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rhymeswithfart · 1 year

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Hello hello! Just dropping in to say that your different Sonic SATAM verses are really really cool and your art is lovely! It’s so pretty! ;u;

I’m so interested in these verses now. I was wondering, do you have a story, or a comic, or a post about the lore of them? They’re just so neat I wanna know more! It’s so interesting!

Have a great day! :)

Thanks so much!!! 💖💖💖💖 I'm so glad you like it!

(I actually forget if I made an actual lore post with all the stuff in one place rip) my lore is also pretty disorganized for most stuff, I'm just doin whatever, but here's some of the more fleshed out lore I have.

The reverse aus mostly follow similar storyline points to canon, with diversions due to the characters having different personalities. The satam one is based on that plot point where Robotnik and Snively are the sole survivors of a space colony, while the Archie one is based on the overlander-mobian war thing.

Both Satam and Archie reverse have a bloody war (which Julian served in as a medic before becoming Minister of Medical Science) that ends in The Great Peace, ushered in by Jules Hedgehog. However the "peace" is only in name, as the empire of anti-King Acorn is fraught with oppression and state violence. The lower classes starve while being crushed under Acorn's brutal rule. Julian and Johnny, along with several other revolutionaries, succeed in overthrowing the tyrant, but the kingdom is thrown into turmoil in the process. Princess Alicia, (anti-Sally), takes this opportunity to throw her father into the Zone of Silence with the help of anti-Sonic (this happens later than Robotnik's coup in the canon universe).

The Suppression Squad (anti-FF) is either staging a coup, being mercenaries for whichever forces are fighting for power, or just being general troublemakers at this point. Anti-Sonic hasn't yet become known as Scourge. Julian retires from his position as minister and sets up his clinic. Johnny manages the security and more actively fights against any would-be tyrants/terrorists. He doesn't have the same code against violence as Julian.

As the Suppression Squad gets more violent powerful, and Scourge starts his conquest of Moebius in earnest, Johnny and Julian flee into the Great Forest and create a force-field that makes their encampment invisible to unwanted guests. They take refugees and injured people in.

Here's some of my reverse StC lore. It follows the "Ovi Kintobor was transformed into Doctor Robotnik in an accident" storyline, but it has Kintobor being part of a very suppressive, fascist ideology. Robotnik is the product of Kintobor's repressed kindness and compassion, things that Kintobor would see as weakness and treachery. The badniks (goodniks?) in this au are like ai life support systems and mobility devices for disabled Moebians, as well as protection from danger. They're like mech suits that protect their little buddies.

Reverse Sonic Underground is based on some of my conjecture about the ppl from the Six is a Crowd episode. Robotnik was once the music teacher for the triplets. Anti-Aleena ruled over a society similar to the "Great Peace" I described in Satam/Archie, where the upper classes thrived and the average citizen struggled in poverty. Robotnik was part of the lower class, and suffered from an ailment which he couldn't afford to have looked at (also lived in a dirty-ass apartment with nasty water and mold probably). Despite this, he did genuinely care about the triplets, even being closer to them as a parental figure than their mother. At some point, his illness caused him to develop necrosis in his arms and legs (or something I'm still figuring it out) and he had to have them all amputated, nearly dying in the process. Aleena arranged for him to have cybernetic limbs attached, and moved him out of his deathtrap apartment and into the palace. (that's the backstory and I'm still figuring out how they got to the point in the episode)

#answers #text #lore post #sonic au lore #reverse Archie lore #reverse satam lore #long post #revetse stc lore #sonic au #moebius #reverse underground #reverse underground lore #queen aleena #reverse robotnik

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sadnesslaughs · 3 months

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A noble frustrated with the current system, but too weak to revolt, has staked it all on starting a new trend: showing off how wealthy, well-fed and happy their local peasants are.

(A response to a writing prompt)

“Did you see Jones the other week? Plump as a bloody prized chook. Old bastard’s out working the fields like the rest of us and he’s still got a smile.” Markus grumbled, sweat dribbling down his forehead. Not even the harshness of the sun could stop his complaining. How did his relative, from only one town over, have so much when he had so little?

“He always was a little odd, Jones. Probably eating the pig feed or something. Why’s that bothering ya?” Jim gave his friend a shove, telling him to get moving. The fields weren’t going to plow themselves, and they had a lot left to do.

“It’s bothering me because I’m out here falling apart, while he’s happy. Why should he be plump and fed when I can barely afford the food I plant? Everything’s gone to hell since the king took all the good land. Feed the knights, he says. The knights can eat the same as us.” Markus threw down his hoe, giving it a kick after it landed.

“Ya. Why should we starve while people like Jones, and the knights get their fill? We work just as hard.” In that same defiance, Jim threw down his hoe, the two men staring at their discarded tools. The fires of rebellion brewing in their minds. For the first time since the king took over twenty years ago, they wanted more from life.

A small ember of rebellion flickered into a wildfire. Taverns filled with whispers of rebellion and when word reached the king, he merely scoffed. “The words of leeches don’t bother the beast it feeds off. Let them mutter. Winter will come soon.” Winter was perhaps the only thing cold enough to dull the wildfire that was spreading through the town.

The villagers had their demands, and the king had his indifference. Demands were for the victors, and these peasants hadn’t won anything. They were a flicker, a pain, anything but a threat. How do malnourished farmers defeat the knights that their blood and labor fuels?

Soon, more people like Jones came to town. People fed, happy and working towards something. They had ambition, something that the king had crushed out of the working class. Their working conditions were hard, but fair. Unlike the king’s conditions, which were merely hard. A town needs blood and sweat to run, but it doesn’t need to beat more blood from the workers while they rest.

These conditions were revolutionary, devised by a noble who had a firm hold over the town of Jaroloa. These visits and words fueling them. The strange thing is, had the king only humored his people, he would have made it to winter. A time where rebellion would be impossible, yet his indifference to the matter only hastened its bloody resolution.

Fires, roars and charges. Commoners pushing the line of knights, trying to get into the castle. The commoners were strong together. Not on the same level as the knights, though. When the knights pushed back, the crowds dispersed momentarily. The king wanted all the rebels dead, stating that the knights could simply replace the workers until they had enough commoners to field their farmlands again.

The king’s quick words, failing him. He was strong and foolish, those words causing the knights to let people through. No knight wanted to work the fields, not after tasting the riches that dropped from the teat of the king. Why would they want to endure the harshness of the sun? They had training, education, and food. Why give that up?

The king’s gate rattled, pitchforks digging through the wooden door, poking holes that blood hungry peasants would leer through. The king would die, surrounded by all that wealth he horded. Though, the king’s death wasn’t to be, for a noble appeared, one that quietened the fury of the mob. The crowd had never seen him, only knowing his name from those that visited.

Noble, Bernard Trindal. The man had an elegance about the way he moved and spoke, a softness that had a stamp of authority. It was parental, in a way, giving him a chance to take control of the mob’s rage. He ordered for the door to be opened and when it flung open; he told the commoners to halt their rage. Bernard knew that wasn’t a popular move, seeing the lingering anger in their eyes. Anger that would turn on him if he didn’t hurry.

“King, your people are hungry. I didn’t lead this mob, nor have I come to take control of it. I wish instead to advise you. My town is far smaller than the mighty kingdom you command, but we have found a way to live in harmony. My people work, even so, they are happy and fed. I wish to help you create a similar peace with for your people. Blood doesn’t need to be shed.”

The king had never shown fear, not once in his long life. Only today did he show the genuine horror in his soul. Silent, eyes unable to look at the noble, watching instead the people who wished to butcher him. Each only stopped by the words of one man who was now bowing before him.

“That’s what I’ve always wanted.” The king lied, voice shaky as he rose from his throne. As he stood, the crowd moved, forcing him to return to his seated spot. “I would love to place you as my advisor. There’s certainly enough food for us all.”

The town flourished for one hundred years after that rebellion, with only a war stopping this harmonious agreement. Little is known about Bernard Trindal, the king attempting to wipe his name from most records, which is why King Herald is remembered as Herald the Provider. Rather than Herald the Glutton or another fitting name.

Still, that never would have bothered Bernard. He never had eyes for the throne. He had contemplated becoming a king, only to realize he didn’t have the stomach for it. Killing the king was fine, but what would happen to the king’s children? He didn’t have the heart to lock them away or do worse, and freeing them would only lead to problems later. The resentful children would eventually seek their birthright and he might not be able to stop them if they unite the other nobles together. In his mind, this was where he needed to be. It was never about him anyway; it was about the people he cared for.

#short stories #writing #writing prompt #story #writer

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sneakymystique · 11 months

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Mystique Origins

I’m doing a clear-out of some old master links on my page which were from rp days and are long redundant.

One of them is a Mystique bio I wrote for X-Men Evolution. It’s probably the closest I’d come to writing a comics origin story, as nowadays I’ve swung round to the view that Mystique’s origins are better left shrouded. Also, canon has moved on and confirmed that Mystique pre-dates the 19th century, so it’s also obsolete for that reason.

Over 200 years ago a little girl was born to a young couple in the Austrian Empire. For the first ten years of her life the girl was much like any other, although times were hard hers was a loving family and as she grew older it was obvious she was going to be a great beauty, leading her father to hope he’d be able to make an advantageous match for her and his family. But soon after her fourteenth birthday everything changed when the young girl’s skin started to turn blue. The changes didn’t stop there, soon the girl’s raven black hair had turned an unnatural blood red and her eyes began to turn yellow and glow with an ‘unholy’ light. The girl’s parents and the villagers believed the girl had been possessed by the devil and knew what they had to do. A pyre was built in the village, and the girl who needed several men to drag her kicking and screaming, was tied to a stake and set fire to. In those few desperate moments, with the fire licking at her skin, the girl wished she could fly away and her body responded.

A bird, its feathers singed from the flames, escaped the pyre unnoticed and landed in one of the mountain forests. Badly burned, traumatised and starving the girl thought she would soon die, which she indeed did, for the girl did not survive that forest, Mystique did. The first winter was the hardest, although she didn’t feel the cold, there was little to eat on the frozen slopes of the mountains and plenty of predatory animals who could smell a fearful girl from miles away. But she was slowly mastering her powers, working out that she could change into virtually any animal in the forest, become bigger and meaner than anything that stalked her and soon she was the queen of the forest.

Her revenge against her birthplace was brutal. One day a group of hunters from her home village stumbled upon her by accident, they were no match for her, but as she stared down at them she had a sudden realisation. Could she become another human, could she look like them? The villagers were dismayed when the badly wounded hunter returned, talking of an enormous bear. Nobody noticed the yellow glint in his eyes, and soon the villagers began to die one by one. People from a nearby village who eventually came to investigate found the entire village deserted with no traces left save for the remains of a giant pyre in the main square. The rescuers soon left, convinced that the place was cursed, taking with them the village’s only survivor, a stray dog.

Mystique never looked back. The road took her to Vienna, where she used her shapeshifting powers to assume the identity of a wealthy aristocrat. She travelled all over Europe, living in luxury, assuming and discarding hundreds of identities, ingratiating herself with the rich and powerful, her only goal being her own survival. Mystique drifted for most of her first century, sampling the lives of actors, soldiers, spies and politicians. When the First World War came along she sold information to the highest bidder and helped to stir up revolutionary crowds in Russia. During the twenties and thirties she worked for the Soviet Union, Nazi Germany and the United States, hiring her skills as a spy to whoever would pay the most. Shortly after the war Mystique met Eric Lehnsherr and for the first time began to understand that she wasn’t alone. She soon became hooked by his ideology of mutant supremacy and put her talents to use furthering the cause.

Taking the role of Principal of Bayville High, Mystique used the position to recruit young mutants to the cause and keep an eye on the X-Men. Following Magneto’s betrayal, Mystique broke away to pursue her goals independently, creating the identity of Risty Wilde to spy on the x-men and later captured and replaced Professor Xavier and blew up the X-Mansion.

