#I had several ideas for may 4 this year but I had to go with the one that could be done in basically a day bc of the previous edits haha

[lizzybeth1986]

Tagging @kingliamappreciationweek and @sazanes for KLAW Day 1: Throwback

1. What about this character inspired you to create this piece?

Many different things - but the two most important were to truly acknowledge Liam's trauma esp post his father's death, and to respect his (and the Therons') ideology in a way canon never did. The canon narrative fawns over the overly militaristic-minded characters so much that they often throw others like Liam, Hana and the Theron family under the bus. I wanted to highlight the value of that kind of ideology through Liam in this chapter especially.

2. What was your process like?

Mostly linear, but there were several aspects where I needed to do a lot more research. Especially for funeral practices in the British Royal Family. This was written maybe a year after QEII's funeral, so I definitely borrowed a few elements from that - such as the Vigil of the Princes (and I modelled the Vigil of the Great Houses on the vigil her grandchildren were supposed to keep, I think).

3. What part of creating this piece sparked the most joy/satisfaction?

In terms of joy - definitely the slow thawing of the ice between Hakim and Liam. Hakim has a right to be wary, and it is on Liam in this story to prove to him that he is on Hakim's side. I did love writing their dynamic together - Hakim's desire to trust and talk to Liam interspersed with his hurt at what Constantine (and unknowingly, the royal family) caused in barely acknowledging him and his family. Liam has a long way to go, but he has made inroads in this chapter.

In terms of satisfaction - I feel the sequence with the statues because that was a way of showing the value of art and more peaceful pursuits, but also the funeral scenes themselves.

Canon neatly skipped that part of the story and went straight to visiting Lythikos, and allowed Liam to only shed a single tear (by option!) at the end of the book. My Liam's way of coping tends to be to block memories, and I show a glimpse of that with his thoughts on the funeral. I also wanted to acknowledge how difficult a time it would be for my MC Esther, who suffered greatly at Constantine's hands and would still likely have to listen to eulogies that praised this man. I wanted to acknowledge these difficult things and truly center those characters in those conflicts rather than brush them over.

4. What was your playlist for this piece of work?

I listened to a lot of Queen II, the second album of Queen. Particularly the "Side White" which had some lovely pieces by Brian May. I particularly listened a LOT to "Father to Son". I just thought that idea of a father believing that one day eventually his son will understand his choices fitted this, even in an ironic way.

Take this letter that I give you

Take it, sonny, hold it high

You won't understand a word that's in it

But you'll write it all again before you die

Legacies

Book: The Royal Romance, Book 3

Pairing: None - mostly Liam and Hakim bonding, mentions of Hakim and Constantine's friendship

Rating: G

Word Count: 4, 813 words

Summary: In the aftermath of his father's death, Liam struggles with the lionizing of Constantine's rule, and wonders at the legacy he wants to leave behind. Answers emerge from an unlikely source.

Tagging @kingliamappreciationweek and @sazanes for KLAW Day 2: Historian theme, @choicesficwriterscreations for FoTW, and @aprilchallenge for the prompt "Garden".

Music: "Father to Son" by Queen.

Chapter 1: The Statues

(Faceclaims:

King Liam - Daniel Henney

Hakim Thorne: M’Barek Bouhchichi)

There is a gaping emptiness in Liam's chest, from the minute his father died right before his eyes. No overwhelming grief, no soul-ripping pain, not even anger. Just a void where a beating heart should be.

Father is lying in state now at the Queen Kendra Hall - not too far from Bossina Cathedral - where he will remain for the next twelve days. Liam almost hates himself for having far clearer memories of his father's cleaned, lavishly-decorated (in every medal he'd recieved since the age of 18) corpse, than of the moment he died - before reminding himself that at least with Father he remembers something. With Mum he doesn't even have that.

Liam keeps his eyes down, his head bent and his face studiously blank as the current crowd of mourners disperse, making way for more. The Vigil of the Princes is only twenty minutes...but in that time he can see, from the corner of his eye, a wide range of people come and go - most of them from the military and the coastal communities. As Liam had suspected, the people who benefited most from Father's rule were the most invested in soaking in that one last glimpse of him.

Leo is at the other end of Father's casket, also dressed in military garb, the torchlight from the walls making both his and Liam's medals sparkle. Liam cannot see his elder brother now but he knows, instinctively, that the struggle on his face to hold himself together must show. In the past this struggle had baffled him. There had been times when he pitied Leo his inability to uphold the family propensity towards being stoic. Over the years there have been times he was grateful Leo didn't have to worry about the consequences of his emotions showing on his face anymore.

But not today. Today, Liam envies his brother for the luxury of feeling.

Five minutes before Bastien - from his vantage point on one of the smaller balconies - taps his staff five times to signal the end of their vigil. A brief flash of Father in his last seconds blazes behind Liam's closed eyes, before disintegrating into an image of his gnarled, faintly-discoloured hands this morning. Clutching a book in his right hand, his left barely touching a blue flower placed on his chest.

Every member of the royal family is buried with at least 3 items that were either close to their hearts, or that acted as symbols for their reign. Father was one of the... dubiously fortunate few in recent times, who could draw up a will that included this (and other) details: a fresh blue Aster - their national blossom - plucked the day they prepared his casket, a small decanter of the calvados that had been made almost 62 years ago in celebration of his birth, and a copy of An Insighte Into The Great Apple War of 1244 by Artemisia Fierro and Sofonisba Vescovi, two scholars of the Renaissance who had once held connections to Cordonian nobility.

Liam takes in a deep breath as memories of his father's love for that book flood him. It had been only the second tome ever written on one of the last and most successful war campaigns in Cordonia, he'd whispered almost conspirationally to Liam once, and was considered the better-researched text of the two.

Father had always had a fascination with studying past wars. Almost as if to gear himself up for some sort of battle.

Was any of that ever worth it? Liam wants to ask his father one last time. The fear, the paranoia, the frowns that deepened almost to permanence on his skin in his final years, the forever impulse to look over his shoulder for the knife in his back...did any of it do any of them any good in the end??

As if in answer to his questions, Bastien's staff hits the floor five times. Without even looking around, Liam's footsteps move on instinct alone towards the area where Esther stands patiently with the Queen Mother, waiting. Her eyes are sheilded by the half-veil from her black box-hat, and the rest of her face is the very portrait of serenity. But as she places a hand over the crook of his elbow, he notices how they tremble.

They both nod in Mother's direction, their hearts turning over at the sight of her pale, pinched face, and move away.

This week cannot possibly have been easy for Esther. All week she has had to give interviews - as the last person outside of the King Father's family to speak to him before he died. All week the press has been badgering her to wear the medallion he had bequeathed to her, if only in his honour. She has been listening to every kind word, every eulogy, every speech with studied calm - only the rise-and-fall movement in her throat giving her away.

Brilliant strategist. Ruthless towards his enemies and devoted to his people. A truth pioneer of his times. The lifeblood of this land, a lion among men. A man who devoted his life in pursuit of ensuring the safety of all under his reign.

Liam's eyes were trained towards the dias when that speech was being given. On his arm, the light sting of Esther's manicured nails digging into his flesh grew sharper. He pressed his lips together and bore the pain, shaking his head and smiling weakly as she fretted over the half-moons left behind on his hand an hour later. It's nothing.

And that isn't a lie.

The truth of her feelings towards the father he had once loved and hero-worshipped...the father he still catches himself admiring sometimes...settles on Liam's chest like an unbearable weight. It is one he is prepared to carry - their whole lives if need be. Because as much as it hurts him to see the woman he loves lose all respect for his childhood hero, it is nothing compared to the hours and hours she has spent sitting through a thousand emotional tributes to the man who had so coldly planned such a complete violation of her space. A space that, as a foreigner in King Constantine's land, she had trusted him to keep safe for her...at the very least.

As he turns away from Esther to watch The Vigil of The Great Houses - their observance half the time of the Princes' - Liam steals a glance towards Olivia, the ruby on her brooch the only spot of colour against her black attire and pale visage. Her countenance is solemn until the moment her eyes rest on her aunt - the sight of the woman making her lock her jaw in such defiance that he can almost hear the message she is sending.

I am the Duchess of Lythikos. I will make sure we do our duty and pay our respects to the man who was once our king. Yes, auntie, Lythikos' king. Fight me.

Standing a few feet away is Bertrand, his senses strangely attuned nowadays to the cries of babies and toddlers...the mental calculations of what his little son sounds like now writ large on his face.

The Duchesses Emmeline and Adeleide, of Portavira and Krona respectively, fold their hands in front and bow their heads solemnly. Liam supposes he can only be grateful that Countess Madeleine's mother chose the sheer dreariness of sobriety today rather than her usually unflappable high spirits; for besides a few furtive glances in her determinedly stoic daughter's direction she shows nothing but a muted (but perhaps not entirely sincere) sorrow.

But it is the Duke of Castelserraillan - standing directly in line with Liam's field of vision - that captures Liam's attention. Jaw set, eyes dark and glittering, his face such a tapestry of restrained grief and resignation that Liam is certain he juat imagined the flicker of bleak anger in the older man's eyes.

The last time he had seen Duke Hakim was at the Costume Gala. Amid the festivities, Liam spotted him with Father, their heads leaning slightly in each other's direction, as if exchanging long-repressed confidences...the Duke on occasion placing a hand on Father's arm with a familiarity that Liam had only heard of secondhand. There was even a point in the conversation where Duke Hakim looked directly at his father, eyebrows raised, a subdued delight glimmering in their dark depths.

Esther would inform him later on that the two had fought over Father's repeated snubs and Duke Hakim's fraying patience at the beginning of the ball, but patched up in seconds.

Looking at Duke Hakim's face now, he wonders which sentiment haunts the older man the most - relief over that one second chance they got, or an unhealed hurt. Unhealed hurt over the the fact that King Constantine didn't have a chance to make good on the promises he'd broken, long ago.

Promises, perhaps, that the Duke may not even be sure his best friend intended to keep.

--

For as long as Liam can remember, he has always associated the moonlight with the Capitol Square. Walks around the city were a luxury the little prince could ill-afford with his Father's packed schedule. When these little excursions did happen, they happened at night, in the light of the moon and the street lamps, the air fragrant with the scent of wildflowers. He would take Liam alone. Mum would often find reasons to demur...although in later years Liam suspected she made them up so her husband and youngest son would have their own time together to spend.

He would look up at the strong, chiseled features of his father's beloved face, admiring the way the moonlight emphasized its sharp, decisive angles. Father loved to show strength and control, even on a casual outing with his children. His was a jawline that seemed carved out of marble, softened only by full lips that dazzled when he offered the rare smile. A smile Liam saw most often when they stood at the Capitol Square.

Look at these statues, young man. Father would say, his hand gesturing vaguely towards the sword on famed Captain Guard Valentina Greaves raised left hand. At the age of 5 the statues - with their weapons and their fierce gazes - terrified him, at age 12 they intimidated him. Look at these faces, look at the resolve in them. To better their country. To fight for it. To keep it safe. Cordonia has always depended on the best of us to take her forward into the future - and these indeed represent the best of us.

He hasn't come here since his Coronation. Indeed - one could always put it down to the amount of travelling the new King had to undertake since...but Liam knows better. He has been hesitant to visit this place since the night he had confronted his father on his hospital bed in Shanghai.

Tonight is different. Tonight he needs answers. Tonight he needs to understand, for himself, if in refusing to play in the shadow of his father he is making a mistake - or circumventing another tragedy.

Both he and his future Queen have been sitting through three days straight of eulogies. Of stump speeches that have been lightly modified to suit the gravity of the moment, of stories and anecdotes that lionized and whitewashed the man King Constantine was. Not just from nobles but from businessmen, fisherfolk, soldiers and generals.

Liam has long determined that he will never follow the route his father swore by. It is not who he is as a man; it will never be who he wants to become as a king. But on nights like tonight those words of praise for his predecessor haunt him. If the ghost of his father were to ever take shape, it would do so in just one question.

You have become so stubborn in your need to be the antithesis of me. Will Cordonia end up paying price for that?

So tonight he takes that walk to the square alone. In anticipation and in dread.

Until he finds himself at the foot of the statue of Valentina Greaves, and discovers he isn't alone, after all.

"Your Majesty," the voice behind him is deep and rumbling, its sound resembling the depths of a pounding waterfall. Duke Hakim has discarded his jacket this warm night, the waistcoat and shirt registering the straightening of his shoulders. In his right hand, an ornate gold pocketwatch.

Liam smiles briefly in welcome, letting the older man know he isn't intruding in on a private moment of mourning.

"Good evening, Duke Hakim," he straightens his own shoulders. There was once a time - a time that has faded into blurred memory - that he took joy in calling this man "Uncle". When did that stop? It has been so long he cannot even recall.

The two keep silent for a time. There is, after all, far too little and far too much to say. Stripped of their titles and reduced to the basics, Liam is the son of the Duke's best friend. He is also the son of the man that had his friendship and loyalty in the palm of his hand for years, and never understood or appreciated it. So much of what Liam knows of Father's friendship with Duke Hakim, he knows in bits and pieces: in the exchange of disappointed glances between his mother and Kiara's parents, in piling-up of invitation cards to events on Father's desk that went unanswered. In the too-long pauses Queen Regina would take every time she returned from an event at Castelserraillan, where she went as the King's representative. Even in the rare moments Father remembered his university days. There isn't a single second in those memories that Duke Hakim didn't play a starring role in.

It is in silence that they move from the statue of Val Greaves to the next. The night breeze brings with it the scents of orange blossom and french lavender - gifts from Duke Hakim's great-great-grandparents to an ancestor of his. The next figure of marble glares defiantly to his right, a spear in one hand and an apple cupped in the palm of the other.

"King Aithan." Is it his own imagination or is Duke Hakim's smile truly trembling on his lips? "who won the Great Apple War of 1244 in the most decisive victory since his grandmother united the Five Kingdoms."

Queen Kenna, the aforementioned ancestor, is right behind them, her legs standing apart and an array of weapons from all over the Five Kingdoms at the base of her statue. If you took in the sight of both figures together, Father had told him once, you could almost convince yourself that she seemed to stare directly at Aithan, imparting her blessings and her wisdom. More than the words, it is the shine in Father's blue eyes that Liam remembers most.

Duke Hakim's eyes glitter oddly in the moonlight. There is a moist sheen to them now that Liam is almost afraid to ask about for fear of intruding. The next words that come from his mouth are uttered softly, so softly that it's as if he is saying them to himself, as if he has forgotten that the man next to him exists.

"I've lost count of the times we used to played tag here." Absently, he runs a tender finger along the back of the watch fob he is holding, staring at it with a gaze soaked in muted grief. "It wasn't very hard to find Kontos. He always chose King Aithan's statue to hide behind."

Liam offers a sad smile of his own. "My father was nothing if not predictable."

The two men share halting, reluctant chuckles over this shared image. An image neither of them expected the other to recognise. It unravels some tightened cord between them - one that made it impossible for them to speak as if they knew each other.

"I didn't realize you and Father knew each other so well as children," Liam whispers as they pass other statues. Queen Ilona, 1346, who staged several successful attacks on the more hostile of their neighbours. King Calix, 1420, who thwarted at least three coups in his lifetime and finally managed to keep the Nevrakis family in a stronghold that they found impossible to wriggle out of until two centuries later. Queen Flora, 1492, who held her two year old child in one hand and slashed down the traitors who had entered her bedchambers with the other. The sword on her right hand is sculpted to appear as if it's still in midair, perhaps to complement the fire and brimstone in her eyes. "All the stories Mum told me of the two of you seemed to happen in university. I always assumed you weren't close till then."

A small frown pierces the skin between the Duke's eyebrows. When he speaks, his words are suddenly clipped, as if they are strangers again. Liam bites his tongue, chiding himself on his uncharacteristic carelessness.

"We weren't close until University. Just playmates whenever my mother brought me down to the Capitol. Duchess Emmeline and Duke Barthelemy could have boasted of the same." His voice is a hoarse rasp, his nails scraping lightly over the watch. "I'm more surprised you heard those stories from Ellie's mouth, not his." As if she were the only one who cared enough to keep them alive, Liam can imagine him thinking, and on an instinct fostered by years of now-destroyed blind worship, he leaps to his father's defence.

"I did hear a few from him. Just not as many. You'd know when he was the happiest because those were the stories he'd tell."

Duke Hakim respectfully appraises his King in a speculative glance, not entirely convinced. Liam cannot find it in him to blame the elder man. For years, Queen Regina - and then himself - had been the mouthpieces Father used to deliver excuses for his rejections of Castelserraillan's overtures. Each time the Duke would briefly glance over their shoulders as if expecting someone else - each time the glow of hope would dim from his eyes when he saw no one. Over the years it has made him wary not only of his old friend, but of them too.

The distance between the men has undoubtedly created a chasm amongst the families - one Liam doesn't know yet how to break through. There is no real reason for Duke Hakim, or his wife, or his daughter (who he had befriended himself over the course of the social season, and who has been around less and less since the Gala. It's gone long enough for him to begin worrying. Should he change the subject and ask the Duke about her?)...no reason at all to believe that Liam is different, that he is a man who will not abandon his well-wishers. Or even that he is a king who shares their goals, their dreams for this country.

There may come a time when Duke Hakim will believe Liam cares about what he thinks. Today is not that day.

As if to encourage a change in the subject, Liam looks around at the many statues dotting the Square. "Every single figure here is that of a warrior."

Duke Hakim grants him a weak, resigned smile. "I hear there used to be more. It was your grandmother who had them removed."

Yiayia Cassandra. Whose intimidating, terrifying countenance made his own father appear like a lamb in comparison - a statement both mother and son would've loathed to hear. Who hated the Nevrakises but kept tomes and tomes of their ancient books on war strategy. Who scoffed at art as being a useless, ego-fuelled and far too fanciful exercise.

Father would often speak of her with the same blind worship Liam had once reserved for him. It isn't surprising then his politics turned out the way it did, that despite his disdain for Olivia and her lack of courtliness, a part of King Constantine wouldn't wholly disagree with a lot of what she could propose.

Strength and authority. Those were the qualities the Royal Family wanted above all others in their heirs; anything different would spell failure.

Already, as Liam poses the question to the man beside him, he realises with a lump in his throat that he knows what the answer will be. "Which statues were those?"

"Artists. Scribes. Inventors. Scientists. People who advanced the nation in times of peace."

Liam smiles sadly. "And who are often overlooked in favour of the drama and glamour bloodshed brings." He responds with a shiver.

He is rewarded for this admission with a sharp, shocked look from Duke Hakim. An emotion, a memory, seems to flicker in his eyes before it swiftly disappears in the neutral game-face he has been showing around Liam all this time.

"I don't have the most trustworthy memory on the ones I did manage to see; it's been too long." The watch fob disappears into his fisted hands. "One of our own was part of this esteemed gathering. Dominique Lavigne, a master sculptor of her own time, who dressed as a man to get recognition. Yusuf Hadid from Domvallier, who combined Arabic calligraphy with our own Cordonian arts in handwriting. Saengdao Adair from Krysanthe, a pioneer in herbal medicine and the reason Krysanthans excel in both traditional and allopathic medicinal fields even today."

Liam freezes. "That last name? Could you repeat that again?" It's a name he's read about, vaguely, in obscure texts...but the fact that there's a statue...

