#Shipwreck emergency

[mapecl-stories]

[whumptober]

WHUMPTOBER 2024: PROMPTS LIST

Welcome to Whumptober 2024 — Seventh Time's a Charm!

Please make sure to read the Event Info and FAQ below carefully, as most of your questions will be answered there already. For everything else, you are welcome to come to our ask box or ask questions in our Discord server here.

This year’s AO3 Collection can be found here.

This year's playlist can be found here.

And the Anatomy of a Whumptober Prompt post can be found here.

We’re very excited to see the community come together for another year of Whumptober! Go wild with the prompts, and support your fellow creators - we wish you all the fun!

Best of luck and happy whumping,

Mods Vanne, Yenn, Kitty and Surro

(Text versions of the prompts, as well as event information, rules and FAQ are posted below the cut!)

Whumptober 2024 Prompt List

No. 1: RACE AGAINST THE CLOCK

Search Party | Panic Attack | "If only we could hold on.” (Icysami x Renegaderr, Strangers.)

No. 2: TRUST ISSUES

Amusement Park | Role Reversal | “You got away with the crime while the knife's in my back.” (Charlotte Sands, Rollercoaster)

No. 3: SET UP FOR FAILURE

Fingerprints | Wrongfully Arrested | "I warned you."

No. 4: HALLUCINATIONS

Hypnosis | Sensory Deprivation | “You're still alive in my head.” (Billy Lockett, More)

No. 5: SUNBURN

Healing Salve | Heatstroke | "If my pain will stretch that far." (Lottery Winners, Burning House)

No. 6: NOT REALISING THEY'RE INJURED

Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms | Healed Wrong | "It's not my blood."

No. 7: ONLY FOR EMERGENCIES

Unconventional Weapon | Magic with a Cost | "It's us or them."

No. 8: SLEEP DEPRIVATION

Isolation Chamber | Forced to Stay Awake | "Leave the lights on." (Coldplay, Midnight)

No. 9: OBSESSION

Broken Window | Bruises | “Frame me up on the wall, just to keep me out of trouble.” (Fall Out Boy, Irresistible)

No. 10: BLOW TO THE HEAD

Slurred Words | Passing Out from Pain | "I can't think straight."

No. 11: SEEING DOUBLE

Convenience Store | Loneliness | “Leave no trace behind, like you don't even exist.” (Taylor Swift, Illicit Affairs)

No. 12: STARVATION

Underground Caverns | Cannibalism | "Just a little more."

No. 13: TEAM AS A FAMILY

Familial Curse | Multiple Whumpees | "Death will do us part." (Set It Off, Partner's In Crime)

No. 14: LEFT FOR DEAD

Hunting Gear | Blackmail | “Because I want you to know what it feels like to be haunted” (tiLLie, kooL aiD mAn)

No. 15: CHILDHOOD TRAUMA

Painful Hug | Moment of Clarity | "I did good, right?"

No. 16: NECROSIS

Swamp | Wound Cleaning | "No, I can't feel anything."

No. 17: NOWHERE ELSE TO GO

Ruined Map | Shipwrecked | "We had a good run."

No. 18: REVENGE

Unreliable Narrator | Loss of Identity | “I see what's mine and take it.” (Panic! at the Disco, Emperor's New Clothes)

No. 19: BLOOD TRAIL

Abandoned Cabin | One Way Out | "Is there anybody alive out there?" (Bruce Springsteen, Radio Nowhere)

No. 20: EMOTIONAL ANGST

Shoulder to Cry On | Giving Permission to Die | "It's not your fault."

No. 21: BODY HORROR

Body Horror | Tattoo Gun | Spirit Possession | “Let the bedsheet soak up the tears.” (Apparat feat. Soap & Skin, Goodbye)

No. 22: BLEEDING THROUGH BANDAGES

Tourniquet | Reopening Wounds | "Oh that's not good."

No. 23: FORCED CHOICE

Public Display | Broken Pedestal | "I'm doing this for you."

No. 24: RADIATION POISONING

Collapsed Building | Equipment Failure | “I never knew daylight could be so violent.” (Florence + The Machine, No Light, No Light)

No. 25: SURGERY

Stitches | Being Monitored | "It's for your own good."

No. 26: NIGHTMARES

Breakfast Table | Parting Words of Regret | “I'm haunted by the lies that I have loved, the actions I have hated.” (Poe, Haunted)

No. 27: VOICELESS

Laboratory | Muzzled | “I have no mouth and I must scream.”

No. 28: DENIAL

CCTV | Exposure | "They caught me red handed."

No. 29: FATIGUE

Labyrinth | Burnout | "Who said you could rest?"

No. 30: RECOVERY

Hospital Bed | Holding Back Tears | "What have I done?"

No. 31: ASKING FOR HELP

Therapy | Making Amends | "I'm alive, I'm just not well." (Elliot Lee, Alive, Not Well.)

Alternatives List:

Body Swap

Communication Barrier

Finding Old Messages

Forgotten

Friendly Fire

Motion Sickness

No-Holds-Barred Beatdown

Regret

Secrets Revealed

Shivering

Survivor's Guilt

Time Loop

Used As Bait

Venom

Vermin

Event Info & Rules

WHUMPTOBER is a month-long, prompt-based creation challenge (think: Inktober, but whumpier). There are 31 official themes this year - one for each day of the month - which can be used, skipped, or combined in any way you’d like. They are meant to serve as inspiration without being taken literally (e.g. you don’t have to include the exact wording of prompts into your work). Feel free to run rampant on interpretation. For example, if the prompt is “flame", you could create something with reference to a candle/campfire, your character could have suffered a burn, or the flame could be a reference to an ‘old flame’ - an old relationship. It’s truly down to you!

In total, there are 4 prompts for each day. These are optional suggestions and can be used in conjunction with the theme, or as options/alternatives.  We want to give everyone as much creative freedom as possible, as well as increase event accessibility for folks with triggers and squicks. There is also a list of 15 alternative prompts that can be subbed in for any day, again to give participants as much creative freedom as possible.

Creators can PRODUCE work in any media they choose, including but not limited to: writing, visual artwork, photo/video/audio edits, paper crafts and elaborate recommendation lists (not just a list of links). Creators can PARTICIPATE as much or as little as they want (i.e. you don’t have to do ALL the prompts if you don’t want to) and prompts can be used in any order. They are also free to use even after the event ends.

When uploading Whumptober content to your blog, be sure to tag it with:

#whumptober2024 …..(the event tag)

#no.1, #no.2, #no.3, …..(theme number)

#bruises, #stabbing, …..(the theme or specific prompt you chose)

#altprompt …..(if you use an altprompt, tag the post with the number of the prompt you replace)

#fandom or #OC, …..(ironman, original content, oc, etc.)

#medium …..(gifs, fic, podcast, art, etc.)

#teeth, #etc …..(trigger warnings & any additional tags. Keep in mind not to add “tw” in front but only use the word/trigger itself)

#nsfwhump …..(only for nsfw content)

#your own tags go here

PLEASE BE DILIGENT WITH YOUR TAGGING. Only properly tagged posts are considered for archiving on the official @whumptober-archive blog. They must be tagged in the order above. An elaborate post about our tagging system can be found [here]

Unfortunately, due to the sheer number of participants in recent years, we cannot guarantee your work will be archived. A random selection of properly tagged posts from all genres will be reblogged each day.

Whumpers who produce content for 31 total theme days are considered event completionists and will be tagged in a masterpost at the end of the month. A form will be published at the beginning of November asking you to tell us if you completed. This is based on trust and we will not check this.

Frequently Asked Questions

Please read this before you send an ask!

TIMELINE

July: Trope voting form released. Late August: Prompt list is released for at least four weeks of preparation time. Tropes cannot be posted earlier than August 25th because of Moderator obligations in real life. (But, you know, go ahead and start writing/drawing, and add the themes in later, if you want!) September: Do as much or as little on your works as you want. You can prepare everything in advance or let September go by with vibes and start working in October. It’s up to you. October 1st: Challenge begins! A storm of whump breaks upon us all! During this time, some posts will be reblogged to the whumptober archive blog. We open the yearly AO3 collection for posting (optional). November 1st: The challenge is officially over! Completionist form opens for those who want to be included in the hall-of-fame. Early November: We release completionist and participant badges, solicit feedback, and post a hall-of-fame list of completionists by the 10th.

PARTICIPATION AND COMPLETION

Q: What counts as participation? Create or continue at least one work inspired by one of this year’s prompts. Q: What counts as completion? Creating work(s) inspired by at least one prompt from each day (or alts), for a total of 31 unique prompts. Q: Do I need to create 31 works? No. You can, if you want. Or you can create one work that you add to every day with a new prompt. Or several works that combine prompts. You can also update an existing work by adding new material with the current prompts. Q: Do I need to post my works somewhere to be a completionist or a participant? No. Q: How do you know I actually completed the challenge? We’ll take your word for it! Q: Do I have to finish my work(s) to be a completionist? No, you can post WIPs. And you’re not obligated to finish them in October, but if you want it to count towards being a completionist, you must have completed 31 prompts by the end of the month. So for example, if you’re writing a long fic and you fit 31 different prompts into the writing you did in October, it’s okay if that fic isn’t finished by the time October ends, you’ll still be a completionist. Q: Is co-writing/illustrating allowed? Yes, absolutely, and it would count towards being a completionist for both/all of you. Q: Is there a min/max limit on word count for written works? No. Q: Is there a min/max limit of quality for art? No. Q: Do I have to do something each day to be a completionist? No. You can skip days whenever you want, and as long as 31 daily prompts (or alts) are in your works done in October, you can be a completionist. For example, if you wrote a 1000-word ficlet that covers prompts in days 2, 3, and 17, you can check all three days off your list even though it’s only one work. Q: Is this challenge just for fics? No! Artworks, GIFsets, headcannons, rec lists, poetry, moodboards, or any other creative work is encouraged. Q: Can I combine Whumptober with other creation challenges? Absolutely, as long as the other challenges allow it too.

