#Wheel Balancing Hull

[thetyreshophull]

Wheel Balancing Hull | The Tyre Shop

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[antinousletmehit]

˚₊‧꒰ა Chapter 9 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

⋆˚࿔ Book 2 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

୨୧┇pairing: Telemachus x reader

୨୧┇brace for a STORMMM

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

The ship rocked violently, throwing men off balance as waves crashed against the wooden hull with deafening force. The storm had come out of nowhere, a monstrous beast of wind and water, determined to swallow them whole. “PULL TO STARBOARD!” Acrisios bellowed, gripping the mast for dear life. His hair, usually perfectly styled, now plastered to his face in the rain.

“I AM PULLING TO STARBOARD!” Telemachus yelled back from the helm, his hands straining against the wheel as he fought to keep the ship from capsizing. “But it’s like Poseidon himself is playing a joke on us!”

Pisistratus, usually the calmest among them, was sprawled on the deck, soaked to the bone and clinging to a rope. “I’m starting to regret agreeing to this little adventure,” he muttered, coughing as saltwater splashed into his face.

Eurymachus, meanwhile, was running in circles, shrieking like a banshee. “WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE! THIS IS IT! I KNEW WE SHOULD’VE STAYED ON LAND! I DON’T EVEN LIKE WATER!”

“Oh, for the love of the gods, SHUT UP!” Cassander snapped, gripping an oar with one hand while clinging to the side of the ship with the other. He shot Eurymachus a glare. “You’re acting like a girl who just saw a spider!”

Eurymachus stopped mid-scream, his eyes wide. “WHAT’S WRONG WITH GIRLS? GIRLS ARE PERFECTLY VALID!”

Cassander groaned. “Not the point, Eurymachus! Just grab an oar or something!”

Another wave slammed into the side of the ship, and Acrisios slipped, nearly falling into the water before grabbing onto a dangling rope. “TELEMACHUS! If we survive this, remind me to punch you for dragging us into this mess!”

“You’ll have to get in line!” Pisistratus hollered, scrambling to secure a barrel that was rolling dangerously close to the edge.

“YOU CAN ALL PUNCH ME LATER, JUST HELP ME KEEP US ALIVE!” Telemachus barked, his face a mix of determination and panic.

Another shriek came from Eurymachus as the ship tilted dramatically to one side. “WHY IS IT ALWAYS ME? WHY CAN’T THE GODS PICK ON SOMEONE ELSE?”

“Maybe because you scream like a dying goat!” Cassander shot back, though he was clearly struggling to maintain his grip as the storm raged on.

A sudden lightning bolt lit up the sky, and Acrisios shouted, “EVERYONE HOLD ONTO SOMETHING! THIS NEXT WAVE IS A BIG ONE!”

Telemachus gritted his teeth, steering the ship with all his might. “If we survive this, I’m sacrificing something big to the gods!”

“What are you sacrificing? Eurymachus?” Cassander quipped.

“HEY!” Eurymachus protested, clutching a barrel as though it were his last lifeline.

The ship lurched upward on a massive wave, then came crashing down, throwing everyone off balance once again. Acrisios managed to pull himself up, rain pouring down his face as he looked at Telemachus. “Remind me, brother—why exactly are we doing this again?”

Telemachus glared at him. “Because Raphael took my wife and son!”

Acrisios nodded, panting. “Right, just checking. Feels worth it.”

“DOES IT?!” Eurymachus shouted, still clinging to his barrel.

“Less screaming, more rowing!” Pisistratus yelled, finally managing to secure the loose barrel before picking up an oar.

As the storm continued to batter the ship, the men fought valiantly, their bickering and panic providing a sliver of humor in an otherwise dire situation. And despite the chaos, they managed, barely to keep the ship afloat, their sheer determination (and a bit of luck wink wink) carrying them through the storm.

The storm howled outside, rattling the very bones of the ship as it creaked and groaned against the monstrous waves. Florus sat at the edge of the sleeping quarters, drenched and wide eyed, his bow clutched tightly as though it might somehow save him from the wrath of the sea. He could hear the chaos above deck, Telemachus shouting commands, Acrisios barking back, and Eurymachus’s high pitched screams echoing through the wooden walls.

Despite the noise, the panic, and the violent rocking of the ship, Antinous was stretched out on a makeshift cot, snoring softly, utterly unbothered by the apocalypse raging outside. Druses wasn’t much better. He was curled up in the corner, his long black hair perfectly draped over his shoulder like he was posing for a painting. His serene face looked almost angelic, and he didn’t so much as flinch when the ship tilted sharply to one side, nearly throwing Florus off his stool.

Florus stared at them, his mouth agape. “How in Hades’ name…?” he muttered to himself, gripping the wall for balance.

The ship rocked violently again, and from above, Eurymachus’s voice pierced the air. “WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE! THIS IS IT! I DON’T DESERVE THIS!”

Florus winced, expecting the screams to wake his comrades, but Antinous simply rolled over, muttering something incoherent in his sleep before continuing his snoring. Druses shifted slightly, mumbling, “Quiet down, Eurymachus…” in his sleep, before letting out a contented sigh and nestling deeper into his corner.

Florus blinked in disbelief, his face a mix of awe and frustration. Another loud crash came from above, followed by the unmistakable sound of Cassander yelling at Eurymachus to “man up.” The noise was deafening, and yet these two men slept through it as though they were lounging in a meadow on a calm spring day.

“How are you sleeping?!” Florus hissed at them, his voice barely audible over the storm. “The gods themselves are trying to kill us, and you’re… napping?!” Neither of them stirred.

Florus groaned, running a hand down his face. “I’m surrounded by lunatics.”

As if to punctuate his statement, the ship lurched violently again, and Florus clutched at the wall to keep from falling. From above, Eurymachus’s voice wailed, “WHY DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING TO ME?!”

Druses sighed in his sleep and muttered, “Just let him fall overboard…”

Florus shook his head, staring at the two as though they were some kind of bizarre spectacle. “Unbelievable,” he muttered, finally giving up on understanding them and turning his attention back to the chaos above.

——

Cassander leaned casually against the ship’s mast, his arms crossed as the salty breeze ruffled his hair. He had a faraway look in his eyes, clearly lost in his own world. Beside him, Eurymachus was lying on a barrel, lazily tossing a small pebble into the air and catching it, a crooked grin plastered across his face.

“You know,” Cassander began, his voice taking on a wistful tone, “after this war, I’ll probably have to build a separate house just for my war prizes.” He sighed dramatically. “A long hall lined with couches, all filled with beautiful women, each one vying for my attention. Of course, I’ll have to treat them equally to avoid jealousy.”

Eurymachus snorted, flicking the pebble away. “Why stop at a hall? Go for a full villa. You could have each one in her own little room. That way, you could visit one each night without anyone knowing who’s your favorite.”

Cassander’s eyes lit up. “That’s genius. Imagine it, Eurymachus, long nights of wine, music, and—”

“Women feeding us grapes while fanning us with those big palm leaves,” Eurymachus added, grinning.

“Exactly!” Cassander said, slapping him on the back. “Maybe we’ll even get lucky and find a princess among the spoils.”

Telemachus, who had been seated nearby with his head in his hands, slowly looked up and fixed the two with a flat, tired gaze. “Are you two serious right now?”

Eurymachus shrugged. “What? It’s not like this war is all bad. There are perks, you know.”

“Perks?” Telemachus repeated, his voice dripping with disbelief. “We’re risking our lives to save my wife and son from a madman, and this is what you’re thinking about?”

Cassander held up his hands defensively. “We’re just… lightening the mood. You know, keeping spirits high.”

“By fantasizing about enslaving women?” Telemachus asked, his voice sharp.

Cassander opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly unsure how to respond. Eurymachus, however, leaned forward with a grin. “You’re just mad because you already have a wife. Don’t act like you didn’t think about this kind of thing before you got tied down.”

Telemachus stared at him, his expression deadpan. “Eurymachus, the only reason you’re here is because I blackmailed you into joining. You’re not exactly in a position to judge my moral compass.”

Eurymachus leaned back, looking mildly offended but choosing to remain quiet. Cassander cleared his throat awkwardly. “Okay, okay, we get it. No fantasizing about war prizes. Message received, Your Majesty.”

Telemachus pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long sigh. “I’m surrounded by idiots,” he muttered under his breath before standing up and walking away.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Eurymachus leaned toward Cassander. “So, about that villa…”

Cassander smirked. “Palm leaves, my friend. Palm leaves.”

Telemachus groaned from across the deck. “I can still hear you!”

——

The sun was setting over the choppy waves, casting a golden glow across the deck. Druses and Antinous were leaning against the rail, watching as Cassander and Eurymachus stumbled over themselves in yet another failed attempt to spar.

“I swear,” Druses said with a smirk, brushing a lock of his black hair behind his ear, “those two are like a comedy act that never ends. If they weren’t so incompetent, I might almost feel bad for them.”

Antinous chuckled, his arms crossed. “No, it’s perfect. The more they mess up, the more I get to remind them of how worthless they are. It’s practically my favorite pastime.”

Druses grinned. “You know, for someone who’s been chained up in a dungeon for years, you’re surprisingly fun to be around. You’re sharp.”

Antinous raised a brow, amused. “Surprisingly?”

“Hey, don’t take it the wrong way,” Druses said, waving a hand. “I just assumed you’d be all brooding and bitter. Turns out you’re just bitter with a sense of humor. Makes you tolerable.”

Antinous snorted, rolling his eyes. “You’re not half as charming as you think, Druses.”

“Charming enough to keep you entertained,” Druses shot back, his violet eyes gleaming with mischief. The two continued trading barbs, united in their mutual love of poking fun at the rest of the crew. Druses was surprisingly good at keeping pace with Antinous’s wit, something not many could do. For a moment, it seemed like they might actually be getting along.

But then Druses, always pushing his luck, leaned casually against the rail and said, “Although I have to wonder, if your sister’s as stubborn and sharp-tongued as you are, maybe she’s better off with that Skiaphosian prince. A woman like that might drive a lesser man insane.”

The air shifted immediately. Antinous’s smile dropped, his entire demeanor darkening in an instant. His hands tightened on the rail until his knuckles turned white, and his sharp blue eyes fixed on Druses with a look that could freeze blood. “What did you just say?” Antinous’s voice was low, quiet, and deadly calm, the kind of calm that promised violence.

Druses, to his credit, didn’t back down, though he raised a brow. “I’m just saying—”

“You’re just saying that my sister—my sister—is better off with that monster? That she’s somehow to blame for her situation?” Antinous stepped closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over Druses. “Say that again, Druses. Go on. I dare you.”

Druses straightened, realizing he’d struck a nerve far deeper than he intended. “Calm down, Antinous. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Didn’t mean anything by it?” Antinous’s voice was rising now, his fury barely contained. “You insult y/n again, and I’ll make sure the last thing you see is Thanatos’s shadow dragging you to the Underworld. Do you understand me?”

Druses held up his hands defensively. “All right, all right! I was out of line. I didn’t mean to offend her. Or you.” Antinous glared at him for a long moment, his chest heaving with barely restrained rage. Then, with a final, scathing look, he turned away and stalked off, muttering curses under his breath.

Druses exhaled, running a hand through his hair as he watched Antinous disappear below deck. Eurymachus, who had been eavesdropping nearby, walked over and clapped a hand on Druses’s shoulder. “Just a word of advice,” Eurymachus said, grinning. “Don’t mess with Antinous’s temper. That man is a whole other breed when it comes to his sister.”

Druses scowled. “Yeah, I gathered that. Thanks.”

Eurymachus laughed, strolling off as Druses leaned back against the rail, shaking his head. “Note to self,” he muttered. “Y/n’s a touchy subject.”

——

Antinous paced along the deck like a caged lion, his sharp eyes darting to the horizon, scanning for any sign of land, or trouble. His jaw was tight, his hands flexing into fists and back out again as if he were barely holding himself together. The rest of the crew had long since learned to stay out of his way. “Hey, Antinous, maybe relax a little. You’re wearing a hole into the deck,” Eurymachus tried, his usual smirk in place.

Antinous whirled on him. “Why don’t you focus on something useful for once in your life, Eurymachus, instead of running your mouth like the fool you are?”

Eurymachus blinked, caught off guard. “Whoa. Someone’s in a mood.”

“Leave me alone.” Antinous stormed past him, shoving a barrel out of his way with enough force to send it rolling.

Florus, leaning against the mast with his bow across his lap, raised a brow at Druses. “What’s his problem now?”

Druses sighed dramatically, tossing his long black hair over his shoulder. “What isn’t his problem? He’s like a storm cloud personified.”

Antinous shot Druses a glare so sharp it could’ve cut steel. “Say that again, and I’ll throw you overboard myself.”

“See?” Druses gestured with a smirk, unbothered. “Exhibit A.” Telemachus, standing near the helm, watched the scene with a furrowed brow. He sighed heavily, then made his way down to where Antinous had perched himself on a crate, glowering at the sea.

“Antinous,” Telemachus started carefully, his voice calm but firm. “You’re not helping anyone by acting like this.”

Antinous looked up at him, his expression cold. “Oh, I’m sorry. Am I not being the perfect little soldier you need right now?”

Telemachus crossed his arms. “I understand you’re worried about y/n—”

“Do you?” Antinous stood abruptly, towering over him. “Do you really understand, Telemachus? Because this is your fault.”

Telemachus’s eyes narrowed. “Careful, Antinous.”

“No, I don’t think I will,” Antinous snapped, his voice rising. “You’re the one who let this happen. You’re the one who was supposed to protect her, and now she’s…she’s out there, with him! And gods know what’s happening to her right now!”

Telemachus clenched his fists, keeping his temper in check. “I’m doing everything I can to bring her back.”

“Not fast enough,” Antinous growled. “You should’ve stopped this before it even started. You should’ve been there for her.”

Telemachus stared at him, his jaw tight. “And what would you have done, Antinous? You were in a dungeon. Don’t act like you could’ve prevented this.”

Antinous’s eyes flashed with fury, but there was something else there too, something raw and vulnerable. “Don’t you dare use that against me,” he hissed. “If I’d been free, this never would’ve happened. She wouldn’t be suffering because of you.”

Telemachus took a deep breath, his frustration simmering beneath the surface. “I know you’re angry. I know you’re scared. But taking it out on me or the crew won’t bring her back any faster.”

