#death of the dauphin | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wildechildwrites · 5 months ago

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Bodice Ripper

Simon "Ghost" Riley/Reader

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: 18+, noncon, kidnapping, violence, oral, masturbation

No use of Y/N

Summary: You, the princess of an unnamed kingdom, are attending a masquerade ball. You get kidnapped by a man in a skull mask with unclear intentions.

A/N: I got too caught up into the nuances of political kidnappings which is crazy because I really just wanted to write some bodice ripping smut but the social implications of being ravished were too detrimental to your fake life that I couldn't commit to it fully

AO3 Link: Bodice Ripper

18+

The gown you’re wearing is decadent, layers of pearlescent pink silk flowing around you, your shoulders bare, your waist tightly cinched. You’re wearing your mother’s best diamonds, glinting prettily in the hollow of your throat. The mask obscuring your face matches your dress, delicately resting on your nose bridge.

The ballroom around you is lush with wealth, thousands of candles illuminating the space, rich tapestries covering the walls. Couples spin in the center of the room, and laughter fills the space. The masquerade is the event of the season, everyone decked out in finery. The prince is here, somewhere amongst the masked guests, and you’re determined to find him. Your country is small, but powerful, and there have been whispers of an engagement, an advantageous love match between you and the young dauphin. You survey the scene, looking for a familiar figure.

The man who catches your attention is massive, wrapped in a black burial shroud. His face is entirely obscured by a skull mask, the very visage of death. It's a horrible costume, brutal in a way that makes it striking, sticking out from the soft splendor of the rest of the crowd. He’s standing completely still, a harsh juxtaposition from the revelers milling about, and his eyes are unmistakably fixed upon you. A chill runs down your spine, and fear makes you turn away from his cold gaze.

A young man approaches you and asks for a dance, and you quickly recognize him as one of the sons of a duke your father often goes hunting with. He’s a fine enough dancer, despite his clammy hands, and you allow him to twirl you about, temporarily forgetting your unease. Your eyes catch on another man, tall and slender, dressed in velvety royal purple, and smile to yourself. The prince certainly hasn’t made the sport a difficult one. You detach yourself from your partner, politely making your excuses.

When you cross paths with the prince, you let your fan slip out of your hand. He smiles brightly at you, before leaning down to pick it up. His mask does little to hide his handsome face.

“You dropped this, madam.” He says, returning your fan to you with a gallant, slightly pompous, bow. When you reach for it, he captures your gloved hand in his, softly bringing it to his lips.

“Thank you, your highness,” you say, dropping your eyes and curtseying appropriately.

“I believe you have mistaken me for someone else,” he responds, his voice playful. “But if you’ll do me the honor of dancing with me, I will attempt to behave as princely as I am capable.”

You’d be a fool to think you’ve captured his full attention, and you ignore the way your dance partner's eyes stray hungrily away from yours. You know what’s expected of you, what is expected of him. True fealty from the future king is an unachievable goal, one you have no interest in. This is what you’re meant for, the duty that has been hammered in since you were a child. Resources and connections for your father’s kingdom, the admiration and envy of the court. The prince talks about his own accomplishments, the hunting he’s done recently and his skills with a blade. Your eyes flit almost unconsciously around the room while he speaks, looking for the terrifying specter from earlier, but the man that had frightened you is nowhere to be seen. You let yourself unwind, getting lost in the music and the prince’s eyes.

You dance a few waltzes before the prince excuses himself. “I promised I’d play cards with the duke,” he says, his eyes following an earl’s daughter across the room. You curtsey sweetly, murmuring the appropriate tittering phrases, and you two part ways. The room is warm, and you head towards the balcony, desperately in need of some fresh air and solitude.

Outside, the terrace is deserted, and you’re grateful for the momentary peace. Music filters through the open doors, the sound of conversation muted to a dull hum. You sigh quietly. The gardens beyond are dark, but the moon is shining brightly. You stare up at the stars, picking out constellations. A branch snaps, just out of sight, and you stiffen, peering into the dark.

“Is there someone there?” You call.

The only response is the quiet chirping of crickets.

You’re uneasy, hairs standing on end. Turning back, you yearn for the crowded safety of the ballroom.

The man in the skull mask stands between you and the french doors, and you let out a gasp. You grapple for your manners, trying to regain control of the situation.

“I–I apologize, sir, you startled me.” You say. The stranger makes no answer, taking a step closer to you. You step back. He takes another step. His eyes are cold, locked on yours as he advances.

“You’re behaving most uncouthly.” Your tone is demeaning, but it makes no difference, not seeming to register as the man takes another step, closing in on you.

“You can’t– You’re not supposed to–” your composure cracks, adrenaline coursing through your veins. He reaches for you, and you evade his grasp, whirling around to run into the gardens.

You hike your skirts up, uncaring of modesty, sprinting as fast you can through the darkness. Branches scrape at your skin as you dodge around them, trying to put distance between you and your pursuer. You hear him behind you, loud footfalls drawing closer and closer. Lungs burning, you desperately try to breathe around your tightly laced corset. There’s a hedge maze on the grounds, and if you could just get away from him–

You yelp when he lunges for you, tackling you roughly into the dirt. Your gloves rip, your palms and elbows aching from the impact, but you struggle against the weight on your back. You throw your head back hard, smashing the back of your skull into his nose, and are rewarded by a string of oaths, half of which you've never heard before, falling from the stranger’s mouth. His large, thick fingers wrap around your throat, pinning you in place.

“Stay still,” the man snarls. He’s breathing heavily, voice raspy. His accent is thick and distinctively english.

Something hard is pressed into your back, and you fearfully wonder if the man is armed. When he grinds his hips against yours, a cold trickle of realization hits you. Your parents had kept you largely in the dark about what happens between men and women, but you had heard the whispered stories of the servants, the tittering of married friends. Horror stories about highway men and rapers. Your maidenhead is the only thing of any real value that you have, and you renew your struggles even as he keeps you pinned.

“Get off of me!” You shriek, and the man freezes, as though caught off guard, before pushing himself off of you. He lets out a string of curses, before grabbing your arms and roughly pulling you up.

