#Crew of The Irish Queen

[jenlrossman]

Tuvix as a metaphor for Janeway's mindset throughout Voyager

When Tuvok and Neelix merged into a new individual after a transporter malfunction, Tuvix was born. Possessing a combination of the memories and personalities of his component parts while still being his own unique self, Tuvix quickly proved he was more than just a transporter accident, showing he had potential to find his place among the crew of Voyager and settle in to this new normal.

And when Janeway learned of a way to separate him, bringing back Tuvok and Neelix, Tuvix was killed. Against his wishes, against the doctor's ethical subroutines, Tuvix was killed.

I'm not going to discuss whether or not this was right. That's an entirely different subject that many people have debated ad nauseam.

I just want to talk about how the decision to kill Tuvix and bring back Tuvok and Neelix might actually be the defining moment in developing Kathryn Janeway's mindset for the rest of the series. The sometimes questionable mindset best described as

"There's the right way, the wrong way, and the Janeway."

To Captain Janeway, Tuvix is a problem to solve. He is the thing standing in the way of the status quo, the thing preventing her from seeing her loved ones again.

She says as much, when Kes is expressing reservations about developing feelings for Tuvix and says she hasn't given up on the idea of him being separated.

You’re experiencing what people on this crew have been going through since we first got stranded in this quadrant. Do we accept that we're separated from our loved ones forever, or do we hold onto the hope that someday we'll be with them again?

Tuvix, therefore, is a physical representation of being stuck in the Delta quadrant. He is the thing preventing them from being with their loved ones, and she might not be able to get everyone home right now if ever, but she's going to do everything she can to see Tuvok and Neelix again.

Whether or not it is right for her to kill Tuvix, that isn't as important to her as proving—to herself and to her crew—that she is going to do anything she can to get them home, and killing him is a symbolic representation of that.

We see this mindset continue throughout the series, and the Lower Decks episode Twovix gives us some great examples.

While most of the crew is dealing with another transporter malfunction, Boimler and Rutherford are dealing with holographic representations of various things the Voyager crew encountered. And they just happen to be some of Janeway's greatest hits… Or misses.

Michael "delete the wife" Sullivan—Janeway's holographic Irish boy toy, who she widowed and altered to suit her preferences even though those episodes deal with the possibility of all holograms having a chance to achieve sentience

The macrovirus—which was dealt with by Janeway unleashing it on a crowd of (again, possibly sentient?) holograms

The personification of fear—the clown who was defeated when Janeway went so far to save her crew that she literally made the concept of fear afraid of her

Chaotica—Janeway didn't particularly want to play the role of Queen Arachnia but she got very into it because when push comes to shove, she really doesn't mind being the villain if it means protecting her crew

And of course, the Borg…

The series finale of Voyager is the ultimate example of the "anything to see our loved ones again" mindset Janeway shows in Tuvix.

Voyager gets home. It takes 23 years, but they get home.

However, Seven is lost along the way, Chakotay dies after reaching earth, and the delay in getting home has exacerbated Tuvok's Vulcan equivalent of Alzheimer's to the point that he is not himself anymore.

Three of the most important people in her life, gone.

So what does she do? Of course she doesn't accept that, she can't, she never has been able to.

Kathryn Janeway goes back in time, erases the lives of everyone in the universe to rewrite history on her terms, she defeats the goddamn Borg—just to see them again.

And of course she does it herself. As we learned in Tuvix when the doctor refuses to separate him, Janeway doesn't care. She'll do it all herself, ethical consequences be damned, she just needs everyone she loves to get back to the Alpha quadrant.

So whether or not it was right to separate Tuvix, it doesn't matter. The right way, the wrong way, none of that matters. Not to her, not as long as doing things the Janeway gets everyone she cares about home safely.

[wexhappyxfew]

WOMEN OF SILVER BULLETS

the OCs of B-17, Silver Bullets (featured in MOTA-verse writings) and various masters of the air adjacent writings

all these OCs will be featured in various one-shots and prompts in the coming months. can be found under tags with all their names or #mota writings or #silver bullets. please enjoy!

ANNIE BRADSHAW

-> replacement 1st lieutenant and pilot for Silver Bullets, fresh in from Fort Des Moines, trying to patch up the holes in a crew suffering from the loss of their beloved captain birdie faulkner. hailing from mankato, minnesota, she is a wonderfully receptive listener and stoic presence - but don't go overstepping it with her crew. makes it her very mission that the women of Silver Bullets and captain birdie faulkner are remembered. can play a tune on a trumpet (if warranted).

FRANCIS MONTEZ

-> copilot of Silver Bullets grieving a loss she is taking harder than she thought, wrapped in sorrow and guilt that she tries her best to hide. a good-hearted californian, she wrangles with this new era of her life with the help of replacement pilot, annie bradshaw, and steps up in more ways than one. carries a cigarette pack around like it's strapped to her very being. will give you a nickname that she'll call you any chance she gets.

BESSIE CARLISLE

-> navigator for Silver Bullets, with the brightest smile the sun's ever seen from the skies (says her boyfriend). hailed all the way from queens, new york with the intention to get her hands working on the mechanic floor of a factory and got a gig flying planes instead. got placed in navigation one day and ever since then, has made it her duty to make sure every mission goes right down to the degree.

CARRIE ACHTERBERG

-> german-american bombardier on Silver Bullets making sure the enemy pays in any way they can for the costly damage of a horrid war (enter: norden bombsight). grew up in brooklyn, new york, had some run-ins with bessie carlisle and the two became thick as thieves when working on planes. blowing the enemy to shreds seemed to be the cherry on top.

MARJORIE ‘MARGIE’ HARLOWE

-> flight engineer on Silver Bullets who grew up in a large family with at least four dogs all named after flowers, on the shores of lake michigan, wanting to go to school for physics ever since she felt herself get the knack for mathematics. only up until then, did she find herself on a plane with her cousin (who nearly crashed it) that she then got herself in line for flying in B-17s and looking to the skies above (and calculating vectors from the ground).

PAULINA STAGLIANO

-> italian-american radio operator for Silver Bullets, who came in from philadelphia, pennsylvania with radio operator experience in the WAC before getting the call for a job with captain birdie faulkner, and finding herself up in B-17s on the regular. she's passionate, a loyal friend and if you talk bad about the phillies -it's on sight (usually has sports arguments with kennedy farley - they keep bickering to a minimum).

VIVIAN RATCLIFF

-> hailing from fort collins, colorado, viv ratcliff comes with a wealth of knowledge and experience as a gunner on Silver Bullets, with a father who was in the army and her boyfriend in the navy. 'calm, cool, collected' are the best words to take her in as, usually found collecting flowers after missions for the boys who didn't get a chance to make it home. keeps a tally of german fighters that go down on the wooden pole beside her cot.

KENNEDY FARLEY

-> irish-american gunner on Silver Bullets, opposite viv ratcliff, coming in from boston, massachusetts, raging red sox fan with a family of brothers going on to military or sports (much of the same). close friends with margie harlowe because she 'softens her up a bit', and always willing to stick around for a drinking game or two. passionate friend (margie told you so).

JUDY RYBINSKI

-> polish-american farm girl and turret ball gunner for Silver Bullets from hot springs, north carolina, growing up near the french broad creek, summers spent on the river, catching fish and milking goats for her families business. went hunting with dad a few times, and grew up with her older brothers going off to the military or college and wanted a hand at it all. captain faulkner was her opening (and the person she needs most now).

MARIANNE SALINGER

-> french-american aspiring painter from rochester, new york, now a tail gunner for Silver Bullets. thought she was signing up to paint planes, but ended up finding a knack for guns on turrets and credits captain faulkner for her 'in' on flying. has a pet cat that roams the base as he wishes (he's named frank, after her one true love, frank sinatra), usually getting into trouble by pissing off a husky named meatball.

[amuseoffyre]

I saw a comment on S2 along the lines of "I don't see why they brought in Ricky/The British as bad guys". As if the British empire hasn't been the big threat since 1x01. The Badmintons represent the empire's lesser sons. Ricky is a similar thing, but escalating.

It's not overtly said in the show, but the entire empire and colonialism is the villain. We have crews of various kinds of disenfranchised people - Frenchie (was in service), Olu (implicitly from a maroon community), Buttons (Scots), Wee John (Northern Irish).

And then we have the Queen Anne - Ed's background is woven with the history and legacy of the British school system in his Māori mother's dialogue. Izzy is a working class northern man with the scars of flogging on his back. Also Samoan Fang and south Asian Ivan.

In 1x01, we see how the British upper classes treat people they consider their "lessers". Everything they say about Stede's crew speaks measures for the views of the empire: colourful, savages, slave. The gratification of seeing them immediately punished is *so* strong.

We also see how they treat anyone who doesn't fit into the specific boxes they have assigned to people. Stede is a target of their scorn, violence and mockery and has been since childhood, despite the fact he should - on the surface - fit in with them as a rich white man.

While Chauncey's vendetta against Stede is his primary motive for hunting him, prestige, rank and station are more valuable to Wellington and Hornberry. They defy their commanding officer to elevate themselves when they have Blackbeard take the Act of Grace. It's all about empire - dining with King George himself.

Which brings me around to Ricky. He's a lesser son - like the Badmintons - but also he is the empire incarnate, a minor Prince from the royal family, with Daddy running the treasury. He wants what he sees Stede having. He thinks he can just walk in and take it. When he fails - and is punished - he doesn't grow and learn from it like Stede does.

While Stede willingly gives up everything to be true to himself, Ricky immediately goes running back to cling to the imperial apron strings and uses the wealth, prestige and his name - and royal ties - to bring the wrath of the empire down on the Republic as a whole.

He wants, so he takes. If he can't have, he will destroy. Even after he's demolished everything, he tells himself "well, I beat all the other pirates, so that makes me the best pirate" because he genuinely believes that. He doesn't see them as equals to him. They are to be controlled and beaten by him. We see it from his first scene, referring to the pirates as "rubes", saying that he and Stede are better than the other people in the Republic & telling Stede he wasn't good at what he did.

For him, this is just a game where he controls all the pieces. Much like the British empire did - do what you like for fun & profit & kill anyone who gets in the way.

The threat of the empire has always been there, right from the beginning. The Act of Grace was the first royal step to quash piracy. Ricky was Act 2. We're into the final confrontation now, building steam to the fall of the Golden Age and the end of piracy as it was.

