnunately killed her.

In 1790 the oldest midshipman in the Service was a well-known character, Billy Culmer, aged 35 on the ship’s books, but he was much older, as he entered the Navy in 1755. He occurs in George Cruikshank’s caricatures of naval life and eventually passed for lieutenant in that year, going to London for the excam, as was the custom in those days, accompanied by another midshipman and the boatswain to keep him sober, and a terrible hard time of it they had.

Billy Culmer and the Goose, by George Cruikshank, 1826 (x)

Now already a seasoned man (he was 75), he stood there before the committee that was to examine him and somehow all present were quite amused to have such a man as a candidate. He spoke freely and a cheeky about his life and this amused the Captains and Commander James Gardner so much that they gave him a Lieutenant's commission because of the rich experience he had gained at sea.

[araiz-zaria]

[ozzgin]

It is the 19th century and you are returning home by ship. Before you embark, you happen to find a glowing shell abandoned by the docks. It seems that the sea creatures are searching for it. Or maybe it's something else they're interested in. content: gender neutral reader, violence, dubious consent, based on Return of the Obra Dinn

January 1802 What's the matter with me, I wonder? As if my luggage wasn't heavy enough already, I had to drag around a big shell of sorts. Found it by the docks while I waited for my ship to arrive. It has a strange glow to it, this shell. Can't quite place it.

January 1802 Cheeky bastards! The seamen are such a flirt. From the moment I stepped onto the main deck, a handful of them haven't dropped the whistles and stares. One of the topmen - I recall he's Scottish? - he's been pestering me about the ship. "I'll show ye around, can't find a better guide," he says. His mates laugh and clap to his petty attempts.

February 1802 Some of the sailors are dying from lung illness. I was on the orlop deck, playing cards with the three Russians, when the surgeon rushed to one of the cabins ahead. "If it was contagious, we'd all have it by now. Damned if I know what it is, or where it comes from," I could hear him groan. I wondered out loud if I might catch it myself, but then I noticed one of 'em rascals trying to cheat the cards. February 1802 I saw it again tonight. Ever since we launched from Falmouth, as soon as the sun sets, there's an eerie glimmer in the distance. It reminds me of this damned shell. Are my eyes playing tricks on me? Oh, the sea is so terrifying in the dark. There's nothing but black stretching all around. My window is low; whenever the waves break against it, the wooden walls let out a groan that awakens me from the deepest slumber. Surgeon gave me pills to sleep. The creaks of the ship sound like a weeping maiden. February 1802 I think the cursed glow is getting closer. I couldn't sleep anymore, so I snuck onto the main deck. Scotsman found me wandering towards the bow, so he quietly hoisted me up by the waist. I thought he'd tell the Captain, but he sat me on the lower rigging, next to him, and we listened to the waves. I was afraid I'd fall off, but he kept a steady hand on me. I wish I could tell him about the light stalking our ship. Would he think I'm mad?

February 1802 Second Mate returned today on a small boat. We heard shouts coming from upstairs, so we rushed to see what was happening. Bosun had his pistol readied next to the Captain, and the sailors lifted the cargo from below. I thought I was dreaming at first. Some creatures, unholy beings, were caught in the net. They had the body of a human, but thick, fish tails covered in spikes. One of the Formosan passengers muttered something in Chinese, and some of the tail spikes suddenly pierced him dead. The old Miss next to me fainted on the spot, and the stewards urged us to leave. Right before I turned, I noticed one of the beasts pointing at me. It had a monstrous grin on its face. Oh, what a sight! The Scotsman guided me away, but I can't forget those eyes. Was it malice? Such an intense stare, burning straight into my soul. Now that I'm writing all this, a memory has come to mind: the creature had the same shell as mine, dangling from its neck.

February 1802 The pills no longer work. I can't rest anymore. Every time I close my eyes, I hear its wretched voice, calling me from the lazarette. That's where they locked those sea monsters. It sings nonsense, blasphemous lies. We're not fated soulmates. I've nothing to do with those devils. I should've never picked up the shell. I can only pray we reach land soon.

March 1802 God, oh God, what disaster has befallen us? I don't have much time. The gun deck is in shambles, more than half the crew dead. Underwater beasts have crawled their way up our ship; strange humans with spears, saddled on top of crabs larger than I've ever seen. The poor midshipman, oh, a young boy! He set himself on fire to stop the nightmarish fiend. Threw the lamp across the floor, and the flames swallowed both of them up. I scrambled up on the main deck, but there was no peace to be found; colossal tentacles sprawled around the ship, pulling the rigging apart, tearing humans like insects. The Captain's wife was struck by a falling pillar, I saw her crumble right before me. Scotsman is still alive, but his arm is missing a good chunk of it. I don't know where to find the surgeon.

