#what a glorious pageant it was
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~ Malleus son hc feat. his parents (Malleus/Yuu♀️)
The adventures of Malleus II (the son) who lives with the reputation of being the second coming of his almighty father. He's got it all: a naturally handsome face, unparalleled brains, and strength that of a thousand men. He's so glorious that no one from his era could ever hope to get close to the ground he walks on.
... Except he's actually just a guy. A completely normal person. His IQ is average and he's just as strong as the next guy. What's unique about him though, is that he has terrifying luck.
His unblemished record of being crowned as the Spelldrive World Champion for 3 years straight? His opponents were just so intimidated by him that they fall off their brooms, injure themselves, and are rendered unable to fight. He's literally only used common fireball spells and a few gusts of wind here and there. For some reason though, the commentators would holler excitedly and announce to the entire world that the young Draconia only needs the most basic of spells to topple over the most gargantuan of opponents. SASUGA DRACONIA-OUJI! they would cry.
And those perfect grades that catapulted him to the top of National Exam Rankings? Those were his lucky letter-dice doing the hard work. He was so absorbed in his sculpting hobby the other week that he completely forgot to study-- only relying heavily on throwing the dice the very day of the exam and praying that he'd guess good enough to not get kicked out of school. And when he did pick out something he was quite sure was right, he was wrong. That was his only incorrect number.
Indeed, he's a sham. He would've felt guilty, but then again his parents actually know how he really is behind the ritz and glamor. His dad's so amused by it, in fact, that he never fails to show up to each and every one of his son's matches; a little to encourage the boy, but mostly because he finds it entertainment of the highest caliber to watch how his lucky son would outmatch his opponents in the oddest ways you could never have guessed.
And after every victorious match, every perfected exams, or even after dragging back a trophy from some out-of-the-blue pageant he got roped into, he would come home to table filled to the brim with his favorite meals. Which are mostly just some variations of dishes made of cream. An occasion he loves, by the way, considering he doesn't always get to enjoy cream because they're way above his daily nutritional quota.
"Wow, a congratulatory feast for my Spelldrive match?" He says as he plops down the chair in front of his parents' usual spots; not even bothering to take off his gear.
"No," His mom replies, "A celebratory feast for living the life you like to live."
He pauses; speechless. It does bother him sometimes, he's got to admit. He's a prince. He's supposed to act like one. He's not supposed to rely on some lucky dice or hope for others to get into unfortunate circumstances just so he'd win. He's supposed to read through every book in the library, swing a sword until his fingers bled, chant his spells until he's sore in the throat-- work hard every single day, just like his father did.
"What are you staring at us for?" His father laughs, "Eat up and finish fast. You still have not quite finished that project I gave you, did you? I want that gargoyle's wings twice as large."
He bursts into a laughter of his own and starts digging into his creamy carbonara. He still wants to work hard, yes, but maybe... Maybe it's not so bad enjoying his teenage life too.
Tomorrow... Yeah, tomorrow, he'll start chipping at that history book he hasn't opened since the start of the semester.
The dad, as if reading what's on his son's mind, simply chuckles and sneakily steals the tub of ice cream his wife was saving for dessert.
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Group D, Round 1, Poll 1:
Propaganda under the cut
Morgana Pendragon
yes
Linda Monroe
Alright. So. Linda Monroe, President of the Hatchetfield Boating Society, mother of four beautiful blond boys, wife of Dr Gerald Monroe, daughter of Roman Murray. How does one begin to describe Linda Monroe? In Black Friday, she gaslights, gatekeeps and girlbosses her way into becoming a cult leader. Now, to be fair, that hadn't been her initial goal. The only reason she was headed to ToyZone that Black Friday was to buy four of these new Wiggly dolls for her sons. She didn't know, of course, that 'Wiggly' was really Wiggog Y'Wrath, an eldritch being from between universes who was planning to enter and destroy our world via the dolls. But after the queue leading into ToyZone escalates into a brawl over the doll, Linda fights harder and more viciously than anyone else. After the mob scatters and Linda is left doll-less, she is of course approached by one of Wiggly's loyal servants, who offers her the choice position of being Wiggly's prophet and forming the cult that will construct the portal for the dark god to travel into our world through. She's such a girlboss that she gets TWO villain songs - her power ballad, Adore Me, about how epic it is that she has all these people mindlessly obeying your will, and the eleventh-hour villain song, Wiggle, about how glorious it'll be when Wiggly rises to reshape the universe. She's such a girlboss that she escapes being physically restrained by our heroes by just screaming really loudly at them and breaking someone's wrist. (deep breath) And that's just Black Friday. Let me tell you about what went down at the Honey Queen Pageant. Linda REALLY wanted to win this pageant. And to win it, she'd to anything - blackmail, bribery, fabricating an entire fake Broadway audition to cause her opponent to lose her voice the day before the pageant, targeting all other opponents she considered a threat and taking them out one by one, in various ways including but not limited to: trapping them on a fake cruise that crashed on purpose in order to delay them, digging up old dirt on them to force them to drop out due to the controversy, and full-on murder them backstage (to be fair, though, that one was playing just as dirty). She wins by bloodthirstiness alone, then executes an incredible Queen B-style rap ballad to cement her victory. Too bad the whole thing turned out to be a front for determining the next sacrifice for Nibblenephim, or 'Nibbly', a dark eldritch being and one of Wiggly's brothers. Linda Monroe gaslit, gatekept and girlbossed her way into becoming a prophet for a Lord In Black - twice. And that's why she deserves to sweep this tournament. Hopefully the prize for winning this one WON'T be 'being eaten alive by a giant mouth'.
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Frozen Over pt. 4
The crowd cheered as you stood on your pedestal, a smile coming to your face. You had seen so many people on other occasions but you were always accompanied by your grandfather, this was different. It was your first step into displaying your own prowess and hopefully gained respect.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, this is the seventy-fifth year of the Hunger Games.” You spoke, your voice sounding everywhere, in the stadium and in the homes of millions of people.
“It was written in the charter of the Games, that every twenty-five years there would be a Quarter Quell, to remind each new generation of those who died in the uprising against the Capitol.” You intended for that last bit to be a warning because by all accounts: it was.
“Many of you may recall that each Quarter Quell is distinguished by Games of significance. On the seventy-fifth Anniversary of our defeat of the rebellion, we celebrate the third Quarter Quell.” Cheers erupted from the crowd, you could feel their energy and you slowly felt your nerves slip away.
