#Regent Miniatures

[agbpaints]

The ilClan era has the battle pope, now I have a ride for the ilClan anti-battle pope.

[muffinlance]

Consider: Post-canon Zuko wakes up in the body of his childhood self, the morning of That War Meeting. Would he still speak against the plans, knowing his fate? What do you think he would do differently the second time around?

"Turned away at the doors, Zuzu?"

"Shut up, Azula," her brother sulked. But sulked weirdly, after staring at her too long and too wide-eyed, not like she'd surprised him but--

But like he hadn't expected her to be there. At all.

He turned away. ...He turned back. "Hey, Lala? Do you think you could help me practice that one set?"

He didn't meet her eyes.

She narrowed hers. "Which set?"

"The one I'm bad at."

She scoffed. Pushed away from the wall she'd been leaning against. "That's all of them, Dum-Dum."

He didn't shout or stomp or yell about the nickname. His lips twitched.

"It's okay," he said. "If you're afraid you won't be a better teacher that my instructor..."

It was the most obvious manipulation ever.

Perhaps if he proved an adequate firebending student, she'd work on his courtly survival skills next. Honestly, it was good that not even Uncle Gets-Cousins-Killed had been fool enough to take Zuko into that war meeting. She could only imagine how terribly that could have gone.

"Keep up," she said, and turned her steps towards the training grounds.

He did. There, and during the katas she ran him through.

Azula kept her eyes narrowed.

"Hey," he asked, "do you know how to bend lightning yet?"

As if he could have missed it, if she'd been able to get more than sparks. "I will soon," she said.

"You will," he agreed, and flowed through his next set. The one she'd only just mastered.

Father didn't notice how weird Zuzu was being. Uncle never noticed anything. Zuko ate dinner and asked a servant for seconds and didn't stutter or flinch or lose his appetite when father asked, coolly, what he'd done with his day. Azula's shoulders tensed, because one mention of how she'd squandered her own training time teaching him--

"Azula hogged the training grounds. For hours," Zuzu scowled, exactly like a petulant thirteen year old.

Exactly like he hadn't been acting all day.

By the time Father was looking her way, Azula had her usual smirk in place. "I'm sure there would be room for both of us," she said, "you're not afraid of a little friendly fire, are you, brother?"

Zuko sulked. And ate his seconds, like he was enjoying each bite. There was something in his eyes, like a joke no one else was getting.

---

Father died that night. A heart attack. There were the faintest of burns to either side of the treacherous organ; the royal physician hypothesized that he'd grabbed at his chest, fingers burning hot in his final moments; so hot they'd only exacerbated the problem.

The royal physician would never have been brought any victims of lighting strikes. Those that occurred in the capital did not generally require a doctor in the aftermath.

Zuzu ate a hearty breakfast.

He didn't order seconds. Azula gave him points, at least, for not being tacky.

---

The sages named Iroh as regent.

They named Zuko as Fire Lord.

"No," the tiny Fire Lord in his perfectly miniaturized Fire Lord robes said, sitting at the head of his war council. "We're not doing that. And I'll be reviewing all recent battle plans, as well. What's this I hear about a division of new recruits being deployed to the front?"

He did not mention how he'd heard of the 41st Division. No one asked.

"Prince Iroh, surely--" one of the generals tried to appeal.

The young Fire Lord's regent was looking as startled as the rest of them, for a moment. Then he sipped his tea, and smiled.

"Your Fire Lord is correct, of course. A change in our leadership--a change the other nations may mistakenly view as weakness--will necessitate a change in our strategy."

"Now," said their lord, "what, exactly, is our overall objective in this war?"

War, the new Fire Lord decreed, was not an end unto itself.

---

The new Fire Lord continued to have time, to pretend to be trained by her. Azula watched him. Adjusted her footwork. Did not tolerate, and was not offered, any commentary on who was teaching who.

"What did you do with my brother?" she asked, as they flowed from one set to the next. As her hands, poised to throw fire, just so happened to be pointed his way.

He missed a step. It didn't look like an act.

"I'm, uh. Right here?"

She didn't bother to dignify that.

He didn't bother to look worried about her hands, one movement off from a true attack.

He looked around, then grabbed her sleeve, and tugged her further from any walls that may hide ears. The royal family's private training grounds were wonderfully large, and wonderfully open.

"It's me," he said. "It's still me. Just. More of me? Longer of me?"

She narrowed her eyes. A familiar expression, by this point. "Explain."

"...I found the Avatar," he said. "And this is definitely his fault, but--but I guess it started at a war meeting, when I was thirteen."

Azula listened. It was a very Dum-Dum story.

[wordsandrobots]

Let's talk about Haman Karn and presentation.

(This post contains a lot of images, including some stitched frames that would have been a lot easier to put together if the animators hadn't gone wild with overlay effects.)

When first introduced in the back half of Zeta Gundam, Haman is presented as the wicked witch in the Neo Zeon court, a powerful, dangerous 'newtype' who plays the conscientious regent to girl-queen Mineva Zabi while in truth calling all the shots. What is most striking about Haman's initial design is how simple it is. A funereal black tunic and grey leggings is almost laughably at odds with the rich, golden-threaded uniforms of the Zeon military officers, as worn in miniature by Mineva herself. Haman displays no rank and you could almost think, in isolation, that she had no official position.

But she isn't presented in isolation. That she is the axis (pun intended) around which Neo Zeon revolves is shown by how her appearance actually interacts with the scenes she's in. For one thing, pink hair and a red inner lining to her cape combined with an otherwise excessively sombre colour scheme draw the eye when contrasted with the rest of her forces, making her appear far more significant. For another, the cape grants her the outline of other important Zeon characters like Char Aznable and Kycilia Zabi, something further emphasised when she takes to the battlefield.

As with Char before her, she opts against wearing a spacesuit, a show of utter confidence in her abilities that proves well-founded. She emerges triumphant in battle, overpowering her predecessor with greater psychic abilities. There is thus a strong element of performative humility to her costume. It places her outside the military hierarchy, in a fashion distantly akin to Mineva's other attendants, yet there is never any question as to where the power behind the resurgent Zeon lies.

Complicating this picture is a vision shared with Zeta's protagonist, Kamile Bidan. When their minds link during combat, he catches a glimpse of Haman's prior relationship with Char, implied to have been romantic in nature. I don't believe we ever get confirmation as to whether this is a recollection or a fantasy; Haman states the visions are both dreams and memories. Certainly Haman and Char know and despise one another in the present, so nothing that happened between them ended well.

In this moment we catch a glimpse of an 'innocent' version of Haman, dressed casually, her overall palette matched to her hair rather than counterpointing it. Aside from establishing more of the history gestured to by her interactions with Char, it demonstrates that there is purpose to her current mode of dress. Ostentatiously plain black is not the default for a happy, contented Haman Karn.

Haman's next chronological appearance, several episodes into sequel series Gundam ZZ, comes after several (literally rose-tinted) flashbacks that show her still in her 'witch's blacks'. However when she finally comes on screen in the flesh, it is in very different ensemble: a tightly-buttoned charcoal dress and white scarf that appear to be a form of 'back-stage' attire

It's the least made-up we ever see her, with rather bedraggled hair in place of her normal sweeping coiffure, as if co-villain Glemy Toto and later protagonist Judau Ashta have caught her right after stepping out of the shower - the one to give a report hinting at a later arc, the other to sneak in by mistake and trigger a series-long rivalry.

The roses in over-the-top imaginings of brainwashed minion Mashymre Cello are reduced to balcony decorations and Haman possesses none of the glow he ascribes to her. This is the truth behind the delusions, canny and hard-faced. It is a grounding moment for the character, removing the implicit theatre of her previous appearances. Mineva is nowhere to be seen and without her, there is no need for Haman to pretend.

These scenes also establishes Haman's newtype credentials, as Judau sees her starkly overlaid upon cosmic fog and then projecting a monstrous apparition that shows the danger lying under her presently unassuming surface. The theatrics may be absent; the threat she poses very much is not.

