#so i like to read about the reformation in october when i can

[queenlucythevaliant]

Clad in Justice and Worth

Written for the Inklings Challenge 2023 (@inklings-challenge). Inspired by the lives of Jeanne d'Albret and Marguerite de Navarre, although numerous liberties have been taken with the history in the name of introducing fantastical elements and telling a good story. The anglicization of names (Jeanne to Joan and Marguerite to Margaret) is meant to reflect the fictionalization of these figures.

The heat was unbearable, and it would grow only hotter as they descended into the lowlands. It was fortunate, Joan decided, that Navarre was a mountain country. It was temperate, even cold there in September. It would be sweltering by the sea.

The greater issue ought to have been the presence of Monluc, who would cut Joan’s party off at the Garonne River most like. The soldiers with whom she traveled were fierce, but Monluc had an entire division at the Garrone. Joan would be a prisoner of war if Providence did not see her through. Henry, perhaps, might suffer worse. He might be married to a Catholic princess.

Yet Joan was accustomed to peril. She had cut her teeth on it. Her first act as queen, some twenty years ago, had been to orchestrate the defense of her kingdom, and she was accustomed to slipping through nets and past assassins. The same could not be said of the infernal heat, which assaulted her without respite. Joan wore sensible travel clothing, but the layers of her skirts were always heavy with sweat. A perpetual tightness sat in her chest, the remnant of an old bout with consumption, and however much she coughed it would not leave.

All the same, it would not do to seem less than strong, so she hid the coughing whenever she could. The hovering of her aides was an irritant and she often wished she could just dismiss them all.

“How fare you in the heat, Majesty?”

“I have war in my gut, Clemont,” Joan snapped. “Worry not for me. If you must pester someone, pester Henry.”

He nodded, chastened. “A messenger is here from Navarre. Sent, I suspect, to induce you to return hence.”

“I would not listen to his birdcalls.”

“Young Henry said much the same.”

Joan stuffed down her irritation that Clemont had gone to Henry before he’d come to her. She was still queen, even if her son was rapidly nearing his majority. “Tell him that if the Huguenot leaders are to be plucked, I think it better that we all go together. Tell him that I would rather my son and I stand with our brothers than await soldiers and assassins in our little kingdom.”

Her aide gave a stiff nod. “At once, your Majesty.”

She would breathe easier when they reached the host at La Rochelle. Yet then, there would be more and greater work to do. There would be war, and Joan would be at the head of it.

*

When she awoke in the night, Joan knew at once that something was awry. It was cool. Gone was the blistering heat that had plagued them all day. Perhaps one of the kidnapping plots had finally succeeded.

Certainly, it seemed that way. She was in a cell, cool and dank and no more than six paces square. And yet—how strange! —the door was open.

Rising unsteadily to her feet, Joan crept towards the shaft of moonlight that fell through it. She glanced about for guards, but saw only a single prisoner in dirty clothes standing just beyond the threshold. He was blinking rapidly, as though the very existence of light bewildered him. Then, as Joan watched, he crept forward towards the gate of the jailhouse and out into the free air beyond. Joan listened for a long moment, trying to hear if there was any commotion at the prisoner’s emergence. When she could perceive none, she followed him out into the cool night air.

A lantern blazed. “Come quickly,” a voice hissed. “Our friend the Princess is waiting.”

The prisoner answered in a voice too quiet for Joan to hear. Then, quite suddenly, she heard his companion say, “Who is it that there behind you?”

The prisoner turned round, and Joan’s fingers itched towards her hidden knife. But much to her astonishment, he exclaimed, “Why, it is the lady herself! Margaret!”

But Joan had no opportunity to reply. Voices sounded outside her pavilion and she awoke to the oppressive heat of the day before. Coughing hard, Joan rolled ungracefully from her bed and tried to put away the grasping tendrils of her dream.

“The river is dry, Majesty” her attendant informed her as soon as she emerged from her pavilion, arrayed once again in sensible riding clothes. “The heat has devoured it. We can bypass Monluc without trouble, I deem.”

“Well then,” Joan replied, stifling another cough. “Glory to God for the heat.”

*

They did indeed pass Monluc the next day, within three fingers of his nose. Joan celebrated with Henry and the rest, yet all the while her mind was half taken up with her dream from the night before. Never, in all her life, had her mind conjured so vivid a sensory illusion. It had really felt cool in that jail cell, and the moonlight beyond it had been silver and true. Stranger still, the prisoner and his accomplice had called Joan by her mother’s name.

Joan had known her mother only a little. At the age of five, she had been detained at the French court while her mother returned to Navarre. This was largely on account of her mother’s religious convictions. Margaret of Angoulême had meddled too closely with Protestantism, so her brother the king had seen fit to deprive her of her daughter and raise her a Catholic princess.

His successor had likewise stolen Henry from Joan, for despite the king’s best efforts she was as Protestant as her mother. Yet unlike Margaret, Joan had gone back for her child. Two years ago, she had secretly swept Henry away from Paris on horseback. She’d galloped the horses nearly to death, but she’d gotten him to the armed force waiting at the border, and then at last home to Navarre. Sometimes, Joan wondered why her own mother had not gone to such lengths to rescue her. But Margaret’s best weapons had been tears, it was said, and tears could not do the work of sharp swords.

The Navarre party arrived at La Rochelle just before dusk on the twenty-eighth of September. The heat had faltered a little, to everyone’s great relief, but the air by the sea was still heavy with moisture. The tightness in Joan’s chest persisted.

“There will be much celebration now that you have come, Your Majesty,” said the boy seeing to her accommodations. “There’s talk of giving you the key to the city, and more besides.”

Sure enough, Joan was greeted with applause when she entered the Huguenot council. “I and my son are here to promote the success of our great cause or to share in its disaster,” she said when the council quieted. “I have been reproached for leaving my lands open to invasion by Spain, but I put my confidence in God who will not suffer a hair of our heads to perish. How could I stay while my fellow believers were being massacred? To let a man drown is to commit murder.”

*

Sometimes it seemed that the men only played at war. The Duke of Conde, who led the Huguenot forces, treated it as a game of chivalry between gentlemen. Others, like Monluc, regarded it as a business; the mercenaries he hired robbed and raped and brutalized, and though be bemoaned the cruelty he did nothing to curtail it.

There were sixty-thousand refugees pouring into the city. Joan was not playing at war. When she rose in the mornings, she put poultices on her chest, then went to her office after breaking her fast. There was much to do. She administered the city, attended councils of war, and advised the synod. In addition, she was still queen of Navarre, and was required to govern her own kingdom from afar.

In the afternoons, she often met with Beza to discuss matters of the church, or else with Conde, to discuss military matters. Joan worked on the city’s fortifications, and in the evenings she would ride out to observe them. Henry often joined her on these rides; he was learning the art of war, and he seemed to have a knack for it.

“A knack is not sufficient,” Joan told him. “Anyone can learn to fortify a port. I have learned, and I am a woman.”

“I know it is not sufficient,” the boy replied. “I must commit myself entirely to the cause of our people, and of Our Lord. Is that not what you were going to tell me?”   

“Ah, Henry, you know me too well. I am glad of it. I am glad to see you bear with strength the great and terrible charge which sits upon your shoulders.”

“How can I help being strong? I have you for a mother.”

At night, Joan fell into bed too exhausted for dreams.

*

Yet one night, she woke once again to find her chest loose and her breathing comfortable. She stood in a hallway which she recognized at once. She was at the Château de Fontainebleau, the place of her birth, just beyond the door to the king’s private chambers.

“Oh please, Francis, please. You cannot really mean to send him to the stake!” The voice on the other side of the door was female, and it did not belong to the queen.

A heavy sigh answered it. “I mean to do just that, ma mignonne. He is a damned heretic, and a rabble-rouser besides. Now, sister, don’t cry. If there’s one thing I cannot bear, it is your weeping.”

At those words, a surge of giddiness, like lightning, came over Joan’s whole body. It was her own mother speaking to the king. She was but a few steps away and they were separated only by a single wooden door.

“He is my friend, Francis. Do you say I should not weep for my friends?”

A loud harumph. “A strange thing, Margaret. Your own companions told me that you have never met the man.”

“Does such a triviality preclude friendship? He is my brother in Our Lord.”  

“And I am your true brother, and your king besides.”

“And as you are my brother—” here, Margaret’s voice cracked with overburdening emotion. She was crying again, Joan was certain. “As you are my brother, you must grant me this boon. Do not harm those I love, Francis.”

The king did not respond, so Joan drew nearer to the door. A minute later, she leapt backwards when it opened. There stood her mother, not old and sick as Joan had last seen her twenty years before, but younger even than Joan herself.

“If you’ve time to stand about listening at doors, then you are not otherwise employed,” Margaret said, wiping her tears from her face with the back of her hand. “I am going to visit a friend. You shall accompany me.”

Looking down at herself, Joan realized that her mother must have mistaken her for one of Fountainbleu’s many ladies-in-waiting. She was in her night clothes, which was really a simple day dress such as a woman might wear to a provincial market. Joan did not sleep in anything which would hinder her from acting immediately, should the city be attacked in the middle of the night. 

“As you wish, Majesty,” Joan replied with a curtsey. Margaret raised an eyebrow, and instantly Joan corrected herself: “Your Highness.”

Margaret stopped at her own rooms to wrap herself in a plain, hooded cloak. “What is your name?” she asked.

“Joan, your Highness.”

“Well, Joan. As penance for eavesdropping, you shall keep your own counsel with regards to our errand. Is that clear?”

“Yes, your Highness,” Joan replied stiffly. Any fool could see what friend Margaret intended to visit, and Joan wished she could think of a way to cut through the pretense.

When Margaret arrived at the jail with Joan in tow, the warden greeted her almost like a friend. “You are here to see the heretic, Princess? Shall I fetch you a chair?”

“Yes, Phillip. And a lantern, if you would.”

The cell was nearly identical to the one which Joan had dreamed on the road to La Rochelle. Inside sat a man with sparse gray hair covering his chin. Margaret’s chair was placed just outside the cell, but she brushed past it. She handed the lantern to Joan and knelt down in the cell beside the prisoner.

“I was told that I had a secret friend in the court,” he said. “I see now that she is an angel.”

“No angel, monsieur Faber. I am Margaret, and this is my lady, Joan. I have come to see to your welfare, as best I am able.”

Now, Margaret’s hood fell back, and all at once she looked every inch the Princess of France. Yet her voice was small and choked when she said, “Will you do me the honor of praying with me?”

Margaret was already on her knees, but she lowered herself further. She rested one hand lightly on Faber’s knee, and after a moment, he took it. Her eyes fluttered closed. In the dim light, Joan thought she saw tears starting down her mother’s cheek.

When she woke in the morning, Joan could still remember her mother’s face. There were tears in her hazelnut eyes, and a weeping quiver in her voice.

*

Winter came, and Joan’s coughing grew worse. There was blood in it now, and occasionally bits of feathery flesh that got caught in her throat and made her gag. She hid it in her handkerchief.

“Winter battles are ugly,” Conde remarked one morning as Christmas was drawing near. “If the enemy is anything like gentlemen, they will not attack until spring. And yet, I think, we must stand at readiness.”

“By all means,” Joan replied. “Anything less than readiness would be negligence.”

Conde chuckled, not unkindly. “For all your strength and skill, madame, it is obvious that you were not bred for command. No force can be always at readiness. It would kill the men as surely as the sword. ‘Tis not negligence to celebrate the birth of Our Lord, for instance.”

Joan nodded curtly, but did not reply.

As the new year began, the city was increasingly on edge. There was frequent unrest among the refugees, and the soldiers Joan met when she rode the fortifications nearly always remarked that an attack would come soon.

Then, as February melted into March, word came from Admiral Coligny that his position along the Guirlande Stream had been compromised. The Catholic vanguard was swift approaching, and more Huguenot forces were needed. By the time word reached Joan in the form of a breathless young page outside her office, Conde was already assembling the cavalry. Joan made for the Navarre quarter at once, as fast as her lungs and her skirts would let her.

The battle was an unmitigated disaster. The Huguenots arrived late, and in insufficient numbers. Their horses were scattered and their infantry routed, and the bulk of their force was forced back to Cognac to regroup. As wounded came pouring in, Joan went to the surgical tents to make herself useful.

The commander La Noue’s left arm had been shattered and required amputation. Steeling herself, Joan thought of Margaret’s tearstained cheeks as she knelt beside Faber. “Commander La Noue,” she murmured, “Would it comfort you if I held your other hand?”

“That it would, Your Majesty,” the commander replied. So, as the surgeon brandished his saw, Joan gripped the commander’s hand tight and began to pray. She let go only once, to cover her mouth as she hacked blood into her palm. It blended in easily with the carnage of the field hospital.

Yet it was not till after the battle was over that Joan learned the worst of it. “His Grace, General Conde is dead,” her captain told her in her tent that evening. “He was unseated in the battle. They took him captive, and then they shot him. Unarmed and under guard! Why, as I speak these words, they are parading his corpse through the streets of Jarnac.”

“So much for chivalry,” murmured Joan, trying to ignore the memories of Conde’s pleasant face chuckling, calling her skilled and strong.

“We will need to find another Prince of the Blood to champion our cause,” her captain continued. “Else the army will crumble. If there’s to be any hope for Protestantism in France, we had better produce one with haste. Admiral Coligny will not serve. He’s tried to rally the men, to no avail. In fact, he has bid me request that you make an attempt on the morn.”

“Henry will lead.”

“Henry? Why, he’s only a boy!”

Joan shook her head. “He is nearly a man, Captain, and he’s a keen knack for military matters. He trained with Conde himself, and he saw to the fortification of La Rochelle at my side. He is strong, which matters most of all. If it’s a Prince of the Blood the army requires, Henry will serve.”

“As you say, Majesty,” said her captain with a bow. “But it’s not me you will have to convince.”

*

Joan settled in for a sleepless night. Her captain was correct that she would need to persuade the Huguenot forces well, if they were to swear themselves to Henry. So, she would speak. Joan would rally their courage, and then she would present them with her son and see if they would follow him.

Page after page she wrote, none of it any good. Eloquence alone would not suffice; Joan’s words had to burn in men’s chests. She needed such words as she had never spoken before, and she needed them by morning.  

By three o’clock, Joan’s pages were painted with blood. Her lungs were tearing themselves to shreds in her chest, and the proof was there on the paper beside all her insufficient words. She almost hated herself then. Now, when circumstance required of her greater strength than ever before, all Joan’s frame was weakness and frailty.

An hour later, she fell asleep.

When Joan’s eyes fluttered open, she knew at once where she was. Why, these were her own rooms at home in Navarre! Sunlight flooded through her own open windows and drew ladders of light across Joan’s very own floor. Her bed sat in the corner, curtains open. Her dressing room and closet were just there, and her own writing desk—

There was a figure at Joan’s writing desk. Margaret. She looked up.

“My Joan,” she said. It started as a sigh, but it turned into a sob by the end. “My very own Joan, all grown up. How tired you look.” 

The words seemed larger than themselves somehow. They were Truth and Beauty in capital letters, illuminated red and gold. Something in Joan’s chest seized; something other than her lungs. 

“How do you know me, mother?”

“How could I not? I have been parted from you of late, yet your face is more precious to me than all the kingdoms of the earth.”