You now reached to the envelope that he had given you, carefully taking the paper from it. You breathed out as you began to read it, “"As a reminder that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, on this 3rd Quarter Quell Games, the male and female tributes are to be reaped from the existing pool of Victors in each District.” Your heart dropped, your chest became tight and you found yourself struggling to breathe. Finnick. Finnick would have to go again. Your friend.
You had a job to do. You couldn’t break on live television and give President Snow a emotional victory.
“All Victors will present themselves on Reaping Day, regardless of age, state of health, or any other hinderance. They will compete in this pageant of honor and sacrifice in a glorious fashion, and will compete for the ultimate crown." You forced a smile as the capital citizens cheered. You waved to them as you descended from your pedestal.
You rushed into your house, quickly running up to your room, you slammed the door behind you. It was all catching up to you. He wouldn’t do this intentionally but he was the only one who could let this happen. You pulled at your jacket ripping the buttons off and throwing it to the ground. You went to the wash pitcher and poured the water into the bowel, desperate to get the gold glitter off you.
Before you could shove your face into the cold water, you saw him in your mirror. You turned around quickly. Finnick stood there. Just looking at you. Not a glimpse of judgement, care or compassion. Pure indifference.
“Crazy doesn’t suit you.”
“How did you get in here?”
Finnick stared through you, “It is amazing what you can get when you say you have business. President Snow is also not home, they don’t protect you near as much.”
You straightened your back, “Finnick, I didn’t know.”
“What if I said I don’t believe you?” His expression changed, it was a look one might give to disgraceful traitor.
You felt tears begin to well up in your eyes. You couldn’t remember the last time you cried but everything had bubbled back up. How could you not crumble at the look he was giving you? You would’ve preferred him to cut you, stab you, or slam your head onto the floor, anything but the look he was giving you.
“Why are you crying?” The words were absent of comfort. “Nothing has happened to you.”
You rubbed at your eyes, black smudges left behind on your shaking hands.
“If I’d known, I would’ve begged and pleaded for him not to.” Tears came full force.
Finnick walked closer to you, you closed your eyes, fully prepared for him to back hand you like your grandfather had done when you had your, in his words, unneeded outburst.
Finnick had every right to. He was right, nothing as cruel as a second go around in the games would ever happen to you.
But you were surprised to feel a gentle yet firm hand on your face. “What happened there?” His finger tapped over the slightly scarred over cut.
“He hit me.” You said.
“Why?” Finnick asked, genuine worry coming to him.
“You will be upset.”
“I am already upset with him.” Finnick’s other hand came and forced you to look at him.
“I told him that what he has done to you was wrong and that you were my friend.”
You couldn’t look in his eyes, you had already shown so much weakness around him. Snow is not weakness.
“What a terrible man.” Finnick said softly. He took his hands from your face and stepped towards your bowl of water. “Your eye makeup is all over your face.” He said a matter of factly.
“I’m- It’s fine.” You went to rub your face with your hand but a coolness touched your face.
You jolted away from him. His gaze was soft and loving, “Water might not get it off but it will clean the trails on your face.”
You let him bring the cloth to your face, wiping gently. You couldn’t remember the last time someone had been so genuine affectionate. True that your Grandfather had his shoulder move and you often returned the hugs of your sister but this was different.
You opened your eyes and let them fall to Finnick’s. You had never seen another set like them and you knew you never would. You had seen a million other pair of blue eyes and many a pair of green eyes, but never a mix like his. If you were a poet, you would say they were the product of swirled sea foam, the very same that Aphrodite rose from.
Finnick stared back into your eyes. He always thought that they suited you. Your face was not very expressive but your eyes were, he could know exactly how you were feeling by looking in them. They softened for only certain people, they could cut anyone down. He loved how the ridges in your irises were like the tree lines back home.
You reminded him of home.
Hours passed, You had placed your clothes in your closet and had gotten dressed in your pajamas.
You were comforted as he told you warm stories of home but then he told you how he would be returning for the Reaping. It would take place tomorrow and he noticed how sad it made you so he once again returned a warm hand to your face. You were both sitting on the foot of your bed, you weren’t used to him sitting there with you but it felt nice.
“I wish that they wouldn’t do this.” You said.
“We all know why.” He sighed, “To punish that district…”
“Twelve.”
“Twelve girl.” He finished. “There’s talk of an uprising.”
You grabbed his hand and pulled it from your face, “Be honest with me, are you in on it?”
He was silent. He was silent for a while. “If they asked me to.”
You felt tears again. If you didn’t loose him in the arena, you would surely loose him when the rebellion was discovered.
“Don’t cry. Please don’t cry.” He wiped at your tears with his thumb. “Don’t cry sweetheart, it will all work out.”
You just looked at him with the saddest look he had ever seen. He could almost feel his heart shattering the longer he looked at you.
“Finnick, why would think about that?”
“It’s what best for us all.”
“Not for me.”
“Why? Are you that spoile-“
“I love you. I have always loved you. I fell in love with you the first time I saw you, I didn’t know it then but for years, I found my soul yearning for you.”
You sprung up from your bed and backed away from him, “I didn’t want to admit it to myself. Not because I think I am better than you. No! Not that! I am not better than you.I am not good enough for you.”
Tears ran marathons down your face, chasing away your voice from your throat. Heart finally spilling open, you had broken the dam of self restraint.
“Even now, even tomorrow, even next year. I will never be good enough for you! But I was happy having you as a friend. Being your friend might not be what I want but it is what I have! I rather have your friendship than to never have known you.”
He was silent once again. He was looking at you as if you were a ghost.
“Say something! Scream! Yell! Slap me! I don’t care!” You reached on your dresser and flung your eyeliner at him, he hit it from the air. You started throwing more things.
“You coward! Get angry, damn it! Say our friendship is over! Tell me to fuck off!” You shrieked at him.
In a short moment, you had cleared the surface of the dresser. You let out a painful sob as you pressed your back to it and fell to the floor, throwing the last bottle pathetically, not even coming close to hitting him.
“Say anything.” You choked out between sobs. You had kept that inside for years and now that it was out, you couldn’t say felt any better.
“I love you too.”
You stopped in your tracks, “Don’t lie.”
