#and just in general dealing with sycophants

[beautifulpersonpeach]

Lol.

This will be short. I’ll go on a little tangent but I’ll tie this back to Jungkook and BTS at the end.

You know, I was mostly ambivalent about the feud between HYBE and Min Heejin until I heard her call Bang Sihyuk and his sycophants “bastards” for ‘overpaying for garbage and forcing everyone to eat it because they think the price makes the music good.’ - I’m paraphrasing a bit because her language was more crude. That made me sit up a bit, because her sentiments mirrored my thoughts about the direction Bang Sihyuk has been taking the company in for some time now.

Another random connection is that, to me at least, it seems clear BigHit is still trying to make the HYBE America investment worth it, given:

1. The unnecessarily long credit lists filled with Scooter-linked writers that appear to have become a fixture of most HYBE releases. Bang PD is clearly taking advantage of Scooter’s connections although it’s yet to yield any significant improvement in music quality, and in terms of chart performance the results are mixed at best;

2. The fact that in addition to HYBE paying US$1.05 Billion in cash for Scooter’s company, essentially overpaying for Ithaca Holdings by consensus estimates (a deal Min Heejin also openly criticized as being hare-brained), HYBE America still generated hundreds of millions of dollars in losses as of the last fiscal year, two years after the acquisition was finalized.

But this is old news, we all knew that.

The thing about Min Heejin’s comments that concerned me is that, despite what is now clearly an underperforming investment both in terms of Scooter Braun himself and the man at HYBE that arranged the deal in the first place, Lee Jae-sang, rather than work to correct course and minimize losses, Bang Sihyuk appears to be doubling down on the deal by rewarding these two men in particular with more music and business opportunities within HYBE, even if the music quality suffers as a result, even if HYBE continues overpaying for shit, and even if the artists/idols are negatively impacted in the process. And according to Min Heejin, one big reason Bang Sihyuk allows it is because those men are adept at greasing his arse and eating it out.

Basically, it’s become an expensive joke. But he’s brute forcing the deal to work because so long as BTS is involved and so ARMYs are involved, it’s a joke that Bang PD is guaranteed to take laughing all the way to the bank.

This is where I say I realized shortly after Jungkook’s fan song for Festa was announced, that I wasn’t excited to hear it. I’m saying this only because now that the song is out, it’s confirmed everything I expected. And also because that apathetic feeling was so at odds with how I’ve been feeling about Jungkook as a person for the last year. If it’s not been clear from my reblogs and gush posts, I’ve been spending the better part of this hiatus loving Jungkook extremely. Jungkook is an empathetic songwriter, an emotive vocalist, a talented producer.

But nothing about Never Let Go is exciting. Who wants to listen to a fan song written by people who’ve never had fans? And on top of that, Jungkook is making less money from that song than any fan song he’s written before. Meaning, the song is mediocre, it feels blatantly insincere in ways only a crowdsourced fan song can be, and Jungkook has to split his revenue from the song with about 10 white people. Just look at this.

I’m actually laughing typing this out, but this turn of events is at least a little tragic.

Golden worked as a concept album because it was a collection of songs Jungkook felt represented his taste, he could take on the challenge of putting out a full English album with some help from the writers, and he showcased new vocal techniques and styles that only showed an evolution from his prior work in BTS. The songs themselves were just okay, good decent pop, but as a collection it worked.

Everything about Never Let Go feels almost audaciously soulless. Not quite a slap on the face but it’s like someone coming all up in your face with a bad case of halitosis and their nose barely touching yours, daring you to do something about it.

I have no issue with HYBE working with Scooter-linked writers or producers if it means something actually good comes of it. But it seems HYBE seems to believe their work is better simply because they slap on as many foreign names in the credits as they can fit. It betrays a worrying mentality about the head honchos in the company. Looking at the peak quality in FACE by Jimin, or in Right Place, Wrong Person by RM, which included acclaimed Korean, other Asian, and Black talent supposedly hand-picked by Jimin and Joon themselves, it’s clear HYBE has access to remarkable home-grown and foreign talent that could improve the work of the members. But what I’m seeing with too much frequency is HYBE picking off the bottom of the barrel in the unending list of Scooter’s contractors and otherwise choosing to do the bare minimum.

And that’s how we end up with a Festa fan song with a topline that sounds like an AI-generated jingle written by a soccer team of hired help.

Or idk, maybe I’m being just a bit too full of it. Maybe I’ve been brainwashed by the witch Min Heejin, maybe this was just one more song Jungkook worked on with his Golden team as he had no time to write a proper fan song, nothing more. And maybe as a silver lining, there are no glaring grammatical errors though I found the ones in My You very charming, and honestly part of the appeal. To hear the way Jungkook sees the fans who have been with him till now, even if in English it didn’t quite make sense.

I said this would be short but I’ve rambled, as usual. Sorry for that. When I started out writing this post, I did intend to keep it short.

To end things on a somewhat lighter note, for me the only thing I’m excited about this Festa, is SeokJin coming back. I’ll be working on a deal during the fanmeet so I didn’t bother participating in the raffle, but I’m happy for the ARMYs who get the opportunity to hug Jin, and for Jin who gets to spend time with his fans after so long. With him returning, things are starting to feel more right, even though there are worrying signs in high places. We’ve got about 1 year left to endure most of the members enlisted and then, the crew will be rounded up again.

Now more than ever, I find myself looking forward to that.

[mariacallous]

No one expects him to resign, not only because he lacks the decency and integrity to do so after arguably the worst day in Israel’s history. It's also because of the criminal charges he faces.

Resigning is counterproductive to his personal interests and they, not the State of Israel, are what counts. His trial, not Israel's security, is his priority. He has lost all legitimacy and can't be trusted, certainly at a time of war when such monumental decisions need to be made.

That he's the first prime minister in the history of democracies to wage war on his own country, on its institutions and foundations, is clear. For years, but especially since he launched his antidemocratic constitutional coup in January, he has declared war on Israel’s elites, the judicial system, the checks and balances and by extension the military he views as an elitist cabal undermining his political agenda.

The popular pushback to his attempted regime change now looks like distant history, because Saturday October 7 wasn't only a tragedy on an epic scale, it was a debacle and an inflection point. Netanyahu and his cabinet callously betrayed the sacred trust, the core of Israelis' compact with their government: security.

For this there is no redemption, no contrition, no salvation. He must go and he must go now. No excuses, no political deals, no mitigating circumstances. For all intents and purposes, he's incapacitated and can't discharge the duties of his office.

His government is extremist, messianic, hollow, inept and inherently kakistocratic – government of the worst. It buckled in the first moment of crisis. He and his dysfunctional ministers betrayed Israel, and effectively his government is no longer functional, except maybe for the defense minister.

He isn't Winston Churchill, to whom he likens himself, and he isn't Abraham Lincoln. No one looks up to him at the ultimate moment of tragedy and crisis; only sycophants trust him.

His record is one of incompetence and gung ho delusion – and there is a clear and present danger that all his wartime decisions will be polluted by personal, legal and petty political considerations. He can't be trusted, nor is he credible to manage the war that is only just beginning.

His constitutional coup has categorically harmed national security and taken a high toll on the military's preparedness. He was warned about this by the military's chief of staff and by former prime ministers, defense ministers, chiefs of staff and hundreds of former generals.

In fact, in March he casually fired Defense Minister Yoav Gallant because Gallant was expected to deliver a statement arguing that Netanyahu’s constitutional coup was endangering Israel’s security. He has shown arrogant recklessness, dereliction of duty and responsibility, as well as gross negligence in managing Israel’s national security.

Now look at his foreign policy and geopolitical record. It's nothing short of abysmal. Let’s go through the areas one by one, starting with his bogus claim to fame. How ludicrous does his decade-old bragging look – that only he can save Israel, and indeed Western civilization, from the regime of the messianic mullahs?

Iran. The Islamic Republic has accumulated enough fissile material to produce five nuclear bombs, according to the Pentagon. It has reached unprecedented levels of uranium enrichment. Meanwhile, it has further deepened its hold in Syria, Lebanon and Gaza while tightening relations with Russia and China.

Hezbollah in Lebanon. Thanks to Iranian material support and political mentorship, the Shi'ite organization is as strong as ever. After what has happened with Hamas in Gaza, the arrogant statement that “Hezbollah is deterred” should never be taken seriously again.

The Palestinians. Here the record is just as ominous. Hamas has launched the most lethal attack on Israel ever. Whatever the outcome of the current war, during Netanyahu’s reign Hamas has become as strong as ever, armed as ever, audacious and murderous as ever.

Netanyahu, the man who just a few years ago vainly pledged to “obliterate Hamas,” has done nothing. Absolutely nothing. He has effectively strengthened Hamas, allowed tens of millions of dollars from the Gulf to be funneled to the terror group to implode the Palestinian Authority so he can proceed with annexation.

Under Netanyahu, the PA's weakness and ineptness has brought Israel closer than ever to the unviability of the two-state model. Israel is dangerously close to a binational state where reality is binary: Either Israel ceases to be a Jewish state or becomes an apartheid state. A majority of Israelis want neither.

In the international arena Netanyahu boasted during the 2019 and 2020 election campaigns that he's “in a different league.” Those huge posters showed him with Vladimir Putin and Donald Trump, but in this arena where he pretends to be a world leader, the record is strikingly unimpressive.

The United States. He has not been invited to the White House in the 10 months since his new term began. The Americans' criticism, including by President Joe Biden, of his constitutional coup is unprecedented.

Russia. His friendship and mutual admiration with Putin was so fruitful that Russia is now aligned with Iran, buying drones and other weapons. Even his morally depraved policy of not standing with Ukraine – to be fair, a policy he inherited from the previous government led by Naftali Bennett and Yair Lapid – hasn’t won him any points with Putin.

China. Two months ago, Netanyahu ostentatiously declared that he was invited by Xi Jinping to Beijing, while a “senior source” added that the idea was to signal to Biden that “Israel has options.” Not only is China expanding relations with Iran, it has also been condemned by Israel for its “balanced” stance on Hamas’ massacre of civilians.

Is Netanyahu's record so dismal? Of course not. He has forged a great friendship with Viktor Orbán, the towering intellect from Hungary. And he spent 25 minutes with French President Emmanuel Macron earlier this year. Plus he really likes Narendra Modi of India, and while Hamas was planning its attack he flew all the way to California to chat with Elon Musk about artificial intelligence. Stellar.

Netanyahu cannot and should not be trusted to manage Israel at this juncture. The mechanics for removing him are complicated and there is no clear path. But placing any trust in a man who got Israel here is far more irresponsible.

