#which is very jacques

[la-cocotte-de-paris]

A lesson in the lustful female Gayze™: LA RELIGIEUSE / THE NUN (1966), dir. Jacques Rivette

[merrigel]

There was something going around on instagram where you'd find a singing voice for your OCs, and I really liked the song I found for Av so!! A silly little scribbled thing!! (please don't ask where a 1700s pirate got a microphone LMAO

Also, bonus:

[onewomancitadel]

It is fun and interesting when even heroes do bad things or do bad things with good intentions because it makes them more human and psychologically complex and makes more story happen. I'll never understand members of the audience who want to live in moral paradise where nothing ever goes wrong and only evil people ever do the wrong thing and once you kill all the evil people evil stops existing and to ever dare insinuate heroes could do wrong is blasphemy and "shifting the blame". I'm not playing that game. It's not about which character has the mandate of heaven.

I just don't get it and I will never get it. Is it fear? Is it a desire for absolute simplicity? Is it my fantasy bristling against theirs? Is it the inability to win an online argument about your character being the most moral and pure in the whole world? Because it seems to me it often comes down to "xyz villain is more evil, stop coping" which is like... okay... if you have a flat view of storytelling, sure (oh God, I used to get into so many arguments about daring to compare Cinder-Pyrrha and Jaune-Penny). Of course, the most fun thing about I/ronwood's character arc is that is exactly his whole deal in relation to Salem, and exactly how he justifies what he does, which is kind of ironic in how people miss the point. But I wasn't even vagueing about him in the first place! I just remembered why I love R/WBY because this is an actual idea explored in the story. I love storytelling.

[sableprince]

"funny joke"

[indigovortex]

apparently I never posted these so have this very Jacques centered wb doodle dump

also @awwkie-dot-jar thanks for letting me steal your boy's clothes for the old man for the clothes swap ajsjajs

[jackoftradesmakescontent]

"I should draw my OC's sprites before I do a dialogue maker where they talk," I said, proceeding to not draw them. Done a lot of brainstorming on their design, though! Here's what the party is doing during Siffrin's Loop call.

Under the cut again because, again, it's a big pile of gifs because I like it that way.

What I should have been doing tonight: Sleeping What I did instead: Using the ISAT dialogue maker to introduce my SI OC when I haven't even thought of anything else related to them.

Under the cut because it's a lot of gifs

[bitterkarella]

Midnight Pals: Souper

[at unicorn fuck club] JRR Tolkien: tonight we've got a special story from everyone's favorite fantasy writer GRR Martin: CS Lewis: Peter S Beagle: Hans Christian Andersen: L Frank Baum: Tolkien: whoops shouldn't have said that ha ha Tolkien: i mean, you're all winners in my book

Tolkien: but when i say everyone's favorite fantasy writer Tolkien: i mean terry practchett GRR Martin: oh yeah that's fair CS Lewis: yeah fair Peter S Beagle: fair Hans Christian Andersen: yes yes of course L Frank Baum: that's fair

Terry Pratchett: hello unicorn fuck club today i've got a story about a wizard who is - get this - actually very bad at his job Tolkien: oh ho ho! terry my boy, you've done it again! Pratchett: there's also girl dwarves Tolkien: [suddenly stone-faced] i hate this

Pratchett: but first Pratchett: all this story telling is hungry work! Pratchett: do you happen to have anything to eat around here? Tolkien: are you talking about... Tolkien: having Tolkien: a Tolkien: feast????? Brian Jacques: [squeaking incomprehensibly in rising excitement]

Tolkien: why, terry, my boy, what an idea! Tolkien: instead of merely DESCRIBING a feast, we'll have one! huzzah! Martin: huzzah! Lewis: huzzah! Jacques: [squeaking] i use a mercury head dime as a serving platter!

Pratchett: no no nothing so fancy as that Tolkien: eh? Pratchett: i was more thinking along the lines of Pratchett: soup Tolkien: soup? Pratchett: yeah just a big bowl of heart soup right about now would just be the best thing Pratchett: oo i just love the sound of it!

Pratchett: think about it: no work... no worries... no failures... no waste... when you serve maggi homestyle soups, the finest money can buy yet priced reasonably within your budget Tolkien: interesting! tell us more Pratchett: maggi soup! es ist echt ausgezeichnet!

Pratchett: how often have you had this problem Pratchett: say, you're on a budget but you have to feed your hungry hungry boys Tolkien: oh man i have been there! Tolkien: more times than i can count!

Tolkien: but terry Tolkien: i need something substantial and nourishing for my hungry boys. can maggi soup satisfy? Pratchett: ahh jirt my friend, maggi soup does more than satisfy! Pratchett: as the good people at maggi say, "kartoffelsalat volkswagen fahrvergnugen lebensraum!!"

Tolkien: What's that sizzling sound I hear? Pratchett: Get up! It's soup and eggs, my dear! Martin: What can I cook without much fuss? Pratchett: maggi soup would tickle all of us! Lewis: What's a lunch that's good and quick? Pratchett: Hot Maggi soup mix does the trick!

Pratchett: mm mmm! i tell you, nothing's as good as a rich bowl of maggi soup! buy some today! eat it with someone you love! Neil Gaiman: something's not right here

Gaiman: of course the power of imagination is infinite, friends Gaiman: but in all the worlds in all the multiverses of possibility, i cannot imagine one in which terry pratchett shills for soup Pratchett: [sweats] nein, nein, ich bin der echte terry pratchett!

Gaiman: if you are in fact, the real terry pratchett Gaiman: and not an imposter Gaiman: like the imposter sandman hector hall in The Sandman, vol. 2: The Doll's House Gaiman: then you won't have any trouble telling a joke Pratchett: [sweats] ein witz? du magst ein witz?

Pratchett: [sweats] i mean ha ha of course i can tell a joke Pratchett: i am the real terry pratchett after all Pratchett: [sweating intensifies] and you all know me, i'm a real spaßvogel Pratchett: Pratchett: a-are you sure you wouldn't all rather just have some soup?

[yasmeensh]

A Master Study featuring Zelda II: The Adventure of Link. In which Link hangs out with the two Zeldas post-game (Who do you think became the Queen of Hyrule?)

This was a difficult piece, but I'm happy with it!

Based on 'The Chess Players' by Jacques-Clément Wagrez (1902)

Information on inspiration and process under the cut!

Original piece: "The Chess Players" by Jacques-Clément Wagrez (1846-1908).

The moment I saw this artwork I immediately thought of Zelda II. One of the women is wearing a medieval-esque red velvet dress, and she looks a lot like the design I made for the cursed princess Zelda!

I thought it would be very fitting to reimagine this artwork in a Zelda II context, so I went ahead with it! doubles as a master study and LoZ fanart.