PROMPTS

Q: How do the prompts work? There are FOUR prompts per day: a theme and three ideas. You can use one, two, three, or all four prompts for each day. If you don’t like any of the daily prompts, you can substitute one of the ALT prompts instead. Q: How strictly/literally should we interpret the prompts? As literally or as figuratively as you want. For example, if the theme is WATER, that could mean drowning, waterboarding, raining, swimming, take place underwater, be lost at sea, construct a metaphor about a character’s mood that changes like a flowing river, crying, or whatever else you can think of that fits that theme. Q: Can I combine prompts? Is there a limit on how many? No limit and combine as many as you’d like. If you create a work that checks off multiple prompts, that work will count for a fill of multiple prompts. You need to address 31 different prompts to be an official completionist, but you don’t have to produce 31 separate works.

WORKS

Q: What’s whump? Hurting a character, whether that’s physically, emotionally, intellectually, psychologically, or any other way you can think of. Comfort afterwards is optional. Angst is emotional whump, so it counts. Q: How do I know if it’s whumpy enough? If your character is just mildly inconvenienced, it probably needs more whump. However, no participant has to prove whumpiness to the mods. Whatever you write is up to you. Q: What kind of characters can I create for? Anything. Generic “whumpee,” OC, PC, NPC, major characters, minor characters, or whatever you want. There are no limits. Q: Does it have to take place in a specific fandom? No, you can create works for your own worlds or for fandoms or for both. You can also create more generic or pan-fandom works. You can do cross-overs or use OCs, whatever you want. Q: Can I create AI-created works? We will not reblog or promote any works we know to be generative AI-created. Q: Is there anything we’re not allowed to write? As long as it contains whump and is based on our prompts, it’s fine. Please courtesy tag your works if you post them so people who follow the #whumptober2024 tag can filter according to their preferences. Q: What about sex, minor characters, and potentially disturbing content? You can create whatever works are legal in your country and post them accordingly. Please courtesy tag anything you think might be objectionable if you post to Tumblr so people who follow the #whumptober2024 tag can filter according to their preferences.

POSTING

Q: Where can I post my work? Post where and how you want. You don’t even have to (cross)post it to Tumblr. Just keep in mind if it’s not on Tumblr we will not be able to add it to the blog archive. There is an AO3 archive for Whumptober 2024, as well as the parent collection for works completed outside of the event. Q: Can I start posting early? You can, but this is an October event and wouldn’t it be more fun with everyone doing it at the same time? We won’t be reblogging any work predating October 1st. Q: Can I post late? Yes. For the sake of our hardworking Post Fairies, only a day’s themes will be reblogged to @whumptober-archive each day of October. But you can post whenever. Some of us are still working on and posting Whumptober fics from years ago. Q: Do I have to use your tags? Only on Tumblr and only if you want us to reblog your work on @whumptober-archive. Q: How do I have my works reblogged to the archive? Properly tagged posts will be reblogged to @whumptober-archive. If you want the official archive blog to reblog you, post on Tumblr and tag correctly (see this FAQ link for more info on tagging). Please note not all posts will be reblogged each day. Q: Can we @ you? For questions and comments, of course. We’ll be getting a flood of notifications, so if you really want us to see something send an ask. Q: Can I cross post on other blogs? Yes, multiple platforms and blogs are perfectly acceptable, as long as they allow cross-posting (to us). You can also post different works to different accounts under different names, without posting them everywhere at once. If you post some works under your main and others under an alt blog, that’s fine for completionist purposes. Q: Can I upload/repost my Whumptober content to other social media platforms? Of course! We’ve created an AO3 Collection to archive any fics posted there, which can be found here. The blog is the official archive, so please respect the personal boundaries of any whumpers in your social circle (don’t out anyone as a participant who would prefer not to be outed).

Most importantly, have fun, create, and enjoy all the whump posted this October!

[streetsofdublin]

HOWTH RNLI LIFEBOAT STATION

For nearly 190 years an all-weather lifeboat has launched into Dublin Bay from Howth and the crews have been honoured with 20 awards for gallantry.

SATURDAY 19 AUGUST For nearly 190 years an all-weather lifeboat has launched into Dublin Bay from Howth and the crews have been honoured with 20 awards for gallantry. Today the station operates both a Trent class lifeboat and an inshore D class lifeboat. The Royal National Lifeboat Institution (RNLI) is the largest charity that saves lives at sea around the coasts of the United Kingdom,…

[listen-to-the-inner-walrus]

you know, if you ever want to learn more about boats and ships from history or randomly develop a special interest for them, you probably need a warning that when youre looking up stuff about any ship, theres a 65-70% chance something about the fucking titanic will come up

[phantomrose96]

The timeline for Pikmin 2 is so funny because like, Olimar's been missing-presumed-dead for an entire month (rightfully so, considering how very dead Olimar should have been with the events in Pikmin 1) and he escapes by the skin of his teeth and beelines it back home with the desperate desire to see his wife and children who've probably been starring on Dateline: Hocotate every day for the last month to be grilled about their tragically missing father.

And instead. Instead. The absolute literal second Olimar's ship docks down, his fucking boss of all people comes running out of the woodwork and shakes him by the shoulders going "Terrible news Olimar your new coworker fucked up and now we're $10 million in debt! Go immediately back to that planet you escaped from and hunt its wildlife to extinction in order to collect enough valuable treasure to pay this off."

Like we're not even gonna let Olimar brush his teeth huh? Not gonna shove some antibiotics in him for the undiscovered foreign pathogens clinging to his suit? This man survived 30 days on 10 days of emergency rations and probably a few bulborbs once he got hungry enough to no longer care about the parasites. Not a hello? Not a 'you're alive'? Not a coffee?

What the hell does this even look like from the President's perspective? Your shipwrecked presumed dead employee whose life insurance policy paperwork is sitting on your desk shows back up out of the literal sky, down 20% of his bodyweight covered in superficial injuries smelling like gangrene and carrying himself with the haunted and (no, dare I say, passionate?) look in his eyes of someone who has learned to indiscriminately kill for the sake of survival.

And your first thought is "oh thank god my single competent employee isn't actually dead. I need to exploit him as soon as possible."

President's so fucking lucky Olimar is both a broken salaryman and also deranged enough to find wonder in the hostile world that so very wants to rip him to pieces. If I were Olimar I'd have killed President and Louie on the spot.

[girlonthelasttrain]

There are several NGO-funded ships currently operating in the central Mediterranean Sea with the specific intent of saving migrants from what has been for years one of the deadliest migration routes in the world. Here is partial list:

Geo Barents (Médecins Sans Frontières)

Ocean Viking (SOS Méditerranée)

Aurora, Sea Watch 3 and Sea Watch 5 (Sea Watch)

Life Support (Emergency)

Open Arms and other ships (Open Arms)

Another important resource for migrants in distress at sea is the hotline AlarmPhone.

Since 2016 these rescue missions have become more and more onerous to fund as EU countries have progressively strengthened the Frontex program while at the same time criminalizing NGO-led search and rescue operations. (Italy has been at the forefront of this trend, and a shipwreck on the coast of Calabria in late February this year only managed to strengthen the resolve of the current government to make it even more complex for NGOs to try and rescue migrants.) So while it definitely won't solve the root issue, donating to these NGOs still has a tangible effect.

[i-am-still-bb]

Whumptober 2022 - No. 10 - Alt. No. 14 - Emergency blanket

DarkHawk T

--

Ross woke up to someone trying to break down his back door.

“What?” he demanded.

Cold wind swirled in through the back door and instantly dropped the temperature in the kitchen. The pounding rain made it impossible to see beyond the paved yard.

“There’s been a wreck,” the man said breathlessly. “On the cliffs just below here. Emergency services have been called, but we—”

“Need more hands,” Ross finished. The mention of a wreck shook the last of the sleep from his brain. “I’ll grab my equipment and then I’ll be down.”

Before the man left Ross pointed him in the direction of other homes where someone would be willing to go out in the storm to help whoever washed ashore from the wreck.

Ross kept a bag packed in the bottom of the hall closet for these rare occurrences. It was packed with first aid materials, emergency blankets, a couple monoculars, hand warmers, head lamps, flashlights, spare batteries, and heaps of individually packaged snack foods. Next to that bag was one that contained his water proof jacket, pants, gloves, and boots and a wool baselayer.

The wind was coming from the west; it kept him against the cliff face as he descended. Through the rain he could hardly see the dark beach below, but he did see the white hull of a large yacht being dashed against the dark rocks far from shore.

