September Doodle Dump GO!

I think I'm honestly gonna try and do doodle dump posts more often, especially since I've started college now and don't have as much time or energy for. Bigger pieces of art lol. Once again, everything under the Read More :]

(This is far from everything, but it would be countless reblogs if I tried to put everything in, so. Imma just be selective.)

First off, younger Wounded Warrior hcs :] (This ties in with my hcs that they're a defector from the King's army, this was in their early months as a Wasteland soldier after escaping)

Cannoneer my BELOVED (plus silly sibling interaction lol)

Well. Uh. You know how I'm all for Wounded/Slouching. Yeah I added Shipwright to the mix. I'm not sorry.

I like to imagine Rainier (my Slouching) does makeup from time to time :] (to add to that, I actually hc that they do drag as a hobby, but. I also haven't made how they look in drag yet because I'm currently struggling with how the fuck they'd style their wigs)

Remembrance Guide my BELOVED (i've named them Uvadus <3)

THIS!!! This was my first time using multiply layers and I'm happy with how it turned out, even if it's simplistic :3 (It only just hit me that both Uvadus and Mur have EXTREMELY similar expressions between their doodles dear god)

And, lastly, some modern au doodles for Murtagh (my wounded warrior) <3

I personally hc them to have chronic pain from injuries and other issues they sustained during their time in the army in canon, and that naturally transferred over into me hcing that, at least in a modern au, they absolutely would use a wheelchair to get around as they find it most suitable for them. Crutches are another option but aren't used as often, and if they do, it's either mainly around the house or for shorter distances.

September started sweet Then winter got so mean The fruit left on my sheets If I could do it all again, I would’ve said—

the zurich au, shipwright & fairbairn remix. thoughts below.

this piece (as does most of shipwright & fairbairn’s overall Vibe) took a lot of inspiration from magdalena bay’s “chaeri” (strobe warning for the video).

i wrote a little bit about it here, but in my idea of lucy @sircarolyn’s zurich au, herc going to switzerland directly pushes linda out of a job. in my head, herc makes a promise to linda that he will help her as much as he could, and then… doesn’t. he leaves without saying anything. it’s schrodinger’s friend breakup: is it over? is it not over? there’s a liminality between them here, which is a lot like the idea of flight itself, and a lot like many of the wide shots in the music video.

almost in retaliation, i envision linda joining air england (which is. basically british airways but shh). by her living her life by spite, the air england move is a bastardization of the worst kind. she knows what this must mean to herc, whom she still shares a sky with. and they do bump into each other in my head, and herc is sorry, but he broke what was built in trust, and linda tore it down the rest of the way.

the visual of herc extending a hand to linda, and her utterly rejecting it, is central to the AU. in my head, he raises a hand to fix her ribbon pin on her tie. she raises a hand and slaps him away. the trust is broken. can it be fixed?

Vampire part 1

Thrashing winds unfolded

Water tossed in a bottomless bowl of sea

One ship in the eye of the storm

Used to the weathered seas

Its mast holds strong

The sun comes out and winding down the sea stills its waters

opens into a calm day

but started with a stormy night.

Sitting on the sky

there is promise

nothing to holdback or lose

everything has been obtained for

on the ground looking up there is hope

—-——————————————————————

Beidou docked the Crux Fleet at Liyue Harbor. It was a time of essence for the captain since there was damages to the ship. The crew members hurriedly gathered tools to fix the damage at the hull. The sky was full of the clouds with a gazing sun. A contrast to the captains mood. “Captain, the hulks damage needs a professional shipwright.” “Huh, alright let me find someone on shore.” Thankfully the Tianquan of the Quixing happened to be on the ground today at the docks and passed an irritable Beidou.

Beidou paused her brusque walking and turned to face an amused Ningguang with her pipe to her mouth. She blew smoke out making small rings in the air.

They both greeted each other with smiled and set off to play a very nice game of chess.

At the jade chamber there they sat in the private chambers concerning Ningguang's space.

The game moves on there seems to be a switch in the night air.

"Hey, what's with all the moving around curtains and everything to your place.

“They're needed after a long voyage I dont expect you to remember since you were not here.”

Beidou looked concern and said,

“ay, what happened?”

Ningguang tells her what happened on September 22, 2 weeks before October 10 of today. Beidou held a steady breath as ninguang searched for the incredability of it all. She told the story of how she sent Ganyu and Kequing out to sort any misgivings of Liyue's tales of a blood sucking Fatui memeber whise been kidnapping soldiers in the woods. At first she laughed at what seemed like a children's tale until she looked at Ganyu's face, and saw how serious it was. She sent out more soldiers on nightly paroles and nothing came up.

One day she went to Juheyeon Kurst herself and was attacked it seemed by the thing herself. Both her and Kequing put up a fight and Ningguang was left with a bite mark.

One wrong move and the thing bit her and ran off.

Kequing took Ningguaung to the infiormary. There was bouts of fever and once she turned so cold they thought her dead; however, she awoken and everybody breathed a sigh of relief. a few weeks after and you return. Ninguang ended the story.

"Beidou, I have been given iron tablets and am anemic severley."

Traveler and Paimon visited and plainly stated that my eyes are a more brighter crimson.

"I need a second opinion of something that even I fear may be a threat to Liyue. Ningguang said. There seemed to be a tension in the air as Ningguang spoke. Beidou answered before she could finish the theory.

"If there's a cure, I'll find it." But for archon's sake, Do not tell me you almost died and became a vampire. "

Ninguang laughed and said "I almost ate Kequing and she never let me live it down."

Title: Morfydd Clark Reveals Exciting Details About Galadriel's Story in Rings of Power Season 2

