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calisources · 10 months ago

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𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐘𝐀𝐋 𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒.

All sentences on these meme make references to royal balls, medieval ballrooms or regency, basically set during any period drama. You can change names, pronouns, titles and more as you see fit. Most of these were taken from different source materials found via google search. This meme makes references to masquerades, royal dances and partners.

Dancing, at its best, is independence and intimacy in balance.

Dance is the timeless interpretation of life.

Music does not need language of words for it has movements of dance to do its translation.

Masks reveal. They don’t conceal. Masks reveal your cravings, your passion, your deepest most secret desires.

It was you. I know it was you.

Look at me, Kia! Look me in the eye and tell me you’re not her.

And who shall you be once you don your grand disguise?

I don't like to hear you talk about yourself that way. Your scars do not define you, young lady. Your action do.

All the ladies must dress the same and the men have to find their partners. It’s a game of sorts.

Even the smallfolk have their own version of the ball, at the steps of the castle.

Swoon, Dora. Every young woman deserves to swoon over the love of her life.

Dash it, Everton, how'd you know it was me?

A masquerade could have been a beautiful dance.

Oh, well. What's a royal ball? After all, I suppose it would be frightfully dull, and-and-and boring, and-and completely... Completely wonderful.

Each finds a partner, and upon the bell, we must change partner until we find the one we came to be. . .or the one we desire.

It has been a while since you gave me the honor to dance with you.

If the princess is not too occupied, I would wish for a dance, perhaps?

The Queen and King have to open the ball but the King is gone. No mind, I shall be in his place.

Sometimes in life confusion tends to arise and only dialogue of dance seems to make sense.

If we want our men to dance, we have to inspire them.

But with something more, something bigger, something that will give them a reason to want to dance.

But when balls are held for pleasure, They're the balls that I like best.

Will you be my princess for the Ball?

Keeping pushing, Andrei, and you and I are going to play a game.

Nothing like a ball to cheer a nation, give the old lords wine and the young boys the opportunity to find a nice woman and everyone shows up.

Where are you taking me? The ball hasn’t ended.

Royals is like a beautiful, broken angel: hard to look at, but utterly impossible to turn away from.

Attend the royal ball in all your glory and find out what fate has in store for you.

How many dances is one allowed before people begin to whisper?

You cannot behave like a brute. It is my duty to dance with every suitor. I am their princess.

I do not recognize you, my lord? Are you from these lands?

It is bad luck to steal a princess.

Attend the royal ball in all your glory and find out what fate has in store for you.

There is nothing quite like dancing in the moonlight. It sets your soul on fire and your heart aflutter.

The beauty of a ball is not just in its grandeur, but in the connections it sparks, the emotions it stirs, and the hopes it ignites.

Just keep your eyes on me. No one else here matters.

I shall keep dancing with you until you stop being stubborn and go speak with me. Or you rather have people whisper?

The princess looks beautiful tonight, does she not?

Father, please, you must dance as well. Your dull looks are making people bored.

You promised me a dance when you were better. Are you?

I've loved you at every dance, on every walk, every time we've been together and every time we've been apart.

I can feel people's eyes on me.

Every time I walk into a ballroom, I know they are comparing me to Daphne.

You both get to choose your passions and adventures, while my beloved is chosen by me. And now I must join them for a dance.

Are you planning on running away when the clock strikes midnight?

If you do wish to go away, I know a spot, secluded enough.

You wish for me to go with you, alone, unchaperoned. I am a maiden, my lord.

Aye, but I am no lord, sweet maiden. And these masks allow us some privacy.

This is my last chance to find a match on my own accord. If I don’t. The King will do it for me and I would rather not.

I'm only a girl, not a princess.

Believe me - they're all looking at you.

They're all looking at you.

You are requested and required to present yourself to your king.

I do not even know if that beautiful slipper will fit But, if it does--will you take me as I am?

It would be an insult to take you to the palace dressed in these old rags.

How charming, how perfectly charming.

When I go back, they will try to pair me off with a lady of their choosing. I'm expected to marry for advantage.

Oh. Well, whose advantage would this marriage be of?

I hope you don't find our kingdom too confining.

