“who’s got you smiling at your phone like that?” my mutuals just booped me
Suzuki Harunobu (Japanese, 1724-1770)
Woman Admiring Plum Blossoms at Night
Title: Shuto gunjakuzu
Artist: Ito Jakuchu
Date: 1716 - 1800
Style: Ukiyo-e
Genre: Animal Painting
Reblog if reading someone else’s fanfiction has helped you get through a hard day
You're only at square one by @superwrites
@zealousdetectivegladiator @raett97 @frogwithapen @musetta3 @redhairedmuses hearts to every one of you guys ❤️❤️❤️❤️
@poetikat @rakshadow @cleverblackcat and @tkwritesdumbassassins <3 <3 <3
Found this on Twitter, so I thought, why not posting it here and doing a tag game 😊
Ok, I’ll go first
If he is the reason, I’d go to prison gladly 🥰❤️🔥
Tagging: @killerqueen-ofwillowgreen @nic-214 @milkyway-ashes @dr-radiation @whitequeen-ofwillowgreen @sunsetdaydreamer @therockywhorerpictureshow @delicatelyfantasticninja and everyone 😊
Sorry if I forgot to tag some of you!
I was charged for letting it in
Aggressively pokes @from-hecks-heart-i-stabbeth-thee (hi mania @deerpines (hi ipad) @transford-pines (hi ember) @corpserabbit (hi I hope you don't mind the mention-) and @thereareeyesinsidethetrees (hi meatgrinder ford)
I was arrested for acknowledging the fact the Cockweed is a canonically possible warrior cat name
@mildlyinterestedcreature @galloweye @clever-fandom-reference @7hestraywolf @jack-daww @hyapollo-brainrot @i-cant-stop-screaming-help @ anyone who wants to join
Air conditioner
Behold, some shiny rainbow wrapping paper!
No Pressure Tags: @quotidian-oblivion @cygnusdoesthings and anyone else who wants to be arrested for their phone's fifth photo!
Cyg and i both got arrested XD
@cygnusdoesthings for fighting for food rights and me for describing an existential crisis in front of the public
No pressure tags: @sardonic-sprite @wakkoroni @foursixtwonineoh-pieces-of-lego (i feel like you would have some good ones) @ah0yh0y @tireddruid
Lmao that is a good reason to get arrested
I’m realized that this is the first time I am showing my cat. He was sleeping on a swing set and so I took a picture
I probably got arrested for like trespassing or smth idk actually. Maybe got arrested for disturbing the peace. (Cause I woke him up)
No pressure tags: @itskimchifriedrice
Waking up your cat is punishable by arrest I should think, it’s a horrible crime against the nation you know 😔
I ask that people not read into this, my best friend sent me it while I cried over how everyone is hot. Ig I was arrested for hate speech? Idk. Or if it’s like in the 1800’s then it was for mentioning a gay.
No pressure tags: @camo-wolf @fluffykitty149 @sleepdeprivedvigilante @dangerousdan-dan @ether-gyblls
A comic panel, how predictable
I got arrested for the terrible crimes of liking hugs and liking comics 😔
(In case you were wondering, I've been collecting Cass and Damian hugs for mental health reasons)
No pressure tag: @cephalog0d @xetlretl
NO JURY WOULD EVER CONVICT YOU.
Arrested for shifty alignment.
(The only reason it's not a cat pictures or a comic panel is because I was brainstorming DnD stuff for a character who is definitely not based on comics. XD)
Tagging @outtoshatter just for funsies
Uhhhh.....
Ksnwisnditjr a murder weapon perhaps???
I was arrested for my Picrew Crimes. Woe is me for making a new icon
I tag @raett97 @frogwithapen @musetta3 @redhairedmuses @zealousdetectivegladiator (for fun! No obligation!)
I also was arrested for Piccrew-ing in public! haha <3 Tagging: @poetikat @bluewren @cleverblackcat @thevikingwoman (no pressure! <3 )
Oddly specific. Got a deposit for 6,837 today
fuck it, i never ever do those “reblog for X, this one really works!” posts, but this one doesn’t have any of that BS, this is just straight up wishing us good things; and then the comment doesn’t even say any of that either. Zero claims on this post, all positive vibes
May you end this week feeling ever more certain of a future you’ll love
Fic Lines Tag Game!
