#the god emperor reigns supreme

[gremlinqueensupreme]

The song we currently sing to our son goes like this:

🎼Mr. Monkey Man

The cutest little guy around

Mr. Monkey Man

Using mechas to control the town

Mr. Monkey Man

A benevolent dictator

Mr. Monkey Man

All bow to the God Emperor🎶

[aviawrites]

the rage of a harkonnen (dune: part two)

pairings: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Fem!Reader

summary: The Emperor’s second born daughter, Harauna, has never been truly seen by her father; Her light always being dimmed by the shine of her older sister, Irulan. As Maud’Dib continues fighting on Arrakis and her father’s spot falls farther into jeopardy, Princess Harauna sees an opportunity to finally find her place in the Imperium…Wife of the possible Emperor, ruling alongside Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. (3.9k)

a/n: i’ve already seen this movie twice and i’m going again😛 austin’s performance is so compelling, i couldn’t take my eyes off of him whenever he was on screen. i hope you all liked feyd-rautha as much as i do…otherwise i may be crazy. anyway, as always, ur interaction is greatly appreciated, ily<3

warnings: blood, death, abuse

in this story, yn is: Harauna Corrino (Harkonnen)

10191 // month 1 // 📍kaitan 

“Paul Atreides is not our only prospect.” Reverend Mother Mohiam reveals, standing before you and your sister. “The Baron’s youngest nephew, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, will inherit Arrakis. He may be the answer.”

Your eyes open wide, the name itself sending shivers down your spine. You, along with all of your family, knew of Feyd-Rautha - Knew of the Sadistic Harkonnen, known for slaughtering anyone who challenges him, even his own people. 

“Feyd-Rautha?” Irulan furrows her brows, “He’s psychotic.”

“That’s irrelevant. The question is…can we control him?” 

You stare up at the Reverend Mother’s black veil, an idea striking you.  

Since a child, it’s always been Princess Irulan - The Emperor’s daughter. Irulan will inherit the thrones, Irulan will marry Paul Atreides, Irulan will rule the empire. Never once has your father taken the time to look at you. Never once has he asked the Reverend Mother how you are as a Bene Gesserit. If he did, he’d come to learn that you’re just as equipped to take on the role of Empress as your sister. 

You know what you know - You know how impossible it is to ever be worthy of attention in your father’s eyes. The sound of marrying the prince, possibly the future Emperor, doesn’t seem distasteful. Is he a terrible man, yes. May he turn out to be a worse husband, yes. But God forgive you if you choose being the possible ruler of the empire over being second best. 

“I will marry Feyd-Rautha…” You suggest, coming out as more of a squeak. 

Their eyes dart to yours, Irulan’s gaze feeling more like knives piercing your head.

“Young Harauna-“

“No.” Your sister interjects, turning your body toward hers. “Are you crazy? Feyd-Rautha is the last man you need to marry.”

“Irulan, I want to.” You push back, your voice low. “He may be Emperor one day, we need to secure that opportunity. Do we not, Reverend Mother?”

“We absolutely do, Harauna.”

Irulan’s jaw hangs open, looking between the two of you.

“Are you serious? Reverend Mother, you know Feyd-Rautha. You’ve seen him with your own eyes - You want Hara anywhere near that?”

“She’s thinking of the Imperium, Irulan. Should Paul Atreides be alive, he will want the throne.”

“Feyd-Rautha won’t go down without a fight…” You finish for her.

“Precisely. If he loses, Paul will have a bride awaiting him.” She gestures to your sister. “But if he reigns supreme, he’ll have a Corrino by his side.”

Irulan only shakes her head, disbelief glossing in her eyes. 

“Hara…”

“Sister, I need to do this.” You whisper, softly squeezing her hands. “I can’t make decisions like you…I’m not you.”

“W- What does that mean, Hara? I don’t understand-“

“If I get in line for the throne…” You begin. “If I secure a spot for myself in the Empire, I will be nearly equal to you in father’s eyes. I’ll mean something to someone.”

A tear threatens to fall as she struggles to find words. 

“You mean something to me.” She shrugs, now wondering if that holds any value to you. “If I lose you to the Harkonnens…If I have to stay here alone while you’re on Giedi Prime I don’t know how I’ll-“ She quickly wipes her eyes, taking a breath. “I don’t know how I’ll survive this impending war without you, Hara.”

You tilt your head, bringing your hand to Irulan’s cheek. 

“Write to me, Irulan.” You smile, forcing back your own tears as you solidify this departure in your head. “Send messages to Giedi Prime, will you? Write them like you do your entries and I swear to you I’ll read each one. No matter what happens with the Harkonnen’s, I’ll always have my sister back home on my side, right?”  

A thick silence falls upon the three of you, Irulan fighting between perplex and terror as her hands began to quiver in yours.

“I’ll alert the Emperor.” Reverend Mother says, leaving the two of you.

Alone, your sister pulls you into an embrace, one of the tighter ones. She allows her tears to land on your garments, her shoulders trembling as small whimpers escape her lips.

“Don’t do this, Hara.”

10191 // month 3 // 📍giedi prime

“On your birthday of all days. The Baron should know better than to jeopardize his soon to be Planetary Governor in such a public manner. You could’ve died.” 

“I would not have died.” Your husband fiddles with his blade.

“All slaves should be drugged, should they not?” You remind him. “It’d have taken only one swift slash of the Atreides’ blade and The Baron would’ve lost his heir. He’s insane.”

“Careful, wife.” He warns, “The Baron is flawed but his promises are rich.”

“What could he possibly promise you that’s more important than the entirety of this planet?”

He stares, his eyes scanning you up and down as a small smirk grows on his face. 

“The entirety of Arrakis.” 

Creases form on your forehead, your words coming out as stammers.

“…He promises you…Arrakis?”

“If I manage to control spice production.” He explains, reveling in your dumbfounded expression. 

Your mind immediately imagines your life on Arrakis, a fate you’ve never considered. The plan was to marry Feyd-Rautha, be by his side when he defeats his opponents, have your father kneel to him, and rule the Imperium from the planet of the Harkonnens. But now, thoughts of working from the dune covered planet makes the hair on the back of your neck rise. 

“But-“ You clear your throat, “Um - Is that not Rabban’s job?”

“Rabban failed.” He seethes. “He humiliates house Harkonnen with each Fremen attack he allows. With me ruling the mission, there will be no more.”

“What’s the plan? Once you’re on Arrakis who’s to say my father won’t order you out? What if he doesn’t like how you handle-“

“The Emperor has a set fate too, Harauna. If we were to expose what he did to the Atreides’, the houses would explode. A rise against the Emperor would ensue.” He nears you, looking down at your wide eyes as he bares his blackened mouth. “The throne would be ours to take.”

You don’t know if he meant to admit to what he’s admitted to. Though, you have no doubt he’d tell you his plans to kill your father to your face, indifferent to what you might think. But even Feyd-Rautha should have some sort of limit, shouldn’t he?

“Feyd…” You murmur, “What will happen to him? What will happen to my house? My Reverend Mother, my sisters? They’re innocent they don’t deserve-“

He rolls his eyes, turning away in the midst of your oration. “Princess Harauna asks too many questions.” He returns to his spot across the room. “If you want to sit next to me as Empress, I suggest you straighten out a bit, hm?”

10191 // month 3 // 📍giedi prime

14 hours later 

Feyd-Rautha’s room reeks of deceased Harkonnen bodies and dried blood as you storm in, a scowl on your face. 

Inside, you see your husband squatted by a dead servant, one that if you look too close you may realize is an acquaintance of yours. 

‘FEYD-RAUTHA RABBA HARKO-‘ He’s carved into her pale white skin, his letters bleeding into each other.

The Princess Harauna 3 months ago would scream at the sight. She’d turn and run, alerting her Reverend Mother and father that a cold blooded murderer has gotten into your home. Only…this is home. The man carving names into bodies isn’t a stranger, not an intruder, but the man you married. 

Though you’re not sure he knows it, seeing as you can practically taste the Bene Gesserit on him.

You shove, hard, knocking Feyd-Rautha off balance and onto the concrete floor.

“What the-“

“Seriously!?” You shout, watching his bewildered expression looking back at you. “You’ve not been of age for one whole day and you’ve already betrayed me!”

“You watch yourself, woman.” He warns you, spite in his eyes. 

“I can smell her on you.” You say, knowing all of the signs of a Bene Gesserit’s work, and a sexually vulnerable Feyd-Rautha. “She could be carrying your child!”

Your husband quickly calms himself, seemingly deciding not to waste energy on someone like you. On someone like his wife.

“Would you stop that yelling?” He mumbles, turning and beginning to smear the blood across the mutilated arm.

“How dare you.” You scoff. “I’m meant to be your princess. I’m meant to be your queen Feyd-Rautha! Not some girl who was on a mission. A Bene Gesserit who was here to test you and didn’t want you for more than one night-“

“You’re not any better!” He rises, his demeanor changing like night and day in a split second. 

The minute he gets angry, his energy dominates the room. “Don’t you ever think you’re a better woman for being a power hungry leech who called dibs on the heir before anyone else.” He jabs, lowering until he’s in your face. 

Your jaw hangs open, offense quickly overpowering the fear that you often feel in the presence of an angry Feyd-Rautha. Or any Feyd-Rautha, at that. 

“I don’t need you.” Your eyes pierce his, flames igniting in yours. “I’m the Emperor’s daughter, I was second in line for the throne. If anything, you needed me to get to where you-“

The wind is knocked out of you as your husband grabs your neck, instantly cutting off your words. He grins, nearly frothing at the mouth as he always does at the slightest hint of violence. He feeds off of violence, in the face of which most people quiver he greets it with a big smile, he yearns for violence, he is violence.

“I needed you, huh?” His face about brushes yours, his saliva dripping onto you. “I wasn’t at home being neglected by daddy, Harauna. I wasn’t the second choice. I didn’t need to marry to get power. I wasn’t worthless.” 

He’s entranced, his hand on your throat tightening with each sentence until you’re sure it’ll snap. You claw at his stained hands, collecting the blood of his servants under your nails.

“Husband-“ You croak, feeling the pressure in your head increase.

Feyd-Rautha only smiles, adrenaline rushing throughout him as he contemplates letting this be the end of you. Maybe he should rid himself of this royal burden before she sits with him at the top.