March 1803 They left. They took the last boat, I only found out this morning. I tried to join them, but one of the sailors stopped me. "Witch," he shouted at me, "the beast down by the cargo hold screams your name. You must've called it here, brought this curse upon us." I don't know what he's talking about. Tonight I'm going to the lazarette, I can no longer bear the calling. This blasted fiend, oh, he's ruined me. I'll rot on this wreck. Mother, I don't think I'll ever reach the shore.

Your steps are hesitant as you tiptoe your way around the dried blood and debris, until you reach the locked chambers. The door is bent and folded away, as if hit by a great force. You do indeed notice the round prints against the rusty surface: giant suckers from a blasphemous being.

There he is, the wicked varmint who plagues your sleep! A pale creature is propped up, halfway out of the water, welcoming you with a toothy grin. The shell around his neck glows mockingly.

You throw your own shell at him. The small, ivory object rolls with a hollow thud.

"Is this what you wanted, damned monster?"

"Why, what am I to do with two?"

His voice is harsh and deep, rapping against your eardrums, scratching the inside of your head.

"I've been waiting for you. Can't leave this place without my beloved, can I?"

"There you go again with this nonsense. Villain! Drown me if you must, but spare me your deceit."

His smile falters, eyes narrowing in a frown.

"Is that how you find my love? Some petty lie told by a charlatan? Ungrateful brat, who do you think freed you from their shackles? Who do you suspect has summoned the leviathan, from the deepest trenches of the sea, to save your mortal soul?"

"The kraken left with the storm," you counter as the blood drains from your face. Could it be that you were to blame, after all?

"No, it left after the bargain."

He pulls himself up and sits on the edge of his former cage. You observe his features in mild awe: the texture of his skin, the dark locks of hair reaching all the way to the tail, the spikes breaking out of the thick, hard scales.

"What bargain," you ask fearfully.

"The last ones are free to escape, if they leave you to me."

Why, your horrified expression is not quite something he expected. Surely one must feel relief once their freedom has been guaranteed. And not just any kind of freedom - you've been returned to your soulmate.

He's spent weeks chasing the currents, trailing the faint glow in the distance. He hasn't stopped once, tail pushing forward to the promise of a reunion.

Yet, you seem unsure. Perhaps his approach has been too hurried, too nonchalant. You need a little bit of convincing, and he happens to be a master of courting.

His thorax suddenly expands, and you can almost hear the twisting sound of his ribs cracking and breaking under the pressure. A sweet voice rolls out of his mouth, a song you've never heard before. Your heart pounds tremendously, threatening to burst out of your chest, and a foreign panic floods your senses.

Despite your desire to flee, your lids are heavy, eyes slowly closing. Through your lashes, you can discern the beast crawling towards you, the same defiant grin plastered on his face.

It's time for you to come home.

[cold-boys-fandom-hub]

New post from Liam Garrigan about Crozier and Jopson, and his research for The Terror

Bit more Terror :) Crozier and Jopson. When starting research for The Terror I had the opportunity to go down to the Maritime Museum in Greenwich and asked if I could look at some of the documents they had from the expedition of 1845. What they brought out to me blew my mind! There was the original ships manifest along with a copy of the note that is left in the stone cairn on King Williamland, along with some of the writings of Sir John Franklin. But by far the most poignant for me was this letter from Captain Crozier to his old midshipman John Henderson whom he affectionately calls Jack. Knowing how close Crozier and Jopson are in the script it made total sense to me that this very letter could/would very probably have been handled by Jopson himself when discharging it for postage. To see and touch an item the character I was about to play had handled some 170 years earlier gave me goosebumps. Sometimes it’s the littlest and most unexpected things when researching a role that make the biggest impact! #theterror #jopson #crozier #research #greenwich #maritimemuseum #franklin #terrorerebus #franklinexpedition #1845expedition #characterresearch #anactorprepares

[thekitofit]

Old Joe told me that when you die, they stitch you up in your hammock with the last stitch through your nose, just to make sure you’re not asleep. Not through the nose, you‘ll tell them?

Master and Commander, Midshipman Lord Blakeney

[ do not repost | commissions open | reblog or maybe buy me a coffee? ]

details under the cut:

[moongazeonastarfillednight]

Because Sir James has been on my mind. Please see this timeline of His Handsomness

Midshipman - (c. 1825) Early twenties.

Look at those cheeks. He's so babuh. I want to pinch those little cheeks...

Eyebrow game already strong.

Commander (1833) - Back from Boothia

Oooh, that's a strong look for the Commander. He looks particularly good for a man who spent 4 years eating biscuits in the Arctic. Look at him, handsome lad. He grown big and strong.

I too, like that steward who wrote the roast book about John Ross, would have been unwell if I had spent 4 years in close quarters with him.

Commander 1834 - Soon to be Captain

We've all seen this one. The noble air, the luscious fur and the luscious hair. Brow game still stronger than ever.

Compared to the previous portrait, that's a man who cleaned up for a future father in law perhaps? Or because one Mr. Crozier is coming back from Portugal? 👀

Captain SIR James Clark Ross (c.1847-48)

Back to looking sweet and cheeky. This is the Dilf phase, if you will. That's a man who has crumpets and jam every morning. That little Mona Lisa smile means everything to me.

