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#ship wreck map
dndsettingsinfo · 6 months
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Ghost Ship [29×49] by Czepeku
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rosesforwildwitches · 9 months
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I love Tumblr because on Instagram the people who say they're "left wing revolutionaries" are openly decrying anyone who says anything non-sympathetic about the rich people in the submarine, while here people actually stick to their damn "eat the rich" stances.
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pallases · 2 years
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still on my spontaneous warriors spree however i have made a mistake moving from new maps to old maps
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since theres a lot of discussions about shipwrecks and deep sea submersibles happening right now, im just gonna quickly recommend this video which details how caladan oceanic found the samuel b roberts.
the samuel b roberts was a destroyer escort sank during the battle off samar during ww2. the wreck was found last year and is 22,621 feet/6885 metres deep which is almost 10,000 feet or 3000 metres deeper than the titanic and is currently the deepest wreck ever found.
in the video, you see a deep sea submersible (which can go down to 36,000 feet/10,973 metres) that isnt a tin can finished up with duct tape, super glue and glittery gel pens. it is piloted by an expert and they swap out pilots every day to avoid exertion or fatigue, and they have a very complex sonar system for finding wrecks. the longest they can go down is 16 hours and they keep in contact with their ship above and have to get clearance just for half an hour more.
when they find the wreck, they look around it to ensure they can identify it and map it out as well as they can, and then head back up to shore. they then hold a funeral service for those who died and leave a wreath on the ocean surface above where the wreck lays.
while im somewhat sketched out by the founder victor vescovo, the company does important work in terms of furthering our understanding of the ocean and finding wrecks which are the gravesites of those who passed. and they are not disrespectful to those whose graves lay 22,000 feet/6700 metres down on the seabed.
and what i would like to point out is how the samuel b roberts is protected against unauthorised disturbance by the sunken military craft act. you would need a permit from the naval history and heritage command (and a submarine that can withstand all the pressure) to go see it.
which, as ive said many times in the last two days, is something that the titanic should also have protection against. there should be laws in place that do not allow people to treat a mass fucking gravesite as a tourist spot.
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burstinn · 5 months
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Eldritch Octo! König x Male reader
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I want an x male reader with eldritch König. I always find x female :(( so I made one for myself.
Can be read as Gn! reader but targeted audience is male or people with he/ him or he/ they
Warning: Translated German, Non-con?, Forceful relationship/ toxic relationship.
Striking and sliding your legs out of the wreckage of your teams ship. Coughing out blood and sea water as you suck in a breath.
Burying your head in the sand of an island you managed to get onto.
The sand was cold. So was the air. You were cold. You turn your body to look at the wreckage or what's left of the wreck. A few scraps float to the island you sat on.
There were no other survivors or none you could see. You didn't even know why and how this happened.
You were just down at the docks then you heard an alarm go off making you sprint upstairs to the main deck. Seeing the panic and screams of your team running around.
You tried to ask what's happening but no one answers. All to consumed with whatever happened to make them panic this hard. They we're all scrambling around. You could hear some Shooting rounds some shouting orders others running past you to get downstairs.
Then everything went blank you couldn't remember what else happened. Just a loud bang and you wake up floating on some scrap then you saw this island. You must've passed out. It's a miracle your even alive I mean you were unconscious the whole time.
Did an enemy pull out a surprise attack? That could be possible. Was there something wrong with the ship? Also possible..
You let out deep shaky breaths. You were probably the only survivor on that ship. You tilt your head from side to side looking at this lone island you were in. Behind you looked almost like a jungle you couldn't see past the bushes and trees contributing to how it was night. It was eerie
Weird. It looked like a huge island. It could possibly fit a colony or small village. He couldn't remember seeing this on the map.. Is this an unmapped island?
You stay silent. That's odd...no sounds of animals not birds, not predators or prey hell not even crickets. How could an island be this big but no animals?
Your thoughts were cut short when you hear someone walk on the sand. You flinch swiftly tilting your body to see who it was an enemy? A teammate? A wild animal?..
You sit up. Wait.. That's not.. Right..
It's a 6'10 man walking towards you. Wearing military uniform? A hood hiding his whole face only showing his eyes.
"W-What the-"
You mumble out. Was there a search team already? Why was a lone military man in this island?
"Hello, schatz. I finally get to see you"
He spoke with an Austrian Accent. He spoke with familiarity like he knew you. But you didn't know him. You shakily stood up when he was close to you. Carefully balancing yourself and getting a position to run if this man tries anything.
"Wh-Where is your team? Where are the other soldiers? Who are you? Are you a search and rescue?"
You quickly asked narrowing you eyes in suspicion. Which only made the man before let out a gutteral laugh.
It made him smile seeing you look so strong and cautious even getting in position to sprint away from him. Adorable he doubts you'd even have the time to process what he would do before you could even start running.
"No no schatz, I'm not here to rescue you. I'm here to finally make you mine!"
The Man says normally a glint in his eye. Enthusiasm in his voice as he steps closer.
"Excuse me? This is no time to fucking joke- who the fuck are you?! I swear if I-"
"I'm König" he cuts you off, "there's no need to tell me your name I already know everything about you, bitte come here. Let me finally hold you"
You step back as the man.. Named König held out his arms expectantly waiting for you.
"What the fuck are you talking about?! No! Where are your soldiers?! W- How do we get out of this damn island?!"
You hiss. Screaming at König the hint of authority, anger and fear in your tone. Which made König's enthusiasm fall. He didn't like that tone you were giving him.
He hoped you'd be more submissive.. More cooperative with him. You can see under his mask, his mood shifts.. So did König's tone something more mocking, angry, sinister.
"Ruhige Schlampe, You don't leave the island. I won't allow you too meine liebe. You are confused, it's sad you don't remember what happened"
He responds. Chuckling as he doesn't waste no time to quickly walk over to you and grabbing your arm.
"Das ist traurig Schätzchen, it's okay I'll tell you. I destroyed your ship. I killed everyone. So I can finally have you."
König cooed in your ear. Placing his gloved hand in your cheek.
Your stood frozen.
Is this guy joking? There's no way- but he
"Nein, I am not joking. I can feel you are scared do not worry I will take care of you. I will keep you here in this island.. With me.. Forever"
König hummed as he wraps his arms around you. He just read your mind.. Just when you were about to open your mouth.. To scream, to tell him that this isn't some funny joke.
You felt something wriggling under König's mask. Then something wet and sticky hit your face then multiple wrapping around your face.
You let out a yelp being quickly muffled as you look down and see tendrils.. Octopus like tendrils wrapping your face.
After an agonizing moment of feeling wet slimy tentacles slink around your face some even going in your mouth.. And you felt something touch your lips.. This felt so uncomfortable.. It felt so.. Disgusting..
Then König pulls back leaving circle like marks on your face. You let out a sharp gasp you couldve pushed König but He was holding onto you. You couldn't even move.
"WHAT THE HELL?! WHAT WAS THAT?!? GET OFF ME GODDAMIT WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"
You screamed so pathetically. It was music to König's ears he had dreamed of this day for so...so long. To hear you whine under him. To make you be his. He knew you'd put up a fight that's what he likes about you.. So strong, brave... He go on and on about why you even had the privilege to get his attention.
But he did this for you. Making an island and killing off anyone who'd get in König and your romance life. This was enough of a testament for his love for you. And you would understand it. You should be grateful.
He deserves you now that he'd shown his deep adoration for you! He'd make sure you will.
"Do not be scared schatz, we can be together of you just let me do this. Bleiben wir zusammen"
König pulls you closer to him. Burying your face in his chest muffling your protests even as you pushed and pulled away and at König he wouldn't budge. He didn't even care if your wet body soaks his clothes.
"You are cold yes Mein Mann?, do not fret I will make you a viable house you can live in"
He smiles under his mask. You could tell by the way König insanely looks down at you.
His arms around you felt crushing even as he forces you to lay at the sand with him.
