#Aldermen

[coloradomcpoeticslave]

Marvel's Hit-Monkey: Season 2 Recap & Season 3 Predictions

By Daniel Paiz Marvel’s Hit-Monkey: Season 2 Recap & Season 3 Predictions digs into the newest 2024 sophomore season of the Marvel-Hulu show. Three years after the first season, the second season has new characters and new villains to worry about. The devil is in the details, and each episode brings this to light. Season 2 Recap This time Bryce and Monkey are in New York, as after season 1…

[atomiccupcakeobservation]

Chicago Elections, part two

Yes, we have another round coming. Yes, it matters. What we have going on is a referendum on domestic policy since the 1990s, or whether we should try something new. Are the policies working? Well, no. I mean, all the “right” does is scream about crime (CRIME!) but in actual numbers, most crime is down (if you live in certain areas of the city, it is not … but that leads us to a whole other…

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

“Two Challenge Winnipeg Mayor.” Windsor Star. November 14, 1942. Page 19. --- WINNIPEG. Nov. 14. Three candidates Mayor John Queen, Alderman Garnet Coulter and Thomas C. Knight filed nomination papers yesterday for the mayoralty in the civic election November 27. Mr. Queen has been mayor for seven of the last eight years. A mayor will be elected for a two-year term. 

Sixteen nominees were named for the nine two-year aldermanic terms and 14 will contest the seven public school board vacancies.

[huariqueje]

Aldermens  -   Peter Siddell, 1991.

New Zealander, 1935-2011

Oil on canvas on board,  30 x 22.5 cm. 11.8 x 8.9 in.

[wonder-worker]

how do you think the Lancasters stood the best chance at winning the war?

Imo, if they'd won at Mortimer's Cross or Towton, the Yorkists would be finished.

A lot of the WotR depended on military victories, tbh. We tend to get distracted by fancy discussions like "Who had the best claim?"* or Propaganda Roulette 101, but the fact remains that it was ultimately military victories that sealed the deal and got rid of opposition**. Everything else was pretty wrapping on top of the already-won or to-be-won prize.

*The most useless debate of all **The exception was Richard III's usurpation but that was a fairly unconventional and entirely unexpected usurpation, and in any case it was a military defeat that ended his reign.

[we-re-always-alright]

absolutely SEETHING reading comments about pizza and delivery in the city (Chicago) on tumblr dot com I cannot handle it

[mclalan]

A small estate map of Northeast Wolderness, a wapentake within the County of Humbershire.

Pentascarth Peaks

River Wyn

Bridburn Orchard

Bridburn Abbey

Firley Village

Grinholm Mill

Skunlington Town

Skunlington Castle

Pentascarth Peaks

Pentascarth Peaks is an ancient evergreen woodland that once dominated Wolderness, but centuries of agricultural expansion have driven it back to the five hilltop peaks. Some say that Wyrms slumber within each of the five peaks, while others more accurately claim that the peaks mark the boundary of the Wolderness wapentake.

Both Bridburn Abbey and Skunlington Minster claim rights to the forest, leading to obvious land disputes. But while mortals argue over who owns what, the woods remain home to forgotten, ancient goddesses— though the monastics seem to agree on this being just superstition.

River Wyn

Leading down from Pentascarth Peaks is the River Wyn, cutting through Humbershire on its journey east to the Lyre Estuary. The Wyn boasts giant crabs with some allegedly growing to a formidable fifteen feet. But if you're tempted to go crabbing, beware of the water spirit Catharine Wart, who drags unsuspecting victims beneath the Wyn's currents.

Bidburn Orchard

Nestled within an oxbow is Bridburn Abbey's apple orchard. The monks began with the principle of ora et labora, or 'pray and labour,' but if it also produces apples so delicious and plentiful that kings from across the seas are willing to pay a pretty sum for them, then who are the Valynites to say no? Whether it's Wyn's blessed waters or the lay brothers' tireless work, the orchard certainly hasn't hindered the abbey's rise to fame and fortune. Just don’t get caught scrumping from it, or the monks will have your hand off.

Bridburn Abbey

Bridburn Abbey houses the Valynite Order, which seems more preoccupied with power and business than strictly worship. With extensive landholdings and significant influence in the region, the abbey functions as the principal rural manor of Wolderness. As a result, it has become the largest and wealthiest abbey in all of Humbershire. But beyond just collecting tithes from the surrounding peasants, the monks are skilled in land management, particularly in assarting the land of trees and marshes.

Firley Village

Firley Village, named after the fir trees that once grew in the area, is an agricultural settlement situated on the glebe of Bridburn Abbey.

A large plot of common land lies to the west of the village, while smaller plots are located south on the opposite bank of the River Wyn. While the villagers grow a rotation of barley and vegetables, they're best known for they're prized oxblood-coloured sheep, whose wool appears black but shines red when catching the light. You'd think the village would grow fat from the wealth of this highly sought-after wool, but as the village falls under the manorial holding of the abbey, it is the abbey that reaps the wealth.

