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inlovewithkobenihigashiyama · 1 year

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HI HELLO HOLY HECK THE. NEW CHAINSAW MAN CHAPTER!!! (122)

I wrote a lot of stuff (long post) and there are major spoilers for the new chapters! The actual analysis/commentary/screaming abt the new chapter is under the cutoff.

Aside from the confirmation of Yoshida knowing more things that he probably shouldn’t, there’s a LOT of other stuff to go through. I am increasingly surprised by the biblical symbolism in csm! here's where my years of being forced to attend catholic school and bible study can really shine, lmao.

Let’s start with this:

Nostradamus was a real dude! (Wikipedia page for more info)

He lived in France around the 16th century, and he did write predictions of future events.

The prediction referenced in the new chapter IS one of his predictions, but it is not the full prediction!!!

The full prophecy is this:

“ The year one thousand nine ninety-nine seven month

From the sky shall come a great King of terror,

[Shall be] revived the great King of Angoulmois.

Before and after, Mars [shall] reign as chance will have it.

(Century X, No. 72) “

I don’t know about the fourth line, but the last line. “Mars shall reign”. Mars in Roman mythology is associated with war, literally being the god of war, and Mars generally has a connection to war in western culture.

And Asa Mitaka just so happens to meet/be the host of the War Devil.

It’s unclear exactly why Yoru wants to revive nuclear weapons devil. Likely because their revival would make Yoru more powerful, but Yoru seems very childish and immature, so I think it’s also possible that she and Nuclear Weapons were possibly friends? Since devils do seem to tolerate/desire relationships, as seen with Angel Devil and his village, and Quanxi’s fiend girlfriends. A lot of fiends seem to want and seek out relationships with others, platonic/familial/romantic, whatever (Power, Violence, Beam). There are also some that don’t, as in they just do not care (Prinzi) or are only interested in murder and crime (Also Power and Beam, but only before their character arcs). There are also those that want relationships but cannot have them, as seen with Makima and Pochita. Interesting! Could be a reach on my part, but there is definitely something odd about the timing of the prophecy and Yoru deciding to come to Earth and reveal herself to Asa.

Yoru does not seem like a very capable ruler, which is also somewhat weird if this prophecy is to be fulfilled. She will rule “before and after”, but while right now is presumably ‘before’, Yoru has basically been stuck to a depressed high school girl. Yoru does have power and we have seen her fight before, she seems to love fighting. But in this chapter she runs away.

Not very leader-like in my opinion! However. She also literally has a giant ruler sword at the moment.

I mean. Technically I guess you could say she is ruling?? The whole prophecy is really weird, and could have a lot of meaning in the context of chainsaw man. But I’m going to move on from that for now!

Yoshida Hirofumi, my beloved! Knowing things he shouldn’t and being in places he has no business being! He knew about Famine Devil, but it also seems that Fami didn’t really keep her identity a secret anyways. He knows she’s a powerful horseman devil, and he’s taking her out to eat at a cafe, once again paying for everything she orders.

How does he have so much money? How did he know she was the Famine Devil? It’s possible he is just a weird dude. Love that for him!

But how did he know about the prophecy? About the experiment with the prisoners and the Future Devil? He seems to be working with public safety now, but why tell Denji he has a private organization? In any case, the prophecy seems to have some merit, and Fami does know some things about it. He asked, and Fami told him. He did threaten her, but why would a powerful horseman devil be afraid of some highschooler with an octopus devil contract?

We can’t see her face, but we know she isn’t lying. We know because Asa is there at the apartments, and there is a powerful devil that just appeared there, so powerful that Yoru refused to fight it.

As for this devil, we know it is a primal fear, but not its name. Did the chainsaw devil eat her and her name is forgotten? Or is it just a purposeful omission? In any case, I think there are a few likely possibilities for the name this devil has.

This devil is presumably the first of the “The other seven” who will die this week. In the bible, there are a lot of apocalyptic sevens! We have:

The 7 bowls

The 7 seals

The 7 trumpets

I don’t think it’s the trumpets or bowls, but a case can be made for the seals. The breaking of one seal causes the appearance of the next. Interestingly, the first four seals represent the four horsemen. The first seal releases the horseman of conquest. (Sound familiar?)

Next is war, then famine, then death. This could be the death devil? She does have the power to make people kill themselves, so it would make sense and explain why Yoru was afraid of her. It could also be sacrifice or apocalypse, but personally I think Death makes the most sense.

The fifth and sixth seals cause various people to die and natural disasters. The seventh seal triggers silence, in preparation for the sounding of the 7 trumpets. In summary, the first three trumpets cause bad stuff to fall to earth and poison 1/3rd of all seawater and freshwater, as well as burning up 1/3rd of trees and all green grass. The fourth trumpet causes complete darkness, by getting rid of the sun, moon, and stars.

The next three trumpets are also known as the three woes.

The fifth trumpet causes a star to fall and opens a bottomless pit with a key it has been given, which releases these weird bug lion monsters instructed to torment (but not kill) all who do not follow God.

The sixth trumpet causes four angels to descend, leading a large battalion of soldiers whose lion-snake-horse steeds carry plagues that kill 1/3rd of humanity.

The seventh trumpet causes loud voices in the heavens to praise God.

I think the “King of Terror” the prophecy refers to will be Chainsaw Man, or maybe just Pochita/The Chainsaw Devil in his full form. I also think that his presence will somehow result in the devils being released from Hell, and Chainsaw Man becomes God or something. I do not know! It certainly seems ominous though!

This is all I can piece together for now, a lot of this stuff could be wrong, but the parallels are certainly interesting!

My thoughts in summary:

The prophecy mentioned is real and will happen (in chainsaw man)

Yoru/The War devil will gain a lot of power

Alternatively she will become some sort of leader, or maybe her role will have something to do with literal rulers…?

Yoshida is WEIRD!!!!!!!!! (nothing new there)

Fami gave him the information he wanted despite having (seemingly) no reason to do so other than being threatened by Yoshida

Fami didn’t even TRY to mess with Yoshida, but she was perfectly fine manipulating Asa and Yoru/The War Devil

The devil in the apartments is (probably) the Death Devil

Apocalypse time!

#chainsaw man #longpost #csm #csm spoilers #csm theory #chainsawman part 2 #yoshida hirofumi #asa mitaka #yoru chainsawman #csm part 2 #csm manga #csm chapter 122 #cube reads: csm

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gotham-ruaidh · 1 year

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In books, Jamie tells Claire about the fortune teller he met in France who predicted he would almost die 9 times before he dies. What number are we at now, 7 or 8? I lost track?

8 down, presumably, 1 to go:

Hit by an ax in the back of his head (pre-Books) by Dougal

Flogging at Fort William (pre-Books) by Black Jack Randall

Assault at Wentworth Prison (Outlander) by Black Jack Randall

Fever after Culloden (Voyager)

Fever after being shot by Laoghaire (Voyager)

The snake bite (The Fiery Cross)

Injuries (including loss of finger) at Battle of Saratoga (An Echo In The Bone)

Shot in the chest - and dies - at the Battle of Kings Mountain (Go Tell The Bees That I Am Gone)

#outlander #outlander mythology

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dweemeister · 3 months

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The Zone of Interest (2023, United Kingdom/Poland)

Over the last decade, English director Jonathan Glazer questioned whether it was appropriate for him to make a Holocaust movie from a Nazi perspective. Glazer, who comes from a Jewish family in north London, said that his family never spoke about the Holocaust at home, but it nevertheless loomed over their lives. His late father, when learning about Glazer’s decision to adapt Martin Amis’ novel The Zone of Interest, expressed disapproval. Yet Glazer forged ahead, his vision now complete.

I am no expert in the area of Holocaust cinema (of which there is a growing and always-controversial history) and do not profess to be a specialist of the Holocaust or Nazism. Nevertheless, I do believe it is possible to make a moral Holocaust narrative film from a Nazi point of view. Does Glazer succeed in doing so? That is a question that still perplexes me, and I am not sure if I can provide any satisfying answer. Given Glazer’s moral agonizing while making and within the visuals of this film, I am not sure if he knows either. So while I will still attempt to engage with the morality of The Zone of Interest (which, by many accounts, resembles little of Amis’ novel), this write-up’s premise will concentrate on two of the film’s goals as stated by Glazer himself.

The first is to immerse the viewer into the psychologies of Auschwitz concentration camp commandant Rudolf Höss (Christian Friedel; Rudolf Höss was the longest-serving commandant of the camp) and his wife, Hedwig (Sandra Hüller), and understand how their mindset is similar to how the viewer compartmentalizes modern-day atrocities. In these respects, Glazer succeeds. Just. Secondly, Glazer, “wanted to remove the artifice of filmmaking” in order to make as natural a film as he could, so that the audience can pay stricter attention to what is occurring on-screen. This is where The Zone of Interest falters.

It is 1943 in Nazi-occupied Poland. The Höss family lives in an estate just outside the walls of Auschwitz. Some days, the five children and their parents spend a lazy outing at a nearby riverbend, swimming and enjoying nature. At home, the Höss parents shield their children from the ugliness of the Second World War and the mass human suffering occurring just beyond the walls of the camp next door. Hedwig’s perfectly manicured garden, replete with flowers for decoration and herbs for cooking, is her escape – a world without wants. A small pool in the spacious backyard provides the children plenty of swim time. On a clear day, we can see the smoke stacks of an approaching train in the distance, soon to drop off its passengers to a place worse than hell itself. At night, Auschwitz’s crematorium spews an unearthly red – piercing the sky and sneaking past the drawn curtains of the Höss estate. And at all hours, we hear gunfire and screaming emanating from inside the camp.

Never do cinematographer Łukasz Żal’s (2014’s Ida, 2018’s Cold War) cameras show any glimpses of life within Auschwitz’s walls. None of the human suffering wrought by the Nazis appears directly in the film. We have a fleeting glimpse, obscured by foliage and for purposes unclear, of chained prisoners walking outside the camp’s walls under military escort. In another moment in the Höss household, a female prisoner comes to Rudolf Höss’ office for what is presumed to be forced sex; we never see or hear from her again, as we witness him wash his genitals (filmed from his backside) after their encounter. The particulars of what the Nazis did to the inmates of Auschwitz and the other concentration camps is for another film, Glazer says, a self-admission that he cannot hope to capture that suffering in narrative or documentary form. The decision not to show any Holocaust cinema has precedent, as seen in Claude Lanzmann’s documentary Shoah (1985, France) – largely seen as the 566-minute magnum opus of Holocaust cinema.

Instead, Glazer is more interested in something that has become a cliché in all writings on The Zone of Interest – what philosopher Hannah Arendt deemed the “banality of evil” – in order to allow modern audiences understand their own complicity in contemporary atrocities. Writing on the 1960 trial of Adolf Eichmann (one of the crucial facilitators of the Holocaust) in Israel, Arendt’s definition of the “banality of evil” stemmed from her subject’s lack of ideological fanaticism towards Jews, coupled with his inclination towards professional progression if it meant not having to think critically about any moral issues tied to said progression.

Arendt’s definition of the “banality of evil” has been controversial ever since the publication of 1963’s Eichmann in Jerusalem – a common accusation that Arendt was trying to diminish the severity of Eichmann’s guilt (she was not). Controversies aside, The Zone of Interest, on a cinematic surface, adopts that same “banality of evil”. The Höss parents never engage in explicit anti-Semitic language or refer to Auschwitz’s inmates as subhuman. Though Rudolf washes his genitals after the presumed sexual encounter with the prisoner and Hedwig seems uneasy when going through the luxury clothes of incarcerated/deceased camp inmates, life otherwise appears normal. In a scene where Rudolf is meeting with a private contractor on a more efficient crematorium system, both Rudolf and the contractor speak not with genocidal terms, nor carefully-worded innuendos. Instead, their meeting covers only the mechanics of the proposed system, in numbers and cold engineering efficiency. Without the historical context of The Zone of Interest, that discussion might eerily fit in a plain industrial meeting (not so much a later meeting with other concentration camp commandants as they discuss an imminent influx of Hungarian Jews to their camps).

To what lengths can a person accept the rationalizations of a leadership bent on the mass slaughter of innocent people on an industrial scale? Similarly, how does one reckon with their ostensibly peaceful existence when that peace is made possible only by revolting violence just a stone’s throw away? For these questions, we never receive any answers from anybody in the Höss family or their associates depicted within this film or from history itself. They live life without examining themselves, with no hints of regrets.

With the Höss parents not providing potential answers, it then turns to the viewer to ask themselves those same questions. I do not wish to come off as a youth-basher, but younger (American) viewers will need additional context for this film, if generational rates of Holocaust denialism are to be believed. For the rest of us, can we imagine ourselves turning a blind eye or going about our daily lives knowing that our happiness rests on the oppression, subjugation, or mass murder of a people? What do you share, personally, with Rudolf and Hedwig Höss? Does The Zone of Interest, in reaction to popular Hollywood Holocaust dramas of the 1990s and 2000s (see: 1993’s Schindler’s List, 2002’s The Pianist), paint the Holocaust as a non-unique event? This is a provocative work from a filmmaker who, in the absence of a grander narrative or intentional moralizing in his work, turns all of the introspection onto the audience. Beyond that, the film in and of itself is ideologically hollow.

