#screw steamer

[livesunique]

"Atmah"

Screw Steamer built by Fairfield Shipbuilding & Engineering Co. Ltd. in 1898 for Baron Edmond de Rothschild.

[steampoweredwerehog]

About a week ago my boyfriend and I were play-arguing over whether something in my fish tank water filter counted as a fan or a propeller. So I pull up the Aqueon filter cleaning tutorial and it turns out we're technically both wrong cuz it’s actually an impeller. Then he read me the Wikipedia page for John Ericsson, the inventor of the first screw-propelled steamer ship.

And that’s love baby.

[fayes-fics]

When The World Is Free: Chapter 5 - Sans Y Penser

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Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: none really... mildly angsty situations, some flirting and interesting proposals.

Word Count: 2.9k

Author’s Note: Multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl! Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. HERE BE PLOT. A lot of things happen in this one afternoon. Thanks to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy!

Le Havre, September 1939

The port city of Le Havre is bustling with travellers hauling suitcases and steamer trunks, all walks of life converging on this point of exit. You weave through the crowds from the train station as a trio, headed for the bright red awnings of the company sailing to the USA. Benedict and Eloise hang back as you approach the ticket window. 

“Name?” the brusque man in the booth opens with a crisp American accent.

“Y/n y/l/n,” you smile politely.

“You are not on the manifest,” he sighs after a pause to scan down the paperwork, impatience colouring his tone.

“But I must be,” you frown, “I was given this here…” 

You push your ticket under the window, clearly marked with today’s date. 

“Fraudsters,” his economic response.

“But… they were from your company? Outside your offices in Paris? And wearing your company livery? They… They said I could bring forward my sailing date from August to today. They took my original ticket and gave me this! It looks the same!” Panic rises in your voice with each sentence, dread churning behind your ribs as you realise you have likely been duped. 

“I'm sorry, ma’am, but that is not a valid ticket,” is his monotone reply.

“Oh god. What can I do? May I buy another ticket now?!?”

His responding laugh is a loud bark, “Hah! Ma’am, we are booked up for weeks in advance. There is a long line every day of people hoping for last-minute availability,” he signals to a line of weary-looking, luggage-laden folks under a makeshift shelter.

“But I….” you feel your eyes watering and dread in the pit of your stomach like you are falling down an endless chasm. 

“Ma’am, please step aside; I need to ensure valid passengers can board this ship…” he warns in a tone that is wholly without sympathy.

With a weak nod, you stumble away, back towards Benedict and Eloise. As you draw closer, their faces are a picture of concern, realising something is amiss. As you tearfully recount what happened, Benedict seethes, and Eloise wraps her arm around you, looking pained. 

“I’m going up there. This is unacceptable!” Benedict grits out, righteous indignation fizzing from his very being.

You have to hold out a hand to physically stop him. “It's likely no use,” you appease.

His ire deflates a fraction at your hold on his coat sleeve. “At least let me try, y/n,” he modifies after a few beats.

“Alright,” you relent, dropping your hand, “but I do not expect a different answer.”

You and Eloise cling to each other as you watch Benedict remonstrate with the same man and then a different one at the window. All the while, your stomach is in knots, equal parts fear and hope.

It's five or more minutes before Benedict returns to you, his face pinched.

“I was not successful,” he screws his mouth, looking away as if he cannot meet your eye as he says it. “They don't seem to care that criminals are posing as agents for their organisation,” he rubs his eyebrow in irritation. “I would report it to the police, but it's not their jurisdiction here, and it still does not solve our dilemma…”

“Thank you anyway…” you breathe, “for trying at least…”

There is a long silence as the three of you stand there, stupified by the conundrum before you. The chime of a clock on the harbour building breaks your thoughts.

“It's 3pm. Your sailing back to England is in less than an hour. You should go. You two leave without me,” you demure.

“NO!” they both exclaim in almost comic sibling unison.

“I’ll be fine, seriously.”

“I’m not leaving you alone here for god knows how long until there is room on a ship to America. You can’t be alone. This isn’t Paris; this is a port city. It’s definitely not safe,” Eloise rattles off, looking at you imploringly.

“She’s right,” Benedict concurs. “You were safe in Paris together before the war. You are not safe here. A beautiful young woman. You are a target for thieves or even worse. You cannot stay here alone.”

You try your hardest not to let Benedict calling you beautiful derail your whole thought train, but it’s futile. Your mind is scattered like a pile of wooden toy railway coaches.

“I... I could return to Paris?” You finally suggest after what feels like an eternity of buffering. “I could call to check for last-minute availability every morning. It’s only a couple of hours by train. I’ll be always packed and ready to go…” you argue, not as yet realising the naivety behind your own idea.

“Paris will be the first target for Hitler’s invasion,” Benedict says gravely. “It could be much worse to remain there…”

“So what am I to do? I’m damned if I do, and I’m damned if I don’t…”

“There is only one solution, and that is for us to remain here as well until you can secure passage out of the country,” Benedict shrugs.

“Agreed,” Eloise nods emphatically as you go to protest.

“There are many more sailings back to England, and tickets are easier to come by,” Benedict points out. “We can move our tickets up. At least by a few days until we can devise a plan.”

 “Wait… if there are no ships to America, why don't you come to England with us?” Eloise pipes up in a lightbulb moment.

