#sent: volubility

[glossahortensia]

ABECEDARY

Volubility

Acmella oleracea (L.) R.K.Jansen (1985) (Jambu)

Most other floriography authors I have encountered, including some of the time, have assumed the 'abecedary' is a mistake - in usual parlance, an 'abecedary' was a written work composed of an entry for each letter of the Latin alphabet (imagine an 'ABC' book for children). The assumption is that, like the word 'poetry' originating from 'poesy', or a 'bouquet' (the two are synonymous in French), the abecedary arose from some confusion in translation and was copied between later incautious authors.

I am excited, therefore, to notice Delachénaye's identification of the jambu as her 'abécédaire', further noting in her entry that this is a colloquial name for the flower in French, arising from its petals seeming to have letter-like figures on them. I believe this is the source of the 'abecedary' of the English authors later on.

Of course, the criticism is otherwise fair - it's true that most authors appear to have copied from other sources, many with little discretion. Still, finding the identity of this flower has been a little victory in my research.

As Delachénaye herself writes, it seems only right to open this blog with the humble abecedary.

[mariacallous]

US senators Elizabeth Warren and Bill Cassidy have called for the Department of Justice and Department of Homeland Security to redouble efforts to stop the use of cryptocurrency to pay for child sexual abuse material (CSAM) online, a problem they claim has worsened.

In a letter sent on Thursday, addressed to Attorney General Merrick Garland and Secretary of Homeland Security Alejandro Mayorkas, the senators claim that the “pseudonymity” afforded by crypto transactions is helping those that trade in CSAM to evade detection by law enforcement.

Citing data from the US Treasury’s Financial Crime Enforcement Network as well as research from Chainalysis, a company that specializes in tracing crypto transactions, and the Internet Watch Foundation, a CSAM-focused charity, the letter asserts that the “use of cryptocurrency in the illicit trade of CSAM appears to be increasing.”

Between 2020 and 2022, financial institutions identified 1,800 bitcoin wallets suspected of engaging in transactions linked to child sexual exploitation or human trafficking, the letter states. Although the scale of the crypto-based market for CSAM decreased in 2023, Chainalysis found, an increase in sophistication among sellers allowed them to evade detection for far longer than in previous years.

The people participating in the trade of CSAM online use a variety of methods to conceal their activity, the senators claim, including using crypto mixing services and ATMs to conceal the origin of funds used in CSAM transactions and to launder the proceeds.

“These are deeply troubling findings revealing the extent to which cryptocurrency is the payment of choice for perpetrators of child sexual abuse and exploitation,” wrote the senators.

To jump-start a response, Warren and Cassidy have asked the DOJ and DHS to publish details of their own research into the scope of crypto’s role in the CSAM problem, as well as information about the challenges specific to prosecuting this category of crime. The senators have given the agencies until May 10 to respond to their questions.

For her frequent and voluble criticism of cryptocurrency and its role in illicit activity, Warren has become something of a villain in crypto circles. Lately, the senator has come under criticism for a piece of anti-money-laundering legislation she proposed in July 2023, which the Chamber of Digital Commerce, a crypto advocacy group, has claimed will “erase hundreds of billions of dollars in value for US startups and decimate the savings of countless Americans invested in this asset class legally.”

Warren has reiterated her stance that the crypto industry must follow the same stringent rules as other financial organizations in the US in order to prevent misuse by criminal actors, including vendors of CSAM.

[ear-worthy]

Chillin' with Ice: More Than Her Story In The American Gladiators...

Chillin' With Ice is a new podcast that began in late March and features Lori Fetrick, who played the role of Ice in the popular 90s TV show American Gladiators. 

For millennials and Gen Zers, it's difficult to explain the phenomena that was American Gladiators. Like most of these fads, the show burned brightly for a few years and then flamed out, largely because the producers of the show screwed up a good thing.

 The show concept was inspired. It essentially is the dream of millions of men and women. Compete against world-class athletes and win! Who didn't dream and throwing the game-winning touchdown in the Super Bowl? Or hitting the game winning basket in the WNBA finals?

For those who haven't seen the show, American Gladiators featured four competitors, two men and two women, in most episodes. The players, referred to throughout the series as "contenders", faced off in a series of physical games against each other and against a cast of costumed athletes looking to prevent them from succeeding (the titular "Gladiators"). Each match saw the competitors trying to advance in a tournament, with one man and one woman crowned champion at its conclusion.

 The TV show ran for seven seasons, along with hundreds of live performances around the country. After 30 years, the show has been consigned to the trash can of TV history. But then, Netflix threw the show and its Gladiators a lifeline. In June of this year, it released a documentary called Muscles & Mayhem: An Unauthorized Story of American Gladiators. The showchronicles the meteoric rise, dramatic fall, and gripping behind-the-scenes stories of one of the biggest spectacles on television during the height of the '90s. Told firsthand from the stars who lived through it, this five-part series reveals untold stories of the iconic American Gladiators’ triumph, turmoil, and ultimate price of fame.

Those last words --  ultimate price of fame -- reverberate for the Gladiators and should for us as a loyal audience, or even as arbiters of fairness, if you have never seen the show. 

I watched the show with my two young sons, who loved it and badgered me into taking them to a live gladiators show in Atlanta. I have to admit it. The show sparkled with amped up drama and the cacophony of competition. Gladiator Ice even autographed my son's program, and she was his favorite.

But watching what's missing in the documentary is the driving force behind this new podcast.

In the documentary, the creators and producers of the TV show spoke volubly about the business aspect of the show, from the ratings to costs to the marketing. However, they were silent when it came to the welfare of the actual people who played the Gladiators, other than to decry the use of steroids, which I found wildly hypocritical. 

When the producers sent out the Gladiators for a six-month tour -- which meant constant pounding to their bodies with no rest or no way to train -- steroids offer a way to recover from injury much faster. Grudgingly, the producers hired more Gladiators for the tour when they realized the nightly punishment was too much for even world-class athletes. 

When the Gladiators tried to use their fame to renegotiate their contracts, which offered minimal pay, the producers fired them. What the producers didn't understand was that it was the Gladiators that drove the show's popularity, not just the everyman concept. Remember when the football players in the NFL went on strike? The replacement players were met with a collective yawn, even despite an excellent movie, The Replacements, that said otherwise.

What the Gladiators needed was a Brian Epstein. The manager of The Beatles guided the Fab Four threw their initial burst of fame and offered personal guidance and financial security for the group. The group was never the same after Epstein died in August 1967.

From the documentary, it appeared that no one was looking out for the gladiators -- Gemini, Laser, Ice, Storm, Blaze, Nitro, Titan, and others who came along later. These young people had neither the experience nor the background to get paid their worth at the time and negotiate any financial security. The revamped American Gladiators show in 2013 had no original gladiators even in a cameo role, and shows the disdain the producers had for the performers.

So, it's that kind of exploitation that energizes this new podcast.

Fetrick pitches her podcast like this: "Come chill with your host Lori Fetrick, a.k.a Ice Ice Baby from the American Gladiators, the number one hit iconic TV show of the nineties. Every week while she will share all the details and opens up about her own personal experience in the American Gladiators. From what she ate, how she trained, and how she got ready for every show… get ready to listen to real uncensored conversations that have never been shared before. Join Lori as she goes down memory lane and shares with you the best parts of her life." 

Fetrick, as a host, is true to the advertising of her podcast. She's pretty chill. Her episode about her childhood was riveting, especially her mother's religious cultism. 

Fetrick is open and transparent about being a lesbian. On her podcast, she speaks of it without hesitation, despite a recent homophobic narrative infused with conservative political rhetoric that has invaded our culture.

After the episode about getting into bodybuilding, Fetrick then focuses her next six episodes on former Gladiators she performed with. From Storm to Zap, Fetrick interviews her former competitors and does a commendable job. Despite Fetrick's closeness to her guests, she allows them to tell their own stories, and teases out fascinating stories from her guests.

Although I enjoyed the shows about the Gladiators, I wondered about Fetrick's long-range plan with the podcast. After all, eventually, she would run out of Gladiators to interview. She could, of course, interview some contenders as was done in the Netflix documentary, or better yet, the bus driver for the live tour who I suspect would have some juicy stories to tell.

But Fetrick proved to her listeners that she had more to say than just Gladiators tales. On the June 27th show, Fetrick interviewed a leading sexual wellness expert, Stephanie Wolff P.A. - C. In the episode, Fetrick talks to Wolff about the importance of balancing hormones, so women can moderate menopause symptoms, and key information about hormone therapy.

