#in her royal nuisance era

[fideidefenswhore]

Did Henry VIII forbid Princess Mary from any correspondence after she was bastardized by statute? Different biographies claim different things, was hoping for some clarity and insight.

If he did, he did a fairly poor job of enforcing the rule:

1172. Anne Shelton to Henry VIII. I have spoken with my lady Mary, as you desired, and asked her by whom she sent the letter to master Carowe. She said she sent it by her servant Randal Dod, and that lady Bryan delivered her lady Carowe's letter open, the effect of which was to desire her for the Passion of Christ in all things to follow the King's pleasure, otherwise she was utterly undone. After I had spoken with my lady Mary I went to my lady Bryan, and she affirmed what was said to be true. Hunsdon. this Sunday, at 8 o'clock in the evening. Signed. 'Henry VIII: September 1534, 16-20', in Letters and Papers, Foreign and Domestic, Henry VIII, Volume 7, 1534, ed. James Gairdner (London, 1883), pp. 453-457. British History Online.

This contradicts the below:

968. Princess Mary to [Cromwell]. Apologises for her [poor] writing; "for I have not done so much this two year and more, nor could not have found the means to do it [...] but by my lady Kingston's being here."  'Henry VIII: May 1536, 26-31', in Letters and Papers, Foreign and Domestic, Henry VIII, Volume 10, January-June 1536, ed. James Gairdner (London, 1887), pp. 402-420.

Which contradicts...

1253. Marillac to Francis I. Saw letters of hers in French, written to the Emperor's ambassador in the time of her “ennuy.” [...] [Her] chamber woman says that when her mother was first repudiated [1531 or 1533] she was sick with “ennuy,” but, on being visited and comforted by the King [1536], soon recovered and has had no such illness since. 'Henry VIII: October 1541, 11-20', in Letters and Papers, Foreign and Domestic, Henry VIII, Volume 16, 1540-1541, ed. James Gairdner and R H Brodie (London, 1898), pp. 585-592.

And, it even contradicts Chapuys, who mentions her correspondence during this time, as well. There are times he's unable to receive any messages, but Mary was writing him frequently at some times, intermittently at others. Like, during 1534, Chapys falls for some false flags (such as, crowing about how Mary managed to secure the best place on the barge setting out for Elizabeth's new household, sent word to him where the barge would be sent so that he knew which place to wait for her appearance on the shore... shortly followed by him whining about how this showcase of defiance seems to have intensified her mistreatment, and caused the arrest of "a young lady who did her the most service", including interrogation by the Duke of Norfolk as to how, exactly, Chapuys learned which place at which riverside he needed to wait to watch her pass...), but from 1535 onwards, she even manages to send her own letter to the literal Emperor, and she claims it will be very easy to slip out of her sister's household, that all she has to do is drug Anne Shelton and shimmy out a window to accomplish this, all the way to 1536, where she manages to copy a letter her stepmother has written to Anne Shelton and send it to Chapuys, and sends him word that she approves of the plot to oust her stepmother from the throne ("On 2 May 1536, he wrote that Mary had encouraged him to get rid of Anne and, on her advice, he employed various means to do so [...]", Inside the Tudor Court, Lauren Mackay).

There is of course, the possibility that it was 'forbidden' to Mary officially, but that the unofficial policy was to turn a blind eye/allow it so that her correspondence could be monitored. Warnicke espoused this theory, I'm not terribly convinced, however, because while Chapuys does mention Mary's letters, he also, in the thick of the Exeter Conspiracy arrests, claims he's not too terribly worried for Mary's well-being because he's long told her to burn correspondence from him, and he himself has already burned her most controversial correspondence, kept the red herrings he dictated and sent her some for good measure, should her household be searched (since a complete absence of correspondence from Chapuys would be suspect). Although, the possibility that Henry knew his eldest daughter had solicited foreign invasion would perhaps put the pressurizing of his council for her arrest six months afterwards, into an...interesting, context? (Was he planning to hold onto this information/evidence just in case he ever needed to use it? Had he not acted upon it until that point because he wanted to leave the option of an Imperial alliance open? Had he not told his council, but was he planning to if she refused the oaths yet again, mid-1536? Et al)

Tl; dr again, if that was his forbiddance, it seems it was either rather toothless (it would be instructive to read the letter Shelton was responding to here, wouldn't it) and/or inconsistent. There seem to have been periods within this timeframe where this 'rule' was more strictly enforced than others.

[imagine-loki]

Hiding in Plain Sight

TITLE: Hiding in Plain Sight CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter Three AUTHOR: wolfpawn ORIGINAL IMAGINE:

Imagine coming from a line of nobility or royalty and being in an arranged marriage with Loki in an attempt to strengthen your kingdom / alliance with Asgard. You’re not entirely on board with the idea but figured that the best you could do was to get to know your fiancé.

You form an agreement with Frigga for you to pose as Loki’s personal servant for a few months so you can get to know who Loki really is – beyond the veil of his responsibility to the Asgardian throne, behind all the masks he wears when facing the public, to really know who Loki is behind closed doors as you slowly fall for each other.

How long will you keep up the ruse with the God of Lies?

RATING: General Audience

Raven had been sorting a few things while Loki was bathing. She thought little of it though she felt he needed some salts to alleviate his obvious muscle aches. There was some at the very back of the cabinet that contained other bathing items he liked. It was unopened and clearly there for a considerable time but the great thing about salts, she knew, was the older, the better. She forewent the usual bubbling mixtures and scents and just used them and a splash of lavender. Any pain Loki was feeling would soon evaporate with that. 

Less than ten minutes after Loki entered the bath, the door to his rooms opened and a woman entered. For a moment, both women looked at each other in surprise. 

“Can I…?” Raven was about to ask the clearly well-bred and wealthy young woman as to if she could assist her in any manner. 

“What are you doing here?” The woman demanded. 

There was a millisecond in which Raven thought the woman knew who she was with the conviction in which she spoke. “I…”

“Get out, servant.” Raven stood still. “Are you deaf?”

“I’m thankful to say that I am not but I am afraid that I cannot fulfil to your request. I am in the employ of Prince Loki and only he or another more senior member of the Aesir royal family or my own superiors can demand such of me.” Raven smiled brightly. 

“I dare say Mother Dearest brought you in to get him used to Light Elves before that pompous twit comes. Norns, Loki was right, you all do look so dull and dim.” The woman snarled at her. 

Raven felt as though she had taken a hit to her very being at the comments the woman was making. Not that she herself was making them, as clearly, she was anything but a nice creature but that they were the regurgitated words of Loki. To hear that he thought so little of those he knew nothing of hurt her deeply. “Opinions on appearances are very much open to debate as it is at the discretion of each individual to find someone attractive or not. Now, can I assist you with anything or are you merely here to make a nuisance of yourself?”

“How dare you speak to me in such a manner, you filthy…Where are you going?”

“I have duties to do for His Highness. I don’t have time for this.” 

“Do you have any idea who I am?”

“As you are not the Princess of Alfheim, I can’t imagine that it is overly important as to who you are as you are not to be the Prince’s wife so safe in that knowledge, I really could not care less as to who you are.” Raven thought over the few other duties that would need doing while Loki was bathing to take her mind over the more obvious situation as to what this particularly unpleasant woman was doing in the rooms of the man who would be called her husband. Neither she nor Loki were required to be virgins on their marrying and as they were at an age where she expected him to at the very least have past girlfriends, overall, she did not feel she should be offended if he was not one since that would have been hypocritical but with the knowledge that he was soon to be married, she would have hoped that he would show her some modicum of respect and not sleep around or worse, have a mistress through their engagement, even if they had yet to stand together on it. With the agreement signed, everything else was merely pageantry to what was declared. It hurt her if she was honest. 

“That dim twit, she will have to get used to me because I will be here when she arrives and while she may wear the tiaras and have her pretty dresses, I will have Loki’s interest.” The nameless woman sneered joyously. “I will have Loki deal with you.”

“I am shaking in my shoes.” Raven had an issue with sarcasm. Her father always warned her of that but his reprimands were never as strong as he would have liked them to be as she was the only girl amongst four sons. She could not best her brothers in rough and tumble play but her wit was as swift as theirs. 

“You will rue the day you met me.” 

It took everything in Raven’s power to not state that she did so already for nothing more than the inconvenience if nothing else.

“Useless Light Elves, Loki was right about you all.” With that final statement and still without a name, the woman departed. 

Raven worked aggressively through her frustration at what the woman had just said. How she referenced Light Elves in general and her in particular. She worked aggressively at how the woman’s thoughts echoed Loki’s and she worked angrily at the hurt of it all. The fact that this horrible creature would be the man she would have to marry broke her heart. He saw Light Elves as beneath him. She had seen herself that there was something in his features on reference to her in their earlier discussions that told her he had no time for her.

When he exited his bathing rooms, she snapped and spat those words at him, her wounded ego, her pride in herself, her people, all of it hurt by the man standing in front of her and his horrid partner. She stormed out with no real plan of what she was going to do, she just needed to get away. Part of her wanted to go to Frigga and tell her what she found out and hope the monarch would call it off. Part of her did not even want to waste time doing that. But where would she go? Her parents would not accept her reasons as valid enough to break a pact with Asgard. Mistresses were not as commonplace in the modern era but they did exist. She would be told to get on with it. Give him a son or two and bear whatever came. A mistress was not a wife, they would not hold the standing she would. Something so inconsequential would not be worth the risk of breaking the pact. To do that would be spitting in the face of the most powerful of the realms. It would make enemies of many long-time allies. She stopped and sighed. Thinking of it like that, she knew there was nothing she could do. She could not fail Alfheim like that, her happiness did not supersede her realm. 

“Sweetheart?” Raven turned to see Frigga behind her. Seeing the turmoil in her face, Frigga excused her ladies. “Raven, what is wrong?”

Raven had learnt over the years to hold a stoic exterior, even if her heart was breaking but the kind manner in which the Allmother questioned her blatantly unhappy wellbeing caused her to hiccup for a moment before inhaling deeply and raising her head. “Just homesickness, Allmother. Nothing more.” she smiled. 

The look Frigga gave her told her that the older woman did not buy her explanation in the slightest but the Allmother knew from her appearance that Raven would not allow the wall she was hiding her woes behind down. “Understandable. It can be very overwhelming to come to a new realm, I understand.” The way Frigga stood beside her told Raven that she wished for her to walk with her. At that moment, she would rather boil her own foot off but she knew she could not decline so taking another deep breath to steady her breathing, she walked along just a step or two behind the monarch as a sign of her being of lower standing. 

“I take it you have met my son in one of his more sombre moods.”

“Sombre?”

“He and his brother are prone to skirmishes. When only brute strength is involved, Thor wins more often. I saw my sons wrestle in the training grounds, as well as Thor’s less than honourable tactic that gave him the win. I know Loki feels cheated at such times leading to him becoming less than happy with things.” 

“He did seem somewhat peeved on his return to his rooms, yes but he did not share his thoughts with me. Though he seemed to appreciate my being concerned for him having leaves and twigs in his hair and muck on his face.”

Frigga gave a small smile. “He needs someone to show him some care and compassion. He is missing such in his life now.”

