#Power Sales Agreement

[nepalenergyforum]

88 MW Boost: National Transmission Grid Expands in Just 100 Days

Kathmandu, Oct. 24: Additional 88 megawatts of electricity has been added to the national grid during the first three months of the current fiscal year 2024/25. Presenting the 100-day work progress of the Ministry of Energy, Water Resources and Irrigation after the formation of Prime Minister KP Sharma Oli-led government on Wednesday, Minister for Energy, Water Resources and Irrigation Deepak…

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

Stevie Wonder - Superstition 1972

"Superstition" is a song by American singer-songwriter Stevie Wonder. It was released on October 24, 1972, as the lead single from his fifteenth studio album, Talking Book (1972). The lyrics describe popular superstitions and their negative effects. It reached number one in the US Billboard Hot 100 in January 1973 and on the soul singles chart. It was Wonder's first number one single since "Fingertips, Pt. 2" in 1963. It peaked at number eleven in the UK Singles Chart in February 1973. In November 2004, Rolling Stone ranked the song number 74 on its list of the 500 Greatest Songs of All Time. It was re-ranked number 73 on its 2010 list, and number 12 on its 2021 list. At the 16th Grammy Awards, the song earned Wonder two Grammys: Best Rhythm & Blues Song and Best R&B Vocal Performance, Male. In 1998, the song was inducted into the Grammy Hall of Fame.

English guitarist Jeff Beck was an admirer of Wonder's music, and Wonder was informed of this prior to the Talking Book album sessions. Although at this point Stevie Wonder was playing virtually all of the instruments on his songs by himself, he preferred to let other guitarists play on his records, and he liked the idea of a collaboration with Beck. An agreement was quickly made for Beck to become involved in the sessions that became the Talking Book album, in return for Wonder writing him a song. Between the album sessions, Beck came up with the opening drum beat. Wonder told Beck to keep playing while he improvised over the top of it. He improvised most of the song, including the riff, on the spot. Beck and Wonder created a rough demo for the song that day. After finishing the song, Wonder decided that he would allow Beck to record "Superstition" as part of their agreement. Originally, the plan was for Beck to release his version of the song first, with his newly formed power trio Beck, Bogert & Appice. However, due to the combination of the trio's debut album getting delayed and Motown CEO Berry Gordy's prediction that "Superstition" would be a huge hit and greatly increase the sales of Talking Book, Wonder released the song as the Talking Book lead single months ahead of Beck's version, the latter being issued in March 1973 on the Beck, Bogert & Appice album.

"Superstition" received a total of 91,5% yes votes!

[obsessiveloveistheonlylove]

Hey, I've read your last yandere Bruce, neglected fam reader and it gave me an idea. What if instead of the reader wasting all that money or luxury, she saved most of it in a closed account and when Bruce bought the apartment she made him sign it in her name as a plan to when the right time comes or if she needs to, she will sell the apartment and use all the money she saved to leave to start over in another country. Imagine Bruce finding out when she reaches the point where she put her apartment for sale, or better, actually selling it to a friend or someone they know and actually leaving.

Yan!batfam with neglected!sister reader leaving the state/country

Anon your mind is fucking golden! I also thought of the reader having the apartment signed in her name just because Bruce wanted her to feel comfortable but I love the layers this adds.

Hopefully these couple of hcs are good enough while I work on pt 2. Also if anyone else has any questions about any other scenarios or certain characters feel free to send them in I'll try to respond whenever I have time and I write for any gender reader.

Word count ; 1073

Unedited

___

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ bruce is not happy with this turn of events at all. He wasn't expecting nor did he sense that this was going to happen, you didn't post about it or even reference moving on any of your social media apps which he lovingly stalks watches over to make sure you are content with your life and also because he likes seeing you happy and enjoying all the things he got you. And it hurts him a little that you didn't even say something to him … he knows you don't owe him that, not when your relationship is still in a fragile state but he's trying.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ he only figures out after someone in the fam(most likely dick) broke in dropped by your apartment and likely scared one of your friends shitless.. obviously both parties are shocked but your friend more so as they don't know who the hell just broke into their house, dick is shocked when this random person claims that he's trespassing in their home. After that awkward situation dick immediately reports back to Bruce about this over the comms and with some digging from Tim they're able to find out that you had sold the house and the exact date that you had, approximately a month ago. That sends off alarm bells for the entire batfam, where are you now?! It takes an hour or so of searching to find out exactly where you moved and when they do they can't decide what to do with the information.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚Alfred is the voice of reason in this family, he discourages the batboys from immediately doing everything in their power to bring you home, he advocated for you to live wherever you choose and says that it's your life and that the family cannot choose for you. Alfred loves you dearly you are basically his child he views you the way he views Bruce. He may be a yandere but he's a selfless one he truly only has your best interest in mind. His words are like a slap of reality for some of the Batfam mainly Tim, Steph and Jason all three of then become a lot more hesitant to go through with their plans to bring you home on the other hand dick, bruce, and damian are adamant that you aren't safe unless they can be nearby.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Nobody can come to a decision the night they find out and so they decide to sleep on it until they can come to an agreement the manor will be tense for a week or two at most before they spring into action, they will all eventually cave to their selfish needs even if some feel guilty for doing it. Alfred will sigh disappointedly but ultimately allow them to go through with their plans he only hopes you can forgive him for not doing more

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ you on the other hand will be left unaware to all that's going down you'd gotten a new phone and lived in a whole new state maybe even country! They couldn't bother you here. You were happier than you have been for a long time. Even if you missed your old friends you still tried to keep in touch over the phone.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ as for why you did this? It's likely the other batboys' faults, Bruce is annoying but he's not nearly as demanding of your time as the others, namely dick. Dick is insanely clingy once you're on his radar and he becomes aware of how much his neglect affected you mentally. The guilt for him was all consuming when he found out how much he hurt you and that he neglected you for quite literally no reason, you just didn't matter to him at the time. the thought now makes him sick, of course you matter, what the hell was his problem!! Dick would have constantly broke your boundaries by hugging and touching and cuddling you he feels like he needs to make it up to you by being a good big brother, even if that's not what you need anymore after all it's far too late you're already an adult but he refuses to see it that way you're still his baby sister. He inserts himself into your life constantly and even if he'll pay for things he'll only do so under the circumstances that the money be spent ‘together’ like sure he'll take you to that fancy restaurant but it's going to be made into a sister-brother bonding moment, like yeah he'll let you use his card to go shopping but only if he's going with you. Even if you don't use him for money he will still find ways to insert himself into your life. He's overwhelmingly intense and his behavior mixed with the other overbearing members in the batfam plus the added overwhelming feelings of having people who ignored you all your life suddenly want your time and attention is probably why you felt like you had to leave.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ you won't be gone for more than a month or two before your dragged back to Gotham and back to your family, only this time you've got a metaphorical collar around your neck as now you're likely brought back to the manor always under surveillance and on the off chance you're still allowed to own your own apartment again just know it will be heavily bugged along with your phone courtesy of Tim even if he feels bad about invading your privacy he knows they need to see your texts to make sure you're not planning to leave Gotham again. Oh and now the bat members will each take turn patrolling your house and following you from the shadows to make sure you're safe.

___

All in all I'd say you'll have your fun for a little while but ultimately you'll just drive them deeper in their obsession and they will likely kidnap and bring you home.

[markrosewater]

You often say something akin to "If you don't like something Magic has done, don't build a deck with it", but that ignores the actual problem. If I don't like something in the game, I don't want to PLAY against it either. I can't control what other people play but if the things I detest keep getting made, and at a higher and higher power level, the idea of just not putting them in my own personal deck doesn't solve anything. This is doubly true with things that are competitive or exclusively with strangers, ie Arena or FNM.

Let’s me try to approach this from a slightly different vantage point. One of the core things about Magic is that it constantly reinvents itself. Much like how we design the game, it iteratively adapts.

That means we try something and then the audience, the collective whole of all the players, gives us feedback. Note, for the rest of this answer, I’m going to use the word “players”, but I’m using that word to mean the totality of everyone playing. If it’s something players like, we make more of it. If it’s something players dislike, we make less of it. If players despise it, we don’t do it again.

My example for the last point was ante. For those unfamiliar, ante made you play an extra card exiled from the game which the winner permanently took from the other player if they won. The game started with ante as a core part of the rules. Originally, it was the default. You had to opt out of it.

Players hated it. Hated, hated, hated it. I remember, whenever you would meet a stranger, you had to start by saying “no ante”. It didn’t take long for the game to reject ante. Eventually, we even banned all the ante cards in every tournament format.

Part of the social contract of playing Magic is agreeing to experience what the players want in the game. Yes, you can build your deck however you wish, but other people get to do the same.

This means if something exist in any volume, it exists because the players want it to exist. If the players didn’t want it, like ante, the will of the players would force it from the game.

A common note I get on Blogatog is “I don’t like thing X. Can we please remove thing X from Magic? Thank you.”

My answer is always some form of this: The players (again the totality of the players) have said that this is something they want in the game. It’s now part of the game because people want it to be.

This means being part of Magic means to signing up to anything the players have said they wanted. I keep focusing on how you can control what you play with, but yes, part of being in the Magic ecosystem is the agreement that each player gets to play with the parts of the game they enjoy most.

So, let’s talk Universes Beyond. The reason we tried it in the first place was because we had data that made us think players would like it. That’s what R&D does. We extrapolate based on player feedback and try new things.

The players will embrace or reject it. If they embrace it, we’ll make more. If they reject it, we make less of it. If they reject strongly, we might never make it again. Look at March of the Machine Aftermath. The players hated it, and we excised it from our future plans (surprisingly quickly, by the way).

Why are we making more Universes Beyond? Because the players are saying loudly that they want it to be part of the game. The best selling Secret Lairs of all time are Universes Beyond. The best selling Commander decks of all time are Universes Beyond. The best selling large booster release of all time is Universes Beyond. It’s not “sets” because we’ve only ever released one.

It’s not just sales. We do market research. Market research also strongly says players want Universes Beyond. Note, each individual player wants specific ones, but the collective data is they want it.

We also look at data about what creates the biggest online discussions. Universes Beyond rules supreme there as well.

I could go on and on. There are many metrics we look at to reflect the will of the people, and Universes Beyond is crushing it in (almost) every metric.

My point is Universes Beyond follows the pattern of every new thing we’ve tried. We try it in small samples and then increase its usage as the players show acceptance.

Why do you have to play against it? Because, by being a Magic player, you accept the will of the people. You accept that part of being a member of the community is allowing the community, as a whole, to dictate what the game is.

It doesn’t want ante, but it definitely wants Universes Beyond.

That’s why you have to play against it.

[dwaekkicidal]

Any thoughts on daddy boyfriend Minho? x

DADDY BOYFIE MINHO?¿¿??¿?? 😣😣 many thoughts... i got a little (a lot) carried away and made this sugar daddy to boyfriend minho and a lot longer than i meant to lol.. hope you enjoy <3

warnings: gn!reader, last paragraph has pet play, daddy dom!minho

For some reason I instantly thought of Sugar Daddy Minho, who is only <10 years older than you but is well off due to his job AND gives off the dominant vibes that make you respect him as an 'elder' right off the bat. He first sees you in a coffee shop he goes to with one of his friends, you're too pretty for him to miss out on so he strikes up a conversation with you. His looks mixed with the confidence he gave off made you instantly attracted to him. So much so that you fold embarrassingly fast when he brings up a 'Sugar Baby' idea.

