#after capstan

[ltwilliammowett]

Tiddles’, the ship’s cat of HMS VICTORIOUS, at his favorite station on the after capstan, 10 July 1942

Tiddles was born on HMS Argus and later joined HMS Victorious. In 1940 became the official Captain’s Cat on HMS Victorious. In his years in service, he travelled over 30, 000 miles. He was often seen at his favourite station, on the aft capstan, where he would play with the bell-rope.

#naval history #ship's cat #tiddles #after capstan #1942 #age of steam #ship's cat sunday

[fatehbaz]

On the night of April 30, 1541, the Ming Ancestral Temple in Beijing was struck by lightning and burned to the ground. [...] 

[T]he fires forced the Jiajing Emperor to resurrect one of the dynasty’s most expensive, difficult, and destructive projects: the logging of old-growth timber in the far southwest of China. Disaster struck again in 1556, when fires burned the Three Halls that form the central axis of the Forbidden City. The Three Halls burned yet again in 1584. Through the end of the sixteenth century, repeated damage to the imperial palaces forced reconstruction. Yet the lightning strikes in Beijing were also a disaster for the old-growth forests of the southwest, where the logs to build the palaces had first been cut in the early 1400s. As logging supervisors soon learned, ancient trees could not be felled on a regular basis. Officials pressed ever deeper into the gorges of southern Sichuan and northern Guizhou to find them, bringing massive transformations to the environment in the process.

---

The foundations of Beijing were laid between 1406 and 1421 by the Yongle emperor, a junior son of the Ming founder, who moved the court to his personal appanage in north China. [...] Grasping the sinews of power that connected his court to far-flung regions of the empire, Yongle pulled one million laborers to Beijing to build his palaces.

Because the weight of Chinese buildings is carried by their pillar-and-beam frameworks (liangzhu), monumental buildings required monumental trees (Figure 2). So Yongle also dispatched a similarly large labor force to the old-growth forests of the far southwest to cut the fir (Cunninghamia lanceolata) and nanmu (Phoebe zhennan) that grew straight and tall enough to be used for imperial construction.

We cannot be certain just how many logs were cut to build Beijing, but the figure must have been astounding. In 1441, two decades after the completion of the project, 380,000 large timbers were left over from the earlier construction. By 1500, these too were gone, used for repairs or too damaged by rot to be used for construction purposes.

---

In the sixteenth century, logging officials wondered how their predecessors had been able to obtain so many giant timbers. Li Xianqing, who supervised more than 40 logging sites in the 1540s, noted that large trees could still be found, but they could only be transported out with great difficulty and at great expense. The majority had to be discarded as hollow or insect-damaged.

Even when a quality log was found, it took five hundred workers to tow a log over mountain passes.

Skilled craftsmen were on hand to build “flying bridges” (fei qiao), stone-lined slip roads, and enormous capstans (tianche) to tow the logs up slopes (Figures 3 and 4). In the remote forests of the southwest, loggers faced attacks by snakes, tigers, and “barbarians” (manyi); “miasmatic vapors” (yanzhang, probably malaria); storms, forest fires, rockslides, and raging rivers (Figure 5). Labor teams had to carry their own food and often starved. At the rivers, logs were tied into massive rafts bound with bamboo for buoyancy, towed by teams of 40 men, and then launched on the three-year, three-thousand-kilometer journey to Beijing (Figure 6). Only a small fraction of the trees reached the capital in a condition where they could be used for palace building.

---

Expeditions exceeded their budgets up to fiftyfold.

One official remarked, “the labor force numbers in the thousands; the days number in the hundreds; the supply costs number in the tens of thousands each year.” Another saying held that “one thousand enter the mountains, but only five hundred leave” (rushan yiqian chu shan wubai). To make matters worse, logging mostly occurred within territory that was under only loose Ming control [...].

---

The Yongle Palaces were said to replicate the otherworldly atmosphere of the old-growth forests where their pillars originated. The presence of these timbers in Beijing linked the capital, materially and symbolically, to the southwestern landscape of cliffs and gorges where the trees had grown.

But ancient sentinel trees could not be reproduced on demand. The fifteenth-century logging project was a millennial event, removing the growth of hundreds or even thousands of years. Later officials were forced to come to terms with the transformations their predecessors had wrought in the ancient forests. Eventually builders had to switch to smaller, commercially available timber, using ornate artisanship and commercial efficiency to substitute for the austere majesty of the early Ming palaces, and the thousands of years of tree growth on which they rested.

---

All text above by: Ian M. Miller. “The Distant Roots of Beijing’s Palaces.” Rachel Carson Center for Environment and Society, Environment & Society Portal, Arcadia no. 39. Autumn 2020. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me.]

#abolition #ecology #colonial #imperial #plantation

[bethagain]

Ruminating on OFMD, as one does. It’s been fun to see everyone’s takes on what happened between the end of S2 E6 and the morning of E7. But what else might they have gotten up to besides, um, what followed immediately after the curtains closed?

Then I remembered the crew had borrowed the bathtub.

Also on AO3 as The Bathtub's Full of Rum. A short and sweet little scene, no plot really just vibes, a little blushworthy but mostly SFW.

---

“I need a bath.”

Ed’s head is pillowed on Stede’s chest, hair a glorious tangle.

By the time they were both aware of the world again, the singing above them had stopped. There’s no more laughter drifting down. No footsteps on the deck.

The sky, full of stars, is its own firework now. 

Ed turns his head, burrowing his face against Stede’s skin. “Yeah, you do.”

“So do you,” Stede says, and immediately regrets the affronted tone.

“Never said I didn’t.” Ed rolls away and sits up. Shifts close again though, hip against Stede’s side. He runs his hands through his hair, looping some strands around in a practiced motion to keep it off his face. “Did you see what happened to my shirt?”

A few minutes later they’re padding down the passageway, bare feet on smooth wood. Stede knocks, just in case the washroom is occupied. 

It’s not. The room is empty. In fact, even the bathtub is missing.

“I told them to put it back,” Stede sighs.

“It’s probably still full of rum. Along with your crew.”

Stede looks around for ideas. “I suppose we could wet some towels, for now?”

Ed reaches for his hand. “I have a better idea.”

Stede’s not too sure about climbing to the deck in just his nightshirt, even though it does cover all the important bits. Ed doesn’t give him time to object, tugging him up the ladder and into the starlit air. 

Ed, not fully dressed either, looks at ease in a pair of Stede’s linen drawers, his own abbreviated black shirt skimming the waistband. Stede, barelegged, is starting to feel ridiculous. 

The Revenge is still wearing its finery. The paper lanterns, no longer illuminated from within, are shades of silver. The cloth flags, breaking up familiar sightlines, hold the shape of a temporary dance floor. 

The crew seem to have fallen asleep wherever rum and exhaustion caught up with them. Lucius and Black Pete are cuddled together under a blanket on the steps to the quarterdeck, Pete’s head on Lucius’s shoulder and Lucius’s head tilted to rest against Pete’s. Frenchie and Roach are sharing a pile of sailcloth nearby, each snoring softly. 