Figures on the beach with flashlights came into view as he descended.

“What needs to be done?” he shouted over the wind and the waves addressing a man in a bright yellow jacket who seemed to have taken charge.

“Just getting the poor souls to shore!” the man shouted back. “We were told that emergency services are more than an hour out! There’s been a lot happening tonight!”

Ross nodded. He opened his bag and flashlights and headlamps were quickly distributed among any volunteers who did not have their own.

Ross took one for himself and a monocular. Handwarmers stuffed into his pockets with a couple of the packaged emergency blankets Ross started walking the waterline.

Any shouts are lost to the thunder of the waves. At the first glimpse of a person fighting to keep afloat Ross was waist deep in the freezing ocean waiting to grab them and drag them to shore. Those without obvious injuries were given towels, an emergency blanket, hand warmers, and a cup of tea poured from a massive thermos that someone had dragged down to the beach.

Ross gave them the blanket and then pointed them to a tent that had been erected further up the beach near the cliffs. And then he returned to the waterline to watch for more. None so far had been able to give a number of how many people had been on board.

“There was a party. A lot of people I’d never seen before. And then extra staff,” someone shrugged.

“With a storm forecasted?”

Another shrug.

Ross gritted his teeth. What moron threw a party on a yacht out of harbour with such a large storm on the radar. He was cold. Water had leaked into his boots. His handwarmers had stopped working long ago. But he refused to accept a hot drink because he had not spent who knows how long fully submerged in the sea.

Emergency services brought flood lights and now the beach was a bright spot amid the 4am darkness.

Ross lowered the monocular when a hand touched his shoulder.

A police officer in his government issue slicker, “No one’s been sighted in over an hour. We’ll keep watching, and the storm is supposed to subside around daybreak. The coast guard’ll get vessels out there to see if anybody is left aboard. But, for now, there’s not much left to do. You can go home. We appreciate your help.”

Ross looked at the tent and the figures wrapped in blankets. “What about them?” He gestured.

“We’re still trying to get that set up, but given the hour is slow going. They’re not injured, just cold and wet, but in no danger of hypothermia.”

“Use my house,” Ross said. “There is plenty of space, couches and beds. And it’s warm and dry. And when something gets arranged they can be moved then.”

There was a general chaos getting people up the cliffs, across the field, and then settled into the house. Other volunteers helped. Spare clothes and blankets were pulled from closets and as sunlight started to peek over the horizon everyone was dry, warm, and had a place to lay down even if it was only a pile of blankets in front of the fire.

That was when Ross left the police officer and the other, more official, volunteers in the kitchen in search of his bed. He pushed open the door to see that his bed was already occupied. He had said every bed could be used. Ross stepped into the bathroom to change out of the clunky boots and salt crusted clothes.

Dressed in soft pyjama pants and a t-shirt Ross considered his dilemma. The bed was a king. There was more than enough room for both of them. But Ross did not want to appear to be taking liberties. He grabbed one of the last blankets left in the trunk and lay down on top of the covers. The other person was under them. Ross reasoned that that should provide enough of a barrier between them. He looked at his unexpected bed companion for a second—damp, dark blonde hair, and freckles across the nose—before closing his own eyes and falling asleep before he even had a chance to try.

The room was bright and warm when he woke up, late afternoon.

Pale blue eyes were looking at him from the other side of the bed.

“Sorry,” Ross said with a stretch. “Everywhere else was full.”

The other man shrugged.

“I’m Ross. Just give me a minute and I’ll be out of your hair. There might be word about what they were going to do with you all.” Ross inelegantly climbed out of the bed.

The other man sat up. The duvet slipped down revealing that he was dressed in one of Ross’ uni shirts. “I’m Jim.”

[theinnerunderrain]

Turmoil at Sea [Yan!Merman x Fem!Reader]

Warnings/tags: Yandere themes, description of violence, I saw a video of orcas hunting and wanted to write something abt it, disturbing content.

+

"Marlin."

With a shaky voice, you called out to the merman lurking beneath the dark depths of the water. Your eyes danced wildly along the watery surface, desperately seeking a glimpse of him.

"Please come out. You're scaring me."

On hands and knees, you clung to the meager wooden surface that barely qualified as a makeshift raft, the sole lifeline between you and the vast expanse of the ocean. The survival itself was a stroke of fortune, remnants of a shipwreck etching haunting memories – cannon balls piercing through ship walls, the frantic cries of the crew in a desperate quest for safety.

"Marlin!"

You attempt once more, your voice rising in volume and gaining a sharper edge. Splashes of water collide with the raft, showering your bare ankles. The once elegant gown, worn for your birthday celebration, now serves as your sole source of warmth. Your left thigh is wrapped in makeshift bandages fashioned from scattered scarves found amidst the vast sea. Slowly edging toward the raft's edge, you strained to peer through the dense water veil, only to be met with an impenetrable darkness that revealed nothing but a faint reflection of yourself. With eyes reddened, pallid skin, and hair beginning to knot after enduring two weeks adrift at sea, your physical state mirrored the harshness of your oceanic ordeal. The scent that clung to you was a noxious blend of fish and seaweed, the very sustenance provided by the merman. Surprisingly, you marveled at your resilience, having somehow endured the consumption of raw, uncooked meat without succumbing to its potentially fatal consequences.

Abruptly, a hand emerged from beneath the water, prompting you to swiftly retreat to the safety of the raft's center. The owner of the hand revealed himself to be none other than the merman, Merlin, whose expression conveyed clear disdain. His hand extended, torso flat against the raft's surface, and intense ocean eyes locked onto you.

"..M..Marlin."

He remains unresponsive to the sound of your name, his long blue tails faintly visible as they linger within the water. After a moment of uninterrupted gaze, he finally speaks, his voice flowing like a smooth seam of silk, captivating in its beauty. The sunlight above did little to forsake his beauty; instead, it gracefully highlighted his features, casting an enchanting aura that rendered him majestic, akin to a water nymph.

"Do you truly despise me that much?"

"What..?"

A bitter laugh escapes him as he withdraws his hand, crossing his elbow to rest his chin against his forearm. His dark hair cascades down, lightly sticking to his chin, a subtle dampness lingering. One can't help but marvel at how a being like him manages to thrive in the frigid waters, contemplating the preservation of his skin and hair—unchanged and undamaged, a testament to their enduring beauty.

"You've proven yourself quite clever, manipulating me into scavenging for food. Quite the strategist, aren't you?"

"I do not understand.."

Your brows furrow slightly at his words, perplexed by the notion that you might be using him to scavenge for food. After all, it was he who volunteered to assist you, the one who rescued you from the wreckage and gently placed your body onto the raft. During the night of the celebration, you discerned his presence beneath the water, catching a fleeting glimpse of his exquisite tail. Despite your observation, your crewmates dismissed him as a mere swordfish or dolphin, oblivious to the captivating mystery that lingered beneath the waves.

"You're exploiting me for your survival, only to abandon me once other humans come to your rescue, aren't you?"

"Certainly not! Once I set foot on solid ground, I am determined to find every possible way to express my gratitude for your kindness."

He scoffed at your words, finding your naivety simultaneously endearing and tinged with folly. Your captivating gaze drew him in, becoming the sole reason Marlin chose to rescue you amidst the entire ordeal. Although not inherently fond of humans, he found solace in the radiant brightness and warmth emanating from your eyes—a quality seldom witnessed through the eyes of pirates or the sailors he had encountered along his journey.

"Do you genuinely think fellow humans would permit such a scenario? If anything, they'll likely exploit that pretext as justification to pursue and hunt me down."

You dismiss his words with a subtle shake of your head, lips forming a tight line as you attempt to speak over him, any method to reason with him.

""Don't worry. I'll reassure them that you pose no threat. I can even persuade my father to consider implementing legislation concerning the pursuit of seamen!"

"My dearest human, it's not as straightforward as it may seem. Even if your father possessed the authority to enforce such a rule, do you believe those who exploit my kind for gain would genuinely adhere to it?"

"B..but it truly is!"

"It is not."

""Marlin, if you assist me in finding my way home, I am prepared to fulfill any wish or desire you may have forsaken. I give you my word—I am willing to do anything."

Marlin fixed his gaze upon you, his laughter crackling as if your words were nothing more than a comedic jest. Your face flushed with embarrassment, the dignity befitting a lady tarnished and mocked amidst the vastness of the ocean. After a few moments, Marlin succeeded in stifling his laughter, pressing his head onto the wooden surface of the raft. He pushed himself up, grinning at you once more.

"Given your persistent stance and reluctance to reconsider, it appears you are determined to return to your modest homeland."

He inhales deeply, then eases himself off the raft, submerging more than half of his body in the sea. His head emerges as the sole visible part, and his long, dark hair ripples in the water, reminiscent of the seaweed depicted in the textbooks you frequently borrowed from the library.

"Well. You leave me with no other choice."

He gracefully plunges back into the water, his form seamlessly vanishing into the azure depths. Your fist tightens as you attempt to fathom his intent, but before clarity settles, he emerges near you. His tail propels a considerable amount of water, conjuring a substantial wave that gracefully cascades onto the raft, drenching everything. A surprised yelp escapes you as the water meets your palm, and you swiftly realize you're gradually sliding toward the edge.

