#romulus is just a third world country at this point

[chadepitanga]

The amount of times the federation/section 31 interferes with romulan politics, going as far as nearly having a puppet head of the Tal Shiar, makes my latinoamericano ass go very "now wait a minute-"

#ds9 #romulus is just a third world country at this point #they even drink illegal romulan ale lmao whats next. romulan kush #drinking my corote in brazil call that shit kali fal #jk corote is so vile in the pale moonlight could have lasted 5m if they just gave vreenak that

[your-disobedient-servant]

Voltaire’s Paméla Letters Translated: Intro and Letter #1

The letters that Voltaire rewrote in the vein of Richardson’s Paméla after his falling out with Frederick the Great have intrigued me ever since I first heard of them in November or December. Only discovered to have been a rewrite and not originals in the late 20th century, it’s hard to say how much of it is authentic and how much exaggerated or made up, but for me, the fact that they have been altered only adds to the fascination.

Six months into learning French, I’m still not sure I’m quite ready to use this as translation exercises, but I’m impatient, I found the book for very cheap, and besides, I feel that to translate Voltaire you must channel some of the hubris, so bring it on. Poetry (to my surprise, it turns out I actually enjoy translating poetry in some masochistic way) and all. In the end, I am proud of the result.

This is not a very juicy letter, but I’m sure one will come along soon enough. I’m not sure how many will I be able to complete because there’s about fifty of them altogether, but I hope I manage at least a few.

Big thanks to everyone who helped me out with the draft. The rest under the cut for brevity, English followed by original French.

FIRST LETTER

In Clèves, July 1750

It is to you, please, niece of mine, to you, woman of a wit superb, philosopher of the selfsame kind, to you who, like me, of Permesse, knows the many paths diverse; it is to you I now address this disarray of prose and verse, recount my long odyssey's story; recount unlike I back then did when, in my splendid age's glory, I still kept to Apollo's writ; when I dared, perhaps courting disaster, for counsel strike for Paris forth, notwithstanding our minds' worth, the god of Taste, my foremost master!

This journey is only too true, and puts too much distance between you and me. Do not imagine that I want to rival Chapelle, who has made, I do not know how, such a reputation for himself for having been from Paris to Monpellier and to papal land, and for having reported to a gourmand.

It was not, perhaps, difficult when one wished to mock monsieur d'Assoucy. We need another style, we need another pen, to portray this Plato, this Solon, this Achilles who writes his verses at Sans-Souci. I could tell you of that charming retreat, portray this hero philosopher and warrior, so terrible to Austria, so trivial for me; however, that could bore you.

Besides, I am not yet at his court and you should not anticipate anything: I want order even in my letters. Therefore know that I left Compiègne on July 25th, taking my road to Flanders, and as a good historiographer and a good citizen, I went to see the fields of Fontenoy, of Rocoux and of Lawfeld on my way. There was no trace of it left: all of it was covered with the finest wheat in the world. The Flemish men and women were dancing, as if nothing had happened.

Go on, innocent eyes of this bad-mannered populace; reign, lovely Ceres, where Bellona once flourished; countryside fertilised with blood of our warriors, I like better your harvests than all of the laurels: provided by chance and by vanity nourished Oh! that grand projects were prevented by doom! Oh! fruitless victories! Oh! the blood spilled in vain! French, English, German so tranquil today did we have to slit throats for friendship to bloom!

I went to Clèves hoping to find there the stage stations that all the bailiwicks provide, at the order of the king of Prussia, to those who to go to philosophise to Sans-Souci with the Solomon of the North and on whom the king bestows the favour of travelling at his expense: but the order of the king of Prussia had stayed in Wesel in the hands of a man who received it as the Spanish receive the papal bulls, with the deepest respect, and without putting them to any use. So I spent a few days in the castle of this princess that madame de La Fayette made so famous.

But this heroine and the duc of Nemours, we ignore in these places the gallant adventure; for  it is not here, I vow, the land of novels, nor the one of love.

It is a shame, for the country seems made for the princesses of Clèves: it is the most beautiful place of nature and art has further added to its position. It is a view superior to that of Meudon; it is a land covered in vegetation like the Champs-Élysées and the forests of Boulogne; it is a hill covered in gently sloping avenues of trees: a large pool collects  the waters of this hill; in the middle of the pool stands a statue of Minerva. The water of this first pool is received by a second, which returns it to the third; and at the foot of the hill ends in a waterfall pouring into a vast, semi-circular grotto. The waterfall lets the waters spill into a canal, which goes on to water a vast meadow and joins a branch of the Rhine. Mademoiselle de Scudéri and La Calprenède would have filled a volume of their novels with this description; but I, historiographer, I will only tell you that a certain prince Maurice de Nassau, the governor, during his lifetime, of this lovely solitude devised nearly all of these wonders there. He lies buried in the middle of the forest, in a great devil of an iron tomb, surrounded by all the ugliest bas-reliefs of the time of the Roman empire's decadence, and some gothic monuments that are worse still. But all of it would be something very respectable for those deep minds who fall into ecstasy at the sight of poorly cut stone, as long as it is two thousand years old.

Another ancient monument, the remains of a great stone road, built by the Romans, which led to Frankfurt, to Vienna, and to Constantinople. The Holy Empire devolved into Germany has fallen a little bit from its magnificence. One gets stuck in the mud in the summer nowadays, in the august Germania. Of all the modern nations, France and the little country of Belgium are the only ones who have roads worthy of Antiquity. We could above all boast of surpassing the ancient Romans in cabaret; and there are still certain points on which we equal them: but in the end, when it comes to durable, useful, magnificent monuments, which people can come close to them? which monarch does in his kingdom what a procosul did in Nîmes and in Arles?

Perfect in the trivial, in trifles sublime great inventors of nothing, envy we excite. Let our minds to the supreme heights strive of the children of Romulus so proud: they did a hundred times more for the vanquished crowd than we solely for ourselves contrive.

In the end, notwithstanding the beauty of the location of Clèves, notwithstanding the Roman road, in spite of a tower believed to have been built by Julius Caesar, or at least by Germanicus; in spite of the inscriptions of the twenty-sixth legion that quartered here for the winter; in spite of the lovely tree-lined roads planted by prince Maurice, and his grand iron tomb; in spite of, lastly, the mineral waters recently discovered here, there are hardly any crowds in Clèves. The waters there are, however, just as good as those of Spa or of Forges; and one cannot swallow the little atoms of iron in a more beautiful place. But it does not suffice, as you know, to have merits to be fashionable: usefulness and pleasantness are here; but this delicious retreat is frequented only by a few Dutchmen, who are attracted by the proximity and the low prices of living and houses there, and who come to admire and to drink.

I found there, to my great satisfaction, a well-known Dutch poet, who gave us the honour of elegantly, and even verse for verse, translating our tragedies, good or bad, to Dutch. Perhaps one day we will be reduced to translating the tragedies of Amsterdam: every nation gets their turn.

The Roman ladies, who leered at their lovers at the theatre of Pompeii, did not suspect that one day, in the middle of Gaul, in a little town called Lutèce, we would produce better plays than Rome.

The order of the king regarding the stage stations has finally reached me; so my delight at the princess of Clèves' place is over, and I am leaving for Berlin.

***

LETTRE PREMIÈRE

À Clèves, juillet 1750

C'est à vous, s'il vous plaît, ma nièce, vous, femme d'esprit sans travers, philosophe de mon espèce, vous qui, comme moi, du Permesse connaisez les sentiers divers ; c'est à vous qu'en courant j'adresse ce fatras de prose et de vers, ce récit de mon long voyage ; non tel que j'en fis autrefois quand, dans la fleur de mon bel âge, d'Apollon je suivais les lois ; quand j'osai, trop hardi peut-être, aller consulter à Paris, en dépit de nos beaux esprits, le dieu du Goût mon premier maître !

Ce voyage-ci n'est que trop vrai, et ne m'éloigne que trop du vous. N'allez pas vous imaginer que je veulle égaler Chapelle, qui s'est fait, je ne sais comment, tant de réputation, pour avoir été de Paris à Montpellier et en terre papale, et en avoir rendu compte à un gourmand.

Ce n'était pas peut-être un emploi difficile de railler monsieur d'Assoucy. Il faut une autre plume, il faut une autre style, pour peindre ce Platon, ce Solon, cet Achille qui fait des vers à Sans-Souci. Je pourrais vous parler de ce charmant asile, vous peindre ce héros philosophe et guerrier, si terrible à l'Autriche, et pour moi si facile ; mais je pourrais vous ennuyer.

D'ailleurs je ne suis pas encore à sa cour, et il ne faut rien anticiper : je veux de l'ordre jusque dans mes lettres. Sachez donc que je partis de Compiègne le 25 de juillet, prenant ma route par la Flandre, et qu'en bon historiographe et en bon citoyen, j'allai voir en passant les champs de Fontenoy, de Rocoux et de Lawfeld. Il n'y paraissait pas : tout cela était couvert des plus beaux blés du monde. Les Flamands et les Flamandes dansaient, comme si de rien n'eût été.

Durez, yeux innocents de ces peuples grossiers ; régnez, belle Cérès, où triompha Bellone ; campagnes qu'engraissa le sang de nos guerriers, j'aime mieux vos moissons que celles des lauriers : la vanité les cueille et le hasard les donne. Ô que de grands projets par le sort démentis ! Ô victoires sans fruits ! Ô meurtres inutiles ! Français, Anglais, Germains, aujourd'hui si tranquilles fallait-il s'égorger pour être bons amis !

J'ai été à Clèves comptant y trouver des relais que tous les bailliages fournissent, moyennant un ordre du roi de Prusse, à ceux qui vont philosopher à Sans-Souci auprès du Salomon du Nord et à qui le roi accorde la faveur de voyager à ses dépens : mais l'ordre du roi de Prusse était resté à Vesel entre les mains d'un homme qui l'a reçu comme les Espagnols reçoivent les bulles des papes, avec le plus profond respect, et sans en faire aucun usage. Je me suis donc quelques jours dans le château de cette princesse que madame de La Fayette a rendu si fameux.

Mais de cette heroïne, et du duc de Nemours, on ignore en ces lieux la galante aventure : ce n'est pas ici, je vous jure, le pays des romans, ni celui des amours.

C'est dommage, car le pays semble fait pour des princesses de Clèves : c'est le plus beau lieu de nature et l'art a encore ajouté à sa situation. C'est une vue supérieure à celle de Meudon ; c'est un terrain planté comme les Champs-Élysées et le bois de Boulogne ; c'est une colline couverte d'allées d'arbres en pente douce : un grand bassin reçoit les eaux de cette colline ; au milieu du bassin s'élève une statue de Minerve. L'eau de ce premier bassin est reçue dans un second, qui la renvoie à un troisième ; et le bas de la colline est terminé par une cascade ménagée dans une vaste grotte en demi-cercle. La cascade laisse tomber les eaux dans un canal qui va arroser une vaste prairie et se joindre à un bras du Rhin. Mademoiselle de Scudéri et La Calprenède auraient rempli de cette description un tome de leurs romans ; mais moi, historiographe, je vous dirai seulement qu'un certain prince Maurice de Nassau, gouverneur, de son vivant, de cette belle solitude, y fit presque toutes ces merveilles. Il s'est fait enterrer au milieu des bois, dans un grand diable de tombeau de fer, environné de tous les plus vilains bas-reliefs du temps de la décadence de l'empire romain, et de quelques monuments gothiques plus grossiers encore. Mais le tout serait quelque chose de fort respectable pour ces esprits profonds qui tombent en extase à la vue d'une pierre mal taillée, pour peu qu'elle ait deux mille ans d'antiquité.