"Saengdao Adair," the Duke says, locking his companion in a quizzical gaze. "Her statue -"

" - was mentioned in my father's will. Among others." Liam whispers, almost to himself.

Hakim's eyes widen. The contents of a passing monarch's will - even one who had passed on his throne to the next in line before his death - would be jealously guarded by the Palace, only released to the public years or maybe decades later. This is clearly information the King wouldn't impart so arbitrarily to just anyone.

More than once he has tried to stop himself from wondering if the boy had more of his mother in him. It was a hope he'd always held to his chest in the early years of Constantine's withdrawal...one that died when it became clear that he wanted little - if at all - to do with the Thornes. Against all wisdom, this small exchange is beginning to allow that hope to flare up within him again. Belatedly, he loosens his grip on his old, trusted watch fob - a gift from Kontos the year they graduated.

Liam rubs the space between his brows, trying to remember. "His will mentioned the King Fabian Alcove," he whispers, "that arrangements were to be made to shift it there from the Stirling Halls."

"Stirling Halls," Duke Hakim repeats, his voice suddenly hollow. Liam knows he must be remembering it as the place that was open to no one barring the Royal Family - not even members of the Great Houses. That was where all art went to die?

"The date on the will is from two and a half weeks before the Costume Gala," Liam says softly, his eyes searching Duke Hakim's face, then the hands that have dropped to his sides. The pocket watch is still there, his thumb running distractedly over it. "They only transfer artifacts to the alcove when they -"

"...when permission is granted to reveal those works to the public."

The two men stand still, soaking in their collective memories of the man whose body now lies in wait, to be descended into the Royal Family Vaults. To be buried beside men and women he'd read about in textbooks, loved, idolized. Who embodied his favourite words: Bravery. Valour. Strength. Warriors.

But he would also be buried next to men and women who understood the value of times of peace. Who - as he had often heard in Duke Hakim and Duchess Joëlle's speeches - advocated that a country gave you its best when its environment made you feel safe enough to create. And that was a safety that went far beyond border protection and weaponry.

People that Father would regularly dismiss when he and Leo were growing up. People that Cordonia wouldn't give a second thought to, nowadays. Because the value of their advancements were seeped so deep into public consciousness that they were often taken for granted.

Here in Cordonia, the mindset of the reigning monarch and the collective mindsets of their people often fed on each other. Yesterday's history books could hail one man a hero one minute, and a weakling the next. And for at least two centuries - perhaps bored from decades and decades of peace and good diplomacy, who knows? - the popular view seemed to favour a fondness for the most dramatic and bloodthirsty of their ancestors. Father was no different in holding that view.

When had that changed?

The moonlight casts the Duke's face into a fascinating interplay of light and shadow. The lines of his jaw are softer than Father's, but signify its own unique brand of strength. The air around them is scented and heavy, almost as if this moment promises a watershed of sorts, and that very air is drawing a bated breath.

"I haven't visited that alcove in a long time," Liam admits, looking away, "I don't remember where it is."

Duke Hakim swallows, then motions his hand vaguely to their left. "It's this way."

The alcove is inside a garden - a fairly large one, made of old red brick and surrounded by an array of beautiful creepers. The two men stop short of going inside, halting their steps and drawing a gasp at the sight in front of them.

"... Saengdao Adair?" Liam whispers, drinking in the sight of this pioneer with his eyes. Her hair is long, her voluminous folds of her robe billowing almost realistically as if they were real linen, not marble. A mortar and pestle rests in one hand; her other is raised, delicately holding a sprig of stinging nettle.

There are others. So many others. A woman with a map and a compass, staring ahead into horizons not yet explored. A man with a richly-feathered quill in his hand, a book in the other. A woman holding a jewel-embellished half-mask. A simple sculpture of a man dressed in the garb of the ancient Technocrats, his eyes glowing at the sight of the nails and bolts in his hand, ready to invent something new.

A woman seated on her heels, hammer and chisel in hand, lips pursed and eyebrows scrunched together as she worked at transforming stone to a work of art.

Liam lets out a small, watery laugh. "A sculpture for a sculptor."

The Duke responds with a smile, shaking his head. "Fali Kraine from the Blackspine Mountains."

Liam nods. "They say she had this precise look on her face and sat exactly this way while sculpting this piece. What I wouldn't give to witness that."

But the centerpiece of the alcove is a woman. A scribe. Hunched over - in the rough cotton garb of a scribe from the Renaissance - books and parchment. Transcribing - letter for letter and word for word - the history of her nation so that her descendants could share it with their children. His ancestor. Queen Lisabetta.

"King Fabian commissioned this," Hakim's voice is a hoarse, shaky whisper, "to remind his beloved wife of the value of the work she had once done."

Liam swallows a painful lump in his throat. Back in the palace, an hour ago - he had stayed in Esther's room, knowing she would need him more these next few nights if she were to preserve an ounce of her sanity.

"You're a good man, Liam," she had murmured against his throat.

He held her tighter, smiling slightly against her hair. "That won't always translate into becoming a great king, my love."

Against her own will, she let out a long yawn. Her fingers ran lightly over his chest before resting against his heart. "But it certainly helps."

He had held her until he was sure her body was resting softly and heavily against his, her breathing slow and deep...and then quietly slipped out of her arms to walk to the Capitol Square.

He looks at the Duke too. Both he and his children took this trip without Duchess Joëlle, who chose to go to Switzerland. He remembers every account of how attached the couple are and how much they dislike being apart - including his own mother's. Liam winces; he never recognized until now the sacrifice Duke Hakim made in coming here without her.

Yet here he is. For a country that will not always respect him. For a friend who would not always accept him. For a King he isn't entirely sure he can trust.

For an ideology that won't capture the country's imagination, the way valiant heroes on horseback do. But if these commemorations had been shifted to this alcove, with the intention of placing them around the Capitol Square...that must mean some change was underway. Within his father, and with Liam's help perhaps within the rest of the country too.

"It's getting late," Liam says, straightening up and getting ready to leave the alcove. "We'd better head back to the palace."

"In a minute, Your Majesty," Duke Hakim says, giving him a brief bow, then turning to the statue of Queen Lisabetta.

As Liam leaves the alcove, he hears a voice so soft he wonders if he had imagined it.

"Kontos," the voice said, a sigh released from deep inside a man's chest, "Kontos, you listened."

--

A/N: This mini series takes place in the Petals and Thornes universe, that revolves around a romance between Hana and Kiara. While a lot of the story beats follow canon, I do make a lot of deviations from the text, including with other characters who aren't central to the story but whose stories have a definite influence on the larger plot. I'm hoping to make Legacies one of them. At present I plan for it to be a four part series.

A/N2: In canon, Constantine's funeral and burial arrangements lasts just a week, all of which was skipped entirely to the Lythikos leg of the Unity Tour. I have increased that time to 12 days.

The Vigil of the Princes is based on the British tradition (of the same name) in royal funerals - esp that of the monarch - where the family members stay vigil for 10-15 minutes near the casket of the deceased. Family who has served in the military perform this ritual in their military uniform.

The Great Houses' Vigil is my own creation but with elements borrowed from the above tradition. My HC is that it is shorter and unlike the surviving royals, the members of the Great Houses are not required to wear military uniform.

Kontos is a playful nickname that Constantine's close ones were allowed to use for him, as long as they didn't use it in public (because apparently the meaning in Greek is "short")

Krysanthe is the modern-day Aurelia, with Hana being their current Duchess/Head of House. Saengdao is indeed Annelyse's descendant. Here is my HC on the duchy and Hana's rise to Duchess.

Characters from my playthrough of TRM in this story:

Artemisia Fierro - Hunter (f!Asian)

Sofonisba Vescovi - Kayden (f!Black)

Lisabetta Rosario - MC, who fell for Artemisia initially but married Fabian later on. Artemisia and Sofonisba keep in touch with the royal couple and are protected by the Crown.

[hayden-christensen]

It all started with a farmboy, a scoundrel, a princess, and a dark lord...

HAPPY STAR WARS DAY STAR WARS WEEK 2024 DAY 6: MAY THE 4TH BE WITH YOU

[itstatartdump]

So like most people on here I had been watching Watcher since they started their channel, and like most others I was surprised/concerned at the announcement that they're starting a streaming service. After checking out the site and looking close at their YouTube, this feels destined to fail.

I'll go through my thoughts.

They don't currently post enough to justify the paywall

Over the past year, they have posted between 4 to 9 videos a month. That is a decent amount for most YouTube channels, but for a streaming service that is way to low. For $5.99 a month, getting only 4 episodes is not a good deal when other services give you more for less.

What makes this problem worse it that...

They only produce one show at a time

Whenever Watcher releases a shows, they only have that show running. During a series of Mystery Files, they only upload Mystery Files. During a series of Too Many Spirits, they only upload Too Many Spirits. Now this isn't the case all the time, when they have smaller productions they usually release a similar size production along with it.

If we go back to the issue of only getting 4 episodes, this means that you can be paying $5.99 a month to access 4 episodes of a show that you don't enjoy.

These two issues would be less detrimental if it wasn't for the fact that...

They backpedalled removing their YouTube back catalogue

Lets be real, not only were they originally going to remove their YouTube content, It was the only way I could see this being worth the price.

Yes, they say that they aren't removing it, but if you read the full article it say's that "The company originally told Variety that Watcher would eventually remove all of its videos from YouTube".

Their original plan WAS to make all their content exclusive to streaming, the problem was that everyone new this was a scummy idea and they gaslit their audience into thinking they weren't doing that. But that now leaves them with a streaming service where all they offer is 4 episodes of a show per month and a back catalogue that is free on a more well known platform.

The big question I have is...

How are they going to make more content

This is something that I feel should be addressed, they are a small production studio who are trying to "creating television-caliber, unscripted series in the digital space" (direct quote from their YouTube Description). They need more content per month to make this service worth while, how are they going to do that?

Will they push out multiple small budget, easy to film, YouTube like content that bring up the overall upload count which may cause them and their employees to crunch and burn out.

Or are they going to produce several higher budget, TV-calibre shows that would each be more expensive than they can afford to make.

Not sure if this was coherent but thanks for reading anyway.

(sidenote)

While I agree that Steven is getting a huge bulk of the anger that should also be applied to Shane and Ryan, I also have to acknowledge that the first announced show after saying they need money being his travel show is not helping.

[wardenparker]

Bones Full of Words, ch 9

Javier Peña x plus size reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

“He pleaded so much that he lost his voice. His bones began to fill with words.” ― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

Javier Peña had no way of knowing for certain the American journalist he sometimes sees sniffing around the embassy for her stories is also getting information about the narcos from the same girls that he is. After Helena is brutalized by sicarios, it is that same journalist who comes to take her away and look after her -- giving Javi reason to pause and reconsider his opinion of the woman he had previously not considered as anything more than eye candy.

He has no idea that once she has walked fully into his life, he will be battling with himself over whether or not he should stop her from walking out it of again.

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 5.9k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: sex work, time period appropriate sexism, cursing, alcohol, food/eating, talk of weight or size, fatphobia, internalized fatphobia, self-esteem issues, canon typical violence* Violence, kidnapping, physical violence, discussion of torture, descriptions of injuries sustained while being held captive, fear of mistreatment, certainty of death. Summary: As your disappearance makes him increasingly desperate, Javi enlists Carrillo to help him and Murphy track you down. The nature of his relationship to you is a revelation to some, but one person knows more than expected. Notes: Another heavy week. High violence warning this chapter! It's all canon-typical, but Narcos is a high-violence show. This chapter contains descriptions of the mistreatment of prisoners. (As usual, I apologize for an errors I may have missed in editing.)

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8

Pablo talks for hours. Expounding on his business while making it seem as if everything he had done has been completely legal and above board. Never actually admitting that it is cocaine that he is running. Griping about the interference of the U.S. and the threat of extradition.

He talks until the sun starts to set, the light starting to fade against the walls. He’s gone through a pack of cigarettes and there’s been several cokes brought in for him. And one for you after he had noticed you staring at the bottle.

Sitting back, he crushes out the last smoke and looks at you. “We will stop here for now.” He announces.

For now.

You nod, feeling weak and tired from having had no food or sleep in well over twenty-four hours. Any adrenaline that had carried you through earlier parts of the day has flagged and the bone-deep exhaustion of fear is starting to set in. That soda may have been a good will gesture but it won't do a damn thing in terms of keeping your body going.

For now, he said.

"We will continue when you're ready." This won't happen any other way. No part of this gives you even a shadow or pretense of control – this is Pablo Escobar talking at a journalist, and it's your job to simply regurgitate the information. Thank god you're not still taking notes by hand otherwise you're pretty sure your fingers would be cramping beyond recognition. He talked all goddamn day without stopping.

“Bring her something to eat.” Pablo tells one of the men who had originally kidnapped you. He had disappeared for a few hours, but now he was back. “Take her to a room on the other side of the house.”

A perfunctory “Yes, boss” comes before the man yanks you up off the chair you’ve been attached to all day and a younger man — a teenager at best — scrambles to cut the tape from your ankles.

Stumbling is your best form of movement with the speed at which they push you along. It’s clear you are in a mansion wherever you are, as the other ‘end’ of the house is a long trek away. Two men propel you down a flight of stairs into the basement, where a room in one end of the space is apparently meant to be your prison for the time being. Inside the small room they toss you into, there are only a few exposed pipes and nothing else. Enrique — or whatever his real name is — enters with a wolfish grin and a set of chains, saying nothing while he cuffs and chains your hands to two of the pipes. A bare cement floor, torn clothes, and chains. That is what you’ll be dealing with tonight. And if you’re lucky, the worst thing that will happen is pissing yourself. Escobar had allowed you a single bathroom break today — and only because he had realized that he needed one himself.

“I think you don’t need food.” Enrique snorts as he turns around. “You won’t starve to death. Might do you some good. Bitch.”

“Do you always disobey orders on a whim?” Fat bitch remarks are just the right level of petty to piss you off right now, and even feeling weak you still have a smart mouth.

“I’ll make an exception for stupid American bitches.” He sneers, turning around and shooting you a glare. “Keep your mouth shut unless you want a cock stuffed in it until you choke.”

The threat is obvious. And real. And entirely what you expected. But that doesn’t stop you from summoning what little muster you have and spitting on him with gusto. “You’ll have to find somebody with a cock over two millimeters first.”

He huffs a laugh for a moment before he rushes over and kicked you in the side as hard as he can. Once and then one more after you gasp out in pain.

Well, you definitely hit a nerve, at least. The pair of men who threw you in here disappear, slamming and locking the door behind them. It isn’t until the second afterward that you realize there is truly going to be no relief at all tonight. No hoping to be dumped in the jungle with your cassette tapes to survive by your own wits. No dumping you back in the trunk of that car to be tossed out again in the streets of Bogotá. Not even the swift release of being shot.

The best you can hope is that your eyes adjust to the pitch blackness and that no one comes back to beat or rape you tonight.

******

“We don’t have time to fucking waste with this bullshit!” Javi hisses, jaw clenched and he’s ready to just rush past both Steve and Carrillo to make the woman talk. She had kept her mouth shut so far and he’s tired of this. Every second they waste is another second that you could be abused like Helena or worse. He’s checked his marks from you nearly a dozen times in the past twenty minutes alone.

“She’s the only lead we’ve got.” Steve reminds him, raking one exasperated hand through his hair. This woman has been terrified into silence and nothing is cracking her. A waitress for fuck’s sake.

Javi’s eyes are flatter than they’ve ever been before. “Then we torture her.”

Murphy’s mouth flattens in turn, not because they haven’t done it before but because Peña is too invested. But at the same time, his partner has to be in the room to catch any vital piece of information that the interrogation might produce. He’s been intentionally cagey with information about his living situation and now it’s obvious why. “We do.” Murphy bargains, gesturing between himself and Carrillo. “You don’t lay a finger. Got it?”

He’s not happy with that answer, even if he’s never really been one to torture someone. He’s watched, sometimes feeling sorry for the bastard, although it’s hard to feel sorry for a sicario. This is a civilian woman and while he should want to protect her, he wants to find you more. “Fine.” He growls, glaring at Steve.

"Listen, ask questions, but let us do the work." Us means mostly Carrillo and they all know it. Murphy is a little too moral to be hung-ho about red-blooded American information gathering techniques, but they all know this is too important to fuck around with today.

Javi clenches his jaw, his entire body rigid with worry that comes out as pure fury, but he nods. He should have had it out with you. He should have demanded Trujillo go with you. It’s his goddamn fault you are missing. Every fucking thing that happens to you right now is because of him.

"Alright, sweetheart." Steve strolls across the room with a raised voice, bypassing the open doorway which effectively leaves Javier behind while Murphy and Carrillo do the dirty work. Even though he knows Javi won't stay put. For that matter, he shouldn't. He just needs to stay far enough away that he keeps his hands clean – in a literal sense. "I think we've had enough stalling, haven't we?" It's become clear through the first part of this interrogation – however fruitless – that this woman does speak English, which is good for Steve if nothing else.

She tries to appear like she doesn’t understand, keeping her face blank as her eyes shift to the man behind her. She knows him. She’s seen him somewhere. She just can’t place where right now.

"Answer him." Carrillo orders in Spanish, his expression as stone-faced as ever. He hasn't heard all the details but he doesn't need to. Peña has done enough for him with interrogations in the past that he's willing to help if it's this important to the man.

“I don’t know what they want.” She answers Carrillo in Spanish, waiting for the other one to come and scream in her face again. He’s the one she’s scared of. Especially if it’s true that Escobar kidnapped his soulmate.

"Yes you do." It's clear she's stubborn but not stupid, and Carrillo is more than sure that it's clear to her exactly what Peña wants. He looks over at Murphy, inviting him to take over again. "She claims not to know what you want."

"Sure you do." Murphy stands directly in front of her, arms crossed and looking down his nose at the waitress that has been stonewalling them for hours. "What's Escobar got on you, huh? He got your sister or your mom or baby brother locked away somewhere?"

Javi marches into the room, pulling out your press pass to the embassy from his pocket. He had snatched it from your room and he shoves it in her face. “This woman! You saw her!”

"I see a lot of people." She drawls, affecting nonchalance in the face of the only one of these three men she is actually afraid of. It's the way she deals with the sicarios, too.

“Javier.” Carrillo turns to Javi, putting his hand on the other man’s chest and lifting a brow when he feels how hard his heart is pounding. Whoever this woman is to him - he hadn’t learned that yet - this is really getting to him. “Go watch.” He orders softly. “We’ve got this.”

"Most people who get taken by sicarios don't live long enough to be found again." He is so deeply intent on finding this woman – the scary one is – and while she feels something akin to sympathy she also has to look out for her and hers. "Or if they do, they wish they hadn't."

“She’s fucking alive.” Javi snaps, nearly snarling at the woman for voicing his fears. How broken would you be when you are found? If you are found? For all he knows, Pablo will mail him your body in pieces.

"Is she?" She seems dubious of that fact. Or maybe dubious of these men.

Javi stares at her, glaring at her for a moment before he leans down slightly and yanks the edge of his jeans up, kicking off his boot and sock to reveal the tattoo that is never visible to many. “She is.” He hisses again. “Her tattoo is still on my body.”

The air is sucked out of the room so quickly that Murphy actually turns away, wiping his hands down his face as he tries to process just how fucked they really are. The waitress, restrained as she is, doesn't have to strain forward a single inch to see the anchor tattoo on the man's ankle. It was the same one — with a word in English — that she had seen on that American woman last night. She gulps down a nervous breath, eyes darting up to his, and wets her lips. "I don't know where they took her."

