#since Peter is half german half british

[incorrect-maraudersaandco-quotes]

Dorcas: How do I look?

Marlene: Tu eres magnífica.

Dorcas:

James: Mals, that spanish

Marlene, blushing: Du bist großartig

Peter: German, not even close.

Marlene: Fuck off!

James: and we are back to english!

Dorcas: Wait, how many languages you know?

Marlene: four, english, german, spanish and tagalog.

Dorcas: oh [starts mentally preparing the wedding venue]

[locution-youngster-enjoyer]

One headcanon for pretty much every wordgirl villain

Amazing Rope Guy's birthday is April 1st

The reason BLHG has a.. big left hand is because he has the condition Hemihyperplasia (which from what i've seen causes a part of a person's body to be larger than the other. Pls correct me if this is wrong, i am not familiar with the condition)

Brent is multilingual (since Chuck is his half brother, Brent's father spoke spanish, which inspired Brent to learn more languages)

Captain Tangent binge watches pirate movies in his spare time (E.g: Peter Pan, Treasure Island, Pirates of the Caribbean, etc)

Chuck has a video game collection that he's very proud of. It's full of older, retro games, and he also owns all the consoles to go with them.

Glen owns a body pillow, im not specifying of who. That's up for interpretation.

You know how Dr Two Brains is based on the myth that mice like cheese? In reality, mice prefer grains and berries. I'd think it would be funny if in a situation where he was forced to exclusively eat berries and grains, it'd make him ill (similar to how cheese really affects mice).

Eileen's last name is 'Rucker,' which is a German last name meaning 'thief' or 'Greedy'

Maria and Eileen are the absolute bestest of friends, with Eileen treating Maria like a little pet.

Granny May used to do ballet when she was younger, which gave her some of the agility she now has.

I couldn't think of a headcanon for Guy Rich specifically, but his brother's name is Duke.

Hal and Granny May went to the same school when they were young. They do not like each other at all.

Invisi-bill is simultaneously the worst and the best at playing Hide and Seek. He can just go invisible to hide, but is usually way too fidgety to stay in one spot permanently.

Lady Redundant Woman is a heavy sleeper. She also snores really loudly

Leslie is actually a mixed martial artist, but generally prefers Karate

Miss Power is fully capable of blinking, but is also capable of licking her eyeballs just to freak people out. She thinks its funny

Mr Big is really fond of 80s music because it reminds him of his band

Ms Question didn't realize this immediately about her powers, but she can produce electricity. If you touch her bare skin, she can accidentally shock both you and her. She can also stick magnets to herself.

Nocan.... ok im gonna be completely honest, i can't think of anything for this guy.

Reason and Rhyme have a secret handshake. Rhyme is the one who made it, and Reason messes it up everytime they try to do it

Royal Dandy calls Dave dad :) (but in a british way so probably something stupid(/j) like papa)

Seymour is insanely good at poker. He's perfectly capable of playing any version of it, but he's also really good at cheating at it. He hides cards in his sleeve and in his shirt and then swaps them out for whatever hand he has.

While it's not obvious, the Butcher likes jewelry. He doesn't wear it much, but you'll always find a ring or two and earrings in his house. (Reginald x Butcher shippers, do with this as you will)

The Coach was actually a highly successful man before trying to trick the Whammer. Most people don't realize that he went to really prestigious schools when he was younger.

The Learnerer's real name is Alfred, in reference to his voice actor

The Whammer was an actual pro-wrestler at one point, but was forced to stop because 'whams' aren't a legal move in the wrestling world.

Timmy Tim-Bo is the Coach's nephew

Tobey will play little puzzle games when not building robots (Crossword, Sudoku, etc)

Victoria Best tries to sneak into the villain convention, but usually gets caught pretty quickly.

[ultimate-spiderman-stuff]

Hi, can I ask you to share some of your headcanons about Web Warriours? (Also thanks for posting about them)

All good!

The reason that Scarlet Spider hates water is because Ock used it to torture him a lot.

Miles has to go back to normal school after graduating from the academy.

Peter is super ticklish.

Flash ends up good friends with Monkey Joe.

Cho loves milkshakes but they make him feel sick.

On national sign language day Miles and Ben teach the others sign language.

Arnim Zola taught Ben German and HYDRA taught him Russian,Spanish as well as British sign language.

Once Cho and Peter got in a argument about Cho's hight, so he left the room then came back with a with a stool so that he could look down on Peter.

Peter goes into a half hibernation in Winter and it causes him to eat a heap the week before.

Since Ben is made out of liquid (Synthezoid fluid) he starts to freeze in cold weather.

Miles is super good at art.

[newstfionline]

Tuesday, December 5, 2023

It’s the prices (NYT) The United States spends an average of about $13,000 per person every year on health care. No other country comes close to spending so much. The runner-up, Germany, spends about $7,400 per person. What do Americans get for all this spending? Our health care system does tend to produce more innovation than many others. But much of the spending does little to improve people’s lives. Despite all our spending, the U.S. has the lowest life expectancy of any high-income country, at 79.3 years. Twenty years ago, a group of researchers—Gerard Anderson, Uwe Reinhardt, Peter Hussey and Varduhi Petrosyan—published an academic paper that tried to solve the mystery. The title told the story: “It’s the prices, stupid.” The main reason that U.S. health spending is so high is not that Americans are sicker than people elsewhere or are heavier users of medical care (although both those factors play a role). The main reason is that almost every form of care in the U.S. costs more: doctor’s visits, hospital stays, drug prescriptions, surgeries and more. The American health care system maximizes the profits of health care companies at the expense of families’ budgets.

Nicaragua takes on Miss Universe (Washington Post) As Nicaragua has marched steadily toward dictatorship in recent years, its government has attacked opposition politicians, the Catholic Church, journalists and universities. Now it’s going after the beauty queens. Just when authorities appeared to have squelched all forms of dissent, a willowy 23-year-old Nicaraguan, Sheynnis Palacios, won the Miss Universe pageant on Nov. 18. People poured into the streets of the Central American country in jubilation. The government initially praised the victory—then photos emerged of Palacios taking part in mass anti-government protests in 2018, which were eventually crushed by security forces. The government struck back by attacking the country’s Miss Universe franchise, accusing the family that runs it of “conspiring against the nation.”

UK needs new plan to reverse hit to living standards, researchers say (Reuters) Britain needs a new economic strategy to reverse 15 years of falling living standards and worsening inequality, a leading think tank and an academic research centre said on Monday. British productivity growth has been half that of other rich economies, costing workers an average of 10,700 pounds ($13,577) a year in lost pay, the Resolution Foundation and the London School of Economics’ Centre for Economic Performance said.

Ukrainians in Germany Weigh Wrenching Choice: Stay or Go Home (NYT) Since fleeing Ukraine with her daughter, Iryna Khomich has made a home of a tiny space in a village of prefabricated units in southwestern Germany. A full tour of its single room takes only a few moments: an iron bunk bed and a wardrobe, shoes scattered near the door, clothes drying on radiators. On one recent afternoon, her cat, Dimka, walked in and out, while her daughter, Sofiia, 8, read a German textbook at a desk. But like other displaced Ukrainians who fled west to wait out the war against Russia, Ms. Khomich, 37, lives each day wrestling with an agonizing choice: Should she return home to Ukraine, where the fighting drags on interminably, or put down roots in Germany, effectively turning a temporary separation into something more lasting? It is a cruel dilemma faced by countless Ukrainian refugees scattered across Europe as the war nears the end of its second year, one that pits a longing for family and a sense of shared duty to rebuild their shattered country against the realization that the death and destruction are unlikely to end anytime soon. And they are debating it in places like Freiburg, a city nestled on the edge of the Black Forest close to the French border that has offered open arms, an extensive social safety net and the attractive promise of a life without war. “The heart says go back,” Ms. Khomich said. “But I want the best future for my daughter.”

Temperatures in Siberia dip to minus 50 Celsius as record snow blankets Moscow (Reuters) Temperatures in parts of Siberia plummeted to minus 50 degrees Celsius (minus 58 degrees Fahrenheit) while blizzards blanketed Moscow in record snowfall and disrupted flights as winter weather swept across Russia. In the Sakha Republic, located in the northeastern part of Siberia and home to Yakutsk, one of the world’s coldest cities, temperatures fell below minus 50 C, according to the region’s weather stations. An abnormally early cold snap in Sakha pushed temperatures to even lower than minus 50 C in several areas of Sakha, a vast region just a little smaller than India.

India’s mission to clean the Ganges (Wired) The Ganges River in India supplies water to over 600 million people, and every inch of the waterway is sacred to the Hindu religion—so holy, in fact that many Hindus drink or bathe in its waters. Unfortunately, the Ganges is also one of the most polluted major rivers on our planet, playing host to tons of industrial waste, agricultural runoff, and too much human waste to quantify. India’s government has, of course, taken a variety of different measures to clean up the holy river. Between 2014 (when Prime Minister Narendra Modi came into power) and 2019, the government has provided Indians with 110 million toilets, providing sanitation services to over half a billion people nationwide. At the same time, the government has rolled out the Namami Gange (“Obeisance to the Ganges”), spending $3.77 billion to clean up the river by setting up over 170 new sanitation plants and 5,211 kilometers of sewage lines nationwide. However, experts say that all that government spending isn't making much of a dent in the Ganges’ grime. The river is still filled with islands of plastic waste, and parts of the Ganges contain over 20 times the government-recommended limits for fecal coliform and fecal streptococci bacteria.

China's military: US Navy ship 'illegally' entered territorial waters (Reuters) China's military on Monday said a U.S. Navy ship illegally entered waters adjacent to the Second Thomas Shoal, a disputed South China Sea atoll that has recently seen several maritime confrontations. "The U.S. seriously undermined regional peace and stability," a spokesperson for China's Southern Theater of Operations said in a statement, adding that the U.S. disrupted the South China Sea and violated China's sovereignty. The U.S. Navy said the USS Gabrielle Giffords, an Independence-class littoral combat ship, was conducting routine operations in international waters in the South China Sea, consistent with international law. The Second Thomas Shoal lies in the Philippines' exclusive economic zone, according to an United Nations tribunal ruling in 2016. The Chinese military spokesperson said the U.S. ship was monitored and followed, and that China's "troops in the theater are on high alert at all times to resolutely defend national sovereignty".

Islamic State claims deadly blast at Catholic Mass in the Philippines (Washington Post) The Islamic State claimed responsibility Sunday for an explosion in the southern Philippines that killed at least four people, an attack President Ferdinand Marcos Jr. had blamed on “foreign terrorists.” The blast targeted a Catholic Mass inside a gymnasium at Mindanao State University in the majority-Muslim city of Marawi, some 500 miles south of the capital, Manila. More than 40 others were wounded in the explosion, the Philippine Star newspaper reported. The Islamic State announced on Telegram that its members detonated the device that caused the explosion, news agencies reported. The island of Mindanao in the southern Philippines, which includes a Muslim-majority autonomous region, has historically been racked by armed conflict, and insurgent groups remain active in some areas.

'Wounded child, no surviving family': The pain of Gaza’s orphans (BBC) Medics working in the Gaza Strip are using a specific phrase to describe a particular kind of war victim. “There’s an acronym that’s unique to the Gaza Strip, it’s WCNSF—wounded child, no surviving family—and it’s not used infrequently,” Dr Tanya Haj-Hassan who works with Doctors Without Borders told BBC News. The expression captures the horror of the situation for many Gazan children. Their lives change in a second—their parents, siblings and grandparents are killed, and nothing is the same ever again. Ahmed Shabat is one of those children who was described as a wounded child, with no surviving family, when he arrived injured and crying at the Indonesian Hospital in northern Gaza. The three-year-old survived an air strike on his home in Beit Hanoun, in mid-November. But his father, mother and older brother were killed. Miraculously, at the time he had only minor injuries. Later, an uncle was found, who decided to look after them, along with his own family. He initially took them to Sheikh Radwan city but said they left after “Ahmed was hit by glass fragments” from an explosion. They then went to Nuseirat camp to stay in a UN-affiliated school. But even in their new location, they were hit again. “I ran out of the school’s door and saw Ahmed in front of me on the ground, both legs gone. He was crawling towards me, opening his arms, seeking help.” “He wanted to be many things,” his uncle said sadly. “When we went out together to attend football matches, he said he wished to become a famous football player.”

Israel, Expanding Offensive, Tells More Gazans to Evacuate (NYT) Amid a barrage of airstrikes, Israel sharply expanded its evacuation orders in the Gaza Strip on Sunday in preparation for an expected ground invasion in the southern part of the territory. The new orders, coming three days after the collapse of a weeklong truce, sowed confusion and fear among Gaza residents, some of whom have already been displaced at least once before. Images from Gaza on Sunday showed plumes of dark smoke rising above a rubble-covered landscape and bloodied children wailing in dust-covered hospital wards. Mourners stood beside rows of bodies wrapped in white sheets. The Israeli military said over the weekend that it had approved plans for a larger ground invasion. Israeli forces have already taken control of large parts in and around Gaza City following a ground invasion from the north. The Times of Israel quoted Israeli officials saying on Sunday that the Israeli military had launched 10,000 airstrikes since the initial ground invasion began.

Who will run Gaza after the war? No good options (Washington Post) The Israelis say they don’t want the job. Arab nations are resisting. Palestinian Authority President Mahmoud Abbas might volunteer, but the Palestinian people probably don’t want him. As the Biden administration begins to plan for “the day after” in Gaza—confronting problematic questions such as who runs the territory once the shooting stops, how it gets rebuilt and, potentially, how it eventually becomes a part of an independent Palestinian state—the stakeholders face a host of unattractive options. Following the Oct. 7 Hamas attack, Israel vowed to destroy the group as both a military and governing entity. But after more than 15 years in power in Gaza, Hamas and its supporters are deeply embedded in every sector of society—not only in the government ministries they run, but in charities, courts, mosques, sport teams, jails, municipalities and youth groups.

After Watching 10 Migrants Die at Sea, He Now Pleads: ‘Stay’ (NYT) Crowded together with 90 other migrants on a rickety fishing vessel bound for Spain, Moustapha Diouf watched 10 of them die, one by one, from heat and exhaustion. Five were friends. It was in that macabre moment 17 years ago, Mr. Diouf said, that he vowed to do everything in his power to stop others from making the choice he had and enduring the same fate: He would make it his mission to dissuade his fellow Senegalese from trying to reach Europe and drowning or dying in myriad other ways on the perilous journey. “If we don’t do anything, we become accomplices in their deaths,” said Mr. Diouf, 54. “I will fight every day to stop young people from leaving.” Mr. Diouf was among the lucky ones: He made it to the Canary Islands alive. But the whole experience was dreadful, he said. He was imprisoned and deported to Senegal. Upon his return, together with two other repatriates, he set up his nonprofit, known as AJRAP, or the Association of Young Repatriates, whose mission is persuading Senegal’s youth to stay. But he is painfully aware of his limitations. He does not have the capacity to offer anyone a job, and most choose to migrate anyway.

[veetyuh]

Another really strong relationship in the polycule, outside the complicated NornScotIre web, is probably EngSea. Especially from a historical perspective, good fucking god the amount that England is literally obsessed with a tiny fort is incomprehensible. Pretty much a Belarus-Russia situation, except Peter actually reciprocates.

The first and most obvious thing is power dynamics. Peter is 18, he's just reaching adulthood, he's super isolated with few social skills, facing his mortality as that 100 year expiration date ticks closer. He's ungodly old for a micronation (81!), too young for a "real" nation, and he's the UK brother everyone forgets. He's a black sheep. He's alone. And he's been fighting for his life since day one, left by his older brothers to fend for himself.

Arthur gave this kid his identical trauma. But because of what Peter is -- a fort made to protect Arthur at all costs -- he didn't develop npd or bpd like Arthur. He internalized it, and tied his self-worth to it. Arthur marooned him at sea for a decade. Well, it must be because Peter didn't fight hard enough! He should have killed more Nazis, maybe then Arthur would love him -- never mind that it was a horrible, unfortunate mistake that no action of his could have prevented.

