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secretsdeblackthornhall · 2 years

Text

De Emma à Bruce

Cher Bruce,

C’est l’heure du thé. Maintenant que Jules et moi vivons en Angleterre, nous essayons d’adopter le concept de l’heure du thé, bien que, comme tu le sais déjà, je préfère mes apports en caféine sous la forme de chocolat. (Contrairement à Cristina, qui est littéralement accro au café.) Des cookies aux pépites de chocolat, des brownies, de la glace… n’importe quelle forme de chocolat est acceptée à bras ouverts, et on trouve de l’excellent chocolat en Angleterre. Je suis devenue accro aux barres Galaxy1.

Julian discute avec les entrepreneurs dehors – je vois Round Tom qui agite les bras dans tous les sens en parlant – alors je me suis dit que je prendrais le temps de te mettre au courant de ce qu’il s’est passé depuis la dernière fois.

Si tu te souviens bien, nous avons trouvé une flasque en argent à la Taverne du Diable qui a semblé déclencher toutes les alarmes du Détecteur de Fantômes de Ty. C’était une jolie flasque… avec une gravure de fleurs et d’ailes de papillon, et les initiales MF. Nous l’avons ramenée à Blackthorn Hall pour l’examiner à la lumière du jour, et je me suis tout de suite souvenue où j’avais vu ce motif de papillon auparavant.

Sur la bague de la famille Fairchild.

Je le sais grâce à Clary. (Je ne passe pas tout mon temps à contempler ses bijoux, Bruce, mais les Chasseurs d’Ombres aiment beaucoup les symboles de famille, de manière générale. Et la fois où j’avais emprunté sa veste dans le Royaume du Petit Peuple avant d’aller à Thulé, tout le monde croyait qu’elle était morte parce que sa bague était dans la poche… mais c’est une histoire que je te raconterai plus tard. Il y a assez d’événements à rapporter pour l’instant.) Donc Jules et moi en avons conclu que le propriétaire de cette flasque était certainement un Fairchild dont le prénom commençait par M. Une déduction au niveau du génie de Sherlock, je sais.

En déjeunant des sandwiches de pain grillé au fromage, nous avons décidé qu’il valait mieux s’appliquer à faire un peu plus de recherches plutôt que de foncer tête baissée et de demander au fantôme : « ÊTES-VOUS UN FAIRCHILD, T/P ? » Alors nous avons envoyé un message de feu à Helen et Aline. Il y a plusieurs vieilles archives de familles de Chasseurs d’Ombres dans la bibliothèque de l’Institut de Los Angeles, et nous leur avons demandé de chercher les Fairchild dont le prénom commence par la lettre M. Je suppose qu’Helen s’était levée tôt, parce qu’elle nous a rapidement envoyé une courte liste de candidats : Médée Fairchild, Myles Fairchild et Matthew Fairchild. Les archives n’indiquaient pas clairement si l’un d’entre eux est un ancêtre de Clary, mais je suis curieuse ! (Personnellement, j’espère que Médée est son ancêtre, parce que c’est un nom mythologique super cool.) Bref, il ne nous a pas fallu longtemps pour nommer un candidat au titre de Propriétaire de la Flasque en Argent. (Roulement de tambour, s’il-te-plaît, Bruce.) Le candidat est… Matthew Fairchild !

C’est ce que nous avons déduit parce que Médée est morte en 1802 à l’âge de soixante-dix-huit ans, et Myles est mort en 1857 à cinquante-neuf ans. Alors, vu la période qui nous intéresse – Jem a dit que ses amis fréquentaient la Taverne du Diable au début du siècle dernier – Matthew, né en 1886, était le seul qui correspondait. (La date de son décès n’était pas indiquée, apparemment, ce qui ne veut pas dire qu’il était immortel ou qu’il était mort-né, les archives de cette époque sont souvent incomplètes.)

Sans plus de façons, nous sommes retournés dans la salle à manger pour contacter notre fantôme mystère. Je te jure, même si nous y avons passé le balai plus d’une fois, cette pièce semble devenir de plus en plus poussiéreuse. J’avais laissé quelques documents provenant des archives Blackthorn (ce qui est une manière aimable de dire « le bazar dans lequel il y a parfois des trucs intéressants ») empilés sur la table et ils étaient complètement désordonnés. Je me suis demandé en voyant ça si le fantôme essayait de les lire en notre absence.

Julian s’est éclairci la voix :

— Votre attention, fantôme, a-t-il commencé.

— Peut-être que le mot « fantôme » n’est pas apprécié, ai-je chuchoté. Peut-être que nous devrions dire « Personne décédée ».

— Ça fait médical, a répondu Julian. Comme si nous étions dans une morgue.

Nous avons tous les deux été déprimés par l’idée d’être dans une morgue. Après une minute de réflexion, Julian a dit :

— Pourquoi pas apparition ou spectre ?

Les rideaux ont bougé alors que les fenêtres n’étaient pas ouvertes. Apparemment, spectre était le terme privilégié.

— Matthew ? ai-je dit doucement. Matthew Fairchild ?

C’est un joli nom, Matthew. J’ai pensé à Matthew Fairchild, né en 1886, et me suis demandé comment il était. Je me suis demandé si tout ce qu’il restait de lui était un souffle d’air qui faisait bouger les rideaux de notre salle à manger.

Mais les rideaux ne bougeaient pas à ce moment. Ils étaient parfaitement immobiles.

— Êtes-vous Matthew Fairchild ? a demandé Julian, décidant visiblement que nous devions être plus directs.

La seule description possible du mouvement des rideaux est un petit soubresaut contrarié. Ça a soulevé plus de poussière, ce qui a rendu l’air brumeux. J’ai entendu un bruit derrière moi et me suis tout de suite retournée. Le tas de papiers qui était sur la table est tombé. Les papiers étaient projetés aux quatre coins de la pièce par une main invisible et énervée.

— Bon… vous n’êtes pas Matthew Fairchild ? ai-je dit en me retenant d’éternuer. Écoutez, ce n’est pas grave… nous voulons seulement vous aider… nous continuerons à chercher…

Les papiers ont arrêté de voler. La pièce était à nouveau calme. Silencieuse plutôt, comme dans un Institut. J’ai cru que notre ami spectre était parti et je me suis rendu compte que j’étais déçue. J’avais vraiment espéré que nous trouverions une réponse…

Puis Julian a posé la main sur mon bras. Et a pointé du doigt. La chair de poule a parcouru ma peau. Dans la poussière sur le sol, un doigt invisible écrivait des mots… avec cette écriture manuscrite ancienne qui nous était devenue familière depuis notre arrivée à Blackthorn Hall.

Un à un, les mots apparaissaient, leurs lettres tremblantes et irrégulières, comme si le fantôme était agité.

Lisez le journal.

L’image du journal de Tatiana a jailli dans mon esprit. Je savais, pour une raison ou une autre, que c’était le journal dont le fantôme parlait. D’autres mots sont apparus :

LISEZ LE JOURNAL

— Mais je l’ai lu ! ai-je dit sans réfléchir. Je l’ai lu, ce journal.

Julian s’est tourné pour me regarder, une expression d’étonnement total se peignant sur son visage :

— Emma, a-t-il dit. Quel journal ?

1 : Marque de barres chocolatées britannique

Texte original de Cassandra Clare ©

Traduction d’Eurydice Bluenight ©

Le texte original est à lire ici : https://secretsofblackthornhall.tumblr.com/post/674279860072595456/emma-to-bruce

#secrets of blackthorn hall #sobh #cassandra clare #cassandra jean #the shadowhunter chronicles #emma carstairs #julian blackthorn #matthew fairchild #bruce #ghost

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writer59january13 · 8 months

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Precious priceless progeny

Hands down the most dramatic change ever needed to make the most profound impact awoke from helping beget the first offspring. An internal paradigm shift reshuffled priorities such that the helpless newborn necessitated immediate attention.