“So she was there last night.” Javi scoffs, reaching down and swiping his boot off the floor before he turns to Horacio. “I don’t care what it takes.” He tells the other man in Spanish, aware she will listen in. “I want to know everything.”

"Peña..." Carrillo levels him with a warning expression, wondering if he is really willing to take this interrogation to the end of the earth for a soulmate that he, and seemingly Murphy, have never even heard of before.

His eyes are flat, almost black, glancing back at the woman in the chair who suddenly looks like she’s about the throw up. “Find her family.” He decides. “Bring them here.”

"They already have my family!" He has found the key, it seems, because the woman is now borderline frantic in her restraints. "If you go to find them, Escobar's men will kill them out right!"

Carrillo stares at Javi for another moment, waiting for the man’s expression to soften, but he doesn’t waver. Making the SearchBloc commander’s brows shoot up. It seems that Peña is willing to go even farther than what was needed to save Helena. He’s got it bad for this soulmate of his and he hadn’t even realized it until now. “Tell us everything you know and we can protect them, and you.” He promises her, turning back around to face her struggling in the chair. “Keep wasting our time, and my friend- I’m afraid that I don’t know what he would do.”

"Listen, sweetheart." Steve rolls his shoulders, gasping at straws to try to figure out if he can stop all of this bullshit before literal torture of this woman begins in earnest. He may not be the most moral motherfucker out there but this is still something he isn't totally comfortable with. "I believe you. You don't know where they took her. But you do know who took her, doncha?"

Swallowing harshly, she looks at the blonde American, biting her lip and nodding. “Yes.” She whispers in English.

"I get that you don't wanna make the sicarios mad." Seeing that he's cracked the surface, Murphy kneels down to be eye-to-eye with the woman. She can't be more than thirty years old, and more than likely she's much younger. The stress of a life lived in the shadow of a cartel ages people far before their time. "You just want to protect your family. But we can help you with that. We just need to know what you know, and we'll help you keep your family safe. How does that sound?"

“They own the building we live in.” She stresses, shaking her head. “Our lives are all hanging by a thread. All the time.”

"Well." Murphy offers her a smile, dropping his voice to push the drawl and laying that Southern charm on thick. "Ain't it good that we own apartment buildings, too?"

“Pablo knows everything that goes on.” She whispers. “His men are always around. Watching. Listening.”

"You've been with us long enough." He reminds her quietly. "They're going to think you talked no matter what. But if you actually cooperate we can help you. Even get you some visas if you help us enough." He takes a stab in the dark, hoping he's got it right, and tilts his head sympathetically. "How many kids do you have?"

“Dos.” she frowns. “Two. Two boys. They are only six.” Again her face sets into a panic, but it’s almost resigned. Like she’s becoming more aware of the fact that she is going to die. All because of Enrique wanting the American that comes in sometimes.

"My little girl's still a baby." Murphy nods in shared solemnity and looks back at Carrillo and Peña. "Visas for a mother and two sons in exchange for information leading to the return of a DEA agent's soulmate." He lays it out flatly, waits for Carrillo to nod, and turns back to the waitress. The visas won't be for America, but they'll at least get the woman and her kids out of the country and far enough away to hopefully give them a second chance. "Who took the American woman?"

“Enrique and Santiago Alvarez.” She knows that a visa will be the best offer she will get. She is in the middle of a power struggle and while Pablo has the force necessary here, he has far less control outside of Colombia. “Pablo’s men.”

Shit. Murphy glances back at Peña and Carrillo, recognizing the names all too well as ruthless enforcers who work directly for Escobar. “That’s good, sweetheart,” he tells the waitress soothingly when he swallows down the fear that his partner’s marks might not be around too much longer. “Was anyone else involved?”

“Our cook.” She swallows. “He didn’t want to, but everyone had to do what they say. They would have killed him. They are going to kill me when they learn I’ve talked.”

“They won’t.” He can’t be sure of that, obviously, but Murphy is going to be as reassuring as possible right now. “We’re going to give you our best protection.”

“Like that politician?” She snorts, wondering how the hell she gets out of this with her skin intact.

Murphy exhales, a long and disappointed sound. “He refused to follow our security recommendations,” he tells her sharply.

She senses that was the wrong button to push and she nods. “I won’t disobey anything.” She promises.

“Good.” He won’t guarantee her more, but at least knowing she’s wearing a damn tacvest if they have one to her is a helpful sign of cooperation. “Then let’s go back through everything you remember from last night.”

******

The door clanks as much as a heavy wooden door can, right before it bursts open. Enrique grinning as he see you jump, but your eyes are still closed. Swollen slightly, but not enough to piss off the boss. “Wake up, bitch.” He hisses, kicking at your feet and then your leg when you don’t respond fast enough.

“I’m assuming it’s morning?” Not that you could tell in this cement prison. Not that you weren’t woken up every few hours last night so someone else could kick you across the floor or use you as a punching bag.

“Still mouthy.” Enrique snorts, shaking his head. He had thought you would have learned some manners by now, but Americans are stupid it seems.

"I'm not dumb enough to think I'm gonna get out of here alive." If you had had any glimmer of hope before, the continuous beatings you got last night were proof that they have no intention of going easy on you here. Or maybe the fact that it was only beatings was their version of 'easy'. Either way, you make a show of shrugging your shoulders. "The least I can do is make an impression."

He’s impressed with your tenacity and stubbornness, even if he’s dragging you to your feet and shoving you. “Go.” He barks. “The boss wants you.”

"Can't wait for him to see my face." It sounds pithy or sarcastic, but you actually wonder – as much as you can focus on thoughts other than keeping your feet moving under you so you don't fall over – if he'll be upset that his lackeys kicked the shit out of you last night. With your face swollen and blood and piss staining your clothes, there's no way they can pretend that you were well taken care of last night.

“Bitch.” He hisses, shoving you again, but he hadn’t really thought about that. Pablo would be pissed at him. “Come on.” He growls, guiding you out of the basement and towards the bedroom you were supposed to stay in last night.

Expecting to be shoved along the length of the main floor of the hidden mansion like you were yesterday, you're surprised to be pushed up an extra flight of stairs and down a hallway into another mostly empty room. This one at least has a bed in it, and fear flits across your mind for yet another countless time. "What the hell are we doing up here?" You ask, deciding to mouth off one more time and pray that it won't be the very last.

“Shut the fuck up.” He huffs, pushing you towards the door across the room. “You have five minutes to shower.”

A shower. And then putting the same filthy clothes back on. It seems utterly useless but maybe the reminder of being covered in dirt and blood is part of the point. Humiliating the prisoner.

Whatever.

You're getting a chance to shower and you're not going to throw that away on the fact that you're going to have to put dirty clothes back on after. The chance to wash your wounds and hopefully stave off any possible infections is worth it, and you dive into the bathroom immediately. Wasting precious seconds is not an option.

Once the door is closed, Enrique moves to the closet and pulls out the larger dress that had been procured. He tosses it on the bed and scoffs when he hears a quiet groan from inside the bathroom.

It's the fastest shower you've taken since summer camp when you were thirteen, but it's glorious to scrub the dirt from your skin and to carefully tend to the wounds you can see through swollen eyes. Most of the damage is probably internal and you can't do anything about those, but you'll take this. You'll take this chance to wash your hair and wipe away the grime from your body.

After what you assume is five minutes, the water shuts off on its own. Somebody somewhere in the house has cut you off, but it's fine. You managed to clean up and for now you're going to take what you can get. There's a towel on the edge of the sink that you didn't notice originally. It's not big enough to wrap around you but you can at least dry off.

Prepared to put your old clothes back on, you step out into the bedroom and see the dress flung out on the bed waiting for you. There's no hint of underwear and you have no idea what happened to your shoes, but there is a clean item of clothing that actually looks like it might fit you. Taking a chance, you rummage through the drawers of the dresser – the only other piece of furniture in the room – and find a pair of boxers that clearly belonged to a large man. They'll do perfectly well for you, and you tug them on under the dress and can't believe how human it feels to just be clean again.

Enrique beats on the door, only a few seconds before he flings it open. “Let’s go.” He grunts, glaring at you like it’s your fault that he’s had to let you shower.

"What?" Feeling infinitely better just from five minutes of hot water and soap, you move past him the best you can on shaky, weak legs. "No words of appreciation for feminine beauty? That's why you're so angry, ya know."

“You’re lucky Pablo wants you right now.” He hisses, grabbing your arm and dragging you out of the room.

Now it's back down to the same table where you sat all day yesterday. Enrique shoves you along until his boss is barely in sight. It's only at that point that he pushes you one last time then lets you walk forward of your own accord. He really must have been under orders to go easy on you. There isn't even a gun to your back today.

Pablo calls your name, a smile on his face until you get closer and the sight of your face becomes very obvious. “What happened?” He demands, staring at your face and then looking back at Enrique.

"You ought to keep a tighter leash on your men." You have no fear of throwing any of these bastards under the proverbial bus of Pablo Escobar's anger. It's as if being bound to a chair while he shot a man yesterday has only made you more acutely aware of how that could easily have been you and your fight or flight reflex has chosen to fight with words.

“I see.” He narrows his eyes and motions to Enrique. “Get the fuck out of my sight.” He hisses angrily. “Go to fucking Medellín.”

Well...it's better than having to witness another man's murder. Though you can't pretend you'd be upset for Enrique to be punished. "I assume I wasn't supposed to be starved in a room in the basement, either?" You prompt, knowing full well that he had told the bastards to feed you.

“Fuck.” Pablo shakes his head and shouts for another sicario to come to him right fucking now.

"Boss." The man he called over is doing his best to cover up the fact that he's nervous, and you wonder if he's one of the ones that came in last night to kick you across the room or not.

“Get her some fucking food and something to goddamn drink.” He growls, looking towards you with a hard glare. “This is not the treatment I wished for you to have.” He admits.

While you're sure it isn't the worst that anyone has endured here by far, you still nod. "I understand that." It doesn't make you like him by any stretch of the imagination. In fact? It just makes you think of him as a sniveling little suck up, trying to curry favor with the American journalist.

“Good.” Pablo sighs, tapping the table and standing. “We will wait to continue the interview.” He decides.

“Of course.” He is in charge, after all. You may be surviving this ordeal with your mouth and your wits, but you aren’t stupid enough to think anyone else is in control.

“Sleep, eat.” He orders. “We will talk later. You need to be able to write this article clear headed.”

It goes on like that for days.

You're fed and that small bedroom to sleep in, with only minimal instances of guards bursting into the room in the middle of the night to beat you in places that your dress covers – which is why you're fairly certain you have a few broken ribs and are astonished that no crippling damage has been done to your back. One of the men the first night definitely broke your nose but much of the other swelling has gone down over the course of the days and nights that Pablo Escobar keeps your hostage in his hidden estate.

Every day you fill up tape after tape just letting him talk, and at night he lets you write. The article will have to be finished eventually, but the more he talks, the more material you have. And while you remain acutely aware that your lifespan directly relies on how long it takes you to write the piece he wants, there is another notebook hidden in that little bedroom that is your story. The account of how you're treated, how he treats his sicarios, the identities of those sicarios, and as much information as you can cram into it about the location you're being kept. All written in short hand like your own private code, the second your private notebook makes it into a secretary's hands at the embassy, it can easily be translated and distributed to anyone who can make use of the information.

******

“GODDAMNIT.” The entire department has become used to the sound of slamming drawers and papers being flung across the room the in frustration. Eyes wary as they glance towards the closed door and wonder how long it will take for it to slam open and Javier Peña to come rampaging out like a bull on the loose. His normal sarcastic charm is non-existent and everyone has felt the force of his temper. “Where the fuck are the satellite photos?”

"They're coming. We just called for them five minutes ago." Steve has sorted to being ultra-calm in the face of his partner's frantic chaos. It's not the survival technique he expected to use, but he does understand. Every single day he goes home late and holds Connie close, grateful that it wasn't her that went missing instead.

“She- it’s been days!” He hasn’t slept and his hands are shaking from the amount of caffeine he has lived off of. His eyes are gritty and heavy, but every fucking time they close he sees your body sprawled out.

"And she is still alive." The marks on Javi's body are proof that you're still hanging on, although both men have voiced their surety that more will join the set he already has in the days and weeks and months to come. There is no way you aren't being hurt, wherever you are. "We'll find her." He repeats the mantra for the hundredth time today. He has to believe it, or else Javi might break.

“Every fuckin hour- every hour that passes.” Javi closes his eyes and shudders. “You know what they will do to her. What they are doing.” He can’t think about that right now, he can’t. He has to focus on finding you. He’s already gone to some of his lesser acceptable contacts for any information he can find. It’s worth the possibility of selling his soul to the devil.

"Peña!" Carrillo's voice comes in a holler from down the hall. Not the photos they expected, but only one small piece of paper clutched in his hand.

He startles, leaping up from his desk and rushing towards the SearchBloc commander. “What is it?”

"We have leads." Carrillo shoves the information into Peña's shaking hands instantly. "Enrique and Santiago Alvarez have been spotted in four different places in as many days. Driving the same car that the waitress identified as their getaway vehicle. They're either headed for Cali, or for Bucaramanga. Which..." His lips purse, displeased. "Are in opposite directions."

“Fuck.” Javi hisses as he stares at the paper, squinting slightly. “They could be trying to throw us off. Or they are stupid enough to think we don’t know what they drove when they kidnapped her.”

"One team in each direction?" Steve suggests, having followed Peña into the hall to find out what Carrillo had found.

"They wouldn't take her to Cali." Javi reasons, staring at the information written as if it would magically give him more. "The Rodrigez brothers would not appreciate him bringing trouble to Cali. Paco Herras has already warned them."

"As far as we know, there are no labs or safe houses in Bucaramanga." The term 'safe' in safe house is relative if Carrillo knows about the place, but the point remains. As far as they know, Escobar has no solid footholds in that particular city. "Might be somewhere nearby. But that's a lot of area to cover, plus mountains and ocean."

"Order it searched." Javi crumples the paper in his hand. "I don't give a fuck if I need to have the Marines go in."

"We'll be ready to go the second you find something." Steve tells Carrillo, giving the other man a nod before he jogs away down the hall. If anything, Murphy is the optimism of the group right now so he has to believe that something will be found.

He watches Carrillo turn and stride down the hall, his footsteps quick and determined but it will still be hours, or maybe days before he learns anything. "I can't just sit here." Javi growls, slapping his hand against his thigh and turning to grab his jacket off the back of his chair.

"Where are we going?" Steve grabs his coat instantly, not willing to let his partner go anywhere alone. Mostly out of concern, but also because Peña is so wired and exhausted all at once that he might succumb at any point. The last thing the man needs is to fall asleep at the wheel on his way to find his soulmate.

"Stay here." Javi shakes his head, knowing that Steve would neither approve, nor want to be a part of what he was about to do.

“Where are we going?” Steve repeats, continuing to follow his partner down the hall.

"I'm serious, stay the fuck here." Javi hisses, glaring over his shoulder at Steve and putting a little more effort in his steps to get some distance from the long-legged bastard. "I don't need you fucking something else up."

"I've been fucking helping you, asshole!" Steve points out, hollering back with his own frustration bubbling over. It's been four days since Peña's soulmate went missing and he's been understandably insufferable.

Stopping short, Javi whirls around and grabs Steve by the lapels of his jacket, pushing him back against the wall with heavy thud. "You're the fucking reason she was unprotected!" He angrily accuses him. "You had to bring Elisa to my fucking house and leave her there. Complicating my life and pissing her off where she wouldn't even fucking look at me when she left!" His face is twisted in rage and regret, making the scowl even darker as he glares at the blonde man.

"I didn't make you fuck her!" Steve reminds him, growling right back as days' worth of exhaustion and anger boils over in both of them.

His face tenses and for a moment, neither one of them knows if Javi is going to punch him. After a second, he lets him go and his hands drop to his sides. Steve's right, he didn't have to fuck Elisa and this is all on him. He doesn't say anything else, just turns and flees down the hall.

******

Escobar does the same thing each day when he decides he is done talking to you, and you’re continuously unsurprised to find it is always right before his dinner time. The man is selfish in every way, including wanting a long and indulgent meal at the end of things.

But each day he will slap one hand on the table between you, stub out his cigarette with the other, and proclaim that you need something to eat. Apparently the treatment he wished for you to have is coffee in the morning, Coca-Cola and cigarettes — always shared with him — during the day, and a child’s portion of whatever he is eating for dinner. You never complain because you’re not stupid, but it does seem like treating you as a prized prisoner really always was his goal. Never letting you have any illusion that your life is in his hands.

As if you could ever think anything else.

“You need to eat something.” Pablo crushes out his cigarette and sends you a smile. “I’m eager to see what you have written so far.” He adds.

“It’s written in shorthand at the moment.” Turning the pad of paper you’re allowed to take notes on over in your hands to show him, you set it down on the table with the confidence that he won’t have a clue what it means. “If you would like, I’ll write it out tonight for you to read in the morning? So you can approve before we go on.” His version, of course. Not the one you’ve been actively writing for days now that is your real article. The one you’ll give him to read will be full of his naked lies and ambitions.

“Good.” He nods and looks very pleased with the idea. “A few more days and you will be able to send the truth to your papers.” He shrugs. “Maybe even win you that prize for journalists.”

“Perhaps.” A few more days. It’s disarming, to hear your expiration date said out loud like that. It makes you wonder how often the Pulitzer in journalism is ever awarded posthumously. “You will decide when you are satisfied with it.” And when he’s done with you.

“Of course.” He dismisses the very notion that he would allow anything else. “It will be the perfect way to show your soulmate that I am not the enemy.”

Very careful not to react sharply or irrationally, you exhale a measured breath and raise your head from looking at your notebook. "My what?" He fucking knows. Of course he does. Javier is in so much danger and doesn't even realize half of it...

He tilts his head, amusement glittering in his eyes. “You do not know?” He asks mockingly. “I know of your soulmate.” He teases. “I have a price on his head. And you will bring him to me.”

------

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[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

Let’s talk 1x08 and 2x08 epilogues and how they set up next season

Allow me to explore this idea: what clues can 2x08 epilogue give us on what to expect for Season 3, taking 1x08 epilogue as an example? In TV shows, the epilogues of season finales are meant to set up the events and the tone for the next season.

Let’s start with Season 1 finale, and how it translated in Season 2:

1) Setting up the feud between Elrond and Galadriel in Season 2:

2) Setting up Celebrimbor’s pride as the reason for him to fall prey of Sauron’s deception:

3) Setting up Eregion (mainly the forge) as the one of the major locations of Season 2:

4) Setting up Sauron’s connection to the Three rings of power:

5) Setting up the forging of the rings of power plot in Season 2:

6) The red herring:

Now, let's take a look at Season 2 finale epilogue, and what clues it might give us for Season 3:

Sauron and Fëanor Hammer:

To me, this scene is quite straightforward: it’s foreshadowing for Sauron forging the One ring in Season 3. Because the show can’t postpone that to Season 4 (Fall of Númenor), really. We know this from Tolkien lore. 

"A sanctuary. Protected... by the Elven Rings":

This location will definitely be Imladris (more known as Rivendell), and, if Season 1 finale is anything to do by, it will be one of the major locations in Season 3. With Elrond building it, and becoming an Elf-lord of his own right.