I learnt a LOT from making this piece! Since I worked on it digitally, I got and made brushes that acted as close to traditional brushes, and I also worked on the entire piece in one layer. So whenever I made a mistake, I'd have to paint over. No return. But it was a big learning experience! Learnt more about rendering silk and velvet by observing how they are painted and blended in the original.

Here are some WIP shots! It took a long time to get to where it is now xD It was difficult to finally pen down the right proportions and placement. I probably should've done a grid copy, but I opted to just eyeing it out all the way through. It was... hard. (lesson learnt?)

I read that in a lot of older pieces, they are made in greyscale, then flat colours are overlaid on top. makes rendering much easier. and it truly has! I probably should’ve rendered the greyscale version even more. Since there were still a lot of mistakes that I had to rework and adjust while colouring.

Very fruitful experience overall, and I’m just happy to make a grand-scale Zelda II artwork xD I’ve never seen one so I made it!!!

[oleafia-art]

Landgraab High School Yearbook, circa 2014

This is an illustration of some of the teenage townies from the Sims 4 in a school yearbook. This is based on my own story I’m making inspired by these characters, which is why some of them look different to their original Maxis counterparts (I gave them in game makeovers since they’re important characters).

The main characters of this story are Cassandra Goth, Hugo Villareal, Wolfgang Munch, Morgan Fyres, and Malcolm Landgraab. Luna Villareal, Sofia Bjergsen, Yuki Behr and Darling Walsh are all important to the story as well. And of course all of the family members of the characters mentioned are very important. The story is a coming of age mystery drama with a little bit of romance and comedy. It revovles around the daily lives of these teen characters but takes a turning point when Bella Goth goes missing, which leads Cassandra and other characters to start an investigation looking for her. There is of course the whole matter of Jacques Villareal and Nancy Landgraab running a whole underground crime ring as well, so things get pretty crazy and dark secrets about the families are revealed as the investigation continues.

I’ve been really obsessed with drawing these guys lately, but I’ve barely had any time to play the actual game, so most of the story is in my head or written hastily in my notes app lol. Let me know if you guys want to see more Sims art inspired by my townie story! I’d love to delve more into each character and their relationships with one another. Maybe even make some comics?

Please feel free to reblog if you like!

[liesmyth]

In her essay “Venus in Two Acts,” on the dearth of contemporaneous African accounts of slavery, Saidiya Hartman talks about the “violence of the archive.” This concept—also called “archival silence”—illustrates a difficult truth: sometimes stories are destroyed, and sometimes they are never uttered in the first place; either way something very large is irrevocably missing from our collective histories.

The word archive, Jacques Derrida tells us, comes from the ancient Greek ἀρχεῖον: arkheion, “the house of the ruler.” When I first learned about this etymology, I was taken with the use of house (a lover of haunted house stories, I’m a sucker for architecture metaphors), but it is the power, the authority, that is the most telling element. What is placed in or left out of the archive is a political act, dictated by the archivist and the political context in which she lives. This is true whether it’s a parent deciding what’s worth recording of a child’s early life or—like Europe and its Stolpersteine, its “stumbling blocks”—a continent publicly reckoning with its past. Here is where Sebastian took his first fat-footed baby steps; here is the house where Judith was living when we took her to her death.

Sometimes the proof is never committed to the archive—it is not considered important enough to record, or if it is, not important enough to preserve. Sometimes there is a deliberate act of destruction: consider the more explicit letters between Eleanor Roosevelt and Lorena Hickok, burned by Hickok for their lack of discretion. Almost certainly erotic and gay as hell, especially considering what wasn’t burned. (“I’m getting so hungry to see you.”)

The late queer theorist José Esteban Muñoz pointed out that “queerness has an especially vexed relationship to evidence…. When the historian of queer experience attempts to document a queer past, there is often a gatekeeper, representing a straight present.” What gets left behind? Gaps where people never see themselves or find information about themselves. Holes that make it impossible to give oneself a context. Crevices people fall into. Impenetrable silence.

[...] Consider: What is the topography of these holes? Where do the lacunae live? How do we move toward wholeness? How do we do right by the wronged people of the past without physical evidence of their suffering? How do we direct our record-keeping toward justice?

The memoir is, at its core, an act of resurrection. Memoirists re-create the past, reconstruct dialogue. They summon meaning from events that have long been dormant. They braid the clays of memory and essay and fact and perception together, smash them into a ball, roll them flat. They manipulate time; resuscitate the dead. They put themselves, and others, into necessary context.

In The Dream House, Carmen Maria Machado

[nonbinary-jakey]

Capital enslaves humanity in the very name of humanity because it is anthropomorphized. This is nothing other than the reign of death. Human beings are dominated by their past being, while they contemplate it. It is a process which continually starts over again. Capital penetrates thought, consciousness, and thus destroys human beings such as they have been produced by centuries of class society. Their loss of substance is the loss of their former being, which capital has pumped out of them. Since this process is almost over, capital is now turning from its attack against the past dimension of humanity to an attack against its future dimension: it must now conquer imagination.

Jacques Camatte, The Wandering of Humanity, 1973 (translation by F. Perlman)

[tricoufamily]

my this is the fall headcanon which i can have as its creator is that after jacques's death and maybe even after the kids' deaths they'll make an award-bait mrs. villareal biopic that is genuinely well made but like 99% inaccurate and hugo would probably publicly denounce it

[straightline-bow]

I know everyone is mostly joking with the whole ‘oh the GPDA should strike’ thing after their statement in instagram, but I really think we should be having a conversation about how actually, they can’t strike, and that lack of ability to use collective bargaining can be and may be incredibly dangerous.

The issue with the GPDA as a union is that it only covers the twenty current Formula 1 drivers. Now, many people see no issue with this - why would anyone else need coverage? - but this is what sort of hamstrings the GPDA as a union. Should the members go on strike, there would be backlash in the press, pressure on the FIA, FOM, Liberty and the teams - but there are other drivers, who have the super licences needed to drive an F1 car. And could you even blame them? We’ve seen how hard it can be for rookies to get a seat - Colapinto looks a lot like he may be able to get on the grid, either for next year or the year after, and that is a swansong MIRACLE that came out of nowhere for him. Lawson and Piastri had to wait on the sidelines, as did Doohan. The only Driver’s Academies that seem to be working are Ferrari’s (A Leclerc off to WEC, Bearman in Haas), Mercedes’ to an extent (They tossed Aron aside when he’s been doing fantastically, but Antonelli has a seat) and sort of Mclaren’s (Bortoleto was under them in F2, but he has now severed ties to sign for Audi.). And even then they CLEARLY have their failures. Can you truly blame young drivers for taking any and every opportunity handed to them when so few succeed at all?