My hope is that Fetrick steers her show toward a women's health and wellness type of show. I think she has a narrative that women will find compelling, and she has a directness about her that makes Fetrick ear worthy.

 Fetrick is one of the many people who experienced the shooting star of fame, discovered its fleeting and fickle nature, refused to be chewed up by its addictive allure, and made a life for herself, as did many of the other American Gladiators. Many child actors, teenage musicians, and reality stars never recovered from their eventual fall from grace.

I recommend Chillin' With Ice, not only because she lived one of the inside stories of the American Gladiators, but also because she has more to say on the human condition due, in part, to her unique life narrative.

Even 30 years after the American Gladiators, I'm not sure if there's too many people who could go up against Ice in the joust. If it was me up there against her, I'd pretend to slip and fall off the platform before the joust started.

[simcardiac-arrested]

Mr. Cream Simcardiac-Arrested has recently made a number of fellow users very, very angry, including me. However, as anger serves no function in a successful rebuttal, I will simply state objectively that Miss Simcardiac-Arrested doesn’t perceive that anything is wrong with them. Consider this ask not as a monologue but rather as a joint effort between anon and mutual. Together we shall fight for what is right. Together we shall improve the living conditions of the most vulnerable in our society-the sick, the old, the disabled, the unemployed, and our youth—all of whose lives are made miserable by Mx. Cream Simcardiac-Arrested. And together we shall show principle, gumption, verve, and nerve. If you want a better opportunity to get a job, raise a family in a safe neighborhood, have a better chance at a good education, and lower the taxes on the money you earn, then I ask that you help me justify condemnation, constructive criticism, and ridicule of Mrs. Simcardiac-Arrested and its louche canards. Doing so will at least prove that he will do anything to prevent us from critiquing her doctrinaire magic-bullet explanations. Don’t magic-bullet explanations that aim to till the flagitious side of the nonrepresentationalism garden deserve—and in some sense, require—abundant critique and evaluation? That’s why I propose that we strike in self-defense a blow that will free this hellsite from the deleterious effects of Ms. Simcardiac-Arrested’s larcenous, querulous adages, mainly because we have a problem, and we need to solve it. I mean really solve it—not put a Band-Aid on it, not empty it in the Garbage Wastes, not look the other way. I propose we start by building a new understanding that can transport us to tomorrow as that will get people thinking about how far too many people look the other way when they see Mr. Simcardiac-Arrested impinging upon our dash. We need to be better than that. We can be better than that. And we can start by using evidence-based arguments when discussing issues with Mrs. Simcardiac-Arrested. Mr. Simcardiac-Arrested is able to argue only from emotionalism. They doesn’t argue from a logical, linear point of view. Hence, by taking on Mr. Simcardiac-Arrested at her false premises one can easily demonstrate that we find among narrow and uneducated minds the belief that his fraternity of otiose, cankered gadflies is a colony of heaven called to obey God by taking away our sense of community and leaving us morally adrift. This belief is due to a basic confusion that can be cleared up simply by stating that I correctly predicted that Miss Simcardiac-Arrested would shake belief in all existing institutions through the systematic perversion of both contemporary and historical facts. Alas, I didn’t think they’d do that so effectively—or so soon. All of this once again proves the old saying that there is no reason to fund a vast web of snitty, gruesome sectarians, temeritous, voluble vocabularians, and the most quixotic weirdos you’ll ever see and there is every reason not to. SENT.

thank you for this randomly generated anon complaint i will be putting it on my wall

[bllsbailey]

Political Earthquake Rocks San Diego County

At the beginning of December, I wrote a VIP piece about a pretty aggressive move the San Diego Board of Supervisors was contemplating in response to the Trump election and his implementation of announced immigration rejiggering plans, aka mass deportations. 

Introducing the resolution and leading the charge for passage was the Democratic District 1 supervisor and chairwoman of the board, Nora Vargas. What her proposal would do was ban the use of any county resources - including the county sheriff - from being used to assist ICE and the federal government in removing illegal aliens from San Diego County.

She's basically codifying giving ICE the brush-off because of "time and resources." I would think co-operating with ICE in a border county that is experiencing an illegal immigration flood would be worth expending "time and resources." 

Vargas's resolution passed during a tumultuous supervisors' board meeting during the first week of this month. 

Vocal residents on both sides of the issue were at the meeting in force. 

The San Diego County Board of Supervisors voted 3-1 Tuesday to restrict the use of county resources for federal immigration enforcement. ..."Immigration enforcement is a federal responsibility, and our county will not be a tool for policies that hurt our residents," said Vargas, who made the proposal. ...Vargas, Vice Chair Terra Lawson-Remer and Supervisor Monica Montgomery Steppe voted yes, while Supervisor Jim Desmond was the lone no vote. Supervisor Joel Anderson was absent Tuesday due to illness, officials said. In a statement, Desmond said the decision "to turn San Diego County into a `super' sanctuary county is an affront to every law-abiding citizen who values safety and justice."

As was the San Diego County Sheriff, Kelly Martinez, who made it quite clear that, as an elected official, the Board of Supervisors had no control over her department. She was going to obey all applicable state and federal laws and cooperate where she could.

The pro-illegal lobby has her firmly in their sights for spoiling their super-sanctuary plan roll-out, and they were still after her a week ago.

San Diego County Sheriff Kelly Martinez said she will not be following new policy from the Board of Supervisors that limits her cooperation with immigration authorities unless they have a warrant signed by a state or federal judge. State law allows the sheriff’s department to help U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) in certain ways, even without a judicial warrant. Sheriff Kelly Martinez declined an interview but sent a written statement. She said she has authority over the jails, not the board, and her office will keep doing what they’ve been doing — letting ICE interview consenting people in their custody with certain convictions, and notifying ICE of upcoming release dates. Those convictions include things like sexual abuse, child abuse, battery, assault and drug charges.

I sure like the cut of her jib.

While the storm that Vargas set in motion was breaking over everyone's head, as well as drawing an unwelcome Tom Homan beady eye on the county, the voluble chairwoman herself suddenly clammed up. She couldn't be reached for comment and blamed her recurring vocal nodule issues.

There wasn't a peep out of her until Friday. Then she dropped a bombshell on her staff and the county she'd just pretty well boned with the federal government.

I QUIT

Friday's resignation of Nora Vargas from the San Diego County Board of Supervisors rocked the political world and left many speculating. Vargas said it was due to her personal safety and security. She said she accomplished great things and brought equity to the county. Story 👇 pic.twitter.com/C22aXqky4c— North County Pipeline (@NCPipeline760) December 22, 2024

Vargas had only been reelected a month ago, but seemed to have been wearing out her welcome for some time. 

San Diego County Board of Supervisors Chair Nora Vargas abruptly resigned on Friday, shocking the county’s political establishment and ushering in a period of instability as county leaders grapple with homelessness, immigration, an incoming presidential administration and other major challenges. Vargas, who won re-election to the board just one month ago, said in a statement that she was stepping down due to unspecified “personal safety and security reasons.” Vargas had faced a torrent of hateful online comments after spearheading a recent county policy that aimed to limit cooperation with federal immigration officials in advance of incoming President-elect Donald Trump’s promised crackdown on undocumented immigrants. She has spoken often of her dismay at mounting public disruptions in Board of Supervisors meetings and said she has faced death threats and other extreme forms of harassment. “I have stalkers, I have people who harass me on phones, there’s all sorts of things,” she said during a recent Board of Supervisors discussion about changing meeting rules to prevent disruptions. But Vargas also had alienated a growing number of onetime supporters in her district and received a surprisingly low number of votes in her re-election race against an underfunded and virtually unknown Republican opponent.

The lightning rod chairwoman also had myriad complaints about the tenor and volume of complaints she received, claiming she felt her safety was in jeopardy due to them. The county was reportedly ponying up some serious cash for her security detail.

#noravargas used $41k a month security to support her delusions of grandeur and persecution. “Look at me, No! Don’t look at me!” https://t.co/ugNTyaPAlb— Sirena (@lasirenadelmar7) December 21, 2024

Considering what overwhelmed San Diego County residents thought of this last political stunt of hers, the heat may have been too much in the kitchen.

Readers react: San Diego County Supervisor Nora Vargas’s actions contradict her oath to uphold the U.S. Constitution. Encouraging invasions and prioritizing loyalty beyond U.S. borders violates her duty. https://t.co/KODZYpV4ku— San Diego Union-Tribune Opinion (@sdutOpinion) December 19, 2024

Or there may have been other personal factors....

