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sleepyfan-blog · 4 months ago

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Church

Author’s Note: This is the next part of Cedric’s Adventures in the Astartes Husbandry AU! First. Previous. Next

Tagged: @egrets-not-regrets @kit-williams @bleedingichorhearts @i-am-a-dragon34

Warnings: panic attack, references to religious suppression, ask me to tag if I missed anything,

Summary: Cedric hears Church Bells while wandering the city and goes to investigate.

As he’s managed to prove that he won’t randomly attack people if not constantly monitored by firstborn Brothers or Cousins, Cedric has finally been allowed to wander the mortal city that the base is part of without needing an escort. While he does prefer to be in the company of at least one of his fellow Primaris Marines, the others are all busy today. Jophiel has been claimed by the Firstborn Blood Angels and is being trained in his psyker powers. Claude has been talked into interacting with some non-crazy firstborn Night Lords - who apparently existed at one point in time.

Catius is interacting with several older Ultramarines with Ramiel accompanying him as both emotional support and back up. Cedric has been allowed to wander wherever he likes, so long as he stays within city limits, or informs an older Brother or Cousin if he wants to wander through the nearby woods that surround the city before doing so. It’s early in the morning with Terra’s Star just barely peeking over the eastern horizon, and Cedric desperately wishes that he knew of a place where he could perform morning prayers and hymns without making his older brothers and cousins uncomfortable while doing so. Religion, worship and prayer made many of them deeply uncomfortable, after all. Those who weren’t Black Templars, nor were from M42.

He’d briefly talked to Brother Arnault and Brother Roland about it, but neither of them had found a place where one could gather with other worshippers to sing and pray together, either. Both had been delighted if a bit cautious when he brought news of Ramiel, a Chaplain in training of their shared Chapter. But the crux of the issue remained the same; there was nowhere where the group of them could gather and go through the morning services that had been so routine on both the planet-bound monasteries and the cathedral-rooms of the chapter ships that he had served on. The private homes that both Roland and Arnault lived in were too small to host multiple Astartes - besides, the singing and prayer would wake either of theirs human bonded, which was unfair.

Cedric still felt the loss, despite having been brought to Ancient and Holy Terra months ago now. A forlorn sigh left the young Black Templar as he continued to wander through the streets of the city, making a mental map of the place.

He froze when the sound of something he hadn’t expected to in this time.

Bong

The ringing sound of metal on metal, the clear, resonant sounds of a church bell ringing in the early morning. It took the young Templar several moments to process what he was hearing, and several more to figure out in which direction the sound was coming from. There wer some baseline humans wandering about the city at this time of day, but Cedric barely registered their presence as he started to sprint at his full (and considerable) speed towards the source of the ringing church bells, his hearts having flown up to take residence in the back of his throat.

He skidded to a halt in front of the beautiful stone building. He could see stunning mosaics made out of stained glass set in the windows, catching the light of the morning light. He could see the tower where the bells were still ringing, hearing the bells swing back and forth as they were rung over and over again.

The front doors of the church were open, and a steady stream of baseline mortals were entering in an orderly line. Excitement and nervousness battled for dominance in Cedric’s hearts as he made his way to the back of one of these lines, glad that he was wearing fairly nice civilian clothes, as most of the mortals around him were wearing nice clothing as well.

He had to duck a little to enter the church, the top of the door a good foot or so shorter than he was tall but that was a paltry price to pay as he silently took in the entry-way before him. The floor was made out of polished stone that shone in the artificial light and the rainbow of colors that the stained-glass filtered in. He followed the line of mortals to the main worship chamber. Dozens of padded pews made of wood were in neat orderly rows facing the pulpit, where the chaplain or whoever was to speak.

There was a massive musical instrument built into one side of the walls of this worship room, and Cedric silently wondered what it sounded like. He silently eyed the pews, deciding that it was unlikely that they would be able to support his weight, along with the mortals, and he really didn’t want to damage any part of this sacred and holy place.

Each pew quickly filled up with mortals, and Cedric found himself at the very back of the worship-chamber. One of the robed clergy-members were handing out pillows to those who did not have a proper spot to sit, guiding the mortals to sit in neat, organized rows, while another helped keep the line in order.

Both paused for several seconds when Cedric stepped forwards, looking up at him with inscrutable expressions on their faces. Cedric looked down at them, head tilting a little to one side as he worked up the courage to talk to them. Talking to a member of the Ecclesiarchy was always a nerve wracking experience back in M42, and the young Black Templar really wanted to make a good first impression. He didn’t want to be kicked out of the church because he offended them by accident. “Is… Is something the matter?” Cedric managed to ask.

The member of the clergy who was handing out pillow-seats spoke up first “Forgive me for the assumption, but are you an Astartes?” Though their voice was quiet, it carried far in the room. Deep silence followed their question and Cedric could feel the eyes of dozens, if not hundreds of mortals staring holes into the button-down shirt he was wearing.

The scrutiny made Cedric tense up, though he did his best to keep his voice quiet and respectful, making sure to avert his gaze from their faces as he answered “I am… Is that a problem?” He hadn’t been told that there was anywhere within the city that Astartes were forbidden to go… But perhaps his older cousins hadn’t thought that he would wander into a random church, so they hadn’t thought to tell them?

“No… But many Astartes are quite… Vocal about their distaste for religion - organized or otherwise and have caused trouble in the past. If you plan on trying to stop the service, we ask you to please simply leave.” One of the clergy-people explains, gesturing to one of the others who leave the room “If you refuse to leave, there are Astartes who are willing to remove you from this place - by force if necessary.”

