#revolution mother

[unholy-cvlt]

ABOVE THE CRAWL

Don't want to live, live in the abyss

I can't go on with a life like this

Half a life is nothing at all

You got to rise above the crawl

You got to be a superman

Flying high above the land

You got to count every breath

You got to live before your death

I see my reflection, black in the void

I hate myself and i want to destroy

I'm like a phantom into the dust

I'm like an animal you can't trust

You got to be a superman

Flying high above the land

You got to count every breath

You got to live before your death

Easy to slip, easy to fall

All the noise just makes you small

Turn you off, turn you on

Turn the dusk into the dawn

You got to be a superman

Flying high above the land

You got to count every breath

You got to live before your death

You got to rise, above the crawl

You got to be a superman

[enlitment]

Aren't you a Marie Antoinette apologist?

You got me. I’ve been a royalist spy all along. Can’t get enough of la monarchie! (a bit of a loaded question, isn't it?)

In all seriousness, I do not particularly like Marie Antoinette as a historical figure. I don’t think she’s done anything significant for which she deserves to be praised. That said, I do think she’s often been needlessly demonised – both in her times and sometimes even today.

I don’t think I need to like her to be able to say that I believe a lot of the hate directed towards her was largely exacerbated by misogyny. It's also often been weirdly sexualised.

It is certainly true that she could have handled herself a lot better in her situation, but she was by no means the largest contributor to the problems France was having before 1789. The whole ‚let’s blame the woman foreigner for everything bad that's happening‘ just does not sit well with me. Not to mention the awful accusation Hébert (along with some others) directed at her at the trial. Even Robespierre most likely thought that was idiotic. If that’s enough to make me her apologist then I guess I am one.

On the other hand, I definitely agree that her portrayal in a lot of French revolution related media as a poor, innocent victim of 'the terror' is inaccurate, annoying, and almost misogynistic in its own way. I also think that it’s unfortunate that she’s the woman most people remember from the revolutionary era when there were so many women whose stories are much more worthy of telling than hers.

[swervesfirstblaster]

they. THEY!!!

[canisalbus]

It may have been unintentional of your part, but Manchete's demeanour remind me how it is most likely that Maximilien de Robespierre's personality was. He, too, was a highly controversial figure that oversaw executions that stemmed mostly from his paranoia and fear, his bloodthirst causing a period known as The Reign of Terror to overcome France, all the while accounts from those who were close to him at the time stated that he was softspoken and cowardly. Due to that, I was wondering: was Robespierre an inspiration for Manchete or are those parallels a complete coincidence?

That's very interesting actually! I know of Robespierre and that he was a leading figure in the French Revolution, but I've never bothered looking into his personal biography properly. I did a quick superficial wikipedia check and it looks like you might be right, they do seem to have more than a few uncanny similarities. I'm cherrypicking a little of course but there's significant academic success and good conduct, being described as nervous, timid and suspicious, always well groomed, very driven and hardworking, but moody and frequently ill. And most of all probably starting with very good, righteous and idealistic intentions but escalating into senseless violence and tyranny over time. Both saw conspiracies left and right and dealt with repeated assassination attempts and public scapegoating towards the end. Both dug their own graves, that's for sure.

[blue-rose-soul]

For kid alastor au: what is Nicaisa relationship with alastor when she fall from heaven and help the hotel? Would this be one of only times alastor become emotional vulnerable?

Oh, it's an emotional moment for sure. Since this version of Alastor died as a kid, he didn't really get the experience of growing up. He... matured, in a sense. In Hell, where his weak-looking form would have made him a prime target for some of the more vile people there if not for his abnormal strength. He had to learn to protect himself quickly and ultimately developed a personality close to his canon counterpart's. But there are differences. His last memory of being alive though was of staring at his mother's brutalized corpse, reaching for her as he bled out himself. In a lot of ways, he is still that child.

Once Nicaise appears at the hotel, Alastor is visibly shaken. Of course, Nicaise doesn't actually remember him. She died trying to save his life, but she has no idea who he is to her. But it's obvious that he knows her and from his physical age alone, Nicaise is able to guess how.

Vaggie clues in that this is sort of a big moment for the two of them, so she ushers everyone else out of the room to give the two privacy to reconnect. It's sort of terrifying for the two of them. Nicaise only meant to seek out the hellborn princess who's trying to change Heaven and Hell for the better. She had no expectation that she'd find the very thing Heaven stole from her in Charlie's hotel. So in a few minutes she's coming to terms with the fact that she had a son, that son died so, so young, and for reasons she cannot fathom, he was sent to Hell. A child.

And Alastor, well. He hasn't been allowed to be vulnerable since the day he dropped down into Hell. He's trying to maintain his composure, but the moment Nicaise wraps her arms around him he just sort of...

