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crashdevlin · 4 years ago

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Civil Warriors 7- Regrets (fin)

Civil Warriors Masterlist

Author’s Note: Originally posted to ao3 (This is an edited and improved version) Part Three of the Red Queen Chronicles!

Summary: An interaction in Africa reveals more of Cassie’s hidden past.

Word Count: 5063

Pairing(s): Clint Barton x OFC, Bucky Barnes x OFC

Chapter Warnings: mentions of torture, mentions of brainwashing, mentions of murder, actual murder, Bucky Barnes being suave, Cassie Campbell being suave,

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sound of guns cocking woke the heroes. From the shadows being cast on their tent, they could tell they were surrounded. “Come out!” a deep voice with a thick accent called out. Cassie reached for her pistol, but the voices behind them caught her attention.

“They’re children,” she whispered.

The men sighed as she set her gun back down on her backpack. “We’re coming out,” Steve called as he unzipped the tent. There were a dozen young me with automatic weapons in their hands and a single actual man holding a large revolver. Steve and Bucky put their hands up as they stepped out of the tent and their arms were immediately grabbed by several of the child soldiers.

Cassie gave a defiant look as the man in charge stepped toward her, reaching his left arm out to grab her. “Do not touch me,” she warned.

He didn’t seem impressed in the least. Of course, who would be. A small blond white girl wasn’t exactly the epitome of piss-your-pants scary. The man continued to advance, grabbing her arm and yanking her forward. She stepped into the pull, putting a leg behind the large man’s legs and hip-checking his balance. She brought her elbow down on his head as he went down, then flipped, landing with her foot on his throat. The young soldiers looked at her in fear as their leader moaned beneath her boot. The old American soldiers looked just as wary of her actions. “Do any of you speak English?” she asked, her accent affixed to her words.

“I do,” a small boy of about twelve said, stepping away from Steve.

“Good,” she said as the man below her grabbed at her boot. “Tell your friends to let my friends go.”

“Why?” the boy asked, defiantly.

She smirked, a dark amusement coloring the green of her eyes. “Vell, zey do make zeir child soldiers fearless in Africa, don’t zey?” She put extra pressure on the throat of the soldier under her boot, stepping off as she heard the crunch and felt his bones give. She hummed as she pushed her hand into her pocket and pulled out a small, black pocket knife. “You see, child soldier, I feel your plight much more zen your...aferage vite voman. Zey took from your family...isolated you. Zey control you viz drugs and meaningless titles. Zey make you completely dependent on zem.” She licked her lips, chuckling as she flicked open the knife. “It’s not exactly how it happened to me, but...still. I understand. Do you like your bruzzers-in-arms, zough? I know you probably hated zis fathead muzzerfucker, but do you like your friends?” She nudged the dead man with her right heel.

The boy nodded slightly, obviously unsure of where Cassie was going with her line of questioning. “Good for you. I didn’t haf friends ven I vas your age. I vas all alone until I vas seventeen. It’s good to haf friends. Now, look into my eyes and know zee truz of my words.” Bucky could see a glimmer of hope in Steve’s eyes as Cassie bent down enough to be at the boy’s level. “If your friends do not release my friends, I vill kill you...but not before I haf made you vatch as I tear apart your bruzzers...viz my bare hands und zis dull pocket knife. I vill drown you in zeir blood vizout batting an eye. Do you zink it’s vorz it? Jus so you can go to the other side saying you didn’t give up?”

The boy looked into her eyes, shaking with terror, before turning to the others and speaking to them. They immediately let go of Bucky and Steve, stepping backwards. “Good choice. If I ver you, I’d take Fathead’s Jeep and go to some of zee refugee camps...see if you can find any family zey didn’t massacre ven zey took you. Don’t let me see you again, Child Soldier,” she said, bending down to pull the Jeep keys out of the dead man’s pocket and throw them at the boy. He picked the keys up and turned tail, his friends following behind him. Cassie turned to the tent, tossing their bags out on the ground before deftly pulling up the stakes and collapsing it.

Steve watched the kids pile into the Jeep, one of the older boys driving away. By the time he’d turned around to watch Cassie, she’d stuffed the tent back into the bag and attached it to her backpack. “Come on. Vee haf to go,” she said, not waiting before she started to walk away from the soldiers and the dead man.

“What the hell was that?” Steve asked, looking down at the body.

“Guten Tag, Junior,” Bucky said before grabbing his bag and following after her. “Hey. I know you don’t like letting that part of yourself out, but...thank you. Steve and I...we wouldn’t have wanted to…”

“It vas stupid. Vee nefer should haf gone to sleep vizout a lookout. Vee cannot ignore zee dangers just because vee are superhuman.”

“You’re right,” Bucky said, adjusting his bag. “We’ll start pulling shifts at night, okay?”

Cassie stopped and sighed heavily as she shook her head. “No. You are boz still healing from zee fight viz Stark. I vill do lookout.”

He scoffed loudly. “Sweetheart, you may not be a hundred years old and beaten up but you do need sleep.”

“No, I don’t. I took zis off zee fathead. I vill be able to continue vizout sleep,” Cassie said, present a baggy of pills to him. “Amphetamines. They use zem to control zee boys.”

“You’re not serious?” Cassie just stared at Bucky who shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said before pulling his arm back and punching her in her temple.

She came back up, her hand on her head. “What was that for?” she demanded.

Bucky shrugged. “Thought it would help. You were acting a little too Hydra for my liking. The accent, the ��let’s throw pills at it’ attitude. I mean, we really don’t want a call-back to the Pervitan days.”

“I still think I’m the better choice for watch,” Cassie said, looking down at the bag of pills in her hand. “And if the best way to accomplish that is some...sketchy amphetamines, then maybe…”

“We’re gonna trade off responsibility on the night watch,” Bucky said, grabbing the bag and throwing it.

Realization seemed to come over her as Steve walked up. “Oh, my God,” she whispered, falling to her knees. She retched, her hands going to her stomach. “I killed that man.” She retched again, tears rolling down her face. “I told that kid I was going to drown him in his friends’ blood. What wa-” The remnants of her MRE dinner from the night before finally made their way up her esophagus and spilled on the ground in front of her.

Bucky was at her side immediately, running his hand soothingly between her shoulders. “It’s okay. Just get it all out.”

Her bag began to ring so Steve dug his hand into her backpack to pull out her phone and answer it. “Hello?”

“Give the phone to Miss Campbell, Steve,” Fury’s voice said.

“She’s a bit busy right now, Fury.”

“Puking her guts out all over the African landscape, I know. Give her the phone anyway,” Fury demanded.

“Nick Fury,” Steve said, placing the phone next to her head.

“I told you not to ask questions, Campbell. Why did you have to push it?”

Cassie grasped at the phone, pushing it into her ear so hard that it was painful. “You...should’ve told me...years ago,” she growled.

“What, so that you’d always hate what you see in the mirror? Or worse, like it? Aspire to be what Hydra wanted of you instead of fighting against it like you did? I found a confused little girl in the Alps, Campbell. A little girl with no name, no memory, who honestly didn’t know a damn thing about my missing agents. I hoped that the work we did on you would be enough and I think it would’ve been if you’d stayed out West with Coulson.”

“Loki would’ve found me anyway,” she cried. “Barton told him about me! About...my father, my past! He would have come for me. But...what’s...happening to me, Nick? I’m not just remembering her, I’m becoming her!”

“No. You aren’t. You won’t ever be her again,” he said, forcefully. “All of your experiences, that’s what makes you. The experiences that we hid from you when you got to the Fridge, they’re just starting to color your personality. And if you don’t freak out about it, woman, this may not be a bad thing.”

“May not be a bad thing?” She sat up straight, letting the pressure off of the phone. “I just killed a man.”

“Who was probably going to rape and kill you. Sometimes men need to die. You haven’t killed a good man since Agent Barker and you didn’t have any control of that.”

“Barker?” she squeaked. ‘Theodore Joseph Barker, SHIELD level five, 128-42-0724’ flashed through her head. “Oh, my God!” she breathed out.

“When you get done in Africa, Cassie, call me. There’s options here.”

“Options? There’s not...I’m exactly the opposite of the person I thought I was,” she said, dropping the phone and standing. She took off running, her bag and the tent thumping against her back as she ran.

Steve picked up the phone as Bucky took off after her. “She’s going to have to call you back, Nick.”

“You and Barnes need to keep a close eye on her, Rogers. She needs someone to pull her out of this or we might lose her. I can’t imagine how much of a boost it’d be for Hydra if she decided to give into her programming.”

Steve sighed. “It would be like her father coming back.”

“Exactly. The last thing we need is Hydra rallying around their legacy. You need to help her remember who she is. We don’t have Barton to do it this time.”

Steve shook his head. “I don’t doubt that she is a good person, but...what just happened…” He ran his hand through his hair. “It was like watching Loki and...Natasha fight for control of her body. She killed a man, threatened a little boy...it was disturbing.”

“If you don’t think that you and Barnes can bring her back, let me know. I’ll have Phil swoop in and grab her. SHIELD can hook her up and get rid of those bad memories.”

“I feel like that’d be adding fuel to a fire.” Steve looked around to where he could see Bucky standing with Cassie, about a quarter mile away. “I’ll see what I can do.” Steve turned off the phone and looked down at it before starting over to join his companions. He wasn’t sure how to bring her back. Clint was the one who always knew her. Clint was the one who always pulled her back.

Bucky and Cassie’s voices carried easily to him as he approached. “This isn’t war, Sergeant, and I’m not supposed to be a soldier! I just wanted to be an Avenger, help people!” she shrieked.

“You do help people. You helped those kids. You sent them to go find their families!”

“After I killed their handler! I threatened to tear those kids apart and drown that boy in their blood!”

“You wouldn’t have done that, though. You-”

“You don’t know that! You don’t know me!” Steve watched from a couple hundred feet away as Cassie dropped her bag and pulled out a pistol, shoving it into Bucky’s hand. Steve ran forward as she looked up at Bucky, begging him. “You have to. I can’t be that. Please!”

