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ja-khajay · 3 years

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Stuff I read (and liked) this year

As promised, here’s a list of the novels, comics, manga, etc... I read this year, focusing on the ones I enjoyed and would recommend to people. Under a cut, this is going to be a little long.

-------- Books --------

Favorite book of the year: Stranger in the Woods, by Michael Finkel

Non-fiction. Based on the interviews of the man himself by the author, it is about a man who felt so unfit for society he decided one day to leave it, and spent the next 28 years as a hidden hermit in forest in Maine. The book details how he survived there, how he was eventually found, and some of his reasons for doing so. It’s a great reflection on the nature of loneliness.

Indian creek, by Pete Fromm

...Yet another detailed tale of living alone in the woods. This time, the diary of a student who spent a winter in the mountains to help tend for salmon hatchlings, and how he spent the rest of his days hiking, hunting, meeting the locals. It’s a fun little book who, being set almost the whole world away from where I live, was a nice way to travel.

Howl’s Moving Castle, by Diana Wynne Jones

I don’t feel the need to explain this one since everyone and their mom has seen the movie adapted from it. The book, that I first read a decade ago before I actually watched the film, is a less romantized, more spirited telling of the same story. The writing is absolutely delightful and so is the world it paints, and it’s the first time in ages a book had me laughing out loud during my entire read.

-------- Comics (BD) --------

Favorite comic of the year: Monsieur Désire?, by Hubert and Virginie Augustin

A discreet young woman becomes a maid for a decadent, unbearable, byronesque young lord. Caked in the rigid and oppressive social hierarchy of the victorian era, you follow a mental and verbal joust between the two, as the lord tries his best to offend and corrupt his new unrelenting servant, to little success. The writing and especially the dialogues were stellar, drawing me into the tense atmosphere, watching this trainwreck of a character flamboyantly destroy himself. While there’s no precise content warnings that I can give, this is a mature and heavy story.

World of Edena, by Moebius

Anyone who’s followed this blog for over a month knows how much of a Moebius fan I am. Edena combines the vague, dreamlike, wordless storytelling from stuff like Arzach or The cat’s eyes with an actual plot. While I haven’t completly finished the story, the evolution of the main characters and how the story is told have been great to read through, and as always the art is beyond gorgeous. Unfortunately suffers from some good old sexism in the writing that even if minimal, tasted sour

Le roman de Renart, by Joan Sfar (book 1)

Sfar’s work always has a signature vibe of being dreamy and light without being light hearted, of being down to earth but drifting in the fantastical, and this one is no exception. It’s an adaption of a series of medieval folk tales I grew up with, who uses the same characters to tell an original story. If you’re familiar with icons like Renart as well as other mythological big boys like Merlin you’ll fit right in. There is something special in how the dialogues are written, who feel natural in a way that you’d overhear in a street corner and is very special to me.

The mercenary, by VIncente Segrelles

Another one I post about a lot on this blog. The mercenary is a king on the throne of fantasy cheese. The worldbuilding is interesting at times but the writing is a pretty pathetic display of glorious old time sword and sorcery sci-fantasy 10 years too late for it’s prime (warning for ye old sexism and orientalism that plagues the genre, cranked very high...) but you come and stay for the art. The entire thing is drawn in a series of hyper detailed oil paintings with an insane eye for technical detail, from the engineering of the weaponry, to the architecture and weather, to the anatomy of the fantasy creatures... Each panel stands out as it’s own painting which makes even flipping through it without reading the scenario a treat. Click here to see more of the art, in my Segrelles tag.

The ice maurauder, by Jacques Tardi

A short story about mad scientists entirely drawn like a 19th century engraving. In great Tardi tradition everyone is ugly and mean, it ends terribly, it’s both a hommage to the genre of late 19th cent. to early 1900s dramatic adventure novels and a critical eye on it, and it’s morbidly funny. Most people I saw online hated the way this was written but I’m not them and I really recommend this book. Die mad

-------- Manga --------

Favorite manga of the year: it’s a tie between the following two.

Cats of the Louvre, by Taiyo Matsumoto

Most wonderful comic I have read in ages. The story follows a bunch of semi-feral cats secretly living in the Louvre museum’s attic, and the small group of humans who share their life, walking through the museum as the night watch. When the cats are together, they are represented in a humanoid way, but still act like animals, and “become” cats again when a human is nearby. The plot is a sort of supernatural mystery centered around a kitten who walks around paintings. It’s a love letter to art, sincere and beautiful, with a unique art style and great characters.

Memoirs of amorous Gentlemen, by Moyoco Anno

A sex worker in early 20th century paris starts writing down a diary of the clients she meets, in a quest to cope with the troubles of her life. You follow her, her colleagues, and her bittersweet relationship with an abusive lover. I don’t have much words about this comic, but the art and writing both are amazing, it’s the perfect length and drew me in like little series had before. Obvious content warnings as this is an adult story that talks about sexuality, but also depicts both mental and physical abuse.

Hana, also by Taiyo Matsumoto

A very short story, this was not made to be read as a comic originally, but served as storyboarding and visual development for a play, and the way it is written follows that. Hana is a slice of life story set in a fantasy world, of a young boy, his family, his village. Despite the setting being an original one, the character interactions are refreshingly... normal, and there is no huge plot to speak of, just a bit of the life of these characters. The art is beautiful, entirely black and white, with a scratchy style and an emphasis on contrast. Matsumoto is on a speedy road to becoming my favorite manga artist haha

Delicious in Dungeon, by Ryoko Kui

While not marked as my year’s favorite, I still consider this series among my favorite manga ever. The art and writing are amazing, and it’s both heartfelt, well concieved and plain hilarious. The story follows several parties of dungeon diving adventurers each on their little quests with a premise of our protagonists, on a panic rescue mission, surviving in the dungeon by cooking and eating the monsters they come across. From a DnD party turned cooking manual dinner of the week beginning, the plot creeps up on you and slowly thickens. I don’t want to spoil anything about the overarching story of this because it was a delight to discover for myself. While everything about DinD rules, I am especially fond of the design philosophy of the author, who puts great detail in the practicality and biology of what she draws, as well as the character writing. Everyone even side characters has so much charm and depth to them, the cast is so diverse and entertaining...! Each character is just a bit lame enough but endearing, and has their own little backstory that shows in the way they exist. It’s a delight

Chainsaw man, by Tatsuki Fujimoto

I went into CSM expecting a borderline campy hyperviolent dumb fun thing to read and was very surprised to find an uncomfortably well written story about a teenager being groomed. The hyperviolent dumb fun fights are here nonetheless and the series still qualifies as shonen for some reason, but the more mature character writing as well as some truly outlandish visuals make it something very special. If you can’t stand shonen, not sure you will like it, but if you don’t mind it, worth trying.

Witch hat atelier, by Kamome Shirahama

The oh so elegant fantasy seinen every cool kid started posting about this year, who I also succumbed to and fast. Witch hat is hard to explain, as most of it’s plot revolves around the rules of the world it’s set in, specifically the regulations around it’s magic and the social and historical reasons for them. It’s about growing up, learning, disability, making art. You follow a little girl taken in by a witch as an apprentice, her magical education, and learn little by little why her lovely teacher is so willing to break a lot of rules... While a bit too gentle and pretty for my taste at times, Witch hat has great worldbuilding and explores sensitive themes I rarely see in manga, much less in fantasy. And Berserk wishes it had art this good

#j #long post

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chilled-gay-baker · 4 years

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I have been in the Sanders Sides fandom for a couple of months now, and I have noticed a couple of things while reading fanfiction, and decided to share them with you.

- When somebody writes a Virgil X Janus fanfiction, there's a chance it involves Virgil being in an abusive relationship and getting out of it, or he has just gotten out of one. Roman is often the abuser.

- People enjoy portraying Logan and Patton (and slightly less often, Roman) as these early (okay, my definition of early) risers. They wake up usually from 6-8 am, and Patton makes breakfast. It usually involves pancakes.

- Logan's career choice is often astronomy or teaching, and Roman is pretty much always an actor. Patton is usually a baker or a works at a shelter. People haven't really the faintest clue on what they want Virgil to do, so they either just don't get to that point or he becomes a painter or works behind stage helping with the production of Roman's plays. I've seen Janus portrayed as a lawyer a few times (wonder why that is), and I have yet to see what Remus does for a job, unless its illegal.

-Virgil is either the tallest person here or the shortest. There is no in between. If he is not the shortest, it's Patton.

-Logan and Roman are often seen as the tallest. And, maybe just to piss off Roman, they make Remus like one inch taller then Roman.

-If Prinxiety is the ship this book is about, I can tell you right now that the other two are going to be Logicality, and, if included, Demus.

-People like making Virgil be obsessed with music, and it's the easiest way to tell somebody's music taste.

-Remus is never seen without a mustache. If he's a child, it's drawn on. Same goes for the streak in his hair.

-Patton is covered in freckles. He has them everywhere. Also his hair is curly.

-When Remy or Emile are added in, the two will date each other.

-Offended Princey Noise is unescapeable.

-Microsoft Nerd and Emo Nightmare are the most commonly seen terms that Roman uses when adressing Logan and Virgil, but there's some other odd ones we don't see that often. Off the top of my head, I can tell you right now that Vomity Central is one of them.

And lastly, this has nothing to do with anything about commonly seen things in this fanfictions, but my favorite religion is the one where they decided Joan was God, and kept yelling "OH MY JOAN!".

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callmefitz · 4 years

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HomeBound, a TTP Fic

PSA- I don’t know how to do the “read more” thing and this is a long fic so, apolgies in advance for this long post. Also I wrote this at midnight in my notes app with absolutely no editing so, read at your own risk.

Summary: It’s been weeks since the Crown Prince of the Heartlands, Prince Wensclaus ran away from home. During his absence, he’s taken a spunky aspiring knight under his wing to distract from the pain of his disapproving parents. Although, anyone can tell it’s more than that. He genuinely cares for the kid. As for his own family, however, they are not content to lose him. Featuring aro/ace future Wensclaus, a non-binary TTP OC I made named Law, and an older, wiser, but generally unchanged Joan.

————-

Although it’s been years since Wensclaus has been to the Hinterlands, there’s something familiar about the way the wind whips at his hair, heavy with the promise of rain. There’s something familiar about the dull, incessant roar of leaves in the breeze, and there’s something familiar about the dry crunch of dirt beneath his heels as he bites his lower lip, drawing blood as he parries and ripostes a rather impressive attack to his left side.

This place definitely had never held the warm glow of home to him, but the landscape tugged at Polaroid memories all the same.

His assailant, far more used to the northernmost elements than Wensclaus, circled at a wide radius, letting limp their wrist in exertion and dragging the point of their sword in the dirt. Their face was leveled in an annoyed glare (it was rather early). Beneath their tunic, their chest rose and fell in quick succession.

“Careful,” Wensclaus muttered, “We just had the blacksmith sharpen that.”

His adversary lept back into action, once again assuming a rather bold offensive strategy, yet left their form with much to be desired. At any moment, really, he could send them toppling on their back, but this skirmish wasn’t staged for the purpose of an expedient victory.

Although they only employed a handful of successful attacks on Wensclaus, he couldn’t help but to find himself surpised by their skill level. That, or the fact that without the rigid background of swordsman training, they were afforded the ability to combine techniques in a fluid manner without so much as a second thought. It was a skill that he himself envied.

The sparring match between the pair often drawn a crowd of onlookers, as entertainment in the Hinterlands dwindled after Barrabas returned to the Midlands. However, the mist on the plains had yet to evaporate and the cock had yet to crow, so they were alone in their back and forth dance.

Or so they thought.

Through the mist, an imposing horseback figure drew closer and closer, regarding the fight with vague curiosity. She watched the epic climax, and subsequent end, as the younger swordsperson unexpectedly threw Wensclaus off balance and tumbling to the ground.

“Do you yield,” Law said with a false air of suave.

“Ah, I’ve been bested,” Wensclaus replied in a similar play of false airs, “I yield, I yield! Spare me, lest I suffer a worser fate.”

Law laughed and held out a hand to Wensclaus and pulled him up.

“Good work with your offense,” Wensclaus praised, “Your footwork has improved greatly.”

“While yours has only grown sloppier since you’ve been gone.” The mystery spectator cut in. Her horse drew closer in the mist, and with horrifying realization Wensclaus realized it was his Aunt Joan. She dismounted and strode towards the pair.

Wensclaus gripped his sword, unsure if he wanted a fight or a reunion.

The head knight in question stood with an innate intimidating posture that made Wensclaus feel like a child again. However, that clearly wasn’t the case; Wensclaus had grown into his gangly limbs and assumed a self-assured posturer, and the constant eroding factor of time had etched wrinkles into Joan’s face and dusted Grey into her hair.

