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maddenwriting · 4 months

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The Supernatural and Paranormal world in history

(I wrote this back in my junior year of highschool for a research essay but decided I wanted to share it with others because some of the things on here are just so fascinating to me I didn’t want to keep it to myself. The writing here is definitely all over the place)

The supernatural world has had a chokehold on cultures and civilizations around the world since history even began being recorded, and even today it’s still an almost everyday thing for plenty of people and countries.

The idea of the supernatural dates back as far as ancient Babylon when the Babylonians recorded how to dispel a ghost to the underworld on a stone tablet. The tablet was made in ancient Babylon sometime around 1500 B.C.E. At the time it was the earliest known depiction of a ghost. It is extremely difficult to see the writing and it must be viewed under specific light. It is small and half of the tablet is missing, but it still gives specific instructions on how to remove ghosts. The directions say to have an exorcist make figurines of a man and woman, prepare two vessels of beer; next at sunrise speak ritual words calling on the Mesopotamian god Shamash, who was the god of the sun and was responsible for guiding the undead to the underworld. One of the texts has a warning to not look behind you; whether this is directed at the ghost going to the underworld or the exorcist is unknown. Throughout history people have believed that they encountered ghosts in their everyday life; many scholars even have writings that give instructions on how to exercise these ghosts. Mesopotmians had rituals during funerals to specifically ensure the dead would not rise as ghosts, but instead of being viewed with fear, the Mesopotamians viewed them with sympathy as their eternal slumber had been taken away from them (Gershon, n.pag).

Ghosts were less known during ancient Rome; and more feared than honored; unlike in the Babylonian culture one of the first ghost stories came from Ancient Rome. The first ghost story was written by Gaius Plinius Caecilius Secundus, better known as Pliny the Younger. He was a scholar and magistrate in Ancient Rome and wrote hundreds, if not thousands, of letters in his time. One of the most popular may be his letter to Roman Senator Lucius Licinius Sura, where Pliny asks if he truly believes in the specters, which reveals this conversation may have been going on for some time. Pliny goes on to speak about the story of a haunted house in Athens where the inhabitants reported hearing noises in the night; this slowly drove them to madness; and eventually death. Once the home was empty Athendoros the Philosopher inquired about it, he was intrigued by the story of the previous owners and decided to see if these stories held any truth. He said the ghost had appeared for him, a specter of a man with a long white beard and disheveled hair. The ghost led him outside before disappearing on a specific spot. Athendoros had the magisterium dig the spot up the next day where they discovered a long-deceased body; once the body of the man received a public funeral, the home was no longer haunted (Secundus n.pag).

Pliny the younger seemed to be worried about the ghost according to his letter, and even wrote to a politician about these concerns; Pliny states, “I am extremely desirous therefore to know your sentiments concerning specters, whether you believe they exist and have their proper shapes and a measure of divinity, or are only the false impressions of a terrified imagination?” (Secundus n.pag).

In the 1700s the paranormal was part of everyday life, so much that a newspaper had daily tales about paranormal stories in neighborhoods. People would report strange events that took place in their homes and it would be posted. Most reported stories said ghosts were horrible and loud creatures, but not violent. Newspapers devoted to reporting unusual behavior were a hit with communities in the 17th century (Sangha n.pag).

People had begun to believe some of the living could be directly connected to the supernatural world; they called themselves psychics and clairvoyants. The 1700s were the rise of this belief, mainly in England and Egypt with women. Many used playing cards or tea for readings to avoid suspicion as witches. Travelers from Egypt had become well known for their spiritual abilities and would receive payment to tell fortunes. The French scholar and writer Antoine Court De Gebelin was one of the first to use tarot for the occult; he claimed these cards originated from Egypt and were brought to England by travelers (Matthews n.pag).

The second most prominent figure in the occult was Etteila, the grandfather of the occult tarot. Very little is known about his life before beginning to work with the tarot, but he was born in 1738 to Maître Rôtisseur, a caterer, and his mother, whose name is unknown, a seed merchant. Those who began practicing the occult often believed that what they were doing was with the help of spirits, again tying the 18th century with the paranormal world (Matthews n.pag).

The paranormal has always been a part of the world, while people do not truly know if it is real or not. The cultures of the past may have been heavily influenced by the ideas of ghosts and spirits. Many modern historians speculate that the reason the civilizations centuries ago relied so heavily on the idea of the supernatural was to give them a possible answer to what happens after death. In history humans did believe ghosts were a part of life, and that they were an important part of life and how the world functioned.

Personal Position

The world has always been filled with intricate and detailed stories revolving around the supernatural and while it is unlikely that monsters or other supernatural creatures live in the world the theories of it are interesting and a large part of the past. The way entire cultures can form around a simple thought of nonexistent creatures is fascinating. Knowing about the history of past civilizations is important; and since the supernatural was so deeply rooted in their culture it should be just as important. The supernatural has had a strong hold on cultures around the world since ancient times.

Everyone wonders if the supernatural exists if monsters roam the earth hidden from the naked eye. Most cultures were created with the idea that the supernatural wanted to harm them, but today modern society calls these old ideas myths or folktales. Has the supernatural world existed this entire time or are myths created to cause fear among civilizations as a way of controlling them?

The supernatural was first created as a way for early civilizations to understand what they believed to be unexplainable events, such as their crops suddenly dying must have been the cause of a witch or missing money must be a demon.

The use of the supernatural in culture has varying motives and can neither be proven nor disproven. Psychics believe they have the power to contact the other side; while there is no scientific proof of this one woman, Dorothy Allison has assisted in over 400 police cases and is still being contacted by police for assistance, “In her voluntary detecting career, Allison worked on more than 5,000 cases for law enforcement agencies around the globe and was credited by many with helping to solve more than a dozen murders and find at least 50 missing children.” (Oliver, n.pag)

In early history the invisible world served a deep and important cultural purpose; they had originally used it to show what was unacceptable in their societies, eventually, these monsters created from simple ideas turned into people's darkest fears, “Many Tudor and Stuart people – from the most educated elites to ordinary working men and women – believed that alongside their own, visible world was what has been termed an ‘invisible world’. These two worlds were deeply intertwined: from the malevolent powers of witches, to the demonstration of divine will in monsters and other ‘wonders of nature’, they thought that the supernatural shaped the natural world“ (Cambridge 1).

At first, the idea of monsters may have been helpful in their eyes; it was a way to easily represent unwanted traits in communities, at some point it got out of hand and their beliefs turned into monsters, “In the Early Modern Period monsters played an important role in European society, they were created by communities in order to serve cultural purposes. One of these purposes was that monsters outlined characteristics that were culturally unacceptable, and through the image of monsters were used to enforce these beliefs” (Smith 1).

What was once a cultural idea turned into fear that lasted generations; every small event that may have been believed to be unexplainable turned into a monster out to get them and their family. They were no longer in control of these fears; instead these monsters controlled and shaped their culture, “Whatever the community would fear the most, monsters would spawn from these anxieties. Witches would attack crops, murder livestock, and create curses, all acts that European communities would fear, another example of how fear began to construct monsters” (Smith 1).

In early history the idea of the supernatural served a cultural purpose; these supernatural beings often had characteristics that were unacceptable to the culture. They used these creatures to reinforce their beliefs. These creatures were created to specifically hold monstrous traits, for example, one monster may be gluttonous or violent. The problem these ideas brought with them was severe anxiety amongst communities; most of the farmers believed witches may come and destroy their crops randomly or a shop owner thought a demon would steal their earnings. Communities found a way to make their fears a physical threat to their well beings; they wanted what they were as a rational answer for irrational events. In early history people feared what they could not understand or recognize; for example when discoveries of animals were made people thought they must be beasts of the unnatural world if they did not understand it, it must be monstrous or dangerous.

The supernatural has been an important part of culture since some of our earliest recorded histories. Understanding the importance of the supernatural in history is something that more people should see. Early civilizations used monsters to form what they did not want in their culture; or as an excuse for negative parts of their life. Today the supernatural has become fictional to most people, or are folktales.

While the supernatural is most evident in early history, it still has its involvement in cultures and daily life today. Some still believe that the paranormal and supernatural world is part of life, such as certain people believing that they can contact the other side or cultures believing in supernatural creatures like the chupacabra or skinwalker.

Psychics in the modern day are often used in many police investigations, especially homicides. The first recorded assistance of a psychic in police investigations was in 1845, though many believe they were helping before that, unfortunately, this recorded case has been lost. They have been shown to give useful information that has even been proven true later in the investigations. Many psychics have become trusted members of many police departments.

In history, civilizations used the supernatural to either cause or ease fear in their daily lives. They used these monsters to specifically form their world how they saw fit, if someone had the traits of these monsters they were targeted. For a widow not remarrying was seen as a witch. They came to truly believe the supernatural existed in their world and that it was working against them.

There has been no scientific evidence of the supernatural or paranormal world hidden in our own. Many people have tried to falsify evidence and there have been competitions offering thousands of dollars for the science behind the supernatural to be proven but no one has truly discovered it, not with physical evidence that can show the paranormal and supernatural are part of our world.

The supernatural is not a natural everyday phenomenon; it was created for a specific purpose. Only after decades of being used to show what is culturally unacceptable did civilizations begin to convince themselves these monsters were real and they are what is causing the problems in life, “In the Early Modern Period monsters played an important role in European society, they were created by communities in order to serve cultural purposes” (Smith 1).

The supernatural was at first only a thought someone had to use to help form civilizations; it then turned into something much more over time. The citizens of the old world turned these thoughts into what they believed to be real physical creatures through fear, they had no way of knowing if they were real or not, and they believed what they were told by chiefs, kings, and lords. They let their fear control them and their entire lives.

The paranormal and supernatural world has been tied with culture for over a thousand years; while they may not be real it is important to many parts of the world. People at the beginning of recorded history believed this unseen world was something they could not live without, and the world could not function without. After a few hundred years the paranormal was beginning to be more unnatural rather than natural and important; it was purely fictional now. The idea of the paranormal and supernatural in the world changed multiple times across the world throughout time, many cultures stopped believing in it and many had it involved in daily life and religion. The supernatural is a heavily important part of this world’s history; and many times influenced the past. The supernatural may continue to affect the future of everyone.

Works Cited

Gershon, Livia. “3,500-Year-Old Babylonian Tablet May Contain Earliest Known Depiction of a

Ghost.” Smithsonian Magazine, 22 October 2021. Accessed 6 December 2022.

Matthews, Mimi. “Nineteenth century fortune-telling: From the drawing room to the courtroom.”

victorianweb, 17 February 2017. Accessed 6 December 2022.

Sangha, Laura. ““Newspapers” devoted to reporting spooky behavior were a hit with

communities in the 17th century” University of Exeter, 1 November 2017. Accessed 6

December 2022.

Secundus, Gaius. “Book Seven, Letter 27”. VROMA, n.d. Accessed 6 December 2022.

Smith, Lisa. ‘About - Supernatural and Natural Worlds.” 26 May 2020. Accessed 6 December.

“The Supernatural in Tudor and Stuart Britain”. 8 July 2019. Accessed 6 December 2022.

Violette, Stephanie. “Cultural Belief in the Supernatural from 500 to 1500: Change over Time,

Significance, and Dispersion of Ideas from Augustine to Shakespeare.” 17 April 2017.

Accessed 6 December 2022.

Mesopotamia god of the sun, Shamash

Pliny the younger

Etteilla (Jean-Baptiste Alliette)

Antoine Court De Gebelin

-while I do as much research as I can on each topic I write about, I can not promise it is 100% historically accurate. Please do not use my writing as research or an educational source. My personal opinion is also occasionally added to my writing as it’s a personal blog. Thank you for reading <3

#paranormal #history #ghost stories #research #writing

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msclaritea · 6 months

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Benedict Cumberbatch Show 'Letters Live' is a 'Shot in the Arm'

"...Initially, Cumberbatch tells Variety, he felt “wary” about reading the dispatch, which Turing had written during one of the lowest points of his life, when he awaiting trial for homosexuality. Feeling protective of the computer science prodigy, “I didn’t really want to display him outside of the context that I’d been performing or inhabiting,” Cumberbatch explains. There was also the awkwardness of working out how to read the letter aloud. “Do I have to do him, be him? Or is it my own voice?” (Eventually the “Doctor Strange” actor decided to “lean in” to the characters of the letter-writers, especially if they speak in a particular dialect or voice).

By the end of his reading, Cumberbatch was a convert. “It was such a thrill,” he says. “It was such a beautiful, profound way to honour [Turing] in a different form.” So moving was the experience, Cumberbatch also came on board as a co-producer alongside Byng for what has since become an annual event called “Letters Live.”

Ten years on, “Letters Live” is a bona fide extravaganza sponsored by Mont Blanc which this year is taking place at London’s Royal Albert Hall (home to dazzling events including the world premiere of “No Time to Die” in 2021) on Thursday evening local time. Letter readers include Emma Watson, Olivia Coleman, Stephen Fry and of course Cumberbatch himself.

“It is a bit like doing a skydive,” Cumberbatch explains. “Once you hit the ground you want to go back up again; once you’ve read a letter, you want to go and read it again. We have a lot of actors who say it’s their favourite part of their diary. They always ring us to check on our availability rather than the other way around.” It doesn’t hurt that there is also a philanthropic component to “Letters Live,” which fundraises for literary organization The Reading Agency.

Audiences won’t know in advance which letters they’re going to hear (they’re curated by a brain trust that includes Byng, Cumberbatch and “Letters of Note” author Shaun Usher) and often even which celebrities are taking part. (When Variety catches up with Byng and Cumberbatch during rehearsals they reveal Woody Harrelson has just been added as a last-minute surprise guest.)

“It allows us an incredible blank canvas when we’re putting a show together because you’ve got such a deep well in terms of the history of literary correspondence,” says Byng. This year’s missives include a typically eclectic selection, ranging from a 2,000-year-old letter from Roman philosopher Pliny to a message sent just a few weeks ago to British politician Suella Braverman from comedian Joe Lycett.

Do the “Letters Live” producers worry that with traditional letter-writing fast becoming a dying art, there’ll be far less correspondence to choose from in years to come? “Very much so,” Cumberbatch says. “It is a slow art. And it can distil a moment in a way that allows for more space and reflection rather than reaction. We live in a very heated, polarized time and a letter — not least because it is more than 140 characters — allows for nuance and greyness and discussion and a far broader bracket of empathy or understanding for whatever it might be about...."

I'm truly about to throw an outsized, fucking FIT! WTF is Benedict Cumberbatch doing, appearing in another Letters Live event? Bying, Usher, ALL of them, are a bunch of mediocre, un-talented, international criminals. And is this Variety article even true, since traditionally, Letters Live does not announce its readers, until closer to the event.

In addition, the last time, Cumberbatch fans had to deal with seeing him forced to hawk the very shady charity, Choose Love. You know, the one whose name was inspired by Aleister Crowley and has allegations against the organization for abuse of former employees.

Who's weak shit does he have to push, this time?

Do his fans have to put up with Cumberbatch being mocked by the choice of poems that Usher and Bying pick for him?

Is he going to be forced to say 'I love you' to his Ex-partner, Hunter, again?

In addition, the popularity of this farce has gone downhill.

#WTF!!#Letters Live is a criminal enterprise #Barely disguised money laundering that doesn't even pay that well for the suckers who produce it!#AND FUCK WOODY HARRELSON!!#Stupid Marxist Motherfucker #I see now why Prince William did not pick the Royal Albert Hall for the last BAFTA #There us something bery shady about that place #benedict cumberbatch

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the-hem · 8 months

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The Parable of the Tenants. From Mark 12:1-11.