Title: Morfydd Clark Reveals Exciting Details About Galadriel's Story in Rings of Power Season 2 Morfydd Clark Reveals Exciting Details About Galadriel's Story in Rings of Power Season 2 When Amazon announced their upcoming Lord of the Rings series, Rings of Power, fans of J.R.R. Tolkien's epic Middle-earth saga were eager to learn more. With the first season set to debut in September 2022, audiences are now on the edge of their seats, waiting for more updates about the highly anticipated show. Thankfully, one of the show's stars, Morfydd Clark, recently revealed some exciting details about her character, Galadriel, and what viewers can expect from her story in the show's second season. Galadriel's Role in the Second Season According to Clark, Galadriel will play a significant role in the second season of Rings of Power. In an interview with Entertainment Weekly, she shared that she was thrilled to be able to delve deeper into her character's backstory and motivations. "Galadriel is such an iconic character, both from the books and the films," she said. "Getting to explore her story more fully in Rings of Power has been an incredible experience." Galadriel's Origins Clark also discussed Galadriel's origins, something that has not been explored in detail in previous adaptations of Tolkien's work. She revealed that in Rings of Power, audiences will get to see Galadriel as a young elf, long before the events of The Lord of the Rings. "We're going back quite far in time with Galadriel," she said. "We get to see her as a much younger elf, which was really interesting to explore." Galadriel's Relationships Another aspect of Galadriel's story that Clark teased was the character's relationships with other key figures in Middle-earth. She hinted that viewers will get to see Galadriel interact with characters such as Elrond, Celeborn, and Cirdan the Shipwright. "We definitely see Galadriel in a new light in Rings of Power," she said. "We get to see different sides of her personality and her relationships with other characters." Galadriel's Future While Clark was tight-lipped about specific plot details, she did hint that Galadriel's story in Rings of Power will have far-reaching consequences for Middle-earth as a whole. "Galadriel has a crucial role to play in the events of the show," she said. "I think fans will be really excited to see where her story goes." The Legacy of Galadriel Finally, Clark reflected on the legacy of Galadriel, both in Tolkien's work and in popular culture as a whole. She expressed her admiration for the character and the impact she has had on audiences over the years. "Galadriel is such a powerful figure, both in terms of her own story and her role in the wider mythology of Middle-earth," she said. "It's been an honor to bring her to life on screen." Conclusion Fans of Lord of the Rings can't wait to see what Rings of Power has in store for them. With Morfydd Clark's hints about Galadriel's story, audiences are even more excited to explore Middle-earth in this highly anticipated new series. We can hardly wait to see what the future holds for Galadriel and all the other characters we know and love. FAQs 1. Who is Morfydd Clark? Morfydd Clark is a Welsh actress best known for her roles in films such as Saint Maud and The Personal History of David Copperfield. 2. Who is Galadriel in Lord of the Rings? Galadriel is an elf of the Noldorin race, known for her wisdom and magical abilities. She is a key figure in The Lord of the Rings, helping to guide Frodo and the other characters on their quest. 3. What is Rings of Power? Rings of Power is an upcoming television series based on J.R.R. Tolkien's Middle-earth saga. It is being produced by Amazon Studios. 4. When will Rings of Power premiere? Rings of Power is set to premiere on Amazon Prime Video in September 2022. 5. What other characters will be in Rings of Power? Rings of Power is set to feature a wide range of characters from Tolkien's work, including Galadriel, Elrond, and Sauron. #NEWS Read the full article

Shipwright September

I’d like to take a moment to tell you about Shipwright September, a very casual event of necessity in which I will be posting literally all the Amanda Holliday content I can possibly churn out. I would like to cordially invite anyone who would like to participate to write, or draw, or celebrate our brave shipwright and favorite pilot. If you need prompts or want to talk about ideas, feel free to dm me! 

Little Bird chapter 4

pt 1 | pt 2| pt 3

Ao3 Link

-/

Eva Levante meets a remorseful Amanda while Zavala gets a letter.

-/

Eva Levante has come to visit and thus, the orphanage’s common room is in a state of organised chaos. The Festival of the Lost will be upon them soon so Miss Eva has come to help them get started on decorations. Extra tables have been brought in and they’re already a riot of colour, covered in paper, glitter and foil. A few glue sticks roll off desks and begin to dry out on the floor, casualties of short attention spans and the excitement of an interruption to the usual monotony of their days.

Amanda sits in a corner away from the worst of the ruckus and looks down at the blank papers in front of her with an increasing sense of despondence. She’s not familiar with this celebration at all. Miss Eva had said it was to remember those who had been lost, “with joy and sorrow.” Amanda doesn’t feel like she needs reminding what she’s lost and while she understands the sorrow part, the joy aspect of it seems unattainable to her.

She glances around the room to try to glean some ideas from what the other children are doing. She sees mock candles rendered in cardboard, burning with ‘flames’ of orange tissue paper. Many of them create paper mock ups of some sort of round, orange vegetable she doesn’t recognise, only to then draw leering, grinning faces on them. It’s creepy. Why would anyone want that on their wall?

One of the other children spots her lack of activity and calls out, “Hey New Girl? Why aren’t you making anything?”

New Girl . It’s been months but she’s still “New Girl.” Amanda suspects that barring some major disaster in the City, she’ll always be the New Girl in the orphanage; refugees just aren’t arriving in the City anymore. She hears the stories, how she was the last to pass through the gates, how there’s no one left outside. She hears the jibes and cutting questions. Did you get lost? How could you miss the Traveler, it’s not like it’s tiny . They don’t say that to her face anymore, not since she channeled her frustration at their ignorance into her fists. She’d been put in detention for a week after that but it had been worth it. When her teachers sagely advised that fighting was wrong and asked if she’d learned her lesson, she’d nodded dutifully and said yes but that was a lie. There was nothing to learn, she was right. Those bullies had no idea what it was like out there. They had no right to pass judgement, no right to make fun of Ma and Pa or the rest of the caravan. They’d done their best.

That familiar, yet altogether unpleasant ball of heat starts to build inside her and spread up, through her chest, to her face and behind her eyes. She takes a deep breath and pushes her anger back down. She decides she wants nothing to do with this Festival of the Lost nonsense and opts on engaging in a totally different project. She sifts through her materials and picks out a piece of light yellow paper; not too garish, not too offensive, then picks out a dark blue crayon from a pot on the table. She wanted black but this is closest to that colour she has available to her. She leans over the table, nose nearly to the paper and begins to write, her little brows furrowing in concentration. After a while, she sits up to stretch and think about how to continue. It’s then that she notices Miss Eva standing over her, smiling and inquisitive.

“Do you not want to make decorations, dear?”

Amanda shrugs and covers the paper with her arms.

“Are you drawing a picture?”

She shakes her head. “Writing a letter.”

“Oh,” Eva says, with that exaggerated interest that grown ups always do when they don’t understand something a child is doing. “Who are you writing to, dear?”

She feels her cheeks warm with a blush as she suddenly feels very silly. “Commander Zavala.”

“You know the Commander?” Eva’s interest seems far more genuine now as she pulls up a chair beside her.

“Not really,” Amanda explains in an embarrassed mumble. “I made him mad.”

“Oh, what could you possibly have done to make the Commander angry? I can’t imagine that.”

She lists the all the things she could have possibly done to irritate Zavala and counts them off on her fingers. “Uhhm, I tried to steal from Executor Hideo, I keep running away from the orphanage and I snuck into the hangar and hid under a table.”

“Ah,” Eva tips her head to the side in agreement. “Yes, well. That would probably do it. He didn’t frighten you, did he?”

“A li’l bit, he’s pretty scary. But it’s okay, the monsters are scared of him too.”

Eva threads her fingers together and leans towards Amanda, her expression of quiet amusement switching to one of concern. “What monsters?”

“The ones outside,” she states matter of factly. “Y’know. The bad stuff beyond the walls.”

Eva nods seriously. “I do, dear. I do know.”

Amanda looks up from her writing with saucer-wide eyes. When she speaks it’s a low, conspiratorial whisper. “Have you seen ‘em too?”

“I was a refugee.” She hazards laying a hand over one of Amanda’s and looks gratified when the child doesn’t flinch. “I know exactly what you’re talking about.”

“The others ain’t seen ‘em. They don’t get it.”

“Is that why you run away?”

Amanda pulls back and makes a big production of neatly folding the finished letter in half. “This place gives me a stomach ache,” she finally answers with a shrug.

“Well. Maybe we can do something about your stomach ache,” Eva begins in an indulgent tone. “But you mustn’t run away. It’s not safe, that’s why Zavala gets mad. It’s his job to keep people safe.”

“I know,” Amanda smooths down the paper one last time before scrawling Zavala’s name across it. “That’s why I’m writing him.”

-/

Eva pops her head around Zavala’s office door after knocking. “Are you busy?”

Zavala raises an eyebrow in response. His expression is stony but the amusement is there for those who know where to look. Eva covers her mouth with her hand to stifle the embarrassed giggle that emerges.