"Is this island nice for you? I made it for you. nur für dich, let me keep you warm. You must be so tired."
Note: so like first post.. Nice.
But if I wrote something wrong or missed something about the German.. Tell..
And idk if I'm making part 2 I'm laaazzzyyy.
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twitter thread from Felipe Pepe:
Since it's game award & "what's an indie" season, here's 15 "actually-indie" RPGs from 2023 that are worthy of your attention:
Links & a short description of them:
Lunacid: Spiritual successor to classic From Software games
World of Horror: a Horror CYOA RPG inspired by Junji Ito's works
Moonring: a FREE RPG inspired by Ultima IV
Hero's Adventure: Open-world Wuxia RPG with Grandia-like combat
Caves of Lore: Party-based retro RPG focused on exploration
Colony Ship: Fallout-inspired RPG focused on choice & consequences
Astrea: One of the best Slay the Spire-like deck-building roguelike around
Space Wreck: Fallout-inspired space RPG, short & full of choices
We. The Refugees: CYOA RPG about a writer reporting on refugees
Volcano Princess: Probably the best Princess Maker clone ever made
Demon Lord Reincarnation: a hardcore deconstruction of Wizardry, REQUIRED MAP-MAKING
Quester: Very Japanese combat-focused dungeon-crawler
Islands of the Caliph: a single-character Might & Magic in a Middle-Eastern setting
Hand of Doom: an RPG made as a low-budget 90s FMV game
Long Gone Days: A story-focused RPG about war and cultural shocks
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tokoyamisstuff · 6 months
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You get them a cat HC's
Featuring Mihawk, Shanks, Buggy and Kuro!
Warnings: None.
Notes: GN! Reader
A/N: I just needed to get this silly little idea out of my head!
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"Oh? Well, I guess another one won't hurt."
Turns out his castle is a refuge for all kinds of animals. He's taking care of injured or abandoned beings of all sort.
Let's be honest, his personality has a lot of a feral cat as well. You find the similarities hilarious, while he still can't see it.
One time you walked in on him petting it - one of the rare occasions you ever saw him smile.
Loves when the cat sits on his lap while he's in his armchair by the fire, sipping on a glass of wine. An adorable image, and his favourite kind of self-care.
It will rub itself against his beard all the time. Who can blame it?
Needs at least one new outfit a week since the cat will always wreck the feather of his hat or scratch his leather clothes.
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Talks to it with a way higher voice than usually, and yes, he does babytalk.
-><--><--><--><-
"Great idea! I actually thought about getting a mascot for the crew anyways."
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This man is like a Disney Princess. Just gives off a vibe that makes an animal automatically love him.
Is pretty chill about standard annoying cat behavior. This pet will be misbehaving a lot since he just takes everything with a smile. Can't really be mad at all.
It will probably have a standard seat on his shoulder and loves hiding under his cape.
Always buys snacks when he's on land and even shares his meal with it.
Talks about the cat as if it's an actual person, and talks a lot. Literally his new bestie, you're almost jealous.
This animal has seen some shit. He'll definetly not go anywhere without it and do some weird party tricks when drunk.
Would protect it with his life, certainly.
Poor guy is actually a lil' bit allergic, but endures for your and it's sake.
-><--><--><--><-
"...fine. But if it goes anywhere near my stuff I'll throw it overboard!"
Will have a full blown rant about how cats are ungrateful and illoyal little shits.
Isn't actually an animal person in general. Especially cats and dogs are a little too fascinated with his nose for his liking - it looks like a toy, after all.
It follows him around despite his best efforts not to. He gets used to it quickly however and starts talking to it. It helps him get his thoughts in order, actually.
Lets you keep it in the end because this man just can't say no to any of your wishes. Won't admit it though, probably says it's because they're useful to catch mice on the ship or something.
Throws a tantrum at least once a day, especially when the cat got anywhere near his maps.
Unsuccessfully tries to teach it any tricks for them to participate in the circus.
Is often caught juggling for it and acts like the cat just happened to be there while he was practicing.
It's an open secret that he adores this animal. It's also the only one allowed to sit on his throne besides him.
-><--><--><--><-
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"...what an astonishing creature, indeed."
It takes everything in this man to not drop the facade.
Wants to keep it so badly but hesistantly talks about hygiene and how the cat's presence may negatively affect Kaya's health.
He's actually the most skilled when it comes to properly train those stubborn creatures.
Anyways, he still will get scratched and hissed at. It breaks his heart.
Indulges it as good as he can. Only the best food, it's own room in the mansion and always new toys.
Always nerds out some biological or historical facts about those animals.
Loves to absentmindedly stroke it's fur whenever it sits on his lap. Looks like a Bond villain when doing so.
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red-airhead · 7 months
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【Meddle About】 C h O n e : P l a n e t M i r o h
⭐︎ IN COLLABORATION WITH @jonespicy
⭐︎ PAIRING: HYUNJIN X READER
⭐︎ WORD COUNT: 1,020
⭐︎ WARNINGS: crying, pet names (darling), mentions of a technical miscarriage, dirty jokes (1), home sickness,
⭐︎ SYNPOSIS: after finding out about her boyfriends more alien side in the bedroom and exploring it, he further explains the normal things on his homeworld that are considered taboo on Earth. Especially with his seven friends.
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Being a scientist meant taking risks, so when you ‘bred’ with Hyunjin, you expected that his egg would actually live. 
Unfortunately for either of you, the egg didn’t take, and the way Hyunjin cried for a little more than a few hours made you want to try and find ways to actually have an alien child.
You spent the next couple of nights trying to find his home planet, and to see if you could study the female reproductive system, see what you were actually missing, the reason why the egg couldn’t take.
Soon days began to blend with nights, pulling all nighters after all nighters. It made Hyunjin worry more than anything, that at one point he had to drag you from your lab.
“Just one more look and I’ll come to—“ He quickly cut you off, refraining you from carrying on.
“You haven’t slept since you walked into this lab, you look sickly darling..” Hyunjin muttered, walking over to where you were sitting and squatting down to your level. “What are you even doing in here? I thought you didn’t need to do any research for a little while..”
“I’ve been.. since we found out the egg didn’t take— I’ve just— I’m..” you couldn’t seem to find the words with the way he looked at you with such worry, “it’s nothing..”
He sighed at the way you tried to brush it off, gently reaching to cup your cheek, “You can be honest with me, y’know? You don’t have to hide away..”
You knew you could be honest with him, you just felt more or less worried he’d find it concerning you’re spending all your nights looking for answers.
After a few moments of contemplating and silence, you sighed and decided to give in.
“I’ve been trying to find your home planet.. I knew that if I could find it, I could learn about the female reproductive system but I haven’t found a single thing.. it’s like your planet isn’t even in our solar system..” you showed him the amount of writing you had done after countless nights of research.
“That’s because it isn’t.. when I first crashed on earth, it wasn’t exactly what I wanted.. I was going to Saturn, but a meteor hit my ship and directed me towards earth. Meeting friends on Saturn isn’t exactly the smartest thing to do..” he joked towards the end, looking at you with a soft smile, “but when I crashed on earth, and when I saw you for the first time, it was like that meteor was meant to hit..”
You watched his facial features shift, the way his expression changed as he tried to find the right words, “but your ship is wrecked now, and you can’t go home..”
“I don’t think I want to go home, not after I met you.” He admitted, sitting up to pull you close and press a loving kiss to your lips.
That kiss was held for a little while before you pulled away, “You’re so sweet, Hyune..” you smiled at him, nuzzling your nose against his.
“And you're sweeter.. you taste sweet too.” He teased a smirk on his face, making you flush and look away.
“Anyway.. You said your planet isn’t in the solar system?” He asked, turning to your digital map of space itself. 
He hummed in response, grabbing a nearby stool to sit next to you, “Yeah, you guys would call it exoplanet.” He hummed out, looking at all of your research with fascination.
