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blackswaneuroparedux · 3 years

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Anonymous asked: I have always appreciated your thoughtful views on the defence of the British monarchy, and as a university historian it’s reassuring to see someone using history to make invalubale insights to a controversial institution. I wonder what are your own thoughts on the passing of Prince Philip and what his legacy might be? Was he a gaffe prone racist and a liability to the Queen?

I know you kindly got in touch and identified yourself when you felt I was ignoring your question. I’m glad we cleared that up via DM. The truth is as I said and I’m saying here is that I had to let some time pass before I felt I could reasonably answer this question. Simply because - as you know as someone who teaches history at university - distance is good to make a sober appraisal rather than knee jerk in the moment judgements.

Contrary to what some might think I’m not really a fan girl when it comes to the royal family. I don’t religiously follow their every movement or utterance especially as I live in Paris and therefore I don’t really care about tabloid tittle tattle. I only get to hear of anything to do with the royal family when I speak to my parents or my great aunts and uncles for whom the subject is closer to their heart because of the services my family has rendered over past generations to the monarchy and the older (and dying) tight knit social circles they travel in.

Like Walter Bagehot, I’m more interested in the monarchy as an institution and its constitutional place within the historical, social, and political fabric of Britain and its continued delicate stabilising importance to that effect. It was Walter Bagehot, the great constitutional scholar and editor the Economist magazine, who said, “The mystic reverence, the religious allegiance, which are essential to a true monarchy, are imaginative sentiments that no legislature can manufacture in any people.” In his view, a politically-inactive monarchy served the best interests of the United Kingdom; by abstaining from direct rule, the monarch levitated above the political fray with dignity, and remained a respected personage to whom all subjects could look to as a guiding light.

Even as a staunch monarchist I freely confess that there has always been this odd nature of the relationship between hereditary monarchy and a society increasingly ambivalent about the institution. To paraphrase Bagehot again, there has been too much ‘daylight’ shone onto the ‘magic’ of the monarchy because we are obsessed with personalities as celebrities.

Having said that I did feel saddened by the passing of Prince Philip, the Duke of Edinburgh. After the Queen, he was my favourite royal. Anne, Princess Royal, would come next because she is very much like her father in temperament, humour, and character, so unlike her other brothers.

I have met the late Prince Philip when I was serving in the army in a few regimental meet-and-greet situations - which as you may know is pretty normal given that members of the royal family serve as honorary colonel-in-chiefs (patrons in effect) of all the British army regiments and corps.I also saw him at one or two social events such the annual charitable Royal Caledonian Ball (he’s an expert scottish reeler) and the Guards Polo Club where my older brothers played.

I’ll will freely confess that he was the one royal I could come close to identify with because his personal biography resonated with me a great deal.

Let’s be honest, the core Windsor family members, born to privilege, are conditioned and raised to be dull. Perhaps that’s a a tad harsh. I would prefer the term ‘anonymously self-effacing’, just another way of saying ‘for God’s sake don’t draw attention to yourself by saying or doing anything even mildly scandalous or political lest it invites public opprobrium and scrutiny’. The Queen magnificently succeeds in this but the others from Charles down just haven’t (with the exception of Princess Anne).

However, many people forget this obvious fact that it’s the incoming husbands and wives who marry into the Windsor family who are relied upon to bring colour and even liven things up a little. And long before Kate Middleton, Meghan Markle (very briefly), or Lady Diana Spencer, were the stars of ‘The Firm’- a phrase first coined by King George VI, Queen Elizabeth II's father who ruled from 1936 to 1952, who was thought to have wryly said, "British royals are 'not a family, we're a firm,” - it was Prince Philip who really livened things up and made the greater impact on the monarchy than any of them in the long term.

Prince Philip’s passing belied the truth of a far more complex individual: a destitute and penniless refugee Greek-Danish prince with a heart breaking backstory that could have been penned by any 19th Century novelist, and also eagle eyed reformer who tried to drag the royal family into the 20th century. At the core of the man - lost scion of a lost European royal dynasty, a courageous war veteran, and Queen’s consort - were values in which he attempted to transform and yet maintain much older inherited traditions and attitudes. Due to his great longevity, Philip’s life came to span a period of social change that is almost unprecedented, and almost no one in history viewed such a transformation from the front row.

Prince Philip would seem to represent in an acute form the best of the values of that era, which in many ways jar with today’s. He had fought with great courage in the war as a dashing young naval officer; he was regularly rude to foreigners, which was obviously a bonus to all Brits. He liked to ride and sail and shoot things. He was unsentimental almost to a comic degree, which felt reassuring at a time when a new-found emotional incontinence made many feel uncomfortable. Outrageous to some but endearing to others, he was the sort of man you’d want to go for a pint with, perhaps the ultimate compliment that an Englishman can pay to another Englishman. This has its own delicious irony as he wasn’t really an Englishman.

There are 4 takeways I would suggest in my appraisal of Prince Philip that stand out for me. So let me go through each one.

1. Prince Philip’s Internationalism

It may seem odd for me to say that Prince Philip wasn’t English but he wasn’t an Englishman in any real sense. He was a wretch of the world - stateless, homeless, and penniless. That the Prince of Nowhere became the British Monarchy’s figurehead was more than fitting for a great age of migration and transition in which the Royal Family survived and even flourished. That he was able to transform himself into the quintessential Englishman is testimony not just to his personal determination but also to the powerful cultural pull of Britishness.

He was born on a kitchen table in Corfu in June 1921. A year later in 1922, Philip, as the the great-great-grandson of Queen Victoria and nephew of Constantine I of Greece, was forced to flee with his family after the abdication of Constantine. He grew up outside Paris speaking French; ethnically he was mostly German although he considered himself Danish, his family originating from the Schleswig border region. He was in effect, despite his demeanour of Royal Navy officer briskness, a citizen of nowhere in an age of movement. From a very young age he was a stateless person, nationally homeless. Indeed, Philip was an outsider in a way that even Meghan Markle could never be; at his wedding in 1947, his three surviving sisters and two brothers-in-law were not permitted to attend because they were literally Britain’s enemies, having fought for the Germans. A third brother-in-law had even been in the SS, working directly for Himmler, but had been killed in the conflict.

Even his religion was slightly exotic. He was Greek Orthodox until he converted to Anglicanism on marrying Elizabeth - what with his wife due to become supreme head of the Church and everything - but his ties with eastern Christianity remained. His great-aunts Princess Elisabeth of Hesse and by Rhine and Tsarina Alexandra are both martyrs of the Russian Orthodox Church, having been murdered by the Bolsheviks; Philip’s mother went on to become an Orthodox nun and a “Righteous Among the Nations” for saving a Jewish family during the Nazi occupation of Greece, spending much of her time in squalid poverty.

His parents were part of the largely German extended aristocracy who ruled almost all of Europe before it all came crashing down in 1918. When he died, aged 99, it marked a near-century in which all the great ideological struggles had been and gone; he had been born before the Soviet Union but outlived the Cold War, the War on Terror and - almost - Covid-19.

The world that Philip was born into was a far more violent and dangerous place than ours. In the year he was born, Irish rebels were still fighting Black and Tans; over the course of 12 months the Spanish and Japanese prime ministers were assassinated, there was a coup in Portugal and race riots in the United States. Germany was rocked by violence from the far-Left and far-Right, while in Italy a brutal new political movement, the Fascists, secured 30 seats in parliament, led by a trashy journalist called Benito Mussolini.

The worst violence, however, took place in Greece and Turkey. Following the defeat of the Ottoman Empire, what remained of Turkey was marked for permanent enfeeblement by the Allies. But much to everyone’s surprise the country’s force were roused by the brilliant officer Mustafa Kemal, who led the Turks to victory. Constantinople was lost to Christendom for good and thousands of years of Hellenic culture was put to the flames in Smyrna.

The Greek royal family, north German imports shipped in during the 19th century, bore much of the popular anger for this disaster. King Constantine fled to Italy, and his brother Andrew was arrested and only escaped execution through the intervention of his relative Britain’s George V. Andrew’s wife Alice, their four daughters and infant son Philip fled to France, completely impoverished but with the one possession that ensures that aristocrats are never truly poor: connections.

Philip had a traumatic childhood. He was forged by the turmoil of his first decade and then moulded by his schooling. His early years were spent wandering, as his place of birth ejected him, his family disintegrated and he moved from country to country, none of them ever his own. When he was just a year old, he and his family were scooped up by a British destroyer from his home on the Greek island of Corfu after his father had been condemned to death. They were deposited in Italy. One of Philip's first international journeys was spent crawling around on the floor of the train from an Italian port city, "the grubby child on the desolate train pulling out of the Brindisi night," as his older sister Sophia later described it.

In Paris, he lived in a house borrowed from a relative; but it was not destined to become a home. In just one year, while he was at boarding school in Britain, the mental health of his mother, Princess Alice, deteriorated and she went into an asylum; his father, Prince Andrew, went off to Monte Carlo to live with his mistress. "I don't think anybody thinks I had a father," he once said. Andrew would die during the war. Philip went to Monte Carlo to pick up his father's possessions after the Germans had been driven from France; there was almost nothing left, just a couple of clothes brushes and some cuff-links.

Philip’s four sisters were all much older, and were soon all married to German aristocrats (the youngest would soon die in an aeroplane crash, along with her husband and children). His sisters became ever more embroiled in the German regime. In Scotland going to Gordonstoun boarding school, Philip went the opposite direction, becoming ever more British. Following the death of his sister Cecilie in a plane crash in 1937, the gulf widened. As the clouds of conflict gathered, the family simply disintegrated. With a flash of the flinty stoicism that many would later interpret, with no little justification, as self-reliance to the point of dispassion, the prince explained: “It’s simply what happened. The family broke up… I just had to get on with it. You do. One does.”

In the space of 10 years he had gone from a prince of Greece to a wandering, homeless, and virtually penniless boy with no-one to care for him. He got through it by making a joke of everything, and by being practical.

By the time he went to Gordonstoun, a private boarding school on the north coast of Scotland, Philip was tough, independent and able to fend for himself; he'd had to be. Gordonstoun would channel those traits into the school's distinct philosophy of community service, teamwork, responsibility and respect for the individual. And it sparked one of the great passions of Philip's life - his love of the sea. It was Gordonstoun that nurtured that love through the maturation of his character.

Philip adored the school as much as his son Charles would despise it. Not just because the stress it put on physical as well as mental excellence - he was a great sportsman. But because of its ethos, laid down by its founder Kurt Hahn, a Jewish exile from Nazi Germany.

Hahn first met Philip as a boy in Nazi Germany. Through a connection via one of his sister’s husbands, Philip, the poor, lonely boy was first sent off to a new school - in Nazi Germany. Which was as fun as can be imagined. Schloss Salem had been co-founded by stern educator called Kurt Hahn, a tough, discipline-obsessed conservative nationalist who saw civilisation in inexorable decline. But by this stage Hahn, persecuted for being Jewish in Nazi Germany, had fled to Britain, and Philip did not spend long at the school either, where pressure from the authorities was already making things difficult for the teachers. Philip laughed at the Nazis at first, because their salute was the same gesture the boys at his previous school had to make when they wanted to go to the toilet, but within a year he was back in England, a refugee once again.

Philip happily attended Hahn’s new school, Gordonstoun, which the strict disciplinarian had set up in the Scottish Highlands. Inspired by Ancient Sparta, the boys (and then later girls) had to run around barefoot and endure cold showers, even in winter, the whole aim of which was to drive away the inevitable civilisational decay Hahn saw all around him. To 21st century ears it sounds like hell on earth, yet Philip enjoyed it, illustrating just what a totally alien world he came from.

That ethos became a significant, perhaps the significant, part of the way that Philip believed life should be lived. It shines through the speeches he gave later in his life. "The essence of freedom," he would say in Ghana in 1958, "is discipline and self-control." The comforts of the post-war era, he told the British Schools Exploring Society a year earlier, may be important "but it is much more important that the human spirit should not be stifled by easy living". And two years before that, he spoke to the boys of Ipswich School of the moral as well as material imperatives of life, with the "importance of the individual" as the "guiding principle of our society".

It was at Gordonstoun one of the great contradictions of Philip's fascinating life was born. The importance of the individual was what in Kurt Hahn's eyes differentiated Britain and liberal democracies from the kind of totalitarian dictatorship that he had fled. Philip put that centrality of the individual, and individual agency - the ability we have as humans to make our own moral and ethical decisions - at the heart of his philosophy.

At Dartmouth Naval College in 1939, the two great passions of his life would collide. He had learned to sail at Gordonstoun; he would learn to lead at Dartmouth. And his driving desire to achieve, and to win, would shine through. Despite entering the college far later than most other cadets, he would graduate top of his class in 1940. In further training at Portsmouth, he gained the top grade in four out of five sections of the exam. He became one of the youngest first lieutenants in the Royal Navy.

The navy ran deep in his family. His maternal grandfather had been the First Sea Lord, the commander of the Royal Navy; his uncle, "Dickie" Mountbatten, had command of a destroyer while Philip was in training. In war, he showed not only bravery but guile. It was his natural milieu. "Prince Philip", wrote Gordonstoun headmaster Kurt Hahn admiringly, "will make his mark in any profession where he will have to prove himself in a trial of strength".

2. Prince Philip and the modernisation of the monarchy

In his own words, the process of defining what it meant to be a royal consort was one of “trial and error.” Speaking with BBC One’s Fiona Bruce in 2011, Philip explained, “There was no precedent. If I asked somebody, 'What do you expect me to do?' they all looked blank. They had no bloody idea, nobody had much idea.” So he forged for himself a role as a moderniser of the monarchy.

He could not have had much idea back in 1939. Back then in Dartmouth in 1939, as war became ever more certain, the navy was his destiny. He had fallen in love with the sea itself. "It is an extraordinary master or mistress," he would say later, "it has such extraordinary moods." But a rival to the sea would come.

When King George VI toured Dartmouth Naval College, accompanied by Philip's uncle, he brought with him his daughter, Princess Elizabeth. Philip was asked to look after her. He showed off to her, vaulting the nets of the tennis court in the grounds of the college. He was confident, outgoing, strikingly handsome, of royal blood if without a throne. She was beautiful, a little sheltered, a little serious, and very smitten by Philip.

Did he know then that this was a collision of two great passions? That he could not have the sea and the beautiful young woman? For a time after their wedding in 1948, he did have both. As young newlyweds in Malta, he had what he so prized - command of a ship - and they had two idyllic years together. But the illness and then early death of King George VI brought it all to an end.

He knew what it meant, the moment he was told. Up in a lodge in Kenya, touring Africa, with Princess Elizabeth in place of the King, Philip was told first of the monarch's death in February 1952. He looked, said his equerry Mike Parker, "as if a ton of bricks had fallen on him". For some time he sat, slumped in a chair, a newspaper covering his head and chest. His princess had become the Queen. His world had changed irrevocably.

While the late Princess Diana was later to famously claim that there were “three people” in her marriage - herself, Prince Charles and Camilla - there were at least 55 million in Philip and Elizabeth’s. As Elizabeth dedicated her life to her people at Westminster Abbey at the Coronation on June 2, 1953, it sparked something of an existential crisis in Philip. Many people even after his death have never really understood this pivotal moment in Philip’s life. All his dreams of being a naval officer and a life at sea as well as being the primary provider and partner in his marriage were now sacrificed on the altar of duty and love.

With his career was now over, and he was now destined to become the spare part. Philip, very reasonably, asked that his future children and indeed his family be known by his name, Mountbatten. In effect he was asking to change the royal family’s name from the House of Windsor to the House of Mountbatten. But when Prime Minister Winston Churchill got wind of it as well as the more politically agile courtiers behind the Queen, a prolonged battle of wits ensued, and it was one Philip ultimately lost. It was only in 1957 that he accepted the title of “Prince.”

Even though he had almost lost everything dear to him and his role now undefined, he didn’t throw himself a pity party. He just got on with it. Philip tried to forge his own distinct role as second fiddle to the woman who had come to represent Great Britain. He designated himself the First Officer of the Good Ship Windsor. He set about dusting off some of the cobwebs off the throne and letting some daylight unto the workings of the monarchy by advocating reasonable amount of modernisation of the monarchy.

He had ideas about modernising the royal family that might be called “improving optics” today. But in his heart of hearts he didn’t want the monarchy to become a stuffy museum piece. He envisaged a less stuffy and more popular monarchy, relevant to the lives of ordinary people. Progress was always going to be incremental as he had sturdy opposition from the old guard who wanted to keep everything as it was, but nevertheless his stubborn energy resulted in significant changes.

When a commission chaired by Prince Philip proposed broadcasting the 1953 investiture ceremony that formally named Elizabeth II as queen on live television, Prime Minister Winston Churchill reacted with outright horror, declaring, “It would be unfitting that the whole ceremony should be presented as if it were a theatrical performance.” Though the queen had initially voiced similar concerns, she eventually came around to the idea, allowing the broadcast of all but one segment of the coronation. Ultimately, according to the BBC, more than 20 million people tuned in to the televised ceremony - a credit to the foresight of Philip.

Elizabeth’s coronation marked a watershed moment for a monarchy that has, historically, been very hands off, old-fashioned and slightly invisible. Over the following years, the royals continued to embrace television as a way of connecting with the British people: In 1957, the queen delivered her annual Christmas address during a live broadcast. Again, this was Philip’s doing when he cajoled the Queen to televise her message live. He even helped her in how to use the teleprompter to get over her nerves and be herself on screen.

Four years later, in 1961, Philip became the first family member to sit for a television interview. It is hard for us to imagine now but back then it was huge. For many it was a significant step in modernising the monarchy.

Though not everything went to plan. Toward the end of the decade, the Windsors even invited cameras into their home. A 1969 BBC fly-on-the-wall documentary, instigated by Philip to show life behind the scenes, turned into an unmitigated disaster: “The Windsors” revealed the royals to be a fairly normal, if very rich, British upper-class family who liked barbecues, ice cream, watching television and bickering. The mystery of royalty took a hit below the waterline from their own torpedo, a self-inflicted wound from which they took a long time to recover. Shown once, the documentary was never aired again. But it had an irreversible effect, and not just by revealing the royals to be ordinary. By allowing the cameras in, Philip opened the lid to the prying eyes of the paparazzi who could legitimately argue that since the Royals themselves had sanctioned exposure, anything went. From then on, minor members of the House of Windsor were picked off by the press, like helpless tethered animals on a hunting safari.

Prince Philip also took steps to reorganise and renovate the royal estates in Sandringham and Balmoral such as intercoms, modern dish washers, generally sought to make the royal household and the monarchy less stuffy, not to have so much formality everywhere.

Philip helped modernised the monarchy in other ways to acknowledge that the monarchy could be responsive to changes in society. It was Prince Philip - much to the chagrin of the haughty Princess Margaret and other stuffy old courtiers - who persuaded the Queen to host informal lunches and garden parties designed to engage a broader swath of the British public. Conversely, Prince Philip heartily encouraged the Queen (she was all for it apparently but was still finding her feet as a new monarch) to end the traditional practice of presenting debutantes from aristocratic backgrounds at court in 1952. For Philip and others it felt antiquated and out of touch with society. I know in speaking to my grandmother and others in her generation the decision was received with disbelief at how this foreign penniless upstart could come and stomp on the dreams of mothers left to clutch their pearls at the prospect there would be no shop window for their daughter to attract a suitable gentleman for marriage. One of my great aunts was over the moon happy that she never would have to go through what she saw as a very silly ceremony because she preferred her muddy wellies to high heels.

A former senior member of the royal household, who spent several years working as one of Prince Philip’s aides, and an old family friend, once told us around a family dinner table that the Duke of Edinburgh was undoubtedly given a sense of permanence by his marriage into the Royal Family that was missing from earlier years. But the royal aide would hastily add that Prince Philip, of course, would never see it that way.

Prince Philip’s attitude was to never brood on things or seek excuses. And he did indeed get on with the job in his own way - there should be no doubt that when it came to building and strengthening the Royal Family it was a partnership of equals with the Queen. Indeed contrary to Netflix’s hugely popular series ‘The Crown’ and its depiction of the royal marriage with Philip’s resentment at playing second fiddle, the prince recognised that his “first duty was to serve the Queen in the best way I could,” as he told ITV in 2011. Though this role was somewhat ill-suited to his dynamic, driven, and outspoken temperament, Philip performed it with utter devotion.

3. Prince Philip’s legacy

One could argue rightly that modernising the monarchy was his lasting legacy achievement. But he also tried to modernise a spent and exhausted Britain as it emerged from a ruinous war. When peace came, and with it eventual economic recovery, Philip would throw himself into the construction of a better Britain, urging the country to adopt scientific methods, embracing the ideas of industrial design, planning, education and training. A decade before Harold Wilson talked of the "white heat of the technological revolution", Philip was urging modernity on the nation in speeches and interviews. He was on top of his reading of the latest scientific breakthroughs and well read in break out innovations.

This interest in modernisation was only matched by his love for nature. As the country and the world became richer and consumed ever more, Philip warned of the impact on the environment, well before it was even vaguely fashionable. As president of the World Wildlife Fund (WWF) in the UK for more than 20 years from 1961, he was one of the first high-profile advocates of the cause of conservation and biological diversity at a time when it was considered the preserve of an eccentric few.

For a generation of school children in Britain and the Commonwealth though, his most lasting legacy and achievement will be the Duke of Edinburgh Awards (DofE). He set up the Duke of Edinburgh award, a scheme aimed at getting young people out into nature in search of adventure or be of service to their communities. It was a scheme that could match the legacy of Baden Powell’s scouts movement.

When Prince Philip first outlined his idea of a scheme to harness the values of his education at Gordonstoun by bringing character-building outdoor pursuits to the many rather than the fee-paying few, he received short shrift from the government of the day. The then minister of education, Sir David Eccles responded to the Duke’s proposal by saying: “I hear you’re trying to invent something like the Hitler Youth.” Undeterred he pushed on until it came to fruition.

