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katarinanavane · 1 year
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I've just finished making these ancient Roman inspired "laurel wreath" crowns out of jewel beetle shells and preserved 17 year cicada wings. I've done three of the jewel beetle ones, so one is in my Etsy (link in bio), the cicada wing one is one of a kind so far so I haven't listed it yet. I'm really happy with how these came out!
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megas-x-l-r · 2 months
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FGO CAESAR PLUSH
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archduchessofnowhere · 3 months
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“Did you bring the Heine souvenirs with you?”: Rudolf’s last Christmas present for his mother
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As Christmas approached, I started to search for Habsburg stories related to this holiday to share with you, and almost inevitably I once again looked into Crown Prince Rudolf’s last Christmas. The Christmas Eve of 1888 is known mostly for having been full of ominous signs of Rudolf’s deteriorating mental health that his family either was unable to notice or simply chose to ignore. I have a second post coming up related to that, but in this post I’m covering a different topic: the last present Rudolf gave to his mother, Empress Elisabeth.
December 24 was a special day for the Imperial family not only because it was Christmas Eve, but also because it was Elisabeth’s birthday. It was, then, a double celebration for the family. And on the 24th of December of 1888 the Crown Prince surprised his mother with a very special gift: a bundle of letters written by her favorite author, the poet Heinrich Heine.
Elisabeth’s deep admiration for Heine was well known: months earlier she had publicly supported and financially collaborated in the creation of a monument in honor of Heine in Düsseldorf, the poet’s hometown. The project, however, had a huge backlash by the anti-semites and German nationalists (Heine was Jewish), and soon Elisabeth was attacked by them. The campaign against Heine’s devotees in the press was so strong that eventually Elisabeth was forced to withdraw her support; the monument, rejected from city to city in Germany, finally was placed in New York, where it still stands (Hamann, 1978, 1986). 
Rudolf, who had long been a supporter of Jewish rights, was probably happy to find that his mother shared his sentiments regarding the growing anti-semitism of the late 19th century. It was likely the fiasco of the monument that prompted Rudolf to get the Empress a Heine-related birthday and Christmas gift. For this task he asked his friend, journalist Moritz Szeps, to travel to Paris and acquire for him a bundle of letters that Heine wrote to his friend Alexander Weill. We can find a mention of it in this undated letter Rudolf wrote to Szeps, likely from the first days of December (translation by DeepL, nuances may be lost):
Dear Szeps!  I am glad to know you are here; I would like to thank Frischauer [another journalist friend of Rudolf and Szeps] very much for his letter yesterday and its enclosures. Did you bring the Heine souvenirs with you? I hope to see you in the next few days. With best regards  Your Rudolf (Szeps, 1922, p. 168)
And again, on December 11:
Dear Szeps! Thank you very much for your letter. Please have Heine’s letters photographed and only then send them to me. I hope to be able to see you the day after tomorrow. With warmest regards  Your Rudolf (ibid)
In 1908, writing in the December 25 edition of the Neue Freie Press, Hugo Wittmann claimed that Weill, instead of money, had demanded “nothing more for his treasure than that the Crown Prince asked him for it in writing and send him a photographic copy of the papers upon receipt” (DeepL translation) which would explain why Rudolf asked Moritz to first photograph the letters before sending them to him. Historian Brigitte Hamann, however, claims differently: according to her the Crown Prince in fact paid an exorbitant amount of money for the letters. Whatever the case, when the Imperial family opened their presents at 4 o’clock in the afternoon of Christmas Eve, Elisabeth found a packet full of letters of her favorite poet.
