#crusaders of the lost mark

[blu3b3rryj4mp1r3]

🎵 inom dig finns nåt underbart 🎵

♡ ˢᶠʷ ᶦⁿᵗᵉʳᵃᶜᵗᶦᵒⁿ ᵒⁿˡʸ ♡

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Winter Wrap Up

The Pony I Want To Be

[itneedsmoregays]

How Crusaders of the Lost Mark should have ended

(Diamond Tiara runs off after Silver Spoon ends their friendship)

Apple Bloom: I know Diamond Tiara's been pretty awful but we should probably make sure she's okay. Just because she's never cared about anypony else's feelings doesn't mean we shouldn't care about hers.

Scootaloo: ...You’re kidding, right? 

Apple Bloom: What?

Sweetie Belle: Hasn’t she tormented us over and over again?

Scootaloo: And didn’t she try to humiliate you on Family Appreciation Day?

Sweetie Belle: And blackmail us to make us keep writing newspaper gossip?

Scootaloo: And ruthlessly mock my inability to fly in an attempt to break my spirit?

Sweetie Belle: I just don’t see why we, as bullying victims, should feel obligated to give a flying feather about our bully’s feelings and whatever plight she might be suffering at home when she’s been nothing but awful to us.

Apple Bloom: .....Nah, y’know what? You’re right. Screw her.

[don-lichterman]

We'll Make Our Mark Prelude - My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic - Season 5

We'll Make Our Mark Prelude – My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic – Season 5

The Cutie Mark Crusaders sing about how they won’t stop trying until they get their cutie marks. — Download: http://kiwi6.com/file/78wku28nne —————————————————— S5E18 – Crusaders Of The Lost Mark —————————————————— Support me on…

[floridageekscene]

MarkWHO42's Universe - Best of Pop Culture in the 1980s (Part One: Movies)

MarkWHO42’s Universe – Best of Pop Culture in the 1980s (Part One: Movies)

MarkWHO42‘s Excellent Adventure through the Universe of pop culture continues into the most tubular decade of the 1980s. We’ve decided to separate the coverage into two parts. First movies with different categories for Science Fiction, Drama, Comedy, and Action. In this episode, we go from Indiana Jones to The Cannonball Run. Listen in… it’s definitely not bogus!!!

[punkitt-is-here]

just saw crusaders of the lost mark

[fallowhearth]

Nanaya-ila’i and her daughter were just two of the thousands upon thousands of victims of the Assyrian Empire, most of whose names have been lost over the centuries. The Assyrian Empire was just one of the many aggressive polities that has produced victims by the thousands over the past several millennia: The Romans did no better in Gaul or Dacia. Alexander the Great razed Thebes on his way to far more expansive conquests. The crusaders who took Jerusalem in 1099 waded ankle-deep in blood, Timur Lenk left behind towers of skulls marking his conquests. Pizarro slaughtered the Inca by the score. The Nazis left behind millions of corpses. As long as grasping rulers and would-be warlords have sought to expand their power, common people have suffered the consequences, just like Nanaya-ila’i and her daughter.

But those ambitious politicians and conquerors didn’t do the dirty work themselves. They had underlings, generals and officers and common soldiers and bureaucrats, to enforce their will. Those underlings participated in acts that, by any reasonable standard of moral behavior, range from the merely distasteful to completely abhorrent. It would be comforting to think that those who murdered children, burned houses with the residents inside, committed acts of sexual violence, and enslaved the survivors were uniquely evil. It would be easier to believe that these participants had somehow forfeited their humanity somewhere along their path to organized violence. We would prefer to fool ourselves into thinking they formed a special class of malefactors separate from the farmers and shopkeepers and laborers who made up their societies as a whole. These ideas would be wrong. The agents of empire and conquest were not a marked group of sadists; they fit quite comfortably within the mainstream of the societies that produced them and benefited from their actions.

