#monarchy tattoos

[karamazovposting]

Considering tattoos became fashionable between European aristocrats in the late 19th century and Tsar Nicholas II himself had a massive dragon tattoo on his right arm (that he got done during a trip in Nagasaki in the early 1890s), it's not completely anachronistic to imagine Dmitri Karamazov as having one or multiple tattoos.

Do whatever you want with this information, I'm just saying.

[antorious]

Drunk in a Wetherspoons. Most British thing I’ve ever done.

[bridgetwinderart]

"The Triple Crown."

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(18 inch x 24 inch, water-based oils and metallic acrylic on paper)

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All rights reserved. Unauthorized duplication is a violation of applicable laws without artist consent or a credit line: Bridget Winder Art. 

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WEBSITE: www.BridgetWinder.com

PATREON: www.patreon.com/bridgetwinder

[billfarrah]

I genuinely can't believe there are actually people coming for Young Royals for showing a character empowering themselves enough to remove themselves from a toxic situation and framing it as Wille "running away from his problems."

Removing yourself from a toxic situation which has caused you nothing but suffering and trauma and grief is not running away from your problems and it's genuinely such a dangerous thing to imply.

Why does Wille have to stay in a role he's never wanted, to please parents who have never accepted him for who he is or what he wants, who want to dictate how he lives his life and how his boyfriend lives his life and what path he takes in life and how he portrays himself to the media?

The show is literally about personal autonomy and finding the strength and motivation to be radically yourself regardless of what is against you and Wille's decision is portrayed an act of bravery. Leaving the monarchy is not "running away from his problems" - he's removing himself from an institution he does not believe in and does not want to be a part of and choosing to take a journey of self-discovery where he can discover who he truly is, who he wants to be, without anyone breathing down his neck or telling him whether he is allowed to have tattoos or how short he is allowed to cut his hair. Wille should not have to beg and fight with his family and with the royal court to be accepted.

The ending of the show never implies that Wille's mental health struggles are suddenly over and done with. Nobody is saying his anxiety and issues with anger have disappeared. Nobody is saying he will never struggle again. However, majority of his mental health issues throughout the show are directly linked to his role and the pressures it puts himself under. Leaving that all behind doesn't solve every problem he could ever had, but it alleviates a large amount of stress. Have people never left a stressful situation or relationship behind and suddenly felt an immediate and monumental relief?

I'd also like to point out that the ending of the show is not Wille abdicating. He has to officially renounce his claim to the throne for that to happen. He's simply just telling his mother how he feels and what he wants to do. The journey is not over for Wille and there will no doubt be many hardships ahead for him, but now that he's released himself from this and is for the first time sure of what he wants and sure he is able to deal with it, he is more equipped to deal with what's ahead than ever before.

Wille removing himself from the expectations of his family and the royal court are demonstrations of him working towards bettering his mental health, because he is finally able to recognize that the situation has always negatively affected him and he finally feels powerful enough and not drowned by anger, resentment and anxiety to leave it all behind and start over.

If that isn't bravery, I don't know what is.

[lostintransist]

Makarov's Chasm

I searched high and low (read for literal days) to find the post about Johnny meeting a girl that matches and exceeds his freak. If any of you know where to find that post please come to the front I would like to give credit to the OP for sparking this particular brain worm.

CW: Johnny post bullet to the brain, sexual content, masturbation, matching freaks, dodgy neighbor dynamics. If I miss anything major please LMK so I can update.

Johnny knew he would either get slapped or finally get her to snap. The woman he stalked admired from afar who lived in his building would humor him for a conversation about every third time they ran into each other. She laughed at a few of his jokes but otherwise held a small smile firm as they talked. He had seen a spark of interest at his muscles often enough to know that he wasn’t barking up the wrong tree.

She interested him. He wondered at the different sides of her he had seen. When Johnny ran into his neighbor once outside of the building she had prim and proper and buttoned up in a suit. Two weeks later she had a new tattoo peaking above the collar of her cropped T-shirt as she swung her legs from the counter in the basement laundry, scrolling away on her phone. She needed to be more cautious about her safety. Johnny would watch for her.

Leaving gifts for her became his favorite pastime: new perfumes he thought would compliment her scent, a gift card for a food delivery service, removing her garbage any time it sat in the hall as he passed on the way to one of his many therapies. The first time he snagged the bag on the way out he heard her squawks of confusion and alarm as he continued down the stairs. They settled over him like a hand running through his hair. The thought settled over him that if she commanded him he would heel like a well-trained work dog.

He knew he had been different…before. Less volatile, but maybe not less pushy. The him he remembered before Makarav tried to give him a third eye no longer existed. The team came by when they could, Simon more than the others. Always commented on him growing out his mohawk. They didn’t discuss the scar that trailed into nothing above his eyebrow. Johnny thought it might be guilt that drove his friend to his doorstep. Johnny dealt with the perceived changes in him by ignoring them in favor of chasing the only clarity he could find.

That brings him back to her, his nameless neighbor. She didn’t reciprocate any time he offered up his name, holding tight to that smile that gave nothing away. He watched her now from the entrance to the communal laundry, wondering if he could crawl inside what he would find inside her bones.

She wore a crop tee, no bra (thank god because when she stretched just so he could see a hint of skin that curved) a long skirt today, black with an assortment of swirling polka dots? Could those be polka dots if they didn’t sit in a uniform line? Johnny stared, eyes narrowing as he pondered on this question.

“If you’re going to stare at my ass John the least you could do is pay for the pleasure,” she stated dryly to the room.

Pulling out the exact change for the machine Johnny set the stack neatly on the machine.

“And how much for the pleasure of your company?”

She rolled her eyes at him as she deposited the coins into the machine.

“Doubt you make that much on your pension. Next question.”

He had never told her about his pension, or that he didn’t work. The flip in his mind switched.

Invade. Stepping close, to close for their status as neighbors.

Intimidate.

“Aye bonnie,” he lets the predator that never ceased pacing in his head peer out through his eyes. “You been diggin’ about me?”

That spark of interest had returned to her eyes, the hint of fear lurking behind stoked the pleasure center of his brain. Johnny thought of the monarchy as his body fought every lick of good sense not blown out of his skull to not get hard right now. Curving around her he settles his ear near her mouth, the slightest catch in her breath as he spoke next.

“Not nice to look in a man’s closet for skeletons,” he chastises.

“Scary times, John. Woman is liable to get murdered any time she opens a door.” Her words are suffused with breathlessness. “Needed to make sure you weren’t trying to remove me from the census or anything.”

The baby hairs on her neck rose as Johnny huffed out a small laugh.

“More in the habit of practicing to add to it,” he crooned.

“Not from what I could find Sargent MacTavish.”

The deep breath she takes brushes against him as he straightens. The only things left from his time serving that fit were his boots and his soldier’s face. He wore both now.

“Seems you found more than a skeleton when rifling through my closet,” his eyes drag from her narrowing eyes, the tips of her breasts peaking up to say hello, the skirt against her stomach and back up. “Be honest with me lass…”

She glances up and down him, as much as she can with only a breath between them.

“Couldn’t find much honestly, found your medical discharge though. And yes, you have a chance.” Then without stepping back, she slides both hands into her skirt, the fabric stretchy enough to allow for the invasion without revealing the secrets below. When her hands reappear she sets one on the washer for balance and pulls something off her ankle with the other.

Incinerate.

“How about this, MacTavish,” her tongue makes an appearance before she continues, “You let me watch you get off to these with my name on your tongue and maybe if you do a good enough job I’ll step on you if you ask please.”

Fucking hell.

Glancing to her hand Johnny knew there would be no saving himself from trudging up the stairs with a hard-on. Panties, likely still warm from her core, dangled off one finger. Nothing fancy, orange and cotton by the look.

The small beep of the machine and the rushing sound of water took him by surprise. His eyes hadn’t left the panties.

“You’ve got thirty-two minutes solider,” she tips her head to one side, the cat that ate the canary smirk broad across her lips. “You game?”

Snatching the orange offering he smashes it to his nose.

“Only if you give your name,” Johnny sucked in a breath through his nose. His erection pressed painfully against the zipper of his pants at the intoxicating scent of her musk.