This was, no doubt, a touching personal present that shows how much Rudolf cared for his mother. But what did Elisabeth think of this gift? As always, Hamann’s The Reluctant Empress is very straightforward:
In order to prove that he revered his mother, Rudolf paid an outrageous price in Paris for eleven Heine autographs and placed them under the Christmas tree for the Empress. Elisabeth, however, was so preoccupied with her daughter's engagement that she did not pay Rudolf’s gift the attention he had expected. (1986, p. 339)
Reading this, I’ve always felt sorry for Rudolf: he clearly put a lot of thought into finding the perfect present for his mother, only for it to go unnoticed. At least, that’s what I believed until I read Hamann’s previous work, her biography of the Crown Prince published first in 1978:
Whether the Empress appreciated the shy homage of her son, whether she felt how much he practically vied for her understanding, since both of them were attacked by the same people, is highly unlikely. According to all sources, Elisabeth at this time was totally occupied with Valerie, her “only one,” with her engagement and the impending pain of parting with her favorite child. (2017)
“Highly unlikely”. No source backing this up. It was then when I realized that Elisabeth disregarding her son’s present was pure speculation on Hamann’s part. Between her biography of Rudolf and her biography of Elisabeth she seems to have convinced herself that the empress didn’t care for the letters at all, and “unlikely” became just “she did not pay attention”. 
I won’t be too harsh on Hamann: I also think Elisabeth’s main concern that Christmas was Valerie’s engagement. According to Valerie’s diary, both her parents were very moved that day because she was going to get engaged in the evening. But that doesn’t have to mean that Elisabeth didn’t care for Heine’s letters. We just don’t know what Elisabeth thought of the gift, since (as far as I could find) none of the people that were present during the unwrapping of the gifts wrote down her reaction. Valerie only wrote in her diary that “Little Elisabeth [Rudolf’s daughter] was very happy about the presents and played with her things while we dined in the Alexandrian room on the left” (1998, p. 164). And the next time Rudolf wrote to Szeps, on December 27, the only allusion to the past Christmas Eve he made was thanking him for his “congratulations on the happy family event” (1922, p. 168) i.e. the engagement of his sister. No mention of Heine by anyone, anywhere.
We do also have, however, an interesting account of the opening of the presents in Egon Corti’s 1934 biography of Empress Elisabeth:
And so Christmas Eve, 1888, came round, and with it Elizabeth’s birthday. Rudolf and his wife were among the guests, and the Crown Prince presented his mother with Hugo Wittmann’s edition of Heine’s letters, at which Francis Joseph cast an ironical glance but made no comment. (p. 386)
No mention of Elisabeth’s reaction to the letters, but he does give us Franz Josef’s. Sadly Corti does not give a source for this account, which opens a new mystery: from where did he learn this? There is a mistake in the quoted fragment: the letters Rudolf acquired were original, written by Heine himself; Hugo Wittmann only published them in the aforementioned Neue Freie Press edition of 1908. But I wouldn’t straight up disregard this account either: not only Corti had access to now lost primary sources, he also worked closely with Valerie’s children. Who knows, maybe this was a family anecdote he learned from them.
So, did Elisabeth ignore her son’s thoughtful gift because all she cared about was Valerie’s engagement? We can’t know for certain. I think it is safe to assume Valerie was her main priority that day, but unless a primary source that explicitly states that she did not care for the letters appears, I don’t think it’s right (nor fair) to claim that she was indifferent to Rudolf’s present.
Sources:
Corti, Egon Caesar Conte (1936). Elizabeth, empress of Austria (translation by Catherine Alison Phillips)
Hamann, Brigitte (2017). Rudolf. Crown Prince and Rebel (translation by Edith Borchardt)
Hamann, Brigitte (1986). The Reluctant Empress: A Biography of Empress Elisabeth of Austria (translation by Ruth Hein)
Schad, Martha and Schad, Horst [ed.] (1998). Das Tagebuch der Lieblings Tochter von Kaiserin Elisabeth. 1878-1899
Szeps, Julius [ed.] (1922). Kronprinz Rudolf. Politische Briefe an einen Freund. 1882-1889
Wittmann, Hugo (1908, December 25). Ein Geschenk des Kronprinzen Rudolf an seine Mutter, Neue Freie Press
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duxfemina · 1 month
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Happy Lupercalia!
May you be visited by a near nude Marcus Antonius bearing a crown and bits of goat flesh during this festive time
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thethingsnerd · 13 days
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This Ides of March I was in the mood for a craft, so behold the finest Roman assassin technology.
