#you be hang'd!

[burningvelvet]

Lord Byron responds to a fan letter from a woman named Harriette Wilson who was interested in befriending him, 1814:

“If my silence has hurt ‘your pride or your feelings’, to use your own expressions, I am very sorry for it; be assured that such effect was far from my intention. Business, and some little bustle attendant on changing my residence, prevented me from thanking you for your letter as soon as I ought to have done. If my thanks do not displease you, now, pray accept them. I could not feel otherwise than obliged by the desire of a stranger to make my acquaintance.

I am not unacquainted with your name or your beauty, and I have heard much of your talents; but I am not the person whom you would like, either as a lover or a friend. I did not, and do not 'suspect you,' to use your own words once more, of any design of making love to me. I know myself well enough to acquit anyone who does not know me, and still more those who do, from any such intention. I am not of a nature to be loved, and so far, luckily for myself, I have no wish to be so. In saying this, I do not mean to affect any particular stoicism, and may possibly, at one time or other, have been liable to those follies, for which you sarcastically tell me I have now no time: but these, and everything else, are to me at present objects of indifference; and this is a good deal to say, at six-and-twenty. You tell me that you wished to know me better; because you liked my writing. I think you must be aware that a writer is in general very different from his productions, and always disappoints those who expect to find in him qualities more agreeable than those of others; I shall certainly not be lessened in my vanity, as a scribbler, by the reflection that a work of mine has given you pleasure; and, to preserve the impression in its favour, I will not risk your good opinion by inflicting my acquaintance upon you.

Very truly your obliged servant, B.”

From the Memoirs of Harriette Wilson, discussing the letter:

"I had long been sentimentally in love with Lord Byron, and some years previous to the publication of the last canto of "Childe Harold," I had written to him to solicit the honour of his acquaintance.

"If, my lord," said I, in my letter, "to have been cold and indifferent to every other modern poet, while I have passed whole nights in studying your productions with the eagerness of one who has discovered a new source of enjoyment as surprising as it was delightful, deserves gratitude from the vanity of an author, or the gallantry of a gentleman, you will honour me with a little of your friendship."

Would you believe, reader, this eloquent epistle obtained me no answer during three long days? I was furious, and wrote again to tell him that he was a mere pedant; that my common sense was a match for his fine rhymes; that the best of us poor weak mortals—and I acknowledged him to be at the head of the list—must still be ignorant, subject to sickness, ill-temper, and various errors in judgment, therefore was there little excuse for his impertinence, in presuming to find fault with the whole world, as he had done in his "English Bards and Scotch Reviewers," at an age when his natural judgment could not be matured. It was vulgar, and showed the littleness which some want of philanthropy towards our poor fellow creatures always must evince. Was he really so superior, and would he crush the poor worms which dared not aspire to his perfections? Or was he but a mere upstart man, of extraordinary genius, without strength of mind to know what he would be at? Could he not, at least, have declined the honour I wanted to confer on him, civilly?

This eloquent letter ended simply thus, after assuring him that it was now much too late to make my acquaintance, as I had changed my mind and no longer desired it the least in the world—like the fox and the grapes—

"you be hang'd!

"HARRIETTE WILSON."

This, to a favourite, was tolerably severe; but when I take a liking to a person I must and will be something to them; so if they will not like me I always make it my business and peculiar care that they shall dislike and quarrel with me. Let me once get them into a quarrel and I am sure of them.

The next day I received the following answer from Lord Byron, dated Albany, Piccadilly.

[Letter from Byron inserted above]

This was very dry; but, I had not aspired to Lord Byron's love and I did not despair of making his acquaintance. I am indeed surprised that I never fell in love with his lordship; but, certain it is, that, though I would have given anything to have been his most humble friend and servant, his beauty was of a nature never to inspire me with warmer sentiments.

There was nothing whatever voluptuous in the character of it; it was wholly intellectual: and as such I honoured it; but give me for my lover an indolent being who, while he possesses talents and genius to do anything he pleases, pleases himself most and best in pleasing me! Au reste, I admire and look up to heroes, but indolent men make the best lovers.

