#wars of truth and privilege who would win

[tiodolma]

Did Merlin need to tell Morgana that he had magic too?

This question always bugs me. And it is true that I have written some stuff about it.. But it's been a year since I studied Merlin x Morgana dynamics. There's always countless ways to answer it, so many things to consider, so many issues both personal and political that have to be reviewed.

Do we go the pro-Morgana route and immediately say "Yes he should have been helping her in every way that was justified?"

or do we go the Pro-Merlin route and value his self-preservation more than anything else and straight up say "No, he didn't have to, that wasn't his job"?

And at this 1 year checkpoint I want to review myself.

At the very least, Merlin needed political backing for his cause very very badly. He had a job and a life mission, which was to bring freedom to his people using a specific trajectory (arthur). However, At s1-s2 Only Morgana was the nobility in the right position to accept and countercheck his views on magic. It's a risky move, true. He's been told that she was going to go evil and be more dangerous, true. She might revealed him to be the sorcerer way too early, true ...But if Merlin really needed to get a move on in his grand scheme, telling her and working with her was the only practical option to get his movement actually off the ground.

They were already friends. She trusted him more than anyone else. She was the prime person who would have understood. They already were indebted to each other. I mean, what more could you ask for in an ally?

If that means him being exposed to rebels like Alvarr, Tauren, Morgause or Mordred, wouldn't it have been better in the long run? His actions would have been in constant review and scrutiny by actual suffering AND Fighting members of the magic folk. If Merlin was destined to help rule them all then he needed critics, he needed social pressure from the other magicfolk too. Morgana was the right bridge for him, magic and Camelot. She was the best point of diplomacy anyone could have ever had. This would have made Merlin step up to a better diplomat/representative role as the face of his sect too.

I am not saying that he throw caution into the wind and immediately assist the rebels do atrocities, no. But it would have put Merlin in a position of learning and understanding on why rebellion/revolution/arms struggle was the only option left for so many of them, and that simply waiting for Arthur to become king someday will always receive heavy amounts of backlash from other magic sects and important magic people. Merlin needed to understand the reality of his people living on the ground and how it matches with the thing he was fighting for.

To me, ultimately, it's a check-and-balance thing.

Merlin had to be kept in check, just as Morgana had to be kept in check. That's what they should have been for each other. That's why the truth was important and valuable in the series. That's why it was wielded by Merlin as a weapon. That's why Morgana chased after it.

"Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?"

"Who watches the watchmen?"

Yes. Merlin owed Morgana the truth. For the sanity and survival of all and himself, then he should have risked it.

[eevees-hobbies]

His Lucky Charm - NSFW (Fem!Reader x Haruka Sakura)

Author’s Note: Down bad for Haruka Sakura. As always, I appreciate likes, comments and reblogs. Requests/thirsts are open.

Synopsis: Sakura considers you his lucky charm that contributes to his winning fight record. How does it work? Well, he has to fuck you, duh!

Content Warning: All smut. Cum eating, reader receives oral, premature ejaculation, fingering, submissive Sakura, then dominant Sakura, teasing, shit-talking. Minors Do Not Interact.

Word Count: 1.8K

Divider by Saradika. Story banner by me.

“I’m going to beat someone’s ass today.”

To anyone else, those seven words dripping in confidence and lethal aggression would sound like a declaration of war. But to you, someone who knows your boyfriend—Haruka Sakura—you know those words are intended for you. 

He’s giving you a message. A pattern has developed between you two. Sakura has a fixed, unyielding mindset that if he has a fight that day, he needs to have you split open on his cock prior to the battle to guarantee victory. Because, simply put, you are his good luck charm.

Is it backed by science? Absolutely not. Does he believe it to his core? Bet your fucking ass he does.

So it doesn’t come to you as a surprise that you’re now in a position where you’re poised on your king-sized bed, staring up at the ceiling, legs spread with Sakura’s mouth making out with your cum-filled pussy.

“Mmm, eat up baby.” You purposefully clench your walls, forcing Sakura’s cum to flow out of you and into his open mouth.

“You’re a fucking pervert,” he sneers. Without missing a beat, his tongue darts out to catch the residual leakage, savoring the saltiness of his cum and the sweetness of your pussy. You can only see the top of his head from your vantage, but you can hear the whine in his voice as he laps at you hungrily. 

“What’d ya say, my little cum eater?” You tease, earning a quick bite to your inner thigh from Sakura.

He sits up and wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, “let me put it back in. I won’t cum too fast this time, swear,” he states, trying his best to hide the way his voice fractures, a clear indication of his desire to have you again. 

Truth be told, Sakura is really good at fucking. He’s athletic, flexible, nimble with his fingers, and is capable of bouncing you on his dick until you can’t form a coherent thought in your pretty little head.

The keyword here is capable.

Sakura’s one flaw is that he has no control over when he ejaculates. Some sessions feel like they’ve gone on for hours, while others are over as soon as he pushes the tip of his cock in. He can’t help that your cunt feels like it’s actively deepthroating him and how entering you often sends him reeling and coating the entrance of your messy pussy with his seed. Every time he fucks you, you’re playing some lewd version of Russian Roulette. Will he or won’t he?

A Few Moments Ago

Sakura had tapped the head of his fat dick against your swollen clit, watching as your wetness formed droplets on the smooth head of his cock. He couldn’t help but drool at the way your cute little clit twitched for him as if beckoning him to abuse it more. 

You, however, were squirming beneath him, his inadvertent teasing feeling like your own personal hell. “Sakura, hurry up!” 

Your attempt at sounding commanding landed on deaf ears–he’s too far gone with the only thought on his mind: coating his dick with your thick cream so he can win his fight today. As he slid into you, you barely had enough time to adjust and savor his girth before he let out a hitched gasp. 

You witnessed what was happening as it played out on his face before you felt “it.”

“It,” being his dick spasming pathetically, an untimely victim to your slick, tight walls.

Sakura knew it, too. His neck, face, and ears were a bright red, and his mouth was opening and closing as if he wanted to say something, but the premature orgasm that was being ripped from his body didn’t allow him the privilege to do so.

A slippery warmth suddenly slid down your thighs, and your eyes widened, “Sakura, don’t tell me that you just fucking came.”

“Um, I can get it back up. Give me a second.” He reached his hand down in between you both and pulled back so he was stroking his softening dick in his hands, gazing at your body with such intensity that it made your walls involuntarily clench.

But fuck this. Fuck that. It was cute the first twenty times. Now you’re feeling less than merciful after experiencing being cruelly edged into what feels like insanity.

“The least you can do is clean it up.”

Sakura’s hand stops pumping, and his eyes dash over to your exposed pussy, which is now leaking his cum onto the bedsheets. “Y-you want me to eat you out with my…’stuff’ running out of you?”

The audacity.

“Sakura,” you enunciate his name as though you’re giving him a warning. You’re thankful that he doesn’t call your bluff because he positions himself between your thighs and begins to get to work like the dutiful boy he is.

Now

“Sakura, get back to work,” you growl and shift so that he has a clear view of your waiting sex. He grumbles but dives back in.

You can’t help but bite your bottom lip. For all the things that Sakura is, he’s an excellent—and messy—eater. The way he spits a glob of spit on your pussy, swirling it around with his tongue and pushing it into you to add to your already oversaturated hole, makes your head float. 

“Mmm, fuck, you taste so fuckin’ good, baby.”

He slips his middle finger in you, and you take it with ease, having already been temporarily stretched out by his cock. As he curls his finger against your g-spot, an area that he’s proud to have found on his own, he presses an open-mouthed kiss against your clit, then another, and another.

The inside of your thighs contract almost painfully, the sensation of his mouth allowing you to get closer to that orgasm that escaped you moments before, fuck, you’re so fucking close, god, here it fucking comes-

Until Sakura abruptly pulls away, leaving the absence of his finger and mouth very apparent.

“I’m hard again. Let me fuck you,” he whines as he palms his dick which is now dripping globules of precum on your leg. If you weren’t so horny, you’d be flattered.

As you contemplate how many years a murder charge would get you and if orgasm denial is a reasonable enough defense, Sakura lets out a frustrated growl and flips you onto your stomach.

Yeah, murder is lookin’ pretty good right about now.

You feel Sakura press his body against yours, his cock dragging heavily against the top of your ass and down the expanse of it. You give him a little twerk, smacking the fat of it against the underside of his cock.

Sakura growls and slides his dick back into you slower and with far more care than you anticipated, either because he’s attempting to avoid a repeat of his little incident from earlier or because he’s savoring the feeling of entering you. 

It makes no difference to you as you feel your senses overload from just being in such close proximity to him. Everywhere his skin touches you, you feel the charge of electricity. Where his fingers brush against the fat of your thighs, goose bumps soon follow. Fuck, even the smell of the tangy sex of your two bodies mixing intoxicates you.

God, this man. 

His mouth is pressed so close to your neck that the heat of his breath tickles the shell of your ear. “Fuuuuck, why do you feel like you were meant for me?”

His words relax your body, softening muscles you hadn’t known were rigid, “that’s because I am meant for you, Haruka.”

Your words ring in his ears like a sermon he didn’t know he needed, a mantra delivered off the tip of your tongue that drives him wild. Your words give him the unspoken go-ahead to hold your wrists behind your back and piston his hips forward, ramming into you so hard that you’re being forced forward, causing the bedsheets to rub against your nipples in a way that makes you shudder.

“Shit, every time I fuck you, I win a fight. This pussy’s that fuckin’ good.” The Sakura who had accidently cum inside of you was long gone, replaced by this confident and sex-possessed man.

And god, does it feel so good to finally have your cervix abused by him.

“You gonna’ cum on this dick, baby? Help me win my fight?”

Words aren’t coming quickly to you–a consequence of him slamming into you so hard that your body is shifting upwards and making it difficult to catch your breath, but you give him your best hum of approval.

You can feel his fingers squeeze your wrists so harshly that you’re confident that they’re going to leave delicious indentations and maybe even bruises for you to wear like a badge of honor over the next few days.

“Haruka,” you whimper, “I’m not going to last much longer.”

He sputters out a half laugh-half moan, “Shit, ain’t that funny.” You can’t see it, but you can feel the cocky grin he has on his face as he delivers a hard smack to your ass. The way you clench around his dick makes Sakura’s leg shake. 

“You liked that?” He palms your ass roughly, jiggling it against his hand and making it bounce.

At this point, you don’t know what’s more shameful: the fact that your pre-ejaculation-prone boyfriend is giving you a run for your money or that he’s now giving you shit. Either way, the switch in his attitude from being so pathetically pussy-hungry that he was licking up his cum to now restraining you and pounding into your cervix is a pleasant and pleasurable mindfuck.

Oh shit.

At that moment, Sakura finds the spot in you that makes you rasp out his name. You can barely concentrate on all the sounds that he’s pulling out of you, but the distinct sound of splashing makes your cheeks hot, the mixture of his cum, saliva, and your fluids splashing out and coating Sakura’s pubic hair and thighs.

“F-fucking cum already,” he growls in your ear. You then realize that this is a competition for him. He’s holding back his orgasm not out of consideration but simply out of spite. And if you hadn’t already had so many orgasms stolen from you, you might have been able to play his game and give him a run for his money.

Wishful thinking as you bite the bedsheets, stealing the satisfaction he’d gain from hearing the earsplitting moan that erupts from your lungs as, finally, your cunt grips and squeezes at his cock.

Sakura lets out a chuckle—because he fucking won—that is quickly replaced by his loud whine as his inhumanly large load floods into you. Several minutes pass before either of you can move—heavy breathing and residual groans fill the room.

Finally, Sakura dismounts you, but not before delivering a smack to your ass triumphantly.

Asshole

“I gotta go, but thanks for the extra mojo, babe.”

You close your eyes, completely spent, and whisper, “have fun winning your fight,” before drifting off to sleep.

[blughxreader]

Hi no your world building idea on the financial implications/restrictions of the purge are making me chew through steel actually. Because sure it keeps getting higher and higher financially, but that means that people (who don't just succumb to illegal means) start to develop weird cultures around it.

Like people who decide young that they would rather just make themselves as likeable as possible in hopes of getting a yandere for themselves the same way some people hope to become house spouses. Obsessing over looking and behaving perfect to the point of not knowing who they actually are outside of performing this role 24/7 (because who knows when their potential meal ticket might be watching? Where they put cameras? You can never risk breaking character. You have to be the character and hope they never find out the truth)

Celebrities in interviews talking about how they wanted to be famous in part to have resources to find the best darling and then keep them. People trying to become a celebrity's darling just so they can try and network their own career.

People add keeping their darlings on the list of lottery winning fantasies. Talking about the way they'd decorate their rooms and the things they'd give for mental and emotional enrichment.

Purge sympathizers who argue its an honor for you to be chosen as a darling since it means an easy life for a year. Darlings being financially taken care of, sure, but dealing with people taking them even less seriously as individuals because of the ""privilege"" to the point that then asking for basic rights or ammendments becomes a war against them being framed as greedy or demanding. (They already financially support you, and now you're insisting that they let you outside too??? What's even the point of kidnapping you then?? So what if it's for medical and dental care, that just means people who aren't your yanderes touching you, examining you, not a chance).