(This is my favorite... he looks like a cute parakeet... to me)

Captain Sir James Clark Ross - 1850 - Post-Franklin

This hair is not letting anyone down but it has been one too many mission to the Arctic.

Let him rest.

Still handsome tho!! Good job 🥰

Rear Admiral Sir James Ross - c.1860

The later years. A mourning man. Still handsome for one who has suffered much in his career. An affable old man.

I hope I have that much hair in my 60s.

Ok! that's the end of this post...

wish I had more witty stuff to say but all hell broke lose at work and I have a migraine

[flagbridge]

The Raoul (de Chagny) Navy: An Exploration of the Vicomte's Naval Background:

Our beloved Vicomte, Raoul de Chagny, is a young junior officer in the French Navy ("le Royale"), but this hardly gets much exploration. It's a detail that is often glossed over--I anticipate because Naval historians and Phans often do not have much Venn diagram overlap--until now. Let's just say my username is a Naval reference.

Note: the "Raoul Navy" is not my invention--our hilarious and wise "Phantom Dark Web" friends at Leroux Less Traveled (incl. @box5intern) came up with it, and I love it.

I've started digging into book Raoul and his Naval background and turns out we are missing out a whole lot about Raoul's character background if we don't dig into it. So I'm going to tell you what the book tells us and what that means. I'm going to give you the overall pieces up front, and then explain:

Raoul looks very young and feminine (except for his "little" mustache, which he effectively has grown to prove that he can)--and everyone treats him like a baby

Raoul at this point has already completed three years of Naval training including a world tour, so he is fairly experienced and even worldly for his age. He is described in the French as a "cadet", but he would likely be a sub-lieutenant at this point since he has graduated from the Naval Academy.

He's on a six month leave before going on a very dangerous mission to recover remains of a lost Arctic mission--a mission he himself is unlikely to return from.

And everyone still treats him like he's a baby (especially the old dowager widows), even though he has had quite a bit of life at this point--so he has something to prove.

What we know about Raoul and the Navy (Here is the English):

"He was admirably assisted in this work first by his sisters and afterward by an old aunt, the widow of a naval officer, who lived at Brest and gave young Raoul a taste for the sea. The lad entered the Borda training-ship, finished his course with honors and quietly made his trip round the world. Thanks to powerful influence, he had just been appointed a member of the official expedition on board the Requin, which was to be sent to the Arctic Circle in search of the survivors of the D'Artois expedition, of whom nothing had been heard for three years. Meanwhile, he was enjoying a long furlough which would not be over for six months; and already the dowagers of the Faubourg Saint-Germain were pitying the handsome and apparently delicate stripling for the hard work in store for him."

We also learn in another paragraph that the de Chagnys had admiral in the family, so the Naval connection is likely a family business for second sons. Raoul is a second son, so a career as a military officer would have been a distinguished career for him.

Borda: First ship

Brest is the main port of the French Navy and home of the Ecole Navale (or French Naval Academy. In the 20th Century it moved, but Brest is still, along with Toulon, a major naval base)

According to the French: Le jeune homme entra au Borda, en sortit dans les premiers numéros et accomplit tranquillement son tour du monde (Note that the French calls him a "young man", not a lad)

The Borda is traditionally the training ship of the French Navy, and there have been six of them. This would have been a cadet/midshipman cruise for Raoul. He would have been on the ex-Valmy, an 120-gun ship of the line, which became the Borda training ship in 1864.

The Borda is also the ship of the Ecole Navale (French Naval Academy)—this means that Raoul attended the academy.

The Naval Academy is two years in Brest, and then their third year is the World Tour—so that timing also aligns with where we are in the book. Raoul would have begun at the academy at 18, and he is at the start of the book, 21 years old.

After the Borda, which he completed with honors, he did an uneventful world tour.

This would have been his third year, still as a midshipman.

He could have been assigned to any ship for this training cruise—possibly a cruiser (the d'Estang is pictured below in 1884 in Algiers), which did long range missions. Note: Their max speed was about 15 Knots (which is a very respectable speed that some warships still transit).

This world tour cold have been as far east as what is now Vietnam, or through the Suez--but likely near French colonies.

With influence, he is assigned to the Requin expedition.

French: Grâce à de puissants appuis, il venait d'être désigné pour faire partie de l'expédition officielle du Requin, qui avait mission de rechercher dans les glaces du pôle les survivants de l'expédition du d'Artois, dont on n'avait pas de nouvelles depuis trois ans.

The Requin was a real ship in the Mediterranean fleet, but did not go on its first mission until 1885, which means that this is a deliberate or unintentional oversight of either Leroux himself or his narrator. The Requin was a steel hull—and the Artois was actually a 18th century Royal Navy ship so this piece is a complete fabrication. However, Arctic missions at this time were frequent and tended not to go well.

