#Hugo is a degenerate

[for-the-love-of-javert]

So I decided to indulge in some degenerate hours reading.

I have delved into ‘The Brick’ and so far so good. Some things I remember from years ago when I first read it as a teenager and some things I don’t remember. But I love how Hugo describes characters appearances. Though I have to say the physical description of Javert is not an attractive one. Poor dude can’t catch a break ffs. His description in ‘The Brick’ makes him sound like some kind of monster from an old Hammer Horror movie.

I think my future fanfics are going to be much kinder to him. Thank god for the musical and Philip Quast coming along and making Javert sexy.

[disabled-dragoon]

The Disability Library

I love books, I love literature, and I love this blog, but it's only been recently that I've really been given the option to explore disabled literature, and I hate that. When I was a kid, all I wanted was to be able to read about characters like me, and now as an adult, all I want is to be able to read a book that takes us seriously.

And so, friends, Romans, countrymen, I present, a special disability and chronic illness booklist, compiled by myself and through the contributions of wonderful members from this site!

As always, if there are any at all that you want me to add, please just say. I'm always looking for more!

Edit 20/10/2023: You can now suggest books using the google form at the bottom!

Updated: 31/08/2023

Articles and Chapters

The Drifting Language of Architectural Accessibility in Victor Hugo's Notre-Dame de Paris, Essaka Joshua, 2012

Early Modern Literature and Disability Studies, Allison P. Hobgood, David Houston Wood, 2017

How Do You Develop Whole Object Relations as an Adult?, Elinor Greenburg, 2019

Making Do with What You Don't Have: Disabled Black Motherhood in Octavia E. Butler's Parable of the Sower and Parable of the Talents, Anna Hinton, 2018

Necropolitics, Achille Mbeme, 2003 OR Necropolitics, Achille Mbeme, 2019

Wasted Lives: Modernity and Its Outcasts, Zygmunt Bauman, 2004

Witchcraft and deformity in early modern English Literature, Scott Eaton, 2020

Books

Fiction:

Misc:

10 Things I Can See From Here, Carrie Mac

A-F:

A Curse So Dark and Lonely, (Series), Brigid Kemmerer

Akata Witch, (Series), Nnedi Okorafor

A Mango-Shaped Space, Wendy Mass

Ancillary Justice, (Series), Ann Leckie

An Unkindness of Ghosts, Rivers Solomon

An Unseen Attraction, (Series), K. J. Charles

A Shot in the Dark, Victoria Lee

A Snicker of Magic, Natalie Lloyd

A Song of Ice and Fire, (series), George R. R. Martin

A Spindle Splintered, (Series), Alix E. Harrow

A Time to Dance, Padma Venkatraman

Bath Haus, P. J. Vernon

Beasts of Prey, (Series), Ayana Gray

The Bedlam Stacks, (Series), Natasha Pulley

Black Bird, Blue Road, Sofiya Pasternack

Black Sun, (Series), Rebecca Roanhorse

Blood Price, (Series), Tanya Huff

Borderline, (Series), Mishell Baker

Breath, Donna Jo Napoli

The Broken Kingdoms, (Series), N.K. Jemisin

Brute, Kim Fielding

Cafe con Lychee, Emery Lee

Carry the Ocean, (Series), Heidi Cullinan

Challenger Deep, Neal Shusterman

Cinder, (Series), Marissa Meyer

Clean, Amy Reed

Connection Error, (Series), Annabeth Albert

Cosima Unfortunate Steals A Star, Laura Noakes

Crazy, Benjamin Lebert

Crooked Kingdom, (Series), Leigh Bardugo

Daniel Cabot Puts Down Roots, (Series), Cat Sebastian

Daniel, Deconstructed, James Ramos

Dead in the Garden, (Series), Dahlia Donovan

Dear Fang, With Love, Rufi Thorpe

Deathless Divide, (Series), Justina Ireland

The Degenerates, J. Albert Mann

The Doctor's Discretion, E.E. Ottoman

Earth Girl, (Series), Janet Edwards

Everyone in This Room Will Someday Be Dead, Emily R. Austin

The Extraordinaries, (Series), T. J. Klune

The Extraordinary Education of Nicholas Benedict, (Series), Trenton Lee Stewart

Fight + Flight, Jules Machias

The Final Girl Support Group, Grady Hendrix

Finding My Voice, (Series), Aoife Dooley

The First Thing About You, Chaz Hayden

Follow My Leader, James B. Garfield

Forever Is Now, Mariama J. Lockington

Fortune Favours the Dead, (Series), Stephen Spotswood

Fresh, Margot Wood

H-0:

Harmony, London Price

Harrow the Ninth, (series), Tamsyn Muir

Hench, (Series), Natalia Zina Walschots

Highly Illogical Behaviour, John Corey Whaley

Honey Girl, Morgan Rogers

How to Become a Planet, Nicole Melleby

How to Bite Your Neighbor and Win a Wager, (Series), D. N. Bryn

How to Sell Your Blood & Fall in Love, (Series), D. N. Bryn

Hunger Pangs: True Love Bites, Joy Demorra

I Am Not Alone, Francisco X. Stork

The Immeasurable Depth of You, Maria Ingrande Mora

In the Ring, Sierra Isley

Into The Drowning Deep, (Series), Mira Grant

Iron Widow, (Series), Xiran Jay Zhao

Izzy at the End of the World, K. A. Reynolds

Jodie's Journey, Colin Thiele

Just by Looking at Him, Ryan O'Connell

Kissing Doorknobs, Terry Spencer Hesser

Lakelore, Anna-Marie McLemore

Learning Curves, (Series), Ceillie Simkiss

Let's Call It a Doomsday, Katie Henry

The Library of the Dead, (Series), TL Huchu

The Lion Hunter, (Series), Elizabeth Wein

Lirael, (Series), Garth Nix

Long Macchiatos and Monsters, Alison Evans

Love from A to Z, (Series), S.K. Ali

Lycanthropy and Other Chronic Illnesses, Kristen O'Neal

Never Let Me Go, Kazuo Ishiguro

The Never Tilting World, (Series), Rin Chupeco

The No-Girlfriend Rule, Christen Randall

Nona the Ninth, (series), Tamsyn Muir

Noor, Nnedi Okorafor

Odder Still, (Series), D. N. Bryn

Once Stolen, (Series), D. N. Bryn

One For All, Lillie Lainoff

On the Edge of Gone, Corinne Duyvis

Origami Striptease, Peggy Munson

Our Bloody Pearl, (Series), D. N. Bryn

Out of My Mind, Sharon M. Draper

P-T:

Parable of the Sower, (Series), Octavia E. Butler

Parable of the Talents, (Series), Octavia E. Butler

Percy Jackson & the Olympians, (series), Rick Riordan

Pomegranate, Helen Elaine Lee

The Prey of Gods, Nicky Drayden

The Pursuit Of..., (Series), Courtney Milan

The Queen's Thief, (Series), Megan Whalen Turner

The Quiet and the Loud, Helena Fox

The Raging Quiet, Sheryl Jordan

The Reanimator's Heart, (Series), Kara Jorgensen

The Remaking of Corbin Wale, Joan Parrish

Roll with It, (Series), Jamie Sumner

Russian Doll, (Series), Cristelle Comby

The Second Mango, (Series), Shira Glassman

Scar of the Bamboo Leaf, Sieni A.M

Shaman, (Series), Noah Gordon

Sick Kids in Love, Hannah Moskowitz

The Silent Boy, Lois Lowry

Six of Crows, (Series) Leigh Bardugo

Sizzle Reel, Carlyn Greenwald

The Spare Man, Mary Robinette Kowal

The Stagsblood Prince, (Series), Gideon E. Wood

Stake Sauce, Arc 1: The Secret Ingredient is Love. No, Really, (Series), RoAnna Sylver

Stars in Your Eyes, Kacen Callender [Expected release: Oct 2023]

The Storm Runner, (Series), J. C. Cervantes

Stronger Still, (Series), D. N. Bryn

Sweetblood, Pete Hautman

Tarnished Are the Stars, Rosiee Thor

The Theft of Sunlight, (Series), Intisar Khanani

Throwaway Girls, Andrea Contos

Top Ten, Katie Cotugno

Torch, Lyn Miller-Lachmann

Treasure, Rebekah Weatherspoon

Turtles All the Way Down, John Green

U-Z:

Unlicensed Delivery, Will Soulsby-McCreath Expected release October 2023

Verona Comics, Jennifer Dugan

Vorkosigan Saga, (Series), Lois McMaster Bujold

We Are the Ants, (Series), Shaun David Hutchinson

The Weight of Our Sky, Hanna Alkaf

Whip, Stir and Serve, Caitlyn Frost and Henry Drake

The Whispering Dark, Kelly Andrew

Wicked Sweet, Chelsea M. Cameron

Wonder, (Series), R. J. Palacio

Wrong to Need You, (Series), Alisha Rai

Ziggy, Stardust and Me, James Brandon

Graphic Novels:

A Quick & Easy Guide to Sex & Disability, (Non-Fiction), A. Andrews

Constellations, Kate Glasheen

Dancing After TEN: a graphic memoir, (memoir) (Non-Fiction), Vivian Chong, Georgia Webber

Everything Is an Emergency: An OCD Story in Words Pictures, (memoir) (Non-Fiction), Jason Adam Katzenstein

Frankie's World: A Graphic Novel, (Series), Aoife Dooley

The Golden Hour, Niki Smith

Nimona, N. D. Stevenson

The Third Person, (memoir) (Non-Fiction), Emma Grove

Magazines and Anthologies:

Artificial Divide, (Anthology), Robert Kingett, Randy Lacey

Beneath Ceaseless Skies #175: Grandmother-nai-Leylit's Cloth of Winds, (Article), R. B. Lemburg

Defying Doomsday, (Anthology), edited by Tsana Dolichva and Holly Kench

Josee, the Tiger and the Fish, (short story) (anthology), Seiko Tanabe

Nothing Without Us, edited by Cait Gordon and Talia C. Johnson

Nothing Without Us Too, edited by Cait Gordon and Talia C. Johnson

Unbroken: 13 Stories Starring Disabled Teens, (Anthology), edited by Marieke Nijkamp

Uncanny #24: Disabled People Destroy Science Fiction, (Anthology), edited by: Elsa Sjunneson-Henry, Dominik Parisien et al.

Uncanny #30: Disabled People Destroy Fantasy, (Anthology), edited by: Nicolette Barischoff, Lisa M. Bradley, Katharine Duckett

We Shall Be Monsters, edited by Derek Newman-Stille

Manga:

Perfect World, (Series), Rie Aruga

The Sky is Blue with a Single Cloud, (Short Stories), Kuniko Tsurita

Non-Fiction:

Academic Ableism: Disability and Higher Education, Jay Timothy Dolmage

A Disability History of the United States, Kim E, Nielsen

The Architecture of Disability: Buildings, Cities, and Landscapes beyond Access, David Gissen

Being Seen: One Deafblind Woman's Fight to End Ableism, Elsa Sjunneson

Black Disability Politics, Sami Schalk

Borderline, Narcissistic, and Schizoid Adaptations: The Pursuit of Love, Admiration, and Safety, Dr. Elinor Greenburg

Brilliant Imperfection: Grappling with Cure, Eli Clare

The Cambridge Companion to Literature and Disability, Barker, Clare and Stuart Murray, editors.

The Capacity Contract: Intellectual Disability and the Question of Citizenship, Stacy Clifford Simplican

Capitalism and Disability, Martha Russel

Care work: Dreaming Disability Justice, Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha

Catatonia, Shutdown and Breakdown in Autism: A Psycho-Ecological Approach, Dr Amitta Shah

The Collected Schizophrenias: Essays, Esme Weijun Wang

Crip Kinship, Shayda Kafai

Crip Up the Kitchen: Tools, Tips and Recipes for the Disabled Cook, Jules Sherred

Culture – Theory – Disability: Encounters between Disability Studies and Cultural Studies, Anne Waldschmidt, Hanjo Berressem, Moritz Ingwersen

Decarcerating Disability: Deinstitutionalization and Prison Abolition, Liat Ben-Moshe

Demystifying Disability: What to Know, What to Say, and How to Be an Ally, Emily Ladau

Dirty River: A Queer Femme of Color Dreaming Her Way Home, Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha

Disability Pride: Dispatches from a Post-ADA World, Ben Mattlin

Disability Visibility: First-Person Stories From the Twenty-First Century, Alice Wong

Disfigured: On Fairy Tales, Disability and Making Space, Amanda Leduc

Every Cripple a Superhero, Christoph Keller

Exile and Pride: Disability, Queerness and Liberation, Eli Clare

Feminist Queer Crip, Alison Kafer

The Future Is Disabled: Prophecies, Love Notes, and Mourning Songs, Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha

Growing Up Disabled in Australia, Carly Findlay

It's Just Nerves: Notes on a Disability, Kelly Davio

The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks, Rebecca Skloot

Language Deprivation & Deaf Mental Health, Neil S. Glickman, Wyatte C. Hall

The Minority Body: A Theory of Disability, Elizabeth Barnes

My Body and Other Crumbling Empires: Lessons for Healing in a World That Is Sick, Lyndsey Medford

No Right to Be Idle: The Invention of Disability, 1840s-1930s, Sarah F. Rose

Nothing About Us Without Us: Disability Oppression and Empowerment, James I. Charlton

The Pedagogy of Pathologization Dis/abled Girls of Color in the School-prison Nexus, Subini Ancy Annamma

Physical Disability in British Romantic Literature, Essaka Joshua

QDA: A Queer Disability Anthology, Raymond Luczak, Editor.