“I have nowhere I could stay…” 

“Nonsense! You will stay with us at Aubrey Hall. Won’t she, Benedict?”

“Oh yes, of course. There are plenty of spare rooms,” he assures.

“Gosh, umm... Maybe? I…” you hesitate. The whiplash of the last few minutes and the generosity of their offer momentarily overwhelm you. “That's very generous of you. The problem is I don’t know for how long it would be, or even if I should. My parents only agreed to me living in Paris under the watchful eye of Solene. This… this is entirely other…”

You startle as Benedict places his hands on your shoulders, pulling your attention to his sincere expression. “Y/n, you need to worry less about what your family thinks and more about yourself - what you need and your safety. This is escaping impending war; it’s a completely different circumstance from how you arrived here. The decisions you make right now have to be selfish and unburdened by expectations. It’s easy for others to judge from the distance of safety. But look around you. This town is teeming with people clambering to leave the country before an invasion. We do what we have to in unpredictable circumstances to survive.”

“You sound like a soldier,” you murmur.

“It’s what my father was,” he replies, releasing his grip but not moving away. “As a very young man in The Great War. He was lucky to survive, being an officer away from the front lines, but he taught me many things before he died. And one was about always making the smart choice if you can see one, even if it feels uncomfortable. The smart choice here is to escape by any means necessary. We all know Hitler has his sights set on France, especially Paris, as the figurative and cultural capital of Europe. You must get out. You must come with us.” You are captivated by his hazy eyes as he speaks, your heart beating fast as his face and voice grow softer. “Please. I could not live with myself if we left you behind,” he admits in a much quieter tone, but the plea is no less impassioned.

You cannot help it. You stare up at him, transfixed. Stanley has never been so eloquent. Or indeed so invested in your well-being. 

“Alright…” your hesitancy soft, “but you must let me pay you for my ticket…”

His face seems to light up at your acquiescence. “One day… maybe,” he smiles.

And so that is what he does - leaves you and Eloise ensconced in a nice bistro overlooking the harbour with a large bottle of white wine as he walks over to the ticket office for the ferry company and swaps their tickets for a few days hence and purchases an additional ticket for you, steadfastly refusing to tell you the cost for it even for many weeks hence.

While you are in the ladies' room, Eloise strikes up a conversation with a young man in uniform at the adjacent table; you fondly roll your eyes as you retake your seat and leave them be. Your gaze, however, is never far from the window, to where Benedict last left your line of sight, somehow anxious for his return.  When he reappears, striding purposefully towards the cafe, your chest flutters hard, his coat swishing around his legs, his hat at an attractive slant. If there is one thing you swear you could spend a lifetime doing, it’s watching Benedict Bridgerton just… be. 

“Any luck?” you ask as he arrives and doffs his hat, taking a seat on your other side, throwing an exasperated glance at his little sister and the uniformed man.

“We are set to sail Thursday,” he smiles and signals for the waiter, ordering a glass of Beaujolais. “I also stopped in the post office to call Solene. She has said we can stay as long as we need to at her sister’s cottage a few miles from town.”

“Oh, that's wonderful news!” your shoulders relax for the first time in what feels like hours. “But wait, I remember she said there is only one bedroom,” you point out. “You’ve been sleeping on our sofa for days now… you deserve a bed. I’ll take the sofa…”

“No. Also, I’m not sharing a bed with my sister,” he shudders, “she kicks in her sleep!”

“Oh, thanks. So I guess you want me to have bruised shins, then??” You laugh with gusto, the ricochet day making all your emotions heightened, seemingly bouncing from one extreme to another. Right now, a strange bubble of joy at this lighthearted exchange.

“Not at all. In fact, I’d happily share with you instead to save your legs from the abuse!” 

You know it’s said in jest, the comedic relief of the moment evident on his face, but still, a shot fires in your chest at the thought of sharing a bed with him. You decide to make light of it, even as your heart quickens.

“How do I know this kicking is not a problem that runs in the family? And you’re way stronger than her!”

“You can tie me down if it would make you feel better!” he chuckles loudly. 

You flush all over, the very thought so beguiling yet scandalous. And yet you cannot stop your mouth running away with you, this flirtatious banter too tasty to resist, the wine you’ve been drinking far too quickly for the last half hour loosening your lips.

“I think you would enjoy that far too much, Mr Bridgerton,” you volley back, raising an eyebrow with a giggle.

His cheeks turn the most adorable shade of pink even as his eyes dilate rapidly, a corner of his tongue flicking out to pull his bottom lip under his teeth. It makes you want to sink your teeth right there, this impulse to be so physical with someone discombobulating. You've never had such errant, feral desires for Stanley. 

“You're probably right…” he rumbles quietly after a pause. 

You dare to hold his gaze even though you know it’s a mistake. This nightmare of a day makes you uncaring of propriety. He looks as wild as you feel inside, a glint in his eye that is at once permission and danger. 

“Theo here has been telling me all sorts of helpful information,” Eloise leans in, breaking the spell between you, a slight slur in her voice from her wine. 

Theo nods to you and Benedict. On closer inspection, he appears to be in a British soldier uniform. 

“I have to get back on duty,” he explains apologetically as he rises from his seat, “but I hope the information I’ve provided to your sister here will help.” He adds with a tiny salute.

