#i no longer live in shame!!!!

[squidos-goodies]

AFTER TWO AND A HALF ENTIRE YEARS

TO ISOLATE IS FINALLY DONE

honestly, legitimately, truly, thank you, everyone.

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

Historians having takes on frev women that make me go 😐 compilation

Sexually frustrated in her marriage to a pompous civil servant much older than herself, [Madame Roland] may have found Danton’s celebrated masculinity rather uncomfortable. Danton (1978) by Norman Hampson, page 77.

The Robespierres sent their sister to Arras because that was their hometown, the family home, where they had relatives, uncles, aunts and friends, like Buissart who they didn’t cease to remain in correspondence with, even in the middle of the Terror. There, among them, Charlotte would not be alone; she would find advice, rest, the peace necessary to heal her nervousness and animosity. Away from Mme Ricard, who she hated, away from Mme Duplay, who she detested, she would enjoy auspicious calmness. It is Le Bon that the Robespierres will charge with escorting their sister to this neccessary and soothing exile. […] If there is a damning piece in Charlotte Robespierre's case, it is this one (her interrogation, held July 31 1794). She seems to be caught in the act of accusing this Maximilien whom she rehabilitates in her Memoirs. She is therefore indeed a hypocrite, unworthy of the great name she bears, and which she dishonors the very day after the holocaust of 10 Thermidor. Charlotte Robespierre et Guffroy (1910) in Annales Révolutionnaires, volume 3 (1910) page 322, and Charlotte Robespierre et ses mémoires (1909) page 93-94, both by Hector Fleishmann.

Elisabeth, as she was popularly called, was barely past her twelfth birthday, younger even by three years than Barere’s own mother when she was given in marriage. On the following day the guests assembled again in the little church of Saint-Martin at midnight to attend the wedding ceremony of the handsome charmer and the bewildered child. Dressed in white, clasping in her arms a yellow, satin-clad  doll that Bertrand had given her — so runs the tradition — she marched timidly to the altar, looking more like a maiden making her first communion than a woman celebrating a binding sacrament. Perhaps the  doll, if doll there was, filled her eye, but certainly she could not fail to note how handsome her husband was. Bertrand Barere; a reluctant terrorist (1962) by Leo Gershoy, page 32.

The young nun who bore the name of Hébert did not hide her fate. She did not wish to prolong a life stifled from her childhood in the cloister, branded in the world by the name she bore, fighting between horror and love for the memory of her husband, unhappy everywhere. Histoire des Girondins (1848) by Alphonse de Lamartine, volume 8, page 60.

Lucile in prison showed more calmness than Camille. Before the tribunal, she seemed to possess neither fear nor hope, she denied having taken an active role in the prison conspiracy. What did it matter to her the answer they were trying to extract from her? They said they wanted her guilty? Very well! She would be condemned and join Camille. This was what she said again when she was told that she would suffer the same fate as her husband: ”Oh, what joy, in a few hours I’m going to see Camille again!” Camille et Lucile Desmoulins: un couple dans la tourmente (1986) by Jean Paul Bertaud, page 293.

What did it matter to Lucile whether she was accused or defended? She had no longer any pretext for living in this world. She was one of those heroines of conjugal love who are more wife than mother. Besides, Horace lived, and Camille was dead. It was of the absent only that she thought. As for the child, would not Madame Duplessis act a mother's part to him? The grandmother would watch over the orphan. If Lucile had lived, she could have done nothing but weep over the cradle, thinking of Camille. Camille Desmoulins and his wife; passages from the history of the Dantonists founded upon new and hitherto unpublished documents (1876) by Jules Claretie.

Having been widowed at the age of 23 [sic] years, Élisabeth Duplay remarried a few years later to the adjutant general Le Bas, brother of her first husband, and kept the name which was her glory. She lived with dignity, and all those who have known her, still beautiful under her crown of white hair, have testified to the greatness of her sentiments and austerity of her character. She died at an old age, always loyal to the memory of the great dead she had loved and whose memory she, all the way to her final day, didn’t cease to honor and cherish. As for the lady of Thermidor, Thérézia Cabarrus, ex-marquise of Fontenay, citoyenne Tallien, then princess of Chimay, one knows the story of her three marriages, without counting the interludes. She had, as one knows, three husbands living at the same time. Now compare these two existances, these two women, and tell me which one merits more the respect and the sympathy of good men. Histoire de Robespierre et du coup d’état du 9 thermidor (1865) by Louis Ernest Hamel, volume 3, page 402.

Fel free to comment which one was your favorite! 😀

[furiousgoldfish]

I wrote a very pained, depressive and dark post, even maybe too dark for this blog, but I ultimately decided to publish it, just because this pain has always been invisible in me, and I want to be able to say something. If you're going to read it, there's a lot of mention of death and contemplation of suicide in it, and a lot of painful emotion. Maybe someone will resonate with it and find words to describe their own pain. I also want to note that even though every word of it is true, I am most of the time completely dissociated from this, I'm not actively thinking it, and it came out now because my parents are actively trying to find me and disrupting the life I've tried to make for myself.