“Look, It’s the no-fun police,” Law scowled, crossing their arms, yet hiding slightly behind Wensclaus. He only sighed.

“Your fathers have been worried sick for you, Wensclaus,” Joan said softly, “they miss you terribly.”

Wensclaus kicked a stone, “Thats very inconvenient for them. I hope they feel better.”

“Wen-“

“No.” Wensclaus shouted. He wanted to continue, but he then became hyper-aware of Law, himself over seven years their senior, ducking behind the heavy mass of his cloak and gripping it slightly. He sighed. Not here.

“Can we continue this somewhere else?”

——

After a whispered argument that warmed Wensclaus’s heart but ultimately convinced him of Law’s protective yet stubborn nature, he found himself seated across the table from Joan in the only tavern in town and Law sulking outside as they waited for the adults to finish up. A daunting mug of root beer sat in front of him, which was much more interesting than the steely grey eyes of his pseudo-aunt.

“I can’t believe they sent my babysitter to come pick me up,” Wensclaus began, deciding to skip the small talk and poke the sleeping elephant with a stick. Or whatever the idiom is about.

“Wensclaus,” Joan began.

“Like, ok, they have a kingdom to run, but I’ve seen my Dad pull holidays out of his ass so we could have a vacation. They could have come themselves-“

“Your fathers did not send for me, Wensclaus.” Joan cut Wensclaus off with an impressive gulp of definetly-not-root beer. “I doubt they even know where you are. Not that they haven’t been searching, of course. As far as they’re concerned, I’m farther up North to check up on a dwarf problem your Uncle Darling is having.”

Wensclaus’s face drew up as he straightened in his booth. “Wait, then how did you-“

“It just made sense,” Joan replied, “You experienced perceived rejection and to cope you returned back to the place where you first received rejection. The little knight you found, however, was a nice touch. They’re coming along quite nicely. I’m proud.”

The explicit praise did not fly over Wensclaus’s head, “I’m that predictable, huh?”

“You’re not predictable, just human,” Joan shrugged, then at Wensclaus’s face, continued, “That’s just what Cecily has been telling me. And for the record, I’m not telling them you’re here until you’re ready to be found.”

Wensclaus leaned back in his chair and stared down at the frothy mess of his root-beer.

“They all miss-“

“It’s just hard.” Wensclaus said, without emotion. Joan remained quiet this time.

“It’s hard when, you know, everyone is talking about you, like, oh look at Prince Wensclaus! He’s like, I don’t know, in his mid-twenties, and tied down to no one,” Wensclaus laughed dryly, “His parents, they were married by age eighteen. Basically invented love and all that shit. How massive of a failure do you have to be to not love anyone when those are your role models?”

“You must be pretty fucked up.” He wiped a tear from his eye. “God it’s just... it’s so hard. I’m nothing like them and... it’s so hard.”

“You love me, don’t you?” Joan said, “And what about your Aunt Cecily?”

Wensclaus regraded Joan strangely, “Well, yeah, but not like-“

“What about your Uncles up North, Darling and Percy?” Joan continued, “Or your little knight?”

“Joan, it’s not like-“

“Your fathers?” Joan pressed, “Do you not love them?”

“I do, Joan, but that doesn’t count!” Wensclaus snapped. A few patrons across the bar glanced over. Face flushing, Wensclaus lowered his voice and relaxed his clenched fists, “That’s not the point, it-“

“You’re right,” Joan said, “The point is that you feel angry because of the high expectations inadvertently placed on your shoulders by your fathers because you’re different. But to say you love no one is so... far from the truth. Love takes many forms, and they can all be fulfilling.”

Wensclaus gave no response, instead favoring the mug in his hands than making eye contact with Joan. He was holding himself back from lashing out again.

“When I came out to my father, as both gay and a knight,” Joan began, “He tried to fix me.”

This caught Wensclaus’s attention.

“He set me up with all kinds of guys,” Joan laughed, “even a pig farmer. Enrolled me in all these classes for lady-etiquette and had me fitted for a ball gown corset. I was so angry, I ran away.”

“But you and your dad get along great,” Wensclaus said, “He’s over at your and Aunt Cecily’s cottage almost every weekend.”

“Now we get along great,” Joan corrected, “But this was all when you were very young.”

This satisfied Wensclaus’s confusion.

“I guess in the end he was afraid for me and afraid for himself,” Joan said, “Everything I was doing he had never seen done before, and that was scary. When people are scared, they do dumb things, like threaten to estrange their children.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Wensclaus asked slowly.

“When Cecily found out about what my father had threatened, she marched her little sequined self down to the pub he was hiding out in and gave him a piece of her mind,” Joan continued, “After you left, that’s exactly what I did to your fathers.”

“What?” Wensclaus finally cracked a smile, “You yelled at my dads?”

Joan shrugged, “It’s not the first time. I love them, Wensclaus, I really do, but they can be incredibly thick sometimes.”

That sobered him up, “Yeah.”

“They reacted the way they did not because they didn’t love you anymore, Wens,” Joan reaches across the table and grabbed his hand, “They reacted that way because what you were describing was something they had never seen done before, and they were scared for what that meant for you.”

“That still doesn’t make it right,” he replied.

“You’re right. It was wrong, which is exactly why Rupert has written and rewritten his formal apology to you several dozen times, so you know that in fourteen different languages that he loves you no matter what,” Joan replied, “And Amir is currently drafting legislation to nationally recognize aromanticism as a romantic identity and provide funding to revise public service announcements to include it. It was wrong of them to react the way they did, and they only thing they want in the world is to take it back.”

“Wow, I-“ Wensclaus suddenly found himself speaking through tears, “I don’t-“

“I’m not going to force you to come home before you’re ready,” Joan said steadily, “But I want you to know that when you are, there’s a place for you.”

It was embarrassing, the way that Wensclaus began sobbing in the tavern like that. The eyes of half a dozen hitherlandians landed on his shaking frame as the head knight of the heartlands held him to her chest. She ran her fingers through his hair, just like she used to when he had nightmares about the Despair. But this was so much worse, because this was not about an enemy he could defeat; rather, it was the floodgates of relief mixing with the festering hurt that had been building in him ever since he stepped foot out of the palace gates. Dimly, he was aware of the soft reassurances his aunt whispered into his ear, but in his determination to speak through his tears it all was mush.

“I want to go home,” he said hoarsely, and he felt the same relief within Joan.

—-

As the door to the tavern opened, Law jumped up from the ground and ran up to Wensclaus. However, after they took in his tear-stained face and Joan’s arm on his shoulder, they stumbled back, as if flinching in pain and disbelief.

“So you’re going back?” Law seethed, “Just like that?”

Wensclaus made brief eye contact with Joan, who released her arm from his shoulder and walked off with a nod. He returned his attention to Law and wiped his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said, “I’m going back. I can’t hide here forever.”

“But they said-“

“And they realized they were wrong,” Wensclaus finished, “I want to give them another chance before I cut them off entirely. If Joan can do it... then I guess I can too.”

His rationalization only caused his mentee to spiral further, “A-And what are you going to do, huh? Just.... leave me here?”

Wensclaus’s face drew up as an emotional knife stabbed cleanly through his heart. This scene felt all too familiar, except never from this perspective.

“No, no, of course not. No. Never. You’re going to come with me and Joan,” he said, placing his arms in Law’s shoulders in an attempt to ground them, “I mean, only if that’s what you want.”

“I won’t fit in,” Law said quietly, “It will be... weird.”

Wensclaus laughed, “I didn’t fit in either. It’s not that weird.”

In a conspiratorial tone, he added, “Plus, everyone there is weird. Just wait until you meet my Uncle Darling.”

That caused Law to smile as they held their hands on top of Wensclaus’s on their shoulders.

“Wensclaus,” Joan called out from her horse, “Little Knight.”

The pair glanced up from their conversation as Joan trotted closer.

“You coming?”

Wensclaus straightened up, leaving a hand in Law’s shoulder.

“Yeah. Let’s go home.”

#the two princes #the two princes podcast #prince rupert #prince amir #prince Wensclaus #sir joan #sir Joan ttp #the two princes fic #wens and Joan call everyone aunt and uncle because I’m a baby for the found family trope and the og ttp gang all are a family #rumir

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barely-alive-shrimp · 4 years

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About PSP Jeanne d’Arc ’s historical references

You know, Jeanne d’Arc for PSP is a funny game: while clearly not being very historically accurate (orcs and magical armlets in the Hundred Years’ War? Huh, they don’t tell you about things like that on History lessons), it still contains some interesting nods to history, some of which are quite obscure. I’ve collected some of them, mostly about historical figures and some events that I consider to be most interesting. This is going to be a long post, and there will be some spoilers, but I’ll put a warning so you could skip that part if you haven’t played the whole game yet. Oh, and sorry for any mistakes – I’m not a native speaker, so I hope there won’t be too many of them. I tried my best :P

[Note: I kept referring to her as Jeanne d’Arc here, although, as far as I understand, it is more common to call her Joan of Arc in English. I’ll leave it as it is, if you don’t mind ^^’]

Okay, I think I’ll start with the characters. There are quite a lot of characters who were based off real people: aside from the most obvious ones (Jeanne d’Arc, Gilles de Rais, Henry VI, Charles VII and some others), we have the following (I tried to find some paintings and pictures where possible):

Jean and Bertrand are based off Jean de Metz and Bertrand de Poulengy, who were Jeanne’s trusted allies during the Hundred Years’ War. They both had great respect for Jeanne and escorted her on her journey to the dauphin.

Colet’s prototype is most likely Colet de Vienne, a royal messenger who also escorted Jeanne d’Arc on her way to Chinon. Little is known about him, other than that he was accompanied by an archer named Richard – probably a prototype for Marcel. I guess they changed his name so he won’t be confused with the other Richard, who is also a playable character. By the way, it seems that the name ‘Marcel’ means “little warrior” in French, so if game developers chose that name intentionally (and I think they did), that’s a very nice little touch!

Étienne de Vignolles, more known as La Hire, was among France’s best commanders and was one of Jeanne d’Arc’s most trusted allies. Described as quite an arrogant man, he was a fearsome warrior and fought alongside Jeanne at Orleans and during the Battle of Patay. You can also find this prayer of his: “God, I pray Thee that today Thou wilt do for La Hire that which Thou wouldst have La Hire do for Thee, if he were God and Thou wert La Hire.” – perhaps, much like his in-game version, he did have a habit of talking about himself in the third person.

Richard was probably based off Brother Richard, a Franciscan monk who knew Jeanne. I couldn’t find any other information about him, though, except for this design for an opera.

The next one is a bit of a stretch, to be honest. It seems Bartolomeo does have a historical prototype, but it’s not clear who it was; he may or may not be based off Bartolomeo d'Alviano, an Italian captain who fought on the side of Spain against France. He didn’t have much to do with the Hundred Years’ War, though; moreover, he was born after Jeanne was burned at the stake.

Robert de Baudricourt was a captain of the royal garrison at Vaucouleurs. When Jeanne d’Arc came to him, saying she has a mission from God and asking for assistance, he was very skeptical at first, but since Jeanne was very persistent, he eventually provided her an escort to visit the Dauphin. The game didn’t change it much.

John Talbot was an English military commander known as “English Achilles” for his bravery. Despite being one of the most feared warriors, he was respected so much that when he was captured, Charles VII released him without asking for ransom.

Sir William Glasdale was an English captain who commanded the troops in the fort Les Tourelles. Jeanne d’Arc wrote a letter to him, pleading him to lift the siege of the fort, but he refused to do so, and Jeanne’s troops started the assault to take Les Tourelles back. During the assault, Glasdale fell into the Loire River and drowned, as his armor was too heavy.

Both Georges de La Trémoille and Arthur de Richemont were indeed Charles’s trusted servants. Georges also survived an attempt of assassination – as described, “thanks to his obesity”, and, as you can see in the game, the developers had that part in their heads, as well. :) Here’s a picture of Arthur de Richemont, I couldn’t find any paintings of real life Georges de La Trémoille, but I’ll add a picture of his in-game version a bit later.

There’s an interesting detail about Charles VII himself: have you ever looked at his in-game portrait and thought: “Man, they didn’t have to draw him such a big nose”? Well, that’s probably because real Charles VII was actually described as a man with a big nose! That’s another “well done” to the game developers.

As for Bedford – his actual name was John of Lancaster, ‘The Duke of Bedford’ was only his title. I don’t know, maybe that’s obvious, but I spent a good part of walkthrough thinking Bedford was his name. His real name not being mentioned and all the other characters calling him just “Bedford” certainly didn’t help. :P

* * *

All right, now I’m going to dive into some historical events and characters’ relationships that might spoil some events of the game for you. Please, go to the “SPOILERS END” mark if you haven’t finished the game yet and want to see everything for yourself.

