#Power and privilege in literature | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jade-len · 7 months ago

Text

Tired, 39 year old Shen Yuan is constantly nagged by his parents about giving them grandchildren. At a certain point, they were done with begging for him to marry a nice lady and just skipped to pleading for grandkids.

While the idea of having a child does make his heart yearn in a way that will definitely be dangerous if thought about for too long, he just doesn't have the time! No way! And what kind of father would he be, secretly reading cheesy, terrible webnovels in his free time? Which, mind you, is rare nowadays. He'd like to spend that valuable time getting rest via napping, thank you very much.

So what if Shen Yuan's heart swells when he sees his students run up to their parents with adorable, toothy grins? So what if he treats his class like they're his own children from time to time, spoiling them silly and proudly wearing the badge of "Best Teacher!" every year? So what if he wants a child to call his own!?

To love and care for a child, Shen Yuan has accepted that it would simply be a privilege he'll never experience.

...Think, think! Don't get so mopey now, Shen Yuan! Try to outweigh the baby fever with the pessimism you (slightly) obtained from your mean older brother!

How about this: There'll be no time for himself, none at all! Just more and more work. Come home from his job, dealing with a bunch of rowdy kids to find your own permanent little monster running around the house! At least he's getting paid for the first one!?

Shen Yuan had seen those videos and posts of kids accidentally exposing their parents embarrassing tendencies. Knowing him, his hypothetical child would have piles upon piles of blackmail on the Shen family's youngest son! Leave this old man alone, alright? Non-existent dumpling, theoretical baobei, please don't be so careless with your father's reputation...

(It would be careless too, to become a gaping hole in the heart of his child. Wouldn't it be selfish to have one, only to die a few years later?)

Over a decade ago, believe it or not, this esteemed Mr. Shen had gone by the shameless persona of "Peerless Cucumber" on the internet. He'd been an infamous anti-fan of the male power fantasy stallion web-novel series, Proud Immortal Demon Way and would leave scalding essay-length comments and posts ranting about its terrible plot point and flaming the author for his awful characterization and overall writing. That era of his life was when he actually had the time to stare into the digital sea of texts and write entire documentaries as replies for twelve hours straight. Fortunately or unfortunately, Shen Yuan doesn't have the same luxury as of now.

Despite the constant hate spewing from his younger self, present-day Shen Yuan is honestly very impressed by the constant thousand word updates every day. Honestly, looking back, how did that man accomplish that? Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky, dear author, are your hands okay? Youthful Shen Yuan's hands cramped all too much from simply typing up angry comments, now imagine PIDW's author??

Aaah, yes, the former hater Peerless Cucumber had long forgotten about PIDW. The author mysteriously disappeared one day, leaving Luo Binghe out on his own for more wives to dual cultivate with as Shen Yuan had realized his passion for literature (and critique!).

With a newfound, realized passion in his heart, Shen Yuan went off to actually pursue the college education his parents had very lovingly saved (and were ecstatic he was actually using) and became a literature teacher! NEET 21 year old Shen Yuan would be quite astonished to see this dignified Mr. Shen now, yes, very much so indeed.

Now, Shen Yuan.. doesn't quite remember PIDW all too well. He begrudgingly admits that it holds a dear and special place in his heart, but in all honesty, Shen Yuan can remember merely a handful of the wives and plot points. Ah, this is what happens when you actually get a life, interesting! Clap it up!

The most Shen Yuan remembers is the stallion novel character, Luo Binghe. His favorite, and - he really can’t stress this enough - an absolutely wasted potential of a character. Shen Yuan may be an older and wiser man who doesn't waste constant time on the internet like before, but that only means he actually has a degree to be critic. Serves all of those self-righteous, questioning commenters right from all those years ago! Look at him now!

Importantly however, Shen Yuan also remembers just how badly he wanted to coddle the protagonist, blackening or not, pre-abyss, post-abyss, even as a demonic tyrannic emperor! Can you believe that none of Luo Binghe's wives wanted to squeeze his cheeks and kiss his forehead!? Master Airplane, throw in some fluff, will you? Spare the poor boy from all of these succubi (metaphorically and literally) and let him take a nap! Ahhh, who really cares if Luo Binghe has a kingdom he needs to take over? Throw a blanket on him! Cranky, old Mr. Shen knows the feeling of being terribly overworked, so imagine how the protagonist feels!? Shen Yuan nods his head approvingly at the thought.

All of those mistresses flocking over to Luo Binghe... If Shen Yuan were his guardian, he would kick them all out without a second thought in place of good family bonding time.

Women, power, sex... really, what's needed is a loving father who'll coddle and take care of Binghe when no one else can!

So, Shen Yuan guesses he shouldn't be surprised when he wakes up in the body of Tianlang-jun.

489 notes · View notes

iam-lnt · 6 months ago

Text

The Age of Louis XIV

Voltaire, who wrote Le sciècle de Louis XIV (The Age of Louis XIV), started off by doing a recount of the states of Europe before Louis XIV. and my hetalia brain rot began to go wild so i figure this can help me understand the first chapter of the book better so I sorted out quotes and made a brief summary for each mentioned nation in order that is written in the book to help enforce my understanding.

Germany*

*- "Germany" refers to the Empire of Germany, known in history as the Holy Roman Empire; since the 15th century, its throne had been occupied by the Habsburgs

"...the most powerful neighbor which France has...it abounds more with sturdy men inured to labor." "this great Germanic body...is maintained in [... ] order and regularity [...] The difference of government and genius makes...the Germans [more proper] for acting on the defensive."

Summary: strong, divided into two parties by Christianity. Emperor has less power in compare to a King in France. Was at the time pretty poor despite being "rich at home", and would eventually see its flourishing later on.

Spain

"...more formidable to Europe than the Germanic Empire. The kings of Spain were infinitely more absolute and rich than emperors..." "[Spain] under Philip II became a vast body without substance, which had more reputation than real strength...Notwithstanding all these disadvantages, Spain, by being united to the empire, threw a very formidable weight into the balance of Europe."

Summary: strong #2, starting to see its weak points, but still a ringing force and surviving well with the colonies.

Portugal

"...Portugal was again made a kingdom...through necessity, cultivated trades...entered into a league with the French and Dutch against Spain." "Portugal...extended its trade, and augmented its power..."

Summary: doing well over there. Shall watch your career with great interest.

The United Provinces

"...almost the only example in the world of what may be done by the love of liberty and unwearied labor. There poor people...made head against the whole collected force of their master and tyrant...and founded a power which we have seen counterbalancing that of Spain itself." "...they established a form of government which preserves...equality, the most natural right of human kind."

Summary: quite an admirable force (don't mess with the Dutch's money bags™️). Good government.

England

"England...arrogated to itself the sovereignty of the seas, and pretended to preserve a balance between the powers of Europe." "This civil war...[made England] lost [...] credit in Europe...trade was obstructed, and other nations looked upon [England]...till the time that she at once became more formidable than ever, under the rule of Cromwell."

Summary: pirate arc of England sprouting. Charles I could do well in anything but being a king ("ill-advised prince"). Waiting for Cromwell to do his thing.

Rome/The rest of Italy

I merged these two parts together for ✨aesthetics✨

"[Rome] has very little trade or money. [Rome's] spiritual authority...is slighted and abhorred by one half of Christendom...yet [...] some [...] resist [Rome's] will at times with reason and success." "but [the privileges] of Rome, by an almost constant proper use of resolution and concession, has preserved all that was humanly possible for her to preserve." "Some rights, many pretensions, patience and politics are all that Rome has left now of that ancient power..."

Summary: typical pope behavior, but in reality was losing respect and control. Impressively that was dealt with seasoned insight, and different oppositions of different kings/emperors were met with different levels of defense ("submissive...terrible to..acting cunningly"). Sly old fox, if you will.

"...situated in a peaceble country...biassed by various interests." "The state of Florence enjoyed tranquility and abundance under [...] Medici; and literature, arts, and politeness [...] still flourished there."

Summary: the typical Renaissance still doing the thing. Less disturbed by conflicts compared to the northern parts.

The Northern Kingdoms

"The Swedes [...] were a freer nation by their constitution which admits even the lowest class of the people into the assembly of the general estates." "Denmark...was no longer so [formidable] to any power."

Summary: Sweden good. Denmark flopping a bit. The rest of the northern kingdoms were doing their best (fighting)

The Turks

"The seraglio, though corrupted by effeminacy, still retained its cruelty...when it had [recovered from wars], this empire became again formidable."

Summary: may look messy back home but still don't underestimate the power

The situation of France

"France [...] was in alliance with Sweden, Holland, Savoy and Portugal...was engaged in a war against the empire of Spain...The French there has done the Spaniards and Germans a great deal of mischief, and had suffered as much themselves."

Summary: fighting with Spain (and also the house of Austria, so also Germany), tho the battles has reduced to petty squabbles over "a few frontier towns". Richelieu came to raise tax.

---

Works cited The Works of Voltaire. A Contemporary Version. A Critique and Biography by John Morley, notes by Tobias Smollett, trans. William F. Fleming (New York: E.R. DuMont, 1901). In 21 vols. Vol. XII.

--- Rambling (just a little) time.

Okay first off, bear in mind that all the quotes and summarized content are from the pov of Voltaire, so there can be possible biases.

I've been invested in the reign of Louis XIV for quite a while now, and I can attribute the reasons to 1) BBC Versailles, 2) Molière, and 3) general liking to history at the time (17-18c). I'm trying to figure out what exactly that the time period attracted me so much, like what "vibe" what "ideal" etc, but I'm still trying. And reading that book, which is long as hell, not to mention the messy af™️ European drama and people having Too Similar Names may just be helpful in terms of getting to know the history that happened in and around the court of Louis XIV.