You look surprised at Eloise as she just shrugs. You thought her up to her usual flirtatious banter, not researching. Benedict looks impressed too. You both, however, don’t miss the note he slips to Eloise before he takes his leave. Perhaps not purely intelligence gathering, then.

“Theo is helping process entry to Britain for foreign nationals wanting safe harbour. The numbers have spiralled since the war was declared.” She begins to explain when he is out of sight. “There is sadly a waiting list. But there are a few ways to skip the queue…

“Those being?” Benedict prompts before you can.

“Having family relatives residing in Britain already or, top of the pile, being the spouse of a British national.”

You slump your shoulders. “I have no relations there. Uncle Robert was visiting, but he was already at sea returning to America when the war was declared,” you explain, wishing he had stayed a few weeks longer.

“I wonder if we can find any paperwork forgers around?” Eloise ponders aloud.

“Eloise,” Benedict's tone is one of brotherly warning and disapproval, “we will not be taking that route.” his tone striking a chord of finality.

“But… how else can we get her into the country without bending the rules?” she exclaims at him, frustrated, gesticulating.

“I’m thinking…” Benedict grouses back, rubbing his chin and looking deep in thought.

Eloise leans back in her chair and twists her mouth into a pout. She takes a swig of wine before twisting to you and casually making a suggestion that flips your entire being.

“You could marry this one,” she jokes, shrugging and gesturing at Benedict. 

Your eyes dart to Benedict and his to you. A tidal wave of a hundred different feelings crashing through you at once.

“I’ll do it…” he offers, quick and quiet.

“El, don't be ridic…” your denial, spoken over his, dies on your tongue as you process what he said. 

You can't help it, you gape open-mouthed at him. As does Eloise.

“You would?” you stutter.

He nods, mien sincere, but you could swear there is more, too, a rousing intensity.

“I was joking, brother,” Eloise frowns.

“It's the only solution that guarantees her passage out of France,” he argues, “that's the most important thing here…”

“But marriage? That is such a sacrifice… I could never ask that of you…”  you shake your head, even as your stomach feels like a rollercoaster.

“That's why I'm offering, so you don't have to ask,” he shrugs as if this is not a big deal. “It is not me who has to make the sacrifice. It is you who has an intended…”

Stanley.

Your face falls as you think of the consequences. Marrying Benedict, if only for escape, would wound Stanley beyond belief. Your father, both your parents, in fact, would vehemently disapprove. 

“We can annul it as soon as we get to England…” he assures.

“French marriages can be annulled, brother, yes, but in France. Not in England,” Eloise pipes up, ever the font of knowledge.

“Then I will grant you an immediate divorce,” he amends.

“I can't believe you are taking me seriously,,,” Eloise mutters, but both of you seem to ignore it.

“I’d still be a divorcee, damaged goods as my father would say…” you wince at the phrase but know it to be accurate in Long Island, as much as you hate it.

“I don't know how else to help you escape, y/n,” Benedict implores, slightly alarmed. 

“Keep thinking!” Eloise interjects hotly. “I won't have my poor best friend here shackled to a Bridgerton brother. She has done absolutely nothing to deserve such a sentence, however short.”

“Eloise!” you scold without thought, “don't be so rude about your brother! He's wonderful….”

You immediately flush with embarrassment as she looks at you suspiciously. You dare not even look over to the subject of your praise, but you can feel the weight of his stare.

“But umm yes, let's keep thinking…” you mumble, embarrassed, looking down and picking at your cuticles in your lap.

“I need a bloody cigarette,” Eloise pronounces, suddenly standing up, her chair scraping loudly over the tiled floor.

“Sister, you do not smoke,” Benedict frowns up at her, again with that air of elder sibling forbearance.

“Sometimes I do,” she shrugs, her tone defiant, “and this situation definitely warrants one.” She jabs her finger by her side to emphasise her opinion.

With that, she marches up to the bar and orders one but does not return to the table, shooting you both a look before heading to the wall outside and sitting alone, staring out at the horizon and taking deep draws.

You and Benedict sit in silence, heads bowed in thought for what feels like an age, only interspersed with small sips of wine. 

“I honestly can't think of another way out of this mess…” Benedict sighs, breaking the hush. “But I understand it's such an enormous decision; you need time to consider it.”

You are scared by how much your heart and mind are screaming, ‘I really don't, I will marry you,’ even if your gut churns with the idea of how you will explain it to everyone. You look up, and again, those blue eyes bore into yours. Sincerity, concern, empathy, and something that looks dangerously like desire. You could get lost in that look. Forever.

“I’ll do it…” you whisper, knowing you are playing with fire… and yet yearning to be burned.

Benedict taglist: @foreverlonginguniverse @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies @balladynaaa

[ltwilliammowett]

The wreck of the Josephine Willis

The Josephine Willis, a packet ship launched in 1854, undertook a voyage to New Zealand under the command of Captain Edward Canney. During the voyage, there was an attempted mutiny by the crew. Twelve crew members deserted in Auckland, while others were dismissed in Calcutta on the return voyage. However, the second voyage, which started on 1 February 1856, was interesting. With a crew of 44 and 66 passengers, the ship again travelled to New Zealand. The ship had various general cargoes on board, including a large quantity of utility ceramics destined for the emigrant market in New Zealand.