And so Arthur's love and attention is directly tied to Peter's self-esteem. That's only reinforced by Peter's fort instincts; being made to serve and protect him, naturally, his brain is hard-wired to revolve around him. So when they do get together, it's mostly Peter fretting over him 24/7.

Their history of fighting is so fucking painful and it's 100% Arthur going full yandere mode. He thought Peter died after his sailors were withdrawn, and learning that he was not only alive, but stolen away from him and in the hands of a fucking lunatic? He had to "rescue" him at all costs. Bomb threats to scare them out, trying to steal it while Prince Roy was gone by sending a boat literally codenamed Big Brother, trying to starve them out by making Roy go through customs and ruining their supplies. One outright failed bombing attempt. Offers to buy it. Then trying to fight them in the court system and failing. A significant part of the British government was focused on the reacquisition of that fucking fort. I cannot stress the sheer amount of effort focused around a pair of concrete pants in the ocean. It's like Arthur was having a complete meltdown.

Of course, they're quite friendly now, so I interpret that as Arthur and Peter having reconciled. And with those two, they get super close at an unnaturally fast pace. Because?? They're the same.

But another thing that makes the bond so strong so quickly is that Peter is genuinely always on Arthur's side, in everything that matters. He can't help but be. So, even though Peter falls head over heels and enthusiastically consents, it's inherently dubcon; so much of his love and admiration comes from basic instinct to serve his country, and it's impossible to tell the ratio of instinct to earned love. But that also makes the relationship more stable in a fucked-up way, because Arthur knows he can trust him at a deep, base level. And to someone as unstable as Arthur, having that stability is very important.

Culturally, they're identical. Peter is English. So now, Arthur isn't an outlier as a Germanic in a family of Celts. And

Peter is taking Arthur's place as the youngest. Both have abandonment trauma, so they're co-dependent and need each other very close. Similar tastes, with playful bickering over the smallest of differences. Same sense of humor, so their quips are always well-received. Fuck, they even look alike.

And so he values the relationship so much that he gets more than a little unreasonable. Peter is practically half-German after many years of German immigration -- at one point about half of all Sealanders were German or Austrian. He has all these little habits he picked up, speaks the language, and looks up to Ludwig, the same man he was built to kill. Does that imply Peter can overcome his instincts to some extent? Does that mean he might betray Arthur? And Peter is awfully economically close to Spain, which stirs up old feelings about fighting over colonies. So Arthur gets possessive. Some of the old yandere tendencies between them come out. Except now, Peter isn't being kept from Arthur, but being kept from his friends. Anyone who might "steal" him. No, he is English property and Arthur will make damn sure he never leaves him. Isolating him by spending a ton of time with him, because Peter will always drop whatever he's doing or planning if only Arthur asks.

But it isn't all fucked-up angst. Arthur helps Peter overcome his lingering cptsd, helps him regulate his drinking, and overall improves his quality of life. Peter gets Arthur to open up and be a bit more authentic around himself and others -- albeit, by hyping him up and stroking his ego, which Arthur is prone to seeking because of the npd. Outwardly, they both seem so good, they're smiling more and work so well together, that it's hard for outsiders to see the more unhealthy dynamics that are kind of the foundation of the relationship.

With sexual dynamics the sky is the limit, simply because Peter will do whatever Arthur wants. Submissive, dominant? Service top? Power bottom? Peter is certainly more skilled in some areas than others, but he will break himself to fit into whatever mold Arthur casts for him. Whatever Arthur wishes, he will receive.

Overall the dual healthiness and unhealthiness of the relationship just fascinates me. And the sheer level of co-dependence puts them firmly in the do not separate category, along with WalesEng and NornScot.

[poppinisperfection]

Peter Maximoff x Reader // Hello, Monica // WandaVision // Part 2

Part 1

Post Dark Phoenix X-Men & WandaVision fanfiction. FemReader and Peter Maximoff dating when he suddenly disappears.

Xavier returns and a plan is formed.

Word Count: 1892

Warnings: Emotional distress, mentions of violence, blood, gun wounds etc.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

(Y/n) sat by the screen, her vision blurring and bags forming under her eyes. The analog clock ticked with each second as Hank fiddled around with some tech, and the others sat on the floor half asleep. They had eventually contacted Xavier, and he promised to travel back to New York as fast as possible. That was hours ago, and now it was the middle of the night.

There was nothing they could do, even discussion led to nowhere; nothing about the situation made sense. Metal crashed on the floor, causing Scott to Jolt awake and Kurt to bamf in surprise as Professor McCoy gave a frustrated grunt at his clumsiness. The disturbance didn't phase (Y/n) though, as she read the line for the thousandth time,

"Please stand by."

She was somewhere between breaking into tears and punching every wall she saw. In short, (Y/n) was desperate. After hours of thinking, she finally allowed her eyes to close for longer than a short blink. Her mind was crashing around like a restless ocean, and she found herself drowning inside endless possibilities. But at the centre of it all was his face, his smile, his voice... him.

Suddenly the doors opened with a whoosh, and (Y/n) turned her attention towards whoever was entering the labs. A determined looking man wheeled in, locking with (Y/n)'s blood-shot eyes. An alabaster-haired, umber-skinned, and confident woman followed him; shooting a look of concern towards the group.

"Xavier-" Hank exclaimed with some relief at the Professor's appearance. The bald man gave a small hum in response, but he continued to near (Y/n) instead of making conversation. He placed a hand out and gave her a kind look.

"May I?" he crooned in his English accent, as the (h/c) lady nodded and placed her head forward. Closing his eyes and placing two fingers on her temple, and another on his own - Xavier began to see the whole story, without anyone saying a single word. After a few seconds, his pulled back and gave a sharp sigh.

"(Y/n), I am so sorry." the wise man's voice faltered after feeling the gut-wrenching fear that swept through her mind. The worried girl said nothing, but just tried to keep the strength on her face instead of breaking down into tears. "You've got a location?" Xavier turned to the beastly professor, trying to solve the mystery.

"Sort of- I mean, it's unbelievable Charles." he grabbed some pages and handed them to his colleague, "It's like he's traveled to another universe; I've only heard about theories of multiverses, but this- this is more evidence than anything I've ever read..." Hank rambled on, as even Charles Xavier- telepathic mastermind- look on in shock.

Before anyone could say anything, the old computer screen buzzed and the image shifted. (Y/n)'s tired eyes widened as she sat on the edge of her seat. Even Kurt teleported closer in an effort to not miss a second of the developing situation. A lead guitar began to play, and the opening credits rolled...

The group we're unsure if it was the same show, as it looked completely different in style. But their doubts were cleared when that same woman showed up, slamming the door using some sort of powers.

"She's a mutant..." (Y/n) mumbled, as the others looked on in confusion. The opening continued to play on as more characters were shown - most of which they had never seen before. Then finally, a speedy friend appeared.

"As himself?" Scott added, reading the credits. (Y/n) stared at the title and mentally recorded it.

"It's like they're a family." Kurt noticed as Peter integrated himself so naturally with them. The pair of young boys started to monologue about halloween.

"Halloween? This just gets more and more confusing." Scott rubbed his forehead in bewilderment. Ororo stood beside them, barely comprehending what she was watching. She had previously offered to look after the students while the situation was being investigated, and that lost time had undoubtedly caused her to miss a lot of information.

"So Pete's on TV?" Storm questioned in a baffled tone. The silver haired fellow lay on a couch as the twin boys discussed him, and they referred to him as their uncle. "Okay, somebody needs to expla-" she began, but was cut off as Xavier placed a finger to his temple and transferred the information she had missed. Ororo gave a soft gasp, but ultimately was relieved to be filled in. Since the professor had learned about the situation from (Y/n), some of the grief in her mind was passed to Storm; so the loyal mutant placed a caring hand on her friend's shoulder in comfort.

Xavier chatted behind the group of young mutants who watched the show play out.

"She suggested that maybe Kurt could go in, I told her-" Hank whispered to his friend.

"That would be dangerous..." Charles finished his thought, "But dangerous doesn't mean impossible." the telepath looked towards the blue teleporter who stared at the computer screen.

"You can't be serious, Charles." Hank furrowed his thick brows and stared in disbelief.

"Kurt, (Y/n)," the professor called out, catching the pair's attention,

"Come with me."

-------

The small group trailed down the metallic hallway and approached the familiar doors to Cerebro. (Y/n) looked back at the room they had left, still hearing the distant sounds from the broadcast. Her mind travelled to what she was missing; was Peter still okay?

The circular door released and slid open, and the group followed Xavier's lead towards the machine at the end of the walkway. Kurt's tail wrapped around his leg in fear, as he fiddled nervously with his hands. Placing the silver helmet over his head, Charles nodded for the intellectual beast to flip the switch. Immediately, the room lit up and images of people flashed around. A million conversations ran through the professor's mind, but he was only searching for one person.

"Turn it up." Xavier requested as his eyebrows knit together in concentration. Reluctantly, Hank did as he said. Soon the voices faded and a only a muffled conversation echoed through the large room. "The whole way, Hank." the british man added.

"Charles that's too mu-"

"Do it!" Xavier demanded his face contorting with the amplification. (Y/n) gave a soft gasp as the voice grew clearer.

"I think mom and dad would've loved it."

Peter's words reverberated, as tears formed in (Y/n)'s eyes. Despite Cerebro being on full power, the only thing that Xavier could access was the detached audio of the mind he was connected to.

"Where were you hiding these kids up til now? I assume they were sleeping peacefully in their beds."

"Can you speak to him Charles?" Hank asked.

"Something's... Something's not right... It's too powerful to see..." Xavier stuttered out, trying not to loose his connection. Peter's voice continued, as the group wondered to who and what he was talking about.

"I'm not some stranger and I'm not your husband, you can talk to me."

"There's something... dark... clouding his mind." the powerful telepath explained, "but he's still in there, somewhere." he added. The group began to notice a purple hue clouding the entire room. The clearer Peter's disembodied voice became, the more the mysterious smoke descended. Kurt and (Y/n) stood back slightly, scared of what it could mean.

"Don't sweat it sis, it's not like your dead husband can die twice."

The sentence rang through their ears, before the whole room erupted in a blast of ruby red energy. It was exactly like the force that 'Wanda' had used earlier. Energy passed through the mutants, as images of terror entered their minds. Fragments of memories flashed; glowing stones, broken families, and piles of ashes.

Xavier groaned with pain, but he kept the connection despite the immense power that surged through his mind. (Y/n) grasped her head and panted heavily. The image of a young man lying cold, bleeding through bullet wounds, on a pile of rubble haunted her. She didn't know who it was, but he seemed familiar for some reason - and her heart broke at the sight of his lifeless form.

"He's slipping... I- I can't hold on..." Xavier cried out through gritted teeth, "I can't latch onto anyone!" the room filled with a booming static noise as the bald man searched though all the available minds in that reality. Hank writhed on the floor, clutching his ears with the horrible sound. Soon he gained the strength to pull a hand up towards the switch and slowly tune down the settings. The din faded, and the only noise that could be heard was the heavy breathing from the group that tried to recover from the experience.

"I didn't tell you to turn it off." Xavier pulled off Cerebro's helmet and placed it harshly on its holder.

"It would've killed you." Hank rebutted, standing on his feet.

"There was something forming, a gap in the reality, I could feel it!" Charles placed a hand on his forehead in frustration, "It's like all the minds were under some sort of deep control - but I could sense other ones... ones that were free."

"But what can we do about it!?" the beastly Professor retaliated, annoyed at his colleague.

"If I can find the free minds, I can see where they are; exactly where they are." Xavier began to ramble, "Then I can show Kurt, and you can get there." (Y/n)'s eyes grew wide at his suggestion. Even though she had considered it earlier, she now began to doubt her logic. If it were just her, then she wouldn't hesitate to risk her life for Peter - but she couldn't ask Kurt to do it too.

"Professor, what if... What if it doesn't work?" (Y/n) piped up, looking to the powerful telepath with concern plastered all over her face.

"We can't risk more of our lives, Kurt you don't have to do this." Hank tried to assure the German mutant.

"Nein." he responded, "Peter is my friend, I vill not leave him in danger. I vill do it." Kurt nodded his head as he stood confident in his decision. Despite the hatred that Kurt Wagner had received his whole life; he was always the most selfless person in the room. (Y/n) shot him a weak smile, thankful for his kindness.

"This isn't just about Peter. Somebody brought him there. Somebody, or something, has a power that could change everything we think we know." McCoy warned, trying to convince the group of the dangerous situation.

"Which is why we need to know more." (Y/n) interjected.

"I will be able to communicate with you, as long as you don't go under this person's control." Xavier explained, deep in thought. Hank looked at the trio, and finally gave a deep sigh.

"There's no talking to you people." he shook his head, "I'm sure travelling across the multiverse will be a cinch." his tone dripped with sarcasm as Charles placed Cerebro back on his head.

"Have a little faith, Hank." Xavier joked stiffly as he flipped the switch to the machine. McCoy reluctantly turned the power knob and soon the static noise returned, causing a grimace to appear on everyone's faces. The noise flickered as Xavier passed through more empty minds, searching for one that would work. The sensory overload build up in a crescendo, until everything stopped to a halt.

"Hello, Monica."

[aelaer]

The Blood in Our Veins (a serial)

This came out faster than I expected.

Prompt (via @ironstrangeprompts): Kidnapped to play doctor for a still unseen other prisoner; Stephen realizes there is only one person on the planet who would have palladium in their blood.

This is unbetaed; apologies for any errors.

Part 1 |

Part 2 - Get Me Through the Night

The time on Stephen's watch read 5:24 P.M. on April 24, 2010. Doctor Baar caught him looking at his wrist as he helped prepare samples for the pharmaceutical chemist.

"If your watch is set for New York time, it will not match here. I do not think we are in America."

"What makes you say that?" Stephen asked. He was told that talking was allowed so long as they still worked, but a couple doctors gazed over at the camera as that was said. He got it; they were being both watched and listened to. Great.

"Breakfast should come in the next two to four hours. Or at least, they are more breakfast-like foods. Eastern European, maybe Middle Eastern. I am not entirely sure." The German doctor adjusted the microscope he looked into and kept his head down. "They do keep us well-fed, for what it is worth. You will not starve here."

Playing lab technician was not something Stephen had done since medical school and it was not something he particularly enjoyed. He wasn't exactly in the position to change his circumstances at the moment, however—and there were a lot of blood samples that needed preparation by someone, and he wasn't one of the lab specialists. So he took on the prep work. It was tedious, but necessary in their situation.

"Breakfast?" Stephen frowned. "Then when do they let us sleep?"

"At the beginning, when Doctor Ferguson and I were first brought here, we were permitted to sleep seven hours. They even dimmed the lights." Again the doctor kept his head down, appearing very focused on his work.

Stephen followed his lead and kept his eyes on the centrifuge tubes he was preparing. "How long have you been here?"

"For us, it has been a month. It was maybe two weeks later when Doctor Mahajan joined us. Doctor Weston has been here for only a few days." Doctor Baar typed a few notes into a computer and replaced the slide with another one; both slides had a small drop of blood upon them.

"I don't suppose that computer has an internet connection," Stephen muttered.

The chemist smiled dryly. "That would be useful, wouldn't it?"

Stephen had nothing to say to that and the conversation petered out into nothing.

————  

Stephen's watch read 6:41 P.M. when Doctor Mahajan asked if Stephen could be spared for more sample handling at her work station. He had hundreds of more questions, but Doctor Baar had asked for silence soon after their conversation and Stephen understood that need well and had followed his request.

"Thank you for joining in the work so quickly," Doctor Mahajan said after relaying her instructions to him. "I am surprised you didn't elect to sleep further first. You were heavily drugged."

"I get through stress best by working," Stephen replied, "though I haven't done lab work for some years." The knowledge that he had been kidnapped was a thought he had pushed into the back of his mind, placing it in a spot to deal with later (when he inevitably had to). In the meantime, he wanted to distract himself as much as possible and gather what information he could regarding his circumstances, and he had the opportunity to do both right now.