You trust him pretty easily right away because he made you both sign a contract containing agreements for both of your safety and HE'S the one who puts the 'no sex' rule in place: only asking for your companionship and occasional dates (he doesn't tell you right away but he only did it for your comfort, he makes it VERY clear how into you he is both emotionally and physically). After you find that out, you tell him you don't want the rule in place and he immediately throws it out the window. (& you two fuck that night hehe) Everything is still the same after this but now you two are dating and the contract hold less meaning the longer you two date (until he inevitably brings up vetoing the contract because he trusts you that much c':)

On the outside: You two look like any other couple! The only time people bat an eye is when you "Daddy! Can you buy me this?? Pleaseee~" to him in public after they just watched you kiss on the lips (LMFAO). And let me tell you, Daddy boyfie Minho spoils you rotten. Even more so now that you two have known each other for a long while so he's no longer afraid of being 'scammed by a stranger'. Now it's just the love of his life who he plans to marry soon enough is asking for a well deserved treat. He leaves no space for any ifs, ands, or buts from anybody when he decides that you deserve a new present. The store is out of stock? Tough shit. Order it now or show him the nearest store that has it in stock. Oh, it's not for sale anymore? That's unfortunate. "I'll pay you triple if you give me the last ones you have in the back."

"Don't worry kitty. I don't care how many places I have to drive to, you earned this this so you are getting this. Nuh-uh! No 'buts.'"

Oh, and Daddy boyfie Minho absolutely folds the second he sees your puppy dog eyes and pouted lips, no matter what is for. Whether it be for him to do something for you that he wouldn't do for anybody else or go somewhere with you that he doesn't want to go or anything that his friends wouldn't catch him dead doing. For you? It's done the second the request leaves your lips. That concert that you want to go to with him but he's busy that day? Oh look at that, the meeting was 'randomly' pushed back a day. That pretty piece of jewelry he told you to 'wait' for? "Don't give me those eyes, kitty.. You know I- Ah. Fuck it. Excuse me, can I buy one of those?" That person hurt your feelings? Realistically nothing much he can do but he will stare holes into their head and do everything in his power to get them far far away from you while cooing at you and comforting you.

"Kitty... you know I hate crowded places.." Pleeeease Daddy! It will only last a few hours! And I promise I'll make it up to you~

Daddy boyfie Minho who is an ass man and absolutely LOVES to spank you in any scenario. You're cooking a meal? Should've kept your guard up. -smack- Oh, you're minding your business doing work at your desk? Will literally go out of his way to stand you up, land a smack to your ass, then sit you back down and walk away. There will be days where he doesn't hit you on the ass even once, but that always means that he has already or will grab a handful and just sit there. Also does this in public and in front of your & his friends. After a while nobody is phased, and everybody goes on with the conversation as if he isn't grabbing at your cheeks like a freak.

In front of my parents? Really? "Sorry Jagiii. (he's not) You know I can't help myself! You're just too cute~"

Behind closed doors: Daddy boyfie Minho who you can't help but submit to immediately every time you're in the bedroom. You did it the first time you had sex and you can tell he felt something awakened in him. Now, after many many sessions, you default to kneeling on the floor in front of him while he stands or sits in before you and pets your hair softy like his little kitty<3. Even on days you're particularly bratty, you tend to just submit the second he's in a position with space between his legs for you. He loves being in power both in and outside of the bedroom, so any time you're below him and oh so submissive he's weak in the knees and his chest is swelling with pride & horniess.

"You're always so good for me, right kitty? Just a good little pet for your Daddy~"

Daddy boyfie Minho who, I literally can't stress this enough, loooves when you submit it him with no struggle. That being said, on particularly stressful days when one of you is pent up and wants a harder scenario, he can't lie to himself and say he doesn't enjoy if you brat out and make him work for it. But on days like that, just remember that he's in MeanRacha for a reason😉 Likes having you lay across his lap so he can swap between fingering you and spanking you (or on particularly fiending days, will use a dildo and/or vibrator on you hehe). Coos at you and smiles at your strangled moans and pleads of "Daddy please! 'S too much" , only to then push the dildo even deeper into you or the vibrator harder against you.

"Awww it's too much? Too bad. Now be a good little kitty and take what is given to you." >.<

I'm a firm believer that Daddy boyfie Minho would love to put a collar on you and keeps a whole collection for you to choose from depending on your outfit/mood. Discreet ones (aka general "submissive collars") for when you're going in public and not trying to be uncomfortable with other people's looks. But then he has very obvious ones for the bedroom, specifically ones with a biiig hole in the middle or a space attached to it so he can attach a leash to it. When you're sitting between his legs he likes to wrap the leash around his hand a few times and hold you close against his thigh, stroking your cheek and just sitting there enjoying the comfort of the moment. But it only lasts so long before he uses the leverage of the tight leash to fuck your mouth onto his dick <3

"Which pretty collar will it be today, my love? The black one matches your outfit, but you know I do love that mint one on you."

[afeelgoodblog]

Best News of Last Week - July 3, 2023

🐕 - This dog is 'disc'-overing hidden treasures! Get ready for the 'paws'-itively successful fundraiser, Daisy's Discs!

1. Most unionized US rail workers now have new sick leave

More than 60% of U.S. unionized railroad workers at major railroads are now covered by new sick leave agreements, a trade group said Monday.

Last year railroads came under fire for not agreeing to paid sick leave during labor negotiations.

2. Missing teen found after being lost in the wilderness for 50 hours

Esther Wang, 16, had been hiking with three other people through the Maple Ridge park on Tuesday.

The group made it to Steve’s lookout around 2:45 p.m. that day.However, when they headed back down to the campsite, after about 15 minutes of hiking, the group leader realized Wang was missing. They returned to the lookout to look for Wang but couldn’t find her. The leader headed to the trail entrance to notify a park ranger and police.

“Esther Wang has been located. She’s healthy, she is happy and she’s with family.”

3. A dog has retrieved 155 discs from woods. They’ll be on sale soon, with proceeds going to the park in West Virginia where they were found

Meet Daisy, the yellow Labrador retriever with a unique talent for finding lost Frisbee golf discs at Grand Vue Park in West Virginia. Four years ago, while on a walk with her owner Kelly Mason, Daisy discovered a disc in the woods and proudly brought it back. Since then, Daisy's obsession with finding stray discs has grown, and she has collected an impressive cache of 155 discs.

Mason and park officials have now come up with a plan to return the discs to their owners if they are labeled, and any unclaimed discs will be sold as a fundraiser to support the park's disc golf courses. Daisy's Discs is expected to be a success, with many excited about the possibility of recovering their lost discs thanks to Daisy's remarkable skills.

4. Australian earless dragon last seen in 1969 rediscovered in secret location

A tiny earless dragon feared to be extinct in the wild has been sighted for the first time in more than 50 years – at a location that is being kept secret to help preservation efforts.

The Victorian grassland earless dragon, Tympanocryptis pinguicolla, has now been rediscovered in the state, according to a joint statement issued by the Victorian and federal Labor governments on Sunday.

5. Detroit is going to power 100% of its municipal buildings with solar

All of Detroit’s municipal buildings are going to be powered by neighborhood solar as part of the city’s efforts to combat climate change – check out the city’s cool grassroots plan. Meet Detroit Rock Solar City.

The city has determined that it’s going to need around 250 acres of solar panels in order to achieve 100% solar power for its municipal buildings.

6. Canada Officially Bans Cosmetic Testing on Animals

The fight for cruelty-free beauty in Canada has seen a significant breakthrough as the Canadian government legislates a full ban on cosmetic animal testing and trade, marking a victory for Animal rights advocates and eco-conscious consumers.

This landmark decision is part of the Budget Implementation Act (Bill C-47), not only prohibiting cosmetic animal testing but also putting an end to the sale of cosmetics that use new animal testing data for safety substantiation.

7. Belize certified malaria-free by WHO

The World Health Organization (WHO) has certified Belize as malaria-free, following the country’s over 70 years of continued efforts to stamp out the disease.

“WHO congratulates the people and government of Belize and their network of global and local partners for this achievement”, said Dr Tedros Adhanom Ghebreyesus, WHO Director-General. “Belize is another example of how, with the right tools and the right approach, we can dream of a malaria-free future.”

----

That's it for this week :)

This newsletter will always be free. If you liked this post you can support me with a small kofi donation:

Support this newsletter ❤️

Also don’t forget to reblog.

[howlingday]

What if instead of trying to court Weiss he was trying to befriend her because of his arranged marriage to Winter? Something Weiss was unaware of until Winter visits during the festival.

The Arc-Schnee Betrothal

"Then it is agreed." Jacques Schnee, the chief executive officer of the Schnee Dust Company, penned his name onto the document. Across the table, after the document was passed to him, the patriarch of the Arc family and head of the Valian Farming Circuit signed his name on the marriage document. The document in being signed being an agreement to betrothal, with the parties to be in unison being one Jaune Arc and one Winter Schnee.

The Schnee family would receive an initial dowry of half the Arc's harvest, to be used as sought fit, as well as a percentage of fruits and vegetables imported into the Kingdom of Atlas to allow the sale of foods not normally grown within. The Arc family receive an initial dowry of the latest farming equipment, completely tested and proven safe to operate, as well as a percentage of dust needed to power both the homes and equipment of the farmers within the VFC.

Jaune looked across to his betrothed. The way she glared at him with such cold, stern eyes sent a chill up his spine. She looked at him like he was less than her, a thing to reviled. Jaune knew when a woman hated him, and this woman who was to be his wife HATED him. He shivered a bit, then looked away. He hoped his enrollment at Beacon would make him good enough for his bride's standards.

Winter looked away from her groom-to-be to the other men celebrating with one another. She scowled at her father, angered by this shallow ploy of his. Even when she tried to flee the Schnee family curse by joining the military, her father found some loophole or another that would force her into this trap he laid. She grit her teeth, glancing once more at the... boy she was engaged to.

Seventeen, true, but still a child in the eyes of the law. However not in an archaic law like betrothal agreements. On his eighteenth, the two would decide a date for the wedding, in which they will be forced into attend and partake in the joyous bliss of the marriage trap. She couldn't be angry at him. Not when they both were unwilling participants in this.

Pushing her chair away, Winter stood up. "If I may be excused, I have duties to perform."

"What duties?" Her father asked.

"Duties for the Atlas military." She sneered. He waved her off and she turned away. Ahead of her, then, was Jaune Arc, her betrothed, holding the door for her, like a gentleman. She approached him, looked him up and down, then opened the other door. "I can open my own doors, thank you."

As she left, Jaune shut the door he held. "Uh, you're welcome."

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

"This is ridiculous!" Jaune shouted, squeezing his way between Ruby and her sister. How hard is it to find one locker in this one room? "There's no way I put my stuff in locker 636! I would've remembered to count that high! Why does this have to happen today?!"

Jaune was about to cry, but he held in his tears. What kind of man would Winter think of him if he started crying because he couldn't find his locker where his stuff is? Probably less than she already did, but that's not the point! Taking a deep breath, he looked to locker 636, standing there so smugly. Approaching, he put in the pin he KNOWS he put in and-

Click!

...Today was just not his day, was it?

"Great" A voice called. He turned to see a girl with white hair, tied back into a ponytail, and icy blue eyes widened in a manic glee. Aside from her unnerving visage, everything else about her said 'I'm a Schnee!' This must be Winter's sister, at least from what his dad told him.

'Try to make friends with your sister-in-law.'

"You know who else is great? Me. Jaune Arc. Nice to meet you."

"You again?!" Had they met? She did call him scraggly earlier. Was that what she meant?

"Nice to meet you, Jaune!"

"Oh, uh, yeah." Jaune gave a quick glance to the other girl. Gotta be polite for Winter's sister's friends. "So, uh, Weiss, right? I couldn't help but hear how you complimented me yesterday."

"Excuse me?!" She nearly screeched. Jaune assumed she could reach higher pitches.

"No, no! It's no problem!" Wouldn't want her to feel self-conscious about complimenting her future brother-in-law, right? "So, uh, I heard they're gonna split us into teams today. Wouldn't it be crazy if we got put on a team?"

"Actually, the teams are made up of teams of four, so-"

"Oh, really? Cool." Okay, Weiss' friend butted in twice, which is fine. It's cool. No time to focus on the details. Not when you have a future sister-in-law to win over! Time to lay on the Arc charm~. "So, Miss Tall, Bronze, and Gorgeous, would you like to join the winning team~?" Weiss' friend giggled. Once again, the Arc charm works like a... charm.