I am. An apprentice monarch. Still learning my trade.

Our prince seems quite taken with her.

She went straight for him. You have to appreciate her efficiency.

Walk into the room knowing you are the best. Shoulders back, chin up. Their attitudes will totally change.

You dance love, and you dance joy, and you dance dreams.

The ball is about to come to an end, and you have yet not told me your name.

I thought we agreed we would remain strangers.

I’m afraid my true identity would put you in danger.

Have you ever been kissed by a stranger at the end of a ball? If not, let me be the first.

Put him on all the invitation lists, he's a divine dancer.

I’m afraid I’m more used to swordfight than ballroom.

You will ruin your pretty gown, princess. I would not wish to step on your toes.

Silly, I am a great dancer, no one ever steps on my toes.

No. Let them dance. Interrupting would cause a scandal.

One of these men will be my husband one day. What a thought.

The art of husband seeking at it’s peak, during royal ball season.

Maiden beware, a gentleman can become a beast when the bell strikes.

#roleplay memes #sentence meme #( cali meme. )#rp memes #rp prompt #rp musings #roleplay prompt #ballroom meme #royal ball meme #royal dance meme #masquerade meme

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theriverbeyond · 1 year ago

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how do we know in the books that john is indigenous? can you say more about how his indigeneity is important to his story?

hello! so there is a word of god post on race (doesn't mention John but mentions that Gideon is "mixed Maori"), BUT I frankly don't think word of god statements are worth any weight without actual in-text support (see: the "dumbledore is gay" situation). SO!

Specific evidence that John Gaius is Maori, as revealed in Nona the Ninth:

When he is listing his education, John mentions having gone to Dilworth School (John 20:8). Dilworth is an all boys boarding school in Auckland and accepts students based on financial need instead of academic or sporting achievements. Demographics appear to be about 70% low income Maori boys, indicating that it is highly likely that John is Maori

John reports that P- said he looked like a "Maori-TV pink panther" (John 15:23) when his eyes turned gold. Maori TV is a TV station that is focused primarily on Maori culture & language revitalization, with presumably all or mostly Maori hosts, and tbh I don't see why P- would say this unless John was himself Maori

John uses a te reo Māori phrase ("kia kaha, kia māia") (John 5:20) when he is saying goodbye to the corpses in the cryo lab before the power is shut off. Though it is possible he said this as a non-Maori kiwi, but in combination with the previous two points of evidence I think this all very strongly points to him being Maori

He also renames his daughter Kiriona Gaia, "Kiriona" being just literally the name "Gideon" in te reo Māori

TLT is not a series that hands you anything on a silver platter but to ME this is all pretty solid proof

Why is this relevant to The Locked Tomb?

In Nona the Ninth, we learn that before he completed apotheosis and ate the solar system, John was basically trying to save the earth from capitalism-caused climate change. Climate justice and the rights of indigenous people over their own land are deeply tied together, in the same way that climate catastrophe and capitalism/ imperialism/ colonialism are linked. disclaimer that this is NOT my area of study and others have definitely said it better; this is just the basic gist as I understand it, but on quick search I found some sources here and here if you want to do some reading.

TLT is not a series that hands you anything on a silver platter, but i don't think it is a stretch to see John as an indigenous man trying to save the earth and getting ignored and shut down at every turn by primarily western colonial powers (PanEuro, the USA) who declare him a terrorist and then as a reader thematically connecting that to the experience of indigenous climate activists IRL

there are absolutely TLT meta posts that have discussed this before me; tumblr search is nonfunctional and I have been looking for an hour and a half and cannot find anything specific even though i KNOW i reblogged multiple posts about this in the first few weeks following NTN's release. sad & I am sorry

I think that by the time the books take place, John is 10k years removed from the cultural context he grew up in, with the Nine Houses having become a genocidal colonial power in their own right (with more parallels to be made between John's forever war for the resources of literal life energy and like, oil wars), but I also think that John Gaius is a fictional character who can represent and symbolize multiple different things in service of telling a story. (not to mention the potential thematic parallels being made to how oppressed people sometimes are pressed into replicating the power dynamics of their oppressors and continuing the cycle--now that is a tumblr post i KNOW i read last year and definitely cannot find right now, once again sad & I am sorry)