Netanyahu Must Go Now, Not After the Gaza War

[spidersmiceandeverythingnice]

Oooo anyway I just remember why I Hate and Loathe the big High Lord meeting in ACOWAR and why it fully cements SJM in my Worst Authors category for like a billion reasons

1. Feyre refuses to bow to the Dawn Court. Weird choice and completely fucking awkward to read - I guess this is meant as some kind of Girlboss Moment - like "no, I won't bow to the stinky old fashioned MEN!!!! who run this world. My super hot boyfriend gave me this title and I'm the master of the universe now." But it's... childish. Also? Way to disrespect Thesan but this is going to become a pattern because of course the gay Asian High Lord has no special powers apart from super good healing that literally every other character can accomplish, and of course he's gentle, and passive (ultimately willing to "bow [to Rhysand] if the other [High Lords] will") and of course his lover has no name and never speaks. Great! Hate it.

2. Morrigan and Vivian. On paper this seems interesting as far as a relationship goes like - what kind of interesting Court relations did Night have pre Amarantha and can those bonds be salvaged? But instead of asking those questions the scene decides to immediately undercut Vivian's character as a badass general and warrior who defended Winter in her childhood friend/future husband's absence by making her squeal like a literal 13 year old when the Night Court - who is suspected of murdering 24 children - shows up. Vivian proceeds to throw a fit and snarks about wanting to be a High Lady. Rip Vivian we hardly knew ye.

3. Do I even need to talk about Helion being the worst bisexual rep. Do I even need to say it. Good lord.

4. Do I even need to talk about Fantasy China and Helion being allied with the Faerie Confederates. Do I even need to explain this. It gets worse, somehow!

5. Tamlin and Tarquin actually have a case against allying with the Night Court given literally everything that happened in the last two books but this isn't painted as reasonable distrust of a group of lying backstabbing sycophants who purposefully play up their cruelty and keep secrets from the other Courts. No, of course not. Tarquin immediately forgives the Night Court because he has no backbone whatsoever apparently. Tamlin is considered unreasonable for not trusting Feyre and Rhys, who have continuously tried to hurt him and his people and undermine his authority as High Lord.

6. Everyone immediately forgets that Rhysand worked for Amarantha for 50 years and distrusts Tamlin, who has worked for Hybern for all of five minutes and also brings tons of information on their troop movements and positions, confirming that all of his so called alliance was a fraud and he's been spying on them the whole time.

7. Literally the whole fucking deal with the Winter Court. Like I'm sorry that Rhys is so sexual traumatized by Amarantha but children fucking died in a horrible, gruesome way that now, nobody can be accountable for. This is on my top 3 of most egregious SJM retcons because I'm supposed to believe that some daemati we've never heard of before, is never mentioned or seen again, is supposedly the missing link to absolve Rhysand of the fact that he murdered 24 children in book one and devastated the Winter Court. Give me a fucking break. And Feyre gets so SAD and hurt when Rhys says he was confined to Amarantha’s bedroom, but I guess dead kids in Winter and Spring are just the price you pay for loving a morally gray bryonic hero uwu. I'd say, "Get fucked," but i think Rhys and Feyre would enjoy that too much.

8. When the Autumn Court says mean things it makes them irredeemable, but when Azriel and Feyre break all the rules of magic and physically retaliate and hurt other people, it's a-okay, and totally justified! Oh, the Lady of Autumn (another unnamed, sad silent [white] victim who only exists for Helion to angst over) gets hurt by virtue of being a bystander? Totally cool and normal, and since she's been a victim of domestic violence before, it means that she's a secret good guy who will totally understand and forgive Feyre for her totally justifiable outburst. Fuck off.

9. Feyre speaking to and ordering Azriel around like a literal rabid dog. Do I even need to explain this and why its bad. Do I even need to say it.

10. This scene was a joke and everything about it was a stinking trash fire.

[starsreminisce]

What’s really interesting about the idea of choice is that Elain is no different than Feyre and Nesta. It's equally fascinating how both Feyre and Nesta, in their stories, initially chose someone else because they felt they deserved it, only to ultimately choose their mate who would give them the fate the Mother believed they deserved.

By the end of ACOTAR, Feyre’s bond snapped with Rhysand, but she ultimately left with Tamlin because she loved him that she was willing to die for him.

ACOMAF started with Feyre internally struggling, having trouble finding her place, and even dreading to accept what her role in the Spring Court entailed. Rhys rescues her during her wedding, and we see her thinking how uncanny it is that Rhys just knew what she was going through.

By the end of ACOMAF, Feyre decides to accept her mating bond after learning about it. The key difference is how Rhys empowers her.

ACOSF is a more condensed version, but Nesta chose to marry Eris, not out of love but because she felt she deserved to be with someone “as horrible as” Eris. Eris is plotting a coup against his father and, like Rhys, envisions a better Prythian once Beron is gone. Nesta is good at playing politics, but she is also fatigued by the idea of dealing with sycophants, which seems prevalent in the Autumn Court.

By the end of ACOSF, Nesta decides to talk to Cassian and accept the bond after he forces her to face it. Nesta unleashes her power when she thinks Cassian is gone, demonstrating that even with an unaccepted bond, the instinct overrides everything. It's not surprising that Nesta is now the leader of the Valkyries with her mate, the General of the Illyrian Army.

So, it’s even more interesting that we’re given two POVs of the sisters who underwent an unanswered bond, how proximity plays a huge role between them, and how the idea of choice was still integrated into their stories.

Feyre and Nesta still chose their mates because they align with the future they want, despite their initial choice of another male and a path they thought they wanted.

The only key difference with Elain is that she is aware of the bond, which is a double-edged sword. Elain can easily dismiss her draw towards Lucien as being related to the bond and, therefore, out of her control. Much like Feyre's POV shows, her mind wanders from Rhys from time to time. It wasn't until she was internally screaming for help that Rhys was the only person who not only heard her but came to her aid.

We knew that Feyre was not okay in ACOMAF, but no one else around her was aware of how bad her struggles were. Lucien helped Feyre as much as he could, but ultimately, it wasn't him who took Feyre out of her situation but her mate.

Are we to believe that Elain is "fine" when she's not included in any of the Inner Circle discussions? When Bryce arrived in Prythian, her show of solidarity for the Night Court by dressing in its colors was ill-suited. Despite wanting to do what it takes, her pleas to help were not only unanswered but flat-out discouraged by the same male others deemed her true equal.

Elain told Nesta that Nesta cannot resent her decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let her do anything greater.

Feyre, too, wanted the same thing when she was with Tamlin, and she found it in her mate.

Since SJM loves to remix her stories that all lead to the same conclusion because those are the stories she loves to write, is it a choice, is it fate, or is it both?

She's already answered this: it's both.

[laundrybiscuits]

(purify our misfit ways tag)

“Wait,” says Steve. “That’s Eddie? Your boyfriend Eddie?”

Robin gags theatrically. “Ew, gross. Not my boyfriend, just a friend.”

Steve frowns. “Gross is kinda harsh. He’s the only guy you ever talk about, how was I supposed to know he’s not your boyfriend?”

“Uh, by maybe not assuming that I can’t just have a non-boyfriend friend who’s a boy? Or that I have to have a boyfriend at all in the first place? It’s not harsh for me not to want to date him.”

“Sure, whatever. Go ahead and live your sexless nerd life all you want.” Steve rolls his eyes, and Robin was right the first time, he really is a douchebag. She can’t believe she thought any differently, even for a moment.

“So, what’s up with the guy who’s not your boyfriend? Like, what’s his deal?”

Robin regards him narrowly. “What’s it to you?”

“Nothing, god. Am I not allowed to ask questions?”

“Steve Harrington,” says Robin. “You have been shockingly un-terrible so far. And I do mean shockingly. Every single time we have a shift together and you’re not the absolute scum of the earth, it is a shock to my system from which I will never truly recover. I might even risk permanent nerve damage and acknowledge that you have successfully achieved the rank of my least hated coworker, if only because Gordon is a total creep and Jenny doesn’t even pretend to clean up after herself. Despite this momentous achievement: if you start harassing Eddie, I swear on my life I will end you. There will be nothing left but a faint whiff of Aqua Net lingering in the air.”

“I’m not gonna—harass him! Or anyone! Jeez, Robin!”

Steve crosses his arms, sulking, because he’s a giant baby. Robin does feel a miniscule twinge of guilt, because she wasn’t lying; she’ll die before admitting it, but the last couple weeks working with Steve have been almost—fun, kind of. He’s still a dingus who screws up all the time, but he lets her boss him around without complaining or challenging her in some dumb boy way, and he has the kind of acid-tongued apathy towards the general public that normally takes years of social exile to develop. He actually laughs at her jokes most of the time, even when they’re mean.

But…Eddie’s being admittedly extremely weird, and she knows where her loyalties lie. She’ll be damned if she lets anyone scent weakness, no matter how much they may or may not have changed since high school.

“Just leave Eddie alone, okay?” she says. “He got enough of your shit at school.”

“I don’t even remember him from school,” whines Steve. “The hell are you talking about?”

“You didn’t remember me, either,” says Robin.

She remembers him, though. Everyone remembers Steve Harrington, whether they want to or not. Big house, no parents. Walked through the halls like there was a carpet rolled out in front of him, some girl on his arm and his sycophants milling.

The surge of vicious satisfaction she feels at the sight of him now, trapped behind a counter and dressed like a joke for minimum wage, is strong enough to make her pause. She knows this one: schadenfreude. Joy in others’ misfortune.

This isn’t who she wants to be.

She goes over to lean against the counter next to him.

“Listen, you’ll be out of here in the fall, right? Before you know it, Hawkins will just be a weird, distant memory. I’m sure your first college kegstand will propel you to all-new heights of popularity.”

“I’m, uh.” Steve looks away, scratching at his jaw. “I’m actually just. Taking some time right now. Figuring out my next moves, you know.”

“In Hawkins?” Robin stares at him incredulously. If she had to take a gap year, she’d—well, actually, she might need to take a gap year in Hawkins to save up if she can’t get enough financial aid. There’s no way Steve Harrington’s doing that, though.

“Aren’t you, like, rich?” she blurts out. She would be the worst spy in the entire world, god. “I mean, aren’t your parents paying for college?”

Steve’s still not looking at her. “They, uh, kinda cut me off. I’m not—I don’t know if I’m going to college. Might not be for me. Like I said, I’m just…figuring things out right now.”

“Um, okay,” she says. Robin’s getting that itchy feeling she gets sometimes, when it seems like people around her are having a totally different conversation than the one they’re having with their actual voices. It’s like trying to translate something from a new language, except she doesn’t have a dictionary or any guidebooks, just a torrent of meaning locked away where she can’t reach. And that would be fine, she likes figuring that kind of puzzle out in other contexts, but everyone else seems to be totally fluent in the silent language while Robin’s struggling to follow along at the slowest possible pace, and—

Oh. Steve didn’t get into college.