Oh. Oh no. Cedric could easily imagine that happening “... And if I wish to observe the religious practice quietly and without interruption, would I be allowed to stay? While I do agree that many of the older Cousins and Brothers who have been brought to Terra are… Strongly against religion of all kinds, this does not hold true for myself nor the handful of Brothers who were taken from… Places similar to where I was taken from.” He hesitated for a couple of moments, as he could tell that the baseline clergy weren’t entirely convinced that he meant no harm and did not intend to cause trouble. He continued to try and explain himself “I have religious beliefs that I hold quite deeply, and as long as your beliefs are not violent towards innocents, or use vital sacrifice during any part of it, I do not think I would interfere with the proceedings.”

“Would you seek to convert others to your own beliefs, through word or physical force, were you allowed to stay?” The clergy person asked, a wry tone in their voice.

Cedric blinked twice. The amount of trouble he would get into for attempting that would be catastrophic. It had been made explicitly clear to him that though the God Emperor was alive somewhere in this time period, he had not yet revealed himself to be the Master of Mankind, and to try and draw attention to him at such a time could be devastating. “No… If I were asked about my beliefs, I would be honored to explain what I’m allowed to, but much of it is..” Not exactly a closed practice, from where and when he came from, but much of it would require explaining about the Great and Terrible future that Humanity was facing tens of thousands of years in the future, which was forbidden to speak of in detail without explicit permission “I would not be allowed to explain without prior permission, which I do not have.”

“Is there a particular reason why you sought out our church in the first place?” The baseline asks, stepping a little closer to where Cedric was standing. Some of the wariness and suspicion had left their voice and their body posture was a bit more open “... You seem… Young, for an Astartes. Am I wrong?”

Cedric shook his head “You are not wrong, ecclesiarch. I am young for an Astartes, and still am in training for parts of my duty to my chapter.” He had yet to tell any Brother or Cousin his precise age, mostly because he was pretty sure that Captain Ash’val would explode spectacularly. Or Apothecary Hura would kidnap him and keep him by his side at all times because Little Baby Brothers need constant supervision. Honestly! He’s been on deadly and difficult missions without his Mentor before! He also survived the longest in M42 of the Primaris Marines who he knows about anyways. It’s not his fault that most of the Firstborn Astartes he’s run into are at minimum upwards of three hundred years old if not much, much older. The cantankerous bastards. He heard the sounds of ceramite on stone, and the heavier step of an Astartes walking towards them. “... May I please stay? I promise not to cause trouble. The sound of the church bells were familiar to me, and I… I’ve missed morning prayers and psalms in the months I’ve been on Terra, terribly.”

“Are there not places to worship in one of the Astartes bases in town? And Ecclesiarch is the incorrect term, please refer to me as Sister Superior.” The be-robed mortal asked and gently corrected Cedric.

Cedric fidgeted a little “Not that I am aware of. The reclusiums are to be used by the Chaplains alone along with whoever they have trusted to keep those inner sanctums clean and well-tended to. Chaplains are meant to tend to the mental and emotional health of their Brothers and Cousins, among other duties, however…” Cedric also kept quiet about the other duties that Chaplains were to tend to - at least among the Black Templars as he didn’t want to potentially concern or distress the Sister Superior he was speaking with. Perhaps she was part of an order that was a precursor to the Sister of Battle? “Among the chaplains who I have interacted with on Terra, the only one who might be comfortable leading the morning prayers and psalms I dearly miss is around the same age and training level as myself. We don’t… We don’t have a space to worship where we would potentially draw the ire... Erm. Discomfort of our older brothers and cousins who do not hold the beliefs we do.”

He could hear the approach of the other Astartes, he was getting closer. Cedric deliberately did not look away from the Sister Superior to try and figure out who this Astartes was, nor from which direction he was approaching Cedric in, as the young Black Templar really meant no harm. He also had truly been just drawn to the sound of the ringing church bells, and a soul-deep longing ache still resonated inside of him.

“Were you hoping to see if this church would be serviceable to your needs? Or merely drawn by the sound of the ringing bells? They do sound beautiful when they do ring, and this church is one of the loveliest in the region, in my humble opinion.” Sister Superior answered, a small smile on her face. She gestured wordlessly for him to come closer, which the young Astartes obeyed.

Cedric knelt so that he was closer to her eye level, keeping his gaze focused downwards, penitent and trying hard not to seem threatening. “I was drawn by the sound of the bells, and this church really is beautiful. It’s been so long since I’ve seen stained glass like that. It reminds me of the worship halls on m-... In the fortress-monastery I enjoyed training in the most.”

“I will say that you aren’t the first Astartes who has been drawn to our church, with the earnest desire to find a space in which to worship without being judged by other Space Marines who are vocal about their dislike of open displays of worship. Ah, there you are, Lykos. You needn’t worry, this young Cousin of yours wandered in out of curiosity and an open heart, rather than to try and cause trouble.” The Sister Superior murmured, her gaze focusing on someone behind and slightly to the left of Cedric.

A deep, rich voice with an accent that Cedric did not recognize rumbled Astartes-deep behind the young Black Templar “I see… I was hopeful that was the case, as you arrived at this church without arms or armor, but that is not always the case. What is your name, Cousin? I am Brother-Chaplain Lykos of the Word Bearers Legion. I am from mid-M31 originally.”