“I’m sorry my friend, silly question.”

His expression softens and he beckons her in, “What can I do for you?”

“Nothing for now, all is well in the Bazaar,” she fishes a piece of folded, bright yellow construction paper out of her bag before she takes a seat. “I’m here as a messenger today.”

Zavala accepts the ‘letter’ with a confused frown. “What is - Ah. I see.” He smiles softly to himself as he reads, despite the childish scrawl and the myriad spelling and grammatical errors.

Dear comandur Zavala,

Sorry for trying to steal from exek execkyu Hidayoh. Stealing aint right I know that.

Im sorry I keep running away from the orfanage. I dont mean to worry no one, I just get I just dont like being cooped up. Sorry for creeping into the hangar. I didnt mean no harm. I wanted to see the ships. I like ships. When I grow up I wanna be an enj engani someone who fixes stuff. I hope I didnt get no one into troubble, can you tell the hangar folks that Im real sorry if I did?

Thank you for walking me back,

Amanda Nora Holliday.

Zavala finishes reading and fixes Eva with an incredulous look.

“I haven’t read it,” Eva holds up her hands and shakes her head. “I don’t know what it says, it wasn’t addressed to me.”

“How did you get it?”

“Sometimes I like to pop over the orphanage, for the children. Give them something to do, break up the monotony. Their little lives can be so regimented. Amanda asked me to give this to you. I couldn’t say no, she seemed so earnest and,” she summons her most matronly smile for Zavala, “Very concerned that she had made you mad.”

“Am I really that intimidating?”

“You can come off as rather brusque, I won’t lie.”

“I had no intention of frightening her, I just-”

“You worry,” Eva points out in a gentle interruption. “I know.”

Zavala takes a moment to glance over the letter before speaking again. “How did she seem to you?”

Eva’s smile fades. “A little isolated perhaps? I don’t think the other children understand her. Refugees are a rare thing nowadays. And she said the orphanage gives her a stomach ache.”

Zavala frowns, while Eva gives a sad smile at his puzzlement.

“‘I have a stomach ache’ is little girl-speak for ‘I’m afraid,’” she explains. “And she was less than enthused about the upcoming festival.”

“I don’t think it has been that long since she lost her parents. It’s likely still very raw for her.” He stares off into space, tapping the letter on the edge of his desk, lost in thought.

“I can keep an eye on her if you’d like?” Eva offers, breaking through his distraction.

“I didn’t ask-”

“I know you didn’t,” Eva chuckles, “You’re obviously worried about her but you’re a busy man. I often call into the orphanage, it would be no trouble for me.”

“You’re very kind, Eva, thank you.”

“Like I said, it’s no trouble,” she assures him, rising from her seat. “Have you considered my suggestion? About bringing the Festival of the Lost to the Tower?”

“You think it advisable to expose Cayde to dress-up games and sugar highs?”

“A small price. It would be good for you. You Guardians were lost once, too.” Eva opens the office door and cocks her head. “Think on it. For old Eva.”

“I will,” he nods indulgently.

Eva makes to leave before turning around to face him again. “Have you been crocheting lately?”

Zavala meets her gaze. There’s warmth and compassion there but Zavala knows it’s so keen and perceptive she could almost be an Awoken. “When I have time.”

“You look stressed.” She wags her finger at him as though he were a truculent child rather than a centuries-old immortal. “Make time!” She insists before showing herself out

Russian frigate Shtandart

The frigate Shtandart was the first ship of Russia's Baltic Fleet. Her keel was laid on April 24, 1703 at the Olonetsky shipyard near Olonets by the decree of Tsar Peter I and orders issued by commander Aleksandr Menshikov.

The vessel was built by the Dutch shipwright Vybe Gerens under the direct supervision of the tsar. She was the first flagship of the Imperial Russian Navy and was in service until 1727.

The replica frigate launched on September 4, 1999 has three masts and her displacement is 220 tons. She is 25 metres (82.0 ft) long at her centre line, 27.5 metres (90 ft) long on deck and 34.5 metres (113 ft) long overall.

The Shtandart is 6.9 metres (23 ft) wide with a draft of 3.3 metres (11 ft). The ship is designed for speeds between 8-9 knots under sail, and under auxiliary engines required by modern standards up to 15 knots (28 km/h).

The original crew complement in 1703 was between 120 and 150, and the modern crew consists of 30 trainees and 10 officers. Text: wikipedia.org

December 13th 1721 saw the death off the coast of West Africa of Alexander Selkirk

Selkirk was the Scot whose experiences inspired Daniel Defoe's "Robinson Crusoe", he  was the son of a shoemaker and tanner in Lower Largo, Fife born sometime in 1676. 

Young Alex was a quarrelsome character who was often falling foul of the church elders, he liked the usual Scottish pastimes of drinking and fighting and it was in 1693 after an altercation in church he had to flee Scotland, the church records say it was "indecent conduct in church", god knows what he did but the record goes on to say "did not appear, being gone to sea" 

He was back in Lower Largo and back in trouble by 1701, this time it was a brawl with his old man and brother, he had to get out of Lower Largo or would probably end up at the end of a noose, so what better occupation for a wayward laddie of Alex's nature than to become a Pirate. Well not quite a pirate, a Privateer which was the nearest thing to being one, it was legalised Piracy where a Merchant ship could attack and take the spoils from enemies of whatever country authorized, in this case it was an English ship called Cinque Ports and they were involved in the War of the Spanish Succession, so they were after French and Spanish ships mainly in the South Atlantic. 

Anyway after a few years of plundering Selkirk and the crew had pulled into an island called Más Afuera , four hundred miles off the coast of Chile. Selkirk once again showed he was a handful and argued with the ship's captain, Thomas Stradling, that the ship wasn't seaworthy and they should make repairs before departing. 

Tempers flared, and Selkirk said he'd rather stay on the island himself than risk being on a sinking ship. Stadling duly obliged leaving him  on the island with a few supplies, including a musket, gunpowder, and a few tools.

Oor Andrew initially stood fast, hoping the crew would side with him. When no one else did, he begged to be let back on the ship, but to no avail. He must have looked on despondently as the ship sailed away.

On the surface, Más Afuera was a great place to be stranded. Meat was readily available in the form of wild goats and spiny lobsters. A freshwater stream ran through the island. Wild cabbage, pepper, and plums grew in the jungle. There were no predators or dangerous animals, and probably the most important thing for him, nobody to argue with! 

The early months, however, proved difficult for Selkirk. He sank into depression, and rarely bothered to pursue the food all about him. It's said that at night, rats would crawl into his shelter and bite his feet.

After months of listlessness, Selkirk came to accept his fate. He domesticated wild cats to keep the rats away and provide company. He began hunting goats on the island and grew adept at running them down. His feet grew tough and calloused from running over the land barefoot.

Selkirk had another advantage. His father had been a tanner, and Selkirk learned how to tan hides at a young age. He used this skill to make clothing out of goat skin.

Over the next several years, Selkirk came to embrace his solitude. The only interruption he encountered was when a Spanish ship landed on the island. Selkirk fled from them and hid up a tree as the away party passed underneath. To pass the time, Selkirk supposedly read the Bible, sang, and prayed the days away until he was finally rescued his long-awaited deliverance came on 2nd February 1709 when two privateering ships, the Duke and Duchess stopped off at the island.

