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withbriefthanksgiving · 2 years ago

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The director of the New York Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights of the UN (UN OHCHR), Craig Mokhiber, has resigned in a letter dated 28 October 2023

the resignation letter can be found embedded in this tweet by Rami Atari (@.Raminho) dated 31 October 2023.

The letters are here:

Transcription:

United Nations | Nations Unies

HEADQUARTERS I SIEGE I NEW YORK, NY 10017

28 October 2023

Dear High Commissioner,

This will be my last official communication to you as Director of the New York Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights.

I write at a moment of great anguish for the world, including for many of our colleagues. Once again, we are seeing a genocide unfolding before our eyes, and the Organization that we serve appears powerless to stop it. As someone who has investigated human rights in Palestine since the 1980s, lived in Gaza as a UN human rights advisor in the 1990s, and carried out several human rights missions to the country before and since, this is deeply personal to me.

I also worked in these halls through the genocides against the Tutsis, Bosnian Muslims, the Yazidi, and the Rohingya. In each case, when the dust settled on the horrors that had been perpetrated against defenseless civilian populations, it became painfully clear that we had failed in our duty to meet the imperatives of prevention of mass atrocites, of protection of the vulnerable, and of accountability for perpetrators. And so it has been with successive waves of murder and persecution against the Palestinians throughout the entire life of the UN.

High Commissioner, we are failing again.

As a human rights lawyer with more than three decades of experience in the field, I know well that the concept of genocide has often been subject to political abuse. But the current wholesale slaughter of the Palestinian people, rooted in an ethno-nationalist settler colonial ideology, in continuation of decades of their systematic persecution and purging, based entirely upon their status as Arabs, and coupled with explicit statements of intent by leaders in the Israeli government and military, leaves no room for doubt or debate. In Gaza, civilian homes, schools, churches, mosques, and medical institutions are wantonly attacked as thousands of civilians are massacred. In the West Bank, including occupied Jerusalem, homes are seized and reassigned based entirely on race, and violent settler pogroms are accompanied by Israeli military units. Across the land, Apartheid rules.

This is a text-book case of genocide. The European, ethno-nationalist, settler colonial project in Palestine has entered its final phase, toward the expedited destruction of the last remnants of indigenous Palestinian life in Palestine. What's more, the governments of the United States, the United Kingdom, and much of Europe, are wholly complicit in the horrific assault. Not only are these governments refusing to meet their treaty obligations "to ensure respect" for the Geneva Conventions, but they are in fact actively arming the assault, providing economic and intelligence support, and giving political and diplomatic cover for Israel's atrocities.

Volker Turk, High Commissioner for Human Rights Palais Wilson, Geneva

In concert with this, western corporate media, increasingly captured and state-adjacent, are in open breach of Article 20 of the ICCPR, continuously dehumanizing Palestinians to facilitate the genocide, and broadcasting propaganda for war and advocacy of national, racial, or religious hatred that constitutes incitement to discrimination, hostility, and violence. US-based social media companies are suppressing the voices of human rights defenders while amplifying pro-Israel propaganda. Israel lobby online-trolls and GONGOS are harassing and smearing human rights defenders, and western universities and employers are collaborating with them to punish those who dare to speak out against the atrocities. In the wake of this genocide, there must be an accounting for these actors as well, just as there was for radio Mules Collins in Rwanda.

In such circumstances, the demands on our organization for principled and effective action are greater than ever. But we phave not met the challenge. The protective enforcement power Security Council has again been blocked by US intransigence, the SG [UN Secretary General] is under assault for the mildest of protestations, and our human rights mechanisms are under sustained slanderous attack by an organized, online impunity network.

Decades of distraction by the illusory and largely disingenuous promises of Oslo have diverted the Organization from its core duty to defend international law, international human rights, and the Charter itself. The mantra of the "two-state solution" has become an open joke in the corridors of the UN, both for its utter impossibility in fact, and for its total failure to account for the inalienable human rights of the Palestinian people. The so-called "Quartet" has become nothing more than a fig leaf for inaction and for subservience to a brutal status quo. The (US-scripted) deference to "agreements between the parties themselves" (in place of international law) was always a transparent slight-of-hand, designed to reinforce the power of Israel over the rights of the occupied and dispossessed Palestinians.

High Commissioner, I came to this Organization first in the 1980s, because I found in it a principled, norm-based institution that was squarely on the side of human rights, including in cases where the powerful US, UK, and Europe were not on our side. While my own government, its subsidiarity institutions, and much of the US media were still supporting or justifying South African apartheid, Israeli oppression, and Central American death squads, the UN was standing up for the oppressed peoples of those lands. We had international law on our side. We had human rights on our side. We had principle on our side. Our authority was rooted in our integrity. But no more.

In recent decades, key parts of the UN have surrendered to the power of the US, and to fear of the Israel Lobby, to abandon these principles, and to retreat from international law itself. We have lost a lot in this abandonment, not least our own global credibility. But the Palestinian people have sustained the biggest losses as a result of our failures. It is a stunning historic irony that the Universal Declaration of Human Rights was adopted in the same year that the Nakba was perpetrated against the Palestinian people. As we commemorate the 75th Anniversary of the UDHR, we would do well to abandon the old cliché that the UDHR was born out of the atrocities that proceeded it, and to admit that it was born alongside one of the most atrocious genocides of the 20th Century, that of the destruction of Palestine. In some sense, the framers were promising human rights to everyone, except the Palestinian people. And let us remember as well, that the UN itself carries the original sin of helping to facilitate the dispossession of the Palestinian people by ratifying the European settler colonial project that seized Palestinian land and turned it over to the colonists. We have much for which to atone.