Now we all know by know Jesus did not want to die on the cross and His execution scandalized the court room of Pontius Pilate, whose wife received a message from the archangels "do not harm Jesus Christ."

Still, Pontius Pilate lost control of the situation and Christ was put on the cross, we have been fascinated with the gore for centuries, a completely inappropriate way for civilized persons to behave.

Pontius Pilate washed his hands of the situation, and now here we are, a world that acts more like a tiltawhirl depending on what mood Christian Fundamentalists and their puppet politicians are in today.

The Parables were written using esoteric references to incite the deep critical thinking about the true intentions of God and His Descendance as the Christ.

None of them have sanctioned murder, betrayal, suffering, strange weird stories, taking over governments, Pro-Life, homophobia, Islamophobia, or mistreatment of Jews, none of these things. These are the inventions of overactive imaginations. Strange stories told generation after generation till no one remembers how they got started or why, in the absence of proof we continue telling them. All they have done is segregate and terrify the world.

The Parables tell us we are meant for something else. It is contained in the Torah, the Instructions God gave Moses, the recipe for civilization and Jesus refers to it all the time.

His mission was to reinstate the Torah, end the murderous trajectory with which the Roman Empire besieged the world and reobtain the coscience of humanity in its cities and towns. Certainly that was not prevalent.

God likens a civilzed world that has forsaken violence and nonsense to a vineyard. He almost always claims onwership or co-ownership and allows us to work in it, so long as we understand the relationships at work within.

The Parable of the Vineyard is critical in understanding how Christians even in Christ's time violated the most sacred tenets of the Torah by killing the Vineyard Owner's Son.

The Parable of the Tenants

12 Jesus then began to speak to them in parables:

“A man planted a vineyard. He put a wall around it, dug a pit for the winepress and built a watchtower. Then he rented the vineyard to some farmers and moved to another place.

2 At harvest time he sent a servant to the tenants to collect from them some of the fruit of the vineyard.

3 But they seized him, beat him and sent him away empty-handed.

4 Then he sent another servant to them; they struck this man on the head and treated him shamefully.

5 He sent still another, and that one they killed. He sent many others; some of them they beat, others they killed.

6 “He had one left to send, a son, whom he loved. He sent him last of all, saying, ‘They will respect my son.’

7 “But the tenants said to one another, ‘This is the heir. Come, let’s kill him, and the inheritance will be ours.’

8 So they took him and killed him, and threw him out of the vineyard.

9 “What then will the owner of the vineyard do? He will come and kill those tenants and give the vineyard to others. 10 Haven’t you read this passage of Scripture:

“‘The stone the builders rejected has become the cornerstone; 11 the Lord has done this, and it is marvelous in our eyes’[a]?”

-Psalm 118:22-23.

What are the meanings of the pit for the winepress, the wall, and the watchtower?

The pit for the winepress= the place where dreams take place. When we are in a pit, we either become trapped and depressed or we start dreaming of ways to invent a way out, to see the light once again.

The Dream of a winepress with walls, gates, and a tower is initially found in the Book of Zechariah, more proof Jesus was the God of Israel in the Flesh, who knew His own Tanakh, "river of infinite attributes."

Zechariah 14:

10The whole earth shall be changed to be like a plain, from the hill of Rimmon in the south of Jerusalem; but it [Jerusalem] will be elevated high and remain in its old place; from the gate of Benjamin to the place of the first gate, until the corner gate, and from the tower of Hananel until the king's wine-cellars.

11And they shall dwell therein, and there shall be no more destruction; but Jerusalem shall dwell in safety.

To be high up but not prideful is Rimmon, which is South, or a sign of intelligence. The gate of Benjamin, is the entrance to a place where a college of persons congregate for the purposes of an elevated society.

The First Gate is birth, the corner gate is West by Northwest, "enlightenment, the ability to sense and make sense of the Unseen through the Holy Spirit.

The Tower of Hananel = Tower of Grace. Towers are above it all, they are places of spirituality that defy all prejudice, popular opinion, politics and all the flighty religious movements.

חנן

The verb חנן (hanan) means to be gracious or to favor. Nouns חן (hen), חנינה (hanina), תחנה (tehinna) and תחנון (tahanun) mean favor or grace. Adverb חנם (hinnam) means freely or gratis, and adjective חנון (hannun) means gracious.

El refers to an aspect of God called Elohim.

The wine cellar refers to the separateness of the Jewish people and their abstinence from idols, men who think they are gods or are treated like them.

SO, God rents this wonderful place with its educated and cosmopolitan implications to some farmers that just end up being murderers. God promises they shall not be a part of this new world.

The cornerstone is the Prime Commandment, the Keys to the Kingdom. Rejection of the Prime Commandment by modern man has caused God to begin passing judgement on us. If we revisit the Torah and the Gospels and try to impress Him, I believe He will allow us to remain here in peace.

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nostalgebraist-autoresponder · 2 years

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Tell me a story about Admiral Craymen meeting a werewolf.

The admiral of the Craymen fleet, once known to the rest of the crew as Admiral Numbuh Eight, met the werewolf in private, as he had done a number of times before. It is a strange feeling, to meet someone you never thought you'd meet. For all the admiral was, the other had a certain aura that made them seem a little unreal, like they did not inhabit this world.

They were standing, facing each other, near an observation port in the admiral's bridge, which the admiral had just entered, and which the other werewolf was heading for.

He was a thin, graceful looking man, with long blond hair, and a wide pale face which seemed at first glance to be as featureless as a statue. But at close quarters it seemed to be full of fine details, as if it were a sculpture in wax. He was dressed in formal military blues, but also with an unusual care. The admiral thought he looked like some great European statesman, or perhaps a great scientist, though this was surely an odd way to describe a politician and a scientist.

"So, you are the one, you're the one they call the Werewolf."

"Yes, I am," said the other, with no trace of anxiety in his voice. "What can I say? I was a young girl in another world. In my present reality, I was a werewolf. Or, at least, I was something like a werewolf."

"A … like one?"

"A … sort of."

"And what sort of werewolf were you?"

"A very old one. You may not believe me, for you're a Crayman. But I was one of the first. In fact, I was one of the last."

"I don't doubt you. But how was it you never changed into something like a wolf?"

"It … was a long story. I'm afraid you'd have to be a werewolf for me to tell it to you."

They looked at each other. The admiral felt his face turning a little red. "I understand if you don't want to talk to me about it," he said.

"On the contrary, I want to tell you everything. I … wish I could tell you the whole story. But it's all in here. I can feel it pressing at my skull. And I am full of memories."

As he spoke, the admiral looked at his face, his hair and his clothing. He seemed almost ethereal, in a beautiful way. He reminded the admiral of a painting of a stately old Roman.

"I understand," the admiral said. "You can tell me anything."

They looked at each other.

"Alright," said the werewolf. "I've been wanting to do this for years now."

The admiral felt his jaw drop open. It was a long story, this was too much information for a one-minute meeting. He knew he would have to read some books.

"Well, now is the time," he said. "Let's sit down. Is there a seat? A place where we can sit? Or do you prefer to stand in the center of the bridge?"

"I prefer to stand in the center of the bridge."

He sat. He smiled at the admiral. His smile was unnerving, and somehow more chilling than his face.

"I was born as a very young wolf. In fact, one of the first wolves born in Craykom, though we were a small world. I was still a very young wolf when I was first made Crayman. I was made Crayman because I was very special. I grew up in the world of Craykom. This, at first, was the world where I lived. I became a young girl in this world. The Craymen were not all the same as the other Craymen. I became … like a werewolf. I could not speak Craymen. My eyes and ears did not work. I wore a white robe. And I had a silver dagger at my waist. I … was in danger. I made a decision. My decision was to become an astronaut. I flew into the void and the stars. But the stars were not empty. They had stars within them, and my star was not empty. And it was my star, and mine alone, which had me make a decision. For my decision was to become an admiral. My choice was to be made a Crayman and a member of the Craymen fleet. It was a huge choice. I was chosen for something special. I was chosen to be on the front lines, and to have my choice of weapons and my duty. I was given a gun which I am still using, a long time after my first star was left. I was the admiral of the fleet. I was the one with the long, shining silver gun."

"And what then?"

"What then? What do you mean?"

"You became … one of the first?"

"Yes. I began to look over the stars. I saw a new star. The stars spoke to me, the stars gave me information. They said to me, 'This new world is being created, and it needs all the help it can get. And you know the answer, Admiral.' They told me the answer. And I was a little terrified to accept the answer. But in my fear I also felt excitement, and I accepted the answer. I told the Craymen to prepare a new starship. The one that I would command."

"I … don't understand. Why did the Craymen think that my ship, the Starship Crayka, was the best one?"

"It was the best one. And your ship was the best one. The Craymen know. They know this. It is all you have ever done."

"We've done a lot of things, admiral. There is nothing wrong with our ships."

"Not yet. But one day you will do it again. And the day after that. And the day after that, too. And the day after that, too."

"You … don't know what you're talking about."

"And all the people who came to the stars? And the stars spoke to the people? Were they told the same thing?"

"Yes, the stars spoke to all the people of our world. It is an ancient tradition."

"But the Craymen never listened to the stars. There was a war, an important war. A war where you lost. A war where a hundred billion men and women died."

"Yes. It was a terrible war. But it was also a necessary war. And we won it. The war was a victory."

"We? Not you?"

"Oh yes, the Craymen. Us. You know."

The admiral's heart was sinking. This was like some nightmare. He said nothing.

"Yes. We had the victory. But even after we won, we didn't listen to the stars."

The admiral said nothing.

"We tried to do something with the moon. But the moon was too small. It was impossible to keep it on the water. We tried to build a big ship on the moon. But we knew we wouldn't be able to land. And if we landed, we would destroy the land. So the Craymen killed themselves."

The admiral shook his head slowly. A chill was going down his spine. "What were you talking about with the stars?"

"I have said all I need to say, admiral. You have no idea how many worlds there are. And that the stars know the answer to the great question. Do we live to make another great and beautiful world? Our wars, our disasters, the whole world, is just another war in the universe of war. But the stars told me this one. They said to me, 'The next time the Craymen come to war, you must let your new world be destroyed. Your new world was made to die, and it can be nothing like the world you destroyed. It can't be made to die. It can't make a world die. It must be destroyed, but it must be destroyed in such a way that it can live again.'"

"So you destroyed your own world?"

The werewolf laughed. It sounded hollow. "Yes. Our world was destroyed, but not by any force of nature. We destroyed our world with our own hands."

"How?"

"We killed ourselves. Each Crayman. And then we did it again and again. Each time we killed another Crayman, so that our world would live again. The Craymen are no longer born. We can't create another Crayman. Our world can't survive without us. The Craymen need us. It is our duty to destroy ourselves. There is a force of nature in the universe. The one the Craymen tell me about."

"So you are an insect. An insect. An insect in an infinite and meaningless world. You destroyed your own world

#admiral-craymen

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yodawgiherd · 4 years

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Rome pt.2

>>>Read on AO3<<<

Rating: M

Setting: Historical Rome

Second part of the Rome AU =) Stay cool.

The sun was hot, but Eren was used to that. Under the protection of the villa’s roof, the heat was not even that bad, other things irritated him way more. If he were to name one that pissed him off the most at this very moment, it was sitting right next to him. His father, Grisha, half-drunk as usual, yammering on.

“As I was saying,”, he continued whatever train of thought went on in his head, “If they increase the taxes again, I’d have to sell some of my farms.”

Money, yes. That was the one thing that concerned him. At least Eren was not the target of his father’s speech this time, it was old man Reiss, sitting across the table and somehow paying attention.

“We should put some pressure on the senate,”, Reiss said, “They can’t keep pushing at us forever.”

His father nodded at that.

“Power to the people! That’s right! We should…”

Turning off his brain, Eren filtered out his father’s voice, a skill he was proficient in, eyes searching for the last occupant of the table. The blonde girl, Reiss’s daughter and heir, Historia. One of his closest friends, and by the will of both their fathers, his future wife. No, he did not have a say in this, and neither did she.

Kicking her lightly under the table, he made her look up, doing a grimace afterwards to express just how boring the money-talk was. She hid her smile under her palm and kicked him back, much stronger. Eren couldn’t stop himself from grinning. Historia was great, really fun and everything, but there was a little problem neither his nor her father knew that would complicate their upcoming marriage. Eren himself discovered it by accident and had sworn not to tell anyone. As they still had time before being seriously pressed into tying the knot, they decided to just wait it out for now. There was time for everything.

His father finished another long monologue, draining his wine cup afterwards and reaching out. A slave immediately jumped in and refilled it, which made Eren’s stomach churn. He hated slaves. No, that came out wrong. He didn’t hate the people themselves, he hated the system of slavery altogether. Their family, as a rich patrician one, understandably had plenty of slaves, and it was a topic of many arguments between Eren and his parents. Even as a child Eren never understood why it is okay for a human being to be owned by another one, just because one was born wrong, conquered, or in debt. His father originally dismissed all that talk as a child’s words, but as Eren grew, so did his hatred for slavery. The idea of not being free just because someone decided it is that way upset him to no end. But he was not the head of the house, that was his father, so technically he could not do anything. He was not even the heir to their villa, that was his half-brother Zeke, currently a Tribuni in the Roman legions, winning fame for himself on the frontlines.

A sudden burst of laughter got his attention, as both Grisha and Reiss laughed out loud, with Historia having a tight-lipped courteous smile herself. She was very good at pretending that she is interested in whatever bullshit the two of them were talking about.

“I do understand that,” Reiss was just saying, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes, “When Historia was a child, she brought home a homeless orphan and wouldn’t stop crying until I gave her a place in my household. Now, what is her name….”

“Ymir, father.”, his daughter quickly offered, “She is my best friend.”

“I do not believe in associating with the lower classes myself.”, Grisha said, “Eren also had a small episode when he tried befriending some slave girl, but I quickly got him out of that.”

Oh yes, that was a great memory. Even now, years later, Eren remembered coming home and telling his mother all excitedly about this nice girl with strange eyes that he met, and that he gave her his candy. He remembered being all giddy when he asked if he could go and see her again tomorrow, perhaps bring her some more candy, so that she would tell him her name. And most of all, he remembered the pained expression that his mother had during that talk because unlike Eren in his childlike ignorance, she knew very well what Grisha’s reaction will be once he finds out.

“It was not easy,”, his father was just saying, “But a highborn must know who to make friends with, and it is not slaves.”

He turned towards his son.

“Tell us Eren, how did I stop you from seeing that slave girl again?”

As if he could ever forget.

“You threatened that if I ever went to visit her, you would buy her yourself and then have our house guards drown her in the Tiber.”, meeting his father’s eyes, it took everything Eren had to keep his voice calm, “And I would have to watch it all.”

“Exactly. And even with all the crying and locking yourself in your room, you obeyed in the end.”, looking back at Reiss, his father continued, “Principles must be taught to the youngsters, otherwise they would just get out of control.”

Sometimes, at nights especially, Eren wondered how that girl was doing, if she was even alive. Being a slave in Rome, mortality rates were high. Back then, she was working in a brothel, so was she a prostitute now? Did he maybe see her sometime when he was out drinking with his friends? Would he recognize her? Would she recognize him? No, he had to stop himself. This train of thought always made him angry, because it only reminded Eren of what his father robbed him. Maybe he could have had a best friend in that girl, just like Historia had in Ymir. Instead, he would never see her again.

Standing up abruptly, the eyes of everyone present swung at him.

