#travesty at the border

[qifrei]

Finally watched the Nations of the World song, it brought a year to my eye. They were so lucky this was pre social media

[emvidal]

“The $118 billion package includes $60 billion for Ukraine and $14 billion for Israel. An additional $10 billion is earmarked for humanitarian assistance in Gaza, the West Bank, and Ukraine. The border changes include $20 billion for transportation for deportation, shelters, 4,000+ new asylum officers, more border agents, and anti-fentanyl trafficking efforts.”

[covid-safer-hotties]

A Long Island County Banned Masks, and Disabled People Are Suing - Published Aug 23, 2024

Last week, Nassau County, on New York’s Long Island, became the first county in the US to ban the public wearing of masks—with very vague health exemptions—since the start of the Covid-19 pandemic. The Nassau ban follows a similarly controversial statewide mask ban in North Carolina that took effect in June.

Several concerns have been raised about Nassau’s mask ban, including that police officers—not experts in public health or medicine—are tasked with determining whether an individual is wearing a mask for valid health reasons. But another is that the pandemic is not over, and wearing medical masks while grocery shopping or even at a protest is meant to limit exposure to the disease—and some residents expect a ban to lead to harassment by local anti-maskers.

The county’s move has prompted the first class-action lawsuit against a mask ban, filed Thursday in federal district court by Disability Rights New York against Nassau County and county executive Bruce Blakeman on behalf of two anonymous residents.

“This mask ban poses a direct threat to public health and discriminates against people with disabilities,” said Timothy A. Clune, the group’s executive director, in a press release.

One of the residents, who lives with cerebral palsy and asthma, said they were stopped and questioned by other residents after the ban was passed—even before it was enacted—and, according to the complaint, now “fears that they will be arrested…because there is no standard for the police to follow to decide if they meet the health exception.”

The other resident represented in the complaint, who masks due to various immune conditions, the complaint says, is now “terrified to go into public wearing a mask.”

Both complainants say that masking has enabled them to participate in public life as disabled people during the ongoing pandemic. Disability Rights NY argues in the suit that the ban as written is unconstitutional, and violates both the Americans with Disabilities Act and Section 504 of the Rehabilitation Act, both key items of federal civil rights legislation, by denying disabled people access to their own communities.

“Local laws that abrogate or curtail rights conferred by federal law are…rendered invalid,” the complaint reads.

Given that Covid can itself disable people, Jason Cohen, a neurologist who lives in Nassau, has major concerns about how the mask ban will play out.

“I care for many patients who have brain fog from Covid and many more who are at higher risk of brain damage from Covid,” Cohen said. “Anything that discourages masking among those who want to mask is a travesty and public health disaster.”

Cohen also says that governments “should not force people to disclose their personal medical information to police in order to negotiate their way out of being accused of a crime.”

Some disabled people nevertheless have concerns about the suit itself. Ngozi, a Black disabled person who lives just over the county border in Queens, is concerned that it will end in “some type of negotiation with the state that results in keeping the law intact,” which would maintain the risk of racial profiling.

“I do not have faith in the state,” Ngozi said. “A lawsuit will not resolve the threat of mask bans anytime soon.”

Disability Rights New York is requesting a declaratory judgment that Nassau County’s mask ban violates federal law, as well as a restraining order. (read the complaint in full at the Mother Jones website linked at the very top of this post)

[kitkatpancakestack]

omg the way I got these drabble prompts 84 years ago, I'm such a travesty. Anyway I haven't forgotten about them I look at them in my inbox all the time I swear!

@evcndiaz I tried to put this one out for Halloween bc it gave me Halloweeny vibes for a much longer fic I'll never have the time to write rip but school be schooling. Nevertheless, here's a little drabble! Thanks for the prompt and I hope you enjoy MWAH! <333 also the prompt is cropped and pasted bc all of the ones you sent sparked joy and I do plan to fill all these prompts eventually lmao

"Hey, you got Buck, leave a message and I'll hit you back when I'm able!"

"Call me," Eddie snaps, the fourth or fifth voicemail he's left tonight, and chucks the phone onto his kitchen table. Rain batters the sides of the house, slings against the windows. The backyard will probably be flooded tomorrow. If he concentrates, he can hear the soft rush of Christohper's white noise machine filtering through his closed bedroom door, almost indistinguishable from the torrential downpour outside. The only light in the house bleeds stale orange from under the oven hood.

He sighs, stares at his phone, debates calling Buck again. It's stupid, is what it is. Overly cautious. Bordering on paranoid, if he's being honest. But still . . . still . . .

Fuck it, he thinks, and reaches for his phone just as a couple dull thuds sound outside. He bolts out of his chair and rips open the front door. One moment there is nothing, and then the next there is Buck's hunched form occluding his doorway, backlit by the lightning streaking the sky. His eyes are heavy-lidded and ringed with bruises. There's a cut across his cheek, a patch of hair missing over his temple.

"We've been trying to get a hold of you," Eddie starts, and then frowns when another flash of lightning illuminates the patchy crimson congealed over the skin of his hands, splotching up to his forearms, wet and shiny in some places and dry and matte in others. "What—are you bleeding?"

Buck just stares at his hands, expression unchanged.

"Buck?"

"I think—" he pauses, works his jaw back and forth as he swallows. When he finally meets Eddie's eyes, they're vacant. "I think I did something bad."

[002yb]

A lightning round of ask replies below the cut:

The moment Dick straddles Jason’s lap, Jason is (⁄ ⁄•⁄Д⁄•⁄ ⁄), hands slapping over his own face even as he turns to look away – so flustered he flushes everywhere and he just.  Slips right out of the chair, between Dick’s legs, and onto the floor before scrambling up and looking scandalized and Dick barks out the most beautiful laugh because Jason’s so damn cute.