Antinous turned away, his shoulders tense. “Just…piss off.” For a moment, Telemachus hesitated, as if he wanted to say more. But he could see that Antinous wasn’t ready to hear it. With a quiet sigh, he turned and walked away, leaving Antinous alone with his anger and guilt.

Antinous sat back down, his head in his hands, the weight of his sister’s absence crushing down on him. The crew gave him a wide berth, their usual banter subdued. Even Eurymachus, for once, kept his comments to himself.

@procrastination20 @jackiepackiee @barrythestrawberry041 @blessedbyahuntress

@f3r4lfr0gg3r @permanently-nothere @eyuunho @jackintheboxs-world @simpingmyassoff @sunshinewhosketches @sugarlillycookie @kaguraaaa @doodle-with-rhy

@0anodite0 @cocosparkel @tati-the-fangirl

@dazedemery @tsmaruchan

@holywizardprincess @galaxygurlll @pjopinkk

@h0ne4bee @minteaspoon @zendoesstuff @xo-cuteplosion-xo

[holy-mother-of-whumpers]

Reading up the wiki page about the Trojan horse for the Trojan Horse Failure fic.

The Greek, according to Apollodorus' Epitome likely, built the horse in three days.

I trust the traditional depictions BUT I came up with a few alternatives anyway.

What if the reason they took so little time was that they just adapted a ship? It would be silly for people to be stuffed inside the upsidedown cargo hold after all 👀

First (ugliest) design:

Turn one side of the curved prow upsidedown, make it pretty - the mane and tail from frayed fabric or actual horse hair - stick the movable mast (yeah the Achaeans' mast wasn't part of the ship, was lifted and lowered) in the ship to make the legs.

Meh

Just two legs, hard to move, it would need a platform, like in the tradition. Unstable and wobbly.

Design n 2

Slim! Front and rear bow repurposed as legs. The horse head and horse tail are cosmetic and installed (not part of the ship that is), they would weigh on the legs without putting strain on the central part of the ship.

Finalist:

We lose the 'that's stupid that people would be inside, it's upside down!' but if any one of the thousand of men there knew how to make a false bottom/hull, that's solved.

The horse head sculpture in the front weighs on the front of the ship, but the shoulders would lock it in place - as the hindquarters would for the cosmetic tail; linked by a 'body' who would prevent shoulders and hindquarters from sliding towards each other.

The legs hang down, towards the ground without touching it, so the weight goes straight down instead of the center.

Vague graphic of forces. If someone corrects me, they are right xD

A big pro is that since it's all interlocked and balanced, the Trojans HAD to damage the gates to get it inside, the horse would not be disassembled (I mean they probably could but it would be hard and it is ✨sacred✨)

My favorite part (except the economy of readapting an old ship)?

It doesn't look like it's make to be moved (which is kinda sus, if the Achaeans were selling that they DIDN'T want the Trojans to move it).

So the Trojans are so busy spiting the Achaeans to overthink it (and they just moved it they way people usually did in these cases back then)

Bonus pics, discarded ideas!

Squeaky wheel noises ahahah

[shiorihyugawrites]

Throne of Flowers

In the opulent court of Valoria, Emperor Solomon and Mikasa Ackerman fight to rewrite a 300-year-old law demanding four noble consorts, determined to make their love the empire’s heart.

As a foreign soldier turned ambassador, Mikasa faces nobles’ scorn and political schemes, while Solomon balances duty and devotion. With allies like Empress Dowager Solana and foes lurking in the empty Rose, Lily, Dahlia, and Peony houses, their bond is tested by tradition, ambition, and secrets.

Can they forge a future where love, not law, reigns supreme? Sequel to Diamond Of The First Water (Mikasa x OC)

Chapter One: A New Dawn

The Valorian sun blazed over the imperial city, its golden light cascading across rooftops and spires, transforming the harbor into a shimmering expanse of liquid fire. The air hummed with the rhythm of a thriving port—gulls wheeling overhead, their cries mingling with the shouts of merchants and the creak of ropes against weathered docks. 

Mikasa Ackerman stood at the bow of a sleek Valorian ship, its rosewood hull polished to a gleam, its crimson sails snapping in the salt-laced breeze. Her cloak billowed, dark and unadorned, a stark contrast to the vibrant city unfolding before her. Valoria was a marvel, its marble facades and bustling markets a world apart from Paradis’s scarred hills, yet this arrival carried a weight she’d never felt before. She wasn’t here as a scout, nor merely as an ambassador for Paradis. She was here to marry Solomon, the emperor whose love had awakened a part of her she’d long buried—a part that believed she was worthy of a gentle, unwavering devotion.

Her fingers gripped the rail, calloused from years of wielding blades, a flicker of nerves coiling in her chest like a coiled spring. She was a foreigner, a soldier forged in the crucible of war, stepping into a court that revered noble blood and polished grace. The 300-year-old law mandating four consorts loomed like a storm cloud, its tradition a barrier that could shatter her dreams. As a Paradisian, with no lineage to claim, she’d face scrutiny, whispers, perhaps even scorn. Yet Mikasa’s heart held fast, anchored by her belief in Solomon and the love they’d nurtured. His emerald eyes, alight with passion, his voice promising a future where she was his only empress—these were her armor. They’d find a way, together, to bend the unyielding tides of Valorian custom. Her resolve hardened, a soldier’s discipline merging with a lover’s hope, as she scanned the docks, her dark eyes sharp beneath the morning glare.

The ship docked with a gentle lurch, the gangplank lowering to reveal a cadre of palace staff, their crimson-and-gold uniforms crisp, their expressions a mix of deference and curiosity. A young servant, barely older than a recruit, hurried forward to collect her two modest trunks, his eyes wide as he hefted them with care. A steward, an older woman with silver hair pinned neatly, stepped forward, her stern face softening with a smile. “Lady Mikasa, welcome to Valoria,” she said, her voice warm but measured, her bow precise. “His Majesty has arranged your transport. This way, if you please.”

Mikasa nodded, her posture steady despite the flutter in her stomach. “Thank you,” she said, her voice calm, honed by years of command. The steward led her to an opulent carriage, its panels gleaming. Silk curtains framed the windows, and the horses—sleek bays with braided manes—stamped impatiently. This was no ordinary transport; it was a declaration, a testament to Solomon’s heart. The steward opened the door, and Mikasa’s breath caught at the sight within: a bouquet of roses, their petals a deep, velvety crimson, rested on the velvet seat, their fragrance rich and heady. Beside them lay a sealed letter, Solomon’s elegant script unmistakable against the cream parchment.

Her fingers trembled as she lifted the note, breaking the wax seal with care, as if it were a sacred relic. The words danced before her, each one a spark igniting her heart:

To my beautiful fiancée,

 I cannot wait to see and hold you in my arms again. I yearn for the moment I get to feel my lips on yours once more. I have a surprise for you when you arrive at the palace. 

Forever yours,

Solomon.

Her heart leapt, a warmth flooding her chest as she pressed the letter to her lips, the roses’ scent enveloping her like a lover’s embrace. Solomon’s notes, his small gestures of devotion, were the threads that had woven their love. Their story had begun unevenly—his boyish crush, ardent and unguarded, met with her skepticism, a soldier wary of a prince’s charm. She’d seen him as a fleeting distraction, a noble too bright for her shadowed world. But Solomon had been relentless, his affection steadfast, his laughter and sincerity chipping away at her defenses. When she’d finally agreed to a chance, his joy had been a sunburst, his love unwavering since. Every promise, every touch, had proven him true, and now she was here, ready to claim their future.

The steward’s voice broke her reverie, gentle but curious. “Is everything to your satisfaction, my lady?” she asked, her eyes flicking to the roses, a spark of intrigue in her gaze.

“Yes, perfectly,” Mikasa said, her voice steady, though she caught the servant’s whispered exchange with another—a hushed speculation about the flowers, the letter, the carriage’s extravagance. This was no diplomat’s welcome; it was the emperor’s heart laid bare. The staff’s murmurs grew, their eyes darting to Mikasa, the beautiful soldier from Paradis who’d captured Solomon’s devotion. He’d delayed choosing a consort, a break from tradition that had set the court ablaze, and her arrival in such splendor fueled gossip that would race through the city like wildfire. Mikasa straightened, her chin lifting, her resolve a shield against the whispers. She was here for Solomon, for their love, and no court’s judgment would sway her.

The carriage rolled through Valoria’s streets, its wheels humming on cobblestones, the city unfolding like a living tapestry. Market stalls brimmed with silks, spices, and gleaming trinkets, their colors a riot under the sun. Musicians strummed lutes in shaded squares, their melodies weaving through the chatter of vendors and the laughter of children darting through crowds. Noble women glided past, their gowns a cascade of satin and lace, their hair adorned with jeweled pins, their movements a study in grace. 

Mikasa watched them, a flicker of insecurity stirring. She was no court lady, her hands scarred from blades, her posture shaped by barracks, not ballrooms. Her cloak and boots felt plain against their elegance, her Paradisian simplicity a stark contrast to Valoria’s opulence. But Solina’s gifts—a trunk of tailored dresses, lessons in noble etiquette—bolstered her confidence. Solina had taught her to navigate Valoria’s customs, from the art of a curtsy to the subtleties of courtly speech, ensuring she wouldn’t falter. Mikasa’s lips curved, gratitude for her friend warming her. 

The journey was peaceful, the weather a gift of clear skies and gentle breezes, allowing Mikasa to drink in Valoria’s vibrancy. The city was alive, its energy pulsing through every street, from the flower-laden carts to the fountains sparkling in sunlit plazas. She leaned toward the window, her reflection faint against the glass, and imagined Solomon’s surprise, his smile, the warmth of his embrace. The thought steadied her, a beacon through the uncertainty. The noble women’s elegance might intimidate, but Solomon saw her—scars, strength, and all—and loved her fiercely. That was enough.

The palace gates loomed, their iron filigree glinting like a crown, guards in crimson livery snapping to attention as the carriage passed. The Imperial Palace was a vision, its towers soaring into the clouds, its marble walls carved with roses and vines, its gardens a riot of color—roses, lilies, dahlias, peonies, their empty houses a silent challenge to tradition. The carriage halted before the grand entrance, a sweep of marble stairs leading to doors inlaid with gold, their surfaces gleaming like mirrors. A footman, his gloves pristine, opened the door and offered his hand, his bow deep. “Welcome to the Imperial Palace, my lady,” he said, his voice formal but kind.

Mikasa stepped out, her boots steady on the cobblestones, her heart racing as the palace’s grandeur enveloped her. The air was scented with jasmine from the gardens, the sun warm on her face, and she felt the weight of history in every stone, every glance from the staff lining the stairs. And then she saw him—Solomon, standing at the base of the stairs, every inch the emperor from a storybook. His red curls caught the light, a fiery halo, his emerald eyes blazing with joy, his imperial robes tailored to his broad frame, gold embroidery shimmering. His smile was wide, unguarded, a beacon that banished her nerves, his presence a promise of home.

Beside him stood Empress Dowager Solana, her crimson hair swept into an elegant knot, her gown a deep sapphire that complemented her regal poise. Her smile was warm, but her eyes held a trace of caution, a mother’s love tempered by concern for her son’s choices. Former Emperor Armand flanked her, his weathered face softened by pride, his graying hair neat, his presence a quiet strength. His gaze, though kind, carried a weight, as if measuring the storm Mikasa’s arrival would unleash. Palace officials and staff stood behind them, their expressions a mix of curiosity, reserve, and barely concealed intrigue. The empty consort houses—Rose, Lily, Dahlia, Peony—loomed in the distance, a reminder of the tradition Solomon was defying, the court’s expectations a palpable tension.

Solana leaned toward Armand, her voice low. “He’s happy, isn’t he? But this… it’s a bold move, Armand. The court won’t take kindly to it.”

Armand’s lips twitched, a wry smile. “Our boy’s never been one for convention. She’s a soldier, Solana. Strong. They’ll need that strength.”

Solomon strode forward, his steps eager, his smile widening as he closed the distance. “Mikasa,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, a tremor of joy breaking through his imperial composure. Before she could speak, he engulfed her in a hug, his arms strong and warm, lifting her off the ground and spinning her in a whirl of laughter and light. “You’re here,” he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. “Gods, I’ve missed you so much.”

Her cheeks flushed, a rare blush warming her as she clung to him, her arms around his neck, the world narrowing to his heartbeat against hers. “I’ve missed you too, Solomon,” she said, her voice soft, her stoicism melting under his touch. “It’s been too long.”

He set her down but didn’t let go, his hands framing her face, his thumbs brushing her cheeks as he gazed at her, his eyes shimmering with love. “Too long,” he agreed, his voice low, fervent. Then, heedless of the watching staff, he kissed her passionately, his lips claiming hers with a hunger that spoke of weeks apart, of letters and longing. The kiss was bold, unapologetic, a declaration to the court, and Mikasa leaned into it, her hands gripping his robes, her heart soaring despite the gasps from the officials.

Solana cleared her throat, her voice cutting through the moment, amused but firm. “Solomon, really,” she said, stepping forward, her hands clasped. “You’re the emperor, not a lovesick poet. Perhaps a touch more decorum?”

Solomon pulled back, his grin unrepentant, his arm sliding around Mikasa’s waist. “Sorry, Mother, but I’ve waited weeks for this. Decorum can wait.”

Mikasa’s blush deepened, but she met Solana’s gaze, her nod respectful. “Empress Solana,” she said, her voice steady. “Thank you for welcoming me.”

Solana’s smile softened, her eyes kind but searching. “You’re radiant, Mikasa, and Solomon’s been insufferable without you. But you know this path won’t be easy. The court… they’re restless.”

“I understand,” Mikasa said, her tone resolute. “But we’re ready to face it together.”

Armand approached, his hand extended, his smile warm but weighted. “Mikasa, Valoria’s honored to have you here again,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “Though I suspect you’ll turn this palace upside down. I look forward to seeing it.”

Mikasa shook his hand, her grip firm, her eyes meeting his with a soldier’s clarity. “Thank you. I’ll do my best to honor Valoria—and Solomon.”

The officials murmured, their glances sharp, some approving, others skeptical, the weight of tradition a silent pressure. A young woman among them, whispered to a companion, her eyes narrowing at Mikasa. “A soldier? For the emperor? The ton will have a fit.”