[satureja13]

Vlad's Therapy Game - Part 3 (There is a Poll below) Vlad is still playtesting. And while he took a walk through the village and admired Tiny Can's work, it slowly went dark, the stands closed and the folks went to the Lion's Pride Inn.

He heard the music from the inside. 'The Dublin Pub Crawl' by The Irish Rovers was playing.

'We all went in to Kitty McGee's for we're a jolly crew We all went in to Kitty McGee's to have a drink or two Kitty McGee's, in Dublin town upon the crawl A hell of a time was had by all, down where the beer and whiskey flew'

He had nowhere to go and so he went in. Maybe someone takes pity on him and gives him some food? He already felt a bit weak on his legs. And his job at the sculptor only started early next morning... There are so many known faces here! Ms. Coombes, their former teacher, Travis (Jeb and Ji Ho's Roadie) and Uncle Stefan, who raised Jack. But they are just NPCs Tiny Can created and none of them recognized him.

As soon as Gia, the bartender, saw Vlad, she stopped him. Gia: "I'm sorry. You can't enter as long as your status is unclear. Go to the castle after you got paid tomorrow and ask for an audience to talk to the Queen about your status. You can sleep in the shack behind the Inn and I'll care for your horse after my shift. But that's all I can do for you."

And so Vlad went over to the shack...still hungry. Let's hope Diablo finds a better place for the night. At least he can eat some grass and would't have to go to sleep hungry. And then this cute - but somehow really delicious looking bunny approached Vlad... should he...? It's just a game. But the thought of eating a bunny makes him uncomfortable. He does eat meat, but killing the animal himself is a whole different thing. But he's so hungry. And he'll have to survive the night and the next day working before he gets paid...

Vlad tried to escape this situation by going to (try to) sleep. But when he stood up and stepped inside the shack, he saw stars and almost fell unconscious. He has no choice...

In the meantime, Gia was caring for Diablo. The way she looks at him. Is she having the same thoughts about Diablo as Vlad has about the bunny? Ö.ö'

Phew. She finally leaves the stable. But Diablo decides it's better to stay awake and alert. No one will eat him. No matter how 'useless' they think he is!

Gia: "You weren't about to eat that bunny, were you?" Vlad: "Uhm..."

Gia: "You really must be very hungry then." And she gave him a plasma fruit! A HFN for Vlad and the bunny ^^'

This will help him (and the bunny) to survive the night and the next day. After he had the plasma fruit (that really tasted like a real one outside of the game), he lay on the straw in the shack and pondered about his ingame experiences so far. Even though many events here were upsetting and annoying, they still were managable and there had been no moment where he wanted to scream 'OUT!'. So Tiny Can improved a lot. And of course the Therapy Game will be annoying and hard. They all know that. Therapy is no rose garden after all and as far as he can speak for the others, they are determined to change their lives for the better and are willing to work hard for it. And he will help them by testing this game and make sure it's safe for them. He decided to playtest also the following day and then report back to Saiwa. And then he fell asleep under the stars that shone through the missing shingles of the shack and the bunny watched over his sleep...

TMI: Even though Vlad got killed by the Killer Bunny once, he isn't resentful. Vlad's sweet memories with Bunnies: on their trip to Henford and at Beltane.

The situation with hungry Vlad and the bunny reminds me of some quests in games that gave me a hard time. There was one in World of Warcraft where I had to use torture on a prisioner to get information. It's many years ago. I did it but I still feel uncomfortable about this. Killing when I get attacked ingame is ok for me, but this - I don't know. I play computer games for over 40 years now and I am still not dulled ^^' Do other players even have such thoughts? Let's find out:

You are also very welcome to leave a comment with your thoughts.

This is a very enthralling topic for me these days while we explore the Therapy Game and there will be more situations like this. I'm so curious how the Boys will deal with them. It's also very different from other games because the Boys act as themselves and it really feels like they are a part of their ingame surroundings.

From the Beginning  ~  Underwater Love ~  Latest 🕹️ 'Therapy Game' from the beginning ▶️ here 📚 Previous Chapters: Chapters: 1-6 ~ 7-12 ~ 13-16 ~ 17-22 ~ 23-28

[wyked-ao3]

Amon Charaters intro

Name: Amon Rún

Nickname: none

Kind of Being: spirit fae

Age: 18

Sex: Male

Appearance:

Hight: 5’3 Appearance : Feminine white hair, Silver eyes with grey pupils, light sensitive and look like he is blind when having a vision they go milky white, Sees in the dark, Pointy ears, nubs of horns he hides in his hair that will grow to full size upon 21st birthday. Piercings.

Occupation: seer and navigations for the crew aboard Death's Redemption.

Family members:

Queen Rhiannon

King ?

Princess ?

Pets: none

Best friend: the crew

Describe his/her room:

A cot with books near it.

Way of speaking: Irish/Scottish. Informal/ formal

Physical characteristics (posture, gestures, attitude): loyal, mischievous, ruthlessly manipulative if required but not exactly on a level field.

Items in his/her back pocket/ purse: His moonstone blended with Black Tourmaline that helps block the visions so he can sleep (gift by Galen and daimhín shortly after he first was rescued)

Hobbies: reading, causing havoc, hanging with the crew, losing maps.

Favorite sports: tempting fate and manipulating it.

Abilities/Talents/Powers: seer, spirit, necromancy?

Relationships (how he/she is with other people): easy going.

Fears: returning to his family, his powers occasionally, the death of those he cares about.

Faults: manipulative, naive

Good points: loyal, manipulative, power, willingness to do whatever it takes.

What he/she wants more than anything else: his family/crew safe

@thatuselesshuman @gioiaalbanoart @lychhiker-writes @goth-automaton

@thecomfywriter @evilwriter37 @saebasanart @the-golden-comet @mauannacreates

@kind-lion @alinacapellabooks @kuebiko-writing @kaeru483 @differentnighttale

@theink-stainedfolk @unstableunicornsofasgard @mysticstarlightduck @demon-sneeze

@an-indecisive-nerd @smellyrottentrees @honeybewrites @pheonix358

[arcielee]

Farewell Wanderlust

Warnings: As always, MDNI, 18+ murder by Temes, character death, angst like a mofo, evil plotting, sexual themes, unprotected sex, oral (female receiving) Pairing: Osferth x OFC Word Count: 6941 Summary: Torn from her home country, Keavy finds herself trying to survive across the Irish sea. She happens across Uhtred and his motley crew, and finds herself befriending a monk who is determined to become a warrior. Author’s Note: Thank you @sylas-the-grim for helping me edit this chapter. Thank you everyone who loved Keavy and Osferth [I am not opposed to a epilogue, let me know]. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chonky chapter. 💜 Deireadh is end in Irish.     Dividers are by @saradika Taglist (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @schniiipsel @aemondx @fan-goddess @babygirlyofthevale @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @amiraisgoingthruit @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @itbmojojoejo @girlwith-thepearlearring @tssf-imagines @triscy @whoknows333 @shesjustanothergeek @heavenly1927 @myfandomprompts @fangirlninja67 @tinykryptonitewerewolf @lauftivy @vintageypanwitch @heimtathurss [bold means I was unable to tag you!]

Chapter 7

The seasons had gone and Osferth found himself back within the walls of Wintanceaster. Darkness drafted over the city with the swell of storm clouds, heavy with their threat of the last of the summer rains, with flashes of white and its low rumble of thunder; it mixed with the nightfall, casting long shadows from the bold posts of amber light that was stilted in the streets, leading up to the castle. 

His legs ached from the time spent on horseback, as they had traveled North to see Ragnar and his swell of rebellion in Dunholm, only to come back again, flitting amongst the cities that thread throughout East Anglia, Mercia, and then back to Wessex. They moved almost headlong, avoiding the threat of the king that hung over their heads, knitted along with the poisoned whisper of Bloodhair’s seer. 

She was now dead but death followed them still, something now palpable within the castle walls of the city.

There was an eerie familiarity as he moved with deliberate steps, following two paces behind Uhtred, who followed behind the priest, and they moved, quick and quiet, through the corridor. Osferth thought back to the last time his father dared to publicly acknowledge him, how his large palm had wrapped around his arm, his staggered steps on wiry legs to keep pace with the stride of the King of Wessex. 

Until that moment, Osferth had only been a shadow, a murmur of the ealdorman amongst the stone walls. He was only acknowledged by his sister, who would often pull him away to play games, as Edward was too small to be bothered with. 

These were moments he cherished, but they were always fleeting, always ending with the sharp gaze of the queen over her pointed nose; it proceeded the rustle of her skirt with her curt pace, as she would sweep Æthelflæd away for prayer and penitence, leaving Osferth to fade away into the shadows once again. 

If it had been left to the queen, she would see him to not exist within the walls, but here he now walked, as requested by Uhtred, his steps joining the soft echo of their footfalls. They stopped outside an oak door and Beocca held up his hand before slipping into the room first, leaving them for a moment. 

In the quiet, Osferth dared ask. “Why did you bring me here, lord?” 

“Why not?” Uhtred turned to face him, his voice low. 

“You could have brought Finan to witness what the king wished to say,” he explained, pausing only to wet his lips. “But you chose me.” There was a hum to fill the silence and Osferth could see gold rings reflecting from the candlelight in the blues of his eyes; Uhtred did not answer his question. “The last time we were in Wintanceaster, my grief and my actions led to consequences…” 

“You did what was right by your gods, lord.”

There was a subtle quirk of his lips as Uhtred watched him before he continued. “Nonetheless, it did not affect only me, but it still resulted in us being banished and torn from,” and his expression showed consideration for his next words chosen, “those we care deeply for.” 

Keavy.

The thought of her name alone sent an ardent surge through his veins, something that always thrummed beneath, knotting with his yearn for her touch, for her smile again. She remained with him, heavy on his heart, alongside the cross pendant gifted that was safely tucked beneath his embossed, leather cuirass and ratted albe; its cool metal often served as a balm for  the heartsore he woke up with ever since she left for Saltwic. 

It had been thirteen months since he last saw her, since he last touched her or tasted her, her lips haunting the curve of his mouth. He often thought of the moment in the stables, their last kiss shared, how she felt beneath his large palms when he placed them on her hips to help her aback; his fingers ached to let her go and his desperate reach to touch her one last time, trailing up the curve of her calf.

Keavy had looked at him, the green of her brilliant eyes focusing beneath the flutter of her dark lashes; his eyes etched the rose color that nipped at her features, blooming from the cool night’s air, from the urgency to leave the city. 