Bonus points if it’s Superman.

Bonus points if Superman and Dick have the same Superman lunchbox, so it happens on occasion that they get mixed up (the lunchbox was a gift from Lois – she uses it whenever she makes lunch for him to tease him; Dick is just Dick).

But anyway, Superman forgets he didn’t bring a lunch, so he ends up taking Jason’s on accident.  So when Jason goes to grab it, it’s missing and he’s ʰᵘʰ (ꐦ○_○)✧

Then he storms around and finds Superman eating the lunch Dick made for him and it’s so devastating.  Of course this is how heroes truly are.  Jason shouldn’t have expected different.  This is Batman’s bullying all over again. ;A;

Meanwhile Superman realizes what’s gone wrong and is panicked and so guilty.  And he apologizes profusely and offers to take Jason anywhere/bring Jason anything to make up for it but Jason is forever petulant.

And when Dick finds out Superman is just devastated because this boy who has loved and revered him since childhood ices him out; it’s a travesty.

Bruce patting Clark’s back because he’s been there.  And Clark just groans because their crimes are completely different, don’t even.

Okay but Jason being like those cats that hunt things and bring back kills to their loved ones in a show of affection ahahaha.  Dick having that similar reaction of ‘please don’t–’ but also ‘you love me so much🥹?’

Jason being the sole omega of the pack is one of my favorite omegaverse story details.  So is him being estranged and the toll that takes on him.  And where the family doesn’t realize until something drastic happens and they all freak out and step up and ahhhhh.

The visual of Jason starting out with a bleak safe house and having a nest that’s all scraps.  Everything ripped and torn because it’s not right no matter how he tries to fit anything together and he shreds everything in his frustration.  Jason sleeping just outside of his nest’s broken borders.

The family sneaking things with their scent onto him, or leaving them at his window.  Until Jason has a warm nest that feels begrudgingly safe.  Only now it’s wrong because it’s empty.

Just lots of nest things.  Where Jason runs away with a wounded Robin and sequesters them in his nest.  And when an alpha comes calling – Jason snaps his teeth at them for trying to take his pup and said alpha is surprised, but not upset in the least.  They’re downright smitten, in fact.  Because omega?  So strong and protective and nurturing and ferocious?  Hot.

It’s so over-the-top smitten, but you’re not wrong anon hahaha.  Something about Jason seeing Dick as this persistent beacon in any darkness (be that in a reverent or begrudging way) is something that appeals so much.

Yes.  Do I know what to write for this?  No.  Would I read it in a heartbeat?  Yep.

Jason’s crew absolutely wingman for him once they figure out that their boss has the hots for the wingding bastard.  They’re weird about it, too.  Simultaneously helpful and threatening in the same exchange – the same sentence, even!

And they keep it on the down low because their boss has got a maiden heart and would get embarrassed (and kick their asses), so they’re always luring Nightwing to sketchy af locations to like they’re conducting a sketchy af deal/exchange.

At first Dick is confused, but for as subtle as Jason’s men keep these interactions, they’re pretty straightforward in what their expectation of Dick is.  It makes Dick feel a little fond despite the theatrics of these exchanges because Jason has a lot of people supporting him and want him happy and that’s nice to know.

Dick taking these people up on their advice and Jason getting seemingly irritated about it each time, bristling but relenting without putting up too much of a fight.  At which point Dick realizes that oh, maybe these people that work with Jason are for real?  Little wing has a crush on him?  What?  The realization hitting him right as he’s taking Jason out and Jason grimacing because wth is with that creepy smile?  And Dick is surprised at himself because he’s smiling?  Oh, he is.  Huh.

Just Dick being happy about Jason’s crush and developing a bit of a crush himself over the course of being set up with him by Jason’s crew.

The crew being real smug about how they’ve successfully hooked their boss up.  Only to revolt once they realize this means their boss’s ass is gonna get tapped.

The crisis is that it makes Red Hood all the more appealing.  👀  Which of course Dick feels alarmed by, so he pulls away.  Which causes a misunderstanding of cataclysmic proportions because Jason isn’t aware of Dick’s moral struggles – just that Dick finds out Red Hood is Jason and all at once Jason’s been iced out and it hurts.  There’s no way Jason doesn’t take that personally.

While Red Hood had been unwittingly settling down, soothed by Dick’s affections – having Dick pull back on him reignites the wrathful fury and vengeance.

Jason taking Dick and Slade at the same time and while Jason is a breathless, dazed mess, scrambling for purchase - anything to hold onto (I like to think Dick’s shoulders, though Slade is pressed up right along Jason’s back; he’s not going anywhere), Slade and Dick are just taunting and bitching at one another like Jason isn’t there at all. 👀

A kinky take on a round robin tournament where Jason seduces everyone with his contradictory vixen and maiden-like ways (bonus points if it’s not even intentional) and ascertains his position as ultimate bottom.

Awwww, thank you so much!  It always makes me so happy to hear that someone enjoys my writing (though I know it's been more rambles than writing lately; so sorry - persisting struggles).  Thank you for that. <3

Personal headcanon for this is that they never actually say it with words.  Because there’s something about plausible deniability that these two cling to when it comes to each other.  Too tentative to push too far, too scared to take too much.

The love is there though.  It’s in the way they relentlessly taunt and tease and challenge one another.  It’s the lingering looks, the quiet considerations.  It’s the trust and hope and faith that they chose to have in one another, even if they’re left disappointed or frustrated or scared.  It comes about when surges of protectiveness overcome them and in quiet moments of vulnerability they never talk about later.

Basically shameless self-rec because it’s this series I wrote; this is my take on it, hahaha.

