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lurking-latinist · 9 months

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👀👀 wanna say more about your eusocial timelord theory?

when you sent this ask like a year ago apparently I did not, for which I apologize.

now it's the wee small hours and I'm trying to clear out my asks. but eusocial time lords are so fun. forgive anything that doesn't make sense/jars weirdly in this, I'm trying to explain some quite spitbally worldbuilding.

among other things, it's an explanation for (1) why are there so few time ladies on screen and (2) that very strange thing in I think it's in Gallifrey where Pandora was 'the first female President' and apparently that's a big deal? but like why would a different planet (where they regenerate!!) have the same manifestations of sexism as we have? and also vaguely riffing on the VNAs lore that Gallifrey used to be a matriarchy and Rassilon overthrew it, but also kind of completely transforming that lore.

so forget gender, this is not about gender. "male"/"female" is at best a very rough translation of the binary that Gallifreyans are concerned with, which is worker/queen. They are bees!

The Time Ladies (i.e. Gallifreyans played by female human actors) that we see in the pre-War era (all of this applies to the pre-War era)--Romana, the Rani, Flavia, Inquisitor Darkel--are biologically the equivalent of insect queens. (And the Doctor, the Master, Borusa, the Floating Time Lord, Commander Maxil, etc. etc. are the equivalent of worker bees. The fact that the former all present as female and the latter all present as male is just sort of a translation convention/useful coincidence, I guess.) Gallifreyans evolved from a eusocial species and their early political structures were developments of the hive structure, with reproductive capacity strongly linked to political authority.

Presumably this is what Rassilon, or whatever revolutionary Rassilon stole credit from, is supposed to have overturned--the link between reproductive capacity and political authority. But in my version, it was before that that Looming became a thing: the queens had control of the Looms, so it was the ultimate refinement of their arts and sciences, and it was their way of getting rid of whatever drone class there used to be, if they weren't already parthenogenetic.

And that's why there's the stereotype in Gallifrey--mentioned in connection with Pandora, suggested as a concern about Romana--that a "female" (queen) President will be autocratic. It's seen as a potential return to "how things once were."

And then I did a lot of worldbuilding for how government worked at a stage in history when there was a sort of uneasy balance between reproductive and political power, but that was for a fic Moki was working on and I think she's still working on it, so no spoilers!

So what you end up with is a hive structure where the role of the queen has been sort of abstracted away into... well, the hive itself. The power at the heart of Gallifrey is Gallifrey. I feel like that explains a lot of what's wrong with them.

There might be another branch of the species that evolved away from eusocial structure into something more like solitary bees and that's the Shobogans, possibly, since nobody seems at all clear what the Shobogans are.

Also I read that with naked mole rats, the only eusocial mammal, there are a few in each colony that are predisposed to not fit into the colony and instead go and wander and find other colonies, to promote genetic diversity, and I'm just saying, renegades.

And after the War when there are often maybe two Gallifreyans left, that's why whatever's left of the hivemind keeps trying to get at least one of them to turn out as a Time Lady. Fortunately for the universe, neither of them seems that interested in reproducing.

#doctor who #headcanon

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welcomingdisaster · 11 days

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A Refutation of Claims Made by Professor Basil Dyer in the Minas Tirith Review

for @silmarillionepistolary | M | ao3

It has come to my attention that The Minas Tirith Review has recently published an essay by one Professor Basil Dyer detailing and reinterpreting letters exchanged between Fingon, son of Fingolfin, and Maedhros, son of Fëanor, in light of recent translations and publications of long-censored exchanges. In his composition, Dyer claims the letters show evidence of long-established homoaffective relationship between the two, beginning shortly after Fingon’s arrival and in Beleriand, and continuing until his death.

This turn in the discourse is troubling, both because of the undue and perverse attention which it may attract to this noble publication and for the aspersions which it may cast upon the already well-sullied reputation of the historiographer. Perhaps if there was any academic merit behind them such faults may be forgiven, but they consist of nothing besides applying an all-too-modern understandings of customs (and the ever-loosening morality of the age of Man!) onto the long-gone age of the Eldar.

That said, I shall begin by laying out the terms of the engagement. Let us assume, for the sake of simplicity and brevity both, that there is no doubt on the matter of authenticity of the letters exchanged between our two principal figures during the Long Peace. Even the most recently recovered—and most hotly contested—of these letters, dated F.A. 345, referred to in the previous publication by the first lines (“Concerning the matter of honey…”) and sometimes abbreviated as the “honey missive” (alternately, in particularly tasteless publications, the “honey-thigh letter”) in such discourses, shall be accepted into our metaphorical evidence box (though indeed any reader familiar with my previous publications might be predisposed to hold its veracity in some doubt). I shall also reference the K. M. Singer translation of all available letters as the most widely-accepted and aspire to make no reference to the probable inaccuracies in Singer’s understanding of Quenya terms of endearment and vocabulary regarding parts of the body.

It may be wise to note before we begin that ladies of a delicate composition and children may find frank discussions of homosexual activity unnerving and inflaming. I would urge readers to exercise caution.

And so, our terms of engagement well-laid, I shall begin by establishing the reasons any romantic or sexual entanglement between Fingon of the House of Fingolfin and Maedhros of the House of Feanor is entirely impossible, then move on to a sensible and scholarly interpretation of the letters.

First, I draw the attention of noble reader first to the matter of cousin-marriage among the Eldar. While laws prohibiting cousin-marriage may appear novel and controversial to the modern Gondorian—indeed even a generation ago such unions were common among Men—the Eldar have once again proved perceptive beyond the ancient days during which they lived, and our betters in matters of morality and purity.

I will not bore the reader with a recounting of the Fall of Gondolin, but work only to draw the reader’s attention to the doomed romantic entanglement at its center. Maeglin, the nephew of the King, coming out of savage darkness, saw Idril, the king’s daughter, and loved her. Given the depth of infatuation he purportedly developed it seems likely to the modern sociologist that for some time she encouraged this attention. Of course, as a highborn Noldo raised among a peoples of impeccable moral discretion, she had known for the beginning that such an affair could not bear any fruit. Such knowledge could not be expected from Maeglin, and many attribute his eventual decline and betrayal of the city to a broken and aching heart.

That such an understanding was so plain to her and yet not to him may seem strange. Were they not both elves, living in the first of age of Arda, and nearly of the same blood? The answer to such a query might come from the relative moral tightness of Noldor society. Recall that Maeglin was no native Gondolian, but a son of the house of Eöl, and so of mixed Sindar and Avar heritage. All recording of first-cousin marriages among Elven Kin, as few as they are, come from lowborn elves among these two tribes. Recall that neither grey-elven nor dark-elven tribes, as their names suggest, had ever journeyed to the sacred light of the Blessed Isles, nor received council from the Valar. Their traditions and customs, then, may seen as more akin to those of Men than elves, lacking the moral rigor of their light-elf counterparts.

Though I do not claim to liken homosexual acts to the sacred institution of marriage, one must admit that the act of bodily union is shared among the two, and so may be held in common as forbidden under the laws of the Noldor.

With those facts in mind we must return to the matter of Fingon of Hithlum and Maedhros of Himring, famously first-cousins through the lines of their fathers. There is no question that that both were elves full-grown upon their departure to Middle-Earth, that according to all sources Fingon was a particularly devout follower of Aran Einior, the lord of air and great judge. Though the latter acts of Maedhros indicate a rather tenuous connection to the sacred laws of his people, Fingon’s devotion did not waver in his lifetime. Raised in such a morally upright culture, neither of them likely would have been able to conceive of engaging in any unholy union. Indeed, such a thought must have been so far from their minds as to allow a certain looseness of the tongue and purity of platonic intimacy, as evidenced by some of the exchanges I address.

Next we must discuss homosexuality among the Eldar. For years the historical establishment has maintained that no homosexual activity had ever existed among elven-folk; indeed, it is an affliction that appears to trouble only the modern Man. That school of thought has been challenged recently, with very little justice. Basil Dyer and Feya Patrice, two of the most infamous names subscribing to this school of thought, point to articles of elven art which they claim contain themes of same-sex entanglements. Most notable among these are Fragment #221 by Daeron the Bard, which appears addressed to a male lover, surviving recreations of Lalwendë and a Friend in Bed by an unknown artist, and a series of oil lamps recovered from Eregion which seem to depict various sexual acts between elves. This evidence is scant, and spurious at best. More detailed refutations of the first two—clearly expressions of deep platonic affection or affectation of a different character—may be found in my earlier bodies of work, while the last is plain done in the spirit of parody.

Indeed writings by earlier historians indicate that no desire could occur between elves without procreative desire, plainly rendering same-sex unions impossible. Relationships which modern historians sometimes interpret as homosexual are indeed better described with the elven understanding of melotorni and meletheldi, translated as chosen love-brothers and love-sisters respectively. That some form of platonic physical intimacy might have existed within these bonds is inarguable, but plainly it did not rise to the unholy stirrings of the flesh.

All of the surviving letters available to us are those addressed from Maedhros to Fingon. Though these do not use the term meletorni directly, it is plain to see that many terms of brotherly affection to enter their forms of address. The opening of letter #5, addressed F. A. 302, has been much maligned, for to a modern reader it appears rather excessive in its affection. “Most beloved of cousins,” Maedhros writes, “how I miss thy kisses, and the weight of thy body atop mine, and the sweet softness of thy ear-tips beneath my mouth” —and on, in such a fashion, for a time. A modern reader may see conventions of a love-letter within these words. A historian intimately familiar with the details of the correspondence of the eldest son of Feanor would argue otherwise. Indeed, Maedhros appears often expressive of his affection.

Of his surviving letters only remains which is addressed to Maglor the Bard, the eldest of his brothers and his second in command, mailed in F. A. 456, pleads with him to “take heart, and hold close my kisses.” Similarly, journals kept by contemporaries note nothing unusual in exchanges of kisses between friends, brothers, cousins, and so forth. A later elven play following the events of the Fall of Nargothrond features a kiss between Finrod and Orodreth in parting; similarly, artistic depictions of Finwë’s death often show his son kissing his face and his lips. What may seem unthinkable to the modern Gondorian was indeed quite commonplace among the Noldor.