But the path to atonement is clear. We have much to learn from the principled stance taken in cities around the world in recent days, as masses of people stand up against the genocide, even at risk of beatings and arrest. Palestinians and their allies, human rights defenders of every stripe, Christian and Muslim organizations, and progressive Jewish voices saying "not in our name", are all leading the way. All we have to do is to follow them.

Yesterday, just a few blocks from here, New York's Grand Central Station was completely taken over by thousands of Jewish human rights defenders standing in solidarity with the Palestinian people and demanding an end to Israeli tyranny (many risking arrest, in the process). In doing so, they stripped away in an instant the Israeli hasbara propaganda point (and old antisemitic trope) that Israel somehow represents the Jewish people. It does not. And, as such, Israel is solely responsible for its crimes. On this point, it bears repeating, in spite of Israel lobby smears to the contrary, that criticism of Israel's human rights violations is not antisemitic, any more than criticism of Saudi violations is Islamophobic, criticism of Myanmar violations is anti-Buddhist, or criticism of Indian violations is anti-Hindu. When they seek to silence us with smears, we must raise our voice, not lower it. I trust you will agree, High Commissioner, that this is what speaking truth to power is all about.

But I also find hope in those parts of the UN that have refused to compromise the Organization's human rights principles in spite of enormous pressures to do so. Our independent special rapporteurs, commissions of enquiry, and treaty body experts, alongside most of our staff, have continued to stand up for the human rights of the Palestinian people, even as other parts of the UN (even at the highest levels) have shamefully bowed their heads to power. As the custodians of the human rights norms and standards, OHCHR. has a particular duty to defend those standards. Our job, I believe, is to make our voice heard, from the Secretary-General to the newest UN recruit, and horizontally across the wider UN system, incisting that the human rights of the Palestinian people are not up for debate, negotiation, or compromise anywhere under the blue flag.

What, then, would a UN-norm-based position look like? For what would we work if we were true to our rhetorical admonitions about human rights and equality for all, accountability for perpetrators, redress for victims, protection of the vulnerable, and empowerment for rights-holders, all under the rule of law? The answer, I believe, is simple—if we have the clarity to see beyond the propagandistic smokescreens that distort the vision of justice to which we are sworn, the courage to abandon fear and deference to powerful states, and the will to truly take up the banner of human rights and peace. To be sure, this is a long-term project and a steep climb. But we must begin now or surrender to unspeakable horror. I see ten essential points:

Legitimate action: First, we in the UN must abandon the failed (and largely disingenuous) Oslo paradigm, its illusory two-state solution, its impotent and complicit Quartet, and its subjugation of international law to the dictates of presumed political expediency. Our positions must be unapologetically based on international human rights and international law.

Clarity of Vision: We must stop the pretense that this is simply a conflict over land or religion between two warring parties and admit the reality of the situation in which a disproportionately powerful state is colonizing, persecuting, and dispossessing an indigenous population on the basis of their ethnicity.

One State based on human rights: We must support the establishment of a single, democratic, secular state in all of historic Palestine, with equal rights for Christians, Muslims, and Jews, and, therefore, the dicmantling of the deeply racist, settler-colonial project and an end to apartheid across the land.

Fighting Apartheid: We must redirect all UN efforts and resources to the struggle against apartheid, just as we did for South Africa in the 1970s, 80s, and early 90s.

Return and Compensation: We must reaffirm and insist on the right to return and full compensation for all Palestinians and their families currently living in the occupied territories, in Lebanon, Jordan, Syria, and in the diaspora across the globe.

Truth and Justice: We must call for a transitional justice process, making full use of decades of accumulated UN investigations, enquiries, and reports, to document the truth, and to ensure accountability for all perpetrators, redress for all victims, and remedies for documented injustices.

Protection: We must press for the deployment of a well-resourced and strongly mandated UN protection force with a sustained mandate to protect civilians from the river to the sea.

Disarmament: We must advocate for the removal and destruction of Israel's massive stockpiles of nuclear, chemical, and biological weapons, lest the conflict lead to the total destruction of the region and, possibly, beyond.

Mediation: We must recognize that the US and other western powers are in fact not credible mediators, but rather actual parties to the conflict who are complicit with Israel in the violation of Palestinian rights, and we must engage them as such.

Solidarity: We must open our doors (and the doors of the SG) wide to the legions of Palestinian, Israeli, Jewish, Muslim, and Christian human rights defenders who are standing in solidarity with the people of Palestine and their human rights and stop the unconstrained flow of Israel lobbyists to the offices of UN leaders, where they advocate for continued war, persecution, apartheid, and impunity, and smear our human rights defenders for their principled defense of Palestinian rights.

This will take years to achieve, and western powers will fight us every step of the way, so we must be steadfast. In the immediate term, we must work for an immediate ceasefire and an end to the longstanding siege on Gaza, stand up against the ethnic cleansing of Gaza, Jerusalem, and the West Bank (and elsewhere), document the genocidal assault in Gaza, help to bring massive humanitarian aid and reconstruction to the Palestinians, take care of our traumatized colleagues and their families, and fight like hell for a principled approach in the UN's political offices.

The UN's failure in Palestine thus far is not a reason for us to withdraw. Rather it should give us the courage to abandon the failed paradigm of the past, and fully embrace a more principled course. Let us, as OHCHR, boldly and proudly join the anti-apartheid movement that is growing all around the world, adding our logo to the banner of equality and human rights for the Palestinian people. The world is watching. We will all be accountable for where we stood at this crucial moment in history. Let us stand on the side of justice.

I thank you, High Commissioner, Volker, for hearing this final appeal from my desk. I will leave the Office in a few days for the last time, after more than three decades of service. But please do not hesitate to reach out if I can be of assistance in the future.

Sincerely,

Craig Mokhiber

End of transcription.