Whatever task held my attention at a given time, the cry of said progeny triggered and quickly trained an obligation to become a first responder of sorts. Yes, I readily admit that at first blush selflessness grudgingly accepted, but quickly an avid enthusiasm became manifest.

Matter of fact (and much to the surprise to this chap who never served as caretaker for infants, nor young children), an instinctual natural protection arose concomitantly with attention, affection, and adoration as the ensuing years tending (to thine eldest daughter and approximately twenty six plus months later another heiress begat), this role of fatherhood entranced, galvanized, and inspired me toward increased selflessness. The overpowering raw emotional of first time fatherhood emotional, financial, and spiritual impact shook my entire corporeal being to experience supreme tenderness, which set me to step up affinity to write (poetry seemed a natural modus operandi de jure, which sample seems apropos to share at this juncture. Though thee empty nest syndrome long since elapsed, I happened upon thee following verse while scrolling along memory lane recording incipient onset of parenthood, when the missus underwent routine planned parenthood in College approximately two score and eight earth orbitz ago late March/early April ninety ninty six.

December 22nd 1996 bundle of edenic joy

Twenty seven years plus ago

faux cap’n Matthew Scott twittered n burst with ahoy

on account of thine first borne – unbeknownst to us then if a girl or boy

so an unusual assortment

of gender appropriate names –

(some brazen others coy others an utter embarassment verbal remonstration our offspring

especially when older, would deploy)

filled pages of our journals, viz newly minted parent’s endless employ though of Semitic ancestry choices

per namesake reflected more ova goy which genealogy less significant than precious progeny healthily fused vis a vis via being masterfully charged two sets regarding

twenty three pairs of chromosomes

that did miraculously alloy

into a healthy genetically whipped miracle –

crème of the crop that only imaginary dragons

reigning over a vampire weeknd with fiery red hot

chili peppered lyrics could drop,

whereby flute tour ring notes

induced crowdsource to hip hop calisthenics that emulated

swishing brush strokes of a mop

which if attempted by myself,

would witness one culled sic pop so, he sticks with ranks, viz his literate ass spur ray shun to confess

those thermostatic and temperature controlled emotions more or less

extolling occasions that held poignancy, though as a first time father

my state of managing a newborn

felt chaotic and a sorry mess

though words resonated less gifted with beautiful daughter, she most likely happened

to be oblivious asper YES

mine hand felt hogtied,

yet over ensuing years – the integration characterizing Rites of (aiding) spring our suite firebird did indelibly impress

an invaluable psychic ring, whereby initial awkward role

no longer on par to foster teaching child autonomy for her existence,

(albeit demanding at times – synonymous with any other

infantile pang), thine essence acquired an acute attentiveness

to her basic needs and wants

likened and linkedin to pay obeisance

per a special offering, whose absence and permanent separation

as a responsible grown woman

makes mine heart didst grow fond (and psyche doth twinge

with nostalgia) asper those long day's journey

into night, when I could attest

she declared and constituted

daddy's girl, yet mandatory to let go of this biological offshoot

part of me (within human league to the babyhood, childhood, and emerging adulthood

attended, mollycoddled, pampered

she extruded, and had me

wrapped around her little finger cuz, now perhaps happiness sprung from within herself

she sought guiding light

as days of our live sped by at lightspeed now, a mixed bag of emotions wrestle and roil

inside mine corporeal being,

I praised and prized accomplishments (rarely admonished) spurred by natural borne desires

for potential Atalanta,

(who loved running until an injury

brought said passion to screeching halt),

nevertheless she became independent

rather than shutter herself up

as exemplified by das papa,

who still writhes, seethes, and orates many forfeited explorations

of natural self discovery thwarted

renting my psyche asunder

with lightning mailer daemons still on the prowl

and trawling like bot size internet trolls

within the windmills of my mind

essentially futilely explaining mein kampf and hard times impressionable years of emotional, financial, interpersonal and social toil

repercussions forever unfairly induced

upon the darling lass pronounced upon this star student,

who suffered sheer agony

when asked – by classmates -

the vocations of me “Herr father

or Frau mother,” neither gainfully employed,

which vicarious taboo

(county assistance still evokes stigma,

particularly for outliers like us living social along MainLine) zapped, tortured, inflicted crisis nearly destroyed yours truly,

cuz of utter embarrassment, misery, writhing really vociferously

within genetic blend, whose love not asked for nor sought unequivocally.

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aegor-bamfsteel · 3 years

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I had this fic idea where: Calla, Haegon, their mother and youngest siblings didn't escape and they were taken as hostages in the Red Keep. Calla kind of ends up "playing the game" and trying to forge a better life for her mom and siblings while trying to overcome her trauma of losing her brothers and dead, her anxiety over Daemon II not being around and not having any contact with him and Haegon most likely going to the faith. And she also has survivors guilt. Basically this is a "Calla plays the game while trying to survive" (this includes her glaring at BR and lowkey planning his death, finding Matarys endearing because he's actually fairly nice and so is his brother/dad, she also looks like her mom. OH AND SHE DYES HER HAIR QUITE OFTEN)

Basically my question was: how much would have changed if Calla, Haegon and their mom and younger siblings didn't get to escape?

That’s a really interesting, elaborate fic idea, dearxstorm! If you end up writing it, make sure to link me and I’ll write a comment! Calla has the potential to be an interesting character, and your characterization of her in the prompt sort of lines up with my own (having the Sweetness hiding Steel personality); I like the idea of a psychological story of her dealing with the loss of her family while trapped in a court that hates her at best. I also like your headcanon that she dyes her hair, because it’s a physical identification with her mother’s people; all too often, in asoiaf as in other works of fantasy, the heroes of noble families identify more with their father’s house at the expense of their mother’s (the young Starks identify more with their father’s house to a lesser degree than the others, but even the young Greyjoys are krakens rather than Harlaws, the young Martells don’t consider themselves half-Norvosi, forget about Aegon V + siblings identifying themselves as something other than the blood of the dragon), and it’s the villains that tend to include parts of their mother’s heritage (the Baratheons of king’s landing include a lion in their sigil, the Greens from the Dance of Dragons owed their initial success to their Hightower mother). In addition, Essosi women are almost to a woman treated horribly in Westeros; divorced (Mellario, Larra), exiled (Rohanne), or tortured and killed (Mysaria, Tyanna, Serala, Serenei), so it’s great you decided to single out Rohanne’s Essosi influence on her children as something neutral to positive.

As for your question about what would happen if Calla+family didn’t manage to escape, I asked warsofasoiaf about it years ago; his response that Bl00draven would’ve had them all killed, while certainly in-character (his consistent character trait is harming boys to accomplish his goals), isn’t particularly satisfying for writing a fanfic with these characters. We see Da3ron II took lands and hostages from those who knelt; Lord Bracken’s son died during the Great Spring Sickness, perhaps as a hostage in King’s Landing; Eustace Osgrey’s daughter and only heir Alysanne was sent to the Silent Sisters at age 7, while Standfast went from a prominent lordly house to one of landed knights. Daemon’s lands and titles were likely under attainder, being of fairly recent creation. In Westeros, killing (mostly male heirs) or sending to the Faith (more likely female heirs) the child rivals to one’s lordly power seems to be the norm (most infamously Aegon and Rhaenys Targaryen on Tywin’s orders, but also Cerelle Lannister by her uncle Gerold, Rohanne and Cerelle Tarbeck were sent to the Silent Sisters and Rohanne’s young son was likely murdered during the Reyne Rebellion, the extermination of Houses Darklyn and Hollard bar one after the Defiance of Duskendale). So I tried to look at examples from medieval history to see if I could save the younger Blackfyre boys:

As much grief as I give GRRM for not being historically accurate while claiming he’s true to life, the gendered fate of young male and female rivals who were captured seems to pass muster: with boys usually being killed or “disappeared” (Arthur of Brittany was imprisoned then murdered by his uncle King John of England, the Princes in the Tower mysteriously vanished with the prime suspect as their uncle Richard III) and girls either imprisoned (Arthur’s sister Eleanor was imprisoned for 44 years until her death by her uncle John and cousin Henry), forced into a convent (Gwenllian Princess of Wales by Edward I, Joanna la Beltraneja was given a choice between this or marrying her infant cousin Juan by his mother Isabella of Castile), or married to steal their lands/unite claims (Arthur’s mother Constance was betrothed to his father from age 5 after her brother was forcibly disinherited from the duchy of Brittany, and I’m still not sure what happened to him; Eleanor de Montfort was eventually married to Llewellyn of Wales after she was captured and imprisoned by the English).

