#well more like historical peril | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vashtijoy · 1 year ago

Note

Just saw your recent reblog, I'm so sorry if you get asked this a lot--is the cut post-game location where Akechi is not a rehab?

Wow, I've just been through my index and it doesn't seem I've ever posted about this—so thank you for asking! Note that this is (hopefully) PART ONE of a two-part post; this is way overlong without me getting into my thoughts about this scene.

The scene we're talking about is a deleted scene where Akechi (offscreen, and clearly alive) is talking to two employees (onscreen), in what looks like a bathhouse. They gossip about his plans for the future, until he arrives in person to catch them out and put some things on record.

Here's the scene, with my translation. (page down for the text). Pay attention to how the, uh, man standing in the bath knows Akechi is outside all along, while the woman who comes in to gossip does not.

youtube

There are a lot of theories about this scene—where is it happening? when does it happen? what purpose does it serve?—not least because there are several different translations floating around. But we can tell quite a bit from the text. Quick summary, since this is a post and a half already:

The place Akechi checks in on 12/24, per this deleted scene, is not a rehab or hotel or hospital, but a type of refuge called a kakekomidera.

This scene takes place (probably) after school on 2/10, as the last of the string of confidant interventions between 2/4 and 2/13. As such, it represents the thing Akechi is doing for Joker to get him out of detention.

Let's take a look.

firstly, what is this place?

People have variously described the bathhouse in this scene as a rehab (no), a hotel or ryokan (no), a hospital (no) and a mental hospital (def Not). So what is it?

The scene tells us exactly what it is:

Gossipy Employee ⋯まあここは、俺らもそうだけど、スネに傷あるモンの駆け込み寺だ。 ... maa koko wa, orera mo sou da kedo, sune ni kizu aru mon no kakekomidera da [lit. well, this place is a kakekomidera for people with a guilty conscience, like us.]

what is a kakekomidera?

A 寺 tera is a Buddhist temple; it's the ji at the end of a lot of temple names. 駆け込む kakekomu means to seek refuge somewhere. So a kakekomidera is a temple where you seek refuge.

And that is the place Akechi has taken himself to: it's a refuge. It's a shelter, like a domestic violence shelter—somewhere you go when you're at the end of your rope, with nowhere to turn; when you're in danger. Somewhere he stayed as a child—with his mother, who was likewise in a perilous and vulnerable situation. Where he knows there are people who will take him in, no questions asked, after everything he's done. Who might even remember him.

Historically, a kakekomidera (like the one in the link) was a place women could go if their husbands were abusive; they entered religious service, and subsequently accessed divorce: "Temple records show that, during the Tokugawa period alone"—that's 1603–1857, often also called the Edo period—"an estimated 2,000 women sought shelter there."

Services called kakekomidera still exist today. They are often in temples—if you can stop by to talk to a monk about your problems and look for solutions, that's a kakekomidera. Online helpdesks are often called kakekomidera—you can look up a "Desktop Publishing kakekomidera" site, for instance.

[more below the cut...]

English sources are usually all referencing the same organisation, Gen Hidemori's Nippon Kakekomidera in Shinjuku:

Gen opens the doors of his organization to all who are in dire straits, regardless of age, gender, income, or social status. Visitors to the office located in Tokyo’s infamous Kabukichō red-light district seek respite from domestic violence, pressing debt, and trouble with organized crime groups. Gen says he even sees gang members looking to make a clean break from the criminal underworld.

Does a kakekomidera do rehab-like things sometimes? Sure. They act as halfway houses for people leaving prison. They help people work through problems in their lives. But in English, a "rehab" is focused on rehabilitating people—after addiction, after illness or injury, after prison, during old age—and that is not what I think we should be picturing here.

I have not been able to track down a residential one like the one in the game, but hey, it's fiction. I wouldn't want to say, though, that they don't exist—don't forget the historical kakekomidera, where you entered service and stayed until you were ready to leave. Though this doesn't appear to be any sort of religious setting, I suspect it's not for nothing that Akechi is doing menial work around the place.

next, when does this scene take place?

The game code allows us to lock this scene almost down to the hour. This will get a little technical at points, so bear with me. You can easily skim past most of this.

Every event in P5 and P5R is numbered. They have two numbers: a major number, identifying the event, and a minor number, identifying part of the event. (You can get more granular than this, identifying individual lines of the script, but that's beyond our scope here.)

This deleted event of Akechi's is numbered E470_810. That is, it has a major number (identifying the event) of 470, and a minor number (identifying part of event 470) of 810.

what is event 470?

Event 470 is the collection of events that happen after Joker enters detention—that is, on 12/24 with Sae in vanilla, or on 2/4 after Maruki's boss fight in Royal.

You can probably see where this is going. Here's the list of events in event 470:

E470_001—[vanilla only] the sad Christmas Day meeting after Joker is arrested, where the PTs determine that this is super unfair and they should do something about it;

E470_101—[vanilla only] Joker's interrogation while detained;

E470_201—Sojiro's intervention after Joker's arrest;

E470_211—Takemi's intervention after Joker's arrest;

E470_301—Kawakami's intervention after Joker's arrest;

E470_311—Iwai's intervention after Joker's arrest;

E470_401—Mishima's intervention after Joker's arrest;

E470_411—Chihaya's intervention after Joker's arrest;

E470_501—Ohya's intervention after Joker's arrest;

E470_511—Yoshida's intervention after Joker's arrest;

E470_601—Shinya's intervention after Joker's arrest;

E470_611—Hifumi's intervention after Joker's arrest;

E470_701—Makoto's intervention after Joker's arrest;

E470_711—Sumire's intervention after Joker's arrest;

E470_810—Akechi's intervention after Joker's arrest.

The next event after that is E471_001, which is Sae meeting Joker in detention for his release on 2/13.

What does this list tell us? Well, mainly, this deleted scene of Akechi's, E470_810, was intended to play along with all those others up there; they're the same event, with the same major number, 470. It's not some random scene we can know nothing about; it has a context, and that context is that Akechi, just like the others, is working to get Joker out of detention. If this scene had been left in, it would have played along with all the other max-rank confidant scenes prior to 2/13.

You might have noticed that Akechi's scene is not quite grouped with the others—there is no E470_801, when the other confidant scenes move cleanly through Ex_x01 to Ex_x11 to Ex_x01 and so on. Whether that's because there's a missing event (storyboarded but never written?) or because he's not quite working with the others, or perhaps because it would have played out of sequence, like Makoto's (numbered last, originally, even though it played first)—we can't tell.

I did say we could lock this scene down almost to the hour, and that brings us to something called the scheduler:

where is event 470 in the scheduler? what is the scheduler?

The scheduler is a piece of code that tells the game engine what events to play on what day. If you want to know what triggers an event to play, the scheduler is a good first stop.

It's split into one file per month (SCHEDULER_04.BF through SCHEDULER_03.BF), and each month is split into a number of functions per day. Usually two functions play in the morning (early and mid-morning?) and five in the PM slot, which we can identify from the events that happen during them:

PM slot A—lunchtime. Includes e.g. the deleted lunch events;

PM slot B—midafternoon. Includes e.g. the chat events during the afternoon lesson;

PM slot C—after school. Includes e.g. Mishima's after-school confidant unlock in your homeroom;

PM slot D—evening. Includes e.g. Sae and Makoto's conversation over dinner before the hot pot party;

PM slot E—bed. Includes e.g. Joker's excursions to the Velvet Room.

In vanilla, the clock is visible for these confidant events, so we can see time passing; the events are also spread more widely through the day. In Royal, though, the clock is disabled for them, probably because they're so much closer together. But whether you consider these event times binding or not, we can still see exactly when they are—because the scheduler tells us so:

Makoto (E470_701)—2/5 (Royal), 1/3 (vanilla), midafternoon;

Sojiro (E470_201)—2/5 (Royal), 1/5 (vanilla), midafternoon;

Takemi (E470_211)—2/6 after school (Royal), 1/7 midafternoon (vanilla);

Kawakami (E470_301)—2/6 (Royal), 1/10 (vanilla), after school;

Iwai (E470_315)—2/7 after school (Royal only); Iwai (E470_311)—1/13 after school (vanilla only);

Mishima (E470_401)—2/7 (Royal), 1/14 (vanilla), after school;

Chihaya (E470_411)—2/8 (Royal), 1/16 (vanilla), after school;

Ohya (E470_501)—2/8 after school (Royal), 1/18 evening (vanilla);

Yoshida (E470_511)—2/9 after school (Royal), 1/22 midafternoon (vanilla);

Shinya (E470_601)—2/9 (Royal), 1/28 (vanilla), midafternoon;

Hifumi (E470_611)—2/9 (Royal), 1/31 (vanilla), after school;

Sumire (E470_711)—2/10 after school (Royal only).

Lastly, Sae always breaks Joker out during the midafternoon slot on 2/13, in both Royal and vanilla, just before Valentine's Day.

Is there anything notable in this huge swathe of data?

Three confidants changed their event slot in Royal, presumably to fit multiple events into one function on the same day: Takemi moved from midafternoon in vanilla to after school in Royal, Ohya moved from the evening slot to after school, and Yoshida moved from midafternoon to after school.

Iwai has two minor numbers, because he has two slightly different events—vanilla Iwai says "Make sure the guys in lock-up know not to let anyone lay a damn finger on him", while Royal Iwai does not!

Why was this line cut from Royal? Was Joker somehow in less danger in juvie? Well... vanilla places a lot more emphasis on Joker's detention. Rather than Akechi showing up on 12/24, Sae has a long digression about juvenile hall, and how awful it will be, and the consequences for Joker and his friends. Joker gets interrogated in detention and so on.

So maybe this line was there to build suspense, in vanilla—whereas in Royal, there's just no need, because everything has already happened.

what about akechi

OKAY SO. Getting back to the important stuff, what does all of that tell us about Akechi's deleted scene? Well, it lets us date it.

This scene does not appear to exist in vanilla, when Akechi is pretty definitively ?dead in January and February. It was added with Sumire's, for Royal—and then deleted from the scheduler, so that it's out of game. And in Royal, two events play every day—except on 2/10.

Only Sumire's event plays on 2/10. So we can stake a pretty good guess here that Akechi's event would have been paired with Sumire's event, the other Royal Trio event, in that after school time slot on 2/10.

Maybe it would have played on 2/11 or 2/12. Maybe it would have been like Makoto's event, and jumped out of the list to play elsewhen. But given that it's a reveal, I think it almost certainly would have played last (as its position in the event list suggests)—and 2/10 with Sumire seems like a good place for it.

lastly, what even is this scene

I'm attaching my translation of the scene beneath the cut, since it's been sitting in my Tumblr drafts forever and a day. Obviously this is hugely subject to error and not likely to be entirely correct—nonetheless, enjoy.

* * *

[The Prurient Employee walks in and addresses the Gossipy Employee, who is staring down at the floor.]

Prurient Employee 聞いた? kiita? Did you hear the news?

Gossipy Employee ああ⋯ aa... I did.

[He turns to her, glancing outside at what appears to be nothing in particular.]

Gossipy Employee さっき、本人から聞いたよ。 sakki, honnin kara kiita yo I just got it from him face to face.

Gossipy Employee 来たばっかだってのに、来月で辞めるって話だろう? kita bakka datte no ni, raigetsu de yameru tte hanashi darou? People were saying he's leaving next month, right? Even though he only just got here.

Prurient Employee あの子まだ、ちっちゃかったときよね?お母さんと一緒に出てって何年ぶり⋯? ano ko mada, chicchakatta toki yo ne? okaasan to issho ni dete tte nannen buri...? That kid was tiny when he left with his mother, wasn’t he? How many years has it been?…

Prurient Employee イケメンになって帰ってきた~って、うちら盛り上がってたのに。 ikemen ni natte kaette kita~tte, uchira moriagatteta no ni We were so excited, he'd just come back all grown-up and handsome, and now...

Gossipy Employee ここのこと覚えといてくれてたのは嬉しかったよな。 koko no koto oboetoite kureteta no wa ureshikatta yo na At least he still remembered he could come here, though.

Gossipy Employee ⋯まあここは、俺らもそうだけど、スネに傷あるモンの駆け込み寺だ。 ... maa koko wa, orera mo sou da kedo, sune ni kizu aru mon no kakekomidera da That's what this place is for. To shelter people like us, who have a past they can't forget.