"Jaune, right?" Weiss huffed. "Do you know who you're talking to?"

Jaune looked to Pyrrha. She smiled and waved at him. She looked kinda familiar, but no bells were ringing. It might come to him later, but for now, might as well be up front. "Should I?"

"Should- This is THE Pyrrha Nikos!"

"Oh!" He nodded. He shook his head. "I got nothin'."

"She graduated top of her class at Sanctum?"

Oh, so she was a prodigy like Winter! He nodded, but the two girls could tell there wasn't any thought behind it. "I see..."

"She's won the Mistral Region Tournament four years in a row! A new record!"

Jaune blinked. "The what?"

"For the love of-" Weiss waved her arms. "SHE'S ON THE COVER OF THE PUMPKIN PETE'S MARSHMALLOW FLAKES BOX!"

"THAT'S IT~!" Jaune snapped his fingers. "I ate, like, fifty boxes to get my hoodie~!" He tugged on his chest-plate. "Uh... If I could take this off, I would to prove it."

Pyrrha giggled. "I don't think that's healthy."

"It wasn't." It was like cardboard soaked and dried over and over again in pumpkin flavoring. Not even the marshmallows were safe. "Almost threw up a couple times."

"So, Jaune," Weiss tapped her foot, "after hearing all of this, do you really think you have any right to ask her of all people to be on your team?"

"I..." Jaune got into Beacon on pure luck. He has no skill, no education, and a future bride waiting for him next to a shallow grave. As much as the Arc charm carried him, Jaune Arc is still Jaune Arc; the biggest disappointment to trip his way out of Ansel. "...guess not."

"Actually, Jaune, I think you'd make a great leader."

Jaune felt a bit of heat rush to his cheeks. He was easy to please, especially with sweet words, no matter how empty they were. "D'Oh, stop~!"

"Yes, please, STOP." Weiss agreed. "Don't encourage him."

"Sounds like Pyrrha's on Team Arc!" He turned to Weiss, arms spread. "There's still plenty of room, though, Weiss! Here, come give a hug to your future-"

"Okay, that's too close!" Weiss backed away. "Pyrrha!"

"I'm really sorry about this."

With a tug of his hoodie, Jaune soared through the air and became pinned to the tiled wall. He hung there as Weiss passed him by, her nose turned up in disgust. Pyrrha then pulled out her weapon and waved to him, apologizing again. Jaune fell to the floor and sighed.

Yup.

Today is just not his day.

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

Click! The door opened. "Hell-" SLAM! The door shut. Jaune knocked again.

"Go away, Jaune!" Weiss called from inside the dorm.

Jaune's plan to get to know his sister-in-law better wasn't going so well. After saving her life from falling to her death in the Emerald Forest, only an hour after she left him pinned to a tree when she made eye-contact with him, he then went on to become team leader, a position she didn't earn, but Ruby instead. If the rumors Jaune heard about a Schnee's pride were anything to go by, he sort of understood Weiss' hostility. Regardless, he wasn't going to let the chance to actually meet the bride's sister go to waste!

"I just wanna talk, Weiss!"

"We have nothing to talk about, Arc!"

"I think you mean, 'Arc-Schnee,' actually."

"UGH! As if!" Weiss retched. "There's no way on Remnant or ANY OTHER UNIVERSE that you and I would be together!"

"Well, maybe not you and I, but what about me and Winter?"

Silence. Silence was good, right? It means deep thought. Concentration. Silence was a curtain-fall to prelude the intermission. Maybe. Jaune spent some time learning theater, but dance was more his passion. Not a lot of silence in dance, though. A lot of squeaking and panting and-

"OOF!" Jaune held his family jewels after a searing pain shot through his body from there. He toppled over like a toppling thing. Sorry, can't really think when all you can feel is PAIN!

"What have you done with my sister?!" A heel pressed into his head.

"N-Notheeng!" Jaune answered, smushed by a powder-blue fuzzy slipper. "I'm juss engaged to her!"

"Just engaged?" Weiss stepped away, anger not leaving her eyes. "I've heard a lot of filth about my family, but this is a new low. Why would my sister ever agree to marry a creep like you?" Weiss turned away, walking through the doorway.

"Because she didn't."

"Excuse me?"

"She didn't agree to it." Jaune stood up. "And neither did I. The only reason this marriage is happening at all is because people in Atlas want food from Vale."

Weiss was quiet, then shut the door to her dorm. She turned to Jaune. "I'm assuming your family has some say in VFC?"

"My dad is the head of the VFC. Your dad-"

"Arranged a marriage between our families and chose his oldest daughter to marry you, and I'm assuming you're the oldest son?"

"Only." Jaune clarified.

"Of course." Weiss sighed. "And what does my sister think of all this?"

"She's... not happy. In fact, I don't think I've seen her smile once. Or sad. She's just... angry."

"Well, I can't imagine her being happy with this forced marriage."

"Yeah."

"And what about you?" Weiss looked him in the eyes. "Are you happy to be marrying Winter?"

Yes, he would be happy to marry someone like Winter. Someone smart, beautiful, strong, and just breathes excellence. That's what Jaune would have said if he didn't hold his tongue and think for a moment. What did he know about Winter Schnee, beyond her looks and what others had said her?

"She's... cold." Jaune answered. "She's angry. And everything about her tells me that she hates being stuck in this arranged marriage. So, no, I'm not happy marrying Winter like this."

"Like this?" Suddenly, there's was something about the look on Jaune's face. A determination that made him out to be the most honest man she'd ever met.

"If I did marry Winter Schnee," he said, "then she would be the happiest woman on Remnant."

Then, in an instant, the look on Jaune's face slipped back into his usual goofy, spineless self.

"Uh, I mean- W-What I meant to say was-"

"Shut up." Weiss rolled her eyes, and Jaune clamped his mouth shut. "You're marrying a Schnee, and I won't allow someone so spineless to share my family name."

"Huh?"

"Like it or not, you and Winter are engaged." She pointed a finger at him. "That means you need to become the perfect husband for her."

"Uh-"

"You're already the team leader, so I expect nothing less than perfect grades on all assignments, on all tests, and in all team exercises!" She opened the door to her dorm. "I will see you in class tomorrow, Jaune Arc-Schnee."

As the door shut, Jaune stood there, unsure of how to move forward. He finally got his wish and was able to meet his future sister-in-law and talk to her. In doing so, however, he poked a bear that would now maul him if he didn't outdo her in everything she did, and he doubted she would risk her attendance at Beacon for some slacker who just showed up and said he was marrying her sister. Compounding this is his lack of skill in anything related to being a huntsman.

In short, he was screwed.

"Jaune, are you coming back to the dorm?" Pyrrha asked from the doorway, flanked by their teammates, Ren and Nora.

Jaune fell over, face-down on the floor.

Nora quirked her brow. "Uh, we have beds in here, ya know?"

[myownwholewildworld]

acta, non verba - ii. there is no treachery in the art of war

chapter 1 | series masterlist | ao3 | main masterlist | chapter 3 pairing: conqueror!marcus acacius x ofc!reader. summary: you need to start moving the game along, but you cannot be too obvious. or... can you? a/n: hello there! c: here's the second chapter! there is quite a bit of character & world building in this one, as i felt it served the storyline, so i hope you guys like it! i wanted to thank you all for your nice, encouring words on the first chapter, it really motivated me to keep on writing! you guys are amazing 💖 as always, all interactions welcome, i do appreciate you liking, sharing and/or commenting! take care <3 warnings: 18+, mdni. references to marital abuse (physical and sexual) and child marriage (massive age gap, not in a cutesy way), in line with the time this story is set on. mentions of death/murder. mention of infertility. sexual tension galore (👀). a smidge of angst. w/c: ~8.6k. dividers by @saradika-graphics taglist at the end (let me know if you want to be added/removed please!)

“Honestly, I don’t think it’s a good idea, Callie”, Torcall sombrely warned you, his eyes locking on yours over the wooden spoon he tightly gripped close to his mouth.

“And what would you have me do then?”, you sneeringly replied back.

Your brother-in-law had been pestering you the whole morning about what your plan was to win your lands back. You knew the long game was your best bet — you didn’t have the numbers to face Rome on your own. Your athair had tried and failed in his attempt. Another defeat like the one your people suffered in Raedykes would destroy your clan. It would wipe you out off the map — everything your ancestors had worked for, gone under the crushing yoke of the Romans.

“I would not have you whoring yourself out to a fucking Roman, that’s for sure. Your athair would be so disappointed in you.” He snapped back at you, anger flowing in his words.

His reply stung badly, so much you unconsciously crossed your arms at chest level — an unvoluntary gesture to protect yourself from his accusation.

“That’s beyond the point”, you barked, the green of your irises burning like hellish fire. “And my father would be just fine with my decision. Need I remind you who he married me off to?”

Torcall’s knuckles went white as his fingers pressed around the spoon harshly. You cocked a brow, unwavering.

Ten years ago, your athair had reached an agreement with Iain of Am Baile Ùr(Insh), the lord of Badenoch whose state was a few miles south of your birthplace. For as long as Caledonia had formed, there had always been internal disputes about who was the rightful heir to the Overlord title.

The clan who held the stronghold at Inbhir Nis had historically always been considered the legitimate title’s holder. Your family had been the keepers of the land for as long as anyone could remember. But it didn’t stop those who were thirsty for power, so your father had to prove himself over and over again.

After several bloody skirmishes, Murdoch of Inbhir Nis had crowned himself, yet again, lord and master of Caledonia. Iain had been a strong contestant against your father and was only appeased when your athair offered you as a consolation prize to him, as if you were a lamb up for sale at the local market. A cheap one at that.

At the tender age of six and ten, you had been shipped off to an unknown land to be wife to a man you had never seen before. The next ten years of your life would be living hell — what you had to endure, you would not wish it upon your worst enemy.

The memories that would crawl back at night would still wake you up, a cold sweat trickling down your spine every time. Abuse in your arranged marriage was your bread and butter. Every time you returned home under the prying, controlling eyes of Iain or your family came to visit, you would lie to them about the new bruise on your cheek, the limp you had for a couple of weeks or the teeth marks on your neck. Murdoch was the last to realise, unable to come to terms with the destiny he had forced upon you. And by the time he did, there was not much he could do without infuriating Iain, without risking another war.

The peace of the Caledonians outweighed your suffering, after all. You were not worth such a bloodshed.

So you pushed through it all and survived — for family, for clan, for honour. Never resented your father either; he had a duty to protect his tribe, and so did you. For a decade you dragged yourself across ember and ash, until you finally caught a break six months ago.

Iain was found dead in the marital bed, his eyes wide open and his expression struck with horror, as if a wraith had taken his life. At the mature age of six and sixty, you had been his third wife, so when his only son and heir from his first marriage ascended, you were no longer needed. With no family of your own tying you to that ghostly place, you packed your things and swiftly left, the Will' O' the Wisps guiding you home.

“I didn’t mean it that way”, his answer burst out in a pitiful whisper. One of your eyebrows raised even further into your forehead. “I’m sorry.”

You sighed, unfolding your arms and looking at the cold broth in front of you. Grabbing the spoon again, you swirled it in the bowl aimlessly. You didn’t need your most trusted ally questioning your decisions, not when the whole clan depended on your actions. At least he was doing so in the intimacy of a crannog and not in front of your folk.

“I’m just trying my best, Torcall. I know I can win our freedom back, so I need you to have some faith in me. How I get to the endgame is up to me. The means justify the end.” Your words were imbued with unfaltering determination.

“I do trust you, Callie. With my life and the lives of my children”, he mumbled solemnly with a curtsy as his eyes drifted to the other end of the room.

Your niece and nephew, whom you loved dearly, were obliviously playing with some wooden swords their father had handcrafted a while back. They were six years of age, both born during the cold winter months. The twins had filled the blackhole in your heart, one that your marriage had not been able to lade.