Welp, gotta read more if I want to know more.

#hetalia #aph #historical hetalia #i will be lazy and not tag everyone sorry not sorry #doodle dump #random otter rattles #history

205 notes · View notes

michele-apricity · 7 months ago

Text

𝓭𝓪𝓻𝓴 𝓪𝓬𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓶𝓲𝓪 ˙⟡🪶─

𝒎𝒐𝒗𝒊𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒗 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔

Some of my favourite movies and tv shows that I keep rewatching literally all the time, also fit the dark academia aesthetic...

𝒎𝒐𝒗𝒊𝒆𝒔

Dead Poets Society (1989)

A timeless film about the power of literature and the consequences of challenging societal norms in a boarding school.

The Talented Mr. Ripley (1999)

A psychological thriller drenched in luxury, deception, and the pursuit of identity.

Kill Your Darlings (2013)

Follows young Allen Ginsberg and his entanglement in a murder during his time at Columbia University.

Atonement (2007)

A visually stunning film about love, betrayal, and regret, with an air of intellectual melancholy.

The Imitation Game (2014)

A story of genius and tragedy, focusing on Alan Turing’s work during WWII.

The Riot Club (2014)

A dark examination of privilege and elitism among Oxford students in a secret society.

Harry Potter Series (2001-2011)

Especially The Prisoner of Azkaban, which captures the darker, atmospheric tones of the series.

Crimson Peak (2015)

A Gothic romance with haunting visuals and themes of mystery and intellect.

The Oxford Murders (2008)

A mystery set at Oxford University, blending logic, philosophy, and crime-solving.

The Theory of EVerything (2014)

A poignant biopic about Stephen Hawking’s life, featuring beautiful academic settings.

𝒕𝒗 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔

The Umbrella Academy (2019-2024)

While more fantastical, its themes of family, ambition, and intellectualism align with dark academia. (we're going to act as if the 4th season never happened)

Sherlock (2010-2017)

A modern take on Arthur Conan Doyle’s detective stories, with a focus on intellect and mystery.

The Queen’s Gambit (2020)

A visually stunning series about genius, competition, and the pressures of academia-like environments.

Penny Dreadful (2014-2016)

A Gothic series weaving together classic literary characters with dark, intellectual themes.

How to Get Away with Murder (2014-2020)

A thrilling blend of academia and crime, revolving around law students entangled in murder mysteries.

Derry Girls (2018-2022)

Though comedic, the show captures an academic setting with themes of friendship and youthful rebellion.

The Magicians (2015-2020)

A fantasy series with a dark academia feel, featuring a secret university for magic and complex moral questions.

His Dark Materials (2019-2022)

A richly intellectual fantasy series set in an alternate, academic-focused world.

Gilmore Girls (2000-2007)

While lighter, it captures the love of books, academia, and witty intellectual banter.

Shadow and Bone (2021-)

A mix of dark fantasy and the kind of rich world-building that appeals to dark academia enthusiasts.

Let me know your favourite movies and/or tv shows that I should watch.

-michala♡

#dark academia #dark academia aesthetic #dark academia vibes #dark academia moodboard #dark academia movies #movie recommendations #must watch #movies and tv shows #dark academia tv shows #books and libraries #bbc sherlock #dead poets society #shadow and bone #kill your darlings #tv show recommendations

154 notes · View notes

aureatchi · 1 year ago

Text

⋆ ☽˚｡ 𓂃 ࣪˖ AND THAT DAY THAT WE’LL WATCH THE DEATH OF THE SUN . . . ft. FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY

⟢ PRÉCIS. restless at an hour far too late to be awake, you take a quest to the personal library lit only by warm-toned ambient lamps and candles. however, you are greeted by one who chastises you to rest, and despite his pretty face you remain stubborn. in turn, he takes up a mission on his own; one that he alone will always win: to coax you to sleep.

◞ OR fyodor knows time is limited. if only you realized this was his labyrintian way of saying au revoir for now.

ᡴꪫ a/n. it’s always his lap. been thinking about this scenario for awhile + re-inspired by the friends who played with my hair this week hehe. it makes me feel so sleepy. started to cope with ch113. :’) i hope this is decent ᡣ𐭩

ᡴꪫ info. fem!reader. fluff; sweetly suggestive in one part…and then hit with a train of angst; i warned u. soft fyodor. comfort/hurt ↻. religious imagery. it’s u trying to get him to sleep too. both poetic and shakespeare ramblings. bsd manga chapter 113 + s5 finale spoilers. russian may be incorrect. ﾉ wc. 3.1k+

“Is there anything you find more powerful than manipulation?”

Seated on the armchair across from yours, the ravenette took a sip of tea from his mug before setting it down. A bantering parley had taken place in between you two, filled with giggles and smiles, but in a moment without thought, you had brought up a more serious topic.

“Actually, yes,” he responded.

“A woman’s intuition.” You didn’t miss how his gaze slightly lowered. “The woman’s gut feeling is superior. If a man were to try manipulating her, she would know. No matter how naïve she was, the body would give her a single signal that could unravel his entire disposition at the fingertips.”

You discreetly smiled, looking down at the mug. You knew Fyodor was referring to his experience with you. At one point in time, he tried to finesse you in schemes of calamity. But in response, you ruined him—he would dare not admit out loud that you had forcefully taken whatever mess his heart was and sewed it back together with the strings of your own soul. You did so without ever realizing either. After so many years on this earth, even he did not know how to mend himself.

Now, he could only look at you as being the single thing that didn’t go wrong in the wasteland of the world. The ravenette almost considered you not of the world—you were as divine as the angels, after all. Perhaps it was his excuse to add along another duty the Father had commissioned to him—Fyodor would assure your safety and happiness through the rest of time—even once he got his hands on that book.

Because if not plans that surged through his mind, it was his most cherished memories of you.

…

Even though the room wasn’t too hot and the bed wasn’t uncomfortable, you could not go to sleep. You had tried counting sheep in your head for hours, but you still ended up awake well past midnight and had enough sheep for dozens of herds.

You turned over in annoyance before you finally sat up. You didn’t understand why you felt such unease—maybe you drank your coffee too late in the day. A bad decision at that.

You tapped the other side of the bed for a final check. Empty. Fyodor was still up. You would visit him in the office later, but for now, you’d give him the privilege of being unbothered. You decided on another place to visit—somewhere that would calm you down so perhaps you could finally catch slumber.

The personal library.

It was the coziest place, especially during the late hours of the evening, where the lights were warm and dim, not too hard on the eyes. Where the shelves were packed with literature and knowledge permeated the room with its philosophy. Fyodor annotated everything—so most books were scribbled in almost illegible cursive Russian. You always told yourself if you didn’t start to learn his lingo, you would be locked away from the library’s secrets forever.

You tiptoed down the hallway until you reached the door at the end. You were thinking of picking up one of William Shakespeare’s tragedies and reading until either you fell asleep or the sun rose. You prayed it wasn’t the latter—though restless, you were exhausted too. And you didn’t want to suffer the consequences the next day.

However, you were surprised to see the door already narrowly open. The lights were on and the candles were lit, too—was Fyodor not in his office? He seldom worked anywhere else and would always go to you as soon as he finished.

You peeked through the slight crack in the door. He was indeed there—your lover’s back turned towards you, capturing all his charming enigma. How the man carried himself with the poise and elegance of a white dove, despite starting wars among nations. His mouth spoke of divinity while he ravaged the harmony of life with his hands. It was fitting; Fyodor was a juxtaposition in himself—you knew this, and so did he.

“You can come in.” A second of pure silence passed before you opened the door to step inside. Not even a single noise was made, and yet, he recognized your presence.

Almost shyly, you shuffled towards him. You did not plan for Fyodor to catch you—you were still in between deciding whether going inside was worth his lecture.

Because although the handsome workaholic stayed up until absurd hours of the night, he did not want you following his ways.

You circled the lounging area until you were in front of him, who closed the journal he was writing in.

“Lyubov, why are you still awake?” he asked.

Usually, you only stayed up out of anticipation in waiting for his return—whether from a mission or just to the bed. You were so stubborn that Fyodor would actually halt his work for a few days after being gone for awhile to sleep with you so that he was sure you were resting properly.

It was different this time. He had been home for the whole month, and despite being in his office for the majority of this week, you didn’t have any problem with going to bed without him until now.

You shrugged with a quiet, “I’m not sure.” You eyed the unfamiliar journal. “Are you still working?”

“Sort of,” Fyodor replied. “Would you like some chamomile tea? That will help.”

You shook your head. “What do you mean ‘sort of?’ Last time I checked, you were either working or not.”

“It’s not any more important than addressing the current problem at hand,” he calmly dejected the topic, leaving you confused.

“What’s the current problem?”

“You’re awake. You shouldn’t be at this hour.”

“Well, now that I’ve found you here, I don’t think I can return to bed unless you come with me.” You dramatically yawned before stepping closer to him.

“Let’s go sleep, Fedya.” You tried dragging him up by the arm, but he stayed sat on the armchair, much to your disdain.

“I cannot, I’m not done yet,” Fyodor replied. As you froze, he took your hand in his and brought you to his lap.

“However, you must sleep.” He let you shift so that you were comfortable. “You came here to read?”

“Yeah,” you replied as he handed you a book. What a mind reader Fyodor was—you were presented with The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark. It would be the perfect reread.

“Why this play?” you tested.

“The pile of books you never put back on the shelves over there shows you’ve been reading a lot of tragedies lately,” he nodded towards the stack of books you read this week. “I thought you’d probably be in the mood for one by none other than the master of catastrophe.

“Plus, it’s fitting for you, too,” he added, voice a bit lower as he fidgeted with the hem of your shirt. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Hey!” You pouted, moving away from him, pretending you were insulted. Though you knew too that further proved his point.