Which brings us to another turn of phrase in letter #5, which has gained some level of infamy among those determined to read perversion into the intimacy of their friendship. Lines 304-314 read as follows: “I have received thy handkerchief, with the sweet scent of thy sweat and thy perfume, and the imprints of thy lip-paint kisses. Know that I have sewn it now against the heart of my sleep-robes, so each night I might feel thee upon my breast, and that a hundred times now I have kissed the same cloth as thou hast.”

I would not blame the modern man whose mind conjures a young woman pressing lipstick-kissed onto a postcard for her beloved, but in cultural context the meaning of these words changes. While it may appear rather odd in our time, lip-paint was common for men and women both among the Noldor. Being, for all their nobility, at times a vain people, the Noldor historically likened physical beauty to battle-prowess. The sending of lipstick-prints can be read as a show of force and physical ability between two young men, somewhat akin to bragging. The answering kisses, then, signal not a desire for intimacy but answering show of strength and of power.

I may go on for some time to discuss each mention on kisses in the surviving letters, I would assume any discerning reader would be able to understand them by now as brotherly affection. And so, without further delay, I will move on to address the honey missive.

First, let us examine lines 2-13 of the honey missive, the most hotly debated in meaning:

“Concerning the matter of honey; while I should be glad to sample any taste of the spring of Hithlum thou shouldst be willing to share with me, we have no great need of in trade. The wiry clover and harebell of Himring make for surprisingly subtle yet fragrant honey, thick and amber-gold. But indeed so taken with thee I am that even thoughts of trade I return to thee, and of honey; how I sit and think of thee bare before me—of how I might take such sweetness and spread it upon thy handsome thighs, to work clean with my mouth. I would be much obliged if thou wert to write to me of how thou wouldst stir beneath me, and call my name—indeed nothing now could make me happier.”

In interpreting this passage, we must remember the positions of the Noldor as craftsmen and admirers of art. Despite being remembered now primarily as a warlord, Maedhros was born the son of a gem-smith and a sculptor, and was raised in a society which placed much appreciation on both masculine and feminine beauty. That in his time Fingon was considered beautiful is undoubtedly true. The rest, while resembling a sexual act to some readers, is plainly ridiculous, meant in all likelihood as a joking exaggeration. It is common among young men even in our time to joke crudely with each other; if we had Fingon’s letter of response I am certain we would see a laughing refusal.

Having examined the scope of the evidence before us, I believe any reasonable reader would be forced to yield to the rightness of my position, and to admit there is nothing at all to the claims of those like Dyer, who seek to introduce perversion into the annals of history. We must then examine the motivations behind these claims, and wonder if Dyer and his ilk might not mean to work backwards, seeking justify their modern-day inclinations by creating precedent where is none. It is said, after all, that Basil Dyer has not cohabitated with his wife since the first two weeks of their thirty-year marriage.

#my fic #russingon

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mypulse · 1 month

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A collection of mini fun facts : I'll explain them base on the sequence of the geography (MAP)

The CAPITALs : (orange circles)

Last time I talked about how palace in the anime take reference of Forbidden Palace, 🏛️ which is located in ☆Beijing, the capital city of Ming and Qing Dynasty.

However Xi'an🏛️ (aka ★ChangAn) is the capital city of TANG Dynasty,

which is the clothing style of the characters. (ChangAn is the ancient name of Xi'an)

FASHION :

During TANG, ★ChangAn, was a cosmopolitan and multicultural city since it is the starting destination of 🐫 Silk Road.

Ah Dou is wearing a riding suit, know as Hufu 👕. It was a fashion among the noble ladies to wear Hufu for horse ride🐴 . Hufu is male clothing of the *Western region (part of 🐫 Silk Road). [ *West is Central Asia, not Europe]

LOULAN : (red on map)

Maomao was curious of 💐Concubine Loulan who has Northen facial feature while wearing Southern outfit. In history, LouLan was the name of an ancient 👑kingdom at *Western region. It's location is modern Xinjiang near the now dried salt lake Lop Nur (MAP). The carved wooden beam above is an artifact of Loulan Kingdom.👑

NAIL POLISH :

Just as the anime, Balsam is a major ingredient for 💅nail polish (also for blush and lip color).

Balsam flowers are usually found in Central, East and South of Asia. When my grandma was a girl, she grounded the flower patels and apply them on nails then wait for a while , letting the juice to stain the nails before getting rid of the residue.

In ancient time, 💅 nail polish are made of juice of the grounded petals of balsam mixing with potassium alum. This chemical is used in drugs and silk painting / writing. 📚

WRITING :

Silk is more often used for painting than writing since it is expensive. Potassium alum is applied on silk as preparation for painting and writing.

Other than silk, bamboo and wooden slips were being used for writing, before paper is commonly used.

OX BEZOARS :

🐃 Ox bezoars (the drugs that turns Maomao into "upper moon demon" ) is used for de-toxing. 牛黃 is Chinese and kanji character of ox bezoars. Nowadays, it's made into tablet form know as 牛黃「解毒」片. In this context 「解毒」is meaning de-toxing. But some people mistaken 「解毒」means de - posion and think 牛黃「解毒」片 (Ox bezoars) can get rid of poison intaken by individuals, since Maomao mentioned to JinShin to use poison if she is ever facing death penalty.

#apothecary diary #maomao #jinshi #loulan #lihua #nail polish #horse #silk road #xi'an #Chang An #changan #beijing #tang dynasty #forbbiden palace #palace #japanese #chinese

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racefortheironthrone · 10 months

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Not that this is the only example, but just watched "Lady Bird" where a major part of the plot is if the protagonist will go to NYU or UC Davis. As somebody who doesn't live in the United States and there aren't any "private universities" here just wondering if state schools are so bad? Why do they have such bad reputations or maybe just I'm just thinking too much of American-made entertainment?

This is a great question, because it allows me to talk about a topic that I find endlessly fascinating: how the cultural politics of class intersect with higher education.

With regards to Lady Bird, I think the first thing to understand is that it's a highly autobiographical film: Greta Gerwig also grew up in Sacramento, her parents had the same jobs as Lady Bird's parents, and Greta was also a theater kid who ended up going to a prestigious private university in New York City because she wanted to have a career in the performing arts. So what we're getting is not necessarily a universal experience, but how Greta Gerwig herself felt when she was a teenager.

Second, state schools are not bad but their reputations are ...complicated. The land grant universities are generally reasonably well-resourced, they have good reputations, and they provide an extremely solid middle class credential that provides a major pathway for social and economic mobility in the United States.

However, there is usually a hierarchy within the state school systems between the flagship campus(es) which are usually nationally ranked research universities - U.C Berkeley, UCLA, Ann Arbor (UMichigan), University of Wisconsin-Madison, UMass Amherst, etc. - and the other campuses in the same system, which tend to be less selective, less nationally well-known, and more focused on teaching.

This sometimes leads to state schools having a reputation among middle-class to affluent families with college educations as being less "aspirational" compared to selective private universities. (This doesn't apply to the flagship campuses, because they are more selective and thus more similar to elite private universities in terms of their reputations.) Kids from those families still apply to (and attend) state schools in large numbers, but the term that's often used for them is "safety schools" - they're the schools you apply to in case you don't get into the highly selective private schools who take 10% or less of their applicants.

Third, NYU versus UC Davis is actually a slightly odd fit for the "state school" versus "private university" comparison. NYU is not actually that selective: it takes in 13% of applicants, which makes it about the 40th most selective college in the U.S. That's surprisingly low down the totem pole, given that the annual cost of attending NYU would be around $84,000 for Lady Bird. (NYU actually has to be less selective than other private universities, because it has a fairly small endowment compared to the selective private universities, and is thus more reliant on tuition dollars for revenue.)

However, Lady Bird's conflict isn't so much about academics generally - it's more specific than that. Remember that Lady Bird/Greta Gerwig is a theater kid who wants a career in the performing arts. If you narrow your focus from which is the best university overall to which university has the best Film Studies program, NYU is the second-best film school in the country, and because it's right in NYC there's a direct pipeline to one of the main hubs of the film and tv industry.

At the same time, Lady Bird probably should have done a bit more research about California's public university system. Because of the legacy of the California Master Plan, there is a robust transfer system within California's public universities that allows students who are really on the grind to move their way up, so that you can potentially start at the least selective community colleges and end up graduating from the most selective flagship UC campuses. So Lady Bird could have easily gone straight from UC Davis to UCLA (because while UCLA takes in only ~11% of applicants, making it more selective than NYU, it takes in about 24% of transfers), which is also one of the best film schools in the country with a direct pipeline to Hollywood, and it doesn't cost $84,000 a year.

(Ironically, Greta Gerwig herself didn't actually end up going to film school - she ended up going to Barnard which isn't particularly known for film, ended up going into English Lit because she was intending to be a playwright, before becoming a breakout actor in the indie film world, and then zig-zagging from there into directing and back into writing.)

#academia #public policy #higher education #lady bird #greta gerwig #film school

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slifarianhawk · 3 months

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Chapter 2: an invitation (Wriothesley's P.O.V.)

I picked up the lady who moaned at my touch. Her clothes were tattered and now coated in what appeared to be her blood. Thankfully the infirmary was close by and she was in no real danger.

I jogged over to the next hall opening and walked up the steps. Several guards looked on in confusion but I waived them off saying it was fine. I heard Sigewinne discussing the proper treatment of a rash with an older male inmate who frequented the Pankration ring.

"Now be sure to apply this ointment before going to work in the production zone and before you go to bed." Our head nurse said cheerfully.

"Yes, mam. Oh, Your grace! I didn't see you there. What happened someone passed out in the ring and you happened to be there?" The older man asked staring at the woman on my shoulder.

"Nope, not this time. Was doing my rounds and this newbie slipped down the steps to her dorm hallway. That doesn't explain this though." I said lifting the side of her shirt as I laid her down on the middle infirmary bed.

"Oh, so this must be Ms. Silva then. Nuevillette wrote me about her yesterday. He said a new inmate would be coming in pretty badly injured. He said to expect her treatment at the hospital to be less than stellar given what happened between her and the guards." Sigewinne said staring at the wound, "It looks like her stitches were snapped."

"She tripped down one of the connecting flights of stairs leading from her dorm room hall. Could the fall of caused the damage to the stitching?" I asked, crossing my arms.

I stared at the unconscious lady before me. She had striking deep navy hair with some forest green low lights. It was a rather strange combination. I noticed there was blood on the palm of her hand slowly drying in the stale humid air of Meropide.