Grinholm Mill

Grinholm Mill, a growing hamlet owned by the Rolleston family, offers a much more reasonable miller's toll compared to the one up by Bridburn Abbey. They've become quite popular amongst the peasants of Wolderness, (well at least by miller standards), as well as wealthy. Although they pay their tithe to the abbey like everyone else on this side of the river, they are perceived to have undermined the abbey’s milling soke monopoly—much to the abbey displeasure.

Skunlington Town

Skunlington is a prominent market town, both wealthy and influential, with a history that stretches back to the First Age. It's located behind a small range of hills that shield it from harsh weather and provides a natural defence, with an added Royal Castle on the highest peak for good measure.

The castle is about the only Royal influence in the town however, as Skunlington holds charters that grant it a degree of autonomy from the Crown. The town is governed by a council of Merchant Guild Aldermen in coalition with the Provost of Skunlington Minster. But despite this apparent independence, the town is practically in the pocket of the Archbishop of Humberthorpe, the capital city of Humbershire.

South of Bridburn Abbey, across the River Wyn, lies the land controlled by Skunlington Minster’s estate (marked in purple on the map). The large tract of empty land between Skunlington and Bridburn Abbey is an ongoing contention, as both estates claim it for their own. The bickering has gone on so long that the land has turned fallow. But the biggest source of contention is how Skunlington controls the river toll for use of its docks, with particularly extortionate prices for Bridburn Abbey. Rumour has it that Bridburn Abbey might just build a whole new town of its own, south of Skunlington, just to avoid paying this toll!

Skunlington Castle was strategically built in the First Age atop the highest hill on Pen-y-Skun for its vantage point overlooking the whole of North Wolderness Dale—crucial in the Woodsy War against the pagans. However, these days it’s the Crown's administrative center for Wolderness, run by the Under-Sheriff. Here, secular law is enforced, tasks such as collecting taxes for the Crown, raising levies, chopping off heads, that sort of thing. There’s a lot of overlap with the ecclesiastical courts however, sometimes resulting in collaboration and other times in clashes.

Skunlington Castle

But it’s not all work. The castle also serves as the hub for the gentry afterall, and they're not exactly know for their hard work. So the castle hosts games, jousts, fairs, that sort of thing, and a bed for when the King comes to visit.

[history-of-fashion]

ab. 1648 Philippe de Champaigne - The Provost of Merchants and the Aldermen of the City of Paris

(Louvre Museum)

[1americanconservative]

Democrats Are Claiming Donald Trump Is Lying About Illegal Migrants Drawing Social Security Benefits Here’s a Town Hall held in Chicago by US Rep Jonathan Jackson confirming illegals are being put on Social Security “They come into this country and get a stipend, link, a free roaming board, free child care, and some of them are getting Social Security, and when my ancestors were released from slavery, they got their clothes on their back. But yet, they were told to be happy. So why am I and everyone in this country footing the bill for people who are non-Americans, who don't vote? ‌ Who don't fight in any of our wars, who've never paid a tax. And we're told that if we say anything, we're xenophobic. Tell me why. Tell us all why. I wanna know. I think it's wrong. I mean, it shouldn't happen, but this is a U.S. immigration. Transparency, that's my brother. That's my brother. We disagree, but that's my brother. I just wanna say anyway, what the sister said, I don't give a damn about no Joe Biden. So... ‌ If that lady wanna pass out something about that, that's her free will. Y'all can't be forcing democracy on people. She got the right, just like you got the right to say vote for Joe Biden. I got the right as somebody who represent formerly incarcerated person to say Joe Biden and Clinton 94 crime bill created that and we haven't recovered from that. ‌ The only asylum seekers that's perpetually discriminated against in this country by everybody is formerly incarcerated people. They have 18,000 homeless ex-cons, yet they're around here talking about public safety. You don't even know where these men are. Then you let more ex-convicts in here in the name of migrants. But they want to tell you... ‌ That is the low, this own the state, its own, its own, uh, the, the, I mean the Republicans, all politicians local. Every in this state don't let them fool you. From the top, from, from the Lieutenant Governor, to Tony Pratt Winkle, to the Mayor, to the Police Chief, to the State's Attorney, to, to the Aldermen, to the Congress person, to the state reps, all are black. ‌ You got 150 elected black positions and our communities look the way they look. And if I say something, if I say something, if it's not with my brother, he just got there. They want to legislate for us without ever bringing us at the table. I did 21 years in the prison. What they gonna tell me about what we need? ‌ They ain't never spend one day in the cell but they legislate for your nephew, cousin, and son. Furthermore, ain't no kids in here. Ain't no teenagers in here. Over 150 murdered young men from ages 16 to 24, and ain't no kids in here? That's the problem. You old people, y'all keep voting the same way, hook, line, and sinker, without ever holding them account. And the very babies go kill y'all ass. ‌ These kids are little wolves. Hey, ain't nothing that's nobody saying no more important than this. Hey, hey, wrap your ass. Ain't nothing nobody's saying more important than this. I'm tired of y'all playing games with these babies. These babies gonna start driving y'all, but they already doing it. They gonna kill you. I think y'all getting hijacked now. 60% unemployment rate for 18 to 24 and you got money for migrants?”