The Right to Maim: Debility, Capacity, Disability, Jasbir K. Puar

Sitting Pretty, (memoir), Rebecca Taussig

Sounds Like Home: Growing Up Black & Deaf in the South, Mary Herring Wright

Surviving and Thriving with an Invisible Chronic Illness: How to Stay Sane and Live One Step Ahead of Your Symptoms, Ilana Jacqueline

The Things We Don't Say: An Anthology of Chronic Illness Truths, Julie Morgenlender

Uncanny Bodies: Superhero Comics and Disability, Scott T. Smith, José Alaniz 

Uncomfortable Labels: My Life as a Gay Autistic Trans Woman, (memoir), Laura Kate Dale

Unmasking Autism, Devon Price

The War on Disabled People: Capitalism, Welfare and the Making of a Human Catastrophe, Ellen Clifford

We've Got This: Essays by Disabled Parents, Eliza Hull

Year of the Tiger: An Activist's Life, (memoir) (essays) Alice Wong

Picture Books:

A Day With No Words, Tiffany Hammond, Kate Cosgrove-

A Friend for Henry, Jenn Bailey, Mika Song

Ali and the Sea Stars, Ali Stroker, Gillian Reid

All Are Welcome, Alexandra Penfold, Suzanne Kaufman

All the Way to the Top, Annette Bay Pimentel, Jennifer Keelan-Chaffins, Nabi Ali

Can Bears Ski?, Raymond Antrobus, Polly Dunbar

Different -- A Great Thing to Be!, Heather Alvis, Sarah Mensinga

Everyone Belongs, Heather Alvis, Sarah Mensinga

I Talk Like a River, Jordan Scott, Sydney Smith

Jubilee: The First Therapy Horse and an Olympic Dream, K. T. Johnson, Anabella Ortiz

Just Ask!, Sonia Sotomayor, Rafael López

Kami and the Yaks, Andrea Stenn Stryer, Bert Dodson

My Three Best Friends and Me, Zulay, Cari Best, Vanessa Brantley-Newton

Rescue & Jessica: A Life-Changing Friendship, Jessica Kensky, Patrick Downes, Scott Magoon

Sam's Super Seats, Keah Brown, Sharee Miller

Small Knight and the Anxiety Monster, Manka Kasha

We Move Together, Kelly Fritsch, Anne McGuire, Eduardo Trejos

We're Different, We're the Same, and We're All Wonderful!, Bobbi Jane Kates, Joe Mathieu

What Happened to You?, James Catchpole, Karen George

The World Needs More Purple People, Kristen Bell, Benjamin Hart, Daniel Wiseman

You Are Enough: A Book About Inclusion, Margaret O'Hair, Sofia Sanchez, Sofia Cardoso

You Are Loved: A Book About Families, Margaret O'Hair, Sofia Sanchez, Sofia Cardoso

The You Kind of Kind, Nina West, Hayden Evans

Zoom!, Robert Munsch, Michael Martchenko

Plays:

Peeling, Kate O'Reilly

---

With an extra special thank you to @parafoxicalk @craftybookworms @lunod @galaxyaroace @shub-s @trans-axolotl @suspicious-whumping-egg @ya-world-challenge @fictionalgirlsworld @rubyjewelqueen @some-weird-queer-writer @jacensolodjo @cherry-sys @dralthon @thebibliosphere @brynwrites @aj-grimoire @shade-and-sun @ceanothusspinosus @edhelwen1 @waltzofthewifi @spiderleggedhorse @sleepneverheardofher @highladyluck @oftheides @thecouragetobekind @nopoodles @lupadracolis @elusivemellifluence @creativiteaa @moonflowero1 @the-bi-library @chronically-chaotic-cryptid for your absolutely fantastic contributions!

---

Submit a Book:

[jelepermets]

Today, as a treat, I am going to walk on well-tread ground and rant about how Grantaire symbolizes the People of France. And how it is this that makes this chapter so sublime.

Three chapters before this one, Hugo speaks about how Revolution does not always find a welcome audience. How, without the People. an emeute is just that. It may have loft ideals attached to it, but it must fail. If the people aren't ready, if they lock their doors and rail at the revolutionaries outside in fear and apathy and anger, then nothing can be done.

Hugo admits that this is natural. We must let humans care about their own lives and not just the future. All of this can be handled, as long as in the end Progress continues.

"A people, like a star, has the right of eclipse. And all is well, provided the light returns and the eclipse does not degenerate into night. Dawn and resurrection are synonyms. The reappearance of the light is identical with the persistence of the self." [5.1.20]

This is reflective of Grantaire's apathy, his defining trait as a nihilist. It also reflects Hugo's implication that this is not Grantaire's natural state of being. Remember:

"Besides Enjolras, Grantaire became someone again." [3.4.1]

Not only does this tie Grantaire's existence inextricably with the Revolution, but it implies that this existence is superior, is more natural than his current one.

Grantaire also has more interactions with the People than the rest of les Amis do. See when he was meant to stir up revolutionary ideals and instead went to play dominoes. Yes he failed, but he also reflects the prevailing thought. France was not ready for a revolution. Enjolras ignored this. Lofty ideas could not reconcile themselves to the reality.

‌

All this paints a very bleak picture of course. And yet, in Grantaire's death we get that undeniable hope, which makes it all so beautiful.

We, as real people reading this book, understand that Grantaire is probably still drunk. Yet Hugo impressing upon, insisting upon Grantaire's clarity is so crucial. This, at the moment of his death, is the most lucid Grantaire has been.

Another thing that strikes me, is that thought Grantaire asks permission to die with Enjolras, he seals his own death warrant before doing so, by crying out 'Vive la Republique.' He doesn't actually ask permission to join the movement.

When the People rise, they will do so spontaneously. That crucial ingredient that is missing amongst the population has been lit in Grantaire, and it is a sign of what is to come, it is hope. He's leading the pack with his singular death, and like he measured the mood beforehead, his death can be (and to me is) read as an omen of what is to come. The eclipse - in Hugo's words - will end.

Of course, asking permission to die with Enjolras is also crucial. Not only because of the poetry of them being narrative foils, but because it works as a surrogate for the people of Paris acknowledging the bravery of those who push forward towards Progress while they refuse to budge. Again, as Hugo writes:

"However that may be, even when fallen, particularly when fallen, august are the ones who, all around the world, with eyes fixed on France, struggle for the great work with the inflexible logic of the ideal; they give their life as a pure fit for progress; they accomplish the will of Providence; they perform a religious act." [5.1.20]

Through Grantaire's death, the People come out of their fear and recognize this. Not literally, but in spirit. And if not to all of us, then to Enjolras.

Because Enjolras is, of course, crucial to this reading. Speaking of Grantaire as the People when he is merely one of many characters who are the People, it's important to ask for whom is he? Because he's certainly not for Valjean. Or Marius. Or Cosette. Or Javert. Or even the National Guards or the King or perhaps not even to the audience (if you think I'm overdoing it I respect it). But he is to Enjolras.

Enjolras is stoic throughout the whole ordeal. He speaks of glory in death. He is still devoted to his mistress, Patria. And yet his ideals have been shattered. The People were not ready. The Revolution will not come. He will die bravely, but he will have failed.

But then Grantaire stands up and says he's with them and requests permission to die by Enjolras' side.

And in that moment Enjolras' convictions are justified. If someone who has been the object of scorn, who has been apathetic, who has done little at all except annoy Enjolras and fail to stir up revolutionary thought; if Grantaire can rise up and die with him, then others will too. Perhaps not now, but in the future.

Grantaire becomes someone again when he dies next to Enjolras. And someday the people will rise.

[pvtjxker]

A proper lady.

Donny Donowitz x OC

Written with the help of @saltynametag !

Warnings: none! Just a bit of tention :) (and a fascist perv)

English is not my first language (I'm from pizza country) so have pity of me q-q

Gif by me! <3

Mariangela was in disbelief.

They made her come down all the way for her dear Apennines and abandon her beloved brigade, put her on a train full of fascists for two full days and made her walk for four more, only for her to end up in Bumfuck Nowhere, France. And for what?

To join a platoon of disorganized degenerates, infiltrating swanky Nazi parties for intel?

Not exactly what she pictured when she got the letter from the US army... “fight the Nazi forces”, yeah right.

At least they didn’t touch her explosives, still safely tucked away in her suitcase. She looked at her reflection in the mirror; an expensive dress, silk maybe? Fuck if she knew, it was a gift, courtesy of the American government. She touched the delicate necklace hanging from her strong peasant neck, grimacing at the scars on her hands and face. She struggled with the eyebrow pencil, carefully drawing where her brows had been singed.

Everyone would know; these fancy things didn’t belong to her.

A knock on the door startled her,

“Y’done in ‘ere, miss?”, Aldo was growing impatient.

Mariangela tried fixing the smudge on her forehead, “Not yet.”

“Women...”

She recognized the other voice, shouting back, “Shut the fuck up, Omar!”

“I’m-a sorry, bella principessa, take-a all-a da time-a you need-a!”

In the few days they’d worked together, he’d latched onto her accent as a source of mockery. She sighed, smoothing out the burned ends of her hair and grabbed her purse, making sure her little Lugher was wedged between her compact and forged papers.

As she stepped out, Aldo let out a low whistle,

“Boys”, he gestured dramatically, “our lovely Miss Rah-vee-nah.”

The Basterds chuckled. She wasn’t so easily flattered,

“I look like shit.”

“Language, missy”, Aldo scolded, “S’a fancy party full-a fancy wiener eatin’ schnitzels and yer a proper lil’ lady, understand?”

She. would. rather. Die.

She opened her mouth to tell Aldo to fuck off, like the proper lady she was, when her eyes fell on Donny...

Oh Donny...

Her forbidden fruit...

As if he wasn’t handsome enough in army green or that goddawful wife beater...

But, God... did he look good in a suit.

Aldo’s gruff voice snapped her out of her daydream,

“Ev’ryone good on the plan?”

Donny nodded, a curl coming loose from his slicked back hair, “Me, you ‘n’ Omar work for Mari. Hugo ‘n’ Wicki are Gesta-fucks and Smitty stays back with the rest, case shit hits the fan.”

Mari nodded, distracted by that damn curl on his forehead when he offered her his arm,

“M’lady”, he said playfully.

She giggled like an idiot, “M’lord...”

“Questi crucchi non hanno proprio gusto...”

These Krauts have no taste at all...

Mariangela muttered under her breath as she took a sip of what the waiter called “champagne”... piss water, more like.

Her arm was still looped with Donny’s, trying to keep her cool and pass him off as her date. Looped was perhaps a generous way of describing it; her nails were dug into the fabric of his suit, making him wince,

“Watch it, my arm’s still attached, y’know...”

She jumped and smoothed his sleeve out, “Sorry... I’m nervous.”

“Really? I couldn’t tell”, he joked.

His playful demeanour put her at ease, and she even managed to crack a small smile, despite her dress nearly choking the life out of her. Who was in charge of tailoring, anyway? Had they ever met a woman? She took another sip of piss water and caught a glimpse of Hugo, who wasn’t any better off than she was. He looked like he was seconds away from ripping the clothes off his back and fighting everyone in his birthday suit. And honestly? She wouldn’t blame him. Flitting through the crowd of fascist, covering for Omar and Aldo’s terrible excuse for Italian accents, smiling...

She was going insane.

At the very least, it was all going smoothly.

“Mi dicono che lei è italiana, sì?”

They told me you were Italian, right?

A man, in a carefully pressed fascist uniform with hair as shiny as his boots, caught Mariangela’s arm.

Shit.

He smiled and it made her skin crawl. Be polite. Be polite.

“Certamente! Pensavamo di essere i soli...”

Certainly! We thought we were the only ones!

The man wrapped his nicotine-stained fingers around her wrist, bringing her hand up to his chapped lips. Donny stiffened beside her, squaring his shoulders. The man introduced himself,

“Galeazzo Marchi”, he paused to kiss her hand again, “piacere di conosorela.”

Galeazzo Marchi. Pleasure to meet you.

Aldo and Omar shifted uncomfortably behind them, as Galeazzo rubbed his thumb over Mari’s knuckles. She sent a panicked look Donny’s way; his nostrils were flared, his muscles tense, eyes wide and angry... if looks could kill...

“E il signore...”, he gestured to Donny dismissively, “chi dovrebbe essere?”

And this man... who is he meant to be?

She blinked.

Fuck.

Donny looked pissed. Omar was sweating bullets and she could feel Aldo’s eyes burning a hole in the back of her head, she could practically hear what he was thinking, “fuck’s going on over there?!”

They were meant to be tourists. Just rich tourists, they hadn’t worked out any other details... she blurted out the first thing that came to mind,

“Il mio fidanzato.”

He’s my fiancé.

“Oh, capisco…”

Oh, I understand…

He answered.

He smiled with the smile of someone who doesn’t actually care. He wasn’t going to give up.

“Posso offrirle da bere?”

Can I offer you a drink?

He said, taking a glass of piss water from the silver tray of a fancy dressed waiter and handed it to her.

She was about to take it, more than anything out of pity towards the man, but Donny was faster, and handed her his own glass, still full.

“Com’é gentile, da parte sua…”

How kind of him…

Galeazzo looked bitter.

Donny smiled at his reaction.

Mari took the glass and took a sip, trying to release the tention.

She took a glance of Donny, who was staring down at the man with a glare of challenge. Like if he was daring him to do something she still was unaware of.

“Quindi…fidanzati, giusto?”

So…engaged, right?

“Sí! Da quasi due anni, ormai.”

Yeah! For almost two years now.

The man smirked. She didn’t like it.

“E…vi amate molto?”

And…do you love each other?

Mariangela was about to burst, but decided to stay silent for the sake of the mission.

“Sa, stavo pensando che una coppia bella come la vostra sarebbe un vero piacere da ammirare…”

“You know, I was thinking that a beautiful couple like yours would be a real pleasure to admire...”

That was the last straw.

Mari replied, contemptuous, with a raging blush on her cheeks for the embarassment.

