#wildly historical inaccurate

[twojamie-o-clock]

im just gonna ,,,,

[2nd2ndalto]

here is a smol ides of march au

Leo taps Nico’s leg with the flat of his gladius. “Look sharp, di Angelo, the big boss is coming through,” he mutters. 

Nico shifts from where he’d been slumped against the wall of the Forum, pulling himself to his full (yes, really) height and tipping up his chin. It’s his least favorite time of day to be on guard; the midday sun is beating down on the stone walls and the gravel at his feet, and the damn helmet isn’t helping matters. He couldn’t find his own this morning, so he’s wearing Reyna’s, and it keeps sliding down his sweaty forehead.

Nico half-listens to the conversation as Caesar and his companions draw nearer.

“Forget not, in your speed, Antonius, to touch Calpurnia; for our elders say the barren, touched in this holy chase, shake off this sterile curse,” Caesar says, characteristically self-important. 

Leo quirks an eyebrow at Nico, and Nico tries not to laugh. 

Then, “Caesar!” someone calls. The voice is creaky, ethereal. Nico shivers. 

The general stops short, his entire entourage grinding to a halt around him. One of them knocks into Leo, then grabs Nico’s shoulder to steady himself. Nico grits his teeth. 

“Who is it in the press that calls on me?” Caesar asks, imperious. “I hear a tongue, shriller than all the music cry, ‘Caesar!’ Speak; Caesar is turned to hear.”

Nico lets out a long breath. Why use two words when two dozen will suffice? The longer this exchange takes, the longer he has to stand here, pin-straight in this stupid fucking sweaty tunic. 

“Beware the Ides of March,” croons that same spooky-sounding voice, and a tall figure draws forward. It must be a man, Nico supposes, if only from the height. The figure is robed in sky blue, head covered, his back to Leo and Nico. 

Nico’s mind wanders to the gnawing hunger in his stomach, the blisters on his sandaled feet. The heat on his armor is starting to make him feel as if he’s being slowly baked. A Nico panini, perhaps. 

“He is a dreamer!” Caesar announces suddenly, jolting Nico from his discomfort. “Let us leave him.”

Nico lets out a breath as the group in front of him begins to move once more. 

The man in blue - the soothsayer, Nico supposes, lingers. Once Caesar and the others are out of sight, he turns with a shrug. 

“They never listen.”

And his voice isn’t spooky, or ethereal. It’s light, easy. Nico blinks, surprised, taking in sparkling blue eyes, crinkled at the corners, a rueful half-smile. A spill of freckles, several blond curls peeking out around the edges of his hood. The young man appears to be right around Nico’s age. 

And he’s hot.   

Next to Nico, Leo seems to be undergoing a similar journey of revelation. He steps forward, holding out a hand and offering a toothy grin. 

“Leo Valdez. It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Soothsayer, sir.” 

Nico rolls his eyes. 

The man in blue quirks a smile and takes the proffered hand. “Will Solace.” He steps back. 

“Fucking hot out here, isn’t it?” Will Solace says. He shoves down his hood, revealing a head of tousled blond curls, shining like gold in the sunlight, the blue in his robes reflected in his eyes. Nico feels a bit like he’s been punched in the face. In a really good way. 

“Sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” Will says, fixing his grin on Nico. 

“Nico. di Angelo,” Nico manages, extending a sweaty hand. Blue eyes catch on his and linger, curious.

“You sounded… different. Before,” Nico says.

Will’s grin goes wider, a bit sly. “I’ve been trying something new.”

“So it’s all an act, then?” Nico asks, curious, because… 

“Oh no,” Will shrugs. “He really does need to beware the Ides of March. I just find folks are more receptive to prophecy if I get a bit spooky with it. You know. Really lean into the drama of it all.” Will wiggles his fingers. 

Nico nods. “Caesar does have an… aura of death. A thick possibility of it.”

“Nico,” Leo complains. But Will quirks an eyebrow, regarding Nico with more interest, a quick once-over and a half-step closer. 

“You know, I might have a prophecy for you,” he tells Nico. 

“Yeah?”

Will touches two fingers to his temple, closes his eyes, a flutter of dark blond eyelashes against freckled cheeks. “Yes. I see you, having dinner with me. Tonight.” Will’s voice has gone spooky again, but it’s edged with something warmer now.  

“Good grief,” Leo mutters. 

Nico nods. “Interesting. Do you see yourself picking me up at eight, maybe?”

“You know, I do,” Will grins “You’re good at this.”

“Maybe after dinner I can show you what else I’m good at,” Nico counters. 

Will waggles his eyebrows. “I foresee that I would enjoy that.”

They exchange details, and Will replaces his hood as he leaves, winking at Nico before turning to stroll away. 

“That was disgusting,” Leo says flatly.  