Patrick Wyman, Perspectives: Past, Present, and Future Substack, 2024

[shiyorin]

#When you play dumb or your primarchs are just *ahem* horny :v

#I don't know what I wrote. I just do as requested :v

#Roll the dice and it said this time's menu is: Horus Lupercal and Roboute Guilliman.

#This is request from my dearest heretic anon.

#Primarchs x Reader, Reader is Imperial Agent. Malcador is proud of you (is he?)

#A little NSFW.

Horus Lupercal

You sighed listlessly as you wandered the ship, seeking diversion in your boredom. A familiar presence drew you eye, and you spied Horus upon a balcony overlooking the training cages below.

The training cages were alive with activity as Horus observed his Astartes sharpening their skills in mock combat. Though focused on their form, his thoughts drifted elsewhere, preparations for the coming Crusade weighed heavy. He gazed down from the viewing platform, assessing their progress, when soft footsteps alerted him to another's presence.

Horus appeared lost in thought, no doubt pondering weighty matters of strategy and conquest. You crept stealthily across the chamber, the feet making nary a sound upon the plush rugs. Coming up behind the Warmaster unnoticed was no mean feat, but your skills remained as sharp as the blade at your hip.

Finally within reach, you drew a deep breath and exhaled softly upon Horus's neck. A sudden warmth ghosted his ear, followed by a sultry whisper caressed his ear. "Boo..."

He whirled with a start to find your smiling face mere inches from his own, eyes dancing with mischief. Before you could retreat, Horus flashed into action, seizing your arm in an unbreakable grip.

With a grunt he hoisted your form against his chest, pinning your effortlessly as your legs kicked in vain. "Little one." he chuckled, though tension still lingered at the corners of his eyes. "One of these days you will be the death of mine, I fear."

Your eyes dancing with mirth. You laughed breathlessly. "You are no fun, my Warmaster."

"It seems you don't consider me worthy of respect, little one," he sighed, effortlessly maintaining your struggling form. "Sneaking up on your Warmaster, bold, but foolish."

You squirmed halfheartedly, delighting in the feel of his powerful physique caging you in. "And what would the great Warmaster do to earn it, I wonder?"

A gleam entered his eyes, dark promise in every contour of his sculpted features. "Oh, I can think of a few...persuasive methods."

Below, the Astartes fought on, oblivious to the true battle raging within their midst. Horus took his captive agent and you were limp and sated in his arms, marking you thoroughly as his. Only then did he release your, satisfied your pride had been tamed.

Horus smiled down at the dazed your in his arms. "Convinced, my dear?" He purred, nuzzling your satiated cheek. You could only sigh dreamily in reply. It seemed doubts of his prowess were well and truly laid to rest...

Roboute Guilliman

Guilliman reclined upon crisp sheets, body aching from battles past. His scowls only deepened your frown, but still you droned on, casualty reports, supply requisitions, missives from a thousand worlds.

"Do you hear me, my lord?" you pressed, quill scratching relentlessly. He sighed, weary unto his soul.

"Do you think I want to hear what you have to say, agent? I am wounded and wish only silence." His tone brooked no argument, yet still you persisted like the plague.

"You are the Primarch," you said, eyes aglow with righteous fervor. "You must overcome such things for the billions of people of the Imperium. Their hopes and dreams rest upon your shoulders."

Guilliman scrubbed a hand down his face. "I am Primarch, not invincible. Must I sacrifice even my healing for duty's never-ending demands?"

Your look softened, but still you would not yield. "That is not something you can decide, my lord. As were mine." 

The Primarch knew well you spoke truth, bitter though it was. With a grunt he waved your on, closing his eyes against the rising tide of reports.

Guilliman continued to sigh, weariness seeping into his bones. Your report droned on, an endless litany of numbers and names. His mind drifted as you spoke, seeking escape however brief. Your voice took on a new texture in his imagination, breathy sighs and wanton gasps replacing dour droning.