Gossipy Employee それに昔よしみってんなら、困ってたら匿うのは当然だよ。 sore ni mukashi yoshimi tte n nara, komattetara kakumau no wa touzen da yo Especially someone we’ve known for so long. As if we wouldn’t hide him when he needed it.

Prurient Employee 『東京でやり残したことがある』って理由らしいわよ。 "toukyou de yarinokoshita koto ga aru" tte riyuu rashii wa yo I heard he said he has "unfinished business in Tokyo."

Gossipy Employee そんなことまで知ってるの。 sonna koto made shitteru no You really do know it all, don't you.

Prurient Employee ⋯ねえ。 ...nee Tell me, though...

Prurient Employee やり残したことって、やっぱりコレ関係? yarinokoshita koto tte, yappari kore kankei? This "unfinished business" of his—that’s what all this is about, right?

[Akechi speaks, offscreen.]

Young Man's Voice やめてくださいよ。妙な詮索。 yamete kudasai yo. myouna sensaku I wish you’d keep your nose out of my affairs.

[The Prurient Employee goes !, realising he was there all along.]

Prurient Employee いるなら言ってよ⋯~ iru nara itte yo...~ Tell me, then, if you're right there!

Gossipy Employee 東京で世話になったヤツがいるんだと。 toukyou de sewa ni natta yatsu ga iru n da to He did say there was someone who helped him out in Tokyo.

Gossipy Employee そいつに貸し��作りに行くんだ。 soitsu ni kashi o tsukuri ni iku n da So he's going back because he owes him.

Gossipy Employee なあ? naa? Right?

Young Man's Voice 借り返して辞めるつもりですから。 karikaeshite yameru tsumori desu kara Don't worry, I’ll clear my debts here before I leave.

Young Man's Voice 去年の⋯イヴ? アポ無しで来た僕を何も言わず受けれてくれた分と⋯ kyonen no... ibu? aponashi de kita boku o nani mo iwazu ukerete kureta bun to... For taking me in last year… on Christmas Eve, was it? Without an appointment. Without asking questions.

Young Man's Voice それと昔、母がお世話になった分はね。 sore to mukashi, haha ga o-sewa ni natta bun wa ne And for everything you did for my mother.

Prurient Employee それにしても貸しを作りに⋯なんて、あんたらしいね。 sore ni shite mo kashi o tsukuri ni... nante, anta rashii ne Never mind that. To go to these lengths just because you owe somebody… No, I guess that’s you all over, isn’t it.

Young Man's Voice 思ったとおりにいけば、あいつとあいつと仲間⋯ omotta toori ni ikeba, aitsu to aitsu to nakama... If it comes off, then that guy and his friends will live out their lives…

Young Man's Voice 一生、僕に⋯感謝するんです。 issei, boku ni... kansha suru n desu …Well, they’ll owe me their thanks forever.

[The two employees go ?]

Young Man's Voice 軒先、掃除してきますね。 nokisaki, souji shite kimasu ne I’m going to sweep up outside.

* * *

revision history

Click here for the latest version.

v1.0 (2023/12/03)—first posted.

#persona 5 #p5 meta #p5 tech #things i translate #goro akechi

294 notes · View notes

blurredcolour · 6 months ago

Text

In My Blood | Part Two

In My Blood Masterlist

Curtis "Curt" Biddick x SOE!Female Reader

It is no longer safe for you to remain in Belgium. With the Gestapo closing in, Curt is finally ready to make his escape with you. But is it too late?

Warnings: MAJOR canon divergence, Language, Violence, Weapons, Spy Craft, Detailed Description of Murder, Death, Injuries, Angst, Grief, Fear, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY.

Author’s Note: This story contains revisionist history, read at your own risk. Reader is half-Belgian, half-English and has been given an extensive backstory and family tree. While they have been given the codename of "Marie," no physical descriptions or Y/N are used.

Italics used for non-English words and to indicate dialogue spoken in a language other than English.

This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 6929

-------------------------

May 3, 1940

“Honestly Papa,” You protested in French, threading the telephone cord between your fingers as the line crackled and hummed with the standard overseas audio distortions,“I do not understand why you will not let me come home, nothing has happened in months–”

“Enough, my little monster,” Your father’s voice gently but firmly cut you off. “We have been over this a thousand times, it is simply too dangerous for you to leave England with war declared. Yes, it is quiet at the moment, but it is only a matter of time now that the weather has grown warm.”

Your eyes scanned across the neatly appointed Edwardian writing desk in your grandmother’s study before turning to eye the drizzly gardens of the Dower House through the spotless window behind you.

“If it is so dangerous, why do you and Mama insist on staying in Brussels? You are both more important than me and if those Nazi bastards invade you know that’s where they’re headed – straight for you.”

“Come, come now, don’t let your mother hear you using that language.” His chastisement was half-hearted and filled with laughter, pulling a reluctant grin from you. “Belgium is neutral, firstly, but if the worst happens, we will simply flee to the house in Wallonia. Chin-up my little monster, we are made of sterner stuff, are we not?”

“Yes, Papa,” You replied, feeling somewhat reassured and heartened, “we truly are.”

------------

October 28, 1943

The collision of your spine against the brick wall drove the air from your lungs, a strangled noise of pain seeping from your throat as the broken end of a bolt that had once affixed something to the side of the building tore through the fabric of your blouse and dug into the meat of your right upper arm. Gritting your teeth as your eyes watered at the searing pain and warm gush down your sleeve, your grip tightened on the handle of your knife, swinging it higher towards the vulnerable neck of the man you had lured into this alleyway.

He had been following you for at least twenty minutes, Gestapo most likely, on your way to pick up some material to then courier to another contact. You had been unsuccessful at losing him, and with the sun setting and curfew nearly upon you, confrontation had remained your only option. While sneaking out after curfew was perilous enough, being caught out around the fall of curfew was nearly suicidal. Parking your bike in front of a well-attended pub, you had made your way across the town square, wending your way through the emptying streets before ducking into this very alley to lay in wait.

Unfortunately for you, the man had proven to be much larger than you had first estimated, and along with a brutal case of halitosis, each sour breath assaulting your senses as it impacted your face, he was easily overpowering you, slowly turning your knife in your grip, threatening to use your own weapon against you. Unfortunately for him, you had been trained in all the ‘ungentlemanly’ ways one could undertake warfare, and he was utterly unprepared for the collision of your foot with his most tender parts.

A sound consisting of an intriguing mixture of a yelp and a wheeze escaped his mouth as he fell back, his oppressive weight finally easing off you. Seizing the momentum, you quickly struck with your blade, meeting the weak block of his forearm and drawing a yowl this time. While he was not proving to be a quiet kill, thankfully his racket resembled an alley cat, and could be explained away if necessary. Heart hammering in your ears, breaths coming in quick gasps under the heady influence of your own adrenaline, you swung the blade home into the defenseless flesh of his neck and tugged forward, sealing your opponent’s fate as he crumpled to the worn cobblestones.

Taking several awkward steps backward, you inhaled deep, greedy gulps of air as the man exhaled his last and grew still. It was both relieving and unsettling. Casting about for the large metal bins you had glimpsed earlier, you darted across the alley to quickly remove the lids from both, shifting the filthy contents from one into the other to make space for your deposit. Returning to his lifeless form, you assessed his bulk before struggling to strip him of his large, navy wool coat before dragging him down the alley and hoisting him into his final resting place. The wound in your triceps screamed in agonized protest with every breath until you had resecured the lid, the scene unremarkable enough in the long shadows of evening.

Shrugging into the bulky coat to conceal the damage to your blouse and retrieving your luggage, discarded moments before the altercation began, you forced yourself to exit the alley at a perfectly normal pace in the direction of Doctor Legot’s clinic, trusty bicycle abandoned for the sake of a speedy departure. Reaching the clinic well after closing, you slid around the back, setting down your suitcase to root around in the hedges for the upturned pot hiding the spare key known to only a select few. You took a moment to compose yourself, taking a deep breath and brusquely wiping at the tears of discomfort that had been stubbornly welling in your eyes the entire journey.

The lock turned soundlessly under your practiced hand, the door swinging inward to an unexpected shaft of light spilling from the patient washroom. Peering around the doorjamb, your eyes widened to see Curt standing at the small sink in the powder room, stripped down to his undershirt, carefully dragging a safety razor across one lathered cheek. Exhaustion and injury got the better of you, making you sway unsteadily, forcing you to catch yourself on the frame of the door, immediately attracting his attention.

“Marie?” He turned to look at you, well-defined muscles of his arms flexing with his movements, shaving cream adorably still adorning a great deal of his face.

Hastily lurching forward into the clinic, you quickly closed and latched the door behind you, depositing your luggage and shoulder bag before shrugging out of the claustrophobic overcoat.

“Jesus Christ, look at you!” His outburst, followed by the sound of his razor hitting the porcelain bowl of the sink, made you drop your gaze to your clothes, only to be greeted by the sight of your late opponent’s blood drenching the fabric.

“Oh, do not fret about me…” You had hoped to put on a display of bravado, but your voice was aggravatingly thin, “…the other fellow is much worse off.”

His startlingly warm palms cupping your elbows made your head jerk back up, meeting his furrowed brow, eyes darkened with concern. “That isn’t very comforting, gorgeous.” He muttered and began tugging you towards Doctor Legot’s office where a crack of light shone from beneath the door. “Doc?” He barked out before open the door without any further preamble.

Only a small noise of protest sounded before the doctor was shooting to his feet, quickly ushering you to take his recently vacated chair, rapidly looking you over before his eyes settled on your arm.

“I’m not going to ask how such misfortune befell you, Marie. I am a wiser man than that. But what, specifically, happened to your arm?” He murmured in Dutch as he retrieved a set of suture scissors to begin cutting away the sleeve of your ruined shirt.

“I backed into the shorn off end of a bolt with rather a bit of force.” You sighed wearily, glancing at Curt who remained in the room, eyeing the pair of you intensely from where he leaned against a filing cabinet. “Why is your guest upstairs?”

Your sentence ended in a hiss as you inhaled sharply through your teeth at the feeling of the doctor’s fingers prodding at the wound on the back of your upper arm.

“He cut himself shaving by candlelight one too many times. Once the cast came off, we made an agreement he could come upstairs between closing and dinner to wash up. You’ve had your tetanus vaccine?”

As Legot began to aggressively paint your wound with disinfectant, you pressed your lips together tightly against any further mortifying outbursts, and thus only managed a nod in confirmation.

“Good.” The room fell silent as he applied a square of gauze to your wound, securing it in place by wrapping your arm in a bandage, tying it off.

Your eyes drifted back to Curt who had not seemed to move an inch, not even changed position, the shaving cream on his face drying out, growing crusty against his skin. His silence was perhaps the most unnerving thing you had encountered this evening, his voice seeming to have filled every waking encounter you’d had with him thus far.

“It’s a lot of blood…” He muttered, eyes rising from your clothes, marred by scarlet quickly turning a mottled brown as the blood dried and aged.

“Mostly someone else’s.” You reminded him gently, earning a non-plussed grunt in reply.

A heavy sigh fell from the Doctor Legot’s lips, making you look up at him slowly. “Marie there has been…an increase in the Gestapo around town. A contact of mine was even questioned about a woman bearing a remarkable resemblance to you. And now that you seem to have had a run in, I’m…concerned.”

Despite similar thoughts ricocheting about your brain the entire flight back to his clinic, the breath you drew in felt like it contained thousands of tiny shards of glass which imbedded themselves deep inside your breast as you heard it from an external source. Rationally, to have survived so many months in your occupation was a feat worth celebrating.

An SOE agent typically had a life expectancy of six months, and yet to watch your ability to remain in Belgium, to remain useful to your fellow Belgians, crumble before you was incredibly painful. You allowed your exhale to accumulate in your cheeks before releasing it all at once through pursed lips with a nod, the feeling of having failed your people, your family, once again a yawning pit deep in your gut.

“It is time for me to move on.” You conceded flatly.

“If you are headed in a certain direction, might you be able to take a certain guest with you?” He asked with a nod in the American’s direction.“Couriers are still stretched thin.”

Your eyes widened slowly as it dawned on you that it was well over two months since Curt had become a guest in his cellar and should be well on his way to Spain by now. “He is well enough to travel then? Have they made him papers yet?” Your rapid-fire questions were greeted by frantic blinking from the doctor before he nodded quickly in the affirmative to both.

