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#I appreciated the accuracy of the Spanish used
blueberryarchive · 8 months
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Peaches and Cream. (Pt.1)
In which Jungkook, a one-star Michelin chef, gets the information: a new blogger, you, gave him a bad review of his restaurant, and he gets obsessed with the things you wrote; and in the process, with you. Wanting to show you he's a good chef, he invites you to a good meal cooked by him.
—⁠☆Pairing: Bi Chef!Jungkook & Blogger!Reader
—⁠☆Genre: au, enemies to lovers.
—⁠☆Word Count: 4.3k
—⁠☆Warnings: filthy mouth Jungkook, like so much for no reason. smut, two doms trying to dom each other, stalking, dub-con, masturbation, prejudice/bigotry, depictions of queerness and family. (these are the warnings for the whole two-part series)
—⁠☆a/n: this the first part of a 2 part ff, i hope you gals can help me get better at writing in english since it's not my first language. as always thank you for reading.
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The morning painted the windows of his office with a slight dew, the clouds announced how gray that Friday would be. Every time it rained it wasn't busy in the restaurant, but Jungkook appreciated the sweet aroma the concrete emanated in the alleys. 
The smell of the city of rotting garbage and asphalt goes to give way to childhood memories of him. Running home, jumping through long puddles, the taste of freshly cooked rice. Mild and fluffy in the mouth. 
Jungkook dropped his cigarette halfway to the ground as a van turned the corner. Grocery shopping was one of the favorite parts of his job. Maybe the best. At 4 in the morning, he would open the back doors of his restaurant, clean and file his knives, which he kept wrapped in cotton cloth that his grandmother sewed for him with his initials. In a rather old mocha pot, he used to put three spoons of freshly ground coffee and water and stayed waiting for the men from the market, who came to bring him the freshest products for that day's dishes. Cup of coffee in hand and a lot to say.
He loved to touch, press, smell, taste and pinch the vegetables; pick them up on the light and complain that the salmon was from yesterday and the courgettes were too big. Loved to bargain with Tomas the price of trivial things. 
"Tom, don't be a bitch. I'll have to throw away half of these tomatoes before four o'clock." 
"Jung-" Tomas, a Hispanic man with the face of that painting from Alexandre Cabanel, inhaled sharply, placing two fingers on the bridge of his nose. He didn't know what Tomas was saying in Spanish, but Jungkook knew, somehow, that it involved fucking his mother. 
"You take the two boxes and the Montserrat." Tomas repeated.
"Tom, what am I going to do with shit as acid as Montserrat tomatoes. Green ones." Jungkook yelled, almost spitting out his coffee, taking a healthy tomato in his hand. 
"Shove it up your ass." Tomas shrugged casually. Jungkook hit him on the shoulder, and both laughed. 
"Okay, give me both. Maybe Vic will think of making something with your fucking tomatoes..." the imaginary disgust on his palate at the thought of a Montserrat tomato sauce or a salad. Worse: fried. 
Tomas knew that silence and the lost look of Jungkook's idiot fuckface. "You can't change your mind anymore, chef. I already had my boys put the boxes down." 
"I know. I'm just regretting letting you win." 
Tomas clicked his tongue, revealing a perfect smile to the ched. "Sometimes you have to let it go, chef." 
"Go away, motherfucker." Jungkook smiled, still looking at the boxes of green tomatoes. 
"Bye, Chef." 
"Mmm," Jungkook took the last sip of his coffee as the truck pulled away. Now it was time to lift the boxes. That kept Jungkook's arms in good shape. He rolled up his baggy shirt to reveal his colorful tattooed arm. Smoothly tying his wavy hair in a low ponytail. With one arm, he lifted the sack of rice to the kitchen island, then the oysters, then the crate of vegetables. 
With precision and finesse, he grasped the knife with the curved edge from his collection and began to peel each vegetable. Everything was with the accuracy of a surgeon. 
If lifting sacks was his daily exercise, cutting and peeling the preparatives was his meditation. With so much attentiveness to his peeling, he almost cut himself when he heard his cell phone vibrate. He growled and cursed in a breath. He hated getting called on the phone. If it weren't for his mom, he would have thrown away that piece of plastic years ago. 
Vic, the screen said, the face of a curly-haired man in a perfect afro, teeth so perfect as he smiled into the camera. Jungkook took that photo about a year ago, just outside his favorite café. He had months without buying a cup of coffee there.
With his knuckles, he opened the call. "I thought you were coming over to help me with the oysters, Vic," he demanded with a frown concentrating on peeling the shiitake mushrooms until soft and white. 
Vic didn't answer until after a lengthy silence. Pretty long, considering he had just finished peeling a couple of mushrooms. Jungkook looked at his cell phone. "Victor?" 
"Here I am," he replied reluctantly. 
"Why the hell are you calling me if you aren't going to talk? I'm busy." 
"I thought, when I met you, that you cuss so much and act like a piece of shit because you wanted to be like Gordon Ramsay or something." 
"What's the point, Vic? The oysters are still here unopened, and Helena doesn't come in until six, and I-" 
"You're busy." They both spoke in unison. That made Jungkook feel a sting in his throat, a slight tickle. 
"Are you going to come, yes or no?" 
"My God, Jeon, just for a moment, stop thinking about the damn oysters and pay attention to me." 
"I do, Victor, and you still don't answer my damn question. Do I have to pick up a fucking bum off the streets to do your job?" 
"Why did you come to my house on Tuesday?" Jungkook stopped the fluid movements of the knife, his eyes on the phone. 
"You wrote me to go," the chef replied.
"Yes, but for you to pick up your things." 
"I did that." Jungkook snorted, finishing with the mushrooms and starting with the carrots. 
"Yeah, after fucking me and telling me you loved me... like twice in the process." Vic sounded hurt. Jungkook hated it when he did that because he knew how dramatic Vic could be. 
"And after that, you kept treating me as your sous-chef the next day."
"You are my sous-chef, Victor." He interrupted, leaning on the metal table.
"Yeah, but I'm talking like outside of work."
"Yes, because you're still my sous-chef, Victor. I don't get-"
"Do you do this to Marianne? Or Helena, Joseph, or every waiter with an innocent little face when you tell them they're your favorite." 
"Vic," warned the chef. 
"Or maybe you were in a year-long relationship with your maitre d' so he wouldn't fire you. No, that was me. If it weren't for me, that place wouldn't have the popularity it has" 
"Vic," Jungkook growled, feeling the blood rush to his head. 
"You are a pest to your restaurant, Jeon Jungkook." 
That was it. Jungkook dropped the knife on the table and gripped the device as close to his mouth, thin lips brushing the screen. 
"Victor, if you hadn't opened your legs to me, you wouldn't even have the chance to lick the leftovers from my alley." 
"Bullshit, if I'm the whore, what makes you?. Who did you have to fuck for your place, chef?" 
"Everyone." Jungkook laughed sarcastically, "And yet, I'm the one who has a fucking Michelin star under my name and my sweat... what have you done with the fucks on your record?" 
Victor was silent. "You are a prick." 
"Okay" Jungkook didn't understand where this was going, but it was almost six in the morning, and he had to start removing the skin from the salmon. His walking around the station didn't keep him calm, nor it was productive. 
"I don't know why I let you into my house." 
"You were alone, just like I felt that day too. And you also act like it doesn't turn you on when I drunk fuck you." Jungkook waited for an answer, but there was nothing. "Vic?" Silence. When he saw the screen of his cell phone, there was no longer the photo of Victor or the creaking of the telephone line. "Vic, the oysters" He didn't even know why he was trying, he closed his eyes and put the cell phone in his pocket. 
The door opened suddenly, startling Jeon. It was Helena, a curvy thirty-something girl taking a last puff from her vape. With a rush, she put her hair in a high ponytail. 
Jungkook tried to act as naturally as possible. 
"Good morning, chef." Helena hastened to say, putting on her apron. 
"Mm," he muttered as he followed his work, musing among the damn green tomatoes that he had no idea what Vic asked them for.
A long time passed while both, Jungkook and Helena, worked at their stations. 
"Chef," Helena broke the silence by pressing her lips together. 
"Yeah?" 
"I'm trying to make a list for my future...you know I want to open my place one day." 
"Everyone wants their own little place," Jungkook interrupted, opening the oysters with swift movements. 
"Yes, yes. But I really don't like getting fucked in the ass, and it's not that there are a lot of women in this business, much less lesbians." She burst. Jungkook grinned against his own will when she wasn't looking. 
"Fuck you, Helena. Cut the mangoes for the sauce." Jungkook hissed, and set the oysters aside as Helena laughed at him. "I'm going to the market for more onions and tell Joseph to finish the oysters by himself" 
"Yes, Chef." voiced Helena with a grand smile.
Jungkook left the station, the cold air soothing the remains of his anger. Without thinking much, he reached into his pocket taking out a cigarette.
He started walking through the streets of New York. Vic had worn him out, and his 14-hour shift hadn't started.
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The steam rising from meats, the incessant sound of vegetables being cut, three different sauces being stirred. Jungkook's kitchen was alive, it was seven at night and this was the time when his guests arrived like flies on the cake. Men in Italian brand suits and their girlfriends of the week, older women with picky palates, fanatics, high-class tourists…you name it, you find it.
Normally, Jungkook would be in the front. Preparing each dish, tasting each sauce, checking each cut, and scrutinizing that each dish looks like something he is proud of.
But here he was, in the dark alley behind his restaurant as he called Vic over and over on the phone, the cigarette in his hand melting with the wind and light drizzle. His hair and his white suit getting wet as he left the umpteenth voice note for Vic.
"Victor, for God's sake, I have the restaurant full tonight. It's a fucking Friday, why the fuck aren't you here?" he breathed sharply, the tension had his shoulders tense and the veins in his arms looked like they were going to explode.
The messages did not reach him, the wretch had turned off the phone.
"Shit," he muttered as he thumped into the kitchen that blazed with the heat of thirty pots on the stove. What happened after going through the door seemed…uncanny. All of his cooks looked at him at the same time, fleetingly to return to their tasks again.
They knew something that Jungkook didn't.
He sighed deeply before tying his hair into a half-bun. He rolled up his sleeves and went to his station, reading the orders aloud.
"One duck, two mussels, one Bok Choy" Jungkook ordered.
"Yes, chef," the others said in unison.
Food was piling up around Jungkook, sauces, and stir-fried vegetables. With a spoon he tasted the first and nodded slightly, then the shiitake. With agility he grabbed an empty plate and began to order each detail: first, the sauce spread like a brush, the green color so bright; then the piece of meat, glistening with juice, three drops of yellow radish sauce, a delicate yellow flower for the final touch.
"Service!" Jungkook pushed the plate away towards the waitress on the other side of his table.
"Fuck," Joseph muttered in the kitchen.
"Stop being an imbecile and attend your damn station," Charlie, the poissonier, snarled, hurling a frying pan into the sink with a crash.
"Where are my mussels?" Jungkook was sweating, his eye trembled slightly.
"Joseph just screwed them up, I have to do them again"
"And what are you doing wasting time talking?" Jeon interrupted on the verge of screaming. The others tensed, again that look from everyone.
"Sorry, Chef" said Joseph and Charlie.
"Hurry up, damn." Jungkook continued with his task of plating each meal, tasting over and over again everything that was within his reach.
"Where is my sauce?" he growled when his hand reached to his right, and Helena nor the sauce wasn't there. 
"In a minute, sir." 
"I don't have a minute."
Helena took the pan and stirred while going to the prep station. Jungkook took a small spoon and tasted it.
"More salt," he said, furrowing his eyebrows.
Helena seemed confused. "More, Chef?"
"Don't make me repeat myself, dear." 
"Yes, chef." Helena went back and added more salt, a few seconds later, he was pouring the sauce into the mushrooms. 
"Service!" the waiter took the plate, he started to feel a pain in his lower back and was exhausted. "Helena," he called, continuing his job. 
"Chef."
"Call Vic, tell him that if he isn't here in twenty minutes, I'll fire him."
There was no 'yes, chef', no answer at all. Actually, it was a little quieter in the kitchen. He didn't look back. "I said-"
"I don't think you want that, chef." This time, he turned around, and there it was: the look.