You successfully maintain composure for most of the ordeal, believing his juvenile outburst had concluded. However, your apprehensions materialize as you witness him rapidly approaching, his tail propelling him through the water with increased speed. The waves generated this time are more substantial, causing the raft to sway significantly. As the waves hit and water infiltrates beneath the raft, your last semblance of remaining afloat teeters.

It's over.

A second scream escapes your throat as the waves crash around you. The raft, teetering slowly, slips from your grasp, and you plummet into the cold embrace of the ocean. The frigid water engulfs your senses as you struggle to stay afloat, the taste of salt seeping into your mouth and nose, inducing a stinging sensation. Despite the pain, your eyes stay open, but water bubbles cloud your vision, leaving you disoriented in the underwater turmoil.

"[First Name]."

Even as the water filled your ears, a cold hand firmly gripped your torso, preventing you from descending deeper into the ocean's depths. Through your hazed vision, a pair of bright blue eyes and a mop of dark hair came into view, confirming that it was Marlin who held you.

"..N...No..!"

Your attempts to speak result in nothing but muffled cries, your struggle to wriggle free and rise toward the air and sunlight impeded by his unrelenting grip. Your body yielded to an inexplicable force, surrendering to his control like an underwater puppet. In a fleeting instant, a sensation of cold and softness grazed your lips. Uncertain in your disoriented state, you couldn't be sure if it was Marlin's lips pressing against yours, but the moment lingered in a haze of confusion.

As time slipped away, the diminishing air began to weigh on you, involuntarily coaxing your mouth open and allowing water to seep into your lungs. Your ears, now entirely filled with water, rendered Marlin's words muffled and distant.

Observing your distress, Marlin placed an additional hand on your stomach. His fingers, accompanied by sharp nails, delicately traced along your bare skin, adding an unsettling dimension to your already harrowing struggle. As the sands of time trickled away, you strained to discern the letters, your grasp on survival slipping through the narrowing hourglass.

The first letter being, "I". You could feel Marlin pulling you deeper into the ocean.

The second letter being, "L". The salt in your lungs were too much to bear.

The third letter being, "O". You can't see a single thing, your vision being nothing but complete darkness.

The fourth letter being "V". Oh God, you're going to die.

Before comprehension could settle, your body succumbed, surrendering to the relentless force of the deep. As your consciousness slipped away, the haunting echo of those unfinished letters lingered in the underwater silence.

[sadclowncentral]

meet my brother, a sea rescuer for the DGzRS, who spent his day today showing people the ropes of rescuing lifes. why? because it's the sunday after world drowing prevention day (july 25) - which means it's maritime rescue day!

every year, thousands of people need to be rescued from distress at sea. maritime search and rescue ensures the safe returns of everyone who has an emergency on the water, big or small. and today we celebrate that!

despite their important job, many SAR organizations are financed by donations - if you live in a coastal state, i encourage you to consider donating today.

this week is also an important time to remember that saving lives at sea is an obligation not a crime. every day, people continue to drown in the mediterranean in preventable shipwrecks because of the inhumane policies of the european union.

in celebration of world drowing prevention day, i strongly encourage you to donate to the NGOs who save countless lives every week while the EU refuses to fulfill its humanitarian obligations:

[ltwilliammowett]

The grenade

The grenade (grenade is likely derived from the French word spelled exactly the same, meaning pomegranate, as the bomb is reminiscent of the many-seeded fruit in size and shape. Its first use in English dates from the 1590s.) as we know it today is not a modern invention - on the contrary, it has its origins in late antiquity and the early Middle Ages.

First grenades appeared in the Eastern Roman (Byzantine) Empire not long after the reign of Leo III (717-741). Byzantine soldiers learnt that Greek fire (a mixture of sulphur and oil), a Byzantine invention from the previous century, could be thrown at the enemy not only with flamethrowers but also in stone and ceramic vessels.

Byzantine " Greek Fire" Grenade, c. 800-1000 AD

With the invention of gunpowder in Song China (960-1279), weapons known as ‘thunderbolts’ were created by soldiers packing gunpowder into ceramic or metal vessels with fuses. In a military book from the year 1044, the Wujing Zongyao (Collection of Military Classics), various gunpowder recipes are described in which, according to Joseph Needham, the prototype of the modern hand grenade can be found.

The grenades (pào) are made of cast iron, are the size of a bowl and have the shape of a ball. They contain half a pound of ‘divine fire’ (shén huǒ, gunpowder) inside. They are sent by an eruptor (mu pào) towards the enemy camp, and when they arrive there, a sound like a thunderclap is heard and flashes of light appear. If ten of these grenades are successfully fired at the enemy camp, the whole place goes up in flames.

Grenade-like devices were also known in ancient India. In a Persian historical account from the 12th century, the Mojmal al-Tawarikh, a terracotta elephant filled with explosives was hidden in a chariot with a fuse and exploded as the invading army approached.

These encrusted hand grenades were washed up from a 17th-century pirate shipwreck, Dollar Cove, in the coastal Gunwalloe district of Cornwall's Lizard Peninsula

The first cast-iron bombs and shells appeared in Europe in 1467, where they were initially used in the siege and defence of castles and fortresses. In the mid-17th century, infantrymen known as ‘grenadiers’ emerged in European armies, specialising in shock and close combat, usually using grenades and engaging in fierce hand-to-hand combat. But grenades have also been in use at sea since the 17th century. They were used to inflict as much personal damage as possible below deck after boarding a ship by throwing the grenades underneath.

After the middle of the 19th century, grenades were used extensively in the Crimean War and the American Civil War. Before they changed in design and function to be used in the trenches, especially in the First World War and later. They are still in use today.

Forbes, Robert James (1993). Studies in Ancient Technology

Thomas Enke: Grundlagen der Waffen- und Munitionstechnik

David Harding (Hrsg.): Waffen-Enzyklopädie

Bertram Kropak: Die geschichtliche Entwicklung der Handgranaten. In: DWJ Deutsches Waffen Journal. 1970

[mapecl-stories]

A Storm of Heroes: Battle for the North Sea

Skiper D. Schröder was a man who kept his composure even in the stormiest waters of life. As the head of the German Society for the Rescue of Shipwrecked Persons (DGzRS), he had encountered enough treacherous situations to understand that the North Sea was not merely a picturesque backdrop for idyllic coastal towns, but also a relentless and unforgiving force capable of sealing the fate of sailors in seconds.

On this fateful day, Skiper Schröder had once again assumed his duties, without realizing that he was about to face one of the most challenging trials of his life. The news of the collision between the two cargo ships, "Polesie" and "Verity," in the German Bight had reached him at the DGzRS control center, and his brow furrowed deeply as he learned the dramatic details.

Conditions out there were relentless: waves reaching up to three meters, poor visibility, and gale force six winds. Skiper Schröder knew that his crews were in a nightmare. However, he also understood that they were trained and motivated to confront any challenge. These men and women were risking their lives to save others, and that drive compelled them, even in the most adverse conditions.

"Conditions are challenging," Christian S., the DGzRS spokesperson, said as he coordinated the crews on the rescue ships. "The sea is as fierce as a beast today."

A young rescue swimmer, Max, spoke to Skiper Schröder over the radio. "Skiper, we have visual contact with a life raft. There are survivors on it, struggling through the waves."

Skiper responded, "Hold on, Max. We're almost there. You are our hope."

The search for the shipwrecked had begun, and Skiper Schröder could sense the tension in the air. Rescue ships and helicopters combed the sea, while the sonar plane searched for signs of the missing seafarers. The crews on the life-saving ships were in constant communication, coordinating their efforts and keeping hope alive.

"We must find these men, Skiper," Petra, an experienced sea rescuer, said with a trembling tone in her voice. "We cannot fail."

Skiper placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder and calmly stated, "We will find them, Petra. Do not give up."

Meanwhile, divers prepared to explore the sunken ship "Verity" in the depth of 30 meters. The chance that the missing crew members were trapped inside the ship's hull existed, but the conditions were exceedingly challenging. The frigid water temperature turned the rescue operation into a race against time.

"Divers, you are our last hope," Skiper Schröder declared to the men as they prepared for their perilous mission. "Bring our seafarers back safely."

The sun had long set, and a relieved call came over the radio. "Skiper, we've found them! They are alive!"

Skiper Schröder could hear the joy in the diver's voice, and a smile spread across his face. "Well done, men. You are heroes."

Ultimately, the missing seafarers inside the sunken cargo ship "Verity" were also located and rescued. They had been trapped in a small airshaft, waiting for a miracle. Their survival appeared to defy all odds.

When they were finally saved, relief was evident in their eyes. One of them, an older seafarer named Karl, with tears in his eyes, said, "You've saved our lives; I'll never forget you."

The sunrise the next morning marked the end of this dramatic rescue mission. The DGzRS crews had triumphed over the merciless North Sea and the forces of nature. Skiper D. Schröder could take pride in his team and their dedication.

The tragic collision of the cargo ships had transformed into a story of heroes. The rescue teams had turned the impossible into reality, and the missing seafarers had been saved. This was a triumph of human will over the forces of nature, a tale of courage, determination, and teamwork that would be etched into the annals of the DGzRS. Skiper D. Schröder knew that they were ready to confront any new challenge that the unforgiving sea might throw their way.