Thanks to @thana-topsy for tagging me on this! It was a lot of fun to think about some of this!
I'm pulling from Justitia the most, but don't be surprised if I post from one of my unfinished WIPs or from the (slow going) rewrite.
- A line from your fic that makes you laugh
I was actually joking in hopes that the matter would wait until after we got back from vacation to talk about." Greg vented a feigned exasperated sigh as she folded her arms and fixed him a disapproving look. He further slumped in his chair, taking another sip from his scotch trying to hide the mock pout. "But of course not, should have known better. I gotta wonder if you even take breaks after work anymore." "Yeah, it's called a binge-watch of Supernatural with some tequila and imagining Dean Winchester buckass naked in a big tub of liquid caramel going 'lick me.'" Tristan bluntly replied without so much as a blink, earning herself a choke and a cough from Greg.
Prologue—Bad Moon Rising
I've so many scenes I laugh at, sometimes I wonder that I accidentally wrote a romantic comedy. But THIS ONE
Without fail, I always laugh. It's my first. It's the classic
- A line from your fic that makes you sad
Something tore at Federico the very moment he caught sight of white robes. At first, he thought he had imagined it amongst the sea of cold faces— because surely there was no other presence besides that of Paola and maybe Volpe (assuming he was even in the city still.) Still— a tiny hope flickered behind his chest. Perhaps their numbers were not as few as his father suspected initially. But that hope was quickly snuffed and replaced with a dawning horror when he noted how ill-fitting the robes were as they hung loosely around the figure. God, how familiar they were. Nausea struck him when he recognized the design and color scheme of the robes as his father’s. Which could only mean— He’s not ready. He had heard those words from their father every time he inquired about it. And every time, he would walk out of the suddenly stifling office frustrated and perplexed. Why? Federico always tried to reason. He had been told roughly of their heritage the same age as Ezio is now. What more could he teach without letting it slip that all he had done was for something far grander than wanton youth? Of course, his father never swayed; his word was final, after all, and no doubt their mother had her fair say as well. And thus, he would play the part, acting the big brother, all the while secretly wishing he could admit everything. But now? Of all the days to see his brother adorned in their station—ignorant of both its heavy burden and attached message, it was fated to be Federico’s last. And it was fucking ironic.
Chapter XII This is Not Fantastique
A little bit of a long one, but man. I put my poor dude through the ringer on this chapter. ANGST ANGST ANGST.
A line from your fic you're proud of
Even now, they could hear the clangor of far-off soldiers as they swept up and down the streets. Once, they even had to hurriedly hide in the shadows of a nearby alleyway as a pair of bundled riders came through amongst flurries of snow and creaking leather, their horses’ heads bent low. They had been so close; Tristan had been able to see the whites of their steeds’ rolling eyes and the steam rolling off of their flanks as they cantered down the street, quick to be swallowed by white curtains.
Chapter XIII Exit Music (For a Family)
I think I took a solid twenty minutes on this one because out of 165k words and 24 chapters, I had SO many to choose from. But in the end, this one kept coming back to mind. I'm a sucker for descriptions, y'all.
A line from your fic you think could have been better
Even from afar, the tall and slender beauty had what seemed to be the loveliest of features, despite the paleness of her skin that spoke volumes of how often she left the walls of her family's palazzo.
Chapter II A Not So Good Ol Fashioned Lover Boy (i.e. FEDERICO'S FIRST APPEARANCE)
....it's been a few years, and I feel this could be better written.
A line from your fic that makes you want to punch a character
"It's Tristan, and I'm here to help, you jackass," she snapped, too late realizing she should be acting more like the adult than she actually was. Worse still— she cocked a hip, matching his stare as if she was some kind of teenager again. "Duh." Real classy there. She blew the chiding voice off, setting hands on her hips. "Oh?" A brow rose as he stepped forward just a smidge, practically towering over her. She could feel the annoyance and anger rising off of him as they had a little stare down. When his tactic didn't work, his eyes narrowed. "Like you helped Federico? In that case, you can help by leaving." She blinked, and her breath exhaled in one whoosh of air. It was like she had been slapped and visibly flinched. He took advantage of her lapse to shoulder past her, shooting a nasty glare, his voice dripping in venom as he next spoke, "Because I think you've done plenty enough."