The older Astartes was wearing black armor with red, silver and gold accents. There were runes inscribed on much of his armor, written in neat rows that Cedric did not immediately recognize, and the symbol of an open book with white pages set aflame on one of the other Astartes’ pauldron the other having a red arrow on it. Upon the other’s chest-plate was the the symbol of the two-headed Aquila. He had a black cape that draped regally behind him, and almost but not quite touched the floor. His skull-helmet was clipped to his belt, and his head was shaved bald, with dozens of golden tattoos on his face and neck shone in the light of the early morning sun.

Cedric froze for several seconds, the breath in his lungs freezing over solid at the approach of a strange first-born Chaplain. Brother-Chaplain Lykos had no mutations, no extra appendages and no spikes. He did not smell like a Chaos-tainted Astartes, either, but Cedric still felt very small and threatened as the chaplain loomed over him.

The quiet murmurings of serfs in prayer echoing in the stone chamber, the slight waft of incense as the Firstborn Chaplain approached him, one hand on his chainsword, a neutral and disapproving expression on his face. The other’s voice rings in his ears but Cedric is having difficulties processing what he’s saying.

A ceramite-gloved hand reaches out to where Cedric is still kneeling and, to his eternal shame, he flinches and cowers away from the attempt at contact. Why is it so difficult to breathe, all of a sudden? Cedric is breathing fast and shallow, as a heavy, oppressive weight is pressing against his chest.

One of the Sisters steps between Cedric and the Chaplain, and the noise in Cedric’s ears roars louder. Her fingers tremble a little with the age of a mortal, and the expression she gives him is of gentle concern. She reaches out to cup his face, and he leans into her touch, a tiny sound leaving him. Most of his focus is on the knees of the Chaplain, however, knowing better than to keep his focus from wavering from One of Them.

“I asked you a question.” The Chaplain rumbles, voice sharp with irritation and disapproval “What is your name? To which Legion or chapter do you belong to?”

#oc: cedric #oc: Lykus #word bearer #black templar #warhammer 40k #space marine husbandry sentience #space marine husbandry #my writing #adeptus astartes

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poisonheadcrabsalesman · 8 months ago

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Mjolnir Syndrome: A Helping Hand

My half of an art trade with @fablepatron - find the whole thing here on ao3.

The first chapter is too explicit, but here's the second chapter Roland POV.

Another night watching his crew recover. Another night of patrolling the circuits of the ship, checking and rechecking, herding dumb AI back into their functions, herding dumb humans back to their responsibilities like sleeping. Most of Roland is divided into the monotonous tasks required to run a starship of this size and to care for a crew of this many talents. However, there was a negligibly sized portion of his focus on the single operating War Games sim and one Spartan Miller.

He didn’t play favorites. (Statement: untrue.) He had a handful, maybe. (Also untrue.) But that came with the territory of being a shipboard AI. Lots of handshakes and handholding. It made sense to keep an eye on a specific few in Command. Really. Just as a way to get a read on the rest of the crew and understand the social systems in place. That was the real reason Roland was watching Miller beat himself up in the wee hours of the morning, and why his subroutines flagged more processing power to monitor the Spartan as his vitals peaked.

There’s a spark of brain activity and a rapid release of cortisol in Miller’s system. His temperature raises even further and Roland considers getting help. Nothing had changed other than the slowly ramping feedback of the Mjolnir systems. The closed system was prone to feedback loops when worn for longer periods of time without a release of charge or not maintaining proper levels with an AI syncing the NI and the various layers of the armor.

Miller hadn’t wanted his help so he was keeping his distance. Mostly.

It was strange to see the usually quick-thinking Spartan brute force his way through what was bound to be unpleasant and quite distracting sensations. Unless… he wasn’t expecting it. Did Miller not know about Mjolnir Syndrome? A fun nickname given by more season Spartans and crew in the know of the…symptoms. Is that why the sudden spike in vitals?

His favorite Spartan was easy to fluster. He’d need help soon, Roland could tell. The constant influx of sensation only built and then plateaued as Miller froze. He’d never reach overload by himself, especially if he just became aware of why h-everything was so hard.

Luckily, and with no outside input from Roland, help was on the way.

The Master Chief had noticed Miller, not for the times Miller wants to space himself over, but because like Roland, Chief found Miller interesting. Maybe it was akin to studying something and finding yourself attached, like those scientists over in xenobiology who named the new flatworms they found on Requiem. Miller was Roland’s flatworm, and he was willing to share, if it meant helping the poor Spartan out.

Chief observes Miller with a tilt of his helmet. Roland was still learning the IIs body language but he thought he was picking up amusement. The specific head tilt and slight shake of the helmet for outsider observers was one he had seen Chief use with Blue Team. But they weren’t here, it was just him and Miller and R-.

Oh. Chief was including him again. It was so strange when humans did that. Only a handful seemed to remember his presence, unless he made them. Always running in the background, ready at a moment’s notice. Well, this was interesting.

“Hello, Master Chief, fancy meeting you here.” Roland says after his ping for channel access is accepted.

“Hello, Roland. I’m assuming he’s not hurt?”

“Do you think I’d let my crew get hurt and simply let them lay there.”

“No, but I wasn’t sure if I was intruding on anything.”

That gets a pause from the AI. He’s still debating on which snarky or too-honest reply to go with when Chief checks on Miller.

