#Department of Cultural Affairs

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

CANADA DEPARTMENT OF INDIAN AFFAIRS CIRCULAR OTTAWA, 15th December, 1921. It is observed with alarm that the holding of dances by the Indians on their reserves is on the increase, and that these practices tend to disorganize the efforts which the Department is putting forth to make then self-supporting. I have, therefore, to direct you to use your utmost endeavours to dissuade the Indians from excessive indulgence in the practice of dancing. You should suppress any dances which cause waste of time, interfere with the occupations of the Indians, unsettle then for serious work, injure their health or encourage them in sloth and idleness. You should also dissuade, and, if possible, prevent them from leaving their reserves for the 'purpose of attending fairs, exhibitions, etc., when the absence would result in their own farming and other interests being neglected. It is realized that reasonable amusement and recreation should be enjoyed by Indians, but they should not be allowed to dissipate their energies and abandon themselves to demoralizing amusements. By the use of tact and firmness you can obtain control and keep it, and this obstacle to continued progress vill then disappear. The rooms, halls or other places in which Indians congregate should be under constant inspection. They should be scrubbed, fumigated, cleansed or disinfected to prevent the dissemination of disease. The Indians should be instructed in regard to the matter of proper ventilation and the avoidance of over-crowding rooms where public assemblies are being held, and proper arrangement should be made for the shelter of their horses and ponies. The Agent shall avail themselves of the services of the medical attendant of his agency in this connection.

Except where further information is desired, there will be no necessity to acknowledge the receipt of this circular. Yours very truly, Duncan Campbell Scott Deputy Superintendent General Thos. Graham, Esq.. Indian Agent. [Perhaps one of the bluntest example of the attempt to extirpate Indigenous cultural practices, and frankly, their existence as communities, by the Canadian Department of Indian Affairs.]

[townpostin]

Handball Tournament Crowns Jamshedpur St. Mary's Hindi Champions

Boys and girls teams from St. Mary’s Hindi triumph over Day Boarding in finals Jharkhand’s Tourism, Art Culture, Sports and Youth Affairs Department hosted a successful handball competition, showcasing young athletic talent. JAMSHEDPUR – A handball tournament at RD Bhatta Center in Bistupur saw St. Mary’s Hindi teams clinch victories in both boys’ and girls’ categories. The event featured…

[probablyasocialecologist]

Fifteen government departments have been monitoring the social media activity of potential critics and compiling “secret files” in order to block them from speaking at public events, the Observer can reveal. Under the guidelines issued in each department, including the departments of health, culture, media and sport, and environment, food and rural affairs, officials are advised to check experts’ Twitter, Facebook, Instagram and LinkedIn accounts. They are also told to conduct Google searches on those individuals, using specific terms such as “criticism of government or prime minister”. The guidelines are designed to prevent anyone who has criticised the government in the previous three to five years from speaking at government-organised conferences and other events.

[...]

These hidden checks are unlawful, running contrary to data protection laws and potentially breaching equality and human rights legislation. Dan Kaszeta, a chemical weapons expert, was disinvited in April from giving a keynote speech at a UK defence conference after officials found social media posts criticising Tory ministers and government immigration policy. He told the Observer this weekend that he knows of 12 others who have uncovered evidence of similar government blacklisting, most of whom are frightened of speaking out. But he said far more will be unaware they ever failed secret vetting. He said: “The full extent of this is shocking and probably not fully known. I was lucky enough to be given clearcut, obvious evidence. It’s truly awful.”

[coochiequeens]

Ladies don't travel to another country with a man if your legal status is uncertain. If you do hold onto your passport and make sure your ticket isn't a one way.

Exit trafficking: Western Sydney man abandons his wife overseas after she fell out with his mum

Western Sydney man convicted over 'exit trafficking'

He took his wife abroad, but only he had a return ticket 

READ MORE: Human trafficking gang that operated a string of brothels jailed

By PADRAIG COLLINS FOR DAILY MAIL AUSTRALIA

PUBLISHED: 06:40 EDT, 27 June 2024 

A western Sydney man who abandoned his wife overseas after she fell out with his mother has been convicted over what is known as 'exit trafficking'. 

It is a type of modern slavery where women are tricked or coerced into leaving a country, in this case Australia, and prevented from returning.

The 44-year-old man, who lives in Merrylands in Sydney's south-west, took his wife on 'a charity mission' to their home country of Afghanistan in January 2018, police said.

But the man, known as AR to protect his family, only had a return ticket for himself. His wife did not realise that her ticket was one-way to Afghanistan. 

The day after he returned to Australia, AR wrote to the Department of Home Affairs, cancelling the sponsorship of his wife's visa, the Sydney Morning Herald reported.

He did so because his mum didn't like his wife, and it resulted in the woman he had been married to for four years being stranded overseas.

The woman's relatives helped get her back to Australia, where she reported her husband to the police.  

AR's conviction last Friday was the third such exit trafficking conviction in Australia.

He was sentenced to two years jail with 12 months of it to be served in the community on a good behaviour bond.

Human rights activist Helena Hassani said there has been an increase in such oppression of women, often in migrant communities, in Australia.

While there are many cases involving men from Afghan and other migrant communities taking their wives abroad and leaving them there, she said there are also many cases where 'Aussie men marry women from Asia, bring them here, but marry them into servitude, or treat them like sex workers'.

Many women, such as AR's wife, are only in Australia on partner visas, leaving them reliant on their husband's sponsorship to stay in the country.

Some women in these communities are discouraged from using money, getting an education or working outside the home because the men want a 'servant'.

'It's a cultural practice where the less educated women are, the happier men are, because then no one is challenging them, no one is confronting them, and they just live the way they want to live,' Ms Hassani told the publication.

Acting Detective Sergeant Sarah Manning of the Australian Federal Police (AFP) said exit trafficking often goes unreported.

No one has the right to 'cancel' another person's visa, including the visa sponsor,' she said. 

'This type of behaviour is a Commonwealth offence and carries a potential 12-year jail term.'

The first exit-trafficking conviction was in 2021, when a man from Lidcombe in western Sydney threatened to murder a woman unless she boarded a flight to India with her infant child.

The horrific interaction was captured on Sydney Airport's CCTV after the anti-human trafficking group Anti Slavery Australia told the AFP what happened.

Anyone with information about potential modern slavery or trafficking is urged to report it to Australian Federal Police on 131 237.

[yua0ra]

𝐒𝐧𝐚𝐩 𝐎𝐮𝐭 𝐎𝐟 𝐈𝐭

WARNINGS: mattheo x pureblood!reader, SFW, proofread, english is not my first language. miscellaneous ☆

SUMMARY: Just because Mattheo has grown the way he has, doesn't mean that other pureblood families agree with the Riddle family ideologies. One of them, is yours; the Merlins

WC: 4.1K AN: Hey guys! I wanted to write some more about the pureblood culture and traditions because it's a theme that fascinates me. Obviously, this is all fictional and I would never, ever condone their behaviour and the mistreatment against innocent people.

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓:

The Black family’s ancestral manor had stood for centuries, its towering spires casting long shadows over the frozen lake that stretched beneath a January moon. The evening’s soiree was an affair of hushed elegance, its invitation extended only to those of unimpeachable lineage—Pureblood families whose names echoed through the corridors of history.

Inside the ballroom, enchanted chandeliers cast golden light upon the polished obsidian floors. The air shimmered with magic, as goblets refilled themselves with ancient vintages, and delicate platters of enchanted hors d'oeuvres floated between clusters of elegantly robed witches and wizards. A string quartet played in the corner, their instruments charmed to sing with melodies older than the castle itself.

For as long as anyone could remember, such soirees had been a cornerstone of Pureblood society. A gathering of influence, tradition, and unspoken rivalries, each event was less a celebration and more a calculated display of power. A new emerald-green velvet robe, enchanted with golden embroidery to shimmer with every movement, was a silent announcement of a family's prosperity. A whispered conversation in the shadow of a grand staircase might determine an alliance between two houses—or the quiet ruination of another.

The evening always followed a strict order of customs, for to be a Pureblood was to uphold tradition. First, the elders of each family would exchange pleasantries laced with subtext, their voices honeyed but their gazes sharp. They spoke of lineage, of marriage prospects, of the ‘proper way of things.’ Then came the formal introductions of the season’s debutantes—young witches and wizards of age, poised like chess pieces awaiting their first move on the grand board of aristocratic politics.

At the stroke of ten, the waltz would begin. Partners were chosen not by fancy, but by strategy. A Malfoy would glide across the floor with a Rowle, a Lestrange with a Bulstrode, each step a subtle negotiation between families. To refuse a dance was to deliver an insult; to accept was to acknowledge the potential of a future bond.

Beyond the gilded civility, these gatherings carried undercurrents of intrigue. In dimly lit alcoves, quiet dealings were struck, futures bartered in murmured tones. Who would inherit a seat on the Wizengamot? Who had fallen from grace? Who was worthy of the grandest of alliances—marriage?

Not all traditions were dictated by decorum alone. At midnight, the ancient rite of the Naming was observed. The family patriarch would raise his wand and speak the names of his ancestors aloud, calling upon their spirits to bear witness. It was a moment of solemn reverence, a reminder that to be Pureblood was to carry the weight of history itself.

