#historic tragedies

[uncannyalien]

Pouring one out as a history major for the temple of Coricancha, the center of the Inca world and religion that was invaded, vandalized, torn down, and built upon by the Spanish Conquistadors

[jccheapalier]

Titanic Trauma: The Physical Damage Done to Survivors.

[normalfem]

Actually girlhood is being obsessed with a specific historical tragedy when you were like 9

[alwaysbewoke]

On March 5th, 1959, 69 African American boys, ages 13 to 17, were padlocked in their dormitory for the night at the Negro Boys Industrial School in Wrightsville. Around 4 a.m., a fire mysteriously ignited, forcing the boys to fight and claw their way out of the burning building. The old, run-down, & low-funded facility, just 15 minutes south of Little Rock, housed 69 teens from ages 13-17. Most were either homeless or incarcerated for petty crimes such as doing pranks. 48 boys managed to escape the fire. The doors were locked from the outside and fire mysteriously ignited on a cold, wet morning, following earlier thunderstorms in the same area of rural Pulaski County. The horrific event brought attention to the deplorable conditions in which the boys lived. The boys all slept in a space barely big enough for them to move around & theyre one foot apart from one another & their bathroom was a bucket at the corner where they had to defecate in. In an ironic twist, the land in which the school stood is now the Arkansas Department of Correction Facility Wrightsville Unit. In 2019 a plaque was finally placed after 60 years.

PURE EVIL!!! MY GOD!!

[royaltea000]

Two young knights

[hedgehog-moss]

I was reading a book of musical anecdotes written by un pernicieux rosbif an Englishman not very long after the last Napoleonic Wars and you can tell relations between our two countries were still somewhat tense 😔

At one point he goes on and on for a whole page about how gorgeous the Paris Opera is, "sumptuous", "magnificent", the interior décor is "one of the finest in the world", "a chandelier of the grandest order", and the painted ceiling!, and the blue velvet in the boxes!, and you're like "he's saying nice things? about us? 🥺" — then he concludes with:

"the opera in Paris is top-tier in every respect except if you want to listen to good opera"

[cinematic-phosphenes]

ASOIAF as historical paintings (4/∞) Prince Rhaegar Targaryen was born at Summerhall on the day the castle was ruined in a fire

Rhaegar, I thought . . . the smoke was from the fire that devoured Summerhall on the day of his birth, the salt from the tears shed for those who died. (GRRM, A Feast for Crows)

Art by Pascal Dagnan-Bouveret + John Martin

[hoomanbeaning]

"... afraid she was no longer there, and eager to see her, the lover turned his eyes. in an instant she dropped back, and he, unhappy man, stretching out his arms to hold her and be held, clutched at nothing but the receding air. dying a second time, now, there was no complaint to her husband (what, then, could she complain of, except that she had been loved?) ..."

ovid's metamorphoses / orpheus and eurydice

[valhalla-awaitsfor-us]

I hope that no one takes the posts that I reblogged as meaning that I don't care about what happened on 9/11 in the USA. I remember being 3 years old and watching television and not understanding what was happening but crying when I saw so much suffering.

However, I do believe that it is important to give MUCH more visibility to the military coup in Chile than what the media gives it on this date (Both happened on the same day, different years). It is worrying how the entire world only talks about what happened in the USA while many, including the gringos themselves, do not even know what their own government did not only in Chile but throughout Latin America. The millions of dead and missing people that affect us to this day. Look for Operation Condor if want to know what happened here not that long ago.

"Never forget" seems like a phrase only applicable to the United States and the rest of the "first world", while the crimes committed here by their imperialist governments seem irrelevant in their school history books.

[tricoufamily]

how many times can i remake these sims

[ars-ceratinus]

Ulrich the usurper

[haveyoureadthisbook-poll]

[juliewillruinu]

Garden of Forbidden Melodies | Chapter one | Sukuna x oc

TW: This fanfiction will contain mature content such as smut, violence, blood, and sensitive topics. You have been warned and enjoyed ♡ -J.B

' ' = Inner thoughts

No warnings for this chapter

ᴘʀᴏʟᴏɢᴜᴇ, ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ, ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴏ, ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ...

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒐𝒏𝒆: 𝑬𝒏𝒅𝒖𝒓𝒆

𝗜𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗺, golden light of a late afternoon, a young woman sat poised on the tatami mat. With her legs crossed beneath her and her hair neatly arranged in a bun, she struggled against the oppressive heat of summer. The biwa rested comfortably against her chest, its polished wood gleaming softly in the light. As she began to play, her fingers danced deftly over the strings, creating a melody that floated through the air like a gentle breeze.

Hana’s eyes fluttered closed, her dark lashes casting delicate shadows on her cheeks. Each stroke of her fingers was precise and deliberate, the music guiding her mind around the village. She could not see anything, but she could feel everything—the laughter of children, the friendly banter of men sharing stories, and the rhythmic sound of women weaving clothes.