Un autre monument antique, c'est le reste d'un grand chemin pavé, construit par les Romains, qui allait à Francfort, à Vienne et à Constantinople. Le Saint-Empire dévolu à l'Allemagne est un peu déchu de sa magnificence. On s'embourbe aujourd'hui en été, dans l'auguste Germanie. De toutes les nations modernes, la France et la petit pays des Belges sont les seules qui aient des chemins dignes de l'Antiquité. Nous pouvons surtout nous vanter de passer les anciens Romains en cabarets ; et il y a encore certains points sur lesquels nous les valons bien : mais enfin, pour les monuments durables, utiles, magnifiques, quel peuple approche d'eux ? quel monarque fait dans son royaume ce qu'un proconsul faisait dans Nîmes et dans Arles ?

Parfait dans le petit, sublimes en bijoux, grands inventeurs de riens, nous faisons des jaloux. Elevons nos esprits à la hauteur suprême des fiers enfants de Romulus : ils faisaient plus cent fois pour des peuples vaincus que nous ne faisons pour nous-mêmes.

Enfin, malgré la beauté de la situation de Clèves, malgré le chemin des Romains, en dépit d'une tour qu'on croit bâtie par Jules César, ou au moins par Germanicus ; en dépit des inscriptions d'une vingt-sixième légion qui était ici en quartier d'hiver ; en dépit des belles allées plantées par le prince Maurice, et de son grand tombeau de fer ; en dépit enfin des eaux minérales découvertes ici depuis peu, il n'y a guère d'affluence à Clèves. Les eaux y sont cependant aussi bonnes que celles de Spa et de Forges ; et on ne peut avaler de petits atomes de fer dans un plus beau lieu. Mais il ne suffit pas, comme vous savez, d'avoir du mérite pour avoir la vogue : l'utile et l'agréable sont ici ; mais ce séjour délicieux n'est fréquenté que par quelques Hollandais que le voisinage et le bas prix des vivres et de maisons y attirent, et qui viennent admirer et boire.

J'y ai retrouvé, avec une très grande satisfaction, un célèbre poète hollandais, qui nous a fait l'honneur de traduire élégamment en batave, et même vers pour vers, nos tragédies bonnes ou mauvaises. Peut-être un jour viendra que nous serons réduits à traduire les tragédies d'Amsterdam : chaque peuple a son tour.

Les dames romaines, qui allaient lorgner leurs amants au théâtre de Pompée, ne se doutaient pas qu'un jour au milieu des Gaules, dans un petit bourg nommé Lutèce, on ferait de meilleurs pièces de théâtre qu'à Rome.

L'ordre du roi pour les relais vient enfin de me parvenir ; voilà mon enchantement chez la princesse de Clèves fini, et je pars pour Berlin.

#this nearly murdered me #i mean swearing at Voltaire is nothing new for me but #i open the book as soon as i get it and the first letter containd FIVE POEMS #dramatic little bitch (semi-affectionate) #anyway onto no. 2 #Paméla letters #my translation #Voltaire #Frederick the Great #Mme Denis

[worldcakecakecake]

Feliciano and the King of Hearts

Chosen by the gods as the Queen of Hearts from the moment of birth,  we follow Feliciano’s story as he grows into royal life, learns to rule,  go against age old customs, and his relationship with his husband to  be, the King of Hearts.

Chapter 1 I  Chapter 2 I Chapter 3 I Chapter 4 I Chapter 5 I Chapter 6I Chapter 7 I Chapter 8 IChapter 9I Chapter 10I Chapter 11I Chapter 12 I Chapter 13 I Chapter 14 I Chapter 15 I Chapter 16 I Chapter 17 I Chapter 18 I Chapter 19I Chapter 20 I Chapter 21 I Chapter 22 I Chapter 23 I Chapter 24 I Chapter 25 I Chapter 26 I Chapter 27 I Chapter 28I Chapter 29 I Chapter 30 I Chapter 31 I Chapter 32 I Chapter 33 I Chapter 34 I Chapter 35 I Chapter 36 I Chapter 37I chapter 38 I Chapter 39 I Chapter 40 I Chapter 41 I Chapter 42 I Chapter 43 I Chapter 44 I Chapter 45 I Chapter 46I Chapter 47 I Chapter 48 I Chapter 49 I Chapter 50 I Chapter 51 I Chapter 52 I Chapter 53 I Chapter 54 I Chapter 55 I Chapter 56 I Chapter 57 I Chapter 58 I Chapter 59 I Chapter 60I Chapter 61 I Chapter 62 I Chapter 63 I Chapter 64  I Chapter 65 I Chapter 66 I Chapter 67 I Chapter 68  I Chapter 69 I Chapter 70 I Chapter 71 I Chapter 72 I Chapter 73 I Chapter 74 I Chapter 75

                                                   Chapter 76

The next two days somehow blurred to Feliciano. He felt like he had been stuck in the same place…when he had only been there for perhaps only an hour, breathing and hoping this ease could bring hm an answer. He laid his feet upon the surface of this canal, sometimes starring off into the blur of this other island. It was the German one they had told him several times, boats occasionally coming here to pick up anyone who wanted a visitor…yet the last few times he had denied the passage still trying to think, trying to piece as time passed.

 Yes, it darkened and lightened here in the usual day and night cycle, the night a splendorous one of black, purple, blue and infinite of stars that sparkled elegantly on the waters. One lived here like any other regular life, with the same pass times and leisure, easy to forget that they were dead and only waiting for a mourning to pass so they could enter the third realm. Everyone reverted to the colors of their life, only glistening, and brightening, for, as someone had told him, you have shed your magic and your spirit can shine straight anew. But indeed, since all your magic was drained in the first realm, you had no power here, but it didn’t disturb from the utter peace and felicity. People went on, Feliciano wondering if they had forgotten they once could possess such force.

 For some reason he had kept his own magic…but he preferred keeping it hidden. He didn’t know what it meant, how the people would react to it and what the angels would say. So, he settled to himself that if he had to use it, then small things that can fit in the palm of his hand.

 The angels only came when new people entered or when they had to pick someone to lead them in their entrance to the third realm. He never saw the full process, he would only see as the angel would come to someone, talk, lead them deep into the most darkened street in the town, disappear between and that person never came back. They always went alone, no matter the family household they made in their time in the island.

 They had established these families to make the settling easier, to have a group to count on and spend your time until you were called. Feliciano had found it with a group that called themselves Galdi, the one to which the little boy he had met belonged to.

 His name was Timoteo…only five years old when he passed. He was from Ragusa, at the south of the peninsula and thus very far from Barga. He had been heavily sick with an immune problem that he suffered from since birth. The youngest of three siblings, his parents working with the governance of the town. The four of them had tried hard to deal with his disease, but the war cut the route of medicines and the healers that helped. His eldest sister left to fight in the war, the sadness taking the largest toll that eventually led him here.  

 When Feliciano had heard the story, he broke and put on himself more blame for the occurrence of the war, so many times apologizing and wishing he could grant the boy his life back. Timoteo forgave him, smiling and mentioning how he suffered no pain, in a wonderful place with just as great people and had even met the Queen of Hearts.

 Yet it didn’t heal the fault, it still added to the weigh of what he was supposed to do. This tension always lay with him, grasping as he did now the edges of his seat as he forced himself more the words he had gotten to.

 The four stances…could be so many things. Care, Devotion, Empathy, Belief, Force, Magic, Openness, Knowledge…and on and on with countless of words that piled and yet none shone out to him as the intended. He needed a way to make them clear, so when he worked on showing it…he wouldn’t be doing the wrong one.

 Okay, um… Intent, Loyalty, Calculation, Anger…he spun on words, twisting them around himself, hoping they could show.

 Wish, Leadership, Serenity, Force…another sigh in his anguish, just as Timoteo took the sitting right next to him, by now knowing Feliciano’s concentrations on this, remaining silent, gazing up to him wondering if perhaps this time he had something. He knew Feliciano had given up when he moved his gaze away from the waters, up to the distance that gave him the next coming island.

 “I asked Giancarlo if he had any ideas this morning, and he suggested you asked Augusta.”

 Oh…if only it was that easy. “Augusta won’t answer me…” he tried to control his exasperation, no worth being shown to a child.

 “She lives within you…shouldn’t she…shouldn’t she help you.”

 Feliciano rolled his eyes and wished he could tell her that as well. “Timoteo…she might want me to learn it myself. After all, I’m Queen, I should know this by nature…yet I don’t…she might also be disappointed because so.”

 “No…maybe she’s just making a game,” he had thought like the child he was and Feliciano chuckled and blessed that he was there with him.

 “Wouldn’t that be fun?” He raised his legs to himself, now taking a break, thoughtful and only one person in his mind, his gaze now more intent than ever on that specific canal that connected. Timoteo knew…and he waited and even expected Feliciano’s decree to row forward…yet silence continued between them.

 “Why haven’t you gone to the German island yet?” He asked, slow as to not cause any more distress…he could tell Feliciano was hesitant. “King Ludwig is supposed to be there…right? Maybe he can help you.”

 “Yes…he is supposed to be there…but…” he sighed and saddened like he could melt to the floor in it. “It was as the angels said…if he were here then they would have known…a message should have arrived there of my presence… if Ludwig would have heard it…he would have come as quick as possible…but it’s been two days and there’s been nothing of him.”

 “…the angels suggested you could still check,” he wanted to believe.

 “I could but…I’m afraid of what I can find out…you know the real story of Augusta and Romulus don’t you?”

 He nodded excitedly, attentive, and glowing ready to hear the tale all over again.

 “When Romulus passed by Khaos’s hand…he didn’t come here…for the longest time Augusta thought he had completely disappeared…lost and truly left without a chance to see him again…” what dreadful things, what misery…he shouldn’t be telling this to a child…yet Timoteo continued to gaze up to him with big innocent eyes, unperturbed by the words.

 “And you’re worried that the same thing has happened.”

 And the very words he had been thinking, not daring to say out loud, were whisked into the air by the young boy. “…he…was killed by Khaos…I doubt he would be so merciful.” And he turned away, not wanting the island to give him false hopes.

 Yet despite how everything seemed so unlikely…Timoteo wanted to keep that hope. “I can go with you if you want, so no matter what you find…I’ll try to help you and…we can figure something out.” He didn’t know what…but he wanted to keep Feliciano faithful to the chance of seeing Ludwig again…even if it meant not in the Interludes…even when there wasn’t a single way.