[fingons-rad-harp]

death and destiny, heroics and heartbreak (and onions)

[Read on AO3]

It had been three weeks, and the kid still hadn’t stopped following Geralt.

He chattered incessantly, significantly limited the amount of distance Geralt could cover in a day, constantly smelled of lust, and put his possessions in Geralt’s saddlebags without regard to which things belonged to whom.

Geralt wasn’t entirely sure why he hadn’t just left the bard behind, but something stopped him every time he nearly rode off alone.

It was exhausting, having to act human all the time. He had to space out his meals, eating smaller portions more frequently instead of devouring an entire deer in one go and then not worrying about food for a few days. He was careful not to show his fangs, careful to make sure his grunts didn’t become growls, careful to always have White Honey on hand so the bard never saw him toxic. He wasn’t always successful in hiding his more animalistic traits, but somehow it hadn’t scared the boy off yet.

And for some fucking reason, Geralt didn’t want to scare him off. Even though he did, because at least then it would be over and done with and Geralt could go back to his solitary life on the Path and stop waiting for the other shoe to drop. Forget all about the colorful bard with his stupid soft hands and pretty words and utter fearlessness. Clearly, he was too much of an idiot to realize how dangerous Geralt was.

Geralt had tried exactly once to intimidate him. The bard wouldn’t leave the fuck alone and kept insisting on accompanying Geralt on his hunt—forktails, most likely a mated pair, possibly with eggs. Geralt had crowded into his space and glared, the kind of glare that made aldermen piss themselves in fear. The bard’s heart rate had skyrocketed, and for a split second Geralt had thought that was it.

Then, of course, he’d registered the thick smell of lust, the way the bard’s eyelids fluttered and his lips parted in anticipation.

It had been… tempting. Usually, even people that wanted to bed him held some undercurrent of fear. But Geralt would bet his swords that the kid hadn’t yet reached his twentieth year, and he wasn’t that sort of cad.

He sat by the fire now, going through his nightly routine of checking his armor and weapons for damage, cleaning, oiling, and sharpening as needed. Jaskier lay sprawled on his bedroll on the other side of the camp, writing in his notebook and muttering to himself, counting syllables on his fingers and cursing intermittently. 

The noise used to bother him. He wasn’t quite sure when it had turned into just… background noise, the same as trees rustling or birdsong.

Jaskier ambled over to their bags (Geralt’s bags, he couldn’t start thinking of them as theirs, no matter how Jaskier treated it that way) and rummaged through them, humming a wordless tune under his breath.

“Geralt…” the bard began, and he sounded so genuinely baffled that Geralt looked over at him instead of just grunting in acknowledgement. “Why do you have so many onions?”

Geralt shrugged. They’d been part of his payment for a contract a while ago. He’d traded some of them for a coil of rope in the last village they were in.

“Seriously,” Jaskier continued, “there’s like twenty of them.”

“They last a long time before going bad,” Geralt said in explanation. He held out a hand in a silent request for one, biting into it when Jaskier handed it to him.

The bard made a soft noise of horror. “You absolutely disgust me, Witcher.”

Even said in jest, the words made Geralt’s shoulders tense. He forced himself to relax and took another bite of the onion. Jaskier shuddered and pretended to gag.

“Yesterday you saw me eat a rabbit whole—bones, fur, and all,” Geralt pointed out. “This is where you draw the line?”

“It absolutely fucking is,” Jaskier said. “Yesterday you had just come back from a hunt and were hungry, injured, and exhausted. There is absolutely no excuse for, for—for chomping into a raw onion as if it were an apple!”

Geralt gave him a flat look. “You done?”

The expression on his bard’s face was answer enough. “Oh, I haven’t even gotten started.”

Geralt ate two more onions like that as he listened to the outraged ranting, just to wind Jaskier up a bit.

Having a traveling companion wasn’t all bad, he thought. Even if it was deeply, deeply strange.

[atomiccupcakeobservation]

Elections, Chicago-style

Tomorrow is election day here in Chicago. People are getting jittery. We have a very competitive Mayor’s race – I think the top four candidates are so close together in the polls that any two of them could make the run-off. Seventeen aldermen retired, which means an unprecedented number of races where the incumbents are not running for re-election (often unchallenged) – and most of them are…

[ewanmitchelll]

Imagine Taylor Swift’s songs (XVI): Love Story.

Imagine you are the Lady of Mercia and Osferth is your knight.

Warnings: soft smut, drama, angst.

Warnings 2: slightly divergence with “The Last Kingdom”’s events, with you being the daughter of Æthelflæd and Uhtred, prepared to the role dutifully.

***

• We were both young when I first saw you. I close my eyes and the flashback starts… I'm standin' there on a balcony in summer air. See the lights, see the party, the ball gowns. See you make your way through the crowd and say, "Hello". Little did I know…

It all starts when you two are young. Osferth has just recently met Uhtred, promptly embraced by this warrior who is to be half Dane, half Saxon, when lady Æthelflæd thought wise to prepare you to succeed her.