Chapter X Take a Chance on Me
Fucking Ezio. But then again, I think most (including me) forget he's a 17 year old thrust into a shit situation. Plus this stranger is just appearing, so I'm not sure I blame him.
Anyway, yeah I wanted to slap him for that one
A line from your fic that makes you go 'aww'
“Your head...” Tristan scooted closer, a hand placed on his cheek to gently turn it. “Did that happen in the fight?” It took her far too long to realize that she was actively touching him. As a result, she pulled her hand back, pretending to brush imaginary debris out of his hair, looking flustered because of it, but he appeared or at least pretended not to notice as he shrugged. “It’s alright,” he tried not to flinch when he ghosted his own fingers over it. “And... no, I just...” He grew flustered again, and Tristan found the action rather endearing as he started rubbing the back of his head only to mutter, “Uh, bumped it against the ground when the rope was cut.” “When the rop—” She froze as it dawned on her, and she proceeded to stammer, “Oh-oh, God. ‘Rico! I’m so so sorry— I didn’t mean to—” He cut her off with waving hands, trying not to laugh, but failing horribly at it. “Don’t be. I’m alive, aren’t I? You saw to that.” A hand reached over and squeezed her own. A corner of his lip quirked. “Just consider us even now.” Tristan opened her mouth but then shut it as her eyes narrowed. She had the mind to chastise him that hitting his head on a cobblestone street was a much different experience before a calloused hand interrupted that train of thought by gently cupping her chin. Well, she startled owlishly; safe to say she hadn’t seen that coming. Now it was her turn to be the patient as his eyes looked her over. “Although, I am afraid that you haven’t fared much better either. That is a ghastly bruise if I ever saw one,” he murmured, turning her head slightly. Tristan didn’t need to ask for confirmation as to which one he was referring to, for she winced when the skin was pulled tight around her cheek in the action. She noted he appeared melancholic as he dropped his hand. “May I ask as to how you got it?”
Chapter XIV Angel of Small Theft and the Aspirin Scene
I love my two dorks. :)
A line from your fic that's full of symbolism
Claudia pursed her lips, but Tristan saw understanding, sympathy even. Her attention flicked briefly downstairs to where they could hear Maria murmuring to what sounded like Annetta. The stony stature seemed to have a crack in it as she spoke next: “Perhaps you could write to her.” Tristan opened her mouth to say that wasn’t quite possible given the current circumstances, but then her mind flashed back to the notebook cozily tucked into her bag. “Perhaps, I should,” she tactfully responded just as they arrived on the second floor.
Chapter XV The Kids Aren't Alright
uhm yes
I've a ton, and finding just ONE is difficult. But I think this one speaks for itself.
A line from your fic that contains an Easter egg
There were letters, she noted. Lots of letters that she respectfully set to the side. One decided to slip out of her hand anyway, opening just enough to reveal a name, Kassandra before she hurriedly closed it again and placed it on top of the neat pile. Even in death, a man was still afforded his privacy, and Giovanni's Assassin affairs were not any of her business, either.
Chapter XIX Alone Together
:) Assassin's Creed Odyssey fans will know this one.
A line from your fic that's shocking
“You’re… not the same age, are you?” She spoke in a hushed tone, unsure if she wanted to hear it. When he shook his head, driving the last nail into the coffin of what little remains there were of her denial, she swallowed. “How... how long ago was it then?” She cleared her throat. “What year?” He furrowed his brows but stayed silent— and after what seemed too long, she wondered if he was going to deny her an answer. She conceded perhaps that was a good thing. Maybe the truth deserved to stay buried, and the both of them could pretend this was nothing more than a misunderstanding and a case of mistaken identity. Nonetheless, he cleared his throat after what felt like forever and a year and answered with a subtle tone of discomfort as if he too realized the sudden weight of his words. “1454.”
Chapter VII Thanks for the Memories (Even if they Weren't So Great)
For those unawares: I write time travel. My story deals with it a lot, on top of righting old wrongs and fixing a bunch of things I think Ubisoft could have done better. My poor OC/Protagonist is the victim of being at the wrong right spot at the wrong right time. But it's not until THIS moment does she (and the audience) realize shit is seriously wack.