Having in this manner brought us up to speed on the character, the show proceeds to roll out a second performance from Haman. We watch as she is dressed ahead of taking charge of a battle-fleet. In tight close-up, an attendant helps her into a flamboyant outfit featuring projecting epaulettes and a much longer cape, then presents her with a spiked, crown-like headpiece.

There is only one word to adequately describe the result: regal.

Gone is any pretence of being subordinate to someone else. When Haman steps on to the bridge of her flagship, it is as the true queen of Neo Zeon, ready to crush all who oppose her. Projected as a hologram above the Earth, this new costume's purpose as a propaganda tool becomes crystal clear. Haman has taken the place of Zeon's previous rulers, the Zabi family, replicating their flare for dramatic rhetoric and dressing herself in their flag.

It is in this guise that Haman makes her attempt to 'seduce' Judau (canonically 14) and to get up on my soapbox again, this is very obviously an act. We can see the calculation in her facial expressions as she exerts psychic 'pressure' and generates a starry vision to entreat him to join her cause, even when the assault on his senses culminates in a near-kiss.

These are means of control comparable to the chivalric romance fantasy via which she manipulates Mashymre. She is lying and once snapped out of the trance, Judau sees that - much to Haman's annoyance. Another powerful newtype is a wildcard she can ill-afford to let run free and her easy solution to the problem has been foiled. This sets the tone for their interactions from here on out.

Haman next appears at a reception in the Federation capital of Dakar, which Neo Zeon have occupied, effectively signalling their triumph over Earth's official forces. This is an extremely key scene in terms of ZZ's overall themes, as it starkly illuminates the craven, greedy nature of the supposed authorities. As Leina Ashta, Judau's sister, observes via her empathic abilities, everybody in the ballroom is pretending, buttering up the Zeon leaders in anticipation of their victory. We see multiple Federation officials bowing politely to Mineva and to Haman, for entirely self-serving reasons. Cynicism, manners and social convention are turned into a source of horror, an ersatz world of fake smiles and hollow laughter.

Within this, Haman is dressed to the nines, putting a new twist on her original presentation. Once again, she is the sole member of Neo Zeon wearing civilian clothes, standing out from a wall of elaborate ceremonial uniforms. Moreover, her superficially restrained black and white dress is enhanced with a smattering of jewellery befitting the occasion, and she has donned visible make-up, something she otherwise does not use to any great degree. These mark out her social standing, emphasising that those present should pay attention to her and her alone.

One thing I do think this dress highlights is the way in which ZZ does not go out of its way to sexualise Haman. The show generally commits to bawdy comedy far more than its predecessors, featuring as it does Chara Soon, a woman who gets *ahem* excited by mobile suit combat and is dubbed 'Boobazilla' for her antics with respect to the male members of the cast. But although Haman is depicted as pretty and not above attempting seduction, her costuming never really leans into that. If anything, the reverse: she favours restrained, formal looks that rarely display her skin in suggestive ways. [Please see a correction/addition on this point here.]

Her Dakar attire is the most daring she gets and intentionally striking in comparison to the other attendees at the ball. She still remains an aloof, intimidating figure, defined by sharp angles and a wide-shouldered outline.

Proceedings are naturally interrupted by non-Federation resistance groups and Judau breaks into the mansion to rescue his sister (Leina's arc through the first half of the show has her kidnapped and subjected to Neo Zeon attempts to 'civilise' her). Sensing his presence, Haman moves to confront him, only to end up talking unexpectedly openly about her motivations for conquering Earth. After expressing rage at having returned from the depths of space to discover an Earth-bound elite continuing to wreak ecological ruin on the planet, she notes what an odd feeling honesty is.

Judau is unimpressed and rejects again the idea of joining forces against the Federation. Restating that she cannot therefore allow him to live, Haman attempts to shoot him, only for Leina to be injured in the struggle. This sends her brother into a rage, his newtype powers manifesting at full blast.

Now it is Haman who sees a monstrous vision overlaid upon her opponent and, putting a nasty twist on the idea of being able to speak her mind around Judau, her composure cracks entirely. All at once, Haman is reduced to abject terror, firing blindly then outright fleeing the anger directed at her.

Intriguingly, Haman's sense of Judau is as a bestial force yet Judau's friends pick up only a gigantic version of the boy they know. It is as if what they experience as a normal if exaggerated emotional reaction is, to Haman, utterly horrific, reducing her to hiding in her bedroom, appalled that anyone could exert such pressure upon her.

With the reception disrupted and her propaganda coup in tatters, Haman retreats both to her flagship and to her warrior queen attire. While it makes sense for her to change into something more suited to taking command, there is something compelling in the idea this represents an attempt to reinforce her authority after the shock of confronting Judau. Perhaps this is Haman taking comfort in her authority over Neo Zeon, as embodied by the crown she wears into battle.

Moreover, her next major action is to order a colony drop (literally displacing an orbital space colony so it crashes to Earth) on Dublin, a hideously destructive war crime designed specifically to "demonstrate [Zeon's] power through terror!" Coming hard on the heels of her brush with Judau's fury, it is tempting to draw a straight line from discovering something capable of scaring her to wanting to remind the whole world why it should be scared of her.

Between Dakar and Dublin are a couple of brief asides with Haman that underline again how conscientious she is about how she presents herself. During another meeting with Glemy - indicated over the course of ZZ to be a bastard son of the Zabi family - she reverts to her black tunic, as in Mashymre's visions, trying to exert control over this wayward heir. The ploy is a failure since Glemy shortly thereafter makes an angry break with her, unconvinced by her shows of deference to his heritage.

In the following episode, Haman resumes her battledress, only sans crown for the simple reason that she is back in the same room as Mineva. She makes a point of maintaining appearances, irrespective of how much she overshadows her supposed superior. At the tail end of this scene, her inner monologue reflects on her older sister's death in service to the Zabis and on Char's abandonment of the cause named for his father, Zeon Zum Deikun. Haman concludes that she has always been alone, a sentiment deserving sympathy but overshadowed by her upcoming decision to effectively nuke Ireland. Regardless, there is a telling novelty about seeing Haman dressed as the war-queen but without the masking structure of the crown. Thanks to the way her collar is cut, this renders her more visibly open than any of her other costumes, a visual blending nicely with the reveal of some context for this most singular villainess.

Now is a good time to reflect on that, on Haman being Gundam's first major female villain (Kycilia Zabi, though striking in her own right, cannot claim the status of arch foe for an entire series). That Haman Karn is a woman is important to how she works as a character. I hope I have covered sufficient ground to demonstrate how she is conceptualised in terms of appearance and the manipulation of social forces. Her attempt to seduce the hero alone marks her out from her male counterparts - Zeta's main antagonist, Paptimus Scirocco, displayed the power to entice women via the force of his personality, but this did not take the form of allure or leaning in for a kiss, and was never applied to Kamile.

Surprising I think no one, Gundam ZZ is as committed to a distinction between male and female signifiers as its predecessors. The very fact I am writing an essay about how Haman controls and changes her appearance depending on the situation should be ample demonstration of how specifically feminine villainy is portrayed. Glemy doesn't have nearly so vast a wardrobe.

Even so, something ZZ has over its predecessor is a shift in how masculinity and feminity are discussed. No longer is this part of the diegetic content: we are spared characters philosophising over the nature of womanhood in the context of war. More than that, Glemy's attempts to mould Leina into a (fascist) vision of a perfect lady are oppressive and quite literally an act of imprisonment. This casts Haman's own position in a somewhat more nuanced light. She is navigating a sexist society with intent, and her own flaws are not presented as anything so gauche as 'needing a good man in her life'. Char, the subject of that vision from Zeta, left Haman to shoulder the burden of leadership, rather than being merely guilty of jilting her. The thrust of her self-reflection is a combination of hating the Zabis for her sister's death, determination never to be that kind of victim, and the conclusion she alone must build her future. It's as worthy a motivation for Gundam villain as we might find anywhere else.