Following the revelation of mutants and the Apocalypse incident, Mystique has killed and replaced National Security Advisor Valerie Cooper whose position she’s using to further her own agenda, which includes the destruction of the X-men.

#mystique #x-men evolution #evo

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subtile-jagden · 7 months

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The liberation of Munich from the Räterepublik in 1919

Background

With the entire country in turmoil and no real army to help the government take control, foreign agents from Russia exerted their influence on local communists in order to gain control in several areas. At the beginning the Reds had an easy time, the Bavarians were angry at Berlin (as the representative of Prussia) and now looked for their luck elsewhere. Already in November, the angry crowd took over the arsenals and barracks in Munich; many of the soldiers stationed there joined them and those who were against it were too few to do anything about it. The Bavarian King Ludwig III. fled with his family to Tirol, the former Kingdom was declared a “Freistaat” (free state). Kurt Eisner, the president of the first Workers' and Soldiers' Council, put together his new government. After talks with Friedrich Ebert in Berlin that ended in a dispute, Eisner broke off diplomatic relations with Berlin. The Bavarian “government” had no interest in collaborating with Berlin and tried to force Bavarian independence with a state modeled on the Soviet Union. But Eisner was not popular outside his small circle. Many people remained loyal to the king or wanted a democratic republic. Many revolutionaries did not support him either: the Spartacists and other soldiers' councils accused him of not being a true Bolshevik. Lack of supplies and the dramatic increase in unemployment also contributed to his rising unpopularity.

In the elections to the Bavarian state parliament on January 12, 1919, he only received 2 percent of the vote. When Eisner refused to ask for leniency for German prisoners of war at the Socialist Congress in Bern, many former soldiers turned away from him. He resigned as Prime Minister in February. On the way to this announcement he was attacked and killed by the young monarchist Anton Graf von Arco auf Valley. The communists saw this as an attack on themselves and claimed political opponents in the state parliament had planned the asassination. That's why a communist walked into the hall of the state parliament and shot the president, who had been an opponent of Eisner. He killed another deputy, injured another and finally killed an officer who tried to stop him on his way out. The result was another unrest throughout the city. Although Eisner had hardly any supporters left, his murder united many. The moderate socialist Hoffmann, who had replaced Eisner as president, had to flee to Bamberg. The Reds were able to gain power throughout Bavaria and set up their army.

There was anarchy in Munich, the "government" was concerned with trivial issues, while the city was starving because the farmers in the surrounding area refused to deliver food. The farmers and rural population were initially relatively neutral about the situation in Munich and did not want to get involved. However, when a requisition squad appeared to take away their food, the farmers drove them away and turned to the side that wanted to defend themselves against this gang: the Freikorps. The Korps Oberland was born under the leadership of Oberst von Epp, with more following.

Freikorps vs. Spartacists

Meanwhile in Munich, three new communist leaders emerged who now took over the command: the three Russians Axelrod, Lèvien and Leviné. Hardened by the fighting in Russia, they now started the terror in Munich. Armed groups roamed the city, looting and arresting anyone they suspected of having counter-revolutionary sentiments. They soon managed to assemble a powerful force of around 20,000 men. Hoffmann and his government in exile in Bamberg tried to quickly round up soldiers, but refused help from Prussia and therefore had to do without the Freikorps that had already been formed there. In April 1919, an army of Social Democratic soldiers was sent to Munich. Poorly equipped and with little discipline, they managed to reach Dachau, near Munich. There, however, parts of the Red Army confronted them and Hoffmann's army fell apart. Out of desperation, Hoffmann now had to turn to Prussia. The Reichswehrminister Noske, who had control of the Reichswehr (German Army) as well as the Freikorps, agreed to send troops to Bavaria. This was somewhat problematic because since the creation of the German Empire and thus the loss of Bavaria's independence, there have been currents in all political directions that strived for renewed independence. When Bavaria became part of the Empire, it retained great freedoms, one of which was that Prussian troops were not allowed to enter Bavarian territory. They knew that while the general population would be happy to be liberated from the Reds, it could also lead to new unrests.

The Freikorps sent were: the Görlitz Freikorps, which had liberated Dresden; the 2nd Guards Division Oberst Maquis, the 11th Cavalry Rifle Command, the Freikorps of Hesse and Thuringia, the 14th Cavalry Rifle Command, the Freikorps von Lützow, the Brigade Erhardt and the Oberland, Schaaf and Beck units made up of Upper Bavarian farmers. The 30,000 men strong units surrounded Munich in late April. In addition, shortly afterwards a rifle brigade under Oberst von Epp arrived from the south as well as the Freikorps Württemberg and Bogendörfer. From all corners of the country came the troops to liberate Munich.

The communists were aware of the seriousness of the situation; this time they had to prove themselves against mostly experienced fighters. Part of the Red Army under the Bavarian communist Eglhofer disappeared quickly as the Freikorps approached; in a few days, 60,000 men became 12,000. But those 12,000 were ready for anything. In the suburban battles, the Freikorps' superiority soon became clear to everyone. The desperate communist government panicked and took hostages to the Luitpoldgymnasium, accusing them of having something to do with Eisner's murder. A last desperate attempt to incite the population failed. Axelrod, Lèvien and Leviné fled the city. When the Freikorps stood at the gates of Munich, the remnants of the red militia decided to kill the hostages.

"Civilians come from Munich in a detour and bring us news. The Reds seem to have given up the open area up to the house limits. There is fierce fighting in the city. The news of the terrible hostage murder is becoming more and more specific and is also spreading among the resting troops." Spurred on by news of the atrocities in the city, the troops decided to attack immediately. On the morning of May 1, 1919, they managed to enter Munich. The government buildings were quickly taken. They met a final resistance at Stachus. The Reds had set up baricades there and were defending themselves with machine guns. But during the course of one day these too were taken. Munich was liberated.

The Red Terror had been removed but, it should be noted, was partially replaced by the Black Terror, although not to the same extent. There was no mercy for supporters of communism; those who were known were hunted down and executed. A tragic event was the murder of 21 Catholic workers who were members of the Saint Joseph community. As usual, they had gathered in a bar for their devotional exercise, but were mistaken for Spartacists and killed. This caused great horror in Catholic Bavaria. The predominantly Protestant soldiers of the Prussian Freikorps were accused of only wanting to satisfy their feelings of hatred and of using their opportunity here. The Freikorps were quickly withdrawn from Munich so as not to immediately destroy the current peace.

#Freikorps #Germany #History #interwar period

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catsconflictscopicsandchamomile · 1 year

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hey throwback to the time I went to Colonial Williamsburg* and, despite being NINE YEARS OLD, managed to put together a costume that made ppl assume I was a paid re-enactor (though, as I was quick to point out, the cut of the dress and brim of the mobcap were actually more appropriate to the 1850s, but my MOM, who bought my dress, just couldn't learn her history...), and proceeded to abuse my Cool Outfit Privileges in a way that I've honestly never come close to topping since.

I swear this actually happened.

I was watching the minutemen's** parade and basking in the Aesthetic(tm) of it all when a group of ACTUAL re-enactors dressed as redcoats*** muscled their way in front of the crowd and started reading the (actual genuine) Riot Act to the tourists, admonishing them for unlawful assembly, "in the name of the king" blah blah blah while gently herding them towards a fenced-in staging area for the next part of the show.

I knew this was all a performance. However, I was also nine years old and autisic, with zero concept of social appropriateness and the (correct) belief that I knew more about this period of history than 99% of the tourists.... plus I apparently had ZERO CHILL.

In a rush of Feral LARPer Instinct that bordered on divine inspiration, I slipped, unnoticed, through the crowd to a smallish tree poking a couple feet above crowd level. Clambering up, I braced myself against a branch and looked out over the crowd, at the tourists civilians packed standing-room-only as the redcoats denounced their freedom, OUR freedom, in the name of their king. And I started yelling.

"LONG LIVE THE REVOLUTION, LONG LIVE THE UNited-- uH, LONG LIVE THE THIRTEEN COLONIES! LONG LIVE INDEPENDENCE!"

The surrounding tourists looked up and saw a skinny kid with, buckteeth, freckles and the general aura of a half-starved 1700s farm child in (to them) full historical costume, and assumed it was part of the show.

They took up my cries, some raising their fists in the air in solidarity, growing louder and more enthusiastic until the crowd stampeded as one, breaking out from the stage area and (still playfully of course) crowding the redcoats offstage and pursuing them back the way they came.

I really do wonder what the guys playing the redcoats were thinking as Literally Just Some Kid wearing a modified amazon pioneer costume hijacked their re-enactment and rallied the other tourists to full (and accurate-ish) revolt. Like, what the fuck????

After everyone had trickled out, I stayed in the tree for a few minutes, watching for further retaliation from the brits and slowly being hit by the reality of what had just happened. In a haze of overwhelming shock and euphoric glee, I jumped down from my perch in the tree, rejoined my mother, and continued our tour of Williamsburg.

(...I think. The fact that I Did That broke my brain so much that I don't remember anything else of the trip until after we got home and I was going through my souvenir bag.)

so yeah that's the story of how I led a successful mock rebellion when I was nine.

*it's literally in the name that this whole thing was racist and colonialist asf, even more so back in 2008. Just to acknowledge the context this story occurs in.

**if you don't live in america or aren't a massive nerd, "minutemen" were independence movement's the civilian reserve force. the Little Flute And Drum dudes.

***if you don't live in america or aren't a massive nerd, "redcoats" was a derogatory term that the revolutionaries coined for british soldiers due to their red military coats.

#true story #tumblr story #historical reenactment #i was certainly one of the kids ever #history #questionable childhood activities #colonialism #colonial williamsburg #bad setting good story #unironically maybe the single worst part of american history to be weird abt #glad my historical tastes eventually shifted to early 20th century and pre-roman focuses #my middle school hunger games phase was so smug around this haha

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immensusrp · 2 years

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❈Choi Soobin❈

𝑉𝑎𝑚𝑝𝑖𝑟𝑒 𝐴𝑈

○Was turned against his will

○Has been twenty-one was one hundred and thirty years

○Avoids drinking blood as often as possible, is very weak because of this

○Will burn to death if he spends more than three minutes in the sunlight

○Lives in an abandoned house by himself

○Hates crowds

○Hasn't spoken to anyone in a few years and is easily frightened

○Soft dom/service top, bisexual, no lean

○Kinks: Praise, auralism, impact play

𝑆𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑜 𝑂𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠:

❈Everyone knew of the horrid creatures living in the woods. Monsters, trolls, witches, vampires. They had been terrorising your village for ages now. Cursing children, stealing belongings and draining the cattle of their blood. They were menaces and you had finally had enough. You were going to kill one of those pests if it was the last thing you did...

❈Soobin was starving. He had been for days. His body was begging, pleading for something to renourish it but his brain was warning against it. He swore he'd never drain blood from a human being but he had a craving for it. He was in bloodlust and he'd stop at nothing to cure it. That was how you found him hovering over you in the dead of night, seconds away from sinking his teeth into your skin.

𝐵𝑢𝑛𝑛𝑦 𝐻𝑦𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑑 𝐴𝑈

○Shy and timid

○Hates loud noises

○Has a serious fear of the dark and hates sleeping alone

○Was separated from his family at a young age

○Has scars from the abuse of his previous owners

○Physical contact and the thought of intercourse can often lead to panic due to past trauma

○Bisexual, male lean, sub

○Kinks: Praise, manhandling, edging

𝑆𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑜 𝑂𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠:

❈Owning a hybrid was nothing revolutionary. They were seen as less than humans, nothing but mere property. Most people had one whether it be as house pets, sex slaves or mere company. Soobin had been all three and now, he had been tossed to you as a gift from a friend.