However, Raoul could also be excited about getting to go on a new steel-hulled ship. The Redoutable was already in commission—commissioned in 1876.  Most of the rest of the fleet at this point were ironclads.

[setsailforbyacona]

Beggar's Luck - Information Post

Your father has always been regarded as the greatest pirate hunter to have ever sailed the waters of the tropical Byacona.

But now the unthinkable is happening: Your father is charged with piracy!

So it is up to you, his only child, to travel to the Byacona and help prove his innocence, or at least get him to reveal what happened.

Which is easier said than done, because whatever your father was doing seems connected to the sightings of a ship long thought sunk:

The Beggar's Luck, ship of the fabled Alistair Moray, King of Pirates.

Has Moray risen from the dead to seek revenge? And has your father something to do with it?

It's up to you to find out.

Hope you know how to swim and wield a cutlass.

Where can I play the game?

(No link to the NEW version yet. The game is still undergoing a massive rewrite and should be up sometimes in December '24/January '25)

Extremely Old, extremely short version is HERE

The world, Sildrys, the game is set on is home to various races besides human, allowing you to play as human or a mix of human and elves, dragons and other decently strange beings (as long as you can swim).

The age is set to 20.

All genders are playable.

--

ROs (Details bound to change):

Lieutenant Elliott Sewell (24, human, cis man): Elliot is a young Navy-Lieutenant working as Admiral Géroux’s secretary after a leg-injury send him into very early retirement. He’s as headstrong as he’s handsome.

He’s been a great admirer of the MC’s father, and seems dead-set on becoming a renown pirate hunter, filling the empty space the Commodore’s alleged treason left.

Midshipman Noah Paget (18, human(?), cis man): Mr Paget is commonly seen as a lost cause. Eager, ambitious and honest, but clumsy and scatterbrained. Has several rumours surrounding his heritage which weights down on him in addition. When push comes to shove he takes up the chance to prove himself to find the fable pirate port of Lobo Marino.

Lucy Kerrigan (19, human, cis woman): Lucy is regarded as the ‘soul of the Shredded Sail’ the scummiest tavern on all of Lobo Marino. She takes great pride in the fact that her missing father’s the new King of Pirates, even though no one else agrees with her on that.

She’s headstrong and boisterous, though no one can say what happens when her shell should be cracked one day. Great affinity for fire and explosives.

Florentina 'Shipwreck' Espinosa (26, Half-Elf/Half-human, trans woman): Regarded as the unluckiest captain to have ever sailed the waters of the Byacona, Florentina is good-natured but very sarcastic soul. And she has absolutely no patience for people betting behind her back how long her current ship, the Windmill will last.

(more to come)

Death

Guns

Alcohol

Blood

Piracy

Public Executions

(TBC)

If you like what you're seeing and would like to support the author, here's a few ways to do so:

KoFi

Pat-Reon

There's also a discord. Send a message (not ask) after you've followed this blog or any of the game blogs below for a good while.

Enjoy the stories <3

The author is currently working on the following games as well:

Ballad of Devil's Creek: A Weird West adventure @devilscreekballad

Curious Cuisine: A superhero/cooking slice-of-life romp @cornucopiagazette

Ashenmaw - Dragons of Marrowoods: A dragon adventure/mystery romp set in the same world as Beggar's Luck. @ashenmaw-if

[theladysherlock]

"And you must be the boy from the Leviathan," she said, her English accent as posh as Zaven's. "My granddaughter's told me about you."

Deryn clicked her heels. "Midshipman Dylan Sharp, at your service, ma'am."

"From your accent, you were raised in Glasgow."

"Aye, ma'am. You have a good ear."

"Two of them, in fact," Nene said. "And you have an odd voice. Your hands, please?"

Deryn hesitated, but when the old woman snapped her fingers, she found herself obeying.

"Lots of calluses," Nene said, feeling carefully. "You're a hardworking lad, unlike your friend the Prince of Hohenberg. You draw a bit, and you do a lot of sewing, for a boy."

Deryn cleared her throat, remembering her aunties teaching her how to quilt. "In the Air Service we middies darn our own uniforms."

"How industrious of you. My granddaughter tells me you don't trust us."

Let's get that Read More in here now before I ramble the whole night away

1. Twice in as many minutes, Nene's mentioned Lilit talking about Deryn. Do we think she went home and just gushed about the handsome midshipman to everyone in the house. I would like to think so. I think everyone knows about Lilit's crush but Deryn.

2. It is astonishing how different Deryn's first meeting went compared to Alek's. Which opposites/foils context do we want to ascribe this to? Deryn is charming and people like her immediately, while Alek is awkward and needs to win them over? Anything Alek is bad at, Deryn is good at (and vice versa)? Alek, who pretty much has nothing to hide, isn't trusted; meanwhile Deryn is lying about quite a bit and is immediately trustworthy? There's so many.