“Hey,” Nico shrugs, grinning, wondering if he can convince Jason to take his shift tomorrow morning. “There's no use fighting the power of prophecy.”

~~~~

Many thanks to @anything-thats-rock-and-roll for the quick beta & for enabling this ridiculousness

[chicago-geniza]

Oh my gd Bridgerton is really doing a "Regency-era fake dating AU" plotline...this show is SO dumb...there are Pride & Prejudice fanfictions everywhere for those with eyes to see...also there's an early 19th-century Gossip Girl? I need to read more bad romance novels I love stupid shit like this

[vonkarma2]

do you think werewolf castle would be divorced enough from history to stop the characters from being recognisable or do you reckon imad and matthew ever got called into the writers room to fact check

all the character names we know from werewolf castle have nothing to do with the historical figures, and if it’s this universe’s game of thrones parody I feel like it’s playing pretty fast and loose with the history it’s based on. there’s one character that’s blatantly the king + a couple that are similar if you squint but mostly they straight up made all of this up. very culturally insensitive

[sweetened-condensed-rage]

I feel like the writer aesthetic™️ is either like:

Academia, reads classic lit, always well dressed, pencil/pen and paper, probably writes in cursive

Or:

Same song on repeat for an hour, running off goldfish and dopamine, hasn't read anything other than fanfiction in ages, wearing the pair of cargo pants for a week

[frereamour]

some of the fliers in shanghai have pinyin on them...which would be impossible. it should have been the beloathed wade-giles

[uwuspaceboy]

guys........i feel like gladiator is overrated......

[ohhgingersnaps]

47 on your Spotify wrapped? :)

Thanks for asking!! Here you go:

[giuseppe-yuki]

lovers in every timeline

carlos sainz x reader

w.c.: 3.6k

warnings: reference to sex, curse words, probably wildly inaccurate historical portrayals, mentions of death

summary: where, when, how - did it really matter as long as you were in his arms?

a/n: happy valentine's day!! sending hearts, kisses, and flowers to everyone :)) mwah <3 💋 -anais

picture credits from pinterest :)

rome, 80 CE

"carlos!" you whisper, head peeking through a crack in the decorated bronze door.

a gold gladiator's helmet, complete with a crimson-dyed plume, stares back at you, from its spot on a crudely carved wooden desk across from the door. a man's figure is outlined by the sun streaming through the windows in the well lit room, back facing you. he fiddles with a leather strap holding his sleek golden armour chest-plate together.

when he hears the lilt of your singsong voice, he whips around, as fast as an horse.

carlos' familiar face splits into a grin when he sees you in the doorway.

"venus mea!" he gasps, abandoning his original task of tightening his armour, and hurriedly crossing the room to greet you.

the pads of his worn, but still soft fingers brush against the back of your neck as his lips attaches themselves to your own. maybe it's the lengthy time you spent away from him, but he tastes sweeter than normal, like honeyed wine or sun-ripened grapes.

a giddy smile stays on your face when you both pull away to regain the breaths that were stolen from your lungs.

feeling a like you need a bit more, you reach out a finger to trace the molded gold plating that accentuated the muscles on his body. "so - carlitos, what did you think about my letters?" you ask, reaching out a finger to trace the molded gold plating that accentuated the muscles on his body.

it's a loaded question, of course, considering the contents of the said letters you had sent him during his time starting as gladiator had a few intimate descriptions that would probably make your own mother faint.

"i- i-" he starts, most likely thinking of the sentences that your reed pens had inked into the papyrus in the dead of night when you were longing for his touch.

you take pleasure in watching the pupils in his golden brown eyes enlarge as your hand moves closer and closer to-

carlos suddenly grasps your hand and pulls it away before you can touch him like you so desperately want to.

"i have my- my duel in the colosseum soon- the emperor commands me to-"

the way he shakes lightly, as if holding back his urges, betrays his words as he holds your gold jewelry covered hand an arm's length away from himself.

you rescind your hand, pouting at his words. yes, you understood he had to focus for the upcoming duel, but you also haven't seen him for so long.

as if to distract himself from your persuasive wiles, he turns his attention back to adjusting his leather buckle and slipping his iconic golden helmet onto his head.

"after," he promises, talking your hand and pressing a chaste kiss to it. "it'll be quick anways - some rookie gladiator named olivarious - and then we can do like you said in those letters."

you laugh. he always thought like a winner.

"i will be waiting, my champion."

england, 1066 CE

"carlos sainz vasquez de castro," your court herald announces, voice echoing through the gilded throne room. "duke of-"

"yes, yes," you say flippantly, waving your hand dismissively. "i know- thanks."

you turn your attention back to the man in front of you.

magically, the heavy, jewel-encrusted crown atop your head stays still when you move forward in your plush seat to peer at him. the strands of pearls on your neck along with your ruby earrings clack against one another as you shift.

it is obvious the way his eyes rake over your body, no doubt taking into account the countless priceless jewels hanging from your body, along with your gown made the most expensive silks in europe.

you watch with amusement from your platformed throne as he bows deeply, the gold awards lining his own furs and rich patterned clothing clinking.

"your majesty," he addresses you in a lilting, accented tone.

a slight nod from your head approves his presence.

"what to you have to offer me, lord carlos?"

he snaps his fingers, and one of his advisors hurry over with a bottle.

one of your own advisors gently takes it from carlos' hands, before making his way up the carpeted stairs and places it in your awaiting arms.