“Niah.”

She didn’t say more, eyes boring into Johnny’s as the black of her pupil lipped at the color of her irises. Things moved quickly then. They were up the stairs, heavy breaths the only communication between them. Entering his apartment Johnny decided that the couch would be the best place to settle. The space between the TV and the couch left room for a chair from the kitchen and would let him stretch any way he might need.

Niah didn’t wait for an invitation to set a chair across from the couch. She sat primly, one leg resting over the other, fingers interlaced over her knee as the dangling foot bounced. Loosening his belt Johnny let his pants fall to his thighs and sat. Her panties came to his face clenched in his left hand.

Her foot stopped bouncing as she watched his hand curl around his shaft with a hiss. When he could focus his eyes Johnny had them on her. Niah’s chest expanded and retracted as her gaze focused on him. Giving an experimental downward stroke with his hand, he saw her breath stutter. He kept the panties on his nose, removing them for a breath or two to allow him to smell her sweet scent fresh to flood his nose anew.

“Tell me about yourself Niah, got any interesting facts?” Johnny set a smooth and slow pace, hand moving up and down.

Niah doesn’t respond. He stopped and started counting in his head. One. Two. Thr—

“Why did you stop?” Her voice is rough with want, bumping over his flesh and raising hair across his body.

“Asked you a question,” he stroked his hand down, “Do you need me to repeat it?”

She narrowed her eyes, gaze snapping between his head and his head.

“Yes.” She ground the word like a piece of ice between molars.

“Interesting fact about you,” Johnny picks his pace back up, waiting for the answer.

Her eyes have dialed back in on his moving hand, tongue making an appearance as she swallows.

“I have nipple piercings.”

Johnny’s back arched off the couch as his hand tightened down on his shaft at the base.

A stuttered gasp slid into his ear from across the room.

“Would pay a lot of money to see those,” he panted. His hand held a bit tighter as he stroked himself.

“I’m an atheist, but swear I saw God when the first one got pierced. Now though? If the wind brushes me wrong I wet my panties,” Niah slides a hand beneath her crop top, fingers tenting her shirt.

Groaning into her panties his eyes drifted shut. The mental image of nipple piercings, of tugging them between his lips, of fiddling with them in passing ratcheted up his arousal.

“Talk to me Niah,” he moaned her name, unable to keep the pleasure from spilling out and over his tongue.

“About what John?”

“Johnny. Call me Johnny.”

His name, the gift from his teammate, the man who pulled him back to life, fell from her lips. He must have reacted in a way she enjoyed because with her scent lilting over his face, panties still pressed tight to his own, and her sweet voice in his ear repeating his name, Johnny couldn’t prevent himself from tripping over the edge into his orgasm.

Clarity that brought him closer to who he had been before rolled through him on the waves of his orgasm. He hadn’t found a bridge between the now and then, this was as close as he could get. A waving distance to the man he had been, the chasm of Makarov’s bullet between them.

His spend landed in spurts on his shirt, spreading across the fabric covering his stomach. Drifting closer to reality Johnny let his hand fall from his face and his grip on his shaft loosen. Sucking in air like he surfaced from the depths Johnny settled his eyes on Niah.

Both hands worked themselves under her shirt now, knees sliding past the other as she searched for friction. Her head, thrown back in pleasure, let him gaze upon the stretch of her neck. Carefully rolling the bottom of his shirt to hold his semon Johnny removed his shirt. Setting it aside he worked his pants back up leaving the belt undone.

When Johnny knelt before Niah, mind aching for more, he held an ankle in each hand, thumbs sweeping over her soft skin.

“What do you ask for a taste?” Yearning for an answer.

Niah pulled herself forward by the nipple piercings until her nose brushed his.

“Beg.”

Sergeant MacTavish would have balked. Broken Johnny learned the language of groveling at his neighbor’s knee.

@lialucis I finally finished it.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Every internet fight is a speech fight

THIS WEEKEND (November 8-10), I'll be in TUCSON, AZ: I'm the GUEST OF HONOR at the TUSCON SCIENCE FICTION CONVENTION.

My latest Locus Magazine column is "Hard (Sovereignty) Cases Make Bad (Internet) Law," an attempt to cut through the knots we tie ourselves in when speech and national sovereignty collide online:

https://locusmag.com/2024/11/cory-doctorow-hard-sovereignty-cases-make-bad-internet-law/

This happens all the time. Indeed, the precipitating incident for my writing this column was someone commenting on the short-lived Brazilian court order blocking Twitter, opining that this was purely a matter of national sovereignty, with no speech dimension.

This is just profoundly wrong. Of course any rules about blocking a communications medium will have a free-speech dimension – how could it not? And of course any dispute relating to globe-spanning medium will have a national sovereignty dimension.

How could it not?

So if every internet fight is a speech fight and a sovereignty fight, which side should we root for? Here's my proposal: we should root for human rights.

In 2013, Edward Snowden revealed that the US government was illegally wiretapping the whole world. They were able to do this because the world is dominated by US-based tech giants and they shipped all their data stateside for processing. These tech giants secretly colluded with the NSA to help them effect this illegal surveillance (the "Prism" program) – and then the NSA stabbed them in the back by running another program ("Upstream") where they spied on the tech giants without their knowledge.

After the Snowden revelations, countries around the world enacted "data localization" rules that required any company doing business within their borders to keep their residents' data on domestic servers. Obviously, this has a human rights dimension: keeping your people's data out of the hands of US spy agencies is an important way to defend their privacy rights. which are crucial to their speech rights (you can't speak freely if you're being spied on).

So when the EU, a largely democratic bloc, enacted data localization rules, they were harnessing national soveriegnty in service to human rights.

But the EU isn't the only place that enacted data-localization rules. Russia did the same thing. Once again, there's a strong national sovereignty case for doing this. Even in the 2010s, the US and Russia were hostile toward one another, and that hostility has only ramped up since. Russia didn't want its data stored on NSA-accessible servers for the same reason the USA wouldn't want all its' people's data stored in GRU-accessible servers.

But Russia has a significantly poorer human rights record than either the EU or the USA (note that none of these are paragons of respect for human rights). Russia's data-localization policy was motivated by a combination of legitimate national sovereignty concerns and the illegitimate desire to conduct domestic surveillance in order to identify and harass, jail, torture and murder dissidents.

When you put it this way, it's obvious that national sovereignty is important, but not as important as human rights, and when they come into conflict, we should side with human rights over sovereignty.

Some more examples: Thailand's lesse majeste rules prohibit criticism of their corrupt monarchy. Foreigners who help Thai people circumvent blocks on reportage of royal corruption are violating Thailand's national sovereignty, but they're upholding human rights:

https://www.vox.com/2020/1/24/21075149/king-thailand-maha-vajiralongkorn-facebook-video-tattoos

Saudi law prohibits criticism of the royal family; when foreigners help Saudi women's rights activists evade these prohibitions, we violate Saudi sovereignty, but uphold human rights:

https://www.bbc.com/news/world-middle-east-55467414

In other words, "sovereignty, yes; but human rights even moreso."

Which brings me back to the precipitating incidents for the Locus column: the arrest of billionaire Telegram owner Pavel Durov in France, and the blocking of billionaire Elon Musk's Twitter in Brazil.

How do we make sense of these? Let's start with Durov. We still don't know exactly why the French government arrested him (legal systems descended from the Napoleonic Code are weird). But the arrest was at least partially motivated by a demand that Telegram conform with a French law requiring businesses to have a domestic agent to receive and act on takedown demands.

Not every takedown demand is good. When a lawyer for the Sackler family demanded that I take down criticism of his mass-murdering clients, that was illegitimate. But there is such a thing as a legitimate takedown: leaked financial information, child sex abuse material, nonconsensual pornography, true threats, etc, are all legitimate targets for takedown orders. Of course, it's not that simple. Even if we broadly agree that this stuff shouldn't be online, we don't necessarily agree whether something fits into one of these categories.