I think the best hope for the Blackfyre boys is for them be rescued and taken to Tyrosh (although Bl00draven would probably try to separate them to prevent all of them taken at once).

A longer-term option is for Rohanne’s relatives in Tyrosh to try to negotiate their release, probably with a solemn oath never to return to Westeros (happened with the Charles VII’s cousin Charles Duke of Orleans who spent 25 years in various English prisons after his capture by the English at Agincourt until his old rivals the Burgundians negotiated his release; Amaury de Montfort, despite having taken holy vows, was captured along with his sister Eleanor and only by swearing never to return to England and the Pope plus Llewellyn intervening was he released).

Failing that, maybe Baelor Breakspear could try to go ‘the Dontos Hollard route’, asking for clemency out of the boys’ age/birth, and sending them to King’s Landing as squires, and probably make sure they don’t return to their old lands. I doubt they’d be allowed to wed, but I suppose Rohanne could petition for a restoration of Daemon’s old lands to House Blackfyre (as Anne Scott managed to save her lands from her husband Duke James’ attainder after the Monmouth rebellion, and her two surviving sons by him were able to marry and inherit and were loyal to the crown), and they could be wed into a loyal Red house of Da3ron’s choosing; it’d be her grandchildren inheriting these lands (Elizabeth I imprisoned her cousin Katherine Grey for the rest of her life for secretly marrying and had her separated from her two sons, but they were allowed to marry and her grandson became the next Duke of Somerset, despite his family reputation). Not Daemon II if he’s been captured with the others, but possibly Aenys. I’m not saying this is a likely scenario considering the characterization of Bl00draven and the actions of Da3ron II to the other children of rebels, but it’s a kinder solution that maybe Baelor might come up with.

I don’t imagine that these boys will be sent to the Faith, but rather the Night’s Watch seems to be the place for defeated rebels/men sentenced to death; so in all likelihood at least the elder ones could be sent to the Night’s Watch once they’re old enough. Westeros as well as medieval history has shown how easy it could be to take someone from a convent/monastery and use them to take their lands/incite a rebellion (Robar abducting Rhaella from the Faith; Marie of Boulogne was abducted from her convent by Matthew of Alsace to forcibly marry him to steal her lands), plus these vows can be undone (at least in medieval Italy, where sometimes cardinals had to leave the Church to get married to continue their family line; it’s implied in the sentences of Lucinda and Priscella that septas can break their vows) so I think at least the elder ones would not be allowed.

The Blackfyre girls have a higher chance of not being murdered. The worst case-scenario that I could unfortunately see happening is sending them to the Silent Sisters along with poor Alysanne Osgrey, which seems to happen to the most dangerous of noblewomen (rebel queen Marla Sunderland, sasser-of-kings Maris Baratheon, Ellyn Reyne’s daughters Rohanne and Cerelle), all potential heiresses for another rebellion (not likely with so many brothers, but if they manage to escape and another uprising coalesces around them who knows). Another option would be to the Faith to be septas, which happened to more minor noblewomen men wanted out of the way (Rhaella and Megette’s daughters for their “inconvenient birth”, Lucinda Penrose and Priscella Hogg for their roles in the plot to kill Daenaera).

A particularly painful scenario would be confining them in the Maidenvault until/if a new king decides to release them as their grandmother Daena was. Considering that the next king is Aerys, I doubt they would be released (like Eleanor of Brittany) or marry

It seems not uncommon in Westeros for an ambitious man to marry an heiress of the previous ruler to become suo jure lord of her lands (Tyrek Lannister’s marriage to the infant Lady Ermesande Hayford, Dickon Tarly’s marriage to Eleanor Mooton, Lancel’s marriage to Amerei Frey to steal Darry, and most famously Orys Baratheon’s forcible marriage to Argella Durrandon). The problem with doing this in regards to the Blackfyre girls is that considering their father’s lands are probably under attainder, they don’t have lands to inherit, much less a dowry. Of course, Rohanne could try to petition for a creation of new lands, possibly in exchange for giving up their claim to the throne (Princess Renee of France gave up her claim to the duchy of Brittany in exchange for being made duchess of Chartres by King Francis I, so she could finally be allowed to marry). Another idea would be to send them abroad for matches to Essosi cities the Reds have ties to, such as Lys and Pentos. In a happy scenario, the Blackfyre girls were allowed to marry with permission; to show that Da3ron is serious about healing the realm, he or Baelor could betrothe Calla and Matarys (not expected to inherit the throne; your prompt said they were getting along!). What happens after his death in the Great Spring Sickness is anyone’s guess.

In the edgy scenario, the girls marry without permission, possibly to a Velaryon descendant of Baela’s (just going by my theory of at least some Velaryons as Blackfyre supporters); it seems in medieval England that some potential female claimants to the crown did marry secretly to men with more distant claims (Lady Katherine Grey as mentioned before, but also Lady Arabella Stuart two generations later, to Grey’s own grandson), thus frustrating the desires of their monarchs to marry them abroad. Sometimes they were able to escape their captors and raise their children in exile, eventually allowed to return to their home country; the most famous of these was Margaret Beaufort and her son Henry, who later won the English throne by right of conquest with weak dynastic claim.

A lot of these scenarios ignore the canonical cruelty of Bl00draven and the vindictiveness of Da3ron with regards to the Blackfyres and their supporters; I don’t imagine that they would show mercy to the defeated rebels, and warsofasoiaf’s scenario that they would all be secretly murdered is definitely a possibility. They also ignore Rohanne’s characterization (such that it is) of a take-charge noblewoman who was in my opinion unquestionably a pro-Blackfyre rebel that used her money and influence in Tyrosh to provide a home for the exiles and orchestrated their escape (the idea that Aegor Rivers helped Rohanne escape to her own country seems to diminish her achievements); I don’t think she would be asking the Targaryens for any favors, considering in canon she knew them well enough that she preferred to flee than surrender to the House that gave Bl00draven high office. Barring the “Bl00draven kills them all” scenario, I don’t think she would be executed due to her sex and that she’s from foreign nobility (especially if her male relative was still Archon), but we have no idea if the Faith is an option for her (did she convert? Considering the characterization of GRRM’s other Essosi women as holding to their homeland’s traditions, I doubt it); it’s likely to me she would be separated from her children, who would be governed by Red supporters (maybe if Rhaena is still alive, she could coach the girls?), an emotionally hard punishment for her (considering all of her canonical actions involve her children, it seems she loved them very much). It’s possible she might be sent back to Tyrosh as a gesture of goodwill to her family, after some years of confinement; or she could be sent to a remote location, like Cassandra Baratheon upon a forced marriage to Walter Brownhill.

tl;dr If the Blackfyres and Rohanne aren’t going to be murdered after being captured: the boys would likely go to the Night’s Watch once old enough, or imprisoned in the Red Keep and married under ideal conditions; the girls might go to the Faith, imprisoned in the Maidenvault, married off to non-Tyroshi Essosi, or secretly married; Rohanne would likely be briefly imprisoned, separated from her children, and either sent to the remote countryside or Tyrosh. What happens to them depends on how merciful the Reds are feeling, and how much of a risk they deem them to be. Just expect that if someone leads a rebellion in their name, for the boys to die.

