#ruled back then regardless of whether or not they still are monarchs or not

[minervacasterly]

~THE DEATH OF THE VIRGIN QUEEN~

On the 24th of March 1603, Queen Elizabeth I of England and Ireland died at Richmond Palace. With her, the Tudor Dynasty died, but not its descendants. Its descendants to the first Tudor monarch, Henry VII, still rule England. They descend from his eldest daughter, Margaret Tudor’s offspring. When Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots and Henry Stewart, Lord Darnley’s only son, James VI of Scotland became King of England, he decided to honor his predecessor’s memory by building a great monument to her. He also ordered that she and her half-sister, Queen Mary I of England and Ireland, would be re-interred and placed together.

While it was only Elizabeth’s effigy that was built for them, Mary was given a small mention in a plaque where it says the following:

“Consorts in realm and tomb, here we sleep, Elizabeth and Mary, sisters, in hope of resurrection.”

Queen Elizabeth acceded the throne when she was only twenty-five years old. She wasn’t the youngest monarch ever, but she was the youngest female monarch up until Queen Victoria. She was crowned two months after her half-sister died, on January of 1559. Her coronation pageants depicted her as Deborah, the biblical warrior who fought for the Hebrews, and Esther, who was not only a Queen, but also another biblical warrior and a figure that Elizabeth I probably saw herself more as than Deborah. Elizabeth wasn’t the only one to be likened to these female biblical figures. Her mother, Anne Boleyn, did it too. When she was crowned Queen of England -the first Queen Consort of England to be crowned with the crown of the Confessor, a crown that was used only for Kings- she was compared to all these classical and biblical figures, among them Esther. Anne used her confessor to bring Esther again when he indirectly attacked Cromwell by comparing him to Haman (Esther’s enemy).As she got older, Elizabeth fashions became more elaborate. They were a mixture of Italian, Spanish, French and English. She used heavier make up to cover up her age. Last year an article talked about Elizabeth’s last years and the writer compared her to the fictional character of Melisandre from Game of Thrones. The first episode of season six ends with this attractive enchantress taking off her ruby necklace. As she is about to do it, she hesitates. Why doesn’t she want to do it? What is she hiding? She is drop-dead-gorgeous. She should be proud she has that figure. But seconds later we find out why.

Her drop-dead gorgeous figure is just an illusion. Without it, she feels naked and powerless. The writer of this article points out that for Elizabeth, dressing outrageously and wearing heavy make-up was her way of still looking relevant. Queen Elizabeth I was a woman who understood the power of symbols and like her father and grandfather before her, she wanted to use her public image to change public opinion, and control whatever narrative she was pushing unto them.

There were some in her court who cruelly dismissed her tactics as ridiculous and laughed behind her back, but the commons thought differently. When they saw her, they were in awe of her. Several portraits made her appear as larger-than-life, and it is this version that has endured. Regardless of your feelings about this monarch or her dynasty, no one can deny the power of her propaganda, whether it is by what was said about her, her writings, her triumphs over her enemies, her legislature, or her portraits in which she holds her hand over the globe while the Spanish Armada is severely beaten by the English navy, or she is next to a group of Goddesses who see her as their chosen one, or she is next to her father, behind her peace and prosperity while her half-sister and her husband standing on the opposite, are shown bringing calamity. Elizabeth is a figure that remains highly popular, and will likely remain so for years to come.

While she was Queen, she took a pragmatic stance on religion. She agreed with a revision to the book of common prayer and with some Protestant reforms, and she gave her support to Protestant groups in Western Europe, primarily the Huguenots in France and those in the Netherlands. But she didn’t agree with their ideology. Some of her ministers did and tried to protect the more radical Protestant reformers in England. This upset Elizabeth. These radical Protestants thought the Anglican church was too pagan, and Elizabeth not a genuine reformer, and sought to make England into a ‘true’ Protestant country. Elizabeth saw this as an attack against her and the institution of monarch which she held as sacred. In her view, anything else other than monarchy was an abomination. Like her father, Henry VIII, she believed the monarch was above the law and accountable only to God. Nevertheless, Elizabeth I managed to have her way on many issues. She instituted the Poor Laws, which were a revision of those implemented by Cromwell during his time serving her father. The Poor Laws did a lot to help the commons but they faced harsh criticism in the 1590s with the over-population crisis. Continuing with her half-sister’s reforms to the Navy, Elizabeth sought other places to trade and besides continuing England’s alliance with Russia, she also looked to the Islamic empires in the East. She and Murad III of the Ottoman Empire didn’t have the best of alliances, with Elizabeth I reminding him that while the two were polar opposites, they had the same enemy, and as a result, they had to stand by each other, otherwise, the Catholic powers would crush them. Whenever Murad III didn’t want to comply, Queen Elizabeth would simply write to his mother, a remarkable woman in her own right, Safiye Sultan. Like Elizabeth, Safiye was both pragmatic and ruthless. The English envoys knew that she held considerable influence and would often seek her favor first before the Sultan. A lot of Elizabeth’s exchanges with Safiye still survive. When you get a chance to read both, you can see the admiration each had for one another.

Despite the difficult relationship with France, Elizabeth I spoke highly of Catherine de Medici. The two women approached each other (through their envoys) with caution, knowing that regardless of how they felt for one another, if one had the opportunity to take her country down to benefit hers, she’d take it.

It’s important to note that while James VI of Scotland succeeded her, Queen Elizabeth I never named a successor. A myth was circulated that she did. At the time of her death, the tale went that she could not speak so she was asked to point to the piece of paper that held James’ names or to the other side that held another one. Elizabeth pointed to James so her councilors decided to acknowledge James her successor. The reason for this is simple. Elizabeth had known about Wyatt’s rebellion, and she had heard about her sister’s uprising against the usurper Jane Grey. In all these instances, she said and did nothing, preferred a wait-and-see approach. If she named a successor, that person, could be just as observant and conniving as Elizabeth I was, and conspire with her enemies or (like she did during Mary I’s reign) know about their plots but not inform the Queen about it. And Elizabeth, in the eyes of many Catholics, was a bastard who didn’t deserve to be Queen (despite her father’s will made it perfectly legal for her) and as such, she approached the issue with extreme caution throughout her reign.

When she died, people mourned for her but also celebrated the coming of their new monarch and his dynasty. As the years went by however, historians have pointed out, how quickly the people became disappointed in James and looked nostalgically to the past. In short time, Elizabeth became a legend.

Images: Elizabeth I’s burial place along with her half-sister’s Mary I, in the Lady Chapel, Westminster Abbey in London, England.

Sources: 

Elizabeth: The Forgotten Years by John Guy

The Private Life of the Tudors by Tracy Borman

Elizabeth: The Struggle for the Throne by David Starkey

Tudor by Leanda de Lisle

I also recommend you visit Westminster Abbey's website. The following is their mini-bio on Elizabeth I: http://www.westminster-abbey.org/our.../royals/elizabeth-i

[ukulelegodparent]

It is also my firm belief that any exhibition on 19th century politics and/or the leadup to WWI should be accompanied by circus music BC it's all complete and utter clown shoes

[millie-ionaire05]

A Shadow’s Light

Min Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Fae AU ♕ Monarch Yoongi ♕ Fantasy AU ♕ CEO Yoongi ♕ Soulmate AU

Summary: The approaching solstice reminds Yoongi that his time for remaining Monarch without a kindred soul is running out. As each day goes by, the shadows around him become more unruly, and his emotions become harder to control. Even as his right hand, he’d never considered you as someone to court, not until he realized your light could tame the shadows. Oh, but your light brought more than that, it brought a burn that had desire curling deep within him. A desire that he won’t allow to slip away. 

Word Count: 4,130

Rating/Warnings: M for Mature (+18); Monarch Yoongi; Confidant Reader; Female Reader; CEO Yoongi; Slightly Dom Yoongi(?); Office Sex; Unprotected Sex (wrap the schlong before you sit on the dong); Oral (f receiving); Fingering; Multiple Orgasms; Overstimulation; Bottom Yoongi; Top Reader; Squirting

Author’s Note: I’ve dreamed of this Yoongi quite a few times over the last few years, and so I finally decided to write it. Albeit, this is a completely shorter version than the original one I started years ago, but I think it’s fine as I ease my way back into the writing scene. Thank you so much to @dee-ehn​ for the amazingly beautiful banner; it’s absolutely stunning! Hope you guys like it 😊

   The feel of cold paper against his fingertips is almost a welcomed reprieve compared to the monotonous drone of the head of marketing, an older man with a pinch in between his eyebrows and a smug expression. Yoongi’s mind is filled with a million other incessant thoughts, ones that are far more pressing than the steps on appealing to the board of directors. 

   For one, the solstice was tomorrow, and the primal hunger for a kindred soul to be at his side was becoming even more difficult to deny. He knew if he was unable to find someone this year, the Elders would begin to question whether he truly should be the Monarch for their kind. His kind. Just the notion has his wings twitching in anger before it is dwindling to a burning frustration, his fingers reflexively crumpling the edges of the paper he held.

   “Sir?”

   He turns merely a centimeter towards you, his eyes forcefully focusing as they make contact with your own. You seem almost taken aback by his gaze, your lips having parted and your eyes wide. He must not have realized how hard his expression had been, but he quickly softens it, a rumble of an apology carrying its way to your ears only. Your gentle eyes turn sympathetic, your mouth curling up to show a bright smile, and it almost blinds him. 

   It was no secret within the world of Fae that he was the first shadow chosen as Monarch, much to his surprising dismay. It was not so much a surprise that he was chosen per se, as he had been groomed for it during most of his childhood, but it was the fact that he was groomed at all that surprised him. Even as Monarch, the Fae were wary of those ‘cursed’ by the shadow. It was not only uncommon amongst their kind, but it was also dangerous if not controlled properly, and it could rarely be controlled. Before his ruling, parents would often tell stories of shadow monarchs who grew out of control, their shadow swallowing the settlement whole. 

   Whether parents continue to tell their children such stories is lost on him, as he very rarely is included in conversation when the settlement gets together. He wouldn’t be surprised though, as he, too, worried for the safety of everyone around him. 

   You on the other hand, he was the least worried about. You were the complete opposite of him, as you were blessed with the light. A rare gift. It was always said that the light could tame the shadows, but he only feared you would make his grow, like how an increase in light source could cast a stronger shadow of a human figure. Especially if it got too close. 

   But regardless, you were also groomed similarly to himself as a child, so that you would be by his side. A loyal….assistant….if he had to title it. You were his confidant, his right hand man (or technically woman), so to speak. The Elders had thought it wise to have you close to him, and while the thought had initially made him uncomfortable - the shadows around him twitching in disgust at the light you brought - he had grown fond of your company within the last several years. The shadows around him had ceased their fury long ago when you were near, and he was grateful for at least that respite. 

   “It’s quite alright, sir,” you carry on, oblivious to his internal torment. “Would you like me to escort you out of here?”

   He can’t help the twitch of his lips, an eyebrow raising as he allows his body to turn towards you, his chair barely squeaking at the action. He watches the way your cheeks flushed at his stare, your eyes casting down to your lap as your fingers fiddle with non-existent lint. His eyes roam to your wings, watching how the beautiful white seems to shimmer as they fluttered slightly. He knew he could fluster you - he often found it entertaining - and quite frankly he also found it adorable. The shadows around him groan. 

   With a tsk, his lips twitch down, and you immediately sense his shift in emotion. You were so perceptive to him, and yet still so obliviously unaware of how his shadows reacted when you shined so bright. In those moments it was very painful, and while he could usually muster through the pain, he found that it was actually difficult for him in that second. 

   Fear zings through his body as his shadows laugh, their forms swiftly quivering in excitement at the thought that he wouldn’t be able to stop them, that he wouldn’t be able to prevent them from consuming what was around him. His body becomes rigid, his eyes closing as he works to compose his emotions, his mind fighting with itself as his heart thuds within his ears. He can faintly hear you calling out to him, but he is too busy focused on his task. 

   A sharp sting envelops his hand, and his eyes snap open to find your own hand against his, the shadows retreating to the furthest recesses opposite of your shine, and his heart stutters. Never have the shadows withdrawn so quickly, no matter how many lessons the Elder’s had given him, he has never been able to control them. Not to say they are controlled per se, because he knew they could never be controlled, but they were tamed for the moment. Your hand continues to burn against his, and he slowly pulls back from your touch, his eyes meeting yours once again. 

   A small nod of his head is all you need, your body instantly moving as you announce their departure, your figure guiding him back towards his office. His eyes never waver from your wings, watching how they are so delicately beautiful and white, a complete contrast to his sharp black wings. Your wings were round, many swirls intricately woven in various degrees of white, sparkling no matter what time of day. While his wings were sharp edged, and of the deepest of blacks, a color that portrayed an endless void. He’d been told, more often than not, that his wings seemed invisible if he flew around the city at night. It didn’t just stop there though, as the shadows also allowed him to blend in to the darkest corners, keeping him out of sight if he wanted. 

   He was such a contrast to you, not just in wing shape and color. It was normal for women’s wings to be larger than men’s, just like a female bird was larger than a male, but your wing size complimented you so well. Everything about you and your gift suited you. Your gift gave you the ability to travel at the speed of light, not that he’d ever seen you use it. He supposed there hadn’t exactly been any reason to use it, so of course he wouldn’t have seen you. Or maybe he hadn’t seen you because you were simply too quick for him to catch, he wasn’t entirely sure. He made a mental note to ask you one day. 

   “Would you like me to clear the rest of your day, sir?” you ask, watching him as he moves around his desk to his chair, your eyes wide with concern. 

   “Yes, please,” he murmurs, his eyes closing as you rattle off into your phone for all of his meetings to be cancelled. 

   The shadows are still in the corner of his mind, having shifted so they were completely opposite of your presence. Yoongi’s heart races with the speeds of a thousand mustangs, the beat traveling up his neck and into his ears, and he isn’t sure what to do. You had stopped the darkness, which had seemed to be even more out of control lately, but you had done it. His eyes can’t help but open to stare at you, your body now resting on the chair across his desk, completely oblivious to his gaze as you scroll through your phone.

   With a simple command, he orders the shadows to close his office door and lock it, and he watches as they are quick to avert your presence and complete his task. He wonders if they fear the torture of the light again, and whether that is why they are so compliant. Nevertheless, he has an image in his mind that couldn’t be wiped, and that image was you. In all his years of life he had not looked at you in any way more than a friend, a confidant...until today. 

   He smirks at the way your body jumps, your head turning to see the office door closed before your gaze whips back around to look at him. He knew how you felt about him, because while he was quiet for the most part, you were like an open book. Your emotions were as plain on your eyes as your heart was on your sleeve, open and bared for him. You didn’t cower from your feelings towards him, but you also weren’t jealousy possessive when the Elders ordered him on many courtships with other women. No...you stayed by his side and supported him, even as each of them failed to subdue his darkest demons. 

   Slinking from his spot, he slowly makes his way around the desk, stopping until he has leaned against it in front of you. Your body instinctively shifts back against your chair as your gaze lowers, though he knows this was out of respect as the Monarch, he doesn’t want you to pull further away from him. His hand still burned at your contact, and a deep part of him begged to feel it again, begged to feel the pain. 

   “Stand up,” he orders, and watches with satisfaction as you instantly comply, your body a mere few inches from his. 

   The shadows quiver at the proximity, which only brings a shaky breath from his lips, his hand reaching forward until the tips of his fingers graze your cheek. Your eyes rise to meet his, confusion trying to mask the culmination of fear and desire he knew you felt, but the words of your open book practically scream at him. Beg him. 

   In one swift movement his hand grips the back of your neck, his fingers burning, but he doesn’t care as his lips meet yours. And oh, how soft your lips were against his, it had to be a crime. He had been with sparingly few people in his life, but nothing compared to how you felt against him, how your light seared him in magnificent ways. A moan escapes from your velvety lips and it can only be accompanied by the groan from his own as he shifts his head, taking advantage of the new angle to slip his tongue into your mouth. 

   Oh, had he known how compliant you would be under his touch, he would have tried this ages ago. So soft and supple, yet you burn hotter than a thousand suns as the shadows practically whimper at the onslaught, yet the pain was quickly becoming something he relished. Something he needed. An addiction that he wasn’t sure he would be able to fulfill. Your pretty moans only further the tingles in his body, their assault almost unnecessary since his pulsing cock was tightly confined to his work slacks, but it only furthered his need for you. 

   Pulling back swiftly, he practically melts at the whine that escapes from you, your gaze hazy as you stare at him in a mixture of confusion and disappointment. It almost makes him lose it. Almost. 

   “Please tell me you want this,” he states, his breathing heavy as his chest heaves to allow more air in, but it seems almost futile. 

   Your face contorts into an expression he can’t seem to understand until it shifts into understanding, a soft smile falling on your lips. Your hand comes up, cupping his cheek and his heart jumps at the contact, the burn intensifying. Your eyes silently consent, but he wants to hear you say it. No…he needs to hear you say it, and he can see it in your eyes that you know that. 

   “I want this,” you whisper, and that’s all he needs. 

   The room envelopes in a darkness like no other, the pure desperation in your eyes as he swiftly swipes his hand across his desk, items clattering onto the floor. You squeal in a mixture of delight and surprise as he unexpectedly throws you onto the now cleared desk, the chill of the wood bringing goosebumps onto your skin, and he doesn’t miss it. No, he sees you so clearly, it is as if all the noise in the world has cleared away to provide the perfect picture that is you. He can’t keep calm as your back arches, your chest practically begging for him to come closer, to ravage you. 

   Reaching forward with trembling hands, his fingers deftly unbutton your blouse, his eyebrows rising when he’s met with the most complimentary color of silk that cups your breasts. Your skin is illuminated with a flush as he continues to stare, his moves slow and methodical, and he takes note of the clench of your thighs as you attempt to relieve the pressure. He doesn’t speed up in his ministrations though, slowing even more as he allows his fingertips to trace from your neck down to your hips, stopping right above the barrier of your tight pencil skirt. He relishes in the way you quiver as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of the skirt, finding the clasp and button with ease and opening it before you can even comprehend what’s happening. 