It took everything in her arsenal for Raven to not show her anger and disgust at the thought of caring for someone that was so horribly cruel about her. If she had known before she showed her concern about how Loki felt about Ljósáfar, she would have gone to the training grounds to cheer on Thor herself. Instead of voicing her disdain, she merely nodded and continued to walk with Frigga. 

They walked for a time, speaking of different matters, Frigga trying to make Raven feel more comfortable on Asgard, not aware of her real issue. When they turned a corner to come face to face with a startled and confused looking Loki, both women ceased talking. 

“Mother.” He bowed dutifully to his mother. “I hope I am not interrupting anything?” he looked between the women as he spoke. 

Internally, Raven scoffed to herself. She knew what he was not saying, he very much hoped he was interrupting something, going by the way he was looking at her as if trying to see if her features would tell if she had regurgitated what had been said to her not too long before in his rooms. She kept her face emotionless and maintained eye contact, causing him to raise a brow. 

“I was merely speaking with your maid as she was saying that she misses Alfheim.” Frigga looked around at Raven who nodded slightly. “She looked like she needed a friendly ear.”

Loki looked at Raven again with slight remorse in his face but also fear that she would reveal his less than acceptable words on her realm to his mother. “I can only imagine.” There was no denying the disgust in her face as she turned to no longer face him, her disdain blatant. “I am sorry to come at such a time, however, I do require her again.”

Raven watched Loki’s demeanour around his mother. It was polite, but not a false one, something she could very much believe him to use commonly, but there was clear respect and love for her. She had to commend that to herself. A lot of men had little or no time for their mothers, but Loki clearly adored his. 

“Of course.” Frigga nodded. “But as she is new to your employment and she is somewhat dealing with her change in circumstance, do not be overly harsh on her.”

“I am never harsh with my maid.” Loki looked appalled at his mother. 

Again, Raven forced words to remain unsaid. She wanted to reveal herself and indeed his words, but she failed to do so and remained silent. With a slight nod, she put her head down as a maid could be expected to do and followed behind Loki after he bid farewell to his mother and walked back to the palace, dreading whatever it was he would say. 

[histoireettralala]

Henri III deserves better than his reputation.

@microcosme11​ who was interested in knowing more about Henri III.

                                                 ***

Henri III was the last Valois king of France (19/09/1551-02/08/1589) and certainly among the kings whose reputation was the most tarnished. You could say it was trashed by the black legend his enemies quickly wove around him: weak, effeminate, cowardly, treacherous, immoral... This is how he was depicted for centuries. For decades now, however, historians have worked to rediscover a misjudged king and rehabilitated a complex personality who was at odds, in many ways, with the expectations of his century. Henri III had above all a high idea of royal authority, and a modern conception of the state. In particularly difficult circumstances, he managed to avoid the wreck of the monarchy.

This post will try to be a quick summary of the circumstances of his reign, of his real qualities and personality, of the origin of the "black legend", and of his legacy as a king.

When the future Henri III was born, he wasn't destined for a crown. He was indeed the fourth son of Henri II and Catherine de Medici. Titled Duke of Anjou, he was given a thorough and refined education, as befitted a true prince of the Renaissance. His master Amyot, the most reputed of his time, was able to cultivate qualities that would make Henri a brilliant and eloquent prince " one of the best speakers of his era."

Henri was also Catherine's favorite child. He was good looking, smart, fashionable, an excellent swordsman. Aged only 16, he became Lieutenant General of the Kingdom, and he would soon prove his valor in the battlefield in Jarnac and Moncontour. Elected King of Poland and Grand Duke of Lituania under the name Henryk Walezy, his reign wouldn't last long - his brother Charles IX died without an heir and Henri immediately left Poland for France.

He was crowned on February 13, 1575, and two days later married the beautiful and smart Louise de Vaudémont, a princess of Lorraine, close to the famous and very influent House of Guise.

France was then in a very difficult situation. The Kingdom was divided and devastated by the wars of Religion. The warring parties were backed by foreign powers and France's political and economical condition suffered.

In the late XVIth century, the great lords of the Kingdom still acted like sovereigns of their own in many ways - the feudal order hadn't yet given way to the future absolutism (which would be the later creation of Richelieu and Louis XIII IMHO, in reaction precisely to the Great Lords' excessive capacity for nuisance). Henri III couldn't afford to overtly dismiss or displease them.

He had to stand up to three main parties: the Malcontents, the Protestants (leader: Henri, King of Navarre, his distant cousin), and the Catholics (led by the House of Guise). He knew that the restoration of peace and concord meant he had to get into everybody's good graces- a perilous proposition in such times. His whole life, Henri would have to find a balance. Nobody would be grateful for that. Mindful of his duty and his role as a mediator in the kingdom, he worked to establish the royal authority as effectively sovereign.

He would find enemies everywhere.

He was well spoken, soft spoken, elegant and well mannered: he would be mocked as weak and effeminate. He was clever and always favored diplomacy over shows of brute force: he would be despised for it and depicted as an immoral, cowardly prince. He wasn't as easily accessible as his predecessors: the Great lords didn't like that. When he got closer to the Guise, to appease the most radical Catholics, the Protestants rebelled. When he leaned towards Henri de Navarre, the League reacted violently. The balancing act harmed his reputation.

With the help of his ever present mother Catherine, he initiated a rapprochement with Henri de Navarre while supporting his brother's (François, Duke of Alençon) plans in the Spanish Netherlands: Protestants and Catholics coming together to face a common enemy (the Habsburgs) ? Excellent. That's a lesson Henri IV would remember.

Henri III was, in spite of his rather frail health, a hard worker. In 1584, after seven years of relative peace, strenghtening of the royal authority, and an intense legislative work, he was still childless - and his brother and heir François d'Alençon died of tuberculosis.

This was a great upset in the game.

Because the new heir was Henri de Navarre - leader of the Protestant party. Which of course was unacceptable for the Catholic opinion. Paris, who chose the Ligue, was dangerously agitated.

What a stroke of luck for Henri de Guise!

What was named then "La Guerre des Trois Henri" opposed three parties, not two. Although he was apparently allied to the ultra Catholics Guise, Henri III took care not to burn his bridges with the Protestants. The Habsburg support of Henri de Guise wasn't to his taste, and he didn't like the ambitious Duke. And if Navarre (whom he esteemed) was to lose entirely, Guise would become too powerful.

Guise was the first to move; exasperated by the King's caution, the Duke entered Paris in open defiance of the King, with the population cheering him on. Fearing a coup d'Etat, the King sent his own troops to Paris, and what happened was the famous "Journée des Barricades" (Barricade Day), on 13 May 1588.

What happened next ? Henri III took a terrible decision: for the peace of the Kingdom, for France to subsist as a State, for his authority to be maintained, Henri de Guise was to disappear. And there was a way to lure him: afraid that the King would sign peace with Navarre, Henri de Guise went to negotiate with Henri III in Blois. On December 23, Henri III had Henri de Guise assassinated by his own Guard, as well as his brother the Cardinal de Lorraine.

Was the King's opinion and attitude unclear before ? That's cleared now. But as for peace ? Never. The powerful Ligue lashed out in rage . The hatred was open. There were outloud calls of Death to the Tyrant.

Henri III would never see the Ligue destroyed: on the 1st August 1589, a fanatic monk by the name of Jacques Clément would stab him to death.

"This King was a good prince, if he'd met a better century", would write the chronicler Pierre de l'Estoile upon his death. In spite of his peculiar personality and the outburst of hatred he aroused, Henri also showed his qualities.

He had been raised in a humanist background and would protect the world of literature (Montaigne, Du Perron, Desportes); he was rather to be found working in his office with his ministers rather than on the battlefield. Although, when he had to, he was steadfast and brave in battle.

He was smart and usually able of compassion towards his adversaries.

He had faith, and his misfortunes made him find a refuge there. We know he even went on a spiritual retreat into a monastery for a while.

His contemporaries described him as a man who loved women - which was overlooked because he never granted any of his lovers a title of official mistress. He had for Marie de Clèves, Princess of Condé, a platonic, but deep passion, and the depth of his mourning after she brutally passed away in 1574, stunned the Court.

He married Louise de Vaudémont for her charm and her wit rather than for politics.

But in spite of this, the image we've had of him for centuries is indissociable from his "mignons" - effeminate youths clad in excentric outfits and wasting their time in frivolous games. He was painted as homosexual (and therefore despicable) based on pamphlets written by radical leaguers, radical calvinists, Malcontents. The high nobility didn't appreciate his "new ways", the refining of clothes and manners, the new court practices. The Ligue used against him a virulent propaganda, along with calls to rebellion and real campaigns of calumnies. And when he died, the change of dynasty didn't allow for a better, more impartial image to be offered. Queen Louise and the Duchess of Angoulême tried in vain to dispell this ambiguous image. The real culprits were'nt even be punished (Jacques Clément however perished).

And yet. He was the one who wanted concord and national unity in a country torn by wars of religion (he lived four of them). His long and unthanked political action allowed Henri IV to end half a century of cruel civil war.

Was he weak ? It is true he bowed to the many pressures of the Great lords. But he always took back control.

Cowardly ? He wasn't vainglorious. And he proved his personal courage, in the battlefields of his youth as well as at the time of his death (he fought off his killer).

Frivolous and immoral ? He loved pleasures, arts, and feasts. But he also was anxious about his soul and salute.

In the difficulties he had to face, he managed to rule and to leave France a considerable legislative body of work (Code Henri III).

What are some positive aspects of his reign ?

He launched loans to stabilize finances, he reduced the taille (tax), ensured the protection of cities, created offices, taxed luxury, taxed the clergy, revived the textile industry, revised farm leases, created fines for fraudsters, created a body of health officers and an assistance service for the needy and the orphans; he undertook the administrative reorganization of the kingdom, maintained the unity of France by overcoming the worst of wars, both civil and religious, and retained royal legitimacy through a regular transmission of power to Henri IV.

He held on his principle of royal authority and modern conception of the State. He maintained.

I agree with Pierre de l’Estoile.

“Décrié”: condemned, castigated, reviled.

Sources:

Wikipedia

https///www.histoire-pour-tous.fr/histoire-de-france/1481-henri-iii-le-dernier-des-valois.html

Pierre Chevallier: Henri III, roi shakespearien, 1985

Michel Pernot : Henri III, le roi décrié, 2017

Jean-François Solnon: Henri III: un désir de majesté, 2001

[wolfpawn]

Hiding In Plain Sight, Chapter 3

Story Summary - Imagine coming from a line of nobility or royalty and being in an arranged marriage with Loki in an attempt to strengthen your kingdom / alliance with Asgard. You’re not entirely on board with the idea but figured that the best you could do was to get to know your fiancé. You form an agreement with Frigga for you to pose as Loki’s personal servant for a few months so you can get to know who Loki really is – beyond the veil of his responsibility to the Asgardian throne, behind all the masks he wears when facing the public, to really know who Loki is behind closed doors as you slowly fall for each other. How long will you keep up the ruse with the God of Lies?

Chapter Summary - Raven has to deal with impolite Aesir socialites and insulting comments.

Previous Chapter

Tags - @peppermint-j  @alexakeyloveloki @cateyes315 @laserpente @bravotheroyalfool @teylacarter91 @heavenly1927

@myblissfulparadise - it won’t let me tag you.

