#and their 'heroic deeds' to the masses

[comfortless]

so. please consider: König is a prince (yeah we aren’t going full king this route, maybe he has an older brother or some complications having the throne to himself but either way he has some power just not all of it lol) and reader is part of a performing troupe that usually acts out plays outside of the castle. he goes out to watch them and becomes so desperate for her that he gets /her/ to perform as /him/ when the plays are about his heroic deeds or whatever.

i have had this idea stuck in my head for days and i just know you can bring it to life 🩵

the evil little König in my head took over. no one look at me. 🥩🏰

prince!König x fem reader.

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. dubcon. mentions of adultery (not committed by reader or König), corruption kink (virgin!König), cunnilingus, light roleplay, scent & praise kink, smut (piv), reader is kind of evil here (König still manages to be worse), allusions to abduction.

“You are certainly lovelier than my wife, the Queen!”

He had his sword drawn, not high enough to elicit panic, but just enough to know that yes, there was a very present threat. This could be a bloodbath in an instant. Speak another word — he won’t refrain. He feels his teeth grit, grating, ash in the mouth and in the air.

The actors are unaware where they are stood on stage, and the mass of bodies surrounding barely take note of their Prince. A phantom. Loathed thing that he has always been. More hated than even their lecherous, stupid king. There’s only one thing he’s good for and it’s never been politics; there’s no need to garner up public appeal when your stage is a foreign field littered with blood and corpses.

Another insult to his poor mother and the city could be one too.

From a small wooden booth acting as a prop depiction of a brothel, steps a woman. Barefoot, bare flesh, the only thing she wears is a breast band and a loincloth of finely stitched lace. She isn’t a whore, not in truth, but she looks the part of the women his men rush to the second they’ve returned home. Ale and sex in abundance, and he’s never had the focus for the latter after a round of the former.

He watches as she sways, draws her hand to her forehead and bats her lashes while her other trails up her thigh to the hem of the piece concealing her womanhood. She stops with a laugh, turns to the crowd with sparkling eyes and says, “You lot should not cheer! The Queen surely deserves better than a womanizing fool!”

König’s never been one for plays, how tactlessly they slander the royal family and make jest of current affairs. This troupe, though… he thinks it’s done in taste. Or maybe it’s just her.

Even as the aging performer with his weathered face and messy gray beard acting the part of his father rushes to the pretty thing on stage and paws at her waist, König can not tear his eyes away.

The scene reaches its end when the brothel is burned, enacting something horrible the king had done several springs ago. Bereaved, the woman returns to the stage and bares her breasts, monologuing so sweetly as she feigns tears for her fallen sisters.

König swears to be nothing like his father but he still finds his trousers fitting more tightly at the sight, not foul enough to touch himself here, if ever at all. His heart aches with each fragile word spilled from those plush lips, and his cock demands further engagement with each gentle sway of her body and heave of her round tits.

His sword slots back into place at his hip when the scene comes to an end: the crowd a storm of laughter, the fire of the torches illuminating the street flickering, the actors dissipate behind the wooden stage, and all at once the play is over.

Tactless and impulsive, he thinks to thank her for not furthering the set-up for a joke, looks the part of a proper fool when he makes his way backstage where she’s sat wiping away carmine from her cheeks. The actress’ eyes go wide and hazy when she catches sight of him towering over her, the cloth and mirror slipping from her hands to rest on the table.

Of course, she takes it as a warning, asks him if he would prefer they only act out the current affairs— the recent siege of the southern kingdom, maybe? Or a story about the harvest festival? The gods or beasts? Anything she can sputter out to the man she easily recognizes as being the Prince.

König only finds himself further endeared when she dips her head as if ashamed and moves to conceal the bare skin of her stomach as though it would be insulting to see her in such a state of undress.

He excitedly tells her about the siege, of how he slaughtered those treasonous men and so valiantly brought their women and children to the capital to live much more honest lives, boasting while she looks on in acute, wonderous horror. That’s what he chooses, even pulls his hood from his face and drops it into her lap when he tells her she has to play his part.

The actress explains to him, docile and sweet, that she’s never played a male role and certainly lacks the stature to accurately represent him of all people. To which, he laughs, bids her a farewell with a flick of his wrist and wanders back out into the cobblestone and muck to finish up his patrol of the city.

A fortnight later, she returns to the stage in hastily put on armors, his veil hanging proudly about her head, a wooden sword clasped tightly in her hands. The crowd watching laughs at her expense as she tries in earnest to perfect the way she imagined his sword must have danced during that siege. The male actors fall with each tap of the weapon’s tip, and her voice takes on a forced, deeper tone when she speaks her praises to the kingdom she’s pilfered glory for.

König only sees fire, not in the flames of torches but lain out before him, a heat that courses from the picture of this beautiful little doe on stage straight down to simmer in his chest, his stomach. She’s so cute, pretending and doing her best just to appease him that he finds himself backstage again once the play concludes.

It’s just to talk, to congratulate her on a wonderful performance. He even presents a hefty sack of gold coins to her when she returns his veil, and she marvels at the donation, takes each piece and turns it in her fingers for a time before setting the little bag on the table.

Her brow scrunches for a moment before she settles on offering her hand out to him, fingertips ghosting over his upper thigh, loitering on the armor shell protecting him and drifting further up until he takes her hand and interlocks their fingers. Surely then, the actress comes to realize that her prince is as pure as the sisters in their temples.

She breathes out a laugh and shakes her head.

“I mean to pleasure you, my Prince,” she says, less meek now and more insisting. Her hand draws back to remove the prop armor from her body, eyes never leaving his own.

Though he considers the woman’s offer heavily, pulse stampeding and heart aching, he does eventually will himself to voice a weak refusal.

Never does he keep himself holed away from her for long, even after; König returns for each play whilst his men go about patrolling the city for prowlers and thieves. He watches each performance and continuously seeks her out backstage after. They talk each time, with him offering his suggestions and her clamoring for excuses as to why, no, she isn’t fit to play his role for another fight or some drab court meeting.

Finally, the same song and dance proves too much.

This night, there is no play and König still finds himself in the room cluttered with set pieces and props. The other actors have gone about seeking their own affairs for the evening; bedsides to coax comfort from or mugs of ale and bowls of bone to drown themselves in whilst gambling away the coins the hungering crowd has thrown their way.

She sits with him, perched up on her little table wearing nothing at all. Her skin is lit aglow by candlelight, the incense burning bathing all in the welcoming, warm comfort of lavender and rosemary. There’s ash in his chest again when he finds himself at her side, already aching with a want that should not exist, one that he would deny in full with bared teeth and blurry vision.

Only, she doesn’t prompt him with questions when her palms splay flat at the chest of his tunic, just grins like a wolf given a fat leg of mutton when she feels him begin to tense. She assures him that she’s only teaching him to act after demanding that he kneel, catches his jaw atop her hand and guides his face between her thighs where he then pants and groans at the foreign, enticing scent.

It awakens something in him, something bathed out and buried in blood, the very same that courses through his veins like a violent river now. A feral look and an iron grip on her hips that would leave bruises is all she gets. All until she hisses out the words, “I am your princess and you will do as I ask.”

The first lick is hesitant, clumsy, his stubble grazed over her most sensitive parts as he slips his tongue across the smoothness of her slit. He doesn’t have an idea of what he’s doing, only enacting the vile things he’s heard men about the castle speak of, how to properly take a woman apart and push her to not only want, but to need.

Mostly, she’s unimpressed.

When he gathers her taste on his tongue, he becomes a man possessed, ripped away from duty and sovereignty and brought down to the lowness of mere swine. He groans into her cunt, laps and suckles at anything his tongue and lips can touch, savors the sight, dewy and swollen when he presses a kiss to the bud that finally does get her to purr.

“Sweet boy..,” she coos to him when her hands find his hair, petting him so gently as he continues to lap at her clit. “You’re taking such good care of your princess, yes?”

His mind blanks entirely, driven forward with a renewed, feverish vigor as he dismantles her wholly with a drooling mouth and an unrelenting stare. Rationality should have pulled him away before it ever got to this point; she’s a peasant, and he can’t run amok fathering bastards and condemning himself to Hell for a simple woman. But that’s all beaten back by her taste, the way she writhes in his hold, keeps whispering her praises and lacing those soft fingers through his hair… no amount of devils or men could pry him from her cunt.

Only she does when her voice comes in a pant and her grip tightens to pull him back. The table, his face, all sticky and wet with what must have been her very essence, drawn out by a man lacking experience but so unknowingly eager.

“Take off your clothes,” comes her next demand, one he obliges with a great hesitance.

The tunic is pulled away with shaking hands, the tie of his trousers next. He mutters a curse below his breath when his cock springs free, so erect and angry it looks painful. The tip drools just as much as that fluttering heaven between her legs, pearly beads of preejaculate leaking down to stain the fabric and further condemn him to this impromptu fate.

He jerks when she wraps her hand around him there, whines when she leans forward to kiss its head.

“I can’t…” His voice sounds weak to his own ears, pathetic and miserable as he makes a mock attempt at prying her away with a gentle press to her shoulder. “My princess… we should not.”

He’s almost certain she’s a devil herself sent to exact some punishment upon him when her lips curl up into a grin and she lies back with her knees drawn to her chest. She speaks such words to him then that he would not dare to ever repeat, songs only the unknown could sing. An angel, perhaps, when she slips a finger into herself to demonstrate to him just what should be done… there, with panting breaths and whispers of heaven.