Doctor Mahajan continued lowly, "Doctor Weston has been helping us a lot since her arrival, but she deserves further rest. She remained awake during her time to sleep to monitor you."

Stephen had been instructed by her to place samples onto slides and label them in a specific manner on both the slide and computer, so he was in the process of doing just that. "What is this about taking shifts to sleep? Doctor Baar mentioned it had not always been like this."

"It changed about a week ago," she answered. "It was just before Doctor Weston was brought here. Before, during my time here, they had only come in once to deliver new equipment that Doctor Ferguson requested."

"How're food and messages usually delivered?" Stephen asked.

"Through the slot at the bottom of the door," she said, then lowered her voice even further into a near whisper, leaving Stephen straining to hear her. "But they came in again." She went off on a tangent to add, "If they come once more, put your hands on your head, quickly. They're impatient." Doctor Mahajan then paused to enter something longer on her own computer before continuing to speak in a whisper. "They said the last time they came that only one of us could sleep at a time, and we needed to eat meals faster. There would be 'consequences' if we didn't." She quickly pivoted the subject. "Let me know when you are starting to get tired; my sleep shift started an hour ago, but Doctor Weston needed it more. We will need to adjust to about five hours a shift with your arrival, too."

Stephen frowned down at the slides as he listened to her words. "What could be so damn important that we can only sleep one at a time? What are these samples for?"

Doctor Mahajan didn't answer immediately. When she did, he again had to strain to hear her. "The less you know and the less you guess, the safer it will be for you. Please don't ask me again."

————  

The time was 8:30 P.M. in New York when Stephen finished his prep work for Doctor Mahajan. She had gone for her sleep shift about 45 minutes ago. Just as he finished, he heard a metallic scraping sound that sounded near-deafening in the quiet room.

"That's breakfast," Doctor Ferguson told him as she turned to face him. "We have a table to eat at over there." She waved a hand at a corner of the room. "They don't like us eating together all at once. We'll eat first."

She sent a couple silent gestures to the other two doctors, then went towards the door. Stephen followed her and eyed the entrance up and down. It looked like it was made of steel and in no way was going to be forced open. Beside the door were two large closed containers. Doctor Ferguson picked one up, leaving Stephen for the other, and he followed her to the table.

The containers turned out to be filled with an ample amount of food: several pieces of flatbread, a chunk of cheese, a chunk of butter, another container filled with a porridge of some type, and something that resembled yogurt but didn't quite smell like the yogurt he was used to. There were also two canteens of what turned out to be tea and coffee, and enough dishes and cutlery for them all.

"Doctor Baar wasn't kidding," Stephen muttered. "They do want us well-fed."

"It wouldn't do them any good if we were too weak to work," she replied. "Help yourself to whatever you want."

Stephen avoided the yogurt-looking substance, but took a bit of the rest and helped himself to some coffee. It wasn't spectacular, but it was manageable. "Doctor Baar mentioned that you, alongside him, have been here the longest Doctor Ferguson."

"Call me Jada," she answered. "It seems ridiculous to me to stand on titles in a situation like this. Summer—Doctor Weston—agrees with me." 

He raised his brows. "And the other two?" 

"Steffen doesn't seem to care either way; he's a tough read. Doctor Meera Mahajan always refers to us by title, and seems to want the same. I think it helps her disassociate from our circumstances—helps her cope. We're all worried, but she's having the toughest time of it." 

Stephen looked sidelong at the British woman as they spoke about her; she was currently asleep in one of the beds along the far wall. The stress lines across her brow had hardly faded. His eyes quickly caught sight of the unlabeled pill bottle on the floor just beside her cot. "Pills?" he asked. 

"Oh." Jada paused for a moment in thought. "She has a condition—best if she tells you, rather than me. I'm not her doctor, but…" 

"I get it," Stephen said with a slight smile. 

"Steffen has his own pills, too. A different condition. But you need to let us know now if you need anything daily; they'll have it to you within a day, if it's like when they got the other pills." 

He shook his head. "No, I'm fine." He then glanced towards the camera at the corner near the door. "They're very well-stocked." 

"Very," she muttered. 

"Who are these people?" Stephen muttered back. "What do they want with us?" 

"No idea who they are, but I can show you what they are having us do after breakfast." Jada jutted her chin to his plate. "Finish up; we've been talking too long without getting work done. They're even starting to get annoyed at longer showers. Though to be honest, I don't know why I still try and bother with long showers; that white people shampoo has completely ruined my hair." 

Stephen snorted softly at the unexpected comment. "Should send a complaint to management." 

She half-smiled. "We've gotten a few changes of clothes, extra towels, and water containers as needed—they brought stuff in for you when you arrived, by the way—but even I wouldn't push my luck with this group." Jada then turned fully to her meal and Stephen followed suit. 

After they ate, she led him back to her workstation. Doctors Baar and Weston took their turn to eat breakfast as Doctor Ferguson opened a cabinet. 

Stephen stared blankly at the contents within. On one shelf were a number of inorganic compounds: calcium hydroxide, lithium carbonate, lithium hydroxide, hydrogen peroxide, and lithium peroxide, to name a few. On another shelf chlorophyllin, several supplements in the form of vitamin C, vitamin B12, magnesium, calcium, and iron, and a bottle of Calcium EDTA were all in sight, though there were other things behind those. There were also various fruits, of all things, on the very bottom shelf. 

"The fruits aren't for us, by the way." She tapped a handwritten recipe beside the cabinet. "You can make the drink right now. We're making it twice a day at this point. Refrigerated items are over there." Jada gestured over to a small medical fridge. 

His bewildered gaze went from the cabinet to follow her hand, then fell on the recipe. "What the hell is this for?" 

"Our patient." She went to her microscope and placed a slide under it. After a moment of adjusting the focus, Jada said, "Come take a look at this." 

Stephen stepped up to the microscope and frowned to himself as he looked at what happened to be a blood sample. The white blood cells showed clear signs of toxic granulation and he saw both basophilic stippling and microcytic anemia in the red blood cells. 

"Well," he started, "the patient does not have normal-looking blood cells. I hope you have more than blood samples to work with." 

She half-smiled. "Lucky for us, we didn't have to search for what was causing these abnormalities. The patient has palladium poisoning." 

Stephen lifted his head from the microscope to stare at her. "Palladium poisoning? Is the patient chewing on engagement rings?" Seriously, palladium? 

"It gets weirder," Jada answered. "Calcium EDTA could solve the trick, but for whatever reason the patient is being continually exposed to this palladium and it's not leaving the body. The smoothie," she nodded to it, "was on us to make from the first day we got here, to treat symptoms and to limit the spread of the poisoning. We've added a couple other things to try and help the patient's body fight it. Start making a cup; we leave it at the slot and they collect it with our dishes." 

Normally Stephen would not be thrilled to be ordered around as such, but again, his circumstances weren't exactly normal—and his brain was still trying to come up with an idea as to where someone would be continuously exposed to palladium, of all things. 

As he began to make the drink and Jada returned to her own work at the microscope, he asked, "And I suppose that you've been tasked to find some sort of permanent cure against continuous palladium exposure." 

"Bingo," she answered. "During my second week here we began experiments with lithium compounds after we saw potential in the samples. After Doctor Mahajan arrived, she suggested lithium dioxide which has had the most effective results in slowing the poisoning. Several tests later, Steffen synthesized a stable mix with the least likelihood of side effects. 

"But as you saw, it slowed down the spread of poisoning; it hasn't done anything to fully stop it or repair the damage. We're still seeing a deterioration in the patient's tests. The current trend is leading into a direction that, if we don't figure something out soon, will leave the patient dead in two months—even with regular lithium dioxide injections." 

Stephen's frown remained a permanent fixture as he mixed the strange smoothie and listened to her. "Do these people know this?" 

"Yeah," she answered. "And a couple days after we told them, Summer arrived. We're still trying to find a more permanent solution, but she was given X-rays yesterday." 

"Doctor Weston did mention an X-ray earlier." 

"I haven't had a chance to look at them yet. I guess they are having her explore another avenue." Jada jutted her chin to the smoothie. "Cap the smoothie and leave it by the door; Steffen will put everything that needs to go back to them into place in the container. And if you're up for it, I could use a hand inputting all my notes into the computer." 

It was something to do, so he agreed.

—————  

It was 11:13 P.M. according to Stephen's watch when he agreed to take the sleep shift after Doctor Mahajan starting at about 12:30 (at least in New York). Steffen Baar had been after Meera Mahajan before Stephen's arrival, but the chemist wanted to finish some experiments that would take more than two hours to complete, apparently, so they 'may as well start the new shifts now'. 

So Summer Weston pulled him away from his transcribing work with Jada Ferguson to discuss some matters with him before he went to sleep. 

"Your latest paper on neurogenesis was fantastic, Doctor Strange. Some of the more complex concepts went beyond my medical knowledge, but what I did understand really excited me for what we may see in neurosurgery in the future."

His ego ate the compliment with ease, but he replied politely, "Thank you, Doctor Weston. Your own pioneering work with robotic cardiovascular surgery is bound to help cardiothoracic surgeons across the world."

She waved a hand. "Summer, please."

"Call me Stephen, then," he said. "You mentioned you had some X-rays?"

"Yes." They reached her workstation and she clicked on a folder on her desktop. "They're not incredibly helpful, though."

He was about to ask what she meant, and then the first image came up. Stephen raised his brows. The image was of a male torso with several splinters of some sort of foreign body scattered throughout the chest. But instead of showing the entire affected area as an X-ray usually would, the image was cropped midway up the torso, leaving off the upper chest entirely.

"And this one is why you're here, I'm afraid," Summer said, and again he was presented with a strangely cropped X-ray. This one was taken from the side; the spine and a couple inches of the body was shown, but it was cropped before the sternum. In what he could see from this X-ray and in comparison to the first one, there were a couple shards dangerously close to peripheral nerves and one uncomfortably close to the spine.

"How is this man still alive?" he muttered. "Are these shards causing the palladium poisoning?" What palladium item would create such trauma in the first place?

"It's amazing he's alive," she said in agreement. "And take a look at the heart X-ray." She went to the image (again cropped to cut off view of the sternum) and, other than the foreboding shards lodged about the area, he immediately saw the issue.

"His heart is too far left," Stephen muttered. "What's pushed it there?"

She offered him a slight smile. "I have written to them," she gestured to the computer, "that I will not be able to give them an accurate idea of surviving a surgery without full chest X-rays at the least, and that I would definitely need an orthopedic surgeon or neurosurgeon for the shards near the nerves." She then gave him an apologetic look.

Stephen didn't bother answering; what was done was done. "They can't expect us to perform surgery on this man without a full X-ray at the least."

"I don't think they want us to," she answered. At his questioning look, Summer clarified, "They're still trying to find a more permanent solution to the palladium poisoning with the other three, but they are running out of time. We're more of a last resort."

He wasn't quite sure how he felt about being a last resort (he felt a bit miffed, actually, but he had enough sense to realize that this was not a good time to express his annoyance). "Doctor Ferguson said two months at most." Stephen looked again at the X-ray, and he found himself frowning; something was tickling at the back of his mind, some piece of knowledge that was relevant to all this, but it remained elusive.

"Hopefully they won't wait until last minute for the surgery, then," she answered.

Stephen spent the rest of his time awake studying what imaging and tests had been made on this male patient (obviously no MRIs); but alongside the cropped X-rays there were extensive blood tests, images from a CT scan, urine tests, lung function tests results, and cardiac function tests. There was more than enough data to read through and get a better idea of the overall health of the man he might have to perform surgery upon.

When he eventually took his turn to sleep, he was exhausted and fell quickly asleep. Stephen's last waking thought was the puzzle of the palladium and the niggling, niggling suspicion that he was missing something he already knew.

————— 

A/N: Tony's injected with lithium dioxide in Iron Man 2 to slow his poisoning. In reality, this chemical compound doesn't exist. Its real-life cousin, lithium superoxide, would definitely not be good for his body considering you use Kelvin to measure its temperature (aka very very very cold). It's other cousin, lithium peroxide, doesn't seem nearly as bad, but not exactly what you'd call anywhere near accurate science. But this just means that the fic can get away with some Hollywood Science. 

Hollywood Science is used in the ingredients for his symptom-counteracting drink (for instance, chlorophyllin has no proven health benefits, just conjectures, and treating metal poisoning is a good deal more precise than I write here and the ingredients are all rather loosey-goosey, though I try to put some real world logic into it). Huzzah!

Medical people: if you see anything blatantly erroneous (and clearly not Hollywood Science in the form of fictional treatments), please let me know.

Tag requests: @sobeautifullyobsessed, @tashacumberbitch @babywarg, @nishtha3012, @ragingstillness, @walkin-in-the-cosmos, @lafourmii20. Others: Let me know if you want to be tagged for future updates in a comment (as it won't be on AO3 for a while and has no steady update schedule planned). Or let me know if you want to be removed.

[kurtty-drabbles]

Postwoman au (Part 5)

N/A: So, here we go. I have this idea that Krampus is unintentionally stalking Kitty-well, he did a background check on Kitty. Just to be safe- while it was for professional reasons...Kitty is stalking Krampus for her own reasons. Anyway, this idea is based on a Krampus´s fics I read. I used 2 times the plot "Kitty dated a teacher" so I´m subverting.

@dannybagpipesarecalling @djinmer4 @bamfoftheundead @everykurt @muninandhugin

The envelope is has a light tone of pink as the handwriting- obviously not make by human hands as no one could perform such type of signature so perfectly- is being held by her cold fingers absently. One can see the name addressed to Kitty Pryde( Katherine Anne Pryde) and how she is cordially invited to a social gathering- the words are sophisticated, but, the meaning of those words are simple to see- know as a wedding. And Kitty can´t help herself by letting a mirthless grin graces her face. 

Peter Wisdom and Sarah Malloy will officially be a couple and Kitty is beckoned- that´s the word used. The invitation doesn´t like to repeat words- to such occasion. And Kitty fingers could rip the letter in half in no time, yet, she can´t help to notice some little things in this story.

Peter and Sarah dated for 5 years. Kitty and Peter meet each other 5 years ago- she was a student at university. She was a student in his class- and 5 years ago Peter made a proposition to Kitty...and she refused as much she wanted to say yes...one little fact rules out any possibility for Kitty to say yes. Being a teacher´s pet is one thing. Date one is another entirely.

(She still caught herself thinking in what-ifs. As harmful it is. And Kitty still holds the letter)

"Will this be like Jean and Scott´s wedding?" Kitty asked to no one but herself- a student near her listen and made the shush sound as he´s back to his book rather annoyed and perplexed. The pile of books to his side and the bags under his eyes paint an obvious picture here- and Kitty chastised herself for this thought. She can be better than this. 

She puts the envelope in her bag and leaves the table where she was and ignores the student who was picking another book in a desperate fit as some papers ended up falling to the ground - the student is now muttering something relates to equations and maybe he wasn´t as silent as he was hoping since someone made the shushed sound. Kitty is heading to the librarian with some books in her arms.

The librarian flashes a kind smile. A beautiful woman and Kitty bite her inner check as she notices her pretty face and eyes- she gentle shakes her head making her ponytail flipping around like a cute tail- "Uhm, hi...I think I´m having some trouble" she begins and the librarian- her name is Amy Lestrange. And she has a heavy German accent that is somewhat familiar- and she should show the books but instead, Kitty holds them closely and looks over her shoulders.

The Librarian. Amy. Is paying attention to her movements. Kitty looks adorable right now.

________________________________________________________________________________________

Let be know that Krampus doesn´t go head straight to torture. He did mention to Kitty how he was spies, but, sometimes the man himself likes to see with his own eyes. A request made by an old friend prompts Kurt to disguise himself and investigate a wizard who is fumbling with things he shouldn´t. So far, Kurt has a 90% certainty of his guilt. He will only act when he has 100%.