[praetorqueenreyna]

lovely and lonely, Tamlin/Lucien, Chapter 18

Summary: a shift in his relationship inspires Tamlin to begin sending his sentries across the wall again.

Click here to read on AO3, or continue reading below!

48 years after the curse

Lucien never truly grew used to Tamlin’s beauty. Especially when it was just the two of them and he let his glamour fall. He was radiant, a godlike being plucked out of the most reverential myths. It was a sacrilegious miracle that he, deformed as he was, had permission to touch him, let alone everything else they did together.

Tamlin’s eyes were closed, making it easier for Lucien to admire him. His head lolled back, braced against one of Lucien’s thighs. They had just finished a bath, dirty and exhausted from their work patrolling the borders of Spring. At Lucien’s insistence, Tamlin rested himself between Lucien’s legs, the Autumn male sitting on the edge of the bath with the High Lord sitting on a low shelf in the water. It was the perfect position for Lucien to groom Tamlin’s wild mane. Tamlin never did more than wash it with harsh soap and brush it out, which Lucien considered a travesty. Tamlin grumbled over the long minutes Lucien spent in meticulous care of vanity, but he allowed the indulgence all the same.

At the end of the routine, Lucien was massaging oil into Tamlin’s scalp. His fingernails scraped behind one of Tamlin’s ears, which got the High Lord purring contently. Lucien bit back a laugh; if Tamlin thought that he was being made fun of, he would stop. And Lucien so loved the delighted rumble that reverberated through Tamlin’s chest, making the water around him ripple with the vibrations.

“All done,” Lucien finally announced. Tamlin turned and hoisted himself out of the pool, practically spilling into Lucien’s lap. Before Lucien could complain about being splashed with bath water, Tamlin was kissing him. His mind completely emptied as Tamlin pressed his back against the cool marble of the bathroom floor. Their lovemaking was slow and lazy, a deep sensual push and pull. Hours, days, or even weeks might have passed by and Lucien would be none the wiser. He would gladly spend eternity here.

Afterwards, Tamlin pressed a series of chaste kisses along the column of Lucien’s neck and down his shoulder. “I love you,” he mumbled against Lucien’s sweat-slick skin.

Despite the heat, Lucien froze, ice cold water drenching his soul and shocking his senses. Neither of them had ever said those words to each other. Despite their past fifty years together, Amarantha’s curse had hung over them, tainting everything they had together. It had been an unspoken rule not to say it, knowing that any moment, Tamlin would have to give his heart to another. Even as the terms of the curse drew to an end, they hadn’t said it. To say it would be a harsh reminder that they were running out of time. That they could never truly belong to each other.

Too late, Lucien realized he had been staring blankly up at Tamlin. Something in those green eyes shattered, and he looked away. “Shit, I’m sorry, I—”

Lucien forestalled any unwanted apology by pulling Tamlin down to him, kissing him fiercely. “I love you,” he whispered against Tamlin’s teeth. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

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

The next day, Tamlin began sending out his sentries across the wall. They were confused but elated, pleased to be doing something as the deadline of their destruction drew nearer. Only Lucien knew. That heated exchange on the marble floor had ignited something in Tamlin. He had to fight, now that he had something worth saving. It was terrifying to know that all of this was for Lucien. Even as his comrades were slain one by one, he couldn’t help but selfishly be glad that Tamlin was trying again.

The dam had broken and the flood rushed forth. They said “I love you” a hundred times a day. Tamlin fucked him as if he thought Lucien would dissolve under his fingertips. Soon enough, all of their bedding was torn to shreds from Tamlin’s claws sinking into the mattress as he came, groaning “I love you” into Lucien’s throat. This too was terrifying; Tamlin seemed to be saying goodbye, intent on leaving his mark on Lucien so that when they were inevitably separated, Lucien wouldn’t forget him.

As if he ever could.

Eventually, there were three: Tamlin, Lucien, and Andras. Brave fool that he was, Andras went out every day across the wall. He refused to let Lucien be the sacrificial lamb. “You’re basically the only thing keeping this court running. I’m a dumb grunt. I’m replaceable,” he laughed whenever Lucien pleaded with him to stop. Empty words; they all knew the real reason. Andras loved Tamlin, and knew that he’d be devastated if Lucien were killed.

Against all odds, Andras lasted a full month. Every morning, he would kneel before Tamlin, the general of an extinct army. Tamlin would solemnly lay his hand on his forehead, infusing him with shapeshifting magic until the fae was replaced by a wolf. Lucien thought there should be more ceremony to the whole thing, but Andras refused. He didn’t want them to act like it was their last moments together.

They were in Tamlin’s office when it happened. Even with the world in ruins, there was still bullshit paperwork to go over. Lucien was going over a proposal for some agricultural reform, fingers kneading against his temples as he tried to decipher the dry, complicated prose. He glanced up to ask Tamlin a question, only for the words to die in his throat. Tamlin was staring off in the middle distance, face slack with shock. It could only mean one thing.

“He’s gone, isn’t he?” Lucien asked pointlessly. Grief overwhelmed him. After all he had experienced, he hadn’t known that he could still hurt like this. He really hadn’t ever expected Andras to die. Andras was strong and dependable as a redwood tree, growing straight and true for centuries. He had been the first friend that Lucien had made in Spring. When Lucien’s heart was broken, pining over Tamlin, he had shared his bed to ease the pain. Lucien could still feel the touch of chapped lips and beard stubble against his cheek, warm calloused hands holding him tight. And now he was dead.

“He’s gone,” Tamlin echoed. “He was killed by a woman.”