Knife Crown
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Inspired by the painting, it’s in there, you can see it really small look
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autotoxins · 6 months
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"Why are you looking at me like that?"
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❝ Shurorororo! ❞ Her question was met by a soft chuckle, and a gentle shake of his head. His long, purple hair falling down into his face for a moment. He pushed it back with a gloved hand. ❝ With WORRY, you mean? Well, this is a dangerous place! You shouldn't be here all alone. ❞ Caesar spoke with his calm, smooth voice. Speaking softly came quite natural to him, though the warmth in his words did not. He knew how to manipulate his tone and body-language so that others would let their guard down around him. It was something he had studied.
He knew who this woman was, because she was interesting to him. Due to all the research he had done on devil fruits, he was often interested in devil-fruit users who had unique properties. Logias were his favorite, but he was not going to say no to a mythical zoan. She had eaten the moon-moon fruit, had she not? He was interested.
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givemefanfan · 1 year
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The Hollow crown👑
I also drew many fanarts for Dave's other works (characters) besides TWD, send some of them together! I just love him so much…🥺❤️
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Extant Season2🪙
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Sherwood|Extant|The Next Doctor💙
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The Missing season 2🌫️
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Julius Caesar🔥(2018)
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Hangmen🐍(2016)
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illustratus · 2 years
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Vanitas still life with a laurelled skull upon an inverted crown - Vanitas still life with a skull crowned with a laurel wreath resting atop an inverted crown, a sceptre, a nautilus cup, books and an engraved portrait of Julius Caesar on a draped table
by Evert Collier
The Property of a Gentleman
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bilbo-babe · 2 years
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beating-of-your-heart · 8 months
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Mid-sized transitional underground carpeted basement design with beige walls Basement - mid-sized transitional underground carpeted basement idea with beige walls
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queer-tier · 8 months
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Underground - Transitional Basement Mid-sized transitional underground carpeted basement design with beige walls
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curvedbrushking · 2 years
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Get Crown Quality Products Hard Brush
Get the best deal on Crown quality Products and wave brushes.  We are your go-to store for your hair grooming products. Get quality hard wave brushes for very affordable prices. If you just cut your hair and you are looking for something milder, check out our collection of premium soft brushes. Visit our site to learn more.
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morepeachyogurt · 8 months
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i love you, i do, but i cannot fucking stomach you
1. richard siken | 2. david foster wallace | 3. slavoj žižek | 4. x? | 5. succession, jesse armstrong. gif by @lesbiankendall | 6. orla gartland | 7. trista mateer | 8. ilya repin | 9. iain thomas | 10. thoroughbreds, cory finley | 11. yrsa daley-ward |
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1. sometimes you get so close to someone you end up on the other side of them
2. [in red highlight] everything i’ve ever let go of has claw marks on it.
3. [white text on a background of a field] A FRIEND HAS TO BE OUTSIDE MY REACH, BEYOND MY GRASP. AND THERE CAN BE NO FRIENDSHIP WITH SOMEONE WHOM I AM NOT READY TO BETRAY: A FRIEND IS SOMEONE I CAN BETRAY WITH LOVE.
4. Long before Caesar and Brutus were lessons, they were friends. // They played with stick swords in their kingdom of trees // and dressed up in crowns of flowers // and painted mud on each other's faces. // The pair was often found walking down dirt roads, // Caesar stomping proud and tall, // and Brutus- step by step- placing his feet into the footprints left behind. // Caesar grew into a strong Roman man. // Brutus grew into Caesar's shoes. // They walked to a wishing well and they threw in their weapons // and Caesar whispered a prophecy: // "We live and die together." // The day before the slaughter, Brutus took pause. // He turned to Caesar and thought // "I'll love you twice as hard today to make up // for tomorrow," // and they stayed up and played cards on the kitchen floor. // It wasn't until the next morning that Brutus realized how cold the tile was. // Life and death are not mutually exclusive. // When Caesar died, so did Brutus, in the sense that he never really lived again. // In the present, when someone mentions one of them, // they seldom exclude mention of the other.