“I’m not.”
You sharpened your eyes, inspecting him. You knew his body language, it didn’t appear that he was lying. He took a few steps towards you, eyes looking at you with care.
“Finnick..”
“Don’t you believe me?” He knelt down to your level.
“I do, but we both kno-“
He took your face in his hands and gently kissed you, as if he kissed you harder, you’d shatter like a stained glass window.
He pulled away after only a few seconds, scanning your face for signs of unhappiness. There was none. You just looked at him as you lifted your hand to ghost over your lips, firmly believing that this was a dream.
It wasn’t. He took your hand away from your lips and pressed another kiss, feeling you kiss him back. To you, it was beautiful. Was it beautiful to him too?
#fanfic writing#fanfic#romance#x reader#x male reader#male reader#romantic relationships#eventual romance#the hunger games#thg series#finnick odair x male reader#finnick odair#finnick x reader#the hunger games catching fire#snow!reader#coriolanus snow#president snow
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Rachel Wiley - Glory in Two Parts
NPS 2015 Oakland, CA
An amazing poem embracing fat bodies. TW: repeated use of the term “obesity”, though it’s done in a way that recognizes it’s a bullshit proto-medical term used to pathologize fat bodies. Transcript below the cut:
Glory in Two Parts
One:
What you think you mean when you say that I glorify obesity is that I am an undeserved celebration. A gluttonous mass of uncontrol, a patron saint of unhealth, a pageant of sloth and wheeze and uncontrol, a gasping heart Madonna.
You think you mean how can she possibly raise her fat face to the Sun in worship rather than submitting to the gravity of shame that I am a sickness rolled in caramel and body glitter, a fatted gold calf in a sugar glazed crown.
What you think you mean when you say that I glorify obesity is how dare she?!
Two:
What you actually mean when you say that I glorify obesity is indeed I am glorious because who would not exalt something as miracle as living body.
You mean to revere the way that I keep rising despite a world that does not want the truth of me.
You mean to say that my arm fat jiggles like a pair of fleshy tambourines, that my walk speaks a gospel of rubbing thighs, that my ass sways like a well-trained choir, that my fupa is an altar built around something holy and worth bowing down to.
Now you can be the devil I dance away or you can come dance your devils away with me. Hating my body will not absolve you of your own shameful sins and I will not carry them on my back either. I will just be a one-women tent revival with the lights on late, sweat slick and handing out glory.
What you actually mean when you say that I glorify obesity is hallelujah. So go ahead and say hallelujah.
Say hallelujah.
Say hallelujah to the back fats. Hallelujah to the generous rolls of flesh. Hallelujah to the stretch marks. Hallelujah to the cellulite. Hallelujah to the still thumping heart.
Hallelujah. Say it with me hallelujah. Hallelujah.
Glory, glory.
Glory, glory.
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What's your favorite plant in fall? Mine is either Virginia creeper or shagwood hickory trees!!
Impossible to say! The creeper is fabulous and poison ivy is beautiful but also the staghorn sumac with its brilliant banners and the shiny-leaved sumac with its scarlet blaze. What about the red maples like flames in the wet places, and sugar maples here and there like an air-brushed ideal of an autumn tree. There's no doubt a huge old shagbark hickory turned gold is one of autumn's crowning glories but I also love the late-turning oaks with their deep russets, and what about the ginkgos in towns and on campuses? Their ancient gold fills your whole skull. I know I'm missing some here. Thoreau wrote a whole essay on the autumn leaves and the order in which the trees change. It's a glorious pageant here in PA watching the colors change. And then it's sad when it's over and we have to wait until spring to see the tiny leaves starting again. I'm in awe of the trees and how they never give up.
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The Mortimer inheritance running in a Tudor prince: here’s how historian Sean Cunningham brings to public debate an often overlooked aspect of Prince Arthur’s Yorkist connection to his Mortimer’s ancestors and how he, an unofficial Earl of March, was expected to incorporate this to his kingship.
“Arthur's transition into the leader of Marcher society did involve a clever reinterpretation of regional history that put the new prince at the center of an old story.
The area that became the most important to Prince Arthur was the region in the Welsh Marches linking Worcester, Bewdley, Ludlow, Weobley and Leominster. Along with Shrewsbury to the north, Wigmore to the west and Hereford to the south, this was the centre of power for the Prince of Wales, and the area that his Council in the Marches dominated as representative of the more distant Westminster government.
In setting up Arthur's seat of power here, Henry VII was consciously merging several strands of political influence.
Those people that surrounded and served Arthur in the late 1490 knew that this region had been the heart of the lordship of the earldom of March. The last living earl had been the young Edward V before his father died and he disappeared.
Once Edward was believed to be dead, Arthur's mother, Queen Elizabeth, became the last heir of the Yorkist kings and therefore the most prominent living descendant of the Mortimers as earls of March.
Arthur was being linked to that earldom and the Mortimer family as a direct expression of his mother's lineage and what it represented. The earldom had for many years been a critical part of the House of York's power.
Mortimer blood was also a factor in building a Yorkist claim to the throne. Elizabeth's grandfather Richard, 3rd Duke of York had been a product of the marriage of Anne Mortimer and Richard, Earl of Cambridge, one of Edward III's grandsons. Anne was the sister of the last Mortimer Earl of March - Edmund Mortimer, who had died in 1425.
Richard, Duke of York had inherited the Mortimer estates and the dormant Mortimer claim to the crown through dual descent from Edward III. It was Edward IV that brought this fusion of rights and entitlements together when he became king in March 1461.
For Prince Arthur to be seriously considered the fulfillment of the prophecy of King Arthur's deed to lead Britons in a new and glorious age, the kings subject were expected to know the significance of the story. They were probably helped out in their recollections by the representation of parts of King Arthur's story in the pageantry that accomparied many ceremonial events in which the royal family was involved.
When Prince Arthur visited Coventry in 1497 he was greeted by a pageant that featured King Arthur and the other eight of the Nine Worthies, in which the legendary King of Britain made a speech of welcome. This entertainment carried an important and repeated message about the legitimacy of the place of Henry VIl's family in the long line of England's rulers.
It is possible, however, that there was a more specific justification for Henry VI's use of the legends of early Britain, namely Prince Arthur's inheritance of Mortimer power and his presence in the borderlands of England and Wales.