A line from your fic you want to talk about more
“There was once a king in search of a new home. He and his men ventured far and wide but could find nothing. One day, he decided to go out for a hunt and released his eagle—a loyal companion— to aid him. He watched as the great bird of prey flew up and up before perching on a ledge high up the cliff face. It was then, the king realized he had found his new home, and do you know what he called it?” She, and her six-year-old self, shook her head. One foot buried deep in denial, and the other in childhood curiosity.
“Aluh amut.”
The placard became more menacing as the word glared at her from its bronze pedestal: Alamut. “But we know it more as ‘Alamut.’” She had scrunched up her nose. “That’s a funny word.” “It’s Persian,” he had smiled in that quiet humor of his, “it means the ‘Eagle’s Nest.’”
Chapter VI With a Little Help from (Surprising) Friends
I wrote this back in 2020? 2021 I think? After 14 years of Asssassin's Creed, Alamut had only been described vaguely and once as a one-off adventure, but never once featured in the games. And that upset me BECAUSE HISTORICALLY SPEAKING ALAMUT WAS THE HOME OF THE PEOPLE WHO— *beats back historical diatribe*
ahem
So! Understandably speaking, imagine my pleasant and utter delight when Assassin's Creed Mirage was announced and the ancient home of the Ḥashashiyan—the real-life inspiration of the games. :)
AND WOW that was a long doozy. I hope you enjoyed!
I (no pressure) tag @satashiiwrites @quietborderline @musetta3 @missanniewhimsy @outtoshatter @elisela
It was a pleasure to paint this art commission for the amazing @tkwritesdumbassassins ! Her Federico and Tristan is my Assassin Creed OTP; loved painting them. Based on 1470s Florentine fashion; all the fabrics are based on real textiles from the late 1400s, found at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in NYC.
Check out TK’s fic here! One of my favorites in the fandom. Thank you again for commissioning, TK! <3 (please click pictures for optimal quality!!)
Horned Owl on Flowering Branch by Kubo Shunman (Edo Period)
What do these two famous historical women have in common? They’re related!
I realized while poking through Lucrezia’s family tree, that she is in fact related to Marie Antoinette! To be precise, she is her great, great, great, great, great, great. great. great grandmother!
Lucrezia Borgia -> Ercole II d’Este -> Anna d’Este -> Charles of Lorraine -> Catherine of Lorraine -> Charles II Gonzaga -> Eleonora Gonzaga -> Eleanor of Austria ->Leopold ->Francis I ->Marie Antoinette.
Your daily dose of cat memes
I do in fact need everything to be okay
Oops I kid I just realized you already talked about Brother. Maybe Passaggio?? Or you can do both if you have more to say about Brother lol
Hi Niri! I love talking WIPS, so I can do both!
Brother is probably the oldest of my WIPs; it started as a dream I had when I was 16. I'd dreamt I was standing on a beach of black sand and red water. Years later, I did one of those ancestry tests and discovered that I have family in southern Iran; when I looked the region up, I was astounded: it was the same place from my dream. Some research showed that the language spoken in my dream was also real, too (Old Persian). So I knew that this dream (and the others that were set in this place) needed to be told as a book.
Here is the beach I saw in the dream. It's Hormuz Island. Very interesting place ❤️
And as for Passaggio...
Passaggio is a historical romance set in 1590s Venice, and features a love triangle between an opera singer, the composer Monteverdi, and the head of the Venetian secret service. There's lots of court intrigue, corporate espionage, an assassination during a masquerade, poisonings: fun times.
Here's a bit about Filippo, the resident Secret Service agent, Shakespeare fan, and coffee fanatic.
His bodyguard was staring at him. “What?” Filippo asked. Marcello’s mouth twitched in amusement, eyes trained on Filippo’s cheek. “Are you certain you want only one detail watching Grimani’s trade ships to the mainland, signor? It could stretch the men thin.” “What? How did you—” his bodyguard fetched a silver letter tray from the desk and held it up like a mirror. Filippo’s eyes went wide: there on his cheek was a smudgy imprint of his report from where he’d slept on the damp ink. “Gesu Christe,” he grumbled, scrubbing with a handkerchief; much to his dismay, it didn’t budge. Marcello stifled a laugh. “Wash it well with a pumice stone, signor; it’ll come off. Eventually.” Scrubbing his face raw with a stone; what a ‘wonderful’ way to start his day. Filippo bit back the expletive. “Have Silvana make me coffee, Mar,” he sighed wearily at the stairs. “Extra strong.” “We’re out of coffee, signor; the merchant’s shipment is late. He sent his apologies yesterday while you were out on inspection.” Filippo di Pasquale was a man of many talents: too bad attracting bad luck seemed to be one of them. He wondered what else could go awry as he dragged himself upstairs to prepare for what he hoped would be a very uneventful day at the palace.