Across from her sat a man slightly older than she—a storm brewing beneath his tense exterior. With arms crossed tightly over his chest and a furrowed brow, Kizuki Yoshida, the village leader and her uncle, watched her intently. His frustration simmered, echoing in the tightness of his features. Something felt amiss in the village, a presence that did not belong, and this disturbance was unlike anything she had encountered before.

As Hana continued to play, lost in her realm of melodies, the ethereal notes contrasted sharply with the tension in the room. She could sense the music reaching for him, but it only seemed to bounce off the walls, finding no reciprocation. Despite pouring her heart into the biwa, his irritation remained unchanged, a stone wall against her art.

She was not oblivious to his discontent; she could have chosen a gentler melody to soften his mood. However, Kizuki had constantly failed to send over the necessary herbs and medicines for her ailing brother, Isamu. Why should she expend her energy for a man who saw her mere existence as a nuisance? Despite her frustrations, Hana had reluctantly let him into her home when word reached her about the disappearance of a local woman.

The shoji door slid open suddenly, and her little brother Isamu, just ten years old, entered, bowing as he approached Kizuki. His pale skin and bright, cheerful features contrasted sharply with Hana’s more reserved demeanor—a reflection of their late mother’s gentility.  With black hair and warm brown eyes, Isamu received a bright smile from Hana despite the heavy air between her and their uncle.

“Hello, Uncle Kizuki,” he chirped, innocent of the tension.

Kizuki’s only response was a twitch of irritation. “Are you done, Hana?”

Lost in her thoughts, Hana took a deep breath, her fingers stilling on the strings. “I cannot find it, Uncle.”

“What?!” His voice erupted, slamming his fist against the table and rattling the teacups. “What do you mean by that?! This is something you should be an expert on!"

Remaining composed, Hana responded, “This isn’t just any curse. This energy is different—strong enough that I know it’s somewhere in the village, but it has hidden itself well.”

Kizuki stood abruptly, pacing the room with agitation. Isamu twisted his face in concerned confusion, choosing to crawl toward Hana, holding onto her arm. Though Hana’s eyes never left Kizuki, she squeezed her brother’s small, warm hand reassuringly.

“If I was allowed inside the village—"

“No! Out of the question.” Kizuki rubbed his temple, annoyance morphing into anger as he continued. “I won’t have you scaring everyone half to dead.”

“Trust me, Uncle, I am nowhere near as dangerous as being inside the village with whatever lies within it. Uncle—”

“No.” He snapped, dismissing her with a wave of his hand.

“Uncle, please just listen to me. I can—”

“Did you hear me?” He shot back, his voice a low growl.

Leaning forward, Hana pressed on, urgency lacing her words. “That thing is hurting people. Innocent people.”

Kizuki’s frustration only deepened. “Stop attempting to brainwash me! You think you know better than me? There’s a reason you two were sent up here. You cause chaos and disrupt the peace I’ve worked hard to maintain. Be thankful our family hasn’t decided to—”

“The medicine, Uncle!”

He groaned in annoyance. “What?”

“Isamu’s medicine. His monthly dosage should have been sent here a week ago, but it wasn’t.” A long pause stretched between them, and Kizuki turned back, a mocking smirk replacing his previous aggression.

“Yes, his medicine... Once you find this creature and destroy it, I shall have his medicine sent over immediately.”

“He needs his medicine now! Without it, his illness will worsen.”

Fixed to her uncle’s glare, she could see Kizuki weighing his options. “Then you better hurry.”

Hana watched as he stormed out, his heavy footsteps echoing ominously, leaving her alone with Isamu, who clung to her arm tightly. The once-warm afternoon light now felt dim, the air thick with unspoken fears and unfinished business.

“Don’t worry, Isamu,” she whispered, squeezing his little hand gently. “I’ll figure something out. I always do.”

With wide eyes full of innocence and concern, he looked up at her, his voice trembling. “Do you think he’ll send the medicine if you find the monster? What if he doesn’t?”

Taking a deep breath, Hana fought back her frustration and sorrow. She wanted to soothe him, but the weight of their situation hung heavy above them. “I don’t know,” she admitted softly, “but I won’t give up. You need that medicine, and there are people like you who need protection down there.”

She released his hand, turning back to her biwa—the instrument that had always been her solace in troubled times. More than wood and strings, it allowed her to express her emotions and connect her heart to those around her. As her fingers brushed over the strings once more, a flicker of resolve ignited within her.

“I'll need to go find it myself,” she declared suddenly, startling Isamu. The conviction in her voice was unmistakable.

“But that’s dangerous!” He protested, shaking his head. “You can’t go out there, big sis!”

“We can’t wait for Uncle Kizuki.” She knelt to his level, softening her expression. “You trust me, don’t you?”

Isamu hesitated, conflict evident on his face before he finally nodded, albeit reluctantly. “Okay… but what if you get caught?”