 Feliciano sighed, straightened up and there was intention in the way he gazed that made Timoteo know they were meant to take the next coming boat.

 The Queen realized that the boy had truth in discovering more of what this could be. No matter what he would find out…he was sure it would not stop him from searching a way.

  The sailor who was in the boat that transported Feliciano and Timoteo couldn’t stop stuttering his words, wouldn’t stop bowing…or staring intensively at the Heartian Queen. Feliciano giggled and tried to give him as much ease as he could on the journey…a half hour one with a lot to witness in these waters as they crossed.

 Despite how these boats could hold the weight of bringing about twelve spirits, only one person rowed, their oars the only thing in this realm that trespassed the water reflection under them to push. From what Feliciano had learned, these rowers were not angels, but spirits who had lived themselves long ago, had passed all four realms, lived with the Aces and were granted this job once there. They either wished it or it was given as a sort of punishment for wrong doings they did in their past life. They were knowledgeable in the map of this world, their rower pointing and naming the other islands they witnessed from afar. But each soul was limited specific routes, and this one in particular could not go further to the islands they couldn’t see or the ones from other kingdoms.

 With each paddle forward, Feliciano became heavier, his expression more fallen, the sailor and even Timoteo distracted in the conversations of other passengers to really notice. The island began to come clearer, with building of stone and wood that showed the clear artistry unique to the German province. It was a mix of old and new, of city and country, and it reminded Feliciano of one of the inner streets of Berlin. The beauty made him blissfully forgetful, ignorant to a crowd of people that were surely awaiting friends or even loved ones. The surprise was soon quickly spread as they witnessed him. The usual whispers Feliciano had now been used to arose, but he didn’t bother to listen or give attention at first. He rose out of the boat, helping Timoteo to stand at his closeness, making sure they were both well suited in their arrival before Feliciano could turn to the crowd…taking a deep breath and preparing himself for the answer he would get.

 “Greetings,” he started and continued in German, “despite how it might seem, I am not really dead.” He went on with the usual information of his journey until all could understand the circumstances to not create a massive panic.

 “We understand well, your majesty. But why come to our island?” A man had wondered for all.

 “I…” and here it would come, his voice coming into a shake, gripping his hands, and biting his lips from not showing more this weakness. “I’m looking for my husband.”

 Startlement, all exchanging confused glances, then searching between one another, wondering if simply they had missed him.

 “King Ludwig?”

 “Yes, is he here? If so, then please, take me to him! I have to see him!” He begged, his eyes watered now, a reaction the men and women moved back from…not understanding what to do, what to say. Timoteo took a stronger hold of his hand, easing him, reminding to be patient and attentive.

 “Your majesty, we know our dear king was taken…but…”

 “We…believe he’s already in the third or fourth realm…maybe with the Aces…” one tried to alight.

 “No…it doesn’t make sense. With the amount of time Ludwig has been dead…he should be here…I know he should be here…” Feliciano insisted, thinking they were only hiding him, ready to dash forward and look for himself.

 “Your majesty!” One woman told the loudest, taking well his attention as she stood high and mighty in the crowd, understanding well…Feliciano could tell that currently she has been the longest there, perhaps only hours to be chosen for her path to the third realm. “Ludwig is not here…and he hasn’t been here…” harsh words, enunciated and sure that Feliciano had no way to denying. The tears fell and his breath began to hitch.

 “Emilie, be reasonable, perhaps-” one tried to alight.

 “I’ve long been here…and no king has come…and none of the people I was with at the beginning mentioned such a presence.”

 Timoteo’s heart hurt for Feliciano, who now began to shake in his hold, and he looked up to him vastly worried. Even with his grasp, Feliciano looked lost, ready to suffocate at the harshness his breathing increased in.

 He should have expected this…he shouldn’t be surprised, it shouldn’t be suffocating him like this.

 “Not here…not here…” Feliciano repeated in anguish.

 But he did have hope…his heart truly believed he would be there so everything could be the same as it was…but now…no…such a chance was never to occur again…Ludwg suffered the same faith as Romulus…he was gone…he was gone…gone…gone…

 “I’m so sorry, your majesty…we would love to know what’s going on also and help…but…there’s nothing we can do…” someone tried to come close to give whatever comforts, but no matter, Feliciano began to loose focus, sweating from the harshness it took to breathe.

 “Feliciano…Feliciano?” Timoteo tried to call, but it was like he was slowly disappearing from his vision.

 So many began to try and call for him, but he gave none an answer as his breath overcame everything else.

  Roderich was surprised he could run this fast, could even let his legs raise him as he went across that ruined expanse. He was heavily bruised, blood coated his armor, yet he still managed some force to keep up with the other two.

 “Ready?” An Oralee called, reminding him of the mission.

 “We’re even!” a Whitean joined.

 Yes, the three of them were perfectly aligned, amazingly so as the ground crumbled underneath them, as ribbons of darkness danced about them, the feet of Khaos menacing ever closer with stomps that could have swallowed them all to be forgotten. But no…they were determined that this wouldn’t be their end. With grimaces, with pain in every single one of their bones, they extended their hands in a perfect balance, a beam like rope being formed. They began to move apart, expanding the distance, sometimes wobbling as one jumped or dived to avoid a ribbon. Soon enough they had what they wanted, a perfect space, the three moving until it was targeted like a large bow.

 “Fire!” Roderich shouted and they released just as they would an arrow, a field running up, the end a large shard that fell and pierced into Khaos. A scream, chilling and painful to hear, especially being this near. The monster began to bend in a nearing to the ground, to fall. The three smiled at achieving this, one of the rare times, but it was quickly vanished when they noticed it was ready to fall on them. From their awe, they had to dash at whatever space they could find.

 The ribbons were coming at them fiercer, messed, and dangerous without control. They didn’t think it would be possible to pass through, closing their eyes and expecting the soon taking. But then came the insisting voice, along with the call that was unique of a specific kind of deer bread for the use of war as this. They were tall, imposing, fast and with antlers capable of taking many to death at a time.

 “Come on! Come on! Come on!” Came the shout of the Jack of Diamonds, ushering them forward to him, all taking a grasp of the animal, safe and secure before it hasted away to the safest ground they could reach, the top of a mountain that they made their center of operations and health when it was not moving and possible. João was there to greet them, pen and scroll in his hand ready to write the next commands and messages.

 “It worked…” the Oralee told, trying to catch her breath, “…but I don’t know how much time it gives us.”

 “We got him to fall…it’s more than what we hoped for,” João told them in gratitude.

 “We can’t waste anymore time. Hurry with the next part! There are still some towns here that need to be evacuated!” Vash reminded them all, with his deer, heading over to continue helping these people. The others went ahead, only João and Roderich remained, both to stare at both sides of the view they had.

 The side were Khaos was wallowing in was filled with darkness, once such greet greens and rivers now in greys, smoke and only but cracked earth. Only some soldiers remained to fend and attack as continuous, preparing, swallowed and surely tearful with fear and mourning for their land. Roderich especially hurt…seeing his kingdom driven to this, a weeping he needed to hide…not now when there was still much to do, with Khaos still undefeated.

 They turned to the other side, these mountains doing well to hide the towns and even city in the distance that needed to be hurried out and emptied this instant. What gave them more panic was the fact that they could see the Spadian border from here, flags raised and armies ready to begin the defense and attack they had planned…what they had called new people for, begged for new plans and weapons.

 “Go and join the rest with the help in evacuating whose left, I’ll stay here and send messages if anything else happens,” João suggested, hiding his own turmoil by focusing on the writing he had to do.

 João would be alone then…something that didn’t sit well with Roderich. Now they needed to be together, to help and aid…

 ”Roderich!” He turned to see Elisa, ruined and panic in her eyes, “some people won’t leave unless it is by your command. You have to hurry! They believe that you’ll manage everything, and their towns won’t be destroyed!”

 Roderich decided on hurrying instead, only being able to send João luck.

  “Khaos is right at Spade’s doorsteps!” Louis announced the contents.

 “I’m writing the commands to begin and act!” Arthur exasperated, not liking to be reminded.

 In this array, in this action and load of continuous working, Elizabeta couldn’t bring herself to go on, heavily bended on her desk, trying to hide her expression of dread. Currently, Kandake was the only one that could grant her comfort, a hand soothing on her back, telling her a mantra to keep breathing.

 “All of Clubs is destroyed…everything is gone…” Elizabeta went on to whimper and mourn over the loss of her kingdom, under her reports on how every single province had suffered a darkened poison, all her population left without a home, runaways in other kingdoms she didn’t know could last and the rest…dead…gone, a pain adding and only sinking her more in this position. Others could only stare, not knowing what reach they could make at such a happening…one that would surely befall on them.

 Aldrich sighed and turned from all to stare back at the pool…hoping for some new hope from Feliciano’s body, still suspended and drifted…no changes. It had only been a couple of days since they began mourning…they shouldn’t be expecting anything for the coming weeks. Pookie was the only one that sat and took watching next to him, patient and still for his master’s return. Aldrich gripped the latest letter that arrived…not finding it in him to read aloud and worsen the air.

 As the Spadian border was spotted and was ready for the onslaught…the Hearts border was preparing itself for the same faith.

  Herakles walked the line all the time, one end to the other, sometimes using ferries, even serpents that lived in these waters and offered their help. He wanted to believe it stood powerful, everybody armored, ordered in precision, men and women from different parts of Hearts…even other Kingdoms, ready to face off this monster.

 A particular shout made many gasp out of order, for Herakles to see the shake clear in many of their eyes, their grips tightening around their weapons, some making clear sound. Over in the distance, a haze yet still on those hills of Clubs, above it all stood the rage of Destro, the armies there dealing what they could in their battle, the shines of their spell alighting the darkness of this monster. They were all small, like nothing…none of this was working.

 Soon…once the monster could take his passage through the mountains, it would cross the sea, blacken it and then it would be a battle of their responsibility. It would touch ground in Hearts for the first time and begin its ever approach on Berlin.

  “Feliciano…Feliciano!” All it took was just the right shout, to make his vision clear again, to halt his breathes enough so they could slowly settle at their usual pace. “Remember… we’ll figure something out…we’ll find a way…” The boy seemed to lead him back into place, back into his position, into realizing where he was, to the plans…to thinking. Feliciano gave a half smile, turning to the others to nod and make his way elsewhere in the town…somewhere where they could be alone to think…and realize what it was they should do next. They chose a forgotten corner where no one came to bother them, the water reaching at the steps there, Feliciano meeting for that same relax, that sign to head into his mind and let words wander again. It was also a moment to truly let his breaths go back to their usual rhythm…and to try and forget about the scene he just created. He looked back, noticing that the crowds went to focusing on other things, on those who came new here…Feliciano intended to apologize once it was time to leave.

 “If he’s not here…then, he’s not really dead,” Timoteo alighted, sure and positive.