The other half of Jonathan Glazer’s aims for The Zone of Interest was to create a film with minimal cinematic artifice. Łukasz Żal’s unobtrusive compositions and mostly-still camera certainly help in this regard, but too often some of the interior shots of the Höss household appear as if they are coming from the corners of the room, like anachronistic security camera footage. Most anachronistic of all are the black-and-white scenes in night vision for exterior shots of a young girl leaving apples around workplaces at Auschwitz. How jarring that the most humanistic moments of The Zone of Interest appear in the most visually artificial scenes of the film. The use of a night vision camera broke whatever hold The Zone of Interest had on me, cinematically. It comes off as a needless artistic flourish, as if to impress a captive audience.

Worst of all is Mica Levi’s horrific and unlistenable score. The score, for the ten to fifteen minutes it plays (hardly a score given a 106-minute runtime), is an atonal howler that shares a close relationship with the sound mix* – to the point where numerous other film critics have conflated the two. If Glazer is attempting to dissociate his film from the artifices of cinema, I cannot think of a better encapsulation of how quickly he fails than with this collaboration with Levi. In a time when many directors are telling their composers that they do not want noticeable music (in most instances, a fundamental misunderstanding about the dramatic and emotional capabilities of film music), Levi’s score is inescapable. Its heavy sonic distortions; complete dismissal of any familiar intonation (one of Levi’s primary influences is experimental composer Harry Partch, whose music obliterates the familiar seven pitches of a diatonic scale in favor of a 43-tone scale with uneven intervals); and bizarre use of electronically-manipulated choral screaming (a kitschy musical decision that borders on the insensitive and tasteless) might perfectly set the tone for some viewers. For myself – especially the scenes shot in night vision and the moment the screen fades to red – it was a discordant distraction that, again, only served to take me out of the movie.

The best film scores have several disparate but heavily interdependent and coequal qualities: they empower, but not overtake, the comedic/dramatic and emotional power of a movie and its narrative (if a narrative is present); they should typify exemplary musicianship (in composition and performance); and the viewer should be able to hear the music. Levi and Glazer share the failure on the the first two aspects. It is only on this third aspect that Mica Levi’s work truly contributes to The Zone of Interest – a film that would be better treated without a score.

The Zone of Interest raises pertinent questions of culpability and human responsibility in reckoning with humanity at its worst. There are moments in here – mostly scenes in which the reality of the Holocaust leaves its terrible shadow over the Höss family, moments where you expect them to possibly recoil from what they are doing – that stick with me, and haunt my ruminations over how I rationalize living in a society built on violence. Crucially, The Zone of Interest is not unique in inspiring such thoughts in a person, as some are suggesting. Martin Scorsese’s Killers of the Flower Moon (2023) and Steve McQueen’s 12 Years a Slave (2013) also provoked a similar introspection in me – these films depict two episodes within the context of the two original sins of my home nation. And though neither of those films centralize the goodness of others (far from it), if one looks close enough, one can find the banality of good (amid more naturalistic filmmaking).

In the end, Jonathan Glazer’s treatment of The Zone of Interest buckles underneath the weight of his promise to forego the conventions of art cinema. His objectives conflict with the artistic trappings – in its cinematography, music, sound mix, and an intellectual remove from human nature that I am unsure is appropriate for this subject matter – found within. It leaves his promise utterly broken.

My rating: 5/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found in the “Ratings system” page on my blog. Half-points are always rounded down.

* You hear nearly everything in this film. Sometimes, a little too perfectly. There are several moments in The Zone of Interest in which you hear the screams of Auschwitz’s prisoners or gunshots and they sound as if they are far too close to the Höss household than they should be. It reminded me, to paraphrase Larry Mantle on the December 15, 2023 episode of FilmWeek, of stage plays using off-stage tapes to play sounds for activities ostensibly not occurring "on stage". While that might work in a stage play, that is not the sort of comparison I wish to be making when writing on a film.

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.

#The Zone of Interest #Jonathan Glazer #Christian Friedel #Sandra Hüller #Ralph Herforth #Daniel Holzberg #Sascha Maaz #Martin Amis #Łukasz Żal #Paul Watts #Mica Levi #Tarn Willers #Johnnie Burn #A24 #31 Days of Oscar #My Movie Odyssey

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josefavomjaaga · 2 years

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Murat as grand duke of Berg

It’s probably not very polite towards Eugène to post something for his arch-rival Murat on Eugène’s birthday. But I had been looking for something about Murat’s time as grand-duke of Berg for what feels like an eternity for @joachimnapoleon , had been excited to find the text below, had not immediately translated and posted it, had forgotten about it, could not find it anymore, and now that I’ve come across it again I’ll post it, period.

(Plus, Eugène, you used to not celebrate your birthday anyway, and I would need to look up your sister’s letters to find out when your name day is. So there.)

There actually is quite a long and detailed accout of the grand-duchy that I came across, however, written in Cologne, 1877, six years after the Franco-Prussian war. The author didn’t have many nice things to say about Murat, let’s put it that way.

This brief passage however is taken from »Regenten und Volksgeschichte der Länder Cleve, Mark, Jülich, Berg und Ravensberg«, Volume 3, by Dr. J. F. Knapp. Published a lot earlier, in 1836, and in Krefeld, a city that had been under French rule for many years, before becoming Prussian (again) in 1814. And this author seems to look back with some nostalgia and to see the era and particularly Murat in a much more positive light:

By a proclamation of the Emperor Napoleon of 15 March, the two duchies of Cleve and Berg were granted in full sovereignty to Prince Joachim Murat and his natural lawful male heirs with hereditary succession in these lands, and at the same time the dignity of Grand Admiral of France was hereditarily conferred on the Prince and his descendants.

Actually, Murat had become Grand Admiral (and prince) in February 1804, afaik. But quite probably nobody in Berg had ever heard about it before.

The true meaning of these arrangements was expressed by the Prince-Archchancellor of the French Empire [...]

That would be Cambacérès, I presume.

[…] in the speech he gave in the Senate on 21 March: "Prince Murat has been entrusted with the guardianship of an important part of the Empire's borders. Could His Majesty entrust this to worthier hands?"

Awww.

On 20 March, the former governor of the Duchy of Berg, Duke Wilhelm von Baiern, left Düsseldorf with his family. This amiable prince, to whom the people of Berg were very devoted, took an affectionate farewell from the country by a decree dated 20 March 1806.

On a sidenote: This Duke Wilhelm is Berthier’s future father-in-law. The aforementioned family consisted of him, his wife (a sister to King Max Joseph of Bavaria), his daughter Elisabeth (future Madame Berthier) and his son Pius who, as an adult, by his violent conduct would manage to get himself into prison. In Bavaria. As a Wittelsbach. - Pius also is the paternal grandfather of future empress Elisabeth of Austria (Sissi).

While only a short time before, on 17 January, the elevation of Maximilian Joseph to the royal dignity on 1 January 1806 had been proclaimed in Düsseldorf and received with the sincere joy of loyal subjects and even celebrated with festivities, people now received with all the greater sadness the news that from now on the fate of the country was to be entrusted to an imposed foreigner instead of the established native prince.

I have a feeling that the last paragraph was necessary for the book to be allowed to be published in Prussian territory. Just to put things in perspective: The "established native prince" (Max Joseph of Bavaria) resided in Munich, had only inherited the duchy in 1799, had spent all his youth in France and, to my knowledge, had never even visited the region of Berg since he had become elector.

On to Joachim:

[...]

Joachim personally showed much inclination to win the trust of his subjects. He sought to alleviate their plight by importing a considerable amount of grain from the left bank of the Rhine. Even during his imminent departure, he did not forget his new duties. A deputation of merchants from the two duchies, which he had summoned to Paris, had to present their wishes and opinions to him in order to further improve trade and factories. Even when he was in Poland, he obtained favourable trade concessions for the Elberfelders from the Emperor in Warsaw. On 26 January 1807, he issued a detailed decree from Warsaw on the pension status of civil servants, their widows and children. After thirty years of service, every civil servant was to have the right to demand retirement; also, all pension payments were now firmly secured and accurately determined according to the ratio of salaries. He never denied his attitude of admitting in any case that his subjects should be regarded as French subjects, and often, in opposition to the Emperor's will, he openly expressed it and sought to assert it. Without scientific education, he nevertheless had proper tact, which replaced many a theoretical knowledge. He abhorred injustice, cunning and intrigues against everyone in his characteristic military straightforwardness. It is true that his minister Agar was a Frenchman, but he had not entrusted him with this important post for that reason, but because he held him in high esteem personally. On the contrary, he was averse to Frenchmen filling the posts of civil servants, however much he was approached by them. To several French military officers whom he employed in the contingent in 1807, he explicitly made it a duty to honour his choice and to never forget that they were now no longer in French but in German service, with a prince who was a member of the Confederation of the Rhine. Flattery was repugnant to him, and he was often heard to say in the course of the audiences he gave: People are not sincere, and seek to achieve their ends by fine phrases, because they think him weak enough to lend his ear to flattery. "For," he said, "it is impossible that I should be loved in this country, since I have not yet done anything for it; but they will love me, I assure you!"

I can’t help but think that some of this was written intentionally as a slight to the Prussians who ruled the region at the time, and who were very much disliked all throughout the country. "Remember when we had that ‘eeevil’ Frenchman here? Man, those were the days..."

#napoleon's marshals #joachim murat #joachimnapoleon #berg 1806

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softersinned-arc · 1 year

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THE GRIM FAMILY. They say that their name—and magic—comes from the sorcerer and berserker Egill Skallagrímsson, passed down through an illegitimate daughter born in Uppsala in the tenth century. (They say that their fury comes from him, too.) Five centuries later, Aleksi Grim left Sweden for Venice, where he met and married Ileana Morosini, a human. Their eldest daughter saw her magic as a curse, rather than a gift; while visiting her father’s family, she fled, joining the Bridgettine order in Vadstena. Their only son was not quite so gifted as the women in his family, or even his father, but he accepted his magic with joy. Their middle child, a daughter, proved difficult—Veronika resented the expectation that she marry and have children, and when a child did come, conceived out of wedlock, she found that she resented her daughter’s presence more than any expectations. Once determined to raise a young witch who could carry on the family’s name and power, Veronika found that she was ill-suited for motherhood, and had no wish to change this.

Astoria grew up with her mother largely absent, raised instead by Aleksi and Ileana, and thinking of Viktor—only twelve years her senior—as her brother more often than her uncle. Her grandfather taught her what magic he could as Veronika, unburdened by the necessity of a good reputation now that hers was thoroughly destroyed, enjoyed the security of her family’s wealth without much concern for the family’s needs. When Viktor married and had three sons, Astoria was named godmother to all of them, and when Ileana died of a fever, Astoria stepped into her grandmother’s shoes to run the household despite her youth and inexperience.

Astoria’s love for her grandparents, her “brother,” his wife, and her nephews is endless even after death. Her feelings towards her mother are significantly more complicated: Veronika loved her in her own way when she was a child, but that love faded into the vague affection of acquaintances or distant friends as she grew and became Aleksi’s and Ileana’s uncontested favorite. As she was absent from her daughter’s education, Veronika never knew just how powerful Astoria was. Perhaps to punish Astoria for the great sin of her birth, Veronika refused to share the identity of Astoria’s father, saying only that he was a witch as well, and that Astoria had inherited his red hair and his stubbornness.

Astoria’s disappearance and presumed death in 1547 caused her family incredible grief; Aleksi fell ill and died within the year, and Viktor and his wife inherited the family’s wealth and land. Certain that his godmother had been killed by vampires, Viktor’s youngest son was determined to find and slay Astoria’s killer; his grandchildren later found Astoria herself, and she was forced to kill them in defense of her own life as well as the safety of her new family.

THE VETRI FAMILY. Ileana Morosini’s older sister married into the Vetri family, and she bore two children before her death: Evander and Elyssa, both of whom inherited their parents’ magic. Having been close to Veronika in her childhood, they were named Astoria’s godparents, though they relocated to England shortly after her birth, and only knew her through occasional letters. When Astoria traveled to London, they introduced her to the English court, though she quickly learned that they were using her as a spy, to sell information to France to pay off long-standing debts. Her quick thinking saved her, and she was able to expose their treachery while saving her own life. Years later, Elyssa—only recently made a vampire—returned and took Astoria as a captive, determined to find a way to reverse the process, or to access the magic now lost to her, as well as to exact revenge.

