king of the decade

have you ever noticed how in the Lord of the Rings films...

Throughout the Fellowship of the Ring, Boromir wears unique leather bracers (forearm-guards) adorned with the symbol of the White Tower and the Seven Stars…

After Boromir’s death, Aragorn takes up his bracers. He takes them as a reminder that Boromir’s kingdom is now his kingdom, that Boromir’s burden now falls on his shoulders….or just as something to remember his friend by…

 Aragorn wears them throughout the Two Towers…

And Return of the King….

And when we’re shown a “flash-forward” to Aragorn’s death, many long decades after The War of the Ring, he isn’t laid to rest in a king’s priceless silver armor. Instead, we find out…

...Aragorn keeps Boromir’s bracers all his life, and is buried in them

to be honest, i expected piracy in the future to involve a lot more airships and a lot less illegally downloaded music

anonymous asked:

Maybe some time you could talk about Susan and what it would be like if she didn't desert Narnia

How about we talk about what might have happened if Narnia hadn’t deserted Susan?

What if, instead of sending a stag to lead them astray, the Pevensies had been given time to end their first rule– to have finished their reports, their negotiations and treaties, that letter in the bureau Lucy was half-done penning to Mrs. Beaver to thank her for the fruitcake and to ask about her grandchildren. 

They had lived there more than a decade then, grown from children to kings and queens, to brave young adults with responsibility heavy on their shoulders. They had lived through storms and wars, peace and joy, lost friends to battle and old age and distance. They had made a home. What if they had been given time to say good-bye? 

What if we didn’t tell Susan she had to go grow up in her own world and then shame and punish her for doing just that? She was told to walk away and she went. She did not try to stay a child all her life, wishing for something she had been told she couldn’t have again. 

There is nothing wrong with Lucy loving Narnia all her life, refusing an adulthood she didn’t want for a braver, brighter one she built herself. But there is also nothing wrong with Susan trying to find something new to fall in love with, something that might love her back. 

You can build things in lipsticks and nylons, if you don’t mind getting a few runs in them. There is nothing wrong with wanting to be pretty, especially when pretty is the only power left to you. 

Let’s talk about being the last one left. No, really, think about it. You get a call in the middle of the night, in the little flat you can just barely afford, and you are told there has been an accident. 

Think about it, that moment– you scramble over everyone you know, everyone you love, and try to figure out where they all are that night. There are things rushing in your gut, your fingertips, your lungs, your ears– there are words in your ears as the tinny, sympathetic voice starts to tell you: it is everyone. 

They were on a train. Something went wrong. They probably died instantly. A rushing sound. A bright light. (You try to imagine it, for years. You try not to think about it. You imagine it, for years–a rushing sound, a bright light.)

Your little sister, who you always felt the most responsible for, who you never understood, really– Your big brother, who disapproved of your choices but loved you with a steadiness you could never regret leaning into– Your little brother, a smug and arrogant ass except for the days when he drowned in self doubt– Ed was going to go far and you knew it, were waiting for it, were shoring up your defenses and your eye rolls for the days when he’d think he ruled the world–

Your mother is gone. Your father, with his stuffy cigar smell and big hands and the way he got distracted telling stories– he is gone. Your cousin Eustace, who suddenly lost that stick in his ass one summer. That friend of his, Jill, who you’d never actually quite met. Gone. A rushing sound. A bright light. 

Go on. Walk through this with me. You can’t sleep all night long, because you still can’t understand it, still can’t quite breathe in a world where you are the last Pevensie. You finally fade sometime between midnight and dawn and when you wake up you don’t remember for half a second. You think ugh and you think sunshine why and then you remember that you are an orphan, an only child. You remember there probably isn’t anyone else to handle the funeral arrangements. 

Get up. Make tea. Forget to eat breakfast and feel nauseous and empty all day. Call the people who need to be called. Your work, to ask for the time off. The mortuary, to ask about closed caskets. Distant relations. Friends. Edmund’s girlfriend and Peter’s boss. You listen to Lucy’s friends weep hysterics into the phone while you stare out the kitchen window and drink your fourth cup of tea. You call Professor Diggory, out at the old house with the wardrobe that started it all, and it rings and rings. You don’t find out for three days that he died in the train crash too. When you do, you stare at the newspaper article. You think of course

You are twenty one years old. You have ruled a kingdom, fought and won and prevented wars, survived exile and school and your first day as a working woman. Nothing has ever felt worse than this. You have a necklace in your dresser you meant to give your mother, because she loves rubies and this glass is painted a nice ruby red and it is all you can afford on your tiny wages. 

