#white people are and how individualism runs deep in our culture

[inklores]

miguel o'hara── a study in security

it's really funny how most of my finals this quarter have me reading so many pieces that relate with the fics i'm writing and the characters i have brainrot over. i'm reading chapter 6 of eva illouz's book, "why love hurts," and the section about how love and security can't always co-exist hit me... because that is exactly how miguel o'hara regulates his life and shapes his influence within the spider-society.

"Security is often seen as incompatible with passion, or even as leading to its demise. But I would argue that this need for “security” and/or for “adventure” is not an invariant constituent of the psyche; or if it is, then security and adventure take on changing shapes in different cultural structures. They are also outcomes of the social organization of the psyche. Security derives from the capacity to control and to predict one’s environment; adventure, by contrast, derives from feeling challenged, either in one’s social identity or in the ways in which one knows how to do things." (Illouz, 219).

rewatching atsv and i notice just how locked and authoritative miguel runs his facility. micromanaged down to the knick-knacks hobie swipes. the differences in lighting and color theory with how miles & the gang associate with different spider-people, being lit in white and warm shades... then we meet miguel and he is in pitch dark with reddish and deep blue undertones. his character design is similar to the spot, where the sketch design is still visible amidst the rendering and coloring. this color palette carries with him and it sucks all his interactions in with it. from berating gwen after miles escapes to watching archival footage of his daughter, it's so deeply rooted that breaking out of that sphere will quite literally destroy what little he already has left and what he managed to preserve.

the man is STRESSED. we see that from his design to his dialogue. he believes he is single-handedly keeping the multiverse together and he expresses it multiple times. he thinks he can't have comfort and duty at the same time, believing that is what it means to be spider-man. it takes away his humor too, pointed out by peter b. when he says all spider-men are supposed to be funny. the only time he really shows any sort of wit is when he interacts with lyla and maybe jess, but even then, it's so dry and sarcastic. (save his interaction with baby mayday bc that man is also a father.)

but he's "okay" with this great responsibility. this is his security because it's what he's able to control when once, he wasn't able to control anything and it left him so badly wounded that it isolated any possibility of change or evolution for the order of things. when miles left, he shouted, "ALL HE HAD TO DO WAS LISTEN!" and then a softer, almost baffled and frustrated, "why didn't he listen...?"

illouz talks about how visual stimulations or even the presence of something we can hear or see can shape or crush the way we look at ourselves.

Research on the impact of media images on how individuals perceive their bodies suggests that images of perfect bodies have negative effects on self-esteem and self-concept because watching these images suggests to people both that others can achieve them more easily (competitiveness) and that others view them as important (normative legitimacy). Media images thus become a source of disappointment through the implicit mediation of what we think they say about others’ expectations of us and about their achievements compared to ours. Widespread images of love may instill ideas that others achieve love when we do not, and that achieving love is normatively important for successful life. (Illouz, 220).

hobie mentioned it before we officially meet miguel. he says miles seemingly has it alright with his parents and stable family life. and someone like miguel, who keeps a watchful eye over everything that goes on with spidermen, knows that. and he's jealous of it, i would argue. he believes as spider-man, there is a required sacrifice or weight of loss to carry.

while it is a very recurring trope with every iteration of spider-man that's been watched or read, miles has felt loss and loneliness. but he hasn't felt it in the way miguel has because what miguel went through is so singular and unique to him. the only ones who may understand what that would feel like would be gwen or even pav, seeing their dimension and/or livelihood beginning to crumble.

but miles has everything... and is also spider-man and i just know that burns miguel. it's not what he believes should be the order of the "spider-man journey," even though happiness and responsibility can and has worked together. example, peter b. and his daughter.

it's inconceivable for miguel to think something or someone can deny him or run the other way. because everyone is primed to understand that it's his way or quite literally, the destruction of everything. nobody can suggest another way. nobody can say no. aside from the doomsday vibes, miguel is also objectively scary when he’s genuinely angry. not even irritated or annoyed. irate. he’s also colossal. he’s mr. property damage. this need for control and this ability to maintain it under his thumb fuels his antagonistic relationship with anomalies or things he sees as a threat to his security. he doesn't like to be challenged, he likes to be listened to because he knows how the multiverse works and what can come out of it if even a single spider-person has a foot out of line.

and with all the hints left over at the end of the film of how miguel may be wrong, that there is a way to fix the multiverse while protecting the people they love, there will be some serious fractures to his security and everything will open up once again.

#⁎⋆ ꙳✧∘ gena talks ! #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara #spiderman: into the spiderverse #spiderman: across the spiderverse #atsv #across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099

[studioahead]

Gallery Spotlight: Aida Jones

We at Studio AHEAD are excited to announce our latest exhibition, The Lily Too Shall Function, on display at The Jones Institute and the Minnesota Street Project starting November 3. As a sneak peak, we spoke this month with Aïda Jones, founder of The Jones Institute, who shared with us the history of the home gallery, a few thoughts on our show, and what San Francisco was like in the 1990s.

Studio AHEAD: The first striking thing about the Jones Institute is that it is run out of your living room. Can you share with us the history of how this came to be?

Aïda Jones: Impulse was the catalyst. An artist friend was forlorn after being rejected by a gallery and, instinctively, I responded, “I’ll have a show for you.”

It was a leap of faith where Matt Dick, Ruth Kneass, Tjarn Sato, Fletcher, Anton Stuebner, Michael Lee, Wendy Norris, Regina Tsasis, and many many others, generously helped transform my living room into The Jones Institute.

Studio AHEAD: Were there other contexts?

Aïda Jones: The home is the original gallery. We still visit homes—the Uffizi, the Louvre, the Frick—that are now museums. The Walker Art Center in Minneapolis began in TB Walker’s home in the late 19th century and in New York in the 50s, Leo Castelli converted his living room into his first gallery. The New York Times had a wonderful article about apartment galleries a few years back.

Studio AHEAD: Perhaps 500 Capp is San Francisco’s most famous example. Who were your guiding lights in setting this up?

Aïda Jones: I love the idea of shaping culture from the fringes. Of bringing a traditional and formal construct into the domestic space.

Guiding lights are everywhere. Walk out your door and you’ll find thousands of inspirations: the drunk at the wharf, everything in Chinatown, the dahlias in the park, the art in the TL, vendors in the Mission, the cook at Red’s, the amateur opera singer next door rehearsing.

Studio AHEAD: What sort of advantages does this… let’s say DIY approach… bring?

Aïda Jones: Let's not say DIY.

Studio AHEAD: Then what would you call it? Certainly the space itself affects how people view the art.

Aïda Jones: If we have to label it, maybe call it an alternative space. And you’re right, space absolutely affects how people view art. It permeates every bit of their experience. When art is in a home, the sense of place opens them up—the art itself changes the space, it’s a symbiotic relationship you won’t have within the white box. And The Jones Institute is not a commercial place so most people find communing with art is different.

Studio AHEAD: Tell us about a recent exhibition from curator Shirley Watts. Would this be a show a more mainstream gallery could put on?

Aïda Jones: Yes and no. While individually the artists from that show (Gail Wright and Megan Gafford, for example) are exhibited in mainstream galleries, the whole of Altered States would have been impossible. Where else could you sit in a backyard, listening to an audio performance of a brain dissection (Erica van Loon) after taking in Megan Gafford’s irradiated daisies and an Erin Espelie RGB video in the main gallery?

Studio AHEAD: Nowhere else! How does our show, The Lily Too Shall Function, fit into this?

Aïda Jones: The Lily Too Shall Function, being guest curated by Homan and Elena, feels very connected to our programming. First, they chose three Northern California artists among the cohort we choose to exhibit here; and second, they are working their distinct point of view within the domestic space, marrying art with how we live. Very much in our founding ethos. We also have a deep belief in sharing the artistic process, so screening a film of the artists at our satellite location in Minnesota Street Project just makes sense.

Studio AHEAD: You and Homan were speaking off-the-record about the 1990s, on which there is currently a lot of nostalgia in mainstream American culture. What elements of the 90s would you like to see transplanted into the 2020s?

Aïda Jones: This is specific to San Francisco where we are on the edge of the world. The experimentation, the casual spontaneity, the lack of preciousness and belief you could do anything.

In the 90s, I founded AvidFan, a theatre company, and when I cast two actors (who were also female) in The Zoo Story and then True West—this to the New York Times was radical, but in San Francisco, no one blinked.

It happened because of this place as it existed then. The space and freedom. The whole Bay was wide open with possibility (and low rents!). Such amazing support for artists, from studios and rehearsal spaces for musicians, filmmakers, comedians, photographers, spoken word poets, writers, hip-hop/modern/ballet dancers to performance venues and theaters (& a cowboy store on Valencia), many underground & well-known support structures like Film Arts Foundation, New Langton Arts, New College, and so many others.

For a peek into that era see the New Yorker article of the photographer Chloe Sherman’s Renegades (and then buy the book).

Studio AHEAD: What aspect of the 2020s would you have liked to see back in the 90s?

Aïda Jones: The lovely, well-kept city parks. The absence of lingerie shows in downtown bars.

Studio AHEAD: We like to end with some cultural spaces/people in Northern California you’d like to shed light on.

Aïda Jones: Aside from each and every artist I've shown?

Studio AHEAD: Yes.

Aïda Jones: Here is an incomplete list: Aimee Sioux, Reed Awakening, TamaOne, The Farm Stand Art & Music program, Stud Country Queer Line Dancing, Slash Art, For You, the Bolinas Museum, African American Cultural Center, Dancers' Group, Auntie Charlie’s, Werkshack, CCSF Film Department, Arborica, the promise of a NorCal Pacific Standard Time, Catholic Charities’ homeless family shelters, Canyon Cinema, the Bay View Newspaper, Everything the band, Albert Lee, Natural Discourse, NAID, Cushion Works, Lynette Betancur, Donald Guravich, Rachel Marino, the new extension of trails in Marin’s redwood preserve, Originals Vinyl, Li Po, Artists Television Access, CounterPulse, RCA Beach, Day Moon Bread, whatever Natasha Boas is up to, 120710 in Berkeley, Winslow House…

Studio AHEAD: Thank you!

Photos by Ekaterina Izmestieva

#studioahead #northern california #thejonesinstitue #san francisco #art #gallery #art collection

[akaraboonline]

Signs Your Soulmate Is Thinking Of You

You're fortunate to have found someone with whom you connect like no other. You're on the same wavelength, you're each other's lifeline, and you adore them beyond words. Even when you're not together, they're on your mind all the time, and you can't wait to see them again. They're almost certainly the same, but how do you know? Here are some indications that your soulmate is thinking of you.

What Is A Soulmate?

We frequently express a desire to find or describe our soulmate. But what exactly does "soulmate" mean? While the details vary depending on the individual, a soulmate is someone with whom you share a deep, unbreakable, and often unexplainable bond. While soulmates are romantic for many people, they are not required. A best friend, parent, or sibling can fill this role. In either case, your connection with this person will be intense and unlike any other relationship you have.

Signs Your Soulmate Is Thinking Of You

You can’t stop thinking about them. Just because someone is on your mind doesn't mean they're on yours. A soulmate connection, on the other hand, is so strong that they could be popping into your mind because you're in theirs. Sometimes it just works like that. You have the urge to smile for no reason. You're just going about your business as usual. Maybe you're at work, or maybe you're doing some housework. You're not in a bad mood, but you're also not overjoyed. Then, out of nowhere, you start smiling like an idiot for no apparent reason. That is one of the indications that your soulmate is thinking of you. You could feel it, and it made you happy. You had a dream about them. When you have a dream about someone, it usually means that they are on your mind or in your heart in some way. It can also be used to demonstrate your two of you're strong bond. They're probably thinking about you wherever they are, and it's getting through to your subconscious. You feel a presence or touch. This is one of the most obvious signs that your soulmate is thinking of you. That almost ghostly touch (but not in a creepy way) is them reaching out to you emotionally and psychically. You're so present in their minds that it transcends space and time. Isn't that amazing? They suddenly pop into your head. You obviously think about them a lot. However, if you're otherwise distracted and then suddenly see them, there could be a reason. You most likely entered their minds as well. You're most likely thinking about each other at the same time. You’re sneezing all the time. An itchy nose, according to some Asian cultures, indicates that someone is thinking about you. As a result, if you sneeze frequently — more than once or twice in a row — this is likely one of the signs your soulmate is thinking of you. You just never know! You hear from them as soon as they pop into your head. You get a text or a phone call from them as soon as you think of them. Isn't that strange? Actually, it's not that strange. In reality, it's just another sign that your soulmate is thinking of you. You're completely on the same page, and this is an excellent example. You’re suddenly full of energy out of nowhere. Even if you're exhausted or feeling run down, a sudden burst of energy means something. It's also not the sixth shot of espresso you just had. It's your soulmate missing you and thinking about you. They're directing their energy toward you. You get goosebumps but it’s not cold. Again, it's as if there's a presence in the room. You shiver as if a ghost has entered the room. That's another indication of your psychic connection to your soulmate. It demonstrates how deeply you are connected. You come across white feathers wherever you go. Many people believe that white feathers indicate that your soulmate is nearby or is thinking of you. If you keep running into them, it's natural to interpret this as a special sign between you and your person. You could be correct as well. “Your” song comes on the radio. You rarely listen to the radio, but you decide to turn it on in the car one day. As soon as you turn on the radio, a special song you share with your soulmate plays. It's far too random to be a coincidence. It has to mean that something special is going on between you and them. You swear you can hear their voice even though you know they’re not around. This is yet another obvious sign that your soulmate is thinking of you. You know they're not there and it can't be them, but you swear you heard their voice. How is that even possible? It's just a soulmate bond. You see love everywhere you go. You can't help but be hypersensitive to love everywhere you go since meeting your soulmate. Is this how it has always been, or are you only now noticing it? Love is all around us, and it's intense, powerful, and incredibly moving. It's strange how obvious it is now. You have the sudden desire to be the best possible version of yourself. You're always striving to improve yourself, but you're suddenly inspired to pursue your wildest ambitions. That could be because your soulmate motivates you. They believe in you and are your biggest supporter. That is extremely encouraging. Read the full article

[daisyshah2019]

Happiness and Success: Are They Mutually Exclusive?

Which one comes first - happiness or success? Unfortunately, there really isn’t a straightforward answer to this question. We have been moulded into a culture that makes us assume that happiness and success cannot happen simultaneously and one must come first before the other but is that accurate?

Take a look at hustle culture. Hustling makes us believe that in order to be successful, you must leave behind the pleasures of life that distract you from your work. Also, think about what you’ve believed since you were a child. We’ve grown up thinking that if we have a good education and we study hard to land a respectable job that gives us success and wealth, we will eventually achieve happiness. These ideas have told us that we can only choose one or the other or it’s a sequential progression where one must come first before the other.

However, things are getting interesting ever since the pandemic because we’re seeing a shift in people’s priorities and this is apparent from the Great Resignation. Instead of wealth, money and success, our society is prioritising a better quality of life through work-life balance. People are quitting their jobs because their work environment is not prioritising their well-being. On average, every 8 in 10 Singaporeans believe that physical health and mental health are both equally important for their well-being, which hustle culture tends to neglect. So maybe success is not the answer to happiness after all?

In all honesty, happiness and success are not black and white - they are nuanced concepts. What if happiness and success are closely linked and not just two separate ideas? Let’s take a deep dive into understanding the two and how you can take the steps to achieve personal excellence through both happiness and success.

Defining Happiness

While happiness is complicated to define, you can describe it as a subjective positive emotional state of an individual. What makes each of us happy is also a very personal and subjective discussion but psychology splits happiness into two scopes: ‘Hedonic Happiness’ and ‘Eudaimonic Happiness’.

Hedonic happiness is about maximising pleasure and enjoyment while avoiding negative experiences or emotions like anger, sadness and stress. For example, some may turn to purchasing material items, socialising with friends or going on a vacation to increase their happiness. A hedonic approach to happiness focuses on having fun and leaves out boring or painful tasks. However, some may argue that hedonic happiness is not successful in improving one’s well-being as these pleasures can lead to detrimental circumstances like alcohol or drug abuse. Hedonic happiness is able to give fleeting pleasures but could also lead to consequences that decrease your overall well-being.

While hedonic happiness can achieve momentary pleasure, eudaimonic happiness focuses on long-term well-being and refers to the pursuit of self-fulfilment and the realisation of your full potential. To achieve eudaimonic happiness, you have to find meaning and purpose in what you do whether it’s at your job or volunteering to help others. When you live according to your virtues, it’s argued to maximise your well-being in the long run.

The idea that work or success is linked to our happiness and well-being comes from the eudaimonic concept of happiness. Research shows that work and effort are fundamental to eudaimonic happiness and the pride you feel in accomplishing goals adds to it. Though hedonic happiness is critical for mental and physical health, studies show that too much leisure can do more harm than good. A recent study showed that an individual’s subjective well-being begins to drop if they have free time of more than 5 hours in a day.

While research has found that most people prefer a lifestyle guided by hedonic happiness, many also agree that both types of happiness are needed to improve your well-being as they tap into different areas of positive emotions.

 Linking Success and Happiness

Is success the reason for your happiness or are you succeeding because you are happy? Psychologists have been pursuing this question for a long time and have discovered a counterintuitive link between the two.

Paul Lester, associate professor of management at the Naval Postgraduate School said “High negative feelings interfere with good performance, and high optimism predicts greater odds of superior work performance.” He also added, “Happiness could give you a greater chance of being successful. Skills, knowledge, ability—all of that matters greatly. And we’re not saying that happiness is more important than all of those other things. We are showing that happiness is a measurable predictor of performance.”

These research findings show that happiness does impact success. While studies have shown that people who were considered unhappy also earned rewards for their performance, their achievement rate was less compared to those who were happy.

Moreover, positive psychologist Michelle Gielan and researcher Shawn Achor also found that optimists are more likely to be promoted the following year compared to their peers. They are six times more engaged and motivated in their work and five times less likely to experience burnout.

When happiness is the cause of success in the workplace and in our everyday lives, it’s time to start focusing on our well-being. As leaders, we need to prioritise psychological safety in the workplace for our team to thrive, feel fulfilled and reach success. In our day-to-day lives, we can also take steps to improve our well-being, which can boost our overall happiness.

