#Romanian resorts

[ruiniel]

If I said I'm in tears would you believe me? Far from it being a performative statement, you simply added a dent into my breastplate with this as I knew you would.

I admit I'd turned on notifications for your blog to avoid missing things as happened before, and now I was looking at this with bated breath, absorbing every detail, every lyric perfectly timed to every scene (and hearing the song in my head without listening to it), the beautifully rendered meaning in every gesture, the bittersweet meld of pleasure and pain.

Their meeting, their bonding, their togetherness, their intimacy, the inevitable end.

The "Bury some scenes and expect some strong branches" panel with the softness of lines evoking such deep intimacy and a near ritualistic spiritual union, the symbolism (and texture, wow!) of their hair tangling together, and the tension and abandon in the clasped hands... it has got to be one of the most beautiful Caranthir/Haleth moments I've seen depicted in my short tenure as a Tolkienite in our 40+ year old fandom.

"Adaneth, the life and love of the Eldar dwells much in memory" stated Finrod once, albeit in a completely different context and to prove a different point, but that makes it no less true for this What If. Somehow, thinking about Caranthir, in my interpretation of his character, I think he would not have turned away. I think his choice might have been different to Aegnor's, somewhere in an AU far, far away- this maybe because I'm a sucker for the mortal-immortal-star-crossed theme. This pairing remains one of my favorite What-ifs in the Legendarium.

And the ending panels come in such a gutting contrast, the peacefulness of the beautiful vale, and Caranthir alone with his grief, with memories of past joy slipping between his fingers and rising on the wind. I keep going back to gawk at the panels as I write this, and I'll come back to it time and again.

And it's not much, but I dedicate the only Caranthir x Haleth fanfiction I ever wrote to you, mostly because it's in her POV and some scenes are SO on point, likewise the ending, which is never shown from his POV... but you did it here.

I'm speechless (hence the wall-of-text 🖤). Thank you my friend-in-tolkien for sharing your fantastic storytelling skills and this gorgeous, gorgeous art with us.

I'll tend to the flame, you can worship the ashes. - The Longest Johns

I want everyone to know that this is entirely @ruiniel's fault for consistently throwing both lovely songs and lovely art/writing/thoughts on my dash ♡

[hopelesslyromanticgay]

An Americano, Please? Part 3

Word count: 1.3K A/N: Just an FYI, I don't usually upload twice a day, I just felt particularly inspired today. As always, italics in quotation marks signify the speaking is using romanian dialect.

Y/N's POV:

I gotta admit. It hurt when Jenna didn't send me a text immediately. It's been two days, and still nothing.

Maybe it was a meaningless banter. Oh well. I guess I just really thought something could come out of it.

"What are you sulking about?" Nessa asks me one day after our shift. 

"I'm not sulking, I'm just a little sad because I didn't get a text from someone," I explain, "It's not like she owed me a text or anything, but I don't have to be ecstatic over the fact that she hasn't done so."

"Oh my god, you're into the American one," Nessa exclaims, "I knew it! I mean, she's gorgeous. Like if I were into girls I would definitely be into her." I take a sip of my cortado (half espresso, half milk) as I listen.

"Well in any case, she's probably not interested."

"Stop sulking, Y/N," Nessa scolds me, "Let's do something fun. Gotta get your mind off of this girl."

Since our shift just ended, and we have a whole afternoon ahead of us, Nessa and I take her car to Predeal, the closest thing to a modern city we have around here.

It's about seven miles, so about twenty minute drive. The town's mostly filled with ski resorts, but there's a few fun places to shop.

A great deal of the afternoon is spent sitting outside a store judging the tourists. 

"Oh my god she's probably saying something stupid like, 'I know it's winter but my husband will love this hawaiian T-shirt I bought in Romania,'" Nessa mimics the normal thought process of the typical tourist.

"This guy's even worse though,"  I stifle a laugh, mocking his actions.

After a thorough mockery of all of the Predeal tourists, we head back to our town, content with our afternoon.

I still haven't stopped thinking about Jenna, though. I wish I could have gotten to know her better. It's so nice to finally have someone I can talk to in English.

All I can do is hope that she comes back to the shop. Even then though, she probably won't want much to do with me.

Nessa drops me off at my apartment, waving goodbye. Almost instantly, I shed my winter coat, relieved by the warmth of the building.

The first thing I do is turn on the TV and open Netflix. A new baking show just dropped, and I'm not the type to turn down new entertainment.

The show turns out to be a combination of baking and engineering. It seems cool, but it's hard to tell from the first episode.

My phone lights up with a bright reminder Remember to feed Cupid!

Sighing, I get up from the couch and grab my fish flakes.

Cupid is my purple betta fish. She's about a year old and as of yet hasn't had too many health issues, which is super lucky for both of us. She's at the point where she recognizes my face. So when I go up to the tank, fish feed in hand, she eagerly swims up to the glass.

"Hey Cupid," I laugh, sprinkling some food into the tank.

After feeding her, I head back to the couch, where I continue watching my cooking show. Before I know it, I'm five episodes in and the sun is starting to set. I look out of the window, trying to gauge the temperature and weather condition.

It's a fairly clear twilight right now. There's a good chance I'll get to see stars tonight. Actually, I've decided I will see stars tonight.

I don my winter coat and make my way down the apartment complex stairs. One of the perks of not living in a huge city is that I can see the night sky beautifully.

One of my favorite places in town is on the outer edges of it. At this point, all of the buildings are housing, be it apartments or actual houses. The long stretches of pavement are perfect for strolling down while admiring the night. 

Not a lot of people choose to come out here late at night, which is honestly their loss. I wouldn't necessarily say I'm super into nature and the great outdoors, but when I am outside, I can find an appreciation for my surroundings.

So that's how I found myself strolling the streets of Bușteni Romania, not looking at the cement in front of me.

BAM! I find myself crashing into another person, almost knocking both of us over.

"Fuck, I am so sorry," I find myself defaulting to english, "I- I mean, I'm so sorry, are you okay?"

"Y/N?" A familiar voice asks.

"Jenna?" It may be dark, but I can just barely see the details of her face. God I hope she's not mad.

"Yep, it's me," I hear her faintly laugh.

"Are you okay? I almost knocked you over."

"I'm okay, just a little rattled."

"Sorry for that again," I apologize, "I should have been watching where I was going." 

"You could make it up to me by walking me to my apartment?" she offers.

"I'd like nothing more," I laugh, linking my arm with hers and we start to walk.

"So, Y/N, tell me about yourself," she starts the conversation.

"Well, my name's Y/N L/N, I work at a coffee shop. I speak English and Romanian, which is useful for when people like you come to the shop."

"I know that stuff," she interrupts me, "what do you like to do outside of work?"

"You know, the normal things, be around the people I care about, watch shows, I read sometimes, listen to music, that kind of stuff. What about you?"

"Well for starters, I'm Jenna Ortega, I also love to read and listen to music," she tells me, "I also like to write though, I have like, twenty scripts and stories sitting in my FinalDraft™ folder."

"Damn, you must really like writing," I respond, "that's pretty awesome."

"I guess so," she shrugs.

"Have you ever considered publishing your work?" I ask.

"Yeah, I actually published a book called It's All Love," she answers proudly.

"That's like, the coolest thing anyone's said to me all day," I tell her.