I'm just having so many thoughts and it's your fault (affectionate)

FROTHING AT THE MOUTH

Incredible ideas. The culture around the Purge is so interesting.

Like imagine a Yandere who’s dreamed of having a Darling their whole life, only for a bigger and badder yandere to show up and kidnap them? Anyone can kill and be killed. Darling, Yandere, and Normal aren't permanent labels.

There would be Darling seminars, where people could learn how to catch the attention of a high-value yandere. Or Yandere seminars, on how to maintain passive income and keep the darling reliant on you once the captivity period ends.

And maybe early in post-Purge captivity, there are mandatory and voluntary workshops for Yans and Darlings to learn how to coexist together in accordance with the law.

I actually love your ideas. Lottery winning fantasies? Kids dreaming about their future Darlings instead of weddings?

It's easy to map out the laws in a world like this, but culture is so multi-faceted and intricate. I'm actually barking at some of these ideas

Sorry this took so long to respond to haha. Your ideas were so good that i had to think for a while about how to add to them.

[iouinotes]

Heroic Betrayal | Luke Castellan (part 1)

SPOILER FOR THE PERCY JACKSON AND THE OLYMPIANS SERIES AND THE BOOKS

pairing: Luke Castellan x female!reader

show: Percy Jackson and the Olympians

warnings: dark!character, betrayal, implied sexual content, heavy angst, kidnapping

word count: 5,8k

summary: When Luke switches to the dark side, he tries everything possible to win you for him.

a/n: so as the show comes to an end (dont cry dont cry dont cry), I thought I would finally post this :)))

read part 2 here

"I'll find you!" his voice echoes through the forest, my laughter much louder than I intend to. But that´s just how it always goes. It's our own little tradition.

Every year when the camp starts again and we meet after the holidays passed, we play hide and seek in the dangerous forest of the half-blood camp. The creatures usually don't come across our path, in recent years it has rarely happened, that we actually had to defend ourselves against them.

Once it was an angry dryad, who threw branches at me (she had a crush on Luke and wanted revenge, but since I could understand her feelings and felt sad for her, we sorted it out).

Another time we were spotted by some camp members, who made fun of us, but Luke must have said something to them later, because we haven't been bothered by these troublemakers since.

It is always the same pattern, but each time there is still something special about it. We have grown, became more mature (I think), and have more and more experience about the struggles in life.

So being able to just let go for a few moments and being completely alone with him is probably the best thing to keep myself sane (even if he drives me a little bit crazy with the love I hold for him).

But a lot has changed recently.

It all started when rumors spread, that Zeus' lightning bolt had been stolen by Poseidon's son. And then the most supportive, bravest, sassy kid in the world showed up here. Percy Jackson. Ever since I met him, even though it's not his fault, there's been war going on. The gods are angry, the monster attacks became worse and again, rumors about the oldest, most powerful titan Kronos reached the camp.

It scared and frightened many people, including me. That's why we've been training harder and stay awake, even when the stars are shining, so that we can prepare for any catastrophe. To be able to fight.

My mother is the goddess Demeter, my father a simple man. I adore them both, even though my mother isn't one of my closest contacts. But I never really held that against her, because at least she decided to acknowledge me as her daughter. After all, it's a privilege that not everyone gets. My siblings and friends at camp are important to me, but the world is changing and so is everything around it.

The only stability I have left is my boyfriend Luke.

If I had to rely on one person in the whole world (and by that I also mean the underworld), it would be him.

He's been my best friend since I arrived at this camp. We've been together through ups and downs, I know every side of him and he knows everything about me too. Many of the people here are like blank pages to me, but not him. He is like my favorite book, that lays open to me and allows me to read each letter individually. Just as I know every of his dreams, every secret, every truth and every lie. He is my protector, my hero in every dark night and every bright day. Without him, I don't even know who I am. He is a part of me and my heart wouldn't be whole without him.

I watched him grow up. From the small, thin boy whose eyes hid so much pain and sadness to the strong, soulful leader he is today.

His beauty cannot be influenced by anything, he is like my very own sun, without him I could not survive.

I wouldn't want it any other way though.

Now, I'm hiding behind a tree with my back pressed against the bark and I am able to hear the cracking and swinging of the branches.

I smile so wide, that my cheeks start to hurt, when I hear his voice calling. My heart is beating in my throat, but it's not just the adrenaline of not getting caught. It's because of my love for him, which is so strong that sometimes I'm afraid of it. But only in the moments when I realize that nothing, but him is my biggest flaw. I think I would do anything for him.

Then I concentrate again and listen to the sounds around me. But his voice has fallen silent and I don't hear his footsteps anymore.

My eyebrows furrow, confused I try to look around the tree and search for an orange t-shirt. Likely together with his slim body, biceps, beautiful face and wonderful personality.

But when I want to withdraw again, it's already too late. A branch breaks behind me and before I can move I'm pushed against the tree from behind.

I immediately feel his body against mine, hear the laughter in his voice and listen to his strained breathing. His hands wrap around my body and turn me towards him, so that we are now face to face.

He's taller than me and as I look up, I feel the familiar fluttering feeling in my chest. I am so in love with him.

He grins triumphantly at me and I lean against the tree, smiling kindly.

"Found you, princess." The light reflects in his brown eyes and some of his curls are laying wildly on his head. He looks like an angel.

"I made it easy for you." My voice teases him and when he leans in so close to me, that our lips almost touch, I forget how to think properly. A habit I can't change. He's just so captivating.

"Yeah? You think I wouldn't have found you otherwise? Funny. I remember that in the last few years, I always was the winner of our little game." His lips brush mine, I want nothing more than to kiss him. But he knows that, which is why he slowly pulls back, when I start to lean forward.

When I want to complain, he puts his hand around my waist and pulls me into his chest. My knees almost give out, I feel so intoxicated by his presence.

"I-I wanted you to find me." My voice whispers quietly.

His eyebrows rise in mock surprise.

"Then I guess, I can claim my prize without feeling bad." In the next second, his lips are on mine and I'm unable to do anything, other than kissing him back. I wrap my arms around his neck and enjoy the warmth that radiates from him. He sets my heart on fire.

While pushing me against the tree, I've completely forgotten about, he lets his hands wrap possessively around my waist. Digging his nails into my hips, to keep me grounded. Otherwise, I would probably get lost in those sensations.

Luke kisses in a way, like it's the last time he'll have the chance. (As if I would ever want to keep him from doing that).

He's passionate, my body feels like it's on fire and the heat inside me feels so good, that I want more. I can never get enough of him and he knows it. He grins against my lips, but he doesn't break the kiss. I think he secretely loves knowing how much he can mess with me, with just a few kisses.

My hands find his hair and pull him closer to me, our chests touch and his breathing mingles with mine.

It is wonderful and so precious, I would refuse any gift from the gods just to be close to him.

When he pulls away from me, our bodies are still close. My eyes open and look dreamily into his, our gazes reflect a familiarity and love that is like nothing I have ever experienced.

He smiles at me, pushes a stray strand of hair behind my ear and leans himself against me. His fingers stroke the exposed skin of my pulled-up shirt.

"I've missed you." If my heart hasn't melted before, it has now. I give him a kiss on the cheek and hug him, we stand in our embrace for a moment. Enjoying each other's closeness, the calm feeling until the next chaotic situation happens.

"Now we are together again. Only that matters." It's quiet around us and when I close my eyes for the second time, I hear his fast heartbeat. I have to supress a smile.

The wind is the only thing I hear until his voice breaks the silence.

"Something will happen soon. Something big." The peaceful atmosphere is threatened by his words and when I look at his face again, I see his worried eyes.

I sigh, but then nod to agree with him. "I thought about that too, it feels different. Like something is coming our way, that we can't control."

His fingers stroke my cheek and for a moment, his face holds an expression, that I can't understand. It resembles regret.

But before I can ask him about it, he smiles tenderly at me again.

"Nothing will separate us. The world is just a game. It's a matter of time and making the right moves." That is his motto. But I'm not always convinced of this. Even though I trust him to do the right thing.

"I'm just worried we'll get seperated, you know? Evil can be sneaky and traitors always exist. You never know who you can trust." Something I said must have really bothered him, because he looks like I just stabbed him.

This time I ask him about it.

"What's on your mind? You can tell me. Two people who worry about something are better, than one who is alone with it." I take his hand and stroke his skin, it feels cold even though we have summer.

"Nothing, just- I don't want to lose you. I couldn't be here without you. I need you. I mean...I-I love you. You know that I would do anything to keep us together, right?"

His words surprise me. I know he loves me. I can sense that, everyone probably does. But he has never worn his heart on his sleeve and the three magical words only come out of his mouth on special occasions. The fact that he's telling me now surprises me.

"Of course. I trust you. We will survive together, I know that. Are you worried because of the rumors about the Titan King?" This topic is always very critical and he usually doesn't like to talk about it, but this time I decide to address it directly.

"He will come. I just want you to be safe, when it happens." He sounds so confident it gives me goosebumps.

"Perhaps. His followers will definitely try. But love is stronger than anything else. Especially our love. We will get through it." He doesn't look convinced, so I turn his face towards mine and kiss him.

My voice sounds soft, when I speak again.

"Luke, I love you. I could never leave you. Not even the King of the Underworld will be able to keep us apart. I promised to be by your side in every moment of our lives. You are my soul and without it I am damned."

This seems to reassure him, but I feel like he's not telling me something of great importance. But I don't want to push him, I know he will tell me when the time comes.

He always does.

⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️

As the day comes to an end, I say goodnight to my siblings and report for my night watch duty. The situation has been a lot more worse the recent weeks. Kronos exists, my worst fear was confirmed. And he is building an army, that is so strong that it will be difficult to fight against it. But what I'm really worried about are the rumors about our people, who have also joined his cause.

Nobody knows who, the spies have been hiding ever since. I've never felt like I was paying more attention to my words than I am now. The only person I don't have to hold back to is Luke.

But even with him I notice the effects of the bad news. The circles under his eyes are darker than ever and his nerves are so frayed, that every little thing makes him want to explode. His temper is hanging by a thread, that is increasingly threatening to break. And I'm trying everything to prevent this.

No matter if I try it by making him laugh (which has become difficult), massaging his tense shoulders, trying to kiss him to the point of forgetfulness (usually it's the other way around) or when he takes out his frustration by burying himself deep inside me. With every thrust of his hips, I feel him relax, his hand so tight around my body as if I would run away, if he didn't hold me close enough.

He's changing and I'm trying my best to maintain his good sides. That he doesn't completely lose himself in his responsibilities and the pressure, that he has, because he is a member of the camp council.

Besides, I can't complain, when he fucks me until I can't breathe aynmore and I block out everything around me. When he comes, he whispers the sweetest things in my ear. Even if sometimes they sound so protective, that I could almost come from his voice alone.

When he whispers to me how good I am for him or how much he loves being able to have such a power over me like that - maybe it should scare me, but I trust him like no one else.

My mind concentrated his best for my shift, but when I finally go to bed after quiet some time, my eyes quickly close.

Looking back, I wish I had never let myself sleep that night.

Because, when I close my eyes I see waves. Hear the seagulls screaming in the sky, the fish swimming in the water and the distant cries of strangers.

It's all unusual and the bright light would blind me, if I didn't avert my gaze. And as soon as I do it, I see a ship. It's huge, rust shimmers in the sunrays, the anchor shows that it's been in the same place for a while now.

I feel something pulling me towards it, pushing and burning in my chest, leaving me with a tremor that I can feel, even in my deep sleep.

As I flit through the window like a ghost, I feel paralyzed. My blood freezes, I want to disappear immediately and in my mind I scream at myself to wake up.

But it's no use, whatever is here, someone decided that I have to see it. Only then, my wish will be fulfilled and I can wake up. So, I hide in a corner, there are scratched picture frames above me and broken glass is scattered on the floor. The monsters that loudly crush the glass ahead of me seem unstoppable.

I tremble as I look at at least seven dracaenae, several shaggy hellhounds and set my eyes on gigantes, that take up almost the entire room.

But that is nothing compared to the terror, that grips me when I see my classmates. My friends. People I trusted, who I fought alongside, for who I cared about. People I would have sacrificed myself for. They all betrayed me. And I feel close to tears. When I want to turn away, I hear a voice that almost brings me to my knees.

It's Luke.

My faithful and caring protector, my heroic love. Someone, to which I had dedicated everything. He was my life, with every single breath I took. The motivation behind my every action. The reason I wanted to survive in this cruel world. He was everything I had and everything I will ever have and in that moment it was abruptly taken from me.

I didn't have the strength to concentrate, it was as if every fiber of my body was on fire, triggered by the torment of my suffering heart. Seeing him like that, in black armor, Kronos' silver mark glittering around his neck, instead of his colorful necklace. A stoic, hostile expression on his face, his hands gripping his sword, it all hurt too much to watch.

And as I sank to the floor and covered my eyes with my hands, I was still forced to listen. I couldn't understand why he was saying such things.