Excuse me, a correction: she loved rubies. She is dead. You never wear the necklace. You cry yourself to sleep for weeks. The first night you don’t cry, the first morning you wake up rested, you feel guilty. You wonder if that will live in the pit of your stomach all your life and you don’t know. The years reach out in front of you, miles and eons of loss. You are on the very shore of this grief and you do not know how you will survive feeling like this for the rest of your life. But you will survive it. 

Get up. Make tea. Make yourself eat breakfast. Make plans with a school friend to do lunch. Go to work and try to bury yourself in the busyness of it. Remember that you’d promised to lend Peter a hand with some task or other, but you don’t even remember what it was– Collapse. Hide in the bathroom until you’re breathing again. Redo your makeup and leave work the moment your shift is over. Drop your nylons and your sweater and your heels in the apartment hallway. Fall into bed and pull the covers over your head. 

Get up. Make tea. Eat. Don’t think about them for weeks. Don’t feel guilty when you remember. Feel proud. Spend an indulgent weekend in your pajamas, reading Lucy’s favorite novel and making Ed’s favorite cookies and remembering the way your mother smelled and how it always made you feel safe. Love them and miss them and mourn them. Keep breathing. Cry, but wash your face after in cool water. Wake in the morning to birdsong and spend three hours making breakfast just the way you like it. 

Imagine the next birthday, the next Christmas, the next time you hit one of those days that herald the passage of time, that tell you how much you’ve grown and how much they haven’t. 

Lucy, Peter, and Edmund will be at the same height for the rest of your life. Lucy will always be seventeen for the second time. You see, you think you know, when you lose them, what the dagger in you feels like. But it grows with you, that ache. You grow with it, too, learn how to live with that at your side but it grows, that ache, finds new ways to twist– 

At the first friend’s wedding you go to, you cry because it’s lovely, those two smiling and promising and holding hands– but you also cry because you wonder what Lucy would have looked like in white, joyous and smiling and promising the rest of her life to a boy who deserved her. 

Go on. You tell me if Susan deserted a world or if a whole life deserted her. You tell me who was left behind. 

So yes, let’s talk about it– what if Narnia hadn’t deserted Susan? What if lipstick and nylons were things worn and not markers of worth? 

What if we had a story that told little girls they could grow up to be anything they wanted– all of Lucy’s glory and light, Susan’s pretty face and parties, the way Jill could move so quiet and quick through the trees? 

Because you know, some of those little girls? They were the little mothers, too old for their age, who worried and wondered, who couldn’t believe like Lucy or charge like Jill. Susan was reasonable, was hesitant and beautiful and gentle, was pretty and silly and growing up, and for it she was lost. She was left. And when Susan was left, so were they. 

The little girls who worried louder than they loved, who were nervous about climbing trees and who would never run after the mirage of a lion, who looked at the pretty women in the grocery store and wondered if they would grow up pretty too– some of them looked at their little clever doubting hands, after they read Peter and Eustace and Jill scoffing at Susan’s vanities, and they wondered what they were worth. 

Imagine a Narnia that believed in all of them. Imagine a Narnia that believed in adult women, lipsticked or not. Imagine Susan teaching Jill how to string a bow, arms straining. Imagine her brushing blush on Lucy’s cheeks, the first time Lu went out walking with a boy she was considering falling in love with. Imagine that when the last door to Narnia was shut, there was not a sister left behind. 

10

Happy Birthday Roger Livesey (25th June 1906 - 4th February 1976)

He was one of the rare actors that really listens to you - Wendy Hiller

I had seen Roger Livesey at the Old Vic and had been very impressed by this broad-shouldered, golden haired Viking…I vowed to myself that one day I would make Roger’s husky voice beloved all over the world - Michael Powell

His acting ability of course was well known to the profession and public alike; what, perhaps, was not so generally known was his generosity and kindness to the smaller fry - Kenneth More

I’m quite ready to continue my screen work. I enjoy acting for films. It is a different technique from the stage of course; but it fascinates me - Roger Livesey, in 1938

the original adventure time animated short turned 10 years old today! (january 11th 2017)

i drew this in celebration! a couple of these characters you might notice weren’t in the pilot. i used an old unused design for bmo (when they were named ‘raye’) and based marceline off of the original series pitch design!