#asoiaf #asoiaf headcanon #what if #House Blackfyre #Rohanne of Tyrosh #calla blackfyre #fic ideas #ask #medieval

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teach463146 · 4 years

Text

We meet author Juliet Ashton (Lily James) midway through a cross-country tour to promote her newest book; the setting is 1946, in a post-war England just beginning to rebuild itself. She is accompanied by her publisher and best friend Sidney Stark (Matthew Goode), a solicitous fellow with the good-natured patience to tolerate his favorite writer’s occasional whims.

Goode, quietly understated, makes Sidney the best friend we’d all love to have. And while Powell is appropriately debonair as Juliet’s fiancé, the actor — bless him — can’t deliver anything close to a proper American accent.

Although the many character dynamics are engaging, and the film’s tone mostly breezy, we’re occasionally reminded of the grim events that preceded the core story: revelations that land with a breath-gulping wallop. Shaffer never let readers forget that her book was equal parts history lesson, in terms of depicting what life was like, under German occupation, in Guernsey and neighboring channel island Jersey (the sole du jure portions of the British empire to be controlled by the Wehrmacht during the war).

#matthew goode #lily james #the guernsey literary and potato peel pie society

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david-sankey · 3 years

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Burdett-Coutts sundial and lesbianism and transgender history

https://photos.app.goo.gl/U9etP6rDSdJ1EKBn8

https://photos.app.goo.gl/f47wPs52KbHvHK7Z7

https://historicengland.org.uk/listing/the-list/list-entry/1113250 (History + Details, below)

History

The public gardens around the St Pancras Old Church were opened in 1877,after the churchyard was closed for burials in 1850.The gardens are made up of part of the old churchyard for the church of St Pancras,enlarged in 1800,and a separate burial ground for St Giles-in-the-Fields,added 1803.It was a preferred burial place for Catholics,with an area devoted to French émigrés.The burial ground and churchyard were partially destroyed by the development of the Midland Railway;the company formed a cutting in 1865 for the construction of the railway lines from St Pancras Station.The clearances of tombs and bodies was highly controversial and caused considerable protest;the graves were dug up at night,behind screens,a process overseen by Thomas Hardy,then an apprentice architect,and many years later recorded in a poem,‘The Levelled Churchyard’(1882).The grandest tombs survived,including the tomb to Sir John Soane(d 1837)and his wife(d 1815),but others were moved.The ground was levelled and the headstones were placed in mounds or around the walls.In 1875 the remaining land was acquired by the St Pancras Vestry for use as public space,and the gardens were opened to the public in June 1877;Baroness Burdett-Coutts laid the foundation stone of the monument she had presented,to commemorate the graves disturbed in the construction of the railway.The gardens were laid out in their present form in 1890-1 by the Vestry,in conjunction with the Midlands Railway Company. Angela Georgina Burdett, suo jure Baroness Burdett-Coutts(1814-1906)was a prominent philanthropist who is estimated to have given away between £3 and £4 million.As described by her biographer Edna Healey,in the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography,Burdett-Coutts set a new standard in philanthropy:prompt and practical,her charity was given with style and without condescension.In her time she was an honoured institution and most of her enterprises bore lasting fruit.Even her visionary schemes that did not survive–Columbia market and Columbia Square–served as models for the shopping precincts and housing estates of a later era.In the breadth and sincerity of her sympathies and in the variety of her social and intellectual interests she has had no rival among philanthropists before or since.Her example not only provided an immense stimulus to charitable work among the rich and fashionable but also suggested solutions to many social problems.She was the first woman to be given a peerage,in 1871,and was thus described by Edward VII:‘after my mother the most remarkable woman in the country’.Burdett-Coutts lived with her companion and partner Hannah Brown for 52 years,after whose death,she married her protégé,William Lehman Ashmead Bartlett;it was called the ‘mad marriage’ by Queen Victoria,for Burdett-Coutts was 66,and Bartlett 29. Burdett-Coutts commissioned this memorial to commemorate a diverse group of people whose graves had been destroyed by the development of the railway.Among the names included on the memorial is that of the Chevalier d’Eon,who was a celebrated French spy and diplomat in the eighteenth century.The Chevalier lived the first part of their life as a man and the latter as a woman.Their gender was widely speculated about,and they were written about in many satires and pamphlets.D’Eon used female pronouns in later life,and signed their name as Mademoiselle d’Eon. Numerous other significant historic figures are noted on the memorial, including Sir Edward Walpole, Sir John Soane, and sculptor Thomas Flaxman, whose tomb (q.v.) stands nearby. The burial of Sidly Effendi, the Turkish Ambassador, presumably a Muslim, is quite unusual. In line with Burdett-Coutts’s humanitarian principles, a special dedication is made to the ‘memory of those whose graves are now unseen, or the record of whose names may have become obliterated’.