Request if you wish to be tagged

Raven had been sorting a few things while Loki was bathing. She thought little of it though she felt he needed some salts to alleviate his obvious muscle aches. There was some at the very back of the cabinet that contained other bathing items he liked. It was unopened and clearly there for a considerable time but the great thing about salts, she knew, was the older, the better. She forewent the usual bubbling mixtures and scents and just used them and a splash of lavender. Any pain Loki was feeling would soon evaporate with that. 

Less than ten minutes after Loki entered the bath, the door to his rooms opened and a woman entered. For a moment, both women looked at each other in surprise. 

“Can I…?” Raven was about to ask the clearly well-bred and wealthy young woman as to if she could assist her in any manner. 

“What are you doing here?” The woman demanded. 

There was a millisecond in which Raven thought the woman knew who she was with the conviction in which she spoke. “I…”

“Get out, servant.” Raven stood still. “Are you deaf?”

“I’m thankful to say that I am not but I am afraid that I cannot fulfil to your request. I am in the employ of Prince Loki and only he or another more senior member of the Aesir royal family or my own superiors can demand such of me.” Raven smiled brightly. 

“I dare say Mother Dearest brought you in to get him used to Light Elves before that pompous twit comes. Norns, Loki was right, you all do look so dull and dim.” The woman snarled at her. 

Raven felt as though she had taken a hit to her very being at the comments the woman was making. Not that she herself was making them, as clearly, she was anything but a nice creature but that they were the regurgitated words of Loki. To hear that he thought so little of those he knew nothing of hurt her deeply. “Opinions on appearances are very much open to debate as it is at the discretion of each individual to find someone attractive or not. Now, can I assist you with anything or are you merely here to make a nuisance of yourself?”

“How dare you speak to me in such a manner, you filthy…Where are you going?”

“I have duties to do for His Highness. I don’t have time for this.” 

“Do you have any idea who I am?”

“As you are not the Princess of Alfheim, I can’t imagine that it is overly important as to who you are as you are not to be the Prince’s wife so safe in that knowledge, I really could not care less as to who you are.” Raven thought over the few other duties that would need doing while Loki was bathing to take her mind over the more obvious situation as to what this particularly unpleasant woman was doing in the rooms of the man who would be called her husband. Neither she nor Loki were required to be virgins on their marrying and as they were at an age where she expected him to at the very least have past girlfriends, overall, she did not feel she should be offended if he was not one since that would have been hypocritical but with the knowledge that he was soon to be married, she would have hoped that he would show her some modicum of respect and not sleep around or worse, have a mistress through their engagement, even if they had yet to stand together on it. With the agreement signed, everything else was merely pageantry to what was declared. It hurt her if she was honest. 

“That dim twit, she will have to get used to me because I will be here when she arrives and while she may wear the tiaras and have her pretty dresses, I will have Loki’s interest.” The nameless woman sneered joyously. “I will have Loki deal with you.”

“I am shaking in my shoes.” Raven had an issue with sarcasm. Her father always warned her of that but his reprimands were never as strong as he would have liked them to be as she was the only girl amongst four sons. She could not best her brothers in rough and tumble play but her wit was as swift as theirs. 

“You will rue the day you met me.” 

It took everything in Raven’s power to not state that she did so already for nothing more than the inconvenience if nothing else.

“Useless Light Elves, Loki was right about you all.” With that final statement and still without a name, the woman departed. 

Raven worked aggressively through her frustration at what the woman had just said. How she referenced Light Elves in general and her in particular. She worked aggressively at how the woman’s thoughts echoed Loki’s and she worked angrily at the hurt of it all. The fact that this horrible creature would be the man she would have to marry broke her heart. He saw Light Elves as beneath him. She had seen herself that there was something in his features on reference to her in their earlier discussions that told her he had no time for her.

When he exited his bathing rooms, she snapped and spat those words at him, her wounded ego, her pride in herself, her people, all of it hurt by the man standing in front of her and his horrid partner. She stormed out with no real plan of what she was going to do, she just needed to get away. Part of her wanted to go to Frigga and tell her what she found out and hope the monarch would call it off. Part of her did not even want to waste time doing that. But where would she go? Her parents would not accept her reasons as valid enough to break a pact with Asgard. Mistresses were not as commonplace in the modern era but they did exist. She would be told to get on with it. Give him a son or two and bear whatever came. A mistress was not a wife, they would not hold the standing she would. Something so inconsequential would not be worth the risk of breaking the pact. To do that would be spitting in the face of the most powerful of the realms. It would make enemies of many long-time allies. She stopped and sighed. Thinking of it like that, she knew there was nothing she could do. She could not fail Alfheim like that, her happiness did not supersede her realm. 

“Sweetheart?” Raven turned to see Frigga behind her. Seeing the turmoil in her face, Frigga excused her ladies. “Raven, what is wrong?”

Raven had learnt over the years to hold a stoic exterior, even if her heart was breaking but the kind manner in which the Allmother questioned her blatantly unhappy wellbeing caused her to hiccup for a moment before inhaling deeply and raising her head. “Just homesickness, Allmother. Nothing more.” she smiled. 

The look Frigga gave her told her that the older woman did not buy her explanation in the slightest but the Allmother knew from her appearance that Raven would not allow the wall she was hiding her woes behind down. “Understandable. It can be very overwhelming to come to a new realm, I understand.” The way Frigga stood beside her told Raven that she wished for her to walk with her. At that moment, she would rather boil her own foot off but she knew she could not decline so taking another deep breath to steady her breathing, she walked along just a step or two behind the monarch as a sign of her being of lower standing. 

“I take it you have met my son in one of his more sombre moods.”

“Sombre?”

“He and his brother are prone to skirmishes. When only brute strength is involved, Thor wins more often. I saw my sons wrestle in the training grounds, as well as Thor’s less than honourable tactic that gave him the win. I know Loki feels cheated at such times leading to him becoming less than happy with things.” 

“He did seem somewhat peeved on his return to his rooms, yes but he did not share his thoughts with me. Though he seemed to appreciate my being concerned for him having leaves and twigs in his hair and muck on his face.”

Frigga gave a small smile. “He needs someone to show him some care and compassion. He is missing such in his life now.”

It took everything in her arsenal for Raven to not show her anger and disgust at the thought of caring for someone that was so horribly cruel about her. If she had known before she showed her concern about how Loki felt about Ljósáfar, she would have gone to the training grounds to cheer on Thor herself. Instead of voicing her disdain, she merely nodded and continued to walk with Frigga. 

They walked for a time, speaking of different matters, Frigga trying to make Raven feel more comfortable on Asgard, not aware of her real issue. When they turned a corner to come face to face with a startled and confused looking Loki, both women ceased talking. 

“Mother.” He bowed dutifully to his mother. “I hope I am not interrupting anything?” he looked between the women as he spoke. 

Internally, Raven scoffed to herself. She knew what he was not saying, he very much hoped he was interrupting something, going by the way he was looking at her as if trying to see if her features would tell if she had regurgitated what had been said to her not too long before in his rooms. She kept her face emotionless and maintained eye contact, causing him to raise a brow. 

“I was merely speaking with your maid as she was saying that she misses Alfheim.” Frigga looked around at Raven who nodded slightly. “She looked like she needed a friendly ear.”

Loki looked at Raven again with slight remorse in his face but also fear that she would reveal his less than acceptable words on her realm to his mother. “I can only imagine.” There was no denying the disgust in her face as she turned to no longer face him, her disdain blatant. “I am sorry to come at such a time, however, I do require her again.”

Raven watched Loki’s demeanour around his mother. It was polite, but not a false one, something she could very much believe him to use commonly, but there was clear respect and love for her. She had to commend that to herself. A lot of men had little or no time for their mothers, but Loki clearly adored his. 

“Of course.” Frigga nodded. “But as she is new to your employment and she is somewhat dealing with her change in circumstance, do not be overly harsh on her.”

“I am never harsh with my maid.” Loki looked appalled at his mother. 

Again, Raven forced words to remain unsaid. She wanted to reveal herself and indeed his words, but she failed to do so and remained silent. With a slight nod, she put her head down as a maid could be expected to do and followed behind Loki after he bid farewell to his mother and walked back to the palace, dreading whatever it was he would say. 

[chiseler]

3000 Beatniks Riot

Half a century before Occupy Wall Street, young protesters occupied Greenwich Village's Washington Square Park. Like OWS, they ended up clashing with the police. Unlike OWS so far, their protest produced a small but practical and lasting change.

In the spring of 1961, the Washington Square Association, a community group of homeowners around the square, appealed to New York City's Department of Parks and Recreation to do something about the hundreds of "roving troubadours and their followers" playing music around the square's turned-off fountain on Sunday afternoons. They were mostly college kids, playing guitars and banjos and singing folk songs. The practice had started in the post-war years, when Woody Guthrie and Pete Seeger planted the seeds of the folk musical revival in the Village. By 1961 it had grown enough that both the police and the neighbors found the "troubadours" and the tourists they attracted a nuisance. In his posthumously-published memoir, Dave Van Ronk recalls that there were various cliques in the park: a Zionist group singing and dancing "Hava Nagila," Stalinists, bluegrass fans, folk traditionalists. Black journalist John A. Williams reported that the locals' complaints were not really musical but social: "In the ensuing meetings with city officials, it became apparent that what was opposed was not so much folk singing as the increasing presence of mixed couples in the area, mostly Negro men and white women." In the late 1950s the parks commission began issuing permits to limit the number of musicians, allowing them to "sing and play from two until five as long as they had no drums," Van Ronk writes. This "kept out the bongo players. The Village had bongo players up the wazoo... and we hated them. So that was some consolation." He doesn't mention that those bongo-players were very often black. This racial aspect had an old historical precedent in Greenwich Village. In 1819, white residents of the area complained "of being much annoyed by certain persons of color practising as Musician with Drums and other instruments through the Village."

In 1961 the parks commissioner responded to the complaints by refusing to issue any permits at all. Izzy Young of the Folklore Center and others organized a peaceful protest demonstration. On Sunday, April 9, 1961, a few hundred young people gathered, attracting a few hundred more spectators. Among the latter was eighteen-year-old Dan Drasin, a mild-mannered kid who liked to hang out in the park. He brought one of the big, boxy film cameras of the era and documented the afternoon in a short black-and-white film, Sunday. The film shows clean-cut college and high school kids, many of the girls in Jackie O hairdos and heels, many of the boys looking like the young Allen Ginsbergs with serious, sensitive, owlish faces behind heavy black-framed glasses. They carry hand-written placards and cardboard guitars and argue with the dozens of beefy, florid-faced cops who've shown up. Izzy Young, also bespectacled and in jacket and tie, lectures the cops about the constitutional right to make music as the kids sit in a circle in the dry fountain and sing "This Land Is Your Land" and "The Star-Spangled Banner." As protests go it all looks low-key and polite. Then paddy wagons arrive and the cops haul off one nebbishy young man cradling an autoharp, pushing him into a prowl car. According to Drasin, most of the singers and musicians had left the park, leaving the few hundred spectators loitering around the fountain, when the cops' tempers finally boiled over. They wade into the crowd, shoving boys and girls to the ground, mauling them, dragging a handful into the paddy wagons. Reportedly they knocked some heads with their clubs, although it's not shown in the film. The whole event, Drasin says, lasted maybe two hours.