   He thanks the Heavens that you hadn’t chosen to wear pantyhose this day, because he would feel guilty having to tear them off your body. Well...only slightly guilty. He can’t continue the thought process though, because a deep groan is pouring from his lips at the sight of your matching underwear, his cock now at full attention and already weeping through his pants. His teeth grips at his lower lip as he forces his body to remain at a glacial pace, but with every second that passes, he’s finding it utterly difficult. Your panting did nothing to calm him, your breaths coming quick as your blown out pupils stare at his hands, your tongue coming out to moisten your reddened lips. 

   Oh he needed something on his mouth, and he needed something on them now. Discarding your skirt to some unknown spot across the room, his hands grip right behind your knees, fingers tightening so he can forcefully spread your legs. He can feel the muscles in your legs resist as you try to snap them together again, but he doesn’t allow it, his Adam's apple bobbing at the sight of you. So pretty, so beautifully created, and the burn against his hands strengthens. Grunting at the pain, he is practically salivating as it mixes with the pleasure, the shadows quivering around him, but they remain compliant. 

   And you remain compliant, too, your wide eyes moving to meet his own. A smirk claims the corners of his lips before he leans forward, allowing his hot breath to seep through your underwear. Your legs are trembling within his grip, and you try with all your might to bring his mouth closer to where you want it. Where he knew you needed it. And he is content on giving it to you. Moving his hands from their spot, he uses the angle to spread your legs further apart, his hands coming to your hips. The cry of pleasure that escapes your mouth is pure bliss, your body clearly stiff with shock at the sudden action of his fingers having pushed your underwear to the side so that they could flick your clit. 

   Yoongi’s mouth salivates at the sight of your entrance, completely wet and dripping. He wants to ask if it’s because of him, but his body is working faster than his mind. His mouth begins to suck at your juices, his nose bumping into your clit and you jump, his hands swiftly moving to hold your hips down. Oh how sweet you were. Like the sweetest of treats, but a rapidly addicting taste that he isn’t sure he can stop. He is sure you don’t want him to stop either, considering how your hand has desperately moved to his hair, fingers gripping at his locks. You tug when he purposely licks your nub, a mumbled whine of his name falling from your lips, and he can’t help but groan. 

   With all thoughts of a glacial pace flying from his thoughts, he allows himself the pleasure of wrapping his lips around your clit, alternating between sucking and licking in hopes he could hear you call his name once more. At least once more. 

   Oh but he doesn’t have to wait for long, his name practically pours from your lips in rapid succession as he continues his actions, the tremble in your legs intensifying. Shifting in his spot, he blocks your leg with his shoulder so that he can free a hand, the tips of his fingers promptly prodding at your entrance. Earning an anguished whine from you as he leans away from your pretty pussy, his heart thrums at the way your eyes roll back when he shoves a finger inside of you, quickly following it up with another. 

   There isn’t much he is proud of, but his fingers are one of them. He doesn’t miss the way your back instantly bows off the desk when he curls them and finds your sweet spot.

   “Y-yoongi,” you cry out, beginning a new song of his name with explicit curses that sound so sinfully sweet, his jaw is aching. 

   Desperate to see how quick he could get you off on his fingers, he leans forward again to provide unabated licks to your clit. The light behind his eyes is almost blinding as your bodies remain connected, the shadows sticking to the far walls away from your shine, but quaking at the pleasure they feel through him. He wasn’t even undressed, and he felt as if he could cum on the spot, just on the feel of you against him. Of the mix of pleasure and pain as he refuses to lose any form of contact with you. And you must have felt the same, because you basically wail your impending orgasm a mere second before it comes crashing. 

   But he can’t stop. He doesn’t want to stop. He continues sucking at you and savors the battle your body has, conflicted on whether you should withdraw from the overstimulation, or stay under his tongue as the pain rolls into renewed pleasure. All Yoongi can think about is pleasing you, devouring you in every way he can because this is nothing he has ever felt before. 

   Your grip in his hair tightens painfully, and he moans at the way you try to stop him. Finally caving in to your demands, he pulls back from your clit and looks you in the eyes, a growl tearing from his chest at the look on your face. You had to be as far gone as he, possibly further gone considering your pupils had practically consumed the iris, your wings spread taut across the desk. His own wings twitch at the sight, and it only takes him a mere five seconds to pull his clothes off and throw them across the room with yours. 

   Five seconds seem like too much to him, and possibly to you too, because you are standing in front of him by the time he finishes. You have managed to remove your bra and panties on your ascent, your hands coming forward to grab his shoulders, a flash of your wings switching your positions. His vision all but careens at the intensely quick motion, unable to keep up with the change as the room spins. When his eyes are finally able to focus, you have him lying against the desk, scrambling to climb on top of him. 

   His cock twitches at your juices dripping onto him, each drop tingling against his skin until your flesh makes contact with his once again, the sheer pleasure of pain zinging through him. Reaching forward, his hands grab hold of your hips, desperate to bring your entrance against his member. Your mind seems to be in sync with his, as your hand shoots down to grip his cock, bringing his head to your dripping core. He growls at the onslaught, his thighs tensing for fear that he would lose if before he could get himself in you. 

   You waste no time in letting his thick cock slide in, your neck becoming exposed as you throw your head back, a cry echoing in the office. The shadow’s tighten their position, absorbing your moans as you beg him to release his grip on your hips, desperate to move so as to allow the tip of his dick to rub over your spot. But his grip is ruthless, the onslaught of pleasure and pain putting him at the edge, and he was not going to lose it now. 

   Tears are trailing down your cheeks as you meet his gaze, your eyes widening as you observe the slithering shadows wrapping around his neck, quivering in hopes he would lose control in this moment of fragility. Your hands move towards the shadows, the tips of your fingers connecting with the skin at his neck as they retreat, the thrum of his pulse accelerating beneath your fingertips. All control flees from him as his hands grab yours, your fingers intertwining before he thrusts, a silent command to move. 

   Oh, how you felt above him. Pure bliss. Your hips snap as you grind against his cock, your back arching as you try and move faster. He can feel the shake of your thighs, the shivers as goosebumps travel down your body, turning your nipples into hardened nubs. He lifts himself slightly to take one of those buds into his mouth, groaning against your skin as you practically cry his name. A constant tune of his name on your lips, collective curses intertwining between your bodies as your grip on his hands tighten. 

   He forces his eyes to remain open, unwilling to lose contact with your body above his, his eyes flitting to all parts of you. He never wanted to forget how beautiful you look above him, how well you balance him as your skin made his burn in all the best ways. Your walls tighten around him, signaling your fast approaching release, and your cries of pleasure grow in volume. Digging his feet into the desk, he lifts his lower half in hopes it will give you more leverage against him, but it was also his desperate way to be closer to you in all the ways he could be. 

   Your back curves as you halt above him, your walls spasming against him as your juices gush out, the push of your orgasm almost causing him to slip out. He grits his teeth as he forces himself to stay inside of you, his grip unmerciful as you continue to squirt on his cock, soaking his lower abdomen. 

   Desperation consumes his body as he watches you unravel above him, and his grip on your fingers release, his hands moving to your hips as he adjusts his stance. He revels at your cry of surprise when he begins to slam himself up into you, your chest coming forward to rest against his own, changing the angle in which he enters you. Your lips rest against the thick vein in his neck, your teeth nibbling at his skin as your hands run up his arms before slipping through his hair. If the pain was intense before, his body was practically aflame as your fingers grip at his hair, your walls remaining clenched around him. His thigh muscles scream as he chases his high, frantically speeding up further when he feels the end near. His wings twitch, pitching forward as they comfortably make contact with yours, the bond of a thousand lifetimes pushing him over the edge. 

   It takes him a moment to realize you’re both in the air, his wings having carried you both off the desk, and you both softly float back towards it. You remain on top of him, your eyes searching his own as your wings stay connected, cocooning your bodies as the bond is finalized. 

   “I found you,” he whispers. 

   A small smile claims your lips as you stare back at him, his heart swelling at your reply. 

   “I found you.”

[rein-ette]

Howdy! I'm going to ask your awesome question back at you ;) what do you think of England, both as a character and as a country? Do tell me all of your feelings towards the grumpy man 👀

Short Answer:

To borrow a phrase from my favourite writer/historian Barbara Tuchmann, if Canada is the country of my birth, England has always been the country of my heart.

Long Answer:

I actually fell in love with England the country a long time before I even knew England the character, but Hetalia certainly reinforced my infatuation ten-fold. I can't say when or how it started because I think I was pretty young (I remember my mom making me take notes on Greek and Roman history when I was like, 7, and uh, let's just say my obessession with Europe only grew after that). It's also kinda difficult for me to parse why I like the country because it's been a constant in my life for so long, but I'll try my best.

I think it might have begun with my fascination with WWII history. There's this Chinese idiom -- 乱世出英雄 -- which kinda encapsulates why the world wars and British history in particular so enchanted me. The literal translation of it would be "heroes emerge in turbulent times" but I think a better figurative approximation is the phrase "for darkness shows the stars." The world wars, British participation in the world wars, and British history in general has many, many dark episodes and in many ways exposes the worst of humanity. But I think it's also true that British history also brought out the best of us -- exposed the "heroes", so to speak. I refer not only to household names like Churchill but also the commanders on the ground, the suffragettes, the workers in the factories, and naturally the common soldier. Of course this is not a phenomenon unique to British history, but it was through British 20th century history that I first fell in love with history in general, so it holds a bit of a special place in my heart.

From a more objective perspective, Canadians are really steeped in British culture, ideas, and history, even if we don't realize it. I mean, most of the ideals we embrace, such as the rule of law or constitutional monarchy, as well as the things we celebrate -- the abolishment of slavery, for example -- stem from Britain. One cannot teach Canadian history in school without learning British history, and when you consider that Canada's massive sacrifices in the world wars also played a defining moment in its national identity, it's really no wonder that many still feel a kinship with the UK. Plus, like I mentioned in the response to needcake's ask, a lot of being Canadian is trying to differentiate ourselves from Americans, and one primary way we do that is by pointing to our loyalty to England and shared monarch.

I'm not sure if this is really obvious from the other side of the pond, but Queen Elizabeth also, like, plays a really insidious role. Idk if Aussies or Kiwis feel this way, but we really love Queen Liz and can't imagine a world without her on our money and all our fancy buildings and occasionally making her speeches. I was an air cadet as a teen too! We had to play God Save the Queen for closing parades every night, and I remember thinking, gosh, one day we'll have to sing God save the king, and they'll have to change all the lyrics and coins and bills and what not, and that's really weird.

But yeah, besides the history and the environment in Canada, I also follow British politics to some extent? It's not as common as following American politics here (if you talk to Canadians ab the American president it's not uncommon to hear people say "why did we elect him" etc.) but it isn't rare either. I mean, I read the Economist (no i'm not 10 billion years old) and I've done courses in British politics, read British authors, a lot of people like British actors and films and shows...the culture is just really widespread, I guess. I also have close friends who lived/live in London...oh, and I went to a British international school when I was young for a year. That might have played a role too. I should say here that I've never actually been to England in person so I can't comment on what its actually like, but it feels so familiar that sometimes I honestly forget i haven't been. I hope to actually study in London soon, actually, so if you have any advice/warnings, hit me!

Alright, onto Arthur. I just? Really? Love him? In particular I really admire his pragmatic worldview, even if I don't always agree with the conclusions it leads him to. When it comes to knowledge and analysis, he's someone who refuses to turn away from the truth, no matter how incovenient. Yet when it comes to his own emotions he's the complete opposite. That mix of cynicism and then escapism to relieve the emotional burden of his own cycnism is just...fascinating. I also really admire his intelligence in general, as well as his work ethic.

Perhaps what I love the most about Arthur, however, is his spirit. I mean, he's just so alive. Whether he's furious or devastated or overjoyed, he's someone who lives life so intensely, so fully, with such fury. When I write Arthur, that's often the feeling I try to capture: someone who cannot help but see all the suffering in life, but someone who cannot help but fight on, regardless. In a strange way, Arthur embodies hope at its most irrational. As Samuel Beckett wrote in the Unnamable, he's someone who is always telling himself: "You must go on. I can't go on. I'll go on."

Absolutely no one asked for fruk, but I'm just gonna seize this chance to throw out a little headcanon. I think this intense, somehow mortal quality of Arthur is what first captivated Francis. As I've written about a bit before, Francis to me has the most "eternal" feel out of the all the nations. He loves humanity and life as a whole, whereas Arthur lives like every second counts. For someone like Francis, who just adores beautiful, wild, transient things, Arthur is like mortality in a bottle -- so utterly enthralling that once he tasted it he could never get enough. Unlike Joan or other real humans, however, Arthur has proved far more durable to wear and tear :P

My final thought on Arthur is that he has so much contempt for fate, its actually both funny and admirable. If I may quote Tuchmann again, "no man ever lived who was less willing to be the victim of events." Arthur's someone who simply refuses to be bullied, even by grandaddy destiny itself, and I think we all love him for that, a little.

[feralphoenix]

HOWMST BELL THE CAT? - A treatise on one aspect of how the Pale King sealed the Radiance

sup hollow knight fandom, i’m back with the picante takes again after having Noticed A Thing.

as with my previous essays i’ll put this guy up on dreamwidth later for accessibility purposes, since my layout text may be too small for high-res pc users. i will attach that in a reblog at a later point.

CONTENT WARNINGS FOR TONIGHT’S PROGRAM: This essay discusses canon-typical body horror and bodily boundary violations, with some side mentions of colonialism.

all game screencaps are mine. the screencap of the wiki is from the “developer notes” (style guide) section of the “cut content” page.

ALSO: if youre from a christian cultural upbringing (whether currently practicing, agnostic/secular, or atheist now), understand that some of what i’m discussing here may challenge you. if thinking thru the implications of this particular part of hollow knight worldbuilding/lore is distressing for you, PLEASE only approach this essay when youre in a safe mindset & open to listening, and ask the help of a therapist or anti-racism teacher/mentor to help you process your thoughts & feelings. just like keep in mind that youre listening to an ethnoreligiously marginalized person and please be respectful here or wherever else youre discussing this dang essay, ty

HOWMST BELL THE CAT? - A treatise on one aspect of how the Pale King sealed the Radiance

We understand more or less how the Pale King’s plan was supposed to work. Stuff Radiance into a no-thoughts-head-empty and silent Pure Vessel to trap, isolate, and silence her, both putting an end to the Infection and killing her for good. Stick that vessel in the Black Egg, which harnesses Void BS to both keep the vessel alive indefinitely and to cover Hallownest (and its neighbors) in a time-defying stasis so that the Pale King could successfully hoard his favorite shiny FOREVER, threatened by nothing. Then put a seal on the Black Egg to prevent anyone from getting inside and harming said vessel while it’s strung up and helpless. And THEN, put protective seals on the anchors (the Dreamers) to the Black Egg seal to protect them from any external harm: The stasis means the Dreamers won't die of old age or starvation.

All in all, a pretty foolproof plan!

...except that the Dreamers are still vulnerable to having their minds breached with the moths’ magic... and the Pale King failed to take into account that his Pure Vessel was a person actually and the amount of toxic stress his training/upbringing put on them made them REALLY POORLY SUITED FOR THEIR JOB... and also that killing 99% of his million children and turning the Abyss into a landfill for baby corpses would take enough of an emotional toll on his wife and #1 enabler the White Lady that she would walk out on him, ensuring he’d only ever have one shot at this whole deal...

Basically it’s the sort of plan that an emotionally constipated, low-empathy sort of guy who pours all his points into INT and has a big fat zero for WIS might think is foolproof. It has big holes in it that the Pale King did not consider to be big holes until he got owned by the various consequences of his actions and fell down said big holes, making the shocked pikachu face all the while. Rip in die, my guy.

Anyway, there’s a lot of incidental information scattered about the game that gives us more insight into the stages of TPK’s plan. Looking at Monomon’s notes in the Archive suggests that she was probably involved in designing the Black Egg; the hidden room in the Weavers’ den points to their being the ones to blueprint the Dreamer seal; the White Palace’s hidden rooms reveal both TPK’s morbid fascination with the Void and his mea culpa wrt his motives and the Path of Pain is certainly suggestive of a lot of things. The White Lady tells us straight out that she walked out on the Pale King because she wanted no part in a second vessel batch, but how TPK didn’t handle that is only revealed via map design and some incidental dialogue from the Old Stag.

This stuff presents us with, if not a full picture, then at least a decent connect-the-dots of certain aspects of crater politics and Pale Court drama at the time, and how exactly TPK’s plan came together.

But there is still one glaring question that these cookie crumbs do not provide us an answer to:

Who shall bell the cat?

How did TPK et al manage to stuff Radiance into Hollow in the first place?

This is the subject of a lot of memes and jokes within the fandom because it's so absurd. Radiance fuckin hates that dude! She’s probably gonna be pretty wary of him considering how he stole her people in the first place! And considering the anti-colonialism slant of the writing - beyond the general sympathetic view Team Cherry gives of each indigenous bug society, Seer makes it very clear that Radiance has very good reason to take violent action against Hallownest - the answer is probably not something like “she’s just that stupid” or “she rolled a crit fail”.

Well... I have an idea of how TPK managed to get Radiance in there. It raises about as many questions as it answers, mind, but it may be someplace to start.

[desc: the hollow knight's entry in the hunter’s journal. top text/ghost’s comment reads: “Fully grown Vessel, carrying the plague’s heart within its body.” bottom text/hunter’s comment says: “The old King of Hallownest... he must have been desperate to save his crumbling little world. The sacrifices he imposed on others... all for nothing.”]

Here we have Hollow’s bestiary entry. Most of what we’re concerned with here is the top text, which says the seal has literally trapped Radiance inside their body. (First of all, ew, TPK.)