A strike would be very easily defeated by the FIA and Co - and there would be no guarantee of contracts post strike, and although the WDCs and highest level drivers could probably weather the storm, there is no way the rookies and those from smaller teams would be able to, and they could likely lose their seats over it. Quite frankly, the only way for a strike to work in the drivers favour in this day and age would be for them to vote to include all drivers who have superlicences in the union, and then for all of them to strike together.

A reminder: every driver who has an official contract with a team entered into the F1 championship can apply for a superlicence, if they hold the other requirements (usually a certain number of points plus a driver’s licence pluse a competition licence plus a theory test on first sitting), which means drivers from IndyCar, WEC, lower formulas, Formula E and test drivers are all usually eligible, or can be. I think the official number is around 70ish drivers are eligible, plus any retired F1 drivers who keep up the fitness standard and 100km of practise across a year - so drivers such as Jacques Villneauve could potentially still have a valid superlicence, so long as he proved he did enough practise.

Aside from the sheer unlikelihood of the GPDA being allowed to vote to include all holders of valid superlicences - which could possibly lead to the core members facing severe consequences, possibly the same as striking on their own - there are a lot of drivers who would not strike for safety precautions, purely they don’t think they are necessary (Brundle on the halo) or because they know if they broke the line they could get a drive, and because the GPDA has so little political power it very rarely is able to intercede to set minimum wages etc the way other unions are able to, any drivers breaking the line would know they weren’t losing out on anything but a moral argument, and potential safety issues. Some people don’t think about safety until they need it.

The current state of affairs is just incredibly concerning, and I think that although it’s fun and fine to make jokes about it, we should definitely remember both the driver’s own lack of agency, and that even though some aren’t satisfied with the statement they put out, it is perhaps one of the only things they can do.

[bosbas]

Chapter 1: if a man talks shit then I owe him nothing

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: colin bridgerton x enemy-ish!fem!reader WC: 4.2k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, some strong language, a small part of the dialogue is in French (with translations provided), period-typical views on women, alluding to sex, mentions of alcohol

Summary: It took precisely two days in England for you to utterly despise Colin Bridgerton. It took him approximately twelve hours after that to hate you right back. But he doesn't care that you're the only person in the ton who doesn't like him. You're set to marry someone else anyway, right?

A/N: French is not my first language so IM SORRY if the dialogue is a bit weird. I speak some French and obvi double checked to make sure it made sense but please lmk if i made a mistake 

April 14, 1816 – Dearest Gentle Readers,

A new season is upon us, and so my work begins anew. Firstly, we can reacquaint ourselves with the familiar faces we expect to see this season. It has been two years since Viscount Anthony Bridgerton married, and dowager Viscountess Bridgerton is surely itching to secure a match for more of her children. Miss Eloise Bridgerton, now in her second year of being out, remains unmarried. And, of course, one cannot help but wonder whether the charming Mr. Colin Bridgerton will return from his travels in time for the season. Though Benedict Bridgerton has been absent from the public eye as of late, he could also be considered an eligible bachelor. Shall we see any of them marry this season? This author remains skeptical, though, with the Bridgertons, one must always expect the unexpected.

There are, however, plenty of new faces. Chief among them are the two youngest Montclair siblings. The Montclairs resided in London for the debut of Lady Charlotte Montclair, now the Duchess of Somerset, before vanishing from England’s social scene. Until now, of course. Though Lord Louis Montclair is only two and twenty and may still be considered green for the marriage mart, all eyes will surely be on Lady Y/N Montclair as she steps into the spotlight and searches for an impressively titled gentleman. Though the Montclairs have graced the streets of Calcutta, Rome, Geneva, and Madrid, among other illustrious locales, one can only hope that the grandeur of London lives up to their expectations.

You let out a resigned sigh of frustration, scolding yourself for your tardiness as you hurried down the stairs. It was half an hour past when you were supposed to be in the breakfast room, and your mother was bound to be at least a little displeased with you. It was the first time your entire family was in the same place since your older brother Jacques got married in September. Despite being a big family, six siblings in total, four of whom were married, it was unusual that you had gone so long without seeing them all in one place.

Moving from country to country every few years for much of your upbringing had made your siblings a very tight-knit bunch. So, as you neared the breakfast room, which was full of laughter and lively conversation, you couldn't shake the twinge of guilt for your late arrival.

But you couldn’t help it! Not this time, at least. It had been your first night in London since your sister Charlotte’s season eight years ago, and you had stayed up until the early hours of the morning stargazing in your garden. There was a secluded patch of grass between the summer pavilion and the tulips, a secret spot hidden from prying eyes, where you could spend hours looking at the sky in peaceful solitude. Last time you were in London, you had snuck out of your bedroom every night to stare at the stars, and you had been pleased to find that the spot remained undiscovered.

You had always been comforted by the fact that the cosmos would remain the same even if your home did not. The night sky had become somewhat of a companion during your childhood years, and you were interested to see what part of it you were privy to in London at this time of year. Perhaps a scolding and a lecture from your mother were not such a high price to pay for the opportunity to reacquaint yourself with the stars, you reasoned.

You slithered into the breakfast room quietly, hoping to draw as little attention to yourself as possible, but you had no such luck. Your brother closest to you in age, Louis, was sitting nearest to the door and noticed your late entrance immediately.

Taking advantage of every opportunity to make your life just a little harder, he goaded, “T'es très en retard, demoiselle. Ce n'est pas convenable pour une fille en quête d'un mari!” (You’re very late, young lady. This is not suitable for a girl looking for a husband!)

Under any other circumstances, you might have laughed at his impression of your mother, but you were quite sleep-deprived and in no mood to have your brother lecture you. You sighed in frustration, hissing, “Louis, ferme ta gue-” (Louis, shut you mou-)

“English, please!” interrupted your father, not even looking up from his newspaper as he sat at the head of the table.

You were relieved he hadn’t commented on your colorful language, but his curt reprimand reminded you that it was in poor taste to speak a language not everyone could understand. Growing up, your family had primarily spoken French, but with none of your siblings having married a francophone, you were now only allowed to speak in French when everyone present could speak it, too. It was a rule enforced particularly during big family gatherings such as this one. Despite your fluency in five languages, your parents insisted on English, the only common language among all twelve family members.

“Sorry,” you muttered, not quite sure that your father had even heard. You slid into your seat between Louis and your brother Jacques’ wife, Chiara. Still annoyed with Louis, you turned to the newest addition to the Montclair family and smiled at her warmly.

“Ciao, Y/N,” she greeted, smiling back and kissing you on the cheek.

“Ciao, Chiara, è bello rivederti,” you responded (Hi Chiara, it’s nice to see you again). You were tempted to keep speaking to her in Italian–you liked the practice, after all–but feared another scolding from your father. So, you settled for, “I trust your trip back home was good?”

“Oh, it was lovely. Florence always is at this time of year. You should come back to visit sometime! Beatrice misses you terribly,” she exclaimed.