Lucien’s heart stopped. Almost every other sentry had been killed by humans who didn’t fulfill the terms of the curse. He had already assumed the same had happened for Andras, and was preparing himself to begin going across the wall. It seems he didn’t need to. “A woman?”

“A young, human woman. With hatred in her heart.” Tamlin’s gaze was still unfocused, still with Andras, in that connection that only the High Lord could have with his subjects. Unbeknownst to him, tears began to fall.

This was happening. Lucien rose to his feet, speaking in a steady voice that didn’t betray the tumult of emotions in his heart. “I’ll have Alis prepare a room.”

[maggiec70]

Maréchaux d'Empire: La gloire pour destin

Quelle horreur!

On the other hand, this book will keep me alternating between guffaws and serious eye-rolls for days.

The "replacement" for David Chandler's anthology, Napoleon's Marshals, published in 1987 with each of the 26 mini-bios written by for-real scholars [and not just Americans, either] is this November 2023 anthology edited by Francois Houdecek, who holds forth at the Sorbonne, claims to be a "disciple" of Jean Tulard [I believe M. Tulard has thousands of those!], and is involved in all sorts of activities and scribblings involving Naps. He is also responsible for gathering and organizing vast quantities of Napoleon's correspondence, so kudos for that.

However--and oh, my! what a huge "however" this is!--the 26 contributors range from the marginally average Pierre Branda to the apparent dregs of French scholarship whose names have never resonated outside the borders of Gallica. Each of these articles is depressingly cardboard, flimsy with details, utterly bereft of any attempt at analysis or understanding of the individual's character, talents--or lack thereof--and other useful and expected details, even in an anthology. These contributors apparently competed to see who could write the most drivel using the fewest sources. Naturally, I went straight to the entry about Lannes, and by the time I reached the end, I had permanently dislocated my eyebrows. The "author" of this travesty is Jacques-Olivier Boudon, whose credentials, on paper, are impressive but whose knowledge of Jean-Boy is worse than passing; it is non-existent. The reason for that is based on M. Boudon's sources:

He cites Lannes’ “official dossier” in the SHD, which I copied before I left, so I know every page and every sentence in it, and I know you won’t find squat that is useful unless, of course, you care how much putting on Mozart’s Requiem cost, and who sang the tenor solo.

High on the hit parade list is Regis de Crepy’s smarmy bio of the Lovely Louise, another book I can quote endlessly. Boudon used one letter from that.

Boudon also took bits and pieces from the three more recent French biographies by Dammame, Zins, and Willette—although the latest was published in 1994—and explained what I thought about them in a previous blog.

The absolutely most hysterical “source” is the 2002 historical fiction by a lovely 93-year-old woman, Penelope Le Fers-Dupac, who lives in Lectoure and who I know [I also know the biographer Jean-Claude Dammame, but that’s another story]. This novel is called “Le Mousquetaire de Napoleon: L’autre vie du marechal Lannes.” Make of this what you will, but it is the wonderfully entertaining, hilarious, and fictional tale of Jean-Boy’s first marriage.

I am appalled that this person didn’t do justice to Jean-Boy in an anthology where he would have shone at the top in capable hands. I know who's the real expert here, and I certainly don’t mind if someone also chooses to write about My Guy. But he or she had damn well better get it right, and this French morceau de merde massacred his subject.

BTW, joachimnapoleon, have you encountered Vincent Haegele? He did Murat no favors here, either. Thanks for reading the rant. I feel better.

[hirkyy]

im sorry ive never been inside a biedronka store but i seriously conditioned myself into getting a movie flashbacks level sickness response looking at it because of this one biedronka at the polish ukrainian border that i was staring at while i spent 9 full hours there with children screaming and people arguing with each other and crying; also the toilets looked like they were out of silent hill and polish border control took my salo, the travesty.. ukrainian border guards were stressing me out a bit because i dont like being around automatic guns. that stupid ass ladybug was there to taunt me through it all

[kovacs-of-courage]

Twilight stalked the cold, swirling mountainside for his prey.

He endured the blinding snowstorm, the numbness that’d overtaken his hands, and the many attempted ambushes--in an effort to right a terrible, terrible wrong. He couldn’t peer through the dense fog of the storm, not with his eyes of man.

He was stumbling into oblivion, and he would return.

Again, and again.

It’d been sometime since he’d felt this compelled to act, to stray from the path of his responsibilities and take on a grievance of his own. He’d decided to stray from the group during the dead of night, after they’d all left to attend to their own duties, or head to their beddings.

They’d followed the shadow northward, chasing it across miles of screaming dark and echoing wilderness. They’d traveled beyond the borders of their hyrules, most of them anyway, and arrived at the base of a swirling mountain--a frozen monument of ice and rock and snow.

During their pursuit, they came across a village under fire. They were lucky to arrive when they did, as the last of the town’s guards had fallen victim to the serrated teeth, and monstrous blades of their attackers. Twilight saw to avenge the dead among the townspeople, as did the rest of his brothers.

Not a single soul died under their watch.

Twilight only wished they’d arrived sooner.

In the aftermath, Twilight did what he could to comfort the survivors. It was with the greatest sorrows that he paid his respects. Grief was a wound without end, a void that consumed all in the heart that once held love. The villagers reminded him of his family in Ordon, from the close-knit nature of their community, to the fact they were a town on the edges of Hyrule's borders--far away from the eyes of the crown.

There was one woman, in particular, that drove the familiar feeling home.

She was a mother, expecting her second child. They’d met during the attack, his first words to her being an order to stay behind him. He’d tried to meet her on calmer footing, following the battle, trying to see if he could help in some way. Twilight found the woman in her cabin--what was left of it, given that the roof was half caved in--sobbing breathlessly into the splintered remains of her couch.