Emphasis (bolding) is my own. I have added links, where relevant, to explanations of concepts the former Director refers to.

#Israel #Palestine #October 2023 #28 October 2023 #United Nations #Described #Long post #I’ll add more links to the things he is talking about later

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fading-event-608 · 8 months ago

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Recently the syndicate of chemists in Lebanon has issued a statement warning people to not go near the blast sites due to alleged use of depleted uranium by Israel. (link - you need to scroll till the statement in Arabic). The screenshot of their statement on twitter was shared here on Tumblr and I’ve seen multiple people expressing scepticism regarding the source. Some people linked an article (link) from anti-Hezbollah 'democratic' newspaper 'L’Orient Today' to ‘fact-check’ - because of course they can’t read Arabic and are discontent with a twitter link.

This is my short summary of the article: they confirm that Israel has used Depleted Uranium (DU) weapons, not only in Lebanon but also in Gaza in June of this year and between October and December of last year. They establish a history of the use of Depleted Uranium, and include examples of its use in Iran in 2003. Israel doesn't directly talk about their use of DU, but neither are they hiding it - because there is no law that forbids the use of these bombs by Israel, there is no treaty regulating the use of DU weapons. There were several resolutions calling for a moratorium on the use of DU weapons in the UN and EU Parliament, the latest of which was in 2022, but these have failed to stop their use (those who have used them also includes both Russia and Ukraine). The article ends with an ominous addition that the Israeli army has been found guilty multiple times of using white phosphorus, which IS prohibited against civilians or civilian property under international law. (You probably can already tell that their defense is that they do not use it against civilians)

There is another article that was published in early September this year - LINK - I highly encourage you to read this one yourself, as it is quite short, especially when considering the amount of information it contains. As this one is more easily accessible, I won’t summarize it - please take it in yourself. I will say, however, that this article’s author, one Dr. Busby, worked with colleagues to conduct several investigations into the use of uranium-based weapons in both Lebanon and Gaza. In 2006, Dr. Busby asked his colleague to collect multiple samples from a crater left by what was suspected to be Depleted Uranium weapons. Samples from an ambulance air filter were also taken. Dr. Busby and company found not only the presence of depleted uranium but also of Enriched Uranium. Here’s the paper: link.

Enriched Uranium. In 2006.

By 2024, all of the laboratories that Dr. Busby had used to Conduct the investigation have closed their doors either to him or in general. Busby’s letters to the UN, as well as papers detailing evidence of the use of enriched and depleted uranium are either dismissed or ignored, rendering it unlikely that there will ever be the “official” source for these claims that certain people now see fit to demand. And even if the UN did accept those letters and did push for ban of those weapons - would Israel comply? Genocide is ‘illegal’ under international law, and Israel still faces the case in ICJ, but what will that ICJ do if they rule that Israel is guilty? What would UN do if they accept evidence of Israel using uranium-based weapons? Scold them and write a fine?

The aspect of the deployment of nuclear weapons considered the most horrific is - and has always been - the fallout. The idea that all nuclear weapons would leave evidence - again, fallout - behind was born into the cultural consciousness through various cold war era PSAs, as well as other media inspired by these horrors, potential and otherwise. The weapons Israel is using here do not create fallout, however. But do not mistake them as harmless - they are still highly carcinogenic. They cause birth defects, as well as various other illnesses - mysterious illnesses, or at least mysterious until doctors attempting to treat them register that their patients have been exposed to enriched uranium, after which point the mystery goes away.

In a sense, the horrors advertised by cold war PSAs and films like Doctor Strangelove, the promise of some explosive end brought about by some fool in the US pushing the wrong button - these serve to draw a veil over the continued use of nuclear weapons that have been ongoing since this technology was first harnessed for violence. This is a severe danger to the people of Gaza, and we can’t ignore it simply because we have developed in our minds too much faith in the loosest understandings of nuclear warfare.

I think many of you are familiar with a boiling frog story. The story goes that if you put a frog in a pot of boiling water, it will try to climb out. But if you put it in warm water and very slowly heat it, it will be so accustomed to the temperature it will eventually be boiled alive. It’s not very authentic, of course - in reality the frog will try to jump out as soon as it deems the water temperature uncomfortable. Just like you would try to get out of the bathtub as soon as it gets too hot for you or try to warm yourself up when you spend too much time outside in winter.

But some of it still rings true. At what point will the UN, or ICJ, or some other white savior wannabe decide that Israel has done too much? What is that ‘too-much’ point that makes them try to protest, and what would that protest be?

As in case with Tumblr, it seems that the boiling point, in fact, has already passed and people grew accustomed to deaths of Palestinians. There are thousands of posts about the situation in Gaza, and the whole Palestine, Lebanon, Yemen, Syria… They get a lot of attention by both zionists and Palestine supporters. There are also hundreds of Gazans that came to Tumblr in hopes to escape the genocide by asking people to cover evacuation and survival costs. Do they get the same attention? Barely. Arguably zionists are more invested in interacting with those posts - they mass report them and harass Palestinians. And even if the fundraiser post gets a lot of attention, it does not necessarily translate into a lot of donations - people just assume that someone else will donate instead of them.

You can’t stop Israel all by yourself. You can’t convince the UN or try to progress the ICJ case by yourself. You can, however, do small acts that will contribute to Palestinian resistance. Go protest, go boycott, and please, please, please, go donate to Palestinian fundraisers.

Falastin’s family are under constant threat in Gaza. She’s been fundraising to save them since late June, and yet they’ve only recently gotten to just over 5% of their total goal - a little short of $10,000 USD. They’re still in Gaza, and still in need of funds for survival. The longer they are trapped there, the more they need - not just for food and water, but also for medicine, shelter, and clothes. Each time they’re displaced, due to inadequate time to pack, they lose more supplies, and their needs increase. Give what you can so that they can survive this, and please share their fundraiser as much as you’re able regardless of whether you can donate, just in case someone you know might be able to help. Not just here on Tumblr, on other social media, talk to your friends, coworkers, family, in group chats and in discord servers.