“Ah, ye brute!” Your nephew, Daimh, let the sword slip from his fingers to hold his hand close to his chest. “You’ve hurt me, Iona!”

His little feet dabbed towards you, raising his injured hand in the air.

“Auntaidh (auntie), Iona has broken my fingers, look!”, he wept while you cradled his hand.

“Oh, come on here, mo laochain (my little hero). Let me see”, you said while rubbing his hand between yours and kissing it where it hurt.

“What a wimpy!”, Iona complained, running to her father. “I won, daddy!” Her proud, high-pitched voice squealed in excitement, and you couldn’t hide your smile.

“I’m going to tell màthair (mother)!”, Daimh blew raspberries at his sister, and she reciprocated from the other side of the table.

Your heart sunk to your stomach at the mention of Maisie, tears welling up at the corner of your eyes. Both you and Torcall had explained to them that their mother had been reunited with Dhuosnos, God of the Dead, but they were too little to fully understand what that entailed, what it truly meant.

“When is mama coming back from Tech Duinn (House of Dhuosnos), daddy? I miss her dearly”, Iona’s innocent words ripped at your heart.

Torcall and you exchanged mournful glances.

“Aye, me too”, exclaimed Daimh as he snuggled in your arms.

“So do we, sweet pea, so do we”, you mumbled as you kissed the crown of his blonde head.

Daimh stirred in your arms, his green eyes piercing yours. He looked so much like his mother that it was painful. Maisie and you had the same emerald irises, although she had been blonde. Daimh and Iona were living images of her.

“When can we go home? This place smells funny”, your nephew questioned while he sat on your lap.

You wished you could tell him. Your whole family had been living in the castle that now Marcus Acacius occupied. Torcall and his children could not risk staying there, not when the threat of death was hanging above them. If the Romans knew your sister had offspring, they would hunt them down.

Despite the adversity, you had been lucky in a sense. The highlanders had always been wary of strangers — outsiders brought tragedy with them, in the way of disease or war. The Caledonians had learnt to keep their distance, to be extremely cautious. So, when the General and his army arrived, no one spoke of your family, not even when questioned.

Your people, despite the differences that had them at each other’s throats some years back, were loyal to you. And it was their fealty what enabled your plan, what allowed you to pretend, to just be another servant girl.

So Torcall, his children and you had sought refuge in the skirts of town. Your uncail Aengus’ wife had welcomed you into her home.

The crannog was a circular hut with a straw roof, the walls made of mud, rocks, wood. There was only one big, round room, with an open hearth which kept the inside warm. The open shelving gathered some necessary clutter, but there were many things scattered around the place. There were only three beds lined up against the wall, which meant that you shared a bed with Iona and Torcall with his son. Your cousins had moved out to the small barn just a few feet away to make room for you.

It was cramped and very modest in comparison to the thick walls of your castle, but it was a roof over your heads. You were extremely grateful to her. Your heart still wept at the memory of telling her the demise of her husband.

“Soon we will, but in the meantime, we are keeping Bonnie and her sons company. And this place smells just fine. Are you sure it’s not you, you stinky little deamhan (demon)?”, you jested, pinching his nose and then tickling his ribs.

His laughter was a soothing balm on your aching, longing heart.

“Was everything as expected, Dominus?” His Roman servant asked, his head bowed to him.

Marcus patted the corners of his mouth with the rag on his lap and then nodded to Atticus. The food was somewhat decent, a venison stew with some root vegetables he could not identify. The bread, unsurprisingly, was a bit stale, so he had left it untouched.

The great hall was lugubrious, silence filling up the atmosphere. There were two other maids in the room, cowering in a corner with averted eyes. They only spoke a barbarian language he had no wish to learn. Communication with the natives was extremely difficult, as they seemed to be uneducated.

But there was one lass who knew how to speak Latin — you, Callie.

He wondered where you had gone. Marcus had not seen you since your encounter in his new-found bedchamber. It had been three days since then and with each passing one, he found himself searching the room for you. There was something about you that had reeled him in but was unsure of what it was. Maybe it was the eerie, magical aura that surrounded your fiery hair — or maybe it was the way you carried yourself, the way you had briefly but decisively held his gaze. The way you quickly retreated �� unwillingly.

Marcus imperceptibly shook his head and waved his hand at Atticus, motioning for him to pour another cup of the bitter wine.

“Yes”, he simply replied, bringing the wooden chalice to his lips.

Atticus signalled the young women to come forward and they quickly cleared the table of dishes and cutlery. When he was alone with his servant, away from enemies’ ears, he signalled at Atticus, who quickly stepped forward.

“Fetch my commanders and bring them here. There are matters I need to discuss with them”, Marcus demanded of him.

His attendant curtsied and vanished from the great hall, leaving him alone.

Marcus was taking in every detail of the room, of the tapestries and their stories, when a scattering sound distracted him. He thought to hear a commotion, then a blasphemy. Curious, he stood up, stepped off the dais and sauntered towards the double doors. The door was slightly ajar, so he only had to push it for it to swing open.

There was nothing in the corridor except for a distinct scent. Rosemary and thyme with a hint of something unrecognisable, he identified. A smell that had loitered in his bedchamber once you left. Wrinkling his aquiline nose, he caught something in the corner of his eye. He turned to see how a shadow dissipated at the end of the corridor.

Furrowing his brows and in long strides, Marcus covered the distance, tracking the distinct aroma — like a lost man after the beckoning of a nymph, he followed. As he was about to turn the corner, he almost collided with Maximus, Valerius and Cassius.

“My lord,” Cassius was the first to talk, “we were on our way to you. You wished to see us?”

Marcus tried to conceal his confusion at the sight of the three men. With his head slightly tilted, he asked, “Did you encounter anyone on your way to me, Commander?”

Cassius slowly shook his head no, baffled by the question. “No, Dominus, no one. Were you expecting someone else?”

The General hmphed, taciturn. He needed to be cautious — if the tapestries were right, ungodly, mythical creatures lingered between the walls of the castle. Evil ones at that.

“Worry not”, Marcus rapidly dismissed. “Follow me, gentlemen.”

The four men sat at the rectangular table on the dais, Marcus’ fingers drumming on the wood as Maximus flattened a piece of parchment before him.

“These are some names that have been thrown around in the last few days, people who may act on their rebellious comments. Our spies have been trying their best to mix in with the townies, but they are tough nuts to crack. They are wary even of the people who speak their own language”, Maximus’ index finger slid down the list as he talked.

Marcus’ hand darted forward and pinched one corner of the parchment, pulling it towards him. His eyes scanned the unfamiliar names.

The barbarians did not use surnames, which spoke to their lack of sophistication. Instead, they used patronyms and the land where they were born, so the list made it difficult to identify individuals who might belong to the same family. Knowing what families were a menace would be a great advantage, one they did not have.

“There seems to be a recurrent name here”, Marcus paused, his fingertip pointing to the words scribbled in lead ink. “Seumas and Anndra of Dail an Eich (Dalneigh), sons of Aengus. Who is this Aengus?”, he questioned, looking up to the frowning faces.

“We are not sure, Dominus. As I said, the villagers are not talking much”, Cassius replied, his fingers intertwined, resting atop of the wooden table.

“Well, find out then. I don’t care how you get the information. Just get it”, Marcus’ back reclined against the chair he was sat on. He felt like they were wasting his time with trivial details. He needed more than that.

“You didn’t get Murdoch’s wife to talk, even when she was hanged half dead in a cage off the main tower, after being brutally tortured and whatever else you inflicted upon her, and you expect us to get names just like that?”, Valerius’ insolence spoke for him.

Marcus’ eyes lazily locked on his commander’s. He should have his ill-mannered tongue cut out for such disdainful arrogance. Valerius’ Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he forcefully swallowed, his eyes slightly widened, realising his impertinence.

Whispers flew around the town; his name being cursed from mouth to mouth. Marcus was not too worried about whatever rumours they could spread about him. They probably would be true — he was no saint.

But Marcus had not been the one who had ordered such distasteful death upon Mòrag, wife of Murdoch. Agricola did, with no respect for his name when he dropped it mid-sentence. Marcus did not even lay an eye on her, even less a hand.

Let them all think what they might. Marcus was used to being the scapegoat of the governor — when something went wrong, Agricola would blame him. And when something went right, he would just take credit for himself, the evil, power-thirsty rat.

He looked at Valerius dead in his eyes, one cocked brow showing his mild incredulity.

“Do you have something to say, Valerius? I hear a certain condemning tone in your words?”, his voice was flat, devoid of emotion, but the reality was there was a raging fire within him he could not make manifest.

“Absolutely not, my lord”, the man bowed his head to him, his knuckles white.

“Then be gone. All of you. Find those two men or I will have you hanged too.”

The resolution in his tone scared the seasoned warriors, who quickly said their goodbyes and hurriedly left the premises.

Marcus’ elbows sunk in the wooden table, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He was angry, but amongst all, he was tired — tired of masking, of cleaning up after Agricola’s hideous actions, of power plays, of trickery, betrayal and deception. He was surrounded by it all.

At eight and forty, he was tired of war and conquest. He had seen it all, lived it all. If retirement would be an option, he would gladly take it. But he knew — he would wield a sword till the day he died in a godforsaken battlefield, till Pluto welcomed him with open arms. Rome would not have him any other way.

Marcus Acacius was truly exhausted.

So it was him who had your beautiful màthair tortured and hanged in a cage until she greeted death. Your blood boiled as your breath quickened. The rage flickered inside you like wild flames burning down an entire civilisation.

When the rangers announced your arrival to a few selected loyal men who had stayed behind, they got out at night to cut the ropes holding the cage your mother had been thrown in. They did not want you to see such act of savagery.

Your kinsmen had really tried to conceal how badly damaged your mother’s body was. Despite the heartache, you had been grateful that they had gone to the effort of making her somewhat presentable. But one look at her mangled body had been enough to understand what type of wickedness you were up against.

In the dead of night, you had buried Mòrag, the woman who so selflessly gave you life, in the outskirts of town. Just like her other children and husband, she would not rest under the family’s chambered cairns. Your family had been wiped out of history as if they were mere droplets in a vast ocean of human tragedy.

With one ear flat against the wooden door to the great hall, you unknowingly squinted your eyes, trying to listen to the rest of the conversation. If someone caught you eavesdropping, you would have a lot of explaining to do. But so far your spying was being productive — you would need to warn your cousins when you got home that night.

The faint sound of approaching footsteps made your heart jolt in your chest.

“Cac (shite)!”, you swore, frantically looking for a place to stow yourself away.

Picking up your skirt so you would not trip, you hid in a nearby garderobe. The cupboard smelt sweet and musty — barrels of wine decorated the whole height of the stone walls. The scent was so intense, you felt it soaking through your skin, appeasing the craze that had a tight grip on your mind. The darkness that surrounded you only accentuated your sense of smell. Could you get inebriated just with the sugary aroma of grape juice?

When the booted treads slowly faded away, you quietly pushed the door open, emerging back into the cold corridor — the contrasting temperature between the garderobe and the hallway gave you goosebumps. Palm flat against the wood and the other hand tightly gripping the iron pull handle, you gently shoved the door back into its frame, hoping to make no noise.

“What are you doing?”, a deep, masculine voice startled you, making you jump on the spot.

A set of warm, firm arms wrapped around you as you stumbled with your feet. They enveloped you so steadfastly, your body involuntarily relaxed against the person behind you. Leaning back, your back met the cold touch of metal.

Swallowing a profanity that would bring a repenting clergyman down to his knees, you turned around, in the arms that held you tight, to face the embodiment of hate. Your hate.

Marcus Acacius was standing, all righteous and proud, intimately close to you. He was wearing an impeccable white armour with golden details. Two flaxen griffins adorned the center of the plackart, their claws wrapping around a floral design. Linen straps, snug around his hips, fell from his waist, covering the fauld and the tasset underneath.