I’m so glad that he did. I remember how proud I was for getting my DofE Awards while I was at boarding school. With the support of great mentors I managed to achieve my goals: collecting second-hand English books for a literacy programme for orphaned street children in Delhi, India with a close Indian school friend and her family; and completing a 350 mile hike following St. Olav’s Pilgrimmage Trail from Selånger, on the east coast of Sweden, and ending at Nidaros Cathedral in Trondheim, on the west coast of Norway.

It continues to be an enduring legacy. Since its launch in 1956, the Duke of Edinburgh awards have been bestowed upon some 2.5 million youngsters in Britain and some eight million worldwide. For a man who once referred to himself as a “Greek princeling of no consequence”, his pioneering tutelage of these two organisations (alongside some 778 other organisations of which he was either president or a patron) would be sufficient legacy for most.

4. Prince Philip’s character

It may surprise some but what I liked most about Prince Philip was the very thing that helped him achieve so much and leave a lasting legacy: his character.

It is unhelpful to the caricature of Prince Philip as an unwavering but pugnacious consort whose chief talent was a dizzying facility in off-colour one-liners that he was widely read and probably the cleverest member of his family.

His private library at Windsor consists of 11,000 tomes, among them 200 volumes of poetry. He was a fan of Jung, TS Eliot, Shakespeare and the cookery writer Elizabeth David. As well as a lifelong fascination with science, technology and sport, he spoke fairly fluent French, painted and wrote a well received book on birds. It’s maddening to think how many underestimated his genuine intellect and how cultured he was behind the crusty exterior.

He didn’t have an entourage to fawn around him. He was the first to own a computer at Buckingham Palace. He answered his own phone and wrote and responded to his own correspondence. By force of character he fought the old guard courtiers at every turn to modernise the monarchy against their stubborn resistance.

Prince Philip was never given to self-analysis or reflection on the past. Various television interviewers tried without success to coerce him in to commenting on his legacy.But once when his guard was down he asked on the occasion of his 90th birthday what he was more proud of, he replied with characteristic bluntness: “I couldn’t care less. Who cares what I think about it, I mean it’s ridiculous.”

All of which neatly raises the profound aversion to fuss and the proclivity for tetchiness often expressed in withering put-downs that, for better or worse, will be the reflex memory for many of the Duke of Edinburgh. If character is a two edged sword so what of his gaffes?

There is no doubt his cult status partly owed to his so-called legendary gaffes, of which there are enough to fill a book (indeed there is a book). But he was no racist. None of the Commonwealth people or foreign heads of state ever said this about him. Only leftist republicans with too much Twitter time on their hands screamed such a ridiculous accusation. They’re just overly sensitive snowflakes and being devoid of any humour they’re easily triggered.

There was the time that Philip accepted a gift from a local in Kenya, telling her she was a kind woman, and then adding: “You are a woman, aren’t you?” Or the occasion he remarked “You managed not to get eaten, then?” to a student trekking in Papua New Guinea. Then there was his World Wildlife Fund speech in 1986, when he said: “If it has got four legs and it is not a chair, if it has got two wings and it flies but is not an aeroplane, and if it swims and it is not a submarine, the Cantonese will eat it.” Well, he wasn’t wrong.

Philip quickly developed a reputation for what he once defined, to the General Dental Council, as “dentopedology – the science of opening your mouth and putting your foot in it”. Clearly he could laugh at himself as he often did as an ice breaker to put others at ease.

His remarking to the president of Nigeria, who was wearing national dress, “You look like you’re ready for bed”, or advising British students in China not to stay too long or they would end up with “slitty eyes”, is probably best written off as ill-judged humour. Telling a photographer to “just take the fucking picture” or declaring “this thing open, whatever it is”, were expressions of exasperation or weariness with which anyone might sympathise.

Above all, he was also capable of genuine if earthy wit, saying of his horse-loving daughter Princess Anne: “If it doesn’t fart or eat hay she isn’t interested.” Many people might have thought it but few dared say it. If Prince Philip’s famous gaffes provoked as much amusement as anger, it was precisely because they seem to give voice to the bewilderment and pent-up frustrations with which many people viewed the ever-changing modern world.

A former royal protection officer recounts how while on night duty guarding a visiting Queen and consort, he engaged in conversation with colleagues on a passing patrol. It was 2am and the officer had understood the royal couple to be staying elsewhere in the building until a window above his head was abruptly slammed open and an irate Prince Philip stuck his head out of the window to shout: “Would you fuck off!” Without another word, he then shut the window.

The Duke at least recognised from an early age that he was possessed of an abruptness that could all too easily cross the line from the refreshingly salty to crass effrontery.

One of his most perceptive biographers, Philip Eade, recounted how at the age of 21 the prince wrote a letter to a relation whose son had recently been killed in combat. He wrote: “I know you will never think much of me. I am rude and unmannerly and I say things out of turn which I realise afterwards must have hurt someone. Then I am filled with remorse and I try to put matters right.”

In the case of the royal protection officer, the Duke turned up in the room used by the police officers when off duty and said: “Terribly sorry about last night, wasn’t quite feeling myself.”

Aides have also ventured to explain away some of their employer’s more outlandish remarks - from asking Cayman islanders “You are descended from pirates aren’t you?” to enquiring of a female fashion writer if she was wearing mink knickers - as the price of his instinctive desire to prick the pomposity of his presence with a quip to put others at ease.

Indeed many people forget that his ‘gaffes’ were more typical of the clubbish humour of the British officer class – which of course would be less appreciated, sometimes even offensive, to other ears. It’s why he could relate so well to veterans who enjoyed his bonhomie company immensely.

But behind the irascibility, some have argued there also lay a darker nature, unpleasantly distilled in his flinty attitude to his eldest son. One anecdote tells of how, in the aftermath of the murder of the Duke’s uncle and surrogate father, Lord Mountbatten, Philip lectured his son, who was also extremely fond of his “honorary grandfather”, that he was not to succumb to self-pity. Charles left the room in tears and when his father was asked why he had spoken to his son with so little compassion, the Duke replied: “Because if there’s any crying to be done I want it to happen within this house, in front of his family, not in public. He must be toughened up, right now.”

But here I would say that Prince Philip’s intentions were almost always sincere and in no way cruel. He has always tried to protect his family - even from their own worst selves or from those outside the family ‘firm’ who may not have their best interest at heart.

In 1937, a 16-year-old Prince Philip had walked behind his elder sister Cecile’s coffin after she was killed in a plane crash while heavily pregnant. The remains of newly-born infant found in the wreckage suggested the aircraft had perished as the pilot sought to make an emergency landing in fog as the mother entered childbirth. It was an excruciating taste of tragedy which would one day manifest itself in a very princely form of kindness that was deep down that defined Philip’s character.

When about 60 years later Prime Minister Tony Blair’s spin doctors in Downing Street tried to strong arm the Queen and the royal household over the the arrangements for the late Prince Diana’s funeral, it was Philip who stepped in front to protect his family. The Prime Minister and his media savvy spin doctors wanted the two young princes, William and Harry, to walk behind the coffin.

The infamous exchange was on the phone during a conference call between London and Balmoral, and the emotional Philip was reportedly backed by the Queen. The call was witnessed by Anji Hunter, who worked for Mr Blair. She said how surprised she was to hear Prince Philip’s emotion. ‘It’s about the boys,” he cried, “They’ve lost their mother”. Hunter thought to herself, “My God, there’s a bit of suffering going on up there”.’

Sky TV political commentator Adam Boulton (Anji Hunter’s husband) would write in his book Tony’s Ten Years: ‘The Queen relished the moment when Philip bellowed over the speakerphone from Balmoral, “Fuck off. We are talking about two boys who have just lost their mother”. Boulton goes on to say that Philip: ‘…was trying to remind everyone that human feelings were involved. No 10 were trying to help the Royals present things in the best way, but may have seemed insensitive.’

In the end the politicians almost didn’t get their way. Prince Philip stepped in to counsel his grandson, Prince William, after he had expressed a reluctance to follow his mother’s coffin after her death in Paris. Philip told the grieving child: “If you don’t walk, I think you’ll regret it later. If I walk, will you walk with me?”

It’s no wonder he was sought as a counsellor by other senior royals and especially close to his grandchildren, for whom he was a firm favourite. His relationship with Harry was said to have become strained, however, following the younger Prince’s decision to reject his royal inheritance for a life away from the public eye in America with his new American wife, Meghan Markle. For Prince Philip I am quite sure it went against all the elder Prince had lived his life by - self-sacrifice for the greater cause of royalty.

This is the key to Philip’s character and in understanding the man. The ingrained habits of a lifetime of duty and service in one form or another were never far away.

In conclusion then....

After more time passes I am sure historians will make a richer reassessment of Prince Philip’s life and legacy. Because Prince Philip was an extraordinary man who lived an extraordinary life; a life intimately connected with the sweeping changes of our turbulent 20th Century, a life of fascinating contrast and contradiction, of service and some degree of solitude. A complex, clever, eternally restless man that not even the suffocating protocols of royalty and tradition could bind him.

Although he fully accepted the limitations of public royal service, he did not see this as any reason for passive self-abnegation, but actively, if ironically, identified with his potentially undignified role. It is this bold and humorous embrace of fated restriction which many now find irksome: one is no longer supposed to mix public performance with private self-expression in quite this manner.

Yet such a mix is authentically Socratic: the proof that the doing of one’s duty can also be the way of self-fulfilment. The Duke’s sacrifice of career to romance and ceremonial office is all the more impressive for his not hiding some annoyance. The combination of his restless temperament and his deeply felt devotion to duty found fruitful expression; for instance, in the work of Saint George’s House Windsor - a centre and retreat that he created with Revd. Robin Woods - in exploring religious faith, philosophy, and contemporary issues.

Above all he developed a way to be male that was both traditional and modern. He served one woman with chivalric devotion as his main task in life while fulfilling his public engagements in a bold and active spirit. He eventually embraced the opportunity to read and contemplate more. And yet, he remained loyal to the imperatives of his mentor Kurt Hahn in seeking to combine imagination with action and religious devotion with practical involvement.

Prince Philip took more pride in the roles he had accidentally inherited than in the personal gifts which he was never able fully to develop. He put companionship before self-realisation and acceptance of a sacred symbolic destiny before the mere influencing of events. In all these respects he implicitly rebuked our prevailing meritocracy which over-values officially accredited attainment, and our prevailing narcissism which valorises the assertion of discrete identities.

Prince Philip was Britain’s longest-serving consort. He was steadfast, duty driven, and a necessary adjunct to the continuity and stability of the Queen and the monarchy. Of all the institutions that have lost the faith of the British public in this period - the Church, Parliament, the media, the police - the Monarchy itself has surprisingly done better than most at surviving, curiously well-adapted to a period of societal change and moral anarchy. The House of Hanover and later Saxe-Coburg and Gotha (changed to Windsor), since their arrival in this country in 1714, have been noted above all for their ability to adapt. And just as they survived the Victorian age by transforming themselves into the bourgeoise, domestic ideal, so they have survived the new Elizabethan era (Harry-Meghan saga is just a passing blip like the Edward-Wallis Simpson saga of the 1930s).

There was once a time when the Royal’s German blood was a punchline for crude and xenophobic satirists. Now it is the royals who are deeply British while the country itself is increasingly cosmopolitan and globalised. British society has seen a greater demographic change than the preceding four or five thousand years combined, the second Elizabethan age has been characterised more than anything by a transformational movement of people. Prince Philip, the Greek-born, Danish-German persecuted and destitute wanderer who came to become one of the Greatest Britons of the past century, perhaps epitomised that era better than anyone else. And he got through it by making a joke of everything, and by being practical.

I hope I don’t exaggerate when I say that in our troubled times over identity, and our place and purpose in the world, we need to heed his selfless example more than ever.

As Heraclitus wisely said, Ήθος ανθρώπω δαίμων (Character is destiny.)

RIP Prince Philip. You were my prince. God damn you, I miss you already.

Thanks for your question.

#question #ask #prince philip #duke of edinburgh #queen elizabeth II #the queen of spades #monarchy #britain #british #royalty #politics #history #culture #europe #crown #icon #great briton #society

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bigilante · 3 years

Text

— 𝕤𝕖𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕕 𝕤𝕖𝕝𝕗 ❣ 𝕙.𝕠

⌜mature content • minors do not interact⌟

「 contents: mature language + handjob ━━━━━ word count: 2.4k 」

: a.n : hiya! it's been long since i last posted something but here i am! this is my entry for @worldoftom's lolbrosgetsicktoo writing challenge. be gentle with me please, i'm really awkward writing in second person but i really wanted to make this gender-neutral.

: prompt : Harrison injures his right hand. He’s sexually frustrated, and his left hand just isn’t doing the job. Reader notices something is up with her poor roommate, and asks if there’s anything she can do to help. Even though they haven’t been anything more than friends up to this point, reader offers to “give him a hand,” or whatever of her other body parts he likes.

For two weeks Harrison had had his right hand clasped in a splint from taking a rather nasty fall from his skateboard. The night he had come home from the park with his jeans ripped on the knees and his hand clutched to his chest you hadn’t wasted a second to start taking the piss out of him at the clear picture of him eating shit at the skatepark but when he let out a pained groan after trying to take his jacket off your laughter died down and worry settled on the pit of your stomach.

His hand turned out to be badly sprained and well, the next couple of weeks had been spent in him trying to navigate his days with his non-dominant hand and with the initial panic of your roommate hurting himself gone you resumed the lighthearted piss-taking. Although he laughed with you at the jokes you made you could see how it really bugged him that he wasn’t as useful and agile with his right hand being in mandatory rest. “Told you, H. Whatever you have trouble with I can give you a hand.” You reminded him waving both your hands in front of you in a somewhat mocking manner.

“Yeah, heard you the first time.” He grumbled while struggling to button up his dress shirt. “Damn it.” The blonde cursed under his breath when his fingers seemed to not be working properly. That was enough for you to put your cup of tea down on the breakfast bar to walk up to him taking over the task he was growing frustrated with. He sighed defeated, letting his hands drop to his sides allowing you to close his shirt for him.

“Really, Harrison. I don’t mind helping you out.” The reassurance prompted Harrison to nod in understanding, running his fingers through his hair clearly irked by his situation. As if after you repeating it ninety-nine times before hadn’t sunk into his brain until the hundredth. “There you go, all done.” You patted his chest a couple of times then stepped back away from him to grab your mug again watching him leave the flat in a hurry after thanking you. You had been joking about what happened to him but you really felt bad for him, Harrison was a very active and independent guy who rarely asked for help and now that he was close to useless at doing simple tasks you could see how much it troubled him.

In the evening when he returned home he headed directly to the bathroom barely uttering a greeting back when you welcomed him, the sound of the running water splashing around let you know he was running a bath, you sighed at the fact that he had beaten you to run one for yourself though you were still busy making dinner for the both of you you didn’t duel much on it. About thirty minutes had passed since he went in for his bath and you figured it’ll be enough time for him to be about done with it to come out and eat, hence you walking up to the end of the hallway to knock on the door to make him aware that the food was ready.

However, the noise of water splashing a bit too aggressively accompanied by Harrison’s angry cursing made you believe something was wrong. With not much time to think you tried for the door and found it unlocked, swinging it open swiftly. “Are you okay!?” You asked in a panic, eyes wide when you saw the walls dripping and the floor flooded with soapy water. “Are you hurt?” You insisted, daring to step inside the room, bare feet coming in contact with the wet ground making comical splashing sounds.

“Yeah-no. I just…” He frantically tried to gather the few bubbles that floated on the scarcely-filled tub, bringing them closer to his body to cover himself a little.

“You just what, H?” Your voice still held concern and he noticed, finally looking up at you with seemingly pleading eyes. “You need help with your back or what is it?”

“No, y/n.” He huffed, brushing his wet hair back with his splinted hand wincing a little with the action. “This time you really can’t help me, alright? Just, let me get dressed.”

“Harrison, I told you I don’t mind help—” You started but was soon cut by the blonde’s voice rising above his usual level.

“I need a wank! That’s what I need. And my fucking left hand ain’t cutting it anymore.” Harrison blurted out a bit worked up, breathing heavily with cheeks burning hot showing in a bright crimson colour that stood out against his milky skin. Your mouth closed immediately after he acknowledged his problem, a warmth crept up your neck settling comfortably on the apples of your cheeks as your fingers toyed aimlessly with the hem of your oversized bed t-shirt. He wasn’t looking at you anymore, he had thrown his head back on the edge of the tub and covered his eyes with his injured hand while the other was under the water.

The way the muscles of his arm were flexed made the heat of your cheeks travelled to new places that could be labelled as inappropriate. Boldly, you stepped further into the room your steps marked by the sloppy meeting of them with the soaked tiles, not knowing exactly how you conjured the confidence to do so. “I-I don’t mind... helping,” You stuttered out, stopping right by his side. Wide eyes hanging on the young man’s hidden face that was instantly revealed as soon as those words left your lips.

“What!? Don’t be silly, y/n. I could never ask you to do that.” He sat up, making starts to get up but you stopped him by placing a hand on his bare shoulder keeping him inside the tub.

“You’re not asking, I’m offering.” You gave him a sincere smile, irises dancing between his crystal clear ones as you waited for him to accept or decline your proposal. Harrison’s teeth clenched as he swallowed thickly making his jawline look even sharper. When he delayed in giving you an answer you felt as if you had overstepped his boundaries and panic began to invade you fast.

“Okay.” He agreed with a nearly imperceptible wobble in his voice. “But don’t look at it. It’ll make me feel less guilty if you don’t know what it looks like.” The chuckle he let out was nervous and awkward, causing you to match it with one of your own as you nodded your head.

“Okay, I won’t look.” You declared, pressing your lips together before sinking to your knees right beside the bathtub sitting comfortably on your folded legs. Taking in a deep breath you reached for his left forearm with your right hand, eyes focused on the edge of the porcelain trying your best not to look down as you let your hand trail down his arm ultimately meeting his own hand under the lukewarm water. “Let go.” In a soft voice, you requested. Harrison exhaled through his nose prompting you to shift your gaze from the tub to his face, sending him a reassuring nod and a faint smile, those sufficient for him let you hold him inhaling a tad sharply when you did.

With your hand now wrapped around his girth, you started to give him slow and long rubs with a fairly firm grip. Since your eyes were still on him you saw him sigh, momentarily closing his eyes with the first few strokes, his lips pressed together as he breathed through each caress you provided. It was hypnotising seeing him in that way: head thrown back, eyes closed, flushed face, brows pinched together; adding to all of that he was completely naked and splattered with water droplets. Your tongue darted out to wet your suddenly dry lips, swallowing thickly at the scene in front of you, subconsciously your grasp on the man’s erection tightened enough to make him let out an involuntary moan that echoed throughout the tiled room, travelling through your ears and finding a new home deep inside your brain.

Again, —you thought— do it again. You now craved his pleasure noises, with a new goal you lifted yourself from your sitting position back into your knees so you could move your arm at a faster pace, wrist twisting every now and again succeeding at drawing more moans out of your roommate. A whimper left your throat when your arm started to grow tired from the motion and the pressure of the ceramic edge underneath it prompting Harrison’s eyes to shoot open and you swore you felt him twitch against your palm. “S-sorry, my arm got sore.” You let out an embarrassed laugh when your eyes met his, your whole face burning hot.

The aching of your arm combined itself with the soreness of your knees forcing you to stand up and let go of Harrison in the process, with little time to think twice you swung your leg over the edge of the bathtub soon followed by the other before you found a comfortable new position straddling the blonde’s bare thighs. The weight of you coming into the water raised the level of it, permitting it to soak the bottom half of your top, Harrison’s eyes never left your figure as you moved that much closer to him, his stomach was a little sucked in as if he was holding in his breath. “Is this okay?” You quizzed, noting that you sitting on him might be too much.

“Ye-yeah.” He breathed out in a hurry. You proceeded to resume your ministrations now with a better angle and an additional hand to give your right one a minute of rest. The movement of the water around you both and Harrison’s heavy breathing was the only things that could be heard in the bathroom of your quiet flat. The view was intoxicating; chiselled chest heaving, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed, jaw slacked, pink lips parted and eyes screw shut. You found it next to impossible to reap your gaze from the guy in front of you, the way he was reacting to your touch was rapidly becoming your favourite thing and you wanted more of him, your thighs tightened over his when he let out a particularly loud moan and you had to blink a few times to try and restore your morality without much success.

“Are you close?” Your voice filled the air around you, it surprised both of you for you didn’t know you had it in you to ask such a question when you were trying to keep your composure in front of the man. Harrison’s eyes were half-opened and on you the second you asked, the intensity of them draw you in closer and closer to his face until your forehead was pressed against his tentatively. Soon his healthy hand was back under the water only this time it landed on your bare thigh gripping it tightly, the simple touch causing your breath to match his ragged one, mixing together from the close proximity of your faces.

“Fuck, don’t stop.” Harrison ordered with a deep groan as his body began to tense up underneath you. You took the cue and doubled your efforts with both your hands subconsciously whispering encouragements eliciting louder moans from him. His poorly hand came up to cup the back of your neck, holding you in place —as if you really had the intention to move away— while his high very evidently approached. “Fuck, y/n.” The blue-eyed boy moaned in your face luring a whine out of your throat at the sound of your name being called in such a way.

“Cum for me,” You encouraged him, nudging his nose with yours silently prompting him to look at you, and he did. Hooded eyes fixed on yours mere centimetres away that you could feel his lips ghosting over your own teasingly, warm breath fanning over them. “Harri, c’mon.” A whisper was all you could manage at that moment. Your own throat had grown dry and you had to suppress the mewls that threatened to leave your chest when you started to feel his cock twitching in your hands. A loud grunt got stuck in the man’s throat the moment he toppled over the edge, his length spasming in your grip as you so clearly sensed it unload under the now cool water, the temperature of the liquids contrasting against your skin when his seed landed on your hands as it sank.

Harrison’s body shuddered with each slow stroke you gave him to help him ride his orgasm, moans continued to fall from his parted lips. He swallowed, finally releasing your neck from the clasp to be able to relax back in the tub letting out a long and deep sigh of content. You couldn’t help but feel disappointed the moment he pulled away but it was for the best, you couldn’t be wishing for him to do something for you when you were perfectly capable of taking care of yourself.