 Feliciano couldn’t join in it…for his mind only repeated that he was gone, out of a reach that they couldn’t hold to anymore. “Timoteo, I know you want to help…and I know you want to believe that Ludwig is out there…but it’s just-”

 “What happened to Romulus?”

 It was so sudden that Feliciano took some time to settle on the new question. He thought to all the stories, all the readings, new and old…that letter Ludwig had received from him…that tearful confession on the past field long ago. “Augusta had thought he was gone…”

 “But she kept hope didn’t she! What was it that she thought that she desperately tried to believe in? The reason she hid her own importance, erased from history all together.”

 “Because…she thought Romulus’s soul was still alive somehow…even if not in the Interludes…and if it was given enough attention it could come back…” Slowly the mechanics in his mind started to turn, started to fall in their place to give it more thought. The letter…the letter. “She was…partially right. Romulus’s spirit did survive…it was just…Khaos kept it…he tainted it with darkness and gave it to the Beilschmidt line to pass through…like Augusta was passing through mine…” he stood as it came clearer in his mind like water. “Like Khaos, like me…Ludwig was going to go through his own surge…he was going to…” His mind headed in that darkness, the one he had learned from Ludwig, to understand, to read out the answer, like runes, like monsters, screaming and avenging in nightmares, now in their world come to life. “Khaos…captured him…tainted him…” He paced in anguish as the reality became surer, trying to escape, seeing if perhaps there was something he missed. When there was really nothing else…he suddenly stopped and froze at what it meant. “He was…” he shook, he saw, right before him as if ready to swallow him all. “I know…oh no…I know…”

 Timoteo came up and tried to reach him, “what? What is it?”

 Feliciano turned, horror in his eyes, “I know what happened to Ludwig…I know where he is.”

#Feliciano and the King of Hearts #fatkoh #f&tkoh #gerita #gerita fanfiction #gerita fanfic #gerita fic

[acrostical]

Safe Haven

On December 8, 1941—the day after “a date which will live in infamy”—then-president Aurelia Henry Reinhardt wrote a letter to all Mills families. With the hindsight of nearly 80 years, it’s a surreal read; the main point of the letter was not to offer solace or organize war efforts, but to reassure parents that the Mills campus was unlikely to face any danger from a Japanese attack. “The English Channel is 26 miles wide; New York is 3,500 miles from Europe; California is 5,500 miles from Japan and 2,500 miles from our nearest possession in the Hawaiian group,” she wrote. “May I assure you that there exists no reason to change in any way the schedule and curriculum of this college in the spring term which begins Monday, January 5.”

At that point, no one knew that many students of Japanese descent would soon opt to leave Mills, hoping to avoid separation from their families as they were forced into internment camps across the United States. In the years leading up to World War II, President Reinhardt had approached a number of European artists and intellectuals to offer them a place at Mills as the Third Reich marched across the continent and sent to concentration camps anyone it deemed a threat, including Darius Milhaud and other notable figures in the College’s history, but that welcoming spirit couldn’t protect some of her own students.

When it comes to political and cultural forces outside the campus gates, the College has historically been limited in what it can do to protect its students. But as an institution, Mills has long welcomed members of marginalized communities, and outside restrictions have not altered the campus culture of acceptance.

In recent years, the term “sanctuary” has become a buzzword in our charged political environment. But in a historical sense, the concept originated with the sacred. In ancient Greece, spaces that honored the gods provided some measure of immunity to individuals escaping laws of the state (with limited success), and in Rome, Romulus established a zone on Capitoline Hill where asylum seekers from other places could find refuge. For centuries, places of worship have operated as spaces where people could take shelter, and it’s still happening today—churches around the world house migrants seeking to avoid deportation back to war-torn homelands.

The idea of sanctuary gained popularity in the United States in the 1980s when Central Americans began to flee their home countries in the wake of civil unrest, but Mills took on the responsibility of offering it 60 years earlier in the early days of World War II. In the 1961 book Aurelia Henry Reinhardt: Portrait of a Whole Woman, Chaplain George Hedley wrote that President Reinhardt contacted the Emergency Committee in Aid of Displaced German Scholars (later Foreign Scholars) to invite intellectuals to Mills as soon as Hitler took power in Germany in 1933. Hedley noted that legends were told of Reinhardt physically transporting those scholars to campus herself.

A number of professors soon made their way to Oakland, including Alfred Neumeyer, who taught art history and directed what was then the Art Gallery, and the married couple Bernhard Blume and Carlotta Rosenberg. A German playwright, Bernhard headed up the German Department at Mills until 1945, and Rosenberg was a proponent of educating workers and women.

Of course, the most well-known Mills expats were the musician Darius Milhaud and his wife, Madeleine. In speaking with the author Roger Nichols in 1991, Madeleine detailed her family’s reaction when the Nazis entered Paris in June 1940: “We knew… that Milhaud was among the first on a list of intellectuals to be arrested because he was well known in Germany as a Jewish composer, and also because he did not share their right-wing ideals.”

The Milhauds made their way to Lisbon with plans to fly to New York, using an invitation from the Chicago Symphony Orchestra to obtain visas. But upon arrival in Portugal, their plane tickets were declared invalid because they had been bought with French francs. The three—Darius, Madeleine, and their son—were just about to board an American freighter to cross the Atlantic when a telegram arrived with an offer to teach at Mills. The San Francisco-based French conductor Pierre Monteux had contacted President Reinhardt after learning that Milhaud was fleeing to America and connected the two.

Milhaud cabled his acceptance of the position and, a few months after arriving on campus, Dean of Faculty Dean Rusk (later US Secretary of State during the Vietnam War) wrote to the State Department to plead his case for Milhaud’s continued residency in the United States, which hinged on his history of contribution to the arts. Milhaud taught on and off at Mills from 1940 until 1971.

Milhaud’s influence on the Music Department (and the rest of the College) is well known, though he was not the only academic who molded Mills in indelible ways during this time. Helene Mayer, a champion German fencer at the 1928 Olympics, was studying at Scripps College when Hitler rose to power in her home country. She then enrolled at Mills for a master’s in French. While on campus studying for her MA and, later, teaching German literature, she founded the Mills College Fencing Club, jump-starting an organization that lasted for decades. And it’s to the credit of these scholars that the German Department at Mills built a strong enough foundation to eventually send many of its students abroad as Fulbright scholars.

The situation with students of Japanese descent was not nearly as easy to solve, however, with President Franklin D. Roosevelt establishing internment camps less than three months after the Pearl Harbor attack.

Alumnae who were at Mills during the attack remember that day as a sunny one, with word of the incident filtering in as they arrived back in their residence halls after Sunday chapel service. Japanese American students soon found their freedoms curtailed bit by bit, starting with an Army-ordered curfew that restricted their movement even on the Mills campus.

May Ohmura Watanabe ’44, who was born in California to American citizens, wrote about her experiences in multiple issues of the Quarterly. “I remember Dr. Hedley, the chaplain, was very upset and angry. I can still feel his hand tightly holding mine, his body slightly bent forward as he hurried to look at the curfew proclamation posted on the telephone pole just outside the campus,” she wrote in 1985. “He even took me to the Army’s headquarters in San Francisco to protest and to state his disbelief. All in vain.”

Watanabe soon left Mills and returned home to Chico so that she wouldn’t be sent to a different internment camp than her parents and brother. She spent a year at the Tule Lake Relocation Center near the Oregon border, then was released as part of a program allowing some detainees to work or attend school in special approved zones. Watanabe was allowed to transfer her credits to Syracuse University, where she studied nursing. “I remember the special arrangements Mills made for me before evacuation to take my exams in Chico supervised by my high school dean,” she wrote.

The late Grace Fujii Kikuchi ’42 made a similar choice to leave Mills to avoid separation from her family. As a senior, she was more easily able to bring her time at Mills to a close, though it wasn’t a happy time. “My professors at Mills had arranged for me to take my [exam] at a nearby high school,” she wrote in the same Quarterly issue. “All I know is that I was graduated in absentia with my class. Not to be able to attend my commencement after four hard years of work was a bitter disappointment to me.”

The frustrations of the Mills administration during this era were captured in a play by Catherine Ladnier ’70, which she based on actual letters President Reinhardt received from students who left the College due to World War II, including Japanese American students in internment camps. Titled A Future Day of Radiant Peace, the play details the personal turmoil these students experienced as they abandoned their bustling lives at Mills for the uncertainty of the camps. It also demonstrates what little power anyone on campus had to prevent the exodus.

In the aftermath of the war, however, Mills was able to provide sanctuary to several students whose home countries were suffering. Catherine Cambessedes Colburn ’47 and Noramah Sumakno Peksopoetranto ’56 traveled to the College from France and Indonesia, respectively. In the spring 1997 issue of the Quarterly, Colburn wrote about the strangeness of going from a country recovering from war to a land of plenty.

“Mills had sent a list of what I would need, and I owned next to none of the items, nor could I get them. Coupons, given out rarely, were required to buy anything. Besides, the stores were next to empty,” she wrote. “I exchanged my wine ration with a friend for her fabric coupon and my cigarette ration with another for hers, and got enough material for two clothing items.”

Peksopoetranto earned her opportunity to attend Mills through a one-year scholarship from the Edward H. Hazen Foundation. At the end of the year, Dean Anna Hawkes offered her room and board for a bachelor’s degree in education; she spent that summer staying in the home of Librarian Elizabeth Reynolds.

On October 29, 2018—two days after 11 were killed in a shooting at the Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania—President Elizabeth L. Hillman sent an email to the Mills community. In it, she harkened back to the College’s history of providing sanctuary to Jewish scholars during World War II and the inspiration they provided to generations of students. “Higher education institutions like Mills have a special role to play in creating and sharing knowledge across boundaries of faith, race, gender, and background,” she wrote. “We can only fulfill our mission when everyone in our community is safe, respected, and able to grow and learn.”

In the last few years, President Hillman has sent a number of similar emails to the campus community after attacks, in the United States and abroad, that have targeted historically marginalized groups. According to Dean of Students Chicora Martin, the typical campus response finds its roots in Mills history. “Whenever an incident happens, we’re among a community where people may not always know what to do, but they are prepared to do something,” they said. “It’s part of our culture.”

“In times of immense crisis and identity-based violence, there is this depth of emotion and despair, but also a desire to be in community,” says Dara Olandt, campus chaplain and director of spiritual and religious life. “It has been very moving for me to see the ways in which students have offered leadership and shown up for each other.”

Olandt attributes the campus-wide attitude of acceptance and protection to the College’s past religiosity—in particular, President Reinhardt was the first woman moderator of the American Unitarian Association. (Olandt herself was ordained by the Unitarian Universalist church.) The chapel “is a refuge, and a place of deep hospitality. That’s what the forebears [who created] this chapel were really about,” Olandt says. “There’s power in this symbolic place where people are welcome in the fullness of their lives, no matter their identities.”