How Radical Was John Gaius, Really is a forum thread that was locked by the moderators after 234534645674564 pages of heated debate

#john gaius #nona the ninth #the locked tomb #tlt meta #i need to fix my tagging system fr #john meta #tlt thoughts #trb.txt #if anyone wants to add anything or correct anything PLS do so!!! i did my best hope this helps anon. this took me 2 hours

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cartoonistcoop · 3 months ago

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ShortBox Comics Member Interview: Sloane Hong

Throughout the month of October, the Cartoonist Cooperative will be sharing interviews with members of the Co-op who have a new comic available at the ShortBox Comics Fair 2024!

NOTE: The Cartoonist Cooperative is not affiliated, associated, authorized, endorsed by, or in any way formally connected with ShortBox.

Today’s spotlight is Sloane Hong ( @plaest2k ) and their new comic for ShortBox, Expiry Date.

We’d love it if you could introduce yourself and tell us about your background in comics.

Sloane Hong: Kia ora, my name is Sloane Hong (she/her), I’m a Korean-tauiwi illustrator, comic artist and tattooer based in Aotearoa, New Zealand. I only started making comics professionally about five years ago but they’ve always been a significant part of my life for as long as I can remember.

Tell us more about your new comic?

SH: Expiry Date is an erotic, body horror, sci-fi short story about coming home from a long day at your shitty, minimum-wage job, crashing on your couch and fantasizing about how fucking good it would feel to just die.

I mean, it’s also about transness, labour rights, our relationship with our bodies and death under capitalism, etc but it’s mostly about shitty jobs.

My friend described it as “what if David Cronenberg was a transsexual dyke who grew up reading ero-guro”.

What are some early experiences as a cartoonist that shaped you or your process?

SH: My brother’s also an artist, probably better than I could ever be, and I basically owe any good taste I might have to him. Growing up, I always got home from school first so I’d sneak into his room to admire his drawings and read his comics. He had most of the usual stuff you’d find on any Korean kid’s shelf in the 90’s: Akira Toriyama, Masamune Shirow, Yoshito Usui, etc, and a couple of Korean manhwa that are all now damn-near impossible to find. As he got older, he started getting into American comics and brought home stuff like R. Crumb, Daniel Clowes, Fletcher Hanks, etc from the library.

But it’s not just that I had someone to introduce me to all this stuff, it’s the fact I’m six years younger than him and he was already reading this stuff earlier than most. So I think I started looking at all those misanthropic underground comics by horny white men when I was, like, what… about 10 years old?

Besides my brother, the trauma of working shitty jobs for years on end, The Terrible Boredom of Paradise, and this weird and fucked up miracle we call life are probably the wellsprings of both my inspiration and ceaseless burnout.

Tell us about your creative process; how did you develop this comic and what are the steps you took to bring it to the final stage?

SH: I did something really stupid for the 2023 ShortBox Comics Fair. I have ADHD and one of the many ways it manifests is that I have a debilitating habit of overthinking my stories. “Are the themes too obvious? Is it too heavy handed? Are the motivations for this character clear enough? Is this the right way to phrase this? Is this the right word? Is this the right letter? Is this the right punctuation?” etc, etc.

On paper, it probably sounds like something every writer goes through but when I say debilitating, I mean interferes-with-my-ability-to-live-a-normal-life-kind of debilitating. It’s kind of impossible to articulate how bad it was but it got to a point where I was so sick of myself and all the stories I never finished that I said fuck it–maybe if I just jump into a comic with nothing but a stupid premise, no planning and an impending deadline, I won’t have time to think about all these inconsequential details. So I sat down and forced myself to write, pencil and ink a comic, page-by-page.

It was essentially an exercise in automatism: I was still thinking about draftsmanship, composition, flow and everything but I kinda just let the story tell itself by writing/ drawing whatever felt like a natural progression for the narrative.