“I can’t. You...I don’t want to kill-”

“Neither do I!” she cried. “The only way to keep me from killing anyone else is if you-”

Steve cut her off with a sharp slap across her left cheek. “Stop it!” he demanded as her eyes went wide. It wasn’t too extreme to slap her. He needed to pull her back. “You threatened the kid to avoid hurting him and his friends in a fight. It was graphic but it needed to be so he’d believe it. I know you wouldn’t have gone through with any of it.” He took a deep breath as she blinked at him dumbfounded. “The warlord you killed was an evil man who never would have let those boys go and is likely responsible for thousands of deaths. You can feel bad about the blood on your boots, Cass, but do not rid the world of one of the best women I’ve had the pleasure of knowing just because you scared yourself.”

Cassie gasped, closing her eyes and fell forward sobbing into Bucky’s chest. Steve sighed in relief as Bucky dropped the gun and held her close to him. “Hey, it’s okay. It’ll be okay,” he whispered soothingly as he rested his chin on the top of her head.

Steve felt a little lost as he tried to think of words to make things better. “You’re...a good woman. You really are. I wouldn’t be your friend if I thought you were-” Steve sighed deeply, afraid he wasn’t getting through to her. “Damnit, Cassie, I wanted to date you.”

“‘Wanted’. Key word.” She pulled back and wiped at her eyes. “I keep crying on you,” she whispered, looking up at Bucky.

Bucky gave her an earnest look. “I’d rather you cry on me than bleed on me,” he whispered.

Steve rolled his eyes as he kneeled down next to her. “It’s not ‘wanted’ because you’re bad or because you changed, Cass, it’s because you chose Clint and I...moved on. Why do you think it’s so hard for me to watch you flirting with Bucky? Because if you changed your mind about Barton, then I just wasted the last year pretending we could be just friends.”

“What about your CIA dame?” Bucky asked as Cassie rubbed her hands roughly over her eyes.

“Sharon...probably got fired for helping me, but she didn’t go to prison for it.” Steve set his hand on her knee and squeezed gently. “Sharon didn’t travel halfway around the world to help me when she knew it would pit her against her mentor...the man who helped her realize her potential as a hero and nurtures her as a scientist. Sharon didn’t...stand up to an alien prince and tell him that she wasn’t going to be his puppet anymore. She’s strong, like Peggy was, but...I don’t know. There’s a lot of good in you, Cassie, and I hate to think you might hurt yourself because of some-”

“Hate to think of you hurting yourself at all,” Bucky interrupted.

She shook her head and looked at her lap. “You...really don’t think it’s...I mean...I’m a killer.”

“So are we. We’re soldiers. Back in the war, before the train...we killed Hydra agents by the dozen...and after the train, I rampaged against the ones that took Buck from me. It’s...it never stops weighing on you, but it’s necessary.” He reached out and gently grabbed her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. “You are not the one who killed those SHIELD agents. You aren’t her. You have grown and you’ve become something completely separate from what Hydra planned for ‘Project Kind number four fifty-two’. You aren’t her and if you’re remembering what she did, then...that is just going to help you avoid the mistakes you would have made if you were her.”

He swept his thumb across her jawline. “You are amazing and you are a good woman. Please, don’t do anything stupid. Just...don’t. I couldn’t deal with losing another…”

She blinked a few times before swallowing and nodding. “Cool,” she said, shortly. “Well, I’m...ready to get to Wakanda so let’s go,” she finished, hopping up and grabbing her pistol from the ground.

“Uh...what just-” Bucky looked at her from his spot on the ground, confusion filling him.

“I can’t do this again,” she explained, tucking her pistol into her bag. “So, I’m not gonna do this again. Let’s go.”

“Do what again?” Bucky asked, standing.

“The choosing. Steve’s still got a flame, you’ve got a flame. I’ve got...various fires. I just want to...not. Let’s go. We can make Wakanda in two days if we keep moving. No sleep ‘til Brooklyn,” she said, shaking her head and smiling tightly.

“What?” Steve asked.

“It’s a song? I think?” Bucky said, starting to walk away.

“Beastie Boys. Put ‘em on your list,” Cassie said, following Bucky.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The border of Wakanda was heavily guarded. They’d barely crossed into Wakandan territory when they were approached by a group of farmers. “We were expecting two American men. Who is the American woman?”

“I’m actually German if we’re being accurate,” she corrected with a smile. “Cassandra Campbell. I-I wasn’t invited, but King T’Challa has met me. I…”

The soldiers spoke to each other in their native tongue before one pulled out a communicator. After a moment, there was a response then they were led to a palace, where T’Challa greeted them. Cassie bowed her head to the king. “Miss Campbell, I was not expecting you to be with Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes. It is good to see you.”

“It is good to officially meet you, your Highness. This is a much better setting than the battlefield,” she said with a tight smile.

“Your Secretary Ross told me that you were with child and that you were sent home after you signed the Accords.” T’Challa offered his hand, which she shook.

She looked down at his hand and bit her bottom lip. “I lost the baby,” she lied. It was easier than the truth. “And I don’t really have a home...just people. I have people that I care about and I wanted to protect them on their journey. Thank you for allowing me entrance. It really is as beautiful as I imagined it would be.”

“Natasha said you are a scientist, Miss Red Queen.” He shook his head. “Not ‘Doctor’?”

She smiled and shook her head. “No. I’ve actually just finished my undergrad degree. Haven’t even walked the stage for my graduation yet. Probably never will.”

“Well, allow me to take you on a tour of our labs.”

The tour ended with T’Challa asking one of his men to escort the guests to their rooms, a trio of large, ornate doors. Another servant appeared as she was settling and delivered a dress for her to wear to dinner. She took a long bath to scrub the dirt of the journey off of her and stared at herself in the mirror after she’d dressed. The dress fit her perfectly and it was the nicest she’d ever worn, a black sheath dress that dropped below her knees. The neckline was a deep V, showing most of her scars. She bit her bottom lip, running a comb through her hair and pulling the strands across her shoulders to minimize the exposure of her damage.

A knock came to her door and she checked the mirror again before opening it to reveal Bucky, who looked similarly uncomfortable in his clean, borrowed clothes. His clothing contrasted her, white pants and a tank top against her black dress. She smiled. “I knew there was a man under all that blood and dirt,” she teased, letting him into her room. “What are you doing in my room, Bucky? Steve will blow-”

“He’s busy with the king. Discussing my fate, I suppose.” He looked around the room. “I’m here ‘cause I needed to-”

“Say ‘goodbye’?” she finished for him. She leaned against a vanity with a large, antique mirror. “I saw how you were looking at the cryo tank...like it was your salvation. You’re gonna have them freeze you again.”

He licked his lips and ran his hand over his lips. “I think it’s the only way to be sure I won’t hurt anyone else. There’s no way I can do any damage if I’m asleep.”

“No way to do any good either,” she pointed out, quietly.

“I wanted to talk to you about it...since you-”

“I’d understand? Better than Steve anyway. Have you told him?” she asked, her voice squeaking. Bucky looked away. “I mean, I understand. I do. I understand wanting to shut everything off and...being afraid of what will happen if you don’t, ya know, freeze. I…” A tear escaped her eye and she let it roll down her face. “I don’t want you to go.”

“I’m going to tell him tonight...and you’re safe here, Cassie. You and Steve can get rested up and go save your archer...and your friends.” She looked away at the reminder of her fiance as Bucky sat on her bed and looked at his feet. “I’d like to, before I get into the cryo tank...I’d like to have a beautiful woman in my arms again.”

“No,” she whispered. “Because if I kiss you, if I...if I go further...if I do what I’ve wanted to do with you since I saw you in Leipzig, it’s over. You’re gonna get in that tank and I’m never-”

“I’m getting in that tank whether you kiss me or not,” he said, standing and crossing the distance between them in three long strides. Blue eyes pierced her green ones. “But am I going to have the taste of you on my lips when I go under?”

Her lips quivered as she fought her tears. “I should say ‘no’. I’m supposed to be a good woman. A good woman would say ‘no’.” She shook her head, but couldn’t look away from his eyes. “I have an archer waiting for me and he thinks I’m a good woman. He thinks I’m-” She stopped speaking abruptly and reached up, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling his head down to smash their lips together. His arm wrapped around her, holding her close as her tongue slipped into his mouth. She pulled away, biting her lip as he licked his own.

“You taste like whiskey,” he whispered.

She smiled softly, pulling his arm off of her waist. “That’s weird. I haven’t had anything to drink.”

“Maybe it’s natural. Maybe you just remind me of whiskey because of how you make me feel.”

Cassie blushed deeply and went to her tiptoes to place a soft kiss to his lips. “Do you think...do you think I should go under too?” she whispered against his lips.

“The cryo?” Bucky asked, stepping back. He took a deep breath. “I don’t know. That’s up to you. I know it’s the best option for me.” He reached out and ran his fingers through her hair. “Do you think we could-”

“Miss Campbell? It is dinner time,” came through the door.

“All right, I’ll be...I’ll be right there,” she called before looking at Bucky again. “Another time. You should go. She’ll be knocking your door soon.”

Bucky didn’t say a word, nodding as he slipped out of her room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dinner was nice, simple, and Shuri seemed very interested in how Hydra had created Cassie, but T’Challa cut that talk off when he saw how much she didn’t want to talk.

She was hoping that Bucky would come back after the meal, she was so preoccupied with their kisses that she couldn’t think of much else, but he never came back. The knock that woke her came as the sun began to crest the horizon. She rubbed her eyes with her knuckles as she padded softly across the floor to answer. Steve stood in her doorway, looking completely forlorn despite the fact that he was obviously trying to hold his emotions back.

“Steve?”

“Bucky wants T’Challa to freeze him.”

Cassie nodded and stepped out of the way, gesturing for him to come in. “He told you,” she said, quietly.

“You knew?” Steve asked, a tone of betrayal in his voice.

She nodded. “I was hoping he’d change his mind or that you might be able to talk him out of it. Something.”

“I couldn’t. I tried to convince him, but...forcing him to stay awake when he’s got that kill-switch in his head...it’d be cruel.” Steve shook his head sadly. “What if we never find a way to fix what Hydra put in his head? What if I lose him forever...again?”

Cassie sat on the edge of the bed and patted the comforter beside her. Steve took the seat she offered and sighed as his shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry. I know how...how much he means to you.” She put an arm around him and laid her head on his shoulder. “I know you’d do anything for him, but...this is what he needs to feel...secure in himself.”