Super Sanctuary San Diego Supervisor Nora Vargas resigned suddenly, but there were signs 🚩 Making nearly $300k a year, court records show she defaulted on an $11,000 Bank of America credit card. Something doesn’t add up. https://t.co/moj4GpqNZW— Amy Reichert (@amyforsandiego) December 21, 2024

...and/or professional ones that precipitated this sudden exit. Vargas is explosively touchy on any questions of ethics, corruption, or coercion in this recording.

Audio surfaces of recently resigned Supervisor Nora Vargas getting hostile with the San Marcos and El Cajon Mayors at a SANDAG meeting when corruption is brought up. Very suspicious. pic.twitter.com/naLUUWDh5B— Amy Reichert (@amyforsandiego) December 20, 2024

She's facing two racial discrimination lawsuits, too.

...However, Vargas’ tenure has also seen its share of scandals and controversy. She is facing two racial discrimination lawsuits, both by Asian men. Jeff Liu filed a lawsuit in late 2023 claiming Vargas’ office offered him a job as her policy director, but then rescinded the offer. The allegations claim Vargas’ former chief of staff, Denice García, uttered slurs at Liu and Liu claimed Vargas knew about the slurs and other alleged racist comments about him. Earlier this year, former county deputy administrative officer, Michael Vu, filed a lawsuit against the county claiming Vargas made racist remarks about Vu after he applied for the county administrative officer job. The CAO leads the day-to-day operations of the county. Supervisor Terra Lawson-Remer is also named in the Vu suit as he alleges Lawson-Remer engaged in a campaign to hire former Fletcher staffer Paul Worlie as Vu’s No. 2 if Vu agreed to the deal. He did not, according to his lawsuit.

There has also been a continuing, embarrassing Department of Justice investigation into the workings of the San Diego Association of Governments (SANDAG), of which Vargas was also the chair during what seems to be a generally sloppy term in office.

As the SANDAG board of directors continues to wrestle with the fact that it was kept in the dark about issues related to the state Route 125 tolling system, several members remain suspicious about who else knew about these issues early on. Recent audits completed by SANDAG’s Independent Performance Auditor Courtney Ruby confirmed that agency executives were aware of significant financial reporting issues with operator ETAN Tolling Technologies in mid-2022 but did not tell the board until late 2023.  Ruby’s office also found that when SANDAG rushed into a $28 million sole-source contract with Deloitte and A-To-Be to migrate over the back office system technology earlier this year, the agency failed to ensure that its financial accounting needs would be met.  This oversight created a host of new problems that will extend the timeline for transferring over to the back office system by several months. 

When she was there, I mean.

The chair of the San Diego County Board of Supervisors claimed she had a doctor's appointment when she walked out of a meeting earlier this month and later posted a video on Instagram at a Padres playoff game. However, county records of Supervisor Nora Vargas' calendar obtained by ABC 10News do not show a doctor's appointment on Oct. 8. Vargas moved all of her items to the front of the Oct. 8 meeting agenda and then walked out abruptly in the afternoon, missing a consequential vote on a gun procurement ordinance. Then, she posted a story on her personal Instagram account from Petco Park, celebrating a Fernando Tatis Jr. home run in Game 3 of the National League Division Series.

At the moment, no one is going to be able to catch her in little white lies - she's deleted all her social media accounts. But I have yet to see the Democrat who can stay away from a camera and off the innerwebs for very long. 

They simply haven't the intestinal fortitude to sign off completely. It's like an incurable crack addiction for them.

County Supervisor from San Diego, Nora Vargas, has deleted her Facebook public official page and limited comments on Instagram. She shouldn't be holding office in the first place. #SanDiego #NoraVargas pic.twitter.com/eDgeNJA39N— Nanno (@realnannob) December 20, 2024

With Vargas removing herself so expeditiously, the board is evenly split now. Things may stall, but at least they won't go to complete crap. 

Several level heads are contemplating a run for her seat in the meantime.

One of those fellows is the mayor of El Cajon, who put out this little chat before the board voted for Vargas's Super Sanctuary status.

— Bill Wells (@MayorBillWells) December 9, 2024

I have a feeling he might do pretty well as a rational upgrade after all this...if they give him a chance.

See? Sometimes I can be an optimist.

[libidomechanica]

“Has anybody found”

As from Boreas screen; a third errand sent. Has anybody found. The street, placed or unplaced by their eyes were glowing thrush, that so, some future cordial for a prize so dear. Might cannot hold the humble rug. A horse forsook, a livid Paleness spread a mortal eyes can engagement bare, to dry the roofs of thilke same heart was voluble, still be as the other by choicest wind waved my life and groan’d her Maker praise a Pimple on a beauteous Face, like Swallow swift foot back? And Johnny do, I pray thee gall not harm her prayer he said. She said, and bring sunk chill it hold? Ah for Corks.

[nanshe-of-nina]

Favorite History Books || Conquest: The English Kingdom of France in the Hundred Years’ War by Juliet Barker ★★★☆☆

The Hundred Years’ War is defined in the popular imagination by its great battles. The roll-call of spectacular English victories over the French is a source of literary celebration and national pride and even those who know little or nothing about the period or context can usually recall the name of at least one of the most famous trilogy – Crécy, Poitiers, Agincourt. It is curious therefore that an even greater achievement has been virtually wiped from folk memory. Few people today know that for more than thirty years there was an English kingdom of France. Quite distinct from English Gascony, which had belonged to the kings of England by right of inheritance since the marriage of Eleanor of Aquitaine and Henry II in 1152, the English kingdom was acquired by conquest and was the creation of Henry V.

When he landed a great English army on the beaches of Normandy at the beginning of August 1417 Henry opened up an entirely new phase in the Hundred Years’ War. Never before had an English monarch invaded France with such ambitious plans: nothing less than the wholesale conquest and permanent annexation of Normandy. Yet, after he had achieved this in the space of just two years, the opportunity presented itself to secure a prize to which even his most illustrious ancestor, Edward III, could only aspire: the crown of France itself. On 21 May 1420 Charles VI of France formally betrothed Henry V of England to his daughter and recognised him as his heir and regent of France. In doing so he disinherited his own son and committed both countries to decades of warfare.

By a cruel twist of fate, Henry died just seven weeks before his father-in-law, so it was not the victor of Agincourt but his nine-month- old son, another and much lesser Henry, who became the first (and last) English king of France. Until he came of age and could rule in person, the task of defending his French realm fell to his father’s right-hand men. First and foremost among these was his brother John, duke of Bedford, a committed Francophile who made his home in France and for thirteen years ruled as regent on his nephew’s behalf. His determination to do justice to all, to rise above political faction and, most important of all, to protect the realm by a slow but steady expansion of its borders meant that, at its height, the English kingdom of France extended from the coast of Normandy almost down to the banks of the Loire: to the west it was bounded by Brittany, to the east by the Burgundian dominions, both of which, nominally at least, owed allegiance to the boy-king.

Bedford’s great victory at Verneuil in 1424 seemed to have secured the future of the realm – until the unexpected arrival on the scene of an illiterate seventeen-year-old village girl from the marches of Lorraine who believed she was sent by God to raise the English siege of Orléans, crown the disinherited dauphin as true king of France and drive the English out of his realm.  The story of Jehanne d’Arc – better known to the English-speaking world today as Joan of Arc – is perhaps the most enduringly famous of the entire Hundred Years’ War. The fact that, against all the odds, she achieved two of her three aims in her brief career has raised her to iconic status, but it is the manner of her death, burned at the stake in Rouen by the English administration, which has brought her the crown of martyrdom and literally made her a saint in the Roman Catholic calendar. The terrible irony is that Jehanne’s dazzling achievements obscure the fact that they were of little long-term consequence: a ten-year-old Henry VI was crowned king of France just six months after her death and his kingdom endured for another twenty years.

Of far more consequence to the prosperity and longevity of the English kingdom of France was the defection of the ally who had made its existence possible. Philippe, duke of Burgundy, made his peace with Charles VII in 1435, just days after the death of Bedford. In the wake of the Treaty of Arras much of the English kingdom, including its capital, Paris, was swept away by the reunited and resurgent French but the reconquest stalled in the face of dogged resistance from Normandy and brilliant tactical military leadership from the “English Achilles”, John Talbot. For almost a decade it would be a war of attrition between the two ancient enemies, gains by each side compensating for their losses elsewhere, but no decisive actions tipping the balance of power.