INSIDER INFO: Our EQ for Team Excellence workshop teaches leaders to create a safe environment for functional and high performing teams. The course taps into your values to build aligned objectives and motivated members that add value to meetings and discussions.

 Martin Seligman’s well-being theory of PERMA

Known for his theories of positive psychology and well-being, Martin Seligman has dissolved the term happiness into more workable terms. According to him, happiness has a core deeper than what appears on the front. The focus should not be on achieving happiness but on overall well-being.

There are five building blocks that increase well-being denoted by the mnemonic PERMA.

●     Positive Emotions

●     Engagement

●     Relationships

●     Meaning

●     Accomplishment

Increasing Positive Emotions: Described earlier as the hedonic concept of happiness, this route of well-being is about increasing positive emotions. Some ways to increase positive emotions are to spend time with your friends or even take up a hobby that you like. However, there is a limit to which a person can experience positive emotions and thus this way of achieving well-being has some constraints.

Engaging in something you love: Engagement requires you to put your strengths and attention into one single task. This produces the idea of “flow” where you do an activity because you find joy in it and not for a reward. You can experience “flow” if your skills are effectively used for a challenging activity and when you’re engaging in this activity, you are fully absorbed in the moment and self-awareness disappears. There are many activities that can make you fully engaged depending on your interests and skills. Some examples are reading a book, gardening or even just having an engaging conversation with someone.

Relationships with others: It’s no doubt that humans are social beings and we tend to rely on others for love and support. Well-being is amplified through our relationships whether you’re laughing with your friends or sharing your successes with your partner. Isolating yourself can be detrimental and creates a decline in mental and emotional health. Building connections with others can also give you meaning and purpose in life. You can build relationships by showing kindness to your friends or even just getting in touch with people you haven’t spoken to in a while.

Deeper Meaning of life: You hear about people searching for their meaning in life and this purpose usually goes beyond serving yourself and instead, works towards something that is bigger than the self. Having a purpose can ground you and motivate you to push through challenging times. You can find meaning in different aspects such as your profession, fighting for social causes or even spiritual beliefs. While it may take some time for you to discover your personal purpose in life, it is reported that those that live their lives with meaning have greater life satisfaction and lesser health issues.

Accomplishments & achievements: You may feel a sense of accomplishment when you reach your goals and this improves your well-being because you’re proud of yourself for the hard work you’ve put in. While accomplishment does require perseverance and passion, improving your well-being includes working towards your goals for personal excellence and growth instead of superficial reasons like monetary rewards.

INSIDER INFO: flowprofiler® covers different dimensions of assessments including motivation and resilience to help you maintain a positive mindset and feel energised by purpose.

 “The happiness of your life depends upon the quality of your thoughts.” ~ Marcus Aurelius

 The Negativity Bias

You’ve learnt ways to improve happiness and well-being but what if you find a tiny voice in your head that focuses on the negatives instead of allowing you to enjoy your happiness? This is called the negative bias where our brains are always on the lookout for threats, which also builds a wall against positive thinking and happiness. When you’re constantly thinking about what could go wrong, it builds stress and anxiety, lowering your mental and emotional well-being. A solution to the negative bias is building an optimistic mindset that can destroy the pessimistic thoughts that are clouding your happiness.

How can you achieve optimistic thinking?

Some may regard optimism as being idealistic but that can lead to toxic positivity. Instead, optimistic thinking is about being rational yet positive. Here are some ways you can adopt rational optimism whenever you feel doubtful about your happiness.

Count gratitudes: We’re all thankful for certain things in our lives but we seldom pay attention to them. We can get so focused on our negative emotions that we forget about the positives of life. Every time you feel things are going south, sit and reflect on the moments you are thankful for. Make it a habit by writing down what you’re grateful for every day. This may help distract you from any negative thoughts if you remind yourself of everything you are grateful for.

Relive good memories: If you’re ever feeling down, think about the good times when you were at your happiest. You can also make it a daily habit to note down the most positive experience of each day. By allowing your brain to relive these positive memories, you’re remembering the meaningful moments of life that can trump the negative ones.

Be social: Social support is a major predictor of long term levels of happiness that we experience. In Martin Seligman’s theory of PERMA, we saw how relationships affect our well-being. Activating social networks reminds our brains about people who care for us and love us. You can incorporate this into your daily routine by thanking and praising one loved one per day.

Break the tension at work: The best way to relax under pressure is to focus on your past successes. These successes make you feel more confident and relaxed in challenging work situations you find yourself in.

 Thanks to the pandemic, some of us have been rudely awakened to the reality of working towards success without balance. While success is important to many, the studies we’ve discussed have shown that happiness is a precursor to success. Instead of thinking of them as mutually exclusive subjects, we have to understand that happiness and success are ideas that work hand in hand. Our lives are not placed so neatly into boxes of personal and professional development. The two intermingle so you can start by improving happiness in personal ways to boost your professional success!

 References:

https://www.inverse.com/mind-body/link-between-happiness-success

https://www.todayonline.com/commentary/seeking-work-life-balance-do-you-actually-understand-what-makes-you-happy

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e0LbwEVnfJA

https://www.ipsos.com/en-sg/singaporeans-say-mental-health-and-physical-health-are-equally-important

https://digest.bps.org.uk/2022/03/04/having-a-sense-of-meaning-is-less-important-for-your-happiness-if-youre-rich/

https://www.fastcompany.com/90731186/which-comes-first-happiness-or-success?partner=feedburner&utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=feedburner+fastcompany&utm_content=feedburner&cid=eem524:524:s00:03/22/2022_fc&utm_source=newsletter&utm_medium=Compass&utm_campaign=eem524:524:s00:03/22/2022_fc

Photo by Count Chris on Unsplash

#EQ for Team Excellence #eq workshop for leaders #EQ for building teams #personal excellence

[stonerz4sokka]

im reluctant to label zaheer/the red lotus as anarchist because their views on freedom were deeply flawed but zaheer’s relationship with his airbending compared to someone like aang or just the air nomads in general is super fascinating. it makes you think just how deeply individualistic our understanding of freedom & power is which in turn is why lok portrayed a society outside of oppressive governmental systems as “chaos” and not just like...... a better world that’s achievable.

#zaheer #txt #tlok #red lotus #i have so many thoughts on like the parallels between zaheer and aang and just #how the red lotus's political views were kinda right and kinda wrong but mainly because the show #was written by white liberals who don't understand anarchism / communism at all and so they see anarchy as chaos which isnt necessarily true #like i have my critiques on anarchism but you could really tell that the writers of the show just have never met a nonwhite anarchist in #their entire life but it's also really interesting because it shows the dangers of unlimited freedom but like not in the way they were tryin #like the difference in the air nomad's fully functional communist society versus the red lotus conception of freedom from oppression boils #down to like a lack of material analysis in the red lotus's ideology #im rambling but i WILL make a more coherent post soon about my thoughts because it's just really fascinating to me how stupid #white people are and how individualism runs deep in our culture #like lok politics are complete shit in terms of the message they're trying to send but is really interesting in terms of understanding #how our culture views anything outside of the hell we live in as 'unrealistic'

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Comprehensive synthesis of the technological, ecological and political critique of blockchainism

I've just read one of the most lucid, wide-ranging, cross-disciplinary critiques of cryptocurrency and blockchain I've yet to encounter. It comes from David "DSHR" Rosenthal, a distinguished technologist whose past achievements including helping to develop X11 and the core technologies for Nvidia.

https://blog.dshr.org/2022/02/ee380-talk.html

Rosenthal's critique is a transcript of a lecture he gave to Stanford's EE380 class, adapted from a December 2021 talk for an investor conference. It is a bang-up-to-date synthesis of many of the critical writings on the subject, glued together with Rosenthal's own deep technical expertise. He calls it "Can We Mitigate Cryptocurrencies' Externalities?"

The presence of "externalities" in Rosenthal's title is key. Rosenthal identifies blockchainism's core ideology as emerging from "the libertarian culture of Silicon Valley and the cypherpunks," and states that "libertarianism's attraction is based on ignoring externalities."

This is an important critique of libertarianism. The idea that "liberty" is the freedom to do as you like, provided it doesn't harm others is simple enough on its face, but the reality is very few of our actions are free from the potential to harm others. The freedom to drive, or operate a firearm, or to determine your own vaccination preferences all have impacts on others. We can (and should) argue about what consideration you owe to your neighbors and what tolerance they owe to you, but all to often, that argument is settled by ignoring it.

Think of the people who talk about masking as a "personal choice." Human beings have an undeniably entwined epidemiological destiny. There are few epidemiological choices that are purely personal - they redound to the people around you.

The existence of a shared destiny and the necessity of a society to manage it runs smack into the idea that messy personal conflicts are best resolved by carving out individual zones of autonomy. All too often, the libertarian definition of "liberty" is cover for "I don't want to pay taxes to support a society." This is a pretty unpopular position, so libertarians form alliances with naked authoritarians, such as elements of the Christian right:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/09/29/jubilance/#tolerable-racism

That's how you end up with archlibertarians arguing that the world would be "freer" if women weren't allowed to vote:

https://www.gawker.com/5231390/facebook-backer-wishes-women-couldnt-vote

Or that democracy itself is incompatible with liberty, since it lets workers vote to limit the activities of their bosses:

https://www.cato-unbound.org/2009/04/13/peter-thiel/education-libertarian/

The maintenance of libertarian ideology may not require that you ignore externalities, but it sure helps. When advocates for "liberty" champion the likes of Augusto Pinochet, who tortured and slaughtered his political enemies by the thousands, they are discounting the lethal externalities of Pinochet's economic "freedoms" to zero.

Rosenthal's critique of contemporary blockchainism starts with this idea of discounted externalities - the foundational contradiction that one's "liberty" exists in a state of pristine isolation, and doesn't harm anyone else.

To get to this, he looks at the history of blockchains. He divides blockchain technology into an older, "permissioned" blockchain technology, invented in 1990, and "permissionless" blockchains, which were invented around 2008 with the first Bitcoin white-paper.

A permissioned blockchain require on a central authority that dictates who can write to the chain. Within that stricture, it produces a highly computationally efficient public ledger that can identify malfunctioning or corrupt nodes in the network and route around them.

Permissionless blockchains, like the Bitcoin blockchain, are born decentralized. No one authority gets to decide who can participate in the ledger's creation - at first. This decentralization comes at a high price, though. Blockchains are vulnerable to "Sybil attacks" where one attacker impersonates a horde of unconnected actors and takes over the system. To defend against this, permissionless blockchains make Sybil attacks expensive, so that the most you can steal in a Sybil attack is less than it would cost to pull it off. The inescapable corollary of this is that using the network has to be expensive - the system has to have a giant electricity bill and hence a massive carbon footprint.

This expense, in turn, compensates miners for the money they pour into defeating Sybil attacks. These miners get paid in cryptocurrency, and for cryptocurrency to have value, it has to have someone who's willing to buy cryptos with "fiat" - dollars or other easily spent money. The only reason for someone to trade fiat for those cryptos (apart from making ransomware payments) is as an "investment" - that is, because you think the cryptocurrency's price will rise. Thus these blockchains *require* speculation to function.

All of this means that the majority of blockchain activity is just about maintaining the blockchain - not about buying or selling things. There are only about 27,000 "economically meaningful" Bitcoin transactions in a day - and 75% of those are inter-exchange transactions. All told, only 2.5% of Bitcoin transactions represent someone buying something from someone (fewer than five per minute, globally).

This profound wastefulness is a feature, not a bug. It's the expense that keeps Sybil attacks at bay, without centralizing authority over the blockchain, as would be the case with the otherwise vastly more efficient permissioned blockchains that have been around for 30 years.

But here's where Rosenthal unveils the other half of his critique: the drive to maximize the efficiency of mining drives miners to consolidate, in order to attain economies of scale. The more valuable a blockchain is, the more centralized it becomes.

Today, 10% of miners control 90% of the mining. The top 0.1% of miners control 50% of mining. Five mining pools control the majority of Bitcoin mining. Last November, only *two* mining pools controlled the majority of Ethereum mining. This is the worst of all worlds: a highly volatile blockchain that is incredibly wasteful *and* centralized, with control in the hands of largely anonymous parties who are accountable to no one, who can cheat with impunity.

https://www.nber.org/papers/w29396

So far, the focus of Rosenthal's externality critique has been energy consumption and climate harms. But here he comes to his second externality: e-waste. To maintain their position in the highly concentrated mining sectors, miners have to run their equipment hard and discard it quickly as it burns out. The average service life of an ASIC used in blockchain mining is a mere 16 months - whereupon it turned into ewaste, retiring its embodied materials and energy. Other blockchain verification systems, like proof of space-and-time, do the same thing to mass storage devices.

Now, it's true that the finance and tech sectors produce a lot of ewaste on their own. But that's because their equipment wears out despite their best efforts to preserve it. The foundational premise of cryptocurrency mining is that you are in a race with other miners to discard and replace your equipment as rapidly as possible, to eke out every speed advantage.

The blockchainst response to this is to ignore the ewaste problem and hand-wave the emissions issue by claiming that they're fixing it with offsets. Offsets, meanwhile, are a market for lemons. Most carbon offsets are fairy tales:

https://asia.nikkei.com/Spotlight/Environment/Climate-Change/Opaque-carbon-credit-market-undermines-fight-against-climate-change

And, as Rosenthal points out, even if your cryptos are being mined with renewables, that is only carbon neutral if you assume "that doing so doesn't compete with more socially valuable uses for renewables, or indeed for power in general."

Blockchainists are aware of the problems with proof of work, and many are calling for a transition to proof of stake, a notionally less climate-intensive way of running a permissionless blockchain.

Rosenthal's critique of proof of stake begins by observing that it drives even more centralization than proof of work. A proof of stake network allows the people who have the most to tax the transactions of those with less, cementing their dominance and increasing centralization.

So both permissioned and permissionless blockchains end up centralized, but permissionless blockchains - the type beloved of blockchainists - are centralized into unaccountable and often anonymous hands. So while a permissioned blockchain that is run by a benevolent (or at least accountable) authority can reverse frauds, permissionless blockchains struggle to do this.

This immutability is part of the reason that blockchains and fraud go together like peanut butter and chocolate. Thefts on working permissionless blockchains can't be readily reversed, making them permanent. Meanwhile, the entities who end up at the top of the centralization pile in these networks can commit thefts by rewriting the "immutable" ledgers.

It's not a purely hypothetical problem. The Steem proof of stake network was compromised by Justin Sun in 2021, who took advantage of the highly centralized staking sector to hijack the blockchain.

The immutability problem is worse in programmable cryptos like Ethereum. The "smart contracts" that operate on these chains are effectively bug bounties whose maximum payout is everything in the wallets connected to them. The attack surface of programmable money which is connected to social media, Discord servers, standalone wallets, etc, is virtually unbounded.

This is another important point raised by Rosenthal: not only are permissionless blockchains highly concentrated, they're also ineluctably bound up with Web 2.0 technologies. The fact that Binance conducts two thirds of crypto derivative transactions and half of all spot technologies using browsers and other 2.0 stuff multiplies all the blockchain vulns by all the non-blockchain vulns.

Here Rosenthal cites Adam Levitin's recent, excellent analysis of the legal status of crypto exchange users in bankruptcy proceedings (tldr: if your exchange goes bust, you'll probably get nothing or nearly nothing):

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/03/liquidation-preference/#we-live-in-a-society

Rosenthal's boils this all down to four points:

I. Permissioned blockchains can stop Sybil attacks without cryptocurrency and have no significant externalities;

II. Permissionless blockchains *require* a cryptocurrency to stop Sybil attacks, and this produce major externalities;

III. To be successful, permissionless blockchains require proof-of-work or some other deliberately wasteful system, making externalities inevitable;

IV. Likewise inevitable is that any security system based on wasting resources will create the centralization that permissionless blockchains claim to eliminate.

Rosenthal concludes his talk by affirming that he values decentralization and it is that value that causes him to reject blockchainism. He reminds us that the billions pouring into the Web3 bubble are bets on attaining scale and dominance - the only reason to pump billions into a blockchain technology is if you think that you can corner a market and make it back. In other words, Web3 investors see high barriers to entry as a feature, not a bug, and they're committed to centralization.

Image: U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service Headquarters (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/usfwshq/8598791096/

CC BY 2.0: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

#pluralistic

[syndxlla]

More To Love

Part two of the More to Love series

Summary: As you start adapting to Mandalorian culture and life in the palace, you have to start thinking whether or not you’ve made the right decision.

Word Count: 6.2k, NO USE OF ‘Y/N’

Warnings: Non-Consensual kiss, mentions of loss of pregnancy

Author’s Note: Wow wow wow, the support I’ve gotten for this fic already has been so awesome thank you so much especially to the people who have direct messaged me you’re all so kind I love you guys!!!!

Part One here

“Good-morning, Your Highness.” A Handmaiden said as she pulled open the heavy curtains, letting the bright morning light shine into your elegant room. You softly moan as the sun hits your eyes, and roll onto your side to try and sleep more. “Today you will be having brunch with Her Majesty the Queen and a few members of her court and we have set aside a bit of time for you and The Prince to get to each other this evening before dinner in the library.” Her accent was thick like the Prince’s. You sigh and roll around onto your back, letting your limp hand rest by your face. “I trust you slept well?” She asked as she walked towards your bed, in her hands was a golden tray with a teapot on it.

“Not enough sleep.” You groan, trying not to sound annoyed but failing.

“Would you like to sleep longer, Highness?” She asked.

“No, I’ll be fine.” You sigh before scooting to sit up in your bed, and she places the tray on the table by the mattress.

“I wasn’t sure what type of tea you liked, so I brought a chamomile, do you have a preference?”

You stop to think for a moment, “Chamomile is fine for today, but do you have any hsuaberry tea?” Hsuberries are native to Corellia, and you could use a little taste of home.

“I’m not sure, but I will check for tomorrow?”

“That would be lovely, thank you.” You nod.

“I’ll return in a half-hour with the other maiden’s to prepare you for the day then?”

“Alright… Miss?” You stop her as she turns to leave. “Do you have a name? What can I call you?”

“Oh… of course, Lady Soniee would be fine.” She smiles. “Thank you for asking.”

“It’s my pleasure.” You smile in return. “Lady Soniee, is my guard outside?” You ask.

“Yes, he returned to his post with my arrival, in the night we have the night guards patrolling so our individual day guards get some time off.” She explains.

