#the most dignified of pursuits

[marlynnofmany]

"I shall reach into this for snacks to put in my mouth, and that for cat toys to throw. Repeatedly. With the same hand. I see no way this can go wrong."

[personastrologyhub]

Degree Theory Series: The Leo Degrees (5°, 17°, 29°): Unveiling the Complexities of Power, Prestige, and Presence

☆ Leo degrees represent a striking influence—one that combines ambition, charisma, romance, and a near-magical allure. The house that Leo is in your chart is reflective of the area of life that you have the potential to receive a lot of attention.  It is literally the sign of reaching for the stars.   But beneath the well-known themes of fame, leadership, and power, these degrees have deeper, sometimes hidden qualities that shape the lives they touch. Here’s an exploration into these powerful degrees, plus the distinctive flavors they create when combined with different planetary energies.

5° Leo: The Catalyst for Expression and Presence

Keywords: Bold action, self-expression, initiator, elite status, teaching and guidance.

☆° ✩࿐

Personality and Physicality: Known as a degree that heightens presence, 5° Leo lends a dignified, commanding air that can be quite magnetic. David Hasselhoff’s for example has a Venus at 5 degrees of Leo. Back in the day, David was known for his magnetic charm and stage presence. He had set the Guinness world record of the most watched man on Tv. This degree supports his appeal as the central figure of Baywatch, Knight Rider and other things, and it shows his ability to thrive under the spotlight. He had set the Guinness world record of the most watched man on Tv.

5° Leo isn’t just the “leader” degree; it often marks those who naturally attract authority and influence without having to seek it.

Hidden Quality of Resourcefulness: A lesser-known quality of 5° Leo is its connection to resourcefulness in high-stakes situations. Those with this degree on key planets often discover remarkable ingenuity under pressure, especially in challenging or isolating circumstances. To thrive in the spotlight, you have to be very resilient.

17° Leo: The Degree of Visionary Influence and Endurance

Keywords: Legacy, public service, intellectual pursuits, mentorship, teaching roles, family connections.

Social Reach and Legacy: 17° Leo reflects someone whose influence extends over time, resonating through a legacy, particularly through teaching, law, or service roles. the 17th degree is the 2nd highest degree amongst the leo degrees (5, and 29 are the other leo degrees) meaning that it has a “longevity” behind it. There’s often a connection to mentorship or guiding others, and those with 17° Leo placements may be naturally drawn to academia, justice, or philosophical pursuits. They often think in terms of generations and long-term impacts.

Oprah has her MC in 17 degree of Libra.

Elvis Presley is a prominent example of a celebrity with a 17° placement, specifically with his Sun at 17° Capricorn, which is influenced by the “Leo degree” due to degree theory. This degree is associated with lasting fame, a magnetic stage presence, and the ability to create legacy and extend over time. Elvis Presleys music has the ability to transcend time—this aligns with Elvis’s legendary status as the “King of Rock and Roll.” The 17° Leo degree amplifies qualities like charisma, recognition, and impact in the public eye, traits strongly reflected in Elvis’s career and enduring influence in music and culture.

Another example is George Michael, whose Ascendant is at 17° Cancer, lending him a path aligned with Leo qualities—drawing attention, captivating fans, and excelling as a charismatic performer in the entertainment industry. Both figures illustrate how the 17° Leo degree enhances the potential for significant, long-lasting public impact and memorable artistry.

These cases highlight how the 17° degree is seen as one of prestige and enduring influence in charts of famous figures, marking individuals with an aura of distinction and an ability to maintain a lasting legacy in their field.

The Role of Family and Support: This degree frequently connects individuals with family lineage, both in values and sometimes through inheritance or positions of responsibility within family networks. The “father” degree, it suggests an ability to support or uplift family lines or nations—carrying a certain gravitas that inspires collective respect. Just as 17° Leo was prominent in Bill Clinton’s chart, it speaks to enduring influence, as well as the idea of a “national father figure.” Again with Presley he was considered the Father or King of Rock and Roll.

Lesser-Known Influence in Social Structure: Lesser known is 17° Leo’s gift for navigating social structures, from rallying support to surviving intrigue. Individuals with this degree may exhibit a resilient streak, successfully facing threats or challenges within power structures=Much like Elvis who did receive multiple death threats and kidnap warnings, particularly while performing in Las Vegas. 

29° Leo: The Degree of Transformative Leadership and Strategic Vision

Keywords: Finality, transformation, intuition, covert planning, prestige, challenging circumstances.

Mystery and Power Dynamics: Known as an “anaretic” degree, 29° Leo carries themes of completion, change, and high-stakes decisions. People with this degree tend to face intense personal or public challenges that demand creative problem-solving and often put them in complex or strategic roles. A bit of a “chameleon” degree, it suggests someone who can operate under the radar and emerge victorious, often as a reformer or innovator within traditional structures.  Leaders like Winston Churchill, who had his Moon at 29° Leo, epitomize the strength of this degree. Similarly, Donald Trump's 29° Leo Ascendant underscores a charismatic presence and his controversial but impactful role in the public sphere, navigating complex political power structures. They guy became the president of the United States at one point and is up for office again. 

Transformation and Symbolic Rebirth: 29° Leo may indicate the ability to work behind the scenes or in covert ways, potentially in intelligence, diplomacy, or advocacy roles where resilience is paramount. Often, individuals here face life events that force them to “become someone new,” such as a leader rising unexpectedly or a figure dealing with transformative personal setbacks. Just as Churchill rose during Britain’s darkest hour, those with 29° Leo can emerge from crises as symbols of strength and change. his degree also enhances adaptability, suggesting a capacity to emerge stronger after setbacks or public scrutiny. This is also seen in Drake (BBL Drizzy) and Heidi Klum, both with Ascendants at 29°, which contributes to their enduring relevance and adaptability in the ever-changing entertainment landscape.

Lesser-Known Themes of Hidden Loyalty: There’s also a lesser-known aspect of loyalty and readiness to defend others, even to the point of self-sacrifice. This degree attracts followers or allies who support them in unlikely ways, often during critical transitions or public shifts.

Planetary Combinations:

Mercury at 29° Leo: Mercury here indicates someone who speaks with finality and influence, often giving speeches or communications with a lasting impact. They may find themselves in pivotal discussions, historical moments, or transformative media.

Pluto at 29° Leo: This pairing suggests a powerful leader who can influence others profoundly, sometimes by overturning existing power structures. Pluto at 29° Leo is highly transformative, especially in public roles, and may attract both fame and intrigue, giving the individual an almost mythic quality.

Uranus at 29° Leo: With Uranus, there’s a push for radical change and an ability to innovate under pressure. Individuals with this placement can disrupt the status quo effectively and are unafraid to act independently, even if it means losing support temporarily. Their vision is ahead of its time, and they may be involved in pioneering work or historic moments of change.

Hidden Qualities Across the Leo Degrees

Each of these degrees in Leo also carries unique subtleties, especially when it comes to handling public pressure, love for prestige, and overcoming personal trials. Whether seen in how they survive adversities (often with an unexpected inner resilience) or in their commitment to their people or causes, Leo degrees add depth and charisma that’s impossible to ignore.

If you hold one of these degrees in a major placement, consider it a call to embody love, loyalty, and leadership in your unique style. The Leo degree asks for authenticity and confidence, even when the stakes are high.

Observation:

Sun at 5° Leo: A classic position for leaders who are highly visible and admired. The Sun here drives an ambition that others respect, even if they don’t fully understand the drive behind it. There’s a fierce desire to succeed on one’s terms, often in high-profile careers or pursuits.

Moon at 5° Leo: Emotional expression is vital here, with a need to connect in visible, memorable ways. A Moon at 5° Leo can feel happiest when making an impact in social or familial spheres, perhaps guiding or inspiring others. There’s a special talent for evoking loyalty and support from people, often based on an instinctive understanding of group dynamics.

Mars at 5° Leo: Mars here is a warrior spirit that fights with purpose. It’s often associated with a physical stature or confidence that commands space, possibly leading to military or athletic pursuits. There’s a heightened ability to rally others, leading to leadership roles that arise naturally in tense situations.