Solomon’s hand tightened in Mikasa’s, his voice low, meant only for her. “Ignore them,” he said, his smile a shared secret. “You’re my heart, Mikasa. Let them talk.”

She nodded, her lips curving, his certainty a shield against the whispers. “Let them,” she said, her voice soft but fierce. “I’m here for you.”

He beamed, his arm guiding her toward the stairs. “Come,” he said, his excitement infectious. “I have a surprise waiting inside. And I want you to see your new home.”

Solana and Armand followed, their steps measured, their expressions a mix of pride and concern. “He’s delaying the consort selection,” Solana murmured to Armand, her voice low. “The noble families are circling like vultures. This engagement… it’s a spark in a powder keg.”

Armand’s hand rested on her arm, his voice steady. “Let it burn, Solana. He’s our son, and she’s his choice. They’ll face the fire together.”

As they ascended the stairs, the palace doors swung open, revealing a hall of marble and chandeliers, their crystals scattering light like stars. Mikasa’s heart pounded, the grandeur overwhelming, the court’s eyes a weight she felt but refused to bow to. Solomon’s hand was warm in hers, his love a flame that lit her path, and she stepped forward, ready to face Valoria’s challenges, to claim their future, one defiant, radiant step at a time.

“How was your trip?” Solomon asked, his voice bright, his emerald eyes searching hers as they navigated a corridor lined with tapestries depicting Valoria’s history. “The sea can be rough this time of year. I hope it treated you well.”

Mikasa’s lips curved, the memory of the Valorian ship’s smooth journey easing her nerves. “It was peaceful,” she said, her voice soft but clear, honed by years of command. ���The weather was kind, and your ship… it’s beautiful. I felt like royalty before I even stepped ashore.”

He laughed, a low, joyous sound that echoed off the marble. “Good. I wanted you to feel that way. You’re my fiancée, Mikasa. You deserve nothing less.” His thumb brushed her knuckles, a small gesture that sent warmth curling through her. “And how are Solina and Levi? Little Solea? I miss them—my sister’s letters don’t do them justice.”

Her smile widened, gratitude for his care softening her soldier’s edges. “They’re thriving,” she said, her tone warm with affection. “Solina’s a natural mother, radiant and fierce. Levi’s… well, Levi, but softer with Solea. She’s got all her mother’s charm—already stealing hearts. They send their love.”

Solana, walking a pace behind, let out a soft sigh, her gown rustling. “Oh, my Solina,” she said, her voice thick with longing. “I miss her so much, and my precious grandbaby. Solea must be growing like a flower.”

“She is,” Mikasa said, glancing back, her nod respectful. “She’s laughing now, grabbing everything. Levi’s hopeless against her.”

Armand chuckled, his weathered face creasing with pride. “Sounds like him. That girl’s got the Valorian sparkle. We’ll spoil her rotten when they visit.”

Solomon’s grin widened, his hand squeezing Mikasa’s. “And Dimaria and Elliot? I heard they went to Paradis to meet Solea. How’s that cowboy handling Paradis?”

Mikasa’s laugh was soft, the memory of Elliot’s drawl and Dimaria’s glow vivid. “They’re perfect,” she said. “Dimaria’s smitten with Solea, bouncing her every chance she gets. Elliot’s teaching her horse tricks already—or trying to. They’re happy, settled. They talked about you, Solomon—said you better throw a big party for your coronation anniversary.”

“Oh, I will,” he said, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “It’s a historic occasion—my first year as emperor. The whole family’s coming, and I want it to be unforgettable.”

Solana’s smile was fond but tinged with anticipation. “It will be, darling,” she said, her hand resting on Armand’s arm. “Everyone will all be here in a few months. The palace will be alive again, just as it should be.”

Armand nodded, his gray eyes warm. “We miss them, Mikasa. Thank you for the news. It does an old man’s heart good to know they’re well.”

Mikasa’s chest warmed, their shared love for family bridging the gap between Paradis and Valoria. “They miss you too,” she said, her voice sincere. “They’re counting the days.”

The corridor opened into a sweeping staircase, its banisters leading to the palace’s private quarters. Solomon guided Mikasa upward, his excitement palpable. “I want to show you your rooms,” he said, his voice eager. “I picked them myself. I think you’ll like them.”

“Rooms?” Mikasa asked, her brow arching, a flicker of amusement in her eyes. “Not just a room?”

He grinned, undeterred. “You’ll see.”

Solana and Armand exchanged a glance, their smiles indulgent but shadowed by unspoken concerns. The court’s unrest was a storm brewing, and Mikasa’s arrival was its spark. They followed, their presence a quiet support, as the group reached a set of double doors inlaid with mother-of-pearl, guarded by a maid in a crisp apron, her bow deep.

“Lady Mikasa,” the maid said, her voice soft, “I’m Layla, your personal attendant. Welcome.”

Mikasa nodded, her surprise tempered by gratitude. “Thank you, Layla.”

Solomon pushed the doors open, revealing a suite that stole Mikasa’s breath. It was no mere room but a lavish apartment, a sanctuary of elegance and comfort. A four-poster bed dominated the space, its canopy draped in sapphire silk, pillows piled high. A walk-in closet stood open, its racks already holding dresses, their fabrics shimmering in the light. An en suite bath gleamed with marble and gold, a clawfoot tub promising luxury. A sitting area beckoned with plush armchairs and a low table, a vase of roses mirroring the bouquet from the carriage. A small kitchenette, stocked with porcelain and a silver tea set, completed the space, its modernity a nod to Valoria’s wealth. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, framing a view of the gardens, their peonies and lilies a vibrant tapestry.

Mikasa stood frozen, her eyes wide, her soldier’s simplicity overwhelmed. “Solomon,” she said, her voice a whisper, “this is… incredible. It’s too much.”

He stepped behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders, his voice warm against her ear. “Nothing’s too much for you,” he said. “I wanted you to feel at home, Mikasa.”

Solana cleared her throat, her tone gentle but firm. “It’s a beautiful suite, Solomon, but let’s remember propriety,” she said, her eyes flicking between them. “You’re not married, and there are always eyes watching.”

Solomon’s grin faltered, but he nodded, his arm slipping around Mikasa’s waist. “I know, Mother,” he said, his voice teasing but respectful. “I’d rather have her in my chambers, but I’ll behave. For now.”

Mikasa’s cheeks warmed, her gaze dropping, but Solana’s smile was kind, her concern unspoken. She wasn’t blind to the noble families grooming daughters for consort roles, the whispers of tradition betrayed. She doubted Solomon and Mikasa could marry as they dreamed, the 300-year-old law a mountain too steep, but she couldn’t bear to dim their joy. “The two of you are such a lovely couple,” she said, her voice softening. “We’ll leave you to settle. We’ll see you at dinner tonight—the family’s gathering to welcome you, Mikasa.”

Armand nodded, his hand on Solana’s arm. “James, Soleil, Gracelyn, Andrew, Ruby, the twins—Solandor and Solenne—they’ll all be there,” he said. “Lady Blair and Lady Madeline, too. Lady Darcy’s here, but… well, she’s declined to join us.”

Mikasa’s lips twitched, understanding Darcy’s absence, her estrangement from Dimaria a silent wound. “I’m honored,” she said, her voice steady. “I look forward to it.”

Solana squeezed her hand, her touch maternal. “Rest, dear. You’ve had a long journey. We’ll see you soon.”

With a final smile, Solana and Armand departed, their footsteps fading down the corridor, the maid Lila following with a curtsy. The doors closed, leaving Solomon and Mikasa alone in the suite’s quiet splendor. The fire crackled in the hearth, its glow casting shadows across the sapphire drapes, and Mikasa turned to Solomon, her nerves surfacing now that they were alone. She set the roses on the table, her fingers lingering on the petals, her voice hesitant.

“Solomon,” she said, her dark eyes meeting his, “I’m… nervous. Being here, in Valoria, in this palace—it’s overwhelming. And what if we can’t get married? The law, the court… what if they stop us?”

His smile softened, his hands cupping her face, his thumbs brushing her cheeks. “Mikasa,” he said, his voice fierce with love, “I’m not giving you up. No ancient law, no court, no noble’s schemes will come between us. I’m the emperor, and I’ll find a way. We’ll find a way.”

Her breath caught, his certainty a balm to her fears, and she leaned into his touch, her eyes shimmering. “I believe you,” she whispered, her voice thick. “I just… I want this so much. I want us.”

He closed the distance, his lips capturing hers in a passionate kiss, deep and fervent, a vow sealed in firelight. Mikasa melted into him, her hands gripping his robes, her heart racing as his arms wrapped around her, pulling her close. The kiss deepened, their breaths mingling, a hungry edge to their reunion after weeks apart. His hands slid to her waist, her fingers tangled in his curls, and they lost themselves in the moment, the suite fading until it was just them—Solomon and Mikasa, two hearts defying an empire. …

Solomon’s hands slid lower, his touch both gentle and possessive, and he slowly backed her toward the four-poster bed, its velvet canopy a shadowed haven. Mikasa’s knees brushed the mattress, and she sank onto it with a soft gasp, her fingers tugging at his collar to pull him down with her.

Her Ackerman strength surged, instinctive and powerful, and Solomon nearly toppled forward, a startled laugh breaking from him as he caught himself at the last second, his arms bracing on either side of her. He caged her beneath him, his emerald eyes glinting with amusement, his breath ragged. “Easy, love,” he said, his voice a low rumble, laced with joy. “You’re gonna break me before we even get started.”

Mikasa’s lips curved, a rare playfulness softening her soldier’s stoicism. “I’d catch you,” she said, her voice husky, her hands sliding to his shoulders, relishing the solid warmth of him. She leaned up, capturing his lips again, the kiss deeper, hungrier, a spark igniting into a blaze. His laughter melted into a soft groan, his hands roaming her sides, the fabric of her dress riding up as their bodies pressed closer. The heat between them was electric, her fingers digging into his back, neither wanting to stop as the moment spiraled into something wild, untamed.

Her dress bunched at her thighs, the cool air a contrast to the fire of his touch, and Mikasa’s breath hitched, her heart racing with a longing she rarely allowed herself to feel. Solomon’s kisses trailed to her jaw, his lips brushing the sensitive skin beneath her ear, and she arched into him, a soft sound escaping her. The suite, the court, the world beyond—it all faded, leaving only them, two hearts entwined in a dance of passion. But Solomon’s hands stilled, his breath uneven as he pulled back, his eyes dark with desire but softened by something deeper.

“Mikasa,” he said, his voice rough, out of breath, “as much as I want to stay here, lose myself in you… I have something planned. A surprise.”

She blinked, her chest heaving, curiosity piercing the haze of their intimacy. “A surprise?” she asked, her voice breathless, her hands still resting on his chest. “What is it?”

He grinned, a boyish spark in his eyes, his curls mussed from her fingers. “You’ll see,” he said, his tone teasing, tight-lipped. “But you have to come with me. Trust me.”

Her brow arched, a flicker of amusement in her gaze. “You’re being mysterious,” she said, but her smile betrayed her intrigue. “Alright. Show me.”

Solomon slid off the bed, offering his hand to pull her up, his touch lingering as she stood. Mikasa smoothed her dress, her fingers trembling slightly as she adjusted the fabric, her cheeks flushed from their closeness. Her dark hair was slightly disheveled, a strand falling across her face, and Solomon reached out, tucking it behind her ear with a tenderness that made her heart skip, and she ducked her head, unaccustomed to such open adoration.

He stepped to a small table, retrieving a silk blindfold, its deep blue shimmering in the firelight. “One more thing,” he said, holding it up, his grin mischievous. “You need to wear this.”

Mikasa’s eyebrow shot up, her soldier’s instincts wary, but the trust in his eyes disarmed her. “A blindfold?” she said, her tone skeptical but amused. “Solomon, what are you planning?”

“Something you’ll love,” he said, stepping closer, his voice earnest. “Please, Mikasa. Let me surprise you.”

She hesitated, then nodded, a small smile breaking through. “Fine,” she said, turning to let him tie the blindfold. His fingers were gentle, the silk cool against her skin as he secured it, his breath warm against her neck. The world went dark, heightening her senses—the crackle of the fire, the rustle of his robes, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as he took her hand.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice a soft anchor.

“Ready,” she said, her trust in him absolute.

He led her out of the suite, his hand firm in hers, guiding her through the palace’s labyrinthine corridors. The walk was long, the air shifting from the warmth of marble halls to the cool, jasmine-scented breeze of the outdoors. Mikasa’s boots clicked on stone, then softened on grass, the sounds of the palace fading as the hum of crickets and the rustle of leaves took their place. She heard the faint lilt of music—violins and flutes, a romantic melody that stirred her curiosity. “Solomon,” she said, her voice laced with confusion, “where are we going?”

“Almost there,” he said, his tone teasing, his hand squeezing hers. “Patience, love.”

The ground leveled, the air growing fresher, and Mikasa sensed water nearby, its gentle lap a soothing counterpoint to the music. Solomon stopped, his hands guiding her to face him, his touch steady. “Stay here,” he said, his voice soft, and she felt him step away, the absence of his warmth a fleeting ache.

Her ears caught the music’s swell, the strings weaving a melody that tugged at her heart, and she frowned, the blindfold heightening her confusion. What was he planning? The air was alive with scents—roses, lilies, the crisp tang of water—and she heard the soft splash of movement, perhaps birds or fish. Her instincts strained to piece it together, but she trusted Solomon, letting the moment unfold.

His voice came again, close and earnest. “You can take it off now,” he said, a tremor of anticipation in his tone.

Mikasa’s fingers lifted, gently pulling the blindfold free, and she blinked, her eyes adjusting to the twilight. The sight before her stole her breath, a gasp escaping as she took in the scene. They stood by a lake near the imperial gardens, its surface aglow with hundreds of tealights, their flames dancing like stars. Swans glided gracefully, their white feathers catching the light, their movements a silent ballet. The shore was adorned with garlands of roses and lilies, their petals strewn across the grass, and a small orchestra played nearby, their music a romantic serenade that filled the air. Behind it all, rose hedges had been sculpted into words, their blooms spelling out “Will you marry me?” in a declaration that made her heart stutter.

