#czar master

[yuniko]

KO Beast model sheets of various characters (1/2)

[bizzarczar]

Sorta been obsessed with @nartothelar Submas Soul Eater AU so decided to draw them mid battle poses!

[silentangell95]

Филми и сериали: Октомври

[elsalouisa]

"...we found...Maria Feodorovna, the kindest and the most charming. When this princess became czarina, she had my father make a magnificent manteau de cour for her of pink velvet entirely embroidered with silver. This splendid mantle became one of the mainstays of her official wardrobe, and she wore it upon more than one great occasion. When her son Nicholas became czar, she had the pattern of its silver embroidery restitched at a convent on a purple velvet more in keeping with her age and title of Queen Mother. The model for this and all other manteaux de cour worn at the Russian court was the one approved by the Master of Robes. The only deviation allowed was the length of the train, and even this was limited by the position at court of the wearer. For instance, if the train worn by the czarina was four meters long, those of the grand duchesses had to be three meters and seventy-five centimeters, those of the princesses three meters and fifty centimeters, and so on".

Jean-Philippe Worth "A century of fashion"

[deandoesthingstome]

Walk with Me - Ch 7

Pairing: FBI Agent!Syverson x OFC, Drug Czar!August Walker x OFC

Chapter Summary: This is it. The warehouse and beyond. The end.

Chapter Warnings: I’ll be real honest, I don’t really want to give anything away here. There’s gonna be some more sex if that interests you. (It’ll be outdoors. What?)

Word Count: 5K

Masterlist: For full series Summary and Warnings

Spotify Playlist: If you’ve followed the playlist, you should know what’s new.

A/N: Super grateful shoutout to @dadralt​ for helping me with a few French translations. I put the English at the bottom.

A/N 2: I really really appreciate everyone who has read and commented/reblogged this story. I had ideas when I started and those took on a life of their own. I got stuck a little on the way, but I think I figured it out and I hope you like the wrap up. 

Francesca

It was the hardest thing I ever had to do. While August was busy looking into his associates to root out a mole, I had made myself available for anything, anytime, no questions asked when he got back from Asia. That also meant ignoring Sy and making sure any information he received came through the agency and the agency only. One incredible night in the arms of the man I had once thought would be the only one I’d ever love. That’s all the sanity I had to hold onto.

As I found myself continuing to slip deeper under August’s spell, I also relished the memory of Sy’s arms wrapped around me, holding me close and safe. On my own, I was reckless and wanton. I’m sure it’s what drew Sy, and most men to me originally. But while most men gave up trying to handle the edge after a while, Sy had always somehow found a way to smooth it out. And that edge only grew sharper the longer I was away from him. It drove men crazy when they couldn’t hold on, most opting to let go rather than risk the deep cuts. 

Walter had understood what it took to dull the blade, because he needed a soother too. So while he came to understand he couldn’t offer me respite in his arms, he was there to try to ease every ache I came away with after losing out on love time and again. I envied him for the way he had been able to take each ending as a sign for a new beginning and hold on waiting for what he really needed. I think he could see the damage each heartbreak was doing to me, could tell that the longer I went without a net, the easier it was to embrace fire and danger with no regard for myself. But I don’t think he realized how deep down that hole I was falling. He thought it was just part of the game we played. Instead, this is how I let August in against all my better judgements.

August didn’t fear my sharp edge. He honed it. And until Sy reappeared, I struggled to make sense of why it felt so good to have August keep pushing me, why every time I saw him it felt like I was being forged in his fire. In the haze of the smoke we created together, fueled by drugs and sex and more passion than I’d known in ages, I let myself begin to believe there was a way through that didn’t involve putting him behind bars. Like a fool, I continued to gently broach the subject of just leaving everything behind. I no longer knew if it was still the smokescreen I meant it to be.

I kept Walter appraised, but there had been no new developments from what I had seen. No new security breaches initiated by any number of August’s club girls. No more state secrets passing his way. August apparently had everything he thought he needed to make his next move and he was just looking for the right time. I simply had to wait until Will had the data stripped off the club’s computers and was ready to hand it off. I had been unsuccessful in my previous searches, but Will was a masterful hacker. I just needed the call, but it never came and walking into the warehouse I knew why.

August had figured out Will was CIA. And now I had to hope Will had been able to keep our secret even after everything it was apparent August’s goons had done to him. I couldn’t tell for sure how long he’d been here, but some of the wounds were fresh enough to tell me that while August had been fucking my brains out this afternoon, Will was getting the shit beat out of him. And I hoped his training was just as good as mine and he’d been able to withstand the obvious torture I could see he’d been put through. This was never how this mission was supposed to go.

While August continued to share his credo about not letting anyone hurt him, I rubbed my thumb over the microchip I had pressed against my forefinger. I knew I had what we needed and there was no reason to keep playing this game that had stopped feeling like a game weeks ago. I wanted to rise to my feet, lean in close and whisper to August that we could still run. That I could hide him and maybe we’d be apart for a little while, but in the end I’d be his and he’d be mine and we would be together.

And then I heard the words coming out of his mouth and I knew suddenly how utterly fucked I was. I was about to ruin what was probably the biggest bust of Sy’s life and I was about to end August’s reign. Sy would never forgive me for lying to him and August wouldn’t be around to put me in my place. I’d end up with neither of them. 

Like a specter, the voice drifted through my thoughts.

“We’re in position.”

“Take him.” I fought to keep my eyes open. I would not turn away from this mess I had made.

August had barely stopped speaking, head at tilt and eyebrow raised in query at my words when the bullet hit. I watched him fall and barely registered the second round that took Mateo out. I couldn’t really stop the tears if I wanted to. Everything was in shambles around me. Not only was my partner hanging on by a thread, the man I had come to love in some sort of fucked up fantasy where I believed I could save him was dead.

And I had to somehow explain to Sy why I had let him believe he was ever going to have a shot at taking down August.

I heard sirens and shouts from outside the warehouse. Flashing lights flickered through the doorway each time a new body entered the space. Medics were on the scene and Will was getting the attention he needed when Walter found me sunk to the ground on my knees, resisting the urge to crawl to August and take him in my arms one last time. Doubt crept in, as if I’d made the wrong choice and it took everything I had not to let the bile rise up in my throat.

Walter wrapped an official jacket around me and asked if I was alright. I shook my head slowly and I felt him hold me closer. He knew what was coming. I don’t know how he knew. He never once asked if I was falling for August, but somehow he could tell and he knew what I had just done. He knew I would be in my head about this one for a good long time. Longer than any of the others.

“We just need to finalize the report and record your statement. We can do a video now and then you can go. Okay?” 

I felt his concerned gaze on me and mustered the strength to nod at his question, still amazed how he looked after me after all these years. We were never going to be together, but that didn’t stop us from caring about and wanting only the best for each other.

We set up in a corner of the warehouse, away from the noise of the agents processing the scene. Before he turned the camera on, I dislodged the molar mic I had installed before leaving the hotel earlier and handed it over. I had already sent in encrypted typed reports and the final video interview was just a recount of the last few days that I hadn’t been able to upload yet. I signed every affidavit he put in front of me, half numb with shock. He put me in the cab to the train station with a gentle press of his hand on the small of my back as he bent to whisper in my ear.

“I’ll get him a message along with the rest of the Miami files. He won’t be hung out to dry. He’ll have everything he needs to make the case against the rest of August’s associates. And he’ll know you're on your way to being okay, too.” 

When I looked up at him, I could tell he saw my gratitude, even if I didn’t yet know how to voice it. Even if I still doubted every decision I’d made so far.

“Will?” I managed to whisper.

“Will’s gonna be fine. He has more than a little R&R coming, too. Don’t worry.”

We said a final goodbye and I headed off, ready to try to put this all behind me, starting with a deep detox. I spent weeks in the remote cabin, fully stocked with everything I needed to avoid everyone for as long as I wanted, including a method of emergency contact if things got really bad.