"I believe Spartan Miller is experiencing some technical issues with his armor." Roland supplies. He’s helping whatever this is along. Chief’s got him thinking now, which is always a dangerous thing when you’re as fast and clever as Roland. He’d been a passive party for so long. An observer or helper, and it’s not like Miller was chomping at the bit for Roland’s help, even when his plans had been so helpful in the past.

“He’s lying to you. Not that you didn’t pick that up. He’s been active for over 24 hours. He won’t let me help.” Chief doesn’t need to know how honest Roland’s words were, or that Roland’s been watching Miller push himself for 36.3 hours now.

“Have you tried asking nicely?” Chief asks and Roland wishes he had a plinth nearby to deploy his avatar on for the sole purpose of squinting at the Master Chief. He stays silent.

Chief asks and Miller says yes.

Roland wasn’t jealous. No, he was something else. Some higher AI experience rather than some silly, illogical, human emotion. Miller would let Master Chief touch his armor and help him, but not Roland who’s always there and who knows the specs forwards and back and is so familiar with piggybacking off Gen 2 Mjolnir systems.

Miller’s fine being all sweaty and nervous and frustrated around Chief. Chief who is so frustrating and calm and never rises to Roland’s bait. Chief who’s asking for Roland’s help overriding the safety features on Miller’s armor?

The great thing about being a vast machine intelligence with unfortunate connections to human emotions is the ability to experience time differently and to save threads of oneself being petty to feel petty later. He’d put this behind him for now to help them out - help Miller out.

What’s a little power reallocation between friends?

#my writing #Spartan Miller #Roland the AI #John 117 #there will be a quiz on the layers of mjolnir later for those following along at home #halo fanfic

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gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan · 5 months ago

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But If

Past =-= Next

Author's Note: More of Draco in Waters AU. Thank you to @sleepyfan-blog for letting me borrow Cedric. Thank you to @kit-williams for letting me borrow Arnault, Roland. Thank you to @egrets-not-regrets for letting me borrow Erriox and Lenora and your help with editing and other things :)

Summary: Draco gets pinned by several of the Astartes that had gone to rescue poor Claude. More conversations are had.

Warnings: Panic, Bond Denial, blood, yandere tendencies, let me know if I need to add anything.

Tagged: @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @egrets-not-regrets, @kit-williams,

Tagged continued: @sleepyfan-blog, @ms--lobotomy @bispecsual @thevoidscreams

Tagged continued: @i-am-a-dragon34, @gra93fruit-blog

The Gray Knight shifts in the grip of his cousins, and the Iron Warrior twists the knives deeper into his tail to get the bastard to stop moving. It works, even if the bastard of an Astartes growls at him subvocally and glares at him. Erriox glares back, his spines and fins flaring in aggression, he very much wanted to kill this bastard- and it would be his pleasure to do so, if that’s what is decided, provided it didn’t harm Lana more.

“Whatever will happen to Lana will depend on your answer, silver one.” Mara states, standing tall over the Gray Knight trapped on the ground, “I need your promise. An oath.”

“What oath? What Promise do you demand of me?” The Gray Knight asks, still proud, and stubborn. Although he desperately wants Lana, to go to her, to hold and have her as his. She is his already. To get her away from those chittering, conniving, lying two-faced Hydras.

The elder harpy speaks, “I need you to take an oath that you will never lay a hand on Lana, on the colony, and on our allies indiscriminately. You will, in addition, allow for whatever conditions Lana wishes to place in order for this bond to be acceptable. If death is still what she wishes, then I will grant it.”

“I could kill him now, and save Lana the agony of this Bond,” Erriox purrs out darkly. “Spare her from the backlash of the decision.”

Mara shook her head, with the little knowledge of what she knows of bonds, killing the silver one would still cause a backlash, judging from how Lana and this silver predator are reacting to one another, “No, unfortunately killing one, would mean killing the both of them, Erriox.”.

Erriox bows his head to her wisdom and decision, while keeping his hands on the blades and digging it into the bastard’s tail. He will abide by the decisions of Lana and the Gannet Harpies, but should they prove the need for the death of either the Gray Knight or Lana, he’ll volunteer as executioner, should they request one.

Mara’s last sentence drew a myriad of reactions. Zariel and his brothers argued against it, wanting their Lana to live, but after the Look Mara gave them, they settled down, upset and worried, clinging to Lana, but careful not to bruise her with their superior strength. She was withdrawn and solemn, unwilling to look at any of the Alpha Legionary brothers. They will watch the Gray Knight carefully, and monitor and report his every action.

The Gray Knight scowls, rage burning a fire in both of his hearts at the Elder harpy’s words. Equally, he doesn’t want his Lana to die- he desperately wants to keep her alive, and if he has to promise these paltry things, then he will. He clenches and unclenches his fists, he would lash his tail in frustration, but the Iron Warrior pinning his tail with knives makes that a tricky and painful endeavor.

He tilts his head up a touch defiantly, he speaks up, “I promise that I will never lay a harmful hand upon Lana, I shall never lay a harmful hand on Lana's Colony, I shall never start a fight, or be the first one to lay a harmful hand on Lana’s allies indiscriminately. I shall hear and obey the conditions that Lana chooses to place on our Bond to be seen as Acceptable.”

Mara nodded her head, satisfied, then added, “Should you ever renege on your oath, we will reconsider your’s and Lana’s place in the colony. You are both inexplicably connected, unfortunately.” She frowns. The elder harpy turns to Lana, her stern voice turned soft, “What is your wish, my dear?”