“Oh.” And then, because she could not think of anything else to say, Joan asked, “What were you writing, before I came in?”’

“Poetry.” Joan made a noise in her throat. “You disapprove?” asked her mother.

“No, not at all. Would that I had time for such sweet pursuits. I have worn myself out this night writing a war speech. It cannot be poetry, mother. It must be wine. It must–” then, without preamble, Joan collapsed into a fit of coughing. At once, her mother was on her feet, handkerchief in hand. She pressed it to Joan’s mouth, all the while rubbing circles on her back as she coughed and gagged. When the handkerchief came away at last, it was stained red.

“What a courageous woman you are,” Margaret whispered into her hair. “Words like wine for the soldiers, and yourself spitting blood. Will you wear pearls or armor when you address them?”

“I will address them on horseback in the field,” answered Joan with a rasp. “I would have them see my strength.”

Her mother’s dark eyes flickered then. Margaret looked at her daughter, come miraculously home to her against the will of the king and the very flow of time itself. She was not a large woman, but she held herself well. She stood brave and tall, though no one had asked it of her. 

Her own dear daughter did not have time for poetry. Margaret regretted that small fact so much that it came welling up in her eyes.  “And what of your weakness, child? Will you let anyone see that?”

Joan reached out and caught her mother’s tears. Her fingertips were harder than Margaret’s were. They scratched across the sensitive skin below her eyes.

“Did I not meet you like this once before? You are the same Joan who came with me to the jail in Paris once. I did not know you then. I had not yet borne you.”

“Yes, the very same. We visited a Monsieur Faber, I believe. What became of that poor man?”

Margaret sighed. She crossed back over to the desk to fall back into her seat, and in a smaller voice she said, “My brother released him, for a time. And then, when I was next absent from Paris, he was arrested again and sent to the stake before I could return.”

“I saw you save another man, once. I do not know his name. How many prisoners did you save, mother?”

“Many. Not near enough. Not as many as those with whom I wept by lantern light.”

“Did the weeping do any good, I wonder.”

“Those who lived were saved by weeping. Those who died may have been comforted by it. It was the only thing I could give them, and so I must believe that Our Lord made good use of it.”

Joan shook her head. She almost wanted to cry too, then. The feeling surprised her. Joan detested crying.

“All those men freed from prison, yet you never came for me. Why?”

“Francis was determined. A choice between following Christ and keeping you near was no choice at all, though it broke my heart to make it.” 

If Joan shut her eyes, she could still remember the terror of the night she had rescued Henry. “You could have come with soldiers. You could have stolen me away in the night.” 

Margaret did not answer. The tears came faster now and her fair, queenly skin blossomed red. So many years would pass between the dear little girl she’d left in Paris and the stalwart woman now before her. She did not have time for poetry, but if Margaret had been allowed to keep her that would have been different. Joan should have had every poem under the sun. 

“Will you read it?” she asked, taking the parchment from her desk and pressing it into her daughter’s hands. “Will you grant me that boon?”

Slowly, almost numbly, Joan nodded. To Margaret’s surprise, she read aloud. 

“God has predestined His own

That they should be sons and heirs.

Drawn by gentle constraint

A zeal consuming is theirs.

They shall inherit the earth

Clad in justice and worth.”

“Clad in justice and worth,” she repeated, handing back the parchment. “It’s a good poem.”

“It isn’t finished,” replied her mother.

Joan laughed. “Neither is my speech. It must be almost morning now.”

As loving arms closed around her again, Joan wished to God that she could remain in Navarre with her mother. She knew that she and Margaret did not share a heart: her mother was tender like Joan could never be. Yet all the same, she wanted to believe that they had been forged by the same Christian hope and conviction. She wanted to believe that she, Joan, could free the prisoners too. 

She shut her eyes against her mother’s shoulder. When she opened them, she was back in her tent, with morning sun streaming in. 

*

She came before the army mounted on a horse with Henry beside her. Her words were like wine when she spoke. 

“When I, the queen, hope still, is it for you to fear? Because Conde is dead, is all therefore lost? Does our cause cease to be just and holy? No; God, who has already rescued you from perils innumerable, has raised up brothers-in-arms to succeed Conde.

Soldiers, I offer you everything in my power to bestow–my dominions, my treasures, my life, and that which is dearer to me than all, my son. I make here a solemn oath before you all, and you know me too well to doubt my word: I swear to defend to my last sigh the holy cause which now unites us, which is that of honor and truth.”

When she finished speaking, Joan coughed red into her hands. There was quiet for a long moment, and then a loud hurrah! went up along the lines. Joan looked out at the soldiers, and from the front she saw her mother standing there, with tears in her eyes. 

[jtargaryen18]

One Night With You ~ Pt 3

One Night With You ~ A Halloween Tale in 3 Parts

Masterlist

Read Part 1 | Part 2

Words: 5.8k

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Neighbor reader

Warnings: A little language, references to the sound of people having sex, masturbation.

Disclaimer: The author of this work claims no ownership of characters aside from the reader, and any original secondary characters mentioned. This work is not intended for those under the age of 18 due to explicit sexual content in the third act. By reading this work or any works on my blog (jtargaryen18), you agree that you are at least 18 years of age. I don’t consent to having my work reposted or translated.

Summary: For @iheartsebstan who was my very first follower here on Tumblr and one I adore. 💕 It’s all about a chance encounter and how it can make everything in your life so much better.

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

October 31st: Halloween

The trick-or-treat in your apartment building started at 7 PM. You had no idea just how many kids were in the apartment building because you usually went out with Denny or your coworkers. It was 8 and the event ran until 9. You’d gone through more than half of your candy. And you remembered joking with Bucky that he had enough candy to spare if you ran out.

The problem was, Bucky wasn’t home.

Would he be home? Was he out saving someone as a member of the Avengers?

Was he avoiding you?

You didn’t know who your neighbor was when you agreed to have dinner with him. This morning it was the first thought that popped into your head. With Denny snoring next to you, you were Googling James Buchanan Barnes.

Sure, everyone knew the story of Captain America and his best friend who’d been taken by Hydra and made into an assassin. You hadn't thought it was all that interesting in school. You remembered reading that Sergeant Barnes had been rehabilitated and was free from the dark mind control he’d been a victim of for long decades. That was good news. But, like Captain America, he was over a hundred years old. The man had to have some massive PTSD from what he’d been through.

How to reconcile that story with the man who lived next door? Bucky had seemed a little intimidating at first. Now that you were getting to know him better, he didn't feel like a threat at all.

Still, it explained why someone who looked like him wasn’t out in clubs, meeting people. It might have had a lot to do with the simplicity of your evening with him. Helping him make pasta and cook dinner. A nice conversation over a meal and for once, a man seemed truly interested in who you were, not what you had to offer.

Then Denny texted and he might just have ruined everything. It gave you something to think about last night. By the time Denny was trying to sneak out super early in the morning -- like he did most of the time -- you confronted him. He broke the agreement of your "non-relationship." You'd agreed there would be no displays of jealousy or possessiveness. You broke it off.

You hadn’t confirmed to Bucky that you had a boyfriend because Denny wasn’t that. But the minute he thought someone like Bucky was interested in you, he flew to your door to end what had been a wonderful evening. You didn't regret your decision there.

Bucky must think you’re either jerking him around or you were just straight-up crazy. Either way, that opportunity was probably gone.

“Wow,” Bucky’s voice rose above the din of all the kids' voices. He rounded the corner and his blue-eyed gaze locked with yours. He smiled and it just about stopped your heart. “There’s a lot of kids.”

You laughed. “That’s what I thought too. I’m glad you’re back, I’m almost out of candy.”

“Hang on,” he said, working through the crowd to get to his door and let himself in. In a flash, he was in his doorway like you were, holding a huge basket of candy. Walking over to you, he dumped some of it into the plastic pumpkin you were using. The faint notes of sandalwood and amber reached you.

Because being a super-hot reformed assassin isn’t enough. He had to smell good too.

Going back to his door, there were now two of you, it was a little less crazy on your end of the hall when another flock of them came around the corner. But when nine o’clock rolled around, you breathed a sigh of relief. You’d been dangerously close to running out of candy again.

“How bad was it before I got here?” Bucky asked.

“About as crazy as it was after you got here.”

The two of you laughed.

“At least it's Friday,” you offered. “I don’t have to work tomorrow.”

Bucky nodded. “Same. Hopefully.”

When he was about to turn to go back into his apartment, you asked, “You want to have a drink, watch a Halloween movie or something? With me?”

You sounded a lot less confident than you thought you would.

He stopped, looking surprised. Then that smile… “Yeah, that would be great.”

“Yeah?” you asked. Maybe you still had a shot.

Bucky started to follow you, then remembered he was holding a mostly empty basket of candy, and his apartment door was wide open. He set the basket just inside the door before locking it and coming with you.

Nerves almost got the better of you. Now knowing who he was? It was thrilling and terrifying all at once. You didn’t feel like he posed any threat to you, but you did hope you could talk to him like a normal fucking date instead of a fan girl. He must have so many of those.

Closing the door behind the two of you, you headed to the kitchen. “I’ve got bourbon and scotch, and I think I have some vodka here somewhere.”

“Vodka is fine,” Bucky said, taking a seat on your couch. “If you have it.”

That was easy enough. You made a vodka and tonic for each of you. Carrying them back to the living room, you joined him on the couch.

“I’m not going to get you into any trouble, am I?” Taking a drink, he kept his gaze on the glass in his hand. “Or have I already?”

“No, you didn’t have anything to do with it.” Well, yes you did. “Denny and I got into a fight this morning when he left, and it got a little loud. I hope we didn’t wake you up.”

Bucky shook his head. “I didn’t hear anything, but I left at 5.”

“Good,” you told him. You took a couple of drinks, wanting the temporary courage the alcohol might offer you. “You didn’t miss anything really.”

“Was everything alright?” he asked, the sincerity in his expression made your heart skip a beat. “Did you get everything settled?”

You drained your short glass on that note. Bucky watched you but didn’t say anything.

“Everything is settled,” you admitted. “I ended things with him.”

Did you imagine those smoky blue eyes lit up? “I’m sorry,” he said after a moment.

You shook your head. “Don’t be. I’m not.”

Bucky placed his glass on your coffee table, scrubbing a hand through those gorgeous locks of hair.

“Last night, you asked me if I was happy,” you admitted. “I thought I was for a while. We were friends with benefits, you know? Denny had just gotten out of a bad relationship when I met him. We were friends, then we started hooking up. He didn’t want a committed relationship because of all the awful things that happened to him in his last one.”

“That wasn’t your fault,” Bucky said quietly. “That wasn’t you.”

He was right. And you knew that. 

“What did you get?” Bucky asked carefully.

“I wasn’t…” Sitting here and admitting this to Bucky, it hit you how ridiculous it all was. Your heart sank to think of how sad it was going to sound. But there was something in his gentle expression. A lack of judgment… “I wasn’t alone anymore. A couple of times a week I had someone to watch a movie with or have dinner with, you know?”

He nodded, his sensual lips pressing into a line.

But he did know. Flashes of what you’d read about him on Google flashed in your mind. He knew about being alone. He’d been held captive for decades. Who knew what the monsters of Hydra had done to him? Put him through? And what, you expected him to feel sorry for you?

“I’m sorry,” you told him. “I shouldn’t be complaining to you about… “

Easing back on your couch, Bucky’s expression was kind.

“You can complain to me if you want to,” he said.

“I mean, with everything you’ve experienced,” you said carefully. “I must sound pretty pathetic.”

Bucky nodded. “I didn’t think you recognized me.”

“I didn’t,” you told him. “Denny told me. The reason he texted me and showed up here last night all upset was because a friend of his saw me walking with you.”

“He was afraid for you?” You didn't like the worry that started seeping into his expression.

“No, he was jealous I guess,” you said.

Bucky huffed at that. “Jealous of me?”

You nodded. “He was. I guess he was afraid I was trading up.”

“I wouldn’t consider me trading up.”

You would.

“He can’t make pasta,” you finally said, hoping to lighten up the mood.

That made him smile. And he was so gorgeous when he smiled… But there were shadows behind his eyes. Shadows of doubt or fear? You couldn’t tell. You just knew you wanted to take them away.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “Really, none of it was your fault… And yet, it was. You showed me more genuine attention in one meeting than Denny did in our entire non-relationship – and that was before you made me dinner. I had a really nice time, Bucky. And I guess it got me thinking that… I want a relationship like that. Someone who is talking to me and listening instead of talking at me.”

“You deserve to have someone treat you right, doll,” Bucky said.

Doll, huh? You liked it.

“So, you’re an Avenger,” you finally said, now that things were out in the open.

Bucky shrugged. “Not really. It’s an opportunity.”

You didn’t understand. “An opportunity?”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, for me to go out and try to wipe out some of the red in my ledger. So to speak."

The poor man. "That red didn't belong in your ledger, Bucky. The things they made you do? Those weren't your decisions. Right?"

“No,” Bucky told you. “They weren't. But I still did those things. So many terrible things. I remember all of it, in painful detail. Those memories will never go away.”

You processed that for a moment. They had him for so many years. You were sitting next to a man who was over a hundred years old, most of that time he spent as an assassin for one of the worst criminal syndicates the world had ever seen. You could almost see the guilt weighing him down. 

“Do they, the Avengers, still consider you a threat?” you asked.

“Before they cleaned my head out, I was a threat,” he explained. The pain etched in his expression had your heart squeezing. What the poor man must have been through. And it wasn't his fault.

“I’m just surprised,” you admitted. “I feel perfectly safe here with you.”

The pain eased out of his expression at that, replaced by surprise.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you told him.

“That’s good,” he whispered. “I never want you to feel afraid of me.”

You believed him.

“So you wanted to watch a movie?” he asked.

That he wanted to direct the conversation away from himself, you got that. You didn’t want him to be uncomfortable. And you did invite him over for a movie. Snatching up your remote, you went to your collection of movies for streaming. You loved horror movies and you’d bought several over the last couple of years.

“See anything you want to watch?” you asked him. But when you looked at him, you caught him staring at you.

And you were fine with that.

His gaze shifted to your flat screen. “How about… what’s The Conjuring?” he asked.

Perfect. Ghosts. Possession. Hopefully nothing there that would bring back any bad memories for him.

“The Conjuring it is,” you told him, selecting it. You sat back on the couch, moving closer to the center. To Bucky.

The movie began, opening with Ed and Lorraine Warren giving a lecture back in the 70s. You could quote most of the movie, but Bucky hadn’t seen it yet, so you didn’t want to ruin the movie for him by talking. 

Halfway through the movie, Bucky moved a little closer, resting his left arm, the prosthetic arm, along the back of the couch behind you. It was a chilly October night and the warmth of him was tempting.

Yeah, everything about the man is a fucking temptation.

You leaned a little closer. Then he shifted closer to you. You went to put your head on his shoulder, but he stopped you.

“Sorry, that’s not going to be very comfortable,” he sounded apologetic.

Sitting up, you met his gaze. “I’m sorry.”

You didn’t want him to feel bad about his arm. You scrambled for a solution, and it came to you pretty quickly. Rising from the couch, you moved to sit next to him on the other side. Flitting around nervously as you were, you tripped and fell on the man.