Details

Memorial sundial,1877-1879.Designed by George Highton of Brixton for Baroness Burdett-Coutts, and manufactured by H Daniel and Co,cemetery masons of Highgate;relief carvings by Signor Facigna.MATERIALS:constructed from Portland stone,with marble and granite dressings and mosaic detail,a red Mansfield stone base and wrought ironwork.DESCRIPTION:the memorial is a tall square shaft in decorated Gothic style,standing on a square plinth and a three-tiered octagonal base.The shaft has angle colonnettes in pink and grey granite,which rise on each side to a trefoil head to a recessed panel with inscriptions in applied lettering.Four tall,richly-moulded gables surround a crocketed spire with corner pinnacles.The SW side faces the entrance to the gardens.The trefoil contains a marble plaque beneath a relief carving of St Pancras with a palm and book,above a marble panel with a two-part inscription:the first is the beatitudes from St Matthew V,3-9 (verses 4 and 5 in reversed order),and the second is a religious poem,the author of which is unknown.In the gable above is an iron sundial,with the words ‘TEMPUS EDAX RERUM’ –time devours all things.The SE and NW sides have relief carvings of Morning,represented by a woman with a cockerel upon her head,and Night,represented by a robed figure with a star and crescent moon. The panels contain lists of names of eminent people once buried in the churchyards.On the NE is St Giles,whose panel has a dedication to those people whose graves were disturbed but whose names were not recorded.The names are listed thus:SE side:‘CHARLES LOUIS VICOR DE BROGLIE 1765/CHEVALIER D’EON,1810/FRENCH MINISTER PLENIPOTINTIARY/JOSEPH FRANCIS XAVIER DE HASLANG,1783/COUNT D’HERVILLY,1795 MARSHAL OF FRANCE/PASCHALIS DE PAOLI,1807 OF CORSICA/COMTE DE PONTCARRE,1810 /MICHAEL JOANNED BAPTISTA,BARON DE WENZEL,1790/OCCULIST TO THE COURT OF HUNGARY/LORD CHARLES DILLON,1741:LADY DILLON, 1751/ARCHIBISHOP DILLON,1806/GENERAL SIR RUFANCE DONKIN,KCB,GCH 1841/MISS FRANCES DOUGHTY,1763/DAUGHTER OF SIR HENRY TICHNORNE/GUY HENRY MARIE DU VAL, MARQUIS BE BONNEEVAL, 1863 /REV.JOSEPH DUNCAN,1797/SIDLY EFFENDI,1811/ TURKISH AMBASSADOR TO THIS COUNTRY/JOHN FLAXMAN,1826 SCULPTOR/SIR JOHN FLEETWOOD,1741/PHILLIPPO NEPUMUCENO FONTANAE,1793/AMBASSADOR FROM THE COURT OF SARDINIA/TO THAT OF SPAIN/FRANCIS PIETRI FOZANO,1838/CLAUDE JOSEPH GABRIEL,CISCOUNT LE VAULX,1809 / MARSHAL OF FRANCE/BONAVENTURA GIFFARD,1734 AND ANDREA GIFFARD,1714 /JOHN ERNEST GRABE D.D.1711/ANTOINE FRANCOISE,COMTE BE GRAMONT,1795/SIR JOHN GURNEY,1845/FORMERLY THE CHIEF BARON OF THE EXCHEQUER/SAMUEL HARRISON,MUSICIAN 1812/THE HON ESME HOWARD OF NORFOLK,1728/YOUNGEST SON OF HENRY,EARL OF ARUNDEL AND SURREY/AND HIS WIFE MARGARET,1716 /COUNT LA MARCHE,1806 BISHOP OF LEON’(33)NW side:‘HIS EXCELLENCY PHILLIP ST MARTIN/COUNT DE FRONT,1812./MORRIS LEIVESLEY,1849,/54 YEARS SECRETARY OF THE FOUNDLING HOSPITAL./ JAMES LEONI,1746, ARCHITECT./COUNT FERDINAND LUCHESSE,1806, ENVOY FROM NAPLES/ANDRES MARSHALL,1813,PHYSICIAN./MAURICE MARGAROT,1815,AND HIS WIFE ELIZABETH,1841 / THOMAS MAZZINGHI,1775,VIOLINIST./FATHER OF JOSPEH MAZZINGHI,THE COMPOSER./THE HON:ISAAC OGDEN,1819./REVD FATHER O’LEARY,1802./DON JOSEPH ALONZO ORTIZ,1813,/CONSUL GENERAL OF SPAIN./STEPHEN PAXTON,1787,MUSICIAN./ PETER PASQUALINO,1766,MUSICIAN./MADELINE ANTOINETTER PULCHERIE,MARQUISE DE TOURVILLE,1837./SENORA DONA MARIA MANUELA RAPAOL,1839,/NATIVE OF CORDOVA./SIMON FRANCIS RAVENET,1764,ENGRAVER./LADY SLINGSBY,1693,AN ACTRESS./SIR JOHN SOANE,R.A.F.R.S. 1837,/ARCHITECT OF THE BANK OF ENGLAND/JEREMIAH LE SOUEF,1837,/FOR 20 YEARS VICE CONSUL OF THE UNITED STATES./SIR CHARLES HENRY TALBOT,1798,/HIS WIFE AND OTHER MEMBERS OF THE TALBOT FAMILY./SIR HENRY TEMPEST,1753./MANOEL VIERA,1783 PORTUGUESE MERCHANT./JOHN WALKER,1807/AUTHOR OF THE PRONOUNCING DICTIONARY./EDWARD WALPOLE,1740./SIR JOHN WEBB,1797,/AND HIS WIFE BARBARA,1740.’(29)NE side,beneath the dedication:‘RT:HON’ MARY DOWAGER LADY ABERGAVENNY,1699./FRANCIS CLAUD AMOS 1800./THE HON:COUNT ARUNDELL,1752 AND HIS WIFE ANN,1778./LOUIS CLAUD BIGOT,1803/MINISTER PLENIPOTENTIARY FOR THE KING OF FRANE IN SWEDEN./LADY BOWYER 1802,RELICT OF SIR WILLIAM BOWYER,BART/WILLIAM BRETT,1828,ARTIST./HENRY BURDETT,1736, GOLDSMITH./MARY BURKE,1846./WIFE OF JOHN BURKE,AUTHOR OF “THE PEERAGE”./THE HON:ELIZABETH BUTLER,1823,/DAUGHTER OF LORD LANGDALE./RT:HON:ELIZABETH,COUNTESS OF CASTLEHAVEN,1743,DAUGHTER OF LORD ARUNDELL./TIBERIUS CAVALLOW,1809, SCIENTIST./THE HON AMEY CONSTABLE,1783,/DAUGHTER OF LORD CLIFFORD OF CHUDLEY./CATHERINE CONSTABLE,1783/WILLIAM CUMMINGS,1833,GENERAL OF H.M.FORCES./JOHN DANBY,1798,MUSICIAN./ALEXANDER CAESAR D’ANTERROCHES,1793,/BISHOP OF CONDORN./JOSEPH CAYETANO DE BERNALES,1825,SPANISH MERCHANT,/ AND HIS WIFE ELIZABETH,1823.’(24)The square plinth has four corner posts linked by foliate ironwork.The Mansfield stone octagonal base has three tiers of troughs,with the outer face of each containing intricate mosaic and relief moulded panels depicting flowers,foliate symbols and the seasons.The troughs are filled with plants.C20 cast-iron railings enclose the monument,and in line with the corners are four stone statues:two of seated dogs,said to have been modelled on Burdett-Coutts’s collie,and two lions.Johann Christian Bach’s plain pauper’s plaque stands on the NW edge of the railings.

Amongst people commemorated is the Chevalier d'Eon (1728 – 1810) , an 18th century French spy, diplomat and freemason whose gender transition was recognised in French and English law.

For 33 years, from 1777, d'Éon dressed as a woman, claiming to have been female at birth. Doctors who examined d'Éon's body after d'Éon's death discovered that d'Éon would have actually been designated male at birth.

Source: Burrows, Simon (October 2006). Blackmail, scandal and revolution London's French libellistes, 1758–92. Manchester, UK: Manchester University Press. 9780719065262.

#Lesbian History #Transgender History #spy #spying #espionage #Burdett-Coutts #Coutts

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connorshermann · 5 years

Conversation

Text | Matthew

Connor: Ça y est, il sait tout.

Matthew: Tu te sens libéré?

Connor: Non, je sens surtout que mon frère va mal et que c'est la faute de ta putain de famille.

Matthew: Tu peux dire ce que tu veux, mais je te rappelle que j'ai toujours assuré votre protection.

Connor: Et Athéa, tu l'as protégée peut-être?

Matthew: Je peux pas tout gérer, Connor.

Connor: Quoi qu'il en soit, j'en ai rien à foutre. C'est bon, tout est dit et tu sais quoi, maintenant que l'affaire est dernière nous, j'ai plus rien qui me lie à toi.

Matthew: Dire ça ce serait mentir. Je crois bien que tu connais notre passé.

Connor: Oui notre passé, tu l'as bien dit. C'est fini ces conneries. Et tellement bien que c'est la dernière conversation que j'ai avec toi.

Matthew: Tu reviendras, tu l'as toujours fait.

Connor: Parce que je croyais que je t'aimais pendant un moment, mais je suis plus si con, Matthew. Et tu sais quoi, j'ai plus peur de rien. Je vais dire ce que tu m'as fait. Ta femme va le savoir. Que toute ta vie te tombe dessus maintenant, c'est plus mon problème.

Matthew: Tu fais ça, Connor, et je te jure que je retiendrai pas Alexis une seule seconde quand elle partira à tes trousses.

Connor: C'est pas toi qui retient Alexis pour le moment, c'est Isaak.

Connor: Et c'est que mon avis — mais on verra bien si tu meurs pas avec moi, quand elle apprendra que t'es l'un des notre.

Connor: T'es foutu, Miller.

Matthew: Tu vas le regretter.

Connor: On va vite le voir.

Matthew: Oh oui, t'en fais pas.

