#Elisabeth Banks

[mikonez]

effie TRINKET 💜🌟✨️💖

[girlactionfigure]

Worn and weary, balding, with sad eyes, Raoul Wallenberg looked much older than his 31 years of age when in 1944 he was assigned the responsibility of saving Jews in Hungary. The assignment came by way of the War Refugee Board, an American organization formed that same year with the goal of saving Jews from persecution by the Nazis.

Raoul, who had some Jewish lineage but was not considered Jewish, was born in Sweden to a prominent family of bankers, diplomats, and politicians. He was expected to follow in the footsteps of his family, but he decided to become an architect.

He went to study architecture in America, at the University of Michigan. During his time in college, Raoul worked odd jobs despite his family’s wealth, and hitchhiked across the US, Canada, and Mexico during holidays. He continued hitchhiking even after getting robbed and thrown into a ditch by four men who offered him a lift. In a letter to his grandfather, Raoul wrote of his love of hitchhiking, “When you travel like a hobo, everything’s different. You have to be on the alert the whole time. You’re in close contact with new people every day. Hitchhiking gives you training in diplomacy and tact.”

Raoul finished the University of Michigan with honors, even winning a medal for his scholastic achievements. Unable to find architecture work in Sweden after graduation, Raoul briefly lived in South Africa, soon moving to Palestine for a banking apprenticeship. It was in Palestine that Raoul first encountered Jewish refugees from Germany. The refugees made a strong impact on Raoul.

Upon returning to Sweden, Raoul went into the import/export business with a man of Hungarian Jewish decent. Once it became harder for his partner to travel to Hungary due to his being Jewish, Raoul started making the trips himself. He traveled frequently to Budapest, learned Hungarian in addition to his already knowing French, English, German, and Russian, and ultimately went on to head the international arm of the business, soon becoming a joint owner of the company.

In 1944 Germany occupied Hungary. At the time of the occupation, Hungary had close to 700,000 Jewish citizens. By the time Raoul arrived in Hungary on his mission of rescue, over 400,000 of them had been sent to Auschwitz.

Raoul wasted no time. He did everything he could think of to save Jewish people. He bribed, extorted, bluffed, and threatened to achieve his aims of saving as many people as possible.

With a fellow Swedish diplomat he created official looking protective passes to give out to Jews granting them Swedish citizenship and making them exempt from wearing the yellow badge that Nazis required them to wear. Sandor Ardai, one of Raoul’s drivers, recalled a time when Raoul came upon a train full of Jews about to depart to Auschwitz,

“He climbed up on the roof of the train and began handing in protective passes through the doors which were not yet sealed. He ignored orders from the Germans for him to get down, then the Arrow Cross [the Hungarian Nazi party] men began shooting and shouting at him to go away. He ignored them and calmly continued handing out passports to the hands that were reaching out for them. I believe the Arrow Cross men deliberately aimed over his head, as not one shot hit him, which would have been impossible otherwise. I think this is what they did because they were so impressed by his courage. After Wallenberg had handed over the last of the passports he ordered all those who had one to leave the train and walk to the caravan of cars parked nearby, all marked in Swedish colours. I don’t remember exactly how many, but he saved dozens off that train, and the Germans and Arrow Cross were so dumbfounded they let him get away with it!”

In total Raoul gave out tens of thousands of such protective passes, but the German government eventually caught on to the ruse and ruled the passes invalid. When Raoul heard of this, he called on Baroness Elisabeth Kemeny, the wife of the Hungarian Minister for Foreign Affairs in Budapest, for help,

‘’Raoul implored me to help. He was desperate. I talked to my husband and said he must do something. He told me ‘I can’t fight the whole cabinet.’ But after midnight word came that 9,000 passes would be honored. I can still remember Raoul’s elation, his happiness.’’ The baroness had finally persuaded her husband to help by threatening to leave him if he didn’t.

When the Germans abandoned the use of trains to transport Jewish prisoners, instead forming 125 mile death marches toward Auschwitz, Raoul began visiting stopping areas to save people.

“‘You there!’ The Swede pointed to an astonished man, waiting for his turn to be handed over to the executioner. ‘Give me your Swedish passport and get in that line,’ he barked. ‘And you, get behind him. I know I issued you a passport.’ Wallenberg continued, moving fast, talking loud, hoping the authority in his voice would somewhat rub off on these defeated people…The Jews finally caught on. They started groping in pockets for bits of identification. A driver’s license or birth certificate seemed to do the trick. The Swede was grabbing them so fast; the Nazis, who couldn’t read Hungarian anyway, didn’t seem to be checking. Faster, Wallenberg’s eyes urged them, faster, before the game is up. In minutes he had several hundred people in his convoy. International Red Cross trucks, there at Wallenberg’s behest, arrived and the Jews clambered on…”

In one of his final acts of rescue, Raoul intimidated the supreme commander of German forces in Hungary, Major-General Gerhard Schmidthuber, into not blowing up a Jewish ghetto housing 70,000 people. As the war was coming to an end and there was not enough time to send the remaining Jews to Auschwitz, Adolf Eichmann, a major organizer of the Holocaust, ordered the slaughter of all Hungarian Jews in one mass execution. When Raoul found out about this, he sent word to Schmidthuber that if he were to go through with the slaughter, Raoul would personally see that he was hanged for crimes against humanity after the war. Knowing that Hitler was close to defeat, Schmidthuber acquiesced and called off the massacre.

Raoul took such risks because his perspective on the work he was doing was simple, “I will never be able to go back to Sweden without knowing inside myself that I’d done all a man could do to save as many Jews as possible.”

In total Raoul saved close to 100,000 Jews. He himself was captured by the Soviets on suspicion of being a spy and is presumed to have died a Soviet prisoner.

Historical Snapshots

[iftheshoef1tz]

Coda, part one

Note: This is for @azrisweek 2024, day 5: slice of life. it is an epilogue to the epilogue, if you will, of another, much longer work i just finished, what hath night to do with sleep. you don’t have to read that to read this, but…it would certainly explain things! no warnings, though there are mild spoilers. Thanks to @yanny-77 for beta reading this with such a quick turnaround.

From the air, the world is small. Manageable. Roads become long, twisting black ribbons; the trees and their sighing leaves turn into an unending green sea. The earth and all her problems – all her insistence on dust to dust, ash to ash – is far out of reach.

Azriel banks, and a strong gust tosses him sideways.

It’s far too late in the winter to be flying this high. He had learned the hard way during that first confusing winter that to fly in August is to be threatened with sudden and unexpected grounding when the pampero winds race over the mountains.

Six months have passed since they returned home from Germany. When he closes his eyes, he can see the slight, pale thing that is Nesta Archeron, glowing contentedly in his home on Irkalla.

It doesn’t soothe the ache that had chased him up here.

Humanity is still a tangled, nearly unfathomable thing to him. He’s far more used to Rolvaath’s lolling, sardonic tongue than to the lines around a human’s eyes when they smile. He will never be able to read emotions on these strange faces, with their body language that conceals more often than it reveals.

Except Eris.

The tilt of his head, the sweep of his hands, the heft and speed of his breathing – Azriel has spent the past four decades learning what they all mean. His effort makes Eris look at him like he’s some strange, wondrous thing, something worthy of the youthful skin and laughing eyes while everyone around him dims and dies.

Sometimes, Azriel can see that other Eris, the one he would have been had he never summoned a demon. It follows after him like a shadow, just slightly out of sync. He has neatly trimmed fingernails and pure white hair. There is a wicked light to his eyes despite a slight stoop.

Beneath Azriel, the earth grows large again, all her misery and tenderness opening their arms to him as he circles down through the air.