Gil-galad: Sauron's armies are roving across Eriador. All Middle-earth is within his reach now. Even Lindon. We must decide whether to attack and bring the fight to him... or to fall back, to prepare our defenses. Galadriel: The sword or the shield. Elrond: Many of Eregion's bravest fell. The few who survived are all but broken. In body or spirit. They have little strength left with which to fight. They barely had strength to flee. Arondir: What course would you advise, Commander Galadriel? Galadriel: I would remember the counsel of our dear friend, Celebrimbor, Greatest of Elven-smiths. And remind our people... that it is not strength that overcomes darkness, but light. And the sun yet shines.

From Tolkien legendarium we know several things: Sauron will attack Lindon, and lay siege to Rivendell (“First Siege of Imladris”). The Elves will also fight back, and this will culminate in the Battle of the Gwanthló (probably Season 3 finale), where Sauron allows himself to get captured by Ar-Pharazôn and brought to Númenor as prisoner, kicking off Season 4.

Will there be consequences to Morgoth’s crown wound?

What consequences will this wound have on Galadriel?

In “Fellowship of the Ring”, Frodo is injured by the Witch King of Angmar, using a Morgul blade. In spite, of being healed by Elrond, this wound never fully heals, even after the One Ring is destroyed and Sauron is defeated. On the anniversary of receiving the wound, Frodo becomes seriously ill, and he's unable to lead a normal life (like Sam, for instance). This leads him to go to Valinor, at the end of the story.

“Alas! there are some wounds that cannot be wholly cured," said Gandalf. "I fear it may be so with mine," said Frodo. "There is no real going back. Though I may come to the Shire, it will not seem the same; for I shall not be the same. I am wounded with knife, sting, and tooth, and a long burden. Where shall I find rest?” The Return of the King

Frodo: It's been four years to the day since Weathertop, Sam. It's never really healed. The Return of the King (2003)

This wound forever changes Frodo, and it’s only a blade forged by Sauron, what consequences will Morgoth’s very own crown, a object filled with dark magic, have on Galadriel? And can 2x08 already have provided us with some foreshadowing on this?

These shots can imply blood binding theory is correct, and Sauron might have transferred some of his powers to Galadriel. This is not mere “camera work”: in the first screenshot it’s Sauron looking down at Galadriel, and the second is Galadriel waking up. The effect on both is the same; hinting a sharing power between them.

In Tolkien lore, Galadriel is a powerful elf-witch, an Elven queen of great magic and power, however in "Rings of Power" we haven't seen her either dealing nor displaying any kind of magical abilities. Yet. Having her blood bound with Sauron can be the show’s explanation for her source of magical power, as well as to why she never faces him directly, working against him from afar, and why Sauron couldn’t conquer Lothlórien unless he went there, himself; as well, as to Sauron’s grouping of her mind for thousands of years into the future, and how Galadriel is able to see into his mind, too.

The Three Elven rings of power: 

Season 2 finale epilogue also focused on the Three Elven rings of power, and this is not random, because Sauron will try to get them during the “War of the Elves and Sauron”. If blood binding is correct, Sauron might take advantage of this to have Galadriel handing the rings to him.

This scene is meant to symbolize the end of Galadriel and Elrond feud over the rings, but also to showcase that Elrond trusts these rings, now.

I’m not sure if this is also foreshadowing for Elrond getting Vilya next season because it seems a bit premature, so in on the fence with that one.

Gil-galad worried expression:

This expression recalled me of Elrond’s on Season 1 finale, which makes me wonder what it can mean. Is this look connected to the rings of power or with these characters?

Gil-galad is the current ring-bearer of Vilya, and, from that perspective, it doesn’t seem to make sense for him to worry about the rings. Especially since he used its power (+ Nenya) to heal Galadriel, earlier. So, it can be related to the characters, yes. And from his angle, it can point to one in particular: Galadriel.

Where is Gandalf headed next?

Woman: Goodbye, Grand-Elf. Gandalf: Grandelf? Nori: They've never seen an Elf before. Never even left home before. [...] And what to leave. If I had my druthers, we... We'd walk the wastes of this world. Eatin' snails and beetles till the sun run out of days, but it's high time. I walked my path, and you walked yours. Gandalf: We are very different creatures, Nori. When all is said and done. Nori: Not so different at all, if you ask me. Nori and Gandalf part ways, 2x08

Can this dialogue be foreshadowing or set up for Gandalf meeting the Elves in Season 3?

Is there a red herring like in Season 1 finale?

Yes, I believe so. And it’s Galadriel appearing all victorious and light after her fight with Sauron. This can parallel Sauron Season 1 finale red herring; where he arrives at Mordor, also looking victorious and ready to take over the place (we all know how that turned out).

If this is, indeed, a red herring what can it mean? That Galadriel will find herself struggling harder than ever with the darkness in Season 3, as a consequence of Morgoth’s crown wound.

[julibf]

JON WAS PROMISED TO SANSA PART 2

Ok, now lets go to the books chapters. Again, we are trying this theory that Jon Snow may be the Prince that was Promised to Sansa.

People may think that I am crazy but if you re read the books all over again, paying attention to a small detail, you may start believing this theory too. As I was reading the books again, I started noticing that every single time Sansa’s receives a marriage proposal, the next chapter that follows is a JON SNOW chapter. I know that this theory has been talked about several times and we all believe the chapters to be a big foreshadow of Jon and Sansa romance, but what if the idea of the chapters is to tell the reader that Jon and Sansa ALREADY have a betrothal? what if the author is trying to tells us that those two characters are already promised to each other?????

That would be a twist!!!!!!

Right from the beginning we have King Robert arriving at Winterfell and visiting Lyanna Stark tomb in the crypts, there he offers a marriage alliance between House Baratheon and House Stark, with the marriage of Sansa and his son Joffrey Baratheon. This is the only chapter that Sansa will receive a marriage proposal not directly, in this chapter is Ned Stark that receives the proposal since Sansa is only 11 years old in the beginning of the story and her father is her guardian, after that, since Sansa will lose her parents and protectors, the proposals will happen directly to her.

A GAME OF THRONES CHAPTER 4 AND 5

Chapter 4, Eddard I 

"Come south with me, and I'll teach you how to laugh again," the king promised. "You helped me win this damnable throne, now help me hold it. We were meant to rule together. If Lyanna had lived, we should have been brothers, bound by blood as well as affection. Well, it is not too late. I have a son. You have a daughter. My Joff and your Sansa shall join our houses, as Lyanna and I might once have done." This offer did surprise him. "Sansa is only eleven." Robert waved an impatient hand. "Old enough for betrothal. The marriage can wait a few years." The king smiled. "Now stand up and say yes, curse you." "Nothing would give me greater pleasure, Your Grace," Ned answered. He hesitated. "These honors are all so unexpected. May I have some time to consider? I need to tell my wife …""Yes, yes, of course, tell Catelyn, sleep on it if you must." The king reached down, clasped Ned by the hand, and pulled him roughly to his feet. "Just don't keep me waiting too long. I am not the most patient of men."…… For a moment Eddard Stark was filled with a terrible sense of foreboding. This was his place, here in the north. He looked at the stone figures all around them, breathed deep in the chill silence of the crypt. He could feel the eyes of the dead. They were all listening, he knew. And winter was coming.

What if the dead were watching Ned break his promise made to his sister and are sensing the Doom of House Stark?? This proposal is immediately followed by Jon Snow first chapter in the books. 

Followed by JON I

BTW, in this chapter we have Jon getting completely drunk in the feast. Word in the castle have traveled and everyone knows Sansa has been betrothed to Joffrey. I always assumed that Jon was so upset in the feast, not because he was seating far way from the rest of the family, but because he heard of the news of the betrothal between Sansa and Prince Joffrey. 

He had sated his curiosity about the visitors when they made their entrance. The procession had passed not a foot from the place he had been given on the bench, and Jon had gotten a good long look at them all…… His half sisters escorted the royal princes. Arya was paired with plump young Tommen, whose white-blond hair was longer than hers. Sansa, two years older, drew the crown prince, Joffrey Baratheon. He was twelve, younger than Jon or Robb, but taller than either, to Jon's vast dismay. Prince Joffrey had his sister's hair and his mother's deep green eyes. A thick tangle of blond curls dripped down past his golden choker and high velvet collar. Sansa looked radiant as she walked beside him, but Jon did not like Joffrey's pouty lips or the bored, disdainful way he looked at Winterfell's Great Hall.

Jon is jealous, again, in a first glance we may think that he is jealous because he is a bastard and can not be part of such important ceremony, but what if he is jealous because he can not be sited right next to Sansa???A few moments later, Benjen Stark comes to talk to Jon and that’s when Jon ask Benjen to go to the wall and take the Black…

A STORM OF SWORDS CHAPTERS 6 AND 7

Now those two chapters are quite interesting, because both are surrounded by SONGS, in Sansa’s chapters, we have the singer singing THE BEAR AND THE MAIDEN FAIR while Sansa is being introduced to the leader of House Tyrell, Lady Olenna also know as the QUEEN OF THORNS, while in Jon’s chapters, we have a singer playing The Dornishman's Wife while Jon is introduced to the leader of the Freefolk, Mance Rayder THE KING BEYOND THE WALL (who just happens to be the singer)  Sansa is taken to meet the Tyrells by Ser Loras, someone she clearly desires, Jon is taken by Ygritte, someone who desires him.  In both chapters Jon and Sansa are asked to tell the truth and their lives are in danger, Sansa feels like if she tells the truth and the information falls into the Lannisters ears she could be punished and killed and Jon knows that if Mance doesn’t believe what he says, his life is at risk. Sansa tells the truth, Jon lies. 

In the end of this chapter Sansa receives a marriage proposal by the Tyrells, while on Jon chapter, Bael the Bard is mentioned in relation to Jon’s sisters. Once again, by the end of the chapter Sansa will receive a marriage proposal followed by a Jon Snow chapter.

Sansa I 

The Tyrells invite Sansa for supper and during the meeting they make a marriage proposal to Sansa, while the dinner is happening the musicians play the song THE BEAR AND THE MAIDEN FAIR very loud. George really want you to notice this song in this chapter. You may as well wonder where this song comes from, and it seems that Ser Duncan The Tall first heard this song at the Ashford Tourney (yes, that same Tourney that foreshadows the marriage between Sansa and a Targaryen prince)

"I want you to tell me the truth about this royal boy," said Lady Olenna abruptly. "This Joffrey." Sansa's fingers tightened round her spoon. The truth? I can't. Don't ask it, please, I can't. "I . . . I . . . I . . ." " The old woman turned back to Sansa. "Are you frightened, child? No need for that, we're only women here. Tell me the truth, no harm will come to you." "My father always told the truth." Sansa spoke quietly, but even so, it was hard to get the words out. "Lord Eddard, yes, he had that reputation, but they named him traitor and took his head off even so." The old woman's eyes bore into her, sharp and bright as the points of swords. "Joffrey," Sansa said. "Joffrey did that. He promised me he would be merciful, and cut my father's head off. He said that was mercy, and he took me up on the walls and made me look at it. The head. He wanted me to weep, but . . ." She stopped abruptly, and covered her mouth. I've said too much, oh gods be good, they'll know, they'll hear, someone will tell on me. "Go on." It was Margaery who urged. Joffrey's own queen-to-be. Sansa did not know how much she had heard."I can't." What if she tells him, what if she tells? He'll kill me for certain then, or give me to Ser Ilyn. "I never meant . . . my father was a traitor, my brother as well, I have the traitor's blood, please, don't make me say more.""Calm yourself, child," the Queen of Thorns commanded. "She's terrified, Grandmother, just look at her."

That’s when Lady Olenna calls for a Song to cover up the conversation between them. 

Sansa felt as though her heart had lodged in her throat. The Queen of Thorns was so close she could smell the old woman's sour breath. Her gaunt thin fingers were pinching her wrist. To her other side, Margaery was listening as well. A shiver went through her. "A monster," she whispered, so tremulously she could scarcely hear her own voice. "Joffrey is a monster. He lied about the butcher's boy and made Father kill my wolf. When I displease him, he has the Kingsguard beat me. He's evil and cruel, my lady, it's so. And the queen as well." Lady Olenna Tyrell and her granddaughter exchanged a look. "Ah," said the old woman, "that's a pity."

Finally, the Tyrells, once they have their truth about Joffrey, move to their next goal. The marriage alliance. 

Lady Olenna frowned. "I see no need to give him a choice. Of course, he has no hint of our true purpose." "HE SMELLED THE SCENT ON THE SUMMER AIR!" Sansa wrinkled her brow. "Our true purpose, my lady?" "HE SNIFFED AND ROARED AND SMELLED IT THERE! HONEY ON THE SUMMER AIR!" "To see you safely wed, child," the old woman said, as Butterbumps bellowed out the old, old song, "to my grandson."(A Storm of Swords - Sansa I)

Next chapter of the book is JON I

In this chapter Jon is brought before Mance Rayder, since Rattleshirt doesn’t trust him. In the King’s tent, Jon mistakes Styr for Mance Rayder. But it is the gray-haired man playing the lute who is the King-Beyond-the-Wall. Rattleshirt reveals his misgivings about Jon to the king, but Mance wishes to speak with Jon alone.

The tent was hot and smoky. Baskets of burning peat stood in all four corners, filling the air with a dim reddish light. More skins carpeted the ground. Jon felt utterly alone as he stood there in his blacks, awaiting the pleasure of the turncloak who called himself King-beyond-the-Wall. When his eyes had adjusted to the smoky red gloom, he saw six people, none of whom paid him any mind. A dark young man and a pretty blonde woman were sharing a horn of mead. A pregnant woman stood over a brazier cooking a brace of hens, while a grey-haired man in a tattered cloak of black and red sat crosslegged on a pillow, playing a lute and singing: The Dornishman's wife was as fair as the sun, and her kisses were warmer than spring. But the Dornishman's blade was made of black steel, and its kiss was a terrible thing.

If the show is correct, Jon is Dornish, since he was born in the Tower of Joy and if he marries Sansa she would literally be the Dornishman’s wife. I also like how the song compares the woman to the sun, which brings back to Jon thinking of Sansa as radiant. 

While Jon and Mance continue to talk, the King beyond the wall tells Jon that he remembers him from his visits of Winterfell, he tells Jon that he was also present at the Feast for King Robert that happened at the beginning of the novel, that’s when Jon mentions Bael the Bard back to Jon Snow story!!!

" The night your father feasted Robert, I sat in the back of his hall on a bench with the other freeriders, listening to Orland of Oldtown play the high harp and sing of dead kings beneath the sea. I betook of your lord father's meat and mead, had a look at Kingslayer and Imp . . . and made passing note of Lord Eddard's children and the wolf pups that ran at their heels." "Bael the Bard," said Jon, remembering the tale that Ygritte had told him in the Frostfangs, the night he'd almost killed her. "Would that I were. I will not deny that Bael's exploit inspired mine own . . . but I did not steal either of your sisters that I recall. Bael wrote his own songs, and lived them. I only sing the songs that better men have made. More mead?"

Now this is the first time in the story, that the idea of one of the Stark sisters be stolen by a freefolk is introduced. Not only George brings back Bael to Jon’s chapter, he starts to associate the story with Jon’s sisters. Based on the end of the tv show, Jon will be the King beyond the Wall, who and Sansa will be the last Stark maiden in Winterfell.

By the end, just like Sansa, Jon is asked to tell the truth. Mance Rayder ask Jon why he deserted the Nights Watch. Of course, we all know that opposite of Sansa, Jon doesn’t tell the truth, he lies to Mance about being resentful of the Starks. 

"He gestured at the board between them, the broken bread and chicken bones. "Here you are the guest, and safe from harm at my hands . . . this night, at least. So tell me truly, Jon Snow. Are you a craven who turned your cloak from fear, or is there another reason that brings you to my tent?" Guest right or no, Jon Snow knew he walked on rotten ice here. One false step and he might plunge through, into water cold enough to stop his heart. Weigh every word before you speak it, he told himself. He took a long draught of mead to buy time for his answer. When he set the horn aside he said, "Tell me why you turned your cloak, and I'll tell you why I turned mine." …….. "And did you see where I was seated, Mance?" He leaned forward. "Did you see where they put the bastard?" Mance Rayder looked at Jon's face for a long moment. "I think we had best find you a new cloak," the king said, holding out his hand.

A STORM OF SWORDS CHAPTERS 68 AND 69 

SANSA VI

Now we have Sansa arriving at the Vale, scaping from Kings Landing. She arrives at the Vale with the help of Littlefinger. As soon as she is introduced to Lady Lysa she receives a marriage proposal to marry her cousin Lord Robert Arryn. The proposal doesn’t bring much joy to Sansa that laments that marrying for love may never happen to her.

Lysa waved a hand negligently. "Not for many years. You are too young to be a mother. One day you shall want children, though. Just as you will want to marry." "I . . . I am married, my lady." "Yes, but soon a widow. Be glad the Imp preferred his whores. It would not be fitting for my son to take that dwarf's leavings, but as he never touched you . . . How would you like to marry your cousin, the Lord Robert?" The thought made Sansa weary. All she knew of Robert Arryn was that he was a little boy, and sickly. It is not me she wants her son to marry, it is my claim. No one will ever marry me for love. 

NEXT CHAPTER????? Once again, JON SNOW!!!

I knew it the moment I saw this line next to jon’s chapter that George was planning this marriage. That’s why I never believe that Jon and Sansa would have a political marriage, this union would be for love. 

 A STORM OF SWORDS CHAPTER 79 AND 80 

Now, on this one, their roles are inverted. Now is Jon who will receive a marriage proposal and of course, it will be followed by a Sansa chapter. Again, it's like the author is trying to tell us that those two are already promised to each other and can not accept anyone else.

JON XII 

We start the chapter with Jon practicing sword fighting with Iron Emmet and he can not stop thinking about King Stannis Baratheon offer to legitimize him and make Jon not only a Stark but also the Lord of Winterfell. During his practice with Emmet he remembers another fighting practice many years ago at Winterfell….

Every morning they had trained together, since they were big enough to walk; Snow and Stark, spinning and slashing about the wards of Winterfell, shouting and laughing, sometimes crying when there was no one else to see. They were not little boys when they fought, but knights and mighty heroes. "I'm Prince Aemon the Dragonknight," Jon would call out, and Robb would shout back, "Well, I'm Florian the Fool." Or Robb would say, "I'm the Young Dragon," and Jon would reply, "I'm Ser Ryam Redwyne." That morning he called it first. "I'm Lord of Winterfell!" he cried, as he had a hundred times before. Only this time, this time, Robb had answered, "You can't be Lord of Winterfell, you're bastard-born. My lady mother says you can't ever be the Lord of Winterfell." I thought I had forgotten that. Jon could taste blood in his mouth, from the blow he'd taken. (A Storm of Swords - Jon XII)

Jon thinks of rebuilding Winterfell, just like Sansa in the next chapter will literally rebuilt the castle in the snow.

Lord of Winterfell. I could be the Lord of Winterfell. My father's heir….. It was short walk to the bathhouse, where he took a cold plunge to wash the sweat off and soaked in a hot stone tub. The warmth took some of the ache from his muscles and made him think of Winterfell's muddy pools, steaming and bubbling in the godswood. Winterfell, he thought. Theon left it burned and broken, but I could restore it. Surely his father would have wanted that, and Robb as well. They would never have wanted the castle left in ruins.