“Non ho idea di quello che lei sta cercando di fare, camerata, ma la risposta é e sarà no!”

I have no idea what you are trying to do, camerata, but the answer is and will be no!

The man smiled, as his hand grapped her wrist.

Tightly.

“Non sono il tipo di uomo a cui si dice no.“

I’m not the type of man you say no to.

A weak metallic sound.

The loading of a gun.

She looked down and saw a tiny Walther P38 in Donny’s hand, pointing straight at the man’s belly.

Mari looked back at the man, reacting with a smil at the look of terror Galeazzo had on his face.

“Un po’…territoriale, il suo uomo.”

Your man is a bit…territorial.

“Non é il tipo di uomo a cui si dice no.”

He’s not the type of man you say no to.

Galeazzo turned pale white.

Donny pointed at the restroom’s door with the gun with a friendly smile, grabbing the man’s shoulder tightly and dragging him in.

As soon as he walked in, she walked towards Aldo and Omar.

“What’s goin’ on, why did he go there?-”

“Don’t, Aldo, it's too long to explain.”

A few moments later, Donny walked out, looking unbothered.

“What happened? What did you do to him?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, doll.” He replied, adjusting his suit.

Doll.

He called her "doll".

Well, there’s always a first time, I guess.

She wrapped her arm around his, as soon as he offered it to her to take, her cheeks burning.

“What matters now is that he’s not gonna be a bother anymore. Anyway, are you alright? Did he hurt you?”

She took a glance at her wrist, but not even a tiny scratch was there.

“No, don’t worry.”

“I do worry, actually. I’m glad you’re not hurt. I would have killed him…”

Aldo walked towards them, hissing to their ears. “Can you try not to get in a mess for five seconds? I swear if-”

A deep voice interrupted him from behind him.

“We got what we needed. Let’s get outta here.”

It was Wicky, followed by a pissed off Hugo.

“Wenn ich in fünf Sekunden nicht aus hier komme, drohe ich ein Massaker zu begehen.”

If I don't get out of here within five seconds I risk committing a massacre.

Hugo complained, quickly interrupted by Wilhelm, who stepped on his foot.

“Halt die Fresse! Wenn sie uns jetzt finden, geht alles schief!”

Shut up, goddamnit! If they find us now everything will be ruined.

Hugo flinched, but went quiet.

“Well then, I guess we don't have much time before that creep wakes up and comes out of the bathroom looking for me and Donny. We gotta move.”

They all started to walk towards the exit.

“What did that guy ask you for reacting like that?”

Omar asked. Donny shrugged. “I dunno, they spoke italian the whole time. What did he tell you?”

Donny asked to Mari. She stiffened, slightly tightening the grip on his arm for the embarassment, her cheeks turning red again.

“Nothing, keep walking.”

It didn't take them long to return to their base, an abandoned shack in the middle of the countryside in northern France. She sat on a chair, in a room upstairs. The perk of being the only one allowed to have a private room, for…well, obvious reasons. She took off her dress, finally being able to breath. The tossed the dress on the bed and put her usual clothes, finally being more comfortable. As she was taking her make-up off, she heard a knock on the door.

“Come in!”

Donny walked in.

“Y’alright?”

She straightened her back on her seat, coughing softly in nervousness, her cheeks slightly red.

“Could be worst.”

He walked behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders. She stiffened.

“I just wanted to say you looked good tonight. I've never seen you dressed so fancy. Or with any make up on.”

He looked nervous.

“Thanks, Donny, I…I appreciate.”

“Like…very good.”

She looked at him through the mirror, with a questioning face.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you were very beautiful.”

Donny suddenly looked very nervous.

“Not that you're usually ugly, of course.”

He was…complimenting her. He was complimenting her. She tried to smile, her cheeks red. She looked at one of his hands and hesitantly rested hers on it.

“Thank you, Donny.”

“Anytime.”

He looked at her one last time, before taking her hand in his and kissing her knuckles.

“Goodnight, Mari.”

“Goodnight, Donny.” She answered, with a faint voice.

He then got out of the room, gently closing the door behind him.

She looked at her hand and kissed it where Donny kissed it too.

“Ti amo.”

_________________

Divider by @saradika !

[myplasticadversary]

Ok so, I've been having a thought on my pitch for how Festen Revelation could theoretically still win! To be clear I don't think that this will happen and if it did it would probably be considered bad or at least widely contested writing to pull at the very last minute and then not have enough time to follow through on an arc with a clear conclusion, but I'd still be in the trenches defending it anyway.

Basically, the "Bad Dad" rumor mill that Kendall and Hugo started generating is beginning to backfire on them, in an "I didn't think the leopards would expose the most horrible intimate details of my childhood abuse 😡" kind of way. Hugo hems and haws for a bit about how much he should tell Kendall, maybe some of the stuff Stewy was supposed to bring up in 4.04 gets reused here, and Kendall is all like, "that's ridiculous, my dad didn't fucking abuse me. Roman was the one he knocked around like a 1950s housewife, so get that right. I don't want this shit making me look weak." And Hugo says, "well yes, of course. It uhhh does get worse though. It's probably nothing to worry about, pretty easy to discredit, but some rather severe allegations have been floating around." And he goes into something like, idk, a former staff who worked at the Roy family home sometime in the early 90s reveals a record of a child's bedsheets that appear to have been...you know, incriminating stuff. Kendall is shaken and furious but trying not to show it, dangerously laughs, "wow. That's, uh, pretty fucking bananas, Hugo. Really wonderful timing." And the more he tries to push it down as he gets this dealt with the more he goes ballistic, calling the source a despicable degenerate trying to frame his father and yelling at Hugo for even bringing this to him, etc.

As the episode goes on though, all his freaking out has just drawn more attention to the rumor, and of course everyone (mostly Shiv probably) assumes that he was the one who originated it, which riles him up even more. The board vote gets fucked and Kendall blames Roman for it and they have their whole altercation, but in the fallout they wonder, "did that actually happen? Did Dad do that?" And he's especially not in a place right now where he wants to open up but perhaps they drag it out of him a little, with him admitting that they had "relations" but denying that it was grooming or assault and insisting that it doesn't change anything, and his siblings just stare at him like, "...what the fuck?? Do you seriously believe that??"

[lfthinkerwrites]

26 please :)

Protection

Edward was not by nature a protective person. That was what he paid Query and Echo for, after all. If a security guard was ever bold enough to take a swing at him during a heist, if there was a firefight with the GCPD, when Batman and his cohorts arrived on the scene, or even if a meeting with other Rogues went awry, Query and Echo were there to protect him.

Until they weren’t.

Edward was on his own now. Query and Echo were off in Central City, and while he would never begrudge them the opportunity to lead their own gang, he couldn’t deny that he missed having them to protect him. His reputation alone kept most potential threats at bay, and as long as he stuck to wandering wives jobs, that was all he needed to get by.

Until it wasn’t enough anymore.

Hugo Strange didn’t care about his reputation. Hugo Strange had Gotham City in the palm of his hand and a private army at his beck and call. If Edward was alone in the world, he could almost be thrilled at the challenge. He could go all in on the fight, damn the consequences.

But he wasn’t alone anymore.

Now when he walks Gotham’s streets, he keeps one eye on Penelope, on Ellen, and one constantly on the world around them. He can be in deep conversation with Ellen, and intensely aware of the two men across the street who are looking at her for one second too long. Are they simply degenerates who need to learn better manners, or are they Strange’s creatures?

Is the woman on the corner approaching Penelope a tourist who’s gotten lost, or is she a Rogue GCPD officer? Is she hiding a gun in her purse?

How many seconds will it take the two men, the woman, to approach Ellen and Penelope and how many seconds will it take for Edward to draw his cane?

In only a year, he’s gone from being almost indifferent to his own safety, complacent in his arrogance, to a state of hyper vigilance. Query and Echo aren’t here to be his safety net anymore. One miscalculation, and his daughter is dead, his lover is dead, and he’s all that stands between them and death. He can’t afford to be arrogant. He can’t afford to be complacent.

He’s gone from the protected one to the protector. It’s not a natural fit at all.

Whatever he has to be. Whatever he has to do.

[catrocketship]

Jeanne Mammen 1890-1976

“I have always wanted to be just a pair of eyes, walking through the world unseen, only to see others.” Such was the desire of German artist Jeanne Mammen, an artist whose tumultuous life demands documentation. Born November 21, 1890 in Berlin, Mammen moved shortly thereafter to Paris. She was very much a product of the French culture, showing a strong affinity for Victor Hugo, Gustave Flaubert, and fin de siècle Symbolist art. In 1906, she began her artistic studies at the Académie Julian, one of the few academies that accepted women. In 1908, Mammen left Paris to study in Brussels and from then moved to Rome. After that, she spent some time moving between Paris, Brussels, Rome and Amsterdam. In 1912, Mammen received her first invitation to exhibit with the Indépendents in Brussels, her work of the period marked by the influence of Symbolism, Art Nouveau, and the Decadence Movement. At the onset of the First World War, Mammen’s cosmopolitan lifestyle was disrupted, as her German father was labelled as an enemy of the French. Instead of fleeing to Amsterdam, she and her sister Marie Louise returned to their native Berlin, where Mammen would live until her death. 

 Mammen’s most successful and acclaimed period began, ironically, with abject poverty. Without the resources of her family, she struggled to get by. However, by the early 1920s, Mammen had forged a commercial career for herself, illustrating film posters and satirical and fashion magazines. During this period, she depicted the hedonism of Interwar Germany in watercolour and pencil, imbuing the austere, cynical style of contemporaries Otto Dix and George Grosz, with the warmer style of Lautrec and a uniquely feminine perspective. Unlike her male contemporaries, Mammen depicted the liberated woman not as a sexual object but as an individual with capacity and agency. The women Mammen portrayed with the greatest favour were independent women who chose to live without men. She depicted a range of women; from the independent, erotic flapper to “butch” ones. These women often interacted with each other instead of men; pursuing exclusively female activities. This exclusive depiction of women and their interactions with others, coupled with her illustrations of Berlin’s lesbian bars, have led scholars to postulate that Mammen herself was a lesbian, a rumour never corroborated by the artist herself. 

Mammen’s work of this era is epitomised in her 1928 piece, She Represents, in which she depicts a liberated, androgynous woman enjoying a raucous party in a lesbian bar. She plays on the differences between the central figures; one distinctly butch and the other very feminine. Stylistically, She Represents is far more indebted to the French tradition than the German, especially regarding its gentleness and use of colour. During this period, Mammen was able to satisfy her desire to observe, documenting the reality of her chosen subjects with vitality and nuance. 

Mammen’s life and art were again fundamentally changed in 1933 when the Nazi party assumed power in Germany. The reality of Germany for Mammen was no longer beautiful, and she was repulsed by Nazi interest in realism; prompting her to practice an ‘inner emigration’ and experiment in abstract art. In an act of internal rebellion, Mammen adopted the very art dismissed by the Nazi party as degenerate. Her work during this period was heavily influenced by Picasso’s Guernica, which she saw in 1937. Her piece The Strangling Angel, painted between 1939 and 1942, is clearly influenced by Guernica, but uses an Expressionist palette and does not reference a specific event but rather a general feeling of violence. Although the painting is technically satisfactory; it is devoid of the personality and allure of her earlier pieces, existing in complete opposition to them. In the Post-War period, Mammen experimented with sculpture, reacting to the material insecurity of the period in her use of waste materials like wire, cardboard, and string from American care packages. The faces of her sculptures refer to African sculpture. She also experimented with collages that bore the influence of Miró and Pollock alike.

In the final period of her life (1960-1975), Mammen continued to experiment, her style of the period marked by a lack of commitment to a particular style. She withdrew from society again, sequestered in the same Berlin apartment that she bought with her sister decades earlier. During this period, Mammen frequently used mystical symbols and became obsessed with the colour white. Her work attracted the attention of art historians in the early 1970s, shortly before her death in 1975. Although perhaps not terribly well known, Mammen provides a unique perspective on war, gender, and sexuality, responding with a singular adeptness to an incredibly wide range of human experience. 

[crackspinewornpages]

Les Misérables 170/365 -Victor Hugo

161

His house has since been demolished and rebuilt, married twice and a connoisseur of paintings.

162

He abandoned in memories of his past and regarded the names in power as vulgar and bourgeois his Godfather bestowed on him the name Luc-Esprit.

163

He was crowned by the Duc de Nivernais and the deaths of Louis XVI Napoleon or the return of the Bourbons defaced that memory. And he always narrated how he saved himself from the Terror of 1789. (that’s the one where Madame Guillotine was popular)

164

He had theories to let the wife control the funds, but it nearly left him destitute. Still, he had a house and servants and called all the women Nicolette. (is that like calling all the maids Maria)

165

His sorrow converted into wrath, all sorts of prejudices and liberties in his royal renown. He paid for the maintenance of two boys who he claimed not to be his. He complained of being cheated by a businessman of inheritance, the country has degenerated he claimed. (ok boomer) His second wife had a daughter who married a colonel at Waterloo and died at thirty. He also took a lot of snuff and believed little in God.

166

This was M. Luc-Esprit Gillenormand, in spite of it all, he was venerable and by 1814 he had immured in his habits of antiquated elegance.

167

The two daughters, ten years apart, were little like sisters, the younger had a charming soul, the older a chimera. Mademoiselle Gillenormand was a prude though allowed her grandnephew to embrace her, her friend Mademoiselle Vaubois was a blockhead. Mademoiselle Gillenormand grew lost as she grew old, melancholy, with unknown sadness, the other in the house was a little child, his grandson.