"I guess I'm just a cool person," she jokes, "I'm kidding, I'm kidding, only an arrogant person would say that."

"No, you have reason to say, it. You're a published author, the lead in a TV show, and fun to talk to. Don't discredit your own awesome-ness." 

She laughs, "thanks for saying that."

"Sure thing." 

"So, does your offer to take me around town sometime still stand?" she changes the subject.

"I'm a woman of my word, Jenna, if you still want a tour, you have my number," I remind her, trying to sound kind and cool at the same time. Which is kind of challenging.

"Oh my god, I forgot to text you, didn't I," she gasps, "I'm so so sorry, Y/N. I've just had so much going on." She starts to talk herself into a panic, "I have work for like, eight hours a day, plus cello lessons, plus german and fencing, it's just so much." If I had known how busy she was I never would have felt so hurt. That must be so overwhelming.

"Hey, it's okay, I'm not mad about it." Which is true. 

"That's such a relief," she exhales, "again, I'm so sorry."

"Hey, Jenna, it's okay. How about the next time you have a day off, we get in touch and I take you around town."

"Well, conveniently enough, my next day off is tomorrow, so how about I see you then?" she offers.

"I wouldn't be opposed to that," I smile, doing my best to hide how excited I am for this.

"Well this is my place," she announces, "thank you for walking me home." 

"Anytime," I reply, sad to know the night is ending. She heads through the door to her apartment, leaving me to walk the short five minutes to my apartment alone.

As soon as I get home, I dash to my bedroom, putting on pyjamas and getting ready for bed. I'm tired from the day. At at the same time, I'm so happy I got to see Jenna. I'm so excited that she wants to see me again, maybe tomorrow! I can't wait to get to know her better.

My phone lights up with a text from a new number

                       +1 ***-***-****

Does 11 AM tomorrow work for you?

-Jenna

I smile, quickly texting back 

                               Sure thing, see ya then :)

I can hardly wait.

[easternblocrelics]

On new routes with IBUSZ (TPTTC) Car tours: Yugoslavia-Italy, Yugoslavia-Austria Individual vacations: Venus Holiday Resort (Romanian seaside), Loutraki (Greek seaside), Zakopane (Poland) IBUSZ ~ (TPTTC) Tourism, Procurement, Travel and Transport Corporation 1979

[papirouge]

What the fuck does Romanian police arresting a sex trafficker have anything to do with American bullshit? Why does the swedish teen climate change activist that laughed at him on twitter trigger them so much lmao

IKR? They are straight up asking for Biden to pardon him, like......THAT'S NOT HOW IT WORKS. AND YOU CAN'T PARDON SOMEONE WHO HAS YET TO GET A SENTENCE!!! If they had a brain, they'd rather talk about extradition, but these idiots think Romania is the 51st state of the USA somehow... Honestly USAmericans deserve their reputation of being absolute idiots.

And yes, Greta got them real shook. Watching them navigate through the 7 stages of grief to cope with that trainwreck was hilarious.

First they spread straight up misinformation saying Tate got released....by posting months old videos of him partying. Bold of them to pretend to escape from "the matrix" when they are so kin to drown themselves in their own delusion by crafting a whole another reality to fit their own bias....like b, shut up about the "eScApInG fRoM tHe mAtRiX" YOU ARE THE MATRIX!!

Then they said Greta should be ashamed of making fun of the size of his peepee (funny, bc this whole anti bodyshaming thing came from the "woke mob" that Conservatives usually looove clowning for resorting to emotionalism...🤔)

And now they're seething saying that the Greta joke wasn't funny and that the narrative of him being doxxed by his own pizza was fake.....when those are actually just details in this whole fiasco, and tbh people being nitpicky about this just proves even further how they are too embarrassed to handle the bigger picture so they try to deflect onto small details. Whether Tate doxxed himself or not doesn't retrieve anything to the pathetic irony of him being arrested moments after making a lame 2 minutes video comeback bc he got his fee fees hurt by a one liner comeback on Twitter. What truly made people lose their mind was 1)that (low blow) clapback was out of character for Greta. She usually barely engages with anyone on her twitter account, so the fact she chose violence like that is unprecedented 2)the timing of him getting in a stupid twitter beef flexing about his wealth & lifestyle just before getting arrested was just perfect 3)the irony of him being dragged by an autistic girl half his age when his whole brand his the strong unbothered Alpha male is peak poetic cinema. Only stupid moids think they are doing something being like "sO yOu Admit yOu Have a sMalL peNis GrEtA?? tHat'S yOur oWn AdDreSS aMiRitE???🤪" ....like, that's such a typical boomer-tier brand of 1st degree level reading comprehension..... By making a stupider comeback to an already stupid post Greta took the piss out of Tate and there are no configuration in which he could possibly make a compelling come back. Brillant. Sometimes, you have to lay as low as your enemy, and considering the unpredicted consequences of this stunt, that's what made her move retrospectively outstandingly funny. Moids, scrotes and Tate-sexuals can seethe, Greta won💚

[sgiandubh]

This fandon is surreal!

This week I took a look at Sam's new follow and followed some of his stories. She is exactly the same as the other one!! Both Fitness Barbies with terrible hair extensions, Glasgow residents who sell supplements and overexpose children under 6. If I wore pearls I would be clutching them right now! There are no limits in this shit show, as a matter of fact. I know, I need to calm down...

Dear Calm Down Anon,

Between the Romanian MMA fighter (that made me howl, because we hit a New Low) and the gay (and very much married) conservationist, there is something for absolutely all the factions of this fandom, in those lackadaisical follows.

My #silly, horrible little Self loved this summing up: 'Both Fitness Barbies with terrible hair extensions, Glasgow residents who sell supplements and overexpose children under 6.' Please come back anytime, I really, really enjoyed the laugh.

There is something very telling about this rabid wishful thinking, bound to set him up every single time with an Aryan version of Xena, based on absolutely zero factoids.

Life is elsewhere. Unfortunately for many people vicariously livin' it up, I predict there will be no Samlotte.

As there was no Samarah. Someone should have the balls and tell *urv Samarah is a Jordanian holiday resort. Near the Dead Sea.

[fuckmeyer]

Do you think the Volturi would ever get desperate enough to make their own newborn army to continue being in power?

yes, but actually no

Yes

the Guide says they overthrew the Romanians by "launching a successful war." really, they just convinced a bunch of vamps to go to war for them for 100+ years on the premise that it was mutually beneficial for everyone to follow certain laws.

here's the thing. the tactic of newborn armies didn't exist until Benito tried to pull it off in the 1800s. end result: the Volturi came in full force & exterminated the newborns. this lil anecdote in vampire history tells us that 1) while the Volturi have gone to war, they have not experimented with newborn armies. & 2) when faced with a challenge to their doctrine, they do attack.

fast-forward like 200 years. in Second Short Life of Bree Tanner, they threaten to punish Victoria for creating a newborn army but give her the chance to destroy the Cullen clan first. it seems, given the right adversary, the Volturi are willing to bend their rules...

they have a history of starting wars, combat, & breaking their rules.

But actually no

their whole shtick is noninterference & secrecy. they've gained power through soft diplomacy & quiet hard diplomacy. (amassing an arsenal of talented vamps, spreading their doctrine, solidifying their reputation etc). potential problems are resolved quickly & discreetly. a newborn army is the antithesis of their mission & their strategy. bottom line, they would lose a lot of power & credibility by openly flouting their own philosophy.