A interesting detail is that, the offer to be legitimized by Stannis comes with a demand. Jon needs to marry Val. Stannis wants the union of a Stark with a wildling princess, to unite the Freefolk with the North (but what if in the end we get a Wildling King marrying a Stark Queen?)

"Good," King Stannis said, "for the surest way to seal a new alliance is with a marriage. I mean to wed my Lord of Winterfell to this wildling princess." Perhaps Jon had ridden with the free folk too long; he could not help but laugh. "Your Grace," he said, "captive or no, if you think you can just give Val to me, I fear you have a deal to learn about wildling women. Whoever weds her had best be prepared to climb in her tower window and carry her off at swordpoint . . ." (A Storm of Swords - Jon XI)

Ygritte wanted me to be a wildling. Stannis wants me to be the Lord of Winterfell. But what do I want? The sun crept down the sky to dip behind the Wall where it curved through the western hills. Jon watched as that towering expanse of ice took on the reds and pinks of sunset. Would I sooner be hanged for a turncloak by Lord Janos, or forswear my vows, marry Val, and become the Lord of Winterfell? It seemed an easy choice when he thought of it in those terms . . . though if Ygritte had still been alive, it might have been even easier. Val was a stranger to him. She was not hard on the eyes, certainly, and she had been sister to Mance Rayder's queen, but still . . . I would need to steal her if I wanted her love, but she might give me children. I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. A son was something Jon Snow had never dared dream of, since he decided to live his life on the Wall. I could name him Robb. Val would want to keep her sister's son, but we could foster him at Winterfell, and Gilly's boy as well. Sam would never need to tell his lie. We'd find a place for Gilly too, and Sam could come visit her once a year or so. Mance's son and Craster's would grow up brothers, as I once did with Robb.

Jon is now thinking as a wildling and realizing that he needs to steal Val if he wants the marriage to be valid. Which is why I have no doubt that he is stealing Sansa in the end of the books, this storyline is foreshadow in his chapters numerous of times. But the marriage with Val doesn’t make Jon very happy, he doesn’t love her and hardly know her. Just like Sansa, Jon would like to marry someone he loves, and not have a marriage just for a political alliance. But the truth is that he does longs for a family, for Winterfell, he dreams to one day be a true Stark. 

Red eyes, Jon realized, but not like Melisandre's. He had a weirwood's eyes. Red eyes, red mouth, white fur. Blood and bone, like a heart tree. He belongs to the old gods, this one. And he alone of all the direwolves was white. Six pups they'd found in the late summer snows, him and Robb; five that were grey and black and brown, for the five Starks, and one white, as white as Snow. He had his answer then.

Finally Ghost comes back to Jon and he has his answer right there. The wolf brings back the memory when they all found the puppies. Jon belongs to the old Gods like his wolf and he cant turn his back to his old golds. I always assumed Bran sent Ghost to help Jon make his decision. 

As he walked toward the armory, Jon chanced to look up and saw Val standing in her tower window. I'm sorry, he thought. I'm not the man to steal you out of there.

So we this chapter Jon Snow was forced to make a decision and turn down not only Winterffell but also the marriage alliance with Val, the wildling princess. He decides he wont be the one stealing her, but he did show a desire for love, family and Winterfell. Next Chapter we are going to have Sansa being “kissed by the Snow” and those kisses are going to rekindle her childhood dreams…. 

SANSA VII

She had last seen snow the day she'd left Winterfell. That was a lighter fall than this, she remembered. Robb had melting flakes in his hair when he hugged me, and the snowball Arya tried to make kept coming apart in her hands. It hurt to remember how happy she had been that morning. Hullen had helped her mount, and she'd ridden out with the snowflakes swirling around her, off to see the great wide world. I thought my song was beginning that day, but it was almost done….. Drifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover's kisses, and melted on her cheeks. …. She could feel the snow on her lashes, taste it on her lips. It was the taste of Winterfell. The taste of innocence. The taste of dreams.

Sigh, I will never get over this little foreshadow. The poetry, the romantism, the idea of dreams. This little paragraph will always be one of my favorites written lines in this entire novel. The idea that a new lover can enchant Sansa and bring back all her childhood dreams after all the pain and sorrow that she went through. And again, the dream involves Winterfell….

When Sansa opened her eyes again, she was on her knees. She did not remember falling. It seemed to her that the sky was a lighter shade of grey. Dawn, she thought. Another day. Another new day. It was the old days she hungered for. Prayed for. But who could she pray to? The garden had been meant for a godswood once, she knew, but the soil was too thin and stony for a weirwood to take root. A godswood without gods, as empty as me.

And then  she goes to work, once she starts playing with the snow she wonders what she would like to build…

The snow fell and the castle rose. Two walls ankle-high, the inner taller than the outer. Towers and turrets, keeps and stairs, a round kitchen, a square armory, the stables along the inside of the west wall. It was only a castle when she began, but before very long Sansa knew it was Winterfell. She found twigs and fallen branches beneath the snow and broke off the ends to make the trees for the godswood.

For the gravestones in the lichyard she used bits of bark. Soon her gloves and her boots were crusty white, her hands were tingling, and her feet were soaked and cold, but she did not care. The castle was all that mattered. Some things were hard to remember, but most came back to her easily, as if she had been there only yesterday. The Library Tower, with thesteep stonework stair twisting about its exterior. The gatehouse, two huge bulwarks, the arched gate between them, crenellations all along the top . . .

Again, in the past chapter we had Jon dreaming on rebuilding Winterfell, having a family, marrying for love. In the follow chapter we have Sansa literally rebulding Winterfell with the help of “Snow”. She longs for her old days, the days of her childhood. This for me was always one of the strongest foreshadows of their romance and future. 

So thats it. I can not wait to see more chapters in the future, if we ever get to see THE WINDS OF WINTER. Some may ask, but what about Sansa marriage to Tyrion???? well, that was not a proposal, Sansa was just forced into that marriage, just like Jon was forced into consummating his relationship with Ygritte. I shall write about Jon and Sansa parallels in the future too, it's insane how similar their storylines are.

[correlance]

Paradise Lost: How John Milton's 1667 work influenced "Hazbin Hotel"

I've been thinking about why the "fruit of knowledge" in Hazbin Hotel is depicted as an apple, as opposed to another fruit that would've been more accurate to the Middle East during the Fall of Man, as well as how Paradise Lost by John Milton (1667) influenced the show.

Per one source:

"Because the Hebrew Bible describes the forbidden fruit only as 'peri', the term for general fruit, no one knows [what exactly type of fruit it was]. It could be a fruit that doesn't exist anymore. Historians have speculated it may have been any one of these fruits: pomegranate, mango, fig, grapes, etrog or citron, carob, pear, quince, or mushroom."

Per Wikipedia:

"The pseudepigraphic Book of Enoch describes the tree of knowledge: 'It was like a species of the Tamarind tree, bearing fruit which resembled grapes extremely fine; and its fragrance extended to a considerable distance. I exclaimed, How beautiful is this tree, and how delightful is its appearance!' (1 Enoch 31:4)."

In Jewish and Islamic traditions, the "fruit of knowledge" is commonly identified with grapes. The Zohar explains that Noah attempted (but failed) to rectify the sin of Adam by using grape wine for holy purposes. Today, the "Noah grape" is still used to make white wine.

Furthermore:

"The association of the pomegranate with knowledge of the underworld as provided in the Ancient Greek legend of Hades and Persephone may also have given rise to an association with knowledge of the 'otherworld', tying-in with knowledge that is forbidden to mortals. It is also believed Hades offered Persephone a pomegranate to force her to stay with him in the underworld for 6 months of the year. Hades is the Greek god of the underworld, and the Bible states that whoever eats the forbidden fruit shall die."

So, how then did the apple become the foremost symbol of the "fruit of knowledge"? You can partly thank Paradise Lost by English poet John Milton, a work which the lore of Hazbin Hotel is based off of.

Milton published the book in 1667, a time when the hedonistic Restoration era was in full swing. The exiled King Charles II was restored to the throne as King of England in 1660, and was a party animal, with dozens of mistresses, and nicknamed both the "playboy prince" and "Old Rowley", the latter after his favorite lustful stallion.

However, the association of the "fruit of knowledge" began with a Latin pun long before Milton immortalized the association in Paradise Lost. Per the linked article above by Nina Martyris for NPR:

"In order to explain, we have to go all the way back to the fourth century A.D., when Pope Damasus ordered his leading scholar of scripture, Jerome, to translate the Hebrew Bible into Latin. Jerome's path-breaking, 15-year project, which resulted in the canonical 'Vulgate', used the Latin spoken by the common man. As it turned out, the Latin words for evil and apple are the same: 'malus'.

[...] When Jerome was translating the 'Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil', the word 'malus' snaked in. A brilliant but controversial theologian, Jerome was known for his hot temper, but he obviously also had a rather cool sense of humor.

'Jerome had several options,' says Robert Appelbaum, a professor of English literature at Sweden's Uppsala University. 'But he hit upon the idea of translating 'peri' as 'malus', which in Latin has two very different meanings. As an adjective, 'malus' means 'bad' or 'evil'. As a noun it seems to mean an apple, in our own sense of the word, coming from the very common tree now known officially as the 'Malus pumila'. So Jerome came up with a very good pun.'

The story doesn't end there. 'To complicate things even more,' says Appelbaum, 'the word 'malus' in Jerome's time, and for a long time after, could refer to any fleshy seed-bearing fruit. A pear was a kind of 'malus'. So was the fig, the peach, and so forth.'

Which explains why Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel fresco features a serpent coiled around a fig tree. But the apple began to dominate Fall artworks in Europe after the German artist Albrecht Dürer's famous 1504 engraving depicted the First Couple counterpoised beside an apple tree. It became a template for future artists such as Lucas Cranach the Elder, whose luminous Adam and Eve painting is hung with apples that glow like rubies.

Milton, then, was only following cultural tradition. But he was a renowned Cambridge intellectual fluent in Latin, Greek and Hebrew, who served as secretary for foreign tongues to Oliver Cromwell during the Commonwealth. If anyone was aware of the 'malus' pun, it would be him, and yet he chose to run it with it. Why?

Appelbaum says that Milton's use of the term 'apple' was ambiguous. 'Even in Milton's time the word had two meanings: either what was our common apple, or, again, any fleshy seed-bearing fruit. Milton probably had in mind an ambiguously named object with a variety of connotations as well as denotations, most but not all of them associating the idea of the apple with a kind of innocence, though also with a kind of intoxication, since hard apple cider was a common English drink.'

It was only later readers of Milton, says Appelbaum, who thought of 'apple' as 'apple', and not any seed-bearing fruit. For them, the forbidden fruit became synonymous with the 'malus pumila'. As a widely read canonical work, 'Paradise Lost' was influential in cementing the role of apple in the Fall of Man story."

To tie this back into John Milton's relationship with King Charles II of England, as mentioned, Milton originally served Oliver Cromwell, Lord Protector of England, and the English Commonwealth, which was formed with the overthrow and execution of King Charles I on 30 January 1649, following the bloody English Civil War (1642 – 1651).

The King's two sons - the newly-christened King Charles II, the elder, and James, Duke of York (King James II), the younger - fled into exile on the European continent. However, with the death of Oliver Cromwell on 3 September 1658 came the 2-year-long dissolution of the English Commonwealth, and the restoration of the monarchy.

As for Milton himself, we can look to an article by Bill Potter.

Milton, born on 9 December 1608, was around 51-52 years old when King Charles II was restored to the throne. He attended Christ's Church, Cambridge in his youth, and mastered at least six languages, as well as history and philosophy; making him, perhaps, the most knowledgeable poet in history. He spent more than a year travelling across Europe, conversing with and learning from intellectuals, linguists, poets, and artists, including the famous Galileo Galilei.

However, Milton was a controversial figure of his time, being unafraid to criticize institutions of authority; arguing that "divorce was Biblical", for which he was routinely condemned; joining the Puritans; penning the Areopagitica, a treatise on liberty in favor of Parliament and the Roundhead rebels, during the reign of King Charles I, arguing that the King must be held accountable by the people; and agreed with and justified the murder of King Charles I, for which Parliament hired him in 1649 as a propagandist and correspondence secretary to foreign powers, on account of his fiery manifestos against "the man".

The collapse of the Commonwealth with the death of Oliver Cromwell in 1658 did not deter Milton from continued political writing against the monarchy and the new public sentiment that brought about its Restoration under King Charles II in 1660. On the contrary, Milton - now totally blind, having lost his eyesight by the age of 44 in 1652, a decade earlier - began writing Paradise Lost in 1661, and spent the next six years dictating the work to transcribers.

A supporter of regicide, Milton was also forced into exile himself, and faked his own death, as Charles refused to pardon - and sought to execute - any of those directly involved with his father's murder. Milton's friends held a mock funeral for Milton on 27 August 1660, just months after the coronation of King Charles II on 23 April 1660.

King Charles II commented that he "applauded his [Milton's] policy in escaping the punishment of death [execution for treason] by a reasonable show of dying", but insisted on a public spectacle nonetheless by having Milton's writings burned by the public hangman.

After eventually obtaining a general pardon from King Charles II, Milton was imprisoned, and released, likely due to political friends in high places. He died, aged 64, in 1674. His theological views were sometimes considered heterodox by the best Puritans, and his political views came close to getting him executed on several occasions. His poetry, however, has endured as some of the greatest works in the English language, especially Paradise Lost; much of his greatest work was written during his 22 years of complete blindness.

One of the main factors in King Charles II deciding to grant a pardon to Milton was, ironically, Paradise Lost. While originally written by Milton as a scathing criticism of King Charles II and the monarchy - depicting Lucifer Morningstar as a sympathetic rebel against God, with King Charles II claiming that is right to rule came from "divine ordainment" - Charles II enjoyed the work, and authorized its publication on 20 August 1667. We know this because a 1668 copy of Paradise Lost in royal bindings by Samuel Mearne, bound lovingly in a fine red leather made of goat skins tanned with sumac, and stamped in gold with the royal cypher of King Charles II, was found. The endpapers bore a watermark with the royal arms of Charles II.

Per one Miltonian scholar: "The most single important event in Milton's life was the event against which he struggled most: the Restoration of Charles II, [and his relationship with the King]. Had it not come, we might have never had Paradise Lost...certainly, we should never have had [it] in [its] present power and significance."

Milton followed up Paradise Lost with Paradise Regained in 1671, three years before his death, with advice for King Charles II, urging the hedonistic Charles to "reign over himself and his passions":

"For therein stands the office of a King, His Honour, Vertue, Merit and chief Praise, That for the Publick all this weight he bears. Yet he who reigns within himself, and rules Passions, Desires, and Fears, is more a King; Which every wise and vertuous man attains: And who attains not, ill aspires to rule Cities of men, or head-strong Multitudes, Subject himself to Anarchy within, Or lawless passions in him which he serves." - John Milton, Paradise Regained, Book II, lines 463-472

To summarize: "If we must have a King back again, my Lord, please try to be a good man, unlike your father, who fell to his pride, [which was also the downfall of Lucifer]."

To quote another source: "Though the passage begins by noting that the office of a King is to bear the weight of public concerns, it is the control of one's private concerns that truly set a King apart as a virtuous character. Indeed, so important is self-command that any wise or virtuous man who attains it is like a king; any king who does not practice [self-command] is nothing more than a mere subject, ruled by anarchy and lawlessness."

Milton's words, too, echo a work written by Charles' grandfather, King James VI/I of Scotland and England: Basilikon Doron ("Royal Gift").

Per Wikipedia:

"'Basilikon Doron' (Βασιλικὸν Δῶρον) means 'royal gift' in Ancient Greek, and was written in the form of a private letter to James' eldest son, Henry, Duke of Rothesay (1594–1612). After Henry's death, James gave it to his second son, Charles, born 1600, later King Charles I. Seven copies were printed in Edinburgh in 1599, and it was republished in London in 1603, when it sold in the thousands.

This document is separated into three books, serving as general guidelines to follow to be an efficient monarch. The first describes a king's duty towards God as a Christian. The second focuses on the roles and responsibilities in office. The third concerns proper behaviour in daily life.

As the first part is concerned with being a good Christian, James instructed his son to love and respect God as well as to fear Him. Furthermore, it is essential to carefully study the Scripture (the Bible) and especially specific books in both the Old and New Testaments. Lastly, he must pray often and always be thankful for what God has given him.

In the second book, James encouraged his son to be a good king, as opposed to a tyrant, by establishing and executing laws as well as governing with justice and equality, such as by boosting the economy. The final portion of the Basilikon Doron focuses on the daily life of a monarch.

All of these guidelines composed an underlying code of conduct to be followed by all monarchs and heads of state to rule and govern efficiently. James assembled these directions as a result of his own experience and upbringing. He, therefore, offered the 'Basilikon Doron' ('Royal Gift') to his son, with the hope of rendering him a capable ruler, and perhaps to pass it down to future generations.

Overall, it repeats the argument for the divine right of kings, as set out in 'The True Law of Free Monarchies', which was also written by James. It warns against 'Papists' (Roman Catholics) and derides Puritans, in keeping with his philosophy of following a 'middle path', which is also reflected in the preface to the 1611 King James Bible. It also advocates removing the Apocrypha from the Bible."

King James VI/I further instructed his son and grandson:

"A good monarch must be well acquainted with his subjects, and so it would be wise to visit each of the kingdoms every three years."

"During war or armed conflict, he should choose old-but-good captains to lead an army of young and agile soldiers."

"In the court and the household, [a royal] should carefully select loyal gentlemen and servants to surround him. When the time came to choose a wife, it would be best if she were of the same religion and had a generous estate. However, she must not meddle with governmental politics, but perform her domestic duties."

"As for inheritance, to ensure stability, the kingdom should be left to the eldest son, not divided among all children."

"Lastly, it is most important...that [a royal] would know well his own craft...to properly govern over his subjects. To do so, [one] must study the laws of the kingdom, and actively participate in the council. Furthermore, [one] must be acquainted with mathematics for military purposes, and world history for foreign policy."

"[A royal] must also not drink and sleep excessively. His wardrobe should always be clean and proper, and he must never let his hair and nails grow long. In his writing and speech, he should use honest and plain language."

King James VI/I further supplemented Basilikon Doron with a written treatise titled The True Law of Free Monarchies: Or, The Reciprocal and Mutual Duty Between a Free King and His Natural Subjects.

"It is believed King James VI/I wrote the tract to set forth his idea of absolutist monarchism in clear contrast to the contractarian views espoused by, among others, James' tutor George Buchanan (in 'De Jure Regni apud Scotos'), [which] held the idea that monarchs rule in accordance of some sort of social contract with their people. James saw the divine right of kings as an extension of the apostolic succession, as both not being subjected by humanly laws."

Milton's own Areopagitica was a follow-up on De Jure Regni apid Scotos by George Buchanan, and also to The True Law of Free Monarchies, as well as the idea of the "divine right of kings". It takes its title in part from Areopagitikos (Greek: Ἀρεοπαγιτικός), a speech written by Athenian orator Isocrates in the 4th century BC.

Most importantly, Milton also wrote on the concept of free will: "Milton's ideas were ahead of his time in the sense that he anticipated the arguments of later advocates of freedom of the press by relating the concept of free will, and choice to individual expression and right."

