#elderly slave girl

[theevilqueen69]

“Ummm…?”

“After the funeral I found this.”

“Who is it?”

“Apparently it was Grandmas friend until she enslaved it on her 18th birthday. It has been …was Grandmas slave all that time. Like 60 years.”

“Wow! What’s her name?”

“Doesn’t remember… says Grandma called it lots of things, the last one was ‘cunt lapper’.”

“What now?”

“Guess it ours… 60 years must be good at its name.”

[marzipanandminutiae]

Hi, I want to talk to you abou this image:

This illustration is titled "black slave women of different african nations". I find the combination of traditional African elements such as face-paint, necklaces and what appears to be ritual scarification and Western fashion worn by these women incredibly striking, but what made my jaw drop is the idea that these women are slaves.

While I am aware that maids and other lower-class women were sometimes able to access fancy clothing hand-me-downs from their employers, I had expected the nature of slavery in the Americas to make it impossible for enslaved black women to do the same.

So, this is a drawing. Whether it's drawn from life or not, I don't know, but the artist could easily have staged these women in fashionable (early 19th century) dresses or made the outfits up from their imagination. That being said, enslaved women absolutely did attempt to have "best" clothing and follow the fashions when they became aware of them.

Humans are human, no matter the circumstances. You can't crush that drive for beauty out of people, however you oppress them.

I know a bit more about fashion and later generations of Black women enslaved in the southeastern US, after scarification and such had been stripped out of their culture, but that certainly bears out this idea of treasuring beauty and trying to make space for fine clothing in their lives. Church services, weddings, and holidays like Christmas were often occasions for enslaved women to wear the best outfits they had, along with any jewelry or other finery they had managed to make or inherit. Some enslavers did give "favorite" people they held in bondage cloth, castoff clothes, cheap jewelry, lace, etc. At other times, the enslaved people cleverly made things themselves- one WPA Former Slave Interview in the 1930s, which I cannot find again for the life of me, featured an elderly man recalling that he once made hoop skirts from dried grapevine with an enterprising friend, selling them to the women in his community for a nickel (many enslaved people earned small amounts of money taking side jobs outside of their punishing work schedule).

Obviously such clothes could not be worn while working, but like I said, there WERE occasions of joy and celebration even in the harshness of slavery. The tradition of Black women wearing elaborate hats to church may in part originate from enslaved women (and their free but economically disempowered sisters) taking advantage of a rare chance for self-expression and elegance.

(Of course there were also less positive instances in which an enslaved woman might have fine clothing, namely sex trafficking, or habitual rape by an enslaver who then attempted to compensate her for this heinous crime with presents. New Orleans' infamous "fancy girl" market is enough to turn your stomach if you look it up.)

After the Civil War, some white commentators were incensed to see Black women in fashionable attire walking the streets where they'd once been enslaved. For these women, it acted as a visible and tangible way of asserting their freedom- as their ancestors despite wringing what happiness they could from life -had been unable to.

If anyone has more to add on this, please chime in! Enslaved women's fashion specifically is not my area of research, so I welcome input from people who study this more extensively. Cheyney McKnight is a wonderful source on enslaved people's lives in general, and a historical costumer herself.

[six-eyed-samurai]

AGAIN AND AGAIN - A REINCARNATION AU

A/N: Help, what have I done? Sorry if this doesn't fit the characters, I was writing it sleep deprived and as neutral as possible. Support me and my poetry (that I came up with in the shower)

Heavens blessed me with you

The Knight, who when your parents announced you would marry you off to some elderly Lord, kept true to his word and took you away, escaping into the clashing colors of freedom and love in another kingdom far, far away, only for your world to darken into black and white once more when your enraged parents caught up and had him executed; it was now your turn to keep your side of the oath and join him in the afterlife when you drank the poisoned chalice.

In every rebirth

The Roman General who passed by you, lashing out any "potential buyer" when he walked disgusted through the slave market - he bought you freedom and yet somehow you stayed with him forever willingly cuffed by shackles of affection...until he died of an assassination and you were hung for having an "affair" with someone of higher class, but not before you both screamed to whatever god that would listen to come back to each other once more.

I promise I'll find you

The Baker who's never cared a penny about the other air headed girls from his small British village until you, a young noble lady recently moved into the old Baskerville Manor, turned up requesting his help in setting a banquet. Excuses after excuses pile up from both sides in an attempt to extend your brief time together but soon, oh, too soon, you leave as per your family's orders and he's left to wonder how you're doing now, because after years and years of searching they refused to let him in.

Through tears, death, dreams and mirth

The White American who finds you working day in day out at the laundry lady's for little to no pay, so from his not so small tips grew to slipping love letters through the pockets of his clothes, but soon you're fired and bade to leave for your skin colour and he's still bitterly cursing the townspeople for their blind racism.

And I know it's just a gamble

The Hockey player who grins at you who always shows up to his games in every match until he asks you out on an ice skating date, but alas, how could he have known that the day you finally showed up in his jersey, much to his delight, would be the day a crazed fan clubbed you on the head with his own hockey stick, much to your doom? He left the industry as cold as the rink.

Unfair, repeated roll of dice

The F1 Racer who whines about the most ridiculous problems happening to his car and making bad impressions of the other drivers just to see his beloved mechanic even crack a smile - no oil or dirt stained on you could ever dim that brilliant smile when you both went on a joyride together into the sunset...oh, wait, his death on the track did.

But in this temporary, fleeting

The Roommate who knows exactly what you want for breakfast every morning, and soon it spiraled into having a meal together for lunch and dinner too, especially when he added candles and rose petals! You still make your coffee the same way he did even after your studies took you abroad and both of you decided it was for the best to break up.

Moment in fast ending time

The Landlord who did NOT expect such a cute little you to move on when he decided to make a little cash on the side renting out his spare room...never mind, it's still on rent because now you've moved into his room. He managed to save your photo album from the charred remains of your house though...although he couldn't save you.

Tell me, oh tell me

The Drug dealer who just recently entered your big brother's gang, who protected you with his scrawny body every time any sexually frustrated asshole came to harass you. Your declarations of love didn't come in heartfelt words or gifts but a smoked joint with each other. You both didn't get delusional, because why should you when your fantasies were right in front? It was the same when you overdosed after someone ratted him out and sent him to a life sentence in prison.

Darling love of mine

The Mafioso who charms you with his suave words and cool under fire attitude, causing you to giggle and kick your feet whenever he came back to your door with flirtations and blood on his face from those who disrespected the mob boss's goddaughter. It was the classic romantic Italian dinner when he got down one one knee...except for the part when his rivals arrived to gun him down and you're left staring at his broken body and shattered ring.

You're just as lost

The Neighbour who had no idea the babysitter for the kids next door would be so goddamned FINE - if only he hadn't fumbled and stumbled over his words in the elevator! But that's alright, even little Ray and Katie are rooting for him and you! Your first date might not be fancy, but he was more starstruck in awe of you than he was of the night sky as you sat on top of the roof.

In paradise

"I feel like I've know you all my life."

"In every lifetime?"

"Maybe!"

And somewhere deep inside, you both knew it for certain: the endless cycles of pain were finally broken.

"I'm so glad of whatever karma that I did in my previous life got me to meet you!"

"You better continue it in this life so I can see you in the next one!"

Not karma, actually, but a series of broken promises finally repaired.

***

Sukuna, Giyuu, Kokushibo, Gojo, Takemitchy, Mikey, Ranpo, Nikolai, Kirishima, Hawks, Kakashi, Nishinoya, Kuroo, Toji, Kazutora, Nanami, Eren Yeager, Gyutaro, Kunikida, Zuko, Yuta, Inumaki, Levi, your favourites!

[adarkrainbow]

Why was Hansel the meal of the witch?

This is a question I was aked recently, and I thought it would make a good subject for a post. "Why did the witch only try to fatten up and eat Hansel? Why didn't she imprison and fattened up Gretel too? Why did she choose to make Gretel her slave instead of Hansel?"

Which is actually a fascinating question. Now, I do not promise that there is some grand truth or secret meaning behind this. It is just a little detail and some technical workings of fairytales. But it is a point that many authors and rewriters have taken an interest upon, and that if a true well of reinterpretations.

So let's go... Why was Hansel the meal, and Gretel the slave?

If we go by the "canon" of the text (of course "canonical" fairytales do not exist, this is just an expression) - if we go by the Brothers Grimm's text, we... well we do not know. It is not specified anywhere why the witch decides to lock up and fatten up Hansel out of the siblings, and to not do the same thing for Gretel. There is no reason explicitely spelled out or given. Maybe she simply prefers the meat of boys over the one of girls? This absence of justification, and the apparent "randomness" of the choice opens a door for authors who would like to change things: for example in "A Tale Dark and Grimm" (the book, not the Netflix series), it is both Hansel and Gretel that are fattened up by the witch, and she only picks Hansel as the first one to be roasted. The Looney Tunes Hansel and Gretel also were both in the cooking pot of the witch Hazel...

The text only leaves implications for the reader. For example, the need for the witch to have a slave/assistant to help her with the chores is implied by the facts that she is 1) elderly 2) has a very bad sight and 3) walks with crutches (a very important point). So it is understandable she would require a slave to help her - but then why pick Gretel, and not Hansel? Again, the text does not answer. Many people like to portray Hansel as the oldest child of the duo, and Gretel as a younger sister - this is because Hansel seems to be the strongest, bravest and most intelligent one, as well as with how his name always comes first in the text, Gretel being after him. Maybe the witch chose to eat him first because he was precisely older, and thus there was a more developed body to eat? Even if the siblings are of the same age, we can always imagine the very old and present male/female dichotomy that claims that men's body are naturaly stronger, larger and meatier than women's, who have graceful, slender, lighter bodies. Maybe such a concept is at work, putting forward a mindset where a cannibal witch will always go for boys first as a main course, and girls next as an appetizer...

One possible reading of the story is that the witch only had enough place to lock up ONE child and thus had to make a choice. Maybe there wasn't enough room for two kids in her prison for future meals? This interpretation is supported by the ORIGINAL text of the Grimm's fairytale. In the first edition of the brothers Grimm's fairytales (provided by Jack Zipes), there is an explicit mention of the place Hansel is locked in: it isn't some sort of stable or cage as it would later be described, oh no! It is a chicken coop so small Hansel can BARELY MOVE. It is a really tiny prison, in which he barely fits. Of course, on a practical side, it can help with the whole fattening process since having a child eat rich meals without ever moving is certain to make him plump in no time (just look at these horrible industrial farms and how they lock up animals in tiny cages) ; but this detail actually explained why the witch only placed her efforts on one child, and not two: she obviously had only enough to place to lock up one kid, and had to deal with the other in a different way.

But even if we admit all those implications - that the elderly, handicaped witch needed a help, that she had only enough room to lock up one child, that maybe Hansel as an older boy makes a better meal than Gretel - there are still some strange and bizarre logical holes. For example, the witch beats up and starves and exhausts Gretel. This is the complete opposite of what she does to Hansel, who is pampered and fattened up - does this imply the witch maybe does NOT want to eat Gretel? Or does she really have only enough resources to fatten up one child, and can only afford making Gretel more edible once she is done with Hansel?