[ironyadays]

I'm just thinking about people who say Snow despises Katniss because he sees Lucy Gray in her...but what feels more painful to me is that Katniss (and Peeta to a certain degree) not only embodies the qualities that the capitol despises the most regarding the districts, but Snow can see so many people involved with those 10th hunger games tributes in her:

He sees Lamina looking at Marcus in pain and killing him out of sheer mercy in Katniss shooting Cato as a mercy kill.

He sees Reaper Ash's burial and defiance by giving his fellow districts a dignified death and sepulture when Katniss remained by Rue's side and decorated her grave with flowers.

He kind of sees Coral, albeit in a much more ironic way, this girl who was ruthless and embraced such violence with the purpose to protect herself and her district partner, the one she nurses back to health and refuses to leave behind, with the wish to have either one of them survive the games, only to realise it was all for nothing once she loses him and is about to die, when she loses her frail little sister at the hands of District 13.

He sees Sejanus standing for the revolution and fighting for others in detriment of his own safety, maybe not even taking the best judgement at times, in Katniss and not only her protection of Peeta, Rue, Mags, Wiress, but also her general place in the rebellion and restless pursuit of saving Peeta.

He sees Lucy Gray, who stood by Jessup's side until his last breath and refused to abandon him, that never conformed to what the capitol expected from her, and her long lasting and unbreakable heritage and print in Katniss' during the entire saga, but especially in the song that haunted him once as a reminder of the monster he truly is, and that came back to haunt him again in his downfall.

But most importantly, he sees himself, a man defined by his sense of survival, by his practicality and selfpreservation, in this less than 18 year old girl, and that's what terrifies him the most about that district 12 girl: the fact she forces him to confront that he caused so much pain out of a hunger that was never justified, that he could have made SO many things differently, and that most importantly, different to what he would try to say to himself, there was always another choice, and he might have not chosen the correct one every single time it came to deciding what path to take.

[endlessdreamworld]

Rejected xx Rejection

Yandere! Ayato X Noble! GN Reader

TW: Gaslighting, imprisonment, death, threats of suicide

Another proposal. Yet another hand written missive that was dripping with honeyed words, and flowery metaphors about everything that made you perfect, graced your desk. Tragically, you were used to navigating the exhausting political landscape of Inazuma’s nobility, and had to be, especially given the social standing of your family. The amount of clans that could rival yours in power, wealth, and influence could be counted on one hand. Presently, the head of one such clan, Kamisato Ayato, had been relentless in his pursuit of your hand the moment you were of age to be married. Of course, he wasn’t the only one, but he was the one you had the hardest time rejecting.

From the outside looking in, it didn’t make any sense. You were childhood friends, equal in social standing, and your families could gain much from the union. Your excuse of “I’m not ready yet” has carried you for the past couple of years, but it’s starting to run its course. The social circumstances didn’t allow you to turn him down in favor of a lower house without terrible implications and issues for your family, and the Kamisato head has made it apparent that he wouldn’t be backing down.

Before you could even begin to mentally unpack how you would piece together another cordial rejection to his most recent proposal, a servant approached you. “Beg your pardon, but your father wishes to have a word with you in the study.” You acknowledged your servant and then sent them away before they had the chance to hear you groan. It’s always something lately, some gala that needed attending, some dignitaries that needed entertaining, and all other manner of nonsense. It was enough to make you want to roll your eyes so far back in your head you could swallow them. And damn that Kamisato and his never-ending proposals. Doesn’t he have anything better to do? If anything he should be more busy as he is the current family head, and not just the primary heir like you.

Before long you had arrived in the study, and a servant opened the door for you to enter. Much to your horror, you found the person who you wanted to see least of all warmly smiling and elegantly laughing with your father who was as pleased as can be. On the table next to him was a large loosely wrapped bouquet. All attention was on you the moment you entered the room. Ayato stood to attention and gave you a deep self humbling bow without a moment of hesitation – something that was nearly socially inconceivable. Your father nudged him with his elbow, “Oh come on now, everyone knows you might as well be family.” Ayato gave a small amused laugh. Your father stood up and excused himself so the two of you could talk. “I’ll leave you to it.”

The door closed behind him, and the air grew thick enough to drown in. “It’s been a while,” Ayato gave you a half-lidded gaze, a soft smile tugging at his lips. He was immaculately dressed in formal attire that screamed ‘not your usual visit’ and you hated how good he looked. Ayato unwrapped the decorative paper of the ‘bouquet’ to reveal that it was not a bouquet at all but about a dozen assorted individual flowers.

“Why are you here?” You spat out. All decorum has left you save for being quiet enough to not alert the servants. Acting irrationally would reflect poorly on your father. The servants had made themselves scarce and you hated how they were all eager for your relationship to progress, so they wouldn’t dare interrupt.

“Isn’t it obvious?” It was obvious, but you weren’t going to dignify that question with an answer just to give him more work. You wanted to give him a hard time. Ayato gave a soft hum of happiness not at all discouraged by your silence. “I stopped by to see you, and to drop this off.:” He motioned towards a well wrapped decorative box that you’ve seen many times. It’s a special sesame candy that’s only available this time of year. “I know just how much you love it, and luckily for me, it was in season.” It was in fact your favorite, and he’s done this many years in a row without fail, and you never grew to hate the taste though you wish you had.

“Please have a seat, we have much to discuss.” You silently complied. The faster you can reject him, the faster he can get the hell out of your family home. Ayato paced behind you, grabbed something, and then set it in front of you – a heavy square tan ceramic vase. “I made the time to take some lessons in flower arrangement. You inspired me to.” Ayato picked up a flower with an overly long stem then stood behind you, thinking of which way it should lean against the lip of the inside of the vase. You could feel his chest brush against your hair, and some hanging decorative silk of his upper garment brush against the bare skin of the back of your wrists while you watch him assess then reassess. You stewed and silently watched his arrangement come together.

You began to feel sick as you watched him work. He was good at arranging flowers, just like he is at everything else. The way he arranged the flowers, and the order he arranged them in, told the story of your friendship, when it began and where you are now, though you wouldn’t call it friendship now. He even chose a flower for himself, and a flower that depicted you, and his choices were spot on. Until this point, you had no idea someone could depict any inside joke with flower arrangements, but you sure wish you didn’t find out – not like this. And of course it ended up with another proposal. It was an absolute tragedy that someone who knew you so well disregarded your most important feelings. There was certainly an alternate reality where you fell for Ayato for all of the reasons people on the outside were assuming. How did it all go so wrong?

It would be just easier to give in, and you’re sure you could find happiness in it all, but it’d be a warped sense of happiness, so you’d rather say no for the sake of saying no. “How many times do I have to tell you no, Kamisato?” You spat the words out, and used his last name as an act of defiance.

“It’ll never be enough. You know that.” He lifted his hands from the arrangement, then placed them on your shoulders. Ayato gave them a soft squeeze. This shocked you, and despite your best efforts your breath hitched in your throat. Archons that felt incredible. You didn’t realize how stiff you had become from the day in day out stress of your social obligations. The Kamisato head didn’t fail to pick up on your body’s betrayal despite how hard you tried to hide it. “What’s wrong?” He laughed as quiet as a whisper right next to your ear. His hair brushed against your neck and you shivered. Ayato wasted no time and began to give your shoulders a proper massage. Your skin couldn’t decide if it wanted to grow hot or to crawl, and it settled for needles anywhere he wasn’t touching you.

You could feel hot angry tears pool in the corner of your eyes. “Why?”

“Why?” He stops everything, breathing included. You’ve never asked him why, only given him a No. You swore you could feel his long elegant fingers shake against the muscles of your shoulders as if he suddenly became unsure with the way he was touching you. And then, just as suddenly as he stopped, he started up again as if nothing had happened.

“Because no one in this world deserves you.”

“Except for you?” you scoff.

“Including me. Though luckily for us I’m second to no one.” Oh for fuck’s sake. How does he manage to be so delusional while still being lucid? “Do you ever wonder why you’ve gotten so busy all of a sudden?” You didn’t like the sound of that question. “You look stressed – you feel stressed,” he made sure to squeeze your shoulders harder this time. “Do you want it all to end?” Of course he’s behind this recent influx of responsibilities.