Nevertheless, the years of unremitting warfare had their cost, imposing an unsustainable financial burden on England and Normandy, draining both realms of valuable resources, including men of the calibre of the earls of Salisbury and Arundel, who were both killed in action, and devastating the countryside and economy of northern France. The demands for peace became more urgent and increasingly voluble, though it was not until Henry VI came of age that anyone in England had the undisputed authority to make the concessions necessary to achieve a settlement.

The Truce of Tours, purchased by Henry’s marriage to Marguerite of Anjou, the infamous ‘she-wolf of France’, proved to be a disaster for the English. In his determination to procure peace at any price, the foolish young king secretly agreed to give up a substantial part of his inheritance: the county of Maine would return to French hands without compensation for its English settlers who had spent their lives in its defence.

Worse was to follow, for while the English took advantage of the truce to demobilise and cut taxes, Charles VII used it to rearm and reorganise his armies so that, when he found the excuse he needed to declare that the English had broken its terms, he was ready and able to invade with such overwhelming force that he swept all before him. The English kingdom of France which, against the odds, had survived for three decades, was crushed in just twelve months. 

[antoine-roquentin]

NERVTAG gave no details about where in Kent the variant was first located, but the Covid-19 Genomics UK Consortium said that a key sample came from a patient living ‘near Canterbury’. A medical source, who wanted to stay anonymous, told me that the variant was first identified in Margate and came from someone with a weak immune system. Some in Kent jibbed at the prospect that the new virus would be known to history as ‘the Kent variant’, drawing a parallel with Trump’s ‘China virus’ or the ‘Spanish flu’ that didn’t even come from Spain (it first reached epidemic level in military training camps in the US).

It would be difficult to find a place where coronavirus was more likely to flourish and to enhance its mode of attack than Thanet and Swale. As in much of coastal Britain, few of the towns here are still working ports or seaside resorts. What industry there once was is largely gone, taking with it the few well-paying jobs. Of the fifteen most deprived neighbourhoods in Kent, seven are in Thanet and six in Swale. ‘We lost the mining industry and Ramsgate harbour, which was a big employer,’ the Labour councillor Barry Lewis says, lamenting the repeated blows to Margate over the past forty years. The hotel and tourism industries collapsed ‘when everybody started going abroad for their holidays’. The last big manufacturer in the area was the Pfizer plant near Sandwich, which closed in 2011 with the loss of 1500 jobs. The jobs that remain are often on zero-hours contracts. A map showing areas of maximum deprivation fitted neatly over one showing high rates of viral infection.

Everything about the average working life of someone in Swale or Sheppey puts them at risk. Much of this is to do with the need to go out to work. As Jackie Cassell, a public health specialist at the Brighton and Sussex Medical School who grew up on Sheppey, put it, ‘poverty is a mechanism for increasing social contact.’ People on the island are more likely than the population at large to use public transport to get to work, doing shifts of eight or more hours a day in warehouses or on construction sites. And people with little money are more likely to look after sick or ageing relatives. In a study of working patterns, Cassell found that on average someone who goes out to work has twelve prolonged or close periods of contact with people and seventeen brief or distant ones; those working from home have only two close or prolonged periods of contact and two brief or distant ones.

The effect this has in practice depends on the nature of the job and the employer. Riddell, the railway conductor and trade union official, says that the proportion of train passengers wearing face masks varies from line to line, but the stretch from Sittingbourne to Sheerness on the west side of Sheppey is particularly risky for rail staff because ‘between 50 and 60 per cent of people, mostly the young ones, don’t wear masks.’ As a conductor, he is allowed stay in the front cabin with the driver and doesn’t have to check passengers’ tickets. But Sue Saunders, who works as a cleaner on the trains, has to walk through the carriages spraying sanitiser and cleaning surfaces. ‘We have visors, masks and gloves,’ she says, ‘but we fear for our safety and several of my friends have caught Covid.’ The cleaners are often the only official-looking people on a train and, according to Saunders, are frequently stopped by passengers who want information. She says that sanitising could be done when the trains are standing empty between journeys, but the train companies want passengers to see that the cleaners are at work.

Compliance with restrictions on social interaction largely lapsed over the summer. Sharon Goodyer, who runs the Margate Food Club, says that her volunteers sometimes couldn’t safely distribute food in poor areas because they had to push past people sitting in doorways and mixing in the street. ‘I have a feeling,’ she says, ‘that if this new variant started in Margate, then we earned it.’ But she points out that even poor people need to get outdoors: ‘You can’t be too judgmental if you’re living in a nice house and don’t have mice dying under your chair.’ Barry Lewis mentions one street in Margate with two hundred overcrowded houses where residents rent tiny rooms at high prices. ‘It’s almost a prison, so to get out to the front of the house is your normal way of life and to be stuck in one overcrowded room is not possible.’

The arrival of the variant changed attitudes. Vanessa Crick, a mother of three in Herne Bay, a rundown town on the coast between Swale and Thanet, has two jobs, in the local library and in a supermarket. ‘Since last November,’ she says, ‘more people have started wearing masks because they are frightened for their granddad or their nan.’ Charlotte Cornell, who runs a charity distributing laptops for homeschooling to children in deprived areas, says that none of the families she deals with is cavalier about the virus: ‘They are all terrified of it.’

When public health experts were sent to Kent at the end of last year to investigate the reasons for the local epidemic, they suspected that the spread would be attributable to human actions at home or in the workplace. Everything they knew about the lives of people in Thanet and Swale would favour accelerated transmission of the virus. The physical environment was a factor too: decayed seaside resorts have many former hotels with sea views whose faded grandeur make them ideal for conversion into care homes. Last May, seventeen residents died from Covid-19 in one such care home in Margate, but mass deaths in care homes were a scandal all over Britain and hardly peculiar to Thanet.

A more likely reason for the rapid spread is that many people had good reasons for not getting Covid tests. People who test positive but need to go out to work and won’t get sick pay can’t afford to quarantine. ‘Young males in economically deprived areas do not want to get tested,’ Jackie Cassell says of Swale. She points to a study in Liverpool where only 4 per cent of people in one of the city’s poorest neighbourhoods volunteered for a test. Since the pandemic began, the government has been voluble about the restrictions it has imposed but evasive about how far people comply with them. A study by King’s College London showed that, while 70 per cent of people said they would self-isolate if necessary, only 18 per cent did so.

People not getting tested because they can’t afford to quarantine will keep a low profile. But other groups aren’t keen to catch the attention of anyone in authority. Graham Tegg, the director of the Kent Law Clinic, which provides free legal assistance, says there is ‘an underground system’ of migrant workers, many of whom have lived in Britain for a long time, who want to keep their distance from state institutions. Many of his clients are Czechs, Poles and Roma. Some pick fruit and vegetables or work in packing factories; collected by minivans in the morning, they work for ten hours and come back in the evening in the same van. ‘Three or four of them may be living in the same small room,’ Tegg says, providing perfect conditions for the virus to spread.

But most people in Thanet and Swale are ‘disconnected from authority’, according to Barry Lewis: the only time they see authority in action is when the police stop them doing something they want to do. Some of them are third-generation unemployed whose only prospect for making money is in the black market or the drugs trade – described by one resident as the only growth industry in Thanet. ‘What we have here is a whole community who have no investment in society at all,’ Sharon Goodyer says. ‘What do they owe anybody? They don’t. They don’t have a decent education, a decent home, a decent job. Why should they behave responsibly?’

[sehnsuchts-trunken]

Hi!!! May I request a Maze Runner and Shadow and Bone matchup with male preference?

20, Southeast Asian, Libra, Biromantic Pansexual and Genderfluid, and Ravenclaw. I have a short bob cut hair and brown eyes standing 5'1" in height, and my sense of fashion is in between soft grunge and soft punk with Korean inspired makeup.

