This Is An Image Of Unimaginable Power

What 🧍‍♀️

Happy Birthday Dethday, Toki!

I've been busy this week so I tried to whip out something real quick for the best boy's birthday! 🎂🌈

Happy Birthday Toki, you make my world a better place 🩷

Birthdays weren’t exactly celebrated in the Wartooth household, so Toki didn’t know they were supposed to be important. He never received a cake for it, or even a congratulations from his parents. He didn’t have friends, either, so it’s not like someone else could’ve celebrated for him.

Birthdays were just another regular day as far as he was concerned, and that’s exactly why he had no idea when his was. So, when Charles asked him, a few days after joining Dethklok, he panicked and went with the first date he could come up with. September 1st.

Later on, he realized that he had seen that date on a movie displayed on the big TV screens displayed by an old store, right across the alley Toki used to sleep in. The children were happily going back to school to reunite with their friends. It was September 1st.

He couldn’t imagine it being that important, so he quickly forgot he ever gave that information. Nor did he think it would be relevant in the future.

…

“Toki! Hey, Toki!” Someone shook him violently. “Toki, wake up!”

“Mmh?” Toki turned around in a daze. “Pickle?”

“We’re late, Toki!” Pickles said, seemingly stressed. “Get up already!”

“L-Late?” Toki sat up and grabbed his pants. “Lates for whats?”

“The…The show!” Pickles urged him with his hands. 

Toki glanced at the clock in his room. “But it’s-”

“Just huhrry up!” The drummer dashed to the hall and out of Toki’s sight. 

“Wait, Pickle!” Toki put on the nearest t-shirt he found and followed him.

The apartment seemed near empty, which was weird because it wasn’t even 10 am. Because of their growing fame, they had moved to a new place in LA. It was more spacious than the Florida apartment and now everyone had their own rooms, but still you could hear what everyone was up to. Which made this silence even more ominous.

“Pickle?!” Toki called him, to no avail. Suddenly, he heard a scream coming from the living room. Freaked out, he ran towards the voice, hoping nothing bad had happened to Pickles.

When he walked into the living room, the words ‘Your time is up’ were written in thick, black letters on the wall. Whoever had written that, was still in the house because the ink seemed fresh. Horrified, Toki looked down to see Pickles’ body lying next to the message.

“Pickle!” He screamed and bent down to hold his bandmate. He seemed unconscious, was he even breathing? “Oh, no, Pickle…” Toki sobbed quietly. 

He didn’t have time to grieve, because a couple of footsteps behind him chilled his blood. The subsequent creaking on the floor confirmed it, there was someone else in the room. And he was fastly approaching him. Toki felt his breath hitch and his heart about to burst out of his chest.

Slowly, he turned around but before seeing the face of the assailant he was splashed with a thick liquid. He screamed and closed his eyes as he awaited for the substance to melt his skin or something equally deadly. When a few seconds went by and he felt no pain, he opened his eyes. 

“Huh?” He cautiously touched his face in fear and stared at his hands stained with red gooeyness. “Whats the-” 

“Happy Birthday!” Several voices went off at once, prompting him to look up. 

Murderface was right beside him, holding the empty bucket in his hands with a smile. Nathan, Skwisgaar by the table a handful of feet away, clapping in delight. Even Pickles, held between his arms, was cheering too. 

Toki felt close to fainting.  “What ams…what ams goings on?”

“Its yous borfdays, dildos.” Skwisgaar said, with a smile. “Remembers?”

Like a hazy dream, Toki remembered giving the information to Charles. Right, so today was September 1st. Still, it didn’t explain this demented display. He looked at his completely ruined shirt, entirely lost. 

“It’sch pig blood.” Murderface helpfully informed, with a grin. “Pretty brutal, right?” 

Toki was bewildered. Blood? He splashed him with fucking blood?

“Dude, look at his face.” Nathan commented, told Skwisgaar. “He totally didn’t see it coming.”

“Tolds you, he wouldn’ts eggspekts dis.” Skwisgaar snickered back.