I rocked myself to sleep every night only to enter dreams that turned to nightmares. August leading me down a floral path, only to turn a corner and find myself ensnared in briars and brambles. August preparing a delicious meal only to serve me Will’s head on a platter. August making me come, over and over again, only to find myself ripped apart at the seams. 

I dragged myself out of bed every morning, no matter how badly I wanted to curl up in the sheets and just die. I journaled every day and raged at the papers that held my lovelorn tears, my foolish fantasies and ridiculous notions. At night, I burned them in a fire meant to keep me warm, but every bit of me felt cold and lifeless. I took long swims in the crystalline lake and long walks in the woods and prayed that maybe I’d twist an ankle and fall down the mountainside. I longed to be lost and rid of the torture I felt forever.

I could tell my storm was easing when I awoke one morning with the recollection of August morphing into Sy. When the drugs were finally fully out of my system, I sat quietly by the placid water and put all my pieces back in place. August Walker was a drug kingpin who had put an insane amount of product on the street. August Walker was a murderer, who had put his competition out of business permanently. August Walker was a traitor who had bribed politicians and military brass for national secrets that he planned to sell to the highest bidder. August Walker was a monster.

No amount of fucking was ever going to change those facts.

I pushed the button on the SAT phone and waited for Walter to answer while I practiced the speech over and over in my head.

Syverson

Syverson turned off the ignition of the rental car, peered at the number on the house and checked it against the message from Ramos on his phone. He stepped out and made his way up the narrow path to the front door, gravel crunching under his feet. He stood still at the door and paused before knocking, suddenly unsure if he’d made the right decision. 

“Ah, fuck it,” he muttered and raised his hand to rap on the wood. In the moments of stillness as he waited for a sound from inside, a shuffle of feet, any tell-tale sign that someone would answer, he took several deep breaths and tried to calm his nerves. It would be the first time seeing her again after months with no communication and he hadn’t exactly been invited by the occupants of the house.

“Comment puis-je vous aider?*” the elderly man asked, peering out the entryway with a perplexed look as if trying to recall who might be scheduled to visit today.

“Mr. Malloy? It’s Dean Syverson, from the States. I’m sorry I don’t speak French. I’m friends with your daughter, Frankie, er Francesca. I was told she was here.”

“Papa, c'est qui?**” a voice called from down the hall and Syverson’s heart almost exploded with elation. He took note of the waver in her voice as she appeared next to her father looking radiant in her summer dress and spoke again. “Sy? What are you…?” 

Sy wanted her to burst through the door and wrap her whole body around him so he could slip his arms around her back and hold her close to breath her in. In reality, she froze in place next to her father, though he didn’t imagine the way he saw her stop herself from reaching for him. At the sound of throat clearing, Frankie turned to her father to speak.

“Papa, tu te rappelles de Dean ? Du lycée. À l'époque on l'appelait Sy.***”

Sy watched as the old man seemed to light up with memory and a small smile, then listened to a conversation between father and daughter that he couldn’t understand. Frankie’s father reached out to shake his hand with a wink, then turned to head back into the front room. 

“Wanna take a walk with me?” Frankie asked, motioning down the path. “Or I could invite you in and we could do the pleasantries of small talk over cold lemonade and cookies I baked the other day?”

“You bake?” Sy asked with a chuckle. 

“Been goin’ through all of Mom’s old recipes. It’s therapeutic in more ways than one. And sorry about that. Dad’s kinda given up on English, especially now that she’s passed,” Frankie answered and watched Sy’s face fall a little, eyebrows furrowed and head atilt.

“Well now I’m the one that’s sorry. I didn’t know about your Mom.”

“Thank you. It happened just before my last mission. I hated leaving but I promised him we’d spend time together once I was done with work.” She gave a quick glance back into the house.

Sy heaved a breath in and out. “Let’s walk.” 

He waited for Frankie to close the front door and let her lead the way as they stepped back onto the gravel path and followed it around to the back of the house and down into the large, lush garden where she motioned to a stone bench facing a pond.

“I feel like I know this answer, because I doubt you’d be here if you did, but I have to ask: Do you hate me?” Frankie asked, turning to him with a look of concern on her face. 

“Sugar I could never hate you,” Sy answered immediately without any hesitation. “Couldn’t for the life of me figure out why you shut off all communication and never came back, though. Marshall wasn’t exactly forthcoming either.”

“Did they at least tell you about...? About the case?” Frankie asked, unwilling to voice the name just yet.

“You mean the part where no one was ever gonna let him take the stand?” Frankie nodded at Sy’s question. “Yeah. Said if he had an opportunity to implicate any of the people he’d bribed information from, national security was fucked. Sure. Apparently, all those other traitors had guardian angels sitting on their shoulders. The number of retirement announcements from the military and congress was staggering. Is that why you didn’t come back?”

“Are you asking if it made me sick to my stomach? That August Walker took the fall for all of them? I guess that’s part of it for sure, yeah.”

“Fuck, Sugar. You really were in deep with him.”

“I was blind, Sy. I wasn’t not doing my job but I let a lot of things get in the way of reality and when I found out they were all getting off the hook I couldn’t stomach it anymore.” 

Frankie turned to stare out over the water while Sy took a moment to ponder her words and consider if he really wanted the answer to his next question. It could make all the difference to the end result of his impromptu visit. But if he didn’t ask, he’d never know and if somehow things worked out between them, the possibility would hang over his head forever.

“Did you love him?”

He watched her slow-blink her eyes closed, inhale and let out a deep sigh. He felt the bottom begin to drop from underneath him, afraid now of her answer and what it would mean. He wanted to reach out and grab the words back, stuff them down his throat and never let them out again. He swore to whatever god would listen that if she would just come home with him when this conversation was over, he’d never give August Walker another thought. When she spoke, he almost couldn’t hear her answer, the way the blood from his beating heart rushed passed his ears.

“Not really.” Frankie turned back to Sy and opened her eyes. As her voice trickled through the dense fog of his worry, he could at least see the promise in what she was saying. “For a while I thought I did. It took me time to figure out that I just loved the way he made me feel. Alive and reckless with no one to answer to but someone who only loved me for the person they thought I was.”

“And who are you, Frankie?”

“I’m figuring that out now, Sy. That’s the other part of why I couldn’t come back. I didn’t want to step back into whatever it was we had started again without a better understanding of what my life means now. And what that means for whoever is going to be a part of it.”

“What do you mean ‘whoever’, Sugar?” Sy asked, struggling to hide the emotion her words had stirred within him. He was certain she couldn’t possibly think he wasn’t the one even as he realized how little time they’d actually had together. It killed him to think she might not give him a chance to prove how much he wanted to give her everything.

“I don't want someone afraid of losing me,” Frankie replied.

“I already did. I ain't afraid of it anymore. Just don't want to ever feel it again.” Sy watched her face carefully, searching for any sign that she didn’t understand exactly what he was saying. Just to make sure, he spoke again. “I ain’t looking to change you, Frankie. I ain’t looking to stop you from being whoever you want to be. I just wanna be there with you for as long as I can. If that’s okay.”

“Fuck, where did you come from?” Frankie asked after considering his words and smiled at his comfortable laugh.

“Frankie, it’s always been you for me. Who you are now? She ain’t really all that different from that wildcat I fell in love with twenty years ago. I love every fuckin’ thing about you.” Sy saw the doubt creep on her face. “Yeah, Sugar, all of it. You are a strong, self-aware woman who ain’t afraid to take what she needs. I count myself lucky you ain’t never found someone else interested in all of that and if I don’t get you to let me kiss you right now to show you what I’m talking about, well this whole trip’s probably been for naught.”

Sy lifted a hand to brush his fingers past her shoulder and smooth up the side of her neck, pressing the tips into her nape and applying the gentlest of pressure, waiting for her to make up her mind and lean into him. When she finally did, her lips crashed into his and he felt gravity flip as he grabbed on to her with his other arm and pulled her all the way against him. He slid his hand down to her hip and urged her to lift a leg and spin to straddle him so he could feel her weight and know she was real.

