#Interesting Facts About Luxembourg
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elkonsolonline · 9 months ago
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hard--headed--woman · 7 months ago
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I know I spent two days without posting any lesbian pride post lol but I swear I'm gonna post two posts per day in the following days to make up for it. I am again going to talk about an artist, but from a different period this time.
Rosa Bohneur !
(I love her name by the way... Bohneur means happiness in french and that's such a pretty name to have)
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Marie-Rosalie Bonheur, known as Rosa Bonheur, was born in 1822 in Bordeaux and died in 1899 in Thomery. She was a French painter and sculptor specialising in representations of animals.
She has kind of an interesting family story (mother adopted by a rich guy who found out later who was her real father, siblings all artists, father who met a lot of interesting people, links with many famous people...) but it would be too long to talk about it and I want to focus on Rosa herself. Do check it up if you're interested!
During her youth, Rosa Bonheur had a reputation for being a tomboy, a reputation that followed her throughout her life and which she made no attempt to deny, wearing her hair short and later smoking cigarettes and cigars. Her emancipated lifestyle never caused a scandal, even though she lived in an era that was very concerned with convention. Like all women of her time, Rosa Bonheur had to apply to the Prefecture of Paris for a cross-dressing permit, renewable every six months, in order to wear trousers, in particular to attend livestock fairs, travel or ride horses.
Here's one of her permits, from 1857 :
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And though many historians tried to deny the fact that she was a lesbian, she always refused to marry a man, has only ever had relationships with women and literally wrote that she never felt any sort of love, attraction or tenderness for men, "besides a frank and good friendship for those who had all my esteem". After the death of the woman she loved, she also wrote "If I'd been a man, I'd have married her, and they wouldn't have made up all those silly stories..." You got it : even if she didn't shout it from the rooftops, Rosa was very probaby a homosexual woman.
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Rosa Bohneur grew up in a fairly wealthy family, thanks to the financial support of her mother's adoptive father. But when her mother's father died, the family was left without any such support, and fell into dire poverty. When Rosa was 11, her mother died, which deeply traumatised her. She kept a lifelong admiration for her mother.
In 1836, at the age of 14, she met Nathalie Micas, who became her lover. Only Nathalie's death 53 years later separated them.
Her father remarried in 1842 to Marguerite Peyrol, with whom he had a last son, Germain, who would also become a painter. Rosa Bonheur did not get on well with her stepmother and when her father died in 1849, she left the family home to live with the Micas.
After her mother's death, Rosa Bonheur went to primary schools, was apprenticed as a dressmaker and then went to boarding school. Eventually her father took her into his workshop, where her artistic talents were revealed. He was her one and only teacher. Gradually, she developed a passion for animal art, which became her speciality.
She exhibited for the first time, at the age of 19, at the Salon of 1841. She won a 3rd class medal at the Salon of 1845, and a 1st class medal (gold) at the Salon of 1848. This award enabled her, at the age of 26, to obtain a commission from the State to produce an agrarian painting (paid 3,000 francs). The painting resulting from this state commission, "Labourage nivernais" was supposed to go to the Musée des Beaux-Arts in Lyon. But it was so successful at the 1849 Salon that the Beaux-Arts department decided to keep it in Paris, at the Musée du Luxembourg. After Rosa Bonheur's death, the work went to the Louvre, before being transferred to the Musée d'Orsay in 1986.
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When her father died in March 1849, Rosa Bonheur replaced him as director of the École impériale gratuite de dessin pour demoiselles (or École gratuite de dessin pour jeunes filles). She remained in this position until 1860: ‘Follow my advice and I'll turn you into Leonardo da Vinci in skirts’, she often told her pupils.
In 1860, she moved to a huge house in By, where she had a huge workshop built, and ample space for her animals. One of her relatives wrote: “She had a complete menagerie in her house: a lion and a lioness, a deer, a wild sheep, a gazelle, horses, etc. One of her pets was a young lion she let run around. My mind was freer when this leonine animal died".
In June 1864, Rosa was visited by Empress Eugenie, who invited her to lunch at the Château de Fontainebleau with her husband. The following year, Eugenie returned to see her, to present her with the Legion d'honneur herself. Rosa is the ninth woman and the first artist to receive this distinction. About this, The Empress said :
“At last, you've been knighted. I am delighted to be the godmother of the first woman artist to receive this high distinction. I wanted the last act of my regency to be devoted to showing that, in my eyes, genius has no sex."
She was also the first woman to be made an officer in this order, in April 1894 (first female officer of the Legion d'honneur).
Rosa traveled extensively with her lover Nathalie, herself a painter and mechanical enthusiast (she invented and patented a railway braking system), and painted many pictures inspired by her travels.
In 1889, Nathalie died after some 50 years together. It was then that Rosa expressed her regret at not having been able to marry her.
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After Nathalie's death, Rosa met Anna Klumpe, a talented American painter. The two women moved in together some time later.
Rosa Bohneur died of pulmonary congestion in 1899, without having completed her last painting, “La foulaison du blé en Camargue”, a monumental canvas she had planned to exhibit at the 1900 Universal Exhibition.
She is buried in Père Lachaise cemetery, alongside Nathalie, her parents and Anna (who died years after her). She left her entire fortune to Anna, who, in 1908, published a biography of Rosa Bonheur and created a Rosa-Bonheur prize at the Société des artistes français. The Société des Artistes français posthumously awarded her the Medal of Honor shortly after her death.
Rosa could have had military honors at her funeral, but she specified in her will that she did not wish this.
There's a lot of interesting things to say about Rosa, her art and her history, so I suggest you do some research on her! She was a very talented and strong-willed woman who had a huge impact on French art and left a considerable cultural legacy.
Here are some of her paintings :
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I personally love them ! I am not a painting expert, I just find them sooo pretty.
See you tomorrow :)
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vidavalor · 2 months ago
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Hey lovely.
Had a bit of a rabbit hole about Cheneval wine I thought I'd share.
I was thinking about Aziraphale's bad French and possibly one of the reasons he was so confused is because in 1760 due to a lot of political and economic unrest, mainly peasants but a lot a lot of people were moving around France in search of work and new opportunities/conditions. This led to a lot of…shall we say melanging of regional dialects but also a lot of encountering colloquials and variations in language which could make things quite confusion. Encountering many slight variation in pronunciations and meanings can lead to a lot of stumbling and learning on the spot and confusion.
There was also, from the 1600s-1800s ESP a whole lot of France trying to take over neighbor kingdoms/countries. I'm not going to go into the history of the Kingdom of Holland, the Netherlands, Belgium, Luxembourg, Switzerland etc.
But suffice to say during this time there was a lot of French and French colloquialisms also melanging with neighboring Germanic languages.
Anyway long story short.
We've got some melanging.
Chene (where's my circumflex hmph) in French means Oak. Biblically Oaks represent strength of faith.
Val in French is Valley
Now.
One interpretation could be a valley, or a drop off, a lessening of faith.
In Dutch. Val means to fall. As in a devastating fall. The kind of fall of an Angel falling to Hell.
Chene can also colloquially/regionally/melangically in France, esp at that time, refer to variations on the words for "Chain" as well as "I don't" or "I'm not."
Which is great because you can turn that into some sort of nod to if you have strength in your faith you won't fall.
Or, it could mean you are connected/linked to someone who did fall.
Or. Also. Either a funny nod to "I didn't really fall..."
I find it interesting symbolism that Aziraphale did not accept that offer of a glass of wine from Crowley. But a somewhat easy refusal that matched those thousands of years of "you are fallen" and we can't be fraternizing because of our "jobs" with the "I'm at work."
It kind of mirrors the FF to me...like "stay here or run away just be with me," and the "I have to 'work' - you go inside / 'I have to work, come with me to Heaven.'
Which. To be honest. It's like. Aziraphale is doing all of this "work" to set up his ball so that he can, ultimately, try to get them out of their debacle with Heaven and Hell and confess his love to Crowley/be with Crowley.
And then he has to go to "work" in Heaven....also, ultimately, so he can stop the Heaven and Hell bullshit and be with Crowley.
But I like the sort of ambiguity of it all. I'm kind of attached to the idea that Crowley offering Aziraphale glass of wine is him offering that link/chain to Him/the fallen.
And even though Aziraphale doesn't take it....because he has things to do....Crowley holds onto it, consumes it, accepts that Aziraphale is being the responsible one trying to fix things, goes on to defend Aziraphale against Jimbriel....not being angry at Aziraphale for taking care of Jim so much as he is angry at the entire situation and taking it out on Jimbriel because Jimbriel represents the establishment, the whole damn Heaven/Hell bullshit, that Aziraphale is still trying to fix. Because let's be real. Crowley is having a hard time handling it/figuring out what to do. Bbygrl is just sitting there drinking. In FF wanting to run away to Alpha Centauri. Aziraphale is the one who's making the hard choice....having to give up the lovely romantic glass of wine dinner date so that he can fix things. Because nobody else is going to do it.
And the fact that he doesn't say 'No' to the glass of wine lmao. Just says "I'm at work." Sort of....I'm not refusing it per se, I'm telling you I have responsibilities / duties now.
Then the FF 'Tell me you said no' and no direct response to that from Aziraphale... Its the same thing. He never says "I don't want to." And I think the implication there is that he doesn't have a choice. Anyway. I'm not great at these. But that's where I got before I had to stop myself from going further down the rabbit holes.
Hi right back at you! 😍 Apologies for the long response time. OMG word nerdery in my inbox?! Is it Christmas?! This is such a treat! *bounces and rubs hands together* Let's do this! Oh, right, yes, snacks, of course! Kitchen's open. You clearly know your way around this blog so you're cleared to go through the fridge & have whatever strikes ya fancy. 😊
I love your thoughts & had fun doing some digging for a response. I've some more to add about word stuff related to oaks and some stuff about the Monsieur Rossignol scene that you might find interesting beneath the wonderful excuse you've given us for a Crowley-at-Marguerite's gif.
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re: The French lessons in 1760-- I think you're correct about the melanging being why it's 1760 that Aziraphale chooses for year in this line. What you're talking about with the wild changes of language in the decades prior to that would definitely work with that. It shows the extent of Aziraphale's devotion to learning and making a study of French, in particular, that he took lessons-- and I do believe that he did actually take the lessons, despite what else I'm going to say about that scene.
There's always both the literal and the figurative/euphemistic layers in their speak, just as there is on the show as a whole. There's crepes and then there's crepes and there's sushi and there's sushi and I think the French lessons thing is that there were French classes and then there were French classes. Your melanging is likely why Aziraphale chose 1760 for the line but he's been, erm, making a study of French both long before and for ages since. Aziraphale took French lessons in 1760 but he also went to Monsieur Rossignol's night classes then and I'm pretty sure those are not exactly the same things. 😉
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"You speak every language in the world. We both do."
Crowley is basically like: Angel, we both get off on words and speak every language on the planet, including the one we invented and flirt in constantly. Thoughts on why you're seducing me this morning en Francais? To which Aziraphale replies:
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As others have pointed out, Rossignol is the French word for nightingale. The famous family of cryptographers who built the secret code that protected French state secrets for generations is the Rossignol family and they are the reason why the word doesn't just mean nightingale in French but also a skeleton key. In Good Omens, one of the skeleton keys to Crowley and Aziraphale's speak and to the use of language in general-- the master keys that unlock the other doors-- is nightingales. I call their speak Ineffable Husbands Speak in posts but nightingales appears to be basically their word for it.
I wrote a thing recently about how Aziraphale is using "Prof Hoff" in wordplay in 1941 to actually be referring to Crowley. I'm inclined to think he's doing the same thing in this scene with Monsieur Rossignol and that his Mr. Nightingale is Crowley. It's also a fun bit of gender-related humor because he refers to him as Monsieur Rossignol and their mentions night classes. 😊 Monsieur, literally translated in French, is also "my lord" and mmm hot blasphemy. As a bonus in there, the word class comes from a homophone to its plural-- the Latin classis-- which, along with the education definition, was a word related to sub-groups of people within ancient Rome.
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Aziraphale said he learned "French" from Monsieur Rossignol "the hard way", which is both dirty and sweet, as, yeah, iit's a pretty basic erection joke, but also that hard is etymologically derived from and connected to both heard/to hear and heart. Hard/hear/heart in a sentence using Rossignol/nightingales and the two of them feels like it's referring to their spicy and romantic secret language💗 by way of referring to that time there was some linguistic melanging and Aziraphale really did have to take lessons in actual French-the-language, even as he was also spending some classy evenings frenching his rossignol. Long before frenching also became slang related to open-mouthed kissing, to french was euphemistic for oral sex. Devoted Francophile, the angel is.
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re: the wine findings--
One thing I realized in thinking things through to respond to you is that I think we've both been spelling the name of the wine incorrectly. I blew up the gif of Crowley that I put in the top of the post and I think it's actually spelled Chenevel. The good news is that I don't think it actually changes your ideas about the words a lot and might just add a few things to them.
