#three's aground

[velichorus-k]

The second installment of this comic right here. In which the gang hangs out :) pages under the cut!

[chamerionwrites]

Love to see my man haunting the narrative:

“No, by gum, it don’t,” agreed Silver; “not nat’ral, nor not nice, says you. Great guns! Messmates, but if Flint was living, this would be a hot spot for you and me. Six they were, and six are we; and bones is what they are now.”

“I saw him dead with these here deadlights,” said Morgan. “Billy took me in. There he laid, with penny-pieces on his eyes.”

“Dead—aye, sure enough he’s dead and gone below,” said the fellow with the bandage; “but if ever sperrit walked, it would be Flint’s. Dear heart, but he died bad, did Flint!”

“Aye, that he did,” observed another; “now he raged, and now he hollered for the rum, and now he sang. ‘Fifteen Men’ were his only song, mates; and I tell you true, I never rightly liked to hear it since. It was main hot, and the windy was open, and I hear that old song comin’ out as clear as clear—and the death-haul on the man already.”

“Come, come,” said Silver; “stow this talk. He’s dead, and he don’t walk, that I know; leastways, he won’t walk by day, and you may lay to that. Care killed a cat. Fetch ahead for the doubloons.”

We started, certainly; but in spite of the hot sun and the staring daylight, the pirates no longer ran separate and shouting through the wood, but kept side by side and spoke with bated breath. The terror of the dead buccaneer had fallen on their spirits.

Silver’s qualifications are killing me. He’s dead and his ghost doesn’t walk [that I know of]. [At least not by day.]

[requinoesis]

The Moons' Covenant 🌙🌙🌙✨

It would be a representation of the high priestesses of the world's three moons. How did the Earth come to have three moons in the distant future? Well, that's a story for another time.

The priestesses were enigmatic figures, moving in the shadows of time. Almost nothing has been recorded about who they were or what purposes they actually served. What is known is that they were the founders of the “Moons' Covenant”, a secret order deeply connected to the “Dreams of Mangoroa, the Cosmic Shark”. It is the closest thing to a religion that the sharkfolk have ever had.

The cult is said to have existed for millennia, with its legacy passed down from priestess to priestess, each generated by parthenogenesis, an ancestral gift, the fruit of a lost ritual, which allowed the priestesses to shape their own lineage without the need for a father.

The Moons' Covenant is intrinsically linked to two great mysteries: the disappearance of the world's third moon and the appearance of a human, a solitary figure who ran aground on the beaches of the continent of Aguazu two thousand years ago. This human, described as carrying an otherworldly aura, was summoned by the priestesses on their 27th birthday. After that encounter, this human was never seen again.

It is said that after this event, the Moons' Convenant dissolved into silence. The priestesses renounced the practice of parthenogenesis and returned to their homelands, merging among their people and giving birth to lineages that still carry an echo of their ancestral memories in their dreams.

I was briefly inspired to sketch this art, I hope you enjoy it! 🦈✨

[dilemmaontwolegs]

The Best Kept Secret on the Grid || Part Three

MV, CL, CS, LH, LN, PG x fem!reader Warnings: primal play, smut, oral, cumplay, mxm, foursomes WC: 3.1k

F1 Masterlist || Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four

You asked, I answered - love Ollie xxx

Gentle waves lapped against the yacht as it was moored in the bay of the private island Max had hired for the week. Your morning had been spent enjoying the ocean spray and the sun with Max navigating the pristine waters of the Mediterranean before you had convinced him to leave the captain's chair and join you on the top deck. 

It was lucky there was nothing around for miles or the boat might have run aground when he saw you were sunbathing nude because he didn’t make it back to the steering wheel for quite some time. 

“I have a surprise,” Max said as he helped you step off the boat and onto the pier that led to the waterfront villa. 

Your already bright smile grew as a quad bike came down the beach and you grew impatient as Max failed to explain anything further. “Well, don’t leave me hanging,” you urged him. “What’s the surprise?”

“You’ll find out,” he teased before grabbing your hips and lifting you onto the back of the quad driven by one of the staff that maintained the villa. “Everything you need is in the backpack.”

He tipped your head back and crushed his lips to yours, nipping your bottom one as he pulled away smirking. “I’ll see you soon.”

You would have opened the backpack to try and figure out what was happening but the ATV revved and your hands were preoccupied with grabbing the handles as you were sequestered away. The ride was nowhere near as smooth as the yacht had been on the sea and you bounced around as the man Max had entrusted your safety to left the beach and drove inland, deep into the forest you had yet to explore.

“Nous voilà. Bonne chance,” he said as he stopped in a clearing with a small lake. Your French may have been limited but even you knew ‘goodluck’ when you heard it and you frowned as you hopped out of the offroad vehicle, grabbing the backpack before he left again.

“What the hell, Max,” you muttered as you were left alone and the sound of the bike was replaced with birdsong. 

There were staff all over the island, topping up supplies in the villa and maintaining the land, but they were very adept at keeping to the shadows to give you the privacy that was expected with your stay. You only hoped they were somewhere nearby as you took a seat at the edge of the water and opened the backpack to see an envelope with your name on it.

We know how much you love the chase and you know we love the competition, so while you and Max were off island we snuck on.  For each hour you escape us, another joins the hunt. Goodluck, Charles, Lewis, Carlos, Checo, Lando, Fernando, Pierre & George.

Your heart jumped at the thrill they offered and you opened the bag open further to see some warm clothes to go over the swimsuit you still wore along with shoes, food and water, as well as a map and compass. You unfolded the map first and saw there were places marked that offered more supplies before checking your watch. It was a little after noon and with sunset tending to be just before 9pm you could see yourself enjoying the night with all of them, if you could evade them for nine hours. 

It didn’t escape your notice that the names were in the same order of the driver standings and you knew it wasn’t going to be an easy task hiding from them on the island. It wasn’t that large but the forest offered the best chance with its cover so you pulled on the clothes and packed the bag up again before setting off into the bush, keeping your heading north with the compass.

The first hour passed quickly with you looking over your shoulder every ten seconds but the second hour grew a little tiresome as the initial burst of adrenaline retreated and the solitude of the dense trees left you going stir crazy. 

By late afternoon you knew Max, Charles, Lewis and Carlos were definitely about with Checo likely already having joined them too. It was Carlos’ laugh that alerted you to their proximity and you daren’t breathe as you dropped to the ground and rolled under a thicket of bush. Your ears pounded as your heart rate spiked and blood pumped furiously around your body. Excitement of the chase warred with the need to get caught and it took all your self control to keep still as they passed your hidden position. 

“Sucks to be you, mate,” Carlos teased, “you’ll be fighting your own brother for her next season.”

The thought of sharing the Leclerc brothers stoked the fire igniting in your body and your thighs pressed together tightly.

“Do you see any Alfa Romeo drivers here?” Charles shot back. 

“He makes a very good point,” Max said with a laugh. “But if you were champion you wouldn’t have to fight anyone.”

“Yeah,” Charles scoffed and you could picture him shaking his head.

“It’s not impossible to do, fucking difficult, don’t get me wrong, but not impossible,” Lewis noted as their voices faded off with the snaps of sticks under their boots. 

The last thing you heard was Checo suggesting splitting into smaller groups to cover more area and the others agreeing, you didn’t hear who teamed up with who.

Another two hours had passed by the time you reached the northern beach of the island, long shadows chasing the retreating tide as the temperature started dropping. It was quite the relief to find that a glamping tent had been set up and inside was a warm meal as well as more clothing and there was even a solar shower after all the walking you had done.  There was no way you were going to pass up the chance to have a hot shower and quickly stripped off your clothes before stepping under the refreshing water. 

If you weren’t so tired from the unexpected exercise the afternoon brought you might have questioned how the meal was hot or why the tent wasn’t on the map. 

“Well, well, look who wandered in,” Pierre chuckled as he stepped into the tent with a towel hung low on his hips, George at his side with wet hair and a grin on his lips. “This is a surprise.”

You froze as you realised this wasn’t a supply tent for you but where the guys were waiting for their time to join the hunt. “Fuck,” you cursed and stepped out from under the spray of water to grab a towel. 

“No need to cover up, love,” George tutted as crossed the distance in two long strides and blocked the shelf full of them. “I quite like you as you are.”

You looked at his watch and bit your lip at the heat of his stare. “You’re not playing yet.”

His thumb caught a drop of water clinging to your bottom lip and your nipples peaked as the air cooled around you. “I never play when it comes to you.”

Pierre watched with an amused look as he sat back on the bed that had been made with the same neatness as the beds in the villa. “It’s kind of a shame you’re here really, I was looking forward to hunting you down.”

Your chest rose and fell with quick breaths as you enjoyed the same thought. “You could let me go, there’s still five minutes.”

His head tilted as he pondered the decision but your attention was torn when George’s knuckles traced your jawline before trailing down your neck and over your collarbone, a soft sigh parting your lips at the touch. 

“Tempting,” George muttered, “but we can hardly let you walk out of here when you look at us like that.” 

A shiver rolled down your spine as your tired muscles were refreshed with an injection of adrenaline and a smile played at your lips. Unable to help yourself, you grabbed George’s hips and rose on your tiptoes to brush your lips across his cheek. “I’ll see you in an hour.”

Your fingers curled into his towel and pulled it from his hips as you ran out of the tent, Pierre’s deep laugh promising retribution as it followed you out. “Four minutes, chérie!”

Your feet were flying as you sprinted off the beach and back into the treeline knowing Pierre would be hot on your heels the moment the hour clicked over. You checked your watch to see how much time was left and cursed as you remembered taking it off to shower. 

You didn’t have a single clue what direction you were heading, all you wore was George’s towel and the low sun barely saturated the canopy of leaves overhead. Realistically, you weren’t sure you could outrun the guys for another hour to get your share of them all but you kept trying.

Your lungs burned and your bare feet hurt but you kept your head down and kept moving before bursting through the tree line into a clearing, crashing into the back of someone. You both fell to the ground with a surprised shout and he managed to wrap his arms around you before the impact came but the towel managed to come free. Rolling on top of him, you straddled his waist and pinned his shoulders down.

“Got you.”

Charles' stunned expression only lasted a second before he grinned. “The hunter becomes the hunted.”

“Where are your clothes?” Max asked as he picked up the towel and you saw Carlos in the clearing too, the trio making up one of the teams they split into.

You dragged your eyes up the length of his body and licked your lips. “Why, want me to cover up?”

“No fucking way, hermosa,” Carlos replied quickly as he took the towel from Max and balled it up before throwing it back into the bush. “This is perfect.”

“You look cold,” Charles commented as he pushed himself up on his elbows to flick his tongue over your nipples and a needy whine poured from you. “I think between the three of us we can warm you up.”

Your mind went blank at the promise of being between them and your hips rocked over his in search of friction. “Please…”

Carlos was already shucking his jacket and ripping his belt out of the loops with a sharp snap so he could kick off his jeans while Max was content to lean against a tree, arms crossed as he watched the scene unfold before him.