“Maybe we should act it out,” you joked as you scanned through the pages to find a poem you were familiar with. “Act two, scene two.”

“Hamlet’s letter to Ophelia,” Fyodor recalled.

“Doubt thou the stars are fire;

“doubt that the sun doth move;

“doubt truth to be a liar;

“but never doubt I love.”

“Dlya neye, v iskrennosti,” you squinted, reading the little note by the quote you did not understand. The Russian laughed at your terrible pronunciation.

“Some scholars say that Hamlet used his words toward Ophelia as a manipulation tactic,” he stated. “He had a larger strategy at hand, and he rarely mentioned her unless she was on stage, with the exception of her death. If he harbored such a profound love for her, would Shakespeare not make it more direct? What do you think?”

You contemplated for a few seconds, eyes drifting amongst the shelves of books as you felt your lover behind you gently run his fingers through your hair.

“I think Shakespeare didn’t give us clarity for a reason. I’d like to believe Hamlet did love Ophelia. The story does not revolve around romance, after all—it revolves around revenge. A man with ambitious plans would not have love at the forefront of his head. Or, he wouldn’t speak aloud about it, at the least. Perhaps he was more reserved about that aspect of his life, too—he could’ve been shy to speak about it in front of all aristocracy—like you, for example.”

You giggled with a shrug, expressing your last phrase as lighthearted, but you still earned a slight frown from him. It was amusing that the nationwide terrorist was timid in everything concerning his love life.

“Obviously, it could be taken as manipulation, too,” you continued. “But again, it’s not stated upfront for a reason. Shakespeare mirrors the complexities of a person in real life. You never quite know the truth of other people, no matter how much you think you know them.”

Fyodor nodded, satisfied with your interpretation. “I wholly agree. It is why Shakespeare is enticing to many—he creates characters that simulate life’s universal themes and relatable human emotions when reacting to those situations. I only disagree with one point you made.”

“Which one? You being shy?” you asked. He shook his head with a smile.

“Perhaps I will reward you with that knowledge if you sleep.” He chuckled when you groaned in disappointment.

“How about you just do your work while I read? Then, when you finish, we can leave together.”

“If it were that easy. You’re a distraction, milaya.”

You rolled your eyes. “No, I promise! I originally came here to read anyway—I won’t distract you this time.” You moved to one side of Fyodor’s lap so he would have space to do what he wanted.

He did not answer you, instead making a quiet “tsk” when his fingers caught on a tangle in your hair. Fyodor worked to gently separate the knot. The terrorist was a perfectionist, but the mindset further stemmed past reaching twisted goals to create a world without flaws. Three spoons of jam in his tea, faint scratches on a deck of cards, and ensuring he had the satisfaction of reaching the ends of your hair with his fingertips were a few details he keenly paid mind to.

You took his silence as a comply, and started to play out the tragedy of the Danish prince in your head while your lover brushed through your locks. Eventually, he picked his journal back up and continued to write information you paid no mind to.

…

You did not know how much time passed before you felt your eyes grow heavy. The faint ticks of the clock on the wall combined with the warm candlelight’s glow drew you to slumber. You closed Hamlet and shifted positions until you ended up straddling Fyodor. You buried your face in the crook of his neck until you could see nothing but dark.

“Sonnyy?”

He started stroking his fingers through your hair again, relaxing you even more.

“Lublu tebya, kak angel boga, kak roso lyubit solovey. S toboy vremya ostanavlivaetsya, yi ya zhivu lish mgnoveniam ryadom s toboy.”

However, the sounds of seconds passing by and intimate lighting adorning the room could not compare to the persuasion of your lover’s voice in his mother tongue. Foreign words spilled from his lips as rich as velvet, as soothing as a lullaby. If his voice, in general could put you in a trance, here he harbored the garden serpent’s master of temptation itself. Even if you did not understand him. Worst of all, he knew this. You had fallen into his trap long ago.

“Ya boudou skucha—what are you doing?”

You were drowsily planting kisses on his neck. You stopped once the room became silent and looked up, catching his half-lidded amethyst gaze. The conjurer’s expression was for once softened—or perhaps it had been the entire time you were with him. It was a gift only you were blessed with.

You smiled, a tad smugness in your look, before sitting up and giving him a shy peck on his lips.

For a few seconds, you were both frosted in that moment of time—his hands wrapped around your waist, massaging circles onto your skin under your shirt as you straddled his own, your eyes fixated on his almost surprised, slightly flustered violet stare. The candles illuminated the room in such a way that made you think it was really only you two who existed in the world—your two souls someplace faraway where nothing else mattered but the sounds of your heartbeats and what you would do next after his mouth slightly parted. You were the most beautiful thing Fyodor had laid eyes on, throughout eras of people.

You kissed him for the first time that night, and the ravenette kissed you back. It escalated to become sloppy—you were both too exhausted to care whether your lips were on his or if they instead trailed down to trace his jawline as sharp as those of the greek gods. Or when you were back on your lover’s neck—however, this time almost sucking, mesmerized by how easily you could bruise him. You did not need to wear lipstick to create deep red marks on Fyodor’s pale skin.

“I told you that you’d end up being a distraction.”

You shivered at cold fingertips dancing across your lower abdomen, though they were still quite far from anywhere you wished. You winced when Fyodor bounced you up in order to fix your position, but it offered a different effect.

“Careful,” he warned. “That spot is visible to others.”

Being the leader of the Rats in the House of the Dead and member of organization Decay of Angels placed the Russian at a high status in the underground world. He always restricted the places you could leave visible traces of affection on him whenever he had a new operation in front of him—Fyodor was one to uphold modesty.

You sighed softly before disconnecting your mouth from his neck, only to unbutton the top half of his shirt.

Like his hands, the demon’s heart was cold. He bore at least some sense of insensitivity to death—he had to; granting silence was part of his duty. However, something about you ignited a fire in him out of nothing, out of no help amidst ice—you were not given a flame nor torch to aid you.

If he was the one to destroy the world to pay the price of ridding sin, you were the one who rebuilt creation from the ground and up. You were unfazed by the city ruins; you were unfazed by Fyodor Dostoevsky, the man most feared in the world. A duality: to them, his hands soaked in crimson blood, but to you, they clasped around yours in adoration.

And since he’d met you, his heart was filled with the foreign warmth of love. Accompanied were trust, vulnerability, and your sweet, honey-like kisses that you littered all over his broad shoulders and chest, because he deserved love everywhere.

He whispered against your ear, promising he would indulge you more another day, when you weren’t so sleepy. When both he and the moon had a little more time in the sky, was what he didn’t say. At the same time, he took a free hand to slowly guide your eyes to close, hovering barely above your eyelashes.

You complied, with no more complaints, as he kissed you on the forehead.

…

As Fyodor carried you down the hallway to the bedroom bridal-style about half an hour later, you dozed into dazy consciousness once again.

“You have…another mission, hm?” you whispered, recalling the preceding hints he had given you.

“Yes,” he quietly replied, walking into the dark bedroom. He tucked you under the covers before getting in right beside you.

“Truly, why were you in the library?” you asked, getting out your final curiosity before you fell back to dream.

“I did have a ‘sort-of’ job,” Fyodor replied. “Taking care of you. I was aware you’d show up.”

“Please stay safe, Fedya.”

…

You knew something was off with the thunderstorm that came several weeks later. A vampire apocalypse—however fictitious that sounded—was happening back in Japan, but Fyodor kept you overseas at where you two stayed before departing.

You didn’t ever touch his plans, but your mind finally processed how every event leading up until now seemed so wrong. The month-long stay—Fyodor had never done that before. The week you decided to read tragedies—you felt one even worse than those acted out in the theatre was coming. That night you stayed up—your gut was already screaming that he was about to depart again.

And how this time would be different than before. Your intuition had warned you, yet you still fell asleep and let him leave. You stood before the journal the conjurer made sure caught your eye that night. With shaky hands and heavy rain beating down on the windows, you flipped through the pages. Confusion and tears formed in your eyes at the vague implication of what was written.

Do not worry yourself with the death of all things that are seen and unseen by you. It is not an end, but the start of all things that are left to do.

Rodnaya, you asked what I did not agree with concerning your thoughts about Hamlet loving Ophelia. Have you ever considered a man having both love and ideals at the forefront of his mind? Isn’t love a dream itself?

…

Fyodor swore this when he judged how all could go wrong in the next step of his plan. Prior to meeting you, the calculating, confident smirk he always had on his face was authentic, and he simply assumed he would never fall to a mistake.

But now the plans were adjusted to work around you; the schemes all ended to benefit you, too. If he misjudged something, not only would it fail the perfect world God deemed it to be, but it would also affect you through and through.

Perhaps that was why he only almost saw you as an angel no matter how much you resembled one—no, you were far more glorious than one. You were human—so human that instead of looking down at him from above, you came down onto tainted soil and blessed him with a piece of heaven. Real empathy that now made him think of you as he sat with a rod pierced through his torso in the escape helicopter, doomed to death.

You truly did ruin him.

…

“Is there anything you find more powerful than manipulation?”

And Sigma wondered how such a man so immoral and cruel actually loved someone else. As he searched through the demon's memories, he realized he must go much further back in time to find any helpful information for the brunette ability-nullifier who assigned him.

Because if it was not anything relating to his plans that showed up through his search, it was every memory of you.

translations: (please pardon me if they’re bad, :’) correct me if you are fluent and would like to!)

dlya neye, v iskrennost : for her, in sincerity

sonnyy : sleepy

lublu tebya, kak angel boga, kak roso lyubit solovey. : i love you like an angel loves God, like a nightingale loves a dew.

s toboy vremya ostanavlivaetsya, yi ya zhivu lish mgnoveniam ryadom s toboy. : with you, time stops, and i live only for moments next to you.

ya boudou skucha[t po tebe] : i will miss you.

i heard if you rb, fyodor will come back to life. :’) reblogs are cherished; they are what support me the most. <3

someone should’ve warned me about hozier. only started listening to him last month and i…can’t stop.