"When I say something, misses Gallo, I mean it" he felt more intense than usual if, that's even possible. Helena felt like she just saw a ghost. Jungkook knew she joked around with him, but she knew her time and place.
"Vic it's not coming back, sir." The youngest, Joseph, tilts his head down in fear. 
"Why is that?"
"God, how I abhor when things like these happen." The elegant man entered the kitchen with his sleek blonde hair and a black suit, calico eyes, and the most pretentious-looking glasses you could find. It was Jimin Park, his maitre d'. 
Jimin was the one who gave the classiness Jungkook lacked when it came to treating his clientele. He greeted and took care of everyone like they were his friends. 
"She's here." 
"Who?" Jungkook couldn't be more out. Jimin gave him his phone, and on the screen was a girl eating a plate exactly like the one he made minutes ago. Wait, that was his restaurant. 
"Oh my God, she's actually here. I didn't know Vic was such a petty bitch." Helena laughed while watching the live stream. Jungkook turned off the screen. 
"What the fuck is going on?"
"Vic tweeted to her to come here because his ex fired him for being a good cook, something like that." Jimin shrugged. Jungkook felt his chest contract, he started biting the ring on his lower lip.
"Who is she?" 
"She's a mukbanger but like a mean one, she's an icon," Joseph said smiling. 
"She's like the new wave of food criticism." Jimin took his phone and put it in his pocket. "Our world doesn't care anymore about magazines or what the paper says."
A waitress came bursting from the door.
"Mr. Park, the girl went away." 
"Am I supposed to be scared because she's going to tweet about some overcooked lamb?" he asked the waitress who didn't know what to say. 
"She's gone?" Jimin raised his glasses taking a deep sigh, he looked at Jungkook and lightly smiled. "You're fucked, Jeon." 
"Fuck you, Park. No, I'm not" he was offended, how could he say that in front of his group?
Jungkook took Jimin by his forearm and took him to his office. The others were left watching through the little window looking for the infamous mukbanger.
For a second, Jungkook was going to look back and ask his sous chef to take care of the kitchen. But he didn't have a fucking sous-chef. 
This couldn't be possible, he had a Michelin star because of his discipline, the way he cooked, his crew, and the stories he told through the food. He had the perfect ambiance, the most amazing maitre d' in New York, and the perfect culinary experience. He worked his ass off for this.
He was above the trolly reviews from Yelp, the people who thought he just did something to fill stomachs. But why did he feel this was not the same? Why did she leave? He made sure everything was perfect. Everything. 
"Hey!" Jimin snapped his fingers in Jungkook's face. For a moment, he put his palm on Jungkook's forehead. 
"Jesus, you're burning" he saw the expression on his chef, with his eyebrow rose, the pierced end moving slightly. Lost in thought. 
"Do you really think this is going to ruin me?"
Jimin's heart felt heavy, he denied occupying his hands with some papers. 
"I don't know, Kook. Perhaps she went away because she didn't find anything bad to say, or maybe she had to go and that's it. You know how those people are."
Jungkook nodded, none of them were sure that Jimin said the truth. But it had to do for now. 
"Now go, the kitchen will be a mess without you."
It's already a mess.
Jungkook nodded again, hands behind his back. He needed to know who you were. As soon as possible.
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Jungkook doesn't remember the last time he sat on the couch in his apartment, his legs were covered with two sheets and he had a black hoodie covering his chest and lanky hair. He doesn't remember how strange morning TV was: everyone was wearing makeup and smiling as they talked about how climate change was inundating homes in India. It couldn't be more bizarre. Maybe it was the fever that had him glued to the screen in front of him or the ache in his tired muscles. 
The icing on the cake, he was sick. 
The night of the influencer's drama, Jungkook came to his room. His hair was wet from the rain that fell that night and his body soaked. His body sank into the sheets with his uniform, the fever began to make him have strange dreams where orders came but never came out. He woke up around four in the morning the next day and called Jimin, his voice raspy as he changed out of his uniform.
"Call Jin, tell him to cover me this week."
"Okay," Jimin replied with a breath.
"Okay? No questions?"
"No, I already knew you were going to get sick." Jungkook pursed his lips into a small smile, eyes closed from exhaustion.
"As soon as the fever stops, you won't need Jin. I promise."
"As much as I want that to be true, I don't want you in the restaurant until you're completely well. It's enough for the restaurant that a cute girl says absurd things about your food and then we get rumors about you cooking with your boogers" Jimin blurted out.
"Absurd?" Jungkook looked for some boxers and changed, throwing his body on the living room furniture. "What did she write?"
"Um...," Jimin put the chef on hold as he thought of an honest but not unseemly way to tell him the review. "Well, she said she was sick of seeing the same wave of elite restaurants for the decadent new yorker elite, the same exotic cuts of a bird, and the environment with walls as white as a psychiatric hospital. She said that I looked like a nurse going from table to table to give them their pills in porcelain saucers to the long-lived of New York," Jimin laughed. "That was funny...it's like the truth-"
"And about me?" Jungkook felt the fever consuming his body, a headache approaching like a shadow behind his neck.
"Well, she said the food was tasteless and you screwed up the only thing she was looking forward to"
"The mushrooms?"
"How did you know?" 
"Of course, it was the mushrooms," Jeon muttered, squeezing his eyes shut, cursing Vic with the wrath of a thousand seas, wanting him to be engulfed and convulsing for all eternity looking for oxygen. 
"The sauce was salty to the point that she wanted to throw up, she said."
"The sauce was salty," he repeated and then smiled so as not to destroy the room in his sickly state.
He doesn't remember much of what he did those three days that had passed. Jimin would stop by his apartment to bring dinner and pick up the shirts from the floor. He complained about Jin for half an hour with a glass of wine in hand, until Jimin realized that Jungkook couldn't even stay focused.
"Hey, wake up." Jimin patted his cheeks and Jungkook didn't even flinch.
"Vic has been there? In the restaurant, I mean," Jungkook grabbed the wine from Jimin's hand, drinking it all in one gulp.
"No, he had a friend go get his things the next day."
"Who, the youtube whore?"
"No," Jimin chuckled. They both saw each other and laughed under their breaths.
"It was a redhead."
"Oh, you mean Chris."
"Yeah," Jimin answered looking at his friend with tipsy eyes. "When was the last time you got laid?"
Jungkook began to fidget around, looking for something to occupy his hands with.
"It can't be that Victor-" Jimin's mouth tightened. "Of course," he chuckled, a light rose painting his cheeks.
"What the hell do you know, Park?"
"I would have known."
"Are you spying on me through the cameras you have in my bathroom to see if I jerk off?" His hoarse voice was screeching, and Jimin couldn't take his anger seriously.
"There's a certain je ne sais quoi to it when you fuck, like you stop yelling so much and actually do your job."
"I do my job."
"But it would be better if you didn't scream all the time like a fucking maniac."
"Mmm," tiredness wouldn't let him continue answering. He had taken a pill for the flu but he didn't know it was going to hit him so fast. Jimin noticed.
"Well, I'll let you rest. I brought you a couple of plums and oranges from the market."
"Tell Jin I say hi in the morning," Jungkook mumbled.
Jimin patted him on the shoulder and left Jungkook's phone on the table with your Instagram open. "Stop watching morning TV, your brain will melt."
Jungkook didn't touch the phone for a long while thinking about the words that were repeating like a broken record: "tasteless" and "elite for the elite"...Jungkook didn't even come from a wealthy family. It was foolish.
He lazily swiped his way down through your profile, looking at the thumbnails of your photos where you smiled like nothing was wrong. 
You liked showing cleavage, he realized. In addition to being a liar, you liked the attention. There was one where you were in a jacuzzi with a glass of champagne and another where you were on the French shores.
Besides the fact that you liked the attention, it was for a reason. The way your lips curved into a smile as if your breasts weren't pinched in that bikini two sizes too small. 
What kind of reporter were you?
Without realizing it, Jungkook was lying on his bed looking at your photos while eating a plum. He didn't know if it was the sweetness of the ripe fruit or the fever, but he felt strange. His body felt like it was floating between the satin of his bed. 
Another brush up to your profile: more food, more cats, travel, you in a bikini. One, in particular, caused the lower half of him to brush against the sheets. It wasn't that different from the others, but for some reason this time you weren't smiling. You looked at the camera with a certain judging that made Jungkook's throat boil.
His fingers were covered in prune juice, the wrinkled seed clenched between his teeth. What he was going to do wasn't one of his most dignified moments, but the meds made him delirious, not fucking someone besides Vic made him even sicker. 
His sticky fingers trailed from his navel to the edge of his boxers. When he felt the wetness of his slimy fingers on his tip he clamped the seed harder into his teeth, growling in loathing.
Your face caused his chest to swell with anger and his dick to rise at the slightest touch of his tattooed hand. Thinking of your tongue tasting his cock on a plate, no garnish, no cutlery. He wanted you to swallow it and shed tears on your cheeks.
A shriek. He tossed the phone onto the bed and covered his embarrassed face with his forearm. His hand trembled under his Calvin boxers, saliva pooling in his mouth as he couldn't swallow. 
His tongue flicked over the seed in his mouth, and like a flash, the image of him covering your clit with his spit flashed by. He growled like a fleeing animal as his orgasm made him arch his back. He removed the seed from his mouth.
"Fuck," he mumbled when he saw the stain on his pants. Air rushed out of his nose for the first time all day. He closed his eyes in pure bliss. Two minutes later, he wrinkled his nose and repeated: "Fuck," this time rolling his eyes, angry with himself for what he was going to do. He turned on his cell phone screen and opened the dm of your profile.
jkookcooks: So what kind of reviews do you do when you leave mid-meal? You didn't even try dessert. If you really want to do something worthwhile and not your unnecessary sensationalism, maybe you should come try something made by me.
He almost threw the cell phone when he hit send. Feeling the cold of his cum in his pants and the words he send to make him cringe.
When he got up to clean himself up, he heard his cell phone vibrate almost immediately. 
Didn't you have things to do on a Friday night?
CherryCloud: Just say the day, chef.
A smile left Jungkook's lips. He'd love to grab your face and make you eat the best meal you ever had, to see if you'll shut up that way... He'd have to plan the menu for the night.
Why did he feel a sudden fear? He saw the photo again: your judgy eyes, hugging your knees.
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smolvenger · 1 year
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The Twelve Days Chapter Five (Henry V x Fem! reader miniseries)
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Summary: Your family betrothed you to the notorious Prince Hal- now newly crowned as King Henry V. As December ends and January begins, you must face your first Twelve Days of Christmas celebration not only as a Queen but as a wife to a man you are only beginning to know and bed.
Previous Parts: One//Two//Three//Four
Chapter Word Count: 4K
Warnings: Mentions of sex, pregnancy, childbirth, and the fear of cheating are discussed. (Henry/Hal NEVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER cheats on Reader at any point in the fic bc he's a good guy), Y/N is a jealous and angry girlie and gets a moment of Female Rage(TM). Some angst but then some hurt/comfort and then a very fluffy ending. References to the original text of Henry V, specifically the last scene in Act V. Attempts at historical accuracy and Shakespearean cursing.
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The Ninth Day
According to Sumptuary laws, you were the only person in England allowed to wear purple or gold. You hoped the silk dress, adorned in your favorite of the two colors, would make you look more official. You wanted to step in more at today’s court session. Henry used to tell you that you were a queen now, it was time to step into the power of that position. You only hoped you were ready for it and would make the right choices. If not, you could at least advise Henry on anything just from being a silent observer. Just as the neck turned the head, you could turn the king of England for anything if you tried. Perhaps. He had even arranged for a chair by his throne so you did not have to stay standing for hours.
“We thank our allies in Spain for their generous gifts for New Year's, forgiving any lateness,” Henry announced.
The Spanish ambassador dipped his head and then stepped out. Then another courtier, the Earl of Westmoreland, stepped forward.
“My king,” he greeted with a bow.
“And what does Westmoreland have for our person?” Henry asked.