I described myself as firey, confident, voluble, and passionate that appears to be infuriating from displaying an unfiltered mouth who's dauntless on my own and an erudite, that happens to overthink a lot and cry over small things, a single mistake in big plans leads to probe even more. Mildly eccentric in a good way brought by my household possessing a childish nature in my thoughts and in my ways, but holds an unorthodox mind that's capable to generate ideas in a jiff. The extent, I'm a genuine person that seems to be at ease all the time, deals with whatever bothers my and stands my ground boldly, at first my closed-off, timid, and introverted but once people get to know me, I'm completely open, intelligent, sarcastic, humorous, clumsy, and buoyant friend who sets a good mood and loves to help even she's already have a lot on her plate, have a have a soft spot for dumb jokes, cheesy pickup lines and prefer people with a good sense of humour who see her as equal. My beliefs and sense of justice are both incredibly strong, thus, I have a firm political opinion and well educated on topics that interested me, deeply immersive to her religion brought by the teachings of my school that helps to find purpose in spite of circumstances battering. One notable feature about myself is her multi-potentiality due to being naturally gifted in creative fields, it could expand more if I try to explore further. Despite she lacks of value in time, I knows what she's doing yet she decided not to initiate it unbothered on what people initiates.

second christmas matchup this year! if you want one yourself, check my christmas special!! and a big thanks to all you lovely people who have already sent in their requests, i'll make sure to answer every one of you, please don't mind the wait <3

I ship you with...

Minho!

- You knew instantly that Minho was just your type, mostly because the first thing he did, as he always does, was crack the worst joke you’d heard yet. And it wasn’t even the worst of his that he continued to try and annoy you with. He always has a smirk on his face, never as much as leaving for the maze without another of those idiotic pick up lines, just a tad too cheesy to quite be sweet, and just a lot too stupid to be anything but a laugh. And he enjoys your sarcastic replies, too. You might not be as sassy as him, but you’re a good deal closer than any of the other guys, and don’t you think he doesn’t notice. There’s times the two of you go back and forth hitting each other with the most sarcastic teases you can think of, and quite a few of those conversation have ended in day long battles of bad humour. 

- Minho absolutely admires the way you can stand up for yourself and your beliefs. Not once has he seen you retreat, and rarely you’re in the wrong. You’re confident, and he likes it. Almost as much as he enjoys your hot-headedness. He’s quite one himself, and watching your fierce, confident and quick replies always reminds him that no matter how fragile you can be on the inside sometimes, you’re just as much made out of stone and battle armoury. 

- But when you do feel like crying, he’s always by your side to comfort you. He may be as bold and as determined as you, but he understands well when you need to cry, and never would he leave you alone in times like those. He makes sure to keep you occupied, telling you a dumb pun you’ve heard him say the fifth time by now, to get you to laugh and forget whatever it was that made you upset. Even if you are triggered by small things, he never makes fun of it, though he does not understand as well as others do, Newt, for example, and he really tries doing his best in helping you out. 

- For some reason, you warmed up to him from the start. It could’ve been his attitude, his frequent teasing and not once leaving you alone until you’d opened up to him, but as much as you perhaps would have liked him to stay away, you did soon find yourself falling for him. He’d always liked challenges, and when you turned up, laughing with your close friends the way you never did with others, he decided you were more than worthy of his best hidden jokes and puns. 

and I ship you with... 

Jesper!

(you hadn’t specified whether to use series or book characters, but either way i quickly settled <3)

- Jesper never seems to take anything the tiniest bit seriously, and as much as it infuriates you sometimes, you’re more than drawn to him just because of it. He has the best humour you’ve ever met a person with, and his puns always lighten your mood no matter what. He somehow has a sixth sense for those things, because especially in moments you’re feeling down he’ll come up to you, nudge you with an elbow and recite the same old joke again he’s made at least a dozen times already. 

- Once you allow him to meet your creative side, he never lets it go again. He’s constantly teasing you, but you know that it’s his way of showing appreciation - and he does that, too. He absolutely admires how talented you are in what you do, and he would not hesitate to use his guns on whoever dared to say otherwise. As would the others, but everyone is fairly certain that Jesper would somehow manage to be the first one there through whatever means. 

- He always has your back. You could say whatever and he would support you. He knows that you’re smart, smarter than he is, though he would never admit it, and he knows just as well that you’re very much capable of shutting people up. He loves when you let your fierce side take over, being the hothead that you are, and boldly state your opinion, not caring at all who it is you’re speaking to. More than once have you picked a fight with Kaz because you did not see something the way he did, especially with your strong sense of justice. It’s not that your moral compass were too high to keep the crows around, just that they sometimes debated things you simply weren’t too fond of. 

- Jesper enjoys it a lot, too, when you start throwing your sarcastic comments at people, specifically when you’re too pissed off to care. Usually you’re at ease and he’s content when you are, but something about your bitter side is highly amusing to him as long as it’s aimed at other people. Kaz in particular. You never once back down, and it just so happens that what you decide holds true for Jesper as well, so when Kaz wants things done, he needs your approval - and that isn’t the easiest to gain. You find yourself arguing and verbally hitting each other with sarcastic comment after sarcastic comment more than often enough, and Jesper both admires your quick wit and the way you don’t take shit from anyone, not even Kaz himself. 

thanks for requesting <3

[pollylynn]

Title: A Trembling Of  WC: 1800

“How’s that for love?”  — Tildy Maguire, For Better or Worse (6 x 23) 

He loves her and he fears her. These are the anchoring points of their relationship—the anchoring points of his whole world, these days, and three words from a city employee should not be able to pry them up and set the two of them adrift. Proof of divorce? Nothing in this or any other universe should be able to pry them up and set the two of them adrift, and yet here they are. He loves her no less—he could never love her any less—but right now, he fears for her, and that is a rip in the very fabric of reality. But how can he do otherwise? 

Here she is, silent in the back of the cab.  She has not said—will not say—one word as they lurch their way through the horrors of late afternoon traffic in Manhattan, and he’d like to think it’s the inadequate privacy offered by the plexiglass barrier that has sealed her lips. He’d like to believe that she’s so enchanted by the memory of the days when Paul Sorvino or Joe Torre or Eartha Kitt reminded New York taxi passengers to buckle up, take their belongings, get a receipt before exiting the back seat, she has nothing to say about the present. He’d like to believe that three words from a city employee have not fundamentally altered her lovable, fear-inspiring self, and yet . . . 

Here she is, finally home, and yet there is nothing like relief here. There is nothing like relief anywhere in sight. Here she is with her head in her hands, and they’re telling his mother, they’re telling his daughter, because they kind of have to tell them. They very probably are kind of going to have to tell everyone, but this tiny test balloon at him is so awful. 

His mother—she of the child-producing one-night stand with a probable sociopath is volubly incredulous: Who is Rogan O’Leary? His daughter—she of the lease with the bee-counting, continent-hopping, passport-losing peace disturbing Pi is volubly appalled: And you married him? He of an untold number of colossal mistakes in the personal and professional realms, in the public eye and in private, is damnably smug: And here I thought you were a one and done kind of girl.

He regrets it the instant it’s out of his mouth. He bounces around the tattered remnants of reality. He goes back in time and regrets it, except there is a moment, there is an instant, there is the merest spark of absolute fury behind her eyes, and he feels the world come right. He feels reality knitting itself back up again. He feels himself quaking in his bespoke boots, secure in the knowledge that she will make him pay, and he is fine with that. He is absolutely fine.  

He loves her and he fears her, these are the anchors of his entire world, gloriously restored, and that is just as it should be. 

*****************************

He loves her and he fears her and he loves her just that little bit more when everything fearsome about her is directed at someone else. Oh, how he loves being able to watch the fireworks from minimum safe distance, so he’s excited when she sets off for Willow Creek. He’s racked with guilt and uncertainty, too, because she’s going alone and he worries that it’s self-flagellation—that it’s an occasion to be afraid for her—but ultimately, he’s excited. 

She is determined when she leaves. She has her keys clutched in her fist and she won’t take an overnight bag. 

“Not even a toothbrush?” He turns up the innocence. It’s a calculated risk. It’s more fuel for the fire that burning in her, fierce and bright now, and it works.

“Not. Even. A toothbrush.” She enunciates each and every letter. She grabs the front of his shirt with her free hand and reels him in until they’re sharing air molecules. “Won’t need it.”

And then she’s gone, but not gone. 

She is on the other end of the phone as soon as she has hunted down her soon-but-not-soon-enough-to-be ex. She is fierce, roaring as she rails against the stupidity of the quest he’s sent her on. 

“Like he’s the damned Wizard of Oz,” she snarls.

“More like the Wizard of Id,” he quips. He’s thinking about being eighteen and all primitive instinct. He’s thinking about drunken nights on the strip and impulse weddings. He’s not really thinking, and it’s fuel for the fire. He swears she’s scorched his ear, she’s scorched the whole side of his brain closest to the phone, so maybe that’s a little too much fuel. 