Nevertheless, we now have to turn our attention to Haman's next major arc, which sees her donning a disguise in order to sneak closer to Judau.

The Tigerbaum arc sees sexism and the objectification of women profoundly muddled between something the show is highlighting with a critical eye and something it is itself engaged in. Minor villain Stampa's lecherous abuse of his position as colony governor to prey on young women is presented as deplorable. At the same time, these episodes give us yet another entry on Gundam creator Yoshiyuki Tomino's long list of female characters killed to provide an air of tragedy and motivate male members of the cast, this iteration so badly animated, it isn't even clear *why* or *how* the poor woman is mortally injured.

Haman's choice to personally infiltrate the situation by donning a blonde wig and an unassuming red skirt and jacket combination marks renewed emphasis on her two-faced nature. Her obsession with Judau has developed such that this is mission is entirely in service of trying once more to recruit him to her side. Not incidentally, this results in her dropping the ball on the Glemy situation, providing him the room to start a full-blown coup.

It is established in the characters' minds over the course of this arc that Judau and Haman are on some level calling to one another. When they come face to face, Haman entreats her young foe to help build a world for newtypes and to stop being held back by his emotions and his attachment to others. Meanwhile, a convenient psychic priest clues us in to a sadness hidden behind this standard villainous pitch. Sarasa even explicitly tells Haman that, at their core, her feelings are no different from Judau's.

Haman rejects this assessment. Her spycraft is defined by an inability to play the part of anything other than the haughty aristocrat. The red disguise, while distinct enough to hide her at first, quickly proves to have a silhouette close to her original costume, broad sleeves tapering elegantly to thin wrists, and her briefly expressed interest in seeing "how the common people live" is an exercise in contempt. She has no time for those who don't serve her goals or share her vision.

From the first, Haman has been - seemingly by her own design - the singular figure at the heart of Neo Zeon. This is how she chose to cloak her loneliness, aiming to take total control of the world and punish those she deems to have been inexcusably careless towards Earth. She is bad at disguising what she truly is, even when it would be to her advantage. Judau senses who she is from a touch and only doesn't realise what it means until later because circumstances distract him. Glemy's disillusionment stems precisely from Haman's failure to convincingly appear to serve the Zabi bloodline. As I said at the start, she draws the eye.

Events race towards a head and as the Neo Zeon civil war heats up, we get a last outing for the black costume. Haman returns to Core 3, the old heart of Zabi power, where Mineva is being kept, and adopts the old theatre. Except, it is wearing very thin by now. Breaking into the huge palace, Judau encounters Mineva on her own and she states outright that while Haman claims to care for her, she doesn't believe it any more. We'll later learn this isn't the real Mineva Zabi but a double, a girl saved by the Haman and used to safely hold people's focus, lending these words an extra layer of pathos. This false Mineva is a prop: Haman has reduced the focus of Neo Zeon belief - the righteous of the Zabi's cause - to empty puppetry.

Where this sequence sings is in the continued interplay between Judau and Haman. Judau, partly at the 'Mineva's' insistence, attempts to steal the child away. Haman catches him and is delighted when he threatens Mineva to ensure safe passage, since it means he no longer holds the moral high ground over her (insofar as using others to get what she wants). A small victory, suggesting to her mind that he has started to see things her way.

Judau is not willing to actually harm a child and returns Mineva, over the double's protests since she can no longer stand being trapped as a tool for Haman's ambitions. Surprisingly, Haman keeps her word, allowing Judau and fellow pilot Roux to leave the palace grounds in exchange for surrendering their 'captive' and ordering her men not to 'disgrace her honour'. It's a hollow promise since she immediately tries to trap the escapees inside the colony and have them killed, but it's significant, since we've not been given any indication before that Haman has a sense of honour.

This said, we certainly have every reason to believe she has a sense of pride.

The civil war kicks into high gear, Glemy and Haman's forces tear each other apart, and eventually the would-be usurper meets his doom at Roux's hands. This leaves Haman the victor on paper but with she and Judau orbiting one another closer and closer, they both accept a final duel is inevitable. Over the protests of her remaining subordinates, she boards her Qubeley, the mobile suit she used to beat Char all the way back at the end of Zeta, claiming aloud that Judau is already subject to her will.

This is a last bit of acting. Safe in the privacy of the Qubeley's cockpit, she expresses frustration that Judau has driven her to don a normal suit, a beat recapitulating the end of the original Gundam series. Char, who habitually declineed to wear a spacesuit out of a belief it would make little difference were he to suffer defeat, agrees to do so in order to soothe another character's worries. Here, it is Haman's fear, of a "mere child", that drives her to take the same precaution.

For once, her mode of dress has nothing to do with furthering her goals. This choice is made out of concern for her life, which perhaps above all explains exactly why she should have become so obsessed with conquering Judau in particular.

He scares her. He will not be controlled and he sent her running, overwhelmed by his presence. How could she possibly let him live after that?

Haman is an extremely proud woman. She will not suffer to be seen publicly breaking her word and doesn't - cannot - hide her ambitions. Where another leader might have delegated spy-work at a crucial time, she goes herself. She does not trust others to act of their own free will, manipulating and brainwashing them into extensions of herself. She does not trust other people full stop. That's the irreconcilable difference between her and Judau, who loves those around him and retains faith in ordinary human beings.

So they fight, screaming their philosophies at one another, each stubborn and defiant and convinced they're right, Haman proving as emotionally driven as the boy she laughed at for still possessing mercy. There is nothing logical about fighting him fair and square but this is precisely what she does, refraining from using the full extent of the Qubeley's abilities so she might match Judau one on one, pilot to pilot.

If she couldn't beat him on her own, what would be the point?

But Judau doesn't fight alone. The souls of newtypes fallen in battles Haman shares the blame for starting come to his aid, driving her back and giving him the power to overcome her. When the final blows are struck, she is left the loser and though he reaches for her, true to his nature, trying to save her life, she defies his compassion, proud to the very end.

At the same time, she says she is glad to have met this "strong child" who has beaten her. She proceeded on the basis that everyone was alone and the hope of greater understanding promised by newtype abilities was, in essence, a lie. If there existed no possibility harmonious cooperation would overturn the Federation's indifference, then of course the only way to prosper was to seize control of everything and everyone. Yet Judau proves the chance of a different path remains.

As she choses death over living with defeat, Haman looks the most content we ever see her. Her spirit, blasted loose as the Qubeley is destroyed, smiles joyfully. Her helmet, opened moments prior, is gone, leaving her hair to billow wild. The embellishments to her normal suit are likewise loosened, lines softened by the implied force of the explosion.

Haman Karn dies undone, no longer the carefully composed centre of a lonely universe, not even the posed teenager seen in flashback, but instead freed from her own stage-management.

And at last she is happy.

[zeroseuniverse]

Frog In The Fog

Word Count:691 Summary: "I don’t trust you," you said once, stirring stew. "Good," he said. "I don’t trust frogs either." Pairing: Prince Naveen inspired Intak X F Reader

Taglist: @torkorpse @agaha127 @lcvejjoong @zaycie @sh0dor1 @tinyelfperson @lezleeferguson-120

Navigation

The swamp didn’t hum so much as it gurgled. Thick with secrets and soggy roots, it whispered in the way rot sometimes does—quietly, insistently. Somewhere off in the muck, something slopped—a wet, bloated sound as a bubble of air escaped through a slick patch of algae. You didn’t flinch. This was home now—mud, moss, and monsters included.

What did make you flinch was the voice.

"Oh. It’s you."

You turned, slow as sap, arms folding across your chest. The cracked lantern you’d found last winter sat in your palm, trembling just slightly. Not from fear. No—the frog inside still had too much pride for that.

Two golden eyes blinked up at you through the smeared glass, smug even in miniature. Somehow, even reduced to green skin and webbed toes, he managed to look vaguely condescending.

"Guess you’re not so above my boots now, huh?"

His throat bubbled once. Annoyance. Maybe guilt. You hoped for both.

The first week, you carried him by his leg.