By then you and him are in your late teenager days. You do not know yet, though you may suspect, that Lord Æthelred is not your father, a man who inspires no sympathy of his subjects, dismissing you a paternal concern that, how curiously, Uhtred doesn’t hesitate in giving you.

“Lady Y/N”, Uhtred side smirks when seeing you. He can tell this growing beauty has his eyes and the man takes pride in gazing at you. But the secrecy must remain what is, a secret. “What a delight is to see you again.”

Due to recent events, which are a mix of your father’s death and the treachery of some of the Mercian aldermen, this infamous pagan warlord comes to protect your mother as part of his vow to the House of Wessex.

“My lord Uhtred”, you nod your head, unable to explain the instant sympathy the man inspires you, notwithstanding the differences in your creed. “I pray to find you well, my mother has been looking a great deal to seeing you again.”

He laughs, a sound you are most familiar with. It is a secret to none that he is your mother’s lover.

“Likewise, young lady. This is Osferth, by the way”, Uhtred presents one to the other, unknowing he’s planting a deadly seed.

Osferth steps forward. This tall man inspires you butterflies in your stomach, a feeling that you, however, promptly dismiss.

“My lord”, you curtsy graciously.

“Lady”, he avoids your gaze, nodding his head. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Osferth is a very good warrior, Y/N”, says Uhtred, amused by the teenager awkwardness. “He’s proven his worth and thus is here with me. Osferth, stay here with lady Y/N all the whilst I have matters to attend.”

Just like that he leaves you both. There is an awkward silence hanging between you two, so you opt to make things easier by breaking it:

“Is this the first time you stay on Mercia?”

“Nay, lady”, he slowly raises his eyes only to meet a pair of y/c irises staring at him. “I’ve been at Uhtred’s service for a few years since…eh… since I left my order.”

“Order?”, you repeat, rather intrigued. “Is my lord a priest?”

Osferth chuckles. You particularly swoon at his smile, at how handsome he is, but the pride that comes with your station prevents you to show it.

“I was, or rather am, a monk, lady.”

A small exchange of smiles occurs between you and him.

“How a monk then came to serve the great warrior Uhtred Ragnarsson?”

“This is a long conversation, lady.”

“Well, Monk Osferth, I have the time.”

***

• That you were Romeo, you were throwin' pebbles and my daddy said, "Stay away from Juliet". And I was cryin' on the staircase. Beggin' you, "Please don't go, " and I said…

Æthelflæd raises her eyebrows when seeing how all of a sudden you are engaging in a conversation with Osferth when you have never had eyes to somebody else.

“You should not be so demanding to her”, says Uhtred, as they all gather at the table for a supper. “She found in Osferth a good companion, is all.”

“I can see the way she looks at him”, says the lady in a disapproving tone. “She will, when God wills it, be my heiress. She should know where this will lead her to.”

Uhtred limits himself giving her a look that she understands well. At times he wishes he could be more… present in your life. But in many ways he is.

As he observes you and Osferth cautiously now, he thinks wise to interfere.

“Y/N…”,Uhtred calls you. “Your mother wishes you to be more focused in your duties.”

“I do what she asks and more”, you sigh. “She is never pleased with anything I do.”

“It is the way of things. Kings and queens put duties over their sentiments”, says the warlord. “Most times they require personal sacrifices.”

You are tempted to argue, but seeing reason in his speech, what else is there to speak? You nod and giving Osferth a meaningless look, you depart without saying anything.

Osferth watches you go and, when noticing where his eyes follow, Uhtred clears his throat.

“Be careful, boy. Some prizes are too high to aim.”

The monk blushes at once.

“What is it you say, lord? I am but a bastard, a monk who, by chance, follows you in your wars.”

Uhtred side smirks in response.

“Youth can be misleading, this is all I can offer as an advice.”

But some part of the younger male wishes he’d have more time with you… however impossible it is.

***

• Romeo, take me somewhere we can be alone. I'll be waiting, all there's left to do is run. You'll be the prince and I'll be the princess. It's a love story, baby, just say, "Yes"…

You do not see him again. It takes years until tragedy reunites one with the other. Until then you slowly grow into a different woman.

Your mind is well versed in politics and languages, at least knowing enough of Latin to understand the scriptures. You try to follow your mother’s steps, but this comes with a price.

Even Lady Æthelflæd is aware of the subtle changes in your personality. Where’s that characteristically joy that used to spark behind your y/c eyes? She misses it. As well as your innocence. Would time steal it from you?

At first she opts to ignore it. But not even her loyal adviser is blind to the loneliness you go through.

“It would do well if Lady Y/N had some companions to spend her time with. However is her position now or in the future ahead, she must not live isolated.”

Æthelflæd considers. But whilst she asks him to look for suitable companions, the role of a mother, which she often mistook as the same of a queen, leads her to a shadowy road.

“Y/N”, she comes to your chambers and doesn’t like seeing some sort of melancholy in you.

“Yes, my lady?”, you stand and curtsy.

Æthelflæd swallows the hurt when seeing it’s the queen you greet, not the mother.

“We must speak.”

“Have I done any wrongs?”

“It is not about that. I fear I have isolated you. I was… concerned you might suffer mundane influences which I attempted to prevent you to succumb.”