SPOILERS

Okay, first of all, the game heavily implies Charles VII had a difficult relationship with his mother, Isabeau of Bavaria. Real life Isabeau of Bavaria claimed that Charles VII wasn’t the trueborn son of Charles VI, thus couldn’t be the rightful king of France, so I doubt the queen loved her son very much. The game tries to explain it with the demonic possession of Isabeau – still, her last words before she was (presumably) killed by Henry VI/Gilvaroth were confusing and quite out-of-nowhere to me.

Georges de La Trémoille disliked Jeanne d’Arc and, as some historians believe, was involved in a plot against her that ultimately led to her death – both in real life and the game. Of course, we all remember that in the game it wasn’t Jeanne who ended up at the stake…

The Battle of Patay (June, 1489) was one of Jeanne d’Arc’s greatest victories during the Hundred Years’ war. In this battle, the feared “Terror of French” John Talbot was finally captured. I’m not sure if this one was intended or not, but this stage in the game is the last time you see Talbot – well, not until he suddenly reappears late in the game, only to help you and never to be seen again.

Do you remember the part where Liane went overwhelmed with her great power and responsibility (hehe) and tried to recapture Paris by herself? Real Jeanne d’Arc also tried to break the siege of Paris, but the attempt failed and she and her troops were ordered to withdraw. After that, the nobles’ disappointment with her had reached its highest point, and Jeanne’s fate was pretty much sealed – much like Liane’s.

And, of course, the darkest nod to the history is Gilles de Rais, known as a serial killer and possibly a pedophile (there are some historians who believe he was framed, but that’s not the point for now). On the other hand, in-game Gilles is a nice and noble guy and never betrays you or does something violent. At the end of the game, he sacrifices himself so Gilvaroth would be trapped inside of his body, and, considering the real history, the demon probably got him in the end. This reference is more well-known and has been discussed at several forums, but I still cannot help but mention it.

Also, on a less disturbing note – see how Gilles is drawn with a lily? That’s because Charles VII allowed de Rais to add this flower on their family crest, which was considered a great honor, as lily symbolized the power of the Crown (that’s what I heard, at least).

SPOILERS END

These are the most interesting historical references of the game, in my opinion. Thank you for reading and feel free to correct me and/or add the details I’ve missed! My DM is closed for now, but you can correct me via reblogs, if you want. ^^

#Jeanne d'Arc PSP #JDA PSP #Jeanne d'Arc #Joan of Arc #Why am I even doing this

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lovelivingmydreams · 3 years

Text

A story by heroes and villains

Janus Anker: identity

To be a teenager is to learn more about yourself. But does it have to be all at once?

Please leave a comment on this one? I usually don't ask but I would really like feedback on this one.

Masterpost

Summer before freshmen year, Janus was a wreck.

He always kind of hated the way he looked. But lately there were days where he didn’t even like to look at the normal half of his body. When nothing in his closet felt comfortable. The first day of summer, he went over to the neighbor’s house to hang out with Virgil. He was having a bad day and needed his friend. “Janus. Good to see you my boy,” Virgil’s dad greeted as he opened the door. Janus forced a smile. “Hi uncle Lo. Is Virgil up yet?” he asked. “He’s in his room. You know the way,” uncle Logan told him kindly. Janus nodded and rushed up the stairs. He opened the door to Virgil’s bedroom and froze. Virgil was standing in front of his mirror a pen in his hand and his hoodie and t-shirt on the bed. He looked up and smiled at him. Why was his hair purple? And since when did he do his eyeshadow so immaculate? Did he paint his nails purple too? Was that lipstick? And why was there an intricate pattern running up his arm, over his shoulder and fading out at his chest? “What do you think? Looks pretty sick right?” he asked as he showed off his work. Janus wasn’t sure which part of Virgil’s drastically changed appearance he meant. But it looked very… very… God he could not be having a gay panic right now. Not with Virgil. He’d never had a crush before! He never cared for any of the girls in class. Not in the way Virgil sometimes expressed interest in them. Like Anna from their class. Virgil had had a small crush on her at the start of last year. Out of curiosity Janus had asked what it was like. To see if maybe he was crushing on someone without realizing it. Sadly Virgil’s explanation hadn’t brought an epiphany. Which made this even more confusing. If he was simply gay and crushing on Virgil this whole time, then he should have realized it then right? He’d known him all his life! He didn’t feel like this last week though. He forced himself to drop that train of thought. He wasn’t here for any of this. “Yeah. Looks good. Though I doubt uncle Lo will let you actually get a tattoo. Ever,” he said, trying to play it cool. Virgil chuckled and nodded as he tossed the pen on his desk and put on his shirt and hoodie. The latter was new. Black with purple patches. It looked hand made. In a good way. Janus couldn’t focus on it though. He was still reeling from the unexpected rush of feelings that had just been dumped on him.