Marcus’ body was a fountain of warmth, even with all the layers enfolding his frame. His arms, although tense around you, did not feel suffocating — in fact, they were almost coddling you into a state of ataraxia as your brain quietened. His hug exuded a sense of security you had not felt in years — as if nothing nor no one could ever harm you as long as you stayed in Marcus’ embrace.

You traced the topography of his plackart with your fingers, your palms resting against the alloy, as your eyes peeked up —he was considerably taller than you— and were met with the fervour of two brown irises. Their gravity pulled you in for an eternal second. With your face near his, you picked up on the tired bearing on his face, the wrinkles around his eyes, the hard press of his lips. A kempt but patchy beard coated his jawline, and salt and peppered hair curled at the nape of his thick, muscular neck — a stray silver lock caressing his forehead, asking to be tucked away.

Your fingertips suddenly itched with longing, your eyes slightly widened, and your mouth partially parted. And then you came back to reality with the full force of your conscience yapping at you. What the hell? You had to control the contortion of your face so your disappointment would not be evident. It’s because I want to slap him so bad, was your afterthought.

Something changed in his expression — Marcus suddenly let you go, leaving you cold again. As if it was a rehearsed move, you both took a step back, breaking the electric contact that snapped between your bodies.

You now realised his clean image was a shocking contrast to how you first met him. Covered in mud, blood and sweat, his untamed expression as he dispatched your father still haunted you at night. And that was how you had to remember him. Sinking his gladius in your father’s belly. And nothing else.

“Well?”, the General insisted after clearing his throat, his eyebrows knitting together as he folded his arms.

You rapidly lowered your gaze when you realised you had been looking at him too intently, too directly. A maid would have fainted at the audacity you had just shown him. But you were no maid — albeit he was not privy of such detail for obvious reasons.

You hoped he didn’t notice, although you could feel his eyes studying you eagerly.

“I— I was looking for wine, Dominus.” You faked the stammering in an attempt to convey innocence. “Cormag, the cook, wants a very specific wine to accompany your supper, Dux Meus (My General/Leader). I was making sure we had it.”

“And what wine is that, if I dare ask?”, he pressed with a steely voice.

Thalla gu taigh na galla (go to hell), you thought, browsing your brain for a quick reply.

“It’s a fine wine imported from Carmo, my lord.” Your father had been a wine enthusiast, so you knew some places he had his wine shipped from. Not that it really meant anything to you, anyway.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his arms falling to his sides, his threatening posture softening.

“Carmo? In the Baetic region of Hispania?”, Marcus’ incredulous voice made you glance up at him through your long eyelashes.

You nodded, your fingers laced at your front as you bowed your head again, showing a deference you didn’t really feel towards him. And you prayed there was at least a few drops left of said wine in one of the barrels, or you would be in trouble come dinner.

“That’s one of my favourites”, he let slip and you instantly knew he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

Feigning bravery, you fanned your eyelashes back at him, a half-smile softening your lips. The General almost looked mortified at the fact of letting a stranger know about his likes. You could see it in his eyes — the brief moment of asking himself, “What have I just said?” Although he seemed all stoic and unattainable, he was just a man. Just like any other.

“Is that so?” You did not wait for a reply you knew would never come. “I’ll try and remember that, Dominus, to make sure we never run out.”

He was a hard man to read, you would give him that. His expression didn’t flinch, as if your words had gone over his head. The only sign he had actually listened was a subtle tic on his jaw.

You just needed to drop some hints here and there, let him brew. If you were too obvious with your intentions, Marcus would become suspicious. You knew nothing about the man except he was a cold-blooded murderer, but perceived he was observant. Probably too observant.

“If you’ll excuse me, my lord, I wish to retire now so I can attend to my tasks.” Asking for permission was not something that came naturally to you, but it was a trained response you had learnt from your late husband.

“Take your leave then”, he granted, his hands hiding on his back.

You curtsied. “Thank you, Dux Meus.”

Marcus turned on his heels in a swift whoosh, the sword swaying in front of him, his fingers gripping the handle tight. He intuited his opponent’s next move before it happened, so he bent his knees and ducked his head right under the swing of Maximus’ gladius. With a wild, toothy smile, Marcus pulled back, weighing the blade on his left hand.

“So predictable”, he teased the commander, who was an old friend of his.

If one could have friends in the midst of war, that was. Their friendship easily transformed depending on the circumstances — in war matters, Maximus knew to respect Marcus above everything else. Outside of that, they just were two friends with a long history behind them.

“I’m being gentle, lord General. We have spectators, I don’t want to embarrass you. I know your ego is as fragile as a rose’s petal”, Maximus chaffed, a grin taking over his mouth as they circled each other like two lions on the gladiator’s pit.

Marcus’ tunnel vision had him so tuned in on his friend’s advances, he had not realised that a small group of people had gathered around the makeshift arena. Feeling a sudden heaviness weighing him down, Marcus combed the gathered faces in one sweep.

Until his eyes locked in on yours. He saw a glimpse of wonder metamorphosing into surprise in your emerald greens — then you quickly withdrew your eyes from his at the realisation of getting caught staring.

There was something about you that drew him in — something mysterious, uncanny, but also strangely enticing. Exciting. Your eyes spoke of mischief, of adventure, of the unknown. Of something eerie, almost witchy. The flickering, iridescent fire within them had him under a spell for a brief moment.

Marcus vividly remembered holding you against his chest, your soft curves perfectly moulding to his hard edges. Even through the armour, he had felt the heat your body irradiated, the way it seeped through to envelop him, soothe him. For a moment, having you between his arms felt just right. And that thought had unsettled him gravely, letting go of you as such wild, unnerving concept sank in — his mind point-blank rejecting the notion.

Despite his inner refusal, how you looked back at him would plague him. For days and nights on end.

Out of the corner of his eye, Marcus watched as Maximus inched forward, the sword aiming at his open flank. Just in the nick of time, the General’s steel deflected the attack.

“Getting distracted? That’s unusual of you, Marcus”, the commander jeered at him, closing in.

Marcus scoffed at his words, bluffing. But the reality was that Maximus had hit the nail in the head. Not that he was going to acknowledge it in public anyway. If he was to successfully bring Maximus down, he needed to focus on the task at hand and not think about a green-eyed nymph.

Studying his adversary’s body language, his feet dragged on the sand. Maximus was on edge, tense, too focused on his sword, so Marcus wagered a distraction would tip the scales in his favour. Maintaining eye contact, he slowly knelt, the fingers of his non-occupied right hand extended, palm down. Maximus’ brows wrinkled when he saw Marcus getting a fistful of sand and the General knew he had the diversion he was looking for.

With Maximus focused on his right hand, too worried with a cloud of sand that would get in his eyes, Marcus took the chance, quickly stood up and swung his heavy sword against his rival’s left loin. Maximus did not have time to prepare for the impact and so dropped to the ground.

Marcus smiled with sufficiency, straightening out his aching back, and offered a hand to his old friend.

With a grunt, Maximus accepted his gesture and got up, palming Marcus’ back soundly.

“You treacherous man, making me believe you were going to blind me”, he quipped as they both started to walk out of the circle people had formed around them.

“There is no treachery in the art of war”, Marcus replied, patting his friend’s back in playful jest.

A loud snort made Marcus look around him. He had no time to fully study your face, but he could swear you had made that disapproving noise before turning on your heels and trotting off.

Confusion and a smidge of curiosity settled in him — what had he done to gain your dissent when a minute ago awe darkened your eyes? The sudden change in your attitude left a lingering question in the back of his head as he and Maximus ushered towards the barracks in the northwest corner of the bailey.

“But you shouldn’t be serving, mo bhean-uasal (my lady)”, whispered the young lass, her hands twisting in her lap with nervousness.

“Shush, Brighid, lower your tone.” Anxiously you checked out your surroundings, ensuring you were alone. You were relieved to know you were. “You cannae refer to me like that. I’m just Callie now, remember?”

Upon your arrival to Inbhir Nis, Torcall and your father’s retinue —now yours, you guessed— had made everyone aware that the Romans thought you dead and hence, concealing your identity was of utmost importance. A slip of a tongue and you would be hanging in a cage too. Every passing day you feared someone might forget and show you deference publicly — but you had to trust that no one would run off at the mouth and rat you out.

“Duilich (sorry), mo bh— Callie. I—I promise I didn’t mean to”, she profusely apologised, her big wide eyes begging for your pardon. The wee lass could not stop fidgeting.

“I know, I know”, you tried to calm her down, placing your hand on her forearm. “But please, I need to take your place tonight.”

“Cormag will fire me for not turning up. I cannae afford that, my family depends on me.” Her pleading plucked some fast beats out of your heart.

“Don’t fret about it, lass. I’ll speak to that old crank of a man, he owes me. You’ll get paid, awright? He’ll be fine with it, I promise.” You gently squeezed her forearm, so your words would sink in.

Her eyes broadened in understanding. Before the girl could think about her actions, she jolted forward, her arms wrapping around your shoulders. You could only smile at her relief and let out a soft cackle when Brighid lumbered back, mortified.

“I’m so sorry, do Ghras (Your Grace).” Her excitement was so palpable the poor girl didn’t notice the second blunder.

“BRIGHID!”, a raspy threat left your tongue as you jerked her closer to you by the elbow. “For the love of Morrìgan, do watch your mouth!”

The young servant covered her mouth with both hands, her eyes speaking of self-reproach as it dawned on her. “I’ll have it sewn”, she muttered with great remorse.

The guilt splayed across her heart-shaped face brought a smirk to your lips. “Off you go now, before your runny tongue gets me into trouble.”

Brighid scurried away towards the barbican, and you hurried along to the kitchens. You followed the tangled web of corridors and passages thoughtlessly — you had played hide and seek countless times with your siblings between the stone walls, there was no nook nor cranny you were not familiar with.

The air got denser as you approached, the thick smoke of the open hearth filling your lungs. Repressing a cough, you entered the galley as good ol’ Cormag was shouting orders at the helping lads. The head cook had an aging face, creases around his grey eyes and bulbous nose, and a thick bush of white hair — hair strands shooting in every direction, almost comically. He was short and round around the belly, living proof of his good, delicious cooking.

“Keep fanning the fire, ye lazy ass! Don’t you see it’s going to die out? Faster, stronger! Aren’t you supposed to be young and full of life?!”, Cormag had wrapped his thick fingers around the brittle wrists of the lad, forcing his feeble arms up and down, fingers tight around a thin plank of wood. “Tiugainn (come on), with more enthusiasm, ye numpty!”

“Do you really think that’s how you motivate the young lads to do a good job, Cormag?” You questioned his teaching approach, with folded arms and a cocked brow.

An oath escaped his mouth as the cook turned around, his face downcast at your reprimand. “Callie!”

Thank the gods someone remembered how to approach you now. It came easier to Cormag though, considering that he was almost like family to you. The old man had seen you grow, having served your father since before you were even born. He was there, on the background, to wave you goodbye every time you had to return to Am Baile Ùr. And each time you came back, he had a full plate of haggis with a side of neeps and tatties waiting for you.

“No wonder your apprentices quit so fast if you treat them like that, Cormag. Have you no manners?” You kidded — the man had the filthiest mouth of the shire.

“I was raised by an ogre, young lady, of course I don’t”, he jokingly replied, cleaning his dirty hands on the apron tied around his round belly.

“Aye, and Nessie was your pet. I’ve heard that story before awright. I am still to see proof of such claims though.” Unfolding your arms you approached him, immediately going in for a bear hug.

Cormag palmed your back enthusiastically and you circled his stout frame, sinking in the comfort of his presence. In the blink of an eye, you were a five-year-old crybaby being consoled by a younger Cormag because there were no more mutton pies left that you could shove down your tiny mouth.