"ok but 'yes, but actually no' is a non-answer"

NO, the Volturi would not get desperate enough to create a newborn army. they would prefer an elite, highly trained team of talented statesmen & gifted vampires over a hoard of volatile newborns. under the right conditions, however, they might wage a proxy war.

imo, they would be at their "most desperate" when they lose everything: the guard, the coven, & the reputation. even then, i don't think they would resort to outright creating a newborn army.

from the Guide: "Aro called his soldiers “the Volturi guard,” making it clear that they were subservient to the actual coven of five." there are 9 permanent members of the guard & more transitory members, all of which he views as his "collection." "Ambition was [the coven's] bonding element. [...] Rank in the guard is decided by power."

there's already tension among the guard fighting for their rank within the system (or to be a permanent member).

post-Breaking Dawn, the Volturi's reputation has taken a hit. covens have lost faith in their ability to lead. morale is down in the guard; perhaps some transitory members take a hike. the Volturi already rely heavily on vampires who modify relationships & mental states i.e. Chelsea, Corin, Marcus. they're all in this stupid club for ambition & power's sake; imagine one of them is dissatisfied with the Volturi's loosening grip on power? imagine the Volturi must quash an exodus in their guard, leading them into a vicious cycle of lost trust & draconian measures? imagine the guard fights with itself as some begin to turn on the Volturi...?

if the core Volturi coven don't have their guard, what do they have? a telepath (Aro), a relationship identifier (Marcus), regular-ass Caius, & two regular-ass wives who don't even want to be there. in addition, they have their reputation & their abilities as statesmen. that's it.

[consider this: "If a vampire remains unmoving often enough over thousands of years, dust begins to petrify in response to the venom-like liquids that lubricate his eyes and skin." Bella notices this milky film over their eyes. she also doesn't notice any vampire scars. it's probable the kings have seen little to no combat in centuries, if ever.]

if the guard turns on them, & they've lost reputation with the other covens, what would they do? the wives might dip bc being stuck at home for hundreds of years kinda soured them on the whole "being married" shit. Marcus would ask for death lmao. that leaves Aro & Caius. (possibly Jane/Alec/& other loyal guards.) considering the guards' experience w/ newborn armies, really the only way out of this is negotiating the kings' freedom. openly creating their own newborn army would permanently destroy their reputation, & their ties with other covens will become their greatest asset when the guard turns.

tl;dr worst case scenario, in response to an existential threat i see them saving their own hides & fucking off into obscurity while they figure out their next moves (which would largely involve diplomacy, rebuilding their "collection," & proxy wars).

[alatismeni-theitsa]

I find it hilarious that now fairies and monsters and every "fantasy" genre related in books and shows are from European folklore and no one mentions the culture erasure of them.

Fairies specifically are from Celtic mythology and people now make books about fae smut (Ehem Sarah J maas..).

The Witcher show from Netflix is based on a Polish author yet the show erased Poland's culture in the book and tried to make it Hollywood woke and diverse (without even acknowledging casting actors from Poland).

I think that's why the fantasy genre fails because it doesn't make any adept to diverse it's worldbuilding based on ethnicity. I would 100% prefer a fairy story set in Ireland before for example civilization took place. Or vampires wearing traditional Romanian clothes.

Like give me actual diverse stories about different cultures while trying to make it a fantasy genre 🤣

The US movie industry rarely implements actual diversity despite talking about it to an annoyingly degree. They're a bit more careful with cultures of (whom they consider) PoC but still they don't usually do a great job from what I hear. For non-PoC (including people who only recently gained White status) they give even less shit, and they resort to Colonial Western Europe nation folklore (aka not Celtic stuff) and not even authentically 😂 It's just how the USians imagine the vibe of those stories and creatures, not how they actually are.

Sometimes they also Anglify/Celtify the Greek divinities, making water divinities fish-like and forest divinities tree-like and I'm like.... Ma'am this is a very anthropomorphic culture, what are you doing. When the elements speak they speak as the elements (like the mountains), they don't turn half humans. But even a river was presented anthropomorphically

[djuvlipen]

https://nordicmodelnow.org/2020/03/02/the-cost-of-western-europes-rampant-prostitution-the-genocide-of-romanian-women/?amp=1

Sorry for the triggering article. Not romani but ty for your bravery and support of women 💚

God, that was a good article, thank you for sharing, Anon. I recommend reading the whole thing but I want to highlight some specific parts:

For the last eight months or so, the entire country has been in turmoil and living a nightmare. I do not say ‘nightmare’ lightly. I wish it had just been a bad dream that we’d woken from. If only… But the reality is we can’t shake off the nightmarish situation that’s been stewing since about the time my country was accepted into the European Union and the borders were opened. While it was a fantastic opportunity for the development of the country, it was also the beginning of a horrifying new reality – rampant human trafficking. In an effort to provide for themselves and/or their families, people started to go abroad in search of work opportunities they couldn’t find at home. But it was also a huge opportunity for interlopers and human traffickers, because the opening of the borders made it easier for them to do what they had previously been doing with a lot more difficulty. Now their activity is widespread and unchecked. They have no qualms. They brazenly state that it’s a certified way of making a living. Given the legal status of prostitution in many EU countries, trafficking women and children has become in Romania a legitimate way of making a fortune for the ‘smarter’ people. They declare that dirty money is easier and faster to make with little to no effort on their part. That’s ‘smart’ to them. They announce this unapologetically, and with a superior smirk, on every medium, official and unofficial. For the ordinary, hardworking population, this is unbelievable, unbearable, terrifying.

This points at something I've been thinking about: the European Union is not our friend, it is explicitly anti-women. It doesn't simply tolerate the sex trade, it institutionalizes it to make profit out of it. It is antifeminist at its core and the first victims of it are women from impoverished Eastern European countries, with Romani (not simply Romanian) women being particularly vulnerable.

There are over 500 known trafficking rings in Romania, their areas of influence are well mapped and the leaders well known. They cover pretty much every inch of the country. Not a corner has been left unexploited by them. Prostitution is illegal in Romania, but it is flourishing anyway. As we all know, it produces enormous amounts of money for the ‘clans’ – as the interlopers call themselves with pride. But the biggest source of money is outside the country. In the beginning, they promised a job abroad in agriculture, in restaurants and as babysitters, and the women who fell prey found themselves in prostitution. When word got out and that tactic didn’t work anymore, they resorted to the ‘lover boy’ method. When that didn’t work so well, they started to steal children and young women from the street and even from their own homes. Thousands of other cases similar to Alexandra’s and Luiza’s have surfaced – including one where all six children – two boys and four girls – of a single mother were abducted by force, from their house. None of this – on this scale – would have been possible without the tacit agreement and practical protection of the authorities – police, the justice system, and politicians. The clans have grown so powerful that they even boast of having installed their own politicians, policemen, judges, and prosecutors. They continually escape justice. If some rogue policemen catch them and somehow manage to bring them to court, they use their money and influence to get off. The money that comes, as I said, not so much from the internal ‘market’, but from other European countries to which they traffic the children and women they get their hands on by any means. The most important destination are the countries where prostitution is legalized, like Germany and the Netherlands, but also the countries (including the UK) where laws against pimping and buying women in prostitution are not enforced. Romania has become the number one European source country of children and women in the brothels in Germany and Holland, and also Italy, Spain, Switzerland, Belgium, Greece and the UK. Even though the total population of Romania is only about 19 million, there are thousands[*] of Romanian women and children forced into street prostitution in Italy alone – and that’s not counting those in strip clubs, brothels and ‘escort’ prostitution. It’s estimated that there are similar numbers in Spain, the UK, Germany, and Holland – and that’s not considering those in the Arab world and on other continents. Romania has haemorrhaged more than a million children (girls and boys) and women into the prostitution trade in these countries. In countries where prostitution is legal, like Germany, only a small percentage of the women involved are locals. German women do not take up this kind of ‘work’ en masse. (Should we wonder why it’s so off-putting?). But the demand is huge – so they outsource to countries like mine.