“I need to know that you will never lay a heavy hand or maliciously injure any of the fledglings, be they harpy or mer-Astartes for punishment or otherwise.” Lana says.

“The one named Claude needs Psyker Training,” The Gray Knight points out, “If he doesn’t learn to control it, it will control him and can cause untold catastrophe.”

“Does learning control mean that he should be beaten into the state he was in?” She rebuked him.

“He needs to learn obedience, he wasn’t obeying and following my orders, was defiant and refused to learn, he lied to me saying he doesn’t have psykery,” The Gray Knight points out with a scowl, “He also needs to have resistance and training for pain and other things as well. Then again, Hydras big and small are defiant, lying little bastards one and all.”

“Don’t you dare insult them!” Lana yelled at him, wincing, a sharp stab of pain striking once again, “Watch your words Gray Knight! I haven’t accepted the bond yet.”

The Gray Knight winces a little at her words, mostly from the pain it caused with her partial rejection of him and nods, “I shall take care with my words, more closely, my Lana.”

“It’s one thing to teach and train for war. Pain and discipline can be a valuable lesson, but it is not to be used in an unrestrained manner. Not to the level of what Claude had gone through. Obedience through fear, that only gives more of a reason for one to lie and hide from you.” She hissed.

“Promise me you won’t be so heavy-handed with the fledglings. That is one of my conditions.” Lana sighs, feeling exhaustion starting to seep into her bones.

“We Astartes can take a lot of damage and punishment,” The Gray Knight points out, “And our normal training can seem overly harsh and brutal to mortals, how will it be assessed as my punishments and training as being too harsh?”

“If you think,” Erriox growls from near his tail, “That I’m going to let you train my sons at all, or without me watching or someone I trust to ensure their safety, then you are a Fool. Every single one of them has a deep-seated mistrust for any Firstborn marines and I can easily see why now, with what you have done to Claude.”

“They have the ability to withstand greater injuries, and heal from them faster,” The Grey Knight sneers at Erriox, “And the ones who survive we know aren’t potentially chaos-abominations for their creation being done by the Mechanicus, rather than by the Apothecaries and Chaplains of the Chapters they are made for.”

#warhammer 40k #space marine husbandry sentience #space marine husbandry #adeptus astartes #warhammer #mermay #mermay 2024 #mermay 40k #oc: Mara #oc: Lana #oc: Erriox #oc: roland #oc: Arnault #oc: Draco #oc: Zariel #oc: Alpharii #Living waters au #poor unfortunate souls

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too-many-hyperfixations · 5 months ago

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Unwind AU but how our world was in the pre-2020s because these kids deserve better

Connor: Delinquent, but not all that scary in truth. He just gets detention often enough, and plays a sport while being tall enough that other kids assume he’s strong so most kids leave his “gang” be. The kids in his gang use this for protection, but it’s a pretty bullyable lot overall despite the numbers. He’s left with a bad shoulder from overexertion, won’t say to anyone else how he got it, and everyone just makes up an edgy backstory for him.

Risa: Honor roll student who plays keyboard in band. In a wheelchair from a building collapse, but it wasn’t a harvest camp in this universe, rather that the home she was placed in at the moment by the foster care system collapsed.

Hayden: President of the broadcasting club, which just means that he puts together the morning announcements. Still amazing with technology, but he would rather do things like romhacks on his own time and use school to get himself in front of the camera and mic!

Camus Comprix: Cameron Cailloux (spent hours finding a replacement last name, be grateful Cam) gave me kind of a hard time because he. Well. Only exists in the books from a technology we don’t have and would never approve and even more uses of that technology that we don’t have and would never approve. The closest thing I can think of to his multitude of skin tones is him having vitiligo, and the closest thing I can think of for a lab made person is… IVF but that’s not even close to the same thing as what Cam is in the books. If anyone has ideas in the comments, I’ll edit and credit, but yeah he’s difficult. Photography club tho bc we can’t stop making fun of this man calling him Kodak. I might cut him altogether.

Mason Micheal Starkey: Storking is basically just adoption with less steps in the book so in this AU he was adopted by a family that was willing to take care of him, but he was bullied by other kids for being adopted with being told his birth family found him unlovable, and started to internalize those insults and build up resentment toward the people who put him up for adoption even without knowing them. When school is out for the year, he goes to a summer camp to learn magic. He’s much less bullied there, but it’s due to him using violence to get his way and not caring if he’s feared or respected as long as he gets to feel like he’s in control.

Levi: I am not touching most of his arc with a 50 foot pole because holy moly that was a lot of stereotyping. Levi’s family had to give him to the foster system after a layoff caused 10 kids to be too much to take care of. He played on the school’s baseball team before transferring out of his private Catholic school when put in the foster system, and now plays on the same team as Connor and is starting to question his beliefs now that he isn’t only around people who believe in God.

Roland: Learned a lot of violent behavior from his stepfather without realizing before going to juvenile detention for a non-premeditated murder. Openly violent in an attempt to be seen as scary enough to listen too, and frequently manipulated by Mason, who tricks him into using this behavior to cow his own rivals into submission while Starkey doesn’t have to go to detention for it.

Nelson: School resource officer, may he perish.

Argent Skinner: Self important hall monitor who sees himself as Connor’s arch nemesis as he tries to catch Connor in some mild mischief all the while missing how much of a pair of jerks Starkey and Roland are being.