Bucky caught you, face to face with him, your arms braced on the back of the couch on either side of his head. You weren’t rightly sure who moved first. All you knew was that your lips met his. The kiss was explosive, with him pulling you in to straddle his lap and your hands clutched in his hair as his kiss set you ablaze. The moan he pulled from you was a deep, raw sound. Bucky just felt so good beneath you, the soft locks of his hair in your hands, the taste of him filling your senses.

Long heated minutes ticked by as the two of you kissed, moving together. His lips were a tender tease, dancing against your own as if he couldn’t resist. His hands skimmed over your back and hips as you ground down on him, hard and heated beneath you.

Bucky was the one to break the kiss, panting against your lips while his hands held you in place. “Doll, stop,” he said. “I’m sorry. Jesus.”

Your breath came as fast as his. “Why are you sorry? Why—”

Bucky’s flesh hand cupped your face as he gazed into your eyes. “I want this… I think you get that. But this isn’t the only thing I want with you… I'm not Denny. And I don’t want to mess this up.”

“You won’t.” You were panting. “You can’t… “ Your body ached, literally, and all he’d really done so far was make out with you.

You started kissing him again and he didn’t fight you, he was clinging to you. Now his arms around you tightened. He rolled his hips beneath you, nudging into the ache where you needed him most.

He chained hot kisses across your jawline to your ear. His tongue teased the sensitive shell of it, his breath hot as he whispered, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, please,” you begged him.

The deep moan that pulled from him pushed your arousal even higher. In a hurry, you pulled the heavy sweater you wore over your head and flung it away. Your fingers moved to undo the buttons of the blouse you wore beneath it.

The heated velvet of his lips burned a path from your ear down your neck. His mouth claimed each patch of skin you revealed in opening the blouse. Bucky didn’t wait until you were finished to slide his good hand up under your bra, kneading the flesh that filled it. While you hurried to shed the blouse, he reached behind you to undo the clasp of the little black bra you wore, roughly pulling it off you. With your breasts on display for him, the heated look in those stormy blue eyes had desire burning you from the inside out.

When his flesh hand returned to your breast, you gasped at the gentle touch. You were used to sharp squeezes for someone else’s gratification. Bucky’s warm hand skimmed over your flesh like it was an honor to do so. The metal of his other arm warmed against the skin of your back while his head dipped, his lips wrapping around your nipple. His mouth was tender, careful. He didn’t bite you. His tongue played with the tight peak in a way that had you squirming on his lap, eager for more of his gentle touch.

You couldn't remember the last time a man was so careful with you.

When his lips blazed a trail to your other breast, you twisted to give him better access, to give him everything. If you hadn’t been so turned on, you would have been embarrassed at your own desperation. Still, he took his time, handling you with delicacy.

Bucky’s arms tightened around you, and he rose from your couch with you with no visible effort at all. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you held on. You were about to tell him where your bedroom was but then you realized, he knew the way. He’d never been in your apartment before. How did he know that?

Your bedroom was cool and dark. He was careful when he lowered you to your bed, reaching around you to turn on the lamp on your bedside table. You knew you were staring at him. With just a knee on the edge of your bed, and the man had beautiful thighs, Bucky stopped and looked at you in question.

“How did…” How did you ask without making him feel like he was doing something wrong? “How did you know where my bedroom was?”

Automatically his hands came up to scrub through his hair and you were cursing yourself. What the fuck were you thinking asking that? You were right there – in your bedroom where you wanted to be – with your super-hot, superhero neighbor.

“I’m sorry,” you said in a rush. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

When his troubled gaze moved to the door, you moved closer to him, placing a hand on the heavily muscled thigh before you.

“Please, don’t go,” you whispered.

Blowing out an exhale, Bucky slowly turned and sat on the edge of your bed. His back was to you, but his attention was very much on you. You could feel it.

“When they took me," he said slowly, "They gave me the serum that gave me all these abilities I never had naturally. Everything was enhanced. I was so much stronger than before and faster. All of my senses were enhanced. I can see things from a distance in great detail. I can pick up scents. My hearing..."

His hearing? Feeling a little awkward now, you crossed your arms over your bare chest. Bucky pulled off the black boots he wore.

Turning his head, he watched you from the corner of his eye. "The abilities they gave me, made me the ultimate predator. There was no one I couldn't find anywhere in the world."

Shivering on your own bed, you just listened. Your mind was scrambling as empathy battled with fear. Bucky was a good man, wasn't he? Because it occurred to you that if you were wrong about him or things went badly, you couldn't hide from him. You couldn't run from him.

While your mind was throwing up red flags in the background, the need that coursed through your body intensified. You wanted him in the worst possible way.

"Back in the real world, my abilities aren't necessarily a good thing, doll," he said as he turned to face you on the bed. His fingers started undoing the buttons on his flannel shirt and you couldn't pull your gaze away from those quick movements. "I've been your neighbor for many weeks now. I've seen you so many times in passing, always in a hurry to be somewhere."

Bucky wasn't wrong. You weren't the most punctual person. Self-sabotage and procrastination often made you late, always had you scrambling to get where you needed to go.

A chill of anticipation ran up your spine when he pulled that dark blue flannel shirt free of his jeans and peeled it off. Your gaze was immediately drawn to all those muscles, the elegant black metal arm with threads of gold adorning it. There was scarring at the skin around that arm but it wasn't as bad as you'd expected.

"You've got this style about you," Bucky said. "I would think someone who wears so much black was either in mourning or trying to hide themselves, to blend into the background. But you're not hiding. You drive me crazy, every time I see you. I love those little skirts you wear, those stockings and combat boots. I love the blood red lipstick you wear, the little silver earrings..."

You had no idea he'd noticed you at all. As it was, at this moment, you were only wearing jeans. You edged back towards the center of your bed. Almost as if it were a predator's response, Bucky followed you. The ache between your legs only grew, had you trembling under that heated gaze.

"I wasn't trying to listen to you in your apartment, doll," he went on. "I really wasn't. I can't really help what I hear."

Hear? Your gaze moved from studying that arm, cutting off thoughts you shouldn't be having about that arm, to meet his. Your mind struggled to push thoughts through your aroused state, to think about what he just said. What did he not mean to hear in your apartment?

How were you supposed to be able to hold a thought with him on your bed with you? All those muscles and warm flesh. How would he feel in your arms? On top of you? Inside you? 

Bucky whispered your name softly. "Did you hear me?"

You nodded, at least you thought you did in your lusty haze. 

"What did you hear?" you asked. "In my apartment."

"Most nights, I just heard you moving around in your apartment." Bucky's intense gaze held yours. "You watching TV or making yourself dinner. A couple of nights a week, he came over. And then I got to listen to you make dinner, listen to him talk about himself, his day. It pissed me off so much that he never asked how your day was, never brought you flowers or cooked for you. He didn't treat you right, doll."

Bucky had heard a lot. But if he'd heard all that...

"Then..."

"Then?" you prompted him. "You listened to us..."

Bucky paused, and a hint of chagrin bled into his expression. One hand slid over your right ankle and with care, he pulled off that shoe.

"I wasn't trying to," Bucky explained, removing your other shoe before leaning over to place both on the floor by your bed. "It wasn't a lot different from listening to the two of you have dinner... It was all about him." 

You were somewhere between humiliation and shame. The look in those smoky blue eyes, the care you read there, lessened the sting.

"I'm not saying you did anything wrong or that anything is wrong with you," Bucky moved closer, crowding you into your pillows. "Every time he was in your bed, it was all about him. He got off. You didn't. Not one time." When you dropped your gaze, careful warm fingers under your chin put it back on him. "He never even noticed."

Tears stung the backs of your eyes. Every word he spoke was the truth. This time when Bucky moved closer, pressing you onto your back beneath him, you didn't inch away. Tears slid from the corners of your eyes as he hovered over you. Propping himself on his metal arm, his natural hand smoothed over the side of your face, brushing your tears away.

His heated gaze locked with yours as he settled next to you, one heavy thigh draped across yours. His hand slid down to cover your right hand, his fingers lacing with yours. With care, he leaned over and began kissing you. The hand he captured, he moved to his head and you were fine with that, sliding your fingers through the satiny locks of dark hair. His shift in position had his thigh between yours now and you weren't going to lie, the way he nudged it up into your melting center made the ache worse. So good...

Bucky's kisses went to your head like good whiskey, sending ripples of heat and euphoria racing through your bloodstream. Your thighs clamped around that muscled thigh as his lips danced with yours, gently but demanding all the same. When he dropped some of his weight on you, you fought to breathe, vining around him to get more. Now both your hands were sliding through his hair as his lips blazed a trail across to your jaw then seeking out all the places that made you weak just under your ear. 

You'd pretty much disappeared beneath him, and you were loving it. He pulled a chorus of sounds from you as his mouth trailed down your neck, down to your chest. He chuckled at the way you whined when he moved off you.

"Shhh," he soothed. "I've got you."

When his lips surrounded one nipple, your hands clutched in his hair. You didn't have the time or wherewithal to consider how careful he was being or to remember how Denny more or less treated your breasts like stress balls. You were gasping as his lips and tongue teased the aching peak over and over. The desire he was stoking in you was unfamiliar, even in your private moments which was usually the only time you could find release. 

Your body had a mind of its own. Your back arched, a wanton plea for more, more... It gave him easier access and he took it. Your thighs clutched his in desperation because you needed relief from the fire he was building in your body. The intensity of that delicate ache was climbing. His hot mouth moved to your other breast as both his hands, warm and warming metal, began roaming over your body like fever chills.

Bucky loved it when you pulled his hair. He groaned when you started pumping your hips rhythmically, begging him without words for more. You felt that raw sound all through your body, gasping as he moved further down. He was rough when he plucked open your jeans, yanking them down with your panties to reveal all of you to him. His gaze roamed over all your newly revealed curves, making you shiver as anticipation threatened to get the best of you.

Without a thought, you slid a hand down to your own swollen, soaked flesh. Watching him licking his lips as you showed him how you worked your clit had you on the edge of the cliff...

"No, you don't." Bucky's voice was low and rough. 

Batting your hands away, he dove for you with his mouth. His lips and tongue in that tender flesh had you climaxing in seconds, wailing into the quiet of your bedroom. His hands wrapped around your thighs, holding them open as he really went to work, teasing you through the orgasm in a way that kept you flying, kept you riding that wave the way you rode his tongue. You couldn't move your lower body, couldn't get away from the onslaught of pleasure he was subjecting you to. 

You writhed wildly on the bed in his clutches. The sight of his dark hair, the locks dancing around your thighs as his mouth took you apart would be forever seared into your memory. The way he teased you relentlessly until you came a second time on the tip of his tongue had the world spinning around you. Your nipples were hard, aching peaks in your hands, your back arching wildly as he worked you through it.

Jesus. Would you survive this?

When all sensation stopped, you lay trembling on your bed like you'd been hit by lightning. Bucky scrambled to undo his jeans, shoving them down his body with haste as you watched him with hungry eyes. As soon as his cock was freed, you were staring, marveling at its size. Your hand slid around that heated stalk of flesh, warm velvet in your grasp. He was bigger than Denny or anyone else you'd been with. You were excited and nervous all at once. How was that going to feel?

As if he could read your mind, Bucky came back up to you. His shadow swallowed you again as he kissed your lips and gave you a taste of your own lust from his shiny lips. It only pushed your desire higher, had you winding yourself around him eager for more. When you reached between your bodies for him again, Bucky captured your hand and thwarted your efforts.

"Doll," he whispered against your lips. "I want you so much... But I need to slow down a little here. Okay? It's everything I can do not to come right now. And you're so small..."

"Please," was the only word you could get out.

"M'gonna take care of you," he whispered. "I promise... I'm treating you right."

You couldn't conjure an ounce of humiliation now. You did need more of him. You wanted all of him.

Taking himself in hand, he slid the swollen head of himself through your slippery folds back and forth. Each pass was a soft brush against your clit, a shot of pleasure to take your breath away. You held onto him as he slowly pushed into you, his breath a heated rush just like yours. 

And he was huge. You sucked in a breath as he kept pushing into you. It helped that he had you soaking wet, but feeling your pussy walls stretch around him was intense. The slightest pain blended with a sensation of fullness that had your thighs quivering around his. His blue-eyed gaze stayed on you as he kept going, watching you for any signs of distress. 

By the time he reached the end of you, you were on that ledge again. The only thing that kept you from sailing off that cliff now was the fact that he'd stopped moving. Bucky's body was still inside you as your body stretched around him.

Bucky's eyes were squeezed shut, his mouth slack above you.

"Are you okay?" he whispered.

Aside from feeling almost split in two in the best way possible, you were pretty fucking far from okay. You were squirming beneath him, hands clutching at his hair, at the damp muscles of his back. When you slid your hands down to the firmness of his ass, you squeezed. You needed him to move. You needed him to ride you like you were going somewhere.

"Don't...stop," you managed, fighting for air. "Please."

"Look at me," he whispered.

And you did, opening your eyes to meet his gaze.

"Does anything hurt?" Bucky asked, sounding as wrecked as you felt.

You shook your head frantically. "Please."

Because you weren't sure you were going to survive if he didn't start moving soon. You were burning from the inside, your lower body stretched around his cock, quivering in need sharper than anything you'd experienced so far. When you raked your nails up his back, you hoped he'd take the hint and take you. Destroy you. 

Slowly, he started moving and it was everything you craved. Bucky's cock was hitting places inside you that left you breathless. His body was heavily muscled, pressing yours into the mattress. All you could do was hang on as his thrusts sped up. Bucky wasn't fucking you. He was claiming you. It was in the tender possession of his hands that skimmed over your body. The sweet caress of his lips over your face and shoulders, dropping on your skin like warm summer rain.

And all the while, he made you take his cock, filling you again and again with thrusts that were driving you insane. When your inner walls began to quiver around him, you braced yourself for a release that was approaching so fast. Your heart hammering against his, Bucky sped up.

"Let go for me," he purred in your ear. 

You didn't have a choice. This time, you buried your face in his chest to muffle the scream. And Bucky kept going as you rode that wave, pleasure pulsing through your body as he began chasing his own end. Your name was a prayer on his lips as his movements quickened, desperate now instead of careful. At the last second, Bucky pulled himself free of you, his come spurting over your tummy, your thighs. There was a lot of it, hot and thick drizzled over your skin. Bucky looked so beautiful above you, lost to the same pleasure he'd just drowned you in as he worked himself with his hand.

Your eyes slid closed, you struggled to breathe. You couldn't remember the last time you felt so sated after sex, so fulfilled. 

"I hope that smile is for me," Bucky said softly, using his flannel to clean his spend from your skin. 

You were smiling. You were happy. But as your skin cooled, you shivered. Bucky tucked you under the covers, climbing under with you to stretch out on his back. When you moved close for cuddles, his right arm pulled you to him. You loved the steady beat of his heart below your ear, the sheer warmth of him.

"Sleepy," you murmured. "Will you stay?"

Denny had stayed after sex but he'd immediately turn his back to you and get on his phone. You didn't know Bucky's intentions but you were hoping he might want to stay the night.

"I'll stay," his voice was rough and sleepy. 

You held each other in the cool quiet of your bedroom. Bucky only moved you to turn out the lamp. Maybe now that it was dark, you felt a little braver.