The sinking of the Josephine Willis (x)

The ship was first towed to Margate Sands by a steam tug before sailing on to the Downs. After reaching South Foreland, the Josephine Willis travelled down the English Channel and at 20:10 a light was sighted. It was believed to be the Dungeness lighthouse and the helm was put to starboard. However, the light belonged to an approaching steamer, the SS Mangerton, an iron-hulled screw steamer en route from Limerick to London. The Mangerton struck the Josephine Willis just forward of the main mast on the starboard side and is said to have cut the ship in half. Some of the crew and passengers were able to climb aboard the Mangerton, while others escaped in the ship's boats. However, it happened that the two ships involved did nothing to rescue the other passengers, which is why the captains responsible were later held responsible and sentenced for reckless behaviour. During the incident, however, the Josephine Willis later capsised and sank. Between 69 and 70 people lost their lives in the accident, including Captain Canney.

3D image of the 'Josephine Willis' wreck (x)

Dives were quickly undertaken to salvage the passengers' cargo and luggage. Amongst other things, a mahogany chest containing the ship's board and Captain Canney's personal belongings were recovered and handed over to his widow. Salvage work on the wreck continued until 1861.

Ceramics in situ (x)

The wreck was rediscovered by divers in approximately 2018. Diving investigation revealed that a large quantity of the ceramic cargo was still in situ. The ceramic assemblage is principally comprised of wares from three Staffordshire based potteries - Mexborough, Charles Meigh, and Davenport. Several of the ceramic types discovered are unknown in current museum collections, or have previously only been seen in the form of wasters.

Recovered ceramics (x)

Interpretation of geophysical data indicates that the full length of the vessel survives in situ, with a maximum length of 46m, and a maximum width of 10-11m, which is consistent with the known dimensions of the vessel. A potential vertical break in the hull is located approximately halfway along the wreck mound. This corresponds with the position which the Mangerton was reported to have collided with the Josephine Willis. It would appear that the wreck has broken it's back and the remaining structure lies in two halves.

Recovered toys and caramics (x)

[hazel-of-sodor]

Purchased in 1921, the NWR 's No.2 was an Atlantic of obscure origins. Sold second or third hand to the NWR by the Furness Railway, It had been sold for a bargain as the engine was reported to be a poor steamer. Originally believing they had screwed over the NWR, the Furness were soon regretting their decision to sell the engine as Crovan's Gate has easily rectified the engines steaming issues, resulting in a reliable free steaming locomotive. The engine was named after the wife of one of the directors, Alice Edwards.

[itsawitchyworld]

Coffee Shop Owner Rival Luigi x Y/N

The first time Y/N noticed Luigi Mangione, it wasn’t his broad shoulders or the way his white apron clung to his lean frame—it was the smirk. That damn smirk. He stood in the window of his tiny espresso bar across the street, arms crossed, watching as Y/N fumbled with the new steamer on their café’s counter. The machine hissed like a disgruntled cat, spitting scalding milk onto their apron.

Of course he’s watching this. Y/N grimaced, wiping the mess away, but not before catching the way Luigi’s lips twitched upward. Asshole.

Their rivalry had started innocently enough. Y/N’s café, “Brewed Awakening,” was the trendy hotspot on the block, with its exposed brick walls, reclaimed wood tables, and a menu filled with concoctions like lavender oat milk lattes and matcha cold brews. Luigi’s “Caffè Mangione” was its polar opposite—a throwback to old-world Italy, where the espresso was strong, the pastries were buttery, and the atmosphere was warm and unfussy.

But the competition? It was anything but innocent. It was a war.

Y/N glanced up from the counter, catching Luigi’s gaze through the window. He raised an espresso cup in a mocking toast, his smirk widening. Bastard. Y/N retaliated by scribbling on the chalkboard outside their café: “New Today: The Luigi Latte—because even your coffee deserves an upgrade.”

They didn’t miss the way his jaw tightened when he read it.

The days passed in a flurry of passive-aggressive gestures. Luigi countered with a sign of his own: “Brewed Awakening? More like Brewed Disappointment.” Y/N responded by stealing a group of his regulars with a two-for-one deal on macchiatos. Luigi retaliated by blasting Italian opera from his speakers loud enough to drown out the indie pop playlist in Y/N’s café.

It was exhausting. It was exhilarating. It was… strangely personal.

But everything changed the day the flyers appeared. Y/N was wiping down tables when a customer handed them one, frowning. “Have you seen this?” The paper was sleek and glossy, emblazoned with the logo of a corporate coffee chain. “Grand opening next week. 50% off all drinks for the first month.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped. A chain? Here? They stepped outside, the crisp autumn air biting at their skin, and saw Luigi standing on the sidewalk, clutching the same flyer. His usual smirk was gone, replaced by a furrowed brow and a clenched jaw.

For a moment, they just stared at each other. Then Luigi broke the silence.

“This is bad.” His voice was low, gravelly, and devoid of its usual teasing edge.

Y/N nodded. “We’re screwed.”

“Not yet.” He stepped closer, his dark eyes locking onto hers. “But we will be if we don’t do something.”

Continue reading here.

[the-ellia-west]

What is everyone's favorite foods/drinks? :3

Ronan: I've always liked goat stew, and lemon water!

Finn: Cheese and dried fruit are so good, I don't care that they're simple and a little flavorless. As for drinks, I love cold Cidar!

Morena: Oh! Well, Angel cakes, and Ginger cinnamon tea are always a lovely combination, honestly, I don't think there's anything that can top it!