Dangling from a vine looped through his ankle, he swung like a pendulum as you trekked through brambles and fog. He complained. Endlessly.

"This is undignified."

"You’re a frog."

"A prince."

"A frog prince dangling over my breakfast."

He had the gall to croak disdainfully. "I wouldn’t call moldy berries and boiled roots a breakfast."

You grinned. "Then starve, Your Sliminess."

It should’ve stayed like that. You punishing him with every step, him squirming and puffing up like it made a difference.

But he started remembering.

Little things, at first. Your boots—worn, scuffed. Your accent—still sharp with the drawl he once mocked. He remembered the way you’d stared up at the palace as a child, all big eyes and hollow stomach, and the way he’d laughed.

"You? With that accent and those boots? You’ll be lucky to serve soup in this place, let alone belong in it."

You remembered too.

"You were cruel," you said one night, unprompted, as you set him beside the fire.

He didn’t argue. Just looked into the flames. "I was a boy who thought being untouchable meant being better."

You didn’t respond. But you didn’t hang him upside down that night either.

By the second month, you stopped pretending he was just a burden.

You talked. About the curse—how it could only be broken by making amends. About his kingdom—rotting under regents who wore jewels like shackles. About yourself—how surviving meant becoming sharper, harder, smarter.

"I don’t trust you," you said once, stirring stew.

"Good," he said. "I don’t trust frogs either."

You snorted despite yourself. He grinned.

Then came the spirit.

The swamp didn’t take kindly to healing. And when you found the heartroot—what you needed for the next phase of his cursebreaking—you also found the guardian.

It slithered through the mist like oil, voice like wind through bone.

"The prince must pay."

You shoved him behind you without thinking.

"He is paying."

The curse lashed toward you. Too fast.

But he moved faster.

The spirit hit him square in the chest. For a moment, he sparked—like light through rain—and you screamed.

You didn’t notice the silence until his small body rolled into your lap.

"Don’t—don’t die, you idiotic, arrogant—"

"Are you... crying?"

Your breath hitched. He was blinking up at you again—glowing faintly.

"You’re glowing."

"I feel... strange."

A beat. Then a crack like thunder—and light enveloped him.

When it cleared, a man lay in your lap.

Tall. Familiar eyes. Less smug than you remembered.

You stared.

"This was never about the kiss, was it?" he asked softly.

You brushed hair from his forehead. "No. It was about becoming someone who deserved to be kissed."

He laughed, small and real.

"Do I?"

You didn’t answer.

But you didn’t pull away either.

He didn’t ask you to come with him. Not that night.

But weeks later, he found you where the swamp gave way to stone paths.

He offered his hand—not as a prince, but as a man who’d learned how to kneel.

You looked at it.

Then at him.

"Alright," you said. "But you’re still cooking."

He grinned.

"Yes, ma’am."

And for the first time, you took his hand willingly.

[crismakesstuff]

new invincible oc!

cele grayson aka celestial !

(they/he/she)

Cele was an artificially grown viltrumite that was apart of a secret project to help repopulate viltrum. They were the only baby that lived through the full gestational period and didn’t die after their birth. They were born august 6th, 1999

Cele was made by taking the DNA of a woman who had died during the scourge virus and of nolan grayson. It was done without his knowledge, he never knew about these experiments as they were only known about by the highest ranking viltrumites. The whole project being personally overseen by grand regent thragg who wanted to find a way to effectively create purebloods without having to mix them with other species.

They spent their early years constantly observed and studied. Days consisted of near endless experiments and exams. They were treated more like a lab rat than an actual person with all their actions under heavy supervision, monitored by thragg who was the only viltrumite they were allowed to interact with during this time. When their powers manifested at the age of 7 training immediately began. Since they were the only success of the program Thragg decided to make sure Cele was a powerful weapon for the empire. Personally taught by Thragg and cared for by General Thula, they came to see her as a pseudo mother figure during this time.

At the age of 14 they were officially made a solider and allowed to go on missions with other viltrumites. At 19 they were put in charge of a planet that had anomalies that defied physics. After a year of being left mostly to themselves the stress finally began to eat away at them and their mental health took a sharp decline. One day during a visit from the generals a gravitational anomaly opened up a miniature black hole in their mental distress and anguish they threw themselves into the blackhole, it later devouring the entire planet with her. The generals barely escaped and witnessed the entire thing believing cele to be dead.

Instead they were spat out into the multiverse from a white hole and spent the next few years surviving on their own and trying to learn how to use their new powers. When they suddenly were spat back out into their universe, they were instead in the Milky Way galaxy instead of the Andromeda galaxy. Remembering that the other viltrumites told him that their father was on earth they headed there.

Only to find out he had just left a few weeks prior after a huge fight with his son, mark. Now they have to adjust to life on earth while they hide from the empire out of fear of being found.

Themes:

With Cele i wanted to really explore the idea of “What you were made for vs. What you want to be”. As well as the trauma that came with their upbringing and them coming to terms with the lack of self worth they tend to feel and the martyr complex he develops from this trauma too.

Another major theme is the “found family” trope. Cele from a young age has always looked for parental figures and people they can feel close too since they were little but their first pseudo parents (thragg, thula) barely treated them as a true person with autonomy. When she comes to earth and meets mark and debbie they begin to really learn what a family should be. This gives them the courage to begin making friends on earth and letting people into their lives.

Powers

Viltrumite Abilities

Superhuman Strength: Cele has strength of a well trained viltrumite of their age allowing them to perform extreme feats. (One such example was when they held up the upper half of a mountain by themselves on earth during a major disaster. Scientists calculate the mass held and then placed back was anywhere from 200-400 tones)

Superhuman Speed: Cele can move at extreme speeds both on foot and in the air. Allowing him to travel around any space with extreme ease. They can fly from the earths surface to the moon in a matter of minutes. They also are capable of traveling through space on their own.

Superhuman Stamina: Due to her smart atoms Cele’s body rarely tires and is capable of physical exertion for long periods of time without becoming fatigued.

Superhuman Durability: Cele’s tissues are extremely durable to the point of almost invulnerability. While they can be damaged by other viltrumites or beings stronger than her they can withstand damage that would vaporize and easily kill a normal human. Able to withstand falling from a planet’s atmosphere onto its surface, nuclear weaponry, the surface of stars and are now invulnerable to black holes.

Flight: like any viltrumite they can manipulate the atoms around them which allows them flight. They are able to reach light speeds when flying but only do so in space.

Superhuman Equilibrium: Cele has a very enhanced sense of balance. However this sensitive process which takes place in their ears means that like any viltrumite, they could be harmed by a specific frequency which would incapacitate them and make them unable to even fly or stand upright.

Superhuman Senses: Cele possesses acutely enhanced senses. Such as hearing, smell and sight. This can also lead to them becoming easily overstimulated, especially when they arrive on earth.

Accelerated Regeneration: her body can recover from injuries at an extreme rate. Even capable of regenerating full organs, nerves and bones. As long as their heart isn’t severely damaged they can and will heal.

Decelerated Aging: like all viltrumites they have an extremely long lifespan. While they are only currently 24, they will appear the same for many centuries. Viltrumites live for many thousands of years, their own father Nolan is over 2000 years old and appears middle aged.

Non-Viltrumite Abilities

(manifest after the black hole accident)

Pocket dimensional void (PDV): Cele can access their own pocket dimension which they refer too as the "void". It is a black oxygen-less miniature dimension that is seemingly endless, although it hasn't been measured. It is mainly used by cele as a sort of infinite storage space, any item placed in here that is not an animal of some kind will stay in the exact same state as it was when placed inside. They also use it asa place to safely decompress and calm down at times.

Dark Matter Portals: Can create portals made of dark matter. These portals can either open up to the PDV or function as traditional portals that teleport an individual from place to place. If too many are opened at once and/or kept open it can quickly tire out cele and even cause them to pass out. It's one of the things that can truly exhaust them.