“He’s such a...good man. I just want him to…” Steve’s words trailed off as his hand dropped to her thigh.

“I hate to say it like this, but...it doesn’t matter what you want, Steve. This is about Bucky, who feels like a stranger in his own body.” She covered his hand with her own and sighed. “He can’t tell what pieces of him are him and what pieces Hydra added. He can’t tell you half of what he did over the last seventy years and it terrifies him to think that someone can come along with a handful of words in Russian and turn him back into that ruthless...machine.” She bit her bottom lip. “It’s hard enough being a superhuman, international fugitive assassin without adding the wildcard of ‘God help me, I might wake up with a whole new list of people I didn’t want to kill’.”

Steve leaned his head against hers and closed his eyes. “I guess...I don’t have to like it but I don’t have much say, do I?”

“No. No, you don’t,” she whispered. “You gonna be okay?”

Steve kissed the top of her head, moving his hand so that his fingers twisted between hers. “Yeah. I think I will be.”

She stood and pulled him to his feet. “You should go get some rest, Steve. You look exhausted.”

“You know…” Steve started, resisting her pull for a moment as he looked down at her. “You’re stronger than you think you are.”

She smirked. “I know exactly how strong I am, Steve. I did tests at StarkTech Olympia,” she responded.

“You know I don’t mean physically. I’m constantly impressed by what you can do...what you can survive and how you can thrive under conditions that would crush other women.”

“You’re gonna make me blush,” she dismissed. “Please, I’m not that impressive.”

“I’m losing my best friend in a few hours.” Steve shook his head. “I know you’ve gotten close to Bucky over the last couple weeks. I know you’re upset about Bucky going under, too...yet here you are, not letting yourself be sad so that you can comfort me. That’s impressive.”

“Go to bed, Steve. I’ll see you in a few hours.” She went to her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, just under the contusion and bruising, before walking over and opening the door. She gently pushed him out into the hall. She sighed deeply and walked to the vanity, pulling a piece of stationary in front of her and setting to the task of writing a very important letter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cassie didn’t have any time to say ‘goodbye’ to Bucky in solitude so she stepped out of the way as T’Challa’s lab tech prepped Bucky for the tank. She watched from her place near the window as Steve and Bucky said their goodbyes. T’Challa walked up to Steve as Bucky froze in the tank and Cassie cleared her throat as she joined them soon after. “King T’Challa, do you...do you have another...one?”

T’Challa stared at her for a minute before he nodded. “Another tank? Yes. Why?”

She looked down to avoid Steve’s gaze when he stepped in front of her. She swallowed heavily and focused on his shoes. “What are you doing, Cassie?”

“It’s better this way,” she whispered, barely audible. “We can’t hurt anyone if we’re frozen.”

Steve’s hands were shaking as he tipped her chin up to look into his eyes. “I’m losing you and Bucky. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“You’re gonna...gonna go save Clint, Sam, and Scott from the Raft,” she answered, reaching into her jacket pocket and producing an envelope without looking away from his eyes. “You’re gonna give this letter to Clint when you do.”

“How am I supposed to explain to Clint that I let you freeze yourself?”

“The letter’ll do that for you.” She shook her head, sadly. “You have nothing to explain.”

Steve scoffed. “You say that, but-”

“Steve, I wrote that letter four different times. I made sure to explain everything and I apologized profusely. The letter will do everything. You just have to get him out of jail so he can read it. Please, do this for me.” He nodded sadly as he tucked the letter into his own jacket, but she smiled, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath before she reached up and wrapped her hand around the back of his neck. She pulled his head down and pressed her lips to his. As she pulled away, breathing heavily and blushing furiously, she looked down at her feet. “I didn’t want to regret it if I came back and I had missed the opportunity to-”

Steve cut her off with another kiss, holding her head and kissing her fiercely. She moaned as they pulled away from each other. “You’re right. I would hate to have missed out on that,” he breathed out.

She sighed and turned to T’Challa. “What do I have to do to get frozen?”

“My aid will help you.” The king nodded to his aid, who came over and grabbed her arm, leading her away.

She didn’t close her eyes until the moment the hypothermia-inducing chemicals flooded the tank so the last image she saw was Steve Rogers in front of her, a look of regret in his eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Kitchen Sink - @emoryhemsworth @flamencodiva @wasabiwitteks @rainbowkisses31 @rissbennett @mariekoukie6661 @officiallyunofficialperson @dolphincliffs @mrs-meghan-winchester @gayspacenerd @foxyjwls007 @ilovefanfic86 @marvelfansworld @f-yeahfandoms @wonderlandfandomkingdom @hhiggs @sev3nruby @hobby27 @paintballkid711 @divadinag @thewhiterabbit42 @fantasymyth-1 @queenoftheunderdark @cosicas-cuquis @superfanficnatural @letsby @supernatural-bellawinchester @onethirstyunicorn @swinchester27 @chalicia @sunnyroadtrips @screechingartisancashbailiff @death-unbecomes-you @dayasvalkyrie Hero Tags - @atc74 @winchesterxfamilybusiness @holylulusworld

#cassie writes stuff #marvel fanfic #Bucky Barnes #Steve Rogers #ofc #red queen chronicles

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simulacrumcfp · 4 years ago

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CALL FOR PAPERS: MYTHS

Two mermaids, from Apocalypse, Prophecy of the Tiburtine Sibyl, Harley MS 4972 f. 20r, 1275-1325.

He placed one hand upon my shoulder and, holding me tight, bared my throat with the other, saying as he did so: “First, a little refreshment to reward my exertions. You may as well be quiet; it is not the first time, or the second, that your veins have appeased my thirst!”

Lucy’s eyes were unclean […], instead of pure.

Poor Lucy finds herself tainted by the bite of Count Dracula, an aristocratic Transylvanian vampire that is thirsty for blood, out to export his barbaric ways to Victorian England. In his Dracula (1897), Bram Stoker utilises the myth of the vampire to warn the Victorian reader of the Eastern threat, by portraying Eastern Europe as a place of backwardness and barbaric – vampiristic – rituals. Myths about vampires have been around since the medieval period, when they were commonly linked to profanity. Stoker’s Dracula is the resurrection of a mythological figure, one that can be guided in all sorts of directions, for what was once the myth of the undead has come to represent the fears and threats of the time in which they are resurrected.

Since ancient times, myths have spoken of the how’s and why’s located at the limits of human understanding, designating that place where intellect fails. There, where knowers stop knowing, we story. In The World of Myth (1990) David Leeming writes that ‘human beings have traditionally used stories to describe or explain things they could not otherwise,’ pointing to the timeless human tendency to grapple with the unknown through story. The myth functions as the means by which we relate to the unknown, embodying our wonderings of the worlds beyond human ratio.

These stories are then conveyed through artworks, literature, history, or religion. Myths, however, do not just function as a source of inspiration for the arts, but often find their origin in art, spreading, evolving, and growing with different art forms and styles. The Venus Anadyomene, for example, first emerged from the sea in the Theogony – a poem by Hesiod from the 8th century BC. This specific depiction of Venus, daughter of Jupiter and Dione, as birthed by the sea was then made famous by the painting by Apelles (4th century BC). Although this painting has long been lost, it was described by Pliny in his Naturalis Historia (1st century AD), which served as an iconological guidebook for artists. From the orators who tell and retell their stories throughout generations, to the poets who write them down, to the sculptors who carve them out, stories are kept alive. To this day, Venus is most commonly known as the goddess who rose from the sea.

In the Danish fairytale Den Lille Havfrue (1837) by Hans Christian Andersen, sea foam is not where love is born, but where love goes to die. In the Walt Disney adaptation of the fairytale, The Little Mermaid (1989), mermaid princess Ariel, daughter of king Triton, falls in love with a human prince and gives up her tail to be with him. In the original, quite grim, fairytale by Andersen, the little mermaid finds her prince lying with another. She refuses to stab the lovers to death, as her sisters urge her to, and as a result of her broken heart she dissolves in the foam of the waves.

In Japan, ancient folklore is being retold to a modern audience through the films by Hayao Miyazaki. His Sen to Chihiro no Kamikakushi (Spirited Away, 2001) animates kami, spirits, washing themselves in a bathhouse as a result of pollution and human activity. This mirrors the Shinto belief that both gods and nature have to be respected and kept clean, and serves as a modern warning. Their demonic counterparts, the oni, take form in the character of Yubaba, who is based on the archetype of the mountain witch, or yumuaba. By taking Japanese mythology as a starting point, Miyazaki is able to create a fantasy-scape: a place where the unthinkable becomes possible.

Perhaps our first association with mythology brings us back to Ancient Greece. But for them, μῦθος simply meant a story – whether a true or false one, gossip, a historical tale or one of faeries, even a dream. Mῦθος and λόγος, two seemingly opposite terms, fantasy and reason, come together in mythology: the analysing and explaining of stories. There are several ways in which a myth can be explained, and therefore one can also speak of several mythologies. In Creative Mythology (1968) for example, American mythologist Joseph Campbell describes how literary figures such as Thomas Mann or James Joyce managed to make themselves into “living myths,” by translating individual experiences through the correct signs. Shakespeare, with his plays, even managed to create myths around historical figures such as King Henry IV, attracting audiences that were eager to learn about history. History has made other figures into myths as well, such as Louis XIV, known as the Sun King, or Marie Antoinnete.

In his Mythologies (1957) Roland Barthes explains the creation and circulation of myths through signs and language. According to Barthes, myths are a societal necessity created on the basis of contemporary social value systems, whereby myth formation should mainly be seen as a semiological process, partly as an ideological one. In the essay “Myth Today,” Barthes examines French bourgeois myths that are deeply rooted in society, yet often go unnoticed or taken as fact. By deconstructing modern myths that are spread through advertisements and propaganda, Barthes is able to get to the core of the societal value system of his time. Most famously, he deconstructs the myths around France’s two national products: steak frites and red wine. Both serve as metaphors for blood which, in French society, equals vitality and virility, which equals masculinity, which equals superiority. Equating France with steak frites and red wine then means equating France with virility, masculinity, superiority.