Eris glances up from their balcony. His hair whips into his eyes, but not before Azriel sees the way they light up when Eris sees him. That older Eris stands just off-center. Azriel wishes he could kiss them both.

He unfurls from his crow form and pushes his fingers into the wind-strewn mess of Eris’s hair. That little piece of Beron glitters angrily when Eris kisses him.

“I want to leave,” Eris says against his mouth. “I want to go home.”

Azriel kisses the skin just in front of Eris’s ear. “We are home.”

“You know what I mean.”

And he does – a place with Nesta and Elisabeth, rooted in memory. “Rolvaath won’t like it.”

Eris makes a disgusted noise. “He never likes anything I do. What’s one more thing? Besides, it’s much cheaper to call international than it used to be.”

Azriel knows he should stand up for his fellow demon, but a larger part of him is…proud, that’s what a human might call it. Rolvaath had never specified that Eris and Azriel had to remain in Paraguay, after all, simply that he collect stories from all the old Nazis before their souls were out of reach.

The wind picks up even more, and rain scatters across their skin. “Alright,” Azriel says and kisses Eris once more.

[yume-x-hanabi]

Life update

Posted on DW, but I figured I could update this blog as well now that I'm semi-getting back into social media...

I've sorta fallen off from the fandom and social media space, because life has been a lot these past few years. To sum up briefly:

- I made a couple of posts about it last year, but I bought an apartment in a new building (construction wasn't finished at the time). Running left and right to choose stuff such as flooring etc, getting things organized on the paperwork side (banks, notaries...), plus the move itself, took me a lot of time and energy. I've been living here full time for 10 months now though, and it's been great. Love the building (even tho it's not entirely finished orz), love the neighbourhood, and it's so great to have your own place. Missy seems at ease here, too, which is important. The balconies' guardrails are huge glass panes that go all the way to the floor with no gap, so that means I can let her out without supervision without fear of her falling/jumping off.

- Work, the main culprit for my withdrawal from fandom. I think I mentioned before that I took on more admin tasks a couple years ago, and while I enjoy the actual work when I get to it, it's a huge huge drain to my mental energy, esp when combined with everything else (class prep, exams, meetings etc). So it's pretty much killed my drive, and my already bad work-life balance just became worse and worse. Like, it's not that I don't have free time (perks of teaching = lots of holidays), but when I do I'm so mentally exhausted that I was pretty much only able to play mindless games like Solitaire or Civilization VI (which became like an addiction lol) or doomscroll on twitter or reddit. I pretty much lost my ability to engage with hobbies, except for the ones below, and I'm trying really really hard to come back and make it stick this time around.

- Speaking of hobbies though, I've gotten really into classical music and started attending concerts regularly. By perfect coincidence, my new place is at a 2-minute walk from my city's philharmonic hall, and I've been enjoying the heck out of that perk. My city's orchestra is really good, and their program so varied. When it was time to choose my subscription for next season, it was harder to choose which concerts not to attend (but a choice had to be made ;v;). Also I'm super stoked because they're playing my favorite symphony next year, I didn't expect to be able to hear it live so soon!

I think this really saved my mental health this year. Like, it's a bit hard to explain, but there's something really unique and relaxing about the atmosphere there. It's a bit intimidating at first, and I was really self-conscious about not making noise at the beginning, but I've gotten used to it now. Mostly, I think it helped me rediscover what it is to just sit down and enjoy the moment, without constantly looking for stimulation to my already overstimulated mind (silly aside, but before that I'd sorta lost the ability to binge a series without mindlessly checking my phone in the middle of episodes. Being "forced" to keep my phone away for the duration of a concert has really helped me recover my attention span). I think it helps my mind rest, if that makes sense? Also there's nothing comparable to listening to the music live in a hall with great acoustics x3

I followed the Queen Elisabeth Competition closely this year, live for a few finals performances when possible, the rest on TV, and it was really awesome. I think in four years I'll get the subscription for the whole finals week :p

- Relatedly, I've also started taking violin lessons. I'd always wanted to learn an instrument since I was a child (loved those mandatory recorder classes we had at school lol), but it never happened (partly because I was too passive as a child to actively ask for it, partly because my parents probably didn't want to have their eardrums massacred, so didn't offer it (wouldn't have said no if I'd asked, but as I said I wasn't good at asking back then)). It took me a while to actually make the jump, because I thought I'm too old now and there's no point, but I finally did with some encouragements from friends and colleagues and I'm really glad I did. Violin is... hard lol. I sound absolutely terrible. But it's also really fun? Like I feel like I'll never be good, but also I've made so much progress since I started. I don't have much time to practice (I aim at at least 10min a day these days, which isn't a lot, but it's better than nothing and it's more important to do it a little regularly than a lot once in a while). I'm really looking forward to the day I'll be able to attempt to play Xillia songs 😄 Also I really love my teacher<3

- Lastly, niece is 3 now and so fun to interact with. It's not always easy, she's very stubborn and willful, but she's also really sweet and funny. Love her ❤️ And she's just got a little sister! who's a very chill newborn, so different from niece#1 lol. I can't wait to see them play together when they're a little bit older.

Anyway, that's pretty much the main things that have been going on the past couple of years. Like I said I'm not sure I can be totally back, I think it's gonna take a lot of adjustment, but this time I really don't want to let another year pass by like that. I'm really gonna try hard to have better balance this time!

[archduchessofnowhere]

The Wittelsbachs of the branch of dukes in Bavaria, of an independent and wild character, were too contemptuous of the conventions of the century. Among them, respect for their own freedom had the force of law and even bordered on insolence. My father [Albert I of the Belgians] often told me of his atonishment at seeing, during one of his stays in Possenhofen, the duke Karl-Theodor left for a horseback ride at the very moment his sister the empress Elisabeth of Austria, wife of Franz-Joseph, without even greeting her even though they hadn’t seen each other for months.

My mother [Queen Elisabeth, née Duchess in Bavaria] admired the empress, her aunt and godmother. A certain quality of emotion and aesthetic sensibility unite them. But when the empress said “When I move among people, I only use for them the part of myself that I have in common with them. They are surprised at our resemblance, but it is an old piece of clothing that from time to time I take out of the wardrobe to wear for a few hours”, my mother, for her part, could not have taken this attitude, because all her life, she shared the best of herself with others, and this with generosity and a total absence of condescension.

The pagan that was the empress, imbued with the beauties of ancient Greece, had passed on to her niece a certain number of hygienic advices: pluge no matter when into glacial water, walk indefinitely in all weathers, as well as number of other precepts that she cultivated until the end of her days. Let us add to this some principles of geriatrics kept jealously secret.

What my mother deplored about her aunt was her insubordination to the rigid etiquette of the Court of Vienna, insubordination which alienated the Austrian aristocracy. Besides, her prolonged absences from the capital and her costly wanderings earned her the reputation of being at least whimsical.

“…In our positions, we must avoid being given a label that we will never get rid of,” assured my mother. How many characters from history have had sad reputations, often undeserved, for this sole reason.

My father granted more indulgence to “this beautiful creature”, as he called her. Besides her beauty, he admired her deep intuitive sense of events and things. According to him, the Empress foresaw the imminent collapse of the heterogeneous amalgam that the Austro-Hungarian Empire had become. We have preserved some verses from her quite academic but very prophetic, written in 1893:

“How right you are, Habsburg, to cover [your head “How right you are to wring your hands “Think then of your departed race “Never again will your children reign over your lands!”