And finally, when his cock throbs and kicks at the sight, all resolve is entirely lost. He positions himself over her where she guides the tip of his manhood to her slit, praises his size when his hips give an involuntary twitch and he slightly dips into her, sampling her warmth and the resistance from something so thick pressing into her.

His world crumbles at the sensation, cobblestone replaced by the raging heat of brimstone and an obscene lust that clouds his mind and leads him to spear her open to his hilt.

He finds holiness in their union, bites back a roar when her walls tremble around him. She only laughs when his teeth find her shoulder, only sings more hymns into his ear as he fucks into her cunt at a reckless, brutal pace. The words don’t register, far-away and distant amidst the roaring tide of sensation. She’s so tight, so wet and yearning, quivering beneath him and clawing down his back.

“We shouldn’t, hm?,” she whispers in his ear, teeth grazing the lobe. His strokes become even sloppier, each thrust stuttered and heady when the sound of her voice pulls through the haze of bliss. “My sweet boy is so good at this, though…”

His voice is nearly a wail when he loses himself fully then. He holds the back of her thighs, fucks himself through an orgasm that leaves his head spinning and his body shaking as though he’s come down with some wretched fever. And perhaps he is ill, because he can’t bring himself to think of anything more than the divine rapture of stuffing his seed into the warmth of her pussy, can’t bring himself to pull his cock out of her even when he begins to soften.

His face is buried against her neck, professing his endless love as he breathes her in and ruts into her over and over until his cock is once again stiffened and drooling inside of the very cunt he would die to keep.

Surely, when her troupe begins to pack to drift further out into the kingdom for their performances to be seen… he could accuse them of slander, have the old man playing the part of the lecherous king executed, the others thrown into rat-infested cells, and the little princess tethered to his bed to warm his heart and his cock.

He will kiss away her tears, tell her that all could be forgiven if she would only let him make an honest woman of her.

[varjukollektiva]

ENG below / DE unter / Português abaixo

Állítsuk meg a nácik dicsőítését!

A náci múlt bűneinek letagadása és dicsőítése általános jelenség. A fasiszta korszakot egyre többen próbálják eszményíteni: ezzel elárulják, hogy milyen jövőt szeretnének.

A fasizmus totális diktatúrát, tömeges népirtást, háborút és nyomort hozott az emberiségre. A náci birodalmat kiszolgáló Horthy több százezer magyar katonát kényszerített a népirtásban való részvételre, akik nagy része aztán életét vesztette a német gyarmatosítás érdekében. A náci birodalom a magyar állammal karöltve ipari módszerekkel meggyilkolt félmillió magyar állampolgárt. A náci hadsereg kirabolta Európát, és benne Magyarországot is. Leszerelték és elvitték a gyárakat – kivéve azokat, amelyek elszállítását a munkásság megakadályozta. A német hadsereg felrobbantotta az ország összes hídját. Kiszolgálóik, a nyilasok az utolsó pillanatig kínozták és gyilkolták az embereket, ezerszámra. Értelmetlen katonai ellenállásuk miatt Budapest jelentős része súlyosan károsodott. Tömeghalál és romhalmaz: ez a nácik „hőstetteinek” eredménye.

1945. februárjában a budai Várban csapdába esett náci birodalmi csapatok sikertelenül próbáltak elmenekülni. Ennek emlékére a mai nácik, nyilasok, fasiszták, légiósok, „betyárok” februárban megpróbálnak nácikat dicsőítő rendezvényeket tartani. Felvonulnak, koncerteket tartanak, túráznak. A Vár környékét ellepik a nácikat hősnek tekintő emberek. Megkísérelnek egyenruhában masírozni, vagy úgy tesznek, mintha csak egy teljesítménytúrán vennének részt, és nem náci megemlékezésen. Az emléktúrákat kifejezetten azért kezdték el megszervezni, mert ezt szerintük a hatóságok nem tudják megakadályozni. A „Kitörés túra” mára a legnagyobb náci-dicsőítő eseménnyé vált. A túra szervezői jelentős állami támogatásban részesülnek, annak ellenére, hogy a túra kiírásában egyértelműen megfogalmazzák, hogy a céljuk az Európát kirabló és romba döntő náci birodalom „hősei” előtti tisztelgés. Aki ezen a túrán részt vesz az nemcsak biodíszlet a mai fasiszták hatalomra törő terveihez, hanem egyfajta azonosulást is felvállal a nyilas-náci hatalom rémtetteivel.

A mai nácik hajdani elődeik tetteinek dicsőítésével saját jövőbeli terveiket mutatják be. Akik a hajdani „faji háborút” hősiesnek tartják, azok pontosan ugyanazt szeretnék csinálni.

Soha többé fasizmust! Mondj nemet a nácik dicsőítésének! Állítsuk meg a mai nácikat!

2024. Február 10. 14.30. Budapest. Széll Kálmán tér.

________________________________________________________________________

Stop glorifying the nazis!

The denial and glorification of the crimes of the nazi past is a common phenomenon. More and more people are trying to idealise the fascist era and with that, they are betraying the future they want.

Fascism brought total dictatorship, mass genocide, war and misery to humanity. Horthy, in the service of the nazi empire, forced hundreds of thousands of hungarian soldiers to participate in genocide, most of whom lost their lives in the interest of german colonialism. The nazi empire, in collaboration with the hungarian state, murdered half a million hungarian citizens using industrial methods. The nazi army plundered europe, including hungary. It dismantled factories and took them away - except for those ones that the workers prevented from being removed. The german army blew up every bridge in the country. The hungarian ’arrow cross party’, the servants of the german nazis tortured and murdered thousands of people until the last minute of the war. Their senseless military resistance left much of Budapest heavely damaged. Mass deaths and ruins were the results of the nazis' "heroic deeds".

In February 1945, nazi imperial troops that were trapped in the Buda castle tried to escape unsuccessfully. To commemorate this, today's nazis, fascists, legionnaires and the ’outlaws’ of the ’outlaw army’ try to hold events in February to glorify the nazis. The area around the castle is full of people who see the nazis as heroes. They hold concerts, try to march in uniforms or pretend to be on a hike, not on a nazi commemoration. They organise the commemorative hikes specifically because they believe that the authorities cannot prevent them to gather then. The "outbreak tour" has now become the largest nazi commemoration event. The organisers of the tour receive substantial state funding, despite the fact that the tour clearly states in its description that its aim is to pay tribute to the 'heroes' of the nazi empire that plundered and destroyed europe. Those who take part in this tour are not only human decorations of the fascists' plans for power today, but also present an identification with the atrocities of the ’arrow cross’ nazi regime.

By glorifying the deeds of their former predecessors, today's nazis are presenting their own plans for the future. Those who consider the former 'race war' heroic want to do exactly the same now.

Never again fascism! Say no to glorifying the nazis! Stop the nazis of today!

10 February 2024, 14.30, Budapest. Széll Kálmán Square. ________________________________________________________________________

Hört auf, die Nazis zu verherrlichen!

Die Leugnung und Verherrlichung der Verbrechen der nationalsozialistischen Vergangenheit ist ein weit verbreitetes Phänomen. Immer mehr Menschen versuchen, die faschistische Ära als Verrat an der von ihnen gewünschten Zukunft zu idealisieren.

Der Faschismus brachte der Menschheit totale Diktatur, massenhaften Völkermord, Krieg und Elend. Horthy, der dem Nazireich diente, zwang Hunderttausende ungarischer Soldaten zur Teilnahme am Völkermord, von denen die meisten anschließend im Dienste des deutschen Kolonialismus ihr Leben verloren. Das Nazireich ermordete in Zusammenarbeit mit dem ungarischen Staat eine halbe Million ungarische Bürger mit industriellen Methoden. Die Nazi-Armee plünderte Europa, darunter auch Ungarn. Fabriken wurden demontiert und abtransportiert – mit Ausnahme derer, die von den Arbeitern daran gehindert worden waren, sie zu entfernen. Die deutsche Armee sprengte jede Brücke im Land. Ihre Diener, die Pfeilkreuzler, folterten und ermordeten Menschen bis zur letzten Minute, Tausende von ihnen. Ihr sinnloser militärischer Widerstand hinterließ große Teile Budapests schwer beschädigt. Massenhaftes Sterben und Zerstörung: das Ergebnis der „Heldentaten” der Nazis.

Im Februar 1945 versuchten die in der Budaer Burg eingeschlossenen kaiserlichen Truppen erfolglos zu entkommen. Um daran zu erinnern, versuchen die heutigen Nazis, Pfeilkreuzler, Faschisten, Legionäre und „Geächteten” im Februar Veranstaltungen zur Verherrlichung der Nazis abzuhalten. Sie marschieren, geben Konzerte und unternehmen Wanderungen. Die Gegend um das Schloss ist voll von Menschen, die die Nazis als Helden betrachten. Sie versuchen, in Uniform zu marschieren oder so zu tun, als seien sie auf einer Performance-Tour und nicht auf einer Gedenkveranstaltung für die Nazis. Die Gedenkmärsche wurden eigens organisiert, weil sie glauben, dass die Behörden sie nicht verhindern können. Die „Outbreak Tour” ist inzwischen zur größten Nazi-Gedenkveranstaltung geworden. Die Organisatoren erhalten beträchtliche staatliche Zuschüsse, obwohl sie in der Beschreibung der Tour deutlich darauf hinweisen, dass ihr Ziel darin besteht, die „Helden” des Nazi-Reiches zu ehren, das Europa geplündert und zerstört hat. Wer an dieser Tour teilnimmt, ist nicht nur ein Biopic der faschistischen Machtpläne von heute, sondern auch eine Form der Identifikation mit den Gräueltaten des Pfeilkreuzler-Naziregimes.