The next day, the New York Daily Mirror, the conservative Hearst tabloid, ran a giant war-is-over front page headline, "3000 BEATNIKS RIOT IN VILLAGE." Other local papers followed suit. That week's Voice scoffed at the Mirror's "hysterical" coverage, wondering if there were three thousand beatniks in the entire country that Sunday, let alone in Washington Square Park. By May, the outrage caused by the cops' overreaction forced the city to back down and issue permits, a practice that continues to this day.

Among the protesters hauled off that day was the Village character H. L. "Doc" Humes, identified in the Mirror as a "scofflaw" and the "mob leader." Humes was a gregarious polymath, a novelist and raconteur, co-founder of The Paris Review, designer of cheap housing made from old newspapers, director of a lost film updating the Don Quixote story as Don Peyote, LSD pioneer with Timothy Leary, later helper to Norman Mailer when he ran for mayor in 1969, later still a paranoid drug casualty who believed UFOs, CIA and the Pope in Rome were out to get him. He would not have been a stranger to the cops in the park that day. Just a few months earlier, he'd had a very public spat with Police Commissioner Stephen Kennedy.

It started in October 1960, when cops shut down a performance by Lord Buckley at the Jazz Gallery in the East Village. Lord Buckley was a stately man with sleek gray hair and a pointy Daliesque mustache, who often performed in a tux and orated in a plummy, faux-British voice, seeming every bit the vaudeville and burlesque master of ceremonies he once was. But what came out of his mouth was pure hepcat jive he'd learned from the jazz musicians and pot-smokers with whom he'd associated since the 1930s. In the 1950s he started to recast biblical stories, historical texts like the Gettysburg Address, and Shakespeare in White Negro proto-rap: "Hipsters, flipsters and finger-poppin' daddies, knock me your lobes. I came here to lay Caesar out, not to hip you to him." It sounds like novelty schtick today, but in Eisenhower's America there was something inherently subversive about a man who looked like the maitre d' at a fancy restaurant jiving like a viper. "His Royal Hipness" had a lot of fans and friends downtown, where he performed and hung out whenever he was in New York.

The cops halted Buckley's gig because of a problem with his cabaret card. Since 1941, anyone who worked in a New York City nightclub, from performers to the hat check girl and the busboys, had to get fingerprinted and carry a picture ID card. If you had any police record, you couldn't have a card, which meant you couldn't work. It was intended to weed the Mob out of the nightclub business, but it could be disastrous for performers. Billie Holiday, Thelonious Monk and Charlie Parker all had their cards yanked for drug violations; Lenny Bruce lost his because of an obscenity conviction; exotic dancer Sally Rand, refused a card in 1947 because the cops thought her fan dance too risqué, took the NYPD to court over it and won. Buckley lost his because he'd failed to report a pot bust that went back to the 1940s. Without the card, he couldn't perform in New York City, including a scheduled appearance on his old friend Ed Sullivan's tv show (they'd toured together with the USO during the war).

Despondent, Buckley called his pal Humes. Humes talked his Paris Review friend George Plimpton into letting Buckley give a little performance at a party in his Upper East Side apartment, with the idea that Plimpton's influential crowd might help him get Buckley's card reinstated. With Village jazzman David Amram at the piano, Buckley went into his schtick. The response was cool. Plimpton's literary swells had come to sip cocktails and talk about themselves, not listen to Village-y jazzbo jive. Buckley the old vaudevillian worked hard to win them over, pulling out bit after bit, overstaying his unwelcome. As the crowd grew increasingly bored and angry, Norman Mailer started heckling. Amram remembers that Buckley finally gave up, then "came over to the piano and whispered in my ear, 'Let's split and get out of here, man.'"

It turned out to be Lord Buckley's farewell performance. He died of a stroke shortly afterwards, at the age of fifty-four. Art D'Lugoff offered the use of the Village Gate for a memorial service, at which Ornette Coleman and Dizzy Gillespie played for a large crowd of Buckley's friends and admirers. He was laid to out at the Frank E. Campbell Funeral Chapel on the Upper East Side, New York's funeral home to the stars. (Rudolph Valentino, John Lennon, Jackie Onassis, Nikola Tesla, James Cagney, Igor Stravinsky, Norman Mailer, Heath Ledger, Judy Garland and Candy Darling were all laid out there.)

Humes, Mailer, Amram and others then started a public campaign to end the cabaret card system. Humes charged that police harassment had killed Buckley, and claimed that if Buckley had only slipped the right cop a hundred bucks the whole thing would have been settled under the table. That enraged Commissioner Kennedy, who retaliated by tossing Humes in jail for unpaid parking tickets and ordering up the biggest crackdown on cabarets and nightclubs in years, sending cops to more than 1200 venues looking for non-card-carrying workers. But this protest worked as well. Kennedy was sacked for his overreaction, and though it took another seven years, the cabaret card system was eventually abolished.

by John Strausbaugh

[sciencespies]

An Uncrowned Tudor Queen, the Science of Skin and Other New Books to Read

https://sciencespies.com/nature/an-uncrowned-tudor-queen-the-science-of-skin-and-other-new-books-to-read/

An Uncrowned Tudor Queen, the Science of Skin and Other New Books to Read

England’s most notorious dynasty owes much to the trials of a 13-year-old girl: Margaret Beaufort, Countess of Richmond. On January 28, 1457, the young widow—her first husband, Edmund Tudor, had died at age 26 several months prior—barely survived the birth of her only child, the future Henry VII. Twenty-eight years later, in large part due to Margaret’s tenacious, single-minded campaign for the crown, she saw her son take the throne as the first Tudor king.

Margaret never officially held the title of queen. But as Nicola Tallis argues in Uncrowned Queen: The Life of Margaret Beaufort, Mother of the Tudors, she fulfilled the role in all but name, orchestrating her family’s rise to power and overseeing the machinations of government upon her son’s ascension.

The latest installment in our series highlighting new book releases, which launched in late March to support authors whose works have been overshadowed amid the COVID-19 pandemic, centers on the matriarch of the Tudor dynasty, the oft-conflicting science of skin, a Pulitzer Prize-winning poet’s tragic past, the twilight years of Japanese isolationism and a Supreme Court decision with lasting implications for the criminal justice system.

Representing the fields of history, science, arts and culture, innovation, and travel, selections represent texts that piqued our curiosity with their new approaches to oft-discussed topics, elevation of overlooked stories and artful prose. We’ve linked to Amazon for your convenience, but be sure to check with your local bookstore to see if it supports social distancing-appropriate delivery or pickup measures, too.

Uncrowned Queen: The Life of Margaret Beaufort, Mother of the Tudors by Nicola Tallis

Margaret Beaufort had little reason to dream of the throne. The Wars of the Roses—a dynastic clash between two branches of the royal Plantagenet family—raged on for much of her early life, and more often than not, her Lancastrian relatives were on the losing side. Still, she managed to find favor under Yorkist king Edward IV and his wife, Elizabeth Woodville, embedding herself in the royal household with such success that she was named godmother to one of the couple’s children. All the while, Margaret worked to restore her son, Henry, then in exile as one of the last remaining Lancastrian heirs, to power.

Edward IV’s untimely death in 1483, compounded by his brother Richard III’s subsequent usurpation of the throne, complicated matters. But Margaret, working behind the scenes with the dowager queen Elizabeth and others who opposed Richard’s reign, ultimately proved victorious: On August 22, 1485, Henry defeated Richard at the Battle of Bosworth Field, winning the crown and, through his impending union with Elizabeth of York, daughter of Edward IV, uniting the warring royal houses after decades of civil war.

Nicola Tallis’ Uncrowned Queen details the complex web of operations that resulted in this unlikely victory, crediting Margaret for her son’s success without lending credence to the commonly held perception of her as a “religious fanatic who was obsessively ambitious on her son’s behalf and who dominated his court.” Instead, the historian presents a portrait of a singular woman who defied all expectations of the era, pressing “against the constraints imposed by her sex and society, [and] slowly demanding more and more control over her life, until the crown on her son’s head allowed her to make the unprecedented move for almost total independence: financially, physically and sexually.”

Clean: The New Science of Skin by James Hamblin

A shower a day does not keep the dermatologist away—or so James Hamblin, a preventative medicine physician and staff writer at the Atlantic, argues in his latest book. Part history, part science, Clean addresses the many misconceptions surrounding skincare, outlining a compelling case for showering less and embracing (figuratively speaking) the many naturally occurring microbes found on the skin. To demonstrate his point, Hamblin swore off showering for the duration of the book’s writing; as Kirkus notes in its review of Clean, “He did not become a public nuisance, … and his skin improved.”

The modern personal hygiene and beauty industry owes much to post-Industrial Revolution developments in germ theory, which identifies microbes as vectors of disease that must be destroyed or avoided. But certain bacteria and fungi are beneficial to the body, notes Hamblin in an excerpt for the Atlantic: Demodex mites, for instance, act as a natural exfoliant, while Roseomonas mucosa blocks the growth of another bacterium linked to eczema flares. And though parabens ensure the longevity of commercial products including deodorant, shampoo, toothpaste and lotion, these preservatives also eliminate helpful microbes, upsetting the balance essential to healthy skin.

“Ultimately,” writes Kirkus, “Hamblin argues for more skin microbiome research and greater biodiversity in all aspects of our lives, underscoring the value of pets and plants and parks to enhance our lives—and those that live in and on us.”

Memorial Drive: A Daughter’s Memoir by Natasha Trethewey

When Natasha Trethewey was 19 years old, her abusive former stepfather murdered her mother. This tragedy echoes throughout the former United States poet laureate’s work: In “Imperatives for Carrying On in the Aftermath,” she describes “how abusers wait, are patient, that they / don’t beat you on the first date, sometimes / not even the first few years of a marriage,” and reminds herself not to “hang your head or clench your fists / when even your friend, after hearing the story, / says, My mother would never put up with that.”

Gwendolyn Turnbough’s killing was a pivotal moment in the young poet’s artistic development, but as Trethewey writes in her new memoir, she avoided confronting painful memories of the murder for decades. With the publication of Memorial Drive—a searing examination of the author’s upbringing in the Jim Crow South and the disastrous second marriage that followed her white father and African American mother’s divorce—she hopes “to make sense of our history, to understand the tragic course upon which my mother’s life was set and the way my own life has been shaped by that legacy.”

As Publishers Weekly concludes in its review, Memorial Drive is a “beautifully composed, achingly sad” reflection on “the horrors of domestic abuse and a daughter’s eternal love for her mother.”

Stranger in the Shogun’s City: A Japanese Woman and Her World by Amy Stanley

Tsuneno, the central figure in historian Amy Stanley’s debut book, was “the loudest, the most passionate” child of a 19th-century Buddhist priest named Emon. Restless and plagued by bad luck, according to Lidija Haas of Harper’s magazine, she endured three failed marriages before abandoning her tiny Japanese village in favor of the bustling city of Edo, soon to be renamed Tokyo. Here, she worked a variety of odd jobs before meeting her fourth and final husband, a mercurial samurai named Hirosuke.

In addition to presenting a portrait of a city on the brink of a major cultural shift—Commodore Matthew Perry sailed into Japan and demanded the isolationist country reopen to the West in 1853, the year of Tsuneno’s death—the work conveys a strong sense of its subject’s personality, from her stubborn independent streak to her perseverance and self-described “terrible temper.” Drawing on letters, diary entries and family papers, Stanley revives both the world Tsuneno inhabited and the “wise, brilliant, skillful” woman herself.