She also counsels those who travel to Mills from outside the country and hail from distinctly different societal and religious backgrounds than their US-born peers. That demographic has naturally been part of the student body for decades, but provides a different set of challenges due to the requirements of F-1 and J-1 student entry visas. Dean Martin serves as the principal designated school official on the Mills campus, so they are the first point of contact for the US government. “Every year, we have someone who can’t make it here because they can’t get a visa,” they say. “There are lots of restrictions with international students, and there’s a lot of documentation that you have to provide just for them to do normal-ish things, like getting a Social Security card or a driver’s license.”

Over the last four years, the legal status of undocumented students has been called into question across the country, and as a Hispanic Serving Institution, Mills has been prompted to respond. Under the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA) program, which began in 2012, undocumented immigrants who arrived in the US before they turned 18 could be granted renewable two-year periods where they would not be deported. When Donald Trump was elected to the presidency, he pledged to end the program—and set off a chain reaction at colleges and universities across the country, which became known as the “sanctuary campus” movement.

On November 16, 2016, President Hillman was one of hundreds of signatories to the Statement in Support of the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA) Program, which underscored the contributions that its recipients have made to college communities across the country. “America needs talent—and these students, who have been raised and educated in the United States, are already part of our national community,” the statement reads. “They represent what is best about America, and as scholars and leaders they are essential to the future.”

Hillman also joined with more than two dozen college leaders in December 2017 as founding members of the Presidents’ Alliance on Higher Education and Immigration, which advocates for fair treatment of DACA and international students, and she continues to contribute to amicus briefs compiled by the alliance on behalf of DACA students.

In practical terms, Martin says that Mills provides grants to affected DACA students to cover the legal paperwork required to renew their statuses, and the College will provide financial assistance to any undocumented student in the same amount the student would have received from a Pell Grant, which is a federal program and therefore off-limits to non-citizens.

But in terms of sanctuary? If immigration officials asked Mills to turn over student records, the College is theoretically protected by the Family Educational Rights and Privacy Act (FERPA), which prohibits the disclosure of student information, including immigration status, to parties beyond those that need to know for the purposes of that student’s education. Nothing like that has happened yet, but administrators say that it’s really not the point. The last few years have, in the end, cemented the kind of institution Mills wants to be.

“We were asking questions about our own values. The government’s now actively not supporting [these] students, so we have to come out very strongly with concrete statements and actions that clarify for our community where our values lie,” Martin says.

“Aurelia Reinhardt was deeply motivated by her values, which had roots in her religious and spiritual background,” Olandt adds. “She was very much anchored in a spirit of service and what we call today solidarity with marginalized folks. How can we uphold the best of humanity and live a moral and ethical life in the face of challenge?”

#writings

[ultimaa]

Analyzing and theorizing about Shingeki no Kyojin

I can not avoid comparing the happenings of Shingeki no Kyojin with historical events, from the Roman Empire to World War II. In addition, the mythological content of the work also leads to a comparison with the beliefs of Classical Antiquity. At this point, I would like to talk about Ymir Fritz; However, before that... I need to tell you about the Roman Empire, specifically about its founding myth and what really happened.

Who has not heard of Romulus and Remus. The two brothers who started it all. The myth considers them children of Mars (the Greek Ares), god of war, who engendered them in Rhea Silvia. She was the daughter of Numitor, king of Alba Longa who had been overthrown by his brother Amulius. The mother had to abandon them, but the children were saved by Luperca, a wolf who suckled them. Then they were found and raised by a couple of pastors. The brothers discovered the nobility of their lineage and went to return Alba Longa to his grandfather Numitor.

They succeeded, but both wanted a city of their own. Then they had their differences. Romulus wished to build the city on the Palatine Hill, while Remus preferred the Aventine Hill. The only solution was to count vultures: Remo saw six, while Romulus saw twelve. The winner traced the limits of his city and assured that he would kill anyone who crossed them. Guess what? Remus was emboldened, entered the territory of his brother and Romulo fulfilled his word, becoming a fratricide.

That is the founding myth of Rome. Therefore, it does not correspond to reality. However, in Shingeki it could be. I explain. Each side has an idea about Ymir Fritz; The Marleyans considered that she agreed with the Devil, Eren Krueger believed that Ymir came into contact with the genesis of the matter and Onyankopon suggested that perhaps Ymir received his power from a divinity. Well, now think about everything I've told you, in Rome too: AND IF YMIR FRITZ DID NOT DEAL WITH THE DEMON, NEITHER ENTERED INTO CONTACT WITH THE ORIGIN OF EVERYTHING? What if everyone is wrong ... except Onyankopon? Ymir may have been the daughter of a god, like Romulus and Remus, becoming the first ruler of the House Fritz and the first ever titan shifter, in the same way that Romulus became the first king of Rome and the father of all Romans.

And if we mix myth with reality? Okay, let's say that Ymir has a divine origin, being a descendant of a deity. Well, what do we do with her people, the Erdians? The true origin of Rome is not found in a fraternal discussion; although it still is not clear,  everything points to this glorious civilization was the result of the union of different peoples, Latins, Sabines, Etruscans (being these the most advanced), etc, which were fighting each other. Romulus, as the first king, promulgated common laws and customs. Roman laws and customs. Maybe Ymir Fritz saw himself in the same situation: a potpourrí of people who did not understand each other, who were enemies or who had been enemies, but who were under the charge of the same person. At this point, Ymir would do the same as Romulo and create a common culture with characteristics of each nation.

The Romans contributed much to architecture, art, politics and all areas of life. They built bridges, forums, basilicas, circuses, etc. They were practical people who sought the public utility of their buildings. Does not this remind you of what Grisha Jaeger said about Ymir and her people? Grisha was convinced that Ymir built bridges, sowed the fields, etc; in general, Jaeger believed that Ymir Fritz made mankind prosper, just as the Romans did.

I think frankly that Ymir brought a lot of progress and a time of splendor ...

... but I also believe that Erdia had to fight many wars.

I mentioned the Etruscans before. These allied with other peoples to fight against Rome, but were defeated and absorbed by the Romans. The same thing happened to Marley; they had nothing to do with a power like Ancient Erdia. However, when civil wars struck the Erdian Empire, they took advantage of and took control of the continent. They had defeated the infamous Erdians, who had done them so much harm! I do not doubt that the Erdians behaved brutally with the Marleyans, but we all know that no nation has conquered another with kisses and roses. The Marleyans could only see the pain of their homeland, but NOT the great advances that Ymir had promoted. They were blind with hatred and resentment (something that is understandable, because no one wants to be conquered) and they gave their truth to the world: YMIR HAD COVENANTED WITH THE DEMON AND SUMMARED THE WORLD IN A DARK AGE.

We can not blame them. After all, the god of the enemy is our enemy, our devil.

But Marleyans are not saints either. The old wars DO NOT justify confining the Erdians in ghettos and using them as cannon fodder. Because those Erdians are innocent. If someone in the fandom is able to justify Erdian segregation, that person has a problem. Think, for example, of the Germans. Yes, the Nazis did a lot of damage and ended up with millions of people, BUT THAT DOES NOT WANT TO SAY THAT THE CURRENT GERMANS MUST PAY FOR THEIR CRIMES. That's why the Nuremberg trials were held.

There are no guilty or villains or a dark side in SNK: only revenge, resentment and ambition. The past is just an excuse, the veracity of the facts is not important. Marleyans and Erdians need a reason to hate each other and have the best. As I see it, there are only three solutions to this millennial conflict.

a. Peace. Each side should recognize their mistakes, leave their weapons and dialogue.

b. May the best win. The problems between Erdia and Marley are irreconcilable and the war will end when one country destroys the other.

c. The bilateral catastrophe. Both nations are destroyed by a third country or by an alliance.

I am inclined to the last two options. I think Erdia will beat Marley, but ... that's just the tip of the iceberg. After Eren attacked Liberio, where an international summit was held with ambassadors from all over the globe, the whole world is against Erdia. Okay, maybe Eren will finish Marley. Certainly, it seems that the Marleyans are betting everything in the invasion of the current arc of the manga. They need to put an end to the Erdians of the walls and, above all, they need the power of the TITAN FOUNDER to preserve the military hegemony. I think of the Ardennes Counteroffensive, Hitler's last attack on the allies, which failed. However, both the Nazis and the Allies suffered a large number of casualties: Germany suffered 83,000 casualties among the dead and wounded, and the Allies suffered a total of 102,576 casualties. The Allies lost much more because the German Army was superior and, despite this, they won. I think the Erdians will win thanks to the power of the Titans, thanks to the RUMBLING, because the Marleyan troops are clearly superior.

Recently it was revealed an audio that contained the end of the work. The din of a battle ... the battle against the world? This is very ironic and twisted on the part of the Master Isayama. The fall of the walls has always been a symbol of freedom and union. The fall of the Berlin Wall was a big step towards the end of the Cold War. Nevertheless, the fall of Maria, Rose and Sina would suppose the liberation of the colossal titans, that is to say, the activation of the rumble of the earth. Here we come to the man who will decide the destiny of humanity: Eren Jaeger.

We still do not know what happens in the head of our suicidal bastard (in fact, his vital state is also doubtful), but I dare say he will do the following:

-To end with the era of the titans and, therefore, with the possibility of Erdian supremacy. For this we must liquidate the colossal locked in the walls, but how the hell are you going to get rid of thousands and thousands of colossal, if only one of them killed almost the entire Legion and calcined Armin? Well, Eren can control them and maybe he can get rid of them. If this happened, Eren would fulfill what he said as a child: "I'm going to kill the titans." However, he would no longer do it for revenge or hatred, but for the common good. That would be a way to redeem the character.

How would Eren get rid of the colossal? Well, it's simple ... THE OCEAN. It is well known that the titans do not approach the water and the ocean could be a good tomb for the giants of fifty meters. In our world, the deepest part of the ocean is in the Mariana Trench, 10,000 meters deep. Imagine our Eren commanding those moles towards the unfathomable depths. The sea symbolizes life because everything started in the water, but it also refers to death in a more poetic sense (in the work of Antonio Machado it is very frequent) because all the rivers (the lives) flow into the sea (the death). In addition, the importance of the ocean in Shingeki no Kyojin is already made clear in the first chapters, when Armin dreams of reaching it.

Does this mean that Eren supports Zeke's plan? No, I do not think Eren intends to sterilize his people. I never believed it, especially when the supposed final panel of the manga was unveiled. I believe without doubt that the baby is Erdian; Son of a protagonist? I don’t know, but I do Erdian. And the dialogue, that "you are free", would mean that the coming generations are free of the legacy of Ymir, of the titans, of the terrible past ... and of the titan shifters.

Things as they are: as long as there are titan shifters, there will be war to control them. How do we get rid of them without any baby inheriting it? Well, I'll leave that to Isayama 😊

Suppose that the Titans are truly exterminated, then how will Paradis defend itself from its numerous enemies? Even if Hizuru helped them, the Erdians would lose. They would have two options: peace or destruction. This would be a good time for Armin. After all, Eren himself said that Armin would save humanity, and not him.

This is all. I apologize for possible spelling or grammatical errors: English is not my language.