One hand tangled in your locks, tugging your mouth to his in a hungry, open-mouthed kiss. The other grasped that ass, fingers dimpling soft flesh as he thrust up to meet each bounce with abandon as reports fluttered forgotten to the floor. And you will chant his name like a prayer, a litany more rousing than any duty....

By the Throne, was he some green boy still in need of release? Shame warred with lingering heat, desire too long denied by duty's demands. He yearn for soft curves yielding beneath his palms, the taste of your skin, your cries of rapture as he took what was his by right.

You'd whimper and writhe, begging wordlessly for what they both craved. At the first penetration your walls would clutch him like a vice, pulling him deeper, deeper into scalding flesh made solely for his pleasure. He'd pound into your without mercy, relishing each gasp and moan, each slap of flesh on flesh. Only when he'd spent himself fully within your willing sheath would he grant surcease, collapsing in a sweat-soaked tangle of limbs.

By the Throne, how he longed to make that vision reality...

Guilliman blinked, flushing at the path his mind had wandered. But you remained oblivious, quill scratching as reports spilled forth. Little did you know the effect you had, and the fantasies your voice inspired in your lord's lonely chamber...

[llondonfog]

For a painful soulamte au, what if the Dawn Knight was Lilias soulmate? And to make it more painful what if Dawn knew that Lilia was his soulmate somehow and still went to war with the fae because he couldn't stand to go against the family who raised him

Not a soul knew, except for Leia.

Leia knew because she knew everything about him— the leash of loyalty around his neck, the weight of despair upon his shoulders, the mark of his soulmate tattooed like a harbinger on the inside of his wrist.

Leia knew, and loved him for it all the same.

You are a knight, she would remind him on those moonless nights, delicate features as solemn as a saint as she laid her hands against the haunted hollows of his face, as merciful and sweet as her namesake. You are the only one out of them all who has the right to call himself so. What greater sacrifice have you given to my father, to our family, than the cost of love?

He loved her, too.

Her effortless charm and wit were always happy to fill his awkward and stoic silences, and she never shamed him for his reserved nature. She was a princess, born and raised to be a queen, and it sat right inside his heart that she should realize such a vision. Her kindness to their people, her kindness to her traitor of a knight— too kind, to allow him even into her arms and bed when his nerves fail him and the shadows creep in.

It's what he feels, when he places his hand on the swell of her gown, the gentle life growing inside of her: their child, steeped in kindness.

A tragic beginning that can only lead to a tragic end.

Leia is the only kindness that he's ever known, and the irony is not lost on him that she is not his soulmate, nor is he her own. She does not speak of the mark blurred and faded on her skin, and she does not press him for explanation when he disrobes for her and only her, and the bat in flight unfurls its wings upon his wrist.

She does not need to, for they both know whose standard he bears, whose symbol lays a claim that would spell betrayal and doom for his fate.

He lies there within the shelter of her embrace, her slim fingers weaving through his golden hair, and he wonders what manner of mark lies on the fae general's wrist. He wonders if it is of a gleaming sword raised to strike, or a loathsome owl, talons curled, both prepared to rid the fae of his heart and gift it to the enemy's feet. It must not be obvious, because the fae has never reacted to his presence beyond the expected vitriol to their immoral crusade. And each time that they meet, the gratitude of a coward lances through his veins for the sake of the helmet obscuring his expression— it is your eyes that give you away, Leia had murmured to him, her own dark and forgiving as they glitter in the candlelight. Your truest emotions lie within them, crystal clear and as unclouded as the brightest dawn.

He does not deserve her unshakeable belief, for he feels like the muddiest of waters, choked with debris and tainted by waste.

He does not deserve her, and as he clutches at his wrist in the night, nails all but digging into the taut flesh as if to pull the bat from his skin—

He knows that he does not deserve the general either.