❈You and Soobin had been friends for as long as you both could remember. The two of you were trapped in a facility as pets waiting to be sold. Yet even now, after all these years, neither of you had ever been bought. By this point, the facility owners were giving up hope and there were talks of putting you down. There was only one option left... escaping.

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denimbex1986 · 1 month

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'Andrew Haigh’s All of Us Strangers, which is still playing in some theatres, impressed upon me a lesson that I have learned with a lot of heartache over the last couple of years: Love is, in its simplest form, the ability to see and, in turn, be seen. Andrew Scott plays Adam, a lonely screenwriter in London, with a traumatic past. In the first few minutes themselves, the dimly-lit frames and scenes carefully induce a tangible feeling of heaviness.

Adam is visibly alone in his life. Time passes outside his window as the lights shift on the horizon, but in his apartment, time exists in a vacuum — takeout food sits morosely in tin foils in the refrigerator, he sleeps on his couch, with no one to cover him with a blanket. Suddenly, his doorbell rings and the nauseating ghetto of loneliness is punctured… He opens the door of his apartment to Paul Mescal’s Harry in a baby pink jumper, drunk and desperate, appealing to Andrew Scott’s Adam to let him in — both into his apartment and, by extension, his life.

Love, the movie suggests, is also the simple but infinitely brave act of keeping the door open long enough for someone to come in, and build a home with us. But Adam closes the door on an unnervingly starved and alone Harry, perhaps to protect himself from his clearly sexual advances, or simply because he is imprisoned by his loneliness so much that the choice to open the door is not even real to him — he must keep the literal door closed too, as a comorbid condition of that loneliness.

Queer loneliness

After decades of struggles, protests and brutalisation, LGBTQ+ issues have become relatively more public and accessible. But we are far from addressing, let alone understanding how queerness is married to loneliness. The film makes sure that despite the bustling crowds around Adam — whether he is on a train or in a club — he is almost always alone.

Adam lives in this menacing high-rise, which is also depicted on the posters, but each window represents loneliness, more than other lives, because for all its splendour, modernity is after all a poor excuse for crippling communal estrangement and mutual disconnection from each other. In one of the most poignant scenes in the movie, Harry tells Adam: “I always felt like a stranger in my own family anyway. Coming out just puts a name to the difference that had always been there.”

The title of Andrew Haigh’s ghost romance suggests that all of us remain strangers to each other, because somehow the act of knowing the other — even within our families — comes at the discomfort of effort. To open our world to the possibility that the other’s own world too exists. Attitude magazine described the movie as “a tender examination of love in the shadow of shame.” Which perhaps also comes close to describing the radical costs of love: at so many levels, it requires us to wade through the complicated shame of vulnerability — which is so tangibly demanding a feeling, perhaps especially for the LGBTQ community.

Everyone wants to be seen, to be found, but for queer people, the experience is often so postponed that they close themselves off from the possibility itself. Or worse, fear being vulnerable, lest they expose themselves to the defeat of rejection or abandonment — a feeling they are already made to feel from a young age. Families often abandon them or stop talking to them out of anger, friends more often than not drift apart, relationships are somehow so much more challenging…

Coming out — the constant confessional nature of it notwithstanding — is one of the most difficult things to do when queer individuals know how keeping the silence and repressing their truth buys them peace at home. In one of the most heartbreaking scenes in the movie, Adam comes out to his father, and tells him how he was bullied in school: “They’d call me a girl. Refuse to play with me. Flick drawing pins at my face and flush my head down the loo.” But Adam never told any of this at home as a child. As so many queer children don’t. To avoid their parents the disappointment, perhaps, and so many times to avoid confronting the pain themselves. Silence and loneliness reinforce each other.

To love, to be loved

Adam (as so many of us will identify with) describes his helpless loneliness as a knot in his heart. It is falling in love with Harry, finally, which not only reveals the knot and its smothering force, but also permits Adam the tools to unravel this knot. Often queer individuals develop a structure/ghetto of loneliness around themselves as a survival mechanism. Growing into one’s queerness, then, is so frequently (and sometimes tiringly) about unmaking and unlearning these survivalist behaviours.

There are so few happy queer stories, as Andrew Sean Greer has often talked about. And while Haigh’s movie is incredibly heavy with emotions, there’s something so reassuring, uplifting about it too. In the simplest way, it is a testament to the triumphant quality of love, which even through the worst times — or perhaps especially through the worst times — can protect us… so often from ourselves.

With an almost shocking ability to anticipate the next feeling, and present it with stunning accuracy, Haigh’s screenplay (available to read online) registers moments of tenderness and grief, and the heartbreaking process of healing old wounds with a double-layered plot. While Adam and Harry’s relationship builds, Adam also finds his own past clouding over the tender bliss of new-found love. Adam tells Harry at one point how all the scabs that seem to have healed, really don’t. “It doesn’t take much to be back there again, does it? Skin all fucking raw, feeling how you used to feel.”

Haigh’s screenplay, inspired by Taichi Yamada’s ghost novel Strangers, rallies for a simple message: While love begins with a sort of suspension of logic, it is indeed the most revolutionary and violent act of self-awareness. It makes us weak as it breaks all of our walls, and reveals to us the embarrassingly vulnerable and fragile children we are at heart. But isn’t that itself — paradoxically — one of the most powerful things that can happen to us? Exposing to us the awful realisation that in the pursuit of self-preservation, we complied with the conditions of a cruel world, and forgot that that child exists within us — who just wants to be loved, and to love.

The language of tenderness

One of my favourite scenes from the movie is when Adam and Harry talk about their respective childhoods after making love passionately, but it’s not the sex that builds intimacy as Haigh’s note in the screenplay directs: “More than sex, it’s a mutual understanding of something shared that brings deepening intimacy. Harry leans in and kisses him.”

While loneliness is one of the most challenging conditions of queerness, it seems that its consequences are far worse when we forget to care about ourselves. So often, whether it’s after enduring the grand heartbreaks of a breakup or everyday anguishes of living, we give up on ourselves, because it’s the easiest thing to do. And so often we also convince ourselves that we deserve our loneliness, too.

Haigh’s project with this movie seems to be to remind all of us strangers that we are capable of love, and being loved. That we too can find (or stumble upon) care and safety, even in this not-very-promising swipe-right world of modern relationships… because these are the basic necessities of living and enduring, and indeed what else can we put all our hopes on, if not love?

Every response to the movie that I have read online has been deeply moving too, with so many people writing about how Adam’s story reflected theirs. How the loneliness of the movie became theirs. How the promise and incredible power of love is something they crave too. One review just said that they felt “held” by the movie. The language of touch is one of our most profound achievements, I would argue, because in so many ways it’s also something that makes us real to each other. All of Us Strangers triumphs in this understanding, too.

Much like Haigh’s phenomenal series released a decade ago, Looking — which masterfully explores the parabolas of queer desire, with their crests and valleys — All of Us Strangers presents passion with a careful intensity, fletched with mutual care and love. Intimacy that is more than physical, always. And so a movie about a London-based screenwriter finds resonance across borders because we all experience loneliness in similar ways, and we all know that to be cared for, and to care for someone is what can save us, change us, and keep us going in a burning world. Tennessee Williams wrote that ‘we have not long to love: a night, a day…’ and that ‘we live in a perpetually burning building, and what we must save from it, all the time, is love.’

All of Us Strangers is the promise of a haunting forever, especially when we are all yearning for a forever that never seems to exist or is not enough. It is, in the most gut-wrenching, but also reassuring way, a guide, not a warning. That love is, in its most profound state, an awful feeling that pushes us to madness. But it’s all we have, and that’s always enough.'

#All of Us Strangers #Andrew Haigh #Andrew Scott #Paul Mescal #LGBTQ+#Taichi Yamada #Strangers #Looking

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hera-the-shoggoth · 2 years

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During the colonial era many cities were built on the rapidly blooming Luna which were centered on commercial districts providing shopping and recreation for rich interplanetary tourists. The most expensive accommodations boasted personal centrifuges of remarkable comfort which allowed people to maintain Earth-average bone growth. The people who built those cities were poorly paid laborers who were hired by the terraforming companies and housed in massive tenant communities on the outskirts of the wealthy metropolis. They couldn't afford the centrifuges and as a result were at the mercy of the low gravity. These effects combined with the marginalized ethnicity of the tenant workers became a sign of poverty and soon developed a racial association.

For most of the history of the Lunar colonies, the tenant workers were helpless to resist the power of their Earth landlords. Beyond the reach of Earth media due to travel time, communications and news could be more strictly controlled so that abuses could be covered up. The only way the people could resist was through gangs which protected towns and neighborhoods from police retribution. These groups would steal the expensive Earth-manufactured laser weapons, crowd-control devices, vehicles, body armor, robotic pack-animals and other technologies from dead police, which they would then use primarily to conduct robberies of company warehouses and the homes of local company functionaries. Flying a distinctive black, pink, and blue banner emblazoned with the image of the moon, and leaving revolutionary and inflammatory messages behind, their raids often resulted in the death of abusive landlords and put fear in the hearts of others, repeatedly upsetting the market.

The resources of the warehouses, containing the very same produce extracted by the colonists themselves, was then reappropriated by the community to help starving families get good food, clean water without pesticides, medical supplies like pharmaceuticals (many of which were grown on the moon) which were to be shipped back to Earth to be made into finished products and consumed. From the estates of the middle class company-aligned management, they got other necessities as well as luxuries manufactured on Earth which were prohibitively expensive for the workers and reserved for the wealthy, as well as the food produced by them on private plots. From the plains, they raided the cattle herds of Earth-employed ranchers and the other large animals reserved for shipment, and created an indigenous source of good meats, dairy, and draft animals. They also stole robotic farm and factory equipment and began to conduct its local use in secret.

They were only ever able to control very rural areas and were constantly on the run from the much more powerful forces available to the companies. The groups often warred among themselves, and some engaged in abhorrent practices from the trade in addictive drugs to slavery. This was indeed often the reason for such conflicts, since groups formed coalitions against those seen as betraying their own communities.

The return of Comrade Varela from the outer solar system was an unexpected event. She had been in exile for over a decade and during that time had fought in the revolutionary wars for the Belt and the Jovian system. Her group had become folk heroes as they gathered a wide network of loyal cadres throughout the Solar System. She had also been able to stow away along with her Earth-raised Algedian boyfriend on an FTL ship with an Australian interstellar diplomatic mission in order to visit his family on his home planet, Delta Capricorni VI, in spite of its state of war with the UN of Earth- a result of the Algedian World Revolution of the previous decades. From there, the two were able to hitch interstellar rides with various species on cargo ships around the Milky Way with the much more advanced Wave Motion Engines which can be found in the wider universe.

Varela and her SO, an intersex man named Dlirout, knew about the state of both of their homeworlds, and as they organized more comrades they grew more passionate and prolific in their wormhole radio broadcasts, stoking the anger of the working classes everywhere. They expressed the feelings of the Algedians as well, whose revolution was blamed on the influence of Earth culture by condescending human-centric elites. The riots were getting bad enough in Yohaulticetlía that the company governments had used Objectivist Mercenaries again. They had done so several times before, but the 2450 Invasion was a new level of catastrophe. Lunar humans and Algedians were directly targeted as enemies of Earth, capitalism, and humanity by the "Galt Knights", who used chemical and radiation weapons to bleach soils while causing great damage to the environment, and orbital rods to turn rebel-held towns into craters. By this point however, the famine, disease, war, and general misery caused by the invasion was such that the people had no choice but to rebel.