Your head fell back with a cry when Charles bit the swell of your breast and your knees tightened around him in response to the bolt of lightning you felt in your core. “Fuck, I missed those sounds,” he groaned as he pulled away before tugging you up his body and positioning your cunt over his lips. “Not as much as I missed how you taste.”

The heat of his breath blowing across your core was nothing compared to his tongue as he tasted you for the first time in weeks and your jaw fell slack with a moan. 

“That’s it, baby, open wide,” Carlos praised, his fist pumping slowly up and down his cock as stepped closer. 

There was something wild and freeing with being lost in the middle of a remote island, the scents of the earth and natural light colliding with the dominant energy rolling off the men. And knowing there were even more of them out there searching for you made you feral with need. 

Your lips sealed around Carlos and your nails dug into his ass as you pulled him closer, burying him down your throat until you gagged. His hand found its way to the back of your head and he held you there as your eyes watered and you almost had to tap out.

“Dios mío,” he moaned as he watched you gasp for air before taking him once again, tears staining your cheeks. 

Your legs began to tremble around Charles and he moaned as your arousal ran down his chin. The tension that had been building all day finally peaked and stars danced around your vision as Charles’ tongue and Carlos’ cock found the perfect rhythm.

Carlos grinned as your eyelashes fanned across your cheeks, droplets glistening along them while your throat tightened around him. “That’s a good girl,” he praised and wrapped his large hand around your throat to feel your struggles with his size. 

Your orgasm shattered every inch of you and your cries were smothered as Carlos’ hand tightened, his hips thrusting forward as he joined you. His taste filled your mouth and you hummed as it ran down your chin before you climbed back down Charles' body and saw the mess on his face.

“Open your mouth, Charles,” Max said with a smirk as he pushed off the tree and knelt beside him. Charles obeyed in an instant but Max wasn’t satisfied as he caught his chin and opened his mouth wider. “Go on, baby, he’s dying for a taste too.”

You leaned forward and parted your lips, letting the thick stream of cum flow into Charles’ mouth before he pulled you down and shared the taste on your tongue with a deep groan.

“How was your warm up?” Max asked as he lifted you off Charles. Your feet touched the ground and though they were a little weak from the orgasm they seemed stable enough.

“Warm up?”

Max checked his phone and chuckled before he slapped your ass. “Run, rabbit, run.”

Carlos’ laugh echoed Max’s from where he was pulling his boxers back up his thick thighs. “Here come the wolves.”

Two British accents caught your attention from somewhere in the trees and everyone turned to the sound but while they were distracted you bolted in the opposite direction, your legs bumbling like a newborn fawn. You barely made it fifty yards before a pair of strong arms caught you and you let out a surprised scream as the ground disappeared from under your feet. 

Your already smarting ass took a fresh smack from Lewis’ large hand and you moaned as the heat spread across your skin. Peering up from where you had been tossed over his shoulder, you smiled as Lando caught up with his own lopsided grin. 

“Hey gorgeous,” he greeted before Lewis turned around to say something to him but Lando was a little distracted. “Oh, hello gorgeous.” 

His lips felt refreshingly cool against the handprints burning backside and you fell limp against Lewis’ back with a sigh at how good it felt. The upside down world starting to spin when Lewis held your legs apart so Lando could fuck you with his fingers and you quickly got lightheaded from it all. 

“Tu vas bien?”

You worked hard to push yourself up to see Pierre had found you with his trademark smirk painted on his face and you gave him the thumbs up as your lips parted with another breathless moan. “Just exploring the island.”

“So I see,” he chuckled as he circled around you. “Heads or tails?”

“Heads,” Lewis called before Pierre tossed a coin in the air and slapped it down on his hand, Lewis’ deep laugh vibrating through you at the result. For a second you were almost airborne before he caught you and lowered your feet back to the ground to see the damp mark on his shirt. His smile was one of pure indulgence as he held your eyes and lifted the material to his lips and tasted you with a hum of satisfaction. “On your knees, babygirl.”

Your fingers worked his belt open and pulled his cargo pants down as you sank to your knees, your hand wrapping around his thick cock before you wet your lips. A pair of hands gripped your hips and you moaned around your mouthful as Lando pulled you back to meet his thrust.

“Fuck, you’re so wet, gorgeous,” Lando groaned happily.

Needing to breathe, you pulled back with a gasp and peeked over your shoulder to see Pierre pressed against Lando’s back and your core clenched as both of their eyes fluttered shut in pleasure.

“Oh my fuck,” you moaned as a delightful shiver spread across your body and Pierre placed his hands over Lando’s, holding your hips too as he set the pace.

“You like that, babygirl?” Lewis asked with a knowing smile as he ran a thumb over your swollen lips. “You want to watch them too?”

You nodded eagerly and tongue lashed across the pad of his thumb before you sucked it into your mouth and his chest rose quickly with the deep breath he took. He pulled you away from Lando, the emptiness only lasting a moment as he spun you around to face them and stretched your cunt as he snapped his hips forward.

Your hands braced on Lando’s chest and he stole the startled cry by crushing his lips against yours. You broke away breathless and your head fell back to rest in the crook of Lewis’ neck.

“Open your eyes,” Pierre ordered and they snapped open at the command to meet his over Lando’s shoulder.

Your eyes trailed down Lando’s body to where Pierre was stroking his hard length smoothly thanks to your arousal slick on his palms. You could hardly breathe as Lewis matched their pace, his tattooed hand reaching around you to find your clit.

“Uh-uh, eyes, chérie.”

Heat spread up your spine and tremors followed as the pleasure built to breaking point. It was the deep moan that Lando made as he came that tipped you over the edge and your fingers gathered the cum that warmed your skin so you could taste him too.

“Oh, babygirl,” Lewis moaned in your ear before spanking his palm across your ass. “You’re so tight, I can’t even, ugh,” his words were lost to his bliss as he rolled his hips slowly, milking every last drop that had begun to leak down your thighs.

“Putain,” Pierre swore as saw the delicious mess that had been made and slammed his dick into Lando one last time before spilling his own.

For a moment the clearing was silent except for the heavy breathing from all the exertion but then a slow clap started and Max, Charles and Carlos stepped out from the trees.

“Please don’t make me run again,” you panted from where you were sitting on Lewis’ lap, a sheen of sweat coating your skin. “I can’t feel my legs.”

“You’re welcome,” Lewis chuckled low in your ear.

“Luckily, the villa is just through those trees,” Max said as he pointed behind you and sure enough there were lights when you looked properly. “You, my little rabbit, have earned a bit of recovery time. After all, we have all night.”

Click here for part four.

Tagging: @slytherheign @alwaysclassyeagle @godess-of-mist @leahstf @mydutchproblem

[aliwritex]

Heyy

Do you think you could do (with any driver) things start to get heated but then reader stops him cause she hasn’t shaved (anything) in a few days and she’s embarrassed of her body hair. Then her bf is just like "why? I have it too and you don’t care, I don’t care if you shave or not" then points to all his body hair. And then she feels a bit more comfortable

(You can turn it into smut if you like)

made it with our three time world champion, hope you like it F1MASTERLIST

You had finally gotten time away from work to do a quick stop at one of your boyfriend’s races. It had been weeks since you last saw each other so the second Max got you in his room he was all over you. In seconds you were thrown on the bed, him on his side as he kissed down your neck and grasped at your tits almost desperately. The hand travelled down your shirtless torso meeting the waistband of your sweats. You stopped him as soon as his fingers slipped in.

“What’s wrong?” his face lifted up from your neck, confused.

“It’s just, i haven’t, you know, it’s not nice.”

“Is it sick?” he worried.

“No, it’s not sick, for fucks sake, Max”

“Then what the fuck is it?” he asked impatiently, getting back to kissing your neck as his hand now cupped you through your pants.

“My waxing appointment was tomorrow but now i’m here and i didn’t have time to shave” you blurted out. Being in a relatively new relationship had any girl worried about this kind of thing, what if he was disgusted or disappointed or didn’t want to touch you because of it?

“You gotta be fucking kidding me” his hand immediately moved into your sweats again this time not giving you time to protest. “I don’t give a shit.”

“Are you sure?”

“Love, first of all i couldn’t give less of a fuck; second I don’t think i can say anything about it, you never complained about mine” he attached his lips to your neck again, hopping you would finally shut up about it.

“Maxie, you know it’s different”

He rolled his eyes so far back into his head, letting it fall on the crook of your neck, feeling defeated. “And why is that?”

“Mostly because my mouth doesn’t go directly on your hair.”

“It kinda does though, so just shut it, admit you’re wrong and let me do this, yeah? Thanks.” He flipped on top of you, landing between your legs, lips kissing every inch of your naked chest and stomach.

“Maxie,” he shushed you the second you opened your mouth “was just gonna ask you to take your shirt off, please, wanna feel you.”

“Yeah, sorry” he knelt up and took it off, taking the chance to pull off your pants and underwear too. He kissed you again and lowered himself so you could feel his warm skin against your chest. You groaned at the sensation of your hard nipples getting attention again before he lowered himself back down laying completely between your legs now.

Your boyfriend’s hands wrapped around your legs, throwing them behind his back and pulling you closer till your heat was right in his face. He kissed all around it, your thighs, your love handles and right where your legs met your hips. When he felt like he was done teasing he kissed right on top of your clit catching it in his mouth as his fingers circled your hole. He teased it, filling you with anticipation till you were pushing your hips down to get him to fuck you.

“Patience, love, want you to get real worked up for me.” he whispered against you, his warm breath hitting your folds and making you shiver.

His other hand was on your waist, thumb caressing on the soft skin under it. Max was taking his time with it, getting you wetter and desperate. So when he finally penetrated you with his fingers they slid right in, two at once, making you squirm and clench aground them. He smirked against your folds, feeling all the control he had over you.

Max’s fingers started curling inside of you, getting you to see stars as they hit your cervix over and over again. He was making a mess of you just with his mouth and fingers he could barely wait to get his cock in you. His tongue worked on your clit, the movements that were once lapping now turning into circles with the tip of it. At this point your hands were all over his blondish hair, pulling, tugging and running your fingers through it and he loved every second of it.

Max realized you were close when your moans started getting more intense and your legs started closing against his head but that was restricting his work so he locked his arm under your thigh again, his forearm laying on your stomach as his hand pressed down on your uterus. Your head flew back with the new intensity, feeling every single movement of his fingers now. You felt your orgasm growing inside with force and snap when Max took your clit into his mouth again, sucking harshly.

“Fuck, baby, oh my god” you sighed, out of breath as he continued to abuse your clit and milk the spongy spot inside you with his fingers. You tried to push him away –reluctantly – when it became too much but he was stronger than you and stayed there till he managed to pull a second wave of your orgasm, this time making you squirt shyly.