upon closer inspection, it's entirely made of pink-tinted glass, complete with a heart made entirely of rare red glass. it must have cost a fortune to make, but you knew carlos didn't lack such money.

"rose and lavender perfume," he explains. "only the best for your majesty."

gently, you pull the cork off, and waft the smell of the perfume towards your face.

the entire court awaits your reaction.

when the scent of the perfume registers in your brain, you realize the perfume isn't rose or lavender at all. instead, it's a familiar honey and vanilla - the same refined cologne smell as a certain duke that you often had naked and twisted in your sheets.

from your spot on your throne, you can see carlos' eyes twinkle mischievously, as he knows he is the only person that can get away with putting his own cologne in a bottle and gift it to the queen.

"lovely," you note aloud. "the rose fragrance balances quite nicely with the lavender."

carlos nods, satified, before leaving the court with a bow to you and with his advisors in tow.

the court bursts into chatters, most likely your ladies in waiting discussing how to get their hands on their own rose and lavender perfume scents.

as you begin to suggest a walk in the gardens to discuss some "important political treaties" with lord carlos, the herald next to you clears his throat.

your head snaps towards him, annoyed at him for cutting you off.

"your- your majesty," he stutters out, unused to the burden of your attention. "but- you have a lunch planned with his majesty the king on the upcoming banquet- i don't think it's wise to-"

"are you telling me how to run my court?" you snap at him, all of a sudden filled with a rage.

his eyes widen as the court goes silent. licking his dry lips nervously, he shakes his head.

"no, no, your majesty, i was just- a suggestion- please-"

"alright, you're dismissed," you say quickly, not wanting to hear his pathetic excuses. "ladies, help me to 'the garden.'"

even with your pounds of jewelry and expensive silks weighing you down, you float quite elegantly out of the throne room with the help of a few of your ladies-in-waiting.

they stay mostly silent as you walk towards a door decorated with bunches of painted flowers and greenery. before you open the door, seraphina, one of your younger ladies-in-waiting, touches your arm lightly. "your grace, you mustn't," she cries. "the king- if he catches you this time, he'll-"

the implications of her words hang heavy in the air.

you shrug them off, however.

"i don't give a damn. i will lay with who i please," you state plainly.

when you push the door open, exactly who you expect is laying on the velvet covers.

carlos breezes over to you, one hand automatically fluttering towards the cotton ties of your corset.

"my queen," he breathes into your ear, gently untying the knots that your ladies-in-waiting had painstakingly tied hours before.

florence, 1492 CE

"carlos, is his name." your maestro states. "he will be our model this workshop."

you pick up your charcoal as he continues to lecture on three-dimensionality, chiaroscuro, and how that it could be applied when sketching models like carlos.

the other students in the class listen aptly to your maestro, eyes trained on how he waves his hand over the way the model's hair fluffs up a certain way, creating shadows, or how the curve of the model's jaw is excellent for practice in drawing three-demensionality.

you know, of course. without looking up, you know how to sketch the soft strands of his dark brown-black hair, how to shape out his thick eyebrows and stupidly big chocolate brown eyes, how to outline his pillowy pink lips, etch the light stubble on his chin and jawline, how to trace his thick neck, how map out the bulging muscles on his arms and abdomen, how to illustrate his long fingers that were dusted with hair, and how to draw the way his loose breeches hang around his hips.

you know because you've drawn him hundreds of times for practice, sprawled on your shared bed, reading underneath a tree, or even playing with his puppy, piñon. you know, because, well, he's yours.

when your maestro lights the waxy white taper candle to lighten up the rapidly darkening room, only then do you dare peer over your canvas to look at the model.

carlos looks back at you with a sparkle in his eyes.

he can't move, of course, to ensure accuracy and detail for the other artists. but the way he twitches his eyebrow at you automatically makes a soft smile spread across your face.

the candle flickers, half-way burnt, but still stays kindled when you start mixing your oil paints to create the perfect shades for your shadow and three dimensional study.

by the time the nub of a candle wavers and flutters out into a waft of smoke, the stars have begun to show in the sky, visible from the open window behind carlos. your maestro and the other students have already went home hours ago, half-done canvases littering the room.

when it's clear you are finished, carlos finally moves from his spot.

"you're not going to say anything about me modeling today?" he asks, head tilting like piñon when he's confused.

your silence speaks volumes.

"i know, i know, you're just jealous that the other painters will be looking at me and making paintings of me that are going to hang in some famous collectors' private collection," he jokes, making you roll your eyes.

"mine is better anyways," you say bluntly, rolling your canvas around for carlos to see.

he is about to make another joke, but his eyes grow wide at your artwork, practically glowing in the moonlight.

"is that- is that me?" he whispers, hands barely skating over the still-wet oil paint slathered on the canvas.

you crack a smile at his reaction.

"no, i actually decided to paint my secret lover that looks suspiciously like you but not quite," you shoot back.

unfazed, he still stares, wide eyed, at the practically lifelike strands of hair on his portrait, and meticulously drawn eyes that look like they were about to blink back at him. the painting-carlos gazes gently at the audience - a look of love - accompanied with a knowing smirk painted across his face.

walking over to stand by him, you press a kiss to the side of the real-carlos.