Thomas Dover led the landing party that met Selkirk. After four years and four months without human company, Selkirk was almost incoherent with joy. The Duke's captain and leader of the expedition was Woodes Rogers, who mischievously referred to Selkirk as the governor of the island. The agile castaway caught two or three goats a day and helped restore the health of Rogers' men, who were suffering from scurvy. 

Rogers wrote an account of his expedition, A Cruising Voyage Round the World, it provided the earliest written accounts of Selkirk’s adventure and served as the basis for many other literary works inspired by Selkirk, including the most famous of them Defoe's  Robinson Crusoe. Not only did he get a book based on his life, but in the end, it seems Selkirk got the final I-told-you-so. The ship that he deemed not seaworthy and refused to board did end up sinking, killing almost everyone on board except Stradling, who ended up in prison. He ended up in England in 1712 and after a few months in London, he began to seem more like his former self again. In September 1713 he was charged with assaulting a shipwright in Bristol and may have been kept in confinement for two years He returned to Lower Largo, where he met Sophia Bruce, a young dairymaid. They eloped to London early in 1717 but apparently did not marry. He was soon off to sea again, having enlisted in the Royal Navy.

While on a visit to Plymouth in 1720, he married a widowed innkeeper named Frances Candis. He was serving as master's mate on board HMS Weymouth, engaged in anti-piracy patrols off the west coast of Africa, when he died on 13 December 1721, succumbing to the yellow fever that plagued the voyage. He was buried at sea.

There is a  statue in Lower Largo and a plaque that reads 

"In memory of Alexander Selkirk, mariner, the original of Robinson Crusoe who lived on the island of Juan Fernández in complete solitude for four years and four months. He died 1723 Lieutenant  of HMS Weymouth, aged 47 years. This statue is erected by David Gillies, net manufacturer, on the site of the cottage in which Selkirk was born."

A plaque was also erected on a rock on Más Afuera, which has now been remaned  Isla Alejandro Selkirk/ Alexander Selkirk Island. 

(Un)civil part 11 of 28

A FACE-family-centric (heavily centered around the North America twins) retelling of the American Civil War, told in 28 parts through anecdotes, letters, and telegraphs. Rated for language, themes of and depiction of death, other dark historical themes.

FF.net  |  Ao3

Tumblr:  Part 1,  Part 2,  Part 3,  Part 4,  Part 5,  Part 6,  Part 7,  Part 8,  Part 9, Part 10

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

September 6, 1862

Letter from Sir Arthur Kirkland in London to Matthew Williams in Quebec

------------------------- 

My dearest Matthew,

I hope this letter finds you well. By the time you receive it, I'm sure the seasons in Quebec will have turned solidly towards Autumn, a time I know you cherish and loathe in equal measures. I hear from the governor that this year's harvest has been full and largely unspoiled—it is no small feat, and I congratulate you for this victory in such dark times. I enjoyed seeing your personal gardens outside the city last I visited, and hope your homestead has shared in your countrymen's good fortune this year. I must take a selfish moment to ask that, should you have room in your cellars, you set aside a case of McIntosh apples for me. If you are willing to indulge me even further, I would very much like a cutting of the same tree. I've three young apple trees on my property in Somerset that are now just the right size for grafting. I'm afraid I've spoken high praise of your apples to the gentlemen of Parliament, and not a few have reprimanded me for bloviating about such confections when I have none to share.

I should like nothing more than to spend the rest of this letter imparting news of my own orchards—McIntoshes I have not, but I daresay this years' first scrumpy has been particularly good, and strong too, thank God—but unfortunately my main reason for writing to you is not cider, but something far more grave. It is with neither relish nor pleasure that I remind you of your brother's war, and the potential threat it poses to the Empire. I know it is a constant source of worry for you as well as your governors, just as it is for me in London.

You may have heard, whether by maritime rumor or some other propaganda, that the Confederates have successfully courted Victoria and her government and lured her into supporting their rebellion, but I reassure you these notions are unequivocally false. Lord Palmerston has made very clear his intention to stay neutral in the conflict, so long as it is earthly possible.

However, I must regretfully confirm another rumor that you may have heard, that an English shipwright manufactured one of the Confederacy's newest cruisers. She left British waters as the Enrica, but has been for the last few months terrorizing the Azores as the C.S.S. Alabama, a thorn in the side of Union merchants and a blight on my own efforts for complete neutrality. In equal measure of regret, I must confide that your brother is, apparently, aware of the ship's origin. Should retaliation cross his mind, it is not impossible that he choose to inflict his ire upon you. Your proximity to him is, as it ever has been, a potential danger. This uncomfortable truth forms the crux of my letter to you.

It cannot have escaped your imagination why the Empire has so long remained neutral in the American war. If it were I alone affected, Palmerston would have no doubt sent me across the Atlantic, musket in hand, to fight your cantankerous brother upon the first whiff of a blockade. However, there is considerable worry here in London that, should we give even the illusion of British support for the Confederacy, the United States will turn its eyes northward and violate your border. I realize you and Alfred have shared close and amicable relations for many decades, but I must remind you how war changes nations even more profoundly than men. Alfred is not himself, and may not regain himself for some time. I must ask, though I know it is a herculean task, that you set aside your feelings for your brother and prepare yourself for imminent invasion. Should the United States seek to annex Canada or any of our other colonies while still at war with the Confederates, I fear not only for your own safety, but the safety of whatever men Lincoln will seek to conscript from your undepleted barracks.

While you call your own men to arms and fortify where you can, I must ask that you keep your own person away from all things military. Neutrality is as much a show as it is a diplomatic condition, and you being as far away from the fighting as possible will keep your peoples' minds turned away from war. I was heartened to hear of the incorporation of the city Victoria on your western coastline on Vancouver Island. Do your trains yet reach so far west? I imagine the oncoming winter would be made more tolerable by Pacific coastal winds. I know Gov. Douglas has recently set aside a handsome estate for you there, though I do not know if you've yet had an opportunity to visit. You will have to tell me if the prospectors are as numerous as I've heard.

It would put my old heart considerably at ease to know that you were doing all you can to keep yourself—and the Empire—from becoming the next casualty of your brother's self-destruction. I cannot impart how sorry I am for asking so much of your heart and spirit once more. I am ever-thankful for you, and hope you may enjoy these first days of harvest in wealth and plenty.

Your Ever-Devoted Brother,

Arthur Kirkland, GBE

------------------------- 

Historical Notes:

1. McIntosh is the name of an apple variety developed and made popular in eastern Canada in the early 19th century, and is now the national apple of Canada (yup, that's a thing!). Since apple varieties cannot be propagated from seeds, and must be grafted or rooted from cuttings, Arthur here is asking Matthew for a bit of his own McIntosh tree so he can grow McIntosh apples in England. And yes, the McIntosh apple is in fact the inspiration for the name of the modern computer company!

2. "Scrumpy" is a term that probably didn't show up in the English language until about 1904, but I've adopted the term here because it means something very specific to which Arthur is referring. (Hard) apple cider has been a popular drink in England for centuries, but the southwest of England is known for a particular kind of apple cider that is now called scrumpy. Compared to the more refined "export" varieties of cider manufactured at the same time, scrumpy was and is simple, dry, less sweet, and usually still (not carbonated). These roughly-made farmhouse ciders were both easy to make and also usually a great deal stronger alcoholically than the ciders sold at market. If you're ever in the southwest of England (and of drinking age), I strongly recommend trying it! It's delicious.