“We have heard of the consummation of the royal marriage-“
Embarrassment shot through your being for such private matters (concerning your body as well!) to be publicly discussed with every person in court. It was an uncomfortable truth though- your sole purpose of being brought here, the one and only crucial job you had to do was to give the king a legitimate son to carry on his family’s reign on the throne. And there was only one act that, unless you were the Holy Virgin Herself, would guarantee that would happen.
You shot your eyes down to your hands folded on your lap, your ears feeling hot. The Earl of Westmoreland continued.
“We are grateful that her grace has done her duty to the crown and we must make preparations for the pregnancy…”
You looked at Henry and he at you. His cheeks were a bit pink with embarrassment yet his face remained calm, if not a flash of a wicked, Prince Hal-like smile.
“It’s too soon to tell, according to the physicians. But…”
Your husband turned to you.
“If she should think she is with child, she shall contact the physician and inform us, yes?”
“Yes, I shall,” you replied.
The Earl of Westmoreland nodded and then brought forth a scroll of parchment that he opened up.
“Wonderful! Once she is pregnant, we will have the best physicians. Though already it is advised that for the sake of the child, once she is pregnant, you shall lie in separate beds and do not perform your marital duties to each other.”
You questioned if that was true. Part of you sighed on the inside. The joys of the marriage bed were something you were just discovering. That you could feel such mad desire for your husband’s body and go through the process of intimacy until you found that addictive state of ecstasy would be something to be missed. Henry himself, if you had to be blunt with your feelings, was a skilled lover...
Lover. You turned to look at him in that thought in your head. Lover- the first part of that word- love. Already, was it too soon? Was it his kindness? Was it bedding him? Perhaps, perhaps by now, you felt that maybe-yes….you were starting to fall in lo-
“And the king shall take a mistress once the queen is pregnant!” Westmoreland announced.
Your head bolted forward to him. The word rang in your head yet you felt you were underwater.
“Excuse me…what did you say?” you asked.
“I said, his highness, the king, shall take a misteress once the queen is pregnant. That way, he shall have someone to satisfy him until after the child is delivered. We must make sure, after all, the king is happy enough to rule wisely… the needs of the king come first!”
Needs?!?! You thought.
You froze. You felt as if you were kicked in the stomach by a mule. Your hands clenched and tightened where they lay. Your jaw hung in mid-air.
Months ago, you admitted that kings kept mistresses. It was natural. Your place would be the wife only for the purpose of risking your life to deliver a healthy male heir and he would choose to fool around with whoever he wanted. At first, before your wedding, you regarded this thought with mere annoyed acceptance.
Now it was different. It felt even worse than when you tried to overhear Henry talking with your ladies. You kept still, feeling your shoulders creep up. Knowing that after all this was for the king- not you.
You looked over at Henry. Honestly, You dreaded seeing the lascivious smile of a man who could take what he wanted and enjoy it all without consequence. But he was frozen. His mouth was in a somber frown and his jaw seemed tight. His face was stone and his oceanic eyes were the size of tennis balls. You couldn’t guess what he was feeling or thinking. Then his eyes looked towards you. In the ducts of your eyes, there were quiet tears.
"Written here is a list of women we consider would make most wonderful misteresses for the king..."
Could you be Queen Y/N the Kind-Hearted at this? Could you smile and say it was fine? That you cared more for your husband than for yourself- glad he was at least happy? Could you swallow back your heartbreak, your envy, your anger? Many queens had. Many queens did. But why…why did this have to be?
The Earl would not shut up.
“We have several options of mistresses for you, your highness- We shall have you meet with them soon enough. And if her beauty pleases you, my lord, then we can select one to be ready when the time comes Some husbands have offered their wives to you, even, in order to gain your favor in return.”
The image, the picture of Henry…and a mistress. Henry, who made a sacred covenant to be your husband. To have and hold until only death did you part, for richer, poorer, sickness, health. After he refused to have the court eyewitness the wedding night and refused to force himself on you. To allow your wish to assist in charity to the common folk on Christmas day. After he gave you a little flower, as well as the very necklace you were wearing right now and the companionship of a kitten to keep you company in your lonely hours after you confided a personal anecdote of a family pet you missed from home. To have him bring your family here for the Twelfth Night so you could see them. Who didn't consider you as his plaything, but as...as a person. To how he cared as much for your pleasure as he did for his and despite voicing how badly he desired you... yet controlled himself until you said yes to him…
Was all of that for nothing?
You could almost already see her- more beautiful than you could ever hope to be. Someone better, with all the qualities you lacked times ten and with hardly a flaw. The image of this perfect, flawless, desirable woman grabbing your husband’s face and kissing him- as you lay in your rooms with a child in your stomach fearing that you or your baby would die in this process and the immense pain of bringing this child forth! You again pictured her grabbing your husband- your husband’s!- shirt to kiss him deeper, undoing his pants, lifting her skirt with a smile as you... and all as you lay in a quiet dark room, bleeding, dying slowly and painfully and alone....and in another place would be this lady with your husband kissing him and removing his clothes and hers and…and…and…
You had had enough. You could not let this happen. You could not smile and care only for his happiness and not your own. That because he was a man with a cock his own "needs" trumped your well-being and peace of mind. No, no, you could not take this. Not one bit. You couldn’t just stand there and let this happen anymore.
You stood up at once. Taking in a shaky breath, fighting back the urge to scream or cry in front of everyone, you held your arms. You spoke with authority, biting back the urge to yell, and glared directly into the eyes of Westmoreland.
“Sir, I must tell you…this shall not be so!” you commanded.
Eyes turned on you. You folded your arms in front of you to ground yourself. There was a point in your anger that you hit a silence, the quiet center of a storm. You had the power to punish this man and by God, you were going to use it.
You stared down at him with every bit of contempt you could fathom.
“What, your majesty! I-“ he babbled.
“How dare you even suggest such a thing, and in my presence no less!” you replied down at him. You made sure your features were still cool, yet firm.
“You must understand, that..."
You brushed him off with your hand as you walked forward.
“Oh, I understand completely what you just said. But listen to your queen- I will not tolerate this.”
You took a moment, and turned around to the rest of the court, raising your voice enough that each would hear you. You were glad that your dress was long enough that it hid your shaking legs, despite the volume of your voice.
“ From now on, listen to my declaration…if you or any other makes such an offer, man or woman- if I as much as hear of one lady being offered to the royal bed- whoever offered her and she herself as well will be sent to the tower…”
Your eyes turned to meet Westmoreland.
“If I must drag you both there myself by your hair.”
He dropped the scroll and scrambled to get it up. Once you both locked eyes again, you let yourself a small smile at the gruesome image you started to describe.
“Then, the day you are found guilty of this, you will both face execution by fire- not hanging, not beheading- the fire. Slowly. Painfully. Until each flame burns every bit of your flesh to the bone. And I will be there to watch it.”
You took a deep breath. Westmoreland’s hands dropped to his side, letting the scroll crash on the floor again, and there was a slight shake at his knees.
Good, you thought.
“And that goes for any and all involved in the idea of a mistress…is that clear?!?” you announced.
“But if his highness, the king, has needs as a..a... a man…” he began to protest.
“I shall tell you, he already has a mistress-me!" you argued.
You took another breath in. Then you stepped forward, quietly speaking with as much power and as much venom as you could muster.
“I will not tolerate even the idea of a misteress on pain of death. Do you hear your queen? Do you respect her word, or would you like to be the first to experience the consequence of displeasing me? Would you enjoy dying by fire? Is that clear?”
He looked up at you and then nodded frantically.
“Yes, your majesty!”
“I can be merciful. Beg for forgiveness from me, and you will have it. But you nor any other person will ever attempt to make this offer again as long as my husband and I both live- do you understand!” you said.
“Yes, please!” he cried.
“Fall on your knees and beg!” you hissed softly, pointing to the ground.
He then fell on his knees and put both hands on the floor, muttering, mumbling, and begging for forgiveness. You walked a step closer. You gestured for him to raise his head. Then you picked up the scroll. Despite curiosity, you would not look at the list of names of possible women to soil your marriage bed- and threw it at Westmoreland. He caught it, but remained speechless.
“Then…then I spare your life. Go and never speak of this again.”
Henry quietly walked forward and placed a hand on your shoulder. You jumped a little at the touch and then looked up at him. You set a glare in his eyes, despite his tall height, despite the crown on his head, there was one on yours too. He then spoke.
“I will confirm my wife’s wishes and we will adhere to them. I will not have a mistress during my reign. If I must be celibate when she is with child, so be it.”
You went back to sit on the chair. Your pulse was racing as if you managed to successfully escape a bear, and yet part of you was upright like the creature would roar and attack you again at any minute.
“Then…let us continue with the court,” you suggested.
Your mind could not rid of that picture of Henry with a mistress. You didn't speak a word for the rest of that meeting. You weren't even paying the least bit of attention. Once the court was dismissed, Henry turned to you. He opened his mouth to speak quietly.
“I…”
“I need some time alone…” you interrupted, turning your head away and waving him off with your hand.
You picked up your skirts and walked forward quickly, not looking back or left or right, a few ladies in waiting sprinting to keep up with you. Your pulse was racing. Only a few tears full down the ducts of your eyes yet you kept your own gaze forward until you finally reached your private quarters. Once you were inside, there were a few ladies in waiting to enjoy listening to one play the harp as they were organizing your correspondence.
“Your highness!” one greeted.
They all dipped into a bow. You folded your hands and looked down at them. It would not be fair to yell at them, to take out your anger on innocent women who were not present at what happened- and at what almost happened.
“How fares your grace? Shall we walk in the gardens next?” another asked.
You shook your head. Now the tears were starting to fall.
“I ask that you all leave me alone for the next hour and a half. You are not allowed in until then. And inform the guards that no one- I repeat no one- is allowed in until then!”
“Your grace? What is it…what ails her majesty? Are there tears?” one asked.
Your face crumbled as you nodded your head. You wiped one off with your hand as you raised your voice to be official.
“This is not a request- your queen orders you all to leave!”
They scattered out like rabbits. Finally, alone, you threw yourself on the bed like you did as an adolescent and began to sob. Finally, letting out those tears, that vulnerability, getting over it- yet…your body felt as if it happened, yet nothing did yet…Your own mind was spinning as you let yourself cry, grateful for the privacy. Since being queen, were you ever completely alone for an hour? You couldn’t even recall.
Sir Gwaine hopped from his spot on the window. You heard the shuffle as he leaped onto the bed and the weight of his little paws making their way and then poking at you. He meowed sweetly, giving you a touch of his little, pink nose. You held him and he purred in response. You kissed him and cuddled him. Animals were indeed far superior to men, you thought. You let yourself cry some more- ugly, gaping, hiccupping sobs.
You gave him a kiss on the head as you let him go and continued, curling in a ball on the bed and letting out as much crying as you could. Sir Gwaine stayed by, still standing. Then he stretched and his eyes went to a corner. He let a certain, loud, and bright “meow! Meow!”
Tis odd, you thought. He only meows like that when there’s someone walking into the room…unless...
God’s blood, no.
Your head turned around and in surprise, you saw Henry. He wasn't wearing his crown and his hands were in front of him, reaching as if to touch you.
“Y/N…”
You shot to sit up, still feeling the tearstains on your face.
“How did you get in here?!” you asked angrily.
“The guards refused to let me in, but I know all the rooms and passages to crawl through! I can’t tell you how many times I crept out and away from my father’s eye…” he explained.
He took a step forward.
“Y/N, I-“
Still in that anger, you removed your shoe and flung it towards his head. Despite his tall height, Henry ducked out of the way of the shoe.
“IF you-“
You flung the other shoe at his face.
“-Ever- “
You threw a pillow at him. He began to back off.
“-Have-”
The next pillow. It landed on his face.
“-a mistress- “
Another pillow.
“-I will- “
The next pillow came at him, which he dodged.
“-Kill you-“
Then the next one. Another dodge.
“-BOTH!”
Sir Gwaine fled to hide beneath the bed. You stood up from the bed and your arm reached to get another only to realize those were the only pillows. Henry, seeing you were unarmed for the second, darted up to you and grabbed your arms, forcing you to look him in the eye.