That was when it hit you, the position you were in wasn’t appropriate at all, it didn’t matter how willing you were to be his second self surely giving him manual relief was a step too far. So with overwhelming shame, you let go of him, leaning to the side to take hold of the edge of the tub, pulling yourself up to your feet in a daze. The water that dripped down from your soaked t-shirt far too noisy in your ears as they buzzed with the adrenaline that still coursed through your body, the wet fabric sticking to your skin making you self-aware that it was now see-through so you hurried to the railing stuck to the wall and grabbed one of the towels, quickly wrapping it around your waist.

Embarrassed, you started for the door, holding the doorknob ready to leave the room, “Di-dinner’s ready.” You acknowledged shyly, the tremble in your voice giving your remorse away. You frantically shuffled on your feet stepping out of the room and closing the door behind you. There was a weird feeling in the pits of your stomach, you knew you felt embarrassed of what had just happened yet, that wasn’t it, it was almost like a craving. A craving for his touch and that made the shame feel ten times worse. You marched to your room locking yourself in, forgetting about your dinner plate that was sitting on the kitchen counter, your hunger long gone. Though, despite the mortification, there was a new much problematic sort of appetite tingling deep inside you and the throbbing between your legs made it much too hard to ignore.

【 thank you so much for reading! ♡ please, consider reblogging and letting me know what you thought of this piece ♡ 】

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sly-merlin · 4 years

Text

S A C R I F I C E

SACRIFICE - A STORY OF LOVE, BETRAYAL, REVENGE AND BARGAINING

CHARACTERS : prince jaehyun x princess y/n

GENRE : fluff, angst.

WORD COUNT : 7k

TIME PERIOD : OF SHY GLANCES AND BLOOD BATHS. WHERE LOVE IS FORBIDDEN AND HATRED NOT.

WARNINGS : Includes dirt play, revenge. Major character deaths like MAJOR, mentions of blood, murder, killing, assassination and an explicit scene of killing. Cw : food mentions SMUT WARNING : kissing! mentions of undressing.

DISCLAIMER : THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. FICTION. FICTION. NO DESCRIPTION REPRESENTS OR GIVE ANY HINTS TO JAEHYUN'S REAL LIFE CHARACTER.

a/n : part of heartbreakhotel monthly event by precious network @nct-writers

SUMMARY : heart in one hand, a blade in another. Which one goes down under the weight of other? Who is brave enough to sacrifice the other?

The shimmering, colourful, geometrical patterns of the bronze kaleidoscope motivated your heels to exultant jumps, simply sending tingles to your friend's mind who quietly stood beside you wondering what new pattern had caught your eye this time. She was equally excited yet waited for you to be absolutely gratified. After all, a pattern viewed once could never be seen twice or remembered long enough to be claimed to have hit our eyes.

The light hues of the unreachable sun coloured the small market in its natural glow making terrible winter evening walks a little more bearable .You loved it. You loved the scenery, all the more so because it was deemed to be yours. Every corner of this small kingdom had your father's crown engraved on it yet you weren't permitted to move around in a place you dared to call your own. Hence the poorly patched long cotton skirt and lazily stitched full sleeved shirt covered you like you were a fugitive in disguise or maybe belonged to some impoverished village. Same was the case with your pretty friend who, once averse to your youthful shenanigans, found the silver jewellery most fascinating in the whole market and not to omit the street food that turned the palace food to be flavourless.

You had never been very keen on lying to your parents, popularly called the rulers of the kingdom and your poor attendants who thought you were busy with your evening naps that you had suddenly taken upon a liking towards since the past month. But it was a necessity for you. Roaming in the same humongous rooms no more satiated your travelling mind. You wanted to be out, to be free, to just breach all the restrictions you were placed under as a princess to satisfy the hollow rules. As much as your morals and conscience despised hiding truth, this little game you played harmed no soul. Your safety was their priority and you were safe and secure as long as you didn’t leave her side. And this excuse inadvertently spiralled you in this endless circle of hide and seek taking control over your better judgement, throwing the need to pause this rendezvous in the background. What once done out of curiosity and to experience the fanatic lives of your subjects, was now a sine qua non. From patiently performing and learning new tasks suiting your position to skillfully diverting your maids, you indeed had all the prerequisites to be the best queen of your future kingdom. Even though the praise of achievement always resided only in your head, you found yourself to be impressively regal.

"Let me have a look too, y/n" zara, your dear friend pleaded not so politely.

Reluctantly removing the device from your eyes, you pushed it onto her hands, backing away slightly, allowing her in the space.

"Why don't you go and look at some silver jewellery instead?" Huffing, you suggested to lure her.

“The new ones arrive next monday!” Not paying heed to your tender, she kept smiling, enthralled by the beauty captured between the pieces of mirrors.

You nudged her playfully, the action meant to drive her to the end of her patience but she dogged your efforts with continuous giggles. Relentless you were too and she was always reminded of that in a hard way. What your elbow failed to do, your fingers completed. As soon as your fingers in her ears, she bitterly pulled herself away to face you.

“This is unfair y/n. This hour of freedom is not for your pleasure only” puckering her lips, she said while her eyes squinted at you.

Suddenly, her forehead was smeared with thoughtful lines, “y/n! It’s been twenty minutes already. Where is your lover?” surprise rained over her whole face, “Do you think he got caught?”

You were almost ready to refute her former statement that he certainly wasn’t your lover yet but her latter question of suspicion appalled you and there was no need for her to ask you any further as she noticed your face shrinking, distorting your pretty lips into a worrisome pout. She immediately left the metal device, focusing on you.

“hey! I am not serious. I was just trying to distract you” as she cupped your face, a pout of her own greeted you.

Her words were not reassuring at all. There was no unlikelihood of what she said. Jaehyun was, without any doubt, illustrious in the fouled game you both played but neither his family resided here nor was he allowed to enter the premises of your kingdom. The said man was corrupted by his youthful glow that granted him enough courage of frisking around the walls of the forbidden territory.

Inhaling sharply, you uncloaked your worry,

“do you think he real-

“no no absolutely not love. He’s too clever for that and he’s been doing since months, way longer than me and you! Let’s wait for a few more minutes.” Cupping your chin, she jested and cooed, “Also won't he perish without seeing your beautiful face. He would be here any minute!”

Just when you responded to her with a grim nod, a well acquainted shoulder bumped into you, mitigating your distress with a familiar touch. eyes closed in relief, you looked at zara for approval which was given right away with a playful wink.

Giggling like a little child, you skipped to the back of the market where jaehyun waited for you every evening. Hiding your face in the silk grey scarf, you sneaked away avoiding everyone’s sight and waiting for your arrival, Jaehyun stood there with the lower half of his face concealed with a black cotton headcover.

As soon as he saw you, the hand glueing the cloth to his face fell down and his face lit up with a smile worthy of putting stars to shame if compared. The wrinkles on his face and the dips in the cheeks had you wanting to hide in those spaces, away from everyone who had heralded this union to be forbidden.

There you stood, staring into his dark eyes like he wasn't someone you were supposed to keep a good distance from.

But the light in his eyes diminished on seeing your excited face.

"You did that again! Why don’t you follow anything I say to you? At least, look back and confirm my presence. What if someone had followed me?” deeply whispering, he frowned at you.

And fondly, you smiled at him, something that he never found fascinating but it still left him flustered.

"Don't smile at me like that. I won't melt this ti-

"I apologise?"

You blurted out taking him by surprise. His mouth opened and closed several times, body slightly rocking in confusion. Finally, he spoke,

"I didn't mean it like that." His voice softened, "i just can't -

Cleaning his muddy hands on his pajamas, he placed them on your cheeks, engulfing your whole face with his long fingers.

"I just can't see you in danger. If any of my uncle’s spies came wandering and recognised you at this hour, they'd not hesitate to slit your throat y/n" the way his face contorted as he recited the known truth, it was evident how just the mention of it was painful to him. "Don't follow unless you see my face. I know there's no one harming you in your own country but you never know when odds might defeat you"

"Do you-

You began but his questioning eyes stopped you. His eyes talked only in worry and love. Both for you. But even if you were content with what he showered you with, greed for little more was something you never deemed unnecessary.

"I what?"

You wanted to continue but the perpetual worry planted on his face disturbed you as well.

"Jaehyun-'' your fingers brushed away the strand of hair on his face, “I mean don’t you find it tedious? Giving me the same instructions every other day, wasting the ten minutes of the limited time we get.”

He left your face and focused on cleaning the remaining dirt from his hand. To avoid suspicions and blend into the environment, he always covered his hands in mud, giving an impression of a forlorn daily worker. Nobody questioned a person who looked homeless and unhappy, even if he meandered near the barbed wires.

“I got in trouble.”

You hadn’t even sat down on the bench and he was already bombarding you apprehensions.

“how?” inaudibly, you asked.

He broke his eyes away before responding,

“they saw me leaving the palace yesterday. From tomorrow, I shall be accompanying my cousin to verify the supplies in the production department.” his chuckle forced you to let out one as well. his irresponsible behaviour had fables of its own, as jaehyun had told you once. the little penalties he was subjected to weren’t discomforting either but this time it involved you as well.

“for how long?”

“my family’s care agenda would hopefully end within two weeks and then I shall be free again. but we might need a new place and new time too.”

His words were muffled in the back as your eyes remained transfixed on his hand sheepishly rubbing his neck. Under your inappropriate scrutiny, he found himself tinting and your strong gaze posed more problems for his already thumping heart.

He coughed you out of your daze, eyes wavering everywhere. Picking your lip, you suppressed your giggles.

Finger under your chin, you pretended contemplation. Your comical stance earned a groan from him,

“how about you get serious for once and I’ll buy you steamed food.”

Smiling widely, your greedy stomach took the offer immediately.

“not everyone lacks intelligence, prince jaehyun.”

He huffed and crossed his arms, feigning offence at your statement. “Now what are you implying princess y/n.”

“that I might already have a place decided. So hurry up now and feed me food while telling me about your day.”

“You are impressive, my lady! How am I going to live with your notorious self?”

“you plan on living with this notorious princess?” you clowned even though his question showed you more than just a hope.

“the inquiry hour is closed princess and so would be the shops if you choose to delay more. Soooo, shall we leave?”

Responding to your sharp gaze, he took your hand and pressed his plump lips onto them, disrupting the chain of your rational thoughts.

As the atmosphere tuned cooler and he bid adieu, you went back with a new assurance, ready to put your life on hold for the next few weeks.

lying on your back, you let out muffled giggles to celebrate another successful classified evening. clothes were changed, chess was out. You were prepared for any intrusion.

Zara's laughter soon died down, happy and heavy breaths replacing them. Seated on your bed, she faced you,

"So my courageous y/n, did you confess today?"

Abruptly you raised yourself, looking at her in bewilderment,

“Of course not!”

“What? Why not? What are you waiting for? Time is slipping away love.”

“I know. I just want to be a little more sure before taking this a step further. I do not want to misjudge his momentary affection for a promised future.The detestation our families share for each other has always proven to be deadly. Unless I’m sure that jaehyun’s feelings are indisputable, I shall not be proceeding." Mumbling out the last part, you began playing with the hem of your deep blue skirt to hide the disappointment that settled in within your heart.

"Okay. I can't force you but do know that saving your heart from misery is better. Oh and does the poor boy have any hint about me." Zara advised lacing her words with a chuckle in the end.

"Don't worry. You are just a maid friend whom I love and trust the most. He believes each of my pretty lies you know.”

"Oh my love. He truly fancies you. I wish your brother wasn't so incapable of harbouring feelings. How delightful life could have been only if he was like you." She wistfully spoke just like other times. Your heart hurt for her. She never got the love she was capable of giving yet the kindness never withered away. She was just like that.

Soon your peace was interrupted and you were escorted to the dinner table.

There sat your parents with their favourite child. You weren't loved any less yet it weakened your heart, watching them walking past your capabilities to applaud his undistinguished skills. His gender screamed for power when his capabilities barely had any knowledge of whispering about them. You abhorred it. Not your brother for he was raised with a rode in his neck but the stars that never aligned in your favour crushing your dream of wearing the crown for your own kingdom, under the grime rules made by those who were dead. Only god and zara knew how much hatred you held for your ruthless ancestors who never favoured women.

Sans any relish, you bit on the food which definitely tasted better for something you were not very fond of. but the almost good meal was ridden of all the salt as you felt conscious of their eyes on your face.

"Is there something you want to say to me?" you asked with a reluctantly polite voice.

That's when you noticed how their attention was divided to both you and zara. Your brother Donghae’s serious eyes bored into her face as she tried to avoid him while sitting right across him on the dining table.

Finally your mother spoke.

“Donghae was looking for you throughout the whole evening, zara.”

Zara lowered her head, look on her face screaming help which only you understood so you took the charge on her behalf,

“We were in my room.”

“And what is so important in your room that you both chose to ignore constant calls from your maids?”

“After an exhausting and unentertaining day, we both play chess, share all the amusing stories of our respective days, details of which can be given to you if asked with some enthusiasm and then we sleep for an hour, in peace without anyone spitting orders on our faces and since when have my brother changed so much that he actually got some time to look for his wife?”

“May I know from where this disrespectful flow of words is coming through? Is this a way to talk to your elders?”

“I mean no disrespect, mother.”

“This ends today. From tomorrow you shall be spending those two hours with our bakery chef.”

Instead of your mother, you directed your next plead to your father, who was an expert in nodding at household matters

“No! This is the only time I get with zara. within a year or two i’ll be married off to some rude man who won’t even let me put my feet outside the threshold of his palace.” pouting, you said.

Waving his hand, he dismissed the matter that meant whoever got the last sentence was the conqueror of the discussion.

"Why are you here?" Counting and aligning the stars to form another shape, he interestingly asked.

"I wanted to explore this dead garden. What about you? What brings you here in the enemy land?" You jested.

"to meet a very beautiful enemy."

"a woman?"

"Yes yes. She's a woman. A very pretty one I must say but very feisty and dangerous to be around."

"Oh how so?" You asked now genuinely interested in his description of yours.

"I've heard she has a heart of stone."

"Huh? Have you seen her heart to be so sure of your accusation?"

"I've enough instances to prove that."

"Like?"

"She meets a handsome prince, spends an hour staring at his eyes with all but love and still chooses to stay silent. It's a dangerous game she's playing with him. It almost - it hurts him."his fatalistic expression left you stunned. The ancillary confession beleaguered your heart instead of calming the storm.

Nibbling on your bottom lip, you tried your best to focus on the constellations instead. you pulled the poor blade of grass harder in a futile attempt of breaking it apart but it was snatched from you.

“answer me.” He demanded the answer that was resting on the tip of your tongue.

"I love you."

He blurted out and you felt his fingers finding home in yours as he interlocked them. the moisture of the grass swamped your hands and you finally found your warmth within each other.

“the whole palace is under your charm y/n” you stopped the stirring at zara’s words.

“how so?”

“they haven’t seen your wrath in the past few weeks. You didn’t shout at minji for throwing your burnt cake either.”

Swatting her hand away from the pot, you replied, “let them enjoy their peace days.”

“may god bless jaehyun! The whole palace is saved until you are happy.” Bumping her shoulders into yours, she took the charge from you. “what about the haunted garden y/n. aren’t you afraid of going there. it’s been weeks and I haven’t heard you screaming about any ghost.”

You scoffed at her naive self, “the only ghost that haunts the garden is in ME!” dragging the last part, you successfully scared her into dropping the ladle in the hot pot. Resultantly, she chases you off in the whole kitchen until you agree to turn the muddle of vegetables into something edible.

Jaehyun’s presence generated so much happiness within your soul that you were afraid one unfortunate day would snatch him from you yet you never fought against the urge to drown in the love he poured on you. He mirrored the boy you met in your books, just as dreamy, if not more. His princely chiselled face was a sight to die for. He was a typical example of a lotus, a beautiful flower born in mud where it lived and died and you wanted to change that for him.

“What do you fear the most?”

Nestling your face in his neck, you couldn’t help but ask the question. He snuggled you closer to him, the sheet beneath you crumpling making the leaves and the grass it covered rustling under you. He shifted his head only to face your hair. Removing his one hand from your waist, he moved your chin to inspect you. He never understood how you came up with most bizzare and inquiring questions. But he was always more than happy to speak or in this case, express.

“that I will forever remain indebted to you.”

grasping his hand that held your chin, you saw him gulp down the words he hesitated to utter.

"Love is not a debt jae. Just keep loving me like this, make me hap-

Abruptly your view of him changed as he floated over your figure. Resting your head on the sheet, his fingers traced the path along your face, feeling every inch of the skin he had learned to admire from afar. With adoration filled eyes, he drew nearer.

His lips were delicate against yours. Moving gently, he comforted your vulnerable ones, winning a pleased and dry whine from your throat. Hands dropping to your neck, his lips travelled down to your jaw where he sucked lightly at a candied spot and the little tickle kisses he gave you reaching your collarbones left you squealing in its wake. He hovered over your face again, this time to taste the bliss you felt and courageously, you pulled him closer and like it was designed, Mist of delight clouded your minds as you forgot your fingers in his nape. If finding stars in his eyes was your expression of love then dancing against your pulsating lips, he perfectly found his interpretation as well.

He drew back when he was done with bruising your skin. Staring into your eyes, he asked for something. With a blink of the same, you conveyed it.

Curving your back, you allowed him to unzip the lavender dress you were wearing. As he uncovered your skin, he greeted it with beautiful, praiseworthy kisses, covering you with his undying love.

That night he resuscitated you, sending you into an oblivion.

The reason being the incantations that he served you with.

I wish to give you a ring!

And the simple words resonated the promise that you could hardly wait for him to fulfill.

Sympathy combining some unknown feeling washed over you as you heard your father talking about the neighbouring kingdoms and the pitiful state they were in. you had always known about the lack of resources those people lived with but that was the end. It was just a topic of discussion and theory to learn about the blunders of their ancestors and the brutal history of their treason to an old ally, your father and grandfather.

With a contempt laced tongue, once again, your father recited the story of betrayal of the lees and the jungs. The story was religiously told to every child once they were old enough to understand the terms like loyalty, allegiance, infidelity and betrayal.

You had vowed to change that. a seed of hatred planted in a younger mind would only yield a crop of vengeance. you aspired to end it. Jaehyun, too, wanted to wash the stains of treachery from his family name.

To your dismay, the army was out to roam the small towns and villages, looking for trespasser enemies.

One day, you were resting in jaehyun's arms and the next day, you were left to sulk as the guards had suddenly decided to reaffirm the reliability of all the hinges. The doors were smacked, locked and unlocked, leaving you with million suspicions and a heavy heart.

The only assurance you had, was in Jaehyun's capability of fooling the security forces. Proud as you were, the unsettling feeling of a blurred future did not let you sleep. For three nights.

Jaehyun wrapped his arms around your waist, hugging you tightly from behind.

“easy jaehyun! it tickles!” you exclaimed while controlling your giggling.

“i thought you won’t be here tonight but yo-

“but i managed to sneak!” you finished, turning in his arms to see his beautiful face glistening in the moonlight. “and i don’t know for how much longer i can fool my attendants, what if one day they got in trouble for negligence. The security is doubled outside all the chambers. If I pulled anything, father would not hesitate to behead them.” your face dimmed with the mere thought of the fate of your precious maids and if anything happened to them, your soul would be forever encumbered with the guilt.

your worried eyes didn’t escape jaehyun as he leaned forward to give you a small kiss, soothing your nerves. the small peck left you wanting for more as you bit your lower lip in anticipation of his further actions.

“nothing would happen. it’s been 2 months and nobody in the whole kingdom knows where and with whom their gorgeous princess spends her nights! and besides i’m here to ease the worries of your forever wandering mind. "

"Why do you always have to talk in riddles jae!"

He laughed through your smacks before circling your figure twice, leaving you staggered and dumbfounded.

"What are yo-

"I'm serious. I’m just here to fulfil my promise love.” he caught and pulled you again, keeping just a little distance between you both

“what promise? i don’t remember anything!” you asked genuinely perplexed by his words. as far as your memory too you, the only promise he made was-

your eyes widened at the realisation! jaehyun removed his one hand from your waist, putting it inside the pocket of his pants.

at this point, you could hear your own thumping heart whilst looking at him expectantly.

“let’s relieve you of a huge burden my princess!” he said with a smiling face but as you tried to mirror his expression, a sharp pain coursed through your abdomen.

you wobbled as he left your waist, the pain doubling when he pulled the small knife out of your body, a smirk adorning his features instead.

your body felt hotter than ever as the blood slowly oozed out of your abdomen. no scream left your lips as you pressed the wounded area in a try to lessen the ache.

The solemn tears falling down the cheeks were not for the physical damage but for the broken promise Jaehyun had bestowed upon you with.

“wh-why?” was the only word you could form before your other hand went to grab his arm but was only met with air.

jaehyun loomed closer and his knife met your stomach once again, this time a grievous shriek filled the silent garden.

Your legs lost life, your body finding it harder to withstand the twist of the knife as you fell on the grass, darkness consuming your soul.

“because i couldn’t be on the throne as long as the heir of this kingdom was alive. but your death won’t be worthless love. I shall wear the crown of your sacrifice and reclaim all the lost honour.”

Instead of a deep breath as you had expected, a choked sob left your lips and the whole body convulsed with the painful effort.

Your eyes remained glued to him as he rubbed his face with this sleeve regarding you with the cruelty you never knew he was capable of.

contempt in his orbs served as his last offering towards you as he exited your sight, calling for someone.

After what felt like years, you heard a human voice again but your body gave up before you could comprehend anything.

“you did it my boy!”

Jinyoung broke his hateful glare from the throne and patted a demented jaehyun on the back, congratulating his prime pawn for the successful acquisition. The so called disqualified heirs were now the rulers, a dream that was once broken by their backstabbing friend, the now murdered king of this kingdom.