3. The C.S.S. Alabama has been discussed already, but just a note here to add that for the first two months of its existence as the Alabama, this ship stayed closer to Europe than America. The Azores are an archipelago of islands controlled by Portugal that are west and to the south of the Iberian peninsula. As a bird flies, they are roughly ⅓ the way from Europe to North America. The Alabama did not cross the Atlantic until a bit later. When it did, it arrived and wrought havoc upon the coasts of New England.

4. Yup, one of the reasons England stayed neutral was, in fact, Canada! There was considerable fear that the Americans would attempt to annex Canada. The fear of American annexation of Canada is actually arguably one of the biggest external factors in Canadian history, and would not end with the end of the civil war. It was not until the early 20th century when fears of American annexation subsided.

5. British Columbia was a brand new colony at this point, founded in 1858 and largely fueled by the booming Gold Rush there at the same time. Though the Colony of Vancouver Island was at the time a separate entity, they were managed by the same shrewd governor, James Douglas. The city of Victoria, which today is the capital city of BC, was incorporated as a city in August 1862.

The Royal Yacht Peregrine and a smack rigged Yacht on the Medway off Coast at Gillingham, Kent, with Upnor Castle in the background, detail, by Peter Monamy, possible 1726

Designed by Peregrine, Lord Danby (later the Marquess of Carmarthen) to replace his earlier yacht Royal Transport which had been given to the Russian Tsar Peter (the Great) when the latter visited England in 1698, the so-called Peregrine Galley was built at Sheerness by Master Shipwright R. Lee in 1700. Measured by her builder at 197 tons burden, she was 87 feet in length with a 22½ foot beam and classed as a sixth rate mounting 20-guns. Taken straight into naval service by William III upon completion in 1700, she was not, in fact, specifically classed as a Royal Yacht until after her refit and renaming as the Carolina in 1716. However, such was the success of her design, coupled with the lavishness of her appointments, that she was frequently used as a royal yacht throughout the reign of Queen Anne (1702-14) and was the obvious choice to convey George I to England after his accession. The new King, having travelled to Holland overland from Hanover, boarded the Peregrine at Oranil Polder on 16th September 1714 and, escorted by Admiral Berkeley and a fleet of twenty sail, made the short journey across to the Thames estuary. Sailing up-river to Greenwich, George disembarked there for his carriage journey into London but not before pausing to knight Peregrine’s captain William Sanderson in thanksgiving for his safe arrival. Renamed Carolina in 1716 in honour of the new Princess of Wales – the future Queen Caroline, wife of George II – the Peregrine was later extensively rebuilt and renamed Royal Caroline in 1733. Converted to a sloop and reverting to her original name in 1749, she was last seen in heavy weather in the western approaches on 28th December 1761 whilst en route to the West Indies, after which she disappeared without trace with the loss of all hands.

JOHN HARTNELL, A.B. 

(1820 - 4th January 1846)

John Hartnell was born in Gillingham, Kent to Thomas Hartnell, a shipwright, and Sarah Hartnell (née Friar), and was baptised at St. Mary Magdalene Church on 16 July, 1820. The eldest of five children and from a long line of shipwrights and sailors rooted in Devon, John grew up in an area of Gillingham known as East Row, close to the River Medway and in the shadow of the Chatham Dockyard. In 1832, when John was twelve years old, his father passed away, leaving behind a widow and five young children, including John’s newborn sister, Betsy. Presumably under financial pressure, John was later apprenticed as a shoemaker under a man named Henry Sarge, and would remain in this job until late 1841.

John was quite close to his younger brother, Thomas, who had joined the Royal Navy at fifteen years old. In 1841, Thomas returned from the First Opium War in China aboard the HMS Volage, along with later Franklin Expedition Lieutenant Graham Gore, and John Strickland, possibly a cousin of the Hartnells. What followed is lost to time, but by September of 1841, John Hartnell had quit his job as a shoemaker and enlisted in the Royal Navy aboard the Volage as well. This decision may have caused a small rift between himself and his mother, as he allotted his wages to his younger sister, Mary Ann. 

Regardless, John would serve on the Volage for three years as an Ordinary Seaman under Captain William Dickson, travelling to the West Indies and finding ports of call in Canada, Jamaica, Mexico, and Barbados among others before returning home in early 1845. His time on the Volage also gives a rare descriptor of his appearance in the Description Book in 1842, as he’s described as being 5′11″, with black hair, hazel eyes, and “sallow” skin. For a young man who had rarely seen much outside of Kent, this journey must have been an exciting one, as upon his return, he - as well as Thomas Hartnell and John Strickland - wasted little time in enlisting for their next journey aboard the HMS Erebus as part of the Franklin Expedition. All three were enlisted as Able Seamen (ABs) and were healthy enough to be allowed to continue their journey past the last known sighting of the Expedition in July of 1845.

John, however, would go on to achieve accidental fame through his illness and death. By November of 1845, after the Expedition had taken its icebound quarters on Beechey Island, John had fallen deathly ill from a possible combination of tuberculosis, pneumonia, and a severe zinc deficiency. Later forensic investigation would also show that he had an infection in one of his feet, an injured ankle, a compressed cervical vertebrae, and an injured shoulder. His health rapidly deteriorated, and on the 4th of January, 1846, John Hartnell passed away at the age of 25. He was the first man on Erebus to die, and the second man of the Expedition, passing away only three days after 20-year-old lead stoker, John Torrington. John Hartnell’s body was clothed in three shirts - including one belonging to his brother, Thomas, which was embroidered with ‘T.H. 1844′ on the shirttail - and a wool cap. He was laid out on a folded blanket with his head resting on a hand-sewn pillow, and was wrapped in a shroud. His grave on Beechey Island, along with those of John Torrington and Royal Marine William Braine, would become landmarks along the search for the Franklin Expedition.

John Hartnell was exhumed once in the 1852 by Inglefield & Sutherland, again in 1984 by Owen Beattie of the University of Alberta, and once more by Beattie in 1986. The 1986 exhumation revealed John’s almost perfectly-preserved body, aside from a damaged coffin from the 1852 attempt as well as a damaged right eye and arm. He became iconic for his full head of dark hair and his supposed “angry” expression, with one researcher commenting, “This guy is spooky, the quintessential pirate. This guy is frightening.” Another wrote that he looked as though, “he were shouting his rage at dying so early in his adventure.” What struck the entire team, which included John’s great-grand nephew, was how young he had been at his death, and how ill he must have been toward the end. One of the most notable finds of his exhumation was the inverted Y-incision on his abdomen, proof that he had already been autopsied, more than likely aboard Erebus. 

While John Hartnell’s body allowed for a window to be open into the past and to help in the understanding of the fate of the Franklin Expedition, it’s important to not overlook his life as well. Contemporary sources paint the Hartnell family as tight-knit, with John being particularly close to his brother, Thomas, and sister, Mary Ann. John himself appears to have been hardworking, kind, and driven, if not a bit stubborn and accident-prone. 