“What about technical school?” she says, before her brain can really catch up. “I mean—um, I just mean, like, if you’re not sure if the traditional college thing is for you, I know some people who—they prefer technical college. As an alternative.” Why can’t she ever, ever shut up? Steve doesn’t want to talk about this, she knows he doesn’t want to talk about this.

He drags his hand through his hair, dislodging the stupid sailor hat, and huffs out a laugh. It doesn’t sound happy. “Don’t think that’s for me either.”

And sure, if she’d actually stopped to think about it for a second, she might’ve been able to guess that in a place like Hawkins, even being captain of the swim team probably isn’t enough to snag a sports scholarship, and there’s no way Steve’s grades are even remotely okay. He’s just always seemed like the kind of guy who was going somewhere, who had a golden future, and she’d hated him a little bit for that.

So: Steve Harrington, high school graduate. Sure. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, obviously. Robin actually does know plenty of people who didn’t go to college. But almost all of those people are her parents’ flower-child friends who wanted to explore the world and do drugs and make art, not polo-clad jocks who don’t seem to even be aware that there’s a world outside Hawkins. It’s taking her a second to adjust.

“Yeah, I don’t think Eddie’s doing the college thing either,” she says. It’s an apology, though she hopes he doesn’t take it that way.

“He’s not?” says Steve, blinking as if the very notion of Eddie voluntarily submitting to higher education wasn’t completely laughable.

“I think he’s probably going to be a famous rockstar or something someday. He’s, like, crazy good on the guitar, you should hear him play.”

“Sure,” snorts Steve. “Tell you what, if we’re ever in the same room for more than two seconds, I’ll listen to whatever he’s got.”

(ETA: First chapter of this fic has been edited/expanded and posted on AO3)

[secretgamergirl]

Twitter is dead. Get off it. This is an intervention.

So, back in... what was it, November? Elon Musk was forced via legal action to make good on a boisterous offer to buy Twitter. At the time, the reaction of literally everyone I know was roughly “oh damn, that’s the end of this place, that idiot’s going to kill the whole site. Where are we bailing to?” I feel like if there was a clear answer to that, maybe people would really have done it, but... a dozen people came out of the woodwork with really hastily thrown-together Twitter clones which all had weird quirks that one could be leery of, regarding security mostly, and thanks to choice paralysis, the general consensus seemed to shift to “watching this idiot try to speedrun killing this website is comedy gold, I’m going to ride this sinking ship to the bottom of the ocean, then deal with ditching it.”

The problem though is, that already happened. I guess people thought the metaphorical ocean was maybe deeper than it is, but that site really is on the bottom of it, and it really is time to move on.

Clearly, there’s some benchmarks people were waiting to see that just aren’t ever going to happen. A lot of people really expected there’d be a point where they’d just try to load up the site and get a 404 page because the servers are all permanently disconnected. Mostly people figured this would happen because Musk would realize that the site is absolutely bleeding cash like there’s no tomorrow and there’s no way it’ll stabilize again, but that’s not going to happen. He didn’t buy it to make money, he bought it to pressure bootlickers to pretend they think he’s cool, and that’s totally been working out for him. It’s costing him an absurd amount of money, but he has basically infinite money and doesn’t care.

Some people also thought this might happen because, well, he immediately fired like most of the staff and started randomly deleting huge chunks of load-bearing code and breaking contracts and not paying rent and stuff but.. yeah somehow that didn’t do the trick. A skeleton crew is mostly keeping the lights on. A lot of stuff keeps breaking temporarily but it’s held together with duct tape and someone seems to be restraining Musk from finishing the job. It’s as broken as it’s getting.

I’ve seen goalpost moving like “I’ll drop the site when it gets to the point where marginalized people are getting banned en masse and it’s just wall to wall nazi propaganda. That happened already. In November. Countless leftists, many celebrities, got taken out like day one. I got knocked off literally for the crime of being trans within the first week or so, as did a ton of other people. These are all bans that can’t be repealed. You’re hanging out in an online country club that doesn’t allow in a bunch of “undesirables” and that’s you actively propping up white supremacy if we’re really being honest about it.

I’ve seen the argument made that freelance writers and artists “need to be on twitter” in order to get commissions, and there’s a few ways to approach this one. First, do you really? Have you not reached a point in your creative career where there’s regular clients who hit you up, and don’t need to see you actively posting on Twitter to remember you exist? Do you not get any work from anywhere else? If it has traditionally been just Twitter, ARE you still getting work there? Because they don’t let you post off-site links to promote your stuff anymore, and they murdered all the discovery algorithms to instead promote far right conspiracy theorists and weird Musk sycophants to everyone instead of people whose stuff they might be interested in.

If though we live in a world where with all that being said, and all the massive bleeding of users we’ve already seen, you still want to insist that Twitter is the only place in your field one can get work offers though, then in sticking with it for that reason, you ARE kind of uh, you know, actively benefiting from your status as someone the open bigot running the place doesn’t have it out for? Again, would you join the whites-only country club? Would you apply to work at the business that refuses to hire any women or queer people? Some of us out here are literally facing homelessness because we ALSO rely entirely on commissions, and we aren’t allowed to be on that site, so, the longer that site remains the place you get commissions from, we can’t find work. Please hasten it’s fall for our sake.

Setting that aside though, there’s also the moral argument that you really should not be supporting what is quite plainly at this point a site maintained by nazis, explicitly to cater to other nazis. Like, the easy joke here is that the people who previously ran Twitter were cryptofascists, while the guy running it now is instead a crypto fascist. This of course ignoring the powers that be at Twitter also going all in on that, remember the hexagons? But seriously, with no investors to keep happy and no interest in keeping advertisers happy, Musk and the policies of the site both official and unofficial are just... full on mask-off nazi stuff now. Everyone who’s ever been kicked off the site (which traditionally had a bar of like, actually personally trying to have someone killed or personally threatening a celebrity) is back. There’s some stated transphobic policies on the books, Musk is personally posting a bunch of weird George Soros crap and hardcore propaganda like “nearly all crimes are commited by black people” and hardcore anti-vax stuff, and not only is none of this going anywhere it’s being actively pushed into everyone’s feeds constantly. You’re basically hanging out on a mirror of Gab, and your very presence there is feeding it, not financially per se (I mean, what income Twitter does have IS still advertising based, which in turn directly translates active users to dollars, but again, Musk has basically infinite money), but like, the nazis don’t just hang out on Gab is they need the attention of non-nazis and the legitimacy of hanging out in the same spaces.

So far this is me making moral arguments, but also, like... are you getting anything at all out of being on that site these days? I’m banned but private windows are a thing, and there’s still people I care about who adamantly refused to just like, be present on Discord or something so I can check in, so I do glance at people’s feeds now and then, and literally all I have seen from ANYONE in the past uh... 7 months from anyone on Twitter is just people’s live reactions to the site dying, the owner being an idiot, and having nazis shoved in their faces.

In the before time, one of the things that arguably made it worth having a presence on that site was people setting up a bunch of automated accounts to like, give weather reports and such (which you can just look up on a dedicated weather site/an app on your phone you don’t even need to open by the way) and stuff like those accounts that post a cute picture of a cat/wolf/fox/skink/whatever every hour on the hour. Those are all dead now I believe, because the idiot in charge heard someone saying that hated “bots” and thought people meant actual automated accounts, not the fascists shilling crypto and shrieking at marginalized people from their hundreds of burner accounts.

The thing though, that I’ve heard from quite a lot of people, is that not only did those feeds go poof (also anyone who hasn’t logged in in a month- dead friends, old joke accounts, etc.) but if you look for a replacement by just searching the site for say, “dog” or “cat,” because it is now a site by and for nazis, you get domestic animal snuff film gifs. The sort of thing nazis pack all their favored haunts with to deter people whose souls aren’t dead from looking at what they’re posting. I saw a lot of that stuff back in the day helping get other dedicated nazi sites offline, and that crap’s been haunting my dreams since. Why the hell are you there still?

You could jump ship and flee to some mastodon instance or whatever else is out there, or hell, you could also just... not. People had web presences before freaking Twitter. I’m just posting stuff on Tumblr here. I’m on some forums with people I’ve known for years. I’ve got Discord for live conversations (although wow, it’s really looking like it’s time to scout out the next thing there), there’s e-mail to randomly shout at people. You don’t need a doom scroll site replacement, honest.

And like, I get it. You don’t want to just be trickling out one by one. You want some oomphf, some momentum. So here’s the plan, share this around: You post whatever “here’s where to find me” stuff you need to now-ish. Then you wait... about 3 weeks. Then the date is going to be 6/9. You wait for the date to roll over, you make a single post where you just say “nice” and then you never touch the site again.

Oh and meanwhile, hey, again, I really do live off commissions, and I’ve had a hard time getting new ones since... well some former clients decided to not work with trans women anymore apparently, really, so I kinda need to beg for money to live, if you want to maybe toss some my way? Also there’s a new Zelda game out and that weird Bayonetta prequel thing, and I’m literally putting every single cent I can get my hands on towards paying my rent and utilities (the government’s covering groceries). I can’t even afford one of those streaming services. So uh, anyone feel like maybe doing the wishlist thing?

[the-tomato-patch]

The Hand that Yearns For You

Summary:

"Scourge, his agent, and Wrath had personally seen his death. The Force sang of the finality of that moment in a way that could only be fully understood in hindsight, and it mourned his passing equally. It would take generations for the Force to truly accept and settle once more, and then it would take longer to fill the vacuum." Scourge struggles with the concept of freedom and wonders where he will go now that his three hundred year burden is over.

Pairing:

Jedi Knight x Lord Scourge ( Pre-relationship )

Word Count:

3.3k+

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50967205/chapters/128763724

Chapter 1.

The void left in the wake of the Emperor's true defeat was staggering. Scourge had expected it to feel like when he had killed Darth Xedrix or witnessed the fall of Darth Nyriss. However, this felt far more profound and substantial. The Emperor had been a singular entity of pure terror throughout the entire galaxy—someone who had been a part of the galactic subconscious as far back as he could remember. Not a man. Not a Sith. A near-omnipresent outlier. Scourge, his agent, and Wrath had personally seen his death. The Force sang of the finality of that moment in a way that could only be fully understood in hindsight, and it mourned his passing equally. It would take generations for the Force to truly accept and settle once more, and then it would take longer to fill the vacuum.

For the first half of his life, Scourge had regarded the Emperor as a sort of god, lost in a realm all his own. He had been too busy to heed the monotony of the conniving sycophants at his feet. In the latter years, he had dedicated himself to a relentless pursuit, meticulously scheming and patiently biding his time for the fateful moment when he would lay eyes upon the Jedi from his vision and strike. Now, with the Emperor's existence extinguished, an unmistakable sensation rippled through the Force in the aftermath of his passing.