I love how you mentioned that chene (I can't do the accent mark on my Tumblr, either, but I know the word you're talking about) is oak in French. I can add a couple of things to that for you that you might find interesting. I also found oaks in 1941 and have had just this question mark next to it until you mentioned them in your message. That caused me to look at it a bit more and I remembered something interesting about the history of the word that I then confirmed & will put here. First, where the oaks come up in 1941, in case you're interested in that, too. It's in this bit:
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When Aziraphale does the coin trick in the bookshop for Crowley, he presents both coins that are part of the trick-- a sixpence and a farthing. This scene is really meta-- Crowley's even making meta roleplaying jokes while roleplaying an audience-- and I had the feeling that some ties to nightingales were happening quite a bit in it so I was looking at the words pretty carefully. I had a hunch that looking at what is on those coins might prove interesting. I'm American and I don't really know a ton about British coin history (I'd wager there are plenty of British people who don't either lol) so I looked up what was on the farthing and the sixpence. The farthing made me smile a bit because it's a wren--the nightingale-wren-- but the sixpence was stumping me a bit for awhile because it was an oak.
I have been all around the block looking at symbolism of oaks and I had really nothing that was super-direct to Good Omens. Even the Biblical ties felt kinda meh. Everything was kind of "yeah, I guess, if you stretch it, that works" but the symbolism in this story is sharper than that so I got to a point where I was even wondering if this is something that is more set up for the future and would be better understood after S3. Then, I remembered the word history thing I'll share as I think it makes the oaks make more sense.
The word oak in Indo-European languages comes from the root base which evolved into the word tree. Basically, in these languages, etymologically, an oak is part of the root word for every kind of tree because it's part of the root word for the word tree itself. In this way, it's very similar to the word apple. A long time ago, people used the word apple kind of in the way that we use the word fruit today and the roots of types of apples and apple itself also contained the Greek word mela, which is also the basis of the word melon. Fruits were described in relation to apples-- so, dates were originally called fingeraeppla, literally: "finger apples", and so on. As a result, the names of a ton of different fruits are etymologically tied to the apple and the same is a bit true of how the word tree ties to the oak.
I did a post awhile back about the word costermonger, which is the old-timey name for a vendor in a street market, and how coster was a kind of apple so the word literally translates to "apple seller", even though, by definition, it refers to a seller of any kind of food in a marketplace. With etymology-based symbolism and the marketplace in S2? This makes all food in Good Omens, effectively, symbolic apples. So, we can apply the idea of the Serpent and the apple to literally everything that can be drunk or eaten in Good Omens and that would include this wine... but what does this have to do with oaks and trees?
It hit me the other day that, if oak = all trees, then the wordplay there has to do with the fact that to fell is the verb used to mean to cut down a tree. To "cut Down (Hell)" is a big part of why Aziraphale is Mr. Fell-- it's that he's Crowley's and de facto married to one of The Fallen and their relationship is felling Hell-- cutting down on its impact. So, the wine being the oak? The chene part of it being the tree? 🌳...
You mentioned that val in Dutch is a bad fall and this is where it both does and doesn't matter that we both spelled this wine incorrectly when we were first looking it up because if the rest is spelled -vel, as seems to be the case? Val and vel are apparently related in Dutch. The Dutch vel is not to fall but part of the origin of the word fell, in as in tree-related definition. Chenevel would then be a kind of mash up of French words forming a version of the English definition of to fell a tree, with the chene part referring to the tree and the vel referring to felling it. Chenevel = Fell. 😲
It's either a massive coincidence or one of them influenced a vineyard to adopt their name back in the day or they own a French winery together or who knows what but I think it's a French version of their name. The bottle is labeled 1938 so whatever happened here with the wine happened prior to that. 🍷💘
So, what might it mean that Aziraphale refuses a glass of the Chenevel wine? I agree with what you said about it being about Crowley offering a connection to him and that it wasn't like Aziraphale didn't want one but that he felt like he was "working." I don't see it as him really working, though, so much as just telling himself he was. Where we differ, I think, is that I actually think that refusing the wine was a bad, if understandable, call on Aziraphale's part. I see connections between Aziraphale refusing the glass of wine and him taking the coffee in the two, different conversations at Marguerite's. There's also that coffee convo at Marguerite's is when the restaurant is closed-- a hint to it not being a genuine offer, imo-- while Crowley is offering Aziraphale wine while being there when it, like Crowley, was open.
We have some different ideas on what's happening in the plot in the end of S2, in that your message indicates you believe that Aziraphale is about to be the Supreme Archangel, while I believe that he was tempted by Satan to fall in 2.06 and is about to be a demon in 3.01. Either way, though, I think he should have had a glass of wine with Crowley and for reasons that I think are in the same spirit of what you're saying-- Aziraphale wants to make things better. I just don't think that a job in Heaven or letting Heaven's actions determine how he lives his life is how he does that.
Crowley isn't completely in the right in S2, either. He's not talking to Aziraphale enough, especially about his Book of Life fears, and he winds up having too much to drink in the Marguerite's scene and after it, but what I don't think he was wrong about was that what would have made them both feel better, especially Aziraphale, and done more to solve what was happening, was for Aziraphale to quit running around tying his every anxiety to one another and building up this party into the meltdown it became but to, instead, sit with Crowley for awhile for a little date at the pretty French place, have a little wine, and talk.
They could see the bookshop door from where they were sitting and Gabriel was fine inside. Aziraphale hadn't been eating or drinking much of anything all week and he and Crowley hadn't had much time alone for days. I think the healthier thing would have been to have a glass of wine and talk. Aziraphale does at least sit down and flirt for a moment or two but he won't have a glass and take some time with Crowley for long enough to really talk about how he was feeling, which I think was what Crowley was going for.
How would this have solved the stuff going on with Heaven?
I think it does because, fundamentally, the only way to change Heaven is to be the change, and that means living life the way they want to, on their own terms. Aziraphale doesn't need to be the Supreme Archangel to change anything-- I'm not sure he actually would ever have the power to in that job. Aziraphale and Crowley making their own life on Earth is how they've already changed things and will continue to do so.
The way to take out the system is to refuse to take part in it. If enough people do, the system will collapse itself. There won't be a war if enough people refuse to fight it. In that way, the way for Aziraphale to deal with Heaven isn't to stress about what they're doing but to just live life. It's very understandable where his anxiety comes from and his concern about the danger but there's nothing he can do to fix it individually except to live the way he wants to because that is actually the most powerful thing anyone can ever do.
It's like dealing with abusive family or a corrupt church. How do you deal with it? You don't go to it anymore. You don't give it your time or your money. To the best of your ability, you don't give it the headspace it doesn't deserve. Instead, you live the way you believe is right. You live the way you want the world to be and try to support others who are doing the same. You keep the door open for those who want to escape and might need help but you keep it closed for those who seek to further oppress. Aziraphale is already saving Heaven. He gave Gabriel sanctuary. He gave Muriel an escape. He's made a life with Crowley that shows others that there is more to life than misery and waiting for war.
Most days, Aziraphale knows this but it's not easy and he's exhausted and depressed and going through all the things in S2 so he goes down a bad path with it but yeah. That's why I think it would have been better had he just sat down and split some Chenevel with Crowley. He became so convinced that he was Managing Heaven Stuff but he was really just spiraling a bit and refusing to let Crowley or anyone else in and it snowballed into disaster.
Aziraphale needs-- just for starters-- a long hug, a great meal, a great fuck, and seventeen straight hours of serpent-cuddled sleep. He'll be a little balmy until those goals are achieved so, probably, until the South Downs Cottage 😂 but, whatever actually happened to him in 2.06, he and Crowley will get back to smitten silliness soon, of that we can be certain. 😊
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Thanks for the word fun & feel free to message anytime.
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unhinged-summer-fun · 11 days ago
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the foolish heart's guide to not repeating history - chapter 6
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Pairing: Dream of the Endless "Morpheus" x F!Reader
series masterlist
chapter 6: the reflectory
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Dream of the Endless despises being caught off-guard. Surprises, while they could be delightful, were a dime a dozen in his realm. Yet, the act of catching him off-guard was always an annoyance he would not tolerate, a breach of his carefully constructed composure.
He’d heard his brother’s voice on the wind, seen your eyes go wide and unfocused, and then you’d disappeared—just as your hand was going to touch his. Dream blinks several times, still seeing the outline of where you’d been just moments before.
The sense-memory of your touch on his skin, over the tattoos still sensitive after two hundred years, staves off the indignation rising in the back of his mind. He hadn’t meant to lock up as he had; he hadn’t meant to startle you or indicate your touch was unwelcome.
It had been a considerable time since he’d allowed someone to touch the tattoos. Your initial interest in the stars upon his hand at your first meeting had stirred a longing within him. In the moments he’d seen you between that day and this, he’d intentionally extended his arm in your field of vision, yearning to rekindle that same interest. Ask me, his heart silently pleaded, for your curiosity was a balm to his soul.
And now you know the story, as embarrassing as it had been. Your eyes had gone a little distant upon mentioning Paris and the Luxembourg. Whatever memory you had of the place in the other universe, it must not have been pleasant. He only hopes his tale does not touch any of the same darkness you’d possibly endured.
A nearby sentry, one of the myriad Knights of the Shining Armor oft-deployed to the frontlines of children’s dreams, asks if he is well.
“Yes, Ser Throckmorton. I am well.” He hides the rising embarrassment at having the rug pulled from beneath him and swallows, nods. “Good day.”
Undoubtedly, the gossip about his meeting with you on the city wall would have spread through the city by now. He stifles a groan and looks up to the skies, now a deep purple twilight. As the Dreaming day wanes, he knows the waking world where you have taken up residence is beginning to wake.
Destiny would not return you to his company when he finished his summons. With a flourish of his hand, sand pouring forth from his fingertip, he steps through a door and into London.
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It’s daybreak in your flat in London, and Dream of the Endless is standing over your bed.
“I suppose a conversation is in order?”
He at least waits for you to make coffee before demanding any answers about your sudden departure. In the fantastical realms of Dream and Destiny, wakefulness and attention were a given, but back in the waking world, you’re still just waking up from maybe—oh, goodness—twelve hours of sleep.
You’re tempted to ask how long he waited for you to wake, but you know the answer would embarrass you further. You hadn’t picked up the mess from last night, takeout boxes on tables, and a bottle of whiskey still out on the coffee table.
With dogged determination, you ignore his presence until the coffee maker has finished brewing, but you’re certain no roast is strong enough to conquer this conversation.
Stars, what he’d said just before.
Darling, do you think I would have let you touch me if I did not want you to?
Were you meant to pick up the conversation from there like nothing happened? Like your world hadn’t been upended by what Destiny had told you?
You pour him a cup of coffee as a half-apology, and he raids your fridge and cabinets for sugar and cream, quite at home in your space.
You try to move the gigantic, unfolded pile of laundry into the bathroom as subtly as possible. What were you supposed to do? Say, welcome to my flat, Dream Lord. Please do not look at the bra hanging on that chair, the embarrassing amount of romance novels in that corner, or the hopeless tangle of my last attempt at crochet. In fact, please leave.
Well, now that you thought about it, that option was tempting.
He’s staring at your kitchen window when you slink back in, just looking at the dozen crystal suncatchers you’ve set up in the kitchen window. Being an east-facing apartment, this time of day is the only opportunity to see the display’s brilliance.
You’re glad you get to see his face lit up in the thousand rainbow flares. His hair swallows the light, but there are those grays again, marks of age and marks of life. They gleam brightly in the light. It makes the embarrassment almost worth it.
“Are you—”
“Good morning—”
You both stop in your tracks after speaking over one another. Nervously, you laugh and pick up your mug, taking a sip and motioning for him to continue.
“Are you hungry? I can get us breakfast if you… wished for privacy.”
Your laugh returns. A man who’d appeared in your bedroom, near-looming over you as his brother had done, offering you privacy. “No. No, I’m fine with this for now.”
“As you say,” he says with a nod that’s too formal for the hour displayed on your stove.
You curse Destiny for inviting this damnable silence back into the space between you and Dream.
“Have you—”
“Your home—”
The startled silence draws twin winces from the both of you. This time, he nods for you to speak. “Have you done the same with the other dreamstones?” you say, gesturing to where the tattoo of his ruby is.
“No.” He moves to sit at the small kitchen table before the window. “The rest reside in the reflectory.”
“Oh, I love the reflectory—” you stop short, but he takes it in stride.
“I’d guessed,” he says, gesturing to your adornment-heavy window. “A shame you’d only get to see this once a day. The reflectory never ceases to shine, even at night.”
“It was one of my favorite places in the Dreaming.”
“Why couldn’t it be now?” He takes a pointed sip of his coffee, one perfect eyebrow raised. Stars, that mug looks so tiny in his hands.
“Well, I’ve never seen this one, have I?” You sip your coffee as well, matching his attitude.
“That could change. Tonight. Or right now, if you prefer.” The look he gives you, followed by a deliberately slow swallow from his mug, fills your cheeks with more heat than the coffee.
You look down at your socked feet and pajamas, and the impact of his once-over is now more embarrassing than confidence-inspiring. “Tonight would be better.”
“You could come to the Dreaming through one of the doors I have here, in case you didn’t want to wait for sleep to take you.”
“That sounds even better.”
This time, the silence is comfortable, the two of you just sharing the quiet morning together over coffee. When you feel you’ve woken up enough (and what a novel feeling it is), you meet his gaze.
“Destiny told me I appeared in his book. The Fates confirmed it.”
He draws his posture taller, with seriousness in his expression. “Did he tell you of it? What your fate was to be?”