Grace Skinner: On the chess club and CRUSHES in multiplayer math games when they’re used in class. She’s in special ed, but that’s not why people make fun of her, people make fun of her simply for being related to Argent. Argent has it doubly bad for actually being himself because nobody likes a persnickety snitch hall monitor. Her home computer has 4D chess with time travel installed, which Hayden will play against her on only to be terrified by her being just as good there too.

I didn’t watch far enough into a video essay, thought the books sounded good and didn’t realize they don’t even hold up by 2006 standards, and then had to finish the series once I started it bc OCD is fun and nooooow we’re HERE. Apparently the author is on here, I blocked him.

#unwind dystology #Let me know if I forgot anybody #If you didn’t read and don’t engage critically with Unwind DNI #Might delete later #connor lassiter #Risa Ward #Levi Calder #Camus Comprix #roland taggart #Hayden upchurch #Mason Michael Starkey #Grace Skinner #Jasper t nelson #argent skinner

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nesiacha · 9 months ago

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in your opinion, what was the most significant mistake the jacobins ever made? (i tend to like them much more than other factions in the frev, but i still want to know how Problematic my Faves were)

Good question. I'm not sure which period you want to talk about regarding the Jacobins, so let's discuss the one after the fall of Louis XVI's monarchy. I will mainly encompass the Mountain faction.

Regarding tactical errors, according to some historians, including Antoine Resche, a contemporary historian who has made excellent videos on the French Revolution under the name Histony, which can be found on the Veni Vidi Sensi website, leans towards the lack of left-wing unity as one of the errors. And honestly, he's not wrong. Some might think that the elimination of Danton and the Hébertists was a turning point. But it was salvageable (I've already discussed what I thought in one of my posts). Only the Jacobins made the grave mistake of eliminating Chaumette, among others, even though he had refused to participate in an attempt to overthrow the Convention, which showed he was the most reasonable. Keeping him as the prosecutor of the Commune would have appeased some of the sans-culottes. Instead, the Convention has him arrested and executed. I understand that at that time the Convention could not afford an overthrow and was afraid Chaumette might change his mind, but by doing so, they alienated a large part of the sans-culottes. The wave of executions like Gobel or Chaumette was one of the most disastrous moves.

Another one is the non-application of the Ventôse laws, but it is true that some Montagnards blocked this, and the Marais was against these laws.

Also, being a fervent advocate of freedom of expression, there should never have been decrees holding journalists accountable. I don't particularly like Desmoulins, but executing him for his writings… Moreover, it will not prevent opinions from forming and solidifying.

Regarding moral errors: In addition to the travesties of justice I mentioned concerning the Hébertists and the Dantonists, there were other cases. When Girondin deputies were dismissed, most deputies did not want them dead, let alone imprisoned. They were only supposed to remain under house arrest. The problem is, many of them escaped and incited uprisings in the departments, which further exacerbated the already endangered Republic. Despite all I have to reproach them for, some Girondins were honorable people, notably Manon Roland and Vergniaud (even if Vergniaud had an ambiguous attitude, he still remained under house arrest) who stay in Paris. Yet they were judged, condemned to death, and executed along with other Girondins who incited or attempted uprisings and fled Paris. It wasn't even a tactical error; it was unfair.

Another very minor point concerns the Convention entirely, and this is my opinion. Why separate Marie Antoinette from her son? I understand there were royalists in Paris (the assassination of the remarkable Louis Michel Lepeletier by one of Louis XVI's former guards, among other events, will demonstrate this) who would do anything to get their hands on him as Louis XVII, which would have been dangerous. It would have been better to monitor the child's education closely given this context, but why not have strict supervision while leaving him in his mother's care, even though we know her opinions? I don't want to demonize Antoine Simon, executed in Thermidor; he wasn't a brute; he had compassion for the former queen and liked the child, but it's horrible. Being myself a proponent of reforms for jail to ensure the child remains very close to his parents, I protest against this. And the royalists seized upon it to portray an image of an inhumane Republic.

Women's rights were not respected, as I discussed in my post "Women's rights suppressed."

One of the most serious errors was the Prairial Law. When this bill presented by Couthon and later approved by the Committee of Public Safety and voted on by the Convention passed, many innocents suffered. Following the execution of the "Robespierrists," the Convention lied, saying it had not approved it, which was false.

Paradoxically, there was no internal elimination necessary at that time, notably the case of Carnot, who gave orders behind the backs of others to wage a war of conquest, which would have jeopardized the Battle of Fleurus if Saint-Just had not intervened with the order. I don't understand why he wasn't arrested; generals have been executed for less than that. This man doesn't deserve his title as the organizer of Victory, but having eliminated those who had really done the job like Saint-Just, among others, he could claim that title.

I realize I have done a critical job on the Montagnards even though I admire them, so a few lines to rehabilitate them. Most of them refused the irresponsible war of conquest advocated by the Girondins. Finally, fatigue was fatal to them. They put their best efforts into saving France, but most became ill (Couthon, Robespierre; I don't know if Billaud-Varenne was beginning to develop his dysentery or if his illness came after his deportation). Robespierre made a grave mistake by slamming the door on the Committee of Public Safety following a dispute among its members, then a few weeks later making a speech where he designated culprits without naming names (like Fouché, for example), so some wrongly believed they were the ones being designated when they weren't. Fouché and his gang played on this.

