#screw steamer

[livesunique]

"Atmah"

Screw Steamer built by Fairfield Shipbuilding & Engineering Co. Ltd. in 1898 for Baron Edmond de Rothschild.

[debrink]

Rotterdam Lloyd

Twin-screw turbine mail- and passenger steamer "Slamat"

~ Anonymous, circa 1925

[fayes-fics]

When The World Is Free: Chapter 5 - Sans Y Penser

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Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: none really... mildly angsty situations, some flirting and interesting proposals.

Word Count: 2.9k

Author’s Note: Multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl! Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. HERE BE PLOT. A lot of things happen in this one afternoon. Thanks to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy!

Le Havre, September 1939

The port city of Le Havre is bustling with travellers hauling suitcases and steamer trunks, all walks of life converging on this point of exit. You weave through the crowds from the train station as a trio, headed for the bright red awnings of the company sailing to the USA. Benedict and Eloise hang back as you approach the ticket window. 

“Name?” the brusque man in the booth opens with a crisp American accent.

“Y/n y/l/n,” you smile politely.

“You are not on the manifest,” he sighs after a pause to scan down the paperwork, impatience colouring his tone.

“But I must be,” you frown, “I was given this here…” 

You push your ticket under the window, clearly marked with today’s date. 

“Fraudsters,” his economic response.

“But… they were from your company? Outside your offices in Paris? And wearing your company livery? They… They said I could bring forward my sailing date from August to today. They took my original ticket and gave me this! It looks the same!” Panic rises in your voice with each sentence, dread churning behind your ribs as you realise you have likely been duped. 

“I'm sorry, ma’am, but that is not a valid ticket,” is his monotone reply.

“Oh god. What can I do? May I buy another ticket now?!?”

His responding laugh is a loud bark, “Hah! Ma’am, we are booked up for weeks in advance. There is a long line every day of people hoping for last-minute availability,” he signals to a line of weary-looking, luggage-laden folks under a makeshift shelter.

“But I….” you feel your eyes watering and dread in the pit of your stomach like you are falling down an endless chasm. 

“Ma’am, please step aside; I need to ensure valid passengers can board this ship…” he warns in a tone that is wholly without sympathy.

With a weak nod, you stumble away, back towards Benedict and Eloise. As you draw closer, their faces are a picture of concern, realising something is amiss. As you tearfully recount what happened, Benedict seethes, and Eloise wraps her arm around you, looking pained. 

“I’m going up there. This is unacceptable!” Benedict grits out, righteous indignation fizzing from his very being.

You have to hold out a hand to physically stop him. “It's likely no use,” you appease.

His ire deflates a fraction at your hold on his coat sleeve. “At least let me try, y/n,” he modifies after a few beats.

“Alright,” you relent, dropping your hand, “but I do not expect a different answer.”

You and Eloise cling to each other as you watch Benedict remonstrate with the same man and then a different one at the window. All the while, your stomach is in knots, equal parts fear and hope.

It's five or more minutes before Benedict returns to you, his face pinched.

“I was not successful,” he screws his mouth, looking away as if he cannot meet your eye as he says it. “They don't seem to care that criminals are posing as agents for their organisation,” he rubs his eyebrow in irritation. “I would report it to the police, but it's not their jurisdiction here, and it still does not solve our dilemma…”

“Thank you anyway…” you breathe, “for trying at least…”

There is a long silence as the three of you stand there, stupified by the conundrum before you. The chime of a clock on the harbour building breaks your thoughts.

“It's 3pm. Your sailing back to England is in less than an hour. You should go. You two leave without me,” you demure.

“NO!” they both exclaim in almost comic sibling unison.

“I’ll be fine, seriously.”

“I’m not leaving you alone here for god knows how long until there is room on a ship to America. You can’t be alone. This isn’t Paris; this is a port city. It’s definitely not safe,” Eloise rattles off, looking at you imploringly.

“She’s right,” Benedict concurs. “You were safe in Paris together before the war. You are not safe here. A beautiful young woman. You are a target for thieves or even worse. You cannot stay here alone.”

You try your hardest not to let Benedict calling you beautiful derail your whole thought train, but it’s futile. Your mind is scattered like a pile of wooden toy railway coaches.

“I... I could return to Paris?” You finally suggest after what feels like an eternity of buffering. “I could call to check for last-minute availability every morning. It’s only a couple of hours by train. I’ll be always packed and ready to go…” you argue, not as yet realising the naivety behind your own idea.

“Paris will be the first target for Hitler’s invasion,” Benedict says gravely. “It could be much worse to remain there…”

“So what am I to do? I’m damned if I do, and I’m damned if I don’t…”

“There is only one solution, and that is for us to remain here as well until you can secure passage out of the country,” Benedict shrugs.

“Agreed,” Eloise nods emphatically as you go to protest.

“There are many more sailings back to England, and tickets are easier to come by,” Benedict points out. “We can move our tickets up. At least by a few days until we can devise a plan.”

 “Wait… if there are no ships to America, why don't you come to England with us?” Eloise pipes up in a lightbulb moment.

“I have nowhere I could stay…” 

“Nonsense! You will stay with us at Aubrey Hall. Won’t she, Benedict?”

“Oh yes, of course. There are plenty of spare rooms,” he assures.

“Gosh, umm... Maybe? I…” you hesitate. The whiplash of the last few minutes and the generosity of their offer momentarily overwhelm you. “That's very generous of you. The problem is I don’t know for how long it would be, or even if I should. My parents only agreed to me living in Paris under the watchful eye of Solene. This… this is entirely other…”

You startle as Benedict places his hands on your shoulders, pulling your attention to his sincere expression. “Y/n, you need to worry less about what your family thinks and more about yourself - what you need and your safety. This is escaping impending war; it’s a completely different circumstance from how you arrived here. The decisions you make right now have to be selfish and unburdened by expectations. It’s easy for others to judge from the distance of safety. But look around you. This town is teeming with people clambering to leave the country before an invasion. We do what we have to in unpredictable circumstances to survive.”

“You sound like a soldier,” you murmur.

“It’s what my father was,” he replies, releasing his grip but not moving away. “As a very young man in The Great War. He was lucky to survive, being an officer away from the front lines, but he taught me many things before he died. And one was about always making the smart choice if you can see one, even if it feels uncomfortable. The smart choice here is to escape by any means necessary. We all know Hitler has his sights set on France, especially Paris, as the figurative and cultural capital of Europe. You must get out. You must come with us.” You are captivated by his hazy eyes as he speaks, your heart beating fast as his face and voice grow softer. “Please. I could not live with myself if we left you behind,” he admits in a much quieter tone, but the plea is no less impassioned.

You cannot help it. You stare up at him, transfixed. Stanley has never been so eloquent. Or indeed so invested in your well-being. 

“Alright…” your hesitancy soft, “but you must let me pay you for my ticket…”

His face seems to light up at your acquiescence. “One day… maybe,” he smiles.

And so that is what he does - leaves you and Eloise ensconced in a nice bistro overlooking the harbour with a large bottle of white wine as he walks over to the ticket office for the ferry company and swaps their tickets for a few days hence and purchases an additional ticket for you, steadfastly refusing to tell you the cost for it even for many weeks hence.

While you are in the ladies' room, Eloise strikes up a conversation with a young man in uniform at the adjacent table; you fondly roll your eyes as you retake your seat and leave them be. Your gaze, however, is never far from the window, to where Benedict last left your line of sight, somehow anxious for his return.  When he reappears, striding purposefully towards the cafe, your chest flutters hard, his coat swishing around his legs, his hat at an attractive slant. If there is one thing you swear you could spend a lifetime doing, it’s watching Benedict Bridgerton just… be. 

“Any luck?” you ask as he arrives and doffs his hat, taking a seat on your other side, throwing an exasperated glance at his little sister and the uniformed man.

“We are set to sail Thursday,” he smiles and signals for the waiter, ordering a glass of Beaujolais. “I also stopped in the post office to call Solene. She has said we can stay as long as we need to at her sister’s cottage a few miles from town.”

“Oh, that's wonderful news!” your shoulders relax for the first time in what feels like hours. “But wait, I remember she said there is only one bedroom,” you point out. “You’ve been sleeping on our sofa for days now… you deserve a bed. I’ll take the sofa…”

“No. Also, I’m not sharing a bed with my sister,” he shudders, “she kicks in her sleep!”