"You said... that sex wasn't the only thing you wanted with me," you reminded him. "What did you mean?"

Bucky pressed a kiss into your hair. "I meant just that. Not that the sex wasn't good because it was amazing..."

Your heart skipped happily in your chest at that.

"But it's not all I want from you," Bucky said in the darkness. "I want to get to know you. I want to talk over breakfast in the morning and eat leftover candy." His fingers traced circles around your shoulder and arm. "I want to wait for you to get off work at the florist and take you on a date. I want to have hot chocolate and watch it snow outside together."

Snuggling closer, you smiled. It all sounded wonderful to you. And if sex was that good on top of it?

"Is that yes?" Bucky asked.

"Yes," you whispered. "But... do you think we can do what we just did again before breakfast in the morning?"

His sigh was a happy sound. 

"Doll, we can do anything you want," Bucky whispered.

@valsworldofcreativity @21stcenturywitchcraft @coconutqueen21 @bval-1 @caffiend-queen @sadlittlecountess @candy-and-writing @capsicle-shield @chaoticfiretaconerd @chrisevansgirl @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @coldmuffinbanditshoe @daughterofthenight117 @hv-chw3 @iheartsebstan @imanuglywombat @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @justrae9903 @lokislastlove @mariaenchanted @maxwelllee2020 @nekoannie-chan @nerdwholikesword @notyourtypicalrose @optimistic-dinosaur-nacho @peaceinourtime82 @rainbowkisses31 @rayofdawnworld @richonne4life @rissysthoughts-blog @saiyanprincessswanie @scarletsoldier21-blog @shygirl-00 @supernaturaldean67 @sweater-daddiesdumbdork @team-iron-wannabe-man @titty-teetee @tonib666 @villanellev @vitamingummies @what-is-your-plan-today @what-is-your-wish @xoxabs88xox @rosalynshields @naturalthrone22 @marvelovernfan @gotnofucks @eralen @kawairinrin @bluemusickid @geminievans1 @daughterofthenight117 @sunmoonandbuckyrecs @jesevans @kandis-mom @salvatoreitmeanssaviour @kmc1989 @curiousandjoyous @marvelouslyme96 @texmex

[heaven-s-black-box]

Notes- Sunshine Neuvillette & more x gn!reader

Return to File

Recovery date: October 11th, 2024

Description: hello again to my favourite writer! im thinking about headcanons with the boys with a s/o who's like emu in project sekai, and she's js a super energetic bundle of cheerful energy if u want a summary! for the boys uh maybe neuvillette, al haitham, xiao, kazuha, wanderer and heizou? if its too much u can take some out!

-⭐️ anon

Notes: This work was recovered in conjunction with researcher ⭐️, we thank them for their contributions. So, I had to look this character up. The first headcanon on all of them is my initial thoughts based off your request, and then everything else is based off her fandom wiki page!

Back to directory

Neuvillette

Initial thought, he’s used to Furina and her persona of Focalors so it’s not really new to him

Despite what he thinks, he’s gotten very good at human emotions

But he does write a letter to Sigewinne for how to help you, and she pulls through by suggesting he cooks for you

He wants you to rely on him like everyone can rely on you

You’re intuition on peoples sincerity is really useful

He looks at cases so critically, but you’re willing to believe the accused and sometimes you point things out that he missed

Especially now without the Oratrice, he has to be extra careful when examining everything

You’re smart, he definitely goes to you for help about humans and cases

Al Haitham

Initial thought, you must be really smart or really good at returning his snark for him to handle your energeticness on a daily basis

He’ll warn you about being too naive, just because something sounds like a great idea doesn’t mean it is

He has come to your rescue a few times, like when you went into the dessert and thought one water bottle would be enough

When he notices you bottling things up, he gifts you journal

He won’t make you talk about your feelings, in fact he prefers it this way, but he hates seeing the negativity eat away at you

No notes on your emotional intuition, though he thinks it’s a useful skill

Hey! Wiki says Emu is really smart

This is why Al Haitham can live with your energetic personality, just don’t expect him to match you

Xiao

Initial thought, baffled by how positive and energetic you are but doesn’t hate it

You have called him on multiple occasions when you’ve gotten yourself in trouble

He wishes you weren’t quite so naive, he’s saved you from hilichurls a few times because you didn’t realize they’d spot you trying to slip past

He’s really bad with feelings but, he’s there for you if you need him

To him, your negative feelings seem to eat at you the same way his karmic debt eats at him

So he tries to help

Glad you have such good emotional intuition, he’s horrible with them

No thoughts on your intellect, it doesn’t really affect anything with him

Kazuha

Initial thought, he finds it inspiring for his poems and stuff and while he doesn’t have quite as much energy as you he’s happy to meet your cheeriness

Always happy to help you with your plans and make sure they’re reasonable, you don’t usually get to the point he has to save you

Encourages you to let out your negative emotions, bottling things up isn’t good

Sometimes you write poems together, and sometimes he just listens to you

Your emotional intuition amazes him

He’s always thought he was good at reading people, but you don’t even need to see the person

Likes having intellectual conversations with you

Be it literary discussions or more stem inclined

Wanderer

Initial thought, like Al Haitham you must have something else going really strong for you because you are a beacon of attention and he actively avoids everyone

Indulges your naivety because you have to learn somehow, but he doesn’t let you get hurt

Like that time you miss judged the trek to Avidya forest

Connecting with emotions is part of his reformation, so he tries to help you

Especially if those emotions have to deal with abandonment or grief

Honestly, his response to most things being “murder” makes you laugh and he’s glad

He hates that you can see through his nonchalant act right from the get go, the words just don’t match the look in his eyes

You make writing papers easier because you raise counterarguments for him

Heizou

Initial thought, like Kazuha he finds you inspiring but on more of a personal level and has use you to distract criminals

Acts on your impulsive plans together, if you fall you fall together

Plus he can protect you in a dangerous situation

As a detective, he’s the first to notice your smile no longer reaching your eyes

So he uses interrogation techniques to get you to confess

And by that I mean he discreetly leads you into telling him what’s up, no torture required

You make interrogations so easy, he’s good at catching liars but you’re better at telling when people are hiding something

Also he’s baffled when you tell him Itto isn’t acting and really is that happy go lucky

Loves that he can match wits with you, puzzles are a fun pass-time of yours

[aedesluminis]

Most ridiculous thing Carnot has ever done?

Sorry for the late, dear Anon.

This took me a while to reply, since, during his life, Carnot had put himself in rather problematic situations, that led him to act in ways that can be considered embarrassing (1) by various people with different views. So it was hard for me to choose just one thing: a specific thing that he did, which might be seen as foolish and careless by someone, might not be viewed in the same way by another person.

I'm pretty sure that what I'm about to say has a chance to the considered ridiculous by many - if not all - here on Frevblr. I'm referring to the fact that he accepted the cross of Saint-Louis, becoming de facto a member - a knight to be more precise - of the homonymous order, just a few months before the trial of the king. I don't know for sure when exactly he received it, but it definitely happened in 1792, according to L'Histoire de l'ordre royal et militaire de Saint-Louis (p. 493-494).

The order of Saint-Louis was an ancient cavalry order founded in 1693 by Louis XIV, the "Sun King". Until the latter's death it was intended as a prestigious and profitable (2) reward for officers who had distinguished themselves through their feats, but in later years, it started to be treated as a decoration which officers eventually achieved. It's also important to point out that non-nobles could be admitted in the order and it was easier to join for engineering officers, like Carnot. Requirements were further lowered in a series of decrees by the Legislative Assembly and sanctioned by Louis XVI (3) and the order was eventually suppressed on 15 October 1792.

Personally, I find questionable the decision to receive such a reward, after the flight of Varennes, or worse after the 10 of August (again I don't know exactly when he was granted that). On one hand, I can understand the desire for prestige and the conspicuous pension he would have received, allowing him to retire in peace, as well as the fact that he grew up in a world, in which being a knight of Saint-Louis was seen as honorable and worthy of praise. On the other one, we are talking about something which was intrinsically part of an old oppressive system, that Carnot himself was contributing to reform; not to mention that the highest authority of that system and head of the order was found guilty of treason against his people at the time Carnot accepted the cross.

Notes

(1) I'm referring to things that revealed themselves to be embarrassing for him only, so nothing that caused harm to other people. Framing his responsibilities in the arrestation of the Babuovistes as ridiculous would be an euphemism if what I read from bits here and there is true.

(2) Members of the order of Saint-Louis were granted a special pension which added itself to that of the military rank at the time of retirement.

(3) For the decrees see A. Mazas, T. Anne, L'Histoire de l'ordre royal et militaire de Saint-Louis, Tome 2 (1860) (p. 502-504).

[keshetchai]

Heyyyy do you have any advice for a potential convert/person exploring Judaism going to services for the first time. I have big anxiety and want to show up respectfully but not totally sure what to expect and how to approach it.

Sure! I definitely have advice.

First, like I said recently, we're currently still in the month of Tishrei, and every Jewish professional is absolutely drowning because this month is jam packed with the high holy days, & Hebrew school/Sunday school is starting back up. This is the absolute busiest time of year for anyone who is a "professional Jew." (Rabbis, cantors, synagogue front admin, etc etc).

What that means is this: I strongly recommend waiting until after October 15th (which will begin the Hebrew month of Cheshvan) to try contacting anyone about conversion. You're just much more likely to be able to get in touch with someone, send an email or make a phone call and get a timely response and/or someone with enough bandwidth to really engage with you.

I'm not saying they'll ignore you right now, or to stay away! Just that your email could end up lost or the people in question might be hard to reach because they're doing 50 million things right now. And I wouldn't want you to think that was personal or to make you anxious!

Okay so, the list looks like this:

Try reaching out after Oct 15th this year (when Tishrei is over).

A good basic book you might be able to find in a local chain bookstore is Anita Diamant's To Choose a Jewish Life which is all about conversion! She is a liberal Jew (reform) and the book leans that way, but it does just cover some general considerations and topics as a good starter.

You can try browsing myjewishlearning.com or watching Bimbam videos (youtube) for basic 101 concepts.

If you've found a local synagogue you would like to try visiting, go to the website. See if you can find the admin assistant email or the rabbi's email. Then send an email explaining you're interested in exploring/learning about Judaism and have considered you may be interested in converting and would like to attend a shabbat service for the first time. This is basically all I did! I sent an email to two rabbis at two synagogues I was considering, and one of them replied immediately and I went that very week.

I have anxiety too but it was extremely easy for me, and I'm pretty lucky that my rabbi is pretty familiar with converts and conversion. Not every rabbi has had converts or even a fair amount of converts though, so some of them might be navigating a new thing to them too!

What made my first shabbat really easy was this:

- basically the response email answered my dress code question, assured me I was welcome to join the next service as a guest and he would be happy to meet/do introductions, and then he gave me the name of someone at the synagogue who would be a great community member to sit with/who could help me follow the service, and said he'd introduce me.

So like, to me, that was the most helpful part, which was that when I arrived a little before the start time, we got to say hi and then he introduced me to a woman who sat with me and was able to help me gain a footing. Or at least who could help me when I was totally lost lol! If no one suggests it to you unprompted, you can always ask if there's anyone in the community they'd recommend you sit with to help you acclimate. It's also totally okay to sit in the back.

You won't know everything the first few times! There's also no musical notation if people sing (so it doesn't matter if you read music or not)! I can't guarantee the synagogue will have full transliteration into English for the service! There's a whole other language you probably don't know being used. Lots of people who show up could do the service with their eyes closed. It is OKAY that you don't start there! It's okay to have no idea when to bow or to not know every prayer ahead of time!

Don't worry that you're not sure what's happening. Most of the time people will be super friendly! They'll also want to know all about you. You can either tell them you're wanting to convert/learn more or you can tell them a limited truth.

If I don't feel like explaining my whole backstory to someone, I usually just say "oh, my parents weren't really/super religious." (This is true for me! my parents werent super religious! But they are christians who aren't super religious. I usually just say I converted nowadays, I don't feel a need to hide it if pressed, but yanno. Sometimes I didn't want to have to explain I never went to Jewish summer camp to a stranger at a random event who wants to play Jewish geography)

Anyways most people will probably be very friendly to a new face/stranger and want to know allll about you at oneg (usually like, snacks after shabbat service) if they don't recognize you and you seem alone. (it's also highly likely there will be a lot of regular people who are a lot older than you, so don't be surprised if you basically get treated like a visiting grandkid. It's kinda great.)

Eventually you learn a lot just by immersion and showing up again and again. There's a pattern you can pick up. Tunes to songs may change and eventually you'll come to recognize the most common ones.

I know it's hard to like hear "hey it's okay don't worry too much" if you have anxiety, because, well, I have anxiety! I know you can't just turn it off! BUT I assure you, if you are made to feel unwelcome or bad, then that just isn't a good synagogue to be going to anyways. It's more likely they're just not a good fit for you than anything wrong with you, yanno? And the first rabbi you talk to may not be the one you want to stick with. That's okay too!

I was extremely nervous my first few services, and honestly everyone was just really nice and helpful. I think the other rabbi I emailed didn't end up replying to that email (it probably got lost!) and it ended up being fine, I stuck with the one who replied right away because we got along and clicked.

My last piece of advice is to go ahead and buy yourself a notebook/journal and keep a book for yourself.

This book can/should be any number of things!

For some inspiration, this book can be:

A journal about your religious journey prior to this point and currently

Write about what you believe now, what you think, what you aren't sure about

Write down the books you're recommended, given, or borrowed

Write down questions you have

Write down the complicated or uncomfortable things you worry or think about

Write about experiencing x or y thing for the first time and what you were interested in, confused by, etc

Cut out/copy down Jewish recipes!

Note things that you find joy in or are confused or bored by!

Take notes during classes/readings of books/etc

Write down notes during meetings with your rabbi!

Torah study notes! What'd you learn? What'd someone else say you found interesting? Questions? Thoughts? Etc.

It's a big process! A lot is going on, and it's worthwhile to record your personal feelings and studies in some way! It doesn't have to be a serious diary or a really studious study notebook, it can literally just be...a catch-all book and it is for no one but yourself to benefit from, so it doesn't have to look any which way. But it's very worthwhile, even if you later change your mind and don't convert, you'll still have all that spiritual exploration journaling and notes for yourself as part of your growth!

[greenmansgrove]

When the Morrigan Calls an Atheist

Originally published in The Connexus of Reformed Druidry, Midwinter 2023. Sharing to my personal blog for the purposes of reaching a wider audience.