Jim’s laid out beside the capstan, one arm thrown around Archie’s shoulders. Archie’s legs are tangled with Olu’s. Ed takes a long step over their feet. Stede manages to follow without tripping.

“Where are we going?” he whispers. 

Ed raises a finger to his lips, pulling him along as they tiptoe past Wee John, glamorous as ever, leaning against a pillow with his back to the mast. They slip by Izzy, sound asleep beside Wee John, the silver light making the glitter above his eyes glow.

At the port side gangway, where a Jacob’s ladder waits ready to be lowered toward the sea, Ed drops Stede’s hand. He’s already pulling up the hem of his shirt as he flashes Stede a grin. “Ready to go swimming?”

Stede’s too busy staring at that shirt coming off to answer. Looking at Ed has always been distracting, but now he knows how those lines of muscle feel. How there’s steel under the softness of his belly, how the hair on his chest manages to be coarse and like silk, at the same time. 

Stede’s brain catches up.

“We’re in the middle of the ocean! Do you have a death wish?”

“Ship’s hove to,” Ed says. “She’s not going anywhere.”

“No one’s even on watch!”

But of course someone is, because even if Stede forgot for a minute what it means to be a pirate, the crew would not. He follows Ed’s nod toward the foretop, where a shadow turns out to be Fang and–is that a goat? 

“Does he even see us?”

Ed raises a hand and Fang waves cheerfully, then turns deliberately away. He shifts the goat, too, so they’re both facing off to starboard.

“You’re insane,” Stede says. In reply, Ed unbuttons the linen drawers and drops them, and he’s over the side before Stede gets more than a glimpse. 

Stede leans over the gunwale in time to see the splash, white lines of water spreading in concentric circles where Ed went in. It’s only a second or two before Ed’s head pops up and Stede can breathe again. 

A low-voiced shout floats up. “You’d probably better take the ladder. It’s a long way down.” 

It does look like a long way down. 

And yet… It’s been a night for firsts, hasn’t it. Stede looks behind him, where the crew are still out cold. He glances up to the foretop, where Fang is steadfastly looking out to sea. He looks down at Ed, who’s treading water, smiling up at him.

It’s a new experience, tugging the nightshirt over his head, letting the night air and the starlight touch every inch of his skin. Stede steps to the bulwark and unhooks the rope that guards the gangway. He drops the ladder, because how else are they going to get back up again. And then he steps to the edge, letting bare toes hang over. “How do I do this?”

Ed’s grin widens. “Bend your knees, get a good jump away from the side. Then arms over your head, back straight, point your toes.”

Stede breaths in, breathes out, looks at the starlight on the water. “Get out of my way,” he calls down. 

He hits the water with a whoosh, breath knocked out of him, a rush of bubbles closing above his head. He surfaces grinning like an idiot, laughing even as he’s gasping for air. The water is cool but not cold, with tiny currents alive against his skin, the night breeze on his face, silver sparkles dotting the surface as far as he can see. Ed is waiting a few yards away, watching him, eyes shining like the stars. 

#ofmd #fanfic #blackbonnet #gentlebeard #ofmd season 2 #ofmd season 2 spoilers #my fic

[asoulwithadream]

ANALysis and THEORIES- OFMD EDITION #1

Objective: PROMO GIFS

Time to analyse these bad boys, because I think I may have figured out what they are. They're lines from the show. Each individual little subtext to the official gifs are something which someone will say in the new season, and I'm determined to find out what, when, where and who (I determine that 3/4 would equal success).

I) "I've never seen Blackbeard like this."

This is the same shot from the trailer, possibly either before or after the infamous "Fuck you, Stede Bonnet." However, there may be a Clue in the second shot which may be able to somehow place this on a timeline (not by myself—this has drained my powers). I can't really tell, because of the low quality and high contrasting shadows, whether or not the side of the Stede topper has been smudged with Ed's make-up yet.

It was clear in the teaser when Ed played with the toppers that he'd caressed fake-Stede against his cheek as if he were some rather exquisite cashmere because of the smudges, but we couldn't tell during the teaser if this has already happened by this point because of the angle of the toy. But if anyone manages to get a better picture or spots something I missed that may contradict or strengthen this little thought, do let me know.

I'm pretty sure though that the person who says "I've never seen Blackbeard like this," is someone who has seen Blackbeard enough to know how he was. Someone that perhaps served by his side? So I think that the speaker in this context may be Izzy. There are two options of who he's saying this too: either Stede, once they team up, or to the crew of the Queen Anne's Revenge, this being the old Revenge crew (Frenchie, Jim, and we count Fang). Maybe even Lucius in the walls.

II) "I should have just told him how I feel."

I just want to take a moment just to appreciate the fact how much this gif resonated with me personally. This was the entire basis of all stages of grief I went through after the season finale, the bottomline of all my thoughts: "why couldn't he have just told him how he felt?". Brilliant delivery and shot planning from the designers of OFMD.

Anyways, let's get on with it. This gif is similar to the first one, in it having the potential of being also shot before or after the Vanity Fair picture with the crew (minus Swede) standing under the bridge(?) in the rain. I do think it's before the scene where Stede takes Blackbeard's poster and very confidently elaborates on Ed's goodness. He has his red cravat on, and is looking so pathetic in the rain looking at a wanted poster of his ex-boyfriend, that the scene is loveably laughable in it's entirety.

It's a bit obvious as to who is the speaker for this line: our very own Stede Bonnet. He's regretting on his actions back at the sailor academy, where he chose to keep quiet about his own opinions on Ed's willingness to leave to China, fast, because of his own deep-rooted issues with speaking up about what he thinks about serious, possibly life-chaning topics. Or maybe he's thinking of why he didn't tell anyone, especially not Ed, about the happiness he felt around him, how great he felt in his company, and how much love he felt for the man.

I can imagine this pretty early on in the season (as we know they reconcile or at least get a long decently early, from the leaked promo), and for some reason I have a picture of Stede laying slumped down on some form of furniture, ragdoll-style, whining about this to someone he knows: either Oluwande (probably the most probably option) or, hear me out, Spanish Jackie. I think she's going to become better friends with the Genital Pirate this season, and be a prevelant character to the narrative.

III) "Feel's like a storm's coming."

This happens during the rapid, quick scenes which we were just able to catch from the teaser. Where Jim is half submerged in water trying their best to reach for someone which I may think might be Ed, and Frenchie working the capstan for whatever purposes needed to hoist something heavy in a storm (don't look at me, I don't sail 18th-century ships). But look, Edward has his cravat on, the cravat given to him by Stede. Why he's kept this eludes me, since this should in theory be before their reconciliation, but we all know that Ed still loves Stede, and perhaps this is his way to hang onto him close to his heart while still matching his new aesthetic.