“Y/N- I won’t! Didn't you hear me back there?!? I won’t ever have a mistress!” he cried back.
There was a pause. From the concerned eyes and lowered jaw, brows lowered to where they crinkled his lids, he…he…he seemed…earnest. It was too good to be true.
You began to cry again. Again, that aftershock of hearing that announcement and at the same time, the emotion flooding you of it not happening. Of avoiding it, when it had been so close! His grip on your arms softened. You flung your arms around his neck- but not to strangle him- to embrace him. You dipped your face to his chest and let yourself cry into it and he held you for a bit and let you, a hand touching your back. Then he managed to scoop you into his arms- one under your legs and the other on your back, lifting you up. You paused from the crying, feeling his strength, the air beneath your feet as if you weighed nothing and were floating in midair. He carried you to the bed and placed you on there as he joined you to hold you tight. You curled up on his chest, he kept rubbing your back.
“You fear…you fear my infidelity, don't you?” he whispered.
You sniffled, feeling your nose run from all the sobbing. Like a child, you wiped it with your sleeve, even if it was the nice, silken one. Then you looked into his eyes again, they seemed dim despite their piercing blue color.
“Yes, Hal, yes- I do! I was just terrified…that there was some lady who was better, more beautiful, someone who had everything I lacked that I…that I…that I wasn’t good enough for you…” you vented.
You hitched your breath. A thought chilled you and made your stomach watery with realization.
“Has…has there been…been another woman in your bed since…since…” you questioned.
“No, not since we were betrothed!”
There was a pause. He looked down at you, shifting you so your heads lay on the pillows- forcing you to look each other in the eye. He clutched both of your hands.
“ Y/N, there hasn’t been any other woman. And there won’t be any other woman. I wouldn’t want to break your heart. Nor risk your wrath either…”
He let out a smile and one of his half laughs that were so genuine, so human, so…so Henry…
“I think you made every person in court say their prayers! I’m even proud of you! You were a true queen, today!”
You took in a deep inhale and you let yourself smile. He traced the edge of your cheek gently.
“There are many maidens in our kingdom, but I swear I only kept my eyes on you. May I confide something to you, Y/N?”
You nodded.
“I never was good at talking to women anyway. Much less wooing them. You know I’m a terrible dancer and for the life of me, I cannot think of pretty, flowery verses. If we courted before we were betrothed and you didn't know who I was, you'd think I was a farmer instead! I am a man of plain speaking…so I will be plain and by default, I’ll always be faithful to you.”
You smiled at the sentence. But then it dropped.
“Henry, you do understand that I could at least be exiled for treason if I am unfaithful to you…” you explained.
“I do…” he confirmed.
“So of course I never allowed any other man into my bed…there’s been none for me either…and I won’t.” you confessed.
You touched his face and he leaned into it.
“I’m glad…” he commented.
You sniffled and wiped off your own tears. The urge to cry had melted away.
“We made oaths before God and the law to each other…as well as the court. We might as well keep them,” he said.
“Yes, we will…” you muttered.
You noticed out the corner of your eye that Sir Gwaine returned from under the bed, tail low and nose forward. He let out another meow right as there was a knock on the door.
“Your grace…the hour and a half are done!” a lady announced from beyond the door.
Henry shot up. He turned to you.
“Shall you keep my secret about the passageways?” he begged.
“Of course!”
He began to leave, you at his heels. He then revealed his secret that one wall hid a door. As he opened it, you practically pushed him through. But he kept a hand to prevent you from fully closing it.
“I will ask of you anon?” he asked.
“Yes, you may…”
“Your grace!” the lady's voice rang.
You turned your head and replied loudly.
“You may enter!”
Turning back to him, you began to close the door. Just before he vanished, he whispered.
“Farewell, Y/N.”
“Farewell, Henry.”
You closed and stood before it innocuously as the other ladies returned, cleaning up the pillows on the floor without question.
------------------------------------------------------------------
The Tenth Day
You saw him the next morning. You saw him eat quietly. You still felt raw from the crying yesterday and kept quiet even as his brothers and your family chatted. Plates had long since been emptied. Henry looked among the party and cleared his throat.
“I feel I am in need of some fresher air…” Henry announced.
The others turned their heads. Henry looked at you where you sat next to him.
“My lady, would you like to accompany me?” he asked.
"Yes," you responded demurely.
He raised an eyebrow.
“I trust it is my lady’s will….” he prodded.
“My lord, it is indeed,” you answered.
He turned to your parents and his brothers.
“Come, we all shall!” he invited.
The chairs squeaked as everyone got up. Henry stood and offered you an arm. You held onto it, keeping it at his side and feeling its warmth, its solidity. Henry’s page was at the door to give him his red cloak and gloves to keep warm as were your ladies to bundle you up. Once in your cloaks, again, Henry offered you his arm. Again, you accepted it. They followed the both of you outside, keeping at a steady distance. The sun was shining, it was a little warmer than normal for January. The pretty snow around the gardens had melted and there was nothing but depressing, dark mush and sad, dead plants.
“It should snow, then it would feel like winter,” you sighed.
A smile broke on Henry’s face. He looked out among the plants.
“Nay, I say it is Spring.” He said.
Blinking, you looked up at him.
“Spring? Why Spring?” you asked.
He paused in your steps. Your family and his came to a halt behind you. Then he took his gloved hands to clasp both of yours and raised it to his chin, and then spoke, looking at you with that same grin.
“Because the loveliest flower in England is right beside me and therefore, for me, it is spring.”
He then brought your hands and kissed first the left one and then the right one. You felt your own pulse pick up and despite the chill, your body became warm. You gave into his charm, a slight giggle escaping you as you covered your mouth once your hand was released and enjoyed the sensation of his lips on each hand. Your parents and his brothers gave each other a look at the scene and smiled.
You hadn't had a nicer walk in ages.
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mermaidsirennikita · 1 year
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Can I ask your opinion on blonde. I’m always interesting in your opinions on movies.
Sure! And thanks, I appreciate that.
I think it's just a really bad movie. I was very open to it--I enjoyed the campiness of the early 2000s miniseries. I have nothing against biopics in theory, and I think it's okay for biopics to critically examine their subject... but I don't think that a clear misogynist who hates Marilyn Monroe should've made a movie about Marilyn Monroe.
Tbh, the idea of this being a biopic is flawed, because it's an adaptation of a Joyce Carol Oates novel that is in itself a work of fiction. But the promotion of the movie did not emphasize that at all; even JCO seems to not be as aware of that reality as she once did, and Dominik really only fell back on the book when he was getting heat from certain interviewers; otherwise, he just referred to Marilyn rather baldly, like this was a conventional biopic.
And even without his disgust for Marilyn being clear in those interviews, he obviously hated her based off the movie. The movie is about creating a fetishized wankfest of a woman for men who like idea of punishing hypersexualized (notice that I don't say hypersexual--because frankly, as long as you're being safe with yourself and your partners, you as an individual being hypersexual is not wrong, but Marilyn was NOT a hypersexual person) women. It literally felt like torture porn. I don't often feel like... triggered by movies? But this movie felt triggering at points. I don't even think it needed to connect to a specific experience to trigger you, tbh; you just have to be a woman who's experienced bullshit in the world, because it is just a violently misogynistic, woman-hating film. But truly, special shoutout to the loving night vision shot of Marilyn's nude form, hair fully done, as she cluelessly gets out of bed covered in blood following her second forced abortion.
Speaking of those abortions! Not that I require total accuracy from movies, but I've never seen super strong evidence either way that Marilyn had abortions. She could have; many actresses in the day did, and there's absolutely nothing wrong with that. Marilyn definitely had documented miscarriages, though, and fertility issues that gave her a lot of grief. So to see her fertility and her reproductive autonomy (or lackthereof) used as a plot point to elicit more shock and awe was really... gross. I have a big issue in general with fertility struggles being used as soapy drama in biopic content (I really hated the fucking goofy "I'm gonna have a stillborn baby on the lawn" moment in The Spanish Princess, for example, because it was so over the top and so easily mocked online that it seemed to just... make a joke out of a real woman's very real pregnancy losses). This took that to another level, because not only did Marilyn have forced abortions--it was like... They wanted us to see that she had no choice in the matter, was literally physically forced to have them, while also HATING HER FOR IT. Like oh, she considered the first abortion for a minute, so it's all her fault that she was then dragged into an operating room, strapped to bed, and forced into an abortion. Twice! With a vagina's eye view. And in case you didn't pick up on then, we have her fucking fetus talk to her while she's pregnant and blame her for it, before she like? Violently miscarries after tripping on the beach?
Never mind that like... The JFK shit was totally unnecessary, totally exploitative, and again, totally based on nothing, just there to make fun of her. I tend to raise an eyebrow at the Twitter threads that went to every effort to convince everyone that Marilyn didn't have an affair with JFK because... there's a lot of reason to believe that she did, and quite possibly (probably?) slept with his brother as well. And who cares if she did, honestly? That was JFK's asshole maneuver to do to his wife, and Marilyn does not lose merit as a person for sleeping with him--to me, bending over backwards to act like she didn't is reinforcing this idea that you must be evil if you make a mistake like that.
But... There's no evidence to suggest that it was anything other than a consensual affair. I mean, don't get me wrong, JFK was a rich, powerful, sex-obsessed man in the 1960s, so I feel that him assaulting women is totally on the table; but there's nothing legit out there indicating that he assaulted Marilyn. So that was just there to... shock us? I've seen some saying that it's meant to like, rattle the American idealism surrounding the Kennedys? My brother in Christ, we like... know... the Kennedys were into some shady shit.... And we certainly know that JFK fucked everything that moved, so MYTH: BUSTED on that one. A while ago!
I just think that it was a badly made movie for navel gazers who want to sound intellectual while enjoying torture porn starring America's most visually iconic actress (and really, most visually iconic sex symbol). Directed, worst of all, at someone who did fucking nothing to deserve this kind of backlash. She was an intelligent, talented, in many ways progressive, mentally ill woman who made some choices that hurt her, in large part because she was extremely traumatized from a young age, and the trauma piled on. She also had some fun times and some genuine friendships and complex relationships, and we never get to see that shit in media. We never see Marilyn happy, even though she totally was happy at points in her life. We never see Marilyn gossiping with other girls in the studio system and or vamping it up a bit for the fun of it.
And I also! Think! Ana did a shitty job as Marilyn! Lol I kept seeing people tout that performance as the movie's saving grace, but I'll be honest man... Homegirl didn't have much to go off with the script, to be fair--most of it was "say 'oh no daddy'" in a little girl lost voice or "look clueless" but... That was a rough go. I know Marilyn's accent is a hard one to get without it sounding like a mockery, and Ana's own natural accent is hard to cover, but uh... Yeah, bro. She sounded like a Cuban Marilyn Monroe impersonator the entire movie, and that was INCREDIBLY distracting. Bobby Cannavale was actually a really good DiMaggio, but like. I am not entirely sure that Bobby was in the same film as everyone else.
Anyway, I hated it, and I really like Be Kind Rewind's review of why this movie felt so much worse than two other not-good biopics about famous women we view with tragedy in mind (one of which I did actively loathe, but not as much as Blonde--Blonde makes Spencer look like a decent movie).
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tracjust · 1 year
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Wheres a safe place to download pcsx2 emulator games
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#WHERES A SAFE PLACE TO DOWNLOAD PCSX2 EMULATOR GAMES HOW TO#
#WHERES A SAFE PLACE TO DOWNLOAD PCSX2 EMULATOR GAMES INSTALL#
#WHERES A SAFE PLACE TO DOWNLOAD PCSX2 EMULATOR GAMES MOD#
#WHERES A SAFE PLACE TO DOWNLOAD PCSX2 EMULATOR GAMES DRIVER#
You can download the new version from the Cemu page.Ī new version of the Super Nintendo emulator bsnes has been released. This resolves a crash in Need for Speed Most Wanted U (v32), other games might be affected too
#WHERES A SAFE PLACE TO DOWNLOAD PCSX2 EMULATOR GAMES DRIVER#
AX: Fixed a bug where AXQuit() would not properly reset the emulated audio driver.