“What’s it called? Have we discovered it yet?” You quickly turned to him, expression now begging for answers.
“Gliese 581g, that’s the planet, or that’s what you call it at least.”
“What is the real name of Gliese 581g?”
“Miroh.” He replied, pulling up the images of his planet.
“Wow.. Plante Miroh.. It’s very similar to earth—“ you looked at Hyunjin with a deadpan expression.
“Well, remember when I told you our species is similar to humans? That’s the reason why.” He explained, now getting off of the stool and typing in some of his own knowledge about his planet.
“No humans have visited before?”
“Nope, and I don’t think they ever will..”
You frowned at the way he sounded so sad about it, “What if I wanna go?”
“You can’t, my ship is wrecked and I haven’t talked to my friends for almost months now. We’re too far to communicate..” Hyunjin did seem very sad about his friends, and the way it seemed like he was just about to cry made it even worse.
“I could make a machine? Maybe?”
“It’s pointless, and very difficult. We’re light-years away from Miroh..” he huffed, watching your hand cup his cheek and wipe away any stray tears.
“There’s always hope..” You reassured him, pressing a kiss to his forehead before turning to your laptop and beginning to look for ways to get radio frequencies from space.
“I think if there’s a way to cut into radio frequencies like connecting to a ship, maybe we could reach them. There could be a lucky chance they're on their ship and you could talk to them, maybe it’ll be your chance to go home.” You were so determined to get answers that you didn’t even realize that he was looking at you with a saddened expression.
“If I go home then I won’t be with you. I don’t want to leave without you.” He was automatically straight forward and you didn’t know what hurt more, the way he was practically begging you or the way that you didn’t want him to leave without you as well.
Pausing on your research you sigh gently, running a hand through your slightly tangled hair, thinking for a moment.
“Then I’ll go with you. I know that it’s technically dangerous but if you want me to go so badly then I will.” You watched as his face lit up, and you couldn’t help but smile at him. 
Quickly, he went to pepper you in kisses, “Yes! You won’t regret it I promise you..”
“Well then, the mission to contact your friends is a go.”
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⇤ m.list | next ⇥
series tags: @collisiion @queenmea604 @binnies-minsung-fanclub @stolasisyourparent @zandra-42 @saintriots @soobery @chartrucewhore @nobody3210 @warren-thedarkangel @hanjingin
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javiddenkins · 9 months
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Javid Denkins is not interested in answering questions. 
It's 9:30 in the morning and I'm sitting across from Denkins in a conference room at the AMC Studios offices. Denkins declined to meet anywhere more personal than this beige and glass room, impersonal Muzak buzzing through the speakers, windows overlooking an empty studio lot. There are posters on the wall but none, strangely, for Blow the Man Down, the runaway hit Denkins conceived, writes, and now showruns. 
Blow the Man Down, or BTMD as it's frequently referred to by fans and journalists alike, is a workplace comedy set in the Golden Age of Piracy. This unusual premise would be interesting enough even without the top-tier leads brought on by AMC to play opposing pirate captains Sam Bellamy and Olivier Levasseur—Oscar Issac and John Boyega light up the screen and bring surprising comedy chops to the pirate-filled stage they share with such talents as Michelle Yeoh ("Zheng Yi Sao") and Sam Neill ("Captain Benjamin Hornigold"). 
But beyond that, BTMD seems to be that rare thing in mainstream media: a slow romance between two middle-aged men finding love for the first time. The first—and so far, only—season ends on a cliffhanger, our heroes separated by an ocean but determined to reach one another, and their love story—if it is one—stays unresolved. 
Usually an interview like this—between seasons, after renewal and filming but before advertising—would be the perfect opportunity to delve into the mind behind the magic and attempt to tease out hints about what's to come. 
But Denkins seems determined to ignore Hollywood's traditional playbook. 
Whether this is the standard conference room used for interviewing reluctant showrunners, or if Denkins picked it especially for the purpose, I'll never find out. I've already been waiting half an hour, uncertain if Denkins intends to join me at all. When he does finally arrive, he makes his position clear. 
"I'm only doing this because you agreed to my terms," he says. 
I'd describe what he looked like, if he had a coffee or a snack or a smoker's twitching nerves, if he sounded tired or amused or angry—but I can't. If you see a description here, it's because Denkins decided, for whatever reason, to approve it. Otherwise, sharing my impression of Denkins is off the table, one of many terms and conditions my editorial team and I had to agree to before Denkins would accept this meeting. 
Denkins doesn't want to make my job easy. Photos of him do exist from the few red carpets he's attended; enthusiastic interviews with the cast, writers, and production team of BTMD definitely paint a picture that belies Denkins's apparent efforts to avoid perception. But here and now, in the oppressive air conditioning of the AMC offices, I am contractually obligated to interview a cipher.
If he can be all business, though, then so can I. I hit a button on my phone's recording app, set it down between us, and ask what made him decide to tell the story of an obscure pair of pirates like Sam Bellamy and Olivier Levasseur.
He shrugs. "Why does anyone write anything? This is my job." 
It's not the kind of answer I was expecting. Something must show on my face, because he follows with, "That's unsatisfying, isn't it. No definitive answer."
"It's not what I expected," I hedge.
"What did you want to hear?"
I try to gather my thoughts, but I'm definitely stalling, uncertain that this is what Denkins intends. "I did a little research," I say. "Not as much as I imagine you did, but I found some of Bellamy and Levasseur's history together and, later, apart. Bellamy's ship is the only fully authenticated Golden Age shipwreck in the world, so it makes sense that the wrecking of the Whydah is an important turning point in season one. Levasseur, on the other hand, is best known for the mystery of his encoded treasure map, flung into the crowd at his hanging and only ever partially solved, which you seem to have used as a foundation for the coding and decoding motifs throughout. But for a show that seems determined to discuss the consequences of fame and reputation, it's fascinating that you've chosen two men most casual viewers have never heard of."
"Outside the narrative they built for themselves," Denkins corrects. "Is there a question in there?"
I remember again that Denkins isn't here to make this easy for me. "Why not choose one of the more well-known pirates of the era? Henry Morgan, Captain Kidd, and Blackbeard are all arguably more famous both now and when they were alive. What made you choose Bellamy and Levasseur for this story?"
"I think," Denkins says, "I just answered that. There's a difference between how you perceive yourself, and how the world perceives you. Those famous pirates retained their notoriety even after death. Sam and Ollie did have reputations when they were alive, but if people today know them at all, it's typically for reasons completely unrelated to whatever little fame they achieved in life."
"And that fascinates you?"
Denkins looks irritated. "It doesn't matter what fascinates me. That's the story, that's—look, I don't know how to write a puff piece like this," Denkins says. "I don't know if it would really sound like this, if anyone would bother caring enough about what I want to get this far."
"Excuse me?" I say.
"Do you honestly think," Denkins says, "there's a single journalist out there that would actually agree to these interview conditions? This is a fantasy, a what-if, and it still doesn't work."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean," says Denkins, "I didn't even give you a name."
And that's true, I realize. I don't have a name. 
"Right," says Denkins, as if hearing my thoughts—and I suppose, in a way, he does. "And you don't know how you got here, and you don't know where you'll go after. I made you up. I made all this up."
I look at my recorder, which isn't a recorder. I look at the room, which isn't a room. 
"Okay," I say. "So what did you want to happen?"
Denkins taps my phone's screen to stop the recording. Denkins imagines me noticing that he taps the screen, and so this must have meaning. There is no room for junk words and actions in prose, and even less in television. Whatever's on the page has to have meaning, or it's wasted space, wasted time, a moment that could have been useful now gone and never coming back.
Denkins shoves my phone back to the center of the table and says, "I wanted to see if I could just talk about the story without making it about me."
"But you're part of it," I point out. "You have to be. It came from you. It was something you thought was important, and then you put the effort in to create it. The story exists because of you, in relation to you. That's why people, why fans, want to know more about you. They love the story, and you made it, so they want to love you, too."