And yet, among the younger generation, there were whispers of change. Some, moved through the halls with an air of quiet rebellion. They danced the waltz with smirks rather than solemn nods, their presence a reminder that the rigid lines of Pureblood tradition were not as unshakable as they once were. Would the old ways hold? Or were these soirees, steeped in the past, doomed to fade like the last notes of a dying melody?

As the night waned and the guests slowly departed, the Black family’s great hall fell silent once more, until the next soiree summoned them all again—where history would repeat itself, or change forever.

- ★、

As the clock has strikes, the Debutante Ceremony has commenced and they are ready to upheld conversations with the Elders. A ritual as old as the bloodlines that fill the ballroom. It is not merely a presentation but an initiation—a passage into the world of unspoken alliances and delicate rivalries, where names carry power and every gesture is a calculated move. Their lineage is announced, their worth silently measured, their futures quietly bartered in the minds of those who hold influence. To be presented is to be acknowledged—to be placed upon the grand chessboard of Pureblood society, where tradition dictates the game, but ambition decides the victor.

The Merlin family has always stood apart from the more rigid Pureblood ideologies—not because you lack power, but because you understand that true magic transcends lineage. Your father, Ambrosius Merlin, and your mother, Morgana Selwyn-Merlin, are known not only for their ancestry but for their philosophy. They command respect, but their stance—your stance—on blood status makes your family both revered and watched carefully.

Still, tonight, you are not merely the heir of your family. You are a prize. A new powerful prize.

The emerald-green silk of your robes shimmers as you move through the room, the enchanted golden embroidery catching the flickering candlelight. Your name has been spoken with weight, and the moment you step into the ballroom, you feel the shift—the eyes that turn, the quiet assessments, the inevitable calculations. The season’s debutantes are meant to be admired, courted, traded like valuable pieces in the grand game of Pureblood politics.

But you are not a piece to be played.

At your side, your father exchanges pleasantries with Abraxas Malfoy, their conversation a carefully maneuvered waltz of its own. Your mother, ever the poised enchantress, speaks with some Lestrange, their words veiled behind the civility of old magic. The Abotts, the Travers, the Rosiers—all the names that have ruled this world for generations—stand in clusters, their heads inclined toward one another as they measure every movement in the room.

And then, there are the Riddles.

They arrive late, as if to ensure all eyes are drawn to them when they enter. Their presence is like a storm brewing at the edges of a carefully maintained sky—an undeniable force, something half-feared and half-fascinating.

Tom Riddle Jr. or Voldemort whatever you prefer, carries himself with the arrogance of a man who has bent fortune to his will, his sharp gaze missing nothing as he leads his family into the heart of the ballroom. His “wife” (dog), Bellatrix, a striking witch with ink-dark hair and a knowing smile, surveys the room as if she has already decided who is worth her time. And at their heels, moving with an effortless grace, is their son.

Mattheo Riddle.

You know him well.

Six years of shared classes, of crossed paths in the Slytherin common room, of watching him at the edges of every gathering—smirking, defiant, always walking the thin line between playing the game and tearing the board apart. He has always been a storm in waiting.

And now, he is watching you.

At the stroke of ten, the waltz begins. Tradition dictates that pairings are strategic, not sentimental. You expect to dance with a Nott or a Parkinson—someone whose family sees your lineage as a powerful acquisition. Instead, when the music swells and partners are chosen, a hand extends toward yours before anyone else can claim the honor.

Of course, belonging to the youngest Riddle.

It is not a request. It is a declaration.

"You know, I could have waited for the formalities," he muses as he guides you onto the floor, his grip light but confident. "Let someone else have the first dance. Give them a fighting chance."

You raise a brow. "And yet here you are. Stealing the moment."

"Taking what I want," he corrects, smirking. "Besides, we both know none of them stand a chance against me."

The music swells around you, a smooth waltz carrying you both across the floor, but the conversation is its own kind of dance—a careful exchange, a measured step forward and back.

"Bold of you to assume I’m the one being competed for," you reply, tilting your head. "Perhaps it’s the other way around. You did cut in rather quickly."

He chuckles, low and warm. "Maybe I just wanted to see if you’d let me."

You match his smirk but don’t answer. Silence is power, and you let it linger just long enough for him to wonder.

"You know," he muses after a beat, "my father was rather intrigued when he heard we’d be attending tonight. Said your family holds an interesting perspective."

"Interesting?" you echo. "Is that what we’re calling it?"

"Radical, by some accounts," he amends, his voice teasing but his eyes sharp. "The idea that magic should be valued over blood? That ability matters more than ancestry?"

"And does that shock you?" you ask, arching a brow. "That one of the oldest Pureblood families in the world doesn’t subscribe to the same archaic nonsense as the rest of them?"

"It doesn’t shock me," Mattheo admits. "But it does make me curious. I’ve spent my whole life hearing that power and blood go hand in hand. That magic is strongest when it remains pure."

"And yet," you counter smoothly, "some of the greatest minds in history have not been Purebloods. Morgana herself—our ancestor—was born of mixed bloodlines. Salazar Slytherin was said to be half-elven. Merlin was... well, Merlin. Do you really believe that if power were solely dictated by blood, we’d have wizards of half-blood and Muggle-born descent surpassing those who have spent generations trying to breed perfection?"

His grip on your waist tightens slightly, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. "You make a compelling argument."

"I make a true argument," you correct. "You, of all people, should understand that magic is not bound by blood. If it were, you wouldn’t be nearly as impressive as you are."

That earns you something—perhaps not surprise, but a shift in his expression, something just beneath the surface. "Was that a compliment?"

"An observation," you reply smoothly.

He exhales a quiet laugh. "You really do know how to play the game, don’t you?"

"The difference between us, Mattheo, is that I don’t just play the game," you murmur, allowing him to spin you effortlessly before returning to his arms. "I intend to win it."

His smirk widens, something darkly amused glinting in his eyes. "Then I suppose it’s a good thing I’m on your side."

The waltz continues, the rhythm lulling you into a delicate flow, but the banter sharpens as the conversation deepens. Mattheo's eyes contain familiar mix of curiosity and challenge, a spark that makes the air between you charged.

"So," he begins, his voice a soft drawl, “you’re serious? You actually believe power should come from ability, not ancestry?"

You glance up at him, catching the flicker of amusement on his face. “Grandpa’s beard…, yes Matt, and it’s not just ability. But yeah. You’ve heard the same stories I have—the ones your father recites over dinner, where pure bloodlines are the be-all and end-all of power."

Mattheo’s smile widens, but there’s something almost dangerous in it. "You’re implying my father’s wrong, then?"

"You and I both know the line about blood is antiquated," you reply easily, your feet gliding gracefully across the floor. "The greatest wizards in history—The Founders, Flamel, hell, even Ollivander!,—were not bound by blood status. They transcended it. Why? Because magic is far greater than some petty distinction. It’s the strength of the mind, the force of will, the depth of understanding."

Mattheo chuckles lowly, clearly intrigued. "And here I thought the Riddles were the rebels. But I hear it all the time, in my own home—blood is everything. My father says that those who have 'pure' blood are born with a clearer connection to magic."

"Clearer, perhaps," you muse, "but not necessarily stronger. What, then, of those whose blood is ‘impure’ but can still bend the laws of magic to their will? What of the Half-Bloods who’ve gone on to perform feats that those with ‘perfect’ bloodlines can only dream of?"

"Your father may not care for tradition, but my family does." His voice is sharp, but there’s a respectful undertone. He can’t help it, he’s been brought up that way. "We don’t question the old ways, the things that have worked for centuries."

"And that’s exactly why you’ve never truly questioned them," you counter with a smile, sweet but full of challenge. "Tradition is only a barrier when it stops progress. My family has always believed in the magic that can change the world—not preserve an old idea of it."

Mattheo glances at you, his eyes narrowing slightly in amusement and something else—curiosity, perhaps. "You make it sound so easy, dismantling centuries of tradition with a wave of your wand."

"It’s not about dismantling it," you explain softly, leaning just slightly closer, "it’s about evolving it. We live in a time where progress is magic. Look at the world—look at the advancements. You know better than anyone that the ‘pure blood’ obsession is just a way to keep people divided."

Mattheo’s smile softens, almost imperceptibly. “Yeah. I guess- I guess so. Your family, they’re more than just power and history, then?"

You glance up at him, a shimmer of something unspoken passing between you. "It’s about legacy, yes. But legacy is what you leave behind, not what you inherit."

His lips quirk into a half-smile. "And what do you plan to leave behind, then?"

"Something that can’t be measured in blood, but in what we create. A world where magic—true magic—is free to evolve, not bound to tradition."

He lets out a thoughtful hum, his fingers gently guiding you through the next step of the waltz. "Maybe you’re right. Maybe tradition does hold us back."

You meet his gaze, the conversation sliding into something deeper now, but still light, sweet. "I know I’m right, darling. The only real power is in change.”

He lets the words hang in the air between you, his expression thoughtful, as though weighing the possibility of this new truth you've presented. His hand gently guides you through the next turn, but his eyes remain locked on yours, intense and searching.

"Change," he repeats softly, almost to himself, the word tasting foreign on his tongue. "It’s a dangerous thing, don’t you think? It challenges everything we know, everything we’ve been taught. Even a small shift can send everything into chaos."

You give a gentle shrug, your gaze soft but unwavering. "Sometimes chaos is necessary, Matt. Without it, nothing new is born. The world we know—our world—will only survive if we allow it to adapt. If we hold on to the past too tightly, it will strangle us."