"With every day he becomes stronger, with every participation in our army, we become stronger. Everything is planned, the camp is weak. Just like all of its residents. The surprise is on our side, because we will show no mercy. We will kill anyone, who does not confess to us. Do you hear me? No hostages will be taken. Only Hades population will be expanded."

The screams around me are so loud, so angry and horrific that I feel tears running down my cheeks.

I don't want to see any of that. The person infront of me is not my Luke.

A kind of fog creeps around me and I feel cold, it seems too late to forget it now. When I notice the golden coffin and Lukes hunched posture, the scar on the side of his face, I realize he is praying to him.

To the fall of Olympus. Kronos.

I want to cry, to scream, to be angry - but I just feel like every part of my heart is breaking and will never be whole again. Luke will never again be the one to heal it.

My consciousness leaves the ship until I finally wake up, but I can't move at first. I feel lost, my muscles are stiff and after a few seconds I notice that I'm shaking. But it's not because I'm cold, the summer air is wafting in the air.

Such dreams are rare, but are like the own scary predictions of the future.

And then it comes all back so me, the memories, that have just turned my whole life upside down. Traitor. The word appears in my mind, I feel like I almost can't breathe. And then there is a finger on my cheek, gently stroking the skin and my chest immediately becomes warm.

I know this gesture.

When I open my eyes, I see his loving eyes and the smile that covers his mouth makes my heart clench in sorrow.

It was just a nightmare. Luke would never betray me.

But the whispers in my head say otherwise.

As we continue to look at each other in silent, I notice his furrowed eyebrows.

"What's wrong, my love? Did you have a nightmare? You look scared. Don't be afraid, I'm here. I will always protect you." His voice is so calm, so usual loving and it makes the butterflies in my stomach fly around like crazy.

He is so beautiful.

As he briefly turns his head to tighten the blanket around me, I see his side profile and the scar. Reminders of my dream crash onto me like a lightning strike from Zeus himself.

I sat up abruptly. Luke is a servant of our enemy. How could I ignore that? I feel like I'm almost starting to hyperventilate. The thought, this nightmare, Luke's appearance, this evil feeling - it makes me sick. And I'm suddenly so afraid, more than I have ever been in my life. But I can't tell if it's the fact that I just found out he joined Cronos' army or that he broke my heart doing so.

I see him tense, my panic seems to be affecting him too.

My thoughts are so confusing, I don't know what to do, I have to tell someone. I have to-

His hands find their way to my cheeks, cupping them gently to direct his gaze towards himself. I would have preferred not to look at him, but I have no choice. His eyes search mine.

Then, as if the weight of Atlas punishment was put on his shoulders, he lowers them. His lips tremble slightly and his eyes look at me, as if I am the most valuable thing in the world and he is about to lose it.

"You know it." He doesn't have to say what he means by that. We both know.

I want to break away from him, but he won't let me. He's always been much stronger.

But everything still feels so different, light surrounds us and I can't really feel my body.

"Listen to me, please. I can explain it. Please-" The world goes silent, before he can finish his sentence.

It is too much.

I stifle a scream. I want to jump out of bed, but his hands hold me close. I only manage to fall to the ground, breathing heavily, but his arms are much stronger and I'm still weakened by my dream. He trys to hold me in a position, so that his back hugs me. His hands grab mine and one of them covers my mouth to silence me, when I want to scream for help.

With any other person, I would have known what to do. With anyone but him, I could have defended myself without any problems. But it wasn't just anyone and what he had done to me, the betrayal he had committed, was nothing I could handle.

I tried to wriggle out of his grip, to kick him, but the more I cried and the more hysterical I became, the easier it was for him to have control over me.

And for the first time, it scared me.

"Please calm down, I have to explain it to you- you have to know, that I never wanted to deceive you, please-" I notice how his voice is failing and he has to pull himself together, to not to lose his composure.

When I shake his hand away and want to yell again, he grabs my neck with such a warning force, that no sound escapes me.

I tremble in his hold. Tears stream down my cheeks and I literally feel my heart breaking.

Then he starts whispering in my ear and his grip feels like a tragic prison.

"Nobody can know. I never wanted you to find out. Not until I convinced you, that it is the right thing to join him. Because he will win, sweetheart. I want us to win by his side." His voice sounds so confident and at the same time, as if he was a completely different person.

Tears continue running down my face and he slightly let's go of me, so he can comfort me.

"If you would just listen to me, you will understand my actions. Please, just listen to me-" but the world blurs infront of my eyes and I am only able to whisper three words, before darkness surrounds me.

"You betrayed me."

⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️

When I wake up, my head hurts so much, that it takes me several minutes to open my eyes. When I finally do it, I almost have a heart attack.

I recognize the similarity of this room from my dream. When I stand up, I run to the round window and look out, being only able to see the blue sea. Feeling empty and alone.

When I want to step out the door, I expect it to be locked. But instead the handle turns and I step out of the room. I'm so surprised about that, that I'm acting without thinking twice.

As I walk around the next corner, the deck creaks and I see an ugly creature in front of me, that makes every instinct to escape kick in.

I run in the other direction, but every turn makes me more desperate and, without any consideration, I run into the hall, I was so afraid of.

It is filled with all kinds of ciders, and I also see the figures of my classmates, wounded and unhappy.

It's all so overwhelming, that I dont even see him standing on the podium, in the first place.

But as the monsters try to grab me, his voice echoes through the room with an affable authority.

"Nobody touches her. You hear me? Nobody. She is under my protection." I almost freeze into a stature, as he comes towards me and I have no way of avoiding him. No weapon is within my reach, his eyes notice my growing panic.

"Everyone leaves the room. Now." Nobody discusses it, even if some roll their eyes or quietly protest. His authority is unquestioned, it sends a cold shiver down my spine.

When the last doors slam shut, we stand a few meters opposite each other.

"The doors are guarded." It's the first thing he says.

When he tries to approach me, I lose my nerves and run to the corner with the broken glass, that I saw in my dream. I take them in my hands.

I see his eyes widen and he stops in his tracks.

"You- you want to fight me?" He actually sounds surprised and sad. Like I was the one who betrayed him and not the other way around.

"Don't come any closer. I may not have been able to do anything last time, but if you take one step closer then-" I don't know what to say. In no scenario did I ever think, I would have to threaten him.

But despite my warning, he comes towards me with his hands raised, the panic within me so palpable, that I can feel every muscle in my body.

I dodge, when he is only a few meters in front of me. Right into the next corner. As far away from him as possible.

"Princess, you can't keep me away forever. I've always loved that about you. You need me as much as you need to breathe."

It's supposed to sound sweet, but his words make me feel sick

"I'd rather suffocate." He didn't expect that. My words hit him so unexpectedly that he is almost speechless. Almost.

"I won't hurt you. You just have to let me get to you and I'll show you everything. You will understand, believe me." He really thinks, I'll just stay by his side and let him explain.

"Are you crazy? You're a traitor, Luke. You- you betrayed everyone. You betrayed me. How could you do this?" I suppress my tears, because that's exactly what he's waiting for. That my defense becomes weaker. I can't allow this.

"You dont understand. I always told you I would protect you. And I can only do that, if I'm on the winning side. And I am now. We are." His eyes flash with a craziness that makes me tremble. I don't recognize him.

"Why are you acting this way? You are doing the wrong thing - you give up everything. You're giving up on us." Tears leave my eyes and I see him take a few steps in my direction.

"I'm doing the right thing for us. You'll see. You just have to trust me, please. You know I always win. With the power he gives me, I will be invincible. You don't have to worry about one of us dying in this war anymore." I can't move, even if I wanted to, I wouldn't have a way out now. He's too close.

"You are wrong. I would rather die in this war than join this monster and his deceitful army." The shards in my hand hurt, but I don't let them go. They're the only thing I can use to defend myself.

"You would leave me?" His eyes are staring into my soul.

"Would you fight me?" Every word is more intimidating.

"Would you stop loving me?" His words are like his own shards, leaving deep wounds in my heart.

He's standing right in front of me now, looking at me like I'm fragile.

Then he whispers "Would you kill me?"

In the next second, he suddenly has my hands in his, making me drop the glass. Be is only a few centimeters away from me now, his eyes are looking into my own.

"Would you, princess? Then show me." Suddenly he does something, I would have never expected. He takes out his sword and puts it in my hands.

His own hands go behind his back, his eyes tempting me. I feel all the blood in my body drain.

"Do it. I can't live in a world, where you don't love me anymore. In which you are no longer by my side. I am yours. That will never change, just like my love for you."

I can barely hold the sword, it's so wobbly in my hands. He stands in front of me and gives me every chance to defeat him. But I can't move.

It's quiet for a moment, then I see new hope in his eyes and when he speaks again, the tone of his voice melts my heart.

"What did you say a few months ago, you would always let me win? Let's win together this time. Please, just listen to me." His hand strokes my cheek. Wipes away the tears.

Then he drops his hand and grasps his sword, letting it fall to the ground.

He takes my hand instead.

"Follow me." He pulls me behind him, closer and closer to the golden coffin, it's like I'm in a trance, but when I finally feel the cold aura of something cruel, I'm able to think clearly again.

"No-" I don't want to be one step closer to this thing.

He turns around so quickly, that I can only slap his cheek, before he grabs me again.

"That was for kidnapping me. Let me go now!" I want to avoid his grasp. But again he does something I don't expect.

He holds me still, catches my gaze and then, kisses me so gently that the feeling alone makes me almost completely defenseless. His hands cup my cheeks, grip my hair, hold my body.

This is probably his worst trick. I've never been able to resist one of his kisses. And he knows that. He uses it against me.

Then he murmurs words against my lips, that barely reach my ears.

My heart is pounding in my throat.

"You feel this? We belong together. It is not written anywhere on which side we need to be. As long as we are together." His fingers stroke my lower lip, his figure towers over me and for a moment my surroundings fade. It's almost like always.

But he's not wearing his orange t-shirt, his expression isn't relaxed, and I don't hear any insults from the camp members in the distance.

"You're manipulating me." I am powerless against him. I thought we were on the same team, that no one had more power over the other one. But I was so wrong.

His eyebrows furrow again, and when his hands try to pull me against him, I hit his chest, without thinking, with the only piece of glass I hid in my pocket. But unlike I expected, nothing happens. The shard bounces off his skin and falls loudly to the ground. I can only stare at him in disbelief.

"How-" He just looks at me worried, no anger is visible in his eyes.

"You can't hurt me. I have the curse of Achilles upon me." I suddenly become aware of the effect the lake Styx in the underworld hast and I almost fall to the ground at the realization, my knees weaken.

"That was a test earlier. You wanted to see if I would kill you-" my voice fails.

He just looks at me sadly and smiles in regret. My heart becomes heavy.

"And I knew you wouldn't hurt me on purpose. You would never hurt someone you love. Not if you'd kill me in the process." What can I do? He knows me better than anyone, he can see right through my every thought.

"I can't do this, Luke. I-I can't be together with you, if you are like this." I'm serious, but he doesn't believe me.

"That's what you think, but it's a lie. The sooner you admit it to yourself, the more pain you avoid. Our souls are linked together, without me you are not able to live. I know, that you will continue to love me, no matter what I decide to do. That's how much you love me. You would rather die than not loving me."

I can't listen to him. I can't.

But his eyes are like all the promises in the world. He is my world. How could I ever forget that?

"Please come back with me, Luke. I-I won't tell anyone, but please. Let's go, let's forget everything, please-" I cant deal with this anymore. It's like he's draining all the energy out of me. More with every word, that leaves his lips.

"I can not do that. It will stay the way it is now. Don't fight against me, fight with me. You are so smart and loyal, you will be convinced. He will show you." His eyes now flash with something that frightens me. I see his hunger for power, something that has always been dormant within him.

"Luke, the only thing I ever really wanted was you. No power, no war, no prosperity. Only you. But I'm about to lose you. Don´t do this to me, I beg you." My hands find his face, stroke the skin and I look into his eyes. But they are no longer the same ones I fell in love with.

I never thought he would love having power more than he loves me. It breaks my heart.

"I have decided. Nothing will change about that. Not even your pleadings. I'm sorry." His eyes reflect my desperation.

"What's holding you back? All you need is me." He says it so confident, that I almost wonder, why I don´t agree with him.

But my conscience has always been my greatest strength.

"I won't betray them. I couldn't live with myself, if I did." He takes a step back.

"But you could live without me? You would rather be by Jackson's side than mine?" His words hurt me. But he speaks the truth.

"I love you Luke, more than I ever thought was possible. But just as you put power before me, I put loyalty first. And I'm not sorry about that."

Frustration finally seeps through his perfect facade. I wonder how long he's been playing with me. The thought of it makes everything inside me tighten.

"I am not letting you go. Our fate is set. You will recognize it too and when that happens, you will be on my side."

His conviction frightens me, but this time it doesn't freeze me into a statue. Now, I'm running away.

And luckely, he didn't expect that.

For a few minutes now I've noticed one of the windows, that doesn't look very stable. I just have to jump against it to open it.

"NO!" Luke's voice echoes across the room, loud and warning, but it doesn't stop me. Before he can catch up with me, I jump towards the window, my shoulder hurts, but I was right, it breaks.