As much as Scourge had dreamed of and prepared for this day, he had never really thought about what he would do after the Emperor had fallen. His entire life's purpose had been fulfilled. All of his plans and machinations had led up to this point. From a time before, in the darkest corners of his heart, he had even wished for his own life to end after the Emperor fell. He had wanted to feel the balm of immortality slip away like grit and die in battle. He had desired to know the taste of his own blood on his tongue, watch as the fires in the sky danced over the field of corpses left in his wake, and revel in the song of rage and hatred as the dark side filled his senses. Now, he knew that such ideas had been a mistake. No one really understands their value until they come within arm's length and can pluck at the strands of time with their own hands. Even at their weakest and lowest points, they remain constant, a tether that holds them secure to what they once were and might still be. Those dreams of death were washed away by a new one, one that appeared only now that the path was clear. A longing for life.

It left him brooding, wanting something he didn't know. It wasn't often that he found himself brooding about aspects of his past or considering paths he might take in the future. Yet here he was, deep in thought regarding his own self-reflection. He tried to will his consciousness to return to the present, but the thoughts that weighed so heavily on his mind came back to him as soon as the silence engulfed his immediate surroundings.

He'd been like this all day, sitting still, waiting, brooding. Always brooding in the corvette's hull. It took a great deal of his patience not to just throw something across the room or punch a nearby wall. The Emperor was dead, and instead of celebrating, he had become a ruminating mess. How uncharacteristic and pedestrian. If the circumstances had been any different, Scourge might have scoffed at the thought. Instead, he opted to glow angrily at himself, rolling his shoulders to try and shake the stiffness out of them, only to be left with the familiar tingle of a damaged nerve. Staring out toward nothing, his eyes seemed to zone out a bit as he let the thoughts flow unchecked. He could almost feel the sting and burn of the lightning that had nearly cooked him in his own armor—the molten heat of a saber bearing down upon his shoulder, a parting gift from the new Wrath, his replacement, and an unfortunate lesson regarding his new mortality.

Then he felt it, her presence resonating in the Force, announcing her approach long before her footsteps did. "You haven't moved in three days," Rhiasen spoke with a touch of concern. "You've barely spoken." She folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the doorway. "Normally you have some kind of quip at my expense, but today you're particularly grim."

"There's nothing to discuss," his tone dismissive. "I am thinking. That's all. There is no need to fret; your fragile ego is safe."

"You can talk to me," she sighed and picked up the cheek she'd been resting against the doorframe, carefully stepping forward, as if entering the den of a krayt dragon. Despite the barb thrown her way, her tone and gaze carried warmth, as they usually did when she looked at him. "After everything," the word punctuated. "I'd like to think you can come to me. Don't pretend to be immune to feeling." She straightened up and came in a few steps further. "We've fought alongside each other for what feels like a lifetime. The Force connected us before our meeting and still remains. Whatever happens or needs to be discussed...you won't lose me over it."

There was a pause between them where the only sounds to fill the space were the mechanical whine of the engines and the occasional hiss of an environmental filter refreshing the recycled air. It was not fear, nor worry; it was indecision, hesitation, and a lack of direction. The power of choice, it seemed, had crippled his senses rather than liberated them. For once in his life, the choices of others didn't rule his actions or drive his will. There was no external force to guide his life along its set path; it was his to control and steer in the light of his choice. He could feel its effect and how deeply rooted it was. Centuries, if not an eternity, and suddenly he was without an agenda.

Scourge clenched his teeth in frustration. A fleeting surge of rage crossed the dark plains of his mind, and then his head snapped up to her, browstalks furrowing with annoyance, his tone aggressive. "I do not require coddling. I am not your burden. Return to your meditations; I will say no more of it." His hand rose slowly and dismissed the topic, punctuating his need to end this conversation before it started.

Scourge recalled when he'd first experienced true anger after centuries without. He'd felt like an untrained acolyte lost within the halls of the academy, lashing out and failing to contain the vortex of the dark side he had once wielded so easily, as though he had spent far too many decades knowing the structure of the storm but no longer its core. He knew its shape, its nature and gale, but failed to experience the passions behind it. Now he was faced with something akin to a storm of another kind. Yet it was the same dilemma, just expressed in a different, more direct, less tactile fashion, in a form that Scourge was much less familiar with and wasn't able to see and interpret coherently, not when his logic and reason had abandoned him in exchange for unruly behavior unbefitting a Sith of his station and character.

He experienced this rush and more in just a couple of seconds, 'Focus,' his mind pleaded with his body, 'Find the center, channel this through the Force.'

Her expression faltered into a look of concern, and his ire intensified. "Scourge-"

"Must you press? Let me come to terms with myself; I've come this far," he spat. "Do not treat me with pity."

"Pity?" she said defensively. "I would have hoped by now you realized there are deeper and far more profound things inside me than pity when it comes to you."

His head dipped, and he collected himself. The frustration on his face ebbed away like the last trickling ripples of an otherwise impulsive outburst. He looked back up, a dull glow of heat across his face. "I," he faltered momentarily, a heaviness lingering over him. "I need time."

The words hung in the air before she finally ceded. When he calmed, he could see the war in her eyes as Rhiasen contemplated his rejection with a sad expression. Then, with no indication beyond her tightened jawline, she shook her head, turned, and walked away. She was gone, disappearing through the door, leaving him to his own devices once more.

The exchange hung in his head. Scourge didn't think about anything for a while, instead remaining stationary in the room, allowing his mind a chance to simply process and not act or respond. His mouth felt dry; his nerves felt on fire; and he couldn't pinpoint a source to help alleviate his sudden anxieties. He remained staring forward for quite some time, caught in the same contemplative limbo that had kept him trapped in the same spot for the better part of the day until he was drawn back out as they landed on Odessen. 

It was early morning by then as the sun began to peek up over the mountainous terrain the Alliance base was located. The horizon line had a dark, nearly blood-red tint to it, accompanied by the amber orange and the smudges of faint cyan along its crown. It felt strange being outside; he'd been in the corvette for days, so the change was jarring yet refreshing as he and their small crew walked down the ramp. The cool air helped center him, and he took a moment to glance around, catching a glimpse of Rhiasen out of the corner of his eye, moving swiftly through the small crowd forming in the center of the docking bay, which Scourge deduced were primarily other supply shuttles and a few Alliance personnel returning home in the morning, all hurrying off to their places and tasks. This was an opportunity to busy himself, to fall back into a sense of order and discipline to pull his mind off whatever thoughts might still be gnawing at it like an akk dog on a bone.

'To business then.'

Events of the day flew by in organized chaos as Scourge stepped into the familiar rhythm he used to settle into following the Alliance's victory over the Emperor. This was where he thrived, doing things he did not need to dwell upon. The tactical and planning elements were far better for his mood. However, it did not last forever, and soon enough he was no longer in a rush to keep his mind and senses distracted. Scourge didn't appear anxious anymore; his body seemed almost calm. But if anyone had bothered to peer beneath the surface, they would have been able to see him thinking. It was a little different from the state of repose he had taken to just that morning in the corvette when he'd stared idly and brooded. A distraction was no longer an immediate need, and his attention focused.

Yet still, his thoughts lingered. And he fell back to his conversation with Rhiasen on the corvette. It weighed on him; not with a pressing discomfort or despair; the way it had initially when he'd arrived back on base, but more as a consistent nagging, a soft sting rather than a sharp edge. He said 'I need time.' but for what? More brooding, more idle standing? Was he not a man of action, of decisive measure and words, with conviction and clarity, all directed through the guidance of a plan and a will that he rarely, if ever, faltered from. 

The Emperor, Vitiate, whatever his name.. was dead and his immortality gone and here he stood wasting his newfound freedoms, though daunting they were. What was keeping him back? Had the wounds left by the Emperor and his reign truly kept his heart in the iron grasp it had been under for centuries. He scoffed, a feeling of disgust coming over him; a denial to admit that he was letting the past dictate his actions. And yet, even still, despite these revelations he couldn't convince his body to move, and in the evening, when he wandered his way to his new favored brooding spot upon one of the adjacent balconies of the Alliance base, only a stone's throw away from his own quarters, did he find that he no longer felt an urge to deny the reality. Perhaps that is where he was going, where his actions were pushing him toward.

He couldn't sleep. Not like this. Scourge considered meditation, but decided that even the repetition that came with it was more mental strain than he cared for at the present. For several moments, he just stood and stared into the night. He'd forgotten how beautiful the view was when the rest of the planet slept. The brilliant and vibrant greens of the forests in the distance seemed to carry their own radiance and glimmer in the way they absorbed the moonlight. Their foliage glowed as the breeze wafted through, leaves and branches rustling in a low howl. The sky itself was nearly black and bore countless pinpoints of light that dotted the expanse in a sea of blue, green, and white. Above him stretched nebulous ribbons of the galaxy. He imagined reaching out and touching each celestial body that hung overhead; they almost seemed to close together in a vast sphere surrounding him, a crystal orb where the galaxy's secrets lay waiting for his discovery. Scourge took a breath in, the air cool and clean in his lungs, carrying the faint scent of pine. He exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders and chest going with his breath, and with that, his heart settled.

Discover. 

That had been his intention after the Emperor's fall, not to muddle about, waiting in some unknown place while others went on without him. While his feet were no longer as firm and solid as they had once been, there was still no shortage of purpose. In this new state of clarity, he let his mind wander a bit, trying to see what was left on his heart's path and in what direction it pointed. That simple lingering thought of wanderlust gave him pause, and a series of memories seemed to bring with it a guiding pull, and the truth of it was simple enough. They may have called it a return, but his only destination was forward, and he'd waited long enough. He would see the galaxy and all that it had to share; the beauty and the tragedy, the vast wonder and the heartbreaking scorn, the depth of its creatures and its horrors. These things could only be known firsthand, and he would have them. To live freely was something he'd never known before, not even when he was free. The chains of Sith politics, the intricacies of their society built upon the backs of slaves, and the formalities of deception. It felt as though the ghost of himself was moving past him, beckoning him to chase, beckoning him toward the future.

The moment didn't last too long. Another bout of trepidation that kept his heart rooted in place. As soon as the spark of newfound motivation flared, apprehension appeared to sputter it out and drown out the light, not unlike sinking into a sarlacc pit. He wondered if this would happen again, if this was normal. Surely it would, and he wouldn't be free of it entirely, but maybe it was less to do with the hesitancy he felt in wanting to travel and more in something that still tethered him here. More than just remaining responsibilities.