Astoria was held prisoner by the Vetris for eight years, and turned after the first, when Elyssa lost control while feeding on her and decided that Astoria was more use to them alive than dead. Over the course of the first year, Astoria witnessed Elyssa’s attempt to turn a girl kidnapped from the nearby village, in preparation for turning Evander. The attempt was successful, but the girl, whose treatment rivaled Astoria’s, did not survive the year. During this time, Elyssa—who was, despite her cruelty, Astoria’s vampire mother—continued her experimentation, determined to see the full extent of a vampire’s strengths and weaknesses, and to test their ability as a species to survive. Fed infrequently, often kept chained, and tortured as much for her captors’ pleasure as for their experiments, Astoria broke free only once, killing nearly a dozen humans in her hunger (and almost killing Evander) before she was subdued and returned to her prison. Once she had been nearly bled dry, she was left for dead, Elyssa and Evander—who had himself been turned during these years—certain that she would die long before she was found, or that she would be killed if she escaped again, mad with hunger as she was.

Though they were her family—Elyssa her mother, Evander her brother—Astoria was determined to kill them. If asked to identify her family, she looked to Baldwin. Though Elyssa successfully turned two other vampires after Evander, Astoria only considers Elyssa’s first vampire her sibling, and she remembers her sister, Maristela, yearly on what she believes to be the anniversary of her death. Years later, Evander turned a young woman with a resemblance to Astoria, named Héloise; he had come to suspect her survival, and her association with Baldwin and potentially Philippe, and hoped to draw her out by leaving a trail of bodies that he could tie to her. Astoria eventually played a significant role in Héloise’s death, as well as killing Elyssa and Evander.

THE AVANO FAMILY. Led by Leonardo, a twelfth-century Lombard crusader turned on the field of battle, the Avano family is known mostly for their interventions in politics. Astoria met Leonardo during the period he took the surname Carminati, in memory of his human wife, first as a friend of her grandfather’s as the creatures in Italy built tentative alliances, and later as her savior when she was left for dead by the Vetris. Astoria lived with Leo for about twenty-five years, the first spent in near complete silence as she tried to heal from the physical and psychological toll of the torture she endured.

Once she had recovered enough to function, she and Leonardo were married by the archbishop so as to avoid any curiosity about their living arrangements, and to provide Astoria—going then by Cassandra Carminati—with a new identity so that she would not be discovered. Though they were, at least by human standards, husband and wife, Leonardo and Astoria’s relationship was always one of convenience above all else. They were friends, and lovers, but Astoria’s patience wore thin as she realized the imbalance in their relationship: she gathered information for him, helped in his pursuits, while he refused to teach her enough to stand independently from him. Like the Vetris, he valued her as a tool more than as a person; however, Astoria had few qualms about punishing Leo as a result, threatening to expose him as a vampire and to draw vampire hunters to their door, regardless of the threat to her own life.

She has never considered herself a part of the Avano family—a friend, certainly, but not a member, whatever her relationship with Leonardo in those years. Similarly, Leonardo would never refer to Astoria as a member of the family, and would be shocked to hear it from someone else. As far as they’re both concerned, once he handed her off to Baldwin, she was no longer his problem.

THE DE CLERMONT FAMILY. Astoria was left in Baldwin’s care around 1573. The de Clermont family needs no introduction in vampire society, though Astoria knew little about them. Her loyalty to the family was wholly dependent upon her loyalty to Baldwin in particular, who took her in to pay a debt he owed to Leonardo. She was initially skeptical of his motives, and certain that she would be sent elsewhere soon enough, but Baldwin more than earned her trust in those first decades as he taught her what she would need to know to survive. Before the end of Elizabeth’s reign in England, Astoria had come to consider Baldwin her family, and with each passing year she found herself more and more attached to him, until there was nothing to do except admit to herself that her devotion was driven by love.

Her connection to the de Clermonts was limited—Philippe liked her well enough, approving of her ruthlessness and her willingness to survive whatever the cost, while Ysabeau was understandably cautious in her praise, and Matthew actively disliked her, though he seemed to enjoy the opportunity to debate, if not outright argue, with someone so trained in the humanist tradition. Under Baldwin’s guidance, Astoria hunted down and killed Evander; when Evander’s daughter went on a grief-induced killing spree in return, drawing attention to Astoria and to the de Clermont family as a whole by summoning the Grim witches from Sweden to seek out and destroy their prodigal ancestor, she responded by forcing a confrontation in which Evander’s daughter was killed alongside the vampire hunters, giving the appearance of Astoria’s death.

After nearly a century together, Astoria and Baldwin separated for over a decade, Astoria following the survivors of the attack to Sweden, then to Venice, to ensure that the news of her death was delivered and that no threat to her new family remained. It was, in many ways, a rite of passage: to become a de Clermont, she had to be worthy of the name. With Ysabeau, she laid the groundwork for a witch hunt in Sweden, with the Grims at the center, and after the hunt had begun in earnest she relocated to Venice. There, she developed a close friendship with Baldwin's sister, Freyja, serving on the Congregation during those years, as she located and observed Elyssa. After Godfrey de Clermont’s unexpected death in 1668, Astoria left Venice to return to Baldwin’s side at the French court, her loyalty to, and love for, her closest friend and ally driving her to cross the distance as quickly as she could. The separation had practically been physically painful, and their reunion was a relief; not long after, she was brought to the family again, this time as Baldwin’s mate, and bearing the name Astoria de Clermont.

They have remained together since. While Philippe lived she was a chameleon, playing whatever role he asked of her, often that of spy after Louisa’s death, occasionally helping to manipulate negotiations in their favor. (Leonardo had trained her well in the art of politics and diplomacy, at the very least.) Every now and again, when Matthew could not—or when they feared he would not—complete a task and end a life, Astoria offered her services. To her husband she was whatever he needed: spy, saboteur, advisor, assassin. At Baldwin's insistence she served on the Congregation for a few decades, and found that she enjoyed politics immensely.

After Philippe’s death, Baldwin became the head of the family, and she, as his wife, became Madame de Clermont. Though she supported Baldwin's choice to allow Ysabeau to remain at Sept-Tours, agreeing that it would be cruel to take command of the castle even if they were entitled to do so, she does rank above her mother-in-law, and when present she is presented with Sept-Tours' keys. Since this change, she has become more publicly known, and though Baldwin's duty as head of the family is to protect the family and the name both, her duty as his consort is to protect him. Always both devoted and protective, she has become increasingly more so in the decades since Philippe's death, particularly in providing what support she can in his grief.

ALL SOULS TRILOGY. By the start of the first book in the trilogy, Astoria has settled into her new role. As she had previously, she fulfills any role necessary, and is as comfortable as Baldwin's private assassin as she is playing hostess to (and charming) members of the Congregation. Her relationship with Ysabeau is cordial, if perhaps a bit strained, and though she and Matthew don't get along particularly well, they see one another as family and are willing to look after each other for that reason if for no other. She is fairly close to Baldwin's sisters, with the exception of Verin, who she finds off-putting given the circumstances of her marriage.

Throughout the trilogy Astoria can be found wherever Baldwin is. Cleaning up Matthew's messes is nothing new, but breaking the Covenant goes above and beyond. Publicly, she continues as she has for centuries, offering her husband her unconditional support and deferring to him publicly, even if privately, they disagree. She becomes deeply concerned by the growing threat posed to the family, advocating for Diana to be turned to avoid worsening the situation, and as the disrespect and outright violence aimed at her husband increases, Astoria becomes less and less inclined to respond patiently or politely. Though she goes with Baldwin to help save Matthew, she never forgives him or Diana for their actions; despite this, she grows very fond of the twins.

POST-CANON. Astoria grows to forgive the members of the family who she feels betrayed the family by choosing loyalty to Matthew over loyalty to Baldwin or the de Clermont name, though the relationships take some time to repair. With the formation of the Bishop-Clairmont scion, she adopts what she feels to be an appropriate distance from the members of the scion, insisting that she's simply honoring their decision not to be a part of the main branch of the family. (She is, however, close to her favorites, such as Marcus, Phoebe, and Gallowglass, though it does take her some time to forgive her nephews.) When an old enemy returns and renews his threat against the de Clermonts, she leaps into action alongside her husband, taking frequent part in the politicking and warfare necessary to survive the rise of the Drăculești.

CURRENT RELATIONSHIPS. Astoria is closest to her husband, without a doubt, and to the family they share: his sisters and their families (including Godfrey's widow and surviving children), and their own children. She is particularly close to Freyja, Miyako, and Lydia. She is willing to forgive Marcus and Gallowglass in time, and in her eyes, Phoebe can do no wrong, nor can the twins. While she is polite to Matthew and Diana when necessary, she is otherwise frosty at best, and any care or concern she shows for them is for Baldwin's benefit rather than their own. The same holds true for Ysabeau, to whom she will show respect for Baldwin's sake (and, indirectly, for Philippe's), despite the fact that she has not (and may never) forgiven her.

She is a vocal advocate for forming new alliances, including with Domenico Michele, with whom she was friendly even before she was turned. When an alliance with Constanta Dracul falls through she is quick to suggest Domenico in her stead, arguing for him to sire Serafine's mate so that they can be married. While her history with witches, and taking part in Ysabeau's hunts, has made the witches of the Congregation and beyond understandably nervous with her, she is very friendly with and supportive of daemons, especially after Agatha Wilson's support for Baldwin during the failed vote to have him removed from the Congregation. She also (reluctantly) encourages an alliance with her last surviving sibling by Elyssa, Reza Vetri, and the two slowly begin to see one another as family based in no small part on their mutual hatred of their sire.

#(repost for beta editor reasons)#i. all you have is your fire and the place you need to reach. ( character development )

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brookstonalmanac · 6 months

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Events 11.10 (before 1950)

474 – Emperor Leo II dies after a reign of ten months. He is succeeded by his father Zeno, who becomes sole ruler of the Byzantine Empire. 937 – Ten Kingdoms: Li Bian usurps the throne and deposes Emperor Yang Pu. The Wu State is replaced by Li (now called "Xu Zhigao"), who becomes the first ruler of Southern Tang. 1202 – Fourth Crusade: Despite letters from Pope Innocent III forbidding it and threatening excommunication, Catholic crusaders begin a siege of Zara (now Zadar, Croatia). 1293 – Raden Wijaya is crowned as the first monarch of Majapahit kingdom of Java, taking the throne name Kertarajasa Jayawardhana. 1444 – Battle of Varna: The crusading forces of King Władysław III of Poland (aka Ulaszlo I of Hungary and Władysław III of Varna) are defeated by the Turks under Sultan Murad II and Władysław is killed. 1599 – Åbo Bloodbath: Fourteen noblemen who opposed Duke Charles were decapitated in the Old Great Square of Turku (Swedish: Åbo) for their involvement in the War against Sigismund and the related peasant revolt known as the Cudgel War. 1659 – Chattrapati Shivaji Maharaj, Maratha King kills Afzal Khan, Adilshahi in the battle popularly known as Battle of Pratapgarh. 1674 – Third Anglo-Dutch War: As provided in the Treaty of Westminster, Netherlands cedes New Netherland to England. 1702 – English colonists under the command of James Moore besiege Spanish St. Augustine during Queen Anne's War. 1766 – The last colonial governor of New Jersey, William Franklin, signs the charter of Queen's College (later renamed Rutgers University). 1775 – The United States Marine Corps is founded at Tun Tavern in Philadelphia by Samuel Nicholas. 1793 – A Goddess of Reason is proclaimed by the French Convention at the suggestion of Pierre Gaspard Chaumette. 1821 – Cry of Independence by Rufina Alfaro at La Villa de Los Santos, Panama setting into motion a revolt which led to Panama's independence from Spain and to it immediately becoming part of Colombia. 1847 – The passenger ship Stephen Whitney is wrecked in thick fog off the southern coast of Ireland, killing 92 of the 110 on board. The disaster results in the construction of the Fastnet Rock lighthouse. 1865 – Major Henry Wirz, the superintendent of a prison camp in Andersonville, Georgia, is hanged, becoming one of only three American Civil War soldiers executed for war crimes. 1871 – Henry Morton Stanley locates missing explorer and missionary, David Livingstone in Ujiji, near Lake Tanganyika, famously greeting him with the words, "Dr. Livingstone, I presume?". 1898 – Beginning of the Wilmington insurrection of 1898, the only instance of a municipal government being overthrown in United States history. 1910 – The date of Thomas A. Davis' opening of the San Diego Army and Navy Academy, although the official founding date is November 23, 1910. 1918 – The Western Union Cable Office in North Sydney, Nova Scotia, receives a top-secret coded message from Europe (that would be sent to Ottawa and Washington, D.C.) that said on November 11, 1918, all fighting would cease on land, sea and in the air. 1939 – Finnish author F. E. Sillanpää is awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature. 1940 – The 1940 Vrancea earthquake strikes Romania killing an estimated 1,000 and injuring approximately 4,000 more. 1942 – World War II: Germany invades Vichy France following French Admiral François Darlan's agreement to an armistice with the Allies in North Africa. 1944 – The ammunition ship USS Mount Hood explodes at Seeadler Harbour, Manus, Admiralty Islands, killing at least 432 and wounding 371. 1945 – Heavy fighting in Surabaya between Indonesian nationalists and returning colonialists after World War II, today celebrated as Heroes' Day (Hari Pahlawan). 1946 – A magnitude 6.9 earthquake in the Peruvian Andes mountains kills at least 1,400 people.