“No, it wasn’t like that,” you shake your head. “It’s just another confirmation in the long line of confirmations I’ve been ignoring about my place here.”
“Did you believe him?”
“It’s hard not to believe what you’re told by Destiny of the Endless.”
“I’ll try my best not to be offended by that.”
“You do that,” you smirk.
“You’ll seek to insult Dream of the Endless, King of the Nightmare Realms?”
“You don’t scare me.”
A gleam in his eyes tells you he would like nothing more than to try and disprove that, but it’s playful, not predatory. You sip your coffee, feeling more flustered by the moment. He takes his victory and returns to silence. Questions build and break when the light from your window starts to disappear. With the sun rising higher, most of the rainbows are now on the table between you.
“How do you feel about it?”
“I am not sure. I think my mind has gradually accepted it a little at a time with every passing instance like this. The different Free Houses remembering me here, leaving footprints in sand, Hob calling back for me, being able to sign a lease without the ink lifting off the page. I’ve considered myself more of a ‘regular’ in this universe than someone living here.”
He nods, understanding your logic. “Do you ever think you’ll go back?”
“I’d hope not,” you laugh, but it’s hollow. You look in the reflection of your coffee and see only rainbows. “It’s been three thousand years. I don’t know that I’d like going back and being unable to recognize any of it. It’s cleaner to close that door behind me.”
He gives another hum of assent. “I’m envious of my brother, sometimes. He’s met himself from the other universe.”
“Of you lot, Destruction is the only one with a small enough ego to survive such a meeting.”
He almost looks offended again but instead shrugs. “That’s fair.”
He traces the edges of one of the shapes made by the crystals across your kitchen table, the stars on his hand catching the light in an aurelian glint.
“How long were you waiting before I woke up?”
“Not long,” he says, shifting a little.
“How long is not long?”
“No more than fifteen minutes.”
“You knew I’d wake up, not return to the Dreaming?”
“My brother is not subtle about his summons, nor is he with his dismissals.” The twist in his expression tells you all you need to know regarding his feelings on the matter. He must have been similarly yanked and thrown from the Garden.
You watch his fingers move a little longer before looking out the window at the still-dim street below. The apartment is across from a park bordered by a heavy thicket of trees that keep the sidewalks shaded and chilly until well past ten. This morning, two cats patrol along the route, walking in perfect sync with one another. They duck into the gap beneath the gate and disappear into the park beyond sight.
“Do you think I should return to the other universe? To visit, I mean.”
When you look back at him, he’s studying you with the same kind of soft interest with which you’d watched the cats.
“Your mother is there, is she not?”
“Dusk is not a mother, and certainly not my mother.” You refill your coffee to get some distance from the sharp souring of your emotions. “But yes, she is there, in the Starless Spaces.”
“What’s it like there?”
“Cold. Dark. Lonely. It’s where I was brought into existence and where I stayed until I broke out to find someone else to meet in the universe.”
“She is an Endless too, is she not?” he asks, a frown growing on his lips.
“No. She was made before the Endless existed and was not born of Night like they were. She was Dawn, then, and not even a daughter. She was simply the Dawn of Time. She tried considering the Endless to be her siblings, but when their apathy toward her existence waxed, she waned. She became Dusk, separate from what she was before and whatever else may have existed since.”
“Delirium was once Delight, yet she is still the same. Despair is not as she was born, but still is.”
“Some transformations eradicate all you were before.” In your mind’s eye, you see a pale face, white hair, and white robes—an emerald.
“What was she like?”
“Hopeless. She made me from what was left of Dawn’s hope and the starlight she’d taken with her when ending the universe she came from. She was left with no hope and no light to live by and despised me from the moment she held me in her palm.”
Pain creases his features. Not pity, nor sympathy—just pain. “You deserved better than that.”
“I know,” you say, putting a hand over his to assure him. He’s warm in the colorful light. Touching the magical sand in his tattoo feels like holding your hand over a glass of fresh champagne. “If I were to talk to her, she’d tell me I was rubbing it in her face to have found happiness, love, and belonging. I’d probably only go back to tell her she was wrong.” You roll your eyes quickly to gloss over exactly what you’d admitted.
But Dream wouldn’t let you. “What’d she be wrong about, exactly?” he asks, smelling out a truth like the hunter-poet he is.
Shit. Cornered.
But he shows you his palms, a peace offering, an out. He waits for what you’ll do or say.
“She’d… she’d tell me that I wouldn’t—couldn’t—find or feel any of those things because they were never meant for me. But I… I have found those things. And I have felt them.”
His eyes are kind, and you’re filled with the idea that he understands you slightly more.
“I would not fault you for wanting to tell someone off and disappear,” he says around the beginnings of a smirk. “I’ve had few opportunities to do the same, and not without trying.”
“Your father?” you guess.
He nods, sipping his coffee to tell you he didn’t want to elaborate.
“Would Dusk try to keep you there?” he asks.
“No. The only thing that ever trapped me with her was myself. I’ve got the Hob Gadling maxim going for me now.”
“You’ve got so much to live for?”
“Precisely. So it’d definitely be more of a, what did you say? Telling someone off and disappearing. It’s not worth the effort at the end of the day.” You wave your hand.
“And there’s nothing else in that universe which would tempt you to return forever?”
“I’ve got everything I want right here.”
A warm smile. “Is that so?”
“What’s not to love?”
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The man with the flaming visage had never seen anybody enter the office in London before. His grandfather had told him about the dreams long before he had ever had one. Once a month, like clockwork, he’d fall asleep and find himself behind a desk in an office in London. He couldn’t tell where the office was in London, but he could almost make out familiar landmarks from his seat at the secretary’s desk. It’s his job to man the desk until his relief arrives, a man with a portcullis face.
In his waking life, Shaun Fleming had never worked a desk job. He’s part of the fire brigade like his father and grandfather had done, and as his son had just begun training for. Sometimes, Shaun would wonder: if his father hadn’t died in that car crash when he was 16, would he be the one stuck with these office dreams after his grandfather had passed? Shaun most likely would never know.
Still, once a month, on the 18th, he’d sit at a desk and know exactly what to do until his shift ended. In this dream, he was not Fire Captain Shaun Fleming; he was simply the man with a flaming visage. He knew he managed the London office for a tall, intimidating sort of fellow who never bothered to smile (or so the previous man with a flaming visage had told him) and was hardly ever in at all.
Others, of course, stopped in to see the unsmiling fellow from time to time, but he’d give the same answer to them as he had before—
“I am sorry, ma’am, he isn’t in today.”
“Oh, I know; I’m looking for the door to him.”
The strange woman smiles at him. Very infrequently does he see the people who come in… smile. But he tries to smile back, despite the flames that are his face having no mouth to do so.
“The door to him…?”
“Yes, I’ve got a date and can’t miss it.”
If there was one thing the man with the flaming visage knew, it was the importance of punctuality and making one’s meetings.
“I believe the door you’re looking for requires a key—oh.” The man with the flaming visage surprises himself by holding up said key, and the flames on his face flare blue in confusion. “This key.”
“Thank you!” she smiles again, and really, who in London smiles anymore? She takes the key from him and opens the door to a place too full of color and grand possibility for him to look at for too long. “Have a good night!” she calls, and the door shuts.
The man with the flaming visage wonders if he should tell his son about this tomorrow morning.
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The Dreaming unfolds before your eyes, and there seems to be a party going on. Everyone in the bustling castle town is dressed to the nines, all classy gowns and coattails. The diamonds in the street gleam as your air taxi transports you to the castle gates. The skies are woefully free of any pirate battles.
That’s not to say there are no battles to face on the ground.
The Guardians above the door regard you thoughtfully.
“We have seen many walk through these doors with hearts intact and leave with them not so,” says the Winged Horse.
“Yet yours seems much broken already,” adds the Gryphon.
“Stay upon the path,” concludes the Wyvern, blowing a hot breath in your direction.
“You’re too kind,” you say, tone acidic. You roll your eyes only when you pass beneath them up the stairs.
Your feet protest the Wyvern’s advice, but this is not Destiny’s Garden, and you do not control what happens when you stray from the paths of the Dream King’s palace. You recall the weeping, lost souls trapped in a timeless, unending dream of wandering without relief.
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“Why do you let them suffer?” you asked. Standing on a balcony with a glass of red wine from worlds away, you observed a young man glancing behind his shoulder every few seconds. “I didn’t think you shared the Morningstar’s predilection for punishment.”
Perhaps that wasn’t true. Maybe you were speaking for yourself, returning to the Dreaming repeatedly for a punishingly sweet taste of paradise and leaving long before any relief was found. Still, the question remained, and Dream answered.
“Nightmares convey lessons and messages to those who confront them.”
The man beat against the walls and shouted in frustration, tears coming in force.
“And what’s this lesson?”
“To listen to the rules of the house when you are a guest.”
The shouts of frustration turned into loud, unhinged weeping.
“Please, let him go.”
The Dream-King waved his hand, and the man woke up. The otherworldly wine tasted somewhat bitter after that.
“You disagree with how I fulfill my duties?”
You couldn’t look up at him. Phrased like that, his reproach was made clear. You drained the remaining wine and set it down on the railing. “I’d like a path to the gardens if you don’t mind.”
He made one for you on reflex, and you deliberately stepped off it the moment you could. You weren’t sure how long you walked or when your distaste turned to despair, but you continued walking.
“You’ve made your point.”
You walked right past Dream of the Endless without acknowledging him. He was there again when you rounded a random corner.
“This is not the point of the lesson taught. You weren’t—”
“I was, though. I was told upon coming in.”
You walked past him again. He next tried blocking your path with all his swirling flames and darkness.
“Yes, but you are not dreaming, are you?”
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You stay on the path, excitement tempered somewhat.
The path ends in the reflectory. You’ve always liked this place. From your memory, it was always the tallest tower in the castle, so it could provide the best views of the realm. In that world, the tower it called home was only accessible to those who braved the three thousand steps to the top. The long walk up was its most assuring security feature, because after the first thousand steps you really don’t think whatever’s at the top is worth it anymore. By comparison, your jaunty walk from the Guardians to there takes about two minutes. Such is the nature of paths in the dreaming.
Along with the dreamstones, Dream keeps his glitteriest gifts and treasures up here. They each hang from lovely, intricate chandeliers displayed at eye level, like the universe’s most expensive crib mobile. In the light, the room itself ensnares the attention of every creature lucky enough to look upon it.
This must have been what drew your eye while he’d told the story of his tattoos.
Standing in the doorway, you sigh at the sight before you, unable to do much else. There is no official day or night in the Dreaming, but when the king allows it, there are blink-and-you’ll-miss-it sunrises, there are sunsets that last weeks. In this holy place (what else could it be than holy?), the waning golden light hits every facet within, and the overall effect is something more, as if the light of all days could be held within each gem to glow until morning.
“Delaying our appointment, or simply admiring?” a night-velvet voice comes from your right.
Looking up at Dream of the Endless, you smile even wider. “Adoration,” you explain, and revel in how he ducks his head to hide his grin. “I love this place.”
“You’ve said,” he murmurs. “I’m glad it lives up to your standards.”
You share the moment a little longer, smiling at each other as light reflects off your faces. “Delaying our appointment, or…?” you prompt.
Mischief sparks in his eyes. “Adoration as well, I’m afraid.”
A short, skinny man in a red coat, blue trousers, and a cream-colored turban clears his throat from a door nearby. “Your meal is ready, sire,” he says, navigating the small lisp from his fangs with practiced composure.
“Thank you, Taramis.” Dream smiles at his butler and offers you his arm. “Shall we?”
You take it and enter the reflectory at his side.
He takes you to a table in a nave containing a chandelier shaped like tree roots, glittering crystal teardrops dripping from the ends. On one root dangles an impossibly large diamond necklace you’re sure belongs at the bottom of the ocean, and on another hangs a row of twelve earrings shaped like butterflies. You’re so busy looking up that you don’t notice Dream holding your chair for you until one of the butterflies takes flight and flutters down to your hand.
The Hum wants to answer the question rattling around your head: what does that look mean? Any answer it provides is more foolish hope than fact.
You take your seat and shoo the butterfly back up to the chandelier, but it simply flutters up to land in your hair. A moment later, the other eleven do the same, their wings gently chiming together as they migrate. Dream’s hand lowers to the table, giving away his involvement. You grin at him and gently touch the butterflies arranged in a crown around your head. “Thank you.”
“They are becoming. You wear them well.”
Taramis appears again, removing the silver domes from atop your trays and offering a bottle of wine. In the grand satisfactory manner of the Dreaming, your meal is whatever you wanted most at the time, which you’re embarrassed to see is a rather large bowl of raspberry gelato. Taramis then bows out, closing the door behind him. The air from the door closing causes the other chandeliers to clink against one another, an echo to the butterfly wings around your head.
Dream has a plate of fish and chips. It smells suspiciously familiar.
“Is that Hob’s recipe?” you ask, taking a bite of your gelato. It’s sinfully delicious, and just what you needed.
“He’s one of the oldest Londoners still out there, so he’s had centuries to perfect it. I wouldn’t trust another.” He looks just as pleased with his meal as you feel.