In “The Double Standard of Aging” (1972), Susan Sontag tackles another modern myth that is deeply-rooted in society, concerning women and age. In the essay, she explains how and why women “of a certain age” are deemed physically undesirable, noting that this differentiates per country. She explains that urbanised societies allow two standards of male beauty, the man and the boy, but only one of female beauty: the girl. This societal judgement of beauty mirrors the evolutionary myth that the value of women is based on their ability for procreation. As a woman’s fertility decreases with age, so does her societal worth.

As the myth moves beyond the human, outside the world as we know it, it writes a strange universe. It points to that which is not completely explainable according to our current structures for categorising the world. The enchanted world of the supernatural, with its gods, witches, and vampires, perhaps writes of a darker, less knowable reality. Their magic, spells, and strange rituals trouble the disenchanted story of Enlightenment, which tells of reason, control, and certainty – a myth in itself. But even though these supernatural entities tell of the incredible and unbelievable, they remain somewhat explainable. Vampires, gods, and witches, for example, are familiar figures based on a set of commonly understood fictions, differing ever so slightly from the human. ‘In many ways, a natural phenomenon such as a black hole is more weird than a vampire,’ writes Mark Fisher in The Weird and The Eerie (2016). We understand where to place and how to interpret the vampire as a fictional entity. A black hole actually exists, yet we do not understand its strange ways of bending space and time. Science Fiction balances on this thin line between fiction and reality. Perhaps the biggest myths, strangest entities, and weirdest monsters are not necessarily found within the fictional realm of the supernatural but right here in ‘the natural.’

‘Coral reefs are monsters.’ In the Arts of Living on a Damaged Planet (2017), Anna Tsing equates this natural phenomenon to the supernatural. Like the mythical chimeras of ancient Greece – beasts made up of the head of a lion, the body of a goat, and the tail of a snake – coral reefs are made of mismatched parts. They embody a strange species encounter as their polyps grow from both animal, plant, and more. Symbiosis, the interaction between two different organisms living in close physical association, might point to some monstrous truth essential to our current epoch of living with the world. In all our vulnerable entanglements with more than human life – we humans too are monsters.

There are literary differences to be found between myths, fairy tales, sagas, lores, fables, and legends. Fairy tales, for example, often take place in a fantastical world, in which magical creatures roam, and battles between Good and Evil take place. Myths, on the other hand, often have a basis in religion and tell stories about gods or divine creators. Both contain supernatural elements, sometimes these have a basis in history, sometimes in religion, and sometimes in fantasy. For this issue of Simulacrum, we have therefore chosen to soften the boundaries between these ways of storytelling, in order to be open to multiple mythologies, their meanings, and interpretations.

Fancy yourself a modern mythologist? Write an article of 1.000, 1.400, or 1.800 words for our upcoming issue, Mythologies. The deadline for first drafts is the 15th of November, 2020. Would you rather write a column, an interview, fiction, poetry, or do you know an artist whose work fits with this theme? Email us at [email protected]. Please send articles as .doc or .docx and portfolio’s as PDF.

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CALL FOR PAPERS: Mythologieën

Hij legde een hand op mijn schouder, hield me stevig vast, ontblootte mijn keel met de andere en zei daarbij: ‘Eerst een beetje verfrissing om mijn inspanningen te belonen. U kunt net zo goed stil zijn; het is niet de eerste keer, of de tweede, dat je aderen mijn dorst hebben gestild!’

Lucy’s ogen waren onrein [...], in plaats van puur

Lucy wordt gebeten door de bloeddorstige Graaf Dracula, een aristocratische vampier uit Transsylvanië, die er op uit is om zijn zondige en barbaarse levensstijl naar Victoriaans Engeland over te brengen. In zijn roman Dracula (1897) zet Bram Stoker de mythische vampier in om de Victoriaanse lezers te waarschuwen voor de opkomende ‘dreiging van het Oosten’ door Oost-Europa af te schilderen als een plek van barbaarse – vampiristische – rituelen. Mythes over vampieren gaan al rond sinds de middeleeuwen en werden toen vooral gelinkt aan godslastering. Met Dracula wekt Stoker dit mythologische figuur op uit de dood en blaast deze nieuw leven in. De vampier, eens de mythe van de ondoden, vertegenwoordigt voortaan de angsten en bedreigingen van de tijd waarin ze herrijst.

Sinds de oudheid gaan mythen over het hoe en het waarom. Daarmee bevinden ze zich aan de grenzen van het menselijk begrip – daar waar het intellect faalt, wordt er verhaald. In The World of Myth (1990) schrijft David Leeming dat ‘mensen van oudsher verhalen hebben gebruikt om dingen te beschrijven of uit te leggen die ze zonder niet zouden kunnen,’ duidend op een tijdloze menselijke neiging om door middel van verhaal door het onbekende te navigeren. Zo functioneert de mythe als het middel waarmee we ons verhouden tot het onbekende, en belichaamt deze onze verwondering over de werelden buiten de menselijke ratio.

Deze verhalen leven vervolgens door via de kunst, literatuur, geschiedenis of religie. Mythen gelden echter niet alleen als inspiratiebron voor de kunsten, maar vinden ook vaak hun oorsprong in de kunst, en verspreiden, evolueren en groeien met verschillende kunstvormen en -stijlen mee. Zo verrees de Venus Anadyomene voor het eerst uit de zee in de Theogonie - een gedicht van Hesiodus uit de 8e eeuw BC. Deze specifieke weergave van Venus, dochter van Jupiter en Dione, als geboren uit de zee werd vervolgens beroemd gemaakt door het schilderij van Apelles (4e eeuw BC). Hoewel het schilderij verloren is geraakt, werd de Venus Anadyomene door Plinius beschreven in de Naturalis Historia (1e eeuw AD), dat diende als iconologische handboek voor volgende generaties kunstenaars. Van de redenaars die generaties lang hun verhalen vertellen, tot de dichters die ze opschrijven en de beeldhouwers die ze uithakken, worden verhalen levend gehouden. Zo staat Venus tot op de dag van vandaag bekend als de godin die uit de zee verrees.

In het Deense sprookje Den Lille Havfrue (1837) van Hans Christian Andersen is zeeschuim niet waar de liefde wordt geboren, maar waar liefde sterft. In de Walt Disney-bewerking van het sprookje, De Kleine Zeemeermin (1989), wordt zeemeermin prinses Ariel, dochter van koning Triton, verliefd op een menselijke prins en geeft ze haar schubben op om bij hem te zijn. In de originele, aanzienlijk grimmigere versie van Andersen treft de kleine zeemeermin haar beminde in bed bij een ander aan. Ze weigert de twee geliefden dood te steken, zoals haar zussen haar toe aanzetten, en als gevolg van haar gebroken hart lost ze op in het schuim van de golven.

In Japan wordt oude folklore voorgedragen aan een modern publiek door de films van Hayao Miyazaki. De geanimeerde Sen to Chihiro no kamikakushi (De reis van Chihiro, 2001) brengt kami, geesten, tot leven. Ten gevolge van menselijke vervuiling moeten de kami zich wassen in badhuizen om zichzelf weer schoon te krijgen. Deze moderne interpretatie weerspiegelt het Shinto-geloof dat zowel goden als de natuur moeten worden gerespecteerd door ze schoon te houden. De demonische tegenhangers, de oni, krijgen vorm in het karakter van Yubaba, die is gebaseerd op het archetype van de bergheks, de yumuaba. Door de Japanse mythologie als uitgangspunt te nemen, is Miyazaki in staat een ‘fantasyscape’ te creëren: een plek waar het ondenkbare mogelijk wordt.

Wellicht brengt een eerste associatie met mythologie ons terug naar de Klassieke Oudheid. Voor de Grieken betekende μῦθος echter simpelweg een verhaal – of dit nu een waar of een onwaar verhaal was; roddels, geschiedenis of een sprookje, zelfs dromen werden gezien als mythe. Mῦθος en λόγος, twee ogenschijnlijk tegengestelde termen, de fantasie en de rede, komen samen in de mythologie: het analyseren en verklaren van verhalen. Er zijn verschillende manieren waarop een mythe verklaard kan worden, en daarom kan er ook sprake zijn van meerdere mythologieën. In Creative Mythology (1968) beschrijft de Amerikaanse mytholoog Joseph Campbell bijvoorbeeld hoe literaire figuren als Thomas Mann of James Joyce erin slaagden om 'levende mythen' van zichzelf te maken door individuele ervaringen met de juiste tekens te vertalen. Shakespeare slaagde er met zijn toneelstukken in mythen te creëren rondom historische figuren zoals koning Hendrik IV, en trok daarmee een publiek aan dat graag over de geschiedenis wilde leren. Zo ook zijn andere figuren zoals Lodewijk XIV, beter bekend als de Zonnekoning, of Marie Antoinette, binnen de historie tot mythen geraakt.

In Mythologies (1975) analyseert Roland Barthes het ontstaan en de circulatie van mythen aan de hand van semiotiek en taal. Volgens Barthes zijn mythen onmisbaar in de maatschappij en baseren zij zich op hedendaagse sociale waardesystemen, waarbij de formatie van de mythe voornamelijk gezien moet worden als een semiologisch process en deels ideologisch. In het essay “Myth Today,” onderzoekt Barthes diepgewortelde Franse mythen die nochtans onopgemerkt blijven of als feit worden beschouwd. Door de deconstructie van moderne mythen, verspreid door reclame en propaganda, komt Barthes tot de kern van zijn eigentijdse sociale waardesysteem. Meest bekend is de deconstructie van de mythe rondom twee nationale Franse producten: biefstuk en rode wijn. Beide dienen als metafoor voor bloed, dat in de Franse maatschappij rijmt met vitaliteit en moed, die rijmen met mannelijkheid, dat rijmt met superioriteit. Het gelijkstellen van Frankrijk aan biefstuk en rode wijn betekent het gelijkstellen van Frankrijk aan moed, mannelijkheid en superioriteit.

In The Double Standard of Aging (1972) pakt Susan Sontag een andere diepgewortelde mythe aan, een omtrent vrouwen en leeftijd. In haar essay zet ze uit een hoe en waarom vrouwen vanaf een bepaalde leeftijd fysiek niet begeerbaar worden geacht, en merkt hierbij op dat dit per land verschilt. Ze legt uit dat verstedelijkte samenlevingen twee normen voor mannelijke schoonheid kennen, die van de man en die van de jongen, en maar een voor vrouwen, die van het meisje. Dit maatschappelijke schoonheidsoordeel weerspiegeld de evolutaire mythe die stelt dat de waarde van een vrouw gelijk staat aan haar voortplantingsvermogen. Net zoals de vruchtbaarheid van een vrouw verminderd naarmate zij verjaard, verminderd ook haar maatschappelijke waarde.