“Oh, yeah, Pickles, the pretending-to-be-dead bit was a really good touch.” Nathan said.

“Nuh, that was forreal.” Pickles pointed at the bottle by his feet. “I tripped. Behd.” 

“Oh.” 

Groaning, Pickles got up, leaving the speechless Toki crouched on the floor. “Come ahn, Toki.” He offered him his hand. 

Toki grabbed it and Pickles pulled him on his feet. It happened kinda fast, though, so it left Toki feeling kind of dizzy.

“Check out the cake we made.” Pickles said.

“Yeah, it’s pretty fucking brutal.” Nathan agreed and Toki followed his stare.

There was a big black and white cake on the table, with a deformed thing on top that seemed to be his old Flying V. Red stripes decorated the sides and Toki assumed they were supposed to be blood. 

“I deskigneds its.” Skwisgaar said with his chest puffed up. “You ams welkomes.”

“Tis ams for mes?” Toki pointed at himself. 

“Well, ye!” Pickles patted him in the back, joyful. “Its yer birthdei, dood!”

“We schtill get to eat schome, though.” Murderface added, appearing on his other side.

“Wowee…” Toki was overwhelmed. “I…Is never…”

“Had such a brutal birthday celebration?” Nathan completed his sentence.

More like, never had anyone celebrating his birthday. He nodded with a smile. “Ja.”

“Obviouslies.” Skwisgaar said, putting a black cone with sloppily drawn skulls on Toki’s head. “Happies birthdays, eh, Toki?” He patted him on the shoulders. 

Toki looked down, unable to process all the attention given to him on a day that, until moments ago, was just like any other for him. He really didn’t want to cry, because that wasn’t brutal, and he didn’t want them to see his flushed cheeks either, because that was embarrassing. “Thanks you…” He muttered, unable to meet their eyes.

There was a short-lived silence, because the others weren’t any more able to deal with emotional stuff either, until Pickles shouted. “Alright, get the alcohooool!”

While the rest dashed to the kitchen to get drinks, Toki wiped his eyes surreptitiously. Honestly, it’s not like they’d notice if he cried with all the blood he had on his face. He looked at his cake again and noticed the date written under the guitar.

Guess his birthday really was on September 1st.

me and Robespierre went to the met cloisters btw. if you even care. ^__^

Who are Camille's siblings? Do we know their names or anything about them?

In total, Camille’s parents Jean Benoît Nicolas Desmoulins and Marie Madeleine Godard had nine children, four of which died during childhood:

Lucie Simplice Camille Benoît (March 2 1760 — April 5 1794)

Henriette Aimery Angélique (21 February 1761 — 17 June 1770)

Marie Élisabeth Émilie Toussaint (November 1 1762 — December 20 1839)

Stillborn girl, buried at the day of her birth (January 15 1764)

Armand ”Dubocquoi” Jean Louis Domitille (May 5 1765 — 1793)

Anne Clotilde Pélagie Marie (June 20 1767 — ?)

Lazare ”Sémery” Nicolas Norbert Félicité (June 6 1769 — January 1811)

Clement Louis Nicolas (November 23 1770 — April 16 1778)

Charles Maximilien Yves Nicolas Reignier (June 17 1772, probably didn’t reach adult age)

We know Camille was the only one of the siblings that was given a higher education in Paris. Something we might find an explanation for in a letter to him dated January 23 1791 (cited in Hervé Leuwers’ Camille et Lucile Desmoulins: un rêve de république (2018)), where the father places his oldest son on a higher level than the rest of his children:

Your brother Dubocquoi has always had a rather limited peak, he has just acknowledged it to you; but it is not his fault. In the portion of nature and in the lot of the spirit, why have you exercised your birthright so copiously and taken such a great precipitate, to leave your siblings’ afferent share so small?