Hana smiled, though the worry lingered in her heart. “I’ll wear a disguise to blend in. Many people pass through the village. Even if I’m caught, Uncle won’t let anything too terrible happen when he still needs me. While I’m gone, stay here where it’s safe.”

“I can do that!”

“Good,” she urged, rising to her full height. “Help me gather a few things. If I’m going to confront this creature, I need to be prepared.”

•••

Hana stepped carefully, the crunch of branches and leaves underneath her feet a sharp contrast to the tranquility of the forest. Her hair was hidden beneath a woven bamboo hat, her biwa wrapped securely in a white cloth strapped to her back and dressed in her father’s old grey men's clothing, she felt the weight of her disguise. Binding her chest with bandages had been an uncomfortable choice, leaving her breathless, but it was a necessary process.

Holding her hat down with one hand, she moved gracefully beneath a long rope straying in the air, covered in ofudas. This was her uncle's attempt to ward off the villagers—the falsehood that an evil spirit occupied the mountain, while a dark fog often wove itself through the trees like a ghostly figure, enough to solidify fear in hearts.

After a mile or two, she finally reached the village—a sight both foreign and familiar. Awe washed over her as she glimpsed the life unfolding before her. She could hear the hubbub of merchants hawking their wares, the laughter of families enjoying the day, and the mouthwatering aromas of food wafting through the air, filling her senses with nostalgia. The vibrant energy of the village was overwhelming, making her heart swell with memory.

But she reminded herself—don’t get distracted.

Just as she was about to turn away from the chaos, a voice broke through the ambient noise. “Hey! Hey you!”

She continued walking, dismissing the call.

“Hey, mister, wait up!”

Hana’s eyes darted around, looking for the speaker but finding no one.

‘Surely, they can’t be talking to me…?’

With hesitating steps, she turned, half expecting to find someone else in her vicinity only to be tackled from behind, falling chest-first into the dirt.

“Owwie. Not again. Geez, thanks for breaking my fall, mister.”

“I-I think you broke something of mine in the process,” Hana stammered, her voice slightly muffled in the dirt. “Uh, would you mind...getting off me now?”

“Oh, oops.”

The girl complied, springing to her feet and quickly helping Hana up, revealing herself to be much smaller than anticipated. Though Hana expected someone heftier to hit her with such force, the girl’s slender build surprised her.

“Sorry! My boss says I can be clumsy when stressed, haha.” The girl awkwardly brushed dirt off of Hana’s shoulders, her laughter a touch too loud.

Hana flinched slightly at the touch. It had been years since she’d spoken to anyone outside her family, and this was a jarring experience. Still, the girl’s vibrant energy was hard to resist.

“Is something funny, mister? Does my misery bring you joy?”

Hana chuckled softly, “No, no! I’m sorry, I'm not laughing at you. Just... I’ve never met anyone quite like you.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” The girl placed her hands on her hips, mock indignation flaring on her face.

“Someone so… amazing, I suppose.”

The girl’s cheeks flushed a bright red. “W-whatever”

Hana picked up her lonely instrument from the ground, inspecting it for any damages. She spotted the enthusiasm in the girl’s eyes like sunlight illuminating a clearing in the woods.

“Ahh! That is a biwa, isn’t it? I knew my eyes hadn't deceived me. You can play it?”

“I can,” Hana replied, gathering her composure.

“Then I’ve found a man to entertain my customer! Come on, please!”

“Wait, hold on! I don't know if I can help just yet. There’s something I need to do first.”

“Oh, come on, mister. This is the only job I’ve ever been able to keep! I need this! My husband works hard as a traveling doctor, but we’ll never get by without this, please!”

Hana felt a swell of warmth at the girl's determination, her immediate desire to help surface faster than a rising tide. “Alright, I can do one song,” she conceded.

“Make it three! He wants three different songs!”

“Three? I suppose I can manage that,” Hana replied, her spirit lifting alongside hers.

The girl didn’t waste a moment, grabbing Hana’s hand and leading her away from the thrumming marketplace. “Oh, thank you, thank you! I’ll ask my boss if she can pay you!”

“No need for payment. Knowing I helped someone is enough for me,” Hana insisted, only half aware that they were already dissolving into a plan of collaboration. “But first, could I have your name?”

The girl paused, eyes sparkling with recognition. “Suki Akagi! What about you?”

Hana hesitated for a moment, fiddling with her thoughts. “...Sato.”

[fallensapphires]

Movies: Titanic (1997)

Gentlemen. It has been a privilege playing with you tonight.

[dandelionsandderivatives]

While I was languishing on the bed of illness last week, I spent a lot of time reading up on American Girl Doll lore. Dear followers, you may see a lot of American Girl content in the following weeks. I say this not to apologize, but to entice.

[aestheticemi01]

Truly is a very, very heartbreaking day…400 years worth of history gone up in flames. 💔

The old Stock Exchange building in Copenhagen 1620-2024…