Turning back to Curt you tilted your head, reinvigorated by the chance to be useful one last time as you tried to remove yourself from occupied Europe, saving another’s life infinitely more important than simply trying to preserve your own. “Tell me, Curt, are you ready to head back to England?”

The apprehension that had drawn his features tight melted away, yielding to a bright smile, his eyes fairly sparkling with anticipation at the promise of beginning his escape at last. “You have no idea.”

You could do nothing to stop the uplift at the corner of your mouth in response, nodding slightly. “I’m going to change out of these clothes and then we’ll get ready to leave in the morning.”

Straightening from his lean against the cabinet, he moved to the door. “I’ll just go grab…” His voice trailed off as he disappeared down the hall before returning with your suitcase, setting it on the floor with a nod before departing once more, not loitering long enough to accept your gratitude.

Legot produced an old flour sack for you to deposit any clothes beyond saving, to be burned upstairs in his fireplace, before leaving you alone in his office. Feeling the chill of autumn in your damp clothes, you quickly stripped, using a towel to wipe any bloody remnants from your skin with water from the sink in the corner of the room, before changing into fresh clothing. Your mind was already occupied with plotting your route – to Antwerp, fetching supplies from the small flat you kept as a base of operations there, and then boarding a train to the border before crossing on foot then onto another train at Lille to Toulouse before meeting up with the Ponzán group to be guided across the Pyrenees. But this time, you would be one of the party making the crossing in neutral Spain.

Bringing your damp towel to try and blot any blood from the pilfered overcoat, hoping to save it for Curt’s benefit during the mountain crossing to come, you turned off the office lights and headed toward the storeroom, grabbing the garment from the floor on the way. Dropping it through the open trapdoor followed by the wet towel, you smiled to Curt as he appeared below, passing him your suitcase with your good arm before beginning your own descent down the ladder. Pushed well beyond all possible limits, your battered and bandaged arm gave out at your demand to bear your body weight, a yelp escaping as your right hand lost its grip on the ladder as a result.

Strong hands quickly landed on your hips, steadying and supporting you.

“Easy, gorgeous, good as you got the guy, he still hurt you.” Curt muttered behind you, the fresh scent of soap and aftershave radiating from his warm skin as he helped you down the last few rungs.

“Th, thank you, Curt.” You stammered, hugging your throbbing limb close as your feet settled onto the cellar floor, watching him easily climb up the ladder to swing the heavy trapdoor shut almost silently even from inside. “You’ve come a long way in the past few weeks…”

He smirked a little, carrying your luggage over to set on the foot of your bed for you. “Been doing a lot of shadow boxing down here.”

“Boxing!” You breathed in surprise, gathering the abandoned coat from the crumpled heap it left on the floor, trying not to notice the way his muscles moved as he pulled on a thick knit sweater in the cool damp of your hiding space. “If I had known, I would have gotten comics related to your interest…”

“I enjoyed the ones you brought, even read the book too. My teachers would be proud.”

A small laugh escaped you as you settled onto the edge of the bed, inspecting the coat for bloodstains and methodically beginning to blot them out. His own laughed intertwined with yours all too melodically, making you swallow tightly.

“That coat is awful big for you, gorgeous.” He teased, watching you from where he stood at the end of your bed.

“It’s not for me, Curt, it’s for you – you’re going to need it where we’re headed. Just need to get all the blood out first.” You murmured, turning the right sleeve inside out knowing you had surely bled on it yourself.

“Do I get to know where we’re going?”

You peered up at him a moment before shaking your head. “Other than England. That will suffice for now. I will share the goal with you day by day, but the less you know the safer you will be. Aside from a few key portions, the majority of the trip will be by train to start. Tomorrow, though, we shall have to try something new.” You trailed off into a mutter at the last, wrestling with the heavy fabric, shooting him a grateful look as he grabbed the hem of the coat to help you position it, allowing you to reach one of the last stains.

“What’s so special about tomorrow?” He prodded, clearly still listening even though your final statement had more been musing aloud than for his ears.

Pausing a moment you sighed before meeting his eyes. “I suppose you ought to know that I appear to be a known entity to the Gestapo, at the very least locally, and so we will take extra evasive manoeuvres when we leave town. I shall be disguised, we will leave just before dawn, and avoid public transportation. I have a few ideas for how we might reach where we are going first, do not worry.” You offered a reassuring smile, to which he returned a small nod. “Jan will have been by the take your photo and give you papers?”

“Oh, yeah, nice fella if a bit quiet. Gave me a couple sets of papers.” He stepped over to his cot to retrieve two well forged sets of identity papers, bringing them over for you to inspect.

Laying the now-cleaned coat to dry across your suitcase, you accepted them from him, looking them over before holding out those in your left hand. “These are your Belgian papers. I suggest you put these in your usual pocket – the one you will reach for first, so that you can produce them as naturally as possible. We will destroy them as soon as we have left Belgium.” You watched as he took them from you.

“Belgian papers, got it.” Curt made a tiny salute with the papers before grabbing a leather jacket from the back of a small chair that was a new addition to the cellar, sliding them into the inner left breast pocket.

“And these,” you held out those in your right hand, “are your French papers. You will want to keep these close, in a safe place on your person, but not somewhere you will mistakenly hand them over until they are needed.”

His eyebrow shot up playfully. “Hold up, Marie, I thought you just said you weren’t going to tell me where we’re going…”

“Did I?” You blinked innocently and his guffaw of amusement threatened to pull another unintentional smile from you.

Since when had your expressions become so very difficult to control?

“The most important thing for you to remember on our journey,” you soldiered on despite your inner struggle, “is not to speak. Your voice absolutely gives away the fact that you do not belong here. Many of the airmen whom we guide find the most success by feigning deafness. It explains both their inability to speak and the fact that they do not understand the language.”

“You could just teach me French, or whatever you speak with Doc…”

“Flemish?” You found yourself fighting back laughter. “We do not have enough time for you to master either, Curt. We leave tomorrow. Now take your French papiers and get some sleep, we leave in a few hours.” You nodded firmly, but with a kind smile.

“You too, Marie, you need dinner or anything?”

Shaking your head softly, certain you could not bring yourself to eat even if you felt hungry, the pair of you settled in to sleep, the damp wool coat taking over the chair in the middle of the room to dry, looming in the flickering candlelight like some grim reminder of your actions. Huffing at your melodramatic thoughts, you pulled the blankets over your head and rolled over to get some rest.

As agreed upon, Legot woke the pair of you shortly after four with warm bread, apples, and granola. You could almost taste the ghost of butter, jam, sugar, and cream on your tongue – heavily rationed delights that had been hard to come by in England and all but non-existent here under Nazi rule. Downing your dry, brown breakfast, you opened your suitcase to retrieve a wig from its depths, gathering your hair and securing it beneath the false strands to disguise your apparently known appearance.

“I dunno Marie…” Curt’s musing were interrupted by an exaggerated yawn as he smoothed his hair with a pot of borrowed pomade. “Your natural hair looks so much prettier on you.”

Fighting the girlish urge to preen under his indirect compliment, you shook your head. “It’s a good thing I’m not trying to look pretty then, just different.”

“Well in that case you look nothing like your usual self.” He shrugged into his leather jacket before snagging the hard-won navy coat from the back of the chair and folded it in perhaps the most unmethodical way you had ever witnessed, but it still wound up flat and small enough to fit into his suitcase.

“Good.” You muttered and snapped the latches on your own luggage closed, heading over to the ladder to climb up.

“Wait, let me help you.” He hurried over, reaching out to grasp your waist. “You sure you can pull the cases up?”

Huffing a little, more in annoyance at being injured than his offers of help, you nodded firmly. “Absolutely.” Clenching your jaw, you forced your way up the ladder, stubbornly ignoring the ache in your still-healing arm, turning to reach out expectantly for the first piece of luggage once you were kneeling on the floor above.

A bemused expression greeted you before he easily hoisted the first, waiting until you had it tucked aside before sending the second up. Taking a moment to extinguish the candles still burning below, he then quickly ascended the ladder to join you, silently securing the trapdoor behind him.

“Right, this is it then.”

About to make your way down the hall to bid a final farewell to the doctor, you turned with a soft gasp to find him stand there with a small canvas bag of food.

“For your journey.” He held it out, nodding as Curt quickly stepped forward to sling it over his shoulder.

“Be safe, Doctor Legot, thank you for all your assistance.”

“The very same to you, Marie. Best of luck on your travels.”

A small, sentimental smile poked through your serious expression before your eyes widened. “If you are in need of a bicycle, mine remains outside the pub across from the town square. Farewell.”

At serious risk of lingering too long, you turned then and headed out the backdoor, glancing over your shoulder in the faint light of early morning to ensure Curt was following you. You kept a quick pace, cutting and winding through town towards a familiar farmyard, dairy cows grazing the fields, lowing softly, as the farmer and his daughters loaded containers of milk into the back of a worn truck. The sun had escaped the confines of the horizon by now, flooding the landscape with the golden light of an autumn sunrise as you cast another glance of confirmation over your shoulder, nearly tripping over your own feet at the unjustly stunning quality of Curt’s eyes in daylight.

“Whoa, easy.” He hurried a few steps forward to steady you by the elbow, catching the attention of Tillens who quickly sent his children back into the house.

“Hush.” You whispered firmly before waving to the farmer, who squinted at you a moment before relaxing as you greeted him warmly in Dutch.

“That you, Marie? You’ve done something new with your hair, didn’t even recognize you for a moment…”

“The point, I am afraid. Are you by any chance headed to Antwerp today?” You asked hopefully, stomach falling as he shook his head.

“Could take you to Brussels, but Antwerp is tomorrow.”

Brussels was the one place you avoided, far too many familiar faces and even more Nazis along with their collaborating government.

“How much could I offer to convince you to take us to Antwerp today?”

Tillens’ brown eyes studied your disguise before looking over at your companion. “It’s only one hour out of my way, Marie, for you there is no charge. Hop in the back and I’ll pack the rest of these around you.”

Your eyes widened before you quickly gestured Curt forward, digging into the bag on his shoulder and pulling out the loaf of the bread you found there. “Then please accept this, for your family.”

“Marie…” Tillens protested but you pushed it forward insistently and he accepted it with a grateful nod. “Thank you, every bit helps.”

“Thank you, for it truly does.” Grasping Curt’s elbow, you pointed into the back of the truck, watching him step up and weave his way towards the back.

Setting your suitcase on the tailgate, you reached for the handhold with your left arm, gasping as Curt’s hands were suddenly around your waist to hoist you in amongst the containers of milk.

“Gorgeous but stubborn.” He muttered under his breath, grabbing your suitcase and leading you over to a gap he had found just large enough for the pair of you to settle on the floor.

Pulling your shoulder bag against your body, you tucked your skirt beneath yourself as you sat down beside him, nodding to Tillens as he peered in at the pair of you before sealing you in with the last of his cargo.

“It’s about a two-hour drive, feel free to sleep.” You whispered, the back of the truck going dark as Tillens secured the doors shut, the motor growling to life shortly thereafter.

“So he speaks Flemish too?” Curt asked curiously as the vehicle jolted into motion and you nodded softly.

“It’s Dutch, really, with some regional differences. In the bigger cities you’ll find more of a mix of Flemish and French.”

“And you speak it all.” Curt smirked and you nodded, hugging your knees to your chest as the cargo rattled around you. “Really somethin’…” He muttered, leaning back to close his eyes and try to get some rest as you had suggested.

The drive smoothed out as the truck navigated onto the main road, and you felt yourself relax a little after the first hour of distance was put between you and Beverst. You were by no means out of danger – the Gestapo was an insidious organization, their network a far-reaching and interconnected tangle. The fact that at least one agent had come looking for you specifically meant that, if the entirety did not know of you yet, they soon would. You had to run all the way to be truly safe.

Of their own volition, your eyes drifted towards Curt’s sleeping form, his handsome face grown slack and soft in sleep, the youth of him both striking and painful. What would his life look like if Hitler had been able to keep his hands to himself…or better yet had never even come to power? What would your life look like? Certainly neither of you would be in the back of a dairy truck sneaking your way to Antwerp.

A roughened patch of road jostled his body, threatening to wake him and you quickly wrenched your eyes away, studying the handwritten labels from Tillens’ farm. Thankfully Curt remained asleep for the rest of the drive, the truck pulling to a stop amidst the hum of the city, and you gently prodded him awake with a shake to the shoulder.