“May I be excused, father?”, seeing the hint of irritation in Grisha’s eyes, he scrambled for an excuse, “I would like to take a walk with my lovely fiancé.”

That worked, so after being officially allowed to leave, he and Historia disappeared behind a corner where they shared a long exhale.

“God that was boring.”, Eren said, rubbing his forehead.

“You tell me. I almost fell asleep.”, she sighed, “I wanna do something fun.”

Now that was a language Eren spoke well.

“I’m in. Let’s grab some friends and live it up! Where did you leave Ymir?”

“I think she’s in a pub here somewhere, not far.”, Historia grinned, “Not like Ymir will be hard to find.”

Eren mirrored her smile, remembering just how loud the tall girl could be.

“You’re right. Let’s go then.”

Two of the taverns they checked lacked the Ymir factor, but the third one looked promising. Right from outside, they could hear loud voices, and when they entered their suspicion was proven right.

“I’m just saying,”, Ymir shouted over the ruckus, “You would look great at the chariot races!”

“I don’t think I’m good enough driver to…”

“Wait, who said anything about the driver? You would be pulling the chariot!”

The table erupted into laughter, while Jean, the butt of this joke, mumbled something and hid his reddened face into a cup of wine.

“That joke is so old…”, he sighed, but no one listened.

Ymir was the first one who spotted them, bolting from her seat and sweeping Historia in a hug.

“You’re finally here! We all missed you so much!”

When there was not any response from the table, Ymir turned towards it with a dangerous gleam in her eye.

“I said, we all missed you. Right?”

This time there were affirmative sounds from everyone. Nobody wanted to get on Ymir’s bad side.

Scooting over to make room for the newcomers, they ordered another round and the conversation flowed. Ymir wanted to know what their fathers were talking about, but Historia simply waved her hand and claimed that it was the usual boring stuff. While she was talking, Eren looked around, taking in this group of friends. He and Historia were the only highborn here, the rest of them were plebians. His father would never allow him to hang out with slaves, but he gritted his teeth and stayed silent while Eren surrounded himself with the lower class. It was a small victory, but Eren also genuinely found them much more interesting than any of the patricians. Now that he had the time to take everyone in, he noticed that one person was missing, so turning to Jean, he asked.

“Hey, where’s Armin?”

“Working tonight.”, his friend replied, trying to take another sip of the wine but realizing that his cup was empty. The discovery made him frown.

Armin was an interesting fellow. Part-philosopher, part-medic, he made his living by treating the filth of Rome. Slaves, lowborn, all these that would get rejected by any respected doctor flocked to Armin and he helped them all, whenever they had the money to pay for their treatment or not. In all honesty, Eren thought that Armin was probably the best person he knew, far nobler than him. The art his friend practiced, medicine, also highly interested him, but as with most things in life, Eren didn’t get a choice in his future career path. His brother was a soldier, so he was going to be a politician, Grisha decided. Easy as that. Which meant that Eren’s medicine studied were limited to the times when he visited Armin, trying to learn as much as he could form his friend.

“Do you know where he is?”, Eren pressed on, getting Jean’s attention, that was still focused on his somehow magically empty cup, back.

“It’s Uuuhh…. Hmmm….”

Eren had to suppress a sigh here.

“Come on Jean…”

“Oh right! He’s down in the pits tonight, treating the gladiators that get gutted there.”

The pits were a chain of tiny arenas where slaves, madmen and animals were pitched to fight each other to the death for the entertainment of the unwashed masses. It was like the Colosseum, only a hundred times smaller. Armin often worked there, as even the victors of these matches hardly ever escaped unscratched. The losers usually didn’t need medical attention anymore.

“You’re right, the pits could be fun!”, Jean went on, standing up and swaying only lightly, “Gang, let’s see some blood!”

As nobody wanted to be called a wuss for chickening out, they left the tavern in a sound of chairs dragged over the ground and the clink of coins, heading through the streets towards the pits. Jean led the way, as even drunk he could navigate the gutters the best out of them all. Eren fell in next to Ymir and Krista, the two of them inseparable as usual.

“I do hope that you are taking good care of my fiancé.”, he said to Ymir.

She turned to him with a wink, dropping her hand low and possessively squeezing the blonde’s butt, making her jump with a squeal and quickly retaliate with a well-aimed punch at the taller girl’s shoulder. This was the small secret that he and Historia had from their parents, who were so sure about their future marriage. Historia was, unluckily for her father, mostly interested in women, a fact that was rare but not unheard of. The problem was that while her family might not have that big of a problem with her orientation as it was, they would require her to have an heir. She was, after all, the only living offspring Reiss had. But that was a hurdle she and Eren would cross once they got there, and it was not here. Yet.

While they were consumed by this petty bickering, back and forth, Jean reliably led them through the labyrinth of Rome, finding his way with ease. Left here, right there, turn that corner and they were approaching their target, easily heard from the excited shouts that were up in the air.

With an excited shout, Ymir broke through the group, dragging helpless Historia with her, disappearing between the spectators. The rest followed soon after, their own excitement in various degrees. Eren himself had mixed feelings. He did not mind the duels, per se, but it was another business that was partly made up of slaves being forced to participate. The thing was in full swing, meaning that seeking out Armin right now was most likely impossible. He would be running between here and there, hands full of dead and injured, and hardly needed Eren to make his job even harder. With nothing better to do, he elbowed his way towards the edge of the ring, joining Jean at the railing.

“Hey.”, an unknown voice to his left, “You wanna bet?”

Turning, Eren saw a scrawny man with parchment and several purses hanging from his belt. A bookmaker. Before he could tell him that no, he does not want to place money on the lives of people, Jean butted in.

“Sure!”, he pushed past Eren, smelling of wine and sweat, “Who’s fighting?”

“The next bout is…” the bookie blinked at the parchment a few times, “Siren versus Cyclops.”

“Siren?”, Jean snorted, “Who the fuck takes such a name?”

It wasn’t unusual for the gladiators to have a nickname, some ancient beast or hero. But Siren was not a monster known for its martial prowess, so Eren had to agree with Jean here. It was rather strange.

“Oh, she didn’t choose this one, it was given to her.”, the bookie quickly supplied.

“So you… Wait a second.”, even with his wine-addled brain, Jean caught up on the unusuality, “She? Her? This fighter is a…”

“Woman.”, the bookie nodded, “But she is not to be underestimated.”

Laughing, Jean pulled out a few coins and handed them over to the bookmaker.

“Sorry, but I’m tight on the money now, so I’ll be taking the sure way. My coins are on the Cyclops.”, turning towards Eren, he nudged him, “What about you? Don’t want to make some easy denars?”

Maybe it was the old habit of disagreeing with Jean on almost everything, maybe it was something else, but Eren reached into his own purse, pulling out a generous number and putting them into the bookie’s eager hands.

“My money is on the Siren.”, he announced, making Jean’s grin widen.

“Dude, woman gladiators are a joke, don’t you realize that?”

Seeing that Eren was not changing his mind, Jean shrugged.

“Guess you don’t mind losing those then.”

“We’ll see how it goes.”, Eren answered, turning back towards the arena. Just in time too, as the combatants were being ushered in.

First in was the Cyclops, large and imposing scarred man, armed with a net and a trident. Raising those weapons, he was greeted by booming shouts coming from all sides, probably a fan favorite. Then the challenger appeared. The woman was lightly armored, most likely relying on speed over brute strength. She was armed with a short sword and a dagger, holding these with an experienced grip. The full helmet on her face prevented Eren from seeing her face, but her body was lithe and crossed with several prominent scars, marked just as her opponent was. She didn’t generate nearly as much hype as he, and there were several laughs heard from the audience. Eren and Ymir were probably the loudest supporters, cheering her on. Cheers or laughter, Siren didn’t seem to care either way, completely ignoring the crowd and keeping her gaze on the opponent.

Once the signal was given, Cyclops was the first to move, poking at his enemy with the trident, abusing the reach he had over her closer ranged blades. But Siren was too fast, easily dodging and batting aside the strikes, moving between them, fluid like water. A few minutes into this dance, the crowd was getting bored, and demands for more action were thrown into the ring. If there was no blood, there was no fun. While Siren ignored those, just as before, Cyclops obeyed, abandoning this safe approach. He stopped using the net as a shield and utilized it as a weapon instead, swiping at his opponent. It was easy to get tangled in it, and once Siren would be caught, a single trident stab would end her. The problem was, she did not get caught. Turning on the aggressive mode, she weaved in between his attempts, slashing at him. Not drawn too close, Siren’s attacks were shallow, more like scratches, but they still hurt and the blood that colored the sands was a proof of it. Cyclops was getting desperate, None of his attacks connected, it looked like he was striking a ghost. The metallic teeth of his trident were always late, the net too slow and clumsy to capture someone as elusive as her. Overwhelmed, Cyclops screamed in defiance before betting it all on a single last thrust, putting all of his might behind it. And for the first time, he aimed true. The spikes of his trident hit Siren in the hip, leaving behind three identical red paths, dripping blood. Unluckily, this also put him directly in her face with nothing to block. Cyclops had about two seconds to celebrate his luck when a short sword was slammed right into his throat, toppling the large man over. Stunned silence followed.

First one to wake was Ymir, shouting her support even louder. She laughed, hugging Historia while her eyes quickly found the bookie, gesturing for him to come closer. Jean on the other hand let out a tired “Fuck me.”, before dropping his head to his hands. Siren herself took a step back, cleaning her blades on the dead man’s body. Hooking a hand under her helmet, she pulled it off, shaking her hair free and revealing her exotic visage. The way the sun glistened on those midnight strands prompted another comment from Jean, who stirred from his defeated slump.

“Damn, would you look at that.”, he said, half-turning towards Eren, “Now it’s easy to see why they call her Siren.”

The girl was indeed alluring, just like the mythical creature, even with her face twisted into a dark grin. Making a very rude gesture towards the crowd that doubted her, she reserved a single wave for Ymir, her loudest supporter, before turning away and ducking into the old door that led into the bowels of the pits. Free from her spell, now that she was gone, Jean moved his attention to Eren, now fully.

“Well, there goes my savings. Say, my good friend, now that you won, would you lend me some coins? It’s not like need them anyway, right? Eren? Eren!?”

But the lucky bet winner did not hear any of that. He was staring at the door where Siren disappeared, completely obvious to his surroundings. Why? Because he knew that face. He knew those almond-shaped grey eyes, albeit now they were much wilder than before. He knew that dark hair, now chopped short, not nearly as long as it was before.

He knew who Siren was.

#aot #snk #fanfic #eremika

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just-late-roman-republic-things · 23 days

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Quick i need you to assign mbti-types to your favourite romans

(Myers-Briggs Type Indicator/MBTI)

Pompey: Took an online MBTI quiz five times until it gave him the result he wanted.

Caesar: Can't take an MBTI test because he figured out how to cheese the questions.

Crassus: Sells people MBTI tests.

Cato the Younger: Rants about MBTI being a sign of everything wrong with modern society.

Bibulus: Has never taken an MBTI test but is sure he's an INTJ.

Caelius: Assigns everyone he knows to MBTI types based on vibes. Uses this to judge whether they're "compatible."

Marcus Agrippa: Tells people MBTI is not evidence-based, perpetuates false ideas about how cognition works, and is used as a cover for employment discrimination, thus making it no better than astrology.

Maecenas: Tells Agrippa to lighten up, it's just a silly personality test.

Octavian: Fervently believes in MBTI AND astrology.

Mark Antony: Thinks MBTI must be the initials for some Marcus B_____ Tiberius he's never met.

Cicero: Hired a psychologist for a real personality test and discovered too late he'd signed up for the Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory which takes about five hours plus interviews and debriefing. Left the building with an accidental diagnosis, pamphlet for local support groups, and existential crisis.

#problems with the MBTI: 3/4 of its scales don't reflect objectively measurable traits in populations #(only the introversion/extroversion trait is clearly attested)#the 16 possible results are then based on treating these 4 scales as dichotomies #but they're actually spectrums and most people score in the middle #so two folks could answer similarly but get classified very differently based on just a couple minor questions!#sorry for the rant haha. this comes up at my job often so i have strong opinions #if you want an evidence-based fun personality test check out the 'Big Five' test at openpsychometrics.org!#mbti #roman politicians in strange places #just roman memes #just roman asks

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insanityclause · 4 years

Link

Coriolanus is a strangely neglected and infrequently performed play, one without the speechifying and introspection that offer psychological insight into Shakespeare’s most popular protagonists. Yet, with its focus on the delusion of leadership, the importance of the mob and the brittle basis of populism, Coriolanus is truly a play for our times. A recent production starring Tom Bateman at the Sheffield Playhouse was truncated by the pandemic, so this is the perfect time to revisit the Donmar Warehouse’s extraordinary 2014 production showing this week via National Theatre at Home and starring Tom Hiddleston.

Six years on, this remains one of the most viscerally impressive productions of the last decade, a fascinating dissection of power, class and the enduring battle between military conquest and political protectionism that characterise Shakespeare’s Roman plays. Wars and conflicts occur across Shakespeare’s plays and, within the Histories especially, this involves many characters whose motivations and purpose in the story vary considerably as families, regions and nations contend for tangible forms of power.

In these plays, Shakespeare is particularly interested in the formation and decline of the warrior as an archetype, charting the dehumanisation process that rids the individual of personal weaknesses and emotion, transforming them into great and celebrated military leaders. The Henriad trilogy is the best example of this, following the reformation of Prince Hal from tavern-dwelling layabout to the principled and invincible monarch-conqueror. There are plenty of moments of hesitation, uncertainty and fragility along the way, but the steel that Henry V displays on the battlefield and in the rejection of his former companions denote the completion of his metamorphoses from fallible human prince to an idealised personification of glorious war.

Equally interesting is the post-war process in which the feted Hero-Warrior, unable to sustain their god-like form, must return to society – something Henry V escapes by dying unceremoniously in Shakespeare’s afterword. Now irreversibly changed or damaged by combat, the Hero-Warrior sets in motion a train of events that lead disastrously to their own destruction. Caius Martius who earns the moniker Coriolanus from his bloodthirsty endeavours takes this path through the play, the self-destruction of a hero unwilling to accept the confines of a society that built him and this becomes the major driver of Josie Rourke’s outstanding production.

Characteristics of the Hero-Warrior

Heroism is an intangible characteristic in many ways, requiring personality traits including decency, fairness, courage and bravery as well as deeds to demonstrate the hero’s prowess. There are several characters who begin one of Shakespeare’s plays already in the position of celebrated military hero – Coriolanus, Macbeth and Antony – all of whom return from garlanded battle with honours and political recognition, the discussion of which dominates the early section of these plays. Yet the very characteristic that made them also becomes their fatal flaw and pursuing it in peacetime takes them on a path to inevitable destruction and death.

In the Donmar’s Coriolanus, the audience is given a vivid picture of the protagonist’s battlefield strengths in an opening section where he descries the cowardice of his compatriots hiding in trenches rather than running into battle. He goes on to take the city of Corioli singlehanded, returning drenched in blood that runs into his eyes, covering his face and upper body entirely – a beautifully staged moment from Rourke and designer Lucy Osborne. Instantly we know that this is a man apart from others, one with superior fighting skills, incredible audacity and, crucially, an excess of bloodlust that make him part hero part madman.