Her gaze dropped, and there was Solomon, kneeling before her, his emerald eyes shimmering with love, his red curls glowing in the fading light. In his hand was a ring, its beauty timeless—a large, oval-cut ruby, an imperial jewel from Valoria’s vaults, set in a band of white gold etched with delicate roses. The gem caught the tealights, its depths a mirror to the lake, its value beyond measure. Mikasa’s eyes welled with tears, her hand flying to her mouth, emotion overwhelming her as she stood frozen, her heart laid bare.

“Solomon,” she whispered, her voice breaking, tears spilling down her cheeks.

He smiled, his own eyes glistening, his voice steady but thick with love. “Mikasa, you captured my heart the moment I saw you in Paradis. I came there for duty, to oversee the iceburst stone mining for my father and as support for my sister, but I found so much more. I found you—the love of my life. You’re not just beautiful, though you take my breath away. You’re fierce, a noble soldier, a protector who’s faced horrors I can’t imagine and come through stronger. Your heart, your courage, your strength—they’re why I wake up every day wanting to be better, for you.”

He paused, his voice trembling, his gaze unwavering. “I know we’ve talked of marriage, and you’ve said yes, but I wanted to do this right, to show you what you mean to me. I want you by my side, forever, as my wife, my partner, my everything. I promise to love you, to cherish you, to fight for you every single day, the way you deserve. I want you, Mikasa, and only you. No law, no tradition, will change that. So, please… will you marry me?”

The tears flowed freely now, streaming down Mikasa’s face, her chest heaving with sobs she couldn’t contain. She’d never felt so seen, so loved, her heart swelling with a joy so profound it stole her words. Solomon’s words, his love, were a mirror to her soul, reflecting every part of her—soldier, woman, lover—and deeming it worthy. She’d faced titans, loss, and war, but this moment, this love, was her greatest victory, a happiness she’d never dared dream of.

She tried to speak, but her voice failed, choked by emotion, and Solomon’s eyes softened, his smile tender. He rose, setting the ring on the grass, and engulfed her in a hug, his arms a sanctuary as she cried against his chest. “It’s okay,” he murmured, his lips brushing her hair, his hands stroking her back. “I’ve got you, love. I’ve always got you.”

Mikasa clung to him, her sobs easing, her heart steadying in his embrace. She’d never been so overjoyed, the weight of his love a warmth that banished every doubt. Finally, she pulled back, her eyes red but radiant, a smile breaking through as she looked at him, her voice trembling but clear. “Yes,” she said, her words a vow. “I’d be honored to marry you, Solomon.”

His face lit up, a sunburst of joy, and he kissed her passionately, his lips claiming hers with a fervor that matched the lake’s glow. The orchestra swelled, the swans glided, and the tealights flickered, witnesses to their love. Solomon pulled back, his grin wide, and knelt again, retrieving the ring. He took her hand, his touch reverent, and slid the ruby onto her finger, its weight heavy but perfect, the gem a mirror to her strength.

“It’s beautiful,” Mikasa said, her voice thick, her eyes tracing the ring’s elegance, its roses a nod to Solomon’s heritage, its ruby a promise of their future.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, rising to pull her close, his forehead resting against hers. “This is just the beginning, Mikasa. You and me, forever.”

She nodded, her tears drying, her smile radiant as she kissed him again, the lake and its magic fading into the background. They were Solomon and Mikasa, an emperor and a soldier, their love a defiant flame that would light Valoria’s future, no matter the storms ahead.

~

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Stand By Me

Premise: Cassie experiences the downside of having Ethan Ramsey as a mentor.

Book: Open Heart (post series) Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Cassie Valentine) Rating/Category: Teen. Angsty Fluff Format: Prose + Text and Pic Fic Words: 2,610

A/N: Submission for @choicesaprilchallenge24 prompt, two-word sentence starter: "you're wrong"

Part 1: The Calm

Cassie Valentine had never traveled quite like this. The cargo plane’s interior was cavernous and dimly lit, a stark contrast to the tightly packed but bright commercial jet that had flown her and Ethan Ramsey from Boston to Miami for the first leg of their trek to assist humanitarian efforts after an earthquake in Haiti.

Cassie thought idly that the jet had been more comfortable with its plush seating. She sat cross-legged on the cold, metal floor, a duffle bag shoved behind her, cushioning her lower back from the unyielding steel, and scanned her surroundings.

The sparse interior was devoid of the usual comforts of commercial flights. There were no overhead bins, seatback trays or in-flight entertainment to pass the time. Just an expansive, unadorned metal hull echoing with the sound of the engines, a constant, deafening roar that made any attempt at conversation futile.

“Hope you’re strapped in tight, folks,” Hank, the team leader, shouted above the noise.

Standing in the center of the plane, his legs spread for balance, he stretched his long arms to grip one of the loops hanging from the ceiling.

“It’s going to be a bumpy ride, but at least there’s no middle seat to fight over,” Hank continued matter-of-factly as the plane gained speed on the runway, its sides rattling in response. A few people chuckled.

He finished his safety instructions a minute or two before the wheels lifted off the tarmac, and quickly strapped himself into a jump seat on the far side. He caught her watching him, and winked flirtatiously.

Back on the ground, Ethan had greeted Hank with an easy familiarity borne out of their shared experience during the Amazon mission years earlier. The casual insults had rolled off their tongues as they needled each other jokingly.

Cassie suspected this trip would be eye-opening in more ways than one as she spied on Ethan’s relaxed profile out of the corner of her eye. As if sensing her scrutiny, he glanced askance at her and she gave him a thumbs up signal.

She huddled inside the leather jacket, shivering from the chill that permeated the aircraft as it began its ascent. Leaning her head on Ethan’s shoulder, she smiled ruefully at Libby, the petite red-haired fifth-year surgical resident strapped in across from her.

They’d gotten to chatting in the hangar as they waited for the plane to be loaded with boxes filled with medical and food supplies and humanitarian aid packages. Libby, on her third trip to a disaster zone, had been a fount of information on what to expect and advice on how to manage in crude living conditions.

Cassie felt a sense of adventure mingled with apprehension. The headlines coming out of Port-au-Prince had painted a bleak picture of destruction, death and despair.

When Ethan’s contact in the WHO reached out asking for medical volunteers, Cassie knew she wasn’t going to be left behind this time. She might not have experience in field hospitals, but it was time she got it.

Ethan hadn’t argued or tried to talk her out of it. They were doctors; this is what they did.

As the plane reached cruising altitude, Cassie peered out of a small window near the floor. The view was obscured by a thick mesh covering the outside, but it did little to diminish the sense of wonder at the vast blue sea below, the calm surface broken only by the white crests of waves.

The flight was long, longer still, with nothing to do to pass the time. Cassie found herself drifting off to sleep, lulled by the monotony of the engine’s roar and the comforting feel of Ethan’s arm around her.

The next thing she knew, he was nudging her awake. The plane’s vibration beneath her had changed, gradually descending as they approached their destination. The atmosphere inside was abuzz with anticipation. Shortly after, the plane touched down on the tarmac, the landing rougher than the take-off.

“Ready?” Ethan asked as they unstrapped themselves once the plane had come to a halt.

Cassie nodded, stretching her arms and legs to shake off the stiffness. “Next time, remind me to grab a sleeping bag and some snacks.”

He chuckled, but his smile was soft as he stared into her green eyes. He ran his index finger down the side of her face, tucked back a lock of blonde hair that had escaped her ponytail, and tilted her face up.

The kiss was a mere brush of the lips, whisper soft, barely there before it was gone. It was the last moment of normality. Once they disembarked, everything would change.

Part 2: The Storm

The oppressive heat and humidity were unlike anything Cassie had experienced before, although she’d certainly been to the tropics. Her brother’s island home on St. Thomas was a few hundred miles east, but its luxurious, air-conditioned environs were worlds apart from the rows of beige-colored tents spread out in every direction.

The back of her short-sleeved cotton scrub top was damp from perspiration, so she lifted the hem to air it out. Exiting the stuffy interior of a medical tent housing non-urgent cases, Cassie took a deep breath. The pungent smells of human waste and unwashed bodies hit her nostrils immediately, and she started gagging.

Sweat dripped down her face, and she wiped it away with the back of her hand. In the last few days, she’d lost her weight in fluids as they dug latrines, carried supplies from one end of the field hospital to another and spent hours in airless spaces treating patients whose eyes were inconsolable with loss.

It had taken her more than a minute to get her bearings, but Ethan had been in his element. She knew he’d volunteered with Partners in Health when he was a resident and fellow. But she’d had a hard time picturing the sophisticated, opera-loving Dr. Ramsey in such crude surroundings, digging ditches, boots covered in mud, grime staining his clothes.

They had both been busy in their respective areas, retreating every night, bone tired, muscles aching, to their assigned bedroom in staff housing near the hospital. All they did was sleep before waking up early to do it all over again.

Suddenly missing him and desperate to feel his arms around her, Cassie marched down the dirt path between tents, her green eyes searching for him or someone familiar who could tell her if they’d seen him.

Her ears pricked when she heard his deep voice and distinctive laugh close by. Changing directions, she followed her instincts and turned left, slowing down when she saw him standing in the middle of a clearing, his back to her.

Ethan was with an older man she hadn’t met before. His gray hair was long from the back, brushing past his collar, with deep-set eyes and a hooked nose. He spoke English with a heavy accent, gesticulating with his hands for emphasis.

The other man caught her spying on them, and his voice boomed, chiding. “Ah, another acolyte for my young friend. It’s always the same story, eh, Ramsey?”

Cassie flushed when she realized he was referring to her.

Surprised, Ethan spun on his heels and relaxed when he spotted her. “Cassie.”

Her earlier euphoria faded, replaced by a gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach as she joined them.

“You know each other?” The other man asked, glancing between her and Ethan.

“Klaus, meet Dr. Valentine.” Ethan made the introductions. “Cassie, this is Dr. van Rijn, special missions head at the WHO. We go way back.”

“Valentine, Valentine. Why do I know that name?” Dr. van Rijn tapped one finger against his lips before his eyes cleared in recognition. “Ah, yes, of course.”

Cassie felt a momentary high at being recognized by someone of his stature, but his next words had her deflating like a balloon popped with a pin.

“You’re the intern!”

“That was six years ago,” Ethan shook his head in amusement. “She’s hardly an intern anymore, Klaus. Dr. Valentine is—”

“Your mentee, or rather, your protege,” he interrupted. “Yes, yes, Ethan, I remember. My hair is more gray than when we last saw each other, but my memory is sharper than ever.”

“But your hearing could use some work,” Ethan retorted, shoving his hands in his pant pockets. “As I was saying….”

Cassie saw herself standing in a long tunnel, the dismissive words spoken by the other man echoing around her. Intern. Mentee. Ramsey’s protege. Reduced to nothing more than that.

“Cassie, are you alright?”

Ethan’s concerned voice broke through her reverie, and she looked up, startled. They were both staring at her, one in disquiet and the other with curiosity.

“Sorry, I was miles away,” Cassie said. “What were you talking about?”

“Ethan was just telling me you’re now leading his former team,” van Rijn said. “That’s quite an accomplishment for one so young. You made a smart decision when you chose to train under Dr. Ramsey. He’s one of the best and most astute physicians I’ve ever met. You’ll go far if you keep following in your mentor’s footsteps.”

Incensed at the implication that her success was not of her own making, Cassie opened her mouth to deliver a cutting retort or at least defend her record. But Ethan stepped in front of her, figuratively, and beat her to it.

“That’s unfair, Klaus,” Ethan said sternly. “Dr. Valentine is brilliant. She diagnosed and found a cure for Naveen when he and I had both given up. She’s the keynote speaker at this year’s AADM conference, just like I was all those years ago, and is a special advisor to a Congressional national committee on healthcare affordability.”

He paused, frowning slightly before continuing. “And before you shove your foot even further down your mouth, you’ve apparently forgotten that she’s also my wife.”

Cassie stared in shock at Ethan, her ears ringing. His wife?!? That’s how he chose to end this? She thought they were partners and equals first, but clearly, she’d been mistaken.

“I heard you’d gotten married,” van Rijn said, flustered, “but I didn’t realize it was to…”

His words trailed off, and his cheeks turned red with embarrassment as he glanced at Cassie.

Ethan, too, watched her warily as she continued to stand there in stony silence, arms folded tightly across her front.

As she grappled with her emotions, feeling the old imposter syndrome return, Cassie knew she would blow her top if she didn’t walk away now. Preferably with her dignity intact.

“It was a pleasure,” she almost tripped over the word, “to meet you, Dr. van Rijn. I have to get back to work.”

She nodded rigidly at Ethan. “I’ll see you later.”

She was practically running once she was out of sight, unable to slow down despite the heat making her lightheaded.

Cassie often counted her blessings that she’d gotten a chance to work with Ethan, the compassionate and caring doctor who’d captured her heart. But for the first time in her life, she wished she’d never met Dr. Ramsey.

Part 3: The Aftermath

Part 4: The Closure

Ethan poured Malbec into a long-stemmed wine glass for Cassie the moment he heard her keys rattle in the apartment door. He’d had his ears cocked for the last half-hour, the trepidation building with every passing minute.

He heard the swoosh of the hallway closet door as she likely hung up her coat and the clatter of her shoes hitting the hardwood floor. Just as she walked into the living room, he took a large swallow of his wine and promptly started coughing when it went down the wrong pipe.

“Are you okay?” Cassie asked, her brow furrowed in concern as she approached him and brushed her hand up and down his back.

Ethan nodded, wheezing as the cough tickled his throat. He set the glass on the counter before he spilled the drink all over the kitchen floor. Finally, he managed to get himself under control.

Cassie lifted the glass of wine he’d poured for her and sipped slowly, her eyes closing as she savored the taste.

“You always know just what I need,” she said with a deep sigh. “M&M was particularly long and exhausting. Tell me, why did I choose to stay in academic medicine?”

“You’re wrong,” Ethan said quietly, causing her eyes to drift open and stare at him in surprise. “I don’t always know what you need. Something’s gone wrong between us. Things haven’t been the same since Haiti.”

Cassie pursed her lips and watched him above the rim of her glass, not reacting to his statement in any other way. Then she finished her wine and set the glass down on the counter.

“We already discussed this back then and today on text,” Cassie reminded him. “What else is there to say?”