"I don't like that," says Denkins. "Rephrase it."
"They love the story," I say, parroting back at my creator, "and you made it. They want to know about you so they can know more about what the story means."
Denkins's chair creaks as he pushes it back, puts his head in his hands. I wonder if he's doing that in the real world, too, in the place where he's imagining this interview that will never exist. 
(Except I'm not the one wondering. He is. He's wondering what an interviewer would think of him if he allowed himself to show this weakness. Rephrase. Show this ache. Rephrase. Show this.)
"I'm not a story," Denkins says, face still hidden. The Muzak piped into the room seems too loud, too discordant now. Maybe that's what the world sounds like to him. "I'm not imaginary. I'm not a specimen to study under a microscope until every part of me is uncovered and connected one by one to every part of the show." He drags his hands back down and I think I can say that he looks very, very tired. 
"Yes, maybe I put some of myself in Blow the Man Down," he continues. "Maybe I did in season two as well. Maybe I put something in The Gang, and maybe I'll put something into whatever else I make for the next fifty years. And what I put there is—will be—has to be—my choice. All things I chose to share. But this?" He waves a hand at the nonexistent conference room, at nonexistent me. "This isn't a choice. It's a demand. I'm being held hostage for answers, as if me keeping my boundaries somehow ruins the show, ruins the story."
"Because you're not a story," I repeat back, watching for confirmation. "Because what you choose to reveal is the only story the audience should need."
"Yes," says Denkins. "That's it."
That's not it, though. I know this, because I'm him, talking to himself. Thinking all this through. 
"So you cut yourself off," I say. "No one can know anything about you, because they're already clawing for what you're not willing to share—so how much worse would it get if you gave them a chance to come closer, right?" 
"To take, and get it wrong anyway," he says. "Or get it right, but not like it. Not like me. How I'm perceived might change how the story is perceived. And even skipping over the whole art of it all—this is a business. How the story is perceived affects dozens, if not hundreds of people and careers. And all of it can get destroyed in an instant if there's some aspect of me that the audience decides is wrong."
Denkins pushes back from the table, stands up as if to leave. I'm not done yet, though. He's not done yet.
"Sounds lonely," I say.
"Sounds like something a fan would say," he shoots back, and I shrug.
"Blame yourself for thinking it and making me say it, then. It sounds lonely. It is lonely. It's lonely to think there's no way that you could open yourself up, talk about who you are and what your art means to you, without feeling like someone, everyone, will take advantage of that vulnerability."
I pause, and in that pause I find something to latch onto. "You've imagined me," I say. "You've imagined this scenario, where you stay cut off and oblique and hidden." I pick up my phone from where it's placed between us, and I shut it down completely—not because it exists, but because it's a symbol he understands. "What would happen if you imagined being part of the story?" I ask. Rephrase. "What would happen if you imagined being free?"
We look at each other. The tinny music of this artificial space comes to a sudden halt.
Denkins leaves the room. 
I am—
Denkins comes back. He sits down. He looks at me.
Time doesn't exist in the beige and glass room. But behind him, now, there is a poster of Sam Bellamy and Olivier Levasseur, a drilled coin on a cord stretched taut between them. And the Muzak hasn't restarted.
Denkins looks different. Or maybe he just feels different. Those things are functionally the same, here.
"You know the old movie trailers?" Denkins starts, not really a question. "The ones that start with 'in a world…'"
I nod. 
He smiles a little. "Okay. In a world where Blow the Man Down doesn't exist. Let's say there's something else instead. Let's say it's called Our Flag Means Death. It's a workplace comedy, it's the Golden Age of Piracy, the works. They even manage to kiss in the first season, though the cliffhanger is worse. And in that world, there's a different guy who runs it, a guy named David Jenkins, who seems nicer and more outgoing and shares a lot more of himself than I do. And I think it goes mostly okay for him, except he has to scrub his social media, delete most of his Instagram, and never gets to name his wife anywhere in case a fan might notice and start following her around."
"Sounds grim," I say.
He shrugs. "It's another way of handling it. David, in that world, has made a choice to draw the enemy fire toward himself, instead of hiding away and letting it scatter at random. It seems to work okay for him, and maybe it would for me too, but, you know. Maybe that's a little of myself I gave Ollie. Because I also like the idea of testing something first, all the way to destruction."
A little of myself. This—this is personal information. Something that, in the negotiations that never happened, he said he'd never give me.
My phone, with its blackened screen, is right there. I keep my hands still, folded together, decidedly not reaching for the phone. Denkins watches, sees. His shoulders loosen; neither of us, I think, realized how tense he'd been.
"In that world," he says, "there's a second season coming that no one knows anything about and there's a fandom going feral. Echo chambers that feed off their own theories because there's nothing new to add to the pot. Just like our world, right? In the absence of good data, overwrought ideology works just as well.
"And in the middle of this, to provide a distraction, maybe, or to draw that enemy fire like he so often does, David Jenkins says he'll get a Tumblr—you know, one of those not-really-social-media internet places. And maybe he does. He doesn't tell anyone his username, so it's a mystery whether he really did it or not. But someone opens an account. And someone says they're definitely not David Jenkins."
Javid Denkins is holding a cup of coffee. So am I, now. We take sips, mirrors of each other. The coffee tastes like it has seven sugars in it.
Denkins swirls his cup gently, not looking up at me. "When you're trying to figure out something that's terrifying," he says, slow and careful, "and enraging, and so big and so much that it feels like you'll collapse under the weight of it…sometimes you need to find a way to conceptualize it more abstractly. Make it manageable. Put it in bite-sized chunks. 
"So instead of me, dealing with all this fame, and these expectations, and these pulls to turn me from a person into a plot point…maybe there's this other guy. In this other universe, with this other pirate show. Another writer, who says he's definitely not David Jenkins. But—he could be. He could be. And either way, there's enough uncertainty that the fandom can't tell right away."
"Schrödinger's showrunner," I say. 
Denkins tips his mug at me. "Yeah, that gets pointed out, too. Because either it's really him and the fandom will eat at him—death by a thousand needy bites of demand, and something that feels like connection but by its nature can't be—or it's not him, just a fan pretending to be him, attention-seeking, scamming, stealing unearned laurels to crown a meaningless triumph: successfully mimicking the concept of David Jenkins."
"Pretty binary."
Denkins shrugs. "You saw the first season. I'm a sucker for duality." 
He hums and looks out the conference room's window. The AMC lot is gone. More accurately, it was never there. Outside the window is an ocean. The water is green-screen perfect, and there are two tall-masted ships in the distance: Bellamy's Whydah Gally and Levasseur's La Louise. They float angled toward one another, counterpart to their captains on the poster behind Jenkins, missing only the drilled coin between them.
"Except," says Denkins, slow and musing as he watches the distant ships, "in the vast multiverse of imaginable possible outcomes, it turns out that there is the very slimmest possible chance of a third thing happening."
There is another ship floating now between the Whydah and La Louise. It's freshly painted, poorly rigged, and its figurehead is a unicorn. Instead of one flag, it has half a dozen. And I know, because Denkins knows, that instead of gunpowder in its hold, it carries jars and jars of harmless marmalade.
"So," I say, "David Jenkins—"
"Oh, definitely not David Jenkins," says Javid Denkins, amusement lighting up his face. He keeps his eyes on that third ship.
"So the person who is definitely not David Jenkins," I say. "He comes and starts a social media account. He answers questions."