Your eyes keep following the play of light as the sun moves further away on the horizon. Even as night falls, the crystals hold their gleam, some of them glowing on their own and others meant to pass along the light and little else. “It reminds me of the pocket dimension in your coat, I think.”
“You know about that?” He says, suddenly bashful for some reason.
“Yes.”
“The reflectory reminds you of it?”
“Yes.”
Dream looks around with you, surely not in an attempt to hide the blush creeping up his neck. Magnanimously, you assume he’s most likely trying to see it how you would, and not from his point of view. You wonder, not for the first time today, what Dream dreams about on his mortal days, and if he feels the same wonderment you do when looking upon this realm.
“I suppose I can see why you’d say that,” he concludes with a smile in your direction. “I don’t mean to pry or ask a potentially upsetting question, but… are they very similar? The Dreaming here, and there?”
“Like night and day seems the best description.” For once, you let go of the ghostly heartache of remembering where you came from. Somedays, homesickness is more a terminal condition than a state of mind.
“So, completely different, then?”
“No.”
He smirks. “I’m not sure we have the same definition of like night and day, then.”
“Night and day are similar in many regards. The light of the moon is still the light of the sun, and the light of the sun is still the light of a star. Some places that look friendly during the day are menacing at night, and some conversations are easier to have at night than during the day. It’s the same, from different points of view. In different lights, that’s all.”
“What would Cafe Terrace at Night be, were it Cafe Terrace at Midday?”
“I’m sure you’ve got that in a gallery somewhere,” you laugh. “Shapes of shadows do not make the items themselves change.”
“Plato would agree.”
You consider how else to describe the differences. “There, the palace was… isolated. It was often on the tops of mountains, behind impassable forests, or across vast seas and deserts. It sat at the center of a spiraling path of its own that started in Nightmare. I tried walking it once, and on foot, I never reached the center.”
“Paths through the Dreaming are more metaphorical than literal,” he points out.
“Both of these things can be true. The true heart of the Dreaming was metaphorically inaccessible at the best of times, and literally prohibited at all others.”
“I admit, there was a time here that resembles that statement.” Dream looks a little lost in thought, swirling his wine around in his glass. “Tear-floods would sweep away whole countries of the Dreaming, sigh-tempests would level cities. The realm would change itself to suit my isolationist needs when I was still pushing everybody away. The paths within the castle would never lead to me.”
You take a shuddering breath from his turns of phrase. I thought you loved John Donne.
“When was the last time that happened?” Since you’re asking personal questions and all.
“I can’t lie to you, but neither do I want to tell you.”
“Why, because I’ll judge you for it?”
“No. Because it’s an embarrassing answer.”
“All the better to tell me. We’d be even.”
“Even?” he laughs, the somber attitude shattering.
“I kind of cried all over you the first time we met.”
“Fine then, we’re even. Tell me about the reflectory there.”
You sit back, conceding the point to him. You stand from the table, taking your wine with you as you look around at the reflectory. The biggest difference, what you want least to say, is how you were never brought here on one of his paths through the palace. You’d had to climb all three thousand steps each time you wanted to see the splendor of this room you loved more than any other in the entire Dreaming.
No, that’s not what you want to say least. It’s that each time you’d been here before, you’d been alone.
“There’s a great deal more butterflies here,” you say, tilting your head toward the wings dotted about the room.
“They are the guardians of the reflectory. They blend in with that which they are protecting.”
“They’re dreams?” you smile, urging one of the crystalline insects onto your finger. You note the serrated edges of the delicate wings, visible only at a certain angle. Though the crystal is dainty enough to fly upon, the broken-glass wings seem incredibly sharp. You wouldn’t want to find out for yourself if they did as intended.
“Though there’s rarely call for a dream of crystal-warrior-butterflies, having them in abundance is a guilty pleasure of mine.”
“You should never feel guilty over your pleasures, Dream. Especially ones so beautiful as these.”
Quiet as a night breeze, he appears beside you, reaching a hand up and into your hair, disturbing the resting butterflies atop it. They flutter about the two of you, circling together like a murmuration of starlings. In the last seconds of daylight, free of gems and magic, Dream looks down at you with the revered wonderment you’d been wondering about. The corona of light and color catch on every resplendent part of him. He is as at home here as any of the glittering jewels. 
“You’re right. Guilt has no place when admiring the beautiful.”
He steals your breath when he rests his hand upon your cheek. On instinct, you lean into the touch and close your eyes. This is so novel, knowing his touch. He’d offered you his arm earlier just to walk twenty feet, and now he’s caressing your face like he’d want nothing more than—
“Can I kiss you, darling?”
You open your eyes. The room has gone night-dark, save for the starlit radiance of the crystals and the glinting wings of butterflies. Save for the comet-tail strands of silver stretching past his temples. Save for his eyes, which shine the hints of a thousand more galaxies you’d love nothing more than to explore for eternity.
But he’d asked you a question. It’s a question the Hum desperately wishes to answer, precedent telling you no, he cannot, you will simply disappear from his arms like the last time—
You kiss him anyway just to shut it up.
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CHAPTER 7
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polishdynasty · 9 months ago
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CHRISTINA ROKICZANA ( BEFORE 1330 — AFTER 1365
Christina was a Bohemian woman from townsfolk and daughter of Wenceslaus, mayor of Prague. At some point she was married to merchant Mikuláš Rokiczan, who unexpectedly died leaving her with great fortune. Thanks to her husband's connection with the King, she most likely became the lady-in-waiting at Bohemian court.
It was well known that King Casimir The Great is a womanizer and Charles of Luxembourg decided to use that fact to gain a spy in Polish court and possibly destabilise situation in Polish Kingdom. He invited Casimir to Prague in May 1356 and asked Christina to charm the man. It was successful, because Casimir shortly after brought her with him to Cracow. Christina, however, refused sleeping with him and becoming his mistress, what made Casimir marry her.
The problem was that he was already married with Adelaide of Hesse, which was sent away by him to Żarnowiec. She didn't agree to get a divorce, what made Casimir's marriage with Christina bigamous.
She stayed loyal to Charles of Luxembourg, stating in one of the latters they exchanged that as a Queen (although she was never crowned), she will make sure to take care of his interests and “being there [in Cracow], thanks to him, he can trust her as if they were still personally in the city of Prague”.
At some point Christina's and Casimir's relationship fell out and there are two theories about what happened — one of them says that Christina was suffering from hair loss and scabies and Casimir found out about that from one of his servants, whereas the other one says that Casimir was mad at her after Christina ordered to burn the peasant house, because it blocked a view of Wawel Castle.
It is known that Christina was still in Cracow when King Casimir married his fourth wife, Jadwiga of Sagan. According to the legend, she was burried in the garden of Łobzów residence, which Casimir builded for her.
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monarchslover · 2 months ago
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Hello! My name is Arisu.❤ I love history and historical figures. Also I love " The emperor's new groove" and " The emperor's new school ". Kuzco is my favorite character. ✨💅 I will write stories and facts about my favorite historical figures, sometimes I will post fanarts.👑
My muse @greatgaiuscaesar
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My favorite cartoons:
The emperor's new groove
The emperor's new school
All hail king Julien
My favorite dynasties:
Romanov ( Russia )
Bourbon ( France )
Julio - Claudian ( Roman Empire)
Habsburg ( Holy Roman Empire )
Wittelsbach ( Bavaria )
Stuart ( Britain )
Ottoman ( Ottoman Empire)
Mughal ( India)
Chingizid ( Mongol Empire )
Mauryan ( India )
Hohenzollern ( Prussia )
Draculesti ( Romania )
Burgundian ( Castile and Leon )
Wessex ( England )
Hanoverian ( Britain )
Abbasid ( Abbasid Chalifat )
Solomonic ( Ethiopia )
Luxembourg ( Czech )
Argead ( Macedonia )
Artashesid ( Armenia )
Comnenos ( Byzantine )
If you are interested in any of these topics, you can discuss it with me.😉
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marvinetta · 3 months ago
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Florida is about to be hit by it's second Major Hurricane in two weeks. Milton is hitting Tampa two weeks after Helene did.
The difference between a "high end cat 4" and a cat 5 is just the classification detail. 155 mph winds as a cat 4 and 157 mph winds as a cat 5 will still destroy life and property.
Please call your congress people and urge them to go back to work and pass legislation to actually rebuild our country. Not just the areas hit by these hurricanes, but every place in America that needs it. Places like Flint and Jackson that still don't have clean water after years.
We need a sweeping infrastructure rebuilding plan to fix our crumbling water treatment plants, we need to bury our power lines, we need to strength our levies/dams, we need evacuation shelters for people in tornado/hurricane paths, just to name a few things. Not to mention completely rebuilding some of our interstates and bridges. (I personally would like to see high speed rail connecting most major metro areas, but first lets make sure everyone can survive!)
And we need to vote in more diverse voices to make sure that these projects don't negatively impact our most vulnerable communities AGAIN like they have in the past. (Say no to prison labor for these projects!)
Milton Facts:
For the non Americans (or just people who are interested):
Sustained wind speeds: 155mph = 249 km/h
Storm surge 12ft = 3.6 meters
Imagine evacuating 7 million people. Which is what they did for Irma (2017).
The region being evacuated is the size of Belgium.
You could fit Switzerland, Luxembourg, and the Netherlands inside Florida's borders at the same time. There are over 100 countries smaller than the state of Florida.
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weirdestbooks · 3 months ago
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Secrecy and Deception Chapter 17
The Arms Race (Wattpad | Ao3)
Table of Contents | Prev | Next
Event: Signing of the European Defence Treaty
Location: Paris, French Republic
Date: May 27, 1952
West Germany was a strange mix of excited and nervous. He was excited because today was the day he, France, Netherlands, Belgium, Luxembourg, and Italy were going to be signing the treaty of the European Defence Treaty.
It was another step toward integrating himself with the other countries of the West and was the reason for Stalin’s notes trying to convince him to reunite with the other one. 
Of course, the treaty still needed to be ratified by all signing countries, but West Germany was sure—and hopeful—that it would happen. This was his alternative to joining NATO, and it would offer the West a solid bloc to combat the Soviet one.
They would have to want to ratify it.
West Germany knew it was also seen as a way to ensure he did not attack any of them and would be on their side in the case of a future conflict. He knew that some of them didn’t trust him.
West Germany couldn’t blame them, not really. The one that came before him had done great harm to many nations. He would be haunted by that for a long time until he was able to establish himself as his own person, his own country, free from those burdens. 
Italy, born three years before him, and lucky to be the child of the kingdom and not the Axis Italy was able to shake off the shadow of her brother. West Germany hoped by the time he was her age, people would stop worrying if he was going to end up like the Nazi.
His biggest worry was that France did not seem as…eager for this European Defence Treaty as the rest of them. Many times during negotiations, she expressed her displeasure with the fact that her national sovereignty in security and defense would be taken away. She was strong-willed and preferred to be in control of her own fate, but West Germany really hoped that she would not be the lynchpin that prevented it from passing.
Maybe she didn’t want it, but he did, and he did not want her messing this up for him. 
“So…are we betting on whether or not France is going to ratify this?” Netherlands asked as they sat around a table, waiting for France.
“Considering we’re waiting for her to show up and we’re in her own capital…not good odds she will,” Italy commented, looking bored and tired.
“She better be because I’ve really pissed off Stalin with this whole thing and probably threw away the only chance at reunification until the USSR pulls his head out of his ass,” West Germany said, annoyed. 
“You’re having fun over there, aren’t you?” Belgium asked sarcastically. West Germany gave her a blank stare, and she shrugged. Silence fell across the room once again until Luxembourg sighed, standing up.
“I’m going to go look for my mother,” he said, just as the door opened and France strolled in. Luxembourg sat back down and rolled his eyes.
“Sorry, I’m late. I had something else to do,” France said.
“You are the person hosting France. I know you aren’t excited about this, but you could at least make an effort to pretend like you care,” Netherlands said.
“Netherlands, you know I will never pretend to care about something I am not interested in because I am unwilling to give up my control over my safety. We’ll see if this actually passes or not, but I’m only here because I have to be,” France said before signing her name and marching right out of the room.
West Germany sighed. The likelihood of this treaty passing was getting slimmer and slimmer.
He hated it.
• ───────────────── •
Event: Britain develops the A-Bomb
Codename: Operation Hurricane
Location: Main Bay, Trimouille Island, Montebello Islands, Western Australia, Australia 
Date: October 3, 1952
Western Australia knew it was only a matter of time before her father would acquire nuclear weapons for himself. So when he dragged her and Australia out to Trimouille Island to watch the first test, she was not surprised.
“Isn’t this exciting? Once these tests are done and taken care of, I will be a nuclear power, just like America and the USSR. Then we won’t have to worry about America returning to his isolation and leaving us with nothing to defend ourselves with,” Britain said as he gestured out over the bay. Western Australia nodded as she listened to her father drone, not very interested in what he was saying. 
He had been slowly losing his mind, it seemed, ever since the end of the Second World War. From beating Western Pacific Territories to near death to now, scrambling to do everything he could to cling to his fading power.
It was nice to see him fall, even if it made him all the more terrifying with how his already short anger seemed to be taking less and less things to make him snap.
“It will be good to see you retake your place among the powers of the world, where you belong,” Australia responded, buttering up Britain’s ego in an effort to stave off his rage on the off chance that the bomb ended up failing.