There’s a pause, the tension of the conversation shifting between playful and profound. He spins you lightly, and for a brief moment, you feel the weight of the dance in your steps, but also the weight of the truth you’re exchanging. It’s delicate—this balance between banter and something far deeper.

Mattheo looks at you again, a soft chuckle escaping his lips, though it lacks any malice. "So, you're telling me that in order for us to survive, we should throw away the very things that made us strong? Magic, family, bloodlines… They’re not just irrelevant in your world, are they? You want us to forget them entirely?"

"Not forget," you say quickly, your voice quiet but firm. "But redefine. A family’s bloodline, yes, it has significance. History matters, I won’t deny that. But it shouldn’t define a person’s worth. What matters is what you do with it.”

He smirks, a trace of teasing in his eyes. "And what about the power you where talking about? You think you can just throw away centuries of tradition and create power like that?"

“Don’t be so extreme.” You smile. “Power,” you continue, drawing in a deep breath, "isn’t something you can create by force alone, Mattheo. It’s something that’s earned. Through action, conviction. And yes, even change. The power to build, to innovate, to move forward—that’s the power worth having."

There’s a spark in his eyes now—something more than the playful challenge you’ve seen before. It’s curiosity, mixed with respect. He considers your words carefully, his gaze unwavering as he watches you, really watches you for the first time tonight.

"I’ve never met anyone who thinks the way you do,” he admits, his voice low.

You smile, a soft, genuine smile. "Maybe that’s why you’re listening."

Mattheo raises an eyebrow, amused. "Maybe. Or maybe I’m just trying to figure out whether you’re as dangerous as you sound."

"You should know by now, Mattheo," you murmur, leaning just a fraction closer as the dance slows, "that dangerous is just another word for powerful."

The dance comes to an unexpected halt as a familiar, commanding voice cuts through the air—one that sends a ripple through the crowd. You glance up, a soft, knowing smile tugging at your lips as your father, Ambrosius Merlin, strides toward you.

He’s a striking figure, tall and dignified, his dark robes flowing with the same effortless grace as his presence. His silver hair catches the light, and the sharpness in his blue eyes cuts through the bustling ballroom with ease. Unlike the cold formality of most Pureblood patriarchs, Ambrosius exudes an energy that is both refined and warm, carrying an air of absolute authority that is never questioned, yet never unkind.

"Ah," he says with a smile as he steps closer, his voice a deep, melodic rumble. "There you are, my brilliant child. I must say, you’ve been quite the spectacle this evening." He looks at you with a gentle pride before turning his gaze to Mattheo, offering a hand in greeting. "I am Ambrosius Merlin. I’ve heard much about you, young Riddle."

You step aside with a subtle nod, letting your father take the lead. His presence commands the space, and in the quiet moment of his arrival, the room seems to part, giving the trio of you space to breathe.

Mattheo eyes Ambrosius with curiosity, clearly recognizing the power the Merlin name carries, but also sensing the softness that lies beneath. "A pleasure, Mr. Merlin," he says smoothly, taking your father’s hand in a firm, respectful shake. "I’ve heard your name often in the circles that matter."

Ambrosius chuckles softly, giving you a knowing glance as he places a hand on your shoulder, guiding you into the next step of the conversation. "Ah, so you’ve spoken of me, have you? I trust it was in a positive light?"

You smile gently, the edge of the conversation drifting back to familiar ground. "Mostly," you tease, before turning back to Mattheo. "Now that you’ve met my father, I think you’ll understand more fully where I’m coming from."

Mattheo’s gaze shifts between you both, his curiosity evident. "I’m intrigued. Your speech seems... different from the usual Pureblood patriarchs I’m used to. Not quite so…umm, oppressive?”

Ambrosius gives a quiet chuckle, his expression warm but his voice still filled with gravity. "I don’t see any value in stifling the potential of young minds," he says. "In fact, if there’s one thing I agree with my child on, it’s that magic—true magic—should always be allowed to evolve. The old ways are valuable in their own right, but they should never be a cage." He looks pointedly at you. "You understand this, don’t you?"

You nod with a soft, approving smile. "Absolutely. Magic is meant to grow, to transform. Everyone should have the right to experiment and experience it. My father’s always said that the greatest magic comes from the mind, the heart, the willingness to question what came before."

Mattheo listens, his brows furrowing slightly, as if trying to reconcile the two very different philosophies in front of him. "I see your point, both of you," he admits, the tone of his voice softening. "But what do you do when tradition is all that’s left? When the past is the only thing that holds us together? My father would argue that it’s the stability of our bloodlines that keeps us strong—keeps us safe from the chaos of the world."

Ambrosius’s expression hardens slightly, though his tone remains even, never cruel. "Your father’s concerns are not misplaced, Mattheo. Stability is important. I’ve always said that the past holds lessons for us. But the past is not meant to rule us. You can be proud of your ancestry, but that doesn’t mean you should be shackled by it."

Your eyes flicker with a knowing understanding as you add softly, "Safety isn’t the same as power. Don’t get me wrong, I’m more than proud to come from my lineage.”

There’s a pause, the quiet stretching between you all like a soft tension, before Mattheo finally speaks, repeating the same question from earlier, his voice thoughtful. "But... does that mean we should abandon everything that has kept us who we are? Do we really let go of our history, our family names, the legacy of our ancestors?"

Ambrosius places a hand on Mattheo’s shoulder, his grip firm yet kind. "No. We don't abandon the past," he says, his voice steady and wise. "We honor it. But we also challenge it. The world changes, and we must change with it, not to survive, but to thrive. Your father’s stance, while rooted in history, lacks the foresight that we need for the future." 

He glances at you with a proud smile. "And your vision, my dear, is the one that will shape that future."

Mattheo doesn’t reply immediately, his gaze lingering on both of you. The words, the philosophy, swirl in his mind like the dance, shifting and twisting into something new. The internal turmoil  growing as he questions what truly matters in the world of magic—and where the future lies.

“Right, so…” he says softly, his voice low and contemplative. "It’s not about abandoning tradition, but about shaping it into something new. A balance between what we were and what we can become."

Ambrosius gives a small, approving nod, his gaze softening. "Exactly. And you, Mattheo, will have to decide where you stand in that balance."

Finally, he meets your gaze, a hint of something new in his eyes—curiosity, respect, perhaps even admiration. "It’s strange," he says, his voice quieter now, the earlier playful challenge softened. "Most people would have thrown their lot in with the old ways. The ones who maintain order. It’s easier. I mean, my father is the example.” He looks between you and your father, the weight of your words settling on him. "You make it sound like we can choose what comes next. Like there’s... freedom in that."

Ambrosius smiles, a knowing, almost fatherly smile, and places a hand on Mattheo’s shoulder. "Freedom," he says softly, "isn’t something we’re given. It’s something we take. And when you’re ready to take it, the world will open up to you in ways you never imagined."

You add, your voice sweet as honey, "But you don’t have to do it alone, Mattheo. The world is full of people who are ready to fight for that change, even if it’s just in the smallest ways."

Mattheo nods slowly, as if understanding the depth of the words for the first time. He smiles, but there’s a flicker of something deeper in his expression—something contemplative, almost as if he’s weighing his next steps in this dance of ideas, of magic, of destiny.

For a moment, it feels as though time stretches out, the world of Pureblood tradition swirling around you, yet you stand apart from it, caught between the past and the future.

Ambrosius clears his throat, his voice once again smooth and commanding, but never dismissive. "Mattheo, while I’ve enjoyed our conversation, I must say this: you come from a family that commands respect, but how you choose to use that respect will define your future. The question you must answer, my boy, is not what you inherit, but what you create with it."

Your father’s words linger in the space, a challenge and an invitation all at once. It’s clear now—this evening, this night, isn’t about any one person or even one family. It’s about legacy, yes, but it’s also about choice. About shaping the future, and about how each individual—be it you, Mattheo, or anyone in this room—holds the power to forge their own path.

Mattheo’s smile deepens, and his tone carries a new layer of thoughtfulness. "I think," he says, "I’m starting to see how much of this game is about more than just following the rules. It's about what you choose to do with the cards you're dealt."

You return the smile, your own confidence echoing in your words. "Exactly. The world doesn’t change on its own, Mattheo. It takes people who are willing to change with it. And that’s where real power lies. Also, let’s be completely honest, you were never the one that followed the rules.”

The soft, haunting notes of the string quartet rise again in the background, their melody filling the quiet space that’s settled around you. The dance continues, but now there’s something different in the air, something electric. The future feels like it’s not so far off anymore—like it’s already beginning, right here, right now.

As the music swells, you feel your father’s grip tighten just slightly on your shoulder, a silent reaffirmation of his belief in you. This moment, this conversation, will reverberate through the rest of the night. Through the traditions and the politics, through the rivalries and alliances, something else has been born: a new way forward.

And when the night ends, when the last notes of the waltz fade into the evening, it will be your words, your family’s vision, that will stay with Mattheo—and perhaps even with the whole room—long after the soiree’s final curtain.

[leggerefiore]

cw: champion Volo au, yandere, volo being himself

pairing: Volo/Reader

The Champion of Sinnoh was an eccentric sort of man. He was recognised all around the world for his natural talents as a trainer — Rumoured to be nigh unbeatable. His focus on preserving historical sites and native cultures to the region also earned him much acclaim. It was only a natural thing, of course, as he was a descendant of certain people that laid claim to Sinnoh as their origin point. His family seemed to be gone, having been raised by a mysterious old woman who he never referred to with any familial terms. Yes, Volo was considered quite eccentric.