Indem sie die Taten ihrer früheren Vorgänger verherrlichen, präsentieren die heutigen Nazis ihre eigenen Pläne für die Zukunft. Diejenigen, die den „Rassenkrieg” von damals als heroisch ansehen, wollen genau dasselbe tun.

Nie wieder Faschismus! Sagt Nein zur Verherrlichung der Nazis! Stoppt die Nazis von heute!

10. Februar 2024, 14.30 Uhr, Budapest. Széll Kálmán Platz.

________________________________________________________________________

Pare de glorificar os nazistas!

A negação e a glorificação dos crimes do passado nazista são um fenômeno comum. Cada vez mais pessoas tentam idealizar a era fascista e, com isso, traem o futuro que desejam.

O fascismo trouxe a ditadura total, o genocídio em massa, a guerra e a miséria para a humanidade. Horthy, ao serviço do império nazi, forçou centenas de milhares de soldados húngaros a participar no genocídio, a maioria dos quais perdeu a vida pelo interesse do colonialismo alemão. O império nazi, em colaboração com o estado húngaro, assassinou meio milhão de cidadãos húngaros utilizando métodos em massa. O exército nazista saqueou a europa, incluindo a hungria. Desmantelou fábricas e levou-as embora - exceto aquelas que os trabalhadores impediram de serem removidas. O exército alemão explodiu todas as pontes do país. O “partido da cruz flechada” húngaro, os lacaios dos nazis alemães, torturaram e assassinaram milhares de pessoas até o último minuto da guerra. A sua resistência militar sem sentido deixou grande parte de Budapeste gravemente danificada. Mortes em massa e ruínas foram o resultado dos “feitos heroicos” dos nazistas.

Em fevereiro de 1945, as tropas imperiais nazistas que ficaram presas no castelo de Buda tentaram escapar sem sucesso. Para comemorar isto, os nazis, fascistas, legionários e os “foras-da-lei” do “exército fora-da-lei” de hoje tentam realizar eventos em fevereiro para glorificar os nazis. A área ao redor do castelo está cheia de pessoas que veem os nazistas como heróis. Eles realizam shows, tentam marchar uniformizados ou fingem estar fazendo trilhas, não em uma comemoração nazista. Eles organizam as trilhas comemorativas especificamente porque acreditam que as autoridades não podem impedi-los de se reunirem. A "outbreak tour" tornou-se agora o maior evento de comemoração nazista. Os organizadores da viagem recebem financiamento estatal substancial, apesar da tour afirmar claramente na sua descrição que o seu objetivo é prestar homenagem aos “heróis” do império nazi que saqueou e destruiu a europa. Aqueles que participam nesta tour não são apenas decorações humanas dos planos de poder dos fascistas hoje, mas também se identificam com as atrocidades do regime nazi da “cruz flechada”.

Ao glorificar os feitos dos seus antecessores, os nazis de hoje apresentam os seus próprios planos para o futuro. Aqueles que consideram heroica a antiga “nova ordem” querem fazer exatamente o mesmo agora.

Nunca mais fascismo! Diga não à glorificação dos nazistas! Pare os nazistas de hoje!

10 de fevereiro de 2024, 14h30, Budapeste. Praça Széll Kálmán.

[lynx-tales]

The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka and Donnie Darko both feel like fantasies written by suicidal people but in very different ways

In Metamorphosis, the main character, Gregor Samsa, is transformed into a giant bug. Once the breadwinner, he becomes a burden on his family. They can’t understand him. He cannot work. He cannot leave his room. They increasingly forget about his existence even as he remains an ever present stressor. Just before he dies, his family decides that the bug is no longer Gregor. Their conversation is analytical, almost devoid of emotion to their transformed (and presumably deceased) son and brother. When Samsa finally dies, there is very little grief. The family leaves him behind, relief, if not joy, surrounds them.

The fantasy in this case is the fantasy that one is a burden, that when one dies there will only be relief and ultimately, their life will not have mattered much except as a footnote in the lives of the ones they troubled. One becomes more than their loved ones can bear. They become something loathsome, unable to looked upon, disgusting. And when one finally dies, there is no grief, only ease.

In Donnie Darko, it is the fantasy that one’s death can only improve the world, and the release of culpability for one’s own demise. When he spins back time, he creates a new timeline, one in which he dies, but which ultimately saves the lives of many of his loved ones and people he does not know. It is a mostly heroic sacrifice. There is grief, of course, but his death, in their eyes, is not his fault. To them, he has not committed suicide; his death is a random, horrible, freak accident. He bears no blame for it. He dies, lives are saved (though they likely don’t know it), he is tragically deceased, but no one is to blame. His death is not wholly good of course - the handsome pedophilic preacher/self help author doesn’t get outed for instance- but on the whole, the narrative supports his decision. He dies, and his death improves the world.

When one fantasizes about dying, in my experience, one often imagines a scenario in which they are not the one who carries out the deed. A car crash. An aneurism. Tackling a mass murderer. Not always heroic (though occasionally), but quick, clean, unambiguous, blameless. And one imagines the aftermath. A funeral, of course. (How many people show up that really care?) (How many show up that actually knew you?) But after that, their lives improve. Loved ones no longer have to accommodate for the wants and needs of the deceased. The deceased takes up no space but a cemetery plot, uses no resources and occupies little of their loved ones thoughts. As with Gregor Samsa, one imagines their death to ultimately be a relief. One less mouth to feed, one less carbon emitter, one less mess to clean up after, one less person they have to care about and cater to.

These are the fantasies of the suicidal - to die, for that death to be blameless, for their life to vanish under the waves of time, and to make the world better by having passed on.

[makingspiritualityreal]

Jupiter Nakshatras - Ready to Die to be Good

This is a strongly repeating, heroic theme, that we can see as a part of evolutionary journey of Jupiterian natives, as they wrestle with their own fate, initially consumed by their own powerful nature.

We first have to distinguish that all Jupiter Nakshatras (Punarvasu, Vishakha, Purva Bhadrapada) come after Rahu, and thus are a direct consequence, a natural following of Rahu.

That process of transformation from Rahu to Jupiter represents a crossing of energy and revitalization. By the time we reach Jupiter, we are reborn, ultimately expressing the energy of what Rahu desired the best, as we approach the mature, self controlled Saturnian stage.

But before we experience rebirth, we must surrender ourselves to death. We must relinquish all the excessiveness and kill the overblown egos we acquired in the previous Rahu stage. We must take ownership of our mistakes and our flawed human nature. And that can be achieved by one decision only, passing a test of choosing death over making yet another mistake, which the Rahu stage was so full of.

This is where the Jupiterian goodness is born. In the feeling of “I would rather die than live lowering myself, being less than I could be”. In readiness to sacrifice everything, just to do the right thing. Of course, it doesn’t always necessarily go as far as a physical death, but the perspective of loss needs to be significant enough to feel like the person is relinquishing their former life. By the time our Jupiter matures and transitions into Saturn, we make these sort of sacrifices habitually, knowing we will always bounce back from them.

Of all the 3 Nakshatras, Purva Bhadrapada endures the most tests and suffers the most due to Saturnian influence. In Punarvasu, the test is about being forced into a Lunar responsiveness to another, or the collective’s needs, being a selfless symbol for the masses as opposed to looking out just for one’s own gain as Mercury would. In Vishakha, the Venus influence creates dependency earlier on in life only for one to transform into paving one’s own path, as more individual blessings come to the Native with time; they gain a wealth of knowledge, resources and influence from a vast circle of people. But in Purva Bhadrapada, Saturn puts an extreme amount of pressure, making the native suffer until they break into choosing righteous death, knowing the blow will be fatal but secretly looking forward to being released. This is perceived by the native as atonement, as often the difficult circumstances pushed down on them are a result of their own past scheming or cowardice (Shatabisha), causing harm that one irresponsibly participated in. This way, they close the karmic cycle, willingly paying the consequences of all their past deeds.

Jupiterian natives, Purva Bhadrapada in its extreme form especially, can live a life of torment until they make peace with having to pay the price for their actions. They can possess all the physical riches yet feel miserable with no escape, until they feel they can give back.

Jupiter is the stage, where a human being transcends being an animal occupied with nothing but its own survival, and earns the possession of a soul.

[askvectorprime]

Dear Vector Prime, what can you tell me about IDW1 Treadshot? What was life like before Impactor ended him via harpoon?

Dear Gunman Gleaner,

Treadshot was originally incepted as part of the Silver Harvest, the mass population boom that filled Cybertron's city streets with life, and was assigned a fairly prestigious position as part of the artisan caste, like many who shared his body-type. Given a particle magnetizer, it was his job to paint murals depicting Cybertron's glorious past onto public buildings. Treadshot saw this as his calling, greatly admiring those ancient heroic deeds. He would speculate at length as to what life must have been like in those times, imagining what he might have done if he’d been there, and dreaming about what he’d say to various important historical figures—many of whom were still alive, naturally.