She shrugged, and then her eyes turned hard like steel. “I need to stand on my own, but who you are, what you are…well, it casts a long shadow. I didn’t like how you and Klaus reduced me to someone who exists only because of what you saw in me. And not because I worked hard for it.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I know,” Cassie cut him off. “You might not have meant to, but you defending me without giving me a chance to do it myself, you might as well have.”

“Why can’t I stand up for you?” Ethan said, frustration leaking through as he stabbed his fingers into his hair.

“I need you to stand by me, not for me,” Cassie said, her tone measured in response to his heated one. “I will always be measured by your reputation, just like you have to contend with Naveen’s legacy. We can’t control what others say or do. I’ve accepted it.”

“Then why are you angry with me?” Ethan shot back.

“I’m not angry.”

Cassie closed the distance between them, her smile throwing him off. When she took his hand and laced her fingers through his, he felt as if the tight band around his heart loosened.

“I’m not angry,” she repeated, squeezing his fingers. “But I resent that, despite what we talked about in Haiti, your natural inclination on seeing that Pictagram post was to respond defending my honor.”

“Don’t deny it,” she cautioned when he started to do just that. “If I wanted to shoot down small-minded individuals, I’m more than capable of doing it myself.”

Ethan took a deep breath in and then exhaled. “I did want to do that,” he admitted. “I saw red because what they said was so far from reality.”

“If you thought that was bad, it’s good you’re not on Reddit,” Cassie said, twisting her lips in a wry smile.

“You know, if someone attacked your reputation, I’d be upset too.” She nestled against him, and he wrapped his arms around her waist.

“But we both know the truth. I respect you enough to let you tear into shreds anyone that came at you. Give me the same courtesy, at least professionally,” Cassie added, angling her lips to kiss the underside of his jaw.

“If it was a personal attack, you have my permission to destroy them with that deathly Dr. Ramsey glare.”

Ethan snorted with laughter when she perfectly mimicked his angry expression.

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” he said, framing her face between his hands. His lips hovered above hers, waiting, prolonging the anticipation.

“You may kis—”

But she didn’t need to finish for he was already kissing her, and she was kissing him back. Everything was finally right in their world.

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

All Fics & Edits: @bluebelle08 @coffeeheartaddict2 @crazy-loca-blog @jerzwriter @lady-calypso @mainstreetreader @peonierose @potionsprefect @queencarb @quixoticdreamer16 @justyourusualash @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction

Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Ethan & Cassie only: @cariantha @custaroonie @youlookappropriate

[the-pen-pot]

SNEAK PEEK! (Coming.... somewhen?)

Summary: Prince Arthur Pendragon, Captain of the Llamrei, would far rather spend his days patrolling Camelot's waters than assume his place on the throne. Yet when he finds the wreckage of a vast ship and one lone survivor on board, nothing can prepare him for the path his life will lead.

Nor the demands his heart will make.

(A 4k word first chapter to a Merthur age-of-sail fantasy AU, because I'm weak for world-building)

-----

The waves boomed against the Llamrei's hull: a steady rhythm like the heartbeat of the ocean. The breeze hummed through the rigging, plucking tunes upon the sheets and swelling the sails. Under Arthur's palms, the wheel rested easy, their bearing steady and sure: homeward bound, back to Camelot.

They had been at sea for two long months, patrolling the boundaries of their waters, seeing off pirates and incursions alike. Their hold lay heavy with the loot of those ships who had surrendered their cargo in recompense for trespass. All-in-all, their voyage had been a success.

He knew his men craved solid land, good company and a drink with more flavour than the mead ration or water, but for him there was little joy in his home-coming. More and more, his father expected him to put his sea-faring days behind him and take on the burden of his role as Crown Prince. He thought a kingdom could be ruled from a throne and was content to let others ride the waves.

The thought of that, of land-lock and narrow horizons, made Arthur's breath catch in his throat. He understood his duty, the one he had been born to. He would not shirk it when the time came. He only wished he were free to rule how he wanted, rather than being forced to follow his father's edicts. It was not as if the man had any intention of letting go of his power in the near future. Uther Pendragon would live forever if he could.

'You could always hope for war, Captain.' Leon Delgrace narrowed his eyes against the sun, his hair bleached bright bronze and his face scattered with freckles. 'That would see us back to sea soon enough.'

Arthur huffed. 'And with whom should we fight? Lot, fat and useless to the east, but with more ships to his name than most? Bayard, to the North, who rules his waters with an iron-fist, or Caerleon to the West, who would block trade and starve us rather than raising a finger towards our annihilation?'

'Any one of them would shit themselves to face down Camelot's fleet,' Gwaine said from where he was adjusting one of the sheets, shifting the angle of the sail to better catch the breeze. 'Lot's got more ships, but half of them are in splinters. Bayard's men are in a constant state of revolt against his admirals and Caerleon… All right, Caerleon's a swine who's got every other kingdom by the balls since he's got control of the Strait of Caerdor, but he won't hold it for long. Not against the Wildwash.'

Arthur glanced down at his bosun where he stood on the quarterdeck. Gwaine wasn't wrong. The Albion Sea existed in a constant state of teetering balance. At the moment, there was a reluctant truce, each kingdom too busy dealing with their own strife to turn their mind to war. Still, all it would take was a tiny shift to send it all plunging into calamity.

Caerleon was an obvious target. The other kingdoms looked upon his control of the strait with greed because it meant he could restrict and tax the flow of trade along the Southern Way: a rare safe route of good water. It was a ripple-road that led to the MittelMer, the sea that was encircled by the remnants of the old-lands, where the Romans had once dwelt.

They conveniently forgot, however, that he also bordered on the Wildwash, the vast stretch of open ocean to the west that brimmed with legendary creatures, roaming sorcerers, mad gods and vengeful spirits. The sailors who ventured out into those waters rarely returned, and if they did, they came back changed.

Worse, the denizens of that vast, fathomless ocean – lawless and unruled – were constantly encroaching on the Albion Sea, finding their way past the towering reefs and ocean mountains that had once protected them. They sought the relatively tranquil, warmer waters and the wealth they had brought the Five Kingdoms, and they sowed death and destruction in their wake.

'I do not envy him being so close to the frontier.'

'I fear that, one day, we will hear the news that he is overcome,' Leon admitted, raising his voice to call out an order before resuming a more normal volume. As Quartermaster, he was of almost equivalent rank to Arthur's Captain: his right-hand man and, in the event of a calamity that took Arthur's life, his successor – at least where the Llamrei was concerned. If Arthur died at sea, Camelot would fall to Morgana. Sometimes he was tempted to abdicate and let her have it. He suspected she would do a better job than he.

Except that Uther would never permit it.

'No, we pray Caerleon holds fast against the Wildwash. Let some other political strife call us back to the waves. The goddess knows my father is good at stirring up conflict when it suits. Or even when it does not. We will enjoy our time back in Camelot. I will play the obedient prince, and in a week or two, he will grow bored and we'll be back at sea.'

'Better be,' Gwaine muttered. 'Don't think there's enough beer in all Camelot's taverns to keep me happy on land.'

'Captain!' Elyan's cry was as clear as a sea-bird, carrying with ease. He had a spyglass pressed to his eye. A sextant hung from his belt and one foot was braced on the top of the crow's nest, as if he were about to take flight. Arthur hated it when he did that. A fall from that height, onto deck or into the water's embrace, would be the death of him. If the grief of that did not gut Arthur hollow, then Guinevere's pain at losing her brother surely would.

'What do you see?'

He squinted, noting the way Elyan swayed, a shift of his weight back and forth. He was too high to make out his expression, but that small tell had lost Elyan many a card game. It meant he was uncertain and questioning himself.

'Wreckage, Captain, off our port bow. Sharp turn!'

Arthur picked up the order, calling it out and watching the crew come alive as they set about their duties, tending the yard-arms and spanker as they tacked the Llamrei, altering her course in a stately sweep. The sails slackened as they turned through the eye of the wind before filling anew, the thick cloth swelling as they caught the edge of the breeze.

Almost immediately, Leon gave the order to reef so that they could slow as they approached whatever it was Elyan had seen. They could circle if they had to, scouting the area in large sweeps. Arthur would rather not bring the ship to a full stop until he was sure what they were dealing with.

'Bugger me,' Gwaine breathed as he squinted at the water. His unease was a living thing among the rest of the crew as they took in the flotsam: broken spars and tattered sails like bridal veils upon the waves. It covered a large area, yet it had not dispersed with the currents, and Arthur surrendered the wheel, moving to stand with Gwaine and Leon as they stared.

The Llamrei was a Destrier class, a medium sized warship with good manoeuvrability perfect for patrols and privateering. Whatever had once sailed the waves before them was far bigger, and the possibilities spilled from the lips of the men around him.

'Too much wreckage for even a first-class Charger,' Leon pointed out, speaking of the behemoth four-deck war ships that were the jewels in any kingdom's fleet. They carried more than a hundred cannon each: floating fortresses.

'Not much left that's bigger than that,' Gwaine muttered, folding his arms across his chest and making room for Lancelot. The ship's surgeon's hands were white-knuckled around the rail. Where they saw the carcass of a mighty vessel, Arthur knew that Lancelot would be thinking of the souls lost on board.

Arthur ducked his head in agreement, looking over his shoulder as Elyan's bare feet hit the deck. His quick stride brought him to the rail, and he took up the space to Arthur's left. The only one not with them was Percival, and that was because he would not leave the cannons until he knew he would not be called upon to put them to use. No doubt he was watching out of the hatches as the debris drifted by and the Llamrei continued her steady circling.

'A merchant Draft, maybe?' Elyan sounded doubtful even as he said it. He was fully aware that he was wrong. They knew what this was, but none of them wanted to say it out loud.

This was all that remained of A Stables – a colony ship. They were huge, used for moving large numbers of people: evacuations, refugees – that sort of thing. There weren't many left, any more. One fewer, now. The last resort of the desperate. This was all that was left of the sort of event that went down in the history books.

A Desolation: a wreck that was akin to an extinction. One that wiped out hundreds, if not thousands of lives at once.

Arthur swallowed down the low nausea of heartbreak as he stepped back, calling out commands to bring the Llamrei to a complete stop. Those who were not tending the sails and rudder instead watched the water, searching both the surface and its depths for any dangers.

'Colours!' Someone cried. There was a flurry as they reached for poles to pull the pennant from the sea's clutches. It hung, sodden and torn, squelching as it hit the deck. Immediately, the men got to work unfolding it. They clustered around, Arthur with them, the chill biting at his fingertips as he straightened out the flag.

'It was Lot's,' Leon murmured, indicating the black serpent on the white shield that represented the kingdom of Essetir. 'A long way from home.'

'In Camelot's waters.' Arthur grimaced, a trickle of horror rushing down his spine. This was a political powder-keg, and suddenly their jokes of war seemed like a poor showing. 'If we're not careful, we'll stand accused if its destruction.'

'The Llamrei couldn't take down a Stables alone, even Lot would know that,' Lancelot murmured, shaking his head. He looked as if he had aged five years in moments. 'They're too big. Base crew to manage a ship that size is more than a thousand souls.' He pressed a curled fist over his heart, this thumb pointing up towards his collarbone in a traditional symbol of mourning: a mute plea to whatever gods might lurk beneath the waves to carry them safely into the afterlife.

'Where are the bodies?' Gwaine asked, shifting back to the rail and peering around. 'That many crew, plus whatever refugees and passengers they carried… there should be some afloat. Even if the hull dragged them down as it sank, there should be some trace of 'em.'

Arthur caught the glance Gwaine shot in his direction, one grim and shadowed with fear. It was enough to make him turn his eye back to the water, reading the evidence that wrote itself in the wreckage.

Some bits of wood showed evidence of cannon-fire: round shot, the kind used by raiders. They'd disable the ship, take its cargo grab those they could to sell as slaves and kill any who put up too hard a fight. Raiders were like wolves; they gave chase in packs, and a Stables ship was a gold mine for them – a slow, easy target.

But that didn't answer the question of why it was out at sea in the first place. Many of the colony ships were in dry dock and had been for decades. There had been no conflict or boundary change that would mean people needed to move en-masse. It didn't make any sense. Not unless these people, whoever they were, were chased out of port by some threat – but what?

Arthur sighed, shaking his head. That was the problem with being at sea. As much as he relished the freedom, it left him disconnected from news of the kingdoms. Answers probably awaited him in Camelot, though whether he would wish to hear them was another matter. A Desolation was the kind of thing that would have the Five Kingdoms at each others' throat, eager to place and dodge the blame in equal measure.

'Spread those out to dry,' he ordered, indicating the colours on deck. 'We'll take them back with us as proof. Man the row boats, set up a search.'

'What are we looking for?' Elyan asked, raising his voice to be heard over the cries of the crew carrying out Arthur's orders, reaching for ropes and pulleys as they prepared to winch the twelve-man row boats down towards the surface.

'Survivors.' Lancelot did not sound hopeful, but he straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin as he crossed his arms over his chest. 'Bodies, if not. We need to know where these people came from. Their families…'

'People deserve to know what happened.' Arthur rested a hand on Lancelot's shoulder. 'Anything that can tell us what fate had in store for this ship will be of benefit. A figurehead, if we can find it.'

All ships had unique carvings upon their prow, something to mark out their identity so that even the illiterate would know what vessels lay at harbour or had gone to sea. Some were panels with carved symbols, others were creatures, flowers or objects, each with its own significance. The ships of royal houses, like the Llamrei, stood out amidst any fleet thanks to the gold paint that coated their prow and flared back along the hull in sweeps and whorls: a blessing for strong winds and good tides.

The ship that had sunk here had a name, once, Arthur did not wish for it to be forgot – lost to the obscurity of the ocean depths.

'Leon, the helm is yours. Gwaine, you take the other boat. Keep your eyes peeled.'

'Aye aye, Cap'n.'

The boat eased into the waves, the oar tips pressed briefly to the Llamrei's hull to ease them away from her embrace before they set forth. This close to the water's surface, the ocean was a living, breathing thing beneath them. Brine flavoured Arthur's top lip and roughened his hair as the wind caught in the linen of his shirt and plucked at the laces of his collar like an eager lover. On a better day, he would have relished it, but he was too absorbed in the carnage before him.

It was every sailor's nightmare: a risk they all took but prayed to forever avoid. Wrecks were a messy affair, made worse by the voracious hunger of the sea. Within a day, all sign of what had happened here would be scattered, carried off by the currents or pulled beneath the waves. Death, he fancied, rode the breeze here, and he reached into his belt pouch for a gold coin before tossing it overboard: payment for the ferryman.