He grasped at these moments, but they seemed to spill between his fingers, a thousand words perched on his tongue but he could only squeeze her calf gently, he could only manage the simple promise, “I will return to you,” and then she was gone, leaving him to choke on the unsaid. 

“How long has it been?” Untred asked, his voice low, kind, and easing him back into the hallway of the castle of Wintanceaster.

Four hundred and twelve days. “Over a year now, lord.” 

Uhtred hummed again. “Osferth, I brought you here to hold me accountable when we face Alfred, so that we may right what is needed and be able to return to Saltwic, but without the echoes of outcast or fugitive to follow our steps.” He offered a wry smile. 

Osferth felt his heart flutter with his words, his fingers pressing to feel the soft crinkle of parchment of the letter tucked away, its edges fraying, and each word memorized. As they traveled, updates were fleetingly sent from Saltwic, and only just a quick recount from Æthelflæd that all was well, that they, that Keavy, were still safe. 

She studies beside Oswald, who is becoming your namesake, Æthelflæd’s words teased. She is adamant to continue learning so she may send her own words to you. 

His heart held onto these words and the bit of hope they offered, as it was all that could be done with the unprecedented time and travel. But when the threat of Æthelflæd was vocalized in Dunholm, they were quick to come to her aid and learned of Æthelred’s intended ill-will. 

It was a mixture of frustration, of exhaustion, just the sheer disappointment to return and find Saltwic empty… “They are safe,” his sister was quick to say, her eyes flitting from Osferth, then to Sihtric, and the rest of them. “I had them sent to Alencestre when Aldhelm warned me…” and she faltered.

It was a wrath returned and Osferth spoke low. “I will kill him,” and he felt Uhtred rest his palm on his shoulder, grounding him. 

Æthelflæd watched him, a slight curl to her pink lips, and she stepped towards him. “I swore to you that I would keep her safe,” her words just for him and his gaze flicked to meet her own; she reached for his hands. “This is for you.” 

A letter, and he felt the corners of his mouth tug upwards, using the fading sunlight to read. Osferth, it began, the sweet curl of her lettering to the piece of parchment, and he could hear her musical lilt with the few lines she had written, I have not forgotten what you have promised me, and I hold onto the hope that neither have you. I am waiting, still, and I will do so until you return to me.  

The simplicity of her message warmed his heart; he took care to refold its creases and tuck it away, carrying it with him always. In the days that followed, he came across an intimate moment shared between his sister and Uhtred; he saw her blush, her swift steps to pull away from him and her expression when she spotted Osferth. 

He offered his arm, watching how her brow furrowed, the bob of her neck as she swallowed thickly. “Show me the gardens by the chapel,” he offered a scapegoat.

She tucked her fingers in the crook of his arm, keeping with his languid pace; she did not speak of the greenery. “Love is peculiar, isn’t it?” Æthelflæd, if anything, was fearsome, but in that moment she gave a wistful look over her shoulder to see the embrace the seer pressed onto Uhtred. “It has a way to thread within your heart, but life has chapters that must be completed first until it is ready to blossom, or so it seems.” 

Osferth hummed, his steps slowed to keep with her, his mind returning to the words written: I am waiting.

“Do you love her, Osferth?”

It was a relief to admit it outloud, to say something that pressed within his heart, heavy with his steps that traveled northwards and back again. It was a thought that sung with the rising sun and carried throughout to a melodious lull at night. But he also confided his hesitation to tell Keavy just this.

“What keeps you from saying this to her?”

Osferth swallowed, his lips pursed in debate of what words he would choose, deciding to trust his sister: the sin’s of their father and the curse that he was born into. 

She stopped walking and he followed, turning to look at her; he saw the maturity to her beauty, the hereditary severity that lined her lovely face with her smile. “Oh Osferth,” she began, reaching for his hand to hold his attention, “I think life is cruel enough on its own without this perpetual penance. God be damned,” she almost laughed, “I see that Keavy has a strength knitted within her very bones. I believe you should allow her to decide her own fate, to allow her to choose to spend our given time on this earth with you or not.” 

Osferth blinked. “Promise me you will tell her when you see her again,” she continued, and he saw a sadness to her smile, “as I know she loves you.”  

His heart lifted with her words, but the sadness was heavy still with his sister. “What of Lord Uhtred?” His curiosity could not be helped; since the nunnery, he was too aware of the lingering glances, their subtle touches shared, how their every movement was scrutinized from the sharp glare of the witch. 

Plumes of red stained her porcelain tones and her lashes fluttered as she forced herself to keep his gaze. “I believe,” her tone slow with a recognition all her own, “that Uhtred and I are maimed by a great love lost, that our sorrow recognizes one another and we cannot help but be drawn towards each other.” 

Osferth nodded; the guilt, the weight of Gisela’s death nearly killed Uhtred on the way to Dunholm, and this was first he had seen his smile in months. “I only wish for you to find happiness, Æthelflæd.” 

“And I, you, Osferth,” her eyes glassy with her words. “You will always be welcomed in Mercia.” 

They were quick to move, called to Aegelesburg and spoke strategy on how to cripple the Dane army that grew. After the bloodshed, they returned to Coccham and found the village thriving, though once they passed through the archway, Osferth could not shake the haunted feeling of the transitory happiness that seemed an eternity ago. 

The pagan hall had the spilled stain of lords unwelcomed, with their placed ornaments of the Christian God hanging above while they ate their fill; they were seated at the same table where he helped Keavy tutor Stiorra and Oswald, her endless patience and sweet smile, and how Gisela watched over them, her eyes glittering. 

But that warmth was swept from the great hall and Osferth left without a word, following the dirt path that returned him to the room he and Keavy shared. The air was stale, her lingering scent gone, and nothing but a dust that covered the bare furniture left behind. 

He took deep breaths through his mouth, the heartache still pressing, and he felt jolted from his self-wallowing. 

I know she loves you.

He then heard Leofric, his words clawing through the earth, an echo that rang bold from his grave: a man could be set on a path, but only his steps could create his own destiny. 

Osferth felt embolden, something that now seared through his veins, propelling his steps forward with the earth crunching beneath his boots. He thought of the time lost to his damn hesitation, for some curse mentioned by a faith lost, a curse deemed by his very existence and damned by the sins of his father, and how he foolishly allowed it to still his tongue when it came to her.

He knew he loved Keavy, just as Uhtred described once, something that thrummed beneath his skin, in tandem with his heartbeat. 

He moved towards the Temes, to allow a new breath, a moment to clear his mind of this burdened relief carried that now was dissipating with each step. He only stopped when he saw Untred and the witch, but he dared to creep forward, silent, wary, watching how the tension lifted in his lord’s shoulders when he released her and how she drifted away with the current. 

Uhtred seemed surprised as Osferth moved to the dock, reaching to pull him from the river. He was quiet through the confession, how Uhtred was not proud of what he had done, and he was quick to stop his lament. “You have taken control of your destiny, lord,” and his words burned in his chest, as if branded by the Celtic cross worn. “Today, I have decided to do the very same.” 

Curse be damned. 

“I will not leave this city,” and Uhtred’s voice returned his attention back to the hallway, perched outside the king’s door, “until we have been reinstated, free men once more. And besides,” Uhtred was watching him, “don’t you wish to see your father?” 

Osferth returned the stare; this thought had been furthest from his mind, but the words spoken wrapped around his throat and he swallowed hard. The silence was heavy and his voice cracked when he said, “Yes, lord.” 

It was then that Beocca peered out, gesturing to Osferth. “The king wishes to speak with you first,” and the priest moved aside.

Osferth looked to Uhtred for a moment, who nodded his encouragement, and he moved past the priest, slipping into the room. 

Orange hues pooled around the bed from the thick tapers lit and the king was swathed in woolen blankets, propped against overstuffed cushions to hold him upright. Osferth marveled at the vestige of the man from Aescengum months prior, his complexion waxen and his skin taught over his bones, with dark rings beneath his closed eyes. He would have assumed the king was already dead had he not noticed the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the muted labored breaths beneath the layers. 

And then the king opened his eyes, their shared blue that was muddled with his sickness and that wavered until they fell to where Osfeth stood. There was the shudder of his youth, his want to wilt away from the direct gaze, but instead he moved towards the bedside. 

King Alfred watched with bruised, hooded eyes as Osferth seated himself on the ottoman, pulling himself close enough to see that candlelight show the last glimmer of life touching his pallid features. “Osferth,” the king began, his name foreign, spilling from his cracked tongue and lips. 

A cough came, a wet rasp that was covered by a handkerchief spotted with blood; Osferth looked to grab a goblet at the bedside, offering a drink that he gratefully took. When he set the mug down, he felt the king clasped his hand onto his other, a papery thin touch, and Osferth dutifully reached with his other hand, dutiful to his dying father, solemn with his returned gesture. 

“I know what you have done,” Alfred continued between ragged breaths. “I have heard of your bravery,” and he paused. “You are a good man and I am proud.” 

Osferth shifted his weight from his words and the king did not notice, or if he did, he continued anyway. “Death allows you to reflect on your failures, your misdoings in your life,” he released his hold, pressing his palms against the top blanket; the skin clung thin to the bones, his knuckles jutted against. “There is a letter prepared. Bring it to Æthelflæd, she will know what must be done.” 

His eyes followed the weak wave to see the parchment folded and the red wax of the king’s seal placed. “I only ever wished to do what was right by you,” and Osferth jerked back towards the murmur of the king, a man of regal regret, and saw that Alfred held a look of awe, as if it was his first time to truly see his eldest son.  

“Osferth,” he repeated, his voice weak and his eyes glassy. “I am proud.” 

“Thank you,” he breathed, the threat of tears in the same eyes he shared with his father. 

Osferth felt a warm touch on his shoulder and looked up to see Uhtred standing over, a gentle squeeze. He moved to stand, excusing himself to leave the room, pausing in the doorway for a final look at his father, who managed a second wind to greet Uhtred; dutiful until the end.  

Only in the corridor did he dare peer at the letter in hand, at the king’s penmanship that began: To my kinsman, Osferth.  

+ + + +

“I see horsemen.” 

Keavy sat below the tree that Stiorra climbed, her back against the trunk and a tome opened across her lap; the girl was growing long like her mother, allowing a reach for the higher limbs, and still slender enough for the branches to hold her weight. Keavy squinted upwards to where the girl was perched, watching. “Tradesmen?” 