To read Stranger in the Shogun’s City, writes David Chaffetz for the Asian Review of Books, is to “hear the sounds of the samurai trampling through the city, smell the eels grilling in tiny food stands, [and] see the color of posters for Kabuki performances.”

Deep Delta Justice: A Black Teen, His Lawyer, and Their Groundbreaking Battle for Civil Rights in the South by Matthew Van Meter

Journalist Matthew Van Meter’s exploration of Duncan v. Louisiana, a 1968 Supreme Court case that affirmed defendants’ right to trial by jury, is decidedly “timely reading,” notes Kirkus in its review. Arriving amid a global reckoning on police brutality and criminal justice, Deep Delta Justice demonstrates “how a seemingly minor incident brought massive, systemic change,” according to the book’s description.

The legal battle in question began in 1966, when Gary Duncan, a 19-year-old black teenager, was arrested for placing his hand on a white peer’s arm while attempting to de-escalate a brewing fight. Duncan requested a trial by jury but was denied on the grounds that he was facing a misdemeanor, not felony, charge of simple battery; a judge sentenced him to 60 days in prison and a $150 fine.

Duncan appealed the verdict with the help of Richard Sobol, a white attorney at New Orleans’ “most radical law firm.” As Van Meter writes in the book’s prologue, the two-year legal odyssey—reconstructed through first-person interviews and archival documents—eventually affirmed “the function of civil rights lawyers in the South and the fundamental right to a trial by jury” in all cases carrying potential sentences of at least two years.

#Nature

[the-wardens-torch]

HEYYY its that awesome detailed character profile meme that was going around 2-3 months ago!  Which is when @theseventhdawn tagged me with it. Sorry for taking forever. Long work weeks and ShB have killed me but its lovely to rekindle those OC feels. As for people to tag who haven’t been tagged already; @luckiselki (whichever of your characters you like!) and @helboar

Pronunciation:  fal-uhr-in are-sit-uh.

Nicknames: Just… Fal.  His adopted mother was known to call him “Sunny Blue” now and then. Short-lived inside joke names include Local Fal and Lord of the Pants. (I wish I could say that someone once called him Fail-urine Fartcita, but he’s never had a 90s high school sit com bully.)

Height: 5’11

Age: 22

Zodiac: Virgo (Sept 16 - I chose September entirely because its Azeyma’s dedicated month in Eorzean astrology.)

Languages: Common, Seeker Miqo’te Huntspeak (woefully out of practice,) a few words/phrases/songs in other languages (he‘s particularly proud of the Xaelic folk songs he‘s picked up recently. )

PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS.

Hair:  Black, straight and waist-length with messy fringe and sideburns. Usually worn in a loose braid or ponytail - he knows a few more complex hair-braiding techniques, but he somehow just can’t manage to do them on his own hair.

Eyes: Bright royal blue; hooded and on the long and narrow side.

Skin tone: A sort of burnt sienna with darker freckles on his cheeks, shoulders and back.

Body type: Especially long and skinny for a Hyur - he weighs less than most Hyurs his height. Has a bit of lean muscle on his arms and legs from doing a lot of traveling and archery practice as a kid.

Accent: South Seas

Dominant hand: Right

Posture: Very loose and casual with friendly, open body language and liberal use of gestures in conversation. Often shifts his weight from one foot to the other.  Rarely stands/sits up totally straight. Seems incapable of sitting in a chair and keeping both of his feet on the floor at the same time.

Scars: A very noticeable one over his left eye running from hairline to mid-cheek, a smaller one along his jaw line (usually covered by his sideburns) and a third horizontally crossing his right shoulder.

Tattoos: None

Most noticeable features:  Most people are taken aback by how deep his voice is if they hear him at roughly the same time they see him. Other than that, the color of his eyes is rather striking, and he’s kind of an odd dresser… Pointy mage hats, skirts, crop tops, leather jewelry, etc.

CUT BECAUSE I AM SELF CONSCIOUS ABOUT CLOGGING UR DASH.

CHILDHOOD.

Place of birth: Cieldalaes islands.

Hometown:  A small port town from which he derives his last name.

Manner of birth: Covert.

First words: “song”

Siblings: He has two half-brothers and one half-sister on his mother’s side, all older by at least 5 years… I haven’t named them or given them personalities, and they don’t know about him… yet.

Parents: Mother Roxane Seaborne; Inn manager living in the Cieldalaes whom he has never met. Father Uther Alcyone; Arcanist living in Idyllshire from whom he was estranged until very recently.

Parental involvement: He hasn’t seen his mother since his birth - it broke her heart to give him away, although she gave up her feelings for his father shortly after he was conceived.  She feels tremendously guilty for what she did and bemoans her selfishness to this day.

His father (despite knowing about him from his birth) only started to show an interest in him a year or two ago (when he started displaying magical talent.) Fal is trying to salvage a relationship from this but isn’t holding his breath - dad’s interest in him seems to be purely intellectual.

He was mostly raised by one N‘elyrha Kikitu, a Miqo’te Bard - she took good care of him and instilled in him self-assurance and a great passion for stories and song, but they were always traveling, and she tried to raise him tough and independent… Which is probably why he craves affection and intimacy.  

ADULT LIFE

Occupation: Freelance musician and leatherworker.  He’ll moonlight as an adventurer now and then, (Arcanist/Summoner) but only for a damn good reason.

Current residence: Eidolons free company house, the lavender beds… I forgot his address.

Close friends: Reonora Aestethe, Sunnthota Rymmharrwyn, T’Majaan Tia, likely your character if I weren’t so scared to RP.

Relationship status: Restlessly single.

Financial status:  Can afford food, a single room, and the occasional splurge… most of the time.

Driver’s license: He’s inexperienced, but he likes to ride and is getting the hang of it.

Criminal record: Trespassing, vagrancy, loitering, public nudity nuisance - all your basic hobo crimes.

Vices: Casual sex.

SEX & ROMANCE.

Sexual orientation: Pansexual

Romantic orientation: Panromantic

Preferred emotional role:  submissive | dominant | switch (he adapts well.)

Preferred sexual role:  submissive |  dominant  |  switch |  sex repulsed  (there I finally said it.)

Turn ons:  Fal’s a sexual character but honestly I’m just not any good at portraying that side of him.  Errr… if my tiny bit of writing that includes his sex life is any indication, he’s attracted to awkwardly sincere men and bold, witty women. Apparently he also has a thing for backless clothing.

Turn offs: Condescension, entitlement, dominant/pushy personalities, touching his hair without asking.

Love language: His hands will always be on you/all over you, whether those hands are chastely patting your shoulders or clamped lewdly on your ass.  Lots of reassuring pats, hugs, face touches, fingers in your hair, etc. Looking at you silently and smiling. Small, eclectic gifts (single flowers, pieces of brightly colored sea glass, handmade trinkets, feathers, scribbled out lines of old poems, etc.) because he “saw it and thought of you.” Lots of songs sung to you for the same reason.  

Relationship tendencies: He tends to think of sex and romance as separate concepts that fulfill different needs. He loves emotional involvement but believes it’s really hard to do and hurts a lot when it goes bad… Sometimes you just need to get railed into the next astral era without any strings attached (I’m sure there’s a shibari or generalized BDSM joke in here somewhere but I don‘t think that’s his thing hahaffff.) If he found a relationship where he could get both from the same person at the same time, it’d be the Best. Thing. Ever.

MISCELLANEOUS.

Hobbies to pass the time:  Leatherwork, dropping in at friends’ houses unexpectedly, occasional archery and botany - just to clear his mind and keep his skills sharp. He’s also recently started to read extensively - mostly poetry and literature from around the world (if he can find it translated into common that is.)

Mental illnesses:  None.

Physical illnesses:  Meat “allergy” - eating flesh of any sort causes him acute gastrointestinal distress. This annoys him greatly and he still tries to eat meat every few years to see if he’s “grown out of it.” He hasn’t.

Fears: Abandonment and loss most of all. He also hates walking on elevated flooring that moves (scaffolding, suspension bridges, etc.) especially if he can see the ground through it.

Self confidence level: Mostly good.  He knows that he‘s likeable and good at what he does, and is generally pretty comfortable with himself and his life. He’s totally fearless in social situations and while performing - its pretty hard to intimidate, heckle, shame, demoralize or embarrass him.  In combat situations is another story. He hasn’t enjoyed a single fight he’s been in, though he’s reasonably good at throwing his comrades off of his trail with quips and witty remarks - just because he likes being with them and doesn’t want them to worry.

Vulnerabilities: Doesn’t know when to shut up.  Emotionally impulsive. Hides/bottles up negative emotions with occasional disastrous results.  Can crumple under stress (especially battlefield stress.) Powerful but unrefined and uneducated when it comes to magic.

[dragonleesupporter]

My First Story Ever! (First of the Paradigm Series): The Meet {WARNING: TRIGGERS}

Paradigm is a world of anthropomorphic wolfish creatures called greckens that live in a medieval-styled era where females are dominant and males are generally enslaved and treated as inferior.

This whole world was created and published here with a little inspiration from thetickleraven’s He Came From the Woods AU, so go check them out! This would not exist without them! 

 Critique is appreciated as this is my first story ever on this social media! If you have suggestions or requests, feel free to tell or ask me!

 {TRIGGER WARNINGS: This series will cover some adult, hard-to-swallow topics and includes some cursing, but some stories will be entirely cute, fluffy stuff. Just watch for the warnings! This first one starts with some traumatic flasbacks, so I’ll give this one a warning for those sensitive to that kind of thing.}

         The purple Grecken stood, hunched over and held in place by his binds as his heart raced. He could hear footsteps behind him as he desperately yanked on his confinements. More footsteps… He pleaded to deaf ears as he could hear the sound of metal on metal rise over the murmurs of disapproval.

 The dark basement that surrounded him was filled with the blood of past victims, yellow filling his eyes and a dreadful stench filling his nose. Through the cracks in the wall, he could see a million tiny white eyes gazing hungrily as a hoard of flesh-eating insects cleaned their mandibles in anticipation.

 “P-please! Don’t cut them! I’ll be a good boy! PLEASE! I’LL BE GOOD!” He shrieked, eyes popping out his skull as he saw the glint of a blade approaching from the shadows.

 “It doesn’t matter if you’re good or not. I want you here and now, and you must be in an acceptable form for the alchemists.” A deep, loathing voice sounded from behind him. Ritah’s voice. “Give me and my girlfriends a good laugh, and quit squirming!!”

 “NO! PLE-”

 The blade came down.

 “AH!” Alo woke with a start, nearly falling out of the tree he was in.

 He shook his head, trying to dismiss the remainder of the screams echoing in his mind. His dreams always consisted of small reminders. Like why he can’t be seen, why he can’t go back, … and why he can’t fly… That had been the second worst day of his life. The first worst day in question was the day he escaped…

 Another flaskback.

Working out on the field with alchemists bound to come for him any day to study his “unnaturality.” Handling back-breaking work alongside his father and other males Ritah had bought. Farming, cleaning, organizing, and pampering Ritah and her girlfriends… he was just a child at the time.

 The day following the removal of his wings, he was sent back out to the field. His father saw what had happened to him and pulled him aside when the girls weren’t looking.