Rose: Ooh, That's a fun question! Nothing tops a fresh Apple Pie and something my mom used to make called a butterscotch steamer!

Jakkon: Rakia, and uh... probably truffles or something I suppose, I don't know.

Mangrove: Sun peaches! Those things were SO GOOD, though I suppose I can't eat them now. Mortal food, Honey and Peaches, and for drinks, I like Pineapple juice?

Wild: I loved Shortcake when I could snatch it, and uh... idk, water? Milk maybe?

Phenik: Food? Hm, I love Salted Bubble fish with rice, and whenever my dad could get cherry syrup from the Overlands for the Lemon juice things the servants used to make my brothers and I.

Fye: Warm sweetbread and Orange juice. Though I did always love Amber drops when Father let me have them.

Rune:CHERRY PIE AND LEMONADE!!!

Eveny: Some nice lavender tea and cream tarts? Perfect for a holiday or a nice late night conversation by the fireplace!

Aseiri: I love lemon cake and strawberry pudding and grape juice.

Niisuda: ...Pancakes. And Iced water when we can get it.

Eynalis: Lamb, and good wine.

Jatár: Caviar or something, Screw off.

Kyrin: Probably good cheese and Nightlily ale. It has a strange tanginess to it.

Mirês: Something with Magic in it, Vykin most likely (Vykin is a type of potato that tastes like pomegranites and pineapples with a bit of starchy, sweet, and earthy tones to it)

Thank you for the ask! I hope you enjoyed this!

[master-of-the-railway]

Thinking abt LoS more and I like to believe Diesel 10 is like Gordon in a way. He's a protector, he's the designated leader for the diesels. Yes, he hates steam engines, but he doesn't hate his own. He may not enjoy listening to Philip ramble constantly but if anyone else tries to interrupt the little boxcab or say rude things to him, Diesel 10 snaps his claw at them and makes sure Philip has the floor again. He will endlessly remind Sidney of whatever it is he's forgotten; he'll encourage Diesel's schemes against the steam engines but make sure he doesn't go too far with his own kind. When you look a little closer at his behaviors, you start to realize that he does care about them. More than he lets on. And even though they're buddies with the steam engines, D10 still cares a great deal for Mavis and Salty. They're still diesel engines, and at the end of the day even if he isn't their leader they're still important to him. He'd fight for them if he had to. I like to believe that Sir Topham Hatt took him in because he ended up back on the island low on fuel with no driver and screwed up brakes, so they fixed him up and when they learned he was ownerless, Topham gave him a chance despite the protest of the steamers and their drivers. They kept a close eye on him, protecting Lady's secret space and making sure he never went on runs that went through there...but the truth is he's long gave up on her. He knows now that she has a tight circle of protecting that isn't just one young man...now it's a strong young lady and her very resourceful family PLUS the Sodor crew. It's not worth it anymore, and now that he's under a proper railway contract he could be scrapped for harming another engine intentionally. He's tired and he just wants to work, but that won't stop him from pulling tricks on others and going after other steam engines. He's just decided to let bygones be bygones when it comes to Lady.

[serendertothesquad]

Seren's Studies: Odd Squad UK -- "A Dicey Situation" Episode Followup, Part 1

Captain O origins episode! "Totally Odd Squad" Mk. II! Call it what you like, I'm just hoping this is good. After the hell that was "Mission O Possible", I like to be prepared. Almost anything could surpass that, really.

Let's dive in below the break! (Pun unintended.)

...It's another Tasha episode.

I can hear that stupid "oh no" TikTok song playing as I fucking type this. I'm not confident after "The Triangle Sisters". I'm praying to Don't-Fuck-This-Up-God.

Hey. Hey. You guys remember when Otis threw a fit because Rebecca was exploiting Odd Squad for moving services?

This is just as egregious and yet will go entirely undetected. You don't need two pseudo-government agents to pull up Google Maps and punch in the location of the nearest Aldi's, for God sakes.

I see this milk came from the same cow that the Town Baker's milk came from.

I'd go investigate that cow, really.

You guys also remember Otis giving therapy to a plant?

THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT THIS IS BUT IT'S MILK. And it's just as amusing here as it was there.

"Breakfast is the most important meal of the day!"

Thank you, edutainment overlords, for this obligatory healthy eating message.

Asshole cereal box is making up lies for himself, methinks. Dude just tipped over on his own the second his owner picked up the milk pitcher.

hhhhheeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEY THIS AIN'T MY SWAMPS 'N GATORS. WHERE'S MY SWAMPS 'N GATORS YOU CHUCKWADS.

...No but seriously what is this game and why does it look like Odd Squad Risk to me.

I remember when there was a brief shot of Oona failing at chess and Oprah telling her that's not how the game is played.

That was fun.

This is fun too, and nice to see, but it doesn't hit the same.

Good segue. Not as good as Oprah calling everyone out on their RPS strategies.

(You will see me make a lot of TOS cracks and references. I will not regret a single one of 'em.)

Hot damn, she can dim the lights with her mind! That's craaaaaaaaaaaazeeeeeeeeeeeeee-

So that would make her ship the Odd Squad Odd Squad.

Instead of Screw Steamer Odd Squad, or Steam Ship Odd Squad, both of which sound much better.

And are actually canon in the franchise.

(No, really. Go listen to the Squadcast. The S.S. Odd Squad is a 100% canon ship.)