"Sort of. Nothing specific, really. Just…narrative likelihoods. Enough to dangle hope. But the fandom wants more. There's a Richard Siken line he sees, that if he'd chosen to stay anonymous maybe he could've actually posted: 'but monsters are always hungry, darling.' It's like that. So he backs up a little, and considers how to hold off the inevitable. The season two hints are vague? Make them vaguer. Add some smoke and mirrors to hide how little substance they have. There are only so many general pirate tropes around? Stretch out how long it takes to get the ones he has. Add steps. Add puzzles. Make the fandom work for it, and maybe they won't notice how little there is to find. Give them an interesting enough box to open, and they'll ignore the fact that there isn't an answer on the inside, just another, smaller box." He tilts his head and looks at me. The light outside is now luminous pink and yellow, flashing off the water and highlighting his face like a duotone painting. "Then he…" Denkins sighs. Puts down his mug. "Then I sit back and see what happens. I see if it's as bad as I think it would be if I did it here, in the real world."
"And is it?"
Denkins reaches out with one hand, tugging my phone over to his side of the table. He starts fiddling with the buttons, attention on it instead of me. "To start with? Yes. And no. It didn't matter that the one thing I promised was that I wasn't David Jenkins. They—the fandom—found me anyway. They assumed I was him. And I was right, of course I was right, they asked me questions. Hundreds of them. Like that was the only reason I existed, like I couldn't just be a regular person like the rest of them, just on Tumblr to read about the Carpathia and get taken out by the color of the sky."
"For better or for worse, you're a public person," I say. "They think they know what it means when a public person breaks down the barrier between themselves and the fans. Even well-meaning people make assumptions."
The recorder is no longer a phone and app; it's an old cassette player with thick plastic buttons like I, or more accurately Denkins, had as a child. It matches the ones his elementary school classrooms had, which in turn looked like the device Mr. Spock carried at his hip to record and interpret data from strange new worlds. 
Denkins, in the here and now, half-presses the play and record buttons, which would trigger the record function if pushed down completely. He holds back. Riding the edge of commitment. Over and over. 
"Yeah," he says. "Yes. That's true. And I could've been completely anonymous if I wanted to be left alone entirely. I suppose I wanted to prove that everything I believe—everything I'm afraid of—is true, and that I'm justified in hiding away, refusing to be 'known' by anyone I haven't specifically agreed to. Hence the thought exercise. And when I was done, and I had my proof," he says, leaving off the recorder buttons to raise a pointed finger at me, "I wouldn't have to see you again either."
We look at each other. "But here you are," I say.
He laughs. It's rusty, but sure. "Here I am," he agrees.
"So what happened?"
"Turns out," he says, "that in that infinite universe of possibilities a writer can dream up, there's a world where, yes, all my worst fears are confirmed…but that's not all that happens."
He stops, and we are both silent for a long, long moment. His fingertips brush over the recorder buttons, repetitive and soothing, like he's calming something feral and unused to human touch.
"Would you believe," he says at last, hushed and small in this glass and beige room floating on a digital sea, "that there is a world where fans—people—don't ask for more than I want to give? Who see the box I'm in, and instead of ripping it open to grasp for whatever good thing they think they can find inside…they give something back. 
"I played it all out, you see." He waves his hand over the recorder. Now there are two of them, sitting side by side, each with a row of thick black plastic buttons along the edge: one to play, one to rewind, one to record, and one to pop open its lid so that the cassette can be changed. One of the recorders is a little bigger than the other. "If I can imagine it," he says, "it has to be possible."
He looks at the two recorders; he's quiet now, talking to himself rather than me. I don't think I'm as necessary as I was before. I think maybe this is just him. Just Denkins in this lonely little room. He moves the smaller recorder so that it's lined up with the larger one, like he's lining up Matryoshka dolls as he reveals them.
"It started small," he says. "There were people who saw my puzzles, and made puzzles back for me, just to play along. People who saw my puzzles, and shared what they knew about them, just to help others play too. Small things. Little things. Possible things. I liked it. I didn't expect it. I…wanted to give back, too. Not just in the story, I mean. It was me who wanted it. Wanted to add to a world, to a community, where that sort of giving could happen. So I went further. I didn't just try to hint at common story beats this other show might hit—I started listening, following, asking what would be most welcome, and then gave that instead. And it grew. It grew until it wasn't really just an experiment anymore. It stopped being an adversarial proof. It started being…something else."
Denkins reaches out, and now there are three recorders on the table. The newest one is the smallest. He lines it up with the others.
"I'd already made David Jenkins," he says, "and in turn he'd made his own Javid Denkins. So why not do it again? This other Javid Denkins, this me who's me but not me, goes deeper. He uses the tools at his disposal. Our Flag Means Death has pirates named Edward Teach and Stede Bonnet. OFMD has a fandom like BTMD does, where people write stories about the characters, for themselves and—for others. Fan fiction. A thing that can be a gift, if you want it to be. So I started to write one."
One by one, Denkins hits the 'play' button on each of the recorders. The cassettes whir, a steady background hum. Each starts playing a part of some orchestral piece. Not the individual instruments, but something stranger. It's as if each cassette contains the whole work, but with fragments missing that the others complete. There are still some gaps in the playback.
Denkins waves his hand over the collection again, and a fourth recorder, smallest of all, appears. He presses play on it too, and the music fills in. It's a pretty little melody. Simple, if you know how to hear it.
Denkins hums a little of it before looking up, seeing me again. "That was it, really. That's what finally made all this small enough for me to understand. Made it small enough, far enough away from my actual world that I could finally let myself feel it. In this story that I'm telling, here is Edward Teach." Denkins touches the smallest recorder very, very gently. "Teach lives in a world where he's not the main character; he's just a fan of a gay pirate romcom called Blow the Man Down. He's tired, and he's angry, and he doesn't know how to deal with the world the way it is, with the fandom as he perceives it. He makes a Twitter account, anonymously, to prove that what he fears is real."
Denkins covers the recorder with both hands, only muffling the music a little. "Here's Edward Teach, made up of all my fears and saying them out loud."
He raises his hands, and now there are two little recorders, the same size, both playing the same parts together. He touches the new recorder with his fingertip, as if it's a bubble that could too easily break. "Here's Stede Bonnet," he says, "made up of all my fears coming true. And then having to live through it anyway." He stares down at this new recorder; the same as the Edward Teach one, but evidently special in some way to Denkins. He says, to me, to it, to the room: "It's a hell of a thing, to need to go so far away just to see what you've been carrying on your back the whole time."
After a moment, he looks back up at me. "In my story," he says, "Stede survives the disaster. My disaster. He survives it, because he has Ed—a love interest, yes, but not just that. He's someone he opened up to. And more than that, I saw—because I could imagine it, and so it must be possible, it has to actually be possible—I saw the fandom become…people."
With both hands, Denkins presses a button on each of these two small recorders.
Their lids pop open.
And from the walls, from the ceiling, from the glass windows and the limitless sea, there comes a multiverse of music.
"These people," says Denkins, tilting his head to listen as the swells of unseen instruments add to the gentle overture of his pocket worlds and turn the piece into something greater than the sum of its parts. "They're not some nameless collective made up of their worst impulses. They're just people. People are complicated. You can never know them completely; they can never know you. All you really get is what they—we—choose to do. 
"And I saw people try to help Stede. People, strangers, who didn't know who he was, not really. And they felt compassion anyway."
After a long moment, just taking in the music, Denkins sighs and carefully closes the lids on the two small recorders. The singing universe becomes just a recorded orchestral piece once again—though no less beautiful for it. He gently pushes the two recorders together until they're touching, side by side, and covers them with his hand. He says, "Ed got to see this. He got to know that even if his worst fear happens, he'll be okay on the other side of it. And he won't be alone." 
He lifts his hand; the two are now one, still playing its little melody.
Denkins picks up this amalgamated recorder and sets it on top of the next largest. He puts his hand over the stack he's just made. "Move it up a level," Denkins says. "David Jenkins, or someone who is definitely not David Jenkins, runs a Tumblr with games and puzzles and digital tools that stretch the boundaries of the narrative. He sees the reactions to his story. Sees fans who know it isn't real, who know that Stede and Ed are characters in a narrative—and nevertheless, these fans, these people, see that these characters are hurting. They try to help. They don't know who's behind the masks labeled 'Stede' and 'Ed,' not really. But they feel compassion anyway."