You found yourself utterly fascinated with him. The blond simply was utterly beautiful, too. His exposed grey eye caught the light wonderfully in all of his pictures. Those golden strands of his almost shimmered like precious metals. His smile was charming. You knew it was nothing more than a celebrity crush, but something drew you into him like no other. Other champions failed to have the same appeal as him. Steven was certainly handsome, having many fans of varying genders. Leon was undeniably gifted with mass appeal. Lance even had a particular charm that drew in a dedicated fanbase. None, however, pulled in you as much as the Sinnohan champion had.

Truly, you never expected anything to ever come from it.

But, a certain tournament held in Unova had drawn you in to observe. It was a massive showdown between powerful trainers from all over the world. Tickets were expensive, but more than worth it. Seeing so many intense battles had been nothing short of exhilarating. The lobby often had a few trainers hanging out in there, doing small fan meet-ups and speaking about their battles between those who competed. You felt shocked when you spotted the blond sitting in a chair speaking to a few gathered fans. A surreal feeling coursed through you as his presence was impossible to ascertain. He wore a heavy coat with fur collar, but what caught your attention was the pendant around his neck. He was never caught without it. You wondered about it quite regularly.

Volo had been chatting to a few of the fans, an amicable smile on his face. Though, as you stepped into his line of sight, the conversations slowly began to teeter out. For a moment, his face almost shifted into something ominous. His sole exposed eye stared into your very being as his lips fell from the grin. It lasted for nothing more than a moment as he snapped from whatever it had been and continued on with the fans. The uncomfortable scene lingered in your mind. Had you done something to upset him? The thought made you nervous, but it likely was nothing more than a passing reaction. Maybe he was tired… Battling could take a lot out of people.

You had departed from the scene and found yourself sitting out in the sun outside. The water surrounded the facility made for a relaxing ambience as you unwound from the intensity of the day's battles. People wandered around you, lost in their own worlds. Your mind drifted, too. The sight of the Sinnohan champion had made this entire trip more than worth the trouble and expenses. Seeing him in person had made your heart race… He was just as handsome as he had been on the screen. Something about him was more intriguing in person. Your heart rate spiked at the sight of him. You were curious about him. He was never seen in public nor with other people. It was rare that rumours about his affairs came out.

“Boo,” a voice whispered into your ear. Hands rested on your shoulders. Instantly, you tensed up and struggled to pull away from the unknown person. They remained firm in their grip. Whipping your head around, something in you twisted. Volo gazed at you curiously. Somehow, you felt like an insect under his scrutiny. A smile was on his lips, but it was different from the way it appeared in pictures. A laugh came from him as he let you go. Your immediate reaction was to demand to know why he did that, making him chuckle. His head tilted, fringes following the motion. “You were spaced out in public… That's dangerous, you know,” was his simple reply. Something felt wrong.

Yet, you were simply over the moon to have his attention on you.

Volo sat beside you, remarking on wishing to know what you were thinking so intensely about. Naturally, you made up a lie. He cocked a brow up at your explanation but made no attempts to question you further. Instead, he began to ask about you. Starstruck, you instantly began to answer with little regard for the information that you were feeding him. He nodded along to you, absorbing it all until he felt satisfied. Then, he shifted to letting you ask him some questions. It all had been mostly surface things that you likely could have dug up online until you asked about his pendant. His attention shifted to the teardrop piece of metal relaxing against his chest.

“… Oh, this?” his voice was low, “… It's related to the ancient Sinnoh people.” The reply made you nod. Of course… right, he was very proud of his heritage. Why would he not wear something like that? You shook your head. Somehow, however, you felt caught off-guard by his hand finding your chin. He gripped as his grey eye bored into you. “You're quite cute,” he simply said, “Won't you join me for dinner?”

How could you say no to him?

The painful churning in your stomach could simply be ignored as nothing more than nervousness.

It became more than just dinner.

You ended up in his bed.

The morning sun peeked through the curtains of the hotel room window. You moved to cover your head and catch more sleep, but a heavy arm around your waist snapped you into reality. It pulled you closer, making you feel the warmth emanating from the person it was attached to. Your brain rushed with panic before you turned your head to see Volo sleeping peacefully. You struggled to comprehend the scenario. Both of you laid bare, so that was more than obvious. The answer as to why laid with the slumbering man as you struggled to figure out how to navigate this.

Before you could gather your thoughts, the champion seemed to awaken on cue. He held you tighter to himself, making all the more aware of his staggering height. His body was quite well-formed, too. You would have been more interested had you not struggled to remember much of the night before. Both you and he certainly had too much to drink at the restaurant. “You're just as precious as I remember,” his voice was a rumble. Your name came from him, and your heart raced. “I've been looking for you all this time…” he shifted to pin you to the bed as he hovered above. Long blond strands curtained your face from the light as he leaned in. His eyes were different — His pupils shrunken.

Something really felt wrong now.

He seemed aware of your revelation. A chuckle left him as he pressed his weight against you.

“… Time won't separate us,” he mumbled, “I'll take all that I want.”

Nothing of what he was saying made any sense to you.

“I told you I would get what I wanted, no matter if it took centuries,” the back of his hand stroked your cheek, “Ah… You really don't know, do you?”

Somehow, you realised far too late that the feeling in your stomach had not been evidence of a crush.

It was fear.

[ghostlytide]

For Business Only | One

I hope you like it ^^

Vincent Renzi x Fem! Reader----1.6K

MASTERLIST -> Next

Synopsis:

After the whirlwind affair Vincent and you shared years ago, he was sure his goodbye was definitive. A fleeting memory filled with both regret and a peculiar ache that he can’t quite place. But life wishes to scorn him once again when his newest case obliges him to seek out your help. Though this case isn’t the only complicated thing in this strictly professional relationship—not with the way his heart seems to jump at your proximity, or the already familiar tune of your voice. For all the things that had changed, would this mean your story could have a different ending now?

General Tags: Second Chance/Exes to Lovers; Slow Burn; |They were Coworkers; Denial of Feelings; Pining & Longing; Idiots in Love; Eventual Friends (?) with Benefits (?); English isn't my first language so watch out for typos;

It was a late spring night when Vincent said his goodbye to you, so it was only fair that your reencounter would occur in another.

Life played both hommage and karma at him, remembering his words: You may forever hate me, but I promise you that you'll never see me ever again. I've bothered you enough.

That night, he had regained the common sense that had slipped out his grasp since you entered the law firm as an intern; eager to learn from whoever would spare you a glance for something more than to request their thousandth cup of coffee.

Of course, he did.

And how could he not to? When you were so bright and cheerful, all the opposite from those seniors who had seen the worst, to experience who knows how many times the balanced and blind justice's weight to tip at the wrong side. To have to face the client's hopeless expression.

Of course, you'd probably be sheltered from such a dark world at your station once you reached juniorship. But that wasn't the point right now.

Just as it wasn't the point to reminisce. He felt as ashamed as it could be possible while climbing the stairs of the skyscraper, which on the inside was decorated with pieces of steel, glass, and contemporary art that combined perfectly against the simple columns and the frescoes painted in the dome of the main hall.

Vincent shouldn't be overwhelmed by the sight, but he'd never been inside the Building of the Société Générale, white marble walls against a dark mosaic creating a cube to showcase the colorful paintings hung on the walls.

The secretary at the front desk showed him the way to the elevator behind the reception, polished black walls against the metal door as Vincent felt a pull in the pit of his stomach—either for the sudden upward movement or for nervousness, he didn't wish to dwell much on it.

Walking much faster than he wanted to, the secretary passed through an empty, quiet hallway in which Vincent could read a myriad of plaques varying from Accounting Department, all the way to Human Resources.

Finally, she stopped at a door labeled as Banking Associate: Cultural Department. Calling your name, she said: "Monsieur Favrè has sent his lawyer impromptu to meet you."

A muffled voice—your muffled voice echoed in the still hallway, stirring old memories inside of him he wasn't aware of keeping in the first place. "Alright. Let him come in."

A simple nod and the woman was gone. It was only the two of you now.

He took his time, a skipping beat. At the same time, you finished writing away at your keyboard. Then the door was closed with a gentle click.

"Monsieur Delaroux, what can I do for y—" A tentative pause, your bright, smart eyes locked into his. "Vincent?"

This hadn't been the deal planned out in his mind; he was almost hoping you'd ask, with a puzzled voice, who he was as if memory could morph at will rather than being one's source of torture.

So many years passed since he heard his name coming out of your soft lips, that if he remembered quite well, would taste like mocca and vanilla. But why was he remembering that now, from all times?

"Hello," he said, an awkward smile shining in the well-lit office. He put one of his hands inside the pocket of his dress pants, suppressing the childish urge to wave.

You blinked. "What… what are you doing here?"

"I know this isn't what we agreed on," he started, using small steps to get closer to the desk, as if you were a deer likely to run off, or a lion ready to pounce. Vincent had no idea which of the two could be worse. "But I need your assistance for a case. You're the most capable person I can think of, so I had to come and ask for your help."