I was a long while before I could convince Lord Byron that as a lover he would never have suited me; and really did not excite any passion in my breast; but, from the moment I had succeeded, his lordship threw off all reserve and wrote and spoke to me with the confidence of easy friendship and good-will, as though he had been delighted to find a woman capable of friendship, to whose vanity it was not at all necessary to administer by saying soft things to her."

[smidgingtonblogs]

I think what I'm really really looking forward to in season 2 of ofmd is Minnie Driver as Anne Bonny. Like literally every story my sister has told me of Bonny has been badass and buckwild. And honestly I really really want to hear her final words to Calico Jack.

[neverhangd]

had you fought like a man, you need not have been hang'd like a dog

hi, i’m ren! 30, she/her, cst, unapologetic anne bonny apologist.

this is NOT a blog for BS Anne Bonny or OFMD Anne Bonny, but for my own take on the historical figure borrowing Clara Paget’s face. happy to assume familiarity with OFMD; i do not know BS at all.

Jack Rackham warning: Anne hates the man passionately in base verses. If you play Jack we can work something out, but this blog is going to be a lot of anti-Jack rhetoric. The guy sucks. You’ve been warned!

mobile links: ABOUT | RULES | HER STORY | OPENS | MEMES | LORE | ARCHIVE | SUBMIT | PROMOS | SELF-PROMOS | PERMANENT INTERACTION POST

verse links:

PRIMARY/DEFAULT | FALLOUT | BALDUR’S GATE 3 | MORE

if you have questions, let me know. i am feral for anne and for pirates in general.

template credit: @calisources

[p-isforpoetry]

Tam O'Shanter by Robert Burns (read by James Cosmo)

When chapmen billies leave the street, And drouthy neibors, neibors meet, As market days are wearing late, An' folk begin to tak the gate; While we sit bousing at the nappy, And getting fou and unco happy, We think na on the lang Scots miles, The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles, That lie between us and our hame, Where sits our sulky sullen dame. Gathering her brows like gathering storm, Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.

This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter, As he frae Ayr ae night did canter, (Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses For honest men and bonie lasses.)

O Tam! had'st thou but been sae wise, As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice! She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum, A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum; That frae November till October, Ae market-day thou was nae sober; That ilka melder, wi' the miller, Thou sat as lang as thou had siller; That every naig was ca'd a shoe on, The smith and thee gat roaring fou on; That at the Lord's house, even on Sunday, Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday. She prophesied that late or soon, Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon; Or catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirk, By Alloway's auld haunted kirk.

Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet, To think how mony counsels sweet, How mony lengthen'd, sage advices, The husband frae the wife despises!

But to our tale:-- Ae market-night, Tam had got planted unco right; Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely And at his elbow, Souter Johnny, His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony; Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither-- They had been fou for weeks thegither! The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter And ay the ale was growing better: The landlady and Tam grew gracious, wi' favours secret,sweet and precious The Souter tauld his queerest stories; The landlord's laugh was ready chorus: The storm without might rair and rustle, Tam did na mind the storm a whistle.

Care, mad to see a man sae happy, E'en drown'd himsel' amang the nappy! As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure: Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious. O'er a' the ills o' life victorious!

But pleasures are like poppies spread, You seize the flower, its bloom is shed; Or like the snow falls in the river, A moment white--then melts for ever; Or like the borealis race, That flit ere you can point their place; Or like the rainbow's lovely form Evanishing amid the storm.-- Nae man can tether time or tide; The hour approaches Tam maun ride; That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane, That dreary hour he mounts his beast in; And sic a night he taks the road in As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in.

The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last; The rattling showers rose on the blast; The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bellow'd: That night, a child might understand, The Deil had business on his hand.

Weel mounted on his gray mare, Meg-- A better never lifted leg-- Tam skelpit on thro' dub and mire; Despisin' wind and rain and fire. Whiles holding fast his gude blue bonnet; Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet; Whiles glowring round wi' prudent cares, Lest bogles catch him unawares: Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh, Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry.

By this time he was cross the ford, Whare, in the snaw, the chapman smoor'd; And past the birks and meikle stane, Whare drunken Chairlie brak 's neck-bane; And thro' the whins, and by the cairn, Whare hunters fand the murder'd bairn; And near the thorn, aboon the well, Whare Mungo's mither hang'd hersel'.-- Before him Doon pours all his floods; The doubling storm roars thro' the woods; The lightnings flash from pole to pole; Near and more near the thunders roll: When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees, Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze; Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing; And loud resounded mirth and dancing.