What my parents did to me is worse than death, they erased me. When I escaped I didn't know who I was, I had no hope to survive, I didn't think I was worth anything, I felt ashamed to even exist. I was suicidal, i thought I'd be dead within a month even if I don't do it myself. I didn't think I had it in me to survive, to be alive, to be anything. I was a less than a ghost, I didn't even have memories to remember of who I once was because there was no warm memories, only violence, blame, guilt, shame, pain, terror. I was supposed to be a person, and they put me in a state where I knew nothing about being a person, only property and a target, it was my entire life. I was told I deserved this, I was a monster, there was never anything else that is correct to do to me, but hurt me. I thought it was my job to be endlessly harmed. They knew I was suicidal and didn't stop. The only reason I didn't kill myself was the dissociative disorder that functioned like a suicide prevention measure, I physically could not have done it because I have been split into pieces and one of the pieces prevented me from doing it. I would have died otherwise.

What would a quick violent death be compared to this? A fucking blessing. I was slowly tortured until I was willing to kill myself in order to end it. They didn't want to dirty their hands with my murder, they planned on torturing me until I did it to myself. I had an intense drive to survive despite everything, and even that was getting erased. My basic instincts were being erased by the amount of pain I was in. My personality was gone, I didn't even have a personality, it was all overwhelmed by pain and desperation to both survive and end it all, I walked trough life looking death in the face the entire time, it felt so close, so close to me, like it would claim me any second, but I had to stay stoic, calm, me staring down death had to be invisible, I couldn't let it show. It shouldn't have mattered to anyone what I was experiencing. I was torn between life and death, stuck in constant anticipation of it and it couldn't have mattered.

Take a person, any person, imagine them having a life, family, friends, interests, hobbies, desires, dreams, loved ones, support, community. Now imagine that same person isolated, everything stripped away from them, and them being hurt until they can no longer remember anything they wanted to live for. Even their basic instinct to survive is stripped frm them as pain is too large for them to be able to sustain themselves, there's no longer anything in this person's life worth living for, nothing they remember about who they were, no warm thought they can think about themselves, and they're repeatedly told they deserve this, they've wanted this. Until there's nothing of them left.

That was me, but from the start. I didn't get to experience having a life, family, loved ones, interests, dreams, community, or any of that first, I didn't get to know how it was to have any of that! From the very start it was pain and being told that this is all there is, and that I'm stupid for ever thinking there would be anything more to life, that it is in fact, only terror and death and I'm a weakling for not taking it better, everyone else is dealing with this just fine. Shame and guilt were the only traits I could have, I didn't know anything further about me. Nobody knew me because nobody saw me being abused. Nobody could know I was worthless, it had to be my private hell. I would have to live only to the point where it was decided that it was enough and I had to die, or until the point where I couldn't take it anymore and take my own life, even though I so strongly didn't want to, even that basic desire was tempered with and overwritten by pain.

Who would want a life like that? Life of not only being aware that nobody cares about you, but everyone around you is willing to inflict pain on you until you wish to die, but can't. Where crying and screaming is forbidden even when you can't breathe from the amount of pain you're in; you're not even allowed to cry out. You fight with yourself every day on how badly you want to die and why you can't, and it doesn't help, you get lost in magical thinking in order to escape from the hell you're in, but you're brutally reminded of it every time you interact with anyone, when they find you hiding under the bed and dreaming. You don't even know that you're supposed to have loved ones, be safe, be unharmed, that life is supposed to be different, that you're not alive only to be a target, that you're worth anything. You don't even know that you're supposed to have more freedom in life than to choose the manner and time of your death, this is all that's dealt to you. And now, live, see how far you can get before you die. Would anyone choose that? Would anyone decide to be born into a life like that? Wouldn't you choose not to exist at all rather than be put trough that? To be erased and then having to keep on living while thinking you in fact, deserve death, and should do it yourself, and you know if you do die, it won't matter, just like your life didn't? Because people around you regularly nearly kill you and then laugh about it like it was a funny joke? They humiliate you for how ugly you look close to death? You're scared that your last moment will be humiliation for how unseemly your corpse looks and you're hoping you'd be able to die alone, to not be berated as you're dying.

Death is nothing to me compared to this. Waiting to die is worse than death. Endless anticipation of pain is worse than death. Having everything about you erased by pain is worse. Not knowing anything about yourself except that you are incredibly shameful existence and that you need to feel guilty all of the time, is worse. Watching people around you receive care and warmth while you're stuck watching death in the face silently, pretending it's not happening, and trying to not have anyone's attention on yourself because someone noticing means more pain, more shame and guilt. It's worse. Kill me any fucking day. But this will always be worse. Every time I face the reality of my life I wish I had died in the womb, at childbirth, I wish I had died when I was 1, 2, 3, 5, 10, 12, any time before I experienced all this. It would have been so much less pain. It would have been so much easier on me.