The cool breeze rippled through her hair and she used one hand to push it from her view. “If they are tradesmen, they travel light.” 

Keavy closed the book and set it on top of the quilt spread at the base, pushing to her feet. “Climb down, Stiorra,” she swallowed the tinge of panic to her tone. “It would be best to alert Lady Æthelflæd…” in case they are unfriendly, but she could not say that out loud. 

It had been weeks since the Battle of Holme, as it now known; it was a bloodshed of Danes, a revolt orchestrated by Æthelwold that had been met by Lord Uhtred and his valiant men, as well as the Anglo-Saxon allied militia. Despite the victory, the Danes that escaped flitted across the villages of Northumbria, still raiding, still vengeful.  

“They may be Dane,” Stiorra continued her assessment, her head tilting; it was one of the many traits passed from Gisela, her unwavering fearlessness as in this moment, watching still. “Or some of them, anyway…”

“Stiorra,” her voice was sharper. “Now.”

She reached for a thicker branch to begin her descent, pausing to say, “Keavy,” and she looked down. “It is my father!”

It had been fourteen months since they had arrived at Saltwic; they rode through the night and following day, coming just as the amber streaks of dusk splayed behind the stoned rook. Lady Æthelflæd came to the courtyard at the call of her men, wearing with the same severity of her brother that was etched onto her features. 

She recognized Hild and beckoned them inside at once, with Sigdeflaed guiding the bleary eyed children and Keavy lingering behind with the nun. While Hild recounted the prior days, Keavy was drawn to watch the emotions playing across her fair features in a way that was akin to Osferth, subtle but austere; only when Keavy was mentioned by name was the noticeable flicker, the small curl upwards of her lips.  

“You are Keavy?” 

She felt the blood pour into her cheeks as Æthelflæd turned her attention towards her, with the same blue that belonged to Osferth. “I am,” Keavy gave a small nod.

“I have heard so much about you,” and she smiled with a warmth that reached her eyes. “You are safe here, I swear it. For as long as it is needed.” 

The weeks that followed were quiet, uneventful, though Keavy still kept her seax and dagger on her person out of caution, or perhaps comfort. She still pressed for a new normalcy for both Stiorra and Oswald, who seemed to have aged with their grief. 

Stiorra mirrored her mother in so many ways, though her willful temperament came from Uhtred; she had no interest in her studies, but still would participate, in part to torment her brother, but mostly she pushed to learn how to handle a real blade. Whereas Oswald had grown solemn in Saltwic, embracing the supplied priest for their tutoring lessons, newly dedicated to the faith. 

Keavy remained present, sitting with Æthelflæd, who would often use the time to pen a letter for Osferth. She was aware of the Irishwoman’s gaze and asked her, “Would you care to add something?” 

She blushed as she shyly admitted that Osferth had been teaching her to read whenever he was in Coccham, but never to write; with this Æthelflæd smiled, a soft hum of encouragement for her to sit alongside the priest, taking a personal interest for Keavy to practice her penmanship. 

The seasons rolled away as the autumn’s yellows, oranges, and reds were soon covered by the first dusting of snowfall, enveloping Saltwic in white; the only color shown were the rich tones of primrose that bloomed throughout the gardens. 

Inside, fresh parchment was placed onto the table and Keavy looked up to see the same kind smile, the same kind eyes that she recognized in Osferth with Æthelflæd’s features. “This is for you, so you may write to him,” was all she said.  

Æthelflæd seemed very aware of whatever was between Keavy and her brother, but she still could not help the color that flushed her cheeks. “What would I even tell him?”

“Whatever it is that you are carrying in your heart,” Æthelflæd replied, a knowing smile curling on her rosy lips. 

The empty page seemed to taunt her and Keavy remained seated long after the rest retired to their quarters. The quiet, the solitude allowed her to finally pull from her heart as suggested, blowing on the ink to dry. 

She heard steps and turned to see Æthelflæd returning downstairs with a man in her shadow. Keavy pushed from her seat, her seax and dagger drawn, her heart in her teeth. “Keavy, it’s okay, I know him–” she held up her hands, a flush of color to her cheeks. “We must act quickly.” 

Saltwic was no longer safe and they were to leave for Alencestra at once; the words clawed within her chest as Æthelflæd continued, “I will leave for Wincelcumb, and I will send for Uhtred.” Her eyes were bright with her plan. “You all will be safe there until I come for you… once this matter is dealt with.” 

“Uhtred will kill him,” and Keavy sheathed her steel, her eyes still wary of the man. “They both will kill him.” Osferth.

Æthelflæd nodded. “I hope it does not come to that.”

“Lady, be safe.” Keavy reached for the parchment, folding it. “And… if you see Osferth, could you give him this?” 

Her knowing smile hinted, the newfound worry lifting for a moment until the hushed whisper came: “Lady, we must hurry.” 

The time in Alencestra was long enough for Oswald to announce his departure for St. Wilfrid’s Church, to go back to Wessex, refusing to return with them to Saltwic. Keavy watched him, finally seeing the flare of his father in Oswald, the young man's eyes bold with his conviction. Stiorra was incredulous and only Æthelflæd seemed supportive. 

“Father will understand my decision,” he finished.

But Keavy knew that would not be the case.

They returned to Saltwic just as the snow melted with the returned plumes of color from the flowers that sprouted through, followed by the summer rains that thundered and muddied the earth, and continued until it was blanketed once again with the amber colors of autumn, sprawling as far as the eye could see. 

And they remained still, without word, without direction from Uhtred, without an update from Osferth. Instead, news only came second-hand: the death of the king of Wessex and the succession of the aetheling Edward, and the bloodied battle won against his uncle Æthelwold.

Kevay tried to smother her impatience, her anxiety that knotted in her chest, waiting for a whisper, a murmur of news, to know if Osferth still lived or if he had died. She wondered if she would ever be able to tell him what she failed to write to him.

That she loved him, and she always would.  

And now the words that spilled from Stiorra swept the air from her lungs, her stance wavering slightly. “Stiorra… are you certain?” The girl moved with a newfound eagerness, branch over branch, uncaring how her skirts caught and tore them free. “I see the glint of Serpent-Breath’s handle!” Her tone was gleeful. “He is back as he promised! And he brings your beau!”

Keavy flushed crimson. “You know not what you talk about–”

“I am only young, I am not blind,” she continued with her cheeky tone, teasing just as Gisela had always done. The heartache of her loss remained, but Keavy always pressed for them to recall the good, that it was the love they held for their mother that would keep her memory alive. “I remember how you were sweet on him and besides,” and her grin matched her tone, “I also remember mother saying he was your beau.” 

It was as if Gisela was able to still tease beyond the grave. “Nevermind what she said–” Keavy burned as she struggled for her words. “Just, come down, quick!” 

Stiorra gave another cheeky grin before dropping from the last branch and landing back onto the ground; her cheeks were rosy from the sun, her eyes bright with her discovery. 

Keavy took her hand, the fevered pull of her heart with their hurried steps, her mind repeating the same hope she clung to the prior fourteen months: they have returned, Osferth is here!

It was called throughout and soon there was the spill into the courtyard, the gates opening as they gathered. Keavy stood solid despite the flurried anticipation that trilled her spine, watching until her vision blurred and blinking to clear it again. 

Uhtred led the men into Saltwic and its welcoming cries. Stiorra, who was a young woman in so many ways but at that moment, she was a child again and happy to see her father; she preened as he dismounted, pulling her close and pressing a kiss on top of her head. His steady gaze fell to Æthelflæd, her modest smile and the rose color pluming on her fair complexion as she watched. 

Then there was the reunion of man and wife, with Sihtric quick to pull Sigdeflaed for a kiss, of Finan calling loudly to their public display, but Keavy ignored it all; her eyes sought for Osferth alone. 

And she saw him, further back with Pyrlig, swinging his leg over the cantle and dropping off the side of his horse. He seemed taller than she remembered, a beacon that cut through once his eyes found Keavy, navigating through the men with his long legs. 

She willed herself forward, but remained rooted with her awestruck–he’s here. Osferth pressed forward until he was able to reach for her hand, and she was quick to take it, as she always had, as she always would. 

It was the familiar fit she longed for, how her hand fit into his own; his fingers still slender, his grip hardened with callouses from the reins, from his sword, but was gentle still, and firm with his hold, as if anything less would allow her to float away. Keavy followed his steps as he pulled her away from the crowd–though she felt their eyes follow, and they walked until they came around to the gardens, where the small chapel stood. 

There was the crunch of the auburn foliage with the season change beneath their feet, the cold nipping in the air. Osferth stopped and turned to face Keavy, his hands moving to the dip of her waist; she felt the air wrung from her chest with how he looked at her, the same brilliant blue of his eyes, rose hues that stained his cheeks and the tip of his nose.  

“Keavy,” began the gentle timbre of his voice, another flutter that swept through her with how he said her name, “may I kiss you?” 

She almost cried with his request, but instead gave a small nod; his lips curled, the blood beneath his skin darkening his features, and he dipped his head forward, the soft touch of his lips before he pressed against her. Keavy melted against him, her hands clasping on his forearms with a tight hold to keep her standing. She was unaware she was even crying until he pulled away, his concern knitting his sharp features and his large palms moving to cup her face. 

His touch was still gentle, warm and mindful of her mar, his thumb careful to wipe away the large tears that spilled. “You are crying?” He sounded alarmed, as if he held himself the cause. 

“You came back,” was all she could say, a hoarse whisper that broke away from her throat. 

“Keavy,” his relief washed over and his lips curled upwards, his gaze softening with her words, “I told you that I would.” 

Her laugh was choked with tears and he gave a chaste kiss before he pulled away, not outside of arms’ reach, but space enough to pull the Celtic silver cross from beneath his clothes; it gleamed in the sunlight. “I said I would bring this back. It always seemed to bring me luck,” he teased as he untied the leather. “May I?” 

She nodded again, her hands trembling to gather her dark hair as he moved behind her, bringing the necklace and knotting it at the nape of her neck; her skin rose with his warm touch, his thumb against her spine, and she felt his lips touch, his rumbled hum reverberating throughout her. 

“Would you rather just keep it?” she felt silly with her question, her fingers coming to touch the metal and turning to meet with his eyes. 

Osferth looked to her hand before resting his large palm over, and her heart rattled in her chest. “This is where it belongs,” and she saw how his neck bobbed as he swallowed. “Keavy,” he seemed solemn, almost uneasy, “I know so much has happened, so much that I wish to tell you…” he shifted his weight. “Keavy, I am a man cursed–”

“Osferth?” Her brow quirked. 