[separatist-apologist]

Sink Beneath The Waves

Summary: There is more to the mysterious man, who saves Elain Archeron from a shipwreck, than meets the eye.

CW: Major Character Death

Read On AO3

“Wake up!”

Elain jolted awake, hair tangled in her face, to her youngest sister gripping her roughly by the shoulders. The smell of salt was heavy in the air, compounded by fear that seemed to hang like fog around them. Elain sat up in her bed, breath curling in front of her face.

“What’s happened?” she asked, wiping the sleep from her eyes. Nesta was sitting on the bed just opposite, eyes wide with horror.

“The ship is sinking,” Feyre told her, prompting Elain to swing her feet over the edge of the bed only to land in a few inches of frigid water. “We need to get out.” The ship was a steamliner, large and supposedly unsinkable. It was meant to take them to America across the Atlantic. Elain had been apprehensive the whole trip leading to the departure, and it had been her sisters who insisted ships were safe, now. They rarely, if ever, sunk.

You’re more likely to be hit by lightning, Feyre had said earnestly.

Elain supposed they’d never had good luck. The sort that would have them on a sinking steamliner rather than winning an absurd sum of money and living off the wealth until they died. They had an aunt in America who did have means, and had agreed to take them in and help them get sorted after their father had died, leaving them only with debts. 

Shivering, and still in her white night dress, Elain sloshed after her sisters from their second class cabin into the hall. Lights flickered ominously as more water greeted them. They weren’t the only ones making their way toward the stairs, and even in disaster, Elain found it strangely amusing to see people queue politely for the steps.

Behind her, Nesta reached for her hand and squeezed, her touch clammy and scared. They were going to be fine, Elain wanted to assure her, but the words stuck in her throat. She’d feel better once she knew they were safe. She kept expecting some crew member to tell them to return to their cabins, that everything was fine and the water would be cleared out by morning. 

It only occurred to her, as the water began to recede with every step upward they took, what the lower decks must look like. 

She didn’t turn back to look, heart pounding in her throat. 

Everything is okay. Everything is okay. Everything is okay.

Everything was not okay. They wove their way through the first class corridors, ignoring a woman clutching a sobbing, screaming child to her chest as she tried to reassure them everything was fine. Elain wished she had a mother to do the same, though she was a woman of twenty three and her mother had been dead for more than a decade. 

The lights blew in one of the halls, throwing sparks over Feyre’s head like rain droplets in a storm. Elain had to bite back the urge to scream, thinking of the mother and child somewhere behind them. She didn’t want to panic them any further. 

Elain was still clinging to hope that everything would be fine. Beneath the ship, it was easy to think it was simply panicked masses seeing water and overreacting. However, once they emerged on the top deck, the full scope of the horror came plainly into view. The ship was tilted, causing a slope as they made their way upward. It wasn’t so sharp that people were sliding back down, but Elain knew if they remained for another hour, the ship might end up standing wholly on its end.

People crammed toward lifeboats as crewmen called for women and children first. Nesta shoved Elain forward, causing Elain to, in turn, shove Feyre into the waiting hands of one of the crew members. Feyre screamed as the crowd surged, shoving Elain back.

It was a push and pull of desperation—Feyre vanished over the side of the ship, tears streaking down her face as she called out for her sisters. Elain’s panic became icy, listening to the sobbing and the creaking, intermingled to create a symphony of chaos. 

“There,” Nesta whispered as another boat was deployed. There were seats—enough for three. Nesta elbowed forward, taller and steelier than Elain. Elain watched her older sister step inside, and just as she was about to, she saw that same mother with the sobbing child standing just to her left.

There would be other boats, she told herself, ignoring Nesta’s impassioned, and furious cries, to allow the mother to take her spot. The woman pressed a swift kiss to Elain’s cheek, holding her child closer to her chest.

“You’re an angel,” she whispered in Elain’s ear. 

As it turned out, once that lifeboat deployed, the rest were on the other side of the ship. Elain made her way, ignoring the way the ship continued to lean dangerously. The large smoke stacks overhead cast large shadows and she wondered what would happen if they toppled. She’d be long gone by then.

The lights of the ship winked out as the vessel groaned beneath the weight of the water within. Elain had never truly known fear like she did right then, gripping the smooth, brass railing while trying to steady herself. Her sisters had made it safely and she would, too. They’d be reunited soon enough, and this would merely be another story they’d tell to friends.

Elain had made it to the opposite end of the ship, shivering violently in the cold night air. She could see lights in the distance—rescue was on its way, though whether it would be fast enough to keep them all from plunging into the water, Elain didn’t know. 

Unlike the controlled chaos on the other end of the ship, this was pure pandemonium. Twice, lifeboats were sent crashing to the water, empty of passengers. The rest were sent half full, if that, thanks to panicking crew men who often jumped at the last minute, leaving the rest of them to fend for themselves.

The reality of her circumstances dawned on her just as all the lights on the ship winked out. She was holding the railing for dear life at that point, watching several men argue over how to cut the remaining lifeboats loose so they might get in. Whether they could even deploy them at such a lean was uncertain. Pistols came out, a bullet flying which effectively silenced the argument.

There was nothing she could say or do to keep things under control. Her voice was gone, silenced in her fear. Even if she could, the constant groaning of steel would have drowned her out. 

A horrible crunching turned the world icy and silent. Beneath her feet, the ship shook violently, tilting so far forward that Elain nearly pitched down the deck to slam into a doorway leading inside. Holding the railing so tight her knuckles were white from the effort, Elain watched two of the steam stacks topple forward, their bolting crumbling under the strain of the water.

The ship was breaking in two, and she was going to take everyone down with her. In that moment, Elain was faced with two options—remain as she was and drown, or jump into the frigid Atlantic and potentially drown there. Both options terrified her—the water was inky black and bottomless, but the idea of being trapped on the ship as it made its way to the bottom of the sea scared her even more. 

She could make her way to one of the lifeboats, she reasoned. A lot of them were only half empty. And the lights in the distance promised of rescue. Elain forced herself on the railing, bare feet shaking, and leapt into the night.

She screamed on her way down. It seemed to last forever before she slammed violently into the water. All the air expelled from her body, muscles seizing in the cold. Elain lay suspended beneath the surface, panic filling with before she managed to will her legs to kick, her arms to flail.

The moment cold air bit at her face, Elain began swimming as quickly as she could away from the drowning ship. She didn’t know if she could be sucked beneath with it, and she didn’t want to find out. She could hear nothing but her own breathing and the splashing of her hands in the water until she finally found an empty, floating lifeboat overturned on its side.

It was miserably, slippery work to haul herself atop it. With her night dress clinging to her skin, Elain lay on her back to stare upward at the starry sky. She was in a waking nightmare, surrounded by the sounds of terrified people also plunged into the frozen water and the miserable snapping of the ship. Where was rescue she wondered?

Where were her sisters? Elain closed her eyes to block out the horror of her current predicament. She thought of the lights in the distance that were surely coming, not daring to curl into a ball lest she overtip her little piece of safety. She was cold, but she was alive.

She was going to be alright.

Elain didn’t remember falling asleep. All she knew was one moment she was trying to block out the sound of a child wailing, and the next a masculine voice was calling down to her. Peeling open her near frozen lids, Elain found herself looking up at a wooden ship. It seemed so out of place in the misty dawn, and yet a ladder had been pulled over the side and a man was currently scaling it to help her up.

She didn’t think she could move. Elain watched, noting, as he came into view, that his long, auburn hair was pulled in a rather neat ponytail at the nape of his neck, and one of his eyes had been replaced with a golden fixture. She stared at the trio of scars raking down his otherwise handsome face, unsure what else to look at.

“Take my hand,” he urged, offering one to her as he used the other to hang on to the ladder. Elain forced herself up on her elbows so she could take the warmth of his hand. Elain exhaled a breath, stunned by the quiet.

“Where is everyone?” she whispered, letting him half carry her against his body. He couldn’t meet her gaze, instead turning back to his swaying ship. “Did they die?”

His silence was answer enough. 

“Why did no one come?” she asked, her voice a little more urgent than before. He helped her over the edge, allowing Elain to tumble gracelessly to the deck where she found herself alone. The faint sound of voices told her there were others he’d pulled out lurking somewhere on his vessel.

“They did,” he told her, straightening himself. He wore tan breeches with brass buttons on either sides of his hips, and a white shirt tucked into the waistband, sleeves rolled to his elbows. Scuffed boots, though polished nicely, rose nearly to his knees, betraying an athletic man who worked hard, if his muscular thighs and strong biceps had anything to say about it. 

“They didn’t get me,” she said, bottom lip wobbling.

He offered her a sympathetic smile. “I nearly missed you, too.”

“Are there others?” she asked, catching the sounds of footsteps on the stairs below. They sounded small—like a childs. That eased some of the ache in her chest. 

“Yes,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “And we’ll look for more before we leave.”

He stepped around her for a crate, pulling out a large, green jacket to drape around her. Glancing down at her body, Elain realized every inch of her was on display. She’d forgotten she’d gone overboard in a thin nightdress. It was a miracle she’d survived. 

“Can I help?” she asked. “I just—”

Elain bit her lip as he cocked his head, curiosity getting the better of him. “You what?”