He reaches up and pulls the mask off your face, drinking in your features hungrily. You stare at each other for a heartbeat.

“What do you want from me?” You ask, trembling. Your words seem to reset him, and he straightens up, towering over you. He’s massive, broad shoulders blocking out the moonlight, his costume sending a chill down your spine.

“It's not what I want from you, princess. It's what I want from your father. What you’re going to help me get from him.” he replies coldly. “The people are starving. Not that you’d even notice, hm?” He’s hurting you, his grip almost crushing, shaking you as he speaks. “Your father and that bastard of a prince don’t care about the common folk’s struggles.”

“What exactly do you expect me to do about it?” you hiss, speaking before you have the sense to stop yourself, irritation rising. The man’s expression is impossible to read with the mask, but you think you’ve shocked him. “I have no claim, no real power. I do what I can, I feed the poor and donate to the church, but I do not write laws. I cannot influence my father’s decisions nor the prince’s.”

“You’re standing here, neck dripping with diamonds, telling me you’re powerless?”

The aggravation in his voice scares you, but you forge on through gritted teeth. “I am merely a bauble and a future broodmare. You’d have better luck kidnapping one of my brothers. My father may not even condescend to pay whatever ransom you’ll demand, but you obviously didn’t plan this out quite well.” Your tone is frosty, haughty despite your terror.

He slaps you, hard, and you gasp in shock, tears welling in your eyes. “Don’t take that tone with me, princess.” He snarls. “Whether it’s money or your pretty little head on a spike, I’ll get what I want.”

He pulls coarse rope from his cloak, binding your hands tightly, cutting into your delicate wrists. He heads into the darkness, dragging you behind him. You stumble in your heels, and he lets out an irritated sound before wordlessly throwing you over his shoulder. It’s as if you weigh nothing, and your face feels hot when his large hand presses against the back of your thighs, holding you steady. You can feel the warmth of him through the layers of fabric. You’re hyper aware of the indecency of it, your skin tingling.

The path isn’t lit, but his footsteps are confident. A horse snorts softly in the dark before the man suddenly puts you down, grabbing your bicep roughly.

“Don’t move,” he says, his voice ice cold. You nod, too frightened to speak. The horse in front of you is beautiful, stormy gray and massive. He lets go of your arm and reaches into his cloak, procuring an apple. He offers it to the animal, whispering softly as he feeds it, petting its nose gently. You take a step back, trying to be subtle, and his head whips around.

The man boosts you onto the horse, throwing himself on after you. You’re pressed against his chest, back flush against the hard planes of muscle as he urges the horse on, setting a quick pace.

The horse is bigger than your own, stretching your legs uncomfortably wide, and you shift, quickly getting sore. Whatever is in his pocket is prodding into your lower back, and you wiggle your hips, trying to make yourself more comfortable with the limited space you have, when the man lets out a low noise in the back of his throat, a firm hand grabbing your waist.

“Quit squirmin’,” He grounds out. His voice sounds oddly strained, and you cease your movements immediately. You ride in silence for a few more moments.

The path you're taking is unfamiliar, and curiosity wins over your reason.

“Where are you taking me?” You ask.

The man ignores you. Time passes, and you peer into the darkness, trying to spot any landmarks. Hopefully your absence has been noticed by your guards by now, and there are people looking for you. The night is cold, your arms covered in gooseflesh as you begin to shiver. Your captor wordlessly pulls you closer to his chest, wrapping the cloak he wears around your bare arms. You murmur a thank you automatically, and his grip on you tightens slightly.

“What's your name?” You ask softly.

“It's Ghost,” the man replies after a moment. You feel a spike of irritation.

“What’s your real name?” you ask, your tone slightly petulant.

“Why do you want it so bad, hm? Going to set your betrothed on me? If he’s not too busy whoremongering, maybe he’ll chop off my head.” His tone is mocking. “You’ll call me what I tell you to call me.”

You ride until dawn is breaking over the hill, coming upon a barn in the middle of a field. The surrounding countryside is unfamiliar, and you haven't seen any other houses or buildings for miles. You're exhausted and sore, body aching and stomach rumbling. Ghost stops short of the barn door, dismounting before pulling you into his arms in one fluid motion. You don’t resist as he carries you into the barn and places you with surprising gentleness on a pile of soft hay.

“I need to go feed and water the horse.” His voice is stern, a cruel bite to it that chills you. “There’s no one around us for miles. You've run from me once before and I caught you, if I have to chase you again I will punish you.”

You stare up at him, trembling uncontrollably. There’s a beat of silence. He sighs, an almost wistful noise, before wordlessly leaving the barn.

Your body is failing, the long horse ride and constant terror leaving you drained. You fight against unconsciousness, worried about what Ghost may do, but the hay is soft and sweet smelling, the barn warmer than the chill of the night.

Ghost finds you curled up on the hay, head cradled in your arms. He watches the soft movement of your breath pensively. The soft skin of your wrists is rubbed raw, angry beneath the ropes still holding them together. There’s a bruise forming on your cheek, and he’s sure that you’ve got more bruises hidden under your dress.

The concept had seemed so noble when the revolutionaries who hired him planned it. Distribute the ransom money amongst the poor, remind the monarchy of their own vulnerability. Standing in the dim light of the barn, confronted with a frightened girl and his own brutality, Ghost doesn’t feel noble.

The desire that has been mounting since he had chased you down doesn't feel very noble either.

Less of a man and more of a monster, he removes his mask and lowers himself on the hay beside you.

When you wake, you're laying on Ghost’s chest, hand curled in the tunic he wears. Your wrists are no longer tied, and he’s no longer wearing that horrible mask. Your face gets hot. He’s handsome but rough looking, light scars scattered across his face. There’s a smudge of dried blood under his crooked nose from when you headbutted him last night. You attempt to untangle yourself from him as gently as you can, scared of waking him. In response, his brow furrows, arms tightening around you unconsciously. You freeze and lie still, watching the shadows on the wall change as the sun rises, his heartbeat steady in your ear.