Behind him, he heard his men do the same, keeping one hand on their oars as they gave up whatever trinkets they may have: copper, silver or stone, it mattered not. None of them would leave a debt standing.

'Captain!' Pellinor's pointing finger thrust out to the east, and Arthur narrowed his eyes against the sun, taking in the section of hull that bobbed like a cork off the starboard bow. It was a fragment not much smaller than the craft in which they currently sat, but that wasn't what mattered. He knew what had caught Pellinor's eye. This debris did not bear the scars of shot that splintered the other pieces of wood he had seen from the Llamrei's deck. Instead, gouges raked the planks, parallel lines that sheared through the wood, exposing the timber beneath.

Arthur swore. Bandits and cannon-fire were one thing, but this?

'Leviathan. Keep a sharp eye.'

'In these waters?' Pellinor's voice was faint, and Arthur could not blame him. Leviathans were meant to make their homes in the Wildwash. They were huge creatures of the deep, bigger than any ship that rode the waves. According to the old salts, those few who had made it back from beyond the western horizon, they came in many shapes, but they were all monstrous in size and temper. They lived only for their hunger and sated it with neither thought nor conscience. There was a bounty, never claimed, for any sailor who could bring back the eye of one such beast.

No one had ever managed it.

'Watch the depths. Hold your tongue.' He could not risk a panic, not among the rowers nor aboard the Llamrei. Yet if there was a Leviathan that had made its home in the Albion Sea, then all Five Kingdoms needed to know of it. It would care not for the boundaries of their realms. If vengeance took its fancy, it would drag down any vessel that crossed its path.

Arthur scanned the water before him, looking for anything moving down in the murk as they rowed, slow and cautious, past the floating piece of hull. A thick silence lay over the men at his back, tar-black and gilded at its edged with the flash of fear, but they were stout souls all, and they did not forget their purpose. Not that their search yielded much to speak of, at least not until the rise and fall of the ocean pushed them closer to the centre of the wreckage, and Owain gave a bellow from the port side.

'Survivor!'

Arthur whipped his head around, scanning the flotsam until he saw it: a flat piece wallowing in the water, threatening to go under with every wave that washed over it. The figure sprawled upon it did not stir, and Arthur wondered if Owain was too optimistic. From here, the man looked dead, pale and limp, yet he had clearly had the strength and savvy to climb atop the makeshift raft. He lay on his back, insensible to the cold water that still threatened, even now, to grasp him in its clutches.

'Haul him in!' Arthur ordered. 'Be quick about it!'

Some of his men reached for hooks and poles while the others tilted the oars, guiding their boat as close as they dared. Arthur lifted a foot onto the boat's side, braced and ready to jump in if it were necessary. Dead or alive, he could not lose this soul to the seas. At least one deserved to be buried with proper rites, if that was all he was good for, and if he yet lived?

Perhaps they'd get their answers after all.

He reached out and down, tangling his fingers in the sodden fabric of the man's tunic the moment he could reach. The others joined him, half the crew shifting to counter-balance the craft as they wrestled with the suck and swell of the tide. Arthur tried to ignore the coldness of the body beneath his touch as they manhandled him into the boat, laying him on the deck as they panted from the effort.

'Back to the Llamrei. Double-time!'

Arthur's fingers pressed to the hollow of the man's jaw as the oars dipped and splashed, his crew grunting as they threw their all into skimming back towards the safety of their Destrier. It took a moment, but at last a flutter of life stirred against his skin, thready and weak, but there all the same. It seemed Owain was right. They did have a survivor after all.

'Hey.' Arthur tapped the man's cheek, noticing his youth: younger than Arthur, if he had to guess, though perhaps only by a year or two. He had the rangy, lanky look of someone who'd lived a life on the uncomfortable cusp of not enough to eat, and the wet fabric of his clothes was simple and home-spun. 'Hey, come on. Open your eyes.'

Those dark lashes didn't so much as flutter, and Arthur whispered a curse as he patted down long limbs, checking for breaks and blood. The sea could batter a person to a pulp in a heartbeat, but there was no trace of harm. Not until he pressed his fingertips to the wet, black hair and drew them away to find a crimson stain. There was an impressive knot there, up high behind his ear. Something must have struck him, though he was otherwise in one piece.

Arthur only hoped it hadn't addled his wits.

The ropes were secured to the prow and stern, the pulleys squeaking their protests as the row boat was winched back up to the main deck. Lancelot was there immediately, thrusting the spyglass back into Elyan's grasp before he reached out, helping Arthur and Pellinor get their human salvage to safety.

He wasted not a moment, checking for a pulse as Arthur had done as others hurried to find a stretcher. Honestly, Arthur thought he was light enough to carry without breaking a sweat, but on a shifting ship it was all too easy to overbalance, and he had no wish to drop the newcomer on his already brutalised head.

'Well?' he demanded.

'Doesn't look too bad,' Lancelot decided. 'Skull seems sound, though he'll probably wake with a nasty headache. He's chilled through though. We'll get him out of these wet clothes and under some blankets, see if he doesn't come back to us before day's end.'

'See it done. Come and get me the moment he wakes.'

'Aye, Captain.'

Arthur stood back, watching Lancelot and Elyan lift the man's lax body onto the stretcher before bearing him away, a strange, still figure amidst the bustle of the Llamrei's crew.

'Your orders, Captain?'

He turned, blinking his way free of his thoughts to stare at Leon. Over on the starboard side, Gwaine's row boat had just settled into its cradle. Their time here was done. The remnants of the ship that had once sliced through the waves had given up all its secrets, and in Arthur's mind, none were so intriguing as the survivor.

Questions itched at him, but they would have to remain unanswered for a while yet. Until he awoke to tell his story, the newcomer would hold his silence, and Arthur would have to bear it as best he could.

'Resume our course for Camelot,' he said at last, tapping his hand on the ship's rail. The ring he wore chimed against the hardwood, and to Arthur's ears at least, it sounded like a death-knell: a final farewell to all who had found their watery grave here. All souls, it seemed, but one.

'Let's go home.'

[burnwater13]

Zander, Grogu, Kordi, Rowan, Roger, and the Mandalorian are standing on the hull of the Star Scavenger (LEGO Kit 75147). The ship sits on top of and in front of a lime green fabric.

“Rowan! Come back here! You can’t leave the Wheel without us!”

Grogu looked around and noticed the boy with the dark, curly hair running down the curving hallway that separated the docks and ship repair businesses on that level of the Wheel from the restaurants, barbers, and sundry shops. He didn’t know if the boy he saw running away was ‘Rowan’ or not, but he knew he wanted to find out. Whoever that boy was, he had a light saber dangling from his belt!

Fortunately, for a change, Grogu was in his hover pram and was able to follow the youngster at steady pace that didn’t give away his position or let him lose sight of him. It was going pretty well until the youngling stopped in front of door to a ‘outer’ space and hammered on it. A woman, with hair that looked like two dark brown pastry rolls fixed to her ears, opened the door and told ‘Rowan’ to hurry up and come in. They didn’t have long before the Emperor showed up.

The Emperor! What the heck! The Emperor was gone. Long gone. Gone for good. Gone because he was evil with a capital E and there could be no balance in the Force as long as he was still walking around Coruscant going Zappity Zap! Grogu knew he was gone. He could tell. The day Palpatine took that one way trip down a reactor shaft which should have been a bad day for anyone, including a Sith Lord, Grogu had felt the burden of that darkness lift off his shoulders. He felt lighter than air and had actually floated right out of his hiding place behind some crates on an old, beat up freighter. That had actually been fine, because the people operating the freighter were celebrating. He didn’t know how they knew Palpatine was gone, but they knew.

Now, somehow, Darth Sidious was back? That felt like the worst sort of dream. Why would he be back? Just to go after ‘Rowan’ for his lightsaber? Or was he going after the lady with the head buns? Or was he just on a vacation, like Grogu and his dad? Uff. Did it really matter? If Darth Sidious, also known as Sheev Palpatine, was coming to the Wheel, then Din Grogu better get the heck off the Wheel, before the Force shifted it’s balance. Grogu had been through that once and he had no desire to experience it again. 

He was about to just turn his hover pram right around and back track to the spot where his dad was probably looking for him, when he heard a familiar voice.

“Hey, have you seen a boy, about so high, with brown hair and a shirt that says ‘Jek is the Best’ go by here?”

It belonged to the person who’d been yelling for ‘Rowan’. She looked nice and a bit impatient. He knew the look. His dad wore that look under his helmet a lot. He didn’t think that Grogu knew about it, but Grogu did. He couldn’t not know about it. 

Grogu pointed at the door that Rowan had knocked on and shrugged his shoulders. 

“Really? He went to see her? Again! I told him to stay away from Naare! He knows she’s a Sith!”

What?! Another Sith on the station? That just didn’t seem fair. Grogu might have been able to get away from one Sith with out much trouble, but two? Wow, his dad wasn’t going to be happy about that.

On the other hand, Bun Ears didn’t seem like a Sith. She wasn’t angry. She’d been frightened. And concerned. Mostly concerned about Rowan. No Sith was ever concerned about anyone but themselves.

 Grogu waved his hand at the woman who stood there fuming, again, a lot like his dad,  trying to get her attention. 

“You try and raise them right. You do your best. You don’t let them follow Zander on everyone of his crazy schemes. You help him do his schoolwork because math just isn’t his thing. And what do you get? You get ‘Kordi, I have to save the Princess! Kordi, I have to save Luke! Kordi, I have to save Roger!’. But you never get, ‘Kordi, I have to save some credits so our business won’t go bankrupt and you’ll have to work as a server down at the quick turn food mart.’ No. You never get that.”

Grogu only understood about half of what ‘Kordi’ was saying, but he definitely understood how she was feeling. He focused on her and lifted her up using the Force.

“Rowan! Put me down this instant!”

Huh? Kordi knew that Rowan had powers? Was Rowan a Jedi? No. He couldn’t be. But he could use the Force. Other people who had never turned up at the Jedi Temple had been able to use the Force. 

Grogu put Kordi down as gently as he could, but apparently that was a mistake. She turned and looked right at him, her face kind of shocked, until it switched to a ‘look at the cute baby’ face. 

“You. You did that. You can use the Force?”

Kordi spoke faster than Peli Motto and Grogu was impressed by that. 

He nodded his head. No point lying to someone who knew a person who might also be a Jedi.

“Huh. I thought Luke Skywalker was the only Jedi left in the galaxy.”

They’d met Luke? Wow. 

Grogu shook his head again and pointed to himself and held up one finger. 

“Got it. You’re a Jedi, Luke’s a Jedi, and Rowan really, really, wants to be a Jedi. But there’s this Sith lady called Naare who tricked him and I can’t go through all that again. It was a nightmare.”

Grogu nodded and then clicked his tongue and shook his head. He held his hands next to his ears to try and mimic the shape of the pastry buns this person had. 

“You don’t think the person in there is Naare? Her hair was in double buns? Was she wearing a jacket with a patch that says, ‘I’m not with the Rebels, I am the Rebel!’”

Grogu thought for a moment, replaying that very brief moment he saw Bun Ears. Then he nodded his head vigorously. Yes, he’d seen that blue and gold rebel alliance symbol on her vest. He’d almost mistaken it for the ‘Jiffy Clean’ symbol he remembered from the Jedi Temple. ‘Jiffy Clean will get it clean in a jiffy’ was their tag line. He always wondered how long a jiffy was, but even Ian couldn’t answer his question. 

“That’s great! But why is Princess Leia on the Wheel?! She shouldn’t be here! It’s too dangerous!”

Grogu sighed. He thought he’d been helping Kordi. And anyway, why would Princess Leia be worried about Palpatine? He was gone! Grogu knew he was gone!Was there a new Emperor and no one had told Grogu about it? Had that happened while he and his dad were gallivanting around on Mandalore?! Just what the heck was going on?!

“Kordi, good you’re here! Come on in and bring your friend. We need to talk.”

Grogu looked up and saw the lady with the Bun ears and realized that she must be Princess Leia. She didn’t look like any princess he’d ever met, but then he probably didn’t look like any Jedi she’d ever met.

“You’re a little short to be a Jedi Master, but I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”

She was smiling at him and Grogu felt himself melting into something like a puddle. Good thing he was still in his hover pram, or he might have fallen to pieces.

[traveling-freebootah]

Stirring Vestiges

In the Segmentum Solar, soaring within a region of space once guarded by the late Kaptin Zagbad Grimgul, a horrific battle raged. Nob Gogstomp Spleentwister mashed the controls of his rickety command throne, fist slamming into the buttons with thunderous slams.

Emergency sirens screamed throughout the bridge, bathing the room in a flashing red as Orks scurried around. Multiple boys were patching a breach in the window with power tools, while others were screaming at her terminals. Explosions outside in the void lit up the bridge every few seconds, and Gogstomp could easily spy the tyranid bio-ship floating towards the Gog-Stompa. His grimace turned into a snarl, his claws digging into the ship controls in a furious panic.

The Razorfiend released a volley of organic missiles from its rippling carapace, and when those bleeding torpedos slammed into the Gog-Stompa’s hull, all Orks in the bridge toppled over from the sheer force. Gogstomp held himself in place thanks to his grip on the controls, righting his balance easily before screaming,

“Why ain’t any ‘o yoo firing da gunz!?” Most of the Orks around him kept desperately repairing, but one turned and blurted out,

“Da bugz blew em up aftah dat last round Kaptin, we ain’t got any more gunz ta use!” Just then a chunk of scrap tore free from the ceiling and fell on the Ork, reducing him to a red smear with a loud crunch.

“ZOG ME, I’z knew dis wozza bad idea from da start! Should’ve torn da wheel from yoo when I’z ‘ad da chance!” A fur wearing nob roared, the infamous second in command Bogpunch vaulting over ruined consoles and rushing over to Gogstomp. “Wot are we gonna do now eh, wot now!?”

Gogstomp nearly fell over when Bogpunch slammed into him shoulder first, the impact eliciting a sickening crack from the bigger Nobz ribs. His claws still hung onto the console however, and he shoved into Bogpunch violently, pushing the Ork off him and sending the nob crashing into a group of Boyz.