This is true even in categories with the brightest lines, like child sex abuse material:

https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2016/sep/09/facebook-reinstates-napalm-girl-photo

And the other categories are far blurrier, like doxing:

https://www.kenklippenstein.com/p/trump-camp-worked-with-musks-x-to

But just because not every takedown is a just one, it doesn't follow that every takedown is unjust. The idea that companies should have domestic agents in the countries where they operate isn't necessarily oppressive. If people who sell hamburgers from a street-corner have to register a designated contact with a regulator, why not someone who operates a telecoms network with 900m global users?

Of course, requirements to have a domestic contact can also be used as a prelude to human rights abuses. Countries that insist on a domestic rep are also implicitly demanding that the company place one of its employees or agents within reach of its police-force.

Just as data localization can be a way to improve human rights (by keeping data out of the hands of another country's lawless spy agencies) or to erode them (by keeping data within reach of your own country's lawless spy agencies), so can a requirement for a local agent be a way to preserve the rule of law (by establishing a conduit for legitimate takedowns) or a way to subvert it (by giving the government hostages they can use as leverage against companies who stick up for their users' rights).

In the case of Durov and Telegram, these issues are especially muddy. Telegram bills itself as an encrypted messaging app, but that's only sort of true. Telegram does not encrypt its group-chats, and even the encryption in its person-to-person messaging facility is hard to use and of dubious quality.

This is relevant because France – among many other governments – has waged a decades-long war against encrypted messaging, which is a wholly illegitimate goal. There is no way to make an encrypted messaging tool that works against bad guys (identity thieves, stalkers, corporate and foreign spies) but not against good guys (cops with legitimate warrants). Any effort to weaken end-to-end encrypted messaging creates broad, significant danger for every user of the affected service, all over the world. What's more, bans on end-to-end encrypted messaging tools can't stand on their own – they also have to include blocks of much of the useful internet, mandatory spyware on computers and mobile devices, and even more app-store-like control over which software you can install:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/05/theyre-still-trying-to-ban-cryptography/

So when the French state seizes Durov's person and demands that he establish the (pretty reasonable) minimum national presence needed to coordinate takedown requests, it can seem like this is a case where national sovereignty and human rights are broadly in accord.

But when you consider that Durov operates a (nominally) encrypted messaging tool that bears some resemblance to the kinds of messaging tools the French state has been trying to sabotage for decades, and continues to rail against, the human rights picture gets rather dim.

That is only slightly mitigated by the fact that Telegram's encryption is suspect, difficult to use, and not applied to the vast majority of the communications it serves. So where do we net out on this? In the Locus column, I sum things up this way:

Telegram should have a mechanism to comply with lawful takedown orders; and

those orders should respect human rights and the rule of law; and

Telegram should not backdoor its encryption, even if

the sovereign French state orders it to do so.

Sovereignty, sure, but human rights even moreso.

What about Musk? As with Durov in France, the Brazilian government demanded that Musk appoint a Brazilian representative to handle official takedown requests. Despite a recent bout of democratic backsliding under the previous regime, Brazil's current government is broadly favorable to human rights. There's no indication that Brazil would use an in-country representative as a hostage, and there's nothing intrinsically wrong with requiring foreign firms doing business in your country to have domestic representatives.

Musk's response was typical: a lawless, arrogant attack on the judge who issued the blocking order, including thinly veiled incitements to violence.

The Brazilian state's response was multi-pronged. There was a national blocking order, and a threat to penalize Brazilians who used VPNs to circumvent the block. Both measures have obvious human rights implications. For one thing, the vast majority of Brazilians who use Twitter are engaged in the legitimate exercise of speech, and they were collateral damage in the dispute between Musk and Brazil.

More serious is the prohibition on VPNs, which represents a broad attack on privacy-enhancing technology with implications far beyond the Twitter matter. Worse still, a VPN ban can only be enforced with extremely invasive network surveillance and blocking orders to app stores and ISPs to restrict access to VPN tools. This is wholly disproportionate and illegitimate.

But that wasn't the only tactic the Brazilian state used. Brazilian corporate law is markedly different from US law, with fewer protections for limited liability for business owners. The Brazilian state claimed the right to fine Musk's other companies for Twitter's failure to comply with orders to nominate a domestic representative. Faced with fines against Spacex and Tesla, Musk caved.

In other words, Brazil had a legitimate national sovereignty interest in ordering Twitter to nominate a domestic agent, and they used a mix of somewhat illegitimate tactics (blocking orders), extremely illegitimate tactics (threats against VPN users) and totally legitimate tactics (fining Musk's other companies) to achieve these goals.

As I put it in the column:

Twitter should have a mechanism to comply with lawful takedown orders; and

those orders should respect human rights and the rule of law; and

banning Twitter is bad for the free speech rights of Twitter users in Brazil; and

banning VPNs is bad for all Brazilian internet users; and

it’s hard to see how a Twitter ban will be effective without bans on VPNs.

There's no such thing as an internet policy fight that isn't about national sovereignty and speech, and when the two collide, we should side with human rights over sovereignty. Sovereignty isn't a good unto itself – it's only a good to the extent that is used to promote human rights.

In other words: "Sovereignty, sure, but human rights even moreso."

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/06/brazilian-blowout/#sovereignty-sure-but-human-rights-even-moreso

Image: © Tomas Castelazo, www.tomascastelazo.com (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Border_Wall_at_Tijuana_and_San_Diego_Border.jpg

CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/

[rwrbficrecs]

The Keepers by foux_dogue (book-verse)

@dot524: This oneshot was full of so many big-sister feelings from June. This is an AU in which Alex is hospitalized in an accident. June realizes that Alex and Henry have been in a secret relationship for a while and tries to help the rest of her family understand while she grapples with this new reality. TBH I want more to this little universe but I loved what we got in this story!

Cracked Heart by @absoluteaudacitywrites (book-verse)

@na-dineee: This canon variation had me completely hooked! Alex's world is rocked by a quite publicly breakup with his childhood sweetheart, Liam. Things take a turn for the better when he forms an unexpected bond with Prince Henry. Alex is portrayed as soft and vulnerable, while Henry provides endless patience and support. He also helps Alex discover new facets of himself. I wholeheartedly recommend! Bonus: the shorter follow-ups are a treat, too.

(Not) A Cinderella Story by @welcometololaland (book-verse)

@na-dineee: One of my comfort reads! Alex is a JSD student at NYU Law, Prince Henry officially lives in NY and is unofficially out. Also, Alex hates the monarchy, eat the rich and all that. When the two meet at an event, Henry's curiosity is piqued when he receives back the NDA that Alex (and all guests) had to sign, marked up thoroughly in red. The story is very fast-paced, super funny, a lot smutty, also touching - it's everything! And Junora are the icing on the cake!

Cold Cases, Lost Causes by @tintagel-or-cockleshells (book-verse)

@suseagull04: In a nutshell, this fic is RWRB meets mystery novels, and it's amazing! The mystery, the romance and the angst all make this one of my new favorites!

i want to mark my skin (it is paper thin) by violetbaudelairequagmire (book-verse)

@na-dineee: In this charming one-shot, Alex is a tattoo artist, Henry is still a prince - and he wants a tattoo. After being to Alex's studio once, he wants one more. And maybe one more? - Of course, oblivious Alex doesn't get who his new regular is, but the sparks start flying instantly. Rated M but feels more like E to me, this sweet story is an absolute delight to devour.

we broke all the pieces (still wanna play the game) by @theprinceandagcd (book-verse)

@heysweetheart-writes: I absolutely loved this best friends to lovers fic having drunken sex because they're both dumb and in love your honor, in every universe. It's funny and sweet and hot. Please give it a read!