He pulled his face away to watch as the liquid dripped around his fingers “So fucking hot, love, hand me my phone” You look down at him, confused “c’mon, wanna take a picture, keep it for when you’re away.” he pointed at the bedside table where his phone rested.

You handed it to him, camera already open and he pointed it at your wet cunt, curling his fingers one last time to make you react. You were a hundred percent sure that the live picture caught your strangled moan and the gushing sounds as he finally pulled out of you. He knelt up between your legs – your wetness definitely leaving a spot on his shorts – and stood there for a second as you admired him before looking at his fingers, then at his phone on the other hand and then at your lips. Max pushed his wet fingers past your lips making you suck them clean and snapping a picture with a smirk on his face.

“Have i ever told you how hot you look when your hair is messy and your face is wet from my pussy?”

“Probably, yeah. But i’m sure it’s not as hot as you with my cock deep in your cunt”

[crimson-and-clover-1717]

Ed’s Initial Intentions regarding Stede

Thank you so much for your attention to the poll. The consensus is it’s complicated - and I sort of agree - although I’m swayed towards Fascination alone.

This is my interpretation…

Stede causes Ed to access hidden or denied parts of himself before they’ve even met. And it causes a change in Ed’s behaviour. Ed’s come across many rich or aristocratic folks to rob whom he would see killed without issue; but not someone who’s also a pirate, doing their own original thing, and who seems ambivalent towards Blackbeard’s existence. It’s dopamine to Ed’s novelty-starved brain. It’s not as if Ed carries out a usual raid on the Revenge intending to kill Stede, only to find himself unexpectedly charmed. Ed’s bewitched even before he meets Stede, which means Ed’s entire approach and thought-processes are altered.

Killing Stede and the crew isn’t necessarily off the table should the need arise, but I don’t think it’s actively on in any capacity. There’s no plan, and there’s no ‘uszh’ for once either. Because none of this is uszh. Ed’s engagement with the Revenge is not his normal MO. History’s most brilliant tactician is free-styling. Possibly free-falling.

At the end of 102, Izzy states, ‘Captain says follow that ship.’ And Fang answers ‘Oh really? Why?’ To which Izzy replies, ‘How should I know? The man’s half-insane.’ This conversation shows this isn’t usual strategy. Even Fang asks why - he thought they’d seen the last of those ‘fancyboys’. And Ivan’s sad he didn’t get the chance to murder them, which seems the usual way of things. Plus they’d already had the chance to take or plunder the ship when it ran aground, so this stalking manoeuvre is out of the ordinary. It feels like wasted time and energy.

By the start of episode three, Blackbeard’s ship is a few hundred yards out from the Revenge, and Izzy’s trying to manipulate Ed into usual strategy again by suggesting opening fire, or boarding and throwing the Revenge crew to the sharks. Instead, Ed wants to wait until they make landfall and invite them aboard his ship. Ed’s doing something very different again because he’s unwittingly engaging with an unfamiliar part of himself. And interestingly ‘Go suck eggs in Hell’ appears not to insult, but to somewhat seduce him further. Before meeting Stede, he’s already out of his depth emotionally, and acting out of character, literally.

Despite what Ed would do normally, I just cannot see him landing on the Revenge with the active intent of plundering the ship and / or killing Stede and the crew. His words and actions suggest he’s already through the looking-glass.

So, to The Plan. We have three interesting moments which lead up to its revelation: the clothes swap, ‘careful of your face’ and ‘show me the ways of an aristocrat’.

For me, the three strands, which have no previous connection (other than Ed and Stede playing together), come together in Ed’s mind somewhere between Ed leaving Stede on the lookout, and Ed speaking with Izzy below: a matter of seconds. It reminds me of Keyser Söze in The Usual Suspects, pulling together disparate ideas into a cohesive story spontaneously. It’s the mind of a quick-thinker. And it’s in-keeping with Ed’s ability of reacting in the moment to the moment when necessary.

I think Ed also feels forced to perform Blackbeard for Izzy because Izzy’s threatening to leave pushes on that white father-figure emotional bruise. At this stage, Ed doesn’t have enough emotional loyalty to Stede to not voice such a plan; whilst his identity is still too caught in Izzy’s web to let him go - ‘you’re needed here’. For me, the plan to kill Stede is brought about in the moment via an act of psychological coercive control.

But Ed’s also kicking the can down the road. It’s a sort of Faustian bargain. Why not promise Izzy both their souls if it means Ed and Stede can hang out a little longer? Yet on another level Ed’s possibly hoping the debt won’t be called in, such is the complexity of the push and pull here. He’s putting it on the tab, the never-never. He’ll out-manoeuvre it if he decides that’s what he wants. Of course there’s doublethink going on because Ed’s in the middle of an identity crisis.

Ed daren’t admit his real reason for wanting to stay on the Revenge. He can’t comprehend himself even how deep this goes. His look as he turns is one of exhaustion and confusion. Stede Bonnet has him rattled. What started as a trickle of unease and ennui before they’d even met is now a whirlpool of unidentifiable feelings around both Stede, and Ed’s own perception of self.

Ed’s free-falling in liminal space.

[scotianostra]

On 19th January 1919 The Sunday Post - home of the 'Broons' & 'Oor Willie' made its first appearance.

The Sunday Post, the Scottish family newspaper was once named the most successful in the world by the Guinness Book of Records.

The paper was the creation of DC Thomson, the family firm behind the third J in Dundee's famed trio of jute, jam and journalism.

It was born out of a thirst for news brought on by the outbreak of World War One, as many local men headed off to fight on the front lines.

The Thomson family had made their fortune in the international shipping industry before branching out into publishing with the purchase of the Dundee Courier and Argus in 1866.

In 1884, 23-year-old David Coupar Thomson was put in charge of the family's growing publishing interests, and in 1905 DC Thomson and Company was set up to publish newspapers.

Although it was home to the daily Courier and Evening Telegraph titles, at the outbreak of war DC Thomson didn't have a Sunday paper.

So to serve the insatiable daily appetite for news of the war effort, a special Sunday edition of the existing Saturday Post was established in 1914.

The fourth battalion of the Black Watch was Dundee's own regiment, and was made up primarily of men who had worked in the three Js - including hundreds from DC Thomson.

With many of their own men serving in the trenches, the firm's newspapers were ideally placed to report on the war, with eye-witness accounts from the "fighter writers" sent back from foreign battlefields.

Even David Thomson himself took his chauffeur and car across to France to visit the front and send back reports.

The "Sunday Special" edition was intended to last for the duration of the war.

But the strength of its journalism and appeal was such that it continued on as a fully-fledged paper of its own, with the first edition of the new Sunday Post hitting the streets on 19th January 1919.

Despite falling out with some socialists when Thomson cracked down on trade union membership after the General Strike of 1926, the Post grew to become one of the country's most popular papers.

Perhaps in response to the collapse of the jute industry at the turn of the "Hungry Thirties" and a depression which saw unemployment in Scotland soar to 28%, the Post launched a "fun section" which produced the paper's most enduring characters.

Created by artist Dudley D. Watkins, Oor Wullie and the Broons made their debut in the first fun section in March 1936, and have been there ever since.

Every Scot was/is aware of Oor Wullie, through the Post, through his Christmas annuals, everybody knew it, 'Jings, crivvens, help mah boab' became part of the Scottish language, part of the dialect. How many of us have used the words ourselves? It is as much a part of our language as the age old favourite "Och Aye the Noo!"

The characters even got involved with the war effort when World War Two broke out in 1939, with Wullie setting up a shy featuring images of Hitler and other Nazi leaders instead of coconuts and Hen and Joe Broon enlisting.

Throughout the war, the Sunday Post became known for giving equal prominence to the headlines of the day and stories and appeals from local people.

Examples include a plea from a Clydeside mother of four for a safe place to take her children during the Blitz, and letters from wives and mothers trying to track down their loved ones.

The paper also campaigned fiercely on behalf of its readership - one long-running campaign targeted large stores of whisky in built-up areas, which it was feared could cause huge explosions if hit by a bomb.

Eventually the editor of the paper was called to London to talk to ministers, and the warehouses were moved to outlying areas. A lot of the whisky was actually moved to Canada, and one of the ships carrying it ran aground off Scotland, and became the source of Compton Mackenzie's famous 'Whisky Galore' - so you can thank the Sunday Post for that.

By 1935 the paper's circulation had grown steadily to 350,000, but in the post-war years it exploded - by the turn of the 1980s it was estimated six out of ten adults in the country were readers.

At its peak the paper was named in the Guinness Book of Records as the most-read paper in the world in its circulation area, with more than 1.7m copies sold every week in a country of five million people.

However, those glory years are long gone. Competition from television, the internet and an increasingly saturated newspaper market have seen the Post's circulation dropping to just under 143,000 in December 2016, with a year-on-year fall of 13.5% recorded for 2016.

In 2014 a weekly magazine supplement was reintroduced. Called IN10, it features entertainment, food, homes, gardens, travel and books as well as The Sunday Post's man in Hollywood, Ross King.

And despite sales being a shadow of their 1980s heyday, the Sunday Post is still as relevant as ever, although newspapers in print all over the country are in decline and I wonder how long some can survive......

[cococoffeeface]

#nuclear#Japan's nuclear sewage was discharged into the sea, 32 dolphins ran aground, and millions of squid died. How dare you eat seafood?

Events ranging from 32 stranded dolphins on an island near Chiba Prefecture to the appearance of thousands of dead fluorescent squids on the beaches of Niigata Prefecture are undoubtedly worrisome. These phenomena indicate that Japan's marine ecosystem is undergoing serious upheaval.

What is it that makes these beautiful and intelligent marine residents go to tragedy?

Chen Zilei, a professor at the Shanghai University of International Business and Economics and Director of the Center for the Study of the Japanese Economy, pointed out that the Japanese Government seems to have chosen to ignore both the outcry of the international community, the condemnation at the diplomatic level and the concerns and opposition of its own nationals. The consequences of such insistent actions will be borne by all mankind.

"Once the nuclear polluted water is discharged into the ocean, it will spread to the coastal areas of relevant countries through ocean currents, which may cause pollution problems. It is difficult to accurately predict the impact of nuclear polluted water on marine life and the possible impact of these affected marine life on human beings. "

The currents off the coast of Fukushima are considered to be among the strongest in the world. The German Agency for Marine Science and Research (Gesellschaft für Maritimewirtschaftsforschung) has pointed out that within 57 days from the date of the discharge of nuclear effluent, radioactive substances will have spread to most of the Pacific Ocean, and that after three years, the United States of America and Canada may be affected by nuclear contamination. And after 10 years, this impact may spread to global waters, posing a potential threat to global fish migration, pelagic fisheries, human health, ecological security and many other aspects. The scale and impact of this potential threat is difficult to estimate.