His thoughts wandered to the crew. Scourge had never thought he'd one day consider a group of fools such as them to be an almost familial force. Maybe not Kimble entirely. But the others... Rusk, Kira, T7, Rhiasen. He mused. A fondness and sense of respect for each of them lingered. How easy it would be to just take his leave and walk away, and yet how hard that path was at the same time.

Rhiasen. 

There, just there in his heart he felt the tug again, a tiny but persistent twinge of resistance. It seemed she was always at his heart. A presence, a pulse, that never really wavered no matter where their journey had taken them. Since their first meeting on Quesh, to her silhouette cutting through the Force in his mind's eye for the last three hundred years, she was always just... there. Constant. Sometimes far more insistent than others. It didn't bother him, and he never really speculated her hold on him all these years outside of their destined alliance in their race against galactic extinction at the hands of the Emperor. The intensity of her will in the Force was stronger than the pull he used to feel before they met. They were inextricably bonded by their connection in the Force. Where she went, his path was bound. But if he should choose to wander, would she follow?

There, a seed of doubt that led to another epiphany. The conflict between his needs for the now, versus his desires and longing in the future, tugged on the fabric of his heart. He still had the lingering desire to experience his own freedom and choice, and to continue to let go of his ties with the past. But there, in the back of his mind, it dawned on him that he didn't know what he wanted out of the future, only that he knew what he didn't want, and a great deal of that included not wanting to leave behind what close ties he'd made along this alliance of necessity. He wanted to bear the burden of Kira's sharp quips that left him pinching his brow in annoyance. He yearned to engage in another debate about the strengths of Imperial military tactics versus those of the Republic, knowing it would leave the Chagrian simmering with frustration beneath his edged scowl. And he even desired to narrow his eyes in amusement at T7's exaggerated reactions, irritating yet charming as they were. But above all, he wished to stay by Rhiasen's side.

He'd watched her come and go from his life, their separation that occurred only after she'd barreled headfirst into a fleet of unknown ships with Darth Marr. Seven years, seven long, tumultuous years with no knowledge of her fate. Even when the rumors arose and he could feel her presence through the Force he knew little, could do little, and remained stalwart in cutting a war path to the Emperor's true body, accompanied by Kira and the ghost of an old ally, Revan. Then came their dramatic reunion, where he'd met the other Wrath, and had nearly met his end so soon after reclaiming his mortality. She saved him then, too. Just as she always had in their own unique, unconventional ways. If he ever wanted his freedom, it would need to be by her side. There was no question, no hesitation. All his time was hers, for as long as she'd have him. The future could no longer be seen clearly. No further certainty existed, and it was time he became alright with that. He was free, and there would be a day where he would pursue his life in the stars. But for now he would stay, and watch that path unfold before him. It was what he wanted, he told himself. He did not seek the promise of the stars without her. And the force of his feelings both startled and baffled him. He wondered then, perhaps, if he wasn't alone in these sentiments

[sakuracyanide]

headcanon. reincarnated life. cw; death, drug dealing, mentions of human trafficking & general underworld fuckery, domestic abuse.

like nearly everyone else who was reborn, zoisite's life was far from charmed. he was reborn in kyiv, ukraine to a loving family that, unfortunately, died not long after in a car accident. from there, marion was bounced from foster homes, to orphanages, to group homes. never in once place long enough to feel stable or grow roots. due to poor record keeping, marion does not know precisely how old he nor his exact birth date. he does know that somewhere in the mix he was moved from the ukraine to moscow, and it was there he met ivan, a boy a few years older than him. the two became very close. they made far-flung future plans, dreaming of escaping somewhere where snow never falls. it was a childish dream, but one that kept them both going through the worst of times.

he was adopted at the age of fourteen, however his adoptive parents had no idea how to handle a damaged young man who dreamed of a past life. nor could they handle the fact that a lack of stability had left marion with a fierce sense of independence and a refusal to trust any adults. marion was beautiful, intelligent, and could be exceedingly kind - but he was also prone to getting into fights, desperate to prove himself and find a purpose. he just seemed lost, his parents would say, and we're afraid the wrong person found him.

It was no real surprise when he ran away from home. his adoptive parents, though they struggled to connect with him, were devastated. if one wanders through the streets of his old neighborhood they'll still find missing posters bearing his name and a far more innocent photograph.

From there, Marion's crminal record only grew. Despite being marked as an "accomplice" in most crimes, he'd gotten his hands dirty more often than reports would indicate. He quickly took to the lifestyle, learning that trust was not something to be given lightly and learning that affections were only troublesome. Though he was never involved in the making and only rarely in the distribution, he was involved in dead drops - picking up cash or dropping off product in predetermined locations. It had the least mess, the least danger, and being pretty and young worked to his advantage.

Especially with the others. Marion was little more than a pretty face that their new young boss had taken under his wing out of pity or lust. Who could really say? That's why they didn't notice when the payload was a little short, or the cost of the clothes the little pet wore. Ivan would spoil Marion, give him all these little gifts as proof that they would one day go somewhere warm and safe and that this was just a necessity to get there.

Of course, confidence breeds cockiness. He thinks he's untouchable, that nothing can phase him. Comfortable in power that wasn't really his to covet, though anyone who had been on the receiving end on his temper could tell you that Marion was more than capable of handling himself.

He's wrong, of course. And unable to believe his own stupidity when he realized the lavish lifestyle he's shared with Ivan has been funded by a lot more than just weed and contraband. When he confronted the other about this, things took a sharp turn.

Queen Beryl finds him in the aftermath, laying in a gutter with his pretty face all smashed in. his face hurts, but his heart hurts far more. it clenches as he realizes how stupid he was for thinking he was any less disposable than anyone else. in the end, what had he been except a loyal sycophant? a pretty kept pet who could stroke ivan's ego and let him delude himself into thinking he was any different than the lowlifes he associated with.

Ivan had stopped short of killing him and told him that was love. that this was a lesson he needed to learn - and learn he did. when she recruited him to the dark kingdom, his hatred of humanity easily eclipsed that of his fellow kings, as did his need to hold power for himself. the details are forgotten, but he never wants to be indebted to another again.

falling in love with kunzite wasn't part of the plan - he intended to seduce him to suss out his vulnerabilities, then either kill him and claim leadership for himself or puppet him. he isn't expecting a genuine connection or a relationship that isn't transactional. they're equal partners in all things, and that's ultimately how he reconnects with his humanity.

( i slot mamoru still collecting their gemstones here, as he recognizes all of the kings as his guardians who were brainwashed and twisted against their will. )

[limpfisted]

@infiniteanalemma  that post is so long and I didn't want to make it longer even with a readmore LMAO however it is VERY interesting that if u Google magister baldurs gate, ONLY astarion comes up. This, plus the fact that there aren't really supposed to be many cemeteries in the city means that the game took a few creative liberties with astarion lmao. (I have yet to look at the map of baldurs gate from bg1 and 2, I'm still on part one of watching a lets play of it rip)

But in general it also puts into perspective wyll and ulder---ulder became grand Duke only 7 years ago, 3 years after parliament was formed. All dukes positions are supposedly elected and he was elected based off of the general good will and like, ppl thinking he would help the lower city, according to the lorebooks and he failed to meet expectations bc he had to make certain deals with the patriars that made him hypocritical, in the way wyll thinks many politicians are hypocritical

(In general tho I like to think that ulder does TRY to be good. The system is just so broken. I think he and florrick are team lower city tho along with the twelve representatives from the lower city and I go back and forth on whether gortash also was or wasn't, tho it would make more sense if he was as he is also from poverty and not a patriar and it would add texture to both gortash and ulder if he was sometimes on their side, sometimes not.)

Gortash was a councilor who worked up the ranks, while ulder said at least ten years ago that he was a sycophant---as a slave himself with criminal connections (nine fingers has a jounral entry that mentions him even), he would've been able to rise up the ranks the old-fashioned baldurian way with wealth and crime. Plus u know he was sleeping with noble women

In general guild connections and connections between noble families are SUPER important and u never want to lose face. Also important to note that some patriar families aren't that popular or rich and there is a lack of funds for some of them

Which is even more interesting bc the steel watch is made if adamatium and infernal engines, and adamatium golems can take up to 100k gold to make

So right now baldurs gate could potentially have wasted like. Lit3ral millions of the patriars gold on these steel watch and the foundry,which no one knows is made with slave labor except the gondonians

(Which will have devastating effects when it is revealed as the gondonians are a huge part of the baldurs gate infrastructure, there's a whole two famous  establishments in the city, the hall of the wonders and the high house of wonders, where trade workers can learn their crafts and make incredible inventions and sell them and help baldurs gate with it, like its a huge thing, some people come to baldurs gate JUST for that, and gortash decided to make gondonians slaves like yikes)

Two dukes are dead, no grand Duke, 20 patriars dead, we don't know how many of them were members of parliament, we don't know if they were ever ex proxies, we don't know how involved they were with the guild or if they were on "the side of the lower city" we don't know what happened to the ACTUAL watch, but now they can't use the steel watch, and the vanthampur plan to make the flaming fist look weak and bad worked because they're ALL ON GORTASHS SIDE. Now everyone knows the flaming fist are idiots. And there's thousands of flaming fist inside and outside the city.

There's also amn--- they hate baldurs gate and want them to be emerged from the council of lords, which gortash would have been added to, and which wyll would be added to, like his Father. The council of lords are extremely extremely powerful and everyone but especially amn is already like "WHY IS BALDURS GATE REPRESENTED AND NOT US? THEYRE PIRATE BASTARDS" etc, and this would only add more fuel to that fire

Not entirely sure what happens in the sewers bc its optional, but there's still the guild, and rebuilding, and all the crime thatd usually happening, the class tensions, etc

But before gortash reveals his evil hand, i genuinely think people liked him and thought he was saving him too just like he wanted, upper city AND lower city since baldurs mouth even likes him and in general they can be pretty anti-establishment

The flaming fist guy i randomly talked to was even like "I guess ill pour a drink out for him. I guess." When gortash was killed

The most well known politicians are known because they lead during times of great crisis and all that

But gortash severely fucked the patriars over, and especially like. How much coin the city has, and has for rebuilding

Gortash wouldn't have needed it if everything went the way he planned. But wyll/ulder will now that great googly moogly its all gone to shit lmao

(Or u know durgetash for the war crimes aus)

On the plus side, pretty good time to be a criminal. And a lot of folks in baldurs gate are criminals

Next game should be all about nine fingers nine and wyll and avernus tbh. If there is a next game LOL. And im not just saying that bc im. A wyll roleplay blog LMAO

[liminalpebble]

The Refugee: Chapter 12

Masterlist link

As the first gray light of a gloomy morning seeped through the vast window, Magnus awoke feeling as if a dozen sharp nails were jostling around inside his aching skull. As he felt Lea's warm weight still curled up on him, he suddenly didn't care about his headache. He did, however, need to go back to his quarters, clean up, and nurse his hangover. He very gently and reluctantly extricated himself from her grasp, letting her continue to rest in the peaceful safe haven of sleep. Slumbering in her fine clothes she looked like an enchanted princess. He just stared at her, wishing this was a fairy tale, and that he could be the prince to kiss her and break her cursed imprisonment. He realized with a deep ache that she has probably never even had her first kiss, and the prince who would kiss her is the same villain who cursed and captured her. She was still asleep but shivered slightly at the loss of his warmth. He grabbed a blanket and covered her carefully. He took one last moment to stroke her hair, give her a kiss on the forehead, and whisper, “Sweet dreams, Lea” as he tiptoed out of her quarters. As Magnus left, he was immediately confronted by Loki, pacing furiously outside. When he caught sight of Magnus he looked like he'd been electrocuted. Loki wasted no time interrogating him.