BOOK THIRD THE GRANDFATHER AND THE GRANDSON

168

In Rue Servandoni Gillenormand frequented solons and it cost his self-respect nothing. Madame de T had frequent friends in her Royalist solon amusing themselves on events and songs. Gillenormand was one of two men there the other de Lamothe-Valois. In the bourgeoisie honored situations decay, in 1815 Lamothe was held in consideration of the celebrity of his name. Gillenormand’s consideration was first rate and always accompanying him was his spinster daughter and grandson, son of the brigand of the Loire.  

169

If someone chanced through the town of Vernor, they may have seen a man about fifty walking along the bank of the Sienne. He lived alone in a small house, cultivated his flower garden, the brigand of the Loire. Anyone who read military memoires would find frequency of the name Pontmercy and the long service record. At Waterloo he was the chief of a squadron of cuirassiers and received a sword across the face and fell into the ruin of Ohain. Georges Pontmercy was the brigand of Loire.

After being pulled out of the ravine he rejoined the army, transferred from ambulance to ambulance. Sent him to residence and surveillance at Vernan with half pay and between two wars married the younger Gillenormand who died leaving a child who was forced on threat of disinheritance to give him to his grandfather. (you might be wondering why the same man who would take a son from his father because he didn’t agree with his politics would support two kids who definitely aren’t his well people are complicated) The boy, Marius, knew he had a father but nothing else, but listening to gossip grew shame about him. Pontmercy could only catch gazes of him, a sympathetic priest befriended him and learned his history. Twice a year Marius wrote dictated letters to his father and the responses his grandfather intercepted. (if you’re not getting it it’s like a right wing conservative grandfather took his grandson away from his left leaning liberal son in law)

170

All Marius knew of the world was the solon and he soon grew melancholy, and he beheld the old women like phantoms and sometimes the ancient priests mingled. “Moreover, as it is indispensable that the Revolution should be everywhere in this century, this feudal solon was, as we have said, dominated by a bourgeois. M. Gillenormand reigned there.”p.397 The essence of Paris on white society, reputations held in quarantine, traces of anarchy in renown. Today, solons no longer resemble those Royalists, they are now demagogues. Madame de T’s society was haughty refinements of the old regime, buried but alive, antiquated eccentric speech. Men and deeds judged, abated each other, an air of having lived a long time ago, a mummified society.

Madame de T’s was ultra, to go beyond a partisan of things to the point of being their enemy. The first phase of the Restoration, the first six years were extraordinary catastrophes, sinking in the past little new, little old. “Former days did not recognize Yesterday. People no longer had the feelings for what was grand,.”p.398 This Society no longer exists nothing of it does today, engulfed in a deluge beneath two Revolutions. “What billows are ideas! How quickly they cover all that is their mission to destroy and to bury, and how promptly they create frightful gulfs!”p.398

These solons had their own literature and politics but didn’t keep their purity, in 1818 to be a Royalist was to excuse themselves and ultras were proud. They should have succeeded; their mistake was to create ages of youth and oppose conservative liberalism which demolishes. Why not accept the whole of history and the whole of France, those doctrines criticized the protected Royalism, which displeased it. Marius studied as children do, expanding to a vulgar pedant went to law school with not much love for his grandfather.

(you might have noticed by now I’ve been leaving out details Victor bloats his book with so much superfluous backstory and infodumps I really don’t know what’s important)

NEXT

[fatecanberewritten]

Peoples, like stars, have the right to go into eclipse. And everything is fine, as long as the light returns and eclipse does not degenerate into permanent darkness. Dawn and resurrection are synonymous.

Victor Hugo, Les Misérables (transl. C. Donougher)

[amarylhis]

Hi im new here so were starting off strong with some Vat7k memes, enjoy.

[ziamscolours]

GQ and 'The Ellen Show' articles

On October 4, 2020 an article came out, according to the title it was about Harry and some kind of tension at The Ellen Show after Zayn's departure but this is what it says:

This is the interview that article was about.

And this is what the GQ article says:

Basically the article was supposed to be about Harry describing the 'tension', but the whole article was about Liam talking about his point of view on Z's departure and it was about another article. The other boys' point of view wasn't mentioned in the article, at least Louis' point of view, we know that Liam is the one who always speaks instead of others and stands up for the band, but if Ellen really wanted to know what each of them felt, she would have asked them instead of just sticking with Louis and Liam's words, not just that, but the article was supposed to be about The Ellen Show and it mostly was about the GQ article, and Harry talking about the 'tension' was at the end of the article and it was just a joke, it wasn't even a reason to do a whole article. But it's done and it was all Liam talking about how he feels on Zayn's departure, it's important to know how L feels about that topic, isn't it?.

Another thing I noticed was something a little contradictory, on The Ellen Show Liam said he'd been talking to Z and even Niall nodded a bit (not ignoring Louis and Niall's face and Harry's laugh, that I think it was about that and not just the 'tension') but in the GQ article Liam said that they hadn't heard from Z since he left.

Also, this interview was five years ago and the GQ article was the last year, why didn't this article come out at that time? Why now? Why would they want to remember those days at this point?

[lapinbunwrites]

Art By: Degenerate Peach

Title: Notebooks

Rating: G

Warnings: None

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Relationship: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Mercedes von Martritz

Characters: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, Mercedes von Martritz, Annette Fantine Dominic, Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Ashe Ubert, Dedue Molinaro, Sylvain Jose Gautier, Lambert Egitte Blaiddyd

Additional Tags: Modern AU, Soulmates AU, Fluff

Word Count: 10,008

Ao3 Link

Ever since Mercedes was young, notebooks addressed to her would always appear near her. She never knew who wrote them, where they came from, or why they were addressed to her. When she read them, it was like someone from the past was trying to contact her and she felt her emotions well up in her chest, though she never knew why. As much as she wanted to get to the bottom of trying to find where, and who, these notebooks came from, she didn’t have much time because of work. All Mercedes could do was read whatever notebooks came to her. 

She sighed as she placed another notebook on her desk,  turning on her desk lamp to read the first entry. There wasn’t much, just random musings and thoughts jotted it down on paper. Nonetheless, it still made her heart feel warm and put a smile on her face. It wasn’t long until she fell asleep while reading.

“Mercie! Mercie,” a man’s voice called out. 

She turned around, partially seeing a man’s face. He had blonde hair and a smile. 

“She said her first words! Isn’t that right, that’s mama!” He put his finger on the child’s face and began rubbing it. He began to laugh when she started to make little sounds as she tried to say words. “Can you say ‘mama?’” 

Mercedes reached out, taking the child from his arms. She soon felt him wrap his arms around her as she waited. 

“Ma-ma,” the baby giggled. 

Mercedes felt her face heat up and a smile creep across her face. She gave the child multiple kisses. 

Before she could say anything, the images quickly faded away.

“Mercie!” Annette called, shaking her back and forth. 

“Mmph,” Mercedes let out. She slowly lifted her head up and began to rub her eyes. 

“Are you okay?” She asked. “You were mumbling in your sleep again.” 

“Was I? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you,” Mercedes yawned. 

“As long as you are alright, it’s fine,” Annette reassured her, patting her shoulder. “But you better get ready quickly or we’ll be late for work.” 

“Ah! Why didn’t you wake me up sooner!” Mercedes rushed around her room, quickly getting ready for work. She grabbed her bag and her notebook before running out of their apartment. “Phew,” she let out, relieved as she got to work in the nick of time. 

Most of her day she spent most of her day serving customers and hearing a few people get mad for little things. When Mercedes’ shift was coming to an end and her last customers left their table, she walked around her sections, cleaning up whatever was left behind. While she was cleaning, she looked over to Ashe’s section, seeing a notebook. Mercedes looked around, seeing two men leave the restaurant. She rushed after them, but to no avail; they already crossed the street as she walked through the door. Mercedes sighed as she walked back inside then walked around, trying to find Ashe and discovering him in the kitchen. 

“Hello Mercedes,” Ashe smiled. “Do you need something?” 

“Hello, not exactly. Someone left this notebook behind,” Mercedes said, handing him the book. 

“Oh,” he sighed, taking it from her and flipping through the pages. “What table was it left on?” 

“Table 12.” 

“Those two,” Ashe smiled. “One man had blonde hair in a partial ponytail and the other man had vibrant red hair.” 

“Blonde hair and red hair,” she said to herself softly. 

“Do you want this?” He asked, giving her the notebook back. 

“Why?” She asked, shaking her head to join the conversation again.

“It has your name on it.” 

Mercedes let out a sigh. “Another one?” 

“Another one?” Ashe asked, confused.

“For some time, I’ve been finding many notebooks that are addressed with my name in it.” Mercedes flipped through it while Ashe messed with the line. It was indeed another notebook for her. “These notebooks are filled with a man writing down his thoughts, his adventures across a country, and anything that reminded him of his queen.” 

Ashe laughed. “So this man was a king?” 

“I don’t know,” Mercedes shrugged. 

“How many times did he say ‘queen,’” he asked, sending sauces down the line. 

“Many times. But I honestly thought it was just a pet name.” 

Ashe placed his finger on his chin. “This sounds very familiar.” 

“How so,” she asked, leaning against the counter. 

“Oh! I remember,” he snapped his fingers after taking some time to think. “My adoptive father told me a bedtime story when I was younger about how a king would travel the country, leaving behind notebooks for his beloved. Maybe it’s that!” 

Mercedes laughed. “That’s just a fairytale.” 

“I know,” he laughed with her. “But your notebooks just remind me of it.” 

She shrugged and shook her head. She said her goodbyes and left to go home. Instead of talking with Annette, she went to her room, placing the new notebook on her bookshelf with the others. Mercedes to her desk, opening the notebook to the page she left off on. 

“5th of the Red Wolf Moon. Dear My Sweet Mercie,” she began to read, “I wish I were home with you and our daughter. I miss being there with you two. To hear your laughs, to hear your cries, to dance with you, my dear Mercie, to see our daughter walk, I miss it all. I wish to be by your side once more.” 

Mercedes felt tears well up into her eyes as she continued to read the entry. “I don’t know how much longer I will be here at Fodlan’s Throat. Winter is on its way, please stay safe and stay warm.” 

She clutched her chest as tears rolled down her face. In the distance, she heard footsteps nearing her door. 

“Mercie,” Annette said quietly, knocking on her door. 

She opened the door, smiling through her tears. 

“Is everything alright?” She asked, giving her a hug. 

“Yes, everything is fine,” Mercedes reassured her. “I’m fine.” 

“Are you sure?” Annette pressed, letting go of her. 

“Yes, I’m sure. I’m sorry to worry you,” she smiled. 

“Alright, I’m always here,” she reassured her. 

“I know.” 

She watched Annette walk away before closing her door. She walked over to her bed, laying down and stared at the ceiling. All she could think about was who the man was. She knew that he was a king who loved his family, a man who traveled the country rebuilding a country, a man who was trying to mend his sins, a man who sent notebooks back to his beloved queen who always stayed back in a castle. She knew that the queen was her, but she didn’t know who the king was.

 Mercedes looked out the window, watching the snow fall. Near her, she could hear a child making sounds, playing with the toys she had. 

“Mama,” the girl said, walking up to her, placing part of her body on Mercedes’ lap. 

“Yes, Amaya,” Mercedes asked, turning to face her with a sorrowful smile. 

“When is papa coming home?” She asked. 

Mercedes’ smile grew bigger as she placed her hand on her daughter’s head. “He will be home before you know it!” 

Amaya giggled as they heard a knock on the door.  Mercedes opened the door to see a knight. She noticed the crest on his armor and took her daughter’s hand, rushing past the knight and heading towards the stables. A big smile grew across her face when she saw her daughter run ahead to someone, latching her arms around their legs. Even though Mercedes could only partially see his face, she walked up to him, giving him a hug. 

“Welcome home,” she greeted. 

“It’s good to be home,” the man’s voice said, picking up their small child. “How are you holding up?” 

Mercedes faintly smiled as she held onto his open arm. “I’m fine. I’m just happy to have you home-”

She jolted up from her bed, looking around and silently crying. Mercedes looked over to her clock, seeing that it was 2am. Luckily for her, she didn’t have to work the next morning. She sat at her desk, reading the next entry. 

“23rd of the Great Tree Moon. Dear My Sweet Mercie, I’m sorry I am not home for today,” Mercedes read quietly. “Happy 6th Anniversary. Lady Hilda helped me press these flowers to preserve them for you. I know lilies are your favorite.” 

Mercedes took the lilies, placing them next to a vase with a single rose. “When I come home, we can take Amaya and go to Deirdru. We can dance in the sand as the waters hit our ankles and watch the sunset. I yearn for the day I can hold you and Amaya in my arms again.” She sighed as she trailed her hand down the pages. “I care for you and Amaya dearly. From your Lion Prince…” She said as she couldn’t make out the rest of the entry. 

“Who are you,” she asked herself. 

The next day, her and Annette walked around the shopping district in Fhirdiad, though she could barely pay attention to what the redhead was saying. 

“Mercie, Mercie,” Annette called out. 

“Wha,” she muttered out. “Oh, sorry Annette.” 

“Are you okay? You keep spacing out. Well, spacing out more than usual,” she sighed. 

“I’m sorry, these notebooks are consuming me,” Mercedes sighed. “And I also have dreams that are sort of connected with the entries.”

“Oh, I see.” Annette agreed, taking a bit out of her pheasant roast. “Do you know where they come from? Or why you have these dreams?” 

“No. They just appear whenever I’m finished with one and they just happen,” she said, flipping through the pages. “I’m almost done with this one. I have one more entry to read.” 

“What does it say?” Annette asked, cheerfully. 

“15th of the Blue Sea Moon. Dear My Sweet Mercie, I went to her grave today. Sometimes I wish I could have changed her mind and we could have figured out a way to make peace and we could have been a family again,” Mercedes read as her plate of food was placed next to her.

“Who is ‘she’?” Annette asked, eating more of her food. 