Shatters.

As she settles into the hotel, it's hard for Nicaise not to be a tad smothering with Alastor. Like most people, she can't help seeing a kid when she looks at him, in spite of knowing his real age. With her though, Alastor's more accepting of the treatment. There's an odd back and forth where Alastor simultaneously despises showing any form of weakness but craves his mother's protection. It's definitely strange for the other hotel residents to witness Alastor kind of swinging back and forth from seemingly acting like a real child to being his usual smarmy self. Angel teases him playfully about being a mamma's boy and has to leap out the nearest window to avoid the shadow poppets threatening to rip all his fur out.

[on-partiality]

The best of wives and best of women ♥︎★~

[montaguespades]

Petition to make every day Narcissistic Abuse Awareness Day, since the narcissists have, as expected, gotten so mad that it's a singular day focused on painting them in an honest light, that they're trying to establish their own the day after.

I don't even have to open my browser to know that there's definitely already a Cluster B awareness day that doesn't take place this month.

Again, super on-brand narcissistic behavior, and a fascinating hivemind to witness. An AI-generated list of narcissistic behaviors would tell anyone with critical thinking skills that this is textbook, but self-reflection isn't really their strong suite, is it?

Keep on providing us with reciepts, it's way funnier to watch narcissists meticulously write their own confessions than it is retraumatizing these days.

The revolution will not spare abusers, I'd get on the right side of history if I were you.

[rmsstevielol]

i just read the laurens/hamilton letter to my mother without telling her who it was from and who it was too, these were her exact words..

“it’s giving an impression of close friendship with an underlining romance tone as if they were crossing swords yk🤗” ….i mean is she wrong??

[childofsapph0]

i think national service is a great idea. i can be trusted with a gun, give me a gun sunak i think i should have a gun, GIVE ME A GUN SUNAK YOU COWARD

[even-disco-baby]

SOLA — Her Innocence, Sola— the anti-innocence— turns to face you. In the distance, you hear the tattoo of propellers, turning, sucking all the air. A strong wind whips her long, dark hair around her face. Her simple black gown billows behind her. The same gown she wore the day she resigned.

She has your eyes.

“Hi, Kim,” she says simply. “You don’t look well.”

PAIN THRESHOLD — Her voice is so familiar, and yet the moment she stops speaking, you cannot recall its sound, no matter how hard you try. And you have tried. Innumerable times.

AUTHORITY — What makes her think she would even *know* the difference between you looking well or unwell? She’s being presumptuous. She doesn’t even know you.

INLAND EMPIRE — She never will.

“I’m doing great, actually. Never been better.”

“Hey, I’m trying my best.”

“I’m *not* well. I’m so fucking unwell. I can’t take it anymore. Please, help me…”

“I’ll live.”

SOLA — “Hm…” She smiles apologetically. “Well, that’s all we can really ask for anymore, isn’t it?”

EMPATHY — She wishes more than anything that this was not the case. That you could ask for the world and have it.

RHETORIC — She tried to give it to you, and this is how you repay her? You’re gonna be in *deep* shit trying to explain that insignia you stitched onto her jacket.

“Um, about the jacket. It’s not what it… well, no, it *is* what it looks like. But I don’t— it’s— there’s nuance.”

“Is that really all you have to say to me?”

“I don’t know what to say to you.”

“Where are you going?”

SOLA — Her Innocence looks away from you, toward the wind. “Away,” she says, her voice distant and strange. “Yes… I’m stepping down, you see. The world doesn’t need me. It never needed me, really. It’s best for humanity to think for itself. No… it already *does* think for itself.”

She turns back to you with a small smile. The thought brings her peace.

PAIN THRESHOLD — But what does it bring *you?* She’s leaving you forever. Abandoning you for lofty ideals.

AUTHORITY — Let her go. Let her see how little you care. Don’t give her any satisfaction.

HALF LIGHT — Stop her. You won’t be able to live without her.

VOLITION — You have already lived almost all your life without her. You don’t need her. You have *never* needed her.

“What if the world *does* need you? Who are you to make that decision for the entire world?”

“Fine. Go. It’s none of my business.”

“So you’re just going to leave me behind again.”

“Please, don’t go. *I* need you.”

SOLA — “What else is an Innocence appointed to do?” Her smile turns wry. “You see? This is why I’m stepping down.”

Distant propellers turn and turn in endless circles. She glances toward them.

YOU — “Fine. Go. It’s none of my business.”

SOLA — “I suppose not.” Her voice and her face betray nothing. No sign of remorse.

YOU — “So you’re just going to leave me behind again.”

SOLA — “That was never my intention,” she says softly. “Surely you know that.”

INLAND EMPIRE — You will never truly know. No one will.

