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sansculottides · 2 months

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Maximilien Robespierre was executed on July 28, 1794, or the 10th of Thermidor in the Republican Calendar. A conventional textbook may mark the end of the French Revolution with Napoleon’s coup in 1799. But Ralph Korngold, Marxist historian, wrote:

“No one man creates a revolution or carries it on, but the currents of revolution may sometimes range themselves in such a manner that the fate of one man becomes the fate of the revolution itself. ‘We did not realize,’ said Cambon, ‘that in killing Robespierre we would kill the Republic.” (From Robespierre and the Fourth Estate–the “fourth estate” here referring to the budding proletarian class of the time. Korngold gave particular attention to Robespierre’s role in the attempt to enact the Ventôse Decrees, the most revolutionary laws proposed during the Republic which would have expropriated the wealth of counter-revolutionaries to be redistributed to the propertyless.)

Napoleon’s ascent ten years after the start of the Revolution only marked the final stab in a Republic that was already good as dead. The death of Robespierre and his allies was the death of the Revolution’s radical aspirations, and allowed the propertied men to fully take charge. Though I also appreciate the sentiment that we can also mark the Revolution’s end a bit after Robespierre, with the death of Babeuf, the “proto-communist."

Anyway, what I really wanted to do was talk about a phenomenal short film that came out this year (on Robespierre’s birthday), “La mort de Robespierre” by smileyfaceorg/Janelle Feng (who has done so much amazing art about Robespierre and the French Revolution).

The film focuses on the night before 10 Thermidor, before Robespierre’s forceful arrest. This historical episode has been depicted before, in various ways. In the 1989 movie La Revolution Francaise, Robespierre had gone insane at this point, an interpretation that fed off of years of black propaganda. In Feng’s film, Robespierre is depressed, remorseful and self-loathing, an interpretation that does have its footing in historical record. In the months leading up to his arrest, Robespierre was frequently sick from the mental exhaustion of running and defending the Republic.

Mental health isn’t a new thing, though we have admittedly only recently begun to be articulate on the subject. Mental health amongst revolutionaries isn’t new either. Even Lenin died of sickness likely compounded by the stress of protecting the Revolution’s gains. In the 1871 Paris Commune, the commune council was “a working, not a parliamentary body [but] executive and legislative at the same time,” which allowed members to fully dedicate themselves to the cause of building a socialist future, but also burdened them with a punishing workload with little room for rest, and the mental exhaustion that naturally follows. I’m sure every person in any radical movement knows the weight of the struggle, but that’s one reason why it must be a collective effort.

At one point in the film Saint-Just looks at the 1793 Declaration of Rights on the wall and comments “To think we made that.” It’s another historically-rooted moment, as there was at least one eyewitness account claiming he did something like that on that night. I think the presence of the 1793 Declaration also ties the film in with the radical tradition of interpreting the Revolution. The ‘93 Declaration was more egalitarian than the initial 1789 Declaration, signed off by a pressured Louis XVI and also the one more textbooks would remember.

I love the use of comic elements too. Comic devices in film would make me think of stuff like Spiderverse or Scott Pilgrim where it’s fun and wacky, but in this film Feng uses comic devices to contract and expand space and time to an introspective yet claustrophobic effect. Especially the scenes where panels surrounded by negative space hint at Robespierre’s inner turmoil. It works really well; comic elements can work like poetry, after all.

I love stuff like this, art that is rooted in history (with quite scholarly rigor) while also aiming to go beyond academic scholarship. You can’t quite explore things like emotions and human experience the same way you can through art. Art like this film looks at historical facts and tries to fill in the gaps. How did they feel about this, what kind of effect did it have? And it explores how these historical people and episodes were human. More importantly, it does so with empathy and purpose, keeping in the “spirit” of the historical figures depicted. If you truly read Robespierre, you wouldn’t give in to lazy portrayals of a mad dictator. In contrast, Feng’s short film shows so much care and attention for this person in the past.

I’m so happy that someone like Feng is making art about the French Revolution. Most of the films, novels, games, etc that come out about the French Rev usually just follow the boring, very liberal and mainstream narratives, and calumnies about Robespierre being a dictator or various other kinds of monsters (not true). Korngold wrote about this too: “The Red Terror appears unpardonable to the Whites, and the White Terror to the Reds. Carlyle penetrates closely to the truth when he says that the reason the Reign of Terror during the French Revolution has received so much scathing comment, is mainly because it was directed against the privileged classes and their followers and not against ‘the voiceless millions.’”

Like the rest of history, our interpretation of the French Revolution exposes the undercurrents of ideology, conscious or not. Our ideas of who should be in power, who should be listened to. Ultimately, it did end as a revolution of the budding bourgeoisie, but before that defeat, there were revolutionaries who imagined and fought for a new future for all. Not just a political revolution, but a social and economic one. We should remember their revolutionary example. There is a reason, after all, why the Soviets held the likes of Robespierre, Saint-Just and Marat in high regard.

#frev #robespierre #french revolution

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house-of-mirrors · 8 months

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I posted the fic about the Bazaar as a modern publishing company. Now I need to write about modern AU calendar council. Specifically thinking about cyberpunk dystopia (not necessarily the neon future!)

January maintains a free online library full of texts and articles, fighting against the paywall culture of academia and censorship. Also a skilled hacker targeting energy systems to draw attention to infrastructure vulnerabilities caused by the failings of neoliberalism.

February leaks information to the worldwide media at the most opportune times to incite unrest. On the side, she's quite good at online gaming tournaments and has an intense rivalry with user knifeandcandle.