You can tell when Ghost finally wakes by the way his breathing changes. He pushes you off of him gently, and you feign sleep, listening to him move about. When the door of the barn creeps open and shut, you sit up and look around. It had been too dark before, but now you look around for any exits. There’s a loft, and you wonder if you could reach it before Ghost gets back.

The mental image of him dragging you down after you’ve climbed up makes you reconsider the idea.

You wonder if he can be bargained with. You knew how to play the game with men, how to simper and say the things they wanted to hear, and the game was much easier when they were attracted to you. You remember the way Ghost looked at you when he first ripped off your mask and heat rushes to your face as you begin to strategize.

When Ghost comes back inside, you’re standing, hands clasped behind your back and posture straight. You look more like you did when he first saw you, confident and blooming in the low light of the ballroom. The dirt on your face and gown do little to detract from your regal nature, and your eyes meet his without the fear from last night.

“Where are you taking me?” you ask, your voice clear and almost musical.

He doesn’t respond, his gaze trailing down your figure, and you bite your lip, pushing down your trepidation and stepping towards him. The surprise in his expression is poorly masked, and he tilts his head, an unspoken question.

“I’m being paid a large amount of money to bring you to a revolutionists group.” He says frankly. He’s stalking closer to you, soft and slow, like a fox after a hare. You resist the urge to step back.

“Please Ghost,” you respond, eyes wide, letting your bottom lip tremble, “My father can pay more than what they’re offering. Whatever you ask, I will write a letter demanding it, and we can have a courier from the nearest town take it to the palace immediately.”

You close the gap between the two of you, gently reaching out and placing a hand on his chest, tilting your chin to look him in the eye. Your expression is soft and pleading, and you resist a shudder at the odd, predatory look quickly forming in his eyes. One of his hands shoots out, grabbing your wrist, keeping you trapped against him.

“Are you trying to negotiate with me?” Ghost murmurs. The intense look on his face frightens you, and you take an abrupt step back, trying to pull away from his iron grip, realizing your judgment of him had been erroneous far too late. You’d been desired before, exchanged longing looks across ballrooms, swapped love tokens and letters, but no one had ever looked at you with such fierce hunger.

“I–I’ll tell the king that you rescued me. That you heard my screams and saved me.” You feel the tables quickly turning against you. “I’ll get you whatever you want.”

He laughs, a dissonant sound against the grim set of his features. “What I want,” Ghost leans in, his voice dropping. “Is something I can’t have.” Your chests are nearly pressed together.

“I have been fighting my baser nature since the moment I saw you.” The intensity in his eyes is overwhelming, his voice like velvet.

“I don't care that you're a princess. I wish you were a shepherd’s daughter, then I'd have snuck you away to the woods to fuck you on the soft ferns while your father tends his flock.”

No one has ever spoken to you in such a way. Heat fills you unexpectedly, but you rebel against the foreign sensations and growing need, tugging your wrist out of his grip.

“You can’t have me,” you say weakly. Ghost leans down, fisting his hand in your hair. You expect him to kiss you, but he uses his grip on you to pull your head to the side, exposing the smooth column of your throat. His breath is hot against your neck.

“Come now, princess. You expect me to believe that there have been no trysts with stable boys? I’m sure your beloved little prince has stolen a kiss or two. It’ll be our little secret.” His voice is a purr, and he places a delicate kiss right below your ear lobe. You tremble, gasping at the sensation.

He huffs, amused, before sinking his teeth into the sensitive skin. You let out an indecent mewl, hands rising up to fist the front of the tunic he wears. Ghost pulls back, his eyes sparking with an avian intensity before capturing your lips with his.

The kiss is fierce, want shooting through you as you gasp against his mouth. His tongue sweeps against yours, and you lose yourself in it until you feel his hands wandering, touching your breasts. You struggle against him, tears welling in your eyes as you try to pull away. He pulls you against him harder, grinding his hips against yours. You turn your head to the side, trying to escape his demanding mouth.

“Please don’t,” you cry. “I’ll be ruined.”

“We wouldn’t want that.” His voice is full of sarcasm, but he cups your face tenderly, wiping the tears from your eyes. “Don’t cry now, dove, I just want a taste. We’ll keep you nice and pure.”

He picks you up, laying you back onto the straw. You look at him, a pinched expression on your face, and he captures your mouth in another kiss, devouring you. You can feel the burning heat of his body through the layers of your dress. His hands run down your sides, bunching in the fabric of your skirt. He hikes your skirt up, forcing your legs apart, and you know what's coming, bracing for his touch as he mouths along your neck, but his rough hands are still a shock as he pushes your thighs apart. You freeze with anticipation as he lowers himself down your body.

The only warning you get is the feeling of Ghost’s skin brushing against yours before his warm tongue traces a long, relishing lick up your dripping slit, ripping a gasp from you. He buries his face against you, licking deeper, his tongue exploring previously untouched places as you writhe beneath him. The sensations are all so foreign and overwhelming. You fist your hands into his hair, unsure if you want to push him away or pull him closer.

Ghost is relentless, his hands pinning you down, trapping you as he licks you open, and you let out a wail. An odd sensation is building in your stomach, and you try to escape his insistent mouth, squirming against his hold. His nose is pressed up against the top of your slit, his tongue circling around inside you. A shudder runs all the way through your body, reaching a pitch that has you crying out, bucking against him as waves of pleasure crash over you. Your thighs tremble around his head, and you whine as he continues his ministrations, feeling overstimulated, your head hazy. He finally allows you to push him away when he’s had his fill, leaning backwards. The lower half of his face is soaked, and you blush as he uses the back of his hand to wipe his mouth.

Ghost unlaces his breeches, pulling you out of your haze. He’s still got one hand holding you down, and you begin struggling again, fear building.

“No, you can’t—” Ghost leans down and captures your lips with his, interrupting your pleas. He pulls back, gently cupping your face in his hand and shushing you, making soft noises as you struggle against him.