Oooh thank you so much for tagging me ❤️
And I would love to hear more about The Knight and the Nightingale!
Thank you, Cat! I love Knight; I did answer about it here but I love talking about it, so.
Knight is set in 1480s Scotland, during the War of the Roses. It follows Julia, a modern-day medievalist and classical musician, as she time-travels through the book she was reading. Her journey isn't an easy one, though: her knowledge of history made her a valuable advisor to a rebellious prince looking to usurp the throne, and it's only a matter of time before her choices catch up to her. Assassins, court intrigue, romance, and battles for the crown all await in the story.
“Goin’ somewhere?” Julia stopped short, heart pounding. The man before her was a giant, two heads taller than her with a smile whose greasy malevolence coated her skin like thick oil. She shuddered with revulsion. Every time she tried to pass, he stepped in front of her, arms folded across his stained doublet. Julia frowned when she beheld a dagger hilt peeking from his belt. “What do you want?” she asked, voice intentionally loud in the hopes of attracting attention. He smirked, “yer purse, lass. Hand it over.” She cursed under her breath and held her ground, just as Dad had taught her all those years ago. ‘Afford yourself every advantage you can in a fight, Jules,’ he’d told her. ‘Survey your surroundings, find yourself a weapon. Deescalate the situation and escape, if you can, but if not: initiate the offensive. Strike hard and fast. You’re a Sutherland: our clan’s motto is “no fear.”’ She inched back towards the broken crate against the wall, stalling for time as she pried a plank loose. “Money? Do you know how much rent is, these days? I-I haven’t any money, not even a coin purse on my girdle.” The board was nearly free; she backed into the crate to cover the sound of her finishing the break. Sir Ruffian, just as she predicted, took her bait: he drew the dagger from his belt, closing the distance between them. “Yer money or yer life.” She sprung into action. Julia pivoted out of the way and struck the man’s extended arm as hard as she could. The blade clattered to the stone below; she kicked it away, kneeing the man in the groin before striking the back of the neck. He crumbled onto the cobblestones with a groan. She scoffed in admiration when he remained motionless. “And stay down, you jerk. Now, where’s the knife?” She searched among the crates with little success. She only had a minute or two to gain control of the weapon and escape; precious moments were slipping by… A glimmer of steel caught her attention. Julia retrieved the blade and made to leave. Quick as an adder’s strike, her assailant snatched her ankle, dragging her down to the ground. Julia screamed, foot connecting with his nose with a sickening crunch. She scrambled away, calling for help, yet receiving none. Why were the streets abandoned? Where was everyone—
free ramble space for Knight and the Nightingale! I want to hear all about it <3
EEE! I love this one. Knight is a historical romance thriller set in 1480s Scotland. Julia, a medievalist and classical musician, never thought she'd somehow find herself in the book she'd been reading in the bath...nor did she ever think she'd use her knowledge of history to assist a prince lead a rebellion. It's based on James IV's rise to power as he usurped the throne from his father; the research for this has been a LOT of fun.