I consider myself an atheist druid. I do not believe in the existence of any gods, and I have a strong aversion to organized religion in the face of cultural Christianity and the US’s modern political climate regarding the separation of church and state, or lack thereof. I won’t lie about my still holding those aversions, including to those who consider themselves Christian druids–identities that seem at odds, given Christianity’s historic colonialism and its methodical destruction of indigenous cultures worldwide. But I have Reformed Druidry to thank for my efforts at pluralistic acceptance. I thank, too, my involvement in the LGBTQ+ community. A quote within the Bisexual Manifesto from Anything That Moves: Beyond the Myths of Bisexuality (1990) sticks with me: “There are as many definitions of bisexuality as there are bisexuals.” For the bisexual community, this frame of mind is an important one in the face of historical, systemic, and even internalized biphobia, where one is continually told to “prove” their bi-ness, that having preferences means they aren’t “actually” bi, or that marrying someone who isn’t the same gender as you means it’s a “straight-passing” relationship. Using this understanding, I am able to move much more quickly past questioning one’s labels and into acceptance of and trust for the ways one understands themselves. If a druid can be a Christian, then maybe an atheist can devote themselves to a god…

And so what does an atheist druid do when the Morrigan calls? What does the call of The Morrigan sound like to someone who wants absolutely nothing to do with gods, nor to be associated with theolatry, even if the gods invoked in the RDNA can be interpreted as aspects of nature or Jungian archetypes in the collective unconscious of humanity? Can the gods call to an atheist in the first place? These are questions I ask even myself after having been initiated as an Acolyte of the Order of the Morrigan this past October.

I knew very firmly when I began my druidic studies in May of 2022 that I would be approaching my practice as an atheist. I sought plainly to learn about druidry, celebrate the High Days, and enjoy nature in ways that I used to growing up. Studying druidry, like some study Buddhist philosophy, was a way for me to integrate my desire for intellectual growth, my care for my health, and my political activism. Intertwining all three helps me to live my life holistically and intentionally. My druidic practice consists of learning about plants, animals, and various religions and their gods not as a way to collect knowledge, but to understand the worldviews and lessons that cultures both living and dead have to teach. As a result, I deepen my empathy for others and for myself. I find studying divination to be especially enjoyable, and I even find it useful as an atheist. I think that suspending disbelief is a healthy practice, if not a pleasant diversion. I also see it as an aid to a busy mind. Divination can be helpful in not only listening to one’s intuition, but finding focus where there is chaos. When I am feeling emotionally distraught or when I am struggling to make a choice, I love doing Ogham readings. Whether picking a singular stave or placing a full spread, my divinations help me surrender decision fatigue and cold logic in favor of the imagination, creativity, and serendipity.

Thus, I believe the Morrigan first began “calling” me when my Elder Ogham stave fell off my altar in October 2022. Without noticing, it snapped beneath my boot in my rush out the door. I struggled to attach meaning to what had happened – a fun exercise I set upon myself. Elder is associated with protection, healing, cycles of death and rebirth, and even sacrifice. Had my Elder stave “protected” me from something? Had I or would I sleight someone, causing the “death” of a relationship? What else might be dying and be reborn, or even interrupted in that process, as symbolized by the break? Was there a sacrifice I was being asked to make? I did not know, and no answer came. I replaced the stave in my collection and burned the broken, unfixable stave as part of my sacrifice later that Samhain. Things were quiet in the months ahead, but then over and over again, the names and their various spellings associated with the Morrigan would appear before me in reading, in passing, in meeting people. And in my nature walks, I kept spying plants that I would later discover to be associated the Morrigan, often in unexpected places or forms I did not immediately recognize until using an identification app.  Chiefly among those was Elder, both red and black varieties native to the US, as well as hawthorns and nightshades.

All the while, and since beginning my druidic studies in May 2022, I was dealing very strongly with some grief. I’d hit the point where existing in my grief was beginning to weigh on me and frustrate me. I did not know how to move on. I did not know how to stop wallowing or what actions to take to make a difference. I was ready to enter that big “acceptance” stage that everyone talked about, but which I’d only experienced fleetingly or only logically but not emotionally. Studying druidry was one of the ways I hoped to find some method of managing my grief and finding joy again. It was working, but the grief still held me quite tightly moving into 2023.

When I finally caught the pattern of the Morrigan’s names and plants appearing in my life, I began my research. What could those appearances mean? Why was my brain picking up on those patterns? What tied them together?

In the three dark moons since dawning my devotional pendant, I am, naturally, still seeking the answers to those questions. I find these exercises of logic and imagination more entertaining than anything serious to pursue, but I can at least describe what I’ve gotten out of the experience thus far. A simple start to an answer might be that I relate to the ideas, the images, the lore, and the messages of the Morrigan.  She is a peacemaker as much as She is a warmaker. Through Her many incarnations, She has survived and overcome adversity and grief of all kinds. She knows what it means to be more than how others perceive you. I can appreciate what She has come to mean for women, queer individuals, and survivors of all kinds in the modern era, and it is that mutability of Her image between the past and in the present that also draws me to Her. Transformation and change, including to those of the current times, seems right up Her alley. Hers are qualities I would like to see in myself.

When Elder appeared to me on my walks for the third time earlier this year, that’s when I decided I would do something out of character for how I viewed myself as an atheist druid – I would join The Order of the Morrigan. I was already familiar with the liturgy John the Verbose had composed a few years prior, and with that third, final sign, I felt that it was the push towards the threshold of change I was looking for in my grief. I would use my initiation as a right of passage beyond my grief, to work to make change, to fight to pull myself out of where I had been wallowing so I could move on. As serendipity would have it, the day of October’s new moon was also the day of the partial annular eclipse for Minnesota, and John the Verbose was kind enough to allow the ritual he planned to simply be my initiation that day. All around, it felt not only appropriate but auspicious to have my initiation take place during a time of introspection and new beginnings. I went into it not just hoping it would be the hallmark of change in my life, but with the intention of making it the moment of change.

I’d spent the month prior making my preparations. I strung my devotional pendant, I wove my sling from hemp, I collected three black sling stones from the orange agate-speckled shores of the Mississippi near my apartment, and collected the Waters of Death there, too. I procured some of my second-favorite elderberry wine that John would consecrate as the Waters of Life. And I fashioned the first iteration (of three – I’m bad at sewing) of my vestments if the Morrigan accepted me. I awoke the morning of the ritual to the calls of the crow family that had moved into the forest across the street, and it was taken to be a sign.

The day was a little chilly and overcast, occluding our views of the eclipse for a majority of the time, but it meant more to me that the grove officers were all there, standing in solidarity with me. But as serious as the mood of the ritual is meant to be, it is difficult not to laugh as you crush a tomato in your fist with your grovemates in the splash zone…

When John asked for a sign of the Morrigan’s acceptance, he made an acorn divination while the calls of bluejays (my favorite corvid) rang out in the distance, heralding new beginnings, commitments, and the responsibilities therein.

And I did, indeed, feel a renewed sense of purpose, per the liturgy’s closing admonitions. I can say with certainty that while I still have good and bad days with my grief, I feel resolute in efforts to curate a more hopeful future for myself in spite of my grief.

My first few months as an Acolyte have been devoted to my research of the Morrigan. As an Acolyte, I am seeking to deepen my relationship with Her and what She represents. I have learned a lot. Studying what She means to peoples of the past and present has allowed me to learn about myself, too. “Shadow work” or self-reflexivity seems to be an important part of devotion to The Morrigan. It is something that comes naturally to me, which doesn’t mean it’s easy, but it’s affirming to know that something I work hard to practice is also something well-practiced by the Morrigan’s devotees.

And to be sure, I am still an atheist. However, I would be remiss not to treat my studies and engagement with the Morrigan’s lore and community with the same level of respect and seriousness that Her believers do. As an Acolyte of the Morrigan, I see myself as a student to Her teachings, rather than a worshiper. And if I were to become a Priest to Her Order someday, I might be more likely to consider myself a representative of Her interests and values.

I’m certain that as I continue my studies and deepen my relationship with The Morrigan that I may come to new realizations, and they are something I welcome. I am in a continual state of learning and becoming. I think atheists get a bad rep for being killjoy skeptics, but I see myself as just being deeply rooted in reality, working to keep an open mind for things that cannot or have yet to be explained, and trying to have more than a little fun while I’m at it.

Peace to the heavens!

[flashnthunder]

Miscellaneous tag game

@grumpy-liebgott and @sharkboyandlavalieb tagged me <333 and i am of course a million years late

Favorite place in the world you’ve visited?

inside the us i would say maine, i love the ocean/forest combo it's got going on

Something you’re proud of yourself for?

coauthoring several medical research papers as an undergrad, which is like my one and only flex and it's a nerdy one

Favorite books?

new hampshire- robert frost, the art of being human- michael wesch, ajax- sophocles (yes, only one of these is technically a book ik)

Something that makes your heart happy when thinking about it?

it might be cheesy to say music, but music and my friends <3

Favorite thing about your culture?

from the midwest US (so there's not that much), but i was raised very much in borderline appalachia and the older i've gotten the more i've come to appreciate that as part of how i was raised, so i would say quilting! i was taught to quilt by the women in my family and i still cherish the connection to them through that

When did you join the HBO War fandom? What was the first show you watched?

band of brothers in 8th grade, my history teacher would play it for us and i'm pretty sure he used it in place of actually teaching but he was a real one and also a drill sergeant so i don't think anyone argued with his methods

Have you read any of Easy Company’s books? If so, which ones were your favorite?

have NOT read any BoB books, but i have read most of the ones that inspired the pacific + a shit ton of pacific memoirs in general

Favorite HBO War character and your favorite moment with them?

lip and luz with the dud shell, bull watching out for the younger replacements, the officers in the eagle's nest, and just in general all of episode 8

Do you make content for any fandoms, if so; what sort of content?

band of brothers, top gun, the pacific (hypothetically), mota now it looks like, way back to my roots would be star trek and also whatever was going on with bandoms in hs that is a dark time

Favorite actor/actress and your favorite film of theirs?

oooh idk it changes, but last year i was on an ethan hawke kick- 'adopt a highway' and 'first reformed' are two he's good in (obligatory dead poets society mention ofc)

Favorite quote/s that you wish to share with others?

"Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light; I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night." - sarah williams

Random fact your mutuals/followers don’t know about you?

so bad at fun facts uhhh. uh. i am double-jointed in my hands.

If you’re a writer, do you need a beta reader (say yes so I can be your beta reader 🤭)?

i have NEVER had a beta reader and i am simply too scared to ask how it works because i'm not sure anyone should have to be subjected to my writing process but!! always willing to give a new thing a shot

Three things that make you smile?

my dog when she stretches in the sun, swimming in a creek in the summer, sitting in the car with my best friend while it rains

Any nicknames you like?

izzy! i have liked it well enough to all but legally make it my real name, other than that izzy-maye from people i'm close with, or iz/izzers when people are in a hurry

List some people you love to see around on tumblr!

@andromeddog art makes me go feral, @mutantmanifesto killer art that is living rent-free in my mind, @ewipandora MWAH you already know you make my day better on here, @onehelluvamarine has me kicking my feet giggling when they're in my notifs, @terresdebrume lovely writing <3

What would you do during a zombie apocalypse?

foolproof 3 step plan, ready for it? 1- find a good ditch 2- lay down in the ditch 3- just let it happen

idealistically i think i could go chill in the woods for a semi-significant period of time and be alright

Favorite movie?

logan's run (comfort movie, questionable 70s sci-fi), the hunt for red october (always feeling very big feelings on this), arrival, apocalypse now, fury, dead poets society, alexander (like the 4 hours version because im insufferable like that) the old star trek movies

Do you like horror movies?

i love horror movies WITH people you will not catch me watching them on my own, but 100% love love getting to sit on someone's couch and watch one

Tagging:

(no pressure and apologies for any double tagging) @ewipandora @blood-mocha-latte @deputy-buck @lamialamia @blurredcolour @saturnwisteria @staud + anyone i tagged in my answers and forgot to tag down here, or anyone who just wants to do it :)

[deathzgf]

how did saint-just get into the military/ what were his big accomplishments

MILITARY TWINK POSTING TIME

saint - just was actually involved in the military well before he was a représentant en mission ( representative on mission ) during the terror

early 1790 saw the start of his military career , with the revolution picking up the pace the traditional structure of blérancourt ( saint - just ' s home town ) , of which the notary gellé previously had unquestionable power , was reformed by saint - just ' s mates

to me , this is Crazy since saint - just wanted to marry thérèse Gellé . BUT shit happened and by 1786 thérèse had been married off to another notary . then The Silver thing happened . i ' m not gonna go into them any more , but you can read about thérèse + saint - just here

so . saint - just and the lads were like Man fuck the gellés ( which , mind you , saint - just had been trying to do ) except not really and blérancourt held its first open municipal elections ! shout out to the national constituent assembly :3

thanks to the new electoral structure , saint - just ' s friends were able to assume power instead of the gellés . examples of some of the positions they were in were mayor , secretary , head of local national guard , etc

his brother - in - law being the head of the guard is actually what started saint - just ' s military career ! he was only 23 when all of this happened , so he was unable to assume the same positions as his friends . However , since the head of the guard was who he was , he let saint - just join the guard ! yippee !

the discipline he ' s famous for was evident even in these early months , and due to this he quickly became commanding officer with the rank of lieutenant-colonel :3

throughout his time as commanding officer , there ' s this one thing i think is Crazy which is the story about the burning anti - revolutionary pamphlets at a local meeting . like . Girl . we get it you ' re into the revolution ??? you don ' t have to set pamphlets THAT YOU ARE HOLDING . IN YOUR HAND . ON FIRE ??? TO DISPLAY YOUR DEDICATION ??? LIKE ??? average teenage girl behaviour honestly . that would have hurt though like , as someone who has burnt the back of both their hands off , yowch

unrelated to military affairs , but , whilst commanding officer he also wrote  L ’ Esprit de la Revolution et de la constitution de France ( which can be read here ( fr ) ) + wrote to robespierre ( which can be read here ) for the first time

due to his position in the guard being because of his want to participate in the revolution + his revolutionary texts , he was elected to join the national assembly as a deputy in 1792

BUT ! it does not end there

10 october 1793 as well as the whole " government would be revolutionary until peace " thing , saint - just ' s proposal that deputies from the convention should directly oversee all military efforts was approved

these deputies were called représentant en mission and sent to designated areas to maintain law and order , oversee conscription , monitor local military command , etc . one of the most critical areas was Alsace , who ' s army of the rhine was collapsing . womp womp . so saint - just and le

were sent to alsace to fix shit up

which they did do ! as i mentioned , saint - just was famous for his discipline . this discipline was again evident in this mission . thanks to the law of 14 frimaire , représentants en mission were granted the freedom to impose discipline how they chose . by the way , by discipline i MEAN DISCIPLINE . girl dismissed officers left and right . and executed via firing squad MORE officers + at least one general . Girl . GIRL

whilst enemies of the revolution were repressed by saint - just no matter if they were soldier or civilian , he did Not agree with the mass executions ordered by some of the other représentants en mission ( cough cough fouché in lyon . cough cough fréron in toulon )

he also , noticing the majority of the army being barefoot , ordered 10 000 pairs of shoes to be confiscated from aristocrats in Strasbourg , which was a nearby city , to be redistributed to soldiers . Strasbourg instead sent 17 000 pairs of shoes + 21 000 pairs of shirts to the army

speaking of Strasbourg , i do believe saint - just got Eulogius Schneider arrested + executed

~ december 1793 the army of the rhine was reformed so saint - just briefly returned to paris , where his success was celebrated . saint - just , of course , did not do all this by himself . it was a group effort between both him and le bas . i do not know much on le bas ' own military accomplishments though :[ BUT i do know that le bas wrote to robespierre on behalf of them both whilst they were in alsace . something something " Saint - Just doesn ' t have time to write to you . He gives you his compliments " saint - just please make time for your girlfriend he misses you

~ january 1794 saint - just was sent back to the front lines , this time to belgium with the army of the north --- who were experiencing the same issues as the army of the rhine

saint - just began to repeat what he had done in alsace , however less than a month in he was recalled to paris by robespierre

and now i interrupt this tumblr post to show you a clip from saint - just et la forces des choses that rots and rotates in my brain 25 / 8

anyways

~ april - june 1794 he was sent back to belgium to , again , do what he had done previously with the armies of the rhine + the north . he contributed to the victory of the battle of fleurus , ordering any retreating soldiers to be shot

saint - just also intimidated Reynac into surrendering charleroi . " I don ' t want this piece of paper ( i . e . Reynac ' s note with proposed terms of surrender ) , I want the place itself " girl calm down . the french weren ' t even ready to assault charleroi , it would have taken at least another eight days , so saint - just was bluffing . BUT . it worked lol ; reynac surrendered charleroi unconditionally

the victory of fleurus was saint - just ' s last military affair . once he returned to paris , his success was once again celebrated --- however , the political side of things was declining . something something the great terror something something thermidor . womp womp

which is Crazy because saint - just ' s victory of fleurus was a major trigger for thermidor . the committee of public safety was being held together because of the threats that saint - just had now dealt with . there was , obviously , a lot more to it than that but that Definitely was Something

girls when their success leads to their failure

[writer-citation-needed]

It may sound crazy, to want to live the same day over and over again with no end in sight. Hell, I would have even thought it was ridiculous before I ended up here. However, it's really not as bad as the movies make it seem. Consider the following:

My social anxiety is practically gone. Don't want to talk to someone? I already know exactly where nearly everyone in my town is at basically every single minute! At this point I can pretty much navigate social life like a video game- the dialog tree only reaches so far after all.