#ooc: connor envoie tout valser mdrrrr #je sais pas si je suis fière de lui ou si je m'inquiète #bon qui je berne là aussi parce que je sais très bien comment ça va s'achever ces conneries #bon #je suis fière de lui pour le moment #bim #dans tes dents matthew #t #t: matthew

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blackkudos · 4 years

Text

John Hope Franklin

John Hope Franklin (January 2, 1915 – March 25, 2009) was an American historian of the United States and former president of Phi Beta Kappa, the Organization of American Historians, the American Historical Association, and the Southern Historical Association. Franklin is best known for his work From Slavery to Freedom, first published in 1947, and continually updated. More than three million copies have been sold. In 1995, he was awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom, the nation's highest civilian honor.

Early life and education

Franklin was born in Rentiesville, Oklahoma in 1915 to attorney Buck (Charles) Colbert Franklin (1879–1957) and his wife Mollie (Parker) Franklin. He was named after John Hope, a prominent educator who was the first African-American president of Atlanta University.

Franklin's father Buck Colbert Franklin was a civil rights lawyer, aka "Amazing Buck Franklin." He was of African-American and Choctaw ancestry and born in the Chickasaw Nation in western Indian Territory (formerly Pickens County). He was the seventh of ten children born to David and Milley Franklin. David was a former slave, who became a Chickasaw Freedman when emancipated after the American Civil War. Milley was born free before the war and was of one-fourth Choctaw and three-fourths African-American ancestry. Buck Franklin became a lawyer.

Buck Franklin is best known for defending African-American survivors of the 1921 Tulsa race riot, in which whites had attacked many blacks and buildings, and burned and destroyed the Greenwood District. This was known at the time as the "Black Wall Street", and was the wealthiest Black community in the United States, a center of black commerce and culture. Franklin and his colleagues also became experts at oil law, representing "blacks and Native Americans in Oklahoma against white lawyers representing oil barons." His career demonstrated a strong professional black life in the West, at a time when such accomplishments would have been more difficult to achieve in the Deep South.

John Hope Franklin graduated from Booker T. Washington High School (then segregated) in Tulsa, Oklahoma. He graduated in 1935 from Fisk University, a historically black university in Nashville, Tennessee, then earned a master's in 1936 and a doctorate in history in 1941 from Harvard University.

Career

"My challenge," Franklin said, "was to weave into the fabric of American history enough of the presence of blacks so that the story of the United States could be told adequately and fairly."

In his autobiography, Franklin has described a series of formative incidents in which he confronted racism while seeking to volunteer his services at the beginning of the Second World War. He responded to the navy's search for qualified clerical workers, but after he presented his extensive qualifications, the navy recruiter told him that he was the wrong color for the position. He was similarly unsuccessful in finding a position with a War Department historical project. When he went to have a blood test, as required for the draft, the doctor initially refused to allow him into his office. Afterward, Franklin took steps to avoid the draft, on the basis that the country did not respect him or have an interest in his well-being, because of his color.

In the early 1950s, Franklin served on the NAACP Legal Defense Fund team led by Thurgood Marshall, and helped develop the sociological case for Brown v. Board of Education. This case, challenging de jure segregated education in the South, was taken to the United States Supreme Court. It ruled in 1954 that the legal segregation of black and white children in public schools was unconstitutional, leading to integration of schools.

Professor and researcher

Franklin's teaching career began at Fisk University. During WWII, he taught at St. Augustine's College from 1939 to 1943 and the North Carolina College for Negroes, currently North Carolina Central University from 1943 to 1947.

From 1947 to 1956, he taught at Howard University. In 1956, Franklin was selected to chair the history department at Brooklyn College, the first person of color to head a major history department. Franklin served there until 1964, when he was recruited by the University of Chicago. He spent 1962 as a visiting professor at the University of Cambridge, holding the Professorship of American History and Institutions.

David Levering Lewis, who has twice won the Pulitzer Prize for history, said that while he was deciding to become a historian, he learned that Franklin, his mentor, had been named departmental chairman at Brooklyn College.

Now that certainly is a distinction. It had never happened before that a person of color had chaired a major history department. That meant a lot to me. If I had doubt about (the) viability of a career in history, that example certainly helped put to rest such concerns.

In researching his prize-winning biography of W. E. B. Du Bois, Lewis said he became aware of Franklin's

courage during that period in the 1950s when Du Bois became an un-person, when many progressives were tarred and feathered with the brush of subversion. John Hope Franklin was a rock; he was loyal to his friends. In the case of W. E. B. Du Bois, Franklin spoke out in his defense, not (about) Du Bois's communism, but of the right of an intellectual to express ideas that were not popular. I find that admirable. It was a high risk to take and we may be heading again into a period when the free concourse of ideas in the academy will have a price put upon it. In the final years of an active teaching career, I will have John Hope Franklin's example of high scholarship, great courage and civic activism.

From 1964 through 1968, Franklin was a professor of history at the University of Chicago, and chair of the department from 1967 to 1970. He was named to the endowed position of John Matthews Manly Distinguished Service Professor, which he held from 1969 to 1982. He was appointed to the Fulbright Board of Foreign Scholarships, 1962–1969, and was its chair from 1966 to 1969.

In 1976, the National Endowment for the Humanities selected Franklin for the Jefferson Lecture, the U.S. federal government's highest honor for achievement in the humanities. Franklin's three-part lecture became the basis for his book Racial Equality in America.

Franklin was appointed to the U.S. Delegation to the UNESCO General Conference, Belgrade (1980).

In 1983, Franklin was appointed as the James B. Duke Professor of History at Duke University. In 1985, he took emeritus status from this position. During this same year, he helped to establish the Durham Literacy Center and served on its Board until his death in 2009.

Franklin was also Professor of Legal History at the Duke University Law School from 1985 to 1992.

Racial Equality in America

Racial Equality in America is the published lecture series that Franklin presented in 1976 for the Jefferson Lecture sponsored by the National Endowment for Humanities. The book is composed of three lectures, given in three different cities, in which Franklin chronicled the history of race in the United States from revolutionary times to 1976. These lectures explore the differences between some of the beliefs related to race with the reality documented in various historical and government texts, as well as data gathered from census, property, and literary sources. The first lecture is titled "The Dream Deferred" and discusses the period from the Revolution to 1820. The second lecture is titled "The Old Order Changeth Not" and discusses the rest of the 19th century. The third lecture is titled "Equality Indivisible" and discusses the 20th century.

Later life and death

In 2005, at the age of 90, Franklin published and lectured on his new autobiography, Mirror to America: The Autobiography of John Hope Franklin. In 2006, Mirror to America received the Robert F. Kennedy Center for Justice and Human Rights Book Award, which is given annually to honor authors "whose writing, in illuminating past or present injustice, acts as a beacon towards a more just society."

In 2006, he also received the John W. Kluge Prize and as the recipient lectured on the successes and failures of race relations in America in Where do We Go from Here? In 2008, Franklin endorsed presidential candidate Barack Obama.

Franklin died at Duke University Medical Center on the morning of March 25, 2009.

Honors

In 1991, Franklin's students honored him with a festschrift The Facts of Reconstruction: Essays in Honor of John Hope Franklin (edited by Eric Anderson & Alfred A. Moss, Jr. Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, c1991).

Franklin served as president of the American Historical Association (1979), the American Studies Association (1967), the Southern Historical Association (1970), and the Organization of American Historians (1975). He was a member of the board of trustees at Fisk University, the Chicago Public Library, and the Chicago Symphony Orchestra Association.

Franklin was elected as a foundation member of Fisk's new chapter of Phi Beta Kappa in 1953, when Fisk became the first historically black college to have a chapter of the honor society. In 1973–1976, he served as President of the United Chapters of Phi Beta Kappa.

Additionally, Franklin was appointed to serve on national commissions, including the National Council on the Humanities, the President's Advisory Commission on Ambassadorial Appointments, and One America: The President's Initiative on Race.