3. I think Nene knows about Deryn's whole gender thing. I think she figured it out right here but has enough tact to know not to say anything to her about it. What I don't know is if Lilit also figured it out here, or if Nene told her, or if she knew right away. I like to think she didn't know until Nene spelled it out.

[hms-lurking-latinist]

a thing I am constantly thinking about is Hobbs’ version of Mutiny/Retribution. (Specifically the show; like all characters that aren’t Horatio, Hobbs is about one-third as interesting in the book.)

It would also be a good story - and quite as plausible a one. The Captain, losing his mind admittedly, but struggling to retain his dignity and complete one last mission - the loyal gunner trying to protect him, to repay many years of good leadership - the lieutenants like four vultures waiting to pounce, the aging and disappointed first, dark horse of a second, young ambitious agitator third, indiscreet fourth who would follow the third in anything. Among the four of them they drive the noble old Captain over the brink (you’ll hear about the mutinous assembly before you hear about the paranoia) - the four of them and the young midshipman they’ve entrapped in their schemes - the poor boy will be the most sympathetic of the wicked conspirators, he’s racked with guilt and at least he dies on the right side. In the end they’re brought to trial, the dithering usurper is a laughingstock, the sidekick with the heart full of misplaced loyalty finds that his leader has taken him into disgrace and death and can’t get him out; but the moving spirit of the conspiracy, the man that everyone knows really killed the Captain as surely as if he’d died when he fell, gets off scot-free and promoted.

It’s a sad story, the way Hobbs tells it. I’m not saying it’s an accurate report of the events on screen. I’m just saying, I bet if you bought him a drink he’d tell it to you.

[ltwilliammowett]

Ten facts about the Battle of Trafalgar:

– The youngest sailor to fight at Trafalgar was just 8 years old.

– The oldest was 68.

– A woman called Jane Townshend was onboard one of the ships at Trafalgar and was recommended for a medal for “useful services”.

– Arctic explorer John Franklin was signal Midshipman aboard HMS Bellerophon at Trafalgar.

– Nelson originally wanted “Nelson confides every man to do his duty” displayed as a signal to all ships, but his Signal Lieutenant, John Pascoe, said it would be easier to spell out “expects”.

– Midshipman John Pollard is famed as “the man who shot the man who shot Nelson”.

– One sixth of the Royal Navy’s entire force of 110,000 men fought in the battle.

– Nearly 4,000 of the crews had never been to sea before.

– There were 3,500 Irishmen fighting in the British side at Trafalgar.

– There are records of Chinese, African and American men in the British crews.

[araiz-zaria]

A while back someone asked me whether George H. Thomas smoked, and while I haven't found anything pointing towards/against that I incidentally came across this recount on Midshipman Farragut's time on USS Essex when it sailed southwards (IIRC after they didn't end up meeting USS Constitution at the planned meeting point during the War of 1812), particularly when Commodore David Porter Jr. found out that Glasgow chewed tobacco (for the first time..)

...ooof, that sure was a brutal way to prevent your ward from consuming tobacco... 💀 Apparently Glasgow never consumed tobacco in any form after that incident... 👀👀💀

[galaxyartmaps]

WE ARE SO BACK BABY.

(Do I have any idea who Alek is introducing Deryn too? No. Does it matter? Not really.)

Rambles and a surprise under the cut!

In excitement of the anime announcement, I rushed to draw them. I also stared at my very old leviathan playlist and scrambled my way to make two specialized ones like a crazy person. (They are likely to change some/get longer, but this is what I've done, so enjoy!!)

And of course

I'm totally normal about these guys- like so normal. The next year and half is going to be so fun!

[elleryhart]

Welcome to my Fallen London blog!

My name is Alex, and I've been here for a bit, but got too into posting on discord to keep up with my blog. If you get followed by @half-orq that's me!

Under the cut are my Fallen London ocs, how to find them, and associated NPCs.

Ellery Hart (he/him)

About 30-ish years old, a Monster Hunter who has completed his Bag A Legend Ambition and is mostly chilling now. His hair is longer, and his peligin-induced weasel-like changes have made a permanent fuzz on his forehead, nose, and sideburns. He turns white in the winter, but is otherwise a ginger. Mostly just chilling these days. Associated NPCs: The Parabolan Mockingbird (his reflection) and a host of Clay Zailors that zail with him on his boat, The Might of the Frail. https://www.fallenlondon.com/profile/Ellery%20Hart

Cherish-His-Name Abernathy (she/her)

43 and doing her best, Cherish is my Nemesis PC. She's also American! She delights in any kind of cat-and-mouse game she can play, and took on a role as a Midnighter to help her get revenge for her daughter's death. Associated NPCs: Agnes, a tomb-colonist and her carer who chain smokes and takes no shit. Lucy, her remaining daughter who may show up in the Neath sooner or later. https://www.fallenlondon.com/profile/Cherish%20Abernathy

Charlotte Amelia Hastings (she/her)