Maybe it was just because Virgil had looked so different? Some sort of shock? That must be it. Right? Anyway it was mostly over now and he was back to feeling wrong in his own skin. “I know, but I wanted to try it out anyway. I’ll wash it off later. After I take a picture.” Virgil then studied Janus’ face. “One of those days?” he guessed. Janus nodded. He’d never been able to express to Virgil how it felt exactly. But his friend managed to make him feel better anyway. He’d help him relax by messing around with his hair or helping him pick something nice to wear. Or some general self-care stuff. “I’ve got just the thing. Sit down I’ll be right back.” Janus proceeded to throw himself face first on Virgil’s bed, doing his best not to think back to the fake tattoo he had drawn. Or not the part where it made him feel things anyway. Virgil was good at art. Good enough to make others envious, or make people try and get something from him. Janus felt his stomach twist in knots at the mere thought of it. Virgil was too kind to deny anyone if they’d ask. It would be very hard to keep him safe in high school though, when they weren’t guaranteed to be together for every class. Janus had been thinking a lot about ways he could protect them from bullies and fake friends. The best he could come up with was seem scarier and stick together. The coward was going to scare off the bullies. Janus was very aware of how ridiculous that sounded. He was going to try though. And then there was still the matter of Roman Castile. That pompous brat never stopped trying to get Virgil to trust him and steal him away. Janus still couldn’t figure out why he went through so much effort. Was it because he didn’t get told ‘no’ often? Was Virgil a challenge? Roman couldn’t possibly really know or appreciate the kind of person Virgil was. So what was the plan? “Get up. I can’t work my magic if you hide away like that,” Virgil instructed as he entered the room once again dropping something on the bed. Janus sighed and sat up. “Give me your hand. We’re doing make overs,” Virgil instructed as he got on the bed with him. Janus was about to protest, but Virgil had that look. There was no arguing. “Fine,” he sighed. Virgil took his hand and started doing his nails with a golden polish. “I bought this one for detailing,” he explained. Janus looked at Virgil’s hand and saw there were little stars in the purple polish. He couldn’t help a smile. It looked pretty. Virgil had started using make up the last few months. Just some dark smudges under his eyes and black polish on his nails to look extra edgy. Maybe the new look held the same intention? A high school upgrade? With a little detail to hint at a softer nature for those who looked close. “You’re in the mood for makeovers today,” he observed. Virgil chuckled. “I suppose,” he nodded as he blew over Janus’ nails, finishing of his right hand. “Next,” he instructed. Janus gave him his left hand, holding his right up so nothing could mess up the still wet paint. “What’s with all the shades of purple anyway?” he asked. “Just felt right,” Virgil muttered casually as he finished off Janus’ other hand. “There,” he stated satisfied as he let go. Janus shook both hands for a bit trying to get them dry. “We’ll find the look that feels right for you too. Just you wait,” Virgil assured him as he dug through the bag Janus had heard him put down earlier. “What are you planning?” he asked. “Relax, I’m not going to make you go home with a face full of make-up. We’re just trying something different okay?” Virgil assured him. Janus let out a sigh and nodded. He trusted him. “I wouldn’t go for a dark lipstick for you. It looks cool but it’s… Not something even I would want for an everyday look. And the goal is making you feel good not shock you,” he joked. Janus’ eyes fell to Virgil’s lips as he mentioned lipstick. The dark color made every movement stand out even more. They looked very kissable. And that brought Janus mind to a screeching halt. The image of kissing his best friend made him feel all sorts of ways. But not quite the way Virgil once described. He felt nervous and excited, and flustered. But not… Not love. He didn’t think of sweet nothings and dates and holding hands. Or he did, because part of him wanted to run those down to figure out if this was a crush. But none of that fit how he felt about Virgil. The thought of it was just weird to him. Virgil was movie nights and stupid jokes and teasing. But also kissing. Apparently. Suddenly he was yanked out of his thoughts by Virgil carefully taking hold of his face. For a second he thought Virgil’s mind had gone to the same place his had. But when his eyes shot up to V’s they were just amused. “Relax. And stop biting your lip. I haven’t even done anything and you’re already trying to ruin my masterpiece.” “Sorry,” Janus muttered. Relieved that Virgil had no clue what just happened. What was wrong with him? “It’s fine,” Virgil assured him as he started applying whatever color he’d decided on to Janus’ lips. It did not help with his crisis. And it was just a stellar crisis to have when the object of your attraction was literally holding your face and had his lips a breath away from yours. “There. Now, I’m going to need you to trust me for a sec here,” Virgil warned ominously. Clearly having fun. Janus couldn’t help a chuckle. Now that Virgil wasn’t so close anymore the attraction subsided to a not all consuming level and he could kind of enjoy the fact that Virgil was trying to make him feel like a movie star or whatever he was going for here. “Do I have a choice in the matter?” he asked dryly. Virgil chuckled. Janus thought back to how Virgil had said that Anna’s laugh made his heart skip, back when he liked her. But while the sound made Janus feel comfortable and happy, his heart did nothing special. He was just happy and relaxed because the sound was familiar and safe. “You have a point,” Virgil agreed. “Close your eyes for me.” Janus did as he was told. Virgil’s hand was on his face once more and he could feel his breath drift over him. The fact that he couldn’t see a thing as a brush drifted over his eyelids only intensified the new feelings. “Did you know the principle of our high school is childhood friends with uncle Thomas?” ‘Uncle’ Thomas was an old school friend of Uncle Logan. Janus had met him a few times over the years. He was a nice guy. If a bit high energy. “Really?” he asked a little surprised. “Yeah. Joan Stokes. They use they/them pronouns. According to uncle Thomas.” Janus couldn’t help the confused frown. “What do you mean?” he asked. “They’re non binary. They don’t identify as a man or a woman. Like they were born in a male body, but their gender is not male or female.” “People can do that?” Janus asked. “Just decide they aren’t what they are?” “That’s not it. Uncle Thomas says that Mx. Stokes… Mx. Is the neutral version of Mr. or Mrs. by the way… Anyway he said that they are their authentic selves. They were always non binary. They just didn’t know it until they were in their teens or something. I looked it up. There are people who are born in a male body but discover they are female later in life. Like. It’s proven that their brains even work more like that of a female. And the other way around can happen too. So why wouldn’t there be people who are in between?” Janus tried to wrap his head around it. Being a man but not being a man… or a woman. “So is… are they…? Did I say that right?” It felt kind of weird. He’d never heard of this until now. “That was exactly right.” Janus could swear he heard some pride in Virgil’s voice. “Okay, so are they both or neither?” he asked. Virgil’s hand stilled. “You know… I didn’t ask. Hm… I suppose… Maybe it depends on your perspective?” he mused as he continued working. “Look up for a bit please,” Virgil muttered. Janus opened his eyes and felt Virgil start applying some eye liner. “I don’t have mascara, so I’m almost done,” he told him. Janus felt relieved. He was enjoying this, truly. And he was curious to find out how he looked. But he also needed some distance between himself and Virgil. And maybe some time to try to look up what all of these feelings were about. Because he wanted to know what this thing was that threatened his friendship with Virgil. Was this a crush? If it was, then why didn’t he feel any of the stuff he was supposed to feel. Except for a very dumb and dangerous wish to kiss his best friend. “And done! Turn around I’m going to fix your hair a bit.” Janus sighed and turned to face the window. He’d let his hair grow the past few years. It came past his shoulders now and he liked the way it looked. He usually wore it up to the side. But Virgil liked to play around with it sometimes. And Janus secretly liked it when he did. “Okay so I’m not going too wild here. I’m keeping it simple,” Virgil assured him as he started brushing Janus’ hair. Janus hummed in acknowledgement, already lost in the feeling of the brush. This was relaxing. And over much too soon. “Done!” Virgil announced as he hopped off the bed. Suddenly Janus was dragged in front of the mirror. “Well, you look hot, if I do say so myself.” Janus was so shocked that he barely registered the complement. He looked… The person in the mirror was… That was him… If he forgot about his clothes for a minute and just looked at his face. The feeling of wrongness was gone. In it’s place was a strange sort of euphoria. “Is this a good speechless or a bad speechless?” Virgil wondered. Janus was pulled away from marveling at how Virgil had managed to go for a natural look in spite of his birthmarks making it harder to pick a color that looked good on both sides. He wanted to hug him. Thank him for making him look beautiful. He'd never appreciated the shape of his eyes until Virgil made them stand out. His lips looked elegant and full. And now it was down, Jan's hair framed his face so nicely. Virgil was amazing. But when he looked at him, the euphoria subsided. Slowly replaced by dread. He looked like a girl. He realized. If he switched out his clothes a little, he could easily be mistaken for a girl… and he liked looking like this. This was too much. Did Virgil know that this would happen? Was that the point of bringing up pronouns? Was this a test? He couldn’t let him know. He wasn’t ready. He didn’t even know what there was to know. He needed time. “You are getting way to good at this. I almost didn't realize it was me,” he said while he was trying to find an excuse to get the make-up of and go home. Virgil smiled. “I'll take that as a complement. It looks good on you. Thanks for letting me try it out,” he offered as he went back to his bag. “I’ve got some sponges to clean up. Dad wouldn't care, but I get it if you don't feel like explaining that we're just messing around.” Janus relaxed a little at that. Virgil didn’t know. Good. He accepted the sponge and with a heavy heart went to the bathroom to clean up. He left his hair down though, finding a little comfort in that. He also left his nails as they were. When he got back Virgil was sitting cross legged on the bed sketching. He looked up and smiled. Janus smiled back and let himself drop in his usual spot. He probably should go. But if he hurried home now, it would be even more suspicious. And as long as they didn’t get too close again, he could ignore at least half of his crisis. “Hey, I’m probably not going to use the lipstick or most of the eyeshadow anymore. You think your mom can use it?” Virgil wondered absentmindedly after a few minutes of comfortable silence. Janus shrugged. “I'll ask her. You sure? Isn't make-up very expensive?” “It’s all either sale or stuff Uncle Thomas gave to me. One of his friends is a make-up artist who gets stuff like that all the time for free. and I wanted to experiment,” Virgil explained casually. “But like I said I’m not a lipstick kind of emo and other than black, purple and maybe blue I don't think I’ll use any of the eyeshadow.” Janus nodded. “Sure.” He didn’t mention that he might make his own selection first. To test out if it was just novelty that made him feel good, or if he was really… a she. Virgil put the sketchbook aside and got out of bed digging through the bag. He put a bunch of stuff on his desk before coming back and handing the bag over. “I’ll need the bag back though. Have her select what she likes and do with the rest whatever you want.” Janus nodded as he accepted the bag. They listened to music for a while, Virgil sketching absentmindedly. “Is being with a man who’s actually a woman gay?” Janus wondered out loud all of a sudden. Virgil looked up. “Does it matter?” he asked. “I mean… A little?” Janus didn’t know how to explain where the question came from. He knew. But he couldn’t say without giving himself away… herself? No. He was not ready to try out the pronoun. Not even in his mind. “Well… I don’t know… Do you mean someone who’s born male but identifies as female?” Janus nodded. “And we’re talking about us as guys right?” Janus nodded again. “Then. If they identify as female, it’s not gay I suppose. They’re a woman. At least that’s what I got from what I looked up. I didn’t do a whole indebt study.” Janus hummed absentmindedly. “I don’t know if I could make out with someone who’s like that,” he admitted. He didn’t mean to sound insensitive. He might be ‘someone like that’ himself. It just felt all so complicated and confusing right now. He didn’t know what to think. He wouldn’t know for sure until he was put in that position. He thought back to the past few years and his failed attempts at trying to feel interested in girls the way Virgil was. He thought he was just picky. That he needed to be really into someone to even consider putting his mouth on theirs. And the argument could be made that this was true for Virgil too. But he only liked him as a friend. Not as someone he wanted to start a family with. Though he could imagine them jokingly making a pact to settle with each other if they were still single when they turned 30 or something like that. Could people just want to kiss someone without being in love? They did that right? One night stands and all that stuff happened all the time. If they could not be a guy or a girl, or be the opposite of what they were born as. Or seemed to be born as at first glance. His head was spinning. He had too much to think about. “Well, I don’t think I’d care. If I like them, and they’re cute. Then I’d be down I think…” Once again Janus hummed vaguely. It was a bit of a relief. One less thing to worry about for him. They sat in silence after that, listening to music. Virgil sketching, Janus trying to compile a plan. When Virgil was called in for lunch Janus left for his house. He had made a decision. He had lunch with his dad, his mom was at work and his dad had to go present a project. Which meant that by some miracle, Janus would have the house to himself. A rare occurrence. Normally he’d invite Virgil over. But this time, he needed some time for himself. He took the make-up bag up and then dug through his mother’s closet. He took out a skirt and a shirt that sat loose so he wouldn’t ruin them. He wasn’t going to take risks with her shoes. He’d have to make due. Once in his room he searched the bag for the right colors. They’d been shades of yellow and brown, he recalled. He saw that Virgil had kept the eyeliner, which made sense. Virgil wore it almost daily. It was fine. This was just an experiment anyway. He wasn’t as good as Virgil. He figured out that he had used slightly different shades, or blended or something on either eye to make up for the different skin tones. He didn’t get it exactly right but close enough. He’d borrowed his mother’s mascara and prayed he was putting it on right. He put on a shade of lipstick that looked close enough to the one Virgil used, wishing he’d paid more attention to what he said rather than panic about how much he wanted to kiss him in that moment. In any case he was done with his make-up. It wasn’t until he was about to put on his mother’s shirt that he realized he probably should have started with the clothes and ended with the hair and make-up. Live and learn. Very carefully, he put on the shirt and then the skirt. He closed his eyes as he stepped in front of the full length mirror glued to his closet door. He took a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s just… try,” he whispered to himself. He opened his eyes… She looked great. Virgil had done a better job, but still. The outfit was… It helped. Janus felt a giddy laugh escape. She played with her hair and held out her hand as if she was greeting someone. “Hi,” she said, making her voice higher. “I’m… Janice. Nice to meet you.” Janice. Familiar but more fitting. Her heart was racing, her stomach in knots. Now this was closer to what Virgil described as falling in love. She was just so happy to meet herself. The pronoun felt much less scary in the privacy of her own room. She was going to have to do more research. Why was she only starting to feel this way now? What was that thing with Virgil earlier? Why did she only feel bad about her body on some days and others she was completely fine with being Janus. Was that normal? But for this moment she let herself be happy. Everything else could wait just a bit longer. The rest of summer, Janus did every chore they could. Their parents and uncle Lo had implemented a system that allowed Virgil and Janus to raise their allowance if they did chores. It was meant to teach them that a good work ethic got rewarded or something along those lines, Janus was sure. But all they cared about was that they’d be able to buy themself some make up and an outfit to wear when they needed it. They were still a mess. The good news was, they now knew why. They were gay. That much was clear. Or well they were exclusively into men. But after talking in some online chat groups, they’d figured out that they weren’t a trans woman, as they’d initially thought. They were, in fact, gender fluid. Some days, he was just Janus. Other days she was more comfortable as Janice. They were okay with they/them on any given day. That is, they’d figured that out in their head. But they weren’t out to anyone yet. They were terrified of telling any adult in their life. Even if they were fairly sure that Uncle Lo, at the very least, was fine with the whole gender thing. But still. They wanted to tell Virgil so badly. But… There was one more thing they’d figured out that they weren’t ready to share. They were aromantic. Or at least on that spectrum. So… They did and didn’t have a crush on Virgil. There was definitely, attraction they felt for the boy now sitting next to them in the car, singing loudly with them to the songs of one of their favorite bands as they were headed off for a weekend in New York for a P!ATD concert. They were having fun. It was a Janus day, so they felt okay when Uncle Lo and Virgil used male pronouns and stuff like that. Virgil grinned at him. “You better be prepared, I’m going to make you fit in with the crowd tomorrow,” he promised. Janus rolled their eyes and laughed. Setting in the next song with him. About an hour later they got to their hotel. “We have two adjacent rooms. I trust you boys can be responsible enough to be left to your own devices after dinner?” Uncle Lo asked sternly. Virgil and Janus exchanged a glance. “You can trust that we won’t do anything that could make you decide to go back home tomorrow. Making us miss the concert.” Janus assured his honorary uncle, who chuckled. “Well, I suppose that is very sound reasoning. I’ll let you two unpack. We’ll have dinner in the hotel restaurant in an hour,” he reminded them. “Okay, dad,” Virgil grinned as he opened the door to their room and they brought in their luggage. Virgil dropped his as soon as he closed the door. He took a running start and flopped on the bed. Or beds. It was a two bed room, but the beds were pushed together. “This bed is awesome! You have to try this Jan!” Virgil’s tendency to shorten Janus’ name was actually a blessing on their feminine days. Janus smirked and dropped his bags too and dove onto the bed next to Virgil. Oh, they were soft and comfortable. “It’s going to be a pain pushing them apart,” they muttered. “Eh, worries for later,” Virgil said dismissively as he folded his arms behind his head and looked up at the ceiling. “I’m glad we get to do this. It feels like forever since we’ve just hung out you know?” Janus felt a little bad. They’d been very tense lately, which had put a damper on every time they’d visited Virgil or invited him over. They hoped things would get better soon. Once they got over their attraction, they could tell him everything. And then they could get back to normal. They just… Most of the time they were fine. But there were moments when Janus had a gay panic around Virgil and his instinctive reaction was to push away. Which obviously confused Virgil. And rightfully so. Rationally they knew that if they explained themselves, Virgil would understand he didn’t do anything wrong here and everything would be fine again. But they were afraid he’d be weirded out by it. He might be okay with their pronouns bouncing around the way they did. He might be okay with him being attracted to guys. And maybe even with him being aromatic… But him being attracted to him might be too much. “Yeah… Sorry. I’m just…” Janus tried to figure out how to explain some of what he’s going through. Virgil was his best friend. He should tell him. “Hey, I get it. High School has me pretty stressed out too. But even if we don’t have all classes together, there’s lunch, and we’ll see each other outside of school hours to. I mean, we live next to each other. There’s no getting rid of me.” He turned his head and smirked at Janus at the last part. Janus smiled a little. Feeling a little better knowing that Virgil had no intentions of leaving him behind. He never had turned away from him just because some other kids told him he could hang out with them. People had even stopped trying to separate them. With one annoying exception. But he wasn’t going to give that guy the satisfaction of taking up space in their summer. They stared at the ceiling for a while, just talking no sign of any awkwardness. They made it through a fun dinner and when they got back to the room they played a game of truth or dare. It was harmless stuff. Just acting silly and nothing too challenging. Until… “Janus, truth or dare?” Virgil chuckled as he sat down after dancing to ‘barbie girl’. “Dare,” Janus replied carelessly. “Okay… I dare you to…” Virgil bit his lip and played with his sleeve as he thought about a good challenge. Janus knew that these were nervous habits of his but they couldn’t dwell on it very much as suddenly Virgil smirked and leaned in. “I dare you to kiss me.” It was a joke. Very clearly he only meant to take Janus by surprise and tease them about their reaction. But Janus was tempted. He could do it. Kiss him like he’d wanted to and Virgil couldn’t be mad because he’d literally told him to do it. It was the only rule they had for this game. Don’t dare anyone to do something if you are not prepared for them to actually follow through. Because they could be competitive enough to do very dumb stuff just to prove a point. So… If he kissed him now, he could maybe finally get the thought out of their head. And try to gage Virgil’s reaction to see if he was ready for them to come out. They’d hesitated too long though. Virgil was falling back and chuckling. “Relax I was just joking. Besides I never specified where you had to kiss me or anything. No need to stress out about it. Though…” Virgil looked up at him with a thoughtful expression. “You’re pretty cute. I wouldn’t hate kissing you I suppose,” he smirked, making heat flood Janus’ body. He wouldn’t? “You know, if I had to,” he added as he stuck out his tongue. Janus felt his embarrassment turn into annoyance. Virgil had gotten into the habit of complementing him like that. Wrapped up in casual teasing. He couldn’t know that it got Janus’ hopes up and Janus knew that getting upset at him would only hurt them both. But he often found himself powerless to stop it. He tossed Virgil a pillow. “You’re impossible,” he huffed. Hoping Virgil wouldn’t spot the frustration in his tone. Which of course he did. “J?” he asked gently as he got up. Laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. Janus just curled in on himself, too embarrassed to face him. “Hey, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I didn’t mean anything with it okay?” Virgil assured him. “It’s just… I know you are kind of hung up on your skin sometimes… And you know I am terrible at expressing myself… All I wanted to do was like… Let you know I think you look cool and stuff. I know that it probably means nothing coming from me…” God, they were a terrible person. Virgil was trying his best to help them, to lighten the mood that plagued them even though they never let him in on what they were thinking. “You’re wrong,” they muttered into their knees. “It means a lot. It really does… I’m just being an ass hat,” they admitted. Virgil chuckled, their reply enough to let him relax it seemed. “Yeah, but I love ya anyway,” he assured them. There was a pause. “It’s getting late we should split the beds and get some sleep. Big day tomorrow,” Virgil noted. Janus uncurled themselves and nodded. They got up and each pulled one of the beds to the side. They dug through their suitcases for their PJs and Janus worried about whether it would be weird to go to the bathroom to get changed. In the past they just got dressed in front of one another when they stayed over. But that was all before… Before Janus could even finish their thoughts Virgil was heading to the bathroom. They relaxed, not even stopping to wonder why Virgil was suddenly shy about getting dressed in the same room as them. They just got dressed and in bed. They looked up when Virgil got back in the room. “Night J,” he bid as he turned off the lights. “Night V,” Janus replied. It took them a while to get to sleep. Try as they might they couldn’t keep themselves from imagining what it could’ve been like if they hadn’t hesitated. Those thoughts quickly turned to despair though. Virgil had never once expressed attraction to one of their male classmates. Not to mention that despite his whole broody aesthetic, their friend definitely wanted a romantic relationship. Their dreams were plagued with the fear of being found out and rejected. When they woke up Virgil was grinning down at them. Dressed and ready for the day. “Get up sleepy head. Time to get dressed. Breakfast is in one hour,” he informed them as he tossed them color shampoo. Right. They were going to be turned into a real emo kid for the concert today. Janus groaned and got up. Since when was Virgil a morning person? He was usually the last to fully wake up. He must be really looking forward to today. When they got into the bathroom they finally woke up enough to realize that not sleeping well wasn’t the only thing that had them feeling like crap. It was a Janice day. They let out a sigh and were grateful that they packed something they were comfortable in no matter how they felt for the concert. After their shower, they wrapped their hair up in a towel and pulled on the skinny jeans and the baggy band shirt Virgil gave them when he told them they were going to the concert. Apparently it being a few sizes to large added to the look. To Janice, it kind of felt as close as they dared to get to wearing a dress in public. “J? You done yet? Come on! I want to make you pretty!” Virgil’s teasing voice came through the door. Janice wished they could let their friend know how much they appreciated his make overs. “Yeah, I’m ready,” they replied, trying to sound slightly reluctant. Virgil got in with a grin, dragging a chair from the room along with him. He sat Janice down and dashed out of the room to get his make-up bag. When he returned his grin had not faded even a little. He immediately got to work. “You want to wear your hair down or up today?” he asked as he took out a hairdryer and started drying their hair for them. “Down,” Janice replied. Always down on Janice days. Virgil nodded. “Okay. I’m going to pull it out of the way for a bit though,” he informed them as he turned off the hairdryer and tied their hair together on the top of their head. “Close your eyes. It’s going to be a surprise,” he told them. Janice took a deep breath and relaxed as they closed their eyes. They felt Virgil apply something to their face with a sponge. Then a soft brush applied something powdery. Then he made quick work of their eyes and lips. “Okay. It should be warmed up now,” they heard Virgil murmur as he let down their hair again. Before they could ask they felt Virgil start to brush their hair. Pulling up locks and holding something warm against their scalp, moving upwards slowly. Wait was he… Straightening their hair? “Okay…” Virgil mused as he readjusted their shirt. “You can look.” Janice could hear the pride in Virgil’s voice. Clearly he was satisfied with the result. They opened their eyes and felt their mouth drop in awe. “Tragically beautiful I’d say,” Virgil smirked. Their birthmarks… They were gone. Or hidden at least. “What do you think?” Virgil pressed, sounding a little nervous. “It looks great,” they agreed. The waves were out of their hair and the black color actually looked pretty good. Their eyes and lips were accented with dark make-up. They looked good. A little sad but… Also cute? Virgil had rearranged their shirt. Janice had tried to center it, but Virgil had made it so that one of their shoulders was bare. They had never felt this good about how they looked on a Janice day while there were others around. “Awesome. Give me a minute to fix myself and then we’ll head to breakfast,” Virgil told them, clearly relieved that they liked their look. Uncle Lo was okay with Janice’s make over as soon as Virgil assured him that the color wouldn’t stick. And even that was probably only because he didn’t want Janice’s parents to get upset about it. They spent the day sightseeing. Janice got addressed as ‘miss’ at a few stores and while he and Virgil chuckled about it, in secret Janice was very happy with those instances. The concert itself was amazing. For a little bit they could pretend that they didn’t have massive secrets and that things would be okay.