#₊ ⊹˚✉︎𑁤 with love; reverie #𐙚 𖥔 ˖ fedya must be fancied .ᐟ #fyodor x reader #fyodor x you #fyodor dostoevsky x reader #fyodor fluff #bsd fyodor #fyodor angst #bsd fluff #bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs #fyodor fanfic #fyodor imagines #fyodor headcanons #bsd x you #fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor bsd #aureatchi

634 notes · View notes

srbachchan · 3 months ago

Text

DAY 6253

Jalsa, Mumbai Mar 30, 2025 Sun 11:43 pm

🪔 ,

March 31 .. birthday happiness to Ef Sai Poorna Patnaik .. Ef Keren Ben Ezra .. and Ef Shravan Kumar .. 🙏🏽❤️🚩

greetings and wishes from all the Ef ..

The consciousness of time , builds in the mind along with all the other concerns and schedules, damaging the thinking process of what we work on presently ..

And with the several options open to us, it does become even greater in the context ..

So what can be the cure ..

For me I have worked out that the moment the 'other' thought invades the mind while working on something .. just get up and fulfill the wants of the invasion .. and get back to doing what you have been doing .. at least it lessens the burden we carry of the schedule and the time factor that troubles the mind .. the saturated cerebrum reduces the factor of space .. and all seems to be in order ..

Been trying it for the last few days , with reasonable success ....

Reasonable , because never is the act of work fulfilling enough to move away and give space and time for the 'other' ..

The 'other' is a magnificent factor , often not given the importance it generates in human lives or any lives ..

A view ..

"The concept of the ‘Other’ operates both metaphorically and in reality as a defining factor in literary consciousness. It represents exclusion, difference, and opposition, shaping identities and narratives. In metaphorical terms, the ‘Other’ embodies the unknown, the marginalized, or the exotic, reinforcing binaries like self/other, familiar/foreign. In reality, literature reflects the power dynamics that create ‘Otherness’—colonialism, gender, race, and class—challenging or reinforcing societal structures. Writers like Edward Said and Simone de Beauvoir explore how the ‘Other’ is constructed, exposing ideological biases. Ultimately, the ‘Other’ remains central to literature’s interrogation of identity, belonging, and human understanding."

.. and there are several views such as the above on the subject of 'there' .. Simone de Beauvoir and other greats like existentialists Jean Paul Sartre .. did great work on these theories .. they must be read to be able to fully understand their inputs ..

Sartre .. a playwright as well .. and one of his plays 'Crime Passionnel ' I had the privilege to go to and educate myself ..

A crime whose base is passion is not a crime in certain laws in certain countries .. that was the essence .. but would meet with immense legal debate and challenges in today's time ...

What would not perhaps meet immense debate would be the GOJ

🤣

🥰

... and Ghibli .. invades the world ..

in the reality of the realm of communication ..

and the making of the 'reel' .. another now popular concept .. one which demands attention ..

.. may the days ahead be filled with prosperity and love and success ..

and my gratitude to all that wish me on this special day of festivities .. i cannot respond to each individually .. so this ..

🙏

Amitabh Bachchan

107 notes · View notes

if-you-fan-a-fire · 19 days ago

Text

"The scholarly literature on convict labor has been oscillating between economic and political explanations. According to the former, prisoners are put to work chiefly to generate surplus from unfree labor power. The state benefits from convict labor to decrease the administrative costs and to make profit, or to provide cheap labor to private enterprises. In either case, use of forced labor in prisons allows the sovereign to get rid of all privileges of free workers (bargaining power, political organizations, historically acquired rights). The power oriented political explanations, however, oppose the profitability of convict labor and emphasize instead the organized violence of the state, the governmental strategies, and the creation of social control mechanisms. Disciplining the society may have economic ends (i.e., the repression of the working-class), but the immediate outcome of prison labor is not profit; in most cases, it is rather a financial burden to the state."

Footnote 2: The area and time period of research naturally tend to determine the theoretical perspectives. Nevertheless, regardless of the context, these two approaches constitute the main axes of the array of explanations. Classic works that represent these approaches are, respectively, Alex Lichtenstein, Twice the Work of Free Labor: The Political Economy of Convict Labor in the New South (London, 1996) and David Garland, The Culture of Control: Crime and Social Order in Contemporary Society (Chicago, 2001). For Lichtenstein’s later proposal for a more comprehensive analysis, see Alex Lichtenstein, “A ‘Labor History’ of Mass Incarceration,” Labor 8 (2011): 5–14.

- Ali Sipahi, "Convict Labor in Turkey, 1936–1953: A Capitalist Corporation in the State?" International Labor and Working-Class History No. 90 (Fall 2016): p. 244.

#convict labour #penal labor #prison labor #historiography #prison history #unfree labor #research quote #academic quote #reading 2025

58 notes · View notes

wiz-writes · 2 years ago

Text

In Out of the Yinshan, you play as a spy sent to infiltrate a well-known Manor in order to recover a legendary sword.

Yet the mission turns out to be more than you bargained for as you find yourself walking on thin ice and questioning your loyalties, all the while an invisible hand keeps pulling the strings from behind the scenes.

Genre: wuxia, romance, mystery

Rating: 15 for some dark themes

Last update: 30 March 2025 (61k words)

Play as a man or woman.

Customise your appearance and shape your new persona.

Train and improve your skills to reach new heights of power.

Build friendships or start a romance with one of four characters.

Navigate your new life as a guard of a noble, explore the Manor and uncover its secrets.

Be mindful of both your words and actions to avoid suspicion and keep your head a little longer.

Let yourself be swayed by a desire for freedom; or remain steadfast and loyal to those who made you.

You are one of the Yinshan Society - a tool sharpened to perfection to be then used by your Elders as they see fit.

Your life is not your own, that much you know. However, that changes nothing about where your loyalties lie. For you, Yinshan has always been a light in the darkness.

So when your new mission brings you to the famous Hua Manor in search of a legendary sword, you take on the challenge of becoming someone else - someone you never had the chance to be.

You quickly adapt to the Manor's ways, training and fulfilling your duties while keeping a low profile as you begin your investigation. But the mysterious incidents that follow your arrival have everyone, including you, on edge.

Your past has taught you not to trust anyone, yet the more time you spend in the Manor and get to know its residents, the more your conviction starts to waver.

Is Yinshan truly all that your life amounts to?

COGDEMOS || ITCH.IO

COG Forum || Ko-fi || Patreon || Pinterest

THE PRODIGY

Su Feixia (F)

The only child of the Su family, Su Feixia is considered to be both smart and beautiful. She excels in literature and music, and she has more than proven to be capable of taking over her parents' business. Yet despite her privileged upbringing, she continues to be humble and kind.

You are her guard, accompanying the young lady to the Hua Manor.

THE GUARDIAN

Wei Qing (M)

One of the residents of the Manor, Wei Qing is a high-ranking guard that has lived there for a few years, steadily climbing the ranks through training and hard work. He puts his duty above all else, which has earned him respect, as well as a rather fearsome reputation.

He is your superior in the Manor, overseeing your training.

THE HEIRESS

Hua Lingyun (F)

The older of the two remaining children of the Hua family and their only daughter, Hua Lingyun spends most of her days training with weaponry and running from her responsibilities. She is to become the head of the family, which is something she's having trouble coming to terms with as she enjoys having her freedom.

She takes care of the Manor guests this year, in place of her sick father.

THE TEACHER

Xu Yuan (M)

A bit of an enigma for most of the people living in the Manor, Xu Yuan is a master swordsman of few words. Nobody seems to know much about him, except that he's been staying in the Manor for a while and that he appears to be a good friend of Master Hua. However, his cold and distant personality manages to keep his many admirers at arm's length.

He is in charge of your weapon training.

#out of the yinshan #interactive fiction #interactive novel #interactive story #if #if wip #choice of games #choicescript #cog wip #dashingdon

652 notes · View notes

doberbutts · 5 months ago

Note

I need people to understand that men who are part of minorities are often targeted by bigotry in ways that focus on their manhood.

Both black and mentally disabled men get accused of rape BECAUSE they are men.

Disabled men get degraded when they can't perform the role of provider/protector, because that is what is expected of MEN.

Hell, a lot of homophobic slurs (pansy, sissy, fairy, etc) revolve around denying queer men their masculinity.

And it is so tiring having to deal with people online who fail to grasp that "male priviledge" does not automatically makes one immune from having their gender used against them.

Well that's exactly it.

Black men have male privilege, absolutely, I do not disagree with this statement.

What I disagree with is how we think about the applications of that privilege and how it interacts with other layers here, such as that man's blackness.

Black men operate from a position of power when it comes to black women, absolutely, I do not disagree with that statement either.

Unless there is further nuance, such as a black trans man and a black cis woman, or a black disabled man and a black woman who doesn't speak English, or one of the black construction workers I passed on my walk with Fenris yesterday vs Kamala Harris.

See- that's where an intersectional view is needed. That's why much of actual literature by the coiner and people expanding her view are including marginalized men within their theory, because they are seeing a similar phenomenon there as well.

It doesn't mean male privilege doesn't exist. My father and my aunt experienced much of the same vicious racism as they went through college, but he finished and she didn't, because she was the victim of a brutal and vicious rape which ended her college career and gave her so much PTSD that she is now literally actually psychotic and has a schizophrenia diagnosis due to her hallucinations of the men who attacked her coming to find her decades later. My dad literally did not need to worry about this- despite being a survivor of racist sexual assault himself- specifically because he is a man and the men who attacked my aunt were only interested in punishing the woman this way. Note that he still experienced other forms of racism while he was at that university, but he was spared a repeat of his childhood trauma as a college student because at that point they were only looking to hurt a woman this way.