Western Australia knew neither of them would be here if they had the choice.
“It was always a matter of time on that. America and USSR were never going to stay dominant powers. They’re not fit for it,” Britain said before turning to Western Australia and grabbing her by her arm.
“What are you doing?” she asked, startled. She hadn’t done anything to deserve being punished, had she? She didn’t think so. And this was a relatively public area, and Britain took great care to hide how severely he used the rod against Western Australia and her family. 
“I want to be able to watch the test and you. America wouldn’t let me see his Pacific territory he took from Japan during his tests, and therefore, I wasn’t able to see the effects of the bomb on one of us. That’s why I want both of you here,” Britain said, something dark glinting in his eyes. Western Australia nodded, shooting a glance at Australia, who just seemed…empty like Britain’s words had drained the joy out of her.
“Of course, Grandfather,” she said, the joy that she had been filled with since the start of the war fading into the familiar rhythm of pleasing their grandfather.  
Western Australia didn’t know why Britain was insisting on this. America had made it very clear it never affected personifications, nothing that happened on their land physically harmed them, but it was clear Britain wasn’t doing this to listen to reason but to enforce his control over them.
He really had gone mad.
And it was too early for Western Australia to be dealing with this.
But she has been raised to be a good, obedient daughter, so she sat down in her seat, let Britain squeeze her shoulder in a too-tight grip, and waited for it all to be over. 
When the bomb went off, she just sat there, not feeling any sort of pain like she expected. This weapon was one that the world had never seen, but the laws of their nature outweighed the power it held.
The thing that scared her was that Britain now had this power. She had hoped, somehow, that he would never get the bomb and his power could fade, freeing them all from his tight grip and controlling nature as his power faded into obscurity. She guessed that was just wishful thinking.
But it would have been nice.
She wished Australia hadn’t allowed him to test the bombs here, but she knew why her niece had done it. They all still held an immense fear of Britain, especially after what happened to Pacific. Half the reason he wanted this bomb was because he was upset that he no longer had as much power as he used to, so playing nice was the best thing they could have done.
Looking up at her father’s disappointed face, Western Australia wished they could have done more.
• ───────────────── •
Event: Nuclear Tests Series 11 in Nevada
Codename: Operation Upshot-Knothole—Test Annie
Location: Nevada Test Site, State of Nevada, United States of America
Date: March 17, 1953
Nevada, New Mexico, and Trust Territory of the Pacific Islands had started a club once they realized that they were going to be the testing grounds for Dad’s nuclear weapons for a long time.
“I can’t believe this is what we’re doing with our lives,” Trust Territory of the Pacific Islands muttered, taking the drink from New Mexico, who just grinned widely at their adoptive sister.
“What, you never want to get drunk and watch people setting off some of the most powerful weapons in the world in your land?” Nevada joked, downing his drink.
Nuclear tests were best experienced drunk.
“Prohibition was good for you,” New Mexico joked. Nevada rolled his eyes.
“Listen, if I get too drunk to think, then I don’t have to worry about the radiation or any of the side effects from this shit,” Nevada said, leaning back into his couch and shutting his eyes, listening to the noise of the TV, which would be showing the nuclear test soon enough.
Trust Territory of the Pacific Islands snorted.
“I’ll drink to that,” she said.
“And here I thought you were against drinking,” New Mexico teased.
“I’m not against drinking. I just don’t think we need to throw a pity party every time one of these tests happens. We’d never do anything else without lives at that rate,” Trust Territory of the Pacific Islands pointed out.
“Kid’s right,” Nevada agreed.
“We are not that far apart in age,” Trust Territory of the Pacific Islands insisted, causing Nevada to open his eyes, sitting up in confusion.
“Yes, we are?” he asked, baffled. New Mexico rolled her eyes, gently smacking Trust Territory of the Pacific Islands on the back of the head.
“No, we aren’t. Pacifica just wants to pretend she’s not a baby,” New Mexico said. Trust Territory of the Pacific Islands crossed her arms, grumbling under her breath.
“Why do we have to add an a to my name,” she asked.
“A makes it feminine according to Spanish rules, and we’re trying not to confuse you with our cousin, and neither of you have good names for nicknames,” Nevada added before looking back at the TV. “Oh, dammit, we missed the test.”
“Please, Vada, there’s plenty more coming.”
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mononijikayu · 2 years ago
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so historically there are comparable thoughts about the velaryon boys being legitimate.
so, richard duke of york has black hair and his wife cecily neville has light hair, so blonde. they produced a couple of children but one of the most important was edward iv of england who had brown hair.
a lot of times, this fact actually got twisted. that he didnt look like his father enough or that his father was away and he couldn't have fathered edward. those were all made up to make edward look lesser in the eyes of his contemporaries. edward had to fight the rumours of illegitimacy based off the greed and politically motivated moves of others. especially by both of his brothers, george of clarence and richard of gloucester. they too wanted the crown but as eldest son, edward was the one who managed to maintain his claim. and later on, he is betrayed by richard, who claims falsehoods on his brother and his own nephews.
now his own wife, elizabeth woodville had red copper hair and probably inherited it from her mother, jacquetta of luxembourg. her own father lord rivers, was probably of dark hair as her own brother lord anthony has gotten black hair in medieval contemporary depictions.
the power of elizabeth's hair is actually the stuff of legend in the plantaganet line because it was her hair that would later be the staple of the later tudor dynasty and even as far as the stuarts who became the main line.
she and edward had a big brood of children but their eldest son named was named edward v and he was born of blond hair. which he probably got from his father's line, which he also could have gotten from his mother's line. various ancestors can provide something interesting all the time.
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so, up above we can see that with richard and cecily's union, the dark colored hair hair and blonde hair equates to black or brown hair - which edward does get. his own brothers as far as we know have also the same predicament in hair. however we also know that his sister mary of york, duchess of burgundy inherited fair/blonde hair as well. YET it would also have been very likely for him and his siblings to have inherited copper red/red gold or blond hair because its in the genes already.
as mentioned before, edward and elizabeth have many children besides edward v and his brown hair to her red hair equated to blond and copper blond in the family. edward v inherited lady cecily's blond hair and his sister elizabeth of york had her mother's copper red.
this later on with many brood of other children later on would pass on to the rest of the plantaganet children and into the tudor dynasty and become such a famous trademark for them.
BUT had edward v not been blond or for elizabeth of york to not have copper red, it would also be possible for him or her to have gotten red copper or even black/brown hair/ blonde.
because as we mentioned before, it is in the family already. their grandmother lady cecily had blond hair and their own maternal uncle anthony rivers also has dark hair.
as long as there has been a family member close enough, it doesnt matter which generation it decides to come or skips - that character trait will continue to pass on. just as character traits, just like traumatic experiences, just like language and heritage and culture - the genes and the features like hair come with it.
it would have been very possible for any of the velaryon boys to earn any trait from genes already there, waiting to be rebirthed in one of them.
like we have to understand that there was 100 years of intermarrying by the time of rhaenyra. like we dont know how many kids orys and argella completely had. we dont know how many kids davos baratheon had. we dont know how many kids ronnell arryn had or if he had sisters or who they all married and had kids with.
but the one thing that is sure is that there would be a lot of new blood that could be in rhaenys and aemma and even from corlys himself who had first men blood from the masseys. the genetics that they bore and brought to a very intrinsic incesteous bloodline is gonna be an interesting, fresh, lottery.
they could pass that on to their descendants. a lot of the bastardry claims about the velaryon boys is highly politically motivated, especially when we consider the fact that their claim rests on the matriarchal line. which is important because westerosi law is salic, male to male. and then viserys made it semi - salic by naming a female heir and her male sons his heirs.
a great way to undermine the claim of the heir's heir is to declare them bastards, illegitimate and a stain on the dynasty. especially the heir being a woman, it would be easy to call them out for 'improper' behaviour because of the double standards settled between man and woman in a heavily patriarchal society like westeros. many people were really desiring a male line for the male line. and it didnt matter if the male claimant was not a good ruler. what mattered was them being a man in a mam's world for the sake of preserving the status quo. and rhaenyra challenges that by being heir and having her own line exist.
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like here we see that no matter the dominant features - some genes would overpower that and produce children with different features than what we are used to. genetics is a mystery box that people dont understand. even with magic, the targaryens are not exempt from intermingling their blood outside house targaryen and forging new flow in the veins. like, the fact that the valyrians had ties of marriage with first men is already interesting enough. that brings A LOT OF POSSIBILITIES.
that is why its important to look at asoiaf as also having traps especially in terms of features. being a targaryen isnt only the silver hair or lilac eyes. if it was, then we wouldnt have the pleasure of enjoying characters like baelor breakspear or daeron, son of maekar i who inherited more diverse genetics than their other targaryen counter parts. like i expect GRRM loves to play around things in the story and make us have a lot of stuff to ponder about. and its insane.
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elbiotipo · 1 year ago
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Interesting (for a lack of better term) that there are Europeans countries that technically were literally created to be buffer states from one another to avoid wars. Like Belgium or Luxembourg to be a barrier between The Netherlands and France, Switzerland to be one between Italy, Germany and France. Could the same be said for Uruguay? Panama is different I believe, as the only reason it exists is because the USA wanted free acess to the Panama channel (or so I learned in History class).
In one of my old Argentine history textbooks, it is literally defined as a buffer state like that. In fact it's compared to Belgium in that regard.
To talk about the fragmentation of the United Provinces of the Rio de La Plata would take a whole history PHD, but the short version is this: Spain and Portugal always disputed the Banda Oriental (or Cisplatina in Portuguese). This dispute was 'inherited' by the United Provinces and the Empire of Brazil, who fought a long war about it after Brazil invaded in 1816. The United Provinces, busy with their civil wars, did not respond properly to this, so the war was mostly in Uruguayan hands. Uruguay became indepedent in great part through British mediation of the conflict (the British did not want either Brazil or Argentina controlling the Río de La Plata) in 1828. So in a way, yes, Uruguay was a buffer state to prevent further Brazil-Argentina conflicts. Argentine and Uruguayan armies still intervened into each other's civil conflicts (as well as Brazilian ones) and there was always the possibility of reunification well until the late XIX century.
While this is controversial, from my reading, José Gervasio Artigas, while celebrated as father of the Uruguayan nation, actually wanted a Confederation with all the provinces of the Río de La Plata, including Uruguay. In fact, he nearly made it, with the Liga de los Pueblos Libres, and I would argue his ideas would have been better for everybody, with his federalism and inclusion of native peoples (the first representation of Chaquenian people in a national goverment were the Abipón tribes that fought with Artigas) and afrodescendants. He was a real hero for both Argentina and Uruguay, and really, all the free people of the continent.
This is, however, all history now. Uruguay has long become an independent nation separate from Argentina and Brazil, and, in any case, we are closer in peace than ever. But the historical ties that bind us are undeniable.
This is the shortest reading I can give you, really: to fully explain it, one needs to sit down and read whole books.
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ollieofthebeholder · 9 months ago
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to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic
Read from the beginning on Tumblr || AO3 || My Website There's a soundtrack to this one if you're interested
Chapter 105: March 2001
Gerry gets back into town with exactly two hours to spare. It isn’t exactly optimal, but at least he’s able to grab a shower before rushing off. He has to double back when he almost forgets something important, and his mother tries to waylay him, but he manages to get away from her and catch the train just before it closes its doors.
Still, he’s a bit later than he’d like, and he just hopes Melanie is being optimistic.
The auditorium is crowded with families, from babes in arms to elderly folks, and it takes Gerry a good bit of scanning before he spots who he’s looking for. He distractedly thanks the student usher who hands him the folded bits of paper that constitutes a program and makes his way down the aisle to some seats on the left side of the theater, about three rows back. He’s in luck—there’s a seat next to Melanie that’s empty except for a bouquet of roses. From the fact that they’re mixed red and yellow, he guesses she’s the one that brought them.
“Does this mean you’re saving a seat for me?” he asks.
“Gerry!” Melanie’s face lights up, and she leaps to her feet and hugs him tightly. “Jesus, I thought you were still in Switzerland!”
“Luxembourg. Got back a couple hours ago.” Gerry leans over to shake Uncle Roger’s hand, then picks up the bouquet. “So, can I sit with you?”
“Duh.” Melanie plops back down into her seat and bends over to retrieve her program. Gerry notices she’s wearing the stole Alastair gave her for her ninth birthday, thrown over her jumper and jeans, but doesn’t say anything about it.
Instead, he opens his own program and skims it. There are two choirs that are more or less open—the Junior Choir and the Senior Choir—plus a Young Men’s Chorus and Women’s Ensemble, both by audition only, made up of students eligible for the Senior Choir but with a better grasp of things like pitch, musicality, and not bobbing your head violently along with the beat. This is Martin’s last year in the Junior Choir, and Gerry knows he’s planning to try out for the Young Men’s Chorus when they open up again…or has he already?
“Did Martin ever do that audition?” he asks Melanie, who would be the first to know.
“It’s not until next term, I don’t think,” Melanie answers. “It starts in the fall, after all. Anyway, he hasn’t said anything to me about it.”