SOLA — She stares out at the horizon through the tendrils of hair that almost seem to threaten to swallow her. Her expression is strange and ambiguous, shifting every time you try and look directly at it.

YOU — “Please, don’t go. *I* need you.”

SOLA — She looks at you, and her eyes are full of what might be genuine sadness. But they could also be full of anything else.

“Oh, Kim… You must make do with what you have. I don’t know what else you want me to say…”

RHETORIC — What?! There are a million other things she could say! Forty-one years worth of possibilities! She could say *anything!* Anything at all… Even if she’d only left you a single word, it would be better than this…

VOLITION — It’s pointless to wish. Please, no more of this. It’s too sad.

“You could say that you’re sorry.”

“Say that I turned out all right.”

“Say that you’re proud of me. That you love me.”

SOLA — “Then I’m sorry.” She closes her eyes. “It was terrible of us to leave you alone.”

Her voice is utterly calm and emotionless.

PAIN THRESHOLD — No… Wrong, all wrong…

YOU — “Say that I turned out all right.”

SOLA — “You’re a good man despite it all. That is all I ever hoped for you.”

Again, there is no warmth to her words. No conviction.

VOLITION — Lieutenant… Please, don’t do this to yourself.

YOU — “Say that you’re proud of me. That you love me.”

SOLA — “I’m so proud of you and everything you’ve accomplished. You wear that jacket well.”

Her eyes have nothing behind them. A pair of two millimeter holes in the world.

“I love you.”

PAIN THRESHOLD — Your lungs seem to constrict at her words. Your chest hurts more than it’s ever hurt. This wind is hard to breathe in.

YOU — “No! Don’t you fucking get it?! You don’t love me!”

SOLA — “Then I don’t love you.”

YOU — “You should be *ashamed* of me!”

SOLA — “Then I am ashamed.”

YOU — “I betrayed you! I betrayed everything you stood for! I’m a fucking cop!”

SOLA — “Then I am betrayed.”

She proclaims it as dispassionately as she proclaimed her love.

YOU — “For god’s sake, *say something real!*”

SOLA — She just looks at you. The propellers keep on turning.

DRAMA — She can’t speak for herself, sire…

LOGIC — Of course she can’t. Of course…

PAIN THRESHOLD — Your lungs feel like they could collapse. Empty, crumpled, dark. Hot tears prick your eyes for the first time in what feels like a long time.

SOLA — “Do you understand now?” she asks gently.

LOGIC — She cannot speak for herself because you do not know what she would say.

There are many memories that you have been slowly recovering, little by little. Your mother will never be one of them. Her, the revolution, the aerostatic brigade— they all died before you could even comprehend loss.

AUTHORITY — You did not become a detective so that you could find your lost mother. You became a police officer because you did not want to end up like her.

VOLITION — She can neither forgive you, nor condemn you. She is dead, Lieutenant. She can only be what you make her.

RHETORIC — You’re asking your own echo for answers…

SOLA — “Humanity must think for itself,” she says again, turning again toward the wind. “What point is there in asking me where to go from here? I’m a failure. We all failed…”

RHETORIC — The revolutionaries failed their children, and the children are failing their parents, and all of them are dying, dying, dead… What’s the point in any of this anymore? I cannot argue in favor of any of it.

VOLITION — There is a point. There is a way forward. But you won’t find it here, Lieutenant.

“I hate you. You made me everything I am and then you just *left.*”

“I miss you… How is it even possible to miss someone you never met? It’s like someone ripped a part of me out and all I can do is bleed.”

“I don’t know what I am. I need you to tell me what I am.”

SOLA — One last time, she turns back to you. She slowly bridges the gap between you and reaches out a hand to cup your cheek. Her fingers feel like your own.

“You are whatever kind of animal you choose to be,” she says, so quietly that you don’t know how you can hear it over the distant roar of engines. “I cannot make that choice for you.”

EMPATHY — She died hoping that you would grow up with the freedom to choose to be whatever you wanted. Instead, the world that raised you hardly let you dare to want anything.

VOLITION — But you can still make a choice. Humanity can still think for itself.