Amy´s face or the idea for this mask was based on one of his old flings- a pretty witch who made a deal with Krampus a long time ago- and well, the dead can´t sue him. The disguise work like a charm- he almost laughs at this silly pun- when his eyes noticed the silhouette of Kitty Pryde trying her best to hide some books from public view.

Krampus is too curious to end the rouse now. Her words let him even more curious and well, Kurt sees no harm done to continue to be Amy. "And what the problem would?" he asked coming a bit closer to her face- Kitty has brown and doe eyes. Full of secrets and something else-noticing her blushing. 

Kitty still hides the book and looks one last time behind her shoulders to see if anyone would peep tom on her choices of book, once proving all the others are too focused on other projects, Kitty puts the books in the balcony.

Kurt is half amused. Half embased as well. A bit of Fremdschämen 

"Uhm, do you want more hardcore porn?" Amy asked in a professional tone. Erotic is no longer a taboo theme, at least not anymore, so if Kitty wants to read something more "spicy" Kurt won´t judge her- he´s a bit flatter, to be honest- and Kitty blushing again is cute. Her checks have such lovely color.

She should blush more often!

"Ok, no, of course not!" she all but shout in a low tone. And clears her throat as her eyes notice some eyes on her figure. "I mean, really serious research" she looks too focused in a way he often has when she is doing one of her courier´s functions. "And well...those books are a bit useless" and then her face closes off, not literally. Kurt has seen people literally closed faces before.

"I want to know things about Krampus...not which Disney Princess he fucked" and she raised the book as if this is the proof of everything wrong in society.

Ah, I remember those series...

She bites her lips cutely. She can be really cute sometimes. "I don´t need to know what Elsa, Krampus, and Anna do at Christmas" she looks peeved and embarrassed. Amy is professional. Kurt is inwardly amused.

"Why the interest in Krampus?" a fair question. People who sought Krampus have two reasons to do this and Kitty is not the type who would ask for revenge or a kinky fuck...or is she?

Kitty puts a lock of her hair behind her hair. "Is a project" she replies confidently. Amy arch one eyebrow. "And is not because you´re working for him? Look, I´m a witch and we, witches, have a way to know about things...especially Germans witches" to be fair on his part, he´s not lying. Kitty´s job is not a secret.

Kitty then tries again. "Look. Yeah, I work for him...and I can´t help to feel as if he knows details about me and ...that´s not really fair" and ok, Kurt can see her side. He did look upon her past. Still is amusing she wants to know his past in this way instead of just asking.

"Well, I can give a summarize of Krampus, if you want" and she comes closer again. Kitty smells like strawberry and is a sweet aroma if you ask Kurt. Kurt can´t help himself by smiling like this- really, he can´t. Kitty is making this too easy- "Or Krampus take your kids or your wife" and Kitty blinks at this and picks a book with a dark cover.

"Like this story?" and she frowns. "I didn´t like this idea. Yeah...I can totally believe he likes sex. A lot" she blushes again and let her finger trace some of the other books. "but this one here paint him as a hypocrite...and I think he´s not ..."

Kurt can be moved by this declaration if nothing else.

"Well, many stories often show his bad side or make him a cartoonish villain..." Kurt recalls the time Hollywood makes a movie where he was cartoonish evil and was in a love triangle with the Easter Bunny...Easter Bunny was not pleased.

"So, there´s to have more about him...he can´t be just...take your kids ...and your wife...like, how old is he?"

Amy smiles. Not entirely professional.

"Old enough to not be called Krampus"

_____________________________________________________________________________________________

Brian Braddock is a man who used to drink a lot- to cope with his sister´s death and then resurrection- but after he made an ass of himself 2 years ago...the British man enter into AA and never touched alcoholic beverage ever again. So, right now, Brian is completely sober as he watches something that it must be a dream...or a nightmare.

A beautiful woman with long blonde hair and an hourglass figure is staring at him with a beaming smile and shining eyes. She´s beautiful. She´s innocent and she´s not real. She can´t be.

"Hello, my name is Meggan Puceanu. I´m a succubus" she says those words too calmly. And Brian is too sober for this. SO is 100% real.

"I never touched a drink again...and won´t do now" Brian states to a confused Meggan who congratulates him even if she´s missing the point. "So, are you here to kill me? Cause death by sex is as wonderful and terrifying as it sounds" he tries to joke about it. Tries.

Meggan blinks at this. "Oh no, I´m well feed, thank you, no...I´m here cause I heard you are after Shadow King...I want to help"

Brian opens his mouth and closes again and again.

"Ok. Welcome to Excalibur"

[jmsa1287]

'Penny Dreadful: City of Angels' is a Frustrating Spiritual Sequel

"Penny Dreadful: City of Angels," hitting Showtime on April 26, trades the Victorian Gothic fiction of its predecessor for pre-World War II hardboiled noir and Mexican folklore with varying results.

"Penny Dreadful," which ran on Showtime for three seasons between 2014 and 2016, never really got the praise it deserves. Created by out scribe John Logan, the dark series was inspired by penny dreadfuls; genre stories from the 19th century (perhaps similar to today's Marvel comics) where Logan used iconic figures like Dracula, Dorian Gray, Abraham Van Helsing, Victor Frankenstein and his monster, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and many others to write his own elevated fanfiction with the addition of new characters that he created. The drama was mostly a showcase for Eva Green (an actor who also never really got the praise she deserves), who played the mysterious and powerful Vanessa Ives and was placed directly at the center of the sprawling story.

The show will likely be remembered for the way it ended. Without an announcement or any marketing fanfare, the last episode of Season 3 turned out to be a series finale, with "Penny Dreadful" coming to a shocking conclusion. Now, nearly four years since the drama wrapped up, Logan is back with a new story under the "Penny Dreadful" banner. "City of Angels," which hits Showtime on April 26, is a spiritual sequel of sorts that finds Logan trading his obsession with Victoria Gothic fiction for a hardboiled noir story that's fused with Mexican folklore and set in 1938 Los Angeles.

"City of Angels" also features a new cast (except for the excellent British actor Rory Kinnear, who played Dr. Frankenstein's Creature in "Penny Dreadful"), which includes "Game of Thrones" star Natalie Dormer, "It Follows" actor Daniel Zovatto, and Nathan Lane. Logan, who is credited as creating the new series, returns as writer, penning the first four episodes of six that Showtime provided. This time around, Logan seems to be writing with more purpose and intentionality; "City of Angels" feels more urgent and Logan (who has writing credits on films like "Hugo," "Alien: Covenant," "The Aviator," and "The Time Machine") has a lot on his mind. It's perhaps his most directly political work to date where he draws parallels to the darkness of 2020 (sans the coronavirus pandemic) and attempts to place that anxiety in West Coast America with World War II on the horizon.

Those coming into "City of Angels" hoping it strikes the same kind of tone and kinetic energy of its predecessor might be disappointed. The new show is light on hauntings and ghouls as Logan double downs on existential threats and the curdling America's perception as a land of peace and opportunity for all. The show follows Tiago Vega (Zovatto), the Los Angeles Police Department's first Mexican-American detective, as he and his veteran partner Lewis Michener (an excellent turn for Lane) work on a gruesome murder case involving the deaths four white people. The scene of the crime indicates the slayings were carried out by Mexicans as the bodies are dressed up in Día de Muertos (Day of the Day) garb and makeup, only escalating the ongoing racial tension between white people in and the Mexican-American community in L.A. at the time.

At the core of the show is the shape-shifting evil entity Magda (Dormer), who takes on several forms in order to influence humans so they can carry out her evil acts. Magda fits herself in of the show's many plot threads, allowing Dormer to take on a number of different identities (four in total!). It's clear Logan has positioned the Magda character as his new Eva Green as it allows Dormer to display her acting chops. It doesn't always work, but there are times when Dormer proves herself to be a big force as she transforms herself into women from different walks of life. In one storyline, she plays a mousey but sinister secretary to Charlton Townsend (Michael Gladis), a councilman and the head of the L.A. City Council's Transportation Committee, who is gearing up to construct a highway that would run through, and effectively destroy, a Mexican-American neighborhood. (It's with the Charlton character that Logan lays it on thick with the links to 2020 and basically uses him as a Trumpian figure; in one episode he spews "make America great again"-type rhetoric.)

Elsewhere, Dormer plays a kind German housewife and mother who says she's being abused by her husband to gain the sympathy of Peter Craft (Kinnear), a German pediatrician who happens to be the leader of the German-American Bund. Here too, Logan connects the white supremacism of yesteryear to the burgeoning incidents we see pop up in our headlines today. She also slithers her way into the lives of folks in L.A.'s Mexican-American neighborhood. Here, she becomes a young queer person who attempts to ignite the rising tension and rage towards white and straight people oppressing them.

And that's just about half of the plot in "City of Angels." Storylines eventually intertwine but it takes a long time to get there. Like "Penny Dreadful," this spinoff does feature a lot of queerness, though, again, it takes a few long episodes for that to happen. Logan's writing is upfront and center in "City of Angels" as he pens extremely long monologues for his actors. Each episode features moody and passionate speeches from characters that go on for several minutes. They're clearly having fun delivering Logan's writing, but it can be daunting and even exhausting to watch. But once the show gets where it's going, "City of Angels" becomes truly exciting. Episode four, "Josefina and the Holy Spirit," features one of the most hard-to-watch incidents I've seen on TV in some time and that is followed by one of the most violent acts of murder I've seen on TV in years.

For all of its big-budget showiness, "City of Angels" oftentimes feels like a small, albeit complicated, stage play. For better or for worse, the new drama wears its themes on its sleeve, and actors revel in Logan's writing. Still, there's something missing. "City of Angels" is the latest show to be set in or around World War II. Based on the Philip Roth novel, HBO's miniseries "The Plot Against America" also reimagines American history and posits the idea of what would happen if noted fascist Charles Lindbergh was elected president. Ryan Murphy's upcoming Netflix limited series "Hollywood" reimagines the racial, sexual and social politics of Hollywood's Golden Age. With the slew of these kinds of limited series, many TV creators seem to be interested in the time period of American history at the moment. But as it stands with "City of Angels," the new addition to the "Penny Dreadful" universe feels more in line with Murphy's FX franchise "American Horror Story"; an anthology show that Penny Dreadful" always felt like it was purposely avoiding. With its attempt to express so many themes and ideas, "City of Angels" feels more overstuffed and daunting than "Penny Dreadful," which in hindsight was a focused and lean series. The new drama doesn't veer far from the worst tendencies of "AHS." but "City of Angels" is ultimately a smarter and more eloquent show that isn't as successful as its predecessor.

[arcadianambivalence]

World on Fire, Episode 3

December 1939

After the invasion of Poland, the newly declared war seemed to ground to a halt.  The nervous calm of the autumn of 1939 led to the war’s nickname of the “phony war.”  As Nancy describes it: “There is simply a feeling among the allied forces that the inevitable will never come to pass.”

In World on Fire, British forces stationed in Northern France fill their time with digging, minor spats, and talk of home.  Because of his class, Harry has been set up as an officer, but his sergeant seems to be better suited for the job.  While Harry tries to be a friend to the men, Stan speaks plainly and gains their respect.  Wanting to help Poland but winding up in France, wanting to protect the Tomaszeski family and having to leave them behind, wanting to fight but digging trenches instead, Harry feels listless and useless once again.

(Read more)

Conversely, Tom is still at the bottom of the pecking order in the Navy, and he bristles at the strict order of life at sea.  To supplement his income, he gets his peers to place bets on when the ship’s canary will lay an egg, but he runs into trouble with a crewmate named Henry.  Crewmate Vic confiscates the money from Tom.  Then the ship goes on red alert.  Tom rushes into the skirmish with enthusiasm until a hit from the German battleship knocks him off his feet, kills Vic, and blows off Henry’s arm.  All personal disputes are set aside as Tom helps Henry to his feet.

Heavily damaged but still afloat, the Exeter is a smokestack gliding across the water.  Tom retrieves the betting money from Vic’s body and gives it to Henry.  “This doesn’t make us mates,” he protests.  He has a reputation to uphold (with whom?  Himself?).

In London, Douglas is desperate for news about Tom as the idea of peace grows fainter by the day, especially with news of the sinking of the Admiral Graf Spee.  Robina is starting to reassess her opinions, too.  Despite calling herself not much of a mother, she can see that Jan is miserable at school.  Her words of encouragement ring hollow even as she says them: “And that’s what you do in this life, you get used to it.  And it makes you a better person.  Eventually.  Resilient, at least—a quality much undervalued.”  

But the immediate ostracism does not make Jan resilient, and Robina quickly changes her tune.  She marches Jan up to the other schoolchildren and stands up for him with a long speech about how everyone in Jan’s family is fighting Hitler and deserves their praise.

(I’ve only had Jan for a day and a half, but any boy who attacks this fine young man must be on Hitler’s side!)

Ludwig, a member of the Resistance, encourages Kasia to use her position as a waitress to observe the occupying German soldiers.  If anyone tries to flirt with her, he says, she could lure the soldier to the bombed-out corner of the city and avenge her mother.  Kasia attempts to do this with a soldier but gets scared and lets him go at the last minute.

That soldier is Klaus Rossler, and his parents are terrified that they will lose both children to the Nazi Regime.  After Hilde’s seizure last episode, the Rosslers believe she will be taken away to an institution like a neighbor’s son once was.  Concerned for Hilde, Nancy investigates the institution and makes a horrifying discovery about its state-sanctioned euthanasia program under Dr. Voller.  She confronts the doctor, but he tries to justify the program with Social Darwinism.  She refutes him with “Human progress is driven by our capacity to look out for those who are weaker than us.”

Nancy shares her findings with the Rosslers: first the parents receive a letter asking for consent to institutionalize the children, and if they don’t reply, there is a second letter and a threat that the child will be taken away.  If the parents still refuse, they will be committed to forced labor and their child taken anyway.  The final letter is a death certificate.  “There is no treatment, only murder.”

But knowledge comes at a cost.  Nancy’s act of investigating the institution may very well draw attention to her and the Rosslers.  Uwe Rossler is furious and forbids Nancy from contacting them again, but he too could have stirred up suspicion at work today.  He interrupted a fight between two workers and refused to deliver any kind of punishment for the women involved.  One worker tries to pull rank with her status as a Party Member and is unhappy when that does nothing to sway Uwe.

No good deed goes unpunished anywhere.  Konrad and Grzegorz continue to run for their lives, but now they have two factions to evade.  I mentioned in my review for episode two that the Soviet Union invaded Poland in 1939, too.  Because of the time jump between episodes, the news of a second invasion is left off-screen (one of a couple of revelations I wish we had time for), but Konrad and Grzegorz are well aware that everyone they meet could turn them in to one side or the other.

A farmer catches the two men as they sneak through his land, but instead of denouncing them, he gives them a warm meal.  This act of kindness doesn’t last for long, though, when a Soviet truck pulls up with a couple of suspicious soldiers.  One soldier in particular takes his time inspecting the house while Konrad and Grzegorz hide in the cellar below.  

Just like in episode one, Grzegorz fights back a nervous coughing fit.  Just like in episode two, the encounter ends with shocking violence as the soldiers murder the farmer and his family.

Compared to all this, the reunion of Lois and Harry seems trite (compared to anything, the back-and-forth with Lois and Harry seems trite!).  Not even an episode has passed since their separation, so the arrival of the ENSA troop Lois happens to be in at the camp that Harry happens to be in doesn’t even feel like two long-lost lovers meeting.  It just feels convenient.

Finally free to make her own choices without thinking of her father and brother, Lois is all smiles for the troops (who are more than happy to see her too!).  Shocked by this side of her, Harry flips his shit and punches a soldier Lois is flirting with.  But, class and rank being what they are, it’s the poor soldier who is apparently in trouble for the fight.

But enough has happened in the few months apart to make Harry wonder if the two can be friends again, even though he decked her date.  And enough has (not) happened for Lois to realize that she’s pregnant.  (I guess an episode-long subplot involving this discovery and Lois coming to terms with it wasn’t as important as Harry’s emotional baggage...)