“We’re here.” You whispered before pressing a finger to your lips and he nodded drowsily before straightening.

Light flooded into the back of the truck, the pair of you blinking owlishly as Tillens shifted the cargo to make a path of exit into a familiar alley. Climbing out carefully, you turned to unload the suitcases as Curt passed each, nodding sharply to the farmer before you and the airman assembled yourselves, and strolled casually out into the foot traffic on the sidewalk.

The interference and unpredictability of humans had you on edge, not appreciating the way Curt always seemed to be not where you expected him to be with every glance over your shoulder. After the fourth time you looked for him a little too long, your heart in your throat, you stepped around a rather annoying blonde making eyes at him, and seized his free hand with yours. To keep better track of him, of course. The fact that your throat tightened slightly as his blunt fingers wrapped around your hand in return, requiring a forceful swallow to clear it, was utterly irrelevant.

Turning the corner, you looked both ways before tugging on his hand, guiding him across the street to the unassuming building of flats from which you were intending to collect your warmer clothes and some other supplies. The sight of the rather nice car out front was the first sign that something was off. The next was the sound of your neighbour, an ancient, haggard woman named Josephine De Smet, speaking loudly in the stairwell, her creaking voice cascading down the tiled stairs to the lobby, halting your feet immediately.

Clearly distracted, Curt’s body collided with your back, forcing you to brace against the wall lest you topple over.

“Geez, why’d you sto–” His less-than-hushed whisper was cut off by your palm, forcefully freed from his grasp, slapping over his mouth as you quickly pushed him back into the corner of the lobby under the stairs, casting a sharp look at him before craning your ear back upwards.

Holding your breath, you listened intently, trying to hear the rest of the conversation. To confirm if the alarm bells ringing in your head were warranted.

“Just what has that hussy gotten herself mixed up in then, sir?” The old crone rasped in French, not her usual choice of language, and you pressed your lips into a line thin.

“I cannot say, madam, other than she is a monster and you’d best be wary.” The deep male voice, a German accent poisoning his pronunciation, made you inhale sharply through your nose.

Hand dropping from where it pressed against Curt’s remarkably plush and soft lips to grasp the lapel of his jacket, you pulled hard, yanking him out of the building and back onto the street. They were a lot closer on your trail than you had realized. Pulse rabbiting at your throat, you held your suitcase out to Curt in a silent request, grateful when he took it without question, following you as you took off down the sidewalk at a brisk clip.

Darting around the next corner, you led him on a chaotic, unpredictable, and hopefully untraceable path to a tramway stop several blocks away as you dug through your shoulder bag for the coins to make fare for both of you. Once that was secured, you traded his fare for your suitcase, tucking your own coins into the pocket of your light jacket, trying to suppress your grimace at the loss of your winter clothes in that now unvisitable flat. The feeling of Curt’s sturdy hand slipping into yours, enveloping your skin in warmth and his strong grip, halted you for half a step before releasing some of the tension in your lungs.

Propelling forward across the street, the pair of you jumped onto the tram just as it was about to pull away, shuffling into the heart of the crowded carriage to purchase your tickets and keep your faces away from the windows. It was not an overly warm ride to Antwerpen-Centraal station, but you could certainly feel sweat prickling in your armpits and rolling down your back between your shoulder blades. Tugging on Curt’s sleeve, you disembarked one stop short with him and ducked into an alley to yank the wig free, hanging your head upside down to shake out your hair before repining it. It surely looked sad, but given that identity papers were required to board a train, you needed to resemble your photo and thus the wig was shoved into a nearby trash bin.

“We will be asked for papers, there will be a lot of soldiers, try to remain relaxed and do as I do.” You whispered to Curt, and he nodded, patting the left breast of his pocket with an easy smile, though you watched his adam’s apple bob sharply as he swallowed. “We will be buying tickets and travelling to the border where will stop for the night, alright?”

“Lead on, gorgeous.” He nodded and turned to following you toward the grand, stone-clad station built at the turn of the century.

The presence of Nazi soldiers was pronounced, their bright red swatiskas flashing about the otherwise pleasant square like blemishes on a beautiful face. Keeping your expression perfectly neutral yet pleasant, confident yet not cocky, you took a moment to exhale slowly as you made it past the first hurdle into the building before heading to the ticket counter, requesting two tickets to Kortrijk. It was nothing short of a miracle that you managed a polite nod rather than kissing the ticket seller full on the mouth when he informed you the train would be leaving in twenty minutes. Pulling the bills from your bag, you accepted the tickets in return before leading Curt to track three.

Rolling your shoulders in and down your back, you confidently offered your identity papers to the Nazi soldier standing at the carriage door, immensely pleased when Curt did the same without prompting.

“Where are you two headed?” The soldier asked in clipped, stilted French, his piercing blue eyes wholly unsettling as they flicked between you and Curt before coming back to you.

“Kortrijk, sir.” You answered simply.

If he wanted to know more, he would need to ask more. You certainly had a lie prepared should he require one. He made a noise of displeasure, looking over your shoulder, implying the accumulation of other passengers.

“Off you go.” He grunted, returning both sets of papers to you and you nodded rapidly, climbing aboard quickly, even as your arm shook under the strain of hauling your body up the steps.

Shuffling down the hallway of the carriage, you at last came to an empty compartment, stepping inside and setting your luggage on the bench. As soon as Curt stepped in behind you, you slid the door shut behind him, knowing it was rude with a full train but not wanting anyone else to join you. As you turned back, he was already hoisting your suitcase up onto the luggage rack, making you smile fondly.

“Merci.” You murmured, hoping he would understand your meaning.

Judging by his responding smile, it seemed he certainly did. Despite your longing to collapse onto the bench seat, you sat with decorum, trying not to stare at your watch and count down the minutes. As the last whistle blew and the cars at last shunted into motion, you finally relaxed back into the cushion behind you.

“Is it always like that?” Curt whispered and you shot him a rueful look before shaking your head.

“I am deeply sorry, that…that is solely a complication of traveling with me right now.” You murmured in response, digging out his ticket and papers, returning them to him. “The conductor will arrive closer to our destination to check your ticket, then we show the papers again in the station after we detrain.”

You watched as he carefully took the items and tucked them back into his inner pocket.

“No apologies, gorgeous. We’re both not wanted here, so it’s a good thing we’re leaving.” He nodded and you looked out the window when rain pelted the glass as the train left the shelter of the station, biting the inside of your cheek savagely to keep your emotions in check. “Why don’t we have some lunch?”

He started to root around in the bag from Legot and you forced a smile, sharing the few apples and the small wedge of cheese, akin to a rare jewel, that the man had gifted the two of you with. After a minor squabble over who ought to be resting, Curt finally gave up and obstinately remained awake as you insisted that you must, staring out the window as the fields of Flanders rolled by. The train made numerous stops until the conductor arrived to check your tickets, signalling you were about to arrive in Kortrijk, the final stop.

Courtesy of your preparation, the process went remarkably smooth, and the pair of you stepped off the train once Curt had retrieved the suitcases from overhead. Another successful check of your papers and you were melting into the population freshly departing from their workday and making their way home. Within thirty minutes, you had arrived at an unassuming home on the southern edge of town, knocking the door in the prescribed way.

A young woman with a toddler perched on her hip opened the door, eyeing each of you cautiously.

“May I help you?” She asked in Dutch.

“Good afternoon, Ma’am. We were wondering if you might be interested in some new cosmetics?” You smiled broadly, delivering the passphrase.

A flash of recognition crossed her delicate features, her plump cheeks flushing in excitement as she briefly went rigid before she reined in her emotions. “Why don’t you come in and show me what you have for sale…” She stepped back, holding the door open wider for you and Curt to step inside.

Once the door was secured behind you, she led you through her small but tidy home up the narrow stairs to a small half door before opening it slowly.

“Here you are, dinner will take some time.”

“Whatever you can spare is truly appreciated, thank you.” You thanked her softly, sliding your suitcase into the attic before crouching down to crawl in after it.

The space was smaller than Legot’s cellar but larger than the back of Tillens’ dairy truck, enough room for each of you to lay flat, high up in the very peak of the small house. It was not a safe house you would have employed for a larger group. For the first time, you were grateful it was nearly November and not the heat of summer.

“Ouch!” Curt hissed as he cracked his head on a low beam, and you frowned, shifting up onto your knees to make sure he was alright. “Yeah, yeah, m’fine Marie, just an idiot.” He gave you a lopsided grin and you shook your head.

“Sorry it’s not the Ritz, but it’s not a cellar either?” You tilted your head hopefully.

“Never stayed at the Ritz, you?” He asked, settling onto the centuries-old wooden planks beside you.

“Hmmm.” You hummed noncommittally. “She says she’ll have something for us to eat in a bit, we will rest and then start out walking after midnight.”

“Walk…?” He prompted, eyebrow raised.

“It is not easy to cross the border, we cannot simply take the train into France, so we must walk. It is best to do so at night, and even better to do so rested. I promise we can linger a little longer at our next place, but we must get out of Belgium.” Despite your efforts to quash it, a slight tremor remained in your voice and Curt shot you a look of sympathy and utterly threatened your ability to maintain your composure. “So sleep.” You tacked on firmly and pulled off your jacket, folding it up to make a pillow before laying on your side with your back to him.

There was a decidedly awkward silence as he remained seated, looming above you, before laying down with a heavy exhale, clearly frustrated with you. Well that made two of you.

Dinner arrived two hours later with a soft knock, driving home the fact that you had not slept, but the warm vegetable hash was so very welcome and filling, giving you hope that you might be able to actually fall asleep for the last few hours of your stay here. As you lay back down onto your make-shift pillow, Curt’s breaths almost immediately evened out into the heavy sighs of sleep, making your lips twitch in a mixture of annoyance and amusement. Yet as you closed your eyes, all that echoed through your mind was the voice of your father ‘mon petit monstre’ and the Gestapo agent from the stairwell of your flat building ‘elle est un monstre.’

Petit monstre

Un monstre

Monstre

Grief clawed at your throat, making you sit up sharply as you gasped for air, eyes brimming with tears as the realization that you would never again hear that nickname in your father’s voice – that it would now only come to you by way of anger and insult – sank like a stone in the pit of your stomach. Sniffling petulantly as your nose began to run, you jumped at the feeling of Curt’s hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong…” He whispered groggily, shifting closer.

Shaking your head quickly, you roughly wiped the tears from your eyes trying to hide the evidence, huffing as the action only caused fresh ones to spill onto your cheeks.

“Don’t tell me then, just c’mere.” He replied and gathered you into his arms, cradling you close against his chest.

Every muscle in your body went rigid at first, your rational, well-trained self knowing this was utterly inappropriate. And yet…

And yet, he was so warm, so kind, and he was holding you so tightly that maybe you could fall apart just a little without crumbling entirely. Surrendering to the fact that no arms had attempted to hold and comfort you in years, you yielded to his embrace, becoming pliant as you loosened the clenched-fist-grip on your grief just a little, allowing tears to slide freely down your cheeks in the darkness of that attic as his palm soothed up and down your spine.

“Shhh, I’m right here, you’re not alone…”

How very much you wanted to believe him.

-------------------------

Read Part Three

In My Blood Masterlist

Tag list: @precious-little-scoundrel, @luminouslywriting, @polikabra, @beingalive1

#curtis biddick x reader #curt biddick x reader #curtis biddick #curt biddick #mota fanfic #mota fic #masters of the air fanfiction #mota #masters of the air

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planet-gay-comic · 20 days ago

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Harvest and Trade Metropolises of the 14th Century 🍂🍁✨

A Melting Pot of Cultures and Hidden Romances

The 14th century was a time of transformation, as Europe flourished and became a hub of trade and cultural exchange. Cities like Venice, Genoa, and Florence evolved into powerful trade metropolises, as did northern cities such as Bruges, Lübeck, and Cologne, where merchants from all over the world gathered to exchange goods, knowledge, and stories. These bustling centers, especially during autumn markets that celebrated the harvest season, were filled with stalls showcasing exotic fabrics, precious spices, and rare treasures, creating a scene of constant activity and adventure.

Yet behind the commerce and economic hustle lay deeper, more human stories. Merchants from different regions and cultures met in these cities not only as business partners but as people who shared the joys and challenges of life. Their journeys were long and perilous, and arriving in a new city was often met with relief and a celebration of life. It’s easy to imagine that in these moments of pause and festivity, connections were formed that went beyond mere trade.