Inspiring bold John Barleycorn! What dangers thou canst make us scorn! Wi' tippeny, we fear nae evil; Wi' usquabae, we'll face the devil!-- The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle, Fair play, he car'd na deils a boddle. But Maggie stood, right sair astonish'd, Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd, She ventured forward on the light; And, vow! Tam saw an unco sight

Warlocks and witches in a dance; Nae cotillion brent-new frae France, But hornpipes, jigs strathspeys, and reels, Put life and mettle in their heels. A winnock-bunker in the east, There sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast; A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large, To gie them music was his charge: He scre'd the pipes and gart them skirl, Till roof and rafters a' did dirl.-- Coffins stood round, like open presses, That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses; And by some develish cantraip slight, Each in its cauld hand held a light.-- By which heroic Tam was able To note upon the haly table, A murders's banes in gibbet-airns; Twa span-lang, wee, unchristen'd bairns; A thief, new-cutted frae a rape, Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape; Five tomahawks, wi blude red-rusted; Five scymitars, wi' murder crusted; A garter, which a babe had strangled; A knife, a father's throat had mangled, Whom his ain son o' life bereft, The gray hairs yet stack to the heft; Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu', Which even to name was be unlawfu'. Three lawyers' tongues, turn'd inside out, Wi' lies seam'd like a beggar's clout; Three priests' hearts, rotten, black as muck, Lay stinking, vile in every neuk.

As Tammie glowr'd, amaz'd, and curious, The mirth and fun grew fast and furious; The piper loud and louder blew; The dancers quick and quicker flew; They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they cleekit, Till ilka carlin swat and reekit, And coost her duddies to the wark, And linket at it in her sark!

Now Tam, O Tam! had thae been queans, A' plump and strapping in their teens, Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen, Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linnen! Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair, That ance were plush, o' gude blue hair, I wad hae gi'en them off my hurdies, For ae blink o' the bonie burdies!

But wither'd beldams, auld and droll, Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal, Louping and flinging on a crummock, I wonder did na turn thy stomach!

But Tam kend what was what fu' brawlie: There was ae winsome wench and waulie, That night enlisted in the core, Lang after ken'd on Carrick shore; (For mony a beast to dead she shot, And perish'd mony a bonie boat, And shook baith meikle corn and bear, And kept the country-side in fear.) Her cutty-sark, o' Paisley harn That while a lassie she had worn, In longitude tho' sorely scanty, It was her best, and she was vauntie,- Ah! little ken'd thy reverend grannie, That sark she coft for her wee Nannie, Wi' twa pund Scots, ('twas a' her riches), Wad ever grac'd a dance of witches!

But here my Muse her wing maun cour; Sic flights are far beyond her pow'r; To sing how Nannie lap and flang, (A souple jade she was, and strang), And how Tam stood, like ane bewitch'd, And thought his very een enrich'd; Even Satan glowr'd, and fidg'd fu' fain, And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main; Till first ae caper, syne anither, Tam tint his reason a' thegither, And roars out, "Weel done, Cutty-sark!" And in an instant all was dark: And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, When out the hellish legion sallied.

As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke, When plundering herds assail their byke; As open pussie's mortal foes, When, pop! she starts before their nose; As eager runs the market-crowd, When "Catch the thief!" resounds aloud; So Maggie runs, the witches follow, Wi' mony an eldritch skriech and hollo.

Ah, Tam! ah, Tam! thou'll get thy fairin'! In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin'! In vain thy Kate awaits thy commin'! Kate soon will be a woefu' woman! Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, And win the key-stane o' the brig; There at them thou thy tail may toss, A running stream they dare na cross. But ere the key-stane she could make, The fient a tail she had to shake! For Nannie, far before the rest, Hard upon noble Maggie prest, And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle; But little wist she Maggie's mettle - Ae spring brought off her master hale, But left behind her ain gray tail; The carlin claught her by the rump, And left poor Maggie scarce a stump.