She didn’t know how long she was unconscious: minutes, hours, days; all that registered through the darkness was pain shooting down her legs. Julia shifted uncomfortably; rough cloth tickled her skin, hard mattress pressing into her spine. She adjusted her position in vain; the bed she was lying in was horribly hard, no give at all— Last thing she remembered, she’d been reading in the bath. How, then, did she arrive in bed? Her eyes flew open in alarm. Undyed linen closed in around her face, arms and head, blotting out the light. She batted away the fabric in vain, concern growing when it refused to move. She discovered her entire body was enveloped in linen, the sheet tucked tightly around her. Julia tugged it down from the crown of her head; much to her dismay, she never found the hem. In her trembling fingers, she held the gathered ends of fabric stitched together. She gasped. This wasn’t a blanket thrown over her head: it was a shroud. Panic scrabbled inside her chest, flaring into caustic acid. Where was she? How did she get here? Julia pulled at the stitches with all her might, kicking against the stitching at her feet to snap the strings. Her breath left her when they refused to give way. “Help,” she screamed, “help me! Please!” Her cries met with cold silence, leaden in her chest. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she clawed and kicked. “Please,” she begged, “please, God, help—” She eventually ripped the cloth, throwing the last of the linen away. She sat up in alarm. She was in a tidy, whitewashed room lined with shelves of white linen cloth and pouches of herbs. Rows of tables took up much of the space, several bearing white ‘body bags’ like the one she’d been stitched into. A great stone fireplace resided at the far end of the room, no doubt to heat the water used to wash corpses. Woody, astringent balsam, myrrh and aloe wafted up from the embalming table she sat on, the boards permeated with herbs over the years. Julia retched, the stone floor beneath her blurring from tears as she hung over the side. She was in a morgue…a medieval morgue, like the ones she had studied as a medieval history major. A terrifying thought came to her, one that refused to leave her alone. “Absolutely not,” she told herself. “T-This is a nightmare, that’s all; just a vivid nightmare.” But no nightmare felt quite so real as this; Julia wobbled to her feet, wincing at each step as she made a beeline for the wash basin. A brass ewer hung above the bowl, suspended by a chain. Her stomach clenched. She had seen that exact ‘sink’ configuration in medieval paintings she’d studied at university. To encounter it again outside of school was… Where was she? Why couldn’t she remember what had happened to her?
alright tell me about the skyrim prompts!
Hi Viking! 'Skyrim Prompts' are just what they say on the tin: prompts that tell the adventures of Iseult, my Dragonborn, and her reluctant companion, grumpy Vilkas. It's an enemies-to-lovers story that's grown on me; writing these two is a lot of fun!
A squeaky hinge cut through his words. Vilkas glared. “Who dares enter?” He asked. “The Harbinger—” his words trailed off as none other but Iseult the Black let herself into Kodlak’s chambers, her servant hurrying after. “My Thane, you’re not supposed to just let yourself in,” Lydia said, “let me at least announce you.” Iseult waved away her words, “no need: I’m not some poncy noble from the Cloud District, Lyd. Well met, Master Kodlak; I’m here to join your guild—” Vilkas frowned at her rudeness. “No.” Her eyes widened, “w-what?” “I said. No.” Vilkas sat back in his seat, leveling his sternest glare. “Applications are closed.” “What? Word in Riften was that you were hiring.” “‘Hire?’ We’re not petty mercenaries or bandits, my lady; ours is a fellowship, with an honorable and long history. We don’t ‘hire’ anyone.” He couldn’t help but smirk at her exasperation. “I’m in charge of recruitment, not Master Kodlak.” Kodlak turned to him, “what are you doing, boy?” His words were low, rushed. “ You can’t just turn her away, we need new recruits—” “She’s more trouble than she’s worth.” It was, perhaps, a bit petty of Vilkas to use his authority this way; any warrior in his right mind would have leapt at the chance to have the Dragonborn of legend join their ranks. But Iseult’s reckless entrance and distinct lack of propriety irked him, spoke more of her character than a hundred Lydias trying to vouch for her did. Iseult the Black was reckless, self-entitled, and a terrible candidate for following orders, if he ever saw one. It was a dangerous combination, one that Vilkas refused to entertain even for even a moment, despite the wolf-blood stirring in his veins. If he accepted her into their ranks, she’d be nothing but trouble, a detriment to all… including his concentration, looking as lovely as she did. Iseult, meanwhile, leaned in, narrowing her eyes. “Wait. I remember you. You’re that flustered man from the well: Master Vilhelm—” “Vilkas,” he corrected, tone clipped and tart. “My name is Vilkas.” She raised her eyebrow at him. “My condolences. Now… Let. Me. In.” “No! You—” “Must first pass the trial,” Kodlak interrupted. “Every recruit must prove themselves worthy of the Companions.” Vilkas stared at him. “B-But, Master! She’s—” “How many times must I tell you not to call me ‘Master?’” Kodlak muttered, shaking his head. He led the way to the door, explaining the glorious history of their fellowship. Iseult stuck her tongue out at Vilkas over her shoulder and followed, quite pleased with herself. Vilkas couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Divines,” he cursed. “We’re doomed…"