So much time to watch TV, movies, read books, listen to podcasts, etc etc. This one seems like a pretty obvious perk. There's a lot of great stuff I would have missed out on with the loop, plus with the state of media I doubt anything good will come after me.

Well, I was pretty lucky to have my loop on a day with no bills or appointments or any major responsibility, really. I hated being an adult. It's great being able to just chill (not to mention, no more periods!)

I woke up with a warm feeling across my face, a beam of sunlight having been gracing my features for some time now according to my phone. Before all of this time loop business I wouldn't have woken up past eleven AM, but I don't exactly have a shift to wake up for anymore (I thank myself every day for having taken the day off) so I don't feel the need to rise and grind per se. Besides, nothing around here opens until later in the morning anyways.

As I dress and wash my face (I'm not so far gone in the loop as to stop caring about my hygiene, although of course I've had my fair share of lazy days) I try to make my mental to-do list for the day, knowing I'll have to write it down after breakfast. I've really taken to journaling the past few months of the loop, since it allows me to keep a record of everything I've done and how long I've been here. Otherwise, I think it would all run together.

Alright, list time, I think.

Today's a good day to finish up that sweater; it's nearly done. Kara will like the surprise. When is she at the library? Wait no, she doesn't go to the library. I'm thinking of Milly. Crap. I think Kara's at home 'til three, so I can pop by if I can finish that up soon. Great!

I haven't gotten around to trying Grouch's strawberry latte yet, that would be a nice treat. I'm honestly shocked it's taken me this long to get around to their coffee, I didn't hate it that much before the loop.

Maybe then I'll finish up Drag Race Canada. There's only what, five more episodes? Psh. (Thank god for Rupaul's franchising. The only way you could watch all those seasons is if you were in a time loop.)

That sounds like enough for today. I'm exhausted from running around yesterday. Someone should have told me not to make a batch of soap without knowing fifteen other people that wanted it! Oh well, it probably made their nights.

After a nutritious meal of Eggos and peaches I got to work on that sweater. Crochet didn't take to long to learn, and luckily there's a million patterns online for me to work through. It's a good hobby for me. I do feel bad for the library stitch group's yarn that I keep 'borrowing' for all my projects though. Luckily they won't remember me asking by the time the sun rises again.

I do sometimes wonder what happens to the material things within the loop. People I get. They wake up exactly how they were the day before. Objects, though? I've never had anything mysteriously disappear at night, nor has something broken magically reformed during the loop. This sweater for instance- once I give it to Kara, what will happen to it? Surely it won't stay in her closet forever. She'd notice a handmade sweater randomly at the back of her closer and know it can't have just have shown up. Maybe the material gets recycled throughout the universe or something, I don't know.

Without realizing it, I came to the last stitch. It's a nice little garment, not really meant for this summer weather but would do quite nicely in October.

I shove the sweater in my good old tote bag and slip on my sneakers before embarking on my quest to Kara's neighborhood, right by the elementary school. Going out used to be unnerving with the deja vu feeling being unavoidable, but I've found comfort in it after all these days. It's a lot like Stardew Valley in my opinion, With the right timing, I know exactly where everyone will be and how they'll react to whatever I do to spice up the day. Even someone like Kara, who I had only spoken to a few times before the loop, is someone I now know inside and out. I can hear her reaction now, "When did you have time to make this? Just yesterday you said you were swamped with assignments. It came out lovely though. Thank you." She wouldn't even-

I lose my thought alongside my footing as I stumble on the sidewalk and fall flat on my face. At least the sweater blocked some of my body from the impact. I look back to make sure I didn't drop anything, but what I see confuses me more than anything that could have fallen from my bag.

A person.

On the sidewalk.

I know it doesn't sound like something that would warrant such a reaction, but you need to understand that there hasn't been a single person on this road in all the hundreds of days I've taken this route in town! That's why I go this way. So imagine my surprise to see a real, genuine human being curled up on the ground much like I am now after my graceful maneuver.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..." The figure begins to say. Their voice pierces through my ears like when metal scrapes against itself. I wasn't meant to hear it. It's wrong. Why?

"Who are you?" I blurt instinctively. I don't recognize their tone, their accent, their vocal quirks.

"I'm Dell," they reply. A name I've never heard around these parts.

My guard goes up.

"I'm Lila."

"Again, I'm really sorry for making you fall. I hope you aren't hurt." I look closer at Dell's face. They really do look sorry. Maybe for more than just our collision. Their eyes look puffy, their hair unbrushed. To summarize: a wreck.

"It's okay. Nothing a bandaid can't fix." It sounds foreign coming out of my mouth- I've never said anything like that before.

I barely hear when they mutter "I wish a bandaid could fix all this."

Again, alarm bells. Why haven't I ever seen Dell here before? I can practically count the leaves on the trees after the number of times I've walked down this very road. Surely I would have stumbled into them (literally) one of these days. Still, I can sense that they have something more going on. I can't let myself treat the people around me like NPCs just because I (usually) know their every move.

"What's wrong? If you don't mind my prying." I've sat up at this point. We both face the road now.

"It's not something I can really explain."

"Dell, believe me when I say I am probably dealing with something weirder"

They sigh. "Okay. I guess it won't really matter anyways. You'll forget it too."

Dell thinks, choosing their words wisely.

"I just feel like- like I'm trapped. And the world keeps going on without me, and I can't figure out how to change it. Change anything."

My eyes widen. It makes sense now, their unfamiliar face, strange voice and sudden appearance in my once comfortably unchanged routine.

Dell's like me.

"Me too!" I say a bit too enthusiastically. Seeing their look of disbelief, I continue, "no, I really mean it. I've been here for a while. On this day."

It's Dell's turn for shock. "Really? You aren't messing with me?"

"Nope. If you want, I have proof." Dell nods. You open your tote bag and reach for your notebook (you've grown accustomed to taking it with you so you can take note of any creative ideas you have or interesting things to mark for the future). As you flip through the dozens of pages already filled, Dell's jaw drops.

"How long have you been here?" They ask meekly, like they don't want to hear your answer deep down.

"I only started keeping a serious record about five months ago but it was a while before I thought of it."

Dell frowns. "And you don't know how to end it?"

"I haven't tried. Honest, it's not so bad. Like reading the script for a play. Everything falls into place perfectly." I offer them my favorite upside.

"I just wanna go back. I miss my life. My real one. With unpredictableness and everything." Dell whimpers. They look like they're going to cry, and it makes them look younger than they already did. I hadn't thought of it before, but it's entirely possible that they're a child. It must be hard for them.

New item added to my to-do list: help Dell leave the loop.

I don't know if it's even possible, really. I certainly haven't thought about learning the lesson that landed me here. Why would I? I get to enjoy all the best parts of adulthood without any of the responsibilities. It rules. I try to explain this, but it falls on deaf ears.

"Don't you miss your family, Lila? Your friends?"

Another thing I hadn't thought much about. I had fallen out of touch with my friends after high school, and since moving away from my parents I don't call them much.

Huh. I haven't called them at all.

My stomach churns.

Dell can see the way my lips frown. "Lila?"

It must be harder with loved ones near you. Not celebrating holidays or good news or anything other than one day's set events. Not being able to tell them what's happening, or worse confessing to them and having them wake up the next morning with no clue of your situation. No one to turn to, no one who understands. Not a single unplanned moment.

"We'll get through this. I'll make sure." I take a deep breath. I don't know what to do for know, but I know that I'll be able to think better with some caffeine.

"Have you tried Grouch's before? It's a really good cafe."

Dell shakes their head. "My dad says they have terrible coffee."

I laugh. "I thought that too, but give it some time and your mind might change"

We stand up and I lead the way. The sweater can wait- I can just deliver it again tomorrow.

Now, I have a much more important goal.

I have to get out. For Dell. For myself.

You are stuck in a time loop, but you have no intention of ever breaking out of it. After literally millions of resets a new person appears in the loop and asks you why you are still in the loop.

[bookoformon]

Ether 8, Part 3. "A Goat and His Daddy."

It is the Night of the Seder, April 22, 2024, and still President Biden has not ended the Republican Party, informed the world he let the Mormons slip by him and attack Israel on October 7, Pro-Life an illegal approach to women's health care has not been squashed like a bug, and Donald Trump, a walking talking piece of tripe, is still alive and kicking. We are in for a long night.

The Book of Mormon says in order to fix things all we need to do is read:

9 Now the daughter of Jared was exceedingly fair. And it came to pass that she did talk with her father, and said unto him: Whereby hath my father so much sorrow? Hath he not read the record which our fathers brought across the great deep? Behold, is there not an account concerning them of old, that they by their secret plans did obtain kingdoms and great glory?

10 And now, therefore, let my father send for Akish, the son of Kimnor; and behold, I am fair, and I will dance before him, and I will please him, that he will desire me to wife; wherefore if he shall desire of thee that ye shall give unto him me to wife, then shall ye say: I will give her if ye will bring unto me the ahead of my father, the king.

11 And now Omer was a friend to Akish; wherefore, when Jared had sent for Akish, the daughter of Jared danced before him that she pleased him, insomuch that he desired her to wife. And it came to pass that he said unto Jared: Give her unto me to wife.

12 And Jared said unto him: I will give her unto you, if ye will bring unto me the head of my father, the king.

Once again, men are intentions, women are habits and institutions. Their children, the fruits of the actions, result in ways of life. At the top of the scale is the government and its governors. Why do we intend to govern? And why should its ways be fair? So that people don't call each other ridiculous names with impunity and beat on each other that is why.

Have you seen those fuckchucks in New York? Parading their asses with those checkered handtowels around their necks? Have you heard the warnings about Passover of all things? What do you have to whine about?

This idolatry, this worship of righteous indignation that is baseless and factless are reasons why we expect people all around the world to self-govern within the self and to govern fairly within institutions and governments.

What about "Border Security and protection of Life?" These sentiments are expressed by the very same Republicans and Mormons that deigned to infilfrate Hamas and engage in a ruthless and efficient terrorist attack originating behind enemy lines in Gaza on October 7. They ddn't join in, they were the very cause of what happened on that day.

Nowhere in any of mankind's holy books or law books can we find justification for any these thoughts or behaviors. Even still the world is siezed by madness and nothing is being done to address the underyling causes. We are not engaging in proper governance and this is costing us time, money, lives, and progress at reforming this planet's real problems. Among which abortion and acceptance of Jesus are not numbered. And we do not have a border problem we have a problem with corruption in our Congress and Supreme Court that our president refuses to accept and deal with appropriately. It is all coming down to this.

Read the Torah, the Gospels and this Book of Mormon, read the Haggadah, read the Constitution, and then read all the Federal and International laws, everyone, and then see just how unfair life can be.

None of this should be happening. Not the wars, the persecution of protected classes, not the terrorism, the wipspread sexual abuse of minors the Republicans are so fond of, not the election frauds, no Donald Trumps, Vladimir Putins, no Pro-Life none of these are suppposed to be happening. So why are they?

The Values in Gematria are:

v. 9: Can you not read the Record of the Deep? The Value in Gematria is 8072, hafeszeb, "the summit." What is the summit of the Records? The Ten Commandments. Are we observing them as closely as we can?

v. 10: And now, therefore, let my father send for Akish, the son of Kimnor; and behold, I am fair, and I will dance before him, and I will please him, that he will desire me to wife; wherefore if he shall desire of thee that ye shall give unto him me to wife.

Akish= the bite, the knock (in HEBREW).

Son of Kimnor= as a lamp

The Value in Gematria is 9626, טובו‎‎‎, "His wealth and his goodness."

The daughter is supposed to be wed to the knocker, but Omer the Speaker sees her too:

v. 11: And it came to pass that he said unto Jared: Give her unto me to wife. The Value in Gematria is 10652, יו‎ה‎ב‎, Yahweh, "Yes, in the present."

Ya= yes

Hweh= the present.

v. 12: And Jared said unto him: I will give her unto you, if ye will bring unto me the head of my father, the king. The Value in Gematria is 7016, ז‎אֶפֶסא‎ו‎, "the zephyr." "whistle for the goat."

The beginning of wisdom within the self and in the government is to read and become literate. The Prophet says this will begin the evolution of the intellect by appealing to its superstitions about God and His love and this will tame the goat, resulting in a keen awareness of God's real Presence in real time. For this we are to give thanks and show our gratitude by becoming working parts in a just and prosperous way of life.

This we do not have at this time but it is still the morning. Perhaps the day will end some other way.

[my-weird-news]

😱 Unbelievable! EMT Attacked in NYC Ambulance: What Happened Next is Insane!