And I've already given up on ever having a place in anyone's heart, because at this point, I don't have it in me to make people love me. I have nothing about me that is other people find worth caring for, I made peace with it. There will be no loved ones, and thats fine. But at least then I should get to live my life alone the way I want it. I should find joy in being who I found I am, and doing what I want to do. I should get to do things that give me a little bit of pleasure and enjoyment, and I should be safe, and death should no longer come knocking at my door, staring me down like I owe it something. If I can't even have that, then to hell with everything. What is the fucking point of anything if all my life is a continued slow torture until I can no longer bear it. I have nobody to bear it for, nobody would be harmed by my death. But I also don't deserve to die, because I want to live, and this should be mine. Who the fuck dares to try and take this away from me again. I want to fucking explode. If I have to make my own justice then how do I do it. I literally just want to live. And I see other people having at least that much secured for them. Why can't I at least have that much. I am seriously asking for the bare fucking minimum.

[hectorthedoggo]

hi so i wrote :D Another chapter of wingfic!!

[corpsecoded]

forever haunted by my father telling me ever since i was young on how empty and blank i’ve always been and how dead my eyes are and my mother telling me how she sometimes wondered if i ever even cared about her or the rest of the family at all and she wasn’t even necessarily completely wrong and she wrote a book about us and put in there how the difference between her and i was that i have the ability to be able to just up and move my circumstances and life in a day if needed or desired and even while leaving everybody and everything i ever known behind i would be fine since that is just my nature. also how i have ended up resenting each and every one of my parental figures once they have fallen apart and became a mess and relied on me to be the parent when i was younger because the moment they were weaker than me that they couldn’t even take care of me made me lose all respect for them. chat am i doomed

[whirlybirbs]

it’s 5:20am i cannot sleep i am consumed with thoughts and yearning for keigo takami i need to be euthanized

[askblueandviolet]

What do you want to be in the future?

You'll live for a long time, right?

MASTER POST

Asks Start 💙

Previous 💙

Next 💙

[teathattast]

No matter what or

Where we end up

You could try and

Do your worst

But you know I′m stuck

By your side

[writer-room]

Honestly Rayla is equally 100% ride or die for Callum too.

That's so true I almost mentioned it in that post. They're so ridiculously feral for each other it's hilarious to watch. Callum's the legitimate "we ride AND die together" whereas Rayla is the "I will ride and die FOR you" sort of deal yknow?

Could be literally any situation, no matter how dangerous, and she's already decided she will die here. Does it ensure Callum lives? Then batter-up buckeroo we're going in swords blazing! Everyone cheer and clap for her human or she'll blow this whole place up. Kinda person who says "even if you hate me I'd still lose everything if it meant you were okay". She thinks they're in a tragic love story where she's always at risk of losing him but that's okay as long as it keeps him safe and happy like y'know Viren parallels, she'd risk losing her very self for him over and over. Except Callum would wait until the end of the world itself, and even beyond, and she wouldn't even have to ask.

The difference between them, really, is that Rayla will die for Callum on any given day. Callum will kill for Rayla on any given day. Something something matching sets

[the-cat-at-the-theatre-door]

Once again I am thinking about the lyric parallels between Gus the Theatre Cat/Grizabella the Glamour Cat and Memory, not only in the comparison of how the other cats (namely Jellylorum) talk about Gus vs. how they talk about Grizabella, but more specifically how that one set of lyrics:

For he isn't the Cat that he was in his prime/Though his name was quite famous, he says, in his time

I can smile at the old days/ I was beautiful then

Putting emphasis on the concept of *was* - as in no longer. As in these cats are trapped in a modern world that no longer has any use or affection for them, as it did once. Of...outliving their usefulness or their talent or (even more emphasized) the virality and attractiveness of their bodies (see how even affectionately Gus' physicality is commented upon as being a "shame" now, as is Grizabella's - less affectionately - considering what it was before), and struggling to adjust in a way that will never quite be possible for them. They are relics of old, they *realize* this even if they are aware of little else, and it's too late for adapting or catching up. They will long for their prime, but it will never be back in their grasp.

[sciderman]

i love you too jay 

[goldkirk]

.

[derangedfujoshi]

Yes, Nukani devs, I will accept getting Instructor Edmond in the new contract-based rerun with just 40 pulls only four days before my birthday, as a formal apology on your end for failing to give him to me the first time. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll scream in the tags

[segasonic-popcorn-shop]

just thought of this but. i like to think since the merging of dahna and rena like. restores the climate to a decently 'normal' state. then reasonably, seasons would come back after a while right? I'm assuming those weren't a thing w the five realms since how their climates are so heavily influenced by whatever type of astral energy they were associated wwith (except cyslodia ig. that's got snow bc it's in the mountains) but like. that DOES get slowly reversed post-game. idk I think it'd be neat. honestly i just wanna see what menancia looks like in autumn

[mariocki]

Shadows of Fear: Did You Lock Up? (1.1, Thames, 1970)

"And they didn't make much mess?"

"No, not really. They forced that door. Smashed the cabinet, slashed a sofa. And kicked a hole in the bedroom door."

"Ah. Big mistake."

"What is?"

"Never lock inside doors. Anything you can to keep them out - but when they're in, let 'em get on with it."

"I'll remember."

[fondfamilies]

thinking about how we fear being treated the worst ways we've treated others; thinking about reid being terrified of being sick & committed like his mum; thinking about 'admitting his mother' being the sin his brain gave him to confess to in 'revelations'