March is an online persona maintained by several individuals to reduce the risk of compromise in the great game which has been taken to the next level by technology. Behind the development of several "leaky" apps, spyware, and wiretaps.

April has no online presence, off the grid for her safety after her role in a costly attack to physically destroy servers at powerful companies. In a world of increased surveillance, she lurks somewhere outside the city with no cameras. You can, however, contact her on clear nights over radio waves, with encoded transmissions.

May is rumored to be one of the very first shareholders for Bazaar Publishing. This aside, has a telehealth webpage that's the height of the spiral with redirecting links, popups, eyestrain colors, and recommendations that seem too personal. Ads pop up during your regular browsing, similar to seeing the merry gentleman about. It's nearly impossible to get an actual appointment unless they email you first, confirming a stay you never reserved. The hotel has bowling alley carpeting and neon lights. I feel like it should have an arcade.

June is the founder of a secretive engineering and technology startup, rumored to be taking funding from shady sources in the private sector. Little is known about her wherabouts or activities, except her last known IP address was at a testing site on a remote island.

July is a whistleblower, leaking confidential documents and warning the public about transactions and political schemes that can lead to their destruction. Fighting a constant war against misinformation, in which she works closely with September.

August is active on twitter and reddit. I don't need to say more. He also promotes accessibility in technology and the web.

September has a podcast and is constantly finding new ways to bypass censors and promote truthful news sources. He runs a blog dedicated to history and culture, where he also shares his poetry. This man is so anti-advertisements.

October is a merciless hacker. Rumors persist she's so skilled and uncatchable because she found a way to project her consciousness into the computer. Several of the most costly ransomware and DDOS attacks bear her signature.

November operates on the black market, overseeing illegal commerce. She works not only in arms dealing and contraband, but in getting restricted supplies to places that need help.

December is an enigmatic figure of the dark web that no one has ever seen or heard, someone you can't contact but rather contacts you through heavily encrypted txt files, identifiable only through a borzoi icon. Some say they're just a myth or a virus. Some say they're an alien, tapping into satellites.

#calendar council my beloved #my writing #fallen london #modern au #cyberpunk #fl spoilers

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scotianostra · 5 months

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Happy Birthday Scottish actress Georgie Glen.

Georgie was born in Helensburgh on April 20th 1956 and as a child had little interest in appearing in school plays. She studied graphic design at Glasgow School of Art and moved to London in her mid-twenties to design book covers for the Thames and Hudson publishing house.

Looking for other interests she joined Floodlight Council, an organization set up to bring out adult’s artistic skills and then became part of the Questors Theatre Company in Ealing, West London. Here she met the late Alan Rickman - who, like Georgie, had a background in design before treading the boards - and he encouraged her to follow her acting ambitions. As a result she enrolled at the Bristol Old Vic drama school and on graduating had her first job at the Wolsey Theatre in Ipswich.

Even then she felt, somewhat modestly, that she did not have the looks for a leading lady but ever since her television debut in 1988 she has been a reliable supporting player in virtually every type of show from sketch comedy to period drama, notably in a recurring role as doughty Sergeant Jennifer Nokes in Heartbeat and the liberal, kindly teacher head of History, Audrey in'Waterloo Road - filmed in her native Scotland.

Indeed she may be said to be one of the first ladies of character acting and though her film roles have again always been in support of bigger names she has proved herself to be a scene- stealer par excellence, as one of the more enthusiastic in Calendar girls alongside Helen Mirren and Julie Walters.

As I said earlier she has been in every type of show, to name a few we have comedy roles in Harry Enfield and Friends, Alas Smith & Jones and Little Britain, drama series and films are two many to mention them all but there are dozens, the pick of them include Taggart, of course, Peak Practice, Doctor Findlay, Mrs Brown, Shakespeare in Love, Silent Witness, and I think a lot of you will maybe “say” oh yes, when I tell you that she was the Judge in The Victim in 2019, an excellent four part series set in Scotland also starring John Hannah and Kelly McDonald, and she was Denise in the brilliant Channel four show Damned!

#scotland #scottish #history #happy birthday #actress #theatre #television #cinema

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artisanoftheredscience · 8 days

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THE BEST LAID PLANS

Hi all! This fic was written for @fallenlondonficswap. My secret swap for this year was @thedeafprophet

Keeping this short despite my desire to ramble: I was very excited to get this prompt as I really like your writing. I especially love your characters, the trio is so cool and interesting. I went back and forth on including them in this piece and ended up deciding to reference them without trying to write them myself because I think they’re very cool and I have no faith in my ability to write them well. I'll post the full fic under the Cut, but it's ALSO on AO3.

Brief CWS: Very light descriptions of people suffering from nightmares (nothing more significant than what is typically described for the Royal Beth).

The Calendar Council, of all London’s many strange groups, was one that May had a particular fascination with.

Certainly, he participated in it. It was useful to him, in some aspects, though he had his own plans to attend to. That was the same for most of their ranks. They came together only when they could be of use to one another, and focused on their own projects the rest of the time. They were hardly the shining example of teamwork. The bickering alone made that perfectly clear. They had many disagreements of ideology and methodology, something May could attest was the same as every group before them. In fact, sometimes they could be more of a thorn in one another’s side than anything else. This was one of those times.

His colleagues did not strictly enjoy him sharing in their dreams. There had been some threats, here and there, about staying away. May did not fully believe any of them could ever act on it, nor begrudge him of his curiosity. His colleagues did have such interesting dreams after all. He might have even studied them at length, if the hassle of getting any of them checked into the hotel was worth it. (It wasn’t, especially for his more explosive acquaintances. He shuddered to think of what they might do to his foundations with the sorts of things they trafficked in these days. Bombs had come a very long way since the days of his youth.)