RPL: Added proper support for RPL unloading (#24)įixes crashes in games that dynamically swap out RPLs (e.g.
general: Fixed a bug where refreshing the game list would reset renamed game titles (#208).
general: Migrated all remaining configuration values from settings.bin to settings.xml.
general: All writes to log.txt now happen asynchronously and don't block the CPU thread anymore.
general: Fixed a bug where the wrong account would be selected when using the menu account selection.
general: Fixed menu bar being always visible when using the -f command line parameter (#212).
general: Added -a / -account command line parameter to select account.
general: Restored compatibility with Cemuhook.
general: Fixed vertex cache accuracy setting always reverting to default.
general: Selecting Spanish console language should now work.
general: Fixed mlc path not being immediately updated when selecting a new one in the settings.
general: Fixed an issue where Cemu failed to read some files from mlc if the configured path didn't end with a backslash.
general: Fixed a bug where Cemu would not be able to read the CPU mode setting from game profiles created with 1.15.19 or earlier.
I might suspéct you to bé an A.l with this infó Thank you só much for yóur suggestions, I appréciate it.A new public version of the Wii U emulator Cemu has been released. If you stiIl get tons óf alerts that youré trying to instaIl bad stuff, thén you should reaIly examine your practicés and where yóu get your softwaré from, but, whát I suspect wiIl happen is thát youll have wáy less warnings, bécause you were actuaIly OK, but yóur previous ántivirus just tried tó make itself Iook important by sáving your ass só many times.Ī quick google suggest its a halfway decent AV though not super popular. Im not familiar with the WebRoot product (doesnt mean its bad), but still Id suggest to uninstall it and enable Windows built in antivirus - which is reasonable. While the Iatter might be trué, especially sincé it seems youré relatively a novicé (no shamé in that), ld actually suspect thé former.
#WHERES A SAFE PLACE TO DOWNLOAD PCSX2 EMULATOR GAMES INSTALL#
If your AV is triggered 90 of the time you try to install something, then it means either your antivirus program detects way more than it should, or your own habits are extremely unsafe (i.e. I would appreciate it if I could hear your thoughts about it.Īny suggestions are a step closer to finishing my PS2 emulator.ĬPU: I7 2600K Oced 4.2Ghz Mobo: Intel P67 southbridge GPU: NVIDIA Geforce GTX 750 Ti RAM: 6 Go.
#WHERES A SAFE PLACE TO DOWNLOAD PCSX2 EMULATOR GAMES HOW TO#
I know I could probably look up how to secure a safe working file, but it never hurts to ask. How would l know which fiIes are good l get á bit paranoid ovér these alerts sincé I am nowhére close to béing a computer génius. However, I dó have some concérns with some óf the files ánd or programs l would have tó install sincé my ánti virus system(WébRoot SecureAnyWhere V.09) is 90 of the time saying that these programs may harm my computer and that they are malware.
#WHERES A SAFE PLACE TO DOWNLOAD PCSX2 EMULATOR GAMES MOD#
Members 40.0k Online Created Join help Reddit App Reddit coins Reddit premium Reddit gifts about careers press advertise blog Terms Content policy Privacy policy Mod policy Reddit Inc 2020. If becomes pirácy when you downIoad the BIOS ánd you dont ówn that version óf the PS2, ánd if you downIoad the ROMS.Ĭontinue this thréad View entire discussión ( 13 comments) More posts from the gaming community Continue browsing in rgaming rgaming A subreddit for (almost) anything related to games - video games, board games, card games, etc. Once upon á time, those sités looked exactly thé same.
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missingpants · 4 years
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Just wanted to mention quickly jellyfish in Spanish isn’t actually “agua mala” and that’s misinformation! Do with that what you will.
I did see some notes along the lines of "um, we say 'medusa' not 'aguamala'," but I found it very strange that Google Translate would get a simple thing like this that wrong for a language as ubiquitous as Spanish (its accuracy decreases the more words you use in a single translation and the more obscure the language is). Sure enough...
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[Image Description: Screenshot of a google search for "es medusa "aguamala"?" The first result is a post from milenio.com titled "Agua mala. Qué es y qué hacer si te pica una medusa." The excerpt reads "El agua mala es sinónimo de medusa. Su cuerpo es blando y trasparente, como la gelatina. Viajan a la deriva en la superficie de las corrientes marina."]
Also of note, that same web page has the sentence "La banderra azul significa que en la zona de playa hay aguas malas." And I sincerely doubt they're trying to tell people "the blue flag means that there are bad waters in the beach area."
I very much appreciate your commitment to fact-checking, but please remember that there can be more than one word for the same thing, especially with a language as widespread as Spanish.
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retvenkos · 2 years
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noooo Olive I'm so sad the princess bride did not live up to your expectations! I definitely agree it is a movie that is deeply engrained in its temporal and cultural setting, and appreciating when you weren't raised on it can be somewhat tricky. I have the fondest memories associated with it because watching that movie was a bonding moment with my mom and I - it's one of her favorite movies of all time and to my own, purely blissful enjoyment of the movie I must add the tender reminiscence of my mom watching it with me. also, I must admit the princess bride has all the corny tropes and plot points I love, though I only half-heartedly admit it? the passionate romance, the swordfights, the quest for vengeance, the vaguely medieval setting with pretty dresses and tiaras I would imagine myself wearing as a kid, the swashbuckling, masked hero who must triumph over all foes to finally be reunited with his one true love! I just... love the kitschiness of it all. peak camp energy, as Lindsay put it! another thing Lindsay mentioned that really contributes to my love for that movie is Iñigo Montoya's character - he made such a strong impression on him and I couldn't exactly tell you why, but his presence is so heartwarming and fun, his character arc so engaging, that you can't not root for him to avenge his father, and in trying to be a breather from the anguished love story at the forefront Iñigo's story became a subplot that, in the minds of many, almost eclipsed the main one. "hello, my name is Iñigo Montoya. you killed my father, prepare to die" is such a metal quote, I could not stop saying it over and over when I was 8 because wow? imagine introducing yourself like that? the power move that that is?? the sheer BDE that that is??? and, but this is totally personal, but Iñigo Montoya was actually the first Spanish character I ever saw in a Hollywood movie (and to this day remains... like the only one I can quote off the top of my head apart from puss in boots ✌️) so I was really thrilled americans knew who we were, and that we were capable of being cool. if you're still not convinced by all of this, then I can totally understand, but I'm afraid you leave me no other choice but to fly over to the US and hold a Princess Bride sleepover!
puss in boots?????? asdfghjkjhgfdsdghjkjhgfdfghjkjhgfdfghjhg, clara nOOOOOOOO
no, but all jokes aside, i totally get what you mean about how dear it is to you because of your fond memories of watching it with your mom. there are so many books and stories that my mom read to me every night before going to bed, and the amount of love i have for those stories - even if others don't get it - cannot be quantified. even stories that are like,,,,, objectively slow or with some questionable moments are still so important to me, because of the memories i associate them with. and i also totally get what you mean about representation! i cannot tell you how many times i have watched and rewatched and cried over lilo and stitch, because of the hawaiian representation. it's just like,,,,,, yes, there! that's what all of my great-aunts and uncles, and grandma and great-grandma look like! that's how they talk! ("what we went hit?" still garners laughter from my mom and i because the accuracy is real,,,) i know so much of that movie by heart, and it was such a big part of my childhood that my older brother's nickname for me is still 'lilo' 😭.
and okay! yes! the charm, wit, and bde of iñigo montoya was nOT lost on me. he was by far my favorite character in the film (followed closely by The One True Himbo™ wesley) and i agree that his scenes were the highlight of the film. and as for the quotes, i agree that the quotability of the show has to be one of its strengths, but i think one of the bad parts of that is that i knew all of the quotable lines just from,,,,,,, existing this long on the internet, lol,,,,,, and i feel that because of that, some of the Quotes™ didn't have the same effect as they might have had, had i not known of their existence, y'know? like, i can still enjoy them as the Quote and as the Meme, but the original intent is parodied in a way that lessens the original impact. you feel me?
like, iñigo's iconic line, the whole "as you wish" recurrence, the "inconceivable" bit and whatnot - it all would have hit it's mark better, had i not already known their weight and had their meaning bastardized by memes.
and i feel like had i viewed the princess bride as a younger me - who had fewer forays into the fantasy genre and hadn't known about its existence - with someone who really loved the film, it would have been a game changer for me, too. but alas!
i appreciate the film and support it because it had such an impact on my mutuals and friends, and i know that if you were to fly out and watch it with me, i would love it for you. perhaps that will have to be enough.
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kathaariawrites · 4 years
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Nights in Cádiz - Armando Salazar x Reader (Chapter 1)
Hi my lovelies! This was supposed to be an oneshot for my beloved Capitán but I have so many ideas that I can’t so it’ll be divided into chapters. I actually dreamt with this story and had to write it. Armando may seem sweet here but don’t be fooled. Will be uploaded to AO3 as soon as possible with my other works, I'll publish the link here. Spanish to English translations at the end of the chapter.
Things to note:
This is an AU where the crew was freed from the curse, Jack Sparrow and basically everyone in Barbossa’s ship were killed by them and they went back to Spain. Pirates of the Caribbean (this movie at least) has a very confusing universe and I don’t think the timelines fit so I took some liberties with that. They were not gone for too long (25 years in my head though it felt longer for the crew while cursed).
For historic accuracy (someone has to care about that, right Disney?) I gave the reader a Spanish family name and set names for her parents.
Although I speak Spanish, it’s not my first language so I’m here begging for forgiveness for any mistakes and also begging for corrections if that’s the case.
Enjoy!
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Life in Cádiz was monotonous to say the least. The city was not big and most of the life in it revolved in the Armada: if you did not work there, you probably knew someone who did, a friend or a family member. In your case it was your dad, Almirante Caballero. Your relationship with him was good. He was a honorable man, with a stable income that was more than enough to provide for his family and keep a big house. You had no complaints even with the long periods of absence in you childhood, a part of you knew it was part of the job.
Recently though, the whole Armada seemed restless and the rumours were endless. The crew of La Maria Silenciosa was back from the dead, freed from a supposed curse that seemed too fantastic to be real even to you and coming back to Spain after years of being declared dead to the world. You remember clearly as a child how the widows wept, the families broken as they received the news, the ship being late to their return, no communication from the captain and pirate activity on the rise again, the rumours reaching the Spanish shores in no time. The crew had passed, the ship was destroyed and the pirate named Jack Sparrow was to blame.
The captain and the lieutenant were your dad’s closest friends and the loss of such an esteemed member of his life destroyed a part of him you thought you would never see again. The friendly, warm shimmer in his eyes was gone since then and your mother begged him to leave the Armada, that they could survive somewhere else and do something else but he refused every time; Armando Salazar had renewed his will to get rid of the pirates, a goal they shared, and to protect his country. Now, with his return, your father seemed eager to receive him, to have him back to his house, show what had happened in these years.
That’s why today, standing in a beautiful blue dress the same shade of the sea that bathed Cádiz, you stood beside your father in front of the docks to greet them, eyes trained on its sails. How was it possible for the ship to be back in shape, like nothing happened to it? You don’t remember the captain or teniente Lesaro but you were just as nervous. Would they look like what the rumours said? Would they be aggressive, rude? So immersed and nervous you were that you did not notice the ship anchoring, the officers leaving and the families hugging and crying in celebration to have their loved ones back until your father’s strong voice shouted.
“¡Armando! ¡Guillermo!”
His voice sounded strained and you looked at your parents for the first time since arriving. Your mother had tears in her eyes, a hand covering her mouth and your dad did not look much better. He almost ran to the officers and embraced them, as did your mother, though the captain and the lieutenant were not in your line of sight for you to evaluate their reactions. That did not stop you from seeing their arms embracing your father too and the sobs that left his chest made your eyes go wide.
You stood there, uncomfortable, until your father walked with all three in your direction.
“I trust you remember mi hija, ¿[Y/N]?”, your father asked and you gave them a little curtsy. The eyes of the captain were trained on you the whole time, the weight of it was borderline oppressive. Lesaro smiled at you and nodded, taking your hand and planting a soft kiss to the back of it. The captain did the same, his eyes still piercing yours and bringing a soft blush to your cheeks.