Please keep in mind conversion rates before donating:

10$ = 103 SEK

25$ = 260 SEK

50$ = 519 SEK

100$ = 1,038 SEK

#free palestine #falastin

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earthlybeam · 4 months ago

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Could you do Gil-galad finding out someone in court talked badly about reader because that person doesn’t think reader is worthy of being married to the high king?

Thanks, I enjoy your work so much!

That means so much to me—thank you! I’m really glad you enjoy my writing. It always makes my day to hear that, and I appreciate you taking the time to say it! 🥺❤️‍🩹✨

Gil-Galad version below

🏵️𝓖𝓲𝓵-𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭

The halls of Lindon’s court shimmered with the golden glow of lanterns, casting soft light upon the gathered nobles. Murmurs of conversation wove through the air like strands of silk, some filled with diplomacy, others with idle gossip. Among the clusters of elves, one voice dipped into a more venomous tone, barely above a whisper yet sharp enough to cut.

“It is unthinkable, truly,” the noble sneered, swirling the wine in his goblet. His Sindarin robes were finely woven, the embroidery glinting like starlight, but his words dripped with disdain. “That one of such… questionable lineage should stand beside the High King. No noble blood, no standing of renown. A passing fancy, nothing more.”

Several elves exchanged uneasy glances, some nodding in silent agreement, while others seemed unwilling to involve themselves. Yet the noble pressed on, emboldened by the lack of immediate opposition. “It is an embarrassment, really. Does our king not see how this weakens his rule? To tie himself to one so undeserving, it makes him appear sentimental, reckless even. We are Noldor—our rulers should not be guided by fleeting affections but by wisdom and tradition. Tell me, what do they bring to him but whispers of the heart? What alliances? What power?”

Another courtier, hesitant but intrigued, dared to ask, “And what of the rumors? That they have bewitched him, ensnaring his heart with unnatural means?” The noble scoffed, his lips curling into a smirk. “I would not claim such things outright, of course… but the thought has crossed more than one mind. And if not magic, then what? A moment of weakness? The High King deserves a queen, not a passing shadow unfit for a crown.”

A sharp intake of breath halted the conversation. The warmth of the lanterns seemed to dim as a figure stepped forward—Elrond, his expression unreadable, though his keen eyes glinted with displeasure. His voice, though quiet, carried the weight of centuries. “Strange,” he mused, tilting his head slightly. “For one so concerned with the dignity of Lindon, you seem remarkably comfortable tarnishing it with petty slander.”

The noble stiffened, his bravado faltering for a brief moment. Around them, the court grew still, the murmurs fading into watchful silence. “And what, I wonder,” Elrond continued, stepping closer, “do you think the High King will say when he hears how lightly you speak of his honor? Of his judgment?”

A flicker of unease crossed the noble’s face. He opened his mouth as if to defend himself, but Elrond merely turned on his heel. “We shall see soon enough.” And with that, he strode toward the High King’s chamber, his footsteps measured but unyielding, carrying the weight of what had just been spoken—words that would not go unanswered.

…

The chamber was quiet, save for the faint rustling of parchment and the occasional flicker of candlelight against the polished marble walls. The evening air carried the crisp scent of the sea from beyond Lindon’s borders, mingling with the faint traces of ink and wax. It was a peaceful setting, a moment of respite carved from the relentless demands of kingship.

At the heart of it sat Gil-galad, his form statuesque yet utterly at ease, clad in robes of midnight blue embroidered with silver filigree. His long fingers idly traced the borders of Lindon on a sprawling map, his sharp eyes scanning its contours with the weight of quiet contemplation. Thoughts of defenses, treaties, and the ever-looming shadow of Sauron occupied his mind, leaving little space for lesser matters.

When the door opened, he barely lifted his gaze. Yet the measured steps that followed—the purposeful yet unhurried gait—caught his attention. He recognized the stride without needing to look. “Elrond,” he greeted, his voice calm but acknowledging. Elrond entered without preamble, his expression schooled into the composed serenity befitting his station. And yet… there was something beneath it. A trace of something heavier. Concern, perhaps. Disapproval. The faintest flicker of restrained anger, buried beneath the mask of diplomacy he so often wore.

Gil-galad finally looked up, his piercing blue eyes locking onto his most trusted counselor. He had spent centuries reading Elrond’s moods, and though few could claim to decipher the younger elf’s carefully measured expressions, Gil-galad was not one of them. He straightened slightly, setting his quill aside. “What is it?” Elrond did not answer at once. Instead, his gaze swept briefly across the chamber, taking note of the few attendants lingering at the edges of the room. They were quiet, dutiful, but observant. Too many ears.

Gil-galad noticed the glance and gave the smallest nod. At once, the attendants bowed, understanding the unspoken command. Footsteps receded. The door clicked shut. Now, they were alone. Only then did Elrond speak. “There has been talk in court,” he said evenly, but there was no mistaking the edge beneath his tone. “Disrespect. From one who should know better.”

The flickering light cast shifting shadows across Gil-galad’s face, but his expression remained unreadable. “Who?” he asked, his voice steady. Elrond hesitated, just briefly. “Lord Lysander.” The name was spoken with careful precision. “He believes your choice of consort… unworthy.” The words lingered in the air, hanging between them like a blade poised to drop. “He did not hesitate to share his thoughts with others,” Elrond continued, his voice tightening almost imperceptibly. “Going so far as to claim that your judgment has been clouded. He speaks of alliances, of tradition. But his words tread dangerously close to insult—both toward your beloved and toward yourself.”