“Oh, thanks. So I guess you want me to have bruised shins, then??” You laugh with gusto, the ricochet day making all your emotions heightened, seemingly bouncing from one extreme to another. Right now, a strange bubble of joy at this lighthearted exchange.

“Not at all. In fact, I’d happily share with you instead to save your legs from the abuse!” 

You know it’s said in jest, the comedic relief of the moment evident on his face, but still, a shot fires in your chest at the thought of sharing a bed with him. You decide to make light of it, even as your heart quickens.

“How do I know this kicking is not a problem that runs in the family? And you’re way stronger than her!”

“You can tie me down if it would make you feel better!” he chuckles loudly. 

You flush all over, the very thought so beguiling yet scandalous. And yet you cannot stop your mouth running away with you, this flirtatious banter too tasty to resist, the wine you’ve been drinking far too quickly for the last half hour loosening your lips.

“I think you would enjoy that far too much, Mr Bridgerton,” you volley back, raising an eyebrow with a giggle.

His cheeks turn the most adorable shade of pink even as his eyes dilate rapidly, a corner of his tongue flicking out to pull his bottom lip under his teeth. It makes you want to sink your teeth right there, this impulse to be so physical with someone discombobulating. You've never had such errant, feral desires for Stanley. 

“You're probably right…” he rumbles quietly after a pause. 

You dare to hold his gaze even though you know it’s a mistake. This nightmare of a day makes you uncaring of propriety. He looks as wild as you feel inside, a glint in his eye that is at once permission and danger. 

“Theo here has been telling me all sorts of helpful information,” Eloise leans in, breaking the spell between you, a slight slur in her voice from her wine. 

Theo nods to you and Benedict. On closer inspection, he appears to be in a British soldier uniform. 

“I have to get back on duty,” he explains apologetically as he rises from his seat, “but I hope the information I’ve provided to your sister here will help.” He adds with a tiny salute.

You look surprised at Eloise as she just shrugs. You thought her up to her usual flirtatious banter, not researching. Benedict looks impressed too. You both, however, don’t miss the note he slips to Eloise before he takes his leave. Perhaps not purely intelligence gathering, then.

“Theo is helping process entry to Britain for foreign nationals wanting safe harbour. The numbers have spiralled since the war was declared.” She begins to explain when he is out of sight. “There is sadly a waiting list. But there are a few ways to skip the queue…

“Those being?” Benedict prompts before you can.

“Having family relatives residing in Britain already or, top of the pile, being the spouse of a British national.”

You slump your shoulders. “I have no relations there. Uncle Robert was visiting, but he was already at sea returning to America when the war was declared,” you explain, wishing he had stayed a few weeks longer.

“I wonder if we can find any paperwork forgers around?” Eloise ponders aloud.

“Eloise,” Benedict's tone is one of brotherly warning and disapproval, “we will not be taking that route.” his tone striking a chord of finality.

“But… how else can we get her into the country without bending the rules?” she exclaims at him, frustrated, gesticulating.

“I’m thinking…” Benedict grouses back, rubbing his chin and looking deep in thought.

Eloise leans back in her chair and twists her mouth into a pout. She takes a swig of wine before twisting to you and casually making a suggestion that flips your entire being.

“You could marry this one,” she jokes, shrugging and gesturing at Benedict. 

Your eyes dart to Benedict and his to you. A tidal wave of a hundred different feelings crashing through you at once.

“I’ll do it…” he offers, quick and quiet.

“El, don't be ridic…” your denial, spoken over his, dies on your tongue as you process what he said. 

You can't help it, you gape open-mouthed at him. As does Eloise.

“You would?” you stutter.

He nods, mien sincere, but you could swear there is more, too, a rousing intensity.

“I was joking, brother,” Eloise frowns.

“It's the only solution that guarantees her passage out of France,” he argues, “that's the most important thing here…”

“But marriage? That is such a sacrifice… I could never ask that of you…”  you shake your head, even as your stomach feels like a rollercoaster.

“That's why I'm offering, so you don't have to ask,” he shrugs as if this is not a big deal. “It is not me who has to make the sacrifice. It is you who has an intended…”

Stanley.

Your face falls as you think of the consequences. Marrying Benedict, if only for escape, would wound Stanley beyond belief. Your father, both your parents, in fact, would vehemently disapprove. 

“We can annul it as soon as we get to England…” he assures.

“French marriages can be annulled, brother, yes, but in France. Not in England,” Eloise pipes up, ever the font of knowledge.

“Then I will grant you an immediate divorce,” he amends.

“I can't believe you are taking me seriously,,,” Eloise mutters, but both of you seem to ignore it.

“I’d still be a divorcee, damaged goods as my father would say…” you wince at the phrase but know it to be accurate in Long Island, as much as you hate it.

“I don't know how else to help you escape, y/n,” Benedict implores, slightly alarmed. 

“Keep thinking!” Eloise interjects hotly. “I won't have my poor best friend here shackled to a Bridgerton brother. She has done absolutely nothing to deserve such a sentence, however short.”

“Eloise!” you scold without thought, “don't be so rude about your brother! He's wonderful….”

You immediately flush with embarrassment as she looks at you suspiciously. You dare not even look over to the subject of your praise, but you can feel the weight of his stare.

“But umm yes, let's keep thinking…” you mumble, embarrassed, looking down and picking at your cuticles in your lap.

“I need a bloody cigarette,” Eloise pronounces, suddenly standing up, her chair scraping loudly over the tiled floor.

“Sister, you do not smoke,” Benedict frowns up at her, again with that air of elder sibling forbearance.

“Sometimes I do,” she shrugs, her tone defiant, “and this situation definitely warrants one.” She jabs her finger by her side to emphasise her opinion.

With that, she marches up to the bar and orders one but does not return to the table, shooting you both a look before heading to the wall outside and sitting alone, staring out at the horizon and taking deep draws.

You and Benedict sit in silence, heads bowed in thought for what feels like an age, only interspersed with small sips of wine. 

“I honestly can't think of another way out of this mess…” Benedict sighs, breaking the hush. “But I understand it's such an enormous decision; you need time to consider it.”

You are scared by how much your heart and mind are screaming, ‘I really don't, I will marry you,’ even if your gut churns with the idea of how you will explain it to everyone. You look up, and again, those blue eyes bore into yours. Sincerity, concern, empathy, and something that looks dangerously like desire. You could get lost in that look. Forever.

“I’ll do it…” you whisper, knowing you are playing with fire… and yet yearning to be burned.

Benedict taglist: @foreverlonginguniverse @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies @balladynaaa

[williamedwardparry]

May 24th, 1845: The Illustrated London News runs an informative celebratory article about the Franklin Expedition, which left Greenhithe dock on the 19th. They describe outward and inward features of the ships, which had been visited by reporters, and give an overview of the careers of the ships and of their commander, Sir John Franklin. (In the process they accidentally invert the layout of Fitzjames' cabin, misspell Crozier's and Des Voeux's surnames, and omit to mention Sir John's second marriage.) [Internet Archive link]

Transcription:

DEPARTURE OF THE "EREBUS" AND "TERROR" ON THE ARCTIC EXPEDITION.

A desert waste of waters lies before— Behind, the anxious hospitable shore, Which like a parent bird sees ye depart, Bold wingèd messengers of daring Art ! We know that sunshine always 'round your path Cannot attend ; that rain and tempest's wrath Will be your portion ; but our pray'r shall be You live their fury out right gallantly, And after years you have perchance to roam That science crown'd you safely seek your home ! W.

On Monday H. M. sloops Erebus and Terror left Greenhithe, on their attempt "to penetrate the icy fastnesses of the north, and to circumnavigate America." The fitting out of this expedition was, we believe, definitively arranged by the Admiralty in February last, since which period the requisite equipments have been made ; and, as they involve several novelties, we shall briefly detail them.

The Erebus and Terror, it will be recollected, were fitted out for the South Polar Expedition, in 1839—1843, under the command of Captain Sir James Ross. The Terror had previously visited the Arctic regions ; it being the vessel in which Captain (now Sir George) Back, in 1836, attempted, by "way of Wager River," to trace the northern boundary of the American Continent. This vessel passed up Hudson Strait in August, 1836, and left it on her way home in August, 1837, after encountering extraordinary perils among the ice, and a narrow escape from foundering : she was then compelled to return home in a leaky condition, with her stern-post shattered. This was the fifty-seventh Arctic Expedition from England, commencing with Cabot's voyage (temp. Henry VII.)—the first of the kind that was made from our country; and the Expedition which has just sailed is the fifty-eighth enterprise of its class.