He lifts his hand. The little recorder atop the larger is gone. The music is different. Not lessened, but changed. It's come closer. 
Once more, Denkins moves the smaller combined recorder onto the last one—or, I suppose, the first of all of them. "So move it up one more time," he says. The music isn't audible in the room now; but I hear it anyway. It's in me. Us. The last little notes coming from the final recorders just a reminder of what the world could sound like.
He covers the top recorder with both hands. His touch is aching and very, very soft. "Here's me. Javid Denkins. I don't know if there's a world where I could open myself up and not have everything burn down in flames. I don't know if it could ever be possible for me to leave this room, open my laptop, and start something, somewhere, called 'definitely not Javid Denkins,' and have it be as beautiful and awe-inspiring as it was in my thought experiment.
"But God," he says, "I want it."
He lifts his hands, and all that's left is the final recorder, the one that was my phone to begin with. The music dissipates completely. But the feeling of it remains. Denkins rests his hands on either side of this solitary recorder. He says, "I don't know if all of that—all of them, my fans, my friends, all of what we made together…I don't know if it already exists for me in the real world. Just waiting for me to be brave enough to look. I don't know. But I think I have to believe that it does. That they do. I have to believe that it's possible not just to imagine that kind of grace, but to live it." 
Denkins brushes his thumb over the last recorder's play button. "I think that's what it means to be human," he says. "To try anyway. To unlock yourself despite your fears, and find hope there waiting for you."
He closes his eyes. I close my eyes. We take a deep breath together.
We open our eyes.
After a moment, I smile at Denkins, a little crooked. I've got one last question to ask, and it's one he might even answer. 
"Who are you, really?" I ask. 
It's something we all have to answer about ourselves eventually, and it seems particularly relevant now.
Denkins shrugs, and his smile mirrors mine. "Does it matter?"
"It feels like it does."
"How about this," he says. "Who are you, really?"
And knowing what I know now…if I'm anyone at all, then I suppose I'm Javid Denkins. An aspect. A reflection. A dream.
And so, in these universes he's imagined, is everyone.
"So," Denkins says. "You think I can start over?"
I smile wider. It feels good. "I'd love that."
He pushes the recorder back to me, and in my heart I hear his laughing request for one last rephrase—
Javid Denkins has been waiting for me.
It's 9:30 in the morning and I'm sitting across the table from a cheerful enigma. Denkins was already in the room when I arrived, a hot coffee by my seat and a box filled with fresh breakfast pastries and marmalade open and ready to be enjoyed. An advertising standup emblazoned with the unreleased (at time of writing) air date for season two of Denkins's Blow the Man Down takes pride of place at the head of the table. Through the windows opposite, bright sunlight bounces off the buzzing AMC studio lot, and I think I hear a certain pirate romcom's theme music playing quietly over the room's speakers.
Denkins grins at me, and it's easy to see why his actors and writers speak so highly of the experience of working with him. Because I can tell already: this is going to be fun. 
It starts when he leans forward, eyes bright, and presses the record button on my phone for me.
"Let's play," he says, and—we do.
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raspberrywiskey · 1 month
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im so sick in the head about them
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thoughts/lore under the cut
edit: I spelt odhràn's name wrong in the first picture!!!
kieran is half human and half sea monster - more an ambiguous, medieval map sea monster than a kraken or eldritch one. he has mismatched fish and octopus features, basically just whatever I think is fun. although kieran is not literally a kraken, I like the imagery of stagnation and entrapment for him. and I also like the idea of him wrecking ships
odhràn is a traditional selkie - he needs his coat to transform and needs to return to the ocean regularly. both kieran and odhràn or amphibious, but only odhràn needs to go into the ocean, while kieran can be on land for as long as he wants, with only minor negative effects.
i like the contrast, the push and pull between their nature's. it is in odhràn's nature to change, to be fluid and constantly moving. where its in kieran's nature to be stagnant, to keep things in one place to entrap - not necessarily because of his sea monster half, but because of his fear of abandonment due to how he was raised.
the main event, if I ever were to make a story out of this, would be kieran stealing odhràn's coat. the whys and the fallout of which would be the main focus.
this is really cringe but it's really fun. I think this is the first time I've made characters just for myself since like year 9. it's fun !!! I'm having fun being cringe !!!!!!
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dndsettingsinfo · 2 years
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Pirate's Grotto [32×44]
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aetherdoesthings · 26 days
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Hey! 👋🏽 Can we get some slow dancing in the kitchen on a rain day with Sanji? Sanji seems like the type of romantic to like that. I'm sorry I don't have more to the ask, I've just been thinking about it all day lol
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hey :)! sorry this took a while. i had quite the busy week.
forethoughts: okay a lot of things is happening in my life rn so i tried to finish a request. my work, social, romantic (somehow) life started to culminate in one but it's fine :D. a little rushed imo, so rlly sorry if it isn't good.
notes: gn!reader, fluff, slow dancing?
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On some days of the Sunny, it wouldn’t be as bright and shiny. Whenever the ship traversed through harsher seas and rougher terrains, terrible storms would alway ensue. Some days you’d be lucky, and it would only be a drizzle and you were just confined inside. Some days you weren’t, and it would turn into an all hands on deck type of scenario. Thankfully, Nami had reported it was just a light rain, and the Sunny would pass the rainy patch in a day or two. That meant the entire crew was stuck inside. Robin and Nami would be in their respective offices; Robin in the library researching poneglyphs and Nami busy drawing maps. Zoro was probably asleep or training. Luffy, Usopp and Chopper would be trying to find some type of game they could play without wrecking the place. Franky was somewhere in his workshop building something new. 
You laid down on the dining table, arms out as you stared at the ceiling. Your boyfriend was busy in the kitchen cooking up a snack for you to eat, humming a nonexistent tune. You would be lying if you said you were happy with your current condition. You hated rainy days; everyone hated rainy days. As much as you all respected Franky for building the Sunny and decorating the inside, it was not stimulating enough to cure your boredom. 
Sanji seemed to take notice, letting out a little chuckle. “Why the frown, dear?”
“I’m bored.” You replied flatly.
“Do you plan on staying like this the entire day? Lying down in the center of the dining table like a sacrifice?”
“Yes. I would very much rather be a sacrifice than be stuck inside.”
"Surely you wouldn't occupy the table for the rest of the day. "
"Try me."
Sanji chuckled. “But I need to serve dinner eventually.”
“I’ll move.” You shifted your body, gazing at your blonde haired personal chef as he walked towards you, one of his hands carrying your favorite snack. He set it in front of your face, a warm and comforting smile on his.
“Don’t frown, okay, dear? As much as I love how cute you look when you pout, I don’t like seeing you sad. It makes me sad.” Sanji’s hand ran through your hair, ruffling it up a bit. You instinctively let out a chuckle at his action, reluctantly sitting up and taking the plate. Sanji got onto the table next to you, staying by your side as you ate the food. He watched you devour the plate without leaving a single crumb. You set the plate by your side, prompting Sanji to jump off the table, offering a hand towards you. With his ‘help’, your feet made contact with the ground again, your hand resting in Sanji’s. In a single motion, he pulled your body close to yours, wrapping his arms around your shoulder. 
Suddenly, music started to play from nowhere, serene jazz music filling the empty kitchen. You figured Brook was lurking somewhere on the rafters, just hanging by a bone and playing his violin. Or maybe it was a tone dial. Nevertheless, music filled your ears, blocking out the sound of the pouring rain. Sanji’s footwork was light as ever, making you unable to sense where he was or what his next move was. You could only tell by his breathing where he was, feeling the wind brush against your neck and graze your cheek. The chef held you close to his body, perfectly aligning it with his like two puzzle pieces fitting together. Sanji’s touch was gentle and reassuring, as if to convey all his love and affection through the warmth of his embrace. You rested your head on Sanji’s chest, hearing the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, feeling the rise and fall of his breath. With every step Sanji led, your worries and troubles faded away, love and affection filling the space. All your focus was on the man in front of you. The kitchen slowly transformed into your little oasis, a place of love and solace, rid of anxiety or stress.