"The stitching still had to of been struck multiple times for the edges of the wound to be so far apart. Nuevillette did write saying she could have enemies among our guards." Sigewinne said cleaning the wound and restitching it.

I noted that the male visiting Sigewinne earlier had slipped out without saying anything. Sigewinne took her time with closing up the inmate's wound. Then for good measure, she rubbed some of the salve she normally uses on cuts and bruises I obtain when I fight in the ring.

"So her name is Silva? I haven't read her file yet but did notice one titled that in the new inmate paperwork." I said as Sigewinne put away her medical supplies into a locked cabinet after pulling out fresh bandages.

"That's right! Nuevillette said for me to help her get adjusted. I think he pities her." The human-like Melusine said shaking her head as she wrapped the fresh bandages around Silva's body.

"What makes you think that?" I said in surprise.

"The tone of his letter was different. It wasn't the usual great things about his day or a warning saying she was dangerous. He also said to be on the lookout for withdrawal effects." She said sitting at her desk, "Isn't the champion duelist visiting you soon?"

"Crap, that was why I was doing my rounds. I knew I would be busy for the next few hours." I said walking towards the exit, "Oh Sigewinne, please invite Ms. Silva to my office for tea when she wakes up. No one's first day in Meropide should be spent in the infirmary."

She smiled at me and nodded, "Yes your grace."

I took one last look at Silva. I felt a twang in my chest. She had a sad look on her sleeping face. It reminds me of how I looked after my trial. I shook my head, my hair tufts swishing a bit.

I left the infirmary and headed toward my office. My office... it still feels surreal. It hadn't even been a third of the year since I'd taken control of Meropide. I went from a lowly criminal in the eyes of the law to the Duke of the Fortress. I could have laughed.

I arrived at the cold doors of my office. With an easy push, they swing open welcoming me back to my solidarity. Ascending the metal stairs, I smiled as I heard the smooth jazz that played on my record player.

I walked over to my sofa and grabbed my kettle from the coffee table. It was nice they installed a tea nook when I became Duke. It saves me the trouble of having to boil water in the kitchen.

"Let's see, what blend do I drink with Ms. Clorinde? Hmm... it's about time for dinner so how about... ahh here it is Fontainian Garden." I said pulling out the glass jar with the loose tea leaves.

This was an uncommon item in the rag and bones shop so I bought it whenever I could. Hopefully, Clorinde likes this blend. She was quite picky when it came to tea.

There was a knock at the door.

"Who is it?" I ask out placing a couple of spoonfuls of the leaves into the kettle.

"It's Clorinde. Come on Wriothesley, open the door. We have important things that need to be discussed." A harsh female voice rang out.

"Coming!" I shouted setting down the pot.

I walked down the stairs and opened the door. In front of me was Clorinde with a decent-sized crate behind her. I raised my brow and gave her a funny look.

"I thought you said we were just going to be friends," I said crossing my arms and smiling, "didn't expect you to want to move in after what happened."

Clorinde just glared at me and shoved past, "Just grab the crate Wriothesley. It's your new prisoner's belongings. Not much gets to me but the thought of that woman just skipping

"Alright, alright, Archons you seem like you need a cup of tea. Thankfully I have some brewing." I said lift the crate and brought it into my office.

Closing the door, I ascended the stairs. Clorinde sat down on the couch. I shook my head and sat the box down on my desk. The kettle started whistling as I grabbed the sugar from the bookshelf. I plopped two cubes into a cup and poured the slightly red-colored tea.

"Care for a cup?" I asked looking over my shoulder.

"If you insist. One sugar cube would be nice, please." She said her shoulders relaxing as she laid back and got comfortable.

"So this is the girl who landed ten guards in the hospital. I haven't read her file yet but the steambird sure had decent coverage on it. Said she took them out with a dendro vision. If that's the case why wasn't she sent here as a precaution? That's what they do with dangerous prisoners. It's protocol so why wasn't it followed." I said curiously pouring Clorinde's tea and placing one cube in it.

I sat at my desk placing her teacup at the top of it. She stood up and shuffled through the files until she uncovered Ms. Silva's. Handing me the file she walked back towards that couch, taking her tea.

"Take a look and you will understand." She said.

"You know it's rude to rifle through someone's work desk," I smirked as I opened the file.

"Just read it, then we can proceed with the main reason why I am here." Clorinde huffed.

I started skimming the folder. There wasn't much on Ms. Silva. Her travel records show she came through the Chenyu vale of Liyue and was in Mondstat before that on a job for Dr. Baizhu of Bubu pharmacy in Liyue. She wrote down that her reason for traveling to Fontaine was research. That didn't explain much either.

"Weird how there is so little right, Wriothesley? Normally we would have all her information. We contacted Liyue, Sumeru, and Mondstat. They only have records of her traveling for research. We could only assume she's from Inazuma as her first record is a travel permit to Liyue from Ritou. It was commissioned by an Ayato Kamisato. Every one of her permits is for research. Nuevillette asked me to bring the belongings from her hotel room and search through the items with you." Clorinde said taking a sip of the warm beverage in her hand.

I continued to read over the file and a note from Monsieur Nuevillette shocked me. I could hear his voice as I read the line.

"Ms. Silva was attacked and drugged using a potent Dendro drug that has been spreading like wildfire through the court of Fontaine. While there have been only a few deaths due to this drug. Ms. Silva has shown us that those with dendritic energy have a horrific effect on these drugs. A Dendritic energy overcharge causes a massive burst of the Dendro element dealing damage once the user is put under stress. What Ms. Silva told me has led me to believe that there is a tie between this drug and a dendro dragon. Keep an eye on her at all costs Wriothesley. Something tells me she will be the key to solving this case." His voice rang in my ears.

"WRIOTHESLEY!" Clorinde shouted snapping me out of my trance.

"Huh, oh sorry Clorinde. It's just Nuevillette's notes. They just have me a little on edge." I said setting down the file and picking up my now cooled tea.

"I was trying to say that you should be careful with regarding her. I just have a bad feeling, call it hunter intuition." She said setting her empty cup down.

"I will now let's get going through this stuff I'm sure Ms. Silva would at least like some of this stuff back. As long as it is appropriate for the fortress of course." I said prying open the wooden box.

As the box cracked open, I was met with a soft aroma. It reminded me of walking into a luxury tea shop in the city. When the lid came off there was a multitude of sealed glass jars with many varieties of herbs. They seemed to be being kept fresh by cut mist flowers. I've seen the corollas being used but not whole flowers.

"So it seems she does not possess a vision after all," Clorinde said sifting through a small pile of folded clothes.

"There is a small silk pouch right here," I said picking up the purple purse, and with an unfortunate turn of events the contents spilled out.

"Letters and documents?" Clorinde said picking up the papers strewn about.

I glanced down and saw a lovely wax seal of a glaze lily on a golden letter, "What's this?"

"I have no clue. It must be important and it has been opened previously. Why don't you go ahead and read it?" Clorinde asked.

"Everyone has the right to privacy. In one sense or the other. I have no search warrant, so I won't read it." I said setting it down on her pile of documents, a smirk growing on my lips, "I'll ask her directly."

"And how do you plan on doing that? From what I heard from the guard who escorted her, she fell and passed out." Clorinde said crossing her arms.

"Did he now? Because from what Sigewinne has told me she had to of been shoved multiple times with relatively decent force. She was bleeding when she fell right in front of me." I said with a slight growl in my voice.

One thing I detested among my staff was lying to higher-ups. I knew lying to prisoners was sometimes unavoidable, however, lying to me or a champion duelist would get my blood boiling. Clorinde stared at me with mild shock in her eyes.

"Sigh, I'll leave this to you then but your grace as a friend I have some advice for you." She said as she walked to the stairs.

"Oh yeah, what's that?" I asked staring at the golden envelope.

"Don't forget Nuevillette's warning. That woman is a danger." I heard Clorinde say as she exited my office.

"Tsk. I can handle myself. This is Meropide. No newbie could cause that much of a distraction. Her sorrowful sleeping face came to my mind. Could she?

#wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x oc #genshin impact #wriothesley #romance #genshin x reader #genshin impact fanfics

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arc-misadventures · 1 year

Note

Reborn AU: since Jaune’s father now sees how good Jaune is at fighting do you think they’ll decide to sign him up for a tournament where he’ll meet up with Pyrrha earlier then original and hopefully start their relationship on a positive note with him being that friend she always wanted she had always wanted before beacon.

A Dancing Partner~!

Arc Twins: Age 12

Jaune: Okay… Do I have to do this?

Jeanne: Why not? It’ll be fun!

Jaune: For you. I’ll be out there getting my butt kicked, while you’ll be in the stands munching on the hotdogs!

Jeanne: Okay, but I’ve always wanted to try stadium hot dogs!

Jaune: Me too, which is also why I’m upset!

Jeanne: Look, out of the two of us you are the better fighter.

Jaune: Since when?!

Jeanne: Always, you have more practical experience that I did even in my past life!

Jaune: Shh! Not in public!

Jeanne: Sorry.

Jaune: If you want practical experience, why don’t you compete then.

Jeanne: Jaune, how many times have I tripped up during our training?

Jaune: In the last month, or the last year?

Jeanne: See! I’m still tripping up! The… Wait, hold on; Have you been keeping a tally of how many times I’ve tripped up?

Jaune: …

Jaune: Yes.

Jeanne: How bad is it?

Jaune: Well… You’ve been getting better.

Jeanne: …

Jeanne: W-Well… My gear is still being built so I can’t fight, so… Nehh!

Jaune: Gods, you’re such a child… Fine! Fine, fine, fine… I’m already here so I’ll do it, but only once!

Jeanne: Awesome! I’ll go find, Dad, and let him know. Good luck!

Jaune: Don’t pig out on the stadium food!

Jeanne: Hey!

Jaune: Hehehe~!