The woman (Sariah, her name was) had lost everything in the attack. In a matter of hours, her entire world, and reasons for continuing on were taken from her. Sariah didn’t know Twilight, nor did Twilight know her, yet it was in their sparse connection that she was comfortable exalting the untold stresses of what just occurred. She put images of Uli in Twilight’s mind, her adoration and love for her family shining through the black clouds of her grief.

Sariah’s husband had enlisted in the village guard, a competent swordsman--like Rusl, ready to protect his home by any measure. And by any measure he did, as he was one of the first slain. Photographs of him and Sariah littered the walls of the house, preserved moments of better days.

Her son, a boy of a mere nine years, was taken soon after Twilight and the others intervened--one of the monster’s captives, to be presumably dragged back to their camp and devoured. The idea made Twilight’s blood run cold, and his teeth grit like colliding glaciers.

It was a bitter, repulsed rage, the type that screamed at him to act--to right this wrong, to avenge this travesty. Twilight thought of what he’d do if Rusl had died, and Uli was left alone in the world, unable to even have a proper funeral for her son.

He was almost unable to fathom the level of anger it’d summon, the shaking, primal desire to meet those responsible with the edge of his blade. He was supposed to protect people, meant to stop these injustices before they happened. It brought a haze of guilt and frustration that clogged his senses.

He knew one thing, however.

This could not go unpunished.

Twilight swore to Sariah then that he’d find her son, vowing to give her some semblance of closure--and left the cabin.

It’d been some time since he’d driven himself into abandon, not since he’d rushed to save Colin from King Bublin, leaving a slew of corpses in he and Epona’s wake. He was more afraid for Colin’s life than anything else, but the feeling of protective retribution was very much present.

And now he was on the edge of a frozen cliffside, overlooking the warm fires of the monster’s camp below. 

He held the grip of his sword tight, until his knuckles were as white as the snow around him. There were moments that he wondered if there was more to his curse than the transformation of his wolf form, and the markings that adorned his head. When he looked upon packs of monsters, staring into their feral, savage eyes--and saw nothing but prey deserving of culling-- was that truly him?

When he drove his steel into the jugular of an unsuspecting moblin, taking hidden satisfaction in knowing that his loved ones are safer, letting the desire to protect the innocent shatter bones like glass and pulverize skulls-- was he still the same man as he once was?

Twilight gathered himself, reaching for his item pou-

“So, what’s the plan?”

He whipped around to meet the voice, his sword following in tow. It’s tip landed an inch away from the neck of the visitor, the realization quickly turning Twilight’s vigilance to irritation.

It was the Captain, of course.

“Why are you here?” Twilight said, unintended venom coating his words.

Valor didn’t flinch at his near decapitation, nor Twilight’s attitude. He was strangely collected, considering the situation.

“Why do you think?” Valor countered.

Twilight sighed, the thought of a disappointed mentor weighing on his shoulders.

“He sent you, I assume? Should’ve expected it’d be harder to slip by him.”

“Oh, get a grip. I’m here on my own, I figure someone who moonlights as a pack animal would understand why going it alone is a bad idea.” Valor said.

“I appreciate you looking out for me, but I think I can handle a few bokoblins.” Twilight huffed, frustrated that he was even having this conversation. 

Valor opened his mouth to retort, and then hesitated, softening his tone and expression ever so slightly.

“Look, I get it-- You want to shoulder this responsibility alone, that is something personal.”

“You don’t kno-”

“I talked to Sariah, after you left her cabin. I’m not blind, I can put two and two together.”

A silence followed, and both men stared at each other, uncaring of the blistering winds whirling around them.

“...So you know why I’m doing this.”

Valor nodded.

“You aren’t wrong to do this, any of us would do the same. I thought you’d understand that” Valor said, a twinge of regret bleeding through his voice.

Twilight glanced to the side, a kernel of shame burgeoning in the back of his mind.

“Look, if you want to keep walking this road--I won’t stop you. Just know--this burden is not yours alone.”

Twilight looked to Valor, staring back at him--and nodded.

“I understand...thank you”

Valor smiled, fierce pride burning bright within him.

“Then I think we’re settled, unless you’d still prefer me to leave?”

Twilight chuckled.

“Only if you can’t keep up.”

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

Lich-Queen, pt 7 (FINAL)

I'M DONE!! AAAAA >:)) Thanks to everyone who followed this thing, I love y'all platonically. Anyways, to anyone who's new, I'll post the full thing soon, so in the meantime have part 1, 2, 3, 5, 6, and the drabble accompaniment that we can pretend is part 4!

Story below cut :D

My steps down the stairs left a trail of blood behind them. I stopped at the base of the stairs, meeting the eyes of my new allies. There was approval in Empress Sucsu'anane's nod, delight in the shifter delegation, and… Horror? Fear? Amongst the elves.

Saivere, the same elf who had been ever so pleasant towards me, stepped forth. “What in Solaria's name have you done? That…” He shook his head violently. “That was wrong. Do you not understand the meaning of the word?”

Empress Sucsu'anane laughed at him. “Young Nari-ilra, do not be rude. All reigns end and begin with bloodshed, even yours. Why should she try to hide it under a veneer of civility? Honesty is a valuable trait,” she told him.

Saivere squared himself resolutely. “This is inhumane,” he insisted. “We just watched an innocent man be tortured to death. I will not stand by and watch this travesty, and if you had any sense, you would not either.”

Like a kindergarten descending into chaos, the people before me divided into two camps. Overlapping voices argued with each other, clamouring and demanding to be listened to. All for little old me! It was absolutely delightful.

When I had grown bored of the fuss, I raised my knife and tapped it on the metal railing. The resulting clang resounded through the hall, silencing the crowd as it went. 