Reclining from your seat, he let the words simmer into you, using the little time he had to look around your office, part of him was curious to see if he could still recognize a glimpse of the old you, and what he could learn from the present.

"How did you find me?" you asked, hands gesturing from him to sit in front of your desk.

"There are not many art lawyers with your name," he said, slightly flustered he had to admit about searching your name among colleagues, prying into your life when his promise was all the contrary. It wasn't the first time he felt like a fool, yet prideful because he was here for work.

And solely for work.

"I have a case linked with a small private art collection." His voice was plain, devoid of any emotion. He wasn't Vincent right now, the man that tried not to break your heart but failed terribly; he was Maître Renzi one of the talented lawyers from the before small law firm that now was rising like smoke after every case taken. "A murder. Probably linked to the growing art stock. I need an expert in the subject to conduct the required procedures."

"Since when do you take cases about private art collectors?" you hummed, eyes almost twinkling with amusement from all those times he had shit on the upper class and their slippery ways around the judicial system.

It was a good sign that you weren't bringing up his words last spoken, the past that at this moment felt too much aflush despite the time trying to bury it.

"This one is an exception." He couldn't help but get defensive, feeling like a stupid teenage boy being teased despite you being quite some years younger than him. "The owner of the law firm assigned me this case directly. We need to win so the firm can have an expansion." Which meant more law specialties, and more hired lawyers. And then it was… "They're even considering putting an Art Law department."

You could join, he almost said foolishly. Why would you like to be coworkers with him again, when that exact professional relationship prompted all the rest?

You seemed to be thinking the same. "It'll pay well," he added before you could say anything that derailed from his sketched conversation. "And it can help with your curriculum." Vincent signaled to the plaque in front of your computer, reading Junior Consultant. "It could be the case that turns you into a Senior."

There it was the ghost of you, biting your bottom lip in a pondering manner while your gaze was glued to the empty seat next to him.

"What makes you think you're going to win?"

"Have some faith in me, will you?" He chuckled, though deep inside he knew what you meant. It was a question that always lingered at the bottom of his mind, the one that stole his sleep some nights.

"Vincent—"

"Trust me. This is a high-profile case, very important for all people involved. I need your help. I know you're the only person that can help me." He couldn't make another empty promise. To never see you again? Vincent just broke it, and the opposite of that, to be partnered with you as colleagues didn't sound appropriate either. "You're the only one I can trust to remain on my side even if everything goes to shit," Vincent muttered after a while, blue eyes searching for yours as he tried to convince you with pity, even. Because you could never say no to him, and because this case was obliged to use all the desperate, creative measures he could think of.

Though Vincent wasn't lying about said statement. And you knew it.

You looked at him in a long, silent gaze that felt strangely, annoyingly charged inside the medium-sized office, silent so thick he heard the moment you chortled, a breathy, contained laugh that blessed him with the tiniest of smiles.

"Send me the generalities of the case so I can give it a glance tomorrow and write the protocol to follow."

"If tomorrow is one of your free days, we can discuss it over lunch," Vincent found himself saying before his brain could tell him to do better. "I'll give you a printed copy of everything so you can revise it easier. I apologize, but due to the nature of this case, I don't find myself comfortable with sharing this information via remote."

You put away the pencil you were playing with, settling it against the wooden desk with a thunk. "Breakfast. Tomorrow at 9 AM meet me at the Fontaine Saint-Sulpice. We can go to a nearby café once there." Looking from your computer to him, you arched an eyebrow. "Something else you need? You should go before the receptionist notices that you aren't Monsieur Favrè's lawyer."

He shrugged. "I showed her my card, she didn't say anything."

"Well, I'm not allowed to take private clients while on my shift."

"I'm not a client, we're colleagues."

You gestured away. "Wording. You know what I mean."

"You're a lawyer, Mademoiselle, wording matters."

"I write contracts and track art exhibits, Vincent," you told him in a familiar tone he recognized from when you two engaged in a well-needed, unwinding banter. "The one asked to give speeches is you, not me."

"Well, then you better prepare for an exception, because you will have to declare at court about your findings." Vincent heard your sigh and took in the sight of your angry pout, one you dedicated at him when it was time to get out of his office and help other junior lawyers while on your time as an intern. He was surprised to find it as charming as it once was. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

He stood up, torn between walking facing you or just striding toward the door. He did the last one, turning to smile at you while his hand tapped to feel the door's handle.

It was his time to call your name. "Thank you. Truly."

You nodded, one of the locks of your hair falling toward your brow, obscuring your view. "I'll see you tomorrow, Vincent."

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

by Dion J. Pierre

Columbia University locked down its campus on Thursday, following an anti-Hillel protest staged by a front group for Students for Justice in Palestine (SJP) outside the Kraft Center for Jewish Student Life.

“SIPA, SIPA, you can’t hide, you invest in genocide!” the mob chanted, according to The Columbia Daily Spectator, as they held signs calling for the university to “abolish” the Birthright Israel program, which grants Jewish students a free trip to their ancient homeland.

As The Algemeiner previously reported, this assault on Columbia’s Jewish life, perpetrated by a group which calls itself the Palestine Working Group (PWG), appears to have been prompted by an event held by the university on Thursday, in which Israeli journalist Barak Ravid spoke as a guest of the Kraft Center — where the Hillel chapter serving both Columbia and Barnard College students is located — and the School of International and Public Affairs’ (SIPA) Institute of Global Politics (IGP).

Reputed to be the largest Jewish collegiate organization in the world, Hillel International is a “home away from home” for the 180,000 students at over 850 colleges who avail themselves of its religious services, relationship building opportunities, and recreational activities. PWG, along with another group called Columbia University Apartheid Divest (CUAD), insists, however, that “Hillel is complicit in manufacturing propaganda and consent for the Zionist entity’s imperialist and colonial projects.”

On Friday, Columbia University — which has come under fire for its alleged failure to combat the incubation of antisemitism and jihadist extremism on its campus — denounced the attacks on Hillel.

“The Kraft Center for Jewish Student Life, the home of Columbia and Barnard’s vibrant Hillel, is a vital part of our campus, providing a welcoming space for our students to explore and celebrate Jewish culture and identity,” Columbia University said in a statement that was not attributed to any one official. “We appreciate the many contributions the Kraft Center and Hillel and make to supporting our Jewish community and building our university community. Any efforts to intimidate the Kraft Center, Hillel, and our Jewish community and all forms of antisemitism are unacceptable and inimical to what we stand for as a university.”

[art-tnt]

Watercolor Tutorial with Yoichi Nishikawa

"Follow along and learn more about the whimsical beautiful world of background art with Yoichi Nishikawa. In this 30-minute tutorial Yoichi walks through the process, shares techniques, and introduces the tools used to create his signature airy cloud backgrounds. Academy Museum family day programs are made possible in part by a grant from the City of Los Angeles Department of Cultural Affairs. To protect the health of our community, the Academy Museum enforces health and safety protocols that are kept up to date on our website." - Academy Museum Youtube Description

[ghostofashina]

"An affair from which gold arose and shadow too was born"

This was clearly about Lands Between and Lands of Shadows, how these two places coexist in different aspects. But also, I think it can give us a nice perspective about Godwyn and Messmer births.

This is just a small theory I made while trying to built up a timeline, because these two births tend to blend into the other and I think it's on purpose. And I know, where Melina fits in this? I still think Melina is one of the youngest of the pack, as a secret weapon of Marika recalling Messmer's kindling being out of her reach, but this is another theory for another post. Now, I'd like to bring a small theory about Godwyn being the child born from the seduction and the betrayal.

SOTE SPOILERS ahead.

We know, for certain, Godfrey was Marika's true first Elden Lord. But, even it being a common sense that Godwyn was their firstborn, there's actually no true evidence claiming he was born before the omen twins. Except that now, after one piece of dialogue in the DLC, can shows us this and a little more.

First things first. Messmer's dad still is the great mystery of Shadow of the Erdtree, and again I think this is on purpose, because considering Godfrey's evidence, the game wants to tell us he was already there when Messmer came to life. And I, personally, don't think neither Radagon or Godfrey are Messmer's father. I think, in a parallel to christian God, sacrificing his son for the sins, Marika birthed Messmer alone — and Melina, that's why they both share a vision of fire and are direct siblings.

According to Marika's own words: "[Radagon] Thou'rt yet to become me. Thou'rt yet to become a God. Let us be shattered, both. Mine other self."

Knowing that Marika comes from the Shaman Village, and that her people was "grafted" to each other in seek of the divine, he is a part she divested herself later in the story and Messmer was some sort of manifestation of this, but not necessarily a child of Radagon.

And I guess we can agree Messmer was born in the Lands of Shadow, because he knows very well the sins committed against his mother and her own modus operandi. He was there before her godhood and that's why Godfrey's offspring got the title of first demigods. And Godfrey, too, was there with Marika since the start.

I won't get into the timeline of events, because it's a mish-mash in game, and I don't have the tools to explore assets and files. But, one thing that the DLC gives importance is the act of a vow. And we know Marika and Godfrey did a vow.

Leaving his past of Hoarah Loux, Godfrey took Serosh upon his shoulders to ease his bloodlust and accept the role when he sworned a vow with Marika to become a Lord. Which can reminds us of the Secret Rite Scroll, found in Shadow Keep.

"A lord will usher in a god's return and the lord's soul will require a vessel."