Again, mysteries upon mysteries. Fairytales are not created to work on practical details or actual psychological processes - they are stories relying on powerful visuals and ancient motifs and a dream-logic-structure. When we are told that the witch locks up Hansel to fatten him up and eat him, and that Gretel is becoming an abused slave, we just accept it, because it works on a set of powerful visuals, such as the malnurished slave sister cooking and feeding her imprisoned and soon-to-be-killed brother. The idea of the sister being reduced to a tool in the process of killing her own brother is a very powerful one, never explicitly stated, but still present and sometimes used by adaptations. There was this German Hansel and Gretel movie released in 2005 that explicitly played on this: the children were never told by the witch her intentions when she locked up Hansel, and for the first week or so of Gretel being a slave and Hansel fattened up, they were left in the dark concerning the real intentions of their mysterious jailers. This was a stark contrast with many Americanized adaptations that have the witch gloating and explaining her cannibalistic desires to her victims, and which opened the door for some interesting plot points - in this movie's case, Gretel being quite jealous and envious of Hansel's new life of feasting and being kindly treated by the witch when she got all the insults and chores. Of course, when they discover the truth, their mutual feelings reverse as Hansel realizes his seemingly "easier" fate is actually the worst of the two.

Still, the text is left ambiguous and open-ended enough for us to imagine TONS of things. There could be a rewrite of the tale where the witch exclusively eats little boys, and hates little girls. One nterpretation of dark poetry of the tale can be found in Znescope's Gretel mini-series. Despite this mini-series having BIG flaws (the choice of the witch's true identity was... quite bad to be honest), it does have a very interestng and morbid answer to the "Why was Hansel the only one fattened up?" question. It chooses to depict this difference of treatment as a sick and cruel game the witch plays with her preys: Hansel and Gretel are both her prisoners, but she fattens up Hansel while she starves Gretel, to make a contrast between the two, simply out of a perverse amusement. There is one particularly striking image of the two children locked in two cages arranged like a weighing scale, with Hansel's cage going lower as he grows fatter and Gretel's going up as she becomes skeletal... It is a nice visual contrast that has been reused by various artists.

Now, I spoke mainly here of the content of the story and of the text itself. However, as I stated before, we must look beyond the story itself to understand why Hansel was to be the meal, and not Gretel. Or rather we need to look at the fairy tale's structure, on a meta-level.

As I said before, the fairy tale works here on a system of duality. Hansel and Gretel are meant to be a yin and a yang, complementary reflections. The boy and the girl, the brave and the coward, the cunning older brother and the crying little sister. The idea that their fates are "split" into the house of the witch not only furthers the anguish of the characters, who at this point were always together but now find themselves separated, unable to face together the same trials, but also keeps on playing on these visuals and motifs. As I said, there is something that many artists read in the tale, in the opposition between a malnourished Gretel and a feasting Hansel. This is part of the same duality of food and famine present all throughout the tale, such as the woodcutter's famished and poor household, opposed to the witch's house made of sweets and with chests full of pearls. The siblings represent two forms of abuse and evilness enacted by the witch, but in complementary forms: with Gretel the witch becomes a domestic abuser and an enslaver, with Hansel she becomes a jailer and an ogress.

One can also read in this an extension of the typical sexist duality between men and women in these old centuries: the fates the witch forces upon the two children can be caricatures of what each gender is supposed to "do" in such a society. Gretel, like women, is expected to do household chores and to cook for her "man" - here it is caricatured into her becoming a slave, and only helping fattening up her brother like some cattle. In return, Hansel, like a man, is supposed to be well-treated and well-fed, but here the caring wife/mother figure is a monstrous hag who only makes him feast so she could eat him later. In fact, it is quite interesting to see how both siblings are dehumanized and reduced to the status of animals - from Hansel being fattened up in the stables like some pig or chicken, to Gretel being fed leftovers like a dog.

All of that being said, there is another much needed argument that must be made: the answer fo thte question can be easily found in the story's structure. This is the most obvious solving of the problem when you consider it all: the story of Hansel and Gretel relies on the idea that the two children must save each other in turn. There is a balance in the tale, which bears the name of the two protagonists as heroes, but one before the other. During the first part of the tale, it is Hansel who takes the lead and the decisions. He is the cunning hero who tricks his parents, saves his sister from the woods, returns home thanks to his plan. Gretel is only seen being scared, and crying, and not doing anything except follow her brother around. In the second part of the tale, within the witch's house, it is Gretel who becomes the hero. Her brother is "out of the race", locked up away and unable to do anything, and it is Gretel who this time has to trick the deadly parental figure, come up with a clever ruse, and ultimately save her brother from death. This creates a perfect balance between the two characters: Hansel starts out as the hero protecting his useless sister, and then it is Gretel who vanquishes her uselessness to become the hero saving her own, impotent brother. The siblings need each other to survive, and thus save each other in turn. This is how the story works. And this is why Hansel must be the locked-up, fattened-up victim, so that his sister can save him. Else it would have been the story of "Hansel", and not "Hansel and Gretel".

All of that being said, a last point must be made about a final theory. A theory and reading of the tale that has been very prevalent and prominent in recent adaptations of the story.

The recent "Gretel and Hansel" horror movie did it. Before the (X horror movie) also did it. Neil Gaiman's Hansel and Gretel also used this idea. The comics Fables toyed with it in a side-way. And this idea is simple: the witch did not want to eat Gretel, but rather wanted to make her a witch like herself. Gretel wasn't the witch's slave, but unwilling apprentice.

This idea is born of course from a reconsideration of what a "witch" is, and the gender questions attached with the figure of the witch. In the original story, the witch is not a witch in the modern sense of the term, in fact she is a monster that is very clearly an ogress by another name. There is no question of learning how to be a witch, or making deal with dark powers, or anything like that. But when you read the tale with the modern sense of "witch", as a symbol of dark and hostile feminity, as a woman of power, who works against the domination of men, or the tyranny of patriarchy - when you consider all the gender questions surrounding real-life witches and the witch hunts, you see the witch's actions under a different eye. Her not wanting to eat Gretel at first, and making her do her chores, and forcing her to live with her, might hint at the fact she still considers her more "human" or more valuable than her brother, who is nothing but food, a mere cattle. Several of the modern reinventions of the tale, such as those stated above, decide to add the twist that the witch actually wants to shape or make the little girl into her image: from a slave doing the witch's chores, she becomes the witch apprentice, who is by her side in everything she does. Some of those readngs remove the elements of abuse towards Gretel, while others do not forget them. Neil Gaiman's take on the story is especially fascinating as the witch is explicitely described as oscillating between periods of sweetness and kidndness, promising Gretel all of her secrets and great powers, and periods of pure hatred and violence where she just insults and beats up the girl - all of it highlighting either the witch's madness, or a form of senility due to her old age.

But this theme of "Gretel as a future witch" or "Gretel as the witch's apprentice" ties in with another subtext well-hidden in the original text, but that many like to weave upon: Gretel as the "daughter" of the witch. In many of those rewrites and reinterpretations, the witch doesn't just treat Gretel as an apprentice, but as an heir or a replacement daughter. This is no surprise since it is very clear that in the original tale, the witch is the dark side of the mother figure, and an evil doppelganger of the wicked stepmother/mother of the siblings. As such, it makes sense for her to impose an abusive and unconsented motherhood upon Gretel - doesn't her forcing the girl to do all the chores not reminiscent of how famous fairytales stepmothers treat heroines like Cinderella? Such a perverse motherhood was already explicit and obvious in her treatment of Hansel: like a mother she nourishes and feeds Hansel (in fact she succeeds where the wicked stepmother failed), but this is all to devour him, in a ritual of "un-birth", she becomes a death-givers who doesn't expel a child out of her womb, but has it return to her stomach. [This is a very common and usual motif among ogres of fairytales, who are all caricatures of parenthood].

More generally, to have the witch act in such a way actually makes the fairytale more "feminist" somehow, but in a quite perverse way. Because in such a reading, we have a women-dominated world. The true active and powerful characters of the story are beings such as the wicked stepmother and the witch, who command, control and influence the other characters - especially the male ones. The father is a weak puppet who can't stand up to his wife, Hansel is reduced to a fat pig in a cage. Hansel did try to escape the tyranny of the wicked woman, but all he could do was push back his doom, and his plans ultimately failed. Gretel, as a woman herself, is given a special treatment - and in the "apprentice/daughter" interpretation, is "absorbed" by this world of wicked, dominating women. But she actually breaks from it, and kills the one that would have "turned" her - and it is telling and interesting that the only one who can have a true an full success, a definitive victory in this tale is Gretel. Hansel's plans work and save them, but only for a brief time, and his last plan fails dramaticaly, before he gets locked up and "out of the story". Gretel meanwhile, when she gets the courage and intelligence to act, proves herself much more efficient and definitive than her brother, as she puts a true end to the threat other them by killing the witch (and by extension killing the wicked stepmother/mother). This is something Hansel couldn't do - all he could was trck the wicked woman, and nullify her plans, but he could not remove the threat of the death and the hunger.

Anyway, as you can see, despite being a quite superficial and silly question, this fact (or rather absence of facts) opens up a whole jar of various interpretations, readings and themes, and proves the hidden complexity of these apparently "simple" stories.

[nanosea]

Infant and Innocent

warnings: fluff, bit of angst, and Roboute being stressed new father also ooc? Description: something so small, so fragile yet so loved by him

There was no guide on how to be a father.

And Roboute found himself slaving over the dataslates and ancient books about parenting and fatherhood, eager to learn on how to become a father just like his adopted father was. His child was born one month ago, healthy and strong, a bit big and heavy for a newborn but then again, his daughter was half – primarch.

He still vividly remembered how loud her first cries was, so full of life and strong, midwives and apothecaries let out whispered of awe and amazement as his firstborn continued to cry herself out.

One of the midwives, a woman with grey hair tied in bun, approached him, resting her calloused hand on his forearm. "Milord, it's time to cut the cord," She gave him such warm smile, patting him as if she was comforting him. "Your wife will be fine without your handheld support for a minute or two."

He heard you chuckled at the jest of the midwife even though he could hear clearly how exhausted you were. Roboute glanced at you, still concern of your wellbeing, after all you just gave birth after five hours long labours.

"I'm alright, Robby, the apothecaries are tending me," You limply raised the only hand that wasn't tethered with iv lines, shooing him off. "go and tend to our baby girl."

"ah, yes." Roboute gulped nervously before nodding.

"please, come this way, young father," The midwife ushered him toward the other two midwives, he noticed one was holding his wailing daughter in a white towel like cloth while the other held a surgical scissor in between of two clamps on the umbilical cord.

"Here you go, young father." The midwife stepped back and allowed him to step forward and took the surgical scissor. Hesitation and uncertainty filled him.

He watched his daughter's reddened and scrunched up face, still crying, her tiny limbs flailing about, still coated in blood and amniotic liquid. She was here now, after ten months long waiting.

"Hurry now, young father, your baby girl is waiting." The midwife tutted beside him.

Roboute snapped out of his musing, he swiftly cut his daughter's umbilical cord, giving back the scissor to the midwife. The two midwives surrounded his daughter once again, bringing her to the station table on the corner of the labour room.

Roboute stood there, stunned and still unsure if he was awake or just having an elaborate and realistic dream. The third midwife didn't follow her partners, still standing beside him as she gave him a blue blanket.

"you did good, young father. Most fathers would faint or vomit at the sight of their children covered in blood and their mother's fluids, but you are steadfast and strong. Good traits for a father of daughter."

"I don't think this is real. I must've still sleeping, this is a dream, my wife still pregnant and sleeping beside me." Roboute blurted out, shaking his head in disbelief and denial.

"No, this is real, young father, you can ask your wife and let her break your pinkie and ring fingers again if you want to." The midwife chuckled, glancing back toward your resting form being moved to another bed and gently wiped clean off sweat, blood and tears before being changed into another maternity dress.