To complicate things further, Robina realizes that Harry and Kasia are married.

That night, Harry confides his situation to Stan, who casually suggests that the war has done him a favor.  At the thought that Kasia could be dead, Harry flips his shit again.  

There’s no one to punch, so wasting ammunition and scaring some owls will have to do.

For all the flack I’ve given the love triangle, though, it does serve a thematic purpose.  Harry’s sense of guilt and obligation for Kasia and Lois is emblematic of the conflict felt by many soldiers.  At one point, Lois asks him “Why are you here?” and he immediately begins to list his grievances about his inability to fight on the front lines for Poland.  

Britain declared war on Germany after the invasion of Poland, but no major combat occurred for several months.  Meanwhile, Britain began to shift its focus to its own shores and the threat of their own German invasion.  

The feeling that Britain abandoned Poland is symbolized by Harry’s separation from both Kasia and Jan, and his concern for his own country is symbolized by his relationship with Lois.

When writing World on Fire, Peter Bowker chose his characters carefully, each one drawing attention to a different aspect of life during World War Two: refugees and civilians whose lives were upended by war, partisans who resisted, collaborators who didn’t, soldiers who went to war willingly (or unwillingly), and the cross-section between these areas.  

Lois and Harry can worry about their love lives because they aren’t in danger every second.  Nancy can investigate the euthanasia program because as an American journalist, she is given looser restrictions than German civilians.  Robina has the freedom to (publically) change her sympathies with relative ease after meeting Jan,  but the Rosslers or the Tomaszeskis are too busy trying to survive unnoticed to dare that.  Douglas is able to talk of peace because he is not personally at war (yet).

So when Kasia witnesses the brutal beating and murder of Ludwig, her decision to actively involve herself in the luring and killing of a soldier, and the way this is framed as the death of Kasia’s own innocence, opens up other moral questions for viewer.  What makes that soldier different from Klaus?  And if the answer is “Nothing,” then did Klaus deserve to die, too?  If all Germans are the same, then what does that make Hilde?  Robina sympathized with the British Union of Fascists, so why are we supposed to care what Jan thinks of her now?  And if Nancy has certain freedoms afforded to her as a guest in Germany, why doesn’t she do more?  And finally: if I were in the same situation as any of these characters, what would I do?

With the spring of 1940, the phony war was over, and Germany invaded Norway, the Netherlands, Luxembourg, Belgium, and France.

Notes:

The battle Tom survives is called The Battle of  River Plate, which places this episode in early December 1939.  Christmas decorations are visible when Nancy goes shopping and when Robina celebrates Jan’s birthday as other clues for dating the events.

One of the women in the fight that Uwe breaks up uses “Jew” as a slur, which unfortunately would have been one more way to dehumanize and debase Jewish people.

Lois is carrying a Hitler puppet at the start of the episode.  I wonder how that routine goes.

…And is it bad that I’m still holding out hope for a Connie subplot?

Further Reading

https://www.pbs.org/wgbh/masterpiece/specialfeatures/world-on-fire-s1-ep2-history-images/

[johnnymundano]

The House That Dripped Blood (1971)

Directed by Peter Duffell

Screenplay by Robert Bloch

Music by Michael Dress

Country: United Kingdom

Running time: 102 minutes

CAST

"Framework"

John Bennett as Detective Inspector Holloway

John Bryans as A.J. Stoker

John Malcolm as Sergeant Martin

"Method For Murder"

Denholm Elliott as Charles Hillyer

Joanna Dunham as Alice Hillyer

Tom Adams as Richard/Dominic

Robert Lang as Dr. Andrews

"Waxworks"

Peter Cushing as Philip Grayson

Joss Ackland as Neville Rogers

Wolfe Morris as Waxworks Proprietor

"Sweets to the Sweet"

Christopher Lee as John Reid

Nyree Dawn Porter as Ann Norton

Chloe Franks as Jane Reid

Hugh Manning as Mark

Carleton Hobbs as Dr. Bailey

"The Cloak"

Jon Pertwee as Paul Henderson

Ingrid Pitt as Carla Lynde

Geoffrey Bayldon as Theo von Hartmann

Jonathan Lynn as Mr. Petrich

NB: I watched this via the 2019 Second Sight UK Blu-Ray release and the picture is really fantastic (technical term there). So, if you were wondering, now you know; this is the copy to own.

The House That Dripped Blood is a British 1970s anthology horror movie from Amicus, and I make no bones about the fact that I am totally partial to that jam, pal. I grew up watching these movies, from a ridiculously unsuitable age, on Friday and Saturday nights with my mum while dad was down the pub. Their ridiculous delights are fused into my brain by the flame of nostalgia, more thoroughly even than those of ‘70s Jonah Hex comics. (And ‘70s Jonah Hex comics are pretty fused in there too. Tony DeZuniga; he da boy!). You came to the wrong place for impartiality, basically. The House That Dripped Blood is horrortastic.

Putting the lie to the spectacularly enticing title there is no actual blood in The House That Dripped Blood, but there is definitely a house. And it’s around this house that the four fear inducing stories revolve. But every proper portmanteau demands a framing device and so the movie starts with the arrival of uppity Inspector Holloway (John Bennett) who has been dispatched by Scotland Yard to investigate the disappearance of horror movie star Paul Henderson (Jon Pertwee) from The House That Dripped Blood. Obviously the house is never referred to as “The House That Dripped Blood” as that would put prospective tenants off; bit of a real estate tip there for you.

Unlike most police investigations, Bennett’s takes the form of people telling him far-fetched stories about the previous occupants as though this might give him a clue as to Henderson’s fate. It’s an interesting approach to policework. Luckily, Bennett, a copper singularly lacking in ratiocination, at no point even begins to wonder how exactly the people telling him the stories know what happened, since most of the people who could have told them end up dead or insane. The answer would be that these are a bunch of punchy shorts scripted by pulp wonder Robert Bloch and the house is just a big old McGuffin to hang them off. And learning that might be a bit too meta for a common movie plod to handle.

First up is Method for Murder wherein debonair horror author Charles Hillyer (Denholm Elliot) rents the house to get some peace in which to write another of his (apparently terrible) potboilers. Unnervingly Hillyer’s new opus concerning Dominic, a strangler with a bowl haircut and British Teeth©™®, starts to bleed into his reality, and the possibility that he may be losing his mind may not be the worst option on offer. Denholm Elliot (1922 – 1992) was never a star, but he was a fantastic actor all round; his particular forte was a kind of nervy self-assurance constantly on the cusp of crumbling into wild-eyed desperation. The kind of thing it takes a lengthy, poorly constructed sentence to describe in English but in German is probably encompassed by a single word that sounds like someone cheerfully stamping on chicken bones. Elliot’s very good at it, whatever it is, and he gets plenty of chance to demonstrate it here, as Bloch’s plotting turns the screws until he pops. Everyone else is very good, particularly Robert Lang as Dr. Andrews, who is the perfect oily 1970s personification of a psychiatrist. And it would be remiss of me to omit to mention Denholm Elliot’s superb salmon pink shirt. Personally, I find fashion is one of the finest characters in British ‘70s horror movies, and in The House That Dripped Blood fashion is on fine form.

As is soon apparent in Waxworks when Philip Grayson (the always marvellous Peter Cushing) sports a spellbindingly classy cravat and jacket affair. His gobstopper red smoking jacket is also quite special, but it’s the cravat ensemble which carries him through most of the episode and takes the trophy. This eerie creepster is about a retired financier who rents the house to brood while listening to records and looking at a photo of a woman from his past. When he isn’t posing by the weir in a melancholy way Philip walks into town where there are actual shops (this is before the Internet and 10 years of Tory government had reduced the English high street to charity shops, boarded up windows and Gregg’s The Bakers) and finds the world’s most morbid waxworks. Haunted by the display of Salome (who is supposed to look like the lady from his past; you have to take this on trust since the waxwork isn’t exactly life-like) Philip is visited by his old chum Neville (the ever forthright Joss Ackland), who has a penchant for neck scarves that resemble an acid trip made silk. Both men have the woman in common but prefer to elliptically skirt around the troublesome issue and pretend it doesn’t matter anymore; Bloch knows nobody does emotional cowardice quite like the English. Soon Neville meets Salome too and the blokes race each other to the horrific finish. Joss Ackland is great, obviously, but it’s worth noting that, as ever, Cushing puts in a performance far more moving and tragic than the material deserves, and so makes it sting all the more. Fans of ‘70s unconscious misogyny might risk getting all turgid since Waxworks is all about a woman who ruins men’s lives but doesn’t actually feature a real woman. Ultimately though such people will have to go home empty handed as it’s clearly the men doing it to themselves and blaming it on a woman, which is a pretty clever bait and switch by Bloch.

Bloch’s quietly understated intelligence is even better demonstrated by Sweets to the Sweet which looks like it’s about witchcraft but is actually about the damage a lack of love can do to a child. Widower John Reid (Christopher Lee) moves into the house so he can commute to the city and do his business in whatnot and whathaveyou and have his child Jane (Chloe Franks) home-schooled in a controlled environment. Reid is all about control and Christopher Lee is ideally suited to the role, bringing all his not inconsiderable clipped prissiness to bear without totally eliminating Reid’s humanity. Reid loves Jane but he also fears her. But why? (why does he fear her, not why does he love her; c’mon, people, work with me here). It’s a conundrum Jane’s newly appointed teacher Ann Norton (Nyree Dawn Porter) unwisely seeks to solve. Plenty in this one to chew on viz a viz kids, parental responsibility and the need to keep a close eye on candles and razor shavings. Probably enough for a dissertation in fact, but, putting the chalk and elbow patches to one side, it is mostly about witchcraft because that’s spooky fun; no one wants to watch an unvarnished 20 minute segment on the emotional abuse of a child in a horror movie. That’s what Home Alone (1990) is for.

Seeking to send the audience out into the ‘70s night to catch the last bus on a bit of a high, the final terror tale, The Cloak, spoofs about in an enjoyably goofy fashion. Prima-donna horror star Paul Henderson (Jon Pertwee) moves into the house to be near the filming of his new (apparently terrible; probably based on a script by Charles Hillyer) movie. Being a great believer in authenticity and disappointed by the cloak provided by the doddering wardrobe mistress,  Henderson sources a suitably eerie item of attire from Theo von Hartmann (Geoffrey Bayldon), a ridiculously freaky tat shop owner with a suspiciously Teutonic moniker. When wearing the cloak   Henderson’s portrayal of a vampire becomes a little bit too authentic for comfort and he learns a steep lesson in the Hollywood food chain from his comically pneumatic co-star Carla Lynde (Ingrid Pitt). It’s slight stuff but pretty funny with everyone camping it up like a cub scout sleep out will be arriving imminently (camping; tents; scouts; c’mon, folks). I vaguely recall reading that Pertwee claimed the whole movie was supposed to be in this mirthful mode, and that he based his character on co-star Christopher Lee, but didn’t tell Lee (obviously). If I ever get the time to wade through the multitude of extras on the Blu-ray maybe I’ll find confirmation. As it is, watching the movie was pleasure enough for now. But like I said I’m practically marinated in this stuff. Nevertheless I persist in the belief that people who haven’t been knocking about for half a century would still find something to enjoy in The House That Dripped Blood; even if it’s just that cracking picture quality.

[ninja-muse]

Heart of Europe - Peter H. Wilson

In brief: An incredibly comprehensive macro history of the Holy Roman Empire, from its founding to dissolution, with the general thesis of “No, no, this actually existed, it was important, and it was not actually backwards. Historians who say otherwise are being ahistorical.”

Thoughts: How do you review what is pretty clearly the work of decades? When you’re not entirely sure you understood everything, because there was just so much to understand?

About how you write such a book, I think: by compartmentalizing. 

First, some explanation, though, because the Holy Roman Empire isn’t that well-known of a historical entity. Basically, we’re talking about German-speaking Europe with some extra bits—northern Italy, bits of Poland, bits of France, the Netherlands, the Czech Republic, Hungary—between the late 700s to the early 1800s. (Napoleon ruins everything.) The HRE was a pretty big deal in a lot of ways too, like, part of the “Holy” and “Roman” was that many Emperors either chose the Pope or protected the Pope and the Church.

As you can maybe guess by that half-joke, this doesn’t have the structure I’d expected. Wilson starts at the beginning and ends at the end, yes, but he does this multiple times, running through the changes of dynasty and ideas of kingship, the wider political structures and wars, the social order, and the justice system so that the reader gets a good sense of how one state of affairs lead directly into another, but less sense of concurrent events. For instance, he’ll discuss an emperor’s ruling style in one section, the war he was fighting in another, and the peasant uprisings he was contending with in a third. Honestly, I’m kind of impressed how well Wilson manages to remind the reader of information, but it’s not perfect and when I need to reference this book in the future, I will be very grateful for the timeline of events, the genealogies, and the index.

I’m equally impressed by the amount of research and synthesis Wilson’s done. Even if he didn’t read through all the tax records and law codes and contemporary political writings himself, he has to have all the articles and books that discuss them, and to have read a whole lot of 19th and 20th century histories of the Empire to boot—and then somehow he’s managed to write a narrative in reasonably non-academic English. It’s still pretty dense and dry, but the book gives a good overview of the Empire in all its facets without getting bogged down in details (and yes, the names of kings, emperors, and popes are frequently details, that’s how macro this book gets).

Those two points alone are enough for me to call this a solidly good history book and to recommend this to people genuinely interested in the topic, but then we come to Wilson’s thesis, which honestly? I wasn’t expecting to get. I enjoyed seeing him pointing out the more than a little biased historical readings out there, the ones that, say, apply a 19th century idea of a nation state and political identities to the past and find the 1100s decidedly lacking, and seeing him point out, at the same time, that not only was the 1100s in the HRE about the same as the neighbouring countries, but that in many ways, the fluid, flexible, “works for us” structure of the Empire gave it more stability over time than other regions of Europe. Probably Wilson comes with his own biases—he certainly is passionate about his subject—but it’s also a bias that works for me.

So those are a few of the biggest things I took away from reading this: the overall history of the Holy Roman Empire and how it was structured and run; the Empire more or less in context of the rest of European history; and the ways history can be misdirected but also interrogated. I also learned a lot about historical political systems and social orders in general, and have a better idea of what Europe looked like in the past when it wasn’t being British or, occasionally, French. There were also a number of wars and uprisings that I’d only heard vaguely of or didn’t have the historical run-up to (like the Reformation and the Thirty Years’ War) which I have a much better idea of now.

If you quizzed me on any particular aspect, though, a month from finishing this and nearly three from starting it, I’d be hard-pressed to give more than a vague answer. There’s too much scope in the book for that. I was a little disappointed too that Wilson assumes the reader has a decent general understanding of European history, and will mention the Pope fleeing to Avignon or a monarch outside of the Empire or a war without filing you in on context except for how it relates to the Empire. (And that he scraps a lot of social history in favour of politics.) Can’t say I really blame him, since this book is already 1000 pages long, but all the same. It’s something to go in aware of, I think.

In sum: this book was excellent. It does everything a history book of this scale should, does little if anything such a book shouldn’t do, contains more information than a human brain can retain in one go, and is, dare I say it only having read the one book on the topic, the definitive book on the Holy Roman Empire. If you’re interested in European history, medieval history, or anything else that the HRE touches on, especially if you’re working in an academic framework, this is an important book to have. I’ll definitely be rereading sections and working through the index when that one writing project comes up on the docket.

To bear in mind: This is a heavy book, in terms of both size and content. While the sentences are always readable, the paragraphs and sections often need time to sink in, and even if you’re an actual historian of the HRE or adjacent topics, I’d highly advise giving your brain a rest at least at the end of every section. Also, I spent most of my reading time with this either held in both hands or propped up on some object or other and I definitely strained my thumb at one point, so there’s also that.