Michael Rocke's work "Forbidden Friendships: Homosexuality and Male Culture in Renaissance Florence" (1996) compellingly highlights how close friendships and connections between men developed in Florence and other trade cities. Rocke describes how the complex social structure of the Renaissance allowed men to maintain intimate and often emotional relationships that surpassed business interests. In some cases, these connections have been preserved in archives through letters and private records, suggesting that such relationships were sometimes romantic in nature. The intertwining of trade and personal life provided space for deeper bonds that may have been perceived as mere partnerships in public but held greater meaning in private.

These connections often remained in the shadows of official historical records, but with a closer look, the streets and parks of these cities tell stories of alliances that involved hearts as well as gold.

Text supported by GPT-4o, Claude 3.5 Sonnet Images generated with SDXL, overworked with SD-1.5/SDXL inpainting and composing.

#HistoricalRomance #RenaissanceLove #CulturalExchange #LGBTQHistory #MichaelRocke #gayart #autumnvibes #autumncolors #gayromance #manlovesman #ancienttraders

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stagefoureddiediaz · 8 months ago

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Costume Meta 7x03

so there aren't al l that many costumes to talk about this week from a min cast perspective as pretty much everyone is either in uniform, or a costume they've been wearing for the previous two episodes!

I do have a few things to talk about though so I'm still writing this meta and then I'll be gearing myself up for next week when I have a feeling I'll be up to my eyeballs in new costumes!!

Check theory

The danger around Jared played out - he large bold check signalled that he would be in danger - and he met a grim end!

Pink Theory

I feel like I'm spending every episode playing spot the bright pink and this one came to the pink party as well - we have Corey's dad in this pink sweater and then Corey's two siblings in pink.

Its really interesting to me that we're not seeing this bright pink on any of our mains up to this point (Athena has worn pale pink but not bright pink)- its always been on guest cast (Marisol, Lola, Norman, the mom trapped in the car) and there's a fairly even split between the characters who are in one episode and the multi episode arc characters.

I've already pointed this out but the various traits associated with bright magenta/fuchsia pinks are as follows

Things that are considered positive traits for this shade of pink are; intensity, acceptance, kindness and it's supportive and uplifting nature. It's connected to naive love (as in lust rather than the passionate and enduring love of red) can also be considered a nurturing colour.

Negative traits are; intensity, volatility, arrogant and impatient, irritability and irritating and frustration. it is also said to be a stress inducing colour and is said to be overly emotional and childish.

Stripe Theory

Then we have the stripes - Corey (who I'm convinced is autistic but thats maybe just me projecting!!) is in stripes pretty much the entire time.

The only exception is when the family is on Manzanillo - when he is wearing a watery themed shirt - again separating him from most of the rest of the family - who are all in floral prints (older brother is all in white and not the floral Hawaiian prints but he and his sister (I think they're meant to be twins?!) switch between who is wearing the bold print and who is in a white top throughout the episode)

Mom wears stripes as well - before she gets onto the ship - we see her in this striped coat. Dad and the sister also wear stripes and check scarves, showing that the entire family is in peril, but the largest amount of stripes are saved for the ones who will be in the most danger - which makes total sense from a pattern theory perspective.

An amusing aside that had me giggling - this top is shear perfection when paired with the 118 deciding their new moto is who cares!!😂

Right off to the firehouse to finish up! - I've mentioned before how uniform variation is used to separate out a character where needed (I wrote about it in my 6x09 meta) so here in the firehouse we have two separations going on - Buck and Eddie are the only ones in t-shirts - separating them from everyone else.

In connection to this separating them from the rest of the firehouse crew is that yellow rag Buck is waving around - it feels a little bit like that red one we saw him with several times in season 6 - the season of red flags.

In the same way t hat red cloth was like a red flag, this reads like a yellow flag - now yellow flags are interesting. In shipping terms they were historically a signal of quarantine (this isn' the case any more), and in sports generally they are used to denote hazardous conditions (motor racing and on beaches relating to surf and currents).

But the more interesting yellow flag concept is the yellow flag in a relationship - generally speaking they are indicators of things that could become problematic and turn into red flags if not dealt with or communicated about (yup communication again). Paired with the fact that Buck and Eddie have been 'singled' out through their uniform, its telling us issues ahead (even if we didn't know about them) and that its their dynamic that is going to be tested and that they are going to need to communicate.

Now all those yellow hoses hanging around in the back ground and then one hose physically connecting them - is certainly a choice (remember they could have used one of the non yellow hoses if it wasn't important) and a pretty loud one. I go on and on about yellow lines of communication, a lot, and I have in my metas for this season so far, but here we have another example of yellow ropes.. lines, cables etc.

The really really key thing here is that we haven't actually seen Buck and Eddie connected by a yellow anything since the end of season 3 and having not seen them connected with a yellow anything since season 3 - when their respective yellow lines got cut/burnt. This one here is about , a yellow line of communication being re-established. What adds to this is the directorial choices - the yellow flag is waves around before they connect themselves with a yellow line (hose) - as a piece of directorial foreshadowing I am in love - its telling us the Buck is the one who is the creator of the yellow flags (read his jealousy) and he is the one with the yellow rag (in the same way he was the one with the red rag previously), but that it will ultimately lead to Buck and Eddie reconnecting after those flags are raised and dealt with. I cannot stress enough the importance of that yellow line between them being reconnected - it really speaks of their communication improving and that we'll see them operating on a level we haven't seen before - they cut their yellow lines at the time when Eddie was changing his will, and whilst they have spoken on important topics etc since then, there has always been something in between them - they haven't had a proper full cards on the table conversation. My feeling is that we might be about to get that (especially combined with what we know from what Oliver and Ryan have teased!)

Then there is Chimney who is separated from everyone else by virtue of being the only one in a long sleeved shirt. If you watch the scene through, and pay attentiion to the background, you'll see all the firefighters in either short sleeve shirts or wearing bomber jackets. there is one exception - a guy carrying a medical bag who I'm pretty sure is meant to be a representaion of Hen's reinstatment to the 118 as he crosses Chim at the time Chim announces Hen has been reinstated!

Thats all from me this week - hope you enjoyed! I'm off to prepare myself for Thursday night!!!

Tagged peeps below!

@theladyyavilee @mistmarauder @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @mandzuking17 @spotsandsocks @loveyou2thecore @rogerzsteven @wanderingwomanwondering @oneawkwardcookie @leothil @copyninjabuckley @shammers86 @crazyfangirlallert @missmagooglie @katyobsesses @radiation-run @gayandbifiremenofmine @bi-moonlight @crazyaboutotps @princesschez75 @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @sherlocking-out-loud @tommykinarddd @satashiiwrites

#kym costume meta #911 costume meta #911 meta #911 abc #7x03 #season 7 #kym colour theory #911 colour theory #911

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kneelbeforeyourdogbabylon · 27 days ago

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Sins of Knowledge, chapter 13!

Chapter 13: L[redacted] Potion Number 6: Trampling Out the Vintage

Rating: Explicit

As usual, supreme betas @cheeseplants and @gaiaseyes451 have gone above and beyond here to make this better, gently prodding me for expansions and reminding me where/how bodies are in space, as well as giving the best encouragement and cheer-reading ever. You two are amazing and this would not be anywhere in decent shape (or nearly finished!) without you! Also tagging @goodomensafterdark because how could I forget? NEVER that's how :D 🥰

chaptered WIP, 13/15, posting every other week. Updated content notes and warnings below the cut:

CW/TW and tags:

sex pollen, explicit content, dubious consent, ethical concerns, human AU, university AU, more tags at AO3. New warnings for this chapter include: transformation, self-loathing, forced experimentation, damage to historic structures, friends in peril, bad daddies, evil corporates watching torture/human testing impassively, ineffective law enforcement, actively harmful University security, and Deirdre Young is too old for this shit.

Summary

Aziraphale finally loses his proper shit. Strange conversations, tops of buildings, cups of tea, and hugs abound. Another unpleasant visitor arrives.

Excerpt

Everything inside of him that Aziraphale had spent years crushing into tiny pebbles, putting up in a mountain range of cairns — careful piles hiding the endless small jabs and wounds and slights, the bigger sores of his mother’s death, his sister’s coldness. The slow tectonic grinding down only his father could do. Underneath everything, the core of him began to pulse, to jostle the surface loose and send it heaving and tumbling down in an epic landslide as the molten tide of old, old rage erupted forth.

He’d never expected it to feel good. Not really. Maybe incidentally, like lancing a boil. But it did. It felt fucking amazing.

Read it at the AO3!

Or start from the beginning here

#sins of knowledge #good omens fanfiction #my fic #longfic #sex pollen #university au #human au #aziraphale/crowley #transformation #MIND THE TAGS #good omens after dark writers #high pollen count event #dubcon #aziracrow

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ridenwithbiden · 4 months ago

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BARACK OBAMA

"Joe Biden has been one of America’s most consequential presidents, as well as a dear friend and partner to me. Today, we’ve also been reminded — again — that he’s a patriot of the highest order.

Sixteen years ago, when I began my search for a vice president, I knew about Joe’s remarkable career in public service. But what I came to admire even more was his character — his deep empathy and hard-earned resilience; his fundamental decency and belief that everyone counts.

Since taking office, President Biden has displayed that character again and again. He helped end the pandemic, created millions of jobs, lowered the cost of prescription drugs, passed the first major piece of gun safety legislation in 30 years, made the biggest investment to address climate change in history, and fought to ensure the rights of working people to organize for fair wages and benefits. Internationally, he restored America’s standing in the world, revitalized NATO, and mobilized the world to stand up against Russian aggression in Ukraine.

More than that, President Biden pointed us away from the four years of chaos, falsehood, and division that had characterized Donald Trump’s administration. Through his policies and his example, Joe has reminded us of who we are at our best — a country committed to old-fashioned values like trust and honesty, kindness and hard work; a country that believes in democracy, rule of law, and accountability; a country that insists that everyone, no matter who they are, has a voice and deserves a chance at a better life.

This outstanding track record gave President Biden every right to run for re-election and finish the job he started. Joe understands better than anyone the stakes in this election — how everything he has fought for throughout his life, and everything that the Democratic Party stands for, will be at risk if we allow Donald Trump back in the White House and give Republicans control of Congress.

I also know Joe has never backed down from a fight. For him to look at the political landscape and decide that he should pass the torch to a new nominee is surely one of the toughest in his life. But I know he wouldn’t make this decision unless he believed it was right for America. It’s a testament to Joe Biden’s love of country — and a historic example of a genuine public servant once again putting the interests of the American people ahead of his own that future generations of leaders will do well to follow.

We will be navigating uncharted waters in the days ahead. But I have extraordinary confidence that the leaders of our party will be able to create a process from which an outstanding nominee emerges. I believe that Joe Biden’s vision of a generous, prosperous, and united America that provides opportunity for everyone will be on full display at the Democratic Convention in August. And I expect that every single one of us are prepared to carry that message of hope and progress forward into November and beyond.

For now, Michelle and I just want to express our love and gratitude to Joe and Jill for leading us so ably and courageously during these perilous times — and for their commitment to the ideals of freedom and equality that this country was founded on."

#President Biden #President Obama #Joe Biden #Barack Obama #Obama #Kamala #Kamala Harris

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aziraphales-library · 6 months ago

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Hi! Sorry, don't really know how to request fic recs and I don't know if y'all have responded to any specific requests like this before (probably have and I just can't find it) but do y'all have any recs for fics that center around (a) flashback(s) or just historical moment(s) with Az and Crow? Specifically Rome, 1940's, or 1650's with piracy (gotta love OFMD brainrot)? I would prefer fluff but won't say no to some angst as well, just maybe not completely smut since I tend to skim that. That's all then, have a great day!

You'll want to check our #through the ages tag. Here are some Rome, 1941, and pirate fics to add...

the stars are aglow / and tonight how their light sets me dreaming by pearl_in_the_nebula (G)

Post-canon 1941 scene. Aziraphale has some modern music to show Crowley.

like the sun, softly I take you into my arms by Milky_Etoile (G)

It was nearing the end of their celebratory lunch at the Ritz when Aziraphale realizes Crowley's silence. It becomes clear to him that it's due to exhaustion over the events of the averted Apocalypse. He tries to suggest resting, but Crowley's unwilling after their escaped executions. It would take more time and effort to get Crowley to relax, but those were things Aziraphale was more than willing to give for his dearest demon. or In which Aziraphale coaxes Crowley into resting with wine, a shared couch, and a foot massage. Somehow, Aziraphale ends up even more smitten.