Apothecaries and nurses loomed close around you, focusing on your wellbeing and health. Roboute was forever grateful of your quick thinking on deciding the medical team for your pregnancy, labour and newborn daughter.

"ah, here is the star of the show."

His daughter had stopped her wailing, now swaddled in clean blanket and was immediately placed upon the blue blanket he had in his hands.

Throne, these midwives worked fast for someone who were elderly.

Roboute observed his newborn daughter that he cradled in his own arms, drinking in every details of her into his very mind. She was so big on the hold of the midwives yet she looked so small in his own.

She had his hair and eyes, no, she was him. His firstborn was his spitting image, the only thing she inherited from you was your nose. You probably pout and annoyed that you had given birth to his mini version.

"How is our daughter, Robby? Is she healthy?" You asked.

He returned to your side, still cradling the baby close to his chest. "yes, she is very healthy. Good lungs, I think we won't be needing the baby monitors for her."

You rolled your eyes at his playful words, stretching out your hands toward him, eager to held the baby that once previously inside you for ten months. Which he did, carefully he transferred the baby into your arms.

He envy how easy and accustomed you were in holding the baby.

"Do you have name for her?" He inquired, returning to his place, beside you, on the chair precisely beside the bed.

You cooed softly at their daughter, shifting your dress to allow your newborn to fed from you. He watched her latched on your breast and immediately went on feeding herself.

Tiny thing probably hungry from being born. He smiled at the sight of you nursing the baby.

"hmm, I thought you want to name her, Robby?" You asked back, looking at him surprised and confused. "I mean you read these all books and dataslates about baby names. Not to mention I always found you slumped over the parenting books within the last two months--wait, don't tell me you are still stressed about not being a good father for our child?!"

After centuries of marriage, your intuition of him always correct. No matter how secretive and aloof he was, you would able to unfurl him wide open and bare.

He shook his head, grimacing a bit, "no, I am not stressed out, I just want to prepare for our daughter's arrival, that is all."

You gave him a deadpan look before you let out an exasperated sigh, plopping back into the piles of cushions and pillows, the baby gurgled a bit which prompted you to gently pat her back. "of course. Here, you held her now." You gave the baby back to him, your fingers caressed the plump and redden cheek of her affectionately.

Roboute softly said your name, "You don't want to held her anymore?" He watched you drowsily blinking as you let out a yawn, shaking your head once.

"I carry her for ten months and gave birth to her for five hours, I'm relinquishing my carrying the baby duty to you. Beside, Robby, you'll need more time to bond with your baby daughter."

And your words rang true, one month later, he still trying his best not to stressed out at thought of not being present for his newborn daughter, Therese.

With your pregnancy over and recuperation month began, Roboute took upon himself to be more attentive toward you, his beloved wife and the mother of his child, and toward his daughter.

Roboute carried his newborn everywhere and anywhere, be it him in his office, reading and writing reports, or during war meetings with his gene sons or Imperial meetings with high lords and nobles of planets.

Tiny Therese would be within the baby sling, her face mushed comfortably by the soft fabric and his chest. Whenever she gurgled or grumbled, Roboute would caressed her back and hummed softly lullabies that you often sang while nursing her.

He also placed a bassinet and changing table inside his office so he could let her sleep in her bassinet and changed her without had to returning to the shared bedroom.

Beside it was convenient for him to had the two furniture in his office, where he frequent the most. That and his and your shared bedroom. Therese didn't have nursery, Roboute didn't want to be separated by his daughter.

Her nursery was within his and your bedroom, her crib was merely six feet apart from the bed. He didn't feel well and queasy at the thought of Therese not being close by to him.

Within the two weeks of waking up to Roboute kneeling beside Therese's crib, intensely watching over her slumbering form, you joked about him being trying to be the favourite parent to their child.

Roboute wanted to gloat that he knew five ways to burp and help Therese released gasses, how he within one minute, had successfully prepared and sanitized the bottle and warm the milk for his baby daughter. How he could changed her diaper with one hand while he signed off reports, tax legislations and war reports.

But he know his overconfidence and pride in his child rearing would earn him your ire and scolding. Especially with how you often warn him that it was your turn to feed her during the late night hours or changing her diapers.

"Roboute Guilliman, I am here to take baby Therese to her monthly check-up." You announced yourself as you entered his office, making him looked away from Therese's sleeping face.

"hmm, check-up? I thought it's the day after tomorrow?"

You shook your head, casually walked toward the bassinet beside his desk, peering in over the bassinet. "no, it's today. You have important meeting with the Custodes in one hour and I don't want you to get stressed out over it so I'm here to take our bundle of grumpy joy for her check-up. It will be quick and you won't even notice her disappearance."

Roboute watched you lifted Therese from her bassinet and rocking her back and forth as he felt something akin to dread washed over him, how could he forgotten about his child's first check-up.

Was he too focused on taking care of Therese and being her father so much, that he began to forgot on how to maintain between his fatherhood duties and his duties as the Imperial Regent and Primarch of Ultramarine.

"Ah, I shall postpone the meeting for another hour or two. I want to attend Therese's check-up with you."

He watched you shook your head and rolled your eyes, "Robby, this meeting is very important, not to mention the Emperor himself has sent his Custodes to meet you and I know you are hyper focus in taking care of our baby girl here," You motioned to the sleeping babe in your arms, "but you have to avert your attention to other matter beside your newborn."

He let you cupped the side of his face, your thumb caressing his cheek, Roboute let himself relaxed and close his eyes, the warmth of your skin was intoxicating to him, it had been too long since you caressed him like this.

"So, let's make a deal, one meeting and tomorrow you can take Therese to meet the midwives, tell them about her progress. I heard madam Drusa has taken an interest in your fatherhood's progress, husband dearest."

Roboute opened his eyes, letting out a hum, "is that so, beloved wife?" He watched you smile cheekily as you peck his cheek. "yes, you impressed her greatly. I am so proud of you, Roboute. Therese is truly blessed to have you as her father."

Hearing such compliments coming from you, his wife, the love of his life, the one who was there for him before he became primarch, and now the mother of his little Therese made something inside of him felt clearer and warmer.

Like when he first met you and had fallen for you.

"No, my heart, it is I, who is blessed with you and little Therese. The two of you are my reason to lived for, I would gladly win any battles, wars and planets just to come home into your arms. You are my world, my heart and my future."

Roboute ended his speech by pulling you close to him, hugging you firmly and mindful of the sleeping baby between the two of you. He heard you giggle, "what a sap, I hope little Tessa doesn't mind having a sap for a father."

"Well, this sap here has successfully swoon your mother just by talking about bills and tithes reformations."

"very funny, Robby, very funny."

[hidden-poet]

President Snow part 3

Previous chapters; 1 and 2

Summary; After Lucy-Grey there was you.

warnings; slavery, Uncon, angst, dark!Coriolanus snow.

3/3

"Did you hear? Y/n L/n was sold into maids standing by her father last year". Festus creed plopped another Hors d'oeuvre into his mouthlike he was talking about the weather.

Coriolanus feels his body still at his words. The drink he pushed to his lips couldn't make its way into his mouth. He had looked for you at every social function. Even called upon where you once lived, only to be turned away by a new family living there.

He had assumed you had married and your family followed to where your new husband lived. If he was a manufacture he properly lived closer to the districts. The thought made him sick.

But no. You had been waiting for him. Training for him for the past year in maid training.

"I was thinking of adding her to my collection of the fallen"

Coriolanus's blood boils at the thought.

"Who?" Clemensia asks matching the almost bored expression of Festus.

"You know Arthur's daughter. The Banker who was stealing from the Pamen National bank. His daughter was a few years below us. Used to play on the volley ball team".

"When does she go to auction?" Clemensia warms at his words. She remembered her after all.

"Why so you can steal her from me?"

"What use would we have for a girl trained in fine arts and history? it won't make her a better floor scrubber. Right, Coriolanus?"

"i am still not sure who you are talking about" Coriolanus lied.

----------

Coriolanus returns home later then usual. He had gone to a party but normally he only made a quick appearance for an hour or two before returning. But this time he returned well into the night.

You wouldn't have minded if it hadn't of got so late. You were tired and he hated to come home to find you asleep. When you heard the door unlock you knew you would only have to stay up for an hour more.

As he entered the room to find you laying on the bed watching TV, he doesn't crawl over to you or demand you help him undress.

Instead he takes a dress out of your closet, that was mostly filled with his extra clothes, and tosses it to you.

"I have a surprise for you. Get dressed".

You do as your told taking off your nightdress in front of him and putting on the dark blue sun dress.

He eyes you slowly before taking your hand and leading you down the hall to the living room.

You wondered about the surprise and the need to dress for it. Normally his surprises entailed the exact opposite.

It made sense when you turned the corner and saw an elderly man sitting on the large white couch.

You heart leaps at the sight of your father sitting in the living room.

"dad" you cry tearing your hand from Coriolanus . He gets up upon seeing you and you both throw your arms around each other.

"Oh my baby". His arms felt safe and secure.

Coriolanus is quick to breck up the scene, taking you back into his grasp with a tight hold on your wrist. He brings you to the other side of the couch, away from your father.

"given your rise i thought you might like the opportunity to buy back your daughter" Coriolanus spoke with a cold hard tone.

Your toes curled in excitement. You were going home and you were going home a lady.

Your father straightened his back and shook off imaginary weight from his shoulders.

"I sure would. How much did you pay?"

"Less then what she is worth and less then what she is currently worth after my teachings".

You shudder. He was going to make this more difficult then it had to be.

"Lets start at a thousand panars".

"Let me show you the door at a thousand panars. My shoes cost more".

You wrap your hand around Coriolanus's wrist as he held yours. That was a good offer he spat at.

"Please Coriolanus" you beg.

-------

Coriolanus had a private showing at the slave quater the very next morning.

It was the earliest he could convince the owner of the house to have a showing. Which still wasn't early enough for him.

He paced through lines of young girls trying to find you. He remembered what you liked like at the Academy but people had a awful habit of changing.

He stopped in front of one girl who could have been you. Roughly the same height as he remembered. Same color eyes, although he never saw them up close so he couldn't be certain. Her hair seemed a lighter shade of Y/H/C and her nose seemed larger.

He continued satisficed that she most likely was not the girl he was looking for. He continues through the line of girls all dressed neatly in simple white dresses. They were more like potato sacks with arm holes.

They were organized according to training and skill. The girls who had been with the house the longest and received the most training were shown first.

He skipped the queue, you wouldn't be amongst them. He started in the middle and grew more frustrated as he neared the end. He knew once he spotted you he would know.

He scanned ahead looking for your hair color and height.

He saw a possibility far off and bee lined for it, ignoring the words of the owner as he took off.

Once he stood in front of you, he knew without a doubt that you were her. His Y/N.

You had barely changed from his memory. You had lost a little bit of weight no doubt from the stress of it all. Your eyes had dulled over a tad and your hair was less shiny and neat, but all the same you were as he remembered.

"President Snow, she is only trained as a house maid. She wouldn't be trained adequately for you", the owner of the house explained.

"Good then I don't have to train her out of annoying habits".

You looked worried, and he wondered if it was at the thought of being chosen or at not being chosen.

"Open your mouth" His first command to you.

You do and he pretends to check your teeth. Not an unordinary practice for a buyer but not of interest for Coriolanus.

He had longed to exert control over you.

Walking to school he would day dream to make the trek bearable in his tight shoes.

He dray dreamed he would find you at school and pluck the flowers out of your hair. "Don't wear these. They make you look childish" he would say.