“Know your place, princess.” He whispers before letting you go with a shove. 

You drop to the floor, crashing into the bloody bodies on the ground and fighting for your pipes to reopen. You frantically heave as he looks down at you once more, evil in his eyes, before he leaves you where you are. 

Weeps escape you, feeling selfish as you cry in the presence of women who got it much worse. 

But you don’t dare complain. For you asked for this. Your sister warned you, your logic warned you. Nevertheless, in times like this, the possibility of being ruler of the Imperium outweighs the possibility of dying due to your attempts. 

“Be the worst position in the highest room.” Your father used to tell you, “For some never make it to the room.”

10191 // month 4 // 📍starship 

The low hum of the frigate gives the cold ambience some character. Rabban lounges across the kitchen table, his feet up on the marble. Your husband sits a few chairs down from you, sheathing and unsheathing his blade, creating a repetitive sound for the two of you to suffer through.

“Princess Harauna.” You hear as the grand doors within the starship open. A servant enters, seemingly a younger version of the Baron, with a thin metal tube in his hand. 

The big man hands it to you, bowing slightly before shuffling away.

“Say thanks to the piggy.” Feyd-Rautha teases, a devilish grin on his face.

Rabban slightly chuckles as you eye your husband, sighing before opening the letter.

“To my sister, Hara.” 

Your eyes gleam, seeming to scan faster and faster the more and more you read. The two men in the room with you don’t seem to notice, mindlessly engaging in their own boredom as the ship heats up in the weather of Arrakis. 

You shut the tube with a click, looking down at it as you weakly attempt to process what you’ve just read.  

“Paul Atreides…is coming.” You reveal, catching the attention of Rabban and Feyd-Rautha. “He makes his way from the south.”

“Paul Atreides is dead.” Rabban corrects you. 

“He didn’t die in the attack-“

“I know that, woman!” He abruptly shouts, banging the table. “I saw to it myself, him and his mother died in the-“

“Sandstorm.” You finish, much quieter than he began. “But he didn’t.”

Your husband has turned his body toward you, now intently listening.

“They live - And they challenge my father now.” You look up at the two of them, “Him. He must be this Maud’Dib, this Lisan-Al-Gaib. Who else would it be?”

“Wait,” Feyd speaks up, “Challenge your father for what, exactly?”

You meet his gaze before reopening the letter, searching for the Irulan’s line on the challenge:

Paul Atreides will arrive unannounced when we land in Arrakis in a challenge for the throne.

Rabban shakes his head. “There’s no longer a need for the Emperor on Arrakis.” He misses the point, “We’ve got the spice production under control. The old bastard can stay home.”

Feyd-Rautha leans his elbows in his knees, looking up at you with that same evil look he gets whenever a dangerous plan arises.

“Atreides’,” He thinks aloud, “They’re little rats. Insects that keep popping up no matter how many times you exterminate.”

“Should I alert the Baron?” Rabban asks, speaking quicker than his acute brain can think. 

“You will do no such thing.” Feyd demands, conjuring up his plan in his much more suitable brain. “Since the Emperor is deciding to pay us a visit despite the work l've done here…Maybe the Atreides' will do the bloody work for us. Keep us in the good graces of the Great Houses."

Bloody work, he says. The exposure and diminishing of your father’s name he means. 

“Brother.” Rabban counters, “The Atreides’ - The Fremen - They’ll have us outnumbered. Uncle should be aware-“

“You will do no such thing.” His brother orders, now loosely pointing his blade toward Rabban. “The throne is mine therefore the throne is yours. The Baron won’t make Harkonnen the greatest house, brother. I will.” He leers.

“Husband,” You voice reason, seeing all of the ways you could lose your promised spot to this scheme. “If it comes to a fight and Paul beats you-“

“He won’t beat me.”

“But if this challenge doesn’t go our way,” You hypothesize, “We could lose everything. Paul Atreides won’t let my father live, not after what he’s done. My family will hold no power, my sister will be-“

"I will remain unharmed, will I not? As will my brother.” He redirects. “Are we not your biggest concern anymore? Are we not your family, Harauna?" 

…

The ship gets hotter and hotter as you near Arrakeen. Feyd-Rautha meddles with his torso buttons on the opposite side of the room as you stare at the screen in your bedroom, broadcasting the sandy terrain of the new planet.

“What would your plans be as Emperor, Feyd-Rautha?” You query, eyes locked on the family owned land.

He sighs as he always does when you open your mouth, as if nothing his wife says is worthwhile. 

“Princess Harauna asks too many questions.” He repeats.

“Just answer me…Please.” You urge, the question having appeared in your mind minutes ago and hasn’t stopped nagging since. 

“What do you think my plans are, princess?” He turns toward you, his dark and threatening eyes seeming to dim the entire room. “I’m going to make the entire Imperium Harkonnen. Our family will be the most powerful spice harvesters anyone’s ever seen.” He begins, “I’ll give my Empress a child, grow our empire, and teach my princeling how to rule.”

You listen intently, trying your hardest to envision your life going from Princess of Kaitan, to wife of the heir, to Empress of the Imperium beside Feyd-Rautha, of all men.

Be the worst position in the highest room.

Your husband goes on. “Caladan will be a thing of the past. Atreides will be a thing of the past. Harkonnen will be the great house and any others will just be…Maud’Dib.” He chuckles.

“‘Your Empress’...” You point out, never having heard your name. You only wish to hear where you and your family stand in his master plan. “Would it be me?”

He gives you his undivided attention, letting go of his leather vest. “Why must you talk so much about things that don’t matter?” He asks, true indifference and apathy in his tone.

For some never make it to the room.

“…Is it me or no one?” You speak up, your voice frantically running before your mind can catch up. “Is it me or death, Feyd-Rautha?”

Your attitude shifts in the middle of your sentence as you realize where you’ve heard these exact words before.

“You or no one, Irulan.” Your father would say, stroking your sister’s hair while the rest of you sat and waited for nothing. 

Never in your life did you plan to sit in a Harkonnen’s bedroom and beg for his approval. For his confirmation that you were his. 

But here you are, begging the worst of men to love you the way The Emperor never did. The way he never will. 

“In two moons I will be Emperor.” Feyd-Rautha strides toward you, holding your hands in his as he bores. “Harauna Harkonnen will be next to me.”

A smile grows wide on your face; An odd, yet full, feeling of acceptance spiraling throughout you.

His eyes suddenly seem to get even darker as his grip on your hands morphs into a crushing clutch. “For as long as she knows her place, she will remain.”

Ice replaces the once warm feeling in your veins. Your smile fades as his grows, watching the fear in you rise with each squeeze of your fingers. Tears form in your eyes as the reality of your situation sets in once more as it has over and over since you step foot on Giedi Prime.

But you don’t dare complain. For you asked for this. Your sister warned you, your logic warned you.

10191 // month 4 // 📍arrakeen

two days later

You all stand completely still, your heartbeat seeming to be louder than the atomics outside of the Emperor’s structure. Inside the ring of Sardukaur lies your family; Irulan hiding behind your father as Maud’Dib, in front of your eyes, holds a blade over the Baron.

You and Feyd-Rautha stand alone across the walkway, your husband seemingly hypnotized by Paul Atreides as he plunges it into his uncles neck. Your hand resting on Feyd’s lower back vibrates as his breathing heavies, being just as amazed by Paul as you are. 

The both of your mouths hang open, and for once, you and your husband seem to be on the same page. Paul begins barking orders at your father as you bring your lips to Feyd’s ear, speaking in a hushed whisper to not interfere with the daring Paul Maud’Dib.

“In the event of your death…” You begin. He slightly cocks his head toward you, listening. “Would you have me marry him?”

Paul gives one last daring look at the sea of people standing against him, though, he seems as fearless as your husband as his expression never wavers from stone. 

“Is he worthy?”

Feyd-Rautha doesn’t so much as flinch at your comment, new, for a man like him. You can’t help but believe it’s because you’re right. The na-Baron recognizes that the viciousness that is Paul Atreides, no matter how unexpected, is a perfect match for him. A perfect match for his wife. 

Is he wrong to admit that if not him, Paul may be the closest thing to fit to be Emperor of the universe?

…

You’ve never laid eyes on a fight so glorious. The two most powerful and ferocious men on Arrakis clinking their blades again and again in a battle for the throne. 

The room falls silent as your husband lodges his sword into Paul, holding him close as one of the two release an animalistic roar. His mother stands, his Fremen’s mouths hang agape, your husband just hardly smiles at you over his shoulder. 

You can’t help but feel a sense of dread boiling in your stomach. Yes - You want Feyd-Rautha to reign supreme. Yes, you want to be Empress. But as you watch the devilish sneer on his face fill out as Paul’s blood stains his pasty hand, your heart seems to be pulling you in another direction. You’ve always been quite talented at telling good from bad; But Maud’Dib, you can’t seem to figure out. He lays in the gray area in between the two, you determine. 

Your reflection is quickly halted as the squelching sound of an edge piercing skin fills the room. You sway to the side, eyes wide as you see Paul’s hand gripping the handle, the rest buried into your husband’s heart. 

A gasp escapes many in the room, you included as a hand flies to your mouth. You and your father very well may be the only people in the room who are rooting for Feyd-Rautha. Knowing this, the smiles that sprinkle themselves on attendants throughout the room quickly after the inhale isn’t unanticipated. 

“You…” His raspy voice is almost too quiet for you to catch as he fights for each breath. “You fought well…Atreides.”

He slowly turns his head just far enough to have you in his sight. Even in death, Feyd-Rautha remains as menacing as the day you first met him. 

He has no words for you. He only bares that stupid, prideful, blackened smile that got him stabbed in the first place. 

You seem in a trance as you watch his body thud to the floor, looking as lifeless as the women on his bedroom floor back home. 

“Lisan-Al-Gaib!” A Fremen leader calls, breaking the silence as his people repeat after him.

Paul Atreides, Feyd-Rautha’s murderer, rises. He limps toward you and your family, prompting your sister to swiftly grab your free hand as the other slowly lowers from your lips. 

You had no love for Feyd-Rautha, nothing real. For him you experienced nothing that you should feel for a husband. Nevertheless, the tears flow all the same. 