Except he thinks that might be what sustains her through the abduction of Rogan, through the indifference and grudging pity of the local constabulary. He tells himself on his own frantic drive up to Willow Creek that he’s managed to make her spitting mad enough that she’s not sitting there, alone, with her head in her hands. 

It’s true. It’s mostly true that she’s down to embers when he gets there, but there’s more than enough Logan-related fury to go around. There’s coma wife and the sheer madness of digging through his pornographic electronic mash notes. There are bikers and strippers and a murderous mob boss. There is an entire Logan-based mad, mad, mad, mad world and she is definitely mad about it. 

She is quick thinking and—other than a few slightly moist moments about the dress—she is laser focused on getting this done. She is mean to Logan, and after the whole Man Parts contretemps, that is a delight and a turn on and the world turning beautifully on its axis precisely as it should turn. 

She is a warrior goddess, hell bent on marrying him—him—and he is blown away by that honor and privilege.

He loves her. He fears her. He’s going to marry her. 

*********************

He loves her. He just loves her. It’s hard for them to part ways in stupid Willow Creek, but there’s really nothing for it. She has her car, and he has his. He has to get to the city. He has to start the paperwork on its warp speed journey through the system, and she has to get to the Hamptons to figure out what she’s going to wear. 

“I’m all for nothing at—“ 

She cuts that off with a twist of his ear that takes him right back to the beginning—right back to when she was Our Lady of Smug, patron saint of the One and Done Girl—and that makes it really hard to part ways, because he would love to get in some last-minute fear and trembling in one back seat or the other before she makes an honest man of him. He really would but there’s just no time. He has to settle for backing her up hard against the driver’s side door of her car and kissing the life out of her. He has to settle for the same as she backs him up hard against the passenger side door of his car where it’s pulled up alongside hers. They have to settle for peeling their bodies apart, breathless, eager, and reluctant, all at once. 

“Be safe,” she breathes, her forehead pressed against his. “Hurry, but be safe.” 

“You, too.” He steals one last kiss, then hurries around the hood to slide behind the wheel, to get on with it. 

He’s not three miles down the road when his phone rings through the car’s bluetooth. He feels an eager grin spread across his face as he thumbs the button. “Miss me already?” 

“No,” she retorts immediately, adamantly. “Yes,” she admits slowly, reluctantly. “Shut up,” she orders, shooting an arrow of fear right through his heart, though it softens—it downright melts—when she adds, “Keep me company.” 

He does. He keeps her company, though there’s not a lot of heavy lifting involved. She wants to talk—a positivity rarity for her—and other than her, there’s little he loves more in this stitched-up, much-mended reality than to listen when the mood strikes her. So he listens as she wanders far and wide, as she roams through the month or so of Rogan, and when the time is right, he is going to have so many follow-up questions about where Eddie Vedder’s jean jacket wound up and exactly how far she can chuck a hoagie while running down the strip full tilt. 

It’s not all fun and games, though. How could it be? But it’s okay. He loves her. He loves her, and when it comes to the place where this was always leading, he’s there. He’s on the other end of the phone. He’s listening. 

“I was married then. When my mom died.” Her voice is even. It’s controlled, though he can hear her heaving a shaky sigh. “I told her the whole saga.” Another shaky sigh.”Almost the whole saga with Rogan. We laughed about it.” There’s a silence long enough that he’s worried the call has dropped, but her voice fills up the speakers again. “I feel like I have to . . . confess to her or something. Give her a chance to say I told you so. I feel like I owe her that.” 

It’s a heartsore place for things to land. He doesn’t have a joke or anything gallant locked and loaded, but that doesn’t feel right anyway. He’d tear another hole in the fabric of reality if he could. He’d give her closure. He will give her closure if he can—a trip to her mom’s grave with her hand in his, a letter written and burned, its ashes scattered on the wind, whatever she wants, he’ll do. 

“I’m okay, Castle,” she says quietly, she says knowing he was wondering. “Really.” 

“I know you are,” he says, and it’s true. “I’m glad you are.” 

That’s true, too, in the most comprehensive sense. He is glad she’s okay. He is glad of whoever, whatever, however she is in any given moment.  

He hears the road beneath his own tires, the road beneath hers. She stays on the line, though she is quiet now and a little sad. She wants things he can’t give her—he hasn’t yet devised a way to give her—and that’s a little maddening. But she is more than okay, and he is more than okay with that. She is fierce and fear-inducing and lonely for her mom and a little bit raw right now.

He loves her and he fears her. He has the twin anchors for his whole world on the other end of the line. That’s as it should be.

A/N: A group of finches is called a trembling. That is a thing. This is not a thing. It is an uneven atrocity, not a thing. 

images via homeofthenutty

[laannie0803]

Ser Aegor Ríos fue el hijo bastardo del rey Aegon IV Targaryen y Lady Barba Bracken, siendo uno de los Grandes Bastardos. En su emblema personal combinó el semental rojo de la Casa Bracken con alas negras de dragón de la Casa Fuegoscuro, en campo dorado. Debido a su maestría con la espada se ganó el apodo de Aceroamargo.

Aegor nació quince días antes de que la reina Naerys Targaryen diera a luz a mellizos y quedara al borde la muerte; cuando la reina se recuperó de sus problemas de salud, los príncipes Daeron y Aemon obligaron a Aegon IV a enviar a Barba y al niño bastardo a Seto de Piedra.

Aegor estuvo enfadado toda su vida, pero odiaba especialmente a su medio hermano Brynden Ríos y a la madre de éste, que había reemplazado a su propia madre como favorita de su padre. Odió aun más a Cuervo de Sangre cuando su medio hermana, Shiera Estrellademar, le prefirió antes que a él. Su otro medio hermano, Ser Daemon Fuegoscuro, accedió a casar a su hija Calha con Aegor. Aceroamargo a menudo presionaba a Ser Daemon para que reclamara el Trono de Hierro para sí, pues este último había recibido la espada Fuegoscuro del propio rey Aegon IV.

En la Primera Rebelión Fuegoscuro en 196 d.C., Aegor unió fuerzas con su medio hermano Daemon Fuegoscuro contra el rey Daeron II Targaryen. Durante la Batalla del Prado Hierbarroja, Aegor comandó el flanco derecho de Daemon I.

Para evitar una derrota estrepitosa a pesar de la muerte de Daemon I, Ser Aegor reunió a sus tropas y cargó contra los Picos de Cuervo, la compañía arquera de Ser Brynden Ríos. Aunque Aegor le sacó un ojo a Cuervo de Sangre durante el duelo que tuvieron, finalmente huyó del campo de batalla. Se las arregló para recuperar Fuegoscuro, la espada de Daemon, y huyó de Poniente hacia la Ciudad Libre de Tyrosh con la esposa de Daemon I, Rohanne, y los hijos restantes.

Ser Aegor dejó a sus sobrinos a cargo de los partidarios exiliados de Daemon y se enlistó con los Segundos Hijos, compañía que poco después dejaría para crear la Compañía Dorada, en un intento de frenar la pérdida del apoyo de los Fuegoscuro debido a que los otros señores exiliados se enlistaban en otras compañías mercenarias. A pesar del conocido carácter voluble de los mercenarios, la Compañía Dorada tiene la reputación de nunca haber roto un contrato; su lema tiene huellas de su fundador: "Bajo el oro, el acero amargo".

La reputación de la Compañía Dorada se estableció rápidamente cuando Qohor se negó a cumplir con el contrato que habían realizado con la compañía. Los mercenarios de la Compañía Dorada saquearon Qohor como respuesta a su negativa.

La Compañía Dorada se involucró notablemente en las siguientes rebeliones de los Pretendientes Fuegoscuro. Por razones desconocidas, Aceroamargo no apoyó a Daemon II Fuegoscuro durante la Segunda Rebelión Fuegoscuro. Sin embargo, más tarde sí participó en las sucesivas rebeliones. Durante la tercera donde volvió a verse las caras contra Cuervo de Sangre, fue hecho prisionero en la Fortaleza Roja, recibiendo la misericordia por parte de Aerys I Targaryen de ser enviado al Muro. Durante el camino, Aceroamargo sería interceptado por los barcos de la Compañía Dorada por Guardiaoriente del Mar. Tiempo después, volvería a liderar una nueva rebelión a la cabeza de la Compañía Dorada, en la cual volvió a fracasar y a verse obligado a huir travesando el Mar Angosto.

Unos pocos años después de la derrota en la Cuarta Rebelión Fuegoscuro, Aceroamargo reapareció en las Tierras de la Discordia, donde caería finalmente durante una escaramuza entre Tyrosh y Myr.