 “Look here.” He said, placing his bruised hands together. “When I had my wings cut, the day after, I got a short spurt of energy due to the traumatic event. It’s biological… Sadly, I didn’t use it, and here I am. When your spurt comes, RUN. It doesn’t matter what you’re doing or where you are. Take advantage of that adrenaline! This energy comes very rarely. If you’re going to escape, it’s got to be today. You’ll be able to outrun them.”

 “B-but what if they catch me?!” The purple child quivered and squeaked, the very thought of trying to run away made him shake with fear.

 “They won’t. Now get out there before they realize you’re gone.” His father ushered him out of the bush quickly and got back to hoeing the new garden.

 Several hours later, when Alo’s burst of energy came while he was moving bales of hay in the barn, he hesitated. It felt as though all of his insides were vibrating as he sat there, shivering and twitching. Then, with a breath, he sprinted. He ran as fast as his beaten legs would carry him out the barn door, his feet slamming the hard ground and his breath sporadic.

 “HEY! GET THAT BRAT!” He heard Ritah howl infuriatedly behind him from the fields, the fire in her chest audible in her wild screeches.

 “No! You leave him be!” His fathers voice echoed before an ear-piercing shriek cut through the air sharper than an axe, making Alo run even faster.

 “Keep going Alo! Don’t look back! DON’T LOOK BACK!” His father’s voice faded into nothing but incoherent wailing as the poor child dove through a small gap in the barbed fence. It ripped the skin on his shoulders and face, but he didn’t care. His whole body was strangely numb as he forced himself deeper into the woods, all the screaming and yelling slowly disappearing behind him.

 That had been the worst...  and also technically best day of Alo’s life. The day that had granted him freedom, but also the day he lost his father. He knew his dad didn’t live a day after that, since his contributions to his escape was the equivalent to a death penalty. Alo only knew that because of what happened to his uncle, but that was the third worst day of his life, and the purple Grecken had done enough self-reflecting for the morning. He was hungry!

 …

 “One lame apple, two slices of filthy bread, and a swig from the river. Perfectly healthy breakfast.” The thief murmured sarcastically under his breath while he ate what was really a brunch.

 He found himself walking along the river several hours later as his mind wandered. Of course, he was always aware of his surroundings, looking around frantically in case anybody saw him and his “unnaturality,” but it was good to just let himself think for a while before he had to find his next meal. Every day he would travel toward the rising sun, away from where he came from. The thief didn’t know for how long he had traveled since his escape, all he knew was that he couldn’t stop. Not until he knew he was truly safe from Ritah… his mother…

 He sighed peacefully as he made his way under a bridge, the shade cooling the boiling hot sun that had eaten at him for past hour. With Alo unable to go into the water next to him, he was certainly grateful. In fact, he was so grateful that he didn’t realize the gold tracing the bricks in the construction.

 “Hey! What are you doing down there?!” A deep voice shouted from the bridge he had just wandered under as he passed through to the other side. “You’re on royal ground, peasant!”

 Alo looked up, surprised that his lack of focus had landed him in the sights of a castle guard. He always hated guards, they were so snotty and stuck-up and whenever they saw him, they’d chase him. One of the main nuisances that Alo had to deal with on a weekly of not daily basis.

 “Oh no! I’m breathing royal air?! Fuck you!” Alo shouted back and was about to run before he realized…

 “Wait… a male guard?? That NEVER happens! What kingdom am I in?!” He thought as the guard fumed red.

 “I’ll have you know such things are not tolerated in Dujokah!” The, now red, grecken flung himself off the bridge and into the forest to chase after Alo who had already started sprinting to the next bridge to cross over.

 “Well, I guess that’s one question answered.” Alo thought as he dashed across the bridge and into thick brush where he couldn’t be seen.

 After breaking through to the other side of the bushes, the thief jumped a couple brick walls for good measure. He silenced his panting and waited, until he was certain that he wasn’t followed. Aware he could very well be surrounded by guards unbeknownst to him, the purple grecken made a beeline for the castle before him, knowing that if the guard behind him couldn’t clear the walls he just jumped, no one would be able to reach him on top of the castle.

 The castle was easy to climb for the escape artist, but he realized a small flaw in his plan. Castles weren’t like huts or bars. They had sharp roofs that the thief couldn’t sit on and would likely either slide off of or pierce himself on the pointy tops. Luckily, there was a balcony just above him. After a cautious glance over the edge and realizing no one was inside the room that led out the balcony, the thief made his way onto the upper tier, just to see a dresser covered in makeup and jewels, as well as a royal bed and a whole-body mirror in the room connected to ledge.

 “Shit!” He thought. “This must be a princess room! I’m so dead!”

 He turned to leave but part of him whispered.

“No… get a jewel first.”

“Nah… I don’t need it.”

“Neither does the bitch who has it.”

“It’s not mine to take! I don’t take what I don’t need!”

“Come on… you know you want it.”

“No!”

 “Aaaaargh.” Alo growled and simply sat on the balcony armrest, looking down at the confused guards as they searched around for him several stories below… almost ALL of them male…

 “What a strange place...” He murmered. 

Alo decided to look up and felt his heart skip a beat. The sun was just beginning to set on the horizon, casting an array of reds and oranges onto the valleys just below it, and a wide selection of purples that stretched across the sky, the smallest specks of stars just coming into view…

 “Hello?” Suddenly came a voice, making the thief nearly fall of the ledge.

 Alo spun around and saw what he thought was a princess until he took a closer look.

 “WHY ARE YOUR EYES GREY?!”

“WHY ARE YOU A GUY?!”

 Both shrieked at the same time and pointed at each other fearfully...

 “A prince??” Alo thought as the other Grecken cautiously stepped forward.

 Yes… a very… attractive… prince. The grecken had golden fur with light blue eyes and white fur in the hollows of his ears. He wore a white, golden-laced, jeweled suit accompanied by light blue tights and sashes to match his eyes, golden shoulder plates, white shoes, a golden-laced dark teal cape, and of course, his crown.

 The prince looked at the stranger for a moment. Alo was a dark purple grecken with grey fur at the hollows of his ears as well as strange grey eyes. All he wore was a patchy dark blue hoodie and slightly loose jeans with bare feet gripping the railing.

 “What in Seah’s name are you doing on my balcony?” He huffed after returning to the present moment.

 “Okay… we got two options…” Alo thought to himself. “Tell him the truth, or fuck with him… hmmm. Let’s confuse the hell out of this bastard.”

 The purple grecken suddenly grew a sly smile.

 “Oh, you know. Just enjoying the view. But now I guess it’s been ruined with a royal pain giving me THAT look.” Alo pointed at the prince’s face, who seemed surprised at his sudden change in attitude. “But if you want me to leave, that’s fine.” Alo shrugged nonchalantly and jumped off the upper tier.

 Unknown to the startled prince, Alo had just latched himself onto the wall below the balcony to see what he would do.

 “Oh Seah!” He heard a frantic cry and footsteps rush to the edge as the strange golden grecken peeked his head over the ledge and blicked multiple times in disbelief, his mouth hanging wide open. “H-how are you doing that?” The prince raised an eyebrow, looking down at the, now smirking, hooded grecken.

 “I’m just holding onto a wall! But if you think THAT’S impressive…” Alo continued to spin and flip and launch himself all over the wall, never slipping an inch. All the years of him climbing walls while dodging guard’s arrows sure had become a skill of his.  

 When he looked back up, he was surprised at the awe-stricken gaze he received.

 “That was amazing!” The golden Grecken started to hop up and down as the boards supporting the balcony creaked slightly and dust fell from the bottom.

 “Woah, there. Careful. That balcony isn’t necessarily ‘new.’” The thief slid out from underneath the structure.

 “That WAS an amazing show, but I will not take orders from a peasant! You still owe me at LEAST an apology for breaking into my room, considering if you haven’t stolen anything! Even though I doubt you would, you NEED to apologize!” The prince suddenly got sassy and slightly childish, choosing to stamp his foot repeatedly to prove his point.

 SNAP.

 The prince opened his eyes to see a purple face looking at him with worry, but as soon as their eyes met, the stranger’s expression morphed into a cocky smile.

 “Now you owe me a thank you.” He hoisted the golden one back onto what was left of the balcony.

 “W-Well… I-I-I-I guess we’re even…” The prince, flustered, crossing his arms.

 “I suppose I should be more thankful to meet a PRINCE instead of princess. I’d be long dead by now if I were caught in a princess’s room.” Alo shrugged.

 “Yeah, that’s me. Shasta the Prince… the only prince.” The golden grecken looked down slightly with what looked like… sadness? But then it was wiped off as he turned back to the stranger, excitement taking it’s place.

 “Shasta, huh?” Alo raised an eyebrow.

 “Yes. Shasta the PRINCE. The HEIR, if you will. Who may you be?” Shasta tried to act mad or professional, but couldn’t help his tail wagging slightly at the thought that he was actually meeting someone outside his castle walls.

 “Alo the Unwanted.” The hooded figure chuckled slightly at his own self-deprecating joke just to receive a sharp gasp from Prince Shasta.

 “You aren’t unwanted! There’s got to be someone who wants you with them!” Shasta’s eyes started to look sad again. “Say… I think you’re quite cool! ... If not a little rude...”

 “Really?” Alo tried to hold back a hopeful smile that was fighting its way onto his face.

 “Yes!”

 “Well, that’s nice to hear.” Alo suddenly realized that he had just had a full conversation with a royal heir and had given him his NAME. He was supposed to be invisible! He couldn’t go around giving his identity out to handso- STUBBORN royal blood! He had to get out of there! 

“I got to get going now.” Alo, tried to hide his face as he started to climb back down the wall, afraid his newfound acquaintance would definitely give his location away to others who wanted to study or imprison him.

 “Wait! A-Alo, right? Will I see you again?” The prince called out hopefully.

 “N-no… I don’t think so.” Alo kept his face hidden and continued to climb down.

 “Pleeeeaaase? I’ll be here tomorrow at this time!” Alo paused for a moment. Had a prince really just… pleaded for him not to leave?

 “Nah. You’re not worth my time. Next time you’ll see me I’ll most likely be in shackles… farewell… Prince Shasta.”

 And just like that, he was gone. Leaving a whimpering prince to morn his empty space.

 “H-he’ll come back.” Shasta forced on a smile and looked into the sky that was being filled with more and more stars. The same sky he had stared at his whole life. “He’s got to come back… a-and he will. I can feel it.” He could feel doubt rising inside him like a bubble of uncertainty, but tried to ignore it as he forced back tears to smile at the beautiful sky.

 “I’m not going back.” Alo repeated to himself over and over as he snuck into a closed food market, slipping his hands into small cubbies and becoming a rock whenever someone walked by, tucking into his hoodie and rolling into a ball. “I’m not going back… I’m not going back.”

 Alo climbed a tree and settled into a branch and sighed to himself, frustrated at the fact that he couldn’t seem to get the prince out of his head.

 “I’m going back, aren’t I?”