“We’z gonna board em, loike any Ork will do you bloody nitwit! Get da ships ready or else-“

“B-BOSS, BOSS, look!” A boy screamed, pointing at the window. All the Greenskin’s heads turned, and outside in the depths of space, a green tear had opened up beside the Razorfiend. As the Tyranid ship bore down on the Gogstompa, the green portal grew larger, until out of it sailed a ghastly Kroozer. The ship burst free from the rip and smashed into the bio-ship at a ridiculous speed. As metal bore into flesh, carapace cracked open and blood flowed outward into the void.

The Razorfiend shuddered in agony, tail thrashing uselessly as the Kroozer cut it in half and continued on, now drenched in the purple ichor of the now dying ship. All the Orks watched the blackish vessel in awe, and one brought a claw to his cheek in astonishment.

“Dat’s….Dat’s Zagbad’s Kroozer…”

Multiple Orks whirled on him, a ruckus ensuing as they each tried to figure out what just happened. But Gogstomp remained silent, watching the Kroozer float through the void and leave them behind. He swore he could hear something….it was as if someone was laughing.

“Bogpunch, get Grimgrod on da phone….somefing weird’s goin on.”

[sins-of-the-sea]

It seems Shylow's cousins have come for a visit!

The shadows all giggle and wiggle as they form a line of children lead by a very large humanoid bat. "Pardon the intrusion, Captain," the bat greets "my class today is learning about different sailing ships and Servac mentioned you wouldn't mind if we dropped in? He said you'd be happy to answer their questions."

The children are all practically scrambling over one another, their hands raised and begging to be called on first. Though that doesn't stop some from just calling out their questions before they can be picked.

"Why're there so many sales?"

"What's that big stick on the front for?"

"How's the wheel connected to the turny thingy under the water?"

"Where do you go to the bathroom?"

"Have you ever met a mermaid?"

"Have you ever punched Poseidon?"

"How do you pronounce anemimey- an- aninimy- amemory-"

@thegcblinfather

Use anon to send some children to ask my muse questions.

Abena couldn't help but tear up as she watches her husband beam joyously as he is being surrounded by so many children.

"Settle down! Settle down! We'll answer your questions! We're more than happy to!" He takes a moment to recompose himself. "We'll answer one at a time. Why don't we start with you, love? Why does a ship have many sails?"

"Oh, sweetie, it's because as much as boats can float, it's still very heavy and at the mercy of the waves! The bigger the boat, the more sails we'll need! Winds can only blow so hard with one sail, and depending on the weight of the vessel and its shape, it may not go very fast either! So a big boat with lots and lots of sails not only can make it go where it needs to go, but it can go really fast too! And you'll need those many sails to go the direction you'll need to go too! Now, Ruixiong, what is the big stick in the front for?"

"Ohhh, I got this! That big stick is called the bowsprit! Not every vessel has one, but when it does, it's intended to support the forestay--the rigging (rope) that supports the forwardmost sail. If it stick out far and strong enough, it can be used to support the figurehead as well--the lady that is carved or stuck onto the front of the ship's hull! It's a dangerous place to go unless you're an experienced sailor who can balance well, so don't try to walk the bowsprit on your own, children--you could fall off and hit the ship's hull along the way! And it'll hurt! As for the wheel connected to the 'turny thingy'… Rashid can do that one better!"

Rashid couldn't help but chuckle at the children's enthusiasm. "The wheel is called the 'helm', and usually the one tasked to handle it is called the 'helmsman'. The turny-thing in the water is called the 'rudder'. The helm is connected to the rudder by a series of beams, spindles, and other wheels within the back of the ship that directs the rudders a certain way when you turn the helm a certain way. It's not as easy as it looks--it's very heavy, the movement will not pick up subtle turns like it would for a car or bicycle, and the results of your movement may feel delayed. You'll also need to take account of the sails' direction to go where you need to go. That's why a ship needs more than just someone at the wheel--it needs a whole Crew. Now why don't you answer the one with the bathroom, Guy?"

"Why me?" The man chuckles nonetheless. "Back in the old days, we just use chamberpots-- ceramic pots where you do your business in them and collect the waste before you dump it overboard at later time. Eventually, though, ships may have a bathroom installed in them simply called the head--because it's located in the front-most part of the ship's hull below deck, just above the waterline. It simply uses gravity to get the gross stuff down, then we wash up with seawater if there is a pump or bucket for that. Our ship thankfully has a head, though if it gets stuffed up we know precisely who to blame."

Rashid glares as the rest of the Crew laugh.

"I'm afraid we have yet to meet a mermaid, children, though sometimes we like to think we do! No, we never punched Poseidon, I'm pretty sure that's rude. And-"

"…..What?"

"I think they mean 'anemone'. As in the sea anemone!"

"Of course! It's tricky in English, but we call it by other names in other languages, heh. Don't touch one if you see it, however! It can sting!"

[atlanticproducts1]

Everything You Need to Know About Choosing the Right Jet Ski Trailer

Introduction

If you’re a jet ski enthusiast, you know how important it is to have the right equipment—not just on the water, but off it too. A jet ski trailer might seem like a simple accessory, but in reality, it plays a critical role in how easily and safely you transport your personal watercraft (PWC). From choosing the right size to understanding material options, maintenance tips, and legal considerations, this guide will cover everything you need to know about finding the perfect jet ski trailer.

Why a Jet Ski Trailer Matters

A jet ski trailer is more than just a wheeled cart. It’s the connection between your garage and the water. A good trailer ensures:

Safe transport: Prevents damage to your jet ski.

Ease of loading/unloading: Especially helpful at launch ramps.

Longevity of your PWC: Reduces wear and tear when not in use.

Whether you’re towing a single jet ski or a pair, investing in the right trailer enhances your overall experience and protects your investment.

Types of Jet Ski Trailers

There are several types of jet ski trailers, and choosing the right one depends on your specific needs.

1. Single Jet Ski Trailer

Ideal for individuals or solo jet ski owners, this trailer carries one PWC. It’s lightweight, affordable, and easier to maneuver, making it perfect for smaller vehicles.

2. Double Jet Ski Trailer

If you own more than one jet ski or plan to ride with a friend, a double trailer is a practical choice. While it’s more expensive, it offers convenience and balance for transporting two PWCs at once.

3. Multi-PWC Trailer

These are custom trailers designed for three or more jet skis. Ideal for commercial use or families with multiple units, but they require larger towing vehicles and more space for storage.

Materials Used in Jet Ski Trailers

When choosing a jet ski trailer, the material it’s made of plays a crucial role in durability and performance.

● Galvanized Steel

Pros: Strong, affordable, rust-resistant.

Cons: Heavier than aluminum and can still corrode over time.

Best for: Occasional saltwater use or freshwater use.

● Aluminum

Pros: Lightweight, rust-proof, long-lasting.

Cons: More expensive than galvanized steel.

Best for: Frequent saltwater use or long-distance towing.

● Painted Steel

Pros: Budget-friendly.

Cons: Prone to rust, especially in salty environments.

Best for: Short-term or infrequent use in freshwater.

Key Features to Consider

Before purchasing a jet ski trailer, it’s important to know what features to look for:

● Bunks or Rollers

Bunks are padded rails that cradle your jet ski, while rollers make launching and retrieving easier. Choose according to your experience and preferred launch site.

● Winch and Winch Stand

A sturdy winch helps pull your PWC onto the trailer, and a padded winch stand provides additional support.

● Adjustable Bunks

Look for trailers with adjustable bunks to accommodate various jet ski models. This ensures a secure fit and reduces risk during transport.

● LED Lighting

Modern trailers often come with LED lighting, which is more reliable and visible than traditional bulbs, improving safety.

● Suspension and Tires

Good suspension absorbs road shocks, while high-quality tires prevent blowouts and increase towing comfort.

● Brakes (Optional but recommended)

If you're hauling more than one PWC or traveling long distances, trailer brakes are a wise safety addition.

Jet Ski Trailer Maintenance Tips

To extend the life of your jet ski trailer, regular maintenance is essential:

Rinse after every use: Especially if used in saltwater. Salt is corrosive and can damage the metal and electrical systems.

Check the tires: Monitor air pressure and tread wear. Rotate if necessary.

Inspect lights and wiring: Ensure all connections work properly before each trip.

Grease the wheel bearings: This reduces friction and prevents seizing.

Check bunks or rollers: Look for wear, tears, or warping that might damage your PWC hull.

Tighten all bolts and nuts: Vibration from travel can loosen parts over time.

Legal and Safety Considerations

While owning a jet ski trailer makes your adventures more convenient, it also comes with legal responsibilities:

Trailer registration: Most regions require that your trailer be registered with the appropriate authority.

License plate and lights: Functional brake lights, turn signals, and a visible plate are usually mandatory.

Towing capacity: Ensure your vehicle can handle the trailer’s weight plus the loaded PWC.

Safety chains and straps: Always secure your trailer to the towing hitch and use strong straps to hold your jet ski in place.

Storage Tips for Jet Ski Trailers

When not in use, storing your jet ski trailer properly is key to maintaining its condition:

Keep it off the ground: Use jack stands to prevent tire flat spots.

Cover it: Protect the trailer and jet ski from the elements with a waterproof cover.

Store in a shaded or indoor space: Minimizes sun damage and corrosion.

Cost of Jet Ski Trailers

The price of a jet ski trailer varies depending on its type, size, and materials:

Single trailers: $600 – $1,200

Double trailers: $1,000 – $2,000

Aluminum models: Usually 20-30% more expensive than steel versions

Used trailers: Often available for a lower price but require a careful inspection

Investing in a quality trailer from the start will save you money in repairs and replacements down the line.

Best Brands to Consider

Some reputable manufacturers known for quality jet ski trailers include:

Karavan Trailers

Triton Trailers

Load Rite

ShoreLand’r

Venture Trailers

When choosing a brand, read reviews, compare warranties, and consider the availability of parts or service in your area.

Final Thoughts

A jet ski trailer might not be as exciting as the watercraft it carries, but it's an essential piece of the puzzle for any PWC owner. The right trailer ensures you can enjoy your water adventures safely, efficiently, and without unnecessary stress. Whether you're a weekend warrior or a daily rider, investing in a durable, well-built trailer will give you peace of mind for every trip to the water.

[thetyreshophull]

Buy Cheap Winter Wheels Hull | The Tyre Shop

Buy Winter Wheels Hull from The Tyre Shop at Best Price. Order Winter Wheels Online in the UK And Get Discount On Tyre Fitting in Our Garages.

[www-coolschool]

Reality shifts dramatically around you as the timeline reconfigures to accommodate a world where the Opium Wars between Britain and China never occurred.

"China maintained control over its trade policies throughout the 19th century," a historian explains in what appears to be a Beijing university lecture. "The Imperial Modernization Program began in 1830."

You notice the profound architectural differences.

Chinese cities blend traditional and modern elements harmoniously, with none of the colonial structures that dominated in your original timeline.

"The Qing Dynasty's technological revolution rivaled Japan's Meiji Restoration," someone mentions. "Their industrial development happened on their own terms."

International relations developed along entirely different lines.

"China established diplomatic missions worldwide in the 1840s," a museum curator notes while guiding visitors through an exhibition. "Their cultural exchange programs influenced European art and philosophy profoundly."

Hong Kong evolved differently without British colonization.

"The Greater Bay Trading Zone has been a cooperative economic region for centuries," an economist explains. "Chinese sovereignty was never compromised."

You see evidence of earlier technological development.

"Chinese maritime engineering led the world by 1860," a naval historian shares. "Their steel-hulled steamships revolutionized global trade."

The social impact appears profound as well.

"Without widespread opium addiction, public health initiatives advanced earlier," a medical researcher notes. "Traditional Chinese medicine integrated with Western approaches on equal footing."

The ripple effects of a China untouched by the Opium Wars unfold before you in astonishing detail.

"Chinese democracy evolved naturally," a political scientist explains. "The Constitutional Monarchy of 1875 transitioned to the Federal Republic in 1911 without revolution."

Cultural preservation thrived without colonial interruption.

"The Imperial Archives never burned," a curator notes with reverence. "Our continuous historical record spans five millennia."

Technology developed along unique paths.

"The Chinese electrical grid was established in the 1850s," an engineer shares. "Their early focus on renewable energy—water wheels and wind catchers—created a different industrial revolution."

Medicine evolved through collaboration rather than domination.

"The Beijing Medical Exchange hosted doctors from worldwide," a physician mentions. "Integrative medicine became the global standard by 1900."

The global balance of power remained multipolar.

"China, India, Ottoman Empire, and European powers maintained equilibrium," a diplomat explains. "Colonialism was limited by mutual respect treaties."

Language learning took a different direction.

"Mandarin became the second global language of commerce," a linguist notes. "Most world universities require it alongside English."

You notice maps showing different borders, books detailing different wars, and art depicting a world where Eastern and Western powers met as equals.

[greatparadisestrawberry]

All of your intellectualizing is done for a while, so let your gray matter relax.

Picture yourself embarking on a grand voyage across the vast ocean of existence, your life's ship setting sail toward horizons bright with promise and allure. The winds of change fill your sails with invigorating gusts, propelling you towards novel experiences and uncharted territories where adventure beckons. Yet, as you navigate these thrilling waters, there is an anchor that tethers you to the familiar shores of your past - an anchor formed by lasting bonds and cherished memories.

In this journey, it's crucial not to be so swept away by the siren call of new escapades that you sever the ropes connecting you to this anchor. For in those depths lie treasures just as valuable as any awaiting in distant lands: loyal companions who have weathered storms beside you and activities that have steadied your vessel during turbulent times.

General:

As dawn breaks over your personal sea each day, remember that every sunrise need not herald a complete reinvention of self or circumstance. There is profound beauty in the balance between pioneering spirit and steadfast traditions; both are essential navigational tools for a fulfilled life course. Embrace innovation but do so without discarding what has proven its worth through time's relentless test.

Health:

Your body is akin to a trusty ship navigating daily voyages - treat it well, keep it seaworthy. Amidst exploring exotic wellness trends or cutting-edge fitness regimes, don't overlook the basic maintenance rituals that keep your hull strong and watertight: nourishing meals like dependable currents sustain energy levels; restorative sleep acts as repairs under moonlight ensuring readiness for tomorrow's endeavors; laughter shared with old friends serves as fresh air dispelling any lingering fog around one's heart.