“Now,” I said, into the void of suits. “If you are done bickering like little children, I have a thing or two I'd like to say.” 

Crossing my hands behind my back as straightening up to my full height, I continued, “It has been brought to my attention that we are having a certain… overcrowding issue. We, as immortals and long-lived species, are running out of living space, living space that we deserve. Now, who has been taking that space?”

I paused, and the shifters piped up. “The humans,” they cried, joined in belatedly by the spirits and my ghouls.

“Exactly,” I replied, nodding. “The mortal mayflies. Irritating, multiplying, and absolutely everywhere! Even the spirit-tongue recognises them as Kina-ilra, the everywhere people. Bad enough that they pop up all over the place, but that they are driving us out of our lands? That they are moving into our cities and taking up jobs that belong to our people and coming up with new technologies? That they have forgotten their place?”

Saivere's face fell. “Have you forgotten your past? You were a human once too,” he cried.

“Don't hold it against me,” I quipped, grinning at him. Yes, the flow of the crowd was turning against him. I could feel its heartbeat, the crashing waves of murmurs. “I'm trying to put those days behind me.”

Saivere opened his mouth to rebut me, and I hushed him again. The creases of anger and worry on his forehead gave me another idea. I took a mocking bow towards him. “You know, ladies, gentlemen, and eternal abominations, we all have one thing in common. Can anybody tell me what it is?”

From the crowd, someone piped up. “We're all inhuman?”

“Do you hear that? That's human centric language right there.” The rhetoric of Queendom was coming to me. “We need to stop that. Tell me, what unites us?  We're all Ilre, Kitzche, immortals! That's what defines us, not that we aren't forsaken mayflies.”

“But the elves aren't immortal,” another member of the elven delegation shouted. There was a distinct aura of gotcha from him. Oh, we were going to see who had gotten who soon enough. “We just happen to have long lifespans.”

I stepped forward, and the elves stepped back. “Exactly. Tell me, who taught the humans machinery? Who helped them with agriculture, encouraged democracy within their borders? Which non-immortal species is currently infringing on the Cescere spirit's lands?”

A dangerous hush descended upon them. I smiled even wider, grateful for my new face, for I could literally smile ear to ear now. “Tell me… Who is just as much to blame as any human?”

The answer came in a ripple, as much magic as any spell. The elves. The nari-ilra. The mortals. All of them. Every last one. Not a good one amongst them. Fingers sharpened to claws, weapons drawn. 

The elves never stood a chance.

I watched Saivere be shredded before my very eyes, letting his gore mingle with Tamaris'. I grasped his severed head and lifted it up. By the gods, if my sister could see me now. She would weep with horror and fear, to see what I had become. I revelled in the thought that I had become the very monster she so desperately sought to stop. That in the end, she was the powerless oracle, and I the great necromancer. That all her prophecies were not enough to prevent the fate I had so craved.

“Look at this,” I commanded. My people obeyed.

“This is a sign of our new regime,” I announced. My people listened.

“We will kill every human, and then we will rule atop their corpses!”

And my people cheered for me, their Lich-Queen.

Taglist:

@coffeeangelinabox, @dorky-pals, @calliecwrites, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @shukei-jiwa

@thewingedbaron, @pluppsauthor, @cowboybrunch, @wylloblr, @possiblyeldritch

@ramitola, @urnumber1star, @fortunatetragedy, @bigwipscholar, @ratedn

@vampirelover890, @possiblylisle, @illarian-rambling, @the-ellia-west

@finicky-felix, @evilgabe29 (Anyone else who wants to get added can tell me in the comments, pm me, or send me an ask about it!)

[sotwk]

"The King has never let Orc filth roam our lands. Yet he would let this Orc pack cross our borders and kill our prisoners."

"It is our fight. It will not end here. With every victory this evil will grow. If your father has his way, we will do nothing. We will hide within our walls, live our lives away from the light and let darkness descend. Are we not part of this world? Tell me, mellon, when did we let evil become stronger than us?"

ME, POSSIBLY THE MOST OBSESSED DETERMINED THRANDUIL APOLOGIST:

Goddammit Tauriel, I so want to like you, but honestly, the depth of your understanding of King Thranduil is shallower than a dry seabed. And aren't you supposed to be an adoptive daughter of sorts??

By the time Thorin's Company "visited" Mirkwood, Thranduil had already spent almost two thousand years fighting against Sauron and protecting his realm Middle-earth from Dol Goldur's evils. (And in my personal headcanons, being active in the affairs of Middle-earth, generously giving aid where it is most needed and forming friendships with literally ALL the races.)

So pardon the Elvenking for finally 1) prioritizing the wellbeing of his subjects and 2) being reluctant to send his subjects to die for other realms' causes when no one has lifted a finger to help with the Dol Goldur pestilence.

Thranduil has earned the right to be tired and guarded and suspicious and yes, even self-serving.

This scene of teenage-equivalent Tauriel being all preachy on her high horse is always so hard for me to watch, along with the infamous "there is no love in you" confrontation. Don't get me started on the travesty of Legolas taking HER side over his father's. I CANNOT EVEN.

Overall, I love and appreciate The Hobbit films for their entertainment value and fantastic performances from the cast. But the characterizations of the three main Mirkwood elf characters in particular are just WHACK.

[postoctobrist]

absolute travesty that you're on your "please kidnap me" bullshit and I'm in my evil domme zone *and* I know your address but it's in the wrong country i can't smuggle someone across a border they have xrays and shit now

Patiently explaining to the international human trafficking authorities that it doesn’t count if she really, really likes it

[momoirocake]

It’s a travesty that we don’t get more hucow Zoro content considering he’s bordering on having DD’s and also…. Zoromilk….