Camille expressed himself in similar terms in a letter to his father dated October 8 1789. I’m just gonna let this part of this hilarious comic by @theorahsart illustrate the passage:

Camille spending the majority of his time away from his family seems to have ended up in him not knowing his siblings all that well, as we in 1792 find a letter where his father has to tell him the name of his brothers as well as their occupations (cited in Camille Desmoulins, a biography (1909) by Violet Methley):

You ask me, my son, for the name of your brother, Du Bucquoy, as well as for that of Semery. The former is called Armand Jean Louis Domitille, who was born on May 5th, 1765. For the past seven years he has served in the late Royal Roussillon cavalry regiment, or the 11th Regiment of the Army of the Midi, and which I believe is either in the interior at Saumur or at Saint-Jean-d'Angely, for I have had no news of him for the last twelve months. The latter is named Lazare Nicolas Norbert Félicité, born on June 6th, 1769, and for the past two years in the loth Battalion of Chasseurs, late Gevaudan, with the Army of the North, in which he shows much zeal. He tells me in his last letter that he is a forlorn sentinel in a wood, and congratulates you on the birth of a son. As for me, I also am married. My wife is a musket, and I take greater care of her than of myself.

On February 8 1793 Lucile has written in her diary: ”C(amille’s) brother came. We had dinner at Madame Brune’s.” In a letter dated July 9 1793 Camille shares more details on his brothers, who by now are both serving in the revolutionary army. These parts got censored when the letter was published for the first time in 1836, and restored in Hervé Leuwers’ biography:

I have received unfortunate news of my brother, who has been lost to drunkenness and expelled from his regiment. I don't know if he wrote to you about his mishap. He has not dared to write to me about it, and he is right in not to. It is most unworthy that I should take an interest in him, and I am really angry that he has taken my name, which he has sullied in the army. Nevertheless, I had advised him to pour water into his wine. I don't know what has become of him since he was forced to resign as an officer. His conduct might have caused you grief under the old regime, but it is a duty that a family of republicans and good men consists of nothing but those who are republicans and good men. […] I am very sorry that Sémery was killed. I would have had no reason to be ashamed of him, and I would have procured for him a speedy promotion of which he proved himself worthy, for things are going well and will be better.

Soon thereafter, Camille does however find out the information regarding his youngest brother’s death is false, whereupon he writes a new letter to his father:

I am very sorry to have written to you that my brother Sémery would have died fighting for his homeland. I had no other certainty of a loss so grievous to you than the indication of his long silence, and I eagerly laid hold of your doubts of his death to fix my hopes upon them. May he be returned to you by the enemies into whose hands he may have fallen captive. I feel even more now, when I see my son, how sensitive this blow must have been to your heart.

Sémery had indeed not died in battle, but been captured at the siege of Maestricht. According to La jeunesse de Camille Desmoulins (1908) he was released after three years. In 1802 he was admitted to the 27th legion of gendarmerie on foot, and was serving in Piémont à la Chiesa as gendarme of the Stura company when he died by an accident in January 1811. The other brother, Dubucquoi, did however die in Vendée in 1793, I’ve not discovered on which date.

As for the two surviving sisters, we seemingly only know that they got married. According to geneanet, the eldest sister Marie Élisabeth Émilie Toussaint married one Théodore Morey in Guise, December 25 1793, while Anne Clotilde Pélagie Marie married Simon Isidore Lemoine in the same town on June 5 1794. Leuwers cites a document showing the two couples were still together by March 4 1797. He adds that both husbands were gendarmes and their wives left Guise to be with them at their posts. Somewhere after 1797 Marie Élisabeth Émilie Toussaint got remarried to one Théodore Lagrange before dying in Paris on December 20 1839, with one Antoine Nicolas Desmoulins as witness. When and where Anne Clotilde Pélagie Marie died I’ve not been able to discover.

i cant believe napoleon and alexander i invented gay people

I had to

Conclave 2024

Dave Dave daveeeee millerrr

aveces pienso que este wey le encanta comer verga y se droga y puro mame JAJAJAJA

HE WOULD LOVE BORN TO DIE, MILLION DOLLAR MEN AND COLA LOOOOL

RIP Saint Just, you would have loved to listen Lana del Rey 🪦🕊️

jidat lawrence