57 notes · View notes

howifeltabouthim · 10 months ago

Text

Just what was this cloak called privilege and how did it protect you? Was it visible to the wearer or just to onlookers on the outside?

Susie Yang, from White Ivy

7 notes · View notes

gatheringbones · 11 days ago

Text

[“George Macaulay Trevelyan, the late professor of modern history at Cambridge and the great champion of literary as opposed to scientific history, said in a famous essay on his muse that ideally history should be the exposition of facts about the past, “in their full emotional and intellectual value to a wide public by the difficult art of literature.” Notice “wide public.” Trevelyan always stressed writing for the general reader as opposed to writing just for fellow scholars because he knew that when you write for the public you have to be clear and you have to be interesting and these are the two criteria which make for good writing. He had no patience with the idea that only imaginative writing is literature. Novels, he pointed out, if they are bad enough, are not literature, while even pamphlets, if they are good enough, and he cites those of Milton, Swift, and Burke, are.

[…]

Trevelyan wrote that the best historian was he who combined knowledge of the evidence with “the largest intellect, the warmest human sympathy and the highest imaginative powers.” The last two qualities are no different than those necessary to a great novelist. They are a necessary part of the historian’s equipment because they are what enable him to understand the evidence he has accumulated. Imagination stretches the available facts—extrapolates from them, so to speak, thus often supplying an otherwise missing answer to the “Why” of what happened.

Sympathy is essential to the understanding of motive. Without sympathy and imagination the historian can copy figures from a tax roll forever—or count them by computer as they do nowadays—but he will never know or be able to portray the people who paid the taxes. When I say that I felt like an artist, I mean that I constantly found myself perceiving a historical truth (at least, what I believe to be truth) by seizing upon a suggestion; then, after careful gathering of the evidence, conveying it in turn to the reader, not by piling up a list of all the facts I have collected, which is the way of the Ph.D., but by exercising the artist’s privilege of selection. Actually the idea for The Proud Tower evolved in that way from a number of such perceptions. The initial impulse was a line I quoted in The Guns of August from Belgian Socialist poet Emile Verhaeren. After a lifetime as a pacifist dedicated to the social and humanitarian ideas which were then believed to erase national lines, he found himself filled with hatred of the German invader and disillusioned in all he had formerly believed in. And yet, as he wrote, “Since it seems to me that in this state of hatred my conscience becomes diminished, I dedicate these pages, with emotion, to the man I used to be.” I was deeply moved by this. His confession seemed to me so poignant, so evocative of a time and mood, that it decided me to try to retrieve that vanished era. It led to the last chapter in The Proud Tower on the Socialists, to Jaurès as the authentic Socialist, to his prophetic lines, “I summon the living, I mourn the dead,” and to his assassination as the perfect and dramatically right ending for the book, both chronologically and symbolically.”]

barbara w. tuchman, from practicing history: selected essays, 1996

#barbara w. tuchman #history stuff #currently reading #brainspace

29 notes · View notes

tightjeansjavi · 7 months ago

Text

Et Auream - Act IV : The Girl

A/N: I just want to start off by saying that for this chapter and the next, please heed the warnings. Also, I have included one historical inaccuracy regarding the reasoning for Marcus to tell Aurelia his first name. His reasoning was because only those who were worthy could know a gladiators true identity, and since she is about to save his life, he feels that she is worthy. Historically, roman male citizens had three names: first name, family name and nickname. It would be seen as too intimate or disrespectful to address a male citizen by their first name (typically only if this male citizen was an emperor or someone in power). This is why Geta, Caracalla and others refer to Marcus as Acacius. Aurelia is the only one who has been granted the privilege to call him Marcus (thus far) Thank you to @sinsofsummer for betaing as always <3 word count: 4.9k Summary: Marcus opens up about his past to Aurelia, but does not divulge further than what he is comfortable with. Time is forever fleeting, but he hopes that their meeting will not be a one time occurrence. Pairing | Marcus Acacius x f!oc Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT! This chapter includes SA of a minor (not by Marcus) loss of virginity, hyper sexuality as a result of SA, slight stockholm syndrome (if you squint) sexual enslavement, domestic abuse, canon typical violence, angst, misogyny, minor character death, language, +18 minors dni! If I have missed anything, please let me know! series masterlist

When Aurelia was just a little girl, and the world was bright, shiny, and new to her innocent eyes, she begged her parents for a horse of her very own. A beautiful ivory mare, or a sunburnt black stallion. She was too young to understand the pecking order in society, too naive to recognize that her family was not blessed with riches from the gods above. No, her parents were poor common folk; farmers whose only duties were to produce enough crops to feed Rome and her noble pupils. She didn’t understand the means of power, wealth, and status.

Her parents prayed to the gods for their crops to prosper, and the gods answered, but a sacrifice would have to be made. her parents promised that where she was going, she would be rewarded with a thousand horses of all different shades and breeds. Instead, she was met with an iron collar around her delicate neck; a symbol of ownership. She was a slave to a Dominus, stripped down to an object to be bought and used in whatever means he felt necessary, and she had only just flowered.

Her parents abided by the god’s wishes for them to sell their only daughter, and yet, their crops shriveled and dried to dust. It was too late, the damage was already done, and she could never return to the home she once knew.

When Aurelia’s parents sold her off to senator Cassius, she had expected to live her life of servitude in a dingy cell, wearing tattered garments and begging for scraps. No matter how foul and unsettling Cassius was in her eyes, in a twisted way he did treat her better than she had expected. Atleast, she had convinced herself that he had. He ensured her that she would be educated in the arts and literature and all things a proper Roman lady should be taught. For that, she should be grateful, but only bitterness resides when she imagines the life she could be living had her parents not thrown her away so carelessly.

She was granted her own room and bed with silken sheets and a wardrobe with garments of every color. Handcrafted and threaded with the richest fabrics she had ever laid her eyes upon. Cassius prided himself in his appearance and so the same expectations were set upon her.

The first night of her new life, Aurelia found herself helping him undress and sink into the bath that she had prepared for him. He paid no mind to the obvious scald marks appearing on her small hands from the water being too hot for her delicate skin to handle. “You will tend to me in whatever manner I may request of you, Aurelia,” he said sternly, leaving no room for her to protest against his command. “Yes, my Dominus,” she responded quietly, her voice laced with nervousness. He grinned at her displeasure and ignored the fear that lingered in her eyes when he grasped her wrist, smaller than his own, and he dragged her hand beneath the steaming water to wrap around his hardening cock.

“I will make you happy, my pet. Just do as I ask and never fight me,” he hummed in contentment and his head tilting back against the fine porcelain as her wrist moved around his hardened shaft with shaky, insecure and unguided movements.

“Yes, my Dominus.”

He didn’t wait for her to be well adjusted to this new life. He was the type of man who would take as he pleased, no matter the consequences. “You will lay with me tonight in my chambers, Aurelia,” he said from the entryway of the bathing area. A linen towel was secured around his hips, and she took little notice of her hands trembling as she followed him down the dimly lit hallway and to his private quarters. After that night, she was no longer a girl. She was a woman. This was evident from the dry crusted tears that laid like canyons upon her soft cheeks and the blood that stained his linen sheets with the loss of her innocence and youth.

As time went on, the pain subsided little by little. It left her experiencing confused and conflicted feelings. It felt wrong to experience pleasure from the monster, a man that took her away from the only life that she knew. Yet, her body began to crave it; yearned for that forbidden touch and that crescendo of muscles spasming, and her cunt fluttering. She felt like a woman entering her divinity through the arousal of slickness between her thighs and tender breasts; a body graced with curves, swells, dips, ridges, and soft skin.

Like summer turned to fall, and fall to winter, her feelings began to sour; turned bitter like grapes that exceeded their fermentation period. Resentment reared its ugly head the further she strayed from girlhood and entered into womanhood. All those hours of studying had gifted her knowledge that she once did not possess, and she wanted more out of her life. She craved freedom above all. Her anger and resentment towards him manifested and she could no longer keep it at bay. Her youth, stolen from her, but she intended to gain her autonomy back in some form. This angered Cassius greatly that his once perfect, compliant, obedient, pet had begun to unabashedly disobey him. She was his. His property. her mind, body and soul belonged to him, and him only.

“You will never be free from your servitude. No matter how many fruitless hours you spend praying to the gods. You will always belong to me,” he hissed through gritted teeth, towering above her trembling, cowered body that laid upon the cold tile in his chambers.

Her cheek felt hot to the touch where he had struck her, and the tang of copper bursted along her tongue from the torn flesh of her upper lip.

She glared at him through her tears, vision blurred before becoming clear once again. His bedroom chamber was deathly silent. “I belong to no one.”

He swiftly yanked her up by the scruff of her neck dragging her at his will towards the crumpled sheets along his bed. “You will remember my once unconditional kindness after I have fucked the defiance out of you, girl.”

She knew no tenderness from him after that night and was only met with cruelness.

She took solace in Cassius aging faster than most men, but perhaps it was due to the constant stress of losing the bitter war against the Caledonians and being a trusted advisor to Emperor Geta. Any day Cassius could lose his tongue…or his head, and she found herself praying for his death every morning and every night to no avail.

When Cassius was away for days, weeks at a time, she found her freedom and solace through familiar faces. The brothel became her oasis along with its inhabitants. She lay with men, women and indulged in the simple pleasures. Her garments became tattered at her own doing, and she finally felt as if she owned a sliver of her autonomy once more, but she was not yet free.