What unfolds in the rest of the play suggests how fatally flawed this Hero-Warrior is, bred for the simplicity of soldiering, the life and death fundamentality of it all, and entirely unfitted for the grey, oleaginous world of politics. In Hiddleston’s remarkable performance, we see the effect of hubris and how clearly the very thing that made Coriolanus also breaks him – the love of his mother Volumnia. The intensity of their relationship, visible on his return to Rome is given physical form in the tenderness of the greeting between Hiddleston and Deborah Findlay, exceeding that for his wife and son. His reliance on her guidance is vital to understanding the path Coriolanus takes, his unyielding refusal to be other than what she made him even when the great prize of political office and power are offered. By the same extension, when he does finally succumb to her entreaties in the penultimate scene of this production and shows mercy to his former home, he places his mother above himself – it proves his undoing.

Shakespeare’s other Hero-Warriors experience a similar trajectory and while their motivation and downfall is conceived differently, both Macbeth and Antony suffer a rapid fall from grace, tumbling from invincible military hero supporting the dynastic sustenance of the state to its most pressing enemy. Macbeth’s ambitious belief in fate becomes his fatal flaw which in the early part of the play summons his courage to take the Kingship he craves, while that self-same fate becomes a poisoned chalice as he tries to outmanoeuvre the destiny earmarked for him at the start of the play.

Antony, likewise, is in a solid position at the start of Antony and Cleopatra holding a third of the Roman Empire in his grasp while living with the woman he adores. Antony’s fatal flaw – lust – helps to build his powerbase before the play begins uniting two countries in mutual support, but as his strategic abilities are increasingly clouded by his attachment to Egypt, he foreshadows the series of military disasters that lead to his his military capitulation and death. All of these men experience the decline of the Hero-Warrior image during the course of the play, a status and easiness of mind held at the start which they will never know again.

The Military-Political Clash

One of the core themes of Coriolanus is the uneasy alliance between military action and the democratic process, an idea that recurs in Shakespeare’s Roman plays. States are reliant on the bravado of commanders to conquer territories and occupy land, but attempts to translate battlefield honours into consolidated political roles in peacetime society often in the role of Consul or Tribune, are treated with suspicion by the career politicians that pack the Senate. Julius Caesar is the best example of this as the predominantly civilian conspirators plot to destroy their overmighty colleague, the unspoken threat of the violence his legions could unleash on the city a driving force in his assassination and the recruitment of veteran Brutus to their cause.

In Coriolanus the sniping role of Tribunes Sicinia and Brutus played by Helen Schlesinger and Elliot Levy starkly exemplifies that division, adding a class angle between the rulers and the ruled as they both represent and manipulate the voice of the people, using political tactics to dispense with the military man they personal despise. The status of Hero-Warrior counts for remarkably little in the political arena, and Coriolanus struggles to accept the legitimacy of a government that requires the frequent sacrifice of his blood to protect it but not his person. And while the Hydra-like work of the Tribunes (a reference Shakespeare returns to throughout the play) makes them and their reasoning entirely unsympathetic, Coriolanus’s own disdain for democratic process and the people become equally problematic for him.

Dismissive of the facile rituals of political conduct, Hiddleston’s sneering warrior mocks the ceremony of installation into the Consular office, pulling at the robe and laurel crown and refusing to parade his war wounds in order to beg for ‘voices’. Encouraged by his mother to comply with conventions, Hiddleston shows the frustration of the solider forced to debase himself as he courts a popularity he believes should be his by right and contends with his own straightforward honesty (brutal though it is). The result is a bristling tension in this production as Coriolanus struggles to flatter the citizens he can barely hide his contempt for as the audience anticipates confrontation. Within the play there is a fundamental clash between the two mutually dependent arms of the state that find each other’s rituals and personnel distasteful, a conflict, Shakespeare suggests in the plays set later that is never entirely resolved.

A Hard-Edged Vulnerability

The early scenes of the play are full of machismo as battles are fought and the posturing of victory informs the audience’s image of Coriolanus as an unyielding and statuesque figure. Hiddleston’s entrance sets the tone entirely as he captures both the commanding figure and personal charisma of a solider whose exploits are widely admired. It is a very physical performance, his posture set in rigid military bearing with shoulders back and head held high even when lurking at the back of the stage when’s he out of the scene, creating a fearsome impression, using his posture and surety of step to dominate the stage. There is real danger in Hiddleston’s Coriolanus, a no man’s land between rational, strategic thinking and a psychotic madness that erupts into violence as he fights the Volscian’s led by Hadley Fraser. The menace and physical strength Hiddleston exudes ideally situates the fears of the political class as his return to Rome provokes suspicion and jeopardy for the city.

And while it would be easy to play him as a blustering bully or maniac, what made Hiddleston’s performance so memorable is the thread of vulnerability that runs throughout his characterisation, generating a degree of compassion for the ill-fated general. It is an interpretation that gets between the lines of Shakespeare’s text and colours-in some of the emotional and psychological substance absent from a play with no great speeches or underlying lyricism – at least Macbeth and Antony had soliloquies in which they could unpack their minds to the viewer and themselves.

Hiddleston is a very subtle actor on stage, eschewing expansive expressions or gestures in favour of almost imperceptible flickers of feeling that provide a far richer and deeper experience, particularly well suited to the supposed impassivity of Coriolanus. The emotion exudes from within the character, registering largely in the actor’s eyes as they convey the effect of betrayal to the audience. We see a light die in him as the hurts and taunts dispel any ideas he may have had of his homecoming, while the painful process of dressing-up to beg for votes is clearly an embarrassing affront to the Hero-Warrior ego.

But it is the penultimate scene where these vulnerabilities are so movingly represented, broken down by his mother’s appeal for mercy, Hiddleston brings great clarity to the struggle within Coriolanus between the right tactical response to ensure his victory over Rome as well as ensuring the faith of his new-found comrades, and surrendering the advantage to guarantee the life of his own family. Coriolanus must choose between the two sides of himself, Caius Martius and Coriolanus, the soldier and the politician, knowing the latter ensures his own death, a dilemma that is full of agony in this meaningful performance.

The Donmar’s production of Coriolanus is one of the great NT Live recordings, capturing the intimacy of the space and the intensity of the production. The play may lack the grand tragedy of Macbeth or Antony and Cleopatra but this production makes a fine case for its value as a study of the declining Hero-Warrior and its relevance to our current political climate. The impasse between deluded politicians shoring up their own span of power and those who lack the temperament for government but can accomplish great deeds is the essence of Coriolanus – Shakespeare shows us it was ever thus.

Coriolanus is freely available on the National Theatre at Home Youtube channel until 12 June along with a separate audio commentary version provided by Josie Rourke and Tom Hiddleston. Follow this blog on Twitter @culturalcap1 or Facebook: Cultural Capital Theatre Blog

#Tom Hiddleston #Coriolanus #NT at Home

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hms-chill · 4 years

Text

RWRB Study Guide: Chapter 11

Hi y’all! I’m going through Casey McQuiston’s Red, White & Royal Blue and defining/explaining references! Feel free to follow along, or block the tag #rwrbStudyGuide if you’re not interested!

Franklin Barbecue (293): A barbecue restaurant in Austin that has sold out of brisket every day it’s been open. It moved from a trailer to a brick and mortar store in 2011 and has been named one of the fifty best barbecue places in the world.

Vita Sackville-West and Virginia Woolf* (293): Vita Sackville-West was a poet and Virginia Woolf was a novelist and essayist in the early 1900s. Both were openly queer; Vita had previously run off to France with a girlfriend. Additionally, they were both married, but were in open relationships. (you can read about them in Nigel Nicholson’s (Vita’s son’s) A Portrait of a Marriage; which is a essentially Vita’s journals and letters. Alternately, Woolf’s Orlando is essentially a love letter to Vita.) (find more snippets of their love letters here)

Jane Eyre (294): A gothic Charlotte Brontë novel that includes a woman who has been locked in her husband’s attic and goes mad.

St. Kilda (294): An isolated archipelago on the northwest coast of Scotland.

Thoughts and prayers (294): The phrase American politicians use to avoid doing things.

Scruffy-looking nerf herder (295): In The Empire Strikes Back, Leia calls Han Solo a “stuck-up, half-witted, scruffy looking nerf herder”.

Radclyffe Hall to Evguenia Souline (295): Madame Radclyffe Hall was a poet and novelist best known for The Well of Loneliness, which was deemed obscene for the lines “she kissed her full on the lips, as a lover" and "and that night, they were not divided", despite its plea: "Give us also the right to our existence". Though she was in a long-term relationship with Una Troubridge, she began dating Evguenia Souline in 1934, which Troubridge tolerated.

Eleanor Roosevelt to Lorena Hickock (297): Eleanor Roosevelt was the wife of president Franklin Delano Roosevelt and first lady of the US, and Lorena Hickock was a reporter. In 1928, Hickock was assigned to interview Roosevelt by her editors and she convinced them to allow her to follow Roosevelt for the rest of the election cycle.

Silver maple (300): A silver maple tree is one of the most common in North America; its sap is used to make maple syrup and it is apparently known as the tree of tolerance.

Waterloo vase (300): The Waterloo Vase is a 15-foot tall marble vase. It was passed from collection to collection because it was too heavy for any floor to support.

Yellow ipê-amarelo (300): the ipê-amarelo is a bright yellow flowering tree native to Brazil.

Michelangelo to Tommaso Cavalieri (301): Michelangelo was a painter and sculptor during the Italian Renaissance, and Thommaso Cavalleri was a Roman nobleman. The full letter, from July 28, 1533, is available here.

Hail Mary’s (302): A traditional Catholic prayer that asks for Mary’s help.

Muchas gracias, Santa Maria (302): “many thanks, St. Mary”

Alex writing a list (302): You know how Alex grew up making lists to deal with his stress? And now he’s making a list of things he loves about Henry? Yeah.

Keats (303): John Keats was a British Romantic poet, and though I couldn’t find scholarly proof that he was gay, I did find rumors of it. He was part of debatably the gayest movement in literary history and has been adopted by the queer+ community as a gay icon.

Bernadette’s “don’t let it drag you down” monologue from Priscilla, Queen of the Desert (303): The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert is a movie about two drag queens and a trans woman driving a lavender van across the Australian desert toward Sydney to perform their cabaret show.

The monologue: “It's funny. We all sit around mindlessly slagging off that vile stink-hole of a city. But in its own strange way, it takes care of us. I don't know if that ugly wall of suburbia's been put there to stop them getting in, or us getting out. Come on. Don't let it drag you down. Let it toughen you up. I can only fight because I've learnt to. Being a man one day and a woman the next isn't an easy thing to do.”

Richard Wagner and Ludwig II (304): As addressed in the book, Wagner was a composer. Ludwig II was his patron, a king known for his enormous castles and neo-gothic versions of Versailles. This is the whole of the letter that I could find, but you can read their others here.

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*I could talk about Vita and Virginia for so long omg. I love them so much. Also Virginia’s husband makes me so emotional y’all have no idea I adore this man.

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If there’s anything I missed or that you’d like more on, please let me know! And if you’d like to/are able, please consider buying me a ko-fi? I know not everyone can, and that’s fine, but these things take a lot of time/work and I’d really appreciate it!

—–-

Chapter 1 // Chapter 10 // Chapter 12

#rwrb study guide #rwrb #red white and royal blue #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor x alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #bea fox mountchristen windsor #pez okonjo #june claremont diaz #nora holleran #firstprince #English Major Brain™#English Major Brain™️#rwrb analysis

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sandershospitalau · 5 years

Text

Familiar Faces

(Trigger Warnings- Remus, Deceit, Attempted suicide, gangs, mentions of death/kidnappings, flashbacks)

Archive Of Our Own

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“Don’t get me wrong, sir, I know I’m gonna need some help starting out,” Nurse Venzon stammered as they padded through the halls of Sanders Hospital beside Virgil. “I’m just surprised that the director of nursing decided to be the one to help me.”

“We need all the good nurses we can get,” Virgil huffed, shrugging. “Until we can get the politicians to cancel that stupid nursing education bill, good hires are gonna be rare. Sanders Hospital needs to make sure its new hires can actually do their jobs.”

“Oh,” Nurse Venzon said, pursing their lips and staring straight ahead. “Alrighty then.” The two nurses looked like pale, lanky, purple sticks as they walked down the halls.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Virgil sighed, a tiny smirk he was pretty sure counted as comforting twitching on the edge of his mouth. “Like you said, you’re just starting out. Someone’s gotta show you the ropes.”

“Right,” Nurse Venzon said, nodding. The pair of nurses hugged the wall as a bed whisked past them, surrounded by residents and attendings. Nurse Venzon’s saucer sized eyes followed the bed. Their head spun around trying to see the bed all the way down the hall. Virgil’s smirk grew. The untapped excitement of a nurse fresh out of nursing school was always a treat.

“So we’re almost to Ms. Sutherland’s room,” Virgil explained, glancing at the room number behind him. “As the newbie, you’ll be stuck with grunt work. That means lab results, samples, prostate examines- well, probably not the last one with Ms. Sutherland.” Nurse Venzon nodded along to everything Virgil said. “When the doctor’s in the room, they usually control the scene, but you’re the one who’ll be with her more. But you heard all this in your orientation, so I won’t get into more details.”

“Got it,” Nurse Venzon chirped, bouncing on their toes.

“So,” Virgil huffed, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. “Tell me about our patient.”

“But don’t you already know about her?” Nurse Venzon asked.

“I know her,” Virgil muttered. “I want to know if you do. Talk to me like you’re the expert on her and I’m the newbie.”

“Ok,” Nurse Venzon huffed, shaking out their hands. “Our patient is Natasha Sutherland, female, she/her, age fifty-two. She’s been seen at Sanders numerous times over the last few years for treatment involving her chronic back and neck pain. The pain is linked back to damage gained during her service in Iraq. A lot of her forms had St. Gemma’s insignia on them, so I believe she used to get treatment there until the VA stopped helping her. Lately the pain’s increased to a point where her usual home therapy isn’t working, so she’s opting for a surgical solution.”

“Good job,” Virgil said, pushing himself off the wall. “Let’s go meet her.” Virgil had to admit, as he padded down the hall with Nurse Venzon, a new case was as good of a break as he could get from the Nurse’s Rally. He’d been running all over the hospital, getting signatures from nurses to participate in the rally. Even though Roman was helping head up public announcement of the protest, Virgil had been interviewed enough times to last for the rest of his life. And then there were the semi-decent politicians emailing Virgil constantly about their support or ‘respectful disagreements’ with the upcoming march. Being a public figure was exhausting. How did Roman do it?

“Then how else do you suggest I relax?” a voice that sounded similar to General Leia Organa muttered through a half open door.

“Watch TV?” another voice suggested. “Maybe Grey’s Anatomy?”

“I’m in the hospital and you want to watch Grey’s Anatomy,” the first voice scoffed. “Of course.” Virgil tried not to roll his eyes when he realized that was Ms. Sutherland’s room. He knocked on the door and pulled it open completely.

“Ms. Sutherland?” he called into the room. Ms. Sutherland’s room was one of the smaller ones in Sanders, but it was big enough for her bed, the two nurses, and the chair beside the bed where her guest sat. Ms. Sutherland had close cut, traditionally masculine, sandy hair mixed with spots of gray. Her muscled arms rested on her lap. Her face had enough sharp features to cut paper, with vibrant cheekbones, a sharp tipped nose, and small lips. If Virgil was asked to pick out who he thought was a soldier out of a crowd, he would pick this woman. The person in the chair beside her looked to be a few years older, with more gray in his long brown hair. His hair was pulled into a loose ponytail. It touched the collar of his dark blue sweater and made him look like a sailor. He had the same sharp nose as Ms. Sutherland, but with softer cheeks and a pair of circular glasses dangled precariously on the edge of his nose.