This part is also very important. I only wish she had mentioned that Romani women make up a large % of trafficked women from Romania; one of the reasons I started making posts about it is because many people don't think race is relevant when talking about the sex trade in Eastern Europe, because they think all of Eastern Europe is white. The vast majority of articles and studies therefore erasing the large % of trafficked Romani women by painting the general sex-trafficked victim as a white woman, which is not the case as race is relevant here.

And all this because of the participation of our men in power, men who served the parents of the two still missing girls who want their children back with the sentence (pun intended), “I’m hitting a wall.” Yes. That’s what the attorney general said to them when asked why they aren’t looking for the girls: “I can’t look for them because there’s a wall stopping me.” People started rallying for the girls. It is awful to see the two mothers in tears and on their knees in front of the Police Department building, begging the authorities to find their children and bring them home. So what is that wall? Might it be the needs of ‘punters’ in Germany? In Italy? All over Europe and elsewhere? The US military base located only five miles away from the town of Caracal? The need of the overpaid and oversexed American ‘heroes’ to have sex in their spare time lest they might die from abstinence? The needs of the ‘heroes’ (read ‘paedophiles’) in the other US military base about 200 miles away near the sea port of Constanta who built a special pavilion INSIDE the base camp where they go and have sex and where they demand to be brought younger and younger girls (children), new ones each time? (In the case of Alexandra Macesanu and Luiza Melencu, even the FBI got involved and ‘recommended’ putting a lid on the whole affair, and over 90 US soldiers were packed and shipped home a few days after the disappearances broke into the news.) Might all that be the WALL?

And that is very interesting too. Even in peace time, the military is harming and raping girls and women. The US military, none the less. That's imperialism right there. The most powerful country in the world establishing military bases in impoverished countries and harming the girls and women living there. Covered up by the State. Just confirms what we all know: the military is a rotten institution and all soldiers are a threat to women, and the US military is the most powerful one.

[mariacallous]

The Bucharest authorities will seek the extradition of Prince Paul-Philippe of Romania after he was apprehended by police on Sunday in Malta.

The fugitive royal was convicted in 2020 of corrupt activities related to the illegal restitution of expensive real estate near Bucharest, to which he falsely claimed ownership.

However, Prince Paul fled Romania before the final sentencing by the Brasov Court of Appeal.

In June 2022, he was apprehended on the street in Paris and presented a passport issued by the British authorities.

However, the Paris Court of Appeals this year refused to extradite him to Romania.

Romania’s Minister of Justice Alina Gorghiu explained that the Paris court ruled that the Romanian judging panel in the trial of Prince Paul was unlawfully composed.

Prince Paul argued in front of the Paris court that one of the judges who convicted him in Romania had not actually taken an oath of office.

On April 6 this year, the Romanian Justice Ministry representatives said that the French court had accepted this argument and refused to approve the extradition.

The fugitive royal said in a statement issued by his lawyers after the Paris ruling that he had received “what was denied me in Romania: a fair trial based on evidence and impartial application of the law”, Radio France International reported.

Prince Paul was convicted in December 2020 at the Brasov Court of Appeal of buying influence and complicity in the crime of abuse of office against the public interest. He was sentenced to three years and four months in prison.

The court found that between 2006 and 2013, he illegally claimed the right to land, including the Snagov Forest and the Baneasa Royal Farm, an upmarket area near Bucharest, to which he had no right of ownership.

The cost to the state amounted to 145 million euros – 135 million euros for the royal farmlands and 10 million euros for the forest.

Although he is known as Prince Paul or Prince Paul-Philippe of Romania, he is not recognised as a member of the House of Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen nor the Royal House of Romania. He is also known as Paul-Philippe Hohenzollern.

He is the grandson of King Carol II of Romania, who ruled between 1930 and 1940, and the son of Mircea Grigore Carol Lambrino, also known as Mircea Grigore Carol Hohenzollern, and his first wife, Helene Henriette Naravitzine.

[novaqueenofmadness]

Rich Coffee

summary: don’t you just hate it when unsolicited men follow you around? well i got the stuff just for you The Glare™️

tags: bucky, being followed and catcalled for a sec

a/n: ‘domnule’ means ‘sir’ as in “excuse me sir/mister” in Romanian. if it’s wrong or there’s a better way to say it please let me know

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･' ★'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

You had been walking in circles for a few minutes now. You could feel the moist night air dampening your scalp, making your skin feel sticky, and leaving a shiny thin layer of condensation on your jacket. Worst of all you knew you were about to be running late for your shift at the café but you couldn’t help it, this really isn’t your fault. There had been some men that had stopped you earlier in your walk, catcalling and insisting that “you just have to come have some drinks with us sweetheart.” You had declined, politely telling them you were busy (your skin crawling) and most of all not interested. Annoyingly enough some people just can’t take “no” for an answer. The café is nearby, you know that, but the last thing you wanted was for some annoying tourists to know where you work and come harass you there for the rest of the night and whenever else they would’ve felt like coming. So you resorted to taking the main street that had a good amount of people, and turning into other streets at random and looping back to the main one again but they were just not letting up. Desperate, sad, sad disgusting men. You could hear them chatting and chuckling to one another, it was three guys, and occasionally they’d holler something at you, either asking for you to reconsider getting drinks with them (they would pay for everything you wanted to have[as if]), or having the audacity to complain about how long the walk felt. If you weren’t being reminded that jail was a very real place and didn’t have yourself a promise of living out of pure spite you might’ve swung around and perhaps shanked someone but alas c’est la vie. On the other hand if it’s so fastidious to them they could oh i don’t know just leave and go back to your shitty bar ya know.

You could feel your heart beating in your chest, felt it pulsating in your fingertips, heard it in your ears above all the people around you and making it quiet enough that your hearing just had to zero in on the men following you. You could hear their footsteps, every time they tripped and one of their friends helped them up laughing at them and standing them upright. There were enough people around that you felt safe but in any case you were uncomfortable and wanted them gone, for cheese sake Gabi was probably waiting on you to switch shifts and finally go home and get some sleep.

what do i do? i just want to go sit at the counter and get my paycheck. people have nothing better to do? do i call the po-? i know that jacket- oh! and i know that hat!

The thought suddenly hit you when you saw the fabric. It was that slightly worn out brown cotton with all the little scuffs, and even though its owner always had a different hoodie peeking from underneath it the black baseball cap he wore was always the same. Most recognizable of all, at least to you, was the slightly longer hair you’d spend hours wondering if it was as soft as it looked at the ends or maybe greasy from how much he wore that cap.

ok i don't know know him but better him than nothing right? right. with a deep breath you quickened your pace and with an enthusiastic approach announced yourself.