The Kiss That Was No Oyster’s Fault by SeedsOfWinter (T)

All the taverns in all the cities in all of Creation, and the demon slithered into Aziraphale’s. There was no mistaking Crowley. All mourning black wrapped and hellfire haired, slouching towards inebriation, there could be no other. There never would be. (Or, What if Aziraphale and Crowley throughout the ages, but a first kiss of some kind always happens? In Rome, Aziraphale and Crowley have time on their hands and oysters on their plates...)

Demons of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Golden Angel by CaspianTheGeek (T)

All Crowley wanted was a carefree jaunt at sea with his pirate beloved, but the powers of Heaven and Hell have other plans... starting by cursing his ship! When Duke Hastur steals the Golden Angel and declares himself captain, Crowley's plans to reverse the curse are put in peril. He needs to get the vessel back so he can go home to Aziraphale, but he can't take on the crew of the damned by himself. With the Caribbean seas filled with enemies, angelic and demonic alike, he'll need to sail carefully to avoid capture, or worse: the truth coming out. Luckily, this is also the story of two unlikely human allies, descendants of Agnes Nutter and of the witchfinder general she exploded. Cue pirate music!

A Pastel Sky Above the Wine-Dark Sea by maniacalmole (G)

It's 1725, the Golden Age of Piracy is nearing its end, and an angel and a demon have both been sent on a mission across the seas. Aziraphale has never been one for boats. Crowley, however, is thrilled.

My Funny Valentine by theshoparoundthecorner (G)

“You’re kind,” Crowley said with another small laugh. Aziraphale looked over at him. His gaze softened. “Y’know, people like that sort of thing. Kind people.” Aziraphale nodded. Crowley felt something strange stirring in his stomach, and he wondered if perhaps he’d had a little too much to drink. He was beginning to get the urge to do something stupid. To reach forward and take the angel’s hand. To trace the lines of his smile, and the creases of his eyes, and memorize what he looked like in case it was a long while before they saw each other again. Whoa now, said the only logical part of his brain he had left, maybe it’s time to sober up. Five times Crowley gave Aziraphale a gift on Valentine's Day, and one time it was the other way around.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #through the ages #rome 41 AD #post church scene #pirates #mod d

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ranger-tater · 5 months ago

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Quivers! (but jumbled because I’m writing this at work before the thought leaves)

Probably one of my favourite things to talk about next to the bows and arrows themselves. It’s a topic that’s been beaten to death by just about every archer on the internet and I’m no exception. Just instead how it relates to my beloved silly guys instead of historical accuracy or trying to gatekeep ‘real archery’ (cough Lars Anderson cough. He’s problematic as it is anyways.)

All quivers have issues, there’s pros and cons to all of them, and just plain personal preference. As well as what the task at hand is. (Shooting from a relatively fixed position, horseback archery, hunting, skirmishing, etc.) Also the quality of the quiver, but that isn’t as much as a point at the moment. We’ll assume that our beloved fantasy archers are capable of making a quiver properly. (Not too stiff, holds the arrows nicely - like collapsing in on itself, having clips/slits for the shafts - Being made to fit the body, and can move with it - especially important for back quivers)

Also extra points for pouches! Love me a quiver with a nice pouch on it. Even more points for a lil knife on the quiver strap!

I believe back quivers are more or less perfect for rangers. Regardless of if it’s Flanagan or Tolkien’s. I’m sure there’s other media that has a bit of emphasis on rangers, but I am yet to digest it in any meaningful capacity, and I can purple prose the hell out of my archery in DnD. (Also there’s not enough I can judge in most top down crpgs that I’ve played.)

By side quiver I am referring to quivers attached at the belt or close to the waist, suspended vertically and . Quivers slung over the shoulder that sit more or less horizontally by the waist are a separate matter, but similar criticisms can be applied.

I might be slightly biased, or at least come off as biased. I almost solely use a back quiver when I’m going out. If I’m just target shooting then I usually have my arrows in a tube on the ground, in my bow hand, or laying on the ground. Sometimes in my belt. The woods that I frequent are extremely thick, and I imagine thicker than the average wood that we find in Flanagan or Tolkien’s worlds. Especially the former. I have had issues of my arrows snagging on branches and such, but that’s more a problem of being 6ft and not bending down low enough when I passed them, rather than entirely the quiver’s fault. But with a side quiver, I’d likely be getting more snagged on things, as there’s plenty of saplings, plants, and bushes, as well as deadfalls to try and avoid. Especially if the quiver, and thus arrows, are held at more of an angle. If the quiver is straight up and down then there is less issue in that regard, but there’s still some problems.

Ultimately Using a quiver, regardless of style, in any thick, overgrown area is going to be a pain in the ass. (We’re excluding bow quivers here, because they’re relatively modern and also wouldn’t be ideal for any fighting.) Just going through it with anything but the bare minimum of attire would be a problem, add a strung or even unstrung bow, quiver, sword belt, and a cloak, and you’re in a world of hurt. In Halt’s Peril this is a rather important part of the story, where a cloak and all of the gear with it causes trouble in an egregiously dead and thick forest.

I personally enjoy how free my hands are when using a back quiver, I might have to tuck it under my armpit when crouching through brush, and pay extra mind when I’m passing lower hanging branches (which I have to do anyways) but I think it’s worth it. Also I can comfortably run without having to worry about being tripped by my quiver, and I don’t have to hold it to my side in case arrows want to try and spill, or back in this case. I usually do hold the strap when running, but that’s a matter of personal comfort. I also think that back quivers are simply much more comfortable for travelling, and period photos/artwork of native Americans seem to have the same conclusion.. and most people. Bags are usually worn on the back or at least slung over a shoulder. We generally seem to agree that weight is best supported on the shoulders and out of the way. Even at a walk, having a quiver at my side is extremely uncomfortable past a few yards/a short walk, and I’m constantly fussing about it.

Though most of my own issues are personal preference, and things I’ve noticed that can be problematic in my time in the woods. This is only about my take on rangers/general hunters and woodsmen. There’s a lot of things that side quivers are perfect for! There’s nothing wrong with liking them or other styles of carrying arrows as long as they aren’t dangerous to you, your bow, or others.

Finally, onto the rangers, Ashitaka, Ötzi (guh he’s so sexy), and some miscellaneous things.

Flanagan’s rangers mostly use back quivers throughout Ranger’s Apprentice, in connection with a cloak. Which wear their quivers beneath cloaks, and probably have a flap on the cloak that opens to reveal the arrows or a slit (or both.) I am not entirely certain, as I haven’t read the books in a bit. Just going off of my own personal preferences, and usage. It seems pretty functional for them, but tbh I don’t think it really matters much about their quiver orientation, they’re written to be overpowered and close to superhuman lmfao. I think it’s safe to say though, that their quivers are probably in a Howard Hill or Bryon Ferguson style, if not as wide and a bit more compact, just going off of the capacity and such since we know they don’t use arrow bags. In The Royal Ranger it seems everyone’s pulled a Will Treaty and transitioned.. just to side quivers instead of something hot. Bleh. Of course for shooting off horseback it would make sense, but alternatively. Put arrows in the bow hand, or put the quiver on your saddle (I think that happens in TEY 1? But I might be misremembering. I for some reason remember Halt placing his quiver on the saddle pommel when driving off that Scotti raid.)

Aragorn! I’ll be going off of the movies here. Since Viggo is handsome. From my understanding, rangers like Aragorn are more or less wandering law bringers? They defend/patrol a significant portion of the lands, travelling light and on foot, and mostly providing their own food in place of rations. Aragorn himself wears a back quiver, which also stores his bow, he might have a separate sleeve for it but I don’t think so. It makes sense, travelling light, and as a swordsman mostly, he doesn’t need either getting in his way. Though his quiver is definitely a bit low, and he’d probably have to pull on the strap to get it all the way to comfortably draw an arrow, but that makes sense! There’s some longsword guards that you wouldn’t be able to perform with arrows in the way.

Ötzi the Iceman! My beloved discovery. His quiver was likely worn on the back, with an interesting design of a flap that covers the upper portion of the shafts, and can be easily enough flipped away to access them. Aside from looking so hot, the arrows are protected entirely, rain, mud, snow, and other muck can’t get in there and cause problems, or dampen feathers until the time to shoot. Ever a good feature to have. Imo a design that would be perfect for rangers/hunters/woodsmen/ or men herding sheep/goats like Ötzi might have done. (The man in the Ice, by Konrad Spindler mentions this as a possible occupation for the iceman.)

Ashitaka is a ranger and I won’t hear otherwise. He is practically perfect for it. His quiver design is much like Ötzi’s but without the flap or extra bits of storage. I also think the strap is much longer and of varying lengths he can tie. Seeing as he wears it slung across his shoulder in a sort of side quiver configuration when he’s mounted during the first fight with the samurai. All the same it’s functional and I love it and Ashitaka.

Indigenous cultures have a good amount of diversity in quivers. There’s everything! Back, side, over the shoulder, in a sort of belt across the waist in all manner of ways, Bow cases and bow sleeves in the quiver itself! There’s a lot of amazing stuff there. There’s a good few different styles of asiatic quivers as well, but I’m not so well versed in those! They’re just as cool and I would again recommend looking into them! Please ask me questions. Please.

Edit!!! I forgot to mention noise! If your quiver is made well, and holds arrows correctly, and you’re not running at a full sprint or jumping around. Then the fletchings aren’t likely to rub together too much, and even when they do, it won’t be terrible. There’s enough noise out there it might not be heard as long as the fletchings aren’t constantly brushing one another.

#rangers apprentice #rangercore #gilan davidson #ranger’s apprentice #fantasy #medieval #dnd #will treaty #Ashitaka #princess mononoke #lord of the rings #Aragorn #archery

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dailydemonspotlight · 3 months ago

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Can I ask if you've done/request a post on Taotie? I really appreciate your blog, your posts are very well written and fun to read. Thank you!

Taotie - Day 106 (Request)

Race: Vile

Arcana: Tower

Alignment: Dark-Law

September 9th, 2024

Chinese mythology, in some ways, can be seen as a mythology of cardinality, and the specific beings that make up a sum. Sets of different characters are very common throughout, whether it be groups of specific heroes (eg the Journey to the West crew) or even how the cardinal directions are represented by the Celestial Animals. However, as with many different mythologies, all that is good and holy has a dark and deeper underside, and these groups are painted in far more sinister lights in their dark reflections. For example, the above-mentioned Celestial Beasts have their own counterparts who represent evil more than they represent good: the Four Perils, and today, we'll be narrowing our focus on one of those four- the gluttonous beast, Taotie.

While the Four Perils were somewhat popularized by Pokemon's take on them in the form of the Treasures of Ruin in Scarlet and Violet, they're actually a recurring, if somewhat obscure, group of animals throughout quite a bit of Chinese mythology, specifically being put in contrast to the four Celestial Animals despite being a group who are far more separated than said animals. Each of the perils act independently of the other, and each represent a different... sin, I guess? Not really sin, because it's an Abrahamic concept, but whatever, it's close enough. In specific for our purposes, the Taotie represents Gluttony- its name literally translates to gluttony, so it doesn't get much more obvious than that.

The Taotie is said to be so gluttonous that it consumes everything around it apathetically, as described in the Classic of Mountains and Sea, and its given appearance is actually far closer to the SMT design than Ting-Lu's design, being a 'human faced, sheep-bodied species' with some somewhat freaky additional facts such as eyes under the armpits and a young child's voice. For the most part, though, all of our references for the Taotie come from various bronze sculptures and masks, some dating to even before the very concept of the Taotie was created, which leads to the more popular idea of the Taotie as being a bronze being, such as portrayed in several sculptures of it. Most bronze vessels portraying it have very intricate carvings and two horns at the top, and may have been used as bowls in the past, though I'm not too sure.

It's very hard to pinpoint a mythological origin, as a lot of origins seem to be based on hearsay, but a lot of them seem to connect the Taotie to the Chinese Deity Chiyou, though again it's hard to verify some of these claims. Still, the historical significance of the Taotie is fascinating, and the commonly recurring motif of it is incredibly interesting to look into as well. I've already gone over its design in SMT, being accurate to the common non-bronze depictions of it, but overall, the Four Perils make an incredibly interesting topic to look into. Let's all thank the gods that Taotie doesn't play like Ting-Lu, because an instakill spamming wall would be incredibly annoying.