“Would you… Would you send him in, please?” You ask.

“Yes, Highness. Is there anything else you would like?” Soniee asks.

“No, that’s all, thank you, dismissed.” You released her from her duty and she turned to leave the room. As her back was turned to you, you rub a bit of the sleep out of your eyes and run your fingers through your hair in an attempt to tame your bed head. You wanted to look presentable for the knight. Truthfully, you haven’t quit thinking about him since last night’s endeavor. You fell asleep picturing what he looked like under his armor, and brainstorming what his name might be. You even wondered if you dreamed about him, but it’s all gotten hazy now. You knew this was inappropriate, and that you were here for your wedding with another man, but something about the secret relationship the two of you were forming was exciting, you were addicted to it. You sigh deeply as she closes the door behind her and then quickly looks down at your nightgown, proceeding to pull the cap sleeves down your shoulders a bit to show more skin and more of your collar. You laugh slightly to yourself, “You are ridiculous.” You mumble, chuckling. Before you could consider anything else, however, he walked in, his stature at attention.

“Is there something wrong, Your Highness?” He asked.

You felt your cheeks heat up in his presence, “I just wanted to thank you again for last night.” You tried not to gush as you spoke.

“Oh… Yes, anything for you, your Highness.” He nodded in response. Your chest filled with warmth as you looked at him.

“You’ll be accompanying me today, correct?” You ask.

“Of Course, Your Highness.” He nodded once again, you really wanted him to call you princess again.

“Wonderful, I hope you slept well last night.”

“I did, Princess, did you?” You smiled a little too wide at the title, and tried to cool your cheeks, not wanting to look like an absolute child in front of him.

“Yes, I did, thank you once again, I’ll see you later.” You sigh in response. “Dismissed.” That word felt like poison to you, you didn’t really want him to leave but didn’t know how to keep him around longer. This was an accident waiting to happen, and you had the power to stop it in its tracks, the only problem is that you didn’t want to.

—

The Gardens were even more beautiful in the daylight, the sun shone spectacularly off the fountains and the various statues scattered throughout the estate contrasted lovely with the bright flowers. You sat at a round table ornately decorated with various different pastries, teas and sandwiches on it. Around the table was the Queen, the women of her royal court, yourself and of course the Elf. You really wanted to speak to the elf, unfortunately, you asat across from her, and was forced to mostly converse with The Duchess Wren and another woman you had never spoken to before. The Queen introduced her to you last night but you were having a hard time remembering her name. The women weren’t in such heavy gowns this time, and none of them wore the jeweled headpieces they had on the night before except for the queen. You wore a light beige and white dress which ruffled at the sleeves and had a scooping boat neckline. It was very beautiful, however the corset back didn’t go nearly as high this time as the last dress did, which meant you couldn’t use it as an excuse to spend more time alone with the silent knight. He stood a few feet behind you away from the table, watching over the event. Every now and then you would turn to glance at him, ceiling every time you laid eyes on his armor.

The tea was fine, not as good as the winter teas you had back home, they were far more bitter. Mandalorians clearly enjoyed more bitter-tasting food as you noticed the longer you’re here. Once again, you were being mostly ignored as the Women who knew each other talked about drama within the Mandalorian Royalty. It was all much more conspicuous than anything you would talk about at home, and you found yourself quietly listening in on the various conversations instead of applying yourself to them. The women most likely thought you were some sort of strange claude, not social enough and far too boring for their culture. Again, you tried convincing yourself that you were overthinking, but you had a hard time believing yourself.

“And what about you, Your Highness?” The Elf spoke up, interrupting your deep and self-centered thoughts.

“Huh?” You were not listening.

“What do you think about the conduct to come out of Coruscant?” One of the fatter women sitting by the queen asked.

“Oh… I think they’ve rather lost their integrity since the assassination of their Emperor…” You clear your throat. You were just saying what you remember hearing your father say, attempting to fit into the conversation and hopefully gain some affection, knowing how much Mandalore despised Coruscant (you were rather indifferent, however).

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.” The Queen smiled, “I believe you will be well suited for the politics of Mandalore.”

“Oh yes,” you began, “I had been preparing to be Queen of Corellia my whole life, I find politics rather exciting.” You admitted.

“Hm, I prefer to leave the politics to the men.” The fat woman scoffed and sipped her tea.

“I nearly forgot, you’re the only hair to the throne of Corellia, aren’t you?” The elven queen asks.

“Yes, I am.” You nod in response.

“Ah yes, your mother got sick and lost a baby-” The fat woman laughed. Your face dropped and went pale.

“Excuse you-” You began.

“Lady Aryn, have you no respect?” The Queen frowned.

“There’s nothing wrong with it, just a rumor I heard.” She shrugged, not seeming to care that she offended you or The Queen.

“Well it’s not a rumor.” You swallowed thickly, wanting to put her in per place for such an inappropriate comment, “My mother lost a baby when I was all but five and you have the audacity to bring it up like there’s nothing rude about it.” You spit out.

“Well who is to take the throne once you marry the Prince?” The fat woman asked as she sipped her tea. Many of the other women involved stayed quiet, timidly watching the drama play out.

“I don’t believe that is any of your business.” You chuckle out of frustration.

“It is my business, whomever rules Corellia during the impending war will directly affect how Mandalore responds to it. Considering my husband is the Grand General of the Mandalorian Army, it is very much my business.” Lady Aryn raised an eyebrow and dread washed over your body as she finished.

“I believe that your Cousin will be taking the throne?” The Elf Queen vouched for you and you were thankful she did, but still found the entire situation rude and out of hand.

“It should be me, but I’m being married off and getting my title stripped away from me.” You blurted out and immediately regretted what you said. You looked around at the faces of the women at the table. Each one showing a different expression of shock or betrayal, everyone but the Queen. The Queen’s face was stern, her lips dangerously straight and thin and her eyes dark as the two of you made eye contact. You had offended the Queen of Mandalore, you had offended the most powerful and wealthy monarch in the world. You sighed, and closed your eyes for a moment. “May I be excused, Your Majesty?” You asked with your eyes closed, waiting to open them until you finished speaking. You looked up at her through furrowed eyebrows, awaiting her response. The air was deathly thick, the tension grew as the court looked around at the scene. Your anger was justified, the remark on your unborn sibling was out of turn and incredibly rude, and after feeling ignored and unwanted for twenty-four hours by the very people set up to be your family, you snapped.

“You are excused.” The Queen said quietly, almost too quiet to hear, and you slowly stood from your chair before turning to leave. You looked to your knight as you did, and he followed. After you made distance between yourself and the other Mandalorian women, you could hear faint whispers. That went so much worse than you could have ever imagined. You want to disappear, you want to go home. You swallow a tear and sigh of relief when you get back into the Palace, strolling the halls until you found an empty sitting room. You sit down on one of the blue sofas and bring your fist up to your mouth. The Knight waited at the door, watching your every move. You felt ridiculous, and the absolute last thing you wanted to do was cry in front of the only person who’s shown you any decency since you arrived in Mandalore. You look over to him with dewey eyes before clearing your throat.

“I apologize for my conduct, I didn’t want you to see me like this.” You shakily sigh out. He didn’t reply, and you laugh once, “I suppose you have your code to uphold here.” You look down as you place your hands in your lap.

“No, I’ve sworn to protect you, that comes before the code of arms.” He takes a step forward and you were almost startled at his voice, you weren’t expecting him to speak up, but you were incredibly happy he did. You look up to see him a little closer, and smile just slightly at his gesture. “I didn’t protect you out there, I’m sorry.” He nodded his head.

“There’s no way you could have known,” You shrug, you didn’t want him to blame himself for your mistake, “Besides, I wasn’t in any danger.”

“Maybe you weren’t in any physical danger, but.. I really shouldn’t say this but that was out of hand. You’re family with the Queen now, she should have defended you.” He continued to step closer to you. “I deeply apologize for being so careless and allowing you to be hurt.” He bowed after saying this, and you smiled.

“Your apology is accepted, Sir Knight.” You slightly teased. “Thank you.” Your chest and stomach was filled with that warm and welcoming feeling again, and the negative endeavor from outside was forgotten even for just a moment. You knew you would have to face it eventually, and formally apologize to the Queen for offending her, but until then, you would allow yourself to feel okay for now. “You’ve been the kindest to me since I arrived.” You tilt your head, “You have no idea what it’s meant to me.”

“As I said, I vowed to be there for you, I will honor that vow.” He said, you didn’t want to feel like he was only being nice to you because he had to. You suck your lips in for a quick second as you absorb his response, unsure of how to respond. “But-” he interrupted your thinking, “It has truly been a pleasure to serve you, and I would be happy to undress you when you ask.”

Your eyes widened, “Excuse me?” It’s not that you didn’t like what you said, you just weren’t expecting it so casually.

“That- came out wrong, forgive me.” He corrected himself. “I mean, I’m happy to help you with anything you like.” He clears his throat and you smile, blushing at his sheepish correction.

“I understand.” You look down at the floor again. “I’m sorry they only give you the nights off.” You switched the topic, not wanting to linger on the last one in case someone was walking by or overheard anything.

“That’s fine, I... enjoy my time with you.” He stopped mid-sentence to consider what he was saying. You smile and laugh a little again.

“It must be tiring, wearing the armor all day, standing at attention, only getting a handful of breaks every few hours…” You think out loud.

“I’m used to it,” He shifts to his weight on one leg, lightly poppin his hip out as he speaks to you. “It’s not so bad, anymore.”

“Is the armor heavy?” You ask, trying to distract yourself.

“Yes, but that’s another thing we get used to. Our bodies adapt to it.”

“So… are you saying you’re strong under all that metal.” You raise and eyebrow, flirting just a little. You could hear a light chuckle come through the helmet when you said this.

“I guess you could say that.” It was like you could hear his smile.

“I’ve found that all Mandalorians are very attractive, do you fall under that assumption?” You knew very well you were playing with fire, that this was uncharted territory and everything was screaming at you to stop before you got too far but you couldn’t. Everything about him was so intriguing to you.

“I’m.. I’m not from Mandalore, actually…” He slowly responded.

“Oh?” You tilted your head, “I thought you had to be in order to be a part of the guard?”

“Well, in a way, you do. You have to be either born in or taken in as a foundling, and that’s what happened to me.” He shrugged.

“Oh, I didn’t know that.” You blinked, “Where are you from? Or can you not tell me…”

“The Nevarro frontier.” He responded, “I probably shouldn’t have told you that.” He groaned. You felt a shiver run down your spine at the sound of his rough voice groaning in such a way. You swallow your thoughts.

“You’re a long way from home.”

“I guess you could say that.” You smile at him again after he says this before turning and looking behind you, taking in the room. This was a larger sitting room, and there was a baby-grand piano in one of the corners. Outside of the windows you could see a courtyard, not the same courtyard that the garden is placed in, but one that was stoned and had a large tree in the center of it. There was so much of the palace you hadn’t seen yet, it was far larger than the Corellian one. You stood up to walk over to the piano, feeling a bit better now, and sitting at it. “Can you play?” He asked.

“Yes, I learned at a very young age.” You bring your hands up to keys and begin playing a song, one you have memorized. It was your mother’s favorite song. You played it with such emotion that the Knight was drawn into it, relaxing from his attentive stature and enjoying the sound.

“You’re... very talented.” He nodded.

“Thank you.” You said, looking up at him from the instrument. “I’m a bit rusty I must admit.” You shrug.

“I know someone who would really love it, no matter how rusty you say it is.” He explained.

“Who?” You ask as you stop playing, wondering who he may be talking about.

“I-I shouldn’t say, I’ve already broken the code so much-”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, I fully understand.” You interrupt, “But just know that anything you say is safe with me, If you vowed to protect me from both physical and emotional harm, the least I can do is keep your secrets.” You nod. He sighs, you can’t hear it but you see it in the armor.

“My.. Uh, my son.”

—

“Soniee, do you know if any guards are fathers?” You ask as the handmaiden tightens the corset on a different dress, tying it to your body. You were preparing for some time alone (chaperoned) with the Prince. You knew you promised the Knight you would keep his secret, and you would do everything in your power to uphold that secrecy, but you figured there was no harm in asking a few questions here and there. As far as anyone is concerned, you’re just curious about the customs and traditions of your new kingdom.

“Well many of the Knights have families of their own, some have illegitimate children as well.” She said behind you.

“So, they don’t have an oath of celibacy?” You ask, hoping it didn’t sound too strange or specific.

“What? No,” She laughed as she said ‘no’, “No, marriage and families are incredibly important to Mandalorian society, the only thing stronger than power or war is love and family. Blood before anything else.” She explained, she had clearly said those words before.

“Maybe that’s why everyone is so cold towards me.” You sigh.

“Maybe.” Soniee confirmed, “But I also believe any new member of house Kyrze is going to be given a hard welcome.”

“And why is that?” You ask, wincing afterwards due to a tight pull of the corset.

“Well it’s taught in every Mandalorian history class: House Kyrze is the royal bloodline, but it wasn’t always that way…”

“What do you mean?”

“There was a civil war some years ago almost immediately after the assassination of Queen Satine. A bad man came in and tried to overthrow Queen Bo-Katan. He was successful in his endeavors for a while, and that's why the Elves and the Queen are so close-” The handmaiden explained.

“I never knew about a Mandalorian war that happened among themselves?”

“It’s shielded from the outside world, we fear that if it gets out, people will stop coming to us for their wars out of speculation that we are not strong enough to fight them if we can’t control each other.” She finished the corset and took a step back, admiring the beautiful dress. “Many Mandalorian’s blame Queen Bo-Katan for the civil war even though she gave up everything she believed in to protect the royal family. You see, she used to be on the side of the Bad Man, but switched after her sister’s death. Many see her unfit for the crown, including members of her own Court.” You didn’t need any more explanation from Soniee to assume who that might be. Considering your previous endeavor this morning, the fat woman probably did not approve of the queen.

“That is why it’s essential that this marriage happens. The people love Korkie, they always have. He is the true heir and the pride of his mother, who was revered and loved throughout all of the kingdoms. When he is back on the throne, not only will anyone who disapproves of Bo be silenced, but they will also see it as one of her many successes. Having to raise and prepare a child who isn’t even yours is not easy.” Soniee concluded.

Great, another weight to be placed on your shoulder based on your ability to fall in love.

“I had no Idea any of that happened.” Your eyebrows furrowed together.

“Personally, I believe that is why you’ve received such a harsh welcome, Korkie is the golden boy of Mandalore, and many will not see you fit for his wife.” You sighed, your belly filling with stress.

“Highness, the Prince is waiting for you in the library.” Your Royal Guard interrupts the conversation, and you smile at him.

“Thank you, Lady Soniee, you’ve been incredibly kind and helpful.”

“Of course, Princess. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.” She curtsied and you walked out of a your suite into the hallway.

This dress was simpler than the last, a soft pink with embroidered flowers running up and down the smooth tulle and puffy sleeves. It was very beautiful, one you brought from Corellia that was gifted to you a few years ago. You wore pearls from Naboo, and had a soft look to your ensemble. You wanted to be perceived in a specific way by your fiancé, pure of heart, and genuine.

You open the doors to the hallway, and your guard is standing at attention.

“Would you escort me to the library?” You ask, smiling with your lips afterwards. He nods and holds his arm out for you to take, looping your own arms round his and walking down the hallway.

“You look very beautiful, your highness.” He said quietly through the metal, quiet enough that you were the only one who would hear it if anyone would be listening in. You got the lightest touch of goosebumps at his deep and gruff whisper in your ear.

“Thank you, do you think The Prince will like it?” You ask, looking up at his helmet with beady eyes.

“He would be a fool if he didn’t.” The Knight responded, and your stomach filled with butterflies. You blushed as you experienced the addictive feeling of his presence, and pulled him just a bit closer to you. The two of you walk in silence for the remainder of the journey to the beautiful library. This was a part of the palace that you had never been to before, and it was just as stunning as the rest of the castle. Books from all over the world in countless languages sat upon towering bookshelves that reached the tall ceiling. There was a large fireplace and in front of it was a number of red velvet armchairs and sofas. As you entered the quiet room, your eyes immediately found the Prince, who sat in one of the chairs reading a book, his head resting against his fist. You and the Knight walk towards him, and as you pull to unhook your harm, you feel him stretch his hand out to feel you for as long as possible before the contact breaks.

“Prince Korkie.” You curtsie, interrupting his reading. He looked up from the book and smiled, standing and bowing to kiss your hand once again.

“Your Highness, You look lovely.” After he compliments you, you turn to look at the guard, smiling.

“I hope you weren’t waiting for too long.” You as he takes your hand and guides you to sit on a sofa.

“Not at all.” He reassured, “Allow me to introduce you to Lord Vaughn, he will be chaperoning us today.” He gestured to a man sitting across from you.

“My pleasure, Princess.” He stood from his seat to bow.

“The library is beautiful, as is everything else in the palace.” You compliment.

“It’s less beautiful when it’s been your classroom growing up.” The Prince teased and you chuckle. “If you would like, please feel free to take any books at any time.” He nodded.

“Thank you, but I’ve never been very into reading.” You admit. “I much prefer music.”

“Ah yes, I play the viola, my mother taught me when I was a boy-“ Somehow he always made it about himself you noticed. You didn’t think he tried to, but conversations are rather boring when you’re just listening. He talked for nearly a half-hour about playing for the Queen of Naboo as a twelve year-old and being revered as a child prodigy for the early part of his life. You sat quietly as he bragged, telling the story to both you and the chaperone instead of keeping his focus on you. You even caught your mind wandering every now and then, glancing over to your knight to make a little face of boredom in an attempt to make him smile. You know you wouldn’t be able to see him if he had smiled, but the thought of it was enough to keep you occupied. After the Prince bragged about his viola skills for close to an hour, he finally asked what you played.

“Piano, actually. It’s my muse, if you will.” You smile, happy to have finally been included, although it was short lived. The prince then continued to talk about how the Queen could play piano but got sick of it after her sister died and hasn’t played in a very long time. He went on and on about it, and you were starting to wish you had picked up a book on your way in to pass the time.

“Allow me to show you to my favorite section of the library.” The Prince said, forcing you to snap out of your little trance as he held your hand out. You clearly hadn’t been listening for a while because you had no recollection of the previous situation, his voice was very tune-out-able. “I’ve asked the Chaperone and Knight to stay here while I do.” He smiled, and you take his hand, standing from the chair.