Honestly, if you had told me about a year ago that that sailor in that promo picture SSE put out was a chef named Osgood, I'd have laughed at you.

RIP to the days when I thought that sailor was an assistant of Captain O's and not her first mate.

Ohhhh, a wavy flashback effect! Standard in a ton of shows, but Odd Squad has never really employed it as far as I'm aware. Nice to see they're going to effect basics!

Aside from that, wow that is...a tiny ship. Tinier than I was expecting. I was expecting something huge and not...y'know...a little BB thing.

I'm sorry, I just did an entire fuck-ass wheeze at her saying SHE KNEW OSGOOD SINCE NURSERY SCHOOL.

These two ARE FUCKING CHILDHOOD FRIENDS.

Genuinely fucking flabbergasted, because it's rare that we get childhood friends who were main characters in this franchise and joined Odd Squad together. Not even Olive and Otto can attest to that! Or Olympia and Otis!

Best bit in the entire episode so far bar nearly none.

I mean...on the plus side, at least he only has two mouths to feed.

That being said, I will once again raise the issue of there being couch cushions in a ship like that.

...Goldfish.

Huge-ass Goldfish.

You can't fool me.

They're Goldfish.

If there is one thing I utterly despise about Captain O as a character, it's the stupid euphemisms.

They're not amusing. They're not funny. I've heard better from other characters.

Okay, a shell phone is actually pretty clever. One point to Tasha, and don't make me revoke it as quickly as I did last time.

(Choosing to overlook the fact that there's an Admiral because...I mean...pretty standard sailor stuff. And me and other fans can work with the lore.)

Definitely not the intent, but I can't stop reading this line as utterly sarcastic since Captain O did a hard aversion off the "Newhart Phone Call" cliff.

"So this look isn't a fashion choice?"

Osgood, you poor Ohlm-like sonuvagun.

No, sir, actually those are holes. They got depth to 'em. Swiss cheese is not made with polka dots.

"See? You're a fashion trendsetter."

Ohhhhh it's like...the woman in "Double O Trouble"...but 's...fuckin' polka dots...

Great, I hate it, thanks.

*squints*

*more*

*even more*

...Bitch that is a cluster of fucking trees. That is not an island. Now how and why would you spend pounds on a fucking CLUSTER OF TRE-

THIS IS HOW THEY CHOOSE TO REMIND US THAT ORLI AND OZZIE ARE STILL HERE?????? WITH THE OBLIGATORY MATH LESSON?!?!?!?!?!?

Oh piss ALL the fuckin' way off.

If this is gonna have a lesson at the end, like in "The Weight of the World Depends on Orla", I'm going to lose my fuckin' mind.

Because, for all that Season 3 sucks, that episode was actually pretty solid.

it was just her and osgood

this guy shows up

not even the two canon characters from the odd squadcast they could've used

...I get it. You need someone to steer the ship. Fine. But for the love of God, just include the one driving the boat in your roll call!

I'm...I'm so tired. We are halfway into this episode. I am tired.

I honestly can't be bothered to ask why this woman has a rotary phone and how the fuck it can get service out here where there would, in most other instances, be no phone lines. Or electricity. OR FUCKING SPEAKERPHONE.

I do like the pirate getup Dottie here has going on, though.

Well, the last time a villain alleged to not have a pattern...they had a pattern.

I don't expect Dottie to be much different in that regard.

ohhhhhh oodelallyoohdelally it's the chekhov's gun wheeeeeeeeeeeeee-

She spun in the chair for all of time, bored out of her wits.

(On to Part 2!)

[blessyourhondahurley]

Suptober day 4 - Commencement

Castiel completes his training with Rowena, and it all goes very fast after that!

A new part to my 2019 series Rowena's Shop

Suptober prompt: Nimbus Flufftober Prompt: Cinderella Moment Fictober Prompt: “Do you even know what this means?” Inktober Prompt: Dodge

(Read on AO3)

“Oh, well done, Castiel! Very well done, indeed! You've gotten it exactly right! Look!!”

Comfy and dozing in his overstuffed armchair, Dean can hear Rowena's words of effusive affirmation drifting in through the curtained doorway to the back of the store. The cooing, approving tone of her voice is one she's never used with him, of course, but Cas has been drawing it out of her more and more often lately as he's neared the completion of his studies. From the sound of it, he's just ticked another box on the list of spells he needs to master before he “graduates,” whatever that word means for a literal sorcerer's apprentice in the Year of our Lord 2023.

He's starting to doze off again when his boyfriend comes bursting through the doorway, a wide, gummy grin on his handsome face.

“Did you hear?!? I did it!!” he trumpets.

Dean stands to give him a hug. “I heard, honeybee! Nice work!! Does that mean you guys are done for the day, or are you taking a break? Maybe we could go grab a late lunch...?”

Cas gives him a firm, full-bodied squeeze, then pulls away, shaking his head. “No, beloved, I did it. That was the last one. I'm finished. Do you even know what this means?”

Dean watches, mouth agape, as he murmurs a few sibilant words and flicks a finger. The cozy glow of the shop's chandelier dims as a nimbus of luminescent power gathers around Cas's head. The blue highlights in his hair coil and eddy, then the color surges, flowing down the man's body and draping it in a floor-length brocade cloak that perfectly matches his gorgeous eyes. It's a Cinderella Moment if Dean's ever seen one.