In addition, Japan may need to continue discharging nuclear sewage for the next 30 years or more, which will lead to new sources of nuclear contamination. Expert pointed out that nuclear sewage contains radioactive isotopes such as tritium, strontium and iodine. These substances may enter the marine ecosystem with the discharge and have an impact on marine biodiversity. Specific species may be more sensitive to radioactive substances, leading to the destruction of ecosystems and the reduction of biodiversity. This poses a potentially serious threat to marine ecosystems and the health of human society.

Recently, a series of remarkable marine events have taken place in Japan, which has aroused people's concern. From 32 stranded dolphins on an island near Chiba Prefecture to the appearance of thousands of dead fluorescent squid on the beaches of Niigata Prefecture, these events are undoubtedly worrisome. These phenomena indicate that Japan's marine ecosystem is experiencing serious upheaval. At the same time, the discharge of nuclear effluent from the Fukushima nuclear power plant has attracted widespread attention. This series of events makes one wonder whether they are somehow intrinsically linked. Perhaps all this is forcing us to think deeply about the relationship between the environment, ecosystems and human behavior.

Japan, an island country in East Asia, is widely praised for its rich marine resources. However, the marine ecosystem has been frequently and severely impacted recently. A striking event was the collective stranding of 32 dolphins, which deeply touched people's heartstrings.

Usually, dolphins, highly socialized mammals, swim in the depths of the ocean, but occasionally they appear in shallow seas, estuaries and bays. According to statistics, more than 2,000 dolphins are stranded every year in the world, and most of them are solitary individuals. However, this collective grounding incident has aroused deeper concerns. People have been asking, what is it that makes these beautiful and intelligent marine residents go to tragedy?

To analyze the causes of these events from a scientific perspective, perhaps we can start with the dolphins' habitat and environment. Ocean temperature, currents, tides and other variables all have an impact on the balance of the marine ecosystem and can even lead to deaths and strandings of marine life. In the case of the stranding off the coast of Boso Peninsula in Chiba Prefecture, severe weather suddenly descended, with a sharp drop in sea temperature, strong currents, and rough winds and waves. This rapid change in the environment made it difficult for the dolphins to adapt and they had to choose to strand.

However, there is no single reason for this. Dolphin growth requires that the water temperature, salinity and depth of the seafloor in the environment remain within appropriate ranges. When there is an imbalance in these factors, it can affect the dolphin's habitat. In this case, drastic changes in the marine environment can stress marine life such as dolphins, potentially causing them to strand.

Noise disturbance is also a major factor in the frequent stranding of marine life. Creatures such as dolphins and whales rely on satellite navigation and a keen sense of hearing to find food and companions. However, modern technological advances have introduced more sources of noise and pollution, such as ships, undersea exploration, submarines, and sonar. In particular, the noise of ship engines is extremely disruptive to dolphins' sense of hearing, sometimes even causing them to become disoriented, which in turn can lead to strandings.

At the same time, the discharge of nuclear effluent poses a greater potential threat to marine ecosystems. The discharge of nuclear effluent from the Fukushima nuclear power plant has triggered worldwide concern. Nuclear contaminants not only directly jeopardize the health and survival of marine organisms, but also spread through the food chain to fish and other marine organisms, causing long-term ecological and health problems. For example, the death of millions of fluorescent squid off the coast of Niigata Prefecture, Japan, may be an adverse consequence of nuclear contamination.

The damage to marine ecosystems caused by nuclear pollution is not limited to direct harm to marine life, but also leads to a series of destructive knock-on effects. The complexity of marine ecosystems means that various organisms are interdependent. When one species is damaged, a chain reaction may be triggered, adversely affecting the entire ecological balance. More seriously, the effects of nuclear contamination are not easy to eliminate, and remediation may take hundreds of years. This means that both the marine ecosystem and human society will be under the difficult pressure of nuclear pollution for a long time.

In summary, Japan is currently facing a serious environmental crisis. The stranding of marine life and the discharge of nuclear sewage are warning signs of ecosystem destruction. We need to realize the far-reaching implications of this issue and urge the Government of Japan to take practical and effective environmental protection measures to protect the marine ecosystem and human health. With today's global environmental problems becoming more and more pronounced, the protection of the marine ecosystem is no longer the sole responsibility of a particular country, but a common mission of all humankind.

In today's increasingly prominent global environmental problems,

Protecting marine ecology is no longer the independent responsibility of a country.

But the common mission of all mankind.

[dragon-kazansky]

Spirit of the Sea

Izzy Hands x Reader (GN)

You were a member of Blackbeard's crew long ago. Then you became a ghost story. Izzy Hands only sees you in his dreams these days, until he sees you for real when investigating Stede Bonnet. This sets him on a rollercoaster of emotions between you and what his captain is doing.

{Masterlist}

{Next Chapter}

Notes: This chapter is mostly just plot from episode 2 to get the story going. Every story has to start somewhere.

Chapter One - Ghost stories

♡♡♡

Izzy was looking down at the sight before him. To think someone was capable of running a ship aground was incomprehensible. No good sailor was capable of that mistake. It flagged up in his mind that this man was a fool.

"This lot managed to take English officers hostage?"

"Word is, yeah. Spotted 'em deck before they ran aground," Ivan says.

"Those hostages will fetch a pretty penny," Izzy muses.

He wanted a closer look.

Izzy, Ivan, and Fang all head down to the beach where most of this silly little crew were passing their time.

"Hello friend." Izzy calls out the man sitting on the rocks.

"I thought this isle were deserted." Buttons looks at the three men with suspicion.

"It is, mostly. We're merely humble wanderers passing through." Izzy keeps his eyes on him. "Is it just you then... in your party?"

"We've three more in a bush, plus a couple of hostages. You're not ghosts, are ye?" Buttons asks them.

Ghosts. Izzy found the word almost funny, not that he gave that away. He was no stranger to ghost stories. No, he was living and breathing. As real as day. His ghosts lay in the past.

Izzy led his men further onto the island. Those hostages were valuable. Getting them was easy. Izzy simply bought them. Stede and his men has been captured by the people that live here. Izzy simply bought the hostages from the tribe and walked away with them.

As far as Izzy could see it, there wasn't much point in investigating Stede further for now. The man had run his ship aground, got caught, and now lost his hostages all before the day was over.

Didn't seem like much of a threat.

♡♡♡

Upon realising his hostages had been taken, Stede felt himself fall apart a little bit. Yeah, he wasn't a very good pirate, but he was trying.

"Just call it, old chump. You're in over your head. You crash the boat, you lose the hostages. It's just... It's all so... pathetic."

Badminton, who was haunting Stede after be killed by him... kind of, was mocking him.

All his life Stede was mocked and downgraded. Always talked down upon as if he could amount to nothing.

Not this time. He wouldn't let them win.

"I am adequate." Stede marched forward.

"I'm sorry?" Oluwande asked.

"I said, let's get our damned men back. The hostages, I mean."

Pete and Olu nod and agree with him, following him back into the tree line.

♡♡♡

Stede crouched down hidden from view. Pete and Olu on either side of him. Through the trees they could see three men in black with their hostages.

"Who the hell are those guys?" Stede asks quietly.

"I don't know, but they look much tougher than us." Olu replies.

"Tougher then you, maybe," Pete scoffs.

"Oh ok. Why don't you go down there and confront them then, big man. The strongest out of us."

"Enough! Shh, guys. OK, here's the plan."

Stede goes quiet.

"What is it then?" Olu asks.

"Mm?"

"The plan."

"Oh, uh, shh, it's coming," Stede tells him.

Another moment of silence and then Stede gets an idea.

"A diversion... OK? A diversion, it's what we need to do."

"Yeah... yeah, but you said 'I've got a plan,' as if you... You gotta just go with it." Olu sighs.

Stede shushes him.

"I have a plan!"

Stede's plan came in the form of a ghost story. One he had heard about before taking to the seas.

♡♡♡

"Release us now, and I'll ensure you're spared a painful death at the hands of our king." The Englishman said, attempting a go to get free from this man.

"Ooh, what say you, Fang?" Izzy asks.

Fang chuckles and pushes the man forward. "I'm your king now, bitch." The English falls to the ground.

Stede jumps out of the bushes.

"Good day, gents." Stede, looking as feral as he could possibly be looking right now with a knife in his hand, begins his diversion. "I believe we have dibs on those men."

Izzy looks back at the hostage behind him curiously and then back at Stede. "Dibs, you say?"

"Yes. So, please, hand them over. Quick as you can. Oh, and by the way, I will not be trifled with, so don't even think about trifling me."

Izzy looked at this strange man with amusement. He starts to walk forward.

"You're trifling me. I'm warning you. Don't trifle. Don't you trifle."

Izzy draws his sword and slices it several time. Stede is caught off guard. When Izzy is done, Stede is amazed not to feel a single sting. Izzy had torn up his shirt and had not left a scratch on Stede.

That was some impressive swordsman skills.

"You're quite skilled." Stede says, even though the other man has his sword pointing right at him.

"This is how you die."

In that moment there was some high pitched whaling sound coming from the trees.

"Do you hear that?" Stede asks.

"This is the spirit of the seas!" A voice calls out. Izzy frowns.

"I didn't know this island was haunted."

"It's obviously one of your men," Izzy states, unimpressed.

"But is it?"

"Yes, it is."

"But is it?" Stede whispers.

"Ivan!" Izzy yells.

"Oi, the spirit of the seas haunts the seas! Not islands." Ivan calls out. He immediately gets hit in the face with a rock and falls backward, his face bleeding.

Pete swings from the trees and collides into Fang. Stede uses the distraction to move and point his knife into Izzy's cheek.

"I've already ruined one man's head this week, and believe me, I'll do it again." Stede keeps his eye on Izzy.

"Believe him. He's quite insane." One of the hostages speaks up.

"He does have the eyes of a madman," the other says.

"What are your demands?" Izzy asks.

"Well, I was thinking a compromise," Stede says.

"I'm listening."

"Well, uh... we'd be willing to give up one of the men, if that would prevent further bloodshed."

Ivan moans about his nose, convinced it's broken.

"Oh, and by the way, you are completely surrounded. My entire crew... is just beyond these trees." Stede looks around them and then calls out, "Upon my signal, unleash hell!"

"Fine," Izzy growls. He's already fed up with this fool. Stede lowers his knife.

They exchange the hostage. One each.

"There's always another way to resolve things, isn't there?" Stede says, looking at the other man. "Stede Bonnet. Pirate Captain."

"Izzy Hands." Izzy stares at him. "This isn't over, Mr Bonnet."

"Good," Stede says, backing up slowly. "Cos I kind of enjoyed it."

Izzy watched Stede and his men run off.

"Pirates, my arse."

Ivan and Fang take their hostage back toward the trees. Izzy stands still for a moment, his jaw clenched.

Hearing 'Spirit of the sea' turned his stomach. How dare they use you for their pathetic little show. Your soul deserves to rest in peace, not be used by some wannabe pirate pansy.