Silence followed. Gil-galad did not move. He did not immediately react, nor did he allow even the subtlest shift in expression to betray his thoughts. And yet, the weight of his displeasure settled over the room like an approaching storm—silent, but suffocating. The candlelight flickered, its glow catching the sharp line of his jaw, illuminating the sudden stillness in him. His fingers, which had rested lightly on the map mere moments ago, curled ever so slightly into a fist. Not in rage, but in something colder. More controlled.

Elrond had seen Gil-galad in war. Had seen him command armies with unwavering resolve. Had seen him wield spear and shield at the head of his forces, unyielding and relentless. But this… this was different. This was not the fury of a warrior. This was the restrained, sharpened ire of a king. A long pause stretched between them. Then, slowly, deliberately, Gil-galad exhaled. “I see.”

The words were soft. Almost too soft. And yet, they carried a finality that sent a chill through the chamber. For a long moment, he did nothing. He simply sat there, his gaze unfocused, as if weighing something unseen. Considering. Calculating. Not because he was uncertain—no, Gil-galad had already made his decision. But he would not allow anger to dictate his course. He would not be goaded into an emotional response. He would act. But he would act with purpose. When he finally lifted his gaze once more, it was sharp as steel. “Lord Lysander will learn that my choices are not to be questioned.” His voice did not waver. It did not need to. “Thank you, Your dismissed Elrond”

The door had barely shut behind Elrond when the silence in the chamber grew heavier, pressing against the walls like an unseen force. The flickering candlelight cast restless shadows over the High King’s study, the golden glow dancing across the polished wood of his desk, the rich indigo of the drapes, the intricate carvings upon the bookshelves that lined the walls. And yet, for all its familiar warmth, the room felt colder now.

Gil-galad remained seated, motionless. His fingers rested lightly against the arm of his chair, his posture composed, regal. But beneath the stillness, there was a storm. His silver grey piercing gaze was fixed unseeing on the map before him. The parchment lay undisturbed, its inked lines marking the borders of Lindon and beyond. Only moments ago, his mind had been occupied with governance, with treaties, with the ever-present weight of his people’s safety. And yet now, all of it had been eclipsed by the words Elrond had spoken.

Unworthy. The word echoed in his mind, slow and deliberate, laced with scorn not his own. Gil-galad exhaled sharply through his nose, jaw tightening. How dare they? How dare he? Lord Lysander, a noble who had stood in his court for centuries, who had seen his rule, who had pledged fealty to him—how dare he presume to judge what was beyond his right to question? To speak your name with anything less than the reverence it deserved?

A muscle tensed in his jaw as he leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing. It was not the insult to himself that angered him most—kings had always been scrutinized, their choices debated in the shadows of their own halls. That was nothing new. No, what ignited something cold and dangerous within him was the insult to you.

His beloved. His treasure. His world. Did they truly think so little of his judgment? Did they believe him a fool, led astray by sentiment, as if his heart was some careless thing, easily swayed? No. He was Gil-galad, High King of the Noldor, bearer of Aeglos, heir to the wisdom of the Eldar before him. And if they thought he had chosen lightly, if they thought his love for you was anything less than absolute, they were wrong.

He ran a hand over his face, exhaling slowly, trying to temper the sharp edge of his thoughts. But it was not so easily done. His mind drifted—to you, to the way you smiled when you thought no one was watching, to the way your hand fit so perfectly in his, to the quiet moments when the weight of kingship felt lighter simply because you were near. Did you know? Had you heard the whispers in the halls, the murmured words meant to remain unseen, unheard? Had they reached your ears like poison seeping through stone?

The thought sent a fresh wave of ire through him. If you had heard, if you had even for a moment believed their words, if you had wondered whether you were truly worthy— No. He would not allow it. Gil-galad stood abruptly, the legs of his chair scraping against the stone floor, his hands bracing against the desk as he stared down at the map beneath him.

His thoughts sharpened, crystallizing into purpose. He would not let this insult go unanswered. Lord Lysander had spoken too freely, had forgotten who it was he served. That would change. But more than that, you needed to know—needed to be reminded, beyond any doubt, that no whispered insult, no courtly arrogance, no outdated tradition could ever change what he had chosen. And what he had chosen was you.

…

As two days passed since Gil-Galad been brooding thinking…till now he takes action he know what he must do….The court was alive with murmured conversations, nobles and advisors gathered beneath the high, vaulted ceiling of Lindon’s great hall. Sunlight streamed through tall, arched windows, casting golden pools across the polished stone floor. The banners of the High King fluttered gently, though the air within was anything but light. There was a tension—subtle, but unmistakable—woven into the silence that fell when Gil-galad rose from his throne.

His presence alone commanded the room. Dressed in robes of deep sapphire, his silver circlet gleaming in the light, he stood with the quiet authority of one who had ruled long enough to need neither force nor fury to make his will known. His gaze swept the hall, piercing yet unreadable, lingering just long enough on each gathered noble to remind them that no whisper went unheard, no action unseen.

And then his eyes found him. “Lord Lysander,” Gil-galad’s voice rang clear, smooth as tempered steel. “Step forward.” A shift rippled through the assembled court. Heads turned, expressions flickering between curiosity and apprehension. The noble in question hesitated, his well-groomed features betraying a flicker of unease before he masked it with carefully measured grace. He stepped forward, bowing low.

“My lord,” Lysander greeted, his tone smooth but guarded. Gil-galad regarded him in silence for a moment, then descended the steps from his throne, closing the distance between them. He did not sit high above his court to pass judgment from afar. No—he would look him in the eye. “There are whispers in my halls,” Gil-galad began, voice even. “Words spoken in shadows, yet meant to stain the light. Words that question my judgment—my heart.”