We already knew Radiance is literally actually inside Hollow, though: The Infection is leaking out of their body, and to get to fight Radiance, Ghost has to go traipsing into their sibling’s mind. So what’s significant about that here?

[desc: screencap of the outside of the black egg temple, post-infected crossroads. there are large infection blobs in the foreground and background, connected to each other by veins that come from inside the temple.]

The infection blobs are weird and get weirder if you kill enough Lightseeds for the Hunter to tell you their origin story, i.e. that the literal actual sun has been having a very long bad day and cried a lot, and some of the liquid coalesced into living flesh, and some of that living flesh took on a mind of its own to become Lightseeds. (Hollow Knight is a WILD place.)

Lightseeds are Radiance’s accidental children and share a lot of her traits: They are harmless creatures that try to avoid conflict if possible but if pushed will get creative and find ways to fight regardless of their physical limitations. (For the Lightseeds this involves hiding inside Broken Vessel’s corpse and puppeting it around to try to stab you.) They even have her same distinctive yell. And according to the Hunter, they’re born from the infection blobs. These enemies only ever appear in the Ancient Basin, which both Radiance and the Void have ransacked, and in the Infected Crossroads.

The infection blobs are connected to and sort of a weird extension of Radiance because the Infection itself is sort of a weird extension of Radiance. In the game’s internal style guide Team Cherry explains that the Infection started as an accident, not her original intention but what happened when Hallownest tried to block her out.

[desc: screencap from the wiki of style notes attached to seer that describe a sketch of radiance’s finalized backstory. text reads: “The moth tribe were (perhaps) descended from Radiance. However, the King convinced them somehow to seal Radiance away. I guess so he could rule Hallownest with his singular vision, as a god/monarch with no other gods. The moths sealed Radiance away by forgetting about her. Hallownest was born and flourished. However, the memory of Radiance lingered (eg [sic] the statue at hallownest’s crown) and soon she began to reappear in dreams and starting [sic] exerting influence. The King and the bugs of Hallownest resisted this memory/power and it started to manifest as the Infection. Thus the first attempt to seal Radiance failed, and the King had to try another method - the Vessel.” emphasis mine.]

Some fans have posited the blobs as deposits of pupa juice, but given Team Cherry's description of the Infection’s origins I don’t know how likely that is. Since the Void also sticks its squamous tentacles into things via veiny looking things and the Nightmare’s Heart has similar veiny nonsense in the Nightmare Realm, I wonder if it isn’t just a Meddly God Shit thing in general.

Whatever the case, the blobs are very much connected to/a part of Radiance.

And when you’re hanging around them, you will notice two things: They pulse like they’re part of a circulatory system, and you can hear Radiance's heartbeat emanating from them.

[desc: screencap of the game’s title screen with the infected menu theme in use: a glowing orange ball at the center of a lot of black tendony webbing.]

Let’s also think of the Infected menu theme, which you unlock after getting either of the endings where Ghost takes over from Hollow and absorbs Radiance out of them. Ghost is infected and then sealed inside the Black Egg in Hollow's place. It’s suggested by the animation’s staging that Radiance briefly struggles to get out of Ghost after absorbed but is ultimately stuck in them, at which point the seal is reestablished.

If you haven’t used the Infected menu theme yourself, the... interesting thing about it is that it moves organically. The light ball expands and contracts - y’know, sort of like a living organ - and so does the black webby stuff around it.

Also, Radiance’s heartbeat is included in the theme's ambiance.

[desc: hollow’s bestiary entry again]

To cut to the chase, this part of Hollow’s bestiary entry that says “the plague’s heart”? I don’t think that’s just Ghost/Team Cherry being poetic. I think there’s a good chance it’s LITERAL.

I think TPK is the sort of person who could cram a native woman’s literal living beating heart inside his own child’s body so they can use it as... say, a focus to absorb and trap her mind/spirit inside their body, too. Mr. No Cost Too Great is capable of a lot in the name of keeping other people’s claws off his Big Shiny kingdom. This is kind of his whole brand.

But also, like, yuck.

This fits the worldbuilding too; generally speaking Hollow Knight is Body Horror City. Also there’s the case of Grimm: While he and Radiance are loose counterparts at best with WILDLY disparate outlooks and ethoses, his existence serves as precedent that a Higher Being’s heart specifically can be separate from the rest of them.

As I said before, though, this DOES raise as many questions as it answers. If this is another piece in the puzzle of how TPK belled the cat, we’re now left wondering how he got Radiance’s heart to use as Hollow's focus to begin with.

We know he has access to the Dream Realm because that’s ultimately where he hid when Hollow’s seal failed, but who did he send to do the stealing and how did they get away with it? (TPK certainly wouldn’t have gone; his own life’s the one cost too great for him to willingly pay.) Was Radiance’s heart separate from her like the Nightmare’s Heart, or was it a part of her body? (I think the latter is more likely just from her personality; Grimm’s hidden heart makes sense because of how he keeps even his own servants at arm’s length emotionally, whereas Radiance is all heart all the time. I think this makes more sense with their equal opposites schtick too. But this would make for a WAY riskier mission.)

I can imagine all kinds of possibilities. None of them are definitive, but the thing they have in common is that they are all Awful... and how on-brand that is for Hollow Knight as a whole is, maybe, the most persuasive argument for It’s Literally Actually Her Real Physical Heart there could be.

[theodora3022]

The Outlaw Prince Part.1 (Fanasty AU Shigaraki Tomura x F!reader)

Summary: As the sovereign Queen, you must sign every execution order before the punishment is performed. This give the criminal a final chance to plead for their case. You would summon them into the castle, treat them like guests, and hear their final words. Your grandfather was the one that made this tradition, to show how he is a merciful ruler (he is not, he is only doing this to save his reputation of a being tyrant).  If they have some small final wishes, like what kind of coffin they like or some money for their family, you will fulfill that. Always have mercy on the dying, even they are murderers or human traffickers. That is what Grandpapa told you. You seen your father did this many times, but this is the first time you host such an event. Unfortunately, this criminal seems to have peaked your interests.

Notes: You all seem to love Shigaraki, so here I am. Maybe yandere in second part? This has been stewing in my mind ever since I thought about that fantasy AU. The reader is still the new Sovereign Queen, this happens before she takes suitors. Of course I am not going to make Tomura a conventional Prince! I may or may not write a bit nsfw in the later chapters, but don’t get your hopes up lol. I planned three parts, but it could get out of hand and become a multi-chapter project...

The other fics can be found on my master list. 

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Warnings: Swearing

           This is the moment you dreaded ever since you put that ruby ring on. Signing death sentence warrants. You know it is going to come sooner or later, since you watched your father perform these duties, even accompanied him on several trials. It should not frighten you.

           So why does this sense of unease have been plaguing you as of late?

           Now you are sitting at your desk, studying the file of this unfortunate soul.

           “Tomura Shigaraki, Crimes: attempt murder of one of the most renowned mercenaries, All might.” The stunt failed, and this man received the death sentence for it.

           You had met All Might back when you were a princess and think of him as that caring uncle everyone wants. He once praised your sword techniques, leaving you flustered. Who would want such a wonderful man dead? Sociopaths, probably. That is what most criminals are, after all.

           “Age:21”

           He is about your age, although you cannot even begin to imagine what happened. What made a young man commit such immoral acts? There is more to this file, but you want to hear him firsthand without any prejudice. Shutting the folder, you massaged your temples and mentally prepared yourself for the trials. You received a messenger yesterday from the State Prison that they are transferring him here today. You are supposed to greet him in a few hours.

           Grandpapa surely knows what he is getting his descendants into. Meeting criminals? Did he have too much time in his schedule? I know most of these people deserves death, but why do I have to be the final judge?

           Cursing your grandfather under your breath, you decide to take a little nap before. Such an exhausting activity surely calls for a little rest prior, right?

           As the third bell of the afternoon rang, you got up to stretch and yawn, then takes your time to the special dungeon. You had always disliked attendants trailing behind you, therefore you always traveled in the castle alone. Even if something were to happen, the sword in your skirt pocket can be put to use (That is one advantage of such elaborate crinolines). You are your most dependable protector, or so your grandfather said. So far the castle has been peaceful, thanks to the capable guards.

           Even though you were supposed to treat them like guests, you cannot just let them occupy the regular guest rooms. Your grandpapa had built a special building in the northeast corner of the castle gardens, especially for this matter.

           The door guards bowed to you as you stood in font of the metal gate, contemplating your mindset. Your father usually treated them like official business partners, cold and distant. That approach is prudent, but you want to do something different. You want them to open up to you, get to know them before you send them to their dooms. Maybe you can even get some wronged ones spared!

           “This is the room, your majesty. Should I accompany you?” The steward of this building asks you nervously. Ah, your mind had wondered too far. You did not notice how you had followed him to the location.

           “Thank you, but I’ll manage. You can sit on the other side of the glass and aid me if necessary.” You smile, though your tone is firm. This is a good chance to prove you are a competent monarch, interrogate a criminal alone.

           The room was decently furnished, without a single unnecessary decoration. Except that big mirror that almost covers the entire wall, a mirror made with two-way glass, see through from the other side. Two armchairs, a little tea table in between and a couch.

           There he is; the criminal you’re going to interrogate for the next month. He is sitting on the couch, with shackles on his wrists and ankles. His back is facing you, so you cannot see his appearance beside that messy blue hair.

           “Finally here? Your Majesty? You certainly took your sweet time.” He did not come kiss your hand, as expected. Gods, how long has it been since he had a proper drink? Those chapped lips did not form within a day. Even with those scars, his crimson eyes still stood out as beautiful. Ignoring his mocking tone, you told the servants to bring tea and refreshments.

           “Mr. Shigaraki. I am sure you know who I am, so I will skip the pleasantries. So, tell me about yourself.” Settling on one of the sofas, you start to caress the wooden handle of your sword. Even though this man is in tied in chains only long enough to just move around this room, the best thing to do it stay on your guard.

           He laughs, almost sent a chill down your spine, but decides to take a set on the opposite sofa regardless. “Your country is an odd one.” Shigaraki studies you with that unsettling red gaze, with a grin on his lips. “The Queen has to have tea parties with criminals. Do you have nothing better to do?” That is when the maids brought the tea trays. She offers to come in to act as a chaperone, but you took the tea tray and assure her you are doing just fine.

           “This is part of my duties. Sugar cube? Honey? Whichever you prefer.” Pouring yourself a cup of your favorite blend, you offer him some as well. Your mouth already started to water at the chocolate cake on the set.

           Tomura is stunned, to say the least. He did not expect you to be so...friendly with a lowly criminal like him. He thought this is just another interrogation session, despite the guard had him bathed and dressed him in nice clothes. Sure, he knows this process, but he thought it was just a gesture of the ruling class to appear merciful.

           Still, it would be rude to turn the invite from a beautiful lady like you.

           He had heard about you before. A spoiled little girl who took the crown due to family tragedies. So why not indulge in some lighthearted conversations before meeting his end?

           “...One teaspoon of honey.” Tomura wanted to add please at the end, then remembered the current situation. This tea sure smells good. When was the last time he drank such sophisticated beverage? He honestly cannot recall; it was such a long time ago...

           The clear sound of fine porcelain landing in front of him woke Shigaraki from nostalgia. “So, mind introducing yourself, Sir?”

           “You already read files about me.” “Maybe, but I want to hear your story from your lips.” You wonder whether it would be possible to let one of the guards apply lip balm on him, by force or otherwise. Taking a sip from the cup, Shigaraki begun to tell you about his hidden past.

           “Despite my current situation, I was born to a high station. Although I am also the one who thrown all of it away. I abandoned my old name and took the current one. I have no family left, nothing to hold me back from my goals.” The tea is sweet, almost too sweet for his liking.

           A noble fell from grace, then. You seen those kinds before, usually quite well-mannered, but bitter about how fate had treated them. At least you do not have to bear with profanities. You nod to signal him you are listening, stirring to dissolve the sugar cube. “So why would you kill Mr. Yagi? I personally would never do that, for example.”

           Of course you would not. You are too good to even think about killing a hero like All Might. Girls born with golden spoons like you would never understand what peasants had to go through just for a mouthful of food.

           “The current social order is crooked. Someone must fix it, by whatever means possible. Even if you were to kill me now, there’ still countless others like me. Have fun with them.” Putting down the cup, Tomura turns towards the small window on his right.

           “Interesting. What is wrong with the current society?” Taking out a notebook, you begin to scribble with your pencil. “Do you think this continent should have anarchy?”

           “Do you wish to give up your crown this badly? I thought you know better, little Queen. I guess I could tell you, you’re curious one.” Most people would spit on him as if Shigaraki is a rat from the sewers, forgotten who he was before descends to villainy. You are one of the few who shows compassion to him, fake or not. He wonders if this is your usual business attitude. Something in your knowledge hunger attitude, your glistening eyes makes him want to open up to you.

           Kindness do come from least expected places.

           “Those mercenaries, self-proclaimed heroes, disgusts me. They did the same thing as outlaws, taking lives. But they earn all those praises and adoration? Because of what? The f**king greater good.” Scratch the polite part, Shigaraki is clearly not above using swear words.

           “Could you refrain from using vulgar language? You said you are of noble birth; you should know the proper protocol for talking to a monarch. Also, what is your place of birth? Which kingdom are you from?”

           “I forsaken my status long ago, right now I’m nothing more then a lowlife. It is only fitting that I act like one. How about you tell me a bit about yourself, little Queen? It’s only fair, and I don’t have anyone to tell.” Cracking a wide smile, Shigaraki took amusement of how you shiver a little. Not so fearless after all, unlike the urban legends.

           You do not see any harm in sharing whimsical details about yourself. Just treat him like those irritating distant cousins, you told yourself.

           You start by how your grandpapa is a cruel tyrant, but you still love him dearly. How he taught you swordsmanship, riding, cooking simple meals, bandage minor wounds and make a fire in the wild. In between you offered Shigaraki some sweets on the tray, frowned when he only took a pretzel, the least sweet one.

           That does not sound like a spoiled upbringing at all. That sounds like how an assassin or soldier was raised. One of his formal guards used to said how hard it was.

           “Mr. Shigaraki? Are you feeling alright? Do I need to send for a physician?”

           “You’re a funny girl. I think I will give you one clue of my past if you are so eager to learn. Others used to refer me as Tenko.” Shigaraki threw out the bait already, now it is time to wait and see if he can catch the big one. Even if he loses this gamble, this should provide him some entertainment in his final days. A fruitful endeavor either way. You wrote that name down, ready to do research on it.

           The gentle knocks on the door reminds you it is time to wrap up this little chat. This is...a lot better than you expected. You cannot help but feel he is charming, in his own twisted, wicked way.

           “Is there anything that can improve your stay? A change in meals, perhaps?” Putting the notebook back into your skirt pocket, you fetch up the tea tray and ask.

           Look at you, being the good hostess, really care for Shigaraki like a guest. So nice and naïve, it would be a shame if some villain like him to take advantage of that.

---------------------------------------------------

taglist: @kazooli​

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[cincinnatusvirtue]

Jan Janszoon also known as Murat Reis the Younger (c. 1570-c. 1641) Dutch Barbary Pirate and founder/leader of a pirate republic, Republic of Sale...

Mention pirates and you may well conjure a number of images in the mind.  It depends on the context you’re discussing in terms of history and placement in the world.  The western world usually has an image of a swashbuckling and misunderstood rogue or misfit outcast who has been rejected from their society or can’t tolerate authority so they take to a life on the high seas in search of freedom, adventure and plunder.  Edward Teach (1680-1718) better known as Blackbeard is sometimes cited as the archetypal pirate in many modern works of fiction.  Or one might picture the character of Jack Sparrow in the Pirates of the Caribbean film franchise.  Images that are based in elements of truth but probably watered down from the reality of the harsh existence pirates found themselves in and the harsh price they exacted from others.

Another type of pirate, widely talked about but not perhaps as well known in some parts of the world is that of the Barbary pirate or Barbary corsair.  The Barbary pirate were privateers or pirates from an Islamic background typically and sometimes used a nominally religiously infused perspective to ply their trade.  They usually hailed from or were based out of the so called Barbary Coast of North Africa, so named for the native Berber peoples who made up the majority of these lands, Berber being a corruption of the ancient Greek for Barbarian a term applied to all non Greco-Roman peoples in antiquity.  These lands were the modern nations of Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia & Libya in particular.  These pirates were largely in operation from the 16th-19th centuries with their zenith being in the early to mid 17th century.  The modern states of North Africa were not full fledged nation states as they are today, in fact they were instead made up of various city states that with the exception of Morocco were nominal parts of the Turkish Ottoman Empire.  These locations while part of the Ottoman sphere of influence had relative degrees of autonomy that fell to their local governors called dey or bey or pasha.  All honorific titles taken from Turkish to roughly mean leader or governor.  The pirates on behalf of their dey or pasha or sometimes on behalf of themselves had virtual control of over their city-states and the surrounding seas.

The most prominent grounds to find these pirates and their bases was the Western Mediterranean and Atlantic seaboard of  Western Europe.  Their primary focus was to engage in the plunder of merchant ships and occasionally raid coastal villages and towns.  The main target wasn’t so much goods like money or inanimate objects but rather in the capture of  people, mostly Europeans and later Americans to become part of the greater Islamic slave trade within the preexisting Ottoman and Arab slave trades which spanned from Asia to Africa and Europe.  Now keep in mind slavery was not exclusive to any one society, culture or location, slavery and human trafficking was commonplace on virtually all continents among all peoples during the 16th-19th centuries.  However, the focus of this post will be on the Barbary slave trade and to provide a snapshot of the practices within that context.

Not all Barbary pirates were born within the Islamic world, in fact some of the best known were originally Christian or Jewish and later converted to Islam.  One of the best known was a Dutchman named Jan Janszoon (Jan Jansen) who took on the later moniker of Murat Reis the Younger...

Early Life...