"this is how i see you- whenever you look at me," you say gently. "maybe now you can see how you look from my point of view."

caribbean sea, 1717 CE

"carlos!" alex groans exaggeratedly. "mpphh! please!"

you feel your cheeks heat up at the sound of alex's mocking words.

"that is exactly how you both sounded last night when i was trying to get some beauty sleep!" he snaps. "i could barely get through handling the ropes and almost fell off the crow's nest because i didn't get enough sleep!" he continues, rubbing at his eyes as if to prove his point.

carlos' strong arms loop around your waist and squeezes you comfortingly from your spot perched on his lap.

as alex continues his rant about how it should be plain decency to do your "nasty copulation" 500 miles away from the nearest human instead of one wall away, carlos graciously allows you to bury your face into the crook of his neck in embarrassment.

maybe that's why franco purposefully avoided eye contact with you this morning and logan hurried past you when you tried asking him a question about rations.

"whatever cabron," carlos shoots back. "you're just jealous you didn't have enough guts to talk to that stupid british sailor i know you were eyeing up at port last week."

hearing this, alex leaps up from his place on a barrel near the middle of the room starts to storm over to carlos' place on a crudely carved wooden chair propped at the back of the room.

carlos doesn't move an inch, knowing that although alex was tall and dangerous looking with his sword hanging in his scabbard, there was no way he would dare swing at carlos and his girl.

"he's not stupid- you're fucking stupid." he retorts. "and, by the way, just in case you were too dumb to comprehend, his name is geo-"

"enough!" a voice speaks up from the doorway.

you turn to find captain james, standing there, looking more pissed than you had ever seen before.

"why are we fighting??"

carlos speaks up.

"alex started it! i did absolutely nothing!"

enraged, alex snips back.

"well, i was just making an statement on how rude it was for carlos and his girlfriend to be fuc-"

"alright, alright, alex, you can stop right there," james cuts in before the conversation starts heating up again. "carlos, go take your girl and go clean the deck while i talk to alex."

happy to leave the conversation, carlos leaps up, simultaneously grabbing you from your place on his knee to throwing you over his shoulder.

you squeal something about your dress flipping up, while carlos laughs, leaving a seething alex and a slightly annoyed captain james vowles.

practically only one slab of wood on the whole deck gets cleaned before you both give up, and instead sit at the edge of the ship underneath the stars. they glitter like diamonds, winking like they knew some secret that mere mortals like you weren't allowed know.

next to you, carlos is close enough where you can feel his body heat around your body and the slight pitter-patter of his heart. the steady rhythm lulls you in slowly, making your eyes droop lower, lower-

"i have something for you," carlos says suddenly, breaking the silence.

you force your eyes to pry open.

from his pocket, your boyfriend extracts a heart-shaped object.

your eyes fly open, all traces of sleep erased when you realize what is in his hand. a pure ruby, shaped like a heart. in the corner sits five bluntly carved letters, "c s v d c" - his initals.

when carlos slips it into your hands, you hold it tight, like it could disappear at any moment. even in the faint moonlight, it glows a deep red, redder than the curling edges of bonfires, redder than any pomegranate-rind red dye, and redder than the blood of those you both have slayed.

"you didn't kill anyone to get this, did you?" you ask, half-joking and half-not.

carlos snickers.

"of course not, mi amor- i'm not a monster," he replies, as if he didn't just kill a man with his own bare hands a few days ago in a raid when the a shopkeeper tried laying his hands on you. "i simply slipped it into my pocket when the stupid merchant at the port wasn't looking.

you smile at him, as wide as you can, and press a rough kiss to his stubbled cheek.

he hums contently, patting your hands where you clutch at the rare gem.

"so, god forbid, if one day i am gone, you will still know my heart stays with you."

monaco, current times

"carlos sainz and his girlfriend have approached the building," you hear a suited bodyguard hiss into a walkie-talkie.

you roll your eyes. they were always sooo dramatic. monaco was basically chock full of the world's richest and most talented stars. who really gave a fuck if carlos sainz and his girlfriend were visiting a museum on a tuesday afternoon??

even the valet guy seemed unphased as carlos handed him the keys to his daytona sp3.

the museum's state of the art white exterior looms over you both as you approach the front door, advertising the latest special collections: the formula racing collection and the lovers collection.

"the lover's collection seem pretty cool," you note as carlos opens the door for you to pass through. "but, we can obviously also visit the racing collec-"

"carlos sainz and his girlfriend are inside the building," the suited bodyguard practically screams into his walkie-talkie, having somehow appeared inside the building without you both realizing.

carlos glares at him.

"what the hell is your problem, dude? can we look around in peace please?"

under both you and carlos' watchful eyes, the bodyguard squints suspiciously before sliding away out of view.

"anyways," your boyfriend says, sounding exasperated, "yeah, we can of course visit the lover's collection first- if you'd like!"

after a few wrong turns into a rather interesting exhibit on dung beetles, and an eye-opening one about jellyfish, you finally turn into a large room decorated with pink, red, silver, and white decorations, a scattering of hearts, and a banner announcing:" the lover's collection."

many families stroll around, looking at the multiple collections, so you decide to check out the first part of the exhibit that was open: several pieces of papyrus papers drenched in blank inked letters.