“Is that appropriate?” You ask.

“I’m the Prince, I can do what I want.” He shrugs and then proceeds to walk you towards a corner in the library. You look over your shoulder to the Knight one last time before you’re pulled around the corner. “This hall is where I would go when I was mad, isn’t it beautiful?” He asked.

“Yes, it is.” It had mostly desks and only a few bookshelves, but was covered in mirrors on both sides of the walls, showing an endless reflection of thousands of copies of yourself.

“I wanted to give you this, as an engagement present.” He held out a small box wrapped with a blue bow.

“Thank you…” You take the gift out of his hand.

“It was my mother’s.” He said as you untied the bow and opened the box. Inside was a beautiful necklace of a sapphire stone with a gold halo.

“It’s beautiful, thank you.” You held up the necklace to your eyes, watching how it sparkled in the light.

“May I put it on you?” He asked. You nod and hand him the jewelry. Turning around and pulling your hair to the side, you feel him hook the necklace, letting the heavy gem sit against your collarbone. You looked down at it.

“It’s incredibly beautiful, Prince Korkie.” You turn around and smile.

“Please, just Korkie.” He said before forcing a kiss on you, pushing his lips into yours forcefully and holding you in place. It startled you, you hadn’t expected this from him, especially considering how kind he had been before. This was your first kiss and was less than pleasant. You push him off you, and look at him in disbelief. You didn’t want to offend him, but couldn’t mask the look of shock and beytrayal from your face. Your stomach filled with regret, it was customary to not kiss one another until your wedding day, why had he broken that tradition? You felt as though it was your fault he forced himself onto you, and you swallowed back the feeling of anger and distrust. If anyone found out you had kissed him before the wedding, they would all blame you, regardless of who initiated the kiss. You both knew this.

“Excuse me…” You huff passed him, returning to the main room of the library and walked towards the door, you heard your Knight follow you close after, and in a fit of confusion and flusterment, you storm as fast as you can towards your room.

When you two got to a more private part of the palace, closer to the suite, you heard him speak up, “Princess, princess what’s wrong?” You hear your knight say, and before you can ignore him, you feel him grab your hand. It isn’t forceful and it doesn’t hurt, but he’s strong, he wouldn’t be letting you go unless he had to. You turn around to show a tear running down your cheek. “What did he do?” The Guard asked. You swallow thickly and try to look away, darting your eyes behind him, “Look at me.” He said.

“I can’t see your eyes.” You sniffle.

“Please, did he hurt you?” He took a step closer to you, your bodies almost flush against one another.

“We can’t do this here-“

“Did he hurt you?” The knight repeats himself, sterner this time.

You look at his helmet and sigh, “No.”

“Then why are you crying?”

“It doesn’t concern you.” You were embarrassed, and pull your hand away before walking away, trying to get to your room before bursting into tears. You heard him pick up his pace to catch up and then suddenly he was cutting you off with his body, firmly grabbing your shoulders.

“As your Royal Guard, it does concern me. I told you just this morning that I promised to protect you, and now you’ve gotten hurt twice because of my mistakes.” He said, startling you just a bit. No one had ever spoken to you this way, no one had ever shown that they care this much.

“It’s not your fault, really.” You reassure.

“But it is. What did he do to you?”

“It’s… I’m embarrassed. It’s silly and I’ll-“

“Nothing you say could ever be ‘silly’ to me.” He said, his voice hushing as he did, giving you those little goosebumps again.

You sigh, looking up at him and trying to get out your next sentence, “He-he kissed me. I wasn’t expecting it and he broke tradition and it was all so… so forced.” You admit, feeling as though he would blame you for the kiss.

“He what?”

“You’re really going to make me repeat myself?” You scoff and push passed him, you were almost to your room, if you could make it just a little further-

“He kissed you?” The knight asked.

“Yes. I told you it’s ridiculous but-“

“It’s… not. Ridiculous, that is. It’s not ridiculous. Did he ask if he could?”

“No…” You reply, “I didn’t think he had to.” You raise an eyebrow. “I just wasn't expecting such a stark betrayal of tradition and it startled me and if anyone else find out, they’ll all blame me-“

“He has no right to lay a single finger on you without your permission. He hurt you, and therefore I’ve failed at my job.” He interrupted you.

“Oh-“ You mutter, finally arriving at your door. He had done that without your consent, he had hurt you. The knight was right all along and you were stupid to not accept his help right away. You wipe a tear away from your cheek and open the door. You take a step in, and hold the door open for him to join you. “I have over an hour before dinner… I’ll have to see him again.” You swallow before closing the door.

“I’ll be there by your side, I won’t leave you again. I won’t let him hurt you like that ever again, I promise.” He was firm and confident with his words, giving you a little wave of relief as he spake them.

“Thank you.” You whipser. You take a deep breath and look at him, “You said he can’t do anything without my permission?”

“Yes. That’s how you protect yourself. Don’t give him power he doesn’t deserve.” The Knight explains.

You exhale sharply, “I had never been kissed before.” You admit, looking down at the floor. “It wasn’t what I expected, to say the least.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t… kisses are special, sacred.” He sounded pained as he said them, like it was hard for him to get the words out.

“Have you kissed anyone?” You ask, considering he had a son, you assumed he had, but never really know unless you ask.

“Yes, once, a long time ago.”

“So you haven’t had that helmet on since birth?” You lighten the mood just a little. You hear him chuckle and your stomach is filled with warmth at the noise.

“No, I haven’t.”

“Can you ever take it off?” You ask, walking over to sit on your bed, listening intently, he takes a step in that direction, too.

“Yes, I take it off to eat and bathe and sleep and sometimes I take it off to talk to my son…” He sighs, “But at work, in the palace, in the eyes of other people, it stays on. Always.This is the way.”

“I still don’t understand why.” You tilt your head.

“It… protects us, it keeps our knighthood separate from our manhood, an it’s an ancient tradition practiced by Mandalorians, we do it to respect the culture.” He nods as he speaks.

“Hm, I half expected you to say it was just because you were ugly.” You giggle, and he shakes his head. This time, you knew he was smiling under all that metal.

“Compared to you, I am nothing.” You could hear his smile in his words. You blush and the butterflies in your stomach only grow. You pause for a moment, carefully considering what you were going to say next.

“Will you… will you kiss me?” You ask, looking up at him, he goes still.

“What?”

“Will you kiss me?” You repeat yourself. He doesn’t respond at first, and for a moment, you fear you’ve made a terrible mistake. You wanted him to, you wanted to know what he meant by “kisses are sacred”. He had plagued your mind ever since you first spoke to him and you already have far more affection in your heart for the Knight than for the Prince. You wanted to kiss him.

He sighs in response, and nods once, “Close your eyes, and keep them closed.” You blushed at his agreement.

“Okay.” You say, slowly closing your eyelids and patiently awaiting his next move, feeling triumphant that he agreed. Your body fills with adrenaline as you wait, trying to slow your heart rate with deep breaths.

“Promise to keep them closed?”

“I promise.” You whisper and a few seconds after, you hear the sound of metal hitting metal, and the hollow echo of his helmet being placed on the mattress by where you sit. It took everything in you not to open your eyes, you wanted to look at him, wanted to see his eyes. But you made a promise, you had made promises to each other and had to keep those promises.

Then, ever-so-gently, you feel his warm and forgiving lips against yours.

They’re soft and light, like he didn’t want to hurt you. You melted into his touch, and against your soft skin you felt his stubble run against it. It was rough in the most satisfying and loving sensation possible. He was much kinder than the Prince, so gentle, so true. It wasn’t a very long kiss, but it was more than a peck, and held more passion and intimacy in it than any of the hours you spent with your fiancé combined. He moved just slightly against you, and you felt his bare hand come up to hold your jaw in place as he deepened it for a split second before pulling away. As your lips parted from his, your breath was taken right with them, and you had to consciously remind yourself not to open your eyes.

“Keep them closed, okay?”

“Okay.” You nodded, trying to remember the feel of his kiss. “Thank you.” Your voice was broken, and you wanted another, but before you could ask, you felt the helmet lift off the bed and the sound of gloves being pulled onto hands.

“Open.” He said after a moment, and your eyes fluttered open to see the knighted figure in front of you. “You’re welcome.”

Part three here

#din djarin #din djarin x you #the mandalorian #fan fiction #pedro pascal #reader insert #star wars #din djarin fluff #din djarin smut #din djarin x reader #royalty #royalty au #fantasy au #princess x knight #princess au #the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #mando #mando smut #no y/n

[middlenamesage]

Black Moon Lilith and Lilith the Character Archetype: My Reflections Coming out of Black Moon Lilith Conjunct the North Node

Following the astrological transits, both the collective and my personal, I have for a while noticed that when Black Moon Lilith is at play, it’s really hard for this to go unnoticed in my life. I always could sense this energy, I knew what it felt like, but used to find it hard to describe, or at least to dissect enough to understand with any valuable meaning.

Physically speaking, the astronomical point known in astrology as Black Moon Lilith is the point along the Moon’s orbit that is farthest from Earth (the lunar apogee), a point that changes position in the zodiac along with the changing orbit of the moon. To me it makes sense this point can be so potentially relevant to us, as all living beings are very much guided by the Moon, who keeps us in connection with each other. Out where the Black Moon is, in this metaphorical place of exile, it’s more of an “every man (or woman!) for himself!” vibe. Lilith is very much about the instinct of self preservation. It’s about resisting control or exploitation by others (and/or internalizing its effects). Often the two occur together as two faces of the same trauma. Black Moon Lilith represents the areas where life has taught us that we absolutely must advocate for ourselves. However, she can also bring shame and denial of wants wherever she is placed, or transiting, because this is something that generally develops where we have been told or shown we can’t have something.

Black Moon Lilith is in fact named for Lilith in the old testament/Jewish folklore, and the way we have come to make sense of its effects (rather, its correlations to our lives) is in considerable measure inspired by this character, and her archetype- who has many interpretations. Lilith was Adam’s first wife, before Eve, who left his ass! She refused to lie beneath him during sex, saying they were created equal. I think we can interpret this metaphorically, of course, as resistance to being controlled in many potential terms… but also literally, as there is a focus of unconstrained sexuality concerning Lilith, which I have observed has some definite relevance to the Black Moon too, but is far from the only or even the most important way to understand it.

Various legends say that after fleeing Eden, Lilith went on to become a she-demon/succubus/baby kidnapper/baby killer/so on….. (those are just the accusations I’m recalling off the top of my head). But over these many years, Lilith has picked up many other story lines, provided inspiration for phenomena such as Black Moon Lilith, and gained many evolving faces and interpretations. Other than being a religious figure, and/or a she-demon, some of her contemporary associations include witchcraft/dark magic, creative renditions in fantasy and horror, gothic culture, and the biggest switch of all, her status as the first feminist.

As a potent force from the most distant shadows of the Moon’s reach, where connection to one another is compromised and we must turn to ourselves to defend our basic natures, I’ve found that Black Moon Lilith can have both positive correlations- such as going one’s own way where it truly benefits one’s life, putting one’s foot down to mistreatment, and stepping into one’s personal power- and negative correlations such as pushing away and/or disregarding other people, general concern with defending one’s own initiatives, to the point where it is premature or anti-productive, and the shame, denial and/or rage that many have developed from being disallowed their power by others.

How we express Black Moon Lilith can be instigating healthy boundaries on one hand, and setting up unnecessary walls of defense on the other. It can be self respect on one hand, and self obsession/failure to consider others, on the other. It can be self protection on one hand, and self sabotage on the other. It can be shame and denial over who we really are/what we really want on one hand, and it can be where we liberate ourselves from shame on the other. Very often, it seems to dole out as a complicated mix of both the “bad” and the “good”.

It used to be that reflecting on my own experiences, despite my fascination with it, there was very little “good” I saw about the Black Moon’s correlations in my life. I came to associate the energy of Black Moon Lilith with a few of my “trauma responses” that have caused me to sabotage relationships. I felt she had helped me stand up for myself/walk away from people a few times when I actually needed to, but for the most part, she seemed to just make me quick to unconsciously wreck budding relationships, reject others, put up lots of walls, or not want to cooperate/compromise with others- even though this was also betraying my own desires deep down to be close with others. My natal Lilith is in Libra in my 7th house, so the relational element of her is especially relevant.

I think that this Black Moon wound of mine in the realm of partnerships has several big origins/perpetuators I can site, but one of the first and biggest that I can consciously analyze, is having internalized the messages I was told by a parent growing up (not necessarily said in as blunt of terms as I received them) that no one would ever want to be with me because I am too difficult to live with. (I was also shown this when my parents sent me elsewhere to live.) Internalizing this message about myself stripped away my personal power when it comes to partnerships. For so long I approached all relationships assuming they were damned to end before they ever got too serious (something I still do struggle with), and I long believed, a belief that at some times was not as much conscious as it was confirmed with my deeply engrained unconscious behaviors of sabotage, that a ‘true’ and committed relationship is simply something I can’t have. This long internalized belief has given rise to many of my independent behaviors in relationships... both in destructive ways that compromise my connection with others and/or alienate them, and in positive senses that protect my individuality and self respect.

Here’s the thing. I was never wrong to see my trauma responses in the force of Black Moon Lilith. Black Moon Lilith and Lilith the archetype are in fact rooted in trauma. We mustn’t trivialize that part. The defense mechanisms, rage, shame, denial, sabotage, the desire to leave people and things behind, and the general mechanisms for self-preservation which can accompany Lilith stem from instances where we have felt held down, lead to believe we don’t have power, mistreated, and in some cases even horribly abused/violated. But the reality of Black Moon Lilith’s painful origins does not make it all a bad thing! It can be a very empowering thing potentially, because where we are hurt is also where we can find the avenues for healing, and for gaining acceptance of our most authentic self and desires. And there is a very good reason we develop many of these less than savory reactions from traumatic experiences and messaging. Lilith teaches us to recognize our boundaries, and to reclaim the personal power that once was lost! - even if at times we may run too far with these prerogatives in stubborn quests for independence and personal autonomy wherever she resides.

Though I have been fascinated by and intent to ponder Black Moon Lilith for probably over a year now, my reflections on it, and later on the character Lilith for which the lunar apogee is named, have really gained a lot of new ground during this last month+ of Black Moon Lilith’s conjunction to the North Node. (Which is currently separating, but still in effect.) The Lunar North Node is another very important point in relation to the Moon’s orbit, which shows the path forward. Black Moon Lilith with the North Node in Gemini has proven too be so ripe with many new experiences for me to learn about Lilith. It’s hard to say if anything has actually changed about my relationship with Lilith, or if I am just starting to see more of the positive in her that was always there, instead of just noticing and perpetuating the glaring negative. Also, I decided it was about time to accept Lilith as a part of who I am. I can’t deny the power the associated energies and the archetype has had on my life, so I might as well embrace it- both the good parts and the parts that are a work in progress. (And that is the story of my new little stud earrings with the Black Moon Lilith symbol!)

One aspect of my relationship with Lilith that I think actually has started to bloom forth in more of a clear-cut positive way with this Lilith-North Node transit, is finding the power to actively and productively embrace a part of myself, via finding/claiming opportunities to keep cultivating this part, even though it’s meant having to disregard my reservations, and even fighting through some shame. I can see now that there is a whole world of great personal empowerment to be tapped into with Lilith, and not just in the ability to leave people behind. (But of course leaving people behind is one means she’ll employ, if it is necessary for stepping into her power!)

I have always seen myself as a writer. It’s not even by choice, and a great deal of the time, for a very long time, I have really resented this natural compulsion of mine. You see, I have a deeply complicated relationship with writing, one that undoubtedly needs some healing. Well, this Black Moon Lilith/North Node conjunction in Gemini, moving through my 3rd house of communications (and as I only found out the other day, also conjunct my natal White Moon Selena, i.e. the lunar perigee/polarity to Black Moon Lilith) ended up bringing me my first opportunities ever getting paid to write… something I guess I just used to assume I couldn’t do, due to my lack of a college degree, as well as the difficult relationship with writing and my paralyzing perfectionism. But with this transit, I placed aside my assumptions of what wasn’t possible for me, and I have some hope now that accepting the opportunity to write for other people, on subjects that generally don’t even mean anything to myself, may just turn out to be the good dose of objectivity needed to help restore some healing to my writing relationship.

Once again, where you’ll find the wounds in your relationship with your personal power, is also where you’ll find how to heal them, and use them to empower yourself and others- and that healing is really what Black Moon Lilith conjunct the North Node has been trying to facilitate for us all. Of course, the process is basically never straightforward and easy, nor all enjoyable. This transit has brought a wide range of Lilith experiences in my life to comment upon.

Some other occurrences have been: abruptly ending an extended off and on relationship with someone where there was always a good deal of power struggle (and would have been power imbalance if I had not stood my ground in a lot of instances), unconsciously driving away or creating distance with a few friends, being consciously and stubbornly persistent in putting more distance between myself and my family than ever before, and facing a couple situations providing awkward trial and error experiments in how I communicate my dissatisfaction to others who wronged me. But I know that all of these experiences are helping me to evolve, and to better understand my responses which stem from wounds that have set into me with the nature of Black Moon Lilith.

And I marvel at the fact that millions of other humans have also been going through experiences which are forcing them to confront and/or evolve their own instincts and behaviors associated with the Black Moon, whether they realize it or not.

Lilith says, “These are my boundaries[or conditions]. You will respect them, or I am outta here.” She says, ‘I know what I am capable of, so I’m gonna fight for it- even if I have to shut out other people.” The placement of our natal Black Moon Lilith shows a prominent area where power has been stolen from us, whether through physical or psychological means (and where the Black Moon is transiting can bring up these issues in other areas, as well). Lilith develops from a wound, and her determination to not feel the powerlessness again can serve as either the healing or the perpetuation of it.

* * * * * * * * * * *

P.S.

For any astro heads reading this with this knowledge of their birth chart, I welcome you to comment or reflect on where 5° Gemini falls in your chart. This is where the (currently separating) conjunction of Black Moon Lilith and the North Node occurred, so the house in your natal chart where it’s transiting, and any natal placements that may be in aspect to this point, especially conjunctions and oppositions, may be able to show where/how you have embodied or encountered Black Moon Lilith energy in recent times.