#Events

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ruminativerabbi · 11 months

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Contextualizing Trump

There are lots of different ways to approach the indictment of former President Trump on thirty-seven felony counts, but presuming the man’s guilt in advance should not be one of them: like anyone at all charged with a crime in our nation, the ex-President enjoys the presumption of innocence until such time as he is actually convicted of a crime. With that, none (I hope) can argue. Nor should anyone question his right to defend himself vigorously in court and to be aided in that defense by able counsel: all these are basic rights accorded to all accused individuals without exception and really should not be questioned at all, let alone challenged. The man has no more rights than anyone, but also no fewer!

But the larger question facing the American people as we wait to see what happens next is how to contextualize the whole affair. Surely, the principle that none is above the law is basic to any democracy. I lost track early on of how many times I heard those words cited in this specific context in the last week, which is as it should be: the notion that the sign of a truly healthy democracy is precisely that neither wealth nor status can protect someone from facing the legal consequences of his or her actions in a court of law is really unarguable. But that’s not quite the tack I wish to take in analyzing this last week’s events, which is to wonder aloud how to set last week’s indictment in its larger context. Of interest too is that President Trump’s former valet (now his aide), Walt Nauta, was also named in the indictment as a co-conspirator. That surprised me, but whether he is destined to turn into Gary from Veep or to morph into this year’s Michael Cohen remains to been. (Both went to jail, but one remained faithful to his boss and the other turned on him.) But the concept itself that the big man’s little man is going to have to answer for his own misdeeds is also a healthy sign that the law applies to the mighty and the lowly alike, just as it should and must.

One way to contextualize the indictment would be to do so horizontally by scanning the globe for similar stories. Of these, there is no lack. In 2021, the former president of France, Nicolas Sarkozy, was sentenced to a year in prison for corruption and influence peddling. The former president of South Africa, Jacob Zuma, has been charged with racketeering and money laundering, and will face trial. Ehud Olmert, the twelfth Prime Minister of Israel, was convicted of taking bribes and obstructing justice, then sentenced to six years in prison. And, of course, the Prime Minister of Israel, Benyamin Netanyahu, is also on trial for bribery and fraud. And that’s only to mention the most recent world leaders to face trial in their own countries. Nor was Israel the only country to put two of its political leaders on trial this century: Sarkozy’s predecessor, Jacques Chirac, was found guilty of paying bribes and accepting kickbacks in 2011 and handed a two-year suspended prison sentence. If this were a contest, though, South Korea would probably win: in the last three decades, five different former South Korean presidents have been tried and convicted of various offences. For a useful and very interesting summary published on the PBS website of world leaders who have been arrested, tried, and convicted (or not convicted), click here.

It's actually a very satisfying list to contemplate, one populated by politically powerful and mostly very wealthy individuals who were specifically not deemed to be above the law and who were therefore obliged to defend themselves in courts of law against the charges brought against them. But I’d like to propose an alternate way of contextualizing the Trump indictment, one rooted in American history rather than in the stories of other nations.

In the course of the last century, four presidents have had their reputations seriously tarnished by charges of criminal wrongdoing leveled against themselves or others close to them. Of them, however, Donald Trump is the first actually to face federal criminal charges. But considering no. 45 in the light specifically of three of his predecessors—nos. 29, 37, and 42—is an interesting exercise nonetheless.

Sometimes, it’s enough merely to be associated with bad people.

Warren Gamaliel Harding, no. 29, was in office for less than two and a half years, wrapping up his service to the nation in the summer of 1923 by suffering what was probably a serious heart attack while visiting Washington State and then dying a few days later in San Francisco. That he seems to have had a series of extra-marital affairs, including one that probably resulted in an illegitimate child and another that memorably featured a White House tryst in a closet off the Oval Office with Secret Service agents posted in the hallway to keep the couple safe from intruders, hasn’t helped his reputation. But it was not his infidelity that damaged his reputation—the nation had learned not to care much about that back in the days of Grover Cleveland—as much as it was his association with people later accused of serious crimes, including his Secretary of the Interior Albert Fell (who was later convicted of accepting hundreds of thousands of dollars in bribes in what came to be called the Teapot Dome Scandal) and his Attorney General, Harry Daugherty, who was tried on charges of corruption but in the end not convicted. Key is to realize that Harding himself was dead when all this came out and that he himself was never accused of actual wrongdoing while still alive and serving as President. And yet his name was so posthumously tarnished that he is regularly rated as among the very worst of our American presidents. So we begin with the story of a man who was tarnished by association, whose willingness to consort with men later openly labelled—in the court of public opinion as well as in actual courtrooms—as criminals ruined his reputation. This we could reasonably call guilt by posthumous association.

Moving along, we could consider the fate of William Jefferson Clinton, no. 42. Bill Clinton was accused over the years by at least four different women of sexual assault, but not by Monica Lewinsky, who never described herself as an assault victim. Nonetheless, it was lying about that specific relationship that led independent prosecutor Kenneth Starr to charge Clinton with perjury and obstruction of justice. This led directly to the December 1998 vote in the House of Representatives to impeach Clinton, which led to his five-week trial in the Senate. (That Kenneth Starr was supposed to be investigating the Clintons’ role in the Whitewater Real Estate scandal and not the president’s sex life may well have contributed to the sense among many that the president was being tried in the Senate unfairly.) Clinton was acquitted, but his reputation was severely tarnished by the whole affair, which would put him in a slightly different category than Warren Harding: both are remembered as philanderers, but Clinton’s famous “I did not have sexual relations with that woman” combined with his impeachment, his trial in the Senate, the suspension of his license to practice law in Arkansas, his disbarment from presenting cases in front of the U.S. Supreme Court, his being held in contempt of civil court, and the $90,000 fine he was obliged to pay for giving misleading testimony in court—all these together ruined Clinton’s reputation in the eyes of many. He is, of course, still alive and well, which puts him in a different category than Warren Harding, who at least had the good fortune to have his reputation ruined posthumously. And he has clearly bounced back to being a respected past-president whose company is sought out and whose counsel if valued.

And that brings me to no. 37, the president of my college years, Richard M. Nixon. In February of 1974, a federal grand jury was prepared to indict the by-then-former president by charging him with a variety of crimes connected with his association with the Watergate break-in: bribery, conspiracy, obstruction of justice, and obstruction of a criminal investigation. What would have happened if they had actually indicted him is hard to say—but it never happened because Congress was busy drawing up the articles of impeachment that led directly to Nixon’s resignation on August 8, 1974. The next day, Gerald Ford took the oath of office and became president. And a month after that, President Ford pardoned his predecessor, thus protecting him from criminal prosecution. (The question of whether Nixon effectively made Ford president in exchange for the promise of a pardon has never been settled. Ford was obliged to deny formally that such a deal existed when he was called to the House Judiciary Committee in the fall of 1974. But deal or no deal, that pardon cost him mightily: his approval rating dropped from 71% to 50% after he pardoned Nixon and that single act probably cost him the 1976 election.) It would be fair to say Nixon’s legacy was permanently tarnished by his decision to resign, which was understood at the time as a kind of unspoken yet somehow fully audible admission of guilt. And his reputation too was left in tatters by the whole sorry affair. So Nixon’s story presents yet a third version of doing what it takes to avoid paying the piper: Harding skipped the whole thing by dying before the corruption in his own cabinet became known, Clinton swallowed one bitter pill after the next but eventually walked away intact from the whole nightmarish series of disasters he basically brought down upon himself, and Nixon accepted the humiliation of resignation and then flew off into the sunset to live out his life in California.

And now, Trump. Could he end up in prison? It feels impossible to imagine that actually happening, and yet the crimes with which he has been charged could easily and would probably lead to incarceration for a non-ex-president who wasn’t actually the front runner for his party’s nomination to run for president next year. Eugene Debs famously ran for president in 1920 from a prison cell. (He lost, slightly amusingly, to the above-mentioned Warren G. Harding.) And, if he had won, Debs would theoretically have not been barred by his own incarceration from serving. (He had promised to pardon himself if elected, however, which action with respect to himself would certainly be on the agenda for the first day of Prisoner Trump’s new term of office.) Still, the basic principle upon which any true democracy rests—the Torah’s own principle of one single set of laws governing all, rich and poor, powerful and powerless, well-connected and poorly connected and totally disconnected—that specific principle is alive and well in our American republic. And regardless of the outcome of the Trump trial in Florida, that is something for all to celebrate.

#Richard Nixon #Donald Trump #Warren G. Harding #Bill Clinton

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blown-to-kingdom-come · 2 years

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(ignore the watermark pls :'D)

i don't know a short way to describe this clip. so much is happening. i just 2anted

Transcript under cut:

Start of clip:

[A clip from Sapnap's stream. Sapnap, Michaelmcchill, Nihachu, Eryn and Punz are in McPuffy's. Callahan is standing outside.]

Niki: Eryn, Eryn. Take this. [She throws a potion of fire resistance at Eryn]

Eryn [overlapping]: I am burning alive.

Punz: All right, Puffy Patties for everyone.

Eryn: Oh, well, Sapnap just took it.

Niki: That-That's okay.

Punz: And some French Fries from France.

[Eryn rides his horse out of McPuffy's onto the Prime path, where Awesamdude is now standing]

Michael [overlapping]: Oh, I didn't get [unintelligible]

Eryn: Hey look, it's Awesamdude.

[Sam runs into the McPuffy's]

Sam: Everyone go to the prison! Go to the prison! [Mic cutting out]

Eryn, Michael: What?

Punz: The prison?

Eryn: Awesamdude, what's up bro?

[Sapnap leaves McPuffy's and heads towards the prison. Sam, Michael, Callahan and Eryn follow him.]

Michael: Why the prison? Why the prison?

[Multiple people present talk over Sam, saying "What?" "Dream?" "Dream escaped?" "Holy shit."]

Sam: They're letting Dream out! Everyone go to the edge of the prison! Just-Just try and stop him from getting out! Come on! Sam: It's now or never! He's literally trying to get him out! [unintelligble] out of his cell! Everyone needs to go to the south side of the prison! Just go there! Go there!

["Able Sisters" starts playing]

Eryn: Okay, let's go, I guess.

[Mulitple people start laughing]

["Able Sisters" stops playing. Tommy has joined the VC by this point.]

Tommy: Wait, Sam, what's going on? Wait. Wait, what?

Sam [overlapping]: Dream's getting out. Tommy, he's getting out right now!

[Michael sings the "Able Sisters"]

Tommy: Wait, Sam. [Voice raised] Don't fuck with me, Sam, okay?! Don't joke about shit like that! Don't just say--

[Sapnap has reached the south side of the prison by this point.]

Sapnap [overlapping]: I'm on the south side!

Sam: Tommy, he's breaking out, Tommy! I only have a minute! I only have a minute before they bring me back!

Tommy [overlapping]: What? What?

Sapnap: I'm on the south side!

Tommy: What do you mean he's--?

Sapnap: To--

Tommy: Don't-- d... d... dude, Sam, if this is one of your fucked-up jokes, then I--

Sam [overlapping]: He's in the prison! He's in the prison right now!

Sapnap [overlapping]: Sam, Sam, this isn't funny!

Tommy: What do you mean he's in the prison?!

Sapnap: That's where he's supposed to be!

[Jack Manifold has joined the VC by this point.]

Jack: Loud alarm! Really loud noise! Why the fuck is there a loud noise?!

Sam: It's the alarm! Of course there's a loud noise!

Eryn: What do you mean, there's an alarm?

Jack: What do you mean, an alarm?!

Sapnap: What the fuck? Sam, are you sure we're supposed to be on the south side? This is the side where there's just water. There's nothing here.

Sam: That's where he came in from! [Stammering] You gotta be here! Just-just be around! Be around the prison!

Eryn: Sam, are you lying to us?

Sam: No! Why would I lie?!

Michael: Are you fucking with us, Sam?

Tommy: Are you... are you...

Sam [overlapping]: I wouldn't lie! Tommy, Tommy. [Unintelligble]

Tommy: Sam, look me in the fucking eyes. Where is everyone? There's Jack.

Sapnap: We're on the south side, Tommy. Where are you?

Tommy: Look me in the eyes. If you are... if you are fucking kidding--

Sam [overlapping]: I don't have long. They're gonna teleport me back. They're gonna teleport me back.

Tommy: What do you mean, they-- explain! Explain what's-- [stammering] What?

Sam: Techno broke into the prison and he's breaking Dream out! I literally do not have long! [Stammers]

[Sapnap is running towards the south-east of the prison.]