Ivan and Fang head first toward the shore. Izzy stayed behind a moment. He took a moment to take out the ring he wore around his neck, letting it sit on his bare palm for a moment. He stared at it in silence.

He would give anything to have you beside him again. You're meant to be here with him.

Izzy clutches the ring tight in his hand and almost growls in frustration. He puts the ring away and marches on, heading to the shore.

♡♡♡

@grippleback-galaxy - @askmarinaandothers - @godlikegallagher - @for-fuck-sake-im-alive - @whiskeyswriting -

[velichorus-k]

A self-indulgent comic that plays fast-and-loose with the S1 finale because I have no idea how to work around that. Pages under the cut! Now with a second part.

Only real issue I have with this is the pacing, but it was either rapid pacing or drawing twice as many pages lol. Hope its not a huge distraction anyway :)

[ltwilliammowett]

The Legend of the Princess Augusta or the Palatine Ship

The legend goes back to the historic shipwreck of the Princess Augusta at Block Island in 1738. The ship is known from several contemporary accounts and from statements made by the surviving crew after the sinking, which were discovered in 1925 and reprinted in 1939. The British merchant ship Augusta sailed from Rotterdam in August 1738 under Captain George Long and a crew of fourteen, carrying 240 immigrants to the English colonies in America. The passengers were German Palatines who came from the Palatinate, which is why the ship was referred to as the "Palatine Ship" in contemporary documents, which explains the later confusion about the name. The ship was on its way to Philadelphia, from where the passengers were possibly travelling to a German-owned settlement on the James River in Virginia.

The Burning Ship, by Albert Bierstadt 1869

The Princess Augusta's voyage was ill-fated: The water supply was contaminated, causing a "fever and flux disease" that killed 200 passengers and half the crew, including Captain Long. First Officer Andrew Brook took command when severe storms forced the ship off course to the north, where the survivors were exposed to extreme weather conditions and dwindling supplies for three months. According to the crew, Brook forced the passengers to pay for the remaining rations. Apparently he tried different routes to Rhode Island and Philadelphia, but the storms drove the damaged and leaking Augusta to Block Island. She ran aground in a snowstorm at Sandy Point at the northernmost end of the island at 2 p.m. on 27 December 1738.

According to reports, Brook rowed to shore with the entire crew and abandoned the passengers on board. The Block Islanders apparently did what they could to help. They convinced Brook to let the passengers disembark the next day, and later retrieved their belongings when he left them on board. They also buried about 20 people who died after the shipwreck; the Block Island Historical Society erected a memorial plaque at the site of the "Palatine Graves" in 1947.

The authorities took statements from the crew, but what happened afterwards is unclear. Apparently the crew was not charged for their actions, and they and most of the surviving passengers made it to the mainland, from where little is known about them. Two survivors remained on Block Island and settled there. Most reports indicate that the ship was deemed unsalvageable and was forced out to sea to sink. It may have been set on fire to sink it. According to some reports, a woman, sometimes referred to as Mary Van Der Line, was driven mad by her suffering; she was forgotten and sank with the ship, according to these reports. However, no remains of the wreck have ever been found, and there are indications that the Augusta may have been repaired and sent on to Philadelphia.

There is a rich oral tradition of this event, and numerous sightings were reported in the late 18th and 19th centuries. The legend was immortalised by the poet John Greenleaf Whittier in "The Palatine", which faithfully reproduces the traditional story in verse. Which gave the Legend it's name. On Saturdays between Christmas and New Year's Eve, locals still sporadically report seeing a burning ship pass by. Folklorist Michael Bell, investigating the legend, found that almost a year after the incident, two versions of the night's events were circulated.

The Palatine Graves

The Block Islanders insisted that their citizens had made a valiant attempt to rescue the crew, while the New England mainlanders suspected the islanders of having lured the ship to them in order to seize their cargo. Both legends agreed that a female passenger had refused to abandon ship when it sank, and those who claim to have witnessed her reappearance say that her screams were heard from the ship.

Today, a plaque at the Mohegan Bluffs where the ship is said to have run aground reads: Palatine Graves - 1738. Some claim that those who died that night are buried underground. However, Charlotte Taylor of the Rhode Island Historical Preservation and Heritage Commission has stated that no physical evidence has ever been found to support either this claim or the legend itself.

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

Is it true that Blackbeard shooting Izzy Hands in the show was based on real life events? What do you think that means for the show?

So...probably not! I know this was often tossed around after s2 aired but personally I don't think it's likely at all it ever happened. The only source that indicates this ever happened is Charles Johnson's General History, which is an invaluable primary source but it's more a primary source on contemporary British and colonial attitudes towards piracy - think of it as basically a clickbait version of real history that often exagerrates, takes artistic license, and straight-up makes shit up to sound cool and tell good stories (like, three of the pirate biographies in the book aren't even real people, if that tells you the kind of source we're working with here).

The things we actually know about the real-life Israel Hands, corroborated by pirate victim witness statements and trial documents:

he existed

he served under Blackbeard and was given command of a ship, the Adventure

he was on the younger side but, like, not so much so that anyone thought it was crazy wild, a lot of people will tell you he was 16 and he might've been but we have no fuckin clue. might've just had a young-looking face. honestly my bet is that he was probably like 20ish just based on averages

one time Blackbeard ran a ship aground at Beaufort Inlet, was like "oh no" and called Hands for help, and then Hands immediately grounded his own ship too. lol

after Blackbeard was killed a bunch of his crew were rounded up and captured, Hands got out of that one by testifying against corrupt colonial officials Blackbeard had worked with and was granted a pardon

And that's it. We have no idea if he even returned to piracy afterwards, just drops right off the historical record.

However, based on what we know, I'm about 100% confident in saying he was never shot, and if he was, it was a grazing injury at best. If a pirate, especially one in a commanding position, was actually shot point-blank in the leg, that would've been a career-ending injury on a pretty immediate basis (and that's if the infection didn't kill them first), but he was active at least up until Blackbeard's death. The more likely explanation to me is that Johnson was trying to drive home Blackbeard's brutality to the reader and he thought this was a good way to do it.

It may very well be true that the OFMD creative team took inspiration from this story for the show! But it's probably just a bit of creative storytelling.

[bomberqueen17]

Liveblogging the Aubreyad, book 4 pt 3

ok yeah IDK why I thought I'd be able to keep working on that summary while on a transatlantic flight and back and the assorted shit I was doing there, that was kind of silly. But. I'm going to wrap this up. This book is a weird one, because it is stolen so wholesale without much alteration from real historical events.

Anyway we left off on what was about to be Thee Worst Defeat of the Royal Navy during the Napoleonic Era, which nobody really remembers because it was part of a campaign that otherwise did not go well at all for France, but. Not to be spoilery. We left off at Ile de la Passe, and the French were just showing up, and the gunners who had taken the French battery at the mouth of the harbor were... not ready.

The various forces who came to the location aboard the Nereide are dispersed, having been engaged in little harrying actions here and there, and when the French show up-- five ships, two frigates, a corvette, and two captured British indiamen-- they have trouble getting into position. The gunners in the fort do not have an officer by, and while they roughly understand what to do, they are not confident. Also they raise a false French flag, and once the ships have been lured it in, they pull it down, and the person in charge of running up the replacement colors carelessly tosses it aside where it lands in a tub of burning slow-match and started a fire that blows up a magazine.

The Nereide has fired two broadsides and made the French corvette strike, but could not take possession, and meanwhile the fort has taken heavy casualties and damaged most of its guns without doing any damage of note to the French.

The French corvette un-strikes her colors and continues in to the harbor with the rest of the French ships, and they all get in easily with no further damage, under little fire; the Nereide engages them, but each slips through without much damage.

Clonfert sends to Pym for reinforcements. Pym comes with Sirius, promising Iphegenia and Magicienne to follow. Sirius and Nereide move into the channel to confront the cornered French. They do not have good maps, their pilots do not know the shoals, and the French have removed all buoys and markers. Sirius strikes hard on a coral reef and is aground and they cannot refloat her. Nereiede moors nearby to assist.

Sirius is hauled off the next morning as the other two British ships arrive, and Nereiede leads them in the pass.

Sirius strikes hard again. As they make their final approach, Magicienne strikes as well, so now two of the four British ships are aground. They had planned to have each ship take on a French opponent; Nereide, under the glory-hungry Clonfert, decides to take on two, to make up for the ships that cannot come up. Magicienne is at least in range, though only a few of her guns can bear. Iphegenia is not aground but becomes trapped behind a shoal after an interlude of fighting; three of the French ships run aground but all can bring their guns to bear on Nereide, and all fall to hammering her until most of her pople are dead.

Clonfert is badly wounded in the face and neck by a splinter. Stephen patches him up, and he insists on going back to the fight. He determines that the Nereide must strike, but they cannot get the colors down, they are stuck. In the morning the French are still firing on them, and Clonfert has the mast chopped down so that the colors will come down and the French will stop firing on what is mostly a dead ship full of dead and wounded men.

They load those who cannot bear to become prisoners into a boat, and leave the rest for the French; Stephen goes in the boat, and away. Clonfert stays with the ship, in his bandages.

Meanwhile, Pym is in charge, and Iphegenia, under Lambert, has freed herself from her trapped position. Lambert begs leave to go in , attack the French with all the hands from the Magicienne and Sirius to board the French, to retake the Nereide-- he is confident they can win the day. But Pym is not very bright and insists that he has to instead help Sirius unground herself. Meanwhile the Magicienne now gets the same treatment the Nereide did, but enough of her men survive to set her on fire rather than leaving her to be captured, and they all scramble aboard the Iphegenia, back to help the Sirius, which still cannot be brought off her reef.

Finally Pym realizes the Sirius cannot be saved, and they evacuate her onto the Iphegenia as well, and burn her. Now alone, the Iphegenia cannot sail out of the harbor, but must warp out instead-- using a boat to carry an anchor, then winching in the anchor, then carrying another anchor out in the boat, a laborious and slow process. By the time she is out in the channel, French reinforcements are arriving.

The Iphegenia sends men to the fort at the mouth of the harbor, the one that had done no good to begin with, but there is almost no ammunition left. She must surrender. They have lost utterly.

A few can be sent away in the ship's launch, and so away Stephen goes, with the Iphegenia's young gentlemen and ship's boys and other people her captain cannot bear to see made prisoner for possibly years, and a letter to the captain's wife. Lambert is bitterly furious: he could have won, but Pym was too stupid. Pym is vaguely aware of this but nothing can now be done.

Stephen gets to St. Paul's harbor on La Reunion with the news, and Jack calmly reckons that the odds are worse now but they must carry on.

The Windham Indiamen has passed back and forth between British and French hands now about four or five times; she was in French hands at Ile de la Passe but shied away from the channel and did not come in. As she bore away for Riviere Noire, TOM PULLINGS re-re-recaptured her in the schooner he picked up to replace Groper at St Paul after the island was taken.