[iristial]

SSKR Ramble #197: Music and Time Travel. Basically “what if Zi-O was written like this”

If fruit and dancing could be mixed together in Gaim, then a garage band and time travel should be possible. Anyway:

I kind of wish Zi-O was about Sougo trying to make it big through his one man band but then he met Tsukuyomi and Geiz, and he recruits them into the band. He then meets Woz, who turns out to be a good singer, so he finally signs them up for a band competition and they get to nationals

All the songs they play are from the previous Heisei Riders’ series, be it character songs, endings or openings

Interwoven with this is that time travel adventure, albeit instead of being Oma Zi-O, Sougo is just a regular Kamen Rider who had the ability to stockpile the abilities of the Heisei Era Riders as long as they gave him their blessing to use said powers. Swartz, as a member of the royal family of Japan who climb back to a worldwide empire, stole those powers and imprisoned all the Kamen Riders in a block of stone, with Sougo’s eighteen year old self at the front. It helps that in that timeline, Sougo just fades into obscurity unlike other Kamen Riders, and there’s rumors that he went away to pursue a new dream of world domination - but he’s too loopy so no one believes that except the royal family

Tsukuyomi doesn’t have amnesia, and as the true Crown Princess she decides to go and rally up a rebellion to go against Oma Zi-O. Geiz is the head of her bodyguard, Woz was a minister in the royal court but went undercover (to extreme measures) to try and find out the weaknesses of Oma Zi-O to no avail

At some point, the main four travel to the future and break out all the Kamen Riders from the stone, giving them allies to help fight Oma Zi-O when no one else could. But turns out the statue of Sougo is just a centrepiece, and the real Sougo is this bumbling grandfather from the future who snuck into Geiz and Tsukuyomi’s Time Mazines. The whole time, he looks like he’s just being a nuisance Junichiro has to take care of, when really he’s helping his younger self to not make the same mistakes he did

Swartz also travelled back in time to try and prevent Geiz and Tsukuyomi from interfering with his ascension to power, which is why he recruited Heure and Houra

Eventually Swartz is defeated, somehow Geiz and Tsukuyomi and Woz don’t forget Sougo, and peace has returned. The monarchy of Japan is abolished in favour of a democratic system again in 2068, so Tsukuyomi is no longer bound to rule her people. The three receive messages from the future about the progress made since Oma Zi-O’s defeat, but now they’re just members of Sougo’s band

The final few minutes has the band play Over Quartzer, and dotted in the crowd are the Heisei Riders

[kirbymongerr]

can you tell me about kanako? her mirror thingy is pretty groovy

Oh boy, Kanako Yasaka. Goddess, business woman, nuisance.

Kanako, alongside Suwako and Sanae, came to Gensokyo (and brought their shrine) which is the setup of touhou 10. Basically, in the outside world gods struggle to get by in a modern era of internet and scepticism, so Kanako moved to Gensokyo (which is perma-locked to 1800's culture before the Japanese borders were opened) with an ingenious scheme. She knows technological progress is inevitable, so she's gonna make technology divine. She's rebranding from mountain God to technology god, ready to rake in the faith.

And then her attempt to make nuclear power cocked up royally and led to a whole lot of problems. Kanako caused 4 touhou games in a row. Touhou 10 by moving there, 11 by giving Utsuho nuclear powers, Touhou 12 because that nuclear heated geyser dislodged a flying ship of Buddhist youkai, touhou 13 because the temple those Buddhist Youkai set up disturbed the mausoleum of some magic Taoists. Nice work, Kanako!

Kanako is a businesswoman, but she needs faith not dollars. She sends her shrine maiden Sanae to advertise in the village, she tries to make technologies she can claim ownership of to mixed results, and has to work hard to see any faith profits because she accidentally put her shrine on top of a mountain. A Mountain populated by Youkai. Y'know, the things that humans fear greatly as they are liable to get killed by them. Nice work, Kanako!

She's not a bad person, just someone with more cunning and ambition than foresight. Kanako is one of the characters with a fair few appearances, which makes her quite nuanced. She legitimately got a chance to take part in a symposium on faith, magic, youkai all that Gensokyo jazz.

Her theme kicks ass too.

[interested-in-history]

How and why attempts to regulate prostitution changed over time and how successful they actually were.

Prostitution has been a continuing problem and so over the years there have been several attempts to regulate women ‘working on the streets’. Since the sixteenth-century prostitution has been the steadily focused on as an issue within society specifically with the introduction of Syphilis from Italy spreading across Europe. Within the Georgian era much of the legal changes and precedents were beginning to be introduced, moreover within this period punishment and reform were both being used as ways to regulate prostitution. Nearing the 20th Century, prostitution is being bought under more reform and moves the focus away from venereal diseases after World Wars and towards a more generalised legislation over prostitution. The law isn't the most successful in regulating prostitution over these periods as it is heavily vague and subjective especially with the enforcers of law - the police and magistrates. 

In the sixteenth and seventeenth century the impact of the Reformation meant that Protestants and Catholics condemned prostitution. Protestants condemned brothels and prostitution as they were seen as a threat to young men corrupting lives and drawing them away from important virtues of religion. In this post-reformation England “prostitution had no official sanction” and there was a belief that only “physical extermination” would fully regulate and expel prostitution although this never came into practice. These efforts were partially successful and the trade was seen to be “‘enhancing the good’” and preventing “worse evil”. There were also repressive measures undertaken such as the introduction of the Vagrancy Act of 1609 whereby Justices of the Peace could issue “privy search warrants” to “disturbers of the peace”. Under this act any prisoners, including prostitutes would have to earn their keep in Houses of Correction. This act also put forward that former acts had been ineffective and so justices and constables were threatened with fines if they did not set up houses of correction or apprehend disturbers of the peace. There were also attempts to suppress bawdy houses in 1690 as it was thought the suppression of prostitutes would help police officials cope with the “recent increases in both crime and poverty”. These measures may have been introduced due to the fear of Syphilis spreading in Europe. 

Although these attempts were partially successful, prostitution is still seen in the Georgian Era (1714-1830) and ‘celebrity’ courtesans emerged alongside streetwalkers. The biggest action to regulate prostitution and the spread of disease after 1750 was the founding of the “Lock Asylum”. The Lock Asylum opened in 1747 for the treatment of venereal disease, it was popular but treatments were ineffective and it wouldn’t readmit patients. It reopened in 1792 as a refuge for those who had received treatment at the Hospital and were given trade and skills. By 1889 the average bed occupancy was at 110 women. The Disorderly Houses Act 1752 believed these brothels would “corrupt…both sexes” - which is similar to the way Protestants saw prostitution in the previous centuries showing views had not changed. The main purpose was to prevent any temptations; however it made “no difference” to prosecutions. The reasoning behind the introduction of these acts and their successfulness is something unknown as regulating prostitution was a difficult task. Controversially a historian believes this Disorderly Houses Act was a “profound over-reaction to a largely non-existent problem”. A Police Committee in 1816 stated within a report that “alternations be made in the laws” to reduce ambiguity; for example local watchmen were allowed to arrest prostitutes but often arrested lower orders or women who were a nuisance. This did not return much success in regulating prostitution and there were no significant changes made to laws until 1824. The Vagrancy Act 1824 included alterations to the laws and the “term ‘prostitute’” was used for the first time showing a key change in legal thinking at this time. It was lawful to convict a suspected prostitute through confession, judge’s view or evidence on oath by one or more witnesses; if convicted the prostitute was sentenced to hard labour in the House of Corrections for any length of time not exceeding one calendar month. However this had little change in the number of arrests although more women were being sentenced. Despite the fact that changes to laws were being made there was no significant impact on prostitution, including attempts to regulate the trade. The only positive working introduction in this period was the Lock Asylum which was driven by the need to reduce venereal disease on the streets.

By the Victorian period (1837-1901), prostitution had become a ‘great social evil’ where young women chose the vice for the procurement of fancy goods not just as a necessity to get by. Prostitutes had a high visibility in public and were blamed for the spread of venereal diseases. Christians, socialists and chartists all equally condemned the vice and moral campaigns were set up in order to try and suppress it. After a Royal Commission report in 1857 on the health of the army and a report 5 years later on the levels of VD, the official tolerance on prostitution ended as it came under a concern of public health. These reports led to the Contagious Diseases Acts of 1864, 1866 and 1869. In towns that held military bases, women could be stopped and forced to undergo inspections, if she didn't go willingly an arrest could be made. If the woman was found to be suffering with VD she would be sent to a hospital to be ‘cured’ - similar to the Lock Asylum in the Georgian Era. In 1869 the National Association for the Repeal of the Contagious Diseases Act was set up and excluded women from joining; in response, by that December the Ladies National Association for the Repeal of the Contagious Diseases Act was set up. New Year’s Day 1870 this association released a document in the Daily News protesting against the Acts - this document was known as the ‘Ladies’ Protest’ and was signed by 124 women including Florence Nightingale and Mary Carpenter. The manifesto was completely opposed to the Act on many levels including the powers over women that the police had, that they were incapable of diminishing the disease, and the fact that the police were identifying and penalising the wrong sex as the source. This double standard was obviously clear at this point to many women, as Megara Bell writes “if the priority had been to fight VD, then inspecting the prostitutes' clients would also have been required”. After this act was repealed in 1886 the organisation continued fighting for equal moral standards as the Ladies National Association for the Abolition of the State Regulation of Vice and for the Promotion of Social Purity. However, still by the end of this era “no single law” covered prostitution.

By the 20th Century, many of the definitions within law are uncertain and there is still a continuing assumption that a prostitute is a fully female problem. Laws moved focus away from venereal disease and towards a more repressive system of government. Legislation became stricter in times of national emergency, for example in 1918 there was a Venereal Diseases Act which forced medical examinations of any women accused of infecting members of the armed forces with VD. This legislation also focused on the men contracting this disease. Although women had to be examined, if a man found out he contracted VD then he should seek help and not spread it. Here the double standard is still around but the source of VD is being recognised from both sexes. It still provoked fierce protests from campaigners such as Nancy Astor who was an advocator for “equality between the sexes” as well as wanting to eliminate the term ‘common prostitute’ from legal papers. Her campaigning towards the matter resulted in the “Department Committee of Inquiry on Street Offences” in 1927 and several parliamentary bills put forward, however both of these ultimately were a failure and bought about no change. The Report of the Department Committee on Homosexual Offences and Prostitution or Wolfenden Report as it was commonly known was published in 1954 followed. It stated that it was not the states job to police private morality issues and made the recommendation to repeal laws that criminalised homosexuality. This report encouraged a rationalised repressive system which chose to protect the right of respectable citizens rather than the rights of the women considered to be prostitutes. It covered the rise in street prostitution and linked it with community instability and weakening of the family structure. It also recommended for “maximum penalties” to be increased to deter women from prostitution. Additionally this there was a severe police crackdown on prostitution and the Sexual Offences Act 1956 and 1959 were passed. This marked a return to a “repressive system” of government and more police clamping down on prostitutes. The Acts of 1956 and 1959 still classed women as “‘common prostitutes’” and treated them as such. By the 1959 Act it stipulated more fines dependent on convictions than convictions alone for prostitutes - if a woman hadn't been convicted the fine was “twenty pounds”, if she had been convicted it increased to “fifty pounds”. Here prostitution was regulated by the threat of fines and fully depended on the implementation by the police force and the judiciary. Under these acts women could not be convicted by one witness, they had to have another so the “witness is corroborated” in the conviction. However this “was not widely enforced” by the police due to a need for investigations and evidence in order to prosecute. There was also little consistently by magistrates, many would hand out “light sentences or small fines” depending on their own views. Prostitutes were still on the streets and their numbers didn’t decline much after this act meaning it wasn’t a successful act of parliament. By 1982 the Sexual Offences Act was amended yet fines were still in place first and foremost, under this act women could also be imprisoned for the “non-payment of fines”.