Misfortune first befell Treadshot during renovation of the Primal Basilica. While working on a fresco of Onyx Prime, a stately piece in the traditional triptych form, Treadshot fell from his hover platform, and impaled himself on the statue of Primus.

Though he recovered to working order fairly quickly, Treadshot found himself reassigned to lower-profile tasks. The official word was that Treadshot’s absentmindedness meant he posed a risk to others, but it was clear to everyone involved that his demotion would never have happened were it not for the fact that he had splattered a senator with his spilled oil.

Reduced to maintaining public buildings, he soon fell in with his fellow artisans Atomizer and Bricolo. The brothers spent both their work-cycles and off-cycles together, dreaming of bigger things. Their bar crawls eventually took them to the Dead End, where the three were introduced to the violent world of gladiatorial combat. Watching the combatants, Treadshot felt each and every blow in his spark—at one point almost literally, when a stray spear sailed into the crowd and pierced his abdomen. Once he came back online, Treadshot found he had a new calling… spraying elaborate warpaint onto gladiators like Skyquake. And much like he had while painting heroes of myth, he daydreamed of how it would feel to be the one fighting.

When Megatron’s grand uprising began, Treadshot finally got his wish. He joined up with the Decepticons to take part in the "Liberation of Kaon" (what Autobots would record as the start of the Fall of the First Five Cities)—and was even able to personally take revenge on the senator who'd been responsible for his fall from grace. However, when Megatron had his legendary battle with Sentinel Prime, Treadshot wound up pinned under the Prime’s Apex Armor. Had Megatron not thought to make the ruined battle suit a throne, they might never have discovered Treadshot crushed beneath, one of its many cannons nearly puncturing his spark. As it happened, Megatron took inspiration from the sight, and tore loose a warped piece of Treadshot’s spark casing, commanding that it be forged into a new Deceptibrand for Treadshot—the first instance of this barbaric practice.

This was as close as Treadshot ever came to entering into Cybertron’s mythology. He spent much of the war acting as just another soldier, with long periods of boredom punctuated by brief intervals of shocking violence. Through diligence over the millenia, he worked his way up the ranks, eventually finding his way into the Decepticon Secret Service as a troubleshooter—but after a disastrous mission to track down Monstructor and Jhiaxus, he was captured by the Autobots, who had to physically pry him from the wall where he’d been skewered.

Placed into Spark Extraction in Garrus-9, Treadshot was eventually reactivated during Overlord’s takeover, and was offered a position as one of the new prison guards. It’s impossible to say whether Overlord knew anything of Treadshot’s history for which to favor him, or if he was selected by chance—but if it was luck that governed his fate, it was certainly bad luck, and over the following three years Treadshot partook in brutality unlike anything in the Cybertronian legends which had once enthralled him. Perhaps, when his spark was reunited with his body, it fell through the holes that lingered from those old near-misses, leaving only an empty chamber to await Impactor’s harpoon.

[paragonrobits]

i've been thinking about some setting wide specifics for treating my settings as a sandbox, for other people to use if they want, and a lot of it centers around the default assumption of characters organized into adventuring teams, exploring the world and learning to be stronger, fighting monsters and gathering magical resources to strengthen themselves or create/repair powerful magical items, performing powerful magical sorceries to change the world or establish their own dream world territory, and other adventuring things.

There are, of course, people not interested in doing this; academics learning what they can about the world and trying to figure out if any of their records are real or just imaginary figments spit up by the psuedo-internet void, people raising families or just vibing in various settlements, religious orders, and so on. By nature most settlements are VERY recent, and are in a lot of danger because kaiju pop up all the time; most towns have a dungeon nearby, because these form as a result of capping vortexes of magic, which in turn create potent defenses to allow for long term habitation, but that's not the relevant point

instead, I'm thinking about how there are no real antagonists, by design. I've had some ideas for antagonistic groups from some parallel world created through evil deeds, and a mysterious villain alliance rules from there as god-emperors, periodically sending agents to do Villain Things for unknown reasons, but it doesn't QUITE feel right to me yet. I don't mind keeping it or reworking it, but it also doesn't really occupy the mold of 'random enemies to fight', so two thoughts on that.

First, region bosses. Monsters appear naturally, being non-sapient chatbots generated by magical remnants of corrupting dreams of conquest. These manifest sometimes in very powerful monsters called region bosses, who stake out a territory and work to dissolve it, POSSIBLY on behalf of an unknown force or just on instinct.

they create large groups of weaker but still strong monsters that act in an organized capacity (allowing for mass combat and military situations without actually having imperialism be even slightly related to what the characters do); to stabilize the region and keep it from dissolving into pure chaos and weakening the fragile world, adventurers must defeat them, growing stronger, gaining resources, and making allies from the people who are no longer threatened.

The second idea borrows from One Piece's earliest iteration; when the series was first imagined, there were apparently no marines, just pirates and a world of regular people. Pirates were roughly divided into two types: Peace Maines, heroic adventurers that were only interested in adventure and went around helping people, much as how the Straw Hats (and like-minded people such as the Shanks Pirates, the Sun Pirates and what we know of the Whitebeard-allied crews). The others were Morgans, villanous pirates that went about murdering and pillaging, attacking people and looting and generally being horrible. The Peace Maines fought them as part of their vocation.

So I'm considering something like this is involved here; powerful or ambitious people tend to become adventurers, generally split into heroic adventurers traveling the world, looking for a place to call home or working to have fun while exceeding their limits, and others are more bullying and powerful people, intent on conquest, abuse of their power, and fulfilling their personal ambitions, with both coming into frequent conflict.

[youarenotthewalrus]

Reading Walden and I was not expecting to learn that even Thoreau admired the power and majesty of the machine:

When I meet the engine with its train of cars moving off with planetary motion—or, rather, like a comet, for the beholder knows not if with that velocity and with that direction it will ever revisit this system, since its orbit does not look like a returning curve—with its steam cloud like a banner streaming behind in golden and silver wreaths, like many a downy cloud which I have seen, high in the heavens, unfolding its masses to the light—as if this traveling demigod, this cloud-compeller, would ere long take the sunset sky for the livery of his train; when I hear the iron horse make the hills echo with his snort like thunder, shaking the earth with his feet, and breathing fire and smoke from his nostrils (what kind of winged horse or fiery dragon they will put into the new Mythology I don’t know), it seems as if the earth had got a race now worthy to inhabit it. If all were as it seems, and men made the elements their servants for noble ends! If the cloud that hangs over the engine were the perspiration of heroic deeds, or as beneficent as that which floats over the farmer’s fields, then the elements and Nature herself would cheerfully accompany men on their errands and be their escort.

[grokebaby]

Okay more attention for Mewmew as well time to make a wall of text talking about em.

Can you imagine how hard it must be to remain optimistic and cringily whimsical in a world like this? Especially with the kind of life Mewmew has faced? M joined the galactic alliance initially to, ykno, play heroics when times were different, mew was younger and the world felt easier to conquer (in the non evil way ofc). Then splash, witness mass death, large scale disasters and violence. Did you know Mewmew never told the alliance m had the normal cat form? That's how m was able to move on to a different, more peaceful life. Can you imagine the scoffs, eyerolls, condescendion and covert bullying one gets when they talk in Uwuish naturally, can you imagine trying to train yourself out of it? Out of the way you feel most comfortable talking in?

Quite literally hiding the softer side of yourself from others to remain strong and retain respect from your peers.

Evilicus was of course the meanest about any mannerisms or speech style Mew let slip but that'd be expected of a nasty personality like them. But the people who are supposed to work beside you, quipping about it even after knowing that that's just how you naturally talk, for some time now? Ouch.

Imagine, Mewmew having to exist beside stern serious faces who lament about the poor state of the world, as if it's the default? As if it's how it always will be? Imagine, being told how naive and, frankly, stupid you are for believing otherwise. "Maybe you're not suited to working here" they told mew, because m had the audacity to say No, the world is a very beautiful and hopeful place, and living beings don't naturally default to selfishness. No, not even demonic entities. "I'm sure-" Mew said, "I'm sure even Evilicus' goons laugh and live a little between battles, I'm sure of it! I'm sure they don't all hate the world and wish for destruction, of course they don't! I'm sure, many of them are scared and tired!"

"Well, that's too bad", they replied to Mew. "Doesn't change the situation, and there's nothing we can really do about it".

Yeah, obviously. But are you people allergic to acknowledging it? Stop celebrating over seas of corpses just because they belong to the opposing side. "They're monsters! We're allowed to feel accomplished for saving this lot!" - at the cost of lives. Thinking, feeling lives. "It's war. Get used to it"

"Maybe I don't want to get used to it.." Mew thought. Too late to back out just yet, though. Evilicus' powers grow by the day, and it's too big of a risk to ignore. "Just this one." Mew thought, "Just take care of this one, then you can leave and finally see a happy face around. Then you can rest. The world just needs to be saved, and this threat detained." m told mewself every night. Then - Maybe then, mew can go back to being ms most genuine self. The one that talks in nyas with a straight face.

Evilicus is defeated, great work team! Time to finish them.

What? Like, kill them?

Obviously. Imagine how much suffering Evilicus caused. Obviously kill them. They deserve it.

"Regardless of if they do -" Mew argued "It doesn't fix anything now! We need to focus on rehabilitation over punishment!"

Seriously, Mewmew? That's insulting.