I want to say that Jean Clement Martin explained that if the Girondins are seen as victims, it's because they didn't have time to put the Montagnards on the guillotine. There were quite a few assassinations of Montagnard deputies (some think that Barbaroux manipulated Corday to kill Marat, Joseph Chalier was killed in atrocious conditions by the Girondins of Lyon, Isnard's speech). When the Jacobins acted, there was an internal civil war and an external war against the Revolution, plus a depreciated currency. And they saved it. For a while, they tried to accommodate (at least the majority of them) their adversaries. Then the gloves came off. But they remained in democracy, even in the worst moments. The Jacobins supported the abolition of slavery (not just them), and most of the major Jacobin figures fully supported the uprisings by slaves against the colonists.

Napoleon, although praised today for inheriting a better situation thanks to the efforts of his predecessors, through his dictatorial attitudes, betrayal of the Jacobins, and wars of conquest (all the wrong things), left France in a worse state with the return of the Bourbons. Revolutionaries like Marat predicted from the outset of the French Revolution that if the Girondins persisted in declaring war, even if France were victorious, there would be a military dictatorship and subsequently the return of the Bourbons.

All this leads me to think that it was the revolutionaries of the Mountain who were pragmatic and Napoleon the "idealist" in the wrong sense of the term, given his grandiosity and stupid belief (in my opinion) that he could impose hereditary dictatorship, exploit other countries without them retaliating (but that's another story).

Finally, the Jacobins in power were exhausted; they even lacked sleep hours due to their internal schedules. Before the Prairial Law was passed, there was an assassination attempt on Collot, so it was thought that the royalist danger was present. Plus, this law was disfigured by those who presented it; they thought they would only use it against people like Fouché, Carrier, Barras, Fréron, Tallien—des despicable men who dishonored France and the Revolution. It was they who later presented themselves as victims of the Jacobins when they were the worst during the Terror. Contrary to belief, heads rolled after the Terror; just look at the execution of Romme and the other Montagnards, the execution of Babeuf, the fact that anyone who demanded the constitution of 1793 could be punishable by death.

Finally, I want to say that despite my speeches, I don't believe in providential men; if France could have a sense of greatness during this period, it's thanks to the people. In Algeria, we have the slogan: "One hero only: the people."

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sachermorte · 4 months ago

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Please tell us the sex police story!

jo gerne

it's much less lurid than it sounds but this used to be an absolute crowd-pleaser. I had the tone and cadence down perfectly. there was a rhythm to it. it was almost like recited poetry, like beowulf. I'm a bit out of the practice of telling it now but I'll try to add stage direction where necessary so if needed, you too can recite The Ballad of Roland and the Sex Police

[deep breath]

during the summer between my junior and senior year of my bacherlor's, when my days in eagleland were drawing to a close, I, the gallant and noble roland sachermorte von wien, took a job at a six-week long federally funded college preparatory summer camp for disadvantaged high schoolers, (hosted in a community college in my hometown, a large-enough city in an appalachian state) for which I was to be paid a couple thousand dollars, a price for which it soon became clear that I was not only selling my labor, but my sanity and my already-tenuous will to live. some people hear "college preparatory camp, federally funded, disadvantaged youth" and, not knowing the full story about camps, high schoolers, or the united states government assume that it must have been a more or less classy affair.

[pause for effect]

this camp was a shitshow.

to begin with, there were three of us for a camp of approximately sixty of these little bastards, all of which were between the ages of 13-17 and seemed to hate me just for existing, which is unsurprising in hindsight, as I've never been particularly popular among large groups of kids that age. this was largely because of the rules the three of us were forced to enforce, such as taking their phones for all but an hour or so a day. that whole taking phones business lasted exactly a day and a half until the kids literally organized a sit-in and refused to go to class until my boss came down and told them they'd be allowed to keep them. which, good on them, but I did get yelled at for literally an hour over it.

that was another thing. they were working us from seven in the morning until midnight, at which point a night monitor would supposedly take over. that is of course until she quit a week in and then one of us had to rotate, meaning we didn't really get any sleep. I really don't blame her but I resent her to this very day and you would too, so shut up.

so these kids didn't want to be there and hated our guts, for understandable reasons because we were forced to be a bunch of goosesteppers less the hammer come down on us and all three of us be corralled in a room and literally yelled at with raised voice and flying spittle by our boss, the owner, and possibly also the receptionist for sixty minutes at a minimum. I wasn't the most pleasant to be around either because I was operating on maybe four hours of sleep a night, being berated at the drop of a hat for things that were outside my control, and undergoing sensory overload from the constant screaming and shouting from the kids.

so this is a very long introduction to basically say that things were already bad enough, I was reduced to a shambling, zombielike state, and my main priorities were to avoid being yelled at, to prevent the kids from subtracting from the population, and preventing the kids from adding to the population, in that order.

herein lies my folly. since the kids were occupied with classes all morning and assorted silly bullshit in the afternoon, I honestly thought they would be too tired to think much about point number three. chalk it up to my card-carrying status on multiple spectrums but I earnestly didn't even think of it. I was a corpse. I thought they would be as well

[here you cast a long-suffering look at the audience, waiting for them to gain, one by one, horrified or amused looks as they realize exactly the kind of story they're about to hear]

so color me surprised when one evening in the very first week when I'd already resigned myself to my lowly fate of starving, being subjected to geneva convention-violating levels of sleep deprivation, and being yelled at all the time, I was approached one of the math teachers who was nice enough to do some evening tutoring

ms. a, let's call her, was a terribly nice woman who was in her first year with the camp and honestly did not know what she was walking into (and would quit about halfway through citing "family matters", leaving one of us to struggle through teaching math as well). she approached me with the sort of deeply concerned face that one has upon witnessing the smoking wreckage of what was almost certainly a fatal car accident. the kind where you hope the driver was miraculously spared, but you know in your heart that the poor bastard had a snowball's chance, and you're already late to work so it's not as if you can stop and investigate.