Gerry hums as he skims the list of songs the Junior Choir will be singing. Unsurprisingly for the Easter term, there are a couple of songs that look to be religious, or at least trending in that direction—he knows “Because He Lives” is definitely an Easter song, and “One Song (A Song of Peace)” is probably similar—plus a couple generic spring songs, some songs that seem to just be for fun, and a single song in a foreign language, French this term. Gerry mentally braces himself for the typical childish hacking through the language.
“I haven’t heard Martin practicing any of these,” Melanie murmurs, also looking over the list.
“Well, you know, your mother isn’t well,” Uncle Roger says absently. “Martin doesn’t practice in the house so much, so he doesn’t disturb her.”
“There is that,” Melanie admits. She glances at the opposite page. “Ooh, the Young Men’s Chorus is doing ‘Diu Diu Deng’!”
Gerry is about to ask her what that means when the lights in the auditorium dim and everybody—for the most part—quiets down. It’s not like a professional performance where people understand what they’re supposed to do; it’s an amateur production, quality notwithstanding, and some people don’t seem to care how loud the crowd noise is as long as it’s not their child on the stage.
The Junior Choir, all neatly dressed in black slacks or skirts and white tops, file onto the stage in ordered rows, filling the risers as they do so, to enthusiastic applause and a few good-natured cheers. Gerry scans the group coming in; Martin, as both one of the older and one of the taller boys in the choir, is usually one of the first ones out so he can climb up and get to his spot, and he wants to get a good look at him before all he can see is eyes and hair over the row of faces going from plump to angular as they begin to change from child to teen.
But there’s no sign of him.
Gerry blinks, and looks harder—like Martin would be difficult to miss. But no, it’s only girls filing out now and climbing the risers. Martin is nowhere to be found. As the last child takes her position, the director, a man Gerry knows well by now, comes out and bows to the audience, then turns to the choir, waiting for the applause to    die down so they can begin.
For his part, Gerry is having something akin to a mental breakdown. Could Martin have dropped out of chorus without telling them…or worse, been removed against his will? It’s likely he wouldn’t say anything; he wouldn’t want them to worry. But would he let it get this far—let them think he was going to be in the concert, knowing he’ll be found out? That’s not Martin’s style at all. He’s not the kind of person to put people out, and for them to show up expecting to cheer him on would be (at least in Martin’s mind) a huge inconvenience. He surely knows by now that they will come to all his concerts; Gerry might go out of town more often than he likes, but Melanie and Uncle Roger never miss.
So it must be something else. Something must have happened to him…but what? Surely he rode in with Uncle Roger and Melanie rather than walking himself, so something must have happened to him since they arrived, but—
Melanie slaps his arm urgently, not hard, just a frantic patting to silently get his attention. Gerry turns to face her as the choir begins a slightly clumsy but overall decent (to his ear at least, not that he’s paying a whole lot of attention) rendition of their first spring song. The question dies on his lips as she stabs her finger repeatedly at the back of the program. With the lights down, Gerry can’t read it from there, so he picks up his own program and turns it to the back, then holds it closer to his face. The back of the program is where all the members of the various choruses are listed, and his first reaction is to breathe a silent sigh of relief when he sees MARTIN BLACKWOOD right there on the page, immediately above ANDREW CARTWRIGHT.
It’s awfully low down on the page, though. The Junior Choir is usually right at the top…
Gerry’s eyes flick up, just a little, and he sees the word TENOR, which is also unusual, since the Junior Choir is only two parts as far as he knows—he remembers Martin saying once they don’t start really breaking them up until Senior Choir. Then his eyes widen as he realizes that Martin’s name is on the far right of the page…and the column is actually headed TENOR 1.
He looks again, and there it is—Martin’s name listed under the Young Men’s Chorus.
Gerry—there’s no other word for it—goggles. He knows you’re supposed to be thirteen to get into that group; Martin won’t be thirteen until August. Then there’s the fact that, according to Melanie, he’s not supposed to start in it until the fall. But yet…here he is.
During the applause for the latest song, Gerry leans over and whispers to Melanie, “He wasn’t in the Young Men’s Chorus at Christmas, was he?”
“No!” Melanie hisses back. “The most complicated piece they did was ‘Dona Nobis Pacem’, remember?”
Gerry does, but he’s been wondering if he misremembered. Still, Melanie wouldn’t have said Martin was still planning to audition if he had already been in.
He can hardly concentrate through the first half of the concert, barely manages to applaud at the appropriate times, but when the Senior Choir sits down and the director announces the Young Men’s Chorus, he leans forward, anxious and eager.
Bit odd to call them ‘men’ when they’re thirteen to sixteen, isn’t it? whispers a voice in the back of his mind, sounding amused, and Gerry has to admit that it is a bit odd even if they did append young to the front, but he supposes that if they’re referring to the Women’s Ensemble they can’t very well call it a Boys’ Chorus. His eyes flick back and forth along the line of boys, young men, whatever, as they file in. There are only about a dozen of them all together, and—ah, there he is. Third from the end, he’s the taller of the two Tenor Ones on the front row. Even from where he sits, Gerry can see that he’s visibly pale and nervous, only not fidgeting in his tuxedo jacket and bow tie because he’s too much the professional to do so. But as soon as Martin’s eyes lock on the director, a whole new demeanor takes its place. He’s still pale, but he’s calm and focused. Nothing will exist for him from here on out but the music.
And what music it is! Even Gerry, who really knows very little about music overall, is impressed. For such a small group—now that they’re all out, he can count sixteen, four to each part—they fill the space, and they sound wonderful. Maybe he’s a little biased because Martin is part of it, but he never felt this way about the Junior Choir, only that Martin was one of the few good parts of it, so they must actually be good.
They sing a classic song with a lot of “hallelujahs” in it, another song that invokes the stars, and a song that has Melanie sitting bolt upright and smiling from the very beginning. Gerry surmises this is the one she mentioned before the concert. It’s obviously a Chinese song, and just as obviously about a train—Gerry doesn’t speak it, but he gets that much—and from the bright look on all the boys’ faces, not just Martin’s, they’re obviously enjoying it. It gets the loudest round of applause of the evening so far.
Once the auditorium is quiet again, there’s a single note on the piano that dies away quickly. The director waves a few beats, and then the boys begin singing a slow, sonorous song that thrums in Gerry’s chest. “Brightly beams our Father’s mercy…from His lighthouse evermore…”
Gerry lets his eyes drift shut as he listens. The song is poignant and solemn, but somehow feels…important. It’s almost as though the song itself is a beacon calling to them; in fact, it gives him almost the same sensation as that song Melanie sang a couple years back to find Martin in the park, an incident he still shies away from thinking about too hard or often. It’s a song of hope, of steadfast faith, of assuring someone that you’ll be there for them, no matter what.
And then a single clear, pure voice rings out over the room. “Throw out the lifeline, throw out the lifeline, someone is drifting away…”
At that, Gerry’s eyes pop open wide, because he knows that voice. His lips part in shock as he stares at the stage. Martin, his eyes shining green all the way from out here as they fix on the director’s baton, sings the verses to the second half of what’s obviously a medley, alone and unaccompanied and unafraid. Martin, who is always nervous and afraid of putting himself out there, who stammers any time he’s put on the spot, sings with a confidence that’s no different than when it’s just the three of them in a park or on the river bank or on top of a hill, with the unfettered pleasure of someone doing what he’s always meant to do.
And Gerry, who has heard Martin sing a thousand times, who knows his voice is like this, is utterly entranced.
There’s a beat of silence when the whole choir finishes a reprise of the chorus of the first song, and then the audience nearly takes the roof off the auditorium with their applause. Martin’s cheeks turn faintly pink as the director gestures to him, but he doesn’t duck his head or back away, which is…honestly progress.
The boys do a fast, peppy song about putting bones together and taking them apart again, and then they end with an absolutely gorgeous song Gerry’s never heard before, but he recognizes the lyrics as being one of Martin’s favorite Byron poems, “She Walks In Beauty”. Gerry’s pretty sure he’s not the only one that tears up a little.
The Women’s Ensemble goes next, and in Gerry’s totally unbiased opinion, they should have gone before the Young Men’s Chorus, because they can’t hold up. The director calls everyone out for the final song, which they do at virtually every single concert, and then it’s over.
Melanie is beaming ear to ear as she turns to Gerry. “That’s the best one ever.”
Gerry can’t help but laugh at her. “You’re just saying that because Martin got a solo.”
“No, I’m saying it because it was amazing.” Melanie shifts the bouquet to one hand and punches Gerry with the other. “Come on. Let’s go find him so we can yell at him for not telling us.”
The lobby and halls are crowded with people finding and congratulating their respective students. Melanie greets and congratulates a couple of girls she evidently knows at least in passing—as usual, they act polite but not particularly enthusiastic—but it takes Gerry a bit before he spots Martin trying to edge his way around the crowd. He nudges Melanie and points. “Look, there he is!”
Melanie shoves the bouquet at Uncle Roger and immediately starts threading her way through the crowd. She’s always had a talent for this sort of thing, and she slides through the gaps like water sliding through cupped hands. Gerry glances over his shoulder at Uncle Roger, unable to hide his amusement. “Well, she’s going to get there first. Shall we?”
Uncle Roger gestures. “Lead the way.”
Gerry is not particularly large or intimidating, so he can’t exactly shove people out of his way, and he’s not as agile as Melanie. He squeezes through whatever gaps he can, Uncle Roger’s polite “excuse me”s following him, and makes it to Martin’s side well after Melanie has attacked him in a tight hug.
“You’re an absolute ass,” she says, the delight in her voice belying her words. “Why didn’t you tell us you’d got into the Young Men’s Chorus already?”
“It—it was a last-minute thing,” Martin says, his cheeks turning bright pink. The blush gets even deeper when he notices Gerry. “When—wh-when did you get back?”
“Just in time.” Gerry comes over and hugs Martin, too. “What do you mean, last-minute thing? That’s not something you can just learn at the last minute.”
“No, I��I mean, not—” Martin swallows nervously. “It, um, over the break at half-term, Joseph White had to have his tonsils taken out, and something went wrong, so he couldn’t sing anymore. He told Dr. Clayton to run the auditions early and pick someone to replace him, and…well, I-I guess I was the only person to audition who could hit Tenor One parts who did well enough to start now?”
Gerry doubts that, actually, but he’s not going to say as much. Instead, he says, “But then you got the solo?”
“Not originally. It was supposed to be Kent Phillips, but he missed his cue one day and I just, I kind of jumped in out of habit, and Dr. Clayton asked me to take over.” Martin ducks his head, obviously embarrassed. “I know I shouldn’t have, but…”
“Yeah, well, obviously Dr. Clayton doesn’t think so,” Melanie points out.
Uncle Roger finally makes it over to them, smiling broadly. He presents Martin with the bouquet. “Well done, son. It’s a shame your mother couldn’t make it, but if you’d told us you had a solo, I know she would have been here.”
Yeah, right, whispers that voice in Gerry’s head. Gerry grunts his agreement without thinking. Melanie scowls momentarily, but says nothing. Martin, for his part, manages a tentative smile that at least looks convincing as he accepts the bouquet, even though he doesn’t actually agree with his stepfather’s assessment. “Thanks, Dad. I’m glad you could make it, anyway.”
“Wouldn’t have missed this for the world.” Uncle Roger rumples Martin’s hair affectionately. “Come on. After that, I think you deserve ice cream. Gerard, care to join us?”
“I’d love to. Thanks, Uncle Roger.” Gerry smiles up at the man and throws an arm around Martin’s shoulders. “He’s right. Let’s go celebrate, yeah? Even if you think it was an accident, that was a damned good performance and you deserve to celebrate.”
Melanie slides her arm around Martin’s waist from the other side. Obviously unable to protest, he lets them drag him outside, Uncle Roger leading the way.
Okay, the voice in the back of Gerry’s head whispers. Why this? Why tonight?
Why not? Gerry asks the voice.
Sorry, Ger. Not talking to you right now, just trying to work some stuff out. We’ll talk later.
Gerry feels something inside him warm, for reasons he can’t explain. But since his brain has just informed him they’re not going to be on speaking terms for the rest of the night, apparently—he swears he can hear someone laughing at him all of a sudden—he decides that’s a problem for later. For now, he’s going to concentrate on his siblings, and on his Uncle Roger, and on ice cream.
He can worry later.
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badgersprite · 8 months ago
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My 2024 Eurovision Top 37!!!
It's that time of year again! That time where I give my opinions on Eurovision that nobody asked for!
Is this an especially strong year for Eurovision? Eh. Yes and no. There's a lot of songs I don't like, more than there probably has been in any recent years, but there's also lots of songs I really like and would be happy if they won.
I think this is shaping up to be a very interesting year. I would argue that there is no clear and obvious frontrunner. Any winner is really probably going to feel like a "surprise", and most likely a pleasant one at that. There's a lot of songs here that feel like they'd be deserving winners, with no one really so clearly ahead of the pack to where it would feel like they were "robbed" if they lost.
But anyway, we're counting down, in reverse order, below the cut!
XX. ISRAEL - EDEN GOLAN - Hurricane
Ok, full disclosure, this is why I was kind of late to post my top. I haven't listened to this song. Frankly, I don't feel comfortable listening to this song. I don't know if I ever will. So, accordingly, I will not be giving it a rating, review, or ranking. I wish to make no further comment and please respect my decision.
Sorry for the downer start, but that's just how I feel.