-Not much of Jan’s early life is documented, other than he was born in the city of Haarlem in the Netherlands in roughly the year 1570.  Sources don’t definitively state who his parents were other than we can determine his surname followed the Dutch patronymic naming system of Janszoon or Jansen meaning “son of Jan or son of John” in English.  

-At the time of Jan’s birth, the Netherlands was technically part of the Catholic Spanish Empire.  However, the ethnic Dutch who were primarily Protestants of the Calvinist Dutch Reformed Church were increasingly at odds with Spanish rule, what resulted was the Eighty Years War or War of Dutch Independence (1568-1648).  Seven northern provinces of the Netherlands, one of the most powerful being Holland formed the united nucleus of new country determined to breakaway from Spanish rule.  This became the Dutch Republic.  What followed was a period of off and on warfare, colonial expansion and a flowering of cultural expression in art, commerce and the establishment of relatively tolerant values based in individualism.  This was reflected in the largely Protestant personalized philosophy of their religion.  The Dutch Republic became a place of comparative religious freedom within Europe and its government was run more by a legislative body than a monarch, though it had monarch like figures with varying degrees of power, more symbolic than absolute.  This contrasted with the absolute monarchy and centralizing of power in most of 17th-18th century Europe.

 -Jan’s profession wasn’t known either, other than at some point he took to a life at sea, it is speculated by some sources that he was apprenticed on merchant ships as a teenager which enabled him to learn the skills of sailing and nuances of trade and diplomacy in all dealings that would later serve him in life.

-In 1595, Jan is recorded as marrying a woman, presumably named Soutgen Cave with whom he had at least one daughter and possibly a son, Edward  The daughter, Lysbeth, was definitively confirmed by virtually all sources and would play a role in her father’s later life.

-Jan would eventually abandon his family in the Netherlands and would never return to them in a long lasting fashion.  Jan appears to have been restless and turned to a life at sea, first as a Dutch privateer on behalf of the Dutch Republic, raiding Spanish merchant ships in an effort to hurt the economy of the nation that nominally ruled over the Dutch Republic.  

-However, in the early 17th century a nominal period of peace or truce was established between Spain and the Netherlands, though the war and issue of independence wasn’t officially resolved.  Jan during these years appears to have left the official capacity of serving under the Dutch flag and instead made his way to Spain and North Africa and largely went into business for himself.

Algiers and Spain “Turning Turk”...

-The timeline is somewhat confused based on the sources we have but Jan’s adventures appear to have taken him to the Canary Islands off Africa’s coast where he was captured by Barbary pirates, possibly under the Ottoman privateer of Albanian extraction, Murat Reis (The Elder).  Jan was conveyed to Algiers (modern capital of Algeria) where he was most likely considered for a life of slavery.  However, it appear Jan either made the conversion to Islam outright to officially spare him the pain of slavery, since nominally Islam forbids the enslavement of other Muslims, though this was not always practiced since other Muslims were occasionally enslaved by the Barbary pirates.  The other possibility is that Jan convinced his captors of his suitability as a sailor and guide and offered his services if not his faith, though it most likely he converted to Islam at this time, probably as a practical matter.  The conversion in European circles was known as “turning Turk” since Turk became a blanket misnomer to all Muslims regardless of ethnicity at this time.

-Jan also made his was to Spain, in particular the port city of Cartagena where in the first decade of the 17th century, some of the last sizable remnants of a Muslim community lived, descended from Muslims that once controlled most of the Iberian Peninsula in the semi-autonomous province of Al-Andalus (Andalusia) from the 8th century to the year 1492.  

-Since 1492, the Christian kingdoms of northern Spain and Portugal pushed backed the Muslims and “reconquered” Iberia from Muslim rule.  The Spanish monarchy overtime changed from relative tolerance of Muslims and Jews to threats of expulsion, forced conversion or death for non-Christians.  In the midst of all this Jan, either not yet a Muslim or a Muslim who as a European could pass for a Christian met a new woman, sources can’t confirm her identity beyond the Spanish name Margarita.  Margarita was known to be a Spanish Moor or Muslim of mixed ethnic background, most likely Arab-Berber with roots in Morocco.  She was part of a community known as Mujedars or Moriscos, Moors who nominally were converted Christianity but in private secretly maintained their Islamic faith and customs.  Sources also vary on whether Margarita was a woman of high birth or nobility or a domestic servant to a Christian family.  There is even a source that speculates her genealogy can be traced in part to the then ruling dynasty of Morocco, the Arab Saadi dynasty which claim descent from the Islamic prophet Muhammad through the Prophet’s daughter Fatima. 

-What is known is that Margarita would become Jan’s wife, the first of four permissible simultaneous wives under Islamic law.  It is not known if Jan ever took another wife.  His first Christian marriage in the Netherlands would be viewed as invalid under from the Islamic viewpoint.  Jan and Margarita also had four sons whose names are Abraham, Anthony, Philip & Cornelis.  All four would have been raised as Muslims by their parents, from this point on this became Jan’s family.  His Dutch family is variously reported to have been ignored or still the recipients of child/spousal support from Jan who would send portions of his earnings to them.  There is evidently truth to this given that his daughter Lysbeth later visited him late in life, suggesting a good enough relationship if distant.

Sale...

-In roughly the period 1609-1612 the family would have left Spain for Algiers and later Morocco and settled in the city of Sale, today a twin city of the capital of Rabat.  Sale had a long history but a number of thousands of expelled Muslims from Spain would come together to form the nucleus of a new period of history in Sale.  These Muslims would have differed from the Berbers of Morocco despite their overlapping ethnic similarities, in that they grew up speaking Spanish probably in addition to Arabic and would have had Spanish influenced customs, this put them at odds with their fellow Moroccans.  

-Jan in his travels would have been multilingual.  In addition to his native Dutch he would have known Spanish and likely Arabic, English and possibly French at the very least.

-1619 saw the city of Sale which had a small Barbary pirate operation already declare itself an independent republic, not subject to the authority of the Sultans of Morocco, then ruled by two brothers of the Saadi dynasty in a virtual state of civil war  At the center of this “revolt” was Jan himself, now known as Murat Reis (The Younger), taken after his former captor who had passed away a decade before.  Jan was already successful in conducting raids for Algiers on European shipping, mostly of Spanish shipping and other nations.  Though he was known to release or ransom his fellow Dutch from captivity in many instances.

-Sale in its newly declared independence was helmed by a ruling council of 14 leading pirates who elected Jan at its Grand Admiral (head of the fleet) and President.  The newly minted Republic of Sale, was a functioning de-facto city-state that was run by and for Barbary pirates who enriched themselves off of the slave trade and sale of plunder of other goods taken from European ships.

-Sale’s fleet was small at first, numbering 18 ships, mainly of the “polacca” design, the ships were small, sleek and fast.  The harbor at Sale was the mouth of the Bou Regreg river which divided Sale & Rabat on the north and south banks respectively.  The harbor was protected by a sandbar and due to the small design of the ships with they had the ability to slide over the sandbar and dock in the shallow harbor, where European ships typically required deep ports for docking due to their deep and large hulls.  Sale at the time also benefitted from relative isolation with next to no roads leading to the city from land and it was purely a port city.

-Jan is noted by all sources as an intelligent and brave fighter as well as able administrator, the docking fees, percentages of profits from slave sales and others good sold made Sale blossom financially under Jan’s administration.  Nominal fees to the Sultan also helped maintain their semi-autonomy, in recognition of this and due to other deeper difficulties Sultan Zidan Abu Maali of the Saadi dynasty made Jan the ceremonial Governor of Sale.

-Jan and the Sale Rovers as his fleet was called in English sources was known for their guile.  Carrying multiple flags on board Jan and fleet were known to approach ships and like a chameleon adapts to their surroundings by changing colors, the pirates would fly friendly flags as they approached their prey.  This meant they kept informed on the latest diplomatic changes of the day and using this ruse got close to their quarry and then suddenly would raise their own flag of the two conjoined sabers on a field of green or the crescent moon of Islam and frighten their victims.  Barbary pirates in general speaking foreign tongues with a fearsome appearance of swords and pistols in hand and dagger in mouth relied on intimidation and very often tried to capture their victims without an actual fight.  Since the goal was enslavement harm or death to their prisoners was not ideal and psychological terror was their foremost weapon hence why they chose merchant and passenger ships and usually fled at the sight of military ships.

-According to the known accounts Jan and his men treated their prisoners relatively humanely given the circumstances as Barbary piracy was well known by this time, most knew their fate would not be good, few slaves ever returned to their homeland or another destination.  Typically, women and children would be separated from the men, meaning families were often divided.  Once arrived at port, they would be separated according to age and gender since they served different purposes.  Men would typically be used for forced manual labor to their Muslim masters or serve as oarsmen or servants on ships, rarely setting foot on land for long periods of time.  Children would be taken to serve as domestic servants in Muslim homes and women would typically be sold to become domestic servants as well.  Occasionally  women were made into sex slaves to their masters, sometimes ending up in the harems of the Sultan or other Muslim rulers.  On the auction block as is true of slaves anywhere, one would be publicly displayed sometimes naked or asked to run and jump or to be prodded and inspected by prospective buyers.  Those in good health commanded the highest price.  Some slaves were also ransomed through funds raised by the family, government or Christian religious orders, though this fueled the Barbary pirates economy and perpetuated the cycle of enslavement.  Jan is known to have made large profits to fund his family, fleet and home and is known to have had many servants, most probably being men to perform manual labor in maintaining his fleet for future slave runs.

-Jan also occasionally ventured outside of the Western Mediterranean and Atlantic near the Canary Islands, sight of his own capture years before.  He was known to base himself on islands off the coast of England and even return to the Netherlands.  Using his Dutch citizenship and his new found role as an Admiral nominally in the Moroccan navy, he had diplomatic immunity and for his service in attacking the hated Spanish, he was viewed with mixed feeling in his homeland as his fame had spread by this time.  The authorities banned piracy officially and condemned it and thought him a bad example, even if he exacted a toll on the Spanish economy which rivalled the Dutch and was still at war with them.  During one visit back to Amsterdam in 1622, the authorities located his first wife and their children in the hopes the sight of them would spurn him to give up his piracy, it failed.  To make matters worse, he had somewhat a folk hero appeal that lead several Dutchmen to actually leave behind their lives in Amsterdam and leave to join his crew for a life of piracy, a testament to the charisma he probably possessed.  His crew would have been multiethnic containing other Europeans including Dutch, Spanish, French, English and German crewmen alongside Arabs, Berbers and Turks.  Spanish & Arabic would have probably served as lingua francas onboard.

Return to Algiers...

-By 1627, the political situation in Morocco had deteriorated and for safety reasons he took his family to Algiers.  His son Anthony had by this time now an adult left Morocco for a life in the Netherlands and would eventually marry a Dutch woman and immigrate under the auspices of the Dutch West India Company to North America, settling in the colony of New Amsterdam, modern day New York City.  Anthony was known as Anthony Janszoon Van Salee in Dutch.  He was the first Muslim recorded to have been a long term settler in North America and kept the first known copy of a the Qu’ran in America as well, reputed to be a copy of the Moroccan Sultan’s personal Qu’ran which was a gift and a testament to the honorifics bestowed upon the Janszoon family.  Anthony became a successful farmer, landowner and merchant in New Amsterdam and helped found settlements that made up modern day Brooklyn, New York.  He was known to have an independent streak like his father and little regard for authority, making him a colorful character in colonial America.  Through Anthony, Jan has many living descendants in America (see my previous post on Anthony) including the Vanderbilt family which became wealthy in the 19th century. 

-Upon his return to Algiers, Jan resumed his piracy this time conducting two of his most famous raids in 1627 and 1631 respectively.  First, he had his crew leave from England northward to Iceland of all places, where they captured a couple hundred Icelanders and a few Danes from Denmark, all were sold into slavery in Algiers where Jan continued his large profits.  The second took place in Ireland at the village of Baltimore, once more he successfully made off with hundreds of prisoners, only two would ever return to Ireland.  This latter raid was lamented in the 19th century Thomas Davis poem The Sack of Baltimore.  In both instances, Jan’s crew went ashore and captured villagers from their homes, again using intimidation with probably only enough physical violence so as to intimidate and deter resistance.  In the case of the Baltimore raid, Jan’s crew attacked in the middle of the night abducting people from their sleep.

Capture...

-1635 saw Jan captured while at sea in the Eastern Mediterranean, captured by the Christian military order, the Knights of Rhodes or Knights Hospitaller.  He was kept on the island of Malta, the details of his confinement are murky, but he was known to have been beaten and subjected to torture though he never renounced Islam and was known to have become quite pious in his faith.  He encouraged many European captives to convert and spare themselves slavery as Islam forbids enslavement of other Muslims.  In fact, the Muslim view of Jan and his fellow Barbary pirates at the time was widely one of celebration and righteousness.  Not only did it provide economic benefit but the enslavement of non-Muslims was viewed as an act of almost holy war waged against infidel peoples and the pirates were warriors of Islam acting in a righteous manner.

-Jan’s imprisonment lasted five years until he was freed by Tunisian Barbary pirates in a raid on Malta.  He was heralded with great pomp in 1640 at his release having achieved fame in the Islamic world as well as have been a scourge to Christians in Europe.

Final return to Morocco...

-Jan was essentially in search of work despite his old age and feeble condition from his imprisonment.

-He returned to Morocco but not Sale where he made his name and fortune but instead, the new Sultan made him Governor of Oualidia further south on the Moroccan coast.  The modern day seaside resort had a unique lagoon and a new fortress or “Kasbah” was built specifically for Jan.  He also maintained a home in nearby Safi, no longer at sea, he retired and merely administered the area but appears to have been restored to his wealth, his wife Margarita is presumed to have predeceased him either in Algiers or Morocco before or during his imprisonment on Malta.

-In 1641 his daughter Lysbeth from his first marriage travelled with a Dutch embassy to Morocco to greet the new Sultan.  Lysbeth and her husband met with Jan, supposedly both on their docked ship and and his many homes, he was described as being enfeebled but surrounded by luxury and comfort attended to by servants.  Lysbeth stayed with her father for months, the only extended period of time since her childhood, presumably this meant despite his physical distance, their relationship was relatively good.

-No further sources of Jan’s life are known, its presumed he died shortly thereafter of natural causes and was buried in Safi, Morocco in an unmarked grave but no source has yet validated this.

[a-god-in-ruins-rises]

What do you think of Napoleon? Do you hate him because he was a monarch and because he was against the French revolution? Or do you still consider him great despite that?

yeah i don't consider napoleon a monarch. the term monarch has a specific meaning to me. monarchy = all land owned by single monarch, state/government treated as personal matter of said monarch vs republic (the opposite of a monarchy) = all land owned collectively by the people through the state/government is considered a /public/ matter. contrary to popular belief, "republic" isn't the same as democracy. a republic can have many different forms. from direct democracy to autocracy, liberal to illiberal, authoritarian to libertarian, and everything in between.

and that's what i believe napoleon's empire was. a republic, of the autocratic and authoritarian variety. a republican dictatorship. is his specific form of republic my personal ideal? not quite. but it's a big step above the monarchy which preceded it. louis xiv said "i am the state!" which succinctly embodies the essence of monarchy. napoleon on the other hand was merely the head of state. regardless of whether or not the plebiscite was manipulated, any real plebiscite probably wouldn't have been much different. he was hugely popular and his reign was predicated on the popular will of the people. he didn't rule by divine right or because of tradition or inheritance. he ruled because his nation chose him to rule.

which leads me to your next point; again, contrary to popular belief napoleon was the heir and a continuation of the french revolution, not its end. many people think he is some reactionary counterrevolutionary, but they're wrong. he still embodied the ideals of the french revolution. like....that was his whole thing. he was an enlightened ruler. he was actively spreading enlightenment ideals to his conquered territories. as mentioned, he based his rule on popular will/consent of the governed, spread ideas like liberty and equality-before-the-law and fraternity and nationalism and rule of law and secularism, abolished feudalism, established forms of public education, funded scientific research, property rights, etc, and he invested a lot in bettering the lives of the french lower classes.

people have memed themselves into thinking the french revolution was inherently evil or something just because some of the most extreme radicals happened to be proto-commies or bourgeois or whatever. but the revolution (much like the enlightenment in general, which is also frequently erroneously demonized) wasn't monolithic and had a broad spectrum of ideas being espoused. there were many revolutionaries who were even okay with a monarchy. they just wanted a less shitty one which made the interests of the people a priority rather than an afterthought. but even a lot of the more radical anti-monarchical and regicidal revolutionaries weren't democrats or liberals or communists or what have you. many of them were still opposed to democracy and liberalism. in fact, a lot of them wanted a stronger government to better regulate commerce and agriculture. you have to understand that most revolutionaries back then were probably more conservative than most conservatives today.

so yeah. i think he was a great man. one of the greatest to ever walk the earth.

[mary-tudor]

~HENRY TUDOR: A SOCIOLOGICAL INTERPRETATION.~

Today, I'll be discussing a character who left his mark in History, fathering a dynasty whose most proeminent members were his (second) son Henry VIII and his granddaughter Elizabeth I. Often overshadowed by his descendants, Henry's own deeds as a king and as an individual of his own days have been neglected until recently, when efforts from British historians have been working hard to change that. 

The reason why I decided to bring him here was not only due to personal affections, though they certainly helped it, but because there are aspects overlapped in social structures that shaped him. In other words: what's Henry Tudor as a sociological individual? Can we point him out as a constant foreigner or someone whose socialization process were strongly marked by the addition of two different societies? 

Henry Tudor was born in Pembroke, located in Wales, in January 28th 1457. His mother was Margaret Beaufort, a proeminent lady whose grandfather John Beaufort was the son of John of Gaunt, son in turn of King Edward III of England. The duke of Lancaster fathered four ilegitimated children (who were legitimated in posterity) by his (third marriage to his then) lover Katheryn Swynford, amongst whom John Beaufort was the oldest. Therefore, Henry was  3x grandson. to the duke and, despite what some might argue when Henry IV became king, in great deal to inherite the throne. Well, it's not my intention to deepen the discussion as to Henry's legitimacy or the Beauforts. 