“and you shall be rewarded for you have made your deceased father proud.” Hand caressing Jaehyun's shoulder, he pretended to wipe the few tears that escaped due to the bitter memory. Cleaning his eyes with the sleeve of his dusted robe, he took the gold crown from his younger brother, jinseok and ran his eyes from jaehyun to the majestic chair on the silver podium.

With pride clotted blood, Jaehyun bowed to him before taking his seat.

The crown was set atop his head, fitting him without any doubt.

It weighed more than he thought.

With a sinister smile, his uncle ordered the assassination of all the loyal members of court.

Guards were beheaded and bodies were counted.

The palace was foraged, to find and kill all the runaways.

A manhunt was announced for the one who wasn’t found.

Nobody knew there were more to be found.

The triumphant smile lit Jaehyun's face for he lost nothing.

Three weeks later.

Donghae’s hands lost all the strength, the plastic bag filled with potatoes now rolling down the uneven and mud washed floor of the hut.

The day he had been anticipating with broken hope and glistening eyes was not a dream anymore.

Your fingers finally trembled against the hard, rugged and rough mattress.

You had decided to open your eyes after three weeks.

Finally he allowed himself to cry.

I'm going under and this time I fear there's no one to save me

Crown hanging between his fingers, his gaze pierced the ground.

You were lying there three weeks ago.

Were you taken away?

Were you no more?

There was no probability of inhaling after how perfectly he had spun his knife.

No man had ever survived his knife, not even his own teacher. There was no way you could have. All the odds were in his favour for all the cards being played with accuracy.

Did he hope for your life?

You were an enemy, just a play. Then why the thought of never beholding you again hurt him so much.

why the weight of the crown crumbled on him with such intensity.

Why did he choose your chamber to stay in?

Yet Why was he unable to sleep?

He grew up seeking answers and taking orders and this time there was no one to respond to his cries.

Neither did anyone care enough to ask him the reason for his quotidian visits to the garden.

I let my guard down and then you pulled the rug

It wasn’t home. But the eyes looking back at you undeniably reminded you of it. A day has passed since you saw the light of the world again but all you did was listen to the gut-wrenching fate your family had met with. Half of the family!

Your parents were murdered in the coup premeditated by none other than the neighbouring jungs. What was equally agonising was the fact that your brother never got to give your parents a respectable farewell. The troops had charged upon their sleepy selves and the mere hanging crown on the naked and bloodied sword of jin young was enough of a proof of the successful attack. Their escape hadn't been easy either but with a little help from the general, they had managed to flee. Zara had led them to you.

Unknown fear consumed you as you read your surroundings. But it was time you admitted to your mistakes and faced the consequences. If there were any brutal ones left. There was nothing you would be unable to endure. So you began with the unanswered questions.

“what is this place?” you asked with a sore throat.

“this is jung’s territory. They are too blinded by their victory that this barren land is the last place they would send their troops to.” donghae replied, feeding you spoonfuls of the soup.

“But how did we reach here?"

"Through the underground war doors. They once joined both of our territories before the jungs were disqualified from trading. This end was opened by our general when we lost too much blood. Their bloody nephew is sitting on the throne, uniting this useless kingdome with ours." He seethed.

You bit your lip to compose yourself. you knew you had to tell them about jaehyun and a broken trust was the last thing you wanted to inject in him but necessity clawed on your heart to reveal everything.

Caressing your face, he acidly began,

"We'll take back everything. No one shall be spared. We are contacting our alliances. By next month, our kingdom would be in the state of siege. Every drop of blood shall be avenged. Jaehyun would pay for what he did."

At his mention, you withdrew your sight from him. Guilt crept up within you as you tried to affiliate every past event with the current one. It was clear as day you were a mere instrument to find a place for the entry of their troops. You were just a puppet. Unknowingly, you had allowed them to enter your parent's bedroom too. You had blood on your hands. Of countless people.

A single tear slipped and the lack of his expression on your face scared zara. She ran to occupy the other side of the bed and caught your head before you broke down in her arms. Jaehyun's lies and betrayal of your love was left somewhere in an old rusted chest of your mind and the pure anguish shattered you into millions of pieces.

You wailed yourself to sleep.

Jaehyun visited you that night. In the form of dust. And he continued breaching your peace as if killing you once wasn't enough.

Now the day bleeds, into nightfall and you are not here, to get me through it all.

Jaehyun woke up in cold sweat. When was the last time he slept with an easy mind?

Maybe the week before he was ordered to finish off what he had started.

He changed rooms.

He changed floors.

But his eyes never closed for even the minor chances of meeting you in the dreamland scared him to death.

With a trembling hand, he picked up the crown and threw it away.

Amusingly, you were still dead.

Were you really that foolish?

Perhaps you resembled every other weak hearted person for whom a pinch of affection was a desperate call to sell their soul and rationality.

You had just wanted to walk down the markets without any constraints pulling you back in. Skipping in the shadows while hiding from the sun was the only desire you had.

Why had he bumped his shoulder into yours? Why had he repeated it again and again until had grown to recognise his touch even through the thick layers of clothing and masked faces?

It's amusing how we end up finding each other in the same place at same time everyday

He had said with a sugary tone when you had questioned him sternly.

You had believed him.

I'm prince Jaehyun, from the other side. I just came here to see the beauty that our place doesn't possess. It's all barren and discarded. No healthy vegetables. No dry fruits. I just enjoy myself every evening and buy some good food for some poor kids. You won't mention this to anyone right? I’ll leave right away if you want though!

How righteous had he sounded!

We'll propose unification and then everything will come to life again. No bloodshed. No backstabbing. No spy plays. We’ll never let history blemish our future.

How had he managed to contradict each and every word he had spoken.

he just changed like the patterns in the kaleidoscope as if you had never reflected in the mirrors of his heart.

Perhaps you never did.

You despised his way of fulfilling his Imperishable love for you!

You were relieved Zara had been the one to inform your brother of this leading cause.

How ruthless he could have been!

You wanted to give his whole kingdom a new life and all he could give you in return was a knife.

I was getting kinda used to being the someone you loved

Jaehyun's fingers turned green for how harshly he picked at the grass. Picking at those innocent blades didn't bring you back.

His cries thundered in the air. He begged for the time to turn itself. He yearned for the love you had shown him. He missed your warmth. He missed your careless laughs. His heart shrieked for you. The only person he had ever loved. The only being who had ever loved him.

Why he couldn't have saved himself from being the traitor of the heart he could've ruled!

You stared at the heavy corset that was made to safeguard you.

You were no expert with a blade but still one was handed over to you as precaution.

The general read you the instructions, mainly focusing on the need to remain hidden underground until the war was over. You and Zara were to be kept away from the weapons.

That was what the commandments directed you to follow.

Today, the wind blew harsher. Maybe he was the only one to feel the strange stillness in the disorder. Everything had been imprudently loud for him lately. Even the riots that shook the doors of the palace. How long could they have held onto something that never belonged to them!

As he dismissed the servant who called him to take charge against your brother, his mind pressed upon bolting all the heavy doors to ignore the murderous stream. He had led one army before but now lacked the courage to pick up his knife and sword, the ones he buried right in the garden where you once laid.

You.

The broken look on your face was the image he wanted to delete from the depths of his mind so desperately yet your presence never left him alone. Maybe it was the sanction of the heavens that you were always there with him. In his days and in his dreams. He got all of your portraits removed yet here you were, standing in front of him with a smile on your face. A quiet rare sight. The radiant face, if not impossible to find, was still very infrequent even in his dreams. The air smelled of you. The atmosphere was enticing. Suddenly, he wanted to chase his dream, to go after you.

So he followed his heart.

Your illusion stayed still, with curved lips making you look ethereal. Even in the darkness, your face illuminated the way for him.

His hand rose, hoping to touch you even though the rational part of his head screamed that it was a lie created by him to save himself from another night of misery but he failed to listen and caved in. Like each time, he expected his hand to pass through you, breaking the charm of his fabrication of you.

But here he was.

Instead of passing through the smoke that you were supposed to be, his hand rested upon the gentle skin that your face had. Retracting his fingers immediately, he fell back in fear, eyes widening and chest heaving.

You were anything but an illusion.

His hand grazed against your cheek before he fell down, stumbling upon his own feet. The crown that decorated his head too withdrew its support, lying on the floor like it had recognised its lawful owner.

"My king." Solemnly, you addressed him. "I hope you are enjoying your new home and title."

As you talked, you watched him collecting himself. As he unclogged the blocks of his mind, awe transformed his face momentarily shaping itself into trepidation. To your disbelief, he brightened up once again. Had he not been liable for the ghastly crimes, you’d have sympathised with the deranged state of the always self possessed jaehyun. Alas! You had nothing to offer him.

Shuffling on his knees, with his head bowed lowly, he spoke with dead voice,

"Forgive me, please." He cried into his joined hands.

"Get up jaehyun. A mighty and worthy king like you doesn't look very honourable bowing to a mere woman like me." Your dangerously honeyed voice resembled the ominous dark clouds brooding atop his head.

But you admired his valor for he kept apologising, burning himself with the false hope of undoing the indelible smudge he had left on you.

"I thought i never loved you y/n but i was utterly wron-

"You are a deceiver King jaehyun. Do not expect me to believe you."

"Don't call me that please!"

"Get up jaehyun." you barked.

"I hate myself for doing that to you y/n." Getting up slowly, he repeated twice. You were yet to see his face and when he rose to his full height, you were met with his bloodshot eyes that could've ached you if your heart hadn't been damaged to the core.

"Don't hate yourself please. You made your family proud. That is what we kids should be aiming for right. I truly admire you for that King jaehyun." The emotionless stress on the end made him close his eyes in pain as he choked out another heart wrenching sob.

"I'm truly sorry y/n, please. I can't take your hatred. I don't want this crown nor do i want to live here anymore."

Your stomach churned at his cries. You had truly underestimated his capability to surprise you but it only made you grip harder on the knife that was tucked in your waistband.

“How naive of you to think that I'll fall for your lies again, jaehyun.”

Rubbing his face with his palms, he looked heavenward,

"No no. I love you. I really really love you.I never realised this until now. I just can’t live without you” and continued as his glistened eyes met yours, “Why are you not listening to me?"

"Don't you think you are a bit late for a true confession."

"Yours was true right. Your love was conditionless. I swear on your love! Forgive me once please. Love is the strongest, you told me this right. I just need you y/n. not this crown. Not anyone else. Just you, Please."

A mean scoff left your lips, "Yes, i was the one who told you about love being the most powerful but that was until you taught me the strength of hatred, jaehyun. You knifed me out of the fairytales i dreamt with you and i don't think i can ever thank you enough for that. The love you are so profoundly swearing to is lying under the debris of the hollow pride and the abhorrence you sheltered for my family. You never once heard my pleas of affection and now you expect me to listen to yours?how can you stoop so low?"

You watched him screaming into the air and crumbling down. You saw him going through the pain you would never recover from yourself and you wanted to end it. For him. It was rather painful to watch him so you mumbled his name.

With newfound belief, he loomed closer with open arms, anticipating a change of heart from you. Maybe you weren't really as unconcerned to him as he had been with you.

but the long blade mutilated his lungs and silent gasps of pain escaped his throat. His miserable eyes ruined the shield you wore and you screamed at him while repeating the thrusts of the sharp blade. Droplets of vengeance imbued the chilled air, drizzling down your neck in the form of sweat.

Somehow the hall was lit and you were forced to see what you had done to him. His grip on the ground faltered and the blade slipped through your fingers, the clink dangerously reverberating in the hall.

Before your hand could reach for him, something pointed grazed your shoulder. You wanted to turn around but more and more spikes pierced through you; the heaviness and the pain that seeped through your back launched you forward and you fell down on another body that had been hosted by the marble a few moments ago. The ache of the arrows left you breathless. Once again, you struggled with your eyelids. within a few seconds, relief padded your back and you discontinued your wrestling.

and perhaps your dead heart was finally at peace.

328 notes · View notes

astradrifting · 3 years

Text

AGOT - Jon I (Chapter 5)

There were times—not many, but a few—when Jon Snow was glad he was a bastard. As he filled his wine cup once more from a passing flagon, it struck him that this might be one of them.

I don’t know why D&D decided Jon could never lie, when literally the first line in his POV is a lie. He’s so good at it he can even lie to himself!

****

A singer was playing the high harp and reciting a ballad, but down at this end of the hall his voice could scarcely be heard above the roar of the fire, the clangor of pewter plates and cups, and the low mutter of a hundred drunken conversations.

A singer with a high harp and a ballad seems like a vague Rhaegar allusion. That Jon can’t actually hear him makes me happy in a very petty way.

****

His lord father had come first, escorting the queen. She was as beautiful as men said. A jeweled tiara gleamed amidst her long golden hair, its emeralds a perfect match for the green of her eyes. His father helped her up the steps to the dais and led her to her seat, but the queen never so much as looked at him. Even at fourteen, Jon could see through her smile.

I think this part is actually Jon being indignant on Ned’s behalf that Cersei was rude to him, by not looking at him when he escorts her, not that she never looked at Jon. Also, there’s those observation skills. He’s never been taken in by a pretty smile.

****

After them came the children. Little Rickon first, managing the long walk with all the dignity a three-year-old could muster. Jon had to urge him on when he stopped to visit.

Adorable!!!

****

Jon noticed the shy looks she gave Robb as they passed between the tables and the timid way she smiled at him. He decided she was insipid. Robb didn’t even have the sense to realize how stupid she was; he was grinning like a fool.

Jon’s a mean drunk I guess 💀

****

Sansa, two years older, drew the crown prince, Joffrey Baratheon. He was twelve, younger than Jon or Robb, but taller than either, to Jon’s vast dismay. Prince Joffrey had his sister’s hair and his mother’s deep green eyes. A thick tangle of blond curls dripped down past his golden choker and high velvet collar. Sansa looked radiant as she walked beside him, but Jon did not like Joffrey’s pouty lips or the bored, disdainful way he looked at Winterfell’s Great Hall.

Joffrey according to Jon: 👁👄👁

But Sansa looked radiant 🥰

****

He was more interested in the pair that came behind him: the queen’s brothers, the Lannisters of Casterly Rock. The Lion and the Imp; there was no mistaking which was which. Ser Jaime Lannister was twin to Queen Cersei; tall and golden, with flashing green eyes and a smile that cut like a knife. He wore crimson silk, high black boots, a black satin cloak. On the breast of his tunic, the lion of his House was embroidered in gold thread, roaring its defiance. They called him the Lion of Lannister to his face and whispered “Kingslayer” behind his back. Jon found it hard to look away from him.

This is what a king should look like, he thought to himself as the man passed.

Giving me big ‘muscled like a maiden’s fantasy’ vibes there, Jon.

Also, curiously enough Jaime’s introduced wearing black and red, Targaryen colours. Maybe a nod to the incest storyline, possibly leftover foreshadowing from when Jaime was going to become king, as per the outline.

Otherwise this means that, like everybody else in this story, Jaime is a secret Targaryen. He and Cersei can join the ranks of Jon, Tyrion, Varys, Mance Rayder and while we’re at it… *spins a wheel of names* Meera too.

****

His brothers and sisters had not been permitted to bring their wolves to the banquet, but there were more curs than Jon could count at this end of the hall, and no one had said a word about his pup. He told himself he was fortunate in that too.

His eyes stung. Jon rubbed at them savagely, cursing the smoke.

Jon spends half this chapter on the verge of tears, my angsty little lad.

****

Jon looked up happily as his uncle Ben put a hand on his head and ruffled his hair much as Jon had ruffled the wolf’s.

They actually call him Ben and ‘uncle Ben’ a few times in the series, which I honestly think might be a Spider-Man allusion. Surrogate father figure Uncle Ben’s early disappearance/death kicking off the plot… There’s also a saying that nobody stays dead in comics except for Uncle Ben - considering all the other resurrections in the books, metaphorical and literal, yet GRRM says that Benjen isn’t Coldhands, it might be the same for this Uncle Ben too.

****

Jon swelled with pride. “Robb is a stronger lance than I am, but I’m the better sword, and Hullen says I sit a horse as well as anyone in the castle.”

"[Garlan] is a great knight," Ser Loras replied. "A better sword than me, in truth, though I'm the better lance." (ASOS, Sansa I)

Love a Jon-Garlan parallel! Also thinking about Garlan being the older brother made me realise - in the story everyone thinks that Jon is younger than Robb, but timeline-wise, he has to be older, because Robb was conceived in the two weeks before Ned left to fight at the Trident, and Rhaegar must have at least already been in the capital by then to rally the loyalists, so Jon was conceived weeks, if not months earlier. Which means that Ned has definitely lied about when Jon’s birthday is.

Jon being the product of a ‘youthful indiscretion’ before he was married is less of a stain on Ned’s honour than him betraying his marriage bed but I imagine Catelyn’s fears about Jon usurping her children might have had more basis if he was known to be the eldest, so maybe that’s why Ned lied about how old he is.

****

“Daeron Targaryen was only fourteen when he conquered Dorne,” Jon said. The Young Dragon was one of his heroes.

"A conquest that lasted a summer," his uncle pointed out. "Your Boy King lost ten thousand men taking the place, and another fifty trying to hold it. Someone should have told him that war isn't a game." He took another sip of wine. "Also," he said, wiping his mouth, "Daeron Targaryen was only eighteen when he died. Or have you forgotten that part?"

Jon is unfortunately, a jock. And a bit of an idiot.

There’s something about Jon’s hero dying at 18, Waymar dying at 18 just a few chapters ago... Jon has them all beat by dying at 17.

****

"You are a boy of fourteen," Benjen said. "Not a man, not yet. Until you have known a woman, you cannot understand what you would be giving up."

"I don't care about that!" Jon said hotly.

"You might, if you knew what it meant," Benjen said. "If you knew what the oath would cost you, you might be less eager to pay the price, son."

Jon felt anger rise inside him. "I'm not your son!"

Benjen Stark stood up. “More’s the pity.”

Establishing Benjen as a somewhat contentious father figure to Jon - even more fuel for my brand new Uncle Ben ‘theory’.

****

The wolf pup padded closer and nuzzled at Jon's face, but he kept a wary eye on Tyrion Lannister, and when the dwarf reached out to pet him, he drew back and bared his fangs in a silent snarl.

"Shy, isn't he?" Lannister observed.

"Sit, Ghost," Jon commanded. "That's it. Keep still." He looked up at the dwarf. "You can touch him now. He won't move until I tell him to. I've been training him."

Possibly he and Sansa are the only ones who properly trained their direwolves, considering how the rest of them will end up behaving.

****

“If I wasn’t here, he’d tear out your throat,” Jon said. It wasn’t actually true yet, but it would be.

Pffffft! Edgy edgy edge-lord 💀

Though I also always feel like issuing casual threats to Tyrion Lannister so I can’t really blame him.

****

Standing, he was taller than the dwarf. It made him feel strange.

He’s got a weird preoccupation with comparing his height to Lannister men in this chapter. My headcanon for the books is that Jon’s quite tall by ADWD but evidently he’s tiny in AGOT if he feels strange being tall next to a dwarf.

****

final thoughts:

Believe it or not, I didn’t actually have Jonsa in mind with my new Uncle Ben theory, but I did just remember that brown haired Peter Parker’s main love interest is red-haired MJ :P

#astra re-reads #agot re-read #jon chapters

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fwtcanimelover · 4 years

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Clone Adopts Jedi Youngling

I wrote a post a while ago about a head canon of mine where there is another clone trooper who has removed his inhibitor chip, and saves a severely injured youngling from the Jedi Temple in Coruscant, and ends up adopting that youngling and raising them as his child. I spent a while drawing the characters.

Jed Xavier is a clone trooper in the 501st. He has served under Anakin, Ahsoka and Obi wan. He has always had a respect for the Jedi that eventually turned into a deep admiration and love for the Jedi. The Jedi culture had interested him and he liked to research it in his own time. He is a Jedi fan boy. When he wasn’t in the battle field and when he was permitted he did befriend a few Jedi in the temple and had befriended the youngling he ends up rescuing before order 66.

Ayumi Kea Fey’lie is a half Human and half Miraluka youngling who was born at the start of the Clone Wars. She was taken into the Jedi Temple as a new born after her mother died, (because in the village where she is from if a mother dies from childbirth, the child is considered responsible for her death). The Jedi had to take her in at a really young age because her village had tried to kill her and she wouldn’t survive long in her home town. She was a hyper active youngling with a very short attention span, that tried to befriend anyone in the temple (which included Jedi, Clones, Temple workers and visitors), which often included running out of class in order to greet them and get caught quickly. She was the youngling in her clan that got lectured the most. She doesn’t like her first name and prefers to be called by her middle name Kea. She eventually grows up to be a medic and eventual force healer after order 66. Despite being really young at the time she remembers order 66 clearly and has had changes in personality and habits as a result. They both end up joining the Rebel Alliance but do more of the background stuff.

P.S: The reason why her armor is painted is because since clones paint their own armor I thought maybe he might pass that on and help paint her armor, and the colour just happed to be paint from a village that they were hiding in.

Anyway thank you for reading my writing mess of rambles. I hope that you enjoyed it. I hope you liked the drawing. I’m just practicing a semi realistic comic art style type thing. Have a nice day

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briandthemoon · 5 years

Photo

~ Uploading this WIP here too! ~ {You can see both on my deviantArt too [same username], but with some of the original ideas and thoughts.} So uh, I did what I do best and shoved two things I love and have been hyperfocusing on for the last month together: Sanders Sides and RWBY.

I’ve been binging @thatsthat24 ‘s Sanders Sides videos and fan comics for the last month or so and by god, it’s really lifted my mood. I’m gonna work to get them all lined and coloured soon, but since I’ll be travelling in the next week, I’ll likely have paper sketches and such to upload if I’m lucky.

As for this AU, say hello to Team RNBO [Rainbow]! This is what I have so far in terms of character information; [putting it under a readmore, please do have a look!]

Roman De La Rosa:

- Semblance: "Picture This" - the ability to conjure an item proportional to the positive emotions he alone is feeling. So the happier and more creative he feels, the better.