Beatrice was Chiara’s younger sister, whom you had become dear friends with while living in Tuscany. You had remained in Tuscany for nearly four years, longer than you usually stayed in one place, and though you were itching to leave and see more of the world by the end of your time in Florence, you were thankful you had met Beatrice. Both of you were delighted when you realized your brother was marrying her sister, ensuring you would remain close even when you moved away.

You sighed. “I miss her, too. We correspond quite regularly, but it’s simply not the same. I assume it will be worse now that I am in England and even farther from her,” you lamented.

After Jacques and Chiara’s wedding, your parents, Louis, and you returned home to Amboise for a few months. Beatrice had visited for the holidays along with Chiara and Jacques, but you knew she was unlikely to come to England when she was busy with her season back home.

Chiara smiled sympathetically. “Well, Jacques and I are only staying for a few weeks before returning to Tuscany. If you get bored here in London, you are always welcome to visit,” she comforted.

It was a lovely thought, but you doubted your parents would allow you to leave England until you were married. Your parents’ marriage had most certainly not been a love match, and though they did grow to love each other eventually, they didn’t particularly care whether you loved the man you married. To them, marriage was an economic endeavor rather than a romantic one. You had never minded much, having accepted your fate early in life as you watched your siblings marry strategically.

Nevertheless, you had grown rather nervous about your season after watching the outcome of Charlotte’s. In your parents’ eyes, her season was a complete success as she married a Duke a few short months after her debut. But you knew better. Not all of your siblings had enjoyed moving around so much, but you, Louis, and Charlotte were the most enthusiastic. Having married the Duke of Somerset, Charlotte had become Duchess, and her duties tied her to England. After such an international childhood, you knew Charlotte was dreadfully bored of staying in England year after year.

You knew there were much worse marriages to be in, but you still wanted to avoid being permanently tied to England, of all places. You were only twenty years old, after all, and you still had so much of the world to see.

---

“By the way,” Violet said, strategically avoiding the topic until she was about to leave the sitting room. “Both of you are attending the Danbury ball tomorrow night.”

The expected chorus of complaints filled her ears, and she shook her head in amusement at her children’s petulance. One would think she was trying to force them to walk halfway across the world!

Violet sighed and said firmly, “I understand that neither of you is particularly enthusiastic, but we are not so rude as to miss the first ball of the season. And at Lady Danbury’s home, at that! Surely the retribution you would receive from her is enough to make you want to go.”

“Well, Colin’s coming home from Greece tomorrow and I hardly think he’ll be in attendance, so I don’t see why we should be,” argued Eloise, earning an enthusiastic nod from Benedict.

“You make the mistake of thinking that I have not already informed Colin he will be in attendance. None of you have the option to stay home, I’m afraid.”

And with that, she left her grumbling children behind in favor of a quiet turn around the garden.

---

Colin arrived at Number 5 Bruton Street feeling rather unkempt. His journey from Greece had been particularly tumultuous, and he was ready to change clothes and sleep for the next seventeen hours.

“Colin! I’m so glad you’re home,” exclaimed Violet upon seeing him. For all her nagging, he was quite fond of his mother and found that he had missed her while he had been away. Seeing tears forming in her eyes, Colin wrapped Violet up in a tight hug, hoping to avoid feeling worse about being away for so long.

“He’s home!” shouted Gregory, running up to greet him. The rest of his siblings followed suit, and Colin basked in the excitement of his homecoming.

To the rest of the ton, Colin was the most well-liked Bridgerton due to his easygoing nature and cheerful demeanor, and because he was rather good-looking as well, he hoped. However, it was nice to know that his family still cared for him despite his prolonged absences.

“The Danbury ball is in a few hours, so make sure to be ready on time,” his mother reminded him once she had gathered herself.

He groaned, having forgotten he had promised his mother he would attend. He sighed as he prepared for an evening of excruciating conversation as he politely listened to ambitious mamas name every single positive attribute their daughters possessed in the hopes of impressing him. It wasn’t that he didn’t like them, but rather that he remained uninterested in marriage, finding his travels a much more exciting prospect. But he had a reputation to maintain, so he would be as courteous as ever to everyone he met and perhaps even dance with a few of them.

A few hours later, the Bridgertons were, quite impatiently, one could say, waiting for Benedict to finish getting ready so they could leave for the Danbury Ball.

“Excited for your third season?” Colin directed his question at Eloise. He knew the answer, of course, but he was growing bored of waiting for Benedict and thought that this would be the perfect distraction.

“Shut up.”

“Maybe you’ll find someone you absolutely adore, El. Don’t close yourself off to the possibilities,” preached Colin, annoying Eloise further.

“What about you, Colin? Five and twenty and still unmarried, that’s a bit ghastly don’t you think?” she shot back.

Of course, it wasn't unheard of to be unmarried at his age, but Colin panicked regardless, knowing his mother would surely love to join the conversation now that his marriage prospects were a talking point. But Benedict saved him by walking down the stairs at that moment.

“Finally! Now can we go, please?” exclaimed Eloise.

“I’m surprised, Eloise. I thought you didn’t want to go to this ball,” teased Benedict, but she only grumbled in return as they headed toward their carriage.

The carriage rides were usually the worst part of going to a ball. Violet Bridgerton, efficient as ever, would inform each of her children of the possible prospects that would be in attendance that night, impossibly elongating the journey and making the Bridgertons less and less pleased about being forced to go. They weren't always forced, of course, but the carriage rides certainly made it seem that way.

“The Montclairs will be in London for the season, I heard. Lady Y/N Montclair will be making her debut, which will surely interest you two,” said Violet, nodding at the men in the carriage. “And for you, Eloise, her older brother Lord Louis Montclair is perhaps too young to get married, but it wouldn’t hurt to speak with him and practice your French.”

Violet droned on for the rest of the ride, and the Bridgerton siblings could barely get out of the carriage fast enough when it arrived at Danbury House. Little did they know that they had played right into Violet’s plan. She wanted to enjoy the evening and visit with her friends, and hopefully, her overly long analysis of the key figures at today’s ball would keep her children away from her enough for her to do so.

Inside the ballroom, you were speaking with a perfectly nice but quite boring gentleman. You couldn’t quite remember his name, having talked to at least a dozen men practically identical to him already. You barely registered his request for a dance, and you only realized you had accepted when you found yourself in the middle of the dance floor. Luckily, the dance went by fairly quickly and you were able to sprinkle in interested hums and “oh really?” at the appropriate times. All in all, it was not a terrible experience, if only you could remember his name.

He returned you to your mother and bowed in parting, kissing your hand and promising to call on you the next day.

“Who was that?” you muttered once he had left.

“Y/N,” she scolded, but could barely contain her laughter. “I can’t believe you danced with a man you don’t even know the name of!”

You shrugged, not particularly interested in learning who he was anymore.