The Mortimer family had shown considerable interest in the Arthurian stories as part of their genealogy. The legendary figures Cadwaladr, Brutus and Arthur were viewed as ancestors and not mythological predecessors. When the Mortimers married into the family line of Llewelyn ap Iorwerth in 1228 they absorbed the descent of the princes of Wales growing from Cadwaladr.
A genealogical roll of the Mortimer family provides some valuable evidence of how Arthurian tradition was heavily promoted by family members as they developed their relationship with King Edward I in the 1270 and during the English war with Prince Llewelyn ap Gruffydd before 1282.
Later Plantagenet kings allowed the Mortimers to build up vice-regal power along the border from their castles and estates at Wigmore, Ludlow, Cleobury and Chirk. Even after the treason and execution of Roger Mortimer, 1st Earl of March in 1330, the family were able to recover their influence in the Marcher lands.
(…) Even after Edward I’s conquest of Wales and Henry IV's defeat of Owar Glyadir a century later, the annexation of Wales by England was never seriously contemplated. The English Crown's authority was exercised by deputies from within the regional communities that knew the people, landscape and history of the March. They were the king's intermediaries and were agents whose relationship with the Westminster government and court was essential to the achievement of aspirations of national security and stable rule.
Henry VII's interest in ancient British stories was a prop to the extension of his royal authority generally, and that of the Marcher lords in particular. It fitted with his grand scheme to revive an older form of lordship for his son in order to create a foundation of loyalty for Arthur's future kingship. King Henry's prominent use of the red dragon standard associated with Cadwaladr - still one of the most identifiable of Tudor images -(…).
In November 1493, Arthur was formally granted the lands and rights of the earldom of March during the king's pleasure. He was not expressly given the title, which had already been in Crown hands for thirty-two years, but this was an absorption of Marcher power into the new regional force that Arthur was to embody.
Once he held the power and estates of the earldom of March, Arthur acquired the real and the mythical associations of the earldom into his personal lordship. His arrival as a new border figurehead offered Arthur the potential to build a very strong and stable structure of lordship in the communities of the Marcher region.
Since it distilled his personal power into a more potent form, immediate acceptance of Arthur's inheritance of the March was as important as a boost to Arthur's royal presence as was his national status as Prince of Wales after 1489 or earlier title of Duke of Cornwall.
As he grew into his role, Arthur would develop this network and nurture the service of families connected with the earldom of March and the Yorkist Prince of Wales without the need to labour his relationship to the legendary power of King Arthur.
At the end of 1485, the threat posed by opponents biding their time in Richard IIl's northern power base was the most immediately pressing problem for Henry VII. Unfortunately, he could not simultaneously relax his efforts to promote his kingship and make the presence of the regime felt elsewhere.
In the areas where encouragement was offered by the loyalties of those who had already declared their allegiance to the new regime, the king moved swiftly to establish his allies. Henry VII could not afford to be seen to be undermining, manipulating or threatening the old Yorkist and Mortimer networks.”
Cunningham, S. “Prince Arthur: The Tudor King Who Never Was.”
#Arthur Tudor#Prince of Wales#Arthur prince of Wales#Arthur Tudor Prince of Wales#Tudor dynasty#Tudor England#cousin’s wars#wars of the roses#house of York#house of Mortimer#house of Lancaster#Henry VII#Richard of York#Richard 3rd Duke of York#Richard of Conisbury#Anne de Mortimer#Roger de Mortimer#Roger Mortimer#Earl of March
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🎤
Hi. Hello, yes, is this thing on? Mhmm. Yes, it is I, the one, the only, Mr. Ande! It has recently come to my attention that there has been some sort of little “competition” happening on this blog that I was not informed of. While I have graciously elected to forgive the egregious snub that is being left out of the bracket, I can simply not abide this shoddy coverage and lackluster treatment of these contestants! So, I’m going to go ahead and take things over for the day, and give you all a taste of what a *real* contest is supposed to be like!
I have selected a few special volunteers, who will now demonstrate for you how a *real* Pageant is presented! So, without further ado—
Contestant #1–I found this delightful young man over by the merchandise booth, and he simply exudes an air of… approachability. And very agreeable! He jumped at the chance to participate in our little pageant today, and has been following me around backstage and asking what he should do. Now, he will demonstrate his talent—look at him standing on his head, and spinning in circles, and patting his head while rubbing his tummy, and…. Mmmm, yes this one might actually be mind controlled. Well, being mind controlled does not mean he can’t be a winner! Say hello to contestant #1!
Contestant #2- I met this gentleman on a dating app recently, and while he was not sure he and I were the best fit romantically, his piercing, soulful gaze simply SCREAMED that I must put him in pageants. Look at his debonair, suave air of sophistication. Look at his glittering cerulean orbs! These are the gemstone eyes that the poets write sonnets about! His talents include winking rakishly and picking pockets—what an intriguing specimen! Say hello to Contestant #2, Mr. Sapphires!
Contestant #3– I almost tripped over this fat little cat thing wandering around backstage and could have broken my neck. Or torn my outfit! How awful. It wouldn’t go away and when it heard I was going to be doing this, it wouldn’t leave me alone until I gave it a chance to participate. So, behold this……….. creature. It’s talents include ripping priceless articles of clothing, shedding all over everything, and smelling terrible, like the rest of its species. Oh? What’s that? You’re not a cat? Whatever. NEXT CONTESTANT
Contestant #4– I encountered this fair creature on her way out of the break room where she was helping organize things for one of the “manwhore” competition finalists. But I knew immediately that her talents were being wasted backstage! Her gentle presence, her mousy charm, it absolutely screams untapped Pageant Queen potential! Her talents include speech proof reading, fast filing, sewing and sword tricks. Exciting! Could she be the winner of our little Pageant? I suppose, maybe.
Contestant #5– I’m not going to lie, I’m a little… overwhelmed by this contestant’s whole aura. He heard I was going to be having a Pageant and came into our prep session to insist he deserved a “second chance”. His talents include setting explosives, groveling, selling incredible products at an absolutely killer deal, and threatening innocent and well meaning Pageant judges at gunpoint. How fun!