"The life debt has been paid.” Irulan blurts, squeezing your hand as Paul nears you. “Spare my father and I will be your willing bride. The throne will be yours."

Her words snap you out of your haze, throwing you into the face of reality as it strikes you in the heart. 

"I'll take the hand of your daughter. She will remain safe and we will rule together over the empire." Paul declared.

In the span of seconds you imagine the moment a trillion different ways. If only he had nodded toward you, not Irulan.

‘Where is integrity?’ You wonder. 

Where is honor in sacrifice when you've given all you know to give and you still don't win. You can never seem to come out on top. You can never seem to be first…But your sister can, as she always does.

You snatch your hand away from your Irulan’s; Your eyes glued to your father, now kneeling, as rage grows within you. The rage of all of the rejection you've faced, the rage of all you have given to get to where you are, the rage of now wishing Feyd-Rautha had stuck Paul Atreides' head on a spike for all of Arrakis to see.

The rage of a Harkonnen.

[artifacts-archive]

Tetradrachm (Coin) Depicting the God Zeus

Greek, Reign of Phillip II (359–336 BCE)

The official record of quadrennial games honoring the supreme Greek god Zeus at a sanctuary dedicated to him at Olympia began in 776 BCE. With few interruptions, they took place every four years for about 1,100 years. In 394, CE the Christian emperor Theodosius I (reigned 379–95) abolished them as pagan rites. The most prestigious competition remained the footrace, but eventually it was supplanted in popularity by the horse races. Horses were symbols of socioeconomic status, since only the privileged could afford to buy, feed, and train them and transport their teams and trainers to Olympia every four years. In time, many of the victors in the horse races included kings and tyrants. Philip II, king of Macedon, who minted this coin, owned the horse that won the race in Olympia in 356 BCE. The same year his son was born; he would grow up to become Alexander the Great (356–332 BCE). The head of Zeus on the front referred to Philip’s claim that his family descended from the god. On the back Philip commemorated his victory in the horse races of the Olympic Games with an image of a jockey astride his mount.

[ancientcharm]

The controversial young emperor Elagabalus

'The roses of Elagabalus' (detail) by Lawrence Alma-Tadema ,1888

Sextus Varius Avitus Bassianus was born in Rome in the year 203.

As emperor he had the name Marcus Aurelius Antoninus Augustus but was better known as Elagabalus. Originary from Syria he was by hereditary right, the high priest of El-Gabal from which his name Elagabalus comes. El-Gabal was the tutelary god of the city of Emesa, in Syria. His grandfather and ancestors were also priests.

The Romans mistook El-Gabal for a Syrian sun god because they heard "Heliogabal" and thought of Helios. But El-Gabal means god of the mountain.

He became emperor of Rome on May 16, 218 at age 14, thanks to his maternal grandmother Julia Maesa, Caracalla's aunt, who after the assassination of the emperor organized a revolt against the usurper Macrinus.

He received the Salutatio imperatoria (imperial salute) only once, at the time of the assumption of imperial power. His reign was brief as his life, and his death more tragic than the previous assassinated emperors, not so much because of the way he died but because of what the murderers did with his body.

'The roses of Elagabalus' by Lawrence Alma-Tadema ,1888

In order to become high priest of El-Gabal, Elagabalus had himself circumcised.

Care must be taken not to take for granted certain stories that were clearly invented and exaggerated due to the hatred that this young man caused in Rome. He was so hated that Roman historians contemporary with Elagabalus call him "the Assyrian emperor", thus denying any relationship of Rome with him. Cassius Dion also refers to this emperor as "the false Antoninus."

One of the most implausible stories that have been written about him is that he killed people at banquets by drowning them with rose petals.

Also the Roman clichés when writing about a hated emperor, such as the palace being a brothel, that he himself was a prostitute, that he involved wild animals in orgies and other actions that were despicables for the Romans. The story of "he wanted to be castrated" may come from the fact that he had wanted to be circumcised, in fact he was the only Roman emperor to be circumcised, something the Romans considered inappropriate, to put it mildly.

The true scandals

Bust of Elagabalus. Musei Capitolini, Rome © José Luiz Bernardes Ribeiro.

In 219 he married a young aristocratic woman named Giulia Cornelia Paula but in early 220 he divorced, claiming that she had "physical defects." However, the real reason for the divorce soon became known. Elagabalus, who was high priest could only marry a priestess. And thus began his first scandal when he take as his wife a Vestal Virgin Aquilia Severa.

Belonging to a family of priests of an oriental deity, it was probably not the whim of a megalomaniac teenager but rather he was convinced that, as Roman emperor, he had the duty to marry a Roman priestess.

But for the Romans a vestal virgin could not marry until she had completed 30 years of service to the goddess Vesta (the most ancient Roman goddess) and if she broke her vows of chastity she was punished with the death penalty. Elagabalus undoubtedly broke a sacred rule.

In 221, perhaps to calm everyone down, he divorced and married Annia Faustina, descendant to the beloved emperor Marcus Aurelius, but he soon divorced her to remarry former vestal virgin Aquilla. Historians account that Elagabalus claimed married the priestess because he wanted to have "divine children".

According to Cassius Dio, Elagabalus also had a lover "a blonde boy from Caria named Hierocles." Unlike other extravagant stories, this one does not implausible.

In another attack on the sacred traditions of Rome, Elagabalus introduced the cult of El-Gabal as a state religion in the city of Rome and throughout the empire. Jupiter was the supreme state god, but the religious edicts of Elagabalus left the Roman religion with all its gods relegated to the background. The Roman gods were assigned a subordinate function to the Syrian god El-Gabal, this deity until then had only been worshiped in Emesa. The emperor ordered the sacred stone from Emesa to be brought to Rome.

During the summer solstice festival he placed the conical black meteorite that represents El-Gabal, in a chariot decorated with gold and jewels, which toured the city in parade.

A team of six horses carried the divinity, the enormous and immaculately white horses, with expensive gold harnesses and rich decorations. No one was holding the reins nor was anyone on board the chariot; The vehicle was escorted as if the god himself were the charioteer. Elagabalus walked backwards in front of the chariot, facing the god and holding the reins of the horses. He made the whole journey in this reverse manner, looking his god in the face. - Herodian.

As if all this were not enough to enrage the entire Roman society, Elagabalus made her mother participate in the Senate.

Empress Julia Soaemias, mother of Elagabalus- 3nd century AD, Found in 1968 at the Monumental Nymphaeum of Septimius Severus. Photo: Dosseman

Julia Maesa, grandmother of Emperor, seeing how the Senate, the Praetorian Guard and the people stopped supporting him and his mother, decided that both should be replaced by her daughter, Julia Mamaea, and her other grandson, Alexander, 13 years old.

First she convinced Heliogabalus to name his cousin Caesar and heir and share the Consulate with him. He accepted but then seeing that the Praetorian Guard preferred his cousin, Elagabalus changed his decision.

Historians account that following he deprived his cousin of his titles, and revoked the consulship, circulated the news that Alexander was about to die; A mutiny broke out and the guard demanded to see Elagabalus and Alexander in the Praetorian camp.

On March 11, 222 Heliogabalus appeared there with his mother Julia Soemia and Alexander. Upon his arrival, the soldiers greeted Alexander as emperor. Elagabalus ordered the arrest and execution of every soldier who intervened in this revolt, but in response, the Praetorians attacked him and his mother.

So he tried to flee, and could have reached somewhere hidden in a chest, but he was discovered and killed at the age of 18. His mother, who embraced him closely, perished with him; They cut off their heads and his bodies, after having stripped them, first they dragged them throughout the city, and then the mother's body was left somewhere, while his was thrown into the river. — Cassius Dio

Hierocles, the charioteer and, according to Cassius Dio, also the lover, of Elagabalus, as well as several of his court, were executed that same day. His religious edicts were revoked, and the god El-Gabal returned to Emesa.

On March 13, 222, Alexander Severus ascended the throne. His grandmother, Julia Maesa, one of the most powerful women in Roman empire history died four years later.

After 13 years of reign Alexander was also assassinated, at the age of 26, although for very different reasons than his cousin Elagabalus: Alexander was assassinated just by the ambition of a group of soldiers and, upon the death of his successor, was deified by the Senate. He died without issue and was the last of the Severan dynasty.

Bust of Elagabalus. 220- 221. Musei Capitolini, Rome. © José Luiz Bernardes Ribeiro

[quantumcartography]

Eventually I'm gonna do a deep dive on every name in the Locked Tomb series but I've been sitting on this dissection of The Emperor's chosen name for a long time and I want to put it into the world. So, here it is.

The Emperor John Gaius, His Celestial Kindliness, the First Reborn, King of the Nine Renewals, Necromancer Divine, our Resurrector, and The Necrolord Prime

“NOTE: He’s just some guy, you know?

NOTE II: Gaius was not the name John was born with. He picked it for himself circa Y100 of his reign.”

These two names have so much potential meaning tied up in them so buckle up.

First, the literal translations. John is a derivative of the Biblical Hebrew Yohanan which is in turn derived from the Yehohanan, which means literally “Yahweh has been gracious.” Gaius is a Latin name that likely derives from the latin gaudere “to rejoice.” This more or less makes the name say “Huzzah! God has been good!” Now, there is one other tweak to this. Gaia is the Greek personification of the Earth (Terra is the Roman equivalent) and if you slapped the Latin masculine ending on it, it would become Gaius. This does provide a tie to the planet Earth in his name (which is far more obvious in Gideon’s name of Kiriona Gaia) and would make sense if he picked it as a memorial to the dead Earth to which he could never return.

Next, modern social interpretation. John for a long time held the title of “most common name in the English speaking world.” I believe it’s since been surpassed by James, but it’s still up there. Gaius, funnily enough, was the Ancient Roman equivalent of John. It was one of the most common given names for so long that it became semi-synonymous with saying “some guy” similar to the phrase “Tom, Dick, and Harry” or “don’t know him from Adam.” These two names make his name something like “John John” or “Jon Doe” or “James Q. Public.”

Next: the strictly biblical interpretation. The most obvious link here is to the book of the New Testament, John 3. This is a letter by one of the many biblical Johns to a man named Gaius concerning some pretty mundane church business of the time and thanking Gaius for looking after some poor missionaries. It’s honestly a supremely drab book of the bible and doesn’t really get into doctrine or legends or exciting apocalypse stuff. It’s just a letter from a church leader to a rich patron. If someone more versed in Biblical history and literature can shed some light on this book, I’d be very thankful.