#snk #snk thoughts #snk theory #snk 119 #erenjaeger #armin arlert #levi ackerman #mikasa ackerman #snk s3

[mason-mem]

more pages of Serres’ Malfeasance

FROM LANDSCAPE TO COUNTRY

From tribe to homeland, from the rustic farm to cities, and from these to nations. The latter sometimes revere the tomb of an unknown soldier, not so much to remember the horrors of war, as the inscriptions claim— it would be better to forget those—but to bow before the vile remains that sanction the urban or national appropriation of the soil. My book Statues and Robert Harrison's The Dead develop this insight at great length. Leland Stanford built our campus on top of the remains of his beloved son, just as Romulus built the eternal city on the corpse of his brother.

Millions of young people, whose remains rest in military cemeteries, in the shadow of bronze statues erected for the foul glory of the very people (were they clueless or criminal?) who sacrificed them, marked with their blood, their corpses the nation's property. Born on the soil of their nation, they died on it and for it, and now they sleep in it.

THE LITTLE-KNOWN MEANING OF A FEW WORDS

I have briefly described actual individual or collective behaviours, without paying much attention to the words I use such as clean or one's own, place or location. Let me start then by clarifying the meaning of some of the terms signifying property. Note: the verb "to have" in Latin has the same origin as to inhabit. From the mists of time, our languages echo the profound relation between the nest and appropriation, between the living space and possession: I inhabit, therefore I have.

Appartenir4 comes from ad-per-tinere, which means to hold or to be linked to. The English words tenure and tenant also describe an inhabitant who dwells. We hold on to our habitat; we value it. To inhabit is to have. The relation between "appertain to" and "apartment" is similar; they imply the grip, the solid link I have just mentioned between the body and its nest, between life and place, which is the very subject of this book. From the Latin ligare (to bind) come the words ob-ligation, re-ligion, neg-ligence ... all links that bind one to a reference, a point, or a place. I belong to a space where such-and-such a place belongs to me.

What do we mean by the French word for place, lieut Its magnificent and little-known etymology, the Latin locus, refers to the sexual and genital organs of the woman: vulva, vagina, and uterus. Sic loci muliebres, ubi nascendi initia consistent (woman's places, where the beginnings of birth are situated;5 Ernout and Meil-let, Dictionnaire e'tymologique de la langue latine, Paris, Klincksieck, 1885, p. 364b; I quote this in passing as ev­idence for readers who might think I am fantasizing). The word topos (rojiog), which expresses in Greek the same meaning, of course preceded the Latin and refers to the same delights. We have all inhabited the matrix, the first place, for nine months; all of us were born by going through the vaginal canal, and a good half of us seek to return to the original vulva. The lover says to his loved one: "You are my home," the neonatal place, of birth and desire. It is our first place, warm, humid, and intimate.

The term lodging, of a different, Germanic origin (Laube, entrance hall) leaves the Latin tenancy behind and signifies a hasty construction of leaves, for instance a tent, called in Latin tabernaculum. The Jewish religion celebrates this mobile habitat every year, pitched here and there, as in the desert of the Exodus; here we have a nomadic tent that looks like a rental. I'll come back to this.

With reference to sites that are outside the body, our language says "here lies" for the place where our ancestors rest; I am coming back now to consider the country and the aforementioned landscape. In Egypt, in the City of the Dead in Cairo, the poor have invaded a huge cemetery where they haunt the graves; it is a necropolis, a metropolis. There I understood that the first house was built near the tomb of the loved one whom the poor wretch did not want to leave. The here of the "here lies" did not in fact designate the funeral site; on the contrary, it signalled that there is no place other than the site rooted in those bodies. The site does not indicate death; death designates the site, and often its limits. This is another inevitable link.

Ultimately, here we lie down, to sleep, to love, to give birth, to suffer and die. We return to etymology: the French verb coucher comes from col-locare, to sleep in the same spot, to share a location. The original vulva, the final tomb . . . this third location designates the bed, the pallet, precisely the place to be born and die, but also to sleep, copulate, be ill, rest, dream. . . .

My very language displays the three themes of this book, which proposes that there are at least three fundamental sites: the uterus, the bed, and the grave. Do we really know what we are saying? To inhabit therefore haunts the nests needed in moments of weakness and fragility, the embryonic state, the risk of being born, the infant at the breast, the caress in the amorous offering, sleep, peace, rest. . . requiescat in pace: fetal life, the love act, the darkness of the tomb, the horizontality of night.

Everything else—the ability to cope with daily life and standing on your own two feet, economic or culinary activities, public comedy, politics, the heat and cold of the desert—depends on those intimate necessities that bind us to our nests with the strongest possible links. Exposed to space, our strength emerges from our weaknesses that lie in those places from which they spring forth. The primary need: to live here. To inhabit, to have; how to describe the strength of the link that unites them? He who lacks a "here" where he can lie down does not have the strength to stand up for very long.

These words do not refer solely to spaces occupied by humans, for let me remind you of the real origin: every living being takes refuge in such nests and emerges from them. Oysters and clams, titmice and wasps, hares and moles, boars, chamois, izzards ... all inhabit a shell, hive, nest or burrow, wallow, shed, as I have mentioned before. And so plants grow in sites where the altitude reproduces the cold or heat of their latitude. Here is the proof: when their environment changes, either they die or they must go to hothouses, hotels protected by a glass roof that imitates the effect known by that name. Anthropomorphism aside, let us then consider those places as slices of inhabitable space, a division practised also by animals, vegetables, algae, and mushrooms and even by monocellular beings ... a division that is generally necessary for life to continue. Apart from our maps, land registries, or nautical charts, we could imagine many more such vital divisions.

Let us return to humans. What happens when this nest, this place, is lost? Again, on this point our language is quite precise. The person whose pecuniary resources are dwindling is called poor, the famished deprived even of bread are indigent; those who roam without a roof, without a place, are miserable. Human misery marks the limit of possible life. Those who have a place have. Those who have no place have nothing, strictly speaking. Do they still exist? They have fallen below the level of animals. I will return to this subject in the end.

THE NATURAL FOUNDATION OF PROPERTY RIGHT

Necessary for survival, the act of appropriation seems to me to have an animal origin that is ethological, bodily, physiological, organic, vital . . . and not to originate in some convention or positive right. I sense there a collection of urine, blood, excretions, rotting corpses. . . . Its foundation comes from the body, alive or dead. I see those actions, behaviours, postures as sufficiently vital and common to all living beings to call them natural. Here natural right precedes positive or conventional right. Rousseau is wrong when he writes, "The first who after enclosing a piece of land thought of saying 'This is mine' and found people simple enough to believe him was the real founder of civil society."6 Describing an imaginary act, he proposes a conventional foundation of property right. A few centuries before him, Livy, in the first book of his Roman History, might have said more concretely: "The first, Romulus, who having enclosed a piece of land by plowing a furrow around Rome, and thought of saying 'this is mine,' found no one to believe him, but on the contrary found a twin brother, a rival, a competitor, someone with the same desire . . . and opposed him." Livy understood this sudden jealous reaction quite well and ascribed it to a double, a twin. Romulus therefore killed Remus, who had turned up so conveniently, and hastened to bury him under the walls of the city, which made him its founder, owner, master, and king. The bloody remains of his crime polluted the earth he thus appropriated, according to what I have just called the natural or living law. Romulus remained faithful to the wolves that reared him. Although from a historical perspective it is just as wrong as Rousseau's tale, the Latin historian's account expresses an anthropological truth that refers to bestial customs described in ethology; these customs are still obvious to the passer-by on streets full of dog piss.

I foresee that laws emerging from animal life and behaviours will slowly but surely wrench themselves away, break loose, and free themselves from their origins. They may finally forget their origins to give birth to a set of conventions or cultural legislations. The so-called natural law becomes, little by little, positive.

How? In two ways: first, by changing the most horrifying practices, such as crimes, violent invasions, stinking trash . . . and evolving toward what I call soft signs, and finally by freeing itself from those marks. This is the theme of my book.

BLOOD, CORPSES:

PEASANT AND SACRIFICIAL CUSTOMS

Most of the rituals performed in antiquity, throughout what was called, erroneously or out of ignorance, the inhabited world, revered the gods pertaining to the cult of ancestors. Fustel de Coulanges describes this in his book The Ancient City. Sacred was the name of the Earth that they walked on, haunted, and cultivated; sacred because it contained the historical remains of descendants buried there. The cultivated Earth, the pagus, from the tilled plot of land, owned by the descendants of the ancestors buried there, was the origin of the pagan religion, as the term itself indicates. The domestic altars bring into the household the remnants of the dead and the gods of the pagus. In the second generation, Numa, the successor of the founding king Romulus, becomes a priest instead and establishes the rites in question. On the heels of the first murder come religions.

THE HISTORY OF RELIGIONS: A HORRIBLE TRAIL

When I read the pious Virgil or the divine Homer, I count the enormous number of sacrifices offered by kings, warriors, priests, and travellers. First of all, there was Iphigenia, killed for wind;7 next the children of Athens, devoured by the Minotaur; they precede the bulls, pigs, calves, heifers, and kids whose throats are cut on the altar stone. The suovetaurilia sacrifice multiplies the mass graves of animals; holocausts burn all their limbs. Disgusted by the bloody trail whose abomination abundantly soiled the space they traversed, I track the travels of those ancient heroes: slimy, unpleasant trails. . . . What smells of burned flesh, which bone yards did they leave behind? Did they know that their passage was marked by garbage of whose function they might have been unaware? They were purifying, so they said. . . .

I must really translate into Latin Rousseau's saying, even though he is plenty Roman already. In that language, "The first who enclosed a piece of land," the word lustrare is used specifically; it means to travel all over a place, go around its periphery, circle it, inspect it. The same word for closure also means to clean, to purify. This purification occurs through sacrifice; is this bloodshed used to clean, or to soil? The victim to be bled is led around the object to be cleansed, surrounds it and confines it as it passes by; and so the oxen turned around the altar before dying. With this ritual and sacrifice, lustration becomes both spatial and bloody. This plot of land full of blood and hideous limbs appeared pure to the ancients, while to me it looks soiled, dripping with suffering, reeking of a foul stench. They called it enclosed, and I say appropriated: a bloody appropriation on top of corpses.

The first who bled a child or a pig after having led him around such a spot, and flooded this spot with the blood of the victim, succeeded in enclosing it and made it into a temple. Let me now give a Greek translation. Belonging to the same family as lobo-tomy or a-tom, the word repivd) (temno) in Greek means to cut. Just so, the term temple means the closure of a place that is sometimes sacred, sometimes profane. Translated into French, it becomes cloitre (cloister). Translated into Polynesian, "here" is taboo, elsewhere, yours. When you go to a Pacific island you will see the word taboo in large letters on the signs indicating private property. Don't enter here, this place belongs to someone. Another enclosure. When in ancient times the human or animal sacrifice flooded the altar, the temple, or the square with the victim's blood, the horrible outflow marked in red the place of the god. Or that of the hero: Remus' blood spreads over Romulus' Rome. It is his. Blood signals the inner space. No one has the right to enter this templum tabu, this taboo temple. Do you want to desecrate it? Well then, soil it! The "natural" foundation of property right is followed by the religious foundation. Yes, Numa succeeds Romulus.