[girlactionfigure]

It was an “emotionally wrenching and heart felt” performance.

“Surrounded by burning candles, performing on a grand piano and accompanied by a small orchestra of violins,” his rendition of this famous song “spoke to many of us who were suffering from the terrible tragedies in New York, Pennsylvania, and Virginia.”

It was just days after 9/11, when Neil Young performed the iconic song, according to a site dedicated to Neil Young News.

Although the song was banned from radio in the immediate aftermath of 9/11, “because envisioning a world where we all got along was at odds with the public demand for bloody justice,” according to Consequence, Young believed it was the right song to sing.

Pulse Magazine wrote that Young's performance of "Imagine" on the Benefit telecast was "one of those moments you never forget."

“When disaster strikes, musicians respond the way they know best: with song,” wrote Katy Waldman of Slate. “As composer Leonard Bernstein said three days after John F. Kennedy was assassinated, ‘This will be our reply to violence: to make music more intensely, more beautifully, more devotedly than ever before.’”

“In times of trouble and grief, there is one song that millions of people turn to for inspiration and solace: John Lennon and Yoko Ono’s ‘Imagine’,” according to writer Martin Chilton.

The “Imagine” album was released on September 9, 1971, touching “the world with its hopeful message about the need for global understanding,” wrote Sari Rosenberg.

This is a new story on the Peace Page.

~~~~~

“For nearly 50 years, credit for this song - "Imagine" - has gone to one writer - John Lennon,” according to NPR.

That changed in 2017, after Lennon himself admitted his wife Yoko Ono should receive co-credit. Lennon explained in 1980 “a lot of the lyric and the concept came from Yoko.”

“Ono's 1964 book of conceptual poetry, ‘Grapefruit,’ contained verses like, imagine clouds dripping and imagine goldfish swimming across the sky. She also contributed to the song's theme of a world without borders or religion pulling people apart,” according to NPR’s Neda Ulaby.

In an interview with David Sheff, shortly before his death in December 1980, Lennon also shared that Dick Gregory had given him and Ono a Christian Prayer-book which had inspired him to write the track. “The concept of positive prayer…If you can imagine a world at peace, with no denominations of religion – not without religion but without this my God-is-bigger-than-your-God thing – then it can be true.”

“When ‘Imagine’ was released, John Lennon said that the world was too focused on trivialities and ‘the thing we should be talking about is the violence that goes on in this society.’ It reached No. 1 following Lennon’s murder in December 1980 and entered the UK charts again in 2012 after Emeli Sandé recorded a cover for the 2012 London Olympics,” according to writer Martin Chilton.

“Lennon’s ‘Imagine’ is arguably the most loved song of all time,” according to writer Joe Taysom. “The track captures Lennon crying out for a fairer world . . . As the decades go on, ‘Imagine’ has morphed into a tragically appropriate tonic to whatever travesty is currently tearing the world apart.”

“It’s not surprising that musicians turn to this particular work in the aftershocks of tragedy,” according to Waldman. “For one thing, ‘Imagine’ is a song that musicians continually turn to, period: The Broadcast Media Inc. found it to be one of the most covered songs of the 20th century. Its simple, versatile structure has seduced and inspired hundreds of artists, among them Lady Gaga, Emeli Sande, Etta James, Davie Bowie, Pink, Eva Cassidy, and The Persuasions.”

More than 200 artists have performed or covered the song, including Joan Baez, Elton John, Diana Ross, Peter Gabriel, Melissa Etheridge, Dave Matthews, Dolly Parton, Seal, , India.Arie, John Legend, and Julian Lennon.

“The ritual arguably began on Dec. 9, 1980, when Queen covered the song at the Wembley Arena, one day after Lennon died. Stevie Wonder played it during the closing ceremony of the 1996 Summer Olympics to honor lives lost in the Centennial Olympic Park bombing. . . . In 2004, Madonna joined the ranks of “Imagine”-eers when she reinterpreted Lennon’s ballad at an aid concert for victims of the Indian Ocean tsunami.”

“Though the song was banned from radio in the immediate aftermath of 9/11,“Neil Young recognized its potency, singing it at a memorial concert, ‘America: Tribute To Heroes’”, according to Chilton. “Coldplay performed a version after the terrorist attacks in Paris in 2015. Following discord around North Korea in 2018, ‘Imagine’ was the natural choice for a group of Korean musicians to perform at the opening ceremony of the Winter Olympics.”

“It’s now become the go-to song when it comes to grief or mourning,” wrote Taysom. “This is down to the tangible sense of hope that rings out from ‘Imagine’ and an overriding feeling that everything will eventually be okay.”

~~~~~

“It returns to us most bittersweetly when something bad happens, when we are casting about for answers and consolation,” wrote Waldman. “The writer John Blaney called ‘Imagine’ a ‘humanistic paean for the people,’ a kind of secular prayer. Rolling Stone described it as ‘22 lines of graceful, plain-spoken faith in the power of a world, united in purpose, to repair and change itself.’”

“The song also derives considerable power from its historical context. Lennon, shot down before his time, reminds us that the universe can run ramshod over idealistic people. That knowledge makes ‘Imagine’’s plea for peace and brotherhood all the more poignant. On the other hand, the fact that the song persists, even though Lennon is gone, speaks to the enduring strength of his fantasy. If ‘Imagine’ captures the fragility of our hope after a violent or destructive event, it also reveals its tenacity.”

The legacy of the song was most perfectly summarized by President Jimmy Carter, who noted: “In many countries around the world — my wife and I have visited about 125 countries — you hear John Lennon’s song ‘Imagine’ used almost equally with national anthems.”

After Neil Young completed his rendition of “Imagine” after 9/11, reports were he “appeared to be on the verge of tears.”