Naarmate de mythe de mens passeert, buiten de wereld zoals wij haar kennen treedt, schept ze een vreemd universum. Ze wijst naar dat wat we nog niet kunnen verklaren met onze huidige structuren voor het categoriseren van de wereld. Het betoverde rijk van het bovennatuurlijke, met haar goden, heksen en vampiers, schetst wellicht een donkerdere realiteit die zich minder goed laat kennen. Hun magie, spreuken en vreemde rituelen zetten zich af tegen het onttoverde narratief van de verlichting, welk van rede, controle en verstand spreekt – een mythe an sich. Maar hoewel deze bovennatuurlijke entiteiten verhalen vertellen over het ongelofelijke, blijven ze enigszins verklaarbaar. Vampiers, goden en heksen bijvoorbeeld, zijn vertrouwde figuren gebaseerd op een verzameling van collectieve fictie, die net afwijken van het menselijke. ‘In many ways, a natural phenomenon such as a black hole is more weird than a vampire,’ schreef Mark Fisher in The Weird and the Eerie (2016). We begrijpen hoe we vampiers als fictionele entiteit moeten plaatsen en interpreteren. Zwarte gaten bestaan echter wél, terwijl wij hun vreemde manieren in het buigen van tijd en ruimte niet bevatten. Science-fiction balanceert op deze dunne lijn tussen fictie en realiteit. Misschien zijn de grootste mythen, raarste entiteiten en meest vervreemdende monsters wel niet te vinden in het fictionele landschap van het bovennatuurlijke maar juist pal hier in het ‘natuurlijke.’

‘Coral reefs are monsters.’ In Arts of Living on a Dying Planet (2017), stelt Anna Tsing dit natuurlijke fenomeen gelijk aan het bovennatuurlijke. Zoals de mythische chimeras uit de Griekse oudheid – beesten met het hoofd van een leeuw, het lichaam van een geit en de staart van een slang – bestaan koraalriffen uit mismatched onderdelen. Met hun poliepen die zowel dierlijk als plantaardig kunnen zijn, belichamen ze een vreemde ontmoeting tussen de soorten. Symbiose, de interactie tussen twee verschillende organismen die in nauw contact met elkaar leven, wijzen ons wellicht naar een bepaalde, monsterlijke waarheid die essentieel is aan ons huidige tijdperk van leven met de aarde. In al onze kwetsbare verstrengelingen met meer dan menselijk leven, zijn ook wij mensen monsters.

Er zijn literaire verschillen te vinden tussen mythen, sprookjes, sagen, fabels en legenden. Sprookjes, bijvoorbeeld, vinden vaak plaats in een fantasiewereld, waar magische figuren rondzwerven en een strijd tussen goed en kwaad plaatsvindt. Mythes, aan de andere kant, vinden vaak hun oorsprong in religie en vertellen over goden en hemelse scheppers. Beiden bevatten bovennatuurlijke elementen. Soms ligt de basis daarvan in geschiedenis, soms in religie, soms in fantasie. Voor deze uitgave van Simulacrum hebben we er daarom voor gekozen de grenzen tussen deze literaire genres te vervagen, om ons open te stellen voor verschillende mythologieën, hun betekenissen en interpretaties.

Waan je jezelf een moderne mytholoog? Schrijf een artikel van 1.000, 1.400 of 1.800 woorden voor ons komende nummer Mythologieën. De deadline voor de eerste versies is op 15 november 2020. Schrijf je liever een column, interview, fictie of poëzie, of ken je een kunstenaar wiens werk in dit thema ligt? Email naar [email protected]. Voeg artikelen s.v.p. bij als .doc of .docx en portfolio’s als PDF.

#call for papers #myths

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josephignatz · 5 years ago

Text

Geboren en getogen op de Pricksteenweg, Joseph Ignatz (2019)

https://open.spotify.com/artist/35F1ICXuZUYL9wTZDafdT0?si=abUDoCHoQE6Y-Wu-Lsn6EA

https://youtu.be/dixpQvyMKPo

‘Geboren en getogen op de Pricksteenweg’, het derde nummer van het titelloze debuutalbum ‘Joseph Ignatz’ gaat over een volkszanger uit Bleijerheide, Kerkrade, die idolaat is van de oude, latere, Mick Jagger.

Uitleg Songtekst, Deel 1:

Toen mijn eerste vrouw mij niet al te vriendelijk verzocht om haar riante woning, Maastricht, definitief te verlaten moest ik snel een onderkomen vinden. Twee weken lang had ik een nomadisch bestaan en verbleef ik her en der.

Het was op een zaterdagochtend in juni 2007. Maar, het was wel vaker een zaterdagochtend in juni 2007. Ik dronk een wodka in Brand’s bierhuis, tegenover het centraal station Maastricht, en zocht in Dagblad De Limburger naar een woning. Ik stond niet ingeschreven bij de woningbouwvereniging en was dus afhankelijk van de particuliere verhuur. Een appartement in Kerkrade. Drie hoog. Een ruime badkamer, een slaapkamer, open keuken, geen huisdieren. Slechts drie honderd en tachtig Euro kale huur in de maand. Dat was wel een ander bedrag dan de woningen die ik in Maastricht tegen was gekomen. Onder de zeshonderd was er niets te vinden.

‘Och ja, die in Cadier en Keer, geen Maastricht, die zat onder de zeshonderd Euro, maar dat was een saai, vochtig, betonnen, hok en Jezus hing aan de muur,’ dacht ik en ik nam nog een slok wodka.

Volgens de al dan niet fatsoenlijke heer die mij rondleidde was het niet toegestaan om Jezus te verwijderen. Dat stond zelfs in het huurcontract. Hij had een enorme snor, dikke rode appelwangen en was in de leeftijd van veel dichter bij de dood dan ik. Toen hij mijn auto, een rode met een kapot raam, linksachter, dichtgemaakt met ducktape, zag, deelde hij mee dat er ook iemand anders was geweest.

‘Hij maakt een hele goede kans,’ zei hij.

‘Geen probleem. Ik zie er vanaf,’ en ik schudde hem de hand.

Ik bestelde nog een wodka bij de rondborstige, opgedirkte, blondine achter de bar, gaf geen fooi en vroeg of ik van haar telefoon gebruik mocht maken omdat ik waarschijnlijk niet voldoende beltegoed had. Ze zei ‘neen.’

‘Luister, het is tamelijk belangrijk. Mijn vrouw heeft mij haar huis uit gegooid. Ze wilde meer tijd voor haarzelf, de liefde en passie was er niet meer, ze wilde meer tijd om eens goed na te denken over haar leven, haar drukke baan, ik was wel lief doch lui, passief en weet ik veel wat nog allemaal meer. Goed, ik schat jou ook niet helemaal droog achter de oren en je zult ook wel wat aderpalen hebben voorbij zien kwasten in je al dan niet interessante leven, dus je kent dat gelul wel. Nu weet ik niet hoeveel beltegoed ik nog heb en ik moet een woning hebben. Ik lees net in Dagblad De Limburger dat er een fantastische woning in Kerkrade te huur staat. Ik moet nu bellen. Anders ben ik verdorie weer een tijdje dakloos en dat zie ik helemaal niet zitten,’ zei ik tegen haar.

En ze riep ‘Theo’.

‘Dan gok ik het er maar op,’ zei ik.

Mijn aanstaande huisbaas was gelukkig kort en duidelijk. Ik maakte een afspraak met hem. Twee uur ’s middags sprak ik met hem af. Toen een vrouwenstem tussenbeide kwam en mij mededeelde dat mijn beltegoed op was, hoorde ik daarna nog een kort pre-historische klank waarna de verbinding werd verbroken. Daarop werd ik hardhandig opgetild door een zekere Theo. Zijn geur van een overmatig gebruik van Old Spice was niet te harden waardoor ik misselijk werd en over de advertentie van mijn aanstaande woning kotste. Theo vloekte hard in een onderaards dialect en sleurde mij naar de uitgang van de kroeg. Ik bleef met mijn linkervoet nogal ongelukkig achter een groen gordijn hangen en het gordijn kwam naar beneden. Eenmaal buiten begon het langzaam te druppelen. Ik hoorde nog wat harde oerklanken achter mij. Ik liep naar de kiosk een stukkie verderop en kocht twee pakjes Camel omdat ik na het nuttigen van een aantal glazen wodka het woord ‘Marlboro’ niet meer kon uitspreken. De ‘m’ en de ‘rlb’.

‘Dat Engelse woord voor onmiddellijk lukt ook nooit’, mompelde ik toen ik naar mijn auto liep.

‘Op de Holz. Dat is tegenover Bleijerheide. Bij de Nieuwstraat, de doorgaande weg naar Herzogenrath,’ had mijn aanstaande huisbaas gezegd.

Met vriendelijke groet, Joseph.

#mick jagger #pop music #nederpop #kerkrade #wodka #bleijerheide video games nederllandstalig

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marvelmymarvel · 6 years ago

Photo

In Denial

Joseph Liebgott x Marshall!reader

Synopsis: Joe and you always got on each other’s nerves, but how long will it take before you both realize how in denial you are about how much you love each other.

You couldn't seem to tell your anger and lust apart from each other. They always made you feel the same thing when it came to Joseph Liebgott. He frustrated you and made you want to kiss him all at once, and you were tired of it. As the only female in Easy Company, it was hard to gain respect from the men, to begin with, but once you showed them what you could do, they all began to respect you. Except for him. His teasing always got on your nerves. ‘Y/N you’re doing that wrong’, ‘Y/N you run like a girl’, ‘Y/N Y/N Y/N’ he just couldn't leave you alone. "Why does Joe hate me” You grumbled to George in the bar, where all of Easy Company was celebrating their graduation. "Joe?” George asked clearly drunk already “Joe doesn't hate you” he simply stated as he poured someone a drink. Your face contorted into confusion “Yeah, yeah he does hate me George” you stated back “Oh I know, You think I'm talking about Toye!” you smiled thinking you found his error. George simply chuckled at you “No, I know exactly who we are talking about” he stated. Before you could counteract his idiotic words that the Joseph Liebgott didn't hate you, Colonel Sink came in interrupting everything. “At ease Gentlemen” He stated. You wormed your way up to the front, watching the Colonel give a speech that was supposed to somehow ease all of the worried minds that existed in the room.