Gravitational Invulnerability: They are impervious to the gravitational pull of any black hole and seemingly unaffected by them where anything else would be pulled and stretched into its singularity. It is unknown if cele can fully enter into a black hole again and what would happen

Celestial Body Connection: a new manifestation that sometimes suddenly means they feel the power of whatever celestial body they are nearest too. They have no control over this and currently it means they can become completely overwhelmed with the strength of these ancient creatures that are far more powerful and knowing that herself. Perhaps one day they could harness this power but for now it remains more of a hindrance

Singularity: the creation of a very specific type of portal that is a miniature blackhole. No other portals can be active when this is done. Extremely unstable ability thatcan leave cele seriously wounded. The singularity is a writhing, bubbling ultra-condensed amount of gravity that takes a massive amount of strength and energy to control. Only done in space as to not bring harm to any celestial bodies immediately nearby because if it was done directly on top of them it could possibly begin to immediately pull in the planet or star.

-The longer cele does this the more they lose control of it. Once their sclera turn black and their irises begin to glow it means he will be left seriously injured. Their eyes will remain in that state (except their irises will no longer glow) until they are fully healed.

Inspirations

Ellie Williams: while I will say there’s no main inspiration for cele. I do draw a lot of their personality and behavior from ellie. The struggle to survive and stay alive that that then clashes with having to try and “fit in” when arriving in Jackson is something that very much mirrors Cele’s experience with arriving on earth. And cele like ellie has very little issue about hurting/killing others if it means it helps them get to their goal. The world has made them a bit jaded and awkward but there is still much love underneath that

Rei Ayanami: I mainly pulled from the idea that rei was made to be a tool for NERV and taught to be loyal and obedient no matter what. As well as the aesthetic of the lighter hair for cele, they were made to be tool for the viltrum empire and to further its goals. So when they are pulled into the black hole into the multiverse and then spat back out and they head to earth, this all crushes their world view. They learn they aren’t some weapon or tool to be fought over but rather a person with their own agency

Prince Zuko: cele struggles a lot with the internal battle of “what you were taught” and growing out of that mindset. They are constantly compared to their father growing up and then begin to realize on earth that comparison isn’t something to strive for. They spend a lot of time on earth learning to be more vulnerable and making connections while overcoming their viltrumite programming

Princess Azula: cele like azula was the prodigy of their peoples respective leader. They were seen much more of a tool than a person and constantly pushed themselves to be the best they could be. Becoming very powerful at the young age, they have learned to study their opponents and analyze them to find immediate weakness. A tool they will use to help take down the viltrum empire

If you made it all the way to the end thank you for reading! If you have any questions about cele please send it all to my ask box! 💜

[marianadecarlos]

Miniature portrait of Mariana of Austria

This painting is inspired by some of the portraits of Queen Mariana painted after 1665. Portraits on porcelain plates were common in Spain until the end of the 19th century. It is, therefore, likely that this painting was made in a French workshop, although it cannot be ruled out that it is a Spanish work from around 1900, when portraits of illustrious figures from the past became fashionable and were used to form dynastic ensembles. Its frame follows 17th-century models.

[paintnpending]

Qyburn, Lord Qyburn, Master of Whisperers to Queen Regent Cersei, The Bloody Maester.

"Terrible times breed terrible things, My Lord."

Finished up everyone's favourite Grandpa Frankenstein. Qyburn is a delightfully spooky character in the books, collaborating with anyone who will find use for his talents and clearly engaging in some pretty vicious blood magic and necromancy somewhere deep in the bowels of the Red Keep. While I don't know exactly where his story will go, I have a feeling that Cersei is going to regret enabling him just as much as she did empowering the Sparrows. I like the stooped, humble expression on the miniature's face here, coupled with his kindly expression and offset by the bloody knife in his hands, and the hooked chains hanging off of his belt.

[meli-writes]

Truth to be Dared - Ch. 05

(First) / (Previous)

/// CW: brief groping and non-consensual impact play in separate scenes. ///

Tin-tin-Tin-ting.

The Great Hall summons its petitions. It should be matters of regular import — if late due to her absence, as the Princess suffers as little of her Regent, his rule, on his wooden chair as she can — to whom peasant and lord should attend in one-to-three-fourths arrangement.

Alas, her faun at her side, there are none but fools here today — besides herself.

Tin-ting. Ting-tin-Ting.

Ten-dozen knights — unbattled, to whom this is the most fearsome sight — criss-cross the hall with pavise in hand, as to wind her noisome, noble circus-seekers towards her as a soft-bellied snake, poised to pounce, with prattle that never ceases to bore.

Not that Florentina expected otherwise. It is true — that she promised her faun some peace. But sometimes a circus is willed, and she will hush them and be heard:

You have no right to me—

Tin-ting. Tin.

Ah— Yes. Those. It’s a wondrous sound, is it not? The bells. An entire hour to affix them, with Esme’s assistance; a half-dozen per horn, red ribbons with miniature, brass chimes.

That sort one mounts upon a cat you wish not to mouse, here now to be pleasant as her faun writhes and finds it not so; perhaps it will teach it to be still. Till then, a delight to fill one’s hours amidst another unclever remark, and another, and another, that implies the Bishop’s words — her Uncle’s, come now — might still bear fruit.

The word seed comes to purplish, wine-stained lips too often. Then soon its prickish cousin, seeding: an unpleasant conjugation, one that had never seemed to suit her. More sooner, as more the man she thinks, should the Princess bed her suitors instead.

Tin-tin-tin-Tinnn. Ting-tin.

So she gestures to a pair of cages: the one between its legs, and the one it’s in — wrought for a songbird, though sized for a cockatrice stuffed on a thousand of them. Her faun itself, wrist-bound-in-ribbon to its peak, made to perch on its hooves, after it had dared butt its horns upon the bars and lurch its claws at Esme.

Strange it was, that her handmaiden had still looked upon it with a wordless sorrow.

Tin-tin.

No matter the now, as each petitioner requests the same; and sups their hands on thigh and breast, pulls at its horns and sees how close their fingers can be afore it bites.

If it does, it will be their Gods-damned fault for reaching in so far.

But it never does. Its wrists chafe on silk and it looks smaller for each courtier that thrusts at it; each one that looks to it and then droops as iron in the forge, slaves themselves to it like a flower to the sun; a moment that starts to madden her, for its bewildering recurrence.

Yet afore she can ever act, it stops.

Some sneer at it then, others whimper; one cousin-of-another fumbles an attempt to slap it and Florentina has to half-rise from her throne to make them scatter. Some former suitors dare show themselves, though do not as others do offer gifts in exchange for it.

“Dowries?” she mentions, to see those ones choke on the ash of their obvious, shared scheme; that she would do what, trade her kingdom for a faun?

Ting-tin-ting. Tin. Tin-tin-Ting.

She has both.

Though none see the latter as much beautiful, nor even as the prize it is. Too proud to see what’s in front of their own nose. For amidst the pupil-pinched wickedness in its goatish glare — and its still-vexing insistence on spurious disobedience — it is otherwise so soft, and cannot hide it now: so begging to be tamed.

The sun, ever drawn to the horizon, slips across the hall till hours-past it rests on her stone seat, and she feels herself an egg fried atop the stove. She pilfers her mind for what courtesies, less and less pleasantries also, will hurry the next one on, and rubs her bloomed impatience into the signet ring — symbol of the dynasty that is, for now, still hers.

That none of them, she thinks more and more, will ever bow to again.

Tin-tin. Ting-tin-ting.

Who would ever come to bow to a circus? Lady Relbert arrives near to the tail, as Florentina expects; to question the Princess who last saw her lord-husband; to inspect the foul beast that slew him. Florentina restrains herself in the hot, overmade chair — though cannot help but wonder her gaze across the Lady Relbert, who dresses not quite so proper as one should in mourning, and watches — to see what she sees.

It recurs in half; the Lady deigns not approach it more than she would the Princess and she does not droop, but creases like worn velvet, “Afore perhaps I could, but now I cannot fathom such a creature could kill my husband, why she—” and stills, as dress-folds rustle.