But I didn't think about the height difference and I realize it might be too late to do something about it now.

As I try to hold on to the wall outside, two thoughts repeat in my mind.

Either I die or I'm trapped.

Then I hear Luke's voice. He sounds desperate and at the same time angry, like I have never heard him before.

The wall is slippery and it takes every bit of strength in me not to fall, I know it would be my death. I hold on to the broken wall.

"She is outside. Get her back, NOW!" My muscles hurt and I don't know what to do. Then I hear the loud beating of wings. Before I can see who it is, I hear Percy's quiet voice. I feel like crying.

"Drop down, I've got you." I have to trust him. So, I let myself fall without thinking.

Then I feel myself landing on something soft, I hold on to it and my knuckles turn white.

The screams and shouts of the monsters make me tremble, I just want to get out of here. Even if it means, that I perhaps will never see Luke again.

"Come on, now. They'll be here soon." As the wings of the Pegasus move towards the sky, towards freedom, I let the tears fall. The wind is beating around my ears and I can only see in the corner of my eyes that we are getting closer to the clouds.

"I'll find you!"

Luke's threatening voice is the last thing I remember as I close my eyes from the grief of leaving him.

[jhlvogue]

bring back lovable villans !!

there is a reason why penelope as a character has the fandom so split and its because she is not a villain that is easily lovable.

look at characters such as daemon targaryean, klaus mikaelson, or blair waldorf, these are characters that are written to be the antagonist. they are written for us to not root from them. they don’t hide behind their actions, they stand ten toes down in it. if either of them were in penelope’s situation, there wouldn’t be any back and forth or plot holes to justify their actions.

klaus deadass told tyler what method he recommends in order to k*ll him by retelling tyler how is OWN MOTHER died by klaus’s own hands…and people (me included) STILL rooted for this man. that man was so in love with caroline he made it his mission to be tyler and mystic falls public enemy #1 just so he could be around her.

blair was not a perfect friend. she was the typical mean, rich , white privileged girl who could not understand other peoples wants or needs unless it benefited her. blair was not perfect but she never claimed to be perfect. she never claimed to be nice or some martyr. she was blair and she was loyal to her group even when that group wasn’t loyal to her. people went from hating her in season one to rooting for her to win in the end.

daemon targaryean is not a hero. that man is about to say a ‘son for a son’ and you know what? he is going to have the whole team black fandom rooting for the war crimes he is about to ensue. not once did daemon say he was the good guy or excuse his actions. that man took the definition of standing on buisness during the dance of dragons. he is a morally gray character that is loved by the fandom and does not waste his time trying to be some disney prince.

penelope & polin fans find the incessant need to have an excuse for every single one of penelopes actions. whether it be her being a wallflower or ‘saving’ her loved ones by writing about them, there always is an excuse for her selfish actions. penelope is not given the space to relish in the villain that is LW. she could have been so much more as a morally gray character that admitted to writing shit about people while also growing into a woman who is known to tell it like it is and not hide behind the glitter and pastels of the ton. i mean isn’t that what LW is meant to do? uncover the ugly truth behind the dances and courtships of the privileged society?

but she cant fufill this because yall want her to be the good guy! you want her to be the heroine so bad when her writing and personality isnt set up for that. thats why people are pissed with every character bending backwards to be ok with what she does-yall want the new lady bridgerton to have everything and be the poster child of that family. thats why yall have all of these think pieces about how eveyone around penelople sucks & has something they need to work on while she is perfect. be so for real penelope does some nasty stuff & she would have been great doing that stuff and owning it like a true boss and not this cookie cutter princess ending where she continues to write gossip as penelope bridgeton.

[moonbeam-darling]

Guys, I'm so fucking serious, you all better fucking vote this November. None of this "oh, but he's a war criminal", yeah, so is EVERY OTHER WORLD LEADER EVER. I'm sorry, but it's the truth. You cannot be a world leader without being a war criminal. Yes, ideally, you can be, but we don't live in an ideal world, so please for the love of all that is good in the world, DO NOT LET TRUMP GET ANOTHER FUCKING TERM, CAUSE GUESS WHAT, HE'S ALSO A CRIMINAL WHO ALSO SUPPORTS THE GENOCIDE OF PALESTINIANS AND ALSO DOESN'T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT ANYONE BUT HIMSELF.

And do not pull the "I just won't vote because neither of them are good options" either. Cause, yeah, they are both extremely shitty candidates, but that's exactly what those in office want you to do. They want you to throw away your vote. They want only the older population to vote because they know that without the younger votes, Trump will win.

By not voting, you are throwing away your privilege that SO MANY DO NOT HAVE. You not voting does not only impact the entire country, but also impacts the undocumented immigrants, the incarcerated, those who were previously incarcerated, and the future generation.

You may feel like your vote doesn't matter, but when thousands and thousands of people say the same exact thing, then it impacts everyone. Your vote could be the deciding factor for all you know.

Also, yeah, ideally, third-party voting would work and would be a really good alternative to the two main parties. However, they do not get enough attention to get enough people to vote for them. And even if enough do vote for them, the likely chance is that the electoral college will cause them to lose anyway, because the electoral college is utter shit.

[dreameroutofthewater]

I'm Ukrainian. I'm not sure how long I'm going to live. I'm not sure how long I will be able to see my home. I'm not even sure I'm really safe at any point, and at nights I'm listening to any sound, awaiting for a missile to hit my home and then for the sirens to blare across the city. This had happened before to other people in my city and I'm not safe from a sonic missile either.

I can't read news well anymore. I can't be carefree either. When I'm serious, I see how hostile governments of other countries are, and even when our people are dying, they don't feel the pain from it in their hearts. They can accept our loss and mourn our country if it falls, they're not fighting with us in a battle of life and death. They help but not enough, never enough. Then I see that my people can accept this life, they can allow themselves to relax and make mistakes, like they have forgotten that our lives are at stake. Then, when I try to relax, I see brain-dead and ignorant privileged people from places that had never seen war claiming they are the supreme justice and that everyone else is simply wrong. I can't trust anyone these days.

When I come to chat websites during air raids to at least make sure someone knows if I am killed during one, everyone there only offers me prayers and condolences. That's not what I need. I need money for my army, I need smart people, I need compassionate people, I need everyone to help fight this terror off. No god can save me like action of people can.

My nerves are torn, I'm losing sight of my life and my future. I don't know if I'm going to be alive. The thought of actually dying, in real life, after so many troubles and events, after existing and fighting and hoping to have a meaning...

I don't want to die. I don't want to live like this anymore. I don't want to watch how others let my life be destroyed. I don't want to be killed by missiles, by bullets, by smiling ignorant faces and consumerism, by prayers and condolences, by inactivity and ignorance of those who know they're going to live a full life, when mine is going to be taken away from me.

I'm Ukrainian and I don't know why I was born if I'm going to die in this way.

My hands are red with blood and I don't know anymore if it's mine, my people, blood of other people, or just a hallucination produced by endless stress and fear. I cursed this world before, I cursed fate, I know everyone has this blood on their hands since the beginning of times. I wish I never existed at all if I had to be a part of this.

I'm alone and I'm overwhelmed and I'm mutated from each day of this war. How scary it is to lift your eyes from the ground and see true death staring at you from the way your future should have been. You hope it's a mirage and keep going forward with all the strength that you have, but it's still there, still keeping you in its claws of fear. I wish I could get high or drunk to the point I would forget about it, but my mind is far too strong to let go of all the risks that it can't control.

I'm Ukrainian and I measure the weight of my words. From me depends whether people will know the truth, whether they support Ukraine or not, whether they feel hope and motivation or fall into russian propaganda. I don't have the right for a mistake, a right to be upset or angry, because I don't know if me whining too much in pain will cost me my life. I was 17 when the war began, soon, if death is a mirage by then, I'll turn 20 in less than 2 months. I began caring about my mental health before the war began. I feel my brain rotting and the black gooey sap spreading through my soul. I don't have the right to die, because that's what russians want for me the most. I don't have a right to end my own life because then they'll win against me. I don't have the right to be weak, emotionally or physically, at any moment. I have no idea what can cost me my life, nor do I know how to protect myself.

I want to stay home. I want to wake up someday and know I'll see the sunrise for sure, and that I'll see my home once more. I want to wake up and see a hopeful future again, instead of a dark death in my dreams. I want to see my family and not to be worried whether they'll survive the next month. I want to build my life and not have ground fall under my feet into an abyss. I want to choose my path, and whine about so many choices, instead of running away from one choice russians made for all of us — death and stuff worse than death. I want to listen to one song I heard a day before the war and promised not to listen to it again until the war is over. I hope I can allow myself to make mistakes without weighing my life on them, and finally find strength to fight for others, like others had fought for me. I hope to never feel like a mutated monster again.

[kingoftheblacksun]

As a love hearted trans femme union of Aphrodite and Ares, I want this meme to be real, though I'd dress like a proper Scion of War with black wings and a fire sword, dripping Hel from my hooves.

We have an incredible challenge. The patriarchy requires division, and while it started with benign intentions, feminism was warped to provide that division. Feminism is no longer about protecting women, it is about protecting the lies of the patriarchy.

They stand apart from 'men' and deny any accountability for the system they benefit from, and justify seizing social privilege by playing at victims of "men". It's obscene! I was a part of "feminist" movements for well over a decades, supporting women's film festivals and writing in feminist film media. They are only in it for themselves, and they DEFEND the system!

There's nothing more peak patriarchy than a feminist film festival.

I'm so upset. The queer have swallowed "everything masculine is evil!" and chant hate and seize at privilege. How can a movement be legitimate when it loathes half of the population and denies accountability for its own sin?

Let me explain how the poison rots. Ego consciousness is masculine, because consciousness provides FORM to our life experience. I am trans femme who's survived a deep mystic path and I learned something I didn't want to believe - males and females experience consciousness differently and our ignorance over it has metastasized until it was warped into supporting genocide.

Female bodies experience internalized consciousness. This means they have internalized masculinity. It is the same thing. Males experience externalized masculinity, thereby externalized consciousness. THINK ABOUT IT.

Feminism encourages loathing men to seed the self-loathing of women! It is intentional poison! The "inner masculine" is being taught to hate the "outer masculine" and thus itself. This is toxic, and it's been encouraged by a maleficent political entity that wants to win so badly it'll pit the two sexes into violent war with one another. It is a crime against humanity, it's been used to support genocide!

The opposite of consciousness is awareness, and this is feminine. Awareness is of love, and for females it is externalized, and for males it is internalized. It is on the opposite "side" from consciousness. Romance is dead from this ignorance. This is why the two sexes don't know how to talk to one another. This is why love is dead.

Feminism is not going to be kind to trans men, or any women who wish to take possession of their inner masculinity. Feminism requires the loathing of men, and the false belief that the two sexes are identical except for our crotches. This is not true, and I'm saying that as a transgender woman who transitioned full-hearted.

I will never be a "real" woman because I am internally feminine.

I need to work on my reactivity and I know it. I have a chainsaw tongue when I smell disdain. I really am Ares, even if I don't yet have power. But I am also Aphrodite, and I certainly possess love.

We're in serious danger and a red flag needs to be raised, so we may fight to unite. I *LOVE* females with internalized masculinity, I think you're astoundingly hot and I feel better anytime you're near. You're living batteries of consciousness, being in satellite with you feels so lovely for me. Yet the feminists won't let us have that because they hate everything male. It needs to stop.

If I can find females to triumph, a trans girl would become King. Yet I can't do it unless you see with Sovereign eyes the truth I am struggling to bring. Please reject the loathing of males and embrace the return of the masculine and feminine Solar Divine. Those who remain in division, ignoring all warning - it's not going to go well for them. I don't want to see it. I've cried so much from the visions.

The Sun of God is rising. Mercy and forgiveness are vast. We're going to experience a dark sacred union on the Universal level, and you're invited. You can be saved, again! You must only surrender, and then - love.

Forever. ❤️‍🔥

[my-decaying-bones]

White Lilies.

A soldier hides behind a crumbling wall on the battlefield.

"Shit." He thinks. "Shit. Shit. Shit."

He clutches his hand to his side, trying to suppress the bleeding. He was shot in the abdomen but managed to drag himself to safety. Hoping that someone would find him.

Through gritted teeth, he pulls out a blank sheet of paper, stained crimson from his wound.

Who's he kidding? Even if they came in the next five minutes, he's going to be too far gone already.

A wince as he leans his back against the wall.

A lifetime ago, before the draft, he was a writer. That's how he was able to win over his girlfriend; he wrote her a letter every day.

One more couldn't hurt.

From the very moment his pencil touches the page, it's clear this will be the last letter he will ever send.

He writes about the war, the grand futility of it, and the friends he made in his troop, who's bodies lay motionless in a trench somewhere. They all had significant others too.

Did they have the privilege to die a slow death? Just like he has the pleasure to make his last moments about her?

He writes about all the traits he remembers about her; the way her black hair shined brown in the sun, the bridge of her nose that tilted to the side ever so slightly.

He writes about how he wanted a future with her. How he wanted two daughters and a stereotypical white-picket fence home in the suburbs.