Still, sometimes he glimpsed things in their meetings together, especially when those meetings were held in the many spaces of London that bordered between dreaming and waking, or when they were conducted in the presence of mirrors and those who walked between them. (Certainly when July had been about more often, those times were more frequent. Now it was only when October and her agents deigned to work with the rest of them, or that Silverer came along. that the shadows turned strange enough for May to peer into the contents of their ambient dreaming.)

He had, however, seen enough to put together a rather intriguing picture, especially when paired with their more literal discussions. He had set to wandering the halls of his hotel has he mulled over the situation, if only because he had been sitting at his desk for far too long. Even he was not immune to restlessness.

It had begun, as most things these days did, with one of April’s plans. She had been far more active as of late; May was not entirely certain as to why, given she’d briefly dropped off the map after that factory exploded, but he’d heard rumors here and there, and there was a distinct lack of people going missing in the night at the hands of mysterious winged monsters, so he had to assume she had been involved with that somehow. That aside, she had alluded to him, in between her frantic mathematics, of an explosion she was setting up. Not for it’s own sake, though he would have understood had she simply been in a fighting mood with the state of London as it was, that there were some papers she was aiming to have stolen during the distraction. She was once more locked in heated battle with Mr. Fires, who was truly being surrounded at all angles by adversaries. Between the clawed hands of its colleagues, that vitriolic thief throwing wrenches in the best laid plans, and April’s scheming, it was perhaps not having the best of times, though he could spare little sympathy for it.

That alone would be nothing to worry about, except that another colleague of theirs was aiming to execute a plan that very same day, in that very same part of London. One of September’s men was moving to intercept and rescue a package containing forbidden and outlawed texts heading straight for Pages’ coffers. The papers painted a less than picturesque portrait of Pages, and September hoped that rescuing and then mass-reproducing them, Whether just out of spite or for some deeper purpose, may did not know, but he could only assume that moonlit colleague of his had his own plans, ones he may or may not elect to share. Regardless, the overlap of their two operations was bound to cause some sort of problem, though what flavor May could not say.

And then there was there was the matter of January’s plans, which were surrounding that museum of hers. Now, May had no issue with her collection, he would be quite hypocritical if he did (though, a little hypocritical behavior here and there was good for the mind). But the timing of this particular addition to the collection was aiming to be an unfortunate one. Some new items were going to be collected by one of her operatives that same day. And the three were all taking very specific paths, to avoid the major routes constables patrolled and avoid being recogonized, ones that converged at several points and could very well cause complications. Now, that wasn’t a guarantee, but the risk was high enough that if they all spoke to one another, surely some of them might have reorganized their plans or given their operatives different instructions. It was just asking to become a huge mess.

(Still deep in his own considerations, he found himself a little peeved as he was forced to step around someone sitting in a ball on the floor, mumbling about the wallpaper. Clearly the staff had not brought this poor gentleman to their room yet. He’d have to flag someone down to attend to him. His dreams were bleeding all over the place, staining the carpet with twisting vines, and it would be hassle enough to get that cleaned without it being allowed to sit like that. What did he bother paying any of them for, if they were going to neglect their work?)

And where there was a mess, there ought to be someone to clean it up. Now, that was not going to be him. He had better things to do with his time. He had poets to visit with and dreams to collect and his own plans to spin up, the threads of his own ambition still waiting to be woven into a the grand tapestry of his own design. Or perhaps a nice scarf. It had been a bit chillier as of late.

He supposed he would just have to wait and see. And in the meantime, he had a friend to visit. One had to have hobbies, after all.

He received his answer a few days after the fact. Not through a missive from any of his colleagues, no, that would be too easy. He imagined a few of them were still cleaning up the mess, anyway. No, he found a very distinct memory of the event sifting through the dreams of a few university students while on his nightly walks. He’d been surprised to find dreams so strong amongst this cohort, which had seemed far less prone to fancy than the last year’s students. Perhaps it was a stroke of good fortune, or the side-effect of some research project leeching out into the general population. One could never be sure, especially with the sorts of people the University gave laboratories to these days.

He’d stood on the bridge, overlooking the dark, perhaps endless, pitch below, and allowed the dreams to pass over him. They came in snippets, short bursts of images baked in the strange preoccupations of the mind and the symbols drafted by terror and whimsy alike, and he was quick to decipher them, pulling strands of truth from the tangled knots of their dreams. He was nearly pleased to see how much of it was readily accessible, nearly as easy to grasp as the smoke from his pipe, which for dreams was rather on the easier end of the spectrum.

He could see August, giving some sort of lecture to a crowd of wide-eyed debate students and disgruntled professors. The doors to a classroom had been flung wide open to accommodate as many onlookers as possible. There was the thick smell of a feast on the air, and many more people milling past the crowd towards the smell. The person who’s dream this was was solidly focused on the promise of food. May could hardly begrudge any man a vice, for what was living if not collecting vices to proudly display on one’s shelves, but it was useless to him. He kept searching, eventually coming upon something of interest.

Someone came running through the crowd, holding a small bag close to their chest. There was shouting behind- a man with a pig’s head charged after them. (Some metaphors simply never grew out of fashion, it seemed). The running man was forced to swerve around the crowd, right into someone else, also carrying a bag. They crashed in the middle of the path, papers flying everywhere. A group of robed old men, far too ancient to be alive though that was likely a byproduct of the dream, shaking their heads, broke from the path to avoid the commotion. One of them bumped hard into a student (or someone posing as one) who had been attempting to speed past. They dropped all of the items in their arms. One, a small stone sphere, hit the ground and rolled away. It reached a doorway just in time for the Provost to step out of it, slip, and land in a pile on the ground.