“My sisters,” she finally whispered, biting back the urge to cry in front of her savior. “I need to know if they survived.”

It was more than that, though—Elain needed to help as many people as she could. The scale of the suffering, of the tragedy, was not lost on her. Even as she stood on that swaying ship, she could hear the sound of snapping steel and cracking metal. She could hear the desperate cries of the people denied a life boat, who’d made the same agonizing choice she had.

“There are clothes down below deck,” her savior said, pity in his eyes. “Warm yourself first.”

Elain did as she was told, following the path down below deck. It smelled like salt and wood and something else—something strangely comforting. Like sunlight over her garden back home and the warmth of her bed on cool, autumn evening. 

Inside the cabin, Elain found more people milling about. Mothers with their children, deck hands and other cabin crew, men staring down at their hands, eyes glassy from the horror. Elain offered them a smile before making her way through, ignoring the doors to individual rooms she assumed they’d all be sharing, for another set of crates holding a variety of clothes, some so out of date she had to wonder where they’d come from. She managed to find a rather nice dress that fit well in a pretty yellow and green pattern that suited her well enough. Elain slipped into one of the rooms and put it on quickly, wishing she had more underthings. The dress itself was flowy, fashionable once upon a time, though comfortable which felt more important than looking like a respectable lady.

Once she had it laced over her skin, she found underthings weren’t wholly necessary. She managed to dig out some stockings and shoes before making her way back up to the deck where the captain as ushering some new souls aboard. Two men, both shell shocked and silent, took her place below deck as she returned to the cold.

“Your jacket…”

“Lucien,” he told her, cocking his head again. “My name is Lucien.”

“Elain Archeron,” she said, offering her his hand. His skin was warm against her own, filling her with the strangest feeling of contentment. Maybe it was the relative safety that made her feel that way. They exchanged small smiles before he nodded at the jacket still draped over her arm. 

“Keep it. I don’t feel the chill anymore.”

Elain offered another smile, slipping her arms into the sleeves to leech the remaining warmth left to the fabric. “How does this work?”

“We just sail,” he said, his voice heavy. “And keep a lookout for anyone in the water.”

“Where is your crew?”

“No crew,” he murmured, taking the steps upward toward the helm. “It’s just me and this ship that’s been passed down generations.”

“Do you know how many people were rescued last night?” she questioned. 

He shook his head sadly. “I don’t. I’m sorry.”

Elain steadied herself with a long breath. “That’s okay. I’m here to help, all the same.”

“You don’t have to, you know,” he said as she joined him at his side. “I wouldn’t fault you for resting.”

But Elain strangely wasn’t tired, or hungry. Now that she was safe, she merely wanted to get home. Cold air whipped her hair around her face, causing her to push the golden brown curls out of her eyes.

“I would fault me,” she finally said, admitting the truth. “It’s not just my sisters, it's…”

He stared, lips parted as if he’d never heard another person speak. She felt like her words were important—like he cared. 

“I jumped from the ship,” she told him. “It snapped in half, it…I just…I want to help. I need to help.”

“Okay,” he agreed with a nod of his head. 

It was agonizing work that day, eyes strained against the gloom, to try and pick out survivors. What were the odds, she wondered, that anyone had managed to survive the night. “There,” she whispered, seeing a bobbing figure in the water. It was a woman and a little girl, clutching each other tight with dull eyes and blue lips. Elain raced downstairs for blankets, relieved to find the cabin doors closed, and mostly cleared of bodies. People were tired—they deserved quiet. 

“You found us,” the woman whispered to Lucien while Elain fell to her knees to wrap a blanket around the little girl.

“You’re safe, now,” she promised, noting the little frozen droplets clinging to the childs lashes. The child didn’t respond—Elain didn’t expect them to. She merely clung to her mothers hand, dress dripping puddles over the wood beneath them, before vanishing below deck.

“You should rest,” Lucien told her a second time as Elain’s legs began to ache a little from standing so straight, her eyes watering from the stinging salt air and staring into the gloom. What little light had filtered from overhead was quickly vanishing, leaving only the blackest night again.

“I don’t think people could survive another night,” Elain told him, leaning over the rail to look down at the water below. 

“You never know,” he replied, coming to join her for a moment. Propped on his elbows, he bit his bottom lip ever so slightly. “You did.”

“One night. Not two.”

“All we can do is try. You’ve been brave,” he added, turning to wholly look at her. “No one offered to help except you.”

“They’ve been through a lot,” Elain heard herself say, heart quickening in her chest. “I don’t fault them for it.”

“Neither do I,” he hastily assured her. “Nor would I fault you for getting some sleep.”

“I’m not tired,” she said, looking at his face. He was so handsome—so lovely, and bright, and warm. Like the sun itself beating down on her, though he was only a man who’d realized she was alive and had pulled her out of the water. 

Elain would take whatever she could get. Any little kindness felt monumental and overwhelming. 

“Me either,” he said with a heavy sigh. “The ship, it just…”

He scrubbed a hand over his jaw.

“I don’t know what happened,” she admitted, wondering if he had a radio or something that might explain it. His eyes became glassy, expression slack as he stared into the distance. 

“I wish I could tell you,” he finally said, his voice strangely helpless. “I haven’t seen a wreck like that in…my life, I suppose.”

“My sisters got into lifeboats,” she said, more to reassure herself than anything. “We were separated.”

“Why didn’t you join them?”

Elain explained about the mother shushing the child as they’d passed, and how they’d all caught up at the lifeboat. She couldn’t explain why she’d nearly traded her life for theirs. Only that in the moment, it hadn’t felt like a choice—she’d merely done it without question, without thinking. 

Lucien’s lips parted, a strange look of wonder sparkling in his one good, russet eye. “That was…” he swallowed. “Very brave.”

“Was it?” she questioned. It merely felt decent. But he nodded his head, allowing them to lapse into comfortable silence. The world was quiet, even aboard the ship, and even the heavy mist blanketing the world didn’t feel concerning.

“I’m used to singular sailors,” Lucien told her once night had fully settled. They were still at the helm, him showing her how to keep the ship on course. Holding the wheel was harder than she’d expected, straining to pull away if she became complacent. “Not…not all this.” “Do you routinely pick up people stranded at sea?” she tried to tease. His fingers slid over hers, holding the wheel steady.

“More often than you’d imagine,” he replied, towering over her. It was tempting to lean herself back against his warmth, to bask in the solid strength of his body. He was a stranger, and yet she felt as if she knew him. “It’s become a calling.”

“Rescuing?”

He nodded. “I didn’t set out to do it, but…”

“Well, I’m glad you did,” she told him, inclining her head to look up at him. His eyes slid down her face, landing squarely on her mouth.

“So am I,” he admitted. “What would it take to convince you to lay down?”

There was a twinge of sadness to his voice. “I think all the rooms are taken.”

“Have mine, then.”

Promising the ship was capable of steering itself—some new technology that seemed wholly out of place on his large, wooden ship with its billowing sails, but she supposed it was more for aesthetic than anything. 

The captain's quarters were large, with a rather nice bed pushed up against windows overlooking the sea, and a table and chairs for working or eating–whatever he preferred. Food was set out if she wanted it, though Elain was still too worked up to eat anything.

“Get some rest,” he urged, lingering in the doorway. 

Elain nearly asked him to join her. She didn’t know what possessed her to do so, only that lingering feeling that she knew him. Instead, Elain nodded her head, allowing him to close the door.

She collapsed into the warm, soft bed, inhaling the smell of him on the pillow. She hadn’t meant to sleep, but the moment she curled herself beneath a blanket, Elain was gone. Her dreams were a haze of bright light and voices she couldn’t quite make out. Lost to the blinding sunshine, she thought she heard Feyre and Nesta talking, and when she woke, she darted back above deck expecting to see them.

Lucien seemed surprised to see her. “You’re back.” “It’s dawn,” she replied, rubbing sleep from the corners of her eyes. “I thought I heard my sisters.”

He only shook his head. “No Archeron’s.”

“Maybe they survived,” she said with a hopeful smile. Lucien offered her a shy one in response.

“Maybe,” he agreed. 

They spent the day together—alone—out on deck. Lucien showed her how to climb into the bird's nest, giving Elain a three hundred and sixty degree view of the world around them. The mist had lifted, though it was still a gray, moody day with a faint sprinkling of rain that made it hard to stay warm. 

She alternated between silence, looking for anyone they might have missed and asking Lucien a million questions. 

“Don’t you get lonely out here by yourself?” she heard herself questioning later that evening, seated across from him at the swaying table. He popped a grape into his mouth.

“Sometimes,” he admitted. 

“Where will you go when you drop me off?” she asked.

“Back to sea,” he replied easily, though she saw the sadness etched into his expression. He didn’t want her to leave. Neither did Elain, if she was being honest.

“I’m supposed to be starting a new life in New York,” she informed him, noting how he leaned forward with interest. He didn’t ask, but Elain told him anyway—how her mother had succumbed to cholera, and then her father had died, seemingly, of a broken heart. She told him about the debts and selling their family estate to make it even, leaving them penniless and in danger of destitution before being rescued by a wealthy aunt in America. 

“You didn’t want to be married?” he asked, elbows resting on the table. They’d abandoned eating for talking, illuminated by a few candles anchored to the desk. 