He shook his head, searching for the words, “I mean this in the biblical sense–”

“I refuse to hear this, damn the Saxon God,” she burst, the flash of severity brightening her eyes as she spoke. “Your worth is not deemed by the sins of another man!”

Osferth watched her with a pursed smile that deepened his dimples, and he leaned forward to capture her mouth; the kiss was soft, it was warm, and when she sighed, his tongue curled within her mouth, a languid pace to taste. When he pulled back, Keavy sighed again, the warmth burning her cheeks, her lips slightly swollen. “Allow me to finish?” His whisper fanned her face and she nodded numbly. 

“I am cursed, mayhaps,” and his gaze shifted a moment, but he did not continue with that thought, but instead, “I know that I have nothing to offer your affection, but know that with what I have, I will give you. I knew from the moment I saw you, from the moment we touch, how it gave me a sense of home I had never felt before,” he looked at the hold, how her palm curled within his own, the steady rise and fall of her chest, “I wish you to be my wife, Keavy. I love you.” 

And only then did he meet with her eyes, and Keavy could feel how her scar ached with how she smiled. “Say it again, Osferth.” 

“That I am cursed?” He seemed uncertain, and even more as she laughed. 

“No,” and she pulled her hands away, sliding them to curl against the base of his neck, pulling him closer for another kiss. “Only the last part,” she whispered against his mouth. 

Osferth smiled, glowing. “I love you, Keavy.”

And they kissed.  

+ + + +

There was a call for the staff to prepare a feast, for barrels to be rolled out so no mug would be empty, as there was much cause for a celebration this day. 

Æthelflæd and Sigdeflaed pulled Keavy away, helping her scrub every inch of skin and combing her curls with a rose oil gleam; a cream tunic and kirtle was gifted, cinching at her waist, a rich plum that complemented her fair skin and brought out her green eyes. 

There was a soft tap at the door that showed Stiorra holding a garland crown of primroses from the garden. “Just as you would do for me,” she smiled as Keavy placed it on top of her head before pulling her in for a hug. 

Arms linked, they walked back outside just as the last stretch of sunlight tucked away, the beginning blue hues that mixed with the burnt oranges and stars beginning to dot the sky. Keavy felt as if she were walking on the air as they entered the small chapel to see Uhtred, Finan, Sihtric, and the priest Pylrig towards the back where the stained glass reflected the tapers lit. She smiled at the sight of Osferth, and he returned it, his dimples lining his cheeks watching her eager steps to meet him.  

The priest officiated, taking Osferth’s large hand and placing it on top of Keavy’s. He felt her slight tremble and peered to see the flush of color with her grin; his thumb drew small circles and only then did she look to him, the color deepening on her cheeks. 

A quick prayer at the end was followed with a sweet kiss, and Finan crowed loudly. “Fucking finally!”

Night spilled over Saltwic and torches were lit to show the way back, able to follow the rich aroma of the feast prepared; cups brimmed and toasts given to the new king, to the safe return of Uhtred and his men, and to the new lordship, which cause Keavy to look at Osferth.

His grin was shy and he brought her knuckles up for a kiss. “I promise I will tell you everything, but this night I only wish to celebrate my beautiful wife.”

She glowed with his words, leaning forward for a kiss to his jaw with the whisper, “Whatever you desire,” and her tone sultry, “my lord.” 

Osferth did not let go of her hand, his slender fingers interlacing with her own, and she followed his sure steps that led away from the continued festivities and towards the room that had been prepared for them. When they came to the door, he drew her close by bringing the back of her palm to his lips for a gentle kiss, relishing in the flush of color to her cheeks before he opened the door. 

He pulled her inside, making sure to close and lock the door before he turned to capture her mouth; he pressed against her and she moaned in response, her arms wrapping around his neck, his tongue clever to taste. His large hands that had been hardened from battle showed grace with the intricacies of the lacings on her dress, with Osferth pausing to kiss the bit of new skin he exposed until Keavy was fully bare. 

Each touch of his lips seemed to spark against her skin, fluttering to her nerve endings and back again; she felt the coiled fervor in her lower abdomen, a wetness that pooled between her thighs, an ache to be touched by his hands. 

“Osferth,” she breathed against his lips, “I need you.”

But instead he pulled back, taking away the warmth he embodied, and Keavy could not help her soft whine, feeling her blush spill with intimate rose hues that stained her skin. He watched, his eyes rolling over her, his brilliant blue swallowed by his lustful haze and an almost playful curl to his lips. 

Osferth closed the space he created, a hot whisper in the shell of her ear, “I know,” and he moved closer, feeling her shuddered response beneath his fingertips, gentle to touch her hips and bring her flush against his chest; she sighed at the heavy shaft that pressed onto her lower stomach, “I promise, but first…” 

Keavy looked to see a pink dusting that covered his cheeks, his smile almost shy with his continued confession. “You must be first… I certainly will not last.” 

She kissed him again, her fingers pulling at the tunic he still wore; they moved towards the bed, a trail of his clothing in their wake, until she was able to fall back against the mattress. Osferth remained standing, a moment to admire her curves, from the width of her hips to her waist, the natural slope of her breasts and watching their rise and fall with her breath. 

He climbed onto the bed, moving between her plush thighs; it was a scent intimately her own, mixing pleasantly with the fresh straw and linen. Osferth dipped his head to place a kiss to the bloom above her entrance and she sighed, her thighs clenching in response, but his large hands moved to grip into the softness, pulling them apart so he could sink further. 

Keavy felt the blood rush to her head; his touch was familiar, remembered, with his soft nuzzle between and his kisses that led towards her center. She gasped and he only hummed in response, his lips curling upwards as they pressed to savor her essence; it was overwhelming after so long, and Keavy could not help but jump, another gasp that ripped from her chest. 

His hold tightened, his pleading murmur against her folds, “Let me, let me,” as he continued. 

She could not help but squirm, her fingers combing through his locks to root herself, and Osferth hummed again, a vibration that fluttered throughout her. She felt his fingers press against her silken slit, the curl of one digit within and another followed, creating sparks of pleasure that trilled up her spine with his come hither motion; her heart pounded against her chest from his sensual ministrations, the blood roaring towards her center as each euphoric wave began to crest and press against her seams. 

“Osferth,” she cried, pearled tears clumping her lashes together. 

“My beautiful wife,” his breathless praise against her wet cunt, “just like that…”

Osferth continued and her stomach tightened before the coiling passion finally burst, stars dancing before her eyes and her sinful clench around his fingers as he continued to coax through its entirety. Once her breath steadied, once her vision cleared, did she look to see he was now standing, his fingers now wrapped around the base his length, heady and heavy and glistening from her release. 

She pushed to her elbows to meet as he moved on top of her, capturing his lips and she licked herself off his chin with a giggle. Osferth grinned, moving into the cradle of her hips, resting on his elbows to hold his weight, but she clenched her thighs to draw him closer for another breathless kiss. 

Keavy melted against the warmth of his bare skin, the tickle of his chest hair, and his arm dipped between them to line the crown of his cock to her entrance, the gratifying stretch as he filled her. She gasped from the slow roll of his hips, sheathing his length and rekindling a passion with his each thrust; her nails bit into his shoulders, gasping to catch her breath that was being pulled away with the returning crests of pleasure, of something deeper within that caused her walls to flutter. 

“Again?” Osferth was flushed, pleased, but his pace did not falter. 

She could only give a mewled response, a clenching release, an intensity from the depth he reached inside her, and its rapturous pull that left her boneless and breathless, caged in his arms. Osferth followed her over the edge, tucking his head into the junction of her neck to her shoulder, a muted groan as his cocked pulsed within her velvet walls. 

And they laid for a moment before he began to place soft kisses against the curve of her neck, his lips trailing her jaw, and she giggled from his touch. He grinned again, another chaste kiss on her lips before he pulled away, moving to grab a cloth that was draped by the washbin, wringing it out and returning to wipe away the sex, pausing a moment to admire the spill of his seed and how it gleamed against her rosy folds. 

The hour was late when they finally crawled beneath the layers of blankets, of furs, and Osferth curled behind her with a deep inhale then a sigh from feeling the softness of her backside pressed against his chest, from how she fit into his embrace as his arms wrapped around her waist. He nestled further into her curls, a scent sorely missed of rose oil against her flushed skin, until his lips touched the back of her neck, eliciting a sleepy sigh from her lips.

He smiled, the low murmur, “My sweet wife.”

Deireadh.

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[emmedoesntdomath]

SPOT CONLON SPOT CONLON SPOT CONLON SPOT-

I’m not even going to lie to you, this man (92sies) was the reason I first actually got into this fandom.

also- I know next to nothing about uksies’ spot, and while she seems like an absolute badass of a woman whom I would adore, I’m going to stick to what I know, and that’s livesies and 92sies spot. sorry.

(these headcanons are somewhat based in history, mostly not.)

sean ‘spot’ conlon was born and bred in brooklyn, nyc to an irish mother and a spanish father. his first language was spanish (his mother died when he was really little, otherwise it would have gaelic/irish), but he learned english pretty quickly. he became a newsie at nine, and was damn good at it. he rose up the ranks at a speed unheard of, and by the time he was fourteen, he was the king.

here’s the thing about brooklyn politics- they’re messy as shit. in manhattan, leaders aren’t formally elected, they’re just kind of the implied leader. the bronx is the same way, with a little more dispute. so smalls and jack became leaders pretty naturally. queens is more or less a democracy, flushing’s pretty much the same. but brooklyn and harlem? you have to literally fight your way to the top. and once you get there, you have to keep fighting to maintain that power.

so when people say they’re scared of spot conlon? yeah. yeah, they should be.

he rules with an iron fist. there’s no mercy for traitors or rebels. he leads this way for roughly three, four years, gaining hotshot as his second and a motley crew of loyalists behind him. and then- and then hotshot reports of a manhattan newsie working the crowds at the races (and to be clear, brooklyn and manhattan aren’t on great terms)(spot thinks jack’s an idiot and wants nothing to do with him).

suddenly, spot’s got a weakness, and said weakness is now the official ambassador of manhattan (hotshot hates him with a burning passion, and spot kind of respects him for that). and then there’s the strike, and spot steps down a year and a half later, at nineteen- steps down, spot conlon is not FORCED down, thank you very much- and that’s the end of the king of brooklyn.

sean conlon, though.

he still likes the water, and the way the air smells after a particularly hard rain. he sometimes starts speaking in spanish while he sleeps. he isn’t the biggest fan of smoking, but damn, if he doesn’t find it hot when other people do it. he got his nickname because he had freckles on his arms and nose. his best friends are david jacobs and hotshot, but he won’t admit to even liking either of them. he hates when people call him short. he’s never liked girls, but he never really cared much for boys, either, until he met racetrack higgins. he can’t read, but he pretends to when asked, because he’s embarrassed about it.

he joins the army when the war begins, and the war ends without him coming home.

the world and a ptsd-riddled italian boy with curls mourn.