That was how I ended up with Marrow, which was kinda funny because the whole point was to make a goofy, low-stakes comic about nothing to circumvent the pressure of having to write anything good. Instead I’d inadvertently made something that was layered and deeply intimate and won the sci-fi category in the 2024 Minicomic Awards. But, more importantly, the whole process helped bring everything together. It reminded me of something I used to tell young artists: developing a style isn’t something you really set out to do, it’s something that just happens. You don’t practice drawing to get better at drawing; you do it to better channel your voice. It’s only when you can stop thinking about how to move your hand that your heart can take the lead.

I’d forgotten my own advice. I was so concerned about the technical details of how to write a story that I was basically assembling components rather than writing anything at all. Marrow helped me realize I’d already internalized everything I needed to write long ago. I just needed to stop thinking.

Expiry Date was a continuation of that process and made in basically the same way. There was just significantly less stress involved now that I knew I could trust myself.

Mostly.

Read the rest of the interview HERE! And dont forget to check out the Shortbox Comics Fair to support these lovely creators!!

#comics #comic artist #cartoonist #cartoonist cooperative #comic recommendations #illustration #comic #comic art #shortbox #digital comics fair #sbcf2024 #original comics #online comics fair #shortboxcomicsfair

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kivino · 3 months ago

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SOMETHING FOR YOUR MIND || PLATONIC!JOHN 'BRAVO 0-6' PRICE X F!READER

my cod masterlist || my jjk masterlist

ao3 link to this fic

Word counter - 2.2k words

Tags/Warnings – brainwashing, violence. angst, hurt/no comfort, fem reader, canon-divergent, reader’s around Soap’s age, so no “19 year old sniper y/n”, pookies; heavy ooc, we all know that Price is not above cutting losses.

Summary – Task Force 141 mourned your loss when you went MIA during one of the missions, however eventually you come back, but not in the way one would think of.

One second. One second was enough for everything to stop in its tracks. Felt like even the bullets that were flying just moments ago stopped midair to allow for the sudden intrusion in the heat of the battle. The tension in the room was palpable. Screams, directions, orders all halted when four pairs of eyes fell onto a friendly familiar face. Your face.

They all needed but a peek from their cover, that much was enough. It was impossible to not recognize your stature, the distinct features of your face that got etched into their minds as clear as day from many hours spent together: on missions, working, or even sitting at a pub. How could they not recognize you?

Nevertheless, it still felt like seeing someone come back from the dead. Last they heard from you, the evacuation chopper with you and a bunch of reinforcements got crashed by Makarov’s men and yet, you were not confirmed KIA, because the body, unlike the traces of your DNA were not found at the crash site. Still, they might as well have mentally held a funeral for you, closed casket, with nothing to put in the ground. Nobody liked that, of course, but it was just part of the job, sooner or later instead of being connected to faces, names will start connecting to numbers and tombstones.

Even if you held a special place among them, you were flesh and blood, just like anyone else, so holding onto the hope that you were alive was…foolish, to say the least. Especially so, with the screams of panic and terror they’ve heard last out of their radios before the sky was painted gray, with smoke from the crash, flames licking at it impatiently, fueling themselves with flesh and oxygen until the corpses inside were nothing but coals, ash and molten plastic. According to the files that Laswell so generously shared with them, everyone was found, but her. Gaz was the one to suggest with a somber tone that she might’ve burned down completely, if she was right near the fuel tank. Nobody debated that. They needed some kind of explanation tied to what happened to you, and if that one worked, who were they to second-guess something they had no idea about?

Yet Soap remembered all the times he caught Price distracted, submerged so deep in his thoughts that it would border on ignoring people around him. He saw him sit around the radio that night at the safe house, situated not too far away from the crash site that buried so many people. Nobody asked Price what was he waiting for in the frozen night, turning the knobs, nothing but grim white noise flooding the room and only further solidifying what they were all thinking – their friend was long gone and there was no return for her.

But wouldn’t you look at her now - still alive and kicking. All the sleepless nights Simon spent thinking about what might’ve happened to them in the vast forests flooded by snow, all the times Kyle turned back to whisper a joke that just dawned on him, only to find himself alone in the kitchen of their base, and all the times Johnny made one too many cups of coffee for everyone, forgetting there wasn’t a fifth pair of hands to grab the steaming hot mug. All of that for them to finally come back to the Task Force.