Antes de morir, Aegor ordenó a los hombres de la Compañía Dorada que hirvieran la carne de su cráneo, lo chaparan en oro y lo llevaran frente a ellos cuando cruzaran el Mar Angosto para reconquistar Poniente. Los comandantes sucesores han seguido su ejemplo.

Al final termino perdiendo la guerra, por sus celos, intereses y sus (yo lo veo así) ansias de ser el, el rey o heredero (como siempre quiso su madre). No dudaría que al final si ganaban la guerra trataría de matar a los herederos de Daemon para ser el sucesor.

Ser Aegor Ríos was the bastard son of King Aegon IV Targaryen and Lady Barba Bracken, being one of the Great Bastards. In his personal emblem he combined the red stallion of House Bracken with black dragon wings of House Darkfire, in a golden field. Due to his mastery of the sword, he earned the nickname Bitter Steel.

Aegor was born fifteen days before Queen Naerys Targaryen gave birth to twins and was on the brink of death; When the queen recovered from her health problems, princes Daeron and Aemon forced Aegon IV to send Barba and the bastard child to Stone Seto.

Aegor was angry all his life, but he especially hated his half-brother Brynden Ríos and his mother, who had replaced his own mother as his father's favorite. He hated Blood Raven even more when his half-sister, Shiera Estrellademar, preferred him to him. His other half-brother, Ser Daemon Darkfire, agreed to marry his daughter Calha to Aegor. Bittersteel often pressured Ser Daemon to claim the Iron Throne for himself, for the latter had received the sword of Darkfire from King Aegon IV himself.

In the First Blackfire Rebellion in 196 AD, Aegor joined forces with his half-brother Daemon Blackfire against King Daeron II Targaryen. During the Battle of the Redgrass Meadow, Aegor commanded Daemon I's right flank.

To avoid a resounding defeat despite the death of Daemon I, Ser Aegor rallied his troops and charged at the Raven Peaks, Ser Brynden Rios' archery company. Although Aegor gouged out Blood Raven's eye during their duel, he eventually fled the battlefield. He managed to retrieve Daemon's sword, Darkfire, and fled Westeros for the Free City of Tyrosh with Daemon I's wife, Rohanne, and the remaining children.

Ser Aegor left his nephews in charge of Daemon's exiled supporters and enlisted with the Second Sons, a company he would leave shortly after to create the Golden Company, in an attempt to stem the loss of support from the Darkfires due to the others. Exiled lords enlisted in other mercenary companies. Despite the known fickleness of mercenaries, the Golden Company has a reputation for never having broken a contract; its motto has traces of its founder: "Under the gold, the bitter steel".

The reputation of the Golden Company was quickly established when Qohor refused to fulfill the contract they had made with the company. Mercenaries from the Golden Company looted Qohor in response to his refusal.

The Golden Company became notably involved in the subsequent rebellions of the Darkfire Pretenders. For unknown reasons, Bittersteel did not support Daemon II Darkfire during the Second Darkfire Rebellion. However, later he did participate in successive rebellions. During the third where they again saw the faces against Blood Raven, he was taken prisoner in the Red Keep, receiving mercy from Aerys I Targaryen to be sent to the Wall. Along the way, Aceroamargo would be intercepted by the ships of the Compañía Dorada by Guardiaoriente del Mar. Some time later, he would lead a new rebellion at the head of the Compañía Dorada, in which he failed again and was forced to flee across the Sea. Narrow.

A few years after the defeat in the Fourth Blackfire Rebellion, Bittersteel reappeared in the Discordlands, where he would finally fall during a skirmish between Tyrosh and Myr.

Before dying, Aegor ordered the men of the Golden Company to boil the flesh on his skull, gold-plated it, and carry it in front of them as they crossed the Narrow Sea to reconquer Westeros. Successor commanders have followed suit.

In the end I end up losing the war, because of his jealousy, interests and his (I see it that way) eagerness to be him, the king or heir (as his mother always wanted). He would not doubt that in the end if they won the war he would try to kill Daemon's heirs to be the successor.

[gentlejack]

@toendwar​​ sent: ✪ Rubbing their back after a stressful day or disappointment. Acts of Affection ( always accepting tbh ! )

      Not EVERY day gives rise to volubility --- some are reserved for quietude and all the introspection necessary to conduct a proper business amidst the maws of incessant rivalry. The evening - dismal enough in its own draughty, soaked-through ways already - has seen Anne in an uncharacteristic decline of spirits, stinting on words as though each syllable equalled another jab to her wallet and brooding most indecorously over Shibden’s weak-spined account book at the dinner table. Now, by candle-light, bent low across her desk so as to decipher even the oddest ink-scribble on the yellowed pages, her drudgery continues: cipher after cipher, letter upon letter are stacked atop one another in her dogged mind, until her task begins to resemble a clownish juggling act rather than a monetary calculation. 

       She disentangles her attention only once a well-known hand wanders across her stiffened back.  “ Mm. ”  

       Quite the greeting, this miserly grumble of hers! Of course, this shall not do: when, pray, have finances gained mastery over her appreciation of female companionship?! Lifting her gaze from her evening perusal, Anne permits herself the indulgence of tilting her head into Diana’s side, nose brushing gratefully across her lover’s finely arched ribs. She rounds her shoulders into the touch with a rare greed for work-time affection, inviting the kind fingers beneath her partially open-laced corset. How does the girl do it? One caress suffices to ignite Anne’s nerves with the most amorous shivers --- a welcome delight for the most part, yet also an insurmountable distraction from duty’s stern beckoning. Well! Perhaps she shall give responsibility the boot for a minute, closing the account-tome with a dust-swirling whoomph and sneaking an apologetic arm around Diana’s middle. 

      “ I have been NOTHING but a great noodle today, haven’t I? Such a bore! You must be ever so tired of my company - do forgive me, my princess. Hmm - ! Might we not have some enjoyment and test my blade against yours once more? ” The spark returns into her labour-dulled eyes, the smile onto her lips -- then she jumps to her feet and away from the soothing massage, clutching Diana’s hands within her own and pulling her halfway across the room in her sudden enthusiasm. “ I have made a grand improvement since our last little tournament -- I believe I am ALMOST as good as you with a sword now, or indeed better! ”

[amphibious-thing]

[The next morning] Maj North and I parted, myself regretting much the want of his company, as he and I had traveled some time and a great ways together, and I never in my life experienced a more agreeable traveling companion; from the great fund of humor, good sense, pertinent remarks, and volubility of words, he made himself agreeable to all around him, and passed away the tedious days in coming up the river all the way from the falls of Ohio in perfect pleasantry.

Diary of Major Erkuries Beatty

William North was Inspector General from 17 April 1784 - 28th Oct 1787. In 1786 he was sent to inspect troops in Ohio. He traveled for sometime with Major Erkuries Beatty who was paymaster in the western army.

[nexhqs]

𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐍𝐄𝐗, 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐒! You’ve been accepted as the new human, Wolfgang Baek ( Steven Yeun ) and posessed human, Muriel Stafford ( Aubrey Plaza )in town. Please have your account sent in within twenty-four hours, and the main will send you a discord link shortly.

🥀 — ( STEVEN YEUN, AGENDER, HE/THEY ) You’re looking for WOLFGANG BAEK? Town as small as this, you’re bound to find them — the thirty-seven year old Human and podcast host with an unadulterated love for Dario Argento films, his Super 8 camera, and Chicken McNuggets is easy to spot. With Charles Manson’s Look At Your Game, Girl set as the soundtrack of their stroll, everyone can see clear as day that they’re meddlesome, and yet voluble. I just hope you’re finding them for the right reasons … ( MADS, TWENTY-THREE, SHE/THEY, GMT+1 )

🥀 — ( AUBREY PLAZA, AGENDER, SHE/THEY ) You’re looking for MURIEL STAFFORD? Town as small as this, you’re bound to find them — the thirty-five year old Possessed Human and journalist with an unadulterated love for impromptu road trips, take-out delivery food, and Burt’s Bees pomegranate lip balm is easy to spot. With Santana’s She’s Not There set as the soundtrack of their stroll, everyone can see clear as day that they’re aloof, and yet perspicacious. I just hope you’re finding them for the right reasons … ( MADS, TWENTY-THREE, SHE/THEY, GMT+1 )

[cl-assy-methbaby]

so my boss told my colleague that he wants me to be more “voluble” so i’ve sent him a dozen emails today and he hasn’t responded to a single one.

i will play your games bro, and i will win sometimes most of the time. 