“Holy shit,” he mutters.

“Indeed,” Rowena intones sarcastically as she walks into the room. “Eloquent as ever, I see.”

“Hey, screw you, Broom Hilda,” Dean snipes back. “Forgive me for being in awe of my boyfriend the fucking wizard.” He rolls his eyes at her and turns back to Cas. “So, what happens now? Can we celebrate? Go out for a nice dinner? Or should we just skip to dessert?” It's a cheesy line, but God help him, that little display of power got him so freaking turned on. If Rowena wasn't here he would 100% be on his knees right now.

Cas seems to be on the same wavelength, because he's got a dirty smirk on his face. He opens his mouth to respond, but Rowena throws up a waggling finger.

“Ah ah ah, there'll be plenty of time for that sort of business later. Right now I need your help with the last o'my cases.” She gestures behind her, at a teetering pile of steamer chests that definitely was not there a minute ago.

And the same-wavelength thing must still be in effect, because the two of them reply in unison, “Wait, what?”

“I've been stuck here long enough, boys. Now that you're ready, Castiel, I'll be goin' walkabout for a bit.” She points again at the trunks, an imperious quirk to her brow, and the two men scramble to fill their arms.

Rowena herself picks up the tiniest, daintiest little handbag and leads them, shuffling under the immense weight of her luggage, out the side door to the alley. Her car, like her a sporty little compact number of indeterminate age, make, and origin, seems much too small to hold so many massive cases. But of course, like magic, it all fits neatly into the boot, with ample room to spare.

Dean slams the lid down, then rounds on her. “So, what, Cas finished his training five minutes ago and you're getting outta Dodge? How long are you gonna be gone? What's gonna happen to the store? Wh–”

Whatever other question he'd been about to ask dies on his tongue when she snaps her fingers. (He's honestly not sure whether she did a silencing spell on him or he's just terrified of her.)

“It's tradition, you utter gowk. I've nothing more to teach our Castiel, and the shop practically runs itself, has done for centuries. And, much as I loathe to admit it, you've become quite an exemplary assistant in all the years you've been lollygaggin' around here waiting for your fella to do his lessons. The pair of ya'll do fine. And I'll be back around, in a few months or years or... Well, eventually. Cheerybye, boys!”

And she's gone, in a puff of sweet-smelling exhaust.

Dean and Cas stare at each other for a full minute, slack-jawed and stunned. Finally, Dean gathers himself enough to break the silence.

“Honeybee,” he says hoarsely. “What the fuck.”

[weirdowithaquill]

Fin here- i need to ask question about the TATMR horror story, Edward's Requiem, and the Tidmouth Train to Hell because what why and when i need answers-

(yes i got a tumblr. Do I know how to use it? No. But challenges must be face in pursuit of answers)

Alright! So I have already done an answer for 'Edward; A Requiem in Steam', which I will link if I can figure it out. (If not, it's in my posts), and the Tidmouth Train to Hell is a little more vague - but I can give a full answer for the TATMR Horror Story!

So, it's less directly TATMR related, and more based off Diesel 10 and Lady, and the true story behind Diesel 10's modifications. Let's just say it's... grim.

'He awoke to men rummaging about in his cab, slowly taking off his panelling and inspecting every inch of his system. “He’s an interesting one, that’s for sure,” one said. “Look – his wiring doesn’t seem to be normal after a point.” He pulled at the wire, and D801 yelped. “It’s almost like nerves! Steamers don’t have this… and neither did the other diesels.” D801 wanted the strange men out of his engine room, but he was powerless to stop them. Thankfully, the men did not mess with his internal engine any more, screwing the covers back into place after gently cleaning and repairing everything. D801 felt… good.

Then, they broke out the paint pots. They sprayed him a Military desert camouflage, with the number ‘10’ sprayed onto his cab sides. “From now on, you are Project 10, understood?” one of the men said. It was not a question. “Yes sir,” Project 10 stammered. The other engines watched, unblinking. Project 10 could feel their eyes boring into him. In the light, he could see what the Army had done to them clearly. The eldest had once been a regal blue – he could see where the Army’s paint had peeled off her, leaving the patches of blue clearly visible in the sunlight.

She wore an eyepatch, and her copper chimney had been long replaced by a much larger funnel. She had ‘Project 1’ sprayed on her tender… and pieces missing. Pieces missing all over her. Her cab had been removed, her wheel-arches were gone. There were places where Project 10 could see her boiler tubes – where he could see the innermost workings of a steam engine. She was the only one who didn’t stare, instead she kept her one visible eye closed.'

Yeah... this is the least gruesome part I could find of what I've written. Certainly not for kids, and also a project I stuck on the backburner for a bit while I am focusing on getting my ERS series completed.