Although there are few firsthand sources and none written in his hand, letters from his mother and brother, Charles, show how deeply his absence was felt. In a letter written to him and his brother by their mother, she says, “my Dear children if it is the Lord’s will may we be spared to meet on earth if not God grant we may all meet around his throne to praise him to all eternity is the Prayers of your Affectionate Mother”. In a letter dated 23 December, 1847 (over a year after John’s death), his brother Charles writes, “it is nearly three years since we parted but I hope it will not be that time before we meet again”. 

it's taken me far too long, but i've now been tagged thrice in this, and it is high time i did this tag game: thank you to @sircarolyn, @malcolm-f-tucker, and @supercantaloupe for the shoutouts!

Rules: share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written fewer than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway!

Airspeed Sixty, January 2023, Cabin Pressure, 1.6k

Behind the fence separating people from the habitat of planes, a tinier-than-usual Martin waved energetically in farewell as Theresa undid her safety vest just outside the little Cessna, having just finished her preflight inspection.

und freundlich zeigst du den Weg, January 2023, Cabin Pressure, 1.5k

All of aviation runs on a standard time; by virtue of the island they share having been home to a naval superpower (and Herc, consummate Englishman he is, will definitely not get into an argument with his Scottish first officer in the flightdeck of the aircraft owned by their Scottish airline about anything nearly related) it just so happens that that standard time is also the one they live by, this time of year.

(I checked this one multiple times. I swear it's only one sentence. I think the '15 words per sentence max' rule I had for my technical communications class during the fall term really did a number on me.)

La question c'est «Voulez-vous?», December 2022, Cabin Pressure, 6.7k

When the going got particularly bad, Theresa always found her inner voice defaulting to Bavarian, partly because a good chunk of her blood came from there, but mostly because she liked their swears best.

Tutto al mondo tal figlia è per me, December 2022, Cabin Pressure, 1.4k (in progress)

Until his firstborn daughter is placed in his arms, Colin Fairbairn is blissfully unaware of how tiny a human can be.

This Kiss to All the World, December 2022, Cabin Pressure, 649

All pilots capture her eye. They always have.

Advenio, December 2022, Cabin Pressure, 400

His body is twisted in spare sheets stiff from disuse.

Hands Up and Touch the Sky, December 2022, Cabin Pressure, 2.8k

If there ever were such a thing as divine mercy, Herc Shipwright thought that being called from reserve to cover the coveted “Holidayer Line” almost immediately after filing his fourth divorce was proof enough of its existence. 

Figlie, December 2022, Cabin Pressure, 1.7k

It’s not really in the job description, but she’s there anyway, watching the office in case of a phone call or airfield management walking in with paperwork to fill.

Gaudium quod est immensum, atque probum, October 2022, Cabin Pressure, 11.8k

For an airport which was now more often on Herc’s paperwork as a diversion option, Bristol was still familiar enough for him to get around without major trouble.

Short a Fuse, All Cylinders Firing, September 2022, Cabin Pressure, 2.8k

His breath punches out of his chest as he watches the two of them bathing in a deluge of light, dust motes dancing in the cascade around them.

and there's the past ten fics :3 personally i really think some of my best work is in this list, particularly the works a little farther back. also december 2022, apparently, was a great time for releasing pent-up fic lol.

anyway, tagging: @stoppablethetramstory, @fortheloveofmundanity, @lunanimal, @arendelve, @leporellian, @lonelyroommp3, @linguini17, and... ugh i am absolutely drawing a blank as to who else i think is a writer here and hasn't been tagged in anything i've seen, we're gonna have to leave it there.

The Great Michael - the giant Scottish Crusader Warship

Michael, popularly known as Great Michael, was a carrack or great ship of the Royal Scottish Navy. She was the largest ship built by King James IV of Scotland as part of his policy of building a strong Scottish navy.

She was ordered around 1505 and laid down in 1507 under the direction of Captain Sir Andrew Wood of Largo and the master shipwright Jacques Terrell, launched on 12 October 1511 and completed on 18 February 1512. She was too large to be built at any existing Scottish dockyard, so was built at the new dock at Newhaven. When Michael was launched she was the largest ship afloat, with twice the original displacement of her English contemporary Mary Rose, which was launched in 1509 and completed in 1510.

The poet William Dunbar wrote of her construction:

.....................carpentaris, Beildaris of barkis and ballingaris, Masounis lyand upon the land And schipwrichtis hewand upone the strand.

— William Dunbar, "To the King [Schir, ye have mony servitouris]" Translation:

Carpenters, Builders of barks and ballingars, Masons lying upon the land, And shipwrights hewing upon the strand.

The chronicler Lindsay of Pitscottie wrote of the building of Michael that "all the woods of Fife" went into her construction. Account books add that timbers were purchased from other parts of Scotland, as well as from France and the Baltic Sea. Lindsay gives her dimensions as 240 feet (73 m) long and 35 ft (11 m) in beam. Russell (1922) notes that Michael was supposed to have been built with oak walls 10 ft (3.0 m) thick. She displaced about 1,000 tons, had four masts, carried 24 guns (purchased from Flanders) on the broadside, 1 basilisk forward and 2 aft, and 30 smaller guns (later increased to 36 main guns), and had a crew of 300 sailors, 120 gunners, and up to 1,000 soldiers.

Henry VIII of England was unwilling to be outdone, and ordered the building of the 1000-ton Henry Grace à Dieu, launched in roughly 1512, later known as Great Harry, which was even larger. These ships were the first great ships, the precursors of the later ship of the line.

Michael was named after the archangel Michael and built to support a Scottish crusade against the Ottoman Empire to reclaim Palestine for Christendom. This grandiose plan had to be changed when the commitments of the Auld Alliance with France required Scotland to go to war with England, to divert England from her war with Louis XII of France (see the Italian Wars).

In August 1513 a Scottish invasion force was assembled to attack English possessions in France. Commanded by James Hamilton, 1st Earl of Arran, the chief ships were Michael, Margaret and James. Instead of attacking the English, Arran raided Carrickfergus in Ireland and returned with loot before proceeding to France.

A warship of this size was costly to maintain, particularly for a small country like Scotland. After James IV and many of the nobility of Scotland were killed at the Battle of Flodden in September 1513, Michael was sold to Louis XII of France on 2 April 1514 for the bargain price of 40,000 livres and became known as "La Grande Nef d'Ecosse" (The Big Nave of Scotland) (Nave is from the medieval Latin navis, meaning 'ship'). In March 1514 Michael was reported to be docked at Honfleur because she was too big for the harbour at Dieppe. Most historians have accepted the account of the Scottish historian George Buchanan that after this, the French allowed her to rot at Brest. Norman MacDougall in 1991 suggested that under her new French name, she may have been used in the French attack on England in 1545 that led to the sinking of the English warship Mary Rose in the Battle of the Solent on 19 July 1545.

Maker’s name: Margaret Diepenheim

Petition sheet number: 258

Person honouring: E. [Edith Ellen] Diepenheim

Relationship to maker: Great-aunt

Edith EIlen Diepenheim was born in 1870 in New Zealand. 

Her parents were Jan/John van Diepenheim, a shipwright born in November 1830 in Zwolle Netherlands and Diana Diepenhiem [born Deal]. Edith’s mother came from England to New Zealand on the Egmont in September 1856, arriving in Lyttelton when she was 16 years old. 

Edith signed the petition for women to vote 1891–93. She signed the petition on sheet 258, which is a light signature. 