Sy smoothed both hands up her back as he held her close and kissed her deep, parting her lips with his tongue and licking into the space she made for him while she did the same. When he realized he wasn’t going to be able to stop if they kept kissing for much longer, he raised his hands to tangle in her hair and pull her head from his as he cleared his throat and spoke low.

“Sorry, that’s more than I thought I’d get from you at the moment. I doubt your dad or the neighbors wanna see what else I’d like to do to you right now.”

“There are no neighbors nearby, Sy. And Dad doesn’t spend time in the back of the house.”

Sy couldn’t help himself from stiffening at the thought and raised an eyebrow in question. He grew even harder as he watched Frankie bite her bottom lip and nod as she ran her hands down his chest landing at the clasp of his slacks. She unhooked the waistband and slid the zipper down agonizingly slowly before reaching in to grab his aching cock and push his boxers down enough so that he was free and could feel her touch on his burning skin.

He dropped his hands to her thighs, smoothing the thin fabric up her legs and sweeping his fingers over her ass cheeks while she stroked him lazily and bent to return to the kiss. His hands found the strings of her thong and he slipped a thumb under the back so he could grab hold and tug up, applying pressure to her clit. Frankie moaned into his mouth and arched her back into the sensation.

Sy pulled the flimsy material to the side and reached his hand further down and under her ass so he could just feel the wetness as he brushed his fingers against the delicate lips he could barely reach. He only realized how much he was also loving the way her hand squeezed and pulled him when she stopped suddenly and he broke the kiss to see what could be wrong. Instead of disaster, he was met with her mischievous eyes as she wiggled the hand that had previously been making him feel so good under her skirt while her other hand pulled the material back so he could see exactly what she was doing.

He groaned and watched rapt as Frankie slid her fingers inside her underwear and into her cunt. She pressed deep and moved around before she pulled them back out glistening with her own juices. And just like that he was in heaven again as she smeared her slick all over his cock and bent to whisper in his ear.

“Fuck me, Sy.”

“Gladly.” Sy eased her thong to the side down her thigh as she pressed her feet into the earth beneath them to lift up and settle herself back down his length with a luxurious sigh. She had barely engulfed him completely before he began to squeeze his ass to pump his hips into her with fervor.

With her hands on Sy’s shoulders, Frankie used the leverage to lift and lower herself on him in tandem with his thrusts, as he delved deeper and deeper. He felt every squeeze of her walls around him and swallowed her cries of pleasure as the head of his engorged member brushed her cervix again and again. 

Sy wanted to put his hands on her body, on her skin. He thought about lifting her dress up and over her head, but settled on simply wrapping an arm around her waist and sliding the other up her back so he could manipulate her movements to make sure they were both feeling as good as they could. He wanted this to last forever, but seeing her now, hearing her moan above him for the first time in months knowing the last time he saw her he was making her come too caused a rush of sensation to course through his body. He pulled away from their kiss again.

“I ain’t gonna last Sugar, not like this.”

“I need you to hang on a little bit longer, Sy. Please,” Frankie begged him, grinding her hips a few more times before she did the unthinkable. After easing herself off him, she pulled her dress off exactly the way Sy had just wanted to. She dropped it to the grass and then sank to her knees and finally her back with the dress as a makeshift blanket. She reached out for him and he tumbled forward off the bench and between her open legs, pressing a kiss to her lips as he palmed a breast.

His lips moved over her chin and throat as he began to ease his way down her body, pulling her tiny thong along with him and pushing it off her legs. He took a few moments to push his own shoes and pants off as well pull his shirt over his head and now just as naked as Frankie, Sy positioned himself between her legs, shoulders spreading her wide so he could get a good long look at her puffy, pink pussy dripping and waiting for him.

“Not sure I’m gonna last long this way either, but we’ll give it a try,” he teased before putting his mouth on her. He nipped at her clit and rubbed his forefingers along her slit, easing in and out with a tease she whimpered for. When he heard her beg with a “please” he slid his fingers all the way in and licked around them. Sy pumped and pressed the palm of his hand against her mound for a moment before he pulled his hand all the way out and let his tongue do the rest of the work. 

He felt his cock rub against the fabric of her dress as he rutted against the ground and fought to stem the growing pressure.

“So fucking turned on eating you out like this, Frankie,” he groaned into her cunt before returning to the job. Frankie held his head in place, grinding up against him. When she came in a rush of heat and wet, Sy took the opportunity to crawl back up and slip his dick inside her, thrusting and pumping with vigor. He grazed his fingers up the side of her body and then watched as she grabbed his hand and moved it to her throat, pressing just a little.

“Just hold still right there,” she gasped. “Fuck me and I’ll do the rest.”

Sy grunted in pleasure at the thought and did as he was instructed. He felt Frankie lean up into his hand. All the effort it took to keep his hand precisely still for her meant his attention wasn’t on how good she felt around him as he pumped in and out. Where he thought he’d need just a few more strokes, Sy now felt the time slip by as she moved into his hand and back out again, playing with her own breath for him. When he finally felt her tighten around him, he wasn’t prepared for how fast his own release came as well. He was so caught up in the way she maneuvered that he hadn’t noticed the build at all.

They lay naked on the grass next to each other, catching their breath with hands on their chests, waiting until the pounding of their hearts had resided before turning to face one another.

“You sure no one could see us?”

“Would you hate me if I said no?” Frankie teased before leaning over for a kiss to taste herself on his lips. “Kidding. No one can see us. Even if Dad ventured back to the kitchen, where he never likes to go anymore, there are enough trees and bushes in the garden to obscure this view. Our closest neighbors are a couple kilometers away. Your virtue is safe, promise.”

“Funny.” Sy rolled her on her back and kissed her long and deep again before settling along her side, drawing lazy lines along her skin. “You know I didn’t know what to expect when I saw you again. I’m real glad how this has turned out so far.”

“I wasn’t going to leave you in limbo forever, I swear. I just needed to get my head on straight.” Frankie sat up and reached for Sy’s pants, handing them to him and motioning to her own dress below.

“Did I fuck up your timeline?” Sy asked, plucking his shirt off the ground next. He stuck his arms through the sleeves and tucked his thumbs in the neck hole to pull the shirt over his head, elbows wide, before checking around for his shoes.

“I’ll recover, I’m sure.” Frankie slipped the dress back on and did her own sweep of the lawn, looking for her panties.

“I got those, Sugar,” Sy grinned, making a show of tucking the small bundle into his pocket. “Safe keeping till you come back home.”

Frankie reached up to run her fingers through Sy’s hair, brushing a few stray pieces of grass from his locks and let him do the same for her before pulling him in for more kisses. She broke away reluctantly and hooked her arm through his to lead the way back up to the house.

“I honestly haven’t decided when that’ll be, Sy.”

“I’m pretty good at waiting for you if you hadn’t noticed.”

“Or if I ever will.”

Sy stopped short and turned her to him.

“I wondered about that. Not for my own selfish reasons, mind you. But I got to thinking about some of the things you told me over dinner that night. About having a safety net of sorts. This is a nice place.”

“I also told you I liked being useful…but you’re not wrong. It’s been a long time since I took care of myself.”

“Or let someone take care of you?”

“Sy…”

“I ain’t talking about keeping you under wraps, barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen, Sugar. I just mean, you don’t need to go it alone. Look, you are free to make your own decisions about going back to the agency, finding something else to do, or quitting altogether. But I wanna be with you, Frankie. Wherever that is. If you wanna stay here, I’ll let you know right now that if you’ll have me, I’m ready to leave it all behind, too.”

“You’d walk away with me, Sy?”

“I would.“

Translations of the French *,**,**:

* “How can I help you?”