[marcholasmoth]

OSRR: 3408

i cleaned joel's and my bedroom floor and put together the bedframe! i'm very excited about the new bed. joel and i swept and then i used the steamer to get the gunk off the floor, and the frame was very easy to put together. between the two of us, i'm the builder, which is nice. i like putting things together. and it's nice that i can be left to my own devices to make things.

i realized today that joel's the creative one. as much as i love creating things and being artistic, i often follow guidelines to build things. joel designs games, he makes spray paint art, he does so much that's all creativity-based. give me instructions and i will build the most beautiful bookcase you've ever seen. i'll even paint it. while it bears my mark of creation, joel's books will adorn its shelves.

we both do analysis for work and spend our free time being creative. and i think part of my love of building things and making things is that so much of the time i'm locked in my head and have to give answers and make things that aren't physical, so when i have the chance to make something that is, i'll take it. it seems to track for me. i love building things. give me instructions on how to put something together and i will be occupied for as long as it'll take me to put together. lego sets take a few hours. the bed was maybe 30 minutes. the three bookcases downstairs took me maybe two hours total. love building shit.

joel is gonna clean up the kitchen space tomorrow. i'll be excited to see it be cleaner when i get back, to have things be more organized. we have to tackle the living room together, though, and the closet in the bedroom has a door that needs to be either fixed or replaced. i'll look into it. (it's missing the screw and hanger part that goes into the top of the door to hold it onto the track.)

i think besides that and the delicious tacos i had for dinner tonight, i'm good. my back hurts though.

[curatorialandco]

THE KEEL by WILLIAM VERSACE from his current exhibition Directions Back Home, on show till 1 April 2023. ◾️ Catalogue via link in bio. The Keel, 2023, Plaster cast from shipwreck in Blackwood frame, 30cm H x 25.5cm W x 5.5cm D This series of plaster wall sculptures have been created using silicon cast moulds from the shipwreck SS Minmi, an old screw steamer, which set voyage from Melbourne in 1937 en route to Newcastle. On May 13, 1937 the ship crashed ashore in Kamay and since that day parts of the wreckage remain scattered around the Kamay coastline – corroding, oxidising and decaying the steel back into the elements it once was before it was forged into such an object. With minimal intervention William Versace paid particular interest in the large part of the wreck, still above water, that has been decaying back into the ocean over time. Framed in rich lustrous blackwood these unique achromatic works draw attention to the veins, crinkles, cracks and lines which are the result of almost 90 years of corrosion. What you see is a moment frozen in time – when the salt and the water and the bacteria became enmeshed with steel and iron and decay and created what it created. Artwork photos @deanliphotostudio #art #shipwreck #sculpture #wallsculpture #australianart #australiansculpture #kamay #botanybay #sydneygallery ⁠ (at Redfern, New South Wales) https://www.instagram.com/p/CqUCbwFh4rP/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[thatndginger]

Hey there, Happy Wbw!

I'd like to leave this open for you to go off on an worldbuilding tangent you desire, but if you don't mind something more specific, I'd like to ask something about War Witch;

As of the "current" era of the Setting, what is the "best" method of long distance communication or transportation? Is it used exclusively or by all?

Hey Arch! Thanks for much for the question and the opportunity to go into more War Witch lore!

I recently answered the long distance communication part of this answer, but I can happily talk about the long distance travel!!

Short answer: the best form of long-distance travel over land is by train, but by water it is steam-engine boats. Long answer under the cut!

Trains are by far the most reliable and easiest form of transportation if one is taking a long journey cross-country. In major countries, those with power and the wealth to build solid rail infrastructure, it's a fairly simple thing to travel by train from one side of the country to another, or into another country entirely. Imagine the US in the 1890's/1900's: the east coast is practically covered head to toe in rail lines, and while there are wide swaths of land out west that haven't yet seen a track, it's still pretty easy to take a train close to your destination and find another means of transportation the last stretch.

Traveling by rail is comfortable and fast compared to other traditional forms of travel - by horse or wagon or by foot - and accessible to the vast majority of people. The upper classes usually have access to 'first class' cars and isolation from the common rabble, but even the lowest class passenger can book a bunk in the sleeper car.

For those travelers who must cross water, or who's start and stop locations are along major waterways (rivers and oceans, mostly) a steamboat is likely the best bet. River transport tends to lean more towards the paddleboat-type design, though these have been declining in popularity as railroads expand in scale and efficiency. But, if you need to get to a more remote area along a quiet river, a paddle steamer is a good bet.

For oceanic travel, a steel-hulled steamship is the easiest, safest option, though depending on the vessel, incredibly expensive [think Titanic-levels of opulence]. Ocean liners - ships aimed primarily at transporting people - have been growing in popularity and add further convenience to oceanic travel. The largest ocean liners top out at around 450ft in length, with most sitting around the 350-400ft length, and are outfitted with steam engines, screw propellers, and top speeds of around 17 knots (19mph for those like me who have no boat knowledge lol). For those can't afford passage on an ocean liner, there are a variety of smaller steamers and sailboats that ply the waves and take passengers.

[rhinokck]

Boatswain Double I.P.A. Twin Screwed Steamer brewed by Rhinelander Brewing in Monroe, WI. A decent middle of the road DIPA

[ailelie]

Okay. Screw it. I'm making lotus paste buns. This is a thing that's going to happen. Sure, my tofu brains didn't turn out well, but that ginger syrup was killer so it wasn't a complete loss.

Here's the recipe I'll use: https://www.seriouseats.com/chinese-lotus-seed-buns-recipe

My steamer is very small so I may have to ask around my friend group for a larger one to borrow.

I'll also need 11oz of dried lotus seeds and some glutinous rice flour.

...and then I'll need more recipes for the rice flour since I'll only need 1 tablespoon of it.

I've got all the other ingredients besides heavy cream, which is easy to find.

(And, yes, I think that includes the food coloring unless I lost it in a move.)