He couldn’t help himself- the sight made him burst out laughing. It was a deep laugh too. He hadn’t quite laughed so hard since, well, the day before, listening to a constable repeatedly refer to him as ‘the unsettling gentlemen in the coat’. This was perhaps the best outcome he could have hoped for. Perhaps not for the others- he couldn’t see beyond the Provost falling, as most of the students were quite fixated on that. Which was perhaps fair. Certainly he wished some of his tutors would embarrass themselves in his own youth. Some relationships never changed, no matter how much time had passed or how many societies rose and fell.

He would have to reach out and see if one of his colleagues could catch him up on the details. Perhaps September would be willing to speak with him, if he wasn’t still recuperating from the ruination of his plans. If they were indeed ruined, that is. (April was certainly laying low, regardless of whether she got what she wanted. Any time you explode anything owned by the Masters, best practice was to stay out of sight. They could be rather vindictive, the Masters, and few could stand to antagonize them and remain unscathed. He would have to see her later.)

He would have to send an invitation out to Balmoral in advance. September could hardly take the train up to London, of course, so May would have to go out to him. It’d been some time since he’d gone on a trip. Perhaps the change of scenery would do him some good. And if not, well, the dreams were always novel, that far out.

One way or the other, he trusted he had a very interesting conversation ahead of him. Perhaps several, if January or February were available to speak as well. With the two of them, it was always hard to say for certain, though he suspected he would see the latter by the end of the month. He had not failed to notice that the person who dropped all those materials was not the face he had expected. It seemed January’s hired help had not been hindered at all, but there was a familiar gleam to that sphere. Carrying an irrigo anything outside of a secured container in a public setting was awfully bold.

Someone was getting quietly dismissed from February’s services, if he had to bet. An unfortunate end to someone revolutionary (or perhaps archaeological) aspirations, but these things often happened. Their line of work was never a certain one.

But May had spent enough time standing around, considering things for one night. He ought to focus now on actually doing something, at least for a little while. Even the best of the philosophers had to spend time on other things, after all, and that letter would not write itself. Not yet, anyway. Another thing to consider for another time. Perhaps he could teach his chameleon to hold a pen. Now wouldn’t that be a sight!

He could already picture the faces of his colleagues if he succeeded, and that would be reward enough.

#my posts #fallen london #fallen london ficswap 2024 #the calendar council #may-posting

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cruger2984 · 2 months

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THE DESCRIPTION OF SAINT BONAVENTURE The Patron of Bowel Disorders Feast Day: July 15

"We must beg the Holy Spirit, with ardent longing, to give us these fruits. The Holy Ghost alone knows how to bring to light the sweetness hidden away under the rugged exterior of the words of the Law. We must go to the Holy Ghost for interior guidance." -excerpt from the Holiness of Life

Known as Doctor Seraphicus (Seraphic Doctor) and the 7th Minister General of the Franciscan Order, Bonaventure was born Giovanni di Fidanza, at Civita di Bagnoregio near Viterbo, Latium, then part of the Papal States in the year 1221. Almost nothing is known of his childhood, other than the names of his parents, Giovanni di Fidanza and Maria di Ritella. Bonaventure did suffer from a life threatening illness effecting the bowels as a young child, and that prayer to St. Francis of Assisi saved his life.

In 1243, he entered the Franciscan Order at the age of 22, changing his name of Giovanni into Bonaventure, (meaning 'Happy-Future'). In Paris where he was sent to complete his studies at the University of Paris (Sorbonne), possibly under Alexander of Hales, and certainly under Alexander's successor, John of Rochelle. He became an intimate friend of Thomas Aquinas. When the latter asked him what was the source of his wisdom, he showed him a crucifix. He made his studies a continuation of prayer, and prayer for preparation for study.

A remarkable cheerfulness always appeared on his face, confirming what he used to say: 'A spiritual joy is the greatest son of the divine grace dwelling in a soul.'

Three years earlier his fame had earned him the position of lecturer on The Four Books of Sentences—a book of theology written by Peter Lombard in the twelfth century—and in 1255 he received the degree of master, the medieval equivalent of doctor.

At the age of 35, Bonaventure was chosen Minister General of the Franciscans and healed the division caused by the different interpretations of the vow of poverty. Thomas Aquinas, coming one day while Bonaventure was writing the Biography of St. Francis, saw him through the door of his cell in contemplation. Going away he said: 'Let us leave a saint to work for a saint.'

On November 24, 1265, he was selected for the post of Archbishop of York; however, he was never consecrated and resigned the appointment in October 1266.

In 1273, Pope Gregory X sent some delegates from Rome to appoint him Cardinal. When the delegation showed up at Bonaventure's friary at Mugello, they found him washing the dishes. He actually sent them outside to wait for him to finish the dishes. Legend has it, he asked them to leave the red hat (galero) on a tree outside. So the saint finished washing the dishes and then came to greet the papal delegation.

Bonaventure played a prominent role in the Council of Lyons which was called to bring about a reunion with the Eastern churches. Thomas Aquinas died on his way to the same council. A temporary reunion of the churches was achieved and Bonaventure preached at the Mass of reconciliation. However, he did not live to see Constantinople repudiate the reunion.

At the age of 52 on July 15, 1274, while attending the Second Council of Lyons in France, Bonaventure suddenly died and under suspicious circumstances in Lyon, Lyonnais, Kingdom of Burgundy-Arles (present-day France).