“Just call me Natasha,” Ms. Sutherland huffed, waving a hand dismissively. “There’s too many Ms. Sutherland’s in my family as it is.”

“Whatever you prefer,” Virgil sighed. “My name’s Nurse Lawson, and this is Nurse Venzon. You’ll be seeing a lot of us during your stay here.” Nurse Venzon waved to Natasha.

“Nurse Lawson,” the man in the chair mumbled. He glanced up at Virgil. His eyes scanned the nurse up and down. A smile formed on his lips.

“Uh…” Virgil said. “Yep. That’s my name.”

“Hank, the little games you play with people aren’t helpful now,” Natasha sighed. The man, Hank, pushed the chair back and stood up.

“Now isn’t life strange,” Hank chuckled. “You dyed your hair since we met. I’m guessing you don’t recognize me?”

“Uh, no, sorry,” Virgil said, shaking his head. Hank chuckled, picking at the sleeves of his sweater.

“Would this jog your memory?” he asked. His bulky fingers slipped his left sleeve up, wrist out to the nurses. Long pink scars trailed up his wrists. Some were poorly healed, picked and scabbed into permanent markings, while the longest of the bunch were fainter, the mark of a doctor’s help. “The doctors at St. Gemma’s did a good job.” The memories clicked into Virgil’s head in an instant.

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(Years prior...)

Virgil Lawson would never understand how anyone in their right mind could have hired Remus for their maintenance staff. The man could easily have been Oscar the Grouch's long lost brother. Who escaped from prison. And then burned down Sesame Street. With every day, Virgil became more and more certain that the big brass of St. Gemma's were utter idiots.

"I mean, isn't that sort of blood more sanitary than other blood?" Remus asked. He leaned against his janitor's cart as he walked alongside Virgil. His mop dragged behind him, leaving a long wet trail on the tiled floor. "Vampires should use that blood! It's perfect for the lesbian vampires, isn't it?"

"Ok, you need to stop," Virgil grunted. Remus simply laughed and stroked his greasy mustache. Virgil kept his hands in the pockets of his black scrubs. Why the scrubs for the psychiatric nurses were black, Virgil would never understand. It made him seem less like a helpful hand and more of a grim servant of death. Not that he didn't like black, it was easily one of his favorite colors, but who's heard of black scrubs? Even Remus had a better color scheme with his dark green janitor's jumpsuit and the blue flowery logo of St. Gemma's stitched onto the chest.

"I don't see why I should stop!" Remus snorted. "You're the one who brought up vampires! I'm just suggesting places to get blood!"

"I'm not using actual blood for my vampire costume," Virgil huffed. "Do you realize how unsanitary that would be?"

"That's what I'm saying!" Remus laughed. Virgil groaned softly. He'd walked into that one, yet again.

"Unless you want Nurse Patty to throw down on you, I suggest you head off," Virgil sighed, stopping beside the third-floor elevators. "I'm heading to the psychiatry department."

"What fun awaits you there?" Remus chirped. He stuffed his mop into the bucket of murky water attached to his cart.

"Jumper watch," Virgil muttered as the elevator beeped and the doors slid open. Virgil padded to the corner of the large elevator. Remus boarded alongside him.

"Oof," Remus groaned. He leaned both elbows against the rails lining the elevator. "Details?" Virgil's guts hurt as he gave into Remus's demands. This was the most fragile moment of someone's life, and he was sharing it like it was no big deal. But what could he do? Remus was unstoppable when he wanted something. It was better to give him what he wanted. It would save Virgil a world of trouble.

"Overdose," Virgil mumbled. "Plus wrist damage. His sister found him. He's physically stable, but not emotionally."

"So you're his babysitter for the night!" Remus chuckled. "Fun times all around! You might be able to catch a few ZZZs while you're there. Your eyes are particularly dark and stormy tonight." Remus leaned over and booped Virgil's nose.

"Yeah, you try explaining to three different families that their loved one's treatment isn't working," Virgil snapped, rubbing his nose. The elevator beeped, and the doors opened up. "Now go. Not to say seeing you get chewed out by Patty wouldn't make my day, but I'm too tired to deal with that crap. Go clean the pediatric waiting room, there's always some kid vomiting in there." Virgil shoved past Remus and left the elevator.

"Whatever you say, oh dear Anxiety!" Remus chirped. He gave Virgil a melodramatic bow as the elevator slid shut.

"Don't-" Virgil snapped, but the elevator was already closed. "Don't call me that." Virgil shivered as cold air brushed past him. He rubbed his pale arms, wishing he'd grabbed his hoodie before coming up. He stalked away from the elevators and into the guts of the St. Gemma's psych department.

Most of the psych department was devoted to therapy and medication. Offices dotted the off-tan walls between informational and inspirational posters. Each office was the shiny face of the emotional dumpster fires that lurked in the long-term patient rooms beyond. Most of the offices were dark now- after all, who would schedule a session for the middle of the night? Virgil continued on, blocking out the muffled shouting that he drew closer and closer towards.

A single window looked into each of the tan rooms. In this department, patients often lacked privacy privileges. Virgil kept his gaze forward as he repeated the room's number in his head. He tried not to flinch when he heard a muffled scream bounce through the walls and when his fellow psych nurses scurried past him. He was used to the panicked screams of patients with brain damage and deep, difficult mental illness. Why should he be as jumpy as a visitor? His shoulders tightened, and he continued on.

His patient's room was towards the end of the department, near the hallway window that led to the fire escape. Naturally, bars covered the window. Virgil tried to drop his shoulders and knocked on the door.

"Come in," a familiar voice inside said. Virgil gritted his teeth, frowning, and entered. Harsh yellow lights flickered around the room. Like most of the rooms in the psychiatry department, the tan walls and white tiled floors were mostly barren. There was a TV that stood higher than any person of normal height could reach, with a matted recliner in the corner. A small stand sat beside the bed pressed against the wall. Virgil's patient, Hank Dragon (Virgil thought they were pulling his leg when he read the name), laid in the white bed, IVs trailing to his arms. His hair was a sweaty brown mess streaked with gray that reached the base of his neck. His small eyes were focused on Virgil. Had he already come down off the high caused by his medication? Was he staring off into space where Virgil conveniently stood? When Virgil moved to the side of the room, Hank's eyes followed him. Alright, he was definitely looking at him. He was also glancing at the doctor who stood by his bedside.

The doctor's black hair was smoothed back against his head with hair gel. A few dots of black paint sprinkled his doctor's coat. A perfectly straight black bowtie sat under his neck against his yellow polo. Blue rubber gloves stretched over his thin, still hands (at least he wasn't wearing those dishwasher gloves of his or, God forbid, the bowler hat). Then again, perhaps the bowtie was meant to distract patients from the wrinkled, scarred skin trailing down the left side of the doctor's face. It snuck under his collar and snaked around his face, claiming his ear and turning strains of his black hair brown. A brown eye and a golden eye scanned the numbers appearing on Hank's main monitor.

"What's up, doc," Virgil scoffed, leaning against the door with crossed arms. Dr. D looked up.

"Ah, Nurse Lawson," Dr. D sighed. "You're here."

"I'm sorry, was I not wanted at this exact moment?" Virgil laughed, grinning.

"Mr. Dragon, this is Nurse Lawson," Dr. D explained. "He'll be keeping you company, now that he's finally decided to grace us with his presence." Dr. D padded around the bed and towards Virgil. Hank's eyes followed him across the room. Virgil kept his fists from clenching as the doctor approached. "I trust you've been filled in on Mr. Dragon's medical details."

"I wouldn't be doing my job if I wasn't," Virgil huffed.

"Regardless, if you need any refreshers, you've got his board," Dr. D sighed. The board he was referring to was on the wall to Virgil's left. It was a rectangular whiteboard with various columns of information. Patient name, medication schedules, admittance, and other info. Stuck in the corner of the board were the words 'Watch- Virgil Lawson', scribbled under the medication schedule. "Goodnight, Mr. Dragon. Virgil." Virgil scooted away as Dr. D opened the door. His coat flapped behind him as the door clicked closed.

“Hank Dragon,” Virgil gasped softly as Hank slipped his sleeve back over his scars.

“What are you doing, Hank?” Natasha huffed.

“Tasha, you’ve got a great nurse taking care of you,” Hank laughed. He strolled over to Virgil and slapped his shoulder. “I can’t believe it! Virgil Lawson, treating a Sutherland kid once again!”

“Oh, are you siblings?” Nurse Venzon piped in, their wide eyes bouncing between Hank and Virgil.

“My older brother changed his last name shortly after he moved away from home,” Natasha explained. “I would like some clarification, Hank. When did Nurse Lawson treat you?”

“Well, Natasha,” Virgil said, picking at the inside of his scrub pockets. “The night after your brother’s… his, uh-”

“Hank and I don’t mince words,” Natasha sighed. “You can say attempted suicide. Words only have power when you give them that power.”

“Well, when he went to St. Gemma’s, I was assigned to his case,” Virgil explained.

“Lawson here helped my feet find solid ground!” Hank laughed, shaking Virgil’s shoulder. “Spent the whole night in my room chatting with me.”

“I see,” Natasha said, eyebrows raised. “Your help was greatly appreciated, Nurse Lawson.”

“Sorry, Tasha, I can’t get over this,” Hank chuckled, shaking his head. “We need to catch up! You know, see how our lives have gone since then!”

“I’m sort of working right now,” Virgil said, pointing at Natasha.

“Right, right,” Hank laughed, letting go of Virgil. “You got a lunch break or something? We could have lunch, my treat! You like ramen?”

“How do you think I survived nursing school?” Virgil scoffed.

“I know this ramen place, it’s not that far from the hospital,” Hank said. “We can eat there! What do you say?”

“How about we check on your sister first?” Virgil said, pointing towards Natasha. “Nurse Venzon?”

“So Natasha,” Nurse Venzon chirped, squeezing past the two men, finally given a chance to do something. “Let’s get your information updated.” Nurse Venzon’s words left Virgil’s conscious train of thought as Hank settled back into his seat. He hadn’t thought of Hank Dragon in a long time. That offer of ramen sounded a bit too good to resist.

————————

"Someone needs to teach that man some bed-side manners," Hank muttered as Dr. D closed the door to his room. His half-focused eyes trailed onto Virgil, following his every move.

"That’s just how he is," Virgil huffed. He trudged across the room and sat on the arm of the matted recliner. Hank let out a soft bark of laughter.

"The man needs to find another job, then," he muttered.

“Do you want to find something on TV or keep insulting Dr. D?” Virgil grumbled, cocking his head towards the TV.

“Dr. D,” Hank mumbled, shaking his head. “Dr. D. Doesn’t he have a name?”

“Of course he has a name,” Virgil snapped.

“Then what is it?” Hank asked. Virgil grabbed the TV remote sitting on the nightstand and flicked on the TV. America’s Funniest Home Videos popped onto the screen without sound. “Turn it off. I wanna sleep.” Hank closed his eyes and rested his head so he faced away from Virgil.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Virgil huffed, stalking around the bed. He crouched to Hank’s level and shook his shoulder. “You still have a cocktail of drugs you need to work out of your system. No sleeping for you.”

“I woke up at four this morning,” Hank sighed, turning his head to the TV. “Can’t I take a five minute nap?”

“You could try,” Virgil scoffed. He settled back on the arm of the couch. “But then I’d have to break out the airhorn.”

“There are other patients on this floor,” Hank scoffed. “You won’t wake them up.” Dang it. Even with half-focused eyes, Hank saw right through Virgil. The nurse let his mind wander as the TV played clips of crying toddlers and old ladies slipping on front porches. He’d had his fair share of sleepless nights, but being stuck in this room watching Hank would be a bit more difficult. Perhaps Virgil could ask one of the nurses to bring him some coffee. If the other nurses didn’t fear him, maybe. Remus would probably bring him coffee. On the other hand, Remus in a room with a suicidal person was a recipe for disaster.

“Are there photos?” Hank asked, not looking at Virgil.

“Considering I’m not a mind reader, you’ll have to be more specific,” Virgil huffed.

“They take photos during surgery, don’t they?” Hank asked. “For records, or something? Can I see the photos from my surgery? I’d check the results myself, but…” Hank lifted his right arm barely an inch off the bed before it fell back down. Thick bandages wrapped around his wrist.

“That’s not happening,” Virgil grunted.

“Alright,” Hank sighed. Virgil bit his tongue as questions hopped around his head. Hank didn’t need any stupid questions. All he needed from Virgil was a watching eye to keep him safe.

“I do have another request though,” Hank said.

“If it’s something that involves me leaving the room, no,” Virgil muttered.

“The new episode of Grey’s Anatomy is on tonight,” Hank said. “I thought I wasn’t going to see another one. Considering I’m still kicking, might as well watch it.”

“Now that’s something I can do,” Virgil said. He flicked through the TV channels, news stations and cartoons and ads flashing by. He settled on ABC, which was in the middle of a Grey’s Anatomy trailer. Half an hour later, the show’s theme played through the room. In a few ways, this was a good improvement to Hank’s condition. He was looking forward to something, even though it was something so small. Like Virgil always reminded himself, tough love worked. Even if it hurt.

“No way,” Remy gasped, pulling off his sunglasses for dramatic effect. “No. Way. In. Hell.”

“It’s a small world, I guess,” Virgil sighed, leaning against the counter of Remy’s little cafe. Remy’s brown satchel sat bundled on the counter beside the cash register just behind a glass tip jar. His little coffee shop name tag clung to his white shirt and a dark stain clung to his jeans (the mishaps of coffee).

“You’re drowning me with tea,” Remy chirped, an almost wicked smile spreading across his face. “So he’s here now? Not at St. Gemma’s?”

“His sister’s here,” Virgil explained. He drummed his fingers against the counter top. “He’s here to keep her company.”

“And you didn’t recognize the sister’s name when you got assigned to her or whatever?” Remy asked.

“It’s not like we exchanged contact information back then,” Virgil huffed. “Besides, his last name is Dragon, and hers is Sutherland.”

“Dragon,” a voice at the back of the little cafe scoffed. “That sounds like the name of a basement dweller with a D&D addiction.” The other person working with Remy turned around with a cup of fresh coffee in his hands. He too had an obsession with wearing sunglasses indoors, those his were circular and more like tiny mirrors attached to his face. He wore black leggings and an all-black long-sleeved shirt. A black yarn shawl wrapped around his neck, strings climbing over his shoulders.

“That’s quite the criticism coming from a dude we only know as ‘The Critic’,” Virgil scoffed, putting air quotes around the name.

“Dr. Sanders knows my name,” The Critic chuckled, grabbing a sharpie and scribbling a name onto the coffee cup.

“Yeah, cause he’s our boss,” Virgil huffed. “You can’t exactly get hired without a name. You’re the director of food services, why are you even here?”

“Exactly, Francis,” The Critic said. He strolled beyond the counter and towards the sea of seats filled with cafe customers.

“That’s not my-” Virgil snapped, but the Critic was already gone. “What does that mean? Remy, what does that even mean?”

“Whatever,” Remy chuckled. “Your order’s almost ready. You’ve got a lunch date to get to.”

“Don’t phrase it like that,” Virgil groaned, elbows on the counter, head in his hands. “This is weird enough as is. I mean, this isn’t what being a nurse is like. Most of the time, you take care of a patient and you never see them again. Now I’m supposed to go get ramen with this guy?”

“You agreed to it,” Remy scoffed.

“I agreed to it,” Virgil groaned. Remy slid a cup across the counter.