Edith was employed as a dairymaid. She married George Forrest. They had four sons and lived at Hilton Street Kaiapoi, Canterbury.

Edith died in 1936 at the age of 66 years.

Panel materials:  Mixed media. 

Unique ID number: VRS.2019.EX1

Keep On Rising (Until the Sky Knows Your Name) 01

Found Family | Zavala is Tower Dad | Father-Daughter Relationship | Childhood Trauma and Recovery | Canon-Typical Violence | Amputation

A story about how an orphaned Amanda Holliday comes to belong in the Last Safe City and the family she finds along the way. 

(Or, the story of how Commander Zavala finds himself responsible for one Amanda Holliday.)

-/

"The poor dear is in her bunk," The matron says with a sad smile. "We've considered moving her to one of our rooms for the time being," She continues, handing him a mug of tea. It's far too strong for his tastes, but he is certain the caretakers here need the added fortitude. He sips at it politely, trying not to grimace at the taste. "Barely comes out for meals, only when someone forces her - and she hides half of what we give her." She frowns. "Every sound she hears makes her jump. Miss Evanliegh found her under her bed after a nightmare, whimpering about Fallen-" She notices he's made a bit of a dent in his tea, pulls the mug from his hand with a surprising amount of force, and tops it off before he can stop her. "Commander, it's probably best if you didn't visit with her."

Zavala nods, trusting her expertise. It's his only free day this cycle. Like his peers, he too had activities - civic duties - he saw to in his downtime. Some, like Cayde, chose a preorganized activity to oversee - he's made it a point to ruin any and all pick-up sports in the city as of late. Meanwhile, Zavala prefers spending his time in the City's many orphanages.

But not just any of them. He focuses on the ones not backed by factions or philanthropists. The ones that children get sent to when they turn up in the Last Safe City unclaimed, when they turn up on the streets without any ties to a community or place. The latter is far more common: the number of refugees has declined in recent years, and the number of orphaned children is very slight. In fact, it's been nearly a century since an orphaned child had made it to the City from beyond the walls. Most of the children here were born on the streets in the slums, found by kind-hearted people ill-equipped to take care of them. 

He nods, only half listening to the matron's babbling. Karena, the head housemother, was clearly moved by this child's misfortune. "....they found was toppled over miles away… that she'd walked so far was quite remarkable."

The mug stops halfway to his mouth. "What?"

"Didn't you know?" She turns back to the kettle on the counter, but she rinses it out instead of pouring him more. He says a silent prayer of thanks to the Traveler. "She was the only one of her group to survive. One of your fireteams found the convoy miles back. Looks like they'd been without food for some time, probably fed the girl whatever they could. Never would've stood a chance against the Fallen, rest their souls…" She tsks.

The Commander pushes back his mug and looks to the red and white blanket folded up beside him, patting it once with a firm hand. There is a gravity to his downturned gaze. "It would be for the best if you gave this to her," He admits. "If there is anything I can do…"

"Oh, no, never you mind, Commander." She waves a hand, giving him a gentle smile. "She'll be alright. It just takes a gentle touch."

-/

The children are always happy to see him. Places like these don't often get visitors, especially not the kind that don't require them to market themselves to a prospective adopter. They get to run and holler and simply be, some choosing to follow him around like lost ducklings, others content to wave in a greeting and carry on independently.

Of course, of all the times he's come here, the biggest event of the day is always supper. Even the most standoffish of children fight to sit beside him at the table. Today is no exception.

So, instead of sitting in one place for the duration of the meal, he moves around, making sure to spend time with each of them. Most of the time it involves mild babysitting, making sure no one is stealing anyone else's desert or lobbing unwanted vegetables at their dorm-mates when they think he isn't looking.

If he's to be honest, it's hardly different from Consensus meetings. And the company is far more tolerable, for the most part.

When he's almost to the end of the table, toward the end of the meal, there is a sound, a thump above them like something's fallen to the floor, a muffled scream. Then, more footsteps, like a herd of elephants descending the stairs. One of the caretakers, a man who had been off in the kitchen, sets after them, already yelling.

"We were looking for Hilda," One of the boys responds, defensive without being prompted. "We didn't know she was in there."

The housefather puts both hands on his hips. "You didn't know," He says with a shake of his head. "She's been in the same room since she's got here, and you all visited Hilda in the infirmary this morning." He sighs. "Karena is with her now. She won't like it when I tell her about this."

The three boys pale. The housefather turns them around, ushering them towards the kitchen. "I was going to bring her dinner," He sighs, "But it will have to wait. The three of you will sit with me in the kitchen until the head matron returns. We will be having a discussion about this."

A chorus of downtrodden groans meets him in reply, but the caretaker does not relent. Instances like this were quite common in places like this. Among children in general, really.

The Commander rises from his current seat at the end of the table when the meal recommences, the children quick to discuss the boys' impending punishment and their disdain of the new girl who gets every meal brought up to her. He strides from the dining area to the industrial kitchen, fixing the unruly children with a look he'd too often given a wayward Hunter.

The housefather turns to him immediately, looking a bit surprised to see him there. "Commander, do you need something?"

"You said you were planning on bringing her a meal?"

"I was, but I doubt she'll eat now," He too gives a withering glare toward the children. "It's alright. I'll take her up something a bit later." He rubs the back of his head. "We usually leave it on the dresser. She, uh, doesn't really engage with us."

One of the children sitting at the kitchen counter comments loudly, “Even Miss Karena is fed up with it. I heard her! And she’s been doing this for a million billion years!"

The smooth baritone of the Commander cuts through the exasperated commentary. "I don't mind.”

“Well, she hasn’t eaten all day, that I know of.” The man turns back to the counter, producing a plate with a cover to keep it warm. “If you really don’t-”

“Of course not.”

“Second floor. Third door, on the right,” He hands the Titan the plate on a tray, with a juice-box and cutlery. “Don’t be surprised if you frighten her. It’s not you, she’s just-”

He nods, solemn. “Karena told me.”

“You have my thanks.” With that sorted, the worker regards his charges. “These three will have to wait for their assignment from Miss Karena. Since our new addition is feeling a bit shy, I think we’ll be writing our apologies, wouldn’t you say?”

Their childish grumbling is loud enough for him to hear all the way up the stairs. 

-/

He makes sure to step both lightly but not silently as he approaches the room. With the back of his index and middle fingers, he raps his knuckles gently against the door. After a moment of balancing the tray in a single hand, long enough to hear the sound of rustling on the other side of the door, he edges it open just a small amount.

At this point he realizes that he does not know the child's name. Not that it matters. He steps into the room, leading with the tray. The orphanage has nearly identical rooms for all it's inhabitants. Bunk beds in one corner of the room and twin dressers against the opposite wall. One half of the room is decorated in a child's drawings: some taped to the ceiling and walls by the top bunk. One dresser has a small pile of books and a few plush animals on it.

It doesn't take much to recognize that the more lived-in part of the room belongs to the girl in the infirmary. He sets down the tray atop the empty dresser, casually wondering aloud if she'll be able to reach it.

He goes unanswered. The lower bed she occupies creaks - it's very old - as the child presses herself back against the far corner, all but wedged against the wall in a trembling heap of blankets. He notes with a small sense of pride that the one he'd made - the one he gave to every child upon their arrival - is on top, little fingers threaded between the stitches.