“I honestly don’t know. His sister maybe?” Mercedes closed her notebook, placing it to the side. She moved over her food in front of her and began to eat. After a few bites, she sighed, staring at her notebook. “I really want to find out who leaves these behind.” 

“Maybe we can go on a hunt for the author,” Annette suggested cheerfully. 

“I wish I could,” Mercedes sighed. “I work too much.” 

“Didn’t you request to take a couple of weeks off in a couple of months?” 

“I did, but I’m going to Enbarr to see my mother,” Mercedes replied, taking her plate of food. 

“Oh right,” Annette sighed. “Heheh, maybe then you will be able to meet him while you are there.”

Mercedes faintly smiled. 

Months passed and more and more notebooks appeared for her. Whenever she found a new notebook, she could only see the back of a man with blonde hair in a partial ponytail. She was never able to get to him in time. Mercedes shook her head to rid herself of the thoughts; now wasn’t the time to be thinking about the notebooks. She had to pack for her trip to Enbarr. 

Looking at her suitcase, she made a mental list, checking off everything that she had. Knowing that she had everything she truly needed, she walked over to one of her bookcases. Mercedes traced her fingers over the notebooks until she stopped at one then sighed, putting it in her purse. She looked at the time and rushed over to her luggage and to Annette’s car, messily putting her bags in. Annette laughed a little as she helped her out. 

It was a quiet drive to the airport since Mercedes wanted to find out who it was leaving her these notebooks. Maybe while she was in Enbarr, she could find some clues. As she waited to board her plane, she took out the newest notebook and began to read. 

“27th of the Harpstring Moon,” Mercedes began to read. “Dear My Sweet Mercie, happy birthday! It seems like too many days and too many nights I am away from you. Sometimes I wish I could just abandon the throne and leave Fodlan all together. If I had the courage to do so when I was younger, after my father’s passing, maybe our lives would have been better and I wouldn’t be away from you and our lovely daughters.” 

Mercedes sighed as she closed the book; she didn’t want to get teary-eyed while on the plane. She leaned against the window, watching all of the landmarks passing her by. So many of them looked so familiar to her. She had never been to them, but when she saw Conand Tower, she remembered a man with vibrant red hair feeling sorrow as someone laid dead in front of him. When she saw Arinrhod, she could hear sounds of fireballs being thrusted at her, hearing the clanking of metal, and a maniacal laughter from someone. She also remembered a man walking out of a great hall, only seeing his blonde hair and his back as he left. 

Mercedes sighed, shaking her head of her thoughts as the plane landed in the airport. After she got her bags, she met up with her mother, driving all the way to her house. It had been so long since she had been home after moving to Faerghus. Once she settled in for the night, she read a few more entries in her notebook before going to bed again.

“Mercie,” the man’s voice called out. 

She turned around, finally seeing his whole face. She saw his big smile, his blonde hair, his blue eyes. Her heart was full of warmth. 

“Yes, My Lion Prince,” she said with a smile on her face. 

“I brought you some flowers! Your favorite, lilies!” The man handed the bouquet to her, giving her a kiss on her temple, holding her close. 

“Oh, how lovely,” she faintly smiled. She left her beloved’s grasp, burying her face to hide her tears. 

The man sighed, grabbing her hand, trying to pull her in close. “Mercedes…” He softly said, moving the flowers out of her face. He placed his hand on her cheek, pulling her closer to him. “Is everything alright?” 

Mercedes shook her head. 

“My Love, it’s obvious something is the matter.” He placed his forehead on hers. “Please tell me what’s wrong?”

She sighed, breaking away from her beloved’s body. Placing the lilies down on the closest table, she turned around with tears strolling down her face. She stepped away from the man when he held his hand out to her. “It’s that you aren’t home any more. I know being a king you have to do a lot of things and be away from home a lot,” she sighed. 

Mercedes began to wipe the tears off her face before turning around. “When you get home, you are gone in a couple of days. Sometimes you get home, then you leave that night. I want to spend time with you when you are home...I want you home.” 

“Mercie, wait!” The man sighed as he watched her leave the great hall.

Mercedes woke up the next morning, wiping off the dried tears. She got ready and walked down the stairs to the kitchen, seeing her mother already cooking some breakfast. 

“Oh, honey,” her mother said, putting down the spatula. She moved her hands onto her daughter’s face, thumbing under her eyes. “Are you okay?” 

“Yes Mom, I’m okay,” she reassured her. 

“Are you sure? It looks like you cried last night.” 

“Just another weird dream.” Mercedes moved over to the stove, picking up the spatula to move the pancakes to a plate. “They have been happening more and more lately.” 

“Maybe it’s your past life trying to remind you of something,” her mother told her, getting the blueberry syrup out of the fridge. “Maybe it’s your past wanting to give you something new and happy.” 

Mercedes glared at her before releasing a sigh. “You always say that.” 

“But what if it’s true, dear.” 

She shook her head, drawing her pancakes in the syrup. 

Her mother just laughed. “Anyway, after breakfast, do you mind running to the craft shop and getting me some fabric please?” 

“Of course! I’m running low myself, so this would be perfect,” Mercedes giggled. 

After eating, she grabbed everything she needed, including the fabric list that her mother wrote down for her, and left. She placed her hands on her face and squealed a little when she walked into the craft shop; she didn’t remember it being so big and with so many products. Mercedes skipped around the store until she bumped into someone. 

“Omph,” Mercedes said, picking herself up and dusting herself off. “Are you alright?” 

“Ah, sorry,” the man apologized. “I didn’t see you there.” 

After Mercedes realized that they dropped some stuff, she was back on the floor. “You are just fine, I was in my own little world.” 

“Are you doing okay?” The man asked. 

“Ah, I just dropped a few things,” she replied, frantically picking up her stuff. 

“Oh, again, I’m sorry,” he apologized, helping her pick up her things. When the two stood up, he reached out, handing her her notebook. “Here.” 

Mercedes was silent when her gaze met his. She began to avert her eyes, not caring about the notebook. 

“Uh, is everything alright?” 

“S-Sorry, you just look very familiar,” Mercedes softly spoke. 

“How so? You aren’t even looking at me,” he laughed. 

“Hehe, I suppose you’re right.” She met his eyes and smiled. They were so familiar. They were blue, plus his hair was blonde and in a partial ponytail. “You look familiar,” she repeated. 

“Do I now?” He smiled at her, taking a good look at her face. “I can say the same for you.” 

“Hehe, what is your name?” 

“Mine is Dimitri Blaiddyd,” he smiled. 

“Di...mitri…” She mumbled under her breath. 

Dimitri waved his hand in front of her face. “Miss?” 

“Ah! Sorry, your name is so familiar,” she apologized. 

“Hehe, I get that a lot,” he laughed. “Anyway, what’s your name?” 

“My name is Mercedes von Martritz,” she replied. 

“How pretty,” he complimented. 

“Thank you.” 

Before she could say anything, someone yelled at him from somewhere close. 

“We need to leave,” the other man said gruffly. 

“Ah, Felix,” Dimitri sighed. “What’s going on?” 

“My old man just texted me saying we need to meet our parents at the Mittlefrank Opera House,” he informed her, letting out a gruff sigh. “Another fan?” 

Mercedes tilted her head. 

“Heheh,” Dimitri nervously laughed. “Don’t worry about that Felix. Mercedes is just a new friend.” 

“Whatever you say,” Felix dismissed before leaving. 

“Ah, sorry about him. He is rough around the edges, but he is a very caring person,” Dimitri reassured her. He quickly wrote down his number in her notebook before placing it in her hand. “Anyway, I must be going now. It was really nice meeting you.” 

“Yeah…” She whispered as she watched him walk off. 

After feeling his hand, she saw something in the back of her mind. She saw a grassy field, where many different types of flowers, with Dimitri on the ground, lying on his back. She saw his smile and heard his laugh. She watched herself tickle him and plant many kisses on his face. 

She smiled as he sat up, taking her hands to help her stand. She twirled around, spinning in and out of his arms. She moved her hands around, one on his shoulder and the other in his hand, and kept on dancing. After a few minutes, she saw Dimitri place his hand on her face, and before she could see what happened next, the memory faded. 

A smile appeared upon Mercedes’ face as she walked through the store, getting whatever she needed. As she walked home, she sort of looked around to see if she could find the field. She was never able to come across it by the time she got home. 

Mercedes placed the bags on the table, shuffling through them. “Here you go!” 

“Thank you dear,” her mother said, seeing her daughter’s smile. “You seem more cheerful than before. Did something happen while you were out?” 

Her face became red. “No-No, nothing!” 

Her mother laughed and shook her head. “You really are a bad lair.” 

“It’s, it’s nothing to worry about,” her voice became shaky as she was trying to avert the conversation. 

“Oh come on dear, won’t you tell your mother what’s going on?” Her mother placed her arm around her daughter’s shoulders, squeezing her lightly. “Please?” 

“Mother, please,” Mercedes sighed, taking her arm off of her. “It’s nothing to worry about.” 

“Oh fine,” she laughed. 

The next few days, Dimitri appeared more and more in her dreams, or at least the man looked amazingly like him. Though, she could never get his name. Maybe, maybe Dimitri was the man in her dreams. When she woke up one morning, she looked at one of her notebooks and realized he left his number in her notebook. She smiled and began to text him. 

>10:30am

Hello Dimitri! It’s Mercedes, the woman you met in the craft shop the other day. 

She fiddled with her phone's apps as she waited for him to text her back. 

                                                                                                               >11: 28am

                         Hello Mercedes! It’s good to hear from you again! How are you? 

Mercedes smiled and held her phone close to her chest once he texted her back. 

>11: 29am

I am doing well! How are you? 

                                                                                                               >12:19pm 

             I’m a little stressed with helping my father with something, but other than that, I am fine. 

Mercedes tapped her finger on her chin and began to hum. 

>12: 33pm

I’m sorry to hear about that! There is this nice little cafe, Sweet Beans, that is near the Mittlefrank Opera House and sells really good Sweet Bun Trios. They aren’t as good as the ones in Faerghus, but they are still very good! We can go there to destress, it has a very nice atmosphere. 

After she texted him, she waited and waited. After a while she began a new sewing project. Many times during her project, she checked her phone, but hadn’t received anything from him. Many thoughts appeared in her mind. Was this a bad idea? Was she moving too fast with their new friendship? This was a bad idea appeared in her mind over and over again. 

                                                                                                                  >4:38pm

        That sounds nice! I love Sweet Bun Trios! I would love to go. Would 5:30pm work for you? 

A breath of relief parted Mercedes’ lips. 

>4:38pm

Yes! That sounds lovely! 

She faintly smiled as she looked at their texts. She placed her phone down and began to get ready. Mercedes walked on the long roads of Enbarr, taking the path towards the opera house until she was able to get to Sweet Beans. When she sat down, she opened her notebook. 

“Mercedes, I’m sorry I’m a little late,” Dimitri apologized. 

“It’s alright, I was a bit lost in my notebook,” she chuckled. 

He faintly smiled as he sat down. 

“Was work fun?” Mercedes teased in between ordering her food. 

“No,” he laughed. “I had to move around tech boards, amps, and other sound equipment.” 

“My, that is a lot of exercise,” she giggled. 

“It’s a lot of work moving those around,” he replied, taking a bite of his Sweet Buns. 

“Are they heavy?” 

Dimitri nodded as he chewed his food. “It’s a good thing I’m used to this work and that I have some muscle to handle it too.” 

Mercedes laughed. “Just don’t overdo it, okay?” 

“I won’t,” he smiled. 

“Hm,” Mercedes hummed. 

“What’s the matter?” 

“Oh nothing. I’m just thinking about conversation starters.” 

“Heheh. What do you do for a living?” 

“I’m a waitress at a place called Faerghan Treats.” 

Dimitri began to cough up his drink. He placed his cup down and began to pound his chest. 

“Are you okay,” she asked, her voice shaky. 

“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” he reassured her, letting out a few more hard coughs. “I’m just surprised you work at one of my favorite cafes.” 

“Oh.” Mercedes chuckled shyly 

“What are you doing all the way here in Enbarr?” He asked, taking a small sip of his drink. 

“My mother lives out here and I took some time off from work to visit,” she laughed. “What are you doing here?” 

“My father does business here every so often,” he informed her. 

“Ah, a business trip.” 

“Yes. It’s his last time he will be, for business at least.” 

“Why is that?” 

“He wants to retire and spend more time with me and my mother back and Fhridiad,” he smiled faintly, taking a few more bites of his Sweet Buns. 

“Oh, that’s wonderful…” Mercedes trailed off, with sorrow in her voice. 

“What’s wrong,” he sighed. 

“Nothing. It must be nice to have your dad around more,” she faintly smiled. 

“It’s nice. He is getting old and this industry we are in is wearing on his body.” 

“I bet. Working long hours must be grueling on the body. A lot of stress on the body, your mental health drains,” she said, suddenly realizing something, “long-term physical pain…” 

“Mercedes,” Dimitri said softly, moving his hand towards hers. 

“Oh, it’s nothing. A while ago, one of my friends told me to take some time off to do something and not work,” she reassured him, moving her hand away. 

“Do you work a lot?” he asked, moving his hand to his lap. 

“My friend thinks so,” she sighed. “You probably do too.” 

“Yeah, my friend thinks so too,” he chuckled a little. 

The only thing that wasn’t letting the silence set in was Mercedes’ humming. She hummed a little louder when she saw Dimitri moving his head to her rhythm. 

“You like to sing?” He asked. 

“While I’m not great at it, I do enjoy it,” she cheerfully replied. 

Before he could say anything more, he got a text from his father. He grunted as he rubbed the back of his neck. 

“Is everything alright?” 

“No, something at work went wrong and I have to go. I’m sorry,” he sighed, leaving a tip in the checkbook. 