Though his father's ancestry, Henry's blood led him to the royal house of Valois. His paternal grandmother, Katherine de Valois, was the sister of Isabella, who had been the second wife of the ill-fated king Richard II. She was also descended of Louis IX and his spanish wife, Blanche de Castille. Henry was also a royal man from the Welsh lands, as Owain Tudor, his grandfather, was related to several princes of Wales. By all these I said, the first thing one might think (considering 15th century and it’s nobility) Henry would receive a proper education due to his status. However, this would not happen in the strict sense of the word. Let us not forget that England was collapsing by the time of Henry Tudor's birth and his childhood. Why am I using the word 'collapse' to qualify the civil war we know named as wars of the roses?

Émile Durkheim, a french sociologist, would write several centuries later, about how a society is formed: he compared it to the working of a human body. If the head, the brain of our body does not work well, what happens? The body will not work well, certainly. Neither would the head work well if other parts hurt somehow. Although if you did break a leg, you could still make use of your brain, but as a whole how limited wouldn't you be? He'd also say that when the human body, or as he called, the society was sick, it was because of the social structures which imposed the human being to the point where there would be no individuality, no matter of choice. 

Such created social facts that were completely external (althoug well internalized through means of a process we call socialization) but coercitive. If they are not working, what does this mean? That soon another social facts will be replacing the former one. But between one and another, we have a "very sickly" society. Taking this understanding back to England's 15th century, it is not difficult to see what Durkheim was talking about. 

The king was the head of the English body. If we have here two kings fighting over one crown, fighting over the rule of an entire body... Well, then? We have the collapse, a civil war that lasted for the next 30 years. Here, it's less about discussing who started what but why they did what they did, and the explanation for it. Power is power. It's crystal clear, and a statement that, however simple might it sound, points to the obvious. Factions that fought for power intended to dominate others, using the concept very well developed by sociologists as Pierre Bourdieu and Norbert Elias. This domination is a large field, a concept that embrace all sorts of it. Looking back to England's latter half of the century, domination was peril. The head was about to explode. The society was ill... and dominated by it.

What were the values? What was the racionalization proccess of social action led by individuals that were not only individuals but a group? How would all of this affect Henry Tudor? It was not about merely blaming the capitalism, because such coercitive system wasn't present yet. But Henry was, directly or not, linked to the royal house of Plantagenets, whose eagerness for dominating one another and by extension the rest of the country would include him in the game. 

"Game." For Durkheim, this would imply an agitation, like a wave of sea, from which no one could escape from. Let's not forget that Institutions created ideas, renewed them, shaped them to the practice whether to dominate the weaker or to defeat the stronger. Whatever the purpose, we here have the Church, not the religiosity, but the precursor of ideas would subdue individuals to share (or manipulate to their own goals anyways) values in order to keep determined mentality to it. But also, monarchy was too an institution which held control over the lives and deaths of thousands of people. A monarch, as we know, is never alone regardless of how "absolut" they could be in different times and contexts. They were not above the law, either. At least where the socialization process is concerned. For the monarch embodied the content which was the law back then. He was literally the law. 

Furthermore, Henry's education would foresee this fighting, which I'm not merely referring to custody going from his mother to another, before finally staying under his uncle's responsibilities, as well as the civil war itself. (Anyone remembers Warwick executing Herbert before the boy?) 

See, we all know and comprehend today what trauma are capable of doing to someone. Such experience is the main responsible for shaping ideas, values and even costumes. Now, a society which is very much sick by it's own values and moral costumes (a point here must be made: the public consciousness always preached for a warrior, strong king, but has no one thought how this "common sense", validated by a general expectation towards the head of society, was what led it to... well, for the lack of better word, suicide itself? 

For it's widely accepted that weak kings do not last long. But that is when we deal with a good deal of expectations that, when turned to frustrations, bring awful results. If England's society was ill in it's very extreme sense of the word, was because the values they created turned against themselves and that would leave it's mark in a boy as Henry. And until the age of 14, he was still absorbing these concepts, these morals, values, costumes from institutions (let's not forget that a monarch shares such with the nobility that surrounds him, as was the case of House Lancaster,f.e) before he was casted out to Bretagne and, in posteriority, to France. Now, I believe you all know what was done whether in England or with our king during these 14 years spent outside his own country before he became king upon the victory settled on the battle of Bosworth field.

I am not interested in discussing historical facts. At least not now, as we are finally dealing with Henry Tudor as a social actor

----/-HENRY TUDOR: A FOREIGNER? AN EXILED? OR AN OUTCAST?--

These questions mobilized me as I came to read a text written by 19th century sociologist named Georg Simmel. He wrote an essay (pardon by any mistakes in translations done from here on) entitled "The Foreigner", in which he brings a sociological question at why  foreigners are seen as strangers who are never entirely immersed in the society they attempt to be part in. 

Here's an excerpt translated by me in which he explains it:

"Fixed within a determined social space, where it's constancy cross-border could be considered similar to the space, their position [the foreigner's] in it is largely determined by the fact of not belonging entirely to it, and their qualities cannot originate from it or come from it, nor even going in it." (SIMMEL, 2005: 1.)    

Furthermore, he adds:

“The foreigner, however, is also an element of the group, no more different than the others and, at the same time, distincted from what we consider as the 'internal enemy'. They are an element in whose position imanent and of member comprehend, at the same time, one outsider and the other insider." (SIMMEL, 2005: 1).

Here's why Henry, as Earl of Richmond, was not well seen by the Britons and the French, in spite of being "accepted" by them. Never forget that he would still be seen as an outsider by his own fellows. As Richard III would call Henry a bastard, one could understand this accusation with sociological  implications. English back then detested these foreigners and by the concept brought here by me from Simmel we can understand why. But we could also see being called a bastard as a way to point out Henry's localization. Where can the Earl of Richmond & soon-to-be king be located?

I have pointed this far the structures which were raised and caused a collapsed society to live broken in many, many ways and how this affected Henry this far. Seeing how foreigner he was, nonetheless, he did not belong neither to England (at first) nor to the Continent.

On that sense of word, says Simmel (2005: 3): 

"A foreigner is seen and felt, then, from one side, as someone absolutely mobiled, a wanderer. As a subject who comes up every now and then through specific contacts and yet, singularly, does not find vinculated organically to  anything or anyone, nominally, in regards to the established family, locals and profissionals”

Even though we find a dominant group of foreigners in France, as we are talking about of nobles displeased with the Yorkist cause and supporters of the Lancastrian House, they were not majority. Where can we locate Henry, then? We don't, because he was not a French and however well he could speak the language, it was not his birth language. The French culture was not passed nor naturalized by him through the teachings of a family or the church by the institutions: monarchy, church, family, parliament, etc; he would have been defeated a long time. But that he did manage to, using this popular expression, put things together and become the first king to die peacefully since Henry V, it tells us a lot. Not rarely an immigrant is accepted by a society whose demands are forced upon him, most of the times in aggressive ways. But it's not often either that we see a king occupying such place in society. 

Indeed, one might say that kings as Henry II and the conquerors before him were too foreigners, but not in the sociological way I'm explaining. Because the social structures were different. Henry's government were settled in a more centralized ruling, far more just and peaceful, more economic and less concerned with waging wars than his antecessors. The need to migrate was not 'forced', neither 'imposed' and even back to the 11th and 12th centuries were motivated by different reasons. That's to accentuate how English society evolved throughout the centuries. And I used again and again Georg Simmel to prove my point about casting a sociological light towards Henry VII not as a historical character so distant of us and who remains an object of controversial discussions, but a man of his times who was forced to deal with expectations that placed him in social positions nearly opposed to one another to fulfill each role whether as king or as a man. For some reason, the broken society shaped Henry as an immigrant, but as history shows us, it was this immigrant who helped shape medieval society, directing it towards the age of Renaissance and in posteriority to Modern Age.

Finally, to close this thread I leave here another quote (translated to English by me) found in the text written by Simmel: 

"The foreigner, strange to the group [he is in], is considered and seen as a non-belonging being, even if this individual is an organic member of the group whose uniform life comprehends every particular conditioning of this social [mean]. (...) [the foreigner] earns in certain groups of masses a proximity and distance that distinguishes quantities in each relationship, even in smaller portions. Where each marked relationship nduced to a mutual tension in specific relationships, strenghtening more formal relations out of respect to what's considered 'foreigner' of which are resulted." (SIMMEL, p 7). 

Bibliography: 

AMIN, Nathen. https://henrytudorsociety.com/

DURKHEIM, Émile. "The Division of Labor in Society”.

KANTOROWICZ, Ernst H.”The King’s Two Bodies: A Study in Medieavel Political Theology.”

PENN, Thomas. Winter King: Henry VII and the Dawn of Tudor England.

SIMMEL, Georg. The Foreigner. In: Soziologie. Untersuchungen über die Formen der Vergesellschaftung. Berlin. 1908.

[a-blue-secret]

CHAPTER II

BACK TO MASTERLIST

Chapter I | Chapter II | Chapter III

GENRES: royal au; fantasy au; magic au; friends-to-enemies-to-lovers; king!beomgyu, vizier!taehyun

PAIRING: taegyu

WARNINGS: none (haha no swearing in this one)

WORD COUNT: 2.9k+

AN: All I can say is: Beomgyu was hanging off the top of the door. That's why. (You'll understand once you read I promise) Also, I have no idea how alliances are formed so this is a completely made-up and not-factual process.

SUMMARY: Best friends turned enemies, Kang Taehyun has managed to trick Choi Beomgyu into his service, and to rule for three years and four months and nineteen days, until his youngest brother would be old enough to take the throne. Choi Beomgyu has no intention of being obedient however, and tries to thwart Taehyun’s orders at every turn. With a growing amount of distrust and lies within the court, will Taehyun manage to keep the kingdom of Gojongja from falling apart?

Taehyun did not go air out the Discussion and Tactics room. Not out of spite, but because he had one of the palace's servants do it instead. He did however, inform the court that Coronation Revels were over, and all people not native to the Gojongja court would have to make their farewells by the end of the week. When asked where the King was, Taehyun smoothly evaded giving direct answers, choosing to reply that what the King was doing was none of their concern. A few days after the final revel, only a few foreign representatives remained.

Beomgyu stayed in his chambers the whole of the three days, even ordering meals within his room. This irritated Taehyun, since it left him in charge, yet again, of the matters that normally the monarch would handle. And while he had contemplated barging into Beomgyu's room and forcing him to do his work, Taehyun also knew that the elder would say that it was technically Taehyun's job, since he controlled Beomgyu. And Taehyun really didn't want to have his patience tested by Beomgyu that particular day, so he just gritted his teeth and carried on.

.・゜-: ✧ :-　　

Taehyun tapped his fingers against the wooden table impatiently. He looked around the room again, eyeing the old bookshelf and the ancient chest of drawers for the umpteeth time. Yeonjun wasn't late or anything, he was just annoyed that this stupid discussion would be taking up his time.

Just at that moment, a knock sounded on the door.

"Lord Choi Yeonjun of Aruyeo Kingdom," the guardsman announced, opening the door for Yeonjun. Taehyun briefly considered standing up, but dismissed the thought. A vizier was of higher position than any lord, after all.

Yeonjun stepped into the room and looked slightly surprised at seeing only Taehyun sitting there, drumming his fingers against the wood. He quickly gathered himself and gave the vizier a sharp bow.

"Grand Vizier Taehyun."

"Lord Yeonjun," Taehyun acknowledged. "Please, have a seat."

Yeonjun sat down in the only other chair set at the table- the one opposite Taehyun. The vizier leaned forwards, clasping his hands together on the bare tabletop. Yeonjun looked around, clearly wondering where Beomgyu was but reluctant to voice his question.

"His Greatness is occupied with other matters," Taehyun said calmly. "He has asked me to carry on with our scheduled meeting, regardless of whether he is present or not."

"Ah… okay." Yeonjun shifted in his seat, still refusing to meet Taehyun's piercing gaze. Inwardly, the vizier smirked. He loved doing this: intimidating people, analysing them, seeing what ulterior motives they may have. Finally though, he decided that Yeonjun was far too nervous at that moment to have any interesting motives, so he relaxed and sat back.

"So, what do you have in mind for the alliance?"

Yeonjun cleared his throat, then placed his own hands palms down on the table. "Her Royal Supremeness has suggested as a start that Aruyeonan nobles, like me, can come to Gojongja court."

Taehyun frowned.

"Gojongja nobles are already living in Aruyeo," Yeonjun explained. "So, it seems only fair that if we are to have an alliance, we should have an exchanging of our nobles."

Taehyun straightened his collar. "It is an intriguing idea, Lord Choi, but we have to think about our court's security. As the Kingdom with the overall monarch, we have to place more safety measures within our court than any of the Four Kingdoms. Letting foreign nobles stay in Gojongja for an extended period of time is a risk."

Yeonjun nodded readily. "I understand. That is why our Queen had me come as ambassador. I, if I do say so myself, am an extremely trustworthy Lord. I will be the most trustworthy Aruyeonan noble that has ever set foot within your court. Once I have earned your trust and respect then, and only then, is when we will let additional Aruyeonan nobles in."

Taehyun held up a hand. "Hold. You mean to say that you will be staying in our court? Until you earn our respect? And then you will let other nobles into our court?"

Yeonjun nodded once. "That is correct, sire."

Taehyun frowned. "I do not like those terms. Forgive me, but I, frankly, do not trust you at all. It will take a great deal of time for me to."

"I understand, sire. Which is why I am to stay in court until you can."

"You do know I could turn you out of court with the flick of my wrist, don't you? I could turn you out and prevent you from ever coming back."

"You and I both know you would not do that, since Queen Erajin would not take kindly to you banishing one of her lords from your court."

Taehyun grudgingly admitted Yeonjun was right. Exiling Yeonjun, no matter how tempting the offer seemed right then, was not a remotely diplomatic move at all.

"Also, this will be a benefit that Aruyeo will have. If Gojongja will reap no rewards from this alliance, then there is no point in having it."

Yeonjun smiled. "Oh, Gojongja's benefits are far greater than Aruyeo's. You will have access to our Royal Army, our Navy and our Air Forces. In return, we ask for your knowledge on clans and abilities."

Taehyun paused. It was a very simple request. One in which Gojongja seemed to gain the most beneficial reward. "Well. That is surely something. At the revel however, you mentioned something about sharing resources. Could you clearly state what that means?"

Yeonjun leaned forward, using his hands to emphasise his points. He looked comfortable now. Perhaps diplomatic discussions were in his blood as much as they were in Taehyun's.

"Sharing resources means everything it sounds like it means. We share resources such as land- for example, our mines in exchange for your forests- information sources - like historical sources- and, if times become truly difficult, we can even share ships, and armies, and citizens."

Taehyun listened carefully as Yeonjun continued to explain. This Lord was compelling, that was for certain. When he spoke, one couldn't help but want to agree to everything he said.

"Hmm. 'Sharing' is a concept I do not believe Gojongja has experienced in a while, so it will take some time to adjust, I can assure you. If you don't mind me asking, why do you need our knowledge on clans and abilities?"

Yeonjun's face hardened. "That is a confidential matter, and knowledge of it is confined to only the most trustworthy people within the Aruyeo court." Taehyun raised an eyebrow, knowing exactly what Yeonjun was implying.

"It'll take a lot more than that to get me to trust you," Taehyun said.

"Believe me, I know," Yeonjun replied. "And I am determined to do so."

The two of them talked business for several more hours. By the end of it, the outcome was clear- Gojongja would be accepting all of Aruyeo's terms regarding the alliance. Taehyun had studied and rolled over the words of the agreement over and over in his mind, had taken them apart, dissected their potential meanings and analysed them to the bone. However, Yeonjun seemed to anticipate each and every one of Taehyun's scepticisms, and countered them with more agreements and rules.

Finally, Taehyun concluded that an alliance with Aruyeo would not be harmful for Gojongja, and that was that. All that was left was for the King to put his signature on the paper, and the alliance could fully begin.

Taehyun stood up, and so did Yeonjun.

"Well," Taehyun said. "It was nice talking alliances with you, Lord Choi."

"Likewise, Grand Vizier Kang." Yeonjun's lips twitched as they shook hands. "I'll see you around, then?"

Taehyun let Yeonjun leave first. Before he exited the room, Taehyun took one last sweeping glance around it. He noticed a tiny glass ball which caught the light streaming through the small window. Walking over, he picked it up off of the chest of drawers. Rolling it between his fingers, Taehyun carefully analysed the ball. It was no bigger than an average marble, and inside there was a strange metal powder which seemed to move as if they were the waves of the ocean. Taehyun frowned, pocketing the strange marble, before striding out of the room, closing the door with a soft click.

.・゜-: ✧ :-　　

Taehyun had stayed talking to Lord Yeonjun for much longer than he'd have liked. The Aruyeonan was extremely thorough in his explanations, and Taehyun was never one to let tiny details slide without careful analysis. While this was one of the things which made him the best diplomat among the Gojongja court, it also tired him immensely if he focused too much for a prolonged period of time.

After more than five hours sitting cramped in the Discussion and Tactics Room, Taehyun was mentally exhausted, hungry and cranky. So when he stalked up to Beomgyu's door and the guard turned him away, he may have forcefully slammed the butt of his dagger against the wood in frustration, causing the whole thing to fall off.

Beomgyu, who had previously been standing on his head, startled and toppled over in surprise. Taehyun also looked a little shocked as he stared at the fallen door.

"... Whoops?" he said.

"Why'd you go and break my door?" Beomgyu demanded, annoyed. Taehyun was about to reply with some snarky comment, before realising that, since the door was down, there was nothing separating them from the eavesdropping ears of the rest of the court, and so he just bowed respectfully and apologised.

"My sincerest apologies, Your Greatness," Taehyun said. "I must have underestimated my strength. I will have the door fixed as soon as possible. If you please, my King, would you mind joining me in the Meeting Hall? There are some matters it may benefit you to know of."