“Is there anyone else you want me to meet?” you asked her, hoping she would say no and you would be free to find Louis and talk to someone familiar at last.

But your mother was distracted from answering as she saw two tall men crossing the ballroom. She squeezed your arm and nodded in their direction, careful to be discreet.

“Those are the Bridgertons. Their oldest brother, the Viscount, is already married, but it is of no consequence. Perhaps the second and third sons might not be fit to be your husband, but you should still introduce yourself and make a good impression should you encounter them.”

You nodded, disinterested. You were too busy looking around the room, realizing that there was still a myriad of gentlemen left to speak with. It seemed that there were too many eligible bachelors if that was even possible. You had thought there would be five men that your mother would have approved of, at most, and you could make your pick between them. But it seemed London was a particularly popular place for titled gentlemen to search for a wife, and you were growing uneasy.

Trying not to think about the long evening ahead of you, you tuned back into what your mother was saying. “Oh! I don’t quite know where Colin Bridgerton has gone off to now, but Benedict is over by the lemonade if you can see him. I believe that is his sister, Eloise. They all look identical, don’t they? The same brown h-”

“Pardon me,” you interrupted as panic rose in your chest. You were in desperate need of a respite, and could hardly handle another minute listening to her speak about more men she needed you to meet. “I think I see an old friend of mine, and I must say hello,” you lied.

Your mother raised her eyebrows in surprise, shocked that you remembered people from eight years ago, but let you go regardless. Impatiently, you waited until someone else engaged her in conversation and quietly slipped out into the hallway. Stepping out of a ball on your own like this was forbidden, and your father would surely have your head if he found out you had risked being found unchaperoned and away from the ball, but you needed to get away for just a moment to gather yourself.

Lady Danbury’s home was quite beautiful, you found, and you were enjoying looking at the art on her walls as you roamed the halls. You were careful not to stray too far, not knowing your way around and recognizing that you only had a short time before someone was bound to notice your absence.

Suddenly, your senses heightened as you heard two men’s voices far closer than you would have liked. Panicking, you jumped around a corner and prayed that no one would find you, absolutely not ready to be forced to marry a man only one ball into your debut. You willed your heart to stop beating so loudly lest you get caught and tried to discern what the men were saying, unable to quell your curiosity despite the precarious position you found yourself in.

“And, if she's the right sort of woman, you won’t even have to do anything, she'll just get on top and do all the work. Though I suppose it all depends on her dowry. The larger the dowry the more I’m willing to overlook,” slurred one of them. “And you, Colin? Do any ladies catch your eye? I’m sure you could get away with anything with any of these girls, though I suggest picking one that’s got good hips.”

Your jaw dropped in disbelief at the same time as you heard 'Colin' say, “Why don’t we continue this conversation outside, Nigel?”

Their footsteps echoed down the hall and you risked a glance at them, still horrified but wanting to know who they were anyway. You were unsurprised to find Nigel walking toward the garden, having met Mr. Nigel Berbrooke earlier in the evening and finding him quite unpleasant. However, you were shocked to find who you assumed to be Colin Bridgerton walking quite close to Mr. Berbrooke. Hadn’t your mother said the Bridgertons were people of good standing? Surely someone would have noticed that the third son was a complete ass. But perhaps he was the odd one out, and the rest of his family was lovely. Or perhaps Englishmen were simply unpleasant as a whole. Whatever the reason for his horrible comments, you decided you despised Colin Bridgerton and dreaded the day you would have to speak with him.

“Quel salaud,” you muttered angrily under your breath after you heard Mr. Bridgerton close the door to the outdoor patio (What a bastard). Pacing up and down the hallway, you were too enraged by what you heard to return to the ballroom.

The quality of men in England seemed to be quite lacking, and suddenly you wished you could follow in your sister Isabelle’s footsteps and go to Spain to find a titled gentleman there. Isabelle had seemed quite excited about all her suitors before eventually settling on Carlos, who practically worshipped the ground she walked on. Unfortunately, it seemed that you were not destined for such a husband, you thought glumly.

But you supposed you didn't really have a choice. You let out a weary sigh and leaned heavily against the wall, shaking your head as you accepted the reality of your situation. With an angry humph and one last look to make sure no one was around, you quietly slipped back into the ballroom and searched for your mother, who would surely be looking for you now. As you expected, she spotted you almost instantly, and she immediately drew you into conversation with a gentleman you believed to be an Earl.

---

Colin stood outside the door to the ballroom, flexing his fingers to make sure there was still feeling there. Confirming the health of his right hand, he gently opened the ballroom door with his left and stepped inside, looking around for Benedict. Spotting him a few feet away, Colin quickly made his way over hoping to avoid any particularly insistent mamas at this precise moment.

“You look quite relaxed,” commented Benedict, earning a glare from Colin.

“Berbrooke,” Colin explained flatly. “How that man manages to get so drunk so quickly I will never know.”

But suddenly his attention was drawn elsewhere. Time seemed to slow down as a stunning lady he had never seen before crossed the ballroom. He was paralyzed, stuck to his spot on the ground as he stared after you. The only thing he could hear was his heart beating loudly in his ears, and though Colin wasn’t one to believe in love at first sight, he imagined it might have felt something like this if he did. Without a second thought, he knew he had to know you. It was almost instinctual.

Colin tugged on Benedict’s sleeve, his eyes still glued to your form as you laughed politely at whoever you were speaking with. “Who is that over there? Have you spoken with her?”

“I’m sure I have no idea,” responded Benedict. “You could always ask Mother.”

“I might do just that, actually,” hummed Colin, deep in thought.

Benedict choked back a laugh, looking over at his younger brother. “Are you being serious?”

Tearing his eyes away from you for a moment, Colin turned to his brother, confused. “Well, yes. If anyone knows who she is, it’ll be her, no?”

Realizing that Colin was, in fact, quite serious, Benedict’s expression sobered. “You are aware if you even hint at the fact that you might be interested in her, Mother will surely come up with at least a dozen plans to marry you off?”

“I don’t think that would be the worst thing in the world,” Colin reasoned, eyes searching for you in the crowd again. Five minutes ago, he would’ve thought it silly, how captivated he was by you. But five minutes ago, he had not yet seen you.

Just as he was about to seek out his mother to ask about you, Lady Danbury walked up to the pair of Bridgertons and poked Colin's foot with her cane. Usually, her presence would have instilled a healthy dose of fear in him, but tonight all he really wanted was to know you, and he supposed Lady Danbury was just as knowledgeable as Violet Bridgerton about the goings on of the ton.

“What are you doing staring at Lady Montclair?” she demanded.

“Lady Montclair? Is that her name?” Then, vaguely remembering what his mother had said on the carriage ride to the ball, he added, “The one from France?”

Lady Danbury hummed, suspicious of Colin’s enthusiasm. “Yes. Lady Y/N Montclair. Speaking with her brother Lord Louis Montclair. Are you interested?”