The vessels were put in commission at Woolwich on Tuesday, March 4. The Expedition is under the command of Captain Sir John Franklin, Knight, K. C. H., who is appointed to the Erebus (the larger vessel), with Commander James Fitzjames, Lieutenant Henry T. D Le Vesconte; mate, Charles F. Des Voux [sic]; second master, H. F. Collins; clerk, G. F. Pinhorn; gunner, J. G. Robinson; boatswain, J. G. Terry ; carpenter, W. Weekes. Captain F. R. M. Crosier [sic] commands the Terror, with Lieutenant Edward Little, Lieutenant G. H. Hodgson ; carpenter, Thomas Honey.

The fitting out of the vessels has been superintended and minutely inspected by the Lords of the Admiralty, and other persons distinguished in Polar expeditions. The ships are provided wit hthe most approved Archimedean screw propellers; and in one of the trials in the Thames, the Terror made such excellent progress that she cast off her towing steamer, and proceeded down the river without any additional assistance whatever.

In their visit to Woolwich, the Lords of the Admiralty proceeded to the west-end of the dock yard, opposite the wharf-wall of which was stationed the Rattler steam-vessel, fitted with a screw propeller. Their Lordships witnessed the manner in which the screw was shipped and unshipped by tackle and chains suspended over the starboard side of the vessel, and then proceeded on board the Erebus to witness the manner in which the screw-propeller could be taken on deck and replaced in its proper position, by letting it down through a well formed in the stern of the vessel. The advantages of this mode of attaching and detaching the screw, are self-evident, and the principle is so simple and easy of accomplishment, that any vessel in her Majesty's navy may by its aid be fitted with a screw-propeller, the objection and difficulty of shipping and unshipping it on the outside being completely obviated. Their Lordships went below and witnessed the construction of the tubular boiler and steam-forming apparatus, which occupies but a very small space in the vessel, and by aid of a large pipe, about one foot in diameter, conveys hot water under the deck to warm the men's berths, and all parts of the vessel. The funnel of the furnace is near the side of the vessel under the rigging, and is only about nine feet high. The pipe for blowing off the steam is not three feet high above deck, and is near the centre and over the boiler. Several other ingenious contrivances have been adopted to render the whole as simple and perfect as possible. The decks of the Erebus and Terror are constructed on the diagonal principle, and about twenty feet on each side of the bows of the vessels have been cased with strong sheet iron. There is not any copper sheathing on either of the vessels, as no danger is to be apprehended from the attacks of shellfish or barnacles, the ice soon clearing them from incumbrances of that description.

The arrangements made for the comfort of the officers and crews are excellent. The quantity of stores taken on board is considerable, and consists of preserved provisions of various kinds, a large quantity of tea, and extra strong West Indian rum, 35 per cent. over proof. The consumption is thus provided for a prolonged expedition. Ten fine live oxen have also been shipped at the Woolwich Dockyard, on board the Barretto, Jun., hired transport ship ; she will accompany the discovery vessels to the edge of the ice, and these animals may then be killed, and their flesh preserved fresh for any length of time.

Each ship has been supplied with 200 tin cylinders for the purpose of holding papers which are to be thrown over board, with the statement of the longitude and other particulars worthy of record, written in six different languages, and the parties finding them are requested to forward the information to the Admiralty.

The compasses of the vessels have been adjusted by Captain Johnson, and the most perfect arrangements made for the peculiar service in which the vessels of the Arctic expedition are to be engaged.

We annex, also, a portrait of the gallant Commander of the Expedition, who has already taken a share in three Expeditions to the North. Sir John Franklin is a native of Spilsbury, in Lincolnshire, and was born in 1786. At the age of fourteen, he entered the Royal Navy, as midshipman, and was on board the Polyphemus when Nelson made his daring and resistless attack on the Danish line and batteries off Copenhagen, April 2, 1801. Franklin next sailed with Captain Flinders on his Voyage of Discovery on the coast of New Holland, in which he endured shipwreck. We pass over several other of Franklin's services, but must not omit that on board the Bellerophon, at the Battle of Trafalgar. His first Expedition to the North was as commander of the Trent, in company with Captain Buchan, in the Dorothea, in 1818 ; both vessels returning in the same year.

Lieutenant Franklin's next enterprise was in connection with an expedition of Lieutenant (now Sir W. E.) Parry ; a journey by land, which, in point of severe and protracted suffering, has not been surpassed in the annals of discovery ; he left England in May, 1820, and did not return till July, 1822. In February, 1825, he left Liverpool on a similar journey, and returned in September, 1827.

Captain Franklin was promoted to the rank of Commander in 1821, and to that of Post-Captain in 1822. He is a Fellow of the Royal Society, and has published the results of his several expeditions. He married in 1823, Miss Porden, the daughter of the architect, William Porden, Esq. : this lady unhappily died of consumption, in her 30th year, in 1825.

Our illustrations show the cabins of Captain Sir John Franklin, and Captain Fitzjames, in the Erebus. Sir John's cabin is in the stern of the vessel, and has double windows.

Among the external peculiarities of construction may be mentioned the following: —Round the outside of both vessels is a projection as far as the shrouds, inclosing the chains as a protection against the ice : it is flat on the surface, except at the bows, which form an angle. What is generally the figure head is a solid block of wood ; the vessel is double, and the bows are a mass of timber about eight feet thick. The stern is nearly perpendicular, for unshipping the rudder ; and an ice board is raised above the bulwarks, which projects over the side, to aid in steering clear of the ice. The screw-propeller is worked by an engine of 25 horse power, which formerly ran upon the Greenwich Railway.

[ltwilliammowett]

The wreck of the Josephine Willis

The Josephine Willis, a packet ship launched in 1854, undertook a voyage to New Zealand under the command of Captain Edward Canney. During the voyage, there was an attempted mutiny by the crew. Twelve crew members deserted in Auckland, while others were dismissed in Calcutta on the return voyage. However, the second voyage, which started on 1 February 1856, was interesting. With a crew of 44 and 66 passengers, the ship again travelled to New Zealand. The ship had various general cargoes on board, including a large quantity of utility ceramics destined for the emigrant market in New Zealand.

The sinking of the Josephine Willis (x)

The ship was first towed to Margate Sands by a steam tug before sailing on to the Downs. After reaching South Foreland, the Josephine Willis travelled down the English Channel and at 20:10 a light was sighted. It was believed to be the Dungeness lighthouse and the helm was put to starboard. However, the light belonged to an approaching steamer, the SS Mangerton, an iron-hulled screw steamer en route from Limerick to London. The Mangerton struck the Josephine Willis just forward of the main mast on the starboard side and is said to have cut the ship in half. Some of the crew and passengers were able to climb aboard the Mangerton, while others escaped in the ship's boats. However, it happened that the two ships involved did nothing to rescue the other passengers, which is why the captains responsible were later held responsible and sentenced for reckless behaviour. During the incident, however, the Josephine Willis later capsised and sank. Between 69 and 70 people lost their lives in the accident, including Captain Canney.

3D image of the 'Josephine Willis' wreck (x)

Dives were quickly undertaken to salvage the passengers' cargo and luggage. Amongst other things, a mahogany chest containing the ship's board and Captain Canney's personal belongings were recovered and handed over to his widow. Salvage work on the wreck continued until 1861.

Ceramics in situ (x)

The wreck was rediscovered by divers in approximately 2018. Diving investigation revealed that a large quantity of the ceramic cargo was still in situ. The ceramic assemblage is principally comprised of wares from three Staffordshire based potteries - Mexborough, Charles Meigh, and Davenport. Several of the ceramic types discovered are unknown in current museum collections, or have previously only been seen in the form of wasters.

Recovered ceramics (x)

Interpretation of geophysical data indicates that the full length of the vessel survives in situ, with a maximum length of 46m, and a maximum width of 10-11m, which is consistent with the known dimensions of the vessel. A potential vertical break in the hull is located approximately halfway along the wreck mound. This corresponds with the position which the Mangerton was reported to have collided with the Josephine Willis. It would appear that the wreck has broken it's back and the remaining structure lies in two halves.

Recovered toys and caramics (x)

[superhero--imagines]

A/N: I’m a simp, so here’s a whole series.