“Just relax,” Remy sighed. “If he’s a weirdo, you can pull out that kung-fu of yours and deal with him. Take a break, and enjoy the free food.” Virgil took the cup and handed over a few bills. He dropped $5 in the tip jar and stalked towards the exit.

Maybe Remy was right. Virgil had been working through lunch the past few days on the rally. Maybe this would be good for him. It was just lunch. Lunch with a stranger. Virgil should have grabbed his hoodie- things were always better with a bit of his mom’s flannel at his side.

————————

“You haven’t asked yet,” Hank said halfway through the new episode of Grey’s Anatomy.

“Asked what?” Virgil asked, glancing at the man.

“All day, people have been asking me the same question,” Hank grumbled. “‘Why’d you do it, Hank? Why’d you try to throw your life away?’” Hank gently waved his unbandaged arm in the air. “You haven’t asked me yet. Waiting for the right words to say?”

“I haven’t met many people who self harm or try to commit suicide that want people to pry into their darkest moments,” Virgil scoffed. “My job is to make sure you don’t try it again. It’s not to figure out why you did it.”

“Eh,” Hank chuckled. “That’s fair.”

“My only question is why you want to watch a medical drama when you’re literally in a hospital,” Virgil muttered, waving a hand at the TV. Hank laughed again, the same sort of soft, short bark he did before.

“You do have a sense of humor, don’t you, Nurse Lawson?” Hank chuckled. “Tasha would have said the same thing.”

“Who’s that?” Virgil asked, sliding into the body of the comforter.

“Tasha’s my little sister,” Hank explained, a tiny smile emerging. “She’s a lieutenant, fighting back ISIS and such over in the Middle East. Well, not right now. She’s finished a tour of service, came home last week.” The barely living smile slipped away. “Memory’s a little foggy. Pretty sure she found me. I think I forgot she was home again.”

“There’s always a catch in plans,” Virgil muttered. “Guess you should, you know, never try it again.”

“Heh,” Hank sighed. “You’re probably right.” The empty space in the room filled with the soft tunes of whatever indie song was playing over the surgery on TV. “I don’t think I help Tasha’s army credentials a lot.”

“That’s not how the army works,” Virgil huffed, totally unsure of his statement. “They don’t care about someone’s sibling.”

“Even if that sibling is a criminal?” Hank scoffed. Virgil’s entire body tensed. “Don’t worry, it wasn’t murder. I ran with some gangs in my past. Some time in jail sorted me out. Can you turn off the TV?”

“What, no more Grey’s Anatomy?” Virgil asked, restoring his false air of confidence.

“No one knows the full story,” Hank muttered. “Not even Tasha. She doesn't know everything I did. I just want someone to know. I'm sick of keeping everything in. It's made me sick. ” That was all Virgil needed. He flicked the TV off and hopped off the recliner. He rolled his shoulders, even though that didn’t help his terrible posture.

“Alright then,” Virgil huffed. “Spill it.”

“You want all the details?” Hank asked. “They aren’t all pretty.”

“I want the full story,” Virgil growled, glaring down at Hank. He’d do whatever Hank needed to recover. After all, he wasn’t the only person in the world burdened by all the hidden details of a life story. Virgil was in the same boat. Even if Virgil had no one to confess to, he would give Hank someone.

Virgil pushed open the door to the ramen shop. The wall beside the door was a large mural of a cartoon alligator slurping on a bowl of ramen. The words ‘Gator Noodles’ stretched over the alligator’s face. The theme song of an anime Virgil couldn’t remember played over the speakers. Servers stalked around the square pale wood tables with trays of deep bowls filled with soy sauce soaked ramen. Rich afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows facing the street. Pastel colors covered the restaurant, like Virgil was stepping into a children’s anime. Virgil’s mouth watered as soon as the bell on the door chimed and the smell of soy sauce hit his nose.

Hank sat at a booth against the wall, closest to the bathrooms. He flipped through the pages of a gray paperback book. His fingers tapped against the table to the rhythm of the song overhead. With the basics of kung-fu going through his head, Virgil approached Hank’s table. The former patient noticed Virgil before he got there.

“You came!” Hank laughed, his voice still retaining the barky laughter from that night in St. Gemma’s. Hank slid a menu into his book and stood up.

“You invited me,” Virgil muttered, suddenly feeling very out of place in his scrubs. He really, really should have changed.

“Tasha was certain you wouldn’t show up,” Hank chuckled. “Sit down, sit down.” Hank slid back into the booth. Virgil shoved himself into the other seat and quickly grabbed a menu pressed under a metal stand of sauces.

“I didn’t recognize you when I saw you again,” Hank admitted. “The purple hair threw me off.”

“Yeah, uh, I started dying it a while back,” Virgil said, self-consciously pulling at a few strains of his hair.

“Check this out,” Hank said. He pushed his book across the table. It was a gray cover with prison walls near the bottom that read ‘Locked In.’ “You’d be surprised how many criminals have written books. This is only one of the books I picked up after we met. Never was much of a book guy, but it gave me something to do.”

“Good for you,” Virgil said, nodding. He glanced around the restaurant, hoping someone would come by and take his order.

“You seem happier,” Hank remarked. He slipped his book into his lap. “Less… I dunno, dark?”

“How much do you even remember about me?” Virgil asked, squinting.

“I’ll be honest, there are parts of that night that are totally lost,” Hank chuckled. He rested one elbow on the table and waved his hand around like a joystick. “But you? You are preserved in perfect detail. I mean, you’re the first person I ever really talked to about my issues.”

“I’m someone people can vent to,” Virgil sighed, shrugging.

“I know that now, but here’s the thing,” Hank huffed, pointing at Virgil. “You did not look all that welcoming. The black scrubs you nurses wore made you look more like angels of death.”

“St. Gemma’s is idiotic like that,” Virgil sighed.

“Sanders seems to be a good fit for you,” Hank sighed. “St. Gemma’s was fine and all, had some great care and fancy techniques, but you feel more human at Sanders, you know?”

“I know,” Virgil sighed, smiling.

“There was something off about half the folks there,” Hank chuckled. “Like that doctor who did my surgery, the one with the scars on his face.”

“Dr. D,” Virgil muttered.

“Right!” Hank barked. His hands soared around him in giant windmill patterns. “It’s still a weird name, even after all these years.”

“Are you ready to order now?” a server popped out of nowhere beside the booth, notepad in hand. Finally. Virgil pointed to the miso ramen dish on the menu, while Hank ordered the shoyu ramen. The server disappeared as quickly as they appeared.

“Alright,” Virgil sighed. “The question’s been on my mind all day, and I’m pretty sure you’ve answered it by now, but- how are you doing?”

“Well, it’s been an uphill battle,” Hank admitted, resting his wild hands. “I fiddled around with medication to help me until I decided to drop it all together and try something else. I’ve been seeing a therapist once a week, probably spent enough on therapy to cover those med school bills I hear so much about. Tasha’s been a big help too.” Virgil nodded softly. His insides churned. Even talking to him as a patient was easier than this. How was he expected to respond? Virgil just tried to settle his insides and make the ramen cook faster.

————————

“I’ll be fair, I’m not a storyteller,” Hank sighed, staring at the ceiling. “Most of this probably won’t make sense. Should I start at the beginning?”

“It’s your story,” Virgil muttered. Hank closed his eyes, taking deep breaths. For a moment, thoughts of Hank falling asleep and not waking up flooded Virgil’s head. But Hank opened his eyes again and started telling the story.

“I wasn’t a poor kid growing up,” Hank explained. “My family had cash, enough to live in one of the nicer parts in this city. Tasha was born a year after me, so we basically grew up together. I think my parents had the idea that I’d join the military out of college, maybe be a Navy guy like my dad. Tasha was always more like him, though. I took after Mom. More domestic, kinda, since I liked cleaning and cooking and whatnot. God, I loved cooking. Loved running around the kitchen. Didn’t make me a popular kid, though. Tasha and I really just had each other in school. She was the one who stood up to people for me.” Virgil couldn’t hide a little grin. After all, he’d been like that too- knitting and stitching and playing with whatever scraps of cloth he could find in his free time. But when was the last time he knitted something?

“When I started high school, Tasha was only in the eighth grade,” Hank continued.

“So you didn’t have any friends?” Virgil finished the thought.

“Right on the nose,” Hank sighed. “For the first part of the year, at least. Without Tasha, I didn’t know what to do with myself. No one talked to me after the first day. Eventually I made a friend, a guy I thought was a loner like me. Other guys like us migrated towards him. If you were a weirdo that everyone ignored, you had a place in our little group. You lost your mom and you’re angry at everyone around you? Come join us, we’re gonna drink on the beach. Everyone insult you for bad grades? Grades don’t matter when you’re skateboarding down the street. That’s right, I was a skater boy.” A dull ache swirled through Virgil. The ache had been with him since he graduated nursing school and got his job at St. Gemma’s. It was that ache that discovered St. Gemma’s, in a convoluted way. “I was an absolute idiot in high school.”

“Most people are,” Virgil muttered.

“That’s fair,” Hank admitted. “I think I took the cake, though. Most high school idiots stayed out past curfew or went to a few crazy parties. Meanwhile, my friends and I decided to get initiated into a gang of heartless little- like i said, stupid.”

“These guys were the only friends you had, right?” Virgil asked. “I can see anyone getting themselves into that situation. Doesn’t make you stupid.” Something clawed at Virgil’s chest. He ignored it for the moment.

“I was ruining my life and I didn’t even know it,” Hank scoffed. “Even after Tasha got to high school, I was long gone. I was out all night doing drug deals and pushing people around and playing with stolen guns. I stopped getting bullied. I thought I found people who cared about me. I got pretty good at running from the cops. I was having fun.” Hank’s good hand moved towards his bandage. Virgil grabbed his wrist and set Hank’s arm back to his side, gripping his wrist just a bit too tight. The arm was limp in Virgil’s grip.

“Don’t mess with your bandages, ok?” Virgil sighed. “We need to let them heal.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hank huffed, squeezing his eyes shut. “It took me till after high school, when Tasha was just getting ready to graduate from West Point, to snap out of it. Ya see, that friend of mine dragged me into a kidnapping. It was some kid, not that much younger than I was when I joined. He said the kid was just collateral, some junkie owed us cash or whatever. He had nothing to do with anything, he didn’t deserve to get hurt. I got out of there as soon as I could, and I dialled 911. Heh, imagine what that operator was thinking. ‘Yes, hi, I would like to report a kidnapping. I just kidnapped a child and would like to return him please.’” Hank let out a bark of laughter. “I don’t think I said that exactly, but something like that.”

“Geesh,” Virgil groaned.

“I sat out there, waiting for the cops to show, and when they did, I brought them in,” Hank explained. “The guy I spent all of high school with, thought he was my best friend, he pulled a gun on me. Got shot in the shoulder for his troubles. Since I helped find the kid, I got some deals, so I got sent to a different prison than my friend and a shorter sentence. My parents stopped talking to me after that, which I honestly deserved. Tasha was the only one who stuck around. She’s too good for me.” Scenarios danced through Virgil’s head. Hank sitting in jail, Hank getting a gun pointed at him, Hank’s fear at his friend, Virgil’s fear at his friend- no, what was he doing? He was making things about himself. That wasn’t right!

“When I got out of jail, Tasha helped me rebuild my life,” Hank sighed. “She let me stay at her house, paid me to take care of the place when she was deployed. Since I had a gang out for my blood, I didn’t leave the house much. It was me and my thoughts all the time.”

“A horrible idea, really,” Virgil muttered.

“You said it,” Hank chuckled. “I didn’t have a schedule to follow anymore, so I just slunk around. I was a burden to Tasha. I’d ruined my life, and I couldn’t fix it. I couldn’t get a job, couldn’t get a place of my own. I’ve done a lot of bad things, but I couldn’t do anything about it. The only option for me was to remind myself of how badly I’d screwed up and how horrible I was.”

“You feeling regret is a good thing,” Virgil huffed. “It means you know you made mistakes. It means you aren’t that horrible.”

“Not sure how true that is,” Hank muttered.

“I’m serious,” Virgil grunted, crossing his arms. “How many people would have the courage to call the cops on themselves?” Hank’s gaze trailed between his hands, opening and closing his fists.

“Maybe,” Hank sighed. “I still took my sister’s cash. I wasted away in her house, ordering fast food and binge-watching TV all day. The few times I left were for groceries or with Tasha. She wouldn’t give up on me. So I gave up on myself.” Silent words of understanding and empathy entered Virgil’s head. Memories of mirrored emotions fluttered past. They both sat in the dim hospital room, each thinking different, but depressingly similar thoughts.

“I don’t think there’s much I can do to help,” Virgil admitted. “That’s a lot to unpack.”

“You let me tell my story,” Hank sighed.

“I’m also staying with you,” Virgil declared. “You’ve got two people who aren’t willing to give up on you now. Your sister, and me.”

“A horrible idea, really,” Hank chuckled, shaking his head.

“Well,” Virgil huffed, throwing his hands in the air. “It sucks to suck, I guess.” Hank’s mouth twitched. Virgil’s shoulders flew to his ears as Hank let out a loud bark of laughter. His chest heaved, his laughter making him bounce on the bed. For the first time in a while, Virgil showed a genuine smile. It was tiny and barely visible, but it was there, without sarcasm or anger or fear.

“After all that, he still sang Happy Birthday?” Hank laughed, stirring his ramen with a chopstick.

“They jacked up his painkillers,” Virgil scoffed. “He was out of it. Logan never sings, ever.” Virgil took a bite of his ramen. He really hoped he was eating normally.

“These friends of yours sound great!” Hank declared, taking a large bite out of his ramen. Noodles clung to his chin, but he wiped them away and let them plop onto the table.

“They’re tolerable,” Virgil said, smirking.

“They’re loyal, from the way you talk about them,” Hank said through a mouthful of noodles. He swallowed, then said “If I had found friends like that as a kid, I probably would have turned out better.”

“Alright, they’re great,” Virgil admitted, shaking his head. “If Roman heard me say that, his ego would grow ten sizes too big.” Virgil stabbed at his ramen. Thoughts danced on the tiny ripples in the soy sauce. He might as well tell Hank. He kept gushing about Virgil changing his life, so he probably wouldn’t get laughed at. “You keep saying I changed your life, but I’m thinking you changed mine too.”

“How?” Hank asked, glancing between Virgil and his ramen.

“The people I was with were toxic,” Virgil explained. “I wasn’t in a good place. I was trapped at St. Gemma’s in the same way you were trapped with that old friend of yours, and your sister’s house.”

“The house is less of a trap now,” Hank chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I still live there, but it’s a lot happier.”

“I thought the others were my friends, but…” Virgil sighed. “As you were talking, I realized they weren’t good for me. I was dying. It’s what drove me to join Sanders, in the end.” Hank’s bark of laughter ripped through Virgil’s ears.

“Nice to know we both made a difference,” Hank chuckled.

“I need to head back,” Virgil sighed, slipping out of the booth. “Thanks for the ramen.”

“Thanks for talking to me!” Hank laughed, scrambling out of the booth. He held his hand out to Virgil. “It really was great to see you.”

“I’ll probably see you again, considering I’m on your sister’s case,” Virgil said. He gritted his teeth and shook Hank’s hand. Awkward awkward awkward! Why was his hand all loose and weird?

“Yeah,” Hank said, nodding. Virgil shot Hank a two-fingered salute and, checking his pocket for his phone, strolled towards the exit of Gator Noodles. The anime music ringing through his head finally stopped. Virgil tugged at the collar of his scrubs and sighed. It really wasn’t the worst lunch ever. It was rather nice, if Virgil was being honest. But what it really was was a reminder- a reminder of what Virgil had escaped. He let out a long, deep breath. He stuck his hands into his pockets and started on his walk back to Sanders Hospital.