Sapnap: Tommy, where are you?

Tommy: If Dream-- [gasps]

[Sapnap zooms in his vision to see Tommy and Jack. Tommy is looking at the place where Sam presumably was before being teleported back into the prison]

Tommy: What the fu--?

End of clip

#if this doesn't upload i'll cry the transcript took so lomg #dream smp #dream smp clips #video #sapnap #michaelmcchill #nihachu #eryn #punz #callahan #awesamdude #tommyinnit #jack manifold #dream smp spoilers #i hope this transcript is all right #it's my first time transcribing a video :'D

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gotham-ruaidh · 2 years

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Alexander MacGregor's Bible

Gotham Reads Bees

In chapter 17 I was astonished to see this book return:

The house’s entire library stood in two modest piles on the table beside his wineglass. A small Bible bound in green cloth, very much the worse for wear. He touched it gently, as he did every time he saw it; it was an old companion—a friend that had seen him through many bad times.

It is indeed an old companion. Jamie has had the Bible in his possession for longer than he's known Claire.

We first meet the Bible in Book 1:

Jamie had kept the small Bible. He rummaged in his saddlebag, and handed it across now for me to look at. It was a worn, leather-covered volume, about five inches long, printed on paper so flimsy the print showed through from one side of each page to the other. On the flyleaf was written Alexander William Roderick MacGregor, 1733. The ink was faded and blurred, and the covers warped as though the book had gotten wet on more than one occasion. I turned the little book over curiously. Small as it was, it must have cost something in effort to keep it by him, through the travels and adventures of the last four years.

Alexander MacGregor had been a prisoner at Fort William. After Jamie had been flogged, and was healing at the fort - the surgeon gave him the Bible to read, to keep his mind occupied. When Jamie enquired after the owner, the surgeon informed him that the man had taken his own life. After a (presumably) unwitting encounter with one Captain Randall.

Jamie has kept the Bible ever since, to honor Alexander MacGregor. He had it with him when Murtagh and Dougal broke him out of Fort William, not too much longer after this. He had it on him in France, when he was a mercenary. And he had it with him in his saddlebags when Murtagh dragged a strange English sassenach down a fairy hill in the Scottish Highlands...

#outlander #outlander spoilers #go tell the bees that i am gone #gotham reads bees

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cherryblossomtease · 3 years

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Chapter 12

18 + only

warnings and summary - Masterlist

Warnings: 18+ for explicit sexual content: depictions of sub/dom lifestyle and lead up to m/m sexual relationship. If it’s not your thing please keep scrolling. Thank you!

Is there a word for this feeling? The one that happens when you wake up not knowing when or where you are…

Is it day, is it night? Is this my bed? Is this even a bed? Am I home and if not, how far away am I? So many questions go tumbling around in your head so quickly that you just have to shut your eyes against the bizarre sensation. It’s one of the few that’s happened to absolutely everyone at some point. And as you lie there in bed —yes, this is definitely a bed— you think, no way the Germans don’t have a word for this strange phenomenon.

Inhaling slowly, exhaling even slower, you finally feel it come rushing back to you so that by the time you’ve filled your lungs with a nice deep breath of salty ocean air, the smile that raises your cheeks turns into a silent laugh as you roll onto your side, curling up tight, sliding your hand across the empty expanse of the cool bedsheets, lightly perfumed by the fading scent of his cologne which makes you feel warm all over.

You open your eyes, blinking, focusing, letting the view refresh the last of the memories.

You should have known, you think laying your hand on the pillow where he’d been. You stroke the high thread count like you did his hair and his face as he’d looked into your eyes and your racing hearts settled. How many unnecessary tears were shed for him? How much time was spent worrying that you might never see the man again when all you had to do was trust that no prison could keep Helmut Zemo locked away for long, and you laugh because a year must be a record for shortest maximum security prison stays.

Now, while escaping from the supposedly inescapable is impressive, you can’t begin to fathom how he’s done it and you’re more than happy to keep it that way which is probably for the best as Zemo’s made it pretty clear he doesn’t want you in possession of said knowledge for your own safety. The less you know at this uncertain stage in the game the better. You’re physically far from government detection or any others lookin to recapture the Baron for that matter, still, nothing is ever fully guaranteed.

Luckily it’s hard to feel anything other than at peace as you smile and lazily roll onto your back, stretching your arms over your head before looking down the length of the king sized bed to find the source of light warming your bare skin.

Oh, you smile That’s right.

The matching circular windows are very large and offer views of wild blue water as far as the eye can see. It is the very definition of tranquility.

And just off to the side is a glass door that opens to a large balcony just calling your name. You'll spend too much time out there soon enough you think, imagining falling asleep with a good book and a drink. After all, you’ve got two weeks before you reach France and then it's a quick flight to you final destination of Villefranche-Sur-Mer, according to Zemo.

Two incredible weeks— and to think you’d nearly dismissed that text this morning as nothing but annoying spam.

Luckily something about it brought you back after you'd poured cereal and milk into your bowl. You’d sat at the kitchen counter unable to look away from that single message sent from an unknown number, your breakfast all but forgotten.

It was short and to the point and it reminded you of the kind Zemo used to send what felt like a lifetime ago when the instructions were no more than a time but now there was the added bonus of a location and you were no longer the sole recipient.

The sound of Bucky charging down the hall of his apartment that had become just as much yours since Zemo went away answered the question before it could be asked.

“You got it too didn’t you?” You’d asked him looking up.

Bucky stood in the doorway, hair wet and slicked back from his shower, gripping the towel he’d quickly tossed around his waist and smelling like your body wash which he liked to snag when he ran out of his own. You didn’t mind so much but it was confusing when you were a tangle of arms and legs and other parts that smelled the same…

“It’s a trick. It’s gotta be.” He’d insisted, to which you’d rolled your eyes and considered throwing your phone at his head for saying something so ridiculous. Why would Zemo play a game so cruel. “He’s in the raft” He said your name with a finality that made you reconsider, but when you looked down at your phone again, you knew it wasn’t true.

This was him. This was Zemo.

“Go get dressed. I really think something’s happened.” You’d told him. He’d stood there for a second longer, his face unreadable. But he did turn and disappear down the hall, wet footprints on the hard wood left behind.

You must have been shaking as you waited. You’d been so anxious and your head a mess of worry and hope and fear and hesitation but so much excitement.

By the time Bucky came back dressed in sweats and a t-shirt which bothered you because you wanted him dressed to go, you were completely convinced you’d hear a knock at the door and find the Baron on the other side, you’d always been good at working yourself up into a frenzy.

Bucky had been the complete opposite. You can still see him; a gloomy hundred year old kill-joy.

You remember thinking he might have been a worried at first. A little jealous or scared maybe? Like he’d gotten too used to your life and the return of the man responsible for what you had together could also be the one to see it come to an end which was just silly. James was and would always will be your best friend, but your friendship had long since proven to be more than late night Netflix binging and ordering takeout.

In fact the night before the text, he’d come in long after you’d gone to bed. He’d been gone for nearly two weeks on some grand mission with Sam —off to save the world no doubt.

You were dreaming when he’d slipped in behind you and pulled you close, waking you with the warmth of those perfect lips so soft and full, the touch of his kiss leaving a trail of heat down your shoulder and back, only to flip you over once you were half awake with the strength of that wonderfully dangerous arm. As he pulled your shorts down and found you in the dark, you happily gave in, welcoming him home as only you could, and never once did either of you expect that your unconventional but comfortable life would come to such an abrupt end.

But no, he wasn’t jealous. You knew it because there was something sort of sweet in the look of shock on his face that gave you pause in asking why he was reacting this way.

That, was the look of man conflicted.

As you’d begun cleaning the apartment —certain you’d be leaving it soon— you’d paused and studied him sitting on the couch, alone with his thoughts, phone held in his hand like he’d never put it down. You knew Bucky well enough to know the basics of what he must have been thinking.

The Winter Soldier had been trapped in the living prison of his own body for a lifetime. Now Bucky was forever free to make his own choices. You certainly wouldn’t be the one to persuade him into doing anything he didn’t truly want to do. But you also knew that you weren’t alone in missing Zemo; not after what the three of you had shared and certainly not after what the two of them had come so close to starting.

But that poor dear, somewhat clueless man. For someone who was still adjusting to life in the present day after such a strange journey you tried to cut him some slack. He was still torn, still stuck between worlds. Having to question what he knew about his sexuality didn’t seem like a very fair thing to have to add to the mix, but that’s life. Unexpected to say the least.

He could no more deny his draw to Zemo than he could his desire to be a good person. These things were solid facts; He didn’t want to kill anymore and he was absolutely attracted to this man and presumably others, but yes particularly this one.

But now he was worried that giving in to his own happiness might cost him his friendship with people like Sam, and almost certainly his freedom when he’d only just gotten it back. Not because of being bi-sexual, but, because of, well— Helmut Zemo.

As much as you didn’t want to, you could easily understand the conflict.

Once you’d finished cleaning and packing your weekend bag you went back into the living room and made him look at you. “I know you’re worried about Sam and the others. All those super heroes you know. But what sort of friends would they be if they stopped you from living your life the way you want to live it?”

“Good ones if It means living with an escaped criminal.” His retort was so logical. You hate it when he’s right.

“One that you helped escape before right?”

“That was for a reason. This is all Zemo.”

“Did he really deserve to be in there?”

“Do you really want me to answer that question.”

You did not, so you’d stepped away and gave in, just letting him be.

It was frustrating to say the least but Bucky was not allowed to steal your joy, no matter how true it all was. Unfortunately, he was very much tied to that joy.

When you’d rushed back down the hall almost forgetting your tooth brush, he’d finally gotten up and gone into the bedroom but you'd ignored him, not out of anger but because It broke your heart to think you’d be leaving him alone to his own misery. It was the last thing you wanted to do, but if you absolutely had to you would.

Zemo was the man you’d loved long before you met Bucky, you would not put the Baron aside for another person's moral dilemmas, even if might crush your heart. You would leave and send word of where you and Zemo were and hope that he could join you in time but you had to see Helmut, you couldn’t ignore the message.

However, Sargent James Buchanan Barnes could be a real man of surprise when he wanted to be.

As you finished cleaning up, tears in your eyes for what you would be leaving behind, he’d come into the kitchen with his own black duffle bag and tossed it down on the floor.You’d spun around at the sound of it hitting the tile and kept it together but you could have screamed you were so happy.

He gave you that “don’t say anything” look so instead you just flashed a brilliant smile and kissed his cheek which he dismissed as if he didn’t love it, but you saw the way his eyes lit up. He could have hidden it from someone else who hadn’t spent the last year living with him but not you.

“It’s not permanent. I can’t stay no matter where he’s taking us. But, for a little while I think it’ll be all right."

“Of course!” You weren't pressed, you'd just talk him into it later because as of that minute you’d been too elated to care about time.

“So what the hell are these instructions?” You’d asked Bucky in the cab out of the city

“I have an idea.” He said shaking his head a little. He was clearly thinking ‘what have I gotten myself into’ which made you laugh. You could hear Zemo in your head, his answer simply being ‘Trouble’

“Well where are we going?” You’d asked anxious to know more.

“I don’t think we’re staying in New York if that’s what you’re asking.”

You’d quickly looked back at the city, watching the bridges fade behind you, wondering if you’d see them again. There was a strong possibility that it would be a while before you did.

As expected, Bucky knew his stuff. You were definitely leaving the city. The instructions were a time and location as you’d guessed but you hadn’t understood that the second half were coordinates and not for the cab.

When you got out of the very expensive car ride— which you charged to that handy little black credit card that had magically appeared in your mailbox about a year ago (thanks prison daddy)— the two of you stood in what looked like no more than an old shipping yard.

“Come on, I actually know this place. We need to go this way.” Bucky said with his head down and eyes up, his serious face looking every bit the superhero he was when he wasn’t with you. It always made you laugh a little. This was the same guy who also sat around in his underwear watching reality competition shows with you eating ice cream…

“What’s this way?”

“Room.”

Cryptic. They always love being cryptic you’d grumbled following him, feeling on edge as you’d snaked your way through the maze of shipping containers and storage units.

As you came near the water, the rusted out rectangles did in fact clear and the narrow passages opened up giving enough space, or as Bucky had said, ‘room’ for a blacked out helicopter to rise up. It was the sort of midsized military grade machine made for traveling long distance and sitting inside was a pilot-- the sort who deals in silence and cash only transactions.

“What exactly did you tell Sam?” You’d asked once you were in the air with your headset on. “I’m sure you had to tell him something to keep him and anyone else from asking questions.”

“That I finally decided to take a vacation” Bucky’d said, his voice clear in your ears as he glanced at you. He didn't have to ask for you to see that he really didn't want you to make fun of him for it either.

“Ha! And he bought that?”

“I think so. He said it was— a good look for me.” He mocked Sams tone.