Next: some name associations. Being two of the most common names in history, we kinda have a wealth of options to pick from. Saint John the Apostle was the one who actually walked with Jesus and was the brother of the Apostle James with whom they made up the Boanerges, the Sons of Thunder. John of Patmos was the likely author of the Book of Revelation and maybe the same as John the Apostle (but probably not.) The author who wrote about the apocalypse seems pretty fitting. Gaius was also the praenomen (given name) of the two Caesars responsible for the death of the Roman Republic and the birth of the Roman Empire: Gaius Julius Caesar and Gaius Octavius who became Caesar Augustus.

Julius Caesar is definitely the most well known Emperor of Rome/salad inventor and also second dictator for life (Sulla was the first so Caesar can’t take that title.) He was an incredibly popular general who was part of an alliance of three figures (him, Pompey, and Crassus) to increase their own power, wealth, and standing. When Crassus died, tensions formed between Pompey and Caesar until Pompey had the senate recall Caesar from his war in Gaul to be removed from command. Caesar knew this would lead to his execution at the hands of his rival so he made his own play, marching his troops into Rome (an act tantamount to sacrilege) to try and capture Pompey which spoiler he didn’t. It sparked a civil war that raged all the way around the Mediterranean for four years and left Caesar as the de facto ruler of the Roman Republic up until an unfortunate accident in the senate where he fell into knives 23 times. He had it coming. This idea of attacking his enemy before they have a chance to attack you only to have your enemy slip away is a notable parallel.

Gaius Octavius had been named as Caesar’s successor in his will and would go on to become the first proper Roman Emperor. He used the newfound power from his great-uncle’s death to form a new three person alliance (him, Lepidus, and Mark Antony) and hunt down Julius Caesar’s assassins and rake in treasure while cementing their political power. Surprise surprise though because Caesar Augustus (the name given Gaius Octavius after he became the Emperor) managed to politically, militarily, and psychologically out maneuver his two fellow rulers and within seven years he had metaphorically put Lepidus in the ground and literally put Mark Antony in the ground. Now, while in life Julius Caesar made a lot of moves to imply that he wanted to be the king of Rome, not least of which was modeling himself as descended from the gods and enshrining himself alongside them as equals. Augustus doubled down on this by starting a massive and complex propaganda machine to make himself equally divine, even within his own lifetime and immediately afterwards.

Both of these men led the Romans into civil wars that ravaged the empire. Both of them committed acts of sacrilege in the ancient world to further their political games of revenge. Both of them lied, cheated, stole, killed, and manipulated to gain more power and remake the world to be what they wanted. They were geniuses who may have even had good intentions and put an end to a long period of political instability, but through blood and steel and no small part vengeance.

Now I would be remiss if I didn’t address the elephant in the room that is Homestuck. I will say that my adoration of The Locked Tomb series has sent me down innumerable rabbit holes. I have researched paper manufacturing, the magnetic forces of Jupiter, Catholic prayers, polygenic phenotyping, Ancient Greek and Roman poetry, national anthems of nations of the world, and the psychology of Among Us. But the rabbit hole that is the MS Paint Adventures Wiki is one too daunting for even me. But in any case, I have no doubt that these characters sharing a name is no coincidence.

Lastly, the use of a Hebrew and Latin name makes this fascinating marriage of opposites. To massively understate it, Romans and Christians did not get along for a long time. Obviously now, the Catholic Church is seated in Rome, but for a BIG portion of the early Christian ministry, the Romans were the ones who captured them and set them on fire or crucified them or other fun and exciting means of execution. More than that, an apostle to Jesus’ monotheistic peace-loving and merciful message being linked with two deified and bloody conquerors of Ancient Rome does create this interesting tension. This tension is something very interesting in modern Catholicism as well as the Locked Tomb’s Empire.

[egg-emperor]

Once eggy takes over the world and becomes emperor, do you think he would create an anthem/hymb dedicated to worshipping him (ala "God Save the Queen") and force people to stand up and sing it every morning to further emphasize that he's the world's most supreme being?

Absolutely! I love the idea of him getting everyone to celebrate him and his brilliance every single day, having them all gather around him while he's stood on a podium, high, mighty, and untouchable above them all as he forces them to stand and sing an anthem he wrote. Every word praises him as their powerful beloved ruler of such a glorious Empire

Of course, most of them don't really believe in or mean a single word they're forced to sing at all. They hate him and suffer because of him but many have had their spirits completely broken and they have no fire or fight in them left to resist after the horrors he puts them through, they've given into this miserable new life and go about it feeling hollow and empty

But even if they haven't been completely broken yet, they're helpless anyway, they have no choice because cannons are aimed at them and robots have their guns aimed at them from every angle. Anyone spotted trying to avoid standing or singing will be dealt with and nobody can escape. They have to listen to his long speeches and sing for him

Those who haven't had their minds and spirits broken yet sing with wavering voices and tremble in fear at the threat to their precious lives. Those who had their spirits broken and gave up on everything sing in an exhausted depressed drone. And those who are completely mind controlled/had Robotomy Treatment sing in flat, lifeless, soulless monotone

Then in the very rare deranged cases like me, I'd be genuinely enthusiastically singing with passion and adoration for Eggman and his twisted empire and finding the threat to my life thrilling lol

Eggman would be fully aware that they're all either fearful, miserable, or mindless and all forced and would absolutely thrive on that, along with the way that all the eyes, attention, and praise would be on him, the way it always should've been. In fact, knowing they're having a miserable time and he's the only truly happy one makes it even better for him

All that matters to him is that he's standing proud and tall high above them all, basking in the glory with all eyes and the total spotlight on him alone. Hearing thousands say his name, sing for him, and praise him. It's his beautiful dream come true that's miserable and terrifying for everyone else. It's absolutely perfect by his own twisted definition!

I love thinking about Emperor Eggman in his victory and reign like this so much 🥰💜

[theblackbookofarkera]

Tru-isil Empire

The Tru-isil Empire, a formidable power in the Arkera, stands as a nation shrouded in self-imposed isolation. Nestled in the northern reaches of the continent Luminaria, the empire boasts vast territories, yet it actively governs only a portion, leaving vast expanses wild and untamed. Despite this, the Tru-isil Empire thrives, feeding its large population through a blend of ancient sciences, sorcery, and technologies—a legacy of the Old World that they have mastered and preserved.

This empire is the successor to the once-mighty Lym-shara Empire, which rose from the ashes of the fallen Goz shortly after the cataclysmic Judgement. A cabal of prescient sorcerers, foreseeing the end of the Old World, had prepared for the aftermath, laying the groundwork for an empire that would span the globe. The Lym-shara Empire reigned supreme for centuries, but as the world recovered and new powers emerged, it succumbed to internal corruption, overexpansion, and decadence, giving rise to the more sustainable Tru-isil Empire.

The transition to the Tru-isil Empire did not herald a moral renaissance; the same ruthless noble houses continued to rule, with House Ero-Hurun at the forefront, having overthrown and reshaped the Lym-shara Empire. Today, the Tru-isil Empire remains aloof from foreign entanglements, save for a few trade outposts, preferring subtler means to exert its influence abroad.

Within its borders, the Tru-isil Empire is a cauldron of ancient and powerful households, each vying for control, influence, and wealth. The emperor, ever watchful, knows that loyalty is a foreign concept in this empire; only through fear, strength, and cunning can one maintain power. The opulent and decadent courts of the Tru-isil Empire are a treacherous landscape, where political machinations and intrigue are deadlier than any battlefield.

The noble families, with few exceptions, are notorious for their histories of atrocities and sins. Each is compelled to offer tribute to the emperor to keep the delicate balance of power intact. Despite this, strife and warfare are not uncommon, often incited by the emperor himself to keep potential rivals divided.

The Tru-isil Empire is a land of dark marvels and sinister pleasures, reminiscent of the Old World's most decadent days. Forbidden magics like scuramancy and morphomancy, along with other proscribed technologies, are the pillars of the empire's prosperity. The food they consume and the materials for their beasts of burden are all products of their arcane expertise.

The Isilnyr, descendants of the people of Goz, form the majority of the empire's populace, towering above the indigenous cultures and the vast slave population drawn from across the world. To the Isilnyr, all others are considered lesser beings.

Unfettered by external powers, the Tru-isil Empire is the only nation free from the influence of the Sharoo Magyar Alligium. Its economy is robustly independent, and the empire is self-sufficient, meeting the basic needs of its people. Yet, their insatiable desire for the finest luxuries has led to a pragmatic relationship with the Alligium, allowing Isilnyr merchants to trade their exotic technologies and sciences across Arkera with relative freedom.

Two major religions divide the empire's populace along social lines. The Tzuran faith, embraced by the elite, preaches that humanity is the plaything of a bored deity, destined to repeat life endlessly for divine amusement, with salvation lying in breaking free from this cycle. In contrast, the more prevalent Unandor faith espouses that humanity is inherently unfit for the universe, with salvation attainable only through the teachings of seven chaos gods who ascended to higher states of being.

Traveling to the Tru-isil Empire is a journey into a realm of sin and splendor, offering a glimpse into the nature of humankind as reflected in the Old World. Despite the empire's dark reputation, its common folk share the same loves, hopes, and struggles as those found across Arkera, enduring under the yoke of their malevolent rulers.

[dorothygale123]

Let's talk rulers of the cosmos, shall we?

There's at least one in every religion, but really old mythologies like Chinese and Egyptian have the head honcho change a few times over the millenia depending on whose popular.

The ones I've found for Chinese mythology are Shangdi, the Jade Emperor, the Yellow Emperor, and Di Jun. You could also count Xiwangmu and Dongwanggong since they ruled the west and east respectively, but some people might not count them since they technically shared power. What I want to do today is put these gods in a rough chronological order as to when they could have been in charge to give a line of succession to the throne of Heaven.

Let's start with Shangdi, the oldest deity here who gained his popularity in the Shang dynasty from 1600-1000 BC. He's called the supreme diety, but came up before the Daoists established the Heavenly Beauracracy so he was never officially king of the gods.