A flash of anger is perceived in your eyes. To your mother this is better than apathy.

“I am never good enough for you, aren’t I? You take the few friends I have and send them away. If I recall your words, all was done under the pretense of following duty.”

An argument is inevitable. There is only so much you can do to hold back the temper that is an inheritance of your mother and your father, though Æthelflæd credits the latter for it.

She hears the accusations in silence. An explosion is better than a cold storm, so the queen judges.

In the meantime the royal household is trembling, Osferth has been living quietly, fighting his wars and drinking his ale. The monk clearly breaks any celibate oath by getting himself involved with women.

“It so appears that our baby monk is not a baby anymore”, so Finan cackles.

“A man does what he does”, he shrugs his shoulders.

How can it be, though, that his thoughts never left aside the only lady he’d commit his heart to? Remorse soon comes when thinking that you’d not do what he did, knowing your character. Glooming soon comes… washing away what he judges to be weakness of his flesh.

As Uhtred likes to quote, though, destiny is all and soon it works to tie his life to yours.

*

Despite amending relations with your mother, you have never been the same. Duty has forged you into an iron lady prepared to embrace the arduous task to inherit a crown that deep inside your heart you’ve never wanted it.

Nonetheless, once you prove how dutiful you are and how sharp is your wit, the witan somehow feels at easy when looking at you as your mother’s heiress.

And the day where you are expected to become Lady of the Mercians comes sooner than expected.

“I have to deliver grave news to you, child”, and without wasting time, she tells you that she’s dying.

Naturally, you are shocked.

“This cannot be!”

“It is the will of God and we must respect it. Soon, transition will occur as we have planned all these years. Listen to me, Y/N, you are ready.” For the first time in a while she looks a mother to you. “I am proud of you, my daughter.”

You lean against her forehead and, letting a sob escape, you say:

“I shall not disappoint you, mother.”

“You could never”, and she kisses your forehead, thus reconciling permanently with you.

As she secretly requests the presence of Uhtred, you are going outside to fetch a messenger when you are surprised by his presence.

“My lord!”

“Where is she?”, by the grave expression on his face, you know he’s already been informed of her condition.

“At her bedchambers”, and it’s when you see him.

Osferth stands in the corridors, his eyes reminding you of those of a lost puppy’s. Courties come and go but you two freeze in time and space.

He knows and you know. With a movement of your head, you indicate him to follow. Discreetly he does, going after you somewhere that you know it’s not well guarded—in the past it used to be the spot where your mother welcomed Uhtred.

“Lady Y/N”, Osferth isn’t sure how to address you, how to even look at you.

For one moment neither do you. It seems as these last years turned one stranger to the other, and perhaps to avoid this odd sensation, you are the one to take his hand in yours.

“My lord”, you speak in short breath. “Osferth.”

“I thought we would never meet again”, says he, daring to raise his eyes.

Studying you, Osferth sees how grown you are. How beautiful you have become with eyes dark as coal and softened features, with y/c locks falling in one long braid. There is sadness behind your y/c eyes and God knows how he wishes to take it away.

When leaning his hand to stroke your cheek, you lean it against his palm, searching for comfort. For the very first time in years you shed a tear.

“I am alone in this world, Osferth. My life is not mine. They forbid me to nurture sentiments of any nature. I am caged.”

“This is not true, lady. I’m here and will never leave your side, this I vow. I did try to forget you in the past”, he admits. “The deep affection there is in my heart admonished my weakness. I cannot nor will I ever be so blunt in letting you to yourself.”

“I am expected to remain chaste”, you sob. “Or at least to marry someone else. Save me, my lord. Save me from my fate.”

“There is little need to protest against destiny”, says Osferth. “You were born for this, lady. God has put you where you should be. I’ll be here for you. Whatever comes, I’ll be beside you.”

You bury your face to his neck, bursting into tears. Osferth is tensed at such proximity, but when he embraces you, his concerns dissipate. Your smell brings him peace and as he rocks you in his arms, he realizes how much he loves you.

Oh, what a misfortune to love a star that is too high to grasp! But Osferth has been accustomed to the night to be drowned in hopelessness. What is he but a moon in search of the sun, contemplating the vast of the galaxy?

Nevertheless, the love he feels for you is inexplicable, inexpressible, irreversible.

“My lady”, he speaks in his husky tone, reluctantly parting from you. “We must go. We cannot take so long. I wish we had more time…”

“Osferth.”

“Yes?”

“Can you do at least one thing for me?”

“Anything, lady”, he takes your hands and presses a hand in each.

“Stay with me. Never leave my side, no matter the circumstances. Be the knight I want you to be.”

Osferth knows what you ask is too much of him. Especially now how acutely aware he is where came from this pair of dark coal eyes that stares at him.

Nevertheless, he’s been too weary to stay far from you. Even if he cannot have you, the warrior monk knows he has no strength to stay away from you anymore.

“I will do as my lady commands me to.”

That being said, Osferth does a bold move that surprises you both. He takes you by your waist and kisses you at long last.