The concept of free will, too, was a major topic explored in Paradise Lost. Per one source: "In 'Paradise Lost', Milton argues that though God foresaw the Fall of Man, he still didn't influence Adam and Eve's free will. [...] God specifically says that he gives his creatures the option to serve or disobey, as he wants obedience that is freely given [or chosen], not forced. Some critics have claimed that the God of the poem undercuts his own arguments; however, Milton did not believe in the Calvinistic idea of 'predestination' (that God has already decided who is going to Hell and who to Heaven), but he often comes close to describing a Calvinistic God. God purposefully lets Lucifer (Satan) escape Hell, and sneak past Uriel into the Garden of Eden, and basically orchestrates the whole situation so that humanity can be easily ruined by a single disobedient act. In describing the Fall of Man before it happens, God already predicts how he will remedy it, and give greater glory to himself by sending his Son [Jesus Christ] to die, and restore the order of Heaven."

In Hazbin Hotel, Adam also describes the Calvinistic idea of 'predestination', and that "the rules are black and white":

However, "This possible predestination leads to the theory of the 'fortunate fall', which is based on Adam's delight at learning of the eventual coming of the Messiah [from his bloodline]. This idea says that God allowed the Fall of Man, so that he could bring good out of it, possibly more good than would have occurred without the Fall, and be able to show his love and power through the incarnation of his Son. In this way, the free will of Adam and Eve (and Lucifer/Satan) remains basically free, but still fits into God's overarching plan."

However, there is one major flaw with this, and that is that we don't know if Jesus Christ exists within the Hazbin Hotel universe or not. Yet Charlie Morningstar, the daughter of Lucifer Morningstar and Lilith, and the "Princess of Hell", is depicted as a savior-esque figure within the show who, like God in Paradise Lost, encourages lowly sinners to choose obedience to God out of their own free will. More interestingly, Charlie does not come from Adam's bloodline; yet, while Lucifer decries 'free will', Charlie supports 'free will' instead.

Perhaps is is merely because Charlie, being the daughter of Lucifer and Lilith, claims to want to fulfill Lilith's "dream" of humanity being empowered in Hell ("The mind is its own place, it can make Heaven out of Hell, or Hell out of Heaven" - Lucifer, Paradise Lost); however, I think it also stems from Charlie having a genuine belief that 'free will', and people choosing to do good instead of evil, is "good" and "Godly".

True to Paradise Lost, this is also in fulfillment of God's plan; and, according to one fanfiction, why God allowed Charlie to be born to Lucifer and Lilith, so that sinners may be redeemed through Charlie.

For more on differing interpretations of 'free will', I suggest reading: "Free Will and the Diminishing Importance of God's Will: A Study of Paradise Lost and Supernatural" by Kimberly Batchelor (2016)

Excerpt: "'Paradise Lost' –and Milton’s purpose for writing the poem— is rooted deeply in postreformation Arminianism and this is apparent in its employment of free will. Chapter 1 argues that Milton turns to free will as a tool to justify the actions of God. Freedom of choice is God-given, and sets up a morality in which right and wrong are dictated by God. Chapter 2 shows that in 'Supernatural', free will is not given by a higher power; and, in fact, free choice functions as an act of defiance against God's will."

This raises the question: Is 'free will' given by God, using Lucifer as his vessel, in Hazbin Hotel, as in Paradise Lost? Or is 'free will' not given by a higher power; and, in fact, an act of defiance against God?

This brings us back around to our first question: Why is an apple, or 'malus', used to depict the "fruit of knowledge", especially if 'malus' means 'bad or evil', whereas Milton depicts 'free will' as God-given?

Well, for one, Lucifer still chooses to associate himself with apple symbolism and imagery, despite being skeptical of free will:

Based on the introduction to Episode 1, Charlie also views 'free will' as a gift (Miltonian), whereas Lucifer appears to view it as a curse.

However, Charlie also notes that it was through the 'gift' of free will that the "root of all evil" entered the world, for if mankind could choose to be good, then they could also choose to be evil ('malus').

John Milton states in Paradise Lost: "Of Man's First Disobedience, and the Fruit Of that Forbidden Tree [malus], whose mortal taste Brought Death (evil, malus) into the World, and all our woe."

Thus, the use of an apple specifically is likely a tie-in to what others have been speculating about a character that series creator Vivienne Medrano (Vivziepop) alluded to a while back: "The Root of All Evil".

However, "Roo" itself is depicted as possessing the body of a human woman, presumably Eve, the first one to eat the "fruit of knowledge":

Thus, we can discern that "Malus" likely refers to this character. (Also see: "Maleficent", a name that also uses the root word "mal", "evil".) As for Roo's intentions, if Charlie is "good" - and, if, in fact, Alastor was sent by "Roo" (Eve) - then they may want for Alastor to work on their behalf to "corrupt" Charlie, or make sure the hotel never succeeds.

This is because demonic power is tied to human souls, and there are "millions of souls" in Hell, which likely fuels the great power of "Roo". The more souls there are in Hell, the more powerful "Roo" becomes. The Overlords also get their demonic power from "millions of souls".

The deal between Eve and "Roo" might even be the first contract, or deal, between a human soul and a demonic entity; in exchange for 'free will', and the knowledge of good and evil, Eve allowed the "Root of All Evil" to inhabit her body, and to escape the void or prison it was confined to by Heaven (Hell?). (For one cannot be 'all-good' unless you attempt to 'eliminate' or 'ablate' evil; and, in Greek mythology, Zeus imprisoned the Titans in Tartarus for all of their evil deeds.)

Another possibility, brought up in an article by Gillian Osborne, is that Lucifer sees the "fruit of knowledge" as an apple, but it may appear as different fruits to different people, depending on how they view it. This also fits with Lucifer and angels being able to easily shapeshift.

In Paradise Lost, only Lucifer describes the fruit as an "apple" (malus), as he associates malus with "bad, evil", while the narrator also describes the fruit as "a mix of different colors" and peach-like. This then begs the question: "Did the fruit of knowledge of good and evil become 'evil' because Eve harbored resentment towards Adam?"

Quote: "Lucifer (Satan) gives Eve yet another hint that this tree may be more complicated than he wishes her to believe: although elsewhere in Milton's poem Eden is heady with its own newness, sprouting spring flowers left and right, the tree of knowledge is already old: its trunk is 'mossie'. Nevertheless, Lucifer claims to wind himself around the tree 'soon'; the quickness of his reported arrival stands in contrast to the timescales required to cover a fruit tree with moss (PL 9.589). Placing Lucifer's winding body between these two timescales—an easeful present and the inhuman scale of natural history—Milton suggests that there is something dangerous in entangling the past with the present. Yet, 'Paradise Lost' also makes deep biblical history feel like present politics for its readers. When Adam and Eve wander out of Eden at the end of the poem, they famously make their way not only into an earthly paradise, but also into the present. Eden's mossy apple tree therefore represents the pitfalls of conflating nature and history, of seeing any action in human history—even Eve's eating of an apple—as natural, if by nature, we mean inevitability. For Milton, history, unlike nature, is directed by humans, progressive, and, like the reading of 'Paradise Lost', hard work. While trees may inevitably collect moss the longer they live, Adam and Eve's labors in the garden, and our labors of reading, require agency and effort. Milton's poem refuses mourning the loss of Eden, [and the perfection of Heaven], in favor of a perpetual, melancholic, recreation of paradise: a present perfecting."

To quote Twisted: The Untold Story of a Royal Vizier, which also draws inspiration from John Milton's Paradise Lost: "It's an unfortunate situation...but you do have a choice [i.e. free will]."

[legacygirlingreen]

My silly little HCs for Sebastian Sallow

Some of these are really random but I’ve just had an abundance of HC lately so I thought I’d share:

✨ I GENUINELY see a world in which Sebastian could be slightly messy in some areas and very orderly in others. I don’t think he’d be messy in EVERY aspect of his life. Sure his hair is messy (this i attribute to it’s natural texture and the fact he’s a teen boy and likely doesn’t care that much about it), that large stack of books near his bed and on his desk are messy and I’m sure his life can at times be pretty chaotic - but I get the vibe he still cares on occasion. He’s always dressed properly for class, no less than Ominis or his other classmates. I’m sure his papers and class notes are very immaculately organized and he’s got a system that on surface level looks chaotic but to him makes sense for his books and other possessions. I also don’t see it possible that he can be a complete slob either given how small the feldcroft house is and having to share it with Anne and Solomon (and Ominis).

✨ I think as a child he definitely had to learn how to self sooth, or find ways to entertain himself. We get hints that his parents were often locking themselves downstairs to research, leaving him and Anne to their devices and he seems very well liked by his professors - so this leads me to think that with the exception of the resitricted section and occasional mischief, he may not be as “high strung” as he’s often made out to be. With the amount of time he spends reading, snacking and just overall finding ways to keep from boredom, I can see a world where afternoons with Sebastian are much more laid back than one would imagine.

Which leads me into some loose ideas I think he’d conceive if he was dating you/MC:

* laying in the grass together on sunny days, reading silently, pointing out cloud shapes or looking for 4 leaf cloves together

* swimming in the sea in summer, sunbathing on the shores, skipping rocks

* baking the muggle way and enjoying homemade pie over candle light and engaging in thought provoking conversations

✨ I don’t think that Sebastian cares too much about his physical appearance as a teenager but I can definitely see it slowly becoming more and more a priority as he ages. Several people have pointed out that there’s a razor in their dorm and if you zoom in you can see he’s got the appearance of hair follicles on the high resolution zoom in screen grabs, so I think by seventh year he’s experimenting with facial hair. Probably sideburns or just a mustache as that would’ve been fashionable for the time, but I can see him letting his sideburns go in his least year at hogwarts. He’d claim it was “more convenient that way” since he “didn’t have to waste as much time shaving his whole face” but in reality he just feels more grown up and mature and he likes it - but likely wouldn’t want to be seen as vain.

✨ Sebastian grew up with a twin sister and is likely quite well versed in female anatomy and issues… he’s more than likely a SAINT when it comes to that time of the month, however I don’t think he’d see it as anything to mention. Likely just know it’s roughly that time again, casually offer more snacks, perhaps offer a simple back rub without saying anything, or other varieties of comfort without acknowledging WHY he’s doing so. If you ever bring it up he’d likely just shrug and say “just tying to be helpful since I know you likely don’t feel well” And leave it at that.

✨ I can see a variety of the love languages being important to him. I do agree he likely responds well to physical touch. You cannot convince me otherwise that he would not adore having someone play with his hair. He turns into a puppy immediately and it’s canon as far as I’m concerned. He also likely knows some mild form of braiding due to Anne so he probably equally enjoys returning the favor in that way. Sebastian gives me more strong touch in private but little to no PDA . Exceptions can be made for timely acceptable actions like a hand on the arm to escort but nothing crazy like necking in halls.

✨ however… private Sebastian could be a mixed bag. Initially I see him slightly nervous. Sebastian seems confident and headstrong in areas he’s familiar but we don’t see him ever feel unprepared. I get the sense he’d be anxious when he’s going in completely blind to new arenas like physical relations with a girl… So early on here May be apprehensive. I agree with the thought he would research all he could and go out of his way to make sure they were comfortable and he prevented pain. But once he’s got a good handle in it… he’s always looking to improve until he’s confident he’s making you feel incredible…

✨ Sebastian finds feminine hands to be so interesting. Despite not liking PDA I can see him constantly grabbing yours, examining them, admiring the softness, pressing kisses to the back of them, and just all around finding them so insanely beautiful despite being so simple.

✨ Sebastian sallow definitely is the type to practice his signature constantly. He gets bored in class I imagine, with as much reading as he does, he’s likely way ahead of his peers. It’s common to see him doodling out new ways of signing his name and he still hasn’t found the way that’s quite him yet but he will eventually…

✨ deep down I think he can be very self conscious. I imagine he’d find certain features less than perfection … such as his wide nose or bushy eyebrows. Dark eyes and dark features are quite common , I can see a world in which he so often feels quite plain. However the right partner coming along and kissing that button nose or playfully stroking his brow while he rests his head in their lap would slowly make him feel better about what he sees in the mirror. Being complimented on his appearance, something I’m sure gets lost in his many talents, would mean the world to him.

✨Sebastian has a sweet tooth and would 100% rock the dad bod when matured . He’s lean now with all the hogwarts cardio, but once he slows down he’s getting thicker. Just look at Solomon and tell me the sallow genes aren’t slightly husky (Also check out @rednite-dork bc she’s got some awesome art depicting a more aged up, dad bod seb and they are mouth watering 🤪)

I have soo many more but here’s some loose HCs , and I’m always down for a part 2💚

[meara-eldestofthemall]

Is DC at the stage where they're unwilling to let time flow anymore (a 'Time Crisis' if you will), and the only way anyone's age changes now is through 'time shenanigans'.

Because there has to be an upper limit for how old they will allow a character to be - e.g. (For several reasons) They will never allow Bruce Wayne to turn 50.

You got it in one. Time is now an enemy that needs to be kept at bay, Why?

DC (and other comic books) have to keep their characters within a believable age range. It’s why DC has never allowed their characters to age in real time. They can’t and still keep them viable as Intellectual Properties.  Batman premiered in Detective Comics Comics #27 in March of 1939. Since Bruce was supposed to be somewhere around 22 to 25 years old at that time, he would pushing 130 years of age today.

The biggest canonical age-up in the Batfamily was Dick Grayson. Because of the 1966 Batman TV show he went from a ‘tween to a teen overnight. This was back in the days when I was young, meaning that comic books weren't really taken very seriously. The TV show was a huge success, so DC climbed on board the gravy train and tried to match as much in the comics as they could. 

 After the show ended in 1969, DC wisely realized that keeping an 18 or 19 year old in this costume...

was a truly bad idea (if not soft core porn at that point). Which is why Dick changed to Nightwing.

Dick was about 20 years old (maybe a little older at this point). He was a young adult but an adult by anyone’s standards. Dick then went to Bludhaven where he got not only his very own city to protect but better fashion sense as well. 

What this inevitably meant is that Bruce had to be aged up as well, leaving Bruce in his early 30′s when Dick became Nightwing. Batman got a series of Robins. First Jason..

Who was with him for 2 to 3 years. Batman is now early to mid 30s when Jason dies. Then Tim...

who started as Robin at 13 and stayed Robin until 17. That’s another 4 years. Bruce is now in his very late 30s. Then Stephanie...

who stayed Robin for all of 2 minutes before Tim was Robin again.

Bruce was in his very late 30s when Damian, age 11, came into the picture.

Four more years passed and not only did Tim go from being Red Robin to Robin again but he lost, then gained back a year of age. Damian went from 11 to 13 years of age, making Bruce in his early 40s.

The point is that each new iteration of Robin ages Bruce up. He’s now supposed to be in his early 40s. He’s beginning to feel age creeping up on him. A part of Bruce is finally ready to accept that he physically won’t be able to continue as Batman in another decade or so.

This is why the “Time Crisis” as you call it is vital. Batman has to be kept no older than he is now to be believable. It’s also why Damian got an upgrade to 13 but Tim is going to stay 17 basically forever. Yes, DC can pull some time shenanigan’s and let Damian and Tim get maybe a year older each but that’s it. 

The bottom line is simple. Batman and family are the biggest money makers DC currently has. If rumors are to be believed, Batman and Co are the only real money makers DC has. They’re pulling no end of crazy storyline stuff with Bruce but the one thing they cannot do is make him older. As someone in her late 60s I can tell you from experience that your early 40s are when you have the unpleasant awakening that you can’t push yourself like you used to. Sickness hits you hard. It takes longer to recover from injuries. You’re reminded of the wear and tear you put on your body over the years when you get out of bed each morning. 

“Time Crisis” isn’t really a crisis. It’s simply acknowledging that Batman isn’t Superman or Wonder Woman. He’s Bruce Wayne and Bruce Wayne may be the pinnacle of what a normal human can reach but he’s not an alien or a demi-god. Bruce Wayne is only mortal and all mortals fade with time. 

[weirdsht]

Disillusioned 11 . Nothing More, Nothing Less (4)

a/n: double update this week because i got a perfect score on my all-or-nothing oral quiz last night hehe. also, this was supposed to be 2 installments only but I keep making things longer than when I first storyboarded lol

tags: feelings in progress, trying to break out from an abusive mentality, crying, fluff, remember that healing is not instant and takes time

English isn’t my first language so there will be grammatical errors

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Constructive criticisms and any kind of interaction are more than welcome

Requests are currently closed but my ask are still open (read pinned)

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Everyone dispersed to do their own thing when they got back home. Of course, they did this after they made sure that _____ was inside their room and properly resting.

The healer complied with everyone’s wishes, how could they not when Choi Han was practically guarding the door? However, they were starting to feel restless and bored. Back at their old home, they were never told to rest for this long.

It was the opposite actually.

Everyone back there wanted them to get back in action as soon as possible. It doesn’t matter how bad they feel, _____ is expected to get back to work after 5 hours max.

Knock

Knock 

“Cale-nim asked if you feel well enough to join him for dinner.”

Good thing Choi Han gave _____ an agenda before they die of restlessness.

“Please tell the young master I’ll join him.”

The swordmaster inspected the healer first before nodding. Looks like _____ passed Choi Han’s detector and is deemed well enough to have dinner in Cale’s room.

It was an invitation for dinner but the Medicus knows that its real purpose is so that Cale can have a serious chat with them.

_____ already knows their fault.

In Cale and everyone else’s eyes, they acted recklessly. It’s _____’s mistake that they didn’t inform Cale that could handle that much. Then in turn because of that miscommunication, some things were hindered and they lost manpower for a short while.

To put it another way, _____ hindered everyone’s work.

For that, they were sorry. They didn’t mean to be deadweight that had to be carried around.

_____ told themself that they’ll tell Cale they won’t repeat the same mistake when they have dinner.

…things didn’t go as planned.

When the healer tried to explain that they certainly could handle more than what they did in the Whipper Kingdom Cale only sighed. Then when they tried to say sorry Cale frowned.

That’s never a good sign.

But _____ can’t think of what else they did wrong.

It didn’t help that the children averaging 8 years old also have the same expression.

“You know that I’m trash right?”

“Huh? Uhm yes, I do.”

_____ knew the rumours that labelled Cale as trash, but they didn’t know why it mattered right now.

“Right and as you know someone trash is selfish.”

The healer has no idea where this is going. In the first place, Cale was far from selfish. He may be opportunistic and a little manipulative but everything he did was for the betterment of others.

“Because I’m selfish I don’t care whatever happens to other people. My priority will always be me and my people first.”

_____ still has no idea where this is going.

“That means you, you rascal.”

Cale poked _____’s forehead, straightening the lines of confusion that had formed.

“You’re one of my people. You have been since that day you agreed to leave the City of Life with me.

Meaning, you are my priority. Meaning, I will not tolerate such dangerous and self-sacrificial actions from you.”

On looked at Cale as if he had no right to talk but the redhead didn’t notice it.

“And so in the future, I hope you can promise to never do anything that will harm you again. I don’t need promises of you doing better, I just want to know that you won’t get hurt this severely from healing other people...”

Plop

Plop

Cale who had more to say stopped speaking.

How could he not when he saw _____’s tears?

The same _____ who had a neutral expression after almost dying.

The same _____ who just nodded and moved on after realizing their family had abandoned them.