Next is the Queen Mother of the West and her lesser known husband the King Father of the East. As I've stated in previous posts, more modern sources will portray Xiwangmu as the consort to the Jade Emperor, so Dongwanggong gets shoved to the side a lot. A modern writer could interpret this as the two of them getting a divorce, freeing Xiwangmu up for a second marriage. Perhaps their split is what lead to the end of their reign as rulers of the universe?

Third is the Yellow Emperor, largely because he's credited as the first sole emperor of all China, so it makes sense to slot him in here after Shangdi, who had a less official role, and the couple who shared power equally.

After him I'm gonna put Di Jun, who some might remember as the father of the 10 suns from yesterday's post. The fact that he was the head god is probably why later myths gave his role as their dad to the Jade Emperor in later myths when the latter god was more popular. However, he isn't the first emperor but should definitely come before our jaded boy, so we're putting him here.

Finally we have jolly green himself, the Jade Emperor who, and I cannot stress this enough, was literally made up in 1005 AD to cover up an unpopular military decision. He presumably then married Xiwangmu and continued ruling the cosmos indefinitely.

Let's reiterate that this is not meant to be taken as fact, it's just me taking different pieces of mythology and making my own timeline with it in a way I think is cool and makes sense. If anyone disagrees, feel free to tell me how you'd structure your list and why.

Now, for my LMK people, as of the end of season 4 the Jade Emperor's throne is empty and waiting for someone to fill it. Who will it be? Who could possibly replace him? Well, my hope is that we get who I'm going to call the Lotus Emperor, Nezha. Strict and dutiful, but willing to bend when necessary and always trying to do the best he can. Not to mention he's also the Jade Emperor's grandson. It remains to be seen if it'll happen in the show, but that doesn't stop us from making fan content about it!

Sh*tpost Masterlist

[orthodoxydaily]

SAINTS&READING: WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 11, 2024

september 28_december 11

MARTYR STEPHEN THE NEW OF Mt StAUXIENTUS (767)

The Monk Martyr and Confessor Stephen the New was born in 715 at Constantinople into a pious Christian family. His parents, having two daughters, prayed the Lord for a son. The mother of the newborn Stephen took him to the Blachernae church of the Most Holy Theotokos and dedicated him to God.

During the reign of the emperor Leo the Isaurian (716-741) there was a persecution against the holy icons and against those venerating them. With the support of the emperor, the adherents of the Iconoclast heresy seized control of the supreme positions of authority in the Empire and in the Church. Persecuted by the powers of this world, Orthodoxy was preserved in monasteries far from the capital, in solitary cells, and in the brave and faithful hearts of its followers.

The Orthodox parents of Saint Stephen, grieved by the prevailing impiety, fled from Constantinople to Bithynia, and they gave over their sixteen-year-old son in obedience to the monk John, who labored in asceticism in a solitary place on the Mount of Saint Auxentius. Saint Stephen dwelt with the venerable monk John for more than fifteen years, devoting himself totally to this spirit-bearing Elder, and learning monastic activity from him. Here Stephen received the news that his father was dead, and his mother and sisters had been tonsured as nuns.

After a certain time his teacher John also died. With deep sorrow Saint Stephen buried his venerable body, and continued with monastic effort in his cave by himself. Soon monks began to come to the ascetic, desiring to learn from him the virtuous and salvific life, and a monastery was established, with Saint Stephen as the igumen. At forty-two years of age Stephen left the monastery he founded, and he went to another mountain, on whose summit he dwelt in deep seclusion in a solitary cell. But here also a community of monks soon gathered, seeking the spiritual guidance of Saint Stephen.

Leo the Isaurian was succeeded by Constantine Copronymos (741-775), a fiercer persecutor of the Orthodox, and an even more zealous iconoclast. The emperor convened an Iconoclast Council, attended by 358 bishops from the Eastern provinces. However, except for Constantine, the Archbishop of Constantinople, illegitimately raised to the patriarchal throne by the power of Copronymos, not one of the other patriarchs participated in the wicked doings of this Council, thus making it less likely to style itself as “ecumenical.” This council of heretics, at the instigation of the emperor and the archbishop, described icons as idols, and pronounced an anathema on all who venerated icons in the Orthodox manner, and it described icon veneration as heresy.

Meanwhile, the monastery of Mount Auxentius and its igumen became known in the capital. They told the emperor about the ascetic life of the monks, about their Orthodox piety, about the igumen Stephen’s gift of wonderworking, and of how Saint Stephen’s fame had spread far beyond the region of the monastery, and that the name of its head was accorded universal respect and love. The saint’s open encouragement of icon veneration and the implied rebuff to the persecutors of Orthodoxy within the monastery of Mount Auxentius especially angered the emperor. Archbishop Constantine realized that in the person of Saint Stephen he had a strong and implacable opponent of his iconoclastic intentions, and he plotted how he might draw him over to his side or else destroy him.

They tried to lure Saint Stephen into the Iconoclast camp, at first with flattery and bribery, then by threats, but in vain. Then they slandered the saint, accusing him of falling into sin with the nun Anna. But his guilt was not proven, since the nun courageously denied any guilt and died under torture and beatings. Finally, the emperor gave orders to lock up the saint in prison, and to destroy his monastery. Iconoclast bishops were sent to Saint Stephen in prison, trying to persuade him of the dogmatic correctness of the Iconoclast position. But the saint easily refuted all the arguments of the heretics and he remained true to Orthodoxy.

Then the emperor ordered that the saint be exiled on one of the islands in the Sea of Marmora. Saint Stephen settled into a cave, and there also his disciples soon gathered. After a certain while the saint left the brethren and took upon himself the exploit of living atop a pillar. News of the stylite Stephen, and the miracles worked by his prayers, spread throughout all the Empire and strengthened the faith and spirit of Orthodoxy in the people.

The emperor gave orders to transfer Saint Stephen to prison on the island of Pharos, and then to bring him to trial. At the trial, the saint refuted the arguments of the heretics sitting in judgment upon him. He explained the dogmatic essence of icon veneration, and he denounced the Iconoclasts because in blaspheming icons, they blasphemed Christ and the Mother of God. As proof, the saint pointed to a golden coin inscribed with the image of the emperor. He asked the judges what would happen to a man who threw the coin to the ground , and then trampled the emperor’s image under his feet. They replied that such a man would certainly be punished for dishonoring the image of the emperor. The saint said that an even greater punishment awaited anyone who would dishonor the image of the King of Heaven and His Saints, and with that he spat on the coin, threw it to the ground, and began to trample it underfoot.

The emperor gave orders to take the saint to prison, where already there were languishing 342 Elders, condemned for the veneration of icons. In this prison Saint Stephen spent eleven months, consoling the imprisoned. The prison became like a monastery, where the usual prayers and hymns were chanted according to the Typikon. The people came to the prison in crowds and asked Saint Stephen to pray for them.

When the emperor learned that the saint had organized a monastery in prison, where they prayed and venerated holy icons, he sent two of his own servants, twin-brothers, to beat the saint to death. When these brothers went to the prison and beheld the face of the monk shining with a divine light, they fell down on their knees before him, asking his forgiveness and prayers, then they told the emperor that his command had been carried out. But the emperor learned the truth and he resorted to yet another lie. Informing his soldiers that the saint was plotting to remove him from the throne, he sent them to the prison. The holy confessor himself came out to the furious soldiers, who seized him and dragged him through the streets of the city. They then threw the lacerated body of the martyr into a pit, where they were wont to bury criminals.

On the following morning, a fiery cloud appeared over Mount Auxentius, and then a heavy darkness descended upon the capital, accompanied by hail, which killed many people.

Source Orthodox Church in America_OCA

NEW HIEROMARTYR SERAPHIM (CHIGAGOV) , METROPOLITAN OF St PETERSBURG (1937)

Metropolitan Seraphim (Chichagov) was a man of extraordinary gifts and achievements. An authoritative Church hierarch, a steadfast defender of Orthodox traditions, an eloquent preacher, a profound theologian, a philosopher, a brilliant military officer, a skilled healer, a historian, writer, musician, painter, and tireless public servant — his life encompassed a wide array of vocations, all united by his unwavering dedication to God.

In 1886, few could have foreseen that the accomplished officer Leonid Mikhailovich Chichagov would one day become a Russian bishop and martyr. A descendant of two distinguished admirals — great-grandson of Vasily Yakovlevich Chichagov, one of the first Arctic explorers, and grandson of Pavel Vasilyevich Chichagov* — Leonid was well-educated, fluent in several languages, and steeped in the cultured life of his era. At 30 years of age, his life mirrored that of other young men of his social class: a tastefully appointed home, impeccable manners, a beautiful wife, and evenings spent at theatres and balls. His impeccable military service had earned him ten prestigious Russian and foreign orders, and his future seemed destined for the highest government ranks.

Leonid’s deep religiosity had been evident since childhood. Orphaned at a young age, he often sought solace in prayer and faith. As an officer in the elite Preobrazhensky Guards Regiment, he served as the warden of the Transfiguration Cathedral on Liteiny Avenue in St. Petersburg, where he generously supported the church financially. Yet, in 1891, just after being promoted to colonel, Leonid shocked St. Petersburg society by retiring from the military to dedicate his life to serving the Russian Orthodox Church.

This decision profoundly impacted his wife, who struggled to accept the sudden change. However, Saint John of Kronstadt, Leonid’s spiritual father, offered her comforting counsel: “Your husband must become a priest, and you must not hinder the path your husband has chosen, for in this field he will reach great heights.”

Thus began Leonid Mikhailovich Chichagov’s transformation from a decorated officer to a servant of God, embarking on the path that would ultimately lead to his martyrdom.

From Priesthood to Monasticism: Father Leonid’s Journey to Metropolitan Seraphim

After retiring from his military career, Leonid Mikhailovich Chichagov moved his family to Moscow, where he immersed himself in theological studies and began his preparation for ordination. On 28 February 1893, he was ordained a priest in the Kremlin Dormition Cathedral and assigned to serve at the Synodal Church of the Twenty Apostles within the Kremlin. Two years later, Father Leonid was appointed to provide spiritual care for soldiers of the artillery division in the Moscow Military District.