He tries not to think about his blood seeping into the soil below him.

Foreign blood on foreign land. The writer in him wonders if his blood in the dirt will act as some sort of cursed fertilizer; if something will bloom, if new life will grow from the loss of another.

Maybe his death would mean something then.

He writes the truth about the garden he kept trying to build in their backyard.

How it was an unfinished project that was halted by the war, one that he kept secret from her only because he knew white lilies were her favorite flower, and how he wanted to surprise her one spring with rows upon rows of them.

How he wanted her to be her happiest when he finally proposed, surrounded by white petaled declarations of his love.

He imagines the look on her face when she reads the letter and finds out. The thought brings out a weak smile.

His vision begins to fade at the edges.

He writes about how the only woman he ever wanted to touch was her. How he memorized the weight of her hand in his so he would never forget it when he lifted the gun. How most men wore crosses around their neck but he wore a locket with her picture tucked inside, and when he kissed it for good luck, he imagined the rusted steel was her lips-

The pencil slips. He's too weak to raise it up again. He looks down, the blood now forming a pool around him.

The universe is harsh, cruel. Here he lay dying for a war he didn't even want. There had to be some solace, somewhere. Maybe that's why people invented religion.

He wasn't a religious man, and he didn't know if he was facing some kind of twisted karma for all of his sins, but with his last breath, he prayed. For the first and final time in his life, he prayed.

He didn't know where he was going to be buried but he prayed that white lilies would bloom over his grave.

[vonlipvig]

Oh shit, did you pick up Anti-Corruption police or Sordish state police jules? Because if you pick ACP, well i bid farewell, because you're gonna be impeached because of your shady dealing with Marcel Koronti. I dunno how the SSP gonna react tho about thay. Anyway I'm glad Deivid Wisci is an honest and straight to loyal man about his wife. Which is good for him. And yeah Ciara and Nia being couple is truth, i despise people who say it was a lie. How many times and evidences you needed to see them both as truth as a light? Do you want Ciara and Nia fully gone challenger style kissing scene act?! That would send you guys into cardiac arrest if you want. Or maybe i could draw it with my hands?! Dare me, and I'll make it. You know jules. If i ever make an reddit account and post this kind of things there. The people might be shocked while others is gonna be into cardiac arrest for how bold my words are.

nope, we're going with the ultimate combo of emergency act + full police privileges + SSP so i can go "KARL, KILL!" at any minor or major inconvenience (bye hawker, bye ilana). and don't worry, it's all under control cause we're going to WAR so there's no time to get impeached, especially not when i WIN (god if this doesn't work i'm going to CRY).

DEIVID my beloved i knew i could count on him to be a loving and caring man, he's really got wife guy written all over him. truly best boy (well okay, with serge too ofc).

LET'S GO NIARA TRUTHISM you could never convince me that they're not in love. all those glances and smiles and calling each other by their first names? and of course ciara is gonna be all "yeah, we're just friends" to you during that scene, she's not gonna tell your despotic, sexist ass that actually yeah she's in lesbians with your other minister.

but i do think they should just have a scene where they just make out in the middle of a cabinet meeting. i think i deserve that. live lileas reaction, indeed.

[sa7abnews]

Victory in Europe Day - commemorating VE Day 2021

New Post has been published on https://sa7ab.info/2024/08/06/victory-in-europe-day-commemorating-ve-day-2021/

Victory in Europe Day - commemorating VE Day 2021

The 76th anniversary of Victory in Europe Day, or VE Day, 8th May 1945 is a day of mixed emotions; of turmoil and relief, joy, and sadness, just as it was 76 years ago for so many. Also called V Day, 8th May 1945 is now often marked by quiet ceremonies, moments of reflection at cemeteries or in private, village or town gatherings. In France it is officially marked in Paris by the President of the Republic and although it was pared back last year, due to the pandemic, the tradition is to relight the eternal flame at the grave of the unknown solider under the Arc de Triomphe and to lay a wreath. Watch last year's commemoration here. There might be flag-waving or parades, storytelling of victories and relief that Europe was liberated from the Nazi regime, but commemoration is the order of the day, rather than outright celebration. As time goes by and we lose so many of the generation who lived through their experience of WWII, how can we mark VE Day as the special day it is? At its heart, this day reminds us of the immense privilege of freedom.

How can we remember with respect and acknowledge the immense diversity of experiences of the wartime era? Not everyone was a resistor, not everyone was a hero.ine. Some were persecuted, some not, some lived in Occupied countries and some people served in far flung places. There is nuance, there is grey, there is moral outrage and difficulty. It's an enormous subject and one I cannot do justice to fully, but I have gathered some excellent resources for taking your interest further. (Scroll down to the post to the Reading Room of resources, including books, films, documentaries.)

By gaining a better and more nuanced understanding of this period of history for myself, I feel like I can learn with more perspective than when I was taught (very patchy history) at school. I hope to be able to bring this deeper understanding into a commitment to good, up-to-date education on the subject for my family and for young people everywhere. I come from Britain where my family's storytelling around this period is from a set of perspectives which have also been rounded out over time with some national storytelling of pride, sacrifice, stoicism, and joy at being 'victorious'. Wartime is part of the national identity. As an adult I appreciate more that history is much more of a tangle than that. War is so much more than wins and losses. People do things within your family, nation, or religion that you cannot believe or understand. That dissonance through the generations is not to be ignored, in my opinion. Sometimes what we are taught falls short of tackling the uncomfortable truths and aspects, which is the same for WWII history as it is for colonial history, race, and society. Of course, I wonder after all this time, have we learnt the lessons from history?

Today on the blog, I could write the longest post on almost everything I find interesting about this period of twentieth century history. But I will save you from a 3-hour read!

Instead, I'm going to share some books, resources and thoughts on family, memory, and storytelling so that if you would like to improve or extend your understanding of WWII and the war in Europe you might find some starting points here.

A brief note on perspectives: I come from Great Britain, born long after the war, a European in nature and a Francophile and so the perspective I have is thoughtful, self-reflexive and somewhat critical but nevertheless a bit British. I explore resources and stories in France and the war in Europe. For more on other theatres of war, some of the overview resources can be highly informative but they are beyond the scope of this blog post.

Come explore the period with me with the clear voices of the people who truly experienced it.

Victory in Europe – Liberation and mixed feelings

WWII had not entirely come to an end on 8th May 1945 when Hitler's regime surrendered and in fact VJ Day is not until August 1945 for the war in Japan and Asia-Pacific. In Europe there was a continent of destruction, misery, and chaos and still so much work to be done for people to find true peace. No wonder then that so many people felt a strange, uncomfortable mixture of emotions on VE Day. Their lives had endured 6 years of "there's a war on" and all was set to change again. What could everyone hope for in the post-war era? Slowly emerging out of the darkness of the war would take longer than perhaps anyone thought.

We're all familiar with the images of the thousands who gathered in Trafalgar Square and across central London, or the throng outside the Palace waiting for the Royal family and Winston Churchill or the hundreds of people in Times Square in New York City. By many accounts it was a day of immense relief and joy and celebrations that went on far into the night in many cities. Paris partied with immense joy, as this picture shows from the Champs-Elysées.

Paris celebrations wearing the flags of the Allies:

The surrender was signed in Reims, historic city of the coronation of French kings and the site of Eisenhower's War Room (pictured below).

You can read de Gaulle's VE Day broadcast here.

But just like the images that don't show us everything, they tell us part of a story and some of the feelings. For many, VE Day was another day of war, another day incarcerated or a day when they wondered if this was really what 'victory' was supposed to feel like. As Nicholson notes in 'Millions Like Us',

Why does VE Day matter after 76 years?

The clarity and compassion we can find in historian's works such as those by Antony Beevor, James Holland, Juliet Gardiner and Caroline Moorehead show us that we still have much to understand and to learn if we are not to repeat the mistakes of the past. Much like Truth & Reconciliation commissions the world over, I feel we need to acknowledge and to heal. It takes time and a willingness to do the work.

Broadly speaking, WWII was a complete mixture of other long-standing conflicts and factors about which historians can go round and round discussing (see Beevor's introduction to his book The Second World War, link below). The left and the right, liberal democracy, totalitarianism, and the attraction of national/racial sovereignty are big subjects in themselves so I am glad that there is so much good scholarship in history that we can read reliable accounts of this period covering many of these factors. Beevor's Second World War and the classic Penguin History of the Second World War are both reliable books.

VE Day matters to me as it reminds me of my grandparents who lived and worked as young adults in WWII. By appreciating more about what they went through and the experiences of their generation across Western Europe, I feel somehow more connected with them.

Sadly, I have plenty of regrets that as a young person I didn't know where to start to ask them "what was that like?", "why did you do that?", "what happened to you when X happened?". All these questions that rise inside you at different stages of your life, can no longer be answered. My grandparents left no diaries, and they died many years ago.

Even though I can't ask my own family, I am so glad that other people did write diaries at the time and that since the war many good documentaries have been created that asked these sorts of questions. In fact, historians, writers, and documentary filmmakers continue to ask these questions and I don't think I will ever tire of hearing the answers.

This is why VE Day matters to me and why I am delighted to share so many experiences and conversations with the wartime generation via a rich reading list.

We can use historical records as well as empathy to try to glimpse the real, lived experiences of people affected by WWII and, by doing so, remember the tolerance and freedom for which most people hoped.

Trigger warning If you are triggered by stories including war, persecution, distress, or the dark experiences of those who survived WWII, then save this post for another day. From here in the post, I don't go into graphic details, but I do share resources and stories which might affect you. I understand how difficult it can be.

Ordinary people, extraordinary times

Britain was a nation of 48 million people and so of course, just as the historian Juliet Gardiner says, in her wonderful book on Wartime Britain 1939-1945, the 'story' of WWII Gardiner's excellent book reminds us that each nation has created its storytelling and that families are no different. There is a collective importance to creating a narrative of peace in Europe. But of course, in the decades since 1945 people have wanted to forget, to downplay, to order and reinforce tiny victories, tiny defeats, to remember courage and sweep away cowardice and collaboration. In many countries, trials and investigations led to a collective truth-telling and some shifts in the stories told and retold.

No amount of patriotic flag waving, or storytelling of the nation co-opted by left or right political parties can erase the lived experience of those who survived the Second World War with all its pain and mixed emotions. The enormous variety of experiences of WWII continue to fascinate me and fortunately with so many archives having opened in the decades following 1945, and after the Cold War, we have many more sources to unearth and investigate and for historians to contemplate and bring to life.

The best books for me are the ones that bring the people involved to life; personal diaries and ordinary experiences are often relatable in their attention to detail.

As the diarist Victor Klemperer stated,

At best, historians and authors write books using these sources without sensationalism or to twist facts for their own ends. It is also interesting and welcome that more and more books feature an insightful, balanced narrative, so that you can understand the thoughts and opinions of soldiers on the ground, a German point of view of battles and tactics as well as those of the Allies.

Hindsight is cheating of course, so we always need to understand how the lived experience was real life i.e. moment by moment, and not with the knowledge of when the war would begin or end. It probably felt like one long abyss of drudgery and pain for so many.

Diaries are also just a tiny glimpse of someone's thoughts and feelings – they can't tell us about what it was like everywhere or for everyone. In some places, like the Channel Islands, so much official documentation is missing that oral history is the only unreliable witness we have left (see Paul Sanders' book.)

Another interesting development in recent times, as minority voices are being heard and empowered to come forward is the stories of those often forgotten in the grand narratives of war. Colonial history goes far beyond the scope of this blog post, but the presence of voices and experiences of those who fought for nations other than their own, for colonial powers, like France, means we gain insight and variety in our storytelling about war. There have been more memorials and books on the subject, for example, of Resistance agents from Algeria and other historically French colonial nations fighting in Occupied France, including some who loved their adopted country like Arsène Tchakarian from Armenia.

In Beevor's Second World War he briefly introduces a young soldier who surrendered to American paratroopers in the Allied invasion of Normandy. Thought to be Japanese, but in fact Korean, this soldier had been forcibly conscripted into various armies. Yang Kyoungjong eventually went to the USA having spent some of the war in a prison camp in Britain. As Beevor states,

The moral quandaries and realities of daily life can be insightful and harrowing, depending on the person's situation. Next, let's discover some of these diaries and accounts so we can feel like we are in conversation with those who lived through WWII.

Conversations with the Wartime generation

Fortunately, many people kept a diary despite many of them living in fear for their lives, struggling to find food or being on active service. How grateful I am that they did! It means that now we have diaries from everyone from heads of state like Winston Churchill, army generals, such as Field-Marshall Lord Alanbrooke, active servicemen from Britain or letters from servicemen in Canada. Often at home, undertaking a huge variety of roles, many women kept a diary during the war. The diaries of women, such as Nella Last, and the contribution of so many who previously had never worked, and found it liberating to have intelligent work to do outside of the home means that we can begin to piece together real-life, real people stories from the tiny, daily habits to the differing opinions on the course of the war. (Please refer to the Reading Room below for more diaries and books.)