Rule Number Nine by @clottedcreamfudge (book-verse)

@suseagull04: TZP works collide in this The Kissing Booth AU! This fic really has it all- friends to lovers, all the feels, and a little bit of angst, and it's all done in the same fast pace as the book, especially the banter between both Alex and Henry and June and Henry, which is amazing!

l'échappatoire by @anincompletelist (book-verse)

@14carrotghoul: This time loop fic is an amazing exploration of grief and Henry's character. Sucks you right in, breaks your heart, and patches it together with beautiful prose as a cherry on top!

check out our past Monthly Faves here ❤️

[myyoungroyalsblog]

Every time Simon learns Wilhelm isn't fully free as The Crown Prince👑

He isn't allowed to have tattoos or have shorter hair, or even a hair style that he likes for that matter, he has to keep a well kempt appearance

There will always be eyes on him and comments made online and in real life, both from fans and people who hate him/the monarchy, so as a result people who are close to him will likely get hurt as well

He can't stand up and show support for things like mental health and the queer community, since that's always been considered a "political statement" (but like Simon says, this is about human rights, it shouldn't be fucking political, but sadly it is)

He could be assassinated at any point, even by poisoning

He can't be himself in the public eye, much like how he can't show support on certain matters, he has to hide himself and pretend to be someone else, or pretend that he's okay when he's not, he has to be Crown Prince first and Wilhelm second

[xuterboo]

Good day! Or night? It doesn’t matter, today we will have residents of Hades for analysis

Recently I found a person who posted all the (at that time) characters in full size. Why did I find this so late 🥲

However, let's get started

Some of the kings dress differently from their subordinates, but Levi decided to insert his own dress code. In Hades, strict clothing is accepted. With permission for some accessories, similar to the type of chains the King himself had. On the hand of the King of Envy you can see three sixes located in a circle. Honestly, at first I didn’t understand that this was the number of the devil. I thought it was some kind of symbol with deep meaning. But everything turned out to be simpler

Foraz and Valefor share the same clothing style. Apparently they occupy approximately or the same positions at work. The details that are interesting to me are several things: a noose on the neck, which speaks of devotion (applies to all the demons of Hades), different left boots, differing only in color and material (?) And of course capes with ropes on the sides. I don't think I particularly like Hades as a country, but the fashion there is great 😍

Foraz has distinctive details in his image: a chain on his horns and a tattoo on his cheek. What's also interesting is that he doesn't wear the chain because he's imitating Leviathan. More precisely, not only for this reason. According to Foraz, he just likes the look of the chain. And also his tattoo is his own artifact.

Barbados has a fur belt with his signature rose flower. The same pose is on his earring, and the artifact of this character is also a rose. Oh yes. And attacks too. He really loves roses. He even smells like roses. It seems he even eats them sometimes hahaha

Glasyalabolas, (Damn, I hope I didn't summon some creature while I was writing this) altogether a unique case. Judging by the medals and banners, he is a general, or any military figure. This can be judged by the carriages, a special braided rope with peculiar tassels, black and white ribbon and, in principle, more luxurious clothing. Fighters get paid a lot, especially in high positions.

I want to say that his artifact, the raccoon, does not suit him at all. He's a menacing killing machine. What, the hell, a stuffed raccoon??

The name Glasyalabolas is made into 2 words and one French article "La". As we know, people took many things from hell, and France is the embodiment of Abbados, the land of lust (We can judge this by the names of the demons from there). In that case, my question is, what did you forget in Hades? The vibe from this character suits the place though.

By the way, Hades itself represents the architecture of England, somewhere in the Victorian era. Absolute monarchy and complete submission are very similar to this country

[demigodsanswer]

In Vino Veritas/ Royal AU

Modern royals au

~

Percy tapped his foot nervously as his father stared at him. It was never a great sign when his dad needed to speak with him. Percy was not, by any means, an important part of the Spanish monarchy: fourth son of the king's brother. He was basically a socialite with a funny social media presence, handsome face, and a memorable ocean-themed back tattoo.

His father continued to stare at him, and Percy was sure the strength of his gaze was only making his hangover worse. Annabeth had dared him to steal a bottle of scotch from the event's bar last night, and he'd stolen an even fancier one on principle. When they woke up, too much of it was gone.

"Did you," his father finally said, "have sex with the heir to the Swedish throne last night?"

Percy laughed. "What? No, of course not."

Oh he had, he so had. Scotch or not, he couldn't forget that. His clothes still smelled like her. His dad didn't need to know that though. Whatever someone thought they saw, or whatever hotel room they thought he went into last night, they could just deny. Who gave a shit about the Spanish or Swedish monarchies anyway? Percy was barely even a Spanish citizen. He'd gone to Yale for fucks sake. He had a loft in New York.

"I'll ask again," his dad said, turning his computer around so the screen faced Percy. "Did you have sex with Annabeth Chase, against a window in a Paris hotel room last night?"

The Sun had posted a large, but blurry photo of two people pressed against a window. The blonde woman was looking out, most of her body covered by the man, who's back was against the glass. There was another one, one where the woman's face, and more notably her jewels (literally, not her breasts. Her gown was still on) was visible. The man's shirt was off.

It was the first time Percy regretted his back tattoos. And those were certainly some famous heirloom jewels from Sweden. And that was certainly Annabeth's gorgeous, gorgeous face, blurry as it was.

Percy sunk down in the chair. His phone started to buzz.

Annabeth

"I'll assume that's the princess," his father said. "We'll talk later about how we're going to clean up this mess."

~

They'd seen each other at some fancy event at the Louvre. With her blonde curls pinned in an elaborate up-do, the back of her neck was exposed.

Percy had mostly been raised in New York by his mother. The man he considered basically his older brother, Luke, had taught him a thing or two about the thrills of stealing. Luke was American old money, probably a Kennedy somewhere down the line, and he'd taught him how to oh so carefully --

Percy slipped the clasp on Annabeth's necklace.

"Oh!" She gasped, reaching for her neck, but missing it before it fell. Percy swooped around and caught it before the jewels hit the ground.

"You dropped this," he said. "May I?"

Annabeth didn't look entertained. She was giving him the I'm so scary look. But after four years on rival mock trial teams (Yale won Nationals almost every year, fuck you Harvard), he was used to it.

"May I?" He offered.

"You may not," she said, handing him her Champaign flute, before taking her necklace back and re-clasping it herself.

"Be careful with that, smart ass," he said, "you know what they do to monarchs in France."

She took her glass back, and her face softened. "It's good to see you again, Percy. Are you still in New York?"

"Most of the time," he said. "I see you've been busy entertaining men in Sweden. Looking for a royal husband?"

"Why? Do you want your name added to my list?" She asked, stepping closer to him. "I'm allowed to marry non-Royals now. My dad changed the rules."

"I'm in the line of succession," Percy protested.

"Barely," she pushed back.

"Well, I'm sorry I'm not a cousin or uncle or something," Percy said.

"Inbreeding jokes from someone in the Spanish royal family?" She asked. Percy tried not to let her know he'd been trumped. It was a dumb move. She ran a hand over his jaw. "You do have a strong chin. How much Hapsburg is left in your line?"

"Very funny, Princess," he said. She always blushed when he called her that.

The deserts were wheeled out. "Should I let you eat cake?" She asked.

"After you," he said.

~

The event dragged on, but he and Annabeth only got more bubbly on glass after glass of Champaign. When she dared him to steal the bottle of scotch, she leaned in close, her hand on his thigh under the table, running up until the princess was groping him in public.

"If I do --" he started.

"We'll go back to my room and share it," she said.

"How drunk are you?" He asked. He was decently tipsy himself. He'd probably feel drunker the moment he stood up.

"Sober enough to know I want to do this, drunk enough to act on it," she said.

"Well that's the perfect amount," he said, before standing quickly before she could get him noticeably hard.

Stealing the bottle was easy. Keeping his hands off of her until they were back at her hotel was the real challenge.

And he failed.

Miserably. She rolled up the partition as his hand slid under her dark blue gown for the first, but not last, time that night.

~

"So, what, do we need to get married now or ..." Percy asked.

Annabeth laughed on the other side of the call. "Don't be ridiculous. This is barely a sex scandal."

"Really? Because my dad seems to think the Swedes are about to invade Spain for what I did."

"What we did," she corrected. "I called because my team is going to run a press release, mostly about the gross invasion of privacy that this was," Percy was glad he decided to have her keep the dress on for their first round. It kept the world from seeing her totally naked. "But then they are going to confirm that we were friends in college."

"No, we were rivals, and I will never forgive you for getting the number one attorney award at ORCS. It should have been me, and you know it."

"You shouldn't have let your witness do a Swedish accent if they couldn't speak Swedish," she shot back. "But, does your team want to sign off on it?" She asked, getting back on track.

"Send it over," Percy said. "I'm sure it's fine, but I have a feeling no one here is going to trust my judgement in the near future."