I would like to think that Ed is the one saying this. After all, he is an expert navigator and weatherman, proving his skills during his first appearances in the previous season. (However, I don't particularly trust his date-keeping skills. He messed up the first one, and then let his other date be held at gunpoint and scared into leaving. Tut tut tut) Another reason as to why I think this is because there is no pronoun indicating that he actively feels the storm, but more passed as a backhanded quip just thrown onto the crew and/or Izzy to alert them.

This could also be interpreted as a metaphor: symbolism for something, foreshadowing to the main plot or villain of the series, which will most likely result in some form of cliffhanger at the end, I tell you that.

I wonder if they're going to have another cloud scene though, talking about how they might show signs of storm. However, instead of shape I'd assume that they'd be commenting on a rather large-scale, dark rain-cloud, and connecting it to perhaps winds stronger than usual.

I also saw someone saying that it was possible that Edward, when he falls off the ship, looses the cravat amongst the waves, and that is why he doesn't have it to what I'd assume is after this scene.

IV) I love a good pirate's tale We can see from this scene that Stede is currently fighting on the beach in the same outfit which he had during the teaser, and if one looks closely you can see that he's excellently accessorised with a beautiful looped earring. However, what we've also learn is that the shot where Ed washes up on the beach is probably in the same scene as this, and by the look on Stede's face (probably augmented by the surrounding chaos) this may be the first time that he's seen Ed in a long time.

I think, as I've said before in previous posts, that Ed has been thrown off the ship in the storm mentioned above. He's been thrown off, and has happened to wash up on this same beach where Stede is fighting, which we know to be possible because of the automatic gaydar in OFMD. (What would be funny though is that he spotted Stede off the shore and decided to make his entrance super dramatic and kraken-like, but ends up just swallowing a shit ton of sea-water and gets his leather ruined, which is why he gets new clothes.)

Why he's fighting? I don't know. But I'm still sure that it's Ocracoke that they're on, because I'm convinced that it'll make an appearance this season—it has too, or else I will send in a formal complaint with our dearest Mr Jenkins.

Now, back to the main bit. The text. Who is it that says "I love a good pirate's tale?" I think that it's either said genuinely, but by someone like Stede, eager to hear about the adventures of experienced and famous seafaring pirates, OR flirtatiously, to insinuate something directed as a romantic quip to get Stede or someone else (a pirate) to talk more about himself. By who, I can't be sure, but I have a list of possible speakers:

Edward Teach

Spanish Jackie

Anne Bonny

Anne Bonny's campy friend

Lucius Spriggs

Stede Bonnet

If there's anything I've missed that you want me to add/change, which I find suitable, do tell.

I'm not sick at all. I'm a normal functioning member of society. I have a life.

#well #those were my thoughts done and dusted #it's really late now #just 17 hours more to go #time for me to SLEEP #i procrastinated so much to get this done #i have so much work to do #ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd s2 spoilers #ofmd s2 speculation #ofmd s2 trailer #ofmd s2 teaser #ofmd gifs #stede bonnet #edward teach #blackbeard #ANALysis and theories #asoulwithadream

[thisisnotthenerd]

Hey @shakespearestolemyurl I made you a little something for the 2023 @d20exchange !

As a podficcer I thought you’d like something with a bit of an audio element, so I wrote you a song.

Or rather a song format.

You can listen and read along here on Ao3: Songs of the Celestine.

There’s a sneak peek under the cut. I hope you like it!

Excerpt from “A Bardic History of Leviathan”, taken from the Compass Points Library, with the approval of the Mistress of the Library, Ayda Aguefort.

A Brief History of the Songs

Songs of the Celestine makes tribute to the history and heroes of Leviathan in song form; the refrain calls for specific names—with each iteration, a different person is mentioned and sung about.

It is based on the structure of capstan shanties, which were used to establish a rhythm for ‘heaving’ work, which required endurance over longer periods. The singer repeats the chorus of the song in between improvised verses of varying lengths over a strong beat.

The song is typically used as a storytelling device and a word game of sorts, because all of the verses for a given story must end on a rhyme, as shown in the examples below. In particular, this song is sung in the Ramble, where different pirate bards and elders take up the tune to tell stories of pirate deeds and misdeeds. Anyone can improvise on the tune, but notorious pirates and sailors of Leviathan may have verses written about them–some of these are shared here.

Make no mistake, it is not a traditional sea shanty–it does not have a call and response element, nor is it slow enough to match the timing of work on a ship. However, it has a strong beat, a simple melody, and a basic chord progression in compound duple time (6/8) such that tales of varying lengths can be sung over top. There are many variations, but typically, the refrain is repeated after all the verses for a particular person are sung, in order to start anew with a different story.

#dimension 20 #d20exchange2023 #pirates of leviathan #sea shanties #ayda aguefort #d20 myrtle #bill seacaster #jack brakkow #songs of the celestine

[focsle]

So your post about the kids thinking you were the only person left from the 1800's ended up in my dash and I loved it, do you have any more stories like that in your personal experience?

Ah, is that making its rounds again haha? I've got notes blocked on it so I never know.

I have many kid stories. I mean, if you're working with kids under the age of 9 (and the child in that post was 7-8) they have no concept of time so when you're talking about something in the past they assume that you've personally experienced it. That one was just the funniest instance of age-typical time confusion. I don't know if that's the sort of thing you're looking for or just like, sweet kid stories.

I used to teach kids about 19th/early 20th c. life on a ship and this one 9ish year old lad was so ready to be a sailor even with all the hardship we were discussing. He loved trying to break the hardtack. He loved hauling on ropes and going around the capstan. He was SO enthusiastic about singing shanties--it was sometimes hard to get kids on board with singing, but he was thrilled with them. And also asked if I could share the lyrics to the full songs so he could teach his parents, to which I was like uHHHH THAT'S ALL OF IT! THAT'S THE WHOLE SONG! cos I'd only teach them the choruses. One because it's easier for them to learn call and response with just the chorus, but also because it's hard to find a shanty that doesn't have some combination of...sexism, racism, alcohol consumption, sex, or wanting to die. He loudly shouted out to the water that he loved the smell of it (a brine and diesel combo, which I also love, I was like ME TOO KID). He was such a kindred spirit lol. Shouted 'Bye Captain!' to me after the program. Extremely sweet. I'd also get a lot of kids trying to tell me pirate jokes at that job. The joke was often 'what's a pirate's favorite letter' and the punchlines were either 'Arr' or 'The C' but I had to pretend I didn't know every single time.

I also used to teach comic making to kids aged 11-18. And that was when they were all fully in their edgy anime demon stage (I get it man. Been there. Middle school and high school's rough). And towards the end of the program one of them came up to me and quietly asked if all comics had to be about action or violence, because that's what everyone seemed to be writing but those weren't the stories he liked telling. And I said they absolutely don't have to be about action or violence, they can be about anything he wanted, and I asked if he wanted to share a story he was thinking of. He said he wanted to write a story about a candymaker who explored the world trying to find new kinds of candy. I thought that sounded lovely. I hope he got to write it, or another such story. That was around 10 years ago at this point. I always wonder where these kids end up. I wish em well. If anything gives me hope for the future, it's consistently The Kids.