honestly, the papyrus looked like it is on the cusp of disintegration and the ink looked like it was one blow away from flying off the paper, so it was good that it was housed under a sturdy pane of glass.

as you admire the precise strokes of the latin letters on the scroll, carlos strays to the side and looks carefully on the the exhibition label hidden under a sheet of paper that is labelled ominously, "warning, letter translations."

he takes one look before turning an alarming scarlett red shade.

"are you- are you okay?" you ask, wondering what was possibly on the paper for him to turn redder than ferrari's livery.

"er, yeah," he says, gesturing awkwardly at the letter translations.

you take a peek.

oh. maybe his reaction was reasonable.

at the top, it clarifies that they were letters from a young woman, in roman times, to her gladiator lover.

the first letter starts, my dear, i lay here thinking of you with my hand between my thig-

you put the warning sign back atop the museum label, feeling a bit embarrassed as well.

"my nickname might be chili, but that was a little bit too spicy for me..." your boyfriend jokes, trying to dispel the awkwardness.

"let us just move on to the next one, shall we?" you declare, dragging carlos to the next piece on display - a pale pink perfume bottle.

the museum label isn't covered this time, thank god.

it reads, this perfume bottle belonged to a queen in the 1060s. it was gifted to her by a duke in her court. it is presumed they were lovers. however, they were both beheaded by order of the king several years later for unknown reasons. to the side, you can smell a recreation of the scent that was in the bottle. it was said to be rose and lavender scented perfume.

"interesting," carlos notes. he leans forwards towards the display case where it says, "smell here" in big letters.

you lean forward by default too, taking a waft of the perfume.

"weird," you comment. "that lowkey smells like honey and vanilla, but maybe that's just me."

carlos just shrugs.

"i thought that smelled like my cologne i use back home in madrid, so maybe we are both wrong."

before long, you arrive at a third piece of renaissance art on display. it's a man, looking longingly- or is it lovingly? towards the audience, mouth curved in a mischievous smile. several people take pictures, and there is even an art student sketching it into her notebook.

the subject of the painting has dark hair and dark eyes, reminding you a little of-

"carlos, don't you think that guy in the painting looks like you?"

your boyfriend turns around towards you, having been momentarily distracted by a stray silver heart balloon floating up to the ceiling.

"huh?" he says, looking over.

he takes a few seconds to give the painting a once-over before responding.

"do i look like that?" he questions, looking towards you. "the-" he points towards the figure- "the hair and the expression and everything?"

"um, lightly brushed by melancholy?" you state in an obvious tone, "uh, yeah!"

carlos flashes you a weird look.

"if you say so."

you both move on to one of the last displays - an enormous pure ruby heart, with a crude carving of "c s v d c" on the corner.

"assumed gift from a pirate sailor to an unknown person, theorized to be a lover. his initials are carved on the ruby heart. uncovered from a shipwreck on a caribbean island," carlos reads from the plaque.

"that's kind of tragic," you remark. "the pirate sailor's name- well, his initals- lives on but whoever his lover is will never be known again."

carlos frowns.

"yeah, that is kind of sad," he expresses. "i wonder what his name was though.. c. s. v. d. c..."

the intials click in your head the same time it does in his.

"holy cow, what if his name was carlos sainz vasquez de castro??" he just about yells, earning a few glares from a few guests nearby.

you shush him hurriedly.

"okay, carlos, mr. tinfoil theorist- like you would ever survive being a pirate. besides, it probably stands for clueless, stubborn, very dull carlos."

"hey!" he yelps, clearly offended, before you have to drag him out of "the lover's exhibition" before he causes he scene.

"anyways," he sniffs exaggeratedly, when you both change courses towards the formula racing exhibition, "i'm just going to pretend you didn't just call me clueless, stubborn, and very dull."

he turns towards you, suddenly becoming serious. "i'm glad though, that we saw that. there were so many lifetimes- i'm glad i met you in this one."

taglist: @ellelabelle

[toxx-apex-727]

If you do it I wanna fucking watch

You better not do it without me or even record it. Pls <3

Hey while in the castle, maybe see if you can find the team plasma musical. The script should still exist.

Early on into their 'campaign', they wrote a musical about the two brothers who first partnered with Zekrom and Reshiram. The thing was apparently bullshit, leaving out Kyurem and glossing over the war and that they killed each other, and of course the whole thing was a thinly veiled propaganda piece about the one true king and the tyranny of Pokeballs.

Nimbasa theatre threw them out as soon as they saw it, but I heard from a friend Team plasma kept the original copy. Could be worth finding, either for a laugh or to burn, depending on the feeling I guess.

if we find that script, we're getting blasted and putting on the show of a lifetime

[callmrmorrow]

to make up for my last post, here’s what i think the invincible characters would do as content creators

mark grayson/invincible: comic book channel who analyzes and breaks down different in-world comics, particularly seance dog. very critical. has those really dumb cheesy thumbnails of his jaw hanging while he points at the new issue in blatant shock. is on youtube. think star wars theory but with less alt-right pipeline bs. has a somewhat decent following

nolan grayson/omniman: this motherfucker hates social media and thinks it is one of the most moronic things to come out of humanity. has a twitter account to post about his books, only follows his wife and son (maybe his publisher) but doesn’t like mark’s tweets bc they’re mostly complaining, flaming, or talking about comic books (average male teen activities)