“I was engaged for a time,” she admitted, waiting for the familiar stab of shame and embarrassment. “He left when he discovered there was no dowry as promised.”

Lucien nodded his head. “That won’t be a problem for you now, I suppose.”

“Maybe I don’t want to be married,” Elain replied, unable to drag her eyes off him. He was off-limits—the wrong kind of man for someone like her. She was certain her aunt would never allow it, and besides, she barely knew him. 

Still, she could imagine it. The whole thing was terribly romantic, marrying the man who’d rescued her from a watery grave. Would he abandon the sea for land if she asked? Elain didn’t dare—he didn’t know her at all. 

“No? What do you want, then?”

“To travel,” she admitted. “Everywhere. I want to see the whole world.”

His smile threatened to blind her. “You’d get on another ship after everything that happened?”

Elain considered it. “Well. I suppose now I know what might happen. I could prepare myself better for rough seas.”

“You could,” he agreed. Was he wondering the same thing she was? He rose to his feet, rubbing his palms on his thighs. “I should—”

“Will you stay?” she asked, heart beating so loudly she was certain he could hear her. “Please?”

“You don’t have to beg,” he murmured, eyeing the bed again. “I ah…of course.”

Did he offer this to everyone? Unlikely. Elain hadn’t heard a peep from the people in the other rooms, and she wondered if they, too, were miserable in their loneliness. She was afraid to ask when they’d dock or where he’d go when it was all over. Was she a bad person for not wanting it to end? It was, easily, the worst experience of her life.

But when Lucien settled into the bed beside her, Elain thought that it was the best, too. She had freedom, away from the constraints of the life she knew she was hurtling back toward. He’d let her help him set food out for the other refugees, had shown her how to navigate by the stars, how to get the most out of the sails and keep the ship on course.

How much more would she learn if she could remain another week? Two? Elain curled beside him until her head was on his shoulder.

“You should sleep,” he whispered, his breath tickling her hair. Elain was certain she couldn’t be able to, certain she’d be too awake sleeping next to a man she barely knew. But like always, Elain fell into her too bright, confusing dreams.

They spent a week like that, Lucien loosening whatever kept him at an arms length when it came to her, Elain coming into her own on the ship. No one bothered them—she knocked on doors, sometimes receiving answers but more often, receiving nothing at all. She knew better than to intrude, though she often told Lucien how she wished they’d come up, too, and get some fresh air.

He merely offered her a sad smile in response. “Not everyone can find joy in tragedy,” he told her. It had been seven days with no sign of land, and Elain, who’d once been so desperate to reach her sisters, was finding that she never wanted to see it again. The strange, bright dreams had begun to fade back to normal as her body adjusted to life at sea. 

“Eat this,” Lucien instructed, tossing her an orange. Elain smiled, digging her nails into the skin to get at the flesh. 

“I was thinking,” she began, slowly chewing without looking at him. Elain was afraid he’d tell her no—already she could feel him stiffen beside her. “That when this is all over, I might…stay?”

There was nothing but the sound of the sea below them and the wind rustling the sails.

“Stay?”

“Yeah…ah…with you?”

“Stay with me.” He was merely repeating what she’d said, his voice toneless. “Elain—”

“Lucien, please—”

“You can’t stay—”

“I don’t want that life,” she interrupted, scrambling to her feet. Her orange fell to the deck, splattering citrusy juice between the pair of them. “It was all chosen for me. It doesn’t matter if I’m in London or I’m in New York, the result is the same. Everyone knows better, knows what I want and I need, but this, Lucien…this is what I need.”

He rose slowly to his feet, stretching his long body out as he stared unblinkingly back at her. 

“I need you,” she added, wondering if that made her pathetic. She barely knew him, and knew that if he left, it would be a loss she’d mourn for the rest of her life. She’d always be sitting at the window, wondering where he was. If he was okay.

If he missed her.

“Elain,” he whispered, his voice strangely fragmented. “You don’t understand—”

“I do,” she insisted. If he was going to tell her no, let it be because he didn’t care for her. Not because he was trying to do right by her. “You saved me.”

His mouth crashed against hers before Elain could take a breath. He was just as warm as he always was, lips soft as he kissed her insistently. His hands slid into her tangled hair before one arm wound its way around her waist, holding her close. Elain surged up on her tiptoes, her kissing clumsy as she got the hang of things.

It didn’t take a lot of skill, truthfully. He groaned even at her clumsy attempts, holding her so tight Elain couldn’t possibly escape. She wanted to get lost in the feel of his lips against her, stomach tightening when his teeth nipped at her bottom lip. 

More, more, more. 

It would never be enough and she knew it. Elain didn’t care if it wasn’t proper or if having this man would ruin her. Maybe this was all she’d get—one night with him before he firmly told her no, admitted that he had a family or a wife somewhere and she was merely a distraction he couldn’t afford.

Maybe she’d shove him overboard if that was true.

Lucien hauled her up in his arms as if she were weightless, carrying her below deck not to the rooms that ought to belong to her, but to his cabin before slamming the door closed with his foot. Lucien laid her on the bed, standing at the edge to look at her. 

“If I cannot stay,” she whispered, watching as he untucked his shirt, “then join me on land instead.”

He tossed the fabric to the floor, revealing the golden brown of his muscular skin. “Join you on land?” he whispered, kicking his boots off, too. Elain followed suit, using her elbows to crawl up the bed backward so her head hit the pillow. 

“Come back with me,” she all but begged. Lucien silenced her with his mouth again, parting her legs with an insistent knee. This was an easier way to communicate. All she had to do was touch him. Elain had never had a man like this before, and gliding her hand down the smooth expanse of his back was thrilling. She let her fingers touch from his shoulders to the band of his pants and back again while Lucien ground himself into her, expressing his enjoyment the only way he knew how.

Elain, too, found herself desperate for more. Her hands managed to wedge between them, finding the buttons on his pants. Lucien choked, nipping her bottom lip as he drew back. “Slow down,” he whispered frantically, peering between them. She didn’t stop, slipping the button loose with one hand. A trail of dark, auburn hair trailing from his navel downward appeared, and if she’d been bolder, she might have pushed him to his back to truly examine him.

She wasn’t, though. Shyness stole over her at the bulge and the realization that if she pushed even a little, she’d have a wholly naked man laying on top of her. 

Lucien kissed her again when he realized she wasn’t going to fully undress her. His tongue slid into her mouth, licking and tasting until Elain was arching into his erection, desperate for friction. So lost in pleasure, she hadn’t realized he’d begun unbuttoning her dress until she felt his mouth trail down her neck to her exposed breasts.

“Up,” he whispered, and Elain did as she was told, rising upward so Lucien could push the sleeves from her shoulders. He was the one to bare her, first, his pants unbuttoned but still covering him. Elain practically panted when he sank to his haunches for a moment to really look down at her.

There was something beyond lust gleaming back at her. Something she recognized, the same emotion that had caused her to ask him to let her stay. Elain’s heart soared—he was going to say yes. At the end of it all, Lucien was going to let her remain on the ship with her. They’d go to port, she’d assure her sisters were safe, and then she’d run off with the dashing sailor before anyone could stop her. There was nothing in her way. They could always come back someday, when he was tired of roaming and when Elain was satisfied she’d seen the world.

Lucien’s mouth trailing between her breasts dragged Elain back to the present. He was watching, both metal and real eyes fixed wholly on her. Before he could slip away, she pulled his hair from its piece of cloth, allowing it to cascade over his powerful shoulders. He smiled, beautiful as always, before pressing more kisses against the flat of her stomach.

Elain was holding her breath, afraid to seem too eager. That seemed unseemly for a woman, though she was. Propriety be damned, she knew what he was planning—she wasn’t a nun, after all. She heard women talk, knew, generally, what went down between men and women in the bedroom. She’d always been curious about all of it.

What would it feel like to have his mouth on her?

He was about to show her. Lucien hesitated for a moment, pushing her boneless legs apart with ease. She would have spread them for him if she hadn’t been afraid he’d think less of her. There was no nerves, no fear—she trusted him to do right by her. 

He lifted her leg, peppering kisses from her ankle to her thigh before swapping, never taking his eyes off her. Did she want her to beg? Elain felt as if she’d done enough of that for the day—for a lifetime, really. She thought he might do it again, looking up at the swaying wooden ceiling just for him to lick clean up the center of her. Elain gasped, nearly kicking him between the legs in her surprise.

Whatever she’d expected, it felt nothing like the reality. His mouth was wet and soft, tongue practiced. He reached for her breasts, teasing and toying as he took slow, languid licks. It was as if he were enjoying himself, trying to draw it all out. Elain could scarcely breathe, her insides too big for the skin containing her. She felt as if she might fly into a million pieces as pleasure built hotter and higher with each pass of his tongue.

Lucien teased the entrance of her body with his thumb, barely pushing himself in. Elain gasped, arching so hard into his face she wasn’t convinced he could breathe. His other hand fell from her breast to yank her tighter, all semblance of control abandoned. He licked like a wild animal, desperate and frantic until Elain was careening toward the precipice. She chanted his name, trying to get him to slow back down, but Lucien wouldn’t hear it. 