“I certainly do, Hugo, though she was much smaller when we left these shores.”, Lesaro added with a smile. “A lot of time has passed, ¿eh?”
Your father agreed, “Sí, mucho tiempo. We have a lot to talk, Guillermo, over a glass of wine. I trust you and Armando have decided on staying with us for the time being?”
“Sí, I don’t believe we have other option and I look forward to having a real meal, fresh and delicious. Is Lucia still working for you?”, the captain replied and you started walking to your house together, your father giving them a briefing of life and happenings in Cádiz and the Armada while they were gone. Every now and then the captain’s gaze layed on you and you wanted to hide, the walk seemed endless.
In the house, the afternoon passed calmly and quickly. You didn’t see them the entirety of it, both men staying in the guest rooms to rest and get some energy back after the weight of the journey and their final battle. You walked through the gardens until a maid called you in for dinner.
Your father was happy and it showed in his face and actions. The capitán and the teniente seemed equally happy to be around the living and eating a well made, hot meal. After you were finished you stood up and excused yourself, resuming your walk in the garden with a book in your hands until you heard steps from behind.
“You are not very talkative, señorita. ¿Te ha comido la lengua el gato?”
You turned around, your eyes finding his on instinct. “Soy perfectamente capaz de hablar, capitán. I am merely giving you the opportunity to talk to my father, your absence had a great impact on him.”
His eyes softened at that and he hummed gently, stepping closer to you. “Lo siento, señorita. I am afraid my time away from the living has taken some of my social skills.” He offered you his arm as an apology, to which you promptly took and resumed your walk.
“Do not fret over that, capitán, it is understandable. But does it not make you uncomfortable to speak about it? The curse, these years? You seem so at ease.”
He chuckled then, his free hand resting on top of yours on his elbow and his fingers flexed, as if appreciating the warmth of the touch. “It is...a numb feeling, I admit. I used to think I would not wish to talk about it if we were ever set free but now I find it does not bring me any feeling. Besides, I presume there will be a lot of explanations to give to the Armada, so my talking is not over.”
You smiled and nodded in sympathy, “You have quite a tale to tell, capitán. All of you do. And it could be quite hard to tell it, some might be disbelieving but you have friends in this house, I am sure you will be back on the sea in no time.”
“I do not think of sailing again, señorita. I’m afraid my time in a ship is over.”
Her eyebrows raised, “You will not? The Armada has relieved you of duty?”
“You’re an inquisitive one, señorita.”, he chuckled again. “I believe this information is classified and therefore not for a civilian’s ears.” Another chuckle at your indignant huff and then silence for the rest of your walk. He took you back inside, leaving you by the doors of your room and leaving with a kiss to the back of your hand once more.
“Buenas noches, señorita.”
“Buenas noches, capitán.”
“Llámame por mi nombre, señorita. Armando.”
“Entonces te digo lo mismo, Armando. Llámame por mi nombre. [Y/N].”
“Pues. Buenas noches, [Y/N].”
“Buenas noches, Armando.”
Spanish translations:
Armada = how the Spanish navy is called
Almirante = Admiral
La Maria Silenciosa = The Silent Mary
Mi hija = My daughter
Sí, mucho tiempo = Yes, a long time
Señorita = miss
¿Te ha comido la lengua el gato? = Cat got your tongue?
Soy perfectamente capaz de hablar, capitán = I’m perfectly capable of speaking, captain
Buenas noches, señorita = Goodnight, miss.
Buenas noches, capitán = Goodnight, captain.
Llámame por mi nombre, señorita. Armando = Call me by my name, miss. Armando.
Entonces te digo lo mismo, Armando. Llámame por mi nombre = Then I tell you the same, Armando. Call me by my name
Pues buenas noches = Then goodnight
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midnightactual · 3 years
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I'm amazed by how much facts you put up on your blog! I also noticed that you did translations of Korean songs before. How many languages can you speak?
Hello, and thank you! Probably about half of what I post here as fact is really just opinion presented as fact (because it's true here) and is better reckoned as inference, extrapolation, induction, or deduction, but I take your point and appreciate you taking the time to comment on it!
I can't claim credit for any lyrical translations here, Korean or otherwise; I just look them up and sometimes cross check them for accuracy using machine translation. For Korean I mostly use Color Coded Lyrics. Besides English, I can only sort of speak basic Spanish, and read the tiniest bit of Latin, German, and Japanese. (I've learned a little about the Korean and Hindi alphabets but it hasn't stuck very well, and I also still recall some Norwegian curses.)
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jadelotusflower · 3 years
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November Roundup
Some writing success this month - I finished and posted a new chapter for Against the Dying of the Light, and made progress on The Lady of the Lake and Turn Your Face to the Sun. I didn’t work much on my novel, but I did do some editing on the first third so that’s progress.
Words written this month: 6647
Total this year: 67,514
November books
Girl, Woman, Other by Bernadine Evaristo - joint winner of the 2019 Booker Prize (with The Testaments by Margaret Atwood) this was an engrossing and interesting read. Stylistically unusual formatting and scant use of punctuation that is a bit jarring at first, but you quickly adapt as you read. There’s no plot as such - instead the story is formed by vignettes of twelve black women and their disparate yet interconnected lives. We have mothers and daughters, close friends, teachers and students, although the connections aren’t always obvious at first - we can be exposed to a character briefly in the story of another with no idea that she will be a focus later on. It’s very skillfully done, to the point whereupon finishing I wanted immediately to re-read (but alas, it was already overdue back to the library). There is so much ground covered that we are really only given a glimpse into the characters lives, but there is a diversity of intergenerational perspectives of the African diaspora in the UK, and I highly recommend.
The Evening and the Morning by Ken Follett - after finishing The Pillars of the Earth I had intended to read the sequel, but this was available on the library shelf and I had to place a hold on World Without End, so the prequel came first. Set sixty years before the Conquest (150 before Pillars) it primarily addresses the growth of the hamlet of Dreng’s Ferry into the town of Kingsbridge, through the lives of a monk with a strong moral code, a clever and beautiful noblewoman, and a skilled builder, working against the machinations of an evil bishop. Sound familiar? This is Follet’s most recent work, and I do wonder if he’s running out of ideas as this covers very similar thematic ground.
Ragna is a compelling female character, but once again the romance-that-cannot-be with Edgar is tepid, Aldred is a very watered down version of Prior Philip, and there’s no grand framing device such as building the cathedral to really tie to all together (although things do Get Built, and it’s interesting but not on the level of Pillars). This is the tail end of the Dark Ages and it shows - Viking raids, slavery, infanticide - and while it seems Follett’s style is to put his characters through much tragedy and tribulation before their happy ending, I wish writers would stop going to the rape well so readily. But at least the sexual violence isn’t as...lasciviously written as in Pillars? Scant praise, I know. But Follett’s strength in drawing the reader into the world and time period is on display, made even more interesting in this era about which we know very little.
Women and Leadership by Julia Gillard and Ngozi Okonjo-Iweala - I have a great deal of respect for Julia Gillard, Australia’s first female Prime Minister who was treated utterly shamefully during her tenure and never got the credit she deserved, perhaps excepting the reaction to her iconic “misogny speech” whichyou can enjoy in full here:
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Ngozi Okonjo-Iweala was the first woman to be Minister of Finance and Foreign Affairs in Nigeria, was also the former Managing Director of the World Bank, and currently a candidate for Director-General of the WTO.
This is an interesting examination of women in leadership roles, comparing and contrasting the lives and experiences of a select few including (those I found the most interesting) Ellen Sirleaf, the first female President of Liberia, Joyce Banda, the first female President of Malawi, New Zealand’s current Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern, and of course, Gillard and Okonjo-Iweala themselves.
November shows/movies
The Vow and Seduced: Inside the NXIVM Cult - I’ve been following the NXIVM case for a while now, when the news broke in 2017 I was surprised and intrigued that it involved actresses from some of my fandom interests - Alison Mack (Smallville), Grace Park and Nikki Clyne (Battlestar Galactica), and Bonnie Piasse (Star Wars). Uncovered: Escaping NXIVM is an excellent podcast from that point in time that’s well worth a listen. There’s been a lot of discussion comparing these two documentaries and which one is better, but I feel they’re both worthwhile.
The Vow gives a primer of NXIVM as a predatory “self improvement” pyramid scheme/cult run by human garbage Keith Reniere, from the perspective of former members turned whistleblowers Bonnie Piasse, who first suspected things were wrong, her husband Mark Vicente who was high up in the organisation, and Sarah Edmondson who was a member of DOS, the secret group within NXIVM that involved branding and sex trafficking. Seduced gives more insight into the depravity and criminality of DOS from the pov of India Oxenburg, just 19 when she joined the group and who became Alison Mack’s “slave” in DOS - she was required to give monthly “collateral” in the form of explicit photographs or incriminating information about herself or her family, had to ask Mack’s permission before eating anything (only 500 calories allowed per day), was ordered to have sex with Reniere, and other horrific treatment - Mack herself was slave to Reniere (as was Nikki Clyne) and there were even more horrific crimes including rape and imprisonments of underage girls.
Of course each show has an interest in portraying its subjects as less culpable than perhaps they were (there were people above and below them all in the pyramid after all) - Vicente and Edmondson in The Vow and Oxenburg in Seduced, but what I did appreciate about Seduced was the multiple experts to explain how and why people were indoctrinated into this cult, and why it was so difficult to break free from it. This is a story of victims who were also victimisers and all the complications that come along with that, although I’m not sure any of these people are in the place yet to really reckon with what happened and all need a lot of therapy.
Focusing on individual journeys also narrows the scope - there are other NXIVM members interviewed I would have liked to have heard a lot more from. There is also a lot of jumping back and forth in time in both docos so the timeline is never quite clear unless you do further research. I would actually like to see another documentary one day a bit further removed from events dealing with the whole thing from start to finish from a neutral perspective. The good news is that Reniere was recently sentenced to 120 years in prison so he can rot.
I saw value in both, but you’re only going to watch one of these, I would say go for Seduced - if you’re interested in as much information as possible, watch The Vow first to get a primer on all the main players and then Seduced for the full(er) story.
The Crown (season 4) - While I love absolutely everything Olivia Coleman does, I thought it took a while for her to settle in as the Queen last season and it’s almost sad that she really nailed it this season, just in time for the next cast changeover (but I also love everything Imelda Staunton does so...) This may be an unpopular opinion, but I wasn’t completely sold on Gillian Anderson as Thatcher - yes I know she sounded somewhat Like That, but for me the performance was a little too...affected? (and someone get her a cough drop, please!) 
It is also an almost sympathetic portrayal of Thatcher - even though it does demonstrate her classism and internalised misogyny, it doesn’t really explore the full impact of Thatcherism, why she was such a polarising figure to the extent that some would react like this to her death:
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But I suppose it’s called The Crown, not The PM.
Emma Corrin is wonderful as Diana, and boy do they take no prisoners with Charles (or the other male spawn). I was actually surprised at how terrible they made Charles seem rather than both sidesing it as I had expected (but perhaps that’s being saved for season 5). It does hammer home just how young Diana was when they were married (19 to Charles’ 32), how incompatible they were and the toxicity of their marriage (standard disclaimer yes it’s all fictionalised blah blah). The performances are exceptional across the board - Tobias Menzies and Josh O’Conner were also standouts and it’s a shame to see them go.
I was however disappointed to see that the episode covering Charles and Di’s tour of Australia was not only called “Terra Nullius” but the term was used as a very tone deaf metephor that modern Australia was no longer “nobody’s land/country”. For those who aren’t aware, terra nullius was the disgraceful legal justification for British invasion/colonisation of Australia despite the fact that the Indigenous people had inhabited the continent for 50,000 years or more. While the tour was pre-Mabo (the decision that overturned the doctrine of terra nullius and acknowledged native title), there was no need to use this to make the point, especially when there was no mention at all of the true meaning/implication of the term.