NOTE :

If anyone is wondering which “Lilith” in astrology I have been referring to, since it is a fairly infamous fact that there are actually 4 things bearing this name in astrology… I have for the most part only followed the mean calculation of Black Moon Lilith (and with Black Moon Lilith’s conjunction to the North Node, mean Lilith is what I’m referring to).

There is also Osculating Black Moon Lilith (aka True Lilith), which is a different calculation of the same concept I have discussed with Black Moon Lilith. A calculation that is actually technically more precise about the moon’s orbit, for the moment that it is taken, as the lunar apogee technically jumps around a little bit a whole lot… yet I have personally found Mean Lilith to be more worth following, especially when following collective transits, if trying to examine the effects of something lingering over an extended period of time, or if conceptualizing Black Moon Lilith’s cycles throughout the entire zodiac. I don’t doubt that the calculation of osculating Black Moon Lilith (which often is not too far from the mean calculation) has a lot of validity to it too though, perhaps especially for natal chart interpretations, and progressions.

As for the other two Liliths, there is the asteroid Lilith- but that is named for a French composer, not the Lilith archetype as we know her. Not saying it isn’t something worth looking into, it just hasn’t been a point of focus for me. And lastly, there is Dark Moon Lilith (aka Waldemath Moon), which is said to be a dark body of unknown origin revolving around the Earth- but there is a lot of debate as to whether it actually exists. I don’t have an opinion one way or another, and I haven’t followed it in transits. However, its placement in my natal chart, with an opposition to Black Moon Lilith for one, does peak my interest.

#blackmoonlilith #black moon #lilith #astrology #astrology blog #zodiac #queen lilith #darkmoon #birth chart #astrologer #north node #moon #lunar witch #new moon #full moon #goddess lilith #astrology 2021 #astronomy #amwriting #astro community #astro observations #feminism #female power #lilith in gemini #spirituality #witchcraft #goddess #cosmos #north node in gemini

[kingofkingdom-archive]

So Much Like Stars - Part ONE

Pairing: Boba Fett x Fem!Reader

Part ONE (read part two here!)

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You’ve known nothing but snow and cold wind your whole life. When a mysterious hunter arrives at your village, you find yourself drawn to him.

Warnings: Explicit sex, p-in-v sex, vaginal fingering, breathplay, power dynamics/power play, royalty kink (?), dom/sub dynamics, naked female clothed male, come marking, unprotected sex, mentions of death (no character death)

Word count: 8.2k+

A/N: This fic is entirely self-indulgent. No one asked for it, but here it is. Boba Fett fucks and we all know it. Or maybe you disagree, in which case you’re wrong. Anyway, enjoy! As usual, there’s no use of Y/N here and please heed the warnings before reading.

Across the windswept, snowy plain, you watch as the ship approaches its landing. It slows, rotates, and then lands face-up on the flat expanse. It’s maybe a kilometer and a half away from the outlook you’re perched on; your binocs are old, no longer reading distance, so the best you can do is guess. The wind blows the snow towards the east, blurring the landscape into obscurity for anyone without a trained eye.

Your cloak, woven from the heavy fur of the Kintur that roam your planet, keeps the driving wind from seeping into your bones. Every inch of your skin is covered, from your leather boots and thick leggings to your goggles and well-worn face mask. You carry a pack, as you always do, to which are strapped your net-shoes that allow you to traverse over massive snowdrifts. At your hip is an old Republic-issue blaster and at your side is your staff, which often acts more as a tool to clear paths and knock snow from tree boughs than anything else.

This planet is nearly uninhabited save for the village you were born in. Seeing a ship is rare, and it’s even rarer to see one that’s unaffiliated with a galactic government. You take note of its location and strain to see if you can spot the pilot as he emerges, but you have no such luck.

You sigh, the wind whistling in your ears, the drifts of snow shifting and growing around you. Father will want you back soon. The newcomer is undoubtedly going to head towards the village, and you’ll need to be there when he arrives. You stow your binocs away in your pack and unstrap your net-shoes, attaching them quickly to your boots.

The trek back is one you’ve managed countless times before - that doesn’t make it any less dangerous, but the sheer cliff faces and howling, punishing winds are not strangers to you. 

Your village is small by the standards of other planets in the galaxy, from what you’ve heard (the Elders’ stories of Coruscant never fail to amaze you), but in your eyes it’s vibrant and bustling despite the harsh climate. There’s almost always a tavern with its lights on and music flowing out, a friendly face and warm hearth never far.

It’s located in a secluded valley between towering mountains, out of sight of the vast plains from which the mountains seem to erupt without warning. There are no foothills; only flat land interrupted by harsh terrain. It’s very easy to find death in the mountains, but they have sustained your people for generations. Hunting is your main source of food, whether it be the Kintur that also provide their hide or the massive snow-bison whose fat and bones keep your diets regulated. In the warm season water flows endlessly - the streams that run from the mountain peaks are known to have healing properties, and often they seem to glow with a supernatural shimmer. There is a small mine some distance from the village where many men work, and though the job is a dangerous one, the mountains never run out of the ores you need.

Your people’s existence is not especially complex, but they are tougher than most. The landscape requires it.

You arrive back at the stone walls surrounding your village and greet the gatekeeper, a man who recently inherited the job from his father. 

“Hello, Isrwill.” You plant your staff next to you and lean on it, taking your weight off of your feet. “Have you heard anything of the visitor?”

The man nods. He’s about a decade older than you, but underneath the goggles and mask his face is youthful, eyes kind and always merry. “Savakya returned not long ago. She says he will make it here within the hour.”

“Did she say anything of his appearance?”

“Only that he wears armor, and a helmet. She could not make out any features, other than that he’s shaped like a man.” Isrwill leans back against the wall.

“Ah,” you reply. “Well-dressed for the weather, then.”

He shrugs. “Yes, but also well-dressed for battle.”

You can hear the concern in his voice. The question is one you’re sure your whole community is asking: what has brought this foreigner here? 

“Thank you,” you tell him, and he nods while pushing the gate open.

Once inside the walls, you remove your net-shoes as well as your goggles and immediately head toward the building where you know they’ll bring the stranger. Your father will already be there, conversing with the Elders and with the Committee to prepare for whatever news or needs this foreigner might have. There are protocols in place for such an event, but they haven’t been used in your lifetime. As you walk to the meeting-house, you try and recall the words you studied so long ago, when your father taught you your people’s laws and customs.

The meeting-house is constructed of solid, ancient wood, imported from a forest planet and stark against the gray stone that most of the village’s homes are built from. Inside there is a massive hearth cut from a single stone, the fire inside it already raging. In the center of the main room there is a curved table; on one side sit the Elders, on the other, the Committee. At the head sits your father, next to your empty seat.

“You made it safely, my child,” he greets you when you arrive, a swirl of snowflakes following you in. Smiling, you pull down your face mask.

“I always do, father.”

He smiles from his place at the table, giving you a look. “That does not mean I do not worry.”

Rolling your eyes affectionately, you lean over to kiss him on the cheek. The other people at the table chat amongst themselves, though you can feel the undercurrent of unease at the visitor’s imminent arrival.

You walk around to take your place, setting your pack, staff, and outer layers near the hearth to dry. You are left in a long-sleeved, high-neck shirt and tunic over your leggings, your hair done up in its usual braids. Usually you would go home and change into something more suitable for Committee business, but there was no time. 

You turn to your father, who sits next to you with all the grace and poise befitting a benevolent leader.

“Isrwill told me the stranger is arriving soon. Do we know any more?”

He nods, though he doesn’t look entirely pleased. “Yes. From what Savakya described, it seems he’s a Mandalorian.”

The name isn’t familiar to you. “Is that a race?”

“No.” Your father leans back in his chair. His arched brows bely a concern that is rare to see on him. He strokes his white beard, staring off into space. “The Mandalorians are more of a culture, a people. I’ve only ever heard stories of them. They say they are fierce warriors, and that many of them are bounty hunters by trade.”

That’s odd. You frown, confused. “Bounty hunters? Why wo-”

You are interrupted by three sharp knocks on the doors. Beside you, your father calls out “enter! ”, and the doors swing open.

Two village men, two of the strongest of your people, flank a man clad in armor. His helmet has a T-shaped visor with a short antenna, and on his back is a rifle. You take note of the blasters strapped to his hips as well as something that could be a weapon at his knee. 

Isrwill was right. Well-dressed for battle.

You sit up straight and keep your eyes trained on the Mandalorian. Though you are a member of the Committee, you are also well-versed in how to use a blaster, perhaps the best trained of any at the table. You are also a protector of your fellow Committee members, the Elders, and most importantly, your father. 

“What business brings you to our planet, Mandalorian?” Your father’s voice is stern, strong in a way you hope to emulate when you inevitably assume his role.

“I am in search of a bounty, your excellency.”

The hunter’s voice is deep and slightly muffled through the helmet’s vocoder. He sounds weathered and rough, though you imagine that’s life as a man who fights and kills for a living.

“Sir will suit me just fine,” your father tells him, a hint of a smirk in his voice. “As for your bounty, it is highly improbable that any individual has survived outside of our village longer than a day. There is no stranger here but you.”

The Mandalorian sighs, looking down at the floor and then back up again. “I’m afraid I disagree, sir. The tracker isn’t wrong. He must be hiding somewhere in the mountains.”

Your father shakes his head. “Those mountains are impossible to pass without a guide. If he was there, surely he is dead by now.”

Though you can’t see his face, the hunter’s helmet is surprisingly expressive. He looks at your father for a long moment, and then glances around at the other people at the table. His gaze finally lands on you.

You set your jaw and stare back, unintimidated. A man with guns does not scare you, no matter how he tries.

“Alright,” he says, but you suspect he is not satisfied with this information. “Might I at least inquire about some lodging for the night?”

-

Later that evening, you find yourself in your favorite tavern, sitting in your usual booth, watching the townsfolk mingle and chat. Your drink of choice is a fermented ale that is produced in the warm season and aged for consumption outside of those short couple of months. 

No one pays you any mind unless they’re a close friend or they have news. They know to leave you alone, to let you sit with yourself as you prefer to do.

You’re watching a young couple you grew up with dance to the music when the tavern’s door swings open. You glance over at it but do a double take when you realize who stands in the doorway.

The hunter.

Around you, conversation quiets as everyone takes in the stranger. His helmet scans the room, like he’s looking for someone in particular. Internally you scoff. The bounty would never show his face here, he’d stand out too much amongst your people.

The hunter’s visor stops moving, aimed directly at you.

Kriff, you think, taking a swig of your drink. He wants information, and he’s not going to give up quite as easily as he did with your father.

The Mandalorian walks into the room, headed directly towards your booth. People watch, heads turning to track the stranger’s movements across the floor. His steps are heavy, intentional, large frame imposing as he approaches you.

Certainly a man built for survival. For conflict. If he were a different person, you might find it attractive.

He stops when he reaches your booth, looking down at you just as you stare up at him, brow raised. 

“This seat taken?”

You shake your head and gesture to it. “Not at all.”

From the corner of your eye you can tell the rest of the tavern’s patrons are watching, waiting. As the hunter sits, you wave your hand discretely, telling them to return to their conversations, to each other.

The noise picks up again.

“You’ve got some influence here, princess.”

The name both rankles and sends a shiver of something unwanted down your spine. Now that he’s closer, knees almost brushing your own, you really get a sense of how intense this man’s presence is.

A warrior, to be sure. None would debate that. 

You narrow your eyes at him. “We are not the subjects of a king, hunter.”

He scoffs, leaning back and resting his arm on the back of the booth. “Forgive me. What are you to them?”

“I do not see how it concerns you.” The words are harsh but your face remains neutral. Your father taught you how to deal with men like this - how to steel yourself against posturing, against prodding, against teasing.

The Mandalorian chuckles. “I just like to know who I’m talkin’ to. No need for the theatrics.”

You don’t respond. He’s the one who approached you - you have no desire to get in his good graces.

He sighs, glancing over to the wall at your left, his right. “I’d never heard of this planet before the tracker brought me here, much less your people,” he tells you. It’s not a surprise.

“That’s how we like to keep it. We stand no chance against something like the Republic or the Empire. Our only means of survival is staying under the radar.”

His visor is trained directly on you, staring, studying your face. You stare back, wishing you could somehow get a sense of what he looks like underneath the mask.

“How long have your people lived here?”

You know it’s not because he’s genuinely curious. Your mind is buzzing with all the different reasons he’d have for asking - he wants to know how familiar you are with the landscape. He wants to know how well-established your system of governance is here. He wants to know if you know how your people arrived. 

He wants to know how vulnerable you are.

“Generations. Since before the Elders’ grandparents were born. Memory of our arrival here has been lost to time.”

He tilts his head. “Is yours the only settlement on the planet?”

You nod. As far as you know, anyway. Attempts have been made to reach out, to try and see if any other peoples live in the outer reaches of the landscape, but none have returned successful. 

The Mandalorian hums. He glances over into the tavern, at the other patrons and the bartender. You watch as the bartender, a woman a few years younger than your father, uses a rag to clean out a cup, but you can tell she’s watching your table from the corner of her eye. When she notices the hunter’s helmet turn towards her, her eyes flit up to you, then over to him.

The hunter waves, as if to signal that he wants something. The bartender glances back at you and you nod. She sets down the cup and begins walking over.

You look over at him. He’s already staring back, chin tilted down like you’re a riddle he’s trying to solve.

“What can I do for you, sir?” The bartender’s voice does not waver, but it’s tense nonetheless.

He gestures to your drink. “I’ll have what she’s having.”

The bartender nods and leaves. You take a sip of your ale, finding comfort and clarity in the warmth it brings you. 

Across from you, the bounty hunter shifts in his seat, removing his gloves to reveal a pair of  calloused hands. You glance down at them and follow their movement as they reach up, thumbs curling under the bottom of his helmet, and lift. 

The hunter’s weathered face greets you. He’s a man, like any other, like you expected him to be. His brows are arched and dark, but the rest of the hair on his head has been burnt away by something that left scars across the crown of his head and his face. His eyes are cold, haunted, calculating as they look at you.

He sets the helmet on the table with a thud . 

“You’ve seen death,” you observe, holding his gaze with your own. “Been close to it.” His brown eyes narrow and he crosses his arms over his chest.

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand, princess.”

Ah, you think. He underestimates me.  He thinks you’re the coddled daughter of a village leader, fed by the kindness of your people and adored for your status. You raise an eyebrow and take another swig of your drink, smirking into the amber liquid. 

You set the cup down on the table. “There is more in those mountains than snow and wind, hunter.”

He doesn’t move, save for a slow blink. “Tell me, then.”

You sense movement from the corner of your eye - the bartender has returned with his drink. He nods to her in thanks and she gives a tight smile, glancing at you before hastily returning to her station.

The hunter takes the cup and brings it to his lips. You watch as he takes a sip, swallows, and his eyes widen. A small cough forces its way up and out of his throat.

You smile at him, a hint of a grin that curls the corners of your mouth. 

“A bit strong for you?”

He glares over the rim of the cup and pointedly takes another swig. He sets the cup down, large hand dwarfing it. 

“What is in those mountains?” His voice has gotten lower, rougher, like you’ll be intimidated by a show of verbal force.

“Nothing you’ll concern yourself with,” you reply, refusing to back down. “Unless you want to encounter your own mortality again.”

“I am perfectly fine with a bit of a scare.”

You bark out a laugh. “You wouldn’t survive an hour out there without a guide. And no one here will take the job, not when the options are either a fruitless search for a dead body or a shootout between two criminals.”

He leans forward, face pressing close to yours, warm breath blowing across your cheeks. His nose is inches from your own.

His voice drops to a low murmur. “I didn’t come here for a bounty, little one.”

Your brow furrows and you draw back, pressing your shoulders against the cushioned stone behind you.

“Word has got out of a large deposit of kyber somewhere in this system. The Empire has not yet caught wind, but soon they will.”

You don’t recognize the name of the material he’s referring to, but you do recognize the Empire and know exactly what something like that might mean for a small, defenseless village such as your own.

It’s much different than a simple bounty hiding in the mountains.

“Why didn’t you tell the Committee this?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know if this is where the deposit is. I didn’t want to cause unnecessary concern, especially considering the… size and scale of your village”

You purse your lips and lean your head back, staring up as you consider this development. This man has come in search of something you aren’t sure exists, and if it does, it means certain death for you and your people. 

You look back down at the man across from you. “Then why did you decide to tell me? You’d have been better off going to my father with this information.”

He huffs out a chuckle, then grabs his drink and takes a swig. He sets the cup back down and rests his arm on the table beside it. “Because I need a guide, little one. Someone with knowledge of the terrain, who I won’t have to watch out for. I’m willing to pay handsomely.”

The dots begin to connect in your brain. You raise a brow at him. “I have no need for your credits. They’re next to useless here. Besides, how can we know this - this kyber is there at all?”

“Is there anything unnatural about the mountains? Anything that would point to something powerful within them?”

You frown, thinking on it for a moment. All of the ores found in the mine are naturally occurring, the creatures that live on the peaks are all native, and the --

It hits you. Your eyes widen ever so slightly, and your heart rate increases. A falling feeling in your stomach takes the sensation from your legs for a moment, ice cold and burning all at once.

“The water.”

The Mandalorian tilts his head. You glance around to make sure no one’s heard you. Everyone in the tavern seems oblivious to the two of you, despite their stares earlier.

“We have to leave,” you tell him, fishing a couple of coins out of your pocket and depositing them on the table. “We can’t discuss this here. Come with me.”

Hastily you stand, taking your cloak from its hook on the side of the booth and pulling it on. The hunter follows suit, sliding his helmet back on and looking around the room.

You start towards the door, heavy footsteps following behind you.

-

You bring him to your home, the only place where you know you won’t be interrupted. You live in a small building tucked in a quiet corner of the village, between a storage silo and the village’s north wall.

Inside, the hearth has been going all day, fueled by coal and snow-bison waste chips. There are four rooms; three downstairs and a bedroom upstairs. You bring the Mandalorian to your study, where the fire roars and there’s a few soft chairs and a couch to sit on. He takes a seat on the latter and removes his helmet, watching as you search your bookshelves for something.

“Care to tell me what you meant by ‘the water’?” He slouches, thick thighs spread over the couch cushion.