Elain wasn’t graceful or elegant when she came. With her hand grasping his hair, she practically rode his face, shamefully wanton, though she didn’t care. He let her, gasping only when she pushed away, suddenly overly sensitive. As she tried to catch her breath, to banish the brightness pricking at her vision, Lucien shucked off his pants and returned to her, kissing her greedily.

“I need you,” he whispered against her jaw. Weak sunlight poured through the window, illuminating his rigid, large cock pressed against her wet entrance. 

“I’m yours,” she replied. 

That was all the convincing it took for him to slide himself inch by wonderful inch into her body. It seemed to stretch on forever, the slow acclimation of adjustment to having something lodged inside her. Elain squeezed the first time just to try and shift a little of the discomfort, which caused Lucien to exhale a breath so forcefully that she had no choice but to do it again.

And again.

His eyes rolled upward. “If you keep it up, I won’t last but a minute.”

“There’s time,” she assured him.

His eyes found hers, earning her a messy kiss rather than any kind of helpful or reassuring response. Burying his face into her neck, he rocked his hips forward, causing pleasure to spike through her. Each drag of his cock, coupled with his lips against her skin, caused a different sort of pleasure. One that took a little longer, but burned hotter. Elain was gasping, twisting and writhing beneath him as any semblance of civility was erased, leaving only the creature in his bed.

He didn’t complain. “You’re so good,” he whispered, dragging his lips over her jaw. “So tight. Is this what you want? To stay here? With me?” His words trailed into a loud groan drowned by the sea around them. Elain could only pant the same word over and over.

Yes, yes, yes.

Elain came mere moments before Lucien, breaking apart so thoroughly that she was certain there was no coming back from it. She could be pieced back together but the fragments would also show, etched in glittering gold against her skin.

“Forgive me,” he whispered before he, too, came with what felt like the same passionate violence. Elain might have forgotten his plea in the aftermath, sated and boneless as he collapsed on top of her. There was nothing to forgive, nothing he could say that would change her mind.

Lucien held her against him, fingers stroking her hair as they laid beneath the sheets. For a long time, neither of them spoke. Elain had questions that slipped from her as she slept, hand pressed to his bare chest.

The blinding light had returned, drowning out whatever pleasant dreams there was to be had with heat so scorching she woke in a thin sheen of sweat. 

Lucien was there, sitting on the edge of the bed and fully dressed. With his back to her, shoulders slumped, he said, “It’s time, Elain.” Her stomach clenched. “We’ve arrived?”

He looked over his shoulder. “Elain.”

“Lucien,” she pleaded, but he stood, offering her the same hand he’d once offered to pull her from the water. Elain took it, surprised and frustrated to find she was back in her night dress. When had she put that on? 

“I don’t want to leave.”

“You have to make a choice, Elain,” he said, his voice dripping with anguish. “It’s time.”

Clutching his hand, Elain let him lead her barefoot from the cabin they’d slept in. There was no noise on the ship—only the blackest night that seemed to infest every space of the ship. It was almost as bad as the biting cold that swirled around them.

“Lucien,” she pleaded, but he held fast, taking her up the steps and back.

Back to the night before he’d found her. Elain balked, but Lucien didn’t relent, taking her to the edge where she watched herself, clumsy and freezing, claw her way up the capsized life raft. Time moved strangely, almost silently despite the echoing, screaming fears that bounced through her skull. 

And Elain watched as her eyes fluttered shut, lips parted and blue. Her chest rose and fell.

The ship slipped beneath the waves.

And Elain’s body went still, one hand sliding into the water unnoticed, fingers skimming the icy surface. She turned to face him. She understood, then, what she'd been too scared to acknowledge the day he'd pulled her from the water. Her sisters had survived, but she had not. And he had come to ferry her into the afterlife.

“I’m here to take you home,” he said, gesturing around them. The night faded, and in its stead, a blinding, bright light emerged. For a moment the ship itself vanished—everything did, leaving her suspended in a great nothing. Her only anchor was his hand still gripping hers.

“Elain.”

It was her mothers voice. Her mothers face, shining and beautiful, unmarred by the cholera that had taken her from Elain when she’d been a child. Beside her stood Elain’s father, beaming as he was so often in her memories. “Elain, come home with us.”

She was rooted in place, breathing so hard she could have choked on it. “Mommy?”

She took a half step forward, pulled back by Lucien who pressed a kiss to her forehead. Cupping her face, he whispered, “I would have stayed with you. Forever,” he added, as if she didn’t know that. 

Elain turned again, back into the warmth where her parents waited. 

“Are you happy?” she heard herself ask them. 

They beckoned for her, and some part wanted to go, too. Wanted to see them again, to bury her face in her fathers shirt and inhale the scent of spearmint and tobacco. To tell them how much she missed them and how she wished they could have stayed longer. 

Elain took a step back. And another. And another.

Until she was back in the gray mist with Lucien, the light fading behind her. “If you don’t go—”

“I’ll stay. With you,” she added, looking, now, at him wholly. “I’ll ferry the souls of the dead with you.”

Lucien cupped her face gently. “Are you sure?”

But she’d been sure the night before. And Elain was sure then, too. Pressing a kiss to his cheek, Elain nodded.

“Forever.”

[envysparkler]

Whumptober 2024 Masterlist

It's Whumptober time! 🎃🎃 Prompts are currently closed; it's time for writing!

No. 1: RACE AGAINST THE CLOCK Search Party | Panic Attack | "If only we could hold on.”

stician

No. 2: TRUST ISSUES Amusement Park | Role Reversal | “You got away with the crime while the knife's in my back.”

unrefusable offer

No. 3: SET UP FOR FAILURE Fingerprints | Wrongfully Arrested | "I warned you."

purr

No. 4: HALLUCINATIONS Hypnosis | Sensory Deprivation | “You're still alive in my head.”

Shrike!verse

No. 5: SUNBURN Healing Salve | Heatstroke | "If my pain will stretch that far."

geolocation

No. 6: NOT REALISING THEY'RE INJURED Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms | Healed Wrong | "It's not my blood."

leash

No. 7: ONLY FOR EMERGENCIES Unconventional Weapon | Magic with a Cost | "It's us or them."

no hard feelings

No. 8: SLEEP DEPRIVATION Isolation Chamber | Forced to Stay Awake | "Leave the lights on."

exhaust

No. 9: OBSESSION Broken Window | Bruises | “Frame me up on the wall, just to keep me out of trouble.”

unrefusable offer

No. 10: BLOW TO THE HEAD Slurred Words | Passing Out from Pain | "I can't think straight."

cling

No. 11: SEEING DOUBLE Convenience Store | Loneliness | “Leave no trace behind, like you don't even exist.”

grave secrets

No. 13: TEAM AS A FAMILY Familial Curse | Multiple Whumpees | "Death will do us part."

inhibition

No. 14: LEFT FOR DEAD Hunting Gear | Blackmail | “Because I want you to know what it feels like to be haunted”

the other wayne kid

No. 15: CHILDHOOD TRAUMA Painful Hug | Moment of Clarity | "I did good, right?"

haphephobia

No. 16: NECROSIS Swamp | Wound Cleaning | "No, I can't feel anything."

Reconciliation

No. 17: NOWHERE ELSE TO GO Ruined Map | Shipwrecked | "We had a good run."

sink or swim

No. 18: REVENGE Unreliable Narrator | Loss of Identity | “I see what's mine and take it.”

Godfather

No. 19: BLOOD TRAIL Abandoned Cabin | One Way Out | "Is there anybody alive out there?"

unrefusable offer

No. 20: EMOTIONAL ANGST Shoulder to Cry On | Giving Permission to Die | "It's not your fault."

pretty robin

No. 21: BODY HORROR Body Horror | Tattoo Gun | Spirit Possession | “Let the bedsheet soak up the tears.”

leash

No. 22: BLEEDING THROUGH BANDAGES Tourniquet | Reopening Wounds | "Oh that's not good."

whiplash

No. 23: FORCED CHOICE Public Display | Broken Pedestal | "I'm doing this for you."

blood of the covenant

No. 24: RADIATION POISONING Collapsed Building | Equipment Failure |  “I never knew daylight could be so violent.”

favored

No. 25: SURGERY Stitches | Being Monitored | "It's for your own good."

hot wheels

No. 26: NIGHTMARES Breakfast Table | Parting Words of Regret | “I'm haunted by the lies that I have loved, the actions I have hated.”

paying dues

No. 27: VOICELESS Laboratory | Muzzled | “I have no mouth and I must scream.”

muzzled

No. 29: FATIGUE Labyrinth | Burnout | "Who said you could rest?"

padded cuffs

No. 30: RECOVERY Hospital Bed | Holding Back Tears | "What have I done?"

robin's roast

No. 31: ASKING FOR HELP Therapy | Making Amends | "I'm alive, I'm just not well."

wibbly wobbly

Alt 3. Finding Old Messages

paying dues

Alt 4. Forgotten

we're all ghosts

Alt 5. Friendly Fire

burn at the stake

Alt 8. Regret

paying dues

Alt 9. Secrets Revealed

groundhog day

Alt 10. Shivering

the other wayne kid

Alt 11. Survivor's Guilt

unfinished business

[listen-to-the-inner-walrus]

im rewatching disasters at sea because hi one of my special interests is shipwrecks, and i forgot that one of the episodes includes the phrase

high seas hit and run