22 and a former child of the New Sequence, Charlotte has recently left her post as a midshipman in the Navy to transition and lead her life. She's a little lost now, and recently sold her soul to some devils in order to replace that ease-of-emotion vibe she lost when she left the Dawn behind, and enjoys dressing in devilish 20s fashion --or any fashion. You can get her to do about anything if you give her a cute little outfit to do it in. Associated NPCs: her father, Arthur Hastings Sr, not long for his world, and her mother Margaret Hastings, who will be having some awakenings of her own soon https://www.fallenlondon.com/profile/Charlotte%20Amelia%20Hastings

Fascination (she/her)

28 and a mycologist, Fascination is from a fan country from the Elder continent, Anther (created by @zeebreezin). She doesn't talk much about why she left, but you may be able to meet her other half and discover for yourself! If you interact with her, please do let me know how you feel about mushroom based horror and body horror in general. Associated NPCs: The Infestation (any pronouns), if you can call it an npc. Euphoria, her twin back in Anther. Triumph and Awe, her fathers back in Anther. https://www.fallenlondon.com/profile/Fascination%20Ph.D

[tgmsunmontue]

It's not who you know 2/4

Non-angsty Nepo!Baby Bradley and his years at the USNA and his head-in-the-sand approach to the nepotism and the fact that he ends up being known as the guy with the two hot dads instead...

PART ONE

SECOND YEAR

                “Come on, let’s go for a run. No slacking off just because it’s the summer break. Don’t want to be the slacker come summer training.”

                “You wanna race old man?” Bradley taunts, laughs. He loves being at the USNA, but it feels so good to be home.

                “You think you can beat me?”

                “I could do it blindfolded!”

                “Don’t run blindfolded!” Ice calls out, coming up the footpath and pulling his suitcase behind him. Bradley turns to him with a bright smile, wraps his arms around him.

                “Hey Ice…It’s good to see you. Missed you.”

                “Missed you too. Sorry I’ve been away so much.”

                “It’s all good, I get it.”

                “Yeah, I know you do. And I know you’ve told Mav all about it, but can you humor an old man and tell me about it? Let me reminisce a little?”

                “Did you hear that Bee-radley? He called himself old.”

                “He still calling you BeepBeep?”

                “He’s trying not to… Mixed results,” Bradley replies, pulling a face.

                “Twenty pushups each time you slip up,” Ice states and Mav immediately scowls. Ice leans closer to Bradley, voice low; “He won’t slip up again.” Bradley laughs again.

…             …             …

                “Good first year huh?” Tom asks, can feel the soft smile on his face as he takes in the physical changes in Bradley. The little bit extra height, much broader shoulders, the more confident bearing. It’s a stark difference to the young man he’d last seen at Christmas. Between the distance, work commitments and the limited liberty leave Plebes get it’s been months since he’s seen him.

                “The best. I love it.”

                “Then I’m glad. Lot of people bitching at me that you’ve made their lives harder.”

                Bradley shrugs, he clearly doesn’t care about how the brass feels and Ice knows that that attitude is one-hundred-percent Pete’s fault. Lord help him.

                “Have you made friends?” He asks, wants to hear about them.

                “Yeah, lots. My platoon is the best though.”

                “Always is,” Ice agrees.

…             …             …

                Ron looks around the room, waits for the new staff to arrive and smiles. This year they’re more prepared, Mackenzie isn’t going to be made to feel like an idiot. Maverick and Ice will keep their distance and they can just treat Bradley like any other midshipman.

                “Welcome back everyone, you’ve all got the agenda for today. All should be pretty familiar to you. One item we didn’t get in time for last year due to somewhat delayed communications, is Bradley Bradshaw. For those of you that are new, Bradley Bradshaw is going to be entering his second year. His behavior is exemplary, however there is one quirk we have been asked to accommodate.”

                “What? We don’t accommodate midshipmen’s quirks…”

                The interruption has come from the new guy, William O’Neil, not someone he’s ever had much to do with, but definitely qualified on paper. Ron sighs, because he gets it. He does. They have the Honor Concept, and this seems to fly in the face of it, however it’s a small subterfuge and he’s pretty sure he’d have wanted the same thing if he were in Bradley’s shoes.

                “When Admiral Kazansky asks me to accommodate something, I follow his orders. However you’re welcome to give him a call and let him know that you won’t be going along with it…”

                “Ah… what is it exactly?”

                Glancing around the room Ron smiles, if looks could bury bodies Williams would be six foot under. Several times. Lots of the people in the room have a soft spot for Bradley, for a variety of reasons.

                “Bradley Bradshaw is the surviving son of Lieutenant Nicholas Bradshaw, who died in a training incident while at Top Gun in 1986. Captain Peter Mitchell raised Bradley Bradshaw as his own and has been his main caregiver since his mother died of cancer in 1996. When Mitchell has been deployed, Bradshaw has lived with Admiral Kazansky, whom he calls Uncle Ice.”