Your father knew Colonel Sink, hell, your father was General George Marshall and the only reason you were here was that your father allowed it. Colonel Sink loved you, as the only female to serve in the airborne, you were special in his eyes. “I just wanted to recognize someone” Sink started and he looked right at you. Your eyes got big and he motioned for you to come onto the stage. You went up, face blazing red, and stood there awkwardly. You didn't notice that Joe was following your every move with a little smile on his face. Colonel Sink shook your hand and turned to the men “As you all know, this here is Y/N Marshall, General Marshalls daughter, and I just wanted to say that I am proud to have you in my infantry. The first female to serve.. and in my Infantry! It’s such a blessing!” He stated. You nodded but all you wanted to do was to get off that stage. Colonel Sink turned and raised his glass, “Currahee!” he yelled. The men followed and you looked at George with a ‘please help me out’ look. He only chuckled. Joe turned to see where you were looking and frowned at Georges smile to you. Why was he feeling jealous? He looked down at his beer as everyone resumed and you practically flew off the stage and towards George. He watched you pull him into a hug and his heart broke a little. His facade went back up and he downed his drink.

The boat was crowded as you tried to find a bed to sleep on. George had got one at the top but you refused to climb up that high, so you settled for one a little higher up but not too far of a fall. It was the perfect place until you realized who was next to you. “Well, well, well if it isn’t Colonel Sinks pride and joy” Joe teased from his place next to you. “Fuck off Joseph” you grumbled trying to reread the sentence in your book. “Aw come on, don’t be so uptight” he playfully pestered as he took a drag of his cigarette. “Joe… Shut the fuck up would ya” you snapped finally glaring at him. “Why don’t you make me” he suggested leaning forward. You inhaled slowly, trying your best not to deck him then and there. You leaned forward into his face and cocked an eyebrow, “I will end you” you whispered. His smile grew and he leaned back laughing “As if sweetheart!”. His comment made you roll your eyes but he finally left you alone. “That pricks a son of Abraham” Guarneres’ voice brought you out of your fairyland that the book brought you to. You looked over at Joe wide-eyed, knowing that if he got the chance to punch someone, he would take it. “He’s a what” Joe asked Bill “Joseph” you warned, you didn’t know why you did, it just felt like you had to. “He’s a Jew” Bill continued. Your head snapped to Bill and you threw a ‘what the fuck’ glance at him. “Joe” you repeated but he cut you off “Oh Fuck” Joe growled throwing his cigarette down and jumping down. You watched wide-eyed as Joe approached Bill, and for some reason, you felt fear for Joe. You were confused by this feeling, it wasn’t of lust or frustration, it was something different. “I’m a Jew,” Joe said in Bills face angrily, “Congratulations, now get your nose out of my face” Bill stated and pushed Joe out of his face. Your breath caught as Joe’s fist rose and slammed down into Bills. A fight broke out and you just watched in awe as the other men pulled the two apart. The fight settled down, but Joe didn’t talk the rest of the night.

Holland. You were overjoyed to finally meet some people that actually were happy that you were there. Dancing happened in the street, children cheered from above, and confetti flew down like rain. You laughed as Perconte was pulled from the chest of a woman and rolled your eyes at the fact that Talbert was making out with another woman. You felt joy and happiness. Something that rare was welcomed. A man grabbed your hand and pulled you to dance. “No no I am good thank you” you responded but he continued to pull, he responded in Dutch. You shook your head but a hand grabbed the one he had and a body blocked your view of him. Joseph stood in front of you and towered over the little Dutch Man “Ze zei nee” he snapped as he threw the mans arm down. “Joseph he just didn’t understand” you tried to reason as he guided you away from the crowds and the man. You threw the man an apologetic look but let Joe take you away. “He could have been dangerous” he grumbled. “I didn’t know you knew Dutch” you stated “what did you say anyway” he shrugged at you and replied with what you had said before, but in Dutch. You nodded happily, thinking that what he said was kind, but what you didn’t realize that it was simply “she said no” but there was a certain feeling in that tone that made the man back off fast. You met up with the other men and quickly forgot about it.

It had been months. You lost men, you lost friends, you lost brothers. Bastogne was hard, but Foy was harder. You felt relief run through you once Speirs ran out and took control and you were all finally singing happy songs on the tank. That was until a shot rang out. A man fell above you and you tried to hide but another shot pierced your shoulder. Your yelp rang out as you hit the ground clutching at the wound. You heard screams and then a shot, then applause. Joes face hovered over yours, and it held panic as he tried to talk to you. The pain was so much for you, you had never felt anything like it. “It hurts” you cried out as Doc ran to your side and tore your jacket open. “I have to get the bullet out darling I’m sorry” Doc mumbled and his fingers dug into your wound. You cried out and Joe yelled at him to stop, “Joseph I can’t. The bullet can kill her” Doc stated as he continued to dig. You grabbed onto Joe’s arm, squeezing tightly as he looked at you in fear. Fear for what, you had no idea. The pain subsided a little once Doc pulled out the bullet. He poured Insta-clot powder on the wound and put a bandage on you. Joe just looked at you blankly. Doc helped you sit up and then finally stand, but when you turned to talk to Joe, he was gone. “Don’t mind him” Doc stated as you turned back to him “Why does he hate me?” you asked, Doc looked at you and threw a little smile. “He’s just in denial” Doc stated and before you could ask him to clarify he walked away.

Showers. That word made your heart sing, the only bad thing was that as a girl, you didn’t really have your own shower. You walked up towards the showers and saw Webster. It had been a while since you saw him and you practically threw yourself into him. “WEBSTER” You screamed happily as he hugged you back harder “I missed you so much!” You continued pinching his cheek “I missed you to y/n” he responded trying to get his cheek out of your sharp pinch. You didn’t realize that Joe was nearby, but Webster saw the glare he threw at him. “What’s up with Joe,” Webster asked looking down at you smiling. You looked over at Joe and he looked away, “Beats me” you sighed out “He hasn’t talked to me since I was shot… SPEAKING OF SHOT!” You screamed again “HOWS YOUR ASS-” “Jesus Fuck y/n do you ever shut your trap” Joseph cut you off as he got in line for the showers. You sent a glare at him but pulled Webster into line with you. “I’m not really sure how I’m gonna shower but, I guess there’s a first for everything” You giggled at Webster. Webster was always the closest with you, even before George. The fact that he loved to read made it even easier to get closer to him, which was something a certain somebody hated. “How long has it been since your last shower” Cobb called out to Webster. You shot a glare towards Cobb but Webster nodded embarrassed and annoyed “I’m gonna skip” He whispered to you. “Okay Web” you mumbled sadly. Why were these men so mean to him all of a sudden? Joe sent a glare behind your back towards Webster as he walked off.

You turned back towards the showers and realized how close Joe was. “Jesus Liebgott” you whispered, “Get out of my space”. You tried to push past him but he grabbed your arm softly. “You don’t like him, do you?” Joe snarled. You looked at him in pure anger, “Its none of your fucking business if I do” you growled back. You tried to walk away but he yanked you back. You were chest to chest with him as he looked at you with a fire in his eyes like you’ve never seen before. “You are my fucking business” He replied lowly. You scoffed and ripped your arm out of his hand “I’m not even your girl, and if you would ask me, I never will be because you’re nothing more than a prick to me. So leave me alone Joseph Liebgott” you snapped. You had finally had enough of his idiotic ways. You had enough of his hot and cold moods. You had enough of the way he made you feel. You simply had enough. You stormed off towards Webster leaving Joe standing there in self-pity. “You really fucked that up eh Joe” someone joked. Everyone in the company knew about his feelings towards you, except the problem was that he just now realized it. He didn’t say anything snarky back to the soldier, for he wasn’t wrong. He turned back to face the showers. His heartbreaking just thinking about you loving Webster instead of him. It broke him. He stood in the shower, trying to wash the thoughts of you down the drain. But all it left him with was wet hair and a broken heart.

The ride out of Haguenau was quiet. You sat across from Webster and Joe and in between George and another replacement. You were freezing as you cuddled in a little deeper into George. Joe glared at where your head was placed on Georges’ arm and he didn’t even realize he zoned out on your face until Webster nudged him. Joe looked over at Webster with a blank expression and Webster nodded in realization. “You love her,” he whispered in Joe’s ear, quietly so you wouldn’t hear. They thought you were fast asleep but they didn’t realize you were wide awake, and that you could hear everything.

Joe contemplated the words but looked back at him shrugging. As if he didn’t already know the answer. Webster just stared at him knowingly. Joe sighed and looked out thinking and then back at Webster. “Okay, so what if I do?” he stated defensively.

“Then you should ask her out” Webster answered. Joe stared at him blankly, “I thought you liked her” he countered. “I don’t like y/n as more than a friend Joe” Webster answered truthfully. To him, you were nothing more than a baby sister. While Joe ended the convo there, you sat there in shock. Then all of the instances came back to you. Georges knowing smile back home, Docs in denial statement, you being his business, it all made sense. You smiled and snuggled in closer to George. You knew Joe wasn’t going to just out and pop the question, so you had to force it out of him.

You watched him speak to the Jews. He looked broken but you couldn’t get to him, you didn’t know why you needed to. But the way he looked was the only answer you needed at that moment.

A break came in the sea of Jews and paratroopers and you ran through to the truck where Joe was now sobbing in. You climbed in and immediately grabbed him, making him look at you. “Joe, hey shhh its okay” you whispered trying to calm him but you just couldn’t seem to. Taking his face into your hands you forced his head to yours “it’s okay Joe……” you started and he just stared at you. He let out a broken sob and you just pulled him into your arms as he cried into your neck. You waved George away as you soothed the crying man in your arms. “Everythings going to be okay” you whispered. You didn’t stop rubbing his back until his sobs stopped.