With Varela's return to her home world along with Algedian and other interstellar allies and weapons, an international army of marginalized peoples, the various revolutionary and outlaw groups on Yohaulticetlía and the war-ravaged moon as a whole began to unite more directly. The Lunar Red Army and Communist Party cells that she had established during the last decades among domestic workers, miners, service industry employees and farmers activated and many successfully seized both large estates as well as the vast farms, ranching plains, mines and other extraction projects that were controlled from them in the first days of the urban revolution in Langmuir. The International Space Fleet, as it had been called, was able to destroy many of the orbital warships of the Galtists through combined ground and space attacks, while using local oceanic vessels to create command centers and refugee facilities which were more difficult for the orbital weapons to hit, while ground forces were met with Algedian Space Paratroopers which dropped and took control of transportation infrastructure, and storage facilities for company robots, which were then turned on their owners.

In this way, Comrade Varela and the Red Army were able to establish control over major metropolitan centers and seize control of the entire colony, obtaining the unconditional surrender of the New Panama UN-EU colonial government. War crimes trials and other purges were then conducted while the broken nation began to rebuild and solidify its new indigenous, socialist administration.

#terraforming #the moon

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serahlink · 3 years

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Dancing in The Dark |Assassin!Reader x Royal Vampire Prince

Summary : In a world ruled by ravenous vampiric royals, you are sent to assassinate their new heir, only to have your plans suddenly go awry when you’re dragged into the ball by no one other than your Highness himself.

Word Count : 2,302

A/N : this is for a gender neutral reader or for anyone of any gender really. :) so I hope all can enjoy this enemies royal core thingy.

There were many nights where you took your resting spot at the top of your league’s tower balcony and looked down at the castle across the kingdom. Unlike the mangled dead forest you’ve grown up in, the lights were always bright, boisterous and proud around that damned castle. The people were no different either. Each year almost tons of high class and rich people would come gather for a ball. It was the most grand day of the year after all, as it was the only night where it is said the prince would come out of hiding for once to dine and dance with everyone else.

Just thinking about that pampered fancy pants boy made your blood boil. To think he can live it up in the glamour his castle had to offer while your own people can barely scrounge for scraps down here was enough for you to want to take your pristine knife to his throat. Needless to say, when you got the opportunity to do so, you clutched tightly to it.

You can’t remember much of your childhood. From what the people who took you in told you, they mentioned finding you abandoned at the end of the dead woods, where they were surprised you weren’t starved to death or mangled by a wolf. They took you in and from then on, they raised you to become the best assassin you could be. It was the least you could expect from being taken in by an underground assassin’s league, or as they’d like to call it, a revolutionary squad. A group of people who are destined to change the order for their own idea of good and who are frankly tired of bloodsuckers running it all.

They assigned you with the job the night before you were sent off away from the woods and from your home.

“Kill the prince,” You remembered them saying bluntly. Instead of using your own weapon, they provided you with a wooden stake. “Use this to kill him.”

You asked them why you couldn’t just slash his throat with your knife and be done for, but they instead scoffed. “It’s more efficient. Vampires do bleed, but a stake will surely do the trick.” Although you already knew this, you surely liked the idea of using your own blade. Still, you took the stake reluctantly.

With no more need to stall at home, they had sent you off with a proper disguise. Obviously you couldn’t show up to a grand ball in rags with a stake tied to your belt. Instead they provided you with a formal outfit that while anyone else would find grand, you found way too tight and fancy. Through a broken glass, you saw your reflection and fought the urge to barf. Never did you want to see yourself look like that ever again.

The castle was a long ways off, far away from the dead woods you claimed as home. Just as all royals do, you arrived in a carriage thanks to the courtesy of some other higher ups that actually were involved with the group. Out the window, you slowly saw the brightness of the castle and all other attendants too close for comfort.

This was it.

The deep breath you took in was clean, way too clean. You got out and as you began walking your way up to their royal highness’ palace, no one seemed to bat an eye. You blended right in. You couldn’t help but smirk just a little. None of these pampered bastards knew what was coming. That you were coming.

The inside of the castle was more grossly exquisite than you could’ve imagined it to be. The gold and white color schemes were nearly blinding, almost evangelical. Most others were dancing already while some were enjoying a feast or talking amongst one another. You didn’t really take notice to any specific people, as you were only here for one person.

“Your Highness, Astrid Federline.” One of the staff introduced.

Instantly, as if beckoned by his name, you snap your head around to see the smug prince in all his glory. Astrid Federline was sashaying down the royal staircase, looking over knowingly at the flustered maidens who were gawking over him. You didn’t get what their was to even look at. So what if he was pale as the moonlight? Who cared if his hair looked like blonde silk itself and draped just over his shoulders in the best way? What was there to see if his narrow blue eyes grinned over at you? Nothing. Nothing at all, as far as you could tell.

Soon enough, his gaze moved from the ladies and paused when it came to you. Those eyes, a mystery just as he was, narrowed at you. His face faltered, merely a second, before his lips quirked up again with newfound curiosity. All of a sudden, he was coming to you.

Your hand jolted to where your stake would be and thankfully, it’s small bump reminded you that, yes, it was still there and open when the opportunity was right. You relax, and just as he approached you, you forced a smile.

“Lovely ball, your Highness.” Speaking those words were the worst part of the job. You bow anyway, and when you pull back up, he’s smiled at you. You didn’t expect him to be so tall.

“Of course it is.” He proudly said. “Just like every ball before it.”

“I wouldn’t know,” You said truthfully. “I’ve never been to one.”

“I see.” Astrid hummed before he offered you a hand. “Care to let me show you the wonders the ball has to offer?”

You eyed his hand with much hesitation. Maybe this was his way of being a gentleman, each giving a maiden a certain special treatment before acting like it never happened. Not that you’d care, he’s falling easily into your plan. He’s only making it easier for you.

You took his hand then and he smirked, gently grasping it and then taking you into a different direction. You arrive at the food table, where a bunch of pristine foods you’ve never seen before and never thought you’d be able to taste were laid out in front of you.

Your mouth watered. The food was very tempting.

“Go on,” said Astrid with a wave of permission. “Take what you please.”

You turned to him with an arched brow, yet he only nodded. The food was still there when you turned back and did not get eaten any faster. First, you scan the foods until one catches your eye. Some long red thing.

“That’s crab.” He pointed out.

While you’d roll your eyes originally, you were indeed curious. You’ve never tasted this crab meat before. Straight from its place, you take a leg and begin gnawing on it. You jolt as the sharp shell hit the roof of your mouth, glaring down at the food.

“You need to crack the shell, you know.”

“I know that.” Wasn’t your fault that crabs had shells apparently.

Astrid sighed and took the crab leg after your couple failed attempts to crack it. He used what you could only guess was a metal opener to crack the shell, revealing its meat.

You snatch the leg away from him, muttering a thank you.

The meat better be worth while, going through all the trouble to embarrass yourself and nearly blow your cover like this. Just as your tongue and teeth bit into its flavor, you could easily confirm that, oh god yes it was worth it.

It was unlike anything you had eaten before. You couldn’t get more meat into your mouth quicker, savoring the taste as much as you could before it could leave.

Astrid chuckled, “Good, I presume?”

You turned back and narrowed your eyes once you saw the smirk. “It was fine, I suppose.”

“Good then.” He said and just as another dance was coming up, he turned to you. “You aren’t too full for a dance, are you?”

A dance? That was the only thing your league hadn’t prepared you for. Hell, you never really danced ever. “I,” You fumbled. “-Actually I think I am.”

“Come on.” Astrid insisted. “The night is ever so young. Besides, a dance would make your first ball, wouldn’t it?”

Not with you, or anyone. You wanted to say, yet you couldn’t pass up his offer. Something told you he’d keep on insisting. Besides, that would make for an awfully good dramatic death scene wouldn’t it? One and two and one and— STAB. Perfect.

Reluctantly, you do agree. The soft strings pluck, pianos ring and Astrid lead you to the dance floor with your hand in his. Although the dance was awfully simple, your feet couldn’t comply. You were outside your energy yet each time, Astrid strayed you back to where you were supposed to be. The swaying made you feel like you were on air, constantly being held upright by his hand. Yet you knew you needed to keep an eye on the ground and your weapons carrier place, you could only seem to look up.

Tilted downward, Astrid’s eyes look down at you. Something about it made you feel like the only person in that room. Everyone else was merely blurs to you, the only focus being you and him. You remind yourself then, of course it’s the main focus. You’re there to kill him, not live up some false royal dance.

The strings reach a higher octave and you are thrown into a dip. Your arms throw themselves to whoever they could latch on, which happen to be Astrid’s neck. He looked down on you with much amusement before throwing you back up, your body ended up bumping against his chest.

“I know what you are.” He said as his dancing led the two of you away from the crowd and near a balcony. Still in his arms, you scoff.

“Really.” You respond, yet he chuckled, much to your annoyance.

Astrid’s smile tightened. “You think I’ve never had an assassin placed on my head before? You’re wrongly mistaken.”

“And yet you send no guard on me. You give me the punishment of feeding me luxurious food and a dance. Do all of your assassins get the special treatment or am I lucky?”

A hint of a smirk tugged at his lips. “Lucky, according to you.”

“Then allow me to apologize for calling the night short but I have a prince to slaughter.” You said, as you launched out from the dance and swiftly to take the stake you kept to your thigh.

Astrid himself grinned, his eyes holding a glint they didn’t have before. “This prince wouldn’t happen to be drop dead gorgeous, charming and witty, would he?”

You scoffed, watching his every move. “Not at all.”

The lunge you decided to take for him backfired, as he managed to dodge and slip you back into that dance, wooden dagger still in hand.

“Do you always dance yourself out of being killed?” You struggle against his grip, trying to remain confident. “I’ll have you know that I’m not as easily persuaded by good looks and swift moves like those maidens out there.”

“Then shall I dangle some crab meat above your nose?~” His teasing jab to your gluttony was enough for your anger to forcefully yank one of your hands out of his grip. You throw the dagger straight for his throat, yet you miss by what seems like yet another swift dodge.

How does this prince keep evading you?

“Temper, temper~” He grinned, throwing you back into another dip. The weapon you once held is tossed to the very edge of the balcony, where it hangs on by nothing more than an invisible thread. “To think the revolutionaries would send someone as hot headed as you are.” He smirked, “Pathetic, if I could say personally.”

You throw yourself out of the dip. “I’ll show you pathetic!” You snarl, and make a head start for the stake. It slid and in just a second to spare, fell all the way to the bottom of the castle’s yard.

Your eyes shot wide as saucers and your throat dried. Your fate was sealed. Either you were going to be killed or thrown in a dungeon somewhere. Either way, you’d die.

“With those eyes, you look like a distressed rabbit.” Astrid remarked.

He walked over to you. You expected him to throw you over the edge, just like that stake, except he doesn’t. He offered you his pale hand.

You eye him, as if he were crazy.

“Come on.” He said. “Up.”

When you don’t take his hand, he took yours instead and lifts you up to your feet. “You assassins are too serious nowadays. You’re at a ball of all things, might as well enjoy it.”

You look at him questionably. “I try to kill you and when I fail, instead of throwing me away in a dungeon or killing me, your answer is to throw me back into the ball? Are you as mad as they say?”

He grinned again. “Maybe I am. Plus, it’d be a pity if I did, wouldn't it? I’d hate to have to deal with the rest of your little club if they found you dead.”

“We are a league.” You correct him sternly.

“A hell of a one, for sure.” Astrid hid his chuckle. “Where were we last?”

“I was trying to nab that head of yours.” You recount, still freshly annoyed.

“Dancing.” He corrected your sentence. “We were dancing.”

He then took your hands and since you didn’t have any weapons on hand, you had all but none left to do but to follow his lead again.

“I’m surprised no one told you that you are absolutely brash when you dance.” He muttered near your ear. You roll your eyes.

“You won’t be saying that the next time I’m here.” You promise. “A stake would be deep in your chest before you could even get a word in.”