“Your dad finally cut you off, huh?” The bell sings its final note before the door thumps close behind you. Xavier’s mouth quirks up in a lopsided smile when his eyes meet yours. “It was those three new iPhones your ordered wasn’t it? He could justify one, but three?” Xavier huffs a dry chuckle, leaning forward on the counter to meet your gaze.

“Did you want a coffee or did you just come here to make jokes?”

Truthfully, you came to make sure he was doing okay at his assignment at the Weathervane for outreach day. Not that you would ever admit it though.

“I mostly came here to shoot the shit with you, but I’ll take a latte if you’re offering.” You pause for a second, head tilting. “You know how to make a latte right?”

“Screw you.” The words are said jovially with a hearty laugh as he retreats to the espresso machine. “Hot or iced?”

“Iced please.”

“Good, because I actually don’t know how to use the steamer on this thing.” You laugh.

“What have you been telling people when they order, like, macchiatos or something.”

He gives you the cheekiest smile. “I tell them the machine’s broken, and all we have is drip or iced.” You have to cover your mouth to muffle the sound of your giggles.

“And none of the other employees have thought to correct this behavior?” He shrugs, pouring ice into a mason jar.

“I’m the only one here.”

That’s a little fucked. It’s one thing to have to work all day with your assaulter, and an entirely other thing to be ostracized.

Your mouth opens, the words: ‘Do you have another apron?’ On the tip of your tongue. Because screw these people, the mayor’s office and their paper can get fucked, you’re not leaving him here alone.

“Do you want the Horchata milk?”

The words slide down your throat until they’re swallowed whole.

“What?” Now it’s his turn to look confused.

“Are you off of dairy? I think we have oat milk too but, it’s a little old—"

“No, they have horchata milk here?”

“You didn’t know?” You shake your head. “Do you want to try it?” You nod.

You take a tentative sip. Eyebrows shooting up as you flash you friend a knowing look. He grins back.

“It’s good right?” It’s the best thing you’ve ever had. Even if the whole milk is going to upset your stomach later. While you’re contemplating about how this has been here the entire time, the mason jar is presented to you—cinnamon and sugar dusted on top, and a straw lovingly placed in the corner.

“Wow.” You meet his proud gaze. “Coffee made by the Xavier Thorpe, I feel like I should take a picture to commemorate the moment or something.”

Maybe it’s enough to just stay with him like this.

You take a sip of your latte, swallowing hard.

“Hey Xavier, how much espresso did you put in this?” He’s cleaning up behind the counter.

“I don’t know like eight shots…that’s normal right?”

You know what, maybe Xavier Thorpe is perfectly capable of exacting his own revenge.

“Yup, tastes great.” Fingers lace around the jar, maybe you can dilute this when he’s not looking. “So do you give free samples to everyone, or am I a special case?”

“Only for you.” He promises, lips quirking up.

[hazel-of-sodor]

Purchased in 1921, the NWR 's No.2 was an Atlantic of obscure origins. Sold second or third hand to the NWR by the Furness Railway, It had been sold for a bargain as the engine was reported to be a poor steamer. Originally believing they had screwed over the NWR, the Furness were soon regretting their decision to sell the engine as Crovan's Gate has easily rectified the engines steaming issues, resulting in a reliable free steaming locomotive. The engine was named after the wife of one of the directors, Alice Edwards.

[master-of-the-railway]

Thinking abt LoS more and I like to believe Diesel 10 is like Gordon in a way. He's a protector, he's the designated leader for the diesels. Yes, he hates steam engines, but he doesn't hate his own. He may not enjoy listening to Philip ramble constantly but if anyone else tries to interrupt the little boxcab or say rude things to him, Diesel 10 snaps his claw at them and makes sure Philip has the floor again. He will endlessly remind Sidney of whatever it is he's forgotten; he'll encourage Diesel's schemes against the steam engines but make sure he doesn't go too far with his own kind. When you look a little closer at his behaviors, you start to realize that he does care about them. More than he lets on. And even though they're buddies with the steam engines, D10 still cares a great deal for Mavis and Salty. They're still diesel engines, and at the end of the day even if he isn't their leader they're still important to him. He'd fight for them if he had to. I like to believe that Sir Topham Hatt took him in because he ended up back on the island low on fuel with no driver and screwed up brakes, so they fixed him up and when they learned he was ownerless, Topham gave him a chance despite the protest of the steamers and their drivers. They kept a close eye on him, protecting Lady's secret space and making sure he never went on runs that went through there...but the truth is he's long gave up on her. He knows now that she has a tight circle of protecting that isn't just one young man...now it's a strong young lady and her very resourceful family PLUS the Sodor crew. It's not worth it anymore, and now that he's under a proper railway contract he could be scrapped for harming another engine intentionally. He's tired and he just wants to work, but that won't stop him from pulling tricks on others and going after other steam engines. He's just decided to let bygones be bygones when it comes to Lady.

[lacinkaju]

Janka Skryhan. Blindness

Translator: R. Lipataŭ

At the seaside sanatorium in the Caucasus, I took my meals at the same table with a fair-haired young woman. Her name was Viera. I knew that she, a talented pianist, was here on a holiday after a long concert-tour, and my attitude towards her was that of eager deference.

Usually she came to the dining-room a little later than the others did and, having greeted us with a shy nod, sat down at the end of the table. She behaved with reserve and modesty and talked very little, but what she said always had a ring of sincerity and intelligence about it, and when she got up and went away, you would always be left with a longing to see her again. She had a kind of special feminine charm about her, and a sort of beauty that did not catch your eye at once, but would grow on you as you came to know the person better. Well, there are such people, after all, who, once you come across them, even by chance, remain in your heart for long days to come.

Sometimes Viera and I went on short trips through the surrounding countryside. Every morning we used to meet on the beach: I would come to the beach at sunrise and find her already there. She was alone by the sea and, leaving her thick, fluffy bathrobe on the sand, which still preserved the chill of the night, she set about her morning exercises. We would wave to each other and she would shout to me: "You shouldn't be so fond of sleeping, dear friend! It's a waste of time! You ought to be sorry at missing so much beauty!"

And really everything around seemed quite beautiful, probably because she was there.

We would take a dip in the sea, which was still cool in the early morning, and I felt particularly happy that the same waves rocked both Viera and me. Then we dried ourselves on the towels, which also smelt of the sea and, while doing so, we would step closer to each other and say "good morning" once again. Then we would make our way back to the sanatorium, reaching it at just about the time when our colleagues were only getting up.

At breakfast I met Viera again: she seemed to hurry towards my welcoming gaze.

Sometimes, however, when her chair remained unoccupied for longer than usual, I felt uneasy, fidgeted, and eagerly waited for her to come. Eventually she would arrive and say, "I'm sorry - I am a little late. I was busy with my exercises." And she would say it to me in such a voice, as if she really had something to apologize for.

One day I was lying on the hot sand of the beach with a colleague of mine. We screwed up our eyes against the sun, peering at the transparent cloud of smoke rising over a steamer visible on the horizon. Suddenly, without any apparent reason, my colleague made a remark: "Your neighbour at table is a very nice woman, indeed."

"You mean Viera?" I asked.

"Yes. It's a pity she has this thing with her eye. She's quite beautiful and - such a misfortune! Poor woman!"

"What's wrong with her eye?!" - I was astonished.

"It's all disfigured. Haven't you noticed yourself that when she looks at you, she screws her eyes a bit, so that nobody should see that her eyelids are different? And she always places herself so that you don't notice her defect - she doesn't want to show her temple."

"No, man," I answered sharply, "surely you're mistaken. You don't really mean Viera. It's someone else you are talking about."

"What?!" He replied. "Haven't you really noticed it yourself yet?!"

My colleague burst out laughing and joked about my inobservance.

When I met Viera next time I looked at her, examining her face deliberately. She be came conscious of it, fluttered her eyelids excitedly, accidentally turned so that I caught sight of her right temple, and then she bit her lip as if she were in pain. From the corner of her eye, from the very place where life and age leave their first lines of wisdom and human maturity, from this corner ran a very thin, long scar… Like the track of a quickly moving venomous snake, the scar disappeared behind a stray lock of hair on her temple. It was a mark left by the war, it was a grim reminder of the touch of death.

I felt the presence of something noble, pure, sacred. This woman was the best woman in the world, the best woman of all…

Later, whenever I met Viera, my colleague's face would recur to me, even against my will, and it seemed to me that his eyes were dimmed by a repellent inhuman blindness.

[iwannabeyourman]

Some of barista au 👀👀👀 ?