Love:

In matters of love, consider how ancient mariners relied upon both stars unseen before their eyes yet also charted maps inked through experience. As new connections sparkle on distant shores capturing attention with their luster, remember too those constellations already mapped within your heart - relationships cultivated over time which provide guidance no less brilliant than first light discoveries.

Rekindle embers with significant others by carving out moments amidst life's busy ports-of-call for intimate exchanges free from distractions-an evening walk along familiar deck planks can be just as enchanting when shared silently under twilight skies.

Work:

Professionally speaking, while seeking treasure troves brimming with golden opportunities may lead one towards bold ventures into unknown market seas or innovative career islands-value equally those coins already nestled within purse strings earned from dedication at known trades.

Balance ambition's compass toward advancement against respect for roles mastered previously-the wisdom gained therein often provides safe passage through unforeseen squalls business climates may brew unexpectedly ahead.

Keep hands steady at wheel combining insights gleaned from diverse encounters steering clear reefs complacency might conceal beneath beguiling calm surfaces maintaining diligence till anchors aweigh once more onto promising vocational vistas beyond horizon line yet always appreciating harbor lights left aglow behind signaling safe return whenever sought anew.

May today find you sailing confidently forward but ever mindful of ties anchoring deeply below-a captain wise enough to know treasures abound both in adventures forthcoming and histories embraced alike.

[mekhidevon]

The Rise of A New Pantheon

Chapter 9: Big Fish

The entire fleet of The Rat King pursued two rogue battleships, operated by Mekhi and Rose. Mekhi immediately commanded anyone who could operate the cannons to immediately man their battle stations. Mekhi and Rose's ships already suffered damages around the hull and they had to act fast. Mekhi rushed to Leo who was in charge with steering the ship. "Turn starboard 60 degrees! We can't afford to suffer too many hits from behind." "Aye Captain!" Leo summed up his strength and turned the steering wheel starboard side, the ship began turning to a mere 60 degrees. "Fire!" Mekhi's ship began trading blows with one of The Rat King's fleet. "Isolate the ship at the farthest right!"

Rose had her ship turned port side as she paced around the deck, having the other prisoners tend the wounded before walking up to one of the braces that was attached to the crow's neck. "Get me on board Cornelius!" She held onto it tightly with one hand before before pulling out one of her flintlocks before shooting the lock, she flung to the top and landed ontop of the crow's nest before pulling out her spyglass, analyzing the deck. Mekhi could spot Rose's ship heading towards another ship. "What the fuck are you doing?" Mekhi looked up and saw Rose with a spyglass.

Rose lowered the spyglass as she sensed someone was looking at her. She looked at Mekhi, giving him a soft nod, telling him to trust her. Mekhi sighed softly in defeat, shaking his head in disapproval as he hd no choice but to trust her on this on. "Alright.. Plan's changed.. Cover Rose's ship.. We have to give her suppressing fire for her to board the ship. "Our ship can handle the damage, hers can't."

"Aye!" Derrick nodded in response before immediately commanding the firing squad to change tactics. "New target! 300 meters southwest! Southwest!" The cannons immediately shifted to a new target after decommissioning one of their enemy's ship. Derrick turned around and saw that the ship was equipped with flammable cannon balls. He grabbed one of the prisoner's shoulder who was manning the cannon next to him. "Switch to shells! We have decommission that ship with haste!"

The Rat King was frustrated as he had already lost one ship and this was unacceptable. Sure, he had the fleet but most of his men were heavily inexperienced. "Fire that ship!!" He yelled while pointing towards Rose's ship which was closing in with one of his ships. The King had a secret weapon up his sleeve. He had a huge cannon right infront of his ship and it was far bigger compared to Mekhi's arsenal. The cannon had an explosive shell as he once again stole it from Lian and Lian was known to have the most advanced weaponry in their time.

They were heavily specified to bring mass destruction. The cannon fired and caused a huge firing sound that immediately caught everyone's attention. Rose's eyes widened as she saw the shell immediately exploded through the hull, causing instant damage. Once the shell had made contact, the ship immediately began shaking uncontrollably, causing her to almost fall from the crow's neck. "Rose!!" Mekhi shuddered in fear for Rose's life. Rose grunted as she managed to get back ontop of the crow's nest but the ship was already in chaos.

"Rose! We have to pull back!" Cornelius gazed up at her, awaiting for her order. "No! We're almost there!" "Start firing on his ship!" Mekhi provided suppressing fire for Rose but The Rat King also began attacking him and even though they had flammable shells, it barely had an effect. Rose's ship was already only a few meters away from the isolated ship. Cornelius had made sure Rose had enough distance for her to board the ship safely. Rose began crossing from her ship's sail to the enemies and she was amazingly good with balancing herself. She was a natural as she had gone through multiple rigorous training when she was still a kid. The prisoner's began boarding the enemy ship and there was a huge fight on the deck. Rose dropped from the sails and landed ontop of the bandits, driving her sword through his chest before pulling out two of her flintlocks from her holsters before firing at two bandits that were charging up to her.

Rose dropped both flintlocks before dashing towards an unsuspecting enemy before slicing the back of his neck. She was too fast for anyone to be prepared for her. The Rat King's frustration only grew, He was handling two battles at once ad that was the time he decided to up the stakes. The remaining fleet had surrounded Rose's ship while he was focusing up on Mekhi's. "Fire another round!" He yelled angrily as the cannon slowly pointed directly towards Mekhi's shift. "Shite.. Port side port side! We can't tank it facing forward! Smoke shells! Blind the bastard" Mekhi saw the cannon was lining up on them. "Lose that cannon! Get it off our asses!" Mekhi rushed to the cockpit as Leo gritted his teeth as he turned the steering wheel as hard as he can.

Smoke shells were fired towards the cannon and it caused The Rat King's attack to delay a couple of seconds. "Blow a fucking hole into that mouth!!" Derrick yelled and ordered all cannons that were not decommissioned to fire their shells directly into the mouth of the cannon. "Open wide motherfucker!" Derrick lowered his arm and dozens of shells flung towards the huge cannon, causing a huge cloud of smoke that covered the entire ship. Mekhi winced, trying to see if his plan had worked.

The horrifying sound of machine gears clanking as the cannon was untouched. The barrel pierced through the smoke as the ship continued to move forward. "All Mother have mercy.." The cannon fired a huge explosive shell that was fired from the ship and Mekhi's ship barely dodged that as it's accuracy wasn't that good. "Keep firing!"

"Can this thing go any faster!?" Mekhi turned to Leo who was already sweating profusely as he had to control such a huge steering wheel. "I'm on it captain!" "Get us closer to that thing.." Mekhi had no other option but to board the ship the Rat King was on. "Y-You're crazy-" Leo gazed up at him with uncertainty in his eyes. "I know." Rose on the other hand was suffering major losses as her crew were outnumbered due to most of the fleet closing in. She needed immediate assistance and sighed in relief as he saw Mekhi's ship heading towards the main ship.

Mekhi's ship kept firing smoke bombs infront of the ship, barring any vision from all sides which worried the Rat King as he didn't know how close Mekhi's ship already is until feeling the ship shake uncontrollably as Mekhi purposely collided his own ship against his. "Fuuuuckk!! You all are fucking useless!!" The Rat King yelled angrily at his men. "Don't let them board the ship!" Battle cries could be heard as Mekhi's men began boarding his ship with Mekhi leading the charge.

"Derrick! Find a way where we can have access to that cannon!" Derrick nodded in response and quickly rushed into the cabin with a handful of prisoners. A bunch of men circle around Mekhi with variants of weapon he could only recognize from Lian. He knew The Rat King and the now deceased King of Lian had business with each other and had ties with the slave trade. That was why he was able to create such a strong army. "I'll have your head Marauder!" A soldier with Lian armor smirked softly and was the first one to charge towards him. Mekhi had studied the armor and knew exactly where the weak spots were. Mekhi dashed past him and was able to finish him off quickly but immediately took a step back as another soldier swung his sword downwards towards him. Mekhi clashes blades with him and quickly unsheathed his other one as another guy was coming up to him.

Derrick and the others fought their way to the room where the cannon was operated. Derrick immediately kicked down the door and saw a man who had their gun pointed at them as he looked at them in fear. "Please.. I never wanted this.." The man shuddered in fear as his hand was trembling as he didn't want to shoot Derrick.

"Listen, kid.. Drop the weapon down and we'll find a way to resolve this without having your head cut off because you nearly killed us all!" Derrick spat and threatened to throw a punch before backing away. "Piece of shit.. Now.. Operate that goddamn thing and shoot those ships." The young man immediately obeyed and began operating the thing, the cannon slowly shifted its barrel towards an enemy ship, panting heavily as he knew he was against the Rat King's wishes. He was hesitant to step on the pedal and Derrick found this to be such an inconvenience. He pointed his flintlock at the back of his head to persuade him.

"He won't like it.. But I'm sure as hell he won't be the one to kill you if you don't step on the goddamn pedal." The man winced while tearing up before firing the cannon towards an enemy ship. Immediately blowing it up since it was a fairly small ship. Rose turned to look up and see a ship that was closing in immediately exploded and saw that Mekhi had hijacked the mother ship, making her smirk softly. "You bastard.." Though, it wasn't as good as she thought it was.

Mekhi and his men were heavily outmatched and lost a good number of people that the Rat King's men ruthlessly threw them overboard. Mekhi was tiring himself out as every man he killed, there seemed to be another two spawning in. He groaned in frustration as his whole body was getting fatigued. Rose went back into her ship and headed towards the mother ship to assist Mekhi but all was too late as once she boarded the ship.

Mekhi was on his knees along with the rest of his men with guns and blades pointed directly to their heads. "So nice of you to join us.." The Rat King smirked softly while sitting on his own little throne.

End of Chapter 9

[boatmanufacturermelbourne]

Premium Fishing Boats for Sale: Models, Features & Pricing!

When it is about buying cutting-edge, cost-effective, and durable fishing boats for sale, boat enthusiasts can explore an extensive range offered by well-known Australian boat manufacturing brands.

Anyone can buy a fishing boat for sale from a variety of featuring models like the 625 Sport Fish, 580 Sport Fish, 535 Sport Fish, and the 495 Sport Fish. These fishing vessels are meticulously crafted, and cater to fishing and spending quality time with families and friends, the perfect blend of functionality and comfort on the water.

Models, Features, and Pricing of Sports Fishing Boats:

The flagship 625 Sport Fish, designed purely for fishing and versatility, comes with single or twin-engine applications. Well-known manufacturers provide the company-ready for offshore adventures targeting saltwater species.

The 580 Sport Fish, with its cuddy cabin, manufacturers built to strike the balance between fishing prowess and family fun. Its long freeboard, spacious cabin area, and abundant storage make it an ideal family runabout.

People can buy this 535 Sport Fish boat model renowned for its classic 21-degree deep vee deadrise hull, which offers roomy yet affordable cuddy cabin comfort. Its clean lines, rated to 130 horsepower, and standard features like a sports steering wheel and rear bait tank make it an excellent platform for fishing and family outings.

Those seeking an entry-level model, can buy 495 Sport Fishing boats from branded manufacturers that deliver exceptional value for money. Weighing approximately 500kg and rated to 90 horsepower, this model is perfect for the average Aussie family looking for an all-round fishing and family boat. The ergonomic design, ample dash space, side coaming storage, and underfloor stowage locker make it a practical and comfortable choice.

When it comes to pricing, well-established brands provide competitive pricing without compromising on quality.

Moreover, when anyone investing in premium fishing boats, ensure durability, functionality, and an unparalleled on-water experience with a secure vessel that aligns with the fishing aspirations and family enjoyment on the water.

Source

[dtaylor67]

Tips for Properly Balancing and Distributing Weight on a Rowing Boat Trailer ?

A Smooth Glide: Tips for Balancing and Distributing Weight on a Rowing Boat Trailer (UK)

A perfectly balanced rowing boat trailer is the key to a smooth journey, both for your boat and your towing vehicle. Uneven weight distribution can lead to trailer sway, tire wear, and even damage to your precious rowing boat. Here are some tips to ensure your rowing adventure starts and finishes on the right foot (or oar!):

Know Your Trailer

Every rowing boat trailer [Rowing Boat Trailer uk] is different. Before you load your boat, consult your trailer’s manual to understand its weight capacity and recommended weight distribution. This will be a crucial factor in determining how to position your boat for optimal balance.

Center of Gravity is Key

The ideal weight distribution places the center of gravity of your boat slightly forward of the trailer’s axles. This creates a slight downward pressure on the tow hitch, improving steering control and preventing trailer sway. Visualize the weight of your boat — you want it balanced just ahead of the wheels.

Secure and Support

Use adjustable bunks or rollers specifically designed for your rowing boat. These cradles should comfortably support the hull without putting undue pressure on any one point. Adjust the bunks or rollers to ensure even weight distribution across the trailer’s frame.

Gear Up and Tie Down

Once your boat is positioned, it’s time to secure your cargo. Use high-quality straps or tie-downs to firmly secure your rowing boat to the trailer. Crisscross the straps in a secure pattern to prevent any movement during transport. Remember to secure any additional gear you might be transporting, such as oars or life jackets, to prevent them from becoming projectiles during transit.

Double-Check for Peace of Mind

Before hitting the road, take a moment to double-check everything. Ensure all straps and tie-downs are secure, the lights on your trailer are functioning properly, and the tires are properly inflated according to the weight you’re carrying.

Expert Help When Needed

If you’re unsure about any aspect of loading or securing your rowing boat, don’t hesitate to seek help from a qualified mechanic or trailer specialist. Their expertise can ensure your boat arrives safely and your journey is a success.

Explore the UK Waterways

With a properly balanced and secure rowing boat trailer, you’re ready to explore the beautiful waterways of the United Kingdom. Whether you’re gliding across a serene lake or navigating a majestic river, a well-maintained trailer ensures a stress-free journey.

Looking for a Trailer?

De Graaff Trailers [De Graaff Trailers] offers a wide selection of trailers, not just for rowing boats! They have everything from sailing boat trailers [Sailing Boat Trailer uk] and new boat trailers for sale [New Boat Trailer For Sale uk] to ship trailers [Ship Trailers uk] and even houseboat trailers [Houseboat Trailers uk]. Visit their website to find the perfect trailer for your next aquatic adventure!