"Is it..?" is it so insulting to want all life - evil, wicked, nasty life too, to have it's own value? No matter what? Does the value of your life decrease the more you hurt people? Is it really equality if your value can decrease through your actions? Is that humane?

"Just this one", mew thought. "Save one life more, and then you can go home and be done with it." save Evilicus, and that'll be the last heroic deed you do, Mew told mself. And then you'll have done enough world changing, and can focus on simply making people smile.

And that persistent, hardheaded mf kitty did it. Mewmew saved one more life, arguably the most wicked of all, the one least deserving of a hero. Rest well earned.

But it's not so cut and dry, is it? Nothing really is. Evilicus now lives - on unwanted time ofc. Someone doesn't simply disappear after being defeated (no matter how much they'd want to). Evilicus shows up, and of course, time to still help this one wicked, nasty life to carry on. Patch them up, feed them, and send them off again. Then Mewmew can rest easy once more, knowing m didn't leave a helpless person (a wicked, horrible person) to suffer and potentially, slowly die.

But it's not so simple, is it? It never fucking is. Evilicus is an asshole, frankly, and wears Mewmews patience to the minimum, even outright hurting em in the process. Why do you still bother. Why are you still so fucking kind. Aren't you tired of it.

And Mewmew says "No, I'm not. I won't get tired of being kind. That's impawsible!"

But nothing is impawsible, as Mewmew used to say.

However, it pays off, doesn't it? Imagine, being nice and decent to the worst person you know, it does actually make a difference. You can actually make a difference. Imagine. Evilicus can indeed feel remorse. You can't believe it either but it's happening?

Mewmew finally sighs a small sigh of relief. Maybe now, we can rest easy. Could you imagine?

[circusgoth-dotcom]

Scenes From The Shadow Gallery

Ship: V x Companion

Word Count: 962

Summary: Wanted to get something out before the end of Guy Fawkes Day, so here's the scenes in which Evey is initially brought to the Shadow Gallery and how they would play out with my s/i being there. CWs for imprisonment (though technically for both Evey and V's safety), food mentions, fire mention.

Tag List: @canongf @futurewife @dudefrommywesterns @rexscanonwife

Companion had been at V’s side through every step of their plans thus far, but they had been separated when fleeing the hijacking of Britain’s largest newscasting outlet. Upon reaching the Shadow Gallery alone, Companion prepared for V’s return. He knew he had escaped, so there was only time to pass.

It was hardly even an hour before V finally turned up.

“My love,” Companion greeted as he rose from an elegant chaise. The two approached each other and he held the sides of his mask in his hands.

“My stars,” V gently took away their hands, holding onto them. “There’s something we need to discuss.”

Companion cocked his head to the side. “What is it? I thought everything’s been going according to…?”

“There’s been… a slight curveball. You remember the young woman I crossed paths with?”

Companion nodded.

“She worked at the Tower. She lent a hand in my escape, but in the process she was knocked unconscious by my assailant. I couldn’t leave her there.”

“So she’s here?”

V nodded. “Our bedroom.”

Companion’s hands slipped out of his as they anxiously wiped their palms on their trousers. “I suppose we have to keep her here, then.”

“Yes.”

“What’s she like?”

Companion could hear the smile in V’s voice as he answered, “I’m not sure yet. But I think she’s more like us than she is like them. Now then,” he approached a jukebox containing more songs blacklisted by the Norsefire party than not and began to browse. “How about some music?”

~~~

A few songs passed before Evey came out of the bedroom, intrigued by the sound of the jukebox. She jumped when Companion appeared behind it.

“You must be our guest.”

“Who are you?”

They smiled and walked around the jukebox. “V’s partner.” He extended his hand, “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

She hesitantly shook it. “What am I doing here?”

“Because your forehead’s swole up to a goose egg, that’s what. Ah, speaking of V…” As Companion spoke, V entered the room and Evey turned to face him. “Why don’t I let him explain what’s happening while I get you something to put on that lump?”

V nodded at him and Companion took his leave. When he returned with a bag of frozen peas, Evey had gone and V was standing to the side, appearing disgruntled. Companion sighed.

“Well, so much for these. Let me guess, she doesn’t want to stay.”

“Unfortunately for all of us. But you know what will happen if we let her go.”

Companion set aside the peas and embraced him, resting their head against his chest. He wrapped his arms around them, pressing the lips of his mask against the top of their head.

“Don’t worry, my love,” Companion hummed. V said nothing. “Just be patient with her. Any plans for breakfast?” They stepped back, looking up at him.

“Hmm… egg in a basket, perhaps? Thick-cut bacon for you, of course…” He affectionately ran his hand over their short hair.

“That sounds lovely, I'm sure Evey will be more than happy to discuss things after a meal like that."

“Yes, you’re probably right, who knows when she had lunch. We should get some rest.”

~~~

The next morning, V got up and made breakfast while Companion turned on the radio and read the morning newspaper, smiling cynically over the way their government tried to cover up V’s heroic deeds.

“Do you think we’ll make a difference?” He asked. V looked up from the stove.

“That’s up to what the masses take away from my call to action, isn’t it, my dear?”

“But do you think they listened?”

V looked over his shoulder. “I know it’s easy to be pessimistic, Companion, but look what we’ve done so far. Somebody, even if it’s just one person, listened yesterday. Eventually, it will snowball. But until then, we can only rely on optimism, yes?”

Companion swallowed, nodding in agreement as he closed the paper.

“V--” Evey had appeared, looking sheepish. V turned completely toward her.

“Ah, bonjour mademoiselle.”

“I wanted to apologize for how I reacted last night.”

“Hm.”

“I understand what you’ve done for me and I want you to know that I’m grateful…” She trailed off as her eyes shifted away from his mask. “Your hands…”

“Yes…” V quickly turned away to put on his gloves while Companion stood and began to pour fresh tea. “There, that’s better. I hope I didn’t put you off your appetite.”

“Oh, no, please, I just… are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” V mumbled, losing himself in the cooking again.

“Do you mind if I ask what happened?”

“There was a fire,” V and Companion spoke at once, both freezing and refusing to look at Evey.

“We were both in it, but V… suffered the most,” Companion continued, stretching his own gloved hands before chuckling softly. “You should see my back.”

“It’s ancient history, for some,” V added.

“But it doesn’t make for very good table conversation, so,” Companion held up the tea tray, “Would you like some tea with your eggs?”

“Oh, yes, that would be wonderful, I’m starving actually…”

“Then please, take a seat,” V instructed, plating the toast he had made and placing it on the table. Evey sat and Companion handed her one of the cups.

“I never caught your name,” she mentioned to him. “You only introduced yourself as V’s partner…”

“Yes, Evey, this is my dearest Companion. We’ve been through many a disquiet together.” V squeezed one of their hands affectionately.

“But his name…?”

“That’s it. Companion,” they explained before smiling. “Bit on the nose, isn’t it?” They took up their own seat as V served a second plate.

“Aren’t you going to eat?”

“Thank you for the concern, Evey, but I already have.”

[amadholes-lostre]

Religion: Califinity-Holy city

Even though Califia and her disciples HQ was located in Solano County, it is not viewed as the holiest place for Calafinity. I mean, it is important, but the location is now used for a pro-hero academy. No, the most sacred place is Twin Peak in San Francisco.

Since the Final Ballad took place in SF and that Califia was killed/transcended there, it became a holy city for Califinitans, similar to Jerusalem and Mecca.

In bnha contemporary, San Francisco is referred to as Frinsica, a special ward of Metropolis of San Francisco. I based the governmental structure on Tokyo, and that other Bay Area cities have similar government ordinances like San Matro, San José, Oakland, Alameda, etc. The population should be nearly 17 million, more than double than the current Bay Area. Frinsica Street Grid should look like this:

Frinsica population density is 12,375/km², giving it a population of 1.5 million.

Actually, Los Angeles is also far different than ours. The population is at 24 million, and half the city looks like a Spanish Colonial-like (Isabelan) version of Paris.

Lol, I digressing a lot.

So, Twin Peak is now sacred due to being the final resting place for Califia. Initially, it wasn't yet sacred: the religion didn't kickoff yet. However, SF denizens were still grateful to Califia, her disciples and followers, and there was course causality the military and civilians suffered in the battle. There is a memorial, a monument for the heroics.

This is what I imagine the monument will look like. It will be facing Market Street, so it could be possible to see from the Ferry Building. Each terrace will have four statues, one at each end and two in the central steps. It will ascend up to the peak, where Califia's final resting place is. There likely won't be a column, but there's a statue of Califia, likely standing up triumphally. There are stairs adjacent to the fountains.

(There also likely two other monuments, likely one in Sunset District (maybe near GGP) and another in Market Street).

After half a century or so, when Califinity starts becoming more widespread, Twin Peak becomes more important, to the point it's the most holy site for Califinitans. Califinitans built a temple adjacent to the monument base, not in the way but close enough.

It is a rite of passage for young Califinitans to visit Frinsica, and i will consider it a pilgrimage for many other Califinitans. They will visit each monument chronologically, where the battle started (Sunset), the intensifying part of the battle (Market Street, from Financial District and around Castro and Duboce), and then finally Twin Peak. They will walk along given routes, not using transit, and would so in en mass. I imagine it is forbidden to eat and drink during this March unless it is water.

For newly graduated pro-heros, especially if they graduated from Califia academy, they will also pilgrimage to SF and likely do the March, all thr way to Twin Peak monument, and likely pray to Califia dor either a safe career, for strength and courage, and hope that they will do good deeds.