In Britain the most interesting collection is probably the Mass Observation project. It was created to purposefully record the thoughts, opinions and feelings of people living through wartime across Britain. It has been an immensely valuable project in the UK and gives us books such as Wartime Women: A Mass Observation Anthology 1937-1945. These books give voice to the everyday and a mixture of home life, factory life and stories from the services.

Since then, many stories have emerged of grandmothers and parents whose "hush hush" secret work could finally be divulged. Code-breakers, spies and workers from many nations who contributed to the war effort are more and more accessible. I prefer the books to some of the fictionalised films, as I'm very finicky about period hairstyles and clothes, and I find it so distracting when they're all 'wrong'. Yes, I know, attention to detail can go too far…but, still!

For example, just like Resistance agent Colette Marin-Catherine sitting in her home in Caen, Normandy in 2021 feeding the collared dove at her window, casting her mind back to wartime memories, so we can also imagine Vera Atkins living in a retirement home on the south coast of England. What incredible secret memories they must have hidden away for so long.

Colette has been able to tell some of her story in the wonderful Oscar-winning short film, simply called Colette. Vera Atkins worked her way up through the ranks of SOE and became a leader and recruiter for the Special Operations Executive (SOE) a remarkable special forces organisation created to upset the progress of war by the enemy by supporting and arming the Resistance. Agents she recruited included Noor Inayat-Khan. As the book blurb tells us:

'Throughout the war, Atkins recruited, trained, and mentored the agents for the SOE's French Section, which sent more than four hundred young men and women into occupied France, at least one hundred of whom never returned and were reported MPD (missing presumed dead) after the war. Twelve of these were women and among Atkins' most cherished spies.

But as the woman who carried out this astonishing search appeared quintessentially English, Atkins was nothing of the sort.' Born in Romania, she studied at the Sorbonne in Paris and finishing school in Lausanne, spoke flawless French and knew every agent in detail. As we follow her through the devastation of postwar Germany, we learn Atkins herself covered her life in mystery so that even her closest family knew almost nothing of her past. Often regarded as Ian Fleming's inspiration for Miss Moneypenny, Atkins was, I think, a masterful spy handler, a human being who suffered and felt deeply the losses of 'her' agents. Her determination to follow the trails of 117 agents across France and Europe not only gave us the fates and stories of so many, but also contributed to the War Crimes trials. The book by Sarah Helm is amazing and is thoroughly compelling and deeply affecting. An agent could perish by one wrong turn of the head, as one did, by pretending to be French but looking the wrong way as she crossed the street, accustomed as she was to looking for traffic travelling on the opposite side of the road in Britain. Those were the subtleties that could get you killed.

In France, many personal accounts of life under Occupation and diaries and books have begun to emerge but much like in the Occupied British Channel Islands, the only part of Britain to have been occupied by Nazi Germany, it took decades for many stories to be written, translated into other languages including English, and for these voices and uncomfortable stories to be heard. (Find more to read in the list of resources at the bottom of the page.)

As Sir Philip Bailhache, Bailiff of Jersey states in his foreword to Paul Sanders' book on the German Occupation of the Channel Islands,

Such is the complex nature of Occupation both in the British Channel Islands and in France.

So today I am taking a moment of reflection, a moment to ponder and some time to read, listen to and watch many of the fascinating works about this period. During the global pandemic, I have not felt at all capable of interacting with many of the dark episodes of the past and I don't recommend launching into learning about the Holocaust or WWII if you are similarly anxious or sensitive about the themes which come up.

However I hope that you can find some rich seams of stories of brave people who saved lives hiding families in their houses like Albert Gustave Bedane. He was born in Angers, France in 1893 and his family moved to Jersey in the Channel Islands when he was a baby. He served during the Great War and later was married and lived with his family on Jersey. He was naturalised as a British subject in 1921 and became established professionally as a masseur and physiotherapist. What must life have been like for their family in closeknit Jersey, facing the prospect of Nazi invasion? His wife and child evacuated to Devon on the south west coast of England and he remained on Jersey. When all Jews were ordered to register by the end of 1940, most thought that the island authorities would protect them. Many people decided to leave the Channel Islands, despite the bombs falling on southern England. Sadly it was down to brave people like Albert Bedane to help and while many disguised their Jewish identity or went into hiding, it must have been difficult indeed to find space to continue living in Jersey.

Albert would be forever linked to this period of history, as his actions changed lives. His story includes giving refuge to Russian slave labourers and others for periods of time. For two and a half years he also hid Mary, who was married to a British sea captain but as a Dutch-born Jewish woman living on the island, was in danger of being captured. Bedane's determination to keep her hidden underneath his studio in a three-room cellar is part of Heroes of the Holocaust: Ordinary Britons who risked their lives to make a difference (Lyn Smith). An extraordinary book reminding us of how collaboration and indifference throughout Europe helped the systematic scale of Nazi war crimes. Albert's extraordinary bravery in hiding and feeding Mary, as well as other fugitives from the Nazis, always knowing that he would be shot if found out is thought to have contributed to his post-war chronic stress. He is quoted in the book as saying, "I had a few nightmares occasionally, but I thought that if I was going to be killed, I'd rather be killed for a sheep than a lamb anyway." (Smith, p100) (then UK Prime Minister Gordon Brown, UK, quoted in the preface to Lyn Smith's Heroes of the Holocaust.) With horrifying news of anti-Semitic crimes, racial hatred and the like, this seems more relevant than ever to our current lives. The book has sections of different Britons spread across the world and in France, there are the remarkable stories of Sister Agnes (Clare) Walsh who hid a family in the Dordogne départment and Russian aristocratic émigré Sofka Skipwith who was trapped in Paris as the Nazis overtook the city and later helped rescue, aid and assist many people. Read more about their remarkable stories in Heroes of the Holocaust (see the reading resources below.)

Defiance and resistance are themes also picked up in Moorehead's remarkable book, Village of Secrets: Defying the Nazis in Vichy France, on the small Haute – Loire village of Chambon – sur – Lignon, not far from the Ardèche, which is often cited as a beacon of one pastor's non-violent project to rally the village to save lives. While the almost mythical storytelling of Pastor Trocmé might be known to you, it might seem that one village worked together to save hunted communists, Freemasons, resisters and Jews from deportation to camps. However, in this book Moorehead lucidly explains how this simplicity is a not the whole story. Rather than just one village or one man, or one religion helping another, things were much more nuanced and mixed than that. The amazing efforts of the people across the plateau to help others is doubtless deserving of praise and acknowledgement. Moorehead's extraordinary book reduces none of the wonder and pride people can feel at the involvement of so many people in rescuing hundreds of people from their certain deaths. The Plateau Vivarais-Lignon, where there is a museum, was recognised by Yad Veshem as Righteous Amongst Nations in and as such you can explore more about that here. There was also a recent donation to the village from an Austrian-born man who was helped by villagers.

There are also numerous projects online that seek to document the oral history and stories of those during the war. You can find some excellent resources at the BBC here and also here. Many books by historians and authors have brought together such stories in engrossing formats, so if you'd like to spend more time "in conversation" with this generation, hearing about their experiences, please access the links below.

A slideshow of French newspaper covers and Parisian images from VE Day 1945:

This blog post gives you an insight into some high-quality resources about WII and VE Day. I am not an historian, and this is not exhaustive, but it is a starting point for discovering more about VE Day and the war and why it is still so important today.

My recommendations are in English and vary in their points of view: some French, British, German, Canadian, American, etc. I encourage you to be curious where you live and find out if you have a local library, national museum or other resources which can show you the real experiences of real people in that era, in your language. What did they feel, think, and do?

Some of my favourite memories of D-Day, VE Day or other WWII commemorations or events has been to meet veterans and people of the era. Like many young people, I regret not having asked more questions of my grandparents who lived and worked during WWII. I have bene extremely fortunate to have met many people who lived through the war and spent time with them, listening to their stories and chatting about experiences, fashions, rationing and deprivations or spitfires and war in Malta. The most touching moment for me was visiting an aircraft museum, dressed in a 1940s summer dress, an elderly gentleman visiting with his daughter told me that I looked just like his girlfriend from 1942. It's a memory that has stayed with me and caused me a sudden pang of joy and sorrow at once. I was deeply touched and at the same time anxious to have caused some painful memory, but perhaps, just nostalgic delight. That was the day I sat in a Spitfire for the first time in my life and yet it's that gentleman's words that stay in my heart.

Don't go just yet! Please come in to the library and explore some more…

Exploring World War II – the Reading Room

Historical overviews

In France

James Holland is a master storyteller historian and I have enjoyed many of his books immensely. A masterful achievement is his Normandy '44: D-Day and the Battle for France which features principal personalities from France, Britain, Canada, the USA, New Zealand, Ireland and Germany.

In this remarkable book, Holland presents a broad overview that challenges some of the well-trodden tales we often hear about. The Normandy campaign and D-Day and the 76 bitter days after it are brought to life in stories from a cast of people with eye-witness experiences from resistance fighters to soldiers, tank men and civilians, they are well-represented there. It is an epic tale well worth your time, including many previously unseen sources and testimonies from around the world. Also created into a TV series, available in many regions on Amazon Video.

Aunt Priscilla survived the Occupation. A family's uncovering of truths and surprises in their family history – a nonfiction narrative by Nicholas Shakespeare.

France, identity and hidden truths – a granddaughter explores family secrets Life in Vichy Occupied France in remarkable diaries An extraordinary account of life in Occupied Paris. Find out more about the Paris intellectual author here at the NY Times.

Vichy France

Life in Paris and the city's liberation

France: The Dark Years Moorehead's extraordinary quartet of Resistance features two books in France and two in Italy.

Stories of the War in France just would not be complete without the amazing work of SOE agents. The 'real Charlotte Gray' Agent Pearl Witherington and other remarkable women and men were unbelievably brave and those who survived were eventually able to tell us more after their Official Secrets Act silence ended (although many never did talk about it.) We can learn more from these top-rated books on SOE, the Special Operations Executive.

The renowned classic on SOE

Vera Atkins (interviewed by the IWM in 1987, listen here) and the women of SOE, their recruitment and a little on the fight for pensions after the war (as they were never classed as combatants, they gained neither recognition nor a war pension in most cases for a very long time). Forty years after the war, she claimed that she remembered 'absolutely every one of her agents' and judging by this book, I can believe it. Read her NY Times obituary here. Code-breakers and operations overviews

It would be impossible to talk of France and the Free French without mentioning Charles de Gaulle. Whatever politics he may have represented after the war, his story is a remarkable one bound up with the hope for freedom. I used to walk past his statue in London and the house where the offices of the Free French were based and see the blue plaque. Somehow it felt very normal and completely extraordinary at once. The history of WWII is never that far away.

The latest film on de Gaulle and the fall of France is out on DVD (Lambert Wilson's award-winning depiction of de Gaulle)

An infographic visual version of WWII history (in French)

The dark years are also chronicled in a simple format of BD (graphic novel or bandes-dessinée)

In Great Britain / United Kingdom / Channel Islands

For a lighter relief, but still a meaningful social experiment, I have enjoyed The 1940s House book and television series. How would you have survived living in London suburb during the bombing Blitz and 6 years of war? A UK family volunteers to live in a 1930s/40s style house in a suburb near to Biggin Hill airfield (pictured above) not far from London for 9 weeks. There, they live with sirens wailing, rationed food and shortages and all the news of wartime in an accelerated form. So although it's not an experience of the real heartache of war, or an Occupied country, such as the British Channel Islands or France in wartime, it shows us some lovely contrasts between a 2000 family and the nostalgia of the wartime storytelling in Britain.

Accurately created, every member of the team worked so hard to get the "set design" completely right including food packaging, a local shop and all the wartime paperwork like Ration books and clothing coupons.

The Imperial War Museum (IWM) actually had a reproduction of the house in the museum for a time, but it's no longer on display. However they do have some resources and lovely videos that let you see just how amazingly the house was decorated and created for the series. Watch those at this link at the Imperial War Museum 1940s house page.

The family wear the clothes and the children play with the toys of the time. They seemed to have an immensely rich experience in their months spent in The 1940s House and when D-Day comes everyone thinks that the war will be over by Christmas 1944, but that was not to be. Much more bombing, destruction and heartache was still to come. When VE Day finally arrives, you can feel the sense of relief, sadness, heartbreak and joy all mixed together for the long years of war to finally be over.

Here you can follow some of the series post-D-Day. The quality is not great, but you can still get hold of the DVDs from eBay and other secondhand stores if you'd like to see more.

Nicholson's remarkable and absorbing book is a chronicle of women's lives in Britain and overseas which charts the lives, work, relationships and feelings of an array of women in varied roles. A worthy addition to your bookshelf. Although Britain as a whole was not Occupied during the war and the population was not put to the test of reacting to the persecution that so many other countries suffered, many Britons were trapped in Nazi-occupied Europe and faced with all manner of difficulties as a result. Despite these difficult circumstances, many of them helped Jews and others persecuted by Hitler's regime. Here we discover stories of bravery, selflessness and a care for others which gives a counterpoint to the dismal, harrowing, turning-a-blind-eye stories that form part of the Holocaust narrative. Uplifting and important.