***

• So I sneak out to the garden to see you. We keep quiet, 'cause we're dead if they knew. So close your eyes, escape this town for a little while, oh oh…

You are promptly acknowledged as Lady of The Mercians, the rightful successor of Lady Æthelflæd. Duty compels you to act as honorably as you can, showing the witan and your royal uncle how sharped is your wit.

There present is Lord Uhtred, who ensures his natural daughter is safe, that the transition to power occurs smoothly.

But at the end of the day you wish to see only one person. And when everyone else is sleeping, your loyal friend lady Ælfgifu brings him to your privy quarters.

“Lady”, Osferth is surprised at your summon. “Is there something wrong?”

He drinks the view of you, trying not to succumb his lust. Years have passed since he took the oath of not letting be slaved by his flesh, especially regarding his feelings for you.

Now, the sight of your long loose hair and the nightgown that covers poorly your body, letting be captured in glimpses your firm breasts, makes Osferth face an internal battle.

“There is nothing wrong, my love. Fear not”, you short the distance between you two feigning a confidence you lack. “I am my own mistress here, Osferth.”

He gives you a cautious look.

“Time has played with us, has it not?”, the monk muses. “However, my lady, we must not be imprudent. I stand here as you wish, but I am not going to be unwise and put you at risk.”

“I understand my mother has done a vow which I intend to keep. In the meantime she has met the man I know now as my father in secrecy. We could do the same.”

“If you are certain this will not…”

But his words die at how close you two are. What time has repressed, no iron is suffice to hold back now it’s loose. Osferth himself forgets reason when his lips collide against yours and his arms are all around you.

Sighing in content, never before you felt a mistress of yourself as in that moment. When his breath and yours are combined, his strong body warming yours, your fingers let loose in his face, his features, his hair.

All the whilst his tongue dances with yours, his long and callous hands play with your hair and work quickly to remove your fabric. Once he leads you to bed, he pauses a moment to hold your face gently:

“My lady wife.”

“My lord husband”, you beam at the secrecy with which you and him express at last the true sentiments and desires to each other.

Even if this love story is not having the end you’d like, it is already written more pleasant than you’d conceived.

As his mouth drinks in your skin, his tongue twirling around your neck, his hands gently spread your legs, placing himself in between as his mouth starts to cup each nude breast. Devouring your nipples like a hungry man, Osferth for few seconds forgets he is the one experienced…

“Why did you stop”, you moan in protest when seeing this handsome and strong man right where you want him to be.

Osferth smiles at you, a smile that brightens his face which in turn makes you beam at such a view.

“I remember my lady that I must have utmost care with you, considering you are a damsel.”

You narrow your eyes at him.

“Is it a way to remind me you have had others in your bed, lord?”

Osferth’s smile quickly dismisses as he crawls over you.

“Lady, whilst it is true I have not behaved well in the past, I am being careful to you. We are already doing it unlawfully…”

“Oh shush! This is not the moment nor the time to…”

And here you are pleasantly swallowed his fervent kisses. Where Osferth is shy and discreet when he’s with others, right here with you he’s every inch the man you’ve read in books. Even more.

When his hand slides to your womanhood, there is no shadow of doubts or jealousy, but two hearts united in one purpose. And this is as holy as mundane, as sacred as profane, from the moment he slides in you only soon to seed you, providing a new delight never before you considered proving.

***

• Romeo, save me, I've been feeling so alone. I keep waiting for you, but you never come. Is this in my head? I don't know what to think. He knelt to the ground and pulled out a ring and said, "Marry me, Juliet. You'll never have to be alone. I love you and that's all I really know. I talked to your dad, go pick out a white dress. It's a love story, baby, just say, "Yes". Oh, oh, oh. 'Cause we were both young when I first saw you

You receive a visit of Lord Uhtred, who’s been too suspicious of the reason you’ve been keeping Osferth wherever you go.

“Lady Y/N, may we have a word?”, he is somewhat surprised to see you fitting well in your new role.

In spite of the burden that being the sole ruler of Mercia carries, you’ve been continuing with the hard work of your mother. Some advisors, already perceiving that you hold a favourite in the person of your dearest knight, who does not meddle in politics, keep a blind eye to his person. But will others do the same notwithstanding your utmost discretion?

“Yes, lord Uhtred. You know you are welcome here”, you dismiss the council and receive him like a daughter receives a father.

The tender gesture does not go unnoticed by the man, who softens before you.

“So much like your mother”, Uhtred whispers, a sad smile crossing his lips. “Even in temper.”

“We had our differences”, you say, leaving a hint of a resentment that never truly healed. You wish you had been better as a daughter, more committed to the cause she stood for. You try amending the remorse by doing what she’d do… though this does not mean you forget your secret vows exchanged with Osferth.

Uhtred studies you for a moment and it’s almost as if he can tell what’s been left unsaid.

“We all did, but you are doing a good work here. She would be proud of you. Leaving these matters aside, I am not here to discuss the rather unpleasant businesses King Edward’s been having with Mercia.”

You ask servants to fetch yourselves wine and food before gallantries are set aside for politics. To your surprise, however, what Uhtred comes to discuss with you is in regard of your relationship with Osferth.