5. a scene from succession. the characters kendall and stewy are in a dimly lit alley, one walks away from the other while saying “you’re my third oldest friend. you fucked me like a tied goat. we’re great.”
6. I'm not happy if you're not happy // And swear that you're always sad // You're pathetic, I resent it // When you're down, it hurts so bad
7. I've gotten so good about not flinching at the sound of your name that people don't know I'd still throw myself mouth-open into the ocean for the chance to drown somewhere you might see it.
8. the painting ‘Ivan the Terrible and His Son Ivana’. it depicts a man holding another man who is bleeding profusely from his head.
9. there are a million ways to bleed, but you are by far my favorite.
10. scene from the movie thoroughbreds. a character lays crying wrapped around her friend, she is covered in blood, her friend is unconscious.
11. [in pink highlight] and be wary of friends, yeah? they are the ones who kill you, in the end.
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necromelli · 4 months
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prologue
— tw include but are not limited to: typical hunger games violence, depictions of death & killing, references to alcohol. read at your own risk.
wc: 1k words
you're crowned the victor of the 69th games, the most ruthless tribute in panem history.
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In.
Out.
Hold.
That's what Enobaria had taught you. Inhale until it stung. Exhale and let your lungs deflate all the way. Hold until you thought you'd pass out and do it all again.
You opened your eyes to the rewind of the tiny throwing knife getting lodged in the stomach of a girl from six — no, eight. She was from eight, you reminded yourself.
Thirteen out of twenty-four tributes in the 69th Hunger Games died at your hand. The most kills recorded in Panmen’s history. You could feel the thick, sticky blood still burning your hands. Hell, half the time you could see the blood coating your fingers dripping, dripping, dripping onto your marble countertops.
The loud ring of a cannon fire rang in your ears, pleading eyes from the girl slowly dimmed and slacked, her hands that had been in your hair dropped, and she slid from the throwing knife and crumpled to the ground. Lifeless.
The worst part was that you still didn't know her name, even after being out of the arena for weeks. You hadn't bothered enough to know the girl you selfishly killed and laughed about with your allies.
Bile rose in your throat and you sat up a little straighter. You swallowed it down and brushed non-existent wrinkles from your clothes. You pretended not to be affected by the scene. By any of the scenes, with each one leaving you more hollow than the last. You had only gone through six, you still had seven left to go.
In.
Out.
Hold.
Caesar Flickerman sat next to your throne, watching the recaps intently, curiously as if he hadn't watched them live. When he noticed your struggle, his brows sew together in worry, and he taps your arm. When you turn to look at him, he’s offering you his barely touched glass of champagne.
You can barely hear him when he leans in. “It’ll help. You trust me, right?”
You wanted to scream that you didn't trust him. That he found the Games just as amusing as any other Capitol vulture. But, you didn't. You bit your tongue and took the glass of champagne, offering a pretty smile as you downed it in one go.
The Capitol wasn't all bad. They had kept you fed, clothed, and happy for your whole life. Protected. They looked the other way when you were trained at the academy, which allowed you to win. They gave you a gorgeous house for free, enough riches to last a lifetime, the promise to never be reaped again. The Capitol wasn't all bad.
The champagne made you feel warm, staticay like the sound of your TV when the foil was moved the wrong way and the program went out. Caesar was right. It did help.
You had sobered back up by the last death. A district twelve boy that should have won, instead of you. He didn't plead for his life, not even when you started screaming at him too. You wanted — needed — something to lurch you towards him. Your hands clutched the throwing knife, your last one, eyes trained on his face. He just stared, breathing ragged, as he waited. Scoped you out.
You didn't expect him to throw the knife you had embedded from the girl in six. Even now, you could recall the cold shock hitting you as if it was happening all over again. You pulled the knife from your shoulder, screaming and groaning. You caught the number three scratched into the handle. You looked at him, realizing you killed his ally.
That you had the chance to kill him too but you failed. You didn't do what you were trained to do.