But all the relief and rapture that came along with your presence vanished into thin air as the barrel of your gun was slowly rising up, trajectory meeting with your comrades (?). Time started slowing down. Johnny felt a bead of cold sweat trail down his temple at the sharp realization. You’re aiming at Price.

This…this felt wrong. Unreal. Disturbing. To think that you’d aim a weapon at someone who looked out for you like their own blood. Still, Price called out your name, attempting to get to you. Maybe it was all just a misunderstanding? (Of course, it fucking wasn’t. How could something like that be a stupid misunderstanding?)

“Put down your weapon now! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Price screamed, after dropping back down behind the cover, a distinct “ding!” echoing right where his head would’ve been a second ago. The crack in the captain’s voice was barely discernible, yet still there. John felt a wave of weakness, the one he had never felt before, wash over him. Out of all of them, John probably regarded you with the most care, his treatment being akin to the tenderness of a doting father over his beloved, but reckless daughter.

“She’s the target.” Ghost’s voice cracks over the comms, stating the very obvious to Price, yet granting Soap a sudden understanding, as startling as a bucket of cold water over his head. They were sent to capture an unknown target that has been making trouble for them in the region. But how in the actual fuck were they supposed to know that it was you who was blowing up their weapon cashes and raiding their safe houses? How would they even come to that conclusion? You hated Makarov probably with the same rigor and fire as Price, there was no rational explanation to this!

“Yeah, you don’t fucking say.” Gaz responds after a brief crack of radio, a thin layer of sarcasm concealing just how disturbed he must’ve felt. The enemies, including you, kept raining bullets at them, barely giving them any room to move or do anything, for that matter.

“What in the fuck did he do to her?” Soap yelled into the radio as soon as he heard the familiar crackling of static once again. There was no way that she sold them out to Makarov, right? But at the same time, the man loved to play around with them. It wouldn’t have been him if he were to miss the opportunity to see the way his actions would deeply shake them. Especially something like buying out someone they considered one of them. Part of their small and very dysfunctional family. Price could only hear the ringing in his ears. Insistent. Maddening. A quiet, arrogant chuckle was the first response he got.

“The correct question would be, “What didn’t I do to her?”. But you’re on the correct track.” Soap’s head snapped to check on Price once again. Eyes wide, hands gripping his weapon even harder than before, he has never seen the man so distraught. Soap, in turn, felt even more enraged, it was like an already burning campfire was doused in gallons of gasoline.

Price’s heart sank even further when he heard that spiteful voice through the static. He should’ve known better than to get attached to you, even if it was from the place of concern and care. However, he never expected the way you’d go would be so twisted and…unbecoming of who and what you were. You would never willingly do that to yourself, and he was well aware of that, and he would never believe if anyone told him that you’d betray them one day. That they’d see your face, clear as day, on the enemy’s side.

Experience came with a lot of blood. Not only his one, but the one that relentlessly stained his hands red, drenching him in a metallic smell, ever-present and eternal. But it allowed Price to be good at what he’s doing it, becoming his second nature, even when his emotions were threatening to break down the wall, built up by him through decades of gradually becoming jaded and desensitized. Taking care of the threats barely breaks a sweat, until you’re the one laying on the ground, disarmed and at their mercy after the strong blow to your forehead with the butt of his weapon makes you see stars.

“Hey!” Price called your name once again, hoping to snap you back from whatever delirium you were drowning in for you to go against your every principle. “What the in actual fuck were you thinking? Did your head get screwed on the wrong way, you fucking idiot?!” Even through the harsh words and Price’s strong hands grabbing at the collar just above the edge of your worn tactical vest, every single one of the Task Force could hear the sheer pain lacing through the man’s words. “Answer me! What the fuck are you doing?!”

Price kept gazing into your eyes, rage boiling within him, too attached to shoot you right where you stood, too much of a coward to cut the losses that wore your face and puppeteered your body. He kept looking, looking for something in your eyes, anything at all – guilt, recognition, misery, cruelty, cynicism, anything at all that would tell him what you were thinking, yet…nothing. All that was in front of him was a rabid animal, hiding right between the coat of your skin, baring its teeth and writhing in his grasp, attempting to shake him off and continue fighting until your final breath.