We can argue here about the roles of vessel and soul, because it feels Godfrey became the vessel to the Beast Regent (some sort of lord), which recalls the amount of lion representation in Hornsent culture. So, I tend to think that Serosh was part of the "betrayal" in order to ascend Marika to godhood with Godfrey as her lord consort.

That's when I imagine Godwyn was born. After the vow, to consumate the idea of Godfrey being named a lord of the golden lineage once Marika achieved godhood and started the Age of Erdtree.

If we recall the Minor Erdtree, left to the matriarch at Shaman Village, it's said:

"Secret incantation of Marika Only the kindness of gold, without Order."

I can see this as Miquella divesting himself of St. Trina, his love. Marika bathed her home in gold, knowing there was nothing left to heal. Alongside with her braid, it was a departing gift, because she was leaving for a new era. She is leaving her kindness of gold, to built the order. Godwyn was her last act of kindness of gold before the Order. That's why we have so many evidences he, alongside Messmer, was her beloved child of gold.

Going deeper, once we advance the questline of Hornsent Grandam, she tell us a very specific dialogue line, that can show us why Godwyn was curseless when he was born, different from his siblings.

She spoke of a omen curse. Curse upon her children, each and all. Messmer as her own flesh and blood, which I believe, carried the grafting curse upon her people over and over again, being a vessel to an outer god "grafting" into Marika's child. But Godwyn was curseless, because he was conceived outside cursing eyes, in secret. He was born of a vow that, once came to common knowledge, was called "the seduction and the betrayal" in the eyes of the Hornsent.

The birth of Godwyn was the start of her ascension to godhood. The affair from which gold (golden lineage, golden order, the golden prince) arose and shadow (abyssal serpent "shorn of light", shadow keep, shadow tree) too was born. And everything about them is represented of golden and shadow. From the eclipse to the golden ring in their symbols (as we see in the Death Knight's cloak or battle axes and alongside Messmer's spear and flame). So, I keep thinking they both were born at Lands of Shadows. One to purge her enemies and protect her kingdom, the other to represent a new era and maintain her glory. Godwyn is the Golden and Messmer is the Order.

[cantsayidont]

Despite its protestations of progressive values, STAR TREK media has always explicitly presented (and, with only fleeting exceptions, consistently celebrated) the Federation as an expansionist imperial power, engaged in a large-scale project of colonialism.

The usual apologia/rationalization for this, both from the franchise itself and from its fans, is that the Federation is also a post-scarcity socialist utopia. However, that is expressly not the case in TOS, despite the attempts of the later series to insist otherwise.

Indeed, the plots of some of the most famous and acclaimed episodes of TOS are specifically about resource extraction and ensuring the Federation's access to crucial resources, including lithium (in "Mudd's Women"), pergium (in "The Devil in the Dark"), and dilithium (in "Mirror, Mirror," et al). We are told repeatedly that the Enterprise has a mandate to use force to secure these resources if gentler methods fail. Moreover, while the Federation has a strategic interest in these resources, it's clear at various points in TOS that their extraction and exploitation are, to a significant extent if not exclusively, overseen by private interests for profit. For instance, in "Mudd's Women," Harry Mudd remarks:

Well, girls, lithium miners. Don't you understand? Lonely, isolated, overworked, rich lithium miners! Girls, do you still want husbands, hmm? Evie, you won't be satisfied with a mere ship's captain. I'll get you a man who can buy you a whole planet. Maggie, you're going to be a countess. Ruth, I'll make you a duchess. And I, I'll be running this starship. Captain James Kirk, the next orders you're taking will be given by Harcourt Fenton Mudd!

In "The Devil in the Dark," Kirk ultimately takes a regulatory position — he will not permit the pergium miners to kill the Horta or continue to destroy her eggs — but at no point does he suggest that stopping the pergium production that threatens the Horta is a viable or even acceptable alternative. The accord he proposes is contingent on the Horta's agreement that she and her children will support the mining efforts on her planet, since Kirk emphasizes that "a dozen planets" are depending on the miners to supply needed pergium. (What would have happened to her if she hadn't agreed is not stated, but the episode strongly suggests that she would have been severely punished for noncompliance with Kirk's mediated solution: forcibly relocated to some kind of Horta reservation away from the main mining operations, perhaps.) When the Horta does agree to this proposal, Kirk assures Vanderberg, "you people are going to be embarrassingly rich," which once again suggests that while the miners may have contractual agreements to delivery pergium to Federation worlds, they are still a private, for-profit business, not a Federation department or nationalized entity.

Profit is also Ron Tracey's motivation for breaking the Prime Directive in "The Omega Glory": He believes that he's discovered a "fountain of youth" that he can own, monopolize, and exploit, and that the value of that resource will be enough to buy his way out of legal trouble for his regulatory violations.

We mostly don't see the Enterprise crew handle money except on away missions in other cultures or times, but there are a number of indications that the Federation in this era has not abandoned money: For instance, Harry Mudd's list of past offenses includes purchasing a space vessel "with counterfeit currency," while in "The Apple," Kirk rhetorically asks if Spock knows how much Starfleet has invested in him, which Spock begins to answer, "One hundred twenty-two thousand two hundred …" before Kirk cuts him off. More tellingly, in "I, Mudd," we have the following exchange:

KIRK: All right, Harry, explain. How did you get here? We left you in custody after that affair on the Rigel mining planet. MUDD: Yes, well, I organized a technical information service bringing modern industrial techniques to backward planets, making available certain valuable patents to struggling young civilizations throughout the galaxy. KIRK: Did you pay royalties to the owners of those patents? MUDD: Well, actually, Kirk, as a defender of the free enterprise system, I found myself in a rather ambiguous conflict as a matter of principle. SPOCK: He did not pay royalties. MUDD: Knowledge, sir, should be free to all. KIRK: Who caught you? MUDD: That, sir, is an outrageous assumption. KIRK: Yes. Who caught you? MUDD: I sold the Denebians all the rights to a Vulcan fuel synthesizer. KIRK: And the Denebians contacted the Vulcans.

Whether Deneb is a member of the Federation at this time is unclear, but Vulcan certainly is, and so we may assume that Vulcan and presumably the Federation itself are also part of "the free enterprise system."

The first indication that the Federation does not use money is in STAR TREK IV, and it's not obvious there if Kirk's remark that "They're still using money" is talking about money more broadly or just physical currency, which the Federation may have phased out even if it still uses credit or electronic transfers of monetary value. (Certainly, McCoy's attempt in STAR TREK III to charter a starship indicates that he had some means of paying for passage, since the captain of the ship specifically demands more money upon learning of the intended destination.)

If we accept at face value the assertion of TNG and DS9 that the Federation has genuinely abandoned the use of money, rather than simply going cashless, the most reasonable Watsonian explanation is that this has been a relatively recent development during the 70–80 years between the TOS cast movies and TNG, most likely related to the development of replication technology (which the Federation did not yet have in Kirk's time).

Of course, from a Doylist standpoint, we could chalk up some of this incidental dialogue to the franchise's evolving construction of its own setting, in the same manner as anomalous references to Vulcans as "Vulcanians." Roddenberry and his apologists might also insist that he always meant to depict a socialist utopia, but was prevented by the nattering nabobs of negativity (i.e., the network's BS&P); I'm very skeptical of such claims, but the writers were acutely aware that depicting what Earth is like in Kirk's time would be opening a can of worms, which is why we didn't actually see 23rd century Earth (even briefly) until the movies.

However, the focus on resource extraction and its ramifications is such a load-bearing story element in TOS that the revisionist assertion that the Federation was already a post-scarcity socialist utopia in Kirk's time (as both DISCOVERY and STRANGE NEW WORLDS have attempted to claim) would require really substantial retcons of the original show, perhaps to the extent of insisting that some of those events never took place at all, or happened radically differently than what's in the TOS episodes most STAR TREK fans have seen. For me, anyway, that crosses a line from willing suspension of disbelief to "don't trust your lying eyes," and suggests a frustrating and somewhat disturbing determination to insist that TOS is something much purer and nobler than it is rather than grapple with its actual conceptual flaws and ideological shortcomings.

[nicsnort]

Department of Monster Affairs

MEMO: Internal use only

TO: For dispersal among all staff

FROM: Division of Monster Research

TOPIC: Werewolf bites and bodily fluids 

Cultural stories have long passed down the idea that a human bitten by a werewolf in their wolf or hybrid form during the full moon will transform said human into a werewolf the full moon after. This division has long since determined that information to be mostly false, as the bite must occur during a special ritual for the transformation to take place. However, we now confirm that minor human-to-werewolf transformations are possible outside this ritual. Additionally, it seems that the transference of bodily fluids from the werewolf to the human is the cause, not the bite itself; this includes saliva and blood, but sexual fluids appear to have the same effect.  Upon exposure to a significant amount of werewolf fluids, the human body begins accepting the wolven anima into its being. Within the next few days, those exposed will show increased aggression, likelihood to growl, urges to chase prey, and desire to pack. If exposure to the fluids ends, the wolven anima will not bind with the human form, and effects fade over time. Continuing the exposure will prolong the effects and may induce further wolven behavior and biological changes such as heightened senses and increased hair thickness. For women, the biological changes also include a heat cycle; for men, this includes rutting responses to a woman's heat cycle. This appears to follow gender identity or at least hormone levels as a trans-woman on HRT experienced a heat cycle. These results are from observations and testing of the general population who have been engaging in intimate relationships with werewolves. Experimental tests with a wide representative sample are underway to verify the full extent and parameters of werewolf fluids' effect on humans. This new evidence indicates that the ritual bite binds the wolven anima to the human, creating a new werewolf. Considering this, basic medical care to treat bacterial infection is no longer enough for an agent to re-enter the field. All symptoms of wolven anima must be cleared from the system. This knowledge will be distributed to the public via updated guides after experiments have validated the results and we have more information. Additionally, werewolves now fall under the category of corruptive monsters; all previous classifications still stand.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hello Neighbor - NSFW m!werewolf x f!reader

[dcdreamblog]

It is generally understood that, by becoming public figures, politicians and artists and so forth tacitly forfeit some degree of privacy, and thus their personal lives are subject to public inquiry and academic study (note: I am not talking about the extreme version of this idea promulgated by paparazzi and such to justify the scandalmongering excesses of celebrity culture). Superheroes are similarly public figures, but given the practice of wearing masks and maintaining secret identities, does the same apply?