Jaune: Okay… let’s do this.

~~~

Jaune: I am going to gut you like a turkey, Jeanne…

Jaune may be seen as, for some unfathomable reason to him, as the smartest among all of the, Arc siblings. However, just because your smart doesn’t mean you couldn’t also be the biggest idiot there is.

He should have seen it coming, Jeanne wanted him to be here, she was the one who recommend to their father that, Jaune should compete. And, now at the final round he learned why she was so adamant on getting him to compete. And, Beacon was five years away. That was plenty of time for someone to win the, Mistral Regionals for years in a row.

A one, Miss Pyrrha Nikos.

Jaune: Yep… I’m gonna kill you, Jeanne, mark my words…

She looked younger then when he last saw her; of course she would, this was a younger, less experienced, Pyrrha Nikos. Not the, Pyrrha Nikos he knew, loved, and lost. That was an age ago, a lifetime that was now lost. He shook himself, trying to brush away the old wounds, and focus on the here, and now.

: You’re pretty good.

Jaune: What?

Jaune’s stance relaxed as he saw, Pyrrha step forward, twirling her weapon as she prepared herself for the coming bout.

Pyrrha: I saw your previous fights, you’re pretty good. I haven’t seen someone fight that well before. It was really inspiring.

Jaune: Oh… Uhh… T-Thanks… I would say the same to you, but… My sister didn’t want me to know who I would be fighting against next.

Pyrrha: Oh? And, why is that.

Jaune: She said training, but I would have preferred the before hand knowledge of who my opponents are.

Pyrrha: Because I have more of an advantage than you do now?

Jaune: Do you now? Well then, pretty lady…

Jaune drew his sword, and shield, and adopted a defensive stance as we prepared to fight.

Jaune: Care to dance~?

Pyrrha’s perfect smile beamed across her face as she too readied her weapons, and levelled them towards, Jaune.

Pyrrha: My pleasure~!

A sound of a bell rang throughout the air, and the two contestants charged one another as hardened steel cried in rage as their swords battered against one another.

There was a small rule, Jaune liked to apply in a fight: Never go all out. Use small, and precise strikes, strong enough to withstand an opponent’s attack, and strong enough to test your opponent’s attack. This was done usually by quick thrust, and strikes carried out with a quick, precise flick of the wrist. All of this was done to check an opponent’s defences, and find that one weak point he could exploit to its fullest potential.

This time it was slightly different; Jaune, wanted to test, Pyrrha, and see if she was well on the way to become the woman he loved, and lost. And, so far she wasn’t disappointing him.

Pyrrha’s movements, and strikes were quick, and as precise as he remembered, well almost like he remembered. Pyrrha as she was now hadn’t developed her muscles, her reflexes, her overall combat prowess, and hell, she was at least over a foot shorter then when they met at, Beacon. Then again, so was he.

Jaune shook his head of these thought, she wasn’t the, Pyrrha of his past life, and neither was he. They were in a sense new people, meeting for the first time. So, as a opening introduction, Jaune bashed, Pyrrha’s face with his shield.

Jaune never saw himself as an expect conversationalist

Pyrrha stumbled back, her hand twirling her sword, Miló with grace before changing it into a spear, adopting a crouched defensive position. She thrust her spear rapidly at, Jaune who easily blocked it with his kite shield. Jaune was impressed, her hits were fast, and accurate, but they lacked the strength she needed if she wanted to really keep him back.

So, Jaune simply bashed her spear to the side, as he brought his sword in from the side to strike at, Pyrrha. And, as he had her completely exposed for an attack, he felt something tugging on his sword, causing him to swing higher than expected, allowing, Pyrrha to easily role away, and take a defensive position, her sword held at the ready.

Jaune just stared at his sword for a moment before shooting a challengingly smirk towards, Pyrrha. He simple twirled his sword in his hand, and went back on the offensive.

~~~

Jeanne’s eyes we’re locked with laser like focus as saw the spectacle before her. The speed, and strength of their strikes sent shockwaves through the air that she could feel upon her face all the way from her seat in the bleachers.

Jeanne had never really seen how, Jaune fought. Well, how he seriously fought. A training bout, and a duel were vastly different. One is calm, and simple; meant to help improve one skills so they will be better capable of fighting. A duel was to show how your skills were better than your opponent by crushing them in submission.

And, as she watched the two exchange blows, she understood that in their training bouts, Jaune had been going easy on her. But, now she understood, how easy he had been going on her.

Jeanne: Does he think I’m made of glass…?

Acheius: No, no he doesn’t, Jeanne.

Jeanne: What?! Are you kidding me, I mean look at that! He’s never like that when he fights me!

Jaune collapsed his shield into his sheath mode. And proceeded to us that as a second blade, to deflect, and parry, Pyrrha’s attacks before opening it again, and bashing, Pyrrha away. Causing a massive chip of her aura to fad away, pushing, Pyrrha over the brink, and into the yellow.

Jeanne: See! He’s never hit me that hard before!

Acheius: Because he knows you can take it.

Jeanne: What does rhat mean?

Acheius: Jaune knows full well that he could clock you square in the face, and you’d barely bat an eye. His training, as well as my training with you was to improve your foot work so you’d stop kissing the ground. And, if you don’t believe me, well, just ask, Jaune to punch you in the face. Then you’ll understand why he never saw you as made of glass.

Jeanne: Fine…

Acheius: Good, and with that you’ll also understand why your mother is putting you in dancing classes.