Lysander’s posture stiffened, though he did not yet speak. “I will not cast accusations lightly,” the High King continued, tilting his head slightly. “So I will grant you the opportunity to speak first. Tell me, my lord, what concern weighs so heavily upon you that it must be shared in hushed corners rather than in my presence?” A hush settled over the court. All eyes were upon them now.

Lysander cleared his throat, his expression carefully schooled. “Your Majesty, I have always spoken with the kingdom’s best interests in mind,” he began, his words measured. “I meant no disrespect. Only that—given the weight of alliances, the expectations of the Eldar—it is natural to… consider what is best for the realm.”

“What is best for the realm.” Gil-galad repeated the words slowly, letting them hang in the air like a blade poised to drop. His gaze sharpened. “And you believe yourself more fit to determine this than I?” The noble paled, just slightly. “That was never my intention, my lord.” Gil-galad took a step closer, his voice never rising, yet growing heavier, colder. “No? Then explain to me—clearly, before all who stand here—why you think my choice unworthy. What flaw do you see that I, in all my years, have somehow overlooked? What lacking do you perceive that my heart has failed to recognize?”

Lysander hesitated, sensing now the perilous ground upon which he stood. He chose his next words carefully. “I only meant… Your Majesty’s decision is unexpected to some. Many believed you would wed one of high lineage, one who—”

“One who would serve as a political tool?” Gil-galad cut in, his voice quiet, but edged with something dangerously sharp. Lysander flinched. Gil-galad did not let the silence stretch. “You are mistaken if you believe my love is a matter for courtly debate.” His eyes burned with an intensity that made even the seasoned nobles in the room avert their gazes. “Did you think I chose lightly? That my heart was led astray, as though I am some young lordling making folly of his affections?” Lysander shook his head quickly. “Of course not, my lord—”

“You speak as though you know what is best for me,” Gil-galad pressed on, taking another deliberate step forward, his presence pressing down like a storm on the horizon. “Yet I am the High King. My choice is mine alone. And you would do well to remember that those who question it—who would seek to belittle or insult the one I hold dearest—speak not only against them, but against me.” A sharp, collective inhale rippled through the court.

Gil-galad let the words settle. The weight of them was undeniable. Lysander had paled further now, realizing—too late—the depth of his folly. His throat bobbed as he struggled for words, but no excuse would serve him here. The power in the room had shifted; the court was no longer on his side, but silently aligned with the High King’s will. Gil-galad did not smile, did not soften. He let the silence press upon Lysander like an iron hand. And then, in a voice like the calm before a storm, he delivered his final words.

“Consider this your first and only warning,” he said, his voice low but absolute. “I will hear no more whispers. I will not tolerate another word of disrespect toward the one I have chosen. Do I make myself clear?” Lysander bowed hastily, the movement stiff and trembling. “Yes, Your Majesty.” Gil-galad did not acknowledge him further. He turned, ascending once more to his throne, his mantle sweeping behind him. The court remained silent. None dared to speak, none dared to breathe too loudly. It was clear to all. The High King’s love was not to be questioned.

The court had dispersed, but the weight of Gil-galad’s decree still lingered in the air like the final echoes of a struck bell. The nobles had spoken in hushed voices as they departed, some shaken, others murmuring quiet approval. Lord Lysander had left with his head bowed, stripped of his influence in court—his privileges revoked, his presence diminished. A warning, not a ruinous punishment, but one that would not be soon forgotten.

Gil-galad remained for a moment after the hall emptied, standing in the vast quiet, his hands resting lightly on the arms of his throne. The golden light of the late afternoon sun slanted through the high windows, catching the silver embroidery of his robes, yet the warmth did little to soften the lingering cold in his chest. He did not regret his words. The insult had not merely been against him, but against you—his beloved, his heart. And that, he would never abide. Without another word, he turned on his heel and left the hall, his steps purposeful but not rushed. His attendants saw the look in his eyes and did not dare to interrupt. There was only one place he wished to be now.

You were in the gardens when he found you, sitting beneath the ancient willow that draped its silver-green branches over the quiet paths. The scent of blooming flowers filled the air, but your mind had been elsewhere, your heart weighed by the knowledge of what had transpired in court. You had not been present, but whispers traveled quickly in Lindon, and you had heard enough to piece together what had happened.

…

You looked up when you heard the soft rustle of his robes, the firm, steady steps approaching. And then, he was there—Gil-galad, in all his quiet radiance, his expression carefully composed but his eyes speaking of a storm just passed. He did not speak immediately. Instead, he simply lowered himself onto the bench beside you, his presence warm, grounding. For a moment, neither of you said anything. The wind stirred the branches above, sunlight dappling his face, tracing over the sharp line of his jaw, the quiet power in his features.

Then, softly, he spoke. “I will not ask if you have heard,” he said, “for I know you have.” You nodded. You had heard of Lysander’s words, of the insult he had dared to voice. But more than that, you had heard of Gil-galad’s response. The court had not expected such fierce devotion from a king known for his measured diplomacy.

“You did not have to defend me,” you murmured. His gaze sharpened, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Of course I did.” You looked away, fingers curling slightly against the fabric of your sleeve. “I know what some think. That I am not—” Gil-galad reached for your hand before you could finish. His fingers were strong, calloused from years of wielding a blade, yet his touch was gentle as he intertwined them with yours.

“Do not say it,” he said, voice low but firm. “Do not give weight to their folly.” You swallowed, your heart tightening at the raw sincerity in his tone. When you met his gaze again, you saw not the High King of the Noldor, not the ruler whose word shaped the course of nations. You saw him—the man who had chosen you, not out of obligation, nor for politics, but out of something deeper, something unshakable. “I did not have to defend you,” he said, repeating your words, “but I would. Always.” His thumb brushed over the back of your hand. “Do you know why?” You knew, but still, you whispered, “Tell me.”