By the time we got to Weathertop, Tolkien had me. ‘Gil-Galad was an elven king,’ Sam Gamgee recited, ‘of him the harpers sadly sing.’ A chill went through me, such as Conan and Kull had never evoked.

Almost forty years later, I find myself in the middle of my own high fantasy, A Song of Ice and Fire. The books are huge, and hugely complex, and take me years to write. Within days of each volume being published, I begin to get emails asking when the next is coming out. “You do not know how hard it is to wait,’ some of my readers cry plaintively. I do, I want to tell them, I know just how hard it is. I waited too. When I finished The Fellowship of the Ring, it was the only volume out in paperback. I had to wait for Ace to bring out The Two Towers, and again for The Return of the King. Not a long wait, admittedly, yet somehow it seemed like decades. The moment I got my hands on the next volume I put everything else aside so I could read it … but halfway through The Return of the King, I slowed down. Only a few hundred pages remained, and once they were done, I would never be able to read Lord of the Rings for the first time again. As much as I wanted to know how it all came out, I did not want the experience to be over.

That was how fiercely I loved those books, as a reader.
—  George R.R. Martin, discussing “the ancestors of Ice and Fire” in “The Heirs of Turtle Castle” from Dreamsongs
How to feel better about The Adventure Zone ending

Imagine Governor Kalen sitting in his hideout. For the past decade, he’s been living like a king, having amassed a following of mercenaries, looting towns across the land. He sits, counting his gold, eating the finest meats, without a shred of guilt or regret for anything he’s done.

Then all of a sudden, his mind goes fuzzy and he receives visions. Visions of Magnus Burnsides, the man whose life he ruined all those years ago. His mind is flooded with memories of the IPRE’s journey, the bond they all share, and what they’re capable of. And… He didn’t actually see it, but he could’ve sworn he saw Magnus and his friends stare directly at him, just as his vision returns to the present, and he hears the sound of his mercenaries being attacked just outside his chambers.

Magnus and his gang were bound to be looking for him. They would find him, and if they’re kind they might kill him. He escaped through an emergency exit on that day, but he never knew peace again. A year after the day of Story and Song, Kalen is still alive, hiding, paranoid, in the wilderness. Having lost everything, living like an animal.

honestly??? one of the things i’m still v irritated about with potc 5 is that

the pirates are shown to be perpetrators of sexism and misogyny in dead men tell no tales when in the previous trilogies, piracy is established – in this world – to have a slightly more progressive view than regular society had; anamaria, tia dalma, mistress ching – 

their pirate king is a woman – elizabeth swann

no one had a qualm that it was a woman when jack sparrow threw his vote to her – just that she had been the first king in several decades because all the pirates tended to vote for themselves 

and suddenly the pirates are reinforcing the stupid sexist standards of regular society as though they’d never seen a woman in action before by having them mock carina and call her a witch when they’ve been on board with tia dalma, a goddess,  and i’m over here like

did you forget about your still very much alive pirate king elizabeth swann

3

The Chronological Superman 1964:

This infamously bizarre two-parter runs in Action Comics vol.1 Nos.311 and 312, starting with Clark and Superman being separated by a freak Red K exposure. The Red K also appears to turn Superman evil, and sees him establishing a worldwide empire with himself as King Superman. In the short timeframe of this story, Superman unseats the United Nations, establishes himself as regent, establishes all sorts of insane tribute laws, while Clark Kent launches a resistance, is almost subsequently killed, and is transformed into a Metallo by Atlantean science. 

In the end it turns out that Superman had never become evil, but was engaging in the subterfuge to fool an invading alien fleet. He hadn’t shared this with his Red K-generated twin – who vanishes in a timely fashion just before the Green K murders the Man of Steel – because, being mortal, Clark might have spilled the beans.