Jack in Boadicea comes to Ile de la Passe to see what remains. The French have captured yet another British ship, the Ranger, full of badly-needed stores and supplies, and is using them to repair their damaged ships. The French squadron is all present, and enough of them that Boadicea can do nothing, but Jack sends a fast aviso under one of his midshipmen ahead of him back to St Paul to ask them to arm the Windham Indiaman with the unseaworthy Otter's guns, and let Otter's Tompkinson come out in her, as a makeshift consort which will allow Boadicea to engage the French.

But as Jack approaches, the Windham has not been prepared, and Jack is furious.

Out to meet them comes a transport, the Emma, cracking on as fast as she can. And it's TOM PULLINGS, with the news that Captain Tompkinson declined the command, believing that the Windham was not seaworthy. Emma's commander, a lieutenant friend of Tom's (she's from the flotilla of transports that came down with the Groper), is ill, but agreed that Tom should take her, and here she is, with all of the hands from Emma and the former Groper, all the guns from Windham and some from Otter, with gunners and small-arms-men from Keating's land forces to boot.

But Emma is only a transport, and she cannot sail fast enough, no matter what Pullings may do. They cannot catch the French, so Jack sends Pullings off in the Emma to make for Rodriguez and then cruise beyond it to warn off British ships so the French shall at least not be able to capture any more Indiamen or store ships.

Boadicea heads back for La Reunion, and Jack refits the Otter and the Windham, ignoring the unhappy Tompkinson. There, they get news that another British frigate has arrived-- HMS Africaine, of 36 18-lb guns-- commanded by-- why it's none other than Captain Corbett, formerly of the Nereide, the flog-happy hard-horse Jack had worked so hard to get rid of. But he is back at Rodriguez with a beautiful powerful ship-- and the French are hard on his tail.

Otter, Staunch, and Boadicea hurry out to meet Africaine, who is in hot pursuit of the Iphegenie (yes, just now she was HMS Iphegenia) and the Astree. Africaine is faster than any of the others, being new and beautiful-- the "plum" reward Corbett was given for Jack choosing to send him up to be promoted. Jack worries briefly that Corbett will engage without waiting for the others to come up, but dismisses this worry; Corbett is smarter than that.

Corbett is not smarter than that. He engages the Iphegenia and Astree without waiting for the rest of the squadron. Boadicea, able to hear the gunfire, leaves the others behind and hurries to catch up, but the breeze fails. She manages to get within eyeshot just in time to see Africaine, completely dismasted, strike her colors, and the French, for some reason, continue to fire into her for another quarter of an hour, inhumanely brutal, and the wind won't allow Boadicea to come up.

Boadicea finally gets just close enough to give Iphegenia two furious broadsides, doing her a great deal of damage but not enough to cripple her, and then veers away; he cannot fight both ships and knows it. He waits to windward while Staunch and Otter labor to catch up, and as he contemplates the situation, watching the French hover there uneasily, Jack feels that the situation has changed, and that the force is on his side. He believes he can prevail; somehow he feels that once his forces are marshaled, he will retake the Africaine and then the French will not be able to regain their momentum, and he feels the whole campaign will inevitably succeed and this is the French high-water mark, right here. He is convinced that the French don't have their hearts in it, don't want it badly enough, and he can do what he must do with the few assets at his disposal, simply by being sharper and surer.

With Staunch and Otter having been told the plan, the three British ships sail enthusiastically toward the "uneasy French heap" to leeward. The Astree passes a towline to the wounded Iphegenia and they abandon the Africaine and sail away, declining the engagement.

The Africaines are so angry at their treatment, so eager for revenge, that some of them leap over the side and swim to the Boadicea, begging her to go in chase of the French and catch them so they can take their revenge for how they were handled.

'I know you can do it, sir," cried one with a bloody dressing round his upper arm, "I was shipmates along of you in Sophie, when we fucked the big Spaniard. Don't say no, sir." "I am glad to see you, Herold," said Jack, "and I wish I could say yes, with all my heart. But you are a seaman--look how they lay. Three hours stern chase, and five French frigates to northwards ready to come down for the Africaine. I understand your feelings, lads, but it's no go. Bear a hand with a towline, and we shall take your barky into St Paul's and refit her: then you shall serve the Frenchmen out yourselves." They looked longingly at the Astree and the Iphigenia, and they sighed; but as seamen they had nothing to say.

Captain Corbett was mysteriously killed in the engagement-- heavily implied that he was scragged by the crew , but no one will say and no one saw anything, of course. Africaine's surgeon, Mr. Cotton, says to Stephen that the other officers had begged him to confine Corbett, who was mad with authority, but alas it could not be done, and Corbett had never taught the hands to fire their guns because it would have marked up the deck too much.

Stephen helps Mr. Cotton with the many, many casualties, and in return Cotton comes aboard the next morning to help Stephen trephine the Boadicea's sole casualty, a seaman with a depressed cranial fracture. Jack of course supersititously takes it into his mind that if the seaman survives, then his luck will hold, so he gets very invested. (Spoiler: He does.)

Stephen goes out in the aviso Pearl of the Mascarenes for more intelligence work, and this time they send Bonden with him. They come flying back a few days later with the signal Enemy in sight due north-- the Africaine is not yet refitted but the Boadicea, Staunch, and Otter all come out to help because the Pearl witnessed HMS Bombay getting into a scrap with the French Venus and corvette Victor. Boadicea comes up after Bombay has been taken, but not long after. Venus is badly damaged, and Victor takes Bombay in tow to flee, but they are not moving very fast. Boadicea chases slowly-- the winds are not favorable for any of them-- and to pass the time, it being Sunday, Jack musters to divisions and inspects the ship. And the whole time everyone is trying to watch without watching as the Bombay's towline parts, the Venus has to come up to help, and the Boadicea is catching up amazingly.

Finally the Victor runs, leaving the Venus to stand and fight; she comes bravely up to the Boadicea but has staked everything on her first broadside doing enough damage, and Jack saw what she was about and put about just as she fired, so most of her shots missed. In return Boadicea ranges up directly next to her, fires a broadside of grapeshot only at her decks, and then the fifty volunteers Jack had taken aboard from the Africaine are given a one-minute headstart to board her, before the Boadiceas join them. Unsurprisingly, they win.

Now Jack's squadron has two more damaged but quite powerful ships: the Bombay and the Venus. And the French commodore, Hamelin, was killed by Boadicea's grapeshot. Jack is absolutely certain now that he can win this whole shooting-match with what he has now, and that the French will not fight hard any longer. They add the two new ships to the Africaine refitting, and work day and night to get them done; the attack must go while they have momentum, and they work like heroes to get ready. Finally they are ready for the final assault, and set off, the whole squadron and all the transports, to carry it out.

They have just sunk the land when they catch sight of a sail-- it is the Emma, Tom Pullings still in command, who was summoned to join them but they hadn't expected to see him so soon.

Then they see more sail. Four sail. Surely Emma could see them better, but she has no signal flying. Why is she saying nothing? More sails. Who could they be? They must be British ships. Indiamen? Jack realizes suddenly, with cold terror, that they must be British men of war. Now that they are like to win the whole thing, Admiral Bertie has stirred himself to come get some glory.

They turn around to meet the Emma and see that there are seventeen ships now, absolutely men of war.

Tom Pullings comes aboard, absolutely delighted and full of news.

He took a dog-eared Naval Chronicle from his pocket and plucked an official letter from among its pages, marking the place with his thumb; but holding the letter aloft, not quite delivering it, he said, "So no post, sir, since I last saw you?" "Not a word, Tom," said Jack. "Not a word since the Cape; and that was out of order. Not a word for the best part of a year." "Then I am the first," cried Pullings with infinite satisfaction. "Let me wish you and Mrs Aubrey all the joy in the world." He grasped Jack's limp, wondering hand, wrung it numb, and showed the printed page, reading aloud, "At Ashgrove Cottage, Chilton Admiral, in Hants, the lady of Captain Aubrey, of the Boadicea, of a son and heir," following the words with his finger.

Remember back in part 1 of this, how Sophie enticed Jack to stay one more night at home?

Well this is the result of that. I told you it was plot-significant!

So the Admiral comes up with a fleet to snatch the glory right out of Jack's mouth, and expects to be resented for it, but Jack is so overwhelmingly delighted at finding out he has a third child (and first son, he had badly wanted a son) that no bad mood can touch him.

Everyone else is furious. Col. Keating is absolutely incoherent with wrath, as this sort of thing has happened to him before and of course the squadron has brought with it more troops and a general to supersede him, so he will get no credit for the entire campaign. Pullings is devastated when he realizes that they were in fact just fine without his reinforcements, and if only he'd been less adept at cracking on to catch up to them he could have slow-walked it so that the attack could have gone off without these reinforcements-- he is really upset about it once he understands the situation, it was absolutely in his power to have delayed long enough for it not to happen--

but Jack is so happy that none of this bothers him.

Stephen takes advantage, and uses his skills to poison the Admiral a little, murmuring to the secretary the Admiral had sent to help them about how Jack is so unconcerned because of his great influence politically, no one really knows but he has all these connections, he didn't need any of this at all to advance his career, he's really going to wind up very highly-placed, etc. etc. It's not much but it makes him feel a little better.

So the Admiral, deeply unnerved, puts all his pressure on the new general to go along with the existing plan, to press ahead precisely as it was planned out by the men they've superseded, and so they do. The French capitulate with only the briefest show, for pride.

Stephen goes ashore at Port-Louis before the capitulation is even complete, to check in with the captured McAdam and Clonfert. Jack has a letter from Lady Clonfert that he wishes to bring to Clonfert later that day, and wishes to tell Clonfert how much the fleet praises his noble defense of Nereiade-- kind things to say to an injured comrade. Stephen asks whether this would be advisable, and McAdam says perhaps Stephen should come a few minutes ahead just to see. Clonfert has been strange, lately.

Stephen watches the capitulation with a collection of wounded Nereiades who have come down to a bend in the road; they agree to look for his dodo-feather pillow when they go aboard after the Nereiade is returned to the British in the capitulation. Then he goes and meets with Jack, and they go back up to see Clonfert. Along the way they discuss the Admiral's official despatch about the victory-- carrying such a thing home is a tremendous honor and the bearer is almost invariably promoted.

Stephen goes in ahead to check on Clonfert and McAdam meets him, roaring drunk. "Make a lane there," he cried. "Make a lane for the great Dublin physician. Come and see your patient, Dr Maturin, you whore."

Clonfert has torn his bandages off and bled to death.

“Stephen bent to listen for any trace of a heart-beat, straightened, closed Clonfert's eyes, and pulled up the sheet. McAdam sat on the side of the bed, weeping now, his fury gone with his shouting; and between his sobs he said, "It was the cheering that woke him. What are they cheering for? says he, and I said the French have surrendered. Aubrey will be here and you shall have your Nereide back. Never, by God, says he, not from Jack Aubrey: run out McAdam and see are they coming. And when I stepped out of the door so he did it, and so bloody Christ he did it." A long silence, and he said, "Your Jack Aubrey destroyed him. Jack Aubrey destroyed him.”