Franklin was a member of Alpha Phi Alpha fraternity. He was an early beneficiary of the fraternity's Foundation Publishers, which provides financial support and fellowship for writers addressing African-American issues.

In 1962, honored as an outstanding historian, Franklin became the first black member of the exclusive Cosmos Club in Washington, D.C.

The John Hope Franklin Research Center for African and African American History and Culture resides at Duke University's David M. Rubenstein Rare Book & Manuscript Library and contains his personal and professional papers. The archive is one of three academic units named after Franklin at Duke. The others are the John Hope Franklin Center for Interdisciplinary and International Studies, which opened in February 2001 and the Franklin Humanities Institute. Franklin had previously rejected Duke's offer to name a center for African-American Studies after him, saying that he was a historian of America and the world, too.

In 1975, he was awarded the St. Louis Literary Award from the Saint Louis University Library Associates.

In 1975, Franklin was awarded an honorary Doctor of Laws (LL.D.) degree from Whittier College.

In 1978, he was inducted into the Oklahoma Hall of Fame.

In 1994, the Society of American Historians (founded by Allan Nevins and other historians to encourage literary distinction in the writing of history) awarded Franklin its Bruce Catton Prize for Lifetime Achievement.

In 1995, he was awarded the Spingarn Medal from the NAACP.

In 1995, President Clinton awarded Franklin the Presidential Medal of Freedom, the nation's highest civilian honor. The President's remarks upon presentation of the medal cited Franklin's lifelong work as a teacher and a student of history, seeking to bring about better understanding regarding relations between whites and blacks in modern times.

In 1995, he received the Chicago History Museum "Making History Award" for Distinction in Historical Scholarship.

In 1997, Franklin was selected to receive the Peggy V. Helmerich Distinguished Author Award, a career literary award given annually by the Tulsa Library Trust. Franklin was the first (and so far only) native Oklahoman to receive the award. During his visit to Tulsa to accept the award, Franklin made several appearances to speak about his childhood experiences with racial segregation, as well as his father's experiences as a lawyer in the aftermath of the 1921 Tulsa race riot.

In 2002, scholar Molefi Kete Asante included Franklin on his list of 100 Greatest African Americans.

Oklahoma Governor Brad Henry presented the Governor's Arts Award to Dr. Franklin in 2004.

In 2005, Franklin received the North Caroliniana Society Award for "long and distinguished service in the encouragement, production, enhancement, promotion, and preservation of North Caroliniana."

On May 20, 2006, Franklin was awarded the honorary degree of Doctor of Humane Letters at Lafayette College's 171st Commencement Exercises.

On November 15, 2006, John Hope Franklin was announced as the third recipient of the John W. Kluge Prize for lifetime achievement in the study of humanity. He shared the prize with Yu Ying-shih.

On October 27, 2010, the City of Tulsa renamed Reconciliation Park, established to commemorate the victims of the Tulsa Race Riot of 1921, as John Hope Franklin Reconciliation Park in his honor. It includes a 27-foot bronze entitled Tower of Reconciliation by sculptor Ed Dwight, expressing the long history of Africans in Oklahoma.

Marriage and family

Franklin married Aurelia Whittington on June 11, 1940. She was a librarian. Their only child, John Whittington Franklin, was born August 24, 1952. Their marriage lasted 59 years, until January 27, 1999, when Aurelia succumbed to a long illness.

#01/02 #03/25

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themiss-miller · 5 years

Text

and way down we go || self-para

Qui?: Alexis Miller.

Quand?: Le 31 décembre, vers 23 heures.

Où?: Chez la famille Miller.

Notes: Les emmerdes commencent officiellement. C’est tout ce que j’ai à dire. Tous aux abris.

Téléphone à la main, Alexis passe la porte pour rentrer dans sa chambre. Elle ferme d’une main derrière elle, les yeux cependant rivés sur l’écran noir de l’appareil qui semble refuser de coopérer. Et merde. C’était jamais une bonne idée de le garder dans la poche arrière de son jean pendant les entraînements en forêt. Son père l’engueulait toujours quand elle le faisait, elle aurait dû continuer de l’écouter après l’avoir tué.

Elle pousse un soupir, et ses traits tirent sur une moue triste, qu’elle aperçoit dans le miroir à l’autre bout de la pièce. Une Alexis toute penaude. Quelle soirée de Nouvel An pourrie. Le téléphone se fait jeter futilement derrière l’épaule de sa propriétaire qui a perdu tout espoir de lui faire retrouver la vie.

La chasseuse regagne alors nonchalamment son lit les mains vides. Elle s’y étale sur le dos, le regard vers le plafond, admirant l’incroyable vide que laisse le smartphone après son décès. Elle aurait juste aimé pouvoir faire des recherches marrantes sur internet pour s’endormir tranquillement comme tous les soirs. Lire une autopsie de célébrité suicidée, ou envoyer des messages à sa petite sœur tout en sachant bien qu’elle ne pourrait pas les lire.

Et là, c’est comme une ampoule qui s’allume dans son cerveau.

Un téléphone de rechange.

Alexis roule sur le côté du lit pour accéder à sa table de chevet. Du bout de ses ongles vernis noirs, elle tire l’IPhone, d’un modèle un peu plus ancien que le sien, qui traîne dans le tiroir. Comme quoi tuer des loups-garous, ça lui rend service à elle en plus qu’à l’humanité. Le téléphone déchargé rejoint la prise de l’ancien téléphone de la jeune femme sur le côté du lit, et sur l’écran apparaît un signe pour lui faire comprendre qu’il est en train de s’alimenter.

La chasseuse garde les yeux fixés sur l’écran, tandis qu’elle commence à se débarrasser de ses vêtements d’entraînements, qu’elle envoie valser pour les laisser joncher le sol librement. Un t-shirt trop large enfilé plus tard, un coup de démaquillant, et voilà que le téléphone dérobé au macchabée vibre pour annoncer son réveil. Timing impeccable.

Alexis se retourne vers la prise, et son doigt se pose sur le téléphone pour le déverrouiller.

La chasseuse se décompose.

Elle sent ses briques intérieures se défaire les unes des autres. Ses fesses regagnent automatiquement le bord du lit, comme si elle allait tomber.

Isaak. Sur l’écran de la louve morte. Et elle. Dans ses bras.

Paniquée, les pouces d’Alexis cherchent à faire des zooms sur un écran toujours verrouillé. L’appareil intelligent lui propose de taper un code. 0000. Non. 1234. Bingo. La fille était assez insouciante pour garder un code pareil. Qui fait ça ? Plus inquiète encore, la chasseuse cherche le dossier photo du bout des doigts. Avant d’arriver à l’application en question, le téléphone lui demande maintenant un code PIN. Elle retape la même succession de chiffres.

La carte SIM réceptionne les derniers SMS non consultés en avalanche. L’IPhone vibre quelques fois. Pas énormément. Normal qu’on essaie plus de prendre de nos nouvelles quand on quitte ce monde.

Un message retient l’attention de la chasseuse.

Connor.

« Athéa, regagne surtout pas notre coin de la forêt cette nuit. Matthew m’a dit que les chasseurs y seraient. Ils pourraient s’en prendre à nous. »

Encore un autre. Toujours Connor.

« Réponds-moi, que je sache que tout va bien. »

« T’as encore déchargé ton téléphone, c’est ça ? »

« Isaak est avec toi ? Si vous allez tous les deux vers la forêt, je te jure que je vous tue. »

Et encore Connor.

« Répondeur : Vous avez 4 appels manqués du (863) 774-3948 , dernier appel le 27/02/2018 à 23h18. »

« Putain de merde, Athéa. Réponds-moi ! »

Les éléments de cette nuit datée dans les messages reviennent en foule dans le crâne de la chasseuse, en tapant dans tous les sens, quitte à lui faire tourner la tête quand elle prend conscience des informations qui s’y ajoutent.