Yayyyyyayayayay barista au! I love this one tbh. This is what I've got so far, I did this mostly to get better at liverpudlian dialogue (i didn't realize it before, but I sound... Very american when i write lol.) Here's a little of their first meeting! :

"One vanilla latte please, without coffee and with extra foam." The man said, completely seriously. 

John pauses, a questioning look flashing across his face. He really doesn't want to screw up in front of this beautiful man, but in his two months of working as a barista, nobody has ever asked for a coffee-less latte.

Don't worry, play it cool. John thinks to himself. I can figure out this stupid bloody order.

"Of course," John says, struggling to ring up the order. "One vanilla latte, coffee free, extra foam."

"Oh, do you have soy milk by chance?"

John tried his hardest not to make a face. Why soy milk? out of all the milks? Whatever, the customer is always right. Especially if the customer is as gorgeous as this man.

"Aye, soy milk it is." John said, his hand still hovering lamely over the ordering screen. 

"Ta," the man said, oblivious to the mini panic he was causing to the man across the counter. 

Think, think, John urged himself. There's no button to take away the charge for a shot of espresso. It has to be something else, right? 

Luckily, the man on the other side of the counter got a phone call right at that moment, allowing John to quickly ask for help without looking like a total idiot. He walks a couple paces from the till to George, who is grinding coffee. 

"How do you ring up a vanilla latte without espresso?" he whisper-shouts. 

"That's a steamer, John." George replies in a normal tone. "Are you daft?"

[blessyourhondahurley]

Suptober day 4 - Commencement

Castiel completes his training with Rowena, and it all goes very fast after that!

A new part to my 2019 series Rowena's Shop

Suptober prompt: Nimbus Flufftober Prompt: Cinderella Moment Fictober Prompt: “Do you even know what this means?” Inktober Prompt: Dodge

(Read on AO3)

“Oh, well done, Castiel! Very well done, indeed! You've gotten it exactly right! Look!!”

Comfy and dozing in his overstuffed armchair, Dean can hear Rowena's words of effusive affirmation drifting in through the curtained doorway to the back of the store. The cooing, approving tone of her voice is one she's never used with him, of course, but Cas has been drawing it out of her more and more often lately as he's neared the completion of his studies. From the sound of it, he's just ticked another box on the list of spells he needs to master before he “graduates,” whatever that word means for a literal sorcerer's apprentice in the Year of our Lord 2023.

He's starting to doze off again when his boyfriend comes bursting through the doorway, a wide, gummy grin on his handsome face.

“Did you hear?!? I did it!!” he trumpets.

Dean stands to give him a hug. “I heard, honeybee! Nice work!! Does that mean you guys are done for the day, or are you taking a break? Maybe we could go grab a late lunch...?”

Cas gives him a firm, full-bodied squeeze, then pulls away, shaking his head. “No, beloved, I did it. That was the last one. I'm finished. Do you even know what this means?”

Dean watches, mouth agape, as he murmurs a few sibilant words and flicks a finger. The cozy glow of the shop's chandelier dims as a nimbus of luminescent power gathers around Cas's head. The blue highlights in his hair coil and eddy, then the color surges, flowing down the man's body and draping it in a floor-length brocade cloak that perfectly matches his gorgeous eyes. It's a Cinderella Moment if Dean's ever seen one.

“Holy shit,” he mutters.

“Indeed,” Rowena intones sarcastically as she walks into the room. “Eloquent as ever, I see.”

“Hey, screw you, Broom Hilda,” Dean snipes back. “Forgive me for being in awe of my boyfriend the fucking wizard.” He rolls his eyes at her and turns back to Cas. “So, what happens now? Can we celebrate? Go out for a nice dinner? Or should we just skip to dessert?” It's a cheesy line, but God help him, that little display of power got him so freaking turned on. If Rowena wasn't here he would 100% be on his knees right now.

Cas seems to be on the same wavelength, because he's got a dirty smirk on his face. He opens his mouth to respond, but Rowena throws up a waggling finger.

“Ah ah ah, there'll be plenty of time for that sort of business later. Right now I need your help with the last o'my cases.” She gestures behind her, at a teetering pile of steamer chests that definitely was not there a minute ago.

And the same-wavelength thing must still be in effect, because the two of them reply in unison, “Wait, what?”

“I've been stuck here long enough, boys. Now that you're ready, Castiel, I'll be goin' walkabout for a bit.” She points again at the trunks, an imperious quirk to her brow, and the two men scramble to fill their arms.

Rowena herself picks up the tiniest, daintiest little handbag and leads them, shuffling under the immense weight of her luggage, out the side door to the alley. Her car, like her a sporty little compact number of indeterminate age, make, and origin, seems much too small to hold so many massive cases. But of course, like magic, it all fits neatly into the boot, with ample room to spare.

Dean slams the lid down, then rounds on her. “So, what, Cas finished his training five minutes ago and you're getting outta Dodge? How long are you gonna be gone? What's gonna happen to the store? Wh–”

Whatever other question he'd been about to ask dies on his tongue when she snaps her fingers. (He's honestly not sure whether she did a silencing spell on him or he's just terrified of her.)

“It's tradition, you utter gowk. I've nothing more to teach our Castiel, and the shop practically runs itself, has done for centuries. And, much as I loathe to admit it, you've become quite an exemplary assistant in all the years you've been lollygaggin' around here waiting for your fella to do his lessons. The pair of ya'll do fine. And I'll be back around, in a few months or years or... Well, eventually. Cheerybye, boys!”

And she's gone, in a puff of sweet-smelling exhaust.

Dean and Cas stare at each other for a full minute, slack-jawed and stunned. Finally, Dean gathers himself enough to break the silence.

“Honeybee,” he says hoarsely. “What the fuck.”

[triplesilverstar]

Maybe you should have got a room

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Pairing: Vash X Female character

CW: Gun violence, bleeding, serious injury, death, deception, screw physics 

Word count: Roughly 3K 

A/N: Chapter one of And the hits keep on coming

After the events in the Windmill Village Roberto has come up with a way to separate him and Meryl from you and Vash in the form of a Sand Steamer that travels right to JuLai. While you might still have some linger doubts, you're far more concerned with the fact one Nicholas D. Wolfwood is still following behind you and Vash. Clearly intent on making sure the two of you get to JuLai. You've got a lot of questions for the dark haired man you know he won't answer, and in the end you wish you and Vash had gotten a room for the trip.

Two days after the events in the Windmill village, the mood in the truck still very much dour with you and Vash pressed tightly against one another. Neither one of you wanted to share much space with the undertaker after what he’d done. Even when Meryl grows too tired to keep driving, conversations between all of you remain sparse and Roberto has yet to make a comment about departing from the two of you when it comes to traveling. 

Nights around the fire are rather silent, even before Meryl would head to the truck to sleep when everyone is still awake, you and Vash sticking closer together. A few more things cleared up between both of you but it still feels awkward with others around compared to how the two of you spent your evenings when you traveled alone. No looking up at the stars, no debates about tacky interior decor, just silence. Maybe that’s part of the reason both of you admitted you felt like the other was pulling away. 

Listening to the radio while you look out the window you can't help but wonder what Knives has planned, stealing both kinds of plants, though it does sicken you a little to hear how the red plants are marked for disposal. Even if not everyone knows they’re alive it still makes your stomach churn to hear of living beings talked about in such a way, because at a minimum they know they’re biological generators, which means they are alive. 

While Vash is leaning on his elbow, his prosthetic is resting against your thigh with an arm wrapped around you and the seat belt, tapping a random pattern as his fingers twitch. Even he’s getting antsy.

Keeping your eyes out on the horizon you miss Meryl looking into the rearview, where it’s clear the tension between you, Vash, and Wolfwood could be cut with a knife. “Alright, who took whose lunch money?” Hearing her speak makes your gaze travel to the front, head still facing the window and watching from the corner of your eye. Poor girl, after this long the silence must be getting to her. 

The radio being turned off has you listening to the front seat of the truck. “If memory serves, there's a sand steamer that leaves from the port ahead. You’ll be able to ride that puppy straight to JuLai.” That’s some good news, and the way Roberto has worded it tells you he’s made his decision regarding traveling together with you and Vash. Time to separate from the reporting duo, at least on the sand steamer you and Vash can sort out what he wants to do once the two of you get to JuLai. 