You’d laughed rubbing his warm arm and laying your head on his shoulder agreeing with Sam whole heartedly but for very different reasons.

About an hour or more in you’d fallen asleep only to be startled awake by the sound of Bucky’s humorless laughter just in time to see your destination come into view.

“I knew it.” He’d sneered looking through your window.

“Oh my god” You sat up leaning forward peering down at the white oval in the expanse of blue.

“Of course.” The way Bucky could detest Zemo’s opulence would forever amuse you. He’d sat back refusing to look anymore, as if you weren’t about to land anyway.

“It's perfect,” You’d insisted.

“He’s such an asshole” He'd grumbled but you’d caught the little twitch of a smile.

“Shut up Bucky. It’s amazing”

“Its a god damned yacht!” His voice gone high with the absolute offense of it all.

All you could do was laugh.

You lie in bed remembering stepping out of the helicopter, your bags tossed out and the bird in the air so quickly it’s like the pilot was never there.

“Still think this was a good idea?” Bucky’d asked as if anything about this might have changed your mind.

Impressed by the private landing pad on the highest deck but already aware of the delights that were undoubtedly waiting below, you’d just smiled and gave his cheek a pat. “Come on.”

Bucky grabbed both bags and you’d led him down the steps and onto a massive deck of beautiful pale wood lined with low white couches at the far end, blinding in the bold sun. Beneath the overhang was a large wet bar, with glasses already set out and an ice bucket, the neck of a champagne bottle greeting you.

“Please miss. Allow me”

You’d both looked behind you, startled to find the old butler Oeznik coming up from the center stairwell.

Poor thing, you'd nearly toppled him, throwing your arms around his neck but you really did adore that wonderful old man. He’d just laughed and hugged you back welcoming you aboard.

You thanked him but no sooner had he offered had you forgotten all about his hospitality.

Your back had been turned when you heard your name said with the soft accented voice that you had missed, craved and imagined for so many months…

“Helmut.” You will never forget what it felt like to turn and find him.

He stepped from the shadows and into the sun and you can still feel the way you’d bit down on your bottom lip to keep from crying.

Those eyes, that hair, his smile; so subtle and sly. You’d nearly forgotten that you could in fact go to him. He wasn’t just a man made up from your lonely daydreams but flesh and blood and so perfectly made.

It took him drawing his hands from his pants pockets— linen pants of all the casual things— to break the spell.

He’d opened his arms to just the right size for you and there was no holding back then.

What had it felt like? You try to remember now, but it's useless. You can remember him pulling you in as though he couldn’t stand another second without you close. You’d closed your eyes inhaling his scent as he touched your face and hair, his fingers brushing along your neck and shoulders. It’s so lovely and primitive the way touch and smell can become the thing that reunites and reacquaints us. You were like two animals in the wild and you’d gasped at the feel of his face gliding against yours, and his arms so tight around you until he'd pressed his forehead to yours whispering things you couldn’t understand as you held onto his forearms giving in to the thin line of tears that fell from your eyes. It was an unexpected moment of reconnecting. You knew you’d missed him, but this was so much more. You’d felt ready to submit to every command so quickly it honestly surprised you. The warm touch of his face against yours, his breath along your neck and finally his lips meeting your own was and will always be your first experience with what people describe as coming home. And then he’d pulled back, looked you in the eyes and simply said “Hello”

You couldn’t say anything back. You just watched him look past you and saw how his expression changed. You still can’t place it… “James.” The way he said his name. God it was so beautiful. You’d turned in Zemo’s arms and saw the look on Bucky’s face. There were tears in his eyes that you’re not sure he was even aware of.

“Zemo”

“How was the ride?” He’d asked politely.

“Fine.”

The tension was charged. There was unfinished business between them that they would need to work out on their own, but you hoped they could do it quickly.

And then Zemo raised his hand in offering. He had after all sent that text to two people.

Bucky hesitated for longer than he needed to, but when he did come forward and gripped the Baron in what he’d assumed would be no more than a handshake, Zemo smiled and pulled him in. He’d let go to hold Bucky by the back of his head for a moment gazing at his face. “I actually didn't expect you” He said sounding relieved.

Bucky gave in to his own feelings and reached out, gently grabbing Zemo’s waist. “Well Im here.”

“So you are.” He’d said, the pressure of such strong feelings for his soldier bubbling at the surface, desperate to be released. But he just stroked Bucky’s jaw with his thumb and smiled before looking down at you. “And now that you are, let me show you both around.”

Sitting up, you rub your eyes and find your clothes tossed all over the place mixed in with Zemo’s.

As he’d attempted to show you and Bucky the ship and explain your route, his hand would linger on the small of your back. He would find your curves as he talked about the endless amenities the yacht had to offer until neither of you were sure if he was talking about you or the boat. By the time you’d come down to the cabin deck, he’d pulled you close from behind as Bucky went on ahead unaware. Zemo grabbed your hips exhaling against your ear and you’re fairly certain it was the moan you let slip when he ever so gently pulled your hair, tilting your head to the side as he whispered something to you in Sokovian that got Bucky’s attention.

“James, please help yourself to anything at all. There are more comfortable clothes in the room here. If you’d like, Oeznik can help you find whatever you need. But— it has been a year since I’ve seen her.” He’d said his grip on your hair easing a bit as he stroked his fingers down your back. “As I’m sure you understand a year without a woman like this is a year too long.”

There was a tense few seconds between them and you worried you'd been wrong about the jealousy, but Bucky's face relaxed as he looked around Zemo towards the back of the yacht. “Was that a bottle of Longrow scotch I spotted in that other room?”

“Ah.” He seemed impressed with Bucky’s keen eye. “18 years." Zemo smiled.

“Perfect.” Bucky winked and slipped past giving your cheek a quick pinch.

After that you don’t even remember getting into the room. One second you’d been standing in the hall lost in a wash of furious kisses and the next he had you over his shoulder charging down the hall to the master bedroom practically kicking the door in.

He’d sat you down and you’d both gone wild pushing and pulling at your clothes only just breaking away from one another’s lips to actually undress with a few anxious smiles, some excited laughter tossed in until finally you were naked and then….

You hide your face behind your hand now remembering how good it felt, even though it’d been strange to have another man inside of you after so long.

There was no sign of your former lifestyle this time as he’d fucked you so perfectly. This time, desperate as he was, Helmut was gentle. He’d picked you up and held you between the wall and his own body, finding you easily, moaning into the space between you as he watched your face. He seemed so pleased to see you react to his attention as you once had, because yes, he was another man— he was the Baron and no one could ever take his place.

You’d ended up in the bed on your back nearly in tears from the feel of being under him after so long apart. Not until he’d felt you nearing your climax did he slip back into his natural state of dominance and only just enough to make the orgasm stronger as he’d closed his lovely fingers around your throat and looked into your eyes as you came and he’d whispered your name “I love you…"

Thank the stars that man is free, you smile wide now letting the lasting pleasure ripple through your body.

You look up and say it to yourself again letting the truth of him being here and you for that matter ground you. This day has been a whirlwind and until this moment you’ve been flung from one emotional state to the next. This is the first time you’ve been alone to process it and you are thankful, but the moment is short lived because Helmut’s escape was no small feat and you are not the only one ecstatic about his return.

Eyeing the closet across the room you feel a twinge of a different sort. Helmut is a planner, you’re certain there’s nothing but extraordinary outfits just waiting to be worn and you decide very easily that it’s time to get up and celebrate his freedom and address the very sexy, very annoying tension between the two men you love most in all the world before it consumes them both.

#zemo x reader #bucky barns x you #zemo fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #winterbaron #baron zemo #zemo smut #helmut zemo #bucky barnes is so sweet #also grumpy #but mostly the best #but also perfect

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hartrathaway · 3 years

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Hii I'm interested in Hartley's story but I know literally nothing about him except that he was Wally's gay bestie in the 90s, what's his deal? Do you have any comic recs for him?

HI IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG!!!!!!!!

Okay, so really brief, his dealio is: born to ‘incredibly rich’ parents (we never get a specified ballpark, but Hartley states that he was ‘born with two silver spoons in [his] mouth’ if that helps context wise), Hartley’s deaf! His parents had him get cochlear implants when he was a child, which ‘medically healed him’. (His deafness has been treated extremely ablest by writers who actually remember he’s deaf, I need to warn you of this now.) He’s a music and sound waves guy, a former villain (it’s an on again off again relationship, but a lot of his character is defined by his time as a hero) and he’s very leftist. Gay best friend in the AIDS crisis turned Wally West from a midwestern conservative to a leftie as well. (Wally’s wife, Linda Park, was a major contributing factor, but we’re focusing on Hartley for this, so I’m gonna talk about him.)

I’ve got a mix of good reading from all over, so I’m gonna break this into sections, and do my best to describe which is which. (all my screencaps are from this website right here, because i do not own all the back issues and it would have taken much, much longer to do this post, and as such, some of them are not sized or formatted correctly) Click the read more if you’re interested! Please note: I am not a 100% authority figure on Hartley, and I know there’s a few stories I have left out (the story with Bart Allen’s first appearance is a good one that Hartley is in), but these are the gist of who is he, what he’s been up to, and what is the family drama.

So for New Earth (otherwise known as post-Crisis on Infinite Earths), is where Hartley actually becomes Wally’s friend, and is a hero! I’m going to focus on this section first. Unfortunately, due to being a minor character, a lot of stuff is broken into small stories, or things that are happening behind the scenes, so there’s no real issue x - y that’s gonna help much.

The Flash Vol 2 #31, #32 Quick summary: In issue 31, supervillain here is killing homeless people, Hartley has been helping these same people get up on their feet by helping them get squatter’s rights. They skip the fighting because a kid asks if they’re going to fight for a half hour and then team up, and go right to the team up. They get Linda Park in, supervillain ends up backfiring his powers. In issue 32, Wally, Hartley, and their pal Mason officially move to Keystone city. Hartley’s folks are in trouble while the three of them are trying to freeload (off of Hartley’s parents, his and his parents’ relationship is better now than it had been, for a multitude of reasons), Wally and Hartley rescue Hartley’s parents, we also meet Jerrie, Hartley’s sister, and all is resolved there. Yay, the family loves each other again!

(issue 31)

(issue 32)

The Flash Vol 2 #53 Special mention this is the issue where Hartley comes out and also has to inform Wally that Wally cannot tell who is a homosexual. Also Wally’s an IRS agent here, for shame Wallace. At least Hartley gets to cosplay Wally at the end, so that’s fun. Content warning for this issue specifically is some casual homophobia, just so you know that going in.

(issue 53)

The Flash Vol 2 #170 In 170, Hartley’s being contacted by his father to call in ‘a favor’ that Hartley owes him. The main plot line includes (one of) Wally’s ex(es) showing up, a former hero and teammate, Frances Kane, otherwise known as Magneta. A person has been found murdered at Keystone Motors, and supervillain Goldface begins rallying union workers (which seems to just be a poorly timed coincidence). The story itself (170 - 173) in and of itself is really fun, but I’m only going to talk about Hartley, or else I’ll be here all day.

(issue 170)

The Flash Vol 2 #174, #175, #178, #179 And here we get some drama! I’m grouping all of these together, since it’s all the same chunk of the story for Hartley, but since it’s the Flash, Wally’s center stage. In 174, the people who were living with the Rathaway family aren’t exactly big fans of Hartley. They know he’s changed his ways, he’s a hero now, but it’s just… something feels off. There’s loud music sounds, and bam! Suddenly Hartley’s there and oh boy is this gonna be a hot mess. In issue 175, we see some footage, and Hartley’s the lead suspect in his parents’ murder, considering that the footage has Hartley onscreen. 178 rolls up, and after Wally’s getting Gorilla Grodd taken care of (and that fight is a doozy), Wally gets to find out Hartley’s been arrested for the murder of his own parents, and Hartley confesses on-screen to his parents’ murder (Also Hartley’s got a beard now, that’s how you know he’s depressed.) 179 opens with Hartley being processed. Linda and Wally go to see him, and although Hartley confessed, he said “I think I did.” (emphasis is mine; in the panel Hartley says “I think I did.”) Joker? He’s got some Joker-fied people, and poor Hartley gets it too :( Hartley straight up nearly kills Captain Boomerang (it’s okay, Wally stops him), and surprise! Welcome back to Iron Heights Hartley. Gonna have a fun time :)

(issue 174; this is the least messy part of the panel, but it was intended to be that way)

(issue 175)

(issue 178)

(issue 179)

The Flash: Iron Heights Brief interlude from the main comic line, we’ve got a one-shot that’s taking place in Iron Heights. This takes place before Hartley gets arrested, presumably (since, y’know, they’re breaking in and all). Fun one-shot honestly, keeps me on my toes the whole time. Hartley’s a main character, and it’s less personal drama and very story driven. You don’t need this to enjoy Hartley regardless, but I enjoy it!

(The Flash: Iron Heights, which you can read here.)