He didn’t talk much to you after that. His angry outbursts scared you, and his hatred towards the Germans, while rightful, made you fearful. You didn’t step in and stop it until Webster told you how he forced a German down and almost killed him. That was the final straw. You knocked on the door of Joes room which was only steps from yours. “Now I don’t normally step in on these types of things” you started. He just stared at you from where he sat on the foot of the bed, “But you’re scaring me Joe” you whispered out. “They killed my people” he answered sourly. You gulped but nodded as you took a step forward, you were shaky. He wouldn’t hurt you, but his outburst itself would frighten you back into submission. “I know Joseph… But killing them all isn’t going to change anything” You whispered. He looked at you angrily and disgusted “You’re siding with them?” he scoffed. You shook your head violently “No Joe I would ne-” he stood up, cutting you off as he towered over you. You planted your feet firmly and looked up at him. Seconds passed, but it felt like years. The tension between the two of you was suffocating. “I just don’t want to lose the man I love to anger” you whispered finally “and I know you like me too, Joe so you can’t hide it anymore, so for me, please stop killing” you practically begged him. He just watched you, taking in everything that you just said to him. Love. That word repeated in his head over and over again. Joe couldn’t say anything but he nodded, promising to not kill someone simply out of rage. It was all too much. The anger, the jealousy, the love, all of those feelings had made him in denial. But not anymore. As he cupped your cheek lovingly, it all fell into place. “I’m just so fucking in denial” he whispered before capturing your lips in his.

#joseph liebgott x reader #joe liebgott x reader #band of brothers imagines #band of brothers imagine #webster x reader #george luz x reader #joseph liebgott x y/n #lieb #joseph liebgott #band of brothers #reader insert #eugene roe x reader

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sinetheta · 6 years ago

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Wu Zei (乌贼) by Huang Yong Ping (黄永砯). Mediterranean exhibition, Monaco Oceanographic Museum (red). 2010. What About The Art?, Qatar Museums Gallery Al Riwaq (white). 2016.

Huang Yong Ping is a Franco-Chinese artist who rose to prominence as a contemporary, avant-garde artist. He began his artistic pursuits as a self-taught student, becoming influenced by artists such as Marcel Duchamp and Joseph Beuys. In 1986, Huang founded the Xiamen Dada (厦门达达) group alongside other Chinese artists similarly aligned to his postmodern philosophies, collectively cultivating a controversial and provocative art practice.

The meaning of Huang’s installation coalesces in his naming of the work - “Wu Zei” is the Chinese name for the cuttlefish, but the ideogram “Wu” can represent darkness or blackness, while “Zei” conveys the idea of corruption or betrayal. In enhancing his work with semiology, Huang draws attention double possibilities of darkness in water - marine ink and oil pollution; on renewal and corruption.

Photos courtesy of Wen-You Cai of Cai Studios and Monaco Oceanographic Museum.

Follow sinθ magazine for more daily posts about Sino arts and culture.

#huang yong ping #wu zei #chinese art #avant-garde #installation #ldy #week 114

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drugsinceu · 2 years ago

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DEA waarschuwt voor felgekleurde "regenboog" fentanyl

Een nieuwe verkooptruc in drugsland: regenboogfentanyl. De felle kleuren zijn bedoeld om jongeren aan te spreken. De drug - verpakt in kleurrijke pillen - lijkt soms ook sterk op andere producten, wat suggereert dat het veilig is.“Gekleurde pillen bestaan al een paar jaar. Meestal waren het blauwe pillen met het label 'M30' om oxycodon te vervalsen, wat een veel zwakkere opioïde is, "zei Joseph Palamar, een universitair hoofddocent bij het Department of Population Health van NYU Langone Health, die trends in illegale fentanyl heeft bestudeerd. Snoep, stoepkrijt of fentanyl? Er zijn niet alleen pillen in omloop maar ook poeders en blokken die vaak veel lijken op snoep of stoepkrijt. Deze worden in verschillende staten verkocht en kunnen een serieuze bedreiging vormen voor jonge mensen. Op dit moment is deze handel slechts een klein onderdeel van de veel grotere, aanhoudende opioïdencrisis. Fentanyl is extreem verslavend en dodelijk als iemand een overdosis neemt. Ouders zijn bang dat hun kinderen in aanraking komt en met de drugs omdat ze denken dat het iets anders is. Palamar: "Ik denk niet dat de kleur van de pillen het gevaar voor mensen die geen fentanyl gebruiken enorm vergroot, maar het kan gebeuren dat iemand zijn pillen binnen het bereik van kinderen laat liggen." Hij voegde eraan toe: "We moeten on realiseren dat deze pillen veel geld kosten. De meeste mensen zullen ze dan ook niet zomaar rond laten slingeren of uitdelen als Halloween-snoep." Bron: edition.cnn.com (EN) Read the full article

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ideamonk · 3 years ago

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Video: Rahul Gandhi Suggests What To Have In "Dinner With Friends"

Video: Rahul Gandhi Suggests What To Have In “Dinner With Friends”

Rahul Gandhi zei dat hij een “zeer interessante interactie” had met de studenten. Nieuw-Delhi: Congresleider Rahul Gandhi deelde openhartige momenten met de leerlingen van een Tamil Nadu-school die hij eerder dit jaar had bezocht, waarbij hij geïmproviseerde vragen beantwoordde en ervan genoot chhole bhature en kulfi. Gandhi had in maart van dit jaar St. Joseph’s School in Tamil Nadu bezocht en…

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#Rahul Gandhi #Tamil Nadu-school

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vervloekte-gouddorst · 4 years ago

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Het Sneeuwbaleffect van Keyser

“Eenen Jongen van agtien jaaren, woonägtig te Ubagh en ‘t land van ‘sHertogenraede, geboortig, nae myne meeninge te Aaken, genaamd Joseph Keyzer door aanraaden van eenen zekeren Pieter M. Zadelmaaker tot Ubagh, die hem ook vergeselschap had, stal een schoon jong peird in ’t zelve land, en brogt het omtrent Guylik, om het te verkopen. Men volgde het peird met den dief, en wierd by Guylik ondekt. ‘Er waaren getuygen, die deezen Joseph in gezelschap van den Zadelmaaker met het peird gezien hadden, en diensvolgens wierd daaröver van den Rechter van Ubagh de noodige informatie genomen, en eyndelyk den goeden Joseph in hegtenisse gesteld.”

Vert. “Een jongen van achttien jaar oud, genaamd Joseph Keyser, woonachtig in Übach in het land van ‘s Hertogenraede en volgens mij geboren in Aken, stal, door aanraden van een zekere Peter Muller, de zadelmaker van Übach die hem ook vergezelde, een mooi, jong paard in hetzelfde land en bracht het naar Gulik om het daar te verkopen. Men volgde het paard met de dief en hij werd in Gulik ontdekt. Er waren getuigen die deze Joseph in het gezelschap van de zadelmaker met het paard gezien hadden en hierna werd hierover door de Rechter van Übach de nodige informatie vernomen. Uiteindelijk werd de goede Joseph in hechtenis genomen.”

De gebeurtenis, die Sleinada op de manier hierboven in zijn boek beschrijft , lijkt op het eerste oog van weinig belang. Vooral als men weet dat Joseph Keyser, op het moment dat hier wordt geschetst, inderdaad pas achttien jaar oud – sommigen menen zelfs jonger – is. Waarom wordt deze gebeurtenis, een zeventien- à achttienjarige jongen die een paard steelt en gearresteerd wordt, dan toch als één van de belangrijkste gebeurtenissen in de Bokkenrijders-geschiedenis gerekend?

De diefstal bij Henricus Schutz

Allereerst zullen wij een iets helderder beeld schetsen van de diefstal die in dit fragment wordt beschreven, zoals het volgens de overlevering is gegaan.

Het zal tegen het einde van 1770 geweest zijn toen boer Henricus Schutz van Waubach zich in een herberg in Übach bevond. Sommigen menen zelfs dat dit in Den Vivat, de herberg van Willem Ploum, een van de belangrijkere ‘leden’ van de bende, zou zijn gebeurd. Sommigen zeggen dat boer Schutz dronken was, anderen zeggen overmoedig, maar over het volgende ‘feit’ is vrijwel iedereen het eens: boer Schutz heeft toen geroepen dat hij een nieuw paard had gekocht waar hij zeer trots op was, maar het was zó wild dat zelfs de Bokkenrijders hem niet zouden kunnen stelen. Als het ze zou lukken, dan zouden ze het mogen houden.

Op 31 januari 1771 wordt Peter Muller ondervraagd over onder andere dit voorval. Aangezien het een lang stuk is, zal ik slechts een samenvatting geven. Dit stuk is immers wel noodzakelijk voor de beeldvorming.

Een maand voor de overval bij Henricus Schutz hadden Dirck Jaspers, Jacobus Otten, Cornellis Dautzenberg en “den Schuijrman” het paard al gezien en Muller bij de Schuijrman thuis verteld dat er veel geld aan te verdienen zou zijn. Bij de overval zouden de Schuijrman, Leonard Steijns, Dirck Jaspers en Joseph Keyser aanwezig zijn geweest. Steijns en Keyser, zo verklaarde Muller, hadden het paard uit de stal gehaald en hijzelf bleef met Jaspers buiten op wacht staan. Steijns zou vervolgens het paard naar ‘Brouckhuijsen’ hebben gereden, waarna Jaspers het naar de ‘Hilbert’ nabij Übach had gereden en het daar tot de dageraad had vastgezet. Keyser zou het daarna naar Übach hebben gereden. Bij deze tocht was ook nog ene Jacobus Otten aanwezig, die niet veel later, met Jaspers, tegen Keyser zei dat hij (d.w.z. Joseph Keyser) het paard moest gaan verkopen en het geld naar het huis van Jaspers moest brengen, zodat ze het daar konden verdelen.

Een interessant feit is dat Muller over de afloop van dit gebeuren de plank volledig misslaat, tenzij hij hier een gesprek in de cel bedoelt, dat is onduidelijk: hij verklaart dat Keyser nadat hij had geprobeerd het paard te verkopen, toch nog bij Dirck Jaspers langskwam om te melden dat hij het paard bijna verkocht had. Hij verklaart:

“En dat Joseph Keijser hun doens vertelt heeft dat hij het perdt bijna vercocht hadde, en den coopman het perdt hadde willen probeeren om hout te vaeren. Den selven coopman nochtans aen hem Joseph Keijser geseijt hadde dat hij het perdt soo goedde coop wilde vercoopen, dat sulx moeste gestoolen hebben, dat hem eenen schijn of teugenis soude bringen.”