#asks #photoshop-and-chocolate

[nicnacsnonsense]

I still cannot get over the fact that the crew’s whole scary stories to tell in the dark thing happened ON THE SAME NIGHT as the run me through scene. (We know because Stede is wearing the same outfit in both scenes. Plus Ed smoking on his pipe may be an indicator that he needs something to numb the pain of having just been stabbed.)

Like, the vibes that night must have just been INSANE from the crew’s perspective. So the captains banish them below deck so Blackbeard can train Captain Stede how to sword fight. And then while they’re all just hanging out or whatever they hear these obscene moans — do you think they could hear Ed’s moans? I think they could hear Ed’s moans — coming from on deck. Izzy has disappeared at some point, but no one has the energy to or any interest in unpacking that. Then, presumably, Stede comes down to fetch Roach because they need some help.

So Roach goes up to Stede’s cabin and finds that Stede has apparently managed to run motherfucking Blackbeard through with his sword. What do they even tell him happened? Do they lie and pretend that Stede is getting that good? Do they tell him the truth? Regardless of what they tell him, is Roach going to believe that Stede really did do it, on purpose, after the way Stede lied about it last time? In any case, Ed seems chill about it, sitting there with Stede’s necktie pressed to the would to staunch the bleeding (not the necktie Stede gave him back when they switched clothing, the necktie Stede was wearing during the sword training which mysteriously disappeared between scenes).

After that the crew gets called up on deck for story time and here’s Ed, perched right up near the capstan where Stede normally sits. That’s probably a pretty normal sight by now, but tonight he has the addition of the huge fucking pipe he’s smoking from — and honestly, good for him, I hope he’s got some real good shit in there, seeing as how he just got stabbed.

But the thing about Ed’s pipe is, as I recall, we only ever see it two other times. The first is from the very first time we see Ed while he’s still on his own ship and the other is when Lucius is bringing him his stuff post (first) breakup. If we look at this incident as an anomaly where he’s doing it for pain-killing purposes, that would seem to imply that Ed only smokes when he’s away from Stede & the Revenge. The impression seems to be that much like the beautiful cocaine rats before him (or I guess technically after him) Ed does drugs to cope with his crushing boredom, and does not need them after enrichment is added to his enclosure.

All this to make the point that Ed is sitting here with this huge fuck off pipe that the crew very possibly has never seen before. Do they, aside from Roach, even know that Ed got stabbed yet? Do they think this is like a post-coital smoke??? Again, what are the vibes here?

Oh, and then Ed caps the evening by getting really into a story about a time when he saw the real life definitely real Kraken, and his dad died. Insane. I love it. Get me on that ship.

#ofmd #stede bonnet #edward teach

[jimrichardsonng]

Scotland Fix of the Day: I’m excited to say that in a couple of weeks I’ll be back in Scotland gazing at Eilean Donan castle after sailing down the Caledonian canal and out into the Inner Hebrides. I'll be aboard the Lord of the Glens with National Geographic Expeditions, a trip I've done before. Two hundred years ago industrious Scots were digging this historic canal, building it large enough to carry a 32 gun frigate, at the time of the Napoleonic wars. It’s considerably more peaceful now, wildflowers were growing along the canal trail on this morning as we hiked along the canal trail, catching up with the boat at the next loch. The canal starts in Inverness and ends near Ft. William. In between it connects Loch Ness (montser there), Loch Oich (might have a monster) and Loch Lochy, past castles, villages and pubs, through stunning scenery and the kind of history any Outlander fan might relish. The Lord of the Glens always draws a crowd as we ascend the locks in Fort Augustus. Back in the day when the locks were operated by capstans it took half a day to get through but now it’s usually about 90 minutes. After a stop on the Isle of Eigg (or maybe Rum) in the Small Isles we'll be on to Iona, always a pretty sight with boats coming and going. Granite boulders forming the Street of the Dead (Sraid nam Marbh) leading off to Iona Abbey have lain here on Iona for more than 1,000 years. Along this processional way the bodies of Scottish Kings (MacBeth included) and royalty were carried to their graves in Reilig Odhráin from Martyr’s Bay, where Viking raiders killed 68 monks in 806 AD. In the evening we dock in the harbor at Tobermory on the Isle of Mull, looking out at what has to be one of the prettiest waterfronts of any Scottish island village. It’s famed for the signature red, yellow, and blue buildings that the children’s television show “Balamory” made famous. It's a terrific trip, full of history, great landscapes and culture. And who knows, we might get a dram of whisky along the way. #scotland #highlands #outlander #epic_landscape #highlands #bestofscotland #hiddenscotland #thehighlandcollective #scotland_highlights #ig_scotland #visitscotland — view on Instagram https://ift.tt/aGvrQRc

#Instagram #IFTTT

[the-insouciant-scientist]

@fallenlondonficswap @oleworm For the general swap :-) I saw you'd like to read about Parabolan weirdness and Zailing and I couldn't resist. Hope you enjoy! Downed and Drowned and Never Found Zee Captain and Zailor OCs, general rating, 1621 words.

The Judicious Boatswain’s knuckles went white as he gripped the railing. They were still zailing at a fast pace, headed back from the Khanate towards London with a heavy load of cargo, but… Would it be in time? He flinched hard as his Captain swept past him, his nerves having been frayed nearly to bleeding. “Captain, we need to talk. The crew is uneasy, and I hear there’s been talk of-” He called out to her back. She turned, and he regretted saying anything nigh-immediately. Her gaze was a thousand metre stare that cut into and through him like a scrimshander knife, eyes wide and empty. “Talk of what.” She said flatly. The Boatswain’s grip tightened a fraction further. “Nothing, Ma’am. Go rest. I’ll make sure it’s handled.”

The Captain did not move or breathe or blink for long enough that the Boatswain started to hold his own breath out of fear, but eventually she grunted in assent and turned her haunted gaze elsewhere. The hems of her coat dragged as she curled into herself and turned the corner, shambling out of sight. The Boatswain shivered. A young zailor ran past and he caught them by the arm, ignoring their cry of fear and surprise. “Find the First Mate and tell them they’re to act as Captain until we reach port. And for G-d’s sake, to make sure everyone gets extra rations. If the Quartermaster complains, tell him I said to shove it.” He ordered. The zailor nodded fretfully, gave a squeaked-out ‘yessir!’, and then bolted back in the direction they came from. The Boatswain sighed, shaking out the stiffness in his joints as he followed after his Captain. He already had a very good idea of what he would find, but it was nothing less than his duty to make sure. A knock went unanswered. So did a concerned greeting. Finally he steeled himself and shouldered the door open, one hand on his pistol just in case something went very badly. 