Since Frinsica is now considered a holy city for Califinitans, there will be a lot of conflicts between Califinitans, non-Califinitans, the government (either local, state-level, and even federal-level), and likely even Califinitans from different denomination. The US, now going by the name United States of Fredoia, wants to keep some laws from the previous regime, including the separation of state and church. But now that Califinity is a major religion, dominating states in the West Rocky Mountains, and that fact it was founded in the US and the most holiest site is in an US city, yeah I imagine it gets very intense.

Memes like this are very common in Frinsica and California.

In seriousness, some Califinitans have some very fuck up, extreme ideas. Some believe that Frinsica and the Metropolis of San Francisco should bar non-Califinitans entry to the city, like Mecca to non-Muslims. Other believe non-quirks should be prohibited entering the cityall together, that the idea of them being in the city taint the holiness. There are Califinitans who are very against this view, pointing out Califia never hated non-quirks, will be against barring non-Califinitans entry, and that it violated the freedom of religion. So there is a very aggressive tug-of-war between two groups (maybe others) who want how the city to be headed.

Also, Pride is still celebrated in Frinsica, lol.

[pangolinheart]

FFXIVWrite 2023 DAY 18 - FISH OUT OF WATER

Z'rhiki finally gets invited to an Ishgardian ball, but finds it's not exactly as she expected. Luckily, encountering a friendly face lifts her spirits.

(Disclaimer: I'm going to go back and edit this later, but I'm exhausted right now. It might read a little rough for the next day or so.)

Rating: General Genre: Fluff, romance(?) Characters: Stephanivian de Haillenarte, Z'rhiki Irhi (Warrior of Light) Relationship(s): Stephanivian/Warrior of Light Word Count: 1,763 Content Warnings: None

So this is an Ishgardian Ball, Z’rhiki thought in wonderment. Her eyes traced the ballroom’s stone arches, climbing with them to the apex of the vaulted ceiling overhead. From there they slid down the chains of the elaborate chandeliers that dangled above the proceedings. The crowd beneath them was a shifting mass of colors; exquisitely dyed silks and velvets in rich reds, vibrant yellows, deep blues, and vivid greens swirled in front of her. The throng expanded and undulated in time with the delicate orchestral music wafting through the air. Under the sound of the violins and cellos, the low murmur of quiet conversations, punctuated by clinking glasses the occasional dainty laugh, blanketed the hall. In many ways it was just as she had imagined such galas would be when she was a girl.

She had been floored when Edmont had extended the invitation to her. She rarely ever got to attend such refined parties. She enjoyed the raucous, drunken celebrations of adventurers, of course, but there was a small, frivolous part of her that had always wanted to attend something so fancy. As the Warrior of Light, she was invited to congratulatory banquets and diplomatic functions, but those were work affairs. She was typically expected to wear her armor – albeit her shiniest, most decorative set – and spent the majority of the evening being used as a prop by the Scions or other attendees: someone one could introduce to visiting dignitaries, or point to as an illustration of heroic deeds past and valiant efforts yet to come. She wasn’t there to have fun, and she had stopped expecting to. This, though, was different. Edmont had invited her as a friend and guest of House Fortemps, not as the savior of Ishgard who had quelled the thousand-year Dragonsong War. He had encouraged her to wear what she liked and enjoy the night’s festivities. It was exactly the sort of invitation a young Rhiki would have dreamed of.

What differed the most from the picture she had painted in her head long ago, though, was her place in the scene. She had always envisioned herself dancing among the other guests, chatting and laughing and sharing drinks with friends and strangers alike. She had always been the friendly, outgoing sort – the type of person who could strike up a conversation with anyone she met. So why was this situation so… different? She felt uncomfortable, out of place. It wasn’t just the dress she was wearing, though even she had to admit it didn’t fit her perfectly despite having been hurriedly altered for someone of her stature. Everything felt ill-suited to her. Almost everyone in the room was at least a foot taller than her, with the exception of some children she had seen scurrying about the edges of the dance floor and a few of the hyurian staff members who dipped in and out of the party as unobtrusively as possible to refill glasses and refresh plates of h’ors d’oeuvres. She wondered how many of the other attendees even noticed her, with their natural gazes so far above her head. She knew none of the coordinated dances, and just when she thought she may have memorized enough steps of one to attempt it, the music would change, and a new dance would begin. Other than Edmont and his two sons, she knew almost no one in attendance. She had hoped that at least Aymeric might be there, but it seemed his duties had left him either too busy or too tired to make an appearance. She had been about to ask Emmanellain to teach her one of the dances (despite any other failings he was, at least, a skilled dancer) or perhaps to introduce her to some of his friends. But as soon as he had heard that Laniaitte de Haillenarte, who had returned to the city on leave from Camp Cloudtop, was planning to attend, he had disappeared into the sea of guests. She had shadowed Edmont for a while, and he had made some polite introductions on her behalf, but eventually he had been pulled into the orbit of some old friends and she had left him to reminisce with them.

Now she stood awkwardly, drink in hand, near the tables where plates of canape and finger foods had been laid out for peckish guests to indulge in at their convenience. Were this a tavern or a marketplace she would have no trouble chatting up another bystander, but when she considered taking a similar tact here, she realized that she had absolutely no idea what Ishgarian nobles usually talked about. Eavesdropping had rewarded her only with unfamiliar names and incomprehensible inside jokes. She sighed and stared into the depths of her glass. She supposed she could drink enough to make a fool of herself. That was always entertaining. But, no. Edmont had been kind enough to invite her and she didn’t want to embarrass him or besmirch his reputation.

“Do my eyes deceive me? Z’rhiki is that you?” She heard her name and looked up to see…

“Stephanivien?”

She almost didn’t recognize him without his manufactory attire. Even if she hadn’t, though, the device in his hands would have immediately betrayed the man’s identity.

Hearing her acknowledge him, he closed the gap between them with long, unhurried strides. “I thought the prospectometer had detected an unusually glum mood, but I would never have imagined I would find it attached to you.” He glanced down at the readings on the invention’s screen, then back up at her face.

She couldn’t help but laugh at that, covering her mouth with her free hand to stifle the giggle. “You know, sometimes I think that machine doesn’t actually do anything at all, and you just make up whatever you say it tells you.”

He frowned, though thankfully not in earnest offense. “What? Perish the thought! I am wounded that you have such little faith in my genius! And when you yourself have wielded my creations in your own two hands!”

“Sorry, sorry, you’re right.” She waved the hand that she had been holding in front of her mouth. “I’ve no doubt the prospectrometer really does… whatever you designed it to do.”

With a smile, he tucked the device under his arm. “Indeed, it rarely steers me wrong. And, in this case, I can confirm the accuracy of its readings with my own eyes. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you with such a forlorn expression. Whatever is the matter?”

He was staring at her with a blatant earnestness she had grown unaccustomed to seeing from others, and she suddenly couldn’t meet his gaze. Shifting uncomfortably, she found that she had somehow managed to feel embarrassed about being embarrassed. “It’s nothing serious,” She assured him. “I was just feeling… a little awkward is all. I’ve never been to a party like this before, at least not in Ishgard, and I guess… I feel a bit out of place. Like a fish out of water. I have no idea what to do or who to talk to. So, I’ve just been… standing back here, trying not to embarrass myself.”

Stephanivien regarded her thoughtfully. “I fail to see what you have to be embarrassed about! You’re an invited guest just as we all are, are you not?” He had a point, and she nodded. “However, I suppose Ishgardian high society can seem rather impenetrable, especially to those from outside the city’s walls. To tell you the truth, I’m not very good at talking to them either. This will surprise you, I’m sure.”

She allowed herself a small smile. She had certainly witnessed the disputes between he and other members of the high houses, including his own father. Despite his effusive and agreeable disposition, it wasn’t hard to imagine that he might find himself regularly at odds with some of his peers. “Thank you, Stephanivien. Really.” She paused, finally looking back up at him. “Actually, what are you doing here? I wasn’t expecting to see you.” Truthfully, the possibility that he might be in attendance had never really crossed her mind. She knew he was a son of House Haillenarte, but he looked so at home among the steel and steam of the manufactory that it was hard to picture him anywhere else.

Stephanivien turned his head to look back out at the dance floor. “Well, while I would certainly prefer to while away my hours tinkering in the workshop, my father insists I show my face at formal events every now and again. You know how he is. In this matter, at least, I don’t mind indulging him. As long as he doesn’t start urging me to take up the lance again, though it seems we’ve finally laid that quarrel to rest.”

“That’s good to hear,” she hummed. Personally, she thought Count Baurendouin should count himself lucky to have a like Stephanivien, knight or no. He was brilliant, after all, but also industrious, fair-minded, and ever enthusiastic. She really was glad to hear that his father was starting to appreciate these qualities as well.

They stood there quietly for a minute or two, watching the rest of the guests sway in time to the music, before Stephanivien suddenly extended a hand to her. “Would you care to dance? Though, if you prefer to stand here and brood mysteriously, pray do not let me interrupt.”

This made her laugh and shake her head. She took a last long gulp of her wine and set the empty glass to the side. “I don’t really know how,” she warned him, though she had already reached out to accept his invitation.

“Well, then I shall simply teach you,” He said, leading her towards the dance floor. “You were a quick study with a carbine, so I suspect this will pose you very little challenge.”