No, wha this tale o' truth shall read, Ilk man and mother's son take heed; Whene'er to drink you are inclin'd, Or cutty-sarks run in your mind, Think! ye may buy joys o'er dear - Remember Tam o' Shanter's mare.

______________________________________

Tam o' Shanter (Translation)

When the peddler people leave the streets, And thirsty neighbours, neighbours meet; As market days are wearing late, And folk begin to take the road home, While we sit boozing strong ale, And getting drunk and very happy, We don’t think of the long Scots miles, The marshes, waters, steps and stiles, That lie between us and our home, Where sits our sulky, sullen dame (wife), Gathering her brows like a gathering storm, Nursing her wrath, to keep it warm.

This truth finds honest Tam o' Shanter, As he from Ayr one night did canter; Old Ayr, which never a town surpasses, For honest men and bonny lasses.

Oh Tam, had you but been so wise, As to have taken your own wife Kate’s advice! She told you well you were a waster, A rambling, blustering, drunken boaster, That from November until October, Each market day you were not sober; During each milling period with the miller, You sat as long as you had money, For every horse he put a shoe on, The blacksmith and you got roaring drunk on; That at the Lords House, even on Sunday, You drank with Kirkton Jean till Monday. She prophesied, that, late or soon, You would be found deep drowned in Doon, Or caught by warlocks in the murk, By Alloway’s old haunted church.

Ah, gentle ladies, it makes me cry, To think how many counsels sweet, How much long and wise advice The husband from the wife despises!

But to our tale :- One market night, Tam was seated just right, Next to a fireplace, blazing finely, With creamy ales, that drank divinely; And at his elbow, Cobbler Johnny, His ancient, trusted, thirsty crony; Tom loved him like a very brother, They had been drunk for weeks together. The night drove on with songs and clatter, And every ale was tasting better; The landlady and Tam grew gracious, With secret favours, sweet and precious; The cobbler told his queerest stories; The landlord’s laugh was ready chorus: Outside, the storm might roar and rustle, Tam did not mind the storm a whistle.

Care, mad to see a man so happy, Even drowned himself in ale. As bees fly home with loads of treasure, The minutes winged their way with pleasure: Kings may be blessed, but Tam was glorious, Over all the ills of life victorious.

But pleasures are like poppies spread: You seize the flower, its bloom is shed; Or like the snow fall on the river, A moment white - then melts forever, Or like the Aurora Borealis rays, That move before you can point to their place; Or like the rainbow’s lovely form, Vanishing amid the storm. No man can tether time or tide, The hour approaches Tom must ride: That hour, of night’s black arch - the key-stone, That dreary hour he mounts his beast in And such a night he takes to the road in As never a poor sinner had been out in.

The wind blew as if it had blown its last; The rattling showers rose on the blast; The speedy gleams the darkness swallowed, Loud, deep and long the thunder bellowed: That night, a child might understand, The Devil had business on his hand.

Well mounted on his grey mare, Meg. A better never lifted leg, Tom, raced on through mud and mire, Despising wind and rain and fire; Whilst holding fast his good blue bonnet, While crooning over some old Scots sonnet, Whilst glowering round with prudent care, Lest ghosts catch him unaware: Alloway’s Church was drawing near, Where ghosts and owls nightly cry.

By this time he was across the ford, Where in the snow the pedlar got smothered; And past the birch trees and the huge stone, Where drunken Charlie broke his neck bone; And through the thorns, and past the monument, Where hunters found the murdered child; And near the thorn, above the well, Where Mungo’s mother hanged herself. Before him the river Doon pours all his floods; The doubling storm roars throught the woods; The lightnings flashes from pole to pole; Nearer and more near the thunder rolls; When, glimmering through the groaning trees, Alloway’s Church seemed in a blaze, Through every gap , light beams were glancing, And loud resounded mirth and dancing.

Inspiring, bold John Barleycorn! (whisky) What dangers you can make us scorn! With ale, we fear no evil; With whisky, we’ll face the Devil! The ales so swam in Tam’s head, Fair play, he didn’t care a farthing for devils. But Maggie stood, right sore astonished, Till, by the heel and hand admonished, She ventured forward on the light; And, vow! Tom saw an incredible sight!