- Weapons: “Armas Y Rosas“, a gauntlet-gun [armas] and a rosen rapier sword [rosas]. It’s literally just a Guns N Roses joke.

Virgil Nightshade:

- Black Cat Faunus. I didn’t realise til too late how similar to Blake he is but honestly, idc, I love him.

- Semblance: "Panic Room" - the ability to conjure a small isolated, soundproof space to trap someone in. Including himself in times of distress.

- Weapons: “Atropa” and “Solanum”, two knives with dust vials that attach to the end to infuse the metal. He usually uses Gravity Dust because 1) aesthetic and 2) if you have gravity defying Dust? Thats a cool escape my guy.

Logan Blu-Berrie:

- Semblance: “Blu-Screen of Death” - the ability to perform computer-esque functions via summons, i.e. attacking someone with a text box he just conjured, or browsing data and memories on a summoned screen for accuracy.

- Weapon: “Crofter”, a staff-spear that uses projection similar to Velvet’s weapon to form blades when needed. I.E. turning the staff into an axe or hammer or even forming a fishing line. [Looking at this whole thing, Logan wound up giving me big Scottish vibes in this AU and I’m SO for it.]

Patton Opal:

- Labrador Faunus, best boy 1000/10, didn’t have to re-work his design at all, what a madlad

- Semblance: "New Trick" - the ability to mark a person and be able to find them via a boosted scent marker. So far Roman smells like strawberries and creme, Virgil smells like smokey wood, and Logan smells like jam. And yes, Patton has tried tracking himself. He smells of vanilla cookies.

Weapon: “Storge”, a shield - axe combo. Mostly used in the shield position unless he’s forced to be active in a fight. Tried to give this weapon BIG Rose Quartz Shield Vibes.

Remus Pepinillo:

- for those wondering, he threw out the De La Rosa name when he left the family to go eat deoderants without judgement. And to go cause havoc.

- Semblance: “Can’t Be Unseen” - Similar to Roman’s semblance, Remus can conjure items but instead based upon other people’s negative emotions directed at him. So things like disgust and fear directed at him make him stronger.

- Weapon: “Asqueroso”, a mace that can be wielded in pole form or as a chain flail. The name literally is just the spanish for “Disgusting”.

“Deceit“:

- Python faunus. Pretty obvious there. As for a name, I’ll work with whatever becomes canon, tbh. His hat snake isn’t real, it’s just a design, but he has named his hat “Monty”.

- Semblance: “Trust in Me” - Deceit can mimic someone else’s voice to the point of being hypnotic in some cases.

- Weapon: “Kaa”, a microphone that can amplify sounds to use as ammo, or can be combined with dust vials for other effects, such as fire breathing or ice breath. This is absolutely where Virgil got the idea for his knives.

~~ Little Things In Their Designs Collectively~~

- So mostly Roman and Virgil had a revamp and got added or changed details. I’m personally loving the rose decals for Roman, and the fact that Virgil has to keep sewing his hoodie pocket sides back up because he keeps knee-jerk whipping out his knives and catching them on the sides. Also freckles. I cannot stress enough how much I needed to give one of these cute lil guys freckles.

- Logan and Patton really didn’t change much; Patton came out perfect the first time, and Logan just needed some proportion adjustments. Later I went and added friendship bracelets to each design because I do not believe for a second that Patton wouldn’t make them team bracelets. The card suit beads was just an addition that I added because I am the artist and none of you can stop me from adding the tiniest of references to Homestuck Quadrants.

- For Roman and Remus, I wanted them to have similar poses but good god, it was still hard to draw Remus’s hands. They look so good in the end though so I’m good with ‘em. I also might give him a little top hat or something at some point and see how it looks, I dunno.

- As for Deceit, I had a bit of trouble trying to pin down his design at first, but once I rolled with the allusions to Kaa from Jungle Book, it went far easier. I quite like that I added the poisonous needles in the bottom of his boots as a “sting in the tail” kind of thing.

- Talking about inspirations and such, Roman, Virgil, and Patton are pretty much just colour based; Roman being red roses [his name literally being Roman of the Rose] as a symbol of romance of course, with Virgil’s whole motif being Edgey and thus going with nightshade purple as his colour, and finally with Patton, his name took me the longest to work out, but Opal seemed to fit really well, and considering it represents Love and Loyalty? Come on, I had to.

- As for Logan, Deceit, and Remus, they all got more story links worked in somehow without me really realising. Logan was really unexpected, but between the Crofters’ Jam link and the blue colours, he gave me sort of Little Boy Blue vibes, and also via the name Logan being Scottish in origin and yknow, everythign else I mentioned? Yeah. I will definitely be adding celtic flair to his design when its coloured. Deceit is more obvious; Kaa was a good choice in influence that I noticed halfway through and just buckled down on. For Remus, he bounced around a bit between Maleficent and Dr Facilier, but in the end, I figured the Shadow Man was a better fit. Also his surname is literally just the Spanish for “Pickle” or “Gherkin”.

- Final info, if people are wondering, they’d all be centred on Huntsman training at Beacon, but in terms of where they’re from;

Roman and Remus would be from Atlas, obviously. That place spits out rich kids with issues like it’s quickfire Uno.

Virgil would be from Mantle; it’s pretty obviously one of the more run down and hard to live in areas, plus that’d set up the in this universe initial animosity between Roman and Virgil.

Logan is from Vale, so he’s a Beacon native. I considered him being from Atlas because of their tech. However, Vale won me over with Logan’s european influences and such.

Patton would be from Vacuo. I know its a weird choice, but hey, it’s full of faunus and it just fit a bit better than Menagerie or Mistral.

Speaking of, Deceit is 100% Menagerie born, but Mistral bred. He often tells people different conflicting origin stories, and won’t even tell his name to ex-buddy Virgil or ‘best buddy’ Remus.

I think that’s everything so far!!

I dunno if everyone else is as hype to see what comes of all this as I am, but either way I’m going to have fun doing it. <3

_______ PLEASE DO NOT: - repost my art at all - you are not permitted to line or colour this art - you are not permitted to use this art as an icon or profile pic - do not steal these designs, I put a lot of work into them ;; _______ Sanders Sides (c) @thatsthat24 RWBY (c) Monty Oum & Rooster Teeth The sketches belong to me.

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hedgebelle · 4 years

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Cultural References in “They Are Out There Saying”

It took me forever to compile it, but here it is! A brief explanation on all the references to Japanese culture I made in my JayDick Summer Exchange fic “They Are Out There Saying”.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25707886/chapters/62420596

When I got the prompt from @paperempires calling for the Batman Ninja verse, I was like, you want 16th century Japan? I SHALL DELIVER.

Ok, so first, let’s talk about geography.

Right now, Japan is divided into prefectures, but in the past there were provinces. Check out the map below.

Green: Hida Province

Aka the province where this fanfic actually takes place. Nowadays the Hida-Takayama region in Gifu Prefecture.

Located there is the hidden village of the Bat Clan, the calligrapher's house, as well as real places briefly mentioned: Takayama city with its castle (ruins) and Tenshōji Temple (associated with True Pure Land school of Buddhism), and Shirakawa Village (diamond shape on the map).

Btw, Shirakawa Village is a UNESCO world heritage site and overall a lovely place. If you have a chance to visit it, please do. Here, check it out 😊.

Also, Hida is one of the two places in all of Japan where gneiss, a type of metamorphic rock, can be found. A piece of trivia I learned from my best friend (who might or might have not dared me to fit gneiss somewhere in the fanfic) 😉. The second place where gneiss can be found - again, true fact - are Oki Islands, the archipelago north of the Grand Izumo Shrine.

Dark red: Owari Province

Nowadays part of Aichi Prefecture.

According to the Batman Ninja (the version with Japanese voice over) Joker made himself a feudal lord of this province. Which is kinda interesting, seeing as Oda Nobunaga (1534-1582), one of the key players during the warring states period who started the unification of Japan, was a lord of that domain.

Located in Owari is also Alfred's teahouse 😊.

Yellow: Kai Province

Nowadays, it's Yamanashi Prefecture.

Penguin made himself a feudal lord of this domain. In Batman Ninja he really commanded penguins wearing samurai armour 😂.

Violet line: Tōkaidō Road

A tract that linked Kyoto, a seat of the emperor, and Edo (present day Tokyo), the seat of shogun.

So, traveling the Tōkaidō Road didn't become a thing until the 17th century ^^". But I figured, if castles can be weaponized in this verse, then I can send Jason down this road 😊.

On the side note, travelling the Tōkaidō Road became quite a subject in the culture of the Edo Period (1600-1868). For example, check out these famous ukiyo-e.

Star: the Grand Shrine of Izumo

Very much a real place. One of the three most important Shintō shrines in all of Japan. Worshipped there is Okuninushi no Okami, god of marriage. When praying in the Grand Shrine, a pilgrim is supposed to clap their hands four times, not just two like everywhere else. That's because in that Shrine one is not praying just for themselves, but for their destined partner too.

The Grand Shrine is located in the Izumo Province - nowadays a part of Shimane Prefecture.

*Even today Izumo is called a place where fates are being brought together 😉.

Circle: Mt Hiei

Again, a real place, located very close to Kyoto. The Enryakuji temple located on that mountain historically had big influence also due to the fact, it commanded its own army of warrior monks. Some further reading on them, if your interested, is here.

(Btw, the Enryakuji Temple is also a UNESCO world heritage site.)

It was emperor Shirakawa (1053-1129) who one said that the only things he does not have control over are the roll of dice, the waters in Kamo River and the warrior monks of the Enryakuji Temple.

*Kamo River flows through Kyoto.

Square: Inabayama Castle

Nowadays called Gifu Castle, located in Gifu City, Gifu Prefecture 😊. One of few castles built on top of a mountain.

Triangle: Mt Osore

A real place, considered one of the most sacred in all of Japan. A site of Bodaiji Temple. Due to the volcanic activity in the area, there's sulfur both in the air and in the lake right by the temple - hence its striking colour. Otherwise, the landscape is barren.

It is said that Mt Osore matches the description of Buddhist hell, and holds the entrance to the afterlife. For some further, light reading check here.

If you think to yourself wooow that's a lot of references then fear not - there's more 😂.

Other references

Fuke Sect of Buddhism

Monks of this sect, as a part of their practise, wore basket hats, played flute, and were on constant pilgrimage.

Travel, however, used to be heavily restricted, so in exchange for a special travel permit, monks were asked to spy for the shogun. Also, ninja (and other people involved in espionage) were known to donn on the attire of a Fuke Sect monk. For that reason, monks were sometimes asked to play on their flutes to prove their identity.

In Batman Ninja Jason is operating undercover as one of those monks.

Check this, for some further reading.

Direction of the Demon’s Gate

It’s north-west. It was believed that demons and evil spirits enter through that direction, hence it was considered unlucky.

Rokuyō (lucky/unlucky days)

A circle of six days, three of which are thought to various degrees lucky, another three - to various degrees unlucky. The most unlucky one is called butsumetsu and apparently is meant to symbolise the day Budda died.

Old unit of measurement. 1 ri ≈ 3.9 km ≈ 2.4 mi

Sexagenary cycle

A cycle of 60 years. It was traditionally used in China for time reckoning, and was known in other South-East Asian countries too.

For some further reading click here.

Golden leaf

Kaga Province (north-east of Hida; now part of Ishikawa Prefecture) is known as the biggest producer of golden leaf in all of Japan.

Zen Circle

On the photo below:

It’s an important symbol in Zen Buddhism that stands for enlightenment, absolute, the void. In Japanese calligraphy and sumi-e (ink painting), drawing the circle is seen as an expression of absolute freedom of the mind that lets the body create. If it’s closed, it symbolises perfection. If not, it becomes an expression of wabi-sabi - a concept in Japanese aesthetics that translates to beauty of imperfection.

Kappa

One of the fantastic creatures that appears in many Japanese folktales. Kappa is a water demon that (unsurprisingly) dwells in lakes and rivers. It is rather mean and known to cause mischief, but surprisingly enough - very fond of cucumbers.

Ogre (oni)

One of the fantastic creatures featured in Japanese folklore. Usually portrayed with red skin, horns, and a tall, hulking figure; as a concept somewhat similar to demons or devils, as they represent everything evil and harmful (and also, oni reside in the eight great hells). It was believed a human wicked beyond any redemption might turn into an ogre.

Haikai-no renga

A genre of linked verse poetry. It is made of 18 or 36 verses that alternatively have 17 (5-7-5) or 14 (7-7) syllables. It is less formal than an earlier genre, renga, and as such is supposed to be lighter, witty, comical even. There aren't as many rules dictating which verse is supposed to have a direct allusion to which, how many times and in which verses certain motives (like flowers, moon, seasons) can be mentioned.

Still, the first verse is supposed to contain kigo, so a word or phrase that indicates the season - in the fanfic it’s May (rice planting season) which is classified as early summer in the old lunar calendar - or in some other clever way gives an allusion to the environment the poetry meeting took place in. The first verse is also supposed to be written by the guest of honour which is why Jason was asked to compose it 😊. Important is also the third verse, as that’s where the theme of the whole haikai-no renga is officially established.

From the first verse of haikai-no renga evolved possibly the most recognisable form of Japanese poetry - haiku.

Lovers’ suicide

A suicide committed together at the same time by the lovers whose shared affection defied the rules of society and/or obligations to their families. Before commiting the act, they would usually pray to be reborn together on the same lotus flower in the Pure Land.

Lovers’ suicide is a theme featured in plays for pupper theater bunraku, most prominently The Love Suicides at Sonezaki written by Chikamatsu Monzaemon.

Pure Land

In a nutshell: According to some schools of Buddhism in Japan, Pure Land where people can be reborn and practice pure version of Buddhism, thus are able to finally gain enlightenment (which is impossible when alive, because the practice in the land of the living is warped, impure).

Please, take my way too short explanation with a grain of salt. It might not seem that way, but I’m not all that knowledgeable about Buddhism ^^”.

Nenbutsu prayer

Practised in True Pure Land Buddhism. It’s basically a recitation of a short phrase that translates to “I take refuge in Buddha Amida”.

Kannon

The bodhisattva associated with compassion.

Vengeful ghost

It was believed that a person who harboured a deep grudge or hatred in their last living moments towards those who had wronged them could become a vengeful spirit.

*Hoichi the Earless - one of the traditional horror stories. In this story, vengeful ghosts (of the fallen Taira clan) want to take with them a blind monk because he beautifully plays on biwa (traditional instrument). Once his brethren realise the danger Hoichi is in, they paint his whole body in Buddhist sutra, safe for his ears. Because of that, when the ghosts appear again, Hoichi - safe for his ears - is invisible to them. Spoiler alert, the ghosts take Hoichi’s ears, thus the earless in the title. Check out here for some further reading.

Ten Virtues of Tea

Text attributed to a Buddhist monk Myōe (1173-1232. It lists all the properties of green tea beneficial to the human body and soul.

Translation can be found here.

Portuguese firearms

Historically, the first Europeans Japanese people came in contact with were Potuguese traders. They introduced many European goods including firearms.

On the unrelated note, the Potuguese in that time period were referred to as Nanbanjin (南蛮人) which translates to southern barbarians.

Eight great hells

...are the concept of hell in the traditional culture in a nutshell. The concept itself was heavily influenced by Buddhism.

Further reading is available here.

Shinto wedding ceremony

While it incorporates many rites, the most core one (as far as I know) features the groom and the bride taking turns drinking sake (rice wine) from three cup, each slightly bigger than the other. When drinking, they are supposed to sip three times.

In feudal times, wedding ceremonies started with an elaborate bridal procession to the groom’s house. There, the dowry would be presented, blessings would be given, and then the bride and groom would take turns drinking sake as described above.

...Okay, I believe that’s it. Thank you for reading!

#jaydick summer exchange #fanfic notes #jaydick #japanese culture #references explained #i am such a nerd

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thewatermelloncat · 4 years

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Take Me Seriously... After This

Summary: A prompt given to be by @candydancey, where the reader is a ghost who helps Klaus to prank his siblings during a training exercise. For the purpose of this story, Ben can now appear as a ghost to people at his own freewill.

Author’s Note: I have written the reader as a girl, I’m sorry if that isn’t preferable for everyone. It was just easier for me to write it that way.

Warnings: None

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“I don’t approve of this” Ben says while lazily staring out the window. Arms crossed and avoiding Klaus looking at him hopefully.

“Come on, lighten up. It’ll be fun!” Klaus encourages him with far too much enthusiasm for what he is planning.

“Klaus” Ben turns to him seriously, unfolding his arms. “They’re never going to take you seriously if you do this.”

“Who says I want to be taken seriously?”

“You, all the time. When you come around complaining that none of them are listening to you.”

Klaus falls silent for a bit, seeming to consider it. Though unfortunately because of his nature, he disregards it. “I’ll work on being serious later. Just help me have some fun first.”

“No” Ben shakes his head, more of his annoyance showing through.

“Ben” Klaus draws out a whine as his brother gets up from his seat at the window and walks toward the door.

“Find someone else” he says without turning around. “But I’m really hoping you’ll reconsider.”

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Gravel crunched under Klaus’ boots as he sulkily kicked at it, hands behind his back and dejectedly looking at the ground without any mind to where he was going. Eventually he came to a bench in the courtyard and sat down on it planning to contemplate the complexities of his life.

He’d only kicked his feet out in front of him when he feels a presence behind him.

“What’s wrong?” y/n asks coming to rest her arms on the a back of the bench, looking down at him over his shoulder.

“What makes you ask that?” he counters but not in an unfriendly way.

“For starters, you never really come outside” she begins leaving a short gap in conversation before adding more playfully, “and Ben isn’t here.”

“He’s no fun” Klaus whines, not caring to notice that the statement is slightly out of context.

“That’s not new” y/n scoffs. “What did he do?”

“Well it’s more like what he won’t do.”

“And what is that?”

“I want him to help me prank my dear siblings, but he won’t do it on the moral grounds that none of them will take me seriously” Klaus deepens his voice into a mocking tone at the end, waving his hands in the air down at his sides.

“They don’t take you seriously anyway. What’s the difference?”

“I know but it would be nice if they could sometimes” Klaus states before y/n’s face falls and he realises that perhaps he hasn’t sold his argument well enough. “But afterward I said I’d work on it” he quickly adds before y/n can choose the same side as Ben.

“All right then” she raises her eyebrows at him. “What are you planning to do?”

“I know that you listen around so I’m assuming you know about the training exercise Luther is planning?” Klaus half asks half states.

“He barely shuts up about it” y/n nods.

“Yeah” Klaus agrees. “I want to scare them.”

“How? No offense but you’re not much Klaus. You can’t pop up randomly like Five can.”

“I can’t but Ben could” Klaus sighs deeply. “But like I said, he’s no fun.”

“You could try and convince Five to do it” y/n suggests even though she knows it would never fly.

“Ask a 58-year-old assassin to help me pull a practical joke?” Klaus asks in disbelief although he knows that she knows it wouldn’t work either.

“Well, have you got any other suggestions?”

“Not at the mo – wait!” Klaus cuts himself off midsentence. “You’re a ghost!”

Y/n looks down at herself before back up to Klaus with a confused expression. “Well spotted” she says sarcastically.

“No, no, no” Klaus waves his hands frantically in front of himself, his excitement growing. “You can walk through walls and appear randomly.”

“Not on my own. You know that Ben is the only one who can appear at will.”

“Yes, yes, I know” he agrees. “But I can help you.”

“Help me so I can help you prank your siblings?”

“Yeah!” his face spreads out in a gigantic smile.

“One problem” y/n immediately curbs his enthusiasm and his face falls. “You haven’t even asked me yet.”

“Please y/n! I will literally get on the ground and beg you” Klaus clasps both his hands above his head and then lowers them to in front of his chest, shaking them as he does so.

“Okay” y/n shrugs, feigning seriousness. “Get on the ground and beg then.”

“Really?” Klaus’ voice cracks and he draws his head back in confusion. Still prepared to move all the same.

“Nah, messing with you” y/n laughs. “When are we doing it?”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Klaus wasn’t as small as Five or as agile as Diego but if he was lucky for one thing, he was great at going unnoticed. When he wanted to of course.

They’d all started down in the foyer where Luther went over the rules one last time. Klaus and Diego had been bored out of their minds having to listen to him explain that the first person to gather all their flags and make it back to the foyer would win, and how no use of powers was to be permitted, as if they hadn’t heard it multiple times already. Five had been bouncing on the balls of his feet, clear that he already had a plan figured out and was rearing to go.

Once they had been dismissed, they all speed off in different directions to collect their flags. Well, aside from Klaus who wasn’t interested in collecting his. Instead he’d speed off to the attic and by the time he had made it to the top level and to his planned hiding spot, he had yet to see any of his siblings again. But he knew he would be running into them soon enough.

“You couldn’t have picked a more original hiding spot than in a cupboard?” y/n whispers to him, although no one but him could hear her anyway.

“I can’t fit anywhere else” Klaus reasons, “and what’s wrong with the classics?”

“It’s predictable.”

“Well, you don’t have to hide with me” he points out, looking at her standing in the small space next to him.

Y/n furrows her brow and looks down at herself like she’s just remembering that she’s not corporal. Then she hums and steps through the wall into the open space of the attic. “Are you even going to try get any of your flags?” she asks him as she runs her hand through the flags hanging from a string attached from one wall to another.

Klaus scoffs, scrunching his face comically. “Nah, Five or Diego will win anyway.”

“Not even just one?” she points to his one, coloured green. “I don’t see why you can’t steal all of theirs and stitch them up” she continues after seeing him shake his head through the small gap in the cupboard door.

“Believe me I’ve thought about it, but this prank will be so much better” Klaus dismisses, pausing a little before adding. “Also, this way I won’t get accused of cheating because I’m not even trying.”

“You could still get one. I mean it’s right there” y/n points to it again.

“Christ on a cracker, you sound like Ben” Klaus sighs, tipping his head back. “Fine, if it means that much to you, I’ll” – Klaus is cut off as he begins to step out of the cupboard.