Bonaventure's feast day was included in the General Roman Calendar immediately upon his canonization in 1482. It was at first celebrated on the second Sunday in July, but was moved in 1568 to July 14, since July 15, the anniversary of his death, was at that time taken up with the feast of Saint Henry.

It remained on that date, with the rank of 'double', until 1960, when it was reclassified as a feast of the third class. In 1969, it was classified as an obligatory memorial and assigned to the date of his death.

#random stuff #catholic #catholic saints #franciscans #bonaventure #saint bonaventure #buenaventura #san buenaventura #doctor of the church #bowel disorders

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sunless-smash-or-pass · 8 months

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#human characters

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aeoki · 4 months

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Blackjack - Miracles Don't Exist: Chapter 2

Location: Yumenosaki Fountain Characters: Shinobu & Souma Season: Winter

TL Note:

“Tanabata” means “evening of the seventh” and the original date for it is July 7th. However, actual dates differ per year as the original date was based on the Japanese lunisolar calendar instead of the Gregorian calendar.

Shinobu: Brrr~ So cold, so cold.

It was the same last year but it’s a splendid white Christmas this year too.

Souma: Indeed. It is a great view but it is unfavourable for a performer. The snow strips away warmth and absorbs sound.

Are there any ninjutsu arts you can use? For example, making snow fall on stage without it melting.

Shinobu: Not in my abilities, no…

But this year, the entire “Producer Course” will be supporting us, so we shouldn’t have to put up with the cold.

They should have measures put in place for when we’re moving from each of the venues or when we’re performing ~de gozaru.

Souma: That is splendid. Last year’s “sutaa fesu” was only held indoors, so we were able to stand by in heated rooms.

However, there are many outdoor venues this year – we must work hard to ensure we don’t catch a cold.

Shinobu: You’re right ~de gozaru. This year’s “Star Fest” is more or less the same as this year’s “Tanabata Fest”.

We’ll call ourselves Santa and go around performing on the stages around Yumenosaki and ES.

Idols are participating individually this year so we’ll be booking our stage slots through “Hallhands” separately.

Souma: It seems the “purodusa course” will be assisting with that. It simply means it will be a great help with idols such as myself who are not good with technology.

There were seven stages[⁎] for “Tanabata Fest”...

This year, there will be twenty-one venues.

Shinobu: That’s three times the venues for “Tanabata Fest”.

Souma: Well done doing the maths.

No, I am not making fun of you. It was a genuine compliment.

Shinobu: I know~ There were even idols lining up and fighting over the stage during “Tanabata Fest” ~de gozaru.

With twenty-one stages, there should be less of that happening.

Souma: Indeed. It certainly sounds like Anzu-dono’s ideal event. It was her wish to allow us to perform as much as we liked on stage.

Shinobu: Anzu-dono… I’m worried about her.

Isara-dono did give us an order in the meeting earlier that we should look for Anzu-dono if we have time during “Star Fest”.

But Isara-dono appeared to be restless and worried, so no one continued with that topic, though.

Souma: Hehe. Isara-dono is skillful and clever but he is also the type of person whose emotions easily appear on his face. To think he is our student council president – our sovereign.

No, that is precisely why, unlike our previous student council president, Tenshouin-dono, he is loved by everyone.

I am slightly envious of him. Ahh, in that sense, Isara-dono is Hasumi-dono’s rightful successor.

Shinobu: Nihihi, maybe you should give him a pair of glasses as a Christmas gift ♪

Anyway, let’s split up and take turns to go around all of the venues ~de gozaru.

I think it’s unlikely but if we can find Anzu-dono there, then that would be great.

Souma: Indeed. I may be unskilled but I shall also lend a hand. However, that must not be the only element you should be focusing on.

If you are unpresentable on stage, then that would make Anzu-dono sad as well.

Shinobu: I know, Onii-chan.

Souma: Right. Do your best, my little brother.

Shinobu: …Um, was that all you had to say to me ~de gozaru? Just to give me some words of encouragement?

Souma: No. There is another matter, of course. Sengoku, would you like to go around and see “sutaa fesu” together this year?

Shinobu: Huh? I don’t mind. How come?

Souma: …Just like how that unsettling warning foretold, Anzu-dono has disappeared.

Perhaps it’s because you two stepped foot into the underground people’s territory despite the numerous warnings we received.

At the very least, there is a possibility there is a connection. Something is happening behind the stage curtains of a fun and peaceful “kurisumasu”.

You may be targeted next. Aside from Ayase-dono and Kurone who were underground in the first place, you and Anzu-dono were the only ones down there.

If someone has gotten rid of Anzu-dono to keep her lips sealed about the existence of the underground, then you may be next.

Shinobu: P–Please don’t say something so scary ~de gozaru. Well, if I’m next, then shouldn’t I have been captured a long time ago?

Why now?

Souma: I do not know. The identity and truth surrounding Kurone’s enemy, “Priest”, is unknown, so it would not hurt to be on our guard.

Yesterday, after you two went underground, I guarded the area with Nagumo and Mikejima-dono.

But there were a few suspicious individuals. Mikejima-dono chased them away so there was no opportunity to brandish my katana nor Nagumo's karate skills.

Shinobu: I see ~de gozaru… Then, that would mean Tetora-kun was there for nothing. I feel bad.

Souma: It is better than something happening. No, the true wish of allies of justice is not to hurt others but to protect them, no?

In that sense, Nagumo did a fine job fulfilling his mission.

Shinobu: I think Tetora-kun will be happy to hear that.

Souma: Right. In reality, something terrible is happening right now – And it is my role as a member of a samurai family to protect the citizens who have no means of doing so themselves.

I will do whatever I can – in order to have no regrets.