Warlocks and witches in a dance: No cotillion, brand new from France, But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels, Put life and mettle in their heels. In a window alcove in the east, There sat Old Nick, in shape of beast; A shaggy dog, black, grim, and large, To give them music was his charge: He screwed the pipes and made them squeal, Till roof and rafters all did ring. Coffins stood round, like open presses, That showed the dead in their last dresses; And, by some devilish magic sleight, Each in its cold hand held a light: By which heroic Tom was able To note upon the holy table, A murderer’s bones, in gibbet-irons; Two span-long, small, unchristened babies; A thief just cut from his hanging rope - With his last gasp his mouth did gape; Five tomahawks with blood red-rusted; Five scimitars with murder crusted; A garter with which a baby had strangled; A knife a father’s throat had mangled - Whom his own son of life bereft - The grey-hairs yet stack to the shaft; With more o' horrible and awful, Which even to name would be unlawful. Three Lawyers’ tongues, turned inside out, Sown with lies like a beggar’s cloth - Three Priests’ hearts, rotten, black as muck Lay stinking, vile, in every nook.

As Thomas glowered, amazed, and curious, The mirth and fun grew fast and furious; The piper loud and louder blew, The dancers quick and quicker flew, They reeled, they set, they crossed, they linked, Till every witch sweated and smelled, And cast her ragged clothes to the floor, And danced deftly at it in her underskirts!

Now Tam, O Tam! had these been young girls, All plump and strapping in their teens! Their underskirts, instead of greasy flannel, Been snow-white seventeen hundred linen! - The trousers of mine, my only pair, That once were plush, of good blue hair, I would have given them off my buttocks For one blink of those pretty girls !

But withered hags, old and droll, Ugly enough to suckle a foal, Leaping and flinging on a stick, Its a wonder it didn’t turn your stomach!

But Tam knew what was what well enough: There was one winsome, jolly wench, That night enlisted in the core, Long after known on Carrick shore (For many a beast to dead she shot, And perished many a bonnie boat, And shook both much corn and barley, And kept the country-side in fear.) Her short underskirt, o’ Paisley cloth, That while a young lass she had worn, In longitude though very limited, It was her best, and she was proud. . . Ah! little knew your reverend grandmother, That underskirt she bought for her little grandaughter, With two Scots pounds (it was all her riches), Would ever graced a dance of witches!

But here my tale must stoop and bow, Such words are far beyond her power; To sing how Nannie leaped and kicked (A supple youth she was, and strong); And how Tom stood like one bewitched, And thought his very eyes enriched; Even Satan glowered, and fidgeted full of lust, And jerked and blew with might and main; Till first one caper, then another, Tom lost his reason all together, And roars out: ‘ Well done, short skirt! ’ And in an instant all was dark; And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, When out the hellish legion sallied.

As bees buzz out with angry wrath, When plundering herds assail their hive; As a wild hare’s mortal foes, When, pop! she starts running before their nose; As eager runs the market-crowd, When ‘ Catch the thief! ’ resounds aloud: So Maggie runs, the witches follow, With many an unearthly scream and holler.

Ah, Tom! Ah, Tom! You will get what's coming! In hell they will roast you like a herring! In vain your Kate awaits your coming ! Kate soon will be a woeful woman! Now, do your speedy utmost, Meg, And beat them to the key-stone of the bridge; There, you may toss your tale at them, A running stream they dare not cross! But before the key-stone she could make, She had to shake a tail at the fiend; For Nannie, far before the rest, Hard upon noble Maggie pressed, And flew at Tam with furious aim; But little knew she Maggie’s mettle! One spring brought off her master whole, But left behind her own grey tail: The witch caught her by the rump, And left poor Maggie scarce a stump.

Now, who this tale of truth shall read, Each man, and mother’s son, take heed: Whenever to drink you are inclined, Or short skirts run in your mind, Think! you may buy joys over dear: Remember Tam o’ Shanter’s mare.

[wolf-skins]

sometimes you learn about the real life anne bonny and then her black sails counterpart appears on your dash mere hours later

[wistful-watcher]

"If you had fought like a man, you need not have been hang'd like a dog"

[legeebeeteequah]

Picture it. Season 2. Calico Jack's ex crewmates (and one ex-something-else) appear.