… As expected. The Captain’s quarters were entirely empty. No sign of her beyond a scattered pile of increasingly illegible papers, some old scratch marks at the corners of her windows, and a needlework prayer to Stone knocked to the floor. The Boatswain blanched and returned it to its place on the desk, unwilling to risk a zee-god’s anger on top of their already precarious situation. With luck, She’d be waiting for them in London once she recovered. —

Somewhere beyond the mirror, a form moved slowly through a jungle, gliding through the underbrush as easily as water. A wheel jutted from her spine, spokes spinning as she maneuvered. Steam and coalsmoke billowed from the corners of her mouth with every breath. “Call all hands to man the caps’n, see the cable floked down clear.” A tinny phonograph recording sang within her chest, keeping her on time. Capstan shanty. Raise the anchor. “Heave away an’ with a will boys, for ol’ London we will steer.” Her anchor lifted, bit by bit, and she picked up her pace as it no longer dragged behind her. Ships don’t have voices with which to sing, per se, but song has a way of coming through anyways. Her wooden boards creaked as she stooped under branches. “Rol-lin’ home, rollin’ home, rol-lin’ home across the zee.” The phonograph insisted, crackling softly. Her wheel spun as she turned gently to starboard. Home. Had to come home. No North Star to guide her down here, but her compass-heart knew the way all the same. As sure as Stone’s warmth. “Rollin home to dear Old London, rollin’ home, fair land, to thee.”

A rustling in the undergrowth had her shifting her stance onto her stern, movements slow but deliberate. A gun-arm was raised, and the soft glim-lamps of her eyes narrowed in focus. A tiger padded out from behind a tree, vegetation whispering against its fur. She lowered her weapons. No threat. “Well, aren’t you an interesting sight.” The tiger purred. When she didn’t respond or move, its tail flicked. “What are you doing out here?” “Heave away, you rollin’ king! Heave away, haul away! Haul away, oh hear me sing! We’re bound for London ci-ty.” Her phonograph played, a gentle static hiss clinging to some of the words. She swayed in an invisible current. “Ahh, I see.” It said, stretching languidly. She tilted her head, the ropes and lines of her hair pulling taut against their cleats. “I won’t keep you long, then. I wish you fair winds and following seas.” After a long moment, she nodded, a slow dip of her bow. The tiger disappeared back into the greenery without a sound. Smoke puffed from her mouth as she exhaled, angling herself port and starting on her slow, steady journey once more. Home. She was going home, as all ships do when a voyage is through. Her keel would keep her upright and true. She travelled like this for centuries or seconds until a familiar sight came into view. A mirror in an intricate frame, containing an image of a gas-lit hotel within. A sign that she was nearly home. Her bow breached the glass like a hand through water, and she passed through. The Devoted Captain took a deep breath as she pulled her coat taut around her. She paused for a moment, getting her bearings, when her eyes fell on the fountain in the middle of the lobby. Not the zee-water she craved, but water nonetheless. She trudged over and knelt by the edge of it, trailing a hand in it to bring some to her lips. She drank deeply, like this. Her throat felt like she had been smoking, perhaps, but she couldn’t recall why that would be. A tall and smiling man approached, and sat on the edge of the fountain next to her. She regarded him balefully. Interrupting my drink, she thought to herself. He leaned down to rest a bearded chin in one hand, tilting his head at her. “Are you here to check in? A wind of Fate in your sails has blown you right into my lobby, after all.” He said. The Captain just barely held back on telling him where he could shove his lobby. A sudden ripple of laughter through his shoulders anyways made her wonder if maybe she hadn’t thought that as quietly as she had meant to. She settled for staring at him while pointedly (and loudly) sipping at another handful of fountain-water. “Hm. Very well.” He sighed fondly. “Another red-sky morning, perhaps.” She wiped the extra water off her face with the back of one sleeve and snorted. “Doubt it.” She said, standing up and shaking the wet from her hands. “I’m leaving.” The Manager smiled even wider. “Fair winds, Capstan.” The Devoted Captain turned to him, brows furrowed. “Capstan?” “Hm? I believe that’s a part of a ship, or a variety of shanty pertaining to it. Isn’t it your job to know that, my dear?” He teased, eyes crinkling. “No, you… Urgh. You called me Capstan. The hell did you mean by that?” The Captain near-hissed. “I called you Captain, you must have misheard. Perhaps you have some zee-water in your ears?” The Manager insisted. She clenched her fists by her sides and took a very deep breath to keep herself from doing something very inadvisable, and then turned and stalked out the door. The Manager waved to her retreating form with an airy laugh. Ah, no matter. He’d convince her to stay eventually. —

Wolfstack Docks. Almost there. The Devoted Captain’s boots thunked heavily against wood as she scanned the piers for her ship. She broke into a run when she spotted it, a little worn around the edges but not much worse for wear from her absence. Her First Mate snapped to attention first, then the rest. “Cap’n! We were hoping we’d find you back here. We got all the crates from the Khanate unloaded already, but we’ve been waiting for you.” They said, clasping her hand in theirs to shake firmly. “I owe you all an apology. Things got bad at zee, and I am sorry about that. But right now, I want nothing more than to get back on board my ship. Anyone who needs shore leave can take it, but I…” She gazed hungrily at the deck. “I need to feel her boards under my boots again.” The Judicious Boatswain studied her, not unkindly, before laughing gently. “Well, don’t waste time on our account. Go say hello.” He said. Some level of tension eased in his shoulders as she grinned. The Devoted Captain hauled herself up onto her ship, forgoing the gangplank entirely. Once up she immediately took to running her hands over the railings, relishing the wood under her skin. She was home. More than that, she felt like she was whole again, like some part of her own body had clicked back into place with her return. Her crew returned a few at a time, mostly just trying to keep out of her way as she did her rounds. A good few were taking up her offer of shore leave, it seemed, but not so many that they couldn’t zail. The Fidgeting First Mate joined her at the wheel, hands clasped behind their back. “So where are we off to next, Captain?” She laughed. “How about the Court of the Wakeful Eye? It’s been a while since we’ve paid tribute, and with luck, Stone’s light will bless us as we pass.”

The First Mate inclined their head with a smile. “Sounds like a good enough idea to me.”

The Captain curled her fingers around the wheel, took a deep breath, and prepared to zail once more.

#fallen london fic swap #the scientist scribbles #the shanties her phonograph plays are neathy variants of 'rolling home' and 'south australia' in case anyone's curious! #rolling home is indeed a capstan shanty but south australia is a halyard shanty which was sung during long and hard tasks #in this case keeping herself on task as she went. which is difficult when you're a ship in a dream jungle #and a tiger is trying to make small talk #oleworm #also the title is from downed and drowned by the longest johns that song fucks #a copy of your bazaarine tale

[whatwillthegirlbecome]

Happy Birthday Ghostcat3000!

At the Fishhouses

Although it is a cold evening,

down by one of the fishhouses

an old man sits netting,

his net, in the gloaming almost invisible,

a dark purple-brown,

and his shuttle worn and polished.

The air smells so strong of codfish

it makes one’s nose run and one’s eyes water.

The five fishhouses have steeply peaked roofs

and narrow, cleated gangplanks slant up

to storerooms in the gables

for the wheelbarrows to be pushed up and down on.