[blu3b3rryj4mp1r3]

I think diamond tiara should've had more screen time after crusaders of the lost mark, there's so much to her character but they just forgot about her directly after that episode

personally would've loved to see her become closer friends with the cmc or maybe an episode about her home life or something

is there any more of redeemed diamond tiara in the comics? 'cause I'd really love to see that! ^^ 💗💎💗

♡ ˢᶠʷ ᶦⁿᵗᵉʳᵃᶜᵗᶦᵒⁿ ᵒⁿˡʸ ♡

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The Magic of Friendship Grows

The Pony I Want To Be

[pazzesco]

~ Helen Keller ~

Helen Keller (colorized)

Miss Helen Keller - Portrait US Library of Congress

Helen Keller was an author, lecturer, suffragists and crusader for the handicapped. Born in Tuscumbia, Alabama, She lost her sight and hearing at the age of nineteen months to an illness now believed to have been scarlet fever. Five years later, on the advice of Alexander Graham Bell, her parents applied to the Perkins Institute for the Blind in Boston for a teacher, and from that school hired Anne Mansfield Sullivan.

Keller (left) with Anne Sullivan vacationing on Cape Cod in July 1888

Through Sullivan’s extraordinary instruction, the little girl learned to understand and communicate with the world around her. She went on to acquire an excellent education and to become an important influence on the treatment of the blind and deaf.

Helen Keller in 1899 with lifelong companion and teacher Anne Sullivan. Photo taken by Alexander Graham Bell at his School of Vocal Physiology and Mechanics of Speech.

Her unprecedented accomplishments in overcoming her disabilities made her a celebrity at an early age; at twelve she published an autobiographical sketch in the Youth’s Companion, and during her junior year at Radcliffe, she produced her first book, The Story of My Life, still in print in over fifty languages.

Helen Keller — Groundbreaking Girls

Painting of Keller's colorized portrait by Wayne Pascall

Her friendship with Mark Twain

"Helen Keller, Miss Sullivan, Mark Twain and Laurence Hutton."

“From that day until his death we were friends,” Keller recalled later. She was already a fan of his work and thrilled to his deep voice and his many hand gestures, which she followed with her own fingertips. She wrote of him:

"He entered into my limited world with enthusiasm just as he might have explored Mars. Blindness was an adventure that kindled his curiosity. He treated me not as a freak, but as a handicapped woman seeking a way to circumvent extraordinary difficulties. There was something of divine apprehension in this rare naturalness towards those who differ from others in external circumstances."

Helen Keller with Mark Twain - Twain came to Keller’s defense, after reading in her book about a plagiarism scandal that occurred in 1892 when, at only twelve years old, she was accused of lifting her short story “The Frost King” from Margaret Canby’s “Frost Fairies.” Though a tribunal acquitted Keller of the charges, the incident still pissed off Twain. The letter is attached to the photo above

Letters between Mark Twain and Helen Keller.

Though Helen hailed from a respectable Southern family, 19th-century America was flummoxed by the prospect of teaching a deaf-blind girl to talk, read, and learn. Helen’s tutor and governess, Annie Sullivan, fought for her admission to various schools that offered special education. But the cost of educating someone like Helen was high. Clemens wrote to a rich friend on her behalf:

"It won’t do for America to allow this marvelous child to retire from her studies because of poverty. If she can go on with them she will make a fame that will endure in history for centuries. Along her special illness she is the most extraordinary product of all the ages…lay siege to your husband & get him to interest himself and Messrs. John D. & William Rockefeller & the other Standard Oil chiefs in Helen’s case; get them to subscribe an annual aggregate of six or seven hundred or a thousand dollars- & agree to continue this for three or four years, until she has completed her college course…."

Thanks to his intervention, the support of his friend Henry Rogers and Standard Oil, Helen was able to complete her education and graduate cum laude from Harvard’s Radcliffe College. Clemens and Keller remained friends for the rest of his life. They shared an interest in radical politics and a love for life despite their different temperaments. Helen, an avowed optimist, often made fun of Clemens for his avowed pessimism, telling him she didn’t believe a word of his sardonic jokes. As for Clemens, Chambliss writes that he felt she was one of the most important historical figures of all time, “the most wondrous person of her sex that has existed on this earth since Joan of Arc.”