You ran towards him, knife number three sinking deep into his leg. His scream of pain hurt your ears, haunted your dreams. Twelve pulled you down with him, knocking the air from your lungs. He tried prying your other knife from your hand, but you threw it away from you. Instead, you headbutted him, rolling on top of him.
Twelve threw punches, skinny hands doing enough damage to fracture your nose. Wanting it to be over, your hands wrapped around his throat. You squeezed, and squeezed, and squeezed so hard you heard a crack and then the boom of the cannon.
Your hands slowly unfurled from the boy's neck, already bruised. Already tainted forever with your touch. You screamed, hot tears spilling past your lashes. You sobbed into the boy’s chest for a solid ten seconds before you heard the announcement made.
“Relishing in the glory of winning?” Caesar Flickerman mused cheekily, snapping you back to attention.
You stared at him for several seconds, before an arrogant smile twitched your lips. Caesar was right. You fought to win the Games. There was no reason to be ashamed or feel guilty. If the districts had listened in the first place, no one would've had to die. “Oh, well, you know,” you shrugged confidently. “I did work very hard to win.”
“How many was it in all?”
A frown tugged your lips, but instead chose a tight lipped smile instead. “Thirteen.”
You could name them all. You had killed the entire Career pack slowly through the entirety of the games. Besides you, there were six others. Then, you killed the girl from district six, the boy from three, girl from five, both district eleven tributes, the boy from nine, and finally, the boy from twelve.
“That's a record, I believe! That is just fantastic.” Caesar exclaimed, the Capitol elite and last victors scattered throughout began to clap. “See? Even they think it's fantastic.”
You looked out to the crowd, scanning the first few faces. You gave Caesar another tight-lipped smile, letting him continue.
“We learned you were smarter than you let on when you managed to kill all six careers. District one, two, four, and the girl from seven. Would you care to explain your thought process?”
“Of course.” You nodded, beginning to explain.
You started killing the careers sporadically through the games, always when a tribute was near that you could blame it on. None of them ever thought wiser. All too arrogant to assume one of their own allies were lying about killing them. It had to be the jealous and weak tributes. Not some career.
“Impressive, darling. I can see why you have the highest kill count in all of Panmen's history.” Caesar paused, holding a hand to his ear piece. A wide grin broke out on his face as he grabbed your hand, pulling you up. “I've just been told the crowing of the victor for the 69th annual hunger games will take place momentarily.”
You felt Caesar stepped away, leaving you standing in the middle of the stage alone. You felt goosebumps form on your exposed skin as you felt President Snow walk towards you. He smelt like roses and metal. He wore the smell of blood and death like a perfume.
He stands next to you, microphone in hand. He talks so slowly it starts to eat you from the inside out. It's like he did it on purpose, because he knew how uncomfortable being on that stage made you.
“In honor and celebration of the new, official game record set of Most Killed, there are thirteen connecting chains, each chain sitting below a jewel representing the district the fallen tribute came from.”
That was a joke. That had to have been a joke. The fact you killed thirteen children was being applauded and celebrated. Like it was something to cherish and remember when all you wanted to do was forget.
The crown was heavy when Snow placed it on your head. The chains fell in a swoop around your head, accentuating your new nose and blazing eyes. The freckles that dotted your cheeks and nose.
When Snow opened his mouth, you held your breath. “I'm expecting great things from you.”
With that, he held his hand out for you to shake. You did, listening to the crowd cheer for you when he finally stepped away.
You, with the gorgeous crown, bruised knuckles from hitting one two many walls. You with the surgically fixed nose. You who had done one too many sinful acts to ever be considered good again.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Caesar Flickerman’s voice rang in your ears; loud and grating. “The victor of the 69th annual Hunger Games!”
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anothermansjeans · 2 years
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JUSTIN BIEBER SINGING PEACHES AND EXPECTING THE CROWD TO SING BACK LOUDLY BUT BARELY BEING HEARD ON THE LIVESTREAM IS SO FUCKING FUNNY TO ME AHAHSHDNDB
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