Our protectors "deserve" and invite scrutiny in that it is the public's right and responsibility to question their methods, their resources and their outcomes. When people's lives are on the line the general public always has at least some right to know that's going on. The superhero community, while not always unquestionable in providing that information does more work to illuminate their internal processes than any national military or police department on the planet.

(The Justice League giving a press conference at the Hall of Justice for their then most recent membership drive) When disaster strikes and confusion reigns, the heroes of the Justice League are ALWAYS the first to place themselves in front of the public eye and provide as much information as possible to those who might be concerned for the transparency of their action. The Justice League does not gain or lose a member, does not act in the public sphere, does not commit itself to any battle that the general public does not know about as soon as feasible. The kind of "information" some people require or demand is something entirely different. They want the Justice League and other heroes to be PERMANENTLY scrutinized, under observation either by the general public or, worse, by national government. Either outcome would be disastrous in the moral or effective sense. Not only would it leave the heroes at terrible risk from the wide, WIDE breadth of enemies that they have made in natural course of doing what they do. It would place them at risk of retaliation from police or government action should those organizations be hostile to the heroes in question (Remember, the only reason the JSA was able to avoid being twisted into an arm of McCarthyism was their ability to go to ground and vanish from the public eye). Beyond all the regular stalker behavior that people are prone to with regular celebrities. There's a reason most heroes with public identities A. live in a compound or base that is guarded and not open to the public and B. don't tend to go grocery shopping in costume. As for academic study...I mean hopefully I would agree that superheroes are fair game for academic study. That is what my paycheck is for, more or less but that comes with a heavy list of ethical dos and donts one of which being that you should not stick your nose into people's private affairs or business simply because the information is unknown.

[blueiscoool]

Ancient Roman Marble Statue Depicting a Nymph Found in Turkey

Excavations in the ancient city of Amastris, located in the Black Sea province of Bartın’s Amasra district, have unearthed a statue of a nymph thought to be 1800 years old. The artifact is set to be exhibited in the Amasra Museum soon.

Amasra’s coast was host to the Phoenician colony, Sesamus, in the 12th century B.C. The colony’s heyday was during the rule of Iranian Princess Amastris. It was among the most important of the Byzantine fortress harbors on the south shore of the Black Sea.

The site of the excavation was donated to the Ministry of National Education in 2014 and construction started for the building of a school on the land in 2017 when some remains believed to belong to the Roman period were discovered, upon which the construction works were stopped and the area was taken under protection.

Excavations are carried out under the direction of the Amasra Museum Directorate and the scientific consultancy of Bartın University.

During the excavations carried out under the direction of Amasra Museum Director Zübeyde Kuru, a statue of a water nymph, thought to be 1800 years old, was found 3 meters below the surface.

In the statement made on the social media account of the Excavations and Research Department of the General Directorate of Cultural Heritage and Museums of the Ministry of Culture and Tourism, the following statements were made:

“In our excavations in Bartın, Amasra, Gymnasium, a 1.53-centimeter-high statue belonging to the 2nd century AD and considered to be a Nymphe (water nymph) was unearthed.”

Situated in the ancient region of Paphlagonia, the original city seems to have been called Sesamus and it was mentioned by Homer.

The place derived its name Amastris from Amastris, the niece of the last Persian king Darius III, who was the wife of Dionysius, tyrant of Heraclea, and after his death the wife of Lysimachus.

Amastris (ca. 340/39-285/84), was first married to Craterus, then to Dionysius of Heraclea, and finally to Lysimachus. She was the mother of four known children; was supposedly divorced when Lysimachus married Arsinoe; Amastris founded an eponymous city in Paphlagonia; she was the first queen to issue coins in her name; and was allegedly murdered by her sons for interfering in their affairs.

By Leman Altuntaş.

[merriweather-boat]

For the absolutely blessedly buckwild insurance fraud AU (speaking to my SOUL with that premise), I have the following inquiries:

Do Cloud and Genesis have to live with each other at some point? If so...

Do they do anything at home that drives the other person absolutely buckwild? No in a sexy way. In an infuriating way. (For example: Does Cloud, who comes from a region with no mayonaise, eat mayonaise directly out of the jar like it's Nutella?)

What the actual hell is up with the marriage/partnership situation in Midgar that couples that aren't legally bound to each other get legal benefits? Would they need to register partners? Or does Shin-Ra have a mandatory "do they kiss and fuck?" test for everyone who registers a new partner?

Who does the investigating? Is there a dedicated department? Privates Eyes? Like Private Eyes, but the look for where your privates are going?

Speaking of marriage, is it less a Christian set up and more like a Jewish situation where you're married if you decide you're married? In which case, does marriage not exist as a formal legal binding in this setting? And what does this say about the rights of women, considering the origins of marriage in our world and their human-property-adjacent BS? I'm sorry, i have so many thoughts about this. What? Why is this number here? There is no fifth question.

I would like to formally apologize for 90% of what's in this ask.

DON'T APOLOGIZE FOR THIS ASK. I should be apologizing. I just wrote 1.7k words to respond to it because I got a bit… overzealous, to say the least. Expect: Analysis of Shinra as a tax administrator (and why that's relevant to its "marriage" situation), a couple of excerpts (I apologize for quality/mischaracterization, they're essentially first drafts), and a brief list of silly HCs.

I'm going to respond to this ask's questions out of order, so the answers to different questions will be responded to as the conversation moves in that direction.

Let's start with the Shinra Electric Power Company and how it exerts power in the world of FF7 (this is related to their ability to impose taxes). We know that Wutai was an independent nation up until Shinra started its imperialist war there, which leads us to the natural conclusion that before the Shinra Electric Power Company existed, the geopolitical situation on the Planet was far different. However, I'm under the impression that Shinra superseded whichever powers came before it and used its control of global media to censor discussion surrounding those original powers, effectively erasing them from conversations about government and—based on the fact that Cloud & other characters in his age group never talk about the governments of "before"—the collective memory of the world.

You might be thinking, "wait, but didn't Nibelheim and Midgar have mayors, implying the existences of governments separate from Shinra?" And you're right! They did have mayors. But Midgar's mayor literally called himself a "librarian" because Shinra held all the real power, and Nibelheim's mayor deferred to Shinra's directives whenever the opportunity presented itself. So aside from Wutai, Shinra had total control over the general affairs of the world. Which is insane, by the way, but I think we're all on the same page about that.

I imagine a lot of their takeover was negotiated with local leadership from Before, anyway. "We'll build you a reactor and handle any conflict in the region, just give us a plan for how to tax you all—designate businesses and households, infrastructure, provide financial statuses, marital statuses, the like. Handling your affairs is expensive, but wouldn't you agree it's convenient? It'll make things easier for you, really." Yeah. Picture that. Shinra made a good case for themselves, didn't they? Didn't it sound solid? Reasonable? Convenient, and exciting?

Also, marriage is a near-universal cultural phenomenon around the world, though it takes on different forms. So it definitely existed, and it meant different things to different people in their unique cultural contexts. (Banora, Gongaga, Nibelheim, and Cosmo Canyon would all have different approaches to marriage.)

Long story short, Shinra totally taxed people who lived in areas which "benefited from the reactors," as I imagine they would phrase it. Anyone living in Midgar would be taxed even more, because Shinra runs the city. They built all of the infrastructure, they own the land, they own the industry—if you can name it, Shinra owns it.

A modern government/company/shitfest like the Shinra Electric Power Company, given its need to tax people and turn a profit on its "investments" (re: colonialism-fueled mako reactor construction), would need to set up an effective tax structure including brackets & things like marital status & dependents. Much like in our world, you can absolutely get married for tax reasons! Shinra does a god awful job of tracking it, though. They're not very good at dealing with civil affairs. As long as you and your partner both file the appropriate forms, they'll tax you as a couple with very few questions.

Shinra also insures its own employees, which will pretty much get you covered at any office that doesn't have a grudge against Shinra. If you are a Shinra employee and file for taxes with any dependents or a spouse, Shinra automatically puts those people under the insurance plan. I think that an interesting exception here is SOLDIER cadets, who receive SOLDIER training, room, and board during their application process, but as they aren't officially Shinra employees/the whole training process is part of the job application itself, they actually don't get insurance benefits. I made that up to suit my AU by the way. Reality can be whatever I want it to be. It's in line with corporate BS either way. SOLDIER doesn't have the highest return on investment, so why would Shinra want to cover people during that application process?