At lunch time he would take the liberty of filling both your plates with food of his choice while you trailed close behind him.

You would wait for him after each class at his place of choosing. sometimes waiting just outside the door while he astonishes the classroom with his hard learned knowledge. He was sure he was going to get the Plinth prize and go off to university. There would be no need for you to do the same.

But his poverty kept him shackled and your money (however so dwindling) kept you safe.

Before if he told you to open your mouth for inspection you would laugh at him, now if he told you to hop on the spot, you would hop.

"how much?" he asked the sweaty little owner.

They agreed and you were tossed in the sold cage while Coriolanus filled out paperwork. He tired not to seem egger to collet you.

He had never personally brought a maid and had no idea it involved this much paper. He only glanced at whatever he was signing, trusting the person who explained each document to him.

When he was finally allowed to go collect you, he found himself stuck at the door.

How would he approach this? should he call you by your name to show he knew you or place the burden on you to make the connection.

You never even talked to him in school but perhaps you shared the same quiet fascination with him.

If not, he was still President Snow, and you were a loyal subject. He could image you would be awe-struck at the opportunity to serve him.

He yanked open the door and walked with powerful strides. You were sitting in the holding cell, curled into a ball on the floor.

You got up upon seeing him, and came closer to the bars.

"Here" he held out a cold water bottle that he got from the owners assistant. He wished he drank some of it. He would have spat in it if he had registered that he was going to give it to you.

his action took you both by surprise. But you take it.

"Thank you, President Snow".

He gained no sense of familiarity with your words.

He waited for a 'we went to school together' or a 'I always knew you were going to be President of Panem'.

But nothing came. You drank your water and even separated yourself from the bars.

You gave no sign you recognized him from the Academy days. You gave no plea to his sense of fellowship, or tried to give yourself false standing upon your upbringing.

When he had asked about your standing you had told him you were born into your situation. A bold move to someone who held your paperwork in his hand. The entire history of you, as well as your in and outs.

Still he didn't correct you. Perhaps you were waiting to pull the secret past card for a rainy day.

"Your name is Y/N? is that correct"

two could play the i don't remember game.

You nod.

"Well Y/N, in about 10 minutes two peacekeepers will come and take you to a van where you will be escorted to the Presidential estate. From there the Headmistress will make you presentable and begin your training as my servant".

His hands curl around the bars and he pushes himself closer to you.

"I have high expectations of you. Don't disappoint me".

-----------

'Coriolanus please. I'll come back any time you want me to. Do anything for you. But please let me return home".

Your words took his mind breifly to imagining a different life with you. They never caught him for cheating and with the Plinth prize under him, he took your hand in marriage.

And yet still, in his imagation you stood in the living room, perhaps better dressed, and said the same words.

He really did just want to own you.

Coriolanus said nothing and turned his eyes back to your father.

"You made a deal with Mr Grenge for 300 million panams. So my price for Y/N is 300 million panams"

"that's everything" he father mutters.

'She is everything". You didn't believe it. Not to him.

"I-I Can't. I'd be ruined again".

"You could always sell her back. At a discount of course".

'Please" you try again.

"It would be a fun 18 hours for you" Coriolanus taunts.

"we could pay in instalments" you father tries.

"Do i seem like a patient man?"

"Patient enough to wait for your time to strike" Your father is seething, "It wasn't surprise I felt about her being here, only dread".

Coriolanus smirks trying to hide it by rubbing his forefinger across his bottom lip.

" I saw you every time I picked her up from school. Lingering in the background like a parasite. Coriolanus Snow's got eyes for my daughter, I thought to myself, how harmful could he truly be".

He dad crosses the boundary of the living room table. His face contorted with anger.

"Then I saw you dangle that poor district 12 girl in the Hunger games. You were no harmless school boy, I realized, you were your fathers son. And that is a very dangerous thing to be".

"Careful. You don't speak to that school boy now. President Snow is who you address, and you've said enough to get yourself hanged".

You place a hand on Coriolanus shoulder as if to keep him pinned to the chair.

"Y/N I am so sorry. He was gone when I sold you. I thought you'd be house maid to one of the lady's. I never thought he'd get his hands on you".

The old man takes you into his arms. His baby daughter who he threw directly into the mouth of the wolf.

"No sale has been made yet" Coriolanus reminds him, "Do we have a deal of 300 million panems or are you touching some one else's property?".

--------

The first few months in the presidential estate were terrible and Coriolanus saw to it.

You were beaten for everything for quick training. Even things you were sure you did right were wrong.

He had to give it to you, despite your privileged up bringing, you were a hard worker. Every time he checked on you, which was often, you were never found sitting down. Always on the move scrubbing something, dusting something, organizing lien cupboards.

He only caught you once reading a passage from a poetry book kept in the library. Old habits die hard, he supposed. He remembered you loved to read.

You would often read stretched out in the sun during lunch time at the academy garden. Coriolanus would watch from the schools library window, when he should have been studying. You again were interfering with him being the best he could be.

He called upon you during your dinner time. Requesting your presence in his office.

When you entered you saw your headmistress standing on the opposite side of the desk.

Coriolanus sat in his chair, looking bored. His head resting in his hand, not looking at the headmistress or you. Just staring blankly at his desk.

As you enter you can see the wooden Cain and the poetry book laying flat on the desk. Your legs turn to jelly the closer you got.

"President Snow. Headmistress" you greet.

"Which poem was it that caught your eye?" The old women grumbled.

You bring your hands to your chest and wring them together. You were still sore from your beating last night. You weren't sure you could take another one.

"i was only checking the book. The pages seemed loosed".

"Are you suggesting that the presidential estate would house such a book?"

You try and back track on your lie. Blaming lack of sleep and food for your mistake of the falling pages.

Coriolanus reaches for the book, flipping it to a random page and placing it back on the desk.

"Place your hands on the desk and read it" The headmistress demands, picking up the cain.

You face Coriolanus who watches you from his seat. You eyes swell with tears that spilled on it the page. He would keep the book in his draw rather than the library.

''My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk''

The headmistress brings the cain down upon your back, and your sentence comes out as a yelp.

"Or, or, or emptied some dull-ll opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had-saH-Sunk!".

It strikes after each pause. Your hands curl into fists upon the page.

"Tis,not,through,envy,of, thy,happy,lot" You rush and two strikes come down upon your back.

"Cheeky girl!" your headmistress reprimanded.

"But being too happy in thine happines" you slow.

He closes his eyes to the sound of the Cain coming down and images the school garden. Both school children again in the red uniforms. You lay in the sun together. Coriolanus rested his head on your lap as you read out your poem. You stroke his hair and he feels the warm sun on his face.

Your desperate act pulls him from his day dream. He looks at the women before him. A women he owed.

No school children in sight; the President of Panem and a slave take their place.

You finish your poem looking up to him for salvation. You do not receive it.

"Again" he demanded.

He wouldn't leave during your nightly flogging. He would lock the door and free his cock from his trousers. He loved the thought of you so vunruable, so brusied and battered at his command.

He would image you with your dress down, tied to the whipping post as he brought the whip down on you. He imaged your squirming and crying for him. God, there was nothing he loved more than control.

He would wait until the flogging was announced to be over before he would return home.

He was always so sure that you would come to him the very next morning and beg for him to save you from the whipping post. Exchanging anything in return.

-----------

"I am so sorry. I have your mother to look after. She's not been well Y/N"

"Dad you can't leave me here"

"We'll visit" He insisted.

"No you won't"

You both turn to Coriolanus in his chair, half forgotten he was there.

"We'll write to you"

"It won't be delivered"

"I am sorry" your father finally accepted, 'Maybe once I make more money".

"Daddy please" you whine. He won't be given another chance, you know it. You weren't sure this chance was entirely truthful.

"I am so sorry" he repeats pulling away from you. He rushes to collet his things. You aim to go to him, to hold him one last time but Coriolanus rises from his chair.

He takes your hand in a tight grip.

"You'll find a maid downstairs. She'll help you to the door".

Your father looks at Coriolanus with hate filled eyes, but nodded his head in understanding. President Snow held all the cards, you both were nothing but pawns for him to entertain himself with.

'So sorry we could not do business together".

Your father doesn't answer too overcome with emotion of selling his daughter for a second time. He rushes away in shame and you fall to your knees.

Coriolanus lets go of your hand so you could curl yourself into a ball on the floor.

He lets you sob and heave on the floor by his feet. He knew telling you to stop would be a waste of breath.

He waits until you can control your breath again before he crouches down next to you.

He snakes a arm under your side to pull you to his chest. His arm curls around your shoulders to keep you there, while his hand cradles the back of your head. He rests his cheek against the top of your head while you sob. Loudly and painfully, you sob into his chest.

You can hear footsteps pounding down the hall way and you knew it was Clemessia.

"Get her to stop or I'll hang her by her feet in my study. She'll wake the children".

Coriolanus raises his eyebrows at her but does not uncurl his body from you to follow her command.

You quieten anyway. It's fine, you tell yourself, you've lost nothing.

You hold your breath counting to a slow ten and then release it a couple of times. It helped regain your composure.

Coriolanus unhooks himself from you and reaches into his breast pocket to pull out his handkerchief. He wipes your face clean from snot and tears with an emotionless expression.

You weren't sure you could walk so when he picked you up and took you back to the bedroom you were thankful to not have to find out.

----------

Coriolanus spits his tea back into the cup.

There was nothing wrong with it. But he loved how panicked you got.

Your lips would part, your eyes fell wide, your chest would puff up.

How could there be something wrong with the tea again.

'i am so sorry, President Snow. I'll make another" You go to take the cup back.

'What's the point? You disturb me every time you come with another pot".

"I'll try not to in the future, Sir".

"what good are your efforts. I've watched you try for the past six months. You only slightly improved".

'i can do better. I will do better".

He loved the grovel.

"maybe the night without supper would help to refocus your mind?"

Your body tensed, and he could feel the anger radiating off you, even if he couldn't see it upon your face.

'Is that a good idea?" he teased.

"Yes, Sir" You tried not to spit the words.

"Good. Then it's settled. Go about your chores".

The next day he offered you a biscuit from his tray, and said nothing about his tea. Even through this one was too sweet for his liking.

It was the first time your hunger overtook your pride. You took it with a small thanks, excusing yourself at the first opportunity.

he watched the camera link. You had gobbled the biscuit down as soon as the door closed behind you.

Once a lady now a beggar.

-------

He took you to the bedroom and laid you down.

You didn't move. You couldn't move.

He talked as he undressed you.

"I know that was painful for you but you needed to see it".

He yanked your dress over your hand, leaving you in only your panties.

You turn from him to your side but he flips you back.

tears still run down your face but you make no noise.

"Why. So you could see it?" you bit.

"At some point you have accept your life here".

He slides your panties down your legs, leaving them on the floor.

"was it true?" you ask, "that we both went to the Academy".

"yes. I had a terrible crush on you for many years". Crush he called it but it couldn't be further from the truth.

"i never even noticed you all those years". The sentence stung him a bit.

He places his lips on your neck and bites down. You wiggle under him, pushing on his shoulders.

"You are making me suffer because you had a school boy crush?"

He rises up and undresses himself from his many layers.

"i am making you suffer because I can". He makes haste with the many buttons on his vest.

His sentence quietens you. He could make you suffer just because he wanted to. he could make your family suffer just because he wanted to.

He rips the clothes from his body, leaving them a messy pile on the floor.

He drags you to the center of the bed and crawls on top.

"In any case who would you rather, me, President of Panem, or some old business man, bored with his wife. That's who you would have gone to".