everything to lose

@moonlightshow00 @naturallyunstablegamer @alias290 @meowthefluffy @frida0043 @angelic-cali @selenechris @theblackveilinreverse @cirishere @hestianerd1

#sanders sides #ts sides #janus sanders #virgil sanders #hero au #tw: mention of atraction #tw: mention of kissing #lgbtq+#genderfluid #aromantic #tw: self depriciation #Janus angst

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years

Text

The Most Important Part of Your Body

[Wing AU; UK Tour]

My part of the art/writing trade I did with @thenicestnonbinary!! They asked for a continuation of my last fic for them and an explanation to Joan’s prophecy, so here you go! Enjoy!

Word count: 3486

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

“Lighting a candle just to breathe the smoke is a bad, bad thing… Tread carefully, for we walk on hot coals… When you play with fire, you’re bound to get burned… Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, you’re going to burn with the rest of us.”

Those words kept replaying in Anya’s head no matter how hard she tried to think of something else. They kept shoving their way to the surface of her mind, ripping apart every other thought until it played on loop, taunting her, torturing her.

What did it mean?

She didn’t sleep at all the night it was said. The image of roaring flames flickered behind her eyelids whenever she closed her eyes, so she just stayed up, thinking.

That was a prophecy. She knew it was.

So what did it mean?

Would there be a fire? Was she going to light it? She couldn’t possibly see herself doing such a thing, but after the dark futures Joan told her about…

She had looked down at her claws and saw that they were shaking.

It had been six days since then, and Anya was on high alert. She was always looking for something that may start a fire- a frayed wire, a fallen light, just someone who looked more pyromaniacal than usual. But, so far, there was nothing.

Morbid curiosity soon grew to be too much- she approached Joan.

“Joan?”

She found the little hybrid in the rehearsal room, surprisingly. It was almost strange to see her out of her dressing room when a performance wasn’t going on.

Joan was tinkering with the piano, practicing with notes and a few chords. When Anya walked in, her ears swiveled around to her, then her head. Her wings perked up slightly, tail raising.

“Anya, hello,” Joan greeted, cracking a small smile.

“Hello, Joan,” Anya greeted back. She cleared her throat. “Joan, I need to ask you something.”

Joan tilted her head. “What?”

“Do you remember when you stayed over at my house?” Anya asked, and Joan nodded. “I wanted to know what that thing you said in your sleep meant. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”

Joan blinked. “What thing?”

“The prophecy.”

Joan’s eyes widened. “I gave you a prophecy?”

Anya was confused. “Yeah, you did. Did you not know?”

“I don’t know anything about a recent prophecy,” Joan said, sounding anxious. She wrung her claws in her shirt. “What did I say?”

“Something about fire,” Anya told her, trying to swallow her own fear. “It was--”

Joan suddenly whimpered.

“Joan?”

The little hybrid was now curled on the piano stool, wings drawn in tightly around her, hands clutching at her head. She began to shiver, whimpering in distress, eyes squeezed shut.

“Joan? Joan.” Anya gently touched her shoulders, and they quaked beneath her hands. “What’s wrong? What do you see?”

“Fire,” Joan gasped raggedly. “Oh god, oh god, oh god--”

“Joan? Joan, breathe.” Anya told her, hoping to get through to her. “Come on, honey. You can do it. Breathe. Come back to me.”

Joan suddenly flinched backwards, eyes popped open, breathing heavily. Sweat beaded on her brow and ran down her pale face. She scrambled to her feet, nearly collapsing.

“W-we have to stop them!” Joan floundered, rushing for the door.

“Joan! Joan, hey!” Anya grabbed the panicked girl by the shoulders, squeezing her to try and ground her. “Hang on a moment.”

“No!” Joan yanked away from her and ran out into the hallway. Anya followed after her, watching the way she looked around wildly.

“Wh-where are they? Where is everyone?!” Joan cried. “W-we have to find them, Anya! We-- Agh!!”

She suddenly crumpled again, clutching at her head. Anya lunged down to her side and propped her up against her, stroking her with one wing.

“No! No!” Joan squirmed like she was being electrocuted. “Oh god, no! No!!” Tears were now streaming down her cheeks as she spiraled into full blown hysterics.

“Joan, what’s going on? What do you see?”

Joan screamed and shoved away from her, hightailing it down the hallway.

“Joan!!”

Anya chased after the girl, surprised by how fast she was despite her condition. She rounded the corner and found her collapsed on her knees in front of Cathy, Cleves, and Jane. They all looked simultaneously confused and concerned.

“Joan!” Anya went back down to her side and wrapped a wing around her. “Joan, honey, you need to breathe. You’re having a panic attack.”

“That’s what this is?” Cleves asked.

“Is she okay?” Cathy added.

“I--” Anya faltered, frowning down at Joan’s shuddering form. “I don’t know.”

Joan’s body spasmed. She looked up and her eyes were blank and glazed. When she began to speak, her voice wasn’t scared or panicked or anxious or pained. It was calm. Hollow.

“You feel it all over, and you can see it. And it deals with you. It really works on you. And you don't like it. You don't like it, I don't deserve that, y'know. And nobody else can really understand. You feel it all over. You feel it all over. And you just get the shakes. And it just, it comes up on you. Feel it all over. You feel it all over. Feel it all over…”

Anya swallowed thickly and looked up to gauge the reactions of the three queens: Cathy looked frightened, Cleves looked curious, and Jane looked concerned, but they all seemed to be a little unnerved.

“Was that a prophecy?” Cathy whispered.

“Was it?” Cleves asked, shifting. She shook out her wings as if they were crawling with spiders. “Brr. I’ve got goosebumps. That was freaky.”

“It’s coming,” Joan muttered, hanging her head limply. “It’s coming.” Her breathing rattled, body twitching. “We’re animated meat accepting complete infidelity of the body.”

Then, she shook her head and her eyes popped open again, grey and normal-looking.

“Joan, what is going on?” Jane asked.

“Where is everyone else?” Joan croaked. Her elbows trembled like they were about to buckle beneath the weight of her trembling body. “We have to save them!”

“Save them from what?” Cleves furrowed her eyebrows.

“The fire!” Joan cried. She leapt to her feet and scrambled down the hallway, using the wall for support. She began crying out the names of the other queens and ladies in waiting.

“Joan, wait!” Anya went after her.

She chased the hybrid to the wings of the stage, where Kat was talking with Bessie. When Joan saw the fifth queen, she let out a cry of relief and collapsed against her.

“Kat! Kat!” Joan wept.

Kat’s eyes widened and she lowered the girl to the ground. “Joan? Sweetie, what’s wrong?”

“I think it’s her visions,” Anya said. She watched as Kat swept her wings around Joan and held her close to her chest. “She’s really freaking out.”

“Oh, honey,” Kat murmured, stroking Joan’s head. “You poor little thing… Your head must be hurting so bad, huh?”

“K-Kat-- Kat--”

“Shh, shh,” Kat rocked her gently. “You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”

“N-no-- No!” Joan tried to push away, breathing heavily.

Maggie came down from the nearby staircase, glanced at the scene, wrinkled her nose, then began walking onto the stage. Joan screamed.

“No!!” Joan shrieked, thrashing wildly in Kat’s arms and wings in an attempt to get free. “No! Don’t go in there! No!”

Maggie looked back at her. “Why?” She ruffled her wings and sniffed, clearly miffed. “I do what I want.

“No! No, Maggie, there’s a BOMB!”

And then, with a whoosh and a crash and a burst of light, the stage exploded into flames.

------

“Anne Askew was burned at the stake at Smithfield, London, aged 24, on 16 July 1546, with John Lascelles, Nicholas Belenian and John Adams. She was carried to execution in a chair wearing just her shift, as she could not walk and every movement caused her severe pain. She was dragged from the chair to the stake which had a small seat attached to it, on which she sat astride. Chains were used to bind her body firmly to the stake at the ankles, knees, waist, chest and neck.

Those who saw her execution were impressed by her bravery, and reported that she did not scream until the flames reached her chest.”