Bucky didn’t know why he decided now of all times was a good moment to take a walk. The streets were generously sprinkled with people out to enjoy whatever nightlife they could find, sitting, talking and drinking in and outside of restaurants and bars and eating from whichever vendor was successful in catching their attention. He had meant to go to the same café he would always go to at this time. It was well past midnight closer to what one may call a late night or a very early morning. As usual he couldn’t sleep, as if he ever could, and this café was quiet enough that he’d either read something to pass the time, write in his small journal (or go through it), or sometimes even doze off until it was closing time when the sun came up. The only reason Bucky hadn’t planted his bottom at his usual table right this second was because the barista on shift at the moment isn't the one he’s used to. Currently at the counter is the barista he knows is from the shift right before his preferred one (it’s not creepy he just likes to know things alright). While the barista on shift at the moment also has great customer service, Bucky knew they liked to chat with the customers a lot, something he just couldn’t bring himself to do. In contrast the barista that was usually at the café when he went in would give him his space, play the music at a softer volume and, surprisingly enough, managed to pick up on what music he tended to enjoy more. Above everything else they’d always announce themselves when they were bringing something to his table and he was distracted. Either by whistling to the tune of the music playing, saying “order up” before leaving the counter, and on the rare chance that he was napping, clinking the dishware as they approached his table. It helped with a lot of his anxiety and he was always thankful for it ever since they had caught him flinching that one time he was distracted thinking. They never brought it up or made it a talking point on the few times they had conversed with one another, but that they noticed and took it into consideration was something Bucky will remain grateful for. So maybe in actuality he does know why he’s walking around, but it's not because he’s hoping that by the time he does a round around the street the nice barista he prefers will be on shift when he’s back. Not at all and the Scarlet Witch isn’t here to prove otherwise. So ha.

Bucky will admit he was a tad bit distracted, and you should give him some credit, there’s dozens of footsteps all around as well as all the talking happening. So yes maybe he jumped a bit and went slightly ‘assassin mode’ when he heard,

“James! Hi honey i’m so sorry i’m so late, some people were holding me back” followed by someone, albeit reluctantly, wrapping their own arm around his bionic one. Bucky immediately felt every muscle in his body coiling up together ready to incapacitate whoever just called him by his name, given name that is, and was about to attack him. It however took him a full second to uncoil himself and realise he knew that voice. It was the very familiar voice of the nice barista he was absolutely not just thinking about and waiting for. Bucky turned his head to the left and there you were, wrapped around his arm looking tired and uncomfortable.

Feeling James flinch when you grabbed his arm you quickly made your touch barely there, letting go and essentially just hovering around his arm. The last thing you wanted was to make the poor man uncomfortable but you were getting desperate. Making eye contact with him you conjured up your best believable smile and quietly but hastily added “Domnule- James- Domnu- i’m really sorry there’s men following me and I don’t know what to do.” James had given you his name before at the café after a conversation where all you referred to him as was “domnule”, but you never felt close enough to him to use it and had continued to use “domnule” to greet and bid adieu whenever you interacted with him.

Bucky could see desperation in your eyes, they were beginning to get watery, and from the split second you had been pressed to his arm he felt your slight tremour that had travelled up to the nerves pressed in the socket of the prosthetic. Now that he knew there weren’t any hostiles there for him he relaxed and quickly looked around from beneath his cap.

“Sweetheart he’s not interested! How about that drink now?” Immediately Bucky saw you tense and your eyes widen, nearly on the verge of tears, he completely turned to you and wrapped his right arm around you, causing you to let go of his left and freeze even more at the sudden action but swiftly getting into character, letting go of some tension and pressing closer to his side. Whispering a small “thank you so much” under your breath and fully relaxing. You got a hold of his jacket with your right, selling the part of a couple meeting up for a later night walk.

Thanks to the numbskull's call Bucky was able to pinpoint exactly where the men harassing you were. To him they looked clearly intoxicated, two of them lean and the third with more mass. They looked slightly winded, as did you, clearly you had been walking around trying to get away, and they kept leaning on each other laughing and looking your way. “It’s no problem Doll I was about to call you, everything alright?” He made sure to look you over for any injuries or any other signs of distress he might have missed before. Thankfully you were visibly alright.

“Yeah everything’s good, we can get going please.” You were desperate to leave, you felt awful for disturbing his night but you also knew he was going to end up at your café and who better to walk you there than a 1.75 built man who always looked ready to throw someone through a window and maybe even stop a speeding motorcycle with his bare hands. You were already turning to the general direction of the café and attempting to pull the solid steel wall in front of you when you felt the arm around you pull you back closer and turn you to face him.

“Doll, I need you to look me in the eyes and tell me you’re alright” Any time you and James had spoken his voice was always quiet, almost like he wanted almost no one else to hear him speak. The difference between those times and now was that he was properly holding eye contact with you, were his eyes always such a rich coffee brown? and his voice wasn’t quiet, it was soft but loud enough for anyone approaching to hear it. “I- well- yes- i’m,” the other difference was that he’s never left you this speechless, yes you found him conventionally attractive but you had never been this close to him, and he’d never made you feel this flustered. Bucky could feel the heat that was gathering at your cheeks with how close he was, later he was sure he probably would’ve gotten flustered too had he not been busy giving The Glare™️ to the men that had been following you.

You, quickly noticing the look in his eyes and without thinking, placed your hand on his cheek and turned him to look at you “James, I’m fine, nothing happened” and quietly added “and i’d really like to go start my shift Gabi is going to murder me” giggling feeling the completely tension ease off your shoulders now that you felt safe.

Bucky felt himself relax further feeling your i gloved hand cold from the weather on his now warm cheek and the thought of getting used to your laughter and the feeling of your palm passed his mind. Collecting himself and closing his barely parted lips he nodded scanning your eyes one more time to be sure “alright, let’s get going” and began to walk with you to the café, making sure to keep his arm around you and looking back at the men who had been following you earlier. Men who now stood up straight as pins and looked much paler and much more sober than they did when they first walked into the street. Bucky won’t admit to it but the rest of the tourists enjoying the night would recall three seemingly frightened men booking it out of the street as if their shoes had caught fire and they were desperately looking for water to put them out.

The walk to the café was a very short walk from there, you and James didn’t converse at all but stayed just as close throughout it. Finally getting to the café you saw it was empty, as it usually was at this time on weekends, and an annoyed Gabi sitting at the counter. They looked up when they heard the bell at the door ring and were ready to call you out on your tardy-ness when they saw it was that one hot-late night-patron who seemed to only come in during your shifts, holding the door open for you and letting you in. Gabi's mouth was visibly agape and their eyes nearly bulged out of their skull. They let out a small gasp and quickly got up, grabbed all their things and replaced their astonishment with a Cheshire-like grin. “Gladyoumadeithavefunstaysafe bye.” You hadn’t even finished blinking when Gabi was already out the door, bell still ringing and the panes on the door still trembling from how fast they made their exit.

“Bye?” Now actually inside the empty café it was just you and James. You looked back at the door tilting your head questionably, making sure you really just saw your co-worker a second ago and then made eye contact with James. You couldn’t help laughing. You were relieved to have made it to work with no other problems and your co-worker’s jump-the-gun attitude never failed to bring you entertainment of some type. Bucky also couldn’t help joining, a softer laugh, when he recalled the men’s scared faces and now your co-worker’s quick retreat was amusing in and of itself.