You try and turn to your side again but his hands catch your shoulders and bring them flat on the mattress again.

"You should really say thank you". He pumps himself over you.

You don't say anything, and your ungratefulness resulted in a harsh hold on your chin.

"Say it. Say thank you" he demands.

"Thank you" You spit hard and fast.

"Thank you, President snow". He nudges your legs further apart and lines himself up to your entrance.

"Thank you, President SNow" he enters you without warning and starts a steady thrust.

It had been years with him. Sex with him wasn't something you even blinked at. On occasion you could have even been called a participant.

But not tonight. You couldn't even rock your hips for your own feeling. You just lay there and take it.

Something about night had made Coriolanus feel like a school boy again, and he took it out in his hard and rough thrusts. He was President Snow and you would remember it.

He begins to sing the national anthem of Panem.

"Oh, Horn of Plenty One Horn of Plenty for us all! And when you raise-ah- the cry The brave shall heed the call And we shall never falter, hmm"

He grunts in your ear. He pushes himself upright where with his new position he places both his hands on your hips and pulls you closer so your legs were hooked over his hips.

"And when we raise the cry-y the brave shall heed", he huffs, "the call and we shall never fall"

He new position gave him deeper thrusts. As the song ends his hips loose their rhythm.

"Oh, Capitol Your glorious diamond shine A tribute to' The darkest days behind Oh! One Horn of Plenty for us all"

He bucks his hips as he leans back over you on the bed, a hand resting by the side of your head to keep his weight off you and the other used to keep your leg over his hip.

He never fully leaves you before he slams back in.

He groans as he cums, letting you milk him of anything he had left. Even after that he remains in you.

Coriolanus lets out a short breathy laugh, dropping your leg and pushing his body down on you. You huff in protest but he doesn't care. Placing small kisses and bites along your skin.

You remain still. Numb from the events of the night. You didn't even say goodbye to your father. You knew you would never see him again.

Coriolanus spent by using you, rests his head on your chest.

"Someday some one will kill you for your wrong doings, Coriolanus". You warn.

He chuckles in response. It won't be by his doll.

----

Years later you stand in the crowd watching Katniss Everdeen raise her bow and arrow at Coriolanus.

You smile waiting for her to let go. You could see Coriolanus's eyes searching for you in the crown, unable to find you as hide amongst the people, before his settles on the eyes of his executer.

"MockingJay, may your aim be as true as your heart is pure".

The arrow flies but enters the heart of the Coin.

Coriolanus begins to laugh, blood spilling from his mouth as he does.

As the blood coats his shirt it is a reminder of his misdeeds. Against his people, his family, and importantly you.

You charge taking along a crowd of people with you.

[akajustmerry]

Hi

1 love your blog and podcast

2 I’m really enjoying your weekly Palestinian film recs

3. Do you have more recommendations for Arab and Middle Eastern cinema ?

Thank you ☺️

helloooooo, thank you 🥰 I have a whole sideblog which I don't promote enough called @swanasource where I and my co-mod @thatidomagirl frequently post middle eastern/SWANA film and films made by swana filmmakers in the film tag here:

I myself am still on my journey of watching more swana films (and non-english and non-Western films) so I won't claim to be any sort of exhaustive expert. but here are some of my favourites!

Salt of this Sea (2008). Dir. Annemarie Jacir. Palestinian film about a Palestinian-American woman heisting an Israeli bank

The Persian Version (2023). Dir. Maryam Kershavez. Comedy about an Iranian-American lesbian who gets pregnant after a one night stand and so decides to learn more about her family history.

Kedi (2016). A calming and beautiful Turkish documentary about the cats of Istanbul

Ali's Wedding (2017). A rom-com about an Iraqi-Australian Muslim who falls in love with the Lebanese girl from his mosque who's helping him get into med school.

The Man Who Sold His Skin (2020). Tunisian thriller about a syrian refugee who agrees to let his back be tattooed and be part of a living exhibition by a notorious artist so he can get a visa.

Sirens (2020). A documentary about the queer Lebanese all-girl metal band, Slave To Sirens, set around the Beirut explosion.

In Vitro (2019). A short Palestinian sci-fi film about an elderly woman in an underground bunker trying to describe the world before to a young woman who's only ever known the bunker.

Cairo Time (2009). Dir. Ruba Nadda. Look, this film isn't perfect but It's about a white American woman who's husband is a UN worker in Egypt. She goes to visit him in Cairo, but her husband is waylaid so he sends his bestie played by the beautiful Alexander Siddig to take her around Cairo and oh my GOD the romantic tension of this movie keeps me up at night.

Butterflies (2018). One of my fave movies ever. A Turkish comedy about 3 estranged siblings who have to take a chaotic road trip to fulfil their father's last wishes.

[ninelivesastrology]

I realized it seems like such a personal attack to others when Black women and girls put themselves first because people believe that you should exist at their convenience. They shove you into the sex slave, human ATM machine, caregiver/secondary parent category, all of this stemming from a stereotypical place. Often, the nurturing of a Black woman is so coveted—because remember, we were milk maids and babysitters—and taken for granted all at the same time. Your labor will be invaluable, but never treated as such.

I'd like to believe that many of us do not default to a nurturing role and we do it for survival because people feel entitled to us. When we don't do what is expected of us, we are punished and we know that Black women experience harsher punishments than others, starting from when we are young. Even other Black women will expect this of you off the basis, "I had to do this, so you have to do this, too."

You will be called selfish for doing things that everyone else is allowed to do. They can and you can't.

And I promise you that you don't get any points for taking care of people. I know we talk about fathers being left in nursing homes, being left alone, but I've seen it happen to elderly Black women, too. It comes after decades of prioritizing entitled and ungrateful people who have just exploited and neglected you while holding grudges against you for not making their lives easier when you in fact did, when you sacrificed so much for them.

So Black women, when's the last time someone's done something for you? Showed you their appreciation instead of telling you? When's the last time someone did you a favor? Wanted to lighten the load off your shoulders? Took care of you?

I'll wait while you think.

[chimerathewriter]

Goody two shoes

Chapter 1

Summary: Our spider friend arrives in Miles earth

NEXT CHAPTER

🕸 🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸

" Hey guys" Miles welcomed Gloria and Eniola in his house

" Hey Miles thank you for inviting us" Eniola smiled and they entered, evewrybody was there, Gwen,Ganke, Pav and Hobie they were fixing the table

" Good evening Mr and Mrs Morales" Gloria greeted them and gave them a basket

" This comes from my parents, they apologize for not coming" she whispered

" Oh well come in the food is almost ready" Rio announced they

" At least somebody brought something"

" Hey guys"

" Glo you are finally here" Pav hugged her, he noticed somebody else was with her

" Who is she?"

" Guys this is Eniola my best friend, you already know Gwen and Ganke, this is Pavitr and Hobie"

" Sup" Eniola smiled

" Is she your man in chair?" Hobie asked, the two girls looked each other

" No I'm just her best friend she doesn't need that" she answered

" Where have you been recently, we haven't see you around lately" Gwen asked, they all sat down

" Is exam season and I got a new job" she sighed exhausted the punk artist hummed

" You are slowly becoming a slave of capitalist society goody to shoes" she rolled her eyes

" I'm so sorry but where I come from I can't do whatever I want"

" That's just you babes" the tension was thickening nobody couldn't phrase something, until Rio and Jefferson came out from the kitchen with food

" Tonight we have Mofongo, Arroz y habichuela and for dessert Piragua" Rio announced putting the food on the table

They immediately took the forks and stuffed their faces with food.

" Woah y'all were really hungry huh?" Jefferson laughed

" This food is amazing" Pavitr exclaimed

" Mami you are the best as always"

" Thank you" Rio leaves a tender kiss on her son forhead

" Anyway Gloria I heared you came back at V.I.S.I.O.N.S as a IT assistant, how is everything going?" Jefferson asked

" Is going well, I just wanted to start to be indipendent a little bit"

" Indipented? your still a slave of capitalism" Hobie whispered, getting punched by Gwen, who was smiling akwardly

" And your brother Ikenna is coming back right?" her body tensed

" Uhm yeah is coming back tomorrow" she smiled softly

" Mrs Morales Mrs Oknma said you left your phone at her shop" Eniola added

" What!? How did......."

" Rio first finish eating and then we will go and get it" Jefferson tried to reassure his wife

" We can go and get it, Mrs Oknma closes at 9PM" Miles suggested

" Can you?" they nodded

" Alright" she seated back sighing in relief

🕸 🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸🕸

" Thank you for the amazing food Mrs Morales" Ganke waved at them before leaving the house

" Yeah it was lit" Hobie followed him back, they started walking

" So Hobie how do you find this place" Eniola asked

" This is a nightmare a colourful capitalist world"

" Well at least is colorful"

Miles shrugged his shoulders, they arrive at the shop

" Oh Miles you came for your mother's phone?" an elderly woman welcomed them with a smile

" Good afternoon Mrs Okonma" Eniola bowed down

" Eniola Gloria you are her, the phone is on the back, look around and take anything yu want is on the house " the lady left , thye staqrted to look around, Gloria's phone started to ring and left the shop

" Hobie what was that?" Gwen asked, the young man looked at her confused

" What was what Gwendie" he said taking some plantain chips

" You and Gloria at Miles home?" Pavitr

" Nothing just stated my opinion"

" You promised that you would have restrained from the comments especially with Gloria"

" So he talks like to my bestie everytime"

" Don't worry he only does that because he has a crush on her" Gwen confessed making Eniola gasp

" Fam....."

" Well let me tell you bruv that you are not gaining points from her or me" she patted his back, making the rest of the group giggle

" I don't what you people talking about?" the lady came back with the phone, she gave it to Miles

" Did you.....ah thief" she pointed out at the little bohy whop was running away,

" Imma take care of this" Spider Thorn started to chae him

" Go" Eniola pushed the punk artist

" What?" he looked at her confused

" Follow Gl- Spider Thorn" she pointed at the hero who was starts swinging on the buildings reaching the heroine

" What are you doing here?"

"I'm giving you a hand"

" I thought you don't believe in team and teamwork"

"Well I don't even believe in consistency" they finally managed to stop the kid

"Do you know that stealing is wrong?" she approached the little boy who was shaking, suddenly the bag that he had broke and packets of diapers and furmala fell

"Spider Thorn please my family has no money and my mother has just given birth" the boy burst into tears, the girl noticed that the boy was without shoes

"Okay go, I'll say I couldn't catch you"

"Really?" he

"Yes and hold" she dried his tears and gave him some money

"This should be enough for some shoes and some food" the boy hugged her and walked away

"Goodbye half my first pay" she spoke to herself, the other Spiderman was staring at her

" What do you want?"

"Nothing is just…it was really good of you to let it go"

"Do you really think I would have handed him over to the police, I know how many people starve here in New York as Spiderman I try to do everything I can"

"Every weekend M … Spiderman and I bring boxes of food to families who can't afford it and then like Gloria I tutor kids who don't have time to study" she explained proudly

" I did not know"

" Obviously you didn't know, I'm just a goody two shoes for you" they swing back at the shop.

" Sorry Mrs Okonma I didn't catch him but here is the money for the things he stole" she handed the money

" Thank Spaida Thorn" the heroine left ,After a while the shop closed

" Gloria said that she's back at her dorm, and you will see her tomorrow" Eniola read them the text message her friend sent, the group separated

Next Chapter

[hannahhook7744]

Bad First Impressions (Are Ones That Often Stick);

Summary: Why Bruno Madrigal is not on the isle.  Encantober: Coffee. Trigger Warnings: Gossip nearly leading to unfair imprisonment, swearing, talk of inhumane concerns, etc. 