Powerless, Elisabeth of Austria fled from her cruel destiny without seeking to dominate it. She was freed by the knife of a fanatic on the banks of peaceful Lake Geneva. “I would like to escape from my body, like a little bird from its cage,” she frequently said to her relatives. Let's listen to Barres who summarizes in a few lines the wandering existence of this nihilistic sovereign, thirsty for the absolute: "… Her movements did not have the beautiful and reasonable regularity of the migrations of a traveling bird, it was rather the whirling of a a lost spirit which beats the air, which no longer finds shelter and which no discipline regulates.” In similar circumstances, my mother would certainly have overcome the adversities of life because, in her, confidence and energy dominated events through an instinctive sense of the mysterious laws of life and through a concrete vision of the responsibilities to be assumed.

Marie-José of Belgium (1971). Albert et Elisabeth de Belgique, Mes Parents

[germanpostwarmodern]

The scale of the present book already indicates the bustle of its subject: 646 pages and almost 4 kilograms bear witness to the over four decades of architectural creativity of Fritz Novotny (1929-2018) and Arthur Mähner, principals of what would become Novotny Mähner Assoziierte. The two were childhood friends and consecutively studied architecture at TH Darmstadt, first Fritz Novotny who obtained his diploma in 1954, then, five years later, Arthur Mähner. In that very year the two also founded their office in Offenbach and quickly became one of the busiest offices in the area: during the 1960s alone they participated in some 100 competitions covering all kinds of typologies ranging from town halls, schools and office buildings to hotels and hospitals. In view of the growing number and size of projects Novotny and Mähner in 1973 decided to enter associations with other architects in order be able to tackle large projects also in the future, hence the office’s name Novotny Mähner Assoziierte.

In 1997 Bernd and Elisabeth Krimmel published their massive monograph/work catalogue with Karl Krämer Verlag, a true diligence work literally covering hundreds of projects. The book begins with a brief overview of Novotny and Mähner's approach to architecture, their personalities and their self-conception as architects emphatically written by colleague Paulfriedrich Posenenske. Following this, the authors in chronological and typological order open out a broad selection of works from the 1950s to the 1990s. Based on the extent of the individual chapters one can spot the office’s focal points, namely on administrative buildings, hospitals and schools which take up a third of the entire book. But as all-rounders N+M also designed single-family homes, town halls, banks and hotels, projects that, just like all projects, are covered in comprehensive dossiers including photographs, plans, sections and texts. At this point it should also be noted that the authors introduce each typological chapter with a historical sketch of the development of the respective typology and thus situate the firm’s output within the history of architecture.

In view of this, the present volume not provides a comprehensive history of an important postwar architectural firm but also a very readable history of architectural typologies that makes it an unexpectedly worthwhile read.

[lightleckrereins]

What should I do first from the very long list of costume WIP posts? (After the game update)

Boots guide (over a year in the making)

Boots guide part 2 (the one where I list what boots almost everyone ever got)

Embossed spandex pants guide

Active crowns guide

The costume alteration puzzle

A or P peplum styles

My still growing ramble on how to make a sixsona design that looks like it could fit within the show

Six wig highlights

Lets count how many ways there are to braid the parr back ponytail

Actually post the final installment of the hamilton ensemble costumes series I started in 2021

That one Moulin Rouge ask thats been missing two photos for like two months

That one dreamcast elisabeth has been yelling at me to do for years (not costume post but I'm adding it to the list anyway)

Moulin rouge can can wig design is one of my favorite things ever

Six Russia costume breakdown

One of my favorite costume evolutions ever

The costume white whales that I tried to find for years only to get all of them in like a year

The small differences between US and UK costumes I've found while actually making them

Six cosplay on a budget A: the closet cosplay edition

Six cosplay on a budget B: upgrading a costume you buy edition

Six cosplay on a budget C: the actually making the thing and not making your bank account cry while doing it edition (aka I spill all my secrets)

My love hate relationship with nordic Moulin Rouge

What would I change to six Poland (feat alt costumes)

Moulin rouge swing costume rant feat photoshop

I think thats it

[flowers-of-io]

Legacy First [the Bray family fanmix]

Listen on Spotify

//song list and lore under the cut//

Queen of Peace – Florence + the Machine

I understand you're angry with me. I would be too, if I'd watched my father come so close to salvation, only to die the way he did. Believe me-the groans and snaps of his exobody tearing itself apart haunt me almost as profoundly as the things we said over his deathbed. [...] But what I am working on here could have saved him. Could save him still.

His only son Cut down but the battle won Oh, what is it worth

Moons of Jupiter – Freezepop

“Europa has relit the fire in my soul; one that even its freezing winds cannot chill.”

I think you are the moons of Jupiter I think there's something hiding underneath the ice

Nice to Meet Me – Zack Hemsey

The K1 artifact promised me an offering. A gateway to the secret of immortality. I call it Clarity. It is waiting on Europa.

And I feel like I got a gun Like I've been changed more ways than one And this whole world has just begun

Kingdom Fall – Claire Wyndham

“Agatha, clearly we have not found our solution. I'll leave this, hm, mess in your incapable hands. Don't ever bring me up to witness an event like this again. Disgusting.”

Nothing here is shining Shining like it should

Her Father In The Pool – The National

“That's your son's quote,” she snapped. “You know, I've seen the video of his final days. That naked, white exo, just paramuscle and soft membrane, writhing in its cradle. When you were done with him, he looked like nothing more than a slug, Clovis. A twisted, limbless giblet. Did you 'support and nurture' him while you tortured him to death?”

Mistakes – PHILDEL

I know how much you've lied It's too much to discuss numbers I know how much I've let slide

Numbers – Daughter

Fine. I’m coming. […] If you tell the family I’m sick, I’ll never speak to you again. I won’t even let you treat me. You’ll have to watch, helpless, as your own granddaughter falls victim to your mistakes. I hope you’re still someone capable of being troubled by that.

You’d better make me better

Organs – Of Monsters And Men

“I activate this... and it all goes away. [sniffles] Cheers to that.”

And I cough up my lungs Because they remind me of how it all went wrong But I leave in my heart Because I don't want to stay in the dark

Rabbit Heart – Florence + the Machine

She’s done it. My girl has transubstantiated. My legacy is safe. […] The scan was flawless, and of course, fatally toxic. My granddaughter’s human form died on the table 14 hours later.

And Midas is king, and he holds me so tight And turns me to gold in the sunlight

Destroy Everything You Touch – Unwoman

“Of course you dreamt about killing us. Your grandfather made you this way. And he kills everything he touches.” 

Destroy everything you touch today Destroy me this way Anything that may desert you So it cannot hurt you

Over Cold Shoulders – Eliza Rickman

“The memory bank you just slipped in your pocket. That belonged to Elisabeth-1.”

You come in here looking for more And oh, you take all you can fit in your arms When you walk out the door

Make Up Your Mind – Florence + the Machine

If I do not survive the construction and delivery of this weapon, I ask that you share the news of my death with Ana and Willa so they can make proper goodbyes. I do this for them. Not for you. Pray for grace, Grandfather.

And although the axe is heavy It just sits in my hands

Landfill – Daughter

“You’ve always been my favorite, Elisabeth. Please…”

Wipe away your tear stains Thought you said you didn’t feel pain

Which Witch – Florence + the Machine

“Perhaps our legacy should be burnt to the ground,” she says

And it’s my whole heart While tried and tested, it’s mine

Legacy – Unwoman

The new Elisabeth has no mouth or nose. She did not consider them necessary. She'll see. But somehow, I could still see the wonder in her eyes as she leaned over me. “You're my grandfather,” she seemed to say. “Aren't you?”

The End Of Love – Florence + the Machine

“Legacy first… Elisabeth,” he says.

We were a family pulled from a flood You tore the floorboards up And let the river rush in

Tomorrow – Daughter

Repeating myself over and over, hoping something will change, but I know it's coming. Blood and betrayal.

But don't bring tomorrow 'Cause I already know I'll lose you

Lament – Destiny 2: Beyond Light OST

There was a world where we were a happy family. This isn't it. We both know it.