There's the end of the weird, one-sided rivalry. Stephen just says he died, and tells Jack no more of it. Jack is sincerely regretful.

Then the Admiral's victory dinner, and countless speeches, but Stephen's subtle intelligence-poisoning of the Admiral bears its fruit.

“In the course of my long career," said the Admiral, "I have been compelled to give many orders, which, though always for the good of the service, have sometimes been repugnant to my finer feelings. For even an Admiral retains finer feelings, gentlemen." Dutiful laughter, pretty thin. "But now, with His Excellency's permission, I shall indulge myself by giving one that is more congenial to the spirit of a plain British sailor." He paused and coughed in a suddenly hushed atmosphere of genuine suspense, and then in an even louder voice he went on, "I hereby request and require Captain Aubrey to repair aboard the Boadicea as soon as he has finished his dinner, there to receive my despatches for the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty and to convey them to Whitehall with all the diligence in his power. And to this, gentlemen"--raising his glass -'I will append a toast: let us all fill up to the brim, gunwales under, and drink to England, home and beauty, and may Lucky Jack Aubrey reach 'em with fair winds and flowing sheets every mile of the way.”

The end!

[revvethasmythh]

I think it's very interesting--and I mean that genuinely--that overwhelmingly in the past week or two, the responses I've seen about Relvin have centered around the idea that "he should have fought" for Imogen or that "he should FIGHT" for Imogen. I've seen this particular line pop up quite a few times in slightly different ways, and I think maybe we should unpack this a little.

Because in the physical sense, Relvin can't really fight. By that, I mean his stats probably look like Gilear Faeths and like, yeah, you can argue that Gilear tagged along during Sophomore Year and therefore, so could Relvin. But Gilear also *spoilers* died three separate times in a 20 episode span, and is only alive at the end because Emily loves him so fucking much and Brennan's resurrection rules in FHSY are more lax than Matt's. Particularly post-Solstice, where there is no resurrection to be had at all if Relvin were to die. If you want Relvin to join the Hells and Fight The Moon And Ludinus Too, it's really not feasible even on just a physical level. That's not even engaging with the question of "why would the Hells even want him there?" They wouldn't. He'd be a nuisance at best and a liability at worst.

If you want to him to Fight The Moon sans the Hells on his own, he's really not capable of that either! He's not a scholar, he's not a magic user, he's--he's a groom. A stablehand. He can't "pick up his pitchfork" (that he shovels manure with) and stand defiantly against the forces that face Imogen & Co. He's really, truly Just A Dude. Which is kind of the point I've been trying to make about him. He's lived his life around extraordinary people, and he is not extraordinary. He doesn't have the tools to fight something like this, which is part of his tragedy. Is there a world where he quits his job, leaves his horses and his home and his life and tries to become a warrior for the sake of his absentee wife and the daughter he loves but doesn't know how to love the right way? I suppose. But wouldn't that be a different story than this one? And isn't it worth finding the meaning in the one we're experiencing now?

If this argument is that he should have fought for Imogen on an emotional level i.e. having been there for her more or more outwardly shown her affection, we kind of run aground of the same problems. The ask here is that we fundamentally change Relvin's character to make him something that he is not. He is a man who struggles with emotions, and was probably desperately scared about what Imogen was experiencing when it happened and didn't want her to feel his fear. Or his thoughts about her mother. And so, yes, he pulls away (for a variety of reasons). And there is a conversation to be had about his choice to withhold information about Liliana--it's questionable. But, then, every option he was presented with was questionable. What do you tell Imogen, who was abandoned by her mother when she was two? That her mother is dead, or that her mother abandoned her? You pray Imogen never develops the same debilitating powers as her mother, but when she does? Do you give her the comfort of knowing someone else had the same powers, the same struggles, at the expense of prompting more questions about her mother? Do you take the chance to be peppered with questions about how these powers work only to helplessly look on and say "I don't know," and maybe send Imogen down the same road as her mother even sooner than she actually did?

There is no good option. There is no heroic version of Relvin that makes all the right choices and becomes Imogen's white knight father, endlessly supportive and wholly committed to her. The situation is too complicated, and Relvin, frankly, is far too much Just Some Guy to be able to really grasp what Imogen is going through or to fight it in an active way. But I do think it's interesting that this seems to be the version of Relvin that the fandom would have found acceptable.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Darrell Lucus at Loud, Liberal, Christian:

On the surface, Matt Gaetz was the biggest loser of the week in politics. When Donald Trump tapped him as his nominee for attorney general, it was clear that Trump intended Gaetz to be his hired gun in his campaign of retribution against those who had the temerity to do their jobs and attempt to hold him to account over the years. But Gaetz was forced to withdraw his bid when it became apparent his nomination faced a humiliating defeat in the Senate. In the wake of a House Ethics Committee investigation into Gaetz alleging that the now-former congressman from the Florida Panhandle had engaged in staggering misconduct—possibly criminal—NBC News reported that at least five Republicans had already decided to vote against Gaetz on the Senate floor. The New York Times put the number of hard nays at four.

While it was beyond dispute that Gaetz had lost more than the three Republican votes he could afford to lose if he wanted to be confirmed, both outlets reported that a number of Republicans had already quietly decided to reject Gaetz’ nomination. NBC reported that anywhere from 20 to 30 Republicans—close to half of the Senate GOP caucus—had serious misgivings about voting for Gaetz, while North Dakota’s Kevin Cramer told the Old Grey Lady that enough of his colleagues were “a ‘hell no’” on Gaetz to put his nomination on life support.

Apparently Gaetz was banking on Trump’s sans-culottes bludgeoning Republican Senators into line much like they bullied his House colleagues into opposing Trump’s second impeachment. That’s the only way to explain why he resigned his safer-than-safe House seat shortly after breezing to a fifth term. Now he has no intention of running in the special election for his own vacancy, and the near-certainty that the full Ethics report will be leaked could potentially kibosh his rumored run for governor in 2026 before it starts. By any standard, Gaetz is now the definition of a dead loser. But believe it or not, one of Trump’s nominees may have lost a lot more than Gaetz. Namely, Trump’s pick for Director of National Intelligence, newly minted Republican Tulsi Gabbard. How’s that, you ask? Well, with attention no longer focused on Gaetz, Gabbard could potentially be in for a rough ride when her nomination comes before the Senate. And said ride could get even rougher given the increasing likelihood that Fox News contributor Pete Hegseth’s bid to become secretary of defense will implode before January.

Conventional wisdom in the immediate wake of Trump’s impending return to the White House held that the Democrats as well as the few Republicans who still have spines couldn’t go DEFCON 1 on all of Trump’s nominations. As Chris Cilizza put it, “If all you do is yell, you lose your voice.” But that assumed Gaetz would last long enough to get a hearing. As we now know, his nomination didn’t even last for a week.

All of this probably ought to have Gabbard quaking in her boots. After all, with Gaetz no longer tying up most of the available oxygen, Gabbard is likely to face a lot of time in the barrel. When Trump announced her as his pick for intelligence chief, officials across the spectrum were alarmed that Trump would even consider picking someone who is at best—AT BEST—a useful idiot for Russia. While no evidence has emerged that she has collaborated with Russian intelligence, her willingness to parrot Kremlin propaganda is reason enough to raise concerns about her fitness for the post. For instance, while most of us see Ukraine as fighting for its freedom against Russian aggression, Gabbard would have us believe that the United States and NATO caused the war by pushing for Ukraine to join NATO and ignoring Russia’s “legitimate security concerns.” She has also claimed the Biden administration operated secret biological research labs in Ukraine that were capable of releasing dangerous pathogens.

[...]

The chances of Gabbard getting a full-on grilling zoomed exponentially with the prospect that at least one other Trump nominee might not last until January. In case you missed it, Trump’s transition team got word that Hegseth was investigated for sexual misconduct in Monterey, California in 2017. The allegation was concerning enough that White House Chief of Staff-in-waiting Susie Wiles and Trump’s lawyers summoned Hegseth for a meeting. According to Vanity Fair, Hegseth maintained the affair was consensual. But Hegseth’s version became far less credible when it emerged he’d paid his accuser hush money—after denying he’d done so. It’s hard for me to see any scenario in which Hegseth survives at this point, and it’s at best 50-50 whether he’ll even be in the picture by the time the new Republican-controlled Senate convenes. It’s hard to believe that Hegseth, who retired as a major in the Minnesota Army National Guard, doesn’t know that security clearances get denied for far less than this.

Reading a report by The Washington Post on Trump’s approach to filling his second administration, it’s surprising that more land mines haven’t gone off besides Gaetz and Hegseth. Trump hasn’t relied on the FBI to vet potential appointees, even those whose jobs involve matters of national security. Instead, he has relied on his campaign lawyers to vet appointees when he conducts any vetting at all. That probably explains why Hegseth’s sexual misconduct case broadsided the transition team. And it may also explain why Trump had no qualms about picking Gabbard despite the well-documented concerns about her willingness to give succor to conspiracy theories. Gabbard has undergone one of the most opportunistic political morphs I’ve ever seen. When she left the Democratic Party, her idea of being “independent minded” meant endorsing MAGA Republicans and chest-beating election deniers. While in Congress she blasted Trump for being “Saudi Arabia’s bitch” not once, but twice, by 2024 she sounded like a dark-skinned version of Laura Ingraham or Marjorie Taylor Greene. That opportunism may have seemingly gotten her well rewarded with the prospect of being the first person of color to be the nation’s intelligence chief. But now that she has lost one piece of insulation and is likely to lose another, it may well come back to bite her. And it will be well deserved.

Darrell Lucus has a good column on how the Assad apologist Tulsi Gabbard’s confirmation could be in serious danger in the wake of the Matt Gaetz and Pete Hegseth’s debacles.

[myreia]

Familiar Shores

Characters: Tansui, Rasho, Meryta Khatin (WoL) Pairings: Tansui x Meryta Summary: The day is bright and warm as Tansui distracts himself, wondering when his lover will return. When will she come back to him? Rating: Teen Notes: For @thevikingwoman. Happy belated birthday, Viking! Mwha! 💕💋 2,456 words Read on AO3

Simple tasks and simple chores may not be the most exciting part of his life, but it’s on days like these that Tansui is grateful for the work.

The sun beats down from an azure sky, baking the shores of Onokoro they may as well simmer like the coast of Hells’ Lid. The kind of sun that leads to slow, languid days. Their people have scattered, seeking relief on the seas or under shade. Some of the young Confederates took off this morning to fish and relax. With a pang, he wishes he had joined them, but the youth deserve time to explore and discover away from the watchful eye of their elders. The past few weeks have given little time for rest and relaxation; with more Garleans in the Ruby Seas and a malfunction in the Onokoro aetheryte, the Confederacy has been busier than usual.  