He chuckled. “I’ll be waiting.”

#monster x reader #monster x human #vampire x human #vampire x reader #x reader #astrid federline #yes I wrote this at eight in the morning #no I didn’t sleep lolol

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heauxzenji · 3 years

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Brainrot Kinktober 10/31

hungry

Anal & Daddy Kink: Tanaka Ryuunosuke x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mainly that this isn’t proofed lmfao 😔 anal obvs, use of the word daddy, fingering, squirting, pulling out... idk this one was pretty self explanatory

Word Count: 1.3k

Brainrot Kinktober Mlist

A/N: and that’s all she wrote! There’s a few pieces left to finish but thanks for sticking with us this whole month and beyond.... also @super-noya ty for being the best wife 🥺💖

Your friends always complain when you get like this. They hate that you always bail out early.

“I’m sorry you all, I just… have to go.”

“Lemme guess, Tanaka is hungry and can’t bear to make his own instant noodles, right?” One comments

“Y/N, come on, you can be away from him for one night- he’s not a baby...”

They exchange eye rolls as you finish your cocktail and get up from the crowded nightclub booth. As you saunter out, the slow but familiar anticipatory smile dons your face. The loud music and bright blue lights on the dance floor are captivating, but knowing that Tanaka is home waiting for you is even better.

When your key clicks in the lock, the hairs on his neck start to stand on end. He’s silent, just listening to the click of your heels against the marble floor. That’s when he hears it.

“I’m home, daddy.”

It’s simple enough- just a sentence. But the ring of that name in his ears falling from your voice has him stiffening in his pants almost in command. You stood in the doorway, starting to undo the straps of your heels, only to be stopped.

“Leave them on, baby.”

“Okay, daddy,” you repeat again. Your voice is sickeningly sweet, making its way over to where he sits on the couch. You wrapped your arms around him, slowly starting to slowly massage his shoulders, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. You can feel the tension dissipate in his muscles with a groan. The deep grunts and sighs start to send shockwaves of heat to your core.

“Are you still hungry?" You asked. “....I am.”

His head fell back with a sigh, a pointed finger soon following your question.

Tanaka brings his hands up to meet yours, stopping your motions. “Upstairs?” You whispered into his ear, nipping at the hot skin of his neck. Finally looking into his eyes, you could see the darkness slowly overtaking.

The cold air of your shared bedroom was mostly silent, save your shallow breathing as you lay there, clad in nothing but the high heels you had worn out that night. Your ass was hiked into the air, arms resting in front of you, cuffed to the center post of the bed frame. The gentle anticipation turned into an intense tingling in your lower half at the feeling of his weight on the bed. As soon as his hands started to trace down your back, a sharp whine spilled from your lips.

“Daddy, please.”

“I know.” His words were soft but as soon as his hands found their way to the flesh of your ass, it connected with a harsh snap, a mangled cry of his name falling from his lips yet again.

Your core was growing impatient as Tanaka teased your slit with slender fingers, the calloused feeling of his fingertips brushing against your clit jolting your head back with a wanton moan. He gingerly stuck a finger in your wetness, dragging it along the inner walls of your cunt. Slowly, he added another, then a third, picking up the pace of his ministrations. As your cunt eagerly sucked him in, the sound of pooling wetness inside of you echoed in his ears. You could feel Tanaka wiggling his hips against the mattress, trying hard to gain some sort of friction against his cock- longing to be inside of you.

The sensation of your hole gripping his fingers sent pulsating waves through your core and out of every single cell on your body. You could feel yourself starting to clamp around him, only to be yet again met with a strike against your ass that was soothed over by the feeling of gentle kisses against the sore flesh. His fingers left your core and found their way into his mouth as he sucked them clean before his figure came to loom over you, fingers harshly rubbing at your entrance. A lewd chortle leaving his mouth as you felt his spit cover your asshole, swiping over it with his thumb. The warmth slid down to your slit as you felt his cock mix it in with your wetness, you shaking in response.

“Are you ready, babygirl?”

You responded with a ragged “yes, daddy,” before feeling a sordid pain rack through you. As his cock pushed its way past your second hole, he started bottoming out, applying more pressure at your clit with his fingers. He hissed a drawn out ‘fuuuuck’ at the feeling of being fully sheathed inside of you.

“So good for me,” he hummed, repositioning himself and pushing your face further in the mattress as you stared to cry out.

The feeling of fullness having his thick cock in your ass coupled with his skilled hands working your clit had your head swimming. He was just getting started, though. His free hand gripped at your hips, several harsh blows to your ass left in its wake.

“Mmmh-always- sssso fucking- ah, so fucking good for daddy, aren’t you?” Your fucked out sobs came out as half conscious yes’s.

He was working you with all he had, hips smacking against you with such vigor that you could hardly hear your own enraptured cries over it. He was pounding your ass just as hard as he would’ve your pussy, never once letting up on the pace he had come to build. Given Tanaka’s stamina, he was relentless on you; and he relished every single second of it. With each thrust you felt like your nerves were going to explode from the sensation. You could never mistake the feeling of being almost uncomfortably full, filled past your brim. Just like the first time, and every time he had fucked your ass- as he pulled out, you only wanted to feel him do it again and again.

“Fuck, daddy- yes!” You gasped.

Your body was trembling at this point, thighs vibrating as waves of heat hit your cheeks, your ass. starting to clamp onto his cock for dear life. You were close, and he could feel it. His hand slipped its way out from in between your legs, leaving you with a flutter of relief from the intensity as he took your ass. You cried out as the feeling of vibration made it’s presence known against the swollen nub, not not noticing that Tanaka had reached for your favorite bullet vibrator. Moans turned into screams then, the walls of your cunt haphazardly clenching themselves around a void. You felt the knot coming undone as he continued to jackhammer into your ass.

“Fuck, I’m- fuckfuckfuck daddy, please- I’m gonna cu-” He cut you off.

“Go,” he urged. “Cum, babygirl. Cum for daddy- right now.”

You couldn’t help but obey, a final desperate wail escaping your throat as your thighs snapped together, trickling wetness sliding it’s way down as you came around nothing. The feeling of your essence running down his own legs sent him over the edge, Tanaka immediately pulling out to spurt his thick, hot cum over your ass and back. You fell forward, finally collapsing into the bed, wrists raw and limp as they clattered against the cuffs. Catching his breath, your boyfriend let out a sigh, abs flexing as he reached over your body, grabbing the waiting towel to clean you off.

“Hmmmmphhhh... the cuffs,” you whined.

“I’m coming baby, I’m coming, you gotta be patient with me…” he warned. He took the key from beside you, freeing you from your confines and scooping you into his arms. His silence and prior rough demeanor immediately dissipated as he carried you into the bathroom, tickling at your sides as he housed you onto the counter of the sink so he could run your bath.

“I love you, so much, baby.”

“I love you too Ryuu,” you giggled. “Thanks for getting me out of there... I hate clubs.”

He laughed.

“ I know. Anything for you- now let’s get a bath and order some takeout… I’m starving.”

Brainrot Kinktober Taglist (if your url is bolded, check ur privacy settings!): @ukaic @definitelythotful @shrimpypenis @nonexistent-social-life @crushingonsuga @revolutionary-chocolate-cake @right-shoe-jpg @sugawara-sweetheart @nxynxy @aoba-baby @arianna20 @scorpiosanssexy @ceo-of-daichi @dinosaurtsukki @turquoiselace @nonamemaximum @omibaby @chokemelevi @bokuakadaily @haikyuuangst @cutie-aesthetic-palace @whet-ones-write @superdepressedhoe @iwachanswh0re @crushzone @kiseox @mysticalroadnightempath @toobsessedsstuff @trouvelle @kodzu-ken @elianetsantana @sonyaroses-blog @tsukkisbitch @mrs-kuroojinguji @tendousfingers

#haikyuu x reader #brainrot kinktober #haikyuu smut #haikyuu fic #tanaka haikyuu #Tanaka x reader #Tanaka smut #hq smut #hq x readers #haikyuu x you #Kinktober #Kinktober 2020 #hq x fem!reader #haikyuu x fem! reader #haikyuu x y/n #hq x y/n #hq Tanaka

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redchestnut · 3 years

Text

We can be Heroes (just for one day)

Summary:

At the end of the 1960s, the resistance took to the streets of Paradis demanding justice and the fall of the wall Maria.

Loving is a revolutionary act.

AO3 link here

TW: Police Brutality/Gun Violence

(I'm an idiot and completely forgot that it was supposed to be fluff until I was almost finished writing it. The ending is happy though, I promise.)

Written for Levihan Drabble Week (@levihan-drabbles).

Prompt: "Don't you have a country to run?" "My favorite person is in the hospital, the country can wait" "I don't think it works like that." "I run the country, so it does."

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“I can remember

Standing by the wall

And the guns shot above our heads

And we kissed as though nothing could fall”

David Bowie - Heroes

"Don't you have a country to run?"

"My favorite person is in the hospital, the country can wait," replied the man, stubbing out his cigarette and standing from his elegant desk.

"I don't think it works like that," she replied. Her biting tone could barely hide the jealousy that she knew she couldn't feel.

"I run the country, so it does," he spat as he pulled on his jacket.

The woman stopped looking at him and went to the window that covered an entire wall of the large office. “The resistance is gathering strength, Goldwick. The international gaze is on you," she insisted.

"The resistance is nothing more than a bunch of idealists who do not know their place in society and would rather be starving, like the parasites on the other side. And the international union is a joke. They will not get involved unless it suits them." The man paused before opening the door. "And Catt," he called out to her, causing her to turn around, "don't forget that you are only my assistant, not my advisor. You do your job. The police will take care of the radicals. And I'm going to meet my newborn son." The man left slamming the door and leaving her alone. On the other side of the window, the landscape of the Shiganshina square was invaded by smoke. Despite not being able to hear anything, she could imagine the sound of screams of the protest and police sirens. In the background, the wall was imposing. Catt knew it was nothing more than a symbol: the barrier that would prevent ideas from the other side of the world from reaching here. The barrier that would protect the supposed freedom of Paradis from the enemy.

* * *

“We’re born free. All of us. Free. Some don’t believe it, some try to take it away. To hell with them!” The surrounding crowd cheered and shouted.

"Isn't he too young? All of them?" Hange asked Erwin next to her, as they watched Eren who was still speaking through the megaphone. “If they are friends with Levi's cousin, that means none of them have finished school yet.”

"You're right. They are young. But that doesn't mean they don't realize the truth."

"I agree, Erwin, but it's still dangerous. You know the police won't care if they catch them."

Before Erwin could respond, Levi appeared at their side. "The pigs are one block away. They have us surrounded." He said catching his breath.

"But we are hundreds of thousands, what are they planning to do?" Hange asked, annoyance beginning to appear in her voice.

"We will stay." Erwin said without looking at them, making Levi and Hange turn to see him. "We will stay here and wait for what they do. We're both hoping for the same thing. To settle it here once and for all." Levi and Hange looked at each other. Erwin had been the leader of the university movement from the beginning. They both trusted his judgment.

"I'll see if I can find Moblit on the next corner. Maybe we can put up a barricade. Slow down their advance." Hange said, before pushing her way through the crowd. She had barely advanced a few feet when she felt a grip on her arm. She turned around.

"Promise me you'll take care of yourself," Levi asked her without letting go of her arm. Her heart melted. "I promise you, Levi. You too. Don't let them catch you. Okay?" He just nodded once and let her go.

Hange was studying medicine, yet she was mobilized by social justice. This is how she ended up in one of the meetings that Erwin, a senior history student, secretly organized each week.