[unholy-cvlt]

RIDE THE SKY

Spinning like an eagle with a bloody broken smile

Trespass so rapidly, we can go the extra mile

Live, I'm gonna fly high

I'm gonna live fast

I'm gonna ride the sky, yeah

With a rebel yell and electric eye straight outta hell

I'm livin' by the sword, little mama

I'm runnin' with the wind, little mama

I'm gonna fly high

I'm gonna live fast

I'm gonna ride the sky, yeah

Live, I'm gonna fly high

I'm gonna live fast

I'm gonna ride the sky, yeah

[g00se-ars0nist]

nigel WANTS christian

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

I passed a very agitated night; my mother, returning to the house, had spoken to my father of the conversation she had just had with M. Le Bas; I admit to my shame that, from a room next to theirs, I heard their conversation. My father seemed happy; but my mother still wanted to marry off my sisters before me. Finally, I heard my father call our good friend: he was so good that we loved him better than a brother. My father informed him of the subject of the conversation and told him: “My friend, it’s our Élisabeth, our scatterbrain, that M. Le Bas is asking us in marriage.” – “I congratulate you on it,” he replied, “so much the better. Élisabeth will be happy; my dear friend, don’t hesitate for a moment: Le Bas is the worthiest of men by all accounts; he is a good son, a good friend, a good citizen, a man of talent; he’s a distinguished lawyer.” That good Maximilien seemed happy to see me asked in marriage by his compatriot and pleaded in our favor with my parents; he added: “This union will, I believe, make for Élisabeth’s happiness; they are in love; they will be happy together.” He praised me and my good friend; my mother made a few more objections on my distractedness; but our friend assured her that I would be a good wife and a good housekeeper. It was almost one in the morning when he retired to his room, wishing my father and mother a good night. I then heard my father say: “There is no reason to hesitate after the way Robespierre has just praised his friend.” Our good mother loved her children equally; she feared, in marrying her youngest daughter first, to harm the eldest; my father thought otherwise and said: “If they are in love, must we delay their happiness! No, wife, we must put prejudice aside and consent to this union.” My good mother appeared disarmed then and said to my father: “Well then! My friend, until tomorrow; he will come to ask for your consent.” I heard no more speaking and went to bed, but quite sadly, for I feared that some difficulty would arise. I did not sleep much, and that night seemed very long to me; I awoke before daybreak. At nine o’clock precisely I saw my friend arrive. God! How my heart pounded! I was at that moment ironing in the dining room. He passed close to me and said, taking my hand and holding it tenderly: “Courage, my friend!” He entered the salon where my father awaited him. I heard only these words: “You know, citizen, what brings me the pleasure of seeing you. You will have been told of my wish to enter your family; you know that the one I love is the last of your daughters; if not for a long illness from which I have just recovered, I would have asked you sooner. Having had the occasion to meet your daughter several times, I believed from my observation that she understood and shared my sentiments; but, having fallen ill, I could no longer see her. Judge of what I must have suffered during almost two months of absence.” After a rather long conversation, the rest of which I did not hear, my father called me to him and said to me severely that because of my lack of confidence in my mother, he would never consent to my marriage; he gave me a long lecture until I was sobbing. At last, my beloved came to me and told me not to make myself ill, to console myself, that my good father would pardon me and that my dear parents had consented to our union. Judge my happiness! I could not believe it; my friend was so good, so sweet-tempered, so caressing, that my father told him: “Well then, I want to make for my daughter’s happiness; I give her to you with all my heart: she’s a good little girl; she will make you happy, I hope.” What joy for my friend! We ran to embrace my father and my good mother, who cried with tender feeling. The good Robespierre came to share our happiness; that good friend said to me: “Be happy, Babet, you deserve it; you are made for each other.” Then my father, Robespierre, Le Bas and my mother took chocolate together while I returned to my work; the conversation lasted until after eleven o’clock.

Memoirs of Élisabeth Le Bas (1843)

Wow, you’re a real jerk here, Maurice.

[annarexcouture]

[misanaco]

what made the world cruel, if my mother made me kind?

maybe the first thing i reeked of was trees; and i throw up because i can see blood at a distance. i throw up at my own origin. to be a human you are to resemble violence, but it's unfair how the sky is still blue, and how a birth can also swallow you up. how we bury our dead into the soil that we love, and maybe we would abandon our homes to taste bullets in our mouth.

maybe to be kind, you must first be a martyr, and you have to survive this cruelty or die in it. maybe to be kind you must first go to war with your mother and tell her to be a little less kind, because no matter how many times you dig your dead up, the sky would always, always be blue.

how can we repay our mothers if not by being kind. what is left after the war, they ask?

and your voice can only be heard by a certain number of soldiers. liberation then, is the last one. what is left after the war, they ask? we should have told our mothers the world is a cruel, cruel place.

but kindness is abandoned love. and kindness is the house with no survivors.

maybe i also resent my mother a little because i want to see a kind world. and heaven is not kind either. because kindness stems in violence. or maybe i am wrong. maybe our mothers know the most out of cruelty. maybe we love the life inside of us because it reeks of trees. and we are all just protecting our mothers. and the land.

how many organs do i eat to build a kind world? what does a kind world look like, mother, because you have been through so much ; but the world is cruel.

[fantazulio]

it's the owl house's fourth anniversary today, so I thought I'd dump a bunch of logoswaps I made over the past month or so