The Ludus Magnus

“Marcus,” he whispered, “My name is Marcus.”

Time ceased to exist for both the golden one and the gladiator. He had never told a single soul his true birth name that his mother had bestowed him. No one in his twenty three years of life was worthy to know his identity–until he met someone who had shattered his psyche and stitched it back together all in one breath. He did not believe in soulmates–at least, he thought he didn’t. There must have been a reason why his mother came to him in his dreams and spoke the words she did. It made him believe that she was somewhere out there, watching over her son, and doing all that she could to lead him down the right path. Surely, this stranger would be entwined to his fate and him to hers.

“Sir…” her voice wavered, “I am unworthy to know of your birth name.”

Marcus gave her an incredulous look, one with furrowed brows and lips pursed in utter confusion. “What unworthiness do you speak of, my lady?”

“Your birth name is sacred to your creed and identity, is it not? Only those who are closest to a gladiator, such as a family member, or lover is worthy to know of one’s birth name.”

His lips pulled into a small, yet noticeable grin, and for a moment he forgets about the pain from his deep wounds in his back and the pulsing sensation in his shoulder “You are familiar with my creed? Then you speak true. Only a person of worth is granted the knowledge of my birth name, my lady. You are more than worthy. You’re about to save my life after which I will be forever indebted to you.”

“You are not yet out of death’s grasp, Marcus,” she reminded him.

“Then we must not waste another moment, my lady.” Aurelia positioned herself behind him so that she could easily assess the damage that was inflicted to his back and shoulders. The lacerations were deep, and she could only imagine how many times the biting sting of a whip was brought upon him. The tips of her fingers gently brushed an unmarked area of skin with careful tenderness. The scar that resided there was raised, and although it did not cause him pain, he flinched nonetheless. “I…noticed in the arena that you favor your left side,” she said quietly and sat back on her haunches before reaching for the pitcher of water and vial of olive oil. “You are very observant,” he said softly. “Is there a reason as to why you favor it?” He turned his head over his shoulder so that he could observe her briefly, before he faced forward once more. “I suffered an injury when I was just a boy.” She tore a strip of fabric from her stola and dipped it generously into the water. “This will sting,” she warned him preemptively. The soaked strip of fabric descended against one of the lacerations. The cooling touch is soothing, yet the pain intensifies. He lurched forward from the sensation, gnawing on the soft flesh of his cheek so that he would not cry out. “I fell from my horse,” he continues. “How old were you, Marcus?”

He did not immediately respond, and his mind began to drift to that fatal night where his entire world was turned upside down. He inhaled a shaky breath before continuing, “I was nine.” “It was the eve of my tenth birthday–and it was entirely my fault. I should have been more careful, but my own recklessness guided me. All it took was for me to lose my stirrup, and my whole life changed.” “What happened?” “What didn’t happen,” he muttered through clenched teeth. His entire body tensed up, and it had nothing to do with his physical wounds, and all to do with his mental ones. “If I had not fallen from my horse, my father…would still love me.” His words were laced with bitterness, sadness, and guilt at the forefront. “I–I don’t understand,” she whispered in confusion. “Your name,” he said suddenly. He was not yet ready to divulge in something that was deeply personal. “What of it?” “You have yet to tell me.” “Marcus,” she starts. “It is not of importance right now–” “Please,” he begged. “I must know your name, my lady.” “Aurelia,” she concedes in a whisper, “my name is Aurelia.” “Aurelia,” he repeated, testing the way it sounded on his own tongue.

“You do not have to reveal more than you feel comfortable telling me, Marcus,” she reassured him. “You would be the first to hear of my past in its entirety, but I am not ready to revisit it.” “I understand,” she said earnestly. Silence passed between them, the words of her name echoing in his eardrums, Aurelia, the golden one.

She worked methodically on tending to his wounds, and when they are fully cleansed, the pitcher of water faintly reflects a light pinkish hue. “Marcus, did you always want to become a gladiator?” she finally broke through the silence with a question that left him frozen on the spot. “No,” he muttered. “Had I been given the choice, I would have declined it, but the choice was never mine to make. My father–he sold me to a slave trader that was well-known for training gladiators for the Colosseum. The first time I grasped a sword, I was thirteen, and I had no desire to…kill. When I turned eighteen, and had proven myself as a valiant fighter, I was brought before the emperors. My Dominus was reluctant to sell me, at first, but Geta was persistent, and offered more coin than my Dominus had ever seen, and well…here I reside.” “And I presume that your reasoning to defy the emperors in the arena was because of the resentment you hold towards your father?”

“You ask many questions, Aurelia,” he said flatly, but intended for it to come across as lighthearted and teasing.

“I’m—sorry…” she trailed off. “I should not pry,” she bowed her head in shame

He turned around fully so he could face her and when he took in her appearance of shame, he frowned and gently brought the knuckle of his pointer finger to rest beneath her chin.

“Aurelia, do not feel shameful for your curiosity. Your questions do not upset me, my lady. Forgive me if my tone has expressed otherwise. It is…comforting to have someone to confide in. I have never experienced these privileges until tonight.”

She lifted her chin slowly, her eyes meeting his softened gaze in the dim light. “It is a privilege that most do not get to experience in their life.”

“Indeed,” he sighed and slowly dropped his hand from her chin and rested it on his bare knee instead. “I do not know what came over me in the arena today,” he admitted. “I have killed many men before without a second thought…but I saw the fear in his eyes, and I just could not bring myself to kill him.”

“Marcus, to not kill when you have been commanded, takes compassion and bravery. I have never witnessed such an act. It left my Dominus enraged and perplexed. It is the reason that I sought you out this evening. When we returned to our villa, I could not stop thinking of you.”

Heat began to rise to their cheeks in tandem and he swiftly averted his gaze to the wall behind her instead.

“I feared for your safety, and despite knowing the risks of traveling after nightfall, I…had to make sure that you were okay,” she continued.

“Emperor Geta did not command that I would be punished for my defiance,” he said as if he was capable of reading her mind and knew exactly what question was lingering there.

“He did not?” confusion etched across her face at his words. “Who gave the command?”

“Well—I am under the impression that he did not give the command, and his praetorians took it upon themselves to punish me. I imagine that sounds a bit…improbable, but I did not hear him utter the command,” he let out a frustrated breath as he himself could not wrap his mind around what had taken place hours prior.

“That does sound implorable, but I believe you.”

“You said that your Dominus is a Senator, yes?” he interjects.

“Yes, he is,” she confirmed. “He works closely with the emperors, but mostly Geta, or so I have overheard.”

“And you haven’t had the displeasure of acquainting them, have you?” He referred to the emperors.

“No,” she shook her head. “Cassius does not allow me to stray far from his side, or to be in the company of other men. He is unaware that I have left the villa, but he spends his evenings in the brothel for many hours.”

“Be grateful that you have not made their acquaintance, Aurelia. Nothing good comes from either of them,” he said gravely.

She nodded in understanding. “Your wounds will heal with time, Marcus. I have done all that I can to cleanse them. Olive oil contains healing properties. It will keep the wound moist, and repel debris from contaminating the surrounding flesh. If the gods grant you reprieve, you will not face an infection,” she murmured.

“You’re leaving?…”

“I must,” she said regrettably, and slowly rose to her feet. “Cato will still be expecting to return me to my Dominus, but I intend to slip away before he has the chance.”

“Cato will be asleep by now, my lady. He nurses a bottle of wine each evening, and sleeps till late dawn.”

“Regardless, I should leave you to rest,” she insisted.

The likelihood of Marcus ever seeing her again was slim, given the circumstances that they were facing, but something in his heart told him that this would not be a one time occurrence.

“Will I see you again, my lady?” his tone held a sense of hope, something he hadn’t felt in many years.

“If the gods allow it, then yes, you will,” she said with a reassuring smile. “I am grateful to you, Aurelia. If the gods do not allow us to see one another again, I promise I will hold onto your kindness in my heart. Go now, quickly!” he said hurriedly. “Ride fast and swift. I will pray that your travel is perilous, my lady,” he reached for her hand and brought it up to his lips, brushing the soft skin of her knuckles with a farewell kiss.

“Iterum visurus sum, Marcus. Promitto,” (I will see you again, Marcus. I promise) she whispered.

He dropped her hand from his embrace, falling back against the wall in exhaustion, “Adero, te exspectat, auream unum,” (I will be here, waiting for you, golden one)

Palatine Hill

The moon had since risen high in the starry sky when Geta returned to Palatine Hill.

The palace was quiet and he had expected that even Caracalla had retired to his quarters for the evening, but this was squashed when he heard a hushed voice coming from the grand triclinium (dining room). He investigated further, driven by curiosity.

“I advise you to cease your squirming,” Caracalla whispered against the ear of a servant girl belonging to Geta. “There will be a severe price to pay if a single drop of wine leaves my cup and does not end up on my tongue,” he warned her.

“Dominus, please,” she whispered in his grip. Her eyes were glassy with tears reflecting the soft glow that was emitted from the many surrounding candles.

“Do you know what happens when you struggle, my dear?” he posed the question in a seemingly non-threatening way, but his tone said otherwise. “I will constrict around you like a snake, and my coils will tighten and tighten till those pretty eyes bulge right from your head!” he cackled manically.

She struggled further, not heeding his warning and all hope seemed lost until she locked eyes with a familiar figure looming in the entryway. “Emperor Geta!” she cried out in relief.

Caracalla scowled and followed her gaze till it too landed on his brother’s displeased look written across his face. “And like a savior dressed in gold, he arrives,” the younger emperor said with an annoyed roll of his eyes, “You have quite the impeccable timing, brother.”