** “Papa, who is it?”

*** “Papa, you remember Dean? From high school. We called him Sy back then.”

Taglists

Everything Henry:  @sillyrabbit81​ @kittenofdoomage​ @mayloma​ @kebabgirl67​ @fvckinghenrycavill​ @geralts-yenn​  @beck07990​  @itsrubberbisquit​ @sweetdreamsofgelato​  @liveoncoffeeandflowersss​   @alexakeyloveloki​ @marantha​ @aireraume​  @angelmather1​ @lizzystuffsthings​  @enchantedbytomandhenry​  @omgkatinka​  @littlefreya​ @avengersfan25​ @thesaucynomad​ @just-chirpin​ @henryownsme

Walk with Me only (I added you if you reblogged or asked and Tumblr would let me): @kingliam2019​ @valacircareads​ @sofiebstar​ @cardierreh15​​ @firstcashheroathlete​​ @ylva-syverson​​ @sunriserose1023​​ @cavilladdict​​ @angreav​​ @ellethespaceunicorn​​ @mis-lil-red​​ @peaches1958​​ @xhoneyxbeex​​ @livisss​​  @hangmanscoming​​

[ariellewm]

Random OC Question #1

How would my OC's react to you when you're feeling depressed/upset?

The prince can tell very, very well when it comes to seeing others upset or down. He's the master of reading emotions, added with his other titles in his name. There's a look in their eyes, notices their body language, how they speak. He'll notice right away if something is off.

He'll come to you, asking what's wrong and will open his ears to everything you have to say. It's fine if you tell him little or anything at all. He'll understand and perhaps he'll give you advice on how to handle certain situations or stories of others in a similar situation such as yourself.

Czar will do everything in his power to bring you comfort. You wish for a feast of all your favorite foods and sweets? He'll have his servants at the Amber Palace deliver. Want to watch your favorite movie? Although technology on Zarth hasn't advanced to that level, Czar will have performers come and reenact it. After all, the Central Isles are known for their hospitality.

Maybe you prefer to just rest by his side, within the comfort of his silky black coils. Wrapped lightly and comfortably within his embrace. He'll massage your stiff shoulders, lightly run his fingers up and down your back and neck and rub your temples as the smell of rose incenses fill the room.

"Would you like for me to help you relaxxx even further darling? I promissse not to placcce any harm to you. I only wisssh to help you unwind and forget those nasty thoughtsss of yoursss."

If you agree, Czar will use his hypnosis on you lightly as you look into the glowing crimson fire within his eyes.

You'll find yourself at peace, resting beside the naga prince as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear or perhaps telling you a story about the ancient city that existed long ago.

Adonis returns from the surface to find you slumped upon the coral couch within his underwater lair (he has two lairs: one within an underground cavern by the shore on one of the islands and his underwater lair closer to Atlantis). He'll drop everything, rush over to you and ask several questions.

"Who hurt you?" "Why are their tears in your eyes?" "Was it that dumb merman again?" " Who's done this to you?" and many other questions Adonis will ask. He doesn't like seeing his precious mermaid down and upset like how you are.

Regardless of what it is (it's the dumb merman that broke your heart) Adonis will do everything in his power to bring you back up.

Several of his pet eels (yes...think of it as him being a sort of "cat lady" if you will) will swim around you, rub up against you (the ones that don't produce electricity at least) while Adonis goes to his large onyx cauldron to whip you up something to drink. Something warm, something tasty.

The sea warlock/sorcerer is not only good with coming up with potions, elixirs and the like, but drink concoctions as well. He was once a bartender/barista when he spent many years above the surface.

Adonis comes by with the drink and settles down next to you (hope you don't mind his cerulean tentacles) and let you rant over whatever you need to get out of your system. He'll understand, nod as you talk about your feelings or what's on your mind (possibly plotting a trick to place on that merman that hurt you).

If it about the "him" (yup, it is about him) you wouldn't be surprised if the next day you hear from your mermaid friends about Adonis going after the merman or perhaps getting his big orca friend Bruce to scare him off by transforming into a sea dragon.

But for now, let him softly sing/hum you to sleep and have him rest next to you as his tentacles lazily wrap you (not entirely though).

[darkmaga-retard]

By George W. Shuster

“You come and go, you come and go….” As the essence of the Kamala Harris campaign emerges more clearly, it probably needs an appropriate theme song. If so, “Kamala Chameleon” would be an apt choice.

A chameleon is a reptile, a lying lizard noted especially for constantly changing its colors to match the background circumstances in which it finds itself. For example, if it is among a lot of Greens, it might declare it is absolutely against fracking, but when the political opportunity makes brown Pennsylvania of critical importance, it may shadily shift its shade to announce that fracking is just fine. When it is operating as Joe Biden’s Border Czar, it may constantly claim that the border is secure and that the wall should not be built, even where the materials are already stockpiled. Yet when again the political background shifts, the Kamala Chameleon may suddenly declare the wall should be finished.

In short, the chameleon cannot be trusted. It is the master of deceptive practices.  It is capable of assuring the nation for nearly four years that Biden’s mind has not been at all compromised, that as the last person in the room, she knows firsthand he is still sharp as a tack. Yet when the opposite becomes too obvious to deny any longer, she has no problem joining the coup to toss him unceremoniously aside.

If a chameleon could speak, it might assert that even amongst all its shady shifts of shade, its values never change. There is one singular value for which such a claim is actually true: its notorious value of changing colors in order to hide its true nature. Camouflage is its one true value.

A chameleon is a natural phony. It cannot change that fact any more than a leopard can change its spots. The only thing authentic about its nature is hiding in plain sight, so that its true self will not be discovered. Hopefully enough of the American people can discern that fact despite, or because of, all the attempts to disguise it.

A zoologist would never elect a chameleon to high office, and the American people should not elect the camouflage Kamala Chameleon either.

[greensparty]

Movie Reviews: Blink Twice / Greedy People / Between the Temples

How is it I got to review three movies this week and Simon Rex is in two of them!?!

Blink Twice

Zoe Kravitz has been on my radar for quite sometime. The daughter of both Lisa Bonet and Lenny Kravitz began acting and one of her earliest roles was in Neil Jordan's The Brave One, which I worked on for a few weeks when it was in pre-production. All the haters who were quick to call her a nepo baby clearly didn't see her performances on Californication season 4, Mad Max Fury Road, Kimi, or The Batman. But what really blew me away was her leading role on the 2020 TV adaptation of High Fidelity. They took the male lead of the book and movie and adapted it to be a female record store clerk dealing with relationships and it ended up being one of the best TV adaptations in a long time. Now she has made her directorial debut with an original screenplay she co-wrote with Blink Twice opening this week.

movie poster

In this psychological thriller a cocktail waitress Frida (Naomi Ackie, Star Wars Episode 9 and Master of None) shares a moment with tech billionaire Slater King (Channing Tatum, Kravitz's real life fiance), who invites her and her friend Jess (Alia Shawkat) to his private island for some partying. His cronies on the island include Christian Slater, Simon Rex, Haley Joel Osment, Levon Hawke and Geena Davis. But soon, the party gets mysterious and there's more questions than answers.

I am going to try my best to review this without spoilers, but overall I felt this was a missed opportunity of a movie. There was a clear canvas to comment on Jeff Epstein-types, abuse of power, cancel culture and in the end it only scratched the surface. This is clearly a movie that is bowing at the altar of Get Out. I felt like Kravitz wanted to make a Get Out approach to #MeToo, but unlike Jordan Peele's masterpiece where it was equally funny and scary, this wasn't enough of either. The cast was mostly wasted and wasn't given the chance to shine as much as they have in other movies. The big exception is Adria Arjona, who plays Sarah one of the models on the island with Frida. After an unbelievable lead role in Richard Linklater's Hit Man (read my review here), she stole the entire film here. This is clearly her It Girl star-making year! I hope Kravitz can go further in her next film she directs as she is talented and this isn't by any means bad, it's just not as good as it could be.