“No, no! Get back, get back!” y/n shoos him away. “I can hear someone coming.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Vanya’s fingers twirl lazily at the ends of the two flags she has attached to her belt. She thought she might have run into Five up here, figuring that he would have planned to start at the top level and make his way back down since he is certainly faster than the rest of them at climbing flights of stairs. Though apparently, he’d taken a different strategy since she had yet to run into him, into anyone in fact.

Rounding the corner to step through the door of the attic her eyes land on the purple square of material waiting for her. By the looks of things no one else has been there yet, the area seeming rather innocent.

Suddenly a scream splits trough the room and a flash of blue appears inches in front of her face before disappearing. Gasping in fright she jumps back hitting the wall, clasping a hand to her chest. She doesn’t wait past the point of the light fading before she spins on her heel and hurries out into the hallway, in a daze from what she saw.

She feels fuzzy as her heart rate settles down but before she can fully process what happened a voice sounds from ahead of her.

“What happened? Are you alright?” Diego asks.

Vanya aware that he would have heard the scream and come to find her with an undoubtably pale face. “Yeah” she breathes out, her voice stuttering slightly.

“What was it?” his face is deeply etched in concern but he stops a few steps away from her. Stealing each other’s flags once they have been retrieved is still very much on the table.

“I don’t know” Vanya shakes her head, trying to clear her thoughts. “Something jumped out and screamed at me. I initially thought it was Five since there was a flash of blue, but his flag was still there.”

“I also don’t think Five is the person to scream at people” Diego disregards.

“Who am I screaming at?” Five asks as he appears from around the corner, looking thoroughly confused.

“No one” Diego says. “Vanya was just saying that she saw a flash of blue when something screamed at her.”

“You mean that wasn’t you who screamed?” Five directs toward her.

“No. Almost did.”

“Then who did scream?” Allison asks as she reaches the top of the stairs.

“I don’t know, something just jumped out at me” Vanya explains.

“Are you sure you didn’t just imagine something?” Luther is the last to join the group, no doubt them all congregating up where they heard the scream come from.

“Don’t even start with that” Diego holds up a hand before an argument can start, beginning to walk through the group. “I’m going to check it out.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The situation confused Diego a great deal. He’d been quick to rule Five out of the picture because he really wasn’t one for scaring people. Purposefully anyway – he was great at doing it by accident. But that left them at a loss for a suspect, since Vanya wasn’t one to lie either. There had to be a logical explanation.

Confidently striding into the attic, he has a quick look around.

“There’s nothing in here!” he calls back out into the hallway, finding only dusty cupboards and a few stacks of old chairs.

Without a threat in sight he steps forward to snatch his orange flag off the line. After securing it to his belt he looks up to find a girl radiating blue light, standing directly in front of him.

“Hey, handsome” she smirks as he startles back with a small yelp that he can only pray that his siblings don’t hear.

He doesn’t stick around long enough to know if she disappears afterward or to know where she goes, immediately turning and making his way out the door.

“No one told me the place was haunted!” he points aggressively back to the attic as he makes his way back to the rest of the group.

“What, you mean you actually saw something?” Luther scoffs at him.

“Damn right I saw something! There’s ghost camping up in there!”

“Hold up, this seems way to convenient” Luther stops him. “I’m sure this is just a ploy to stop the exercise. I know you never wanted to do it in the first place.”

“I never had a problem with it” Vanya interjects but it’s largely ignored as Luther and Diego bicker back and forward with one another. Unsurprisingly it’s Allison who is the one to break it up.

“Goodness sake, cut it out! I’ll go check” she says before turning toward the attic.

The rest of them don’t know if she should go alone but before any of them can move to follow her, she disappears through the door. Collectively they hold their breath as they wait for her to return. Everything seems fine for the first few moments until they hear her scream and their hearts collectively drop before she loudly bursts out in sudden laughter.

She emerges from the attic with her hand over her stomach and a bright smile on her face, looking up to the heavens still laughing. Though her hands are empty with her flag forgotten.

Luther means to say something but all that comes out is a sound of confusion.

“How is that funny?” Diego is the first person to make out anything intelligible.

“Think about it” Allison says after taking a calming breath when she reaches the group. “Who’s the one of us who isn’t here?”

“Klaus” Diego and Five groan with a roll of their eyes.

“He wasn’t the one who jumped out at me” Vanya’s face creases in confusion.

“No, he’s not jumping out he’s getting someone else to do it for him” Allison explains.

“Where is he then?” Vanya asks.

“He’ll be around. Wouldn’t want to miss his own prank” Diego assures.

“I’ll find him” Five says before he stalks off into the attic.

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On all accounts Five shouldn’t be scared of anything. He’s handled his fair share of terrible experiences and dealings with horrible people. Though that doesn’t mean when he steps into the centre of the attic and a ghost abruptly bursts out at him, that he doesn’t startle back a bit.

From his spot in the cupboard Klaus scoffs a quiet laugh as Five suddenly disappears only to blink back a few steps away. He can help but feel proud of his efforts, Five had been the one he secretly wanted to get the most, figuring it would be hard to scare him being an ex-assassin and all. Though he immediately realises his mistake as Five’s head turns from staring down the ghost and over to the cupboard where he hides. Clearly having heard him.

Klaus has always kind of been jealous of Five’s power – anyone else’s really – but now he wishes he had it, watching his brother heading toward him with his face set in stone. Maybe he should have taken y/n’s advice and hidden somewhere rather than in a cupboard, that way he would have had a better chance to escape. Though he realises helplessly that there really is no escaping from Five, as the door is flung wide-open and he reaches forward to grapple him by the shoulder before whisking them both away.

Klaus wobbles slightly on his feet as Five lets go of his shoulder, leaving him standing alone in the centre of a circle formed by his siblings. All of them but Allison seem to be giving him varying levels of disapproving looks. He curls in on himself sheepishly, raising his hands to his shoulders moving them in shy jazz hands, before sing-songing “surprise.”

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“We need to get him back” Allison says as she walks into the kitchen finding all her siblings but Klaus seated at the table. There’s a childish smile on her face which none of them can say no to.

“Won’t that just encourage him to do it again?” Luther raises, although he’s not completely opposed to the idea of getting pay back.

“So what? I’d rather even the score for a bit than let him get away with it scot-free” Diego puts in.

“Anyone got any ideas?” Vanya asks.

“I have one” Five surprises them, leaning back in his chair, “but it’s reliant on Ben helping us.”

“Has anyone seen him? I haven’t seen him all day” Luther muses.

“Well, we can’t get Klaus to help us find him. Should we breakout the Ouija board?” Diego jokes.

“I’m here” Ben says, suddenly drawing all their attentions to the bench where he sits.

None of them startle as they used to do when he first began to appear on his own, but it remains that they all smile whenever they look at him. Still unused to seeing him after all those years, even if he is still glowing blue.

“I’m down for whatever” he says to Five before looking to the collective group. “You have no idea about some of the stuff he put me through.”

For now, none of them question it, but they make a note to bring it up with him later.

“You know I never thought of you as the pranking type” Allison blurts out, her voice raised a couple of pitches as she studies Five with a squint.

“I’m hugely spiteful” Five says coolly.

Diego hums in agreement before turning toward his brother, “what’s the plan?”

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The lounge is dark apart from the light projecting from the little box television they had set up in front of the seating arrangement. Klaus sits on the floor leaving room for Diego, Allison and Vanya to fit on the couch, while Luther and Five sit in the chairs either side of it.

Occasionally the siblings find themselves smiling to one another over the suspense of what they are going to do to Klaus. Allison was the worst at keeping a straight face, Diego had been a hard one to crack but Allison had managed it just over a minute ago. Five was the only one yet to break.

Scenes from the Little Mermaid play across the screen, the children’s movie seeming innocent enough. Klaus seems fully invested swaying along to the music with the popcorn bowl that he’d insisted on holding in his arms. If only he knew what was coming.

The final note of Poor Unfortunate Souls is just fading out as a mass of blue tentacles erupt through the screen. Ben yelling out as he phases through it, glowing tentacles flailing out and reaching for Klaus.

From the floor their brother shrieks and jerks backward, sending the bowl in his arms sailing. To the sound of his siblings’ laughter, popcorn rains down over them like confetti celebrating a good revenge complete.

#tua #The Umbrella Academy #umbrella academy fanfiction #reader #luther hargreeves #diego hargreeves #allison hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #five hargreeves #ben hargreeves #vanya hargreeves #prank #sibling bonding

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wat-the-cur · 5 years

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Domestic Awesome Monster Bashers Headcanons (Which ended up being a lot more serious than I imagined. I am sorry for this):

(Warning: Whilst there is nothing explicit here, this post does contains mentions of trauma, mental health and eating problems.)

- In this AU, neither Alan, nor Sam were turned. The AMB have grown up together and remained dedicated to their cause. While their level of activity has risen and fallen over the years, as circumstances have dictated, they have never officially disbanded.

- Sometime during their adult lives they felt the need to abandon fixed accommodations, for the sake of security a discretion. They left Frog Comics behind and moved into a trailer. By pooling their money, they were able to buy a fairly sized one, just big enough for the three of them. They have moved around several times throughout the years, from crowded trailer parks, to the arse end of nowhere.

- Moving into the trailer meant having to part with their dogs. They knew that their new home would not have sufficient space for all of the dogs to live comfortably, and there was no way that they would have let them sleep outside. They might have had space for one dog, maybe two at a push, but if they decided that if they had to part with one, they had to part with all of them. They made doubly sure that the dogs would go to safe and loving homes, before moving out of Frog Comics. Leaving their beloved beasts was possibly the hardest thing they ever had to do. With each parting, there was not a dry eye among them. It took some time for them to adjust to life without them. Edgar and Alan fell silent for weeks and Sam repeatedly called the each of the new families, for reassurance that his-...their dogs were happy.

- Not one of them is without a criminal record at this point. Of course, this has made employment something of a trial. Whilst Sam had lived at Frog Comics for many years, he had trained and worked at the local pharmacy. Since moving away from Santa Carla and receiving a record, the only work he has been able to get have been retail and manual labour jobs. Edgar, well and truly finished dealing with the public, has worked a few jobs as a cleaner. He has, however, been fired before for failing to report, or manage pests. Alan is a busker. His voice is not up to much, but he has learned to play the guitar rather well.

- Their trailer is stuffed, fit to burst. In spite of having worked as a cleaner for several years, Edgar is content to simply kick things into corners. Alan does not see the mess and Sam cannot bring himself to make a start on it. You cannot see the colour of the floor through the layers of unwashed clothes, old newspapers and dogeared paperbacks. It’s a game of hopscotch through toppled weapons, towers of comic books and fidget toys to get to anything. The crosses on the walls (most of which were made by Sam, to keep himself busy) have gotten grey with dust. The whole place smells like must and food that’s just staring to turn.

- There is no television in their trailer, so they cannot watch their VHS tapes, anymore. They do, however, have a radio and a CD player. Alan can often be found noodling around with his guitar, so that he won’t get rusty. Sam, still being a theatre kid at heart, will often start singing so Alan can play along.

- Alan takes charge of ensuring the trailer is protected, as he spends the most time in it.

- Sam wears Nanook’s name tag on a chain. He had originally worn his whole collar, but he has not been permitted to do so while working in retail. Unlike Edgar and Alan, who wear their crosses around their necks, Sam wears it on his wrist. He has a woven bracelet, from which dangles a small cross carved out of a rose quartz. During the summer, he may also wear a cross on his ankle.

- Sam has taken up a few crafts, to help him deal with stress. Almost all of the clothes he wears are charity shop pieces that he has altered. He cuts things up, bleaches and re-dyes them and prints designs on them with paper stencils and fabric paint. He has also taken to making jewellery, using woven thread and cheap beads. Most of the Frogs’ attire is made up of examples of Sam’s work. When Edgar’s hair grows long, he will sometimes let Sam put a couple of tiny braids in it.

- Years of hunting has shown the AMB a lot of things. It is safe to say that each of them carry some trauma with them. Alan was always partially non-verbal, but now (with they exception of his singing, which he does not always do) he barely speaks more than two words at a time to Edgar and Sam. He is not quite fluent in sign language, but he uses other ways to communicate with his companions, ones that he would use when he was younger.

Edgar is very, very angry. Where once he was content to run the battle against evil as a business, as well as a vocation, he can now no longer act as the voice of AMB. He is deeply resentful of a world that has never believed them, or appreciated what they have done. He has seen his brother and his best friend a hair away from death, more times than he would ever have guessed back at the tender age of fourteen. He has been there many times, himself. It has left him shaken and living life on a very short fuse. Sam often acts as the voice of AMB and the mediator between Edgar and their neighbours.

Sam maintains the best social skills of the three, but evidence of his trauma comes out in other ways. He is very reluctant to sleep, due to paranoia and vivid, reoccurring nightmares. Each of them suffers from this, but Sam is inclined to sit up, braiding and unbraiding threads in the dark. He performs repetitive rituals to push away negative feelings. He is also eats a great deal for comfort.

- They do have separate beds, but will often huddle together on the floor when sleep becomes difficult.

#the lost boys #Lost Boys #tw: eating problems #tw: trauma #tw: mental health #awesome monster bashers #frog brothers #sam emerson #edgar frog #alan frog

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beyarmamo · 6 years

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BeyArMaMo 2018 - Event Info

- Beyblade Art Making Month -

A B O U T

BeyArMaMo is an annual art event that encourages fans of Bakuten Shoot Beyblade to get creative throughout October.

The Beyblade Art Making Month came about in 2008 after it occured to me that I loved art and I loved Beyblade but I hadn’t been combing the two together enough. I decided to rectify this by setting myself the challenge to create a piece of Beyblade art every day for an entire month. There were plenty of scribbles and hastily drawn nonsense (and a inexplicable drawing of Daichi sitting on a cow) but somehow I managed to complete the challenge. And I felt awesome.

The following year, I decided to take up the challenge again but this time I was joined by a handful of friends from DeviantArt. It was received positively and that was pretty much that. The event has since been held each October, growing year on year, and with fans participating from all around the world. This year we will be celebrating BeyArMaMo’s 10th Anniversary.

T H E C H A L L E N G E

The BeyArMaMo concept is pretty simple. Participants are challenged to create Bakuten Shoot Beyblade art throughout October - that’s it. It doesn’t even have to be good art. Or finished. The focus is on creation so there’s no problem if you can only manage a scribble or something comes out a bit wonky. It’s simply about creating something when we otherwise might not have done. It’s all good.

It sounds pretty easy but when you’re crawling in from a long shift from work the last thing you’ll probably want to think about doing is, well, anything. Or maybe you’ve got the school run, and the shopping to do and you need a tidy round and before you know it it’s bedtime and you haven’t had chance to pick up a pencil. Perhaps you just can’t think of anything to draw or you might simply be lacking any measure of motivation. This is where the challenge aspect comes in. Some days you’ll be throwing out art left, right and centre and others will leave you cursing all your life choices. But that’s part of what makes it exciting. It’s sort of stressful in a good way.

If you’re not loving the idea of stress then don’t worry - help is at hand. There are three challenge types for you to choose from. Each is akin to a different difficulty so if you want a nice gentle time, have at it. But if you want an all encompassing Beyblade art extravaganza then you can have that too.

Simply pick the challenge type that appeals to you most and rock on.

01 - BeyArMaMo

This is the original, and most difficult, challenge. Your aim is to create at least one piece of artwork every day throughout October. By the end of the month you should have created at least 31 pieces of art.

02 - Mini-BeyArMaMo

This is a gentle challenge to motivate you while keeping the stress at a minimum. Your aim here is to create at least one piece of art every week throughout October. By the end of the month you should have created at least 4 pieces of art.

03 - Super-Mini-BeyArMaMo

This is, in theory, the least challenging of the three options. Just a 1 piece of art, that’s all you need to do. Perfect for those of us with hectic lives. And procrastinators.

T H E M E D A Y S

Theme days are an optional extra to help inspire or challenge you. Each day, a new theme will be posted for you base your work on. It might be a colour or an object, a feeling or a place. You can choose to use all the themes, some of the themes or none at all. Participants in the Mini-BeyArMaMo challenge may pick any of the themes posted in each particular week.

The full theme list will be posted one week before the start of BeyArMaMo to help you plan your artwork.

R U L E S

BeyArMaMo was designed to be a challenge but it’s also extremely casual. Like, whatever. Above all else it’s meant to be fun so please don’t worry about the rules, even though there are technically rules. You can actually get away with a lot. But if you do wish to be mindful of the rules, here they are.

1) This event is solely for Bakuten Shoot Beyblade fan art. ‘Beyblade’ is not used as a blanket term for the entire franchise. Only art based on Bakuten Shoot Beyblade, Bakuten Shoot Beyblade 2002 (V Force), Bakuten Shoot Beyblade G Revolution, Bakuten Shoot Beyblade The Movie: Gekitou!! Takao vs Daichi (Fierce Battle) and the manga (including Rising) is permitted.

2) All art must contain Bakuten Shoot Beyblade characters. They can cosplay, reference other series or even dive into a world of crossovers, but the main focus must be Beyblade. OCs, however, are not permitted.

3) Your art shouldn’t be created in advance. Art for day one should be created on the 1st of October, day two on the 2nd of October, and so on. For the weekly challenge, art for week three should be created during the third week,etc. Creating your art in advance sort of lessens the joy.

4) Your art can be in any form. Digital illustrations, traditional illustrations, comics, literature, photography, crafts, cosplay - baking even! If you want to knit Kai’s scarf, you go for it.

5) Enjoy. It’s not technically a rule as such but… Please just roll with it and try not to stress yourself out. If you don’t finish or you miss a day, don’t worry. You’re still awesome because you’re embracing your Beyblade love. And that’s all that matters.

H O W T O P A R T I C I P A T E

You will be able to sign up for the event from the 1st of September until the 30th of September. A list of registered participants will be made available so you can share links to your artwork and find other artists so follow.

If you prefer not to sign up officially then that’s fine too. You can participate in your own way.

Exclusive BeyArMaMo goodies will be available for registered members to purchase during the event.

The sign up form will be posted at the beginning of September.

S C H E D U L E

BeyArMaMo runs from the 1st of October to the 31st of October but there are a few other noteworthy dates too.

1st September 2018 - BeyArMaMo sign-up period begins.

24th September 2018 - Daily themes announced.

30th September 2018 - BeyArMaMo sign-up period ends.

1st October 2018 - BeyArMaMo 2018 begins.

31st October 2018 - BeyArMaMo 2018 ends.

1 0 T H A N N I V E R S A R Y

BeyArMaMo is celebrating its 10th anniversary this year and to commemorate this momentous occasion I am planning a souvenir art book. I’ll be sharing more details about this shortly and I hope some of you might like to take part in it too!

A N D F I N A L L Y

I think I’ve covered everything here that needs to be covered but if there’s something you’re not sure about then just get in touch. I’ll be sorting out a few extra things over the next few weeks before sign ups start so expect one or two more updates before then. In the meantime, keep being awesome and if you feel like sharing news about the event then that would be lovely. Hopefully we’ll have an absolute bunch of us raring to go by October!

Take it easy, guys!

Laura (Gasara)

#beyblade #bakuten shoot beyblade #beyarmamo #beyarmamo2018

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radfemetc · 6 years

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When Bindels speak*

Fourteen years ago, in an opinion column in The Guardian provocatively entitled ‘Gender Benders, Beware’, lesbian feminist activist Julie Bindel wrote that:

“I don’t have a problem with men disposing of their genitals, but it does not make them women, in the same way that shoving a bit of vacuum hose down your 501s does not make you a man.”

I vaguely remember reading this at the time, slightly bemused both at the piece and then at the subsequent outraged public reaction to it. Fast forward to a few months ago, and I’ve just published some blog pieces which, though not reaching Bindelesque proportions, have proved moderately controversial in my discipline, academic philosophy. As I discuss and defend my views on social media, and watch others discuss them, the name of Julie Bindel comes up repeatedly, as an example of company which, it is presumed, I absolutely don’t want to keep. A well-established male philosopher intones repeatedly about Bindel’s ‘offensive, transphobic’ comments in the past. Another describes her to me as a ‘loopy extremist’, and ‘potty’. I go back to find the article online and rather disbelievingly check whether it’s the same one I vaguely remember. It is.

Now, to attempt to mitigate against such perceptions, which perhaps you share, I could tell you about Bindel’s frankly stunning track record of effective activism, working on behalf of natal women and girls world-wide with an energy and bravery which borders on heroic. I could tell you that the context of her Guardian piece was partly a discussion of an attempt by trans women Kimberley Nixon to sue Vancouver Rape Relief for not allowing her to work with traumatised natal women fleeing male sexual violence: a case which rumbled on for another three years before Nixon lost, costing the shelter thousands of dollars to defend against. I could point out that the idiom of the piece was clearly intended to be comic, colourful, and frank, and was pretty funny in several places; for instance:

“When I were a lass, new to feminism and lesbianism, I was among the brigade who would sit in the women’s disco wearing vegetarian shoes and staring in disbelief at the butch/femme couples, mainly because they were having a better time than me”.

I could tell you that even so, she later apologised ‘unreservedly’ for writing the article. I could point out that many of the things she says in the piece are prescient, and over time have only got more troubling: worries about how trans ideology often essentialises wholly sexist gender stereotypes about masculine and feminine behaviour; about the development of a culture apparently in favour of cutting off parts of healthy bodies if one is ‘unhappy with the constraints of .. gender’; and about the harmful implied message sent by this culture to butch lesbians and camp gay men. And I could also easily manifest the anger I felt, as I read these online comments from middle-class heterosexual males, typing smugly and contemptuously about one moment fourteen years ago in the life of a working-class lesbian, who has devoted most of the rest of that life to addressing issues such as child grooming, sex trafficking, prostitution, and cross-border surrogacy; doing activism in the field, and not just from the armchair.