“I promised princess, I just want to feel you.” You relax slightly, still nervous as he pulls his cock free. It’s huge, the tip leaking and nearly purple. He kisses you again, his mouth rough against yours, and you whimper as he presses himself against you, dragging his cock through your folds, gathering your slick. When the tip catches against your entrance, you let out a gasp.

He pulls back, his eyes dark. You watch, entranced, as he wraps his hand around himself, pumping his fist slowly up and down, coating his cock with your slick. It’s obscene, and you feel yourself flush at the indecency. Heat rushes down to your core as you watch him stroke his cock.

Ghost’s gaze is burning, eyes flitting between your face and your wet center, drinking up the sight.

“See what you do to me?” He snarls, picking up speed. He grabs your hip and pulls you closer, flat on your back with your legs spread around him as he fucks his fist, his knuckles brushing against your center. You whimper, and the hand on your hip digs into your skin, hard enough to bruise.

When he finishes, he says your name like a litany. It echoes in the empty space of the barn, like the clanging of church bells.

His cum dries on the soft skin of your navel and mound, sticky and uncomfortable. He helps you pull your dress down, and tucks himself back into his breeches.

Ghost kisses you again, his mouth is softer against yours now, and you kiss back, your inexperienced tongue rasping against his. He pulls away, and the silence between you is heavy.

“What are you going to do now?” You ask, your voice quiet. His expression is conflicted as he reaches up a large hand to push some stray hair out of your face.

After a long silence, he finally answers you. “I’m taking you home.”

#cod mw2 #cod x reader #reader insert #ghost #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley / reader #tw noncon

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whencyclopedia · 1 month ago

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Marie Antoinette

Marie Antoinette (l. 1755-1793) was the queen of France during the turbulent final years of the Ancien Régime and the subsequent French Revolution (1789-1799). With the ascension of her husband Louis XVI of France (r. 1774-1792), she became queen at the age of 18 and would shoulder much of the blame for the perceived moral failures of the French monarchy.

Early Life

She was born in Vienna on 2 November 1755 as Maria Antonia Josepha Joanna, archduchess of Austria. Her birthdate was an inauspicious one, coming as it did a day after a great earthquake killed 30,000 people in Lisbon, a chilling portent of her unlucky future. But her parents, the Habsburg Empress Maria Theresa of Austria (l. 1717-1780) and Francis I, Holy Roman Emperor (l. 1708-1765), were at the zenith of their own glory and saw no reason not to celebrate the birth of their fifteenth and penultimate child, the future queen of France.

The young archduchess, affectionately nicknamed 'Madame Antoine' by her mother, enjoyed a happy childhood, spending her winters sledding down the hills near the family lodge at Laxenburg and her summers in the comforts of Schönbrunn Palace in Vienna. It was at Schönbrunn where Maria Antonia met child prodigy Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart when they were both seven and where she would take up her own interest in music, playing both harpsichord and flute, and excelling in the art of dancing. In a family so large, Maria Antonia found comfort in the friendship of her sister, Maria Carolina, future queen of Naples and Sicily.

Maria Theresa was never the warmest of mothers, but the death of her husband in 1765 would send the empress into a state of grieving that would last the rest of her life, often taking the form of dissatisfaction with the behavior of her youngest children. This distant and complex relationship with Maria Antonia, who was as much a political pawn as she was a daughter, could best be summed up in the later words of an adult Marie Antoinette, "I love the Empress, but I'm frightened of her, even at a distance; when I'm writing to her, I never feel completely at ease" (Fraser, 22). However, for a family as significant as the Habsburgs, duty would always come before filial love, and so Maria Antonia found herself betrothed to the dauphin of France in 1769.

A Franco-Austrian alliance was certainly a controversial development, as many people in each country hated the other; prior to the Seven Years' War (1756-1763), King Louis XV of France (r. 1715-1774) himself had been an enemy of Maria Theresa. Yet following that conflict, the weakened Kingdom of France had begrudgingly entered into an alliance of necessity with Austria, with both nations agreeing that such an alliance should be solidified with a marriage. It was eventually decided that Maria Antonia would be married to Louis XV's grandson, Louis-Auguste, Duke of Berry (l. 1754-1793) who had become heir and dauphin of France upon the death of his father in 1766. So, after a proxy marriage and a renunciation of all claims to Habsburg lands, Maria Antonia set off for France to meet her new husband and arrived in Versailles on 14 May 1770, aged only 14. Along with the title of dauphine, she also adopted the French version of her name: Marie Antoinette.

#History #1785 #Austria #Austrian #WHE #[#]

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dayhair · 10 days ago

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dr rants!

the squirrelly, inane edition that leaves you wondering why your eyes loom over certain semicolons and en-dashes [ how self-deprecating, i know 🎀 ]

also .. my first post, a liberating departure from the chains of shifttok

marauders; tell me why sirius black, heir apparent to the noble house of inbreeding, behaves like a broken analog clock — drinking at the sixth hour, and a mental breakdown with the occasional tactless jab when his little hand strikes nine ( i'll admit the metaphor is bizarre because i can't even tell the hour hand from the minute, anywho .. )

sirius black? oh, he invented sarcasm. and ebony locks of hair, chainsmoking ( whilst listening to lana del rey, crying in the shower ), sporadicity & a taste for gryffindor's finest, a bowie-loving werewolf

with him, it's always, "lonnie, i swear to god if you don't leave regulus alone," or, "let's deflower a firewhiskey after divination," no in-between

the insipid crash-outs & tantrums of an old-money dauphin must sound riveting, but a half-blood beauxbatons transfer can only behave so .. cordially; after all, my family's motto does translate to something like, "strike the iron while it's hot," and i'm not sure pulling sirius black's hair back as he [ i don't want to gross you out ] is what my ancestors had in mind whilst stitching gilded threads on our coat-of-arms

so .. do i ghost the anti-hero? i'm sure we'd have way more fun anyway if he was sorted into slytherin, or if i wasn't in his brother's year

gossip girl; serena van der woodsen, silver spring of her family, once said to me, "it's not my world, i just live in it." i'm pretty sure she was drunk, because she's no sylvia plath, no matter how hard she pretends. naïve me, in the dregs of upper east side bacchanals, more or less, teenage debauchery, and affairs on both sides of the tennis court — i'd no idea the roman holidays she was referring to, for death had always taken vacation on mine

picture this: a soirée, a suicide, a suit of cards ( hearts for the ones broken, clubs for the ultraviolence, diamonds for the [ well, we're bourgeoisie, there isn't much else to say ], and spades for my blackened luck )

i won't name-drop, but this ballot triggers easily to the unyielding imagination. let's just say an un-judging breakfast club was left fractured, and now i know to mark my julian calendar for the next time death and his blooded scythe strike