For info on Blink Twice

2.5 out of 5 stars

Greedy People

What got my attention about Greedy People before I even saw it was the cast: Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Himesh Patel, Lily James, Uzo Aduba, Traci Lords, Tim Blake Nelson, Simon Rex, and Joey Lauren Adams. Wow - all of them in one movie! Directed by Potsy Ponciroli, Greedy People is being released by Lions Gate this week.

movie poster

In the small beach-side town of Providence, NC a cop Will (Patel) is about to start his first day on the police force with his new partner Terry (JGL). Will and his pregnant wife Paige (James) have just moved to the area trying to start a clean slate and get away from their past. Then, on a house call, a murder occurs and both Will and Terry stumble upon a large amount of money. I can't give away much more beyond that without getting into spoilers. But there's a lot of people in the town who have more than meets the eye and secrets of their own including Wallace (TBN) the local fishing company czar, the masseur (Rex), and the police chief (Aduba) trying to piece together whodidit.

So much about this movie felt like it was bowing at the altar of the Coen Brothers, most notably Blood Simple and Fargo. But unlike Blink Twice bowing at the alter of Get Out, Greedy People took a page from it's inspiration of what worked most: in Blood Simple it is constructed so that we, the audience, see everything that is happening but each character believes something different is happening and/or unaware of the truth. Ponciroli clearly studied that and modeled this the same way. There's a lot of movies that rip off the Coen Brothers and doing it as good as them is not that easy. The tropes of their movies (inept criminals, mixing comedy and crime, scene-stealing supporting characters, etc) are all here. But much of the time some of these supporting characters feel like they are placeholders, there to add mishaps and setbacks rather than being a real character. Some are simply thrown in, i.e. Joey Lauren Adams who is fantastic and is barely in it other than complaining about a speeding ticket. But then you have some really cool action sequences and an actor like JGL who made this so much more than it probably was on the page. For a crime comedy, this doesn't hold a candle to Coen Brothers, but it's better (and more fun) than it has any right to be!

For info on Greedy People

3 out of 5 stars

Between the Temples

Movies about religious leaders who have lost their faith are usually very serious, i.e. First Reformed. But there's something new and fresh about the subject when it's played for laughs and the funny parts are really funny, and serious parts very effective. After premiering at this year's Sundance Film Festival where it was nominated for the Grand Jury Prize, Between the Temples has been a film festival darling that Sony Pictures Classic is releasing this week.

movie poster

Cantor Ben Gotlieb (the always great Jason Schwartzman) is grieving his wife who died in the last year, works in an Upstate NY synagogue where he is losing his voice and lets Rabbi Bruce (comedy genius Robert Smigel), and he lives with his mothers (Caroline Aaron and Dolly de Leon). He's losing his singing voice and his motivation. But after a drunken haze, he's helped by his grade school music teacher Carla O'Connor (Carol Kane). Shortly thereafter, Carla asks Ben to train her as she'd like to finally get a bat mitzvah. The two form an unlikely friendship. Oh - and Ben is also being set up with Gabby (Madeline Weinstein), the daughter of Rabbi Bruce.

This is a movie that clearly studied 70s cinema. The cinematography is very in-line with grainy handheld character studies of the 70s, but not in a some retro "hey look at me - ripping off the 70s with 2024 technology" kind of a way, but more in an honest and pure way of how they would have made this in 1974. There are veiled references to similar films like Harold and Maude (and just a little bit of The Graduate), but the thing that made this movie way better than I expected is the cast. Kane has not been this funny since she was beating up Bill Murray in Scrooged. Schwartzman has mostly been doing supporting roles in ensemble films, so his leading role is a good reminder to audiences of why he was the lead in Rushmore and the underrated Bored to Death. But it's frenetic energy director Nathan Silver shows: a sweet human connection one minute, a can't-even-watch LOL cringe-fest the next. This is exactly the kind of film where it made a bit of a splash and now I'm really excited to see what the director is going to do next!

For info on Between the Temples

3.5 out of 5 stars

[nicklloydnow]

“The years passed, and the fog lifted, and what had been accomplished could be seen clearly. What had looked like chaos, insanity, self-destruction, the concatenation of unfortunate circumstances, the events whose mysterious, tragic meaninglessness had driven people mad, became recognizable step by step as the clear, precise, obvious attributes of the new life.

The fate of the generation of the Revolution was revealed in a new light, logically, without mysticism. Only now did Ivan Grigoryevich begin to grasp that new national destiny which had risen from the bones of the annihilated generation.

That Bolshevik generation of the Civil War period had been formed in the days of the Revolution; where the concept of the "World Commune" held absolute sway; in the midst of the hungry and inspired subbotniki. It took unto itself the heritage of World War and Civil War—destruction, famine, typhus, anarchy, rampant crime. Through Lenin's lips it proclaimed the existence of a Party that could set Russia on a new path. Without hesitation it accepted as its inheritance centuries of Russian tyranny, throughout which generations had been born and had died knowing one right only—"serf right," the right of the master over the serf.

Under Lenin's leadership that Bolshevik generation had taken part in the dissolution of the Constituent Assembly and the destruction of those democratic revolutionary parties which had struggled against Russian absolutism.

That Bolshevik generation of the Civil War did not believe in freedom of the individual, freedom of speech, freedom of the press - not in the context of bourgeois Russia. Like Lenin, it regarded as nonsense, as nothing, those freedoms of which many revolutionary workers and intellectuals had dreamed.

The young state crushed the democratic parties, clearing the path for Soviet construction. And by the end of the twenties, those parties were completely liquidated, and the people imprisoned under the Czar had been returned to prison and sent off to hard labor. And then, in 1930, the ax of the total collectivization of agriculture fell. And soon the ax fell again, this time on the Bolshevik generation of the Civil War. Only a small fraction of it survived—and its soul, at any rate its faith in the "World Commune," its revolutionary, romantic strength, departed with those who perished in 1937. The ones who survived made their adjustment to the new times, to the new people.

And the new people did not believe in the Revolution. They were not children of the Revolution. They were the children of the state the Revolution had created.

The new state did not require holy apostles, fanatic, inspired builders, faithful, devout disciples. The new state did not even require servants—just clerks. One of the state's concerns, in fact, was that its clerks so often turned out to be very petty indeed, and cheating, thieving types to boot.

Terror and dictatorship swallowed up those who had created them. And the state, intended as the means to an end, itself turned out to be the end. The people who created it had conceived of it as a means to the realization of their ideals. But it turned out that their dreams, their ideals, were merely a means, a tool, of the great and dread state. Instead of being a servant, as it was meant to be, the state had become a grim tyrant.

The people weren't the ones who needed the terror of 1919, who destroyed freedom of speech and of the press, who required the death of millions of peasants—for the peasants made up the largest segment of the people. It was not the people who in 1937 needed prisons and camps crammed to overflowing, who needed the ruinous resettlement in the taiga of the Crimean Tatars, the Kalmyks, the Balkars, the Russified Bulgarians and Greeks, the Chechens, and the Volga Germans. Nor were the people the ones who destroyed the freedom to plant and sow as one pleased and the workers' right to strike. Nor was it the people who heaped up all those monstrous taxes and surtaxes and levies on the production cost of consumer goods.