[literary-motif]

Epilogue

In which things work out. ~ 1,500 words

Overview // VIII. Num Scire Volo?

The next morning left you feeling miserable. You were curled up on the armchair in the study while Theodore sat slumped back in the settee. 

Cradling your respective cups of tea, you bounced ideas off of each other, scheming how to get out of your predicament. So far, you had nothing but despair. 

Distantly, you heard the front door fall shut. 

“That must be Elisabeth,” you said, sipping your tea. She had not come home with you last night. 

“Or maybe the authorities are here to arrest me,” Theodore said, burying his face in his hands and glancing at the door worriedly. You scoffed.

His anxiety was contagious, however, and you waited tensely for whoever would reveal themself. 

There was no knock before the door flung open. The black fabric of a puffy dress caught your eye immediately. Both you and Theodore let out a sigh of relief. 

Elisabeth waltzed into the room with a smile so bright it felt foreign in the gloomy desperation of the atmosphere around you. Without another word, she walked up to the coffee table between you, slapping a piece of paper onto it triumphantly.

“You are welcome,” she said. With a pleased hum, she took a biscuit from the previously untouched tray. 

You frowned, paralleling your brother as he leaned forward to get a better look at the paper. It was a check. Your eyes widened in disbelief as you saw its value.

“What—” Theodore stuttered, beside himself. “Where did—? How—? What did you—?”

Setting the porcelain on the table carefully, you placed a hand over your mouth in shock, still trying to understand. Your debts were paid, with plenty of money to spare. 

“Elisabeth—?” you breathed astounded. 

She shrugged, letting a cookie hang from her lips as she poured herself a cup of tea. “I met a kind man,” she said, adding two sugars before getting comfortable on the cushions, “and had an amazing night, might I add. I fulfilled a dream.”

Theodore’s cup shook violently on the saucer. She plucked it from his fingers before it tumbled to the ground. 

“How—?” he gasped, disbelieving that the problems that had been steadily crushing him for weeks could dissolve with the help of a kind stranger. 

“Doesn’t matter how,” Elisabeth said. “You are much too focused on understanding everything. Sometimes, you need to accept things as they are because there are no explanations to be given. With this” — she gestured to the little piece of paper — “the Hoares will get off out back, and there is enough to spare to finance the wedding you have always wanted,” Elisabeth said, adding almost sadly, “provided she wants you back. I suggest you run and apologize after we have settled things with the bank.”

He nodded slowly, still speechless with his eyes fixed on the check. 

You could not utter a word. It felt like an illusion, and you worried that any sudden movement would shatter the spell, thrusting you back into the grim reality of your threatening doom. 

Elisabeth glanced between you, her mouth twisted into a smirk. “Yeah, I know,” she said, finishing her tea and picking up the paper as she rose to her feet. “I bet I looked like you two when he gave it to me, like gaping fish. Come on. I would like to appease the bank now if it aligns with your busy schedules.”

It was only after settling your debt — Lord Hoare accepting the check with raised eyebrows but a smile on his face as he offered you tea and tried to convince you to invest — that the dream began solidifying into reality.

The fresh London air filled your lungs after stepping out of the building with your siblings. It felt like the first breath of air you had had in a long time.

“I still cannot believe it,” you said, watching Theodore scurry off into the distance to seek out his ex-fiancée and undo his mistakes. “Thank you, Lizzie.” 

Elisabeth chuckled as your brother tripped in his haste, nearly landing face-first on the dirty road. 

“Of course,” she said, shooting you a glance before beginning to walk home with you. “You were right, you know,” she said after a while when you had passed the theater and crossed the Thames. 

It had been ages since you had taken a walk together, and both of you were enjoying the peaceful quiet of each other'scompany. 

“I often am,” you teased, nudging her shoulder playfully as she rolled her eyes. “What exactly was I right about this time?”

She hesitated, and you suppressed the urge to offer her a cigarette. 

“I talked with him all night,” she said quietly, staring into the distance at the overcast sky. “There is nothing wrong with me. I know what I want, and I know what not.” 

You felt a surge of affection and pride for her. “I’m glad,” you said, smiling gently as she turned to look into your eyes. 

“He says he is sorry,” she added after a pause, her brows furrowing in confusion and curiosity. “After I mentioned you, he asked me to tell you that. He apologizes for his friend and wishes you the best.” 

The reminder of Xanthus made your blood freeze. You nodded, forcing a smile. 

The pieces of your broken heart would take a while to mend themselves back together, and it would take you many paintings and long walks in solitude until you had processed all that had passed between you. 

Dontis was a kind man, and you were infinitely grateful that he had helped your sister discover part of her identity. 

You could see she had questions about how you knew him — what he was apologizing for — but you felt now was not the right time to answer them. 

Over the next months, the loose threads of your life began tying themselves back together by your arduous effort. 

Lord Leighton reached out to you, offering you the chair of a professorship at the Royal Academy of Arts. You declined. 

London was not the city for you. It had always felt suffocating, and despite your new family dynamic and setting down flowers by an unmarked grave, you could never exchange it for the artistic levity you felt in Paris. 

You had longed to return to your studio from the day you had stepped foot onto the island, revisit your acquaintances, and return to your unfinished painting with the clear blue sky. 

No teaching position in the academic field would bring you as much contentment. With your family’s wealth restored sufficiently, there was no need for you to worry about the economic aspect of your life. 

Your reputation remained unblemished after Elisabeth forged the letter informing you of your parent’s deaths. Your number of commissions increased daily. These added royalties, as well as the earnings from the many exhibitions you held both in France and England, allowed you to lead a comfortable life.

Theodore married in the spring after fully disclosing everything that had happened to his spouse and asking her for forgiveness on bended knee. As far as you knew, she was the only other person besides your siblings to know what had truly happened regarding your parents. 

Elisabeth continued studying the occult. She won renown in these circles for her insights, broad knowledge in the field, and rigorous method of study. There were three volumes on the subject of Incubi published under her pen name. In her latest letter, she told you of her work on one relating to werewolves. 

In her spare time, she held seances in the library of the family mansion, which she looked after alone after Theodore had moved out. She never took a lover, confident in her disinterest in romance. 

When you traveled to London for an exhibition or as part of your promise to your siblings, she would always greet you at the train station with open arms, her black dress flowing in the breeze and her lips twisted into a content smile. With time, you felt the rift torn into your relationship mending.

On one of your visits, you had gathered the courage to tell her about your experiences with Lord Claiborne. With her knowledge of the unexplainable, you hoped retelling your story might grant you the closure your paintings had not been able to give you. 

Elisabeth had poured you a cup of tea, listening closely to all the foggy details you remembered. 

“What do you make of this?” you asked her after finishing with your account of what had happened at the ball. 

She looked pensive, letting the silence stretch between you as she contemplated what you had told her. 

“It’s no wonder that house burnt down,” she said eventually, shaking her head sadly. “A tragic loss of life that could have been avoided. Poor Lady Alderton. She still comes to me twice a week in the hopes of talking to her wife, you know. I do not have the heart to tell her that the dead cannot be heard unless they want to.”

Elisabeth cleared her throat, setting down her tea. 

“You’re lucky you got out of that story alive, Picasso,” she said gravely, her gaze settling on you. “To me, it sounds like you had a run-in with a vampire. A ruthless one by the name of Xanthus Claiborne.”

Annotations

[matan4il]

Oh my God now some idiots are claiming that Hamas is treating the hostages well and that it's Israel that is killing the hostages. Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME WITH THIS BULLSHIT!?!

God I want to punch some of these idiots so bad. They are literally doing the same shit the Nazis they hate are doing.

Hi Nonnie!