                “Now, in the interest of full disclosure, Bradshaw also grew up calling me Uncle Slider. The particular class of Top Gun I was part of remains very close knit. Now. Bradshaw wishes for us to treat him as if we do not know him. He expects to be treated the same as all the other midshipmen. This is not difficult, because he has been raised by naval aviators and he is already quite focused on that career trajectory. But it can make… teaching him… challenging. He already knows a lot of the material we have to teach them all. Now, obviously not his studies, but the naval orders, he already had them memorized before he got here. So…”

                “Is he disrespectful?” O’Neil asks, frowning.

                “Never. Which is impressive considering how many times he must bite his tongue when he has the upperclassmen telling him what to do. I’ve had no complaints from anyone. This is just a reminder and a heads up that yes, while he wants to be treated as any other midshipman, he isn’t any other midshipman. Just follow due process and we’ll be fine. I do not want Kazansky ringing me asking questions about unfair treatment, so make sure you keep it fair. Understood?”

…             …             …

                It’s easier now, with the tutors and officers knowing he doesn’t want to be recognized. They slip up sometimes, which he always deflects as he catches their eye rolls, but he also knows that some of them respect him for not expecting special treatment. Although he guesses asking all his commanding officers to ignore his familial ties is special treatment in itself. He sighs. It’s a no-win situation.

…             …             …

                Bradley doesn’t expect the first person to approach him.

                “Hey! Bradshaw!”

                “Uh, hi Murphy… you doing okay?”

                “Yeah. Look. I just… I heard that you have two dads.”

                “Yep. You got a problem with that?”

                “No! No. Definitely not. Not at all. I was just… uh. I was going to say. Uh. Me too.”

                “You have two dads?”

                “Uh. No. Well, I have a step dad, does that count? No. I mean. I’m… gay.”

                “Oh. Okay. Uh. Why are you telling me?”

                “I just thought you’d be… okay with it.”

                “Oh! Yeah. Of course I am. I really don’t care man.”

                “Thanks. Catch you later Bradshaw.”

                Bradley watches him jog off from the quad and he shakes his head.

                “That was fucking weird…”

…             …             …

                Tom’s tired, eyes gritty and his chest feels tight, like no matter how deep he breaths in he can’t quite get his lungs full. The light is on in the living room and he walks through, finds Mav sitting on the sofa and flicking through a clothing catalogue.

                “What are you looking for?”

                “T-shirts.”

                Tom frowns, because to his knowledge Mav just goes and buys three or five packs of the cheapest white or black t-shirts from whichever store is open when he remembers he needs them.

                “For… Bradley?”

                “Nope. I’m making myself a secret identity.”

                “What?” It’s not even a question, more of a statement. Of course he is. He didn’t curb his behavior last year so he now figures he has free reign.

                “Well, you know Bradley won’t let us visit him because he doesn’t want everyone to know who his family is. So… I’m going for hip-looking professor. Blazer over a t-shirt, but it has to be a t-shirt with a band or something to show I’m hip. It’s similar enough to what I wore last year, maintain the illusion.”

                “Do kids actually use the word hip?

                “Huh. I don’t know. I made you one by the way.”

                “Made what?”

                “A secret identity. Want to know what it is?” Pete wiggles his eyebrows suggestively and part of Tom is afraid to ask.

                “I’m not wearing a blazer.”

                “No. But you know how you had that leather jacket back in the 80s? Thought I’d bring it back…”

                “I… do I even have that anymore?”

                “Sure do. Bet it still fits too.”

…             …             …

                “Is your dad coming this year?”

                Natasha is asking about the upcoming parent visit weekend and he sure as fuck hopes not but they’ve been unnaturally quiet and oh fuck… that’s never a good sign.

                “Ugh. Maybe. Probably. Why?”

                “Well, I get a bit sick of looking at all the boys around me, sometimes someone needs a proper man to appreciate…change of scenery.”

                “I really don’t know whether to be insulted or grossed out.”

                “Both, I was aiming for both.”

                “Well, mission fucking accomplished. Can we stop talking about my dad?”

                “I really want to meet your other dad now, hotness usually goes together you know?”

                Bradley groans.

…             …             …

                “Trust me, they won’t recognize you. The uniform does a lot for making you recognizable.”

                Tom isn’t quite so sure, but he’s already made a couple of calls to make sure they don’t recognize him. He’s definitely not letting Pete dye his hair, although he has agreed to time their visit after some rare days off so that he has a bit of stubble. Not that his blonde stubble really shows like Mav’s does. He’d only agreed to this madness because this year he won’t be able to see Bradley for Thanksgiving or Christmas. And Hannukah is out of the question. He can’t go nine months without seeing him. So a special trip when Bradley has a liberty weekend. Well. Afternoon. He’d rung Slider and asked. Slider has assured him everything will go smoothly.

                “So, what’s our plan here?”