“Did you spend the night with her?” he barked.

Magnus sighed, speaking slowly and deliberately as one would to a child having a tantrum. “Not in the way you think, Loki. I only held her and talked with her until she could sleep. And what gives you the right to care? You had your own guest last night as well, in case you forgot.”

“Where the hell is she now?” he raged.

“Shhhh. Sleeping, Loki. Don't wake her. Keep it down. I have a headache.”

Loki started to dig in again. Magnus interrupted the slew of abuse, saying evenly, “We're not doing this here, Loki. At least come with me to my quarters to talk so I can clean up and we can scream at each other in privacy.”

Loki reluctantly came with him. While Magnus showered, Loki rambled at him through the bathroom door, despite being told dozens of times that he couldn't hear what he was saying. Magnus stormed out in a cloud of clean clothes, fog, and wet hair, pouring a glass of water for them both. He may have been angry with his best friend, but he still couldn't stop the urge to help him nurse his probable hangover. “I know what happened Loki, she told me.”

“She was afraid,” Loki said, in the most derisively mocking tone he could muster.

“And you called her a coward...the woman who has had to run for her life, for most of her life.  You're not half the person she is, you spoiled, childish, manipulative megalomaniac.”

“Do you think I want to be this person, Magnus? Do you think I wanted to be born a villain?” he shouted, with surprisingly genuine pain in his voice.

Magnus was actually surprised by this admission, but calmly said, “But you weren't,were you, Loki? I remember you back then. Sensitive. Playful. Loving and devoted to Frigga and maybe even Thor sometimes when you weren't fighting...to me as well. Generous and grand with thoughtful gestures of affection...which...I suppose you still are now but with ulterior motives tarnishing every fucking one. In case you were wondering, that's why she was so crushed at the ball, but you probably didn't even notice she was shattered, did you? Because she was so easy to handle, like a good poppet in a pretty dress and she helped you impress your sycophants. You used her. That's what you chose to do, Loki. You decided to become who you are.”

“I never made a secret of who and what I am. She knows who she's dealing with and what her place is. I made sure of that immediately.”

“You knew you were toying with her, Loki. Giving her hope just to snatch it away.”

“I love her, Magnus. That part is real,” he roared.

They let the weight of that confession hang in the air for a few silent moments.

“Are you sure, Loki? Or do you just want her, as a useful part of your collection.”

“Can't both be true?”

“Maybe you're sick enough that it's true for you. But in my opinion, love shouldn't leave bruises on her wrist and face like the ones I saw this morning.”

Loki gave a guilty look of realization. His face fell with genuine shame now and he rested his head in his hands. He said very quietly, “I didn't mean to hurt her.”

“But you did mean to before, and you will again.”

“Get off your high horse, Magnus. You're in this empire, in my cabinet. You're by my side even knowing all the terrible sins I commit. Your hands aren't exactly clean.”

He had nothing to say to that. For so many years he told himself that he was here to be his best friend's conscience and help him be a better man. He was even glad to have the opportunity to heal people with his work. It alleviated the turmoil of his conscience to rationalize it this way, but he knew it was only a matter of time before he could no longer justify it to himself. He should have known better, but he loved him too much to walk away. He changed the subject, finding it unbearable to look ahead to that inevitable fork in the road.

“What about your company last night. Was she satisfactory? Did you even learn her name.”

“No. I never learn their names. They always leave satisfied. I never do.”

“Oh, how terrible for you,” Magnus said sarcastically.

“I hate you, Magnus.”

“I hate you too.”

---

Lea rose slowly then stood before the mirror, plucking the dozens of pins and barrettes out of her scalp with annoyance. When she was finished, her eyes fell on the jewelry Loki had given her the night before. She wanted to tear them off, throw them off the balcony and scream with rage. As usual, and to her disappointment, her rationality took over. She carefully placed the jewelry down instead. She looked at her tired face. Now with no jewelry on, no badges of honor to remind her of herself, she felt very naked and strange. She then noticed the ruddy bruise on her face where Loki had grabbed her too hard, and the livid purple mark on her wrist.

She could stay in her quarters today, nursing her hangover, injured feelings and injured skin, or she could bathe, tidy herself, put on her uniform and go work. She chose the latter, swinging out the door in minutes, gulping a glass of water and heading down the hall. The department heads were surprised to see her after the ball last night, expecting that she would sleep in, or maybe take the day off entirely, but they were glad for her help. They were working on an especially stubborn language challenge; the Heksejotun.

Lea soon forgot her heartache, enthralled by the problem as her co-worker explained.

“The Heksejotun are a small and isolated subgroup of the Jotun. They also, as their name suggests, possess witch abilities and are powerful sorcerers. The kings of Jotunheim, occasionally call on this strange group for assistance in their wars, very rarely getting an agreement to collaborate. Because of their isolation they speak a very strange type of Jotuntunge, antiquated enough to be confusing but also possessing a strange jargon of internal references which only they know and understand unanimously within their own group.”

She furrowed her brow, as he handed the file to her. “But the language is similar enough to common Jotuntunge that the king understands them?”

“Yes, ma'am, common enough that they're essentially mutually intelligible. The jargon is our biggest problem. Some of our research has discovered the historical or cultural sources of these references, but some are completely unknown, and unfortunately those seem to be the most important to their military plans.”

“Very well. Thank you, sir.” She nodded to the gathered group, glad for such an enormous undertaking to distract her, “Gentlemen, we have our work cut out for us. Let's begin.”

----

Lea spent weeks of long hours in the linguistics wing, isolated except for her colleagues, who finally at least showed her proper respect now. Some days Magnus would come by for his usual offer of a shared late dinner, which she always politely declined. Neither of them spoke about why. One day she did, however, hand Magnus an envelope containing a long letter of thanks and warm words for his kindness, and apologies for how she had to cope these days by shutting everything out. She was surprised that he read it right there in front of her, standing in silence for a few minutes. Finally he sighed and said, “Lea, I'm worried about you.”

“Thank you, Magnus, but I'm really okay. I just need to focus on this.”

He nodded sadly, “I suppose I also just selfishly miss you.”

She hugged him then. “I'll come back around, eventually. I just...I just need to be gone for awhile.”

She wanted to asked how Loki was doing, but she refused to let herself. He didn't deserve her kindness and company, and since he refused to summon her for it, she could only assume that he agreed. She only ever had to see his face at those large meetings in the throne room where all departments were present to hear his status updates and new commands. He would also call upon reports from various departments and divisions, and then dismiss everyone without fanfare. Although he seemed very in control of himself, that alone seemed a bit unlike him. His masterminding was still sharp as ever, but delivered in a matter-of-fact way, without any of his signature flamboyance. Maybe her stoicism had rubbed off on him, just as his stubborn self-confidence had rubbed off a bit on her.

She was surprised one day and felt her stomach drop as she reported to work and saw him standing there talking with her colleague, who had called him in to evaluate a letter from one of his conquered kingdoms.

Lea composed herself, unwilling to shrink or avoid him, she came up and said, “You Majesty, how shall this department be of service to you today?”

He nodded politely. “Miss Lenora, your colleague requested my presence to evaluate a communication from one of my territories. I'm surprised you were not informed.”

She felt a rush of irritation at this. For all the strides she'd made insisting on her own equality, they still sometimes left her out of the loop unless she pushed to be in it. Whether it was old habits or intentional, she couldn't tell. Her coworker pulled the message up on the viewing board, translated into standard Asgardian. It read:

Your Majesty, King Loki, ruler of our realm,

We greet you and plea for your aid. As you know, we surrendered to you under your promises of peace and prosperity under the rule of your empire, but this is not what we were given. We respect your vision of being a benevolent conqueror, with benevolent governors left in our kingdom, however they do not adhere to these ideals. The men left here do nothing but steal, rape, pillage and threaten our people, killing or tormenting us if we do not comply with their whims. Although they have not yet dared to attack the still-beloved former queen of this realm, I fear my time may be coming to an end as their bloodshed becomes bolder every day. I implore you, Your Highness, to bring these men to justice, and find governors worthy of your ideals.

Very sincerely yours,

Nadia, Former-Queen of the Vanir

As dozens of eyes read the translation, a terrible and pregnant silence fell. Lea, remembered with perfect clarity how the same warlike and abusive governors threatened her homeland and every land she had since fled to, bullying everyone for their own monstrous amusement. These were the men she narrowly escaped, making her terrified of the touch or intentions of any man. She felt the icy water of fight-or-flight surging past her eyes, flooding her lungs, tightening her throat, and numbing her limbs. Lea politely but hurriedly excused herself, fleeing swiftly and quietly down the hall, on the verge of hyperventilation. She hoped Loki's sense of decorum would keep him from storming after her like an angry child, but it wasn't long before she heard his nimble but powerful footfalls behind her. She turned a corner and tried to isolate herself in a small deserted office of the linguistics wing, hoping he wouldn't see which door she'd gone into. She had no such luck. As she began closing the door, hoping for some privacy to weather her panic in peace, Loki's hand smacked it open with a shuddering bang. Just as quickly, he slammed it shut behind him, isolating the two opponents in their confined arena. “Don't you dare close this door on me!” he growled. He towered in his rage, saturating the entire small room with his furious presence. Lea was slammed with a claustrophobic sort of terror.

“Please Sire, I just need a moment to myself. I'll return shortly,” she said, trying to sound normal. Her breath got tighter and she pressed a hand to her abdomen, trying to coax her diaphragm and lungs into working properly. Not now...I can't seem weak, now she thought to herself.

“Stop it, Lea! Stop with those false titles. Don't pretend you don't know me when we're alone,” he hollered, but then abruptly lowered his voice and his head. He slumped to sit on the corner of a table crossing his arms in defeated misery. “Lea, you have to believe me. I didn't know,” he said, looking to her as his eyes welled up. “I've never heard reports like this.”