#smt #shin megami tensei #megaten #persona #daily #ask

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m1ssword · 7 months ago

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My favourite retro animes with their perks and perils

Let's start straight away!

1. Lady Oscar / The Rose of Versailles

(70s)

Such a lovely manga/anime series. The story follows the life of a military general's daughter Oscar and Marie Antoinette. Oscar is raised like a boy to succeed her as the commander of the Royal Guards at the Palace of Versailles. The story is set in France before and during the French Revolution.

Perks:

Strong multidimensional female lead

Surprisingly historically accurate

Interestingly captures the large scale of femininity and being a woman

Cool soundtrack

Interesting fact: this anime inspired the makers of Berserk (1997)

Perils:

You'll cry

2. Lady Georgie

(80s)

Lady Georgie tells the growth story of a girl named Georgie who lives in peaceful and pittoresque Australian countryside. Georgie doesn't know the secret about her origin while the rest of her family knows it.

Perks:

absolutely endearing setting

the storytelling of their childhood is beyond cuteness

reminded me of the book "The Little Princess" by F. H. Burnett

Perils:

I was a bit weirded out by the love square (?) which included her two adoptive brothers

The ending is not satisfying and the manga is even worse

The love between Georgie and her main love interest is quite bland

3. City Hunter

(mainly 80s)

City Hunter is a humorous anime classic from the 80s. The story focuses on Ryo Saeba, a famous underground sweeper in Shinjuku, and his partner Kaori Makimura. They together help different customers - which are all beautiful women, since Ryo is also well-known for his lecherous habits. Kaori keeps Ryo in check with her hammer.

Perks:

fun anime with a lot of seasons and movies

interesting characters

pictures the city life of Japan in the 80s

Perils:

the love story between Ryo and Kaori is sometimes frustrating

The fetishism of women in almost every episode starts early to feel like a worn joke (notice the time context)

Episodes follow the same plot almost every time, may start to feel repetitive

Tsukasa Hojo, the maker of City Hunter, has also done an another manga named Angel Heart which shares the same characters with City Hunter but isn't it's continuation. I don't yet have a full review of AH, since I'm currently watching it. Thus far, I have cried during every episode, it's good but different. (Please tell me in the comments would you like to have full review of AH)

And a lot more...

There is a lot more retro animes that I didn't mention in this post, like Candy Candy, Cowboy Bebop, Sailor Moon, Utena, Ranma, Akira, Lupin the III, Neon Genesis Evangelion and Berserk (1997). This is just my list of favourites and I hope that you would like to share your favourites in the comments!

With love,

Jessica

#retro anime #anime and manga #anime #retro #lady oscar #the rose of versailles #lady georgie #city hunter

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littleeyesofpallas · 1 year ago

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Bleach’s Issue with Queer characters (1/3)

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So, someone recently(when i started this draft anyway) left a kind of incoherent rant on one of my posts. It wasn’t actually related to anything I’d said in the post, and just came across as disjointed babble, so it didn’t warrant a direct reply at the time. But it did bring up a subject I would actually like to talk about:

How Kubo handles gender queer characters.

I think it’s a little easy to look at the most glaring cases, come to the conclusion that he doesn’t handle representation well, and leave it at that. That’s valid. And he’s clearly not well versed or tactful in how he portrays these characters, and it’s really not that unreasonable to judge him for it. But I also think there’s more going on with it than that really accounts for, so let’s pick at it a little...

By and large what Kubo does is some pretty by-the-books queer-coding villains, and what amounts to casting effeminate men in adversarial roles. In the big picture, it’s not a good trope to be falling back on: it comes from a bad place historically, and even if Kubo doesn’t mean anything bad by it (and I’ll get into why I think he genuinely doesn’t) it contributes to the momentum already behind it that other, less well intentioned creators and readers inevitably stand to do more direct harm with.

The earliest case of this is actually from Zombie Powder. Very early episodic villain, Ranewater Calder is a youthful and even girlish looking man who is actually an old man sustained by a youth restoring drug. He’s a villain of the week type, so the fact that he’s pretty and evil is literally all there is to him. Moreover, his fixation on youth, his vanity, and his deception (he pretends to be a frail, dainty victim at first) all link directly to his moral character. Although Calder is himself never made out to be gay, the archetype he's clearly based on is a pretty classically homophobic characterization at face value

But even here it’s not totally black and white...

There’s a snag in that Kubo’s not writing some 1950s American pulp novel where the perils of homosexuality spell self-destruction or divine/dramatic irony on the loathesome villain; he’s writing a shounen action manga, and it operates on the Rule-of-Cool first and foremost. Calder isn’t a vehicle for moral preaching by religious conservatives, he’s a highlight character taking up valuable print space in a popular comic. He’s attractive, he has a cool name, he has a cool weapon with a unique fighting style, and even his vanity and deception aren’t there to make him unappealing, they’re there to make him compelling.

And herein lies the root of Kubo’s problem. He just likes having cool characters, and he crams them in where ever he can fit them, and that often means in villain roles. Moreover, although some characters get more vilified than others, even within the scope of villain roles, not all of them get to stick around long enough to be developed as either something other than queer and villainous, or to get the full turn around. After all...

Yumichika was a villain at first.

And you’ll noticed I hesitated just now at calling it a “turn around” and not a “redemption” or “turning over a new leaf” because frankly, the Shinigami never actually changed alignment. They were circumstantially the villains of the Soul Society Arc until Aizen turned on them to be the bigger "real” villain. Technically it was Ichigo & co. that changed alignments from fighting against the Gotei13 to fighting with them. But relatively aside, Yumichika became a good guy and his favorable portrayal got to outweigh his villainous introduction.

Speaking of which, there’s not a whole lot to go over with it, but Yumichika’s original appearance pretty closely mirrored the profile of Ranewater Calder’s bit in Zombie Powder: a kind of “sissy” prettyboy is obsessed with his looks, and other than just being a guy with a sword pointed at the established heroes making him a villain, that vanity and narcissism make them mean, judgy and vindictive.

But Yumichika came back, and stuck around, and frankly became something of a fan favorite. And I think this particular development says a lot about how Kubo looks at these situations. You’ll notice, he didn’t actually have to change Yumichika’s character much to shift him from villain to hero. Yumichika gets a little less prickly, but he’s still vain and it’s not even something that anyone ever frames as a problem he needs to work on. In fact, the introduction of his shikai brought into play a new facet of his vanity: Deception. So we’re back to that Ranewater Calder framework, where the prettyboy has something to hide with his looks, but in Yumichika’s case it’s shown as an almost endearing quality. He hides his sword’s powers, a reflection of his true self, to fit in. But this isn’t shown to be a thing to pity, his willingness to sacrifice a part of his own identity is portrayed as a kind of noble restraint.

Now, granted, I don’t think those elements all play nicely together. (In fact, the nobility of his self-restraint is a very dangerous thing to uphold as a virtue) But when it comes to trying to draw a line between message and intent, I think the most pertinent thing to consider as context isn’t actually the villain or hero dichotomy, or even your own personal feelings about the themes in play, it’s the attitude ("attitude" as different from “intent,” mind you) of the creator towards his creations: Kubo seemed to enjoy making Yumichika.

He had fun with his design (the feathers and the weird sweater collar thing) He had fun with the sword, with giving him a secret power. He had fun writing his vanity rants. He didn’t have to have Yumichika, he didn’t have to bring him back, and he didn’t have to add to his character, but he did. He invested his own time and effort and space on the page to him and to making him interesting to have around.

But like I said, Yumichika’s the lucky one. He came in early, got to have a comeback, and had time to stick around. But consider that when Kubo was floundering around trying to figure out how to salvage the mess that was the late TYBW arc, he didn’t need to bring back Arrancar, and he didn’t need to bring back the ones he did. (in fact, only the Privaron even make sense in-world, Luppi and Charlotte weren’t convenient choices, they were just Kubo’s personal picks.) And when he did finally get around to cleaning up the Sternritter? Bazz-B was an obvious choice to keep, sure (following that Renji/Grimmjow mold of the hotblodded rival who bucks his own organizations rules) but Giselle and Lilttoto? That was Kubo playing favorites.

Luppi was so short lived, it’s hard to really say anything about him. He was basically just reusing notes from Yumichika’s first appearance, which again also refer back to Ranewater Calder in Zombie Powder for basic aesthetic and demeanor. (It’s actually kind of weird that Yumichika never really had any kind of dynamic with Luppi when they fought.)

Side note here, but Kubo really loves to build some of his recurring character types around a certain kind of scene or dynamic. Byakuya and Ulquiorra both do this thing where they’re supposed to be the stoic unflinching types, but they actually get shocked and surprised almost constantly. Kubo seems to be going into it with the mentality that he thinks it’s cool when the character who predicts everything and always has everything under control, can’t predict something and doesn’t have it under control, and just reverse engineers a stoic person for the purpose of having them “break character” later. In this vein Kubo seems to have a real love of very pretty characters shifting into a kind of sinister “ugly mode.” It wouldn’t serve his purpose to just have them ugly or obviously meanspirited all the time, the ugliness has to be served up in its reveal as that “breaking character” moment, even though that “breaking” moment is itself the core of the character.

Not to get too heady about this little observation, but it honestly feels like something that applies even to Kubo’s broader writing habits; wanting the payoff of a twist, and planning said twist first but then reverse engineering the supporting ruse only as a matter of course. Just a silly little thought...

[1][2][3]

#bleach meta #bleach #kubo tite #zombie powder #ranewater calder #Yumichika Ayasegawa #luppi antenor #oh damn i drafted this forever ago #i kind of never really intended to post it #but i guess i didnt delete it either #i dunno that most of my feelings about not bothering with it have changed #but contextually i've also now made a number of posts about my headcanons with trans characters #as well as bleach's weird glancing relationship with questionable symbols and themes #so i guess while this still feels like an argument not worth making it feels somehow less not worth making???#if that makes any sense #any way im clearing out drafts so here ya go

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ofliterarynature · 1 year ago

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AUGUST 2023 WRAP UP

[ loved liked okay no thanks DNF (reread) bookclub*]

I’m late I’m late I’m late! Oops

It’s only a month late, right? ‘Only’ lol, work has been exhausting! Anyways:

At this point I wonder if Ann Leckie can ever do wrong, Translation State was good! I was completely enthralled, which is all I ask, even if I don’t get as passionate about it as the main trilogy.

I continued the KJ Charles reading, with these supposed stand alones that are also kind of related? Honestly it’s no less of a stretch than Society of Gentlemen to Lilywhite Boys, so I don’t know why she can’t officially list them together. Anyways, mostly fine, and Band Sinister is still a delight!

Camp Damascus…I’m thrilled for Chuck, really, and I think he’s a delight to follow, but this one wasn’t for me. Religious trauma is turning out to be a hard no.

Ocean’s Echo was good! In some ways I definitely thought it was better than Winter’s Orbit - miscommunication is the worst I’m sorry, this story was more consistently engaging! I just like the characters from WO a bit more.

Chrestomanci! I’ve been going by the suggested reading order on Goodreads, and while I wasn’t particularly enthused by Charmed Life, once I had a grasp on the world the other books have been fun! Im very sad this might be my last DWJ, as I seem to have exhausted my library’s collection of her audiobooks :(

Grimoire of Grave Fates had a really interesting premise that lured me in, despite my reservations - an anthology where all the stories work together to solve the mystery of a murder at a magic boarding school? I thought it worked fairly well (and could definitely spin itself out into a series of novels), but just ok for me. Maybe one day I’ll finally concede I can’t read YA or boarding school books anymore.

Q’s Legacy was the last (I think) of the 84 Charing Cross Road books, and honestly the worst. It had its interesting moments, but it lacked the cohesion of the other two, speed,-running the before and during of those stories, to then spend the second half on the adaptations. It was not at all what the descriptions led me to expect. Maybe worth a single read but not a revisit.