All is silver: the heavy surface of the sea,

swelling slowly as if considering spilling over,

is opaque, but the silver of the benches,

the lobster pots, and masts, scattered

among the wild jagged rocks,

is of an apparent translucence

like the small old buildings with an emerald moss

growing on their shoreward walls.

The big fish tubs are completely lined

with layers of beautiful herring scales

and the wheelbarrows are similarly plastered

with creamy iridescent coats of mail,

with small iridescent flies crawling on them.

Up on the little slope behind the houses,

set in the sparse bright sprinkle of grass,

is an ancient wooden capstan,

cracked, with two long bleached handles

and some melancholy stains, like dried blood,

where the ironwork has rusted.

The old man accepts a Lucky Strike.

He was a friend of my grandfather.

We talk of the decline in the population

and of codfish and herring

while he waits for a herring boat to come in.

There are sequins on his vest and on his thumb.

He has scraped the scales, the principal beauty,

from unnumbered fish with that black old knife,

the blade of which is almost worn away.

Down at the water’s edge, at the place

where they haul up the boats, up the long ramp

descending into the water, thin silver

tree trunks are laid horizontally

across the gray stones, down and down

at intervals of four or five feet.

Cold dark deep and absolutely clear,

element bearable to no mortal,

to fish and to seals . . . One seal particularly

I have seen here evening after evening.

He was curious about me. He was interested in music;

like me a believer in total immersion,

so I used to sing him Baptist hymns.

I also sang “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God.”

He stood up in the water and regarded me

steadily, moving his head a little.

Then he would disappear, then suddenly emerge

almost in the same spot, with a sort of shrug

as if it were against his better judgment.

Cold dark deep and absolutely clear,

the clear gray icy water . . . Back, behind us,

the dignified tall firs begin.

Bluish, associating with their shadows,

a million Christmas trees stand

waiting for Christmas. The water seems suspended

above the rounded gray and blue-gray stones.

I have seen it over and over, the same sea, the same,

slightly, indifferently swinging above the stones,

icily free above the stones,

above the stones and then the world.

If you should dip your hand in,

your wrist would ache immediately,

your bones would begin to ache and your hand would burn

as if the water were a transmutation of fire

that feeds on stones and burns with a dark gray flame.

If you tasted it, it would first taste bitter,

then briny, then surely burn your tongue.

It is like what we imagine knowledge to be:

dark, salt, clear, moving, utterly free,

drawn from the cold hard mouth

of the world, derived from the rocky breasts

forever, flowing and drawn, and since

our knowledge is historical, flowing, and flown.   

by Elizabeth Bishop

#one of my favorite pieces of art #for one of my absolute favorite people #i'm not much of a creator so i can't make a work of fanart in celebration of your birthday #but please accept this humble offering instead #ghostcat3000

[abihasablog]

Massage

Tickletober Day Seven!

Fandom - Our Flag Means Death

Characters - Ler!Stede, Lee!Ed

SFW

Words - 1019

A/N: Wanted to get this out before the end of the day, but there will be a cheeky sequel in the near future.

Ed found himself in a bit of discomfort, as he often did after a day spent mostly standing.

Ed and Izzy had spent an hour on deck standing stationary at opposite ends of the capstan, discussing repair work. When they had broken, Izzy’s eyes shot immediately to his knee and  had crossly lectured him after seeing he was not wearing his brace properly. He then stood and watched him tighten it until he was satisfied. While Ed had grumbled that he was the Captain for fuck sake, he was a little warmed by Izzy’s angry, borderline threatening concern.

Then, Ed had spent half an hour watching, captivated, as Buttons communed with his birds.

After that, it was knife throwing with Jim, mostly to watch them at it and see them blush under their hat at Oluwande’s supporting commentary.

This had continued all day, only really sitting for meals with Stede. It wasn’t until he joined the crew for story time that evening did he notice the stiffness in his back and shoulders. 

“Iz,” he whispered to Izzy who was half falling asleep on his shoulder. His first mate jolted a little, looking up at him drowsily. 

“What is it?” 

“Tense back. Need you to crack it.” 

Izzy frowned at him. “That isn’t gonna help you.”

“Uh, yeah it will. Always has before.” 

“You’re stiff from standing all day, right?” At Ed’s sheepish nod, he carried on. “Then it’s muscles. You don’t need me to snap you around, you need a massage. Ask your boyfriend.” 

Ed looked to where Stede was engrossed in reading, dramatically imitating a French accent that had Frenchie and Wee John in giggles.

Ed’s eyes watched carefully as Stede licked the pad of his thumb before turning the page. 

Those hands? On him?

“You have such good ideas, Iz.” Ed turned to him with a grin. Izzy only sighed, turning his attention back to the story, and trying to muffle his own laughter at Stede’s voices.

When Ed followed Stede back to their cabin, he made a show of pouting. Stede watched him with a small smile.

“What’s that face for?”

“Oh, nothing.” Ed lowered himself down on the sofa with an overdramatic groan. Stede appeared beside him, hands on hips, looking at him with concern.

“Is it your knee? Izzy told me you weren’t wearing your brace properly, Edward.” 

Oh, did he? Little snitch. 

Ed made himself look even more pathetic. 

“Not my knee, Stede. My back. It’s all stiff and horrible and Izzy wouldn’t crack it for me.” 

“Oh, poor lamb!” Stede tutted, dipping to press a sympathetic kiss to his temple. “Take off your robe, darling, and I’ll see what I can do.”

Ed eagerly shimmied the banyan from his shoulders and tossed it aside. Stede smiled warmly as he sat beside him, patting his knee. 

“Here,” Stede said softly, tugging Ed up and letting him fall across his lap. “I used to do this for my daughter all the time.” 

“Wha-?” Ed started, but cut off in a gasp when Stede’s nails started to trace across his back. A full body shiver racked him, and he buried his face in Stede’s thigh to hide his pink cheeks. “Fuck me.” 

“Good?” Stede enquired cautiously. Ed wrapped his arms around Stede’s leg like an octopus, arching his back up shamelessly into the touch. 

“Don’t stop, ever. I’m never moving again.” 

Stede chuckled gently. He let his nails drag up and down Ed’s naked back, curling in patterns across the skin, tracing around the edges of his larger tattoos. 

“Talk t’ me,” Ed mumbled sleepily. 

“What about?”

“Anything. Your voice ‘s pretty.” 

Stede was glad Ed couldn’t see his face, which now matched the red of Ed’s discarded banyan. He cleared his throat before speaking. 

“Well, that’s very kind of you to say Ed.” He traced his fingers up towards the back of Ed’s neck, making him shiver. “Alma would crawl over my lap when she was younger and demand I tickle her back. She would get very cross if I stopped. I would keep going until she fell asleep or Mary called her away.” 

Ed shuffled slightly, turning his head to look up at him. 

“If anyone tries to call me away I’ll shoot ‘em.” 