Geta gave her a reassuring nod, and granted her a moment of reprieve. “Why are you antagonizing one of my servants, Caracalla?” he walked further into the room and dragged his ring hand above one of the flickering candles. His eyes locked onto his brother’s in a staredown.

“I have all the authority to antagonize her, Geta. She came to my chambers on your orders, after all. I was actually quite touched at the gesture…until she tried to murder me!” he said dramatically to make a show of it all. He was a wild fan of theatrics and the eldest emperor didn’t bat an eye at his pointed accusation.

“He lies!” the servant wailed and Caracalla swiftly slapped her cheek with the back of his hand to silence her.

“Peace, brother,” Geta said calmly and took the seat across from him. “Your accusations are false. I was…attending business all evening. I would not have the time to confide in one of my own to carry out such a treachery.”

“Ah, business,” Caracalla wiggled his eyebrows suggestively in a light jest. “I even have the weapon she carried that was intended to kill me,” he dangled the small blade in his freehand as proof.

“That could belong to anyone, Caracalla. There is no proof that she was in possession of it. I demand you release her this instant.”

A deep set frown crossed over Caracalla’s features and he drew his attention back to the severant, whose name he wouldn’t even bother to remember. He pointed the edge of the blade against her cheek that felt hot to the touch from the phantom bite of his cruel hand just moments ago. “Can’t you just play into my theatrics for once?” he sighed in disappointment, but his eyes flickered with something truly sadistic and amoral as he drank in the terrified look painted in her irises.

Geta rubbed his temples with his ring clad fingers, the ruby jewel on his left middle finger reflected in the candles glow. “Perhaps if these…theatrics did not involve one of my own servants, I would be more willing to participate.”

“Iocum de omnibus suges, frater,” (you suck the fun out of everything, brother) Caracalla hissed.

“Immo ego, tyranne,” (Indeed I do, tyrant) Geta said coolly.

Caracalla dug the edge of the blade into the softness of her cheek. A bead of blood pooled at the surface of the shallow wound, causing her to whimper from the sudden pain.

“You will play along, Geta. Especially with her life so delicately hanging in my grasp,” he chuckled. “So, what will her fate be, hm? Will you be merciful like Acacius?”

“I will not have you spilling her blood so carelessly. There is no game to play, Caracalla. Now, I will ask you again, release her this instant.”

“Ah. Ah. Ah. That is not how the game is played! Pretend that we are back in the Colosseum and she is begging for her life!” Caracalla said gleefully and dug the edge of the blade further into her cheek. “That’s your cue, girl. Beg for your life and make it believable!”

“Mercy, I beg! Mercy upon me!” she cried out, but Caracalla was unsatisfied with her performance and proceeded to drag the blade down her jaw and to the column of her throat. He leaned in close enough that she could see his pupils dilate and grow darker.

“Your performance is quite…pitiful,” he snickered. “You can do better than that.”

“Caracalla,” Geta said in a warning.

The younger emperor simply waved him off and applied pressure to the edge of the blade against her throat and locked eyes with his brother with a sadistic grin plastered on his thin lips. “Beg for your emperor to be merciful.”

She cried out into the peaceful evening air, begging and pleading for her life to be spared and when Geta arose from his seat, Caracalla’s hand ‘slipped’ and the edge of the blade sliced through her throat fatally. He released her from his grip as she clawed at her neck, blood spurting onto the table below and all over Caracalla’s evening robes, staining golden hues to deep crimson. She made a chilling gurgling sound that emitted from the back of her throat and her body slumped across his lap, twitching before growing still.

“Oops. My hand must have slipped,” Caracalla said with a light sigh that was lacking empathy. He looked down at her deceased body, still warm in his lap with disgust and pushed her to the floor beneath his sandaled feet while she continued to bleed out.

Geta stood unmoving, his left eye twitched, but he did not advance towards his brother. “I quite liked that one,” he muttered under his breath and reached for the empty chalice in front of him. He snapped his fingers once and another servant appeared with a pitcher of wine trembling in her grasp. She quickly poured his wine and was careful to not spill a single drop. Before she could retreat, she felt the cooling touch of his many rings brushing against her skin as he gently grasped her forearm. “Peace, girl. Retire for the evening.”

She bowed quickly and turned on her heel to leave.

“Leave the wine!” Caracalla barked.

The pitcher was carefully set down in the middle of the table and soon the two emperors were alone.

“You’re too soft with them, Geta,” Caracalla muttered over the rim of his chalice.

“No, I just consider all those who serve me to be valuable. I don’t wish to see any of their blood spilled and wasted so carelessly,” he gestured to his dead servant on the floor.

Caracalla glanced down at her deceased form and to disrespect her further, he placed his sandaled foot to rest upon her cheek as if she was his own personal foot rest. “And what of Acacius? Does he still hold a great value to you even after his display of defiance?” he questioned sharply.

“Even in his defiance, Acacius is still valuable. He has always been strong spirited, and I will simply just have to tighten the reins a bit. He will soften to me eventually, but all in due time.”

“That is if he lives much longer,” Caracalla mused and swirled the contents of his chalice with a bored expression.

“He’ll live long enough to vex you, I am certain.”

Caracalla snorted under his breath at this. “And tell me, brother. How do you intend to tame a heart as fierce and defiant as his? How will he suddenly grow loyal to you, hmm? Furthermore, even if your plan is successful, he has no experience on the battlefield and zero strategy. Brute strength will not be enough to sustain our armies.”

“Our armies?” Geta snarled as he leaned over the table, narrowing his eyes at his brother. His upper lip curled in disdain.“You mean, my army?” His tempered demeanor had shredded away, and his claws were unsheathed.

“Your army? The same army that will be wiped off the map if you and I do not reach an agreement? Do you wish to see Rome fall to her enemies, brother? To be stripped of our titles and forced to be slaves for the rest of our miserable lives? You wouldn’t last five seconds having to serve someone outside of yourself,” the younger emperor snapped coldly and the tension brewing between kin could be sliced with the very same blade that was stained with the blood of the innocent.

“An agreement?” Geta snorted at his brother's blatant idiocy. “I will be the reason that Rome remains in power. When Acacius becomes the general of my army and defeats my enemies, you will be eating your words. How foolish are you, truly? Servitude? No, you amentis, (idiot) they will have our heads displayed on spikes for all to see if Rome is to fall.”

“Temper, temper, brother. There is no need to grow restless, we are simply conversing, are we not?” he cackled. “Perhaps your business did not quench your thirst entirely, hm? I cannot say the same for myself,” he subtly gestured to the dead servant. “She met mine quite well. Shame that she had to die…I would have quite enjoyed having her in my bed again. Which of your servants shall I kill next?” he leaned over his half of the table, his eyes dancing with mischief as he took another long sip from his chalice, teeth gleaming in claret over the golden rim.

“My business satisfied me plenty, brother,” Geta responded with a curt nod and rose from his seat.

“Oh, before you go,” Caracalla commenced and leaned back against the plush cushion situated at his lower back, “Perhaps for your next attempt at murdering me, you choose something…” he snapped his fingers as he tried to think of the word, “discreet,” he grinned. “Ah, Yes! Discreet. What about poisoning me?” he suggested. “You could slip something into my drink or food and I would never know.”

“That is the most wicked, Caracalla. I quite enjoy the mental image of seeing you claw at your throat as blood seeps from your eyes. I think that is what I will dream of tonight,” he tipped the rim of his chalice in Caracalla’s direction mockingly.

“And I will dream of cutting your vile tongue out and feeding it to one of your whores,” Caracalla quipped back.

“Indeed,” Geta mused. “Sleep well, brother,” he said with a subtle wink. He downed the rest of his wine before setting the empty chalice along the table, leaving the room without another word leaving his lips.

star banner made by @saradika-graphics 💗

follow @tightjeansjaviupdates for fic updates and notifications! 🫶🏻

#Et Auream #chapter 3 #marcus acacius #marcus acacius fanfiction #marcus acacius x oc #marcus acacius fic #general marcus acacius #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #gladiator 2 #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 fic #gladiator 2 fanfiction #emperor geta #emperor caracalla #tw sa

56 notes · View notes

michele-apricity · 7 months ago

Text

𝓭𝓪𝓻𝓴 𝓪𝓬𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓶𝓲𝓪 ˙⟡🪶─

𝒃𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔

Dark academia is rooted in a love for philosophy, history and literature... so here are some recommendations for books that fit the dark academia aesthetic and you should definitely read

𝒄𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒄𝒔

The Secret History by Donna Tartt

The cornerstone of dark academia literature. A group of elite classics students is drawn into a web of obsession, betrayal, and murder.

The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

A dark exploration of beauty, morality, and corruption in Victorian England.

Frankenstein by Mary Shelley

A Gothic classic delving into the pursuit of forbidden knowledge, ambition, and the consequences of creation.

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë

A story of love, mystery, and self-discovery, set against the brooding backdrop of Thornfield Hall.

Dracula by Bram Stoker

A Gothic masterpiece full of eerie atmospheres, academic investigation, and the dark allure of the unknown.

𝒎𝒐𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒏 𝒏𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒍𝒔

If We Were Villains by M.L. Rio

A Shakespearean tragedy set in an elite performing arts college, where students’ lives unravel after a murder.

Vita Nostra by Marina & Sergey Dyachenko

A surreal and unsettling novel about a young woman attending a mysterious school where reality bends under the weight of knowledge.

Bunny by Mona Awad

A darkly humorous and sinister look at creativity, academia, and a cult-like clique in a prestigious MFA program.

The Atlas Six trilogy by Olivie Blake

A magical dark academia tale about six exceptionally talented magicians competing for a place in a secret society that guards knowledge.

In The Dream House by Carmen Maria Machado

A memoir with Gothic undertones that explores trauma, storytelling, and academic reflection.