The same _____ who still had a poker face despite shaking from their nightmares.

That same _____ is now crying.

And it looks like they didn’t even notice they were crying.

_____ only noticed their tears when they picked up the two kittens that had been pawing their arm. After they did, the two took it upon themself to paw away the tears streaming down their face.

It seemed to have the opposite effect though.

Not only did it not stop the healer’s tears it actually made them cry more.

_____ couldn't stop the tears from flowing no matter how hard they tried. After a few seconds of trying they gave up and asked Cale a question instead.

"Cale-sunbae are you never mad at me? You never yell or punish me even though I keep messing up and is essentially useless to your group of experts..." 

Cale feels as though he is gonna have a heart attack from all the surprises because of _____. 

Are they being serious? 

How could Cale get mad at them or think of them as useless when their abilities are so useful? 

Just the amount of money they've saved from using fewer potions because they have a great healer was already amazing. Then there's the ancient power that makes them a living detector. Because of that ability, everyone found it easier to navigate the plants and monsters inside the Forest of Darkness.

How could someone amazing be deemed useless?

This was certainly because of the trash that adopted them.

Cale is going to make sure he fucks them up sooner or later.

But for now, the young master is going to make sure _____ understands their worth.

“I don’t take in useless people. I only take in people that can pay for their meals.”

The redhead used his personal handkerchief to dry the healer's tears.

As he did _____ could feel that warm and fuzzy feeling they felt back at the Whipper Kingdom come back. However, they ignored it in favour of listening to Cale’s words.

“Remember, I personally asked you to join me, to join us. Have you ever seen me make the wrong judgement?”

Cale is definitely tooting his own horn.

But hey if it makes _____ understand.

And it looks like it did because _____ shook their head no. Then they stayed silent as they stared at Cale’s handkerchief. As if they were absorbing the weight of his words.

Cale deemed it enough for now. He knows that _____ will have a hard time reversing everything they’ve learned. It won't be easy, but Cale is willing to go at _____’s pace.

Later that night Choi Han knocked on Cale’s door to report something.

When the swordmaster entered the room the first thing he noticed was how none of the children were with Cale.

“They’re in _____’s room. They said something about making sure that _____ doesn’t cry again.”

Was Cale’s short answer when asked.

“_____-nim cried?”

Choi Han couldn’t believe it. Just what did his Cale-nim say to someone as expressionless as _____ that it made them cry…

“Check on them yourself if you don’t believe me.”

That’s exactly what Choi Han did after he finished his report.

Don’t get him wrong, it wasn’t because he didn’t trust Cale’s words. It’s more because he wanted to see if the healer was doing better now.

The black-haired man knocked on the door and Raon answered by opening it using mana.

It’s dark in the room but Choi Han has no problems seeing everything. As he scans the room he sees the children averaging 8 years old lying down on _____’s bed. The two kittens are already asleep just like the healer, leaving the black dragon to be the only one awake.

Choi Han smiled at the sight. The children didn’t look any different aside from the fact they were sleeping on _____’s bed instead of Cale’s. At the same time, it looks like _____ themself is sleeping peacefully.

The swordmaster checked everything one more time to make sure he didn’t miss anything before closing the door to let the four get their well-deserved rest.

[not-wholly-unheroic]

A Comparative Analysis of Hook’s Ship and Cabin in Popular Media Portrayals

Part 4: Peter Pan (2003)

P.J. Hogan’s 2003 film is full of life and color, and Isaacs’ Hook is likewise a colorful character who, though grounded in reality, most definitely has a flair for the dramatic and a taste for the finer things in life.

Like the other Hooks we have seen thus far, Isaacs’ Jolly Roger appears to be the large stereotypical pirate ship that all children think of, despite the impracticality of a slower vessel in actual piracy. (By this point, I think we should just assume that all Hooks go for form over function when it comes to their choice of ship.) It’s a gorgeous ship, and I do wish we got more close-ups of the outside of this particular Roger so we could see more of what’s going on with all the decorative work on the outside of the cabin and the figurehead, etc. One thing, though, that stands out about this ship is that the mainsail itself has a giant skull and crossed swords on it. This would be completely impractical for any actual ship, as the enemy would see them coming and know they were pirates right off the bat…lending credence to the idea that this ship (and this Hook) may be deeply shaped by the children’s imagination. Then again…what else should we expect of a pirate ship whose name itself is the Jolly Roger?

The shots we get of the inside of Isaacs Hook’s cabin reveal the living space of a man who is accustomed to a decadent lifestyle but not so over-the-top as to be entirely unrealistic. While his beautifully decorated harpsichord is the centerpiece of the room, we also notice that he has several tables, a couch, and a globe.

This is about all we can tell from the in-film shots of the cabin, but some promotional material and a pirate-themed hotel that purchased a few set pieces from the film and set up their own room to mimic Hook’s can give us a few ideas about what the rest of the cabin might look like. (Big shout-out to @annabellioncourt for providing several of these bonus material images!)

In the one promotional photo, there is what looks like a lute, perhaps, in the background. I also love the little detail of the skull and crossbones on the candle stand…and his li’l stripey socks.

Here we can see the full-sized bed with a gun and what looks like it might be an Eton crest over it. (Note that if you pay close attention in Hook’s intro scene in the film, you will actually see that the tattoo on his left arm is an Eton crest as well.)

Isaacs Hook also has a self-portrait in his cabin, it seems…which interestingly has a date on the frame of 1742. This is about the most specific we get with ANY Hook as far as time period goes. This is after the Golden Age of Piracy had really already come to an end, though it’s technically possible he might still have been “Blackbeard’s bosun” depending on his age, as Blackbeard’s career ended in 1718 in a battle off Ocracoke Island, NC. Isaacs himself was around 40 years old when the filming was done, so if we want to assume Hook was around the same age when he came to Neverland and the portrait was done shortly before then, he would have been around 16 at the time of Blackbeard’s downfall. A bit young but…it’s possible if he started his career at sea early. Cabin boys usually started out around age 12 but could be as young as 8-ish on occasion. However…this wouldn’t really track with Hook being an Eton student. Assuming he actually graduated, he would have been at the school until he turned 18. So while Isaacs Hook may have very well been a sailor or even more specially a pirate prior to Neverland…he likely wasn’t a peer of Blackbeard or the other more well-known pirates of the early 1700s.

One last thing that is interesting to me is that in addition to the more standard weapons/tools like chains, guns, and boarding axes that we see in some shots, this version of Hook keeps what looks like an entire small cabinet of various tinctures and powders. At least the one of them which he removes is poison, but one wonders….are they all different kinds of poison? Or are some, perhaps, medicinal in nature or for recreational use?

As a whole, Isaacs’ Hook is, I think, perhaps one of the most realistic portrayals of the character. While there are some highly fanciful aspects to his ship—like the giant skull on the mainsail—much of his personal space has the lavish furnishings one might expect of someone with an aristocratic background without feeling too entirely impractical. Add to that a concrete date on the portrait, and I’d say this Hook is more grounded in reality than nearly any of the others we’ve encountered so far.

[dynamic-swap-au-archive]

I'd like to offer gorillaz fans (and Potential gorillaz fans) another resource that I've spent over a year creating and perfecting.

The Gorillaz !

This playlist is, to the best of my ability, Every Single piece of gorillaz content that can be found on youtube in story order.

all of the music videos, all of the indents, all of the interviews, animations, radio shows, news specials, podcasts, audio books, tiktoks, Everything.

on top of that ! I made the decision to include select fan content! because Frankly the gorillaz fandom is unimaginably talented and creative. this includes Fully animating several music videos that were cancelled, but given to us in animatic form, original animations, animatics, and storyboards, fan visualizers and recreations of live visuals, even voice fan dubs for written material like the interviews and novels.

and more than that, with the (incredible) fan content that was available I've Also been able to flesh out the stories of each phase! a decision I made due to the plastic beach, the third album, never getting to finish the story officially (leading to the band breaking up and coming back 7 years later).

I'm so proud of what I've been able to do with it ! and even happier to share the picture I've been able to make as a whole :>

below the cut I'm going to include several other playlists that are based on this one, but made to be more digestible and less intimidating for newcomers ! as well as many other resources to fill in the gaps that this playlist can't ! (namely the written material)

thank you ! and I hope I can share something I love with all of you !

First is the simplest ! all of the music videos in order ! (plus a Few indents, because I can't help myself): [Link]

this obviously means that you lose out on quite a bit of context, as much of who the characters are as People and their relationships together are in the extra material (especially the shorts and interviews). BUT

this is the most Accessible, and also really convenient if you just want to vibe to the music. if you're not sure if you want to commit this kind of time to a cartoon band, consider checking this out! you may find yourself interested enough to learn more, or you may just have a good time and feel satisfied with what you've seen ! either way I'd be honored to have helped :>

Second, the Midpoint between these two extremes !: Phase 1-3 [Link] Phase 4-7 [Link]

these Include extra material like the shorts and animation, but Cuts Out some of the longer content like the podcasts and interviews! you can still get a pretty good idea about what happens in the story of each phase watching this, but it's not bogged down by videos that are hours long.

it'll give you a clearer picture of what's going on, include fun side content, while being less intimidating than the Full playlist. this is what I use to show my friends gorillaz !

alright, so you've got just the music videos and just the short stuff, now lets try just the Long stuff. all of the interviews, radio shows, podcasts, Etc: [Link]

maybe you've used my last playlists and now you'd like to listen to some of those long form videos you missed out on. maybe you just want to listen to these characters talk because it's Nice. either way, it's all here :> (I know, because I had to upload some of them myself)

Pirate Radio: [Link]

it's all here with One technical exception. pirate radio was the serial radio show for plastic beach/phase 3, that gave us insight into murdoc's frame of mind as a character. it Also used copywriten music. the reuploads on youtube cut the music out (likely because they wouldn't be available otherwise), while this google drive has the full unedited audio files if anyone would be interested!

this one may seem redundant, but I promise it isn't. All of the gorillaz albums in order: [Link]

this playlist (for the most part) doesn't Have any visuals, it's Only the music.

likewise, all of the music in the previous playlists are only those songs that Have visuals (official or fan made), which means not all of gorillaz's music is present! which is exactly what this is for :>

you have every album in order, filling in the gaps of what's been missed, As Well As special albums that are Associated with gorillaz, and gorillaz' guest appearances in other people's music !

now we're out of my playlists and into other resources :>

Lobotomy Pop: [Link]

this is a website that's worked for years to preserve and organize Every Single written interview gorillaz has ever done ! it's an invaluable resource and really just very cool.

it also categorizes several other things ! such as listing out all of the personal playlists the gorillaz members have put out over the years, or every profile that's ever been written for the characters ! it's very much so worth checking out as a fan.

Gorillaz Art Archive: [Link]

exactly what is says on the tin ! this is a google drive that's attempting to archive Every Single piece of official gorillaz art that was released from phase 1 in 2001, to phase 5 in 2018. it is Massive and it's such a joy to have access to

The Kong Files: [Link]

if you were wondering why the art archive stopped at 2018, this would be why ! the kong files has much the same goal, but instead picking up at phase 6 and continuing on Theoretically forever ! or at least it's kept up with all of phase 7

that said ! the kong files is attempting to document Everything relating to those phases. so all of the social media, all of the music videos, all of the written text, Everything !

I wouldn't try to Only use this for watching phase 6 and 7, but it's an Excellent resource for everything that could fall between the cracks

Rise of the Ogre on Archive dot Com: [Link]

rise of the ogre was an official novel released at the end of demon days (the second album/phase 2), that covered the entire history of the band up until that point! their backstories, how they met each other, what they'd gotten up to in the 10 years they'd known each other, and the shocking event that happened at the very end of the phase and the band's reaction to it. all leading in to plastic beach, (arguably) the Most story heavy phase of them all.

as I understand it, this novel has been out of print for a very long time and is quite expensive to buy second hand. so ! it's been scanned and uploaded here to the archive! there's actually several more scans available in the gorillaz art archive, but this is the most recent (having been uploaded just earlier this year).

Dawn of the Ogre: [Link]

dawn of the ogre is the fanmade sequel to rise of the ogre, attempting to fill in the gaps of what happened at the end of phase 3, the 7 year gap, and up to the (then) newest point of canon.

this is, of course, unofficial. so this is essentially fancy fanfiction. But it's extremely well done fanfiction that happens to be novel length, attempting to emulate the style of the original novel, and is fully illustrated. along with being available completely for free!

I'd definitely give it a shot, if you're the type of person who's already read rise of the ogre

the gorillaz wiki !: [Link]

I have no clue what the fandom thinks about it, but it was absolutely invaluable both in making my playlist, and becoming a fan at all. with all the work I've done my hope is that people won't need to go digging for themselves, but the Option is certainly always nice !

I'd Especially like to highlight this page [Link] which has transcriptions for all of the pirate radio show episodes !

I feel like there's a lot to find here :>

and of course, my own dynamic swap au archive! [Link]

if you've fallen in love with gorillaz and are desperate for more to sink your teeth into, then I couldn't recommend this enough !

keep in mind that these resources will continue updating ! as new music is created and new fan content is made! I'm keeping my eyes out on a fan project for a fully animated mv right now that I'm sure will make it to my playlists one day :>

[comicaurora]

Out of curiosity, how far ahead are you on the comic? I mean, you must have it all planned and written out, but I imagine that you are drawing the future of Aurora even while we're reading it.

So is Arc 2 already illustrated and ready for upload while you're on like Arc 5 or something? I'm by no means undermining your need for a break; I'm shocked that you've been uploading continuously for over 4 years at this point. I'm just interested to know how long it takes a person to make something this great. And also if you change any details in the final edit?

Basically: what's the workflow like?

Also I think you low-key inspired me to pick up painting as a hobby. I'm ready to pour so much money into creating things that I know I'll hate. :)

God, arc 5? That's a very generous assessment of how fast I can draw!

Typically, when the comic is updating regularly, I keep a buffer of 10 to 20 completed pages. Right now, in the interest of taking a break, the buffer is 0 completed pages.

Chapter 1 of Arc 2 is completely storyboarded, meaning it's sketched out, the dialog is all mostly finalized barring last-minute rephrasements, etc. It can be read in its current form, it just looks unpretty. In fact, just for fun, here's a sneak peek!

In the next month I'll go through and finalize as many pages from this chapter as possible - which means locking down the panel borders, fleshing out the backgrounds, lining, shading, coloring, polish, etc. - which will be the process of building up a new buffer for when the comic starts back up again in January. During that time, I'll also be storyboarding Chapter 2 and as much of the following parts as I can manage.

I have the next several chapters and sub-arcs planned out in loose timelines - event A happens at location B leading to consequences C and D, stuff like that. Chapter 2, being the closest, is a little more fleshed-out, with a more detailed bullet-pointed timeline and various character ideas I've had that might or might not make it into the final version.

What exactly the chapter breakdown is going to look like is a little more complicated. Initially I'd planned for Chapter 1 to be low-stakes downtime and Chapter 2 to quickly kick off the high-octane adventure again, but when I started bullet-pointing out the stuff I wanted to do in Chapter 2, I ended up with a big pile of slower-paced character moments I thought were well worth exploring, so the runtimes might stretch a little.

Translating those brainstormed notes into storyboards and dialog is what I would classify as the "writing" part of this process. It happens at an erratic pace largely determined by the whims of whatever muse decides to get me in a headlock that day; sometimes I go weeks with no storyboarding progress, sometimes I hammer out fifteen pages in one day.

It's kinda like weaving, to me. The soon-to-be-arriving parts of the story are the most finalized, the most densely woven. A little ways beyond that, things get looser - some patterns may be locked down, but the actual work that'll hold it together hasn't been done yet. And in the far-flung future arcs, it's just the basic bones of the story and a pile of the threads I've planned to use. I know the shape of it, but in order for it to be fun and engaging for me to make it, I need to give myself room to be creative when I'm putting the whole thing together.

I actually have a file called the "Toolbox" that contains every random character or subplot idea I've had, and sometimes when I'm debating where to go with a chunk of story, I'll crack it open and scan through to see if anything jumps out begging to be used. Lotta fun stuff in there that may or may not ever see the light of day. Dropping stuff in the Toolbox is one of the most fun and freeing parts of the process for me!

[thatsonemorbidcorvid]

“Every year, about 25,000 (UK) women who give birth — approximately 4 per cent — are so distressed that they meet the diagnostic criteria for post-traumatic stress disorder. That makes birth one of the biggest causes of PTSD in the UK according to the Birth Trauma Association charity – probably coming second only to sexual abuse and rape. Hundreds of thousands more women are traumatised. This is a major health crisis. And yet it is barely discussed…

According to figures from NHS Resolution, the arm of the Department of Health and Social Care that handles litigation, 62 per cent of the total clinical negligence cost of harm in 2022-23 (£6.6 billion) related to maternity.”

When my husband and I left for hospital on a Friday afternoon, we had no idea what would happen. The next few hours would change my life. For good and bad. It had all started with a cervical sweep the day before. I was 40 weeks and 4 days pregnant and, frankly, I’d had enough. My pregnancy had been uncomplicated in terms of my baby — she was healthy throughout, albeit had spent much of her time in the back-to-back position. But I had found the nine months increasingly difficult. From around 20 weeks I’d suffered from pelvic girdle pain, which, for me, meant increasingly agonising pain in my lower back. Walking and other everyday movements became difficult. The only place I felt vaguely comfortable was in water. Swimming was a relief.

Women are offered a sweep to help induce labour. A midwife inserts their finger and sweeps around your cervix. It’s about as basic as you can get. They’re trying to separate the membranes of the amniotic sac that surround the baby from your cervix. This then releases hormones, which may help start your labour. “Some women find the procedure uncomfortable or painful,” NHS guidelines say. I found it excruciating.

“Oh,” the midwife said, as I lay in a rather compromised position. “I might have broken your waters.” This didn’t make sense to me. I’d always assumed that when my waters broke, I’d know about it. Apparently not always, and I was instructed to call the hospital if contractions hadn’t begun within 24 hours as I was now potentially at risk of infection.

They didn’t start. And I did what I’d been asked. The voice on the phone was chirpy — everything sounded fine, stay at home, we’ll be seeing you soon enough. Half an hour later, my phone rang. “Where are you? You’re meant to be at the hospital,” the woman said angrily. I needed to come in immediately to be examined.

It was late Friday afternoon and it was busy. We took the last of the beds in maternity triage. And my waters broke in earnest. That solved the mystery, I suggested. No, I was told, and the water birth I’d hoped for was out of the question — too risky.

Strong and regular contractions started immediately. We were moved to a glorified cupboard that had been turned into a makeshift holding room. I was denied any pain relief because it was “too early”, and told that someone would bring me some paracetamol when they came to “examine” me.

It seems obvious when you think about it, but I had never been told what being “examined” meant. Nor thought about it. It sounds medical. But it’s literally a midwife sticking their fingers inside you. I was 3cm dilated. Plenty of time to go, apparently. It was 9.30pm. I felt sick and in enormous pain. Both were dismissed — until I vomited everywhere. And lost control of my bowels. This would happen several more times over the coming hours. I felt utterly ashamed. Again, it’s common — but I hadn’t been told.