So how, exactly, does Genesis get Cloud covered by insurance at the hospital?

"Huh? Genesis?" Zack's voice crackles through the speaker. "Zack Fair," Genesis hisses. "I know you're with Soldier Second Class Kunsel. Put him on immediately." "Huh? Wait. What's happening? Are you, like…?" Genesis can feel the headache building behind his eyes already. "Just hand him your PHS. It's urgent." Kunsel speaks a moment later. "Soldier Second Class Kunsel, sir, what can I—" "Can you falsify marriage records?" "Sir?" This headache is going to be positively vicious. "I asked you a question. Are you or are you not capable of falsifying marriage records within the Shinra company system?" Genesis spits, his eye twitching. The urge to throw his phone out into oncoming traffic, where it will ideally face the same fate as Cloud Strife sans recovery, grows stronger by the minute. Fools. He's surrounded by obtuse, incompetent fools, and if he wasn't already drunk, he would have attempted to be within the hour. Kunsel pauses. "Who told you about that?" Zack Fair. Who else? Genesis doesn't even bother to respond—the answer should be immediately obvious. If the Puppy's friend cannot identify the prime suspect in this situation, then he is certainly not qualified to muddle about in Genesis' personal records. "Not me!" Zack says cheerfully. Kunsel says, very calmly, "I'm going to burn your eyebrows off, Zackary Fair." That's when Genesis decides that he quite likes this… Kunsel. "Aren't you a doll," he murmurs, an unwitting smile blooming across his face. Oh, yes. They are going to get along quite splendidly. "I need to be married to SOLDIER cadet Cloud Strife within the hour." He jerks the phone away from his ear as the speaker screeches, Zack's voice—yes, he's certain that it's Zack, Kunsel would never conduct himself in such a manner—almost entirely incomprehensible through the volume distortion. "STRIFE?!—LITTLE—YOU'RE MAR—DIDN'T EVEN—ME?—FUCKING BITCH! HE'S—A SHOVEL—WEDNESDAY! I'LL—" Genesis hangs up. Kunsel will handle it. What a sweetheart.

On the topic of questions 1 and 2, um… I just wanna talk about the mayonnaise comment. Do you do that? Do you eat mayonnaise like peanut butter, straight out of the jar? Do you know someone who does? Sephiroth would. He totally would. But how did you come UP with that? I'm genuinely afraid?? Consider my timbers shivered? My boots quaked in?

Question 1: Yes, they do.

And, of course, just as Genesis settles into his couch-cocoon with a glass of Junon Noir wine, some fool begins to pound incessantly at his door. Really, everyone at this company has a death wish. When Genesis slams the door open, he has death in his eyes and fire in his hands, and he has every intention of making whichever cadet knocked on his door on his night off regret being born— "What's wrong with you? Why do you keep screwing everything up for me?" —except for the fact that the cadet in question is Cloud Strife in baby blue pajamas that cling to his body like they're one size too small, emphasizing the low taper of his waist and the slightest bit of muscular definition. And that doesn't protect Genesis from the way that Cloud's words sting, so it doesn't matter at all that the man is beautiful if he's going to throw the same accusation at him that Genesis has heard all his life, does it? "I'm serious. Why do my dormmates know that we're—we're married? They won't leave me alone!" Cloud hisses the word "married" as though he resents it, and it shouldn't hurt at all, but there's that ever-present monster inside of Genesis that can't help but wonder if it's truly so terrible to be married to him in no form but on paper. "If you resent our 'marriage' so much, I advise you file for divorce," Genesis murmurs coldly, turning to go back into his apartment. "No!" Cloud yelps. His hand latches onto Genesis' wrist, rough callouses scraping against smooth skin. The texture makes him wince, but it stops him in his tracks nonetheless, so he supposes that Cloud has accomplished something. "And why not? If I'm ruining everything, would it not be better to simply be done with me?" Genesis spits, letting the words fall at Cloud's feet, staring straight into the eyes of a man who won't even look at him. Cloud lets go of Genesis' arm. It falls listlessly to his side, pathetic and shaking ever so slightly. It feels cold where Cloud's hand just was, like his skin misses the warmth already, even though it was just fine before. "You know why I can't do that," Cloud finally says, pained. "I just…" "Just what?" "I—" "What, Strife?" "I can't sleep in my dorm right now, and Zack's gone." Cloud says. "I swear to Odin, Rhapsodos—" "Just get inside, Strife." Genesis lets out a long-suffering sigh, his eyes drifting towards the ceiling, all popcorn-paint and smoke stains.

Question 2:

After 6 hours of Genesis' impromptu one-man performances of Loveless, Cloud hits his breaking point and starts tweaking out the same way he does when Sephiroth tries to take over in Rebirth.

Genesis leaves all of the lights on, like a magical fairy will just walk through each room after him and turn them back off. This gets not only on Cloud's nerves, but Angeal's, too. They are the magical fairies turning the lights off.

During Yule, Cloud gets crazy into it in a way that you just wouldn't expect from him. Cloud's ugly sweater, which has Sephiroth on it, is the bane of Genesis' existence; he's literally tried to assassinate it. Shrink it in the wash, light in on fire, put it in the in-sink garbage disposal—nothing works. It just keeps coming back.

*marriage is a near-universal practice, though the details of the ritual/rite vary by culture and religion. It's difficult to say what the implications of marriage in the FF7 context would be, and I'm having a hard time figuring it out right now, but I'm certain that sexism is present in FF7. It's ingrained in the writers, which means that it'll end up ingrained in the story, which means that it'll end up ingrained in the world.

OH MY GOD I FINISHED IT. Almost 1.8k later and I finished answering this ask. I'm so glad you sent it. It took me an insanely long time to put together my answer, but I had a wonderful time! Always in the mood to talk about FF7 worldbuilding + give that some extra attention, and as usual, always excited to talk about my AUs! Again, thank you for this ask. It was a joy to work on lol.

If you're seeing this and you sent an ask earlier, this is why I haven't responded to you yet!

[ukrfeminism]

A lawyer and the government department she works with are being sued after she made gender-critical statements at work, including expressing the belief that only women menstruate. 

Elspeth Duemmer Wrigley works at an arm’s-length body affiliated to the Department for Environment Food & Rural Affairs (Defra) and is a chairwoman of a civil service network that represents staff with gender-critical views. 

She is one of three key signatories of an explosive letter sent in October to the cabinet secretary warning the impartiality of the civil service was under threat because anyone with gender-critical views was “openly and unlawfully bullied and harassed”. 

The confidential letter, seen by The Times, makes serious claims about a “small number of active gender ideologues” embedded in the civil service who brief against ministers and seek to alter official documents.

Duemmer Wrigley will appear at an employment tribunal next week accused of harassment for several comments and posts shared in the workplace. An employee of another body affiliated to Defra is suing the government department for allowing the network to exist and Duemmer Wrigley personally for her views. 

These include a statement made during a seminar on female autism that “only women menstruate” and a link to My Body is Me!, a book that encourages young children to understand and accept their bodies. A post in which she celebrates “diversity of belief” and explains that being gender-critical is a protected belief has also been penalised.

The Sex Equality and Equity Network (Seen) is an official civil service network with more than 700 members in 50 government departments who support the belief that biological sex is binary and immutable. Duemmer Wrigley is chairwoman of Defra’s Seen network and believes she is being targeted as a figurehead.

The claimant, who has not been named, has accused Defra bosses of creating a “intimidating, hostile, degrading, humiliating and/or offensive environment” and is calling for a disbanding of the departmental SEEN network and, potentially, the cross-governmental network as well. 

Duemmer Wrigley warns that if successful, the case would have a “chilling effect” that could silence all gender criticism in the civil service.

“[It] would effectively preclude any public gender-critical discourse in the workplace,” she writes in a statement. 

“It has been brought at a time when employees with gender-critical beliefs in many organisations, both in the civil service and beyond, are already facing vexatious, chilling or bullying attacks. I believe if this case succeeds, these attacks are likely to escalate. I believe if this case succeeds there will be no place in the civil service for those with sex realist views.”

It comes months after the letter to Simon Case, the head of the civil service, called for “urgent action to ensure that civil service impartiality is upheld, and freedom of belief is respected”.

It warns that unchallenged bias in relation to gender is having a direct impact on policy, based on interviews and evidence from SEEN members across government.

The letter cites efforts from some staff to “remove contributions to government consultations that relate to sex instead of gender” and “quietly briefing external organisations on how to circumnavigate ministerial direction”. 

It alleges there is an “active obfuscation of facts” among some trans activist civil servants to “prevent ministers seeing the impact of trans-inclusive policies” and evidence of internal policy being leaked to “partisan organisations”. 

Maya Forstater, executive director of Sex Matters, a human rights organisation that campaigns for clarity on sex in law, policy and language, said: “This is a shocking case, which follows revelations by civil servant whistleblowers about a ‘culture of fear’ among gender-critical civil servants across Whitehall. 

“It is not reasonable to view the existence of a network of gender-critical colleagues as ‘harassment’. 

“The civil service needs to have a robust culture of integrity, objectivity and accountability, and treat all its employees fairly. Civil servants should not expect to be kept “safe” from encountering ideas or people they don’t agree with.”

A government spokesman said: “We are unable to comment on ongoing legal proceedings.”