Maybe some rainy days weren’t that bad after all. 
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chimaerakitten · 5 months
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so @darlingofdots's awesome Temeraire!universe historian post mentioned the wreck of the HMS Allegiance and I have been thinking about where it is literally all day.
Not just where as in "somewhere in the South Pacific" (because duh) but also, specifically, how deep, and therefore how the wreck would be studied.
Because a lot of archaeologically significant shipwrecks are pretty shallow, since they're the wrecks we can dive to, either on normal air scuba tanks or mixed gas. The Uluburun shipwreck off Turkey, for example, sits between 44 and 61 meters deep, which is right on the edge for air diving. The archaeologists could only be at the bottom for 20 ish minutes at a time, two times per day, with careful decompression timing as they went up to avoid the bends and not-insignificant amounts of nitrogen narcosis at the bottom. Mixed gas goes deeper, 100 meters or so for some of the more available ones. (there's a Phoenician shipwreck off the coast of Malta that's about 110 meters deep, and was excavated by technical divers) Beyond that it's just commercial divers laying oil pipelines with the super $$$ gas at depths of up to 500 meters or so. Anything deeper than that is the domain of submarines and robots.
and really, all of that ^ paragraph is just tangential set dressing that I added because I like shipwreck archaeology, because knowing the Allegiance went down in the middle of the South Pacific meant it was always going to a be a submarines-and-robots wreck. The middle of the Pacific Ocean is uh. deep. but I wanted to find out exactly how deep.
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so the map from Crucible of Gold puts the sinking at a little under 50°S and a little over 121°W, which the NOAA bathymetric data viewer says is just about 3000 meters deep
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Since that's an extremely boring screenshot, here's the CoG map overlayed on a bathymetric map:
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It's actually on a bit of a ridge there! which is why it's at 3000 meters and not deeper.
We do find and investigate wrecks at that depth and deeper these days. The Titanic is at 3800 meters, and it has been investigated extensively (though we also have a recent pretty major news story about why thats still difficult and uh, very dangerous) The USS Samuel B Roberts was found at 6895 meters, and perhaps most relevantly, the search for Malaysa airlines flight MH370 turned up two 19th century shipwrecks at 3500+ meters deep, over 2000 kilometers off the coast of Australia.
One of those wrecks was a wooden ship from either the 1870s or 1880s, and though, being wood, it was pretty badly decayed, its cargo (coal) and metal features (anchor and water tanks) were still extant. On the Allegiance, that would also include her guns and her metal keel (which would probably be the identifying feature TBH, the keel marking her as definitely a dragon transport)
That wreck is probably the best parallel to the Allegiance in other ways, being a wooden sailing ship with a wreck not only very deep but also very remote. It also probably went down due to an explosion, just like the Allegiance. They were common on coal-carrying vessels, and the sonar images showed the cargo was scattered across the seafloor like something catastrophic happened.
The Allegiance would be more remote than its real-world parallel, but anyone looking for it would be hunting for it specifically and would be armed with probably a decent idea of where she was when she went down, seeing as there were survivors who would have been very keen to remember where they were so they could know how close they were to land. Plus, much like the Titanic (though not to the same extent) there'd probably be funding to investigate the Allegiance once found, as she had a part to play in major political turning points on at least three continents. People tend to be interested enough to throw money at that sort of thing.
So, there you have it. It would take a pretty serious effort to find her, though not an impossible one, and once found she'd be investigated by shipwreck robots, which would bring back pictures and samples of her metal remains, with organic matter being mostly absent by the time she was found.
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goddessofmischief · 4 months
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      AUGUST (SHANKS X READER)
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A/N: This is part of this series, which requests are open for! These fics are all one-shots, so they can be read separately. Also, I highly recommend listening to the song linked in the title while you read, and please leave a comment when you've finished!
It took six weeks and a shipwreck to get you into the arms of the man that you loved, and you didn't regret a thing.
Little known pirate fact: the Oro Jackson's final resting place is a little island in the murkier side of the East Blue, far from pirates or Marines or anything at all. Here it lies to this day.
It arrived at this spot on a fated morning on an afternoon in August, when you, Shanks and Buggy were embroiled in the most terrible of arguments.
The tension had not dissipated from the days earlier, when Shanks had unceremoniously declared himself Captain, and Buggy was comfortable voicing his feelings - almost all of his feelings - out in the open now.
Starting with this one.
"We're not moving fast enough," Buggy complained. He had this particular feeling a lot.
"The ship can only go so fast. You know that," Shanks chided, jokingly. "...You've been on it for years."
"You know that's not what I mean. The One Piece is out there and we're supposed to be trying to claim it - now everyone's trying to claim it, aren't they? - but we're still wandering."
"We're preparing for the journey!"
"Oh, sure, like we really need all these maps. The only one that we really need is the map to the Grand Line, and we haven't even gotten it yet."
Shanks had been dispatching the two of you out for maps for the past few months, and many of your efforts had ended unsuccessfully. Buggy was beginning to tire of it.
"We're doing the best we can, Bugs, you know that," you tried, and Buggy cut you off.
"'You know that,'" Buggy imitated, and you and Shanks blinked at him with wide, vacuous eyes. "You two are even beginning to sound like each other, you know that? What, do you two get off on bullying me?"
"Yes," said Shanks, at the same time you said "No, of course not."
"No, of course not," Shanks amended, all too late.
"Fine," Buggy snapped, grabbing his satchel.
"Hey, where're you going-"
"You're not threatening to leave again, are you?"
"No, idiots! I'm going down to the port for a drink. Don't join."
You and Shanks sighed, exchanging weary looks with each other as Buggy departed the ship.
"So... what do you wanna do while we wait?"
...
"Careful," you warned idly, watching Shanks jerk the captain's wheel from one side to the next.
"Sorry, I'm just - I'm still getting the hang of this, I'm not used to steering-"
"It's alright," you assured him. "We're all learning things."
He had promised you there was an especially appealing island close by - something he'd discovered on his own and was anxious to share with you.
"Maybe you could let me try-"
"It's fine, I got it-"
"Shanks, let me steer-"
"I can do it-"
"What are you trying to prove?!"
"Nothing!"
The ship found that island, alright. It slammed right into the rocks in front of it.
"Oh, my God," you uttered, hand covering your mouth. Shanks stared ahead in total disbelief.
The ship was wrecked. You crashed. The ship was crashed. You and Shanks crashed Roger's ship. You and Shanks crashed Roger's ship. Buggy would never forgive you.
It was your fault.
It wasn't really - you would realize this, later on - but in the moment, that's how it felt.
"Shanks?" You shook him a little. He was seemingly catatonic, still staring straight ahead at the rocks.
"We..."
You nodded, grimly, trying to get him alert again.
"Come on, we're stuck. We have to figure something out."
...
Well, at least it was a nice island to be stuck in.
You and Shanks started a fire on the beach, after hours of searching and confirming there didn't seem to be anyone else on the island.
"Can't believe we wrecked it," Shanks mused. "It was the only home I've ever known."
"...Buggy's going to kill us."
Shanks glanced at you, a hint of amusement on his face.
"That's really what you're worried about?"
"Aren't you?"
"I think I'm more concerned with how we're going to get off this island. I'm beginning to realize that we can't. I guess we could try swimming out, but- no, it's too deep."
"So, we're stuck?"
Shanks confirmed your worry with a weary nod.
"We're stuck."
...
You didn't speak to each other again for another four days.
There was enough fruit on the island to live on, enough water stored on the wrecked Oro Jackson. The two of you could barely look at each other, repulsed by the shame of what you had done.
