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grandlance · 3 months ago

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COOL ok time to talk about quiri’s views on the master of chaldea.

so, for reference, he gets to rank 5 bond within a grand total of uhhh 15k bond points. normal romulus takes a total of 50k to reach bond 5, for reference.

he keeps talking about rome and romance, even more than romulus and ok that’s sorta obnoxious, but also it’s really ominous when it’s put in context of who quirinus is. a "two faced god", a war god who is preaching love as if he’s venus or some shit and he is very much not. not that venus isn’t also really petty at times, but that’s for another time.

quirinus is also in chaldea because of a bond he forged with the master of chaldea when olympus was happening

nemo: "it's possible. let's try it. if the divine spirit triton and the heroic spirit nemo commit there all, it's certain" --> ???: "that isn't necessary" ???: "o small child of the great sea. i shall create the path" ???: "i am romulus become as quirinus, a friend to those who cultivate the world" quirinus: "though the strength in this flesh is obligated still to a use hereafter, i give it forth" "i here commit the entirety of my divine essence that remains; the entirety of my authority to see you to your destination"

yeah he’s supposed to be as yeet as anyone else who gave up a saint graph in olympus ⎛ and in theory, it's the concept that grand servants all get the solomon effect, where they do something incredible and then erase themselves? ⎠ yet, he’s called back ⎛ should the master summon him. i always function under the assumption that the master has Everyone for writing purposes ⎠

the rapid bond that quirinus formed with the master of chaldea started in olympus. now, his bond 6 to 10 ... that’s a really slow bonding. it boils down to the nature of quirinus as a chaotic neutral. he already reached the 5th bond without even being anyone’s servant, which was like a survival play for the worst case scenario — he literally cheated total destruction. the part where someone really gets to know him, that’s a long and hard road. not to say that he won’t be loyal to the master of chaldea ⎛ he will be! ⎠ but opening up is going to take a while. as he bonds more, he will reveal the truth about himself. by bond 10 he’s very likely enamored with his master and it isn’t just the rome romance sort of love, but the real deal. a one of a kind genuine love. that’s why his bond CE is..

The starry sky... Countless sparkles scattered across the night sky. And a pair of someone's arms are held out, extended, as if embracing that brilliance in its entirety.

You think: Those must surely be the arms of the supreme god you know.

You see: That those are the arms of the supreme god...

And you know: That those arms will eventually reach the skies, and they are the arms of the supreme god who formed a contract with you...they are arms that work for you, and they will work for whoever comes after you. They represent tomorrow...the future...

The arms are love... Romance... A human's dream given form.

by bond 10, quirinus very much cares for the master of chaldea and is willing to share something very beautiful with them, which brings me serotonin thanks for coming to my tedtalk

#and now the world conceives its end and runs toward it， arms held out in love ⎛ meta ⎠

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deerydear · 10 months ago

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I seem to really like exhibiting a pathetic character on this blog.

Perhaps some of this could be attributed to some of the popular cultures that thrive on tumblr --- namely the type that masks as self-effacing, quirky underdogs.

I've been reading tumblr for like twelve years now.

Initially, I had a real distaste for the people who insulted themselves for the sake of a joke. At least... in the style that they do it. It's like, "yeah ok I'm sure that that's probably true. I guess you are a loser. You just said it."

This sounds fucking mean. I know what it's like to take someone's humanistic comment as a more robotic 'axiom'. Of course I do, Ms. Joy-in-OCD!

(This seems to piss some people off..... but I thought of it as a great service.)

Some people don't believe in astrology. I don't know if I strictly 'do' or 'don't', but it is a fun creative lense. It can be a story. Do you ask if Merlin was strictly real before listening to a fairytale?

hmmm...

anyways, in the Sidereal astrology, I was born under the Virgo sun. Virgos are characterized as methodical, exacting control-freaks...sometimes.

I see it as a duality within one zodiac sign:

Virgo is both the Goddess of Bounty, the Harvest, the Beauty of the Land....

and also the person who is responsible for tallying up, rationing, and storing that year's crop harvest so that it lasts all the year, until the next harvest.

There is the fullness, and the method. The stillness and the motion. Both need eachother.

What is one without the other?

What is a method, without something to tally up?

What is a harvest, if it is not managed?

God forbid: food goes bad...

I was born under a full moon. This means that the moon was directly opposing the sun...

she was in Pisces.... opposite Virgo.

pisces is visibly dual, the embodiment of yin and yang... yet all the preceding zodiac signs embody yin & yang in more subtle ways.

I think that my favorite 'characterization' of pisces is that of a very manipulative, problem-seeking person. "They just love to be in trouble." I love to exhibit pathos... I love..... passion.

Someone once said that to be a Pisces is like 'the last test' before escaping the cycle of samsara.... so perhaps it is like.... "Are you able to let go of the fruits of worldly suffering? will you become caught up in the many threads of human relationships, O Pisces?"

I think back on the Bhagavad Gita.

"One should not seek after the fruits of actions, but remain impartial..." "One should look upon gold, stone, and mud with the same eyes." "Praise and blame should be regarded as the same."

...it's so fun to have emotions about things!

O, Pisces... O, Passionate Pisces.

There is your duality: the mortal and the immortal.

The Immortal tempted with mortality.

Isn't that all of us, in the view of religions?

yeah...

The other thing I think, though: In astrology, everyone's star-chart has twelve houses, each one ruled by each of the twelve zodiac signs. So each zodiac sign is theoretically able to symbolize some part of your life or other.

There are 'popular meanings' for each of the twelve houses... but if you get deeper into astrological theory and history... you might see that different people can have wildly different ideas.

It's a fun game.

I started off talking about pathos... again.

My own irrationale is like:

"Well... most people strive to be good people. They try to present a good face to the world, and they want to cover up their bad deeds.

This can seem like a form of bragging, when self-reported on the internet. Ya know what I mean? It's ok if you don't. This is my own emotional sense, not objective rationality.

"Let your actions speak for themselves."

Yet, on the impersonal internet...

Well, after thinking about it... I think a stronger method than 'Self-Abasement' is instead 'Self-Neutrality', whereupon one does not make any qualifying statements about themselves at all, good or bad. They are truly, entirely letting themselves be spoken by action and not word.

This method avoids the annoyance of the self-effacers I expressed disdain for, earlier in my writing.

When you praise yourself, then you may create imbalance, an empty, unexpressed space left to the imagination: "What are your flaws?"

When you debase yourself, one might…. create a curiousity: "What are your good qualities?"

I think that 9 years communicating in these bizarre societies has singed off all those compassionate nerve-endings, though, so now I only see image-hungry psychos like myself, everywhere…. deriding themselves to appear as ascetic holy men.

Charlatans…

The Self-Neutrals are focused on the subjects-and-objects of their discussion, instead of on redirecting the conversation back around to themselves in some way. They are able to connect to the larger world in a productive way, rather than an implosive way.

I believe it is possible to relate oneself as part of the world, and talk about oneself without becoming neurotic. I'd hope? or what am I doing...? lol.

My theory could be that a Self-Focused person does not know what 'to do' once they are finally able to focus on themselves. They spend so much time trying to talk about themselves, but they don't know how to keep it moving, once they finally get that attention... how to connect it in an interesting way to the rest of the world.

...How to be a natural part of the world.

How to make oneself useful, worthwhile... etc.

I don't think it's actually that hard. I think it's a lot more effort to be an ankle-biter. The trick is that the ankle-biter forgets this fact. They start to see the energy-expenditure of ankle-biting as part of existence, rather than an action they are free to choose or dismiss.

Woe, Pisces....

My candidness can be used against me.

"What if it's just you?"

Good question.

Although, I know there are individual people out there who are just like me, motivated in the same ways as I was, behaving along the same lines. It happens. Fate rolls the dice. Sometimes it rolls 6, twice in a row.

I think the self-neutral position goes well with the 'Law of Attraction'.

#'strology #psychology

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gravitascivics · 2 years ago

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JUDGING CRITICAL THEORY, VIII

[Note: This posting is subject to further editing.]

An advocate of critical theory continues his/her presentation …

This blog has been reviewing how the nation’s prominent view of governance and politics has been challenged by a leftist perspective. The prominent view is the natural rights view, and the challenging view is critical theory. The dominant view bolsters the rights of the individual and can be most succinctly summarized as the belief in the right of the individual to do what that person wishes as long as by doing so the person does not interfere with others having the same right.[1]

The challenging construct, critical theory, in counter distinction, does not centrally rely on individual liberty, but on equality as its ultimate or trump value. As a concept, it serves to organize what this left of center theory espouses. It has been considered as radical equality in that, in its uncompromising form, it strives to establish equality of results. Succinctly, that is, the theory advocates for all people, to a meaningful degree, be able to enjoy equally what a society offers, its benefits. As Marx stated it: “From each according to his ability, to each according to his need.”

While mainline critical literature does not address education extensively, there is an educational branch to it, that being critical pedagogy. And to further this tie between theory and educational practice, the concerns of critical theory overlap or can be considered related to civics’ topics. If one merely considers the above description, one can see the connection. Overlapping topics include multiculturalism, sexism, classism, and even teacher training among other concerns.

In the following quote, the following point is made: civic issues underlie what is typically reported in critical research and advocacy.

What remains unclear in the debate within critical pedagogy is the relationship (or tension) between utopian thought, values, and pragmatic theory. In other words, while the postmodern and poststructuralist critiques have led many radical educators to accept the problematic and contingent nature of values – including those of radical democracy – there remains an inclination on the part of critical educators to employ such contingent values (e.g., emancipation, freedom, empowerment, democracy, justice, solidarity, etc.) as the basis of a utopian view to orient sociocultural formation. [2]

This is a fancy way to say critical educators are immersed with the nuts and bolts of what constitutes civics education.

But a question remains: in what way does critical theory challenge directly the claimed threat that natural rights view poses on equality? The basic position of the dominant view sanctions that people go about their business as they think best if they allow others the same leeway. This seems fairly neutral or not offensive. Critical theory does not agree.

Its advocates claim that natural rights view encourages and upholds the prevailing distribution of power, dominance, and wealth which is highly and unjustly concentrated in the upper classes and among the dominant racial/ethnic group. That group would be Anglo white men and to a lesser degree, Anglo white women. In that mode of argument, natural rights proponents further support pure capitalism and an almost total reliance on positivist studies – science – as the source of what one needs to know or how one should go about securing such knowledge (a claim also known as scientism).

In critical pedagogy – as a central attribute – insists that students engage in targeted inquiries in which they question, research, analyze (in holistic ways), and form workable conclusions as to the degree the dominant group is oppressive. Of central importance would be the following:

· the ongoing deprivation of equality as is evident in the resulting societal conditions one can readily observe,

· the ongoing socialization of oppressive values among not only the upper segments of society but also the oppressed segments,

· the maintenance of legitimacy of the system among all segments of the population through the use of language, and

· securing the processes of value formulation on an individual basis with little or no concern for the consequences such socialization (instruction) has had on the interests of the total populous.[3]

Summarily, schools and their instruction, under the dominant view, are to advance the interests of the upper classes or other advantaged groups to the detriment of those not so advantaged.

Under this challenging view, critical theory, on what should students concentrate their attention? Critical theorists would have people’s attention, including students, on language through the discourses one encounters among the populace. Prevailing uses of language, they feel, set up the context elements in which people’s thoughts develop and actions occur. How people talk about things goes a long way in setting the parameters of what is acceptable and expected among them. In addition, such effects, to a great extent, happen on subconscious levels.

Valerie Pang, Geneva Gay, and William Stanley[4] share examples of how ongoing living occurrences affect the common ways people judge prevalent oppressive conditions. They report that in their reflecting or acting, in relation to minorities or other non-advantaged populations, the dominant society participates in a range of unjust practices and policies that maintain the conditions that sustain these unjust relationships. Often this happens quite subconsciously. These writers identify several ways this happens.

Here is a partial listing of those ways:

· One, they include community formation where exclusion of unwanted members is accomplished. That exclusion can be on ethnic, racial, social, and cultural grounds. The plethora of gated communities can be seen in this light.

· Two, the dominant group in America, Anglo men and women, are usually unaware of the advantages they enjoy in society. As such, they are not cognitively or emotionally aware of the systematic disadvantages under which oppressed groups suffer.

· Three, the “bootstrap” myth (ability to gain suitable income levels through effort and hard work), which is dependent on a significant level of individualism, ignores the essential role community support plays in assisting the advantaged members of the society. The dominant natural rights discourse utilizes language replete with reductionist, oversimplified beliefs. As for the “American Dream,” what meaning does that image have in the complex world of inner cities and their realities?

· Four, too often the accepted rationalizations embedded in the dominant discourses make it psychologically impossible for prejudicial members of the dominant group (a significant subgroup) to see themselves as prejudicial. Instead, they can convince themselves that the blame for the economic misfortune of others is due, in their version of the truth, to non-factors such as the culture of poverty. The standard policy has been to destroy the culture of oppressed people and assimilate them to mainstream norms and ethos which can be described as replete with mythological language.

· And five, ample, subtle incidences of segregation still plague the nation as when, for example, minority students are inordinately encouraged to choose vocational courses and programs in schools. Constantly seeking “magic bullet” solutions which do little to solve the complex public-school woes can be seen as part of this deceiving language.[5] Critical pedagogy claims that the dominant discourse supports all of these oppressive realities.

As for the meaning of the term, discourses, first one needs to consider the context in which the term is used. That is, critical theorists are referring to privileged members using language, in its various forms, to maintain not only their privileged positions in society, but also the continuance of the system that allows for their positions to exist. In that they sponsor verbal strategies aimed at presenting their preferred states of affairs to seem rational and natural. The language used portrays myths as obvious facts in describing not only a view of what is, but also of what should be. Their language reflects how they wish society will continue to function.

Critical theory and, in schools, critical pedagogy has been at the forefront of identifying and attacking oppressive language. Defenders of the dominant language and of the social conditions that language protects have attempted to delegitimize those who critique them. These attacks, in turn, use different linguistic strategies that include the claim that many of these attacks are examples of “political correctness.”

Of late an array of new terms seem to be expressing opposing claims where one side might use the term “woke,” the other might blurt out “gas-lighting.” The discourse battles continue quite aggressively and this blogger, for one, finds trying to keep up with the terminology a challenge in and of itself. Possibly continuing these blog efforts will insist he stay abreast of these linguistic turns.

[1] While Locke is the often-cited source for this view, actually a distinction between Locke’s contribution and that of Thomas Hobbes can be made. The first is more respective of duties associated with those rights (and of natural law), while Hobbes is not. Unfortunately, according to this blogger, too many Americans in their beliefs side with Hobbes.

[2] Lisa J. Cary, “The Refusals of Citizenship: Normalizing Practices in Social Education Discourses, Theory and Research in Social Education, 29, 3 (Summer, 2001), 405-430, 417.

[3] Neil O. Houser and Jeffrey J. Kuzmic, “Ethical Citizenship in a Postmodern World: Toward a More Connected Approach to Social Education for the Twenty-First Century, Theory and Research in Social Education, 29, 3 (Summer 2001), 431-461.

[4] Valerie O. Pang, Geneva Gay, and William B. Stanley, “Expanding Conceptions of Community and Civic Competence for a Multicultural Society,” Theory and Research in Social Education, 23, 4 (Fall 1995), 302-331.

[5] See Diane Ravitch, The Death and Life of the Great American School System: How Testing and Choice Are Undermining Education (New York, NY: Basic Books, 2010). Ravitch is not a critical educator, but her study of the failure of current efforts to solve public-school problems, through market solutions, convincingly supports the claim being made.

#critical theory #critical pedagogy #natural rights view #oppression #discourses #language #myths #civics education #social studies

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grelleswife · 2 years ago

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GOD is this another thing like people thinking Jane was Angela again???

Hi, anon! If you’re referring to the current theory that the unknown child who grabs one of Snake’s snakes is Doll, I personally believe you’re comparing apples and oranges.

The similarities between Jane and Angela are largely superficial: Both happened to be devious, vaguely sinister maids with fair hair and complexions serving a creepy older gentleman who the Phantomhive household was investigating. However, despite her perceptiveness and competency as a fighter, Jane’s capabilities never seemed to verge on the supernatural. In addition to the lack of concrete evidence for the Jane = Angela theory, it doesn’t make much sense within Kuro’s broader framework. Why would a minor antagonist who only appeared during one of several different side quest arcs emerge as the final boss near the series’s conclusion? The buildup is woefully lacking.

Doll, on the other hand, poses an entirely different kettle of fish.

First, Yana’s been suspiciously reticent about the exact manner of her death. Sensei doesn’t shy away from graphic depictions of violence. When Agni was murdered, for example, she confronted us with an unflinching view of his lifeless, bloodied corpse, his back riddled with knives. Nor does she hesitate to show terrible things happening to children; though she spared us the full horrors, we were still subjected to the lurid details of the abuse and torture which the twins suffered at the hands of those cultists.

So why this abrupt cut to a black background as Doll charges towards O!Ciel, and the boy gives his demon a command?

One of the cardinal rules of fiction is that, if you don’t see a body, you generally can’t say for certain that a character’s dead…

However, to address @squirreltastic ‘s ask, I don’t believe that Doll survived this encounter…at least, not in the conventional sense. During our mutual freakout over the final panel of the raws, @bapydemonprincess and I discussed how it wouldn’t be in the earl’s best interests to keep her alive. Once she knew the truth—that their “friendship” was merely a ploy to infiltrate the circus and eliminate her family—Doll’s hatred and desire for vengeance would have been virtually impossible to appease. She literally screamed, “I’ll never, ever forgive you!” in Chapter 35. Since Sebastian must protect his McMeal at all costs, it would only be practical for him to neutralize this threat.

But remember who else was near the site of that burning manor?

Undertaker (and his zombified grandson ward). R!Ciel remained a work in progress at this point in the manga, since the mortician was still perfecting his bizarre doll project. And what better guinea pig than the corpse of another child not much older than R!Ciel? Assuming Sebastian killed Doll outside the manor, her body wouldn’t automatically have been consumed by the flames. Undertaker could easily swoop by the scene of the crime once O!Ciel and Sebastian left, pluck this low-hanging fruit, and whisk her corpse away to his lair for further experimentation.

Also, consider the above quote from Undertaker: “…I told him to hold each and every soul dear. Because you hold great power you gradually fail to understand the importance of things that cannot be recovered…you will realize that once it’s too late. How many times have I given you and the others the same warning?”

What better way to forcibly teach the young earl the true price of his sins and the inherent destructiveness of his actions (failing to “hold each and every soul dear”) than by literally raising up the ghosts from O!Ciel’s checkered past? We know from the earl’s severe PTSD episode in the Green Witch arc that he views Doll as one of the figures in his life who affected him the most profoundly. Having her return in some form or fashion would be immensely satisfying from a narrative perspective.

Moreover, this new arc would be the perfect time to bring Doll back into the picture because she could turn Snake against the Phantomhive household. Ever since he joined the ranks of the servants, Snake’s been a ticking time bomb because his cooperation is founded on a lie—namely, that his family is still alive and out there somewhere. If a reanimated Doll told him the truth, Snake would be devastated, and almost certainly lash out at the Phantomfam. Sounds like a tense and compelling conflict to me, especially since Finny is isolated with him at the orphanage.

Yana’s also given us at least one hint that Snake might go rogue in the Akuma 6 chapter, where his snakes combine into a massive serpent which Sebastian then must defeat. Might just be a silly gag…but it could also be foreshadowing of future enmity.

As I implied in this post (which I assume is what anon is referring to?) and as @midnight-in-town mentions here, it’s been established in canon that Doll is comfortable handling Snake’s snakes. In Chapter 28, she doesn’t hesitate to grab a potentially “deadly” snake to keep O!Ciel safe. Although I’m pretty sure we see a different snake (Wordsworth?) in Chapter 192, “Kid X” snatches him up without a shiver. It’s not a direct visual parallel, but certainly a striking one. I included the Chapter 28 cover in my post because I noticed that Doll is depicted with a serpent—likely due to her aforementioned role in wrangling the snake that got loose, but if Yana drew that as a breadcrumb hinting how her character would be reintroduced several arcs later, I just might lose my mind.

Several bloggers have already discussed how Kid X’s hair bears at least a passing resemblance to Freckles’, with longish bangs and a shaggy cut in the back, although it’s hard to say for certain because of the angle. The shirt Kid X is wearing also looks similar to her Freckles outfit. 🤔

However, since Yana loves to taunt us with cliffhangers, we can’t rule out the possibility that this character is someone else entirely. A few options include:

1. An ordinary kid who just picked up the snake out of innocent curiosity. They might even be friendly towards Finny and Snake, but inadvertently blow their cover if they bring up the snakes to one of the matrons.

2. A mortal (living) child who grows suspicious of our bois, develops animosity towards them, and snitches out of spite.

3. A child bizarre doll like Layla, who Undertaker left as a plant to keep an eye on things.

That’s all I have for now! Regardless of Kid X’s real identity, this chapter has left me hyped for the orphanage arc! 🤩

#kuro asks #kuro spoilers #kuroshitsuji spoilers #kuroshitsuji 192 #kuroshitsuji #doll #freckles

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lostsoulaltair · 3 years ago

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OnS Theories (24S). Second Theory - Explanation of the Memory Segment and the World of Illusions.

Hello everyone, finally we start with new theories, and I must say, chapter 106 just rocked. It was a really well done chapter, sasuga Kagami-sensei!

Nevertheless, there have been many doubts surrounding it, specially one about Mika and Shikama appearing, which actually have a more simple explanation than what it looks like, therefore, let’s begin!

P.S: Theories are held within neutral view and ships are excluded

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Js0bL1jOjeY

Before I start up explaining how this memory segment and the illusions work, let’s make a review or recap of the chapter:

First of all, the chapter resumes were Mikaela saw the big eye in the darkness; of course, such eye represents the depthness within Yu’s heart, as to why, I’ll explain that later on, but nevertheless, he noticed something peculiar about such eye:

Image taken from Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign - Chapter 106

He was aware the eye meant no harm to him, thus leading him to touch it, which of course, the eye gave permission to him, but why?

The reason to this is very simple; despite the eye which in fact is Yuu’s heart, or the source of origin of Yuu; the memories and experiences that have been withstood within Yuu along being engraved deep within his very soul remain there, thus meaning he trusts Mika completely, knowing he does not mean any harm along the very fact that he does see him as an equal, a human to the very core.

After this, the memory segment begins.

Image taken from Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign - Chapter 106

But, is this truthfully a memory segment?

The answer to this is absolutely yes.

You might wonder where or how exactly this is possible, and for that, I’ll bring the biggest reference possible to this kind of scenario and that is the franchise of Assassin’s Creed.

For those who might not know, Assassin’s Creed is a game franchise which of course, focuses on a secret order that works in the shadows to keep balance in the world against Templars, but of course, the main point or comparison is that the game itself uses memory segments, what do I mean?

The MC within those titles, uses a special machine to experience and live in a simulation the memories of their ancestors...

Along this, another anime that uses such events is actually a bizarre anime that I do not recommend to watch, which is Corpse Party. (Warning: Do not watch unless you tolerate horror and gore)

Within said anime, there’s a scene on which one of the main cast gets to experience lively what happened to the unfortunate souls that were living in a constant grudge to their tragic past. Which this could relate as living a memory segment as well...

And this is precisely what happens with Mikaela after touching said eye. ,it could be said he is set into a world made of the memories the very origin of Yuu experienced in flesh, which is why the next panel goes like this:

Image taken from Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign - Chapter 106

In the picture above and my failed attempts to trace a circle, the one looking at everything is in fact Mikaela Hyakuya; which is why he asks about where he currently is, along the creepy eyes in the tanks along spotting a child which is Yuu, the one that lived in with the progenitors and the chosen apostles.

It could be said that the big eyeball that allowed Mikaela to touch it, displayed Mika the distant past, along letting him experience everything in flesh, which is why he took the form of the tiny eye watching everything including Yuu.

Following this, Noya arrives and spots Yuu, which of course, knowing Yuu’s nature, he’s quite happy and hopeful to awake Mika without the knowledge of knowing that, in order to awake the corpse, he needs to disappear, but of course, knowing Noya’s nature, he stops being tolerant with him and decapitates him in the act:

Image taken from Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign - Chapter 106

Of course, to the scene, Ashera arrives and tells Noya that he shouldn’t have done that since Sika Madu would take heed and notice the incidents going around. (To this point, the memory segment is normal.)

This follows up Noya into saying that he’ll create another:

Image taken from Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign - Chapter 106

Within the circled dialogue box and the eye floating which of course is Mikaela, he notices that from the eyes that were floating in those tanks, they instantly materialized Yuu which of course was bestowed with life once it was out of the tank.

But since Noya couldn’t tolerate how noisy the cloned Yuu was, he ended up killing the newborn clone, thus leading to Mikaela’s position:

Image taken from Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign - Chapter 106

Mikaela realized he’d get materialized as Yuu and by experience, understood that if he made a noise, he’d get killed:

Image taken from Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign - Chapter 106

But now, the biggest question comes, which one could it be?

How was Noya not able to detect the changes and why did this memory segment continued? Does it mean the memory segment continued normally?

Within this, there are two scenarios:

First Scenario - The Past Simply Repeated Itself

Within this First Scenario, it’s very likely that the next clone made of Yuu wasn’t killed, which of course paints very well as to why Noya didn’t do anything else like ejecting or killing the current clone standing

Second Scenario - The Memory Segment didn’t consider such action as a huge alteration of the events

Within this scenario, which is likely just like the first one, it implies that the memory segment wasn’t affected that much, which is why it didn’t get destroyed or ejected Mikaela from it, since sooner or later, the next part of the segment would replay leading the events of seeing Shikama and the other demons arriving to the scene, and the biggest proof to this is the next panel:

Image taken from Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign - Chapter 106

After Noya and Ashera stopped paying mind to the clone of Yuu in there, Mikaela managed to wonder who they were and where exactly such events took place, thus leading to the arrival of the other demons which, until that spot, was where the memory segment was going or replaying:

Image taken from Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign - Chapter 106

When the other demons arrived, the memory segment was slowly getting disturbed by something, but what could this something mean?

Correct. The Power of Illusion and Distortion

The First Progenitor is well known to have powers that are equivalent of those to a God; powers that are extremely powerful to invade whatever he wishes to do, but, within this, the First Progenitor hasn’t even considered that within his schemes, there’s already a Trojan Horse invading his plans since the First Progenitor pretty much underestimates everything around him due to his arrogance which is why Rigr uses this disadvantage of the First to execute his plans without his notice:

Image taken from Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign - Chapter 106

Once Rigr finishes the countdown, the First Progenitor manages to fully materialize within the Memory Segment but, how is that possible?

Since the First Progenitor is capable of invading other’s hearts, which is heavily seen within chapter 73:

Image taken from Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign - Chapter 73

Back in chapter 73, Shikama managed to infiltrate in Ashera’s heart with ease, without alerting Yuu about it, since he was pretty much focused on making Ashera remember their agenda and goals to fulfill which lead to the current present.

But returning to the main theory, how exactly does this revolve around the powers of illusion and distortion?

For this, it is needed to understand that the memory segment acts like a Lucid Dream, which can be defined as this:

Lucid dreams are when you know that you’re dreaming while you’re asleep.

You’re aware that the events flashing through your brain aren’t really happening. But the dream feels vivid and real. You may even be able to control how the action unfolds, as if you’re directing a movie in your sleep.

Link source: https://www.webmd.com/sleep-disorders/lucid-dreams-overview

This only gives strength as to why Mikaela was capable of changing few aspects without distorting the events of the past, but, since both Yuu and him lowered their guards, the First Progenitor had a door, but which one?

Correct. Asuramaru

After Asuramaru saw the transformation of the vampire Mikaela into a demon, he was able to remember everything, including how he became an apostle to Shikama and his loyalty towards him.

His main task is to serve him and retrieve Mikaela’s soul but since he was forced to obey Yuu due to the laws of the contract, the only thing Asuramaru might have been able to do is allow Shikama Doji enter within his heart, allowing him to fully enter into the heart of Yuu which was left wide open.

Thus leading to the next event, which is, creating an illusion, what do I mean?

After he managed to enter into Yuu’s heart or rather the deepest part of his heart, he mixed himself within the memory segment, allowing the segment to continue until he reached a safe distance where Mikaela was present, what do I mean?

This could be described as him acting as a part of the memory segment, but, instead of showing the memory of Sika Madu; he exchanged that memory figure with him, which could be single defined as substitution.

Which is why once he got close to Mika, the next thing that happened was this:

Image taken from Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign - Chapter 106

The Sika Madu displaying there isn’t the one from the past, but in fact, it’s the current Shikama Doji wearing a disguise and this is heavily seen by how he was able to manifest the scythes he currently uses as a demon; hence why he states he didn’t expect Mikaela would come that far to the past, and this is actually due to the fact that Mikaela wanted to understand why Yuu was that way and what he was mixed into, thus leading to the next panel:

Image taken from Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign - Chapter 106

Mikaela realizes that the real monster managed to appear within the memory segment or lucid dream he was experiencing since he heavily states that he has to wake up and get out of there.

But within this, there’s something rather curious that many readers within the spanish and english fandom wonder, what could it be?

What does Shikama mean by not letting Mika get away again?

That’s actually easy, what do I mean?

If many might recall, in chapter 98 Shikama made an act of presence in order to retrieve the demon Mikaela by sending Asuramaru, Gekkouin and Kiseki-O to his wolrd, which, they almost managed to capture:

Image taken from Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign - Chapter 101

Of course, what they didn’t consider was the fact that Yuu was heading their way to save Mikaela, which is why the First Progenitor is doing the job himself:

Image taken from Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign - Chapter 106

Of course, due to the massive difference of power, Mikaela isn’t capable of defending himself, but, within this, there’s something huge to highlight, what could it be?

The current Demon Mikaela isn’t tied to Shikama Doji

What does this mean?

It means that the demon Mikaela is made of all the life experiences and memories Mikaela Hyakuya lived, it means the past he had is the one he lived, BUT, the very reason the First Progenitor targets his soul it’s because he needs a soul to bring back whatever he wants to bring which of course it’s not good news.

Once he gets Mika’s soul, Mika and Yuu will cease to exist.

Which is why, the next thing that happens is this one:

Image taken from Seraph of the End: Vampire Reign - Chapter 106

Yuu goes to his rescue as a voice; he reminds Mika that he’s not alone but in order to save him, he needs to accept the deal and contract of becoming his demon, so he can get more powerful and finally fend against the monster Shikama Doji truthfully is.

With this theory, it is focused to explain the events that happened in the latest chapter.

Hope this theory solves the many doubts the fandom may have!

Hope you enjoyed reading this!

What do you think dear readers?

Let me know!

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bxynjolf · 2 years ago

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|| THE BASICS ||

NAME: Brynjolf

NICKNAME(S): 'Bryn', or alternatively, 'bastard' will suffice!

AGE: 36-40 (This is verse/timeline dependent!)

SPECIES: Human / Nord

|| PERSONAL ||

MORALITY: lawful / neutral / chaotic ||| good / gray / evil

RELIGIOUS BELIEF: Brynjolf believes in the Daedric Princes', or rather, their merits and mischief, but didn't personally pursue any faith within the Nine Divines or even the Princes prior to the Betrayal. He is now a follower of Nocturnal, albeit a rather laidback one.

VIRTUES: chastity / charity / diligence / humility / kindness / patience / justice

PRIMARY GOALS IN LIFE: His primary ambition is to restore the Thieves Guild to what it was under Gallus' fair guidance. With it flourishing again, he'd then be able to extend the Thieves' influence, reconnect with old contacts, and turn his charitable recruitments into lasting returns so he too may rest.

LANGUAGES KNOWN: English (or Nord?) as well as Mer/Altmeri

SECRETS: Too many to count. It IS his trade, after all.

QUIRKS: Tapping a quill against the desk's surface in midst of thought, thumbing his Flagon as he speaks, and crossing his arms in guarded conversation are just a few! All of which he will mask depending on the context of the situation.

SAVVIES: Coercion, persuasion, or just the general 'gift of the gab'. He spins silk words to smooth over initial confrontation, then promptly employs a 'back up' to tie the knot. Is it money? Is it power---control, rather---over your situation? Or is it just this handsome smile of his?

|| PHYSICAL ||

BUILD: slender / scrawny / bony / fit / athletic / herculean / babyfat / pudgy / obese / other \

HEIGHT: 6'2"

SCARS/BIRTHMARKS: Brynjolf is a mosaic of his hardships, and frankly, carries many, many scars from them. One of the most notable are the small slants along his fingers, a call to a snapped pick to many. There are few misplaced punctures from where, perhaps, his honeyed words failed him. Another worrying mark is the distinct arrow hole near his heart; this one is a testament of his fluctuating luck, he claims. Outside of injuries though, he has a branded tattoo of the Thieve's Guild on his right shoulder blade (his dominant side).

ABILITIES/POWERS: Being that he is a Nightingale, he typically remains as an Agent of Stealth, which allows him to slip into the shadows seamlessly. He's also very lucky.

RESTRICTIONS: Brynjolf is....complicated. He holds little to no ambition in the pursuit of power for himself, but also enjoys having his hands in all the honey pots. He loves to be the connector, the man of the people, but doesn't care to be viewed as a leader. He adores the idea of lavish luxury, even holds a needling greed for it, but will spend his last dregs into a Guild that had long since lost its profitability. Brynjolf believes himself to be greedy because he's never known stable comforts, and now that he has the memory of the Guild and what it had done to elevate him, he'll do anything to get the coin to bring it back The problem lies in the fact that his passion has become passively obsessive and his initial 'donations' to cover losses have turned to self-sacrificing. In short, he's been with the Guild so long he sees nothing but it at the end of the day. That means that if it were to go, he....doesn't know what else he'd to, let alone what he'd even have left.

|| FAVOURITES ||

FAVOURITE FOOD: Main verse would be anything with potatoes, but he has a particular fondness for chunky potato soup brimming with cheese.

FAVORITE DRINK: Mead. Ale tastes too bitter and too weak for his palate.

FAVOURITE PIZZA TOPPING: Pizza doesn’t exist tragically, but he's that man who would have all the toppings. Too many. Way, way too many.

FAVOURITE COLOR: Green! A close second is blue.

FAVOURITE MUSIC GENRE: Anything that carries a jaunty, up-beat tune.

FAVOURITE BOOK GENRE: He can easily lose himself in hours of Snow Elves' history, records, lore, theories, etc. etc. His fascination stems from Gallus' and Mercer's vague conversations surrounding it. A good portion of it comes from the allure of forgotten treasures too, so.

FAVOURITE MOVIE GENRE: N/A

FAVOURITE SEASON: Autumn. It's the time of change. Ironically, it's telling of a dwindle in business as bodies will now be holed up in their homes, but the slight slow in contracts welcomes more time in the Flagon, more time with fellow Guild Members, and a seasonal flavor of Mead that never fails to quench his thirst.

FAVOURITE B.UTT TYPE: All of them.

FAVOURITE CURSE WORD: Why pick just one?

FAVOURITE SCENT: The smokey burn of firewood coupled with the sweet crisp of good mead.

|| FUN STUFF ||

B.OTTOM OR T.OP: Top, sure, but he does have a soft spot for a lass that knows what she wants and will make sure she gets it from him. ;)

LOUD BURPER OR SOFT BURPER: Soft burper.

SINGS IN THE SHOWER BATH: Most of the time? No. Every now and then he'll hum a soft tune to himself, but overall, bathing for him is simply a responsibility. Nothing more than a quick 'in and out' of the lake.

LIKES BAD PUNS: Of course, especially when they push others' buttons.

THEIR OPINION ON THE MUN: Neutral. This man don't give a---

TAGGED BY: @bladedwoe (thank you for this! it was a good warm-up for me for this muse <3)

TAGGING: @ all yall.

#(.#this man #this srsly is helping me get back into writing too yesss #.)#ᴍʏ ꜱᴏᴜʀᴄᴇꜱ ᴍᴜꜱᴛ ʀᴇᴍᴀɪɴ ꜱᴇᴄʀᴇᴛ. | (ᴍᴜꜱɪɴɢꜱ)#bxynjolf

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maaarine · 3 years ago

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On the origin of minds (Pamela Lyonis, Aeon, Oct 21 2021)

“In The Brain from Inside Out (2019), Buzsáki argues that many of the seemingly intractable problems that neuroscience faces arise entirely from ‘human-constructed ideas’ about how the mind/brain must work,

based on philosophical and scientific conjecture over millennia, which are then shoe-horned on to observed brain activity.

This is what he calls the ‘outside-in’ perspective: ‘the dominant framework of mainstream neuroscience,

which suggests that the brain’s task is to perceive and represent the world, process information, and decide how to respond … in an “outside-in” manner’.

This is what Maturana calls ‘observer dependence’, from the observer’s point of view, not the observed system’s.

The spontaneously active brain has its own logic, of which almost nothing is understood.

Deciphering this logic from the perspective of the system generating the activity – from ‘inside-out’ – should be the primary goal of neuroscience, Buzsáki argues, not mapping human assumptions on to neuronal observations.

I made a similar distinction 15 years ago. I called the view of cognition grounded in ideas originating in human experience and reflection the anthropogenic (human-born) approach, what Buzsáki calls ‘outside-in’.

Although cognitivism asserts that cognition can be realised in different physical forms (including robots), the approach remains anthropogenic because it derives from the human capacity to compute numbers.

The contrast case is what I call the biogenic (life-born) approach, which privileges the biological mode of existence as the source of cognition and entails the ‘inside-out’ view.

If understanding human cognition is the goal, then a biogenic/inside-out approach is the most promising path to take us beyond this geriatric shuffle on a road to nowhere.

Given the massive investment of public and private funds, to say nothing of human ingenuity, time and effort over the past 70 years,

we should by now know so much more about what cognition is, what it’s for, and how it works – theories of these things, not simply data derived from brain activity. (…)

Yet we still don’t have a good grip on the fundamentals of cognition: how the senses work together to construct a world;

how and where memories are stored long term, whether and how they remain stable, and how retrieval changes them; how decisions are made, and bodily action marshalled; and how valence is assessed.

Valence is the value an organism imputes to circumstances within itself and/or its surroundings as advantageous, threatening or neutral.

The core role of valence in emotions is well established.

Consensus is now forming that human emotions are fundamentally involved in the body’s regulation of its basic functioning.

For nearly 50 years, we’ve known that bacteria migrate toward certain substances (advantage) and seek to evade other circumstances (harm).

Could understanding the mechanisms of valenced bacterial behaviour shed any light on how emotions generate behaviour in more complex organisms?

We’ll never know unless we look. (…)

Just as we have come to think of our bodies as evolved from simpler forms of body, it is time to embrace Darwin’s radical idea that our minds, too, are evolved from much simpler minds.

Body and mind evolved together and will continue to do so.”

#article #mbti #mbtiideas #humberto maturana #charles darwin #gyorgy buzsaki

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thinkingimages · 3 years ago

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Joan Bennett in the film Secret Behind the Door

Sexuality and Space edited by Beatriz Colomina

Elizabeth Wilson

In the early 1990s the addition of “sexuality” seemed to take the vibrant debate on space into new territory. The very title of Sexuality and Space reflects this, and as Beatriz Colomina remarks in her brief introduction to the collection of articles it comprises, to insist on “sexuality” as a component of space can be, at one level, to insert feminist concerns into a masculine discourse—although it is dispiriting if sexuality is still perceived as women’s domain, somehow suggesting that anatomy still is destiny and/or that women are still equated with the bodily in a way that men are not. As Colomina makes clear, however, the volume, like the symposium at which the papers it contains were initially presented, aims to do more than simply “include women.” Nor does it aim simply to explore “how sexuality acts itself out in space,” although this would have been an interesting subject in its own right: how actually existing urban, architectural spaces are used intentionally or illicitly for sexual purposes. We could have had papers on the role of the “cottage” (public lavatory) in gay sex, on museums as pick-up grounds for intellectual singles, on the voyeurism of peep shows, and so on. But this would presumably have been too literal a project for the theorists gathered. Instead we are invited to treat architecture as a “system of representation” on a par with film and TV, and to ask how space is “already inscribed in the question of sexuality.” Gender is inscribed in space and space is never designed in a gender-neutral way.

Accordingly, the articles range across the visual arts in a fashion that at first glance seems not so much interdisciplinary as wildly eclectic—Atget photographs of Paris, Alberti’s writings, an Australian advertisement for real estate. The approaches taken by the authors are also widely divergent.

Jennifer Bloomer has missed an opportunity to explore the purported “effeminacy” of Louis Henri Sullivan’s architectural work. She raises the interesting issue of the assumed relationship between gender identity (and/or sexual orientation) and allegedly “feminine” architectural forms and decoration, but instead of developing this theme she flirts with it, creating a theoretical bricolage that fails to achieve intellectual coherence, her discussion of the function and symbolic importance of ornament not fully meshing with the problematic figure of Sullivan. A similar collagist approach is used by Catherine Ingraham, and I can see that it may be a kind of postmodern criticism; but while it permits the introduction of a variety of interesting, if only tenuously related, points and theories, it has a modish feel, especially when the usual theoretical suspects are rounded up for an airing, Lacan’s lavatory doors making repeat appearances. By contrast, Alessandra Ponte’s essay on the 18th-century antiquarian Richard Payne Knight is very focused (as is Molly Nesbit’s meditation on the absence of “la Parisienne” from Atget’s photographs of empty corners of his city), a piece of historiographical excavation revealing the phallocentrism of 18th-century theories of architecture.

Yet most of the articles, despite their apparent divergence of subject, are united by theoretical protocols as well as by the central concern of the book as a whole, which is not eroticism but gender, and not architecture but space in a variety of manifestations, many of them historical. The main uniting factor is psychoanalytic theory.

The material throughout is rich and detailed. Beatriz Colomina contributes an analysis of representations of house designs, particularly interiors, by Adolf Loos and Le Corbusier. She explores the way in which these houses are photographed, and some of the ideas informing them, drawing out the way in which these utopian, perfect rooms are—paradoxically—theatrical sets for dramas of domestic life. There is an implied contradiction between the architect’s dream of perfect space and the actually existing mess of daily life; but either way the woman is always positioned as hidden and within, object of the male gaze. Surprising similarities (or perhaps they are not so surprising) are revealed between these modernist architects and the Renaissance architect and philosopher Leon Battista Alberti. Mark Wigley shows how Alberti, both in his treatise on the family and in his architectural writings, describes the ideal house as a building that encloses, conceals, and ultimately fetishizes heterosexual intercourse; the separate rooms of husband and wife may be entered by a private intercommunicating door, so that other members of the household need never know when the partners engage in sexual relations. More generally the domestic interior becomes, in Alberti’s propositions, a prison house for women, although Wigley suggests that this architectural manifestation of patriarchy only fully came into its own with the 19th-century bourgeoisie.

Patricia White’s paper is concerned with the filmic representation of a house, “Hill House,” as explored in Robert Wise’s 1963 horror classic, The Haunting. As she points out, this film is truly terrifying, but achieves its effects without any special effects or any actual representation of anything horrific. White identifies the underlying horror as arising from the film’s exploration of lesbian sexuality, demonstrating convincingly how the film’s central character, Eleanor, played by Julie Harris, although destroyed by Hill House, whose “gaze” she cannot escape, yet manages to “exceed” the narrative, speaking finally in voice-over from beyond the grave. White’s deployment of psychoanalytic film theory seems particularly apt and nonreductive; she uses it to bring out the ambiguity of the film, in which lesbian desire is apparently defeated and yet remains disruptive, “exceeding the drive of cinema to closure.”

Patricia White inevitably refers in the course of her argument to Laura Mulvey’s well-known article “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema.”1 I have never entirely understood why this article became so hugely influential, given its negative and pessimistic reading (especially from a feminist point of view) of cinematic pleasure. But perhaps that was the point: as this volume itself demonstrates, psychoanalytic theory (especially its Lacanian variant) has been the basis for a “criticism of suspicion,” by which I mean a criticism that not only deconstructs the way in which effects are achieved and exposes meanings that might otherwise be hidden from an “innocent” audience, but invests all aspects of any aesthetic work with doubt and dubiousness. The excavation of cultural products must always, it seems, uncover skeletons. In this regard, architecture and cinema are two forms of cultural production particularly vulnerable to what Martin Jay has termed a 20th-century “denigration of vision” that has supplanted its earlier (Enlightenment) celebration.2 Viewing and the gaze, the totalizing vision and the nobility of sight, have been comprehensively delegitimated as (white, Western) masculine methods of control and domination.

In Laura Mulvey’s original article there was no place for the female spectator to lay claim to the gaze other than by becoming masculinized. Mulvey has since sought to modify this view, while never renouncing the underlying assumptions on which it was based, and she contributes to the present volume a meditation that considers Pandora and her box (“the box can … stand as a representation of the enigma and threat generated by the concept of female sexuality in patriarchal culture”), the Hitchcock film Notorious, and the idea of female curiosity as a transgressive exploration of forbidden spaces. For her, psychoanalytic theory as used in feminist criticism is transgressive, for “curiosity describes the desire to know something that is concealed so strongly that it is experienced like a drive, leading to the transgression of a prohibition,” and feminist curiosity then constitutes an unmasking of the patriarchal structures of popular, or indeed any, culture.

Yet, as Victor Burgin argues in his essay on the photography of Helmut Newton, Mulvey’s original article has itself been fetishized; its influence has neither diminished nor evolved. Having made this statement, however, Burgin himself makes little further attempt to develop it, confining himself instead to an analysis of a Newton image, interesting enough, but much narrower in focus than his opening sentence had led this reader, at least, to expect. Burgin is rightly dismissive of the way in which psychoanalytic theory has been “sociologized” and collapsed into a vulgar-Marxist version of woman-as-commodity. He might feel that Lynn Spigel’s essay on television and the postwar American suburban home is too “sociological,” but this is one of the clearest articles in the collection, a model of structural simplicity and accessibility, in which the ambiguity between public and private, outside and inside, created by the plate glass doors and picture windows of the suburban home, is shown to be reproduced by the advent of television with its concomitant notions of the living room as theater and the TV space as a safe, sanitized public space introduced into the home. (Indeed, although television created fears of a new generation of what we now would call “couch potatoes,” the screen community of the sitcom often seemed preferable to the real-life communities of the new suburbs.)

With Elizabeth Grosz’s article on bodies and cities we return to a more euphoric postmodern take on the relationship between sexuality and space. Grosz moves the discussion beyond traditional metaphors of the “body politic” or the humanist idea that at one time people unproblematically built cities; instead she explores the way in which “the city is one of the crucial factors in the social production of (sexed) corporeal bodies: the built environment provides the context … for most contemporary … forms of the body.” But disappointingly she does not develop this idea, falling back instead on a familiar and arguably exaggerated vision of a cyborg future: “the city and body will interface with the computer, forming part of an information machine in which the body’s limbs and organs will become interchangeable parts with the computer.”

Meaghan Morris’s contribution, too dense and theoretically “over-egged” (i.e., incorporating too many ingredients) to summarize, rewards several readings, and is a serious attempt both at a critique of theories and at an analysis of two specific cultural events concerning property speculation in downtown Sydney. It is insightful and thought provoking; nevertheless it illustrates both the virtues and the flaws not just of the book as a whole, but of the general state of cultural studies. Simultaneously populist and obscure, such studies can become both incoherent and philistine (although the latter is certainly not an adjective I would apply to her essay or any of these contributions).

Indeed, this is a (probably rash) generalization, not a comment on any particular article in Sexuality and Space, but if I have seemed to single out some authors for negative criticism, it is less on account of their specific contributions than because they are the heirs of what for me are ambiguous, indeed dubious, tendencies in contemporary cultural criticism, in which the debunking of Marx and all Enlightenment thought is married (or at least engaged) to a fundamentally uncritical appropriation of Freud (or at least Lacan). I have gone terminally off Lacan since I discovered that, when Antonin Artaud was his patient during World War II, Lacan showed little interest in the deranged playwright3; an illegitimate ad hominem argument, I know—but the grip of his theory on academic critics has always been mysterious to me. Even worse is a practice, which I fear may have been on occasion my own, whereby a critic distances herself ironically or cynically from an assortment of postmodern theorists (Baudrillard, Deleuze and Guattari, even Derrida and Foucault) while simultaneously appropriating their thought, not infrequently in the form of spurious generalizations—a feature, Meaghan Morris suggests, of the work of Deleuze and Guattari themselves in relation to Freud. The whole is then likely to be couched in dauntingly arcane and grammatically tortuous language. Faced with this bricolage, I am totally with Edward Gibbon—who identified one aspect of the decline of the Roman Empire as the decadence of its later literary tradition, when, he complained, “a cloud of critics … darkened the face of learning, and the decline of genius was soon followed by the corruption of taste”4—and I cannot but feel that this kind of postmodern criticism is indeed an index of decay.

But I suppose that postmodernism in general and contemporary psychoanalysis in particular is the theory our epoch in history deserves. Psycho-analysis has certainly been reconstructed to fit; in contrast to the highly moralistic and adjustive Freudianism of the 1950s, which was in any case a therapeutic and sociological rather than a critical tool, we have today psychoanalysis as an ideologically empty vessel, a theory without consequences. A fractured body of thought pleasingly open to endless reinterpretations and deconstructions, a detheorized (or perhaps etherealized) theory, it holds up a (splintered, it is true) mirror to assist in the contemplation of ourselves, one which can be thrillingly seen as “transgressive” while remaining devoid of any calls to action or any social or moral imperatives. Truly a theory for our postpolitical times.

1. Laura Mulvey, “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema,” Screen 16, no. 3 (Autumn 1975): 6–18.

2. Martin Jay, “In the Empire of the Gaze: Foucault and the Denigration of Vision in Twentieth Century French Thought,” in David Couzens Hoy, editor, Foucault: A Critical Reader (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1986), 178.

3. See Stephen Barber, Antonin Artaud: Blows and Bombs (London: Faber and Faber, 1993).

4. Edward Gibbon, The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1985), 83.

Elizabeth Wilson is on the faculty of the School of Information and Communication Studies at the University of North London; her recent books include The Sphinx in the City and Chic Thrills: A Fashion Reader.

#Joan Bennett #Secret Behind the Door #Sexuality and Space #Beatriz Colomina #Elizabeth Wilson #Desire #FIlm #Postmodernism

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dropssofjupitter · 4 years ago

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The American

Pairings: Fred Weasley x Slytherin!Reader [Platonic] , George Weasley x Slytherin!Reader [Semi-slowburn]

Summary: A new transfer student is welcomed to Hogwarts during the politically tense times that have befallen the wizarding kingdom. And despite their better judgement and the new (and frankly horrifying) DADA teacher, the twins can’t seem to get her out of their mind

Word Count: 2.5 k

Warnings: Umbridge (I feel like that’s enough said for that one), anxiety mentions, swearing (light. maybe one f-bomb), Ron being a lil prejudiced against Slytherins

Next >>

A/N: I took a small liberty with the last name just to help the story flow better, so I’m sorry if that’s upsetting. I am also apologizing ahead of time if I wrote the twins ooc, it’s my first time writing a fic for them! [Not beta read, any mistakes are mine and mine alone]

You took a breath, hands smoothing down the sides of your skirt, twisting nervously in the folds. You could do this. Nerves ran throughout your body, making it feel like it was humming with energy as you shifted on your feet. You could do this. The professor next you, McGonagall if you remembered correctly, placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. You forced a small smile, turning your face back to the set of great wooden doors in front of you. You could barely hear a thing that was being said, you just knew that you would be introduced after the new teacher and then sorted into your house.

“In other news,” a voice raised from behind the doors and you looked up sharply. “We have a transfer student joining us this term. We have decided that it would be best for everyone if her sorting ceremony were as public as the first years, so please. Join me in welcoming Y/N Jones.”

The hand left your shoulder and you looked up, taking in another nervous breath as you watched McGonagall place her hand on one of the doors, nodding to you to motion that it was time before pushing the doors open. You forced your face to remain neutral, and straightened your back as you walked alone up to the Headmaster in the front of the room.

The sound of your shoes hitting the stone floor caused your anxiety to rise again, but you pushed it down, forcing yourself to keep your head high and act like you knew you belonged here. You stopped in front of the stool placed at the top of the steps and turned, sitting down on it and effectively silencing the whispers that had been floating around the Great Hall.

The headmaster (god, what was his name again?) raised a dusty old witches hat and placed it on your head. The brim of the hat slipped over your eyes, and an older sounding voice resounded in your head, mulling over where to place you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fred and George had fully expected this year’s welcoming feast to go like all of the others. Cheer when the first years were sorted (booing when it was into Slytherin, of course), boo again when the new DADA teacher was announced, and then gorge themselves as they planned the perfect way to sneak puking pastilles into Draco Malfoys food (it never worked). However, they were both pleasantly and utterly surprised when Dumbledore announced a new transfer student. Hogwarts had never really had a transfer student, at least while they were there.

Fred turned to George and elbowed him slightly, a half smirk on his face. “Maybe we’ll have another gullible second year to talk into insulting Snape, eh George?”

George grinned as he swallowed a quick swig of pumpkin juice. “Maybe so Freddie.”

However, as the doors to the Great Hall opened and you walked through, all thoughts of pranking left the boys’ heads. You carried yourself like you were the only one meant to be here, and like the others were new students embarking on your domain, and it drew the boys’ full attention. They only remembered to pick up their jaws when you sat down on the stool to be sorted.

Ron, who had noticed their strange reaction, tried to get their attention through a poorly hushed whisper, but to no avail. The twins were too focused on what house you were going to be sorted into.

It felt almost foolish to hope that you would be a Gryffindor, but hope they did. They waited with baited breath as the Sorting Hat took its sweet, sweet time. After what felt like an eternity, the hat had finally reached it’s verdict.

“Slytherin!” The voice rang out through the Great Hall, and the Slytherins cheered as their flag was momentarily displayed on the walls of the Hall. The twins felt their heart sink as they kept their eyes on your form, watching you as you walked over to the Slytherin table and sat down in between the first years and older house members.

“Oi! Fred! George!” Ron exclaimed, exasperated as he gave up on catching his brothers attention. “Bloody hell! It’s like I don’t even exist!”

Next to him, Hermione giggled knowingly, shaking her head at Ron.

“Oh? Have you got something to say now?” Ron asked, turning his face towards Hermione.

She sighed and shook her head again. “You really are incredibly dense sometimes Ron.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You had spent the remainder of the feast politely talking to your fellow house members, answering their questions and asking some of your own. It seemed that they were all either in awe due to your transfer, or in disbelief once they found out that you were American. Quite honestly, you couldn’t blame them. Yet your anxiety kept you from speaking about it, and instead had you hesitantly picking at the comfort food that had magically appeared on your plate once you had sat down.

After the feast was done, you were escorted to your room and introduced to your roommates by a prefect whom had asked you multiple times (despite your constant assurances) if you needed a tour of the castle itself. You settled into your room quite easily, introducing yourself to the girls and exchanging pleasantries before unpacking your trunk and getting your belongings situated. One girl, Pansy you believed, seemed particularly kind to you, and you made a mental note to get to know her better.

Before you knew it, you were fast asleep in your bed, wrapped in the comfortable blankets that had been provided and assuring yourself that tomorrow would yield only positives.

~~~~~

The next day had indeed started out well. You woke up on time and were able to find your classes easily, and you were also praised by Professor Sprout for your extensive knowledge in Herbology. However, things took a small turn for the worst went you entered Defense Against the Dark Arts.

The first thing you noticed was the teacher in the front of the room, watching with beady eyes as students casually found their way to desks and friends. Her monochrome outfit looked awful, having the likeness of a pattern you swore you saw on your grandmother’s couch once, and had given her a look that, quite plainly, reminded you of a toad.

The second thing you noticed was the fact that the seats were filling up, and quickly. Scurrying towards the closest open seat, you ended up next to a girl with unruly hair and a red and yellow tie. She smiled kindly at you as you sat down, and you returned the action before returning your eyes to the front of the room.

“Ordinary Wizarding Level Examinations, more commonly known as O.W.L.S.” The teacher spoke, seeming to punctuate every word of her sentence with a pause as the blackboard behind her wrote what she had spoken.

“Study hard, and you will be rewarded. Fail to do so, and the consequences may be, severe.” She smiled, a tight lipped sort of smile that let everyone know she was faking it. With a wave of her wand the stacks of books behind her began to float down the aisles, distributing themselves amongst the students.

“Your previous instruction on this subject has been, disturbingly, uneven.” You looked down as a book placed itself on your desk, pulling a face as you saw the cover and began to flip through it.

“But you’ll be pleased to know that from now on you’ll be following a carefully constructed, Ministry approved course of defensive magic.” The girl next you did the same, and raised her hand.

“Yes?” the professor called on her.

“There’s nothing in here about using defensive spells?” she said, the confusion evident in her voice and mirroring the confusion on everyone else’s faces.

“Using spells?” The professor laughed, walking closer towards your table. “Well I can’t imagine why you would need to use spells in my classroom!”

“We’re not gonna use magic?” a redhead boy piped up, turning the book over in his hands.

“You’ll be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way,” the professor replied, her annoyingly ‘girly’ voice already seeming to get on your nerves.

“Well what use is that?” A brunette boy who looked shockingly similar to Harry Potter asked. “If we’re going to be attacked it won’t be ‘risk free’.”

“Students will raise their hands when they speak in my class!” The professor said, her nerves evidently already frazzled as she raised her voice. The brunette boy sat back in his seat (No seriously. He could make money as a Harry look-alike) , obviously on edge as the professor took a moment to turn around and address the class again.

“It is the view of the ministry, that a theoretical knowledge would be sufficient to get you through your examinations which after all, is what school is all about.”

“And how are theories supposed to prepare us for what’s out there?” the brunette boy asked again, sharing a look with his table partner who had spoken up earlier.

“There is nothing out there dear,” the professor replied, and at this, you couldn’t hold back a scoff. The professor whipped her head in your direction, and a few classmates turned to look at you.

You looked up and swallowed thickly, your eyes meeting the professors. “I mean, I could be wrong, but wasn’t there a basilisk within the school a few years ago? That kind of seems like something ‘out there’.”

The professor stuttered, and a few eyes widened around the classroom. “Ex-cuse me?” she said, taking a step towards your desk.

“I’m just saying that there are certain undeniable dangers. Especially around this school, it seems.” You paused, hands fiddling with your robes under the table in a nervous habit that you hadn’t quite seemed to kick just yet.

“Lying, Miss Jones, will get you nowhere.” The professor fired back, a tight-lipped smile plastered on her face.

“She’s not lying,” the brunette fired back. “There are present dangers out in the world. Like, oh, I don’t know. Lord Voldemort.”

The entire class went silent at his comment, some turning to glare at him with barely disguised hatred and others suddenly finding their desks and books to be the most interesting thing in the room.

The professor, after taking a moment to recover of course, changed directions in order to walk towards the brunettes desk. “Now that, is a lie.” She replied in a dangerously low tone.

“Oh, so I suppose that Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord then?” he replied in an accusatory manner. Gasps rose up from the class, disgust now evident in most of your classmates faces.

“Cedric Diggory’s death was an unfortunate accident-”

“No it wasn’t! Voldemort killed him! I watched it -”

“That is enough Mr. Potter!” The professor yelled, losing her composure suddenly. The dead quiet settled over the class again as she smoothed down her skirt. “Potter, Jones, please see me for detention after classes today.” She said simply, before turning around and starting the days lesson as if the entire exchange had never occurred.

You sat at your desk, absolutely dumbfounded. You had had no intention of speaking up in class, much less saying something apparently so controversial that it warranted a detention. Yet here you were, in your now decidedly least favorite class with your most recently least favorite teacher. How did you manage to get yourself into these situations?

The brunette next to you looked over with a small look of sympathy whilst your fellow Slytherins shared a not so subtle haughty laugh in the corner of the room. You sunk low in your seat, making up your mind indefinitely that speaking in class was completely off the table now.

Thankfully, the class passed without any further altercations, and you nearly sighed with relief when it ended. You gathered up your items, shoving the new (and frankly quite stupid) DADA book into your bag and turning to make a beeline for the door.

The brunette who had offered her sympathy earlier in the class spoke before you could leave the desk though. “Thank you for speaking up. For Harry I mean. Not a lot of people would do that, especially now.”

You looked up, slightly confused. “What do you mean?”

She returned your look. “Did you not hear?”

“Hear about what?” The two of you had slowly made your way to Umbridge’s door, lest you incite her wrath twice in the same day.

The brunette was about to answer when the redhead who had spoken earlier wrapped his arm over her shoulder in a protective matter. “Is this Slytherin bothering you Hermione?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at you in what you assumed was his best glare (honestly it wasn’t very good).

You furrowed your eyebrows and took a step back. “Excuse me?”

“I said,” he stepped in front of Hermione and crossed his arms, “is this snake bothering you?”

“Oh honestly Ronald!” Hermione cried out from behind him, grabbing his arm and pushing him out of the classroom door. She threw an apologetic smile over her shoulder at you before turning back to Ron and smacking the back of his head.

You stifled a laugh at the look on his face and shook your head as you headed the opposing way down the corridor, not entirely paying attention to your surroundings as you double checked your schedule for the third time that day.

Moments later you were sprawled out on the corridor floor, having collided with two people who had apparently been running at breakneck speed. You groaned and picked yourself up to a sitting position, looking over at the other two boys currently thrown over one another. Great. More redheads.

Despite your better judgement, you gently kicked one of them with your foot after picking yourself fully up off of the floor. “Hey, are you guys alright?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fred and George were royally screwed. Fucked, if you will.

They hadn’t planned to quite literally body slam you in the corridors whilst running away from Filch after setting off dung bombs in his office, it had just. . . happened. And quite unfortunately, at that.

George rolled over and off of his brother as he felt your foot kick him, looking up at you with what he hoped to Merlin was a dashing smile as he suppressed whatever copious amounts of pain that he was feeling in that moment. “Barely, but I suppose we’ll manage. Right Freddie?” He asked, looking down at his brother who was still planted face first into the stone floor.

“Speak for yourself oh brother dearest,” he sarcastically replied as he peeled himself from the stone.

“Weasley’s!” Filch yelled from down the corridor, running full speed (or as well as he could) towards them, students wrinkling their noses in disgust and turning away as he passed them.

“And that,” Fred said, offering George a hand up, “would be our cue to leave.”

Both twins offered you crooked grins, George even going as far as saluting you, before they dashed off through the corridors, quite possibly traveling faster than they had when they’d ran into you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You watched them, thoroughly amused despite being tackled, and bent down to pick up the paper schedule that had fallen from your hands. As you reached down, you noticed a larger and much thicker parchment next to yours. You grabbed both and looked closer at the thicker parchment, watching with amazement as what seemed to be a map of the school faded away into nothing.

You looked back up at the boys just in time to see them turn a corner and disappear from sight. It appeared as though you’d have to return their tricky map to them another time.

Smiling at the thought of interacting with the chaotic individuals again, you headed off towards Divination.

Add yourself to my taglist here

#Harry Potter #dolores umbridge #fred weasley #george wealsey x reader #george weasley #fred weasley x reader #pansy parkinson #Draco Malfoy #weasleys wizard wheezes #weasley twins #fred and goerge weasley #Ron Weasley #Hermione Granger #dumbledore #minerva mcgonagall #snape

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nobodyfamousposts · 4 years ago

Text

Mominette AU: The Superhero Ban

TRIGGER WARNING!

___________________________________________

It was an indisputable fact that Paris had been the first city to institute the infamous “Supers Ban”. The Justice League knew it. Heroes knew it. Villains knew it. The whole world knew it.

What nobody knew was “why”.

Sure, there had been comments in political circles. Some minor news outlets had mentioned Paris as the latest place where the idea was being considered. But nobody had thought they were serious.

Not until it had been made into law and the Mayor of Paris held a press conference to announce it.

Those who didn’t take it seriously certainly did when Superman himself attempted to go to the Mayor to discuss the matter. And was promptly arrested the instant he set foot in the city.

Outrage was immediate. Cries of discrimination rang out across the world and even at the UN. Various politicians decried the act. Many celebrities admonished it. A good number of people threatened to boycott Paris (which turned out to be for the best as far as Andre and most of Paris was concerned, given that a decrease in tourism meant less people for Hawk Moth to target or the heroes to have to pull out of the fray due to gawking).

Yet a year passed and the ban remained. Even the League would not cross it. Eventually, it just became an accepted fact of the world. Everyone knew to stay out of Paris.

And yet it was still unknown as to why.

Well, people suspected, of course. There were other things happening around the time that seemed to be involved.

It possibly started with the 12 hour timeframe where all of Paris had been closed off. Its citizens had been forced to evacuate. All communication lines were down, and no one from outside of the city had been able to contact anyone from within it. It was news stations in nearby cities that picked up on the fighting and tried to report it, but only several hours after it had started and they seemed to play it off as some sort of freak lighting storm.

Afterwards, things had been strange, but also easily overlooked. The Ladyblogger had gone dark for a several day period. Similarly, the regular correspondent for Paris News, Nadja Chamack had taken a leave of absence. Resident hero Chat Noir had suddenly gotten involved in matters with City Hall, resulting in talk of the hero going into a career in politics. “Chat Noir for President” became a short-lived meme.

It all appeared to come down to a specific “incident”. An akuma fight worse than any other before it. But no one would speak of it. And no information about it was available.

Except for one thing.

There were reports of the existence of video footage of the fight. The Ladyblog had supposedly crashed during a livestream of the mess due to the number of people watching it. Plenty of news reports during that time referenced it. It was rumored to have been played before the city council, resulting in unanimous support of the ban. But what was on the video remained a mystery and any remnant of the video itself couldn’t be found.

Which shouldn’t be possible with the internet. Conspiracy theories abound on the matter—some saying there was no footage in the first place and others saying it was so horrible as to have been erased by time traveling aliens.

In truth, it was the work of a hacker. One of considerable skill to wipe out any trace of this video and not be discovered. There were people willing to pay millions just for a segment of the footage. Plenty of hackers across the world had tested their skills to find even a trace of the original video to no avail.

These other hackers were not Robin.

“I got the footage.” He announced as he held up the USB drive.

Superbly started in surprise, staring at the item in the Boy Wonder’s hand. “This is it?”

“Supposedly.” Robin replied with a shrug.

The Holy Grail of hidden data. A hacker’s ultimate prize. Every journalist and tabloid reporter’s wet dream.

“I haven’t watched it myself,” as he felt it wasn’t his right to intrude on this when it was an issue of his friend’s family, “so I don’t know what’s on there. But whatever’s in this, it’s safe to say it isn’t going to be pretty.”

That was putting it lightly. The video had been so deeply hidden that it was its own urban legend at this point. The incident it showed was bad enough to not only warrant it being hidden from the world, but to set off the “Paris Supers Ban” and arrest of Superman.

The death of a hero was always big news. Even if it’s only barely avoided.

The fact that anyone could HIDE it spoke volumes. Both in regards to the original censor’s ability as well as the importance of the data itself.

Conner nodded, resolute.

“I need to know.”

Robin handed over the device. He probably should have taken it to Batman…probably. But this was Conner’s case. His family. It was his right to decide what to do with the information.

Ladybug and Chat Noir were…accepting of Conner to say the least. They allowed him to enter Paris despite the ban. They let him help. They were kind and accommodating and quite frankly everything that Conner needed.

But…they weren’t exactly open. Not about certain things.

This was one of those things, and Conner had been wanting answers about the “Incident” that cut Paris off from the Superhero world. What made them finally say “enough”? He would ask, but nobody knew. The few who did know refused to speak of it.

Conner wanted to know why. What had they experienced that was so horrible?

Maybe it was a way of feeling closer to them?

Maybe it was a way to understand them better?

Maybe it was just wanting to see the harder things they had faced?

“We’ll be right here with you, Conner.” Wally reassured him when his hands started to shake.

“Remember, you’ll have full access of the gym and training grounds, but you won’t be allowed to leave the Mountain for 24 hours after this.” Kaldur gently stated. Partly to remind Conner of the agreement, lest he attempt to run off to Paris in anger or fear and risk an akuma. Partly to subtly prompt everyone else to ensure that Conner does not accomplish the former.

Still…the choice was already clear.

Conner put the drive into the computer and pressed play.

The video only lasted a few minutes.

A few minutes was more than enough.

_______________________

“Oh…oh my god.” Came the words of the person recording, her voice as shaky as her hands that held the camera.

The damage was…extensive. Rubble, broken glass, and downed buildings littered the background. There was a sad mix of gray and brown as far as the eye could see. Of the destroyed roads and pavement. Of steel beams littering the ground. Of rock and dirt and what may very well have been ash.

Amidst the ruined landscape, there was one spot of color. A bright red standing out amidst the muted neutral around her. Normally a source of bravery and inspiration, it took a few seconds for the camera to get her properly in focus, and a few more for it to register that there was significantly more red in the scene than there should have been.

Ladybug wasn’t standing so much as she was leaning backwards in a half-upright position. Forced to stay on her legs despite her clear lack of strength. The only thing holding her up were the very things responsible for her current state…three steel spikes that extended from the ground beneath her.

They were exiting her torso. One piercing the upper left part of her body, right close to her shoulder. One through her naval. And the third on the right side, for all purposes appearing to have hit a lung.

She was breathing, though it was clearly labored. She was constantly torn between some variation of taking a gasping breath in and crying it out. Her suit could protect her—it was supposed to protect her from anything, but even this was too much.

It was clear she couldn’t move. She had to remain there, impaled on steel. Both to limit her injuries as much as possible and just due to inability from the sheer pain she was in.

The camera was focused on her, though it was shaky at best. The person recording it could be heard muttering unintelligibly with some mention of a hospital and frequent repetition of “oh god” thrown in. Some noise could be heard in the background of someone sounding quite ill, which was understandable given the sight of their hero impaled and choking on her own blood.

Within a minute of the video starting, the crunching sound of boots running on glass and stones could be heard coming closer. The sound of panting grew louder as Chat Noir cleared a hill and entered into view, rushing and stumbling towards Ladybug while holding something in front of him.

The camera zoomed on him, bringing him into focus as he cleared the last hurdle.

“I’ve got it!” Chat exclaimed, racing back to her side with her yoyo in hand. “I’ve got it! It’s okay. It’s over. It’s over now. It’s finished. He’s done.”

“Sh…Ch…” Her head hung limply and her eyes were barely able to focus on him as he tried to get her to look at him without moving her too much.

“It—It’s okay! It’s going to be okay!” He whispered to her, so softly that the camera barely caught it. He was clearly panicked and trying desperately not to let it show. “We just need the Cure. If you cast the Cure, everything will be better, okay?”

She didn’t appear to be listening, though. And barely seemed aware of anything. “Ch-ck…Chaaa…”

The video zoomed in on them both. Ladybug dazed and bleeding out. Chat crying and trying not to break down completely.

“Please! I just need you to say the words! Say the words and you’ll be okay! Can you do that?”

“Huurrr…s…” She slurred, begging him without words for help.

“I know! I know! But you can fix it. C’mon, M’lady, please!”

“I…I cn…”

“Say the words. Just two words, okay?” He begged desperately, patting her cheek in an attempt to both soothe her and keep her attention on him. “Two words and then you can go to sleep, I promise.”

“Ch…a…”

“Just…just two words, that’s it! I’ll…I’ll even say them with you, okay?”

She winced. “Nn…”

She clearly wasn’t listening, but he was desperate and so started to try. “Miraculous—”

She sobbed.

“No, no. Listen to me, okay? Say it with me!” He ordered, forcing her to look at him. “Mi. Say it with me! Mi!”

“M…mi…”

“Racu!”

“ra…” Her gaze started to waver.

He shook her. “Cu!”

“…cu…lous…”

He gave a weak laugh. Even now she was ahead of him. “Ladybug.”

“La…laa-deee…”

He shook her again. “LADYBUG!”

“……b…u—gahck-ugh—" She was cut off by harsh coughing.

But it was enough.

Thank every god out there it was enough.

The Cure spilled out from the object she was holding, transforming into magical ladybugs that covered everything in their wake. Unfortunately, the casting of the Cure and incoming loveliness caused the person holding the camera to drop it, losing sight of the video and cutting the feed.

_______________________

The ringing of her phone got Marinette’s attention, drawing her away from the movie she was watching with Adrien and the Dolls.

“Hello?”

“Miss Ladybug.” Came the voice on the end. “This is Aqualad.”

She blinked in surprise. “Aqualad? Is everything okay?”

“Yes…just…” The sound of angry whispers could be heard on the other end. “Would you be able to come speak with Conner today?”

Marinette frowned at that. While she certainly enjoyed seeing Conner, that…didn’t sound like a good thing. If anything, it sounded like a plea. And the voices that sounded like an argument in the background only made it sound worse.

“Is everything okay?”

Adrien seemed to notice the concern in her voice as he had stopped paying attention to the movie to focus on her. In turn, Chaton was peeking over the couch at her, curious as to what was going on.

“No. We found a recording of something…personal to you. Conner saw it and now he’s rather upset. We think it might help if you were here.”

“WHAT?!” She exclaimed. This definitely got the attention of the other dolls, all of whom had abandoned the movie in favor of checking on their Mama.

Her eyes narrowed. Suddenly full Mom mode was on.

“Aqualad. Tell me right now what happened.”

And Kaldur caved immediately with only a small sigh.

“Robin found the video of the akumatized hero who attacked you and instigated the events leading to the Paris Ban.” He explained. “I apologize. We should have checked with you first, but at Conner’s request, we all watched it.”

Marinette sighed. “I thought that was buried.”

“We’re rather good at digging.” Robin’s voice could be heard on the other side of the line.

“Hang on. I’ll be right over.” She told them before hanging up.

“Marinette? What happened?” She turned to see Adrien standing before her, looking rather concerned. Picking up on her tension, he had stopped the movie. And sure enough, four little dolls stared up at her in worry.

She sighed. There was nothing else for it.

“Who wants to go on a trip?”

The Dolls perked up at that.

Adrien, however, noticed how tense she was.

“Mari?”

“They saw the tape.”

His eyes widened. “Oh.” He reached out to her, and without even thinking, she moved into his arms. He clutched her tightly, soothing her and himself. It was…not a pleasant thing to have to relive. That so-called “hero” had caused more damage than just that one day. And more than any of them had truly recovered from.

The dolls seemed to catch on to the atmosphere, because their excitement died down.

“It’ll be okay, Mari. Let’s just be there for him. And I’ll be here for you.”

She held him back just as tight.

“Together then?”

“Always.”

#ml fic #mominette #superhero ban #ml crossover #dc crossover #conner kent #robin #Young Justice #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #adrien agreste #chat noir #dolls au #trigger warning

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orangerosebush · 4 years ago

Text

Sturm und Drang

In hindsight, Butler should have realized it would only be so long before his charge grew bored with life within the manor. Artemis Fowl I had made sure the Fowl estate was well stocked with the finest things their fortune could afford: the kitchen had aromatic spices from every inch of the globe; the library was practically bursting with esoteric texts; the walls were adorned with beautiful tapestries and paintings. Artemis Fowl I had beaten the world down so that it fit within the stone walls of Fowl manor, and in theory, his wife and son had to want for nothing. When Angeline had been younger, Butler remembered her leaving on weekend trips to visit her family or friends, but after her son was born, it seemed like she was content to retreat into the beautiful dollhouse her husband had fashioned around her. Perhaps the reality of who her husband was and where she lived had finally sunk in, Butler mused, carrying the tea tray. At least inside she didn’t have to think about the sectarian violence broiling in Northern Ireland, or the heating-up Cold War, or the vile things her adoring husband had done to pay for their life in the manor.

Butler poked his head into the Fowl study, rapping a hand against the door frame. At the desk inside, Artemis Fowl II was curled up in his father’s ornamented leather armchair, nose buried in a book. The boy’s ears perked up at the sound, but he didn’t look up from his reading.

“You weren’t at lunch,” Butler remarked, stepping inside.

“I apologize,” Artemis said, his young voice cold and clipped in a way Butler had never stopped thinking of as strange. “I was busy.”

You’re seven years old, Butler thought, setting the tray down on the mahogany desk. Busy?

“Your mother missed you,” he said instead, and Artemis lowered his book, eyes almost guilty.

“I promise that I will be at dinner.”

“You should eat,” Butler ordered, pushing the tea and toast closer to the boy. Artemis hesitated for a moment, but he finally obliged, taking a small bite out of the portion of the toast with the least amount of jam on it. Artemis chewed thoughtfully, setting the food back down on the plate and pointedly nudging it away. Butler pressed his lips into a thin line. Thank Christ that at least Juliet wasn’t a picky eater.

“May I ask you a question, Butler?”

“Always, Artemis.”

“Where does Father go when he leaves on business?” Artemis inquired, and Butler sighed. He moved the tray on the table, making room for him to rest his weight against the desk.

“He’s on a business trip, Artemis. He’s told you this.”

“Where does he go, though? He won’t tell me what his ‘business’ is.”

Butler shrugged. “Your father told me the same thing.”

Artemis looked at him shrewdly. “I don’t think I believe that, Butler.”

“That’s too bad,” Butler admitted. “Because that’s all I’m going to tell you.”

“You work for me, though,” Artemis argued, brow furrowed. “If you do know more, then you must tell me.”

Frowning, Butler leaned back. “I protect you. I work for your father.”

Sensing that he’d offended, Artemis tried to backpedal. “I… no one will tell me, Butler. Why? I simply want to know more about my father.”

His bodyguard considered Artemis' plea.

“I’m sorry if I seemed dismissive,” Artemis wheedled, prodding further. “I’m… I’m just curious.”

Despite being fully aware Artemis’ apology was motivated more so by ulterior motives than it was by genuine compunctions, Butler softened.

“I know you must miss him,” he relented.

Artemis perked up, sensing he’d succeed in wearing down Butler’s earlier decision.

Butler ignored the voice of Madam Ko in the back of his mind. He wondered if he could absolve himself for a brief moment of weakness surrounding his bodyguard principles.

Artemis was just a boy, Butler thought. And a smart one at that. He doubted that there was a child on earth that could be satisfied with simply artifacts from the outside world.

Reaching to ruffle his charge’s hair, Butler almost smiled at the way Artemis scrunched up his face.

“Why must you and Mother persist in doing that?” Artemis complained.

“Just another grown-up thing, I guess,” Butler ventured, humming good-naturedly when Artemis scoffed.

“What are you reading?” Butler asked after a moment, changing the subject. Artemis glanced back at his book, debating his next course of action. Finally, his excitement surrounding the book he’d been reading won out over his desire to continue pushing Butler regarding his father.

Artemis spun the novel around, allowing Butler to examine it properly. “It’s a collection of short stories by Kenzaburō Ōe. Right now I am on ‘Lavish Are the Dead’.”

Butler nodded, picking up the work and mentally filing the name away. He was nearly positive Artemis fell very short of the intended age demographic.

“What’s it about?”

Artemis’ eyes lit up. “The subject material varies, but the tone is similar between the stories. Ōe’s style is very derivative of French existentialists. I like him more than Sartre and Camus, however.”

“Camus wrote ‘The Stranger’, right?” Butler surmised, looking at Artemis for confirmation. “Read that book during university. I’ve never forgotten the way the author described the old man’s sickly dog. Poor animal,” Butler reproved, tsking.

Artemis nodded. “Yes, that was Camus. ‘Lavish Are the Dead’ is similarly macabre in the service of its philosophy.”

Butler thumbed to the first page of the short story to which Artemis referred. He narrowed his eyes, reading silently. Artemis continued on, unconscious of Butler’s increasingly deepening frown as the man scanned through gruesome paragraph after paragraph.

“I suppose it can be read in many ways. One view would be that it’s a meditation on the forgetting of the Pacific War, despite the violence’s profound impact on the cultural psyche. However, it could also be read as the submerged presence of the Korean War in Japanese society, memory, and culture. I’d argue both critiques come mainly from the perspective of the intellectual establishment, be it that it is both Ōe and the protagonist studied French literature at the University of Tokyo.”

“Artemis,” Butler said slowly, resisting the urge to rub his temples or to throw the offending text from the room. “This is about dead bodies being kept in the medical faculty of a university.”

His charge tilted his head, blinking owlishly. “On a literal, textual sense, I suppose so, yes.”

Butler made a face, putting the book down. “It’s not appropriate for you. It’s… too much. You’re too young to be reading something like this.”

“I asked Father. He’s the one who brought it back from Tokyo,” Artemis offered lightly.

Butler floundered, unsure.

To push the matter, Butler would have to either insinuate the Fowl patriarch was so absentminded as to not curate the reading material of his son or he would have to insinuate that the man had made an incorrect call in judgment. Either would be a challenge to Artemis Sr.’s authority. Either would be making a statement on which of the two had more of a say over Artemis’ behavior. An absentee father or a paid caretaker — Artemis was beginning to test the waters of which of the two men had more of a claim to be the male figure to whom he deferred, Butler realized.

Artemis watched Butler, waiting for a response.

“I see,” Butler noted, being careful to keep his tone even. Artemis’ eyes widened, a motion that would have been nearly imperceptible had Butler not been searching for a reaction on the boy’s face.

The surprise vanished from Artemis quickly, and his eyes narrowed. “Oh?”

Rising, Butler pushed the book back towards Artemis. “Yes. If he approved the book, then I am fine with it.”

“You have no further opinion on the matter?” Artemis pressed.

Butler shrugged. “I’m just your bodyguard. Is my private attitude towards the matter necessary?”

A completely bullshit statement.

Butler knew that.

Artemis knew that.

Hell, it was likely even Artemis Sr. knew that.

Butler blamed Artemis Sr., just a bit. Usually, the Fowls and Butlers were closer in age. As eerily as the young Fowl might present himself, it was hard to not feel parental twinges towards the boy when Butler’s primary duties as a bodyguard were mundane things — things like keeping Artemis from skinning his knees around the house or preparing meals for him and Juliet. The Major and Artemis Sr. were unambiguously boss and bodyguard, but Butler, who had to force himself to not subconsciously categorize both Artemis and Juliet as his kids, and Artemis, who knew his father as a visitor to the house instead of a permanent fixture? Their dynamic was undoubtedly more fraught, unspeakably more complicated to unpack.

But Butler couldn’t bring himself to give words to his failure. To do so would make it irreversible. It’d be the final nail in the coffin he’d fashioned for himself.

So he pushed the tea tray closer to Artemis, quietly getting up to leave.

Disappointed, Artemis moved to pick his book back up, returning to his previous activity.

Pausing in the doorway, Butler turned, faltering.

Artemis didn’t lower the book, but his eyes tracked Butler’s every movement like a hawk. “Yes?”

“Artemis,” Butler began, hand curling around the doorframe with uncharacteristic timidity. “Your father said he’d be home tonight. You can ask him about his trip at dinner.”

“...Will you be joining us?”

“No.”

“I see,” Artemis commented neutrally, fixing Butler with a pointed stare.

Ignoring the way his feelings stung, Butler let his hand fall from the door, turning away.

“Make sure that you eat your lunch, Artemis,” Butler said at last, weary.

“Mhm.”

Both the toast and the tea remained untouched.

#helllooooo terrible excerpt from my long form fanfic ive decided to just put here #artemis fowl #death mention cw #my writing

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mysanderssidessideblog · 3 years ago

Text

A Good Day

Warnings for Sides fading out, major character death, unsympathetic Patton, angst, gaslighting, not a happy ending.

Written for #UnsympAndAngstSidesBingo

Link to AO3

“I'm very disappointed in you kiddo.”

Janus looked up from his book, frowning.

True, he knew his occasional appearance in the Lightside was not exactly welcome, but he had been slowly trying to help the others acclimatise to his presence by sitting quietly with a book from time to time.

He'd even carefully set out a tea set and biscuits this time, rather than his usual tea for one, making a subtle gesture that he was open to company. So far, none had taken him up on the offer.

Yet, he could not fathom source of Patton's discontent. He was trying, and short of dragging Virgil out by his ear to reluctantly sit with him, he was not sure what more he could do.

“Patton. Will you not join me?” Janus had learnt that the use of the word 'not' had evolved to ambiguous meaning; 'I could care less' tended to be treated the same as 'I could not care less', even if the wording was inaccurate. As a result, he leaned heavily into the word to help mask his lies.

“No.”

Morality's face, usually lit up with a bright smile, was stern.

Janus pursed his lips, and feigned indifference. “As you like.”

“You had one job, and you have failed.”

That took him aback, Patton not usually so confrontational. lowering his book, Janus schooled his expression into neutrality, opting for addressing the accusation in a calm and civil manner. He inclined his head so that he appeared interested in what Patton had to say, while opening his stance to appear receiving to discussion.

“I am not sure I follow. Please, help me understand.”

“You were to keep the undesirable elements of Thomas hidden, secret. You were supposed to stay away, out of sight, out of mind.”

“Ah.” Janus straightened, and clutched at his book, trying to hide the hurt from his voice. He had thought he and Patton had reached something of a truce, that Patton had seen that he had some merit in being known, in being active participant in the mindscape.

“I believe we agreed that repression was not of benefit. That I could keep things hidden, but it would be best for Thomas to be more self-aware, to learn that he had sides to him that were not always...” Janus struggled for an appropriate word, “...good.” he finished lamely.

It was hard to argue with Morality; he held great power and influence, and his view of the world was parsed down into good and evil. Janus sought to teach him of the deeper complexities, but Patton was reluctant to even consider than lying could have small benefit in theory, so the idea of applying small untruths to day to day happenings was unthinkable to him.

“It is not working. Thomas is more stressed than ever with so many conflicting opinions, and then there is Remus! He is disgusting, and vile, and Thomas does not need him and his corrupting presence!”

“And don't think I have not noticed Logan's more regular angry outbursts. The influence of the dark sides has gotten out of hand, and must be corrected.”

Janus was glad of his gloves that hid how white his knuckles had turned with how tightly he held the book. He swallowed nervously.

“Patton, I understand that this is a time of change, and that change can be daunting, even uncomfortable. However, change is important for growth, for improved insight. This will help Thomas become a better person, eventually.”

“Thomas was already perfect before the dark sides came along! Things were better before!”

Patton's face then broke into a smile.

Janus did not like that smile, not in the slightest.

“Maybe that is answer.....”

He was about to get to his feet, about to retreat, when Patton walked towards him.

“You could not keep the dark contained.” he said, as the air around them grew dense. Janus felt uneasy, as Patton's eyes narrowed behind his glasses. “So I guess it's a father's duty to step in when a Kiddo has failed....”

Janus did try to get up then, but found himself held down by Patton by a hand upon his shoulder, surprisingly strong.

“You'll help me, won't you Kiddo? Help me fix up your little mistake...?”

“I don't understand Patton, what are you talking about?”

“You, and Remus, all the dark sides, are a bad influence on Thomas.” Patton then stretched his lips wider, his face a rictus parody of a smile, “It's high time someone did something about that....”

Janus shook his head. “Patton, you cannot just deny that Thomas has dark sides to him, same as everyone! We are just as much a part of him as you are!” he lifted his hand, tried to push Patton from him. He could not make Patton's hand budge at all.

“Thomas needs us. Needs all of us!”

Patton's grip shifted, instead of holding Janus down, curling his fingers past the fabric and into the flesh underneath, so tight Janus felt like Patton was reaching to leave fingerprints upon his bones.

“No. Thomas needs to be good.” Patton gave a short nod to himself. “Thomas will be good.”

Janus cried out, in pain, in fear.

“Let me go!”

“I can't do that Kiddo. See, if I'm gonna make everything right again, I'll need to borrow just a tiny bit of your power.”

“You can hide things, and I have high influence over nostalgia and memories. I think that if we really put our minds to it and work together, we can hide the memories of the dark sides so deep that they will never be thought of again!”

“Patton, Thomas needs all aspects of him. He needs to understand that others have the capacity to lie so he is not taken advantage of. He needs the ability to get angry when things are not right so he can sort it out.” “He even needs Remus, the core of his jokes that are a little crude, a little naughty....” “You cannot just.... delete those vital pieces of him; that way lies madness!”

“You are one to talk about lies mister!”

“OK, OK, I have lied, and will likely do so again, but you have been told that repression doesn't work... that didn't come from me, but Logan. And you trust Logan, right?”

Patton tipped his head, thoughtful.

“Hmm. Good point.”

Janus sagged slightly, relieved he had managed to get through to Morality.

“I guess we'll just have to remove the the dark sides entirely!” he said brightly.

Janus froze, unbelieving. If it had been anyone other than Patton, he'd have accused them of a off-tone joke..... but Patton wasn't lying.

“I will help you!” he snarled, shaking his head, the lie unsubtle and obvious.

Tutting, Patton looked down.

“If you are not part of the solution, then it seems to me you are part of the problem...”

Patton's hand clawed, and Janus felt something creak within his shoulder.

He felt Patton tug at his influence, and thrashed and fought to keep what he was whole. He hissed and bore his teeth as if he might bite.

The hand across his throat stilled him, surprised, shocked that Patton would do such a thing.

“Stop fighting me, I know what's best for Thomas.”

“I will not help you destroy the dark sides!”

Patton's grip, both on shoulder and throat tightened in irritation. Janus struggle to fight back, to even draw breath, but Morality held much more sway than he did, and he could not break free.

He struggled, cursing himself for dismissing Patton as native and weak. Janus knew he was merely stalling for time, that Patton would eventually win. There was a small hope that one of the others might happen upon them and intervene, but he was not well liked, and he did not trust that another side would not work with Patton against him.

Patton looked down over his glasses, considering, and Janus desperately tried to stop Patton from draining his power, his essence.

Patton's grip round his throat relaxed, and Janus drew desperate and painful breath.

It took him a moment to realise that Patton was stroking against the side of his neck, affectionately. “You have an affinity for self-preservation, yes? Give me your power, willingly, and I shall let you survive.”

His mismatched eyes widened as Janus took in how very serious and set on this course of action Patton was.

Terror gripped him as the fingers round his neck tightened again, and he feared for his life.

A better side would have stood up for what was right.

A stronger side would have fought harder.

A clever side would have found the words to make Patton reconsider.

But Janus was a selfish side.

Weakly, he nodded.

Janus tried to cry out as Patton syphoned his strength and his power, but he could only hiss which what remained of his breath. His gloves and cape leached their colour, turning dull and grey as Patton stole from him.

He did not hold out much hope that Patton would ever return what he had taken.

When it was done, Patton released Janus, standing tall and confident, radiating energy.

“You made the right choice. Well done kiddo.”

Janus, sagged in the chair, tired. He managed to bring his head up to look at Patton.

“Patton, wait...” he managed to say, each word needing so much effort to utter than before, lie or not, “Please take a moment to think.. to reflect... You would be interfering beyond your realm of expertise. Do not do this!”

“Oh my silly little snake!” Patton leaned down to plant a fond kiss upon Janus's forehead. “It's already done!”

“What? No!” Janus clutched at the chair, as if it might hold him steady against this new revelation.

“All those nasty bits that Thomas doesn't need are already disappearing from thought. If you wanted to say your goodbyes, I would hurry. They are fading fast.”

One thought came to mind.

“Remusssss!” he hissed, and with a lurch, Janus swung himself downwards, sinking through the floor.

He landed in a landscape in disarray, the features of the darkside twisting and fragmenting, everything coming apart.

Remus was there, trying to shore up a crack in the wall with what looked like a mix of blood and cement.

“Snake-butt! Something's happening. Something's wrong!” he hollered over the low groan of the mindscape rejecting the dark.

Janus looked about in despair, only to see Remus staring at him, the crack beyond repair and stretching out. Horrifically, Janus could see the crack behind Remus, as the darker creativity grew translucent and hazy.

“My head feels fuzzy like mould on a birthday cake, and what's up with you? You've gone all grey.”

“It's Patton, he is not unmaking the dark side!” even in desperate times, Janus could not speak truthfully.

“What does that even mean?!”

Remus's voice was strange, softer as if he was shouting from a distance, but that did not hide the fact that he was scared. Janus could not ever recall Remus sounding scared.

Janus looked to him, halfway transparent and afraid, and the surrounding walls crumbling apart.

He forced a smile.

“Everything will be all right.” he lied, as he reached over and wrapped his arms round Remus, so the other would not see the tears in his eyes.

The sounds of unmaking crescendoed about them, and then, grew quiet.

Remus, and the darkside, and all that it contained faded to black... no, not black.....

Nothingness.

*********

Janus had had to claw his way back from the nothingness, drawing on what little power he had left.

He shouldn't have made it, should have faded out with the rest, but Morality's promise of his own unworthy survival held true.

The effort of returning to the lightside caused him to stumble, and he landed gracelessly in the common area.

Logan, writing down something in a note book, looked up. He gave curt nod.

“Janus.” he acknowledged, and then returned to his writing.

“Logan!” Janus hissed out, struggling to his feet.

Logan looked again, and adjusted his glasses at the sight of Janus bereft of his usual colouration.

“You have a new outfit. It is... monochromatic.”

“Do not summon the others. It's not important!”

Logan frowned, “If it is of such little import, then why can you not do it?”

Hands clenched weakly at his sides, Janus swayed where he stood.

“I can!” he lied, and then cursed himself for not speaking clearly as Logan stood back expectantly.

It did not take long for Logan to realise that Janus was making no move to call the others to them.

“Oh. You are lying.” Logan's lips tightened, “Very well.”

Roman rose with a flourish, and Virgil popped up sitting on the stairs.

“Patton has not done something terrible!” Janus started, then caught himself. He took a breath.

“Patton has done something terrible. He has destroyed the darkside, and all those still connected to it.”

Virgil frowned in thought, “I thought I felt something weird... ”

“Or it could have just been your usual constant worry of something about to go wrong.” Logan reminded, to which Virgil gave reluctant nod.

“Even if that were true, which I very much doubt it is coming from you, then why are you still here?” Roman asked, sceptical.

“I....” Janus swallowed his pride and spoke aloud his grievous mistake. “I made a deal with him to survive.”

“but he took my power, and used it to unmake the darkside!”

“Patton wouldn't do something like that.” Roman said confidently.

“Patton wouldn't do something like what?”

Janus pulled back as Patton approached, smiling cheerfully.

“Janus thinks you have done something bad.” Logan explained.

“Are you sure you didn't mishear him that I've done something 'Dad'?”

Janus snarled.

“You destroyed them, all the dark sides! Pieces of Thomas, ripped apart and gone!”

Patton laughed, “As if I would do anything to hurt dear Thomas!

Roman and Logan nodded with Patton, that of the two, Patton was far more trust-worthy than Deceit.

“Anyway, Thomas doesn't have dark sides, save for you....” Janus did not like the way Patton looked at him, as if he was nothing but another problem that needed 'fixing'. He shuddered.

Patton continued, “But don't worry, we'll all help you find your place and learn to be good! Just like Virgil!”

Virgil gave an uncomfortable shrug at being pointed out.

Janus turned to Roman, desperate, “Roman, your twin! He is... he is gone Roman!! Patton killed him!”

“My brother?” Roman frowned, and reached to the back of his head to rub against a fragment of a memory.

He looked to Patton for guidance, deeply confused.

“Don't be silly, you don't have a brother.”

Roman's hand dropped, and he shrugged at Janus. “I don't even have a brother. Don't speak such lies Snake!”

“You did! His name is... is... was.....”

Janus's eyes widened in horror, as he could not bring the name to mind.... nor the face....

Patton had not just destroyed the dark sides, but he had erased even the memories of them. How could Janus convince them of Patton's misdeed, when he had cleared every scrap of evidence from the mindscape?

How long before Janus himself forgot what Patton had done?

He lunged then at Patton, furious. He was stopped by Logan's arm easily blocking him and pushing him to the side.

Patton folded his arms, face full of fake concern.

“I was merciful before, but I think you need a time out Janus. Go to your room. In fact, I think it would be for the best if you were to stay there for the time being, and stop telling such terrible lies.”

“Roman, be a dear and take Janus to his room for me.”

“Sure thing Pat!”

As Janus let himself be led away, disbelieved and defeated, and destined to forget what he was and be moulded into whatever Patton deemed acceptable form of Deceit, Janus heard Patton address the other sides.

“Oh Kiddos, I'm just so happy! I have a feeling today is going to be a good day!”

#unsympandangstsidesbingo #unsympathetic sides #unsympathetic patton #angst #unhappy ending #major character death

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girllovesromance · 4 years ago

Photo

The Absolon Kingdom: General information

I uploaded the picture of Idris’s face because he’s the King of the Absolon King, not because he’s totally my favorite character.

I think it’s where the Absolon Kingdom (AK) is located.

@lunanelfeah suggested that creating a separate post to explain about the Absolon Kingdom might be a good idea, I have to admit it’s an incredible idea. And @dynastiasimss also suggested me this website https://www.notebook.ai/ , I love this site, thank you. Brace yourself for long af essay, forgive me if some political things just don’t make sense, lol.

The beginning of the Absolon Kingdom dates back to the 16th century, when witch-hunt was a prevalent practice. That was God’s intention to gift ordinary people special superpower, so he could encourage the Gatekeepers to start treating people reasonably. The Gatekeepers’ duty is giving moral assessment and advice to human beings, so they can improve themselves and become a better person. But the Gatekeepers haven’t even thought about developing any sort of guidance or regulation regarding this matter, they only give people points based on their feelings. If the Gatekeepers have bad mood, or just don’t like someone’s appearance, they may give a person extremely low moral score that later affects their chance of reincarnation without any single reason.

So God wanted the Gatekeepers to understand human better, but their ego got in the way. They found it offensive that angels and demons had been granted the Heaven and Hell respectively from the very beginning, yet the Gatekeepers had to build their own territory. They refused to accept they have equal position as the Human Beings, refused to be restricted to one country on Earth. Therefore, the Gatekeeper’s great ancestor, King Park V, had to gather people with special ability on his own and found an island following God’s prophecy.

HISTORY

First King: Park Byung Ho (Park I (Park V to the Gatekeepers, he's the 5th King of the Gatekeepers)) Second King: Idris Bennett (Idris I)

During the reign of Park Byung Ho:

He managed to establish the Absolon Kingdom, to build cities in an empty, deserted island. But he is a highly conservative man, who had been living for 1000 years. Due to the Gatekeepers' inability to accept the Absolon Kingdom as their territory, he had been sitting on the throne for approximately 500 years.

By the 1800s the Absolon Kingdom was already flourishing, but that was when a long period of stagnation started in the country. Some people began to have problem with his reign, they claimed he was too power-hungry to step down from the position and his long reign could lead to detrimental effects in the future. According to the political analysts, King Park V had become overly content with the Absolon Kingdom's current stage of development, that his conservativeness could only hinder the country's further progress. Due to these articles, censorship was tightened, significant human right concerns were observed in the AK. A great number of books, which were claimed to contain "harmful" ideologies, weren't allowed to be published (including The Realm of Magic book, that was mentioned in Lizzy's Issue).

In the beginning of the 21st century, the AK's economy still relied heavily on agriculture and magic, poverty and starvation were prevalent in the rural areas. As the country is located in a small island, the residents in disaster prone areas didn't receive neither prior warnings to evacuate nor helps from the government. Some of these areas were claimed to be abandoned by the King, but the residents were too impoverished to settle somewhere else. But the press wasn’t free to report such topics. By the end of King Park I reign the Absolon Kingdom had become severely underdeveloped. Literacy rate of the country was only 61.5%.

King Idris I reign:

(Unlimited opportunity to post pictures of my favorite boy)

During 16 years of the reign of King Idris I the Absolon Kingdom has experienced more changes compared to the last 100 years of King Park I ruling. Idris took Tran's family political ideas into account and sent groups of expedition to report on the outside world's level of development. Idris acknowledged that the current AK's agrarian society needed changes, that the country will only progress if the Absolonians find a way to combine magic and technology.

After 16 years of reign the Absolon Kingdom's farming, fishing, mining, manufacturing, textile..... industries shift to automated works. The services sector of economy grows in importance, accounting for a large percentage of employment in the AK. Many new private banks, business companies are established during Idris's ruling. The country's appearance has also been transformed significantly:

Capital city: Bloomingdon 2004 (world credit: https://thesimscatalog.com/sims3/downloads/worlds/large/wild-wild-west/)

Bloomingdon 2020 (credit: North Bloomingdon @descargassims)

Censorship rules have been eased, for the first time people start obtaining the freedom of speech and freedom of assembly and association. Even if the fear to express their political views still exists within the country, many controversial publications (such as the Realm of Magic book that promotes the idea of connecting with the outside world) are allowed to be released to the public. A great number of broadcasting and news companies have been established in the span of 16 years, the Absolonians have the opportunity to gather information from other non-governmental news sources than the NNN (National News Network) chanel.

Many disaster prone villages have been rebuilt thanks to Idris, early warning systems have also been set up in these areas to avoid the severe impact of hazards. If storms or earthquakes do occur, Idris will offer relief and humanitarian aid to these areas, he even takes time to personally visit and use his healing power to treat injured locals. Hence, that's how he's called The Angel of the Kingdom.

Despite all the changes, the practice of public and cruel executions is still prevalent in the AK. The term “Minimum wage” has never been determined in the country, in order to achieve the current level of development the subjects of the Kingdom sometimes are required to work 20 hours a day without additional pay. Prisoners are treated as subjects of torture and human experimentation. The AK is still “underdeveloped” from a legal standpoint.

Regarding the connection of the Absolon Kingdom to the God Helpers and the territory of Hadesiallania (northern part of the AK).

During 1750s the Demons and the Gatekeepers had conflicts regarding their authority as the God Helpers. Eventually, their conflicts led to war (the demons attacked first), the Reapers just silently watched the bloodshed and remained neutral. The Gatekeepers realized they were losing, so they asked for the Reapers’ help.

The Reapers had always been considered as the sinners, the unluckiest God Helpers. They had to witness death every day, God never granted them any sovereign territory. There was a theory that the Reapers committed grave sins in their past life, so they had to live this life to pay for their mistakes. Some people rumored that the Reapers were the humans with 0 moral score, so God couldn’t decide whether to send them to hell or let them reincarnate.

So the Reapers made a deal, they agreed to support the Gatekeepers, as long as they were given part of the Absolon Kingdom territory. Hadesiallania is still a part of the Absolon Kingdom, but it’s an autonomous area. They have their own legal system, government (parliament and local executive authority), taxation system.

Edit:

The aftermath of the Tran family’s insurrection:

During a national survey, which was conducted in 2003, 80% of Absolonians voted against the idea of introducing the Absolon Kingdom to the global world due to the fear of witch-hunt. In October 2020 (after the rebel of Chi’s family) one unofficial online poll indicated that 90% of Absolonians would prefer staying hidden from the international community. But this data might be unreliable, since after the Tran family’s execution people with similar political views are discriminated against, so they’re afraid to speak out

#of love and war #sims story #sims series #sims royalty #ts3 story #sims 3 story #long essay #wanted it to be short but you have 1200 words here #the Absolon Kingdom history

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dimitribelikov · 4 years ago

Text

The Belikov Chronicles: Becoming a Mentor

✶ What if I rewrote different scenes but from Dimitri’s point of view? I have no idea if this is something people are interested in, but this was too fun not to write. Honestly, for all the times Rose is going on about what a god Dimitri is, it’s too amusing to imagine that he’s thinking he’s a total weirdo most of the time. ✶ trigger warnings : some adult language ✶ ship : none but hints of romitri I guess, as well as hints of Dimitri/Ivan ✶ notes : All dialogue is taken straight from Vampire Academy, chapter 2, written by Richelle Mead. The rest is mine.

✶✶✶

As the double doors opened and we walked into the commons, it seemed as though every set of eyes in the place turned on us. Ok, not much as us as they were on her. Rose Hathaway had been walking by my side, but clearly feeling the effects of scrutiny, she began to lag a little. It was certainly a cruel punishment to walk her though the throng of her peers, like dangling a piece of meat in a lion’s den. Headmistress Kirova had requested it, wanting to teach her and the Princess Vasilisa a bit of humility. Honestly, after the stunt they pulled, I couldn’t help but think a slice of humble pie would do them some good.

But my thoughts weren’t on the effects of a public, teenaged shaming. I was still thinking about the short conversation I’d had with Rose on the plane. Meeting her had exceeded my expectations. When I was tasked with apprehending Janine Hathaway’s daughter, I honestly didn’t know what to expect. Janine was a well respected guardian, one that I’ve had to honor of meeting on more than one occasion. Her work, the stories of her past, continue to inspire me, but if I’m being honest, she also terrifies me. Janine is someone not to be messed with, so naturally her daughter would seemingly follow suit.

From the moment Rose squared off with us, ready to take on a whole team of experienced guardians by herself, I knew she had her mother’s fighting spirit. But when I asked her about it, why she’d do such a thing when she was clearly outnumbered, she answered with such conviction that I couldn’t help but be taken aback. “Because I’m her guardian.”

She wasn’t of course. Not yet. But while I was supposed to be reprimanding her for such a foolish tactic, I couldn’t help but be impressed. Perhaps I even admired her. It wasn’t too long ago, after all, that I felt the same way about my own charge. I would have stood against armies of Strigoi by myself to defend Ivan, but in the end, not even that was enough.

Finally reaching our destination, I took up my stance in the back of the room, across from Alberta. The captain of the school’s guardians was another person I had admired. I mirrored her stance and unreadable expression, knowing my place. Being reduced to nothing more than furniture was a good chunk of life for a guardian. It wasn’t as bad as it sounded, though. Being ignored and overlooked meant you pick up on all sorts of things. I’ve always been curious about the world around me, so I had learned years ago how to take in every detail while standing as still as a statue.

The only move I made was when Rose shot up and yelled at the Headmistress in outrage. She was angry, but not threatening to I stayed in my spot, eyes trained on her. She was unruly, stubborn, and very reckless. Damn, I admired her spirit.

“I kept her safe!” she continued to yell. The dark curls of her glossy hair bounced against her back as she shook with anger. I wasn’t going to admit that she was pretty when mad, but... “I kept her safe when none of you could do it. I took her away to protect her. I did what I had to do. You certainly weren’t going to.”

I could feel the concern radiating from Alberta, but I actually had to work to keep a small smile from my face. Sure, the teenaged girl just insulted my own capabilities, but I didn’t take it personally. She had a point. Seeing the way she had thrown herself in front of Vasilisa to protect her from us back in Portland, I had no doubt that Rose truly believed she was protecting her. She needed guidance, though. Proper training. Her brash attitude made her jump to conclusions and solutions were way out of left field.

I ignored the voice in my head that told me how I wasn’t much different with Ivan before he’d died. Sure, I never took him out of school and fled the Moroi authorities, but I’d still concocted some pretty crazy schemes to keep him safe. He was my best friend after all. More than that. Ivan was everything and if there was a threat big enough, I didn’t entirely rule out the possibility that I’d have done exactly what Rose did. His death had sobered me, though. Tamed me from my more headstrong ways.

“You will be sent away as soon as possible.” It the Headmistress who had spoken. She was talking about Rose, of course. That was the exact opposite of what she needed. Didn’t Headmistress Kirova know who she was dealing with? The daughter of Janine Hathaway had too much potential to be wasted, especially with guardian numbers as abysmal as they were. The verbal sparring match that continued after that was intense. I followed every word between the two, and noted the look of sheer panic in the princess’s eyes. Those two couldn’t live without each other. If Vasilisa was my new charge, I had to keep her best interests a priority. This couldn’t stand. Surely Alberta would have an opinion? But she was remaining rooted the spot. The argument was getting more heated. Shit. I had to do something, to speak up or–

No, no, no, no. Furniture. You’re just a piece of furniture. I internally berated myself, biting my tongue. This doesn’t involve you. Stay out of it.

“They have a bond,” I said. And just like that, I dragged myself in the middle of something I had no business being in. Fuck it, I decided as all eyes turned on me. I kept my expression neutral as though my speaking was fueled by perfectly rational thoughts. I always hated being in the spotlight, so rather than deal with the whole room, I stared solely at Rose. There was something comforting about her, as though if anyone in the room could understand me, it was her. “Rose knows what Vasilisa is feeling. Don’t you Rose?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the headmistress look entirely startled by the claim. “No... that’s impossible. That hasn’t happened for centuries.”

Her doubt only encouraged me to continue as I felt a better handle over the situation. “It’s obvious,” I said. “I suspected it as soon as I started watching them.” My eyes were still locked on Rose’s. She was defiant and strong, and I couldn’t help but feel my own strength bolstered by her presence. Perhaps I was starting to come off as a creep, though, because she quickly looked away from me as Prince Victor gave this theory praise.

Turning my gaze onto Kirova, I continued. “The best guardians always had that bond. In the stories.” I added the last part, hoping that I didn’t somehow sound like a total loon. I technically wasn’t supposed to be talking at all, yet here I was, spouting of old myths straight from fairytales. But every word I said was the truth. I had seen it, and it was something that couldn’t be ignored.

“Stories that are centuries old! Surely you aren’t suggesting we let her stay at the Academy after everything she’s done?” Kirova countered.

I guess I am just a loon, after all. With nothing more to lose, I shrugged. “She might be wild and disrespectful but if she has potential–”

“Wild and disrespectful? Who the hell are you anyway? Outsourced help?” It was Rose who had interrupted and I wish I had a way to tell her to shut up. Couldn’t she see that I was the only one actually standing up for her? I suddenly thought of a few more adjectives to add to “wild and disrespectful”.

“Guardian Belikov is the princess’s guardian now. Her sanctioned guardian,” Kirova corrected. I know I wasn’t supposed to be on her side, but I couldn’t help but feel a bit triumphant.

That feeling fell immediately with Rose’s next words. “You got cheap foreign labor to protect Lissa?” Thank God I had mastered an unreadable expression, because if I could have thrown daggers at the novice, I would have. She knew nothing about me, and I couldn’t help but feel a bit hurt by the statement.

Kirova threw her hands up as though her point had just been made. “You see?” she said, directed at me. “Completely undisciplined! All the psychic bonds and very raw potential in the world can’t make up for that. A guardian without discipline is worse than no guardian.”

I couldn’t disagree, which brought me back to my original point. Pushing my irritation over the insult aside, I knew I had to stand up for the guardian Rose could be. “So teach her discipline. Classes just started. Put her back in and get her training again.” Honestly, wasn’t that the whole point of school? If being undisciplined got students kicked out, there wouldn’t be any left.

“Impossible. She’ll still be hopelessly behind her peers.”

“No I won’t,” Rose finally spoke up. If she was standing up for herself in a rational manner, then surely we could sway Kirova to let her stay at the Academy by Vasilisa’s side.

“Then give her extra training sessions,” I quickly added, feeling victory within our reach. And just like that, the negotiation started. It was the first real hope I felt in this battle. We continued for a while and I could feel Alberta’s eyes on me the whole time. Surely there would be words when we were back in the guardian’s headquarters.

“Who’s going to put in the extra time?” Kirova sounded tired of the conversation and I knew I had my foothold. She was ready to accept, she just needed the logistics of it all hammered out. Just as I was feeling triumphant again, the rug was once again pulled out. “You?”

I froze. Me? Train Janine Hathaway’s daughter one on one? The princess needed her and I could respect that, but Rose was quickly becoming a thorn in my side with her harsh comments. The two of us alone together in a sparring ring would surely end in blood being drawing. “Well, that’s not what I–” I trailed off, feeling like a total idiot. I didn’t think this through at all.

“Yes. That’s what I thought.” Shit. Just like that, Kirova won.

My eyes fell on the two girls, and when I looked between them I saw... Ivan and me. For the hundredth time that day, my mind came back to my old friend. I loved him more than I could put into words. I would have died for him, but instead, it was the other way around. One day off, one day away from him, and disaster of the worst degree had struck. I could imagine with painful clarity how Rose would feel if anything were to happen to Vasilisa while she was sent away. Of course, I would make sure to never again lose a Moroi on my watch. No more day-off’s for me. But if Rose had no choice...

“Yes. I can mentor Rose.” I almost didn’t recognize my own voice as I spoke. The moment the words left my mouth, though, I knew I didn’t regret them. I made a vow, and Vasilisa was now in my care. I couldn’t hurt her chances by taking away someone she was bonded with. And Rose... Rose deserved a fighting chance. “I’ll give her extra sessions along with her normal ones.”

We agreed that Rose should still be punished for her actions in addition to the extra training. With words of encouragement from Victor and Vasilisa herself, Kirova finally caved. Yet I’d hardly call it a victory. I’d just traded in practically all my free time to train a wild and disrespectful girl. She was my responsibility now and as I held her gaze again, I had a feeling I had my work cut out for me.

#ᴏɴᴇ sʜᴏᴛ ✶ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇʟɪᴋᴏᴠ ᴄʜʀᴏɴɪᴄʟᴇs #dimitri belikov #vampire academy #rose hathaway #lissa dragomir #romitri #[ should I tag this as romitri? there's moments...

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