But to cite these facts as exculpatory of Bindel would suggest that an ordinary woman who had said roughly the same thing as her– that is, that trans women aren’t, in fact, women — and yet who was not already a heroic feminist defender of natal women, or who wasn’t partly talking about an odiously selfish individual such as Nixon, would be at fault. I deny this too. That is, I reject the near-pathological zeal with which trans activists, ‘trans allies’, and ‘woke blokes’ generally, seek to monitor and control natal women’s language in this domain: not just with respect to discussing whether trans women are actually women, but also in uses of particular names and pronouns, and gender attributions.

The statement “transwomen are women” has become a kind of mantra for so-called progressives. To understand what it is meant by it, we need to distinguish the use of that phrase, in those mouths, from two other contexts. One of those involves a claim about the law. Since 2004, those in the UK with a Gender Recognition Certificate are counted as having had their gender ‘reassigned’. This is not, and was never intended to be, any pronouncement on a biological fact. It is in fact impossible for a child or adult to biologically change sex. (I’m prepared to offer arguments for this, if needed, but most readers will, I hope, accept it as true). Nor was this law supposed to pronounce definitively on the question of whether a trans woman with a GRC ‘really is’ a woman. The Gender Recognition Act was at most intended to allow for a legal status — that of ‘gender reassignment’ — for the purposes of access to certain protections under the law.

A second version of the claim “trans women are women” is uttered for therapeutic reasons. One basis for self-identifying as a trans person is the condition of gender dysphoria. It is assumed by many medical practitioners that, on diagnosis of this condition, treating a person ‘as if’ belonging to their self-identified gender is helpful to their well-being; whereas confronting them with their ‘birth-assigned’ gender, or the biological facts of their sex, is not. We might easily interpret this as a kind of benevolent role-playing or method-acting, extending from the medical practitioner out into the wider community: act as if a trans woman is a woman, in most social contexts. But this is completely compatible with denying that trans women really arewomen, in a more committed sense.

Somehow, though, in recent years, a respectful concern for the well-being of trans people has supposedly morphed into a literal claim about category membership: trans women really are women. That is: trans women belong unambiguously in the category of women; the concept of woman literally applies to them. For most trans activists, this is supposed to be true whether the trans woman is a post-operative transsexual, or a trans woman on hormones, or whether she belongs to the significant proportion of trans women who are neither. She ‘is’ a women, whether she transitioned in her teens, or in middle-age; whether thirty years ago, or yesterday. Moreover, for many trans activists, not only are trans women literally women, but if they have children, they can be mothers. If they have female partners, they can be lesbians. They can be victims of misogyny. And so on. One by one, the familiar words women have used to describe themselves tumble like a chain of dominoes.

Such claims are usually unargued-for. They are presented more as self-evident truths; the outcome of revelation, perhaps, or as some article of faith which it would be downright evil to try to deny or complicate. As this description suggests, agreement with such claims is ruthlessly socially enforced by trans activists. Not only are you not supposed to refer to or imply, in front of a trans person, any fact about their natally-bestowed gender or biological sex; you aren’t suppose to mention these, even in their absence. To do otherwise is sometimes called a form of ‘violence’. Even on a massive UK discussion forum like Mumsnet, in a thread about trans people written by gender-critical feminists and directed towards fellow gender-critical feminists, you aren’t supposed to mention it. Even on a Whatsapp group chat involving natal women working at the BBC, you aren’t supposed to mention it. It doesn’t matter if your subject matter is Labour party all-woman shortlists, what to do about children who think they are trans, medical discussions, biology teaching, or presumably, your own relatives; you are never, ever, eversupposed to describe trans women as men or male, ‘deadname’, ‘misgender’, or use the ‘wrong’ pronouns out loud. Even trans women themselves aren’t supposed to do these things: see the bullying treatment that trans women in the UK such as Miranda Yardley, Kristina Harrison, and Debbie Hayton get, when they deny that they themselves are ‘really’ women, and seek a different narrative.

This is in itself quite striking, as for other false claims about category membership, people are normally socially permitted to assert them. Take the claims: “Elton John is straight”. “Marvin Gaye is white”. Those claims are obviously false, but there was, presumably, no inward gasp of horror as you just read them. Now contrast with: “Caitlyn Jenner is a man”; “Lily Madigan is biologically male; he is a man”. Even though I mention these as exemplary sentences, rather than assert them myself, I assume that at least some readers think I just wrote something awful. Moreover, this is presumably not just the feeling that I showed a lack of respect for the addressee’s wishes; for if I tell you that the composer of the song ‘Rocket Man’ is Reginald Dwight, presumably you don’t think I just committed ‘violence’ against Elton John by ‘deadnaming’ him.

Writing down those phrases about Jenner and Madigan just now, but without quotation marks, would be enough to have me banned from Twitter. Articles have been removed from Medium for less. This is not, despite what opponents have sometimes suggested, because such statements are obviously morally equivalent to denying the personhood or humanity of those who are racially different to oneself. (Again, I’m happy to offer arguments for this — it won’t take long — but I leave it aside for the moment, on the assumption that most readers aren’t so sophomoric). Nor is it reasonable to think that hearing such statements will generally cause trans people to have thoughts of suicide, as is sometimes dramatically suggested by Owen Jones, in a way that means we should never utter them.

A better explanation seems to involve the thought that, should a speaker X publically refer to a trans person Y by their natally-bestowed name or pronouns, even out of the earshot of Y, Y might later find out about it; or at least, some other trans person might find out about it, and by extrapolation to their own case, be caused to experience a distressing episode of dysphoria. Equally, presumably, it is worried that if a trans woman overhears a general claim such as “trans women are men/ males”, she will be caused great distress; perhaps too, a trans man might be caused great distress, again by extrapolating to his own case.

However, this reasoning clearly has limits. If gender critical feminists are talking to each other on a discussion thread clearly advertised for the purpose, or in a Whatsapp group, then it just seems too demanding to require they talk a certain way, just in case a trans woman or trans man reads or ‘hears’ them. The trans woman in question would almost certainly have to be specially looking. Quite often trans activists will equate misgendering along the lines of going up to a trans person and screaming ‘you’re a man!’ in their face(always ‘screaming’, of course). Obviously this isn’t what is happening in the contexts just mentioned: this is natal women talking to other natal women, about matters of great importance to them, as such, and with no reasonable expectation that they will be accidentally ‘overheard’.

In any case: even if one can foresee that trans people will overhear when one denies that trans women are women — is that a compelling reason not to say what one thinks? It rather depends on what is at stake. It was part of the original argument of my blog pieces that rather a lot is currently at stake in the UK with respect to this matter. There are several conflicts of interest that arise between trans women, as a category, and women, as a category, competing for the same spaces and resources. Trans activists seem to think that natal women should accede to all their demands. In that context, I think natal women should be allowed to speak freely in a critical way about the underpinnings of trans activist views. If natal women conclude after consideration that trans women aren’t women, they should be able to say so, whether or not they’re ultimately right.

Partly too, though, I think that the moral horror which unconsciously accompanies ‘misgendering’ in particular is, perversely, an artefact of sexist normative stereotypes for natal women and men. We tend to frame statements like “Caitlyn Jenner is a man/ male” in terms of insults launched at ‘butch’ or ‘manly’ natal women. The combination of a woman’s name and the epithet ‘man’ or ‘male’ sounds insulting, automatically. Compare: “Kathleen Stock is a man”. Were you to hear someone else saying this, perhaps you would empathically imagine me hearing the same thing and finding it distressing or embarrassing; you might assume that as a woman, I must aspire to the norm of a feminised appearance, and must suffer if I miss the mark. But — of course — to say e.g. that “Caitlyn Jenner is a man” isn’t an insult, in many contexts in which it is uttered. It is, in the mouths of many, a descriptive fact, not a slur or insult. Indeed, arguably it could only be an insult in the way just indicated, if in fact the speaker already assumed that Caitlyn Jenner was a woman. And this is, precisely, not assumed by those that tend to say it.

What else might underly the reaction to Bindel, in particular? I’m sure that part of it is to do with another sexist assumption: that women cannot be bawdy, frank, or colourful in their language; they must be sober, measured, cautious, responsible, kind. At this point we might as well also revisit Germaine Greer’s statement from the Victoria Derbyshire show in 2015:

“Just because you lop off your penis and then wear a dress doesn’t make you a fucking woman .. I’ve asked my doctor to give me long ears and liver spots and I’m going to wear a brown coat but that won’t turn me into a fucking cocker spaniel.”

This is a vividly Rabelaisian way of making the basic claim — which I have argued that natal women should be freely permitted to make, whether or not it is true — that trans women aren’t women. It caused an enormous fuss at the time, and is still regularly cited, along with other such statements, as evidence of Greer’s ‘transphobia’. Yet in her brilliant and funny seminal work of feminism The Female Eunuch, published in 1970, it is clear from Greer’s discussion of April Ashley that she held the same position then as she does now. Greer expresses herself frankly about many things, and always has. See also, for instance, this brutal passage, also from The Female Eunuch, about female students in Universities:

“Their energy is all expended on conforming with disciplinary and other requirements, not in gratifying their own curiosity about the subject that they are studying, and so most of it is misdirected into meaningless assiduity. This phenomenon is still very common among female students, who are forming a large proportion of the arts intake at universities, and dominating the teaching profession as a result. The process is clearly one of diminishing returns: the servile induce servility to teach the servile, in a realm where the unknown ought to be continually assailed with all the human faculties: education cannot be, and has never been a matter of obedience”. (p.75)

Now, you very possibly disagree with this, and so do I. And the style may not be to your taste. You might prefer your lady writers hedged, scholarly, sympathetic, and so on. Myself, I find it refreshing, like a bucket of cold salt water has been chucked over me after days of humid air. That is of course, compatible with saying that I disagree with a lot of what Greer says: as I have a mind of my own, this is hardly surprising. But whether Greer is to your taste or not, it is simply obvious that we don’t police colourful derogatory male speech in anything like the same way, whether the males in question are talking about natal women/ females, or even trans people.

The constant harping of progressive men on supposedly salutary examples like Bindel and Greer sends a message to natal women. Don’t say what you think. Don’t express an opinion on what women are; leave it to trans women to decide that. Don’t be assured. Don’t be bold. Don’t be whimsical or linguistically playful. Don’t try to be funny. Watch your mouth. Given the typical circumstances of female socialisation, natal women are already highly susceptible to such messages, and to feeling shame as a result. So here’s a task for any progressive males reading. Next time a natal woman expresses herself in a way you find unattractive, unseemly, unkind, or downright rude about trans people, then, assuming they aren’t “screaming it in a trans person’s face”: why not shut the fuck up and keep it to yourself.

Kathleen Stock

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redheadz-jess · 3 years

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14 Reasons Why Redheads are smarter than others, with proof

Are redheads smarter than others?

The data shows that, redheads really are smarter than others. The data is found in the hallways of the vast complex intellectual center of intelligent research and the redheads are the cleverest. You have to be careful because there are these smart redheads that throw you away so that you don't believe they are luminous at all.

Here are 14 Reasons Why Redheads are smarter than others:

1. They have a more precise temperature sense

Certainly, redheads are a minority, but if a fellow ginger says that you have a cold office, they're usually right and all of it comes with genetics. The red hair genes also help their hosts to more precisely perceive temperature changes, in particular coldness.

2. They'll last as long as a great wine.

Do you ever find yourself thinking 'gosh they look fantastic for their age,' gazing at a ginger celebration like Prince Harry or Scarleton Johansson! You won't be insane...

Although redheads have no secrecy in the youth's spring, they have actually been born with something equally as important. According to experts at the Erasmus University in Rotterdam, the specific gene which creates ginger hair is a variation of MC1R genes, which keeps some younger than others. Studies show that red-headed persons frequently seem two years younger on average than they are.

This comes with an extra anti-aging advantage, which means that the redheads keep their color statistically longer than any other hue because of the degree of pigment in the individual hair stand. Even if the color finally fades, it's frequently blonde before it's gray.

3. Gingers are tough.

Not surprisingly, it is difficult gingers. We now know why – in DNA! Now we know why! Genetics testing at the Sensory Engine Interaction Center at Aalborg University, Professor Lars Arendt-Nielson, showed that red-haired persons react to pain different from other colors of the hair. Arendt-Nielson says that "MCR1 is engaged in central brain processes and we are aware of the substantial brain functional involvement of subgroups like MC2R, MC3R and MC4R, likewise connected to redheads." That means their chemistry makes them less vulnerable to hot meals and skin discomfort. There'd never interact two things I wish.

4. They have a genetic weapon

Nearly each redhead has heard the comic story that they might burn withinside the shade. Well, it seems there's a fine turn aspect to this. Research indicates that due to the fact humans with ginger hair frequently don’t take in enough quantities of Vitamin D because of low concentrations of eumelanin, their our bodies have learnt a way to create the diet with out stepping out of doors the house. This permits them to combat off lethal ailments including Ricketts higher than every other hair color and manner they may be much less possibly to expand diabetes, bronchial allergies or arthritis from having low diet D.

5. Some Stereotypes Are Good.

With brilliant hair comes brilliant obligation and all hair sorts have taken their share. Two college professors concluded in a 1986 have a look at that redheads can frequently be stereotyped negatively actually due to the fact they may be uncommon - that means that the complete international is jealous of your suitable locks. And regardless of negate stereotypes trying to keep gingers returned, it became observed that redheaded ladies had been visible as extra able and a success than different hair colours. The Redheaded ladies of the arena are pushing returned in opposition to historical labels and making their manner withinside the international as uncommon unicorn girl bosses.

6. They have a extra correct experience of temperature

Sure, redheads are a minority, however in case your ginger buddy tells you that the workplace is bloodless they'll normally be right, and all of it comes right all the way down to genetics. The genes that purpose crimson hair additionally permit their hosts to locate temperature adjustments extra accurately, particularly the bloodless.

7. They age like a excellent wine

Do you ever locate your self searching at a ginger celeb like Prince Harry or Scarlett Johansson and thinking ‘god they appearance brilliant for his or her age!’ You’re now no longer going crazy…

While it seems that redheads don’t have their very own mystery the fountain of youth, they had been certainly born with some thing simply as valuable. As researchers from the Erasmus University in Rotterdam propose that a variation of the MC1R gene, the precise gene that reasons ginger hair, is likewise the gene that continues a few humans searching extra younger than others. Studies imply that humans with crimson hair will frequently appearance a mean years more youthful than they genuinely are.

This comes with an extra anti-growing old bonus – because of the extent of pigment withinside the person hair stands, redheads statistically preserve their color for longer than every other shade.Even while the color sooner or later does fade, it'll frequently move blonde earlier than it is going grey.

8. Gingers are tough

It comes as no marvel that gingers are tough. Now we recognise why – it’s withinside the DNA! Genetics trying out with the aid of using Professor Lars Arendt-Nielson of the Centre for Sensory-Motor Interaction on the Aalborg University have proven us that humans with crimson hair react to ache in unique approaches than different hair colours. Arendt-Nielson concludes that “MCR1 is concerned in critical capabilities withinside the mind, and we recognise that subgroups like MC2R, MC3R and MC4R, that are additionally related to redheads, have tremendous involvement in mind capabilities”. Meaning that their chemistry makes them much less liable to such things as highly spiced meals and stinging pores and skin ache. Two matters I might desire might by no means interact.

9. They have a genetic weapon

10. Some Stereotypes Are Good.

11. Redheads do not sense as a good deal ache as different human beings.

One observe suggests that, opposite to famous belief, redheads aren't weaker than blondes or brunettes.

After reading the impact of ache in humans, researchers located that redheads seem to be "higher protected" at the floor level.

The observe worried injecting a stinging ache into the skin, and researchers observed that redheads had been the least tormented by the shot out of all of the members.

However, that isn't always to mention a redhead is a few form of invincible vampire who does not sense ache or emotions. Seriously, prevent trying.

The actual purpose they do not sense the identical form of ache as fast as others is possibly due to their genetic coding.

ScienceNordic reviews that lady mice with the receptor gene MC1R are a good deal less complicated to deal with with positive medications. Redheads are the handiest human beings with a version of this gene.

Basically, redheads sense ache a wholly unique manner than different human beings, and it is possibly due to the fact their genetic make-up is basically unique.

12. Men are intimidated and afraid to catcall them.

The Huffington Post says a current observe approximately enchantment and hair colour suggests prejudice towards redheads this is almost as harsh as racial discrimination.

However, that is now no longer the actual purpose men are not arising to the redheaded bombshells sitting on the bar.

According to Elevated Today, the studies crew determined after in addition research that the male members of their observe had been in reality afraid to technique the girls out of worry of rejection.

The guys assumed that the girls would not probable be interested by them due to the fact their precise, fiery functions cause them to strikingly beautiful.

13. Redheads can devour spicier meals than we can.

Coincidentally, redheads have a tendency to opt for their meals purple-hot. We're speakme flaming-hot-Sriracha spicy. Frank's Red Hot? They are those who placed that sh*t on everything.

And, even in case you're a redhead who does not like your meals more spicy, possibilities are you could nevertheless take the warmth greater than the relaxation of us.

According to a observe executed at Aalborg University in Denmark, redheads are capable of deal with spicier flavors greater than human beings with some other hair colour.

Time for every body to get out of the kitchen and allow the redheads spice matters up.

14. Redheads are 4 instances much more likely to be CEOs. In case you wished any greater convincing to stop the redhead harassment, right here it is: Our ginger opposite numbers are 4 instances as possibly to come to be the CEO in their workplace.

That's right. Chances are, in case you've ever made amusing of a redhead, karma's coming for you withinside the shape of an assertive, confident, redheaded boss.

A joint observe via way of means of the University of Tennessee and Dalton State proves that redheads are not going extinct. They're doing simply the opposite: They're taking over. And they imply business.

One viable purpose redheads are much more likely to come to be a CEO is that they are typically visible throughout cultures as having bold, precise functions, which set them other than the relaxation of the pack.

And, in case you are a redhead, you've got got lived a whole existence continuously being visible as unique from all of us else. Your functions have described you as a person who's precise, at the internal and out.

Only percentage of the sector populace has purple hair, and our society has compelled you to face out even greater in any crowd. It is not possible to cover in a shell, and also you likely would not need to in case you could.

So the following time you overhear a person speakme trash approximately the redhead gang, consider this article. I do not suppose I'd need to head up towards an exceedingly hot, insanely tough, destiny CEO.

#redhead #ginger

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yourhealthmattersblog · 4 years

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The show in a pleasurable

read manga online is a really timeless instance of finding, blending, and utilizing typical styles with a prominent twist on it. In this instance you end up with yet another abnormal funny. The majority of names that fall under this specific team are scarcely satisfactory, but read manga online appeared to attract attention of the continuing to be component of the lot, and so I gave it a possibility. I imply a vampire leader that's entirely unbearable and curious about the otaku society of Japan over fresh individual blood ... that doesn't appear excessively unoriginal, remedy?

The story complies with a vampire leader of the devil globe, Staz. He is likewise well-known for regularly attaining as well as is worried from the other side of the adversary world for being amongst the strongest leaders regarding for. Two typical character kinds are created: a subdued hero along with a large-breasted, heroine that was unpleasant. Therefore, if it appears to you like a fairly regular hero conserves lady in distress story ultimately you're that is completely appropriate. Since that's what it truly is. Yet that's not all it's. Permit me to clarify.

Among the best points connecting to this show was the humor. Nonetheless, the trustworthiness of the string can not be warranted by no more than one component of the storyline even in the event this feature notably specifies the show-- and that's the location where read manga online promptly pull down itself. At first, the wit held up the dialogue in a manner that was good however it quickly became tough to overlook the doing not have elements of the staying component of the dialogue. The comedy came to be persistent and also began to allow down the storyline and eventually the dialogue likewise. Hereafter much repeat, the humor that was good ended up being the storyline and likewise bad humor ended up being less understandable as a result of the overuse of tricks that were unnecessary.

Simply such as the tale, read manga online's artwork started superb yet was somewhat let down by a certain element. Conspicuously the most irritating element of read manga online's art work was the abstract as well as obscure transforming of art work, histories and colours at an initiative to pair along with the comical side of the storyline within particular photos. In the beginning it worked nicely but just such as making use of humor, came to be tired as well as driven. Besides this pain, read manga online's artwork was truly one of the show' strong points. Besides the particular abstract landscapes discussed in the past, the art work was far from an eye sore and also truly assisted maintain the show when it began to fail.

The soundtrack opts for the show in a pleasurable yet non- way that is memorable. The opening tune did a great task of offering me a favorable viewpoint when I began the brand new episode each week as well as once I started the anime. When I recognized the anime which was beginning after the minute in addition to a fifty percent tune was far from excellent.

In a couple of situations there isn't any growth in any regard, they can be only set in the string for the quick time they might be required ultimately made use of later on for tricks. I'll just be judging the growth of the key characters. Staz, plainly, has the most growth as a personality with the whole show and for a funny program this need to have been completely wonderful, here's the issue it didn't seem like enough. Discussion and also the recalls he's involved in do not provide adequate material to offer me a reason. Little personality advancement in a comedy program is fine yet it makes you appreciate the character less if it isn't managed perfectly, which in this occasion it had not been. In the event you uncommitted concerning the primary character after that it's challenging to care about anything she or he is involved in, which in a principal character's instance is generally everything related to the program. In the event that you can not obtain your target market to care about the key character the largest let down of the show was the underdevelopment of Staz the anime falls.

No it did me excite as much as I was preparing for, yes it had lots of defects, yet the entire charm of the show maintained me watching. I can comprehend why if you're a fan of the anime and I can additionally say I'm a fanatic. If I can't mention the flaws in a string can I properly call myself a lover? read manga online was a fascinating experience and I hold to my previous opinion that it was unimaginative and intolerable nor manageable as well as first, since in fact from a vital viewpoint read manga online did me excite or annoy me. What can I claim? It only provided pleasure to me. And I such as reviewing it.