In the months after, and with the constant arrival of new young people interested in the events and reality of Paradis, Erwin convinced Levi, a young man from the poorest neighborhoods of the capital, to join the movement. Their relationship had been strange from the moment Erwin introduced them. But just like the revolution, the emotions between Levi and Hange exploded suddenly and without warning. In the walks home after the meetings. The quick kisses while they stuck pamphlets on the walls in the dark. The nights of wine and forbidden records that made them forget their reality for a couple of hours. However, no bottle of wine or record lasts forever. They soon discovered that there was no room for relationships and love in the midst of the people's struggle and pain, so they decided to put down their little personal revolution.

The other corner of the big Shiganshina Square was much more crowded than the one next to the wall. Hange searched all directions for the image of her friend and classmate but he was nowhere to be found. She screamed his name, but her voice was lost among the people's chants of "bring down the wall" and the sound of clubs being struck against the shields of the police. It was a warning: chaos would start soon. She could feel it in the air.

"Hange!" Someone pushed her to the ground just before hearing a deafening noise. She turned around and found Moblit's panicked face staring behind her. Someone had thrown a Molotov cocktail just a few feet from her. The police had reacted quickly and were now running into their direction. "Shit. It's already started." Moblit took her hand and started running in the opposite direction.

* * *

Levi froze. The sound of the explosion came from where Hange was supposed to be.

"I should probably get over-there-" the blurry image of something flying past him cut him off immediately. He turned quickly to meet Zeke's gaze across the street. Despite his helmet, he could perfectly identify his hideous beard. In his hands, a riot gun.

"Isn't that your brother? When were you going to tell us he was a cop?" he heard one of his cousin's friends screaming.

"Half-brother," he heard Eren reply. The anger evident in his voice.

"Ah well, my mistake. That doesn't change that he's shooting at us!"

The discussion stopped immediately. A smoke bomb fell just a few meters from them. The crowd started running scared in different directions. Some groups advanced to the front, determined to fight the police, including Eren.

"Mikasa!" Levi screamed as he watched her run after the brat. Another bomb fell near them. This time it was tear gas. Levi started coughing. "Mikasa, come here! Shit" His throat itched so much that it was difficult for him to breathe. The smoke from the previous bomb had mixed with the smoke from the barricades and it was difficult to see around. Everywhere people ran.

"I'll go with them, Levi." Erwin suddenly appeared beside him, his mouth covered by a cloth.

"Fine, but if the police catch them, you go with them too. Forget being the hero of the rebellion."

"I leave that role to you" Erwin replied, uncovering his face only to reveal a small smile. “Go find Hange!”

"Tsk," Levi complained as he watched Erwin climb onto a bench and start haranguing people about devoting their hearts to the cause and resisting. It worked, anyway. More and more people covered their faces and ran to confront the police with rocks and whatever they found at hand.

Levi took the cravat around his neck and covered his mouth. The crowds and chaos in the center of Shiganshina square forced him to advance along the side of the wall. Where the hell is she? The anxiety in his chest made him speed up until he was almost running. His heart was pounding. The sound of gunfire came from the other corner of the square. Fuck . Now he was running.

And between the panic, the worry for his cousin and his friend, the uncertainty of the future, the danger of the situation, the pain in his muscles and the adrenaline, he thought of her eyes.

And he thought of her hair and her hands and her lips.

And he realized that he had never told her that he loved her.

And he realized that they might never get justice despite fighting their whole life. That perhaps the dictator could never be defeated. Perhaps the system was like that. That maybe the poor would always be poor. And that life was cruel.

And he realized that somehow he could accept all of that. But he could not accept, under any conditions, give up what he felt for her.

His legs stopped. In the distance, Hange was on her knees helping a woman covering her face with a handkerchief, and urging her to calm her breathing.

Levi yelled her name. She turned quickly and her eyes met his. Levi saw her speaking to Moblit, who took her place assisting the woman.

Hange got up and stared at him. In the distance the sound of two explosions filled the air. The smoke increased more and more. People kept running. The screams were mixed with the sound of the sirens and the shots did not stop on either front. Despite that, Levi thought the image was beautiful. Hange shrugged and gave him a resigned half smile. Levi's heart raced again before advancing on her. Hange did the same until they finally met halfway.

"I was so worried about you-" Hange was immediately interrupted by Levi, who grabbed her hair and pulled her close to his face. The kiss they shared seemed to slow down everything around them. The chaos was suddenly nothing more than a slow motion nebula.

"I love you!" Levi screamed once they parted, amid all the noise. "Did you hear me, Hange? I want you to know that I fucking love you!"

Before she could answer, a stream of water soaked them. A water cannon had reached the center of the square and was trying to disperse the crowd.

Hange laughed out loud as Levi brushed his wet hair from his face. "I love you too, Levi Ackerman!" she shouted out before wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him passionately.

* * *

In the distance, Catt could see a young couple kissing next to the wall amid the chaos. In her hand, a fax said that General Goldwick, president of Paradis, had just been forced to abdicate, calling for early elections. Parliament, for its part, had announced the demolition of the wall.

Despite sharing different ideals, she smiled.

"To be young and not a revolutionary is a biological contradiction"

Salvador Allende (1908-1973)

#Levihan #levihan fanfiction #Levihan Drabble Week

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dobermanprocrastinating · 3 years

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The French Revolution

(May 5th 1789-November 9th 1799)

Royalty and upper class regularly threw extravagant parties, enjoying high living, and fine dining, while the lower class were barely surviving - the rich used all the tax on their own pleasure while people were literally starving to death! 80% of the population were poor and struggling at this time.

France went to war with Britain and lost. This landed them in financial debt. However, this didn’t stop the upper class from partying, so the peasants were forced to work even harder than before.

The Age of Enlightenment led to great philosophers, who began to question whether this beautiful nation was as great as everyone made out. In May 1774, King Louis XV died and his grandson, Louis XVI, was made king, but it couldn’t have come at a worse time, as the French were beginning to question whether they even needed a king, when all he did was spend their money on parties and himself. The new king was said to be a weak man and barely knew how to rule a country, especially one in a situation as dire as France’s. This led to him being easily manipulated by those around him.

The country grew especially hateful towards the queen, Marie Antoinette, nicknamed “Madame Deficit”, as she spent all of France’s money on her own luxurious lifestyle and fashion. Respect for the monarchy was at an all time low, especially when the royal couple did not immediately produce a heir, and rumours started to fly about the king being “unable to fulfil his marital duty” (basically, he didn’t want to have sex) and the queen being overly sexual with… pretty much everything. As France grew deeper into debt, they decided to tax the poor, who were already struggling to make ends meet. This included giving up some of their harvest and having to work a set number of days unpaid!

The population was about ready to explode with anger, so all it took was one more thing to tip them over the edge. A series of harsh summers and winters left the peasants with poor harvest, which meant that food prices increased. Naturally, the rich had plenty of private stock of grain and wheat, so they were untouched by this crisis. Now the poor were really starving and they started to riot - attacking bakeries and even hanging bakers who were suspected of keeping bread for themselves!

Because the king lived separately from his subjects, he saw no problem with what was happening in France, so a crowd decided to remove that barrier and speak with the king themselves. They marched to the royal palace in Versailles and demanded an audience with the king. Some members of the crowd managed to break into the palace with the intention of killing the queen, who narrowly escaped through a secret passage in her bedroom. The angry mob killed several members of the royal guard and raised their heads on pikes, leaving the king with no choice but to come out and speak with his people. He agreed to go to Paris with the crowd, where his royal powers were slowly stripped away by the revolutionary government. The demands kept growing until the king made the decision to seek help from outside of France - luck for him, he was married to an Austrian. However, the king and his family were stopped before reaching the border, and returned to Paris in disgrace. It was clear that he did not support the revolutionary government, and many called him a traitor for trying to abandon his country. This led to his remaining power being taken away, so that he only served as a figure head.

This didn’t satisfy everyone though, and another protest began, demanding for the king’s removal. Fearing what would happen, the military were sent in and fired on the crowd, leading to a massacre of revolutionaries. This revealed a divide in the country - those who wanted to keep the king as a figure head, and those who wanted him gone, or even better still, executed.

On the 10th August 1792, the tension in Paris exploded and a mob stormed the king’s palace. Fighting broke out and the casualties were in the hundreds. The king was forced to flee once more, his status being removed so that he was just a regular citizen. He was taken to a prison cell where he could be closely watched. Many of the upper class and priests were arrested in the thousands, but when France realized that this was the perfect opportunity for them to conspire against the revolution, citizens broke into the prisons during the brutal September 1792 massacres and executed many of the prisoners. There were over 1600 victims - women and children were not spared. After this, King Louis was trialled and found guilty of treason, but his punishment was uncertain, as many wanted to deport him. Maximilien Robespierre, an influential figure in the revolution, said that the movement could only live if the king was dead - they had a vote, and by one vote, Louis was sentenced to the guillotine.

Robespierre went a little over the top with beheading, and started trialling people for even the most minor crimes. Around 40,000 people were executed because of him. On the 16th October 1793, Queen Marie Antoinette, the most hated woman in French history, met her end and was executed just like her husband before her. The following year, Robespierre made his ultimate slip-up and informed his followers that many of them were on the list of enemies that were to be sent to the guillotine next, which naturally led to them turning against him and sentencing him to death instead - he was the final victim of the reign of terror which he helped to create.

The French Revolution continued even after the king and queen were executed, until eventually, Napoleon Bonaparte took power and so began the Napoleonic Era.

#history #history facts #french revolution #king louis XVI #marie antoinette

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iimanga · 3 years

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The Whole Marvelous Super Ultra Cosmic Magical Comic Book Universe

The produce of imagination and business that was Marvel Comics was a synchronic harmony sounded by Stan Lee and Jack Kirby and Steve Ditko and every one of the creators and craftsmen and inkers and colorists who worked there. Everything began during the mid 1960's the point at which the Fantastic Four and Spider-man and the X-men (The Uncanny X-Men) were framed from the creative mind of Stan Lee and Jack Kirby.

X-men was a film industry crush the previous summer. I'm certain you additionally recall the profoundly effective Hulk TV show.

The most punctual X-men comprised of Jean (Marvel Girl) Gray (who later turned into the amazingly well known Phoenix), Professor X (Xavier), Cyclops (Scott Summers), the insightful Beast (Hank McCoy), and Iceman (Bobbie). Freaks brought into the world with exceptional "super-freak" capacities.

Later came the New Mutants with more youthful characters having freak controls that occasionally appeared to have them (the main sort of comic book story I don't care for).

These characters from X-men including (Nightcrawler, Wolverine, Storm, Banshee, Kitty) advanced with the appearance of the imagination of John Byrne (beginning in issue #108 of X-men) and Chris Claremont (Giant Sized X-men #1 and Uncanny X-men #94 now esteemed at $500. up in "mint" condition. The most famous person was the principle star in the X-men film- - Wolverine. There makes certain to be a continuation for this film industry crush.

X-men Comics instructed kids that bias is shrewd. Individuals who live in dread and in this way eagerness attempt to annihilate what they don't comprehend.

Fascinating that both the latest Star Wars film and X-men film truly investigated lawmakers (Congress). In the event that force undermines totally is it conceivable our framework is totally bad? The Senator in the X-men film took in his example somewhat late.

Insect man- - the new Marvel film in progress - is about a typical young child anxiety (menaces thumping him, not getting any darlings, skin break out, etc is gentle stuff contrasted with the present school encounters -, for example, not having chance and killed while going to or going to the everyday schedule lured by a destructive medication or tainted by a stellar infection) is only nibbled by a radioactive bug (revolutionary stuff for the mid 1960's).

This gives Peter Parker super powers- - creepy crawly controls - whenever intensified a man could lift a truck and convey it 20 miles as insects do. (Try not to get me going discussing Henry Pym the Antman who became Giant Man in the Marvel's Avengers ((Capt. America, Thor the Thunder God etc.))). Add to that Peter Parker was likewise a splendid understudy who had the option to concoct a web shooter and other extraordinary innovations. What's more, Spider-man was brought into the world as a bi-result of the bi-item known as radioactive material (which Science actually doesn't have the foggiest idea how to dispose of). (Take a stab at telling that to the Bush organization). Everything is energy! Recall Tesla curls.