"Sorry," she said.

"Don't be," Percy insisted. "Are you still in Paris?" He asked.

"Yes. They haven't cut my head off yet," Annabeth said.

"And thank god, because your head is incredible," he teased. She scoffed on the other line. "Since we are such good friends from college," he started, "would you want to get dinner tonight?"

"Is this a PR stunt?" She asked.

"This is a take-Annabeth-out stunt," Percy said. "It's earnest. It has nothing to do with paparazzi."

"I don't know. The paparazzi are there no matter what, and bad things happen to blonde princesses and their lovers in Paris," Annabeth said.

"Well then, why don't you just come here, and I'll cook for you," he suggested. "There's better security anyway."

There was a long pause before: "Okay, send me the details."

[oneofthosebells]

Sunday snippet

From untitled tattoo artist!Simon x drunk!Wilhelm fic (nearly finished, but I've put it on hold to try and get the next chapter of Incognito Mode out a bit sooner.)

-

“If I wait until I’m sober they’ll talk me out of it.”

“Yes,” says Simon pointedly, even as he wonders who ‘they’ might be. “That’s why we don’t do it.  Tattoos are kind of permanent, we do like people to be sure.”  It’s not the only reason, but somehow he doesn’t think Wilhelm is going to take in a lecture about how alcohol thins the blood and makes tattooing more difficult right now.

“I just want…”  He leans on the front desk, resting his weight on his forearms, his eyes pleading where they’re fixed on Simon.  Simon swallows, his mouth suddenly dry for some reason.  “I just want something they can’t cover up or hide away, you know?  Something that’s mine.”

There’s a strange atmosphere that’s settled over them, the air thick as they look at each other across the desk, the shop so quiet they can hear the roar of traffic on the main road.

Simon swallows again and tries to lighten the mood.  “Okay, but they can cover it up though.”

Wilhelm frowns at him in confusion, head on one side.

“I mean, if you - they - needed to, they could cover a tattoo up with clothes or make-up, or they could airbrush it out of pictures.  Or they could get you to remove it altogether by laser.  It’s—” he nearly says ‘very expensive’ out of habit, remembers who he’s talking to and changes it to “—really painful, but it can be done.”

A pang of regret flashes through him at the way Wilhelm’s shoulders slump in defeat, the light going out of his eyes.

“What tattoo were you thinking of anyway?” Simon asks, partly out of guilt but mainly because actually some inner imp of curiosity does really want to know.

“Okay, right, so…”  Wilhelm gathers himself back up, pulling himself back into the conversation.  He blinks a couple of times as though trying to concentrate.  “Right. So this was my first thought, in big letters all down this arm: ‘Fuck The Monarchy’.”

Simon bursts out laughing.

[unfortunate17]

Hate how some ppl are saying it shouldn’t have been a big deal for Simon to delete his accounts and lay low for Wille. Yeah sure that’s probably what’s expected for the crown prince’s partner, but wasn’t s3’s whole point ‘why should he have to? Why should Wilhelm have to?’ You want a queer king to revolutionise the monarchy but want that monarchy to operate exactly as it always has?

It’s not even that he hated all the attention! He loved being appreciated for his music, he was so happy that boy in bjarstad looked up to him, he thought that if Wille had to start a foundation, he could do some good for a cause he believed in. Yeah they’ll probably always still be in the public eye, but I think with time and support Simon could make peace with that, if he got to handle it in a way that fits his values and lets both him and Wille thrive (this is how pop star Simon can still win). IMO the issue was the royal court and Wille’s own issues leaving him out in the cold, with no idea how to deal with the hate except to “ignore it”

No you’re so right 👏

Honestly I’ve always felt that Simon and Wilhelm both have very “small” dreams. I actually kind of disagree with the pop star Simon agenda (but I also don’t fully disagree with it I think it can work depending on the context), but yeah he loved the positive attention 😭

I see a lot of people who keep saying that abdication wouldn’t solve all of Wilmon’s problems but they’re kind of missing the point?

Like yes Wilmon will always have to live with scrutiny and probably security, but they’ll be free to live how they choose. Wille can cut his hair how he likes, he can get tattoos, paint his nails, move out of the country, choose not to have children, get married however he likes - or not get married, dress how he likes, develop his own interests without wondering how the public is going to perceive him, etc. Simon can post on social media however he likes - they’ll have no reason to hide behind outdated ideas of respectability or tradition.

They’ll be free in all the ways that matter.

I also want to point out that the last thing Wilhelm says to his parents is that he loves them and the queen lets him go. It’s very much implied that Wille’s going to repair his relationship with his parents and it’s probably going to be a lot healthier now that he can be himself

[arkipelagic]

[long post] finally watched the kingdom (2024), here are my thoughts:

1. as i expected, it had very weak worldbuilding.

the point of divergence from real world history to their fictional history was the three paramount rulers of luzon: rajah matanda, rajah sulayman, and lakan dula existed. the current dynasty is descended from lakan dula and the seat of power for the kingdom of kalayaan is in manila. therefore, the characters are tagalog (and kapampangan?) descent — yet they utilize aspects of classical visayan culture for an inexplicable reason: the tattooing culture, the employment of babaylans rather than catalonans, and the bakunawa motif.

despite the oft-times awkward placement of exposition throughout the film, there is none provided to explain how it is that spanish and other european & american powers failed to colonize the archipelago. was it a coalition of asian powers (e.g. filipino-chinese-japanese) against european ones? or were europeans already weakened at the time of the would-be conquest? was it a matter of manpower or technology? diplomacy and collaboration with foreigners in exchange for nominal freedom?

in addition, there’s no explanation for why the modern tagalog culture resembles classical visayan ones more than their own. if rajahs matanda and sulayman & lakan dula existed and resisted colonization, then it only makes sense the current population would only be muslim as these rulers were increasingly islamized. rajah matanda is famously related to bruneian royalty. tagalog elites ceased growing their hair long, ceased eating pork, and ceased tattooing by the time the spaniards came. the general population was still animist-polytheistic, but realistically they would come to accept islam just as their rulers did without the implementation of catholicism by spanish proselytizing.

i think the people behind this film were either too attached to the visayan image of a precolonial philippines or too scared to alienate their majority christian viewers by portraying a muslim-majority alternate philippines. they even forego using malaysia and indonesia as cultural inspirations and relied on the monarchal thailand instead.

also, again there is no explanation as to how the kingdom of kalayaan includes visayas and mindanao — nor why they are still called that. (“mindanao” came from the corruption of “maguindanao” after the maguindanao sultanate which, at the time of the colonial writers describing the land, ruled majority of the island. if there were no colonization though, then it must be called something else OR the maguindanao sultanate somehow encompassed the whole of the island at its fictional peak.) classical visayans rejected islam whereas mindanao was split between muslims and animists. it makes no sense to have disparate ethnoreligious groups in all three major islands to unite under the same manila-based animist monarchy.

there is, however, some interesting and casual shows of culture and customs. for example, igorot men wearing their traditional attires without humiliation from non-igorot characters living in the cordilleras; the prince being served alcohol by a servant who presents it with two hands while bowing; and the elevation of sabong as a hybridized boxing-wrestling sport.

2. the beginning scene (i.e., native fishermen being illegally apprehended by a foreign navy; a thinly veiled allusion to chinese harassment of filipinos in the west philippine sea) is too on-the-nose, as with other scenes in the film.

in the beginning, for example, we see villagers discussing who they wish to succeed the king. the camera pans to merchandise worn on their bodies, e.g., rubber bracelets announcing their “team.” very reminiscent of the previous election.

3. it’s an action-heavy production but the camera work, direction, choreo, and/or editing amount to very stilted scenes. regardless, the acting — especially from cristine reyes and piolo pascual — were believable.

4. little time to explore the deeper motivations and backgrounds of the antagonists. there is a separatist movement but it ends before the film does; we meet only the leader of the otherwise faceless movement. there is then a plot twist and a post-credit scene involving a different antagonist.

the themes as well! towards the end the writers introduce the concept of the fallibility of memory, which unfortunately amounted to little emotional impact due to restricted time and no hints leading up to its reveal.

tl;dr: this could have been better if the worldbuilding were different and if it were a limited series instead of a film.