Vert. “En dat Joseph Keyser hen toen verteld heeft dat hij het paard bijna verkocht had en de koopman het paard had willen uitproberen. Dezelfde koopman had echter aan Joseph Keyser gezegd dat als hij een paard zó goedkoop verkocht, het wel gestolen moest zijn en hem vroeg voor een eigendomsbewijs.”

In werkelijkheid is Joseph Keyser nooit teruggekomen: hij werd op de markt gearresteerd en verbleef enige weken in een Gulikse gevangenis. Op 31 oktober werd hij overgeplaatst naar de burcht van Rode, zoals in het kloosterdagboek van Rolduc op 1 november 1770 staat:

“Junckgeburth Praetor in Aldenhoven et Consiliarus Aulicus Electoris Palatini, qui pridie insignem furem Ubacensem in ditione Juliacensi deprehensum et per aliquot septimanas in carcere Juliaci detentum extradiderat Praetori in Ubach, ista occasione in abbatia hospitium sumperat.”

Vert. “Junckgeburth, schout van Aldenhoven en hofraad van de keurvorst van de Pfalz die gisteren een beruchte dief uit Übach, die men op Guliks grondgebied gearresteerd had en in Gulik enige weken gevangen gezet had, aan de schout van Übach uitgeleverd had, genoot bij deze gelegenheid gastvrijheid in de abdij.”

Het begin van een massa-proces

Op 9 januari 1771 kreeg Joseph Keyser te horen dat hij tot ‘scherp examen’ was ‘veroordeeld.’ Dit hield in dat hij met marteling ondervraagd zou worden. Het eerste bewaard gebleven document met betrekking tot Keysers proces dateert uit 10 januari 1771, maar daarin wordt al gerefereerd naar een andere ondervraging.

We kunnen er dus van uitgaan dat het massa-proces al begon op 9 januari – niet de 10e – 1771, met de eerste ondervraging van Joseph Keyser. Echter, aangezien dat document niet bewaard is gebleven, zullen wij de ondervraging van de 10e gebruiken om aan te tonen hoe dit massa-proces precies in stand is gekomen.

Tijdens het scherp examen van 10 januari noemt Keyser de volgende complicen:

Peter Muller – Zadelmaker in Übach, Gearresteerd januari 1771, executie 27 mei 1772 (hij heeft één keer geprobeerd te ontsnappen, maar dit is hem niet gelukt)

Joannes Jaspers – Schoonvader Muller, zadelmaker in Übach, Gearresteerd 1771, gestorven in cel 1771

Dirck Jaspers – Zoon Joannes Jaspers, zadelmaker in Übach, Gearresteerd 1771, gevlucht 1771 (bij verstek opgehangen 26 augustus 1774)

Jacobus Otten – Schoenmaker in Übach, Gearresteerd maart 1771, geëxecuteerd 15 oktober 1771

Cornellis Dautezenbergh – Schoenmaker in Übach, Gearresteerd maart 1771, geexecuteerd 15 oktober 1771

Leonard Ploum (Lennert met den laem (verlamde) handt) – Boerenknecht in Übach, Gearresteerd januari 1771, geëxecuteerd juli 1772

Baltus Kerckhoff (Balthasar Kirchhoffs) – Schoenmaker in Merkstein, Gearresteerd januari 1771, overleden in cel 7 maart 1771

Willem woonende in den Vivat (Vivats Willem, Willem Ploum) – Herbergier in Merkstein, Gearresteerd lente 1771, geëxecuteerd 15 oktober 1771

‘Den Sliep’ (waarschijnlijk Albert Schleipen) – Linnenwever in Herbach, Gearresteerd 1771, geëxecuteerd 7 oktober 1771

Zoals te zien is, werd elke complice die Keyser tijdens zijn scherp examen benoemde ook daadwerkelijk opgepakt. Deze ‘complicen’ werden dan ook weer tot scherp examen veroordeeld en noemden hier zelf nog meer namen. Hierdoor bleef de olievlek steeds groeien en ontstond er een enorme golf van arrestaties en executies.

Ondervraging

Om te begrijpen waarom men zó veel namen noemde, moeten er een aantal dingen in acht worden genomen.

Allereerst was men bang om te sterven. Sommigen dachten dat, als zij veel namen zouden noemen, ze ófwel het gerecht zouden kunnen overtuigen dat ze complete onzin aan het vertellen waren – overigens ook een tactiek gebruikt door Joseph Kirchhoffs – ófwel tot ‘kroongetuige’ benoemd zouden worden en daarmee hun eigen leven zouden kunnen redden. Dit laatste is deels gebeurd bij zowel Joseph Keyser als Peter Muller, net als een paar anderen. Alleen zouden zij later toch opgehangen worden. Als ‘dank’ voor hun bekentenissen bleven ze gewoon iets langer in leven. Zowel Peter Muller (jan. 1771 - 27 mei 1772) als Joseph Keyser (sep. 1770 – 15 okt. 1771) bleven langer dan een jaar vastzitten.

Daarbij was ook de manier van ondervraging kortweg inhumaan. Marteling werd volop toegepast, al waren hier wel een aantal regels voor. Juliaan Melchior vat ze in tien punten samen:

Marteling mocht slechts worden toegepast voor zware misdrijven.

Voordat de verdachte gemarteld werd, moest er wel al wat bewijs zijn voor zijn schuld.

Er mocht pas gemarteld worden als het gerechtshof zo bevolen had.

De beschuldigde had het recht zich tegen de verdenkingen te verdedigen en tegen het vonnis tot marteling in beroep te gaan.

Bij de marteling moesten de aard van de misdaad, het hoeveelheid bewijs en de lichamelijke toestand van de verdachte in gedachten gehouden worden.

Over het algemeen mocht men de beschuldigde onder tortuur alleen maar ondervragen over zijn eigen misdaden. Soms mocht hij ook ondervraagd worden over anderen.

Als de verdachte niet bekende tijdens de marteling, moest hij vrijgelaten worden.

Hetgeen dat op de pijnbank werd bekend moest zonder marteling later herhaald worden. Als hij zijn bekentenissen dan herriep, mocht hij een tweede keer gemarteld worden. Indien nodig mocht het ook een derde keer, maar nooit een vierde.

Mensen onder de veertien jaar oud, zwangere vrouwen, ouderen, zwakken of ‘ongeneesbaren’ mochten niet gemarteld worden.

Als de verdachte had bekend of wanneer er voldoende bewijs was tegen hem, dan mocht de marteling niet gebruikt worden.

Al met al was een scherp examen verschrikkelijk. Niet alleen waren de martelinstrumenten pijnlijk, maar ook de ondervraging zelf was intimiderend en ronduit beschamend. De gedetineerde zat halfnaakt op een stoel – door de beul of zijn knechten ontkleed – voor een aantal schepenen en zelfs, soms, andere toeschouwers. Er zijn ook een aantal bronnen die melden geblinddoekt te zijn geweest, wat alleen maar toevoegde aan de angst die de gevangene voelde tijdens zijn proces.

Maar het waren voornamelijk de martelingen zelf die de gevangenen tot bekentenis bracht, hoewel een enkeling (vaak een kroongetuige) ook wel eens een vrijwillige verklaring aflegde. De martelwerktuigen werden vaak in verschillende etappes aangebracht.

Men begon met de territie, waarbij de beul zijn werktuigen aan de gevangene toonde in de hoop dat het de gevangene zó bang zou maken dat hij zelfs zonder marteling zou bekennen. Deze bekentenissen kwamen echter niet zo vaak voor.

Dan werden de duimschroeven erbij gehaald. Dit was het eerste en bekendste martelwerktuig in een verschrikkelijke reeks. De duimen (en soms andere vingers) werden als het ware geplet door de duimschroeven, maar deze werden vaak ook doorstaan, al staat in Joseph Keysers proces van 10 januari 1771:

“…den gedetineerden vervolghens op eene stoel gebonden, en hem de schruijven op de duijmen geseth, - heden naer de noen ten drij uhren en een half - en den gedetineerden de schruijven op de duijmen gehadt hebbende ontrent twintigh minuten, heeft den gedetineerde verclaert dat waer was sijne bekentenisse op gesteren bij territie gedaen.”

Vert. “...de gedetineerde is vervolgens op een stoel gebonden en hem zijn de schroeven op de duimen gezet – om half vier in de middag – en nadat de gedetineerde de schroeven twintig minuten op de duimen gehad had, heeft hij verklaard dat alles dat hij gisteren bij de territie heeft bekend, waar was.”

De duimschroeven waren dus niet ‘nutteloos’ – ze brachten wel degelijk pijn teweeg, maar de sterksten konden deze stap wel doorstaan zonder al te hevige pijn.

Dan ging men over op de Spaanse Laarzen (ook wel eens scheenschroeven genoemd), waarbij de beul twee planken op het scheenbeen van de verdachte vastbond en er dan een derde plank tussen sloeg. Een variatie hierop is een metalen variant met spijkers erin, die dan strak werd aangedraaid. De schenen zijn kwetsbaar – als men de duimschroeven had doorstaan zonder een woord te zeggen, dan sprak men doorgaans wel als de Spaanse Laarzen en anders wel wanneer zowel de Laarzen op beide benen als de duimschroeven op beide handen werden aangezet.

Sprak men ook dan niet, dan gebruikte men de wipgalg. Deze werd doorgaans, in tegenstelling tot de voorgenoemden, waarbij men alles bij elkaar schreeuwde van de pijn, stilletjes doorstaan. Aan de wipgalg werd de verdachte aan zijn of haar polsen met behulp van een touw naar het plafond gehesen in verschillende fasen. In de eerste fase raakte de verdachte met de tenen nog de grond, in de laatste fase hingen er gewichten aan de tenen. Verschillende mensen zijn tijdens deze stap in de tortuur overleden, doordat het gehele lichaam wordt uitgerekt, ook de ingewanden. Een van de bekendste doodgemartelden is Balthasar Kirchhoffs, waarop wij in de volgende blog zullen terugkomen...

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