“So are we just leaving our car here?” Oh Penny. You really are too naive for your own good, and if she keeps traveling with Vash and you she is going to end up dead. Far too curious after almost running headlong into a barrage of bullets, so much for that talk about learning from life experience the two of you had a few nights back. 

“We’re leaving our gunman and sniper here, Newbie.” The tapping against your thigh has slowed, Vash clearly listening in on the conversation happening in front of the two of you as well. It strikes you as a little strange to be referred to as someone’s sniper, Vash doesn’t even call you his sniper. Than again, he does view you as his partner not property. 

“Huh?!” It’d be cute with the way she reacts to the news if it wasn’t for her own safety. 

“Gotta get back to headquarters. We could write ten articles on our old pal now, and a few on the little missy.” Hearing that the hand that you had been leaning on clenches a little harder, a reassuring squeeze to your thigh and you swallow. Goddamn you do not want to be written about in some tabloid magazine, just the thought of it makes your body go stiff. 

“Wait no-” Roberto doesn’t even give her a chance to comment any further. Cutting her off by addressing Vash directly.

“That good with you old pal?” The sensation of his body shifting under you and the briefest rise and fall of his shoulders with a non-committal hum, almost drowned out by the sound of the truck moving across the sand. 

“I thought you were only interested in a story about the Humanoid Typhoon?” Even to your own ears your voice sounds bitter, Vash’s hand moving from your thigh to press against your stomach, an awkward hug. 

“And miss a chance to add a story about the Ghost Sniper? Not likely. We’ll leave out the part about you and the Typhoon being a romantic item.” That. Makes you grumble even more, leaning your weight back more onto Vash and dropping your head against his shoulder and letting the hand you had been leaning on drop down onto your lap. At least you’ll soon be out of the confines of this truck and hopefully never sit in it again.

Once at the terminal both of you are quick to hop out of the back seat, giving your legs a stretch while Vash does the same with a few squats, part of you feels bad for having sat on his lap for the past few days but there was no way you were going to have sat next to the undertaker. Far too worried about clocking the idiot after what had happened, you can’t trust him with Vash and you want nothing to do with him. 

With his longer reach Vash is grabbing both of your bags, handing you yours by the straps, quickly removing the pins keeping your rifle together before wrapping both pieces in a cloth you keep for such occasions and sliding them inside your bag. It’s the easiest way to keep the large firearm with you and not have security question it, in the past you would have just showed your paperwork at the passenger check in as a bounty hunter. This time with a wanted poster floating around, it doesn’t make sense to present any kind of documentation that identifies you. 

After all, it’s how you and Vash can travel together, no one would have thought the infamous Humanoid Typhoon would willingly travel around with a bounty hunter so they always assumed he was a bounty hunter as well. It helped most see peace bringer as being useless in a fire fight given its small size and the belief that the real Vash would have had a far more dangerous weapon. 

While the two of you get your gear sorted you don’t miss Wolfwood getting out of the truck and grabbing his weapon either. Right on the money that he was bound and determined to follow the two of you and make sure you arrived in JuLai city. A scowl firmly in place on your face as you watch him, feeling a feather light touch to your forearm.

Meryl. 

Turning towards her you can see the frustration in her eyes and it dawns on you, she is far from ready to leave you and Vash. ‘This is for the best Penny. Trust me.’ You find yourself thinking as you give the young woman your full attention. “I guess this is goodbye.” Goddamn she sounds so downtrodden that a part of you wants to reach out and hug her, what is with you lately? 

“Nah. Not goodbye Penny.” Reaching out and giving her forehead a brief flick “so long for now.” That sad smile on her face turned into a frown with a quick stomp, probably getting ready to go on tirade about that not being her name. “Just, try and stay out of trouble alright. Otherwise Roberto might ditch you somewhere, then you’ll really be in trouble.” 

“Then. I guess. So long for now?” Her voice sounds a little more hopeful, and you just nod at Roberto. This separation is for the best, they aren’t used to the chaos that surrounds Vash, and aren't built to withstand the fallout that comes from the aftermath of the typhoon. You might not be either, but love makes you do lots of things normal people might never consider so you’ll keep walking alongside him. 

Vash doesn’t say a word, just watches it all and reaches for one of your hands as you head towards the terminal, which is new. Or at least new when around others out in the open. A reassuring squeeze as you interlace your fingers with his, a reminder that he doesn’t care if the world knows you’re together anymore. Well at least on the outside, you have no doubt that his concern is still eating him inside. Worried that he’ll always be the reason people go after you, and the two of you need to work on clearing the air about that as well. 

Inside of the terminal it doesn’t take long to get your tickets to JuLai, Vash doing all the talking while you pull the money out of your wallet. Scowling still as you see Wolfwood at the check in beside you “Oh so no money for the hotel room, but money for the Sand Steamer. Figures, ya damn mooch.” Your words are dripping with disdain for the undertaker and Vash for his part is ignoring your remarks towards the dark haired man. 

You can see Wolfwood rolling his eyes, clearly annoyed with you but not wanting to rock the proverbial boat.

“Come on Mayfly” turning back to Vash and his voice subdued, taking his hand once more as the two of you head inside the terminal and up the stairs to go across the walkway and onto the ship, Wolfwood just a few paces behind. At the gangway you can see the reporting duo’s truck still there while you cross, the announcements about boarding ringing overhead about seeing attendants if they need help and keeping the ship on schedule. Some things never change no matter where you are. 

Both reporters observe the three of you cross, Roberto leaning against the truck having a smoke, and you can see Meryl turning to snap something at the older man. Yea. Some things never change at all no matter what world you’re on.

“I thought you four had something special” now that the three of you are away from anyone involved directly with how the sand steamer runs and operates Wolfwood starts his comments. A clear dig as far as you’re concerned about the fact both of you are leaving the reporters behind. If Wolfwood could see the way Meryl was already growing on the two of you than this is for the best, she doesn’t need to be collateral damage drawn in because of the two of you.

“Eh. Not really” Vash sounds so aloof as he answers and it helps put your own feelings more at ease. It has been less than six weeks of traveling together with them, and given he’d been willing to risk his life to save the others while you’d been in the grand worm, both of you know it's a necessary lie to say he doesn’t care. He’s put himself in harm's way for people that had tried to shoot him within moments of meeting him.  

“Stone cold Needle noggin, stone cold. I would have expected that answer from Sweet cheeks over here but not you.” 

“Why you lit-” The only thing stopping you from decking the little shit with his teasing tone is Vash having a firm grip on your hand, tugging you forward when you go to stop and turn. 

“I asked you not to call her that. I won’t ask a third time.” His voice is like ice, sending a chill down your spine, you’ve never heard him take that tone with anyone before when it came to you. Wolfwood from the corner of your eye you can see paused mid-step, even if only for a moment before he kept going just a little more distance between the three of you. 

While the announcements keep being made you and Vash ignore the waving people on the deck, slowly making your way through the winding parts of the ship avoiding the soldiers for security while heading for the back lower deck to look out over the horizon. 

Dropping your bags besides one of the railing and leaning against it. At first Vash seems to plan to stand beside you, at least until a shrug of his shoulders and instead settles behind you, so part of his chest is pressing against your back, his larger frame towering over yours and caging you inside his arms. A comforting presence, that if Wolfwood hadn’t of been there, might have led to a few tender moments between the two of you watching the dunes move by with the wind in your faces.

A brief exhale beside your ear, before his hands are folding over one another to grip one of your hands that was on the railing between both of his. Rubbing circles against the callus and other bumps on your hands that he can feel through your gloves, both of you trying to ignore the other man as he rests his weapon beside him and pulling out his cigarettes before lighting one. 

A longer exhale and you wave a hand in front of your face at the smell, feeling Vash adjust his grip on your hand. “So what’s your endgame?” Still staring out into the distance knowing Vash hasn’t turned to face the undertaker either, you're curious how Wolfwood is going to answer out in the open of the sand steamer with regular members of the population walking around. 

From the corner of your eye you see him tapping the filter and sending the ashes floating in the air “in what?” 

What a lame deflection. “In following us around?” You can feel the warmth of Vash’s breath against the back of your head, even with the breeze created from the sand steamer moving along its route. 

“I’m like a cool big brother.” This sounds like the start of another deflection to your ears, trying to distract from the question. “You won’t smash the bullies' skulls so it falls to me.” You let out a noise of annoyance at his words. “Wouldn’t mind a thank you or two.”