[argentumcor]

Shogun is very...modern.

John Blackthorne should be no stranger to a world where death lurks around every corner. The show is set in 1600. Famine and war are sweeping across Europe routinely in the last century, for starters. He's a sailor, too. When we met the man, he is dying of scurvy. You ever watch Master & Commander (you should, very good movie)? Death and the sea are perhaps more companions than freedom and the sea. The man must be well-traveled, too, to be so good at his job; he's been some wild places and seen some things, he had to.

The social strictures of Japan should be no shock to a sailor in their degree, because to this day, and definitely in 1600, a captain's word was law among the crew as intensely as a lord's word was law in feudal Japan. Violence at court? This is the later day of Queen Elizabeth I! It wasn't exactly all tea and crumpets and paeons of glory to the Enlightenment! Beheadings and kinslaying and intrigues all day! Don't tell me it wasn't the subject of speculation in London. Secret police! Bad harvests! Nothing resembling modern medicine existed, so people and especially children died all the time! Elisabeth I was only three years from her death in 1600, too, and the high court was a mess at the time. Let's not even get into what Elizabeth I the one was doing to the Irish. The cult of personality that had grown around her (and since been regrown) was waning for very good reason.

John Blackthorne being clumsy and rough at this high court intrigue in a foreign land makes sense, but his brand of shock at its violence and Mariko's lectures about death make no sense. It's just so modern, written from the perspective of people who are very unlikely to die from a random infected cut and who probably don't have any female relatives who died in childbirth for several generations, which has not been the case for most of human history until very very recently.

It's a brilliant show, don't get me wrong, entertaining and beautifully crafted and just magnificently acted, but whatever it's trying to say about Japan or the world at the time or humanity in general just falls flat because it misses that, in 1600, no one, great or small, east or west or north or south, did not know death as a too-casual companion in a way thankfully utterly foreign to most of us now. Especially not its POV character, a veteran British sailor with a letter of marque to harass and kill if possible the enemies of the Crown.

(What really bothers me about all this is that it feels like it means we forget how to be grateful and how to guard the safety our forebearers found against our own madness.)

[herbs-and-poultices]

Once in a while I get the terrible urge to share that my taste in music is even weirder than my taste in fiction. (What's a random American gal with no English/Scottish/Irish heritage doing listening mostly to songs like these? Blame my parents for raising me on murder ballads and ceilidh tunes.) So here is:

A Vaguely Whumptober-Themed Anthology of Folk Songs from the British Isles / Transatlantic Tradition: Part 1

1) "But now this room is spinning while I'm just trying to fill in all the gaps" / Swooning: Plains of Waterloo

Listen to my favorite recordings here: X X

How to make sure your girl still loves you, according to folklore: tell her you're dead and see if she faints

2) "I'll call out your name, but you won't call back" / Delirium: Battle of Waterloo

Listen to my favorite recording here: X

Jeannie, oh Jeannie, I am surely done Stricken doon in battle at the mooth o' Boney's guns Jeannie, oh Jeannie, aye sae dear tae me Let me hold you in my mind afore I dee

3) "Like crying out in empty rooms, with no one there except the moon": Anderson's Coast

Listen to my favorite recording here: X

A tale of tragedy upon tragedy during the Transportations

We stole a vessel and all her gear And where are you, my Annie? And from Van Dieman's we north did steer 'Till Bass Strait's wild waves wrecked us here Oh Annie dear, don't wait for meI fear I shall not return to theeThere's not to do but endure my fate, And watch the moon, the lonely moon, light the breakers on wild Bass Strait

4) "I see the danger, it's written there": Sir Patrick Spens

Listen to my favorite recording here: X

A shipwreck song

The king he wrote a broad letter and he sealed it with his hand And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens, walking out on the strand: "To Norway, to Norway, to Norway o'er the foam With all my lords and finery, to bring my new bride home" The first line that Sir Patrick read, he gave a weary sigh The next line that Sir Patrick read, the salt tear blinds his eye Oh who is it, oh who is it, who told the king of me To set us out this time of year to sail across the sea...

5) "You better hope I don't get up this time" : El Fusilado

Listen to my favorite recording here: X

Stretching the music genre and the prompt a bit here, but this is a great cover by a band that does a lot of traditional folk, and I feel like surviving a firing squad is 1) folk-song worthy and 2) enough to make anyone think twice about messing with you

6) "Do or die, you'll never make me, because the world will never take my heart": Tam Lin

Listen to my favorite recording here: X

One of the better-known English ballads. The intrepid heroine goes someplace she shouldn't, meets an elfin knight, falls in love with him, learns that he his a changeling held captive by the fae, and braves the wrath of the Faerie Queen to save her love from becoming the faeries' Halloween sacrifice

7) "Can you hear me?": Springhill Mining Disaster

Listen to my favorite recordings here: X X (cw: real event still within living memory)

Listen for the shouts of the dark-faced miners Listen through the rubble for the rescue teams Three hundred tons of coal and slag Hope imprisoned in a three-foot seam

8) "I have a soul, but I'm not a soldier" / All for nothing: Green Fields of France

Listen to my favorite recordings here: X X

Well the sorrow, the suffering, the glory, the pain The killing and dying, were all done in vain For, young Willie McBride, it's all happened again And again, and again, and again, and again

9) Mistaken Identity: Bonnie Banks of Fordie

Listen to my favorite recording here: X (cw: suicide mentioned)

An old ballad that gets darker the more you think about it

Gae tell tae me your brither's name My brither's name it's Babylon... Oh sister, what hae I done tae thee Hae I done this dreadful thing tae thee...

10) Stranded: The Golden Vanity

Listen to my favorite recording here: X

A tale of a tragic hero and a cruel ship's captain

Quickly he swam back, to the cheering of the crew But the captain did not heed him, for his promise he did rue And he scorned his poor entreatings when loudly he did sue And he left him in the Lowland Sea

11) No One Will Find You: Twa Corbies

Listen to my favorite recordings here: X X

There's mony a ane for him maks mane But nane sall ken whaur he is gane O'er his white banes when they are bare The wind sall blaw forevermair

12) "I haven't slept in days, but who's counting?" / I'm up, I'm up: Off to Sea Once More

Listen to my favorite recordings here: X X

Whaling was not a fun time

Some times we're catching whales, me lads, some times we're catching none With a twenty-foot oar stuck in your paw, from four o'clock in the morn And as the shades of night roll on and you rest on your weary oar, It was then that I wished that I was dead and could go to sea no more

13) "I don't feel so good": Lord Randall

Listen to my favorite recordings here: X X X

One of the better-known English ballads. A tale of deadly betrayal: A young man returning home at the end of the day thinks he just inordinately tired. A more careful accounting of the day's events reveals the terrible truth. Versions vary as to who did the deed, but the young lord's fate is always the same.

14) Just Hold On: Skye Boat Song

Listen to my favorite recordings here: X X

Some of you may recognize the tune. The traditional lyrics memorialize the aftermath of the Jacobite defeat at Culloden

Burned are their homes, exile and death scatter the loyal men Yet ere the sword cool in the sheath, Charlie will come again

15) Makeshift Bandages: Twa Brithers

Listen to my favorite recording here: X

Now you'll take off your white Holland shirt An' teer it frae gore* tae gore An' you will bind my deadly wounds That they might bleed no more So he's ta'en off his white Holland shirt An' he's torn it frae gore tae gore An' though he's bound his deadly wounds Ah, they bled ten times more *seam

[pluckysidekick]

40 days and 40 nights! We’re inching closer to the premiere and all the beautiful pain and pleasure I’m sure it will serve. Only a few new crumbs in show news this week (oh S4 trailer, where art thou?), but we did get a little something from the entire cast this week.

Riley was featured in Station 19 this week as Capt. Farris the union leader as I’d shared in an earlier blog. I enjoyed his scene, look forward to more in the season finale as he shared on IG!

Speaking of the dads, Scott shared an early headshot - so adorable!

Meanwhile Leah’s mind was blown when she found out Elemental is closing out Cannes this year, while Kennedy admitted how much pain the final Aglaeca era episode caused (we feel you) in answer to Katie’s complaint about the crew’s amnesia about the fact that they all agreed willingly to call to the sea monster even when Nancy tried to convince them not to.

Maddison is visiting England (but tried out an Irish accent with mixed results):

And regarding the men of the Drew Crew, we got another look at Tunji in Queen Charlotte (those curls!) with young Lady Danbury (premiers May 4), while Alex’s series High Desert got a trailer - it’s premiering May 17 with the first 3 episodes, while he will be in eps. 6-8. His gf also shared some more pics from her birthday weekend.

In show news, a few more featured actors popped up on IMDB. We have a second nurse and a new named character, Maggie Lake, in Episode 2, the comic episode featured in the M3gan trailer, and a new character named Keith in Episode 6, the Larry Teng special effects driven extravaganza that Kennedy told us had someone dying “a little”.

Shout out to all the Drewds still hanging in there, and especially folks that continue to make quality content to tide us over like NancyDrewGIFs on Twitter, @hucklebucket and @bethanyactually here on Tumblr, @isa on TikTok whose new edit has almost 76K 87K 140K (!) likes in 24 48hrs, and @pressdbtwnpages, @perfectpurls, and many other great fanfic writers on Ao3. There are many more creators on sm than I can list here, thank you to all!

[caitlynskitten]

Same

Do you have any specific favorites in mind?

If Melissa is starring in it as well, I'd love to see her act opposite Nicola Coughlan as I think they'd make a great screen couple

Ideally, in a film set in Ireland since Melissa has spoken about how much she loved it here and felt supported by Irish crew members and people in general after the firing

IDEALLY THEN ITD BE AYO EDIBIRI OUR IRISH QUEEN

[peligrosapop]

celtic fans always doing way too much. chanting about the queen when she died and screaming up the ra at their matches as if the ira aren’t the same thing as hamas ?!?!?!