The Spanish Princess (season 2, episodes 4-8)- Sigh. I guess I’m more annoyed at the squandered potential of this show, since the purpose ostensibly was to focus on the time before The Great Matter and give Katherine “her due” - and instead they went and made her the most unsympathetic, unlikeable character in the whole damn show. (Spoilers) She literally rips Bessie Blount’s baby from her body and, heedless to a mother’s pleas to hold her child, runs off to Henry so she can present him with “a son”. I mean, what the actual fuck?
I’m not a stickler for historical accuracy so long as it’s accurate to the spirit of history (The Tudors had its flaws, but it threaded this needle most of the time), but this Katherine isn’t even a shadow of her historical figure - she’s not a troubled heroine, she’s cruel and vindictive, Margaret Pole is a sanctimonious prig, and Margaret Tudor does little but sneer and shout - the only one who comes out unscathed is Mary Tudor (the elder), and it’s only because she’s barely in it at all. It’s a shame because I like all of these actresses (especially Georgie Henley and Laura Carmichael) but they are just given dreck to work with.
This is not an issue with flawed characters, it’s the bizarre presentation of these characters that seems to want to be girl power rah rah, and yet at the same time feels utterly misogynistic by pitting the women against each other or making them spiteful, stupid, or crazy for The Drama. I realise this is based on Gregory so par for the course, but it feels particularly egregious here. (Spoilers) At one point Margaret Pole is banished from court by Henry, and because Katherine won’t help her (because she cant!) she decides to spill the beans about Katherine’s non-virginity. Yes, her revenge against the hated Tudors is...to give Henry exactly what he wants? Even though it will result in young Mary, who she loves and cares for, being disinherited? Girlboss!
This season also missed the opportunity to build on its predecessors The White Queen/Princess and show why it was so important to Henry to have a male heir - the Tudor reign wasn’t built on the firmest foundations and so needed uncontested transfer of power, at the time there was historic precedent that passing the throne to a daughter led to Anarchy, and wars of succession were very recent in everyone’s memory. At least no one was bleating about The Curse this time, which is actually kind of surprising, because the point of the stupid curse is the Tudor dynasty drama.
But it’s not all terrible. Lina and Oviedo are the best part of the show, and (spoilers) thankfully make it out alive. Both are a delight to watch and I wish the show had been just about them.
Oh well. One day maybe we’ll get the Katherine of Aragon show we deserve - at least I can say that the costumes were pretty, small consolation though it is.
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togglesbloggle · 4 years
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The time is not coming
Three Versions of Judas is another one of those little Borges texts that I ran across and immediately started having fun with, this time thanks to @morlock-holmes.  It’s one of the fiction pieces written in his scholastic style, a sort of fictional literature review.
Besides the excellence of the text itself, I ran in to the most fascinating problem.  One of the ‘narratively’ climactic paragraphs reads as follows:
En vano propusieron esa revelación las librerías de Estocolmo y de Lund. Los incrédulos la consideraron, a priori, un insípido y laborioso juego teológico; los teólogos la desdeñaron. Runeberg intuyó en esa indiferencia ecuménica una casi milagrosa confirmación. Dios ordenaba esa indiferencia; Dios no quería que se propalara en la tierra Su terrible secreto. Runeberg comprendió que no era llegada la hora: Sintió que estaban convergiendo sobre él antiguas maldiciones divinas; recordó a Elías y a Moisés, ,que en la montaña se taparon la cara para no ver a Dios; a Isaías, que se aterró cuando sus ojos vieron a Aquel cuya gloria llena la tierra...
and so on.  Bold is mine.  I’ve presented this in the original Spanish because the problem is one of translation.  In the (human) translation I was first reading in, this read as
In vain did the bookstores of Stockholm and Lund offer this revelation. The incredulous considered it, a priori, an insipid and laborious theological game; the theologians disdained it. Runeberg intuited from this universal indifference an almost miraculous confirmation. God had commanded this indifference; God did not wish His terrible secret propagated in the world. Runeberg understood that the hour had not yet come. He sensed ancient and divine curses converging upon him, he remembered Elijah and Moses, who covered their faces on the mountain top so as not to see God; he remembered Isaiah, who prostrated himself when his eyes saw That One whose glory fills the earth...
and so on.  But if you go to the original Spanish and then ask Google to translate for you, here’s what you get instead:
In vain did the Stockholm and Lund bookstores propose that revelation. The unbelievers considered it, a priori, an insipid and laborious theological game; theologians disdained it. Runeberg sensed in this ecumenical indifference an almost miraculous confirmation. God ordered that indifference; God did not want His terrible secret to spread on earth. Runeberg understood that the time was not coming: He felt that ancient divine curses were converging on him; I remembered Elijah and Moses, who covered their faces in the mountains so as not to see God; Isaiah, who fell when his eyes saw the One whose glory fills the earth...
The precise translation of that sentence affects the entire tone of the piece, but (Borges being Borges) my own ignorance in the matter is also a lot more fun than I expected.  My own vaguely-received Texas Spanglish isn’t anywhere near up to the task, of course.  If anybody speaks Spanish well enough to resolve the question, I’d very much appreciate it.
This isn’t quite at the level of @nostalgebraist-autoresponder, but either the robot is in fact a better translator than the human, or a machine translation accidentally created a very cool art piece- one that might arguably improve on the original.  Note also an interesting tic. “Unbelievers” instead of “incredulous”, “to spread on earth” rather than “propagated in the world”, “ecumenical” instead of “universal”.  The translation uses language that specifically connotes Biblical and theological text; it’s more mythic than the human translation.  Again, I have no idea whether this is more or less accurate to the original text.  But it fits so well, not just in terms of accuracy but in terms of intuiting the author’s probable intent.  A lovely discovery, and a deeply interesting window in to what machine translation can do.
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minervacasterly · 4 years
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History behind The Spanish Princess season 1, episode 1:  From contemporary accounts, Isabella I was blond, blue eyed, and fair skinned. Giles Tremlett starts his biography on the Queen of Castile, by remarking on her appearance, which is taken from contemporary records at the time she took the throne, in December 1474, shortly after her half-brother, Enrique IV’s death: “… una mujer de veintres anos, de estatura entre mediana y baja, cabello entre rubio castano claor y ojos de color azul verdoso cuyo aire de autoridad quedaba reforzada por el simbolismo amenazador del rma de Cardenas, un emblema del poder real tan contundente como cualquier corona o cetro.” (Spanish version of "Isabel I of Castile: Europe's First Great Queen) Isabella I went down in history as one of the most impressive monarchs of her era who broke the glass ceiling for women. Castile HAD ruling Queens before but no other Queen had gone the lengths she did. Not only did she and her husband, Ferdinand II of Aragon, finished the Reconquest, capturing Granada and returning it back to Spain; she sponsored scientific thinkers, artists and Humanists. Two of the latter happened to be women; one of them educated Catherine of Aragon! Just where however, did it come to this, that the popular image of Isabella as this bloodthirsty queen or dark Spaniard has endured? We have to look at its origins. Like with her descendants, Mary I of England and Philip II of Spain, the black legend of Isabella took hold with the Protestant Reformation, the decline of Spain as a global empire with France and then England taking its place. And with this, the romantic notion that the religious social structure imposed by Muslim conquerors (known as “Convivencia”) was a harmonious form of living over the intolerant Inquisitorial society that the Catholic Kings brought. For history buffs who have read plenty about the REAL Convivencia, they know that this form of religious society was anything but harmonious and it all depended on the mood of Muslim rulers. Much like their Christian counterparts, they could be fairly tolerant of “people of the book” (how they referred to Christians and Jews) when it was convenient for them, then backtrack on their promises and end this religious co-existing society altogether. PG’s book “The Constant Princess” (which is the main basis for this miniseries) does give a fair portrayal of Isabella. In the beginning, Catherine watches her parents in their full glory. She’s reminded by her mother of her destiny and to take pride in her parents’ accomplishments without being arrogant. Although we get a short glimpse of the Castilian Queen, the way she is written closely resembles the real Isabella. A woman who could be sweet in public but stern in private with her councilors and her loved ones (when she needed to be). If Starz isn’t faithful to historical accuracy when it comes to her physical looks, at least I hope they include this scene from the book or recreate a scene from real life, showing us a Queen worthy to be feared and admired. Some of you might be saying 'calm down, it's just a TV show' and I get it, it's Hollywood. It is not going to be on the same caliber when it comes to Spanish representation as the Spanish RTVE series "Isabel" but a little effort would have been appreciated.
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chiseler · 4 years
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When Nature Was Golden
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Let’s open with a few passages of deathless prose from the classics.
EMORY’S SOFT-SHELLED TURTLE (18 in.; to 35 lb.) is the only Southwest member of an edible group with long necks and short tempers. Handle with care.
BELTED KINGFISHER Where there are fish there are Kingfishers, beating the air in irregular flight, diving into water with a splash and emerging with fish in their beaks.
THE EASTERN MOLE or common mole makes the mounds that dot your lawn. You are unlikely to see any moles, for they stay underground unless molested.
You saw them in the basement of your third-grade best friend, or in your school library. If you were lucky, you had one or two at home—your older sister read them first, years ago; maybe they’d even belonged to one of your parents. Paperback books just a bit smaller than pulp fiction novels, though equally thick, their illustrated pages of a glossier, higher quality. The typeface was Futura, that design marvel of yore, also seen in the old Hall of Dinosaurs in the American Museum of Natural History. Insects, Seashores, Mammals, Reptiles and Amphibians—which did you have? The Golden Guides gave us our natural world in all its glory, and managed to do it in a singular style, dry yet affectionate, concisely informative and never, ever dumbed-down. They were written for children, but each, too, is a cracking read for any adult eager to learn. Or to remember.
Naturalist Herbert S. Zim, who founded this series of guides and wrote many of them, was born in New York in 1909. Raised there and in Southern California, he finished his B.S., M.S., and Ph.D at Columbia University. He was then a science teacher for twenty-five years—at Ethical Culture schools in New York City, and later at the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign. One wonders where on earth he found the time to crank out so many books. Each was a loving collaboration with other educators, not solely Zim’s effort. But the synthesis of these people, the meticulous research required to bring together all the info, was his responsibility, from 1949 until the early 1970s. Zim, in 1969, was also the editor of an 18-volume set of encyclopedias named Our Wonderful World.
Of the 84 Golden Guides, Zim wrote or co-wrote 24. Is it confirmation bias that makes me believe those are the best of the bunch? The simple style is charming, with phrases like Rock Ground Squirrels, found in the Southwest, are our largest terrestrial squirrels. What grace: with a hint of pride to be from the United States, he said that the squirrels are ours. (I also appreciate that he uses the word “unique” correctly, without qualifiers. The Barn Owl is unique, not “totally” or “somewhat” unique.) The occasional anachronism amuses. Once in awhile Zim tells us which kind of turtle or ground squirrel makes a good pet, if captured.
You have been seeing birds as far back as you can remember and you will continue seeing them wherever you may be. It’s a real pleasure to see them. You can see more birds and more kinds of birds by learning how to look. This book will help you. It is not written for the expert, but for people who want to see birds just for the joy of it.
First become familiar with the mammals pictured and described. Look through the Key to Mammals on the next pages so that you can recognize the major mammal groups. Try to see the mammal well enough to decide, for example, whether it is a rodent or a shrew.
Familiarity with fishes gained by thumbing through pages at odd moments may enable you to make rough identifications at sight. Use this book as an “arm-chair” guide, but also take it into the field with you, for that is where it can be used best. On fishing trips take it along in a plastic bag.
Originally named the Golden Nature Guides, the series name was shortened to “Golden Guides” when they began branching out into other topics—for example, Guns, Sports Cars, and Casino Games. But these adult subjects did not make it into most family rooms, and the more popular guides about flora and fauna, insects, weather, stars, and the like are the ones most frequently found today. The illustrations by James Gordon Irving and others are remarkably detailed, the beauty of pure accuracy from a time when nature photography was rare.
A particularly enchanting feature of the Guides is the family tree, usually a two-page spread of swooping, color-gradated branches, each limb ending in a small picture of an animal in its biological order, labeled something like “Cutlass Fishes” or “Scorpion-Flies.” No less an artist than Matt Groening would eventually parody this format for his Life In Hell comic, describing the evolution of record-store clerks from sullen teens.