Demonstrating his characteristic energy and commitment, Father Leonid restored the Church of St. Nicholas in Old Vagankov, which had been closed for 30 years. Drawing on personal funds and public donations, he revitalized the church and resumed regular services there. However, this year also brought a profound personal trial: his wife, Natalia, fell gravely ill. Despite his efforts to care for her, Matushka Natalia passed away in 1895, leaving behind their four daughters, the youngest of whom was just ten years old...Continue reading at St Elizabeth Convent

2 Thessalonians 2:1-12

1 Now, brethren, concerning the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ and our gathering together to Him, we ask you, 2 not to be soon shaken in mind or troubled, either by spirit or by word or by letter, as if from us, as though the day of Christ had come. 3 Let no one deceive you by any means; for that Day will not come unless the falling away comes first, and the man of sin is revealed, the son of perdition, 4 who opposes and exalts himself above all that is called God or that is worshiped, so that he sits as God in the temple of God, showing himself that he is God. 5 Do you not remember that when I was still with you I told you these things? 6 And now you know what is restraining, that he may be revealed in his own time. 7 For the mystery of lawlessness is already at work; only He who now restrains will do so until He is taken out of the way. 8 And then the lawless one will be revealed, whom the Lord will consume with the breath of His mouth and destroy with the brightness of His coming. 9 The coming of the lawless one is according to the working of Satan, with all power, signs, and lying wonders, 10 and with all unrighteous deception among those who perish, because they did not receive the love of the truth, that they might be saved. 11 And for this reason God will send them strong delusion, that they should believe the lie, 12 that they all may be condemned who did not believe the truth but had pleasure in unrighteousness.

Luke 20:1-8

1 Now it happened on one of those days, as He taught the people in the temple and preached the gospel, that the chief priests and the scribes, together with the elders, confronted Him 2 and spoke to Him, saying, "Tell us, by what authority are You doing these things? Or who is he who gave You this authority?" 3 But He answered and said to them, "I also will ask you one thing, and answer Me: 4 The baptism of John-was it from heaven or from men? 5 And they reasoned among themselves, saying, "If we say, 'From heaven,' He will say, 'Why then did you not believe him?' 6 But if we say, 'From men,' all the people will stone us, for they are persuaded that John was a prophet. 7 So they answered that they did not know where it was from. 8 And Jesus said to them, "Neither will I tell you by what authority I do these things."

[the-ayakashi-in-me]

If Spring is here, can Winter be far behind?

Summary:

"I may not be chosen by God. But I have been chosen by fate."

The disappearance of Crown Prince Satoru Gojo, all but leaves the Empire in disarray. With no one else fit to inherit the throne, Princess Shiyori Gojo must now take on the challenge of finding her brother and being the Emperor chosen by fate.

Starring: SatoSugu, Nanami x OC, Naoya x OC and practically everyone from JJK.

Genre: ANGST, isekai au, drama, fluff (eventually), and whatever genre you use to feed your delusions.

Warnings: JJK is a warning on its own, toxic relationships, violence, a little gore, probable eventual smut, MANGA SPOILERS, established relationship, ANGST, mental illness, characters might be a little OOC. (Lemme know if I've missed anything)

A/N: Some world-building before getting to the main plot. Hope this makes sense.

 Series Masterlist:

Gloom

Doom

“Today we gather to celebrate the rise of our Empire’s next sentinel.”

High Priest Gagkuganji addressed the conglomeration of nobles who either scoffed or sighed. Every noble Lord and Lady gathered jumped at the opportunity to pass their judgment on this outrageous situation.

“The Empire is as good as dead.”

“I’ve begun to look for asylum outside.”

“His Majesty has gone senile.”

However, the issue that resounded the most was, “How could the founding clans let this happen?”

Many monarchs ago, the land that is now celebrated as the Akutami Empire, was fraught with war and disease. Sorcerers reigned supreme. With each sorcerer stronger than the next, the common people suffered lifetimes of misery. Back then sorcery was all about conquer or be conquered. One such sorcerer whose name has been wiped out from the annals of history, conquered not only the land of Akutami but also a small region adjacent to it. Today that small region goes by the name of the Gege Kingdom. 

Amidst all the chaos arose, one particular entity, who was none other than Goddess Utahime herself. Though, at that time she was merely mortal. However, her actions were nothing short of divine. Through her kindness, she paved the way for peace. Through her sacrifice, she paved the way for hope. And through her acts of service, she showed the world what sorcery was really about. She protected the weak and supported the promising.

 “Sorcery is not a blade, but the backbone for humanity.” With her conviction unfaltering, she singlehandedly vanquished, the devil-incarnate and sealed him away for eons to come. Finally, dawn broke on that unending night. But the people could not even cheer. How could they? For their beloved divinity stood their fading. Utahime had used every last ounce of her strength that her mortal body could offer. 

“Why do you weep so?” her voice held a hint of mischief, even in her final moments. Often, the conduct of divinity is beyond that of mortal reasoning. “What you consider as sacrifice, is but an old habit of mine. And old habits die hard, I’m afraid.” by now she was just a mirage of what she used to be.

“My Lady, please use the life left in us and sustain yourself. It is far too early for you to leave this realm.” 

“Yes, My Lady! We beg of you!”

“Do with our lives as you see fit.”

For a moment her smile faltered, then she heaved a heavy sigh. “Prostating yourselves to hide your tears. I must say, that is quite clever. As expected of you three.” The ones in question only seemed to fist the dirt harder and hole their heads further into the ground, while yes, silently mourning the loss of their illustrious mentor.

“My beloved Gojo, I trust you to pass on my discipline.”

“I-it shall be d-done My Lady.”

“My cherished Zen’in, I entrust you with my wisdom.”

“Y-yes My L-lady!”

“And my treasured Kamo, I have faith you will do justice with my grace.”

“A-as you w-wish My Lady!”

The distraught trio dared not look up still. Who could bear to watch the object of their devotion fade out of existence itself? Not them. But they could tell that she was not for long, with the distant calling of her voice. 

“Fret not. How far could I possibly go from those close to my heart?” and with a final, mischievous chuckle the revered Utahime departed for the next realm. 

Later, it was unanimously decided that Gojo would rise as the Emperor, for he was the one to serve the hallowed Utahime, the longest, while Zen’in and Kamo would serve as his Dukes. With Gojo at the head, and Zen’in and Kamo as the wings, the Akutami Empire soared from the ashes.

It was customary for a monarch to pay their respects to Utahime at their Coronation. Hence, it always ensued at the Temple, in the presence of all the Empire’s nobles. Utahime was a deity of conviction, she preached the power held within words. The words spoken out loud are said to strengthen their resolve and reinforce their faith. With time, this was called The Emperor’s Vow. 

Today, Princess Shiyori, was to become the new Emperor. She stood in front of a displeased crowd, wearing a refitted dress and jewels that once belonged to her mother. It was customary for the new Emperor to be dressed in gold, along with all the medals of valour they had achieved in life. 

However, Shiyori was the first woman to become Emperor, and through sheer ill-fate, at that. She had no medals or laurels to speak of. All she had was her mother’s gowns and jewels. “People will be dissatisfied no matter the circumstances. I’d rather put these to some good use,” she explained to the royal tailor when she refused to have a new dress made.

And she was right, they whispered behind her back. They whispered in front of her. They whispered as she walked down the aisle, towards the altar. They all eagerly whispered, yet none seemed to have the backbone to say it out loud. As she walked her somber expression turned into something far more dangerous. Once she reached the altar, she faced the crowd one final time. “I may not be chosen by God. But, I have been chosen by fate.” indifference dripped from her voice.

High Priest Gakuganji quickly concealed the smug smile that had crept up on him. He took a breath, “Let us commence the Coronation. Princess you may take the vow.” Princess Shiyori turned around and knelt before the altar. She lowered her head before Utahime and silently asked her to watch over her brother, wherever he was. She vowed to step up and become the Emperor her people needed, just as long as Satoru would come back home. 

“In times of joy, in times of war,

The vile and wicked, beware my roar.

To protect our empire, as before,

By my hand, justice shall be restored.”

She was met with deafening silence. She expected it, but it still hurt more than she thought it would. A vow unacknowledged is as good as an empty promise. A vow can only exist between two or more people. If no one in this chapel spoke up to acknowledge the vow, Shiyori would be unable to ascend the throne. And that would only cause more problems. She clutched her mother’s golden silk gown, her knuckles turning white. Was there truly no one who had even a little faith in her”

“Such is as our Saviour Utahime foretold!”

Three very distinct voices resounded within the chapel. Shiyori let out a shaky breath. “With the vow acknowledged in Our Lady Utahime’s presence, this marks the inception of Emperor Shiyori Gojo. Long live the King!” with that High Priest Gakuganji placed the ornate crown on Shiyori’s head.   

© to the-ayakashi-in-me. Please do not repost, copy, steal or translate without permission. Reblogs are appreciated.

[tarak-manspread]

RATING NANDAMURI TARAKA RAMA RAO JR’S MANSPREADS ON A SCALE OF 1 - 10

Jai is back with yet more manspread excellence, because he is incapable of anything less! Literally all the essentials are here! The aggressive stare-down, the fist PLUNGING into his own thigh, bracing the weight of his CONTEMPT, the tantalizing glimpse at the crotch seam of his very, very stressed jeans, the KILOMETERS of distance between his knees, the gaudy accessories, the glaring presence of just the absolute biggest fuckoff cock energy!!! YES!!!!! Once again, Jai reigns supreme!

We need to talk about Jai’s numerous THRONES. Raavan is more than a king, he’s the immortal god emperor of Lanka, and he pathologically NEEDS to demonstrate that in the gayest, most theatrical, over the top, campy, ballsed-out way 25 hours a day, 8 days a week. He cannot be contained!!!!! This throne is a work of art unto itself! The filigree, the ornamentation, the rich velvet, the obscene BREADTH! To have a throne like this and to just fuckin straddle it like that is the very PICTURE of manspread excellence!

A couple final words of praise: the arm seams on his kurta are AT DEATH’S DOOR, my god I’ve never seen such stress on a garment!!! And the little thumb-out variation of the fist plant is so unexpected, but I’m tickled pink! I think it adds marvelous flavor and intrigue!

FINAL VERDICT: 10/10

[gremlinqueensupreme]

TIL “Inspector Gadget” and “Fartin’ in the tub” have the same number of syllables. Guess how I know. Hm? Guess.