“For what? All you’ve done is cause us more problems.” Grousing at him and his logic, you and Vash don’t need Wolfwood to fight your battles for you. Feeling Vash shift, his forehead pressing against the back of your head. 

“You don’t get to decide who lives and who dies.” Vash’s voice is so morose, and you move your free hand to grasp the ones he has holding yours. Giving the knuckles a reassuring squeeze. He’s not wrong, and that lesson is a hard lesson to learn, that it’s much harder to let someone live then it is to end their lives. 

“Still holding the moral high ground huh” you snarl whipping your head towards him dislodging Vash who's moving his hands so he has both of yours held in his. 

“What do you even know about morales in the first place?” Since the undertaker has shown up you’ve yet to see even a glimmer of morales from the man. Just death and destruction left in his wake, he sees this as a job and nothing more. Part of you scolding yourself, you used to be like him, the difference was you wanted to die back then. From what you’ve seen Wolfwood hasn’t given up on his own survival yet. 

“Come on” feeling Vash turn his head behind you “don’t you have something you wanna protect more than anything else too?” As he says that he gives your hands a squeeze again, feeling the blood rush up your face at his words and actions. It’s a little humbling to hear Vash make a statement like that and knowing he includes you as something he wants to protect, because you know he’s well aware you don’t need protecting. 

“Ah stuff it blondie!” You might not be worried about keeping a low profile but with that outburst you fully expect someone to be watching this altercation. “The reason you’ve survived this long is because there’s always some poor sap there to die instead.” 

“That’s a goddamn low blow Undertaker.” When someone gets hurt or dies and Vash is around he takes it to heart. Having it thrown in Vash’s face that it’s his fault is making your blood boil. Knowing your face is pulled into a sneer with narrowed eyes as you watch the dark haired man. 

“Or she’s there to pull your ass outta the fire!” Starting to count inside of your head, you really don’t need to make a scene on the sand steamer. When you were checking in you should have spoken up when asked if you’d wanted a private room, at least then you could have shoved a door in his face. 

“That’s not what I was talking about at all. You know that.” The way Vash responds makes your mouth snap shut for a moment instead of letting out another blistering remark grinding your teeth in frustration. They’ve talked about something like this before? Then again you were in that grand worm for several hours, it makes sense they would at least speak to one another since it was before everything went down in the village with the windmills. Still wanting to clock Wolfwood for telling Vash he let Rollo down then killing him right in front of your Sunshine. 

“It’s called looking out for one another.” This time it's your own voice that is somber as the words echo out before being lost in the wind. 

“What the. Oh please, don’t get all pissy, I’m done with your self righteous attitude.” Wolfwood has deflected a little, but he’s still trying to push both of your buttons as he flicks the butt of his cigarette away into the rolling dunes before lighting another and sticking it in the corner of his mouth. “You don’t help either, you go along with whatever he wants.”

Feeling the wind whip up around all of you as it grows stronger turning your head away to keep the fine particles of sand from getting into your eyes, keeping you from retorting back that you don’t just go along with whatever Vash wants.

“Until you can be a big boy and take out your own trash. I’m through listening to” Wolfwood’s berating tone trailing off leaves you curious, even though the wind isn’t helping you try to turn your head back towards him, raising an eyebrow at the change in his demeanor.  The look on his face shifting from confusion to one of consternation, undoing the straps on his weapon while looking at something behind you and Vash. 

“Run the hell away!” Spinning on your feet, Vash’s Flesh arm partially speeds up the momentum of your own movements so you're flipped around facing away from the landscape. Vision filled with a man in a suit pointing two very strange looking guns at the two of you from ten feet away, even the blind couldn’t miss at that distance and you feel a weight drop in your stomach. 

One thing you have to give your life since meeting Vash, everyday is interesting.

Back to Masterlist for the series

[vinetae]

Try (M) - Chapter 11:

"I..."

Pairings: Taehyung x reader, Jimin x reader, Jungkook x reader, Taehyung x Jungkook

Genre: Angst, Fluff, SMUT (Yep! We back, baby! and steamer than ever 🥵)

Warnings: Blowjobs, Handjobs, cum play, protected sex (thought not mentioned of a condom, no glove no love guys), Makeouts, Riding, Cowgirl, Breast play, nipple play, ANGST. Jungkookie's sad boy. Tears (no, not necrophilia kind of shit, I don't condone that lmao). Sneaky sex, bathroom sex, FLUFF. OMG they're so cute together 🤧

A/n: WELCOME. I am now sober and full of angst. I WISH I had written this master piece when I was high. guess I'm a sappy stoned. I'm kinda a sucker for the fluff during the do shit ☺

As always, Enjoy!

<;- Previous Chapter

“Fu-fuck!”

Jungkook’s quick to cup his hand over his mouth, screwing his eyes at your plump lips working wonders on his cock. You moan, swirling the tip of your tongue around the base of his hardened cock. His palms dig into your marble sink counter, knuckles turning white from such force.

His head is thrown back, using everything he can to silence his echoing cries. Your knees beg for mercy, but the sounds caused by your own lips had overridden their small pleads. You bob your head front to back, watching from parted lashes at his sad attempts to silence himself.

The pad of your tongue brushes against his tip, sending a shiver down his spine. Holy fucking shit! You’re going to be the death of him for sure. But fuck- he would be lying if he denied that he’d be a happy man to die right now.

Your tongue licks stripes up and down the base of his cock, like a fucking lollipop. Your batted eyelashes do nothing but edge him further onto his climax. His blonde streaks fall heavily in front of his face, sweat creating a slight sheen against his heated skin. 

You remove your lips, followed by a ‘popping’ sound. A string of saliva-blended pre-cum makes a thin, sticky bridge from his tip to your lips. You glance up, wiping away excess juices that had dripped from your mouth and onto your chin.

His eyes meet yours, blown and swirling with arousal. You flash a smile, before leaning your head back down, to focus on a different part of his body. 

“HOLY SHIT!-” He’s quick to cover his mouth as your lips suck gently on the curves of his balls. A hand comes to comb through your hair before gripping onto a piece that’s attached to your apex. You hear the slight commotion coming from the near living room, before wondering how long you two had been in here. You smirk, a smile presses your lips while meeting Jungkook’s glassy eyes. 

“Better hurry up, baby. Don’t want them finding out how well I’m sucking your little cock” He lets out a choked cough at the sudden dirty talk. 

“Please-” He doesn’t even know what he’s asking. He’s just so close. One second away from losing it all. Would you swallow? Spit?

“Please what, baby boy.” You stand up, having your hand sloppily running along his hard on. Pre-cum twines between your fingers, making your hands twice as sticky. 

“Tell mommy what you want, sweetheart.” You coo, leaning up to tuck a piece of his bangs out of his vision, his breath hot along your heated skin with eyes blown wide open. 

“Please- Let me..” He chokes on his words, your actions against his cock blocks any sentence he could form. 

“Let you..? I need words, Kook. You want to be a good boy for me, right? You’re going to be a good boy?” He quickly nods, leaning his head back to enjoy the waves of pleasure that tease him. 

“Then tell me what you want.” You tease, running your free hand along the exposed skin of his inner thighs, making his head lull back even further from the soft touches. After a while, he finally answers. 