Absolutely this. Hamas is releasing a few of the hostages to make it harder for Israel to start the ground action. They're not doing it out of kindness, they're trying to save their own asses. The overall picture of what was down by Hamas is too abhorrent, and seeing this elderly woman before and after her being kidnapped and beaten is no exception to anyone with morals:

Trying to claim anything else is expecting all of us to go into a collective Stockholm Syndrome.

For those who don't know, this is a phenomenon named after a bank robbery in the Swedish capital, Stockholm. Two men held four bank employees as hostages, at gun point, inside a bank vault, under inhumane conditions. But by the time the hostages were released, they saw their abusers as benevolent:

When hostage Elisabeth Oldgren complained of claustrophobia, he allowed her to walk outside the vault attached to a 30-foot rope, and Oldgren told The New Yorker a year later that although leashed, “I remember thinking he was very kind to allow me to leave the vault.”

The emphasis is mine. Anyone who calls Hamas humanitarian, wants Jews to react as if allowing us to walk outside the vault, under the threat of gunfire, and while kept on a leash, is a kindness.

NO.

This daily update also addresses this antisemitic spin.

Take care, lovely! Your well being is more important than anything those hateful, morally broken people have to say. xoxox

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[fitzrove]

I think, if they're just straight up not going to make the show like it was before 2008, ppl producing Elisabeth should just tap into stunt casting more bravely. No more mark seiber, imagine how much bank you could make with like. J*m*n from bts as tod. Or idk h*rry st*les (West End production when)

*iiay

[girlactionfigure]

Worn and weary, balding, with sad eyes, Raoul Wallenberg looked much older than his 31 years of age when in 1944 he was assigned the responsibility of saving Jews in Hungary. The assignment came by way of the War Refugee Board, an American organization formed that same year with the goal of saving Jews from persecution by the Nazis.

Raoul, who had some Jewish lineage but was not considered Jewish, was born in Sweden to a prominent family of bankers, diplomats, and politicians. He was expected to follow in the footsteps of his family, but he decided to become an architect.

He went to study architecture in America, at the University of Michigan. During his time in college, Raoul worked odd jobs despite his family’s wealth, and hitchhiked across the US, Canada, and Mexico during holidays. He continued hitchhiking even after getting robbed and thrown into a ditch by four men who offered him a lift. In a letter to his grandfather, Raoul wrote of his love of hitchhiking, “When you travel like a hobo, everything’s different. You have to be on the alert the whole time. You’re in close contact with new people every day. Hitchhiking gives you training in diplomacy and tact.”

Raoul finished the University of Michigan with honors, even winning a medal for his scholastic achievements. Unable to find architecture work in Sweden after graduation, Raoul briefly lived in South Africa, soon moving to Palestine for a banking apprenticeship. It was in Palestine that Raoul first encountered Jewish refugees from Germany. The refugees made a strong impact on Raoul.

Upon returning to Sweden, Raoul went into the import/export business with a man of Hungarian Jewish decent. Once it became harder for his partner to travel to Hungary due to his being Jewish, Raoul started making the trips himself. He traveled frequently to Budapest, learned Hungarian in addition to his already knowing French, English, German, and Russian, and ultimately went on to head the international arm of the business, soon becoming a joint owner of the company.

In 1944 Germany occupied Hungary. At the time of the occupation, Hungary had close to 700,000 Jewish citizens. By the time Raoul arrived in Hungary on his mission of rescue, over 400,000 of them had been sent to Auschwitz.

Raoul wasted no time. He did everything he could think of to save Jewish people. He bribed, extorted, bluffed, and threatened to achieve his aims of saving as many people as possible.

With a fellow Swedish diplomat he created official looking protective passes to give out to Jews granting them Swedish citizenship and making them exempt from wearing the yellow badge that Nazis required them to wear. Sandor Ardai, one of Raoul’s drivers, recalled a time when Raoul came upon a train full of Jews about to depart to Auschwitz,

“He climbed up on the roof of the train and began handing in protective passes through the doors which were not yet sealed. He ignored orders from the Germans for him to get down, then the Arrow Cross [the Hungarian Nazi party] men began shooting and shouting at him to go away. He ignored them and calmly continued handing out passports to the hands that were reaching out for them. I believe the Arrow Cross men deliberately aimed over his head, as not one shot hit him, which would have been impossible otherwise. I think this is what they did because they were so impressed by his courage. After Wallenberg had handed over the last of the passports he ordered all those who had one to leave the train and walk to the caravan of cars parked nearby, all marked in Swedish colours. I don’t remember exactly how many, but he saved dozens off that train, and the Germans and Arrow Cross were so dumbfounded they let him get away with it!”

In total Raoul gave out tens of thousands of such protective passes, but the German government eventually caught on to the ruse and ruled the passes invalid. When Raoul heard of this, he called on Baroness Elisabeth Kemeny, the wife of the Hungarian Minister for Foreign Affairs in Budapest, for help,

‘’Raoul implored me to help. He was desperate. I talked to my husband and said he must do something. He told me ‘I can’t fight the whole cabinet.’ But after midnight word came that 9,000 passes would be honored. I can still remember Raoul’s elation, his happiness.’’ The baroness had finally persuaded her husband to help by threatening to leave him if he didn’t.

When the Germans abandoned the use of trains to transport Jewish prisoners, instead forming 125 mile death marches toward Auschwitz, Raoul began visiting stopping areas to save people.

“‘You there!’ The Swede pointed to an astonished man, waiting for his turn to be handed over to the executioner. ‘Give me your Swedish passport and get in that line,’ he barked. ‘And you, get behind him. I know I issued you a passport.’ Wallenberg continued, moving fast, talking loud, hoping the authority in his voice would somewhat rub off on these defeated people…The Jews finally caught on. They started groping in pockets for bits of identification. A driver’s license or birth certificate seemed to do the trick. The Swede was grabbing them so fast; the Nazis, who couldn’t read Hungarian anyway, didn’t seem to be checking. Faster, Wallenberg’s eyes urged them, faster, before the game is up. In minutes he had several hundred people in his convoy. International Red Cross trucks, there at Wallenberg’s behest, arrived and the Jews clambered on…”

In one of his final acts of rescue, Raoul intimidated the supreme commander of German forces in Hungary, Major-General Gerhard Schmidthuber, into not blowing up a Jewish ghetto housing 70,000 people. As the war was coming to an end and there was not enough time to send the remaining Jews to Auschwitz, Adolf Eichmann, a major organizer of the Holocaust, ordered the slaughter of all Hungarian Jews in one mass execution. When Raoul found out about this, he sent word to Schmidthuber that if he were to go through with the slaughter, Raoul would personally see that he was hanged for crimes against humanity after the war. Knowing that Hitler was close to defeat, Schmidthuber acquiesced and called off the massacre.

Raoul took such risks because his perspective on the work he was doing was simple, “I will never be able to go back to Sweden without knowing inside myself that I’d done all a man could do to save as many Jews as possible.”

In total Raoul saved close to 100,000 Jews. He himself was captured by the Soviets on suspicion of being a spy and is presumed to have died a Soviet prisoner.