“Because you are my heart.” His voice was softer now, but no less resolute. “You are my choice, my equal, my love. They may whisper their doubts, but their words will never touch what I know to be true.” A breath shuddered through you, the weight of the day dissolving in the warmth of his devotion. He lifted a hand to your face, his palm resting against your cheek as his thumb brushed lightly along your skin.

“Never doubt what you mean to me,” he murmured. And then, slowly, reverently, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead—a promise in its own right, silent yet unbreakable. The tension you had carried melted away, replaced by something steadier, stronger. You leaned into him, letting your forehead rest against his shoulder, and he held you there, the scent of him—warmth, cedarwood, the sea—enveloping you.

For a long moment, the world was just the two of you beneath the willow, the wind whispering through its leaves, carrying away the remnants of courtly whispers. That evening, when the halls had fallen into quiet and the golden traced patterns through the windows, Gil-galad sat in his study. A single candle burned beside him, its light casting flickering shadows across the parchment before him. He rarely put his emotions to words in such an away. His devotion was spoken in actions, in steadfast loyalty, in the way he held you, the way he fought for you. But tonight, he let the ink speak for him. His quill moved across the page, steady and deliberate. A poem, not of grand declarations, but of quiet, unwavering love. A love that no whisper could shake.

….later on in dusk

The last light of the sun melted into deep indigo as dusk settled over Lindon. The grand halls of the palace had quieted, and the weight of the day had lifted, leaving only the hush of the evening breeze and the flickering of lanterns casting golden warmth against stone walls. In the sanctuary of your shared chambers, you lay curled on the bed, parchment in hand, your fingers gently tracing the lines of inked Elvish script. His words.

You had read them once. Twice. Now, perhaps a dozen times over. And yet, each line still sent a rush of warmth through you, the poetry weaving around your heart like a silken thread, binding you closer to the one who had written it. Your lips moved soundlessly over the verses, and though you tried to maintain composure, a telltale blush had spread across your cheeks, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

Gil-galad, standing by the chamber’s edge, watched you with quiet amusement. His heavy ceremonial robes had long been discarded, hanging neatly upon their stand, and his boots were set aside. Now, he was clad in nothing but his linen tunic and fitted trousers, the formality of the day replaced by a rare ease. The High King of the Noldor had been set aside for the night—here, he was simply yours.

And yet, you had not noticed him. Not truly. Not as he approached the bed with slow, measured steps. Not as he placed a knee upon the mattress, the frame dipping beneath his weight. Not even as he leaned forward, his presence drawing nearer, the warmth of him filling the space between you.

No, you were still too enraptured by his words to realize he had slipped onto the bed entirely, that he had crept closer—until at last, with a single deliberate motion, he pushed his way between your arms. A startled gasp left you as parchment crinkled in your grasp, his head suddenly appearing between your elbows, his golden hair catching the glow of the bedside lantern. “Enjoying yourself?” His voice was low, teasing, his lips already hovering far too close to yours.

You blinked, caught between flustered laughter and helpless adoration. “You—! I was reading that!” Gil-galad hummed, tilting his head, pressing in closer, his breath warm against your skin. “I noticed.” Your arms had slackened, the parchment falling slightly as he stole the space between you, his broad frame settling easily against yours. He was everywhere now—his presence, his warmth, the faint scent of sea air and cedarwood clinging to him.

And then, before you could recover, his lips brushed against yours. It was not urgent, nor desperate, but deliberate—a kiss meant to steal the breath from your lungs, to replace whatever words had been on your tongue with the simple, undeniable truth of him. Your fingers found purchase against his shoulders, gripping the soft linen of his tunic as he kissed you again—slow, lingering, as if tasting the giddiness still lingering on your lips from his poem.

When he finally pulled back, just enough to meet your gaze, his blue eyes gleamed with quiet satisfaction. “You’ve read it enough to burn the words into your memory,” he murmured, lips curving. “And still, you blush.” Your cheeks flamed anew, and you huffed, weakly swatting his arm. “It is unfair that you write such things and then expect me not to react.” He chuckled, deep and rich, before finally shifting to settle beside you. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you effortlessly against him, until your head rested against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your ear.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The night stretched around you, soft and quiet. His fingers traced idle patterns along your back, and yours played absently with the fabric of his tunic. “You truly meant every word?” you whispered after some time, voice barely above a breath. Gil-galad’s hold on you tightened ever so slightly.

“I have never spoken anything more true.” A warmth, deep and unshakable, bloomed in your chest. You sighed, content, as his lips pressed lightly against the crown of your head. And as the night deepened, you allowed yourself to close your eyes, knowing that in his arms, you were cherished. You were home.

#Gil galad #Gil galad x you #Gil galad x reader #gil galad high king #gil galad of lindon #elvenking gil galad #gil galad rings of power #ereinion gil galad #Gil galad simps #gil galad supremacy #lord of the rings #the hobbit #lotr elves

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albertserra · 2 years ago

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Dear High Commissioner,

This will be my last official communication to you as Director of the New York Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights.

High Commissioner, we are failing again.

This is a textbook case of genocide. The European, ethno-nationalist, settler colonial project in Palestine has entered its final phase, toward the expedited destruction of the last remnants of indigenous Palestinian life in Palestine. What's more, the governments of the United States, the United Kingdom, and much of Europe, are wholly complicit in the horrific assault. Not only are these governments refusing to meet their treaty obligations "to ensure respect" for the Geneva Conventions, but they are in fact actively arming the assault, providing economic and intelligence support, and giving political and diplomatic cover for Israel's atrocities.