                Unlike previous times they’re planning on taking Bradley out for dinner, want to actually talk with him rather than whatever subterfuge Mav did last time where he just watched from afar. Of course come summer Bradley will be on a carrier and Tom can show a purely professional interest and visit under the guise of work and won’t have to go to the ridiculous lengths that Mav is currently insisting on.

                “So, I’m Peter Bradshaw okay?”

                “Yes. And what are we calling me? Kazansky is pretty damned specific.”

                “I was thinking Tom Mitchell would uh, be…”

                His throat catches, wonders what it would be like to actually take Mav’s name, or have Mav take his.

                “Yeah, that’s uh, yeah. Tom Mitchell. Sounds good.”

…             …             …

                “Oh my god…”

                He’s never seen Ice dressed like this and he’s pretty sure his eyebrows have taken flight off his face in disbelief. Black jeans. Since when has Ice owned black jeans? Or any jeans? The jacket he vaguely remembers from his childhood, but seeing Ice in all black is weird. And he hasn’t shaved. And he’s… he’s smoking a cigarette. What the fuck. Ice turns slightly and now Bradley can also see Mav, wearing a fucking suit. He needs a photo of this whole thing immediately. He’s going to hold this over them forever.

                “Uh… hi pops? Dad…” He’s not ever called Ice anything other than Ice before, and that’s clearly not an option right now. The pleased smile he gets though makes him think he should maybe start.

                “Bradley!” Mav hugs him and he realizes he must have grown again, because Mav is definitely shorter. He laughs and pats Mav on the head, laughing harder as Ice laughs with him, both of them amused at the scowl on Mav’s face.

                “Hi, yeah, you guys made a special trip huh?”

                “Liberty time… we thought we could take you out to dinner.”

                “Sure,” Bradley says, and he rolls his eyes to let him know how unimpressed he is, but part of him is happy to see them. He hopes Uncle Slider is getting as much amusement from this whole thing as he is at least. Actually…

                “You want me to show you around a bit?” Bradley asks, and the look on Mav’s face is positively gleeful. There’s his answer he guesses.

…             …             …

                They walk around and Bradley nips into Bancroft to grab his camera, it’s not really a tour as such, given how familiar he is with the grounds. He’s glad he no longer has to deal with the grueling lifestyle, but equally glad that Bradley is thriving in it. He doesn’t pay attention to the other people wandering around, but then Bradley is calling out.

                “Admiral Kerner sir! Sorry. I just thought I’d introduce you to my, uh, parents.”

                Fucking hell. Slider. The gleeful grin on Slider’s face, eyes lit with delight and Tom purses his lips, tries to convey his displeasure while also trying to look pleased to apparently meet this person for the first time.

                “Of course Midshipman Bradshaw.”

                “This is Peter Bradshaw and Tom Mitchell.”

                “Pleasure to meet you both,” Slider says, and his grin is almost manic.

                “Sir, would you mind taking a photo of me with my parents?”

                “Of course.”

                They pose and Slider takes a careful photo, passing back the camera.

                “Bradley, I want a copy of that you hear me?” Slider asks, voice pitched low and Bradley gives him a cheeky grin.

                “Of course sir.”

                Bradley and Mav move off a little and he hangs back.

                “That photo better not see the light of day.”

                “I’ll just bring it out when I need a good laugh. Though, Tom Mitchell huh? You have something you want to tell me?”

                “Fuck off Slider…”

                “You know, if you do get married and I’m not the best man, I’m going to be fucking pissed.”

                “Yeah yeah…”

YEAR THREE

[dukeofriven]

'Were you ever in Elsinore, Mr Jagiello?' asked Jack.    'Oh, many a time, sir,' said Jagiello. 'I know it well. I believe I could show you Hamlet's grave from here.'    'I was really wondering whether they were ten- or thirteen-inch mortars on the upper terrace,' said Jack, 'but I should be very happy to see Hamlet's grave as well.'    'Both ten and thirteen, sir. And if you go a little to the right from the farthest turret, there are some trees: and among those trees there is the grave. You can just make out the rocks.'    'So there he lies,' said Jack, his telescope levelled. 'Well, well: we must all come to it. But it was a capital piece, capital. I never laughed so much in my life.'    'A capital piece indeed,' said Stephen, 'and I doubt I could have done much better myself. But, do you know, I have never in my own mind classed it among the comedies. Pray did you read it recently?'    'I never read it at all,' said Jack. 'That is to say, not right through. No: I did something better than that—I acted in it. There, the upper terrace fires. I was a midshipman at the time.'    'What part did you play?'    Jack did not answer at once: he was watching for the fall, counting the seconds. At the twenty-eighth it came, well pitched up but wide to starboard. 'Port your helm, there,' he called, and then went on, 'I was one of the sexton's mates. There were seventeen of us, and we had real earth to dig, brought from shore; it played Old Harry with the deck, but by God it was worth it. Lord, how we laughed! The carpenter was the sexton, and instead of going on in that tedious way about whose grave it was he made remarks about the ship's company. I was Ophelia too: that is to say, one of the Ophelias.'