You’ve had enough. You clench your jaw and dig your fingernails into the palms of your hands as sharply as you can, hoping the pain will help you find the willpower to wrench yourself free from his grasp. You rip free and spin to face him. You weren’t sure what kind of expression you were expecting to see on Ayato’s face, but a soft composed smile wasn’t one of them. Normally he would look at you like a cat before it’d catch its prey, like you were playing some game of cat and mouse, but seeing proper happiness was eerie. Other times he’d look at you with a smug smile like he knew something you didn’t, and worst of all he would do this openly if you ever had the misfortune to encounter him at social gatherings. You hated it. You hated him.

“Get out.”

He pulls away from you, his expression more warm than before. “Of course. Until next time.”

That was the last time you saw Ayato before your life was turned into a living hell. By the end of the month, the Tenryou commission raided your estate, and dragged you from your home. You could still remember your father’s infuriated yelling as they dragged you outside by your shoulders.

The next time you saw Ayato, you had been imprisoned for over a month. You were hungry, filthy, and angrier than you had ever been before. The charges weighed against you were false, that you were in possession of a delusion, and had plans to overthrow the shogunate. It’s been ages since you saw your father, and every few days a member of the commission came into your cell to “teach you a lesson.” 

The sound of the cell door creaking up startles you. Not again. You curl yourself into a ball on the ground and cover your head with your arms preemptively. 

“Oh my.” It’s been so long since you heard his voice. Ayato walks through the cell and stops, standing before you. You don’t move to acknowledge him, since this was clearly his fault. His scheme. How dare he do this to you!? He framed you, though it’s anyone’s guess how he got his hands on a delusion. “You look like a mess.”

You don’t yield, or give into his taunt. Ayato kneels down, now much closer to your level, “They finally decided what’s to be done with you.” He’s almost whispering when he says, “You’ve been sentenced to death.”

You try your best not to cry, but your best didn’t stop a pained sob from leaving your chest. Before long, you’ve fallen apart completely. Ayato is silent through your open sobs, maybe he’s waiting for you to beg him to get you out of the mess he put you in, but you don’t.

He leans closer to you, and tilts your chin up to look him in the eye. It’s that same expression as before, but sharper. “I can save you though. The execution date is two weeks from today.” He’s close enough that you could feel his breath tickle your dry, cracked lips.

You give a dry laugh. “I’d rather die.” You tell him coldly. If you couldn't be free to live your life as you wanted, then you would rather die. Finally, all of his hard work would be undone, and you’d take it to your grave. But, why does he look like that? You figured he would look indignant, frustrated, or unhappy that you would choose to be defiant until your last breath. So why does he look like you said exactly what you wanted him to? You felt sick.

Ayato stood up wordlessly, and headed towards the door. He smiled back at you over his shoulder. “I’ll see you in two weeks.” The gate slammed shut.

After that, no one came into your cell anymore. No more beatings, no more news whatsoever, just your scheduled meals. Then the day had finally arrived. Your cell door was thrust open, and it wasn’t Ayato who greeted you this time, but his sister Ayaka. She rushed towards you and then embraced you. “Thank goodness you’re okay.” Ayaka pats your grime covered face. What in the world could possibly be happening? “My brother worked so hard to prove your innocence in time. I’m so sorry for everything that happened to you, but everything will be okay now.” Ayaka helped pull you upright, and headed towards the cell door, effectively carrying you out.

“Where are we going?” You croak out.

“The Kamisato estate. I’m so sorry about everything that happened to you. Thank goodness my brother cleared your name in time” She sounded like she was about to cry. “I’m so sorry about what your father did to you.” “My father?”

“Yes, everyone now knows that the delusion found in your family estate was his, and he was using it to manipulate you and keep you away from my brother. He said you might not be okay mentally for a while, some kind of emotional damage caused by the delusion, but it’s okay because you’ll be with us now. We’ll take care of you.” She breathed out a sigh of relief, as if the words were heavy in her mind, and she could finally unburden herself. “Everyone thought it was peculiar why the two of you didn’t just get married already, and it finally made sense.”

“Where’s my dad?”

“Oh, him? You don’t need to worry about him anymore. He was put to death earlier today so you wouldn’t have to see it.” Ayaka held you the entire way out. She was genuinely happy for the freedom and salvation she believed you were granted – that you deserved. Your mouth was dry. You couldn’t say anything. All you could do was accept that no one would believe a word that would come out of your mouth given these new circumstances.

Some Kamisato family servants and Ayaka escorted you outside. It was the first time you saw the sun in who knows how long. You looked up to see Ayato standing next to a carriage waiting for you. He rushed towards you the moment he saw you, and all but pried you from Ayaka and the rest. “I'm so glad you’re okay. I was worried sick about you. No one’s ever going to hurt you ever again, I’ll make sure of it. And we can finally be together, just like we’ve always wanted.”

There’d probably be people around you at all times since they’d be afraid you’d be a risk to yourself. You were outmaneuvered and overpowered. Now, you had no one, and you didn’t even have the freedom to die anymore.

Just what kind of monster is Kamisato Ayato?

[tylermileslockett]

Herakles #2: Chiron the tutor Entering into adolescence, Heracles finds trouble in Thebes when he kills his music tutor, Linus, in a fit of rage. The boy’s foster father, Amphitryon, sends him into the countryside to herd cattle and be tutored by the brilliant mentor Chiron the centaur, who trains the boy in military strategy, medicine, archery, and athletics. While herding in the foothills one day, Heracles is visited by two divine beings, Vice and Virtue. Vice tempts the boy to abandon his morals and live a life of wealth, pleasure, and decadence. While virtue pleads with him to stay true to his ethics and follow honorable, heroic pursuits. After hearing the arguments, Heracles sides with Virtue. Chiron (Ky-ron) is the offspring of the titan Cronus (disguised as a horse) and the sea nymph Philyra, (making Chiron half-brother to Zeus) unlike the wild race of centaurs who were born from ixion and the cloud nymph Nephele. In contrast, Chiron is most wise and civilized, and is depicted as a full human figure with the back half of a horse. Upon the slopes of Mount Pelion, Chiron mentors such famous heroes as Asclepius (god of healing) Achilles and Jason (of the Argonauts). Chiron met a tragic end, when later in life, he and Heracles fight other centaurs, and Heracles accidently shoots Chiron with a poisoned tip arrow. Being immortal, Chiron suffered greatly, until Zeus took pity on him, ending his life and placing him in the night sky as the constellation Centaurus. The episode relating Vice and virtue comes from philosopher and historian, Xenophon’s Memorabilia, and is commonly referred to as Heracles at the crossroads. In the work, the character Socrates relates the tale of two large statured women approaching Alcides. The first, Vice, is described offers gratifications of physical senses, and a life of ease. While Virtue, described as dignified, argues for moderation, and achievement in glory and honor through sacrifice and struggle.

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[1-d-a]

Hilarious how most people get offended when the behavior of the human species is compared to that of apes, but then all those world news come along that show how primitive humans still are: killing and oppressing each other for territory, resources, politics, religion…

If you do a little research on chimpanzee communities, you'll know that territorial wars are also common among these animals. In fact, they are quite interesting conflicts. Chimpanzees are organized creatures, capable of employing very effective military strategies, and just like humans, they do not hesitate to use kidnapping, slavery or genocide to achieve their goals. Seriously, everyone should study the chimpanzee wars; they are clear reproductions of many episodes in human history.

But can you imagine if we humans, given the power we have over other species, did not kill each other for the smallest reason? We would probably have overpopulated the planet, exhausted all the important resources and destroyed the rest; surely life would no longer be sustainable and dignified for the rest of the organisms. It's as if… our very nature, our most primitive instincts called us to create conflict and death, even within our own species, all to maintain an ecological balance that is beyond all human reasoning and morals.