36. SWITZERLAND - NEMO - The Code
I'm starting off controversial. I have no idea why this song is so popular in the community. I do not know what other people hear in this. To me, this just sounds like an annoying, disjointed mess.
35. LATVIA - DONS - Hollow
This song is a slow, dirgey wall of sludge. Sorry to this man, but I don't come to Eurovision to feel like I'm at a funeral.
34. BELGIUM - MUSTII - Before The Party's Over
This song is a slightly less slow, dirgey wall of sludge. I don't know, it feels like it's trying really hard to be artsy and ~important~
33. ICELAND - HERA BJÖRK - Scared of Heights
"I'm not one to take risks."
Yeah, Hera. We can tell. Jesus Christ. This song is so safe it feels like getting a lecture on abstinence at a Christian private school.
32. MOLDOVA - NATALIA BARBU - In The Middle
I like the chorus. Shame about literally everything else in this song.
31. ALBANIA - BESA - Titan
What's with the random banjos? Albania in its Folklore era.
30. AZERBAIJAN - FAHREE & ILKIN DOVLATOV - Özünlə Apar
As much as I want to give Azerbaijan bonus points for finally sending something partially in Azeri, I literally cannot remember a single note from this song and I relistened to it about an hour ago.
29. FRANCE - SLIMANE - Mon Amour
Every year at Eurovision be like
Eurovision: "Hey, France, how French do you want to make your entry this year?"
France: "Oui."
He's got a great voice but to me this is just a run of the mill, paint by numbers Eurovision ballad that is also French and mentions Paris.
28. GERMANY - ISAAK - Always on the Run
Okay I actually don't really care for this song at all, it sounds like the kind of generic, inoffensive, slight hint of country so they don't alienate the flyover states kind of song they make American Idol winners sing. He's only this high because I really like his voice.
27. MALTA - SARAH BONNICI - Loop
This is an average Eurovision song.
26. LUXEMBOURG - TALI - Fighter
This is an average Eurovision song.
25. GEORGIA - NUTSA BUZALADZE - Firefighter
By the time this song gets going, it really comes together. It finishes really strong. The problem is the first...half or so? It's a disjointed mess. But the fact that I like at least PART of this song so much is what puts it above all these other songs that are insta-skips.
24. LITHUANIA - SILVESTER BELT - Luktelk
Probably my next most controversial pick. I don't get the hype for this song? I mean, don't get me wrong, it's fine. I like it. But it's just, like...an average song in this genre? It's nothing special.
23. PORTUGAL - IOLANDA - Grito
This is probably a case where it's not the song so much as it's me not getting it. To my ears it sounds pleasant but dated. And slower songs are often fighting an uphill battle with me at Eurovision anyway so.
22. ARMENIA - LADANIVA - Jako
I really like this, it's the fun folk throwback of this year. The only problem with it is, it's basically just straight up folk instrumentation. It sounds very small as a result. It could have used just a bit more modern production to give it that real OOMPH factor.
21. NETHERLANDS - JOOST KLEIN - Europapa
I probably would have liked this song a lot more if I hadn't heard Finland first. Spoilers for later. Also maybe I'm just too Australian and not European enough to really be able to relate to this song.
20. UNITED KINGDOM - OLLY ALEXANDER - Dizzy
This song feels like a throwback to a lot of the kind of British pop music that would cross over onto the Australian charts here when I was a kid. Like, remember when Billie Piper was a pop singer? Remember Craig David? This song doesn't sound like either of those per se but it does sound like the kind of song that would be on like one of these albums that I have in a box in my garage somewhere
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19. AUSTRALIA - ELECTRIC FIELDS - One Milkali (One Blood)
Listen, I love Electric Fields. I've seen them live, and they were great. And I love this song. It's very meditative, it gives some good kind of spiritual advice that I vibe with. I think the song is only this low because, well, the video is meh, and this kind of feels like a "safe" Electric Fields energy? It feels like they could have done more.
18. SERBIA - TEYA DORA - Ramonda
See even though this song is a slow ballad, it avoids being a dirgey wall of sludge because it actually has like dynamic range to it. It's mostly quiet and gentle, and it builds to a big high point. It doesn't just feel like a wall of melancholy sound slowly drowning me.
17. GREECE - MARINA SATTI - Zari
I think I'm not hip enough for this. I feel like I'm going to come back to this later and like it a lot more than I already do. And I do like this. It feels kind of like a Greek Russian Woman in terms of vibe, and I mean that as a compliment. This is really good. It just may be a bit too weird, too out there, and too current to really land at Eurovision. Like this song definitely feels like it belongs on the internet. This song has iPhone face.
16. SPAIN - NEBULOSSA - Zorra
I love her lack of energy, go girl give us nothing!
Seriously though, this song is for the girls and the gays. And as I am a girl and a gay, I can appreciate it. This song is about, no matter what you do, people are going to call you a bitch and try and drag you down. So she's like, OK, fuck you, I'm going to go take on the world, be an empowered woman, and be successful, and if that makes me a bitch then fine, I'm the best bitch here. And I think that's a good message, and I support it. Women shouldn't have to make themselves smaller so as to not threaten your insecurities.
15. CYPRUS - SILIA KAPSIS - Liar
There is just something absolutely FILTHY about this beat that makes me want to throw it back. Fortunately for everybody, I am incapable of throwing it back, so you don't have to be subjected to that. But, like, I feel it in this song. This beat does dirty things to me.
14. ESTONIA - 5MIINUST & PUULUUP - (Nendest) Narkootikumidest Ei Tea Me (Küll) Midagi
Every time this song comes on, I can't resist the urge to get up and start dancing to it, so it must be doing something right. But also fuck you for making me write a title that long.
13. SWEDEN - MARCUS & MARTINUS - Unforgettable
Swedes are too OP at pop. Like this song is basically perfect. Fortunately, I am too much of a lesbian to be nostalgic for boy band music. If I had been into the Backstreet Boys or N*Sync back in the day, this song would make me super nostalgic, and it would probably be my number one. But as it is I'm nostalgic for different things, and it's all those songs that are in my top ten this year. As you'll see.
12. UKRAINE - ALYONA ALYONA & JERRY HEIL - Teresa & Maria
Ukraine doesn't miss at Eurovision. If the Vidbir staging had like...any budget at all, this would probably be higher. That's really all that's holding it back. I love this song. It's great.
11. CROATIA - BABY LASAGNA - Rim Tim Tagi Dim
This was hard. I went back and forth with this and other songs in my top 10 so many times. If you ask me to make this list again five minutes from now, this is probably there. If this song wins Eurovision, I'll be happy. I love it. If there's anything holding this back in comparison to the songs in my top, it's: I'm more nostalgic for other genres apparently; there's no real vocal moment in this song; the production kind of sounds like this was made in Garageband? Don't take any of this to mean I don't like the song. I do. But I like this a roughly equal amount to like half of my top ten and I had to split hairs.
10. SLOVENIA - RAIVEN - Veronika
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This is art, mama. This was the first Eurovision song I heard this year and it really started everything off on a good note. The insane vocal moment at the end is what kept this in my top 10 above Croatia. I cannot wait to see the staging because this has a vision.
9. NORWAY - GÅTE - Ulveham
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This feels weird having it this low. It was my number four for the longest time. Like, until I made this list today. I think it's the verses holding it back for me. The verses are a little bit nothing. It's just a lot of "this happened, and then this happened". And that's the one thing that docks an execution point from this otherwise excellent song. But it's lovely hearing Norwegian at Eurovision for the first time in forever
8. AUSTRIA - KALEEN - We Will Rave
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Things Badger is nostalgic for, entry #1 - Cascada, apparently. This is taking me back to playing fucking DDR at the Time Zone outside of Hoyts at Hornsby Westfield when I was like 15. This was one of the songs I was juggling with whether to keep in my top ten, asking myself "Do I really like this song as much as I thought I did the last time I played it?" So then I'd play it again, and every time I played it...I'd get this feeling. And every time we kiss, I swear I could fly.
Wait.
7. ITALY - ANGELINA MANGO - La Noia
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OK, full disclosure, if I were ranking the songs "objectively" in terms of which one is the best, like if I were taking personal taste out of this and just telling you what song I think will or should win Eurovision, this would be my pick. This is by far the hippest thing Italy has ever sent to Eurovision. It's great. It's fun. It's fresh. It's vocally challenging but executed with unbelievable ease. Angelina Mango is style, she is fashion, she is an icon, she is the moment. She's everything. Also, BUSINESS PRINCESS. What more can you want?
6. CZECHIA - AIKO - Pedestal
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Things Badger is nostalgic for entry #2 - late 80s/early 90s girl grunge rockers. This song is stuck in my head all the time, and it's awesome. You just want to scream out the chorus. Because, you know what, I relate to this. I am currently going through a phase of loving me more, loving me more than your bullshit. And it feels great. It's empowering. It's a good message. Sometimes we do need to learn to put ourselves first, and learn what self-love actually means.
5. DENMARK - SABA - Sand
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This is Scandinavian pop perfection. And I am not immune to Scandi-pop. Far from it. It's a well-known weakness of mine. I apologise if it makes me boring, but I fucking love this. I love every single second of this song. I'm probably going to vote for it in the Grand Final. If this wins the Jury I will be the one person who was like yeah I told you.
4. POLAND - LUNA - The Tower
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OK, I initially had this lower. This was always in my Top 10. I always loved this song. But I always kind of had it in my mind of like, oh yeah, this is a really great song, but I like other songs more.
But, do I, though? Because, other than my #1 song, this is the song I've listened to more than any other song this year. And, as I was putting together this list, I kept thinking, oh yeah, The Tower is going to be the song that I listen to the most (other than my number 1) after this contest, it's going to be on all my playlists.
And then I stopped and thought, wait, hang on. If I keep wanting to listen to this song more than all the others, and I'm already looking forward to listening to this song for years to come...doesn't that mean I like it a hell of a lot more than I keep thinking I do? And, yeah. The answer is yes. I really love this song. I think the reason I kept underrating it is because it's just a great song all the way through with no real big epic Eurovision moment, right? But this list isn't what song I think will win Eurovision, it's what songs I like best. And I like this song almost the best. This is the kind of music I listen to.
3. FINLAND - WINDOWS95MAN - No Rules!
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Things Badger is nostalgic for entry #3 - Y2K era Eurodance. This is basically just Planet of the Bass with only slightly less irony. And I love literally everything about it. Eurodance is a fundamental, defining characteristic of who I am. The first album I ever owned was Aqua's Aquarium. This shit just speaks to my soul, OK?
2. IRELAND - BAMBIE THUG - Doomsday Blue
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*stands and applauds* You did it. You fucking did it, Ireland. You sent something interesting. Thank God. And, like, OK, interesting in and of itself does not equal good. This song is a stylistically experimental mishmash of different genres that could very easily be an unlistenable messy clusterfuck, but it's not. It's unironically actually very good and...oddly coherent? It's honestly bizarre how well these stylistic shifts that should be jarring just flow seamlessly. Or at least to me they do.
Is there maybe a part of this song that is trying a little too hard to be different and edgy? Yeah, sure, maybe. But I was once a teenager trying too hard to be different and edgy, and maybe this song speaks to that part of me that I haven't accessed in a while.
1. SAN MARINO - MEGARA - 11:11
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Man, it sucks that this is going to go out in the semi-finals because I REALLY love this song, and I don't get why other people don't.
But apparently it's because...Thing Badger is nostalgic for, entry #4, mid-2000s electronic rock, which was absolutely fucking huge in Australia at the time. This song reminds me so much of that time in my life when I was listening to, like, The Rogue Traders, The Veronicas, TV Rock, The Presets, The Potbelleez, Sneaky Sound System. I could keep going. Apparently I was hugely nostalgic for this exact sound and I had no idea until I heard this song. But apparently this is also an experience entirely unique to me because it seems like nobody else likes this song, or cares about it at all.
Whatever, it will always have a fan in me.
OK HAPPY END
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randomvarious · 1 year ago
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Vengaboys - "We Like to Party! (The Vengabus)" 1998 Eurodance / Eurohouse / Europop
The Vengaboys really struggled for a little bit to break out internationally before managing to basically become a co-ed Eurodance/Europop version of The Village People. Their first two singles, "Parada de Tettas" (which I guess translates to "Parade of Tits"?), and "To Brazil" both managed to chart in their home country of the Netherlands in 1997, but nowhere outside of the Benelux region (Belgium, Netherlands, Luxembourg), besides Hong Kong, did any label seem interested in picking up either song.
Sometime around 1998, though, the group's producers, Danski & Delmundo, figured it all out: they found that patented, trancey, fuzzy-buzzy, honking Vengaboys synth sound. And its arrival was marked by a song called "Up & Down," which, if you've never heard it, is remarkably similar to "We Like to Party! (The Vengabus)"
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So, "Up & Down" represented the start of the Vengaboys' turn-of-the-millennium Euro-dominance. It would become the first single of theirs to really be picked up internationally, and it smashed, particularly in the UK, where it reached #4 on the singles chart and #1 on the dance chart. And in the US, while it didn't touch the Billboard Hot 100, it still topped the publication's dance chart too.