Keller, Sullivan, Twain, & Sullivan’s husband John Macy above at Twain’s home

We also have Twain—not playwright William Gibson—to thank for the “miracle worker” title given to Keller’s teacher, Anne Sullivan. As a tribute to Sullivan for her tireless work with Keller, he presented her with a postcard that read, “To Mrs. John Sullivan Macy with warm regard & with limitless admiration of the wonders she has performed as a ‘miracle-worker.’” In his 1903 letter to Keller, he called Sullivan “your other half… for it took the pair of you to make complete and perfect whole.”

Twain was especially impressed by Keller’s autobiography, writing to her, “I am charmed with your book—enchanted.” (See his endorsement in a 1903 advertisement, above.)

Keller & Clemens also shared a love of dogs

Helen Keller with her dog Sir Thomas.

Helen Keller seated on a window bench with an arm around her dog Sieglinde.

Helen Keller seated on a bench indoors, possibly in the photographer's studio wth a dog seated on the ground beside her.

Helen Keller seated on a slatted bench in front of a Farm House in 1935 with her dogs Dileas, on her lap, Maida beside her & Golden.

Helen Keller teaching a girl sign language.

Widely honored throughout the world and invited to the White House by every U.S. president from Grover Cleveland to Lyndon B. Johnson, Keller altered the world’s perception of the capacities of the handicapped. More than any act in her long life, her courage, intelligence, and dedication combined to make her a symbol of the triumph of the human spirit over adversity.

Helen Keller - 1880-1968

Helen Keller Archive

[vigilskeep]

Can I ask about your tevinter hcs?

yeah!

i don’t really have a lot of fully developed tevinter hcs but tevinter is so, so firmly entrenched in being thedas’ equivalent of the roman empire. as someone who has studied the roman empire at least a little, i find that really fascinating! and that’s the angle i would push really hard

obviously, its time as the roman empire in its heyday would have been andraste’s time (or, you know, a little before andraste started beating them up. i think we can imagine andraste’s crusade as roughly equivalent to the movements of “barbarian” peoples into roman territories as the empire was eroded away, with the first blight standing in for some of the other factors which made that possible.) but rome’s story doesn’t stop there and one huge part of what’s fascinating about rome (to Me) is people continuing to live within those spaces when these imperial titans are gone

dorian talks about a minrathous brimming with history. i want to see triumphal columns and arches that honour victories over lands and peoples they’ve long since lost. i want to see great gladiatorial arenas which, if fenris is anything to go by, are still in use. i want to see chantries built, ill-fitting, into ancient basilicas, and into temples of the old gods where stone that was carved for colder purpose still seems to resent the usurper’s presence as andraste’s sacred flame flickers. i want to see the wreckage of ancient wonders of the world, now crumpled ruins, because their magical upkeep required the kind of constant stream of blood only an empire can provide. and i want to see a “modern” tevinter people living among these ghosts of so-called glory, scrambling to carve a mark into the world that could match their ancestors’ greatness

there’s some really cool magical gimmicks you could do too. ally-buffing stave wielding mages -> legion standard bearers?? enslaved mages -> moving the water for aqueducts and fountains and heated floors?? templar equivalent of the praetorian guard?? idk im throwing things around here

i don’t know how much else i have... i’d like hessarian to be really, really prominent in their theology, secondary only to andraste and even standing side by side with her in some of the chantries. i’d like many of their great buildings to be the black stone of kirkwall’s quarries, as promised. i really want a fresh take on dwarven culture from the underground embassy in minrathous. ummm okay i know i’ve brought this up a few times i know, but PLEASE please elven rebels with templar abilities

[snapscube]

CRUSADERS OF THE LOST MARK AHHHH