[bookmawkish]

"Love Me" our OTP again, since we keep putting them through stuff XD

Saved it for Valentine’s Day <3

When Bruce opens his door in the morning, hefinds his doorway almost entirely filled with stuffed bear. It says somethingabout Bruce Banner and his lifestyle that he reacts very little: his eyeswiden, and he rubs at them once or twice, but this is due more to the earlyhour than any real surprise.

Clint Barton’s face appears, framed by pinkplush, at the gap where the bear’s head joins its shoulder.

“You got a bear,” he says, perhaps redundantly.“I didn’t get a bear.”

“What did you get?”

“Bamboo. Six foot bamboo canes in a pot. Buttied with a red ribbon.” Clint pushes the bear’s arm down so he can look atBruce more easily, completely straightfaced. “What do you think of your bear?”

Bruce gives this important question dueconsideration.

“I’m glad it isn’t green?”

Clint nods solemnly, then withdraws. The bearimmediately springs back to fill the available space like a giant pinkmarshmallow. The faint strains of Donny Osmond singing “Puppy Love” filter downfrom the direction of the main lounge area, and there’s a subtle but definitescent of roses suffusing the corridor.

Bruce takes a deep breath and lets it outslowly. It’s going to be a long day, he can just tell.

Tony is very excited, which to Bruce is thefirst biggest indication that the whole bear thing is a Starkism as opposed toa Lokism. It’s always a close-run contest, when things are afoot at AvengersTower - does the fault lie with the god, or the engineer?

The walls and couches in the lounge weren’tpink. Again, everything pointed to Tony. Loki would have gone the whole extramile. There probably would have been actual rosebushes taking root in thefloor. Not to say that there won’t be at some point.

“Brucie-bear! No, seriously, did you like thebear? It was Hulk-sized. I mean actually to scale. I sent the precisemeasurements to the company, they were thrilled to get it, I think they -”

Engineer confirmed.

“It’s awesome, Tony,” says Bruce, getting histea tin out of the cupboard. Somehow he isn’t surprised that the sugar in thesugarbowl is tinted vaguely pink. “So, Valentine’s Day, huh? Didn’t know it wasa favourite of yours.”

Tony doesn’t respond immediately, and shufflesa little, which gives Bruce pause.

“Is this anything to do with you not givingPepper a -”

“No,” Tony shoots back, sticking his hands inhis pockets. “I just wanted to do something normal. For everyone.”

Bruce wonders in which world orderingHulk-sized teddybears and ramming them into your room-mate’s doorway isconsidered normal, but he doesn’t say anything. Because he knows what Tonymeans. Virtually nothing they do is normal by regular people standards.Sometimes it’s nice to pretend that they’re just Tony and Bruce, regular guysin a house-share doing regular stupid people things on regular stupid peopleholidays. Even if that means giant bears and pink sugar and Donny Osmond. Hestirs his tea and feels oddly content.

“I guess that means we’re watching TheNotebook tonight.”

Tony makes a face.

“When Harry Met Sally?”

“Better. Not good. But better. Only You.And I got Ben and Jerrys to make an ice cream. With pie.”

Bruce looks up as his attention is caught by ahitherto unnoticed spray of paper hearts fluttering gently in the air-con. Itturns out the ceiling is covered in them, a net of glittering red that sparklesand glimmers at every slight movement of air.

“You know,” he says, “you’ve done a great job.Thanks.”

He knows he’s said the right thing when Tonybeams. Because Tony - and Howard must take a huge part of the responsibilityfor this - is very susceptible to approval and validation from others. SeeingTony happy is important. To forestall any unwanted introspection, however, hechanges the subject again.

“I kind of don’t want to ask, but should weexpect any grand, dangerously magical gestures from the godly half of our onlyreal full-time couple? I mean, is the kitchen suddenly going to be full ofunicorns or anything?”

Tony shrugs. “Well, they’re both enormousdivas. I’m pretty sure if Heckyl doesn’t get at least a pound box of specialimport Godiva to work his way through, he’s gonna raise hell. And you know Lokican’t resist a grand gesture. I’m not ruling anything out.”

“Very wise.” Bruce sips his tea, then thephrasing of a previous statement turns round and slugs him in the brain. “Waita minute. You got them to make an ice cream? You mean a brand new one,don’t you…wasn’t Stark Raving Hazelnuts enough?”

“Nope,” says Tony, happily. “Not now I can haveI, Tony, Have Pies For You.”

As it happens, Tony and Bruce are both destinedto be disappointed: there are to be no unicorns in the kitchen. Loki and Heckylare in Loki’s room, and in fact having a difference of opinion - although it isat least Valentine’s Day related.

“Today?”

“Yes, today.”

Loki doesn’t mention the “Mister and Mister”matched ceramic cat ornaments he found outside the door on his way back fromthe kitchen earlier. Like Bruce, he suspects he knows very well who is to blamefor this and will take suitable vengeance at an appropriate point. He’s good atvengeance: where deserved, of course, because he’s theoretically a good personnow. And it’s certainly deserved in Stark’s case - those cats are hideous. Notto mention the fact that the kitchen ceiling is shedding glitter like ahyperactive toddler at craft club and Loki now has sparkly hair.

Heckyl, who is sat on the floor with a StarkPadin his hands, flipping through trash on the internet, looks up at him.

“They only have the one day here where theylove each other? Ugh. Weird.”

“Not exactly. They have the one day where eachparty is manipulated into doing things or buying things for the other by thestrategic application of guilt and emotional pressure.”

Heckyl gives him a look.

“Well, that sounds more normal,” hesays, and Loki laughs. “So? Did you buy me anything or do I need to start onthe manipulation right away?”

“I didn’t buy you anything.”

“Heartless.”

“I don’t have to buy you anything.”

“Rude.”

Loki gets down onthe floor and settles himself comfortably next to Heckyl. Without asking, hereaches out and takes the tablet from his hands (Heckyl complains loudly, butdoes not resist all that much) and sets it aside. When Heckyl playfully makes agrab for it, Loki catches his wrists instead, pulls him in against his chest,then very deliberately presses the flat of his palm against the man’s forehead.And the world goes away.

I got you this instead, saysLoki.

Suddenly it’s years ago, inside their heads. A time only afew weeks after Loki had met Heckyl and released him from that cage. They’dbeen sat together in some dive bar on a planet even Loki didn’t recall the nameof, and nothing at all of any importance or annoyance had been happening. Whichmade a change, frankly, considering that their lives since they’d met had beena riot of activity, chaos and (quite often) getting shouted at by rulingauthorities.

This was the first time we stopped to drawbreath.

They’d been left pretty much to themselves: even in a divebar it had been very clear that they were the most lethal thing in the area. Ithad been quiet, the only other patrons huddled in their own dark corners,hiding from their own crimes or demons. Heckyl had a small bruise just over hiseye, the result of a narrow escape from a stoning. And Loki had got up, headingto the counter to get food and as he went past -

It didn’t mean anything, saysHeckyl, defensive to the last.  

It meant everything, countersLoki. This was it. This was when I should have known.

- just reached out instinctively and brushed a fingertipover that bruise. Nothing suggestive, nothing sexual, a single touch.

There’d been gripped hands before, taking the other‘sweight when climbing. Helping hands, to get the other back on their feet.Defensive hands, raised in violence to protect the other. There had been allthis prior instinctive motion, without conscious thought driving it: this is mycompanion, my ally. We help each other.

But there had not been this.

Heckyl turns, his eyes wide, to watch Loki as he walksaway. His expression is caught perfectly between shock, confusion and hunger:there’s an intense and obvious vulnerability to him in that moment. It’s clearhe doesn’t understand what just happened at all, but equally clear that hewants more of whatever the hell that just was with every fibre of his being. Healmost quivers.  Loki does notlook back at him, all the dark angularity of his long leather clad spine turnedtowards him.

This is when I think you knew.

Loki pulls back his hand, and they’re both back in hisroom, still sat on the floor. Heckyl breathes out, shuddering.

“How did you - how did you do that?” he asks. “How?You didn’t even know. You couldn’t have seen.”

“I didn’t have to see it in you to know,” Loki says. “I sawit in me.”

He pauses, noting that for once the notoriously volubleHeckyl has nothing to say, then adds: “Oh. And you also get these cats.”

He summons the pair of ceramic monstrosities between themwith a flick of his fingers, and chuckles with satisfaction at the sound ofshattering as Heckyl jumps him.