Beomgyu raised an eyebrow at Taehyun's extravagant display of formalities, but made no comment on it. "I accept your apology," he replied in a similar exaggeratedly formal way. "And I will see you in the Meeting Hall as soon as I change into a more suitable outfit and have the splintered remains of my door removed."

Taehyun bowed again, and strode off down the hallway.

.・゜-: ✧ :-　　

"Good, you're here," Taehyun said when Beomgyu finally sauntered in to the Meeting Hall. "Lord Yeonjun let me keep the agreement to look over it. Read over it and see if it’s all good," he said, tossing the scroll to Beomgyu. He caught it out of the air, before sitting down in the chair at the head of the long table. The King undid the black ribbon, unfurling the parchment. He scanned over the contents of the letter, before carelessly tossing it back down onto the table.

"Yeah, sounds good to me," he dismissed. "Why'd you bring it?"

"You need to sign it," Taehyun patiently explained. If he was completely honest, he felt a little guilty for breaking down Beomgyu's door. For him personally, his chambers were his haven, his private space. He could only imagine the anger he'd feel if the person he hated rudely barged in, splintering his door to pieces. Taehyun wouldn't be happy at all.

Beomgyu picked up on Taehyun's unusually placid tone, and took the agreement into his hands again, reading over it fully.

" 'Grant Aruyeo access to Gojongja's knowledge on clans and abilities'?" he read, scoffing. "What are they going to do with that sort of information?"

Taehyun shrugged, kicking his feet up onto the redwood table. He was tired, mentally and physically, so at that moment he didn't really care for propriety. "Lord Yeonjun said it was a confidential matter between only the most trustworthy people of Aruyeonan court."

"I suppose our record of clans is the largest and oldest out of all the Four Kingdoms," Beomgyu mused. "It is one of our advantages as well. Shame we'll have to share it with Aruyeo." He set the paper down again, smoothing it out. "Well, it sounds all good to me. Though there are parts which I really don't like, there are parts which I really like as well. And looks to me like there are parts which Aruyeo won't be happy about," he said, chuckling a little. "Gaining a portion of the metal mines for a section of our forest? Seems like ultimately we'll benefit from this alliance." He snapped his fingers at Taehyun. "Get me that quill, would you?"

Taehyun rolled his eyes, but took his feet off of the table and walked over to Beomgyu to push the quill and ink pot closer to the elder.

He watched as the elder dipped the quill into the ink.

"Beomgyu… I really am sorry for breaking down your door. I don't know how I did it, and didn't mean to do it at all."

Beomgyu raised his eyebrows at Taehyun, quill hovering in midair. "What's this?" he said. "Are you actually apologising to me?"

Taehyun glared, and scratched his neck with the backs of his nails: a nervous habit of his.

"Okay, no need to glare at me," Beomgyu chuckled. "And it's fine. The door was broken anyway. It's not your fault it came off." At the confused noise that Taehyun made, Beomgyu put down the quill to explain. "The reason they denied you access was because I'd accidentally broken the door, and if you found out you'd be mad. I was going to have it fixed before you found out, but you managed to topple it down before I could." Beomgyu shrugged, picking up the quill again. "It's no big deal."

Taehyun stood there, dumbfounded. "So then how did you break the door?"

Beomgyu laughed slightly. "Oh, you do not wanna know. Besides, you're the one who managed to knock it over and break it into splinters. I just managed to rip it off its hinges."

Taehyun glowered at the top of the King's head, all traces of guilt gone. What could Beomgyu have even been doing to break his door?

"And there… we… go." Beomgyu signed off his signature with a flourish, putting the quill back into the ink pot. "Our alliance is now officially underway. You don't have to do anything else now, do you?"

Taehyun frowned. "I don't know. I've never formed an alliance before. There'll probably be meetings and stuff to discuss what will happen if one of us goes against the terms of the contract."

"Oh, okay," Beomgyu said casually. "You can sort that out, can't you?"

"I- I mean, I suppose I could, but as King it really should be you who-"

"Oh good. I guess I'm going to go into town. It's boring here."

"W-what?" Taehyun spluttered, staring in surprise as Beomgyu stood up. "You're the King, and you're going outside?? Without any sort of warning beforehand?"

"Well what do you suggest I do?" Beomgyu asked, annoyed.

"Go horse riding in our private woods, maybe some sparring practice, talk to the officials you've been ignoring for months? Or even just stay in your chambers?"

"Well, I seem to recall that someone splintered my door," Beomgyu replied, glaring. "And horse riding hurts my butt, I don't need extra sparring practice, and those Lords are so annoying! I'm going out."

"Fine," Taehyun sniffed, standing up himself as he straightened his uniform. "But I'm going back to bed. If you get mobbed, don't come running to me crying."

"I won't, I assure you!" Beomgyu called after Taehyun's retreating back.

.・゜-: ✧ :-　　

After closing the door to his chambers, Taehyun fell limply face-first onto his bed. Why was it that arguing with Beomgyu seemed to use more of his energy than any verbal warfare ever could? He groaned into the silk sheets, before turning over to glower at the ceiling. It had been two months. Two months and sixteen days since Beomgyu had been under his control. He was thankful that nothing major had happened for the first few months of Beomgyu's reign, but he knew that with the alliance, things would not stay calm for long. He didn't know how, but he had a gut feeling that this alliance would not help Gojongja at all.

Taehyun turned his head to look at his clock, eyes tiredly following the movement of the swinging pendulum beneath the actual clock face. It was only some hours past luncheon. Why was he so tired?

Suddenly, he remembered the odd marble he'd found in the Discussion and Tactics room. He fished it out of his pocket, staring at it closely. He rolled it between his fingers, carefully analysing the strange metal powder inside. The powder was a dark, lead sort of colour. It almost looked like a pile of ash, but it moved as if it were the waves of the ocean, crashing against the walls of the ball. The ball itself had lots of imperfections; veins ran along the outside in places where the glass was thicker, and looked almost as if to have stretch marks where it was thin. Taehyun gently tapped his nail against it. It sounded hollow. So the ball must be a thin outer glass then, Taehyun mused, setting it down on his bedside table. He unbuckled his boots, laying down more comfortably on the bed. He'd take the hollow marble to the Royal Antiquarian. It looked old-fashioned: maybe they'd know what it was.

Feeling assured by this decision, Taehyun lay there, staring at the ceiling, before his eyes began to feel heavy. He tried to resist, but eventually gave in to fatigue. Just a few minutes' rest, he told himself. Just a few minutes.

[sage-nebula]

I’ve been mulling over more thoughts for my Pokémon fantasy AU and I have some more thoughts worked out (that are going under a cut because this got Long):

— The basic backstory / lore / plot I’m working with at present is something along the lines of: in this version of the world, there were twelve mythical pokémon whose powers (unique to each of them) were considered godlike. These pokémon were, of course, far too powerful to be captured, but every now and then, when they found a human they deemed worthy, they partnered with the human to lend them their power in whatever way they needed at the time.

(Note: I’ve not decided which twelve mythicals I’m using yet, though I have a few picked out. And yes, it is only twelve, and they have to be mythicals. Legendaries with similar lore will not be used.)

— Of course, these pokémon being revered as godlike, and being known for being too powerful to be caught, didn’t deter humans from trying to capture them regardless. Whether it was because of a belief that “a pokémon is a pokémon” or merely a desire for power, humans tried for centuries to capture them. Eventually, an order of powerful warlocks summoned and formed a pact with the legendary Giratina to get the job done. Giratina agreed to seal the mythical pokémon into spherical gemstones so their power could be harnessed, and in return, the warlocks would use that power to serve Giratina’s ends. The warlocks accepted.

— Things did not go entirely to their plan. Though Giratina succeeded in capturing the mythicals in the stones as promised, and though said stones were initially turned over to the warlocks so they could do Giratina’s bidding, the legendary Arceus was one step ahead of them. After a fierce battle, Arceus banished Giratina to the Distortion World, along with the warlocks that had served it. The mythical stones stayed behind, but even Arceus’ power was not enough to awaken the mythicals trapped inside. Instead, Arceus used what strength it had left after Giratina’s banishing to cast the mythical stones into the time stream, where they would at some point be reborn within the humans destined to awaken and protect them. (How the humans were supposed to do this when the mythical stones were trapped within their hearts, only Arceus knows, probably. There is no guarantee that Arceus actually does know. One can only hope.)

(Note: I know that Arceus is technically a mythical as well, but the story just doesn’t work if there are thirteen mythicals and one legendary, so I’m bumping Arceus up in status. I don’t care that it’s technically wrong, this is my AU and I will do as I like.)

— So it was that the world continued on, and the mythical pokémon faded into oft-forgotten myth for many as kingdoms and empires rose and fell. That is . . . until the present day.

— In the present day, the twelve mythical stones are finally all in the normal realm again, their Chosen (sometimes called Keepers) all having been born. A few notes on what it is to be a Chosen / Keeper:

Keepers have no way of knowing they’re Keepers. In fact, most people don’t know who the Keepers are, or even that they exist at all. The only way to tell is through ancient magic when can a.) locate the rough location of where a Keeper is, and b.) if a particular kind of stone is enchanted with the spell, glow when one is near. Beyond that, a Keeper could be born, live, and die without anyone ever being the wiser, and then the mythical stone would have to find a new Chosen and incarnate again, which could take millennia. (This has undoubtedly happened multiple times. Arceus isn’t good at plans.)

Despite not knowing they’re Keepers, or having any way of controlling it, Keepers do have and, if circumstances are right, can use the power of the mythical pokémon slumbering inside of them. Sometimes this power is just always unconsciously active (e.g. Manaphy’s Keeper forms deep emotional bonds with the pokémon he meets routinely all over the place), sometimes it only triggers when the Keeper is on the brink of death (e.g. Victini’s Keeper has unbreakable willpower which can drive them past mortal limitations and onward to victory before letting them die), and sometimes it’s honestly random (e.g. Celebi’s Keeper gets precognitive dreams and sometimes postcognitive visions in places where there’s high energy for it). Usually Keepers are unaware of what it is they’re doing, but again, detection magic can see it (and those around them can be disturbed; Victini’s Keeper is a terrifying foe on the battlefield, what with them not staying down despite having been stabbed several times).

Pretty much all the leaders of the various regional governments want to get their hands on at least one Keeper for military purposes and have been putting efforts in for centuries to do just that. So far, at least two have succeeded. (The monarchs/emperors/what have you that have Keepers under their command would obviously prefer to take the mythical stone from them and discard the Keeper, but so far no one in history has found a way to do that without killing the Keeper and therefore causing the mythical stone to be yeeted back into the time stream due to Arceus’ power, so most just do their best to keep the Keepers on short leashes until they figure out what else to do. Also, in these cases the Keepers still usually don’t understand that’s what’s going on because most world leaders are smart enough to know that if you tell a Keeper they’re a Keeper and you’re using them, they’re probably going to turn on you, and no criminal in power wants that.)

Bloodlines have nothing to do with it. The mythicals don’t Choose (and they do Choose, subconscious though it is) through heritage, but rather by soul. 

— The two kingdoms whose monarchs have succeeded in finding Keepers are Unova and Kalos.

— The current reigning monarch of the Kingdom of Unova is King Ghetsis, who has been alive for as long as any of his people have been (and much longer than most). An immensely powerful warlock, Ghetsis has cast spells and made contracts in order to keep his once-mortal body alive and keep himself on Unova’s throne, though most (especially those who work closest to him) speculate that ruling Unova is far and away not his end goal, but is instead just the starting point. Regardless, Ghetsis has used his decades (centuries?) in power to search for the Keepers, and fourteen years before the present day he finally succeeded, at least with one: the Keeper of Mew, a boy named N.

— N is, according to the official story, Ghetsis’ son and the Crown Prince of Unova. Ghetsis claims that N is his biological son, and N does look the part, although no one knew of the boy until he was five, and also Ghetsis is unmarried and doesn’t have any concubines that anyone is aware of, and also no one in the kingdom can think of anyone who would ever want to bed or be bedded by Ghetsis (though most everyone keeps that to themselves; it’s an unspoken, kingdom-wide agreement). Nonetheless, N is the Crown Prince, and though he is pretty much never allowed out of the castle (for reasons ranging from “he is studying to one day be a worthy king” to “he has a weak constitution and the outdoors are harmful to him”), the people of the kingdom can’t imagine a worse king than Ghetsis so, you know, they’re kind of excited for N to maybe one day inherit the throne if Ghetsis ever dies. (And yes, many have tried to kill him over the years, but between his pokémon and his magic, none have succeeded yet.)

— As the Keeper of Mew, N can psychically connect with any and all pokémon, allowing him to communicate with them. This is a passive power that is always active, and one that N (since he hasn’t been informed of just what he has inside of him, only that he’s “special”) is always using, 24/7. It’s possible that he may be able to at some point make himself invisible, but so far in nineteen years of life he’s never managed to succeeded at that (on purpose) once.

— Meanwhile, the Kingdom of Kalos is presently under the rule of King Lysandre (who, at least at the moment, is living a normal lifespan). Things in Kalos aren’t as outright horrible as they are in Unova because Lysandre at least makes an attempt to pretend that his rule isn’t an authoritarian dictatorship (unlike Ghetsis) even though it is, but that doesn’t change how he has secret police known by the citizens as Team Flare keeping tabs on the citizens, or how swathes of people go “missing” if they can’t afford to pay their ridiculously high taxes or the economy starts to feel strain in any way. Kalos is in a strict class caste system, put in place and enforced by King Lysandre, but most of the citizenry try to not be too open about how they feel about it.

(Note: This is all inspired by Lysandre’s behavior in the anime / games, such as how his plan in the games is to commit mass genocide on everyone except members of Team Flare in order to “conserve resources” for those who remain, and that to join Team Flare you have to pay him $5mil. He’s a classist genocidal murderer who somehow manages good PR, so that’s what I’m basing this on. It has nothing at all do with real life France, despite Kalos being based on that country.)

— But while Lysandre has Kalos under his fist, it of course isn’t enough; his aspirations reach beyond his rule. As a result, Lysandre had powerful mages searching for Keepers even before he ascended the throne, and set them to work double-time once he did. And through their efforts, three years before the present day, Lysandre located the Keeper of Victini, a boy named Alan.

— Alan spent the first five years of his life an ostracized and abused orphan in an isolated village that, while they weren’t aware that he was a Keeper, could tell there was something different and off about him, and on top of him being an orphan, they didn’t like that. He was found at the age of five by an alchemist named Augustine Sycamore, who was repulsed by the abusive behavior of the villagers and felt empathy and pity for the child he saw before him. As a result, Sycamore took Alan home with him, and decided to raise him as his own son. While wary and anxious at first, once Alan realized and accepted that he had a home and family with Sycamore, he was thrilled.

— For the next seven years, Alan studied and worked so that he, too, could become an alchemist, following in Sycamore’s footsteps. But that changed when Lysandre’s archmage, Malva, discovered that Alan was a Keeper. For the next year they studied him from afar, staging little tests—“accidents”—to test his latent ability. Finally, shortly after Alan turned thirteen, they staged an attack on the town where Sycamore and Alan lived that put both of their lives in mortal danger. The unbridled determination of Victini awoke within Alan, allowing him to protect Sycamore and make it through (along with his partner Charmander, nicknamed Lizardon, of course) despite the odds. Satisfied that Malva’s conclusion was correct (and secretly thrilled that the Keeper they’d found was Victini’s), Lysandre himself made an appearance in the village, congratulating Alan on a job well done, and offered him a position in the crownguard.

— At first, Alan refused. Joining the crownguard would mean leaving his town—his home—his father. And he didn’t really want to fight; he loved research and science, he wanted to be an alchemist. But their talk was a private one, and during it Lysandre “revealed” that the “accidents” that had happened over the past year were targeted attacks on Sycamore, and that this one in particular had come very close. Alan had protected him, but barely. What would happen next time, if Alan didn’t have the strength to protect him? Didn’t he want to keep his father safe? Keep him alive? 

— Suitably afraid, and determined to save Sycamore just as Sycamore had saved him, Alan made the decision to join the crownguard. Sycamore didn’t want him to leave, of course; he tried to talk him out of it. But Alan insisted, practically pleaded, and ultimately Sycamore gave in. Alan left at the age of thirteen to join the royal guard, and he and Sycamore have not seen each other or spoken since.

— Lysandre put Alan through rigorous training—far more intense than any other squires—which, among other things, left Alan with scars down the left side of his face from the claws of Lysandre’s Pyroar. (It was a lesson and reminder, Lysandre said, for Alan to never allow his attention to be wholly distracted in battle.) Alan rose through the ranks quickly, ultimately becoming a dragon knight along his now fully-evolved (and Mega Evolution capable) Charizard, and a general to boot. No one else in the crownguard likes him because of this, something they perceive as favoritism from the king. (And perhaps it is, in a way, but certainly not in a good way, given that Lysandre is not a good man.)

— Despite his rank, ferocity in battle, and all the rumors that surround him, Alan has never killed anyone in battle.

— He has exactly one friend in that castle, and that friend is Lizardon. No one else likes him. “Coincidentally,” Lizardon is also his regular sparring partner. He uses a wooden training lance while Lizardon uses his claws. They never kept track of how many sparring matches they had, but supposing they had 600, then Lizardon has won 600 of them. 99% of the time the matches end with Lizardon flattening Alan on the ground and licking his face. You know. To make him feel better after losing.

— That said, while Alan might lose all of his sparring matches to the literal dragon he spars against, other humans aren’t really a match for him (which really pisses off the other members of the crownguard, given that they know that he maintains his place through actual skill and can, if challenged, wipe the training field with them). It’s simply hard for an ordinary human being to face him when he’s trained himself by sparring with a literal dragon, and keeps that up multiple times a week.

— Alan does not know he’s a Keeper. Sycamore didn’t know, either. And neither does anyone else apart from Lysandre and Malva.