“I think I am, yes,” he sighed.

“I do believe she has space left on her dance card,” prompted Lady Danbury, doing very little to hide the fact that she was nudging Colin in your direction.

Once Colin had taken off, Benedict turned to her, not distracted enough to forget decorum as his brother had. “This is a wonderful ball, Lady Danbury. My deepest gratitude to you for inviting us, as always.”

But she only waved his thanks away. “Shush, boy. I’m trying to pay attention to Colin willingly asking a lady to dance for the first time.”

Soft music floated through the ballroom as you laughed quietly with Louis, who seemed to be having a wonderful time terrorizing your mother and refusing to dance with any ladies she introduced to him. The gentle hum of the room was interrupted by the sound of footsteps beside you, and with a polite smile on your face, you turned to greet whoever had approached. Realizing you were face to face with Mr. Colin Bridgerton, your expression immediately turned stony.

Bowing with just the right degree of formality, Colin introduced himself, his charm seemingly effortless. He certainly played the part of a perfect gentleman; you could give him that. But you couldn’t forget his conversation with Mr. Berbrooke, the distasteful words replaying in your mind over and over.

Then, extending his hand to you and tilting his head slightly toward the dance floor, a soft smile on his lips, he asked, “Would you care to dance with me this evening, Lady Montclair?”

Looking at him squarely, you responded, your voice sickly sweet, “Why no, Mr. Bridgerton. I don’t believe I would.”

—

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[opbackgrounds]

The Romanticism of One Piece V: Personal Freedom, The Idealized Child, and Monkey D Luffy

AO3 Part I Part IV

“God will not have his work be made manifest by cowards” —Ralph Waldo Emerson 

In chapter 507, Oda writes his thesis for the entire series when he has Luffy state that the Pirate King is the freest man on the sea. It’s a simple statement said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, but it completely recontextualizes everything that’s come before it while setting the stage for everything to follow. 

When making a close analysis of this entire scene, you’ll notice that Rayleigh spends much of the conversation not directly looking at the Straw Hats. He’s physically turned away from the people he’s talking to, and the framing Oda uses often puts an added layer of distance between the two parties. 

It’s only when Luffy refuses to hear the secrets of the One Piece in favor of having his own adventure that Rayleigh turns around. He looks Luffy in the eye, and…he smiles. Rayleigh had already agreed to help coat the Straw Hat’s ship, but you get the impression that in this moment Luffy’s passed some sort of test, that Rayleigh finally sees in Luffy the same potential Shanks did all those years ago. 

It’s impossible to say if this is the reason Rayleigh came out of hiding to save the Straw Hats later in the arc, but there’s no denying that he went above and beyond to ensure Luffy was strong enough to make it through the New World. After all, there’s no reason for him to spend two years training Luffy if he wasn’t rooting for him to become King. 

It’s scenes like this that make Luffy a deceptively difficult character to write about. On the surface he seems like the perfect shonen archetype: simpleminded, glutinous, with a vague enough end goal to support a long-running manga series. But it’s as you dig into the specifics that he becomes increasingly difficult to define. 

One reason for this is that Luffy remains amazingly consistent as a character over the course of the series. He is both the unstoppable force and the immovable object. He will not be denied once he sets his mind on something and remains unshakably sure in his own convictions. He starts the manga fully convinced in what he believes a pirate to be, spending much of the East Blue saga beating up rival pirate captains for not living up to his exacting standards. While he does go through character development, it is less a change in personality than a refinement of what was already there, like burning away the dross from a precious metal. By becoming a better leader and captain he becomes a better pirate, and at heart, Luffy has always been a pirate. 

I’ve already mentioned the importance of Jean Jacques Rousseau’s The Social Contract to the Romantic movement, but he wrote a second work that was just as influential. In Emil, or Concerning Education, Rousseau lays out his theory of childhood education. He was very concerned with maintaining that which was natural, starting with the infant remaining unrestrained by the binding chains of swaddling clothes and continuing through adolescence with Robinson Crusoe as the only book his imagined student ever studies.

By the age of 15 his student would have learned nothing of history or ethics or metaphysics. In Rousseau’s own words, “You are probably alarmed at the number of subjects I have brought to his notice. You are afraid I will overwhelm his mind with all this knowledge. But I teach him rather not to know them than to know them” (emphasis mine).

It was during the Romantic era that childhood began to be understood at its own separate stage of development, rather than seeing children as very small adults. A veneration bloomed for the innocence of childhood, similar to the myth of the noble savage that was equally popular at this time.

My favorite example of this idea of childhood innocence I stumbled across in my reading was Percy Bysshe Shelly’s strange and unfinished poem "A Vision of the Sea". The poem rather gruesomely depicts a ship ravaged by a terrible storm that’s killed everyone on board except a mother and her small child. There are also a pair of tigers that fight a bunch of sea monsters to the death, but that’s mostly unrelated to the point here. 

Shelly describes the child of the poem—again, surrounded on all sides by death and destruction—like this

She clasps a bright child on her upgathered knee; It laughs at the lightning, it mocks the mixed thunder Of the air and the sea, with desire and with wonder It is beckoning the tigers to rise and come near, It would play with those eyes where the radiance of fear Is outshining the meteors; its bosom beats high, The heart-fire of pleasure has kindled its eye,

The mother bemoans their fate and tells the child not to smile. She recognizes that death is near, understands the hopelessness of their situation. She mourns. But the child, still innocent and pure, just wants to play with the tigers.

Is there anything more Luffy-like than that?

Oda has said in multiple interviews, most recently when talking with Iñaki Godoy when he visited the set for season 2 of the live action, that he writes Luffy as an idealized child. He recognizes that as people enter society they lose personal freedom in exchange for social responsibility, so he created a character that truly has the freedom to do whatever he wants.

But for as childlike as Luffy can be, he isn’t actually a child. He bears enormous responsibility as captain of the Straw Hat Pirates. But it’s a responsibility of his own choosing, because he wants to, and it’s not something that’s been forced on him by the world. Luffy’s continued rejection of his Grand Fleet shows how he eschews any attempts to add any additional responsibility he does not want.

To the Romantics, society and civilization were seen as corrupting forces, so anything that stood apart was by default pure. The solution was to be found in nature and the natural. After all, Adam and Eve only fell after eating of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. If one could separate themselves from this knowledge, they, too, could enjoy paradise. 

This idea would eventually snake through Europe, developing as it went, until it landed on American shores, and in the 1830s the Transcendental movement began in the United States. It marked the first true American philosophy, and overlaps with American Romanticism. The central tenant is a focus on self-reliance and an inherent distrust of institutions, which they saw as corrupting of the spirit. 