It is enlightening and equally terrifying to realize the role that organic death plays in terrestrial ecosystems. So crucial. So necessary. Many of us may be destined to die unjustly in pursuit of a relentless balance. As relentless as a giant tidal wave drowning us, as volcanic lava melting our bones, as an intense earthquake crushing us like ants… But until such things happen, we will continue to wage our bizarre wars and oppressive systems, like the organized apes that we are.

[daphnefisherofficial]

bugna: TAKIPSILIM | destiny's twilight

CHAPTER ONE

Pairing: MCU Moon Knight System (Marc/Jake/Steven) x Avatar Fem!Reader

masterlist | previous | next chapter

CHAPTER ONE - SHADOWS OF THE PAST.

TWO MONTHS LATER…

The grandeur of your ancestral house in Guildford enveloped you as you strolled through its opulent corridors. Intricately carved wooden paneling adorned the walls, while rich crimson carpets absorbed the echo of your footsteps. The air is filled with the faint scent of polished wood and aged leather, exuding dignified timelessness.

Ascending the grand staircase, you run your hand along the mahogany handrail, feeling the smoothness of centuries of use. Reaching the landing on the second floor, a series of oil paintings greeted your vision. Painted by the likes of Van Gogh, Monet, Gauguin and Millet, each frame you passed through expressively telling stories of their lives’ hardships expressed through masterful strokes that evoked love, pain and unwavering resolve.

You finally reached a pair of imposing double doors, elaborately carved with intricate designs and gilded accents. Pushing them open, you step into your refuge within this grand manor. You took in the soft early afternoon light streaming through the lace curtains, the interior awash in soft, muted colors that evoke a sense of calm and serenity. The master bedroom itself bore an air of regal charm, with the walls adorned with exquisite silk wallpaper featuring delicate floral patterns. A four-poster bed draped in satin was situated at the very center, the bed linens made of the finest Egyptian cotton and the plump pillows neatly arranged in the head rest. 

Seating yourself at the foot of your bed, your eyes caught a familiar oil canvas painting facing your direction - a self portrait of you dressed in a filipiniana gown while holding a soft-feathered fan on your right hand. Brief images of the very day you were painted flashed through your mind, remembering your shy, palpable smile as you took a graceful, elegant pose towards the handsome yet unrecognizable painter as his right hand carefully glided his paintbrush across the canvas.

You’ve been having these recurring dreams again as of late. But you cannot figure out for the life of you who the mysterious subject of your night recollections is.

Mildly shaking your head, you made your way towards your antique writing desk situated near a large bay window, overlooking the well-manicured gardens outside. The scent of freshly picked flowers finally distracted you from your musings, mingling with the aroma of polished wood. Carefully arranged, your flower vase was strategically placed beside an assortment of your night study essentials -  an inkwell, quill pen, notepad, a hardbound copy of Atlas of Ancient Egpyt, and a work laptop with multiple tabs open. 

Against one wall, a towering bookshelf houses an impressive collection of leather-bound tomes, each one a testament to your intellectual pursuits. You returned the hardbound copy of Atlas of Ancient Egpyt to its previous resting place, vowing to return to it after your overseas assignment. That book was an essential to you since you work full time as a museum curator for the British Museum. Back then, that career path wasn’t meant for your gender in the olden age. But as the world changes with time and equality between sexes have been more embraced, you found yourself living your life long passion of promoting cultural heritage and ancestral discovery.

Typing away at your laptop, you’ve mostly dealt with a lot of email exchanges involving procurement and acquisition of artifacts, record keeping and liaising with Egyptologists for the upcoming Ennead exhibition you’re organizing. You have already let most of your recent business contacts know that you’re on overseas leave, advising everyone to liaise with your secretary, Aleah Santos, in your absence.

A gentle knock on your door pulls you out of your reverie, your eyes now diverted towards the bedroom entrance. A middle-aged British man stands in the doorway with an air of quiet dignity, his appearance a testament to his impeccable service and professionalism. His face exudes an air of experience and reserve, befitting his role as the trusted steward of the household. He wears a perfectly tailored, immaculately pressed charcoal-gray suit with a crisp white shirt and a silk tie, and his salt-and-pepper hair was meticulously combed and styled to maintain a polished appearance.

His striking deep, intelligent blue eyes observed you quietly, framed by well-defined eyebrows that conveyed a sense of attentiveness. He was holding in one hand a tray with a steaming cup of Earl Grey tea and a blueberry scone, and a neatly pressed and folded set of smart, business casual clothes in the other. The fabrics were chosen with care and tailored to perfection, a testament to the older man’s meticulous attention to detail.

“Bill, how lovely to see you this afternoon”, you smiled appreciatively before standing, slowly reaching for your wardrobe in his arms. “Thank you for bringing these”

"It's my pleasure, Lady Carter", Bill answered politely, his refined British accent adding to his aura of sophistication. William Jones, who you affectionately nicknamed “Bill”, is the latest addition in the long line of the Jones household who have served the Carter family for a very long time. As the new head of the family estate, the depth of his loyalty to you runs deep and unquestioned.

"I've taken the liberty of preparing your necessities for the trip”, Bill said with a warm smile as he followed you inside, placing the tray of refreshments on your desk. “You'll find your travel documents and essentials ready in your briefcase, and I’ve packed you a suitcase for the three-day trip”

“What would I ever do without you?” you chuckled playfully, grateful for his unwavering efficiency.

“Years of service have taught me well”, Bill chuckled softly. “Now, if I may, I’d like to go over your schedule for the week.”

“Go ahead, I’m all ears”, you nodded, finally taking your first sip of the afternoon tea prepared. It was nothing short of exquisite, the fragrant steam wafting up to greet your senses. “Impeccable brew as always, by the way”

"I’m glad you like the concoction, Milady”, Bill nodded before clearing his throat, proceeding to recite the details of your upcoming trip. “Your flight to Chicago is later this evening at 7PM, and I will be driving you to the airport three hours prior”

You nodded, mentally ticking off the items on your mental checklist, as he continued to consult his notes and brief you.

“Upon your arrival to the United States, a valet service will pick you up and take you to your hotel. I made reservations at the one within walking distance of the family court where your next interpreting assignment will be running for three days”

“That’s good to hear”, you nodded, taking a small bite of the scone. “Have my secretary check on the tour guide headcount at the British Museum and handle the recruitment interviews while I’m gone” 

“Understood”, Bill said curtly, finishing up writing on his notes. He gave a small bow before leaving the room. With his departure, you set to work on packing your travel essentials for your upcoming assignment. 

The routine of operating as a freelance interpreter was familiar, accepting potential clients needing your services regardless of location. You cater mostly to the Filipino community, as it helped you fulfill your duties as Mayari’s avatar - to oversee, guide and protect her travelers of the night. Of all the careers you dabbled in your long life on this earth, being an interpreter and a museum curator were one of the very few roles you’ve had that you took immense pride in. Both navigated the complexities of language and history, bridging the gap between cultures and individuals.

The next morning after your arrival in the United States, the Chicago sun greeted you as you stepped out of your hotel room and into the bustling city streets. The scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted from a nearby café, tempting you, but duty called.

You found yourself before the imposing building of the Chicago Family Court in Cook County. It was a massive edifice of imposing architecture, and its walls seemed to resonate with the stories of countless families and their struggles. On your way to the court registry, you navigated the maze of hallways with purposeful steps. The walls were painted in muted tones, and the faint hum of conversation filled the air. Lawyers in tailored suits, stern-faced judges, and anxious family members all found their places. The court clerk finally checked you in after having you sign the log book, advising you of your assigned courtroom for your scheduled appointment.

You walked into the assigned courtroom, the polished wood of the benches and the imposing judge's bench before you. The judge’s gaze met yours as you approached the witness stand, acknowledging your presence as he had you sworn in. He instructed you to raise your right hand as you recited your oath, a solemn promise to faithfully and impartially interpret the proceedings for those who needed it. 