Once reunited, Superman explains everything to everyone and fixes the world and there are no subsequent consequences. It’s worth mentioning that, along with dozens of equally insane stories, this is neither a hoax, nor a dream nor an imaginary story. This is in canon, even if it was conveniently ignored in the following decades.

also salty about the way ~~the Terror~~ gets brought out as a boogeyman to demonize any slightest attempt to create a more equal society but all the  jawdropping nightmare results of ~~Moderates~~ cozying up with authoritarianism are just immediately forgotten, King? what King? what do you mean decades of increasing repression and civil unrest, that wasn’t our fault, anyway let’s abolish the National Workshops and elect this rockin’ Napoleon guy, no way this can go wrong, we don’t want to end up like that icky Terror , right

CARATACUS, The Warrior Rebel

Caratacus was a heroic British-Celtic warrior king, who was born just a decade after Jesus Christ. He was from the south-east of modern-day England.

He was first hero of Britain due to his fierce resistance to the Roman invasion.

With his leadership of brave warriors they fought against 40,000 Roman soldiers, an for 8 years, until being defeated in 51 AD. So he fled to the north…

With his army in disarray, he ended up in the tribe-land of the Brigantes, where he met their queen Cartimunda, an took sanctuary - as in modern-day Yorkshire.

However, Cartimunda betrayed him, by handing him over to the Romans, so they would look kindly upon her tribal realm. For the Roman way was the future.

As shown above, he was then taken to the capital city of the Roman empire, where he gave such a fine speech to the Roman emperor, that he was spared the usual death-sentence that a warring rebellious king would typically get.

But only a decade later, Queen Boudica, of another British tribe, would rebel !

Click here for my article on the above warrior Queen !

theguardian.com
Five centuries on, Martin Luther should be feted as hero of liberty and free speech
The story of the German reformer who challenged the Catholic church has resonance today
By Peter Stanford

In the English version of the Reformation, Martin Luther’s role amounts to little more than noises off. First, he attracted the hostility of Henry VIII, aided and abetted by Thomas More, as they flung barbs at “this venomous serpent” challenging the Catholic church’s stranglehold over Europe. Then, just over a decade later, the king exploited the breach in Rome’s defences that Luther had created to launch a national church.

But Henry was always keen to stress that he was no Lutheran, and the German reformer’s new take on Christianity did not survive intact when crossing the Channel. So the celebrations this year of the 500th anniversary of Luther issuing his 95 theses – the key text in his onslaught against the pope’s abuse of power and scripture – is set to largely pass us by.

The “joint fest for Jesus Christ”, organised by the Lutheran World Federation and the Vatican, is a remarkable act of togetherness after half a millennium of enmity and bloodshed. It will be getting into gear this Easter across continental Europe, but there is no party happening here. Which is mighty unfair on Luther.

When the new Protestantism – a word invented by Luther’s enemies at the Diet of Speyer in 1529 – did arrive on these shores once Henry had shut out Rome, it might not have been specifically Lutheran, but it would not have existed at all had it not been for Luther. Once he had argued that you could worship God by following the scriptures not the pope, others such as Zwingli and Calvin followed in his wake, setting up their own churches as Protestantism quickly fragmented.

We live today in secular, sceptical, scientific times, when religion itself is regularly branded irrelevant. So Luther, if considered at all, tends to be dismissed as dour, distant and two-dimensional, better suited to the dusty pages of history books than the 21st century. So much so that he is often confused with Martin Luther King, whose continuing importance is much more readily understood.

Yet as one of the makers of modern Europe, and a populist who rose to prominence on a wave of anti-establishment discontent among those who felt themselves shut out and forgotten (sound familiar?), his story has never had a more immediate resonance.

In his native Germany, at least, they still appreciate that. Some 30% of the population remains Lutheran, including the chancellor, Angela Merkel, daughter of a Lutheran pastor. Recently a Playmobil model of the Augustinian friar, clutching his quill pen and Bible, became the fastest-selling toy its makers have ever put on the market there, with 34,000 sold during its first 72 hours on the shelf.

A case of celebrating a local hero? That is part of it, but it is too narrow. Luther’s contemporary relevance for all of us lies in understanding how and why an obscure monk from a backwoods university, light years away from the corridors of power in Renaissance Rome, orchestrated a revolution so powerful that it brought a hitherto all-powerful Catholicism to its knees.

It certainly was not down to the originality of his theological arguments. Not a single one was new. All had been aired before, some by saints, many by those branded heretics by Rome for their trouble, their lives snuffed out on pyres in public squares as casually as the candles on its gilded altars.