Chilton says, “Decades after its original release, this popular music masterpiece, a model of simplicity, continues to inspire people of all races and creeds, offering the listener a momentary respite of hope in a troubled world, especially in the beautiful lines:

‘You may say I’m a dreamer

But I’m not the only one

I hope some day you’ll join us

And the world will be as one.’”

~ jsr

[Image, courtesy of Noam Galai]

The Jon S. Randal Peace Page

[firefish55]

I know this adaptation was an absolute travesty bordering on malicious insult to the original story, but they absolutely *nailed* this concert scene. Shiho's singer, Mizukami Sui, nailed the anger and malcontent that went into this song so so well.

I thought it when it first aired, but going back to this scene after the last few episodes really drove home how good it really was.

[felixcloud6288]

Fullmetal Alchemist Chapter 40

This chapter has everything a person could want: Maps, ruins, photographs, lore, background gags, and Alex Louis Armstrong.

How much might the story have changed if the Resembool Stationmaster greeted Ed by name while May was standing right behind him?

Armstrong was the one who silenced Ed when he was about to blurt out they were going to do an illegal border crossing. So Armstrong knows why they're there.

The villains are talking about the aftermath of the Super Heist. Gluttony and Envy are definitely upset over Lust's death. Father appears to be upset but quickly gets over it when Wrath says Mustang can open the portal. So yeah, Father doesn't care one of his kids got killed. We also get a shot of his back. All those pipes hook into him.

In the hospital, Mustang is yelling at Hawkeye for how she acted last chapter, and Havoc is yelling at Mustang for giving him burn scars, and Mustang is yelling at Havoc for being ungrateful for saving his life and...

I wonder what those bottles next to Havoc's bed are. Maybe they're urinary catheters?

Roy mentions how suspicious it is no one has tried to kill him and Havoc while they're stuck there, which was what Envy had suggested they do in the previous scene. Alphonse arrives and mentions he's being accompanied by Lan Fan for protection. It's such a minor detail this chapter, but it shows how close Lin is getting with the group that he'd have his bodyguard protect Al.

And we get a map of Central. Hawkeye tried to determine where that door they found was located and drew a circle of the possible locations. We don't get to see a full map of the city unfortunately. The two main things brought up are Lab 2 is within the circle and the President's Estate barely touches it.

By checking some shots of Central HQ in later chapters, I'm pretty sure the President's estate is in the Northeast corner of HQ, meaning Lab 3 is in the Northeast part of Central City.

Despite all the evidence they've found, no one wants to assume King Bradley is part of the conspiracy. But how much of that is because Wrath has done a good job creating an alibi and how much is it because no one wants to consider the possibility the entire government is involved?

We are now at the conclusion of the Super Heist. Roy says Barry was indeed the guy who attacked the penitentiary. So there was either a mistranslation or a mistake in chapter 38 when Roy said the attack had happened on the same day as the Super Heist. The end result is Mustang has discovered the conspiracy that killed Hughes run deep within the government. But it cost Havoc the use of his legs.

I wonder what the average temperature in Amestris is like if Ed never has issues from the heat there. I suppose there's enough shade and trees to make the place tolerable for him. Meanwhile, there's no shade or cool breeze in a desert.

The shot of Ed in the watering hole gave me a chuckle. Even one of the horses is weirded out seeing that.

Ed and Foo share legends about the origins of their Alchemy. In Amestris, a survivor of Cselkcess, called the Philosopher from the East, came to Amestris and brought the science of Alchemy. In Xing, they have the same story, but he's the Philosopher from the West. Foo mentions the Philosopher from the West mixed his knowledge with Xingese techniques to create Xingese Rendanshu. Breda doesn't understand anything they're talking about.

From an archaeological perspective, two countries sharing the same mythology about the origin of a shared practice is pretty cool. Disregarding the actual origins, this could imply Cselkcess was a cultural hub during its peak where scholars traveled to and from spreading research and discoveries to the surrounding nations. Two different cultures saying Cselkcess was destroyed in a single night would lend credence to some travesty happening that made the nation or at least the capital uninhabitable. A reasonable aftermath to the disaster would be refugees from Cselkcess would travel to surrounding nations which would cause them to gain some cultural and genetic similarities. However, aside from the common origin story of Alchemy, we haven't seen much in common between Amestris and Xing culture and phenotypes from what little we've gotten of Xing.

This is such a lovely shot.

And then Ed discovers the outcome of the Heist!

Alex Louis Armstrong is so emotional over their reunion that he takes off his shirt and tries to hug her. Maria Ross is having none of that. I know you're happy Major, but if you kill her here, everything will be for nothing.

Back in Resembool, Hohenheim has returned to find his house burned down. Pinako is looking through a photo album. There's a picture of Ed with his State Alchemist watch in October '11. There's Ed, Al, Wniry, and Den in April '03, meaning Den is at least 11. There's a picture of Den in December '06 with his automail leg, so he's had that for at least 8 years. There's a picture of a baby Al in '00 but we don't see the month.

When Hohenheim visits Pinako, a strong wind blows through the room, turning the pages back. In May '72, Pinako and her husband moved into Resembool. In May '73, they had a son. The last picture is Pinako and Hohenheim in '66. Pinako has known Hohenheim for at least 48 years and he still looks the same.

back

Spoiler Discussion

It's appropriate the first chapter Hohenheim appears is the chapter called "Philosopher from the West." As we piece together details, we gradually learn that Hohenheim is the Philosopher from the West while Father is the Philosopher from the East. I would guess that Amestrisian Alchemy is most similar to Cselkcess Alchemy. Afterall, Father is not one to improve on any technique nor try to discover something new.