debbie grayson: house hunters for superheroes, or maybe closer to selling sunset with the entire company? could sell you a house with two murder victims on the floor ten feet away from you. if it’s something like selling sunset, she’s definitely the most popular with the fans because she’s super humble, competent, and shockingly compassionate on the camera. has a couple superfans who are largely middle-aged men and the occasional teenage girl (she has to manually block them on nolan’s phone; i imagine he’s not insecure but maybe a bit possessive)

amber bennett: probably runs a tiktok account on social justice topics. might have a tumblr or some other online blog where she breaks down current events and shares petitions for world betterment. anything but performative, frequently starts or attends protests for various causes. insanely well-spoken, lots of posts about her work at the soup kitchen, and you just know she donates money to everyone who pops up on her feed. such a good person it almost makes you feel like you’re not doing enough (and that’s lowkey the point).

eve wilkins/atom eve: science tutoring on youtube. faceless, think like khan academy, but has voiceovers. covers simple to super advanced stuff in a very understandable format that made her super popular. its some shit like “atomswitheve,” and it’s wildly popular but she literally never talks about it #humblequeen. while she and rex were dating, she let him edit a video and came back to like six explosions superimposed over chemical formulas.

the immortal: fucking history channel but it’s all about things he’s actually experienced, but nobody fucking believes him. voiceovers a slideshow of images. incredibly boring, comments are full of people saying “source” and he replies “I was there.” but again… no one believes him. a couple college professors cite his videos for historical inaccuracy — and they are inaccurate because immortal has an ego, but his content is actually closer than other firsthand accounts because he survived most of the stuff (and remembers it well).

oliver grayson: debbie screens his online time so he doesn’t go all ultron (we all know this motherfucker has little care for human life). mostly posts skating stuff or gaming clips that aren’t particularly good. does not get much traction but mark is always in his comments hyping him up, but he’s always wrong about what tricks oliver performs; it’s become a habit for oliver to march up to mark and say “this was actually a nollie inward heelflip you MORON”

rex splode: runs his own fan account that has like 7 posts of the druski dance with himself and captions like “yes i’m rex splode, yes i’m the best guardian, yes i bagged atom eve, yes i can defeat omni man, did i mention i can defeat omni man?” relatively popular. does tiktok live reactions of WWE fights — since he’s not wearing his costume, no one knows who he is — or anything else that his viewers submit. got cancelled twice but nobody seems to care, least of all him.

shrinking rae: runs a youtube account that is like… emulating one of those “day in the life of a [insert occupation] student” videos where she just kind of pretends to be normal. also makes cooking videos, videos about cleaning her apartment, self-care tips and tricks for young women (can’t imagine she got a lot of advice from her gung-ho superhero parents), and study habits for struggling college students. she kind of pretends to be who she wants to be irl.

kate cha: lowkey a music producer, since all her clones just play different instruments or harmonize with each other. she doesn’t get a lot of chances to do it with her hero work, but releases nothing but bangers when she can. featured rex yelling at her for cheating on him as an intro for one of her songs (like that one guy on tiktok) and it blew up. has a lot of songs about death, which most think is odd (important to remember she’s died a lot).

cecil stedman: does NOT post on social media and i can’t think of a world where he would. but if he did, it’s probably just a fake bot account that reposts pro-government propaganda. “more funding for the GDA” “cecil was right” “lets double the US defense budget” he’s the kind of guy to like everything on his fyp just to throw off the algorithm.

i do have more but this post is getting too long for most people’s (including me) low attention spans. will do a part 2 with requested characters if this is well-received

[youarenotthewalrus]

Reading The Song of Roland and y'know it's nice to read an Ancient, Respected Classic that's just. Trash. A jingoistic action movie. The 11th century equivalent of 300, a historical war depicted in a wildly inaccurate and propagandistic way as an excuse for buff macho warriors to face off against poorly-researched stereotypes of foreign enemies and then kill them in spectacularly violent and improbable ways. You want depth? Nuance? Timeless themes that still speak to the common human experience nearly a thousand years later? Fuck you. You'll take Charlemagne's nephew cutting a Saracen in half with his sword and you'll like it.

[kalpeavaris]

welcome to the brainrot rambles of an Wild West!AU for Murder Drones... yeehaw bitches It's called "Spirits Of The West" :] And it also has a Playlist & a Pinterest Board!

I gotta preface this with: This AU is not meant to be a 100% historically accurate depiction of the Wild West/the 1890s (where the story is set). A lot of it is fictive in nature (otherwise it'd be... a bit boring) and I'm not American, so most of my knowledge about the Wild West comes from sources of different kinds and sadly not locally. Though if anythings wildly inaccurate (to the point where fiction doesn't excuse the inaccuracy) I'm 100% open for corrections/sources to learn from!

Anyway, yapping time :] Below I'll introduce every rough concept I already got for the characters depicted! (I also got Nori & Uzi sketches ready but... they're not colored yet)

[ Cynthia Morgan ]

"They say she rides with the devil." -Outsiders

Cynthia, or just known as 'Cyn', is an Outlaw that had made a name for herself. Often called "The Pale Viper" she's known for striking fast and for striking silently, often coming and going before her appearance was picked up. Some would call her a ghost, a demon, Satan's right hand, whatever fits their feeble minds, but in reality Cyn is moreso a spirit. She's said to appear on a horse as white as freshly fallen snow on an early April's morning, pestilence and death following soon. Those who see her deem her as a bad omen, while others take her visual appearence as a blessing.