I will also be honest, I didn’t really like the first Veronica Speedwell! The plot felt a bit contrived, and Veronica was so blunt as to almost read as rude or mean. Also very unexpectedly…clinically horny? Does that make sense? I’m not quite sure what prompted me to continue, but I’m now several books in and enjoying it! To be blunt myself, the historic setting is just set dressing, the plots can feel contrived, the mysteries are mediocre, but the real draw is the Veronica and Stoker show once they get themselves settled in and comfortable with each other. It’s a hoot.

I’d heard good things about The Art of Prophecy, but I still didn’t know quite what to expect going in. It was wonderful. Maybe a little long, but if you’re looking for a fantastic fantasy with lots of fight sequences, no romance, and some fascinating characters, this is a great read. The sequel comes out soon and I can only hope it doesn’t take as long for my library to get the audiobook as it did for this one.

I don’t know where I first found An Enchanted April, but it’s been on my TBR for a little bit, and I thought it would be the perfect fit for my classics challenge I gave myself this year! It wasn’t what I expected at all - it’s entirely character driven and very focused on their flaws, and the entire first half I thought I was going to hate it. But the second half, there’s a twist, almost, born of some very naïve optimism that nonetheless works out. Very improbably, but I was happy for them, you funky little weirdos.

What can I say about The Angel of the Crows except that it is still very good! It’s maybe lost a little of the shine it held when I got obsessed with it for a few months last year, but it is definitely now one of my comfort books. I really ought to read more canon Holmes though lol.

The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo was, to be fair, one of my suggestions for book club. It was OK, but there were definitely parts that really did not work for me, the frame narrative in particular. The other members of the club really liked it but I don’t have any plans to read more of the authors work.

I’m almost tempted to put The Last Sun last just so I can yell more. I’d heard such good things about this series, but turns out my expectations were a bit skewed - it is not historical or secondary fantasy world, oops. So we got off to a bit of a rough start, not to mention all of the Capital Words. Not usually a good sign. And while I still wouldn’t say I love the worldbuilding necessarily, or that these are the next great work of fantasy, the action is really great, and the characters are flipping fantastic. You’ve got a pair of 30 year olds who are bad ass fighters, have a traumatic past, are immature assholes, can be so so kind, and accidentally adopt a posse of troubled teenagers? Sign me up, I love them, this reminds me so much of my days reading tons of Teen Wolf fanfic AUs.

My history with 2 AM At the Cat's Pajamas is that they cannot stop recommending this thing on the Book Riot podcasts. When I found a copy at Goodwill, I thought surely it’s meant to be! Well. It was not bad, but it was not great. I don’t know. It just wasn’t for me and I will not be keeping my copy. I probably should have DNF’d it, but I continued in hope.

Only one actual DNF this month though, The Mistress of Bhatia House - the newest Perveen Mistri book. I was actually fairly excited for it despite my reservations about the earlier books, but I hit a mental roadblock with this one. There was some contrived feeling tension with her sister-in-law, but really, I realized that one of my main problems with this series is that, despite being in a very precarious social position, Perveen is just incredibly reckless - usually in the name of doing good! - but it just hit all the wrong nerves at the moment. I’m hoping there will be a better time to read this, but not right now.

#bec posts #2023 #book log #wrap up 2023 #translation state #kj Charles #camp Damascus #oceans echo #chrestomanci #diana wynne jones #the grimoire of grave fates #helene hanff #Veronica speedwell #the art of prophecy #the enchanted April #the seven husbands of evelyn hugo #tarot sequence #the last sun #2 am at the cats pajamas

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darkwing-ramblings · 5 months ago

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The Lord of the Rings by J. R. R. Tolkien

It’s great- Tolkien fought in a horrible war and came away still saying things could improve and fighting is important for defence of what is loved not love of fighting etc. Nowadays we ought to manage the same, or at least try, since infectious despair helps no one.

The plot focuses on the perils of travel, at a pace where you really get to see the world, and the natural imagery is always there. I like all of the characters and appreciate that there are only established couples off to the side and one that forms later between non-fellowship characters which is individualised enough to their characters’ I found it believable and sweet. Epilogue pairings where they existed I had no objections to.

There may be a very male-heavy cast but it’s not particularly sexist despite that and has an overcoming racism and historical tensions character development journey for more than one character. It’s great. It’s just great. Exploring friendship and companionship in a variety of senses and solidarity is really touching in it.

I’ve always liked rereading the Lothlorien section.

The poems and some sections of The Two Tower dragged on a little bit but were still charming.

It also has irreversible and believable change in the shire as well as demonstrating how the characters have grown. What can I say? It's been a while since I read the books but I’ve always loved them. The film adaptations are great, I still prefer the books, but I happily rewatch the films every so often.

#the lord of the rings #j r r tolkien #tolkien #minor spoilers #minor lotr spoilers #book review #fiction #my thoughts

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insurrection-if · 9 months ago

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when I read lempo I thought it was liempo 😭 liempo is like a pork filo dish so I was like yummy I can eat her up LMSOOOJKKKK

Ahaha, that’s hilarious! ( ´ 艸｀) Lempo is pretty delicious in a literal sense with her ambrosia, so that impression isn’t too far out there, haha!

She’s also more than willing for Mockingbird to taste her (whether it be through her blood, ambrosia, or other means), so your mindset would be greatly welcomed by her, aha!

Also, if it’s easier to use when thinking about or referring to her, Lempo’s real name is Falda Lundquist. (　´∀｀)b

The moniker Lempo is a name she adopted from Finnish mythology. She doesn’t have much interest in historical / religious / cultural studies herself (at least, not in the traditional academic sense), so her discovery and interest in Lempo originated from one of her fathers who introduced her to the historical origins of the name.

Her attachment to the name is largely rooted in the perception towards Lempo rather than Lempo themself. I have seen conflicting information over what Lempo was the god of, and their nature as more of a fiend or creature, but the main point for Falda herself is their association with love (and, as some extend them to, passion).

Love is something often revered or desired in some sense or another (in forms either platonic, familial, or romantic). Our first thoughts towards love might often veer to ideals and satisfactions: love as one’s comfort, home, support, happiness, or pleasure. But Lempo, despite their association with and offering of love, was not so pure or altruistic in their nature, showing themself to be capable of malicious or callous actions. And yet, before the introduction of Christianity, Lempo had also been tied to acts of good or grace which created a much more morally dubious (or, in simply put, grey) light. Imperfect, flawed, yet still rooted in that core aspect of love and its manifestation between others. Lempo was not innocent and pure, but neither were they wholly vile and wicked as they instead roamed somewhere in-between.

After the arrival of Christianity, Lempo was heavily demonized to the point of being compared to the Christian devil: a fallen being defined by his sinfulness, pride, and selfishness. Lempo’s love became synonymous with a love that is erratic and perilous, twisted and corrupted into something maddening and foul.

This all ties into Falda’s own gift, her ambrosia, and how others perceive it . . . as well as her own complicated relationship with it.

Rather than love, Falda’s ‘divine offering’ to the world is (against, simply put) happiness, which is similarly idealized, desired, and revered by most. Her ambrosia has an effect that often eases its recipient, injecting them with a high of pure joy and pleasant physical sensations. Much like love, it can stir intense passion, sentiment, and satisfaction. And like Lempo’s use of their divine nature, Falda did not always offer her ambrosia with intentions pure or benevolent.

Falda has utilized her ambrosia out of kindness and trickery, selfishness and selflessness. She has used it to soothe the ache and despair of those around her as a healer would. She has used it to incapacitate and subdue those who have opposed her, and those who have threatened her. She has used it to lure and entrap others for her own gain, just as she has equally used it to delight and please those accepting of her care. Like Lempo, she is not wholly benevolent or malicious. She, as a person and a Gifted, is imperfect, flawed, and grey in her nature

The ambrosia, like Lempo’s post-Christian depiction of love, became a source of madness in her followers. Its pleasures became addictive for some, desensitizing for others. The end of her cult was a rather dark affair that I won’t fully detail here and now. Following the cult’s end, however, Falda came to be seen as someone who twisted something that could have once been innocent or benevolent (happiness, rather than love) into something crazed, harmful, and lethal. Her image became monstrous to the greater world, and (like Lempo) she became an icon for all that is immoral, dangerous, and deluded about the Gifted.

Falda is somewhat conflicted on where to place the fault of her cult’s demise: on her ambrosia, herself (her nature or her actions), her followers (their humanity as something lesser or frail), or ill-fortune. She has become more contemplative over whether there truly is an innate wickedness in herself or her gift, or if these thoughts are simply the hurtful and projected judgements of others that should be dismissed with careless disregard. These thoughts are little more than a seed at the start of the narrative, but it’s a matter she’ll be mulling over as events develop.

I hope that explanation for her moniker at least makes the smallest amount of sense to someone out there! ദ്ദി(˶‾᷄ᗜ‾᷅˵ ᵕ) It’s a lot easier to understand and unravel when it’s a stream of quickly overlapping thought in my head rather than words typed on a screen.

Apologies if anything I’ve stated about Lempo (from Finnish mythology, not the character) has been horribly incorrect or ignorantly offensive in any way! I’m Catholic, and don’t have any in-person Finnish associates other than a distant cousin’s boyfriend, so my knowledge might be horribly off-base or poorly presented above. I truly hope that isn’t the case, but please let me know if that’s so and I’ll try to make amends!

For my own fun(?), I’ve briefly listed the reasoning for the monikers of the rest of the CARDINALS below. I considered adding this for the codenames of the HAWKS too, but that’s rather easy to sum up since their codenames are just the spirit animals I assigned to them a long time ago. Mockingbird is the sole exception to that trend as their codenames only calls out to their nature as an imitator, though the symbolic association with ‘individuality’ is somewhat relevant to their gift as well.

Anywho, here’s the background for the CARDINALS’s names:

Uriel: Self-named after the archangel Uriel from Christianity (though the recognition of Uriel varies across denominations). He likes the image of one who fights with and guides others to the truth, wielding a fiery conviction and a heart without pity. In childhood, he had been close to a woman devoted to the Anglican Church. He no longer adheres to the faith, but still wishes to transfer the sense of reverence and power the name Uriel once held in his eyes onto himself.

Curadora: She is a ‘curator’ of memories, and that is a far more honorable title than a ‘manipulator’ of them. A curator is one who controls but also maintains, almost like a guardian or caretaker of their collection. It is also similar to the title of a ‘curandera’, a traditional healer, which is a connotation that appeals to her.

Dearil: The name given to him by the leader of the cult he was raised in, one only granted after the manifestation of his gift. Its connotations with death make it somewhat self-explanatory, though ‘call of the dead’ is rather fitting for how his gift has managed to evolve itself (in a way the man who gave him this name did not foresee).

Kalyna: Chosen for sentiment and symbolism, the kalyna is deeply intertwined with her roots. Its connotations with innocence, love, companionship, and freedom from oppression embodies all she wishes to defend. It is also tied to nature much like her own gift.

“Golden” Retriever: His reputation in his days as a hero reflected the associated qualities and personality of the dog breed by the same name. His appearance was also heavily associated with gold.

Lempo: Explained (poorly) above, but to reiterate, an entity associated with love whose aspects and offerings, while widely(?) revered and desired, could spiral into the erratic and dangerous—much like her ambrosia. A being condemned and demonized by the morals and perception of others much like herself as a Gifted and who she is as a person.

Bacara: A demonic creature associated with deals and crossroads. The name was “gifted” to him (in reality, given with the intent to shame and harm) by a loved one. It alludes to his self-interested, (arguably) malicious nature before the CARDINALS when he offered largely material or immoral gains for a cost tailored to tease and scar or simply satisfy his own whims and desires.

Boar: A wild animal associated with ferocity and strength that poses a worthy challenge to whoever dares to hunt it. Boar likens herself to this image as someone wild and untamable, ferocious and strong, who will not die easily or quietly even as all the world hunts her down for no reason other than her born nature.

Bones: A simple title with no flash or flare. Bones are associated with death and decay, enduring remnants of something lost to death long ago (like Elov himself).

Hopscotch: The name of a game that’s considered childish and simple, much like how Hopscotch himself wishes to be perceived. His teleportation is best used across small distances, and these small “hops” from one space to the next resemble those within the game he’s named after. It’s approachable, friendly, and shows he doesn’t take himself too seriously.

Scales: As in scales that balance, one tipping down causing the other to rise, much like the equal exchange required for whatever alteration is made by their gift. It’s also reminiscent of the ‘scales of justice’ or the symbol for equality. Justice and equality are what Scales hopes to champion for the Gifted.

#c: lempo

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