Jeanne: …

Jeanne: She’s doing what?

~~~

The duo were sent skidding across the ground until they stopped several feet apart from on another.

They crouched on shaky legs, their respective blades probing each other up as the stared down one another their breathing heavy, and faces dripping with sweat. Their fight had been gruelling, un relenting, and unforgiving, and the duo were having a blast.

Jaune looked over to the, Aura meter, and saw that they were both around, 50%. An annoyed chuckle escaped his lips as he looked over at, Pyrrha’s challenging smirk.

Jaune: I don’t suppose we could settle this by, ‘Rock, Paper, Scissors?’

Pyrrha: Haha~! No, no I don’t think they’d let us do that.

Jaune: Odds, or Evens then?

Pyrrha: Still don’t think they’d allow it.

Jaune: Naww…

Pyrrha: Cheer up, besides this has got to be the best fight you’ve ever had! You’ve been smiling the whole time!

Jaune: Aye, but we’ve been at this for ten minutes, and so far our auras are barely at 50%.

Pyrrha: And, that means I have to get you to 25% to win~!

Jaune: Haa… If that’s how it’s going to be…

Jaune shoved his sword back to his sheath before raising his weapon, and activating its bastard sword mode. Pyrrha stared with wide eyes, and this shocking new development, all while, Jaune smirk deviously at her.

Jaune: You best prepare yourself little lady~!

Jaune charged, Pyrrha, raising his weapon, high before he brought it down hard on, Pyrrha’s shield. Causing her legs to buckled falling into a kneeling stance from the force of the impact. Jaune brought in a hard slash from the side that sent, Pyrrha flying.

A shocked expression was engraved upon, Pyrrha’s face at the shear ferocity, and power behind each swing, until, Jaune’s struck with a force of a storm, that sent, Pyrrha’s weapon flying,

Pyrrha looked in stunned shock as her weapon was sent across the arena. She head turned to see, Jaune hold his sword above him, before thrusting towards, Pyrrha’s chest, striking with a deafening clash of metal, upon metal, that sent her flying. But before she fell, a loud, ‘bong’ sang there the air, to signalize that the match was finally over.

The colosseum erupted into a chorus of cheers as, Jaune walked over to, Pyrrha dazed form as she look skywards, his face filled with a shock, and confused expression as she saw, Jaune come into her field of view.

Pyrrha: I-I lost…?

Jaune: Yep, you lost.

Pyrrha: Really…?

Jaune: Haven’t lost a fight in a while have ya?

Pyrrha: N-No… No I haven’t.

Jaune: Oh, then its a good thing you lost then.

Pyrrha: It is, how?

Jaune grabbed, Pyrrha’s arm, and hoisted her up. He made sure she was okay, before walking over to pick up, Pyrrha’s weapon.

Jaune: Well for starters, it stops you from getting cocky. Makes you realize you are not invincible. This could probably save your life in the long. Stop you from running head first into a situation that could get you killed because of your arrogance.

Jaune picked up, Pyrrha’s spear before passing it back to her her, who caught it with ease.

Pyrrha: That’s… That’s some pretty good advice…

Jaune: Any advice that will keep you alive is good advice.

Pyrrha: Haha~! That is true.

Jaune: Besides, you did learn some valuable lessons. Which are more valuable that some shiny cup.

Pyrrha: Hmm, that I did. More so that I need to focus more on muscle strength, my flexibility, and overall endurance.

Jaune: And, learn better control of your semblance.

Pyrrha’s eyes widened in shock as she looked away nervously.

Pyrrha: I-I-I don’t know what you’re t-talking about… I-I don’t have a semblance.

Jaune laughed as he watched, Pyrrha try, and stumble her way out through a terribly concealed lie.

Jaune: One: That was adorable, trying to lie like that.

Pyrrha: A-Adorable?

Jaune: Second: You really think I didn’t feel that little tug on my sword now did you?

Pyrrha: You noticed?!

Jaune: Barely, most people probably wouldn’t notice it. So I recommend you work on your control of your semblance… Whatever it is. Might save your life one day.

Pyrrha: I’ll… I’ll go do that.

Jaune: Well, It has been a pleasure, Pyrrha. I look forward to our next fight.

Pyrrha: So do I. And, thank you for the lesson, Jaune.

Jaune: No problem.

Jeanne: Jaune!

Jaune: Uh oh…

Before, Jaune could turn around, he felt his younger sister jump on his back, and hug him.

Jeanne: You won, you won, you won!

Jaune: Yes, yes I won. Please get off of me.

Jeanne quickly got off her brother before bouncing in front of, Jaune’s face with a wild look in her eyes.

Jeanne: Now, before you go, and collect your fancy cup, you need to do something for me!

Jaune: I do?

Jeanne: Yes!

Jaune: And, that would be…?

Jeanne: Punch me in the face!

Jaune: …

Jaune: Okay.

Jaune reeled his fist back, and threw a solid punch dead centre on, Jeanne’s face. The force of the punch rocked her head back for a moment before she went back up. She looked at her brother with a wide smile on her face before her hands shot up, and she cheered loudly.

Jeanne: Whooo! I can take a punch! I can take a punch! Take that, Nikos! I can take a… Whaaaa?!!

(Thud!)

Jeanne: Oww…

Jaune, and Pyrrha looked down as the sad form of, Jeanne as she face planted the floor.

Pyrrha: She needs to work on her foot work…

Jaune: We’ve been trying… But, yeah…

#rwby #jaune arc #pyrrha nikos #acheius arc #jeanne arc

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fategoflatass · 3 months

Text

So, I posted not to long ago my honest surprise to this whole endeavor that delevoped right before my own two eyes. Wanted to post my thoughts (?) on it earlier, but today's the day my Internet company decided to be crappy once again, so yeah.

Just as a heads up: I ramble a lot, and I love writing. Beware of that.

As he said those first lines, let me tell you: I was screaming. Albeit not too much, since I'm used to these kind of scenes to be interrupted rather sooner than later, so I kept my expectations where I could see them. Even then, I was enjoying myself quite a lot.

It's just, them, you know? Like, there this trope (?) that I love where a character whose true self is restrained due to reasons gets to be themselves around this one person or these group of people. Trope that, clearly, applies with these two losers. No wonder I'm so attached to them, huh? I also love losers, but that's beyond the point.

The moments where Jinshi gets to be himself whenever Maomao's around always give me such fuzzy feelings in my chest. Is like reading snippets of a high school romcom's script, you know? And I love high school romcoms! They have that tad of awkwardness proper of their age that always makes me go aw. Or at least the good ones do.

Something that happens to me with this LN is that, and I don't know what the author does but, I always feel like I'm part of these scenes? Like, I'm present. And it can be endearing, but turn awkward as soon as things go wild like here. Nothing wrong with that though: he's a twenty-year-old dude whose teenage hormones have never been satisfied, being the closest he's ever been to his first love, you know what I mean? He's wilding, and I'm not here to judge him on that.

But yeah, my man's head over heels and here he either falls on the most comfortable mattress or crashes against the concrete floor.

At this moment, I had already banished from existence. Her finally realizing (or allowing herself to realizing) his true feelings is something I've been waiting for for so long it's insane! Now, that doesn't mean that what awaits us from now on are butterflies and rainbows—they're angsty, so it could get worse. Call me pessimistic, I don't care. I won't believe in the progress I so long for until I see it.

Now, I talked before (and I'll do it again later on) about her denial on their situation, the possibility of them being a thing and all that, so let's focus on loserboy instead.

I get it that he's just so damn tired of this bullshit, yet I highly doubt this is the proper way to deal with things? Either way, he seems to have enjoyed it way too much. Could this be considered a kink awekening? Because if so, he and his European toad should be sent to horny jail ASAP. He's too much of a menace for anyone to handle, I'm telling you.

I've nothing to say here, unless you wanna hear me scream for the tenth time?

I mean, can you blame him? Even when he's such a popular guy among the ladies (as she mentioned earlier in the epilogue), none of them can satisfy that rooted need that he has—to have a person by his side who seems him for who he truly is and doesn't judge him for that. Someone who's able to see beyond his looks, even if they're so blindingly attractive is humanly impossible.

And once he believed to have found that someone, of course he never let go. He couldn't care less about their difference in status, because what's so wrong to want to be genuinely happy for once in your life? Is it so wrong if they don't share something so insignificant when it comes to love with you?

Maybe not for him, even thought that'd bring him the discredit of his peers (not like he cares that much about that, though)—but for someone who's constantly avoiding trouble and thus would like to pass as unnoticed as possible? Yes. A lot, may I add.

Not like he cares much, though. His intentions are clear: he's gonna jump on a pool that at first seems dry as hell, hoping for some water to make its presence and muffle his fall.

I'm sorry, but that last line sent me.

But even then,

‼‼‼

BRUH IT HAPPENED

LOVED THIS VOLUME 10/10 WOULD RECOMMEND

#the apothecary diaries #kusuriya no hitorigoto #knh spoilers #to you who told me about volume five #you were right #i so needed to read this omg #i'm sad though because this means i'm halfway through the ln #hope they confirm three consecutive 24 ep seasons whenever s1 ends

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sgiandubh · 5 months

Text

Hey Vomit Lady

You - and your 455 sock accounts - just could not help yourself, huh?

Look. I have lived all my life just about 10.000 miles away from your home. And the farthest I made it East is Vietnam (unlike you, I have had the joy of visiting about 50 countries of this planet - but this is not a pissing contest, you know). Doubt it helps.

My knowledge about your home country is, at best, politely limited by time and life experience. And unlike you, I never professed to know 'all and everything'. There are many things I do not know. Algebra. Quantum physics. Dentistry. Car spare parts. I could go on for hours, you see. But I'd be losing my flight (you are not worth it) and I could not let this insult pass unanswered.

What do you know about my country, madam and what exactly gives you the moral upper hand to call us liars and idiots and fools?

If you want to share anything with anyone, try to do it with the same joy it was shared with you. I suspected it could be a Maori name, but to be honest, Vomit Lady perfectly applies to your complete lack of manners in this fandom. As such, it will remain unchanged, unless you choose to behave as a polite person.

I am sorry, Mrs. Small Tree on the Hill. In here, you are but a bully. Nothing more. And make no mistake: after this acknowledgement of your existence, I shall not answer your trash - either the one you sign or the one you send via Anon to Moo.

I also hope your real life self is not this online persona you peddle around. Your online persona is just tremendously sad and irrationally angry.

Oh, and: I only speak, read and write in about 7 languages. I am very sorry your native one is not among them.

#fandom

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raccoon-eyed-rebel · 10 months

Text

White blossoms - Chapter 1

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

A/N: It took me nearly seven months to write this fic, and I am beyond excited to finally be sharing it! (And a little nervous...) Just a story of two people falling in love when that wasn't necessarily an option... This is written from both their POV's, and I'll try very hard to not F up on the dividers between those two, okay? ❤️

If you like this fic, please remember to reblog so that others may also see it!

Pairing: Melot x OFC (Tamsyn)

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: None. They kiss. Fluff. Shenanigans. Historical inaccuracies, probably.

@deandoesthingstome @keanureevesisbae @fvckinghenrycavill @ellethespaceunicorn @peaches1958 @peyton-warren @summersong69 @mayloma @livisss @geralts-yenn @sillyrabbit81

“Quiet, I hear something.” Your boisterous laughter quieted down to whispers and muffled snickering. You were about to tell your friend off for making a fuss about nothing when you heard it too: laughter and singing.

“Let’s go see who it is,” the same friend suggested to the rest of your party.

“Aedan, perhaps we shouldn’t.” It was one complaint among several more curious reactions.

“You are welcome to return home, if you are so terrified.” Never tell a young man he is afraid if you are not prepared to take a punch to the gut, or so Aedan found out.

Your small group set foot in the direction of the sounds - they appeared to come from near the stream. It was not long before you saw them; local girls, sitting by the edge of the water. The singing had stopped, and they had turned to talking to Elowen - whom you all knew to have been married only a few nights ago.

“What was it like?” The question was followed by a lot of giggling, while Elowen slowly turned red in the neck.

“Did it hurt?” Another of the girls asked her. “He was your first, was he not?”

You looked over your right shoulder to Tristan, who stared back at you. His face mirrored the disbelief displayed on yours. Were they really discussing her wedding night?

“Was it enjoyable?” You snapped your head back to the ladies so quickly you feared you might break it. That voice would stand out to you anywhere.

“Was that Tamsyn, Melot?” Aedan whispered softly. He looked as surprised as Tristan had moments ago. You felt your own ears grow warm and thanked God that your hair hid them from sight. An impatient nudge to the elbow reminded you of the question, which you answered through a simple nod.

“I have not quite decided what I think of it.” None of you dared believe that Elowen would actually answer these questions. Your eyes widened even further as she continued: “I think it could be?”