“My Lady?” Florentina inquires, and the Lady stumbles.

“Goodness. Yes,” she responds, startled. “I was just thinking of how dearly I’ll miss him.”

Her faun chortles at that, and Florentina tenses till she realises the Lady has taken either no offence… or no notice, and excuses herself — and leaves the Princess to her bells.

---

It is a—

Ting-tin-ting.

It’s a—

Tin-tin-ting. Ting.

It— is— a— dreadful sound.

Tin-ting. Tin-tin.

And has been so for days.

Ting-tin-Tin.

It is leashed now, near to the hearth, where an iron anchor-loop has been sunk low into the wall. The delicate chain that leads from it trims a pool of loose furs and spare pillows which one might have mistaken for a sleepover — were Florentina still small enough, and ever been allowed the friends for it.

She has retired her faun, as promised. Yet still—

Tin-ting. Ting-tin-Ting.

Still — it will not stop. She has tried to remove the bastardly-twee chimes, but it will not let her close. Instead, it snorts at her flame-licked shadow and bucks even a cautious touch.

It had allowed Esme to sit aside; she had asked it, politer than she ever was to Florentina, if she could untie the ribbons. Her faun had been silent — as if it would not be — and Esme turned, “Can you give her some space, Florrie?”

A step-then-another back did not suffice.

“Give us space,” Esme had instructed, and Florentina creaked.

It stared as she retreated, pupils square as the time-buckled dais that props up her chair; what whispers she might’ve stolen crushed aneath the uncertain squeal of her routed boots.

Esme followed into the bedchamber soon after — been turned on after a twinkled bell did not come loose. “She’ll come round on the morrow.”

To let it, as if it would.

Because that’s how you treat a girl.

Ting-tin-ting-Tin-tin.

As if it isn’t mocking her — a revenge it culls somehow from barren soil, to make for her one sleepless night after the next.

Never to its own folly, of course not. Each dawn that breaks does so on bare brick and its flocculent bosom, that trembles as a leveed brook swoll with sallow-hearted dreams; never to wake afore she must leave — to her circus, that will not cease in its absence.

How could it have? To bow to a circus.

And her its Court Fool — as she refuses the countless latesome requests of distant courtiers travelled to see it, whose dispelled, now perfunctious tributes will beget weak tithes when harvest comes; as she denies her Uncle’s renewed proposals, this time to loose her faun in the gardens and host a do-over — and let all her past suitors shoot at it.

The Spectre-Saint of Jesters-Past could not have played her better. If the prophecy isn’t false, it must be Hers. To one Lord she dismisses it, and he thinks it gives him a chance; to another she embraces it — and the Bishop’s words are taken even less true.

To whomst Cock hath seed even been blessed!?

Her faun didn’t catch itself, now did it? She did. Though her recollection of it now seems wan and waxen, and muddles her to recall it. She recounts it to herself, as if its details might slip from her, as another of her misfortunes steps before her seat.

Tin-Ting-tin-Tin. Tin-tin.

Her words as hollow to them as those wretched chimes, deeds as held in her hands as the wind that rustles them. There will be a thirteenth suitor — and she cannot accept him, no matter how dire it would be not to. No amount of chances she’s been permitted by her ancestors' laws would ever have been enough; no suitor will ever suit her.

How can they not see her fate will never be theirs?

Her body.

Her throne.

Tin-tin-Tin. Ting-tin. Tin.

Perhaps then, when the ancient rules simply run out — she can kill them all instead; turn on them her retreat, that she has fought since her line ended without her, as each step back has never sufficed, up against a march that her faun could not falter — even for a day.

Tin-ting-Ting-tin.

She feels the wall at her back. No, she could never have done—

Ting-tin-ting. Tin. Tin-tin-Ting.

“Enough!” she bellows, and is across chambers to the hearth in so few strides she could be ahorse a destrier; her shift cackling in moon-and-hearthlight, in indecisive hue. “I could have forgiven the disobeisance, but for me to have saved you, protected you, despite how useless you turn out to have been!?"

Tin-Ting-tin. Tin—

Her hands charge, to where her faun’s own tousle at a chime, to take horn-in-hand and force it face-down into the pillows, where its startled bleat is smothered.

Tih-tih-tihh.

Its curls — those have melted, in the hearthfire, drawn down to shapeless fluff. Her hands run through, from nape-to-a-scut that flickers as a wind-bitten candle. Her claws grasp at its softness in ill-restrained frets, and she rakes its short tail like a second leash, till its whole rear-self hobbles onto the tiles — till it’s presented to her, to drink in as uncorked wine.

She raises her hand.

Tihh-tih.

“You’ll learn first to be still!”

Tih.

And it falls, on her faun— Smack!

It bells without chimes, that weep dull in their cushioned grave. It scrabbles on the stone, no purchase in the Princess’ horn-hold — can but lurch out its throat, an apple bowed low on its branch, and she is a teeth-bare hound on a thread-bare leash, “Oh. I’m sorry, did that hurt?”

Smack! Smack! Tih. Tih.

“That’s much too bad,” she unsoothes, and presses into the shamed flesh; nails carving like a fork into plumpened, roasted fowl. To part the fur, to see its skin.

Smack! Tihh.

It needs to be red.

“Because you’ll need then learn to nod and to-do when I ask.

As a pleasant—”

Smack!

“And guileless—”

Smack!

“Girl—”

Smack!

“Should!”

Smack!

Tih. Tih. Tih. Tihh!

“Because this is how you’ll be treated,” she cries, and its skin glows as it sinks into pillows like hot iron; and she feels all its smith. “For nothing you can do will ever suffice.”

Her hand rises.

“So you’ll learn at last, to bow.”

Tih-tih.

And falls, and—

Ting! Tin-tin-tin.

Her wrist falls into its hand; its tail slips from her, candle-in-wind.

And the faun stills.

The Princess' chest billows its own ashen smoke to choke herself upon; she cannot look past her own nose as it twists on itself to face her — wrought cold-as-stone, buckled under her — but she sees the tears.

It sobs, far less than it should, for how sodden it all seems — pillows and fur.

And the Princess knows what it should sound like. She had hunted with her father, before his end; pleaded that until she had a brother that he simply must tutor her in the bloodied matter, lest he grow dull — and it was moreso then the length of her argument, than its merits, that won.

The felling of a doe was never a sound that left her. It is what she expects, but the faun—

It cries like a girl.

And then it’s all she can hear, and she does not understand how it could’ve been so silent.

Tin-tin. Tin.

Then she can hear the bells; fumbles at a dresser, till she seeks a stout blade and shows it.

Faded light dulls its edge, as she kneels aside and waits on it to nod, lets it bow its head — as it did when she collared it, amidst the leaves wet. Does not demand she hand it over, as she did when it collared itself — amidst its blood.

Red.

She cuts.

Tin-Tink! Tin-Tink! Tin-Tink!

Each bell tumbles to the floor, till she can cast herself and faun aside; where the crimson ribbon falls in gushes upon its hooves, and she sits across, head tipped back to the wall. There isn’t a scratch on it, but she thumbs at the blade till she’s bitten.

Trapped in this place. Fate sold to other hands, taken up in them.

You have more right to your hate, than I do mine-own throne.

Yet still, when she can at last bear to see, it looks back as only a doll can: a gaze it returns only because you have wandered into its own. Till, at merciful last, one lost bell slips from a pillow, to which it breaks — to steal and place it tentatively with the other discarded lot.

Tin.

She rises, and it lets her close.

Its horns feel petite in her hands, which slip off its seed-oiled surface. The collar sits loose around its neck, rested on upright shoulders, and sunken into so much clouded fluff she thinks it must be half the size its appears to be.

Its eyes flicker, in indecisive form.

Those pinched-square pupils, that bedecked it in ill intent, round into a pale iridescence that turns back on her the cold moonlight. Then pinch, then round; pinch-then-round; tears stall and flow; pinch-and-round, of-goat-then-girl; till it’s a blur in her skull that the Princess wants to rip out.