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

The coffee Julieta had poured for Alma and the visiting rulers remained untouched as the Matriarch listened to the new King and Queen of Auradon talked. 

And talked. 

And talked. 

And talked. 

About Auradon. 

About how they were rounding up all the villains and major criminals to send to a prison they were building. They didn't call it a prison but that's what it was. 

A place where they wouldn't have to think about the villains and the henchmen they sent there. About the violent criminals they booted there. A place they called ‘The Isle of the Lost’, as if it was a place for people to go when they needed to heal and be reintegrated into society and not a prison that they planned to never reopen. 

As they talked about how the villains could live their lives there, unsupervised, and how Auradon would be safe once they were all there. 

And all the while, King Beast and Queen Belle didn't touch their drinks that her eldest triplet had slaved away to make. No, they just kept talking. Seemingly not realizing (or maybe just not caring) that Alma hadn't said a word to them thus far. 

No, they didn't notice or care that Alma wasn't even really taking part of the conversation or take notice of the way that the elderly woman was gripping her mug. Knuckles lightening as she gritted her teeth, somehow managing to keep her face calm and neutral. 

All while the diablos in front of her talked about sending not one, not two, but three of her family members there. 

Her beautiful, fiery, headstrong Pepa who was finally becoming herself. 

Her innocence, little Brunito who was only guilty of being socially awkward, a little odd, and being the reluctant bearer of bad news. 

And her miracle. The girl she had never treated as well as she should have. Her youngest nieta. Her Mirabel. 

All because of the damned gossip that had escaped the Encanto in the year it took the familia and the village to rebuild the Encanto.

They were here, talking to her about throwing two of her babies and one of her grandbabies into a prison with child abusers, animal abusers, creepers, murderers, and overall hardened criminals because of rumors that they hadn't even bothered to fact check. 

They wanted her to lock her now seventeen year old nieta up with men like Jafar and Frollo who shouldn't be allowed out of their homes let alone be let loose on an isle where they could do whatever they wanted. King Beast and Queen Belle wanted her to allow them to throw her Bruno onto the isle where he would stick out like a sore thumb and wanted her to throw her daughter who had a seven year old there with him. 

But Alma wasn't going to have it. 

No, she wasn't going to hear another word of it. 

They weren't taking her family anywhere. 

Alma stood up, interrupting whatever the idiotas the tontos in Auradon had elected had been about to say. “Get out.”

“Wha—”

Alma held up her hand. Their time for speaking was done, they had had an hour of it—now it was her turn. “Get out of my house and my Encanto and never return! My village has no villains and I will not allow you to take my familia anywhere.”

Beast, the petulant child he was, tried to argue or to apologize—the Matriarch wasn't sure what but at the moment she couldn't care less—but was once again cut off by Alma. “Casita, escort them out!”

Casita didn't need to be told twice. 

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

Several great grandkids later and Alma still couldn’t stand Beast, and likely wouldn’t ever be able to.

If there was one thing you could say about Alma Madrigal, widow of Pedro Madrigal, and Matriarch of the Madrigal Family, it was that she sure knew how to hold a grudge—especially when you messed with her familia.  

And, well, if you messed with Alma and her familia, you messed with Casita and the Encanto.

[georgi-girl]

Barbie Villains Are Scarier Than I Thought

Barbie in the Nutcracker has the Mouse King, who's voiced by Tim Curry and almost never played for laughs, attempting to chop the Nutcracker to pieces with an axe and then burn him alive in a fire.

Barbie as Rapunzel has Gothel, who kidnapped Rapunzel to start a war between two kingdoms that almost killed a little girl, is emotionally abusive to Rapunzel and her friends, is powerful enough to enslave dragons, and her magic makes her almost unstoppable and spends the majority of the final battle chasing everyone.

Barbie of Swan Lake has Rothbart, who's out to kill Odette for a majority of the movie. After rendering the Magic Crystal powerless, Rothbart blasts Daniel and Odette with his magic, killing them both until their love revives them.

Barbie and the Magic of Pegasus: Wenlock is a G-rated sexual predator. He goes from kingdom to kingdom, forcing women to accept his hand in marriage or face awful consequences. He introduces himself by turning everyone in the kingdom to stone and giving Princess Annika three days to accept his proposal before the spell becomes permanent. Before the film began, he transformed Princess Brietta into the titular pegasus when her parents refused his proposal, and turned three women unlucky enough to actually marry him into mute, goblin-like slaves after getting bored with them. He nearly kills Brietta in front of her own sister, and buries Annika alive in an avalanche when she stands up for her family. 

Barbie in the 12 Dancing Princesses: Duchess Rowena is a master manipulator and comes the closest to winning out of nearly every Barbie villain. As she slowly poisons King Randolph to death, she plays the part of a loving relative to gain his trust and cut him off from his twelve daughters, until he willingly makes her his successor on his deathbed. In turn, she manipulates the 12 princesses, undermining their self-esteem and capabilities to help their father, to the point that they decide to leave the kingdom for their mother's secret pavilion, believing Rowena's lie that they are the cause of their father's failing health. Before they can realize their mistake, she imprisons them in their place of refuge and steals some of its magic. Upon their escape, she uses the stolen magic to place a Fate Worse than Death curse on Princess Genevieve, compelling her to dance herself to death, which Genevieve only escapes by weaponizing the paper fan Rowena yelled at the girls about earlier. Rowena and her henchman Desmond may well still be trapped in the dance spell to this day. 

Barbie as the Island Princess has Queen Ariana. She plans to murder Antonio and his family, poisons the animals so they'll starve to death in an endless sleep, only had a daughter to serve her own ends, bribes a guard to kill Ro and her friends by knocking them into the ocean, and gained her title through marrying and killing an elderly king with a heart condition.

And those are just the ones I’ve seen! 

[theevilqueen69]

“Mom, I found another one.”

“I think I recognize this one. You were my mother’s next door neighbor before she won the lottery my gd that was 40 years ago. Have you belonged to my mother all this time?”

“Mistress the one you call your mother has owned this slave since before winning the lottery, Mistress.”

“Mom, what do we do now? Grandma kept so many.”

“I think we have to keep them… anything else would be cruel.”

[lipeg]

Jaune: Sun has done much to damage both

Jaune had arrived early in the morning at the hospital where Blake and Yang were staying.

He was here as the Jaune Arc and not as the chief of police of Vacuo.

All Faunus were afraid to look at him, for he was the descendant of the devil of Faunus legends.

When Jaune arrived at the hospital.

It took him a while to find Yang and Blake because he had stopped to help people with his semblante of healing and unlocking people's auras.

Yang: When I find that monkey, I'm going to cut off his tail

Jaune: Yang, I have to remember that you are in front of an authority, I can put you in jail

Jaune sat in a chair.

Yang and Blake were in bed.

There were a lot of other people around her who were receiving medical treatment.

Because the world is in a desperate situation.

Jaune looked at the two guys and saw that they were almost 100%. As they were hunters, they were priorities.

Jaune: Okay, Blake starts talking

Blake: Speak? Say what?

Jaune crossed his arms.

Jaune: I talked to Neptune, he revealed to me that you and Sun have been through a lot together, you even traveled together when you escaped from Beacon.

Blake:I really have no idea why he did that, jealousy maybe?

Jaune: Our 🙄 I was so jealous when I saw you two kissing~

Jaune: Blake, please, Sun must have had a reason to do that, a man just doesn't hit a woman just because she's a lesbian. There must be a reason, and you know what it is, Blake

Blake looked away.

She was nervous.

Jaune let out a sigh.

Jaune: Come in soon

Blake turned pale.

She thought that Sun would enter through that door, but the person who entered was not Sun

It was Robyn Hill... Wait, this is still bad.

Before Blake could do anything.

His right arm was bound with a chain that was made of aura.

Blake: He can create aura weapons

Robyn was standing between Blake and Yang's bed.

Blake: you can't force me

Jaune: Yes, yes I can, I have studied the laws of Vacuo. And right now you're not helping Blake, I'm a 65-year-old man, do you think I'm that stupid?

Random doctor: You are 65 years old!

Jaune turned to the doctor.

Jaune: Aura does wonderful things

Jaune stood up.

He pulled a super necklace out of his pocket and took Blake's left hand, he put a large amount of necklace, and then he took Robyn's hand and glued both of their hands together.

Blake hadn't escaped.

Jaune returned to his chair.

Jaune: Then Blake started talking

Jaune bitterly regretted it.

Blake is not a girl with problems.

She was trouble in girl form.

He was not supposed to improve Robyn's semblante.

She revealed too much. Something he doesn't need to know.

Robyn wanted to get out as soon as possible when Blake told her about.... His hobbies

Everyone stopped to watch this soap opera, or rather everyone who was in the room.

Jaune: Let me see if I understood. Have you ever had a boyfriend who was 100% anti-human, where you both had a little tense relation, but... full of sexual tension...

Jaune stopped breathing.

Jaune: Instead of sitting down and having a conversation with him, you ran away to the Beacon, he was one of The White Fang leaders, who was one of the main people responsible for Baecon's attack and he was responsible for cutting off Yang's arm!

Jaune pointed at Yang's missing arm.

Jaune: You left without telling your team to go after the White Fang and detail that you did not take Yang to the hospital, you left her bleeding on the floor without her arm!

Random man: What a crazy thing

Jaune: You faced your ex-boyfriend and almost died! If Yang hadn't arrived on the scene

Blake: You forget the breaking into my house part

Jaune: This is the least important part! It was a miracle, Yang, it seems like you weren't dead! To add fuel to this fire, you discovered that your ex-boyfriend was an SDC slave.... This relationship is not toxic, it sucks! The guy was enslaved, he literally has a slave mark on his eye, how do you not want this guy to hate human?

Elderly lady: He really is right

Jaune: What is incredible to me is the fact that Sun was willing to be of help to you. He accepted all of this even though you treated him badly

Blake: I didn't treat him badly, Jaune.

Jaune: I didn't find another word.

Jaune coughed.

A child handed him a glasswater.

Jaune drank water and returned the glass.

Jaune: Thanks

Jaune: This story between the two of you starts off all wrong. You abandoned your team without giving a single warning, he followed you to your home, where the two of you face the remnants of the white fangs. Your house was attacked, your parents were almost killed, and in the end you kiss him

Yang: Sun looks like he is being chased

Random doctor 2: I wouldn't say he's being persecuted, of all the stories I've heard from my friends, the most common is when a stalker sees that his or her target is having a hard time, this is the perfect opportunity for a kidnapping. He's a fool in love.

Jaune: You gave him a kiss! It's the same thing as putting a billboard on your head and saying you have a chance with me, Sun! Not even my sister did that!

Jaune's blood pressure began to rise.

Jaune: It looks like hell came out of the mind of a 16-year-old teenager. Bringing two troubled teenagers together to become a couple

Yang: Jaune, you sound like an old man complaining

Jaune: I am old Yang, I have more important things to do, and the discussion of your sexuality or Blake's sexuality is not on my list

Blake: So you saying what the Sun is correct

Jaune: Don't put those words in my mouth

Jaune: I'm not saying that what the Sun did was right, but what you did was not right either. You rubbed it in the face of the man who was trying to win you over, that you are happy, etc, etc. Did you have to exaggerate that, Blake?

Blake looked away.

Jaune stood up and put his right hand on Blake's face.

He began to heal Blake.

The wounds that were caused by the Sun began to fade away.