Finally, nothing is shut more tightly than the temple of Vesta, located long ago in the Forum in Rome. A round structure, it admitted only chaste priestesses. In the back, a small door opened up through which the vestals regularly expelled the ashes of their pure and perpetual fire. They called it the stercorian door— in other words, the anus. As we know, the word stercus _ means excrement; the (scatological) term scoria says the same thing in Greek and Latin. Situated outside the city that Romulus appropriated in earlier times, the temple threw its refuse into the city. Thus they signaled the boundaries of the temple.

After urine, blood. And after blood, we have ashes. After nature, after the paganism of the pagus, we have polytheism. TWO ENDINGS OF RELIGIOUS FOUNDATION

Here is the first example of a softening, a first narrative of liberation. We no longer realise what upheaval was introduced, at least among European peoples, by their progressive conversion to Christianity around the first century of our era. Suddenly, a conversion. As I reread the old Latin of the mass, I remember the lavabo} When I was an altar boy, I gave the priest the water for purification—not blood, but water. Not blood, but wine. The priest, his hands under the flow of water, recites the ninth verse of psalm 26: "Lord, do not let my mind or my life perish among men of blood" . . . cum viris sanguinum. . . . Of course, I will no longer kill a human being or an animal as sacrifices; nothing is taboo any more. There will be nothing sacred, only what is holy. Nothing dirty is left, only what is clean and proper. At the altar as at the hotel? There is no more property?

Here we have another conversion. This Holy Land, no longer sacred but holy, we will no longer tread on, no longer work it either by hand or by plough. We will barely inhabit it because it no longer lies here; it takes place somewhere else, far away, toward Jerusalem and Bethlehem and the rising Sun, the birthplace of Abraham, Sarah, the Holy Virgin, and the Messiah, all men and women who will never appear in our genealogies. Our very earth has been desecrated, or rather secularised; in other words, it has become ordinary, analogous to any other, plunged into a homogeneous and isotropic space. Lying before us passively, the earth has even become objectified . . . objectifiable. Hence our sciences will be able someday to study it, observe it, and measure it.

A very few of us will get to know this Holy Land, only after a long pilgrimage. Pilgrimage or peregrination is derived from per-ager, to travel to the other field, another agriculture different from mine, which therefore is no longer mine. What is more, this so-called Holy Land no longer harbours any remains of the one who was raised from the dead, leaving his tomb empty, containing neither corpse nor mummy; even better, he is the one whose Ascension—or Assumption in the feminine—we celebrate but whose departure leaves nothing behind on earth. There is nothing there, not the least scrap of cloth, not the smallest relic, not the smallest mark implying a story. Daughter of the religion whose prophecies created history, this religion is based on the life of a person leaving no trace whatsoever that would allow us to infer a history. Ancient history ends here; I'll discuss the end o/geography later.

Called holy before, this Earth now also loses its sacredness because it contains no more remains—no more blood, a little bit of wine; no corpse, no stench, no signs of appropriation any more. It is finally cleansed, finally dis-appropriated, de-territorialized. On the universal face of the world, the grand old Pan, the son of all the dead, is dead. With the resurrection of the new god Jesus Christ, there is no longer any marked place. There is no more space, no more history, no more time.

Our only hope left now is in the heavenly Jerusalem, completely absent from this world. Our world lies elsewhere. The holy land no longer even lies in the Holy Land; it can no longer even be found on earth, henceforth referred to as "here below." Like a dispossessed traveller, wandering and roaming, a transient pilgrim, a tenant, our being is not there; it does not come from there, does not go there, but only passes through.

Here are the new answers to the four classic questions concerning place: neither ubi, nor quo, nor unde, but qua.3 We now have a new spatial, religious, or anthropological foundation for tenancy. No longer is there a here or appropriation; we live as transients or tenants, deprived of a fixed abode.

We can call this the first end of property; it is abstract, theoretical, virtual, whatever you want

IMPURE BLOOD

However, here is evidence of a regression at least from this achievement. Indeed we have a second narrative, or second example, to the contrary; the homeland of the Marseillaise10 with its soiled and dirty furrows, soaked (hence appropriated) by the impure blood of its enemies, reveals an anthropological or even animal, and in any case racist, regression toward the archaic pagus. Do you dare to tell me, privately or in any other way, who has impure blood? Do they know what the French are saying? At the top of their voices, they sing this national anthem; what it signifies takes them back even before antiquity, indeed toward those archaic rites whose gestures again mimicked the bestial behaviors of hyenas and jackals. This represents two regressions at the same time. Dirtied by blood, this country belongs to them. Buried under the furrows, the dead by the millions found the homeland, sufficiently soiled by their own pure blood and by the impure blood of their enemy brothers; and so appropriation, twice founded, has returned.

The national anthem becomes a religious hymn, although archaic, falling short of Christianity with its discreet monotheism. But be assured; our fellow citizens belt it out only at trivial encounters, sporting events in the past and today at media or financial gatherings. Like victory, the terrain changes hands with each match and every half-time. It is paid in rent.

4. In English "to belong," but also "to appertain to."

5. Varro, On the Latin Language, vol. 14 (http://www.archive.org/stream/ onlatinlanguageoivarruoft/onlatinlanguageoivarruoft_djvu.txt).

6. Discourse on Inequality, second part, beginning (rendered by translator).

7. A pun in French: pour du vent, "for wind," referring to the ancient Greek myth. Iphigenia is to be sacrificed in order to appease Artemis, who stopped the wind from blowing; this was preventing Agamemnon, who had offended the deity, from travelling to Troy. The colloquial expression c'est du vent means "it is just hot air."

8. From the Latin verb lavare, "to wash."

9. Ubi, quo, unde, and qua are Latin adverbs related to places. They refer to the sentence above, "Our being is not there, it does not come from there, does not go there, but only passes through"

10. The French national hymn, La Marseillaise, is a call to arms to the French to "drench the furrows with the impure blood of the enemy."

and for the  chaverim

#Serres #malfeasance

[spidersmiceandeverythingnice]

Absolutely No One Asked for This but HERE IT IS ANYWAY 

(also known as how I would’ve written the Rome Singularity in Fate Grand Order because it COULD have been great but... was kind of... meh.) 

Under the read-more because I have a tendency to ramble, ANYWHO...

So we begin roughly the same way - the party arrives on a hill in the Italian peninsula, overlooking a battle. One side is clearly about to be overwhelmed by the other - the larger army is also Conveniently Populated with ghouls and zombies, cluing our heroes in as to who the Good Guys are for this chapter of the story. The party intervenes and the commander of the armies make their appearance - one is the teenage Emperor Nero and the other is, gasp! Caligula, who is supposed to be dead.

The team quickly deduces that Nero’s reign is the Singularity and that the enemy - at this point, still Dr. Lainur - is using the Holy Grail to resurrect powerful Heroic Spirits of the Roman Empire in order to destroy the foundation of humanity here, at one of the most pivotal moments of Western civilization. I would also include characters like Caesar, Leonidas, and maybe Alexander (or perhaps Heroic Spirit Hannibal of Carthage riding atop a war elephant because COME ON, DELIGHT-WORKS, DO I HAVE TO DO EVERYTHING MYSELF HERE??!) working reluctantly alongside Caligula in the first appearance, making it abundantly clear that they are being controlled by outside forces. The main difference is that I would also include Boudica among the enemy army - her hatred of Nero would certainly be enough to motivate her initially. So in any case, the plan might’ve worked had Nero not been motivated by equal parts narcissism and genuine love of the people to hold onto the throne. Nero accepts the party as allies and introduces them to Jing Ke, her “ambassador from the East.” Jing Ke further clarifies that she’s a Heroic Spirit who specializes in assassinating emperors. (”Uh, Jing Ke, didn’t you FAIL to assassinate the Emperor the first time around?” “It was simply fated that I would die that day. Besides, assassination is really more of a hobby for me.”) With all of this information, Nero decides to immediately use their newfound strength to take the fight to her uncle - but before she can do that, Caligula and Boudica arrive and the two of them set fire to the city of Rome.

Fleeing to the harbor for safety, the party is caught in a storm and winds up on a Mysterious Mythical Island somewhere in the Mediterranean Sea. There, they met Stheno, the eldest of the Gorgon Sisters, who spills the Tea regarding Nero’s haphazard rise to power and basically affirms that, while her love for the people and country is genuine, her selfishness and unwillingness to compromise with other leaders is what will bring her down in the end. Stheno’s quest happens in more or less the same way, but it’s really just a test to see if the player’s conviction to save humanity is genuine. After the player returns, Stheno tells them that perhaps they can defeat the other emperors by legitimizing Nero somehow. At this point, she directs them to Romulus, the great founder of Rome itself. Romulus declares that, as the child of a war god and Heroic Spirit, the only way to prove worth as a ruler is by defeating him in Single Combat. Also, Romulus should be a five-star Servant and ridiculously strong compared to the other enemies, just to emphasize how much of a Big Fuckin Deal this dude is, both in the mythology of Rome and to Nero’s personal story.

Nero is a little bit shaken by the effort it takes to defeat Romulus, but he declares that since she is still young, she will surely grow as an emperor - and as such, he will see to it that she remains on the throne. This should be a moment of some character development for Nero, who in this timeline has only just taken the throne and is still grappling with the responsibilities she has as an Emperor. Romulus should tell her that a true leader is not simply the strongest warrior, but someone who can plant the seeds that can allow future generations to thrive. Then we would get a cut scene where Jing Ke manages to assassinate Caligula just for the hell of it. 

The party now makes its way back to Rome, which has been badly damaged by the fire. As they clear the city of remaining enemies, they gather a small crowd which demands to know why Nero fled during the fire instead of defending them from the armies of Boudica and Caligula. Nero at first tries to make Romulus stand up for her, but he declines. Nero is able to use her charisma to pacify the crowd somewhat and declares that she will continue personally overseeing the battles against the False Emperors, ending the battle swiftly so that she may return to build up a new Rome that is stronger than ever before. The seeds of discontent are still in the crowd but Nero herself is filled with renewed determination. The party heads out into the wilds of “Barbarian” Europe. 

At this point, you really start encountering the Enemy Servants, but it becomes quickly apparent to Lainur - revealed through cutscenes - that a lot of these people don’t ACTUALLY want Rome destroyed. Leonidas and Alexander aren’t Romans but enjoy the chance to battle against legends like Romulus and are grateful when they are defeated. Caesar gripes and groans and goes easy on Nero, peppering his fight with advice as to how she - his descendant - might continue his legacy. Even Boudica is beginning to show signs of discontent as she realizes that the imminent destruction of Rome won’t bring her daughters or husband back - but will eventually lead to the destruction of her beloved Britainnia as well. I think Hannibal would’ve been a better addition to the lineup here because I think his motivation for the destruction of Rome (avenging his devastated nation), contrasts pretty strongly with Boudica’s more personal drive (she may hate Rome but she doesn’t really want to destroy the entire world). The party might fight Boudica here, but once you beat her, she escapes back to the capital and a frustrated Lainur then decides to summon a third, powerful Heroic Spirit - Attila the Hun. These three “scourges” of Rome are then sent out to defeat you.