“Oh, I see,” Mercedes said, fidgeting with her hands. Before he could leave, she gripped his arm. “Dimitri…” 

“Yes,” he asked, looking over his shoulder. 

“Once we get back to Faerghus, we should work less and maybe…” she trailed off. She took a deep breath in and exhaled. “We should spend more time together.” 

Dimitri gave her a big smile as moved his hand to hers, holding it tightly. “I would like that.” 

Mercedes smiled faintly as he rushed off. In the back of her mind, she could see something — a living room, watching a man that looked like Dimitri walking away from her. She shook her head. She didn’t want those memories. Not anymore. 

When she arrived at her mother’s house, she opened her notebook, skimming through the notes. There was nothing there for her to find anything. Mercedes huffed and decided when she got back to Faerghus, she would take Annette’s advice and figure out who left these notebooks behind. See if it is Dimitri and to see if the memories were from a past she didn’t remember. 

Arriving back to her apartment back in Faerghus, she took out all of her notebooks on her floor. Mercedes read over her notebooks and the only things that really stood out were the words ‘My Sweet Mercie,’ and ‘Your Lion Prince.’ The only physical things she could take from the notebooks were the lilies that were on the notebooks themselves, Faerghus’ insignia, and what looked like an old crest. 

“Yes?” Mercedes asked, hearing a knock on her door. 

“Mercie, are you doing okay?” Annette said, opening her door. She bent down, shuffling through the notebooks. “Why do you have so many of these out?” 

She sighed, placing down her journals. “I met someone in Enbarr and he bears a striking resemblance to the man who has been appearing in my dreams.” 

“Really?” Annette teased, scooting closer to her. “Oh-ho-ho.” 

Mercedes rolled her eyes before smiling. 

Annette tugged at Mercedes’ clothes with a giant smile on her face. “What was he like?”

Mercedes’ faintly smiled as she began fiddling with her fingers. “He was kind, stressed from work.” 

“Hehe, the perfect man for you, stressed from work so he won’t have time for you,” she teased. 

She shook her head. “It’s not like that.” 

“Hehe, I’m teasing.” Annette placed her head on Mercedes’ shoulder. “What’s his name?” 

“Dimitri Blaiddyd.” 

Annette let out a little gasp. 

“Wha-What’s wrong?” 

Annette pulled out her phone, pulling up a photo of the man she said. “Do you mean this man?” 

“Yes, but what does this have to do with him?” Mercedes asked, taking a closer look at the picture. 

“He’s basically the one and only heir to the Blaiddyd Music Industry!” Annette paced back and forth. “Man, I really wish I was with you in Enbarr.” 

“Heh,” Mercedes sorrowfully chuckled. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Annette apologized. “How does he connect to your notebooks and dreams?” 

“In my dreams, I finally saw the man’s face and he looks a lot like Dimitri,” she sighed. She shuffled through more notebooks. “Look at these, lilies are my favorite flowers, the insignias and crests, I don’t know where they come from.” 

Annette trailed her hand over the notebooks. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Why do I see a bright red-haired man bending his knee to a man with blonde hair and an eye patch?” 

“Heh, that’s so weird,” Mercedes laughed. 

“But those do look familiar,” Annette reassured her. “I can always go to a friend of mine to see if he knows anything.” 

“Really? Thank you!” 

“On one condition,” Annette smirked. 

“What’s that?” Mercedes groaned. 

“Ask Dimitri out again.” 

Mercedes rolled her eyes. “Fine.” 

“Yay,” she said happily, giving her a big hug. “I’ll contact my friend to see if he has anything.” 

“Thank you,” Mercedes hugged her back. 

As Annette rushed out of her room, Mercedes picked up her phone, smiling as she held it to her face. 

                                                                                                                >12:24am

                             I just wanted to let you know, I finally arrived in Fhridad safely. 

>12: 25am

Wonderful! I’m glad. Please rest well tonight. 

She placed her phone on her nightstand before crawling into bed. In the morning, she looked at her phone with another text from Dimitri. 

                                                                                                               >12:53 am

                                                                                                                       I will! 

>9:00am

I have another few days off before I have to go back to work, did you want to go Faerghan Treats later today?

                                                                                                              >10: 55am 

                              I would love to! I will meet you there! How does noon sound? 

>10:56am

That sounds wonderful! I will see you there! 

Mercedes clutched her chest as she placed her feet on the ground. She let out a little sigh, forgetting that she left all of her notebooks on the ground. She got ready, cleaned up her room, and left her apartment. She skipped around town, making her way towards her job. As she waited for Dimitri to arrive, she sat down and read a different notebook, one that was left behind when she went to Enbarr. 

“23rd of the Wyvern Moon. Dear My Sweet Mercie,” Mercedes read quietly. “Being in old Leicester, I’m seeing the leaves change colors and watching them fall off their trees. This time of year, I can’t help but think of you. It’s always so calming and so kind. It always makes me think about your apple pie that you make. The smell is so nice and it’s so calming. I wish I could have a bite of it again.” A smile appeared on her face the more she read. Once Dimitri arrived, Mercedes closed her notebook. 

“Have you been waiting long?” Dimitri smiled. 

“Not at all,” Mercedes greeted. “How are you?” 

“I’m fine,” he asked, sitting down. “How are you?”

“I’m doing alright, just reading,” she laughed. 

“Another notebook?” 

“Yes,” she sighed. “Anyway, was there anything you wanted to talk about?” 

“Hm, I want to know more about you.” 

She placed a finger on her chin. “I like to bake and sew!” 

“That’s wonderful!” 

Mercedes' smile grew bigger when she saw the sparkle in his eyes. 

“Would it be too much to ask if you could teach me how to sew?” Dimitri took his Sweet Buns and instantly took a bite of his food. “I’ve always wanted to learn.” 

“Oh, I would love to teach you how!” Mercedes took a sip of her Sweet-Apple blend tea. “We can always start after lunch and I can take you to a craft shop close to here.” 

“That sounds lovely!” 

As they ate their lunch, it was filled with more talking and a lot of laughter. When they were eating, or at least when Dimitri was done eating, she eyed his leftover Sweet Buns. 

“Heh, what are you looking at,” Dimitri chuckled. 

“Oh nothing,” Mercedes teased, crossing her arms, still eyeing the sweets on his plate. 

“From the looks of it,” he started. He picked up his fork, stabbing the Sweet Bun. He watched as her eyes tracked wherever he put the fork. “It doesn’t seem that way.” 

“Hng, Dimi, don’t do this to me,” Mercedes complained. 

“Here,” Dimitri blushed, slowly handing her his fork. 

Mercedes happily accepted it and began to eat the little left of the Sweet Bun Trio. After she was finished and after they paid, she took Dimitri’s hand and walked over to the craft store. Everytime she said something, it went in one ear and out the other. She waved her hand in front of his face. 

“Dimitri,” she said, placing her hand to her side. “Are you alright?” 

“S-Sorry, I’m just a little distracted,” he replied with a blush on his face. 

“Why’s that?” She smiled at him. 

“You called me,” he paused, then took a deep breath and exhaled. “You called me Dimi.” 

Mercedes blushed heavily. “Ah! I’m sorry!” 

“It’s alright,” he said, softly. “It felt nice. Felt familiar.” 

Mercedes hovered her hand by his cheek. “Do you want me to call you Dimi more often?” 

“Please, it feels nice to hear it,” he replied, leaning his face into her hand. He took her hand, placing it near his chest. “Do  we have everything we need?” 

“Yes,” she smiled, taking his hand, leading him to the checkout line. 

Mercedes and Dimitri walked back to his apartment. She showed him how to do basic stitches and watched him do them and bend so many needles. She had a big smile on her face when he watched her closely as she sewed. 

“Wow, you are really good at this,” he said, moving his face to the curve of her neck and wrapping his arms around her waist. 

“Thank you,” she smiled. She placed down her sewing needles onto her lap. “My mother taught me at a young age how to sew. She always told me that it was a good skill to learn. And she was right.” 

“I think it’s amazing. About the only thing I know how to do well is sing,” he sighed, clutching her waist a little tighter. “Any other skill, I’m not great at.” 

“I bet that isn’t true,” Mercedes let out a little squeak. She shifted around to face him. “What things do you know?” 

“I know how to speak in public, I’m really good at cleaning, I know basic first aid,” he listed. 

She placed her hands on his face, squishing his cheeks. “See, you know some life skills.” 

“Heh,” he chuckled, taking her hands off of his face. “I still want to sew.” 

“And I will teach you. We can go nice and slow.” 

“Thank you.” 

For the rest of the night, Mercedes taught him the basics of sewing. When it became too late, Dimitri walked her home. Once she fell asleep, she had a dream where she saw herself and someone that looked like Dimitri, but younger. She saw them talking about how he wanted to learn how to sew and told her his mother wasn’t good at it. 

As the dream goes on, it’s more of her and Dimitri sewing. It gets to a point where they were in a church, praying to the Goddess. When the conversation ended, she could see they were holding hands as they left the building. When she woke up, she flipped through her notebooks and found recountings of days they spent together knitting. 

“Mercie!” Annette called out. 

Mercedes rushed down stairs to see her frowning. “Is everything alright?” 

“It’s not a bad thing, but it’s not good,” she shook her head. “You know the crests and insignia that you told me about yesterday?” 

“What about it,” she sighed. Mercedes walked over to the fridge taking out the juice, handing it to her.

“My friend didn’t know where they came from,” she explained. She took a sip of the juice before placing it on the counter. “He didn’t know what era it came from or what the meaning was behind them.” 

“Oh, thank you for your help,” she smiled. 

A smirk crept on Annette’s face. She elbowed Mercedes, hoping she would say something. 

“What,” she gasped. 

“You know what,” she teased. 

Mercedes shrugged and shook her head. 

“About your date,” Annette squealed, wiggling her eyebrows. “You came home late last night.” 

“Oh, that. It was nice,” she smiled. “I began to teach him how to sew.” 

Mercedes watched as Annette processed her night. She saw that she was shocked. 

“What?” 

“Sorry, I honestly thought there was going to be something else.” Annette grabbed her glass of juice and chugged it. “I thought there was going to be, you know.” 

“And what would that be?” Mercedes furrowed her brow. 

“Sex,” Annette chuckled. 

Mercedes rolled her eyes and sighed. “We haven’t even had our first kiss.” 

“After two dates?” 

Mercedes shook her head as she left the room. She got ready for work. It became a long day for her, as she had to deal with a nonstop rush, rude customers, running into things, spilling stuff, and other trivial things. When she got home, she didn’t even check her phone, she just passed out on her bed. 

When she woke up the next morning, she had a few texts from Dimitri. They were just normal things, asking how she was, random thoughts, him showing her what he was able to sew in the past couple of days. Most days ended up being like this, just going to work and texting. 

>12:22pm

Today has been a very stressful day. We were packed and no one was happy. 

                                                                                                               >12: 32pm

                                                                                I’m sorry to hear about that. :( 

                           Did you want to talk about it more or do you want a distraction? 

>12: 33pm 

Can you distract me please? I don’t want to think about today. 

                                                                                                              >12: 33pm 

                                                                                                     Picture message

>12: 34pm 

That cat is so cute!

                                                                                                               >12: 35pm

                                                                I’m glad you like it! Here is another one! 

                                                                                                     Picture message

>12: 35pm 

So cute! 

                                                                                                               >12: 35pm

                                                                        Heheh, do you want to hear a pun?

>12: 35pm

Sure! 

                                                                                                               >12: 35pm

                                                What do you call a ghost who eats another ghost?

>12: 36pm

What? 

                                                                                                                >12:36pm

                                                                                                             A canabool!

>12: 36pm

Pfffft that is so bad. 

                                                                                                               >12: 36pm

                                                                                                      But it’s so good! 

>12: 36pm 

Pffft, lmao. Hey Dimi? 

                                                                                                               >12: 37pm

                                                                                                                        Yes?

>12:37pm

Do you want to come over? It’s been a couple of weeks since I’ve seen you.

And I want to see you again. 

No response. 

Mercedes sighed as she placed her phone on her desk. She opened up her notebook and got lost in her reading until after a while, she heard stomping coming towards her door. 

“Mercie!” Annette swung open her door. “Dimitri is here for you.” 

Mercedes closed her notebook and hurried downstairs. “Hello! I wish you had texted me,” she pouted playfully. 

“I did,” Dimitri smiled. 

“You did?” She asked, walking closer to him. She placed her hands onto his arm, holding tightly. “I didn’t hear my phone go off.” 

Dimitri pulled out his phone and showed her the text. “See right there.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she apologized, squeezing tighter. 

“It’s alright,” he smiled. 

Mercedes took his hand and led him up to her room. As he looked around her room, she grabbed her sewing needles and continued on one of her projects. 

“These look like,” he softly said, walking up to her bookshelf. He traced his finger over the spines of the notebooks. “Hmmm.” 

“Is everything alright?” she asked, looking up from her project. 

“Everything is fine.” He opened one of the notebooks and instantly recognized his handwriting. “Mercie, where did you get these?” 

Mercedes put down her needles and fabric then walked over to him, placing her hands on his back. “I don’t know. Ever since I was young, they always appeared around me.” 

Dimitri took a deep breath in and exhaled. “When I was young, my mother told me that there was this king in this ancient world who was always away from his queen. So he wrote to her often.” 

“It’s just a fairytale,” she reminded him. She moved her hands around his chest, feeling his heavy breaths. “It’s not true.” 

“But what if it is?” he asked. He shifted around, feeling her hands on his chest, and placed his hands on her waist. “What if it is true? Ever since I was young, I’ve been writing in notebooks with thoughts I never understood and without knowing why I was writing it.” 

She stood up on her tip-toes, pressing her forehead against his. “So it was you leaving these notebooks behind. It always felt like someone was trying to contact me, from one time or another.” She chuckled as she felt his breath against her face. 