The state had become the master. What had been envisioned as national in form had become national in content; it had become the essence. And the socialist element, which had been envisaged as the content, had been forced out, reduced to mere phraseology, mere external form, a shell. And it was with tragic clarity that the sacred law of all life defined itself: freedom of the individual human being is higher than anything else, and there is no goal, no purpose in the world, for which it may be sacrificed.” - Vasily Grossman, ‘Forever Flowing’ (1972) [p. 191 - 194]

[filmnoirfoundation]

James Ellroy - April 12, 2018

On April 14, 2018, the Film Noir Foundation bestowed its Modern Noir Master award on author James Ellroy during NOIR CITY: Hollywood. No artist of recent times has been more influential in bringing a truly noir vision of America into the cultural mainstream through bestselling novels such as The Black Dahlia, White Jazz, and American Tabloid, haunting and harrowing memoirs My Dark Places and The Hilliker Curse, and the many (not always successful) screen adaptations of his stories. It was for a screening of the best of these—L. A. Confidential (1997)—that Ellroy returned to Hollywood's Egyptian Theatre to accept the FNF's award from Eddie Muller. In a raucous, ribald, and sometimes controversial conversation with the Czar of Noir, Ellroy once again proves why he is the self-proclaimed "Demon Dog of American Literature."

[nonooddo]

ACHEY BREAKY NEWS……

With all the predictability of heartbreak in a country song - the twists and turns of the Oddo attempt to desecrate our neighborhood has taken yet another twist. The April 2 date, that was insisted upon by Oddo, for the Full City Council vote on the wretched development proposal - has been postponed.…!

Apparently it’s now been moved to April 16. Were the City Fathers moved by all the reasonable pleas that this hideous apartment plan was being rushed…? Don’t be an idiot!

After literally HUNDREDS of us write in to the City saying ‘this is going too fast’, after we have meetings at City Hall and tell staff ‘this is too fast’, after we show up en mass at the Planning Commission and say ‘this is too fast’, after we hire a lawyer to plead the case - 'THIS IS TOO FAST' - all of that is ignored. HOWEVER - THE SECOND Oddo says 'jump'- they don’t even bother to ask how high - they just start jumping…!!

Olathe, KS gets a new City Flag

What kind of a Banana Republic is Olathe? I guess we all already know because we are all too used to this type of shit. Witness - earlier today the news came out from the Cedar Creek ‘Developer-owned’ HOA that the Landowners closest to the Oddo development site had finally gotten round to filing a Protest Petition.

(Now a Protest Petition is a technical petition that certain close - within 200 feet - neighboring landowners can file. If it’s filed, on time, after a planning commission decision, it changes the vote requirement to pass a planning measure at the Full Council from Simple Majority to Super Majority.)

WE OWN ENOUGH OF THE QUALIFIED land to have filed that Protest Petition immediately. We - the homeowners. However… as you now know, we don’t control our own assets. We don’t control our HOA. We don’t even control the name of our neighborhood. (Ask the people who have pissed off the developers and because they referred to their own neighborhood the developers are threatening to sue them…! Remarkable True Story in the Olathe Banana Republic!)

The Protest Petition discussions were among developers only…!

So here in our own ‘hood, we don’t have an HOA that is opposing the desecration of the main entrance to Cedar Creek by a rapacious developer. No… our HOA IGNORED the fact of hundreds of letters, thousands of signatures and every actual indication of opposition by all the homeowners - and it kept silent.

The OVERWHELMING response of homeowners - of Opposition to Oddo - has been ABSENT from ‘our’ HOA’s considerations. Instead we were machined against. Talked down to. Told to behave. Patronized and they even tried to bully us with threats, belittling and smears. That was the response of ‘our’ HOA…

However - when the developers that control everything out here in Cedar Creek fell out and then - accidentally did the right thing, albeit for the wrong reasons, and sided with homeowners for ONCE, then THAT is big news…!

Cue a full email blast from the FakeOA, cue some whitewashed details about the ‘discussions’ to fix the Oddo abomination…! Of course WE were not present, this was “Developers Only”. Acting like C19th Colonial Powers carving up the world, we only get told what they want us to know - after the fact. And all we are supposed to do is shout “God Save The Kaiser, or Czar, or King…!” As tho our masters had done something good - for us…! (And not something patently in their own financial interests…!)

So don’t be surprised when this song ends in heartbreak. It is as inevitable as a country tear jerker - and about as synthetic. And the next chapter can be predicted too…

Watch out for Oddo revisions to his shitty plans - something to buy off (or rather buy back) some of that ‘other developer political capital’ he just burned through. Will we be at the table next time…? Hell no, don’t be an idiot…!

…This is still Olathe Kansas…Y’all…!

[here-lies-golden-kamuy]

any thoughts or headcanons on sofia, wilk and kiro, and what it was like for them to be on the run after killing the czar? i have sooo many ideas i would love to share abt this, and even a backstory i wrote for sofia. so many fics to write, so little time,,

Hey there, @interstellarshipwreck! Thank you for your ask, love! I apologize for the delay in my response, I had to research a bit on the three and really think of their dynamic together. I especially love this one because they’re characters that aren’t so popular (at least, on my side of the fandom), I’m thankful and glad to be given the chance to write about them! ALSO “so many fics to write, so little time…” IS SUCH A MOOD. HANDSHAKE EMOJI WITH YOU RIGHT NOW, MY GOOD FELLOW

I would absolutely love to hear about your own thoughts and backstory (OMG A BACKSTORY PLEASE FEED IT TO ME) about this!!!! I would love to hear more 🤲🥺

Sofia, Kiroranke, and Wilk Ten Year Runaways

Okay, I’m gonna lay my main card down already: I hc that Kiroranke loved both Wilk and Sofia. His love for Sofia is canon. But honestly, Kiroranke’s devotion and love for Wilk during their revolutionary days were so deep and intimate, I can’t see it as just plain old war buddies type of love. He loved that man, hence it hurt so much to see the Wilk he loved since his teenage years grow into someone he didn’t know and couldn’t relate to anymore in the end. It was like betrayal. Maybe one day I should write more about that. But yes, sometimes I think the manga was framing the trio as some sort of love triangle, and it was, but it was Kiroranke loving the both of them. I argue that in that aspect, he was their emotional core. 

I think Kiroranke and Wilk had moments together — Kiroranke, a teenage boy in love with someone older than him, desperately kissing an injured Wilk after the assassination. He would be embarrassed about it, ashamed of his actions, but Wilk said nothing but thanks for his concern. Kiro looking deep into shining blue eyes crinkled in mirth underneath a layer of blood, you fucking bet he realized right then and there he would follow this man wherever he goes. I feel like in those ten years, they had some kind of tension between them that wasn’t platonic in nature. Kiro would be passionate and show his adoration for the older man in actions rather than words — being loyal to his leader, following orders without any complaints. Wilk was calculated and cautious, hence he wasn’t verbally affectionate, but he’d always had his hand on Kiro’s shoulder in greeting or leaning into his bigger bulk when resting… there was definitely some quiet affection shared between the two of them. 

Asirpa in the early parts of the manga tells Sugimoto that a lot of women fell in love with Wilk because of his fine motor skills, especially when crafting something from his own hands. I hc that Sofia wasn’t any different. In my mind, there was a point during their runaway days where Sofia asked Wilk to teach her how to hunt, and Wilk crafted her a simple knife Ainu-style while telling her stories about his childhood to pass the time (maybe she heard about the story of child Wilk and the wolf during this time). She started to fall for the man who was passionate about his heritage and was willing to do anything for the people he loved. When it was finished, Wilk brought her along to a two-man hunt. She wasn’t successful at hunting, despite Wilk’s instructions, but Wilk — who had caught their dinner for that night — encouraged her by telling her that she can practice hunting with him and Kiroranke if she wanted to. 

Sofia can’t cook for shit, Kiro can manage, but Wilk was the master at their, er, makeshift kitchen. I can see Sofia being the Sugimoto to Kiroranke and Wilk’s Asirpa, wherein the boys would cook something that is “exotic” to Sofia’s tastes. Initially, she subconsciously balks at the ingredients and cooking processes, but then later reminds herself that her culture and their culture were equal — they both deserve the same respect and reverance. She ends up liking the mixed cuisines a lot. Also, Wilk who came from both Polish minorities and Ainu people probably did a lot of fusion dishes for fun. 