𝒎𝒚𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒚/𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒍𝒔

The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafón

A mysterious and haunting tale of a young boy discovering a forgotten book and its dark history.

The Ninth House by Leigh Bardugo

A supernatural dark academia story set in Yale’s secret societies, where magic and danger collide.

Mexican Gothic by Silvia Moreno-Garcia

A chilling Gothic mystery set in a decaying mansion, with a protagonist investigating her cousin's eerie marriage.

The Lying Game by Ruth Ware

A tale of friendship, deceit, and secrets in the shadow of a Gothic boarding school.

Plain Bad Heroines by Emily M. Danforth

A queer, layered story blending Gothic horror and academic intrigue across timelines.

𝒑𝒐𝒆𝒕𝒓𝒚 & 𝒑𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒐𝒑𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔

The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson

Dickinson’s introspective and haunting poetry complements the aesthetic’s love of literature and existential reflection.

Meditations by Marcus Aurelius

For the intellectual side of dark academia, this stoic philosophical work is a guide to self-reflection and understanding.

Paradise Lost by John Milton

An epic poem exploring rebellion, ambition, and the fall from grace, perfect for the themes of the aesthetic.

Songs of Innocence and Experience by William Blake

Poetry reflecting duality, beauty, and the darker aspects of human nature.

𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂 𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍 𝒕𝒘𝒊𝒔𝒕

A Deadly Education by Naomi Novik

A magical school where survival is key, blending dark academia with fantasy and wit.

Jonathan Strange & Mr. Noell by Susanna Clarke

A dense, Gothic tale of magic, rivalry, and ambition in 19th-century England.

The Magicians by Lev Grossman

A modern, darker take on a magical academy, filled with existential musings and flawed characters.

A Discovery of Witches by Deborah Harkness

A historical and fantastical romance steeped in academia, libraries, and ancient mysteries.

Piranesi by Susanna Clarke

A haunting, introspective story set in an otherworldly labyrinth that plays with memory, knowledge, and solitude.

𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒅𝒖𝒍𝒕

Ace of Spades by Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé

A suspenseful story of privilege, power, and systemic secrets in an elite private school.

Catherine House by Elisabeth Thomas

A slow-burning, atmospheric novel about an experimental university and the price of knowledge.

We Were Liars by E. Lockhart

A tale of mystery, tragedy, and privilege among a wealthy, secluded family.

The Raven Cycle by Maggie Stiefvater

A series rich with mysticism, academic undertones, and a search for ancient knowledge.

An Enchantment of Ravens by Margaret Rogerson

A romantic and artistic dark fantasy set in a world of fae and forbidden craft.

Did you read any of the books mentioned here? And if so what was your favorite/your opinion on them?

I personally read most of the books here and loved every single one.

-michala♡

#dark academia #dark academia aesthetic #dark academia vibes #dark academia moodboard #dark academia books #book recommendations #must reads #books and poetry #classic literature #young adult books #poetry #philosophical works #dark academic literature #books and libraries

62 notes · View notes

nthspecialll · 9 days ago

Text

Rdr1 newspaper "Blackwater #59" transcriped

Masterlist link.

Blackwater Beset By Savages. Notes Anthropologist Survives.

A vicious gunfight on the streets of Blackwater, perpetrated by a barbaric gang, including some Indians, has further compounded claims that the Native problem in the region is worsening rather than improving. The subject of the attack was a certain Professor Harold MacDougal, a prominent academic on sabbatical from Yale University to carry out a study on the Native population with a view to identifying the true root of their resistance to civilization, culture and religion. Professor MacDougal, proving the true robustness of a classical education, and an unnamed gunman were able to subdue the assailants and make their escape. It is believed that this abhorrent band of savages is being led by notorious outlaw Dutch van Der Linde. Man say van Der Linde, who disappeared without a trace around six years ago, has been living amongst the Natives for some time now, raising the question of whether he is inciting the unrest, or has fallen victim to a process of ‘de-civilisation’ much like the Wolf Girl we reported on last year.

The Ladies Battle: Suffragists march On Capital

Suffragists marched on the capital Tuesday in a beleaguered effort to secure the vote. Yet how does the acquisition of the vote affect the property privileges of men? Until this question is satisfactorily answered it shall remain the complication preventing women voting. Granting of property rights in women would result in cataclysmic confusion and the destruction of our core values as well as our families. These shrieking and savage mobs of harpies make Uncle Sam shudder.

French Literature “Little More than Pornography”

A powerful group of Congressmen in Washington are pushing forward with plans to outlaw French literature in this country. The congressmen, who cross party lines, but none of whom actually speak French, argue that French literature is little more than cheap pornography. They believe it is sure to rip the soul out of the nation and do little to help the hard working American family. Referencing words by Zora, Diderot and Voltaire, one congressman listed the horrors these books contain. “There’s tales of nudity illicit sexual congress, incest, prositution, sexual pleasure and much else besides. While having these books translated for me, I came over all funny and took a turn. I am not ashamed to say I disgraced myself. A less upstanding person than myself could have been destroyed by the revelations in these books and seen his life reduced to a rubble of self pleasure and Onanism. Thankfully, it will take more than Onanism to take me down, but the same cannot be said for the population at large.” The group is suggesting that all French books, along with the language and even French bread and letters be outlawed in the US.

Industrialist Comes Under More Fire

“In the fight for progress there have been many casualties,” Jeremiah Somerset once said. However, the wealthy industrialist’s business practices have come under scrutiny once more following accusations that he has been poisoning horses to make way for his mechanized threatening machines. This strikes a particular chord in the aftermath of last year’s allegations that Mr. Somerset was behind the weevil epidemic that ruined crops in New Austin, forcing farmers to sell their land at a fraction of its worth, and the infamous Irving factory explosion that killed over 400 child workers in 1903. A staunch supporter of prohibition, Mr. Somerset is also said to be manufacturing and stockpiling vast quantities of alcohol. He has so far declined to comment on these allegations.

Automobile Deaths - 30. Lynchings - 127.

While the fascinating march of science brings us the sweet sounds recorded for a victorla, the sound of automobiles has spelled death for an increasing number of citizens as safety fears grow about the horseless carriage. Lynchings are up, which many attribute to the weather.

Patent Medicine Picture Show In Blackwater

Druggists and shopkeepers expressed consternation at the new motion picture show currently playing in Blackwater. It is titled, “The Dangers of Doctors and Patent Medicines.” Taken to task are the patent medicines and traveling salesmen who ply their wares. This publication has enjoyed a long and happy relationship with many patent medicine companies who support the newspaper and we agree that death, drug addiction and other hazards from such compounds are completely baseless.

Tax Increase Necessary To Fund Government Expansion

Law makers in Washington DC yesterday insisted that significant tax increases were necessary in order to pay for the greatly expanded federal government. When challenged that such actions were unconstitutional, and that the states had powers that could and should not be dismissed by the federal government’s ceaseless growth, law makers laughed and said the alternative is that we simply print more money and devalue the currency, so either way, do not forget who is in charge.

Dinosaur Fossil Hoax Embarrases Scientists

Scientistswere rushing to explain the recent report that prominent dinosaur researcher Prof.Bellum Brown was observed making plaster casts of dinosaur bones. Brown claims it was for research purposes. Critics say that dinosaur bones are manufactured in labs and buried by scientists who later excavate them in an attempt to stray mankind. They also indicate that nowhere in the historical record is there a mention of giant lizards.

Nipping Conception In The Bud

The North American Birth Control League published newest list of pregnancy prevention techniques. Coverings for the male member fashioned from animal intestines are found to be the most useful. Additionally, marital congress should occur shortly after a woman’s curse. Suffragettes spoke out against birth control methods, saying that devices that cover the member are indicative of brother creeping. After publishing their recommendations, members of the League were arrested and failed due to laws prohibiting the discussion of sex in our society.

Etiquette Tips

Excerpts from William Laggard’s Guide to Manhood

I, Etiquette prescribes that men of distinction eat alone in a room, uninterrupted by the frivolity of women and children.

II, A code of manners in street greetings, such as throwing down one’s outerwear into puddles or the doffing of one’s headwear will give evidence of correct breeding.

III, if you are going to be in the presence of ladies, beware of onions, spirits, flatulence and tobacco.

IV, When making a formal call on a lady, hat and gloves should be in his hands and, although his happy demeanor may, his pantaloons should not betray his excitement.

V, Men are expected to be extremely active in the ballroom. While dancing, hands should never touch the corset less they spoil her dignity. If uncertain about their technique or gracefulness, it is suggested men dance with each other until they are more sure of themselves.

Miscellany

Natas (Surname Unknown), of Indian descent, has passed away at Bear Claw Cabin in Tall Trees. May you find God, my dear friend, Prof. Harold MacDougal Esq.

MISSING PERSON: Sam Odessa, age 35, disappeared from his home six weeks ago. Possibly heading West towards California. His wife, Elena, seeks any information as to his whereabouts.

Make your hard earned money work hard for you. Daily poker and blackjack tables at the Blackwater Saloon. Serious gamblers only.

Dorothy Maygrove wishes to retract the hasty, and somewhat hopeful, notice of her husband’s death. Archie Maygone is decidedly alive, well and, for the time being, sober.

Medicine of the finest quality. Origin unknown but efficacy unequaled. Dr. Archie Gallagher. General Practitioner, Thieves’ Landing. New Austin.

Experienced and punctual stenographer of trustworthy appearance announces that is available for office work. Swift and proficient, despite slight aural impairment. No references available at this time.

It aint pride. It’s honor.

#rdr2 #rdr2 community #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #red dead redemption community #rdr2 arthur #red dead redemption two #red dead fandom #john marston #rdr john #red dead redemption 1 #nthspecialll

20 notes · View notes