Beach-glass eyes, a kind of green similar to a stormy sea, watch him in wary resignation. When he turns toward her, tray still in his hands, she whimpers and draws the covers around herself further, pressing herself against the corner where the frame meets the wall.

"It's alright," He murmurs, careful not to make eye contact, lest he scare her more. "I just wanted to make sure you could reach your supper."

Against her will, her stomach gurgles loudly. She flushes but doesn't make a move for the tray. 

Zavala does his best not to sigh, instead lifting the lid designed to keep the plate hot, moving it away. At first he's surprised about the small portion she's been given, but remembers what the matron had said, about her party suffering from starvation. Though she has the blankets pulled up to her face, he can see the dark circles under her eyes, the gaunt lines of a child who knows hunger far too intimately. It makes his chest ache with an overwhelming sadness.

He reaches for the small juicebox next, looking away, pretending to be disinterested.

She reaches out, snatching the small dinner roll next to a tiny helping of stew, pulling it into her chest, into the relative safety of her nest of blankets. Wide, fearful eyes meet his when he looks back, blinking in surprise, as if his incredible sense of awareness hadn't allowed him to witness the whole thing.

The child blinks back blankly. Panic, an array of mixed fight-or-flight synapses all firing at once... a paralyzing terror is etched into her very being. Though she trembles with it, she does not cry. He smiles at her, a small thing, mostly with his eyes, taking a knee beside the far edge of the bed.

"It's alright to be afraid," Zavala intones, very gently. "This is all very new. There are so many dangers, outside the walls-" She makes a squeak and the Commander immediately shifts gears, "But you are here now. You will be safe in this City. I promise."

She squeezes her eyes shut at that, shaking her head in a tiny negative.

"No?"

For the first time in a long time, his words bring no comfort. None of his attempts to soothe her work, and her dinner is long since gone cold when he takes his leave (though he can tell by her distrust, she won't touch it). It physically pains him to shut the door behind him, to hear the child finally sob brokenly to herself, muffled by blankets, unable to be consoled for anything.

The matron pats his shoulder when she walks him out. "You have a kind heart, Commander. Don't take it too personally. She'll come around."

-/

He doesn't make it back to the orphanage until the fall. It's been nearly three months since his previous visit, and the children are beside themselves, vying for his attention. Three of them have been adopted, another two have gone off, applying for their own housing now that they've grown old enough to secure jobs.

The entire time, he watches for a hint of the little girl from his previous visit. The child had weighed heavily on his mind, even months later. He'd looked into what happened, read the report from the Fireteam that happened on the little girl miles from the overturned vehicle ransacked by the Fallen. Things like these always hit close to home, for reasons he never quite fathomed.

Much later in the day, following an early supper (and the usual carrying on that came with it), he catches sight of a shadow on the staircase that leads to the dormitories. He's reading a book to several of the youngest children, all of whom fight over who gets to turn the page for him. When he looks back again, it's gone.

He says his goodbyes to the houseparents, thanking them, as always, for their dedication to providing a healthy environment for the children. He almost doesn't recognize her, fidgeting slightly, fingers curled around the trim of the door frame.

The caretakers look surprised, all of them watching her carefully. Karena dutifully crouches down half way, looking at her maternally.

"Yes dear, what is it?"

Those eyes find him instead of answering. In the light, he can see how they're almost as blue as they are green. She looks nervous, but not terrified. "I jus'," The girl steps into the room, carefully, making a complete sweep of it with her eyes to assess for danger before continuing. "Jus’ wanted ta' say thank you," She drawls. Her cheeks turn pink, highlighting a sprinkling of freckles across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. "Fer' the blanket."

Karena keeps the surprise from her face, but her cohorts are not nearly as reserved.

He turns slowly toward her and crouches down so that he's only a little taller than she is. "You are very welcome…" He tilts his head, still, after all this time, not knowing her name. It had never made it into the strike reports.

"Amanda," She whispers bashfully. "Amanda Holliday."

The smile he gives her makes her gasp, his bright irises almost twinkling as he regards her. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I am Zavala."

She toes the edges between floorboards with a worn boot. "They say yer in charge ‘round here. ‘N the City," She finishes, between nervous and maybe awed.

He chuckles. "Is that so?"

Amanda nods, looking down.

Despite flinching, she doesn't shrink back when he puts a hand on her head, ruffling her blonde hair. "Next time I come by, I hope you'll visit with me."

"I c'n do that," She whispers.

His voice is warm, and when he withdraws she looks up, almost conflicted. Upset that he'd withdrawn contact. "Good," He tells her. "I look forward to it."

Mini-fic thingy: C + Lucy and Flynn

I cannot tell a lie; I consulted the prompt list in fear and trembling, because all these people seem to do is suffer… but no! A moment of respite! Because they deserve it, they got 500 words’ worth of it.

Sitting in the prow of the dinghy, her fingers tangled in her lover’s hair, Lucy reflects that the mission has gone better than they had any right to expect. Wyatt, of course, had been their soldier, slipping duplicitously between encampments. It still comes as a bit of a surprise to her, somehow, to see him at work. He’s covering the shore with his rifle (and the twenty-first century handgun lying loose on his knees) but they’re safely out of range now, his coat the signal to the ships that they are allies. The September night is mild around them, and Lucy reflects contentedly that they’ve worked well together. She recalls the words of Fort McHenry’s commander: Were I to name any individual who signalized themselves, it would be doing injustice to the others. The siege is still active, but Rittenhouse’s agents are dead, their ruse foiled, their sabotage of transport routes forestalled. And now, under the rockets’ red glare, they’re heading home.

She’s good at being a spy; it’s strangely like being a historian, in many ways. And she could even become an academic — it’s not unheard of, though the linked name of a husband tended to help with publication. For a giddy instant, she imagines shaking Flynn awake: Hey, want to be stowaways back here? We could move to London, establish ourselves, rewrite academic history. But Rufus’ steady pull at the oars will take them downriver and around the headland to where they have stowed the Lifeboat. (Rufus had thrived on being a shipwright. As he gleefully observed, it was basically a version of his own job. She only hopes that accounts of fabulous Wakandan building techniques don’t make it into the 1812 newspapers. The nineteenth-century British Navy doesn’t need help ruling the waves.)

“Hmm?” says Flynn drowsily. She wonders if it might become inconvenient, over the course of a lifetime, having him respond so easily to the currents of her agitation.

“I have one regret about this mission,” says Lucy aloud.

“The ruin of my devilish good looks?”

“Besides that.” Lucy smiles indulgently down at him. His eyebrows will grow back. The burns may be painful and exhausting, but they’re not seriously dangerous. She chooses not to be alarmed by the fact that ‘both setting and escaping a fire involving large quantities of nineteenth- and twenty-first-century explosives’ counts as a fairly uneventful mission for them all.

“Francis Scott Key,” says Lucy.

“Hmm?” says Flynn again.

“The US national anthem,” she explains. “It’s kind of stupid. And creepily militaristic. And,” she adds, “freakishly difficult to sing.”

Flynn opens one eye. “Vanity, vanity,” he says, and begins to cough.

“Hush, you.” There’s probably no reason that putting her hand on his chest should help, but she does it anyway, and he covers it with his. Part of her wants to kiss him until the taste of smoke burns her own throat. But that can wait, Lucy tells herself; that can wait.