I can see Sofia to be their spymaster. Sofia is a pretty woman, knows French and Russian, and isn’t wanted by the police. Hence, she’s the least suspicious out of the three. I bet that she was really good at her job because she’s a great actress. I’m willing to bet she used her aristocratic knowledge to steal from a fellow nobleman during their runaway years. The reason why she started slipping when it came to Hasegawa was because for the first time in ten years, she felt at peace (this was primarily because of the close presence of Olga, Hasegawa’s child). I can even extrapolate that she enjoyed holding Olga close to her because she would daydream of her own child with Wilk. 

Wilk knew that both Kiroranke and Sofia loved him, but didn’t do anything about it. He also knew that Kiroranke was in love with Sofia, and made hints to Kiro that he knew, but he was passive when it came to emotions like that. Maybe he saw that maintaining the emotions and reciprocating even a tiny bit was beneficial for him as a leader. Although, I can see him being more partial to Kiroranke because of their shared goal.

Wilk has a great singing voice, I can see him as a baritone. Which means that his voice is well-suited for lullabies and humming. Sometimes when Wilk was on the watch for their group, he would hum songs from his childhood. Both Kiroranke and Sofia would pretend that they were already asleep to hear him quietly and gently string notes that would form soft lullabies about Ainu proverbs and stories. More often than not, they both fall asleep into deep slumber whenever they hear Wilk. It’s a soothing rumble, a very nice sound to let go of consciousness and clutch dreams.

[rachelbethhines]

60 Years of Doctor Who Anniversary Marathon - Martin 13th Review

Fugitive Doctor Recap

Stories covered

Timewyrm: Revelation - Novel

Cold Fusion - Full Audio

Origins - Comic

Fugitive of the Judoon - Novelization (not a full novelization but an Annual entry)

The Tourist - Short Story

Power of the Doctor - TV Story

A Sit Down With Jo Martin: Interview - Behind the Scenes

Fortnite (Doctor Who Island) - Video Game

Curse of the Fatal Death - Mini Episode

Unbound: Exile - Short Audio

Iris Wildthyme in Comeback of the Scorchies - Spin off

Doctor Who Velocity: The Vashta Nerada Return! - Fan Film

Companions represented

Fugitive Companions

Taslo (1 story)

Lee (1 story)

AU Doctors

Emma (1story)

Cheri (1 story)

Cheese (1 story)

Captain Turner (1 story)

Gloria (1 story)

Notable Appearances

In addition to such one off companions we get plenty of appearances from other Doctor companions as well.

Ace, Tegan, Yaz, and Graham show up twice.

We also get appearances and cameos by Susan, Nyssa, Adric, Roz, Chris, Ryan, Dan, Vinder, Kate, Mel, Jo, and even Ian, my beloved.

We meet the lovely sentient church, Paul, The Doctor's wife Patience, the companion turned AU Doctor, Iris, and you played as the companion, with your own personal avatar, in Fortnite.

The only historical figures that show up are Czar Nicholas II and his wife Alexandra.  

As for villains... The Master shows up twice and so do the Daleks. Cybermen get a go, along with the Judoon. We meet the Timewyrm; a reoccurring villain that kicked off the new adventures novels. The Vashta Nerada Return! and the Scorchies make a Comeback. But the Doctor's biggest foes this era are the Time Lords themselves.

Ranking

(from best to worse)  

Power of the Doctor

The Tourist

Origins

Fortnite (Doctor Who Island)

Doctor Who Velocity: The Vashta Nerada Return!

Unbound: Exile

Cold Fusion (audio)

Timewyrm: Revelation

Iris Wildthyme in Comeback of the Scorchies

A Sit Down with Jo Martin

Fugitive of the Judoon (mini-novelization)

Curse of the Fatal Death

[avatarvyakara]

Shameless plugging, I believe this is called…

6. Rectitude

“It was an odd time,” muses Bobby, reclining on his chair. “Can’t say I’ve ever understood the whole of it. How a country known for its drink from birth to death managed to pretend it wanted nothing more to do with it.”

Elsa wonders how to begin.

“I suppose it all really started with the smaller things,” she says at last. “Early temperance societies, those brave women praying in taverns and saloons…but then the government got mixed up in it. The Northern states were worried about immigrants from elsewhere, I know that—Ireland, Germany, Eastern Europe…”

“Surprised we Limeys got missed in that.”

Elsa cracks a rare smile. “Not everyone has met you specifically, Bobby.”

“Well, I suppose.”

“Anyway, it got complicated. Turns out the Brewers’ Association was doing some awful things, like trying to get children addicted to beer and buying votes from the…less respected people down in the Southern States. I remember reading in school about all the awful things alcohol could do to you—things like how if both parents were alcoholics then one in seven of their children would be horribly deformed, things like that. The Brewers created a lot of revenue for the country, so the government passed an income tax bill to show how their money wasn’t needed. And then came the War…and suddenly all the government enforcement that everyone had fussed about was everywhere and everyone needed and wanted it somehow. And it didn’t help that most of the major brewers were German.”

Bobby huffs. “No, I imagine it didn’t. Mind you, you lot weren’t the only ones. We had a touch of temperance on my side of the Pond, too. Even the Czar tried to ban vodka, back in, oh, 1916 I think.”

Elsa hasn’t heard this one. “Really? What happened?”

“…I think people got a little upset, if Mr. Lenin is anything to go by.”

“…ah.”

Bobby snorts.

“So that’s what it was? A small-town concern that turned into a massive political fuss?”

“Forget ye not the speakers!”

“Oh no…”

But her brother is through the door and, apparently, with patience too. “Such speakers as you could never imagine, taking to the work of the Lord! Billy Sunday, speaking before the masses in clear and perfect English, so as to be understood by the common man and fill his heart with the holy flame! The bright and brilliant clarity of faith in Carry Nation, armed with defiance and a hatchet of terrible repute! Master Bryan, taking to the Senate and charging ahead in the holy tradition of the prophets themselves! Pontifications from all manner of the best this country has to offer, seeking equality and virtue for all who should come before them, repair the lives of people and families! And it turned a ‘small-town concern’ outward, into a question of fundamental virtue and the truth of the American Way. It was the greatest fervour that ever did beset this great nation—greater, even, than our independence from the cowardly redcoats who would deny us our democracy (no offence meant, Robert), for now we chose not merely liberty, but morality! A denial of the craven vice and the corrupt providers that plagued us for generations—”

“How were the boys from Marigold, Abelard?” asks Bobby, apparently innocently.

Abelard glares at him for a good ten seconds.

“Could be worse. Although why Heller is suddenly tagging along with them I’ll never know.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

[bizabert]

I was tagged by @friendly-jester , thank you so much!!!!!!

Rules: Make a new post and spell out your url with song titles, then tag as many people as there are letters in your url.

I'll just go through my liked songs on Spotify and see what comes up first

B - Bleed Out by The Mountain Goats

I - Incandescent Ruins by The Mountain Goats

Z - Zenzenzense by RADWIMPS

A - Another First Kiss by They Might Be Giants

B - Baby You're A Haunted House by Gerard Way

E - Expert In A Dying Field by The Beths

R - Rly Don't Care by chloe moriondo

T - The Lord God Bird by Coach Kit

I tag @sockythedog @jushiro-ukitake @ass-master-2000 @ephemeroyal @stillforests @bobkitten @czar-squid @kneeuh-nia

[travelingue]

Pursued by a bear (To HEL and back 5)

It was our last morning in Helsinki.

We'd spent three days trying to understand a country through its architecture.  But there's only much you can learn by looking at buildings.

One subject I felt particularly ignorant about was the Russian connection.  What did it feel like, for a small country, to share a 1,300km border with a huge, expansionary empire?  

The cityscape screamed Scandinavia, not Russia. Although Moscow ran Finland for over a century, the monuments to that rule are few.  I had spotted a statue of Alexander II in Senate Square, an obelisk to his mum on the waterfront and a Disneyesque orthodox cathedral: that was it.