[mariacallous]

Like many non-Austrians, I first discovered Vienna’s winter ball season through German-language tabloids. The celebrity-studded Opernball (Opera Ball), the season highlight, is widely covered in the German-speaking world, where it is streamed live on TV and culled for clickbait online. Glittering details are consumed with a mix of aspiration and resentment: debutantes, tiaras, and pricey opera boxes (starting cost: $14,000)! The only sign of the 21st century is a name-drop such as Kim Kardashian, who attended in 2014.

The Opera Ball, I have since learned, is only the tip of the iceberg.

More than 400 formal balls are held in Vienna each winter carnival season. This February, I visited three. The tradition combines the public festivities of the medieval carnival with the legacy of the “Waltzing Congress” of 1814, better known as the Congress of Vienna. Held just a year before Napoleon’s final defeat at the Battle of Waterloo, the Congress—a series of diplomatic meetings between leaders of various powers opposing France—aimed to reinstate Europe’s monarchies and hash out the continent’s post-Napoleonic order.

Its more immediate effect, however, was to transform Vienna into a giant ballroom.

With representatives from Prussia, Austria, Great Britain, Russia, and France, as well as assorted royalty and nobility from across Europe gathered at the imperial Hofburg Palace, the prevailing atmosphere was that of a permanent “house party,” observed historian Dorothy McGuigan in her book The Habsburgs. The dance halls were packed, and the streets were filled with music and fireworks; to lubricate negotiations, Emperor Francis hosted evening balls and musical entertainment, including a concert featuring 100 pianos. The enduring epithet of the so-called Waltzing Congress stems from a quip by the rakish Prince Charles-Joseph de Ligne of Belgium, who proclaimed that “[t]he Congress doesn’t work; it dances.”

The Viennese ball season has been celebrated almost continually since 1814, breaking only for the two world wars and recent pandemic. In a country of only 9 million people, it draws more than 500,000 ordinary people out to waltz. Nearly every profession in Austria hosts its own celebration: A nonexhaustive season program includes the Police Ball, the Firefighters’ Ball, the Engineers’ Ball, the Doctors’ Ball, multiple farmers’ union balls, and the Lawyers’ Ball. Some of these dances, such as the Coffee Brewers’ Ball or the Hunters’ Ball, have outlived the imperial-era professions that they were created to celebrate. Others, such as the Ball of the International Atomic Energy Agency or the recently retired Life Ball—founded to raise awareness during the height of the AIDS crisis—are decidedly contemporary.

It was the improbable continuity of 19th-century traditions, however, that drew my attention. The frenzy of the waltz—still performed in the same ballrooms as in the imperial era—echoes a persistent anxiety for Europe’s over-touristed, economically uneasy, and politically pessimistic capitals: On a continent that relishes golden-era traditions yet finds itself slipping in the geopolitical world order, how do you face the future without romanticizing the past?

Viewed through this lens, the ball season refracts the flamboyant anachronisms of a region in transition. Dozens of guests and former debutantes—most balls include a debutante ceremony—described the events to me in terms of glorious contradiction. The balls, I was told, are elegant, tacky, rarified, intimidating, democratic, elite, ironic, gorgeous, decadent, tiresome, astonishing; they are both political and apolitical, accessible and inaccessible, international and decidedly Viennese.

This cacophony carried over to my own impressions. I saw tiaras and hoop skirts and a tattoo of the Sistine Chapel fresco framed in the V-line of a backless ballgown. Orphaned evening gloves and ostrich feathers drifted across the parquet floors of the Hofburg Palace; hair fixtures nested in updos like Fabergé eggs. I witnessed government ministers dance the disco and saw at least six debutantes faint.

I was told by veteran ball journalists that the publications I write for sound “serious and political,” and that a Viennese ball is neither a serious nor political event. A ball is frivolous, they said; a ball is for fun. I don’t disagree. But I also believe that a society’s attitude toward tradition shapes its expectations for the future—and how much that future should resemble the past.

Maryam Yeganehfar, the creative director of the Opera Ball, emphasized the balls’ capacity for rejuvenation and even escape. The carnival festivities were originally founded, she said, to give people “hope, life, enjoyment” in the weeks leading up to Lent, the 40-day period before the Christian celebration of Easter.

“[W]hy is enjoyment always framed as decadence?” Yeganehfar asked.

At a time when Europe’s post-COVID-19 pandemic headlines—on immigration, war, inflation, right-wing extremism, climate change, energy crises, and strained trans-Atlantic relations—often give reason for pessimism, the balls are a testament both to the temptations of nostalgia and to the resilience to party on.

The Science Ball

The first ball I attended was the Ball der Wissenschaften (Science Ball). Oliver Lehmann, who has served as the event’s director since 2014, is aware of the season’s appeal for foreigners: “For a lot of our friends and guests from the U.K. and the U.S., but also from Switzerland and Germany,” he said over a Zoom call before I arrived, “a ball sounds like a sugar fairy tale from a Walt Disney movie.”

Lehmann admitted that there is some truth to that image. But the balls might be better understood as the “Austrian version of a huge networking event,” he said. Even socialists once held balls; in the 1860s, party members at the Workers’ Ball waltzed wearing bright red ties, attracting attention from political censors.

The Science Ball, for its part, brings together representatives from Vienna’s nine public universities, its expansive network of private and vocational colleges, and numerous research institutions to celebrate—and boost—the city’s reputation as a center of innovation.

The Science Ball also has a unique, quasi-political agenda. It was first held in 2015 in part to undercut the claim of the far-right Akademikerball, or Scholars’ Ball, to “scholarship,” Lehmann said. The gathering of right-wing fraternities is organized by the nativist Freedom Party of Austria (FPÖ). In 2014, the annual protest against the Scholars’ Ball turned violent, resulting in injuries and damaged property.

Today, the Vienna government offers the Science Ball its palatial city hall free of charge, signaling its continued support for the ball’s mission and helping to lower ticket prices for attendees. Regular entry is 100 euros, or $107, while students can attend for $43. It’s a win-win arrangement: Scientists celebrate field achievements; students attend on the cheap; local government discredits nativist misinformation; and a city whose reputation for innovation is often overshadowed by its cultural-historical attractions gets to advertise its technical heft.

To Lehmann, the Science Ball’s focus on contemporary Vienna is evidence that the balls have “nothing to do with nostalgia.” When I asked if the recent rise of right-wing nativism in Austria (the nativist FPÖ came in first in Austria’s elections for the EU Parliament this month and is currently polling at more than 30 percent ahead of elections this fall) has begun to politicize the balls, he replied, “Only counterintuitively, because we’ve never sold out so fast.”

When I arrived, the Science Ball proved to be many balls in one. The dancing unfolded through a series of rooms across three floors of the city hall, each with its own band and musical style. The main ballroom, lined with chandeliers and debutante couples in tuxedos and white gloves, opened onto a grand stairwell decked out with flowers. Beyond this lay the sultry tango room, followed by a baroque cloister where a cover band played “Que Será, Será,” and a ground-floor disco crowded with younger guests. The latter venue is where I spotted Austria’s federal climate minister briefly boogying to “Stayin’ Alive.”

This year’s ball was dedicated to promoting more effective strategies for communicating the threats posed by climate change. There were leaflets floating around with a carbon-emissions logic puzzle, plus a cryptic exhibit devoted to whales that featured a fog machine. In the flagstone courtyard, an 8-by-8 meter inflated cube (about 25 feet across), reminiscent of a giant bouncy house, offered a visual representation of one metric ton of carbon emissions; the average European Union citizen emits between 7 and 8 metric tons of carbon dioxide each year.

The importance of these issues to the Austrian government’s agenda was underscored by the presence of Vienna Mayor Michael Ludwig and Leonore Gewessler, the federal minister of climate action, environment, energy, mobility, innovation and technology. On the main stairwell, the politicians posed for selfies with students, many of whom expressed interest in climate-related issues. The balls can facilitate this sort of direct constituency engagement. But Gewessler also warned against overstating the events’ political importance: “A lot has changed since the Congress of Vienna,” she said. “As it should in an open democracy.”