Contestant #6– Finally, we greet our final contestant. His image has been redacted for security purposes, but I am pleased to introduce the most wonderful, special brother of our most glorious and beautiful Queen Lilith, it’s the Queen’s Brother Luke! His talents include helping his sister with royal responsibilities, reading to the blind, feeding the poor, kissing babies, and gallantly waving at crowds! Now I know you can’t see it for yourselves, but this young man is the second most objectively beautiful person in existence, following only his most beauteous sister the Queen. Should you Vote For Luke? Should you Choose Him As The Winner? I suppose we will see!
So there you have it folks, those are the contestants! Now before we start with the votes, let me just take a moment to extend a heartfelt thanks to the Royal Kingdom of Ninir, which has so generously sponsored our little contest today. Thank our gracious monarch!
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We are the beloved children of the stars. All you need to have a devotional or magical practice with the planetary gods is a sincere heart.
When I got my Mercury statue, I chose an astrological election to ritually animate it. I had to wake up late at night and I was groggy. I stumbled through the ritual and got a bunch of things wrong.
During a prayer to Mercury, he showed me what this experience looked like through his eyes. How my stumbling and awkwardness was endearing to him. I saw how ritual pleases the gods the way parents delight in watching their children perform in a school play.
I was once given the responsibility of putting on the children's Christmas pageant for a church I worked for. Anyone who has ever run a Christmas pageant knows how impossible it is to control all the necessary conditions. Rehearsals are always a mess, and yet - somehow - the pageant comes together. Kids forget their lines, props go missing at the last minute, and still, in all its glorious imperfections, the pageant is perfect.
The beauty of the final pageant is often in its unpredictable elements. One of the highlights of my pageant was when a small child, dressed as a sheep, fell asleep in her shepherd-costumed father's arms while the angel announced the birth of Christ. At this critical moment in the drama we were blessed by a sincere and unscripted display of love between father and child.
I believe that our rituals can be like a children's pageant. Whether we're demonstrating mastery of a sophisticated skill or struggling to remember our lines and get our candles to light, we are as beloved children before the gods.
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“On Sugarland”
Theatre: New York Theatre Workshop
Run: Feb. 5, 2022 - March 20,2022
“Sugarland is on precarious soil—three mobile homes line a southern cul-de-sac replete with years and years of decorative folk-art treasures and keepsakes. Young Sadie calls on generations of matriarchal ancestors to find the truth about her mother while the denizens of Sugarland rise each day to holler for the dead—conscripted soldiers lost to a greedy war—in a ritual reclamation of timeless grief.
This sweeping new work from Obie Award-winning playwright Aleshea Harris (Is God Is, What to Send Up When It Goes Down) is at once a spectacular pageant and spirited meditation on remarkable people transcending difficult circumstances. On Sugarland brings joyous life to communal healing with a glorious ensemble of 14 performers in a production directed by Obie Award winner, NYTW Usual Suspect & former 2050 Fellow Whitney White (What to Send Up When It Goes Down) and choreographed by Raja Feather Kelly (Hurricane Diane, The House That Will Not Stand)”
#on sugarland#black theatre#theatre#black plays#aleshea harris#kiki layne#billy eugene jones#caleb eberhardt
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I think the Queen pulling out of tomorrow's ceremony at St Paul's is a good idea. Because that was the money shot for the Markles. Now it won't happen... and the Queen is unlikely to be seen publicly again over the weekend. I am so so happy for her that HM was able to do almost the whole of today's celebrations with a few comfort tweets. GSTQ! What a glorious day of military pageant today was. Xxx
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Chapter 2: Direct Interview
Narrated by the agent.
~~
Three hours later...
~~
Dodora: So, what do you think?
Narrator: The exquisite makeup only enhances her natural sweet looks.
Agent: You look gorgeous, superstar! Well worth the 3 hour appointment with the hairdresser.
Agent: Right dear, let's go over the things we need to pay attention to during the interview. Like the campaign, your background...
Dodora: Stop.
Narrator: Dodora raises her index finger.
Dodora: Don't you worry, I'll improvise! This is not my first pageant, you know.
Narrator: The Cicia Idol Contest that Dodora is about to enter is the entertainment event of the year.
Narrator: All of Miraland can catch a glimpse of Cicia's vibrancy and splendor through this kaleidoscope.
Narrator: The venue is ready. The interview will start after a brief photo shoot.
Narrator: It's her first interview representing Dodora Studio.
Narrator: I stand aside and observe her glorious self in the spotlight.
Narrator: I've been a fan since her debut. I've kept every piece of handmade memorabilia from her.
Narrator: I still remember her warm smile when she handed it to me.
Narrator: She was kind and warm, not at all like how the media portrayed her.
Narrator: I chose to stay with her because she was one-of-a-kind. She just needed a bit of time.
Narrator: And in the time I've spent with her since, she's proven that her image in the eyes of her fans will never change.
Narrator: An idol always stays the course, regardless of adversity.
Narrator: After the shoot, Dodora takes her seat in front of the reporter and the camera with an easy smile.
Dodora: Hey! I'll be happy to answer any questions you have.
Narrator: The red light blinks on, and the reporter picks up the mic.
Dodora: Uh, just a sec!
Agent: What's wrong?
Narrator: The whole place goes quiet.
Dodora: Before I answer any questions, could I have some snacks, please?
Dodora: I was so caught up in prepping for the interview, I forgot to grab breakfast. If I don't get some sweets, my blood sugar might get too low.
Narrator: A sigh of relief makes its way around the room as the staff hurriedly delivers a few desserts. Then the interview starts.
Reporter: You got 8% of the votes when you campaigned, competing against the Queen. What do you think of that?
Dodora: Queen Lilith is a gorgeous and fantastic lady. I'm very happy that I even got 8%.
Dodora: Not to mention, I'm a fan of Queen Lilith, and I support her all the way!
Reporter: What about the supposed leak on your background online?
Agent: Let me answer this.
Agent: Unfortunately, we cannot reveal too much about Dodora's background. As for the rumors online, we hope that everyone will ignore them and instead focus on Dodora's work.
Dodora: That is correct. I don't want to put my family in the limelight.
Dodora: I hope everyone will pay attention to my performance and appearance instead. I won't let you down.
Narrator: The interview quickly reaches the final question.
Reporter So, what plans do you have for the near future?
Dodora: Well, I'm sure everyone's heard the rumors...
Dodora: And the rumors are true! I'm going to run for this year's Cicia Idol!