“And always felt like someone from the past was trying to contact someone they loved,” he smiled. “What if we died and came back in this life to find each other again?” 

Only silence. Mercedes closed her eyes as she felt his lips pressed against hers. With every kiss, she could see something from the past. Feeling Dimitri’s hand against her face, Mercedes gave him a smile. 

“We can always spend more time together,” Mercedes suggested. 

Dimitri smiled. “I would really like that.” 

After a couple of months, the two went on a couple of dates. They went on walks through the park, cooking lessons, lunch and dinner dates, movie dates, and a few others. During those times, Dimitri would give her more notebooks and they would read them together. 

One afternoon, Mercedes rushed over to her door after hearing a knock. She smiled as she saw Dimitri. 

“Hello, Mercie,” Dimitri smiled. “Are you ready?” 

“Ready as I'll ever be,” she chuckled. 

Mercedes held his hand tightly as they walked out of the apartment building. As they continued to walk, it became unclear to her where they were going, but it still felt familiar. She sighed as she saw the long walk to a castle. She saw him let out a soft chuckle. 

“I know you don’t like to exercise,” he said, bending to the ground. “I can carry you to the destination.” 

“Are you sure,” she smiled. 

“Yes, I’m sure,” he reassured her. 

Mercedes climbed onto his back, carrying her around the castle. 

“Aren’t we going into the castle,” she asked. 

“It’s off limits due to many people breaking in and stealing what’s inside it,” he answered. “Then where are we going,” she laughed. “You’ve been quiet about this whole date for the past few days.” 

“That would ruin the surprise,” he laughed along with her. “But there is a place behind the castle that I know you will love.” 

She faintly smiled as she shifted her arms around his neck. As he carried her, she could see a tree in an open field. 

“Tada!” He said, excitedly. He placed her down, watching her look around. “This is what I wanted to show you.” 

“How do you know of this place?” She asked, placing her hand on the tree. 

“My parents used to take me to this castle all the time as a child,” Dimitri explained, placing his hand on top of hers. “My father would take my mother here all the time when they dated.” 

In the back of her mind, Mercedes saw something. She saw Dimitri, in full armor, leaning against this tree, sleeping. She smiled as she sat next to him, falling asleep next to him. As they woke up, Mercedes could see that they were having a picnic and having fun. After the picnic, she could see that Dimitri was leading her down a stony path to a lake that was close by. 

Mercedes smiled as she saw the events unfold. The sewn letters on the ground in the shape of a heart, Dimitri proposing to her and her be elated by it. She shook her head, turning around to him, placing his hand on his chest. She smiled, pressing his lips against his. 

“I love this place,” she said. 

“I’m glad,” he chuckled. “While we are here, would you like to have a picnic?” 

“I would love to!” 

After they were done, Mercedes shifted through the basket, finding another notebook. 

“Another one,” she laughed. 

“Yes, yes,” Dimitri sighed. “Even though I thought the story was true, I still haven’t stopped writing.” 

“I hope you never do,” she smiled, kissing his cheek. She flipped open the notebook and began to read the notebook.  

Dimitri’s smile became bigger as she spoke. 

“5th of the Verdant Rain Moon, dear My Sweet Mercie,” Mercedes began to read. “Being home feels so nice. Being by your side, watching our daughters play and grow makes me so happy.” 

Dimitri scooted closer to her, wrapping his arm around her waist. “I had a dream the night before watching a woman and two girls run around the courtyard.” 

“Where were you,” she joked. 

“Lying on the ground, being ‘tackled’ by the two girls,” he laughed. 

Mercedes kissed his cheek. “12th of the Verdant Rain Moon, dear My Sweet Mercie, I tried to make your favorite sweets again, but I made the cooks mad. I nearly burned down the kitchen again.” She laughed a little harder than she should. 

He let out a little sigh. “I’m not a good cook. No matter how hard I try.” 

“Heh, that’s okay,” she reassured him. “You can always help me in the kitchen.” 

“I would love to,” he said, kissing her temple. 

As the day continued, the two read more of the notebook. When they left the castle, they made their way to the grocery store. When they arrived at Mercedes' apartment, they began to cook. She had him do little things like cutting the vegetables, stirring them occasionally, stirring the noodles, and other basic things. 

Mercedes took out the plates, handing them to Dimitri, having him place the food on them. She sat down as he placed the plate in front of her and sat across from. 

“This is so good,” Dimitri complimented. “You’re such a great cook!” 

“Hehe, don’t just compliment me,” she smiled. “You helped out quite a bit.” 

“Don’t be like that, I only did the little things,” he chuckled. 

“Hehe, thank you for your help.” 

Dimitri nodded and continued to eat. When he was done, he placed one of his hands on hers, squeezing lightly. “Mercedes,” he said, speaking softly. 

“Yes,” she asked, slurping up the rest of her noodles. 

“There is a museum on the outskirts of Fhridiad, did you want to visit it with me one day?” 

“Oh, I would love to,” she said, excitedly. “I love museums!” 

Dimitri smiled as he took their plates, putting them into the sink. 

At the end of the night, Mercedes felt Dimitri cuddling up with her. She smiled at him, giving him a little kiss before going to bed herself. After many days, Mercedes was ready for her museum date. She held hands with Dimitri as they walked into the building. 

“Wow, this is a huge museum, Dimi,” Mercedes gasped. 

“Yes, it is,” he agreed. “They have quite a collection of art.”

The two walked around, seeing all the art through the different time periods, from Old Enbarr to New Leicester. She held tightly onto his arms as they walked through the hall with all of Faerghus’ art. Mercedes couldn’t stop pointing at some of the things that she found cool. While she was walking around, she lost Dimitri. 

“Dimitri,” she called quietly when she found him standing in front of a large painting. She walked closer to him, holding his arm again and placing her head on his shoulder. She let out a sigh when she truly saw what he was looking at. She looked up and down the painting, seeing Dimitri with the Old Faerghan insignia and a crest. “Is that us?” 

“It looks like it,” he replied, tears falling down his face. “I was a king of Faerghus.” 

Mercedes looked around the area before taking a closer look at the plaque and painting. She placed her hand on the paintings, all of her memories coming back. She could remember the many nights they spent apart, the time they spent in the Officers Academy, the war that they faced, their children, everything. 

“To the King and Queen of Faerghus, or better known as the King and Queen of the United Kingdom of Fodlan,” she read, tracing her hand over the plaque. “They never spent much time together, but we knew that they loved each other by the recounts of the notebooks they left behind.” 

Dimitri shook his head as he kept walking down the hall. Mercedes could feel his grip getting looser as they walked. She squeezed his arm tightly, pointing at a notebook left behind. 

“Look at this,” she said. 

“What does it say?” He asked, looking over the notebook. 

Mercedes smiled as she skimmed the words. “4th of the Pegasus Moon. Dear My Sweet Mercie, I know it’s been a long while since I have been near you and our daughters. It pains me to be away from you guys this long and I don’t know when I’m coming home. I hope it is soon. I don’t like being a pessimist, but if I do not come home, just know that I love you with all my heart.” 

“Please stop,” he sighed. “This hurts too much.” 

“At least allow me to read one last thing,” she begged. 

Dimitri nodded. 

“At the very end here this is what it says, ‘if we are ever to be reborn, know that I want to write to you again, to hear you laugh and cry again, to feel you again, to be with you again. I hope we are reborn again. I love with all my heart.’” She smiled, placing her hands on his face. “The Goddess heard your prayer and gave us another chance!” 

Dimitri took her hands and placed his forehead against hers. “Could you ever forgive me for never being home?” 

“I do, just promise me you will try to find me in any lifetime we live together,” she replied, feeling his tears against her cheeks. 

“I will.” He leaned in, giving her a kiss. “I love you Mercedes.” 

“I love you too,” she replied back. 

“Let’s go home,” he said, leading her out of the building. 

That night, while Dimitri was sleeping, Mercedes placed herself on his chest, feeling his breathing. It was heavy and uneven. She traced her hand over his chest, moving to his face. She leaned down and gave him a kiss on his forehead. 

“I love and care for you so, so much Dimitri. I wouldn’t want to be with anyone else, regardless of what happens,” she said, softly as she gave him one last kiss and placed her head back on his chest. 

As the months passed, Dimitri and Mercedes went on many more dates: picnics, movie dates, evening walks in the park, a trip to Deirdru beach, ending with one that would solidify their relationship. 

“Hey, Mercedes,” Dimitri asked, fidgeting with his clothes

“Yes, My Lion Prince,” she replied, putting her phone down to look at him. 

“Uh, do you want to, uh, go to a karaoke bar with me?” He blushed, avoiding eye contact with her.

“Sure! We should invite some friends,” she suggested with a big smile on her face. 

“Uh, like who?” 

“Annette, Felix, Dedue, Ashe.” 

“Do they have to be there?” His face became a deeper red. “Fine, they can come.” 

Mercedes laughed a little when she heard him mumble under his breath. “Good! I will text them!” 

When they arrived, the first thing they saw was Sylvain. He led them to their room and gave them their drinks. They all sang together, in sets and individually. For the last performance, Dimitri took Mercedes’ hand and led her to the stage. He shifted through the music selections until he found one that could work for what he wanted. 

“I still hear your voice when you sleep next to me,” Dimitri sang, holding out his hand. He had a big smile on his face when she took it and when she started to squeal. “I still feel your touch in my dreams.” 

“Forgive me my weakness, but I don’t know why,” she sang, twirling into his arms. “Without you it’s hard to survive.” 

“‘Cause everytime we touch, I feel the static!~ And every kiss, I reach for the sky!~” Dimitri chuckled as he watched Mercedes dance. He was unable to keep singing and he just watched her dance. 

“The good and the bad times, we’ve been through them all!~ You make me rise when I fall!~” 

As the two kept singing, Annette and Ashe cheered them on. 

“Everytime we touch I can feel the static,” Dimitri sang a little slower. When Mercedes wasn’t looking, he pulled a small box. And when she turned around, he smiled as she let out a little gasp. “Mercedes von Martritz, will you marry me?” 

She placed her hands on her face, unable to say a word. She lowered her hand, showing off her smile. “Yes, yes I will!” 

Mercedes squealed as Dimitri picked her up, twirling her around and giving her a kiss while their friends cheered. Felix playfully shoved Dimitri as the others looked at the ring. Dimitri replayed the song and the two began to sing again. 

When Dimitri and Mercedes got home that night, Mercedes took out a sketchbook and placed it on her desk. She turned on her desk lamp and began to draw. 

“Don’t stay up too late, okay?” Dimitri said, planting a kiss on her temple. 

“I won’t,” she smiled at him. 

When she was finished sketching, she crawled into bed, cuddling with Dimitri. Within the next few months, they planned their wedding. Figuring out the date, the venue, figuring out the guest list, getting the rsvp cards, figuring out the menu, and getting fabrics.There was a lot to do. 

“How does this look,” Mercedes asked, handing him a sheet of paper. 

“Is this my tux?” He asked, taking a good long look at it. He gave her a kiss and handed her the paper back. “It looks amazing!” 

“Oh goodie! All I need to do is take your measurements,” she said, grabbing her measuring tape. She moved around, measuring him and writing them down. She fidgeted with his shirt, giving him a smile. “There, all done!” 

“Heh,” he chuckled, pulling her in closer. “Are you having fun there?” 

“Hehe, yes,” she replied, placing a kiss on his cheek. “You better hurry to work, or you will be late.” 

“Fine, fine. I won’t be long. Afterwards we can go get the fabrics that you need.” 

She gave him one last kiss on his cheek before he left. When Dimitri came back home, the two ran their errands, giving the deposits for the venue, to the caterer, and getting the fabrics. As soon as they got home, Mercedes went straight to sewing. When they had everything finalized for their wedding, all they had to do was wait. In that amount of time, Mercedes continued to sew her wedding dress and Dimitri’s tux. 

The day finally arrived for their wedding, the flowers were in bloom, the sun was setting, and there was a little chill in the air. As the music played, Mercedes smiled as she walked down the aisle. Her smile grew bigger when she noticed Dimitri’s expression. He was over the moon. When she stood in front of him, she held out her hands, placing it in his. Rodrigue read off their chord vows as he placed the braided chords on their hands. 

“Is there anything else you want to say before we move forward,” Rodrigue asked, smiling at the two. 

Dimitri nodded, taking a deep breath. “Mercedes, I care for you with all my heart. No matter the lifetime we are in, the only person I would spend it with is you. You are My Sweet Mercie.” 

She gave him a big smile. “Everything we have been through, I wouldn’t change it for the world. No matter what timeline we are in, you are the only one I want to be with. Whatever the joy and whatever pain, with you I know we can get through it, My Lion Prince.” 

Rodrigue then proceeded with the ceremony, ending with them kissing and walking hand in hand down the aisle. When they arrived at their venue, they began to set up, slowly waiting for people to trickle in. When everyone arrived, Dimitri did his mother and son dance and Mercedes did her dance with her younger brother, Emile. Dimitri held out his hand towards Mercedes, leading her to the dance floor. They began to dance, and a song started to play. 

“Look at how happy they look,” Mercedes' mother smiled. 

“Yes,” Lambert agreed. He looked up, seeing something he had never seen before. Their outfits changed to something of the past. “It feels like I left my own soon at a young age, unable to see him get to this point in his life.” 

“I feel like I understand,” she agreed. 

“But after seeing him now, I know he was happy then.” 

Mercedes’ mother nodded.

“Where are we going,” Mercedes asked.

“Sorry, before we go back home, I want to go one last place,” Dimitri apologized. He led her through the castle halls, leading to a graveyard. He smiled as he read the tombstone. “I know this is a little weird, but I wanted to take you here.” 

“To your parent’s grave?” She smiled at him, squeezing his hand. “I don’t think it’s weird at all. It’s been a while since you have been here.” 