Armed liberators is only okay when it’s whites anglos apparently. George Washington? Hero? IRA? terrorist? Ok ok ok. But Celtic is Scottish, not Irish.

And fuck the Queen, nanananaanananana Lizzie’s in a box in a box Lizzie’s in a boooox. 💃🏽💃🏽💃🏽💃🏽Im from the “no gods no masters” crew. Fuck all the monarchies. Plus the Scottish (Celtic are Scots) are a colonized land as well, so obv, they hate the English monarchy.

You are doing too much, defending awful institutions. Celtic Fc, always in the right side of history.

[scotianostra]

On January 11th 2000 The Kirkcudbright based fishing vessel Solway Harvester sank off the coast of the Isle of Man with the loss of her seven crew.

On board were Skipper Andrew Mills (known as Craig), 29, his brother Robin Mills, 33, their cousin David Mills, 17, Martin Milligan, 26, John Murphy, 22, David Lyons, 18, and Wesley Jolly, 17.

The men were all from the Isle of Whithorn area of Dumfries and Galloway. In 2005, there was a manslaughter trial of the dredger’s owner Richard Gidney. He collapsed after the judge ruled there was no case to answer.

The Solway Harvester was an automated scallop dredger. This fairly unusual type of vessel has sections along the sides which rotate out and upwards to deposit the catch on the deck. Launched in 1992, she was 21m (70ft) long and had accommodation for eight on board, plus a workshop, ice machine and storage.

But a Marine Accident Investigation Branch report on the sinking in 2003 found that there were maintenance issues - especially a flood alarm that did not work and a missing hatch cover.

The dredger sailed from Kirkcudbright in the early hours of 10 January 2000 and headed to the queen scallop grounds of the Irish Sea.

By the next morning, the crew had filled 150 bags of scallops. They hauled gear that afternoon, ready for home.

But the weather worsened and skipper Craig Mills headed for shelter at Ramsey Bay.

Nothing more was heard from the vessel until a satellite picked up an emergency position radio beacon. A rescue mission was scrambled but it was called off on 12th January after two unopened life rafts were found.

The wreck of the Solway Harvester was found on 15th January lying on her starboard side in 35m of water. The bodies of all seven crew were on board. According to the Marine Accident Investigation Branch, the vessel capsized because her fish room flooded, making her unstable.

Water drained unnoticed into the fish room through scuttles (hatches) on the deck which did not have their covers on. The pump was blocked, and an alarm which warns when the bilges (the lowest inner parts of the ship’s hull) are filling with water was broken. So the skipper had no warning the room was flooding. In the rough sea the unstable Solway Harvester rolled sideways to 30-40 degrees. This meant more water poured in through the open scuttle; tonnes of fish and gear shifted to starboard and water became trapped on the main deck. Although her buoyancy would have allowed her to roll back to 20-25 degrees she never regained her stability and she gradually rolled onto her side. It was then just a matter of time before she sank.

The Solway Harvester was towed to Douglas Harbour kept afloat until it was scrapped 13 years later, the reason for this was the need to preserve evidence in case there was litigation from the crews families.

There are three memorials that honour those lost that day, two at Isle of Whithorn, and a third at Douglas Head, Douglas, Isle of Man which signifies the close bond between Scotland, the Isle of Man and all the fishing communities around the Irish Sea.“

[wyked-ao3]

Oisìn Mallory character intro

Image from Pinterest

Oisìn is the love interest of Daimhín Heorot and is the captain of a Tarak fleet cargo vessel. He is loyal to his crew even when he probably shouldn't be. He has a distrust for royals of any kind (especially pirate royalty) . He didn't particularly want the promotion to captain but one does not say no to the queen. His father died two days after he had received the news of his sisters death. He joined the fleet when he got news of his father's death. Promoted to captain at age 17. He also has a fear of the Deadmans sea ,

Name: Oisìn Mallory

Nickname: sìn

Kind of Being: Human

Age: 21

Sex: Male

Appearance:Hight 5 foot (not happy about it)Appearance:freckles lots of them, Forest Green eyes, Copper/Strawberry blonde hair leaning red, Delicate build, Light skinned.

Occupation: Captain of a Tarak fleet cargo vessel.

Family members: redacted

Pets: None

Best friend: Mal, Taz, Silent Jack.

Way of speaking: Irish accent, musical and light.

Physical characteristics (posture, gestures, attitude): alert, not trusting, ready to move at a moment's notice.

Items in his/her back pocket/ purse: dagger.

Hobbies: wood working.

Favorite sports: tempting fate

Abilities/Talents/Powers: sword

Relationships (how he/she is with other people): depends on the situation and the person.

Fears: water, dark, cells, royalty, brands, possibly hats of a certain style.

Faults: not dealing with his issues, temperamental

Good points: loyal, knows politics, strategists, doesn't hesitate in a fight.

What he/she want more than anything else: peace, to be safe.

TPKODR tag list

@thatuselesshuman @gioiaalbanoart @lychhiker @goth-automaton

@thecomfywriter @evilwriter37 @saebasanart @the-golden-comet

@mauannacreates @kind-lion @alinacapellabooks @kuebiko-writing

@kaeru483 @differentnighttale @theink-stainedfolk

@unstableunicornsofasgard @mysticstarlightduck @demon-sneeze @the-letterbox-archives

[mega-reaver-pan-90-2-16]

Balad of  Princess Marianne Moconnle ( A tale of a ticklish girl and a Pirate Queen.)

(singing a shanty ) 

If ye be a fan of tickle tales and a fan of Pirates ahoy,

Then listen now to our ditty of a Lass deserving of greaty Pitty as she lived her life a Toy.

Marianne McConnel the 5th an Irish coastal fair Princess would destined one fateful day to a life of distress when she caught the Pirate Queen’s Eye.

Marianne was daughter of a Noble and lived in a castle by the sea, she was quite fair and quite the sight to all that pass by~

And on top of her beauty her angelic voice could catch the ear, but she was also born extremely ticklish and had the most alluring laugh I fear.

And of course her family was loaded, Oh the riches they had could make anyone drool, but they didn’t keep it all in their castle by the sea for they were not fools. The ocean was crawling with thieves and monsters galore. Sadly they kept their greatest treasure in their castle, a ticklish princess with many areas to explore.

At the time  Captian Olivia Vindicen also known as Captain Ollie wasn’t thinking of frisky thoughts, she was thinking of how much  the beloved princess would worth in ransom if she was ever caught.

So she stormed the castle late one night, climbed onto the patio leading to Marriane’s room, The girl of 17 was to far asleep to take in the fright of what would be her doom. By 

the time the Lass younge even knew what was happening , she was gazeing back her soft bed as she was wisked away. Tied up on Ollies ship in strappings she cried out as they sailed out the bay.

Two Months pass and on a secluded Island Mairanne  was suspended over a lava pit, with her ankles shackled close to land. Her heart sank low into her chest feeling like a bird of spit as the Pirate queen solemnly read the paper in her hand.

 Marianne’s family had been killed by a rebellion, and the new people in charge refused to pay for her return The Captain said “Well Lass I’m going to make you cry even worse and have some fun before I let yah Burn. You know few months I had some slaves but they done ran away. My crew is made of nothing but monsters I get no thills from them safe to say. A couple of girls were in my brig and I drove them mad with laughter cause they were ticklish. I’m gonna test you out and then drop you to your death, no one’s coming to save so don’t waist your breath”

Marian was crying from her loss, her ma and pa and siblings were gone.

No one was coming to save her from her demise, she called for help but no one was coming to answer her cries. Then the captain kneeled down onto the ground, and spread her fingers with nails so sharp. Marianess wail of sorrow suddenly became a differant sound as her soles were played like a harp. Captain Ollie, poked and prodded the lass’s soles and mocked her for being spoiled so soft. But her heart was skipping a beat as the Princess squirmed on the pole laughing her heart out while aloft

“Have pitty on me” the Princess cried” If I have no worth just let me go, I lost everything anyways pfft haha heehee hoho! Someone please Help me, is anyone out there!” Captain Ollie responded” I like you laugh lass but don’t waist your breath when you can just be lauging cause no one else is here.”

Hours had passed and Marrien’s feet where free but she held them high high as  she had been lowered down so low. The girl began to utter out  a brand new plee as her life was on the line “ I thought you said you liked my laugh are  Bored already of me ,How about a deal if you want more fun.  I beg  if ye spare my life, show this orphan girl mercy. I’ll let you  have your way ,you can have me as a slave, if that’s what you want?”

Captain Ollie looked back and snearede , ear to ear and commaned her crew hoist the Princesses out. Mairanne hanged her head as she was told to march  and there was nothing else she could do but obey and pout.

And once she back at the ship and they pulled out from shore. She gulped and bit her lip  as She was shown the tools and implements her mistress had instore. 

Marianne was tortured in the captains, quarters, in the brig, aloft on deck. For the next 7 years of her life she  was a play thing. Oliie gave Marian hell, tickling her ribs, belly, feet and everywhere else and kept her in Check, tickling her to tears and wreck as she never got enough of Marianne's laughing.

She made Mariann flustered, as she’d even nibbled her ears, and thanks to brushes and pinwheels that  ravaged her soles and ribs she taught Marianne fear.

At least the food was good, when Marianne was a hostage she only got to eat monster food until her belly ached and she was in misery. but she was spoiled like the princess she was when she became a slave, Ollie fed her well and kept her healthy. But  Oliie was still a Pirate who had to steal and fight. and when she was angry she was a blight. Before when she needed something to relieve her stress, she’d abused and beat up her crew. But now that she had a slave the fair Princess, Marianna would have to relieve her and Ollie’s anger always amplified the abuse. 

Marrian would be humilated and tickled with no breaks and when Ollie was angry the tickles were never soft. The Pirate Queen would always punish her with more than she could take leaving the poor girl to tired to ever talk.

But Queen Ollie loved Marianne’s laughter and she loved to feel in power. making that girl squeal and exercise her loungs, and punshing her like everything was her faught and make her cower.

but she over time would let Marianne walk about free and taught her to use the sword. she felt no threat from the lass as she, had monsters to help her to remind Marrian who was lord. And she wanred Marrian about  2 slaves she had who she loved to torture day and night. but then they tried to escape when they were close to sirens and are presumed dead and Eaton much to her own blite. And Marian better not ever plot on escaping because if she’s captured alive, Queen Ollie would see to it she never got away again and she’ll wish wasn’t alive. Queen Ollie herself was a beauty to see but she was hated by many men She had stolen and murdered and done so much the warrent on her head was Eight Thousand and Ten.