“What kind of fucking circus is this?! Answer us!” Ghost’s voice roared from his side, urging you to get on with whatever was hindering you from answering to captain and explaining yourself.

“What the fuck do you want from me? I don’t know who are you!” you snarl up at them, and Price almost can’t believe it’s you. After months of only looking at pictures, minor captured fragments of you, hearing the labored breathing, seeing the frenzied stare and the passionate disdain in it… He needed a moment. A lot of moments, actually. If you don’t recognize them, then it can only mean one thing. And God knows, he doesn’t even know what would be worse in this situation.

“You think he…” Gaz finally calls out from the side, sounding just as shocked as everyone else in the room. Tension weighs heavily on them, and Price can feel the strength drain from his grip, powerlessness overcoming him, as he lets go of your collar, letting Ghost take over. The man immediately grabs you by the arm, swiftly twisting it behind your back, not letting even a split moment of faltering give you an upper hand over them. Of course, they were here to do their jobs, but it was still… Difficult.

“Scrambled her brain? No shit…” Ghost rasps, closely observing you, eyes blown wide, multiple very unnatural marks marring the skin on your temples and neck. There is something they could learn from this information, probably.

“Captain. It’s your call.” Soap’s remark does nothing to ground the man, instead sending him into a spiral, as his eyes dig into your form, curled into the dirty ground. So familiar, yet so distant.

It would be so easy to just…pull the trigger, put the bullet in your skull and be done with it. You wouldn’t be a threat anymore; you wouldn’t come back. The fact of your mere existence will stop being the leading cause of an emotional upstir and deep dissonance within the four men bearing witness to your forsaken, broken mind. It would put your body to rest. It would put Price’s mind to rest. It would be correct. It would be something he would do if it wasn’t you.

But Price simply couldn’t. His hand froze, not even able to reach out to aim his weapon at you. Not when he saw the same eyes, that looked so mischievous while poking fun at him and calling him “old man”. Not when he noticed the same hands, that would press closed his wounds until the medics arrive. Not when he knew, that none of them would forgive themselves for not even trying to get to her.

“Pack her. The objective was to capture her, not kill her.” He gives the final verdict, with a nod towards Soap, giving him permission to carry out the order, even if it didn’t feel right – cuffing someone who used to be there, covering their backs, looking out for them and supporting, no matter what.

“It wasn’t about actually getting an in with us.” Gaz remarks, oh-so-helpfully. The tension from the man was palpable, Price could almost anticipate the moment he would strike if you were to as much as look at them wrong. To think that all the months and years spent together, all the care and concern put into you amounted to nothing, when you’re a prisoner of your own mind. “It was about sending a message.”

“Well, message received, and not fucking appreciated.” Ghost almost spit out the words, holding you by your wrists, while Soap swiftly worked handcuffs around your wrists, through your fruitless attempts to squirm out of their grasps.

“Well, would you look at that. Old man is slowly losing his grip, huh?” A scratchy, unpleasant voice comments, only barely drowned out by the static of the radio, almost spitting poison through the plastic. Price’s hand squeezes into a fist, deeply inhaling the air, laced with too much dust, ash and smoke. It does not ground him, instead making his rage even more scorching.

“I will find you. And when I do, you better pray to the fucking Gods they’ll show you mercy, because I’ve got none to give to you, you piece of shit.” Price hisses after pressing the button quicker than gaining the rational train of thought. His eyes drift towards your form, hunched over, broken and ferocious, unwilling to cooperate with someone you considered your brothers not so long ago.

Maybe Price was making the wrong call. Maybe you’ll break out and make them regret ever trying to save you from Makarov’s grasp. But he’d rather be proven wrong than murder his own daughter.

check out my masterlist for more cod fics or send me a request/comment!

#cod mw2 #call of duty #call of duty x reader #call of duty mwii #cod mwii #modern warfare ii #tf141 x reader #john price #john price x reader #price x reader #cod fanfiction #mw2022 #cod fanfic #call of duty fanfic

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