Also, fair warning: there is reasonably frequent reference to historical Muslim peoples as a “threat” or “menace”, as in “the Ottomans are threatening our borders and political stability”, and also the occasional reference to or discussion of early medieval slavery, intra-European racism, poor treatment of women and peasants, war and famine, and similar things which I’m undoubtedly forgetting now but should probably be expected in a history book. Oh, and historians and political leaders using the HRE’s existence to support their own agendas.

9.5/10

[poisonivysparks]

Drugged Up Confessions {Peter Maximoff X Reader}

People stared at me while they drove by. I was laying in a ditch on the side of the road, left for dead. Sure, I looked almost completely different from a normal person, but it was no reason not to do anything about a person stuck on the side of the road.

I looked different because I was purple, had sharp teeth, bright gold eyes, and a long, spade-like tail. Over the course of ten years, I had been experimented on, tested, and tortured in a lab with other people, just like me.

The only person I had really seen, was a man with curly, red hair and lots of freckles on his chubby cheeks. He had disappeared about a year ago and I hadn’t seen him since then.

I curled up into a fetal position in a futile attempt to keep myself warm, since the winds were howling above me. I tried to think of when times were better, even though they were still kind of bad. I thought of my times in the Munich Circus with my twin, Kurt, or Nightcrawler as they called him back then.

We had been close, up until the time I had been bought by a man named Bolivar Trask. I was sent to his laboratory in America, it was one of the most horrible things that had ever happened to me.

I still had a slight German accent from my time in Germany, it had never gone away, nor faltered.

Suddenly, a car stopped and somebody got out.

“Are you okay?” An unfamiliar man’s voice asked, in a tender tone.

“I-I’m alright.” I sat up, sniffling. He looked really nice, nerdy glasses, a tiny bit of stubble, and a kind face. He had a yellow aura around him, meaning that he was happy.

“I-I can take you to a safe place, for people like us, I promise that I won’t hurt you. I’m Hank McCoy, a teacher there.” He said, putting a hand out for me to grab.

“What do you mean, ‘like us?’” I asked him, pulling myself up.

“We’re mutants, I work at a school for mutants.” He told me, walking over to his car.

“A-are you sure you are not going to hurt me?” I asked, following him wearily.

“I promise.” He said simply, opening the passenger door for me.

I entered the car, trusting him completely, I could always teleport out if I wanted to.

We drove for a while in silence, I felt quite awkward. He ended up pulling down a nice looking driveway with trees around it.

A few teens, about my age, were hanging around the trees, smoking and laughing with their friends, it was winter, but they didn’t seem to mind. They were all happy, a yellow aura around them.

Little patches of snow were on the ground since it was January. The air was frigid and cold, ice covering the road.

Hank turned into a garage, parking the car right after, went over to the passenger side door, and opened it for me.

“Th-thank you.” I stuttered, getting out of the car, my long and outgrown hair flowing behind me.

“It’s no problem. Now, come with me, the Professor will want to see you.” He told me, walking out of the garage, out into the freezing air.

“The Professor?” I asked, following him. He went up to a large, oak door and knocked.

“You’ll see in a second.” He told me, a happy aura around him, just like everybody else on the property.

“Hank?” A British voice said as the door opened, he had brown hair, blue eyes, and was in a wheelchair. “Why are you knocking?”

Hank motioned to me, and the Brit’s eyes widened at the sight of me. “I found her on the side of the road, she might’ve been from the old Trask Industries laboratory.”

The Brit turned his attention to me. “What’s your name, dear?” He asked me tenderly.

“Y/n Wagner.” I said, a little self-conscious about my accent.

“Hello, Y/n.” He smiled kindly. “I’m Professor Charles Xavier, and this is my school.” We walked inside, well, Charles rolled. I followed Charles into, what looked like, an office. “Would you mind telling me what happened before Hank found you?”

“Well, up until I was about nine, I was in ze circus with my twin, Kurt. Then, I was bought by Bolivar Trask, and tested on in America. Oh, I also saw this boy, he had curly, red hair, lots of freckles and kind of chubby cheeks.” I told them as their faces dropped.

“Sean? Was his name Sean?” Charles asked, looking frantic.

“I do not know, I’m sorry,” I told them.

“Well, I think we need to get you a room.” Charles smiled sadly, a blue aura around him.

~Time Skip to June~

I had been living on the campus for six months and made a friend, just one, her name was Jean. She was also a social outcast, just like me, except she didn’t have any appearance altering powers. We had somehow made friends with the new kid, Scott. Jean obviously liked him, her aura turning pink whenever she was around him. I admired their subtle affections towards each other.

I hadn’t told anybody, except Jean, about what happened before I got to the school, I hid all of my emotions behind a smile and took on everybody else’s problems to cover my own.

I was sitting on a couch with Jubilee and Jean, Scott had gone off to do God-knows-what.

I heard two sets of approaching footsteps and looked up from the conversation we were having. I saw Scott walk through and- my breath caught in my throat, it seemed like I was suffocating, quickly, I leap to my feet.

“K-Kurt? B-bruder(brother)?” My voice cracked as tears sprung to my eyes. Yellow eyes, mirroring my own, made contact with me.

“Schwester? (Sister)” I ran up to Kurt and tackled him into a hug. We tumbled across the floor slightly as we held each other close and twined our tails as a sign of affection. Happy tears streamed down my face as we hugged each other sitting on the ground. He had a bright yellow aura around him and tears in his eyes.

“Bruder, es war zu lang. Ich habe dich sehr vermisst.” (Brother, it has been too long. I have missed you dearly.) We started a small conversation in German as we still held each other, craving the contact of the other half of our souls, even if we weren’t twins we would have been very close, but being twins just made us even closer.

I heard a cough interrupt our conversation, I looked up to see Jean, Jubilee, and Scott staring, they seemed to be speechless at our heartfelt reunion.

“Sorry, sorry. This is my twin, Kurt Vagner.” We stood up, our tails still intertwined, as if we let go the other would disappear, which is quite possible because we could both teleport.

“We can tell...” Scott said as I put my five-fingered hand into Kurt’s three-fingered one.

“I still can’t believe that it’s been ten years since I’ve seen you, Y/n.” Kurt said, looking at me.

“I know, I’ve missed you,” I told him as he hugged me tightly.

“Y’know, these two have never been to a mall before, why don’t we show them some real American culture?” Scott said, and the two girls agreed.

“I heard the new Star Wars movie is in theaters, we could get the two some new clothes,” Jean suggested.

“Does anybody know where the Professor keeps his cars?” Scott asked, looking at all of us.

“I do.” I raised my hand up.

“Great.” He smiled evilly.

~Time Skip~

It was now August and super hot, me and Kurt had become practically attached at the hip. He knew all of my secrets and I knew all of his. Peter and I had also become close, we had been assigned as roommates since the boys’ dorms were all full. I had a slight crush on Peter, but I knew he wouldn’t love me back.

“Ich weiß, dass du ihn magst. (I know you like him)” Kurt told me as we sat down on a bench in the hedge maze.

“Kurt, Ich tue nicht. (I do not)” I told him, my cheeks heating up.

“Ja, Sie tun, versuchen Sie es nicht zu leugnen. (Yes, you do, don’t deny it)” He told me, poking at my sides. I laughed and slapped his hand away.

A silver blur crossed by us and I knew exactly who it was. Peter.

“Why do you guys always talk in German? Nobody ever knows what the hell you’re saying.” Peter said, squishing between me and the arm of the concrete bench.

“That’s the point.” I smiled at him, and a weird purple aura appearing around him, I had no idea what it meant.

“Yeah, well, I don’t like it.” He huffed, the purple becoming green, I didn’t know what the green meant either.

“Well, you have to deal with it.” I told him, crossing my arms playfully. Suddenly, the loud bell rang, signaling that we were late for our next class, which just happened to be training.

“Fuck, why am I always late?” He said and sped off, leaving me and Kurt to teleport there.

We did just that and got scolded a little bit by Mystique, she didn’t seem to like us very much.

Mr. McCoy started up the Danger Room and robots emerged from the wall, all we had to do was fight them for a while.

My brother and I were teaming up on the robot, while the others had their own robots to fight. Kurt and I were doing really well, until, suddenly, the robot swung at me, knocking me against the wall.

I fell to the ground and tried to teleport, but I just flashed red and stayed in the same spot.

Mystique and Kurt immediately ran over to me.

“No! My baby.” Mystique ran to my side and started stroking my hair, her aura was blue and pink, sadness and love.

“Why did you call me that?” I asked, coughing up a little bit of blood.

“I-I....” She trailed off and then I noticed the slight similarities between her and Kurt’s face.

“Are you my” I asked, suddenly realizing something. “Mutter?” (Mother)

She nodded, and Kurt looked at her in shock.

I felt extremely tired, and closed my eyes. “No! Y/n, please don’t fall asleep.” Kurt’s voice sounded distant and echoey.

~!Peter’s PoV!~

I sat next to Y/n’s unconscious body, she had gotten knocked out earlier that day and had only woken up in two-minute segments, spouting absolute nonsense, because of the medicine McCoy gave her. Kurt and Mystique were in and out, they both started crying when they saw her, though.

I saw her eyes flutter open and she sits up a bit, seeming to be in a daze. She looks over to me with a puzzled look on her face and I heard her speak.

“Kevin? Is that you?” Wait… who the hell is Kevin? I thought to myself, But she continued to babble, thinking I was this Kevin person.

“Kevin, I need to get something off of my chest.” She slurred to me.

“I am madly in love, with an oblivious idiot that can’t take a hintttt…” She elongated the word hint. Wait… I looked into her eyes.

“Who is the idiot you're in love with (Y/n)?”

“His name is Peter, I like to call him Quicksilver though.” She slurred to me, and my face turned bright pink.

“He doesn’t realize that I like him, zough, because he can’t take a hint” She whined like a child to me and my face became redder than it was already.

“I’m sure he likes you too (Y/n).” As I tried to get her to lay down to sleep again, red faced as a tomato.

“Do you really think that?” She asked, closing her eyes.

“Yes, I really do.” Her breathing slowed and her whole body relaxed.

| Y/n’s PoV | (In a Nightmare)

I was trapped in a room, crying. All of my closest friends, Jean, Scott, Jubilee, my family, Kurt and Mystique, and the one person that I loved with all of my heart, Peter.

They were all screaming in agony, held down by leather straps and being electrocuted. The big window in front of me was all I could look through, and it terrified me, their auras were all bright red, they were in intense pain. I tried to teleport out of there, do something, but I couldn’t.

“That’s horrible.” A voice said from beside me, I turned my head to see Sean.

“Everybody I know is in there.” I told him, tears leaking out of my eyes.

“You do realize that Trask industries closed down last month, right?” He crossed his arms and I looked at him in shock.

“W-what is this then?” I asked, genuinely confused.

“Some people call it a hallucination, but most people call it a dream.” He leaned up against the wall, arms crossed.

“How do I get out?” I asked, genuinely confused.

“I dunno, I’m just kinda here.” He shrugged his shoulders, walking around freely.

“I heard that some people have to die to get out of their dreams,” I told him, trying to move my legs and succeeding. I walked over to him and tried to touch him, but he was transparent and ghost-like.

“Wake up, Y/n, please.” I heard an echoey voice from somewhere far off, I couldn’t tell who it was. “Everybody’s worried about you.”

The voice sounded familiar, but it was distorted and seemed lower than it was supposed to be.

I looked through the window and saw that Peter was gone, the straps were still tied and nothing had moved, but Peter was not there.

I curled up into a fetal position, completely scared of what would happen, I stayed there for what seemed like hours, the voice fading away.

Quickly, I closed my eyes, hoping to go back to the real world, where I could be with my family and my friends.

~In the Real World~

I sat up, my eyes wide open, nobody was in the bland, all white, infirmary. “Peter? Kurt? Jean? Mystique?” I called out, my voice echoing throughout the room.

I heard footsteps and a ‘bamf.’

“Y/n!” Kurt’s accented voice rang out and he hugged me tightly, his aura was bright yellow.

“Kurt, you are squishing me.” I told him as he let go.

“Sorry,” He apologized. “You passed out about six hours ago and I vas worried about you.” He said.

Mystique rushed in, about a minute after her son and her aura the same as her sons. “We heard your voice.” She said, hugging me.

“I’m okay, I promise,” I told them, hugging her tightly.

“Peter was in here for a while.” Kurt told me and my cheeks flushed fuchsia. “He was worried, just like the rest of us, stayed here longer than any of us.”

“He was?” I asked, a hopeful tone in my voice.

“Well, yeah.” Kurt said plainly as I tried to get up. He held me down and pushed me into the hard bed.

“Kurt! I want to get up! I’m feeling a lot better.” I told him, crossing my arms and pouting.

“I’m not sure if it’s such a good idea, Y/n.” Mystique told me, sitting down on the bedside chair.

“Why can’t we just ask Mr. McCoy?” I asked, a little mad.

“I can go ask him.” Kurt volunteered, raising his hand.

“Thank you. Kurt.” I hugged him and he bamfed away.

He came back after a few minutes, Hank in tow. Hank quickly went over to the IV machine that was hooked up to my arm, his aura was a soft yellow.

“You’re vital’s are good, does anything hurt?” He asked and I nodded.

“I’m a little sore, but otherwise, I’m good. May I get out of this bed now?” I smiled at him, trying to use my adorableness in my favor.

“Yeah, you can, just don’t do anything drastic, you’re in recovery.” He told me, unhooking the IV from my vein.

“Thank you!” I got up and hugged him, my limbs incredibly sore.

I teleported to Kurt’s side and our tails intertwined.

“You guys are adorable.” Mystique said, laughing a little bit. “My two babies.”

Hank looked completely lost and confused, looking between Me, Kurt, and Mystique. “Did something happen, or..?”

“Are really that blind, Hank?” Mystique asked, laughing.

“I don’t know, I mean, I do wear glasses.” He said, adjusting his glasses.

“These are my kids.” She laughed as Hank’s eyes widened.

“W-what?” He stuttered. “So, um, you guys are Darkhölme’s?”

“I-I guess so.” Kurt said, resting his elbow on the top of my head.

“Get is off of me, Kurt. I am not a baby.” I grumpily pushed his arm off, giving Kurt the stink eye.

“Okay, Y/n, you should probably go get some exercise,” Hank said, smiling at me and Kurt.

“Alright.” I smiled back at him and bamfed out of the room and into the garden, leaving Kurt behind.

Peter was sitting on the same concrete bench that Kurt and I were sitting on earlier that day, a few purple flowers in his hands. It was almost completely dark outside and he looked kind of sad, his aura was blue with green tips.

“Peter!” I yelled waving my hand.

He heard my voice and looked right at me, his aura turning a bright yellow. “Y/n! You’re awake! I was worried that you wouldn’t wake up.” He ran over and hugged me, purple tips appearing around him. He easily lifted me up in the air and my cheeks turned a bright fuschia.

“Peter, you’re squishing me.” I told him, laughing a little bit. The flowers laid slightly damaged in his hands.

“Oh, sorry.” He said, his aura becoming slightly more purple. He set me down, me being very short compared to him.

“It’s alright.” I smiled, showing off my fangs a little bit.

“These are kind of for you, sorry that they’re squished.” His cheeks turned pink and the tips of his purple/yellow aura also became pink.

“It’s alright,” I told him, graciously taking the flowers from him. “They are beautiful, even if they are a little squished.”

“I found them and I wanted to give them to you.” He said, taking a step away from me.

“Thank you.” I told them, smelling the slightly damaged flowers.

“I want to show you something. Come with me, please?” He asked, excitement evident in his hazel eyes.

“Alright.” I smiled and he held me, his hand behind my neck.

“We’ll be there in a second, okay?” He said, a little concerned.

“Okay.” I said and he rushed off, stopping in a very thick patch of trees.

“We’re almost there, it’s just up ahead.” He told me, taking my hand in his and walking at a, surprisingly, slow pace.

“What is it, Peter?” I asked, following him towards a particularly thin patch of trees.

“I can’t tell you that.” He smiled, a mischievous look in his eyes.