I present you...

Anne Bonny

Mary Read

The lesbian/drag pirates...

Anne's last words to calico before his hanging were “If you had fought like a man, you need not have been hang'd like a dog.”

I just...

[blue-jos10]

Why do we not talk about the queen pirate lovers Anne Bonny and Mary Read?

Ok, so Mary Read was born in England after her mom's sailor husband went to get milk on a ship and her mom had an affair. Her mom and sailor man had a boy before her, but he died. Mom had hidden Mary's birth and then disguised her as a boy and called her Mark. Her mom told sailor man's mom that Mary was the son she had with sailor man to get the family money. Sailor's mom believed her.

Anyway,, Mary grew up like that and did a bunch of jobs and stuff then joined the British military. She got married and her husband died after a while. Then she went to serve in the Netherlands. She later quit there and got on a ship to the West Indies.

The ship was overtaken by pirates, who she willingly joined. She liked being at the sea and in 1720, she joined the pirate Calico Jack's crew. Guess who else was crossdressing and also on that ship? Anne Bonny.

---

Anne Bonny was born in Ireland as the illegitimate daughter of a lawyer and his maid.

The lawyer moved to London to escape his wife's family and started dressing Anne as a boy. When his wife heard that he was raising his illegitimate child as a boy and was training her to be a lawyer's clerk, she cut off his allowance, as you do. He sounds like a fucking wimp and his wife sounds like a badass mf imo. He moved to the Province of Carolina with Anne and her mom and vibed there for a while cuz of his lawyer knowledge.

Anne's mom died when Anne was 12. At 13, Anne supposedly stabbed a servant girl.

Yeah so she got married to this part-time pirate punk and her dad disowned her. The part-time pirate guy became a full-time traitor and became a spy for the governor. He reported and got a bunch of pirates arrested. Anne didn't like that.

While in the Bahamas, she met Calico Jack and fell in love. He bribed her husband to divorce her but the husband rejected and threatened him. So Calico and Anne ran away together and she again started crossdressing and calling herself Andy as a part of his crew.

They soon recruited Mary Read when she came aboard as a prisoner.

Anne became pregnant with a child and Calico dropped her in Cuba to give birth. After that, she joined him and Mary again. She officially divorced pirate-traitor-husband-man and married Calico. They recruited a new crew.

---

Mary had still been crossdressing at that point, and Anne felt attracted to her. She pursued Mary before Mary finally revealed herself as a woman. Anne was intrigued, but not discouraged. They soon became lovers.

Jealous and suspicious, Calico Jack thought Anne loved Mary, who then he still thought was a man. He barged in when the girls were together and found Mary, who was undoubtedly a woman, lying naked on Bonny’s bed. After that, apparently, they were open about their relationship and no one in their crew dare comment on it.

---

They were very fierce and feared pirates. Even among other pirates. They were known to be in the category of 'toughest of the tough'.

Mary was known to pick fights with other crewmembers when she was insulted and Anne had allegedly brutally stabbed a man in the heart for making comments about women on ships being bad luck for sailors.

Anne had also been listed as a 'Most Wanted' pirate in a Boston newspaper.

Together, they were both known as the 'Fierce Hell Cats'.

They both slowly stopped hiding the fact that they were women to the rest of the crew as well after garnering their respect. They dressed and lived as women for long, only wearing their breeches and caps during battles.

---

The pirates had finally been caught in October 1720 by the British Navy. It is said that Anne and Mary were the only two crewmembers to fight them, while everyone else hid, drunk.

They were caught were all sentenced to be hanged.

Not relevant, but something really badass is that Anne's last words to Calico were apparently 'Had you fought like a man, you need not have been hang'd like a dog' asfghdgshjkjhjk

Back to our queens. Both of them claimed to be pregnant and got their execution postponed until they gave birth.

Unfortunately, Mary died in her cell due to a fever said to be due to childbirth.

Anne's fate was unknown, but she was not executed.

---

Anyway yeah, my point is we've got to talk about them more. There is even a statue for them.

Sculpted by Amanda Cotton.