Your eyes follow the movement of his legs for a split second. It’s supremely distracting, how inviting he looks right now. You glance up at his face and see a small smirk on his lips. A blush colors your cheeks, caught in the act of looking. To hide it, you turn back to the bookshelf, scanning the spines of your books.

“In the warm season there are streams that flow from the mountaintops to the valley. It pools in an area not far from here and forms a small lake, not much more than a pond, that freezes over once the cold sets in again. For centuries we’ve brought our sick and dying there to be healed.”

The hunter hums. “And it works?”

You nod, turning to look over your shoulder at him. “I was brought there as a child. I would have died of the fever had it not been for the water. Our Elders drink if regularly after they reach a certain age, once they haven’t been killed by the elements.”

“Are you saying your people live longer because of it?”

You pause. That has never crossed your mind, since using the water’s magic has always been normal to you, a yearly practice like any other. “I don’t know. How long does man usually tend to live?”

“It depends,” he says. “I’d say a hundred years at most.”

That has you taken aback. You look over at the bookshelf again - this is life-changing, world-shattering information. Dread begins to settle in your chest, like everything you thought was real is a lie.

The hunter leans forward, hands on his knees, concern etched on his scarred face. “How long do your people live, little one? How many years?”

You inhale and look over at him. “Hundreds. A thousand, if we’re lucky.”

“Kriff,” he swears, leaning back with a hand over his mouth and nose. 

Turning back to the bookshelf, you resume your search to calm your racing mind. You find the book you were looking for, a collection of stories gathered by your family over generations.

“Here,” you say, sliding the book out of its place and taking it over to the hunter. He scoots over, but only slightly, so when you sit next to him you’re tucked snugly between him and the arm of the couch. His thigh is warm against your own and you get chills down your neck when he shifts to put his arm behind you, around your shoulders.

You clear your throat and open the book, letting it rest on your legs.

“There are a few accounts that speak of the water,” you tell him, flipping through the pages until you find the one you’re looking for. It’s half a page of writing, the other taken up by a crude map of the mountains.

“The waters are life-giving,” you read, tracing along the words with your index finger. “They shimmer and glow in the sun when it shines upon us. The source is deep within the mountain, covered by ice and snow in the cold season. No one has seen the source of the waters and survived. Many have tried. It lies in the heart of ongrol territory.”

“Ongrol?” The hunter’s voice is deep, low in your ear. You look up at him, absentmindedly biting your lip between your teeth.

“Yes,” you reply. “A vicious species of massive snow lion. It’s rare to see one and live to tell the tale. I’ve only ever seen their prints.”

He hums, eyes flitting across your face as he studies you up close. “How large are they?”

You shake your head. “We can only guess, but certainly bigger than this building.”

The Mandalorian nods, his eye contact with you intense and unwavering. You meet it head-on, the warmth you feel in your bones spreading into your thighs and your ribs and your --

You blink and turn back to the book. The map is shaded to indicate the creatures’ territory, with a dot to indicate the general location of where the source is thought to be.

You point to an area just outside the shaded region. “This is as far as I’ve been. I can get us to the source - it’s the ongrol that are the problem.” You look back up at the hunter. “You’re sure the kyber is what’s causing this?”

He nods. “It’s one of the most powerful materials in the known universe. Little else could heal your people the way it does.”

“How do we hide the signature from others, to keep them from finding it?” The unspoken question there hangs in the air as you speak; how do we protect ourselves from attack?

He furrows his brow, shaking his head ever so slightly. “I’m still trying to work that part out, little one.”

That does not do much ease your anxieties, but you have to accept it for now.

You close the book with a sigh and stand to return it to its place on the shelf. When you turn back, the hunter has placed his other arm on the back of the couch, spread out like a king on a throne.

He looks comfortable - at home, here in yours. It’s unlike you to bring a stranger into your dwelling and not feel uneasy about it. Yet here he is, and it’s like he belongs right there on your couch, armor and all. You cross your arms, observing him.

“Do you know the name Boba Fett, princess?”

You shake your head. “No, I do not.”

He smiles, like your answer pleases him. “It's mine.”

Boba. The name is unusual, but it suits the man before you.

“I’d tell you mine in return, but I’ve grown fond of the names you’ve chosen for me, Boba Fett.”

A deep sound pushes its way out of Boba’s chest through his throat - half a chuckle, half a growl. He gives you a once-over with his dark brown eyes, like he can see right through your thick base layer and loose tunic. You watch as he does so, trying to calm your nervous breathing. His gaze is so penetrating, so intense, that after a moment you have to turn away from him, towards the fireplace.

The orange-blue flames dance in front of you, warming your face even further. A mirror hangs above it, but your eyes are focused on the hearth.

You hear Boba shift behind you, metal on fabric. “Tell me, little one,” he says. You can sense him moving closer. “Do you have any suitors, here in the village?”

The question makes your heart race even faster. “No.” You refuse to look at him, knowing that what you see there will render words impossible. “I’ve not had any interest in them.”

“But have men tried? Asked to court you?” He’s right behind you now, the warmth of him nearly matching that of the flames in front of you. The hair on the back of your neck stands on end. You can see his shadow from the corner of your eye.

“Yes,” you nod. “They have tried.”

Boba hums. His hands come up to gently, but firmly, rest on your shoulders. He slowly smooths his gloved palms down your arms, taking them from being crossed over one another to resting loose at your sides.

You risk a glance up at the mirror in front of you. He’s already looking at you, eyes locked on yours. You meet his gaze and dip your chin ever so slightly, so you’re staring at him from beneath your lashes.

A ghost of a smirk dances across Boba’s lips. He breaks the eye contact and you watch as he looks down at the nape of your neck, one of few exposed pieces of your skin. His right hand brushes your hair from over your shoulder onto your back, gathering the long tresses together. The women in your village grow their hair out as long as they can, not only to use for braids, but also to keep warm. 

Boba’s fingers brush lightly against you, the rough material of his gloves a contrast to the smooth skin of your neck.

“Why haven’t they been successful, princess?”

You clench your jaw. Boba looks back up at you, his hand resting across your nape, fingers curled ever so slightly. The feeling of it makes your thighs tremble, your core responding to this silent, easy display of authority. It shows on your face, how much you like this, and you know Boba sees it.

“None of them could give me --”

Your words are cut off by Boba’s hand snaking around your neck, firm grip tightening around the column of your throat. You gasp, a soft, breathy noise, and the man behind you chuckles. His thumb and forefinger press into your jaw, forcing your head up, though your eyes are still locked onto his reflection in the mirror.

You choke out the rest of your sentence. “-- Give me what I need.”

“Is that so,” Boba murmurs, the words a deep rumble in his rough voice. He presses just a bit tighter, and your eyes flutter closed in response. “I think I know just what you need, my dear.”

His words burn through you like fire on wood, like a cold wind rushing through an open window. Your legs grow weak and your hands grapple at him, trying to find something to hold onto. Your left hand catches on the gauntlet covering his arm and you draw it around, so his arm covers your hip and his hand rests possessively on your lower stomach.

“What a pretty thing you are,” Boba mutters, sliding his hand lower on your front until his fingertips brush your mound. You let your head drop back against his shoulder at the feeling of him cupping your most private of areas, like it’s his, like it’s always been his. Your legs shift further apart to make room for his wide palm. “A stoic princess who desperately needs someone to take care of her.”

You whine at that, at what he’s offering you. It’s true; of all the eligible men in the village, not one has taken you to bed and been able to let you fully cede control to them. They see you as a leader, as someone not to be messed with, as someone to be respected above all else.

“Oh, yes,” Boba hums, curling the fingers of his left hand into your cunt, hooking them into you through your clothes. “They might follow your orders, little one, but you’ll follow mine.”

It sounds like paradise, letting him have you like this. You nod against the armor on his chest, movement limited and head growing dizzy thanks to the hand around your neck. Boba presses his lips close to your ear, his large body now curled around yours.

“Listen to me, sweetheart.” The pet name makes you melt against him. “I am going to go take a seat, and then you’re gonna take your clothes off for me. Can you do that?”

You open your eyes and there he is, in the corner of your vision, gaze dark and full of heated promises. You study his face for a moment, memorizing his features while he’s close like this, and then you nod.

“Yes, Boba.”

“Good,” he tells you. He then moves his hands away, and though you mourn the loss of his touch, knowing what’s to come keeps you patient.

He turns, walks back over to the sofa, and sits. He spreads his legs as he did before, arms on the back of the couch, watching you.

Boba looks so much like a king in that moment that it makes you want to bow before him, to prostrate yourself like you aren’t the daughter of the Chieftain. To worship him as he demands. 

The thought crosses your mind as your fingers begin to unwrap your tunic, taking the woven material from its intricate adornment on your body. You feel a blush rising on your cheeks at the implications - what would the village think of their leader’s daughter, the one to assume his role in the future, imagining such things about a stranger?

Your mind wanders, racing, thinking of seeing him upon a proper throne, all silent confidence and heated gazes from behind the visor of his helmet. Maybe he’d bring you there, show you off to a court, hold you in his wide palms like a treaty. Set you upon his lap like a rare trophy from your far-off snow planet. You’d wrap your arm around the back of his neck and listen to his dealings while he kept a firm hand on your upper thigh.

Dignitaries and crime lords alike would watch, whispering, unable to look away.

It thrills you, to have these secret desires.

You deposit the tunic on the floor next to you and toy with the hem of your top, pulling it out from where it was tucked in your pants. Boba’s eyes zero in on the strip of skin that is revealed as you raise the shirt higher, higher, and higher, until in one motion you’ve slipped it over your head and off entirely.

He stares at your chest and it makes you smile. Men will be men.

Feeling emboldened by the way Boba is looking at you, you turn around and hook your thumbs in the waistband of your pants. You slowly slip them down your hips, over your thighs, and past your knees, bending over as you do so.

Behind you, you hear shuffling. You toss the pants to join the tunic and shirt and turn to see Boba’s codpiece and gloves removed, his hand shoved down the front of his pants.

“I’m enjoying the show, little one,” he says, and waves at you with his other hand, even as you begin to see movement at the crotch of his trousers. “Continue.”

You smirk, a sly thing at seeing the effect your bare form has on him. You tuck your fingers under the band of your bra and pull up. Your arms block your view of Boba’s face as your breasts are revealed to him, but the hungry look in his eye once you can see him gives you a good idea of it.

“Kriff,” Boba swears, jerking himself faster, rougher. The sight of it makes your breathing become heavy, the labor of it causing your chest to heave. His eyes drop from your face to your tits - somehow, you don’t feel embarrassed or ashamed like you might usually. 

You just feel wanted. It’s intoxicating, that he wants you for you , not your title.

There’s only one article of clothing left on your body now. You turn around again, your back to him, and take the front hem of your underwear in your fingers. Slowly, almost teasing, you slip it over your hips, arching your back and pushing your ass out towards Boba. The underwear slips down your thighs until it falls to the floor.

You straighten up again and look over your shoulder at him. He gestures with his free hand, a ‘come here’ motion that you’re all too eager to follow.

“Beautiful kriffing body,” he murmurs as you approach. He reaches out and puts his hand on your hip, fingers curling into your ass cheek. His eyes stare at your mound, at the patch of hair there. “Bet you’re already wet for me, huh?”

He glances up at you. You blush, watching as he removes his hand from his pants and snakes it in between your legs, calloused fingers feeling the evidence of his effect on you. His fingertips catch on your clit, rubbing and feeling and stoking the fire within. You moan wantonly, comfortable in the privacy of your home.

“You are. Kriffing soaked. Just begging for my cock, aren’t you?”

His words make your pussy clench just as he slips one of his thick fingers into you, surely spreading his own fluids across your tight, hot skin. The girth of it forces a whine out of you, brows furrowed, and your hand flies down to hold onto his as he fucks you with his finger. Your other hand comes to rest on his shoulder, gripping his armor.

“Look at you,” he mutters, baring his teeth as he watches you writhe on his hand, using his thumb to rub your clit just so. Your mouth drops open in pleasure, sparks shooting down your legs and up into your belly at the feeling. 

Boba hums, circling his thumb and flicking it over your puffy, sensitive nub. “What would your people think if they saw you moaning like a whore for an old man, hm?”

Your legs turn to jelly at the force of the arousal that hits your cunt. You sway forward, knees buckling, and Boba catches you as you fall. 

He uses the hand on your ass to guide you into a sitting position on his lap, so now you’re straddling him, bare chest pressed to the cool metal of his armor. You tuck your face into his neck and revel in the feeling of a second finger teasing at your opening.

“You like that, little one?” His words cause his throat to vibrate, and the deep tone draws your lips in to kiss at it. Your nose brushes against the underside of his jaw as you move from kissing to licking, getting drunk on the taste of his sweat on your tongue.

Boba groans, sliding the second finger into your cunt with ease. You sigh, blowing cool air across the skin you’ve just wet with your tongue. “You do.” He runs his free hand up your thigh, holding tight to the firm muscle there, toned and strong from a lifetime in the ice and snow. “So desperate for my cock.”

You nod, though your lips hardly leave his neck. “Please, Boba,” you whisper into his skin, pressing yourself as close to him as you can get. 

His fingers still their movements within you and you whine. Boba shushes you, and you have to bite your lip to keep from pouting when he pulls his fingers from your pussy. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head and leans back.

“I want you on your hands and knees, princess. Right here on the couch.”

You nod frantically and there’s not a moment of hesitation in your haste to follow his order. You arrange yourself next to him, forearms propped on the arm of the couch and your knees keeping your ass aloft in the air.

Boba turns and positions himself behind you with ease, half standing with one foot on the floor, his other leg bent and kneeling on the cushion.

He may call himself an old man, but he’s got the physicality of someone half his age. It makes the spot between your legs hotter and wetter just to think of it. Your cunt throbs for him.

You look over your shoulder and watch as he reaches into his pants, hand spreading your wetness across his dick, and your eyes widen as he draws it out from the confines of his trousers. Your gaze zeros in on him; he’s thick and long, just as you suspected, and every inch is one you want to feel as deep inside you as possible. Honestly, it makes sense - you’ve always heard that the men with the most to make up for do so in their personalities. 

Men like Boba don’t have to compensate, which makes them all the more attractive.

You glance up to his face. He’s smirking down at you, eyes traveling down to your ass, pushed out and open for him. He runs a hand along the soft swell of your rear, caressing you like you’re precious, like you’re prized.

“I could get used to this,” he tells you, guiding the head of his cock to notch at your opening. “Seeing a future queen all bare and ripe for me.”

Your eyelids flutter as you feel him press in further, deeper. The sight of him kneeling behind you, fully clothed while you’re naked as the day you were born, sends a wave of arousal through you. Your brain doesn’t even register what he’s called you, how wrong he is, because you can’t think of anything beyond his dick.

“C’mon, Boba,” you whine, his slow pace driving you mad. “Fuck me like you mean it, old man.”

The noise that comes out of his mouth is almost non-human with the way it reverberates around the room. His hands dig into your hips and he thrusts , unrelenting and rough, spearing you onto his thick cock until his balls slap your clit. You choke out a moan, your eyes rolling into the back of your head at how perfectly full you feel.

“Ah,” he grunts out as he immediately sets to fucking you roughly, deeply. “The little princess does want to be treated like a whore.” His words are accompanied by the lewd sound of his cock moving in your wet cunt, his hips slapping against your own. You moan, loud and uninhibited, unable to conceive of shame or propriety.

For your whole life you’ve been looked up to, treated as both fragile and untouchable.

Boba Fett fucks you like you’re nothing more to him than a pet.

He snarls his words into the air. “Woulda fucked you there on that table in the cantina, shown the whole village how well you take me.”

You keen, arching your back further to give him a better angle. He runs his left hand up your side, gripping your waist and pulling you back onto his cock in time with his thrusts. He’s deeper inside you than anyone’s ever been - you’re beginning to think men in your village must be small, or maybe Boba’s just unnaturally big, because you think you can feel the head of his cock bruising your cervix. 

The thought of him taking you in the tavern has you clenching down on him even tighter. Maybe you would have gotten on your knees for him, hid beneath the tablecloth and kept his cock warm in your mouth.

“That turn you on, princess?” He slows his thrusts just slightly, drawing out so he can slam back in with even more force. You cry out, nodding, tears forming at the corners of your eyes.

“Of course it does,” he grunts, and you can feel the crest of your climax steadily approaching as he speaks, letting yourself get lost in the fantasies he’s bringing to life. His thrusts speed up again, rough and brutal, just as you need.

“You were just waiting for someone to -- ungh -- come along and fuck all the thoughts outta that clever little head, weren’t you?”

You whine, because he’s right - your normally sharp, observant brain has been put out like water over a fire. Boba leans forward, placing his hand on the arm of the couch next to your elbow, and brushes his lips against the back of your neck. It changes his position enough that his cock hits you just that much deeper, pounding against that elusive sweet spot deep within your cunt.

“Kriff, Boba --” You barely get the words out, your voice hoarse and strained and your mind turned to mush. “So -- so big.”

Against your ear, you feel more than hear him chuckle. His teeth catch on your earlobe, hot breath skating down the side of your face.

“Yeah? You like having my big cock in your tight little pussy?”

You keen, high-pitched and desperate. “Please, Boba, I’m gonna --”

His teeth trail down the side of your neck, biting firmly enough to leave a trail of red marks across your skin. Once he’s satisfied with his work, he leans up again so he can grip your hips more firmly.

“Gonna come, little one? Go on --” his words trail off for a moment - or maybe your hearing fades out as the crisis within you rises to its limit. Right as you’re on the edge, your face flush with sensation and your cunt fluttering around him, his rough voice fades back in.

“-- wanna feel you, princess. Come for your king.”

You have no choice but to do as he says.

Boba’s words scratch that small, hidden itch in your brain you’d taken a glance at earlier. Your mind whites out for a split second, as blinding as a snowstorm, before you return to yourself.

He’s still fucking you. Using you. Oversensitive and trembling, your senses absorb the world around you - Boba's hands on your hips, the scrape of his armor against your thighs, the crackle of the fireplace somewhere over your shoulder. 

The rhythm of Boba's cock inside you, chasing the same high you'd found moments earlier.

You moan, pushing back, encouraging him to find his release. A glance over your shoulder gives you the sight of his eyes focused on where he's thrusting into you, lip curled, a drop of sweat trailing down over his jaw.