The necklace that kept Blake and Robyn together. It was also undone.

Robyn, now free, the first thing she would do is clean her hand because of the Blake's hobby.

He did the same thing to Yang. But he was able to give back Yang's lost arm.

His work here was done.

Jaune: Now Blake, for the love of Jesus Christ, never do that to anyone again. Now I have to find Sun and make him apologize for what he did

Blake: Who Jesus Chris?

Jaune: Someone who would be the last person you would choose to follow because of your lifestyle

Jaune walked to the door.

Aura chain fell apart.

Jaune: Blake

Suddenly, Blake's animal instincts began to alert her to danger.

When she looked at Jaune.

Jaune was about to leave, his back to Blake.

Jaune had turned his head a little.

Blake had a glimpse of one of his eyes, and that eye was the source of her sense of dread.

Jaune's eye had changed, this eye became like her father's eye when he released his animal side. The difference was that his eye seemed to have electricity, the eye color changed to a much darker blue.

That was the eye of the diabolos Diogron Sabertooth.

They were the same eyes described in the legends.

Blue eyes as deep as the ocean, his eyes radiated lightning.

Jaune: If I find out that you're going to disobey again, I'm going to throw you in and you're never going to get out

Out of fear, Blake nodded his head.

Jaune: Good

Jaune left the room, Blake fell out of bed.

Yang was worried about his girlfriend's safety.

She will have to think of a way to deal with Jaune's new trick.

Elderly lady: Oh my gods, it was great entertainment in between, it would make an excellent piece of theater. It's a shame that my beloved Rogério is no longer here, I would love to give him a blowjob now after this show

Relative of the old woman: Grandma!

Elderly lady: * laughter * Oh darling I may be old but I'm still very good at what I do

[jamespotterthefirst]

Most in the World (Ethan x f!MC)

Book: Open Heart, book 1 Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 1.3K Rating/ Warning: E/ None

Premise: Things have changed in a year. And so has his answer to the question she once asked him: “Who do you love most in the world?” Part 2 of A Strong Affection.

Note: Set after the attack in book 2.

There was nothing remotely interesting about that day’s newspaper. Everything splattered on the front page was  a testament of the current state of the world and it did not surprise him in the least. Yet, Ethan stared at the newspaper so intently that his vision began to blur. 

“Anything good?” someone asked in a light, conversational tone. 

He inwardly cursed, forced to look up. If Lilac had been there, she’d tease him about his poor acting skills. Then again, if Lilac was there then the overly flirtatious barista would not have dared to strike up a frivolous yet coquettish conversation with him. 

“No,” he replied simply and truthfully. 

Anyone else would’ve added more to keep the conversation alive. Ethan was not one of those people. Not only because he was not interested but because he was in a hurry to get back to his apartment. 

Undeterred, the barista opened her mouth to ask about something else. Ethan, unable to tolerate any more misuse of his time, cut her off. 

“Any idea how much longer my drink will take?”

His brusque tone didn’t phase her, much to his discontent. 

“It’s ready,” she said, retrieving the icy drink from the counter behind her. She glanced down at the tan coffee drink, swirling with ice and caramel. Then, she raised an eyebrow at Ethan. “I didn’t take you for an iced caramel macchiato kind of guy.”

“I’m not.” He took the drink and without missing a beat, he added, “It’s for my girlfriend.”

Finally, his words had the desired effect. The barista tensed at the word “girlfriend'' then deflated all at once like a sad balloon. She made no effort to conceal her disappointment. 

“Oh.” The word was drowned out in the rumble of blenders. “She’s a lucky girl.”

Ethan left the crowded coffee shop without replying, Lilac’s coffee in hand. As the ice rattled with each step, he thought of the various ways he could tease her about her preferred drink. He could already see her reaction vividly in his mind—the roll of those stunning green eyes followed by a smile that could warm the iciest of hearts. And then he'd kiss her because he was a slave to those lips, to her hands around his neck, to that little hum that escaped her every time...

A colorful storefront tore him from his thoughts. Without a moment to hesitate, he walked into the tiny flower shop. The clerk—a kind, elderly woman— greeted him and helped him pick a radiant bouquet of tulips and hyacinths in various hues of pink and white. 

“What’s the special occasion?” she asked conversationally as she rang him up. Unlike with the overbearing barista, Ethan didn’t mind this question. 

“Nothing. I just saw them and thought of her,” he said truthfully. 

The woman glanced at him from the top of her glasses and gave him a knowing smile. “That’s so sweet of you, dear. Everyday's a special occasion with the right person.”  

The words were said in passing conversation with the characteristic wisdom of many people the woman’s age. In fact, Ethan doubted she thought much of them, but they resonated with him like golden bells. There was no more perfect summary than that for his time with Lilac. From romantic dates to long, tired shifts at the hospital—every minute he spent by her side had felt like a gift. 

“What’s her name?”

“Lilac.”

The woman’s eyes lit up. “What a gorgeous name! If she’s not sick of her namesake, I have a beautiful arrangement of lilacs and roses for next time.” 

“I’m sure she’ll love them.”

“Lilac’s a lucky girl.”

He arrived at his apartment only five minutes later, hands full with the coffee and her flowers. Ethan expected her to be sound asleep like she loved to do on their mornings off. He even had a fully developed mental plan of making breakfast for her and serving it in bed. However, he found her right outside his bedroom door, clad in one of his shirts and her hair still damp from the shower. 

When her gaze fell on him, that incandescent smile of hers greeted him. Its effect was just as powerful as the first day. Just like the first time, it made him feel weightless. 

“Ready for coffee?” he asked. 

Lilac raised her brows when her eyes fell on the iced coffee then the flowers.

“What's all this?” 

“Just wanted to bring you your favorite.”

“Is that why you got up so early?” 

“Yes. The coffee place across the street didn't have espresso. So I went to the one two blocks over.” 

She looked genuinely touched. Without saying a single word, she embraced him, pressing a quick kiss on his lips. Her fingers linger atop his on the cold, plastic coffee cup. 

“You spoil me, baby.” 

“You deserve it.”

He offered her the flowers and she admired them with a smile. 

“I'm one lucky girl.”

Lilac gave him another short but sweet kiss. 

“Everyone keeps saying that,” he said, still slightly dazed from her touch. “When it comes to luck, though, I'm the fortunate one.”

“You believe in luck now, Mr. Skeptic?” 

Green eyes that always took him in with yearning, love, respect… Soft hands that always found his… Rosy lips that molded to his and sighed his name in the most wondrous way— All of it for him. It had to be luck. 

“Yes. There are many things I was wrong about.”

He longed to kiss her again but a frantic, scratching noise against the bedroom door behind her interrupted them. 

“Is Jenner in the bedroom again?” he asked, already knowing the answer. 

Lilac feigned innocence. “No…”

There was more insistent scratching, as though to prove her wrong.

“I snuck my other boyfriend in?” she tried. 

Ethan rolled his eyes, moving past her.  Milliseconds upon opening the door, he was attacked by Jenner's paws on his chest and his excited panting. His tail wagged so fast that it was a brown blur. 

“You're not allowed in here,” Ethan told him sternly. He turned that sharp gaze on a sheepish Lilac. “And your mother knows that.”

Ethan's tone did not phase Jenner in the slightest. In fact, the dog took that opportunity to lick Ethan in greeting. Lilac, unable to contain herself, laughed at the scene. 

“Look at him, though,” she pleaded with Ethan. “He's just a baby! And he was all by himself on the balcony. I couldn't leave him out there!” 

Jenner, knowing the baby sing-song voice she used for him very well, moved on to attack Lilac with affection. 

“He's a dog.”

“You're a dog.”

“Very funny.”

She wasn't listening, though. All her attention was on balancing her coffee, the flowers, and the loving dog trying to lick her face. Ethan gently took the flowers and coffee and set them on the bedside table. Jenner, hyped up as he was, took that as his cue to hop on the bed. 

“Bad dog,” Ethan admonished. “Lilac, control your child.”

She did quite the opposite, hopping on the bed with him. 

“I'm kicking you both out to the balcony,” he said, trying his best to sound stern. At that very moment though, Lilac commanded the dog to turn all sloppy kisses on Ethan. He laughed, despite himself and landed on the bed next to her. 

“What am I going to do with you two?” 

“You love it,” Lilac challenged. “Jenner is your everything. He's the one you love most in the world, remember?” 

He said nothing for a moment. Jenner had grown bored by their lack of activity so he busied himself with one of his toys on the floor. 

“Not anymore,” Ethan said at last. 

She sat up to look at him. 

“Oh, yeah?” 

“Yes.” He leaned in to kiss her. “You've easily taken that title, my love.”

Note: I HC they said ILY after the attack. Hope you liked this! Thank you for reading!

[baldwinivmybeloved]

( ✿ ) ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ᭄᭡ ͏ ͏ Charper Twenty Three ͏ ͏ 00:00 Xica x Baldwin IV

The sun began to rise on the horizon, bathing the desert landscape in its soft light. Xica, still dazed by recent events, was once again forced to dress in servant's clothes. Her captors showed no compassion as they pushed her towards a horse-drawn carriage where other slaves were seated.

Xica looked around with eyes full of despair and fear. Some of the slaves recognized her immediately, whispers of "the Queen of Jerusalem" spreading quickly among them. There was worry and confusion on their faces, but they could do little more than care for her as best they could.

"Queen Xica, what happened?" asked an elderly woman with a trembling voice. "How did you end up here?"

Xica sighed, trying to stay calm. "I was kidnapped," she replied in a subdued voice. "They're trying to cause trouble between Jerusalem and the Saracens."

A young slave girl sitting near Xica noticed her pallor and discomfort. "Ma'am, you don't look well," she said worriedly. "Is there anything we can do to help you?"

Xica lowered her gaze, placing a hand on her belly. "I'm pregnant," she revealed in a whisper. "I found out just before being kidnapped."

The slaves looked at each other, concerned. The news increased the gravity of the situation. A middle-aged woman who seemed experienced in care approached Xica and offered her some water.

"You must stay strong for your child, my lady," she said softly. "We will do everything we can to care for you."

Meanwhile, in the castle of Jerusalem, Agnes of Courtenay and Reynald de Châtillon were meeting in a private room, discussing their dark plans. Agnes coughed intermittently but tried to maintain an appearance of firmness.

"We must convince Baldwin that the Saracens are responsible for the kidnapping," Agnes said sternly. "This will spark the war we need."

Reynald nodded, his gaze calculating. "Exactly. And with the queen gone, it will be easier to manipulate the king."

What they didn't know was that Genoveva, locked in a nearby cell, had overheard the entire conversation. Her mind worked quickly, searching for a way to alert Baldwin.

Baldwin IV, on the other hand, was on the brink of despair. Xica's disappearance had left him anguished and enraged. Despite his weakened condition, he remained active, organizing search parties and sending messengers to every corner of the kingdom.

"We must find her, and quickly," he ordered his commanders. "We will not rest until Xica is safe."

His mind was consumed by fear and uncertainty, and anger drove him onward. In his heart, he couldn't bear the thought of losing Xica, especially now that they were beginning to build a life together.

Meanwhile, the slave caravan continued its journey, slowly moving across the desert. Xica cried out in a moment of desperation, hoping someone would hear her pleas. One of the captors, annoyed by the noise, struck her hard.

"Shut up!" he ordered, but several slaves intervened, protecting Xica.

"She's pregnant," one of them protested. "You can't treat her like that."

Reluctantly, the captors backed off, allowing the slaves to give Xica water and help her stay as comfortable as possible.