Her hand tumbles; doesn't realise it has fallen into the faun's own, until she squeezes on reflex and is holding the other. There are no more bells. The night stills.

Florentina closes her eyes, and they are still full of hers.

Lost, and pled to be understood. She bucks on the thought she might; retreats her hand into herself, herself — into the other chamber.

She does not sleep.

---

(Masterpost) / (Next)

originally written on cohost 22/08/2024, in respone to Making-up-Monsters' prompt:

Monster who won't do what you tell it

[ariesgamesandminis]

Another large restock is up from Iron Wind Metals for BattleTech!

20-150 McKenna Battleship 20-203 Solitaire 20-259 Saracen Medium Hover Tank (2) 20-303 Hephaestus Scout Tank (2) 20-356 Po Heavy Tank (2) 20-410 Malak C-MK-O Invictus 20-423 JI-100 Mech Recovery Vehicle 20-465 Raptor II RPT-3X 20-5045 Vulcan VLC-5N Mech Scale Fighter 20-5059 Septicemia E 20-5092 Doloire DLR-O 20-5099 Bruin 20-5101 Gunsmith CH11-NG 20-5110 Carronade CRN-7M 20-5111 Night Stalker NSR-K3 20-5127 Flashman FLS-8K Resculpt 20-5129 Calliope CAL-1MAF 20-5134 Juliano JLN-5A 20-5164 Dasher II 3 20-5177 Emperor EMP-1A 20-5201 Lightning LHN-C5 20-5205 BattleMaster BLR-1G / 1Gb 20-5206 Regent Prime 20-5207 Black Knight BL-9KNT 20-5212 UrbanMech UM-R60 / R60L / AIV 20-5221 Phoenix Hawk PHX-1 / 3K 20-5223 Savage Wolf Prime / A 20-630 Yu Huang Y-H9G 20-634 Epona Pursuit Tank Prime (2) 20-642 Berserker BRZ-A3 20-667 Tokugawa Heavy Tank (2) 20-677 Grendel "Mongrel" Prime 20-739 Ontos Heavy Tank (2) 20-757 Strider SR1-O Prime 20-789 Tarantula ZPH-1 20-800 Hex Bases (4) 20-902 Charger CGR-1A5 20-913 Perseus P1 Prime 20-941 Men Shen MS1-O Prime 20-961 Sha Yu SYU-2B 20-975 Fafnir FNR-5 20-9122 Battleforce Hex Base 99-201 Large Flat Top Hex Base #1 99-207 Large Flat Top Hex Base #3 BT-005 Grenadier Battle Armor BT-006 Phalanx Battle Armor BT-008 Void Battle Armor BT-028 Cavalier Battle Armor BT-030 Sylph Battle Armor BT-031 Infiltrator MK 2 BT-063 Track Bike BT-128 Tornado Battle Armor BT-129 Infiltrator Mk I Battle Armor BT-132 Clan Medium Battle Armor BT-133 Corona Battle Armor BT-134 Gray Death Legion Battle Armor BT-145 Shiva Micro Fighter BT-167 Shade Micro Fighter BT-188 Nighthawk Battle Armor BT-197 Aerie Battle Armor BT-202 Rogue Bear Heavy Battle Armor BT-232 Warg Battle Armor BT-236 Ravager Battle Armor BT-243 XTC Marine BT-255 Dragau Drone Pocket Warship BT-280 Charger CHR-1A1 BT-296 Ares ARS-V1 Zeus BT-311 Savior Repair Vehicle BT-370 Kurita Infantry (3) BT-371 Davion Infantry (3) BT-372 Savannah Master Hovercraft BT-381 Basic Inner Sphere Battle Armor (3) BT-384 Achileus Battle Armor (3) BT-387 Gnome Battle Armor (3) BT-390 Fa-Shih Battle Armor (3) BT-392 Raiden Battle Armor (4) BT-412 Amazon Battle Armor BT-413 Marauder Battle Armor BT-420 Centurion CN11-OD BT-439 Black Wolf Battle Armor BT-476 Ares ARS-V1E Apollo OP-098 Missile Launcher Front Panel (3) OP-105 Pulse Lasers OP-107 Medium Launcher Plates OP-113 Clan Small, Medium, and Large Launchers OP-114 Clan XL and XXL Launchers 20-200C GrifFin Shoulder Plates 20-5136E Hound HD-2F Weapon Sprue 20-761RTA Devastator DVS-2 Right Arm

[macedonian-sun]

How Alexander the Great’s Tomb Was Stolen

Source: History Hit

"It remains one of the most successful and significant thefts in history. In late 321 BC, a carefully-constructed plot was put into operation that would spark years of bloody conflict between rival warlords. The target of the operation was Alexander the Great’s elaborate funeral carriage, designed as a miniature and gold-adorned mobile temple, and the conqueror’s talismanic corpse housed within.

Ptolemy and Perdiccas were at loggerheads. The former was the new governor of Egypt. The latter was the all-powerful regent of Alexander’s empire, whose authority theoretically stretched from Afghanistan to the Aegean.Both knew that war between them was all-but-inevitable. Rather than wait, Ptolemy aimed to provoke it on his terms – a pre-emptive strike. It was a huge risk, but one the governor believed he had to take if he would have any chance of victory. At the end of 321 BC, Alexander the Great’s funeral carriage was heading west from Babylon to the Mediterranean. Perdiccas, who was then stationed in Pisidi, central Anatolia, with the royal army, wanted to take the body back to Macedonia. Returning with the dead king’s body to his homeland, and with the royal army in tow, was a key part of his grand plan to seize the throne. But Ptolemy had other ideas. He wanted the body to come to Egypt, and he had prepared for this in advance. Colluding with Arrhidaeus, the general in command of the cortege’s escort, and Archon, the governor of Babylonia, they arranged to hijack the body and fatally damage Perdiccas’ grand imperial plans. In late 321 BC they put the plan in motion. Upon arriving in Syria, Arrhidaeus and the funeral cart turned south towards Egypt. The theft was on. The thieves had a head start, but speed was not a luxury afforded to them. Even with the best suspension the ancients could create, the progress of the great carriage was painfully slow. It was not long before Perdiccas received word of the cart’s new course and sent a special light-armed task force in pursuit. Its purpose: to retrieve the carriage and its precious cargo – by force if necessary. The chase was on. In this documentary, Dr Chris Naunton and Tristan Hughes discuss the events of this great heist in antiquity. Film directed by Mark Bowsher."

[grimowled]

"OH, MY-- quite the bite you have there."

the demon prince's feathers fluff and his tail fans out slightly at the sharp prick of fangs piercing his flesh; his owlish head makes a full turn on his neck to familiarise himself with the tiny creature nipping at him, her face full of his silky feathers; a nephilim, no less. astounding power contained in such a miniature vessel, a rather ... charming trend in hell, to pack a punch in a smaller package. his mind immediately goes to his most esteemed regent, and he lets out an amused hoot at the thought, long talons reaching to pat her head gently.

"now, now. you've had quite enough of that - but you might find cannibal town more to your taste."

She sneaks up from behind the Goetian, her demon form revealing her barbed tail wagging with excitement. As silently as possible, she reveals her sharp canines and chomps on his feathery shoulder.