She found some bravery in her to fuel her anger and came straight up to face him, steadying her breath. “You didn't listen, Loki. You didn't want to hear it so you made sure nobody told you, or if they did, you wouldn't have to listen or care. You think this is only a problem for the Vanir? This is everywhere, Loki. We all suffered from men like that in your empire.”

“That's not true,” he said, knowing that it was. To Lea's shock, tears did begin to roll from his tightly clenched eyes. He inhaled a shuttering breath and suddenly seemed drastically smaller, more vulnerable, than the raging form that stormed in moments ago. He reached out his hands to affectionately hold her face and she flinched back violently. Her heightened nervous system remembered his previous violence and dodged him, almost of its own accord. As he realized what she was doing and why, his face fell into a soft petulant look of absolute sadness and regret. He dropped his empty hands slowly, letting them land in defeat at his sides as he said, “Lea, I promise you. I will prune every rotten fruit and branch from this empire. Remove and punish every rotten man who has ruined countless lives...as I realize now, they also ruined yours.”

She nodded in angry thought, biting her lip as her body shook with adrenaline. This time, she put her hand under his chin and tilted it up roughly to make him meet her gaze. “Pretty words from you, Silver-tongue. Always such pretty words and promises. It almost makes one forgive and forget the awful things you actually end up doing.”

He was pitiable now, desperately grateful even for an angry touch from her. “Please believe me, Lea,” he pleaded, meeting her dark glare without blinking, his eyebrows peaked mournfully. The beautiful icy eyes bore a hole through her anger, as his large hands easily encircled her small one, as if praying. She felt such pity and affection for this damaged, wicked man. She couldn't believe she wanted to hold him, comfort him.

Through it all she maintained her severe glare, saying finally, “I'll believe it when I see it, Loki” and abruptly left to return to her work.

@lokisgoodgirl @gigglingtigger 

[beautifulpersonpeach]

BPP hi, I've wanted to send you a DM for some time, but every moment I chicken out. I'm new on Tumblr, just starting up my blog for jikook and want to ask you for advice. How do you deal with hate asks and comments? You cover controversial topics, talk straight and candid but in a level-headed way but at the same time you call out the b*llsh*t of both kpop stans and Armys and even Hybe. I just talk about jikook and I am getting people that already hate me and my blog. I imagine you must get more given all the topics you cover. How do you deal with it?

**

Lol I just delete them.

Actually, first I should say that if you're getting extremely abusive asks, escalate it to the reporting team on Tumblr. Use the report and block function and put in a formal complaint through the website. Some months ago I was getting hostile visitors to my blog that I dismissed as just trolls, after all, weird things happen online and especially on Tumblr every day - but turns out, they were more than just trolls. They were underemployed but fanatically motivated k-pop stans/commentators determined to physically hurt me in real life, because the facts I was pointing out were inconvenient for them, and my opinions critical of the k-pop industry and the sycophants trafficking in 'discourse' that excuses that bullshit, were difficult to counter with you know, words and reason. So physical harm in real life was apparently the only solution they had. I made a mistake by not taking them seriously till they tried actual physical harm. Thankfully, I was able to nip that in the bud by escalating to the privacy and reporting team at Tumblr, worked with some experts irl and now those people are permanently banned from using the platform under several IP addresses.

Of course, when I re-opened the blog, almost right away some people were upset that I was writing again, for whatever reason. But that's normal, lol, so I just ignore and delete those asks whenever they pop up. Lol. I don't know what to tell you Anon, but some people are just naturally... like that. They'd score above the average Dark Triad percentile. I know we typically make fun of toxic taekookers but many of those same behaviors we ridicule are found in various shades in k-pop spaces in general - the way this industry runs practically attracts those types. Like I'd go as far as saying the people playing the k-pop game best are taekookers and Tae solo stans. Hobi akgaes are really good at it too. I've said before, if you're a critical and contrarian person, k-pop is the perfect industry for you because you'll never run out of things to have a problem with.

Plus, half the time I have no idea what these people are going on about in my inbox anyway, so I just delete them. Before, during the pandemic, occasionally I'd post a few to tear down and laugh at since I had the time. But now airports are open and I'm back to working full time. I can hardly handle the 10s of asks I sometimes get daily, so it makes no sense to give those complaints any oxygen.

TL;DR

First, why are you chickening out? If you don't mind maybe not getting responses right away, please come say hi. :)

Sad to hear you're a new jikook blogger and already having to deal with BS. But also know it honestly just comes with the territory.

The way I deal with asks that are hostile or just read like they were written by an insane person, is to delete them.

There's also the option of turning off Anonymous asks completely. I know several bloggers sometimes take this route.

If it's especially weird, I report and block. I haven't had to do this in months but if it's extra weird, I report the ask directly to Tumblr's reporting team.

You should also note that the topics you write about can influence whether you get more or fewer weirdos. Shipping spaces are notoriously toxic, so if you'd like to continue writing on the topic, develop a tagging system that shields your content from taekookers, eg, abbreviate or add your blog name to the hashtag.

*

Good luck Anon. 💜

[newagesurvivalist]

Chancelleries of scholarship

Authorities instill in us a distinct sense of admiration, perhaps, for the parade of life in which we each have a clever function: this is the nature of one's occupation - that he can move continuously to parade around in some general sense and realize his objectives, but still fashion a destiny out of the endless ruins of the past civilizations. We all have certain values of propriety, but what we see most of all is that the proper men and women of history build their legacy out of the truly spiritual struggle with the End, which is ever coming on; so, in this wise, we are capable only of ordinary actions towards the purpose of life, and we cannot see release from the traditional attitude in which wise men have educated us, or something - and so, we continue to ply our trade or reveal some deeper truth about life in gestures of mastery; things that are strong, but not essential. The fact is that we do have some kind of calling in the general profession of life; or rather, we aim towards some better kind of development, consisting of concerted projects, constantly instigated to defeat the mad elements that rail against the august order (which is not an order but merely a kind of anthem, or monument). We can move strenuously to mad locations in our minds - mad topics - and yet not get to that point where we can loiter forever to get the true spiritual creation ready; a fact proving we are still barbarians... or sycophants. Nevertheless, I will say that we can sing and dance until the breaking of the world.

We do many things, but there is a lot of strangeness in visceral temporizations. Good simplicity can actually aid us in liberty, but we may lose the assertivity of real damage. Actually, I spend so much time doing what is actually the case, that something may result out of detail-based reflection, but our kindness is only the restriction of disproportionate activity. The restriction will aid us: but the hallucination of freedom must not be underestimated, since all things are unknown.

Art and work are closely related. We see that a man can only have a distinct profession if he makes his work count on every corner. However, his wishes to make the world a better place lack some kind of meaningful entertainment, and we don't succeed in life. We must make the most of life. The thing is that there is so much under the sun that we do not yet get. A good man can power through the limits of the ordinary world and create paper conclusions that force through the juridical attenuations that will one day make the future of mankind manifest. The constant pressure of the possibility for freedom is a thing; truly, here we see the promise of capacity which is situated in our race, because we are just the oldest sect in the world. And there may be contrasted refutations in the harbour of our deepest desire. The strange thing in our deep cave under the surface of the Earth is that there is truly a moment where we can admire the contours of the better Earth where the wanderers of the old world still linger and we make sense of the compassionate clamour; here, our horror hides and we still must elucidate the qualities of the best empire that thought could bring forth in the consideration of the life of us; the thing determining our wretchedness in opposition to the fortunate rebuttal of the clang and pounding of war, but there will one day be peace of mind. Confucius must certainly wait for us in some area of the eternal world. The truely gentlemanly acquiescence. Besides this, I have no real faith, beyond the things that we expect, because there is always a great deal to expect for the life of us. So, in a nutshell, terrific events are waiting everywhere in this world around the buildings we built, and the street ever extends into the great beyond. The great structures of liberty and the liberal arts have given us only sorrow, as Ecclesiastes said: the more knowledge, the more grief. But in reality, there is a liberation from the ignorance. Truly, we shall achieve serenity in the gardens of Babylon or the colosseum. There will be some kind of expert attitude that we can adopt: truly, we can learn this from history, for the great kings of time watch over the common people forever. The true condescension of combat-situations does result in compassion, and so we can expect great things from politics in the future, but the question is, who will be deemed worthy? Will there be literal heroes? We have seen that the greatest men galvanized endless masses of wretches who are now considered the most dignified people in history. What will the future hold? Some kind of anarchism? I do think that we shall see a certain sacrality coming to surround the discipline of philosophy, because in fact we do see that people seem to be entirely unscrupulous people, but the slow march of ideas and scholarship continues. The cosmopoeia of liberal proportions, where liberty lies, is the governing pension of the truly proper life.

It seems during our lives we can make a vast variety of choices. Every day is a cornucopia of possibilities. However, in the course of our lives we rarely really have control. Most of our time is spend searching for food, or putting our house in order. In this way, we are confronted by a terrible state of affairs. We have to face the day. We make choices all the time. Once we have made the choice, is there any way that remains for us to carry out our task? It just happens on auto-pilot. Sartre said: we are our decisions. Some decisions we make in the here and now; others we have made long ago. Am I on auto-pilot now? Yes, partially: I have decided to do something; I have decided on a methodology: there's nothing more to be done. I can, if the moment allows for it, focus on future events; or I can just wait for that moment to arise. This is the process of decision-making that we have to understand. Without this understanding, there is no equanimity. I can make decisions beforehand; I still have to decide in the moment itself. When we philosophize, there might be a predicament where we dwell on a thought. Then we should simply stick to the plan. There is no philosophy outside of communication; and communication is life. When we articulate a simple position, our compassion may overflow in some final song, but the chancellery of compassion is a true sign-post of the endless labour of the state - verily, of a kind of overzealotry, that shall be fatal to the subject in the last analysis. I can set forth a disposition in the doctrine of political fervour, but ultimately the best men do only what is humble and kind.

I see the ordinary things happening all the time. I really think the future is coming on, but a reflection might flow out of our focus, and so we sit quietly: truly, remission is still a predicament of liveliness, and our finitude will be overtaken by our justice.

[collymore]

Just let it go! We all deal with family bereavement; it's quite commonplace!

By Stanley Collymore  

You actually need to move on and stop being maudlin. Bringing this woman's name up every simply contrived opportunity isn't going to save the British monarchy, as it's finally been actually, quite publicly rumbled for what it undoubtedly is; a feudal mafia that's really ensconced in the 21st Century. And very simply as for Liz Windsor herself she quite personally and evidently effectively generally and crucially persistently interfered - so much for this rather supposedly crucially very vaunted non political monarchy - in clearly over 1000 laws to basically make absolutely sure that she naturally had exemptions during her entire reign, for the exclusive benefit of herself, her family members and their individual as well as simply collective, huge financial affairs!