[nihilityart]

Anthro Kaiju AU x TenSura

I saw a few good Anthro Kaiju AU's on this site so I decided to make one of my own. Kaiju in this AU are known as Monster People or Monster Men, or 'Kaibutsujin' in japanese. They are an older species than humans but have lived side by side with them, some cultures worshipped them as gods, or feared them as demons.

The Monsters follow a polytheistic religion that worships many different gods. With the Supreme God being referred to as the Chousetsujin.

This takes place an alternate version of modern day Japan.

The Gojira Clan:

The Gojira clan has been the ruling family of Japan since basically it's inception in this AU. The humans treated them as Gods and the Monsters followed them as rulers. Their species can live for a long time.

Now let's go over some characters.

Emperor Setsu Gojira (Legendary Godzilla):

The current reigning emperor of Japan. Despite being emperor, he is actually quite young for his kind (150 years old) and is kind of a hot headed punk. He ditches his duties all the time and goes to bars and nightclubs under the alias 'Godzilla'. But despite the tough guy act he puts on, he is actually rather insecure and isn't sure that he is worthy of ruling Japan.

His friends jokingly call him a tsundere since he doesn't like to show his feelings simply out of fear that they make him look weak.

Anguirus Akihiko:

He is one of Godzilla's drinking buddies/best friends that he frequently runs into during his 'excursions' into town. He has no idea that his best buddy is actually royalty. He works as a small time news reporter for the national news.

Rodan Ryoichi:

A half Japanese and half Mexican kaibutsujin who lives and works as a bartender in a bar called 'El Volcán'. After a few drinking sessions and some shenanigans involving some of the local gangs, he and Godzilla became pretty close.

Mosura Hikari:

She is a boss of a yakuza that secretly works with the japanese government. And therefore is the only friend in the group who knows who Godzilla really is. She's quite motherly and kind, but can be terrifying at times too. Godzilla refers to her as Mothra most of the time.

Ghidorah:

They are an alien who have fled their violent home world in order to find a place to live. So now they blend into society as supposed conjoined triplets, trying to keep the fact that they are aliens a secret. He was secretly given the ability to split apart by Rimuru. However, this ability cuts their power into three so they are weaker separately than when they are together.

Ichi Ghidorah:

The Eldest of the brothers and the most responsible out of the three. He is the one that mostly makes the plans and figures out how to avoid problems.

Ni Ghidorah:

The hot head of the group, constantly gets into fights with Ichi about who is right and wrong. But at heart he is actually just a giant tsundere who doesn't like to admit that he cares about his brothers.

San Ghidorah:

The innocent and charming youngest of the brothers. He is so innocent is actually kind of scary, he openly speaks about how much he loves his siblings and only desires familial affection from them. He adjusted really well to Earth life and loves it. The people who meet him often call him by the nickname; "Kevin".

Satoru Mikami:

Satoru Mikami is Godzilla's doctor, the only other person who know who Godzilla truly is. All of his friends think that he’s human, but they couldn’t be further from the truth. He is also secretly the Supreme God (An avatar of the ZS) who likes messing around in the mortal realm, this makes it super awkward when he is invited to the holiday that was created to celebrate and worship him. Nobody knows that he is the Chousetsujin. He is also called by the nickname; "Rimuru". He also serves as a sort of second father figure to Godzilla.

[cruoren]

the dichotomy of the sovereign is this: the myth and the man, working in tandem, and contending in opposition. statecraft is the construction of the former and reconstruction of the latter. this is devised mythology, a god on a shrine, but this shrine is a machine, held up by the institution. as ren looks out the grand window port that stretches over the steel wall of the ship, his eyes trace over a thousand distant stars divulged ahead, gleaming with their power which cowers still before his. they would fall under his jurisdiction, too, in due time, with the entirety of the galaxy united under one reign. in his thoughts, he sometimes imagines they had fashioned him a metaphorical mask out of shards, to replace the one he could not wear — the supreme leader whose war expands past the streets of the core regions into darker depths, in the name of valour and order. the terror of the first order, with his mystic powers and dark agenda, whom the furthest of civilizations fear & revere. thus, this myth is a construction and it is owed most in its entirety to the chancellor. had it not been such a masterful manoeuvre, a plaster over the past, ren would not have entertained the effort that had gone into its creation.

the blastdoors hiss open, though ren's back remains turned. he does not look, but he feels the familiarity of the chancellor's presence, the cut of him, the flourish of his cape. he knows the faint light of the stars catches in the embellishments of his sleeves. he'd grown accustomed to it all; the when of this evades him. we will be preparing for landing soon, he hears hux inform, their destination set before them, to meet with the noble families of eriadu. ren adjusts his cuffs, ❝ i saw you had outlined talking points for me. ❞ he says, motioning toward his holopad strewn across the table. ❝ their loyalties had lain firmly with the emperor before the fall... i wonder what they expect to see in my attendance. ❞

the cosmos had erupted in a liturgical furore when their ceremonial ship had set off into territories both known and unknown, the first order emblem plastered proudly on either side, announcing their departure into the heart of galactic affairs. belief is the art of storytelling and governance is the mastery of lying; tie them together and one can sway a crowd as easily as a herd. he hopes the herds they are to engage are resilient, for his own sake. his lightsaber feels heavy with misuses at his side, concealed artfully within the belt hux had designed.

❝ you wanted to guide me through this, so tell me: shall i play at monster for them, or human? ❞

he turns around, slightly, at the same time as the chancellor strides toward him, in synch; their eyes meet. in the cold space of his quarters, ren feels maskless in every sense. here, he is stripped of the curations and the fabrications, and beneath the emblems and badges, his shoulders heave with the beginnings of exhaustion wrought by paranoia, that parasite that lives in his heart and eats and pleads, nourished by the irritation he feels at what is to come. his features are set in faint amusement, though, almost stretching into a sharp grin, and then a laugh,

@acharnemcnt remarked, sarcastically: ❛ you have not been human since the night we met. ❜

lithe fingers, decorated in rings, seem intent to smoothen out the crooks of his collar and ren can only muster up a huff. ❝ do you remember it, that night? ❞ he muses, tipping his chin down, though hux's own gaze seems incessant on affixing the medals he had pinned in crooked, careless haste to his uniform's breast and all ren can see is the bright of his hair, the neat slope of his nose, ❝ the way snoke spoke of your ploys and feats, i had expected you to be older, perhaps taller. your civility irked me. you did not seem bothered by me, nor frightened. ❞

he nestles a large, gloved hand under hux's chin with eased tact, prompting the chancellor's head upward, their gaze one in one, ❝ what is it you see now — a creature in the dark, still, or an ally? ❞ the teasing lilt of his voice is light, low, hushed, ❝ do i haunt your dreams, chancellor? ❞

[mightyflamethrower]

The Impending Thermidor Reaction in Jacobin America

At peak woke, our reign of terror is beginning to lose momentum because its continuation would destroy all the work of 247 years of American progress and sacrifice.

The decade-long French Revolution that broke out in 1789 soon devolved into far more than removing the monarchy, as it became antithetical to the earlier American precedent. American notions of liberty and freedom were seen as far too narrow, given the state, if only all-powerful and all-wise, could mandate “equality” and force “fraternity” among its subjects.

Each cycle of French revolutionary fervor soon became more radicalized and cannibalistic—until it reached its logical ends of violent absurdity.

Originally, the idea of curbing the power of a Bourbon king through a parliamentary republic became lethally counter-revolutionary.

Soon even attacks on the Catholic Church and the abolition of the monarchy entirely were deemed insufficient. The king himself and his consorts had to be beheaded. Monasteries and churches were to be ransacked, and priests exiled or lynched.

The sometimes moderate Girondins, who favored constitutional government, were mostly executed by their former friends among the Montagnards. In turn, the latter were soon deemed too conservative for the emerging crazy Jacobins. So they, too, had to be decapitated. The ensuing year-long reign of terror guillotined thousands of innocents, deemed guilty of being guilty of something.

By 1793, the revolution had turned nihilist and suicidal. The foundational date of France was recalibrated (not as 1619 but) as 1789—or “year one.”

Jacobins sought to wipe out religion, both materially and spiritually. They replaced God, first, with the atheistic “Cult of Reason” and then a stranger still “Cult of the Supreme Being”—a dreamed-up, living, humanistic god that only the murderous Robespierre could fully envision, but eerily similar to our own Green New Deal deity.

The months of the year themselves were renamed, the days of the week renumbered and relabeled. Statues were toppled, first at night, later in shameless daylight. Place names were erased and renamed. The original revolutionary heroes were not to be mentioned; their uncouth successors deified. Money was printed to “spread the wealth”—until it was worthless.

Murderous cancel culture ran unchecked. Yesterday’s French revolutionary became today’s counterrevolutionary—and tomorrow’s decapitated.

Almost everyone who originally had opposed the absolute monarchy, and, like the Americans, wished for a constitutional replacement, was eventually executed by revolutionaries who were then executed by more radical revolutionaries. The longer and more radical the revolution ran, the meaner, dumber, and more deadly the revolutionaries who emerged from the woodwork.

Finally, what could not go on, did not go on, as French society unraveled. Then the so-called Thermidors put an end to the madness of the Robespierre brothers and their sidekick, the 26-year-old Saint-Just, and did to them what they had done to thousands.

The final revolutionary correction saw a Directory, then a Consulate, and finally the dictator Napoleon—the self-described emperor who claimed he was the final absolutist manifestation of the “Revolution.”

A Revolution of the Disingenuous

We are swept up in similarly scary revolutionary times, after the perfect storm of the 2020 rioting, the COVID destructive lockdowns, and a radical socialist takeover of the old Democratic Party.

Decades of successful and legitimate efforts to ensure equality of opportunity, a safety net for the poor, and increased civil liberties have transmogrified into an “equity” agenda, or state-mandated equality of result—or else!

“Diversity” is now an Orwellian word for racial essentialism to the one-drop degree. Jim Crow racism was not eliminated permanently. It now has resurfaced as woke or “good” segregation. Racially separate facilities and events are apparent “reparatory justice.” Black activists are calling for $800 billion in reparations from San Francisco, a city that is melting down as we speak.