“Eager to leave, that one” Bucky felt calmer now unwrapping his arm from around you but unconsciously dragging his arm across your back and taking his seat by his usual table where he could see everything around the café.

“You don’t know the half of it, I'm sure if they had my phone number at hand they would’ve been spamming me,” seeing things continue as usual and trying to stop the tingle that went up your spin when he removed his arm, you began to make your way behind the counter, checking in, taking your jacket off and tying the café’s apron around you. “Give me a second domnule and I'll get you your usual order.” Already washing your hands, getting his desert and warming and mixing his coffee the way you’ve learned he enjoys it.

The sudden change to “domnule” struck a chord in Bucky. Normally he’d let it be, he was a customer and he knew you were just doing your job being formal, but, “You were calling me James just a few minutes ago, I still think it sounds better.” He always thought domnule sounded too formal for him, on top of that it reminded him of a military service he barely recalls doing (even if it was in a different language), and of the little scientist addressing each other at hydra bases. He could do without the domni. Bucky faced the table making himself busy placing his choice of book to read today and pulling out his small journal.

“Oh- That. Again thank you so much domnule-,” Bucky looked up at you as you looked up from his coffee you were preparing “James,” you nodded as he did and a small smile blossomed on your face. You began to approach his table with a quiet ‘order up’ as you departed from the main counter. “Those men were following me, for a while actually, but I didn't want to bring them here. I felt they would’ve stuck around for the rest of my shift.” You placed his order down and were ready to head back when he signalled for you to sit with him. You did a sweep around the café and yup, still empty, sat opposite him but shifted your chair closer to the wall so he could still see out into the room.

“That’s smart, people usually go to places they frequent for comfort but weirdos either stick around or come back later” Bucky took a sip of the coffee you just served him and couldn’t help but sigh. Just the way he likes it, perfect. “But you’re alright, right? They didn’t…do anything?” Bucky looked up at you again, your eyes were scanning the book and journal on the table, you looked fine but he wanted to make sure. The thought of men harassing people just for the fun of it already irks him but the thought of anyone harassing you who always makes sure there’s always warm coffee in his mug, you who’s been able to pick up on things that make him uncomfortable and comfortable and applied it to the times you interact with him, you who are just doing your best and still treating people with kindness, you and your non judgmental self, just makes him consider that perhaps committing a few more war crimes would be no biggie.

You looked up at him and again noticed his eyes, and once more wondered if his hair is really just soft as it looks or if it would be greasy from wearing that cap all the time? “I promise i’m all good James” you sent him a smile, and couldn’t help but notice the reddish colour lightly dusting his cheeks and ears from what you thought to be the cold outside. “Just some idiots that had too much to drink.” Which wasn’t anything new, the following you around had scared you a lot more since normally they wouldn’t go that far but you were glad James was at the right place at the right time. “Your first order is on me as a thanks.” You saw him about to protest before you shut him down “no take backs, I need to thank you.” Your voice shying to a softer tone and you got quickly already up and walking to the counter when James replied.

“How about I walk you back home?” Stuffing some of his desert his mouth in order to not continue talking. Bucky was sure if he wasn’t trying to hide his own flush on his ears with his cap he would’ve seen your own flustered state. He almost asked you for a date but decided he doesn’t know how long he’d be here, in any case why not try to take it slow like it would be if it were normal circumstances, at least this once. He always thought you made interesting conversation with him, and enjoyed the times you’d stop by and chat or even when you just asked him if he wanted refills or water.

“Home, you want to walk me home” you were mostly thinking out loud, processing what he proposed and eventually a small ding went off in your head and you started nodding. “Yes! Sure, yes I'd feel better walking home with you.” You could feel the apples of cheeks still warm and the smile on your lip was clearly content. Of course you found him cute, you really liked talking to him when you felt he was open to that and always found the excuse to fill his mug to get close to him but you’ve never wanted to push him out of his comfort zone, this could very well count as a dream come true.

Bucky found your smile and the sudden alto into your voice adorable and couldn’t help his own barely there smile. But it’s a smile from Bucky. What else could you ask for?

The rest of your shift you spent sitting with James talking softly and listening to the music you let him play. You thought he looked a bit confused trying to find the song on your music app but not everyone has smartphones and how hard is it to just give some guidance. James never actually touched his reading book and at times when he told a story of when he was young he’d pause to look for you to nod and quickly jot down another note in his journal. You found it endearing he looked undeniably excited every time he wrote something in there. At the end of your shift, when the sun came up, you cleaned up and just as promised James walked you all the way home. Leaving only when he managed to ask you if he could walk you to work tomorrow. You, needless to say, agreed then and the time after that and the time after as well.

//The Glare™️

[archivist-crow]

The Haunted Atlas

Castle Hasdeu - Câmpina, Romania

45°08′08″N / 25°43′38″E

House it St. Casal ils according to instrictions given by a ghost. Castle Hasdeu is located in the Prahova Valley neau the mountain resort of Sinata, about 90 miles north of Bucharest.

Built in the late 19th century, the castle was intended to be a portal between the reaims of the living and the dead. It was the scene of intense spirit activity in to prime. What went on there raises questions about the ability of the living to penetrate other dimensions: why links are established, what makes them flourish, and why they resist transference to other people when the original communicators leave or die.

History and Haunting Activity

The ghost of Castle Hasdeu is Julia Hasdeu, the bright child genius of Bogdan Petreicu Hasdeu, one of Romania's intellectual lights who was an accomplished author of biographies, scientific works, fictional works, and poetry. Bogdan Hasdeu was 31 when daughter Julia was bom in 1869; she was his only child. By her teens, Julia was fluent in six languages and was composing music for piano and violin. At 16, she entered the Sorbonne university in Paris. Beautiful and bright, she lived like a shooting star, faming across the canvas of life and coming to a sudden end just when her brilliance was at its height. In Paris she contracted tuberculosis and died just one month short of her 19th birthday in 1888. Her death devastated her father.

Six months later, Hasdeu, still in the depths of grief, was in his study one day when suddenly he experienced an automatic writing, his hand moving as if by its own volition. What he produced was a short message that seemed to come from Julia, in which she told him she was happy and loved him.

Other messages soon followed. Excited, Hasdeu immersed himself in a study of spiritualism, mediumship, and the spiritual works of Allen Kardec. He became convinced that his dead daughter was reaching out from the spirit world to communicate with him.

Communications from the entity known as Julia became increasingly sophisticated and complex. She described the spirit world. She dictated music. Recordings of her compositions are available today—the music has literally a “haunting" quality to it. More important, Julia dictated the plans for the buildinge of Castle Hasdeu as a place where two worlds could meet. Everything in it—the shapes and colors of the rooms, the symbols painted and carved on doors and walls, even the furnishings were directed from beyond.

Hasdeu conducted seances at the castle, and for a number of years it brimmed with the living and the dead. Phenomena included materializations, automatic writing, messages, and the manifestations of spirits.

Hasdeu's wife died in 1902, and he followed in 1907. At the time of his death, he left incomplete a massive project to write a dictionary of spiritualist terms. Hasdeu had distinguished himself earlier in life as the author of a dictionary of the Romanian language.