[ Tessa James Elliott ]

As the first and only child of the Elliott Railway Company she's bound to be the heir of her fathers legacy... to his dismay. Though she is spoiled through her upbringing, Tessa is far from being unjust or unfair to those around her, treating people with respect even though she might not be aware that no respect in the world can remove class prejudice that seperates her family from their servants and farm hands. Her life got turned upside down when one evening a badly hurt Outlaw took shelter in their stables, being found by the young lady of the house. Expecting to be shooed away the Outlaw begged, and Tessa - with all her worry - couldn't bring herself to decline the Outlaws plea for help. It would turn out that said Outlaw was Jemima, a young cowgirl from the Plains. Nurturing her back to health Tessa finds herself enamored with the woman and her lifestyle, eventually running away from home with Jemima after getting her back to health.

[ Jemima & Nathan ]

Jemima grew up as an orphan, leaving the orphanage she was assigned to at age 16 and running off into the Plains. She was lucky despite her circumstances, following a group of wandering cowboys in search for work, proving her strenght and willingness to work in a world where women would often be seen as inferior in their physical performance. She made a name for herself, often being called "The Eye" for her great sight work, spotting dangers and game during hunting trips from further away. During her 20s she participated in a bank robbery gone wrong with the gang, causing her to be shot and injured but managing to get away, only to seek shelter at the Elliott farmhouse - and meeting Tessa.

Nathan himself is a farm hand at the Elliott estate himself. Like Jemima, he was an orphaned boy, his parents took by tuberculosis during his early childhood. After failing to be adopted he opted to find a stable job when he turned 17, running away from the orphanage to make a name for himself and some money. Luckily, he managed to meet Tessa, who was more than willing to put in a good word with her parents to allow Nathan to work on their farm. Proving himself, Nathan was able to keep the position... until a certain Outlaw crossed his way.

[transmutationisms]

i think more historical fiction films should be wildly inaccurate rpf actually. i think this would improve public discourse, as well as be funny, for watching purposes

[icarusbetide]

why it's okay that hamilton the musical is terribly inaccurate

i'm feverish so none of this will make any sense, but i wanted to get it down somewhere before i lose all train of thought. a lot of hamilton the musical's discrepancies with the historical record make sense if you remind yourself that it's inherently meta. it's equally about our perception of these figures and their legacies than the figures themselves. not sure how much of that is deliberate - i would argue a fair amount, since the play is literally haunted by history. "history has its eyes on you", "history obliterates", "who lives who dies who tells your story". and that's going to bleed into their musical characterization and relationships. the musical exaggerates and caricatures them, and is self-aware of its tamperings. the way burr as a narrator expresses the same frustrations we feel, not being in the room where it happened. how it puts words into eliza's mouth and speculates that she burned the letters because of the reynolds pamphlet, and she wanted to keep it from us.

alexander hamilton was not jumpy, awkward, and incredibly abrasive in real life. he was all accounts charming, and apparently even aloof in certain situations. but his writing was aggressive, heavy-handed. we all know when that led to disaster. his written work aka his largest legacy informs the character we see.

same thing with burr. it's really funny because musical burr is so shy and quiet compared to his real-life counterpart who was charming, popular with the ladies, and very hilariously unhinged. but it makes sense. because when we think of burr, we think of a guy who doesn't believe in anything, who quietly slipped through the political parties, etc. and that's the personality he carries.

and that's why washington plays a different role in hamilton compared to washington in turn. we aren't supposed to get close to him, seeing his temper or his flaws. washington in the musical is always above everyone else, spectating. he's even in the background of "my shot", watching hamilton contemplatively before nodding and slipping away. obviously he wouldn't have been aware of hamilton during the new york pamphlet era; most likely he wasn't serving as a father figure during hamilton's wedding, fixing his collar. but historically, washington's quiet support did allow hamilton to move forward with his political goals - in the musical that bleeds into their personal relationship and physical staging. he's often looming over hamilton in some way. i'd even say that some people very convincely argue that in hamilton's perspective, washington is the most important person in the musical. he's the person hamilton is most often watching. and washington probably was the most important relationship hamilton cultivated.

probably the most egregious example would be jefferson, whose shy personality is not explored at all in the musical. but the cock-fighting, taunting, flamboyant jefferson next to hamilton on stage? that's their political, newspaper rivalry for sure. they have to be seen as equals, and in a musical format, that means jefferson needs to be hamilton's equal in rapping, fighting.

i mean, the entire plot follows the relationship of alexander and aaron burr over the years in a parallel doom situation. it's probably wildly inaccurate! burr wasn't hamilton's first friend, and though they did work together and were apparently on good terms for some time, i doubt burr lived his life obsessively following hamilton's career. but our understanding and speculation on their relationship is heavily influenced by their end - and so the musical versions of the characters seem pre-ordained to reach weehawken. burr has to be in hamilton's shadow, burr has to believe in hamilton's greatness more faithfully than any other character; their fates have to be tied together, because they are tied together in death. you'll never be able to separate alexander hamilton from aaron burr.