One of these early Transcendentalists was Henry David Thoreau, who famously spent two years living alone in the woods as a sort of experiment, building his own house and growing his own food, stretching the limits of his own self-reliance. His experience would become the basis for the book Walden It’s here he muses on a great many subjects, and was preoccupied with the artifice of modern society. 

To Thoreau, too much stock was put into material things, with countless people working jobs they hated to support a living that the world told them was required before they could be accepted. The same man was judged completely differently depending on whether he’s dressed well or poor, or the size of their house, or by working a socially acceptable job. People enslaved themselves to the ever-changing whims of modernity and denied themselves the satisfaction of living exactly as they pleased. To quote Ralph Waldo Emerson, Thoreau’s close friend and fellow Transcendentalist,  “To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment”. And to quote Emperio Ivankov when explaining how they managed to carve out a slice of paradise amidst the hells of Impel Down, “We have our freedom”.

Neither the veneration of childhood nor the self-reliance of the transcendentalists match exactly with what’s presented in One Piece, but in Luffy there’s an interesting mix between the two. While Luffy makes his reliance on his crew clear, he is beholden to no one but himself. He maintains a child-like innocence and wonder all throughout the series, but unlike many characters who follow this template, he isn’t naive.

Luffy has a unique ability to cut through bullshit. He relies on instinct and follows his heart above all else. During Alabasta when Vivi was worrying herself into knots over the enormity of the coming civil war, he maintained a laser focus on the root of the problem: Crocodile. For most of us, as we grow up our vision is clouded by the outside interests of the rich and the powerful. We get so tripped up trying to make our way through the complexities of modern life that we lose sight of what’s truly important. We worry in equal measures over the past and the future, and in doing so miss out on the beauty of the present. Contrast that to a character like Luffy, who is so committed to the present that no future scheme survives contact with his whims, and who remains so unconcerned about his past that he had no idea that he had a father. 

Thoreau makes it clear that he spent two years living in the woods because he wanted to. During the early chapters of the book he says outright that he didn’t want or expect others to follow his path, but to find fulfillment in their own way. For some, this can be seen as selfish, and to an extent Thoreau agreed. He, for example, said he didn’t believe in giving to charity. To him, it was better not to give than to give out of some kind of obligation. 

Likewise, Rousseau recognized the child’s ability to turn self-love into selfishness as they grow into adolescence, and took great pains in describing how he would instruct his imaginary student in pursuing his own happiness without infringing on the happiness of others, by having him empathize with even the lowest parts of society. 

Selfishness in One Piece is often treated positively, and is one of the key traits that makes a good pirate. In order to chase one’s dreams without abandon, you have to be willing to shove everything else aside. It’s why characters like Yassopp and Olvia are never condemned by the narrative for abandoning their families, and is even the crux of the entire Baratie arc while Sanji struggles to find his “spear of spirit”.

One of the most commonly sited examples of Luffy’s self-centered morality comes in Impel Down. He doesn’t free the prisoners or team up with character like Crocodile out of some moral outrage for the despicable conditions of the prison or because of the inhumane torture of his fellow man. He just wants to save his brother. If he could have reached Ace without setting off a riot he would have, and wouldn’t have felt guilty about leaving the rest behind. 

A more interesting example, I think, comes from Luffy allowing Robin onto the crew after Alabasta. It’s easy to forget that Robin at this time had just finished helping Crocodile orchestrate a civil war. The artificially-created drought displaced and killed untold numbers of people. Innocent people, who had personally done her no wrong. While Robin had no intention of giving Crocodile the in-universe equivalent of a nuke, her plans put Vivi and other people Luffy cared about at enormous risk. 

And yet, he says she isn't a bad person. Why?

Well, Luffy’s selfish. He doesn’t judge people by their clothes or their work or if they help start civil wars. Robin personally saved his life twice, and for him, that was enough.

The secret that makes Luffy work as a character is that his selfishness is often exerted in the service of others. During the post-Marineford flashback Luffy makes it very clear that he’s ultimately motivated by the desire to not be alone. Similar to what’s described in book IV of Emile, he’s experienced suffering and takes great pains to avoid feeling that way ever again. He’s very quick to recognize others who are hurting and is willing to fight on their behalf.

Nothing else matters. Luffy’s willing to work with psychotic criminals like Bege if it means saving Sanji. He’s willing to team up with Crocodile if it means saving Ace. He’ll declare war on the World Government for Robin and take on the biggest bounty in the East Blue to save Nami. Luffy lives a life without regret, and in doing so does the sort of things that readers bound by the constraints of society only wish they could.

Luffy doesn't fight in pursuit of systemic change. He’s not a Revolutionary. He helps the gladiators of the Colosseum not because he recognizes the horrors they experience under Doflamingo’s rule but because they gave him food. And he expects to be judged in the same way, not caring how the citizens of Fishman Island look at him, but leting them come to their own conclusions based on what they see. Yet systematic change follows wherever he goes, the chaotic, disrupting force of Luffy’s personality refusing to kowtow to any of the great powers of the world.

This brand of selfishness would be terrifying if Luffy were not so quick to make friends. In searching for his own liberation he ends up liberating others by complete accident. At the same time, the characters who catch Luffy’s attention are the characters who fight for themselves, even if they aren’t strong enough to win without his help. This is seen from the very earliest chapters in the series, when Luffy only intervenes on Coby’s behalf after the latter insults Alvida, or how the Straw Hats only help Usopp fight off Kuro because he’s first willing to protect his village. Even the Revolutionary Army is only interested in helping those who are willing to pick up arms, making this a theme that transcends the pirate-focused narrative. The overwhelming force of nature that is Luffy empowering rather than conquering as he pursues his own ultimate freedom.

With this in mind, it comes as no surprise that the original Joyboy was the first pirate, or that Luffy is his successor. The character of Joyboy seems to be based on Caribbean myth brought over by West African slaves, and is a figure of dance, joy, and chaos, uniting people via celebration. It’s no accident that every big arc ends with a party and that people are brought together by their ability to genuinely laugh and be happy. 

(Credits for this go to this reddit thread. Sadly sources on the real world Joyboy myth seem to be sparse)

While the ultimate significance of Joyboy and the nature of Luffy’s devil fruit have yet to be revealed, Luffy is no stranger to fighting against in-universe religious powers while ultimately taking the form of a god himself. It’s important, I think, that Oda portrays religious beliefs fairly neutrally up until the point where they cause human suffering. Skypiea remains a theocracy even at the end of the arc. The destruction of the spirit tree grove of the Shandians is treated with utmost seriousness. Dorry and Broggy fighting because of their belief in the god Elbaf is one of Usopp’s main inspirations throughout the series. And yet in both a literal and figurative sense, Luffy is God’s natural enemy. 

Because at the end of the day no one, not even God, should stand in the way of progress and liberation. For Luffy, he finds that freedom in his adventures across incredible and impossible lands. This is something that would have resonated with the Romantics of old, as they often found God not in dark, dusty churches, but in nature, and their pursuit of the sublime. 