#StabbyComedy: The Ambulance Ambush Saga So, picture this: the Big Apple, a city that never sleeps, where even the gum wrappers have attitude. In a stunning turn of events that could only happen in New York City, a man named Rudy Garcia, who apparently thinks he's auditioning for a horror movie role, decided to turn an ambulance ride into a stabby showdown. I mean, who needs Broadway drama when you can have a real-life thriller, right? Let's set the stage. It's a warm July evening, and our protagonist Julia Fatum, a 25-year-old EMT with nerves of steel, is just minding her own business. She's doing her EMT thing, you know, saving lives and such. But wait, cue the gum wrapper! 🍬 Rudy Garcia, the gum-wielding antagonist, apparently thought it was a brilliant idea to launch a gum wrapper attack. Julia, displaying the bravery of a superhero, politely asks him to cut it out. But oh no, that's not enough for our gum-chucking villain. He responds with a passionate "f--- you!" You can't make this stuff up. Now, here's where it goes from bizarre to bonkers. Rudy reaches into his sock – yes, you read that right, his sock – and pulls out a large knife. Maybe his sock has magical pockets, who knows? He proceeds to perform a stabby symphony on Julia, hitting her left forearm, chest, and even giving her left thigh a little love tap. I'm starting to think Rudy missed his true calling – he should've been a cutlery juggler at a circus. 🔪🎪 Now, let's talk about the ambulance driver. Bless his heart, he's stuck in the front, unable to help Julia because she's locked the back like it's the world's most dangerous escape room. Julia, in the spirit of a true survivor, stumbles out of the ambulance, turning this whole mess into a street performance. And guess what? An onlooker captures the spectacle on camera! I bet that footage is going straight to the "New York's Weirdest Moments" YouTube playlist. 🎥 And what's Rudy's excuse for his stabbing spree? He allegedly thought the EMTs were "fake" and had "kidnapped him." Dude, I've heard of denial, but this takes the cake – or should I say, the gum wrapper. Maybe he watched one too many sci-fi movies before his sock-knife incident. But let's not forget the real heroes here – the first responders and the Mount Sinai Health System members. They swoop in to save the day, and I imagine one of them might've shouted, "Put down the sock, sir!" Manhattan District Attorney Alvin Bragg chimes in with a press release praising these brave souls and condemning Rudy's sock-cessful attack. Now, fast forward to the court scene. Rudy shows up wearing a beige jail uniform and a blue mask, like he's auditioning for the world's most depressing fashion show. He pleads not guilty to a list of charges that reads like a crime-themed word salad. Rudy's fashion statement probably stole the show, though. And let's not forget Julia's journey. Stitches, surgeries, nerve damage – she's truly the embodiment of resilience. Her left hand even decides to take a vacation, causing Rudy to dubiously claim he thought EMTs were imposters. Yep, we're dealing with a real-life conspiracy theorist here, folks. Julia's mom takes to Facebook to unleash her frustration, leaving us wondering, "How's your bail reform working?" Touché, mom. But don't worry, folks, the story ends on a high note. A GoFundMe campaign raises a hefty sum to support Julia, because New Yorkers know how to rally around their own. And Rudy? Well, he's got a court date that's probably circled on his sock-calendar – October 30th, for those keeping track. And that's the story of the Ambulance Ambush, a tale that could only unfold in the chaotic embrace of New York City. So, remember, if you're ever in the Big Apple and someone throws a gum wrapper your way, watch out – you might just end up starring in the weirdest show in town. 🍎🚑**#StabbyComedy: The Ambulance Ambush Saga** So, picture this: the Big Apple, a city that never sleeps, where even the gum wrappers have attitude. In a stunning turn of events that could only happen in New York City, a man named Rudy Garcia, who apparently thinks he's auditioning for a horror movie role, decided to turn an ambulance ride into a stabby showdown. I mean, who needs Broadway drama when you can have a real-life thriller, right? Let's set the stage. It's a warm July evening, and our protagonist Julia Fatum, a 25-year-old EMT with nerves of steel, is just minding her own business. She's doing her EMT thing, you know, saving lives and such. But wait, cue the gum wrapper! 🍬 Rudy Garcia, the gum-wielding antagonist, apparently thought it was a brilliant idea to launch a gum wrapper attack. Julia, displaying the bravery of a superhero, politely asks him to cut it out. But oh no, that's not enough for our gum-chucking villain. He responds with a passionate "f--- you!" You can't make this stuff up. Now, here's where it goes from bizarre to bonkers. Rudy reaches into his sock – yes, you read that right, his sock – and pulls out a large knife. Maybe his sock has magical pockets, who knows? He proceeds to perform a stabby symphony on Julia, hitting her left forearm, chest, and even giving her left thigh a little love tap. I'm starting to think Rudy missed his true calling – he should've been a cutlery juggler at a circus. 🔪🎪 Now, let's talk about the ambulance driver. Bless his heart, he's stuck in the front, unable to help Julia because she's locked the back like it's the world's most dangerous escape room. Julia, in the spirit of a true survivor, stumbles out of the ambulance, turning this whole mess into a street performance. And guess what? An onlooker captures the spectacle on camera! I bet that footage is going straight to the "New York's Weirdest Moments" YouTube playlist. 🎥 And what's Rudy's excuse for his stabbing spree? He allegedly thought the EMTs were "fake" and had "kidnapped him." Dude, I've heard of denial, but this takes the cake – or should I say, the gum wrapper. Maybe he watched one too many sci-fi movies before his sock-knife incident. But let's not forget the real heroes here – the first responders and the Mount Sinai Health System members. They swoop in to save the day, and I imagine one of them might've shouted, "Put down the sock, sir!" Manhattan District Attorney Alvin Bragg chimes in with a press release praising these brave souls and condemning Rudy's sock-cessful attack. Now, fast forward to the court scene. Rudy shows up wearing a beige jail uniform and a blue mask, like he's auditioning for the world's most depressing fashion show. He pleads not guilty to a list of charges that reads like a crime-themed word salad. Rudy's fashion statement probably stole the show, though. And let's not forget Julia's journey. Stitches, surgeries, nerve damage – she's truly the embodiment of resilience. Her left hand even decides to take a vacation, causing Rudy to dubiously claim he thought EMTs were imposters. Yep, we're dealing with a real-life conspiracy theorist here, folks. Julia's mom takes to Facebook to unleash her frustration, leaving us wondering, "How's your bail reform working?" Touché, mom. But don't worry, folks, the story ends on a high note. A GoFundMe campaign raises a hefty sum to support Julia, because New Yorkers know how to rally around their own. And Rudy? Well, he's got a court date that's probably circled on his sock-calendar – October 30th, for those keeping track. And that's the story of the Ambulance Ambush, a tale that could only unfold in the chaotic embrace of New York City. So, remember, if you're ever in the Big Apple and someone throws a gum wrapper your way, watch out – you might just end up starring in the weirdest show in town. 🍎🚑 Read the full article

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Anonymous asked: I’m not a monarchist but I appreciate how Queen Elizabeth II has been a credit to institution of the monarchy in Britain. I can’t say the same about Charles and the rest of her family though. The Queen has my grudging respect for reaching the milestone as the longest serving British monarch in British history with her 70th anniversary. However as a monarchist how can you make the case that she is a legitimate ruler as the Windsors are a recent invention?

I appreciate the sincerity of your questions and also respect your honesty in at least appreciating the life and impact of Elizabeth Windsor has had by being the Queen. I doubt we will see her like again - I pray that isn’t the case but her life and reign has been extraordinary by any measure.

You are not the first non-monarchist who has pointed out the obvious. The late Christopher Hitchens was another who said, “The British monarchy doesn't depend entirely on glamour, as the long,  long reign of Queen Elizabeth II continues to demonstrate. Her  unflinching dutifulness and reliability have conferred something beyond  charm upon the institution, associating it with stoicism and a certain  integrity. Republicanism is infinitely more widespread than it was when  she was first crowned, but it's very rare indeed to hear the Sovereign Lady herself being criticised, and even most anti-royalists hasten to  express themselves admiringly where she is concerned.”

However true Hitchens’ remarks may be it’s something monarchists mustn’t rest on their laurels. Indeed it’s a mirage. If one determines the legitimacy of a monarchy on personality alone then we are on dodgy grounds.

Simply put there are some who question if Prince Charles should succeed to the throne when William, his son, would be a much better fit from a PR and marketing point of view. This is to misunderstand the solemn nature of what a monarchy is. It is not a popularity contest based on the shifting whims of the hoi polloi - either republican or pro-monarchists both fed on tabloid tittle tattle.

Succession is grounded upon constitutional law which in turn is rooted in custom and heritage of our united kingdom. One simply doesn’t throw all this away lightly.

I’m sorry to disagree but your mistaken on both counts: the meaning of her 70th anniversary of her accession to the throne and her legitimacy to rule. The Windsors - even if the name is - are not a recent invention.

Actually quite a few have misunderstood the meaning of her accession to the throne with her being the longest reigning monarch in British history. On 9 September 2015, Elizabeth II became the longest-reigning British monarch and the longest-reigning female monarch in world history.

On 23 May 2016, her reign surpassed the claimed reign of James Francis Edward Stuart (the "Old Pretender"). On 13 October 2016, she became the world's longest-reigning current monarch (and the world's longest-serving current head of state) after the death of Bhumibol Adulyadej (Rama IX), King of Thailand.

On 6 February 2022 (at the age of 95 years, 291 days), she celebrated her platinum jubilee, marking 70 years on the throne, becoming the first British monarch to do so.

Elizabeth became queen after the death of her father, King George VI, from lung cancer at age 56 on February 6, 1952. At the time, she was 25, married and the mother of two small children. Understandably HM the Queen doesn’t celebrate the anniversary of the date she became queen, known as Ascension Day, as it is also the anniversary of her father’s death.

I don’t have time to lay out the constitutional grounds of the monarchy’s legitimacy in Britain as I have addressed in past posts. The simplest way to understand it is to go and read Walter Bagehot, a journalist who would co-found and edit The Economist magazine. He was one of the greatest Victorians of the 19th Century and he concerned himself with the workings and the reform of the delicate constitutional arrangements between parliament, the House of Lords, and the monarchy as so much is based on custom and unwritten practice.

Walter Bagehot published his classic work, The English Constitution in 1867 but it is the best way to understand the delicate balance of parliament and the monarchy. No one has written a finer work than Bagehot and his book remains the bible for many interested in constitutional matters regarding the monarchy.  In it he argued that the constitution was divided into two branches. The monarchy   represents the “dignified” branch. Its job is to symbolise the state   through pomp and ceremony. The government - Parliament, the cabinet and the civil service - represents the “efficient” branch. Its job is to run  the country by passing laws and providing public services. He was right to say that the dignified  branch governs through poetry, and the efficient branch through prose.

In Bagehot’s view, a politically-inactive monarchy served the best interests of the United Kingdom; by abstaining from direct rule, the monarch levitated above the political fray like a dignified David Copperfield, and remained a respected personage to whom all subjects could look to as a guiding light.

As to how Queen Elizabeth II is related to past monarchs well she can go back to the Tudors. One way way to look at it is to see Queen Elizabeth II as historically first cousins to Queen Elizabeth I. You might think that’s a stretch but not so in the context of how European royalty maps out its lineage through history.

Deep breath.

Henry VII's son became Henry VIII and was Elizabeth I's father. Elizabeth never married and had no children. Straightforward!

Now it gets more complicated.

Henry  VII's older daughter and Henry VIII's sister Margaret married into the House of Stuart in Scotland. When Elizabeth I died childless, the House  of Stuart became the new monarchs, with James VI of Scotland (Margaret's great-grandson and son of Mary, Queen of Scots) becoming James I of  England. It was their descent from Margaret (and her descent from Henry  VII and Elizabeth of York) that gave the Stuarts their claim to the  throne.

James  I's son Charles became Charles I, got his head chopped off, and eventually had his son become Charles II when the monarchy was restored. Charles II's brother became James II when Charles died, and James II's daughters Mary (co-ruling with William of Orange) and Anne were queens  after he was deposed in the Glorious Revolution.

When  Queen Anne died childless, she had to be succeeded by a non-Catholic,  required as of 1701. This is when the House of Hanover showed up from  (what is now) Germany. George I's mother was the daughter of James I's  daughter (and it was his mother, Sophia, whom Anne actually designated  as her heir, but Sophia died before Anne did). The Hanovers were nowhere  near the top of the total (Catholic and non-Catholic) succession but  were designated specifically because they were not Catholic, jumping  over others who were more closely related to the senior branch but who  followed the wrong religion. For instance, James II's daughters had a  Catholic half-brother, whose Catholic followers, the Jacobites, wanted  him on the throne (and who probably would have been king if James II  hadn't been deposed and replaced with the Protestant William and Mary).

So  the Stuarts got the throne based on their descent from the Tudor  patriarch, while the Hanovers got the throne based on their descent from  the Stuarts and their Protestantism.

George  I was followed by his son, George II, followed by his grandson, George  III, followed by his son, George IV, followed by his brother, William  IV, followed by his niece, Victoria, followed by her son, Edward VII  (who established the House of Saxe-Coburg after his father, Prince  Albert), followed by his son, George V (first of the House of Windsor, renamed because Saxe-Coburg was too German-sounding and it was during  World War I), followed by his son, Edward VIII, followed by his brother, George  VI, followed by his daughter, who is Elizabeth II.

In short, both Elizabeth I and Elizabeth II share a primary ancestry from Henry VII, the first monarch of the House of Tudor, whose mother, Margaret Beaufort, came from the House of Plantagenet, a a royal house which originated from the lands of Anjou in France who in turn came from the Angevin kings descended from Geoffrey II, Count of Gâtinais, and his wife Ermengarde of Anjou. In 1060 the couple inherited the title via cognatic kinship from an Angevin family that was descended from a noble named Ingelger, whose recorded history dates from 870....and so and so on and around we go.

Easy peasy.

Thanks for your question.

[greenmansgrove]

Ahead of the snowstorm that hits tomorrow (the solstice), I decided to make my biweekly pilgrimage to my favorite park today. I first visited it in October, too late to find any acorns, but awed by the colors of the autumn leaves.

Aside from the playground, the gathering pavilion, and a small softball field, it’s just a bunch of hills between oaks of all kinds. There are occasional tables and benches for sitting and meditation.

In October/November, when I was dealing with some intense insomnia, I would take early morning treks out to local parks and walking trails. I also decided around this time that I wanted to start my quest for my druid staff. I had been reading the RDNA’s A Reformed Druid Anthology and found some musings by Albion (p. 468) and the late Emmon Bodfish (p. 469) on finding one’s staff. As someone who regularly doubts if my spiritual connection to nature is “strong enough,” I felt that this might be a good first trial in proving my worthiness to myself. I thought the restful, meditative act of meandering trails while already in a calm, sleepless state might help keep me open to whatever would come my way. All the while, I whispered to myself, at the suggestion of Bodfish, “Who wishes to come? Who will help me?”

I performed this little ritual as I wandered a couple different parks one morning, and while I would find potential sticks, they often wound up being cottonwood, which doesn’t make the sturdiest staves and often rots quickly.

I returned home fruitless until I decided to take one more walk during an afternoon where sleep still would not come. I trekked to my favorite park (pictured above) and saw from the road a downed branch behind one of the park’s chain linked fences. I found my way over and was pleased that with some trimming, the branch would make a fabulous staff.

I broke off and left behind the tinier branches and some of the end so it would fit in my car, and then proceed to do my best to identify the tree from which it had fallen. I wandered among the trees in that spot, looking for places where perhaps this larger branch had fallen, and I settled on what I’m sure is a younger bur oak. Its leaves had all fallen by the time I found the branch, but based on the bark, I’m fairly certain of the tree’s type. I know I can’t be certain that this tree is the one from which the branch fell, since it’s a public park around which children drag branches all the time, but I still wanted to try my best to thank the tree that had given it.

I asked the tree if I could take this branch with me and vowed to visit it regularly. Albion talks about how a staff gives the tree the ability to move and travel as it never otherwise will. I am taking this to heart. Bodfish also says that it shouldn’t be oak, but he provides no reasoning, and I’m not one to look a gift from nature in the mouth. Oak does have a tendency to check, though, so I’m keeping an eye on my staff while it cures.