Image from here: x

The artist of the statue said “The sculpture’s design is a metaphor for Bonny and Read’s personality, Fire & Earth. Individually they are strong independent women but when Anne (Fire) & Mary (Earth) combine they are dangerously unstoppable. Anne’s passion fuels Mary’s determination, and Mary’s patience channel’s Anne onto a path. Together they erupt like an inexorable volcano, they are the: ’Inexorable’ Hell Cats.”

Here are my sources: (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anne_Bonny) (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mary_Read) (https://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/home-news/women-pirates-anne-bonny-mary-read-lgbt-statue-b1725018.html) and (https://just-ustas.livejournal.com/641407.html)

Go check these out, I haven't given all the details in this thing I wrote.

Please correct me if I have given any wrong details or information!

[sirthisisa-wendys]

yo for the 1k event sfw pls, can i be a spirit that haunts naoya and makes his life hell by badly singing sea shanties about how much he sucks nonstop, until he finally realizes that he's literally an expired granola bar and decides to change his ways????

is that how the spirit works??? am i requesting this correctly?????

YOUR HONOR, I--

Expired: Naoya Zenin x Fem!Spirit!Reader

wc: 310

tw: none

1K Follower Event Masterlist

Naoya comes to dread the nighttime.

You watch as he hides under the sheets while you sing loudly, and off-key. And the song is always about how he's basically the worst person alive.

"I gave my love to Naoya... He promised to be true. I went to war to come back and find five little ladies...He had his way with them. It was consensual..."

Maybe tonight wouldn't be so bad, he thinks, pressing his lips together. Maybe you'd end it there. The thought of him having five women at once is a little overwhelming, but at least he'd enjoy the attention.

"And all the Zen'ins were hang'd! And their children all got pink eye... While Naoya Zen'in's left to die."

"I can't take this!" he shouts, flinging off the covers and storming out of his room. Relief, he needs relief from the singing, the tuning, the grim tales of his death every single night.

When he opens the pantry to find a snack and calm down, his eyes land on the last granola bar left in the box. How long had it been in there? His question is answered when he picks it up and discovers the expiration date: "March 2003".

And he's left there, in the pantry, staring at the expired granola bar with a sinking feeling.

This is him.

This is his life.

He's an expired granola bar, and there's nothing he can do about it.

Unless...

"Gotta make a list," he grunts, clutching the expired granola bar in his hand.

And that next morning, he begins writing his apology speech for Youtube, apologizing to every single woman on the planet and in outer space (can't forget that one astronaut girl he called a "piece of trash"), and renouncing his thot boy ways.

From now on, he'd be referred to as Nice Naoya, not Not So Good Naoya.

[petitepointplace]

Come, sons of summer, by whose toil

We are the lords of wine and oil;

By whose tough labours, and rough hands,

We rip up first, then reap our lands.

Crown'd with the ears of corn, now come,

And to the pipe sing Harvest Home.

Come forth, my lord, and see the cart

Dress'd up with all the country art.

See, here a malkin, there a sheet,

As spotless pure, as it is sweet;

The horses, mares, and frisking fillies,

(Clad, all, in linen, white as lilies.)

The harvest swains and wenches bound

For joy, to see the Hock-cart crown'd.

About the cart, hear, how the rout

Of rural younglings raise the shout;

Pressing before, some coming after,

Those with a shout, and these with laughter.

Some bless the cart; some kisses the sheaves;

Some prank them up with oaken leaves;

Some cross the fill-horse; some with great

Devotion, stroke the home-borne wheat;

While other rustics, less attent

To prayers than to merriment,

Run after with their breeches rent.

Well, on, brave boys, to your lord's hearth,

Glitt'ring with fire, where, for your mirth,

Ye shall see first the large and chief

Foundation of your feast, fat beef,

With upper stories, mutton, veal,

And bacon, (which makes full the meal)

With sev'ral dishes standing by,

As here a custard, there a pie,

And here all tempting frumenty.

And for to make the merry cheer,

If smirking wine be wanting here,

There's that which drowns all care, stout beer,

Which freely drink to your lord's health,

Then to the plough, (the common-wealth)

Next to your flails, your fanes, your fats;

Then to the maids with wheaten hats;

To the rough sickle and crook'd scythe,

Drink frolic boys, till all be blythe.