90s fame; how does one recover from the faux-pas, glossy tabloids of la la land? mixed reviews from critics and i questioned my steed in the oscar race, no golden globe nomination ( must they ignore me, so? and i know i could just script it in, but what's the fun in that?? ) and i'd already booked an month-off to st. tropez

a few things that i remember from this era

candid shots of me & heath ledger, drunk & the snl parody skit that followed

rumors of false behind-the-scenes drama, which then spurred into actuality 🤦‍♂️

appearing in britney spear's '.. baby one more time' mtv mv ( i was so nervous dbsndjwa )

i was on nirvana's 4th album cover ( scripted out kurt's death )

".. a pretentious performance that crashes into itself and shatters the film's narrative into something maladroit and unworthy of watching" ( some stupid critic about my acting; they don't know true talent or art. like at all. the movie's already a cult classic here so whatever ig )

oh, tinseltown. you pretend to be as glamorous as the age of beatniks & true cinema, but hollywood really is dead ..!

you've reached the post-script; i'd love to go on-&-on, but sleepiness strikes 💤

a reblog wouldn't hurt, eh? ( please )

ok. i'm done

ta-ta, happy shifting !!

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arebirthingofsorts · 1 year ago

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the entirety of buzzfeed unsolved but the stories are in chronological order: https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLGGIwil6tMX95BMdYvMY8Co5Y2J8yxpe-

supernatural was very hard to do so under the cut i've added my reasons for some difficult episodes to list! if anyone has qualms with it or if you notice any mistakes in the playlist please let me know!

the london tombs, la llorona, and the voodoo episodes were difficult due to no real timeframe being known for when they began so i based the london tombs off of ryan saying the bridge has been around since ancient rome which is why it's one of the first videos in the playlist. la llorona required me to do my own research which led me to believe the story came about in the 1500s? possibly predating that but the first written versions were apparently from the 1500s. for the voodoo new orleans episode i did some research and based it on when it could have been brought to the area.

for bigfoot, mothman, and the men in black, i listed those based on the first encounters/evidence presented

many of the locations, i listed based on when they closed their operations or the owners passed before becoming noted haunted locations. (winchester house, sorrel-weed, villa montezuma, whaley house, old city jail, pythian castle, vulture mine, waverly hills, bellaire house, eastern state, rolling hills)

other haunted ones are currently still operating so i listed those based on when they first opened or got into the hands of the current owners (viaduct tavern, st. augustine, tombstone, goatman's bridge, the viper room, bobby mackey's, moon river)

dauphine orleans hotel was listed as the date ryan said a license to may bailey was given for the bordello. im very unsure about this one so if anyone has suggestions on how to list this one, please reach out EDIT: decided on 1775 because ryan mentioned that year as the site the hotel is on and i felt more sure about it that choice

farnsworth was listed as the year of the battle of gettysburg due to the house being named after a soldier who died in that battle + notable events happening and around the house

the bermuda triangle was tricky so i listed that as the date the term "bermuda triangle" was first coined EDIT: it's been moved to close to the top of the playlist due to the first alleged reporting of weird bermuda shit being by christopher columbus in 1492. this made more sense to me

colchester and morris-jumel are museums now so those were dated as when they were officially museums

the uss yorktown and the queen mary are listed as when they docked for good.

the alien abductions episode is in the 70s area of the playlist because 2/3 of the stories happened in the 70s.

the date the island of the dolls began is where i based "3 horrifying cases of ghosts and demons" since there are separate episodes for the winchester mansion and the sallie house

i based all the haunted locations on those things because i figured that the ghosties would appear after the notable deaths and wild events instead of listing all of them as when they first opened.

i hope all of this makes sense. enjoy.

#buzzfeed unsolved #bfu #buzzfeed unsolved supernatural #buzzfeed unsolved true crime #bfu supernatural #bfu true crime #ryan bergara #shane madej

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vivelareine · 7 months ago

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hello! i agree with your post about MA being blamed for her husband's actions broadly, but do you have a source for her being the one who suggested a more reasonable carriage for their attempted escape? not that i doubt you or anything but i would like to know more since i have heard many conflicting things about this detail. thank you :)

Oh I should clarify, Marie Antoinette didn't come up with the idea of smaller carriages for the flight--but there's no reason to think she disagreed with the suggestions when you read the related Fersen correspondence. As it was Louis who decided to reject the proposals (which came from Bouille, Breteuil and Fersen) which may have... may have... resulted in the family not being captured.

(I say may have because this was almost a "Titanic" situation in which everything that could have gone wrong, did go wrong, and it wasn't necessarily anyone or any particular choice's "fault." But people love to blame Marie Antoinette for Varennes, usually claiming she wanted to have a big vain carriage or she refused to part from her perfumes or she was a dumb woman who didn't realize they shouldn't all travel together etc etc.)

The initial proposals (I believe direct from Fersen & Bouille, not sure offhand about Breteuil) was for multiple common carriages--which would require the family to be split up--whereas the king wanted one large carriage that would mean the family (and Tourzel) would be together, and would not need to stop for various necessities.

Sometimes Tourzel is blamed for this, the idea being that the reason for the larger carriage was because she refused to part from Louis Charles, but I haven't found any letters which suggest it was Tourzel who was the deciding factor here. NVM I remembered it was Bouille who blamed her initially; Bouille said in his memoir the reason why the king didn't have a military man in the carriage is because Tourzel refused to not go with the family. But this was not brought up at all in the actual 1791 correspondence, it's something Bouille claimed much later.