Historical Snapshots

[lala-writes-fetish]

uh oh I forgot ~I m really a dumb sub lol~

so here is the list (not really request just suggestions, I think others will agree)

Adele exarchopoulos

aimee Garcia

Alison brie

Amanda cerny

~amber heard~

Amy Adams

anna Kendrick

anne Hathaway

anya Taylor joy

April bowlby

ariana grande

aubrey plaza

bella Thorne

~belle delphine~

billie eillish

billie piper

Brianna Hildebrand

brie larson

Bryce Dallas Howard

cailee spaeny

camilla mendes

Candice Patton

caylee Cowan

~Cheryl hines~

Christina Hendricks

chyler Leigh

Claudia Jessie

daisy ridley

Dakota Johnson

demi Lovato

Diane Guerrero

dua lipa

Elena kampouris

Elizabeth Banks

-debicki

-olsen

Ellie Kemper

Emily blunt

emma myers

-Roberts

-stone

felicity Jones

florence Pugh

~gal gadot~

Gemma chan

Gwendoline christie

Gwyneth Paltrow

hailee Steinfeld

Hayden pannetiere

haylee

Hayley Atwell

isis hainsworth

jameela Jamil

jane Douglas

jenna coleman

jenifer connelly

-Coolidge

-garner

-Lawrence

-stone

Jessica Chastain

-Henwick

jodie Whitaker

Justina valentine

karen gillan

kat dennings

Katelyn ohashi

Kathryn hahn

-Newton

Katy perry

Kirsten Dunst

Kristen schaal

-stewart

krysten ritter

lacey chabert

lana del Rey

Lauren Mayberry

~lily collins~

lily James

Lindsey Shaw

lizzy Caplan

Lucy hale

madelaine petsch

Madison Pettis

maisie Williams

margot robbie

~mariah carey~

marisa Tomei

~Martina big~

Mary elisabeth Winstead

maya Hawke

megan thee stallion

Melissa benoist

-Rauch

Milana vayntrub

milly Alcock

... and that s just up to the m 😅😔

Wow, now that's a list!

Sorry for replying so late and thank you for the effort of putting this together. We'll screen the celebs on here and check out if there is enough good and inspiring material of them in order to make some captions. Safe to say that we won't get around to include ALL of them, obviously.

Question: What is the turn-on for you guys about dominant celebrity women and their feet? Is it the thought of them "enslaving" you? Or do you just like the look of the celeb-woman and imagine yourself with a "version" of her in your life? :)

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Les troubles civils révèlent les fractures profondes d'une nation.

André Gide

Well, living in Paris is never boring. It's been a wild few days. And who knows what the weekend will bring. Where I live in Paris is untouched (so far). But people are rightfully scared as the unfolding violence and chaos spreads across Paris and beyond.

Nanterre, the suburb of Paris where the murder victim, 17 year old Nahel lived - and died - has once again become the scene of unrest. Hours after a peaceful march in his honour ended violence broke out. Office buildings were vandalised and a bank was set on fire. As the evening drew on police officers arrived in large numbers, in vans and on bikes.

Around five thousand officers were sent to Paris suburbs after some 170 police were injured and 180 people arrested overnight on Wednesday, when Mr Macron was at an Elton John concert - the optics of which have just reinforced the view that this is a President who is very much out of touch with his own country.

At a crisis cabinet meeting on Thursday, Mr Macron called the violence “unjustifiable” as scores of cars were set ablaze and police were attacked with fireworks and in some cases firearms. Shops were looted and state buildings, police stations and schools set on fire.

In Montreuil, in the north, some young people armed with batons have destroyed a pharmacy, McDonalds, ATM and other shops. Police have responded with tear gas. The entrance to the town hall of Clichy-sous-Bois, in the eastern suburbs of Paris, was set alight by protesters, according to videos shared online.

Buses and trams in Paris were stopped at 9pm in and around Paris and a curfew from 9pm to 6am was imposed in the Parisian suburb of Clamart until Monday as authorities struggled to keep control. In Nanterre’s Avenue Pablo Picasso, dozens of vehicles burned as fireworks were fired at police lines, along with stones and Molotov cocktails.

According to text messages sent between officers and seen by BFM TV, police said they were totally swamped, had run out of rubber bullets and were forced to withdraw from various districts after being personally targeted.

Conservative politicians have been screaming at Macron’s government to call a state of emergency and send in the armed forces. But so far both Macron and his Prime Minister Elisabeth Borne have ruled it for fear of escalating the situation.

A state of emergency was called by then-president Jacques Chirac during the 2005 banlieue riots. That was the first time the measure had been taken in 50 years. Ten years later, the French government declared a state of emergency following the 2015 Paris terrorist attacks. The measure lasted two years. Thursday night, various government ministers said a state of emergency was not being considered. Whether this is still their position as the unrest persists and intensifies remains to be seen.

I suspect the Macron government is haunted by the possibility of a repeat of the weeks of sustained violent protest sparked by the death of two young boys of African origin during a police chase in 2005. That incident, in Clichy-sous-Bois outside Paris, triggered weeks of unrest with France declaring a state of national emergency as more than 9,000 vehicles and dozens of public buildings and businesses were set on fire.

The government seems to be caught flat footed. The riots have spread way beyond Paris and some its poorer and more multi-cultural suburbs to other cities such as Lille, Bordeaux, Nantes, Lyon, Toulouse, and Marseille. It’s a shit show.

The heart of this civil strife is the age old issue of the role of the police in society. It would be a grave misunderstanding to see the French police and all that ails them through an English or especially an American lens. France is not America. This has nothing to do with race or even systemic racism (whatever the lazy way of thinking that is). The police officers in Paris and other major cities are multi-ethnic and many are married with partners across ethnic lines. To think this is white on black is incredibly dumb.

This isn't even about class. The British Met police are now mostly recruited from university graduate class when before they were blue collar. Unlike the British Met, the police in France is overwhelmingly blue collar and live in the same social locales as they ones they police. It's one reason why they don't take any shit when they stop someone. They can be brusque and yes even borderline brutal. But to wrap this all in a bundle and a bow and call it racism is simplistic bullshit.

As one of my French colleagues - who managed to make it out of the banlieues (poor social housing suburbs of Paris) and managed to get good schooling and make a decent life for herself - put it well: the problem with the police is they are meant to protect citizens but they really serve the state. This is the fracture between state and society.

Some say sending more police in is like pouring gasoline on a fire - but what else can a responsible government do to avert chaos and further civil unrest? They have to be seen to act.

And yet that mistrustful relationship is many have with the police which has prompted the anger. People in ethnically diverse neighbourhoods such as Nanterre say officers aren’t working to protect them - it’s a common refrain one hears. However true it may be it doesn’t absolve the rioters themselves - many of who are just looting for the fun of it or are far left agitators - in these areas who have gone beyond protesting a tragic murder of a young man to openly looting and destroying cars, family owned stores, commercial stores, schools, and businesses.

Pauvre France.

[totowlff]

chapter thirty-four — no more secrets

➝ sometimes the fear of losing someone to stupid ideas drives people to do stupid things.

➝ word count: 3,1k

➝ warnings: none

APRIL, 2017

An early spring breeze ruffled Elisabeth’s hair as she walked hand in hand with Toto, across the crosswalk that led to the Mercedes-Benz museum building. It was in front of the company’s headquarters, and was a massive complex with not only offices, a factory, a dealership, and the museum, but also the imposing Mercedes-Benz Arena, where the city’s Bundesliga football team played, though she couldn’t remember the name of it.

In reality, Elisabeth knew very little about football. She had learned the basics from Mathias, who never missed watching FC Barcelona games. He was a fervent supporter of the Catalan team, and had named several of the family’s pets after its players. Mathias’ passion for the sport had certainly not come from Niki, but from Tilman, their uncle, and Mathias was already working to turn his own children into lifelong Barça fans. They’d had Barça clothing from infancy, and both of them learned the team anthem almost as soon as they’d learned to talk.

As Toto and Elisabeth walked toward the large metal-clad building, the man with them made small talk about the club — VfB Stuttgart, apparently — and their difficult season. The man with them was Ola Källenius, a Swede, and part of the board of directors of the Mercedes-Benz group. Toto and Elisabeth had stopped in Stuttgart to meet with him on the way back home from the Bahrain Grand Prix.

— However, I didn’t want to just talk with you about Stuttgart's misfortunes this season, but something else — Ola said, as they approached the entrance to the building — Something of interest to you, or at least, of interest to Toto.

