One’s grasp of history was like that, the Vice Chairman admitted to himself. You sat in a comfortable garden, bathing in the romantic light of a setting sun, and eavesdropped on pieces of the past, caught as snatches of conversation through the thick foliage of time. It belonged uniquely to you, and to the manner in which you digested it. How many plausible histories could be constructed from the sparse matrix of available facts? What myriad stories were consistent with so flimsy an anchor? And all of this, Ferdinand admitted with a tinge a sadness, presupposed there was one single, true history; that the difficulty lay solely in the inverse problem. But a nagging sensation suggested the reality of the matter was more subtle by far. The lack of data was not, inherently, the problem. No infinite characterization of facts could collapse history into a single, consistent narrative. It was, in its purest form, a tangle of contradicting stories, woven loosely into a shared reality: matching here and there at common points but everywhere diverging into universes as diverse as its consumers.
The afternoon train slipped silently up and out of the belly of the earth, greeted by the massive outline of Standard Tower against the plateen sky. It was not, he decided, unlike the cliffs in the north, reflecting the sun. But the light of Standard Tower was of its own making, a subtle and pulsing glow. In the north, on the sea, the light was foreign and unfriendly. It could cut and it could kill. Standard Tower could kill, too, though more slowly—and with much less fanfare. Ferdinand was no longer certain which danger he preferred.

m-azing:

oswhin:

it is my greatest wish to time travel to the future and watch historically inaccurate period dramas about the early 2000s

#it will be terrible #and when i say terrible #i mean incredible

Mementos of the Fall, Chapter 3

O dark dark dark.  They all go into the dark,

The vacant interstellar spaces, the vacant into the vacant,

The captains, merchant bankers, eminent men of letters,

The generous patrons of art, the statesmen and the rulers,

Distinguished civil servants, chairmen of many committees,

Industrial lords and petty contractors, all go into the dark,

And dark the Sun and Moon, and the Almanch de Gotha

And the Stock Exchange Gazette, the Directory of Directors,

And cold the sense and lost the motive of action.

And we all go with them, into the silent funeral,

Nobody’s funeral, for there is no one to bury.

- T. S. Eliot, Four Quartets

The cold sank into Jan’s bones and would not let go.  

Even as far south as Rotterdam, the marsh was frozen in December.  The ice was thick, but not as thick as it would be in February, at the height of winter.  Out on deck, Rainer Heinrik Jøberg squinted into the darkness, huddled into his hurricane coat.  Jan watched his friend.  The muted cough of the skimmer’s oxygen-starved engine was swallowed in the mist.  They puttered along, inching up the coast away from Amsterdam.

It was the kind of town a respectable Republican gentleman like Jan Collier should have avoided. It had been less than a decade since Amsterdam had been incorporated into the Republic, and the legacy of poverty was still evident inside its dome. But for all its flaws, Amsterdam was on the rise. Prospectors and refugees from all corners of the empire crowded its streets, eager to make their fortunes in the desalinization industry flourishing outside the settlement. Outfitters and inns and watering holes sprang up in the manner of an ancient boom town, stretching its inadequate resources.  Just that summer, the Republican senate had voted to replace Amsterdam’s plastic dome with a plateen barrier, enfranchising it as a fully-fledged town of the empire. 

It had started a fight.  Every day, Jan was more and more frightened by his position in the middle of it.

Read more
Who is the third who walks always beside you?
When I count, there are only you and I together
But when I look ahead up the white road
There is always another one walking beside you
Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded
I do not know whether a man or a woman
—But who is that on the other side of you?

Who is the One Who Walks Always Beside You?

—The Wild People of the Amsterdam Flotilla—

Mementos of the Fall

(x, x, x, x, x, x, x, x, x, x — please don’t remove sources)

Life on the Force 

Detective Col. Marala Schmidt and Sgt. Eleanor Ohm

Met State Police, Edena

(x, x, x, x, x, x, x, x, x — please don’t remove sources)

goodshipophelia asked: i want to ROLL AROUND in your fashion posts rn

YAY!  I wish I could find more photos of PoC in the fashions I am looking for, as well as more photos of men dressed in traditionally feminine vintage fashions.  If anyone has any suggestions, please let me know, as I’m sure I don’t know all the best places to look.

Jordan Cole vs. Jordanah Strauß (—Mementos of the Fall)

(x, x, x, x, x, xx, x, x, x — please don’t remove sources)

Trustees’ Fashion (—Mementos of the Fall)

(x, x, x, x, x, x, x, x, x — please don’t remove sources)