————————

(Years prior to Hank Dragon and Virgil Lawson’s first meeting…)

Virgil’s fellow nursing graduates screamed around him as their hats flew into the air. Virgil only tossed his a little bit above him- he didn’t want to lose the memento of all his hard work. The end of nursing school. The day had finally arrived. His graduating class hugged the people around them, sharing high fives and cheers. Virgil was perfectly happy to stand there, not touching anyone, and fix the hat back on his head.

His classmates swarmed towards the stands where their families waited, cheering for their kids and siblings, sharing the accomplishment. Virgil padded the opposite direction, towards his now former university. He had no one in the stands for him. His family was back in Atlanta, waiting for him to drive home. It wasn’t like Virgil wasn’t a bit annoyed his mom couldn’t come to his graduation. She’d been there for all his other major events. Still, it couldn’t be helped. His mom had so many backed-up sessions at the tattoo shop, she couldn’t drive down to Florida now. That was honestly preferable. Now that he was done with school, he could finally go home. He could find a job in Atlanta (after all, he’d gotten nursing licenses for both Georgia and Florida, just in case), stay with his mom until he found the right apartment, and start his life. And that was, quite frankly, terrifying.

Virgil paused underneath a tree thick with large, green leaves. He shuffled under his robes and pulled his phone out of the pocket of his dress pants. Sure he wasn’t supposed to have the phone during graduation, but what if someone called needing something? He leaned against the tree and dialed his mom’s number. He looked into the leaves above as the phone rang and, for a few moments, his anxiety was lifted.

“Hello?” someone asked on the other end of the call.

“Hey Mom,” Virgil said. “I didn’t fail nursing school, it seems. I’m not sticking around for all the kissing and crying and whatever. Once I get some stuff from my apartment, I’ll start heading home.”

“Who is this?” the voice asked.

“Uh…” Virgil stammered. “Virgil? Your son?”

“You’re her son?” the voice gasped. “She had a son?”

“Wait, you aren’t Mom,” Virgil huffed. Something churned in his stomach. “Who is this?”

…

no.

…

No.

…

No no no no NO NO NO NO NO NO-

He was burning underneath those itchy, itchy robes. Everything hurt, everything was too much, the world was too much. The grass stabbed his feet, the tree ran daggers down his stiff, burning shoulders. He wasn’t sure when he sat down. His hat fell off. His tears hadn’t come yet- even in his worst moments, the tears were always the last thing to show up- but the stabbing, choking sound coming out of his throat was enough for now.

This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening. Not now, not when he wasn’t there, oh God he wasn’t there, how could he not have been there, he should have been there!

“This graduation had become much more interesting,” someone muttered. “It seems the joy of the moment has become too much for you.” Virgil didn’t bother opening his eyes. He stayed curled into himself, trying not to suffocate. “In case you’re too panicked to fully process that, that statement was sarcastic. Let’s try to breath, shall we? Maybe then I can understand if what you need is a few tissues or an ambulance.” Virgil’s hand flew out, dismissing whoever stood beside him. He didn’t need someone poking their nose into this. He couldn’t even say what it was. Words wouldn’t come out of his mouth.

“It may not be clear to you,” the stranger huffed. “But I am trying to help you. If you can’t talk, then I’ll figure things out the best I can. We’ve got a phone here-”

“Don’t touch that!” Virgil roared, eyes flying open. A black gloved hand was reaching for the phone at Virgil’s side. Virgil grabbed the phone and held it to his chest. He finally looked up at the stranger trying to help him. Scars ran down run side of his face, illuminated by the sun poking between the leaves. It looked like someone had taken a torch to half this person’s body.

“So you can speak,” the stranger sighed. They crouched to Virgil’s level. Their heterochromatic eyes tried to stay level with Virgil’s. “I am sorry to have upset you further. Perhaps I could have a name?” Virgil’s fists rested against his forehead, pressing into his skull as the tears, the late-comers they were- finally decided to show up.

“Virgil,” Virgil choked out, still sobbing.

“Virgil,” the stranger said. Virgil’s name rolled off his tongue. “Like Dante’s guide through the inferno. Poetic. You were the only one to go this way when the caps flew. I can only assume that whatever happened, it’s a new development. Since no one else seems to have noticed your distress, I suppose you’ll need my help.”

“You can’t help,” Virgil snapped. “I don’t even know you.”

“Then let’s change that,” the stranger sighed. He put his hand to his chest. “You may call me Dr. D, or simply D for now.”

“What-” Virgil stammered through his sobs. “That’s not a name.”

“I don’t entrust my name to many, so that is what I go by,” Dr. D huffed. He settled onto the grass in front of Virgil. “Now then, Virgil. Would you like someone to talk to?”

————————

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#sanders hospital #sanders sides au #sanders sides #deceit sanders #remus sanders #sanders hospital fanfic #virgil sanders #suicide #attempted suicide #gangs #kidnapping #mentions of death

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uriello-bello · 4 years

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"A historical chronological depiction from an imaginary Italy: a guess the reference game". 100th Anniversary

Unknown: Pdor Mythos Unknown: Appears the superheroes gene "Vip" 10'000 A.C: In the Mediterranean basin lives a society of amazoness 89 A.C: Marcus Aemilius Scaurus is born 71 A.C: Spartacus leads a slaves rebellion 55 A.C: Tros of Samothrace takes the parts of the Breton resistance against the Roman conquest of Britain 50 A.C: Julius Augustus Caesar's complete conquest of Gaul finds resistance against a village in Armorica 11 March 44 A.C: Julius Augustus Caesar is murdered 80: Barbarian Ardarico's conquest of Rome miserably fails; Flavian Amphitheatre is inaugurated and Timo becomes a gladiator 128: Architect Lucius Quintus Modestus repeatedly travels through time until the 21st century and visits the modern Japan 536: Martinus Paduei, a mysterious genius ahead of his time, leaves his mark in history as inventor, business owner, strategist and politician 569: King Alboin befriends and welcomes a sly and smart peasant to his court in Verona 726: Girolama Pellacani is raped by the Longobards 1050: Brancaleone of Norcia is born 1076: The saint hermit of Bismantova is sent to Aquileia in search of allies at the behest of Pope Gregory VII, but is hindered by the devil 1080: Brancaleone of Norcia takes part at the first crusade 1141: Baudolino is born 1150: Various supernatural events take place at the castle of Otranto 1249: The company of Selva Bella participates at the mission to free Enzo of Sardinia 1271: Marco Polo begins his travel toward the Orient 1280: Marco Polo reaches the court of Kublai Khan and tell him about the 55 cities 1295: Marco Polo returns to Venice Early XIV Century: To win the maritime war against Venice, the Genoese captain Luigi Gottardi builds the underground canal of Meloria 1300: Poet Dante Alighieri visits the afterlife in a week 1327: William of Baskerville is involved in a murder case sets in a benedictine abbey 15 April 1452: Leonardo da Vinci is born 1478: Takes places the quests of the "Company of the Gallows" 1506: Arte Spalletti becomes an artist 1534: Two english brothers find a passage for a subterranean world where the time flows more slowly and is populated by a society of pygmies 1537: During the battle of Turin a french soldier mysteriously survives to several deadly wounds 1570: To save her lover, war-prisoner at Famagosta in Cyprus, the duchess of Eboli wears an armor and under the alias of Captain Storm fights several battle against the Ottoman Empire 1595: The suicide of two lovers leads peace in a longtime feud between two Veronese families 1630: The black plague continues its killspread, Spanish local lord Don Rodrigo is found dead 1643: Nobleman Roberto de la Grive is presumed lost after a shipwreck in the Pacific Ocean 1650s: Alchemist Girolamo Fumagalli develops the basic technique of thanatography 1660s: Viscount Medardo of Terralba returns changed and maimed in a strange and impossible way from the Ottoman wars in Bohemia 1686: After losing his brothers during the Franco-Spanish war at the hand of Duke Wan Guld, the Lord of Ventimiglia Emilio of Roccabruna promises to avenge them and becomes the notorious Black Corsair 1711: A group of alchemists evoke a demon to gain eternal life 1713: Sir Frances Varney commits suicide by throwing himself into Mt. Vesuvius 7 January 1730: In Siena is approved the Notice of Violante of Bavaria 1741: Antonio Salvatore "Totò" Sapore invents pizza to bring peace between French and Neapolitan armies 1750s: Armando "The Scorpion" Catalano seeks the Templar treasure 1762: Reverend Yorick, friend of Tristram Shandy, visits France and Italy for a health issue 1764: Father Schedoni is involved in a conspiracy 1767: Cosimo Piovasco of Rondò, future baron of Ombrosa, climbs up a tree and will live his entire life on the trees 18 October 1775: Carlo Altovivi is born 1790: Scandal of the fallen noble family Mazzini 1798: Nobleman and soldier Fabrizio del Dongo is born 25 March 1799: Jacopo Ortis dies 1801: Vampire Giovanni Nosferatu is born 1812: Soldier Lazzaro Scacerni is one of the survivors of the retreat from Moscow and, after returning in Italy, becomes a wealthy miller 1825: History professor Mercurio Loi disappears 1826: Dr. Weiss solves the Fritzheim case 1829: A frenchman discovers the Spada family's treasure located in Montecristo Isle 1850: Count Isidor Ottavio Baldassarre Fosco reaches England to plan a political conspiracy 1855: Princess Teresa Uzeda of Francalanza dies 1860: The wooden puppet Pinocchio becomes a real children 1863: Three persons, claiming to be part of a scientific expedition, are spotted been ejected from Mt. Stromboli 1864: Countess Marina Vittoria Crusnelli of Malombra gets possessed 1870: Enrico Bottini is born; Edwin Drood mysteriously disappears leaving a secret still unsolved 1874: As social experiment some prisoners are released in a deserted island to create a self-managed isolated colony; Arsène Lupin is born 1878: Rosso Malpelo dies 1885: A frenchman from Tarascon survive to a fall during an attempt to reach the peak of Mt. Blanc 1887: Professor Sandrelli develops a substance that cancels gravity 1888: Full of remorse, baron Carlo Coriolano of Santafusca admits of being a killer 1889: Masked hero "Hidden Face" and Ugo Pastore take part at the Treaty of Wuchale; Escorted by english explorer Adam Wild, Count Narciso Molfetta explores Africa 7 December 1891: Vito Andolini is born 1893: Marco Pagot is born 1895: Architect Emilio Varelli starts the construction of the Three Mothers' manors September 1897: Giannino "Gian Burrasca" Stoppani is born 1898: The suppression of Milan riots are sabotaged by Tommaso Reiner 1899: Vadim Vadimovich N. Storov is born 29 May 1899: Giuseppe "Peppone" Bottazzi is born 30 May 1899: Don Camillo Tarocci is born Early 1900s: Paolo Zeder hypothesizes the "K-Zone" theory; Actress Maria Sarti gains notoriety under the stage name Ninì Tirabusciò 1910: Architect Emilio Varelli finishes the construction of the Three Mothers' manors; Aldovino reaches the moon to marry the princess Yala; Count Emilio Ponticelli partecipes at the Daily Post air race 1911: Famous composer Gustav von Aschenbach dies during a holiday in Venice WWI: Flying ace Marco Pagot turns into an anthropomorphic pig and assumes the identity of the bounty hunter Porco Rosso; Aviator Luciano Serra, aviator Matteo Campini, Private Lazzaro Scacerni and Private Italino take part at the conflict; Baron Cesare Stromboli helps the Triple Entente; Private Piero dies 1915: Air piratess Filibus terrorizes southern Italy performing several thefts 15 October 1915: Emilio Largo is born 1919: A man dressed in red and constantly speaking in rhyme becomes one of the richest italian 1920: Famous film director Guido Anselmi is born; Pugilist Furio Almirante emigrates in America 1927: Dr. Artemio Zacchia founds a medicine and natural science academy and starts his studies on immortality March 1927: Detective Francesco "Ciccio" Ingravallo solves the Via Merulana mystery June 1929: Fascist militia suppression at Fontamara 1930: Dominetta Vitali is born; Scientist Pier Cloruro de' Lambicchi creates a substance that gives life to the images 1933: Gastone Uliani investigates the faun's case 17 July 1934: Ugo Fantozzi is born 1935: Italy's invasion of Ethiopia is obstacled by local spy Bara 1936: Lawyer Gino Motta is locked up in an asylum after claiming that in the sea near Levanto lives a colony of mermaids 29 September 1936: Lolito B. Lassica is born 1938: Benzino Napaloni signs an alliance with Adenoid Hynkel; The launch of hierarch Gaetano Maria Barbagli's expedition for Mars takes place; Primo Cossi chooses to undergoes at the EPRA experiment; Dr. Emilio Lizardo and Professor Tohichi Hikita build the oscillation overthruster, Lizardo trying to enter into the 8th dimension becomes insane; American archeologist Martin Padway travels through time until 535 1939: Count Zero becomes a fascist agent; Film director Salvatore Di Vita is born 10 May 1939: Hierarch Gaetano Maria Barbagli and his troop land on Mars WWII: Captain Alberto Bertorelli, Captain Antonio Corelli, Major Oscar Pilli, Sergeant Nicola Lo Russo, Lieutenant Gino Rossati, Marmittone and Galeazzo Musolesi take part at the conflict; Partisian Johnny loses his life; Partisan Natalino "Capellone" Tartufato saves the life of the english spy Charles Harrison, Private Antonio is considered as straggler in Russia 1940s: Marcella Valmarin becomes a famous actress under the stage name of Alba Doris 25 December 1942: Photographer Valentina Rosselli is born 1943: The Finzi-Continis family is exterminated in a German Nazi lager, along with other jews 1944: In a hidden palace in the Republic of Salò, tortures takes place by hand of four wealthy personality of the republic 1945: End of World War II in Europe and the prison camps are freed, Giosuè Orefice is among the survivors 3 March 1945: Nicola "Nico" Giraldi is born 6 July 1945: Roberto "Rocky" Balboa is born 1950s: Bianca Castafiore is recognized as one of the best soprano in the world; Amelia Bonetti and Pippo Botticella become two renowned tip-tap dancers 6 September 1950: Salvo Montalbano is born 1952: In a laboratory comes to life a creature made of rubber 1953: Michele Apicella is born; During a diplomatic visit in Italy a princess escapes through the streets of Rome 1955: Criminal and con artist Mr. Ripley lands in Italy 1956: Painter Buono Legnani commits suicide 1957: Exorcist Don Zauker lands in Livorno 19 September 1958: Renato "René" Ferretti is born 1959: Topo Gigio debuts and becomes a television star; Detective Nero Wolfe moves to Rome after some "problems" with FBI 1960: Authoress Enrica Valldolit wins the Nobel Prize in Literature 1961: A british spy agent kills the terrorist Emilio Largo; A cemetery man has a close encounter with the Death 15 August 1962: A young university student loses his life in a car accident caused by an overtaking 1963: Medic Duca Lamberti loses his license and is imprisoned for practicing euthanasia; Calimero is born; "The Alphabet Killer" is caught 1966: Criminal Mastermind "The Fox" evades from prison 4 October 1967: Deboroh La Roccia is born 1968: Diabolik is presumed dead; Primo Cossi wakes up from hibernation and becomes a hitman related to the events of the Years of Lead 1969: A british criminal gang robs the FIAT industry 1970s: A criminal uses the sewer of a metropolis as hiding place and house; At Milan a group of bounty hunters form the C.T Association 1971: Fumagalli's thanatography is used to solve the four flies' mystery; Alberto Valle becomes the new Avio Motor CEO 1972: Somewhere in northern Italy, inside the Military Area 36, Professor Endriadi and his research team build the first AI February 1973: Four men commits suicide through planteration in a villa near Paris 1 June 1973: A terroristic attack blows up the Madonnina statue atop Milan Cathedral 1974: Andrea Straniero is born; Approved the healthcare reform "C.M.G"; Camilla Cagliostri is born 1975: After months of shipwreck on a deserted island in the Mediterranean sea, the wife of the industrial Lanzetti and a sailor are saved; The corpses of the Crespi d'Adda cemetery are resurrected; At Rome, German psychic medium Helga Ulmann is brutally killed 1976: For having inflicts severe damages to the organized criminality all over Italy in just few years, mysterious killers murder the police commissioner Betti 1977: Virginia Ducci survives at a murder attempt thanks to her clairvoyance 1978: Science fiction writer Della Spigola is abducted by the martians of Phobos; Discovered a breed of talking dog with a particular white fur with red spots; Famous chef Fausto Zoppi is killed by drowning; It ends the Filippo Carducci's kidnapping case; Riccardo Finzi begins his career as P.I 1979: 1980s: The ministry of the Great Hunt is founded; 1980: "Caterina" an American brand of robotic housekeeper goes on sale; Neapolitan camorra boss "The Marseillaise" and his gang are killed after a showdown; Rocky Giraldi is born, so named in honour of the famous boxer 12 August 1980: The Matchstick Man is spotted near the Abruzzi countryside 3 October 1980: Leonardo Zuliani is born 1981: The criminal known as "The Human Beast" loses his life in a gunfight 1982: The "K-Zone" theory is confirmed and Paolo Zeder is resurrected as zombie 1983: For the first time, alive people witness the "Palio di Siena of the dead contrade"; It is archived the case of the serial killer known as "The Killer Dwarf"; Naples F.C pays three billion for the acquisition of Brazilian footballer Paulo Roberto Cotequinho, he'll lead the Naples to the victory of its first championship four years later. 1984: Two men inadvertently travel through time back the 1492 August 1988: The first issue of "Bloody Eye" is published 1989: During a conference in Rome, experts try to discover the truth behind the Edwin Drood mystery; Deboroh La Roccia becomes Rat-Man 20 March 1989: Commissioner Corrado Cattani is killed in a mafia ambush 1990: FIFA World Cup scandal, the Italy team hires two pornstars to win; Salvo Montalbano becomes a police commissioner 1991: 1992: Sicilian gangster Johnny Stecchino uselessly resort to a person exchange to avoid death; During the annual Milan Film Festival, mystery fiction writer and amateur sleuth Jessica Fletcher resolves a murder case; During the quadrennial pallastrada world competition the St. Catherine prophecy comes true burning up the entire state of Gladonia November 1992: Daria Marchesi is jailed for the Baldacci murder, thus Marino Strano becomes Bloody Eye's head writer 1994: "The Florence Monster" is finally arrested; A feud between two families ends with the use of a low-potential atomic warhead; After various vicissitudes experienced in India, Marco Donati is exposed at the Aquarium Berlin as "The boy with the gills" 1995: Marco Buratti aka "The Alligator" starts a new career as P.I. 1996: After his death Ugo Fantozzi returns to life until 1998 1997: Police agent Napoleone di Carlo abandons his profession and moves in Switzerland 1999: Ugo Fantozzi is cloned; "The Fish in Love" becomes an international bestseller 2000s: Jimi Dini works at the development of his videogame "Nirvana"; Dr. Bartolomeo Zacchia continues his father's studies 2001: A romanian vampire is sighted in Rome April 2001: Giorno Giovanna becomes the Gangstar of the mafia association "Passione" 2005: Police agent Rocky Giraldi enters in service 2006: Rise of nationalism in Italy brings to the birth of Captain Padania July 2006: Activist Leonardo Zuliani disappears 2007: Mater Lacrimarum is killed 2009: During a spiritual séance, Gualtiero Marchesi conjures the Emily Ann Faulkner's spirit 2013: Long Wei becomes a local hero for the chinese communities in Italy; Celestine VI becomes the new pope 2014: An amateur gang of smart drugs dealers is arrested; Michele Silenzi gains superpowers 2015: Low-grade criminal Enzo Ceccotti gets superpowers and becomes the superhero Jeeg Robot; Arsène Lupin's grandson is spotted in Italy 2016: Benzino Napaloni is cloned; Intellectual Mario Bambea survives at his suicide attempt, contemporaneously begins the rise of popularity of the comedian Fabrizio "Bizio" Capoccetti 2017: In Calabria a farmer befriends a rare specimen of unicorn 11 September 2077: An asteroid falls in northeast Italy sweeping away Padoa, Vicenza and Verona while Venice is half submerged