Boba glances up at you and smirks, though the flash of teeth makes it more of a sneer. "Where do you want me, princess?"

A serene smile crosses your face and you pretend to think on it for a moment, lazy in your post-orgasmic haze.

"On me," you reply. "Wherever you want."

He grunts, looking back down, and thrusts a few more times, deep and bruising. As soon as he pulls out you mourn the loss of him, the fullness inside of you, but you're rewarded with a vision unlike any you've seen before. Boba takes himself in hand, and with a loud groan, cums across your ass, his spend dripping down your thighs and onto your pussy lips. He covers you with himself, marking you up.

Once he's finished, Boba runs a hand through the cum on your skin, pressing firmly and rubbing it in.

"Been wanting to do that since I saw you in the meeting hall, little one."

You hum, eyes fluttering closed at the thought of it. What a scandal - the Chieftain's daughter falling for the stranger, the first foreigner to visit the village in living memory.

Behind you, Boba shifts off of the couch. He stands beside you and then you register that he's moving you, strong hands arranging your limp body so he can pick you up. One arm slips beneath your knees and the other under your back.

"Bedroom's upstairs," you murmur. 

He brings you there, tucking you into bed carefully and then turning to undo his armor. As you watch him methodically remove each piece, you get the feeling that you're privy to something rare. Though you're sleepy, your eyes remain open, intent on keeping this memory clear.

The thought crosses your mind that this man must know so much of the universe. He's probably been to hundreds of planets, has hundreds of stories.

You've only ever known snow and wind. 

"Boba?"

He's just finished with the last of his armor when you speak. He sits down on the edge of the bed next to you and puts his hand on your side.

"Yes, princess?"

You gaze up into his eyes, dark but soft when looking at you.

"What's the most beautiful place you've ever been to?"

He smiles at that, letting out a soft chuckle. "I've been to so many places that it's hard to keep track, little one."

You pout. He moves to settle into bed next to you, under the layers of fur and fleece that keep you warm.

"You must have a favorite," you insist, curling up against him, head resting on his bicep.

He's quiet for a minute, thinking. You wait, though sleep threatens to pull you under. Boba's words lull you out of the beginnings of your slumber.

"I think you'd like Naboo," he tells you. You've read about it, about their system of governance. You can't recall seeing any pictures or illustrations, though. 

"It's very green," he explains. "There's meadows and forests everywhere. Their cities are vast, the buildings beautiful in themselves. I traveled there with my father when I was young."

You want to ask more, to learn about this place so different from anything you know. Your mind is racing with imaginings when you fall asleep, cozy and warm against Boba Fett.

In the night, your dreams glow as bright as the sun.

#boba fett x reader #boba fett fanfiction #boba fett fucks #mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #boba fett x female reader #female reader #reader insert #reader insert fanfiction

[feelingbluepolitics]

https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/2021/09/23/robert-kagan-constitutional-crisis/

Much of this article is trash, written by a mewling conservative trying to distinguish Republicon policies and Republicon ideology as beyond and separate from "trump precursors" for "the last 30 years." Try 60 years, or more. Go all the way back to them with their fury and screams over Social Security as an evil Communist plot.

Kagan is a Never-trumper attempting to sound reasonable despite being a mental conservative, who thinks -- much like poor, beleaguered Joe Manchin -- that Democrats "need to let good Republicons" help them save the country.

He's one of those types of fools who, when he speaks of officials with integrity, is alluding to Mr. Anti-vote Raffensperger, who is to voting like so many white male Republicons are to immigration -- none too happy about illegal or legal. His hero Raffensperger is also one of the leading architects of the Republicon rash of Jim Crow 2.0 laws which Kagan points to as a prime symptom of Nazi-type fascism threatening American right now...but logical consistency fares extremely poorly on the Right.

However, there are some useful points in this article. The criticism leveled toward the Right by a [pre-trump] insider is one. And the insistent urgency of our nation's crisis is another.

"The United States is heading into its greatest political and constitutional crisis since the Civil War, with a reasonable chance over the next three to four years of incidents of mass violence, a breakdown of federal authority, and the division of the country into warring red and blue enclaves. The warning signs may be obscured by the distractions of politics, the pandemic, the economy and global crises, and by wishful thinking and denial. But about these things there should be no doubt:

"First, [t]rump will be the Republican candidate for president in 2024. The hope and expectation that he would fade in visibility and influence have been delusional. He enjoys mammoth leads in the polls; he is building a massive campaign war chest; and at this moment the Democratic ticket looks vulnerable. Barring health problems, he is running. [Or legal problems. Or even better, in order to be a bit safer, both].

"Second, [t]rump and his Republican allies are actively preparing to ensure his victory by whatever means necessary. [t]rump’s charges of fraud in the 2020 election are now primarily aimed at establishing the predicate to challenge future election results that do not go his way. Some Republican candidates have already begun preparing to declare fraud in 2022, just as Larry Elder tried meekly to do in the California recall contest.

"Meanwhile, the amateurish 'stop the steal' efforts of 2020 have given way to an organized nationwide campaign to ensure that [t]rump and his supporters will have the control over state and local election officials that they lacked in 2020. Those recalcitrant Republican state officials who effectively saved the country from calamity by refusing to falsely declare fraud or to 'find' more votes for [t]rump are being systematically removed or hounded from office. Republican legislatures are giving themselves greater control over the election certification process. As of this spring, Republicans have proposed or passed measures in at least 16 states that would shift certain election authorities from the purview of the governor, secretary of state or other executive-branch officers to the legislature. An Arizona bill flatly states that the legislature may 'revoke the secretary of state’s issuance or certification of a presidential elector’s certificate of election' by a simple majority vote. Some state legislatures seek to impose criminal penalties on local election officials alleged to have committed 'technical infractions,' including obstructing the view of poll watchers.

"The stage is thus being set for chaos.

..."Most Americans — and all but a handful of politicians — have refused to take this possibility seriously enough to try to prevent it. As has so often been the case in other countries where fascist leaders arise, their would-be opponents are paralyzed in confusion and amazement at this charismatic authoritarian. They have followed the standard model of appeasement, which always begins with underestimation. The political and intellectual establishments in both parties have been underestimating [t]rump since he emerged on the scene in 2015. They underestimated the extent of his popularity and the strength of his hold on his followers; they underestimated his ability to take control of the Republican Party; and then they underestimated how far he was willing to go to retain power. The fact that he failed to overturn the 2020 election has reassured many that the American system remains secure, though it easily could have gone the other way — if Biden had not been safely ahead in all four states where the vote was close; if [t]rump had been more competent and more in control of the decision-makers in his administration, Congress and the states. As it was, [t]rump came close to bringing off a coup earlier this year...

..."Where does the Republican Party stand in all this? The party gave birth to and nurtured this movement; it bears full responsibility for establishing the conditions in which [t]rump could capture the loyalty of 90 percent of Republican voters. Republican leaders were more than happy to ride [t]rump’s coattails if it meant getting paid off with hundreds of conservative court appointments, including three Supreme Court justices; tax cuts; immigration restrictions; and deep reductions in regulations on business.

..."From the uneasy and sometimes contentious partnership during [t]rump’s four years in office, the party’s main if not sole purpose today is as the willing enabler of [t]rump’s efforts to game the electoral system to ensure his return to power.

..."With the party firmly under his thumb, [t]rump is now fighting the Biden administration on separate fronts. One is normal, legitimate political competition, where Republicans criticize Biden’s policies, feed and fight the culture wars, and in general behave like a typical hostile opposition.

"The other front is outside the bounds of constitutional and democratic competition and into the realm of illegal or extralegal efforts to undermine the electoral process. The two are intimately related, because the Republican Party has used its institutional power in the political sphere to shield [t]rump and his followers from the consequences of their illegal and extralegal activities in the lead-up to Jan. 6. Thus, Reps. Kevin McCarthy and Elise Stefanik, in their roles as party leaders, run interference for the [t]rump movement in the sphere of legitimate politics, while Republicans in lesser positions cheer on the Jan. 6 perpetrators, turning them into martyrs and heroes, and encouraging illegal acts in the future.

..."Even [t]rump opponents play along. Republicans such as Sens. Mitt Romney and Ben Sasse have condemned the events of Jan. 6, criticized [t]rump and even voted for his impeachment, but in other respects they continue to act as good Republicans and conservatives. On issues such as the filibuster, Romney and others insist on preserving 'regular order' and conducting political and legislative business as usual, even though they know that [t]rump’s lieutenants in their party are working to subvert the next presidential election.

"The result is that even these anti-[t]rump Republicans are enabling the insurrection. Revolutionary movements usually operate outside a society’s power structures. But the [t]rump movement also enjoys unprecedented influence within those structures. It dominates the coverage on several cable news networks, numerous conservative magazines, hundreds of talk radio stations and all kinds of online platforms. It has access to financing from rich individuals and the Republican National Committee’s donor pool. And, not least, it controls one of the country’s two national parties...

"The world will look very different in 14 months if, as seems likely, the Republican zombie party wins control of the House. At that point, with the political winds clearly blowing in his favor, [t]rump is all but certain to announce his candidacy, and social media constraints on his speech are likely to be lifted, since Facebook and Twitter would have a hard time justifying censoring his campaign. With his megaphone back, [t]rump would once again dominate news coverage, as outlets prove unable to resist covering him around the clock if only for financial reasons.

"But this time, [t]rump would have advantages that he lacked in 2016 and 2020, including more loyal officials in state and local governments; the Republicans in Congress; and the backing of GOP donors, think tanks and journals of opinion. And he will have the [t]rump movement, including many who are armed and ready to be activated, again. Who is going to stop him then?

..."[Republicons] have refused to work with Democrats to pass legislation limiting state legislatures’ ability to overturn the results of future elections, to ensure that the federal government continues to have some say when states try to limit voting rights, to provide federal protection to state and local election workers who face threats, and in general to make clear to the nation that a bipartisan majority in the Senate opposes the subversion of the popular will. Why?

[They, just like trump, want and intend to be in power at all costs.

..."We are already in a constitutional crisis. The destruction of democracy might not come until November 2024, but critical steps in that direction are happening now. In a little more than a year, it may become impossible to pass legislation to protect the electoral process in 2024. Now it is impossible only because anti-[t]rump Republicans, and even some Democrats, refuse to tinker with the filibuster. It is impossible because, despite all that has happened, some people still wish to be good Republicans [sic] even as they oppose [t]rump. These decisions will not wear well as the nation tumbles into full-blown crisis."

[countessofbiscuit]

Fine before Eleven

Foxiyo, Teen, 1100 words | Ao3

Senator Riyo Chuchi is anxious. Tomorrow will see the very public installation of Sujimis’s Junior Delegation. It’s a night that calls for dry heat and a dry run, if only her lover will cooperate. . . .

“You have to mean it,” Riyo declared, her voice stern against the blanket of heat.

“But I don’t want to mean it.”

Stood over her was Fox, holding a broom of birch, junipine, and linden cuttings. He’d been largely initiated into the ways of the sauna; entered into its rituals with relish, even if Riyo sensed its physic properties bemused him still. Her lacquered nakedness. The plush, everclean towels. The sibilance of oil and water upon hot stones, a sound like the anticipation of an outdoor exercise. The fine scarves of steam. He visibly joyed in these things.

One custom remained. And on the eventide of a momentous cultural occasion — something of a personal triumph — a traditional branching seemed appropriate. A hearty flagellation to excite her blood, before Riyo introduced the Plutonian Talz to the Senate.

But Fox was struggling to get into the spirit of things; the feathering he’d just given her wouldn’t scare a snipebug.

“My love, ápu are not for decoration,” Riyo told him. Gathered from groves around the summer house, the branches had been manicured and bundled into bunches of varying lengths and character for her Coruscant home. Fox had selected the smallest, enervated it further in water, and now wielded it limply.

“This is very rough,” he observed, worriedly. Disregarding the effort gone into making it anything but.

“I am not for decoration, either.”

“I command the Guard. I’m honor and duty and everything-bound to prevent harm upon you. Not a scratch on my watch.”

Prone on the bench, Riyo bristled. “If you don’t want me in high dudgeon, you will smack me, Fox. And before the caf goes cold, if you please.”

“Can’t I just give you a massage, sweetheart?”

“And press all my pores down? No. I wish to be whisked — need to be, if I am to look my best tomorrow.”

“You’re always glowing.”

“Such sweet kark. Grandmama will thrash you, and then you’ll see what Pantoran affection looks like. And she won’t spare your tender bits.”

Any mention of Grandmama usually sent Fox complying. She represented a profound authority.

Fox thwacked her. His wrist directed the motion, but Riyo was soon alive to childhood sensations and present contentment. Eventually she turned over to expose her front, feeling pleasantly rotisseried.

“Much better.” She rewarded Fox with a fondle and dragged him outside. There they crowded into the new plunge bath. Riyo settled herself upon Fox’s lap, swilling water crisp as snowmelt over stones that did not breathe, and helped herself to both bowls of kudinai because Fox balked at real cheese, even if it wasn’t bantha-based. Then they returned to the sauna, so she could frisk her Fox instead. Demonstrably.

The exertion had its effects.

“Did you just — ”

“Yes,” Riyo clipped, purpling. “I’m allowed to toot in my own company.”

“Maybe if you people didn’t torture your cheesestuffs, it wouldn’t seek vengeance.”

“You people.” She hit him, hard. “Uncouth man!”

Chortling, Fox rolled up. “I’m not the savage here,” he said, stealing her and her apú away. He loped into the house with her across his shoulders, now and then whacking her bottom playfully, until Riyo was most exhilarated. Pink and ripe and ready.

Fox applied himself in bed with no encouragement at all. Riyo lost her breath in a wet cry of bliss.

But find her voice again she must. Thi-Sen’s delegation was en route; Prime Ambassador Sessi was old, and never made speeches now except when in his brandy; and her dress was steamed like she, its sash ruched and fastened with an immense, pearl-studded narglatch broach. The ceremony and everything it signified existed in all but historical fact. There was even an OpenNet article on the One-Day War, a name popularized by a sensational headline in The Peito Gazette.

Riyo reminded herself of Speaker Cherkou’s goodwill and was heartened. Her confidence, too, had plumed over the ratification of the Cold Spear Peace. She snuggled against Fox’s chest and tuned herself with a recital many minutes long.

“... and forge a genuinely shared system for generations to come. And that it might be said the magnificent narglatch looks at the moon not in despair, but in hope and kinship.”

Riyo finally dropped her datapad, sighing deep, pleased that it hadn’t been much needed. “How was that?”

Behind her, Fox set aside a burl bowl emptied of Eazy Shells and dressing. He had to be coaxed into making domestic decisions for himself; the results were sometimes extremely individual. Her parents would be spared the anecdote.

“I don’t get it,” he said.

“Oh dear.”

“No, just the last line. It’s very pretty” — here, a kiss upon her neck for emphasis — “but is it a reference to something?”

“Yes. To the Talz tradition about the moon. Thi-Sen is to perform the tale ceremonially. But I’ll make the allusion less obscure, in case the program changes unexpectedly. It often does.” Riyo highlighted the text, already chewing over the phrasing in her mind. How tired she was of speech-writing! The medium of interpretive dance was beginning to hold great appeal.

“What’s the tale?”

“It’s much better told by Thi-Sen.”

“I can’t understand Thi-Sen.”

“It shall be translated by Padmé’s protocol droid.”

Fox groaned. “Even worse. I can’t stand his voice.” He hugged her tighter. “I’d like to hear it from you, first.”

“Very well,” Riyo began. “Plutonia has its own native species of vulptex. Very white, fluffier than ours on the tundra. The Talz say that long ago, the Great Narglatch was locked in a ceaseless pursuit of Vulptex the Cunning. One night — Fox, you really must behave if I’m to remember this right.”

His wonderful wandering hands stilled. “Sorry.”

“One night, tired of cutting canyons around the planet, Vulptex stopped on a frozen lake to parley with Narglatch. She pointed to the pink orb under the ice and convinced him it was a block of meat — the reflection of Pantora, of course, and much tastier than she. Narglatch was famished, and so he clawed and clawed and gnawed and gnawed at the ice, gobbling up so much that he burst. Thus his spiked mane, and why the Talz say the narglatch roars unhappily at the moon.”

“What happened to Vulptex?”

“She ran far beyond Narglatch’s reach, burrowed deep, and is rarely seen to this day. Medcha Wanto — Thi-Sen’s deputy, you know — he promised to bag one for me. I told him that wasn’t necessary.”

“Mmm,” rumbled Fox, nibbling her ear ungently. “You already have a fox.”

Riyo grinned. “I do, indeed.” And she stuffed the ‘pad safely beneath the pillows, to be forgotten until morning.

. . . . . 

(Ao3)

#foxiyo #riyo chuchi #commander fox #pantora #the clone wars

[diaryofanangryasianguy]

Is AsAm masculinity harmful? I personally don’t see it as harmful as compared to white masculinity because of how the West emasculates Asian men, and it’s not really fair (and actually harmful) to apply white feminism to anything Asian related.

It depends.

In my opinion, masculinity in general isn’t harmful since it’s a person’s own personal identity and relationship with being a man. However, it does become harmful when a person’s identity of being a man is about being misogynistic or making it into a competition as to who can be more dominant. But masculinity is not about other people nor the material world, it’s about the individual and deep inside themselves.

When it comes to Asian masculinity, it’s different depending on the country and culture. But in the west, Asian masculinity often gets defined by a racist narrative that isn’t our own. So we’re living in an age where we can personally reclaim and redefine that masculinity however ways we deem fit.

Personally I don’t like superficial versions of masculinity where we have to be ripped and buff and “get all the women” and dominant. That’s just white people’s version of masculinity since it’s rooted in misogyny, personal insecurities, and competition and honestly does more harm in the long run for everybody than it ever does good.

So as I said for me, masculinity is about my personal identity with being a man and to extend that, how does my identity fit with people around me so we can all live in harmony and most importantly, how can I live in harmony with myself. Masculinity is so much more deeper than being macho, or an alpha, or a chad, or whatever other insecure thing that cis men like to think up.

Angry Asian Guy

#anon #ask #long reads #tw sensitive material

[poppi-fields]

[LFRP] 𝔑oishe 𝔊athluain 🌙

— — — —  𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐬.

Age: Mid-twenties? Probably?