I will protect Anzu-dono’s dream, where everyone is doing their best to have a “joyous holy night”.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ← Previous Chapter ᠂ ⚘ ˚⊹˚ ⚘ ᠂ Next Chapter →

#blackjack

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thedeafprophet · 13 days

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So July and September drinking together has lead me to wonder what they each drink. I know September is a whiskey guy, and my first instincts for July would be to imagine her with a good bottle of red wine but then this whole thing is complicated because of July's well deserved vendetta against Wines.. or perhaps that's further support lmao

#july and sept out here having vendetta against the masters who appear 'amicable'#prophet's fl nonsense #july of the calendar council #september of the calendar council

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neathbound · 1 year

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The Charity Calendar of 1899

For the @fallenlondonficswap! My entry into the secret swap, for @artisanoftheredscience.

Several members of the Calendar Council have been indisposed for quite some time now. The remaining months convene to choose a new member.

General, no romance, comedic, the Calendar Council, Rubbery Men

1,893 Words (AO3 Link)

Twelve seats sat around a broad table in a room lit only by a single eye-watering glimmering-lamp. At the table's head - for, while it is true that the table was perfectly round, and therefore did not truly have a head, one could not fail to notice that only one seat had so high a backrest, so cushy a seat, so richly-dyed a fabric, so absent a creak - at the table's head sat a figure in a mask that might have resembled a fox, or perhaps a wolf, or perhaps something entirely unlike either animal.

December's masked face slowly swiveled over the table before them. Seven chairs sat empty: seated around the table were a severe, greying woman, her expression as chilly as her namesake month; a smiling older man, leaned forward on his elbows, seated in a wheeled chair; a tall man who'd only just taken off his broad hat, fingers steepled into a head-aching shape; and a short-haired woman wearing grease-stained coveralls, toying absently with a pen.

Finally, February cleared her throat. "It's just us today, then?"

"No," December said, "I called on - more."

August chuckled.

"Something funny?" February asked archly.

"Yes," August said. "That December thought there were still twelve months on the Calendar."

"Having trouble counting, are we?" May said merrily, drumming his fingers.

"Not since March has anyone been - removed," December said. "There should have been more today."

April slid a sheet of paper across the table. On it, all twelve months were written out, with June, July, October, and November crossed out. June had been crossed out several times.

"True," December allowed.

"Is this how we do things, now?" August asked. "Last one standing gets to lead the Council?"

"We may be past due to add new members," December said. "There are twelve months, after all."

"Why not eight?" August asked.

February narrowed her eyes. "Why not seven?"

August laughed. "Why not twelve?"

April tapped her pen on her notepad. It read: suggestions?

December shook their head. "There is a Firebrand who's been conducting interesting work -"

"A pushover," August declared.

"Problematic," February agreed.

"But I see his merit," August finished.

"He's under my care at the moment," May cut in. "Best not."

"Then," December said slowly, "why don't we find some other... candidates? We'll reconvene one week from today. Each of you, find someone to put forward as a new member. Bring them."

With that, they stood, and disappeared into the shadows at the room's periphery.

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

February stalked the street, lost in thought. She needed an ally, someone who could be ruthless, someone who didn't care too much about London. Holistically, at least. She needed another January, or better yet, another February. An outsider, someone who worked on the fringes of society, someone with the skills to make real change.

She paused. She recalled a report she'd received the other day, a brief from some agent or another, detailing their newest contact. An outsider, certainly. A change-maker, even more certainly. Ruthless? Perhaps.

A smile spread across her face, rather like a blade being slowly unsheathed. She couldn't wait to see May's face when she presented her candidate.

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

May tipped his hat to a Bewildered Pedestrian, giving the man a cheery wink. The Pedestrian's dreams had been filled with vast, hadal eyes and spines the size of steeples, ever since he'd attended the Fruits of the Zee festival the week prior. May had been very patiently waiting for the man to check himself into the Royal Beth, but he'd been rather stubborn. Until now.

The Pedestrian cautiously approached May. "Good morning," he said shakily.

May smiled. "How can I help you?"

The Pedestrian frowned. "I've been - I mean, you've been - I mean, I keep seeing..."

The Pedestrian trailed off, eyes wide, staring just past May's shoulder.

"What do you keep seeing?" May asked, the polite smile never leaving his lips.

"That one," the Pedestrian said, pointing behind May.

May frowned, turning around. Across the street, a Rubbery Loiterer stood with his arms folded, wide eyes - maybe - watching the pair.

"You keep seeing... that rubbery man?"

The Pedestrian nodded. "Ever since - ever since - G_d, I can't do it!"

The Pedestrian ran off, bug-eyed, disappearing into an alleyway. May almost followed him, but thought better of it. Instead, he crossed the street to where the Rubbery Loiterer still stood.

"Good morning," May greeted carefully.

The Loiterer burbled noncommittally.

"Have you been... following that gentleman?"

The Loiterer approximated - quite upsettingly - a raised eyebrow. He burbled something under his breath.

May frowned. "You were following him. You've driven him quite mad, I'd say."

The Loiterer blinked up at him.

"I feel I must ask why," May continued.

The Loiterer made a rude noise, then warbled something indistinct. When May didn't react, the Loiterer repeated the noise, and the warble. Finally, the Loiterer curled his tentacle into something like a fist, and gently tapped it against the side of May's head.

May raised an eyebrow. "He hit you?"

The Loiterer waved his tentacles.

"Or he hit someone?"

The Loiterer warbled triumphantly.

"So you took it upon yourself... ah." May thought to himself for a moment. "Are you busy next Monday?"