“I have no interest in hearing this,” Pyran hissed before he retreated, taking Lowen with him. It was just you, Tristan, and Aedan now, and while you all considered leaving, none of you seemed able to lift your legs. So, you kept listening, and as the conversation drew to a close, the three of you saw red in the face from embarrassment at how freely they had discussed the topic.

“These conversations cannot be fit for ladies,” Aedan whispered. You worried that his eyes might fall out of their sockets if they opened any wider - the same applied to yourself, too.

“These conversations are unfit for us, friend,” Tristan laughed softly. The girls began to gather their things, signalling they were about to leave.

“But we have them, regardless,” you weighed in on the conversation. Both of your friends chuckled at your words. It was the simplest truth: you spoke of it often, in fact, and in terms that were a great deal more crude than what you had heard today. As more and more of the men your age took wives, these talks only became more frequent. But to hear the women speak of it - it felt like an entirely different matter. And those questions from shy, delicate Tamsyn - your Tamsyn, though she had only allowed you a few swift kisses - they tormented you. She had seemed so curious about the whole ordeal, but so innocent at the same time. The ladies began walking back towards the village, and you took it as your cue to leave; they would see you if you all stayed where you were.

“Melot, hurry up,” Tristan told you, but you could not move. The fabric of your trousers had caught on a branch and tearing it free would certainly make noise. You beckoned your friends to leave ahead of you. On your own you would be fine, hiding from sight until the girls had passed you.

“Go ahead,” you said to your friends, “I think I heard something.” Elowen and Morwenna shrugged and kept walking, Beryan held still until you motioned at her to go. Carefully, you walked off the path, into the woods, towards the sound you believed to have heard. There, behind a tree, not paying any attention to his surroundings as he was busy freeing the leg of his trousers from a fallen branch, was Melot.

“Do you not carry a knife, Melot?” You asked. He was utterly startled by the sudden revelation of your presence but composed himself quickly.

“I do,” he chuckled softly, “and I am positive my mother will gladly cut me with it if I tear these beyond her ability to mend them, so I had better not use it.”

“Oh, move,” you dropped to one knee and slapped his hands out of your way. They were warm, and your heart skipped a beat when you touched them. He pulled his away remarkably quickly, which struck you as strange. Had he not spent months courting you? His smile melted your doubts: Melot could smile in a way that made you feel like the only woman in the whole world. You felt your blood creep up to your cheeks, and prayed to God, he would not see it. With a few swift tugs, you pulled the fabric away from the branch.

“Thank you, Tamsyn,” he said as he got up. Once back on his feet, he offered you his hand so he could help you, and you gladly took it. Somehow, it felt even warmer than before. Upon standing up, you lost your footing on the uneven surface and tumbled into him. His arms wrapped quickly and effortlessly around your waist and pulled you against his broad chest. You felt small in his embrace - and incredibly safe, especially when you rested your hands on his arms, and felt the muscles in them tighten underneath his clothes.

“Are you alright?” He asked, concern speaking from his voice. As you nodded and whispered a barely audible ‘yes’, you felt your cheeks burn even more than they had before. When you looked up, his face was closer to yours than you had expected, and you were overcome with the sudden desire to kiss him. Slowly, you moved one of your hands to his cheek and looked up at him only to find him smiling down at you. There it was again, that feeling that you were the only one to him. Oh, how good it felt to have him look at you in that way. A warm hand covered yours, while the other held you closer to him. It was a chaste kiss you shared, like the ones before. You would have allowed him more, but he had never pressed the matter, and you felt uncomfortable offering it, for fear of what he would think of you. And so once more you pressed your lips to his, lingering a bit longer, in hopes he would attempt to deepen it, but he did not. When you moved away, however, he held you close against him. There was a troubled look in his eyes that fills you with concern.

“What’s the matter, Melot?” you asked him curiously.

“I- It's nothing.” Of course you could not believe him; something was bothering him, that much was obvious. You deliberated for a moment whether further inquiry would be considered improper, but soon decided to set your sorrows aside.

“Melot, I can tell you are lying,” you said with an edge of amusement to your voice.

“I overheard your conversation,” he admitted as his cheeks slowly started to colour with shame, “I have a question about it. But not here.” You let him lead the way along the stream, until you reached a beautiful waterfall you had not seen before. Your surprise must have been evident from the look on your face, because Melot chuckled as he wrapped his arms around you.

“No one comes here, it's too far upstream to be sensible for daily chores,” he said as he pressed his lips against your forehead.

“What did you want to ask me?” You said as you sat yourself down on a rock near the edge of the river. Melot sat next to you. He was nervous to ask his question, you could tell from the way his leg moved constantly.

“Why did Beryan ask if… it hurt?” He looked away from her, not daring to meet her eyes. These conversations were hardly proper between husband and wife, let alone two young, unwed lovers such as yourselves. You sat for a moment flushed and vexed at what he had asked. The answer to his question was simple, but should you give it to him? It was clear the men were not made aware of these things, perhaps there was a reason for that? Yet his voice was drenched with genuine curiosity, and because of that, you did not want to deny him an answer.

“Because it most often does, or so our mothers tell us,” you said softly, “no one tells you this?”

Melot shook his head. “Not once.” He looked down at his hands. “Do you think it has to?”

“Be painful, you mean?” To this, he nodded in reply. You shrugged, unable to answer his question. It was what you had been told, and so had your friends. A few had even been able to confirm the tales, so far. For whatever reason, you made Melot privy to these thoughts.

“It seems unfair to me,” he said after a while, to which you raised an eyebrow inquisitively. “That you have to be uncomfortable, and we do not.” When he said it, you laughed at how delightfully ignorant his statement was. Clearly no one made any effort to tell the boys of the monthly suffering you went through. Of course it was not a man’s business, and you were not going to let him in on it, either, but the incognizance was still striking.

“Why do you laugh at that?” He smiled kindly at you. “I don’t want to hurt you, so -” He stopped his sentence halfway through and looked at you in terror, realising what he had said.

“I did not mean to imply… That is not why I brought you h-” You believed him, instantly, but he continued his apologies. “I simply meant, if some day we would… We’d be married, of course.” His words took you by surprise.

“Are you asking me to be your wife?” You asked him so softly you suspected he might not even hear your query. He looked at you somewhat distraught.

“Not yet, I think,” he said, but it sounded more like a question than an answer, “but I have thought about it.”

“I am only a simple town girl, Melot,” you sighed, “you are nephew to the king.”

“Believe me, I am hardly his favourite,” Melot said with a smile. It was true, he was not the king’s most beloved relative, nor was he the one who had been appointed king Marke's successor. This had angered him at first, but he and Tristan had since made peace, and Melot had seen that it absolved him in part of the extreme scrutiny that came with the role, though he was still the king’s blood, meaning he had to behave. It was hard for him at times. “I have his blessing to court you.” He added his last sentence hesitantly. Somehow, it was very nice to have some confirmation, though you doubted even Melot would have been insolent enough to continue his quest for your affections if his uncle had not permitted it. It went without saying that your parents were extremely fond of the match. Still, you had never dared to dream that one day you might truly be his wife…

He took one of your hands in his, carefully, as though it might break under his touch. His were a warrior's hands, calloused and rough, yet he always held you with care - in the fleeting moments you had where he could hold you, at least. This, you now both realised, was not one of those moments. That is to say: it was not fleeting, as the others had been. You were far away from everyone, no one would bother you here.

You looked deeply into each other’s eyes, at first not realising one - or possibly both - of you was leaning forward, your faces slowly inching closer together until your lips touched. This kiss lasted longer - maybe it was not one kiss, but several, you did not know. Put quite bluntly, it was of marginal interest to you at best; the only things that mattered to you were Melot’s soft lips that pressed against yours, again, and again. When he moved away from you again, you looked into his eyes, stunned by their beautiful colour, but perhaps more by the look in them. It had taken you a while to allow yourself to be convinced that he was actually taken with you, and now each time you seemed to come to terms with that idea, he looked at you with yet more affection than he had ever before. You closed your eyes and leaned in to kiss him again, taking his face between your hands to pull him closer. He answered your kiss with a new degree of enthusiasm. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you took tenuous note of the quickening beating of your heart, and the unsteady rhythm of your breathing when you felt Melot’s lips part against yours. The wetness and warmth of his tongue startled you, but not so much that it made you in any way inclined to pull away. Your hands fell away from his cheeks, and you draped your arms around his neck. One of his hands you felt tenderly caressing your face, while the other held you at your middle with great care. He trembled ever so slightly, as though he was felled with nerves. But he couldn’t be! Your warrior, overcome with worries, and all at the touch of a woman? It was simply impossible! And yet you felt it; tremors in his hands, however subtle, as once again his tongue gently trailed your lips, requesting entrance. This time, you granted his wish by parting your lips.

In no way were you prepared for the sensations that came over you as he explored your mouth with his tongue, and you his, though you felt that you were much more hesitant than he was. Copious conversations with your friends had prepared you a bit for what was to come, but the explanations were by no means extensive, which was hardly fortuitous, if you had to be perfectly honest about it. Your heart dropped when Melot retreated, and you sighed softly when he lifted his lips off yours. For a moment, he rested his forehead against yours, and you both basked in the afterglow of the moment you had shared.

Suddenly you were overcome by sorrow. It was involuntary, but the feeling was simply too strong to ignore.

“Did you enjoy that?” The question startled you, and you were torn between telling him the truth or telling him what you had been raised to answer.

“I am afraid to admit it was quite enjoyable,” you answered plainly, “it's said we are not supposed to, is it not?”

“Plenty of things are said every day,” Melot answered, “that doesn't mean they hold any truth.”

#melot fanfiction #melot #melot x ofc #melot fanfic #tristan + isolde #henry cavill characters #henrycavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill

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heavyweightheart · 2 years

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the idea of “premature skin aging” is pure marketing bullshit--it’s nonsense. it supports an almost $20b industry in the US (the biggest skincare product market) that’s growing rapidly and fast outpacing other cosmetic product markets like makeup. this idea also represents an incursion into “health” and “wellness,” which are ill-defined moral mandates in our society often used to punish and control. it’s artifice to cover up our faces with makeup, but it’s natural and healthy to prevent “premature aging”, whatever tf that means. we must bring out our innate permanent young lady face that perfectly conforms to the beauty standards of our time & place lol. this state takes even more time, money, effort, exploitation and waste to try to achieve than the things we consider to be artificial.

if people find pleasure in the learning, buying, applying, etc of an elaborate skin care routine, great! we all have to be miners for joy in this world. the problem lies in its being a controlling norm, in the misogyny, ageism, racism, and ableism that it leverages to sell products and keep women anxious, insecure, and preoccupied with an inevitable process that only some are even able to experience (growing older). i think we all know that views on aging in the US are among the most harmful that humanity has held.

anyway, i hope we can all live long lives, think critically, invest in what’s meaningful to us, and find joy where we can. aging is a complicated gift, impossible to reduce to small alterations of the facial skin.

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welcomingdisaster · 11 days

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tidbit tuesday! tagged by @melestasflight to share a little something from the wips! i'll join you in @silmarillionepistolary week posting. something i'm hoping to have finished before the week is over:

This turn in the discourse is troubling, both because of the undue and perverse attention which it may attract to this noble publication and for the aspersions which it may cast upon the already well-sullied reputation of the historiographer. Perhaps if there was any academic merit behind them such faults may be forgiven, but as they consist of nothing besides applying an all-too-modern understandings of customs (and the ever-loosening morality of the age of Man!) onto the long-gone age of the Eldar.

That said, I shall begin by laying out the terms of the engagement. Let us assume, for the sake of simplicity and brevity both, that there is no doubt on the matter of authenticity of the letters exchanged between our two principal figures during the Long Peace. Even the most recently recovered—and most hotly contested—of these letters, dated F.A. 345, referred to in the previous publication by the first lines (“Concerning the matter of honey…”) and sometimes abbreviated as the “honey missive” (alternately, in particularly tasteless publications, the “honey-thigh letter”) in such discourses, shall be accepted into our metaphorical evidence box (though indeed any reader familiar with my previous publications might be predisposed to hold its veracity in some doubt). I shall also reference the K. M. Singer translation of all available letters, as the most widely-accepted, and aspire to make no reference to the probable inaccuracies in Singer’s understanding of Quenya terms of endearment and vocabulary regarding parts of the body.

It may be wise to note, before we begin, that ladies of a delicate composition and children may find frank discussions of homosexual activity unnerving and inflaming. I would urge readers to exercise caution.

And so, our terms of engagement well-laid, let us begin. I draw the attention of noble reader first to the matter of cousin-marriage among the Eldar.

tagging!! @theghostinthemargins @zealouswerewolfcollector @that-angry-noldo @searchingforserendipity25 @thescrapwitch @grey-gazania & anyone else who wishes!

#lena speaks

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an-android-in-a-tutu · 8 months

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There was a bit of a tiff that went down yesterday among some of my spnblr colleagues, and I'm not gonna really comment on that directly, suffice it to say I blocked the person involved ages ago bc they always act like this and I find it uncomfortable and unpleasant. But I think their behaviour is notable nc it's an example of a phenomena I've been noticing more and more lately, that I'm sure smarter and more attentive people than me have already described but I'm going to give it a shot anyway.

It's essentially the belief that if you present yourself as the passive/receptive partner then your aggressive sexual advances are no big deal and just funny jokes. The obvious related thought is the idea that women can't harrass or sexually assault men, but it goes beyond that imo.

I saw a post just recently speculating on how it's funny to talk about how you want to have so muc sex if you're a bottom but if you're a top it's creepy and makes you sound like a predator which is like. Mind boggling to me in terms of the unexamined bullshit at play. And to be fair people on that post were quick to point out that using sexually aggressive language to describe what you want someone to do to you is just as much harrassment as the other way around, and that people are far too permissive of this kind of behaviour. No one made the inverse observation that "wanting to put your penis in someone" as stated in the post is not inherently creepy or sexually predatory.

Like, topping and bottoming are a morally neutral acts. I feel like this sentiment goes around once every few months but we have got to let go of the idea that penetration is inherently violent and dominating. Especially if the inverse belief is allowing people to excuse genuinely out of line behaviour because they think being the receptive partner somehow makes them inherently non-threatening.

I mean that was imo a not insignificant part of the recent booktok drama abt a woman essentially sexually harrassing a hockey player. And there was absolutely more going on, not least of which being her getting rewarded for her behaviour initially, but I think a big issue is that we kind of apply the "punching up" model to situations like this, her target was both a man and a celebrity, the balance of power tips heavily in his favour so her actions become permissible. And for some reason there's this continued perception of bottoming and topping carrying a power imbalance. But if booktok lady had been screaming at Hockey players that she wanted to fuck them in the ass, that wouldn't be any worse that yelling at them to fill all her holes. It's the same shit.

So like, if you say, have this habit of using extended graphic sexual metaphors about how, say, people disagreeing with you about a fictional character all want you to suck their huge dick so bad but you don't want to and actually their dick is super small and pathetic anyway. You haven't actually cracked the code of how to avoid being a creep bc it's your mouth and their cock and not vice versa. And when you start actually replying to people with shit like this instead of just keeping it to your own blog? Sorry but just because it's about how "Everyone Else" wants you to suck their fat dick doesn't distract from the fact that you are the one opening conversations with other people with graphic sexual language for no reason.

(You also can't pretend not to be body shaming with your countless small dick comments by saying that it's just a metaphor and you're talking about BEHAVING like you have a small dick plbt plbt plbt that's a fucking cop out answer for idiot cowards. You are talking about people "metaphorically" having a small dick as a stand in for being pathetic. "I'm not bodyshaming I'm just using having a body like this as a stand in for qualities I think are bad!" What a fucking joke. But I digress)

And like I genuinely think this person just thinks they're doing a funny bit, and I don't think they need to be canceled for it or w/e but I do feel we all need to reflect on our assumptions abt sex and accept that the rules don't change bc of gender, or submissiveness, or who's sticking what in who. Unsolicited sexual comments are unsolicited comments, and while I'm not gonna pretend that tumblr is a sacred space where we can't make jokes about screwing and dicks and balls, there's always a line, and you don't actually get a free pass to cross it by being an uwu submissive bottom so spank me daddy.

Also if you're gonna make an extended sexual metaphor about what arguing about the cw's supernatural is like, I guess go nuts show nuts but be aware that you are gonna be broadcasting your particular sexual hangups when you do. Personally I prefer to put them in my fanfiction and get embarrassed when someone points them out. But hey, different strokes.

#discourse #ig #I dont wanna tag this as fandom wank bc I'm not trying to make it abt the fandom wank but #it's kinda #fandom wank #That is also abt everyone's weird hangups about penetrative sex #sex acts are morally neutral they only become bad if they're carried out unsafely or without consent #collection of only mostly related thoughts but gd this has been bugging me

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inthehoneymoonwithconnorrk800 · 1 year

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2. The cruelest prince (Dark! Balekin Greenbriar x reader)

*I am sorry for the inappropriate use that this text can present in English, I have translated it on google.

TW: NON-CON/DUB-CON, mentions of murder, unhealthy tendencies. Remember that it is fiction, do not apply to real life.

You sputtered at your king's request. You were part of the visiting party for the kingdom of Elfhame that was apparently undergoing a crisis and nothing was more attractive than seeing the disaster among the fairies. Not that you complained too much, you knew all the rumors in the place and you also liked the crumbling of a government. After all, it was in your nature, you were a fairy.

“All ready?”

You nodded. Besides, you were a spy. Your plan was to blend into the crowd, sipping wine while flirting with some and following orders from others. Your gray clothes looked like silver sights, you had worn a suit that didn't give you away as a selkie because that way you avoided suspicion. However, you had a great fear of losing your second skin.

You felt a chill.

Luckily, there are always second plans.

You met with your group of allies, all of them dressed in clothes for the occasion to the point that it generated a little envy. They looked dazzling as princesses and that was the point: to pretend they were part of a minor noble's entourage.

“Roseiea, you first.”

The one named her fluttered and linked her arm close to Sir Genoui, the false noble. Both were the most experienced in court affairs and in secrecy, they were practically the teachers of the others. You were the last, the seductive but harmless glass lady. That is the impression you wanted and had to achieve.

When everyone finally entered, just as you expected, the party was reaching its peak. A group like yours was practically invisible with the media circus that was going on. Several dancing rounds, glasses filled to the brim with drinks and the classic amber scent that stunned even the strongest were the welcome they received. There was such a buzz that after a vague introduction, you started to join the crowd. You went to the west wing, presumably to fool around with some courtiers and to secure access to Tulip, practically the second woman in command with blue skin.

“Precious.”

You smiled at the compliment. There was your first step; a young man with long, brown hair and green eyes, you quickly made sure that he was a nobleman and not a simple villager.

It never hurt to be suspicious.

"What a party," you commented, moving your hips toward him, stunning him with the beauty of your body. “And I with no one to dance with”

The game of masks began without you noticing after a couple of songs, you had exchanged partners a couple of times as usual and you were beginning to fear not finding the space for Tulipán.

When a tall gentleman with black gloves asked you for accompaniment.

“Why not?” You quickly shut up, your tongue could endanger everything. That is the curse of fairies, telling truths without being able to avoid them.

Out of nowhere, you felt that stinging gaze again. Every time you approached someone, you could sense that someone was staring at the back of your head. Sure it was Sir Genoui, making sure you followed the plan.

—

It was almost three in the morning and luckily, you had reached the pass to Tulipán, who with her water magic managed to attract the so-called minor king. You sighed relieved, you only had to make time up to a couple of hours and sneak through the secret path and then with a dark float, get out of there.

You looked at the dance again, if you could do what you want, you would go to the dark slippery corridor and recover your skin to leave at once. Being a selkie had its drawbacks.

Bored, you decided to go down a checkered path. When you were a certain distance away, you frowned strangely, feeling again the strong pang of being watched. It made no sense, you had already fulfilled your part completely and according to the terms, you had the freedom to walk around the place when Tulip was carrying out his mission.

You walked fast, the wine you drank triggered your anxiety that someone would catch you without your skin. After about ten minutes, you breathed a sigh of relief and allowed yourself to admire some valuables, definitely royalty.

"So you are a curious little mouse."

You frowned angrily at the nickname. The effect of the mask prevented you from seeing his face and distinguishing his voice clearly.

“What are you doing here?”

"The real question is…what do you plan to do outside of the environment?" he approached you with commanding steps

You were not afraid. If the going came down to it, you had a dagger strapped to your right leg and a small knife in your bodice, you had trained assassins before and bigger beings than the intimidating guy in front of you.

"I don't understand your question, sir.”

And it was true, you had misplaced his question.

“Mister? You should call me by a title.” His arrogant tone of him seemed like he enjoyed your fear.

"With what title?" You chose your words wisely.

According to the information they had given you, the beings of great importance were King Cardan and his spies, added to some nobles with whom you previously greeted through your companions, who, added to this, some successfully cajoled the spies... If King Cardan was with Tulip... then who was he?

"I am often called the true King of Elfhame."

You couldn't let out a surprised sigh. The man could be none other than Balekin, the violent firstborn of the already dead Eldreld.

"W-what are you planning to do with me?"

You were paralyzed. The same rumors that made you proud to know all about the different bloodlines that kept ice cold.

Your team had no backup plan for Balekin, he wasn't supposed to be here for the world.

“So many things…” The door closed. “And with so little time...”

You tensed up even more, you were sure that there was no presence for at least two hundred meters, such was your desire to get away from the dance that it put you in danger.

Quickly he removed his mask. Prince Balekin manly and dangerously handsome face did nothing more than cause a slight tremor in your mundane legs.

You couldn't survive a fight with him.

"Please…" you begged without knowing why.

Perhaps to the wish that he would let you live.

"What is your wish, little mouse?"

His dark eyes seemed to absorb you into nothingness, he had a dangerous smile on his lips and you didn't have to be a fortune teller to know that his intentions weren't good.

“Set me free.”

He made a denial sound.

“Impossible. You belong to me now”

“How?”

"Your own little spy crew sold you, little mouse."

“What are you talking about?”

He let out a cold, lifeless laugh, causing your hair to stand on end.

"You think I don't know espionage? Did they think to take me for an idiot? They were able to fool my brother, but not me. When I found out what they orchestrated, they quickly begged me for forgiveness and benevolence.” He rolled his eyes. “As for you, let's just say you were the price for an act of mercy.”