[ancientcharm]

The enigmatic emperor Caracalla. Lucius Septimius Bassianus, renamed Marcus Aurelius Antoninus at age 7, was born on April 4, 188 in Lugdunum, Gaul (Lyon, France). Like 'Caligula', he's known by a nickname rather than his name.

His father, Septimius Severus, became the first Roman emperor of North African origin in 192; His mother, Julia Domna, was a noble lady of Arab origin born in Emesa (Homs, Syria)

Publius Septimius Geta was born in Rome, 11 months after his brother 'Caracalla'. All historical sources claim that they never had a brotherly relationship. According to historians, Geta was more appreciated by the Senate and the people than his brother. Herodian wrote that they constantly fought for any reason and "it was impossible to hide the rivalry between the brothers, although the emperor Septimius tried in vain to keep this from being known".

"Geta and Caracalla" by Sir Lawrence Alma Tadema (detail). In this painting the Emperor Septimius and the Empress Julia Domna are shown seated. Geta is standing next to a woman, and Caracalla is pensive by a column; the painter depicts him as sad - perhaps jealous - of his brother's popularity.

An unusual empress

Busts of Julia Domna. Photos :Bibi Saint-Pol, and Daderot (CC)

Julia Domna always accompanied her husband in all the campaigns, the reign of Septimius Severus was extremely militarized. She received the title Mater Castrorum (Mother of the legionary camps). She made political decisions directly, something unprecedented in Rome for a woman. After the death of Septimius, Julia Domna was granted the titles: Mater Senatus and Mater Patriae (Mother of the Senate, Mother of the Nation). She was a scholar in Philosophy, and had a notable influence on that subject. She was involved in several architectural projects including the famous Caracalla Baths, enormous work planning by her husband and completed by her son. She was highly respected by the Senate throughout her reign (192-217).

"Let there be peace among you both, pay the army well and forget the rest". -Septimius Severus to his children on his deathbed

'Geta Dying in his Mother's Arms' by Jacques Pajou.

Britannia, February 4, 211: Septimius died of natural causes, accompanied by his family. Caracalla and Geta, aged 22 and 21, had been emperors with their father since childhood, but after the death of Septimius, as expected, such co-government would not last long.

According to contemporary historian of that period, Herodian : "The co-emperors constantly quarreled and feared that one of them would poison the other, so they did not eat at the same table."

Rome, December 27, 211: 'Caracalla' ordered the execution of Geta, claiming to have discovered that his brother was plotting to assassinate him. The execution carried out by two centurions was in the presence of Julia Domna. According to contemporary sources, Caracalla had tried to kill Geta a few days earlier, during the Saturnalia festival.

Following Geta death he ordered the execution of all Geta's supporters, among them Lucius Aurelius, the only grandson of Marcus Aurelius, son of Lucilla and Pompeianus.

The curious thing is that empress didn't leave her son Caracalla; This caused the Empress to lose popularity among the people, especially in the eastern provinces where, according to historians, Geta was very popular.

If you were born in Roman territory so you're a Roman.

In 212 he issued the Constitutio Antoniniana, also known as the Edict of Caracalla, which granted Roman citizenship to every free men and women living in Roman territory - although by then Roman citizenship had increased significantly throughout the empire - and from then on every free child born in the Empire was a Roman. This was criticised by contemporary historians but modern historians agree that he understood what certain elitist people in the city of Rome refused to understand. 'Caracalla' was Emperor of Rome but he was of Punic and Arab origin and born in Gaul; he was living proof that the city of Rome was the capital of a multi-ethnic world.

An awesome site

Baths of Caracalla. Reconstruction made by team of 'History in 3D'

The Caldarium (sauna) was built in the Pantheon style and the vestibule was in basilica style; Just two simple parts of a baths building were something magnificent in themselves. It was an immense complex that, in addition to the typical cold, warm, and hot baths, dressing room, massage and beauty salons, included two libraries, gym, impressive swimming pools, a stadium , vast gardens, a small museum with exhibitions of works of art, and a shopping center with a wide variety of businesses.

The Alexandria Massacre

'Caracalla' by Sir Lawrence Alma Tadema

After a trip through the eastern provinces, in December 215 he arrived in Alexandria. The Alexandrians, outraged by the death of emperor Geta, began to public perform plays of satire mocking Caracalla and in which they called empress mother "Jocasta." According to the famous legend, Jocasta was the mother of Oedipus who, after killing his father, had married his own mother. Upon discovering this his wrath was such that ordered a massive executions. Caracalla attacked the city with his troops for several days, in a kind of personal war against Alexandria.

Unexpected death

Gold medal bust of Caracalla with the shield of Alexander the Great. By Sailko /CC BY 3.0 /wikimedia commons.

In 216 he offered King Artabanus IV of Parthia to marry his daughter, but the king rejected the offer. Caracalla took advantage of this "snub" to start a campaign against the Parthian empire. He began attacking the countryside east of the Tigris. This sudden decision by Caracalla was surprising and shocking at the time, as it was the first time in a century that a Roman emperor had led his troops toward expansionist purposes. According to historians, Caracalla had an obsessive admiration for Alexander the Great and wanted to emulate him by following his route.

In early 217 he was in Edessa (modern Şanlıurfa,Turkey) preparing to restart the campaign.

On April 8, 217, four days after his 29th birthday, he was traveling to a temple near Carras (Harran, southern Turkey) and the praetorian soldier Martialis assassinated him with his sword. According to historical sources, the Prefect of the Praetorian Guard, Macrinus commissioned him to assassination. Martialis was executed immediately after Caracalla's death, and three days later Macrinus proclaimed himself emperor.

Empress Julia Domna was in Antioch, upon learning of the assassination decided to take her own life.

This seems like the end of The Severan dynasty, however it wasn't. Julia Maesa, older sister of Julia Domna, was a strong lady.

In her hometown, Emessa, where Macrino had forced her to return, she took advantage of the fact that it was a place with an important military base. She organized with the legions a war against the usurper Macrinus. She placed his grandson Elagabalus on the throne on May of 218. Macrinus, who had fled to Cappadocia, was executed two months later. After the death of Elagabalus, the other grandson of Julia Maesa, Alexander Severus, ruled until 235.

"I know that none of you like what I do, that's why I have weapons and troops: so that at no time do I have to worry about what you say about me." -Caracalla to the Senate

Emperor Caracalla. Marble. Acquired from Rome, Italy, in 1875. Altes Museum, Berlin. Photo: Osama Shukir Muhammed Amin FRCP (Glasg) CC BY-SA 4.0- Wikimedia Commons

He is known as 'Caracalla' because that is what the Romans called a Gallic garment with a hood that they say this emperor didn't take off even to sleep.