And in any case, Louis was the king, he could have easily told Tourzel that she must be in a separate carriage... and would a 5 person carriage really be all that smaller than a 6 person one?

Edit: To add, the Tourzel variation of why the carriage was so big is fascinating because Madame de Tourzel's version of events is that Marie Antoinette said she (Tourzel) would be too ill to make the journey and must leave the Tuileries before the flight.

Tourzel basically told Marie Antoinette that she was willing to die for the family and her charges, and that if she were a man Marie Antoinette would not have said she must stay behind, and that if she left the palace everyone would know about their plans because she had publicly said that "death along could make me abandon the dauphin," and that if she thought for a moment she was hampering the flight, she would of course stay behind/not go with them, but that she would otherwise wish to go and serve her country.

But this gets turned into "Tourzel wept to the king about it and he gave into a woman's tears."

Anyway--

Bouille and Fersen also proposed that the king have able military men with them for safety and to take charge; this was also rejected. Louis initially wanted M. de Bombelles with him but rejected it due to political implications. It was not until very late that this was rejected, a lot of the flight to Montmedy plans had to be rearranged and put off for many reasons. One being that one of the dauphin's attendants was a "strong democrat" who would have jeopardized the plan if she was there,and they were waiting for be away from the palace.

Although the book itself is not one I recommend for reasons anyone who reads my blog will already know, Farr's "I Love You Madly" has a good amount of the Fersen/Bouille/etc letters leading up to the flight which provide a decent look at Louis' choices in regards to rejecting the more, IMO, sensible proposals that were offered to him.

So to clarify my lil rant, it's not so much that Marie Antoinette came up with the smaller and multiple carriages, than it is that she was not the one who rejected it and she had no objections to it that we know about--it was Louis who ultimately rejected the idea.

#marie antoinette

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eddieshellscape · 8 months ago

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I don't talk about my personal life on here, really at all, mainly for my privacy, but I need to share a personal story.

Justin Johnson, a 16 year old sophomore at Central Dauphin High School was killed on friday. He had a medical condition. He was chased by his fellow students as they yelled racially discriminatory words at him. He died of cardiac arrest after his dad found him passed out in their home after the chase. One of his peers from school was interviewed, they said that he was often ostracized, especially because of his language barrier. He had just recently moved from Jamaica and the student alleges that he was often at the end of jokes, not understanding what they meant.

Central Dauphin East High School, their sister school and my high school, organized a peaceful walk out during the last period of the day tomorrow (Friday May 3rd) over to the administration building, which is just across the parking lot. The admin shut it down. They told us that we couldn't peacefully protest and demand action. Bullying has been a growing issue in our district, i have seen it happen to others very close to me and now i see that someone has died from it. We have scheduled a sit-in at our office lobby for the same time and date, but we have to spread the word by mouth lest the people we protest shut us down again.

This is very personal to me, because this kid was in the same grade as my best friend was when he tragically passed away of brain cancer. This kids death didn't need to happen. My friend was horribly taken by a disease he could do nothing against, while Justin was harassed and killed, simply for the entertainment and enjoyment of his white, privileged peers.

This is a horrible situation, and our district has been crumbling. We are meant to sit by silently while kids die and do nothing about it. This story should not jsut stay in our community. This needs to be seen by the world. Bullying has gone to the extreme, and now kids die. Nex Benedict was murdered for being trans. Justin Johnson was killed by bullying and harassment for being black.

Justice for Justin,

and peace to all those victim to bullying and harassment.

#justin johnson #Central Dauphin High School #CD High #Central Dauphin East High School #CD East High #justice for justin #social justice

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if-you-fan-a-fire · 2 years ago

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"DAUPHIN MURDERER SENTENCED TO DEATH," Edmonton Bulletin. March 8, 1913. Page 1. ---- John Baran Who Shot Constable Rooke on December 22nd, Last is Convicted at Fortage and Sentenced to be Hanged on May 20th. --- By Bulletin Leased Wire. Portage la Prairie, Mar. 7 - John Baran was this evening found guilty by the jury of the murder of Constable Rooke at Dauphin on December 9 and sentenced by Mr. Justice Predergast at the assizes here to be hanged on May 20.

The jury retired to consider the verdict at 4.25 and returning at 6.30, but was not until 7 that the judge imposed sentence. Baran, to whom the verdict of the jury had been interpreted gave no sign of any emotion as he heard sentence of death imposed upon him and walked calmly from dock in charge of two officers, though police he limped painfully as the result of weakness and rheumatism.

In reply to the judge's query if he had any reason to give why sentence should not be imposed upon him, Baran stated simply that he had been awakened out of sleep by Rooke breaking down the door and had fired in defence of his home.

Mr. Justice Prendergast in imposing sentence told Baran that he need cherish no hope of pardon being extended to him.

#dauphin manitoba #portage la prairie #murder #murder trial #fatal shooting #shot to death #sentenced to be hanged #death sentence #capital punishment #crime and punishment in canada #history of crime and punishment in canada

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conradscrime · 10 months ago

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5 Cases of Missing Indigenous Women in Canada

March 03, 2024

CARBON DOE

Carbon Doe was found on April 21, 1995, in a ditch outside the village of Carbon, in Alberta, Canada. She was likely last seen alive between 1980 to 1985, it is estimated that she was there for 10-15 years before her remains were found.

It is believed she is of Indigenous descent.

She was between 5'0-5'4 in height, had multiple dental fillings, and is possible she had children.

The woman had brucellosis, which means she would have suffered from repeated fevers. This disease is not common in Canada. She is estimated to be between 22-35 years old. She had dental work done, including stainless steel crowns.

There was no clothing or personal items found with her body. Some believe Carbon Doe was not from Alberta, but might have just been travelling at the time of her death. It is possible she was never reported as missing.

Her cause of death has never been released, though many suspect she was murdered.

2. Annie Yassie

Annie was born on July 27, 1960. Her family were members of the Sayisi Dene First Nation, located outside Churchill, Manitoba, Canada.