The Flash Volume 2 #189, #190 189! Now we find out how Hartley’s parents were actually murdered! No spoilers, but we do get a prison breakout. This is where we get some origin story! Don’t read this first though, because you’re going to be spoiling yourself the plot of his arrest. In 190 we get more origin, including the way DC treated his deafness. (It’s ablest, and I’m still mentally grappling how you wouldn’t notice your child being deaf for two years, but okay Rachel and Osgood, you keep being bad.) The story goes on for now, with Hartley on the run from… well, everyone.

(issue 189)

(issue 190)

This is pretty much it for New Earth Hartley up until Countdown.

I don’t like Countdown at all. I’m much happier pretending that Countdown doesn’t exist (both because of how it treats Hartley for a multitude of reasons, and how Thad Thawne is treated leading up to Countdown). More happens with Hartley’s storyline in Countdown, but I hate it with such a passion that I wouldn’t recommend it at all. Countdown leads into Final Crisis, and I’m not a fan of either. However, should you wish to read and make your own opinions, here’s Countdown and here’s Final Crisis. Please note, Countdown’s issues are done in reverse order (so from issue 51 to 1, rather than 1 to 51)

And now I’m going to tell you the gospel truth:

I do like New 52 Hartley! A lot. Unfortunately, he’s not as much in the n52 Flash run as I would like (but I’m biased, as obvious by my url). What you need to know is that Hartley’s a musician now, like orchestra director, and he’s in a relationship with Barry’s boss, David Singh. (power move, honestly) Unfortunately, we don’t get a whole lot in the main line. Also at this point, the Wally West of New Earth hasn’t transitioned to the n52. Wallace West of n52 is an entirely different character, and that’s a whole other issue for another discussion. Wally West as we know him from New Earth doesn’t come back for a while. Wally and Hartley haven’t talked since before Flashpoint, and that’s a shame.

So read the Crimes of Passion Anthology he’s got please I’m begging you. The only downside is that the artist gave him a haircut.

(Crimes of Passion: Secret Admirer)

I haven’t read anything DCeased related, and while I know Hartley gets his time to shine and kiss David, I can’t tell you much beyond that. I’m pretty sure there’s other people who can tell you more, but it’s not me I’m afraid. (This is me saying guys, please tell me about Hartley in DCeased, someone tell me about my fictional lavender marriage husband.)

#Anonymous #ask #hartley rathaway #pied piper #pied piper dc #dc #(for my own records)#i'm biased and i hope the read more keeps the worst of this off of my followers' dashes #hope this helps!!!!

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needcake · 3 years

Text

whumptober 2021, day 3: taunting

The King of Northern Lusitania.

That was what his Marshal claimed to be now that he had taken the country without resistance.

France could barely conceal his disgust. The Marshal, standing by the window of a house he had confiscated from a noble family that had fled to Brazil along with the court, seemed to have forgotten for a moment that, although he had been appointed Ambassador to Portugal in the years before the invasion, he was far, far, from the succession line of the new country they would create after partitioning Portugal into three, and that this insubordination would not go unnoticed once the news of his claims reached Paris.

But this was a matter for another time. His last conversation with Spain before coming to Lisbon had left him with a persistent headache and his patience was wearing a little too thin.

“Is he here?” he limited himself to ask and the Marshal informed him that no, the man he wanted had been moved to another location after his last escape attempt. “Take me to him, then.”

He cared very little for the thoughts the Marshal was entertaining in his head as he stared at France, but the longer he went without complying to his order, the more France felt like breaking his nose.

At last a junior officer was called upon and he was taken down the street to an unmarked door, past the two soldiers posted at the entrance with their weapons on their shoulders, and up two flights of marble stairs. All the furniture and the ornaments in the house had been removed, every painting, every object on display, even the chandeliers. Of their existence, only the empty squares of faded color remained on the wallpaper.

The empty corridors echoed their footsteps and the young man guided him to a door at the far end, pulled a heavy keychain from his pocket and unlocked the door.

“I’ll have that now,” he told him and extended his hand. He hesitated, his eyes darting between France’s tight lips to the insignias in his uniform. He deposited the set of keys on France’s white gloves and stood at attention. “You can go wait downstairs now.”

He waited until the young officer had nodded and complied, his steps fading in the distance, before he breathed deeply in. The ache in his head was killing him.

The first thing he saw after he pushed the door open was Portugal’s furious green eyes, his body a shadow against the wall in the dark room.

“It’s a lovely day outside, you should open the curtains,” he said as he locked the door behind him. Portugal remained in silence, still glaring at him. France huffed a breath and walked to the window himself, throwing the curtains open and allowing light to enter the room. Portugal squinted at the sudden change in luminescence, but he soon glared at him again.

France allowed himself a small smirk.

“Do you remember when father dragged you back after your brilliant escape attempt while he was in the East? You looked at him like that too.”

“And he beat me,” Portugal said, his voice a little hoarse. From disuse, France presumed.

“Ah, yes,” he said lightly, unbuttoning his gloves. “Castile wouldn’t leave your bedside.”

“You said I deserved it.”

France held his gloves in one hand; looked at him in the eye. “You did.”

The growl that escaped his lips as he surged in his direction would have amused him were France not in such a terrible mood. Tackling him to the floor and twisting his arm behind his back took less effort now than when they were children.

He pressed his knee over his spine and Portugal stopped struggling, breathing hard into the wooden floorboards.

“You never learn, Ulterior,” he whispered above him, watching Portugal turn his head and snarl at him for the choice of name. “I’ll always win.”

“Get off me,” Portugal spat, but France only settled his weight more firmly down on him.

“You have always been too angry to be good at fighting, Portugal. Stop struggling before you hurt yourself.” He felt him breathe deeply a few times, but his body was still too coiled, still too tense for France to release him just yet.

He looked around the room and saw that it had been stripped bare of its ornaments as well. Only a few pieces of furniture remained.

“Father would have been disgusted with the way we treat our prisoners,” he commented out loud and felt Portugal shift beneath him.

“Stop calling Rome that,” Portugal said, but his voice was lower, his body less resistant.

“Why?” France asked, lowering his body over Portugal’s. “We’re sons of Rome, you and I. Us and the Italies are all that’s left.”

“Romania is still alive,” Portugal countered quietly, the fight finally draining from him, his fingers unclenching behind his back.

“That he is,” France whispered into his ear, brushed his lips against the soft cartilage and felt him shiver in his grasp. “Don’t worry, I’ll find him eventually.”

He released Portugal’s arm and felt his eyes on his back as he got to his feet and walked over to the bed.

“What was the nickname Castile had for you when we were kids?” he asked, sitting on the feather mattress, tucking his hair behind his ear. Portugal got up gingerly from the floor, dusted the knees of his simple cotton trousers.

“Lusi,” Portugal whispered, the word heavy in his mouth, laden with memories France did not know and did not care to know. He hummed, undoing the fastenings on his collar and breathing a little easier.

“Did you have a nickname for him as well?”

France followed Portugal’s eyes down his chest as he continued to undo the buttons of his uniform coat and smiled to himself.

“Dickhead,” Portugal told him and France snorted, undoing the buttons on his waistcoat next. “Yours was Asshole.”

He laughed, shrugging off his outer clothes and folding them carefully by his side, the pressure on his head somewhat subsided now that he had removed his heavy, hot uniform. Portugal’s eyes were trained on him, still standing a few feet away, still hesitant and wary.

“Come here,” he called, extending a hand towards him and watching with some amusement as Portugal’s face contorted into a frown. Huffing an impatient breath, he rose to his feet and went to him instead.

Portugal seemed somewhat smaller, dwarfed by a too big linen shirt and his simple brown cotton trousers. But his body was still the same as France remembered when he pulled him closer, his arms still strong and hardened by years at sea, his eyes still a pale shade of green when he looked at him.

“You are always so difficult,” he told him, settling his hands on the curve of his hips, watching his eyes as he looked down at France’s lips. “Always stubborn as a mule.”

His hands came to rest on his chest, neither to push him away nor to pull him closer, and France sighed, pushed his hair back over his shoulder, ghosted his fingers across his face.

“He is not going to come for you,” he said and Portugal’s eyes turned to his, the soft skin around them tightening slightly in worry. “England has what he wants now that Brazil’s ports are open to him.”

The hands on his chest gripped his shirt, but there was no more fight in them, no more blind, raging anger. “You’re lying,” Portugal whispered quietly, but his voice was thin, threadbare, doubt creeping into his words, taking hold of his thoughts.

“England doesn’t need you anymore,” he continued, petting his hair, caressing his cheekbones, his jaw, his ear. “But you already knew this, didn’t you?”

His fingers slackened, the last wall of his resistance crumbling under his words and France leaned in, brushed his lips against his. “Oh, Lusi,” he whispered, “Aren’t you tired of fighting?”

Portugal's mouth opened beneath his lips and France smiled, “Don’t you want to come home?”

Notes:

In 1807, French Marshal Jean-Andoche Junot led the French army across Spain to seize Portugal in November 30. When he reached Lisbon, however, he was able to see the tails of the ships that took the Portuguese royal family and the court across the Atlantic to Brazil, which effectively saved the Portuguese Empire from falling into Napoleon's hands, but caused them to lose the mainland territory.

After taking control of the country, Junot seized what was left of the Treasury and any wealth available that had been left behind in the escape. He also put in motion the partition of the territory as devised by Napoleon, which would divide Portugal into three, granting the Southern portion to Spain's PM, Manuel de Godoy, keeping the middle part for France itself and giving away the Northern part to the King of Etruria. Junot, however, who had been France's Ambassador to Portugal during 1804-05, decided to proclaim himself as King of Northern Lusitania. Napoleon was not amused.

As part of the agreement to help the royal family escape Napoleon, the Portuguese regent, future João VI, opened Brazil’s ports to British trade, which had suffered under Napoleon’s Continental System and US neutral policy. At the time, Portugal and her colonies were responsible for consuming around half of Britain’s exports. That trade was thus protected after being moved to Brazil, which in turn made the continental territory of Portugal redundant.

However, the partition of Portugal never took place because in May 1808, after trying to double-cross Spain and take control of the territory, the Spanish revolted and the Portuguese followed in June. In August, the British sent troops under the command of Arthur Wellesley, future Duke of Wellington, and the French were forced to leave Portugal in what would be the first of three attempts to take control of the country.

#whumptober2021 #no.3 #taunting #hetalia #fic #emotional manipulation #peninsular war #hws portugal #hws france #fraport #a wild fic appears #if you don't like france being a dick this is not for you #mild makeout

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warrioreowynofrohan · 3 years

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On Doriathrin Isolationism

I’ve seen a fair number of takes in the Silm fandom on the topic of either “the Noldor are horrible imperialists” or “the Sindar are horrible isolationists”, so I thought it would be interesting to take a closer look at Doriathrin policy.

Firstly, how isolationist are they, following the creation of the Girdle of Melian? They still have close relations with the Laiquendi of Ossiriand, and some of them come to Doriath. They still have close relations with Círdan and are in communication with him. They’re fairly close with the children of Finarfin: Galadriel lives in Doriath, the others visit, Finrod is close enough with Thingol to act as an intermediary between him and the Haladin, and Thingol is the one who tells Finrod of the location for Nargothrond. The dwarves continue travelling to Doriath, and trading, and living there for long periods to do commissioned craft-work, through long periods of the First Age, even after the Nirnaeth - the Nauglamír Incident could never have happened if not for that. All these people can pass freely into Doriath. So we’re not talking about Doriath cutting itself off from the rest of the world, not by any means. We’re talking specifically about its relations with three groups: 1) the Fingolfinian and Fëanorian Noldor; 2) the Edain; and 3) the Northern Sindar.

Every time I try to write this post it gets really long, so here I’m going to focus on Doriath’s relationship with the first and third groups, other Elves, and leave the Edain for a separate post.

Doriath and the Northern Sindar

Thingol’s attitude towards this group is the least excusable, and something I wasn’t aware of until I got my hands on a copy of The Peoples of Middle-earth (HoME Vol. 12):

[Thingol] had small love for the Northern Sindar who had in regions near to Angband come under the dominion of Morgoth, and were accused of sometimes entering his service and providing him with spies. The Sindarin used by the Sons of Fëanor also was of the Northern dialect; and they were hated in Doriath.

Now, to be clear, Thingol is wrong about the Northern Sindar being shifty. They’re the ones more commonly described in The Silmarillion as the grey-elves of Hithlum. They make up a substantial portion of the people of Gondolin. They include Annael and his people, who raise Tuor. (Presumably others live in, or moved to, East Beleriand along with the Fëanorians, as the Fëanorians speak their tongue.)

Here is what I think probably happened. We have statements in The Silmarillion that Morgoth captured elves when he could, and that:

“The Noldor feared most the treachery of those of their own kin, who had been thralls in Angband; for Morgoth used some of these for his evil purposes, and feigning to give them liberty sent them abroad, but their wills were chained to his, and they strayed only to com back to him again; therefore if any of his captives escaped in truth, and returned to their own people, they had little welcome, and wandered alone outlawed and desperate”.