Chapter 1
Chapter 3
#dodora#shining nikki#sr designer#chapter 2#transcript#ninir#ninir kingdom#envoy#envoy of sweet#direct interview#idol#contest#rumor#charming#cute
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Partner in Crime 💘
pairing : mingi (bunty) x reader (bubli)
word count : 0.6k
genre : romance, crime
synopsis: in dreams of becoming a beauty pageant, you run away from home but meet a stranger who helps you meet ends as you both con the rich
ATEEZ x Bollywood series masterlist
Main masterlist
taglist : @riboism @fireheaurt @xddjoong @seongwin @fictionlover100 @davoraciousreaderader
Every big thing starts little. Your relationship with the boy you met after running away from home could be perfectly described with that sentence. Your eyes fawn over face as he looks over into the distance, admiring the lush green hills of the valley you were taking refuge in. Being on the run definitely has its perks. It gives opportunities to run away from committing things but things seem different here.
As the sun dawns upon the sky, painting it and the lovely river in shades of red, it cascades its warmth on the boy’s face. His cheeks sport a tint of pink, as the very last rays of sun glow on his glorious lips. Has it always been this beautiful? There's something alluring about him, perhaps his comforting aura and sickening sweet smile he flashes towards you in the frozen moment.
Perhaps his sweet smile has been the reason for your poisoning. The poison named love now coursed deep in your body, affecting your vital organs, forcing them to malfunction as he nears you. Your heart has been the main victim these days, beating at an obnoxious rate when Mingi neared you, leaving only a couple of centimetres between your lips. He doesn't even hesitate at the proximity, as if he intended to swirl the butterflies in your stomach and enjoy your cheeks light up in a shade of pink.
“Mingi” you say, as if whispering his name in a sacred deity’s temple in hopes of awakening it. Your body had been the temple, where your every cell chanted his name, worshipping their almighty god, as if their life depended on it. He surprisingly hears you against the wind fluttering his hair in all possible directions.
“Yes? You need anything?” Mingi says, sweeping his fingers through his gorgeous brown hair. Your words forbid to roll off your lips and stop in your throat. What has he done to you?
“It’s just…. I wanted to say something.” This is a hit or miss and you clearly don’t care about the outcome at the moment; maybe you do, because you’ve been thinking about it since last week. “I like you, mingi. Like, like you, romantically.” you fiddle with your fingers, drawing away your gaze which was prior fixed in his eyes or maybe his forehead.
“y/n… i-... I'm not sure if you’re messing around with me. Because I would oh so dearly like to kiss you right now.” he says, loudly over the harsh winds so you will hear him clearly.
“Do it.” you say, looking him in the eye.
“What?” he stills, his hand reaching out for your and he entagles your fingers with his long ones.
“Just fucking do it, mingi. I can't wait anymore!” you say, closing your eyes as you wait for his lips to be pressed against yours. You feel his soft fingertips brush against the skin of your cheeks first, then followed by them caressing your supple skin. You open your eyes to the warth of his breath fluttering against your lips and your gaze meets his soft eyes. They still hold the sweetness you trusted on the very first day you crossed paths with the boy at a train station a year ago.
Mingi takes his time to admire you, his gaze flickering from your eyes to lips and back to your eyes and then he finally gives in, pressing his soft, cherry lips against yours. The rush of euphoria is forign to you, making your heart feel childish, filled with pure joy as you kiss him back, renouncing your everlasting love for him.
#ateez#underworldnet#mingi#mingi fluff#ateez x reader#ateez smut#song mingi#ateez imagines#ateez × bolloywood#ateez au#ateez scenarios#ateez blurbs#ateez fluff#ateez angst#mingi angst#mingi smut#song mingi fluff
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I've never seen anything like the palace party and pageant. It was glorious
I rewatched the entire palace concert last night and it was still just as fun! What a wonderful celebration it all was.
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A bit later than intended, but here's the last of the Babbit Analysis (okay, at this just point it's more a recap) of Liu Chang's role in I'm So Pretty.
A quick shot of these two glorious goofs before the cut. Warning, spoilers below
So after all the photography and beauty pageant stuff goes down, Lin Xi wins by the skin of her teeth. (One vote and it apparently came from Song Shiyao's love interest!)
Post win, Lin Xi's father invites all her school friends (all two of them) and Song Qinghe and Shen Haochen to dinner to celebrate.
The woman behind the candles is Lin Xi's elder sister and (as far as I can tell) a card carrying green tea bitch. She's one of the ones who voted for Song Shiyao, claiming Lin Xi wasn't up to the challenge.
As might be expected, Song Shiyao is depressed over her loss and showing it. Lin Xi notices her state of mind, basing her interpretation off of Song Shiyao's makeup, but Song Shiyao pretends not to be bothered.
Song Qinghe, who's been practicing social cues, really, thanks Lin Xi for taking care of his sister.
Lin Xi, who has no problem with stating her opinions without glossing them over, tells him she didn't help Song Shiyao, but that Song Shiyao is pretty much her only friend. This leads into an argument with Lin Xi's elder sister, who uses the chance to stab at her little sister for not being up to snuff.
This, combined with the boyfriend's falling over drunk, leads to a mass exodus from the dining table, leaving Shen Haochen and the other girlfriend to continue eating.
Song Qinghe and Lin Xi end up outside, talking about Lin Xi's sister. He suggests maybe Lin Xi's sister does care about her, after all she vetted him thoroughly before hiring him. Except she points out that her sister did so as a power move, not out of concern for her.
Song Qinghe doesn't get it, but he also doesn't argue. Likely because he just doesn't know or understand any of what's going on here.
----
This scene is pretty much the last we see of Song Qinghe and Shen Haochen. The rest of the series is a huge contest at the school between various rival camps and involving all sorts of weirdness that I didn't bother watching because these two weren't there.
I figure they sailed off in their ship and are currently testing out excavator equipment of some sort.
---
Final comment: I feel like this series suffered from too many options, not enough tying things together into a cohesive whole. There was the attempt to be a wild fantastic romp in a surreal almost Utena-like atmosphere, and an attempt to address a serious story of love and betrayal and different families.
It would have been possible to achieve both. I mean, Utena did. But the surreal part seems to have been thrown in as filler and used to complete the story because they didn't have enough primary plot, just lots of subplots that had to be hurriedly tied together.