------

After an interminable time floating in a semi-conscious haze, the piercing smell of some burning annoyed her into a state of full wakefulness.

The smell of smoke and burning feathers choked her as she shuddered on the floor, slumber against a wall, nose pressed against the gritty floor. Her wings felt heavy, like they were being weighed down by dozens of logs, and an uncomfortable heat pressed down on her. Pushing herself up on weak arms, she raised her head to face the destruction in front of her.

Smoldering tendrils of curtains dot the floor from after they fell from the overhead poles, leaking toxic wisps of white smoke. Without them hanging up, she could see that half the stage had been turned into kindling, surrounding a yawning crater where the risers for the band once stood. The speakers and instruments and tech pieces were now blackened twists of scrap metal, and a hole’s been punched through the back wall, echoing into another room that was slowly being flooded with smoke and ash. Half the sprinklers above were raining water, the other half just dangled from busted pipes. She couldn’t see any bodies; the fire was too big. A few wounded in the wings with her were just now recovering from the shock of the blast; first someone groaned, then she heard someone calling for help.

Anya blinked and realized that her head must be rattled more than she had realized, because she was slumped against the wall without a memory of collapsing. She spent a few moments trying to make sense of what just happened.

As her head cleared a bit, she saw Kat pushing herself up from the ground, covered in a caking of soot. She saw Bessie on her knees, wide-eyeing the fire. She saw Cathy and Anne and Cleves and Jane and dozens of others running towards the wreckage, while others ran in the other direction.

She saw Joan standing in front of the flames, her quaking body outlined by the golden light.

“Oh my god!” Jane cried, clapping her hands over her mouth in shock.

“Wh-what happened?!” Cathy stammered in fear.

“What did this?!” Cleves shouted at the same time.

“Where is Maggie?!” Anne yelled, her eyes wide with fear.

“I tried to warn her,” Anya just barely heard Joan mutter. “I told her. I told her what would happen.”

Anne rounded on Joan, tears trembling on her lower eyelids. “What did you do?!”

“What did I do?!” Joan’s voice raised into a fever pitch. “I did nothing but try to prevent this happening! I tried to save everyone, and she did not listen to me! She went in like the ignorant fool she is!”

She turned to the fire, spreading her wings to the heat. “I saw it! I saw these flames and I tried to save everyone! I tried! I tried!”

Anne took a shaky step back. “Is Maggie dead?”

Joan did not answer, and Anne sobbed.

“Maybe I can--” Bessie stepped up and breathed in deeply, releasing a blast of frost on the fire trying to crawl into the wings. The flames were smothered, but the hell storm on the stage continued to rage wildly. She breathed out another jet of frost, fighting back the fire as more and more people began to flee the building.

“Watch out!”

There was a blur of gold as someone ran into the fire with their wings shielding their flammable clothing and hair. A moment later, they appeared again, dragging someone else by the arms.

“Maggie!!” Anne shrieked, lunging down to the body. Her friend was covered in burns and ash, and one of her wings looked badly charred, but she was breathing. “Maggie, oh Maggie! I’m so sorry! Maggie, I’m so sorry!”

Aragon frowned, then ran back into the fire. She was not immune to the bite of the flames, but her scaly wings were not flammable, and she was able to pull out two more bodies without only minimal burns.

Anya couldn’t recognize the two other corpses. All she knew was that they were very, very dead, charred beyond belief, wings turned to black skeletons upon their backs.

Anya attempted to get up, to maybe help, but a comforting hand pressed on her shoulder and a warm voice spoke to her, “Don’t move, you’re hurt.”

Looking up, she saw Cathy kneeling beside her. Her face was twisted with worry and fear. Anya’s vision began to blur as she was gazing at her.

“I’m perfectly able to--” As she talked, she made the mistake of trying to push herself to her feet. Something shifted in her right shoulder, sending a flare of pain throughout her body, making her gasp as her right arm collapsed under her weight.

Instead of saying, “told you so,” Cathy yelled for help. Medics had apparently arrived.

“Please," Cathy said, “don’t move. You have a large chunk of metal sticking out of your shoulder.”

Anya looked down and saw it gouged there. A twisted hunk of black iron embedded in her flesh, spilling out fountains of hot blood. Her vision began to blur even more. How did she not notice it before?

A painted lady Cimex and a blue Hydra in EMT jumpsuits finally made it through the crowd of people clogging the entrance and came over to where Anya was kneeling. They pushed Cathy aside with their wings, much to Anya’s dismay. She tried to reach for her friend, but the medics coaxed her into saying still while they began speaking. Something about a female black kite Avem showing signs of significant trauma and blood loss. She lost the thread of what they’re saying, because the Hydra medic started to cut the clothes off of her.

“What?” Anya croaked, and she didn’t realize how rough her voice was. The word echoed in her mind like she was in a cave. How much blood was she losing?”

“Shh,” The Hydra told her. “You need to stay still for me, hun.”

When she tossed aside a bundle of unidentifiable shreds of fabric that used to be a stage manager joke t-shirt, stained with equal parts blood and soot, Anya had to agree.

Anya felt very light-headed and dizzy, so she decided to close her eyes.

Funny. This felt a lot more peaceful than how she actually died.

“You’re right, Cathy. I’m really injured.” Her voice was a half-whisper and half-groan, and she had no idea if her friend heard her. She barely cared.

She felt the cold sting of something in her uninjured arm, and the drugs pushed her the rest of the way into unconsciousness.

------

Anya eventually woke up to bright white and the sharp smell of antibiotics. The slight dizziness she felt, and the absence of pain from her wounded shoulder told her that she’s probably still drugged-up on painkillers, if nothing else.

She was laying in a bed in a blindingly white hospital room, staring at the blank wall. She could smell blood somewhere.

She wondered how long she had been drugged insensible. She had no real memory after the Hydra medic stripped her and shot her with something. But, however badly she’d been hurt, they seem to have patched her up. She recovered to the point everyone felt safe ignoring her.

Anya groaned as she got to a seated position. She ached all over. The place where the intrusive chunk of metal once laid was now gone from her shoulder, and she realized that there was an IV tube injected into a vein in her left arm.

“Hey, don’t move around too much.”

Anya whipped her head around and saw Cathy. Relief instantly bloomed through her when she saw the blue jay unharmed and okay.

“Cathy,” She breathed out.

Cathy smiled softly and took her hand, twining their fingers together. “Hey, you.” She said. “It’s good to see you awake.”

“How long have I been out?” Anya asked, and her voice came out croaking and rough. She coughed and Cathy frowned, brushing some white hair from her face.

“A day.”

Anya’s eyes widened. “A day?”

Cathy nodded. “They sewed up the wound in your shoulder, but wanted to keep you under for a while longer. It’s nine, now.”

“Damn,” Anya muttered. “What happened? How is everyone?”

Cathy’s expression went grim. “Jackie and Sean are dead.” She said, referring to a robin Avem and cricket Cimex, both of which had been on the tech crew. “Maggie’s pretty beat up, but the doctors said she’ll make a full recovery soon. A few others are just burned.”

“God,” Anya said softly. “I can’t believe that really happened…”

“Me too,” Cathy said. “I’m just so happy you’re alive. When I heard the explosion go off I was so worried about you. I thought you had—”

“Hey.” Anya brushed her wing against Cathy. “None of that. Happy thoughts. Look, I’m here, aren’t I?”

Cathy smiled. “You are.” She squeezed Anya’s hand again, then cleared her throat. “The show is being shut down for awhile. Obviously.”

“Thank the goddesses,” Anya said. “I don’t know how anyone would be able to work after what happened.”

Cathy nodded. “Yeah. On the bright side, we get a vacation!”

They both shared a laugh.

“Where’s Joan?”

Cathy made a disgruntled expression that Anya didn’t understand. “I don’t know. I don’t really care, either.” Her voice was so hostile; Anya wasn’t used to her sounding so angry.

“Why not?” Anya furrowed her eyebrows.

“She could have stopped it!” Cathy suddenly exploded, causing Anya to flinch in surprise. “She has precognition! And she was having visions! Why couldn’t she have told us what she had seen sooner instead of crying on the floor?”

Anya frowned. “Cathy, I don’t think she could.” She said. “You saw her. She was in a lot of pain. She was scared, too. I think she was too overwhelmed to be able to speak.”

Cathy scoffed. “Yeah right. I wouldn’t just flail around on the floor with the knowledge of a bomb about to go off. She could have told us before the day even happened! She can see the furtive! Why didn’t she see this sooner?”

“There’s a lot of different futures to see,” Anya tried to convince her. “This may not have been one she saw.”

“What, is a fucking bombing not big enough for her mind?” Cathy said cruelly, her voice loaded with venom.

“It’s not her fault, Cathy.”

“It is!” Cathy yelled. “If she had just said something, then Jackie and Sean wouldn’t be dead, the theater wouldn’t be destroyed, Maggie wouldn’t be in urgent care, and you wouldn’t be hurt right now!”

“Don’t blame her!” Anya yelled back. “She tried, okay? She tried. We have to give her that. A lot more people could have died without her.”

Cathy huffed and crossed her arms. “If that’s what helps you sleep at night, alright.”

Anya clenched her jaw, but didn’t argue. She was just tired and confused and so, so worried.

She stayed in the hospital for another hour until she was deemed well enough to leave. The first thing she did was fly to the wreckage sight, even though the doctors advised she didn’t fly for a day or so.

Police cars swarmed the building below Anya. Yellow tape was rolled out, restricting civilians from going in. The theater had turned into a full on crime scene.

Anya flew to the park field next, and that’s where she found her. In the same place where she took her hunting.

Anya landed beside Joan.

“I tried.”

Anya could tell from her voice that Joan had been crying.

“I did. I really tried. I wanted to save everyone.”

“You did your best.”

“My best wasn’t enough. Now two people are dead.”

Joan looked at Anya, and her grey eyes were puffy and red. Tear tracks were stained on her pale cheeks.

“Are you--are you--?”

“I’m okay, sweetie,” Anya said. She tugged down her sleeve to show Joan the bandages around her stitched shoulder. “See? I’m okay.”

Joan sniffled and tears spilled over. “O-oh god. Thank goodness.”

Anya wrapped her wings around the young hybrid and pulled her in close. Joan clung to her like a baby bat would to its mother, latched on with her little dewclaws. She sobbed into her chest, and Anya stroked her hair comfortingly, occasionally scratching behind her ears, hoping it would help.

“I wanted to save everyone,” Joan whispered shakily. “I did. I tried.” She sniffled. “Maybe I should just do what Henry did to me when I kept giving him bad prophecies…”

“What did he do?”

“He cut my tongue out.”

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cithaerons · 3 years

Text

segretecose

mumford & sons have some good ones i'm terrible with titles but 'below my feet' and 'broken crown' come to mind

spockandawe

Joan by Heather Dale, Jericho Road, The Cherry Tree Carol, I Dreamed I Saw St Augustine by Joan Baez, and depending on how broad your criteria is, The Farmer's Cursed/Curst Wife is a child ballad by (various) that's more about the devil and also hum'rous, but I enjoy it

gnostick

seconding the fka twigs + lingua ignota recs! depending on your taste you might like uboaʼs ep the flesh of the world, st. vincentʼs self-titled album, everything else by lingua ignota really but especially her latest ep agnus dei, and the mountain goatsʼ albums all eternals deck + heretic pride + the age of the world to come (in that order). also would LOVE to see this playlist when you finish!

gnostick

also if youʼre not super tied to songs explicitly / exclusively about religion then you might like fka twigsʼ songs thousand eyes, water me, + preface, fiona appleʼs on the bound + shadowboxer, matt berningerʼs silver springs, and tmgʼs cry for judas (i like the version from the jordan lake sessions) along with about half of tmgʼs discography. please look at the titles of the songs in the age of the world to come and tell me yr thoughts :)

bluestockingbaby

Personal Jesus-Johnny Cash, Glory Bound- Matt Hires, Psalm 40:2- The Mountain Goats, The Man Comes Around- Johnny Cash, Come On Up To The House- Tom Waits, Sparrow- St Vincent

futurospekcja

Idk if that’s what you’re looking for but maybe tori amos - crucify and these precious things? Also seven swans or drawn to the blood by sufjan stevens

futurospekcja

Generally i think the whole album seven swans has heavy religious tones, but i haven’t heard it in a while so i might remember it incorrectly

catilinas

big houses, holy holy holy, animal, all by squalloscope

fleursdesmorts

red cow by MeWithoutYou (also there are a lot of religious themes in their lyrics but i felt like this one was pretty good)

ahhhh thank you all so very much!!! <3

#i have some LISTENIGN to do <333 #music #replies

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basilone · 4 years

Text

We travel from one sandbox to another and meet, well, somewhere in the middle? The very lovely @mercurygray has been kind enough to let me spend a little time with her creations, and I dearly hope I haven’t fucked things up now. ;) The following was born of my response to her question about which members of her Girl Gang would be god-chosen in my universe, as the thought of a scene between Billie and Ron Speirs would not exactly leave my head afterward. This is self-indulgent to a fault, but we did agree these two would be great in a fight..

the divine knife’s edge

The worst part of war is waiting. Waiting for orders, waiting for permission, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for command to start making sense, waiting for the day officers stop panicking and start fighting, waiting for anything and everything. It’s enough to make anyone wonder if death, once invited to roam among them, would make them wait too.