— As mentioned, the slumbering Victini gives Alan supernatural determination, allowing him to push on even after his mortal body should have reached its limits, accomplishing impossible feats in order to do what he’s determined to accomplish. Of course, this won’t stop him from potentially dropping immediately after his goal his accomplished, but nonetheless, Victini’s inner fire as the Victory Star gives Alan the indomitable will needed to overcome whatever barriers are set before him. There’s a reason why Lysandre was particularly happy to be able to make this Keeper his top general.

— Meanwhile, though the current monarchs of Kanto are unaware of it, in a tiny, backwater village secluded from most of the rest of the population, there is a ten-year-old boy named Ash Ketchum who is the Keeper of Manaphy.

— Ash was born to a young woman named Delia, and initially, she had no idea that her baby boy was the Chosen Keeper of a mythical pokémon. But one day, when Ash was three, he wandered out of sight while Delia worked on her garden. When she found him, a great bird with rainbow wings was towering over him. And though she at first rushed forward to protect him, she stopped and stared in awe when she saw that bird—that legendary pokémon, Ho-Oh—bend its head down and touch its beak to Ash’s forehead, her tiny toddler boy having manifested an emotional bond with the legendary phoenix beyond all logical reasoning. Ho-Oh flew away after noticing Delia in the little grove, and Ash, happy to see his mother, thought nothing of it. But as she carried him back to their home, Delia did.

— Delia confided in what happened to a long-time teacher of hers, a sage named Samuel Oak, who recognized Ash for what he was: a Keeper, and most likely the Keeper of Manaphy, at that. He explained that legends said that the Keeper of Manaphy would be able to form a deep emotional bond with any pokémon they met, something that both explained what happened with Ho-Oh in the forest and also sounded beautiful to Delia. But, Oak warned, Ash’s power would make him not only an incredibly powerful trainer, but also an incredibly wanted trainer. No doubt those in power would want to use Ash for their own gain. And with Ash being so young . . .

— Delia understood. She and Oak agreed to keep Ash’s power secret, even from himself. Their tiny town of Pallet was remote enough that Delia didn’t worry too much about others noticing Ash’s innate “talent” for bonding with pokémon, and so for years she was able to keep her worries at bay. But as Ash grew, he bonded with many pokémon (a Pikachu in particular), clicking with them almost immediately upon meeting. And while Delia didn’t want him to go out into the world where he would be put in danger, the older he grew, the more he wanted to venture out and meet every pokémon he could, even if he himself couldn’t understand just why he felt so connected with them.

— So Delia allowed him to study pokémon battling with Oak’s grandson, Gary, a young boy Ash’s age who also had beastmaster skill (if not nearly on the same level) and who also aspired to be a trainer. And unbeknownst to Oak or Gary, when Ash was around seven, Delia had Ash begin training under Bruno, a Kanto-renowned brawler, so that Ash would know how to defend himself even if his pokémon were ever overpowered. She couldn’t keep him in secret forever, Delia knew, but she could still prepare him for what was out there . . . and make sure that no one would ever be able to use him without a fight.

And for now, at the late hour of midnight, that is all I have. More to come . . . at some point.

[gildedusurper]

Madártej

“ Alright. Everything seems to be in order, all we’ll need is just your signature and we can send you two home... ”

     It was difficult to ignore the hesitation and worry lingering in every ounce of the man’s movement. His own nervous ticks leading to an impatient drumming of fingers against the smooth surface of the counter top acting as a barrier between. Grateful to the soothing atmosphere; calm white walls and information posters helped lessen the tension he’d unknowingly created with mere presence alone.

“ So we’re finally finished? No more of these silly training lessons? I’ve had about enough with this waiting game of yours. ” A brow quirks, irritation ever evident, and although he struggles to greet the clerk’s gaze, it’s held firm, watching every stumble over words and paperwork alike as all he’s to offer is but a nervous chuckle and the offering of a pen. Snobbish nature has him rejecting in favor of his own - a more befitting quill  - carried within the confines of an inventory. “ ...Where exactly do I sign. Your choice of ‘font’ is atrocious - I can hardly make out the words let alone translate. Shouldn’t it be mandatory to have these things printed out in every language? Ridiculous... ”

     Whether it was the stress or the excitement that had him acting so hostile, he was uncertain of. Even the mere tap of a quivering finger seemed to set of foul sparks, though nevertheless, a swift sign and dainty movements has him shoving the stack back towards its original sender with growing impatience. Back to waiting... Back to drumming fingers and soaking up the admirable environment around. The man’s voice hardly listened to, though not fully ignored even as he stands all too quickly to his feet.

“ I’ll go set these aside and get your... Uh... ”

“ Madártej. ”

“ Right. Two and a half years old... Female... Samoyed breed... It’ll be just a moment, sir. ”

“ Your majesty. ”

     A beat passes. Eyes bore into the back of gilded wears for all but a moment before the shuffling of footsteps and shutting of the door leaves him in further silence. It’d felt like an age since he’d frequented here. A cursory glance to his phone brings out a gentle sigh of relief towards how little time had truly passed since his entry. This must have been the right thing to do. A good step towards stability and something more. Yet nervousness begins to stew the longer time passes. Even more so as the collective sound of boots and nails muffled behind the door begin to steadily grow before polished wood and old hinges creak in greeting.

     He wastes no time in turning himself around, pressing gloved hands against the counter top and peering over on the tips of toes with a fond smile growing all too wide with glee...

     White clouds of fur and bright brown eyes bring out a surplus of fluttering emotions - but...  Something was amiss.

“ Where are the items I requested? ” Eyes never stray from the furry delight patiently seated, despite his confusion. Another light chuckle, presumably to help calm nerves, causes his widened smile to falter just so. “ You didn’t get them, did you? ”

“ They don’t exactly, uh... Well, armor for dogs isn’t something we provide. Just the vest. ”

“ Even after the funds I’d given you? You didn’t even make the vest golden! ”

“ The ones we refunded...? Look, sir, I’m sure there’s someone out there who will help with all those things you requested. We can’t exactly go making exceptions and changing up the rules... ” A gentle nudge from his foot has the small doorway blockading entry further leads the duo closer before both leash and certificate is offered out with a shrug.

“ ...Regardless, you’re all set. She’s fully yours. If you have any issues, give us a call... And please keep the vest on. Whatever you want to do with it is up to you. Just make sure the patch isn’t tampered with. ”

“ Fine. I suppose I’ll make due... ” 

--------------------------------------------------------

     Upon his return home, notable curious rats greet their newest addition to an ever growing family with wary sniffs and ecstatic bounces. Both the decadent Monarch and equally regal  Madártej enter quietly. The leash is removed - as well as her basic collar - replaced by one more fitting.

“ And so, the day finally comes, Madártej! I’ve been nothing if not delighted to finally be allowed to bring you home. We didn’t need those silly class sessions, now did we, lovely? ” A mere tilt of the head is her reply before he continues forth with both introductions to rambunctious rodents and a tour of his home. Already, he’d flourished the small household with a variety of luxuries; gilded feeding bowls, an all too lavish bed, varieties of treats and meals - only the finest quality chosen based on both word of mouth and listing price.

     Soon comes the end to his extravagant presentation. A quick twirl and light toss of confetti missed entirely by his new patient companion as she seats herself by his side with a wagging tail. No sooner does he kneel, grinning cheerily, baby talking endlessly in native tongue, letting hands flow through a sea of comforting furriness until he’s satiated with pouring his everlasting love out on display. Instead, greedy hands all too eager to pet and play trade for his cellular device. Practice and frequent use makes finding the camera function an all too simple task...

“ Now hold still. I’ve so many more faces to introduce you too! ”

TO: MULTIPLE CONTACTS

FROM: KING KNIGHT

8:47 PM:: [ IMG ATTACHMENT ]

[bladekindeyewear]

HS^2 bloggin’ bonus 2020-02-01

bladekindeyewear:

Boy that sure is a new HS^2 bonus I should blogread.  And there was a commentary on the Patreon for the last proper upd8 too.

I’ll… do it sometime this weekend, not right away.  (Had a stomach virus through Monday and Tuesday that’s left me pretty fucked over and still waiting for the aftereffects to flee.)

Alright, taking a crack at both of these now.  (Both light on images and quoting, since it’s all Patreon material.)  So what’s going on here?  Are the bonus chapters splitting into separate stories perhaps, following the lecture in one and the PS^2 crew in another?  Also, from the replies on the previous:

gaaraofsburbia said: It was very good and I was very happy

Good to know.  Time to read, bonus first! *clicks link*

...the title of a book someone’s holding.  Bookmarked (with a red flag?).  Uh huh.  Good start.

> ==>

“A picture book for young parliamentarians.) ...oh wow, it’s Carapacian even.  Did the Mayor have anything to do with this book?

--Wait.  Waitwaitwait.  This isn’t-- the authors wouldn’t go back in time and show us like-- PM and the Mayor trying to start the-- nooo.

> ==>

Oh shit, never mind.  This is a book ABOUT the Mayor.  Starting from him farming on Skaia and continuing from there with a focus on societal structures presumably.  So, sort of like what I just said but not quite as goddamn heartwrenching, most likely.

You know, this WOULD have been a good opportunity for the authors to finally bring some canon awareness to all the rampant Breath and Blood visual-and-textual symbolism around WV and PM’s arcs, giving people some HINT of their potential importance outside some crazy unproven blog post on some crazy wrong person’s blog.  But I’m not really convinced Andrew or his new replacements, er... y’know.  Care.  About letting us know about all that cool shit.  Or even dissuading us if we were somehow wrong.  Just gonna... let us haaaang in the breeeze there forever, more likely.  :T

...this is still what I’m most bitter about regarding the end of Homestuck, as you can obviously tell.  Thinking -- still believing -- that we found something beautiful and deliberate he’d done, but refusing to have canon openly acknowledge any of it so that 99% of readers will never have a clue about it and the few of us who caught on -- if right -- are just regarded as nutters, and if wrong, NEVER have what we need to finally disprove and accept that wrongness thanks to his silence, thus continuing to believe wrongly and be regarded as nutters.

So I just keep reading and... vacillating.  Vacillating on whether to believe any of this will get brought up in HS^2 canon, or whether to cynically fear they’ll take the worst route:  Doing things EXACTLY like Andrew did and dropping only vague hints that keep it an implied-only, unconfirmed mystery forever.  Because that’s what made the comic popular!  And it’s “safe”.  :(

...man, gut issues really bring the pessimist out of you, don’t they.  Let’s keep reading.  Once upon a time there was a simple farmer...

> ==>

Horrible kings kept fighting and didn’t care about the land, destroying it underneath their war.  Right.  (Mostly paraphrasing here and from now, mind you.)

> ==>

WV wanted to stop the kings, but the kings had power.

> ==>

That power had to be destroyed too.  (Shows the rings.)

> ==>

Hm, the journey that ends up in the rings’ destruction to the desert?  Are we going to fill in some context here?

> ==>

--And made friends with curious creatures and powerful people!  (Showing the fake Can Town built with Dave and Karkat along the meteor trip.)

Assumedly internalizing all those practice-town lessons, of course.

> ==>

--Oh, cool!  So one of the first things WV and PM did upon coming to Earth C to start their founding process was destroy the rings, the temptation of that power, throwing it into the Forge.

EDIT: krixwell said: "I don't know exactly how it reads in the bonus update because I'm not a patron, but WV and PM throwing the rings in the Forge happened before they entered Universe C, and was shown in HS proper (8107-8111, 8123-8126 and at the beginning of [S] Act 7). It was required to light the Forge and send the Genesis Tadpole to Skaia." Ah, file that under more things I forgot about, then.

> ==>

Where once nothing,

> ==>

Earth C was founded/born, etc.

> ==>

Ah okay!  So with a backdrop of the Town Hall under construction, we’re getting some context specifically as to how and why the Mayor set up society the way he did on Earth C.  Especially the challenging question of who would govern the world and how.

> ==>

Oh shit, text dump!  :D

The problem was unfortunately compounded by the fact that when the topic of fair and effective governance is broached, most sparing intellects immediately assume a certain posture. Not one of surrender or admiration, but of abject and interminable boredom.

This fact makes it hard to treat such a fascinating subject with the proper amount of attention and enthusiasm, BUT WE SHALL DO OUR BEST TO UNDERSTAND REGARDLESS.

Alright, loving this.

Also, this’ll undoubtedly put into context just how MUCH the Mayor had to think about how society would work best to have set up -- and how little comparative thought Jane put into the process when just drafting up something United-States-like and familiar.  Remember how awful it was the childlike way the Condesce essentially kept trying to recreate her familiar surroundings and rule structure on Earth?  It was only natural that her Life-aspected protege would make similar errors, I suppose.

Back to reading this long page... I won’t just quote all the details of this representative system, because that’s up to y’all to pony up for.  But I’ll note if there’s anything interesting in it that makes me think.  Let’s see...

...Hm!  The number of seats each kingdom got in parliament was based on voter turnout... THAT’S a heavy incentive to get out the vote, if your kingdom can literally lose influence if you don’t.

On the happy occasions where the maximum number of seats were allocated in all four quarters, this was known as a "full House".

Oh, fuck you.  :)

...oh dear, that was only the beginning of the card slang.

I’m not going to list all of them here.  They make sense in context, which is even worse.

Without going into too much detail, consorts all tend to have significantly shorter lifespans than the other citizens of Earth C. Because of this, a large number of House Rules were dedicated to describing exactly what to do if a seat was vacated mid-term due to the death of its occupant.

Not the carapacian kingdom, the consort kingdom.  Don’t panic, y’all.

The DELIVERY OF JUSTICE (DoJ) was founded to keep the peace and arbitrate in all legal matters, and its members were the brave soldiers of God in this righteous crusade.

They also took care of the MAIL.

Oooooof course.  :)

Unions get their rep, if only for a pun...

Oh, hm.  The Mayor’s office is much like a ceremonial-only monarch’s office without serious power.  Etc etc...... reading...

So governing Earth C was a complicated affair, and only became more convoluted over time. But the really important thing was that, despite all this complexity, it worked. It really worked. At one point, a whole field of mathematics was developed just to explain why the interim government worked so well, and they ended up proving it categorically. It was theoretically perfect.

Ppfffff

--ah.  And then the Mayor has a chill as he looks at the clouds and somehow anticipates something terrible happening to it all.

That’s it for the bonus.  I’m guessing the next chapter of this separate bonus story will go over some sort of threat the system endured, while the Mayor was still alive, possibly?  Or cut forward to the creators’ arrival and how that fucked a bunch of stuff up?  A sort of demonstration on why the gods who create a universe shouldn’t take charge of those living in it or such?  Hm.

Alright, if that’s it for the bonus, let’s see what’s available for Patreon commentary... here we go, just the one for the latest mainline upd8 that I knew had come out.

Sketches and Commentary: Chapter 3, How Are Your Feelings

Before starting into this, I want to note that I do have SOME ray of hope for more Awake Jade involvement to shine against my previous rant -- because that OTHER callie-controlled younger Jade body is coming, which I’d forgotten about.  As soon as the pursuit crew arrives in-system and THAT Jade finally gets there through whatever black-hole-powered teleportation magic she’s using (with Aradia and Robodave), it’ll be completely safe for OUR Jade to be awake and active at will.  Theoretically.

So... y’know, that’s nice.  Whenever that will happen.

So onto the commentary, we’re starting with that stupid ship.

(I think I actually said something along the lines of, "this is stupid, so we're using it." I know my Homestuck history. For those interested, the ship is modelled after a schooner, and continues the Homestuck tradition of spaceships that look like regular sea-faring vessels, only with additional stuff bolted on. - Pip)

...Yeah, can’t blame you there.

This is Jake’s “second best” ship. It makes me really nervous to think about what the third-best looks like.

Flying booty shorts, most likely.

...yeah, I did notice that latest upd8 playing with colors in a way the comic rarely even did, it was pretty nice.  Glad to see they appreciate it too.

...Yep, Karkat getting owned just for the sake of it, there.

First off, Jade’s outfit. It rules. Alt!Callie may have violently forced her consciousness inside of this innocent girl’s brain, but damn these threads are sweet. She’s managed to keep Jade pretty on brand, while throwing in a couple embellishments of her own. That’s what we call “making it work”. 

Yes, you’d better WELL fucking acknowledge what you’re doing by keeping Jade in a miserable isolated state for three years.  A G A I N.

Nice bit about the casual showing of Dave’s eyes as evidence that Dave’s recovering through some of his old mental blocks.

Dave and Karkat are wearing each other’s shirts, which is traditionally a very gay thing to do. Even more notably perhaps is the fact that Karkat is wearing crimson without a hint of complaint. Again, I doubt this was an intentional move on his part. Just, sometimes you’re coming out of the shower, it’s chilly, and your boyfriend’s shirt fits. Busting through mental blocks should typically come across as whispers to me, rather than shouts. 

--Hm, never considered the latter angle.

Karkat is being pretty mean to Possessed Jade. Which sucks, but this situation is incredibly stressful, and Karkat tends to react to stress by being mean. Treating Jade like an irritant allows him to put some distance between himself and the reality that he may have lost another friend. 

Guh.  That one stung  :(

Initially the panel directions here were “everybody pauses to contemplate Dirk fucking Strider” 

Mhmm, and you figured it’d be more unsettling to reverse it and remind us that the Prince is aware of all of this too.

Roxy’s heart-shaped sunglasses have become such a thing in the fandom that I kind of can’t imagine him without them at this point, so we decided to make it settled law. 

Mhmm, I figured that was how they played it.  One of the ways they’re incorporating fandom involvement.

Sometimes I feel like it should be Xam who does these commentaries, since there’s so much incredible shit going on with the art here that I’m really only equipped to comment on with shit like “oh wow, look at these colors. Green and purple huh. Wild. There’s also some light.” 

It’s pretty understandable to have the writers take the lead on most commentary as opposed to the artists... normally.

But then you’d have the weird places where they’d have to work together without necessarily giving away their game.  Like, all that WV/PM Breath/Blood visual representation I mentioned.