The Dene Village was promised a lot from the government, but did not get any support, never receiving promised hunting and trapping supplies. They had to scavenge for food in the dump. What happened to these people in this village was named one of the worst crimes against Indigenous people in Canada.

Annie was extremely close to her sister, Eva. She loved to sew doll clothes and was a fan of the "hippie" look, often wearing denim outfits. Annie loved Christmas, and her sister Eva said she sometimes would sleepwalk, which Eva would watch her closely.

In 1973, Annie was sent to the Mackay Residential School in Dauphin, Manitoba, far from Dene Village. The Christian Church ran these residential schools, and they were mostly made to abuse and strip Indigenous children away from their culture.

At the time Annie disappeared she had returned from the residential school and was staying with her brother Fred.

On June 22, 1974, Annie was apparently out with a man who was about 10 years older than her. The two were drunk and had been celebrating Treaty Day. The taxi driver said the man had to drag Annie out of the car because she was passing out, and the taxi driver was asked to pick them up later. They were dropped off 3km outside of Churchill.

When the taxi returned, the driver said Annie was not there, only the man. The man was extremely drunk. Fred did not worry immediately when Annie did not return, as he knew she had said she wanted to visit her sister Eva at some point.

Eva showed up to Dene Village on June 26, 1974, discovering that everyone had assumed Annie had been with her the past 4 days, which was not true. Annie was officially reported missing that day.

The man Annie was last seen with was questioned, but he claimed he was too drunk and did not remember much. The case went cold. In 2014, they reopened Annie's file. In June 2016, Eva was asked to give a DNA sample. It took some time for police to get to Eva again, and it is unknown if DNA was actually taken.

Eva believes her sister was murdered by the man she was seen with that night, however that man is no longer alive.

Annie Yassie was 13 years old when she went missing. She was last seen wearing a blue denim jacket, a pair of blue denim jeans, brown shoes with a 3" heel. She was thin build, 5'4, weighing around 104 pounds. She has black hair and brown eyes.

If anyone has info they are to contact the Cold Case Unit of the Winnipeg RCMP at 204-983-5461. If you would like to remain anonymous you can call Crime Stoppers at 1-800-222-8477.

3. Caitlin Potts

Caitlin was last heard from on February 22, 2016, through a Facebook message to her sister. She was 27 years old at the time, from the Sampson Cree First Nation. Caitlin was last seen by a witness in Enderby, British Columbia, Canada.

Caitlin was reported missing on March 1, 2016, however an official missing alert on the RCMP's website did not appear until March 21.

In June 2016, Caitlin's mother, Priscilla, contacted Indigenous groups in the province to help conduct a search for her daughter. Caitlin was in foster care until she was 11 years old.

Priscilla describes her daughter has happy as a child and extremely smart. Caitlin was born and raised in Alberta, however was living in B.C. at the time of her disappearance. Caitlin was living in Edmonton, Alberta with her younger sister, Codi, before recently moving to Enderby, B.C. where her boyfriend had moved.

Caitlin did not have the best relationship with her boyfriend and the two were on and off for about 2 months before she had disappeared. Codi claims Caitlin's boyfriend was physically abusive towards her and Caitlin would show up with bruises.

Codi said Caitlin's boyfriend had been arrested before and during that time Caitlin had stayed in a Salmon Arm women's shelter. Caitlin was doing good, going to school and working at Tim Horton's, however a few months later she went back to him.

Codi said Caitlin had texted her boyfriend the day she went missing and was upset over money he owed her. Caitlin also messaged Codi that she had found a ride to Calgary from Kijiji. Caitlin's roommate from the women's shelter had said Caitlin told her she met a stranger the night before.

Caitlin was seen by a witness in Enderby, and she had texted her sister that she was in Kelowna, B.C. before she disappeared.

Caitlin Potts was about 5'3, 150 pounds with brown eyes and long black hair with blonde streaks. Anyone who has info is to contact the Vernon RCMP at 250-545-7171 or anonymously Crime Stoppers at 1-888-222-8477.

4. Betsy Rosa Owens

Betsy was born July 7, 1973. She was a member of the Pauingassi First Nation, in Manitoba, Canada, and was extremely close with her sisters, Caroline Owens and Valerie Leveque. Betsy loved swimming with her sisters in Fishing Lake.

Betsy was described as a nice girl, who would go out of her way to avoid trouble. She loved music, and at the time of her disappearance she loved the song "Manic Monday" by The Bangles.

On October 22, 1988, Betsy was going to attend a dance with her boyfriend. Betsy and her boyfriend left the dance around 11pm. The last time her boyfriend saw her was the next morning, October 23, when she left his house.

Community members searched for Betsy as soon as she was discovered as missing, however no one found anything. Law enforcement conducted searches in 1996 and 1997 and found nothing.

In 2013, Caroline provided samples of DNA in case Betsy's remains were ever found.

Many rumours have been spread throughout the community, with many members believing they know who was involved in Betsy's disappearance. Betsy's family is not happy with police, as they say they rarely visit Pauingassi First Nation, and should have made more of an effort.

The lead investigator believes Betsy was met with foul play, but there's not enough evidence to arrest anyone.

Betsy was 15 years old at the time of her disappearance. She was last seen wearing a white cotton hooded sweater, a blue denim jacket, blue denim jeans and white high top runners. She was slender built, 5'3 in height, and weighed 119 pounds. She has long black hair and brown eyes.

If Betsy was alive today she would be 50 years old, turning 51 in July 2024. If you have any info you can contact the Winnipeg detachment of the RCMP at 204-983-5461.

5. Tamara Lynn Chipman

Tamara was from Moricetown Band, First Nation, now known as Witset, in British Columbia, Canada. She loved going on her dad's fishing boat and being outside. Tamara was described as lively and would not back down from a situation.

Tamara was 22 years old and the mother of a 2 year old son, when she went missing on September 21, 2005, near Prince Rupert, B.C. Being a young mother, it was said that Tamara began to hangout with the wrong crowd.