Feed and grow fat; and as ye eat,

Be mindful, that the lab'ring neat

(As you) may have their fill of meat

And know, besides, ye must revoke

The patient ox unto the yoke,

And all go back unto the plough

And harrow, (though they're hang'd up now.)

And, you must know, your lord's word's true,

Feed him ye must, whose food fills you.

And that this pleasure is like rain,

Not sent ye for to drown your pain,

But for to make it spring again.

by Robert Herrick

[jodiannpxx]

Had you fought like a man, you need not have been hang'd like a dog.

Anne Bonny💕

[lakecoded]

just noticed that marisha's shirt says "had you fought like a man you need not have been hang'd like a dog" i'm having anne bonny feelings again

[neverhangd]

doing bits and bobs on the blog, obviously. rn i'm in potc hell (thank the gang lmao, s/o for dealing with me go to: @mvrtogg, @itismissswann, @norringtxn / @collectorofmuses), and i just realized that the majority of people who follow me may not have read this page (or even known it existed!), so i wanted to give two important bits of context!

1.) anne bonny walked so her archetypes could run.

i literally found out two weeks ago that anne bonny isn't stupid famous. whaaaaaat? but actually, that did shock me. maybe it's because i had two pirates phases and like research, but i've known a little bit about her since i was a kid: specifically, that she was a kick-ass pirate woman. i've learned a lot more since then, and i love to share it; i joined a group that i thought had a pirate phase only to learn that...they hadn't. and had no idea who anne bonny was outside of being a character someone before me had written as well.

it was exactly then that i realized anne bonny isn't a super famous kick-ass pirate woman and i felt like that one part of dogma. someone was trying to explain how my take on anne bonny both was and wasn't in-line with the previous writer's and it took me a while to realize they were asking what show or book i used for canon because they doubted she was the same character, despite sharing the archetypes. so. just so it's out there, here's an incomplete list of archetypes we can apply to the historical figure anne bonny, kick-ass pirate woman:

riches to rags (gave up a privileged life to marry a pirate)

the redhaired irish

girlboss/tits out for piracy (she would famously whip her shirt off in battle so men would know they'd been killed by a woman)

did it for love (left her first husband and became a pirate with her second)

it's a love story (whatever else they were, history tells us jack and anne were in love, even if i don't usually use that on this blog)

three's company, too (anne and read were absolutely an item at the same time as anne and jack)

ambiguously queer (i advocate for a bisexual anne, but the only lady-type lover she took was read, who can be fairly read as transmasc, putting some doubt on the full connotation of her orientation/s)

short fuse (she was known to fight over basically anything)

2.) what in the url?

since anne bonny isn't the kickass pirate bicon of my dreams--we'll get her there, one day!--it's relevant to also share what the fuck my url actually means. because she was a woman a pirate a woman and a pirate alive during the early 18th century, we actually don't have much record of anne speaking for herself. the most popularly known quote we have was spoken directly to jack rackham just before his execution:

if [you] had fought like a man, [you] need not have been hang'd like a dog. -A General History of Pyrates, Daniel Defoe

she said this to him because he and his men were the reason the ship had been caught and they had been taken prisoner and she took that very personally, as well she should! (it turns out that both anne and read were pregnant, anne by jack and read by their husband.) the larger thing is, she wasn't wrong: when the ship was invaded, only three people stood on the deck fighting: read, anne, and an unnamed pirate who presumably died in the struggle. everyone else was hiding below decks. read, in fact, famously fired TWICE down at the hiding men, killing one and injuring another.

the really wild part of all this, though, is the ending of anne's story. we don't know it.

anne's execution was stayed on account of her pregnancy, as was read's. read would die in prison from a fever, and presumably their child did as well; anne, on the other hand, simply...disappeared.

...but what is become of her since, we cannot tell; only this we know, that she was not executed. -A General History of Pyrates, Daniel Defoe (which, if you keep wondering why i'm referencing it, is considered THE source)

officially speaking, we may literally NEVER know what happened to anne. all we know is she NEVERHANGD.*

thank you for your time and attention! ♡

[mark-read-the-pirate]

"had you fought like a man, you need not have been hang'd like a dog"

- Anne Bonny ❤