She is right: Things have changed. Many young women—including the president of the Vienna student union—took advantage of the gender-neutral dress code, donning smart tuxedos and white ties. The organizers “don’t give a damn” about who wears what, Lehmann said, as long it’s evening attire. A couple of biologists I spoke to with roots in India, who now work at a Viennese research outlet, appeared in a tux and emerald sari repurposed from Mumbai’s wedding season. (The fact that I, too, had worn my wedding dress became a bonding moment.)

A group of American exchange students from St. Olaf College in Minnesota had bought their outfits at a budget shop in nearby Bratislava, Slovakia, about an hour away by train. They were starstruck. “It’s amazing,” one said. Another chimed in: “But the drinks are really expensive.”

The balls’ class dynamics are the subject of much local scrutiny. Open any Austrian newspaper in January and you will find an announcement about the average cost that each guest spends per visit: $371. About a third of that is paid for entry, and the rest on attire, taxis, styling, and infamously exorbitant concessions. Local headlines decry $15.50 pints and $17 Wiener sausages. In 2022, an Austrian state governor went viral for her tone-deaf tip that constituents restrict themselves to owning three—rather than 10—ballgowns.

The considerable spending associated with the balls is also a source of revenue that working-class Viennese—taxi drivers, caterers, dance instructors, and hairdressers—depend on. Norbert Kettner, the CEO of the Vienna Tourism Board, an independently run organization that also receives funds from the city, pointed out that the hundreds of millions of euros that this year’s 540,000 guests spent on the balls filter back into the local economy. At a “styling corner” at the Science Ball, where guests can stop by for touch-ups, one freelance makeup artist estimated that she makes more than half her annual income during the ball season.

Later that evening, my taxi driver explained that he organizes his night shifts around the ball schedule, which he pulled up on his phone; there were five events that night alone. When I asked whether he’d ever attended a ball himself, he laughed: “Just outside!” That is, at the taxi stand.

It’s natural to wonder whether the 19th-century aura does more to promote or impede democratic norms, especially when far-right nostalgia—such as that channeled through the FPÖ-sponsored Scholars’ Ball—is on the rise. The object of that nostalgia is pre-globalization Europe. There is a perception that the continent’s status has declined since then: The eurozone’s respective share of the global GDP, for example, has fallen by more than a third since 1960. On the other hand, Europe remains comparatively wealthy; Austria’s per capita GDP is the 14th-highest in the world, according to International Monetary Fund estimates.

Meanwhile, as war rages on in Ukraine, Sudan, and the Middle East, the EU Agency for Asylum predicts that 2024 could bring the highest number of asylum-seekers to the bloc since 2015, when 1.3 million refugees arrived in Europe, about half of them from Syria, Afghanistan, and Iraq. Just before this year’s carnival season, the 35-year old Austrian right-wing extremist Martin Sellner presented a bone-chilling “remigration” plan for migrants, asylum-seekers, and “unassimilated citizens” at a November conference of far-right actors near Berlin. He has since been banned from entering Germany.

The balls appear to offer a welcome respite from these thorny challenges—if they don’t feed back into the well of nostalgia from which these troubling political headlines are sourced.

Around midnight at the Science Ball, a psychology master’s student from Bavaria took a break from her heels on the red-carpeted stairs. She told me that this was her second time attending the event; she and a friend visited last year as well to celebrate the conclusion of a dreaded statistics exam.

“We love it,” she said, gesturing at the glittering crowd of young people posing for pictures behind us, “but we also hate it.” In her view, ball culture is elite and exclusive, reserved for the rich—but more so at other events than at this one. All the same, she conceded, “Why not feel super special? For 40 euros, look what you get.”

The Coffee Brewers’ Ball

Hosted by the Club of Viennese Coffeehouse Owners, the Kaffeesiederball, or Coffee Brewers’ Ball, is another of the season’s most-anticipated events. It celebrates and promotes the history of Vienna’s famous coffeehouse culture, which was inducted into the UNESCO list of intangible world heritage practices in 2011. Were there a people’s choice award for balls, the Coffee Brewers’ Ball would likely win; multiple guests, none of them coffee brewers, told me that it’s the most beautiful ball of the season.

The stately Hofburg Palace, where the ball was held, took on the atmosphere of a black-tie nightclub. Attendees—whose ages spanned from 18 to 80—had traveled from Munich to celebrate a 40th birthday; from Dubai, for the glamour; from Austria’s southern Carinthia region to see the scheduled performance by the Vienna State Ballet; and from northern Austria, to see a disco cover band (called the Bad Powells). Most were from Vienna itself. They had come to see the Hofburg, whose status as the former imperial palace lends the events held there a particular lure and elegance.

The guests were there, above all, to dance: the polka, the quadrille, the polonaise, and the tricky Viennese “left waltz,” in which couples follow a double rotation, revolving on their own axes while simultaneously orbiting the room, like planets hurtling around the sun. The dancing spilled from the main ballroom into gold-trimmed apartments leading deeper and deeper into the palace; I finally reached a dead end at the storied Redouten Rooms, which ball-enthusiast Empress Maria Theresa renovated in 1748 to better accommodate waltzes and masquerades. That evening, they had been furnished with neon lights, a gin bar, and a DJ spinning techno.

The balls have long dramatized a broader European tug-of-war between democratization and aristocratic control. From the 16th to 18th centuries, the monarchy strove to regulate, then ban, public masquerades and dances in the weeks leading up to Lent. The prohibitions were issued on the grounds of mischief (murders were known to be committed from behind the anonymity of carnival masks) and the threat of popular uprising.

Meanwhile, the nobility began to host their own masquerades in private ballrooms such as the Redouten Rooms. When Emperor Joseph II opened these rooms to the nontitled public in 1772, the nobility retreated once again to exclusive spaces, where they could better monitor the guest list (and, by extension, the marriage market). The same trend followed the rise of public dance halls at the turn of the century, when every profession began to hold its own celebrations.

Today’s balls are also increasingly international and cross-cultural. “Twenty years ago,” a 40-year-old Viennese guest told me, “you wouldn’t see so many international guests.” This year, he had brought two friends from Paris. As the night wore on, I also met a fashion journalist from Switzerland, a reporter from South Korea, and a correspondent from Munich. In one of the palace’s many golden bars, a local journalist pointed a camera at two models posing in a black tuxedo and a frothy pink gown. When I asked what the photoshoot was intended to advertise, he gave a cheerful answer: “Vienna!” The staged images will run in an international travel magazine.

For European states, the continent’s golden era is readily monetizable through foreign tourism. In cities such as Barcelona and Amsterdam, the annual total of visitors outnumbers locals by more than 10 to 1, prompting some local governments to dissuade further travelers from coming. Today, tourism makes up almost 10 percent of Austria’s economy, the same share as for the eurozone as a whole, which also claims more than 60 percent of the world’s international leisure travel.

There are many reasons to be drawn to the continent; Vienna itself is frequently ranked as the world’s most livable city. Yet among locals, the pandemic, climate change, and geographic proximity to Russia’s war in Ukraine can contribute to a mood of perceived domestic decline.

One former debutante reflected on her experience with a contagious nihilism: “Europe is lost,” she said. There’s “Ukraine,” and “nobody has money. Everything is fucked, basically, so why not party?”

It is not the kind of sentiment that will make the travel magazine spread.

Despite signs of disillusionment, Kettner—the Vienna Tourism Board CEO—said that young people such as the former debutante have “rescued” the balls. The discotheques and increasingly gender-neutral dress codes are part of a concerted effort to appeal to younger generations.

It’s been successful: Debutante classes ahead of the balls, which draw from the under-30 crowd, are full at the city’s top dance schools. Post-pandemic participation across all ages has risen from 520,000 in 2019 to an estimated 540,000 in 2023. The challenge of keeping the ball season relevant is a microcosm for Europe’s overall challenge: How to protect proud cultural traditions while also making sure that they can keep up with the times.

The Opera Ball

This official state ball, the “ball of all balls”—Austria’s most beautiful, decadent, and exclusive event—arrived on the scene in the year 1935. It is a fundraiser, with revenues flowing to the Vienna State Opera, in whose building the dance is also held. In 2019, the event raised  the equivalent of more than $1.1 million for the national opera and ballet.