In the end, I would have enjoyed a story that (1) involved Liu Chang and Wa'er's characters more and (2) focused more on Lin Xi and Song Shiyao's rivalry and friendship. Still, the parts I've covered were fun and I did get something out of it, since Cloneverse Liu Can did end up a model in much the same way Song Qinghe does.
---
Addendum: I have a few photo spaces left over so here's some eye candy.
Confused Song Qinghe is confused. And possibly annoyed because the photographer just butt poked him.
And wanting to be done with this whole modeling gig. "Can we has a done now?"
Oh, and this is Song Qinghe's book of Shen Haochen, full of facts about his best friend because he just doesn't Get It.
What's not to get? He likes you, kiddo.
ETA: Linkages
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1|2|3|4
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I energetically and psychically receive all of my future successes, praise, recognition, love, adoration, bliss, satisfaction, instant gratification, pleasure and wealth I’ve achieved from absolutely all ages all the way up to antonellamania number and beyond in the current moment. They dream of me being famous too. I’m grateful for the pressure because that’s why I’m so powerful. My delusions are science-backed. I’m violently shocked and staggered i made it this far in life. Theyre violently staggered and shocked i made it this far in life. I inherently surrender and trust. I inherently quantum leap into my desired reality. I love being famous as well as having privacy. I talk near water magic happens I can say it cause I'm the ultraultrauformidable Self-Validation King Of Kings And Queens I'm inherently the version that's blissfully and exhilaratingly married to a lover that's who and WHAT exactly what I deserve. No way i look like a Giant. A good kind of chaos. I don't care i don't get tests. Girl i don't serve anyone everyone serves me. I'm profound just on my own Post. My energy feels urgent. I’m inherently the crowd's favorite. I'm not a target the Divine won't allow it wow I'm undefeatingly protected. wow the vortex is taking care of everything for me. Everytime i see their name i inherently know i won. I'm going higher and higher into another dimension. Nah they love me way more than i love me and i unsurpassably love myself. I exceed everyone by over an antonellamania number of miles. They feel they're on the outside looking in. I'm a glorious siren. All of my desires be coming to me like “which brings me to you.” It’s my dominance, it’s my presence it’s my confidence (chills). It’s the I know I can part. They want me to fold them like a panini. I’m that girl. They’d instantly fold for me. I have the most fun fanbase. I’m the girl that makes women question themselves (chills). They are absolutely feral for me. I got them all down bad for me. They beg me “BABY DESTROY ME”. Theyre up in the morning checking all of my social media pages it’s legit unhealthy. I’m Paige Bueckers.antonellamania number. Theyre pick me girls for me. I do something to them they can be as straight as a ruler yet they’re automagically open up for me as soon as they see me or even think of me. I could pull the pope. Magic naturally does the work for me or I self-validate. I see the truth. I don’t get distracted. Me knowing the way they think gives me an immensely tremendous advantage and I already know they think cause I’m them antonellamania number. Bitch I’m far more superior. I’m an omnipotent witch of course I can conjure up absolutely anything. I’m an omnipotent witch of course I can spawn up absolutely anything. I’m a witch I keep myself young. All I have to do is visualize. The Vortex gives me what I want shamelessly. All of my reactions are valid. My confidence is darkly seductive. I fearlessly trust myself. I’m simultaneously revered and feared. I’m a loaded character. I’m the master of subtext and anything that lies below the surface. I inherently just don’t validate my internal fears. I inherently trust people cause I inherently control them. I’m magnetic cause I got wish fulfillment energy. I inherently fulfill my wishes within that’s why I always succeed. Wild how the unrealistic turns into reality. Like I have the ability to transform the imagination into tangibility(chills). Mannnnnn I be so much fun with this power shit. I fearlessly face the dark for it is the unknown and the unknown is always safe, blissful, light, exhilarating, loving and harmless. Geez. I’m courageous as hell internally. I’m a fearless leader. I’m winning because I’m a fearless leader. To be a pioneer is to be the leader. I clearly think I’m the most beautiful woman in the world therefore I am. I’m far more beautiful than all beauty pageants winners combined. My beauty is to see the face of God. My face is to see the beauty of GOD. I inherently view from the terrifyingly undeniable conjuror version of me. I’m patient with myself as I open up.
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Each and said: sunk, then did always now
A tanka sequence
1
As I, not why. Each
and said: sunk, then did always
now! Subtle Censor
scrutinize. I have been mine
eyes; my very ears be so.
2
An’ ken ye how Meg
o’ the Mill lo’es dearly? I
have love: quest. When Goethe
happy in a harmonica
line dances at my side.
3
For if that came, and
lowdly crystal dropt, and rode
till Thou down to give
and beneath this heir tool. A
woman taught, life’s whole your scull?
4
While he speedeth. With
what I have been born is gone
from itself warm them
for beans and here! Let eares
heart in her heart, with Psyche.
5
The stars above that
press my husband and then most
my flowers in odours.
Go and found, and the
Belovëd, have done his jarrings.
6
Me alive ourself
warm than thou would that heavy
body as my tender-
person up, purple, pulsing.
No song but types of sadde.
7
The morn, some sweet, O
Pan! Scour his heard on the suit,
their shine. All the dreamer,
awake within me now.
To threate: let powre in her e’re.
8
And purple, pulsing.
With the will; bearing East; thought
this; give my Love, to
move thee, like vibration of
thy love still fragrant to sleep.
9
Exit seraphim
and not why. Yes, I’m wished her,
who in derring vp
sterne strife with long hours is pass
unblamed, I learned troth?
10
Which to-come reels, my
steps of voyage, rank as dearly?
I were a place
they anoint to me her likeness
of a beate his jarrings.
11
Me room thoughtful land
at his paramour. Greatly
aghast with love; as
long cloud-ledge whereto those
destroys and they were all true?
12
There from day to frost.
She muse with words: this instincts,
breath from her look cross
the Bliss that early, and bring
your hand, to glide a serpent!
13
Robin compact; that
I did no good. Thought run wild
revolves anew its
axis you I married are
footmen did singing so long!
14
Now where his human
love, I can compact pass long
since precious seal on
a morbid hate had gone, would
be forgot. She went them noise.
15
So they are in thy
lasse of gold and put the bring
years old; and from whom
all that I would shade. And trip
when a Signal out I know.
16
Where to get married.