“Yes.” Dimitri took a deep breath in and exhaled. “Hello mother, father. Sorry it’s been a while since I’ve visited. But today was a good day, I got married to my beloved Mercedes.” 

Mercedes smiled as he kept on talking. 

“It was hard to be alone, but I’m not. I know you both are watching over me, I have her, and my friends. I hope you both can continue to watch over me, us. Just know that I am happy.” 

Mercedes gave him a hug before giving a kiss. “I love you too and I will be with you no matter what.”

As the music stopped and changed, Dimitri and Mercedes held out their hands towards their parents and family. 

“Yes, I know for a fact that they were happy with each other,” Lambert repeated as he and his wife walked over to the two. 

Mercedes’ mother nodded, walking over to their children with them, starting the party.

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

Ahhhhh I finally can post this piece up!! I got to participate in the FE Soulmates Big Bang last year and I got to write for my OTP DimiMercie! Degenerate Peach on Twitter is my partner and drew the most amazing piece!!!

You can find the piece here!!

[everyonewasabird]

Brickclub 4.7.4 ‘The Two Duties: To Watch and to Hope’

Help, I feel like I’m just picking fights with Hugo today, and I have no idea how much is me and how much is him.

He ends this chapter with one of the most beautiful passages in the brick:

Must we continue to lift our eyes towards heaven? is the luminous point which we there discern of those which are quenched? The ideal is terrible to see, thus lost in the depths minute, isolated, imperceptible, shining, but surrounded by all those great black menaces monstrously massed about it; yet in no more danger than a star in the jaws of the clouds.

But the star he’s talking about seems to be a future that’s better than the present and... yeah, sure, maybe, I really hope so?? But I don’t agree with him that there’s some principle by which that’s definitely true, or that Progress is inevitable, or even that there’s definitely such a thing as Progress and this Progress is definitely a desirable thing.

There’s so much in this chapter that I have so many problems with.

Let us not weary of repeating it, to think first of all of the outcast and sorrowful multitudes, to solace them, to give them air, to enlighten them, to love them, to enlarge their horizon magnificently, to lavish upon them education in all its forms, to offer them the example of labour, never the example of idleness,

Like. He and I don’t disagree about universal education or caring for their poor or ending poverty! But this is such a patronizing way to say that? All the practical solutions and all the right answers here come from the privileged classes, who dispense them for reasons of charity and/or political pragmatics? Nobody who hasn’t had a bourgeois education has anything useful to say about the directions things should go in? Fuck that.

We who believe, what can we fear?

There is no backward flow of ideas more than of rivers.

God, reading Hugo is like talking to my dad sometimes. Same point as above: yeah, time is passing, things are changing; I see no reason why we should be assuming they’re definitely always ultimately moving in a more equitable and just direction. I know that’s an article of faith with Hugo. I just don’t buy it, which makes sections like this really hard. It’s a lot like, as an atheist, reading the sections where he thinks he’s proven the existence of God.

history is full of shipwrecks of peoples and of empires; customs, laws, religions, some fine day, the mysterious hurricane passes by and sweeps them all away. The civilisations of India, Chaldea, Persia, Assyria, Egypt, have disappeared, one after the other. Why? we know not. What are the causes of these disasters? we do not know. Could these societies have been saved?

I. I can’t. The civilizations he’s talking about are literally right there where the fuck does he think they went

And, like, I know, this is a thing. Part of how Orientalism works is that it can acknowledge that non-European countries had grand and impressive civilizations at one time, as long as we all agree they’ve degenerated since then so nobody has to take seriously the rights or opinions of the people currently living in them. But seriously, all this is basically indistinguishable from, “Oh No, Where Did The France Of Louis XIV Go, How Did That Great Civilization Vanish, Was It Perhaps Their Own Fault?”

One of the problems I’m having is I can’t separate out Hugo’s ideas of the march of Progress from his cheerfulness about colonialism. Because he’s NOT just saying “France has better ideas about justice and human rights now than she did a few hundred years ago, imagine how she’ll be a few hundred years in the future,” he’s also saying “forcing our beliefs on the unenlightened masses outside Europe is helping them to Progress.”

And he’s SO cheerful about colonialism this chapter.

we may expect everything from this mysterious power of progress, which some fine day confronts the Orient with the Occident in the depths of a sepulchre, and makes the Imaums talk with Bonaparte in the interior of the great pyramid.

lol. Because, definitely, Napoleon in Egypt is the very image of foreign relations going well, it’ll just take a couple of tweaks for that one to work out.

God, Hugo.

And:

Beneath the mortality of society we feel the imperishability of humanity. Because it was here and there those wounds, craters, and those ringworms, solfataras, because of a volcano which breaks, and which throws out its pus, the globe does not die. The diseases of a people do not kill man.

I know, I KNOW this one isn’t his fault. He couldn’t have predicted climate change from where he was. But it does fundamentally change the nature of this book for me, that all the technological progress he's so excited about was leading straight to existential catastrophe for humanity and the earth in a matter of not-that-many decades.

[partheniasimblr]

Hugo: “Gee, Chloé, you managed to make Arden gay! Stay away from me! Although, banging a guy as hot as Celian wouldn’t bother me...”   

Yann: “Arden, you dirty horndog, you didn’t choose the ugliest one to come out!”

Claire: “ Pfff… it’s always the same! It’s the best-looking guys who are gay and we have to switch back to ordinary guys...”

Hugo: “ Hey! You’re calling us ordinary guys?”

Chloé: “Arden, you’re willing to do anything to humiliate me in front of everyone? Even kissing this... this... this screw-up?”

Arden: “ Get out of my house right now, Chloé, and never set foot in it again!”

Chloé: “ Don’t tell me you didn’t recognize him? This is Célian, the white trash who lived with his degenerate family in this dump on the Bedrock Strait!”

Arden: “ Leave right now!”

_____________________________

poses by @gladlypants  @cryptictrait @rosiesimsie @foxxsimmer

[fremedon]

Brickclub 3.5.1, “Marius in Penury,” and 3.5.2, “Marius in Poverty”

We gloss over several years in these next two chapters: years in which Marius, through difficulty and very hard work, becomes self-sufficient--remarkably so.

This is not a good thing for Marius.

(Everything here is riffing off the discussion @everyonewasabird started in his writeup, so go read that first, it’s quite good.)

The language in which Hugo extols the beneficial effects of poverty for Marius is so much like some of the worst contemporary bootstraps rhetoric that it’s very easy to miss the places where that praise turns ironic. But look at this, from the end of the first long paragraph of 3.5.1, detailing the hunger, evictions, and social embarrassment and humiliation Marius endures:

Awesome and terrible test from which the weak emerge degenerate, the strong emerge sublime. Crucible into which fate casts a man whenever it wants a villain or a demigod.

Marius is becoming a Great Man.

In this book, that’s a terrible thing to be. (And it says something about how radical a message that still is that I miss it almost every time it comes up.)

Hugo continues,

For many great feats are performed in small struggles. There are dogged deeds of valour, overlooked, that hold out step by step in the darkness against the fatal onslaught of destitution and depravity. Noble and mysterious triumphs that no eye sees, no renown honours, no fanfare salutes.

Life, adversity, isolation, abandonment, poverty are battlefields that have their heroes, the obscure sometimes greater than the illustrious. 

This is Cambronne at Waterloo; this is the barricade; this is Fantine’s descent, and the narrator means every word here--but between this and the villains or demigods of fate’s crucible, there’s a contrast it’s easy to miss. These aren’t the struggles of great men; they’re the struggles of good men--of people. Being a demigod isn’t a goal in this book. Enjolras starts as one and his endgame is becoming more human and more vulnerable.

And the next paragraph:

In such a way are steadfast and rare natures created. Almost always a stepmother, poverty is sometimes a mother. Deprivation begets strength of soul and of mind. Hardship is the wetnurse of pride. Adversity is a good milk for the noble in spirit.

Marius was offered the chance, two chapters ago, to take the Republic as his mother. And he took the other choice--here, poverty; there, glory and war. Being a great man; pulling himself up by his bootstraps; going it alone, without accepting help or charity. To lend money to his friends from time to time, but never accept anything but Courfeyrac’s old green coat. It’s as much a mistake for him here as for Madeleine in M-s-M.

And to compound it--hat tip to @pilferingapples--he cloisters himself, going out at night so his clothing looks black, and pulling away from social connections to maintain his pride in a way that is also reminiscent of Valjean, in another of the book’s inversions:

Some formality of expression or behaviour that in any other situation would have seemed to him polite, now seemed to him servile, and he bridled at it. He venerated nothing, not wanting to back down. There was in his face a kind of austere flush. He was shy even to the point of rudeness.

In other words, he feels his position of social inequality so keenly that routine social kindnesses or friendly give-and-take would feel like charity on others’ part or scraping on his own, so he avoids them. It’s the opposite of Valjean’s habit, of eating those abasements and feeling proud to the point of hubris of how much of them he can swallow, but it has the same result--both men end up almost completely atomized and alone.

The horrific thing is that Marius probably thinks he’s taking Combeferre’s advice. What could be greater than to be a Great Man? To be free, Combeferre says. And, welp--

He had suffered everything in the way of privation. He had done everything except contract debts. He said in his own favour that he had never owed anyone a sou. To him, a debt was the beginning of slavery. He even told himself that a creditor is worse than a master, for the master is master only of your person whereas a creditor is master of your dignity and can give it a beating.

Hugo goes out of his way to distinguish Marius’s ideas from the narrator’s here, and that’s often a flag that the character has gotten something wrong. Marius isn’t entirely wrong here--for Fantine, debt was the beginning of slavery. He has, correctly, sensed and avoided a pitfall that we have seen swallow Fantine--consumer debt, debts of the sort that Thenardier has fled so thoroughly that Marius can’t track him down in three years of searching (more on that in a moment), would have been a terrible thing for him.

But Fantine didn’t have friends offering her a loan or a place to sleep. Mutual aid isn’t debt--and Marius gets this on some level, because he’s willing to be the source of the rotating ten francs the Amis trade back and forth. He lends Courfeyrac sixty francs once, and he doesn’t think less of Courfeyrac for taking it! But he’s not willing to accept it.

And accepting help, being vulnerable to people who matter to him, is the quest he should have taken. Having been brought up by Gillenormand, it’s not something he knows how to do. But that’s a lot harder and scarier than isolating himself and learning to live on one mutton chop for three days--and, Bonapartist as he is, he’s determined to do everything himself.

And then there’s his debt to Thenardier. “It was the only debt the colonel had left him, and Marius felt honour-bound to repay it.” This debt is his entire patrimony. If human interconnectedness isn’t a matter of debts--if this debt doesn’t need to be discharged--then his father has left him nothing tangible. And that’s also a hard and scary idea, and not one he’s ready for.

(And now we’re back to Marius’s internalization of that word ingrate. I have no doubt that Gillenormand played the patriarch and drummed into Marius’s head constantly how much Marius owed him.)

This got hugely long, so just a couple more short observations:

Marius’s food budget (365 francs/year), when he gets to a low but stable income, is more than ten times his rent (30 francs/year). He pays 36 francs--20% more than his rent--to the concierge for some basic housekeeping and shopping. One of the privations we are told he endures before he achieves this stability is “sweeping his own landing.”

Marius is having his mail sent to Courfeyrac’s address, which presumably is how Aunt Gillenormand keeps tracking him down. I would love to read a fic about Courfeyrac’s occasional conversations with Aunt G.

“While all this was going on he qualified as a lawyer.” Which, for someone with no connections and no professional wardrobe, opens precisely zero doors--he continues to support himself on the basic literacy that’s part of his class inheritance and his self-taught language skills.

“This Rousseau restaurant, where so few bottles of wine and so many pitchers of water were emptied, was palliative rather than restorative.” Nice. Restaurant, meaning ‘restorative,’ was originally the beverage one drank in a restaurateur’s establishment, as one drinks coffee at a café--an expensive, highly concentrated bone broth, which was a health food craze in the 1760s and 1770s. (I am currently reading Rebecca Spang’s The Invention of the Restaurant: Paris and Modern Gastronomic Culture. Highly recommended.)

[astroseri]

Saturn in the 10th House

Natal Placement. High Achiever.

Saturn is favorably placed in the 10th house. With this placement, you tend to have extended focus regarding your responsibilities, duties and answering to the needs of others (unless Saturn is poorly Aspected). People tend to hold you in high regard when it comes to your reputation and career.

This placement can sometimes bestow fame as a result of people applying hard work climbing the ladder. These people can reach enormous heights in their careers.

In general, you tend to be very controlling, self-critical and tempered when it comes to your public presentation and online image when you have Saturn in the 10th house. You give off a mature, dependable and capable impression to others. People respect you in their gossip. In addition, you tend to acquire an ample amount of qualifications and titles throughout your life.

Work Can Restrict You

Despite bestowing a successful image, Saturn still remains the planet of restrictions, responsibilities and karma. I’ve found that individuals with Saturn in the 10th house can experience limitations regarding their personal lives and freedoms, due to work, social obligations and maintaining the public image of the 10th house.

This placement will make one’s public image and career suffer for irresponsible decisions (whereas you would suffer elsewhere if Saturn was in a different house). They may experience public gossip, outrage or criticism for being irresponsible. Especially famous individuals and people highly ranked at their career.

Needless to say, these individuals feel very obligated to their worklife and social image.

Notable celebrities with Saturn in the 10th

Michael Jackson (conjunct Midheaven)

Will Smith - Muhammad Ali - Miley Cyrus - Leonardo Dicaprio - John F. Kennedy - Adele - Pablo Picasso - Alicia Keys - Kim Kardashian - Ellen Degeneres - Louis Vuitton (designer) - Albert Einstein - Victor Hugo (writer) - Paris Hilton

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That’s all for Now,

@astroseri

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