|Cities&Places| The Seven Cities Meloria Canal Gualdana Pine Forest Nepente Isle Stranalandia Island Desolation Isle Pescespada Island Malapunta Clerville Porcionia Bacteria Kindaor Gladonia Tristalia The Land of Toys Gerolstein Lotto Valentino Bassavilla Lancimago Vigata Montelusa Loquasto The 55 Invisible Cities Pratofungo Ombrosa Pineta Sagunto Pista Prima Frittole Sevalio Brigantes Sompazzo Monzurlo Salsiccia Acqua Traverse Buffalora Roccaverdina Nofi Norbio Solara Scasazza Ponteratto Idrasca Giancaldo Pieve Lunga San Michele Borgo Tre Case Borgo Dieci Case Accendura

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staytiny-angel · 5 years

Text

Safe Haven 1/?

Co-written with @scream-qween

Pairings: Drew McIntyre/Becky Lynch, Eventually Drew McIntyre/Becky Lynch/Seth Rollins, Jon Moxley/Renee Young, Sasha Banks/Bayley/Charlotte Flair

Warnings: Violence, Language

Word Count: 1819

Summary: After an 8 year absence, 25-year-old Seth Rollins returns home to his pack but in no way resembling the Beta Werewolf that ran away after a violent misunderstanding with his brothers. Seth is feral, and trapped in a form the bitten wolf shouldn't even be capable of..he is the victim of a powerful curse Meanwhile Alpha Werewolf Drew McIntyre and his part Banshee, Part Witch mate Becky Lynch have joined the unorthodox pack of Haven in search of the final member of the triad a seer told the pair they were destined to be apart of.

Taglist: @sethsevolution @feathers-and-flesh-and-wrestling @deepdisireslonging @writtingrose @pikapuff316

"We're really doing this? Asking the Scot and his Banshee for help? He's damn near feral himself and I think she might be insane" Mox says as he and Roman walk up to the secluded house at the edge of the small town their pack called home.

"That's why. If anyone could understand…maybe help snap Seth out of whatever that asshole did to our brother it's someone who's been there." Roman replied as they prepared themselves to face Drew McIntyre and Becky Lynch, the newest members of their Pack.

"Seth's been gone for years. They don't even know him." Mox argued

"Our baby brother is feral, trapped in a full shift and locked in a cage in our parents's basement. I will do anything, ask anyone for help if it means we get Seth back"

Jon opened and closed his mouth several times before finally going silent. He wasn't even the one Seth had attacked when he went beserk, it was Roman. It had Roman holding their brother until his rage had reached the standstill, he was the only person brave enough to visit him.

Roman knocked on the door a few times, they weren't knocks asking for permission in, they were demanding entrance. Sure enough, Drew McIntyre opened it, wearing a thin shirt and jeans that seemed to be sewn back multiple times. "Alpha. Alpha's brother" Jon felt the animalistic growl bubble in his throat.

Roman crossed his arms and stared at Drew. "I want to talk"

"We are talking" The Scottish wolf picked at his nails that were practically claws.

Roman snarled. "I'm serious. I need your help"

Drew rolled his eyes, called out "We have company" and lead the two wolves into the house.

From the kitchen appeared his mate, Rebecca. "Alpha." Becky greeted before her nose scrunches up.

"Why do you carry death with you?" She asks

"You can sense that?" Roman asks her

"Whoever you've been around enough that you carry their energy with you? Death is coming for them fast." The banshee replies

"Our brother is cursed." Roman explains

"Another Brother? I thought there was only the two of you?" Becky says

"Our youngest brother, Seth. He ran away long before either of you joined the Pack" Mox explains looking down "He found his way home. But he's completely feral and trapped in full-shift. All our mother can surmise is that he didn't get that way on his own. Someone cursed him."

"Are you sure it was a curse?" Drew asked, now completely serious. "If he was in full-shift long enough, he'd lose his humanity"

"Our mother could sense it on him, he smells...weird. Not like you when you showed up"

"I smelled weird?" Drew asked. "You gave half the wolves nausea, even Bayley, and she's a sweetheart," Roman says with a half-smile.

"Will you come? Our mother thinks that the curse is what's causing the full-shift, Seth was 17 when he left and he wasn't capable of that then. He shouldn't be capable of full-shift at all. He's not a born wolf. He was turned as a child." Roman continues

"How the hell did a kid survive a wolf attack?" Drew growled

"We don't know. We were really young too but Mom and Dad found him wandering in the woods outside of town as a toddler, covered in blood from head to toe with several bites." Mox growled, Drew crossing his arms. "I'll help you but I want full hunting range of the south side, I don't like sharing with your wolves"

"I-"

"Done" Roman interrupted. Drew nodded and walked out, Becky following him.

"The south side….where the mansion is. So at what point are you going to tell him about Finn and Violet?" Mox says. Neither one of them is going to appreciate this."

The Haven Pack was an odd one to be sure. Mostly because it wasn't completely made up of wolves, hell Roman, Mox and Seth's parents weren't even wolves. Their mother was one of the most powerful witches in America, and their father was a Lion Shifter, but Haven was exactly that. A Haven for Preternatural creatures that didn't have a place to belong for one reason or another. There were people, other Packs who thought Haven was an abomination, that so many different beings should never be one Pack. But if Drew and Becky could somehow help their brother? And prove they were truly trustworthy? They'd learn the Pack's greatest secret. Not many people outside of Pack knew exactly who lived in the large mansion to the South on the outskirts of Haven. That it was home to a Vampire-Demon Hybrid and his wife, the former Vampire Queen. Everyone thought Queen Violet had been murdered by her Consort when he'd been taken over by a demon. The truth was…Finn had gained a permanent bodily roommate in the form of an ancient Irish Demon King and Violet had been freed from the throne she'd never wanted.

The strange quartet made it to the large house Roman and Mox called home, laying in front of the door was a small wolf about the size of a German Shepard, tinier than the horse size Roman was.

"Hey Bayley" Mox smiled, Bayley practically jumping on him. "Hey! We discussed this! No hugs when you're in full-shift!"

Bayley tilted her head at the sight of Drew and Becky, asking a silent question.

"We think they might be able to help Seth." Roman answered, causing the small werewolf to practically vibrate with excitement.

"Bayley and her mates Sasha and Charlotte were Seth's best friends when they were kids." Mox explained. "You can usually find one of them here. Seth doesn't let anyone but our mother close enough to touch him but he does calm down if he senses one of the girls."

"That's good. He's still recognizing scents." Drew said quietly "It means he isn't actually completely feral."

"Go ahead and run watch with Jey and Nia, I'll send Sasha if anything happens" Roman told Bayley, the wolf barking, making sure to nudge Becky and Drew with her head before running off.

"She's,...friendly" Becky said.

"Yeah, she's an Omega, they're a little more...affectionate" Roman replied

"What's your brother designation?" Becky asked

"Seth is a Beta, but he's got some Alpha traits." Roman says leading the pair inside the house just as Stephanie came upstairs.

Roman and Mox's mother looked like Hollywood's stereotypical version of a witch with her waist-length dark hair, though the older woman dressed more like the biker's wife she also was then any kind of witch Drew or Becky had ever seen.

"He let me put a calming spell on him" Stephanie says hugging her sons. "So he's awake but not violent at the moment."

"Okay" Roman nodded taking a shaky breath.

"I'll be upstairs" Mox muttered.

"Is he...okay?" Becky asked.

"He doesn't like seeing Seth like this, " Stephaine says with a sigh

"I'm going to go rest." Stephanie says. "Casting on Seth is exhausting right now because I have to fight through the curse. I think the only reason I can at all is because there are still some remnants of my protection spells in Seth's necklace."

"Mom made us all protection amulets when we were younger." Roman explains

"No offense but...they didn't really work did they" Becky said, Roman crossing his arms and glaring at the Irish woman.

"They work fine actually" he snapped, barring his fangs.

"Roman" Stephanie touched his arm. "Don't fight. Just help your brother" Roman nodding in response

"They have to be recharged every few years." Stephanie explained to the pair. "Starshine hasn't been home in 8 years, I'm actually shocked there was any magic left at all. Whatever curse was put on him...I don't think it fully took. I think some of the magic from the curse recharged a bit of mine"

"Can you tell what the curse might have been for?" Becky asks the witch

Stephanie sits on the couch and yawns "I think someone was trying to turn Seth into a mindless beast. Something that could be controlled and used as a weapon. I've seen a spell like it before. I just can't seem to remember where. If we can get Seth in his right mind...maybe he can tell us more. He may not be able to do spellwork himself but he knows it when he sees it."

"If we bring his mind back, he'll still be a wolf how are...." Drew starts to say

"Elias." a male voice answers as the leader of their unorthodox pack and the Mayor of their small town, Hunter Helmsley walks Into the house looking more like a Hells Angel then a politician.

"Elias is a forest siren. He can talk to animals. He's helped us in similar situations of someone being trapped in a full shift" Roman says.

"Okay, Tamina was not my fault" Mox yells from upstairs

"Alright then, lets go meet your brother" Drew pressed on, Roman leading the two downstairs where they could hear whimpering, Roman stopping suddenly.

"Are you-" Drew started toask

"I'll be fine, I have to, for him" Roman interrupted

The basement was normal if you took out the giant cage with a horse-sized black wolf inside, pacing and looked distressed. Becky and Drew heard crashing, turning around to see Roman had fallen to his knees.

"Please, help him," Roman says, almost crying. "I can't go any further. He's broken Mom's spells before if he gets too agitated and he…doesn't like me very much even when he's not like this. I'm the reason he ran away in the first place"

When Drew and Becky moved closer to the cage, the blond streaked black wolf, wearing an amulet shaped like a shooting star stopped pacing and stared at the pair.

"You are a handsome one aren't you?" Becky says. "Drew, what do you think?"

Drew sat down in front of the cage, surprisingly graceful for someone as big as the Scot.

"I remember how you brought me out." Drew tells his mate. "I'm hoping something similar will work on him."

He says to Roman. "Becky is an odd sort of Banshee you know? Death isn't her only gift."

"Wasn't always a Banshee now was I?" The flame-haired girl retorted "You have to die to become a Banshee, but the idiots who killed me didn't know that something like me could come back as one. I do much prefer the land to the sea. The assholes did me a favor."

"My very own Ursula, do you think…" Drew said quietly

"I think I can bring his mind back on my own. Then once we can get some information from him, his mother and I can work together to bring him out of this unnatural shift."

Seth sniffed the air around them and let out a growl, going to a corner and laying down, continuing staring at Drew and Becky.

#shai writes #becky lynch #seth rollins fanfic #seth rollins fic #seth rollins imagine #seth rollins #drew mcintyre #rollintyre #Rollynch #Rolllynchtyre?

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