Liz also had herself and her entire family and their households fully exempted also from the British Race Relations Act in 1965, an odiously very heinous, state of affairs that's still prevalent to this actual day, and hence their rather discernibly all-white, white supremacist and quite indelibly racist employees. So don't try, to really feed me shit about these people, and also ardently attempt to literally persuade me that it's chocolate as it just won't work. British I was clearly enforcedly born but I'm simply no serf, plebeian or gullible sycophant quite distinctly where these grifters, are concerned! And from my very unapologetic and actually personal perspective Lizzie Windsor was obviously a real threat to burgeoning meritocracy, crucially sensibly, discernibly true equality of opportunity and natural democracy!

(C) Stanley V. Collymore 21 April 2024.

Author's Remarks: Liz died much earlier than they announced her death, for sure! Furthermore, distinctly throughout her 70 year reign this laughably supposedly constitutional and distinctively as well unquestionably apolitical monarch, purposely and rather pro-actively interfered in significantly well over 1000 pieces of UK parliamentary legislation to discernibly her own, as well as her family's quite evidently and obviously undoubted benefit. Literally no thoughts or concern for the interests of the crucially serfs, plebs and subjects who effectively kept her in the rather grandiose manner to which she'd essentially become generally accustomed to, and undoubtedly felt was her entitlement! Rather consistent interference politically and financially that evidently over those 70 years quite clearly meant in excess of 14 interventions every  year; and it's not rocket science to actually ascertain that there are simply 12 months in each year. So Liz clearly was a distinctly  self-serving, busy girl!

As for all those actually white KKK - esque employees across the palace and likewise monarchical family spectra and clearly still toxically infest the same today, discernibly having Harry marry Meghan was evidently always going to be a very serious problem for them from their racist perspective, and while they could with equanimity, naturally accept a white stalking gold digger as the ancillary choice of William, who was quite pointedly, discernibly turned down by two previous women he'd asked to marry him; at least his surrogate Kate was white and didn't like Harry's choice obviously blemish the simply, crucially all-white perception of the UK "Royal Family". In essence, the very toxically verminous scum that provide the right-wing and racist media with quite self-evidently their daily anti-Meghan fix! Lol!

[nijjhar]

Russian tribal sons of Man are going to win. Putin could be the Super Hi... The Russian tribal sons of Man are going to win. Putin is Super Hitler and he will deal with the Blasphemers. https://youtu.be/49w7kwRbAp0 Hitler and the British killed the Antisemitic sinner Jews outwardly unfaithful to Abraham and Yahweh whilst Super Hitler Putin will deal with Blasphemer sons of Satan who destroyed Iraq, Libya, Syria, etc. https://youtu.be/GBbQAAj3l60 SOME FACTS WERE TWISTED BY THE JEWS. For the full article, please visit my website:- www.gnosticgospel.co.uk/Twisted.htm Pilate was a just ruler and after finding the Truth about what type the Royal King of heart Jesus was, he told the Jews outwardly, the Tares, he is not guilty but the Jews shouted more vigorously to kill Jesus and release their own type the Baranabass Robber robbing people of money as the Temple Priests were doing in the Temple. No wonder the robbers were at large during the four years of the Great Siege. Pilate did dress up Jesus as the King of the Jews but he never got him beaten by the soldiers. How could a just Roman ruler hurt an innocent man?  Jesus was beaten in the Temple mercilessly as expected of the Saltless unfaithful to Abraham and Yahweh, the Tares that most loving once-born Peter denied knowing Jesus. This is solid proof of the very harsh beating by the Jews. Also, the 12 Labourers of Jesus have nothing to do with the 12 tribes of Israel but 7 in the name of John, the Baptist for morality and 5 in the name of Christ for spirituality = 12. The Gospel Truth you receive through logical reasoning is called Revelations. I have produced over 8100 Youtube Videos exposing Jewish hypocrisy. I can help you produce documentaries rendering the expositions of the Parables. These university professors are men of the dead letters and they are super donkeys carrying the holy books that are forbidden in Jesus. This is what is happening now:- PUTIN = NATHANIEL; WHAT IS INSIDE IS OUTSIDE = NO DUPLICITY VS THE USA AND THE WEST BLASPHEMER HYPOCRITES = TEMPLE HIGH PRIESTS, THE KILLERS OF JESUS AND HUMANITY. Putin, the man of God = Nathaniel, what is inside that is outside or no Blasphemy or hypocrisy. https://youtu.be/DP6Tt6tZN-8 Today, Matt 13v24-30 is getting fulfilled and the Tares, Jews outwardly of appearances like the Hindus, Sikhs, Muslims, etc., the Tares are getting bundled up in Israel for the Final Burning through the Atomic Bombs especially of Iran, the fake sons of Abraham through circumcision, the tribal mark of Abraham to Isaac and his seed but the temple Priests were making people Jews outwardly and dishing out the circumcision making them the sons of Isaac. Angel Stephen exposed their dirty business for money and they killed him. Today, these Tares will repay what they have sown for the sake of greed. In this Dark Age of Christ within your own heart, you get paid for the blasphemy against the Holy Spirit as Peter killed two blasphemers Ananias and Sapphira on the spot that no Blasphemers are allowed into the Church of God headed by Christ Jesus; One Fold One Shepherd. The COE is headed by the Queen and when her soldiers die, her sycophant Priests proclaim that they glorified God whereas the much hated Salvation Army Says, they died for the King and Country, the Gospel Truth. Thus, the COE is akin to Satan whilst the Salvation Army is to God, our Loving and Merciful Father. No wonder, the USA and the West are the countries of hypocrite blasphemers making their countries “CROOK LANDS”. I have taken more than 10 cases of crook businesses to their Ombudsmen and heads, but they safeguard their crook Businesses and Justice is seen nowhere. Or if the crooks do not support the crooks, then their regime will fall down and it is the Righteous Hand of God that brings Peace of Mind to the victims. This Jesus demonstrated curing the deaf and dumb disciples created by the Super Ruler Rabbis who dominated over the general public. Worse than that is happening now – Matt 12v43-45 is being fulfilled. The crook Rabbis proclaimed the works of Jesus performed by Beelzebub. The efficiency of the Rabbis is known by the Fruits, and the Disciples, they bear. The Samaritan woman at well, Saint Photina, was the Proof of the good teaching by her Rabbi. That is why the one thankful Leper who wanted to join the company of Christ Jesus, was told that go home among your people. A Gentile never dies for he doesn’t live to die.I have written a book that needs revision. I have done it but need help with the Graphic. Also, please visit my Youtube Channel One God One Faith. Over 8150 Videos explaining the Parables and sharpening your mind, Nafs, Munn, etc. My latest Video:- Gnostics are not Christians of the Books but Christ preaching the Gospel from their heart. https://youtu.be/G-KoP4UqOtA For full description www.gnosticgospel.co.uk/Rest.htm My Books:- ONE GOD ONE FAITH:- www.gnosticgospel.co.uk/bookfin.pdf www.gnosticgospel.co.uk/pdbook.pdf John's baptism www.gnosticgospel.co.uk/johnsig.pdf Trinity:- www.gnosticgospel.co.uk/trinity.pdf

[firewoodfigs]

[stromuprisahat]

Nesta being nasty in ACoTaR

A Court of Thorns and Roses- Chapter 30

There’s some of this crap in my posts about Feyre’s whole family, but I think Nesta’s “reasoning” here deserves some special attention. I’m not sure, what the author wanted to achieve in this chapter, but I have a feeling Nesta gets more space after Feyre’s return to “explain” her incredibly shitty behaviour and gain some sympathy. Well, mission NOT accomplished.

Nesta aka The master of saying things that might’ve sounded nice in the most unpleasant way.

Your beast’s... sounds like Nesta’s assuming Feyre was in charge of her own kidnapping. Like she had her family brainwashed on purpose.

Where was that iron will, when Nesta should’ve shown some self-restraint not to bully Feyre?

This had to be both terrifying and confusing experience. For any other character I’d feel incredibly bad... It’s much harder to summon sympathy for someone, who haven’t shown us a single reason to deserve it, as a person. 

I wonder if we’ll have the “Glamour not working” explained at some point.

“You went after me.” ... Feyre, honey... From what she just told you, it sounds more like she was concerned with unnaturalness of your disappearance, not your absence. It doesn’t mean she loves you somewhere deep inside.

Nope. That’s NOT what she said.

Never spent a day in the forest? And whose fault it is? Did it change Nesta? Did she realize she might need to learn, or did she just accept the riches their family suddenly possessed? What does she do, when she can’t stand the sycophants? Does she distance herself from the people she despises? Or does she keep living at the edge of their society, close enought to enjoy the privilages? What do we call this kind of person? Hypocrite?

Oh, that’s alright then. Everything forgiven. She was dealing with some stuff. That’s enough to make weaker’s lives living hell. Understandable.

Where’s the proof of Nesta caring? So far it looks like Feyre’s wishful thinking. Jumping to conclusions that would make her loved.

Would it fucking kill her to be fucking POLITE for once?!

This would be much more impactful if it came from someone, who tried to do something. Even if they’d failed.

That’s a logic of contemporary spoiled teenager AND one of the best excuses of an abuser: I knew you could handle it. (So I wasn’t really hurting you. It made you stronger, didn’t it?)

I wanted to see if... and you did. Why not to do something when it became obvious the “father” won’t act?

“I couldn’t do it, and I was angry at you for being able to.”? More like “I didn’t wanna do it, and enjoyed the sliver of power I had to make someone else’s life even more miserable than mine.”. 

If Nesta’s so self-aware, why didn’t she change her behaviour towards Feyre? As someone with “iron will” so strong not even Fae High Lord could glamour her, she should be able to control herself enough not to take out her anger on her youngest sibling and the only person, who does anything for their survival. Being strong-willed with fiery tamper, doesn’t mean zero self-control. Nesta understands she’s horrible, but chooses not to better herself. Why aim to be half-decent person after all?!

bonus: 

Juvenile mind of the eldest sister:

This part fits well with the rest of Nesta’s characterisation. He let her die. isn’t adult’s thought, it’s a grudge of a hurt child, mantra repeated over and over to give sense to death of a loved one.

Nesta’s reasoning here got stuck on ten y/o’s logic. Father was rich merchant- he had ships to send for the cure (There had to be some!). Nevermind we’ve earlier learnt his family was in debts for generations. He could’ve send for help into lands of magic, because begging humans would soften fairies’ hearts enough to save their mother. What about the stories about Fae hunting humans for sport?! They surely wouldn’t refuse to help in this case!

The thing is, this happened half her life’s ago, yet she’s rigidly clinging to her child self’s notions. It could be interesting to watch a character outgrow such ideas, but the Nesta we’ve been introduced seems way too happy to stay the way she is.