In recent years, the Opera Ball has also developed a side reputation for celebrity antics. This is in large part thanks to Austrian reality TV star and businessman Richard Lugner; the reveal of his date is an annual tabloid event. In 2005, Lugner was accompanied by former Spice Girl Geri Halliwell, who, headlines gleefully reported, refused to dance with him. His other previous companions have included Pamela Anderson, Kim Kardashian, and Grace Jones. This year, he took Priscilla Presley.

A livestream broadcast of the ball is popular with viewers at home. This winter, more than 1.6 million Austrians and 1 million Germans tuned in.

The Opera Ball, with its outsized media footprint, also attracts dissenters. An annual demonstration that has been held on the same day as the ball since the late 1980s has become as much a part of the tradition as the waltz itself. Organized by the Communist Youth of Austria, this year, 400 to 600 people marched to the slogan “Eat the Rich.” More specific demands included a nationalized housing policy, the reinstatement of a national inheritance tax, and wage increases to keep pace with inflation.

The group’s media relations manager, Johannes Lutz, said that the protest stands against the inequity that the Opera Ball “symbolizes” rather than the ball itself. The minimum entry price of about $426 ($38 of which is earmarked for charity) is a point of contention; basic tickets for the season’s other exclusive balls range from $107 to $208.

Yeganehfar, who has served as the creative director of the Opera Ball since 2023 and also runs a successful local event production company, conceded that the ball “has its price.” She compared it to a major sporting event: Some fans will save up to attend, but many more will watch from home. (By comparison, the average ticket price to attend an NFL football game in the United States was $377 in 2023.) It is precisely because ordinary people “save up to be in this room” that Yeganehfar said she aims to make the Opera Ball so memorable.

“This is the most beautiful event in the entire country,” she said. “We should put it on a pedestal.”

The ball unfurled throughout the entire opera house—onstage, in the wings, in the basement, and in the many gilded bars and cafes—lending a night-at-the-museum giddiness to the evening. From a lobby erupting with Pink Floyd roses, arriving parties filtered through linoleum hallways and past dressing rooms usually reserved for singers and ballerinas. The dancing took place on the stage itself, which had been extended over the orchestra pit.

To debut at the Opera Ball, one breathless young debutante told me, is to occupy the same stage where the “the greatest singers in history” have performed.

The idea that the Opera Ball is something “you should see once in your life” is a sentiment that I heard from guests again and again. A couple from Berlin—a retired secretary and the manager of a hydrogen firm—said they were in attendance because Vienna is “the city of music.” Eight middle-aged women from Kyrgyzstan had arrived in matching pastel gowns after discovering the Opera Ball on the internet. Two Austrian students—a couple studying education and social anthropology, whose gelled hair and all-black palette gave the requisite dress code a punk twist—told me that they are usually at the leftist demonstration outside. This year, they’d saved up to attend the ball itself, saying, “[o]nce at the Opera Ball, the rest of the time at the protest!”

Onstage, I was asked to participate in a disastrous waltz. A ball veteran leading me through the polka, a step I do not know, insisted that the point of the Opera Ball is to escape reality. “For one night,” he said, “you don’t think about war or poverty. You just celebrate.”

But we were thinking about these issues—he mentioned them without my prompting. Awareness of the world outside was inscribed in the price of concessions, 10 percent of whose revenues were earmarked for an Austrian charity initiative in addition to the $38 earmarked from the ticket price. I saw three young men pass around a flask of liquor, a common workaround to the exorbitantly priced drinks. Exiting the stage, I dodged waiters rushing into private opera boxes with trays of petits fours and canapés.

This is about “tradition,” guests told me. It’s about prestige. It’s about attending the same ball as celebrities. (Later, I discovered that Italian actor Franco Nero was also in attendance.) It’s about “seeing and being seen.” It is, above all, about the illicit, dreamworld feeling of being where we’re not supposed to be: backstage at the Vienna Opera House and also, possibly, in the 19th century.

In the lobby, VIPs were being interviewed on live television. The sense that I’d fallen through the looking glass became more overwhelming when I stumbled into the basement, which had been transformed into a club. On a velvet sofa adjacent to the writhing dance floor lay a tulle hoopskirt, evidence of someone’s late-night costume change.

Like a hypnotist’s signal, it was my cue to head out and catch my early morning train.

Out in the real world, Yeganehfar’s comment lingered with me the most: “Why is enjoyment always framed as decadence?”

The taxi driver who picked me up outside of the opera house was originally from Poland. Our conversation drifted to the rise of right-wing politics in his native country. “History is turning back on itself,” he concluded, a reference to the ascendence of the far-right Law and Justice party in Poland and the accompanying decline in German-Polish relations. The observation compounded my sense of being drawn through multiple timelines at once.

By the time we arrived at the hostel apartment where I was staying, it was dawn. I exited onto the sidewalk and tipped my driver everything I had. Teetering in the sunrise in a pair of borrowed heels, I wondered if ball critics’ hand-wringing over decadence speaks less to a distrust of pleasure than to a profound sense of dissonance. Europeans still enjoy a quality of life that is the envy of much of the world, yet populists have managed to create—and spread—a narrative of a continent in imminent decline.

“Let us hope the future will be better!” the taxi driver said in parting. I found myself a little too eager to agree.

[vanillablankcanvas]

Hi! Any headcanons about culture and customs of different troll tribes? Their takes on weddings, funerals, hatching days? Do they differ? Monarchy system?

Hello Gorgeous! 💖

Let's see what I can come up with. 😏

Imma open this up too. If anyone has headcanons for each Tribe let me know and I'll add them.

Rock Trolls 🔥

Lava proof. (Canon?) Will sit in lava like a Jacuzzi.

Aren't typically monogamous.❤️‍🔥But they have favourites.

They raise their kids as a group.

Bulk of the population lives inside volcanoes. The homes are carved out of the walls and the layers spiral around in a walkway.

They use the lava for light and power (Was in a fanfic I read that I can't remember)

They add chilli flakes to food instead of salt.

All the Trolls that were in Barb's Angler are part of her 'court'.

Techno Trolls 🌊

Fresh out of the egg, the babies are like tadpoles. Tiny head with a tail, little arms and a single hair. Also gills, they can't breath above water until they're a bit older.

They wear ropes of glow beads as formal wear.

Trollex has an extended royal family living across the ocean.

Classical Trolls🪶

Have huge libraries and museums.

Their beds are more like nests of cashmere and silks pillows.

Trollzart isn't royal. The one in charge is whoever works their way to head composer. Maybe a vote? He will have the majority vote when choosing a successor.

Funk Trolls🫧

Would have their own version of Hookah

Queen Essence is the one with the royal lineage.

Country Trolls🐄

More 'conservative' and 'modest' in the sense that they have cotillions and chaperones and no living together before marriage.

No dancing too close together "Save room for the Muses"

Every family absolutely owns at least one firearm.

Rather than tattoos, they get branding.

They wear horseshoes.

The favourite sport is racing.

If you visit a country troll family, they will FEED you.

Delta Dawn is Queen but she was voted into the sheriff position.

Weddings are a town affair, potluck style.

Other 🎶

Subgenre tribes have so few members because they are actually from overseas.

Since the alliance, Poppy has received letters from the extended royal families proposing marriage. She is flattered, but of course rejects them. Later on they send ones for Viva. 🤭

[montyshistoryblog]

Aber pride happened today

Got to watch my friend kick Labour campaigners out, get to fuck you transphobic bastards

Bought an anti-monarchy poster, got a discount because "he'll be dead soon anyway"

Decided to wear the spike-bra battlejacket combo and got catcalled by some 50-something biker

Watched 2 drag queens absolutely kill a performance

Watched a local band play live at the end, was fun just by virtue of seeing those guys live again. The drummer dresses like a bisexual dad and I love him.

Mostly good but I wish the bad didn't happen.

Oh and those pathetic nazi cunts the Valley Commandos pretended to be tough outside their shitty tattoo shop and couldn't even bring themselves to so much as glare at any of the queer people. Not a spine among them, no clue how they stay on the bikes.