With Hasdeu's passing, the spirit activity at the castle waned. Perhaps it had been powered by the emotional link between Julia and her father; with both of them on the Other Side, there was little incentive to keep the portal active. Activity was further adversely affected under communism, which discouraged psychical research and made spiritualism illegal.

The castle is now maintained as a museum. Spiritualism remains illegal, which makes research there difficult. Outside researchers have not been able to access the records of seances and automatic writing. The lone significant activity is an annual "festival of the two Julias" held there every July 2.

One of the most striking features of the castle is its alchemical nature. Walking through it is like walking through an alchemical text full of symbols that activate consciousness about the relationship between earth and the spirit plane. It seems an unlikely product of a teenaged girl, genius or no.

The heavy main door into the castle is intended to be opened solely by thought; so far, no one has been able to accomplish that. Above the door is a symbol used by the Freemasons—the all-seeing Eye of God in a pyramid. Rays shoot out from it.

The castle has three sections: a tall central tower flanked by two shorter towers, symbolizing the Holy Trinity. The central tower has a metal spiral staircase that ascends to a domed roof, connecting hearth and heaven. In the center of the roof is a labyrinth painted on the ceiling and walls. From the center of the labyrinth, creative forces of the heavens stream down to the earthly plane. A scaffolding bearing a large statue of Jesus with arms outstretched and revealing his Sacred Heart is positioned under the vortex of the dome. Visitors can climb up to the statue; they are told that often photos taken of the statue do not come out or that people posing next to the statue do not appear on the film. Other lore holds that people who have their photos taken with the statue are doomed to die soon.

The labyrinth symbolizes the journey of the soul to the Source. Jesus here acts as mediator between heaven and Earth and also as gatekeeper, a role interpreted from his statement in the Bible that only through him can one reach the Father.

The domed vortex is supposed to be an entry point for streams of heavenly energy that heal and revitalize.

There is a progression to the castle. One starts in the chambers on the right, which are like a museum of a historic home. Exhibit cases hold photos and artifacts from the lives and activities of the Hasdeus and period furniture. A library contains the many books of Hasdeu, including the esoteric works he collected.

At the back of the castle is the center of the spirit activity. The seances were conducted in the "Blue Room"; blue is widely held to be the best color for communicating with the spirit world. The Blue Room features a round porthole in the wall, the apparent means of entry and exit for disembodied visitors. Curious triangle-shaped stools are in the room—another touch for the spirits, who supposedly used them for seating. On the wall is a striking painting of Hasdeu being overlighted by the spirit of the dead Julia.

On the other side of the Blue Room is another museum room, this one devoted to samples of the fruits of Hasdeu's spiritual labors: his automatic writing, musical scripts dictated by Julia, his unfinished dictionary, and more.

Explanations of Haunting Activity

Nearly a century after the death of Hasdeu, visitors can still feel an "atmosphere" there, and photographic anomalies have been reported. The story of Julia is appealing, but skeptics argue that Hasdeu produced everything himself. Overcome with grief and desperate for contact with his daughter, he created her ghost, which enabled him to produce material from within himself. Through his intense immersion in occultism, Hasdeu certainly had the knowledge required for the information that purportedly came from Julia. However, Hasdeu had his own prestige and fame, which could have been jeopardized by his spirit activities.

Text from The Encyclopedia of Ghosts and Spirits, Third Edition by Rosemary Ellen Guiley (Checkmark Books - 2007)

[artzychic27]

I can't not make a Clone High au

Marinette: Clone of a peasant turned royal tailor from ancient China who created fabulous garments for royalty and received praise for her work until her untimely demise when the jealous wife of the emperor poisoned her food

Adrien: Clone of a former beloved Parisian mayor from the 70s who won the hearts of all with his charisma, good looks, and natural charm… Then he got assassinated after he signed a bill to allow gay couples to adopt

Nino: Clone of a famous Moroccan director who gained recognition from his first short film which he shot in his home town. He made a name for himself, traveled, and won many awards, but then died in the 70s after someone drugged him… Because it was the 70s

Alya: Clone of a young runaway slave from Martinique in the late 1790s. She taught herself to read and wrote several books detailing the effects of Code Noir on her home. She was soon found and killed just five years before slavery was abolished. Her books were published decades later and shed some light on Martinique’s struggle

Nathaniel: Clone of a Jewish man from the 1930s who escaped the concentration camp when he was twenty and went into hiding, boarded a ship, and made it to America. He made his living as an artist, and was free to express his religion and tell his story when the war ended up until he turned 68, and died of a heart attack

Alix: Clone of a pro skater. Being female and Arab made her the target of a few choice words from competitors and spectators, but she rubbed her wins in their faces until her tragic “accident” at one event in 1978. Some jackass tampered with her wheels, and Alix landed in a horrible way. Fortunately, the asshole was arrested

Kim: Clone of a champion Olympic swimmer from the 50s. He took home gold twice and was ready to win his third gold medal. Right as he got in the water, shots rang out. A bullet hit his leg, and he sank to the bottom of the pool. (A jealous competitor resorted to drastic measures)

Max: Clone of a teenage genius from the early 70s. People thought he’d change the world with his brilliant mind. He even won a Nobel prize. The world probably would have been improved had it not been for the tragic lab fire

Juleka: Clone of a Romanian noble from the 1600s accused of kidnapping and draining young women of their blood to retain her youth. One night, the villagers stormed her manor and set fire to everything, even going so far as to lock her inside

Rose: Clone of a celebrated singer from the early 50s known for her pink rockabilly style. She died in her sleep when she was 83, and by that time, she had written over sixty songs

Ivan: Clone of a famed poet/song writer. He lived a pretty peaceful life, never got in any fights, attended protests organized by marginalized groups, and even wrote a book. He died peacefully in his sleep when he was 100

Mylène: Clone of an well known actress/activist who was protesting companies dumping lead into urban neighborhoods. Her words got their attention, but instead of being decent human beings, they poisoned her as a threat, but ended up killing her in 1978. To this day, those ass-bitches got away with it

Sabrina: Clone of a secretary from the 50s who had just about enough of her male colleagues treating her like less than the gum on the bottom of their shoes. She got up in the dead of night to paint their cars pink, filled their cars with women’s undergarments, and spiked their coffee with vodka. The cop was gonna let her off easy, but she demanded to be arrested… She shouldn’t have said that, because on their way to the prison, the cop car got t-boned bad

Chloé: Clone of a young aristocratic woman who was accused of killing her parents in cold blood in the 1800s. While she was acquitted of the charges, people still believed her to be a murderer, and she lived with that title all the way to her death

Lila: Clone of a scorned Italian woman from the late 1800s who sold out her village to a mob boss to live a life of luxury… And she did for about five weeks before one man from her village sought revenge for what the mob did to his family and shot many, including her

(Next Gen Clones)

Marc: Clone of a French writer and playwright from the 1800s whose stories mainly consisted of queer protagonists… Then he got arrested because being gay gets you in trouble in Europe during those times. He lived to be 102, and made out with so many guys in secret

Denise: Clone of a young enby from the 1960s who was part of Operation Pedro Pan to help Cuban youths escape from Castro’s regime when they were seventeen. They made it to America, faced some bigots, wrote two books detailing their life from Cuba to America, and advocated for the rights of Cuban citizens until they got sick and died in 1999