"Thank you," Xica murmured, feeling a mixture of gratitude and despair. She knew her situation was critical, but she also knew she had to be strong, not just for herself but for the child she carried inside her.

Baldwin, exhausted but determined, continued to give orders. Troops and spies had been sent in every possible direction. In a moment of respite, he leaned on a table, his mind consumed with worry.

Agnes, feigning concern, entered the room. "My son, you must rest," she said softly. "You're not doing yourself any good by exhausting yourself like this."

Baldwin looked at her with eyes full of desperation. "I can't rest. Not until Xica is safe."

Agnes pretended to shed a tear. "I will pray for her return. But for now, you must stay strong."

The slave caravan moved slowly, and Xica looked at the horizon, hoping for a miracle. The slaves around her tried to keep her spirits high and her body strong.

"We must have faith," said the woman who had given her water. "King Baldwin will find you. He will not allow anything bad to happen to his queen."

Xica nodded, trying to find comfort in those words. But with each passing day, the worry grew in her heart. She knew her kidnapping had a darker purpose, and she feared for Baldwin's safety and the entire kingdom.

Baldwin, on the other hand, continued without rest. News of Xica's kidnapping had spread, and the kingdom was in a state of alert. Searches intensified, but time seemed to be against them.

In his mind, Baldwin clung to hope. He remembered Xica's words, her love and strength, and that drove him to keep going. He couldn't allow her to suffer more, and he would do everything in his power to bring her back.

Meanwhile, Genoveva, in her cell, continued to listen to Agnes and Reynald's plans. She knew she had to find a way to alert Baldwin. Her mind worked quickly, searching for a way to send a message without being discovered.

Amid the chaos and despair, determination and love continued to be the guiding forces for everyone. Baldwin, despite his weakness, remained steadfast in his search. Xica, despite her fear, continued to fight for her life and that of her child. And in everyone's hearts, hope and faith remained alive, guiding them through the darkness.

The sun continued its course across the sky, marking the slow passage of time in the slave caravan. Xica, still hoping to be rescued, tried to maintain her calm and composure. The previous night, she had a disturbing dream where her hands were covered in blood, a premonition she couldn't shake from her mind.

The caravan stopped to rest, and the slaves settled as best they could on the harsh desert sand. An elderly woman with wise eyes, who seemed to have seen too much in her life, approached Xica. Her dark, deep eyes revealed an ancient wisdom.

“May I sit with you?” the woman asked.

Xica nodded, grateful for the company. “Of course.”

The old woman settled beside her and studied her intently. “I have heard about you, Queen Xica. I am Sira, a seer from distant lands. I can see things that others cannot.”

Xica frowned, intrigued. “What do you see?”

Sira took Xica’s hand and studied it carefully. “I see many things, child. I see danger, but I also see hope. I see two small lives growing in your womb.”

Xica gasped. “Two lives? Do you mean that I’m…?”

“You are expecting twins,” Sira confirmed with a warm smile. “Two souls that will change the fate of many.”

The revelation filled Xica with a mix of joy and concern. Knowing she was carrying twins made her feel more vulnerable, but it also gave her a new reason to fight.

Meanwhile, in Jerusalem, Baldwin IV found no rest. Xica’s absence wore him down emotionally and physically. His steps echoed through the castle halls as he conferred with his advisors, desperately seeking a clue.

“We must send more troops to search for her,” Baldwin insisted, his voice firm despite his weakness. “We cannot stop until we find her.”

Agnes of Courtenay seized the moment to sow more discord. “Son, the Saracens are to blame. We must strike before it’s too late.”

Baldwin looked at her distrustfully. “I will not make hasty decisions, mother. I will speak with Salahaddin first. I will not start a war without concrete evidence.”

Agnes pressed her lips together, frustrated, but pretended to understand. “As you wish, Baldwin. But remember, time is not on our side.”

In a dark and damp cell, Genoveva found herself alone, her thoughts swirling around what she had overheard. Suddenly, she heard footsteps, and Tobiah appeared, his expression stern.

“What do you want, Genoveva?” he asked impatiently.

“Tobiah, you must listen to me,” she replied urgently. “I know who is behind Xica’s kidnapping. It wasn’t the Saracens. It was Agnes and Reynald.”

Tobiah frowned, incredulous. “How can you be so sure? Why should I believe you?”

“I overheard their plans. They’re trying to manipulate the king into attacking the Saracens. If we don’t do something, there will be a war based on lies.”

Tobiah hesitated, but the intensity in Genoveva’s eyes made him reconsider. “I’ll need proof. I can’t act on words alone.”

“Then help me find it,” Genoveva pleaded. “We must stop this before it’s too late.”

Back in the caravan, the captors maintained strict vigilance. However, the slaves banded together to care for Xica, providing her with water and food as much as possible. The news of her pregnancy had spread, and everyone knew they had to protect her at all costs.

One day, while resting in the shade of a rock, Xica felt dizzy again. Sira, the seer, approached with a bowl of water.

“You must stay strong, for yourself and your children,” Sira said, her voice soft but firm. “Help will come, I know it.”

Xica nodded, trying to hold on to hope. “Thank you, Sira. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Sira smiled. “You are not alone, my queen. We are all with you here.”

In Jerusalem, the search for Xica continued relentlessly. Baldwin, despite his weakness, kept leading the operations, refusing to succumb to exhaustion. Every time he felt his strength wane, he thought of Xica and the love that bound them.

Agnes, on the other hand, kept pushing for military action. “Son, you can’t wait any longer. The Saracens are a threat, and we must act.”

Baldwin looked at her coldly. “I will not start a war based on assumptions, mother. I will speak with Salahaddin first.”

Agnes feigned resignation but inside seethed with frustration. Her plans seemed to be unraveling, and she knew she had to act quickly to maintain control.

Genoveva, still in her cell, kept trying to convince Tobiah. Every visit was an opportunity to plant more doubts in his mind.

“Tobiah, you know I’m right,” she insisted. “Agnes and Reynald are playing with the fate of Jerusalem. If we don’t do something, we’re doomed.”

Tobiah looked at her skeptically, but Genoveva’s words began to sink in. “If what you say is true, we’ll need proof. We can’t act without it.”

“Then help me find it,” Genoveva replied. “Together, we can stop this madness.”

The caravan moved slowly, and each day was a struggle for survival. Xica clung to the hope of being rescued, though uncertainty gnawed at her insides. Whenever the captors mistreated her, the slaves intervened, protecting her and offering support.

One night, while resting, Sira approached Xica again. “I had a vision,” she said quietly. “I see a brave man, a king, desperately searching for his queen. He will not give up until he finds you.”

Xica smiled weakly. “Baldwin will not give up. I know it. But I worry about what they might do to him while I’m gone.”

Sira nodded. “You must stay strong, for yourself and your children. Hope is all we have in these dark times.”

In Jerusalem, the situation grew tenser. Baldwin, despite his deteriorating condition, kept fighting to find Xica. Agnes, however, seized every opportunity to try to influence the king’s decisions.

“Son, you can’t wait any longer,” she insisted. “The Saracens won’t wait to attack.”

Baldwin looked at her with determination. “I will not start a war without proof. First, I will speak with Salahaddin. And if I find that someone within these walls has betrayed Jerusalem, they will pay with their life.”

Agnes paled but maintained her composure. “As you wish, Baldwin. But time is running out.”

In Genoveva’s cell, Tobiah finally relented. “Alright, Genoveva. I will help you find the proof we need. But if this is a trick, it will be you who pays the price.”

Genoveva nodded, grateful. “You won’t regret it, Tobiah. Together, we can save Jerusalem.”

The caravan continued its course, and Xica, though weakened, held on to hope. The slaves around her had become her temporary family, protecting and caring for her as best they could.

“Don’t worry, my queen,” one of the slaves said. “You will soon be back home with your king.”

Xica nodded, trying to stay strong. She knew her love for Baldwin and her hope were the only things keeping her going. And with each passing day, her determination to return to Jerusalem and save her family grew stronger.

Baldwin, exhausted but determined, pressed on with the search. Every step he took was a battle against his weakened body, but he couldn’t afford to give up. The image of Xica and his love for her drove him forward.

Finally, Baldwin made a decision. “I will send a messenger to Salahaddin. We need to talk and clear this up before things get out of control.”

Agnes tried to dissuade him once more, but Baldwin was resolute. He knew that the peace of Jerusalem and Xica’s safety depended on his ability to handle the situation with wisdom and justice.

Night fell over the desert, and the caravan stopped to rest. Xica, surrounded by the slaves who had become her protectors, looked at the starry sky with a mix of hope and despair.

“Baldwin, wherever you are, be strong,” she murmured. “I’m waiting for you.”

And with that hope in her heart, Xica prepared to face another day in the fight for her freedom and that of her unborn children.

[forgedfromlove]

Tobago’s Mystery Tombstone

Photo by Captain Martini on Flickr.

From a Trinidad Guardian article by Elspeth Duncan:

“Walking up the incline from Plymouth jetty to return to my car, I notice the sign for the Mystery Tombstone. I have heard and read about this tourist attraction, but have never seen it. Now is my opportunity. The simple grave is painted black with white words etched onto its surface. The best known portion of the text, featured in most tourism literature, reads: "She was a mother without knowing it and a wife without letting her husband know it except by her kind indulgences to him."

I ponder: Did Betty Stiven die during childbirth and never have the opportunity to know motherhood? And her husband…how could he not have known? Interested in hearing other perspectives, I ask a few random people.

My first conversation is with a woman from Carnbee who suggests that Betty Stiven was pregnant, but died before giving birth…and that she was married, but had an "outside man" whom she treated like a "husband" but never told about her legal husband…Or maybe she got a man drunk and married him without his sober knowledge.

A shop owner in Crown Point says of the inscription: "I felt it was totally confusing and I wondered if it was for real!"An elderly fruit vendor tells me that he has heard about it but has never been to see the grave."But if I read out the inscription to you, will you tell me what it suggests to you?" I ask.

"No, because seeing is believing," he says. "I would have to actually see that grave to know what I feel about it."Later, while buying supplies in a small Bon Accord grocery, I ask the cashier if she has heard about the Mystery Tombstone. She looks at me with wide eyes, slowly shakes her head and states that she "'fraid dem thing."

"It's nothing to be scared of," I say.

"It's a tourist site–a grave with this inscription written on it."

As I start to read the words, recognition sparks on her face. She has heard this apparent riddle before, but never quite understood it. “Maybe the slave master did rape she and she mind she son without knowing it was she own," she offers. A man standing nearby pipes up: "You want to know the story? You want to know the real story?"

Convinced by his confidence, the cashier and I are all ears. I begin to scribble down the words as his version of the story unfolds…

"In those days on the slave plantation there was something called 'the Bull Pen' with big black men. When young slave girls did first see their blood, they would be sent up to the Bull Pen, but they would have to pass the Master's house first. They would blindfold her so she wouldn't be able to see who do what.

"The Master would do he business, then they would send she in the Bull Pen. They used to breed them like pig to produce more slaves for work."When the child born, it was red. They send away the child to Scotland, but when it grow and come back, it saw this same slave woman, fell in love with her and married her, not knowing she was the mother."

One can also go online and read a variety of theories about the grave, but the answers from people on the street, are very creative and could give even the most popular soap opera a run for its money.”

What do you guys think?

References:

Duncan, E. (2015). “A Multifaceted Mystery,” The Trinidad Guardian, 23rd August. Retrieved from: https://www.guardian.co.tt/article-6.2.368428.f36e89ec06 (on 7th November 2024).