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

April sipped her tea, seated at a dimly-lit booth in a smoky pub. In the center of the table sat her notepad, and beside it, a stack of notecards, each with a simple word or phrase on it. In the booth across from her was a figure swathed in scarves and hoods, face lost in shadow.

She jotted something in her notepad, sliding it across the table. I have seen your work.

The Hooded Unionist read it, then sorted through the stack of cards. Yes, they chose.

April jotted further. It is good work, she clarified.

The Unionist made a muffled noise, and chose another card. Thank you.

April sipped her tea, and continued. You've brought better organization to Hinterland factories than Wolfstack might ever see.

The Unionist let out a low whistle, and took almost a minute to choose their next card. Maybe.

I'd like to work with you in the future.

The Unionist shifted in their seat. They sorted through the stack of cards. They set the cards down. Finally, they pushed the notepad back toward April, cowled head tilting down at her own words. I'd like to work with you in the future.

April smiled. Are you busy next Monday?

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

August sat at his desk, staring at a book without really reading it. He was lost in thought, unable to focus.

February, he reasoned, would be more likely than not to bring forward a candidate who was... hard. Cruel. Oh, she'd call it ruthless, and she'd have her own way of reasoning around it, but she'd look for someone who didn't care about the general populace of London. I need someone... kind. Polite.

May was harder to pin down, of course. Of course. He'd find someone alarming, perhaps even dreaded. He'd find someone who could slip through the streets of London like a nightmare. He might even look for someone familiar with dreams, like July, or October, or himself. I need someone strange, bizarre, yet possibly respectable. I need someone alien and entirely unfamiliar.

April... she'd find a real revolutionary. Someone involved in the Work, boots to the earth, in the thick of it. Someone capable of organizing, uniting, communicating. I need someone... difficult to speak with?

August frowned. He snapped his book shut. A smile spread across his face, like the sun rising on a late summer morning. He began to pen a letter. He couldn't wait to see their faces.

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

Twelve seats - seven empty - around a broad table. December cast a glance over the empty seats, once again, and sighed.

"Twelve is still twelve," August said.

"Unless," May began, "that's changed."

"It hasn't," February snapped.

April passed a note to August. You've been at this for twelve minutes exactly.

August frowned up at her. She tapped the watch on her wrist. August shrugged.

"Alright," December said. "All four of you have nominated candidates for our newest member?"

Four nods.

"And you've instructed them to be here?"

Four more nods.

"Then let's bring them in," December said.

On their own, the broad doors on the other side of the room swung open. Flickering gaslamps washed the room in a warm light, silhouetting the singular figure who stood on the other side, swathed in cloth. They walked forward slowly, entering the room, standing before the broad table.

Each of the five seated Council members looked around in confusion.

"You did each pick a candidate?" December asked.

The figure slowly raised their hands, and pulled off their hood. Before the Calendar Council stood a wide-eyed Rubbery Man, tentacles waving in the gentle draft coming through the door behind him. He looked around expectantly.

February, April, May, and August all smiled.

"Glad you could make it," May said. "Let me introduce -"

"Ah," February cut in, "no, no. Perhaps you've mistaken him for someone else. Everyone, this is -"

April crumpled a piece of paper and tossed it at February. It bounced off her head. February frowned indignantly, but opened up the note.

February scoffed. "That's ridiculous," she said. "I don't know why -"

May squinted. "No, I'm not mistaken," he said, standing up to get closer to the newcomer. "See, he knows me, too. Hello, my friend."

The Rubbery Man looked cockeyed at May, but shook his proffered hand.

April began furiously writing another note, but stopped as August began to laugh.

"You all - you all don't get it?" August beamed, then devolved into another fit of laughter. "How - I don't know how this happened! This is too good!"

December leaned forward. "Please," they said, "would someone explain to me what's going on, whose candidate this is, and why the other three candidates aren't here?"

April's eyes went wide with understanding.

"May," August said, "who is standing beside you?"

"A Rubbery Loiterer I met last week," May replied bemusedly.

August nodded. "And February, who is standing with May?"

"That's the Wintry Newcomer," she said briskly. "My own candidate, recently introduced to one of my agents."

"And April?" August continued.

April slid him her notepad, already finished writing. The Hooded Unionist. My candidate. Organized in the Tentacled Entrepreneur's factories.

August grinned, looking up at the Rubbery Man. "And I know him as a Reliable Organist. Really, I thought the rest of you wouldn't like him."

The Rubbery Man burbled in confusion, then looked at December.

December tilted their head. "Are you telling me that the Reliable Organist, the Hooded Unionist, the Wintry Newcomer, and the Rubbery Loiterer - your candidates - are all the same person?"

August laughed. "Yes!"

"August, you didn't...?" May began.

"How could I possibly have known?" August asked. "Though if I had..."

December paused. "Well," they said. "I suppose this does mean you can all agree on the worthiness of our... one... candidate."

April shrugged amenably.

"As for you," December said, "would you like to be a member of the Calendar Council? I suppose at least one of these four has explained it to you."

The Rubbery Candidate warbled, waving his tentacles with excitement. After a moment, December nodded.

"In that case," December said, "there's only one more question."

The Rubbery Candidate stared at them expectantly.

"Which month are you to become?"

The room devolved into shouting, warbling, and thrown wads of paper.

#fallen london #the calendar council #fallen london fic swap

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tomorrowusa · 1 year

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Putin never accepted Ukraine as an independent state. He then deluded himself into thinking that people in Ukraine would welcome a return to Russia and would cheer his invaders as liberators. Now Ukrainians want to have even less to do with Russia.

Rather than spread Russia's influence, Putin's invasion has prompted serious shrinkage of it.