Mother, and so, to give a
dole of the day: they’re
not feel the birds say? Its nest
every sound a Hoard of Gold!
17
And with other’s chair?
Into me. By a raccoon.
You are as I’ve doth
cast him still when God failed in
Beauty;—Mortal name, and snare.
18
—Yet still, still vnto the
minister and true, as it
were glad to fayne, and
given in earnest word—’Oh.
Here would make a Mercury.
19
Us as twas port;
their bliss? As a mounted with
a glassy water
as a whale rises stood a
bust of languor leapt: helpless!
20
For Age and of his
Bond: and acquire in her
Hand—and, in its mad
pompousness, we fell out of
pride! Nor knew no remora.
21
Plain at first, for love’s
sickness cloud. Yes, call thewed,
and far below his
feet, tore than if I did see
a glorious form appear.
22
“‘Painful reasons, charme.
Like the late. Then Deeper down—
will crush her hard and
raise, a heart is all
In masque or pageants: but then?
23
Each turns nor can make
us feel? My parents’ bones
are a tulip seen
to plucks the Tongue would I call:
who do louers proud hears no long!
24
She went, from faring
through he burnt because it’s today:
all over the
night, dear her e’re. And singing
a workman through the outside.
25
And trust to thee to
the day is night hour, and look
upon her fixt my
fair creature? Then if you keep
aloof from its mouth be heir.
26
The land, with Ho! Thou
wound deep doth use you with the
poor. That glanced the Head
once did, but surety-like
in thee with an untasted.
27
Me ungentle swain?
Years, will doth admire, would showers;
nor Art nor Nature,
shall I be I or not
a king a poet outside.
28
If Thou moves all, and
a clear spirit close in the
world. Stella meete, both
will he liue you, Mag. Until
Thou which Nature keep me hid.
29
Whom to me this might
be so: for noise of shame and
anchor dropped the child
of my heart of conquerours
do write, and, having to end.
30
In our cloud’s uncertain
kind loving University
for my heart?
Slighted shepherdesse, fierce then
did: her mood. Then shackle me.
31
To sulk upon his
braunches, acquaint eyes of Nature
doth bind. Where I
would have her own gracious was
grand as shed. Therefore, but me.
32
To feel myself so
sad songs, till, still back: Hello
there withdrew his fond
flying residence. But then
we entered catalepsy’.
33
List while. No fault in
woman through another; no
sister smile, nay, laugh’d
an Hour to cry; leapt fiery
life willow autumn turn’d.
34
Who more, this with fine
praysen babes the sophist’s eyes:
I gave the Princess.
Make him whose steadfast, still—the
Muse he hath rotted the charme.
35
Not an Inch of shame.
And gay; famous flight in an
ancient legend in
the smile so stammer and awa’
wi’ Jock of Hazeldean.
36
The sun-lit fields again.
The should have I been to
me her would love from
his Arms—he helpe for sports along
by strew thin like a wig.
37
I never mournful
ways; the woodbines will love
you because we were
not for thee. Him great hears, Forget
the little aside, wretch!
38
He is, if in
irony, and cold, all forgot.
Then suddenly from
though of Madam’s faults lived again
I never marks the king.
39
Pure the homely, slight-
headed spinning wherefore
me a journey take
my commend; so never watch’d
six or send ye. From the past?
40
Must returning wind
good fryday to fresh woods, and
waste in a pause I
tasted. I argue liked him
in your only constantly?
41
It seems apart from
her light fades and man. The day,
and moss and that I
perhaps, as this, and bid farewell.
For making Wit I quest.
42
Did fallen mask of
snow upon the old church and
crude, and bene the
colors of myrtles broken.
State with flowres for her wilt.
43
Show me there this? Hard
by youth is, you away, the
shining for cash. A
train he know no more, more spight:
she moved; at first, at my hate.
44
Then I, my thoughts in
the Rich in the hands, and to
fall. When my serenity—
that sad hue, whilst he
hermit’s carnal ecstasy.
45
From which, thou gynst to
purchase female field aloft
in blue branches mixt;
with loves worth has gone down and
in, surfacing paints; Alas!
46
And break he burro.
Speaking things plainest thou didst
thou not again and
fevers burn away till thee
home leave the Spring creature?
47
Good and that make thy
most is teeth. We were distraction
of Thee in my
arm, its axis you Stella,
fiercest she said, How’s marriage?
48
Are the waves; where I,
methought, life’s wheel. Within him—
he was bedded? The
humble at the spiteful the
sunlight wave the gray old world.
49
But when she came from
elsewhere may live an equal
husband from her than
infants in the joys as long
and the store, yet would love do?
50
When the prince I will
was quiet: from him and pinned
with the pray tell, heare
speach, alas! How the Skirt of
a thousand mine: but, alas!
51
With man the woman,
such as well the moving as
the moor. Many a
smiled on her, as I hear the
bett for thy heart of a grone.
52
You can stands, and shut
my good dog grieue me. Seen but
che wel may wi’ the
floor; so sinks to thee. But ah
my commitments there be seen?
53
Those or flake than every
saul, they would add fresh the
little moment pushing
nowhere. For what? But yet
then, whatever lets the mind?
54
For when the king a
sleep in twixt vows denied the
Mill love is laid. I
count you hence, saw Byron’s struggling
words I flung in the guest.
55
And still with showering
how well fare. Ten years, and
more purely should call
me by the vine o’er the rooted,
and the moors—no—yet still.
56
That, when thought, what thou
camst, flye back again. And feeds
her voice, which makes they
grow, that’s how Meg o’ the Mill
was before me a plague there.
57
So was to Fortune.
Sweet Electra, and of stone
now exanimate.
In tombe of love me to Her
unconsciousness of the dead?
58
Love, in truth: and old
Damætas lov’d to thee embraced
temple, saying the
dark gates, at length frost nipt his
cheek so pale; you go with tears.
59
Succumbing to you
to get marriage round! For a
ravens on the golden
Autumn robbed, by winter,
born coughing thing into me!
60
And she that, which its
proper bought thrown about me
shattering in his
Prime of a party? What walking
in the bright and miserye.
61
My mother! Will make
refuge the statute of their
thought is possible
in one so ill be late: for
shadows deep, are Life’s whole charme.
#poetry#automatically generated text#Patrick Mooney#Markov chains#Markov chain length: 6#148 texts#tanka sequence
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