Jing Ke rejoins the party just before Nero and Friends arrive at the False Capital, which is located somewhere between France and Germany. She tells them of Atilla’s summoning and fears the worst. You push forward, defeating Boudica first. After which Hannibal might appear and Boudica, having had a change of heart and deciding that her true loyalties lie with defending Britainnia, not destroying humanity. Boudica joins your party after a heart-to-heart with Nero, in which Nero should display her first moment of true humility, and then you go on to beat Hannibal, finally moving on to Attila. 

After defeating Attila, you get to Lainur and the Demon Pillar, at which point the idea of Solomon as the antagonist was introduced if I remember correctly. In the aftermath of that battle, the team muses about the nature of leadership and legacy. Romulus declares that Rome is the eternal city and would never fall, etc, etc, etc and it’s all very hopeful and sweet - and you disappear and ta da! End of Singularity. Boss fights galore - Romulus as the Five Star Servant he rightfully deserves to be - and maybe character development for Nero and Boudica. 

There’s an alternative version of this where I think it would be possible to include Attila from the beginning (at the expense of Alexander and Leonidas), and then have the Final Boss Servant be Remus - the murdered brother of Romulus. But either way, I think the main thing is just to not have the party running haphazardly across Europe as much - and include a few more nuggets of Real History, like the Great Fire of Rome and the devastation of Carthage and whatnot.The main theme of the chapter should be “legacy,” in the way that there is no such thing as a “pure” country or “perfect” person, but that humans should always strive to build better things and work to not repeat the mistakes and pains of their ancestors. Rome should be a hopeful and spirited Singularity with a more focused plot line, and I think it would do a world of good! I actually really liked the chapter but it was so... unfocused... or rather, it was so focused on hyping up Nero that it forgot to have a coherent storyline with a climax and resolution.

Anyway, if you have suggestions or something then feel free to reply or message because I think A Lot of how I would’ve written or rewritten some stuff in Grand Order.

#fate grand order #septem eternal madness empire #rome singularity #fate series #personal #I'M PROCRASTINATING AAAAAAHH MY THESIS IS DUE IN FIVE DAYS AND ALL I WANT TO DO IS PLAY VIDEO GAMES

[evilelitest2]

100 Days of Trump Day 64: Fallout New Vegas

Edit: Of all the 100 Days of Trump i’ve done, this one has gotten the most response, I suspect because most Alt Rightists haven’t heard of anything I reference except Fallout New Vegas.  Also they keep saying its bullshit but can’t actually point to any specific fact to dispute because you know...morons 

Welcome Back to 100 Days of Trump, where I try to explain WTF happened in 2016 through 100 works of fiction, and I think we haven’t had quite enough video games in the last three days, lets talk fallout.  Now the Fallout series has a lot of depth, good characters, fun gameplay and interesting ideas so generally I recommend all of it....except Fallout 3....and Fallout 4....and Brotherhood of Steel.....Ok really just the first two games and this one, but the point is only New Vegas is really relevant to Trump, but play the first two if you like classic RPGs.

     So everybody knows that Fallout is a post nuclear world, but the premise of the...good games is that society collapsed.....nothing really changed.  People are exactly the same just with less fancy houses and and the sins of the Old World continue on to the future.  So ok, sounds like post Great Recession America, how is this about Trump?  Well FallOut New Vegas is about the player being trapped between three factions

 Caesar's Legion, a violent reactionary sexist, racist, right wing militant extremist group who advocate racial supremacy, and a return to an idealized past that never existed.

The New Californian Republic, A bunch of corrupt moderates who couch their language in the ideals of democracy and progressive ideals but are duplicitous, warmongering, and have become increasingly sexist, racist, classist, and undemocratic but look good compared to the first group.

Mr. House, a completely amoral rich plutocrat whose utter selfishness and open hostility to submitting to any form of control are mixed with surprisingly progressive social policies and honest look at the problems.

    So New Vegas is an alternate universe if Bloomberg actually ran third party, and Trump wasn’t a complete idiot. 

Today though, I want to focus on Caesar’s Legion.  One of the themes of New Vegas is even though the US has been wiped out, everybody is clinging to symbols of the past, clinging to them out of context and justifying their actions by claiming continuity with the past.  The NCR claims to literally be the US goverment despite a century long gap between the fall of the US and the NCR’s founding, or the fact that it doesn’t use our constitution, or the fact that it is only located in California.  And its desire to seize control of all the American land means it prioritizes war over its citizen’s well being (stop me if this sounds familiar).  Mr. House is determined to preserve the culture of Las Vegas, or rather the way we imagine Las Vegas, with all of the actual realities of Vegas culture removed, its the city center without the city around it, forcibly preserved by an immortal dictator.  All the factions try to link themselves to a mystical past (a past we know is utterly whitewashed cause its our present), but the worst of them all, is Caesar’s Legion

    See, Edward Sallow was a history nut of the old world when he read about the Roman Empire, and sought to recreate it anew in post apocalyptic Nevada, arguing that since Rome is the foundation of Western Civilization, a return to true Western Greatness.  Wherever they go, they bring cultural purity, slavery, Roman era gender relations, and require absolute conformity to their way of life.  According to Caesar

“Pax Romana=It means a nationalist, imperialist, totalitarian, homo genius culture that obliterates the identity of every group it conquers.  Long term stability at all costs.  The individual has no value beyond his utility to the state, whether as an instrument of war or production”

But here is the thing, speaking as a big roman history nut.....THAT ISN’T TRUE.  Pax Romonus means “Roman Peace” and means just that, peace.  Rome was an Imperialistic, slave owning, genocidal empire that could be extraordinarily brutal, but guess what?  It wasn’t nationalistic, the Roman Empire was always borrowing ideas from other cultured cultures in order to improve their empire, it was extremely multicultural and interventionist.   I mean

   The Roman Navy was Carthaginian 

   The Roman Gods were Greek 

    Later they converted to a monotheistic Sect from Judea

    For a while they worshiped a Syrian god named Sol Invictus 

   Most of the Elites Spoke Greek

   The Roman Legionary Structure was influenced by the neighboring Samnites

   The roman Calvary was almost always Gallic, North Africa, German or Syria

    Trajan and Hadrien were Spanish

   The Severun dynasty was North African/Syrian (and btw the dynasty that most resembled New Vegas)

    The Ilyrian Emperors who saved rome from the Crisis of the Third Century AD, like Aurelian, Diocletion, Claudius Gothicus) were from the Balkans

  Constantine was Balkan/British

   Flavius Aetius (who defeated Atilla the Hun) was Scythian 

   Justinian and Belisarius weren’t Latin Roman

   Hell after a certain point, almost none of the Emperors are Roman any more, instead they are German, or Hunnic, Syrian or Raba, Spanish or African, Gaulic or Balkan, non Roman Italian, 

  In fact, one of the main reasons why Western Roman Empire fell is that it didn’t allow the various Gothic/Germanic strongmen to become Emperor in their own RIght.

    Rome was never a homogeneous unchanging culture, from Romulus to Constantine XI Roman is defined by its capacity to change and adapt, and its multi cultural empire gave it a lot of ideas to draw upon.  And when you look at White Nationalists today who fetishist Rome, it is a rome they don’t understand.    By the Way, that Hegelian view of history, that is believed by Steave Bannon. 

   Also...the transformation to dictatorship doesn’t go as Caesar claims, cause guess what?  Julius Caesar didn’t invade a foreign nation to become Emperor, he had a civil war with his own country.  And Augustus Caesar took pains to ensure that his Empire was a soft and nonthreatening as possible, the more authoritarian emperors like Septimius Severus were terrible rulers whose regimes fell into civil war and chaos.  

Also The Julians didn’t claim to be “Son of Mars” they claimed to be descended from Venus Goddess of Love, hence her role in the Aeneid.  

This is the foundation of the Roman Imperium, the Goddess of Love     

     Also Rome didn’t emerge out of a harsh brutal land to fight against the weak fat settled people, Rome emerged in Central Italy, a lush fertile climate.  Hell according to legend, Rome was founded by the refuse and exiles from all the surrounding societies, who came to Rome for a second chance and married Sabine women.  Honestly Caesar (the in game Caesar no real life, Julius Caesar) seems to be confusing Rome with Sparta, and which of those two civilizations conquered the known world?  I’ll give you a hint, it wasn’t the one with the eugenics model.  It was the one with the independent aristocracy, and a Republic who did most of the conquest of Rome.  This is a map of Rome at its height 

and this is how much of that was taken by the Republic, not the empire

That is more than half, and a great deal of the remaining was conquered by Emperor Claudius, you know, this guy?

the one with the limp and the stammer and the twitch.  The Empire mostly fought Romans, it was the Republic that did the real conquering.  To say nothing of the road building.    

    And when the Legion tries to Cosplay as Real Rome, it never quite matches the true stories. 

   This stories resembles Roman propaganda, except...Rome rarely wiped out the entire population, in fact their empire was supported by a network of client kingdoms who betrayed their former rulers to side with Rome.  One of the most important pieces of Roman rule that if you surrendered, you were treated fairly, if you fought a bit and then surrendered, you were treated well.  If you fought to the death, stuck to your principles as Vulpes implies, then you were wiped out.  Just ask the Jews at Masada how Rome respects those who fight to the last.  

    So we have a violent, militant, reactionary culture fetishistic a past that never truly existed and they don’t seem to understand to justify extreme racism, violence, and horrifying sexism in order to fight against a corrupt hypocritical but far less awful democratic regime.  Sound Familiar

oh.....well that too but also this 

   Those who idealize history are always those who understand it the least, and New Vegas for all its buggy often frustrating gameplay glory, understands what happens when history is co-opted by those who don’t understand it but wish to use the symbols of nostalgia to justify their own atrocities.  Isn’t that Right Ulysses, so named after the man who traveled the ocean for 10 year trying to find home and then freed all the Slave?

Edit: I also want to talk about this real quick

Yeah that whole “War is great for its own sake” macho bullshit?  The Romans weren’t so into that, they were much more into “Hey, work for us, and you can keep all your stuff”  There is a reason why all of the ancient rome spoke of Roman Treachery.  

    The Pax was about law and order, not about conquest and survival of the fittest, I mean the entire point of the Aenied is rejecting the Illiad’s macho warrior culture mentality

#100 Days of Trump #Fallout #fallout: new vegas #Caesar's Legion #NCR #new california republic #Las Vegas #New Vegas #christ avellone #Mr. House #ISIS #Steave Bannon #Siege of Masada #Roman Empire #Cultural Appropration #Gamergate #Nostalgia #Alt Right #Neo Reactionary #White Nationalist #race realist #Racism #Five Good Emperors #pax romanus #Legate Lanius #Vulpes Inculta