I anticipate you've a terrific idea on all of the problems of read manga online after reading this evaluation. If you're able to look past that recognizes you could like this manga. For those that had actually like to review manga on the internet complimentary, I highly advise it. Check out also this related topic: https://themangaguide.wixsite.com/manga/post/x5q6z28wefwfs773tushl11617150589

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spletch574 · 4 years

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Mask art research

1. Gillian Wearing, Confess All On Video. Don’t Worry You Will Be in Disguise. Intrigued? Call Gillian Version II, 1994

Confess All On Video. Don’t Worry You Will Be in Disguise. Intrigued? Call Gillian Version II is a colour video lasting slightly under thirty-six minutes that features ten scenes, each showing a disguised person telling a secret in an unedited monologue. All of the speakers are depicted from the shoulders upwards and are heavily lit, so that their strong shadow is projected onto a white wall behind them. In some cases they gaze directly at the camera, while in others they look away. The individuals’ disguises vary in character – some entirely cover their faces with masks, while others wear wigs and other accoutrements, such as sunglasses and a fake beard, but leave their faces wholly or partly visible. The costume elements look cheap and somewhat exaggerated, with the wigs generally being large and the masks sometimes appearing cartoon-like. The confessions vary in length and content and have loose structures, suggestive of improvisation. All relate to sexual acts, crimes or acts of revenge: for example, two speakers discuss experiences of sleeping with prostitutes and one talks about stealing a computer from a school. The voice of an interviewer is heard just once during the work, asking one of the speakers their age.

This is the second version of a work of the same name that was originally produced by the British artist Gillian Wearing in London in 1994. Wearing began the project by placing an advertisement in the magazine Time Out that contained the text that makes up its title (minus the appended ‘Version II’). When respondents met Wearing, she supplied them with a range of costume elements, allowing them to construct a disguise. She then filmed them relating a secret in whatever way they chose. Originally shot in Betacam format, the video was edited and then transferred onto VHS tape. In 1997 Wearing re-edited the work to produce this second version, partly because the sound had deteriorated during the transfer to VHS and partly because during the initial edit she had cut down two of the confessions and she subsequently decided to feature them all at full length, with the result being that the second version is approximately six minutes longer than the first. This later version is considered ‘unique’ in that it was not released as part of an edition, and Tate also owns one copy of the 1994 original, which was produced in an edition of ten. When exhibited, the work must be shown on a television monitor in a relatively small space measuring approximately 3 x 3 metres, with some form of seating provided, preferably a sofa.

The title of this work primarily makes reference to the advertisement Wearing used to attract participants, emphasising the fact that the speakers actively chose to contact the artist and appear in her video.

The curator Russell Ferguson has argued that this work simultaneously involves an ‘uncomfortable’ level of intimacy and a feeling that ‘we have heard nothing we can be sure of’, since the speakers could be performing for the camera or simply lying (Russell Ferguson, ‘Show Your Emotions’, in De Salvo, Wearing, Ferguson and others 1999, p.36). Regarding the possibility that the speakers might somehow be performing in this work, Wearing stated in 1997 that ‘I noticed that they had taken time to mull over what they were going to say. One or two actually brought pieces of paper to prompt themselves. Things were set up, and it was ... ambiguous – that is where the art or the fiction came in’ (Wearing in Turner 1998, accessed 2 June 2015).

Further reading Grady T. Turner, ‘Gillian Wearing’, Bomb, no.63, Spring 1998, http://bombmagazine.org/article/2129/gillian-wearing, accessed 2 June 2015.

2., 3., 4., 5. Cindy Sherman, Untitled A, B, C, D, 1975

Untitled A, B, C and D belong to a more extensive series of photographs Sherman made while she was studying art at the State University College at Buffalo, New York (1972-6). She selected five images from the series and arbitrarily labelled them A to E. They were enlarged and reprinted in editions of ten. Sherman has explained the origins of this Untitled series:

These images were from a series of head shots that I made to show the process of turning one character into another. At that time I was merely interested in the use of make-up on a face as paint used on a blank canvas. I was experimenting with several types of characters – i.e. starting with an old person who then gradually became a drag queen. While the original series showed the entire process (about fifty 3” x 5” photos), later I chose a smaller group to make into slightly larger separate pieces. I unintentionally shot them with a very narrow depth of field, leaving only certain parts of the face in focus, which gives some of the features [a] malleable quality.

(Quoted in Contemporary Art, p.98.)

Sherman initially studied painting at Buffalo, making self-portraits and realistic copies of images she found in magazines and photographs. She began using photography after being introduced to Conceptual art by a teacher who inspired her to bring her childhood activities and obsessions into her work. She has said that as a child she was introverted, adding that ‘as a girl I used to always enjoy dressing up and being made-up. A lot of girls might like to look like their moms, but I would try to look like a monster or an old lady. Maybe I could have been an actress.’ (Quoted in Paul Taylor, ‘Cindy Sherman’, Flash Art, no.124, Oct. – Nov. 1985, p.78.) In this series of images Sherman combined painting (on her face) with photographic portraiture, assuming the personae of three female characters of different ages and one male. Variations in hairstyle and the use of hats in two of the photographs are the only props used. Below the chin the artist is bare. Two pale lines running down from either side of her neck, the result of being in the sun in a halterneck top, are clearly visible in each image and emphasise the theatricality of the work. The character in Untitled A wears a crocheted hat and has the most obvious make-up. Her dark eye-liner and lipstick, accompanied by heavy rouge just under her cheekbones to thin her face, suggest a woman in her thirties. Her submissive smile and the angle at which her head is tilted convey the sense of someone shy and anxious to please. The character in Untitled B, who is male, has joined-up eyebrows, and darkening under his eyes and chin and between his nose and mouth. For this image Sherman wore a cloth cap and pulled her chin into her neck to give the character a genial, comic air. The character in Untitled C has the least facial darkening. Her makeup mainly consists of thick mascara on her eyelashes, contributing to the wide-eyed innocent look she aims at the viewer from under her fringe. She appears only marginally older than the character in Untitled D, whose hair is held back with a pair of butterfly grips. For this pose Sherman darkened her face between the eyes, under the chin and in a line between her nose and the edges of her mouth. In all the images, Sherman has combined evident staging with the successful portrayal of a character type. This was later to become the artist’s signature technique, permitting her to evoke a wide range of emotional and thematic registers. Bus Riders 1976 is a series of photographs Sherman made shortly after leaving college, before she moved to New York and made her famous series of Untitled Film Stills 1977-80.

6. René Magritte, The Future of Statues, 1937

This work is made from a plaster copy of the death mask of the French Emperor Napoleon. A death mask is made by placing a mixture of plaster or wax over a person's face once they have died to create a mould. Magritte painted at least five of these casts, each with sky and clouds. The artist’s friend the surrealist poet Paul Nougé suggested an association between death, dreams and the depth of the sky. He commented: ‘a patch of sky traversed by clouds and dreams [can] transfigure the very face of death in a totally unexpected way’.

7., 8. John Stezaker, Mask XIII and Mask XIV, 2006

Mask XIII is a collage created by superimposing a postcard on a black and white photograph. The photograph is a film publicity portrait of an unidentifiable actress taken during the 1940s or 1950s. The postcard is a colour print mounted upside down over the actress’s face. It shows an image of a ruined stone building partially surrounded by trees. Stezaker has positioned it so that the inverted building appears framed within the actress’s face: the edge of the building matches the actress’s hairline at the right side of her face and a tree trunk and branches continuing the line of her face’s left side. Dark areas of foliage either side of the building align with her dark hair. A second tree in front of the ruin extends down the image to connect with the woman’s hand which is raised to her chin emerging from a narrow section of sky at the top of the postcard. At the bottom of the postcard, which traverses the subject’s forehead, the inverted caption ‘Nîmes – Le Temple de Diane’ identifies the ruin as the temple of Diana at Nîmes in France. The form of the inverted temple and its positioning over the woman’s face have the effect of evoking a skull: three rounded arches leading into darker spaces suggesting eye and nose-sockets and the broken upper edge of the ruin drawing the line of a broken and toothless jaw.

Mask XIV is a collage created by superimposing a postcard on a black and white photograph. The photograph is a film publicity portrait of an unidentifiable actor taken during the 1940s or 1950s. The postcard is a colour image mounted over the actor’s face. It shows a rocky cavern in which a sandy track curves around a central pillar. On the bottom left the card is captioned ‘Zig zag path, Folkestone’. At this point it covers part of the actor’s signature on his portrait above his right shoulder. Part of his first name – ‘Barry’ – is visible on the print. The postcard photograph appears to have been taken from inside a cave or under a bridge looking out through two openings towards the light. Stezaker has positioned the card on the actor’s face so that the dark silhouette of the rocky openings and the curvature of the cavern line up with the contours of the actor’s face. This placement causes an anthropomorphic reading of the postcard image – the two openings to the light suggest eyes connected by the rocky central column which covers the actor’s face in the position of his nose. Initiated around 1980, the series of Mask collages developed from the Film Still collages, such as The Trial, The Oath and Insert. The Masks all follow a similar and deceptively simple format: a film publicity portrait of a star whose face is covered by a postcard – ostensibly a mask – which opens a window into another space, paradoxically suggesting a view behind the mask constituted by the actor’s face. Initially the postcards were images of bridges and caves which in some instances united two or more protagonists. Over the years Stezaker has extended his range of imagery to include tunnels, caverns, rock formations such as stalactites and stalagmites, railway tracks, historic ruins and monuments (as in Mask XIII, 2006), woodland clearings and paths, as well as streams, waterfalls (as in Mask XI, 2005), lakes and the sea. Stezaker began collecting film stills in 1973 but was not able to afford photographic portraits of film stars until the early 1980s when their price dropped. The first portraits the artist used were damaged or of forgotten film actors, unnamed and anonymous. He has commented:

The Masks were inspired by reading Elias Canetti’s essay on masks and unmasking in his wonderful book Crowds and Power which inspired so much of my work at this time ... I was also teaching a course on Bataille and the origins of art which focused on the mask as the origin and point of convergence of all the arts. Canetti’s idea of the mask as a covering of absence and, in its fixity, as a revelation of death, alongside my discovery of Blanchot’s Space of Literature, was an important turning point in my thinking and in my approach to my work. I usually think of the key dates being 1979 and 1980 as marking a yielding to pure image-fascination and as a release from any function societal or transgressive in the work. The Masks were a response in practice to the Canetti/Blanchot idea of the ‘death’s space’ of the image and consolidated the sense of pure fascination and the desire for ‘exile from life in the world of images’, an ideal I saw in the practice of Joseph Cornell.

(Letter to the author, 26 October 2007.)

Stezaker shares with Joseph Cornell (1903-72) the Surrealist technique of apparently irrational juxtaposition and the evocation of nostalgia through his focus on outdated imagery, collected and pondered over many years. While Stezaker’s use of film stills and publicity portraits of the 1940s and 1950s stems from his boyhood experience of encountering these images on the outside of cinemas advertising films from which he was excluded because of his youth (letter to the author, 26 October 2007), his choice of postcards tends towards the Romantic tradition of nature and the sublime. The image of the zig-zag path relates to the woodland path or holzweg, a path leading – in German folklore such as that published by the Brothers Grimm in the early years of the twentieth century – to possible danger and death. Stezaker became interested in the historical phenomenon of the holzweg through his reading of Landscape and Memory (published New York, 1995) by the British art historian, Simon Schama (born 1945). The artist’s juxtaposition and careful alignment of the postcard image with the publicity portrait create an effect related to the concept of the uncanny as described by Sigmund Freud (1856-1939) in his 1925 essay, ‘The Uncanny’. Freud analysed the feeling of the uncanny aroused most forcefully by the fantastic stories of the Romantic writer E.T.A. Hoffmann (1776-1822), in particular his tale The Sandman (first published in Nachtstücke, 1817). He relates the sense of horror experienced by the protagonist Nathaniel not only to the mechanical doll Olympia, who appears real, but more significantly to a fear of losing ones eyes which he connects to the Oedipal castration complex. In the Masks the subjects’ eyes are covered; the collage intervention substitutes blankness or holes – dark and empty or leading into other spaces – creating the disturbing sensation of seeing death beneath the features of a living being.

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persorene · 7 years

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I love modern Dwyer and I love the idea of him lying about his family because he doesn't want people to know he's a rich kid and also because they're all insane. Can I get modern Dwyer "Well, this is where I live."

This ended up way longer than I intended but I always go overboard for my sleepy son.

Dwyer grumbled under his breath as he drove wordlessly. He hadn’t ever planned on bringing anyone back to his home and yet, his car was full- Velouria sat beside him, Asugi sat in the back, keeping Kana entertained with a story he’d made up off the top of his head about a statue they’d passed during their drive.

Dwyer hadn’t said a word since their teacher had assigned the group project and his friends both declined doing it at their own homes. Velouria’s house was being fumigated after her father had brought home yet another bed bug infested old piece of furniture that he’d just had to have- Asugi’s parents were out of town for an over the top, ninja themed fitness event that they went to every year. Last year they’d grounded Asugi for months after he’d thrown a party while they were away and was no longer permitted to bring anyone over unless they were also home. That left Dwyer, the sullen boy had never brought anyone over before. He had been painfully careful about hiding his identity and his life at home from his friends. His stomach was in knots as he drove.“Any particular reason you’re going ten under the speed limit, grandma?” Asugi asked, leaning forward and placing his hands on either side of Dwyer’s seat “Or why you’re driving out of town limits and into the woods?”Dwyer shrugged.“Dude what is wrong with you?” Asugi grumbled, he turned to Kana “I think your brother is going to murder us. Probably why he never brought us over before.”“No he never brought you over before because he’s embarrassed.” Kana chirped as he thumbed through a comic book he’d borrowed from the school library.“You’re embarrassed?” Velouria asked incredulously “We can’t go to my house because it’s being fumigated. Because my dad brought home another bug infested trinket. From a pile of furniture he found next to a dumpster. Behind a thrift store. Again.”“Key word: again.” Asugi joked, Velouria spun in her seat, glaring at him.“Oh shut up, we all had to watch your mom and dad run through their home made obstacle course because they HAD to know who was better.”He grinned “It was me, I was better than both of them.”“You’re so annoying.” She rolled her eyes “Anyway, Dwy, you don’t need to be embarrassed. We love you no matter what. I’m sure your house is fine.”He shrugged again “Doesn’t matter now, we’re nearly there.”Outside the car, the landscape had begun to change. The thick, dense forests they’d been driving through gave way to sculpted shrubberies and immaculately maintained landscapes. The road thinned as they went around one final turn, the land was now encompassed by a seemingly endless black, iron fence. A massive gate stood before them, the road continuing on behind it before disappearing at the top of a hill.Dwyer slowed the car to a roll as he reached the gate. He pressed a button on a small remote he always kept on his keys and the gate began to swing open. He picked up speed again,ignoring Velouria’s stares as he went quickly over the first hill and then the second.The home was now in view, huge and obscenely opulent, the home had been built to resemble an English manor house. It stood tall and elegant amongst a garden of pale flowers, a creek flowing just before the home with a small stone bridge above it. A matching, equally overwhelming garage sat off to the side, not impeding the view of the palatial grounds. Dwyer pulled into the drive, stopping in front of one of the many garage doors as he put the old car into park. As soon as the car was in park, Kana had leapt out and taken off running toward the home, his high pitched voice excitedly calling to his mother to announce that Dwyer had finally brought friends home.Dwyer sat still, hands still gripping the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles had paled “Well. This is where I live.”His friends said nothing, seemingly shocked into a stupor. He sighed and got out of the car, waiting as they slowly clambered out.“Holy shit.” Asugi whispered as he spun in place, taking in the grounds. “Dude, why did you hide this?”“Can we not talk about it?” Dwyer grumbled “Let’s… just go inside.” He walked slowly toward the house, his shoulder length hair fluttered around his face as he paced through the flower beds and up to the door. He pushed the heavy oaken door in and stepped through into a foyer that nearly surpassed the grandiose of the outside of the home. The room was long, each side had multiple open doors leading to more exquisitely decorate spaces. The walls were lined with countless photos and paintings, a table stood in the center of the room, set in an overly perfect, made for TV way. A chandelier hung above an ornate rug that led from the front door to the massive sweeping staircase that led up to a landing lined with intricate metal work. From the landing, two more sets of stairs led up in opposing directions.A tall, thin man stood atop the catwalk, watching intently as the trio drifted forward. His long hair was so blonde it nearly looked white and tied back in a ponytail. “Darling.” He called, his English accent immediately catching his son’s friends attention “Dwyer really did bring some friends over. Come quickly before he hides them from us!” He walked down the stairs, followed shortly after by a small woman, her hair was long and hung in waves nearly down to the small of her back. She looked welcoming and elegant all at once, her thin frame clothed in rose coloured jeans and a gauzy black blouse, her feet were bare, making her look far less imposing than she could have been. She stopped beside her husband who looked far more formal than she did, he was dressed in a well starched shirt, buttoned to the neck, the sleeves rolled up his elbows, a freshly pressed pair of slacks and a pair of black leather loafers.“Hello! I’m Corrin, Dwyer’s mom.” The woman chimed.“I’m Jakob, I’m Dwyer’s father but you’d probably already pieced that together.” Jakob said quickly, smirking as the teens gaped at him. His height, appearance and accent had always managed to draw attention “Who might you two be?”“I’m Asugi.”“And I’m Velouria.” The girl muttered, pulling her hands from her hoodie pocket to shake Dwyer’s parents’ hands.“Asugi and Velouria, what lovely names. I’ve heard Dwyer speak of you before but he’s never brought any friends home with him. We’re quite surprised, but pleased of course!” Corrin said, her smile radiant.“We had a school project and came here to do it.” Dwyer said.“What are you working on?” Corrin asked.“Not a lot, history and that sort of thing… mind if I use your study?”“Of course not, honey.” She paused “Do you all like tea and cookies? I can bring some up for you to eat while you’re working!”“I can do that for them, love.” Jakob interjected, “I’ll bring it up in a half hour or so.”“You really don’t have to, dad.”“Hey, speak for yourself, I’ll gladly take any sweet food they have.” Asugi said with a laugh “Thanks for offering.”Corrin laughed slightly “Well, have fun on your project kids. I’ll be helping Kana with his homework if you need me!”“K.” Dwyer said, already sprinting up the stairs, his friends following close behind. He led them down a long, well-lit and strikingly beautiful hall, the walls adorned in a stunning cream coloured damasque wall paper and more stunning art work. Another long, elegant rug led them deeper into the home. Dwyer stopped in front of one of several identical white doors, he opened it and led his friends in, closing the door back in place behind them. This room, like everything else they’d seen of the home, was breath taking. The walls were clothed in the same wallpaper as the halls but were lined with dark wooden bookshelves, housing countless volumes of books, some old and bound in leather of various colours, others still glistening from being freshly printed. The wooden floor was dark wood, pieced together in intricate shapes, the furniture looked old but inviting, hulking red velvet sofas and chairs filled the space, the tables looked heavy and just as antiquated. A chandelier hung from the beveled ceiling and massive windows peered out onto the gardens. A laptop lay on the old table, one of the few modern items in the room.Dwyer plopped down onto the sofa, looking remarkably out of place in faded black jeans, wrinkled flannel shirt and his shaggy hair hanging in a mess. Asugi stared alternately between his friend and the details of the room “You tellin’ me we coulda been studying and doing our work here this whole time?”“Shut up, Asugi.” Velouria snapped “I’d rather know why he lied about his entire life.”Dwyer sighed, shoulders drooping and his head falling backward lazily “I didn’t lie about my entire life.”“Uh, yeah, you did. You never invited us over, you never told us about your family or your house- this house is insane. You wear old clothes and drive a fifteen year old Honda Civic. You tried as hard as you could to keep this from us. Why?”“Because I didn’t want anyone to base their opinion on me on being a rich kid. No one really likes me, I didn’t want people to find out and suddenly pretend they do just to try to get money or fame or something stupid like that. I wanted people to know me for me. And you guys did and I didn’t want to change that.”“Do you honestly think we would have changed our minds about you because you’re loaded?” She growled.“No, but it seemed too late to just spring it on you guys and I was afraid people back at school would find out and then-““And then you wouldn’t be slacker Dwyer the weirdo, you’d be Cool Dwyer the kid everyone wants to pretend they love.” Asugi interrupted “I get it man, but we wouldn’t have told anyone.”“We still won’t, you’re our friend.” Velouria fell onto the sofa beside him “But this was a dumb thing to be embarrassed about. Your house incredible and your parents seem great.”“They seem great but they’re weird as hell.” Dwyer laughed.“You’re going to tell me about weird parents? Do I have to remind you AGAIN why we aren’t studying at my house.” The girl said sarcastically.“Yeah, yeah but your dad is like, WEIRD weird. My parents are just- well they’re them.”Asugi was fiddling with some trinket on a desk in the corner “Yeah, your dad’s weird. British. And what’s with that hair?”Dwyer laughed again “He likes it long, I don’t think I’ve ever seen it shorter than that.”“Okay but how did your parents meet? Like, where did your mom find a British dude?”“I thought we were working on a history project.” Dwyer said.“Yeah, we are. The History of our Friend Dwyer Who Is A Different Person Than We Thought He Was and Now We Need to Know More.” Asugi said as he took a seat in the sofa across from theirs “Another question: how did they get rich as hell?”Dwyer sighed and closed his computer “Okay well, mom’s always been rich. She’s part of the Nohr family, they adopted her when she was little.”“Like Nohr Industries Nohr? The famous ones?”“Yeah.” He sighed “Dad was her body guard when she was younger and they ended up falling in love. He basically worships her. It’s cool I guess, nice that they still love each other. They bought The Valla Corporation together and brought it up to this massive company out of basically nothing.”“Dude. No way.” Asugi shouted “I have one of their phones man, and you never bothered to tell me! That’s insane. Super cool but insane.”“So anyway, that’s why I never tell anyone about anything.” Dwyer sighed “It’s easier being the weird quiet kid than the rich kid with famous parents. I have my dad’s last name not my mom’s so it’s easier to hide who I am and no one ever got to know me enough to ask me more about my life so…”“Well hey, secret’s safe with us.” Velouria smiled “Pinky swear!” She looped her small finger around his and shook it firmly the way they always had since they’d first met three years before.Dwyer smirked his lazy half smile as he playfully wrestled her pinky under his own “Good. Now seriously, we need to work on our project. We can’t ask for another extension.”

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