We walked into the middle of the thin patch of trees, where a very comfy looking blanket was lying down on the ground.

“I come here almost every night, and just stargaze.” He told me, lying down on the blanket.

“I’ve only been stargazing once in my life, Kurt and I ended up getting in trouble. It vas nice while it lasted.” I told him, lying down next to him, the blanket was very fluffy and warm. His aura turned slightly green, but still yellow.

“Well, now you get to do it with me.” He booped my nose and I giggled slightly.

We watched the stars for a while, pointing out all of the constellations that we knew and some that we didn’t.

“You’re adorable, y’know that?” He said, looking at me, while I pointed out another constellation that I made up.

“W-what do you mean?” I asked, flustered as his aura turned completely pink.

“You. I love you.” He said, looking away from me and back up at the stars. “I love how innocent and adorable you are, I love the faraway look you always have in your eyes. You smile so much and I was so worried that you wouldn’t wake up. Sometimes, it makes me jealous because of the relationship that you have with your brother. You two are adorable and when you talk in German it kinda turns me on. I just love you and I feel like this is all so sudden and I just…”

His words made my cheeks flush and my brain not be able to think clearly. I had no idea what to do so I crashed my lips into his, taking the speedster by surprise.

He kissed me back and it felt like the stars were shining and cheering for us, as if they knew it was going to happen. He easily dominated me, rolling on top as I was pushed even farther into the cosy blanket.

Our lips moved together ravenously, my hands were tangled into his slightly fluffy, silver hair and my tail was curled around his torso. His hands were resting on my hips, barely squeezing, but I could feel it.

We pulled away, breathing heavily, and our foreheads were touching.

“I love you too, Peter.” I smiled while he caressed my purple cheek.

“I think you said that already with your lips.” He chuckled, his hair completely messed up, and I laughed with him.

“I’ve sort of had a crush on you ever since we started sharing a room together.” I told him, embarrassed that I was actually telling him that.

“Yeah, well, I’ve had a crush ever since I first saw you in that facility.” He told me. “And then when I first saw you laughing at my ‘I still live in my mom’s basement’ joke, I was completely head over heels.”

“You’re so sweet.” I hugged him and tackled him to the ground.

He flipped me over, very easily and gave me his signature cocky smirk. “You’ll never beat me, y’know.”

“I know.”  

Masterlist

[the-magnus-archives-archiver]

Boatswain’s Call

Case: 0110201

Name: Carlita Sloane Subject: Her work on a container ship traveling to Southampton from Porto do Itaqui Date: January 2nd, 2011 Recorded by: Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London

[Archivist (John): Look, Tim, I’d love to discuss this further, but as you can see, I have a recording to do.

Tim: Oh, come on. Look, it’s not a big deal. We just need to do a few of them again.

Archivist: Out of the question.

Tim: It’s just confusing if not. Er, like the garbageman’s statement.

Archivist: Mr. Woodward.

Tim: Yeah, so, you said that Alan Parfitt was reported missing... ah, in August 2009, which would actually be six months after the statement had been given.

Archivist: Obviously it should have been 2008. I misspoke an ‘8’ as a ‘9’. What does it matter?.

Tim: Well, someone noticed.

Archivist: Who?

Tim: Er, Josh Cole – great guy – he’s one of the students using our resources for a dissertation. Um... oh, and here, in Miss Montauk’s statement about her father’s killings. You refer to case, um, 9220611 as case, um, 1106922. Oh, and don’t get me started on the other case numbers around the Hill Top hauntings, they’re a mess!

Archivist: Alleged hauntings. And who honestly cares if I misspoke case 9220611 as 1106922? Another student?

Tim: Well, actually, yes. Um, Samantha Emery – she’s lovely – she’s actually doing a PhD in manifestations...

Archivist: I don’t care. It’s not enough that Gertrude left us with such a pointlessly awkward filing system. Half the time she doesn’t even stay consistent in her own records.

Tim: To be honest with you, er, I don’t really understand the system

 Archivist: Last three digits of the year, then the day, then the month. I don’t know why she did it like that, but I can’t change it now.

Tim: Oh... okay... Alright, so what happens if more than one statement is given on the same day?

Archivist: I... don’t know. It never came up. Was there anything else?

Tim: Oh yeah, just one.

Archivist: Good lord.

Tim: So, in case 8163103 it isn’t clear if Albrecht’s wife is called ‘Clara’ or ‘Carla’ ‘cause you keep switching back and forth...

Archivist: Well, I’m sorry if I found it hard to read a 200-year old letter, written in cursive by a native German speaker. Who complained about that one?

Tim: Oh, it’s, it’s not a complaint. I just noticed actually. Um, look I know you’ve been under a lot of pressure... it’s not a big deal, I just think it might be worth re-recording these statements.

Archivist: No. I don’t have time. I still have a mountain of haphazard statements to get through, not to mention that I need to keep this wretched tape recorder on hand just in case I encounter one of the files too stubborn to work on anything else. And when I do, I have to actually read the damn thing, which is...

Tim (BACKGROUND): Oh, woah, woah... woah!

Archivist: Fine. It’s fine. I just haven’t been sleeping much these last few months, what with all this... worm business. Which reminds me, if you do see Elias, tell him thanks for the extra extinguishers.]

Tim: Oh, yeah. Yeah, sure. It’s getting bad. I mean, Martin keeps showing me his tongue and asking if it “looks infested”. Um. So what do you want me to do about these errors?

Archivist: I really don’t care. Put a Post-It on the tapes or something. I’m not re-recording them. Now if you’ll excuse me...

Tim: Oh, yeah, sure, yep, I’ll let you get back to it. [DOOR CLOSES]

Archivist: Right. Oh, still running? Okay.  Statement of Carlita Sloane, regarding her work on a container ship travelling to Southampton from Porto do Itaqui. Original statement given January the 2nd 2011. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement begins.]

I’ve been working the shipping routes for years now, so I know there’s plenty of messed up things can happen out there. You remember the old saying ‘worse things happen at sea’? Well, let me tell you it’s just as true now as it ever was. But I’ve never seen weird like I saw when serving on the Tundra. I didn’t even want the job, really, but I didn’t have a lot of choice. We’d just hit Porto do Itaqui in Brazil in late November of last year when the ship I was on got stopped because of ‘cargo irregularities’. I don’t know what it was. Might have been drugs, human trafficking, might have just been a crooked harbour master looking for a kickback, but it didn’t really matter. Point was I had to jump ship.

This wasn’t an easy thing, though. A sailor’s union should be recognised anywhere in the world, but when it came down to it, my membership of Nautilus, a UK union, meant nothing when I was trying to get a place on a cargo run coming out of Brazil. Didn’t help that I’m a woman. A lot of people don’t think shipping is a job for women. Hell, a lot of people who work on ships don’t think it is. You don’t see a lot of us in the trade, and every ounce of respect I got, some dick-waving asshole probably bled for. But that’s fine, I can hold my own, and it hasn’t been such a problem since I shaved my head. It was enough to keep me on land for a good few days, though, as I tried to find another ship to take me on. Well, that and my bad Spanish.

I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how relieved I was when I heard that a British ship had made port. The Tundra. Now at that point I was starting to get a bit desperate, so I was keen to go to the captain and just about beg passage. Screw my qualifications, if needed I’d sign on as a workaway. I could find a better position once I was somewhere I spoke the language properly.

I eventually found the captain in a small bar in one of the seedier areas of the dockside. I’d been told his name was Peter Lukas, but to be honest I wouldn’t have needed his name – he was the only white guy in the place. Even by those standards he was very pale, weirdly so for someone who apparently lived their life on the sea. He sat there at a small table, completely alone, drinking a cup of black coffee. He was staring into the distance, and didn’t seem to notice anything going on around him. I sat down opposite and coughed.

His eyes only moved a fraction of an inch to focus on me, but it felt as though the movement had the weight of a heavy stone door. Like a tomb. Don’t know why that’s what popped into my head, but there you go. I asked if he was Peter Lukas, and he said, “Yes”. I’d gone blank on what to say next, and it was then that I noticed the silence. I looked around to see that the place was now completely empty. Even the bartender was nowhere to be seen, and the only sound was the whir of the ceiling fans above us. The captain was still staring at me, so I swallowed my unease and began to explain my situation to him. I left out the part about the criminal possibilities of my last ship, but was clear that I was in desperate need of a new post. When I had finished, he was quiet for a few minutes. Then he nodded.

“We have one space. Report tomorrow. At dawn.”

That was all he said. And it was all I needed. The Tundra wasn’t difficult to find when I headed to the docks the next day. It was big, already stacked high with an array of colourful shipping containers. I wondered if they’d loaded it up overnight, as there didn’t seem to be much activity from the crane. It was early, and I was glad I was leaving Brazil before the wet season really got going, as the sky was threatening to break. Making my way through the dock I asked around until I was finally pointed to the mate. He was a short man, heavy set with a thick, black beard. His warm, brown skin was stained darker by a life working in the sun, and he didn’t smile when he looked at me. Around his neck, I saw a chain ending in a small brass ball and stem. It looked like an old boatswain’s call, an antique sailor’s whistle. 

I introduced myself, told him what I’d told the captain and gave my qualifications and experience. The bearded mate listened quietly until I finished. Then he shrugged, and said they were in need of an Ordinary Seaman, and I was welcome to the position if I wanted it. OS was a bit of a step down for me, as I’ve been pulling Able Seaman pay for these last few years, but it was a ticket out of Porto do Itaqui, so I jumped at the chance. The mate still didn’t smile, but he did offer his hand and introduced himself in a gentle Dutch accent as Tadeas Dahl, First Mate of the Tundra. I was surprised, as it seemed a bit abrupt to be leaving, and I hadn’t even had time to stow away the duffel bag that was my only luggage. Still, I wasn’t about to disobey the first order I’d been given on a new ship.

The Tundra was pretty normal. I’ve served on a half dozen ships almost identical to it, and I fell into my duties quickly. We set off almost as soon as I was on board, and it was only later I discovered we were heading across the Atlantic towards Southampton. I was very happy to find that out, as I had assumed we’d be making plenty more stops before crossing back to England. With any luck it wouldn’t be more than a couple of weeks before I was home, and those would be spent in maintenance, repainting and taking watches with ‘Iron Mike’, the autopilot.

So that was fine, but I did start to notice a few things on board which didn’t really seem to add up. The first was the crew. They were quiet. Very quiet. I mean, I’ve been on ships where I was pretty much the only native English speaker, and plenty of people prefer to keep to themselves. Hell, not being too comfortable around people is a damn fine reason to go to sea. This was different, though.

It wasn’t just that they didn’t talk much, they seemed uncomfortable with me. They’d avoid eye contact, and only barely acknowledge me if we were on a shift together. As first I thought it was because I was a woman, but then I saw that it wasn’t just me. They avoided each other just as much as they did me. Meals were always quiet, no matter how many people were eating, and there was no friendly games of cards or chat in living quarters. There was no real conversation in any language. It was like they were doing everything in their power not to think about each other. It took me less than a day of ignored hellos and grunted answers before I fell into line, becoming just as quiet as my crewmates.

The only person who spoke was Tadeas Dahl. The mate would walk among the crew, giving instructions and orders in a dozen different languages, as the crew scrambled to carry out his commands. He was just as composed as he had been when I met him, and it soon became clear that, if he had emotions, he kept a tight wrap on them. He would stride along the ship, his antique whistle swinging from his neck. He never actually blew the boatswain’s call, apparently preferring to summon the crew via the intercom or horn. It just hung there, its polished brass heavy around his neck. I didn’t see Captain Lukas at all that first week. I only knew he was onboard because every meal time the cooks would hand a tray of food to the mate, who’d take it up to the captain’s cabin. We never saw the man himself, though.

There was one crewmember who did catch my eye. He was a young guy, white and, from what I could tell, Scottish. I never really got more than his name out of him: Sean Kelly. He had the bunk opposite me, and we were on different shifts, so I would often see him lying there when I returned from my night watch. He didn’t talk any more than the others, but he also didn’t go around with that blank look on his face. He looked scared. 

There were other odd things about the ship, but hands down the weirdest thing, I didn’t notice until a few days out into the Atlantic. Now one of my duties was to check the deck containers were securely in place, none of the twistlocks or lashing rods had broken or come loose. It was usually just busywork – I’d never been on a ship that lost a container, though it does happen. This shift, though, I noticed something wrong. I saw that one of the lashing rods, towards the stern, had broken. And not at one of the ends, or the twistlock itself, but right in the middle of what should have been solid metal. From a distance it looked fine, new paint shining in the sun, but looking closer I saw that it had rusted all the way through. Not just that, but checking out where the rod connected to the container, it became clear that they had rusted together. Fresh paint covered up most of it, but once I knew what I was looking for I saw it everywhere. The shipping containers, all of them, were rusted in place. How could this have happened, though, if they were being changed over at port? How long had the Tundra been sailing with the same cargo?

I decided I had to look inside. Stupid, maybe. If it was something illegal, they might toss me overboard first and ask questions never, but only if I got caught. And I was just about sick of nasty surprises. 

I did it on my next late shift. I kept an eye on the rest of the crew and waited for my moment. I’d already marked out a ground level container where the padlock had practically rusted off. It wouldn’t be difficult to get it open. It was about 3am when I had my chance. I was alone on deck and the wind was howling loud enough to muffle the groan of the container’s rusted hinges. It took three kicks from my steel toecaps to get it open, but finally I was able to get the door ajar. It was so stiff it took almost all my strength to get enough of a gap to walk through, but finally I could see inside.

It was completely empty. There was no sign of cargo, or any markings or debris on the floor that might have shown there had ever been anything inside. I couldn’t believe it, a transport ship with nothing to transport? It didn’t make any sense. I managed to bust two other containers open, but they were the same. As far as I could tell, every container on the ship was empty. I was still trying to figure out what this could mean when I saw a couple of torches approaching. I almost panicked and ran, but where exactly was I going to escape to? The empty, uncaring ocean stretched out for hundreds of miles in every direction. So instead I swallowed my fear, and pushed the door careful closed, trying my best to hide the broken lock before making my way onto the deck.

I was met by the mate and a half dozen other crewmen behind him. He looked at me for a second, then nodded and told me to follow, then he continued walking. Confused, I headed after them as they made their way around the ship, silently collecting up or waking all the rest of the crew. I started to ask what was going on, but the glares I got shut me right up. Finally, when we had what looked like the whole crew together, we walked over to the lifeboat.

Now we definitely weren’t sinking, so I hadn’t really paid much attention to the lifeboat before, but now I looked at it, I realised it wasn’t what I’d have expected. Most modern container ships have a lifeboat that looks more like a lumpy orange blob than a boat. They’re designed to be quickly and safely dropped into the water and tough out whatever conditions the sea might throw at them. But this was an old fashioned boat, with oars and a winch mechanism for lowering it into the water. It didn’t even look like it had any supplies in it. Standing there in front of it was Captain Lukas, as silent as the rest of his crew. 

The Captain nodded, and one by one the crew of the Tundra got on board the lifeboat. I got on too. I mean, what else was I supposed to do? I didn’t know what was going on and no-one seemed to want to tell me, but I sure as hell wasn’t getting left alone on that big empty ship. So I got in and sat down, as a couple of the crew began to lower the lifeboat into the sea. A few others took up the oars, and as soon as we hit the water, they began to row quietly away from the Tundra, which floated, motionless.

The sky was clear and the wind had died down, so the stars reflected perfectly on the still ocean surface. All the lights on the ship had been turned off, so the world and all the empty horizon was only lit by the moon. As we rowed, I looked around my companions on the lifeboat. Everyone I recognised was there, except for one. I checked each face in turn, but I could see no sign of Sean Kelly, my scared bunkmate. Had we left him behind? Was he still back on the ship, sleeping away ignorant of the fact that he was now utterly and completely alone?

Almost as though he knew I was about to speak, Tadeas gave me a warning glare. The mate reached down and took the old brass whistle from his neck. He pressed it to his lips, and blew.