I still don’t know if they’re gonna give away the game on that eventually -- or if Andrew even gave them enough to go on to properly REPLICATE that sort of thing in this official continuation, even though my mind keeps telling me it’d make all sense to -- but if they are thinking about it, I doubt they’ll first show their hand in the commentary.

I love Kanaya’s new outfit.

I understand that sure, but will she be sticking with this outfit through the action though?  Looking like a mourning nun?

Kanaya’s nursery story is, of course, The Little Prince, a French fairytale from the 1940’s. It tells the story, rather appropriately, of a young Prince traveling through space looking for something he believes he has lost.

“And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.”

I’m not sure why I keep thinking about this quote. Probably some shit that has to do with “themes” or something.

Hinting that once he’s beaten down and likely dying from this stupid exodus plan, at least some part of Dirk may finally realize that any fulfillment and purpose he was looking for with this megalomaniacal nonsense was left behind in the peaceful life he fucking ruined for everyone to do all this.  The Heart-blind bastard.

God, Dave is just losing family members left and right, isn’t he? Really makes you think. 

Gdi.  :(

“Maybe it was naive to think a bunch of twenty something trauma victims could run a society.”

There it is. That’s the whole Epilogue.

And Andrew just had to let us ruin our naivety.

Wow. There really are just a whole lot of feelings in this chapter, aren’t there? It’s very aptly named. And it’s also actually the first part of HS^2 that got drafted; at least the first part that actually made it into the final draft. I wrote it earlier in 2019 when we were still kicking around ideas of what an Epilogue follow-up would actually look like. 

Huh.  Yeah, I can imagine when writing all this it would make sense to write/use this chapter first, as a knee-jerk reaction.

I do really think Karkat would have been a great president. He would have hated it, but he would have been good at it. 

I’m glad the authors are in agreement with everyone else with a brain on this one.

Did you guys know that Karkat still feels immense survivor’s guilt for murderstuck?

Yes.  Yes we did.

(Some continued remarks about how Karkat’s self-loathing is like a singularity that draws all blame onto himself in his mind etc.)

Apparently there was a metal gear reference in this second-to-last conversation?  Don’t tell me, I don’t care.

Eat the fucking pancakes, dude. 

A good place to end the commentary.  See y’all when there’s more content!

[golden-redhead]

Oumota Week 2019 - Day #7 || Wedding

Summary: Stuck in the middle of an unfair political game, Kokichi tries to make the best of it. 

Read on AO3.

- - -

“Ouma! Where the hell did he—oh, thank god, there you are.”

Kokichi doesn’t move from his spot, leaning over the balustrade and observing the flickering lights of the party below in the gardens, the soft breeze playing with the long strands of dark hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. This high he can hear the hushed conversations of their guests, laughing and dancing, drinking toast after toast — for their united kingdoms, for no more wars, for his new-found love. 

Love. 

Love is a laughable concept in a world like this, a luxury most cannot afford, regardless of how many coins lay in their chambers. No, Kokichi was fairly young when he realized love is a valuable currency that can decide the future for generations to come, used to both unite and divide. Marriage was a powerful weapon, one that tended to be underestimated by those who couldn’t grasp its full power. But people like his mother, oh, they knew just how to make things play out in their favor, how to win a losing game, casualties be damned. 

This time it just so happened that he was one of those casualties. 

It doesn’t really come as a surprise, he’s always known how vile and wicked his mother could be, but given everything, he really thinks that he deserves to be at least a little bit resentful about the whole ordeal. Celestia Ludenberg is a cunning creature by nature and it does not come as a surprise that she would use her own son as a trump card. Admittedly, it’s not like Kokichi wasn’t well aware that his mother wouldn’t hesitate to feed him to the wolves if it happened to fit her current agenda. If anything, he’s surprised it took her this long.

“Oi, you hear me?” Kaito’s voice seeps in through the murmur of his thoughts, intrusive and expectant, bordering on annoying. 

Kokichi groans exaggeratedly, finally turning to face him, a condescending look crossing his face as he regards Kaito with as much irritation as he could utter. 

“It’d be hard not to hear you. Your voice could wake up the dead.” He giggles into his hand as the idea crosses his mind. “I bet waking up to that would make anyone wish they could die twice.”

Kaito’s brows furrow in a deep frown and he looks like he wants to bark out some kind of remark but seems to think better of it.

“We should get going, we’re gonna be called for our first dance soon,” he informs him impatiently instead.

Kokichi hums softly, looking up at Kaito over the rim of the glass he grips tightly in his hand, the deep, dark reds of the wine sloshing slightly inside. 

“Dunno, they seem to be doing juuust fine without us,” he comments, throwing another look at the colorful crowd of nobles and monarchs gathered under the balcony of his room. For all he knows, they couldn’t care less about whether the main attractions of the event are there or not. Their wedding is nothing more than a formality and half of the people invited for the celebration would pay good money for their heads on a silver platter. 

“Ouma—“

“Shouldn’t you call me by my name,” questions Kokichi, taking a sip of his wine, the drink tart on his lips. “People might get suspicious, you know. I am your beloved, after all. Why so formal?”

Kaito frowns, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck absentmindedly. He looks to the side, as if considering his words. 

“I guess, yeah,” he says finally. “It just feels weird. We don’t really know each other and yet here we are… Married!”

He chuckles nervously, as if he can’t believe it himself, and in other circumstances maybe Kokichi would have enjoyed it, seeing the prince from the enemy nation getting all uncomfortable and struggling to voice his real thoughts in those rare moments when there are no curious eyes following their every step, forcing them into a game of pleasant conversations and pretend affections. 

But the man before him is no longer the prince of the enemy nation, from now on they are supposed to lead a nation of their own and join the ruthless political game with no rules and no guidelines, bearing the responsibility for every soul that had the misfortune of being born under their rule. 

Disgusting. 

Everything about this situation is simply disgusting and so Kokichi puts on the sweetest smile and gets ready for the performance of a lifetime. 

He tilts his head back, exposing the white column of his neck adorned with a thin gold necklace that catches the light whenever he moves his head and batting his eyelashes with practiced sultriness. He looks nothing shy of scandalous in his rich red dress, lipstick smudged over his lips and the corset embroidered with gold thread hugging his narrow waist tightly. His clothing is a statement, albeit a subtle one, a quiet provocation meant for the chosen few. If someone were to ask he’d simply tilt his head innocently and pretend he’s merely wearing the shades of their emblem with pride and regard of traditions, just as expected from a prince. 

Judging by the furious, cold glares Celeste sends him whenever their eyes meet —she knows exactly what he’s doing, she catches the quiet intent behind his actions. The thought of getting under her skin ignites something rebellious and giddy in his stomach, a small consolation prize after he’s lost the war. He couldn’t stop the marriage, couldn’t prevent any of this from happening, but it doesn’t mean he’s going to go without a fight, not when there are still smaller battles to win. For now, he’s kind only on paper but he does not intend for it to stay that way forever.

“We really should get going,” presses Kaito again. “We are expected in the coronation room shortly.” 

Kokichi sighs, rolling his eyes.

“Well, since you already went through all the trouble of putting this ring on my finger,” he lifts his arm, showing off the amethyst adorning his pale finger, reflecting the lights seeping from inside the ballroom. “I suppose I can’t say no, can I?” 

“I guess not,” Kaito offers him a one-shoulder shrug. And then, as if hoping for a friendly conversation, one they’ve never had before, he adds: “Man, I can’t wait for this night to be over so I can just go to sleep and fucking rest.”

“That’s an interesting choice of words,” chirps Kokichi, smirking into his glass. 

“Huh?” Kaito sends him a confused look. “Why?” 

“Ohhh,” Kokichi perks up with interest, giggling gleefully, “has my dear husband forgotten what night we have today?”

“Uhh… What night?” Kaito asks unintelligibly. 

Kokichi’s at his side seconds later, sensually wrapping himself around his arm, half-lidded and accented with gold shadows, eyes twinkling in the dim light. A deep blush crawls on Kaito’s cheeks at the sudden proximity between them, staining them with a red tint. Kokichi’s hand sneaks to wrap around the tie wrapped loosely around Kaito’s neck, and he tugs at the velvety material, pulling Kaito closer, close enough that his breath ghosts over Kaito’s lips in a phantom kiss.

“It’s the night when we get to consummate our love,” Kokichi purrs sweetly, relishing in the choked up half-gasp and half-yelp Kaito rewards him with and the warmth radiating from his face. “Aren’t you excited, my beloved?”

He gives Kaito a moment to sputter and flush and fumble with some needless, weak protests as much as he wants, using the moment as an excuse to steal another sip of his wine, an amused smirk playing on his lips as he regards his husband with a critical look. 

Now, one of the admittedly not many good things about his forced union with Kaito is that he’s good looking. Ridiculously good looking, in fact. Kokichi isn’t sure if he would ever handle being forced into tying a knot with one of those sickeningly disgusting noble men Celeste so enjoyed gambling with. An easy win, she would call them with some kind of sick, twisted satisfaction, sending him a knowing wink over her shoulder moments before she would lead them to her bed chambers. 

Kokichi may not be her biological son but she’s taught him well, every well-thought little trick, every perfected tactic to wrap people around her dainty little finger. How to look, how to smile, how to speak, how to lie. How to enchant people with nothing but his voice, how to twist and shift words into something much more entrancing than any truth could ever be. 

With Kaito, though… He isn’t sure if any of it will be necessary. 

He lets his eyes rest on Kaito for a moment, take in every sharp curve of his jaw, the contour of his nose, the soft mauve of his eyes set on a surprisingly expressive face. He can’t quite place what is this feeling that settles low in his gut and stirs slightly whenever his eyes drift to Kaito, whenever their hands brush against each other. It’s nice, though. Surprisingly nice, warm and pleasant, something he hasn’t ever really felt before. 

He slips his hand into Kaito’s, almost startled by how warm, how soft it feels, and forces a little more natural, a little more genuine smile on his lips.

“Well, I suppose we shouldn’t keep my dear mother waiting, right?”

Kaito’s head jerks in a nod, grateful for the change of subject.

Kokichi squeezes his hand and giggles, softly. 

“Lead the way then!”

[level99games]

Weekly Update - Boss Tuckboxes and Backer Costumes!

Hey, everyone! Marco here with another update on all things BattleCON: Unleashed! This last week has been quite productive on the art and graphic design side, so I think I'll be able to show off quite a few things this update.

In Progress

I'll start this update with the things that we still need to finish work on. Solo Fighter proofreads are still ongoing and will require a bit more work to finish. The Boss Book's rules text is done, but we're still in the process of doing the graphic design for it. Finally, Surf's Up Cesar is still in the sketch phase. I don't want to show it off until I feel like the art's ready, so I'll show-off another costume that we haven't shown-off yet!

Boss Tuckboxes

The Boss Tuckboxes have been finished. Each has a small blurb describing how that boss fights! Here's a view of what that looks like. Which boss sounds the coolest? Tell me in the comments!

Backer Costumes

In this update, I'll be showing-off two of the new Backer Costumes! It's been a wonder working with Nokomento and the backers on these costumes. They bring to light new aspects of our characters that we may have not seen before!

First up is Astral Conqueror Alexian. We all know that he's the King of Jeffreys but, perhaps, the future sees the beloved monarch seeking territory in the great beyond? The fusion of medieval and futuristic really hits my "this is cool" sensors! I was debating on whether or not to make his sword into a warhammer, but that might have been too obvious! :P

Kehrolyn is known for her ability to adapt to situations by morphing her body into unique shapes. Similarly, gladiators are masters of a multitude of weapons, allowing them to fight in many different scenarios. Gladiatrix Kehrolyn re-imagines this Indines shapeshifter as an ancient warrior with numerous weapons at her disposal. Truly, she's a Goddess of War!

What's Next

Progress is steadily being made and I wish to be transparent about what's happening. I apologize for the delays in things like the proofreading and the boss book. Sometimes, things take longer than we expect. By next week, I hope to accomplish the following:

Solo Fighter Proofreads

Boss Book

Surf's Up Cesar

Super Sorceran Kimbhe

I'm going to try and dedicate this week towards finishing the big blockers over the last few updates (mainly proofreading). Hopefully, I can come back with some finished cards next week!

Final Words

Thank you so much for reading my update! I've been quite excited to share the things here, especially the costumes! I'd like to give a shout out to the backers who supported us, so that these costumes could become a reality. I, however, apologize for not citing names in this update as I'm not quite sure if they would like their names to appear in this update. If your backer costume is in an update and you want shout-outs, just tell me in the comments and I'll make sure to shout you out in the next update!

Regardless, that does it for this update, everyone! Don't forget your Special Actions and thank you, World of Indines. Thank you and good night!

[nieludzkii-blog]

                test characters -- plotting call

                Below the cut are the first ring of characters I’d like to test out -- a mixture of canon and original characters, some with ideas more fleshed out than others. Consider this a PLOTTING CALL for them, so you can either like for me to come to you or you can slide right into my IMs with who you’d like to plot with. More characters will be posted in about two weeks.

ADDA THE WHITE The daughter of King Foltest and his sister, Adda of Temeria thought to have died in childbirth before rising as a striga seven years later. She was cured of her affliction by Geralt of Rivia, though was left mentally impaired and with white hair (though would later take to dying it red). However, through experimental therapies utilising plant-based remedies and magic commissioned from Lamia de Bruyere, Adda’s mental functions were mostly rectified allowing her to mature normally and learn to communicate. However, despite her miraculous recovery, she still struggles with literacy being unable to perform extended or complicated readings and unable to put words to paper as easily as her teachers would hope, causing her to often dictate her thoughts and messages to trusted scribes rather than do so herself. Her curse was briefly brought back, though was once again cured of it and she would eventually went on to marry Radovid V. To prevent further attempts to revive her curse, Adda has taken to having folk healers, witches and pellars brought to her to learn non-standard wards and remedies.

FRANCESCA FINDABAIR / ENID AN GLEANNA The pure-blood elven sorceress and Duchess of Dol Blathanna (formerly queen before being annexed into the Nilfgaardian Empire), the Daisy of the Valleys is considered to be the most beautiful woman in the world. The daughter of an elven Sage, Enid an Gleanna was disowned by her father, though her knowledge of the Elder Blood would later help her in preserving Falka’s bloodline when tasked with determining which of the Houtborg triplets was hers. In 1267, now a member of the mages’ Chapter, Francesca sided with Emhyr var Emreis to participate in the Thanedd coup in exchange for Dol Blathanna as an elven state. With Vilgefortz, Francesca planned to kill Northern supporters during the conclave and brought in Scoia’tael to assist in this matter. The coup failed when the Northerner’s learned of the plan and struck first, and Francesca was arrested though swiftly escaped due to the actions of Tissaia de Vries allowing both sides to fight against each other. In the chaos, she captured Yennefer of Vengerburg and fled from the island. Taking her seat as queen as Dol Blathanna, Francesca was invited and accepted an invitation to join the Lodge of Sorceresses who would create a magocratic order through Cirilla of Fontaine and her Elder Blood. Following the Battle of Brenna, Francesca found herself having to accept Dol Blathanna’s continued existence as an elven state under the form of a duchy instead of a kingdom, and survived through the persecution of the Lodge after their plans fell threw, eventually leaving the world to another realm with the rest of elvenkind.

MERIDIANA / KUPALNITSA (SHE-OF-NIGHT) An incredibly social succubus, Meridiana could say she’s travelled the length of the continent three times over the course of her life. Often only staying in one place for a year at a time, Meridiana prefers to reside within the cities of the world, often cladding herself in gowns with sweeping skirts to hide her cloven hooves and headdresses to hide her horns when she isn’t wrapping them in her hair in elaborate hairstyles. For a time, Meridiana presented herself as a courtesan, providing company and entertainment for a fee, though sex was not always expected. She played many roles from hostess to lover to therapist, and even mistress to those seeking a sharp hand to keep them in line. When travelling through less built-up areas though, passing through farmland and hills and forests, Meridiana likes to gather friends around her, actively searching for other wanderers whether they be mortal travellers, members of other humanoid races seeking companionship, and even incubi when she desires her own kind -- or someone of equal stamina. More often than not, this often results in her as the head of an orgiastic cult, presiding over the sexual freedom of her followers by the name of Kupalnitsa, before she disperses them and reaches the next city. Because of this, she is well known and anticipated by those who’ve spent their time and money on her before -- even if being so widely praised places her at risk.

ORIANNA DE BIANCHI Known in Toussaint as a wealthy philanthropist of some operatic talent, Orianna de Bianchi is a patron to artists, orphans and the theatre and more than sufficiently praised as a good woman of high standing among Toussaintois society. Despite this, she is somewhat of a recluse, only ever seen during the night at the lavish parties she throws, or when attending performances held within the duchy, not even participating in festivals or attending tourneys, and only rarely glimpsed within the duchess’s court. Despite her outward altruism, however, Orianna utilises her position and reputation to hide in plain sight as a bruxa, feeding from the children of her orphanage and leaving one to wonder what other dark dealings she partakes in.

PHILIPPA EILHART The Jewel of Tretogor, Philippa was the court sorceress under King Vizimir II and remained within the Redanian court until after his death. A talented mage, Philippa is noted for her power of shapeshifting, able to take the form of an owl, but also for her cold charm and keen political mind. With the Lodge of Sorceresses, Philippa sought to create a magocratic kingdom where sorcerers would rule, specifically utilising Cirilla of Fontaine as a puppet monarch after marrying her to Tankred Thyssen who would inherit Kovir and Povis. Her original plans failed however, and resulted in her being blinded, and despite escaping regardless of this debilitation she was later marked for persecution. During her time in hiding, Philippa planned to restore her eyesight and revive the Lodge of Sorceresses with a new plan, though was tricked into taking her owl form and becoming trapped in it for a long period. She was later freed from this, and brought on to assist in stopping the Wild Hunt by Geralt of Rivia, and offer Cirilla of Fontaine a partnership instead of being a pawn.