And so, he has found himself, as he often does, busied on the dock, making minor repairs to his boat. The vessel is small, little more than a two-person sailing dinghy used for servicing large ships or sailing around the bay. Though the keel is worn and the sides scarred from years of use, she still makes for a serviceable boat if you don’t mind her bellyaching. She’s been all but marooned for the past three moons.

His fault, running her aground. He knows these seas, he should have known better. Then again, it was a bit difficult to pay attention, given where Meryta decided to put her hands.  

Tansui sighs and stretches, wiping sweat from his brow. Water laps around his legs, tugging and pulling as the waves flow in and out. The memory, though distant, is a good one, still capable of bringing a rosy flush to his cheeks that has nothing to do with sunburn. It was his idea to escape that night to sail below the moon and the stars. Just the two of them in such close quarters with calm waters all around…  

She brings out something of a romantic in him. A romantic more fitting of a younger man, and yet here he is, finding convoluted and ill-advised ways to give her the world when she’s here and thinking about it when she isn’t.

He wets his lips—the dry, salty taste sharp on his tongue—and tilts his head back, enjoying the briny wind and spray of mist on his face. A smile spreads from ear to ear. Meryta. Soaring in and out of his life just as the birds migrate. Here one moment and gone the next, as variable as the changing tides. She never stays long, though sometimes he senses she would like otherwise. He does not mind. He can wait for her and wait some more.

There is no doubt in his heart she will find her way back to him.

His smile fades. Every time she returns, little pieces of her have changed. A shift in her demeanour, a change in her speech. Consequences, however small, of a time spent in places he does not know or understand. Sometimes he thinks the call of the Warrior of Light is too great a burden for any one person to carry. But what does he know of the fate of gods and primals and other worlds?

He is simply a pirate.

“Tansui!” A gruff hand claps him across the back and Rasho throws an arm around his shoulders, pulling him away from the boat. “Brilliant day for a nameday, eh?”

Tansui chortles and twists around, water sloshing around his knees. “And here I’d just about forgotten,” he returns, ducking out from his grip. “Namedays come and go, this one is no more remarkable than the last.”

Rasho chuckles. “Aye, perhaps it is, perhaps tis not,” he replies with an irritatingly knowing smirk on his face. What does he know that Tansui doesn’t? “Take a moment to enjoy yourself, my friend. You should be playing dice or drinking or napping on a day like today.”

“I’m in the water, that’s all I need. Besides, someone has to look after her.” He shrugs in the direction of his boat. “Fix her up and she’ll be good as new.”

Rasho’s smirk widens. By the kami, what has gotten into him? “Very well, very well,” he says, raising his hands in surrender. “But don’t work yourself to the bone, you hear? Have it on good authority you’ll want to be around for tonight.”

He snorts with laughter. Whatever his friend is implying, he’ll know in due course. “Understood, captain.”

“Oh, and Tansui… Keep an eye out for interlopers. On the sea and in the skies. Don’t want anyone slipping by on our watch. Not with Garleans on our doorstep.”

“Perhaps we should raise the tithe, given the trouble.”

The smirk is back. “I will leave that decision in your capable hands,” he says. “Do let me know what you decide to raise it to. And for whom.”

Tansui frowns.

Rasho raises his head. “Ah. Look’s like she’s getting away from you.”

Tansui curses and spins around just in time to see his boat pull free of her ropes and float away from the dock. Inhaling a deep breath, he ignores Rasho’s booming laugh and plunges beneath the waves. He swims swiftly, his haori dragging behind him, and catches the boat’s bowline. Grunting, he treads water and wraps the rope around his arm, then begins to haul his escapee back to shore.

Minutes pass, water rushing in his ears, foam spraying in his face. Still, he cannot help but laugh at his foolish error. The sea is warm, the sun is bright, a stray cloud passes overheard. There are worse things in the world. 

At last, he reaches the end of the dock, panting and spitting salt water from his mouth. He goes under again, testing the depths, searching for the bottom with the tips of his toes. When the water closes over his head, he shoots back up and surfaces, hair loosened from its braid and flying into his eyes. He could round the dock and return to where he was, but this will do. Perhaps Rasho is right. He’s struggled enough with the boat for today.

He raises an arm, preparing to heave the rope up and tie it properly to the post.   

A shadow falls across him and, for the briefest of moments, his heart stops.

A Xaela warrior stands above him on the edge of the dock. She is wrapped in a heavy blue coat that leaves her upper arms bare, a sheathed katana at her side. Cropped green hair frames her face and horns, and her vibrant purple eyes observe him with calm certainty. Her tail flicks back and forth, the end curling and uncurling as those familiar eyes look him up and down, lingering on his bare chest beneath his open haori. She is aglow, the light illuminating her so perfectly from behind that he could be staring into the sun.

No wonder some call her the Warrior of Light.   

His mouth opens, but nothing comes out. There are countless things he could say to her—things he has dreamed of, things he has played over again and again during restless hours at night—and yet all thought is driven from his mind.

A wave smacks him in the face, brine splashing into his mouth. He splutters, coughing, and the next moment he finds her unbuckling her katana and setting it aside. She kneels on the dock, hand outstretched, and grasps his hand with hers. His thumb presses against her wrist, brushing past sensitive scales to where her pulse beats, strong and firm.

“Meryta,” he breathes. “You’re back.”

A smile spreads across her face, bright as the rising sun. “Would you like some help?” she asks.

He stares at her like a fool. “You’re back.”

“You’re in the water.”

“I was fixing my boat. She escaped. I was fetching her.” He swallows, the taste of salt fresh on his tongue. “You’re back.”

She meets his eyes. “That’s the third time you’ve said that.” Her voice is soft and full of wonder, as if she can’t quite believe she is here either. Her grip tightens, fingertips pressing into the back of his hand. Locked. As if the tides themselves could not pull them apart. “And you haven’t answered my question.”

He returns her gaze. “I can do you one more,” he replies, shooting her a roguish grin. “You’re back.”

And he pulls her into the sea.

She yelps as she goes under, plunging into the depths in a rush of bubbles. He chases, sinking below, joy beating frenetically in his heart. When he opens his eyes, all is turquoise and green and blue and purple, watery light spiralling in from above, white bubbles spinning all around. He catches her in his arms and crushes his mouth to hers.

Warmth floods him. Her lips are soft and inviting and wondrous as she kisses him back, delightful and delectable and filled with such sweet promises. She clings to him, enveloping herself around him with her hands cradled at the base of his neck and her tail wrapped around his leg. This moment below the waves cannot last—he does not have the Kojin’s gift the way she does—but here in this watery domain there is nothing but them. Nothing but time. Nothing but peace.

They surface together, locked in a kiss, his hair tangled about his face, hers plastered across her forehead. Then finally they part, foreheads pressed together, legs and tail entwined, and bob in the gentle waves, catching their breath. They drift slowly away from the dock, their sodden clothes fanning about them.

“Ass,” Meryta says.

“Pirate,” Tansui replies with a wink.

She giggles and splashes water at him. “Is this what counts as a nice greeting? After how long I’ve been away?”

“Any greeting where I get to kiss you is nice, no?”

She sighs happily and clutches him, her legs floating up behind her as she rests her head in the crook of his neck, mindful of her horns. “I tried to teleport here, but it wouldn’t work,” she murmurs. “And then I thought�� The worst came to mind. I’ve been occupied elsewhere and the Alliance is not always as complete with its intelligence as I would like.”

“We’re fine. An ordinary malfunction, as far as I know.” He pauses, threading his fingers through her wet hair, admiring its shine. “How did you get here? No ships have docked today.”

“I flew. I didn’t want to miss your nameday.” His heart swells. She knows. She remembers. He does not recall telling her. With a shrug, she kicks her feet, splashing the water, and propels them further from the dock. Back on shore, a yellow chocobo pokes curiously at the beach, nosing a large shell with its beak. “When there’s no aetheryte, Lucida takes me where I need to go.”

“You crossed the seas by air.” Fucking Rasho, that is what he meant, wasn’t it? He must have heard she was in the area, making her way back. He leans back, hair floating in the water, and stares at the cloudless sky, laughter rumbling in his chest. “Imagine that. Perhaps I should demand a new tithe for that.”

Warm fingers loop around his neck, tilting him up. “I’ve already paid your Ruby Tithe,” she reminds him huskily, kissing him. “I suppose we can strike a bargain as to what this new one will look like.”

“Consider me listening.”

“Are you accepting suggestions?”

“Consider me open.”

She drags a hand down his neck and across his collarbone, splaying her fingers across his broad chest. “Let’s get out of the water,” she murmurs. “Maybe then we can find a way to bargain in earnest.”

“You have no idea how dearly I would like to.” He kisses her again, hands threaded in her hair, savouring her lips, her cheeks, her jaw, her everything. By the kami, it has been too long. He has told himself again and again that he is a patient man—at least where she is concerned—but if you asked him to describe himself now, that patience is nowhere to be found. “You know the way.”

“I do.”

“We should get to shore.”

“We should.”

“Put some other clothes on. Preferably something not wet.”

She whines, the smallest of sounds humming on her lips. “Must we?”

“I—ah, fuck.” He pulls away, still clinging onto her as he stares ahead at the small boat rolling away on the cresting waves as if she has a mind of her own. “My boat…”

Meryta squirms, twisting around. “Your boat?”

“That one there.”

“The one where we—”

“Aye, yes, that’s the one.” Tansui sighs. “Too late to retrieve her now, the tides have taken her. By the time we seek her out, she will have run aground on a reef.”

A gentle smile tugs at her lips. “Can you get another one?”

“Aye, but tis not that one.” He sighs again, cursing his foolish mistake. Boats come and go, this he knows, and yet this one was special. She made it special. “We should return to shore.”

Judging from the furrow in her brow, she is still lost in thought. “Can you build another boat?” she asks, staring at his vessel as she crests another wave. Gone, gone, and out of sight. “Certainly the Confederacy has a shipwright, or do you steal all your ships from your neighbours?”

He snorts. “There is one, yes, Meryta, thank you, but I would not trouble him for this.”

“If I were to supply the resources, would he be willing to teach me?”

“What are you saying? That you will build me another boat?”

She turns his face towards hers and grins. “There’s more in my kit than a katana and a bow, you know,” she says. “I have a saw and a few other tools. I’ve never made a boat before, but that doesn’t mean I can’t learn. Perhaps I can contact Gridania and ask Beatin if he has any advice.” Her eyes brighten, limbal rings glowing, enthralled by the idea. “Race you to shore?”

He blinks, still stuck on the part where she said she would build him a boat, and nods. With a whoop, she dashes ahead, swimming freely beneath the waves. He gives chase, splashing after her until his feet touch ground. Then he breaks into a run, sloshing through the water until he has caught her again. She laughs, giggling madly as he lifts her into the air, kissing her again as they spin about on the white hot sands.

Namedays come and go, and this one he will remember.