“I locked the door, darling. Nobody will come to pull you away from me.” Stede smoothed his palm down the length of Ed’s spine, as though he were trying to encourage the aches from his bones to leave of their own accord. Ed shivered, toes curling in his woolly socks. His hands felt like pure silk against his back, and Ed found himself (not for the first time) feeling exceedingly grateful that his love kept such an intricate skincare routine. Ed’s own palms, rough and dry from sea salt and rope burn, could not compare to Stede’s. 

Ed was almost asleep when Stede’s nails wriggled suspiciously against his lower back. Jerking back into the land of the living, Ed tensed. 

“Oh! Sorry love, is that not what you wanted?” Stede’s palm rubbed over the spot apologetically. 

“No no, just… took me a little by surprise.” Ed shifted his hips, relaxing once again as Stede kneaded a sore spot with the heel of his hand. “Not a bad one, I guess.” 

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to spook you.” Stede sounded genuinely upset with himself, and well. Ed wasn’t having that. 

“You can… do it again? If you like. ‘S up to you, I don’t care.” 

“Ah,” Stede giggled a little to himself. 

That’s better.

“My poor angel. Let me make it up to you.” 

Ed knew he didn’t need to brace himself. Stede knew him better than he knew himself, knew that in that moment he needed softness. A gentle back rub, with the gentle tickles that turned his body into goo. He wrapped his arms around Stede’s legs with a contented sigh as his partner set to work. 

Slow fingertips skittered across his lower back, drawing a low, giggle infused groan from his core. Fuck, he could live here forever. 

He’d have to pull his back more often. 

#tickletober2022 #augtickletober2022 #ofmd tickling #gentlebeard #lee!ed #ler!stede #ofmd #tickling #tickle fic

[ltwilliammowett]

Half time with our calendar and this is the perfect moment to introduce you to a lady who shows the interface of Age of Sail and Age of Steam. She is generally regarded as the start of the Age of Steam and yet she still has both elements. But who am I talking about ? - The HMS Warrior

HMS Warrior

More about her history here:

HMS WARRIOR was built as part of Britain’s response to concerns over France’s maritime ambitions which included the building of LA GLOIRE, a powerful ironclad which was the most advanced warship of its day.  WARRIOR was commissioned on 1 August 1861 and at that time unquestionably ruled the seas. Her main guns, engines and boilers were contained within an armoured wrought iron hull and she could be driven by both steam and sail. This combination meant that she could outrun and outgun any ship afloat and she never fired a shot in anger – the classic deterrent.

During the first commission her main role was to lead the Channel Squadron. On 22 November 1864 she paid off for her first major refit at Portsmouth Dockyard during which the ship was comprehensively refurbished. She was also completely re-armed with 7” and 8” muzzle loaded rifled guns. However, in the American Civil War the success of the Monitor was to have a dramatic effect on naval thinking and WARRIOR’s role as ‘Monarch of the Seas’ was to be very short-lived.

She re-commissioned in July 1867 and re-joined the Channel Fleet. The second commission was rather less interesting than the first as she was no longer regarded as the most powerful warship afloat and faded from the limelight. The second commission ended in 1871 and she then spent four years in refit at Portsmouth being fitted with improved boilers, steam power for the forward capstan and a new poop deck to accommodate an Admiral.  On completion in 1875 she became part of the First Reserve Fleet where she was to remain until paying at Portsmouth on 31 May 1883.

After periods as a depot ship and part of HMS VERNON she was paid off in 1924. She was then converted for use as a floating oil jetty and in 1929 was towed to Pembroke Dock where she was to remain for the next 50 years. In 1967 the campaign to restore WARRIOR started and prominent in this was Sir John Smith who formed the Manifold Trust. A committee chaired by the Duke of Edinburgh met in 1968 to discuss her future and from this emerged the Maritime Trust. When Pembroke Dock closed in 1978 the Manifold Trust agreed to underwrite the cost of restoration and the ship was handed over to the Maritime Trust in 1979.

In 1983 ownership was transferred to the Ship’s Preservation Trust which became the Warrior Preservation Trust in 1983. Although the hull was very sound the rest of the ship was in a poor state. The task which was part restoration and part re-building needed vast resources not only of money (£8M) but also of skill, patience and endurance. The 8 year restoration programme at Hartlepool transformed her into one of the world’s most important historic warships and in 1987 she returned to Portsmouth where she is now moored in the Historic Dockyard.

A planned preservation programme is in place for the ship and over the years she has been dry-docked twice, and the upper deck, (£725K provided by the Heritage Lottery Fund), all three fighting tops and half moons and the stern gallery have been replaced.

#naval history #naval artifacts #tall ship #hms warrior #1860 #day 11 #age of sail #age of steam #advent calendar

[anonymouslyel]

here's my take on merman eddie and pirate captain steve

"push!" steve instructs and his men follows. they push the levers in order for the net they spread on the sea to come up. the storm a week ago took a toll on their supplies that could have lasted until they make port on the next town.

"two more turns, lads!" the captain instructs once again and the men follows. their captain have never failed them and if steve says two more turns, they for sure would believe that after two more turns, there'll be plenty of fish on their net to eat for dinner.

the men hear the splash of water and their mouths starts to water. they can already imagine the number of dishes their cook can do to those fishes.

then their captain shouts, "off the capstan!" and the men pulled away. loud splash of water can be heard and it's somehow different. it's like one big thing fell into the water instead of several fishes.

"captain, what happened?" nancy, the firstmate asks. their captain's brows are furrowed, scowling.

before steve could reply, the answer came from the waters. "steve, why!"

ah, the crew understood why their captain made them let go of the net.

"we need fish on out nets, eddie!" steve shouts to the creature below.

at first, it was genuinely amazing seeing a merman in their ships deck. but their firstmate's lover, robin, firmly believes in the power of supernatural beings and insisted for them to free the merman. nancy is smitten for robin and their captain values the word and advice of his firstmate and crew, so he instructed the crew to put the merman back into the sea.

somehow after that the merman they came to know as eddie have been frequenting their nets in the afternoon, just when they're fishing of their dinner.

"i am a fish!" eddie shouts back.

"we can't eat you eddie! robin doesn't want to!"

the crew can't believe what they are hearing really. they have seen the most bloody fight and deadliest storms in their lives but never did they think they'll be seeing their captain arguing with a merman.

"that's why i brought foods! see! these are clams and crabs!"

true to what eddie said, he has several clams and crabs on his arms, still on the net that fall through.

steve looks at nancy then his crew. "what do you lot think?"

the men looks at each other, then "we can accept the clams and crabs for dinner, captain."

then nancy said, "we'll take those clams and crabs. let eddie stay here while we try to get fishes without him on our nets."

"understood," steve said to his men and to eddie he said, "hold tight, eddie! we'll pull the nets up, okay?"

"anything for you, my captain!" was eddie's resounding reply that was mixed with other sounds that the crew thinks only merpeople can do.

#steddie #steveddie #steve x eddie #eddie's like oh captain my captain! #steddie pirate au #pirate steve harrington #merman eddie munson #firstmate nancy wheeler #because i said so

[internerdionality]

New Izzy theory.