I gazed upon her and a deep sigh left my body. I already knew it would be bad.

ms. a tells me that one of the students, a 15 year girl terminally allergic to minding her own business, had approached her with the cheshire-esque grin typical of teenagers when they're about to get somebody else in Big Trouble.

"ms. a," she began, "them girls have got boys up in the room. y'all had better stop them before mmhmm."

friends. romans. countrymen. there was choreography. a hand gesture accompanied mmhmm, which ms. a was kind enough to mimic for me

[here the storyteller makes a circle with the fingers of their non-dominant hand and then inserts the index finger of the dominant hand into this circle repeatedly until the point is made. aggressive eye contact with the listener or listeners should be made for maximum effect]

spake roland, "you've got to be fucking kidding me."

I called my boss. he didn't answer. I called the owner. she didn't answer. it was clear that this was all landing on my head. a pleading look in ms. a's direction only got me a woeful shake of the head in return. okay. it was go time.

my coworkers were extremely reluctant to get involved until I brought up the fact that if anybody were conceived on our watch, we wouldn't just be yelled at for at least an hour. we would probably also be fired, and what's more, as our boss kept threatening, not be paid. which would have meant that all our misery up until that point would have been for naught.

so I took point and we became the sex police. and we conducted a raid.

we literally got in formation and marched down the hall. me at the front, and my two coworkers behind each shoulder. like darth vader being flanked by stormtroopers, if darth vader were a pudgy cripple in a thrifted pair of penny loafers and a corduroy suit jacket.

we get to the door of the room. I knock on the door. bang. bang. bang.

[here the storyteller raps on the table slowly yet firmly]

there's rustling behind the door. whispering. shuffling. I hear someone hiss "hide!"

I knock again. bang. bang. bang.

finally the door opens, only barely, and one of the two girls in the room wedges herself into the opening. she crosses her arms. she throws one hip out to one side. she looks me up and down. and she goes, with full disdain, "WHAT."

I remind myself that kentucky is a death penalty state and force a smile. "we need to search your room," I say through tooth and bile

she literally arches backward with the force of her eyeroll, shoves the door all the way open, and lets us in.

so I have to explain first that the way these dorm rooms were set up is that there was a kitchenette area with a sink and a table that connected two bedrooms and a bathroom. they were nice-ass dorms. which was hard to remember when there were piles of candy wrappers, ugly clothes from forever 21, and bottles victoria's secret body sprays strewn everywhere. the kitchenette had no hiding places and there was nobody in the bathroom which left the rooms.

so now the hunt begins. I go into room number one. the closet door is closed. suspicious.

I FLING open the door.

and BAM. [you may bang your hand on the table here for dramatic effect] there's dude number one, pressed up against the side wall as if the door frame will hide him. he doesn't even look at me. he keeps flicking his eyes to the side, wide-eyed, and then staring straight ahead.

it's now that I make the observation that this dude ISN'T EVEN PART OF THE CAMP. he's just some RANDOM DUDE.

in a panic now, I direct one of my officers to look under the bed, and then go into room number two. closet door is open. also suspicious.

I get down on my HANDS and KNEES to look under the bed.

I claw for my phone and turn on the flashlight.

and there's a PAIR of AIR JORDANS

FACE

[here wave hand in front of face]

BAM [bang!] there's dude number two. also not from the camp. literally hiding under the bed.

I look at him.

he looks at me.

and in my rush of adrenaline all I can say to him is

"bruh."

[pause here to either take a sip of your alcoholic beverage or a long drag of your cigarette (one or both is necessary to tell this story) to allow time for the uproar that will no doubt follow. it usually takes a minimum of 30 seconds to be able to continue on]

so we've found tweedle dee and tweedle dum now and I'm trying to figure out what the fuck I should be doing when they share a glance and BOLT down the hallway and out the emergency exit, setting off the alarm. so now the fire department is en route.

great!

I get to the door just in time to watch them speed across a field, VAULT over a park bench, dart across the basketball court, and disappear into the treeline.

jump cut to thirty minutes later. my boss is there, as are all the kids wondering what the fuck is going on, a couple of very amused firemen, and a police officer who tells my boss that he's not going to chase after two random teenagers who were probably just visiting their girlfriends. the two girls get flung out of camp, and I spend the rest of the night with the same vigilant high of a drug dog who just made the biggest bust of its life.

we get pulled out of the classes we're supposed to be assisting with the next morning and yelled at for not one hour, not two hours, but two hours and fifty-three minutes. I timed it.

at one point my boss turns to me and yells "ROLAND WHY DID YOU NOT RUN AFTER THEM?" and I just held up my crutch and stared at him until he felt awkward enough to move on

the rest of the camp proceeded in a similar fashion and to this day I remain a dedicated officer of the sex police.

ACAB includes roland I guess

#god this took forever #but good lord this was an EVENT #the entire six weeks was just carnage and misery #this was so long ago too #summer of 2018 #oida #anyway the prater incident is just as wild if that anon still wants to hear about it #lmk bestie #askertorte

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