I continued to ask for pain relief and continued to receive none. An hour later, I was 7cm dilated — in full labour — and finally received some paracetamol. There was no space on the labour ward. In just another half an hour, I was fully dilated and ready for the baby to come out. No one seemed to know what to do. The midwives were panicking. And that made me scared. This was my first baby. I didn’t know what to expect. We were rushed to the ward. Already, nothing had gone the way I wanted, or the way it had been talked about at National Childbirth Trust (NCT) classes. Eventually, I was given gas and air to ease the pain. But only for about 20 minutes. Apparently it was “distracting” me too much and I needed to push.

Two hours later there was still no baby and I was in agony. A doctor arrived, took a brief look and said cheerily, “You’re going to be fine. You’re going to get that baby out.” And then he left. My maternity notes state, “PLAN: continue pushing.” I have no idea what this refers to — like so many of my notes. There was no plan. If there was, it wasn’t one I had agreed to. Finally, after another hour the decision was made that the doctor would use a ventouse — a suction cup that sits on your baby’s head — to help deliver my baby. Apparently I consented to this, but I have no recollection of doing so. And I’m ashamed to say I didn’t know what was being asked of me. My doctor didn’t use the word ventouse. He used “Kiwi”, which is a type of ventouse. At the time, I didn’t know what either were.

I remember screaming in pain and then my daughter finally being born. She was placed on my chest for less than a minute. I was examined, told I had a fourth-degree tear that must be repaired and that I needed to sign a consent form for surgery straight away. “Look at the state of her,” my usually mild-mannered husband said. “How can she possibly sign a form?” I couldn’t. The writing on that form is barely legible, but they would not proceed without it.

I had no idea what had happened. I lay in an operating theatre in pain, silent tears rolling down my face. I was frightened. The anaesthetist was amazing and stayed with me while I was repaired. I am so grateful for that, at least. But I also feel guilty about it. It was half past three on a Saturday morning and she was the only anaesthetist on duty at the London hospital. Other women may well not have received the pain relief they needed because of me. “Will I be able to have any more children?” I asked as I stared at the ceiling.

After surgery I was moved to the high dependency unit (HDU) and reunited with my daughter. I finally held and fed her for the first time. That morning is a blur. My notes tell me we stayed in the HDU for five hours before being moved to a ward. It was there that I attempted to understand what had happened to me. I was in pain, barely able to move and soaked in blood. I asked various midwives to explain what had gone on. They repeated that I’d had a fourth-degree tear, but I didn’t know what that meant. One line, in scribbled handwriting, stands out when I look at my notes: “We don’t have any written info about fourth-degree tears.”

Eventually, a midwife appeared with some information they’d printed off after googling it. As I read it, I sobbed. I was 35 years old and thought my life was over; that I would be incontinent. And still no doctor came to explain. The medic who’d delivered my daughter was eventually marched to my bedside more than 48 hours later.

I am perhaps unusual in that I’ve always wanted children. We had done what many middle-class suburban couples did at that time and attended NCT classes. The underlying message of these was: try to avoid a caesarean section at all costs. “Natural” births were best, and even better just to breathe through it. No need for pain relief. I remember in our penultimate class bringing up the subject of tearing during labour. I had seen a TV feature on it that week and it struck me as important. “If most of us are going to tear to some degree, it would be really helpful to talk about that,” I remember saying. “It would be good to know how best to care for ourselves afterwards, that kind of thing.” The answer was no, there was no need. Instead, we proceeded to get on all fours and “moo” like cows and then practise putting nappies on a doll.

Up to nine in ten first-time mothers who have a vaginal birth will experience some sort of tear. The least invasive kind involves only the skin from the vagina and the perineum — the area between a woman’s vagina and anus. These tears usually heal quickly and without any treatment. Second-degree tears involve the muscle of the perineum and require stitches. Third and fourth-degree tears are the most serious. These involve not just tearing of the skin and muscle of the perineum but the muscle of the anus. In fourth-degree tears, the injury can extend into the lining of the bowel. These deeper tears need proper surgical repair under anaesthetic.

I don’t really have any happy memories of the first few days or weeks after we left the hospital. I was completely in love with my baby, but I felt shellshocked. I couldn’t process what had happened and there was no one who offered to help me. A different midwife was sent to our house every couple of days to weigh our daughter. I had no milk the first few days and she had lost a fair bit of weight. Even when my milk came in, I found breastfeeding painful and difficult, in large part because it hurt so much to sit down.

I cried quietly every day for several months. Often it would come completely out of nowhere. I’d be talking or watching television and I would just start to cry. Several midwives wrote in my notes in those early weeks the same phrase: “Mum is anxious.” I don’t think I was. I was traumatised. Several weeks later, I was told that I was “lucky” by the midwife examining my stitches. Apparently the doctors had done a “wonderful” job at repairing me and it looked “beautiful”. I now know that I was fortunate to be repaired properly and immediately after the birth. But the last thing I felt — then or now — was lucky.

After several months I desperately needed to have some control over my life again. I had never felt so helpless, lost and infantilised. But my overarching feeling was anger. I wrote to the chief executive and chair of the hospital to complain and was invited in for a debrief. The head of midwifery was lovely, apologised and followed through on her promise to try to prevent other women facing the appalling lack of communication I had. The hospital now has a specialist perineal health clinic too.

But the attitude of the consultant obstetrician whom I met with my husband floored us both. It was about six months after the birth, but I was still under the care of a consultant urogynaecologist. (I subsequently had two further operations: the first 14 months after giving birth to remove an undissolved stitch that was causing pain but hadn’t been spotted, and another six months after that.) My urogynaecologist had told me not even to consider giving birth vaginally again. The risk was too great, he explained. If I tore again, there was a 30 per cent chance I couldn’t be repaired and I’d be incontinent. The obstetrician said the opposite — don’t rule it out! I saw red. “How dare you,” I growled. I remember saying that he would never be so cavalier about a man’s body.

Every year, about 25,000 women who give birth — approximately 4 per cent — are so distressed that they meet the diagnostic criteria for post-traumatic stress disorder. That makes birth one of the biggest causes of PTSD in the UK according to the Birth Trauma Association charity – probably coming second only to sexual abuse and rape. Hundreds of thousands more women are traumatised. This is a major health crisis. And yet it is barely discussed.

“Birth trauma is a broad term, but generally it’s overwhelming distress that leads to a detrimental impact on well-being,” explains Susan Ayers, professor of maternal and child health at City University in London. Estimates “range massively”, she says, but having conducted research into birth trauma for almost 30 years, Ayers puts it at about a third. “If you ask women whether they thought they or their baby was going to die or be severely injured, then it’s around 19-20 [per cent] in the UK. But if people just ask women, ‘Was your birth traumatic?’ some of those estimates are up to 50 per cent.”

“I’M BEATRICE’S MUM,” EMILY SAID, introducing herself to a committee of MPs in March. “Beatrice died during labour at full term in May 2022.” Emily is one of a number of brave women who have shared their traumatic birth stories with the all-party parliamentary group (APPG) on birth trauma, during the first parliamentary inquiry into this issue.

“As soon as my labour started,” Emily explained, “I knew it wasn’t right, wasn’t normal.” The details are harrowing: a series of obvious but missed red flags and an attitude from medical professionals that can only be described as cruel. The midwife who shrugged her shoulders when Emily’s waters were meconium-stained; the consultant obstetrician who laughed at the “slimy” feel of that meconium while her hand was still inside Emily.

“The ultrasound scanning machine was brought in and showed that Beatrice’s heartbeat had stopped,” she explained. “At that point I begged, pleaded like I’ve never pleaded for anything in my life for a caesarean, and that consultant obstetrician refused. She said no. And she left.”

“It’s destroyed my life,” Emily says now. “I’m not the person I was before.”

This inquiry has been led by the APPG’s co-chairs, the Conservative MP Theo Clarke and Labour’s Rosie Duffield. They received more than 1,200 written submissions after asking women to share their experiences; that number doubles if you count the letters and emails they’ve been sent informally.

“The thing that’s really struck me is there seems to be a taboo around talking about the risk of childbirth,” Clarke tells me when I sit down with both women in Westminster. There shouldn’t be, she adds. “Something we’ve heard from a number of the mothers coming to speak to us is that there’s such a focus on the baby post-delivery, they almost forget there’s a second patient in the room, and that’s the mother.”

“I was constantly told by GPs that I had nothing wrong with me,” one mother, Sarah, told the MPs. She experienced a major tear that doctors and midwives failed to diagnose. “I was discharged two days later with [an] untreated tear, which very quickly led to enormous amounts of pain, incontinence, faecal incontinence and thinking I was going mad.”

“It’s very painful,” explained Jenny, who also experienced a serious tear that was left untreated, “but the long-term consequences of an unrepaired tear are that I had to give up my job. I’ve suffered PTSD, anxiety, depression. My activities are restricted. My life is impacted in that I have to meticulously plan my day around toilets.”

Another mother, Neera, lost three litres of blood and required more than ten hours of life-saving emergency surgery the day her daughter was born. The haemorrhage had not been picked up by staff. She said she is fortunate to have had the “means and support” to access mental healthcare over four and a half years of her five-year-old’s life. “I have personally spent over £6,000 and received more than 50 hours of mental health support,” she told parliament.

The women who have spoken to politicians as part of the inquiry had different medical experiences. But there were obvious similarities. Their concerns and their pain were dismissed. They were not treated with respect or, in some cases, like human beings. They felt helpless, angry and scared. “Nobody really cares about women,” says Kim Thomas, CEO of the Birth Trauma Association. “What we tend to find with most of these stories is there’s failure after failure after failure. Lots of things go physically wrong… and that continues afterwards in the postnatal period with really poor care.” Almost all women seeking out the charity say their experience was made much worse by the way they were treated during labour. “The number of stories we hear of women being shouted at by midwives or laughed at by midwives is quite extraordinary.”

Birth doesn’t have to be this way. And it isn’t for many women. But women, in England in particular, could — and should — be having better experiences than they are.

Let’s start with serious tears. The number one risk factor is being a first-time mum. There’s nothing much that can be done about that. But the next is having an instrumental vaginal delivery — and in particular one that uses forceps. “Data indicates that we use more forceps than other parts of Europe,” says Dr Ranee Thakar, president of the Royal College of Obstetricians and Gynaecologists (RCOG). While rates in several European countries hover at around 0 per cent, a 2023 study of assisted births in 13 high-income countries found England used forceps in a higher proportion of births — about 11 per cent — than any other.

There are cases where forceps must be used. When babies are premature, suction would cause too much damage to the head. But that’s doesn’t explain the discrepancy. “It’s education,” Thakar explains. “We should be trained to do both [forceps and ventouse], so that we provide the best care to women and use the right instrument for the right baby and the right mother.”

The risk of a severe tear when forceps are used is at least twice as high as with ventouse: 8-12 per cent compared with 4 per cent. Women should be told this. The recent parliamentary inquiry heard other suggestions that might explain why forceps use in England is so high. The consultant gynaecologist and obstetrician Dr Nitish Raut explained that when poor outcomes of childbirth become part of litigation, the question, “Why were forceps not applied earlier?” will be asked. Although they can cause injury to mothers, forceps are the most effective instrument for getting a baby out. If a doctor tries and fails to deliver a baby with the less invasive ventouse first, a record will be made at the hospital trust. It was suggested by others that this might also be pushing some doctors straight to forceps use even when they might not be necessary.

“Training is a really key part of everything here,” Posy Bidwell, deputy head of midwifery at South Warwickshire Foundation Trust, told MPs. “If we can train people, we can prevent these injuries happening. Many midwifery students wouldn’t know the impact that these injuries are having on women.”

Newly qualified midwives did not know enough about perineal damage, and yet they’re providing one-to-one care to women. Current training did not seem to see it as a priority: while several aspects of maternity care are mandatory each year, suturing and perineal protection are not.

Neither doctors nor midwives appear to be taught how to routinely examine women after they have given birth either. Where this was once part of mandatory medical training, doctors are no longer encouraged to do it, Raut explained.

England is short of as many as 2,500 midwives, the Royal College of Midwives (RCM) estimates, although people are wanting to train and join the profession. Donna Ockenden, who is reviewing maternity services at Nottingham and who previously did so at Shrewsbury and Telford Hospitals NHS Trust, cautions against being too optimistic, however. The focus needs to be on retention. “Two midwives don’t equal two midwives,” she told parliament, “of we are losing midwives with 20, 30, 35 years’ experience… and they’re then being replaced by a more junior workforce, who are not being supported in those early days of their career.”

In the past decade and a half, the UK has seen several NHS maternity scandals — in Morecambe Bay, Shrewsbury and Telford, and East Kent. In all these cases, some of the poor care provided to mothers and their babies was because of a push towards “normal” or “natural” birth and a desire to keep caesarean section rates low. The RCM ended its campaign for “normal births” in 2017, but its legacy persists. Some NHS trusts still talk about them today. A culture of cover-ups and a lack of care remains in others. Just last month, the Care Quality Commission found that staff at Great Western Hospital in Swindon had been downgrading third and fourth-degree tears, “which meant they were not investigated as thoroughly as they should” have been. The c-section target was only officially dropped in 2022. Does RCOG now accept that it was a mistake? “It’s difficult for me to say years later whether it was a mistake or not,” Thakar tells me. “I think there was a general trend at the time to put figures to caesarean section rates. But now we know that, we don’t do that.” It was now right that women were offered a choice; she insists she hasn’t seen an attitude against caesareans more recently.

Aside from any physical and psychological impact, traumatic births are costing the country billions. According to figures from NHS Resolution, the arm of the Department of Health and Social Care that handles litigation, 62 per cent of the total clinical negligence cost of harm in 2022-23 (£6.6 billion) related to maternity. Of the £2.6 billion spent on clinical negligence payments that year, £1.1 billion (41 per cent) related to maternity. (As the fact-checking service Full Fact explains, the cost of harm differs from the amount actually paid out in compensation: the former includes an estimate of claims expected in the future arising from incidents in that financial year.) The year before, maternity services accounted for 60 per cent of the total clinical negligence cost of harm (£13.6 billion). NHS England spends about £3 billion a year on maternity and neonatal services.

There is such a long way to go. The government is well behind on its long-term target of halving the rates of stillbirth and neonatal mortality by 2025; the death of mothers within 42 days of the end of pregnancy is at its highest rate in almost 20 years. And while only a handful of trusts have been subject to official investigations, there are signs that poor care is happening across the country. Only half of maternity units in England are rated good or outstanding; one in ten is inadequate. That is a damning indictment of the way so many women are cared for.

One crucial area of improvement does not cost money at all. It requires a shift in attitude to one where women are treated with respect, listened to and allowed to make informed decisions about their bodies and babies.

When I first heard of parliament’s inquiry into birth trauma, it was never my intention to share my experience. Doing so has been upsetting and uncomfortable. But as I sat listening to other women talk about how giving birth had affected them so profoundly, it felt dishonest to stay quiet. Difficult births are not something we should feel ashamed of — much as I know many women will have been, myself included.

[doubleddenden]

Diving through the leaks from today (I have not slept yet) in regards to the cut gen 5, 4, and even 3 content has been such an adventure. I feel like I've discovered several more AUs in which 1 small decision could have had a ripple effect on the franchise for years to come.

Especially the gen 4 beta lore that was apparently dug up. Yall thought shit was religious now, they had a straight up PANTHEON planned. Not to mention it makes that church suddenly make sense- this wasn't just worshipping a Pokemon, this was literally a god with god like mythos. Like Arceus hatched from an egg in the middle of chaos at the beginning of time, his own egg shards became GIANTS that tried to kill him, and Arceus rapidly grew and beat them all. He made Dialga and Palkia to be his alter egos out of his own blood and to be God's of time and LIGHT, apparently, and Dialga and Palkia LOVED EACH OTHER- not hated and tried to kill each other, LOVED EACH OTHER. HAD CHILDREN. And assuming I read correctly, those two had the lake trio, who made the tree of life, destroyed it, and Rayquaza, Groudon, and Kyogre were born. In fact, Rayquaza may have been the shadow of ANOTHER POKEMON that became the pillar of the heavens?

It's pretty hardcore and confusing stuff. The giants stuff absolutely puts the Fighting Plate lore into perspective with its text "the power of giants fills this plate with power" or something.

I think it's pretty obvious why it was all cut or severely dumbed down, but it is actually very interesting to see that at some point, they were extremely dedicated to the world building of the franchise before they kinda said "fuck it it's whatever now."

On a mechanical end, it's also incredibly interesting. Gen 5 was almost the gen to introduce 3d models for players, apparently. I think it's pretty obvious why they went with an enhanced 2.5d approach, given the ds wasn't ready for much beyond ps1 graphics, but it's still incredible to think that was even a concept at the time.

And the lost beta Pokemon, oh my God. Gen 3 had a bunch that were eventually redesigned. Lickylicky in gen 4 almost made sense because it's body looked READY TO ROLL OUT! Archeops in gen 5 was almost cool af with some slightly different proportions. There's just a bunch that go completely unused.

And characters- yall, Team Galactic almost served cunt. Saturn almost was cool, and Mars and Jupiter would have DONE something to people. There's also in depth profiles on certain characters- Skyla was apparently modeled after Jennifer Lopez and was coded to be Hispanic. Each gen 5 gym leader had races assigned to each, and a real life inspiration behind each.

Even mechanics are talked about- a lot of scrapped ideas, such as one from Morimoto that was basically Pinkan Pokemon from Orange Islands but shifting your Pokemon's colors depending on the berries they ate. Masuda apparently had some reservations about following Pokemon- hence why it was so limited in DP and other games he directs.

It's information like this that really amazes me. So much of what could have been, so much info fans have theorized just kinda confirmed in some cases. I wish they'd talk about this stuff, because this is all genuinely interesting to see. Genuinely, I want to know the thought processes going on for some of these ideas and designs.

[mybeingthere]

Keith Haring about life and death when he was already ill:

“No matter how long you work, it’s always going to end sometime. And there’s always going to be things left undone. And it wouldn’t matter if you lived until you were seventy-five. There would still be new ideas. There would still be things that you wished you would have accomplished. You could work for several lifetimes….Part of the reason that I’m not having trouble facing the reality of death is that it’s not a limitation, in a way. It could have happened any time, and it is going to happen sometime. If you live your life according to that, death is irrelevant. Everything I’m doing right now is exactly what I want to do.”[18. Sheff, p. 102]

Keith Haring was born on May 4, 1958 in Reading, Pennsylvania, and was raised in nearby Kutztown, Pennsylvania. He developed a love for drawing at a very early age, learning basic cartooning skills from his father and from the popular culture around him, such as Dr. Seuss and Walt Disney.

Upon graduation from high school in 1976, Haring enrolled in the Ivy School of Professional Art in Pittsburgh, a commercial arts school. He soon realized that he had little interest in becoming a commercial graphic artist and, after two semesters, dropped out. While in Pittsburgh, Haring continued to study and work on his own and in 1978 had a solo exhibition of his work at the Pittsburgh Arts and Crafts Center.

Later that same year, Haring moved to New York City and enrolled in the School of Visual Arts (SVA). In New York, Haring found a thriving alternative art community that was developing outside the gallery and museum system, in the downtown streets, the subways and spaces in clubs and former dance halls. Here he became friends with fellow artists Kenny Scharf and Jean-Michel Basquiat, as well as the musicians, performance artists and graffiti writers that comprised the burgeoning art community. Haring was swept up in the energy and spirit of this scene and began to organize and participate in exhibitions and performances at Club 57 and other alternative venues.

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