However, Marvel was not by any means the only spot strutting superpowered characters.

D.C. Funnies (Time Warner), as well, used folklore and accounts of Biblical extents to entrain, invigorate and energize ages of youngsters, children and grown-ups from the 1940's to introduce.

A few characters like Superman, Atom, Flash, Batman, Green Lantern, JLA and others and even D.C's. adaptation of Capt. Wonder might have been propelled by profound writing which recounted Hindu Gods and Goddesses and surprisingly Biblical personages who could remain in fire and so forth

Contents and Wit

Superheroes: starting through human creative mind and from writing, folklore, religion.

However most likely comic makers just made up their wondrous stories.

When I talked with Gerry Conway for the Comics Journal he conceded to me that he had investigated a portion of the funnies he composed. Conway's companion accomplice Roy Thomas no question investigated Conan and Thor and other material while author and supervisor at Marvel. They cooperated on the incredible enlivened Fire and Ice film. (Ralph Bakshi/Frank Frazetta).

Also, at first Thomas got the Conan property over to Marvel from Edgar Rice Burroughs in Tarzana, CA. (Tarzana- - Tarzan...get it? That's right, it also is a comic.)

More seasoned society know and love the endless Films and TV shows and serials highlighting these and other most loved brilliant characters: Buck Rogers, Flash Gordon, Commander Cody (which might have enlivened the Rocketeer comic and film).

COMIC BOOKS - Born by the sheer exhurberance of the actual Universe through the vehicle of the Human Being!

The Comic Industry is an analogy forever. An inestimable dramatization unfurling. In any case, not to place old wine into new containers: Many occasions in the past Marvel and D.C. have joined to do specials that helps the play of imagination. I initially met Stan Lee while I was the administrator of a Comic Book Store in Studio City, California in the 1970's.

Or then again, more precisely, I met him through his works at Marvel Comics - his exceptional contents and mind in 1961.

Exceptionally astute association with the fans through clubs and letter sections in bygone times caused one to feel like one was a piece of something. With Merry Marvel "we had a place."

Stan Lee's accounts contained genuine person's, finished with issues and the start of incredible groundbreaking thoughts and standards for carrying on with a decent life.

As when Spider-man didn't stop a Burglar - a similar Burglar who later killed his caring Uncle- - Peter Parker (Spider-man) got the message - serve humankind. With extraordinary force comes liability.

Furthermore, obligation is the capacity to react.

Energizing anecdotal stories loaded with experience and energy with ethics. Outlined lavishly.

Wonder Super characters were at first looked on by society as trouble makers. Even subsequent to saving human butt large number of times.

J. Jonah Jameson (modest Editor of the Daily Bugle paper) has abhorred Spider-person for more than 30 years. Jameson really attempted to annihilate Spider-man by turning into a super reprobate.

Adrenaline junkie (blind Attorney yet Batman-esque in capacities and actual strength and spryness - however with uplifted faculties) the Man unafraid was regularly marked a scalawag too from the start.

Similar to the always well known Incredible Hulk - first deified as a comic book during the 1960's. Who went from dull and idiotic to approach virtuoso relying upon the decade where this suffering person is perused.

What we dread we regularly view as shrewd.

Funnies have attempted to instruct us that the means are pretty much as significant as the finishes they produce.

What we do en route decides the outcome we will get. Funnies are distributed in light of the fact that a word sounds great to the distributer. However, a portion of these new youthful free distributers need to find out about the significance inside these words (thus do their clients). However, more capacity to these ambitious youths.

What is Yoga, Meditation, Tai Chi, Mantra? What is Zen? (One youthful upstart distributer of "Harmony - intergalactic Ninja" had never known about Alan Watts - incredible advertiser of Zen until I let him know Alan Watts was a renowned and famous scholar turned maverick Philosopher and Author (one of many) liable for acquainting Eastern Religions with the profoundly starved West- - frequently heard on KPFK radio. Alan Watts is potentially the chief advertiser of Zen. Watts' book " The Wisdom of Insecurity," specifies, for goodness' sake, Comic Books. What are Chakras? The Tao implies what? When children grow up and find out with regards to Meditation will they be spoiled by our ineptitude and insatiability?

Trendy expressions ordinarily lower cognizance and create turmoil. Obviously when I use to distribute stuff as a young person I made up names that sounded great however had almost no significance, for example, Beyond Infinity, مانجا لاند, Eon the Magazine of Graphic Illusions. I know less now than I did then, at that point. What is make, craftsmanship, Love, Truth?

I held a few signature parties with Stan Lee and Jack Kirby in the 1970's and 1980's. I tossed more than 50 effective signature parties with numerous awesome comic book specialists and authors. I'd have the occasion, give rewards, do all the publicizing, realistic workmanship, official statements, and so forth It was an invigorating encounter. It was enjoyable to cooperate with professionals and fans. I parted with a ton of free promotion stuff.

10th Nebula's first signature party was held with Stan Lee, distributer of Marvel Comics. For a considerable length of time my shop suffered in North Hollywood, CA nearby to the world's most seasoned Science Fiction Club (an inherent crowd of companions and fans and PC monsters).

The Stan Lee occasion evoked long queues of Comic Book devotees of any age slobbering for Stan's mark on the sprinkle page of their old and new funnies. These days experts sign funnies on the front of their title en mass which I don't support. (Yet, who pays attention to me).

Funnies structures are frequently manhandled by hopeful youthful distributers who utilize a few pointless full page sprinkles when the impact could be accomplished in a minuscule board - misuse of cash, ink and paper if you were to ask me. Not at all like bygone times when Steve Ditko gave us our best possible value as around 6 boards for each page - he in his manner resembled a Zen Master - the accuracy of his work matched the craft of Chinese Calligraphy (see his one of a kind style in old Atlas Comics from the 1950's). A portion of the new experimentation's by Frank Miller and different gifts have all accomplished outstandingly imaginative work as well.

#new

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north-peach · 4 years

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WHO WANTS A SNIPPET OF A MEGS/OP FIC I ALMOST WROTE ALMOST TWO YEARS AGO?

plus some notes because, like I said, almost wrote it

also, trigger warning for brief mention of rape, nothing explicit

murder too? kinda mild violence?

Also it’s more Megatronus/Optimus Prime....plus, slight time travel.

When Truth is Shattered (hope is built once more)

There's an Uprising, as there always is in a universe such as this. The rebellion is orchestrated by Megatronus being the kickass he is, poet, philosopher, warrior, slave and leader.

Prime is a title passed down via a fancy relic thing referred to as the Matrix of Leadership, but it's not merged with a spark, it's strung on a chain and worn, or usually displayed somewhere. It signifies the authority invested in someone, either individually or a group of individuals.

The Matrix also acts as an activation key for a great many forms of highly power technology that is rumored to have been created by Primus himself for the Original Thirteen Primes to use.

There's a really old bot called Alpha Trion who bestows it, takes it back and is generally the one who handles it, in between the periods of a new Prime or Council of Prime ascending. He's always been there, he's like super old so no one really questions him, his decisions, his impact on their society or anything at all.

Primus is thought to be something like a myth, Unicron as well. Most of their history of the early days of their civilization is a bit spotty, but their current level of technology cannot compete with what they possessed in the beginning and now lack the ability to craft or use.

That’s why the Matrix is a symbol of leadership as it can activate the technology, including the planetary shield, almost all offensive capabilities, several buildings that manufacture everything from basic building components to extremely energy intensive upgrades.

It is acknowledged history that there were thirteen Original Primes, even though only about half of their names are remembered. However all of their greatest deeds were recorded. So you had the Prime of This and That, when their names were lost to time.

So, save for the ruling few, the nobles, the first class and a majority of the second class citizens, things are bad.

Caste system, energon shortage, bad working conditions, (all of these unnecessary, used only as a means to control the populace because tired, hungry and illiterate people don't raise armies to overthrow the government) abuse of rights, those in power staying in power, inheriting power from family members and corruption running rampant through the levels of government.

Megatronus, former slave/miner turned gladiator, poet, philosopher and revolutionary raises his army and storms into Iacon in order to demand change, or put himself in charge. That is his end goal, but he's absolutely going to throw everyone in power into a deep dark hole somewhere if it's the only thing he manages to do.

The Prime in power, arrogant as all get out, challenges Megatronus and loses his head over it entirely. So Megatronus- who is absolutely an “if I can make god bleed” kinda guy, yanks the Matrix from the corpse, throws it down and swings his sword down on it as hard as he can.

Miner, yes? Gladiator, yes? Yes? Very strong, we appreciate his strong, Matrix is strong enough to survive a very long time, but Megatronus is fueled by righteous fury and the rage of a thousand murdered slaves.

Alpha Trion screams in anguished horror as it shatters into fifty thousand itty bitty pieces. No more Matrix of Leadership, no more cheating to get around the systems lock on technology only meant to be worked by a Prime.

Sad day.

That's when everything lights up like the American’s fourth of July and from that light, a large mech in blue and red appears. Nice sleek lines, brilliant paint, very pretty, we also appreciate this. He's very confused, understandably, looking around in shock, bewilderment and some dawning sense of terror. But then he sees Alpha Trion.

Instantly he leaps to his pedes and reaches towards the old bot.

"Alpha Trion? Where- where am I? What- what is going on?"

Alpha Trion gets emotions, surprising for a bot responsible for so much suffering, the way he screamed shocked a great many people.

Megatronus and his high command all decide to observe because a new player has entered the equation and while everyone’s attention is on him, it gives Megatronus a chance to move more people into a better positions.

Optimus is understandably very upset. He yanks his servos out of Alpha Trion’s grasp, ignoring as the bot’s voice turns cajoling and pleading for him to calm down.

Alpha Trion stands before the new mech, servos grasping onto his and gently starts explaining some of the positives of the new Golden Age but that it's been a while since Optimus walked the planet and this is another Golden Age set a lot of Ages after the very first Golden Age.

And Alpha Trion carefully and quickly explains that Optimus was opposed to a thing that the rest of the thirteen primes were going to do and Megatronus decided to remove him because he was standing in the way of their glory, in the way of the greater good of Cybertron. He did not tell the others and ambushed Optimus-

"Megatronus! He- he," his voice dissolves into a static-y keening, digits digging harshly into the undamaged plating of the cover of his spark chamber. "He stabbed me? My spark? My- He?"

(Megatronus and company trade looks and swift messages)

-to which, Alpha Trion stresses, they were all very upset and Megatronus was duly punished-

-and buried his sword into his spark chamber. The others were alerted when Primus intervened to ensure Optimus’s spark didn’t return to Him. But his frame was badly damaged and extreme measures were taken to ensure his survival.

Optimus doesn't take this well and decides to use his optics and turns and starts looking. He's standing in a place that is lavish and incredibly luxurious. There are dead people around him, in shiny and glimmering frames, and then there's a crowd of dirty, misshapen, mismash, ragtag, thrown together bots and he quickly jumps to the correct conclusion: the people are revolting against a corrupt leadership and-

It’s Alpha Trion, shining and dazzling in the soft lights. Alpha Trion who was not a Prime but was granted a similar though lower security level and was treated like family. True, he was fashioned to be an assistant, a helper but this? Sitting in a throne at the right hand of the front of the room?

Optimus jerks his helm around and make optic contact with the largest mech, the one who stands in front of all the others at the head of the revolution.

There’s power in there that- that- reminds him...

Alpha Trion continues talking though and he's explaining that the rest of the Primes came together and fashioned a stasis orb to keep him alive while his frame repaired and his spark recovered. It was expanded and everything that was his was placed inside and then shrunk.