If Morgoth also captured some of the Northern Sindar - who, living closer to Angband, would be more at risk of this than Doriathrim, Falathrim, or Laiquendi - there could, as with later Noldor prisoners, have been some who were under his control and attacked and betrayed other elves. The Doriathrin Sindar, living further from Angband, might have been unaware of their capture, conflated this with deliberate and willful treachery, and so mistrusted the Northern Sindar.

That does not excuse Thingol’s attitude. He is stereotyping, and he is claiming kingship of all Beleriand while writing off a substantial portion of his own people, and this is unacceptable. One cannot claim rule of a people while simultaneously disdaining them and forswearing respinsibility for them. It is little surprise than the Northern Sindar largely joined themselves with various groups of Noldor and would have been glad of their arrival.

Doriath and the Noldor

This case is more complicated. I don’t like conflations of Thingol’s attitude towards the Fingolfinian and Fëanorian Noldor - or the Edain, for that matter - with anti-immigration sentiment. The basic concept of immigration is that you want to go to another country and live as a member of that country. When you enter an existing realm, claim its territory as your own, set up your own government, and justify it on the basis of “you’re not militarily able to stop us” that is not immigration. That is called an invasion, or annexation, or something of the sort. (Even if the realm in question is currently under invasion by enemies! Imagine if the British, after D-Day, had tried to annex half of France.)

(I will also note here that Thingol did not abandon the rest of the people of Beleriand prior to the Noldor’s arrival. The First Battle was the Doriathrim fighting alongside the Laiquendi. When Morgoth’s invasion became too large to fight on every front, the creation of the Girdle was the right choice. When assaulted by an overwhelming enemy force, the best, and indeed only militarily possible, option may be to withdraw as many of your people as possible to your fortress (as Thingol does - many of the Laiquendi and as many as possible of the grey-elves of Western Beleriand are evacuated to Doriath) and buckle down for a siege.)

And the Noldor didn’t come with the Sindar’s benefit in mind. (As I have noted before, they were not even away of Angband’s existence. The Return was focused on fighting one very dangerous individual, regaining the Silmarils, and setting up realms in - if we’re being generous to the Noldor - presumably unoccupied territory. If we’re not being generous, the aim can equally well be read as setting themselves up as the rulers of the elves of Middle-earth. If their goal, or even a tiny part of their goal, was “rescue the Sindar”, then they could have pitched that to Olwë to get him on board - “help us rescue your brother from Morgoth” is a way stronger argument than “you owe us, you cultureless barbarians”.)

So, given that they’re annexing his territory without even considering that it might be someone else’s territory, it’s very understandable that Thingol isn’t pleased by the Noldor.

On the other hand, Beleriand does benefit from the Noldor’s presence. Maedhros is quite correct when he points out that Thingol’s alternative to having the Nolder in northern Beleriand would be having orcs there [ironically, the Fëanorians do more harm to Doriath than orcs ever do, but that’s far in the future]. So given that the Sindar and Noldor have a common and very dangerous enemy, Thingol should at least try to work wth them. His deliberate isolation from the Noldor even prior to finding out about the Kinslaying comes across as prideful and petty. I am thinking particular of the absolutely minimal Doriathrin participation in Mereth Aderthad, when Fingolfin was specifically seeking to build a Beleriand-wide alliance, something that was in all their interests; and, addtionally, of not allowing the Nolofinwëans into Doriath. It automatically precludes any high-level negotiations or, just as importantly, any amount of in-person interaction that could lead to greater understanding. I can understand Thingol’s attitude towards Mereth Aderthad on some level - Fingolfin is in effect acting as though he is High King of Beleriand, something Thingol would resent - but it is nonetheless shortsighted.

It’s also worth noting, though, that acting with more tact and treating Thingol as King of Beleriand - as in fact he was throughout the Ages of the Stars - would not necessarily have posed any great difficulty or impeded Noldoran autonomy in decision-making in northern Beleriand. Notably, Thingol is on good terms with Finrod, gives him the location for building Nargothrond, and has no problems with him setting up a realm governing a large swath of West Beleriand. And yes, being relatives doesn’t hurt, but what stands out in this relationship is that Finrod treats Thingol with respect. He understand that Thingol knows more about Beleriand than him, and asks advice; when the Edain arrive, he’s the only one of the Noldor to consult with Thingol on his decisions (and that willingness to consult is what gets Thingol to agree to the Haladin settling in Brethil). And none of this prevents Finrod, or Orodreth after him, from having autonomy from Doriath in their decisions as lords of Nargothrond.

However, another interesting point is that Thingol’s early attitude towards the Noldor is not driven only by resentment of their infringements on his authority, but also by outright mistrust that doesn’t seem to be clearly grounded. Note that, after Galadriel tells Melian about Morgoth’s slaying of Finwë and theft of the Silmarils (which is well after Mereth Aderthad), Melian and Thingol talk, and Thingol says of the Noldor, “Yet all the more sure shall they be as allies against Morgoth, with whom it is not now to be thought they shall ever make treaty.” [Emphasis mine.] Which means that prior to this, he was genuinely worried about the Noldor allying with Morgoth! To paraphase The Order of the Stick, Thingol took Improved Paranoia several levels ago. (But he always seems to be paranoid about the wrong things. The Fëanorians are a threat, but not because of any possible league with Morgoth. Likewise, he is hostile to Beren because of dreams of a Man bringing doom to Doriath, but Thingol’s death and the first destruction of Doriath is instead set off by the actions of Húrin in bringing the cursed Nauglamír.)

So on the whole, neither the Noldor nor Thingol are behaving ideally in their early relations. After Thingol learns about Alqualondë, I find his hostility - especially to the Fëanorians - very warranted. These aren’t some distant, once-related group of elves, these are his brother’s people! And “willing to betray and attack their friends” is not a quality anyone is looking for in an ally, nor something that is going to lead to trust.

This also carries over to everything relating to the Leithian and the Silmaril. (Again, it is important to note with respect to the Leithain that Thingol states outright, after giving Beren the quest that he has zero expectation of - or desire for - Beren to obtain the Silmaril. It’s a combination suicide mission and “when pigs fly” statement, and most people who say “when pigs fly” aren’t aiming at the invention of animatronic flying pigs.) In a theoretical world where the Kinslaying didn’t happen and the Fëanorians had no involvement in the Quest of the Silmaril, they might have had a good shot at negotiating for it! (A much better shot than they had at getting it out of Angband, which they never even tried.) But of course Thingol would have no interest in handing it over to the people who, on top of the Kinslaying, also 1) betrayed his nephew and sent him to his death [that’s kind of on you as well, Elu], 2) kidnapped and attempted to rape his daughter; and 3) attempted to murder his daughter. And there should not be any reasonable expectation that he ought to do so! By their actions, the Fëanorians have forfeited any right to demand anything at all from Thingol, or from Beren and Lúthien, or from their descendents.

(This is, in fact, the very point made in the Doom of Mandos: their oath shall drive them and yet betray them. Every Fëanorian action driven by the oath is counterproductive to them obtaining any of the Silmarils.)

Conclusion

In short:

- Yes, the Noldor are imperialist in their goals, but in they end they’re not ruling anyone who isn’t willing to be ruled by them. And the Northern Sindar who are part of their realms are people who Thingol had explicitly written off, which doesn’t reflect well on him.

- Doriath is not as isolationist as it is often portrayed and has close relations with many of the peoples in Beleriand. It also does participate in the wars against Morgoth (I’ll go into that in more detail in my Edain post). And they have valid grievances against the Fëanorians. However, Thingol’s deliberate snubbing of the FIngolfinian Noldor (and even before he knew about the Kinslaying), despite the evident benefits of planning a common defense of Beleriand, is selfish and petty.

#tolkien #the silmarillion #doriath #thingol #sindar #noldor #beren and luthien #sons of fëanor

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imaginethebeautifulworld · 3 years

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france x reader: le frondeur

He was labelled as a villain, a traitor, a demagogue. People spoke of him with disgust and fear, with disdain and wariness. He was the bogeyman of everything wrong in society, the scapegoat for any and all minor inconveniences. For years, you had believed much the same way. Never questioned the papers, never questioned the wisdom of your leaders nor challenged the opinions of your peers. That was until you beheld true tyranny with your own eyes, were caught in a crossfire in which the Enemy was the true Hero, where those you had been told to believe in, to trust, were- You no longer accepted things at face value. You let yourself spend time with him, got to know him, tried to understand. You learnt of his stance, his past, everything that had led to his standing against all you had been raised to see as The Truth. He had abandoned his post, dared to speak out against the King, dared to question and demand change, dared to defy. While you still could not fully trust him, aware that he was doing plenty of Wrong even in his pursuit of Right, you knew him to be a good man, and began to question just how much had truly been hidden from you. You were cautious in your quest, knew that every moment even spent thinking of him could be regarded as lèse majesté. But when one's very Nation defied the words of their King, chose insurrection over the comforts of Court- Perhaps then there was more to consider than the hearsay of drunken nobles and the angled histories of jaded, departed rulers. Upon recognizing his brilliant blue eyes through a simple black mask, spotting that familiar smile that somehow always seemed to outshine the sun itself- You took his hand without question, easily joining with the other couples already moving across the floor. "You shouldn't be here," you murmured, trying to keep your voice low even as the music swelled louder. "And miss the chance to annoy you," came a light tease from your companion, his eyes sparkling in amusement. You offered a small glare before casting your eyes around the room, now frantically trying to count how many obstacles he would have to overcome should he wish to slip back out again. "You wouldn't be here unless it was for a good reason." "Is seeing you not reason enough?" The sincerity in his tone caught you mildly off guard, but you soon offered him a small look for his words. "No, not like this." Narrowing your eyes, you tried to read his. "What are you planning?" He studied you for a moment, before looking away with a small huff, words fondly exasperated. "I don't know why I can never lie to you." Flattered by the compliment- truly, high praise coming from him- you smiled slightly. "I'm just too clever for you." "Hm." Came the considering hum, before his attention was once again snagged by something in the background. You would have ignored it- there was plenty of distraction after all- were it not for the firm nod he offered to that presumable someone over your shoulder. When he once more met your gaze, you offered as unimpressed an expression as one could hope to muster from beneath several layers of plaster. "Just talk to me. What is going on?" He studied you once more, the now-familiar eyes heavy with an emotion you couldn't hope to guess. "We strike tonight." You had known it was coming, knew from the ripples among the townsfolk, the layman, the servants who never quite could stop their tongue wagging fast enough. There had been an ache for change, the tension only growing in recent months. And- "I need to know if you're truly with u... With me." His words brought you immediately back to the present, those damnable eyes holding you prisoner as assuredly as social obligation itself. It should be a simple enough decision- In theory anyway. You take a moment to weigh it all, study the vibrant costumes of the people around you, watch the smoke play from the chandeliers, take in every detail of this fantasy. A fantasy, yes you finally concede, as you've tasted firsthand the true reality just beyond these gilded halls. You recalled that first night, so long ago now, when he confessed why he had left, when he admitted to the pitfalls that had come in the wake of his crusade. But he tread such a precarious line, and- And he knew. He knew this world. He knew this life. He knew you. Perhaps that was what made it so easy to make your decision, why it had been so easy for him to help you learn the truth, to find the answers you hadn't known you needed, to break free of the lie you had lived your entire life. These people- They would call you corrupted, would label you a traitor. You would lose your lands, your title, your everything. But when authority was birthed from betrayal and epitaphs were forged in blood, when your good fortunes directly translated to the perils of the innocent- No. You wanted nothing more to do with this life, nor these people. Their crimes were abhorrent, beyond words. Some of the things you had witnessed- You were no longer ignorant of your own role in this, the knowledge of your responsibility now an ever-present weight on your soul. Coming back to the present, you found yourself meeting his eyes once more, aware not even a moment must have passed since he had asked you, once again, to join him. It almost seemed as if he expected you to say no once more, as he startled at your nod. "Are you certain?" Surprise was clear in his voice, tempered with just a note of caution, perhaps a warning that once you stepped foot upon this path, there was no going back. If you didn't know him better you would swear he was testing you. Of course you weren't certain. How could you be, when you couldn't be certain what the future would hold, couldn't be certain of the success of his mission, couldn't be certain that you would live to see the next sunrise? Yet, you were certain- certain of your role now, certain of your choice. You had a duty, a duty which could never be met by serving in the intricate fictions and backhanded passions that ruled over the realm you had painstakingly raised in; you had been laboriously taught to ignore the hypocrisies and betrayals, habitually trained to never raise questions to seek higher understanding. But he had opened your eyes, and you knew your true duty now, saw the path the Fates had laid at your feet; your only regret was waiting so long to take the first step upon it. "You were always right my love; I just wish I would have accepted it sooner."

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