“Lord!”

“There is no need to protest. I am not here to admonish you for what I’ve done myself”, says he. “Whoever you lies with is your problem, Y/N. But the point is…the oath your mother took was only performed after you were adult and well looked after. You need to continue the lineage if you do not wish that Mercia falls onto the hands of Wessex.”

“I do not think the aldermen will accept Osferth as my husband”, you hesitate.

“There may be some elements they might consider”, Uhtred strokes his chin. “Do you love this man, Y/N Y/LN?”

You smile at the question posed. Uhtred can tell you do love his baby monk, unbelievable as it is that Osferth conquered the lady of Mercia’s heart. He scoffs at it.

“I do”, and then as if hesitating, you ask: “Will you give us your blessing?”

Uhtred never considered that you’d outwit him and your mother, but looking at the sagacity with which you’ve been conducting Mercian affairs, is it really difficult to believe you’ve known all this time?

“I personally think you deserve better”, the warlord teases you. “But alas, aye! He will look after you, I’m sure.”

You nod your head, thankful for his blessing. Then a moment of silence passes before Uhtred says:

“How long have you known?”

“Long enough”, your smile spreads. “What a shame is that I will never be able to acknowledge you as my father in public.”

“It matters not”, he says. “What is more relevant is that you are well and conducting your affairs properly, something of which I’ve never harbored doubts. I’m proud of you.”

A delight this reunion proves to be, giving your heart the balsam you need.

*

You are lawfully married to Osferth before selected witnesses on a sacred day. You ensure to bring your half-siblings for the ceremony, particularly bonding to Stiorra, who, despite the differences in creed, proves to be the sister you wish you had back in your youth.

At the feast, the aldermen present themselves. Not many are content with the choice, but if the blood of Ælfred does not meddle in Mercian matters, then all is well.

“You look beautiful, lady”, Osferth smiles as you two dance beautifully in your own ways after receiving the blessing of the priest. “I never thought I’d see this day come.”

“It did, husband”, you smile back and he notices the old glee once spotted in your eyes long time ago have now returned. “I’ve always had my faith this would somehow end well for us.”

“Praise the Lord”, says he.

An exchange of loving glances is enough before the bedding parade is announced. You see Uhtred is sighing heavily, opting for not partaking of the boasting. Some aldermen snort at it for its pagan nature.

But some traditions survive the time. Therefore, you play the role of a damsel, whose gown is stripped on your way to your bedchambers, as Osferth does the same. He laughs as Finan teases him, as well as their other mates, considering they were more than familiar with Osferth’s history before you came along.

Now here you two are, alone at last.

“It brings me great relief, in all honesty, that we are no longer hidden in secret”, he admits, lying on his elbow as he admires you openly.

“As it does to me, though what we have is not a burden, never was.”

“I know”, he takes your hand and brings it to his lips. “I only wish we had not taken such a long time.”

“It all happened in due time”, you smile before pulling him to you.

One kiss is enough to make Osferth’s mind go blank as well as yours. Thus it is this love story is sealed with a carnal union that mirrors that of the soul.

***

• Epilogue.

Some years later…

You pat your growing belly, watching with concern as Osferth teaches Edgar how to manage a sword.

“You must first learn how to unsheathe the sword, boy”, he speaks patiently. “And only then you will swing the basis like this…”

Edgar has the dark eyes of your father, but the hair of your husband. Except by these features, it’s a common consent that Mercia’s next ruler is very much like you.

“Be careful, husband! Edgar is not yet five”, you say, at the same time keeping an eye to the maids who look after Ædyth, 3, and Osbert, 2.

When Osferth meets your gaze, you still freeze, mesmerized by the unique kind of joy only a man like him could make you feel. After all these years? Always, you’d say to your sister.

“I will, my love. I assure you that, whatever has Finan told you about me, I’ve grown prudent”, he chuckles.

“I’m just assuring you, this is all.”

“You are fussing”, you hear a familiar voice that makes you turn your head to. It’s Stiorra, the happily queen of York. “You didn’t think I’d miss your labor, would you?”

At times you forget your belly is heavier…

“With many matters to attend, my sister, I honestly wouldn’t expect you to. But you know how grateful I am by your company.”

The thread is briefly interrupted as you are distracted by the shout of your youngest children. Osbert is crying for a reason and Ædyth is claiming she can hold a sword.

You give Stiorra a look before playing the role of a mother. As Osferth fussed with his son’s hair, thus finishing the training, his eyes linger at the familiar scenario.

“Who’d ever known we would come all this way?”, when he turns it’s Finan who speaks.

Today, he came with Uhtred for a familiar visit that has, however, political implications. It appears that Brida has been planning a vengeance at Uhtred, so the northern warlord came to ask for Mercian aid—specially when your royal uncle is not excited at the prospect of borrowing your father some men to impede this alleged Danish invasion.

“God writes in mysterious ways”, says the former monk.

“You deserve this, my friend. You have a wife who loves you, and she is rich, possessing lands and enough silver for a lifetime”, both friends laugh at his remark. “And what about your children? I’ll ensure that Edgar is training by my sons’ side when time is come.”