“Why? Why am I alive?”

It hurts that Alpha Trion looks wrecked at the very idea that Optimus shouldn’t be alive, right before rage crawls over his face plates and vibrates the air with the force of it.

He then starts to explain the people that stand behind him- but-

They’re terrorists and murderers, thieves- Megatronus the Name-Thief, who stole the name of the Betrayer who slaughtered the greatest of them!- liars and rabble raisers who started a war for fun, for profit and glory, to tear down the peace Alpha Trion so carefully crafted all these eons.

Megatronus feels denied his right place, demands more resources, more people, more space, more energon that simply isn’t available! He would take what he wanted from the more deserving to fuel his army!

Optimus can’t help the desperate look he makes as he turns back to take in the whole of these ‘terrorists’. They’re all starving and wounded, clearly the forgotten and abandoned and his optics harden as he turns back to Alpha Trion.

“They do not know their place! They should have remained in their caste, they are not worthy to be acknowledged even as third class citizens! They will ruin all I have built!”

That the matrix- which was composed of tech that kept Optimus’s Prime spark and frame alive and well and provided the required security clearance of a Prime to non-Primes so they could operate the tech meant solely for Primes. To some degree anyway. But after such an amount of time, every bit off eeway was explored to its fullest.

To Optimus Prime, this was a horrific abuse of the power that was entrusted in the Thirteen Primes, to govern and observe but never to oppress and destroy their society to this extent!

He opens his intake, but he cannot speak, even as he stares at this mech he once knew, once called friend.

His spark throbs.

Optimus turns once more to- to M- the one who calls himself Megatronus- a mech who bears the name of his murderer, his betrayer, his brother and says nothing. Surely everyone can see the devastation written all over his faceplates.

Alpha Trion makes a noise, clearly intending to speak, but Optimus silences him, overriding his vocal modulator with brutal efficiency. He’s never had to do that before and something hurts.

Megatronus gives a quick rundown of everything that Alpha Trion left out. The hard, cold truth of the matter. Starvation, oppression, murder, the rich get richer and the poor die alone in the dark. The third class citizens are taken and put to work, denied to ability to speak, rights stripped and designations deleted, forgotten until all that was left was a mindless drone, whose sentient mind retreated deep inside.

Sparklings are taken from carriers who were forced from a higher rank of citizen and neither was ever seen again. Sparklings who were considered the property of their higher ranking parent until they reached an age old enough to take an aptitude test to determine what caste they were joining.

Second class and above never moved unless they offended someone on a higher level. The Primes remained Prime until they died or another was chosen.

Cybertron was built on the bodies of the abandoned, those who had no designation and barely counted as citizens, from third class servants, and janitors, to second class traders, scribes, artists, ect, to first class, the rich, privileged and blessed.

Then the Nobles, the elite, the shining jewels of Cybertron, right below the Primes, the rulers.

Optimus feels numb with horror.

He stares and stares and his optics burn even as Megatronus’s blaze. He turns, only last time, one more time to face Alpha Trion.

He allows him to speak in his defense- but- but.

“This was for the greater good, Optimus, my friend, my lord, in order to keep the best and brightest alive, to ensure we would survive as the years passed and we faced a great many challenges. The survival, the endurance of our race, our species was entirely dependent on our ability to unsure what we had went to the most deserving!”

Alpha Trion looks so very sincere, he is entirely genuine in his ever present affection for his long lost friend, but Optimus can barely speak but for the pain in his spark.

“Surely you must see,” Alpha Trion beseeches, “We did it for you, Optimus.”

Clearly expecting his confession to ensure Optimus is firmly on his side, Alpha Trion takes a single step forward, reaching out from the only true Prime left.

Something shatters in his spark chamber and Optimus rises up, slides back and pulls. The Star Saber materializes in his servos in a boom of light and noise, the voice that leaves his intake is terrifying as it thunders through the great hall and echoes throughout the entire city-

“Freedom is the right of all sentient beings!”

It’s wretched out of him, this undeniable truth that seems to have been forgotten so long ago. There is betrayal on Alpha Trion’s face, heartbreak and disbelief.

He doesn’t understand, he did this for you.

Optimus weeps even as he raises his sword.

Of course, this is being recorded and watched across the entire planet because the Iacon nobles and government were absolutely going to use Megatronus's failure and subsequent death as more incentive to keep your helms down, but that really backfired because okay, wow, real Prime- Original Thirteenth Prime who is supporting a Mech named for another one of the Original Thirteen. The Betrayer at that!

Clearly unexpected, but that’s what you get when the nutjob shadow ruling your planet since almost the beginning of time lies.

I also imagine Optimus with glowing optics and sigils on his frame. Maybe communing with Primus and easily manipulating the AllSpark or something, ect, ect.....

Megatronus will not be understanding Optimus at all. It’s like if the Devil came out of Hell and realized all his demons were running amok and starting crying and killing all of them while asking to borrow your couch because he lives in Hell, not Earth.

(and someone forgot to tell you he was pretty)

#Transformers #Megatron #Megatronus #optimus prime #Alpha Trion #Matrix of Leadership #ficlet #fiction #fanfiction #megs/op #fic i almost wrote #might end up writing it

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gunnerpalace · 4 years

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I belonged to another heated (but no longer debatable imho) ship were I've known a lot to be IH. And ofc I feel bad they have to bear witness to people so salty about the ending and hated Ino. I hate Ino too with burning passion, and that kinda made me feel guilty. But the psychology major in me was baffled as to how they conclude immediately w/ no analysis she was hated not only because of ships but because either she was written terribly, or she was written to be terrible. Or probably both.

Why cant Ichigo and Rukia be married to someone we could *infer* (because duh it’s not canon they will argue) they are in love with? Someone they have shown to share bond with? “Oh well, its becoming commonplace that the hero doesnt end up w/ main heroine, it’s revolutionary!” Bullshit. Sadly that is logic fallacy you dumbasses. Where’s the progress? Kubo tried, barely even. And again, it’s not even about the ships, its the entire work that has become an anomaly–Bleach as became Bleauuughch.

Again, I feel bad they have to bear the weight of evert criticism, the insult, and the salt of basically a majority of bleach fandom. But I hope they can tell that majority (like 99.99999999998%) of the criticisms are valid and not just hate. If they couldnt bear to actual do analysis of why people hated it, then dont bother plead or guilt trip or go to ppl inboxes why should we just move on. Well, majority already did that’s why all was left were ppl who couldnt be bothered with actual quality.

Here’s the ugly truth about people: they can’t read.

Or they don’t want to.

We have this holdover idea from the Enlightenment that if you can gather enough evidence in fine and exacting enough detail, that you can not only discern some kind of truth, but convince other people of it through the preponderance of evidence. And we have structured our society around that idea, from politics to law to science to academia in general.

The trouble is that that idea is bullshit outside of academia.

That is not at all how regular people approach the world.

And the more we rely upon an idea that people are rational, the more we will be lost at and disappointed by the actuality that people are irrational and emotional.

Consider climate change. The scientific community has had roughly 97% consensus that climate change is being anthropomorphically driven (that is to say, somewhere between overwhelmingly and entirely caused by human activity) since at least the very early 2000s, if not back much earlier. Indeed, we know that the oil companies were aware of it at least as early as 1981! And here we are in 2020, with some 31% of the population either unsure of or disbelieving in it.

Whenever the matter is debated politically, scientists will trot out their facts and drop them on the table and point. The facts are self-evident, they feel. And then the conservative politicians will shrug and say, “I don’t believe you.”

And the scientists have no idea what to do about that. Because to their minds, facts are indisputable. You cannot argue with them.

But you can, as the conservatives illustrate. You just choose not to believe in them.

We are witnessing something very similar with COVID-19 at the moment, with large swathes of the (American) population simply not believing it to be a threat, in spite of all available evidence to the contrary.

We see the same thing with political leadership debating the question of whether to prioritize health or economics, and our media treating this as if it is a legitimate policy debate, when we already know the answer to that question from the Spanish Flu of 1918: towns and cities that were locked down and quarantined suffered fewer casualties and had much faster economic rebounds.

People generally do not read.

People generally do not process.

People generally do not analyze.

People generally do not learn.

And if they can’t do those things for very large-scale existential threats that can threaten anything from tens to hundreds of millions of people worldwide, to the entire ecosphere of the planet, why would one expect them do so for a piece of fiction?

If people cannot handle cold, hard statistical facts, or simple arithmetic, then they certainly cannot handle something as “subjective” as facial expressions or dialogue. I have written recently about how the attitude toward non-fandom things (e.g., politics) increasingly resembles that of fandom, of approaching everything as though it is merely an aesthetic exercise.

That is really what we are dealing with here: ignorance. And not merely ordinary ignorance, not even willful ignorance, but an ignorance so deliberate and cultivated that its goal is nothing less than the total erasure of the facts. (The problem here, in this particular example, are of course the people who say unequivocally, “Ichigo always loved Orihime,” in spite of all evidence to the contrary. Someone who says, “It is clear to me this wasn’t a thing, but I like IH aesthetically,” is a non-issue.)

(Demanding or trying to force this former perspective does, as you suggest in the third ask, indicate a certain insecurity and a tacit admission that the perspective being advanced is illegitimate or poorly substantiated. However, for the people so enthralled to openly admit that is a psychological admission of defeat so severe that most would literally rather die than own up to being wrong to such an extent, and to suffer the attendant internal loss of face. So they seek continual external validation of it to shore it up.)

There is, in essence, no point in communicating with this kind of fan whatsoever. They are functionally like how Kyle Resse describes the Terminator in The Terminator:

Listen, and understand! That Terminator is out there. It can’t be bargained with. It can’t be reasoned with. It doesn’t feel pity, or remorse, or fear! And it absolutely will not stop, ever, until you are dead!

There is a lot of tepid discussion out there in political circles that the degree of polarization in society today is unprecedented and that a way to bridge that gap could be through shared interests and values. But in my opinion, fandom proves exactly the opposite is true: the reasons people like things that are nominally “shared interests,” and their view of those things and why they are good, are completely and utterly irreconcilable. There is, essentially, virtually zero overlap in a Venn diagram of the perspectives. Shared interests divide as much as they will ever unite.

In that regard, Bleach should be treated as both a warning and a grim assessment of our world as a whole. It is not really an aberration.

It is the future.

This community (among others) has simply been living in it a few years in advance of other people. Everyone else has gotten their first big taste of it with Trump. (The Republicans have been constructing an alternate reality since 1964, but comparatively few people were aware of how deep the rabbit hole went.)

In my estimation, it is not worth engaging with people over a shared interest with sincerity, let alone in good faith, unless you have done some degree of vetting of their perspective. Most likely observing them or their works for a time. Without that, you simply open yourself up to these people who show a total lack of discernment or rationality.

And that is a large part of why social media is such an absolute garbage fire, because as platforms they are built around precisely the opposite notion. (And largely in defiance of the idea that people might want to curate their experiences or might not want to have “healthy debate,” which is almost never healthy and seldom ever debate). Some would argue this leads to echo chambers and hug boxes, but it’s not like the alternative that these companies have produced (for profit, of course, rather than for of any ideological mission) is any better.

To boil it all down, what we are really forced to rely on (quite sadly) is a free market approach: no matter how much that side rages and waves their “canon” status around, they simply do not produce much content. They will starve long before our side does, regardless of any other factors. (Their “canon” status did not help them any in the past four years.) And the people who are agnostic (e.g., the “I’m Still Bleach” crowd that is for some reason vaguely invested in the series as a whole) will lose interest and move on to the next shiny thing.

The only thing that is necessary in the face of all this is really patience. In the meantime, the best thing is simply to ignore the existence of such parties utterly.

#Asks

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