I’ve since cut the branch more down to size. I returned the shaved bark to a flower bed near my apartment. And I’m saving the portions I’ve sawed off as future ritual offerings that I’d like to leave around different parks within and beyond city limits. In the spring, I plan to finish and seal the staff so I can take it on hikes and to rituals with my local RDNA grove.

In the meantime, I try to visit this tree every couple weeks. I bring small offerings, namely peanuts to leave for the squirrels. I hug the tree, talk to it, visit its friends and siblings in the rest of the park. On today’s particular occasion, I left a votive offering of dried mistletoe leaves that I tucked into various crannies in the bark.

I hope that the the long sleep is gentle on my tree friend. I hope that the life it sustains continues to find rest and safely shelter among its branches. I hope that it awakens in the spring to continue growing healthily.

[jewish-sideblog]

Part of it, I think, is the Audacity. And this is gonna be a long addition to a long post so bear with me.

Under the Desk News is run by a citizen journalist who, despite not being employed directly by TikTok, gets all of their fame, accolades, connections, and money because of TikTok. They seem to have no experience and no resume beyond their citizen journalism, which is mostly just repeating what other news organizations are saying about major events. I think I might even call them a fairly reputable news aggregator for most things, but they are clearly still biased. I remember pretty distinctly when they reported on the horrors of October 7th, then backtracked, deleted any video that even mentioned Hamas’s pogrom, and went fully pro-Palestine. That happened because they realized they were losing followers.

Jeff Jackson is a UNC law school graduate, a former ADA, a war veteran, a current member of the National Guard, a long-standing member of the NC Senate, a current member of the US House of Representatives, and a shoe-in for North Carolina Attorney General come November. This guy’s record on everything from trans rights to gerrymandering to criminal justice reform is exactly what progressives are looking for. He says, as a member of Congress and a user of TikTok, that he’s concerned about China’s undue influence on American politics. He voted ‘Yes’ on a bill that would force ByteDance to sell TikTok to an American company. He says he doesn’t expect TikTok to get banned.

But because he voted ‘Yes’ on a bill that ByteDance didn’t like, Under the Desk News and a huge handful of other TikTok ‘celebs’ are mudslinging Jackson. Calling him a traitor, a bold-faced liar, and trying to get him cancelled. Who do I trust? The guy with the prestigious law degree in Congress who actually read the bill. The guy with one foot in American politics and the other foot in TikTok. The guy who can see it from both sides. The guy with a voting record that, as far as my politics are concerned, is literally fucking flawless. Not the people who pay their bills because of ByteDance. TikTok users have the audacity to think that the funnymen on the app they like and the one news reporter with the cool hair must know more than the federal politician who’s spent his entire life in professional service.

It’s the same with plenty of other shit. People on this website have the sheer audacity to think they know more about the definition of genocide than the judges on the International Court of Justice. People around the world have the audacity to think that a screenshot on Twitter knows more about international politics than Snopes or Reuters or the Associated Press. People on the internet especially have the audacity to think that they know everything about politics despite not being engaged remotely in the political process.

The socio-cultural atmosphere of the internet has created mass delusions of grandeur. I’m terrified of what’s gonna happen if these people realize they should vote instead of just talking about how voting doesn’t solve anything.

When I was getting my education I had to go through a ton of news bias and media literacy trainings. Like constantly. All throughout high school and college. Every single time I thought to myself, hey, this is fucking stupid. Obviously an unsourced tweet from a shady account isn’t a good news source. Obviously I shouldn’t take what a company or organization says about themselves at face value. I thought that was genuinely common sense that everybody on the internet shared.

Whoops! I was wrong about that one. People are really getting their news about the TikTok “ban” from creators on TikTok. Do people think that TikTok creators are informed and unbiased sources? Most of them are 20-somethings who don’t have day jobs because they make short form ragebait for a living. On the very same app that’s stirring controversy! Not a good source!

People are getting their news about international politics from screenshots of unsourced tweets posted by shady accounts. Most of the time you can dig for a second and find a national news source refuting the tweet. And if you check out the shady account they’ll be trying to sell you Russian bitcoin because they think the moon is going to explode soon. Yet the screenshot of their claims about international conflicts get hundreds of thousands of likes.

What the fuck are we doing here, guys? I knew social media literacy was a problem but I didn’t know it was a global fucking disaster

[tgammsideblog]

One thing i noticed by reading the synopses of the episodes that are going to air on November it’s that a most of them are about some internal conflict Molly has. 

The first five bunch of episodes ( episode 1 to 5) that were released on this month, October, were mainly about Scratch starting to live with the McGees and opening up to them. (The Curse, First Day Frights, The Unnatural, The Bandshell episode, Not so Honest Abe)

If these mentioned episodes are supposed to be a mini arc for Scratch, then the upcoming episodes that are going to air on November could be considered an mini arc for Molly’s character too. 

Let’s analyze the new episodes synopses: 

Note: Adding Mazel Tov, Libby!/¨No Good Deed too since they are airing near the end of October.

"Mazel Tov, Libby!/¨No Good Deed" : ¨When Molly discovers her best friend didn't even go close to big on the biggest day of life, Molly takes charge to throw Libby the best Bat Mitzvah ever.¨- ¨When Darryl gets in trouble at school, Molly volunteers to help reform his delinquent ways by giving him 'nice lessons¨

For "Mazel Tov, Libby!¨ i think this one could be about Molly getting carried away with throwing a perfect Bat Mitzvah without listening to what Libby wants to do first. Maybe Molly tries organizing the celebration the way she think its the best instead of listening what others have to say.

¨No Good Deed¨ This segment could be more about Darryl’s character growth than Molly’s. However, i think Molly’s is going to struggle with helping Darryl. We have yet to see how their sister-brother relationship it’s like, so, i’m interested in watching this aspect of her character being explored. 

“Game Night/The Don’t-Gooder”:  When Andrea steals credit for Molly’s volunteer work, Molly tries to expose her.

Based from the synopsis, it’s hinting that episode could be about Molly getting back at Andrea. For this scenario to happen, Scratch may try persuading Molly into exposing Andrea’s lies to the public. This episode it’s an unique way of developing Molly since it’s a bit rare for characters of her type to get back to people who messed with them in the past. 

¨The Turnip Twist; All Systems No. 9¨ (If this episode airs on Nov 6th)

¨For one day, Molly can only say 'yes' and Scratch can only say 'no'.¨

While i’m not sure about ¨The Turnip Twist¨ but ¨All Systems No. 9¨ its an episode i have been hyped about it since i first listened to the creators talk about it in the New York Comic Con panel 2020. The episode sounds like a good opportunity for Molly to understand that being positive all the time isn’t always a good thing. This aspect of her personality has been explored before in other episodes like ¨The Unnatural¨, this episode could go into further detail.

¨Monumental Disaster/Talent Show¨

¨When Molly meets Brighton’s legendary founder, Ezekial Tugbottom, she realizes he’s not the hero history made him out to be; ¨Molly tries to prevent Libby from humiliating herself in the school talent show without shattering her newfound confidence.¨

Both episodes look like they are going to develop Molly in different ways: 

¨Monumental Disaster¨ seems like we could see Molly getting very dissapointed after learing the truth about Brighton’s founder. This could be the chance the series shows another side of Molly, that being how she acts when she gets sad about something. This could involve Scratch trying to cheer her up in some way too.

As for Talent Show it’s clearly about Molly trying to protect Libby from humiliation. I think the episode starts with Molly lying to Libby about how she is good at playing an instrument when in reality she is bad at it. The rest of the episode is about Molly trying to cover that lie so Libby’s feelings doesn’t get hurt, something that fits Molly’s character a lot.

¨Scratch the Surface/Friend-Off¨

¨When constantly lying to Libby about Scratch begins to take a toll, Molly struggles to keep Scratch a secret; When Libby and Scratch struggle to be friends with each other, Molly sends them on a scavenger hunt in an attempt to force their friendship.¨

These episodes already have interesting premises since they imply a change in the status quo of the show. While they can go in different ways, the plot of ¨Friend-Off¨ could be a great for Molly to understand that she can’t force two people to be friends and sometimes things can be just fixed that easily. 

As for the Hannukah and Christmas episodes, i’m leaving them out since they seem they are going to be about other characters. 

In conclusion, i think Molly’s character flaws and personality are going to be explored in the detail in these upcoming episodes based on the synopses. I’m looking foward to how the show is going to develop Molly since until know it has been doing a good job at it.

[friendofhayley]

Monthly shout-out to every fanfic creator for all fandoms! Thank you for posting your talent for free and making our fandoms a more creative place. <3 This fic rec includes 12 fics from One Direction, Harry Potter, and Teen Wolf fandoms.

Larry (One Direction)

1. Praise the Mutilated World by @eeveelou, @creamcoffeelou | dystopian AU - A/B/O - on par with Hunger Games for dystopian world/plot - maybe its the feminism but I saw some parallels between governing of vagina-welders and omegas - 106k

It was August when everything changed.

By October, the leaves changed, and so did Louis’ heart.

2. i'll be someone who won't be forgotten by @socialiststyles | oof oof oof this hit close to home (for Sagittariuses) - love confessions - friends to strangers to lovers - angst with a happy ending - 27k

"I’m just—" (Harry hiccups) "there’s a lot here."

And – yeah. There are oceans between them and mountain ranges surrounding them and Louis can feel tectonic plates shifting beneath his unsteady feet, pulling them further and further apart by the heartbeat. There are countries of distance, but there are pages and maps and textbooks of shared histories, moments documented and carefully filed away and Louis can’t remember thinking complete thoughts before he thought of Harry.

3. Send Me Your Pillow (The One That You Dream On) by @lesbianiconharrystyles | this was so soft and lovely - gAyBO - omega/omega - fluff and anxiety - 1k

Harry is embarrassed to realize he's nesting but can't stop stealing Louis' things for his nest.

4. falling, catching by tsuneni | light academia - first time - strangers to lovers - creatives in love - 23k

Harry’s jotting down some more notes when he feels a thud on his right shoulder. He doesn’t flinch, thank God, because when he turns his head to the right his suspicions are confirmed. The boy has fallen asleep on Harry’s shoulder.

When Harry lets out the breath he had been holding, the sleeping boy pushes his nose further into the burgundy fabric of Harry’s sweater, and wraps his arm around Harry’s waist.

This boy is going to be the death of him.

Wolfstar (Harry Potter)

5. I Tried Writing Your Name In The Rain, But It Never Came, So I Used The Sun Instead by @lenscribbles | I loved that Remus was a POC and his Syrian mother is amazing - friends to lovers - mutual pining - and nothing bad happens to them ever in the future :) - 12k

Don’t get Remus wrong. He loves his friends, he does! Loves them to the moon and back in fact. They’re his people, his favorite part of everyday, his found family. He’d do anything for them. But the thing is that doesn’t take away from the very simple fact that his friends are fucking ridiculous. Remus knows this, has known it for five years now. But it doesn’t stop him from startling awake on the morning of his sixteenth birthday surprised by the sound of fireworks exploding in their dormitory and a raucous chorus of “Happy birthday Moony!” being shouted into his ear with jaunty gusto.

“You are wicked, wicked wizards,” Remus moans from where he refuses to get up on his bed, covering his face with his hands, a good call on his end considering that the very next moment he feels a cascade of confetti pouring all over him. “The worst of the worst! You deserve to rot in Azkaban!”

“Oh how you flatter us Moonykins,” Sirius croons, pulling him up while James and Peter begin a frankly awful rendition of For He’s A Jolly Good Fellow.

6. Our Destiny in the Stars by orphan_account | non-magical AU - body insecurity issues - trans Sirius - amputee Remus - 11k

Having no luck in the dating field, and insecure about his body, Remus checks out a dating website which offers the users the opportunity to get to know a person before seeing what they look like. It's during this time he meets Sirius, an enthusiastic teacher--and they immediately click. When they agree to meet, Remus sees a photo of Sirius and immediately panics. He's too good looking to ever be interested in someone like Remus. What the tawny-haired man doesn't know, is Sirius has already checked him out online and has fallen head over heels for the adorable editor.

Drarry (Harry Potter)

7. Old Magic (series) by @mystickitten42 | Drarry runs away together pree-HBP - very realistic getting-together - Narcissa is the GOAT - poor Sirius stuck in the middle - 2+ parts

Harry is undeniably numb. Still reeling from the sudden death of his godfather, he’s back at the Dursleys and everything seems hopeless. One day bleeds into the next. But, as they say, nature abhors a vacuum…

Draco is unimpressed. The Dark Lord and his infernal giant snake have taken over Malfoy Manor and he’s confined to his rooms. He feels like a prisoner and it’s just not right. He’s a Malfoy. Itching for confrontation he decides to go visit Harry Potter.

Things don’t go according to plan.

8. The Importance of Being Draco Malfoy (series) by @upon-poppyhills | this is just great, I love that without memories Draco is without prejudice - Harry goes from suspicious to denial to crushing - brief but wonderful Draco/Justin Finch-Fletchley - I can't wait for everyone to find out about Draco's head - 3+ parts

The answer to the age-old question, "What if instead of a scratch on the arm, Buckbeak had stomped on Draco's head instead and caused tragic memory loss?"

It was a truth universally acknowledged that the path to reforming a Slytherin prince never did run smooth.

9. Dear Cousin, Love Regulus by @xx-thedarklord-xx, @llap115 | I confused this with another fic so I never read it until now and it's THE BEST - Drarry talk like dark academia boys sometimes - I'm so glad Draco had Regulus T.T - when he meets the Regulus portrait!! *screams* - 86k

As the sole Malfoy heir, Draco understood that his path was set long before his birth; who to be, how to act and what his choices should be. What he had not counted on was the power of outside influences. Letters from his deceased cousin caused him to realize that he did have choices, starting with the choice to be someone else, to be who he wanted to be. The road to self-discovery was difficult and navigating that path in the shadow of Harry Potter was its own challenge but maybe, just maybe, his friends would help him along the way. And he would owe it all to Regulus Black.

10. bury the dead where they're found by @rocketdocket | THIS FIC is the ultimate found family fic - sometimes people prefer the closet and that's awesome! - PTSD and suicidal thoughts - queer people are just better than the straights, sorry not sorry - 52k

The war is over. Or at least, that's how it feels for everyone else. But not for Harry. He can't escape the memories and the nightmares of the war, or his guilt about those who died for him. While all he wants is to be alone, finding a family in the most unlikely of places may be just what he needs.

Sterek (Teen Wolf)

11. A Californian Werewolf in New York by @dancinbutterfly, knight_changes | I love that Oz from Buffy is just there - friends to lovers - bottom Derek - misunderstandings - 16k

When Derek finally realizes that there's nothing left for him in Beacon Hills, he goes back to New York, gets a life, falls in love and finds his home.

12. (they say) this should feel something like fire by dallisons | mental and physical trauma - Boyd & Stiles friendship - dream!Erica - rebuilding - 11k

"Turn it off." The pack looked up, stunned into silence by the first words they'd heard from him in weeks.

Stiles stood, trembling - his knees weak. He tried to run and collapsed, his bad leg failing him once again. Derek caught him. "Turn it off," he said, his voice unmistakably a growl.

The water continued leaking from the loose faucet, and all Stiles heard was Erica's blood against the concrete. Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Drip.