“Thank you, Interpreter”, the judge nodded, your duty now officially recognized. “Please introduce yourself to the courtroom for the record”

“Yes, Your Honor”, you greeted in a clear, unwavering voice. “Good morning. My name is Mira Batala-Carter, and I will be serving as the Tagalog/Filipino interpreter for the witness in the stand”

The court proceedings began, and your voice filled the room as you translated the witness's testimony. You moved seamlessly between languages, ensuring that justice prevailed, one word at a time. The judge and attorneys watched you closely, appreciating your precision and dedication.

After the session concluded, you extended a hand to the witness, a kind-hearted woman who had been through a trying experience. She thanked you for your services, her eyes conveying a profound gratitude that words could not fully capture. As she left your presence, you muttered a silent prayer to your patron goddess, fulfilling your role as her avatar as you invoked a simple protection spell.

“Patnubayan mo ang guhit ng kanyang kapalaran, aking diwatang Mayari”

Guide the lines of her fate, my goddess Mayari.

As the proceedings unfolded over the next three days, you found yourself immersed in the world of legal battles, translating the words and emotions of those caught in the intricate web of the justice system. It was a demanding role, one that required not just linguistic proficiency, but also an acute understanding of human nature and the ability to convey the nuances of speech. Legal jargon and emotional testimonies flowed through you, and you remained resolute in your duty as an interpreter.

You arrived early on the last day of your interpreting assignment, finally giving in to your caffeine cravings as you clutch a cup of steaming coffee to ward off the chilly Chicago morning. You took a seat in the hallway, waiting outside the assigned courtroom. As you sipped your cappuccino and glanced around, your eyes landed on a man slouched on one of the benches, clearly taking a nap. 

His face stirred a memory, one that danced tantalizingly out of reach. Yet you couldn't quite place where you had seen him before. He had a rugged handsomeness, an aura of enigmatic mystery that drew you in. 

The man's companion, a woman of Arabic-Egyptian descent with a cascade of curly, dark hair, approached him, carrying a steaming cup of coffee. She leaned down, her concern etched on her face as she gently nudged him awake. She whispered something to him, and he stirred, blinking his eyes open.

Your heart clenched as you witnessed the tenderness in their interaction. The way their eyes met with shared history and unspoken understanding prompted a deluge of memories to flood your mind, unbidden and unexpected.

Like ghosts from the past, you heard sounds of laughter and shared secrets echoing inside your head. Your lips trembled as they seemingly remembered the tenderness of breathless kisses stolen beneath the moonlit sky. The details eluded you, but the emotions were vivid—joy, love, and a sense of belonging. 

But as swiftly as those memories resurfaced, they slipped away like sand through your fingers, leaving you with an ache of longing and confusion.

Who was this man, and why did his presence stir such deep-seated emotions within you?

Before you could delve further into your thoughts, a call from Bill interrupted your reverie. You reached for your phone, the jarring ringtone pulling you back to reality.

"Lady Carter," Bill's voice came through the receiver, crisp and professional. "I have an important update from Miss Santos. We are still missing one more tour guide from the total headcount you require for the upcoming exhibition"

“Copy that”, you nodded. “Please have her finalize the applicants I’ll need to interview on Saturday”

As you hung up the phone, a court clerk emerged to announce that the morning proceedings will now begin. Finishing the rest of your coffee, you threw the empty cup at the nearby bin before entering the courtroom once more to complete the final leg of your interpreting assignment. 

Unbeknownst to you, Mayari, the patron goddess of the moon, quietly observed from a distance as her ethereal, astral form shimmered from afar. Her eyes, filled with a sorrow you had never seen before, remained fixed on you as she recalled the most grievous of her sins—removing your image of Darius Carter and your memories of the events that had bound you to Khonshu's avatar, Moon Knight. She had acted with what she believed was your best interest at heart, but now, as she watched the remnants of your forgotten past resurface, doubt crept into her heart.

Mayari was determined to see her decision through to the end, to protect you from the darkness that lurked in the shadows. Yet, as she gazed upon the unfolding drama, the lines between right and wrong blurred, and the weight of her choices pressed upon her.

“Mr and Mrs Spector, please come to the front”

END OF CHAPTER ONE.

masterlist | previous | next chapter

[wangxianficrecs]

💙 happy not knowing by plonk

💙 happy not knowing

by plonk

not rated, 16k, wangxian

Summary: The cultivation world is rebuilding from the wreckage of the Sunshot Campaign, but Wangji and his shield brother Wei Wuxian are still completely attached at the hip. It is sad that Lan Xichen’s brother is stuck in the youthful pattern of - ah, no polite way to say it: exchanging handjobs with his shield brother - rather than moving on to more adult pursuits. On the other hand, now that the war is over, Wangji does seem so much more open and happy than he was as a boy. He smiles sometimes, mostly at Wei Wuxian. Once, he even took an afternoon off. So Lan Xichen can let Wangji’s closeness with his shield brother lie for a time, while he finishes maturing.

Mojo's comments: in which Lan Xichen is... astronomically oblivious to his brother's complete state of being very married. To Wei Ying. His husband. Whom he married. And has a child. That they co-parent. Because they are married. And also having enthusiastic sex at the waterfall. And the hot springs. And their own home. And sometimes on random pathways. But sure, Lan Xichen. They're just sworn shield brothers who exchange a random handjob, while resolutely imagining the soft and beautiful woman they'll someday be married to. They'll grow out of it. I finished this story laughing loud enough to disturb my cat.

Kay's comments: Hehe, this story is always a delight to re-read! A beautiful twist on the whole Lan Xichen is the one person who can read his brother and knows about his infatuation with Wei Wuxian. No, no, here, instead, Lan Xichen is the one person who just doesn't get it, because he doesn't really get gay people? Like, he's the most straight person who ever existed and it's not even malicious, he even exchanged friendly handjobs with Nie Mingjue during the war, but to do that for life? No thanks, bro, no homo. Ah, this is just so much fun.

Excerpt: On the front, they share a tent. The war is bitter. Grueling. They don’t ever do the weird shield brothers thing where you jack one another off while staring into opposite corners of the tent. Lan Zhan is much too dignified, and Wei Wuxian doesn’t see the point. Instead, they skip straight to actual fucking. The first time is late at night. Wei Wuxian is a shameless drunk, and it just kind of… happens. It’s heady and intense, because it feels like the world is fucking ending around them - they’re at war, after all. The second time comes the next morning, when Wei Wuxian tries to brush it off, and Lan Zhan doesn’t let him. Turns out that Lan Zhan is shameless sober. Their third time is later that very same evening. So late it might be morning. Wei Wuxian doesn’t know they’re for real until that one. The first time, he was shocked that it was happening at all. The second time, he was confused. Wondering what it meant, instead of thinking about what they meant to each other. But the third time, it clicks. Lan Zhan grabs his chin hard and bites his lower lip. “Look into my eyes when you come,” he growls.

Excerpt²: The child who arrived with Wangji and Wei Wuxian following the conclusion of the war is a source of some confusion for Lan Xichen. It is not of grave importance, of course, but Lan Xichen does not… understand. Exactly. Whose baby A-Yuan is. The baby has to be a Wen, right? Do Wei Wuxian and Wangji even know? They appear unworried. No one seems as confused by the situation as Lan Xichen is.

canon-divergence, established relationship, oblivious lan xichen, canon era, humor, shield brothers, pov multiple, qin su/lan xichen, himbo lan xichen, misunderstandings, the most married wangxian, no burial mounds, no golden core transfer, pov outsider

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[lazaruspiss]

Historia Strigidae: Part 3/7

A Note on the Waynes

While the Waynes are doubtless considered a Founding Family of Gotham City, they have never been members of the Court. Instead, the Waynes and the Court are two sides of a coin: One representing the stick while the other, the carrot. Given the similarity of our aim, one would think that the Waynes would be among our staunchest supporters, but they lack vision, and more importantly, the courage to do what is necessary in the name of progress.

Many members of the Court look down on the Waynes for the gaudiness with which they flaunt their philanthropy, basking in the glory of their public fame, while we do the true labor of greatness in obscurity. Others despise them for their myopic view of Gotham City's future, and more still for how they blindly interfere with our machinations. While we weave a meticulous tapestry across Gotham City's history, the Waynes fumble about, making a nuisance of themselves. Most recently, delaying construction of our Great Hall by funding a transit line that barrels through real estate we had intended to use.