One night Marrianne spotted a navy ship  as she and Ollie were on an island nearby. She saw her chance and took a flare and ran off into the night. She ran for miles to reach a peak and saw the ship not far from shore and set off the flare to summon them that they may come for her. And the flare flew high up in the sky and lit up above the clouds, lighting up the island and see’s for miles that it could never hide in a misty shroud. The ship seem to turn around to come that way and she ran down to the bay. seh was over joyed and she be Free! They take away across the sea! But cannon balls flew at the ship and Marrian’s heart sank when before it had been a skip.

The Ship sailed away away and Marrian was sad and shed a tear, but at least the Atacks Missed. Then her eyes grew as she saw a familiar silowet and slowly turned her head and her blood ran cold with fear. Her captain was pearing down at her. And Ollie looked extremely Pissed.

It was late night and Marianne was in the captain's sweet. ankle shackled to the bed, a Bag over  her head. a Cat nine tails layed on the table ready for a flogging on seventy nine lashes.  there was also branding iron and A sowing needle layed to a pair of eye patches. a Sword for her hands a hammer for a feet and scissors for her hair! Marrian was scared! She cried in the room as Ollie was on deck and drunk, she feared what her captain was going to do to her now. At least the navy from before hadn’t sunk but who was going to save her now? Would Ollie realy go through with all her threats, would even be given a change to beg? Marian sobbed as right about now she’d rather be tickled on her tummy or legs.

Now as Ollie was partying with her monster crew they were far to distracted. Oliie was thinking of  dragging Marian out to party  and be tortured despite how she acted.  She never saw the navy creeping in but wasn’t the same one as before is was captain Gunther Blake who wanted revenge. He has a score to settle Captain Olivia Inidocen and on the cover of night was gonna get it. Before Ollie knew what hit her she was already dead as a cannon ball flying threw night air swiftly truck her in the head. Or did it get her in the back? we aren’t for sure what we do know it saved Marianne from a else friendly torture. Captain Gunther bordered the ship and his crew slew the monsters and as he entered the captaines Quarters to see what riches he can fondle there he saw tied near the bed was Marianne Mconnle. And My friends. Marianne was able to bargain for her life with Captain Gunther as well for she knew how to cook. and so with him Miss Mcconnle the captain had took. And you know something folks Marriane did well on his ship. she wasn’t tortured atleast and had dignity and even taken Ollies clothes for self. She wasn’t interested in any of her old master’s wealth. but what she  was allowed to have would help  her on newer adventures she was in.be it on land or be it sailing. Though you know she never realy hated being tickled per say, she won’t mind you  doing it so long as your gentle, I guess all those days trapped with Ollie made that tickling rather sentimental. But will she ever wind up in a similar situation again, well right now I can’t say. Anything else to be said can be said another day~.

(song ends)

Now folks if ye be interested in this tale and be wanting to know more all I can say is your free to tell your own tales if you want about Marrian Mconnle being in ticklish situations. I mean this here be but a Ballad telling her story but sadly I didn’t have room for all the juicy parts. Captain Ollie liked to make things rough and awkward for her captives though. Feel free to ask me , Marrian, Ollivia, or even Gunther any questions you might have. If none well hope you all had your fun and hope you enjoyed the show, avast me hardies and anchoes away FAIR WELL!

[brookstonalmanac]

Events 1.17

38 BC – Octavian divorces his wife Scribonia and marries Livia Drusilla, ending the fragile peace between the Second Triumvirate and Sextus Pompey. 1362 – Saint Marcellus' flood kills at least 25,000 people on the shores of the North Sea. 1377 – Pope Gregory XI reaches Rome, after deciding to move the Papacy back to Rome from Avignon. 1524 – Giovanni da Verrazzano sets sail westward from Madeira to find a sea route to the Pacific Ocean. 1562 – France grants religious toleration to the Huguenots in the Edict of Saint-Germain. 1595 – During the French Wars of Religion, Henry IV of France declares war on Spain. 1608 – Emperor Susenyos I of Ethiopia surprises an Oromo army at Ebenat; his army reportedly kills 12,000 Oromo at the cost of 400 of his men. 1648 – England's Long Parliament passes the "Vote of No Addresses", breaking off negotiations with King Charles I and thereby setting the scene for the second phase of the English Civil War. 1649 – The Second Ormonde Peace creates an alliance between the Irish Royalists and Confederates during the War of the Three Kingdoms. The coalition was then decisively defeated during the Cromwellian conquest of Ireland. 1773 – Captain James Cook leads the first expedition to sail south of the Antarctic Circle. 1781 – American Revolutionary War: Battle of Cowpens: Continental troops under Brigadier General Daniel Morgan defeat British forces under Lieutenant Colonel Banastre Tarleton at the battle in South Carolina. 1799 – Maltese patriot Dun Mikiel Xerri, along with a number of other patriots, is executed. 1811 – Mexican War of Independence: In the Battle of Calderón Bridge, a heavily outnumbered Spanish force of 6,000 troops defeats nearly 100,000 Mexican revolutionaries. 1852 – The United Kingdom signs the Sand River Convention with the South African Republic. 1873 – A group of Modoc warriors defeats the United States Army in the First Battle of the Stronghold, part of the Modoc War. 1885 – A British force defeats a large Dervish army at the Battle of Abu Klea in the Sudan. 1893 – Lorrin A. Thurston, along with the Citizens' Committee of Public Safety, led the Overthrow of the Kingdom of Hawaii and the government of Queen Liliʻuokalani. 1899 – The United States takes possession of Wake Island in the Pacific Ocean. 1903 – El Yunque National Forest in Puerto Rico becomes part of the United States National Forest System as the Luquillo Forest Reserve. 1904 – Anton Chekhov's The Cherry Orchard receives its premiere performance at the Moscow Art Theatre. 1912 – British polar explorer Captain Robert Falcon Scott reaches the South Pole, one month after Roald Amundsen. 1915 – Russia defeats Ottoman Turkey in the Battle of Sarikamish during the Caucasus Campaign of World War I. 1917 – The United States pays Denmark $25 million for the Virgin Islands. 1918 – Finnish Civil War: The first serious battles take place between the Red Guards and the White Guard. 1920 – Alcohol Prohibition begins in the United States as the Volstead Act goes into effect. 1941 – Franco-Thai War: Vichy French forces inflict a decisive defeat over the Royal Thai Navy. 1943 – World War II: Greek submarine Papanikolis captures the 200-ton sailing vessel Agios Stefanos and mans her with part of her crew. 1944 – World War II: Allied forces launch the first of four assaults on Monte Cassino with the intention of breaking through the Winter Line and seizing Rome, an effort that would ultimately take four months and cost 105,000 Allied casualties. 1945 – World War II: The Vistula–Oder Offensive forces German troops out of Warsaw. 1945 – The SS-Totenkopfverbände begin the evacuation of the Auschwitz concentration camp as the Red Army closes in. 1945 – Swedish diplomat Raoul Wallenberg is taken into Soviet custody while in Hungary; he is never publicly seen again. 1946 – The UN Security Council holds its first session. 1948 – The Renville Agreement between the Netherlands and Indonesia is ratified. 1950 – The Great Brink's Robbery: Eleven thieves steal more than $2 million from an armored car company's offices in Boston. 1950 – United Nations Security Council Resolution 79 relating to arms control is adopted. 1961 – U.S. President Dwight D. Eisenhower delivers a televised farewell address to the nation three days before leaving office, in which he warns against the accumulation of power by the "military–industrial complex" as well as the dangers of massive spending, especially deficit spending. 1961 – Former Congolese Prime Minister Patrice Lumumba is murdered in circumstances suggesting the support and complicity of the governments of Belgium and the United States. 1966 – Palomares incident: A B-52 bomber collides with a KC-135 Stratotanker over Spain, killing seven airmen, and dropping three 70-kiloton nuclear bombs near the town of Palomares and another one into the sea. 1969 – Black Panther Party members Bunchy Carter and John Huggins are killed during a meeting in Campbell Hall on the campus of UCLA. 1977 – Capital punishment in the United States resumes after a ten-year hiatus, as convicted murderer Gary Gilmore is executed by firing squad in Utah. 1981 – President of the Philippines Ferdinand Marcos lifts martial law eight years and five months after declaring it. 1991 – Gulf War: Operation Desert Storm begins early in the morning as aircraft strike positions across Iraq, it is also the first major combat sortie for the F-117. LCDR Scott Speicher's F/A-18C Hornet from VFA-81 is shot down by a Mig-25 and is the first American casualty of the War. Iraq fires eight Scud missiles into Israel in an unsuccessful bid to provoke Israeli retaliation. 1991 – Crown prince Harald V of Norway becomes King Harald V, following the death of his father, King Olav V. 1992 – During a visit to South Korea, Japanese Prime Minister Kiichi Miyazawa apologizes for forcing Korean women into sexual slavery during World War II. 1994 – The 6.7 Mw  Northridge earthquake shakes the Greater Los Angeles Area with a maximum Mercalli intensity of IX (Violent), leaving 57 people dead and more than 8,700 injured. 1995 – The 6.9 Mw  Great Hanshin earthquake shakes the southern Hyōgo Prefecture with a maximum Shindo of VII, leaving 5,502–6,434 people dead, and 251,301–310,000 displaced. 1996 – The Czech Republic applies for membership in the European Union. 1997 – Cape Canaveral Air Force Station: A Delta II carrying the GPS IIR-1 satellite explodes 13 seconds after launch, dropping 250 tons of burning rocket remains around the launch pad. 1998 – Clinton–Lewinsky scandal: Matt Drudge breaks the story of the Bill Clinton–Monica Lewinsky affair on his Drudge Report website. 2002 – Mount Nyiragongo erupts in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, displacing an estimated 400,000 people. 2007 – The Doomsday Clock is set to five minutes to midnight in response to North Korea's nuclear testing. 2010 – Rioting begins between Muslim and Christian groups in Jos, Nigeria, results in at least 200 deaths. 2013 – Former cyclist Lance Armstrong confesses to his doping in an airing of Oprah's Next Chapter. 2016 – President Barack Obama announces the Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action. 2017 – The search for Malaysia Airlines Flight 370 is announced to be suspended.