On the fifth day, you began to worry.
"Shanks?" you called out, shouting his name loud enough that he should have heard it. "Shanks, look, we better start making more permanent plans-"
He didn't respond.
"Shanks, come on, I don't wanna fight-"
You stopped dead in your tracks. Your brain couldn't handle what you had saw.
Shanks, flat on the ground under a palm tree.
You realized he must've fallen - the flares beside him indicated he was trying to call for help - your fault again, everything is awful and it's your fault, Shanks was dead and it was all your fault.
"No," you whispered, breath scarcely escaping your body. You collapsed to the ground, searching his face for signs of life, cradling his head in you hands. "Wake up, please, wake up- please, I need you to come back, I don't want to be alone-"
Shanks coughed, suddenly breathing again, and you realized with a rush of relief that he'd only been unconscious. His eyes scanned over you, a little smile teasing at the edge of his lips.
"Are you an angel? Am I in heaven?"
You cried in relief, not even having the energy to make fun of his stupid remarks.
"No, you idiot, you're here on earth with me."
Shanks noticed your hand was resting over his heart, and he brought his own hand up to meet it.
"You were crying over me?" he asked, cockily. You shook your head as the tear tracks staining your face betrayed you.
"I thought you were dead."
"I think I was."
"Did you see Roger?" you asked, almost laughing.
"I don't think I was dead long enough," he said. "I had to come back, you see. Had to be where you were."
As long as you had known Shanks, you had carried with you a indecipherable ache. It was today that the ache finally rose out of you, and today that you bent your face down far enough to connect your lips to his - on purpose, this time. He met them.
"We're still stuck on this island, you know," you murmured, finally pulling away.
His eyes sparkled.
"I'd forgotten."
...
For the next three weeks, your life was a montage of sun-drenched beaches, bare shoulders and tanned skin. Water everywhere, sand in everything. Salt air stung your tongue and infused all your kisses.
You barely felt like a pirate anymore. Life was that good. You felt more like a creature of the sea, tossed by the waves, unbothered by the silly human things that had once so concerned you - what One Piece? What Buggy? What Mihawk? You and Shanks were connected by everything, ebbing and flowing out of each other like it was the only thing that made sense.
Despite this backdrop of love, there was one thing that was clear. You were going to die. Maybe not tomorrow, but soon. The water from the ship would run out, and the fruit would run out, and then there would be no more left, and you and he would merely be skeletons left scattered on the shore, then dust.
"I can't even regret it," you sighed, head on his chest. "Not with everything that's happened."
"Do you think Buggy will miss us?"
"I don't know," you said with a guilty pang. "I guess I hadn't thought of him for awhile. I wish I could let him know what became of us. Mihawk, too."
"Could you not talk about Mihawk during moments like this?"
You laughed, kissing him lightly on the nose.
"I wonder how many sunrises we have left."
"Enough," he said, and after that the talking ended.
...
Little did you know, Buggy hadn't slept for weeks.
Okay, hadn't slept was an overexaggeration - he had little winks now and then, just a few, just to keep himself alive. He'd be no good to you or Shanks dead.
He'd been to four islands by now, and had scoured every one of them. What he really couldn't understand is how the Oro Jackson could have gone anywhere unnoticed. The citizens of the island he had been on recalled it in the port, when you dropped him off, and then it vanished like a ghost. The one ship every Marine in the world was looking for, and not one person would admit to seeing it.
It was killing him.
He couldn't imagine what had happened to you - Shanks, too, but he worried more for you, mostly for the reason that he was sure you would never leave him on purpose. It was possible for Shanks to have left, but you, too? Wouldn't happen.
The thought crossed his mind, once or twice, that the two of you had gotten sick of him and run away together, but it seemed impossible after how desperately you'd tried to keep him from leaving. You wouldn't just leave him now.
Maybe you were kidnapped. Or hungry. Or cold. Or-
Wait, was that the ship?
"Buggy!" he heard a chorus of familiar voices call out, frantically waving their arms on the beach. A familiar burst of red hair was immediately apparent amongst the grains of white sand.
"What the... the hell," he muttered, rowing the small boat he'd attained to look for you beside the crashed ship. He'd never realized how absolutely massive it was until it was in pieces. Even now, weeks later, rotted wood planks scattered the shore.
"Buggy!"
He barely had a moment to climb out of the boat and throw his oars aside before you and Shanks barreled towards him at full speed, both locking him in a tight embrace.
"You saved us," you whispered, burying your face in the nape of his neck. Shanks hugged him gratefully, too. It felt good having both of you back again. For a little while, Buggy had feared he would have to walk the world alone.
"What the hell happened?"
"Crashed," you explained, your cheeks flushed from the excitement.
"Did it just... did you not see the rocks?"
You shook your head, still completely overwhelmed.
"We thought we were going to die."
"I was beginning to think you were already dead!"
"You saved us," you emphasized, salt water stinging your eyes. "I could kiss you."
Buggy's face went blank, as did yours. Clumsily, you reached over and gave him a peck on the cheek, and smiled. In one fluid motion, you pulled back, and Shanks looped his arm around your waist. You and Shanks glanced at each other, still grinning, and you rested your head on his shoulder.
That was the moment he knew something had changed. Something was different, since the last time he'd seen you.
"You guys..." he tried to put the words together. "You guys... what, uhh, what did you guys do for six weeks?"
Buggy had a few guesses.
taglist: @sawendel @twinklesnake @literaturewithliz @sordidmusings @foggyturtleknightangel @toertchen @96jnie @lunanight1021 @trafalgardvivi
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blueiskewl · 10 months
Video
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The First Full-Size 3D Scan of The Titanic
The mysterious 1912 sinking of the luxury passenger liner, the Titanic, has long served as a source of fascination for many.
Historians now believe that a new underwater scanning project may provide answers to some of the unanswered questions regarding the tragedy that killed more than 1,500 people.
A team of scientists have used deep sea mapping to create “an exact ‘Digital Twin’ of the Titanic wreck for the first time,” according to a press release Wednesday from deep sea investigators Magellan and filmmakers Atlantic Productions.
By carrying out the “largest underwater scanning project in history,” scientists have managed to “reveal details of the tragedy and uncover fascinating information about what really happened to the crew and passengers on that fateful night” of April 14, 1912, the press release said.
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Scans of the wreck were carried out in the summer of 2022 by a specialist ship stationed 700 km (435 miles) off the coast of Canada, according to the release. Tight protocols prohibited team members from touching or disturbing the wreck which investigators stressed was treated with the “utmost of respect.”
Every millimeter of its three-mile debris field was mapped in minute detail, the press statement said. The final digital replica has succeeded in capturing the entire wreck including both the bow and stern section, which had separated upon sinking in 1912.
One such example can be found on the propeller where the serial number can be seen for the first time in decades.
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Roughly 715,000 images and 16 terabytes of data were gathered during the expedition – which Magellan estimates to be “approximately ten times larger than any underwater 3D model that’s ever been attempted before,” Magellan CEO Richard Parkinson said.
Parkinson described the mission as “challenging,” referencing the team’s fight against “the elements, bad weather, and technical challenges.”
Whereas previous optical images of the ship were limited by low light level and the poor light quality 12,500 feet below water, the new mapping technique has “effectively taken away the water and let in the light,” the press release said.
According to 3D capture specialist Gerhard Seiffert, the “highly accurate photorealistic 3D model” has enabled people to zoom out and look at the entire wreck “for the first time.”
“This is the Titanic as no one had ever seen it before,” Seiffert added.
By Niamh Kennedy.
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kiwioala · 5 months
Text
thing's pac found on the wrecked ship!
A Child's Writing:
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Dear boat, Mom said i can write something before we go. I miss home already. Dad isn't here, but the ocean is nice. I was able to fish with the Captain at the house he has. Thank you boat! I will miss you too.
A map:
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book and quill:
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Farewell Hope. Shall we meet again one day.
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