and musical burr knows that. he knows history obliterates, and the picture it will paint. hamilton's so much a play about how we try to rationalize/dig into these human people that we unfortunately will never really know. i still think there are flaws that weren't deliberate, but that's another story.

i'll probably elaborate/edit this later. it's already a shitton of run-on sentences lmaoo.

[shadysadie]

Hot take: the Wittebanes were not Puritans

So since Hollow Mind came out there have been a lot of jokes about how the Belos is a crusty old Puritan. And while he is certainly crusty and old, I don’t think he was a Puritan.

I understand why everyone jumps there, when we think of Witch Hunts in Colonial America the very first thing that comes to mind is the Salem Witchcraft Trials. However, the Salem Witchcraft Trials began in 1692, that is 80 years after Masha says the Wittebros showed up in Gravesfield, and 30 years after the events of Elsewhere and Elsewhen.

If Masha’s information is correct, (which it might not be but we’ll get to that) then Caleb and Philip arrived in Gravesfield in 1613, which is closer in time to the settlement of Jamestown (1607) than the Salem Witchcraft Trials. 

The Pilgrims didn’t even land at pride rock until 1620, seven years after the Wittebros arrived in Gravesfield. The Mayflower Pilgrims were really the group responsible for creating the idea of religious charters. They specifically wanted to leave England to create their own religious society. Many other groups followed, (notably the Massachusetts Bay Colony, which later became the home of the aforementioned Salem Witchcraft Trials) but the Mayflower Pilgrims were the first group of religious extremists who came to America looking for their Zion. 

Prior to that, the motivation to settle the “New World” was mainly financial. Ships were chartered through the Virginia Company. Which as we all remember from our favorite wildly inaccurate and problematic 90s Disney movie, the Virginia Company was in it for the money. The New World had resources and Britian wanted them, damnit, Glory, God, and Gold and the Virginia Company.

That meant, if Caleb and Philip really did arrive in Gravesfield in 1613, their family likely made the trip for financial gain, not religion. If that’s the case they were less likely a member of an obscure group of religious extremists, and more likely to be either Protestant like King James and Queen Elizabeth. (They could have also been Roman Catholic, evidence for that comes later).

“But”, you say, “weren’t Puritans the ones persecuting witches at the time?”

Yes and no. 

In the Americas, Witch Hunts will forever be linked to Puritans, but in Witch Hunting long outdates the Puritans. King James himself, was a witch hunting fanatic, he personally oversaw hundreds of witchtrials. He wrote books about finding witches, and it was specifically the King James endorse translation of the Bible that features the infamous “thou shalt not suffer a witch to live” (in many prior translations the word witch is something more along the line of “sinner” or “evil doer”). By many estimates, upwards of 1500 people were executed for witchcraft as a result of his reign. If we are going with Masha’s 1613 timeline, the brothers would have left England smack dab in the middle of his reign, right after the King James Bible was published.

(^this GIF has nothing to do with the Owl House, I just love sassy Gay King James in his bird mask, look at this cocky ass bastard, you know him and Belos would have been genocide buddies)

However, I can’t pretend to be focused on some semblance of historical accuracy and take Masha’s information at face value, even in the context of the show it wouldn’t add up because according to the sign we see in Yesterday’s Lie, Gravesfield was established in 1635. 

(Granted there is a difference between a settlement and a town, it is possible that 1635 was when Gravesfield was officially acknowledged as a town and the boys just lived there pre-establishment). 

However, in the name of historical accuracy, I have to assume Masha got the date wrong, because the English didn’t even settle in Conneticut until the 1630s. The Conneticut Witch Trials began in the 1640s. By this timeline and demographic, the likelihood of Caleb and Philip being Puritans goes up by a lot. 

However, if we look at Philip’s clothes an his goals, there are still signs that don’t point to Puritanism. First look at the clothes Caleb and Philip wear as children:

Philip’s pants are red and Calebs are green. While it is a myth that Puritans could only wear black, the colors that they were allowed to incorporate into their wardrobe were typically still neutrals (dark yellows and beiges). Green would be pushing it, and red would be unbelievably bold.

Additionally, the ruffles on Philip’s shirt in the journal and Jacob’s book, would have been seen as incredibly vain.

 The blue/black coat that Caleb wore in the puppet show, and Philip later wears in Elsewhere and Elsewhen and King’s Tide has gold buttons and gold embroidery. Gold and Silver accessories of any kind would have been considered incredibly sinful and conceited. 

Which would also make it really weird for a Puritan to choose gold to represent himself. Infact his whole emperor authentic is much more reminiscent of the Catholic Pope. His own role as the messenger of the Titan’s will is also very papal in nature.

Finally there is the term he uses, “Witch Hunter General” is an illusion to “Witch Finder General” which was a rank made up and used by Protestant Matthew Hopkins and not really used by any Puritans. Such a title would also probably have seemed pretty vain.

Now you might say, “It’s a fictional story, why does any of this matter?”

The answer is: It does not, but I am high and have ADHD and this was the rabbit hole I fell down.