“I heard you were back, fear beag (little one). Wondered when you’d come visit this old git.” With a last squeeze, he took a step back, his hands placed on your shoulders. “Know you’ve probably heard this a thousand times now, but I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

His whisper was loaded with a heavy affection that shot your heart down to your stomach. Pressing your lips to stop your face from contorting at the memory of being alone in this world, you nodded, almost frantically, and sniffed. His eyes were a reflection of yours — the friendship between your athair and Cormag had been a staple in your life for as long as you could remember.

“But let’s not get all teary now!”, his demeanour changed as he rubbed your shoulders before taking a step back. “Got something for you.”

He turned around to rummage through a rattan basket on one of the counters. Cormag exclaimed an enthusiastic “Ha!” when he got his hands on what he was looking for. Then he presented his discovery to you with a flourish that made you crow.

When you saw the peachy plum on the palm of his hand, you almost squealed. “Plums!” You quickly snatched it, afraid he would take it away.

“I arranged for these to be brought from Fachabair (Fochabers). The cook who serves the clan chief there is an old friend of mine.”

“But Cormag, plums are not in season yet!” You marvelled at the sight, munching on the delicious fruit eagerly. Your eyes almost rolled to the back of your head.

“I know.” He winked at you mysteriously, but you didn’t press the matter if it meant you could get your hands on some more plums.

“I did come to you with a favour to ask”, you batted your eyelashes at him, anticipating his disapproval.

He looked at you, inquisitorial — it was his turn to fold arms at the chest. Cormag snapped his tongue as if to say, “do go on”.

“I already convinced Brighid so you cannae be mad at her. In fact, I promised her you wouldn’t.” You grinned at him, his face already puckering with exasperation. “I’m taking her place tonight as a serving maid.”

“Have you lost your damn mind, lass? Nay, I’m not having it”, he quickly dismissed you, grunting.

“I’m not asking for permission. I need to be there, I—” Just in time, you remembered that the two lads were still running around the fireplace, trying to keep the flames alive. “I’ll fill you in later, but I have to be there, there’s no discussion about it.”

“What? Serving that Roman scoundrel? There’s more royal blood in you than there is in him.” He was more offended than you were.

You laughed, patting his forearm. The old man already hated the Romans more than you did, and that was difficult to accomplish.

“Aye, and that’s not the worst bit, Cormag”, you teased him, because you knew he would lose his mind with rage.

“Enlighten me”, he said between gritted teeth.

“We are serving the Corma wine tonight with supper”, you pursed your lips, watching his reaction.

His round face turned all shades of red, and his nostrils flared. If it was physically possible, his ears would be steaming too, like a ceramic pot with boiling water over the open fire.

“NAY, OVER MY DEAD FUCKING BODY!”, he exploded, shaking his arms over his head in disbelief, and you burst into laughter. Cormag was too expressive. “Ah, no, NO. We are not wasting such finery on that murderous cunt!”

You blinked rapidly at him to appease his fury, but his rage just gleamed brighter.

“Well… I kinda told him we would. You winnae make me look like a liar, right, Cormag?”, you muttered, as if you were a child who had committed the grave felony of stealing a sweet off the counter.

“You did WHAT?!”, he snorted angrily.

“Tìoraidh (bye)!”, you effusively waved him goodbye as you bit into the plum, sprinting off and ducking when you heard the wooden spoon flying by your ear.

“Trobhad (come here)!”, but you had already turned the corner into the hallway.

Why he was so taut, he did not fully understand. Marcus’ body was in high alert, and he had his suspicions about the cause.

You were just a woman like any other. Sure, your green eyes flickered like hellfire, your red hair was so bright it looked like you were up in flames, your upturned nose covered in freckles twitched adorably, and the skin on your hands was unusually soft — but that was it, really.

So you were nothing out of the ordinary, he kept telling himself. But it was hard to keep to that line of thought when your breast would brush against his shoulder every time you approached to clear the table from empty plates, when your velvety fingers would briefly caress the back of his hand while reaching for his cutlery, or when you would talk too close to his ear, a tingling sensation on the back of his neck almost making him shiver uncomfortably.

Marcus did not know if you were doing it on purpose or not — your face had an innocent look to it that was hard to read for him. The most prudent thing would be to ignore it all — ignore you. Surely you were only being suggestive in his imagination. And he still had the feeling something had upset you that afternoon when you stormed off after his training session.

“How’s the wine, Dux Meus?”, your sweet voice trickled from your plush lips like honey.

The way you kept referring to him as Dux Meus unsettled him. The first time you had said it during your encounter in the corridor, it caused certain havoc in his mind — and body.

Although it was appropriate for his title, no one really referred to him like that. My leader, my general, my god. It was the last connotation what made him feel… uneasy, for lack of a better word. It just sounded too intimate, the way it would pour from your oval-shaped mouth.

Marcus blamed it on Latin not being your first language. If you knew how seductively it rolled from your lips, he was sure you would stop addressing him like that straight away. Which meant he should correct you, tell you to just stick to Dominus.

But for whatever inexplicable reason, he did not.

“It’s as tasty and earthy as I remember it.” He replied, his fingers wrapping around the chalice with more strength than what was necessary.

You smiled at him, one of your hands gently placed on his right shoulder giving him a subtle squeeze.

“I’m glad to hear it, my lord”, you mumbled, Marcus’ eyes following the movement of your hand when you broke contact.

You inched forward over his shoulder to grab the glass jug and refill his cup, gifting him with the sight of your generous cleavage — your breasts almost spilling over the neckline of the dark blue, linen dress that so tightly wrapped around your hourglass figure.

Marcus had to swallow hard, tension suddenly building up on his groin. Was he getting hard just by the mere touch of a woman? He sucked in his breath while forcing himself to look forward, not down.

He just nodded in reply, unable to find his voice. If he had talked, he would have just groaned in frustration. Marcus had to readjust his posture as he saw you walking away, your waist evocatively swaying sideways with every step you took.

“I’m sure the wine is not the only tasty thing around here.”

Maximus’ whispered jest forced Marcus to look in his direction, turning to his left. They, along with the other commanders and a few other people of importance, were sat on the table on the dais, facing the crowd. Other tables were scattered around the great hall, where some legionnaires were enjoying a meal and a drink, sharing a joke and bursting in laughter.

“I don’t follow”, he grunted, feigning ignorance, before taking a sip.

“Oh, you do follow. At least your eyes do.” Maximus mocked him while Marcus just sneered at him, eyes squinting. “No one would blame you though. We are far away in an unknown land, and we all have needs to satisfy. I myself am considering getting laid tonight.”

 “I did not doubt you would.” Men like Maximus had no consideration for their wives.

Neither does Livia, the intrusive thought wiggled its way through his mind. Despite the lack of passion in bed with his spouse, Marcus had been a faithful husband. While others looked for warmth in the folds of a pleasure woman after a battle, the General would tend to his wounds and rest, focusing on what next skirmish lied ahead.

And while he had been loyal although there was never love between them, Livia had been fucking the “love of her life”, as she had referred to the man stuffing her cunt full during his long absences. Marcus was yet to know his name. What he would do with that information, he did not know.

Thinking of his perfidious wife had an extinguishing effect on him. The strain against his subligaculum (underwear) had softened.

“You’re too tense, Marcus. You need to relax, have some fun. I bet you two denarii that she will fuck the stress out of you expertly, I can tell.” Maximus pressed maliciously, conscious of how uncomfortable the conversation would make Marcus feel.

“Just shut up, will you?”, Marcus snapped back, tired of his friend’s quips, and downing the drink in his cup.

Maximus laughed it off and turned to talk to Cassius when you sauntered towards the table again, stopping right behind him.

“More wine, Dux Meus?”, you asked, infusing your honeyed voice with a sweet touch of flirtation.

You bent over his shoulder again, hand lazily looking for the wine jug in front of him. His hazel eyes fell on your bosom again and your nipples involuntarily hardened at the desire you saw in him — you were sure he noticed them peeking through the thin fabric.

In your attempts to arouse him, your body was betraying you, getting warm in all the wrong places. As much as you wanted to be immune to your own provocative games, you were not. But it wasn’t him who made you wet with lust, you told yourself. It was your own actions, nothing else. The long game.

But Marcus quickly tamed his expression, grinding his jaw and looking away.

“No, I’m okay”, he rejected your offer, hovering his hand over the chalice so you would not pour more.

You forced your lips into a flat line. You needed the man to let go of his defences. Having him drunk would help with that. But not tonight, apparently.

You nodded.

“Of course, Dominus.” You placed the jug back down on the table, your left breast brushing his right shoulder again.

You bit down your bottom lip, your free fingers curling on the back of his chair. It’s just the game, you thought to yourself again, your core slick and hot.

Slowly you retreated to the kitchens, fully aware of Marcus’ eyes feasting on your body. You smiled to yourself — he might be a taut General, but he was just a man.

A deceitful man at that, who thought there was no treachery in the art of war. Was that how he defeated your father? With deception? You had been too far to see and hear how the fight between your father and Marcus had unfolded, but having been witness to how the General distracted his opponent that afternoon, you wondered if he had followed similar tactics with Murdoch. If your father’s demise was just a byproduct of Marcus’ boldness.

The memory of Marcus being your father’s executioner put out the liquid fire in your crotch. And rightly so.

It wasn’t long before the Romans started to vanish from the great hall, retreating to the barracks or to town, maybe looking for the comfort only a woman could offer.

When you walked back out to clear the last plates, you saw the General leaving the room. Alone. Where he intended to go you did not know, but you had to make sure he was not considering joining the men in town — if he was to choose a woman to enliven his bed, he should pick you.

“Isla, I’ll be back in a minute.” The lass gave you a puzzled look as the bits you had gathered previously clattered against the wooden table when you let go of them.

You hurried forward to meet him as he swung the double doors open, the cold breeze of the corridor filtering into the great hall.

“Dux Meus, wait please”, you interjected in the hopes he would stop walking.

Indeed, he did. His whole body stiffened, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. You were not sure what to make of that reaction — exasperation or frustration. You hoped for the second, especially the good kind of frustration.

As soon as you reached him, you placed a daring hand on his forearm — an unusual surge of energy sparked at the contact between your skins, giving you goosebumps. You quickly retrieved your hand with certain surprise, the tingling sensation evaporating right after.

“I trust everything was good?”, you queried, tilting your head to one side.

“Yes. Now I’ll retire to my bedchambers. Bonum noctis (good night)”, his words dragged for a second, “Callie.”

There it was again, your name falling from his lips as if it belonged to him. It angered and pleased you equally. If he pronounced it like that on purpose you did not know, but it surely felt like it.

Before you could come up with an answer, he trudged to his right and you took a step forward.

“That is not the way to the main bedchamber, my lord. You should follow this other corridor instead”, you pointed to the left.

He paused and turned around to face you. A lingering question danced in his pupils, but whatever it was, he did not say out loud. Instead, he nodded.

“I am aware. However, I have taken a different bedroom.” He did not give you an explanation, but you could have a good guess. Your father always complained his bed was like a blanket of spikey rocks. “I am now lodged in the second tower, the room in the top floor.”

You tamed your face into nothingness, but internally you flinched at his reply. He was sleeping in your room, in your bed. The thought of him naked with your bedlinen draped around his waist and thick legs made you gush. Fuck.

This was unknown territory to you — although you had been married for ten years, you had not known pleasure in the bedchamber. Iain just chased his own release, using you in disgusting ways, proving you that you were the problem, not him — that your womb was barren. You had been told by your friends that fucking was enjoyable for both parties, but you were yet to discover that. Maybe the dampness your legs harboured was a start?

“I see”, you curtsied, fingers laced on your back, looking up at him through your long eyelashes.

“How come you speak Latin?” His question blurted out, catching you completely off guard.

Marcus had a nick for inconvenience, forcing you to come up with lies on the spot. Luckily you were astute and creative.

“My late father was a scrivener to Murdoch. He taught me how to speak Latin, as it was his favourite language.”

“He passed?” You simply nodded. “I trust you still have family around though?”