He paused, halting several feet short of the crowd. Glancing back at her, he raised his eyebrows, his smile taking on a sly edge. “And, should you find dancing not to your taste, we could always sneak out and return to the manufactory. You haven’t been by in quite a while! So long, in fact, that I was starting to think you were avoiding us. I’d love to show you some of the spectacular new creations I’ve been working on! You strike me as a woman who enjoys… explosives.”

She grinned, and marveled at how quickly all of her troubles had melted away under his attention. “At least there’s one other person at this party who knows how to have fun!”

[pristine24]

When a story finds it's core purpose, it strikes the right chords and the right timing. And it brings out a film like 'Manjummel Boys'. I have seen director Chidambaram's 'Jane-e-man' only after the euphoria about 'Manjummel Boys' sprung up. His forte seems to be about group of boys who endeavour into tussles and how the problem is solved and not about a single person who performs heroic deeds. As a fan of cinema, I'm for both types of movies. I feel all types of movies must exist.

Now that the movie is making waves all over South India and rest of the world, the story need not be explained. Even though Manjummel takes a dig at TN police as it reflects a true story we can't find fault in and much of the recent Malayalam films does the same depiction. Yet dissimilar from the other Malayalam movies, Manjummel has a mass, universal touch which the director didn't consciously work out. It looks organically upgraded to that stature. Unlike Janeman, this film quickly jumps from one scene to the next without delay. The boys begin their journey to Kodaikanal, they're charged and ready to set about an adventure. Their youthfulness is crazy, bold and their confidence is unshakeable. The devil never calls but only if you set foot on the place it's no time you're under its purview! When the man is rescued from the immeasurable death pit that is undulating and cavernous, the theatre erupts and nothing is heard. I just assumed that the bgm 'Kanmani..' song from Guna was playing behind. Such cacophony in a theatre where most of the crowd are locals of a small town in TN and surprisingly with no online ticket booking facility (in which the theatre I watched), it was housefull on a weekday. But I will not say it'll be anyway a match to Jailer.

[djemsostylist]

What went wrong...continued

bc apparently tumblr has a character limit

4. The characters--The problem with the characters is, well, everything. The issue is that the show itself operates like most terribly written things--it makes no sense, and their entire "be kind" mantra falls apart when it only seems to apply to the people they like. Regina/The Evil Queen is a terrible person. Not in a regular "ug she's mean" sort of way, but in a "she committed mass murders over a series of years, tortured people, stole 28 years of life, and continued to murder and destroy" and yet she is worthy of redemption. The Wicked Witch literally murdered a women and r*ped her husband, but she deserves redemption. Rumple has been emotionally abusing Belle for the entirety of their relationship and murdered his ex wife for leaving him, but he deserves redemption. But those people get to be redeemed and forgiven over and over again, where characters like Cruella or Hades or even the Snow Queen have to die. It's an interesting sort of morality that seems to be entirely predicated on family or love--Hook is fine because Emma loves him, Cruella is not because no one loves her. The Wicked Witch is fine because Regina is her sister, Hades is not because he is not of any relation. Look I grew up with Luke Skywalker trying to redeem Darth Vader, I'm hardly averse to the idea of heroes trying to redeem their loved ones. I also grew up in a world where Darth Vader died, because you can't always have both. Regina being redeemed is a stretch, but I think there's a world where you make it work--but there is a morality there that you have to then be super aware of with every villain, or it makes our heroes look...well, not so heroic. It makes it confusing, too, especially when you have Snow kill Cora (an arguably horrible person and abuser) and everyone is worried about it blackening her heart, but then Emma kills Cruella (who is a murderer yes, but also arguably deeply mentally ill) and everyone is just like, "well Emma you did what you had to do". Even Hook--he's a murderer by necessity of storyline, but a murderer none the less, and his redemption is a foregone conclusion the moment he and Emma make-out, but for others it's a toss up. Ursula gets a pass bc Hook and Triton were mean to her (although it's unclear what her villainous deeds were), and Maleficent sort of gets forgotten. The Snow Queen just erased some memories and trapped people, but she has to kill herself for the heroes. The issue is that nothing is consistent, which makes it hard to root for our heroes when all you have to be is family to be forgiven. Additionally, they never deal with the fall out of the redemptions--sure the Charmings forgive the Evil Queen, but we've got an entire country/community whos lives she ruined. Robin Hood lost his wife because of her, but he's like "well I guess you're different now". Where is the angst that comes from actually having to confront the impact your cruelty had on others? This show talks about happy endings, but it does nothing to make them work other than saying "oops, my bad, I did it because I thought it was right." Hell, Regina's mother gets accepted into OUAT Heaven bc she was like "my bad" despite all her evil cruelty, murdering, and abuse, but then poor Jekyll gets eternally damned for a single fuck up and the heroes are like "shrug".

5. The Plot--OUAT, like most network shows that are not serialized, runs in the issue of not knowing what the fuck to do once they finish the first season long arc. And, like most other terribly written network shows, they solve the problem by just doing the same thing over and over and over, in increasingly annoying ways. By the time the show closes, we have seen the same scenes about 1000 times. Snow running away in the Enchanted Forest and Regina being mean to villagers. Hook on the Jolly Roger saying pirate things and also meeting everyone somehow despite never having met anyone. Emma saying "I don't think I can do this." Henry saying "You gotta believe." Regina saying "Oh right, I'm the Evil Queen." There's a revolving door of side characters we are forced to spend endless of embarrassing moments with until they are written off or simply dropped and forgotten. There's entire seasons worth of boring storylines we endure that go literally no where. Lily is Malificent's daughter, and then she like shows up, and we have to endure endless flashbacks of them as kids, only for her present adult self to have literally 0 impact on the storyline. And every time we get a new Disney character introduced, somehow we have to have a flashback to one of our mains knowing them somehow. It's exhausting. And the McGuffins are endless. ENDLESS. This season has a wand, a crystal, a goblet, a coin, a rock, a heart, a phial...you name it, we've dealt with it. It's a neverending series of "time to defeat x evil with y mcguffin while we relieve the same character arcs from 3 seasons ago." Emma is Closed Off and Unsure, Hook is Wanting Revenge but also Wanting Love, Henry is a Believer, Snow Never Gives Up, Charming Will Always Find His Family, Rumple Is a Dark Man Who Likes Darkness, Regina Is An Evil Queen Who Can Never Find Happiness--the plots NEVER change. By the time season 6 rolled around, I'd seen the same arcs play out 100 times. Henry at 14 (lol that they expected us to believe that) still playing "Operation ______" is ridiculous. He's not 10 anymore. The story doesn't let the characters breathe and grow, it doesn't explore who they are as people. They change if the plot needs them too--sometimes Hook is a pirate who stole gold, sometimes he's a random highway robber who murders people. Sometime Snow and Charming always believe in Good, sometimes they steal a baby to be filled with Darkness. You just never know.

So. i decided on 5 instead because this getting long and I could go on forever. My point is that OUAT was BAD. Awful, terrible, no good. BUT it could have been good. It had potential, if only they had thought, just a little bit. Which leads me to...

The Changes, Part 1

[fate-magical-girls]

On the subject of the Avengers

I’ve read through some of Marvel’s Avenger’s comics, and followed a few members’ ups and downs. The inconsistency of how well characters are forgiven for their past actions makes me ponder a dark theory regarding the Earth’s Mightiest Heroes.

This pertains only to the main universe (616) comics published by Marvel Comics, not the MCU. Hot take, dark take ensues below the cut.

The Avengers, frankly, are enablers. In their attempt to understand and support their friends, they dash across the line to enabling.

When an Avenger messes up, the good and heroic thing for their teammates to do is forgive them the moment they show up with a sincere apology. And thus they’ve forgiven some otherwise unforgivable things.

Hank Pym is a former domestic abuser, While his general sanity during the incident can be argued, there is no question that he struck his wife to shut her up, and he did it with the knowledge that he can trust her to not fight back. To his credit, he hasn’t descended into domestic violence ever again after the initial incident...but he does backslide into red flag territory, especially whenever he rekindles a romance with Janet. Not to mention, up until his “death” in Rage of Ultron, he still refused to deal with his BPD responsibly.

Carol Danvers is nearly sociopathic with her ability to compartmentalize. Whereas Pym’s horrible deeds were intensely personal, Carol’s are depersonalized. She will brutalize people who are supposed to be her friends mentally and physically, all as part of her job of keeping law and order.  Afterwards, she never even recognizes the actual horror of her deeds, immediately going back to her friendly self with the very people she attacked. As of Jason Aaron’s Avengers, she doesn’t even register guilt over her actions.

Tony Stark has totalitarian leanings. His need to be accountable to himself translates into massive control freak tendencies where he keeps tight control over his technology, and eventually, organizes an effort to keep control over all Earth’s superhumans. While accountability is good, Tony allowed the Superhuman Registration Act to spiral out of control and turn into an effort to forcibly conscript and indoctrinate superhuman soldiers.

Wanda Maximoff is the superhero version of a mass shooter. In a fit of anger and grief, she opened fire on her closest friends in a rampage through Avengers mansion. While there is still her precarious mental state and manipulation by Dr. Doom to consider, she likely still comprehended that her actions during Avengers Disassembled were meant to kill the Avengers.