The old precivilizational tribalism and monotony of thought are now deemed “diverse.” “Inclusion” means replacing one racial hierarchy of the 1950s with a newer one of the 2020s. Woke leftists prove “inclusive” by excluding as “haters” and “denialists” any who disagree and cannot be easily refuted.

Opportunists Abound

The Nike admen Colin Kaepernick and LeBron James ended up with millions of dollars in endorsements ultimately derived from Communist Chinese exploiters of servile labor—a fact that all their pseudo-revolutionary performance art cannot mask.

Like the rich and elite Montagnards and Jacobins, well-off, degreed suburban grifters suddenly became “woke” arbiters of the “correct.” Thousands of diversity, equity, and inclusion czars bloated administrations, broke university budgets, and terrified faculty and employees with their panopticon surveillance. And yet did any of them result in a single better student reader, or at least one more accomplished university math major? Have K-12 scores soared with DEI monitors on hand?

We have not descended to the guillotine yet, but we are getting there with online cancel culture, doxxing, deplatforming, boycotts, mandatory diversity statements, indoctrination training, ostracism for an incorrect word, and violence redefined as activism.

Black Lives Matter ended when its supposedly Marxist architects all vanished into comfortable bourgeoise estates and cushy retirements—along with the millions of dollars they shook down from guilt-ridden corporations.

#MeToo sputtered out once the mantra of “believe women” turned its attention to candidate Joe Biden and Tara Reade. It turned out that she most certainly must not be believed when she swore the Delaware Democrat had sexually assaulted her.

Supposed transgendered heroes vie for profitable TV endorsement commercials that are as lucrative to them as they are ruinous to their employers.

In our revolutionary times, mediocre biological male athletes “transition” into female sports and suddenly become rich and famous. Women who transition to males, for some reason, find no such profits from male competitions.

A black transient with 42 arrests and three assault convictions is accidentally killed by a would-be Samaritan bystander who takes action to stop his threats on the subway. The tragedy becomes a rallying cry for “activist” leaders, eager for continuous notoriety and profits, while 10,000 black people murdered per year, mostly by other black people, do not earn a snore from these same “civil rights” leaders.

The World Upside Down

Like Revolutionary France, our woke revolution was contrary to human nature and therefore had to be imposed by force or coercion.

Merit is the great enemy of wokeness. One day SAT tests were blind mechanisms to allow the less privileged to compete on the basis of talent rather than parentage. The next day such tests were deemed counterrevolutionary, racist enemies of the people. Universities boast of rejecting 60-70 percent of those who scored perfect on SATs, as if their excellence was proof of their “privilege.”

Jurisprudence was tarred as racist, as if laws against shoplifting, looting, smash-and-grab, car-jacking, and arson were created only by elite white men who never had the need to steal or loot and who therefore made silly, arbitrary laws against them.

Like the Jacobins, our woke elite deem prisons arbitrary detention centers. So thousands of those arrested for committing violent crimes have either never been charged, never convicted, never sentenced, or never incarcerated. These exemptions rest on the principle that the revolutionaries who destroyed the enforcement of law have the wherewithal to protect themselves from the dystopia they created.

Borders disappeared, apparently on grounds they were 19th-century racist relics. Yet sanctuary cities prove the least welcoming of the tens of thousands they all but invited into distant other towns and counties.

The homeless were no longer deemed vagrants, or selfish in their take-over of public spaces, but the victims of an oppressive society.

So public defecation, urination, fornication, and injection were rebranded as mere lifestyle choices of the unfortunate, not to be judged wrong or unlawful by the victimizers who supposedly made thousands homeless. Ancient laws of hygiene and municipal cleanliness were thrown out as bourgeois, as cities reverted to the protocols of their medieval forebears.

Leftists who created these Frankenstein-like monsters, like the fictive Dr. Frankenstein himself, became targets of their own experiments. It was no longer enough to support civil rights for the transgendered. Suddenly any questioning of the wisdom of biologically born males competing in women’s sports or of teenagers with penises undressing among teenage girls in locker rooms, or of state-sponsored drag-queen shows with children in attendance condemned one as transphobic and worse.

Advocating a secure border and strictly legal immigration was proof of nativism. Equal opportunity for all races was racism. Advocacy for the use of natural gas as a needed transitional fuel indicted one as a climate “denialist.”

As our woke version of the Jacobin revolution accelerated, society itself began to unwind—as expected given America relied on meritocracy, free expression dissent, the rule of law, forbearance, and tolerance.

In less than three years, our major cities became filthy to the point of unhealthiness. Violent crime and thievery drove businesses and commuters away. Subways at night became the domain of the homeless and criminal. Vacancy rates in San Francisco or downtown Portland shot up to 25 percent or more. Millions began leaving Jacobin blue cities and states, and headed for sanctuaries in more suburban and rural red states.

Once-trusted and familiar government agencies became weaponized—and inevitably incompetent. The FBI was not interested in the organizers of 120 days of violent looting, arson, murder, and rioting in summer 2020, or the threatening mobs who showed up at the homes of Supreme Court Justices. Instead, it fixated on parents at school board meetings, Latin Mass Catholics, former Trump Administration officials, and anyone daring to question the Russian collusion or Russian disinformation laptop hoaxes.

The Pentagon brass oversaw a flight from Afghanistan, in the greatest military humiliation in modern American history. Yet at the same time, it focused on rooting out white rage and white privilege despite presenting no data to substantiate its accusations. Former intelligence officers and “authorities” misled the country and warped an election, to ensure Americans did not take seriously the incriminating evidence in Hunter Biden’s laptop of the Biden family’s widespread corruption.

So, the world became topsy-turvy. Throwing a firebomb into a police-occupied patrol car earned a light sentence, while protesting illegally at the Capitol won a decade in prison.

An American who did not get vaccinated was to be thrown out of the U.S. military; an illegal alien crossing the border unlawfully without a vaccination might earn a free phone and free lodging in a big-city hotel.

The more the government printed money it did not have, the more the country was slandered as cruel and mean to its underclass. The more standards were dropped for admission, hiring, promotion, and retention, the more employers were deemed unfair and bigoted.

As the American Jacobin phase accelerated, the more it, too, seemed to pursue its own destruction. Few now trust that the graduates of the Ivy League and marquee universities know what they once did. And why not, when students are admitted without test scores, but are assured passing grades, watered-down classes, and graduation to be synonymous with admission?

The U.S. military fell short by thousands of recruits. And why not, when it advertised for manpower with invitations from drag queens, and hounded those as racists who had died at twice their numbers in the population in Afghanistan and Iraq?

A Counterrevolution Is Coming

At peak woke, our reign of terror is beginning to lose momentum because its continuation would erode all the work of 247 years of American progress and sacrifice.

Former and current liberals—an Elon Musk, Bill Maher, Matt Taibbi, Bari Weiss, Glen Greenwald, Naomi Wolf, or a Richard Dreyfuss—are deemed counterrevolutionaries for questioning the excesses of wokeism, and so began questioning the premises of wokeism itself.

New polls showed scant public support for open borders, for multiple sexual identities, and for biological men competing in women’s sports. Reparations from an insolvent government to black Americans—on the principle that those whose ancestors might have been enslaved eight generations ago were owed money from those whose ancestors might have owned slaves eight generations ago—is widely rejected by the general population.

When corporations like Anheuser-Busch or Disney tried to ingratiate themselves to the woke Jacobins, they lost billions in revenue—just as the woke Pentagon has lost thousands of recruits.

Woke networks like CNN have smaller audiences than some one-person podcasts.

A desperate and woke NBA now brags that its recent playoff televised audience reached over 4 million viewers. A quarter-century ago, when the U.S. population was nearly 60 million smaller, the pre-Jacobin NBA won over 70 million viewers who watched the 1998 finals.

Joe Biden, the thin veneer of the woke revolution, polls below 40 percent. Even that favorability is propped up by the consensus that he has no idea where he is or what he is saying—and thus at least is deserving of 40 percent support for not being responsible for what he has empowered.

A counterrevolution is building, not just because people are angry at what has become of their country, but because they now are learning that if they do nothing, they will have no country—and soon.

[troybeecham]

Today the Church honors Saints Eulampius and Eulampia and Companions, Martyrs.

Orate pro nobis.

Saints Eulampius and Eulampia are venerated as early 4th c. AD Christian martyrs. According to tradition, they were brother and sister, and natives of Nicomedia who were executed during the reign of Roman emperor Maximian.

According to tradition, after reading the decree of the emperor Maximian (AD 284-305, 306-308, 310) sentencing all Christians to execution, Eulampius was horrified that the emperor was taking up arms against his own subjects rather than fighting the enemies of his country. Rather than going into hiding with many other Christians, Eulampius was arrested by the Roman authorities after buying supplies for Christians who were hiding in caves on the outskirts of Nicomedia.

The youth was brought to trial and commanded to renounce the Christian Faith. When he refused, they first raked him with iron hooks, and then placed him upon a red-hot bed of coals. All of a sudden the sufferer expressed a wish to visit the pagan temple. The judges were delighted, supposing that they had turned him from Christianity. In the pagan temple of Mars the saint approached the idol and cried out, “In the Name of the Lord Jesus Christ I command you to fall to the floor and crumble into dust!” The idol immediately crashed down to the floor and was destroyed.

After Eulampius was then whipped, his sister Eulampia was arrested after she identified herself by emerging from a crowd to embrace and comfort him.

The people exclaimed, “The Supreme God is the Christian God, Who is great and mighty!” Saint Eulampius was again taken away for torture. This time his sister, Eulampia, appeared before the judges and declared that she also was a Christian. Eulampius told her, “Sister, do not fear those who kill the body but are unable to kill the soul” (Mt.10:28).

The martyrs were tortured and thrown into a red-hot furnace, but the Lord protected them from the fire. Finally, they beheaded Eulampius, but Eulampia died from her torments before she could be beheaded.

Two hundred observers of their trials and torments were converted to Christ after seeing the miracles of Saint Eulampius and Saint Eulampia as they were being tortured. They were also put to death and received the crown of martyrdom.

Almighty God, who gave to your servants Eulampius, Eulampia, and Companions boldness to confess the Name of our Savior Jesus Christ before the rulers of this world, and courage to die for this faith: Grant that we may always be ready to give a reason for the hope that is in us, and to suffer gladly for the sake of our Lord Jesus Christ; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, forever and ever.

Amen.