“Me? Why me? I have no real power, no family. I don't have anything!”

Moving closer to your body, he placed a hand on your neck, but without any pressure on it.

“We'll see that.”

Before you could say anything else, he kissed you. His lips were rough, but not painful to taste, as much as you tried to avoid it a moan escaped your lips. If you hadn't been trained, you'd practically be trapped by now. However, you slid an arm up to your thigh, ready to attack.

You raised the weapon, ready to at least be able to free yourself from the grip.

It was useless, one movement was enough to leave you with a cut around your arm and destroy the dagger.

"I knew you'd be worth it."

The gleam in his eyes increased with your attack and you let out another moan as he out of nowhere placed a leg between your lower limbs. The friction between his suit and yours left few words.

Neither slow nor lazy, he began to kiss your neck. The heat invaded you with each attack, you felt the future marks that would form and the possessiveness in his grip. You tried to push him away, but that caused nothing more than getting closer and better access to your neck, finally he bit you and the shoulder. You were stunned to feel pleasure at it, you were not supposed to end that way. Balekin didn't stop, he caught you on his lips again and you practically gave in to him, but you didn't want to show that you enjoyed it. So, you tried to overpower yourself and deny him access to your mouth, causing only more struggle and finally, he charged at you. As the evil tongues whispered, he was the strongest of the princes and he showed it when he left you on the nearest table.

You felt like a soft doll.

You tried to kick him away from you again, but his lack of patience caused you to spread your legs. You felt deep fear, but his grip was hard as steel. He lifted the skirt of your dress like a beast, he practically ripped it off. And he buried his head in the place between your legs.

You let out a gasp of pleasure and surprise.

Balekin had a great experience in that sexual act that he left you with red cheeks. His tongue licked your clitoris and you could feel his sharp teeth that did nothing but stimulate the area, against your will, you moaned over and over again. Feigning indifference was useless, not when you had the most satisfying experience in your immortal life. You felt the slight tremor in your knees as a sign that you were about to climax, Balekin did not stop, skillfully took your breath away and devoured your liquids as if it were the most delicious drink known.

You were recovering from the event when he looked up, making eye contact. He was proud to have left you like this, after all you recognized the look of a hunter.

However, he did not finish his attack on your intimate part and he sank his head again, you moaned louder and you felt the air leave your lungs. Why was he so good at this? You felt the saliva leave your mouth due to the intense pleasure before his act of him with you of him, he followed with the paralyzing speed of him, when you felt his fingers enter. You hardly even noticed it, he had adapted you in such a way that you were completely engulfed before him. He started to speed him up and with the help of his fingers, you felt the second orgasm coming. Your legs trembled and you let out a deep moan. At this point, you had tears of pleasure in your eyes.

He took a while to admire you.

You had your skirt torn, the straps of your dress ruffled and useless to hide the knife that had long been thrown away, hickeys and bites on your neck, added to your red lips due to his possessive kisses. And he looked pleased at this.

He attacked your lips again and his agile hands undid you of the pieces of clothing that you had left, the nakedness of your chest allowed him to bite your collarbone and lick your chest, while his hands explored your legs. You could feel what was coming next, but coherent thinking had long since abandoned you.

"Are you all right, little mouse?" he teased you.

He quickly removed the costume part of him. Now you could admire his masculine chest, he pulled your hand to his abs.

"All yours" he continued scoffing.

He kissed you again and this time, followed by bites. You moaned again and almost without realizing it, he sank into the warmth of your private part.

"You're all mine...”

You held on to his shoulders because he was taller than you, and definitely beefier.

First his pace was fast, you couldn't blurt out anything coherent no matter how much you wanted to, he wasn't that far away either because you could hear his growls.

His left hand was holding tightly on your waist. The fingers on the right of him were responsible for stimulating your clitoris, making your pleasure increase more and more. Again, you could feel the orgasm coming, but the speed of it slowed down.

"Are you enjoying it, little mouse?" His face was still proud, albeit with slight beads of sweat that did nothing more than add to his attractiveness. “Tell me or I'll stop.”

A fairy never lied.

“Y-yes…”

He kept moving slowly.

“What do you say? I hardly hear you.”

“Yes!” You blurted out humiliated, the pleasure was too much to even deny.

Satisfied with your response, he gave your right shoulder a quick bite and began a hypnotizing sway, you heard the table squeak against the wall, but you didn't care.

Finally, you felt yourself come with a thunderous gasp, and with totally weak legs, Balekin kept pushing until he let out a grotesque grunt and stopped. He slipped out of you easily due to the liquid seeping between your legs. And he looked at you again.

"You're going to be a good wife."

You kept trying to breathe properly, trying to analyze his words.

“What do you say?”

He walked away a few steps to behind a painting, to your surprise, there was your seal skin.

“No…”

Your heart seemed to stop in your chest. When a selkie lost her skin at the hands of another, she was doomed to be their wife.

“Hey, don't direct your disappointment at me. Remember that it was your own allies who betrayed you, but don't worry...” and there was the danger that Balekin so much boasted about, “I avenged you. They asked for an act of mercy and I put an end to them that way.”

Before your face of horror, he approached trying to keep your skin in a kind of special pocket in his dance pants and kissed your forehead.

"I won't let anything bad happen to you, little mouse."

@balekingreenbriar @yandere-stan @belovedyandere @yandere-stan @yandere-daydreams @darkficsyouneveraskedfor @darkcharacters @thecruelprincess @thecruelcardan

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charlotte-of-wales · 10 months

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Speech by King Willem-Alexander at the commemoration of the role of the Netherlands in the history of slavery, Oosterpark, Amsterdam

01-07-2023

Ladies and gentlemen, here in the Oosterpark, on the Museumplein, in Suriname, in the Caribbean part of our Kingdom, or wherever in the world you are tuning in,

‘Within the city of Amsterdam and its jurisdiction, all men are free, and none are slaves.’

These are the words of a Dutch legal provision from 1644.

We are standing in a city that, for centuries, has prized freedom above all else.

In the capital of a country that, throughout the course of history, has repeatedly battled against tyranny and oppression.

And yet, the principles that were taken for granted within this city and within this country did not apply beyond its borders. Here, slavery was banned. But overseas it was not.

Of all the ways in which a person can be robbed of their freedom, slavery is surely the most painful. The most degrading. The most inhuman.

To view a fellow human being as a commodity, to do with as you please. To use them for profit, as a beast of burden, with no will of their own. To be chained, traded, branded, worked to the bone, punished. Or even killed with impunity.

Recently, the Queen and I have had many conversations with people in the European Netherlands and in the islands of the Caribbean part of the Kingdom. We’ve met people with Surinamese roots, and people with ties to Indonesia. Among them are people who only have to go back three generations to find family members born into slavery.

And they made very clear just how deep the wounds remain.

Thanks to the work of many dedicated researchers, we are learning more and more about the Netherlands’ role in the history of slavery. We know that more than 600,000 people were transported across the Atlantic Ocean from Africa aboard Dutch ships, to be sold as slaves or put to work on plantations. Around 75,000 did not survive the crossing. We also know about the extensive slave trade to the East, in areas controlled by the Dutch East India Company. And we know about the atrocities committed against the indigenous populations of the colonies.

But there is also so much that we don’t know. The archives contain the raw figures. They present the facts with a bookkeeper’s precision. But the voices of the enslaved are lost in the mists of time. Leaving barely a trace behind.

It is awe-inspiring that so many of them found the strength to rise up against their captors, even if it was often an act of simple desperation. From their hideouts in Suriname’s vast forests and swamps, resistance fighters such as Boni, Baron and Joli-Coeur defiantly challenged the inhumanity of slavery. Their heroic deeds, and those of many others, are a testament to a pride and strength that could not be broken.

Very occasionally, we find the voice of a black freedom fighter preserved in the written record. One example is Tula, the leader of the 1795 revolt in Curaçao. Five months ago, the Queen and I stood with our eldest daughter on the site where he lived and worked, the former Knip plantation.

How reasonable and compassionate Tula’s words sound to our modern ears. Invoking the ideals of the French Revolution and the equality of all people, regardless of their skin colour, he said, ‘We do not seek to harm anyone, but want nothing more than our freedom.’

The response from the authorities was brutal and merciless. As punishment, Tula was tortured and then beheaded.

The horrific legacy of slavery remains with us today. Its effects can still be felt in racism in our society.

On 19 December last year, the Dutch prime minister apologised on behalf of the Dutch government for the fact that, for centuries, in the name of the Dutch State, human beings were made into commodities, exploited and abused.

Today I stand before you. Today, as your King and as a member of the government, I make this apology myself. And I feel the weight of the words in my heart and my soul.

But for me, there is another personal dimension.

Slavery and the slave trade are recognised as a crime against humanity. And the Stadholders and Kings of the House of Orange-Nassau did nothing to stop it.

They acted in accordance with laws which at the time were considered acceptable. But the system of slavery illustrated the injustice of those laws.

As the Second World War highlighted more recently, you cannot hide behind laws when your fellow human beings are reduced to animals and subjected to the whims of those in power.

At a certain point you have a moral duty to act. All the more so considering that here, in the European Netherlands, slavery was strictly forbidden. What was thought normal in the colonies overseas – practised on a large-scale and encouraged, in fact – was not allowed here. That is a painful truth.

The independent study I have commissioned will shed more light on the precise role played by the House of Orange-Nassau in our country’s colonial past and the history of slavery. But today, on this day of remembrance, I ask forgiveness for the clear failure to act in the face of this crime against humanity.

I realise only too well that by no means everyone shares the same feelings about this commemoration. And there are people in the Netherlands who feel that apologising now, so long after the abolition of slavery, is going too far. Nevertheless, the vast majority of them do support the fight for equality for all people, regardless of skin colour or cultural background.

I would therefore ask you to open your hearts to all those people who are not here today but who do want to work with you to build a society in which everyone can participate fully. I ask you to respect the differences in people’s experiences, backgrounds and powers of imagination.

During the conversations the Queen and I recently had with the descendants of enslaved people, one said, ‘Let’s not be so anxious. Don’t worry so much about saying the wrong thing’. Someone else said, ‘Let’s embrace our discomfort’.

There’s no blueprint for the process of healing, reconciliation and recovery. Together, we are in uncharted territory. So let’s support and guide each other.

Sixty years ago today, a group of Dutch people of Surinamese origin marched through the centre of Amsterdam waving banners that read ‘Ketie Kotie fri moe de’. They lit the fire of remembrance that we keep alight today.

This is an important day for anyone with ties to Suriname, including those whose forebears travelled to the colony as contract labourers.

I hope that the descendants of enslaved people and of people subjected to forced labour in other parts of the world feel they are part of this gathering. I hope they feel heard. People from the Caribbean part of the Kingdom. And the many Dutch people who have ties to Indonesia, and who carry the pain of great injustice in the past.

We all have our own family history. Our own emotions. Our own cultural traditions that ground us in our communities. Our rituals that comfort us, symbols that encourage us, and words of wisdom that resonate in our hearts.

All those traditions are precious, and they deserve respect. But let us also reach out beyond them to each other. To build a world without racism, discrimination and exploitation.

After acknowledgment and apologies, let us work together to foster healing, reconciliation and recovery. So that we can all be proud of what we share. So that we can say:

Ten kon drai

Times have changed

Den keti koti, brada, sisa

The chains are broken, brother, sister

Ten kon drai

Times have changed

Den keti koti, fu tru!

The chains are broken, it’s true!

#king willem alexander #durf #july 2023

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