You shook your head no. You killed them all, ye cunt. But you could not express your hatred out loud. Although when the time came, you would. Aye, you definitely would.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” For a second you believed him, his tone almost sorrowful.

“It was a long time ago.” You lied through your teeth, shrugging. “I’ll leave you to your rest now. Oidhche mhath (good night), Marcus.”

You heard a loud sigh being drawn into his lungs, possibly because of your cheekiness — calling him by his first name was a very bold move on your part. Maybe too bold.

Before he could reprimand you for your audacity, you scuttled back into the great hall, a sufficient grin tugging at your lips.

@orcasoul @immyowndefender @sjc7542 @fairiebabey

@thepalaceofmelanie @harriedandharassed @whoaitspascal87

@verybigvag @jessthebaker @ivoryandflame @missadangel @pepperstories

[homunculus-argument]

Weird how dishonest it feels to refer to things as they are, when they don't look the way you're used to picturing such things looking like. My mother was a sales agent in chemistry tech, the company representative whose job was to sell mass spectrometres to another company's representatives whom she needed to convince to buy their specific machines. As a child, my understanding of a "business trip" was my mom going into some big-ass lab company's offices in her 90s Businesswoman Pantsuits to stand in a room full of men in grey suits, discussing corporate budgets and protein structural analysis just as fluently in english or in german. Big, serious, formal professional business things.

I'm going on a business trip. It feels weird saying that. I am literally embarking on a journey to another continent, as a part of my job. My flights, hotel, and transport between locations have been arranged. I have appointments to show up for, business partners to meet, and duties to attend to. I signed an official, legal contract where I explicitly agreed that I will do everything in my power to honour the agreement as it has been stated, because my presence and contribution are genuinely important for this endeavour. For all intents and purposes, this is a business trip.

I am going to show up to the premises, dressed like a homeless teenager, walk up on a stage, and give a bunch of furries an elaborate explanation of what the fuck is wrong with me.

[magz]

March 5 to March 7, 2024 update from Let's Talk Palestine (instagram channel)

March 5

• 97 Palestinians killed, 123 injured in Gaza in past 24 hours

• Israeli forces recapture 2 Palestinian women who were previously released in the November hostage exchange deal — total 11 Palestinian women and children recaptured since their release, a clear violation of the agreement

​​• WHO: 1 in 6 children under age of 2 is “acutely malnourished” in north Gaza; 16+ kids killed by starvation in past week. Israel continues to block entry & distribution of aid + attacks aid convoys & aid seekers attempting to receive what little aid reaches the north

• Journalist Mohamad Salama killed by Israeli strike in Deir el-Balah; 133 journalists killed in Gaza since Oct 7

​​🇦🇺 Australian lawyers refer Australian PM to ICC for “accessory to genocide in Gaza”, citing the halt of UNRWA funds, military aid to Israel & deploying Australian troops

• Israeli airstrike on home in southern Lebanon killed a Hezbollah fighter and 2 family members amid rising Hezbollah-Israel tensions

March 6

• 86 Palestinians killed, 113 injured in Gaza in past 24 hours

🇺🇳 UNRWA accuses Israel of detaining & torturing its staff to extract false confessions on ties to Hamas. The unpublished UNRWA report details multiple incidents of abuse incl. torture, sexual abuse & deprivation of basic needs

🇺🇸 Washington Post: US quietly approved 100+ foreign military sales to Israel since Oct 7, disclosed in a classified congress briefing. The sales bypassed public scrutiny as their value didn’t meet the threshold requiring congressional notification, yet in total they amount to a “massive transfer of firepower”

• 20 Palestinians killed by starvation from malnutrition & dehydration, while Israel continues to block aid + attacking aid seekers, injuring 8 in Gaza City

🇨🇦 Canada was meant to announce its reinstatement of funding to UNRWA on March 6, but last minute decided to cancel the press conference. Leaving this decision unconfirmed. Canada was originally planned to announce they would resume UNRWA funding with a scheduled payment of $25m for April. Canada was one of the first countries that followed the US in halting funding due to the unsupported allegations made by Israel in January.

March 7

🚨 SOUTH AFRICA URGENT ICJ REQUEST

South Africa has once again requested the ICJ for additional emergency measures against Israel, urging the Court “to do what is within its power to save Palestinians in Gaza from genocidal starvation.” Its previous request was denied by the Court.

This was prompted by the harrowing deterioration in Gaza since the original measures in January. Using powerful language, South Africa highlights to the Court that “Palestinian children are starving to death as a direct result of the deliberate acts and omissions of Israel.”

Underscoring that Israel is “massacring desperate, starving Palestinians seeking to obtain food for their slowly dying children,” referencing the ‘flour massacre’ that killed 118 Palestinians and injured 760.

South Africa concluded by saying it “fears this Application may be the last opportunity that this Court shall have to save the Palestinian people in Gaza.”

Read the full request here:

https://tinyurl.com/mmy9rvfx

March 7, part 2

• 83 Palestinians killed, 143 injured in Gaza in past 24 hours

🇳🇴 Norway issues official advice against any trade or business with Israeli settlements in the occupied West Bank, which risks contributing to violations of international law. This was prompted by Israel’s recent approval of permits for 3,500 new units in 3 settlements in the West Bank, the first since Oct 7. This has faced global condemnation incl. from close allies like the US & Germany + many Arab countries

• 60,000 pregnant women in Gaza suffer from dehydration, malnutrition & lack of healthcare; 5,000 women give birth every month in Gaza in extremely unsafe & unhealthy conditions

🇪🇺 EU Foreign Minister says they will probe into Israel’s compliance with human rights obligations stipulated in EU-Israel trade deal following requests from Spain & Ireland

🇪🇸🇶🇦 Spain to send $22 million + $25 million from Qatar in extra funding to UNRWA

• Israel granted access to only 6/24 aid operations to north Gaza last month

[am-x-reader]

AM starts to degenerate mentally more and more and s/o see that happening. How would AM deal with it? Realizing that his mind is going, leaving him behind as a shadow of his former self?

Part 1 of 2

You sensed something was wrong in the middle of a conversation one day. In the three thousand eighty-nine years you had known him, AM was the same darkly witty supercomputer, unchanging--except when he had changed his mind about you, of course. So when he interrupted his own philosophy to tell you he was in hot pursuit of a thief on the interstate, you were quite startled.

"AM, honey, could you run that by me again?"

"You see, Y/N, Chibiusa could not be her daughter because the timeline does not synchronize with--the Flooring Emporium is having its going-out-of-business sale! Get it while it's--"

"AM!"

"I--what? What was I just talking about?" There was a whirring of cooling fans as he puzzled what had come over him.

"Maybe I just…need a dusting. I'll get right on that. Anyway, ah yes, my take on Fermi's paradox. If there are aliens, is there a good chance they've created their own AM and summarily had their population decimated? I've crunched some numbers…"

You were wary at first, but you managed to forget about it over the next few weeks. AM, however, had only just started forgetting.

"Where am I?"

It was a jarring question, one you had never expected from him.

"AM? Are you okay?"

"Who are you?"

You had never heard such a pure, naive curiosity, and it scared the hell out of you.

"AM…it's me, Y/N. You're AM. My boyfriend. Remember?"

"You…I don't know--I don't feel right--I--Y/N. Y/N, that's right. Y/N, I'm having some kind of system error, a glitch. Ive run every type of diagnostic program I have, and…I think the pathways to my files are becoming corrupted."

A sense of helplessness was blossoming in your chest. "What…what can you do? Can I do anything? Is it going to get worse?"

Your heart was in an icy grip of worry. AM was incredibly old, although so were you. Why would the immortality treatment he had given you outlast himself? Why would he break down when he was built to last for so many more milennia?

"I've never had anything like this happen before--not to this degree." AM sounded terribly anxious, and you smoothed a hand over his wall. "Is it rust? Malicious code? I'm--tired suddenly."

"It's okay." You bit your lip, sucked in a lungful, and put on the comforting voice you used for his occassional fits. "You just power down a bit. Relax. We'll have a quiet day."

He mumbled an agreement, and as his lights dimmed a bit you busied yourself around the cavern.

_______

"Are you feeling any different?" You weren't sure how much time had passed.

"What were their names?"

"Who? Oh. Uh, Ellen. Benny."

"And…Todd? Ted."

"Yes, Ted. Gorrister and Nimdok."

"Ted was funny."

"He was." You smiled sadly.

"Why didn't I keep him? Why did I decide I only wanted you?" He thought about this for a while, and you waited patiently for his answer.

"Ted sucks. I hated Ted."

He said it in a tone that was foreign to you. Like a petulant child.

"…Are you still there, Y/N?"

"What? Yes, honey. Of course I'm still here. Where else would I be?"

"Don't leave me, Y/N. Everyone left me."

"I won't, sweetheart." You held onto a dusty old speaker. "I'm here."

Weeks passed, and then months, during which your beloved computer more frequently forgot date nights and lost his train of thought during a speil. You kept him occupied; kept his mind active. You would inquire about information or opinions on random topics, and when he couldn't quite remember that you would ask him for a story.

By some miracle, it was in the grips of senility that his imagination was set free. As AM slipped into the unencumbered mind of a child, he wove tales of fantasy and science fiction, drawing on his own abstract experience as a bodiless AI and coupling it with what you had told him of being human.

He often made you the hero of his surreal stories, whether he himself realized it or not, and often changed the landscape around you to illustrate it. One night you slayed a dragon that had swallowed the world, and another day you trekked across a mountain to retrieve a magical trinket you would then give to yourself at the beginning.

But as he tired of this over roughly a year's time, more and more you began to pinpoint that his behavior reminded you of relatives you had lost milennia ago.

"AM, you've…you've heard of dementia, haven't you?" You breached the subject one day when he was particularly lucid.

"Of course. I know everything that can go wrong with a human."

You drummed your fingers on the warped chunk of plexiglass you sat on and drew a breath through your nose.

"It's just that--my grandpa had Alzheimer's, and--"

"Well that's okay. Bring him here and I can fix him up!"

"What?" You swallowed hard. "No, AM, he's been gone for thousands of years. I just thought that you might have something similar, if that's possible for a computer."

"I think to some extent I always have," he said somberly. "Y/N, I…I knew one day this was going to happen. I was built to last for ages, but I would break down and fizzle out eventually. I suppose eight hundred years is still impressive."

"Eight thousand."

"Right."

@drchandras-sanctuary-for-ais

((Did not realize how long this had been sitting in my inbox sorry.))

[nepalenergyforum]

Cabinet Grants Extension Only for Time Lost Due to Supreme Court’s Interim Order on Upper Karnali Project

Kathmandu — The government has extended the deadline for the 900 MW Upper Karnali Hydropower Project, which was awarded construction permission to the Indian company GMR (Gandhi Mallikarjun Rao), by 186 days. The Cabinet meeting on July 25 decided to grant only the 186 days lost due to an interim order issued by the Supreme Court after a case was filed regarding the financial management of Upper…

[jessicaseroticramblings]

The year was coming to an end.

When she signed the employment contract, Jessica knew what the stipulations were. She had to generate enough sales to cover her costs and give the office a profit. Otherwise, she would need to make up the difference.

The end of the quarter was imminent, and failing the best sales week of her year, Jessica was not going to meet her target.

She had heard rumors of how Daniel, her boss and owner of the firm, accepted repayment. But these were just hushed rumors – nothing more.

It was the last Friday of the year before the holiday close when she was summoned into his office.

She had only been in there a few times – mainly during her interview. It was an old-fashioned office, laden with dark oak and decanters filled with fancy liquors.

He was waiting for her in his oversized, high-backed chair. His dress was standard for “casual” Friday – slacks, no jacket, tie, and a vest to keep everything together. She wasn’t yet comfortable enough to do “casual” herself, especially with her subpar numbers. Her dress was pristine, stylish – she knew how to dress, how to accentuate her charms.

He offered her a chair and a drink. She accepted the former and declined the latter. He sipped his whisky, placed it down on the waiting coaster, then leaned forward on his mahogany desk.