Through my research into the Court, I have learned that whatever the Court's spoken misgivings about the Waynes, it amounts to little more than pageantry as once a generation, the Court reaches out to the family's patriarch in hopes of finally securing their membership. Thrice we have extended our hand and thrice has it been rebuffed.

While I have seen these pursuits as a waste of time, others seem to think the Waynes have a special role to play in Gotham City's future. I cannot help but wonder how long they can stand apart from the Court before patience wears thin and they are seen as a problem to be solved.

A Note on the Waynes

Handwritten on the back of the page:

I must be mistaken, but I swear I have been followed these past few days. I feel lingering eyes upon me when I go about my daily affairs, and my keen ears have heard footsteps traveling in lock step with my own, an attempt to hide one's presence. Surely the Court does not question my loyalty? One can be loyal to a cause while also questioning the methods with which we pursue it. Nay, I dare posit that true allegiance to a cause demands considered dissent. Blind, unquestioning loyalty is for dogs, not owls.

No. This is the work of an errant member of the Court. An act of intimidation, perhaps, to silence me on an issue they stand opposite. Several candidates for such childishness immediately come to mind. I must narrow the suspect pool and bring this matter to the Court's attention. Such actions are beneath our membership, and the perpetrator will be reprimanded with haste.

Voice of the Court

Once the Court grew its numbers, leadership became mandatory to prevent stagnation and infighting. To that end, the Court created the Voice of the Court, a position elected by Court members to speak for the Court as a whole and to make final decisions on matters voted on by the Council.

A keen eye can track the history of the Court through those elected as Voice, as their leadership styles often define the Court during their tenure. It is with these appointments that our descent into pedestrian barbarism can be tracked. If a Voice of the Court has a taste for blood, we turn from dignified Owls to haggard vultures, picking away at Gotham City's carcass for our own benefit, rather than guarding and guiding it, as has been our intent. A Voice can be recalled by the Council, but doing so is rare, and not without great difficulty. The Council is made up of revered members of the Court, and so their decisions command respect. Voices of dissent such as my own are therefore a rarity.

The Council

While the Voice of the Court stands as a figurehead and leader to the Court, one could argue that the true power resides within the Council: 24 members of the Court who discuss and vote on matters that affect the entire membership. While the Voice can, with discretion, overrule the Council, the Council has the power to recall the Voice. Such an arrangement encourages careful consideration of one's election into either position and values respect and cooperation among the highest ranking of the Court. For the Court to prosper, infighting must be dissuaded.

[incissam]

♡ + monarchy

I've been marinating on this one for a little bit so get comfortable.

Daenerys:

For Daenerys monarchy means responsibility, legacy, and loss of self. It is a burden that she doesn't fully feel prepared for and is navigating near blindly with some help and making it up as she goes. She knows that as the last Targaryen she is now heir to the throne and the monarchy now relies on her getting to said throne. The monarchy also is a type of death sentence to her. She saw the pursuit for the crown kill her brother - literally and mentally. The desire to have that life that was stolen from them drove Viserys to a level of madness that by the end of it she barely recognized the brother that raised her.

Monarchy also means that she has to grow up even faster to fill those shoes left behind for her. She was already growing up a lot faster than she should have at her age as it was since being thrown out of the house in Braavos when she was 5 and then being married by age 13, but she's just turned 14 when she becomes queen with Viserys dying. This is something that she recognizes that people will exploit with her thinking they can manipulate her and she turns it into an armor and her crown. She might be a young girl, but she makes sure that anyone who thinks that she's just a young girl learns their lesson. She embraces that role of becoming the monarch so quickly that sometimes she forgets to think about herself also.

The monarchy represents everything that her brother and then herself have been fighting for since she was mere hours old. It is the sacrifice that Ser Willem Darry made to ensure that the heirs to the throne were safe for 5 years before he died. It is the sacrifices that Viserys made for them to have a place to sleep at night whether that be in a very poor inn or begging at some lord's table in the most dignified way. Being a monarch to her means struggling, sacrificing, and still keeping your head up even when you want to give up. That was something that Viserys taught her in his own way.

Rhaenyra:

Monarchy to Rhaenyra is all about the legacy and lack of privacy. The Targaryens have been ruling the Seven Kingdoms since Aegon the Conqueror took them over and it's all about continuing the family line. There is a duty there to just make sure there is an heir to keep the Targaryen name after she is gone. Her job as her father's heir is to make sure that her line is secure which Viserys constantly beats into her head once she is of marrying age. He wants her to find a husband and start making babies ASAP. Granted being a part of the monarchy also means your every move being watched whether or not you like it.

Becoming heir to the Seven Kingdoms put Rhaenyra under a microscope to the point that members of the court started following her fashion trends. She was spied on to know who she was seeing, when, and what they were doing which is where the rumor about Daemon giving her sex lessons came in. Then due to her three eldest sons having "common features" it was assumed by Alicent that she was sleeping with her sworn shield Harwin Strong. That was only perpetuated by Mushroom who claims to have found them in bed together also. The fact that Alicent felt that Rhaenyra did not respect honor or duty is what divided their house and the court to the Greens and Blacks.

The only time in which Rhaenyra did not follow the rule of monarchy first was when she took her family to Dragonstone to protect her children from rumors. She also chose the desires of her heart over what would be most advantageous for a match when she married Daemon as her second husband. It turns out later that this was also a wise choice when it came to the monarchy as both of their sons would later become Kings though they never got to see it.

[elusivia]

*Application*

He loomed.

Not on purpose. It was like how some people did not walk, but rather strode, strolled, or strutted. So, he did not stand, but loomed in the monastery corridor, all but the glint of his golden eyes obscured by his cloak and the shadows in the weak evening light.

It occurred to him, when a monk rounded the corner and started with surprise, that said corridor had awful lighting.

"Pardon me." He nodded, not quite bowing, but poised enough to remain both polite and dignified. Even in matters concerning strangers, his tone carried a mysterious air under the elegance, toying ever so slightly with the delivery of his syllables like he wanted to bat them around and play with them. "I am here for the *job* interview."

The monk stared. Maybe it was the eyes on Zelkov’s cloak, almost moving as the distant torch flames cast their glow upon them.  He'd embroidered them all himself, but not everyone could appreciate the finer arts. Maybe it was also how Zelkov loomed, and indeed he loomed a decent number of inches over the monk. "I- I don't think I have the job you're looking for."

Zelkov blinked. "The *nurse* position?"

"Oh. Oh, well in that case, I suppose I do then," the monk stammered. They fumbled with their keys as they tried to unlock their office door.

Why was it surprising that someone such as Zelkov would want to be the academy nurse? He supposed it was a matter of establishing credentials. There was also the manner in which he spoke, but his eccentric idiolect hardly had anything to do with his ability to concoct impeccable curatives.

The monk was still struggling to open the door to their office.

“Might I offer my *assistance?*” Zelkov preferred his other work over his thievery skill sets, but he never went anywhere without a lockpick within reach of his fingertips. Life cared little for most people’s preferences. The monk stood aside, flustered. Zelkov made quick work of the lock and pushed the door open with a creak, taking in the rather bland office before him.

“Thank you. I, um, guess I forgot the right key.”

Zelkov shrugged. “You are *welcome*.”

The monk hesitated. “I am?”

“Yes.”

“It’s just… the way you said that.”

Zelkov didn’t smile or give any indication that he understood what the monk was referring to. “Said *what*?”

“Nevermind.”

He was used to the odd looks. Better to let his aura of mystery befuddle those around him than show them what he truly was.

His first pursuit, the one which had nearly concluded him at its conclusion…

Despite the perfected herbal recipes passed down from his mother for all ailments invented thus far, with some tips for the event in which any new afflictions to humanity arose, Zelkov couldn’t shake the shadows. He took too easily to the fog and dim. His keen eyes easily threaded needles and just as easily threaded knives between ribs. It was just as Yunaka had said. He had the instincts of a killer. Despite his efforts, the *slime*, as she’d deemed it, never fully left his mannerisms.