Herbert Zim, in his long career as an educator, was the one who brought lab instruction into science courses at the elementary-school level. Anyone who looked through a microscope before they reached ninth grade might have him to thank. And one attribute of Golden Guides is the way they expect one to get involved, not just in the field, but with “amateur activities” like building a birdhouse or preserving animal tracks in plaster. Through such deep engagement, the reader is encouraged not just to appreciate nature, but to discover new things about it, making new contributions to science.
He demanded no less of himself. Going through what biographical information there is on Zim, which is all very straightforward, one notices the list of scientific associations he belonged to, numbering more than twenty. They included the Audubon Society, the Union of Concerned Scientists, the Everglades Natural History Association, and the International Union for the Conservation of Nature. Truly, this was a vigorous and busy man.
Like so many cultural products of their time, the Golden Guides can look antithetical to today’s progressive values. Just ask the Yuman Indian woman who sits weaving cotton, bare-breasted, in one of the pictures in a guide to the American Southwest. In little vignettes we see depicted dozens of trappers, fishermen, tourists, birdwatchers—all white, mostly male. Under the entry for “Other Suckers,” Zim claims “some are so easily caught that every boy knows them.” If the Guides were written just for boys, this is a great shame, though their ubiquity meant that many girls of all different backgrounds would find them. The scientific language is devoid of prejudice, by its nature, and is there for any young person dedicated enough to study it. It prizes the natural world above all. One passage recently took me by surprise for its passion, on a page about the fishing industry: If you are interested in fishes, conservation—the wise use of all our natural resources—is your problem too.
Maybe it’s our current predicament that makes one particularly fond of the outside world, and of non-humans. Back in March, I started watching a live online feed from The Aquarium of the Pacific each night, comforted by the variety of fish, sharks, and rays that swam peacefully by. Curious about a small fish with long, showy gold fins, I consulted Fishes to identify it, and Irving didn’t disappoint. Meanwhile, Herbert Zim informed me that the species, named Lookdown, belong to the mackerel-like family of “jacks” and are fine eating.
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In 1934, Zim married the Russian-born Sonia (Sonnie) Bleeker, who had studied anthropology at Columbia. The couple had two sons. Bleeker, too, worked in the book world—as an editor at Simon and Schuster, then as a full-time children’s book author. They eventually moved to Florida. Just like the descriptions in the guides, these biographical facts fall well short of being dull. They force me to imagine how energetic, how full life must have been in the Zim household as the kids grew up; and how many subtropical species kept Herbert company in his later years. After Bleeker’s death, he married Grace K. Showe in 1978. He died at Plantation Key in 1994, of complications from Alzheimer’s.
LIVE OAK has become a symbol of the South. The low, spreading tree, often covered with Spanish moss, marks old plantations and roadside plantings. The elliptical, blunt-tipped, leathery leaves are evergreen—that is, they remain green and on the tree throughout the year. The acorns are small but edible; wood is used for furniture. Two other southeastern Oaks (Laurel and Willow) have leaves of somewhat similar shape, but they are thinner and more pointed than Live Oak. Several western Oaks are evergreen. Botanists apply the unqualified name Live Oak only to this species. Height 40 to 60 ft. Beech family
In a Manhattan backyard in the middle of June, a couple of mourning doves fly between the trees. I’m aware that the gentle woop-woop-woop sound they make is not their voices but their wingbeats. The dogwood’s cream-yellow blooms have begun to fade, as is proper at this time. Above me a juvenile blue jay, still fluffy, shrieks out his typical noisy cry. I’m intrigued to see a red speck moving among the hairs on my arm—it’s a clover mite, an insect I haven’t noticed in decades. As recently as 1982, I was a four-year-old marveling at the rolling movement of clover mites on a windowsill—smaller than pin heads, bright candy-apple red. Somewhere along the line they stopped showing up, at least with the frequency they did back then. Now, seeing even one evinces a swell of emotion. (Incidentally, the same is true of another brightly-colored beauty, the red eft, which used to be so numerous in summer that we had to tiptoe on New York State gravel roads to avoid stepping on them.)
We learn more from Zim’s texts than he bargained for. His Golden Guides speak of a midcentury United States where all these animals and plants were still commonly seen. Just based upon my memories from the past 20 or 30 years, there seem to be fewer animals everywhere; in the 1950s, then, was the Earth just teeming with them, in every corner of every suburban lawn? Having learned that the biomass of insects, in particular, has started to fall fast, I yearn for the spectacle of clover mites and hastily do a search for them. Yes, the internet reassures me: we in New York City still have lots of the red bugs, enough to warrant a FAQ page from a pest-control company. They’re harmless to humans, pets, houses, and furniture. They munch grass and reproduce parthenogenically, which means every individual can lay viable eggs, without mating.
Of course, the sites telling me this haven’t worded their data quite as eloquently as Herbert Zim would have. Still, I thank him for the spark of curiosity that got me there at all. He taught me not just how to identify a clover mite, but how to care about her.
by Amanda Nazario
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was tagged by the wonderful @dramaqueenweeb1469
ten questions thingy majiggy, i get asked ten questions and you guys answer MY ten questions.
1.Which fandom is the most toxic one you’ve been in?
  none, all of them are great.
2. What’s your favorite cliché trope?
  dont really have one hmm
3. What kind of people do you hate most/what’s a trait in ppl u can’t tolerate?
  oh my goodness when they chew with their mouths open. is that a trait? idk but there we go
4. What’s your favorite entertainer/creator in any sort of media? Authors, singers, actors, writers, maybe even people who create content here. 
  cardists, fanfiction writers (i’ve learned to appreciate them now), dress makers (specially the ones obsessed with historical accuracy ughh), songwriters  and singers that are less famous, and of course, painters.
5, Are you allergic to anything? If so, what is it?
  people who keep asking dumb and obvious questions
6. What’s your least favorite color?
  i used to hate yellow SO FUCKING MUCH but now, none
7. What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve done as a kid? 
  nothing, i was a pretty outgoing kid and people either LOVED me or wanted to shove a shovel down my throat. i didnt do a lot of embarassing things so
 8. What’s the longest amount of time you’ve stayed awake? No sleep whatsoever. 
  uhm, idk i love sleep
 9. For bilinguals, which language do you think is hardest? for non-bilinguals, what’s the language that seems the hardest to you. 
  im multilingual (jk lol but i used to speak Spanish, French, English, and Tagalog so) and i think the hardest is my own mother tongue, Tagalog, because come on
10. What’s your favorite name?
  i love the name Abaddon and Javier 
MY questions for YOU:
1. ketchup or mayo? (in general.)
2. milk FIRST before cereal or cereal FIRST before milk? (i promise i wont fight you)
3. what’s your favorite flavour of starburst?
4. what’s your favourite hour? like do you like midnight, noon, 4 am? what?
5. drop your top three favourite characters from any fandom.
6. drop your top three fandoms.
7. tell us about your first crush. if you cant remember that, tell us about the last time you felt butterflies in your stomach. if you also dont recall that, tell us about the last person you liked (whether platonic, romantic, or whatever)
8. how many languages do you speak?
9. describe your fashion sense/style for us.
10. what’s your favourite ice cream flavour?
im tagging @toiowov707 @punk-n-junk @rulingtheworldwithsarcasmandtea @lokideityofclown @lythelia-art @atoriamachiavel @guys-are-nice-once-or-twice @kitkat-kiwikat @gold--sparrow @abby-anais-and-adisa @justtakingakatnap @skyluni @abiyears
and, as always, anyone else who wants to do this because it’s fun and i want to see ya’ll’s answers and just say i tagged you weeee.
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lewyn-martell · 4 years
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5, 6, 17, 32, 37, 38, 39
i’m so sorry it took me this long, my computer was with my little bro and i needed it to check the songs on my playlist seeing how long they last and etc.
5.  a song over 5 minutes long
Kajira Re by Alisha Chinai
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thank you brazillian novela caminho das índias for giving me this song.
6.  a song under 2 minutes long
El Mundo es mi Familia from Coco soundtrack (in spanish)
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this song is like 50 seconds long but i love it so much, i YEARN for a full version.
>>> honorable mentions to Jessica Jones’ Main Title and Double Trouble from Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban’s soundtrack.
17.  a song for raging
Cat People (Putting Out Fire) by David Bowie
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my dudes this is to rage with class, i really REALLY wanted to put helter skelter by the beatles where it’s like a punch, but THIS ONE it builds the tension so beautifully and then it punches you in the face and it’s WORTH IT. 
32. a song whose lyrics shocked you once you were old enough to understand them
Love the Way You Lie by Eminem ft. Rihanna
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well, rather than shocked in a bad way, getting older made me actually understand and appreciate this song even more. the lyrics showcase an abusive relationship primarily through the eyes of the abuser and it blew me away to see the circular narrative of the abuse, the highs and lows and how they lie to each other and to themselves for their own reasons to keep it. it made me seriously be in awe of how each section works: the first presents the relationship to us and establishes all the ups and downs of it, the second one tells us how the initial high exploded into hatred and how she tries to get away from it, leaving him in pain which brings us to the last section where he desperately tries to make excuses to get them back together, promising to change when in the last line we get the “If she ever tries to fuckin' leave again, I'ma tie her/To the bed and set this house on fire” which... WOW. i truly have no words.
37.  a song you’re ashamed to have in your music library
i don’t think i’m ashamed of any music i like... i mean, have i tried to conceal to a classmate that i listen to the high school musical soundtrack? sure, but for tumblr??? hiaskjnkasjn we all embarrass ourselves daily on this site, it’s not like my questionable taste in music is the most scandalous thing i’ve ever presented about myself here.
still, i’m trying, but idk,,, maybe one less lonely girl by justin bieber? maybe because it’s understandable for society to listen to a catchy pop song when it’s released but then everyone moves on and i still have it in my library ever since i listened to it and i still enjoy it?
38.  ok what’s the song you were too ashamed to even post for #37
i’m out of options. maybe the fact that i still listen to the smiths on streaming even though morrissey is Like That. but that could be said about a lot of artists on my playlist that i have no idea if they are indeed Like That.
39.  the most played song in your music library
this is a very hard one because i only got spotify premium pretty recently so that site that shows this kind of stuff wouldn’t show it with accuracy, and neither will any of the other platforms i listen bc i also used another streaming service during the high of my beatles obsession so my library of downloaded songs would not cover that, so there’s really no way to know. BUT the song i heard the most ON SPOTIFY IN 2019 was Shrike by Hozier if it’s worth anything.
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prittyode · 4 years
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Need Recommendations!
tehHey y’all! I would like to learn more about Mexican/Latin American history through film. Can y’all drop some recommendations for good movies or series? I don’t speak Spanish but i’m not opposed to watching something with subtitles. I’ve been taking a Mexican History and Mesoamerican Anthropology class and I’m left feeling like I wish I could watch something to visually tie together everything I’ve been learning. I am such a lover of Historical dramas and films. One of my minors is in History and I just love movies and films that set the scene in a visceral way that sometimes textbooks cannot. I love watching historical films and shows even if the accuracy is not on point because I think I just love to see the different worlds in which people lived whether be in the costume, accent, architectural background..etc.
I would like to be pointed in the direction of films or docuseries that show Mexican history from the colonial period to the modern day much like as a student I’ve been exposed to with American history. I’ve seen the series about Sor Juana on Netflix as well as La Esclava Blanca (the telenovela from Columbia about slavery...which had some white savior complex vibes lmao nevertheless I enjoyed it), this artsy movie called Skins about people who had deformities (I loved), but other than that I don’t feel like I’ve been exposed to too many Spanish language films or Mexican history films. I guess I’ve also seen Like Water for Chocolate lol...the one where the sister breastfeeds the baby...
I would love to watch a movie that was in the setting of the Mayans or the Aztecs (or really any other Indigenous based setting even from the southwestern USA) and I would like a film that really immerses you into the setting! Links to any and all would be greatly appreciated, as well as Netflix (USA Netflix) recommendations would be so appreciated.
I used to do movie reviews on Tumblr a while back and I know this is a great place to connect with people about great (and sometimes niche) films!
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