Simon: Clone of an Irish Catholic from the 1600s who hid with his family during Oliver Cromwell’s invasion and attack on the Catholics. They were going to escape together as a family, but his asshole parents left him to be killed at the hands of Cromwell himself. Prior to that, he wrote in a journal explaining the unfair treatment toward the Irish in great detail and it was soon published upon discovery

Ismael: Clone of a famed escape artist from the early 1900s. He performed all sorts of death-defying tricks until he performed one he didn’t survive- The escape from the water-filled tank trip… He forgot to hide the key on his person

Reshma: Clone of an Indian-American woman who lived a well off and made a name for herself as a fashion mogul. She used her influence to speak out against injustice against queer people and bring attention to current events in India. She died in her sleep when she was 70 in 1992

Jean: Clone of a beloved actor from the 1800s, most known for his “satirical” roles as women when really, he just likes wearing dresses, but they don’t gotta know that. However, someone found him making out with another man and killed him in his dressing room

Lacey: Clone of a famed spelunker. She has several museum wings named after her due to her discoveries, and became moderately wealthy. She continued exploring caves until her 50s when she slipped and fell into a crevice in 1978. The only thing that remained of her was a video camera with her final words

Aurore: Clone of an investigative journalist from the early 1900s reporting the abuse of conversion therapy victims. She was set to publish her story and expose the people behind the practice until she was photographed kissing a woman and dragged to a facility. Fortunately, one of her most trusted associates published her story and she was freed due to public backlash and threats against the facility. She died when she was 79

Mireille: Clone of a boxer from the 1920s who won many competitions, stole the hearts of a few women, and was on her way to greatness until a party got just a little too crazy, and she “fell” of the balcony after an encounter with an ex

Cosette: Clone of a Civil Rights activist from the 1950s who has been arrested several times for protesting. They publicly spoke out against the blatant racism in the country, and because of this, they were a person of interest for the government. She would’ve exposed the cameras and microphones she found in her home, but got into an “accident”

Zoé: Clone of a New York heiress from the early 1900s who ran off to join a rebel group that provided resources for the poor… By stealing from the rich. She hasn’t been caught once and eventually eloped with a woman five years before her death in 1997

Clone High is in Paris, secretly being run as an elaborate military experiment orchestrated by a government office called the Secret Board of Shadowy Figures

In 2003, the school is entirely populated by the clones of famous historical figures that were created and raised with the intent of having their various strengths and abilities harnessed by the military for a project called, Operation: Mighty Eagle. And one day, they will have them take over the world

One night, during a dance where everyone was in attendance, the teachers flash froze the clones to keep them out of the board’s evil hands, and the board eventually forgot about them

In secret, but they made new clones in 2007, and raised them during the twenty years that they were frozen, making the clones all roughly the same age after the Gen1 clones were unfrozen to resume Operation: Mighty Eagle

Due to being frozen for twenty years, the G1 clones are so far behind, have missed many important events, and have to learn what they can’t say that was okay in the 90s, but wrong to say now

Chloé is very put off when she realizes she’s no longer popular by today’s standards and instead, Nathaniel, Max, and Juleka are

Mme. Bustier: So, how’d the kids take it when you told them they’ve been frozen for twenty years?

Mme. Mendeleiv: Oh, I think they handled it very well.

*Earlier*

Mme. Mendeleiv: For anyone who thinks it is 2003… You are wrong!

Clone Kids: … *Freaking out*

Nino: *Holding up a cellphone* WHAT IS THIS?! *Points to a laptop* WHAT IS THAT?! *Points to Kim’s sneakers* WHAT ARE THOOOOOSE?!

Mme. Mendeleiv: It’s not 2015.

Marinette: This isn’t real! I’m dreaming!

Alya: The world is so warm!

Adrien: Guys! Guys!… Blockbuster is gone!

Rose: NOOOOO!!

Chloé: WHERE IS DESTINY’S CHILD?!

Max: There was a brother in office?!

Nathaniel: I CAN’T HANDLE THESE SUDDEN CHANGES!

*Later*

Mme. Mendeleiv: … Yeah. They’re fine.

—

M. Damocles: Here to help get you all acquainted with the future is the most popular clone and the the most conventionally attractive by today’s standards in the school.

Chloé: Finally!

M. Damocles: Chloé… Please move out of the way so everyone can see Marc Anciel, your class president!

Marc:

Chloé: Who?!

Marinette: He’s what?!

Kim: He’s a guy?

Nathaniel: I don’t care what he is, but I am smitten!

—

Alya: *Holding up a cell phone* Okay, and this is a…

Aurore: Cell phone.

Alya: How is it different from my telephone?

Aurore: For one, it’s lighter, and you can take pictures of yourself.

Alya: … No… Way!

—

Adrien: You know who's gonna get canceled? Kim. You should have heard him back in the day. That guy's always saying stupid things.

Kim: I like men and woman of any shape or size!

Aurore: Wow, a bi Himbo.

Kim: *Laughs* No, I’m not a biathlete.

Jean: Refreshing honesty.

Mireille: So uninhibited.

—

Ivan: How can you stay so calm when the world is so warm, animals are dying, children are dying, everyone is dying, and so many wars are happening now?! You see it all on your weird telephone!

Cosette: Eh, I just channel all my anxiety into something meaningful. Like traumatizing white parents with lessons on how removing critical race theory from history books will mess their kids up.

—

Nino: Ismael, what gives you the confidence to be so good at skateboarding, and magic, and chilling?

Ismael: I don't know, Nino. Guess it's just hard work and practice.

Nino: Hard work and practice? Sounds like a fool's errand; You're stupid, Ismael. We tried practicing, but we failed.

Isnael: Did y'all try practicing a second time?

Nino: Oh, let me guess. "'Cause practice makes perfect."

Ismael: No. There's no such thing as perfect. Practice makes progress.

Nino: That's a dumb saying. You're dumb. This is dumb. Everything's dumb. But, okay, we'll try.

[razorfst]

⸻   ❝   cezar   !   cezar   ,   help   me   win   this   debate   ,   ❞   demands   impetuously   ,   one   arm   hooked   about   broad   shoulders   of   her   husband   as   his   right   hand   man   is   addressed   .   ❝   we   should   get   a   cat   ,   right   ?   this   household   deserves   the   tiny   paws   of   a   cat   skittering   around   !   i'm   right   !   tell   him   i'm   right , for the love of god please   ;   and   before   you   answer   ,   think   about   the   fact   that   i'm   speaking   for   myself   and   for   gabi   ,   here   .   really   picture   her   face   ,   cezar   . . .   okay   anddddddd   go   .   ❞

Random Asks | Accepting

Upon hearing the wife of his best friend, the blond knew something was happening that he probably should be involved in. Sure enough as he found them, Andrei was giving him a look as she sat upon his lap. It seemed even that hadn't done anything to convince the larger Romanian to budge, meaning she was now resorting to using his best friend against him. A nervous chuckle left the blond as a hand lifted to scratch at the back of his head. "I don't think that's fair to use our youngest." Andrei pipes in for a moment before looking towards his friend, his brother in a sense. "I don't live here." Cezar starts to say. "And you have two dogs right? Some horses in the stables...a cat in this big house might not be the best call, right? I've never owned a cat before I don't know how it all works. I've just had dogs like Andrei." He speaks looking between the two before settling upon Emma. "I don't think I should be a tie breaker here."