Nameday: 21st Sun of the Sixth Astral Moon

Race: Miqo’te ; Keeper of the Moon

Gender: ┑(￣Д ￣)┍ (All pronouns fine, usually uses they/them.)

Orientation: Demisexual ; panromantic

Alignment: Wouldn’t you like to know?

— — — —  𝐏𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐀𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞.

Hair: Dark blue, lightening slightly at the tips (which appears to be naturally occurring) and almost impossibly long. Often tied back in a nearly-knee length ponytail. Haircuts appear to be very infrequent and haphazardly done, judging by the state of their bangs, but the hair is healthy, as is the fur of their large fluffy tail.

Eyes: Pale blue, almost white. A deeply intense gaze, often sharp and analytical, though they have been known to gleam when mischief is afoot.

Height: 4′10″

Build: Lithe and elegant, with long limbs and nimble fingers. They carry themselves with a graceful posture, always light on their feet, but their movements innately carry a ‘predator on the hunt’ vibe.

Distinguishing Features: Typically wears simple ritualistic paint on their face, around their eyes and along their cheekbones. Mouth is full of pointed fangs. Rarely seen without a mask on, even outside the Shroud.

— — — —  𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

Profession: ‘Janitor’. Will gladly clean up your human-sized messes... for the right price.

Hobbies: Playing the piano; ‘urban exploration’; writing poetry; baking; people watching; clothing design; traditional song.

Languages: Fluent in Eorzean, Rogue’s Cant, and Huntspeak. Has basic conversational knowledge of most other commonly spoken languages.

Residence: Inn rooms while traveling; ancestral home deep in the Shroud.

Birthplace: The Black Shroud

Patron Deity: Menphina

— — — —  𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬.

Relationship Status: Single, never married.

Parents: Deceased.

Siblings: Deceased.

Other Relatives: All deceased except for two cousins.

Pets/Other: N/A

— — — —  𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐬.

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between /  Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard-working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

— — — —  𝐑𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐇𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬.

♦ A SONG IN THE DARK. Travelers in the Shroud have occasionally brought back tales of hearing distant songs being sung while they camp for the night. Those who are brave enough to try and investigate find that the singing stops when they get too close, and there's never any sign of a living being. While some have voiced concern that it may be a Voidsent trying to lure the unwitting to their doom, not all are convinced the entity is malicious. The Wood Wailers have offered a small bounty to adventurers willing to investigate.

♦ A TALE TO TELL. The Gathluain were one of the more infamous Keeper clans, back in their prime. Legends say that they were Menphina’s chosen assassins, sworn to kill those who earned the goddess’ wrath or harmed her Keepers. Perhaps something drives you to seek out the truth, to know for certain if the Gathluain were only ever just stories... or something more. Good intentions or ill, your quest has pointed you in Noishe’s direction, but don’t expect any direct answers...

♦ A KNIFE IN THE BACK. You wish to see a life taken; a wrong righted; a slight rectified permanently. Whether you lack the means to do it yourself, or simply require a middleman to keep the blood off your hands, you seek an assassin to carry out this dark deed... and there are whispers of a lithe little Keeper who's quite capable. Your more 'esoteric' contacts have led you to Noishe's metaphorical doorstep, but you might have to plead your case.

♦ A HINT OF A SMILE. Despite their seclusion, Noishe has been known to occasionally leave their home in the Shroud and head into the cities, seeking sociable companionship and culture. They are particularly drawn to other Miqo'te, always curious to learn of other customs and traditions, but any particularly interesting individual may earn a conversation or two from this mysterious creature. Perhaps the intrigue is mutual- approach and see what lurks behind those icy eyes.

♦ ANOTHER IDEA? Noishe is rather flexible as a character, and they often find themselves in all sorts of strange situations. Got another idea for how our characters can meet? Run it past me!

— — — —  𝐎𝐎𝐂 𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

I’m in the PST/PDT time zone, with a work schedule that thankfully takes up only a small amount of my time. This means I can adjust to most schedules, given enough forewarning! If we can’t work something out, I’m also open to Discord RP.

Noishe is currently on Mateus with no plans of transferring, but I’m happy to server hop for RP!

Please be 18 or older, both IC and OOC. I’m not comfortable RPing with underage folks! Sorry!

Shy, but friendly! Feel free to strike up a conversation! I love making new friends. If I don’t reply right away, it’s likely because I’m AFK... I zone out a lot...

I’m happy to give my Discord ID to those who want to chat, plot, set up a meeting, or figure out a connection. Just send me a Tumblr IM and ask!

No bigots, creeps, weirdos or jerks. I have a very low tolerance for bullsh*t, so don’t test me.

#ffxiv #ffxiv rp #crystal rp #mateus rp #long post #Noishe Gathluain

[xhxhxhx]

Why make war on the media?

I was talking to a friend last night about Gideon Lewis-Kraus’s “Slate Star Codex and Silicon Valley’s War on the Media.” There’s not much to recommend in the article. It is largely about Scott Alexander and Slate Star Codex, about which Lewis-Kraus did not have much interesting to say.

I was more interested in the other part of the story: Silicon Valley’s War on the Media. That part I understand less. I don’t know where it started and I don’t know why it’s happening. But I think we’re fighting the wrong war. 

I.

I have seen the war. I have tried to ignore it, but it gets harder every day. The war includes Silicon Valley executives, like Paul Graham and Balaji Srinivasan, but also ordinary software developers and their friends. I have seen it in the blogs I follow, in the channels I read, and heard it from the people I talk to. 

Here’s a reply to one of my recent posts:

There’s a good chance that the New York Times is only willing to report about white Americans who have lost touch with reality, or that only white Americans who have lost touch with reality are willing to speak honestly to the New York Times in the first place.

The animus runs deep.

Back in April, Scott himself intervened when another journalist, his friend, came under criticism from the community. (“First of all, [fuck] you,” he said.) But the major premise of the critique, that journalism was malign, was granted. It was the friend who was exceptional. After all, she herself had been “condemning the rest of the media” for months.

I don’t know how Scott or his friends understand the media, so I shouldn’t put words in their mouths. I don’t know what their critique might be. I don’t know what vision they have of the war and the press. But I can take words out of my friend’s mouth. 

My friend thinks journalism is malign. Journalists themselves are morally compromised. They are a “class for themselves”, out for themselves. That was why “journalists” were responsible for every journalist, and every journalist was responsible for “journalists”. They were all condemned.

They promote cultural liberalism, including racial liberalism (e.g., Black Lives Matter, the 1619 Project). They promote political correctness and cancel culture. And the “nice white ladies” of the world follow their lead. That was the problem: That people listened, read, and believed.

I had to leave before I could finish the conversation. I felt like I was missing something, something critical. Why oppose “journalists” as a class rather than their beliefs? What are you fighting for? And what comes after?

II.

I think we all believe in something like normative liberalism. At least, we agree on it more than we agree on anything else. But our normative liberalism stands in contradiction to our war on the media.

Our normative liberalism has some content. We believe in freedom of speech and belief. We believe in tolerance and difference. We believe in open debate. We believe in a pluralistic society, where we each have our own ends and the freedom to pursue them. 

If you believe in normative liberalism, in open debate and tolerance, your conduct should reflect that. You should practice normative liberalism. You should defend your values in open debate. You should become the embodiment of its virtues: Tolerate difference, engage with criticism, and persuade. I have seen little practice and much neglect in this war.

You must have some reason for believing in normative liberalism. Those are the reasons why you should practice it. You will not be true to yourself if neglect them. If you believe in normative liberalism because it promotes human virtues, you neglect yourself. If you believe because it promotes human flourishing or welfare, you neglect those goods. If you believe because it is a matter of duty, you neglect your duty. 

And connect between your means to your ends. This war seems unreasoned, disorganized, imprecise. One journalists stands in for all. One sentence condemns an outlet. One comment stands for all opinion. The connections between them all are murky, but the enemy is clear. 

You can be more precise than that.

If the problem is cultural liberalism, talk about cultural liberalism. If it’s normative authoritarianism, talk about that. There’s no shortage of people talking about either. Get to the heart of the issue. Get people to change their minds. But respect them enough to talk to them.

You may say there is some emergency that prevents you from practicing your values and working towards your ends. But if you believe in normative liberalism, as I believe you do, you should address the emergency. 

You should work towards a world that enables you to practice normative liberalism. Have some vision of the world after the emergency. Work towards it. Have some sense of what stops you from getting there. Address it. And when you do, be precise about it.

What is wrong with the media? Individuals? Institutions? Incentives? What wrongs does it make, and how? How are you addressing them? Are you addressing them in the best way? And what will be left when you’re finished? When will you be able speak the way you should speak? 

I haven’t even seen the questions asked.

III.

It’s tempting to neglect your values. It’s easy to make enemies. It’s easy to hate. It’s easy to fight, to hurt your enemies, to see them destroyed. It’s easy to be thoughtless. But it’s wrong. 

It’s always somewhat ironic when you don’t model your own virtues, draw your own vision, or pursue your own ends. It’s a little more ironic where your virtues, visions, and ends are those of open debate and tolerance.

Ask yourself: Am I doing the right thing? Or am I fighting the wrong war? You might not agree with me, but I think the questions deserve more thought than I have seen them receive. 

#effortpost

[keyofjetwolf]

Well if we’re going to be Tutu about it, I guess let’s go all the way.

Once upon a time, years and years ago, there was a little princess, and she was very sad, for her mother and father had died. Before the princess appeared a traveling prince riding upon a white horse. He had a regal bearing and a kind smile. The prince wrapped the princess in a rose-scented embrace and gently wiped the tears from her eyes. “Little one,” he said, “who bears up alone in such deep sorrow. Never lose that strength or nobility, even when you grow up. I give you this to remember this day. We will meet again. This ring will lead you to me, one day.” Perhaps the ring the prince gave her was an engagement ring. This was all well and good, but so impressed was she by him that the princess vowed to become a prince herself one day. But was that really such a good idea?

It’s interesting, liveblogging a show that you touch once a year, because you can remember certain things -- such as say kangaroos and bulls running around school halls -- but not others. Some things seem familiar, but the details elude you, so it’s just a vague deja vu, and the uncertainty if you’ve been here before. Such as, say, this entire opening. I feel like I’ve seen it before, but have I? Is it at the beginning of every episode? Is it always the same?

I HAVE NO FUCKING CLUE BECAUSE I WATCH ONE EPISODE A YEAR

So I’m going to talk about this, as I keep trying to pull SOMETHING out of this bonkers show, and if I’m repeating myself from a previous liveblog, or even contradicting what I said before, I apologize. If you don’t tell me, I’ll literally never know.

We have our princess, who I assume is pretty standard issue, what with her sadness and orphanness and all. Fairly pedestrian on its own, but the princess is, of course, Utena, and it’s pretty upfront about that.

This continues throughout the tale, as it interrupts this “presentation” style occasionally with “real” images

ps: THAT IS NOT WIPING

What I can’t really settle on is why. It’s all very intentional, obviously, so why the flip from the story version that couldn’t possibly be less subtle in its stylized choices, to directly showing us “footage” of the “real” individuals? It’s telling me something, but fuck me if I know WHAT. Is it suggesting that while these events are real, they’re also not? Is it some way that Utena has romanticized this, or turned it into a story that doesn’t match what really happened? (Even as what “really” happened is shown to us through soft focus, and so also a little unreal?)

There are some details pinging my radar today, too, such as:

I know I’ve made the “door to door ring salesman” joke before, so this can’t be new information. The fuck does this MEAN, though? A traveling prince? That being the descriptor chosen for him suggests that’s what he DOES, that he wanders around, which creates an association for being untethered. A Prince needs a kingdom though, else the fuck are you the prince OF? (The Costco, clearly.) So with all this in mind, I wonder: is the prince a prince? Does that also then immediately shoot holes in Utena’s quest to BE a prince, which as I know I’ve pointed out, WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN. If you can just SAY you’re a prince, then I’m now the prince of the kingdom of This Diet Pepsi I’m Drinking Right Now.

This, too, sits so weird. The featureless black figures is obviously an Utena style thing, and one that means something specific, I’m sure. But it’s especially odd to me to use that style here, when you’re specifically mentioning a smile that isn’t there. Was the smile EVER there? Is that Utena’s version of the story? 

But the fucking ring. If I’m unsure about anything else, the ring is REAL. Also, though, not unique. Is the traveling Prince wandering around just tossing out handfuls of these things? Should I assume that if the ring, thus at least part of the story, is real, that the other people with rings have similar stories? Are theirs all the same prince? Are their stories different? Are their fairy tale versions of those stories the same?

What I keep coming back to is the line between real (”real”?) and story, so is the larger point about the depth of the ways we tell things to ourselves? Utena, near as I can make out at this point, has molded her entire life around the tale we’re hearing. Are we meant to be questioning how much of it is even what she believes it to be?

ANYWAY THERE’S PROBABLY GOING TO BE A FUCKING PANGOLIN ON A RAMPAGE IN A SECOND

(I’m completely unspoiled for Utena and watching it for the first time. Please don’t confirm or deny anything in this post, give me hints or cautions or suggestions about future episodes, or try to explain anything going on. That includes if I should’ve been able to figure it out from previous episodes, or if it’s cultural, or if there’s no answer at all. Spoiling the experience only ruins things for everyone!)

#THE GIFTENING 2020 #THE GIFTENING 2020 day 4 #jet wolf watches utena #utena ep 8 #the pangolin may or may not be wearing a tutu

[endearingsalt]

It’s time to rant about Hidden Figures (2016)

Hidden Figures is an empowering story about three Black women in the NASA program who were vital to the Space Race and, until recently, basically left out of history. I sure didn’t know about any of them prior to 2016, and now they’re so well known I forget I didn’t learn about them in school. The movie impacted our national consciousness, clearly, as these are now fairly well-known names, and the movie is widely known. It did some good! 

And, it was well-researched. Many involved spoke personally with Katherine Johnson while she was still alive, and they used what she said to guide research moving forward, which is how they learned of Dorothy Vaughn, who became another of the three co-stars (according to the behind-the-scenes videos that come with iTunes access). 

It does a good job of showing Black individuals in the 60s as individuals and not amorphous groups. This is most obviously shown through Mary and her husband, as they argue over the protests happening around them as well as Mary’s own life goals. Additionally, the intersection of gender and race is expounded upon, mostly clearly through Dorothy and the white woman supervisor of the East Computing Group, culminating in the exchange “I hope you know I don’t have anything against y’all.” / “I know you believe that.” For many white women, this could easily have been a first exposure to the kind of often-unwitting racism that runs so deep in the demographic. In 2016, I know it was something of an eye-opener for me. 

Add to that, it’s just a good movie, from a movie standpoint. The narrative is compelling, the pacing is excellent, the colors and aesthetic sink you into the era, the acting is superb, the music is spectacular, the camera angles and lighting are masterful. All around, it’s well executed. 

However. 

Many of us on tumblr will have already seen that post that circulated a while back talking about how Al Harrison never had the kind of coming-of-age resulting in progressive stances at NASA that are shown in the movie. The fact is, Al Harrison didn’t stand up for Katherine in real life. Yet in the movie, one of the pinnacle scenes is the one of him tearing the “colored” signs off the bathroom wall. This is a scene placed strategically in the movie so as to be a climactic moment, and is one of the more emotionally resonating of the film, as told by the accompanying music as well as the camera angles, and, as I said, its placement narratively. This is a major turning point in the movie. This is a climax. And it didn’t really happen. 

Now, this is a movie, not a documentary. Artistic license must be allowed. However, for such a massively important moment of emotional catharsis to be dominated by a white man who, in reality, did no such thing, in a movie allegedly about three Black women history left behind, belies the very purpose of the film. Katherine Johnson didn’t need a white man to make her life easier, nor did she have one in reality, as comforting as that might be to believe. The white people around Katherine didn’t care about the problems we see her face. Through the character of Al Harrison, Hidden Figures makes its portrayal of racism more palatable to a white audience, and in so doing, perpetuates a “white savior” narrative. 

It’s interesting to look back on this groundbreaking film from 2016 and realize how much our cultural expectations of such movies has changed. The #ownvoices movement has only been in the national consciousness for a few months, and already it’s resulted in a shift of expectation. Other than the actors, the only Black person of note involved in the development of Hidden Figures is Pharrell Williams, who wrote and performed many of the songs (again, this is according to the iTunes extras). The writers, director, and most of not all technicians were white. Thus, it comes into clearer focus why the movie goes so far out of its way to paint select white people in a better light. White audiences want to see someone they can relate to, and they don’t want to have to relate to the racist white people constantly getting in the way of our film’s protagonists—and white filmmakers don’t want that, either. 

The movie’s theme, “Runnin’” by Pharrell Williams, includes the repeated lyric “don’t act like you was there when you wasn’t.” I find it cynically ironic that that line should permeate a movie that inserts white saviors into the story of three Black women. In what admittedly slim sleuthing I’ve done, I can’t seem to find any indication that Williams meant the lyric in that way, but the irony is present regardless. 

White saviors—indeed, even simply white helpers—weren’t there in the stories of these Black women, and smoothing racism over with artistic license only serves to perpetuate a wrong narrative even while claiming to bring a true one to light. In 2016, white filmmakers who by all appearances genuinely wanted to see the stories of these remarkable women told made this movie to do so, and to an extent, they succeeded. As I said at the start, Hidden Figures really has brought these women the respect and admiration they deserve, and their stories have come to light. However, the movie also seeks to soothe white egos, and in so doing, marrs the truth it’s trying to tell. This is precisely why #ownvoices is so important. 

EDIT: Forgot to talk about how Al Harrison also perpetuates the idea of the US as a meritocracy. Throughout the movie, Harrison is driven to action against racism specifically when he sees Katherine doing things he needs done and hindered by the racism in her path. He clears the way for her specifically so that she’s better able to do her job. He’s portrayed as seeing people for what they can do more than for any demographical reason. This reflects how white US citizens like to see our nation. We’d like to think that “the best person for the job” will get the opportunity every time, because someone along the way will see that talent and clear a path for it. We’d like to think that the US runs on merit more than on demographic. So we put that narrative into our movie on the subject... even though that isn’t what really happened, and isn’t really true. 

#marie talks #wow glad to have that off my chest #hidden figures #reblog if you want but like........the irony of me ranting about this while being white myself isn't lost on me #so i'm not gonna be all in anyone's face about it #i just had Thoughts and this blog is small so i'm putting them here