Billie Mitchell huffs out an impatient breath. Stomps her boots on the ground once, twice, in a rather vain attempt to sort out that feeling of her socks not sitting quite right on her feet. England’s early morning air kisses her cheeks with a bite of ice still lodged in its touch. She smiles a moment. Calls up the feeling of the Philly air in early spring, just as frosty as this.

Walking around camp at this hour is often a treat. There’s no need to swerve around, jump over, or otherwise expertly avoid items and people. They’re on a week’s mission in the countryside, somehow, with boredom and the need for purpose both vying for the Army’s attention. It’s been an utter drag so far, and for once she cannot place the whole of the blame on captain Sobel. Mornings like these are the lone moment when the world still feels right.

Or, well, they used to be.

She stops dead in her tracks as she rounds the corner of one of the larger tents and comes face to face with a dance like nothing she’s ever been taught.

It’s the lieutenant from Dog Company. Speirs, her brain supplies helpfully. His name’s Speirs. She shakes her head as she remembers the straight-backed, coiled-too-tight lieutenant who beat Sobel in the Olympics games without ever breaking a sweat. There’d been something of a fever in his eyes then, though, one that had made Joan frown and Marjorie worry, and watching him now makes her insides lurch.

He’s not alone.

Weaving, darting, bending around him are shadows. Shadows that meet the flash of blades in his hands, moving so quickly that the glint of steel becomes flashes of lightning against the overwhelming dark. Shadows that cling to another person, who might very well not be called a person at all. Shadows that strike him, fling him aside carelessly, wait for him to get back to his feet only to punch him straight onto his back again.

She watches, mesmerized, as the lieutenant locks his blades with the woman’s arms and draws blood that is gone as quickly as it came. Watches, with the heat of terror stuck between her shoulders, as the sharp edges keep finding the woman’s body to draw death and destruction upon it. Speirs draws a map of hurt onto immortal skin and is met with languid, encouraging laughter.

“Again, honey,” she hears, sing-song keyed into that strange woman’s voice, “but lower and sharper. The blade must twist on entry.”

A gasp escapes her as Speirs’s blade swivels, turns, twists its way into the woman’s belly.

Speirs, all glittering eyes and with a snarl twisting his features, turns to look at her. The woman, flashing a smile his way for reasons Billie cannot possibly fathom, turns her head moments after.

“Well, shit,” she groans. Sighs when the lieutenant withdraws his blade and doesn’t look like he’s going to stop focusing on her. “Fuck.”

Billie recoils involuntarily as she locks eyes with the woman. Too-dark eyes look her up and down a moment, weighing something Billie doesn’t want to dare identify, before another smile quirks upward on that pale face. Something akin to recognition flashes across beautiful, too-perfect features. The smile turns sharp, pointed, amused in a way that makes Billie’s belly hurt.

The smile is all teeth and hunger.

“I’m sorry,” says Billie, mentally cataloging all the different paths with which she can wriggle her way out of danger, “I didn’t mean to interrupt.” When in doubt, stay unflinchingly polite. She’s learned that lesson at her mother’s knee, even when the rest of those lessons are lost to stubbornness and resentment. But Billie is still Billie, and desire pours forth from her mouth before she has a chance to bite it back. “It’s just.. It looked so good. I’ve never seen anything like that.”

“Took Ron years to learn,” says the woman, and it’s only the slight nod she directs at lieutenant Speirs that lets Billie know Speirs and ‘Ron’ are one and the same. Her voice is more melodic than Billie expected. Dark, low tones mingle with a lilt that almost sounds like song. “Blades are easier than guns, sometimes. Good to carry.”

“They don’t teach us how to use them much, here. It’s mostly guns.”

The woman hums. Her eyes are sharp, like the blades her chosen carries. “Would you like to learn, sweetheart?”

“I’m not fighting you.” Billie shuts that down right quick, or so she thinks. She might be brave and a little careless, quick to fight and quick to rebel, but she’s not stupid. “You’re a god. I’m not even chosen. That’s not happening.”

“Not chosen?” Lieutenant Speirs’s eyebrow raises just like his god’s does. “Could’ve sworn.. No matter. It’s Mitchell, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir. Billie,” she supplies helpfully, knowing full well the man’s not likely to use that. “Non-chosen, unless there’s something a god’s not telling me.”

“There’s a great many things they don’t tell.”

“Hey,” says the woman, nudging his side, “I tell you plenty.”

Billie blinks as Speirs actually rolls his eyes skyward. There’s something entirely irreverent about the way they interact, all familiarity in their glances and touches, that she hasn’t even seen between Nixon and his god. Even Molly’s god, though tightly woven around her speech, doesn’t seem as indulgent toward their charge as the god that stands before her now. There is a bit of a wordless debate at play before her that’s even more impressive than her mother’s judgmental looks.

“Would you like to learn, Mitchell?” asks Speirs, then, as the argument silently resolves. “From me, not her.”

“What, that?” She very nearly smiles. Very nearly becomes all teeth and hunt just like the god Speirs so clearly adores, as if she cannot wait to plunge into the depth of such mayhem herself. “What’s the use, sir?”

“Come here. You know how to work with needles, yes?”

“Sewing or stitching someone up? Never cared for the former,” she says, a little too breezily as she remembers too many stone-faced silences thrown her way, “but I can do the latter.”

“The blade’s a lot like that.” Speirs’s voice is calm as he holds out one of his own knives. “A needle’s always attached to a string. With knives like these, the string is your body.” His hand locks around hers. Presses the hilt into her palm, adjusts her fingers, keeps speaking in that matter-of-fact voice she’s never heard from anyone in her own company bar Chuck Grant. “Your body, in battle, is never a statue. Always moving. The blade moves with you. If you let it loose, you must catch it.”

“And if I don’t catch it?”

“Then you’re thinking too much, feeling too little.” Speirs’s god leans against the stacked crates and shrugs. “Battle’s about the feeling.”

“That’s not what captain Sobel tells us,” mutters Billie, loud enough for both to hear.

“Trust the tactics. Trust your instincts more. Move when you need to. Use your head, but don’t get stuck in it.”

“I’m never stuck in my head,” says Billie, using the blade to weave a pattern against the rising sun’s rays. She shrugs as she meets the lieutenant’s eyes. “I’m never stuck, period. Always moving.”

Away from home. Away from duty that isn’t mine. Away from expectations.

“Then you’ll learn,” he says, and slashes his own blade upward against hers.

He’s slowed down on purpose. Allows her to find her feet as she stumbles and then recovers with her borrowed blade jabbing out sharply. Indulges her as she eyes him, picking out any chinks in his carefully drawn-up armor. He favors his right ever so slightly, so she lunges toward the left. Isn’t surprised to hear the laughter of his god as he narrowly side-steps her.

“Putain,” she winces, English momentarily forgotten, when he retaliates in arches and jabs that see her driven backward.

“Language, Mitchell,” smirks Speirs.

She grits her teeth. Oh, she’s going to knock him on his ass or die trying all right. She weighs the knife experimentally. Tosses it into her left hand, lashes out at him with her right fist, lunges for him with an outstretched foot and a snarl. Left, right, left, easy as breathing, easy as running Currahee, easy as those damn waltzing lessons she tries to forget every day of her life.

Billie winds up on the floor half a dozen times before she manages to land a smack of the knife’s hilt against his chest and twists the blade toward him before he can pull away. She finds herself picking up the pace, picking up on the spaces he leaves for her in this fight, picking her moments even as he teaches by delivering bruises to her arms and legs. He narrowly avoids having his lip split by one of her crazier ideas, while she is left bemoaning her life choices as the air is knocked from her lungs again.

She knows he indulges her. Knows that this fight would be over in less than a minute if he was really trying to hurt her. Knows she’d be dead if she was an enemy, but somehow Speirs has decided to side with her in this war. She’s glad for it, now, even when he teaches in half-sentences and invites his god to comment with observations that don’t mean anything to Billie yet. She’s glad to know there’s someone whose fight makes sense to her body, whose movements are logic and feeling wrapped up as one, who doesn’t see her as anything other than a potential weapon to win a fight with.

When she laughs, finally, now that the sun dances through his god’s midnight-toned hair and the camp begins to awaken around them, he withdraws the blade and the battle as quickly as it came. He nods at her as they stand and breathe in the English cold.

“Same time tomorrow, Mitchell.”

“Is that an order, sir?” she asks reflexively, too trained and too polite by far. She bites her tongue. Deliberates. Shifts back and forth on her feet when his unblinking eyes remain unreadable to her. “I mean, you must have better things to do.”

“Better than teaching you to dance, Mitchell?” The tone is light. Too light. Too careful, too, and she recognizes the firm hand of his god in what he says and omits. “I can think of nothing better with which to spend this waiting game. Don’t be late.”

Billie, much later in the war, will swear up and down that Speirs is at his most dangerous when he smiles. Today, she merely stares after his retreating form. His god follows in his wake. All the shadows in the land move with them.

She shivers.

#the darkening sky crossover #I'm the most nervous I've ever been posting this #it's one thing to write your own AU but another to grab someone else's OC and run with them like you know what you're doing #(spoiler alert: I have no clue)#but I hope someone likes this!!#formvoidseries

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bobauthorman · 4 years

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A Semblance of Reasoning (Part) 2

And now we go to the B-Team, or the “2nd A-Team” as called by the CRWBY, I think. (Could be wrong). Now, I should mention that because their development is not central to the progression of the show (Although it is important), we’re not going to see much discussion on how their Semblances have evolved. Because they haven’t changed. At all, really. And because we only get bits and pieces of their backstory compared to Team RWBY, it’ll be harder to determine the events that led to them developing the powers they had, so this will require a great deal of guesswork and should not necessarily be treated as canon.

Jaune Arc. It only took 5 Volumes, but he gains the power of Aura Amp. It’s basically him using his own aura to bolster the aura of others, such as speeding up their healing, and boosting the power of their Semblances. It’s pretty obvious that this is partially another Joan of Arc allusion, as she reportedly never took part in battles but only directed the troops, so Jaune now has the power to embolden his teammates and others. Up until V5, the only hint we got about this power was in V1, when Jaune unleashed a flash of light to heal himself from Cardin’s beat-down. However, since it took so long, we can easily guess how his Semblance became what it was.

Following V3, a major chip on Jaune’s shoulder has been the death of Pyrrha, his partner, mentor, and confident. He’s clearly haunted by how he couldn’t help her in her final battle, or even stop her from taking part. These feelings are so strong that when he’s confronted with Cinder, he throws himself into combat with her, despite being outmatched. And his own guilt towards his own failures is such that he doesn’t think his own life is worth anything. So much that even the prospect of death doesn’t cause him to develop a New Power To Save The Day. But when Weiss is mortally wounded, his Semblance appears; I believe that it was his desperation to save her life, coupled with his own willingness to sacrifice his own, that caused his Semblance to become what it is. He’s essentially giving his own life-force to fuel her regeneration. It hasn’t evolved much since then, but as he’s moving away from his self-destructive crusading tendencies, there no telling how or if it will change.

Nora Valkyrie: Hers is called High Voltage, and it’s basically absorbing electricity to become stronger. Nora herself tells us that she learned what her Semblance was when a bolt of lightning struck her once. “Crazy Thursday”. I personally subscribe to the theory that rather than ‘discovering’ she developed the Semblance split-second to survive what should have been a fatal accident. Of Team JNPR, she’s the most energetic, and the CRWBY once jokingly stated that she ‘eats’ Ren’s energy. I think this may be more truthful, as its possible that she is subconsciously stealing the electricity out from his body, slowing him down slightly.

The Semblance hasn’t changed at all since it first appeared, but how it’s used best illustrates the tone of the story; When Nora’s Semblance was first revealed, it was as a joke and a way to easily stomp Team BRNZ in Volume 3. When it’s used again Volumes 4 and 5 against Tyrian and Hazel, the stakes are higher and so she’s far more serious when she uses her Semblance.