“You.”

~~~

Childish sounds echo through the small living room, as Jimin cracks open his eyes to the darkness. How long had he been out? He scans the room, before seeing Taehyung cuddled up by his side, natural black locks fall heavenly in front of his face. Soft snores reverberate back to both of them.

He shrugs mentally, preparing to fall back asleep until a sudden noise has interrupted. He looks down your small hallway, seeing the bathroom door light fade in, then back out as the two of you step back into the room to join the others. Your hair’s fallen onto your shoulders, a tangled mess even more so than before. Half of your shirt hangs off your shoulder, and the drawstrings attached to Jungkook sweats are completely undone. 

Not to mention the cum stain right behind it.

No doubt in his mind.

You fucked.

Jimin chuckled at the thought of you two. Eyes blown and glassy, looking as if you’d just gotten higher than mount everest. You carefully lower yourself onto the length of the sectional, snuggling closer to Jungkook’s exhausted frame. Your eyes start to close, the last 20 minutes plays like a movie in a cinema on the back of your eyelids. 

“F-fuck! Come with me, please!” Jungkook whines, reaching down between your thighs to rub quick circles against your aching clit. Your head gets launched back at his quick fingers, bouncing harder on his hardened cock.

His back pressed against the bathroom cabinets, both hands holding you in place as you fasten your pace. His tattooed hand comes up to reach around your neck, gently applying pressure to the sides. His demeanor changes like a TV commercial. 

“Yeah, ride me like the whore you are, baby.”

 His words fall upon death ears. Usually, you’d respond with some bratty comment telling him who’s really in charge, but honestly you didn’t give a fuck. 

“F-uck! . Look at my little slut, huh? Riding me like a damn carousel” A harsh slap to your ass throws a moan out into the air. 

“My little slut. Being so good for me, baby. Fuck-” His cups his other hand around your mouth, silencing you in a dominating way and -might you add- extremely hot way.

“Fuck- Jimin could walk in any minute. You’d better hurry up and finish baby before your little boyfriend finds you fucking another man like the whore you are. Shit-” You whine, wondering if your whole body could take all of this. He’s quick to realize, and once again; switches like a light switch.

Cue Charlie Puth-

“Are you okay, Y/n? I’ve got you” His pace slows, removing his hands from around your neck, to softly cradle your small figure. (Well, it’s small to him.)

“Was I too rough?” You shake your head, continuing to bounce on his cock, with his head falling backwards, accidentally hitting the bathroom cabinets. You both chuckle at the silly incident, continuing off. 

“Silly” He coos, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear, flashing a cute bunny smile. You return the small gesture, as his hand drops down to cup the underside of your breast. Teasing and tweaking the erect bud between his index finger and thumb. You moan softly, leaning down to press small kitten-like licks to his neck. 

“Mmm, Y/n.” He shifts his knee, lifting it a bit higher to give you better access. You smile against his neck, trailing the kisses up before taking his lobe in your mouth, tugging slightly with your front teeth. 

“Mmm, Jungkook '' You mock his tone, a laugh erupts from his chest. You both now sit still, your motions had slowed on his cock, still fully hard inside of you. 

“Y/n..” He reaches to take your hand in his while the other brushes its thumb repeatedly over the curve of your breast. A certain look swirls his irises. It wasn’t arousal, sexual tension, and defidently not fear.

It had been something you hadn’t seen in quite some time. Except when you had been lying in bed tangled with Jimin, having late night conversations as the moon is your only light source. His chocolate irises tell some much, without a single word being spoken. Somehow, you felt everything he was feeling. The nervousness, the euphoria, the-

“I love you.”

Next Chapter ->

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©sweethearthigh 2022. Do not copy, translate, or modify my works. Thank You <333

[weirdowithaquill]

Fin here- i need to ask question about the TATMR horror story, Edward's Requiem, and the Tidmouth Train to Hell because what why and when i need answers-

(yes i got a tumblr. Do I know how to use it? No. But challenges must be face in pursuit of answers)

Alright! So I have already done an answer for 'Edward; A Requiem in Steam', which I will link if I can figure it out. (If not, it's in my posts), and the Tidmouth Train to Hell is a little more vague - but I can give a full answer for the TATMR Horror Story!

So, it's less directly TATMR related, and more based off Diesel 10 and Lady, and the true story behind Diesel 10's modifications. Let's just say it's... grim.

'He awoke to men rummaging about in his cab, slowly taking off his panelling and inspecting every inch of his system. “He’s an interesting one, that’s for sure,” one said. “Look – his wiring doesn’t seem to be normal after a point.” He pulled at the wire, and D801 yelped. “It’s almost like nerves! Steamers don’t have this… and neither did the other diesels.” D801 wanted the strange men out of his engine room, but he was powerless to stop them. Thankfully, the men did not mess with his internal engine any more, screwing the covers back into place after gently cleaning and repairing everything. D801 felt… good.

Then, they broke out the paint pots. They sprayed him a Military desert camouflage, with the number ‘10’ sprayed onto his cab sides. “From now on, you are Project 10, understood?” one of the men said. It was not a question. “Yes sir,” Project 10 stammered. The other engines watched, unblinking. Project 10 could feel their eyes boring into him. In the light, he could see what the Army had done to them clearly. The eldest had once been a regal blue – he could see where the Army’s paint had peeled off her, leaving the patches of blue clearly visible in the sunlight.

She wore an eyepatch, and her copper chimney had been long replaced by a much larger funnel. She had ‘Project 1’ sprayed on her tender… and pieces missing. Pieces missing all over her. Her cab had been removed, her wheel-arches were gone. There were places where Project 10 could see her boiler tubes – where he could see the innermost workings of a steam engine. She was the only one who didn’t stare, instead she kept her one visible eye closed.'

Yeah... this is the least gruesome part I could find of what I've written. Certainly not for kids, and also a project I stuck on the backburner for a bit while I am focusing on getting my ERS series completed.

[pwlanier]

Today in Great Lakes shipping history. June 16th.

Great Lakes Fest Celebrates History with Return of the Toledo Antique and Classic Boat Show

Friday June 16, 2023 (Toledo, Ohio) – The National Museum of the Great Lakes and Ramsey Brothers Restoration are proud to announce they are teaming up to host Great Lakes Fest featuring the return of the Toledo Antique and Classic Boat Show this summer on Saturday, July 22.

Great Lakes Fest featuring the Toledo Antique & Classic Boat Show will take place from 10 a.m. – 5 p.m. on July 22. Tickets to join the day-long Great Lakes Fest celebration are FREE for National Museum of the Great Lakes members and children under 6, and $10 (pre-sale) or $15 (day-of) for all others. Admission includes full access to The National Museum of the Great Lakes and museum vessels, all land and water boat show displays, live demonstrations, maritime vendors, food trucks, family activities and more.

The boat show is open to classic boats of all types, but particularly focused on those built prior to 1975 or modern re-creations. Boater registration is $50 per boat / $25 each additional boat by July 15 or $65 after that deadline and includes two tickets to the boat show and Friday night reception on the Col James M. Schoonmaker Museum Ship, as well as a gift bag and official show T-shirt.

1891: On 16 June 1891, Alexander McDougall himself took his brand-new whaleback steamer JOSEPH L. COLBY (steel propeller whaleback freighter, 265 foot, 1,245 gross tons, built in 1890 at West Superior, Wisconsin) down the St. Lawrence River to the sea. The double-hulled COLBY left Prescott, Ontario at 3 p.m., drawing six feet nine inches aft and five feet six inches forward and started on her wild ride through the rapids. The whaleback freighter plowed through the Galops, Iroquois, Long Sault, Coteau, Cedar, Split Rock and Cascade Rapids. She grated the bottom a number of times and had a number of close calls. Captain McDougall stood immobile throughout the trip but great beads of perspiration broke out on his forehead. When the vessel finally made it through the Cascades and was safe on Lake St. Louis, the French Canadian pilot left and the crew let out shouts of joy with the whistle blowing. The COLBY was the first screw steamer to attempt running the rapids.

1967: The FEUX FOLLETS (Hull#188) was launched at Collingwood, Ontario, by Collingwood Shipyards Ltd., for Papachristidis Co. Ltd. She was the last steam-powered lake ship.

Boat Nerd

[marcholasmoth]

OSRR: 3408

i cleaned joel's and my bedroom floor and put together the bedframe! i'm very excited about the new bed. joel and i swept and then i used the steamer to get the gunk off the floor, and the frame was very easy to put together. between the two of us, i'm the builder, which is nice. i like putting things together. and it's nice that i can be left to my own devices to make things.

i realized today that joel's the creative one. as much as i love creating things and being artistic, i often follow guidelines to build things. joel designs games, he makes spray paint art, he does so much that's all creativity-based. give me instructions and i will build the most beautiful bookcase you've ever seen. i'll even paint it. while it bears my mark of creation, joel's books will adorn its shelves.

we both do analysis for work and spend our free time being creative. and i think part of my love of building things and making things is that so much of the time i'm locked in my head and have to give answers and make things that aren't physical, so when i have the chance to make something that is, i'll take it. it seems to track for me. i love building things. give me instructions on how to put something together and i will be occupied for as long as it'll take me to put together. lego sets take a few hours. the bed was maybe 30 minutes. the three bookcases downstairs took me maybe two hours total. love building shit.

joel is gonna clean up the kitchen space tomorrow. i'll be excited to see it be cleaner when i get back, to have things be more organized. we have to tackle the living room together, though, and the closet in the bedroom has a door that needs to be either fixed or replaced. i'll look into it. (it's missing the screw and hanger part that goes into the top of the door to hold it onto the track.)

i think besides that and the delicious tacos i had for dinner tonight, i'm good. my back hurts though.