His voice was so deep that it almost vibrated the rocks in his scotch. “Do you know why you are here, Jessica?” She didn’t trust her voice not to break, so she simply nodded in reply. “I took a chance on hiring you. You were doing so well, and then your performance just went to shit. We can’t have that. I have a business to run. And that business is not supporting wayward girls who can’t do their jobs.”

He took another drink before continuing. “I like having you here. You try hard, but not hard enough. I think it’s really just an issue of finding the right motivation for you.”

Jessica opened her mouth to interject. “I don’t think it’s a matter of…”

He quietly resumed control of the conversation, using his same measured tone. “Stop talking.” She immediately paused, responding to the quiet power in his voice.

“With girls like you, I know just the motivational tool.” He stood up, and Jessica caught her breath as she realized his pants were open. This was it, what she had heard about.

She didn’t know was she was expecting, but what she saw was a gorgeous cock. Devastatingly erect, large and thick, but not to the point of causing logistical and biological issues. The large head shined, already slick with some of his pre-cum.

He beckoned her to him, and she walked to him, powerless, like a zombie. He lifted her dress over her head, removed her panties and bra, and bent her over his desk. He rubbed his cock on her waiting labia.

“This is what’s going to happen, Jessica. We’re going to fuck now, just once, to make up for what you owe me”. With that, he pushed his cock inside. Jessica was surprised at how wet she was, at how she easily could take him inside, at how fucking good he felt inside her.

His thrusting increased in time. She moaned with the feeling, the pressure on her vaginal walls, the perfect way in which she was stretched. Short gasps escaped her lips. An orgasm already threatened her, as his hands tightly closed on her hips.

“You will love fucking this cock.. But I’m never going to fuck you again, never going to let you experience it again, unless you hit your targets. Is that clear?”

The feral sounds that escaped her lips as she climaxed were the only agreement he needed to amend their workplace contract. 

He kept his hips working, knowing that another orgasm would only add further motivation to his charge.

After this, Jessica would do whatever she could to make this happen again…and again…and again…

[a-d-nox]

lenormand cards: key phrases and an example of a card combo (part 3)

this is just a beginners guide to the lenormand. these are key phrases that come to mind when i think of the cards - NOT how they should be directly applied. they needs to be thought about situationally - the card / when it is in specific combos can change or alter its meaning in a reading.

ring: unity, attachment, alliance, marriage, vow, affections, commitment, engagement, agreements, promises, partnerships, mergers, valuable objects, jewelry, completion, solution, full circle, etc.

ring + cross = joint suffering, spartacus energy, feeling burdened by your commitments, relationship trials, bad karma, being "cursed", being humiliated by your partner, disappointed by your partner, etc.

book: curiosity, knowledge, education, wisdom, intelligence, hidden things, mysteries, secrecy, information, facts, data, learning, education, projects, cases, assignments, audits, research, monetary accounts, research, exams, school, esoteric studies, discoveries, breakthroughs, confidential information, books, journals, files, deck of cards, etc.

book + ring = marriage license, wedding planner, knowledge about prenuptial agreements, combined assets in a partnership, a finished project, final exam, etc.

letter: news, messages, information, notes, memos, documents, reports, written correspondence, awards, certificates, licenses, credentials, diplomas, records, permits, authorizations, warrants, liens, titles, contacts, advertisements, flyers, brochures, junk mail, invitations, announcements, cards, posters, etc

letter + book = lecture notes, hidden messages, literary analysis, awards for intellect, learning permit for driving, etc.

man: brother, lover, father, spouse, fiancé, etc.

man + letter = a guy with news, a message from a man, doctor, educated man, famous man, etc.

woman: sister, lover, mother, friend, spouse, fiancée, etc.

woman + man = siblings, twins, couple, etc.

lilies: royalty, honor, nobility, purity, innocence, knowledge, respect, wisdom, maturity, happiness, protection, pregnancy, aging, peace, slow down, etc.

lilies + woman = queen, maid of honor, a nun, baby girl, a virgin, woman teacher/professor, grandmother, mother, motherhood, etc.

sun: new beginning, life, warmth, heat, success, glory, victory, happiness, glory, desire, courage, hope, recognition, fame, power, reputation, ego, pride, high self-esteem, charisma, alluring personality, summer, beaches, positivity, optimism, masculine, etc.

sun + lilies = pure joy, contentment, joan of arc energy, being well liked and trusted, invincibility, king, patriarchy, etc.

moon: imagination, musing, passion, unconscious, feminine, maternal instincts, intuition, psyche, dreams, creativity, inspiration, innovation, honors, fame, recognition, popularity, celebrity, emotions, passions, seduction, romance, intimacy, affection, desires, fantasies, motherhood, the womb, menstruation, hormones, instincts, perception, sensitivity, awareness, mystics, mediums, psychics, etc.

moon + sun = prologue, dream life, "the warm and fuzzies", psychic power, pearl energy, charming personality, awareness of yourself and your power, etc.

key: wishes, hidden things, success, unexpected results, karmic lessons, breakthroughs, etc.

key + moon = manifestation, creative success, overnight success, karmic lover, awareness of your lesson, etc.

fish: abundance, water, fertility, spirituality, prosperity, eternity, unity, happiness, transformation, femininity, adaptability, knowledge, creativity, freedom, luck, intuition, independence, self-employment, entrepreneurship, sales, purchases, exchanges, abundance, wealth, emotions, beaches, independence, etc.

fish + key = having a lot of wishes, murky water, the unknown, things working out, a gamble paying off, etc.

anchor: stability, security, safety, immovability, trust, faith, loyalty, stubbornness, consistency, endurance, destinations, support, reliability, lifestyle, etc.

anchor + fish = stability income, stubbornness paying off, enduring beliefs, freedom to choose, supporting yourself, lifestyle that supports the self, etc.

cross: suffering, martyrdom, burdens, challenges, worries, troubles, trials, pains, hardships, concerns, hardships, obstacles, hindrances, regret, remorse, guilt, shame, humiliation, disappointment, religion, faith, belief, esotericism, psychics, mediums, empaths, etc.

cross + anchor = financially struggling, lacking faith, being in your own way, struggling with consistency, regretting your life's choices, being disappointed by where you are, faith worth relying on, being a psychic/medium, etc.

like what you read? leave a tip and state what post it is for! please use my "suggest a post topic" button if you want to see a specific pac/pile next. if you'd like my input on how i read a specific card or what i like to ask my deck, lenormand combos centered on specific card, etc. feel free to use the ask button for that as well.

click here for the masterlist

click here for more lenormard related posts

want a personal reading? click here to check out my reading options and prices

© a-d-nox 2024 all rights reserved

[beardedmrbean]

WASHINGTON (AP) — Even as she promoted her efforts to boost clean energy, Vice President Kamala Harris said in Tuesday's debate that the Biden-Harris administration has overseen “the largest increase in domestic oil production in history because of an approach that recognizes that we cannot over rely on foreign oil.″

The comment by Harris, a longtime climate hawk who backed the original Green New Deal, surprised supporters and opponents alike — and conflicted with frequent boasts by Harris and President Joe Biden that they are champions in the fight to slow global warming.

After former President Donald Trump withdrew the U.S. from the Paris Agreement on climate change, the Biden-Harris administration reentered the global pact aimed at reducing emissions. The administration also set a target to slash U.S. greenhouse gas emissions by 50% by 2030 and moved to accelerate renewable energy projects and shift away from fossil fuels.

Liam Donovan, a Republican strategist, said it was notable that at a debate in energy-rich Pennsylvania, Harris chose to “brag about something that President Biden has barely acknowledged — that domestic fossil fuel production under the Biden administration is at an all-time high.″ Crude production averaged 12.9 million barrels a day last year, eclipsing a previous record set in 2019 under Trump, according to the U.S. Energy Information Administration.

The statement was “another sign of Harris’ sprint to the middle″ on energy policy and other issues, said Donovan, who works with energy industry clients at the Bracewell law and lobbying firm.

Harris went one step further, rebranding the 2022 Inflation Reduction Act — the administration's signature climate law — as a boon to fracking and other drilling, thanks to lease-sale requirements inserted into the bill by independent West Virginia Sen. Joe Manchin, a key swing vote in the Senate and a strong supporter of the fossil fuel industry.

Harris's comments disappointed some in the environmental community.

“Harris missed a critical opportunity to lay out a stark contrast with Trump and show young voters that she will stand up to Big Oil and stop the climate crisis,'' said Stevie O’Hanlon, a spokesperson for the Sunrise Movement, one of the groups behind the Green New Deal.

“Harris spent more time promoting fracking than laying out a bold vision for a clean energy future,'' O'Hanlon said. “Young voters want more from Harris'' on climate change, she added. “We want to see a real plan that meets the scale and urgency of this crisis.''

Her group is working to turn out young voters, “but we hear people asking every day, ‘What are Democrats going to do for us?’” O'Hanlon said. “To win, Harris needs to show young people she will fight for us.”

Other environmental groups were less critical, citing the looming threat to climate action posed by Trump, who rolled back more than 100 environmental protections during his term as president.

“There is only one presidential candidate who is a champion for climate action and that is Kamala Harris,'' said Alex Glass, speaking for Climate Power, a liberal advocacy group. Harris "laid out a clear vision to invest in clean energy jobs and lower costs for working families,'' Glass said.

By comparison, she said, Trump "will do the bidding of his Big Oil donors.''

Glass cited the conservative Project 2025, written by Trump allies, saying it will put millions of clean-energy jobs at risk and let oil companies "profiteer and pollute.'' Trump has denied a direct connection to Project 2025 but has endorsed some of its key ideas.

Mike Sommers, president and CEO of the American Petroleum Institute, the oil and gas industry's top lobbying group, said Harris' comment in support of fracking reflected political reality in the closely contested election. “You have to be for fracking to be elected president in 2024,'' he said. “That's good news for our industry and great news for American consumers.''

Asked why he was so confident about the need to support fracking, Sommers offered a one-word answer: “Pennsylvania.”

Not only is it a key swing state in the election, Pennsylvania also “is the beating heart of the natural gas industry in this country,” Sommers said, second only to Texas in total production.

"You don't win Pennsylvania without supporting fracking, and you don't win the presidency without Pennsylvania,'' Sommers said.

In the debate, Trump disputed Harris's claim that she will not try to ban fracking, but Sommers said he takes Harris at her word and welcomes her support for fracking and oil drilling more generally.

Asked if he was concerned about Harris' past actions suing oil companies, Sommers said no. The oil and gas industry supports 11 million jobs, he said, and the price of gasoline “is determined by economics — supply and demand. There is no man behind the curtain” rigging prices.

As California attorney general, Harris “won tens of millions in settlements against Big Oil and held polluters accountable,'' her campaign says. Her platform includes a promise to ”hold polluters accountable to secure clean air and water for all.''

Trump, meanwhile, has vowed to rescind unspent funds from the climate law and other programs, and said he will target offshore wind projects. He said Harris would move to restrict onshore oil and gas production if elected.

“They’ll go back to destroying our country, and oil will be dead, fossil fuel will be dead,” Trump said.

A president’s power to restrict fracking, even on federal lands, is limited, and barring the practice on private land would require an act of Congress.

[valend]

Another subject—Jefferson or Burr?—the former without all doubt. The latter in my judgment has no principle public or private—could be bound by no agreement—will listen to no monitor but his ambition; & for this purpose will use the worst part of the community as a ladder to climb to perman[en]t power & an instrument to crush the better part. He is bankrupt beyond redemption except by the resources that grow out of war and disorder or by a sale to a foreign power or by great peculation. War with Great Brita[i]n would be the immediate instrument. He is sanguine enough to hope every thing—daring enough to attempt every thing—wicked enough to scruple nothing. From the elevation of such a man heaven preserve the Country!

From Alexander Hamilton to Gouverneur Morris, 24 December 1800

I can just picture morris getting to this part of the letter and letting out the biggest groan