Now, here's where things can get a tad confusing, though: after the Vengaboys released "Up & Down," they followed it up in April of 1998 with their hard-to-find, Dutch-only debut album, Up & Down – The Party Album!, which is not to be confused with their *international* debut album, The Party Album!, which came out over a year later; both releases happen to have pretty different track lists, and the original Dutch-only album only has one song on it that actually uses what would end up becoming the group's famous synth.
In fact, while both the Dutch and international releases have a song on them called "We Like to Party," they are actually two completely different versions. The one that went stratospheric and got the Vengaboys to really break out in the US contains the synth sound, whereas the original version off the Dutch-only album doesn't. And instead, the one from the Dutch-only album is like a weird breakbeat-Eurotrance thing that sounds like it *might* be sampling Slick Rick's "we like to party" line from "La-Di-Da-Di"??? Give a listen to this rareness. It took me multiple YouTube searches to find it, and a 90s throwback DJ might find some use for it, to blend it with the far more popular version 👀.
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So, now, knowing about this particular track, here's what I think happened: Danski & Delmundo saw that their group had finally found success because of that trademark synth in "Up & Down," and they thought that they could earn another big hit if they had just used it again. So they constructed a pretty similar beat, repurposed the titular line from the original version of "We Like to Party," and then had group member Denise Post-Van Rijswijk sing some lyrics over it, which happened to include what would become one of the catchiest choruses of the entire decade. And voila, the Vengaboys then had an even bigger worldwide hit than "Up & Down" in "We Like to Party! (The Vengabus)."
This version of the song not only ended up slaying in Europe, but because it had lyrics, it became the group's biggest American hit too, reaching #26 on the Hot 100. And then after that one came the group's third straight single to use the synth: "Boom Boom Boom Boom."
Now, if you actually doubted my comparison of the Vengaboys to the Village People before, here's two things: one, the art for The Party Album! literally has the two male members of the group drawn as a cowboy and a sailor; and two, the music video for "We Like to Party! (The Vengabus)" has a short scene in it in which the Vengaboys run into a group of guys who are dressed as the Village People and are doing the "YMCA" dance; but the Vengaboys, who are a mix of bored and befuddled by their presence, end up pushing them aside, so as to say, "Out of the way, Village People! The new breed, The Vengaboys, are here!"
And as far as Europe goes, they weren't wrong. They'd never have another hit in the US after "Boom Boom Boom Boom," but they'd keep up the momentum with The Platinum Album, and now they're still beloved over there as a nostalgia act more than two decades later. And the Vengaboys would remain relevant in the US too, of course, with Six Flags appropriating "We Like to Party! (The Vengabus)" as its own theme song in 2004, which came with an iconic ad campaign that featured a dancing, besuited old man called Mr. Six, who, according to this credible Reddit comment I found, was actually just a 30-year old guy in prosthetic makeup?! 😲
More fun videos here.
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wannabe-cartoonist-blog · 1 year ago
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Historical Notes for “What Was I Made For” video
DISCLAIMER/TRIGGER WARNING: HISTORICAL HETALIA. Allusions/references to wars and politics, including current events are made. None of these references are made In mockery or meant to diminish these events, but to acknowledge them. That being said, these characters are fictional, but a lot of the scenes depicted here are based upon real facts + events. As always, please take everything with a grain of salt.
- Up until the global Great Depression following WW1, Liechtenstein was off on her own being a fabulous little nation with lots of castles and culture and history. WW1 monetarily ruined Liechtenstein though and their economy was never able to recover on their own. Then Switzerland stepped forward to supply monetary and military support. To this day, Liechtenstein is still closely guarded/monitored by Switzerland. I obviously alluded to those famous scenes from the anime here (the scene where Liechtenstein collapses and when she cuts her hair to be like Switzy + when she gets the ribbon from Switzy).
- Belgium, Netherlands, Luxembourg, and parts of South Italy were all under the rule of Spain’s Habsburg House. From 1556-1771, Belgium remained under Spain’s rule. Eventually, the Netherlands fought for its independence from Spain with the Eighty Years War lasting from 1568-1648. For the video, I had Belgium view it at her little family breaking apart. (Though Belgium’s bid for independence wasn’t too far behind, and Belgium would then be under the Netherlands’ rule until 1830). Finally, Belgium got shafted a LOT during WW1 + 2. Poor girl went through it. Wish we got more WW2 stories with her in it, as Belgium was a vital area in the Western Front; the Germans had to go through Belgium before they got to France.
- The island of Taiwan gained independence from Japan in 1952. Before that, it had spent much time under China (it was taken by the Japanese when they were doing their whole little empire thing). When China turned communist in 1949, the old Chinese government fled to Taiwan. So, in this video, I had her be an “ideal” old world China in that sense (at least to the Taiwanese). In this video, during a parade, Taiwan notices a little girl and her father, and it causes her to morn her lost childhood (which you don’t really get when you’re a nation). The car scene is based on President Eisenhower’s (US) visit to Taiwan in 1960.
- Seychelles was founded in the 18th century. Prior to Europeans bringing enslaved people there, there were no inhabitants. Seychelles was owned by France for a long time until it was surrendered to Britain in 1811. Poor girl’s probably got a heavier dose of identity crisis/imposter syndrome than most nations. Though she’s doing pretty well for herself today: in 1976, Seychelles gained independence from Great Britain.
- I inarguably do not know much about Monaco as a character + country, as she could have a number of origins. Like did she not exist until the Grimaldi family established there in 1215? Or was she still around as a personification when the Romans were there? Without a doubt though, France is the foreign power that has had the most influence on Monaco. It has claimed it then later recognized its independence a few times now, between all of France’s different Kings and Emperors. I think Monaco, for all intents and purposes, is France’s “sister”. In my fanon, she came to exist when Phonecia colonized it in the 6th century, then it was taken by Rome, but she later becomes a colony of the Republic of Genoa (Italy), then later France, then a brief stint with Spain, then France again… Monaco gained independence in 1861, though to this day, it is militarily defended by France (so sorta a similar relationship to Switzerland-Liechtenstein, here, hence the sibling headcanon). I think Monaco views the Italys as cousins of a sort and France as a sort of pseudo big brother. Spain is some guy she lived with/who protected her/a potential love interest, idk.
- Vietnam is another country with a long rich history of their own, but for a long time, they’re been forced under the influence of foreign powers. For this video, I decided to alluded to the Vietnam War, fought by the Capitalist United States (America) + South Vietnam and the Communist Soviet Union (Russia) + North Vietnam. Civil Wars are messy and confusing when it comes to this fandom, let me tell ya… Though without a doubt, this was a time of immense conflict for her.
- Oh man the countries that exist as females in canon so they can not-gay marry another man, you own my whole heart. That’s right, I’m talking about you, Hungary and Czechia. Both these ladies have a long history of being badass warriors. In Hungary’s case, she even canonically crossdressed/thought she was a boy. I imagine that even after she went through puberty and realized her true gender, she still crossdressed to be taken seriously. But of course, she later marries Austria and becomes a bit of a housemaid. That’s so sad. Let my girl fight. I imagine that Czechia would crossdress too (I imagine a lot of female nations do, especially in times of war) before she would later marry Slovakia. I also think that even though Hungary and Czechia both love their ex-husbands and understand they’re in a similar bind with the arranged political marriages, they still long for the times before they were placed in a box based on their gender/nationhood. (On an almost unrelated note: I love the himbo/useless boyfriend Slovakia we see in the anime, 12/10 content).
- Often in the fandom, Belarus is pretty one-note in her devotion to Russia and her distain for anyone else. But I imagine that Belarus is actually quite a complex character who often questions where her loyalties lie. Belarus used to be part of the kingdom of Lithuania-Poland, where I imagine for a time she was happy until she wanted to be on her own/back with her family. Then it was part of the USSR. Then it left the USSR and was creating ties with capitalist America, her brother’s sworn enemy. I imagine Belarus has always been loyal to her brother, but in the 90s she sorta gets all turned around when the Union collapses and has to rethink everything she thought she knew. Obviously, her path leads her back to her brother, as Russia and Belarus still have strong political ties to this day.
- Finally, we have Ukraine which has a long history of terrible things happening to it via another country. I contemplated whether or not to include such current, sensitive subjects. But, this is history we’re witnessing, and so I decided to include an allusion to the present war in Ukraine. Ukraine is another character in the show/fandom who is often portrayed pretty one-note as just a devote matriarch to her family/brother. Obviously, especially with the current political climate and the relationship between the actual countries of Ukraine, Russia, and Belarus, that’s pretty bullshit/insensitive. I imagine that for the nations, there is a healthy dose of disconnect between them and politics; the countries usually represent the PEOPLE of the country, not the political/governmental parties, in my mind - they’re still their own people with their own feelings and relationships - but I definitely feel like (the characters of) Ukraine and Russia’s relationship has been strained since the 90s (probably even the 80s, since Chernobyl).
This blog supports a free Ukraine. 💙🇺🇦💛
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technonews-biz · 15 days ago
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Top 5 biggest hacker attacks
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The number of data leaks has been steadily increasing over the past few years. News of new data breaches and hacks are appearing daily. Today, we look back and take a look at 5 of the biggest and worst data breaches in history.
1. RockYou2024
RockYou2024 is the pinnacle of data breaches and a warning to those who think hackers don't care. In July 2024, attackers published a large number of passwords on a hacker forum. This collection is based on the old RockYou2021 data leak, but RockYou2024 is still quite relevant. 83% of passwords can be cracked within an hour using a special matching algorithm, and only 4% (328 million) can be categorized as secure. In other words, it will take more than a year to crack them using advanced algorithms. 
2. Yahoo
More than a decade ago, Yahoo was hacked by a phishing email, leading to a series of reports of alleged data breaches. Initial reports suggested hundreds of millions of accounts, but this figure was later revised upwards to around 500 million. In 2017, shortly after the company's upcoming deal with Verizon, it was revealed that all three billion accounts were affected. Hackers were able to access names, email addresses, birth dates, and phone numbers. Even worse, they were able to access accounts of users who hadn't changed their passwords in years. That's why it's so important to change passwords regularly and delete old profiles.
This incident is further proof that even large tech companies can fail to properly store user data. In the case of Yahoo, attackers discovered an unencrypted Q&A database, and some accounts lacked two-factor authentication altogether. The lesson from this incident is that you should not rely on social media or online platforms to protect your personal accounts. You need to create or generate strong passwords.
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3. UIDAI (Aadhar)
The Unique Identification Authority of India (UIDAI) manages the world's largest biometric identification system, which stores the personal data of over one billion people in India, as well as biometric information such as fingerprints and iris images. While many countries around the world are currently planning to introduce biometric identification, India has had such a system in place for over a decade. UIDAI was created to provide a unique official 'Aadhar' identification number to all residents of India.
In 2018, after a series of data breaches, cybercriminals not only gained access to the database but also sold it for just Rs. 500 crores (about $6 at current exchange rates). In 2023, there was another major data breach affecting 815 million people in India. Banks and law enforcement agencies are still advising data leak victims to disable biometrics in financial services. However, this does not guarantee security, as names, passport numbers, photos, fingerprints and other information can fall into the hands of cybercriminals.
4. Facebook
The combination of the words “Facebook” and “data leak” will not surprise anyone. The platform is regularly attacked by hackers and internal data breaches. This time, in the largest leak in the company's history, attackers took possession of the names, phone numbers and location data of 533 million users. They then published this data on hacker forums where anyone could download it for free. The data included not only the accounts of ordinary users, but also famous personalities such as EU Justice Commissioner Didier Rendels and the then Prime Minister of Luxembourg (now Foreign Minister) Xavier Bettel.
The data leak occurred between 2018 and 2019, but was first reported in 2021. Why it happened. In fact, hackers exploited a security vulnerability in 2019, which Facebook quickly patched but then forgot (or intentionally failed to notify users of the incident). As a result, Meta was heavily criticized and fined $265 million.
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5. CAM4
This incident is interesting for two reasons. The information accessed and the manner in which it was accessed. In addition to 'standard' data such as name, email address, payment history, more private information was provided. This included gender preferences and sexual orientation. Users were required to provide this information when registering before accessing content on the adult platform. The source of the data leak was an insecure Elasticsearch database. However, the worst-case scenario was not realized and there were no unpleasant consequences. If all the reports of these 5 data leaks were compiled into a book, it would be quite thick, but the CAM4 story would take up a small but important chapter, “The Biggest Data Leak in History That Didn't Happen.” Fortunately, the database was shut down and moved to the company's local network within 30 minutes of discovering the bug.
What can we learn from these data breach cases?
The common theme of these cases is that big companies are not responsible for us. In other words, we are primarily responsible for the security of our data, not Facebook, Yahoo, or the government. Take control of your accounts, create or generate strong passwords, store them in a secure password manager, and be extra careful, especially when it comes to biometric data.
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depictae · 6 months ago
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10 Interesting Facts About Luxembourg
Discover 10 interesting facts about Luxembourg, known for its wealth, multilingual population, historic castles, and role as a major financial center.
Basic Information About Luxembourg Country Full Name: Grand Duchy of Luxembourg Continent: Europe Official Languages: Luxembourgish, French, and German Currency: Euro (EUR) Capital: Luxembourg City Main Dish: Judd mat Gaardebounen (smoked pork with broad beans) Famous For: Banking sector, castles, diverse culture, and high quality of life. Size: 2,586 square kilometers Population:…
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