The people close to Tamara had speculated that she may be getting involved in drugs. In September 2005, Tamara had been in Prince Rupert, where her mother lived, for a few days without a car, as her car had broken down a few weeks earlier. Tamara was hitchhiking east, towards Terrace where her father lived.

In early November 2005, Tamara's father, Tom, realized no one had heard from his daughter and her rent had not been paid. Her bank account had also not been touched. Tom reported Tamara missing to the RCMP.

On November 15, 2005, an official search for her began. There was a claimed sighting of her in Vancouver, but no further evidence was found.

There was no named suspects but RCMP say they are pretty certain they know what happened. Two men and one woman have come forward claiming to have seen Tamara hitchhiking and picked her up. The woman said they were driving towards Terrace, when one of the men began arguing with Tamara and hit her, strangling her to death in the car.

They then pulled over in a remote area along the highway and dumped her body. The man who killed her returned to the area later to move and bury her body in the forest. The police searched this supposed area with the woman but Tamara's body was never home. The witness and two men have since died.

Tamara was last seen on an stretch of Highway 16, between Prince George and Prince Rupert, also known as the Highway of Tears, because many have disappeared from this highway.

Tamara's disappearance remains unsolved and no body has ever been found if the claims of her being murdered are true.

#true crime #crime #unsolved mysteries #unsolved #murder #homicide #unsolved murder #unsolved case #solved #mystery #missing #missing person #indigenous #murdered #women #canada

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natequarter · 1 year ago

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you wonder why the scots were so unstable, then you look at their monarchy and realise they had seven child monarchs in a row. oh your king's a twelve-year-old? that sucks. what, he's been assassinated? huh! good thing his heir-- HE'S SIX? good thing he isn't going to die a ridiculous death like getting blown up by a cannon any time soon! BUT NOT FOR LONG! what, he was actually blown up by a cannon? wow. anyway, we're leaving the throne in the capable hands of a nine-year-old. that won't go wrong! OR SO WE THOUGHT! well, at least it wasn't a cannon that took him out this time, just a little bit of rebellion and war. and we're leaving the throne in the capable hands of a competent and popular ruler.

BUT NOT FOR LONG! this idiot gets absolutely wrecked at the hands of the english. and by wrecked, i mean killed. great news for henry viii, terrible news for little one-year-old jamie (his nephew, i should point out), a.k.a. your highness, and fifth in a long line of idiots called james. (you'd think they'd learn to pick another name.) things work out eventually, right up until henry viii's lot come back onto the scene and get into a bunch of fights with the scots. unbelievably, things are about to get so much worse. in a real smart move, james dies at the grand old age of thirty. (i feel the need to point out that none of these jameses lived past the age of forty-two. and that's being generous.)

enter mary. she's catholic! she's not called james! she's the queen of scotland! and guess how old she is? six days! yes, you heard that right - six days. (and you thought six years was bad.) she's eventually whisked away to live in france and later marry the dauphin, handily solving the problem of the english trying to kidnap her and marry her off to edward vi. (she's five at this point. edward is ten. françois, the dauphin, is three. don't think too hard about any of that.)

they grow up. edward dies at fifteen. mary i, best known for her fondness for barbecues, dies five years later. françois, sensing a trend, dies two years after that at sixteen. mary returns to scotland, and all is well.

OR SO WE THOUGHT! whilst england was busy being torn apart by religious matters, scotland was busy being torn apart by religious matters. (you'll never guess what's happening in france.) mary, of course, is a devout catholic. some of the scots, who have spent twelve years without a monarch, let alone a catholic girl raised in france, are... not. rebellions! political instability! back to the status quo, basically. john knox is not happy, but when is he ever? elizabeth i kindly tries to help things by sending her bestie robert dudley (yes, that robert) to marry mary. this, unsurprisingly, does not go down well. fortunately, mary solves all these problems by creating a new one: she marries her half-cousin, henry lord darnley! yuck! i mean, yay! more rebellion (led by mary's half-brother)! henry turns on mary because he wants more power! he allies with the protestant lords, and they stab mary's private secretary to death in front of her whilst she's pregnant! the usual.

BUT NOT FOR LONG! mary and henry escape, they have a lovely little son called james (they still hadn't learn their lesson about scottish jameses), and they all live happily ever after until henry's house is blown up and he's found smothered outside in broad daylight. suspects include: everyone in scotland. but mostly lord bothwell, who proceeds to kidnap mary and marry her. now, you may struggle to believe this, but things go downhill from here. mary is eventually forced to abdicate, and flees to england. bothwell is imprisoned in denmark, and later goes insane. as for james, now the one-year-old james vi (anyone sensing a pattern here?), well, he's probably too busy learning to speak to care. because, you know, he's one. some people never learn.

from this point onwards, mary's kept under house arrest by elizabeth i. in a display of gratitude towards elizabeth, mary promptly spends the rest of her life plotting against her. or being involved in plots. in the meantime, james's regent, also called james stewart (mary's aforementioned half-brother; the name is cursed), earns the dubious honour of being the first head of government to be assassinated with a firearm. eventually, after mary, that virtuous angel, actively tries to kill elizabeth, elizabeth gets fed up and drops a sword on mary's neck. james, who last saw his mother at the age of zero years old, must have been devastated.

you all know what happened next: elizabeth died at the grand old age of sixty-nine, and james inherited the throne. thus followed decades of religious instability, parliamentary infighting, and stubborn monarchs who refused to listen to reason, which were surely new to the elizabethans. james, who was what is commonly known these days as a "hot mess" or "bisexual disaster" - don't quote me on that - was nearly blown up in a plot masterminded by a guy called tosser. sorry, i mean a tosser called guy. he also pissed everyone off by being a bit too buddy-buddy with several men, possibly lovers. (probably lovers.) that was not the end of the curse of james stewart (see: james ii of england), but it did at least put an end to mary queen of scots. oh, and england and scotland were united. that too. cue much chaos with a man you've probably heard of, named oliver cromwell... the rest is history. i mean, all of this is history, but you know what i mean.

and that's the story of why having seven child monarchs in a row is a really fucking bad idea!

#historyposting

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