As they all entered the atrium, Elisabeth couldn't help but be impressed by the building’s architecture. It looked large from the outside, but it looked even larger on the inside with the triangular-shaped panes coming together to give the visual impression of the room looking bigger than it was. The elevators stood out against the concrete walls, making them look like silver capsules, waiting for their passengers.

“This place is a work of art”, she thought, as the executive greeted a man warmly.

— Toto, Elisabeth, this is Pádraic, one of the museum guides. He knows everything about everything in here, right?

— I like to think so, Ola — the man replied, his accent indicating he wasn't German — It's nice to meet you.

— The pleasure is ours, isn't it, Liesl?

Elisabeth limited herself to a nod as she shook the man's hand.

— Which route would you like to take?

— We'll have to skip the traditional tour today, Pádraic. Toto and Elisabeth have a flight scheduled for later and they don't have time to see everything. However, they’d like to see the racing car collection — Ola replied, making the guide smile.

— Very well, would you follow me? — he said, gesturing with one hand. Along the way, Pádraic gave a quick explanation of the museum's internal structure, which had been planned to resemble a double helix, like DNA, with the outer section devoted to thematic collections, and the inner section to the history of the brand.

After taking an elevator to the second floor, they headed to a section of the museum that resembled a banked curve. It was built as an homage to ancient European chariot racing tracks, he said, and the steepness of the curve made it more challenging. The banked track in the museum was made to display an array of silver cars, with one or another colored model, corresponding to the most modern cars.

— These are our racing cars. Since 1894 we have records of Mercedes taking part in motor racing for the purpose of proving the reliability of the brand's engines. It was the main form of advertising for cars that existed for motor vehicles. It was how the company built its brand until the birth of the Silver Arrows.

Glancing at Toto out of the corner of her eye, Elisabeth noticed that he looked delighted, like a child let loose in a toy store. There was an undeniable twinkle in his eye and goofy smile on his face. She nodded as the guide talked, listening intently.

— Here we have the four-cylinder, 120-horsepower Benz Grand Prix, which was the first car developed exclusively for racing. There, we have the 1914 version, also with four cylinders but with a 274 cubic inch engine and, in front of it, the W25, which was the car that gave us the nickname “The Silver Arrows”. The mechanics had to strip all of the paint from the body to make it lighter, leaving only exposed aluminum — Pádraic explained, pointing to each of the cars and giving them a brief explanation.

As they walked along the curve, Elisabeth couldn't help but notice something odd about the exhibit. Just ahead, there was a space between two cars that was clearly bigger than the others. It was as if something was missing there, one of the pieces of the museum.

— That one has a funny story. With the dominance of German cars in racing, the Italian motorsport federation decided to restrict racing to only cars with 1.5 liter engines, which were not made by any German manufacturer. So, Mercedes decided to develop a car with these specifications in just eight months. In the end, the W165 was born, which won the Tripoli Grand Prix, in 1939.

— I think you have a little more time than that to develop the car in Formula 1, right Toto? — the brand executive asked, smiling.

— It revolves around this time, Ola. Of course, everything has become easier than before, with technology and all. It doesn't detract from their achievement of making a car in such a short amount of time.

A few steps later, Elisabeth's curiosity won out.

— Why is there such a big space there? — she asked.

— Ah, yes, that is where the 300SL usually is. It was our first car to compete after the Second World War, and it won the Carrera Panamericana in Mexico. But it was pulled from the exhibition at Ola's request for a bit of a… revision.

— Revision? — she asked, raising an eyebrow.

— Yeah, it's going to Italy to participate in the Mille Miglia, in honor of the 65th anniversary of its victory in Mexico — Ola said, smiling — It will be the car that Aldo and Toto will use for the race.

She blinked. Elisabeth had no idea what the Mille Miglia was, or why Toto would be involved in it. However, swallowing the lump in her throat, she just forced a curious smile.

— Use? You mean, race?

— Exactly. We received an invitation from the race organizers, talking to Toto at the beginning of the year, he offered to drive it, along with Aldo.

— I'm really glad you got the car cleared for us — Toto said, looking genuinely pleased about that — It's going to be fantastic driving it around Italy.

— And when will that be? — Elisabeth asked, doing her best to hide her displeasure at only just now finding out that Toto would be driving in a race.

— In May, Liesl — Toto replied immediately, smiling — And I can't wait.

— I can imagine — Elisabeth said, letting go of his hand and putting it in the pocket of the tailored pants she was wearing, something churning in her stomach.

After saying goodbye to Pádraic and Ola, the two went to the car they had rented on arrival in the city and made their way back to the airport, where one of Laudamotion's private jets would take them back to England. During the entire drive to the airport, Elisabeth remained silent, completely immersed in her own thoughts. She only gave Toto monosyllabic responses.

She was trying to remember if he’d told her or not. She thought she would have remembered if Toto had told her that he was going to drive a car that was almost as old as her father, but absolutely couldn’t recall, which could only mean one thing.

Toto had hidden it from her.

After returning the car to the rental lot at the airport, the two of them walked to the private flight boarding terminal in virtual silence. Toto had tried to strike up a conversation with her, but Elisabeth was still so deep in her own thoughts that she practically ignored him.

“Why, Toto?”, she asked herself, as she climbed the stairs up to the jet.

Elisabeth settled into one of the armchairs on the plane and took off her shoes. Toto sat in the seat across from her. She took a few seconds to watch him settle into place, strapping himself in. She arranged the briefcase she’d brought on the seat next to her.

“Why did you hide this from me?”, she wondered.

Even when they reached cruising altitude, Elisabeth didn’t get up or move. She was too distracted by the unanswered questions inside her mind.

— Liesl?

Toto's voice snapped her back to the present. She felt something tightening in her chest.

— Yes?

— Are you okay?

— Yeah — she replied quietly. He looked at her with a skeptical expression on his face.

— It doesn’t look like it.

She blinked.

— What do you mean?

— You've been quiet since the museum visit. Quieter than usual.

— Any problem with my silence? — Elisabeth asked, in a slightly harsher tone than she ‘d intended. And she saw in his expression that she was too harsh.

— No, none… It's just… You're only quiet like that when you're upset.

She pressed her lips together, one hand moving up her arm to the crook of her elbow, pinching the skin there. It was an almost natural reaction of hers to situations that made her anxious or stressed, especially conflict. She could feel that conflict was coming.

— Well, since you asked, I am pretty upset, Toto — Elisabeth replied dryly.

— Upset about what?

— What do you think?

— I don't know, there's so much...

— If you need a tip, think about what you're going to do in Italy in May.

Toto blinked, finally connecting the dots.

— Are you upset about the Mille Miglia?

— No, Toto. I'm… Fuck…

— You are what?

— Sad. Disappointed. Deceived. Betrayed.

The last word made him straighten up suddenly.

— You know I would never betray you...

— Then why did you? — she cut him off.

— Elisabeth…

— Toto, you know my fears about racing, my misgivings. You know that as much as I like racing, competing, winning, above all that, I love you. And you know my biggest fear is losing you.

He continued to stare at her in silence.

— I was honest with you, I told you all about my fears surrounding motorsport and racing. We talked about the Nordschleife, about my fears and about your accident and my father's accident. And I remember exactly what you said to me that night, every word. You promised me that I wouldn't lose you to your stupid ideas.

— I know, Elisabeth...

— Then why did you decide to take part in this race? We agreed that we would talk about anything like this that came up. You promised me this, Toto!

He was silent for a few seconds.

— I forgot.

Elisabeth couldn't resist a sardonic laugh.

— You forgot?