Winston Churchill's diaries and accounts of the World War in his own words.

Audio CD version: Channel Islands – the only part of Britain that was Occupied

Juliet Gardiner's seminal and engaging book on wartime Britain

Alice Herz-Sommer's extraordinary life story and survival of a Concentration camp through music is as remarkable as it sounds. If you haven't seen the Oscar-winning short film yet, you can watch it by renting via Vimeo (click below) and find out more here. It is called The Lady in Number 6. Alice lived in London for many years and played Bach every day. She is the wellspring of joy and hope and wonder that we need after trying to search for meaning in the chaos of war.

British expats in France – commemorating WWII

In a classic-of-its-kind UK television show from the 1990s (beginning a trend for "bargain" house buying in France and Spain for British people wanting a different life, which is rather excruciating for the rest of us who think that's a rather insulting way to look at your potential new home in France) Nigel and Nippy decide to buy a 'bargain' for a holiday home. Their differing approches of head versus heart, rational versus eternal optimism and "have-a-go" lead to some very amusing television moments and some very awkward ones!

Their visit to the village where they bought a house in the Ardèche and its Armistice Day ceremony was very moving and gives you glimpse of village commemorations similar to those enacted on a bigger scale for D-Day at the large cemeteries.

The Holocaust

Wrapping our heads around the why and how of the Holocaust sometimes feels like a lifetime's work. Fortunately with incredible historians, we can continue to understand more, consider more and work hard today to eradicate racial discrimination and genocide everywhere.

We often think we "know" all about it, educated by film versions and visits to Auschwitz. But as Cesarani, the late Holocaust historian, reminds us, focusing on one or two sites, or deportation to camps does not always help us to understand the wide context of extermination throughout Europe.

(Cesarani, pp. xxvi) It is much more complicated than that. It might seem like a moot point as a lay person to understand whether the Nazi objective was always to destroy International and European Jewry or whether it was a much more vague goal by the anti-Semitic core leadership with their flawed collapsing of cause and effect. Cesarani argues that understanding the accepted narrative we rarely question is important for our continued understanding of the Holocaust and might change how we frame it in education, commemoration and scholarship.

The greatest crime of the twentieth century is put into dense, fascinating detail and as Richard Overy is quoted as saying 'it deserves to be widely read and reflected upon in a continent where racial and religious prejudice is not as far below the surface as we like to think.' (Richard Overy, Literary Review, quotes on Cesarani's Final Solution book cover)

With a unique viewpoint on the Holocaust, the late, great David Cesarani's book Final Solution: The Fate of the Jews 1933 – 49 questions the narratives previously accepted on this subject. He argues that Hitler's extermination of the Jews was neither planned nor inevitable. Read it to make up your own mind.

Although they might have differing views on whether or not the Final Solution was a planned part of the rise of Nazism, there's no denying that Philippe Sands extraordinarily personal and gripping book is worth reading. East West Street invites us into the Polish ghettos Cesarani mentioned (see above) and the people responsible for the murder and mass extermination along with a deep understanding of the birth of International law, the term 'crimes against humanity' and the human rights movement. Sands, being trained in such matters, expertly guides us through some of the Nuremberg trials with great insight and passion. It's a remarkable book that stays with you long after you've finished reading it.

He has followed up that story with a kind of thematic sequel. Following one of the principal characters in East West Street, we follow the man in charge of running the ghettos in Krakow,and the murder of thousands of Jews there. 'Wächter had been chosen by Hitler himself to govern Galicia and on his watch the Krakow ghetto was constructed and more than 130,000 people from the area, including 8,000 children, died in death camps.' explains the NY Times article on the book. He flees at the end of the War helped by the 'Ratline' a network of people, including members of the Catholic Church to escape like Mengele and Eichmann. Hunted and searched for everywhere by state authorities, Simon Weisenthal and others, it's not clear who found him first or who, if anyone, killed him. This gripping story is told with unrivalled access to the family archives of von Wächter. Sands poses many uncomfortable truths to the family, to us and to society's understanding of the law and in doing so seeks an acceptance of the barbarity of the actions of people like von Wächter. Sands takes us on a trail following his final steps until he is found dead in mysterious circumstances in1949. Gripping and extraordinary.

Laurence Rees's excellent book which included all kinds of survivor testimonies and previously hidden archive materials.

A women's camp, full of horror, experiments and a deeply affecting narrative

Pondering forgiveness and Holocaust survival

Viktor Frankl's lectures from 1946 are brought out in English for the first time in 2020. Despite the unspeakable horrors in the camp, Frankl learnt from his fellow inmates that it is always possible to say ‘yes to life’ – a profound and timeless lesson for us all.

The remarkable story and diary of Anne Frank told in a moving graphic novel or BD, authorised by the Anne Frank Foundation in Basel, this is the first graphic edition of The Diary and includes extensive quotations directly from the definitive edition..

Available in French here: In English here: The animated film by the makers of Waltz with Bashir will be released later in 2021 on cinema release.

The definitive diary is also available here:

Recommended Films & Documentaries

The Sorrow and the Pity Army of Shadows Annihilation Nazis: A Warning from History The World at War

The IWM has a little showreel of some of the British news from VE Day 1945 here.

Churchill and London

Paris

If after all of that, you've reached this part of the blog post, thanks for reading! I know this can be hard to explore right now, so if you just want to sit back, relax and hear the sounds of the music of the era, here's some light relief. We all need that right now!

On Spotify – the voice of France, Lucienne Delyle

Thanks for joining me on the blog today. Let me know if VE Day is marked where you live and how. I'd love to hear about it.

Remember, you can sign up to the France Where You Are Newsletter here to get all the exclusive news and a little dose of France in your inbox every first weekend of the month.

[tiodolma]

Kilgharah knew Morgana was Uther's daughter the whole time (3×05)

MERLIN

She is Uther's daughter.

KILGHARRAH

Yes.

MERLIN

You knew. Why didn't you tell me?

KILGHARRAH:

It makes no difference.

the damn lizard really played bbc Merlin like a fiddle.

It's really baffling why the bulk of Arthurian Merlin's powers and shtty mysterious asshole personality went to Kilgharrah. I am talking about that aspect of classic deBoron/Malory Merlin who just lets things and tragedy happen (even encourages it) and just lets the pieces fall around the people involved.

Bruh if bbc Merlin actually knew what he was truly dealing with, especially politically, he wouldn't have been so reckless and brutish in everything he did for The Mission.

[back-and-totheleft]

It’s a few weeks after his 74th birthday when director Oliver Stone’s distinctive drawl comes onto the Zoom call. He is speaking from Los Angeles, on what the director of films such as Platoon , Wall Street, Born on the Fourth of July, JFK , Natural Born Killers , Nixon and, most recently, Snowden , describes as a beautiful day. “Blue skies, no fires.” Stone seems cheerful, relaxed and eager to talk about his newest project.

That project is not a new feature film about a US president, or a documentary about one of the US’s many public enemies — Castro, Hugo Chávez or Vladimir Putin, all of whom Stone has interviewed and made films about. Nor is it a continuation of his mammoth 12-episode 2012 series The Untold History of the United States, produced in collaboration with historian Peter Kuznick.

Rather, after years of making his career as a determinedly political filmmaker with a burning curiosity for what many have lazily written off as conspiracy theories, Stone has turned his attention to his most mystifying and complicated subject yet — himself, in his recently published memoir Chasing The Light .

The book, while peppered with the kind of on-set, behind-the-scenes details that film fans will eagerly gobble up, is also an engaging, empathetic and honest piece of self-examination. It weaves its Bildungsroman narrative of a young, white and relatively privileged post-war American’s journey from the fragile middleclass fairy tale of his youth through to the shattering of that dream through his parents’ divorce to his volunteering for service in the Vietnam War.

That experience leads to the building of a consciousness that questions established ideas and leads him into the treacherous world of Hollywood where he finds some early success, develops some bad habits, falls from favour and manages to re-emerge by the age of 40 as the Oscar-winning director of Platoon . That film was a longdreamt-of drama about the Vietnam War based on his personal experience that would set him on a winning streak of distinctive, ambitious films that have earned him his own adjective in the filmmaking universe.

As Stone sees it, Chasing the Light is more a memoir than a history — “In the sense that you’re really engaging with the unmaterial things such as spirit, character, life choices, what happened with your parents and your wives and your choices in life — and it really makes you re-examine everything.”

Central to the narrative of the mythological quest of the memoir’s central character is the pivotal plot point of his parents’ divorce. Stone, who was 16 at the time, now sees this event as having affected him painfully personally. “It also affected my way of seeing the world, which is to doubt things, doubt the surface of things.”

A SHATTERED FAIRY TALE

Stone’s father was a World War 2 soldier and, later, Eisenhower Republican who met his French wife in France in the last year of the war. The couple married, and their only child, apple of his French grandmother’s eye, Oliver was born in 1946. Stone grew up believing that his parents epitomised the happy, post-war-boom-era US couple, only to have that illusion shattered when, while at boarding school in 1962, he received a phone call from his father telling him of the divorce. He learnt that his parents had both been less than perfect — conducting affairs and struggling to overcome the glaring differences between them while sheltering their son from the truth. As he looks through the narratively satisfying lens of hindsight, Stone believes that his parents wove a fairy tale. “And I don’t blame them for it, that’s the nature of parents,” he says. “But they couldn’t live up to it and when it fell apart it was ugly.”

In 1963, during his final year of high school, Stone, along with millions of griefstricken Americans, watched the news of the assassination of John F Kennedy. He writes that he felt stunned, “understanding nothing but the surface of things, the explanations handed down to us by our chief priests … After four long years I felt like an overworked clerk, always under obligation to do what I was told rather than having a genuine curiosity over any subject … I was more robot than human.”

As was expected, but with little enthusiasm, Stone enrolled at Yale University, where high achievement was expected of him. “It was bred into my bones. American life is geared to upward motion; the only response to adversity I knew was, ‘Never Give Up. Never. Never. Never’.”

But Stone did give up, negotiating a year off, much to his father’s disappointment. He took a job as an English teacher for a Catholic Church group in Saigon. After six months, Stone resigned and spent the next year travelling around Southeast Asia and serving a stint as a seaman, cleaning out engines on a ship bound back to America.

Emboldened by these glimpses of a very different world from the one in which he’d been raised, Stone did not return to Yale when he got home but threw himself into the writing of a 1,400-page, stream-of-consciousness novel that was eventually rejected for publication, leaving its author adrift and depressed. Looking for some larger meaning to make sense of his life, the 20-year-old Stone decided to volunteer for service in Vietnam — “the war of my generation”.

It was an experience that would indelibly shape his life and plant a seed of distrust of official versions and a belief in the idea that, rather than being the paragon of democratic values and freedom, the US was a nation built on lies intended to drug its citizens into acceptance and unquestioning unconsciousness. As Stone writes, from the vantage point of over half a century later, “I didn’t really wake up until I was 30 years old — in 1976 … I was darkened. A part of me had gone numb there … died, in Vietnam, murdered.”

LEARNING TO LOOK

After two tours of duty in Vietnam, Stone returned to the US, married his first wife Najwa Sarkis, and enrolled on the GI Bill at NYU’s Film School, where he studied screenwriting and directing and was lectured by a young, filmobsessed recent graduate, now lecturer named Martin Scorsese. Stone was also greatly influenced by a course in Greek drama, taught by one Timothy Leahy. He remembers Leahy telling them to rethink the ordinary and find the myth behind it. “He inspired me to reexamine my own experiences with that in mind.”

Out of that came the initial idea for Platoon , written when Stone was 30, in the wake of the death of his grandmother at whose coffin he vowed to “do something with my life”. Platoon tells the story of a young Vietnam soldier who finds himself struggling with the two very different beliefs of a pair of platoon leaders in the jungle — one, Barnes, committed to the cause of the US by any means necessary. The other, Elias, is a more aware, disaffected but better American who realises the futility of the war and the lies on which it’s predicated.

I speak to Stone the day after the first Trump/Biden debate, and when I suggest that these two visions of his homeland are still battling it out almost 40 years later, he enthusiastically agrees, “It’s just unbelievable to me that people still don’t see that. It’s exactly the same — red and blue, the same red and blue states — that was going on in Vietnam and that’s still going on today. It’s the same civil war … last night at the debate, here’s one guy yelling, ‘Law and order, law and order!’ It’s the same story over and over again. The guys who yell, ‘Law and order!’ are the guys who break the law first, like Nixon.”

It was on the back of the script for Platoon that Stone began his career in late-’70s New Hollywood, but it would take him another decade to get the film made. Along the way, he won his first Oscar for the screenplay for Alan Parker’s Midnight Express in 1979; wrote the screenplay for Brian De Palma’s 1983 pop culture classic Scarface ; watched as director John Milius and producer Dino De Laurentiis butchered his script for Conan the Barbarian; and shook his head in resignation as Michael Cimino performed a similarly depressing operation on his story for Year of the Dragon.