He wanted to be more than a vassal of shadow. Even as he laboriously studied and perfected any skill he could try his hand at, the lurking fear that he was good for nothing but violence, that which had robbed him of a family, lay just under the surface.

It was possible to become that which one hated, he’d found out.

Was it possible then, to change? To remake a life? He filled his time like a man in a sinking ship bailed out water to the sea, as though the sea could ever be changed, as though a broken hull could ever float again. The vastness, the void, it always seemed too empty. It was a plague upon his soul his pursuit of medicine could not cure. The war was over, but… at least he had a part. He was afloat, was that not enough?

Oh. He’d been staring off into the distance, expression unreadable. His hair was even framing his face in a most pensive way.

“Apologies, you’d *inquired* something of me?”

“Yes. Well, to be honest, why a medic position?” The monk finally seemed able to hold a conversation and their composure at the same time, sinking into the chair behind their desk. “You’re a skilled lockpick.”

Zelkov reached into his cloak and produced a vial of verdant liquid, swirling it. “Behold, the Soporific Solution, an *antidote* to the most distressing bouts of troubled sleeping. I have many other tinctures, syrups, vulneraries, and medicines I *inherited* and invented. In addition, I am skilled in the manner of first aid. An ever *relentless* pursuit, I find that making and administering medicine is my more *nobler* calling than what you may be thinking to suggest. I have never failed to craft *exactly* what a patient needs.”

“Wow.” The monk wrote a few notes and Zelkov tucked the potion away, ready to offer more if needed. “Our monastery has been in some disarray lately. We may call on you for your other skills as well. Aside from lockpicking, you can…?”

“Knit.”

Silence.

“Pardon?”

“I am an *excellent* knitter, if I may be so bold as to brag. I work only with the *finest* materials, and produce heirloom quality results.”

“Oh. And what else?”

“Candlemaking. On that topic, your hallway needs more *illumination* if I do say so myself. I am adept at lamp making too.”

The monk seemed lost. “Anything… else?”

Zelkob nodded, listing off everything he could off the top of his head. “Sewing, gardening, embroidery, *painting*, sculpting, cooking, glass blowing, basket weaving-”

“I should have been more clear. In combat, should we be under siege, or our people need us to drive off bandits, can you fight?”

There was only one passion people cared for. How depressing.

It’d be nice to live in a world where he wasn’t asked that. He’d known it was coming, and he’d avoided it. Anyone sane would, but avoidance was born from privilege, and it was a privilege he did not have.

He fell silent. He leaned forward, speaking with low deliberation, a seriousness to his soft tone that made his interviewer more unnerved than if he’d shouted.

“You cannot help not knowing what it is you ask. You did not witness the years I perfected my aim, steeled not only in skill but in soul. Possession by a force as dark as what I found myself enthralled to changes you, leaves you empty when at last it departs. I inherited love, and that love was repaid by the world with death, and so it is death I leave with lethal efficiency in my wake. My enemies do not often see death coming. My daggers, imbued with my mother’s art turned foul, do not fail to sting deep and drain away at flesh they pierce. Against the likes of bandits I show no hesitation. To protect those I must, I do not fail. With children in danger, I do not stay my hand.”

Zelkov straightened again, leaning back in his seat. His interviewer seemed to be once again, needing a moment. “I’d rather make *medicine* than poison. Should I have to, I can resume the *duties* I once held in my past, as retainer to Princess Ivy of Elusia. However, my *skills* are not to be deployed lightly.”

Perhaps his reluctance to resume any part of his past profession could be described as a weakness, but he didn’t hesitate when his resolve was firm. He’d long lost the privilege of hesitation too.

The monk nodded. The tension had shifted, not lessened, but it was with a heavier understanding than before. “Agreed. Okay. School nurse it is. Our students are often sparring or going out on missions, and we could need another healer around. I don’t suppose you’d pass on your recipes, would you?”

He shook his head. “I would prefer for my family’s knowledge to be *passed* directly to an apprentice, or perhaps someday long after I am deceased, a worthy healer in need finds my scrawled notes *scattered* among my many crafts.” Mysterious, just as he liked it.

“Yeah, that doesn’t fit into our curriculum very well.”

A jest, and one Zelkov could reflect, the two sharing a tentative exchange of smiles.

Very well. He had the job.

Ever moving, racing through life like a river that feared the stillness of frost, he’d found a way to keep his hands busy.

All to keep a part in life’s play.

[jocksid]

(Formerly @brosinthecloset)

Wrestling is vital for the jock bond, especially since the jocks are in chastity and can't fuck each other. The jocks must find a way to create and maintain the hierarchy without sex. There are some 20 jocks in Coach Schmidt's program, and each finds his place on the rung.

This is an intra-jock concern. To Coach and his assistants, the jocks are all equal - much how dads would treat their sons. To the bulls, the jocks are like little brothers, and they, too, see little distinction in power. And to the cheerleaders and the runts, the jocks are all magnificent alphas, deserving of worship. Dignified, in the case of the cheerbois, depraved in the case of the runts. But to the jocks, the differences can be stark.

So much of the hierarchy is age-based. The newest jock will invariably be at the bottom of the rung, and the alpha will be among the older jocks, those closest to graduation. But new superstars can skyrocket through the ranks; out-wrestling, out-playing, out-eating and out-pissing the established jocks. And sometimes, the older bros can lose power. They can slip up on the mat one day. They can pussy out from a match. They can spend too much time alone, which is enfeebling in the minds of the jocks who are so conditioned to give everything to their fraternity and the groupthink it engenders.

And fraternity is right. There may be an intense and powerful hierarchy between these boys, but they are brothers through and through. Their love is total. So powerful is Coach's conditioning, and so great is their mutual lust. Fundamentally, they are a Team. They are jocks bound together in the pursuit of masculine excellence. Of victory. And even the lowliest jock is still an alpha compared to the normies on the outside of Jock Nation.

When the cages comes off and the jocks can fuck free for a week or two, ambitions go into overdrive. Jocks vying for higher status on the rung - who can bang the most pussy, who can bust the most loads, the biggest loads, who can dom the most jock brothers and fall naturally into the position of top. All jocks are tops, even when they bottom, but it's vital to learn who's a top among tops. Chastity-holidays are both the best and worst times of the year. For the alpha especially, these holidays can see his power crumble. That is, if he isn't up to the task. To a true alpha, that won't be a problem. And if he's not truly the alpha, then the real alpha will rise. So natural. So beautiful.

Of course, ultimately, Coach is the alpha. Proven every time one of his jocks bends over his knee and begs to be spanked.

Jason Adonis & Marc Stone Mat Attack, 2003 - Can-Am Productions, dir. Ron Sexton

[tylermileslockett]

Herakles #2: Chiron the tutor Entering into adolescence, Heracles finds trouble in Thebes when he kills his music tutor, Linus, in a fit of rage. The boy’s foster father, Amphitryon, sends him into the countryside to herd cattle and be tutored by the brilliant mentor Chiron the centaur, who trains the boy in military strategy, medicine, archery, and athletics. While herding in the foothills one day, Heracles is visited by two divine beings, Vice and Virtue. Vice tempts the boy to abandon his morals and live a life of wealth, pleasure, and decadence. While virtue pleads with him to stay true to his ethics and follow honorable, heroic pursuits. After hearing the arguments, Heracles sides with Virtue. Chiron (Ky-ron) is the offspring of the titan Cronus (disguised as a horse) and the sea nymph Philyra, (making Chiron half-brother to Zeus) unlike the wild race of centaurs who were born from ixion and the cloud nymph Nephele. In contrast, Chiron is most wise and civilized, and is depicted as a full human figure with the back half of a horse. Upon the slopes of Mount Pelion, Chiron mentors such famous heroes as Asclepius (god of healing) Achilles and Jason (of the Argonauts). Chiron met a tragic end, when later in life, he and Heracles fight other centaurs, and Heracles accidently shoots Chiron with a poisoned tip arrow. Being immortal, Chiron suffered greatly, until Zeus took pity on him, ending his life and placing him in the night sky as the constellation Centaurus. The episode relating Vice and virtue comes from philosopher and historian, Xenophon’s Memorabilia, and is commonly referred to as Heracles at the crossroads. In the work, the character Socrates relates the tale of two large statured women approaching Alcides. The first, Vice, is described offers gratifications of physical senses, and a life of ease. While Virtue, described as dignified, argues for moderation, and achievement in glory and honor through sacrifice and struggle.