What Luther did in the 95 theses – which, incidentally, were sent to his local archbishop, not nailed to a door, a fanciful exaggeration put about by his followers after his death – was to tap into a deep vein of alienation among the poor in a fragmented Germany. They were disillusioned not only with the excesses and corruption of their pope and church, but also with their own local rulers in the jigsaw of states that made up their country.

Luther struck a chord with a congregation that felt exploited and ignored: on the one hand, fleeced to pay for lavish basilicas in Rome by the sale of worthless pieces of parchment known as indulgences that “guaranteed” a berth in heaven for loved ones (or themselves); and on the other, in the secular world, seeing the age-old ways on which their livelihoods depended overturned by the rise of a money economy.

The 95 theses – and much of what Luther subsequently said in public as his message spread across the continent, right up to his excommunication in 1521 – were the work of a classic disrupter who, in today’s terms, wanted to drain the “Vatican swamp”.

Fluent in the language of the street, the undeniably charismatic Luther wrote most of his best-known and most inflammatory texts not in church Latin but in German, going on to produce in 1522 the first translation of the New Testament into everyday German, and in 1534 a translation of the whole Bible.

Those in the pews no longer had to rely on the word of priests and bishops instead of the word of God. He realised the force of appealing over the head of “experts” long before Michael Gove hit upon it in the Brexit push.

And in working with the owners of newfangled printing presses, he was among the first to spot the potential of what was the social media of its day as an alternative means of spreading his new anti-establishment gospel. Pamphlets of edited versions of his tracts spread like ripples through Germany, then Europe, Rome and even England. In an age of widespread illiteracy, he made sure he engaged those who could not read by including illustrations, using crude, often satirical woodcuts from the studio of his close friend and fellow Wittenberger, Lucas Cranach the Elder.

So when he stood before the Holy Roman Emperor and the princes and prelates of Germany at the Diet of Worms in 1521, defending his writings on pain of death, Luther had crowds outside on the streets rallying to his defence, stirred up by leaflets and posters saturating the town.

Much as they wanted to be rid of “this petty monk”, as pope Adrian VI labelled him, the establishment could not hand him over to his fate for fear of igniting an uprising. So Luther, unlike those earlier would-be reformers, lived to put his theories into practice.

All those who court popular support, though, inevitably one day lose it. For Luther, that moment came in 1525, when the long-brewing unhappiness among Germany’s poor boiled over in the Peasants’ War. Luther was forced to choose sides, and threw his lot in with thode princes who had embraced his Protestantism (and with some who hadn’t).

This was not a matter of self-preservation. His doctrine of the “two kingdoms” – leaving to the state earthly matters, and to the church those spiritual pursuits that were Luther’s lifeblood – was sincerely held, but his application of it was taken as a cruel betrayal by many among the rebels who had placed their hopes in him as their saviour.

Yet the consequences of Luther’s rebellion were not confined to a particular period, to Germany, or even to organised religion. His essential message was that, at the end of his or her life, each believer stood naked before God, awaiting eternal judgment, with only the Bible and their faith to protect them. The “good works” that Catholicism encouraged – earning brownie points by going to mass, making pilgrimages, praying to relics and contributing to the church coffers – were irrelevant in salvation.

He was thus challenging the entire late medieval way of doing things and the result was strikingly modern. For Luther championed conscience, informed by reading the scriptures, over the dictates of church rules and regulations. Read scripture and make your own mind up. This, in its turn, opened the door in the 17th and 18th centuries to Enlightenment notions of human liberty, free speech and even human rights, all of which today shape Europe. Our ability to read the word of God and reject it out of hand comes from Luther – an outcome he could not have foreseen and which would surely horrify him.

But if that sounds too abstract, there is one final aspect of Martin Luther that gives him a relevance and a three-dimensional appeal. For sheer, selfless courage, he is impossible to outdo. He may now be recalled, if at all, as a jowly friar from history, but for a thousand years before Luther came along, the Catholic church had been one of the great powers on earth, so powerful it even fixed the calendar the world still uses, taking as its pivot the birth of Jesus Christ. Until Martin Luther.

He had the courage to take on a monolithic church, in the full expectation that it would cost him his life, but he did it nonetheless, confronting the might of the first truly universal religion, in person and often alone, with an extraordinary passion, intensity and energy. And, most remarkable of all, not only did Luther survive, he triumphed, and we are all better off because of him.

What’s not to celebrate?