[mariahfashion]

It's bed time by Farrah Fawcett Via Flickr: A repainted and restyled Audrey Hepburn gets ready to turn in for the night with a little light reading and her pup has beat her to the snooze land. Audrey Redone by Noel Cruz. Dog by Mr. Z. Diorama by (retired) Ken Haseltine of Regent Miniatures. Beautifully crafted Cinderella and pillow sheet set from etsy seller DAY DREAMERS By Jana at www.etsy.com/shop/DAYDREAMERSByJana. Ken's dioramas are featured in the 1Sixth Winter Hardbound Edition available in Hardback/imagewrap or paperback cover. Also as a PDF or eBook. Order here: www.blurb.com/b/9320555-1sixth eBook: www.blurb.com/b/9320555-1sixth?ebook=690084 Photo by Steve McKinnis of stevemckinnis.com

[1sixthworld]

The Chosen One by Farrah Fawcett Via Flickr: Uhura finds herself in an alternate NATIVITY with a slew of STAR WARS characters on a special episode of STAR TREK: The Christmas Movie! STAR TREK diorama by (now retired) Ken Haseltine of Regent Miniatures. Nichelle Nichols as Uhura ushered in Star Trek from Desilu Studios that began the enormous Star Trek Chain of creator Gene Rodenberry. Nichelle is repainted and restyled by Noel Cruz of ncruz.com for myfarrah.com. Manicured french tip hands by Pure Icon Paris www.ebay.com/usr/pure-icon-paris. Hot Toy figures (The Mandalorian and The Child (Deluxe, C-3PO, R2-D2, BB-8, Billy Dee Williams Jr. as Lando Calrissian), from www.sideshow.com/ Ken's dioramas are featured in the 1Sixth Winter Hardbound Edition available in Hardback/imagewrap or paperback cover. Also as a PDF or eBook. Order here: www.blurb.com/b/9320555-1sixth eBook: www.blurb.com/b/9320555-1sixth?ebook=690084 Photos by Steve McKinnis of stevemckinnis.com

[noelcruzcreations]

For me the only things of interests are those linked to the heart by Farrah Fawcett Via Flickr: “Giving is living. If you stop wanting to give, there’s nothing more to live for.” www.keepinspiring.me/audrey-hepburn-quotes/ Audrey Hepburn UNICEF AMBASSADOR "I can testify to what UNICEF means to children, because I was among those who received food and medical relief right after World War II," said actress Audrey Hepburn on her appointment as a Goodwill Ambassador in 1989. "I have a long-lasting gratitude and trust for what UNICEF does." As a result of her work for UNICEF over subsequent years, that gratitude is mutual. On a mission Soon after becoming a UNICEF ambassador, Hepburn went on a mission to Ethiopia, where years of drought and civil strife had caused terrible famine. After visiting UNICEF emergency operations, she talked about the projects to the media in the United States, Canada and Europe over several weeks, giving as many as 15 interviews a day. It set a precedent for her commitment to the organization. In the years that followed, Hepburn made a series of UNICEF field trips, visiting a polio vaccine project in Turkey, training programes for women in Venezuela, projects for children living and working on the street in Ecuador, projects to provide drinking water in Guatemala and Honduras and radio literacy projects in El Salvador. She saw schools in Bangladesh, projects for impoverished children in Thailand, nutrition projects in Viet Nam and camps for displaced children in Sudan. Hepburn also worked tirelessly for UNICEF when not making field trips. She testified before the US Congress, took part in the World Summit for Children, launched UNICEF's State of the World's Children reports, hosted Danny Kaye International Children's Award ceremonies, designed fundraising cards, participated in benefit concert tours and gave many speeches and interviews promoting UNICEF's work. Hepburn received the United States' highest civilian award, the Presidential Medal of Freedom, in December 1992. During that year, though ill with cancer, she had continued her work for UNICEF, traveling to Somalia, Kenya, the United Kingdom, Switzerland, France and the United States. Movie classics Audrey Hepburn was born on 4 May 1929 in Brussels, Belgium. Her father was an English banker and her mother a Dutch baroness. She studied ballet, but a small part in a French film led the French writer Colette to ask her to play the title role in Gigi, which Collette had adapted for Broadway. The same year, Hepburn landed the starring role in the movie Roman Holiday, with Gregory Peck, the first of a long list of American movie classics in which she starred. Towards the end of the 1960s Hepburn retired from films to devote herself to family life, emerging only for a handful of films in the 1970s and 1980s. She devoted the final years of her life to UNICEF. "She knew better than anyone else that the recompense for such work lies in the eyes of those in need of succour," Sir Peter Ustinov wrote in the European. "It is they who bring it home, in all its simplicity, that such work is worthwhile." Audrey Hepburn died at her home in Switzerland on 20 January 1993. from: www.unicef.org/people/people_audrey_hepburn.html Audrey Hepburn - Restyled, Repainted and Re-Rooted by artist Noel Cruz of ncruz.com/ in a diorama by Regent Miniatures (regentminiatures.com) and featured are animals by Mr. Z! Mr. Z Animal Model MRZ036 FC005 1/6 Felis Black White Domesticus Cat& 1/6 Mr.Z Animal Model MRZ027-003 Japanese Shiba Inu W/Replaceable Heads Figure. Audrey is also featured in the 1Sixth Winter Hardbound Edition available in Hardback/imagewrap or paperback cover. Also as a PDF or eBook. Order here: www.blurb.com/b/9320555-1sixth eBook: www.blurb.com/b/9320555-1sixth?ebook=690084 Photos by Steve McKinnis of stevemckinnis.com

[stoph8co]

When the clock strikes 12, RUN LIKE HELL! by Regent Miniatures Via Flickr: Where was the warning that the President of the United States would be chasing Cinderella and start removing his uniform while in chase all the while screaming, "I'm the best lover you'll ever have! I'm HUGE" all the while huffing and puffing until all she could hear in the distance was, "You're a loser. SAD!" Cinderella broke the mile record (Narcissump is very slow anyway) but set a new time getting away from the Orange Dotard. "Before a show, I'll go backstage and everyone's getting dressed, and everything else, and you know, no men are anywhere, and I'm allowed to go in because I'm the owner of the pageant and therefore I'm inspecting it...You know, they're standing there with no clothes. And you see these incredible looking women, and so, I sort of get away with things like that." — Narcissump on the Miss America pageant Narcissump is featured with a Trellis by Regent Miniatures and a repainted and restyled Cinderella aka Lily James by artist Noel Cruz of www.ncruz.com/. Regent Miniatures is also featured in 1Sixth.co Magazine and you can get the magazine, ebook/PDF by visiting the 1sixth site or this link: www.blurb.com/b/8449117-1-sixth 1:3, 1:4 and 1:6 scale furnishings by Ken Haseltine of Regent Miniatures. Regent Miniatures Your world, smaller scale. 1:4, 1:6, 1:12 & 1:24 furniture | accessories | 1:6 and 1:12 Dioramas Visit Regent Miniatures web site for more details at www.regentminiatures.com/ Like us on facebook! follow us at; www.facebook.com/RegentMiniatures follow us on Twitter at www.twitter.com/RMiniatures We are also on Tumblr at; www.regentminiatures.tumblr.com and we have a blog at; www.regentminatures.blogspot.com and of course we are on flickr at; www.flickr.com/photos/regentminiatures/ and also Deviant Art www.regentminiatures.deviantart.com/.

[regentminiatures]

1:6 scale diorama...s for STAR TREK 12" figures. Quantum Mechanix has developed, Mr. Spock, Captain Kirk, Dr. McCoy & Khan so far... with more to come! Also featured in finished diorama shots is a repainted and restyled Uhura (portrayed by Nichelle Nichols) by artist Noel Cruz of http://ncruz.com/ See more dioramas by Ken Haseltine of Regent Minaitures at http://regentminiatures.com/ You can shop Quantum Mechanix athttps://qmxonline.com/ They are on Twitter https://twitter.com/QMxInsider Facebook https://www.facebook.com/QuantumMechanix Google+ https://plus.google.com/+Qmxonlinedotcom Pinterest https://www.pinterest.com/QuantumMechanix/ YouTube http://youtube.com/user/qmxonline More Regent Miniatures: Regent Miniatures Your world, Smaller scale. 1:4, 1:6, 1:12 & 1:24 furniture | accessories 1:6 and 1:12 Dioramas Visit us on line at http://stores.ebay.com/Regent-Miniatures Shop for items on eBay with the Regent Miniatures store: stores.ebay.com/Regent-Miniatures https://www.instagram.com/regentminiatures/ https://twitter.com/RMiniatures http://regentminiatures.tumblr.com/ www.flickr.com/photos/regentminiatures/ https://www.flickr.com/photos/regentminiatures/