I have never heard a whistle sound like that. It was shrill, so high and piercing that I felt my hair stand on end, but it also seemed distant. Like I was hearing it from far, far away. I don’t know how long he blew that boatswain’s call for, but by the end, I realised we were surrounded by thick sea smoke. We should have far too far south for it, but it rolled and billowed around the lifeboat, obscuring the Tundra. No-one said a word, but I could have sworn a few of my shipmates were crying.

I don’t know how long we floated there, sat in the dark water, but eventually the fog cleared and the mate sounded the boatswain’s call again, this time a short, sharp whistle. We saw the Tundra, dark and still upon the water, and began to row back towards it. The lifeboat was painstakingly raised and the rest of the crew returned to their positions. Sean Kelly was nowhere to be seen. And I never saw him again.

After that night, the atmosphere on board changed. People talked, and you’d occasionally hear actual laughter on board. Games were played, people drank, and there was this sense of relief to it all. I tried to join in, but got dark looks any time I asked about Sean. At one point the third mate, a man named Kim Duong, told me that I should shut up and be grateful, as it hadn’t been “an easy choice”.

I kept to myself the rest of the way, and left the ship as soon as we landed in Southampton. I didn’t even think about my pay until it came through a couple of days later: twenty-five thousand pounds. For barely two weeks work. I don’t mind telling you, it was almost enough to tempt me back.

Almost.

Archivist Notes:

An interesting statement, though difficult to investigate any potentially paranormal activity, as there does not appear to have been anything explicitly supernatural occurring in this statement. A lot of strange happenings and implicit weirdness, but nothing that can be isolated as a ‘supernatural event’. There’s also the fact that even a casual search of port authority records shows the Tundra is a currently active cargo ship operating for Solus Shipping PLC, a company founded and majority owned by Nathaniel Lukas. In addition to such business ventures, the Lukas family also provides funding to several academic and research organisations, including the Magnus Institute. Much as I want to dig further into this, especially given certain parallels with case 0161301, Elias gets very twitchy when we look into anything that might conceivably have funding repercussions. 

It doesn't look like I’m going to be able to do any further investigations into this. Even though the official crew manifest for the Tundra has remained the same for the last ten years. Even though I can’t find any record of actual cargo being loaded or unloaded into it from any UK port. Even though Sean Kelly disappeared from the port of Felixstowe in October 2010, and his body washed up on the coast of Morocco in April 2011, six months later. According to the coroner, it had only been in the water for five days. Maybe I’ll mention it to Elias. Just in case.

[oldfritz]

Eyo help a girl out, have some Old Fritz biography recommendations?

sorry for the late response! i tried answering this at school but figured it’d be better to do it at home so i can tell you book lengths

anyways, let’s get ~fritzy!~ and ignore each books uncreative title

1. Frederick the Great: The Magnificent Enigma by Robert B. Asprey

Imo, the best Fritz bio to date. He doesn’t skirt around his homosexuality, goes into a decent about of detail on his relationship with his key siblings (Wilhelmina, Henry, and Wilhelm), and does an excellent job at dealing with the foreign policy! He goes in-depth on the thoughts and motivations of Fritz’s foils in the other courts. So far, he’s been the only Fritz biographer to do justice to Maria Theresa and capture her as a full fledged person who justifiably reacted to Fritz’s advances on ‘her’ territory (we’re ignoring that Silesia’s really Polish and we’ll keep doing that with all of Poland for another 100yrs or so lol). I also enjoy his points on why the English were such fair-weather allies during the Seven Years War and why they became especially frigid when George III rose to power - all the most striking when you realize how many pubs are named after him (pretty sure ‘King of Prussia’ is most common, a Londoner/gen. Brit can correct me if I’m wrong) and that he had a staggering amount of public support amongst the English British population. And his detail of the wacky misadventures of Fritz’s bff Peter III and the anxiety in the Russian and Prussian courts when Catherine came to power. He does a solid job with France too, but that stands out less due to my own bias (half-English and love German history? I’m not gonna love the Frogs, especially when they were starting shit). 

It really only has two big flaws to me. Asprey is a military man by nature - in fact, his other histories are on various wars and battle tactics! - so he puts in great detail to the important battles throughout Fritz’s career (he doesn’t pay much attention to the War of Bavarian Succession, which I’m eternally grateful for). While I’m happy with how much he spent time on foreign policy, he’s lacking in Fritz’s personal relations and analysis of the man himself, which as you know from my blog is my passion. I wish he’d have spent more time on Fritz’s relations with Wilhelm and Henry out of war; his relationships with Katte, Catt, D’Alembert, Fredersdorff, Algerotti, and Voltaire; and Fritz’s mental hell-scape. But, these are small faults and I would recommend the book wholeheartedly. 

Pages: 634

Frederick the Great (sometimes with the subtitle A Life in Deeds and Letters) by Giles MacDonogh

Not the best, not the worst. Really depends on how quick of a read you want. It’s a good introduction into Fritz and helps you begin to understand him, his life, and why his father was...like that (it’s not a solid reasoning, but it’s a good enough hypothesis for how quickly MacDonogh goes through it). There’s wit and humor in his writing and well-deserved criticisms at Fritz in his most reckless asshole states. Chiefly of his treatment of Wilhelm (and the rest of his family), his dick-out approach to Silesia, how he pushes anyone he gets close to away, and his victim complex (the latter I agree with half the time, the other half I had some objections to). He’s heavily biased towards Henry and that can get annoying since he makes it out like Fritz was the only one acting like an asshole (they’re both historically confirmed divas from royalty, they’re not the nicest men by default). He also makes the interesting claim that Fritz wasn’t as great a military general as popular memory has made him out to be. 

Like I said, I think it’s a good introductory book. Ultimately, though, it’ll leave you wanting more if you’re fairly knowledgeable in his life. That being said, it’s biggest pro to me was the introduction. I’ve made a few jokes about it on here, but something that’s pissed me off a lot in my research is the various inaccurate representations of Fritz - most notably as a proud son of Germany, a Protestant hero, a macho war-hero, and the beginning of Nazism/who Hitler is fact-kin with. The latter is just...horribly wrong and the others only have a grain of truth at best. That’s something MacDonogh addresses out of the gate and bases his thesis around - getting rid of these false perceptions of Fritz and trying to get down to the man as he truly was. I don’t believe it was a perfect portrait, but it’s a much more accurate one than many painted by wannabe biographers from 1786-1980. 

Pages: 386

Frederick the Great: King of Prussia by Tim Blanning

Yes, I know I’ve griped about this man before but god-fucking-dammit he does his job well, even if he is a cold prick over email. Out of the three, he’s the best and most emphatic in this book (and other publications!) about Fritz’s sexuality. That being, he’s fucking Gay and Fratte happened. He dedicates a fair amount of the book to dismissing any claims otherwise with such effectiveness, it gives me hope that historians of other ‘disputably’ queer figures will follow suit. I can’t remember my gripes with this book - it’s been a few years since I read it - but I’m sure it had flaws. Fritz’s personal life was dealt with deftly and enjoyable. Really, you can get a feel for his arguments about Fritz in the book from this podcast - where he shuts down a straight-washing of him and makes the claim that Fritz was not a great general, but a great war-chief, which I happen to agree with. It’s a great middle between Asprey and MacDonogh’s work and features the most recent development on Fritz, that of the uncovered erotic poem he wrote to Algarotti. It also makes for an easier read than Asprey during the school year, depending on how hectic your schedule is. 

Pages: 705

[feministdragon]

Peter Jackson’s Cartoon War

When director-producer Peter Jackson’s World War I film, “They Shall Not Grow Old,” which miraculously transforms grainy, choppy black-and-white archival footage from the war into a modern 3D color extravaganza, begins, he bombards us with the clichés used to ennoble war. Veterans, over background music, say things like “I wouldn’t have missed it,” “I would go through it all over again because I enjoyed the service life” and “It made me a man.” It must have taken some effort after the war to find the tiny minority of veterans willing to utter this rubbish. Military life is a form of servitude, prolonged exposure to combat leaves you broken, scarred for life by trauma and often so numb you have difficulty connecting with others, and the last thing war does is make you a man.

Far more common was the experience of the actor Wilfrid Lawson, who was wounded in the war and as a result had a metal plate in his skull. He drank heavily to dull the incessant pain. In his memoirs “Inside Memory,” Timothy Findley, who acted with him, recalled that Lawson “always went to bed sodden and all night long he would be dragged from one nightmare to another—often yelling—more often screaming—very often struggling physically to free himself of impeding bedclothes and threatening shapes in the shadows.” He would pound the walls, shouting “Help! Help! Help!” The noise, my dear—and the people.

David Lloyd George, wartime prime minister of Britain, in his memoirs used language like this to describe the conflict:

… [I]nexhaustible vanity that will never admit a mistake … individuals who would rather the million perish than that they as leaders should own—even to themselves—that they were blunderers … the notoriety attained by a narrow and stubborn egotism, unsurpassed among the records of disaster wrought by human complacency … a bad scheme badly handled … impossible orders issued by Generals who had no idea what the execution of their commands really meant … this insane enterprise … this muddy and muddle-headed venture. …

The British Imperial War Museum, which was behind the Jackson film, had no interest in portraying the dark reality of war. War may be savage, brutal and hard, but it is also, according to the myth, ennobling, heroic and selfless. You can believe this drivel only if you have never been in combat, which is what allows Jackson to modernize a cartoon version of war.

The poet Siegfried Sassoon in “The Hero” captured the callousness of war:

“Jack fell as he’d have wished,” the Mother said, And folded up the letter that she’d read. “The Colonel writes so nicely.” Something broke In the tired voice that quavered to a choke. She half looked up. “We mothers are so proud Of our dead soldiers.” Then her face was bowed.

Quietly the Brother Officer went out. He’d told the poor old dear some gallant lies That she would nourish all her days, no doubt. For while he coughed and mumbled, her weak eyes Had shone with gentle triumph, brimmed with joy, Because he’d been so brave, her glorious boy.

He thought how “Jack,” cold-footed, useless swine, Had panicked down the trench that night the mine Went up at Wicked Corner; how he’d tried To get sent home; and how, at last, he died, Blown to small bits. And no one seemed to care Except that lonely woman with white hair.

Our own generals and politicians, who nearly two decades ago launched the greatest strategic blunder in American history and have wasted nearly $6 trillion on conflicts in the Middle East that we cannot win, are no less egotistical and incompetent. The images of our wars are as carefully controlled and censored as the images from World War I. While the futility and human carnage of our current conflicts are rarely acknowledged in public, one might hope that we could confront the suicidal idiocy of World War I a century later.

Leon Wolff, in his book “In Flanders Fields: The 1917 Campaign,” writes of World War I:

“It had meant nothing, solved nothing, and proved nothing; and in so doing had killed 8,538,315 men and variously wounded 21,219,452. Of 7,750,919 others taken prisoner or missing, well over a million were later presumed dead; thus the total deaths (not counting civilians) approach ten million. The moral and mental defects of the leaders of the human race had been demonstrated with some exactitude. One of them (Woodrow Wilson) later admitted that the war had been fought for business interests; another (David Lloyd George) had told a newspaperman: ‘If people really knew, the war would be stopped tomorrow, but of course they don’t—and can’t know. The correspondents don’t write and the censorship wouldn’t pass the truth.’

There is no mention in the film of the colossal stupidity of the British general staff that sent hundreds of thousands of working-class Englishmen—they are seen grinning into the camera with their decayed teeth—in wave after wave, week after week, month after month, into the mouths of German machine guns to be killed or wounded. There is no serious exploration of the iron censorship that hid the realities of the war from the public and saw the press become a shill for warmongers. There is no investigation into how the war was used by the state, as it is today, as an excuse to eradicate civil liberties. There is no look at the immense wealth made by the arms manufacturers and contractors or how the war plunged Britain deep into debt with war-related costs totaling 70 percent of the gross national product. Yes, we see some pictures of gruesome wounds, digitalized into color, yes, we hear how rats ate corpses, but the war in the film is carefully choreographed, stripped of the deafening sounds, repugnant smells and most importantly the crippling fear and terror that make a battlefield a stygian nightmare. We glimpse dead bodies, but there are no long camera shots of the slow agony of those dying of horrific wounds. Sanitized images like these are war pornography. That they are no longer jerky and grainy and have been colorized in 3D merely gives old war porn a modern sheen.

“When the war was not very active, it was really rather fun to be in the front line,” a veteran says in the film. “It was a sort of outdoor camp holiday with a slight spice of danger to make it interesting.”

Insipid comments like that defined the perception of the war at home. The clash between a civilian population that saw the war as “a sort of outdoor camp holiday” and those who experienced it led to profound estrangement. The poet Charles Sorley wrote: “I should like so much to kill whoever was primarily responsible for the war.” And journalist and author Philip Gibbs noted that soldiers had a deep hatred of civilians who believed the lies. “They hated the smiling women in the streets. They loathed the old men. … They desired that profiteers should die by poison-gas. They prayed to God to get the Germans to send Zeppelins to England—to make the people know what war meant.”

Military studies have determined that after 60 days of continuous combat, 98 percent of those who survive will have become psychiatric casualties. The common trait among the 2 percent who were able to endure sustained combat was a predisposition toward “aggressive psychopathic personalities.” Lt. Col. David Grossman wrote: “It is not too far from the mark to observe that there is something about continuous, inescapable combat which will drive 98 percent of all men insane, and the other 2 percent were crazy when they got there.”

The military cliques in American society are as omnipotent as they were in World War I. The symbols of war and militarism, then and now, have a quasi-religious aura, especially in our failed democracy. Our incompetent generals—such as David Petraeus, whose surges only prolonged the Iraq War and raised the casualty figures and whose idea to arm “moderate” rebels in Syria was a debacle—are as lionized as the pig-headed and vainglorious Gen. Douglas Haig, the British commander in chief, who resisted innovations such as the tank, the airplane and the machine gun, which he called “a much overrated weapon.” He believed the cavalry would play the decisive role in winning the war. Haig, in the Battle of the Somme, oversaw 60,000 casualties on the first day of the offensive, July 1, 1916. None of his military objectives were achieved. Twenty thousand lay dead between the lines. The wounded cried out for days. This did not dampen Haig’s ardor to sacrifice his soldiers. Determined to make his plan of bursting through the German lines and unleashing his three divisions of cavalry on the fleeing enemy, he kept the waves of assaults going for four months until winter forced him to cease. By the time Haig was done, the army had suffered more than 400,000 casualties and accomplished nothing. Lt. Col. E.T.F. Sandys, who saw 500 of his soldiers killed or wounded on the first day at the Somme, wrote two months later, “I have never had a moment’s peace since July 1st.” He then shot himself to death in a London hotel room. Joe Sacco’s illustrated book “The Great War,” a 24-foot-long wordless panorama that depicts the first day of the Battle of Somme, reveals more truth about the horror of war than Jackson’s elaborate restoration of old film.

https://www.truthdig.com/articles/peter-jacksons-cartoon-war/

Jackson closes the film with an army ditty about prostitution. “You might forget the gas and shell,” the song goes, “but you’ll nev’r forget the Mademoiselle! Hinky-dinky, parlez-vous?”

Tens of thousands of girls and women, whose brothers, fathers, sons and husbands were dead or crippled, and whose homes often had been destroyed, became impoverished and often homeless. They were easy prey for the brothels, including the military-run brothels, and the pimps that serviced the soldiers. There is nothing amusing or cute about lying on a straw mat and being raped by as many as 60 men a day, unless you are the rapist.

“Give sorrow words,” William Shakespeare reminded us, “The grief that does not speak whispers the o’erfraught heart and bids it break.”

It is fortunate all the participants in the war are dead. They would find the film another example of the monstrous lie that denied their reality, ignored or minimized their suffering and never held the militarists, careerists, profiteers and imbeciles who prosecuted the war accountable. War is the raison d’être of technological society. It unleashes demons. And those who profit from these demons, then and now, work hard to keep them hidden.

https://www.truthdig.com/articles/peter-jacksons-cartoon-war/