Like this art? It will be in my illustrated book with over 130 other full page illustrations coming in October to kickstarter.  to get unseen free hi-hes art subscribe to my email newsletter

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[arturbansculpture]

greek and mythology

The Eternal Charm of Greece and Mythology

As one of the most influential cultures in human history, ancient Greek mythology carries rich stories, profound philosophy and unique aesthetics. Through mythology, we can not only get a glimpse of the ancient Greeks' understanding of the world, but also feel their awe of life and nature.

The Image of Goddesses in Greek Mythology

The goddess characters in Greek mythology show a variety of characteristics and charms. For example, Athena, the goddess of wisdom and war, is known for her calm wisdom and fearlessness; Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty, symbolizes the human pursuit of beauty and emotions; and Artemis, the goddess of hunting, represents the spirit of nature and freedom. The stories of these goddesses still deeply influence literature, art and philosophy.

The Artistic Charm of Greek Goddess Sculptures

Greek Goddess Statue is an important art form that inherits these myths. Through superb carving skills, ancient artists perfectly show the power and elegance of the goddess. Whether it is the heroic image of Athena holding a shield and wearing a helmet, or the dignified and soft figure of Aphrodite, these sculptures are full of dynamics and details, which are breathtaking. Today, these statues are often displayed in museums and public spaces, becoming an important window for people to understand ancient Greek culture.

The integration of mythology and modern culture

Greek mythology not only belongs to the past, but also has a profound integration with modern culture. From movies to literature, from fashion to art, these ancient stories are constantly reinterpreted, injecting inspiration into new creations. Especially the Greek Goddess Statue, they are not only masterpieces of ancient art, but also symbols of modern decoration and aesthetics. They often appear in public sculptures or home artworks, adding mysterious and solemn beauty to the space.

Through Greek mythology and sculptures, we can not only trace the origin of human civilization, but also draw wisdom and inspiration from it. These legends and artworks will continue to inspire future generations and become an important cornerstone of cultural inheritance.

[thespit]

There are a lot of things you never get to hear about living life as a full time creator. People who have no relationship to professional manga artists don't really get to hear anything in depth beyond how much time goes into it, so I laugh a little bit any time I hear someone say "I would do comics full time if I didn't have to work!" knowing how untrue it is for most people whether it's because it's a lie or because of challenges they can't anticipate. There's a lot to say about the accountability required to dedicate one's self to something every waking moment of every day, another of the sacrifices required to live such a life. But you could also apply this to any profession that lives in your hands and in your head and craves every hour of your time too. It's weird. Working on something so much puts me in this strange zone where I don't hate it but I don't like it, but my joy is purely in the intrepid pursuit of what lies ahead. It's painful and steeped in a lot of sorrow like eating a pepper. But even awful peppers can taste good, and there's something to be said about the reality it creates for you in your mind, about accomplishment or whatever. Dreams are very complicated and I imagine they are even harder for people without them to understand. Art is kind of an isolating experience. Lately i've been thinking a lot about how doing this has changed me and I start to feel farther and farther away from other artists, relating more to an even tinier niche of people I cannot even talk to. For the several long years I attempted to put things together I always felt like calling myself a manga artist was unearned, so I didn't like to do it. But it's odd. I only knew superficially what the ties between drawing manga and commitment were and it wasn't like a badge you earned just from drawing a comic every now and then. Nevertheless it took being here three years later for everything to click. I get it. I really really get it. I understand what it means to be a professional. The way I feel about it is not "up" or "higher"- but "remote" from people who are only a part of it but don't or can't live it. Some of this is specific to the medium itself- a medium which is not always dignified because not every panel can be a masterwork. A medium typically produced quickly, sometimes insanely fast, a medium trying to tell a long story through humble ink drawings. There's so much to say about western expectations (especially when it comes from artists) versus eastern being at times incompatible in this medium. But not to people who are in it, or people that simply love it for what it is.

I'm not at odds with the amenities that come with this lifestyle. With that I feel more at home with the undead I write about.

[gradrags]

Why Are Graduation Robes Important for Ceremonies?

Graduation ceremonies are momentous occasions that mark the culmination of years of hard work, dedication, and perseverance. Among the various elements that make these events memorable, graduation robes hold a special place. But why are these robes so important for ceremonies? This article delves into the history, symbolism, and practical reasons behind the significance of graduation robes.

Historical Significance

The tradition of wearing graduation robes dates back to the medieval universities of Europe, where scholars wore long gowns and hoods to keep warm in unheated buildings. Over time, these garments evolved into the ceremonial robes we recognize today. The use of robes was formalized in the 19th century, aligning with the traditions of prestigious universities such as Oxford and Cambridge.

This historical context adds a layer of significance to graduation robes. They are not just pieces of clothing but symbols of academic tradition and continuity. Wearing these robes connects graduates to centuries of scholarly pursuit and the shared history of academia.

Symbol of Achievement

Graduation robes serve as a powerful symbol of academic achievement. The act of donning a robe signifies the completion of a significant educational milestone, whether it’s a high school diploma, a bachelor’s degree, a master’s degree, or a doctorate. Each type of robe is distinct, reflecting the level of education attained:

Bachelor’s Robes: Typically simple in design, these robes symbolize the foundational level of higher education.

Master’s Robes: More elaborate than bachelor’s robes, they often feature longer sleeves and additional trim, indicating a higher level of scholarly accomplishment.

Doctoral Robes: The most ornate, these robes often include velvet panels and are worn with hoods that signify the wearer’s field of study and institution.

By wearing these robes, graduates visibly acknowledge their hard work, perseverance, and dedication to their studies.

Sense of Unity and Community

Graduation robes create a sense of unity and community among graduates. During the ceremony, everyone dressed in similar attire feels part of a larger whole. This uniformity fosters a collective spirit and highlights the shared experience of academic pursuit.

Moreover, the robes differentiate graduates from the audience, emphasizing their special status on this significant day. This distinction helps in creating a formal and dignified atmosphere, appropriate for the celebration of academic achievements.

Reflecting Institutional Pride and Tradition

Each institution often has its unique design and color scheme for graduation robes, reflecting its heritage and values. This customization allows graduates to showcase their pride in their alma mater. The specific colors and styles can signify different faculties or fields of study, adding another layer of meaning to the attire.

Institutions often follow a specific dress code for graduation ceremonies, which adds to the sense of order and tradition. By adhering to these guidelines, graduates honor their institution’s history and the many scholars who have come before them.

Practicality and Organization

Graduation ceremonies involve large numbers of people, and graduation robes help maintain a sense of order and organization. With everyone dressed uniformly, it becomes easier to manage the processional order, seating arrangements, and the presentation of degrees. This practical aspect ensures that the ceremony runs smoothly and efficiently.

Personal Milestone and Memory

For many, wearing a graduation robe is a deeply personal milestone. It represents years of effort, late-night study sessions, and the culmination of numerous challenges. The robe becomes a cherished keepsake, a tangible reminder of one’s academic journey and achievements.

Many graduates keep their robes as mementos, often wearing them for photographs that commemorate their accomplishments. These images become lasting memories that graduates can look back on with pride.

Conclusion

Graduation robes hold a significant place in ceremonies for various reasons. They are steeped in history and tradition, symbolizing academic achievement and connecting graduates to a long lineage of scholars. They foster a sense of unity and community, reflect institutional pride, and ensure the smooth running of the ceremony. On a personal level, they mark a major milestone and serve as cherished keepsakes.

By donning these robes, graduates honor their hard work and the traditions of their academic institutions. Graduation robes are more than just garments; they are emblematic of success, perseverance, and the shared experience of education. As such, they play an indispensable role in making graduation ceremonies meaningful and memorable.