“You can always bring them here”, suggests Osferth. “Y/N doesn’t want to acknowledge but in due time our boy will have his own household, so he must be surrounded by good and loyal friends.”

“I’ll consider it with my wife. It’s an excellent suggestion”, Finan agrees.

As the day turns into night and the guests, as well the children, are set to sleep, Osferth and you finally have a moment to yourselves.

“What a day”, says he in the moment he slides at his side of the bed.

“Indeed. Grandmother has been very, uh, busy with our children. I fear she might spoilt them too much”, you shake your head, in reference to the King Ælfred’s wife who’s been with you since your mother’s premature demise.

Osferth is on his elbow, stroking your hair as he ensures you are comfortable.

“She enjoys a privilege few do: meeting her great-grandchildren, another generation of the old king’s blood.”

You lean into his touch, locking hands with his, watching your husband blow away a few candles.

“You bring me great delights, my love.”

“The seed is strong”, he teases you, making you chuckle quietly.

“Don’t be silly, Osferth.”

With moonlight finding its way stubbornly through half closed curtains, you see the gaze your husband casts at you. You lift your hand to play with his short hair before stroking his face.

No words are needed.

As you smile and he smiles too, you peck his lips. It is a love story and both of you said yes to it. Such is what the pens of future scribes will register.

Others will write songs. The Lady and Her Knight will echo through the centuries, with your descendants still on power somehow by the 18th century…

[dnd-character-concept]

Do your civic duty, again

So our Saturday session has had a handful of interesting political events occur and now several city districts need new Aldermen/City Council Members and the first vote went really well so we're doing it again

So anyone who's interested will be able to vote for the new Alderman of Upsan Downs, the strange middle class residential district notable for having the only large scale hospital & asylum in the city

As well as the fact the district's structures occasionally change shape, streets lead different places at different times of day, and the last Alderman has been missing for the better part of a year

[pmamtraveller]

THE ANATOMY LESSON OF DR. NICHOLAS TULP, (1632) by REMBRANDT VAN RIJN

In this pyramid composition, seven disheveled men in crisp white shirts are staring at a man named Dr. Tulp, who is lecturing on anatomy. Dr. Tulp has complete control of the right-hand side of the picture, and he is demonstrating on a man's dead body. The arrangement of parts is very well planned, and the dead man's angle and size draw the viewer's gaze to the center.

The work portrays the annual anatomy lesson in January, which was a major event for all of the city's senators and burgomasters as well as aldermen. In addition to the curators, rectors of the university were also present, along with a large number of students and professors. The general public bought tickets to sit in the rear row of the benches.y

The group portrait was a Dutch tradition; it was a way of documenting and honoring the officers of guilds or other organizations. The cost and composition were usually the same for six to twenty people. In this painting, Rembrandt’s carefully painted and illuminated faces stare at the body or stare out at the viewer, establishing their sense of meaning and belonging.

The scene is very staged and dramatic as the famous doctor wears his hat to announce his position to the crowd. Rembrandt makes sure that the audience understands the story without any distractions by using only dark or brightly lit colors except for the bleeding left arm which is being cut near the centre of the composition.

[ilovedthestars]

I'm rereading Matthew Swift, and getting close to the end of The Midnight Mayor. And the further into it I get the more I realize that this book is not only my favorite, but the book that defined the series for me.

A Madness of Angels is a great introduction. We meet Matthew, we meet the angels, we meet London, we're immersed in Kate Griffin's glorious prose and the magic of the city. We get the answers to Matthew's questions--"Who killed me, and who brought us back?" We get the climax, the confrontation of the past. Madness of Angels is the origin story.

Midnight Mayor, though, is the thesis statement. Rereading it, knowing what's coming, I am reveling in how the entirety of this book is setting up its perfect final declaration. Every little thing it chooses to dwell on, for what seems like no particular reason. Strangers. The stones of the city. Give me back my hat. The work of all the millions of invisible people who make the city run, bring in the food to feed it, take the trash away. The Aldermen, their philosophy, that speech Mr. Earle gives about a city of ants, all of them following blindly, nothing binding them together but the structure of the city, and of course the Aldermen are the only ones who see it--how very Plato of him! The only one who can see the real world casting its shadows on the wall (ha) of the cave, how enlightened, of course he should be in charge, at least according to him.

(Can you see me slipping into Kate Griffin's writing style? I love the rhythm of it. It's rubbing off on me.)

Every part of this story is slowly building up evidence, refuting counterarguments, preparing us for the thesis at the end of the book. Matthew tells us life is magic, sorcery is a point of view, and in Midnight Mayor we get to see what that point of view is. And more than that--we're invited to join in it ourselves.

When I say that the Matthew Swift books are bursting with love for humanity, what I'm talking about is how one act of kindness, from a stranger, saves the city of London from mythical destruction. How the Aldermen look at the city and see ants, interchangeable and insignificant, and Matthew looks at the city and says no, every single one of those is a human with thoughts and dreams and buses to catch, and every single one of them matters. No such thing as strangers. No one is alone.

Every time I read this book, I think, this is how I want to look at the world.