Elle et son oncle parmi les arbres qui se ressemblent tous. Elle court, son flingue à la main, et lâche une de ces balles spéciales dans le dos de la louve. Lâchement. Puis une autre dans son crâne. Le corps s’écroule sur le sol, ce qui provoque une dose importante de satisfaction pour Alexis. Elle dérobe le téléphone avant d’entendre les bruits d’une course plus loin. C’est sûrement Isaak qui rejoint sa petite-amie, pour la retrouver inerte sur le sol. Assassinée par sa cousine. Matthew lui prend le bras pour qu’ils prennent la fuite au lieu de s’occuper du cadavre. Parce qu’il joue sur les deux tableaux. Qu’il empêche que Connor finisse comme la fille étalée par terre. « Ils pourraient s’en prendre à nous. »

Il sauve un putain de loup-garou.

Si ce n’était pas le frère de Isaak, Alexis serait à l’instant précis partie avec une hache pour détruire cet enfoiré. Mais pour Isaak…

Isaak.

Mais qu’est-ce-qu’elle a fait à Isaak, putain.

#and way down we go #self-para #ooc: C'EST LA MERDE #CA FAIT LONGTEMPS QU'ON LE SAVAIT MAIS LA CA Y EST C'EST LA VRAIE MERDE #non vraiment je me tire #qu'est-ce-qu'on est en train de faire

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wip-miraculous-blog · 5 years

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As Matthew was practicing the pan flute, he overheard a conversation coming from the living room of his apartment.

“Hm...?”

“Susan, please let me talk to him... I know ma cherie, but he can’t keep doing this to us... to him... Merci chérie... Je t’aime.”

“Is... Papa speaking to mom...?”

“Chaaaaad, I’m glad my wife, you daughter, allowed me to speak to you. I couldn’t help but overheard some rumors that you’re spreading about my son, your grandson.”

“What...?”

“I would very much like to hear you repeat what you were saying to me. Uh huh, and I’m the queen of England. I know you love to talk shit about me and my side of the family like we can’t hear you. Just because me or Matthieu isn’t there, doesn’t mean you get all the freedom to talk shit about us.”

“What...? Why would Grandpa talk shit about us...?”

“Matthew...? What’s going on...?”

“I don’t know Ziggy...”

“Vous écœurant lowlife écume. Comment osez-vous dire cela à propos de mon fils? TU AS DE LA CHANCE QUE JE NE SOIS PAS LÀ POUR METTRE MON PUTAIN DE PIED DANS LE CUL!!! Now, give the phone back to- Hello?”

“Je jure devant Dieu, tu as de la chance, Susan et Matthieu sont la raison principale pour laquelle je ne te tue pas, espèce de saleté...”

“Papa...?”

“Ah! Matthieu!”

“What is Grandpa saying about us...?”

“Oh, he wasn’t saying anything about us...”

“Papa...”

“Sigh... Matthieu, Let’s... talk about this later... ok...?”

“Sigh... alright...”

(Sorry if my French is absolutely horrible. If it needs help to say what I wanted Francis to say, please message me about it.)

#aph miraculous au #aph canada #ask miraculous canada #ask miraculous france #aph france #ziggy #mention of wife/mother #mention of father-in-law/grandpa

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newsandmediarepublic · 5 years

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Allowing the story to shine: Vanessa Bailey talks about Bus Stop

Vanessa Bailey donned directorial duty for her film Bus Stop. It was just one part of the journey that saw the film being made. We chatted to her about Bus Stop, taking control and putting the messy challenge of life on screen.

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#Bus Stop #Chris Frith #Daniel Annoh #English Riviera Film Festival #Hostage #Jason Kelvin #Judy Goldberg #Matthew Jure #Nine Yards Films #Seeing Him #The Long Walk Home #Tom Martin #Vanessa Bailey

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tachtutor · 3 years

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Second Spring review: A brave film about agency and cognitive decline

In Second Spring, an archaeologist who has developed a lesser-known form of dementia that alters her personality, unmasks her new life – to the dismay of friends and family Health 13 January 2021 By Francesca Steele Kathy (Cathy Naden) and her husband Tim (Matthew Jure)Neat Film Second Spring Andy Kelleher Digital release in February on iTunes, Google Play and Amazon IF YOU want a maudlin…

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guardiannews24 · 3 years

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Second Spring review: A brave film about agency and cognitive decline

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writer59january13 · 2 years

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Prolonged offal bout courtesy constipation... turgid song redux,

a worse hellish fate than perdition really sucks

As of early morning today - September 8th, 2022,

I could not but barely move

mine whole body felt analogous to sluggish mollusk frequent constipation found me

doubled over in gastrointestinal agony

as if elephant stomping on tummy

or red livid with rage.

I've re: created how bull heaver in fiber figuratively thrust his tusk

into lower abdominal area dawn to dusk

ah...voila... hence subsequently blessed natural laxative,

the magic of Daily Fiber

100% natural psyllium husk also known as metamucil.

Once again sphincter muscle(s)

spasmodically malfunctioned awry

whew suppository unnecessary

despite gastrointestinal stoppage

alimentary canal thwarted

porcelain goddess battlecry

at least seventy two hour time span lapsed whereby big boy wanted to cry

explaining how yours truly

felt he would die an undertaking malaise

found me experiencing

physical duress vis a vis,

a bowel movement,

wherein waste unable to expel

from the anus of this guy,

which bout with rectal obstruction

found me doubled over

with lower abdominal distress

whereby comfort found me unable to lie

down nor sit upright

(with back padded with pillows

against the cellar brick wall),

thus severe bloating a bonus well nigh

and managed on a previous occasion

to muster the means to bare

frigid arctic vortex aire to purchase

the Acme brand Metamucil,

which akin to Drano doth ply

thru the excretory tract

supposedly loosening the stools

which optimism (product

didst earn claim to fame)

generated a sigh

if that expressed intent

to cease LivingSocial would try

humph enjoining lxiii

year old married male

to cede victory to the grim reaper,

who would vie

as winner de jure

to this common fellow invoking libretto

ohm resistant understudy

waste not want not

allowing, enabling and providing relief,

without successful defecation

despite the oppressive urge

to bolster this Uriah

heep of balled up and tuckered out

five foot and ten inches of lovely bones,

thence mouthing retraction

of former thought to cease existing

though a non-bull lever

in any power broker qua mankind

relief at long last provided posterior answered prayer

yet, this wordsmith

scrutinizes his recurring

pain in the ass jagged torture

and asks a rhetorical

one word question "WHY"?

Well now... monumental

poetic challenge recap,

I now craftily abbreviate

(think clogged toilet

synonymous with blockage)

waste matter after days did accumulate

regarding rectal blockage to alleviate

thus imagine impossible

airy mission to defecate

which debilitating scenario

(mine) frequent accursed fate

frequently recurring more often

as yours truly ages i.e. latter day saint

Matthew Scott got older rectal affliction compromised me

ordinary easy going demeanor to boot

disallowing, disenabling, and not permitting

me - effecting, emulating, and exhaling Tony the tiger's catchword grrrrrreat

if queried about my constitution

when alas... absolute ecstasy found me

expelling bowel movement with effort

weighing approximately 0.71428571 stone

though relieved, nevertheless

the toilet bowl clogged,

prompting me to correct historical records

on two accounts despite

causing potential ruckus

disaster buffs may incriminate

nsync notion huge bowel movement

(mine) took down (analogous voyage to bottom of sea) toto Lusitania

and actually additionally

caused separate incident

complex edifice (think Titanic) both sturdy ships of state

former rendered, lifted, foundered...

latter purportedly crashing

into iceberg invariably causing

rising sea levels courtesy

melting glacier (size of Florida) weight.

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