Overall, attempts to regulate prostitution have been driven through mainly from the fear of venereal disease. The want to reduce the diseases, especially around times of national emergency, differed depending on the situation and social attitudes towards prostitution. There were some partially successful attempts that seemed to reduce numbers or increase arrests therefore deterring women from entering the profession in the first place. However prostitution has never been fully successful as control over the trade has not been strong enough to fully implement laws that were introduced. Implementation also relied on police and the judiciary which were not always coherent. Acts of parliament tried to regulate prostitution but never truly specified what constituted as prostitution and the perimeters it could or could not operate in. Over the years, regulation was attempted but could not work as the true extent of the trade wasn’t understood.

Bibliography

Bartley, Paula and Gwinnett, Barbara, ‘Prostitution’ in Women in Twentieth-Century Britain by Ina Zweiniger-Bargielowska (Longman, Harlow, 2001)

Megara Bell, The Fallen Woman in Fiction and Legislation, cited on http://www.victorianweb.org/gender/contagious.html

Griffiths, Paul, ‘The Structure of prostitution in Elizabethan London’, Continuity and Change, 8.1, (1993)

Henderson, Tony, Disorderly Women in Eighteenth-Century London, Prostitution and Control in the Metropolis, 1730-1830 (New York, Pearson Education Inc., 1999)

Hitchcock, Tim, English sexualities, 1700-1800, (Basingstoke, Macmillan, 1997)

Hitchcock, Tim and Shoemaker, Robert, ’London Lives, Poverty, crime and the making of a modern city 1690-1800’ (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2015)

Roper, Lyndal, ‘Discipline and Respectability: Prostitution and the Reformation in Augsburg’, History Workshop, 19, (April 1985)

Trumbach, Randolph, ‘Sex, gender, and sexual identity in modern culture: male sodomy and female prostitution in enlightenment London’, Journal of the history of sexuality, 2.2 (1991)

http://discovery.nationalarchives.gov.uk/details/rd/c1c3936d-51c6-479a-8629-37d52ad42c56

http://ezitis.myzen.co.uk/londonlockharrow.html

http://ezitis.myzen.co.uk/magdalen.html

https://georgianera.wordpress.com/2016/03/29/rehab-for-18th-century-prostitutes-magdalen-hospital/ 

http://www.humandignitytrust.org/uploaded/Library/Other_Reports_and_Analysis/Wolfenden_Report_1957.pdf

http://www.hospitalsdatabase.lshtm.ac.uk/hospital.php?hospno=62 

http://www.legislation.gov.uk/ukpga/1824/83/pdfs/ukpga_18240083_en.pdf

http://www.legislation.gov.uk/ukpga/1956/69/pdfs/ukpga_19560069_en.pdf

http://www.legislation.gov.uk/ukpga/1959/57/pdfs/ukpga_19590057_en.pdf

[atticusblog2016-blog]

New Post has been published on Atticusblog

New Post has been published on https://atticusblog.com/hunt-for-the-wilder-side-of-new-zealand/

Hunt for the wilder side of New Zealand

New Zealand’s landscapes are well-known on the silver display. The Lord of the Rings films confirmed off the majestic mountainous scenery so well they sparked a tourism boom – and thirteen% of visitors still cite Peter Jackson’s cinematography of their decision to go to. Out subsequent Friday (16 September), Hunt for the Wilder people, a comedy-drama directed via Taika Waititi and starring Sam Neill as He, grumpy foster uncle to Ricky (newcomer Julian Dennison), shines the spotlight on us of an all over again. The tale of a city youngster’s adventures in the wilderness broke container workplace facts at home and had rave opinions on the Edinburgh International Film Festival (prevailing the coveted Audience Award). It became filmed in large part within the North Island’s Auckland place, in which seashores, rainforest, and vineyards surround New Zealand’s largest metropolis. For those inspired to e-book a Kiwi journey, here are 5 of the high-quality movie-associated options. Stu Gilbert from SOS Survival Training coaches anybody from airline crews to schoolchildren, so a consultation with him is a good start for might be Wilder people, as Ricky dubs himself and Him. A former air force teacher, Stu suggests newbies the ropes in aa laugh session out inside the bush on a big property in Muriwai, 45 mins’ drive from Auckland. After tuition at the basics, he has participants foraging for logs, branches, and bracken to construct a makeshift bed and refuge) and trying to mild a heart using cotton wool, flint, and steel (a useless phone battery also can work, apparently). We observed the flint and metal worked quality, with the proper mix of tinder and kindling, and had been sparked up very quickly. Overnight and 3-day programs of full bush immersion are to be had, too.

A 35-minute ferry journey from downtown Auckland is beautiful, bohemian Waiheke island.

Most travelers get round by way of automobile, motorcycle or even zip-lining – however, the Wilder people way might be to leap on a horse like Ricky’s friend Kahu (Torero Ngatai-Melbourne). Waiheke HorseWorx is a new operator that tours the beaches and bush tracks, taking in traditional Maori subculture and Waiheke’s famous wineries. Some in their steeds are film stars too: ask for Shaman in case you’re a Hobbit fan (she changed into dwarf king Thorin’s mount). A standard 4-hour tour will start with fundamental guidance, accompanied with the aid of a journey along seashores to Piritahi Marae community center for a traditional Maori welcome, earlier than a tea damage and a journey to Cable Bay vineyard for food and wine. Alternatively, within the middle of North Island, adventure organization River Valley in Taihape gives two- to 4-day horse riding holidays from £430pp.

Airguns for Hunting in Mississippi

No rely upon if it’s a BB gun or pellet rifle, the air gun is a fundamental constructing block of marksmanship education for hunters of every age. Not best that, in Mississippi there are profitable possibilities for hunters to take their air guns to the woods. With the escalating cost and restricted availability of ammunition recently, those excellent huge tins of pellets are looking increasingly appealing with each passing day.

Marksmanship Training

Air weapons are so famous for education children in shooting fundamentals that most of the hunter’s education publications being taught in the kingdom use one for the required stay fireplace section of the path. They are cheap to shoot, accurate, and constrained in range.

Pest Control

It’s excellent to keep in mind that Mississippi is domestic to a number of endangered species of bats, turtles and uncommon snakes they may be exceptional to be prevented if you are unsure of the exact species in your points of interest.

Small Game

It’s the felony in step with MDFWP guidelines to hunt all small game (rabbit, squirrel, bobwhite quail, raccoon, possum, and bobcat) with air rifles at some stage in the regular season by a licensed hunter.

While almost any BB gun or pellet rifle will take vermin sized animals (mice, rats) and pest birds consisting of sparrows, you may want a high-powered air gun that shoots pellets only to move anything large.

When going after bobcats, raccoons and possums, 22 quality or 25 caliber pellets from excessive-powered air guns need to be minimal.Hunt acronym in economics

Nuisance Animals

The State of Mississippi by way of Public Notice LE6-3779 lists beaver, coyote, fox, nutria, skunk, and wild hogs as nuisance animals. As such, the looking of nuisance animals is allowed in the course of daytime on non-public lands without a caliber restrictions–, which include air guns. While.177/22 quality weapons can take polecats and not using an issue, going after a number of the bigger recreation on this listing can be elaborate except you have got a huge bore air rifle.

Book Review: Farmer Boy, by Laura Ingalls Wilder

      Farmer Boy (1933) is the second one within the Little House series of autobiographical novels by Laura Ingalls Wilder. It is barely uncommon in that it is the simplest ebook within the series of 9 novels that does not issue itself with Laura’s growing up. All the Little House novels follow in chronological order Laura’s development from younger toddler to married woman, except for Farmer Boy. For a few purpose, after publishing Little House inside the Big Woods in 1932, Wilder determined to put in writing a youth novel approximately her husband, Almanzo Wilder.Geert wilders lights going out in europe

Wilder would never return to the subject of her husband’s childhood, writing and publishing Little House on the Prairie instantly after Farmer Boy, and persevering with the collection with novels like On the Banks of Plum Creek (1937) and Little Town on the Prairie (1941). The First Four Years (1971), a manuscript that Wilder put away and in no way finished, was published posthumously. It appeared that the failure of this manuscript dampened the author’s self-assurance as a creator, as no other novels have been written.

The World Where Everything is Made with the aid of Hand

Reading Farmer Boy makes it appear clear that, had she desired to, Wilder should have advanced her husband’s developing up right into a similar collection. Almanzo Wilder could eventually appear as a grown up in later novels like The Long Winter (1940) and These Happy Golden Years (1943).

There isn’t always a whole lot of a plot in Farmer Boy. The novel essentially describes the farm and domestic lifestyles of the 4 Wilder kids, with a focus on Almanzo, the youngest of the brood who is nearly 9 years of age. The other youngsters are the splendidly named Royal, who is thirteen, Eliza Jane, who’s twelve, and ten-year vintage Alice. The novel is complete of details unknown to trendy day readers, just like the work of the cobbler, the change of the tin-peddler, with his big selection of tin items, and scary encounters with bears whilst foraging for berries. Wilder plumps her novel full of candy and satisfied details of farm and city life, making Farmer Boy as wealthy and worthwhile as one of the, freshly baked loaves that it frequently describes.

You Can Also Study in New Zealand

New Zealand has now come up as a famous observe vacation spot for students.

There are reasons behind it. The exceptional purpose is that there are best universities in this us of a like the University of Auckland. This college has an international ranking of eighty-one inside the QS World University rankings 2016-2017.

The New Zealand look at permit is handiest required if the period of your study route is greater than 3 months. So, a examine visa to this u. S . A . Is simplest required when you plan to pursue a path that’s greater than 3 months in length? All those candidates whose examine path are of the period, lesser than 3 months, can just take a traveler visa. The candidate additionally needs to satisfy positive health necessities if he has been enrolled in a take a look at the route of 6 months length or greater, as an example, a take a look at up for tuberculosis.It’s essential to recognize that the scholars can also plan to paintings after completing their studies. The qualifications which you benefit in New Zealand can ensure that you are preferred by means of employers on this united states of America. With those training providers, college students are opting to select for unique degrees like graduation, publish commencement, and studies. The highest ranking universities in New Zealand are Lincoln University(51-one hundred in QS World University Rankings) and Massey University(33).New zealand vacation packages all inclusive

The put up secondary education is supplied in this united states of America with the aid of a huge assortment of schooling companies, like Institutes of an era, non-public schooling establishments, polytechnics, and industry education agencies.

It’s important to keep in mind that the following regulations follow for admission to any institute in New Zealand:

Your admission needs to have been everyday right into a full-time route into an institution which has been permitted by NZQA. You must additionally have the monetary guide as much as the quantity of 10,000 New Zealand greenbacks for every year which you intend to stay right here. A scholar needs to additionally be able to provide entire evidence for leaving u. S . A . After completion of his research. A student ought to even have a legitimate passport for a duration of 3 months after crowning glory of his research. Any pupil has to not violate the situations of the study visa as long as he’s in New Zealand.

It’s crucial that the student does no longer have a real illness for which he ought to offer a clinical checkup certificate prior to the approval of his visa.