Pyrrha Nikos: The “Invincible Girl” has the power of Polarity, or magnetic manipulation, and how she uses it best describes her character. Rather than using it to bash people with chunks of metal like Magneto (X-Men) or Eustace Kidd (One Piece), Pyrrha predominately uses her Semblance to subtly manipulate how people she’s fighting move, essentially controlling the flow of the fight. As Cinder notes, while Pyrrha seems destined for victory, what she’s really doing is taking her destiny into her own hands.

It’s possible that Pyrrha developed this style to help down-play her victories in battle, appearing to win purely by skill that anyone could develop and not by a one-of-a-kind Semblance. Pyrrha has clearly been uncomfortable with the pedestal she’s been placed on, and perhaps this is her way of trying to regain some control over her life. It should be noted that the few times that Pyrrha foregoes the subtle approach and full-on blitzes people, she ends up losing. Sadly, we don’t get any possible explanation as to how she could have developed her Semblance as of yet.

Lie Ren: Ren’s Semblance is called Tranquility, which is basically creating a field where Grimm cannot find whoever’s inside it. Nora describes it as “Can mask emotions”. Given the Grimm are drawn to negative feelings, this is a useful Semblance to have. We also see firsthand how Ren created this Semblance; As shown in the flashback of “Kuroyuri” shows that he gained it during the Grimm attack that destroyed his village, which was also where he met Nora. And like Nora, in order to avoid certain death, he gained the power he needed at that moment. When Little Lie uses his Semblance for the first time, you can see him calming down, a preferable state compared to the high-octane fear he was no doubt, and necessary so he and Nora can escape the danger they were in.

Like Nora, Ren’s Semblance hasn’t changed at all. But I think we can gauge Ren’s character development through the series by it. When we first meet Ren, he is the calmest character on the show, the ultimate straight man to Nora’s comic, manic energy. However, as the series takes a turn towards the serious, Ren has shown that even he has his limits. That he’s prone to acting out, and not in a funny way. Bursts of anxiety and emotion. Now I did suggest that Nora was subconsciously eating his electricity with her own Semblance, I now wonder if Ren was using his Semblance to stay calm and better deal with her…Nora-ness. But this was all within the confines of the well-protected Vale. But in the post-Volume 3 status quo, Ren has to use his Semblance more frequently to better protect Team RNJR during their hike to Haven Academy. Even with Qrow’s secret protection, this means that Ren’s Aura levels are constantly being used, and as such his ability to stay calm is now frayed. Ren’s one of those characters who’s character, rather than shaping his Semblance, was shaped by how he used his Semblance. However, through Volumes 6 and 7, Ren begins using his Semblance in tandem with Jaune’s, symbolizing how more effective they are when they work together instead of going at it alone.

As of “War”, Ren’s Semblance has evolved, adding in him the ability to see the emotions of others. This may seem like a bit inexplicable, but looking back, we could see bits and traces of this ability being shown beforehand. In “Tipping Point”, he was able to seemingly sense Tyrian’s approach. And in “The Greatest Kingdom” and “A Night Off”, he seemed to react to the approach of the Atlas Elites, the Ace-Ops and Ironwood. All of the aforementioned characters have shown to be highly emotional, even if the Atlasians tend to high their feelings with epic poker faces. Throughout Volumes 7 and 8, Ren has been struggling with trying to communicate with how he feels about various things. Given how closed-off he was acting, his tendency to shut people out meant he would in turn have difficulty gauging the feelings of others. Recently before his Semblance evolved, Ren had let both his positive and negative feelings out- In “Fault”, he vented the rage he felt towards the apparent futility of their situation, and in “War”, expressed the importance of the people in our lives. By finally demonstrating how he felt, for ill and for good, Ren was able to both understand others and his Semblance shows that.

#RWBY Analysis #A Semblance of reasoning #RWBY #Semblance #JAuneArc #Jaune Arc #Lie Ren #Nora Valkyrie #Pyrrha Nikos #Analysis #High Voltage #Aura Amp #Tranquility #Polarity

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marsandchariot · 4 years

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Some thoughts on the natal chart of Heaven’s Gate

William Lilly (b. 1608) popularized the natal chart as a reflection of the individual, but ancient astrology was utilized more as a lens for global (relatively speaking) events like war, agricultural cycles, weather, and the longevity or character of royal dynasties. I love looking at charts in general but I especially enjoy thinking about events’ inceptions as individual narratives that are socially metabolized. Stories jump out of event charts differently than they do from individual charts. If you are someone who considers your own birth chart or the charts of others, make sure also to explore the dates of different events in your life (books, films etc are also fun to examine in this way). Any moment you select is subject to the same archetypal cast of symbols as is an individual life.

This is a bit Aquarian in the idea that we can examine the social through a zooming out from or the collapsing of individual psychologies into macro, mythic surfaces. In keeping with Aquarian themes, I watched a bit of the new Heaven’s Gate doc last night. I wouldn’t say I’m fascinated by cults etc etc, but I can’t help responding to a birth time, and Heaven’s Gate has one! For me this is an ideal reading, where most of what I know about Heaven’s Gate is largely through osmosis. It wasn’t until after watching some of the first episode that I learned that the buildup to what we consider the culminating event was actually ~20 years in the making. I have not studied the progression of--or figures central to--the movement. Some people do their best work when they are immersed in research of a subject; I myself tend toward flash or impressionism, so I want to capture this phase before I continue watching the documentary.

RISING NEPTUNE IN SAGITTARIUS

I’m thinking of this placement less as a moment of inception (the way we might read it in the chart of an individual, as the experience of separation from the body of the parent, becoming a discrete entity) and more descriptive of the way we might encounter the cultural phenomenon of Heaven’s Gate at first glance. It may feel rooted in occultism or obscurity—Sagittarius carries notions of philosophy, education, intellectual magic; I’m thinking of The Magician card and its depiction of a single figure controlling all the elements, convening heaven and earth in their alchemical process of discovery. We often characterize movements as centering around a single idea, or a powerful persona, as with Charles Manson or Jim Jones, but there is always a larger atmosphere to examine. Neptune asks us to look beyond superficial characterizations of events in order to understand their mundanity in equal measure to their mystique. Foucault refers to all research as archaeological in that it is a type of unearthing or excavation, a making-sense of objects that may no longer exist and so deliver not direct answers but different articulations of fragmented meaning. What is important too is that Neptune may represent the illusion of origins and root causes. From Stalker (1979), “I dig for the truth, but while I do, something happens to it.” Obscurity is not dispelled, but re-oriented.

CAPRICORN MOON IN 2ND HOUSE opposite SATURN IN CANCER, 8TH HOUSE

We might think of the moon as the id or the unconscious. Liz Greene describes the difference between the sun and the moon as the difference between aspiration and unconscious emotional need—the former describes an active mode of attainment or embodiment, while the latter is a pulsing lack to which one cannot help but respond. The moon is in detriment in Capricorn, in mutual reception with Saturn, who also experiences detriment in Cancer. This opposition is uncomfortable—the emotional needs are difficult to meet. This difficulty may describe the dispositions of those drawn to the Heaven’s Gate movement; Cancer in 8th may describe one who doesn’t feel “at home”—like the Gnostic subject, who pledges allegiance to the god of an entirely different realm, and must suffer alienation in this realm as a result. The moon’s placement speaks to an unsettled sense of self, a need to strive or work toward a comfortable psychological situation. This moon does not “have enough”—not necessarily in a material sense, but they do feel dispossessed, as if their history and culture do not belong to them, or they do not belong to the history they have been given.

ARIES JUPITER IN 5TH HOUSE

The 5th house speaks to creation, production, a making manifest. What Heaven’s Gate purported to give was a way forward—a strategy, a directive. It doesn’t take particularly complex analysis to guess that for the emotionally listless or dislocated, this resolve would have been seductive. Joan Didion’s collection, The White Album (1979), describes this generation far more incisively and expertly than I will attempt to do here; instead, picture the Aries Jupiter as striding confidently forward without fear, of translating subjective experience into universal understanding, resulting in decisive action. This was not just an idea, but a way to manifest one’s presence in the world; not just about joining a collective, but about using the language of collective experience to articulate higher individual selfhood.

GEMINI MARS IN 7TH TRINE LIBRA MERCURY + PLUTO IN 11TH

With two Geminis exiting the White House next month, it feels important to acknowledge the more toxic stereotypical Gemini qualities at play in tearing the country apart for the last four years (though of course the foundation for such a conflict is deeper-rooted and further-reaching than a single presidential term, as it is unrealistic to attribute the momentum of such movements to simply a demagogue). The Trump argument for a stolen election is one element of what has been described as “mass political disinformation.” Gemini cares less about the truth, and more about how a truth is expressed; less about the effectiveness of an idea, and more about being pleased by its shape. And they won’t be pinned down, held to anything they’ve previously said, if in some later context that thing no longer serves them (if you watch enough Bob Dylan interviews you’ll see what I mean—don’t ask him about folk music, don’t ask him what he believes, don’t ask him where he’s from—if you never tell the truth, then it’s almost like you’re never really lying, you’re just saying things, creating momentum through language).

We can see this stereotype on the one hand as, yes, members of Heaven’s Gate were lied to and manipulated. Gemini’s ruler, Mercury, is a slick operator in Libra. Libra quells doubt, seals holes, soothes unease—all the dynamics involved in the appearance of equilibrium or social harmony. We can see Mercury’s conjunction with Pluto as the god of communication acting in service to the god of death. The rhetoric of Heaven’s Gate is designed to ease its members toward radical sacrifice. The 11th house speaks to communities, groups, friends—the social world, and, in this case, social organization and purpose.

The 7th house is the house of the Other, and is where we may look in an individual’s chart to read their close 1:1 relationships. It would have been important for Heaven’s Gate to discredit the friends and families of their members, to emphasize that these are the people that the members should no longer trust and confide in. The Gemini stereotype here, of manipulation and dishonesty, is projected onto the Other—a Them—to consolidate the self, an Us. Mars here makes the disconnection from loved ones particularly dramatic. Mars wants to cut, to define, to separate; it is the individuating act. It is also worth mentioning Lynn Bell’s description of Mars as the protector of the moon, of the unconscious; if the moon feels threatened, it is Mars who steps in and takes over. If an increased involvement in Heaven’s Gate results in members’ loved one’s questioning their involvement, then it is the deep-seated sense of alienation (the moon) that is heightened, ameliorated by a severing of ties (Mars). If Gemini speaks to duality or two-ness, Mars is about making that division manifest.

LEO VENUS IN 9TH

The 9th House in Hellenistic astrology represents temple work or religious duties, and so for readings of individuals alive today we typically adapt this meaning to describe academic or professional institutions, but here we can really embrace the ancient associations. This is absolutely how the institution of Heaven’s Gate represented itself—transparent, loving, and in loyal service to the good, and to the happiness of its members. The “gate” itself feels as if it refers to a 9th house structure (thinking of heaven elsewhere described as a “kingdom”), with Venus at the threshold guiding members toward an embrace of institutional values. I haven’t looked at the charts for Ti and Do, but it feels significant that they are “the Two”—a platonic pair whose relationship forms the wellspring of the movement, which feels very Venusian. We might place The Lovers card beside the card of The Devil, and see the same figures in both cards. The Lovers’ equivalent in the zodiac, of course, is Gemini.

VIRGO SUN IN 10th

If the moon is the id, the sun is the ego—the conscious experience of the self, the path that is chosen, the disposition by which the self feels most connected to worldly perception. The 10th house, “the crown you wear,” positions the ego identity of Heaven’s Gate; what it thinks it is, as a public organization that is meant to efficiently serve its members—to construct and carry out a plan. It is interesting to think of Virgo and Scorpio on either side of Libra, two weights in balance on the scale; this also describes the Persephone myth, in which Virgo descends to the realm of Scorpio and returns with divine knowledge, incurring the changing of the seasons; whose being is intricately tied to the rotation of the earth. Virgo’s responsibility, then, is to bear the fate of the world in their minute actions. Heaven’s Gate in this way positions itself as serving humanity through a practical, incremental system, which relies on everyone “doing their part.”

SCORPIO URANUS IN 12TH

To me it is difficult to find more aptly conflated synonyms for death, unless maybe you replace Uranus with Pluto. Uranian matters are dramatic, revolutionary. They speak to transformative change—as does the 12th house, as does Scorpio. This placement imbues Heaven’s Gate with such an inevitability of death, but the kind of death that is cosmically resonant in that it has the power to change how death in this context is understood. This 12th house, “the bottoming out,” feels like a reservoir that feeds into the Sagittarian Neptune, the sediment that must be continuously re-worked or rediscovered in whatever form it takes in its periods of hibernation. Neptune in Sagittarius may represent the fossilization process of Uranus in Scorpio. I may have more to say about this once I finish the documentary, but I am looking forward to watching for impressions of how “death” is constructed, or re-made as an artifact of social, extraterrestrial liberation.

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