So, I've been struggling with how Izzy is portrayed after Ed and Stede leave the Revenge in Episode 9, because it didn't make a whole lot of sense to me, and I think I've hit on something.

Now look, I'm really not like, a diehard Izzy stan who is trying to woobify him, okay? Izzy is a harsh, brutal, manipulative asshole, granted. But let's review what we know about him up to that point:

He's devoted to Edward/Blackbeard, enough that once he leaves, he chooses to come up with a complicated plot that involved selling himself into the service of the British crown and (presumably) using quite a bit of money to bribe Jackie, all to get Blackbeard back.

He's a good enough sailor and leader of men that Ed chose him as first mate and he's retained that position for several years. He mentions that he's headed off mutinies (or at least, the beginnings of such) among Ed's crew before.

He's a martinet—he doesn't like idleness among the crew, thinks they should be working ALL the time and wants the ship in perfect shape.

He always wants to have a plan.

He thinks Stede's crew are useless, incompetent sailors

And now let's look at what he does after Ed and Stede leave:

He appears to let the ship sit at anchor doing fuck-all off the coast of Barbados for a least a day, probably longer.

He doesn't actually seem to be forcing the crew to do much work? Like, yes, we get the one scene of the Black crew turning the capstan while Izzy eats, more on that later, but turning the capstan is a short job to raise/lower the anchor or haul up one of the sails, no one does that for hours. And in that same scene, Lucius—the one crewmember whose idleness has particularly enraged Izzy in the past—is basically just holding a mop and clearly not actively working, and Izzy doesn't seem to care. Several other crewmembers are shown not working or not working at all hard in that scene, and then in the other scenes during that period (the mutiny plot and Oluwande & Jim's reunion), no one's working at all—almost the entire crew has the leisure to gather in the rec room and talk about a mutiny, and Oluwande and Jim are able to spend presumably hours in their cabin uninterrupted.

He makes the black crew work while the white crew are lazing around.

He gives a particularly assholish speech. Again, think back to the scene where he manipulates Stede into going on with the fuckery. The scene where he convinces Ed to kill Stede! This is not a guy who doesn't know how to effectively get people to do what he wants.

Has the entire crew watch him performatively eat a meal on the main deck.

He talks to Black Pete about becoming first mate, passing over Fang and Ivan, his longtime crewmates and minions.

Y'all, could Izzy have been trying to provoke a mutiny?

I mean, maybe it was out of some suicidal self-flagellating "I accidentally helped destroy Blackbeard and doomed him to serve the British so I deserve to die" or a "I've now committed to serve the British and not even gotten what I wanted out of it, but if the crew halfheartedly mutinies I can get out of it" or some combination thereof? But honestly, that makes more sense to me than that Izzy just suddenly forgot everything he ever knew about being an effective officer.

#izzy & blackbeard #ofmd izzy #izzy hands #ofmd meta #omfd spoilers #our flag means death

[scotianostra]

Captain Pugwash creator John Ryan was born on March 4th 1921 in Edinburgh.

Captain Pugwash creator John Ryan was born on March 4th 1921 in Edinburgh.

Born as John Gerald Christopher Ryan in Rintoul Place, he was the youngest of four sons of the diplomat Sir Andrew Ryan KBE CMG, who served as consul-general to Morocco and was later British minister at Jeddah and in Albania. His uncle was the Archbishop of Trinidad. and Tobago Ryan spent his early years in Turkey and Morocco before returning to Britain, where he was educated at Ampleforth College Boarding school. His first cartoon was in the school magazine when he was just 9.

During the Second World War he served in the Lincolnshire Regiment in Burma and India, achieving the rank of captain. After being demobbed he studied art at the Regent Street Polytechnic, London.

He then worked as assistant art master (and later art master) at Harrow School, during this period Ryan began contributing strips to children’s comics such as the Eagle, Girl and Swift.

His best-known creation, Captain Horatio Pugwash – skipper of the Black Pig and “the bravest, most handsome pirate of the Seven Seas” – first appeared in the launch issue of the Eagle on 14 April 1950. Set in the 18th century, the strip’s full title was “Captain Pugwash, the Story of a Bad Buccaneer and of the Many Sticky Ends which Nearly Befell Him”. The portly, cowardly and conceited Pugwash, with his moustache and goatee beard and skull-and-crossbones hat, would frequently utter cries such as “Dolloping doubloons!”, “Kipper me capstans!” and “Coddling catfish!” The red-and-black striped shirt which he wore under his blue frockcoat was inspired by Ampleforth College’s football team’s colours. His arch-enemy and main rival in the quest for treasure was Cut-Throat Jake, captain of the Flying Dustman.

I think I should point out, and maybe spoil some peoples memories about Captain Pugwash, there was no Master Bates, Seaman Staines or Roger the Cabin Boy, they are urban myths, it was Tom the Cabin Boy and Pirate Willy, entirely innocent names, the other names are thought to have originated back in the 1970’s in student rag mags, the smutty names, according to Ryan’s father had an upsetting affect on her dad, who she describes as “a very charming and innocent man” The family had to sue some publications after her father’s death when some papers printed the fake names. The family gave money they were awarded to lifeboat charities.

Another series Ryan created, and one I certainly remember when growing u, was Mary, Mungo and Midge. John Ryan also drew topical cartoons for the Catholic Herald for more than 40 years and was the author and illustrator of more than 50 books.

He passed away in July 2009.

#scotland #scottish #edinburgh #writer #cartoonist #history #television

[crimson-phantom-designs]

My random ass pirate Francis head cannons. Francis love performatives and it would show in his wardrobe. Loving theatrics didn't die when he left his life on land, if anything he became more dramatic with it. From how he takes down a ship using his musical talents under a burning fire, like the shows he used to enjoy, to how he uses his wit to ruse people. It's all a dramatic stage for him he is happy to show off.

Part of the Francis version of Calypso's Birthday(where his and Ned's ships are joined together) there's a parallel to Izzy coming out in full make up as performance to the starting party. In this version it's Francis, he's dressed in an elaborate white suit with a cape to resemble wings. On his head is a set of gold horns banded in his hair and shimmering contour with rouse and sharp eyeliner to accentuate his devilishly charming features as he sings his true intentions. Behind, he hops atop the capstan and sings Terrance Zurich "After the Fall" scaring the living hell out of Stede who was right in front of him nerverouly taking in the party as the fireworks kick up.

His song is alluded to liberate the beast from a certain disgraced, fallen and shamed Gentleman Pirate into joining his force or see what's going to happen if he doesn't. It's also a jab toward the uptown life Eb chose over him.

Stede would run off after that to hide away in the cabin as Ned and Francis pulled out their violins to keep singing a sinister duo as they kick off the rest of the party between their crews.

#never thought of designing Francis in make up but damn he would be pretty #Ned would be beside himself in excitement good lord #Here be dragons verse #list of thing I have to draw #oc francis osman #Spotify #scroogeverse #scroogeposting