— Yes, Liesl, I forgot and I apologize for…

— Toto, do you really think I'm going to believe that excuse? Do you really think I'm going to believe that you just forgot to tell me you were taking part in a fucking race?

— But that's what happened, I received Ola's invitation just now in...

—  He said you offered yourself at his last visit — she interrupted him — Ola was last at the factory in January, Toto. You've known this since January. You knew and you hid it from me till now. It’s April!

— I didn't hide it, Elisabeth!

— And I even know why — she continued — You did it because you thought I was going to say no, so you thought it was better to hide it from me.

— Fuck, give me a minute to explain — he exclaimed, slapping his legs with his hands. Elisabeth was not at all interested in granting that request.

— And what would be your excuse for spending a week away from home? What would you say to me so I wouldn’t discover your real intentions? — she snarled.

— I was going to tell you, but I...

— “Hey, Liesl, listen, I'm going to Italy to fuck some whore, I'll be back next week” — Elisabeth spoke in a deeper voice, in a crude attempt to imitate him.

That was the last straw for him.

— God damn it, Elisabeth! — Toto yelled, getting up from his seat — Shut the fuck up!

Elisabeth tried to answer, but his expression made her stop. He wasn't just upset with her. There was something else in his eyes than what was on his face.

It was pain. Heartache.

— You can say whatever you want about me, Elisabeth — Toto snarled, one finger raised — You can call me an idiot, an ass, a selfish person, an asshole, anything that crosses your fucking mind. But never, never call me dishonest!

She felt a lump tighten in her throat.

— I was wrong. I was wrong not to tell you about the race. Truthfully, I was a bit afraid that you wouldn't agree to it, but I didn’t hide it from you. I was going to tell you. I brought you here to tell you about the race, the car, everything. I was going to invite you to come with me but… Fuck!

— Toto...

— No. Listen to me, Elisabeth! — he spat — Did I fuck up? Yeah, I did. I've fucked up a lot in my life. Not just with you, but with Stephanie, with the kids, with my mom, with my sister, with a lot of people. But I’ve never been dishonest in anything I do, Elisabeth. Not once in my life. 

— I did not say…

— That I was dishonest? And saying that I'm going to Italy to fuck whores, to cheat on you? Cheating is dishonesty, isn’t it?

She didn't know how to respond.

— I never cheated on you. You're the only woman for me. Even when I was with someone else, all I could think about was you. Even when I was fucking someone else, all I could imagine was being with you. I would never cheat on you, Elisabeth, because that would be dishonest of me.

— Isn't lying a kind of dishonesty too, Toto? You lied to me.

— You've lied to me too, Elisabeth. You lied about your feelings for me on that phone call on Christmas Eve. And I kept believing in you, even though you broke my heart into thousands of pieces. I kept loving you even if you didn't love me back.

— That doesn't count…

— Doesn't it? You’ve hidden plenty of things from me. The fights with Mathias, the things my mother told you? Weren’t those lies by omission?

— Me hiding things so I don't upset you is different from you hiding things because they're stupid! — she argued.

— This race isn't stupid, Elisabeth.

— Is it not? Isn't being away from home for almost a week, stuffed in a tin can with four wheels stupid?

— It might be stupid, but I want to do it! I've always wanted to be in that race, drive that car, and stupid or not, I'm going to go. I'm not going to give up doing this just to satisfy your spoiled little girl ego and, honestly, I don't even know why I'm justifying myself. I don't owe you any satisfaction.

Something inside Elisabeth's chest ached.

— You know what? Go ahead. Go drive that fucking car in Italy. When you get in another accident and end up in the hospital again, you’ll call me. And if you think I'm going to drop everything to run to your side, you're sorely mistaken — she spat.

Toto’s nostrils flared, lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw clenching. After a few seconds, he settled back into his seat, his eyes fixed on the window beside him. 

It was then that Elisabeth realized that maybe she had gone too far.

The rest of the flight after the fight had been silent. After landing in Oxford, the two drove home in silence. After parking the black Mercedes C-Class in the garage, Elisabeth got out of the car and went to the trunk to get the luggage she had taken for the two weeks she had been away. The suitcase was heavy, but the last thing she wanted was to ask for Toto’s help with it.

She wasn't a spoiled little girl.

— Need help? — Toto murmured beside her.

— No — she said dryly, setting her suitcase on the ground and into the house. Pulling the handle, she dragged the luggage up to the second floor, pausing a few times along the way to catch her breath. She was dropping her suitcase in the closet when Toto arrived in their bedroom with a small bottle of water in his hand. As she caught sight of him in her peripheral vision, she felt something tighten in her chest.

— Are you going to shower now?

— You can go if you want — she murmured, as she went to one of the shelves to get something to wear — I'm going to shower in the other bathroom.

— Why?

— As far as I remember, Torger — Elisabeth turned her face to him, staring at him for a few seconds — We don't owe each other satisfaction.

She grabbed her panties and, in complete silence, left the room, heading for the bathroom in the upstairs hallway. After showering and changing into a pair of shorts and an old University of Vienna T-shirt that she liked to use as pajamas, Elisabeth went to the guest bedroom, a room they always left ready to receive a family member or their friends when visiting them in England.

Sitting up in bed, she allowed herself to take everything in. The decor of the room was cold and impersonal. The walls were light, everything was very neutral-looking, and said that it was not a space to be occupied permanently, only for short visits. Not even Benedict and Rosi slept there, but they had their own rooms in the house, arranged and decorated according to their tastes.

Elisabeth shouldn't be there. But at the same time, she needed to be. She couldn't bear to sleep in the same bed as Toto that night, smelling his cologne and feeling the warmth of his skin. Settling down on the mattress, she sighed, trying to shake the tightness she felt in her throat away. But with each breath, she felt the agony rise in her chest and tears fill her eyes.

Finally, she broke down into sobs.

[reapersbayif]

"Now, no offense, but I can't see many people wanting a bank teller dead." Mari's eyebrow quirks up as if they just told a particularly funny joke, "So I'm willing to bet this has to do with the whole lost heir thing and not the whole shitty interest rates thing."

About professions in Reaper's Bay.

Your profession does change quite a few things, actually!

You can work at a bookstore by the bay, where you'll meet the RO Jayanta/Jayanti Abbas. You work for an older woman named Ada van de Laar who occasionally bakes you both sweets and also lets you rent the apartment above the shop for dirt cheap.

As a bank teller, your manager Rafael Heeren and co-worker/loan officer Vincent Erkens are occasional shitheads. It's alright, though, because you can afford a great apartment in the town square. That and your other co-worker and fellow teller Elisabeth “Elsie” Rietveld is one of your best friends in the whole world.

When you're a clerk at the local grocer, you work for an older man named Frederik Braam by the bay. He lets you rent out the back room cheaply and gives you free produce before it expires. You're also about to get a new co-worker, the RO Mica Fevre.

Assassins get money, which allows you to live comfortably with the upper class in Norwick's ritzy area dubbed the hills. You're also decent friends with fellow assassin Striker, who might come in handy if you maintain a good relationship.

As an informant, you deal in information, which can be as deadly as any weapon. You live in the hills, and your best friend is fellow informant Isabel van Alst, whose codename is Scarlet. She cares about you a lot, enough to stick her neck out for you even.

Thieves don't get a lot of respect in Norwick until they make it big, but for now, the street kids have your back. As well as one young, single mother named Lydia Tillens who has a sharp eye and a willingness to help find marks as long as her child stays fed. You've had a few run-ins with RO Elias/Eliana Santos, too, and they haven't all been pleasant.

Smugglers working for RO Nishant/Nisha Kumar are rarely touched in Norwick, simply because most fear the backlash that would come from the captain of the Red Fortune. Fellow smuggler Henrika "Rika" de Witt is your next-door neighbor down by the bay who's always good for a laugh.