During these years, Stone developed and kicked a cocaine habit, divorced his first wife and married his second, Elizabeth Cox, and welcomed his first child, Sean. He also met a gonzo journalist named Richard Boyle, whose tales about the results of US Cold-Warera political interference in the small central American country of El Salvador fascinated him. Together Boyle and Stone wrote a script and managed to secure tenuous funding from a British production company for the filming of what would become Stone’s comeback film, Salvador , shot in Mexico in 1985 in uncertain, skin-of-the-teeth circumstances that were not made easier by the prima donna madness of the film’s star James Woods, or the threatening financial concerns and machinations of the producers. Stone says he “got toughened up on Salvador so much that [by the time it came to making Platoon ] nothing could stop me”.

When the book ends with Stone being handed the Best Director Oscar for Platoon by Elizabeth Taylor — “the fantasy doll from my youth” — you have to agree with the director’s assertion that perhaps that was the best moment of his life.

“To have a film that had been rejected so many times and looked down upon … ending up as the Oscar winner and a big moneymaker … it’s all too much. God, you gotta celebrate the moment and it was a lifetime moment.”

In spite of his long struggle to get there and the many projects that were either mangled by others or never saw the light of day, Stone’s memoir is mostly surprisingly free of bitterness or acrimony — either towards his former collaborators, his parents or his ex-wives. That may have something to do with the fact that, since 1992, he’s been a devotee of Buddhist philosophy and principles, but it’s also, Stone thinks, due to what he learnt from his parents.

“I do owe a lot to my mother — she was extremely optimistic, she was a lover of nature and animals and people. She was no intellectual, that’s for sure, she never much really cared about history or literature or the things that I worshipped but she really did convey a spirit of optimism, and that’s the best thing you can do for your child.

“My father was both — he was more sardonic and far more intelligent in some ways, intellectually certainly, and sometimes saw the darker side of things,” he says.

There’s also the fact that, as Stone sees it now but couldn’t always then, that he was raised with love — in the beginnings of his life. “I was raised with love and then I lost the sense of it for a while and I talk about that in my first marriage — not knowing what love was but recognising the absence of love, and that’s important and that leads to the next book — what love is and how it moves the world.”

A RIGHT TO BE POLITICAL

As to the future of his country, Stone believes recent developments like Black Lives Matter and protests against Trump may signal that the US is beginning to have a long overdue conversation about the realities of its past and their effects on its present.

It’s a past that, according to him, has been lied about, mythologised, “so that’s a good thing, a cleaning out”. But he cautions that they have a long way to go.

“We’re still worshipping the military without thinking; we’re involving ourselves in foreign affairs without thinking; and we think we have the right to dominate … to tell anybody what to do, I don’t get that. It’s what we do — we use our money to bully. It’s a sense of privilege and I’ve seen it all my life here — in the George Bushes, in the Donald Trumps — this sense that we have the right to tell other people what to do.”

For now, Stone has no plans for a film about Trump although he’s sure that there will be many made soon. “Some will be good ones — but it certainly doesn’t need me.”

Instead, he’s focused on a new documentary about applicable ways for science to deal with climate change and a long wished “legacy piece”, detailing the developments that have emerged around the Kennedy assassination since he made JFK in 1991.

“You shouldn’t be asking me if I’m political,” he says. “You should be saying it’s a normal thing to be because, in my mind, artists should have the right to say what they think about anything in the world and should be allowed to go far and wide. But it doesn’t seem to be allowable in our society. I got away with it a few times … but I haven’t got much encouragement since then. In fact, it’s a continual problem — to be labelled a political filmmaker as if the only reason you’re making films is to send a message. Hardly so. I want to entertain. I want to make a film that’s involving, and I happen to think that politics can be very involving, but it’s not like I want everyone to be a Leftist and jump on my bandwagon.”

With that, Stone hangs up and returns to his lifelong project of chasing the light in all its messy, sometimes blinding, but always revealing rays.

-Tymon Smith, "Blood From a Stone," Sunday Times South Africa, Oct 25 2020

[asatroende]

* * in this story ive changed the name of the goddess Var/Vör into Wes so shes not later confused with another goddess with a similar sounding name (Var/Vår/Val) * *

Wes’ teachings

Nine ages and three eras ago Wes lived on one of the vana mountains and built there a school to share in her wisdom. Many came to her as she was said to be among the wittiest of the gods and that nothing could be concealed from her, her learning never ceasing.

She took nine pupils, like Matte, Rune, Nora, Samr, Eir, and Este. 

Matte could predict most of anything by counting runes. Rune could speak and write all languages known by all races. And Samr could tell you all of their histories. Este, Bragi's parent and Idun’s teacher, learned art that surpassed even Wes herself. And Nora and Eir worked together to learn about the world and cure its many ills.

One day the king of asa, Odin, came to her school and spoke. “Why do you seek to spread this holy knowledge to any pupil that comes to you? Will not teaching create a successor to you that knows far too much and may betray you?”

Wes looked at the king and said; “Then will you, wisest of all asa and seeker of all knowledge, kill me? I am not of your ilk and may be a threat to you. Will you take my life after a match of wit as you have done with many before me?” 

The Valfather was silent before speaking again. “Why do you seek to spread the knowledge of runes to any pupil that comes to you? Is it not holy and dangerous for all men to know?”

Wes looked at the king and said; “Then for what reason did you, wisest of asa and seeker of knowledge, attain their knowledge from the norns and share their language and magic with the world? Was it not to share with all men?”

The All Knowing grew angry and said; “You, vana witch, keep asking questions while answering none. Can you call yourself a teacher when you refuse to cooperate?!”

Wes looked at the king and said; “You’ve spoken the truth, I’ve yet to answer any of the asa fathers questions, yet have you not understood my meaning? That is how I teach those who already have the knowledge. If you, wisest of all asa and seeker of all knowledge, are not among the knowing then I will tell you.”

Wes stood, beholding the first school. “I seek to spread knowledge and understanding to any pupil that comes to me because I believe all should have the joy of learning and understanding, not just knowing. A pupil may return to me, but surpassing me is not a betrayal. A pupil returning to me with malicious intent is not the fault of the learning, but myself or another. A person with more knowledge, like yourself, coming to me and killing me is not betrayal; so how could I be worried as you are? I teach runes of many kinds; of magic, of language, of counting. All runes are dangerous when used without sense, and sense is what I teach to any pupil that comes to me.”

Wes looked at the king and said; “My cooperation with you does not make me a teacher. I am not of your ilk, you have no authority over me. My pupils are who make me a teacher. As you have none that must make you a dragon, sitting on your knowledge hoard.”

The highest among the asa left that day only to come back many others. 

Every time he would argue with Wes, and never would either of them win. This was because Wes was not competing with the creator of crows, but teaching him as well.

Odin finally said; “Why are you teaching your enemy the knowledge you have taught and gathered? We know, above all, that war is an always looming threat.”

And his friend looked at him and said; “You are a man who loves knowledge more than life itself, wanting to figure out the truth of everything is your longing. I am teaching you, an enemy, because knowledge and understanding are not the same. I have done this with the wish that in the future you will gift onto me knowledge that I may have the privilege to teach, as many students have done before.”

[dododan]

Idrissila - abandoned lunar demon

It is time to reveal another piece of Ash-kore's story. An important figure for his story is the character Idris himself and the role he played in planning the rebellion.

Idris doesn't have official credentials yet, but he has character sketches and design~ ready.

Idrissila - a demon with great potential

Her real name is Idrisilla. Daughter of a powerful family of moon demons, belonging to the nobility. Her family was highly influential and had a small territory. They were not Lords, but sought to aspire to one. When Idrisilla was born they thought the girl would be their chance to increase their territories. The first-born daughter that united the two strong moon demon families. A pure-blooded demoness who was expected to do great things.

She was raised with this belief. She possessed everything she wanted, but she was taught how to be a ruler. From an early age she was taught philosophy, the art of war, etiquette and much more, so that she could become a Lord in the future (known by war and seizing the territories of weaker rulers).

Idrissila didn't mind, because she wanted above all to fulfil her parents' expectations. She knew that if she fulfilled their expectations they would be proud of her. She was born with a specific goal in mind. Unfortunately, she did not reveal any magical skills for a very long time. In their world, demons (whether low or higher class) manifest powers in a period of 5 years, sometimes in extreme cases magic manifests later (but no more than 8 years).

As Idrissila grew older, she felt she was letting down her parents and the expectations they had of her. She would agree to anything that could awaken her magic (potions, rituals or even situations that put her life at risk). She felt threatened. She dreaded the thought of letting down her family's name and expectations of her.

She was terrified when, at the age of six, her parents decided to have another child. They gave birth to twin brothers who displayed magical abilities from infancy. Idrissila felt threatened, but hoped that her powers would still awaken.

Unfortunately, at the age of eight, her hope died. Idrissila did not have an ounce of magic in her. She was useless to her family. The girl broke down. One day on her birthday, she lost everything. Her parents' attention, privileges, opportunities.

How did she lose everything she had?

Her parents initially didn't know what to do with her, and rumours of her frailty quickly spread. They sent her away to one of the residences far from the city, where she was to wait. Nevertheless, Idrissila possessed their blood and was part of their lineage. It was only after a few months that her parents decided that Idrissila would be raised to be the 'ideal' wife. She became a pawn and an object to be dressed in the most beautiful gowns and jewels.

Her teachings were discontinued and they sought to prepare her for her role as a wife. She was to be meek, obedient, give birth to an heir and do as she was told. Idrissila accepted this fate, thinking that if she lived up to her parents' expectations they would see her potential and she would win their love.

Idrisilla never had friends among the higher demons, as they all knew she was of little worth as a demon.

The girl grew up surrounded by a few servants and soldiers to watch over her. Idrissila grew up isolated from the rest of the world until she came of age and began attending balls and parties. She was expected to find a husband quickly, but found such gatherings the perfect opportunity to demonstrate her worth to her parents. She tried to gather information that could be useful to her father and brothers, but they never appreciated her efforts and told her to stop. Her role was to find a husband - to charm some powerful demon and form an alliance with him, beneficial to the family.

A truth that hides deep

Despite this prohibition, Idrissila listened and memorised information for fun and to ward off the boredom that was getting to her at parties. No one knew the intricacies of noble families like she did. Not only did she eavesdrop on the higher demons, but the servants did not consider her a threat either.

Years passed without Idrissila finding a husband and no one was interested in getting engaged to her, for fear that her defect would pass on to her children.

Her potential was spotted by Ash's spies, who arranged their meeting. Ash-kor gave her a chance to change everything she hates. They met at her residence after one of the balls.

Idris - the demon who is free

Ash-kore gave her a chance and was the first to ask her what she really wanted. He did not treat her like an object, but like a person. Idrissila ran away with him and joined his rebellion, because all she wanted was freedom. The ability to decide for herself. She did not want the world to be ruled by the principle of "the stronger have privileges".

She abandoned her old life. She changed her name and all she had left was the medallion she had received at birth, showing her belonging to her family.

As a member of the rebellion, she initially became its informant, giving Ash-kor information about the noble families (their power, residences, magic, influence, etc.). Ash also noticed that Idris was very knowledgeable about military planning or group management in general.

Idris never abandoned her studies even when she was exiled. She would often sneak into the mansion's library and read. She has become Ash-kor's right hand and follows him faithfully. She believes in his purpose and that the rebellion can make a difference.

[bokauffmann]

Winnipeg's Spring Market Is Heating Up

Hello…this is Bo Kauffmann of Remax in Winnipeg, with your real estate news for…  Sunday, April 30th, 2023…

  Today is, National Oatmeal cookie day, Nat. Bugs Bunny Day and National Adopt a shelter pet day

  Let’s give a shoutout to that last reference, the Shelter-Pet adoption day.

Here in Winnipeg we are privileged to have Western Canada’s largest ‘for-life’ pet shelter in the form of D’Arcy’s Animal Rescue Centre, located at 730 Century St.

In operation for over 22 yrs, D’arcys ARC has saved over 16,000 cats and dogs.

  As a registered charity, your donations are tax deductible, so please join me in supporting this wonderful cause.

  Winnipegs spring market, although delayed, is starting to heat up.  Here are a couple of sales in the past week:

  2 story home in River part south was listed at $400K and sold for 61K OVER asking.

  A side by side in All Seasons Estates sold for $320K,  which was 30K over asking.

  A 900 ft bungalow in West Ft Garry sold for 77k over asking

  Even homes outside of the city are getting some love:  1300 ft bungalow near Ile Des Chenes on a 1 acre lot sold for 30K over asking.

  A common refrain I hear from buyers  is:  “I’ll never get involved in a bidding war”.  Truth bomb:  don’t kid yourself.  If you go out and LOVE a house, most buyers would put in an offer and voila….you’re in a bidding war, like it or not.

  Who is winning these bidding wars?  The buyers who are best prepared and ready to go.  Call me right now to set up a free home buyer consultation, either in person or via zoom.   204-333-2202

  Add us to your Daily Routine on Alexa.  Go here to add to Alexa in the Canadian Skill Store.

Are you interested in more in-depth real estate information?  Check out our podcast, available on most podcast platforms.

Do you have an Android Phone?  Add our Free Podcast App Here.

Do you have an I-Phone?  Here is our iOS version of the podcast app.

Check out this episode!