The port city of Odesa has been the target of numerous Russian attacks recently. It has been engaged in a de-Russification campaign. The Russian empress, or rather her bronze likeness, used to stand proudly on a pedestal in the heart of the city that she founded in the late 18th century. Now she is here, locked in a box away from public view. The removal of Catherine (the Great), unthinkable before Russia launched its full-scale invasion of Ukraine last year, is a reflection of the mood in a city that is rapidly losing all sentimentality about the Russian-linked pages of its past as it comes under sustained fire from Russian missiles. [ ... ] Catherine’s removal is just one part of a programme of “de-Russification” that is going on all over Ukraine. It has a particular hue in Odesa, where it is not only the figure of Catherine that binds the historical and cultural landscape to Moscow. Many of the great Russian-language writers were from Odesa or spent time there, its residents largely speak Russian and its Transfiguration Cathedral was consecrated by Patriarch Kirill, the head of the Russian Orthodox Church, in 2010.

But now, President Putin is swiftly accomplishing something that 30 years of Ukrainian independence had previously struggled to do: he is turning Odesa into a proudly Ukrainian city. A barrage of missile attacks over the past two weeks, the first time the centre of the city has been significantly damaged since the start of the war, is likely to only accelerate this process. [ ... ]

One of the more visible elements of the battle against Russian heritage is a Ukraine-wide programme to rename streets, which have, over the years, reflected the frequent political upheaval that has come to this part of Europe. Catherine Square, where the monument to the empress previously stood, has been called Karl Marx Square and Adolf Hitler Square within living memory. Now, many names are to be changed again, with Russian-influenced names replaced by Ukrainian names or simply topographical markers. In Odesa, a local council committee has regular meetings to discuss where changes should be made.

Ukraine is even changing the calendar to stick it to Russia.

Ukraine moves Christmas Day in snub to Russia

Ukraine has moved its official Christmas Day state holiday from 7 January to 25 December, the latest move aimed at distancing itself from Russia. President Volodymyr Zelensky signed into law a parliamentary bill that aimed to "abandon the Russian heritage of imposing Christmas celebrations". In recent years, Kyiv has been cutting religious, cultural and other ties with Russia, aligning itself with the West. This process escalated following Russia's full-scale invasion in 2022. Mr Zelensky signed the bill on Friday - two weeks after it had been passed by Ukrainian lawmakers. The legislation also moves another two state holidays, Day of Ukrainian Statehood, from 28 July to 15 July, and the Defenders' Day, which commemorates armed forces veterans, from 14 October to 1 October.

BTW: Day of Ukrainian Statehood (День Української Державності) is not the same thing as Ukrainian Independence Day (August 24th). Day of Ukrainian Statehood marks the official conversion of King Volodymyr the Great and Kyiv to Christianity in 988. Poland has a somewhat similar foundation story; Grand Duke Mieszko's conversion in 966 is regarded as the beginning of the Polish state.

Before anybody sheds tears for anything Russian, be aware that Russia has always tried to impose its language and way of life on countries it has occupied. That continues in parts of Ukraine under Putin's temporary control.

The Hardest Soft Power: How Moscow Forces The Russian Language On Occupied Ukraine

The whole point of the invasion has been to wipe out Ukrainian identity. There's a word for that: genocide.

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mybeautifulchristianjourney · 1 year

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Today in Christian History

Today is Friday, July 7th, it is the 188th day of the year (189th in leap years) in the Gregorian calendar; 177 days remain until the end of the year.

303: Procopius of Sycthopolis is martyred as the first of the Palestine victims in the Diocletian persecutions.

1438: The Pragmatic Sanctions of Bourges, issued by King Charles VII of France, asserts Gallican liberties against the papacy.

1522: The Zurich council summons Conrad Grebel and three of his friends and forbids them to speak out against monks during their sermons.

1755: John Berridge is admitted to the vicarage of Everton, an obscure village on the edge of Bedfordshire, England. He will retain the position for the rest of his life, even after he becomes a famous evangelist.

1818: Walter Scott arrives in New York from Scotland, and soon will become a leader and educator in the growing Stone-Campbell Restoration Movement.

1821: Moravians at Okkak, Labrador, report that the sky toward the west becomes black at 7 AM and soon their settlement is plunged into darkness. They are forced to use candles until about 10 AM after which the sky becomes fiery red. Some Eskimos at sea will report afterward that something like ash fell upon their boat.

1859: Episcopalian bishop William Jones Boone the elder consecrates Samuel Schereschewsky with deacon’s orders in St. George’s Church, New York. Schereschewsky will become a notable missionary to China and a bishop.

1873: Lottie Moon is appointed to China by the Foreign Mission Board, Southern Baptist Convention.

1878: Francis J. Grimké is ordained a Presbyterian minister. He will emphasize honesty, hard work, thrift, and eternal values. “It is only what is written upon the soul of man that will survive the wreck of time,” he declares. He will also join in organizing the American Negro Academy in 1897.

1896: The Gospel Missionary Union becomes the first “faith mission” to enter Ecuador in the persons of J. A. Strain, F. W. Farnol, and George Fisher.

1907: Death of Anna Louisa Walker Coghill at Bath, England. She had authored many poems and the popular hymn “Work, for the Night Is Coming.”

1935: Death in Alexandria, Egypt, of Orthodox patriarch Meletius Metaxakis, a zealous reformer who had also taken steps to create a Greek Archdiocese in North America. He was the only man successively to lead three autocephalous (independent) Orthodox Churches. He had also sought to bridge the gap between Orthodoxy and the Anglican Church.

1944: Death of George Washington Truett, who had pastored the largest Baptist church in the world—the First Baptist Church of Dallas.

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