All of these people were unconditionally forgiven and eventually reinstated among the Avengers. No boundaries of acceptable and unacceptable behavior were ever set for them. Not much effort would be made to get the people the help they need to never do what they did again. They’re all allowed to mentor younger heroes with no caveats. More egregiously, all of them were allowed continued contacts with their victims. Everyone acts like the mistakes never happened. They’re as close and friendly as they’ve ever been, at least on the outside.

In addition to enabling, I get a sense that the Avengers forgave their friends before they were truly emotionally ready. They forgave them because it was a thing they should do, the thing expected of them as Earth’s Mightiest Heroes. But it wasn’t a thing they really wanted to do as people. There was no cooling off period so anyone could really process their pain. This performative forgiveness just leads resentments slowly building up, until it results in them exploding into sniping back and forth about past mistakes. This especially applies to the victims of the Avengers listed above. Most of the time, they aren’t allowed to be angry or resentful or hold a grudge. They’re under subtle pressure to forgive the teammates who wronged them, and most often they do, only to air their actual feelings out way down the line.

Overall, this is a tragic situation. It happens because most of the Avengers are good, heroic people who want to do the right thing. Unfortunately, they err on the side of compassion and create a situation that isn’t good for anyone.

[omnibenevolent-couch-blog]

Great Emperors and Beyond; An Abridged History of the Golden Empire of Yi Ti

By Sun Ma, translated by Orlendr

-

Preface 1.2: The Great Empire of the Dawn

According to known histories, both those written down thousands of years before and those passed down from mouth to mouth, the Golden Empire of Yi Ti is in fact a descent to the Great Empire of the Dawn. Because of this assurance, this preface will simply be reiterating understood knowledge of the Empire. All this in order to refresh memories and education, and to introduce this topic to those who have not studied such beforehand.

The son of the Maiden-Made-of-Light and the Lion-of-the-Night, God-on-Earth reigned for 10,000 years. Then, his son the Pearl Emperor for 1,000 years, and next the Jade Emperor for 900, the Tourmaline Emperor for 800, the Onyx Emperor for 700, the Topaz Emperor for 600, and the Opal Emperor for 500 before succeeding his throne to his eldest, the Amethyst Empress.

In what was the 50th year of her short reign, the Blood Betrayal occurred and the Long Night began. The Bloodstone Emperor rose to power and for 45 years he terrorized his people with enslavement and dark arts. In 4AB he married a tiger woman, and during the year 22AB of his reign a black stone fell from the sky. In his final years as emperor he spent them performing nefarious acts and deeds in worship for the stone, founding the Church of Starry Wisdom. In 45AB a woman with a monkey tail named Yin Tar defeated the Bloodstone Emperor and brought his reign to a close, ending the Long Night in the process.

There is debate amongst scholars whether or not Yin Tar was a heroic commonborn woman tired of the reign of the Bloodstone Emperor or a Wu, a person blessed with the ability to control the governing Forces[1] and nature spirits. Many variations of stories involving Yin Tar range from her being a Wu from the Western provinces to her being a fusi’ang [Ifequevron] that traveled such a distance on the pleas and prayers of the masses during the Long Night. Others speak of her monkey tail and point to that as a sign of her being an animal spirit from the south.

Mentions of spirits would not be complete without discussing the malevolent tiger-woman from the west that the Bloodstone Emperor married. Some believe that both she and Yin Tar are one in the same, both fusi’ang but with differing goals. To begin the Long Night, and to end it. It was her marriage to the Bloodstone Emperor that caused the theme of cats bringing bad luck or being evil things in nature to occur. Though this is mostly associated with cat ghosts and spirits rather than living companions and pets.

In later years many a figurehead from both before and after the Long Night would be deified by the people of the emerging Golden Empire, making up what many know of as the thousands gods of Yi Ti. From the Gemstone Emperors and God-on-Earth to Yin Tar, to even the famous jitong[2] now immortal Old-Man-Under-the-Stars.

-

The Forces are something akin to natural divinity, they fall under the manifestation of celestial energy, or power. The natural Forces of the world are Fire, Water, Metal, Wood, and Earth. The Forces can also refer to governing celestial bodies, like that of the Sun or Moon.

A jitong is a person who acts as a conduit for spirits and gods to speak through them.

Chapter 1: Blood Betrayal and The Long Night

Leading up to the Long Night would be the cursed acts of the Blood Betrayal. The seventh divine emperor, the Opal Emperor was succeeded by his eldest, a daughter. She became the Amethyst Empress, and in her 50 years she had many children with many consort-husbands who traveled far and wide to spread word of the Great Empire. Unfortunately, her younger brother grew envious, unmarried and of ill-temperment meant that many considered associating with him would lower their reputation in the eyes of the Imperial Court. During what is now recognized as the year 1AB, the Empress and many in the imperial family’s retinue visited the sprawling city of Asshai. Fertile and massive, millions of citizens and laborers of the Empire lived in the port city.

On the local festive day—what is now commemorated as the first day of the sun-ruled Fireywrm phase of the Earth Month—to celebrate the Maiden-Made-of-Light in Asshai, the brother was overcome with jealousy and stabbed his red-steel sword through her chest, killing her. His sycophants from court appeared and began to sack any of his sister’s loyal guards and consorts. In the middle of this mass slaughter, the younger brother declared himself the Bloodstone Emperor of the Great Empire of the Dawn.

The Bloodstone Emperor’s killing of his sister horrified the Maiden-Made-of-Light, and being affronted by the death, she turned her back, and the Lion-of-the-Night wrought forth darkness upon the land. Unleashing fire and ash all over the land, many types of wyrms came up from the deep to crack the earth and boil the sea, and the once fertile Asshai became Asshai-by-the-Shadow, forever steeped in corruption and blood.

The Long Night had begun, and yet still, the Bloodstone Emperor ruled through it with an iron claw; even now more so in defiance of the Lion-of-the-Night’s rage. In the 4th year of his reign he married a tiger-woman, Daiye. Some scholars think of her to be a fusi’ang, or perhaps a malicious animal spirit that further deceived and ushered the Empire’s leftover citizens into despair. The Bloodstone Emperor never recognized any persons he took to bed as Imperial Consorts—only Daiye as his official wife and Empress. There are surging claims of necromancy practiced by the Emperor and his court, and these claims point to that of his supposed undead concubines. Any bedfellow that Daiye didn’t like mysteriously vanished, and reappeared some days later gaunt and dead-looking.

When the choking ash clouds filled with glass and glittering rocks cleared from the gray-dark sky after 20-or-so years, a blackened sun was seen. From it, a large oily rock fell with trailing flames of blue and green. The landscape of the Empire, still war torn and besieged by the natural and unnatural of the earth and divine fury, was set alight once more in the impact of the crater. In the months after the shimmering stone fell to the earth, the Church of Starry Wisdom was founded. Only 22 years into the Bloodstone Emperor’s reign, and the Bloodstone Emperor himself is said to have been the first High Priest of the Church, a position in which only they may see the hidden, preserved rock for the otherworldly truth it holds.

The main temple is now lost in what is now known as the Cunlan province’s jungles, but smaller sects appear closer to the Mountains of Morn and the Bleeding Sea. There are few rural villages that still participate in the festivals that pertain to the ceremonies of the Church, and those that do make use of cat spirits and boxed idols, alongside other more cannibalistic practices like eating the grave-fat and marrow of ancestors to strengthen the connection to spirits and the perceived Forces.

The provinces of Yi Ti in the year 132AC; the variated dark brown spots are regions in which the festivals and rites of the Church of Starry Wisdom are still practiced.

During his reign, the Five Forts built by the legendary Pearl Emperor were left unmanned and open. Demons rose up from the wounds in the deep and took to the East. They claimed the Mountains of Morn and past the Five Forts, even conquering two of the five, being that of Mubian and Hongbidi.

A woman named Yin Tar defeated the Bloodstone Emperor and brought the Long Night to an end 45 years after the Blood Betrayal. There is no written work on how exactly the Bloodstone Emperor was killed, only that it was done and the Long Night over. But there are many regional tales spread by word of mouth on how Yin Tar did so. Each story differs depending on what exactly Yin Tar is thought to be, and how the cruel Emperor was slain.

During the years after, in what sparse detail was written down and discovered, primary sources state that eventually the demons were pushed back from the Five Forts and past even what is now known as Shrike Territory and the Grey Waste, perhaps even ending up residing in the Mossovy Forest. The wyrms fled underground and to the sea, now west from the Empire’s domain. The sun had finally emerged as normal, ridding itself of its smoky hue.

Citizens all over Yi Ti now honor this day in a week-long festival, a celebration of the end of a tyrant’s rule. It generally falls during the end of the year, in the last week of the Boar phase.

[howieabel]

“Passions without truth, truths without passion; heroes without heroic deeds, history without events; development, whose sole driving force seems to be the calendar, wearying with constant repetition of the same tensions and relaxations; antagonisms that periodically seem to work themselves up to a climax only to lose their sharpness and fall away without being able to resolve themselves; pretentiously paraded exertions and philistine terror at the danger of the world’s coming to an end, and at the same time the pettiest intrigues and court comedies played by the world redeemers, who in their laisser aller remind us less of the Day of Judgment than of the times of the Fronde – the official collective genius of France brought to naught by the artful stupidity of a single individual; the collective will of the nation, as often as it speaks through universal suffrage, seeking its appropriate expression through the inveterate enemies of the interests of the masses, until at length it finds it in the self-will of a filibuster. If any section of history has been painted gray on gray, it is this.” ― Karl Marx, The Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte