#this idea. about being some of the most powerful men in the nation. and yet they can't fucking TRY to set up a better system or smth

[lupins-hehim-pussy]

I wanna know ur Fontaine msq criticisms 👁️👁️👂I’m all ears

I'm not sure if you wanted me to talk about this secretly or publicly but! Here I go!

The TLDR: Fontaine MSQ aestheticised prison, poverty, child abuse, the justice system/court and didn't properly address any of it.

More:

Focalors/Furina has way too much of a sympathetic angle for a dictator who's lets people drown with her inaction.

Neuvillette feels Bad for sentencing some people to death/prison, but that's it. He's one of the most powerful people in Fontaine. If he felt like there are systemic injustices, I.E sending an abused Child to prison, he should be the first person to DO something about it, not just cry and be sad so the audience can be like aw, that's complex character writing isn't it? No it's not! And guilt doesn't absolve you!!!!!!! (These are stuff we deal with in OTCOJ read my fic now /j)

Meropide has children in it, both Sentenced there (Wriothesley) and BORN THERE (Lanoire), and this is just a quirk of the place. Not only that, Meropide accepts prisoners of all genders and crimes. There are abusers and abuse victims in one place. Do you know how bad that is? How much potential for crimes to happen in a place like that— oh wait, Meropide isn't under Fontaine's jurisdiction. If you are assaulted as an inmate it literally means nothing to the court.

Wriothesley had no qualifications when he took over. Depending on how long he lived on the streets, how old he was when he killed his parents, how old he was when he was first taken in by the orphanage, etc, the man might never have more than 4–5 years of formal education. Sigewinne probably had to teach him how to write reports. And do Meropide's spreadsheets. Edit because I forgot to elaborate on this one: This isn't a point brought up anywhere, which is bad, because when poverty and incarceration robs you of a proper education (and the rights to vote in many places too, too, by the way), it reduces your prospects for jobs, reduces many people's ability to get a home etc etc. Wriothesley was just, narratively, Given his position.

Meropide is an industrialized prison, and they portray this as a good thing. Prisoners are paid in coupons for their labour, and this is also portrayed as a good thing.

The One-Meal-A-Day reform was something Paimon gushed about being so great of a perk, that people might want to go to jail for food (could be interesting and reflective of systemic poverty if MHY had brains, but they don't, so I was just Pissed because essentially all Paimon wanted to say was "Prison isn't so bad, but still don't go to prison guys! Prison labour is really hard!"). By the way, in most real-world prisons they are obligated to feed you three meals a day. Because that's how much food a human needs. MHY went with one meal just so they can say "if you want to eat more, you have to work." And then the welfare meal is a goddamn gacha. So imagine you're a starving child who's too weak to work in the fucking robot assembly line, and you wander up for your first meal in 24 hours, only to luck in with a shit one. I'd kill myself.

They wrote Wriothesley, who's a victim of the system, into a guy who's say shit like "I'm the Duke I can do whatever I want" for a cool moment where he choke-slams an inmate (I know he was a bad guy. But also, in copaganda when cops are violent/disregarding protocols, they are always only portrayed to do that against bad guys, so what does our critical thinking tells us about this one?) They wrote Wriothesley, who was an inmate of a prison so bad, so notorious that it is the literal boogeyman of Fontaine, that has a legal (???) fighting pit, with an administrator who abuses his position to be unreasonable, to willingly stay in the place and become an Administrator who would choke-slam an inmate while saying a cool line about how he has the power to do whatever he wants. They wrote him, the guy who had to be fed on the streets by melusines, to think one-meal-a-day was a good enough reform (while he spends god-knows how much on his boat). This wasn't a victim-turns-into-abuser narrative either, they want all this to be seen as positive character growth.

And then, the final kicker is, they gloss over his entire abuse. You can only read about these shit in his profile, which most people don't because they don't Have Him or doesn't care to unlock it/read it online, and they jammed his entire backstory into a flaccid info-dump at the end of his character story quest. This man isn't Allowed to feel abused and neglected and show any reaction to it within the narrative of Fontaine itself, because if they actually Gave Weight to what happened to him, they'd have to confront THE FUCKING JUSTICE SYSTEM they had NO PLANS on criticising. I don't think they ever explicitly said the fucking Crime-Theatre nonsense was Bad either.

I could go on, but this is already so long. But yeah, I hope this gave you an idea.

[yandere-daydreams]

How would childe respond to a happily married and pregnant darling

the only issue is that the darling isint married to him quiet yet

He just needs to love the problem of their soon to be former spouse first

hnnnnnn i'm usually one to avoid pregnant readers at all costs, but there is something about the idea of being deep into your third trimester, so heavy can barely walk and looking forward to your long-awaited first child with your beloved spouse, when one of the most powerful men in your nation shows up on your doorstep with a small legion of armed soldiers, insisting that he's your husband and fawning over your bump like you're carrying his child. he refuses to acknowledge your attempts to mind your distance, to ask why a harbinger is in your cottage - fussing over you and insisting that the hormones are starting to get to your head, instead, completely ignoring the soldiers swarming your meager home. you hold out hope that your spouse will be able to talk some sense into him when they get back, but as the hours tick by, as the sun starts to step and the Snezhnayan winter turns from inhospitable to freezing, you start to worry about their safety, start to notice the specs of crimson on childe's coat, the look of muted dread in his soldiers' eyes.

you start to wonder if childe's trying to supplant a position already well-occupied, or fill a role that he ensured the vacancy of himself.

[ladyblacklavender]

It’s Remembrance Day and well… it’s happening again.

Fragile men on the internet are claiming the rainbow poppies are “disrespectful” to those who died in the Great War etc. Followed by the comparison of a gay man voguing at Pride to soldiers going over the top. Yet this is not just a half-baked attempt to mask homophobia. It also displays a fundamental lack of knowledge about the history of the world wars. Especially that of queerness in the trenches.

Though the Edwardian period is famed for its restrictive attitudes to homosexuality, class and gender, some of our most famous poetry, art and film has been made by or has taken inspiration from real life LGBT+ individuals living and active between 1900 to 1919.

The famous names are visible because of the efforts made by historians to map their personal lives. But other queer people existed alongside them even if they had nothing to their name. We do not know about them because Imperialist might, particularly in a time of active war, insisted on the erasure of gay lives. It was a culture that could brook no vulnerability, in which macho stereotypes and feminine domestic tropes were key to the very emblem of Britain, where the queering of empire was a subversion not to be tolerated. To say it’s “old fashioned to be blending national symbolism with colonialism and traditional hetero-masculinity (to declare that the two were powerful and sacred to Great British Values) is an understatement.

That being said, Britain is still grappling with its Imperial history and military future in a fast changing world. Ideas around what it means to be a man or a woman are changing as well as attitudes towards sexual expression, peace and social hierarchy and rightly so. Many Britons may feel they live in the shadow of the “good old days”, with a sense of bitterness that comes from a sense of not belonging to the now and the fear of losing power.

It is natural to be wary of what we don’t understand. But we must adapt rather than default to hatred and bigotry.

Lest we forget the LGBT+ individuals who were sacrificed in an unjust war and also those who did what they could to prevent losses and aid their fellow person. We can’t let history forget them.

[queer-geordie-nerd]

I talk about Mira a lot, and I’m doing so again 🤷🏻‍♀️

She was a beautiful woman, and a powerful and talented actor and writer, no doubt, but much more importantly, I feel, she was also a woman of vast and deep integrity - she fought against injustice and nationalism/racism all of her life and her principled and public stance against the war and ethnic divisions in Yugoslavia cost her dearly and yet, it was a position she never ever moved away from and believed in profoundly. It is very easy to have principles when they are not being tested, and another thing entirely to stake your very life on those principles.

Even when her stance cost her her home, her career, and her friendships, and the enormous amount of threats against her life forced her to leave her country, she never once backed down from her belief in unity and cooperation.

The anti war essay she wrote and published as she fled is still one of the most powerful pieces of writing I’ve ever read and I am going to post it here in its entirety because it is fierce and amazing:

Letter to my co-citizens

I hereby wish to thank my co-citizens who have joined so unreservedly in this small, marginal, and apparently not particularly significant campaign against me. Although marginal, it will change and mark my whole life. Which is, of course, totally irrelevant in the context of the death, destruction, devastation, and blood-chilling crimes within which our life now goes on.

This is happening, however, to the one and only life I have. It seems that I’ve been chosen for some reason to be the filthy rag everyone uses to wipe the mud off their shoes. I am far too desperate to embark on a series of public polemics in the papers. I do, however, feel that I owe myself and my city at least a few words. Like at the end of some clumsy, painful love story, when you keep wanting, wrongly, to explain something more, even though you know at the bottom of your heart that words are wasted; there is no one left to hear them. It is over.

Listening to my answering machine, to the incredible quantities of indescribably disgusting messages from my co-citizens, I longed to hear at least one message from a friend. Or not even a friend, a mere acquaintance, a colleague. But there was none. Not a single familiar voice, not a single friend. Nevertheless, I am grateful to them, to those noble patriots who kindly promise me a “massacre the Serbian way”; and to those colleagues, friends, and acquaintances who, by remaining silent, are letting me know that I cannot count on them any more.

I am grateful also to all my colleagues in the theatre with whom I played Drzic, Moliere, Turgenev, and Shaw, I am grateful to them for their silence, I am grateful to them for not even trying to understand, let alone attempting to vindicate, my statement concerning my appearance at the BITEF Festival in Belgrade, the statement in which I tried to explain that taking part in that production at that moment was for me a defense of our profession which must not and cannot put itself in the service of any political or national ideas, which must not and cannot be bound by political or national limits because it is simply against its nature, which must, even at the worst of times, establish bridges and ties. In its very essence it is a vocation which knows no boundaries.

I know that all this talk about the cosmopolitanism of art seems inappropriate at a moment like this. I know that it may seem out of place to swear to pacifism, to swear to love and to the brotherhood of all peoples while people are dying, while children are dying, while young men are returning home crippled and mangled forever.

How can I say anything which won’t sound like an ill-fitted nonsense at the moment when, for absolutely unfathomable reasons, Dubrovnik is being threatened, the city where I played my favorite role, Gloria?

But I have no other way of thinking. I cannot accept war as the only solution, I cannot force myself to hate, I cannot believe that weapons, killing, revenge, hatred, that such an accumulation of evil will ever solve anything. Each individual who personally accepts the war is in fact an accessory to the crime; must he not then take a part of the guilt for the war, a part of the responsibility?

In any case, I think, I know and I feel that it is my duty, the duty of our profession, to build bridges. To never give up on cooperation and community. Not the national community. The professional community.

The human community. And even when things are at their very worst, as they are now, we must insist to our last breath on building and sustaining bonds between people. This is how we pledge to the future.

And one day it will come. For my part, until recently I was willing to endure all manner of problems in transportation, communication, and finances to trek the 20 hours across Austria and Hungary between Zagreb and Belgrade. I was willing to use risky, even dangerous modes of travel, just to keep holding my performances in the two warring cities, to appear at precisely 7:30 on stage with my Zagreb or Belgrade colleagues and to alternate Corneille and Turgenev for the sake of professional continuity, for the sake of something that would outlive this war and this hatred which is so foreign to me. Time and time again I was willing to make my life a symbol of a pledge to the future which must be waiting for us, until that day when some ardent patriot finally does slaughter me as so many have promised to do.

I was willing and I would still be willing to undertake all and any efforts, if the hatred hadn’t suddenly overwhelmed me with its horrendous ferocity, hatred welling from the city I was born in. I am appalled by the force and magnitude of that hatred, by its perfect unanimity, by the fact that there was absolutely nobody who could see my gesture as my defense of the integrity of the profession, as my attempt to defend at least one excellent theatre performance. I had no intention of acting further in performances outside the BITEF Festival, as I stated in my letter. BITEF as an international theatre event attended by the English, Russians, French, Belgians, and even one Slovene seemed to me worth participating in, especially because any decision not to participate would have meant betraying a performance I had worked on under the most difficult circumstances during the March 9th Belgrade tanks, daily threats of a military coup, etc., etc.

It is terribly sad when one is forced to justification without having done anything wrong. There is nothing but despair, nausea, and horror.

I no longer have any decisions to make. Others have decided for me.

They have decided I must shut up, give up, vanish; they have abolished my right to do my job the way I feel it should be done, they have abolished my right to come home to my own city, they have abolished my right to return to my theatre and act in my performances. Someone decided that I should be fired from my job. Thank you, Croatian National Theatre; thank you, my colleague Dragan Milivojevic, who signed my dismissal slip. I know that lots of people are losing jobs, that I am just one of many, simply part of a surplus work force. I constantly ask myself whether I have any right, at this moment of communal horror, to make any demands of my own. One thing seems certain: I plan for quite some time (how long?) not to perform on any stage in this crumbling, mangled land. Perhaps they needn’t have hurried so in firing me. Perhaps this would have simply taken care of itself. With more decency. And dignity. Not so crudely. Of course, this is not a moment for tenderness. But won’t someone out there have to be ashamed of this? And will this someone necessarily be me, as my fellow actors try to convince me in their orthodox interviews? Can the horror of war be used as a justification for every single nasty bit of filth we commit against our fellow man? Are we allowed to remain silent in the face of injustice done to a friend or a colleague and justify our silence by the importance of the great bright national objective? I ask my friends in Zagreb, who are now silent, while at the same time they condemn Belgrade for its silence.

It is hard to write without bitterness. I would like to be able to do that, because we should “Love Our Enemy.” I wish we all could. Herein perhaps lies the solution for all of us. But I fear that we are very far from the ways of the Lord. His is the way of love. Not hatred.

To whom am I addressing this letter? Who will read it? Who will even care to read it? Everyone is so caught up by the great cause that small personal fates are not important any more. How many friends do you have to betray to keep from committing the only socially acknowledged betrayal, the betrayal of the nation? How many petty treacheries, how many pathetic little dirty tricks must one do to remain “clean in the eyes of the nation?”

I am sorry, my system of values is different. For me there have always existed, and always will exist, only human beings, individual people, and those human beings (God, how few of them there are !) will always be excepted from generalizations of any kind, regardless of events, however catastrophic. I, unfortunately, shall never be able to “hate all Serbs,” nor even understand what that really means. I shall always, perhaps until the moment the kind threats on the phone are finally carried out, hold my hand out to an anonymous person on the “other side,” a person who is as desperate and lost as I am, who is as sad, bewildered, and frightened. There are such people in this city where I write my letter, the city my love took me to, a feeling it seems almost indecent to mention these days. Nothing can provide an excuse any more, everything that does not directly serve the great objective has been trampled upon and appears despicable, and with it what love, what marriage, what friendship, what theatre performances!

I reject, I refuse to accept such a crippling of myself and my own life. I played those last performances in Belgrade for those anguished people who were not “Serbs”; but human beings, human beings like me, human beings who recoil before this monstrous Grand Guignol farce in which dead heads are flying. It is to these people, both here and there, that I am addressing my words. Perhaps someone will hear me.

The punishment meted me by my city, my only city and my theatre, my only theatre, the only theatre I felt was mine, is a punishment I feel I do not deserve. I was working in the way I have always felt I had to work, believing in people and our vocation which is supposed to bring people together, not tear them apart. I will never “give up my Belgrade friends”; as some of my colleagues have, because I do not feel that these friends have in any way brought about this catastrophe which has afflicted us, just as I will not turn my back on my Zagreb friends, not even those who have turned their backs on me. I will try in every way possible to understand their panic, their fear, their bitterness, even their hatred, but I plead for the same dose of understanding for me, that is, for a story which is different than many others, for a life which has deviated, due to the so-called destiny, from the expected and customary. Why must everything be the same, so frighteningly uniform, leveled, standardized? Haven’t we had enough of that? I know this is the time of uniforms and they are all the same, but I am no soldier and cannot be one. I haven’t got it in me to be a soldier, soldiering just isn’t my calling.

Regardless of whether we will be living in one, or five, or fifty states, let us not forget the people, each individual, regardless of which side of this Wall of ours the person happens to be on. We were born here by accident, we are this or that by accident, so there must be more than that, mustn’t there?

I am sending this letter into a void, into darkness, without an inkling of who will read it and how, or in how many different ways it will be misused or abused. Chances are it will serve as food for the eternally hungry propaganda beast. Perhaps someone with a pure heart will read it after all.

I will be grateful to that someone.

Mira Furlan,

From Belgrade and Zagreb, November 1, 1991.

[sillyteecup]

So, I think I have a Roman Reigns AU in the work but...I'm not sure about it just yet, so I thought I'd post a little excerpt and get some of your thoughts. Also this is the first Roman Reigns fic I'm writing so I'm also a little shy about that...but anyway here it is:

Untitled fic idea:

Being the daughter of the leader of one of the most powerful nations in the world was...lonely for a lack of better words. A sentiment many would find surprising coming from Lori of all people. After all she had plenty of friends (on daddy's payroll) and was set to be married to Jey Uso, a literal prince and one of the most eligible men on the market. What more was there to be left to be desired? Roman Reigns. The tribal chief, they called him. The most powerful and feared man in the world and most importantly, Jey's cousin and handler. He's also the man Lori's been fucking since the beginning of this sham of an engagement but...semantics.

[eirinstiva]

"I had no man."

The second part of "The Rest Cure" arrived today, and because this is one of my favourite stories of the Rafflesian Canon (?), it's harder than usual to comment because [heavy breathing].

What with his flourishing beard and the increasing shabbiness of the only suit he had brought with him to the house, there was no denying that Raffles had now the advantage of a permanent disguise.

This is the start of Bunny's revenge, and this time Manders left the idea mature all the night. This is not something that he's doing on impulse, this is Bunny showing his own criminal ability.

She was a tall woman; I was not too tall a man. Like Raffles, I had not shaved on Campden Hill. That morning, however, I did my best with a very fair razor which the colonel had left behind in my room; then I turned out the lady's wardrobe and the cardboard boxes, and took my choice.

Bunny knows that he's short, he can't grow a proper moustache and beard, and maybe he needed a haircut soon. He used all of this as resources to his disguise. Bunny used makeup, curled his hair and dressed with almost all the necessary (I'm sure the shoes like the gloves didn't fit him) to get what he wanted:

My idea was first to give him the fright he deserved, and secondly to show him that I was quite as fit to move abroad as he.

But Murphy's Law strikes! And the drama starts.

I had no man. I was alone, had broken in alone. There was not a soul in the affair (much less the house) except myself. So much I stuttered out in tones too hoarse to betray me on the spot. 

Who can save this poor lady Bunny in distress? Raffles! He got hurt but at least they kepy everything controlled.

It was Raffles at his worst, Raffles as I never knew him before or after—a Raffles mad with pain and rage, and desperate as any other criminal in the land. Yet he had struck no brutal blow, he had uttered no disgraceful taunt, and probably not inflicted a tithe of the pain he had himself to bear. 

I would love to see Bunny and Raffles running away while keeping their disguises just like ACD's story The Man with the Watches. At least in this story nobody dies.

This is the one of the most queer moments of Raffles and Bunny's stories with them sharing a house like a couple and Bunny dressed as a woman. Sometimes I think that Manders is too comfortable with this costume except for the clothes being not appropiate for the season and my bi-fi screams "genderqueer" and "non binary". Also this reminds me of Sherlock Holmes dressing as a woman in The Mazarin Stone, so this feels like Bunny left for a moment his Boswell role and become the protagonist.

I was thinking that Raffles getting so dangerous when Bunny or Faustina are in danger reminds me of saiyans leveling up and unlocking new powers.

By the way, I want to read this reference cited on Wikipedia: Yue, Isaac (2015). Translating Culture: Late-Victorian Literature into Chinese. London: National Taiwan University Press. pp. 19–36. ISBN 978-986-350-070-4.

Hong Kong University Professor Isaac Yue has noted that some elements of "The Rest Cure" hint at a homosexual relationship between Raffles and Bunny. For example, Bunny shows a strong desire for Raffles's attention, while there is no female character diverting Bunny's attention. Moreover, the contrast between Bunny's female dress and Raffles's long beard suggests that Bunny is characterized in the role of the female and Raffles is characterized in the role of the male in their relationship.[5] Yue argues that Hornung's portrayal of the relationship between Raffles and Bunny violates the traditional Victorian family values of strict and separate gender roles for men and women.

I'm tempted to write more about this, maybe a fanfic, but English is so hard! See ya~

[okthatsenuf]

As a Black woman, watching the outcome of the recent election has stirred up a profound sense of disappointment. It’s not only the results themselves but the layers of deception and betrayal that came with them, especially from communities that claimed to stand together. Many Black women invested hope, energy, and belief into the idea that change was not only possible but imminent. We campaigned, raised awareness, and fought tirelessly, often believing that others – especially white women – who presented themselves as allies would stand in solidarity for a future where we all thrive. Yet, in the voting booth, it seems many chose otherwise. It’s a painful reminder that allyship can often feel like a performance for some, an act that fades away when it's time to make the sacrifices required for real change.

It’s particularly disheartening to feel the sting of betrayal from white women who aligned themselves with our causes in public yet voted to uphold systems that continue to oppress Black communities. Some seemed to go through the motions of allyship, signaling support but ultimately protecting their own privileges when the stakes were high. This behavior reinforces a sad but long-understood reality: for many, privilege can overshadow empathy, and solidarity can be conditional, only offered when there’s little to lose. This duplicity is not only disheartening but feels like an insult to the hard work, risks, and sacrifices Black women constantly make, both for ourselves and for society at large.

Adding to the pain is the recognition that misogyny and patriarchy remain pervasive across racial lines. Many Black men, who share our struggles and should understand the necessity of change, have chosen to side with those who uphold these damaging power structures. While our shared history of racial oppression should ideally create unity, the residue of generational traumas and learned behaviors has led some Black men to adopt views about power and gender that echo the very systems that oppress them. It’s as if a “slave mentality” has woven itself into the fabric of some men’s outlooks, pushing them to seek status and validation in a society that disrespects Blackness but rewards the semblance of dominance and control. This alignment with patriarchy at the expense of Black women weakens the broader fight for equity and justice.

The breakdown of voter demographics in this election reveals a hard truth about the realities of power and privilege in the so-called "land of the free." Despite the nation’s claims of progress and equality, the results underscore how America, as the self-proclaimed "leader of the free world," often falters in standing by these ideals when it matters most. The numbers tell a striking story: rather than rallying behind candidates with qualifications, vision, and policies that support a more inclusive, equitable future, large groups of voters—across racial, gender, and socioeconomic lines—chose instead to reinforce the status quo. It's a painful reminder that for many, the preservation of hierarchy, however flawed, still outweighs the potential for transformative change.

Equally disheartening is the high percentage of Latinx women who voted against their own interests and the interests of their families and communities. The choice to support policies that negatively affect them as mothers, sisters, and wives mirrors an ingrained loyalty to systems that, historically, have not reciprocated that loyalty. For some, it seems there is a desire to stay in the "good graces" of those in power rather than stand with their communities to demand better. This dynamic—a willingness to compromise collective well-being for the illusion of acceptance or protection—is, unfortunately, a reflection of how deeply-rooted structures can influence personal and political choices. It shows just how complex and pervasive the fear of losing favor or perceived status can be, even when that favor comes at a great cost.

Now back to our black men who face challenges unique to their gender and race, often disproportionately affected by systemic violence and economic inequities. Yet, who stands by them more faithfully than Black women? When Black men are mistreated by the system, whether it be police brutality, unjust incarceration, or racial discrimination, it is Black women who march, speak up, and advocate for them—often at great personal risk. And yet, when the tables turn, when Black women rise to lead, our accomplishments are frequently met with suspicion or outright resistance. What fear of Black women’s strength lingers in some hearts? Why does their rise feel like a threat rather than a shared victory? For too many, it’s as if the same social conditioning that shapes prejudice and doubt in the dominant society has seeped into our own community, creating barriers to our solidarity.

This resistance to Black women’s success is tied to a societal conditioning that values male dominance and control, and unfortunately, the scars of this conditioning run deep. For some, a Black woman’s ambition challenges a fragile sense of power in a world that routinely undermines Black men. But true strength lies not in keeping others down but in rising together. Black women hold Black men down not only in times of crisis but every day. When economic opportunities are scarce, Black women stand by them. When self-worth is questioned, they lift them up. They nurture and empower while being fiercely resilient, bearing the brunt of both racial and gendered adversity. And yet, in the face of all this, they still champion the cause of Black men, no matter how exhausting the fight may be.

So, to Black men, the question remains: who will stand with you when you are economically disadvantaged, beaten down, and in need of someone who values your worth beyond what society says you’re worth? Black women have proven time and again that they will, no matter the cost. But we need to ask: who will stand with Black women? True solidarity means not only protecting one another but celebrating each other’s victories and trusting each other’s potential. As Black women continue to rise, they do so not just for themselves but for their communities, for the people who need them most, and for the promise of a stronger, more unified future. It’s time for everyone to embrace that strength rather than fear it, for it is the same strength that uplifts us all.

As we move forward, we now face the reality of what the next four years may bring. The consequences of this choice are not just abstract political implications—they’re likely to show up in very tangible, everyday ways. With this outcome, we must brace ourselves for the potential rise in domestic terrorism, policies that undermine our liberties, and a deepening of divisions across communities. For those who could have chosen differently but didn’t, remember this: when turmoil reaches your doorstep, when the very freedoms you thought would remain untouched are compromised, know that there was an opportunity to choose a different path.

This outcome is more than a political shift; it is a turning point with real repercussions for our safety, our rights, and our futures. The foundations of democracy and equality that many have fought for, bled for, and even died for are not immune to erosion. And for those who cast their votes out of fear, convenience, or a misguided sense of loyalty, remember that this moment will carry a cost—a cost that may be measured in hardships that could have been prevented, in freedoms that might be lost. When that reality sets in, it’s important to recognize that you had the chance to stand up for something better, to reject fear and division, and to choose a path of genuine solidarity and justice.

The power of choice is something not everyone has. But for those who did, the decisions made in this election will echo through lives and communities. It’s a painful truth that these choices may lead to struggles and sacrifices, especially for those who already carry the weight of discrimination and inequality. When these trials arrive, remember: there was a choice. There was a chance to stand together, to uplift leaders who genuinely fight for all of us, and to protect a vision of unity and equity. Now, as we face what may come, the hope is that more will learn from this and find the strength to choose differently in the future. For now, it’s time to prepare, to organize, and to remember that resilience has always been our greatest strength.

Sincerely, A disappointed, disheartened, but still standing strong Black woman

[felixcloud6288]

Higurashi: Festival Accompanying Chapter 15

This is a Takano chapter and I genuinely do not care about what happened in it.

The decision to end the Hinamizawa Syndrome research is entirely a political move. Tokyo is afraid of the international backlash if it's ever discovered that they were researching biological warfare.

But honestly, I think their cover-up attempt is going WAY too far. First off, every major international power is likely researching biological warfare. The only nation that will be humiliated is the one that gets discovered first.

Second, this research would actually be invaluable in the medical field. Everyone in the room fully acknowledges the existence of a brain parasite that can alter a person's mind and behavior. This could be invaluable in psychology, pathology, endocrinology, and several other fields.

Going full scorched earth is a gigantic setback to things like curing FUCKING RABIES!!! But no, looking like they've never done anything wrong is far more important than doing something right, even if it didn't have the purest motives.

So the decision is made to erase the pathogen entirely and pretend it and the research never existed, effectively erasing all the work Hifumi Takano had begun.

Takano's efforts to change the board's mind get her nowhere. In this moment where Rika is amassing allies to overcome her own fate, Takano is losing all the support she's had.

In a parallel to her grandfather, Takano presents her thesis to a group of people who can decide the future and survival of her research...

... and they also laugh at it.

Unlike with Hifumi, these men showed they weren't particularly interested in this meeting to begin. They aren't politically motivated to crush this research. They fully acknowledge the validity of Hinamizawa Syndrome. The mistake Takano made was she included the wild speculative conclusion that parasites are highly influential to human thought and philosophy.

Honestly, the problem I keep having with Takano's thesis is that it never talks about any practical uses. I keep bringing up rabies because rabies is one of the most terrifying diseases a human can contract. And if symptoms start to manifest, you have a 100% mortality rate.

If the ultimate purpose of the research was related to something like that, she would likely get moderate backing for it, maybe not secret government organization backing, but she'd get support to continue her research. But because she's sticking with Hifumi's original idea, she's being laughed at instead.

One of the people Takano presented this to said his friend who owned a publishing company would probably love Takano's thesis. Maybe she should do that. She should take the concept and make a series of psychological horror stories about people going insane because of brain parasites. She could make it a multi-book series. Throw in some extra fun stuff like demons, curses, and time loops to make it extra wild. I'm having a hard time coming up with a title though. "When the something cries"?

That moment where one of the men steps on the thesis was totally an accident. He got up and knocked over the papers and didn't realize he had stepped on some pages. When Takano cried at him to not step on it, he didn't know what she was talking about. And they clearly felt bad that they upset her so much.

As Takano walks the streets, she thinks how all her "allies" have turned on her the moment she and her research was no use to them. In truth, I'd say they're less actively hostile and more indifferent. In fact, the whole world is indifferent to her struggles. She's crying in the streets and no one notices her.

And then a new character walks in. Nomura from Tokyo. And she offers to help teach Takano what she can do.

Takano is definitely not an upstanding person at all. She's fine with killing people to advance her research. But she's not quite at the cackling mad while destroying a village evil yet. I think we're about to find out how she got there.

back

[haggishlyhagging]

Stanton and Anthony deplored the conservatism of those in the American Woman Suffrage Association, but the members of the 'American' equally deplored what they perceived to be the 'alienating' policies and practices of the ‘National.’ To members of the American, the fact that the journal of the National was to be called Revolution, when they were trying to establish their respectability, was most disturbing and some of them expressed their dismay. Writing to Susan B. Anthony about this, Stanton said: ‘The establishing of woman on her rightful throne is the greatest revolution the world has ever known or will know. To bring it about is no child's play. You and I have not forgotten the conflict of the last twenty years — the ridicule, persecution, denunciation, detraction, the unmixed bitterness of our cup.’ Stanton was not prepared to 'gloss over' the elements of confrontation, nor the naked operation of power; she wanted to force it out into the open rather than to mask it with a cloak of respectability: 'A journal called the Rosebud might answer for those who come with kid gloves and perfumes, Stanton said, to lay immortal wreaths on the monuments which in sweat and tears others have hewn and built; but for us ... there is no name like the Revolution' (Stanton and Blatch, 1922, vol. I, p. 74-5). And for the American Woman Suffrage Association there was to be no association with the formulators of such sentiment for many years.

In Eighty Years and More Stanton says that she and some of her friends were frequently criticised for their behaviour — and often by women who were reaping the rewards of those fifty years of struggle. Such critics suggest, Stanton says, ‘If these pioneers in reform had only pressed their measures more judiciously, in a more ladylike manner, in more choice language, with a more deferential attitude, the gentlemen could not have behaved so rudely for so long’ (Stanton, 1898a, p. 167). But Stanton makes no apology for being unladylike — in her analysis, no one ever relinquished power because they were asked — no matter how nicely!

Like some of her predecessors, she was often frustrated by the actions of women, and like them, she refused to blame women for the circumstances over which they had no control. Yet she fervently wished that women would look to each other - and not to men - if it was approval they needed. Again and again she tried to make it clear that it should not be important to women to be acceptable to men and that if all women became ‘unacceptable’ and defined their own terms of their own existence, much of the battle would be won, because men would have no alternative but to ‘accept’ unacceptable women - or go without! She deplored the strategy of being 'feminine' to achieve women's rights, because she thought that it was ultimately self-defeating. Not only would it not achieve the desired aim (partly because the more feminine women acted the more evidence they provided of their unfitness for public office — which was where men started, to begin with), but such masquerading and repression also did violence to oneself. There was no self-esteem to be gained as far as Stanton was concerned, from acting in a 'feminine' fashion; it left one feeling shabby.

Her unashamed intention was at times to frighten men, to insist that they would have to change, to demand that their privileges and their images of themselves should go. Her verve, her mockery and her wit are constantly present and she was not at all reluctant to make a joke at the expense of a man (behaviour that is customarily called man-hating in a male-dominated society where men make up the rules and do not see themselves as 'funny'). That she did sometimes on the most public of occasions make a man and his foibles the butt of the joke is no doubt one of the reasons she was called a man-hater (see Gail Parker, 1975), but it is one of the reasons I enjoy some of the incidents she recounts.

-Dale Spender, Women of Ideas and What Men Have Done to Them

[neon-and-dust]

A game of Lexicon with my partner

My gf and I started playing a roleplaying/writing game called Lexicon (here's the wikipedia page). It goes like this: going down the alphabet each player takes the role of an academic and writes an encyclopedia style entry about a made up topic, it can be stuff like a fictional country, a war, art movements, magic, animals, anything that could go in an encyclopedia. All of these entries are part of the same world.

We did a slightly modified version, as Lexicon is a game for groups in forums and we played just in two via email. We wanted to post some of our entries, I'll start with the first written by me (pardon my mistakes, I'm not a native speaker and I'm also illiterate):

___________________________________

Ambivalentia

Ambivalentia is a country, or maybe a dukedom, or a polis, it hasn't been decided yet, inhabited by the most indecisive and indifferent people of history: the Ambivalentians. Located in a flat, dull land (much like its inhabitants), neighbouring the countries of Insufferenburg, Boriopolis and Belgium.

It's unknown what caused all the people of this country to become so indifferent and neutral about everything in their life, but everybody who has ever visited can confirm: it is impossible to organize anything with a group of Ambivalentians.

It's rare that an Ambivalentian visits other countries/dukedoms/polis (it is rarely worth the effort for them), so what follows are the observation of famous adventurer-explorer Baron Gentleman (1), who resided in the city of Indifferentia, capital of Ambivalentia, and had this to say:

"During my long sojourn in the passable city of Indifferentia, I have learned one thing: I fucking hate this place am afraid I do not quite fit in. The people here are an indecisive lot; I have tried numerous time to organise any kind of going out, asking everybody where they would like to go, and offering several excellent options if I might say so myself [Baron Gentleman goes on a long diatribe about his dedication to finding only the best places, the best experiences and the best men and women. Most of this content is inappropriate to this Encyclopedia]. But no matter how many wonderful ideas I had, nobody was ever interested! They would always say "It makes no difference to me what we do" "Anything is fine with me" "I have no preference". Enough to drive the most stubborn man mad!

I gave up after failing to organize my birthday party and just stayed home to drink the Ambivelentian wine, which is infuriatingly neither good nor bad."

One historical curiosity about Ambivalentia is that nobody was ever successful in dominating the place. The Ambivalentians saw the worst of the tyrants and the most benevolent of kings take power, and to all they would reply the same way: a shrug and half assed complacency. Every ruler would eventually go mad about how little their inhabitants cared about them, often ordering village burning and pillagings. Those pillages have never caused great damage, as the soldiers are not very enthusiastic about anything, not even plundering. The number of rulers throwing themself off the palace increases every year, and nobody has ever made the effort of building a net to catch them as they fall or something.

The national animal is the Jofonco(2), known for being completely unknown, as the Ambivalentian never bothered to draw it and put it on a flag or anything.

Citations

1. Baron Gentleman: Recount of the extraordinary adventures of Baron Gentleman, as written, edited and published by Baron Gentleman.

2. Jofonco: Speculations, hypotheses and complete fabrications about Jofonco, the unseen Ambivalentian animal.

Written by: Cornelius Smartbuttocks

___________________________

Thanks for reading! The thing I love most about this game is how we kept building on top of each other's entries, which is a surprisingly good way to worldbuild together. I think this could work well for cooperative worldbuilding in a ttrpg and the like.

Maybe I'll post more entries later, we've already reached the W in our game so there's a lot of stories. Let me know what you think!

P.S.: small clarification, the citations at the end are topics that the other player is encouraged to write about in their entry for that letter. So my gf for her entry wrote about Baron Gentleman

[sonofanumbranwitch]

Symmetra should have been the villain of Bayonetta 3

So I understand that title is going to need a good bit of explaining. So follow me down this rabbit hole.

I’ve talked before about how the homunculi are pretty underwhelming as antagonists. Their design philosophy is just so much weaker than the angels and demons of the previous games. We don’t know where exactly they came from, how they’re made or really their big motivation for why they’re doing what they’re doing.

The most interesting thing about the homunculi is how they draw from Buddhism and Hindu motifs, with things such as lotus flowers and prayer beads. Even their goal of rebirthing the multiverse harkens to ideas in Buddhist philosophy such as Indra’s Net which envisions existence as a net that spreads and interconnects through infinity.

And yet Singularity, the leader and creator of the homunculi, is a featureless white guy… Like, if Singularity had been given a Indian or Southeast Asian design at the very least players could have reached for the conclusion that the homunculi have the motifs they do because they’re drawn from their creator’s cultural background. But nope, Sigurd just apparently has a thing for Southeast Asian aesthetics… because.

In the midst of thinking about all this I got to thinking Bayonetta is due for a female villain at this point. Like as much fun as it is to see the queen stomp cocky arrogant men into the ground, I think considering since the first reveal trailer we knew this was supposed to be a villain that Bayo would actually struggle against. And I think it would be fitting that Bayonetta’s fist competent threat would be a woman who is just as capable as her.

And these two Ideas got me thinking about Symmetra from Overwatch. Her design is actually perfect for the basis of a Bayonetta 3 villain given everything I’ve mentioned before. She is a character of Indian nationality. She is a scientist which fits with the homunculi’s origins as being “man-made”. And even listening to some of her voice lines I found a lot that already make her sound like a perfect villain for this game.

“What you call freedom I call anarchy”

“I will correct societies flawed design”

“I find violence regrettable but unrest even more so”

“From order springs harmony”

“Freedom is a convenient illusion”

“The world is a dream not yet realized”

“I will weave a better world into being”

“You are unworthy of the true reality”

“Perception is your weakness”

“The true enemy of humanity is disorder.”

Like instead of generic white dude doing this for power and glory or whatever, we could have beautiful Indian woman hellbent of rewriting reality to wipe out all she deems imperfect to her utopian design. A character who’s motivations we actually get to explore and who’s design actually tells us something about her.

Like tell me this wouldn't have made a perfect villain design for Bayonetta

[sihtricsimp]

Modern!Revolution!Sihtric x Femme!OC

Chapter 1

Warnings: Death, war, guns, shooting, death

Based on this photo (thanks to one of my fellow Nowallian mutuals for finding it for me <3)

Most people would be thrilled to be one of the top pilots from one of the most powerful nations in Europe. Ellia, however, was growing tired of being perfect all the time. Growing tired of their leader seemingly doing nothing about the invading Northmen, spouting peace like it was gospel, yet continuing the hellish war effort as if Satan had possessed him. His war with the incoming Danes, who just wanted a new home after theirs was almost destroyed by storms, his refusal to acknowledge the rebellion so clearly growing right under his nose. It almost made one want to join the rebellion oneself.

But, just like everyone else, Ellia had grown used to her position, afraid of what might happen if they lost even a little of their power. People she had trusted and thought were good to their core were now selfish and complacent, not caring about the lives of their soldiers. General Athelflead, leader of the RAF and daughter to their ever-gracious leader, King Alfred, was one of those people. She had taught Ellia how to fly and was the one to give her the callsign of "Finch". A small bird was perfect for the shortest, and as some of the men would say, prettiest Commander in the Royal Air Force.

General Aethelflead brought Ellia out of her thoughts with a "Well, what do you think, Finch?"

Ellia placed her helmet down on the table with a sigh, "I think it's another suicide mission. Juker, Scramble, Uno, and I just barely survived our last mission to the Danish foothold. We lost eight good pilots in a single dogfight. We should focus on peace talks with Prime Minister Aethelred in Mercia so we can reinforce our dwindling presence in Northumbria!"

"I am well aware of the dire situation in Northumbria," Aethelflead said, "but we can't send the forces there without risking our own borders to the Danes. My father would never approve of the mission, you know this."

"Just because I know it, doesn't make it right." Ellia looked at her mentor, who rose her eyebrows expectantly. "But yes, if it is our holy duty from God, we shall carry it out."

Athelflead nodded. "You leave at 0600 tomorrow. Take the remainder of your squad. Since this is a stealth mission, you can use the new S-40s."

"But we haven't had much-" Ellia was about to protest when Aethelflead raised a hand.

"You and your squad are dismissed, Finch." Aethelflead used her other hand to rub her temple in frustration. "You will need ample time to prepare, will you not?"

"Yes, ma'am." Ellia tried to not let her tone become sarcastic as she saluted the General, and marched towards the barracks, the rest of the squad following suit.

On their way to the barracks, they passed by the War Room, a name given somewhat affectionately to the main meeting room of the facility. It was where all the important meetings took place, and from the look of things, the King was holding an important one. Ellia and her squad were fully intent on just walking past. None of them, Ellia, in particular, had the patience to deal with the incompetence and idiocy of the King and his other generals. King Alfred, sitting side on to the door, had other ideas.

"Ah, Commander Ellia, is it? Just the pilot I wanted to see!" He said looking up from the war table. Of course, he had to be sitting right by the open door.

Ellia suppressed a sigh. Here was the man who was responsible for her friends' deaths. Yet, she could do nothing about it unless she wanted to join her fallen comrades in whatever came next.

"Yes sir, Commander Ellia Goldstrum, callsign Finch, at your service." She gave a quick salute, her three squadmates following suit.

"At ease, ladies." The King stood and motioned for the squad to enter the room. As they did so, Ellia noticed the distinct lack of anyone else other than old white men in the room. With Athelflead out on duty, the major war decisions were being made by crusty Generals who hadn't seen real combat since before Ellia was born. "I know you four have had some contact with the rebellion while on your last flight?" The King continued.

"No, sir, those were Danes we fought. They flew Danish planes that carried Danish insignia, and wore Danish uniforms." Ellia was quickly loosing patience. To be sent on the same suicide mission the following day by the daughter, to then be questioned about the first mission by the father.

"We have credible intelligence from my nephew that the Danes have a shaky alliance with the Rebellion, so they are using Danish equipment." Alfred, as per usual, was calm and composed, even when talking about the savages on the other side.

It made sense that the Danes and the Rebellion would ally themselves, they both had a vendetta against Alfred. The shakiness also seemed correct, as the leader of the Rebellion was known to most as the Daneslayer.

"So you want us to go and confirm this intelligence, then?" Ellia guessed. The crown had a habit of telling its soldiers where to fly and who to fight without saying why, expecting blind loyalty until the last breath. This tracked with Ellia's experience with Christianity. Blind faith without question. Ellia was quite comfortable living in hidden godlessness, knowing there was no risk of burning eternally for her, just the calm nothingness of the void.

After a pause, the King replied, "Yes, we need the intelligence confirmed, but we didn't want you to know in case you got captured by them. They don't need to know that we know about their alliance."

"Can do, sir." Was the only words Ellia could get out without losing her cool. The only reason they were risking their lives was to confirm intelligence? Something spies could easily have done? It was bullshit.

"Dismissed, ladies. You'll need all the rest you can get for tomorrow." The King raised his hand, shooing them away, before turning back to his council. They started talking as Ellia and her squad marched away, but they were all engrossed in their own thoughts to hear what was said.

Ellia only relaxed when they got back to their shared barracks near the flight deck. There were two bunk beds, and they each got a draw to themselves in the dresser, the only other piece of furniture in the room. The higher-ups reckoned they didn't need to waste money on a window to the outside world when their pilots were spending all day in the air regardless.

"I want to defect to the Daneslayer's rebellion more with each passing mission" Juker complained, once they were safely back in their shared bunk room, out of the earshot of their superiors. "I mean, we're flying the exact same path as we did last time, the path that got Candy and Wolf's squads downed." Everyone was draped across their bunks, Juker above Ellia, and Uno above Scramble.

"You find us the rebellion stronghold, and I'll be right there with ya, Juker." Scramble joked, flicking through the same 'Kilted Men' magazine she'd had since forever, a smile on her face.

Leaning over her bunk to look at Scramble, Uno laughed, "Ha! Good luck, their base is harder to find than I am to beat at card games!" Uno always bragged about her winning streak in every card game they played, specifically in her callsign namesake, that was only still a streak because everyone refused to play with her.

"Ya know, I'm still convinced ya cheat every time." Scramble glanced up from her magazine to roll her eyes at Uno.

Uno gasped, her hand going to her forehead, pretending to faint. "Me? Cheat? Why, I would never!"

"Except for when you definitely dealt both Jokers into your hand in Scum," Juker added, getting an offended look from Uno.

"Multiple times, might I add." Ellia enjoyed joining in on her squad's antics, even if it was just one small jab in the middle of a faux argument. She watched the other three joke around, laughing their asses off at something another said, thinking of the love they had for each other. It had been a tough few years for them, and they all needed all of the love and laughter they could get.

Juker and Ellia had come from the same small village on the southern coast. They were only separated for a few months since joining the RAF when Juker crashed into a mountain after avoiding an enemy aircraft and had to hike back to base.

Scramble was from Ireland and had lost her husband somewhere along the way, their baby daughter dying from a chill while she made her way to Wessex with her. Uno, however, was born and raised in Wessex and used flying as a way to see the world and get out of her city life bubble.

Once the sun started to set, and they all had their nightly rations, Ellia called lights out.

"Oh, come on Finch, five more minutes?" Uno protested as Ellia reached for the switch.

"Do you want to be falling asleep at your yoke tomorrow, Uno?"

"I guess falling asleep at the controls a few thousand meters in the air would be bad for my health." Uno conceded, slipping under her sheets.

"Right, 0400 wake up call tomorrow morning, be ready ladies." Ellia turned the lights off, having received a resounding 'yes ma'am' from her squad.

The mission started off well. The S40s were able to climb higher, move faster, carry more ammo than the typical stealth jet, and had much better on board surveillance tech than the S30s. And they were fun to fly.

The squad was formed in a diamond shape, Ellia taking the lead position. Uno was to her left, Scramble on her right and Juker taking up the rear.

"We're coming up on the Danish settlement, Finch.” Juker said, “Break through these clouds and we should see it.”

“Copy that, Juker,” Ellia said. They were at the same location as last time, she recognised the longitude and latitude. She felt her chest sink out of sadness and anxiety. What if there was another ambush? Ellia couldn’t take losing another pilot. “Radio silence from now on, communicate by hand signals. Don’t want the heathens to know they’re being spied on by girls. Let’s just get in and out ladies.”

Ellia received thumbs up from her flanks, and she trusted Juker enough to know she’d listen. They flew in silence for most of the way, but something about this new silence felt heavier. Maybe it was the weight of their former friends and pilots sitting on their soldiers. Or maybe the very air the Danes breathed was toxic.

Ellia didn’t get time to dwell on it though, as they broke through the child’s high above the Danish base. They were high enough up to not be easily spotted by radar or the naked eye, but their powerful cameras allowed them to get a good view of the base.

She saw too much equipment for the Danish army around the base. A few more planes, plenty more trucks and boxes around the buildings, with doubtless more under cover.

The intel gathered by the King’s nephew was correct. The Rebellion had allied themselves with the Danes. Neither the Danes nor the Rebellion had this many resources individually.

Ellia noted down the number of planes and trucks she saw, and made her best approximation on the weapons caches she could see.

She was about to give the back to base signal when a red blip appeared on the edge of her radar. That usually meant a bogey, and they usually hung around. However, it disappeared almost as quick as it had appeared. Glancing to her right, Scramble gave a shrug. Ellia made the eyes up gesture to Scramble. She then turned to give the signal to Uno.

Suddenly, as if like a ghost, a Danish plane flew over Uno’s plane, then the rest of the squad. It had a custom paint job on it’s belly, a Mjolnir symbol, as far as Ellia could make out.

“Alright, comms back on, they know we’re here. Game faces, he might not be alone.” Ellia said, “we might not have much experience in these planes, but God be damned if we aren’t the best pilots in all of Britannia.”

Ellia’s eyes tracked the Danish plane, but it quickly disappeared into the clouds. It was a bad idea to follow it, since it could clearly hide itself from radar.

Before Ellia could even finish her thought, gunfire reigned overhead. The Dane had banked around to behind them.

“Break!” Ellia shouted, Banking left with Uno, Scramble, and Juker going to the right. The pilot had made a mistake, the pilot had alerted them to their presence too early, leaving the squad plenty of time to shoot at the pilot.

Ellia pulled her trigger, bullets flying through the air. The pilot dodged the bullets, pulling up only to reveal a second aircraft. Ellia barely had time to register the four leaf clovers adorning each wing before she herself was hit by the new contender.

The next thing she knew, she woke up, still strapped to her seat. The first thing she noticed was another wreckage next to her, one of her squad members it looked like. Ellia couldn't make out who it was, but whoever was inside wasn't moving.

She scrambled out of her plane as fast as she could and rushed over to the wreck, the adrenaline covering any pain Ellia doubtlessly had. She reached the wreck. Forced open the cockpit. Lifted the head of the pilot.

Ellia screamed, jumping back from the downed jet. Juker. It couldn't be Juker. Juker couldn't be gone. She was known for her evasive maneuvers. She couldn't have been shot down. If anyone was going to survive this mission, it was going to be her.

Ellia tried to compose herself as she climbed the wreck again, to check again. Definitely Juker. She dipped her ear to Juker's mouth. No breath. Tears streamed down Ellia's cheeks, scattering both hers and Juker's bloodstained flight suits.

As she took the dog tags from around Juker's neck, Ellia heard a twig snap behind her. She drew the gun from the holster on her hip, pointing at the noise.

"Commander, it's us..." Scramble said, hands raised.

"What's wrong, Finch?" Uno walked up to the edge of the wreck, "Why have you got Juker's dog tags?"

Ellia sat down on the edge of the cockpit, revealing Juker to the others. She broke down into sobs as they started crying too. Ellia, mid sob, slipped Juker's dog tags on and got down from the plane.

"Right," she sniffled, "Juker would want us to keep moving, find our way back. And I think I may need a bandage for my arm." Now that the adrenaline had worn off a bit, she could feel a good gash in her left arm, going from shoulder to elbow. "I think it's shallow at least, otherwise I would have bled out a while ago."

"You're right, we need to find shelter, and get your would cleaned." Scrambler wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

"You think we can chance it with the Danes?" Uno joked. She always tried to lighten the mood, no matter how dire the situation was. They were stranded in enemy territory with no way to contact home, and no one coming after them.

"We have less of a chance with the Danes than you have at losing at cards," Scrambler replied.

Before they could come to a conclusion, a Danish pilot came into view from behind Juker's wreck.

"So you ladies come here often?" He said, his messy hair covering his eyes slightly.

"Who the fuck are you, Daneboy?" Ellia drew her gun for the second time, followed closely by the others.

"Commander Goldstrum, is it? My name is Sihtric Kjartansson, callsign Runt, with the Rebellion. I am to take you and your squad to the Daneslayer."

[nerdygaymormon]

I came across a podcast of 'faithful' gay men who are married to women and they don't like Charlie Bird and Ben Schilaty. What do you think of them?

I like Charlie Bird and Ben Schilaty. I think they do an amazing work in helping build understanding in the LDS Church about what it's like to be a gay member. They also use their podcast to bring on other LGBTQ+ members to share their perspectives.

Ben and Charlie both have temple recommends and follow the Church's standards, even Charlie who is dating a man says he follows all the same rules as what's expected of straight couples, so I would count them as 'faithful' gay men.

I know there's a few gay men (why is it always gay men who get heard in the LDS Church?) who are upset by Ben & Charlie. Generally these men are in mixed-orientation marriages and I wonder if part of their feelings about Ben & Charlie is that it can feel like their own choices aren't being celebrated. They made a choice to deny a powerful part of themselves, that was a real sacrifice and often felt like it was required of them, and it can be difficult to see others who aren't required to make that same sacrifice and to see that now other options are acceptable. These gay men may feel a need to defend the principles that led to their sacrifice and gives it meaning and causes that required sacrifice to make sense.

Compared to Ben and Charlie, I imagine these other individuals feel their sacrifice is much greater, or perhaps more noble, and yet they don't have books in Deseret Bookstore, they don't have a large number of listeners to their podcast, they don't have 100k+ followers on Instagram, they're not being invited to give firesides all across the nation.

I hope their mixed-orientation marriages are successful. I've heard a few of them lament that the influence of Ben & Charlie is leading some people to not enter mixed-orientation marriages, however I know the statistics are most mixed-orientation marriages fail and it's not a good idea to push gay people into those arrangements. If someone makes that choice, I wish them the best, but they shouldn't be threatened by others who don't follow that same path and who instead recognize that's not the best choice for themselves and the hurt & pain it'll likely bring to themselves and their partners & children.

[gamerdog1]

Saga of Tanya the Evil Season 1 Review

Sometimes it concerns me just a bit how much of the anime I like are all about the military. I mean, sure, it’s all fictional, but at the same time, I’m sure that there are other themes or motifs that would reflect much better of my viewing habits or personal beliefs. Still, there’s something that continues to draw me towards militaristic anime series. Whether it’s the idea of a never-ending battle against the forces of evil, seeing a character rise up the ranks of command as they grow as a person, or slick uniforms, I find myself watching anime that have some sort of military structure as their dominant governing body. (Fullmetal Alchemist, Attack on Titan, and Seraph of the End are just a few, to give an idea.) Yet, within each lies a unique perspective, a new take on the idea of the military and what it’s function is in society at large. Some explore the concept of war as an inevitable, righteous purpose, while others explore the ways in which dependency on conflict can lead to the destruction of a nation. However, few bother to ask the question: what kind of sick, twisted person would ever want to fight? Well, after twelve episodes, The Saga of Tanya the Evil offers a simple answer to this question, giving the story of a character who is sure to stay in my mind for years to come. 

This anime follows Tanya Degurechaff, a ten year old girl who enlists in her country's military in order to secure herself a comfortable future once the war is over. Previously a middle-aged salaryman in modern-day Japan, Tanya is given a second chance at life after a disgruntled coworker pushes her into an oncoming train. Tanya, however, despises her divine savior, and sets out to achieve her goals in her new life without the help of a god, or ‘Being X’ as she calls them. Tanya sets out to rise through the ranks, doing whatever she needs in order to gain acclaim and safety in higher military positions, even if it means crushing others along the way.

Tanya, for all intents and purposes, is no good person. For crying out loud, the series title calls her evil! Yet, through every struggle, I still found myself rooting for her, no matter how many horrible things she did. In fact, I found it difficult at times to try to dislike her! Tanya is the perfect example of a character so evil that she is lovable, in the same vein as classic Disney villains such as Ursula or Scar. There’s something about her, this attitude that she has, that makes her so endearing. She can be polite and respectful, and then fly off the rails not a minute later, all without losing her signature sense of superiority. The contrast between the appearance she puts up to her superiors and how she really feels makes for an interesting character, one that allows us to see her both as vicious and sophisticated. 

There were many moments of Tanya’s brilliance and wit that had me chuckling to myself as I watched this series. In one episode, Tanya leads her squadron of magic-powered flying soldiers into enemy territory, where they find enemy artillery factories. She relishes in the idea of dealing a massive blow to her enemies, but knows that she cannot without issuing an evacuation warning to the civilians who are working there. So, she gets on the international frequency, and issues the warning in a high-pitched kiddie voice, technically fulfilling the legal guidelines of an attack on civilian areas. The factory workers, blissfully unaware, laugh at the announcement, before Tanya and her crew blow it all sky-high with glee. In any other show, this scene would be horrific, but here, I found myself cheering Tanya on, amazed by her cleverness and penchant for blowing things up. Even when she commits war crimes, she does it with such cunning and glee that I can’t help but smile with her. 

It’s also, at least to me, quite refreshing to see a woman in the lead of a series like this. In most anime, as in real life, men dominate the military. With some exceptions, military anime usually leave the women at home to take care of children and stare out the window wistfully, wondering when their husbands will return from the war. Despite it’s resemblance to our world, though, Tanya’s country has no issues with women enlisting, letting girls and boys fight together for their glory of ‘The Fatherland’. Maybe that’s why they keep winning battles...

Seeing a female lead in a series like this is quite empowering. Most war media, especially from Western studios, is male-dominated, and often feels like it has to justify women being soldiers in it’s fictional stories. Japan, it seems, has completely skipped past the cries of historical inaccuracy, and given us what we want. Kudos to them on that, because the female characters in this series are the ones that I found myself rooting for the most. Tanya and her companion Viktoriya have a dynamic quite like an evil genius and henchman, bringing them close while still keeping a dividing line between them through status. Watching them grow over the course of the series, I felt myself caring about them above all other characters, wanting to see them make it out of each conflict safely. 

However, one of the most fascinating parts of this series was Tanya’s relationship with ‘Being X’. Tanya’s staunch atheism in the face of a literal god who holds her life in their hands is ironic, almost comical at times. She is given a second chance at life, yet refuses to believe. Then, in order to unlock her true power and help her comrades win each conflict, she must pray to that god, forcing her to submit before the power she reviles in order to progress towards her goal. Even when coming face to face with this deity, she refuses to back down, cussing it out and vowing that she doesn’t need it to get where she wants to go. Tanya’s stubbornness, combined with the threat of a true deity, creates a conflict that goes beyond the physical world that Tanya can control. No matter what she does, her life is in Being X’s hands, so all she can do is rage and bide her time. This, I believe, is a ticking time bomb that will hopefully be discussed further in the next season, and allow us to see more of Tanya confronting things that she cannot manipulate or shoot her way out of. 

However, my thoughts on this series, like all series I have seen, are not without some criticisms. For one, this series falls into a trap that many militaristic series inevitably fall for. That being an over focus on boardroom chatter and old men discussing things. Not to sound like a hyper-active pre-teen who skips past all talking scenes here, but I found myself struggling to keep up with the many war strategy discussion scenes. I understand that they have significance in the story and the development of the world, but I think that the information could’ve been gotten across in an easier way. Or, perhaps, a lesser focus on those scenes, as while they explain the strategies that the army is planning, they don’t always connect with what Tanya and her squadron are doing. I found the boardroom of old military men to be quite boring, and hope that in future seasons, we get less of them, or perhaps a change in the way their scenes are shot. 

Overall, though, I quite enjoyed this series. Sure, its quite more direct with it’s messaging and imagery than others I’ve seen, but for someone with a viewing history like me, its quite the refreshing viewing experience. I enjoyed getting to see a fictional war be portrayed as a confusing, seemingly never-ending bloodbath, rather than a righteous battle of good versus evil. It made it seem more realistic that way. I also really enjoyed the main character, and would recommend this series to anyone who loves arrogant, show-stealing villains. Tanya Degurechaff  is, to put it bluntly, a little bitch, but we love her for it. Every cunning trick, every backstab, every acrobatic battle just made me like her more. In the end, this is Tanya’s world, and we’re all just living in it. 

[bllsbailey]

After Bashing Half of America, Obamas and Clintons Now Issue Statements on 'Grace'

Now that the resounding presidential Trump election win is in the books, statements about the president-elect's victory are flying in from luminaries around the world. The latest to opine on the matter are the Obamas and the Clintons, and although both their statements expressed love for our country and our democracy (which we all know is actually a republic), neither mentioned that the four of them have been bashing half the electorate on a regular basis. It’s hard to find unity and grace when they've been calling Republicans—particularly Trump voters—a “basket of deplorables,” “bitter [folks who] cling to their guns,” blatantly fascist, “garbage,” and so much more. 

Yet now they want us to roll over and play nice.

First, the Clintons, whose message was mercifully shorter than the Obamas' and more to the point:

Billary started out with a real knee-slapper: 

Kamala Harris and Tim Walz ran a positive, forward-looking campaign to be proud of.

Positive? What was uplifting about claiming their opponents were the same as one of the most evil, mass-murdering totalitarian regimes that ever existed? Twisted.

"The American people have voted, and Donald Trump and J.D. Vance will be the next President and Vice President of the United States. We wish them well and hope they will govern for all of us.” They added: “We must remember that America is bigger than the results of any one election, and what we as citizens do now will make the difference between a nation that moves forward or one that falls back. We need to solve our problems and seize our opportunities together. The future of our country depends on it.”

That's lovely. I'm sure plenty of folks might have thoughts in response, but the Clintons don't want to hear it. If you try to reply, you can't:

I wonder if the reason for their closing comments is because, a little over two weeks ago, Hillary said about the now-president-elect’s closing campaign rally, “Trump [is] actually reenacting the [Nazi] Madison Square Garden rally in 1939.” 

Can you feel the love?

The Obamas' statement was unfortunately longer-winded and full of their usual passive-aggressive tone and gaslighting. They, too, congratulated Trump and told us how amazing the failed Harris-Walz campaign was, but they also threw out some other junk that wasn’t so feel-good.

I read it so you don’t have to:

Barack and Michelle:

"This is obviously not the outcome we had hoped for, given our profound disagreements with the Republican ticket on a whole host of issues. But living in a democracy is about recognizing that our point of view won't always win out, and being willing to accept the peaceful transfer of power.

I'll skip most of the rest, but this paragraph doesn't jibe with their recent behavior:

"In a country as big and diverse as ours, we won't always see eye-to-eye on everything. But progress requires us to extend good faith and grace—even to people with whom we deeply disagree. That's how we've come this far, and it's how we'll keep building a country that is more fair and more just, more equal and more free."

Remember, it was just in October when Barack went into race-baiting mode and belittled black men who did not plan to vote for Harris. He basically said they were misogynists:

And you're coming up with all kinds of reasons and excuses, I've got a problem with that. Because part of it makes me think -- and I'm speaking to men directly -- part of it makes me think that, well, you just aren't feeling the idea of having a woman as president, and you're coming up with other alternatives and other reasons for that… That's not acceptable.

See: The Thrill Is Gone: Barack Obama's Scolding of Black Men Torched by Prominent African Americans

It was plain to see in this election cycle that the Clintons and Obamas have all lost their former luster. They came across as nasty, bitter, and full of rage against half their countrymen.

I’m not ready to talk about grace and unity just yet, thanks. I am going to need a few days to gloat over this monstrous victory. We can talk later.