Helsinki, unlike Paris, has no thoroughfares named after Czars or Lenin.  That told us something, but it didn't explain anything.

More walking around would be pointless.  But my wife and I were not flying until the evening and the National Museum, dedicated to "Finnish history from the Stone Age to the present day", was around the corner.  We went there for enlightenment.

We found plenty of fascinating facts on display.  My eye was caught, for instance, by this series of linguistic maps:

The first panel shows that Sami people, represented by triangles, pretty much had the area to themselves a millennium ago.  

Then Swedes (squares) and various Finnic peoples (circles/hexagons) gradually push in from the south-west and the south-east respectively. By 1809, the Sami are confined to the north.

In case you were ignorantly wondering where the Lapps are, they are the Sami - the old name is now frowned upon.  They are descended from nomads who hunted reindeer and fished for a living.  Many still do.

Intriguingly, the Sami don't appear to have got to the area first.  The snowflakes on the first map denote "remnants of ancient languages".  No details are given about those who spoke them.  I guess they're gone.  For most of history the Great Replacement was the norm, rather than the controversial theory it is today.

A look at my watch interrupted these ethnographic musings. I whizzed past the medieval section: if you've seen an episode of Game of Thrones, I figured, you get the idea.  True, I've never seen an episode of Game of Thrones, but that was not the point: Russia was the point of my visit.

I already knew the Czars had taken Finland from Sweden in 1809 and only exercised indirect rule.  What didn't understand was why such a bureaucratic empire let the Finns run their own business.

The answer became clearer when I saw this: 

This 1860 banknote is denominated in markka, a lower-grade currency introduced in Finland by Russia at the request of the locals themselves.

The Russians saw the Finns as hopelessly backward.  Their place was outside the normal administrative order.  Steeped in an aristocratic, pre-Enlightenment culture, the Czars never worshipped on the altar of "humanity".  Therein lay salvation for all those concerned.

Egalitarian masters are often the cruellest.  The moment you see yourself in others, you wield a common yardstick to beat them with.  You have expectations.  Look at the French: their universal values made them horrible colonialists.  Resistance to the blessings of Frenchness was a scandal, a crime against mankind itself.

Czarist Russia never had a mission civilisatrice.  The banknote illustrates the salutary contempt with it treated the Finns.

I imagined the scene: Moscow, 1860.  A Finnish delegation, wearing suitably ill-fitting clothes, has come to tell the finance minister that they want their own currency. The minister is puzzled.

"But the rouble is backed by the largest gold reserve on earth!  You won't find anything stronger." "That's the point, Sir.  It's too strong for us.  It takes the average Finn a month to earn a rouble which barely buys you a bottle of vodka in Moscow." "I see.  You want a more fungible currency so you get a radish for dinner." "That's right, Sir. Fungible is what we want: we eat mushrooms too. "

The minister sighs and asks what the Finns want to call their funny money.  He finds the name idiotic, but appropriate for its users.

"What about the exchange rate?  Ten markka to the rouble?" "Too high sir." "50?" "How about 500 to one?"

By 1878, the Finns were printing their banknotes themselves.

Take a close look at the above bill: the Cyrillic characters are gone; so is the bear; Finnish-Swedish bilingualism is in force.

The Finns were putting their money where their identity was.

The next act of collective assertiveness was sartorial. In the 1880s folk costumes were all the rage. 

Such costumes, the display made clear, were an invention of the bourgeoisie: peasants at the time were much too poor to dress that way.

The curators linked these vestiary fantasies to a lack of recorded annals: "When Finland became part of Russia, this borderland did not have its written history.  People needed to prove that something eternal, strong and characteristically Finnish existed."

I was not convinced by this explanation. The Breton headdress, the Scottish kilt, the Bavarian lederhosen and many other "traditional" garments were invented round about the same time – and for the same reason. 

Across Europe the rising middle classes needed security blankets to reconnect with the land they no longer lived from.

In Finland, peasant poets were celebrated for singing about ancient Karelia well into the 20th century.

Political reform was in the air as well, and Finland was ahead of the game: women there got the vote in 1907, second only to New Zealand.

It was also a time of greater equality between nations.  Progress is good, of course, but it has side effects.  As Finland was no longer a backwater, Czarist rule hardened. Delegations from Helsinki were not treated with benign condescension but coldness.  Many didn't even get to see the minister.

This was the reason for the national awakening we had observed in Helsinki's buildings.

In 1917, the Finns managed to break away from war-torn Russia.  But the empire, rebranded as the Soviet Union, had adopted its own ruthless version of egalitarianism.  Relations were bound to worsen.

I was curious to find out what the museum made of the 1939-40 Winter War, the most amazing episode of the World War 2.  It really was. The outcome of the Blitz was fairly predictable: bombing a powerful island into submission was always going to be a long shot.  So was the Nazis' attack on their Soviet allies.  And once the Americans joined the war effort, the game was up.

The 1939 Hitler-Stalin pact, on the other hand, yielded a big surprise.

It was, on paper, a perfectly rational deal: half of central Europe is mine, the other half is yours.  The Poles, the Balts and Moldovans could do nothing about it.  But the Finns crazily refused to be gobbled up along with the above, and successfully fought the Soviets.

I expected the Finnish National Museum, of all places, to dwell on that extraordinary feat.  It didn't.

I found only a couple of passing mentions of the Winter War.  A panel on the 1940 Olympics said the Helsinki games were cancelled because the country’s athletes were busy fighting the Red Army.

Now, I come from a country that crumbled when attacked and collaborated with the occupiers.  Yet history books and museums will tell you that World War 2 France was full of resistance heroes.   The official account of the liberation of Paris is that we did it alone.

And the Finns, who really stymied a totalitarian empire by themselves, now saw it as a footnote to a sporting event that never happened.  What is going on?

I found a clue in a nearby case, which displayed guns used in the "Continuation War".  The museum was even more cagey about that conflict than about the Winter war, so I looked it up on my phone.

The "Continuation War", it turned out, was what I knew as the "Second Finnish-Soviet War".  In 1941, taking advantage of Germany's Operation Barbarossa, the Finns launched their own attack on the USSR.

Militarily (though not politically) aligned with the Reich, Finland tried to regain territory lost in 1940, and more.  That war was everything the Winter War was not.  It was offensive - in every way - as opposed to defensive.  The Nazis were Finland's friends as opposed to their enemy's friends.  

It was, in short, a moral and operational disgrace. But by calling it a continuation, Finland extended the stain over the Winter War.  The two conflicts are now seen as a play in two acts: hubristic victory ending in Swastika-branded ignominy.  

Finland paid a steep price for its wartime crimes: after 1945, it was forced to accept Soviet dictates on its foreign policy – the country, in fact, became a byword for curtailed sovereignty.

The term "Continuation War" suggested that its collective memory itself had become Finlandised.  I was curious to know if ordinary Finns shared in this official self-shaming.

I only had two hours to find out.  At the railway station a young Finnish woman saw that we were foreigners and led us to the correct platform.  She was going to the airport herself, returning to Vienna where she lived.

On the train we asked her how she felt about her native country.  "I love coming back," she smiled. "Everyone is so nice and everything works here."  Even I could tell that it was not appropriate to ask about the Winter War.  

But something told me that, in the event of a rerun of 1939, she'd be back like a shot and would do her grandparents proud, regardless of what museum directors thought of them.

From this sample of one I concluded that the whole Finnish people felt the same way.

It was, of course, a tentative conclusion.  But of one thing I was certain: Putin's first move after such an assault would be to restore the rouble as Finland's currency – for the same reason as Russia introduced the markka back in 1860.

While waiting for our Easyjet flight I worked out that our four meals in Helsinki had cost an average of €155.35 (for two people, including two thimbles of wine each).

For once I was happy dining on soggy airport sandwiches.

                                            ***

Previous “To HEL and back” posts:

- L’invitation au voyage - Classical Helsinki - How Sweden lost Finland - Romancing the stone