Volker Turk, High Commissioner for Human Rights Palais Wilson, Geneva

Full letter

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docprof · 6 months ago

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Mene mene tekel upharsin Part 5 - NATO Ukraine USA stand defeated

The money laundering of Democrats Obama Biden Kamala Harris is bleeding USA to DEATH... the empire is crumbling.... Ukraine is dead with no soldiers left to fight .... over 1.1 million UKRANIAN Soldiers are dead... NATO is rendered toothless demilitarized with over 600K NATO soldiers dead... so much so that FRANCE is desperately urging , EVERY EU Nation to send soldiers to Ukraine ; to which Poland and most Violent Russophobe Eastern European states refused...

The reason is simple.... they all know, they can't survive on the battleground ... it is a different thing, to shout from your chairs and chambers , but in reality even British Army , as per their own internal assessment, can't last for a week against Russian army....

In a master chess move Putin and Erdogan of Turkey reached a deal pitching NATO Vs NATO... Turkey forces are fighting USA backed militia in Syria... Sec Blinken had to rush to Turkey to urge them to not kill all NATO militia in Syria ..... Vultures have started gathering... Erdogan is talking of cancelling 100 year old WW1 treaty and re-enacting OTTAMAN Empire ... the ancient battle ground has opened up... all this thanks to inferior USA weapons and technology .... and the weakening of the USA .... thanks to stupid American voters who kept Democrats in powers for so long .... they have done nothing but looted USA and pardoned the corrupt .

America is trying to win an imaginary war by propaganda like it always has... USA is on its knees; few steps away from surrendering or breaking away... Can Trump Save it? Perhaps not... hence he is proclaiming to make CANADA and MEXICO American states... The dethroned bankrupt empire of lies and deceit can now only rule its own neighbors... Kiss Rule based order good bye....

While delusional Ukrainian NATO Europeans are dreaming of Russia breaking and surrendering .... not knowing their master is about to desert them... to save itself... from nuclear oblivion.... loser NATO Ukraine EU can't dictate terms and will not be allowed to.... ad infinitum WWIII...

Nothing unites the human playground quite like one intrepid soul willing to stand, fight, and humble the bully.

The tripartite alliance of Russia, China, and Iran is an adversary more than adequate to roll back imperial rule by leaps and bounds, and in a relatively short span of time.

Many of the “middle powers” can also see which way the wind is blowing, and are positioning themselves accordingly. Spheres of influence are being aggressively pursued and secured in every quarter of the earth.

And perhaps most meaningful of all, they are cooperating to progressively repudiate the empire’s debt notes as the coin of the realm. They have come to understand that a prerequisite to “fixing the world” is to return its money system to a much more equitable and sustainable basis.

An alternative currency is coming... USD will come to an end much sooner than FED would have stupid americans believe.... The corruption of Obama Biden Harris Democrats has rotted America to the core ... USA lost the big war...

The DEATH OF EMPIRE IS MARKED........ whether it goes down slowly, or takes away whole earth in a fit of rage, by launching nuclear war which it can't win.... remains to be seen .... having lost the traditional proxy war .... with armies no longer willing to fight as proxy for it....

USA Democracy farce and hypocrisy stands exposed with increasing governments calling it out... including the majority nations in the UN...

It appears Russia has cut the empire into pieces.... it has achieved what Gorbachev and soviets compromised to not achieve for peace... The days of americans will be numbered with poverty , hunger and reality shocks, as World economy, decouples from the USD over coming years.... No more money printing will save the EMPIRE or turn the tide..........

PART 6 TO COME.....

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ronqueesha · 1 month ago

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I'm in the mood to make another 40k lore post for the mutuals new to the franchise:

Everyone in the Imperium speaks a language called Gothic (or Low Gothic). Gothic is a bastardized and barely recognizable variant of a language now called High Gothic. High Gothic is an ANCIENT language, tens of thousands of years old. It was once the language spoken across the galaxy during the dark age of technology, when humanity had multiple technological utopias and ruled a huge part of the galaxy 20,000 years before the current setting. In the 41st millennium, High Gothic is seen as a holy language, reserved for ancient documents, religious texts, and technical manuals for the Imperium's most critical technology.

Virtually no one speaks High Gothic. Only the wealthiest and most powerful people are educated on how to read it, and even then its holy significance keeps it from being widely used as a common form of communication. Most people who hear or read High Gothic in the current era regard it as a mystical and religious experience.

In 40k books and lore text, Low Gothic is represented in modern English, while High Gothic is a weird bastardization of classic Latin. But that's not to say if you want to make up your own High Gothic phrases that you need to know Latin yourself! Over the decades, various 40k writers have used actual real latin for High Gothic, or just made up a bunch of Latin-sounding words to sound mystical and cool.

The Adeptus Mechanicus have their own languages, often called the Cant Mechanicus. Binaric or Binary is the most common of these languages. It's VERY difficult for a normal person to speak Binaric, but is quite easy for a mechanical vox device or other artificial sound machine to replicate. To normal ears, it often sounds like a mix of static and musical tones. It's also forbidden for people outside of the Cult Mechanicus to speak these languages, though some exceptions have been made.

The Adeptus Mechanicus' origins is one of my favorite parts of lore. Mars was the first planet humanity ever colonized, and was terraformed into a life-sustaining paradise long before the Dark Age of Technology. Over thousands of years, Martian society developed differently from Earth, as did all of humanity's colonies spread across the stars.

The dark age of technology swiftly turned into the age of strife following the birth of slaanesh. Martian society was cut off from humanity's interstellar empire, and a lot of technology necessary to keep mars terraformed and habitable began to break down. Radiation killed or mutated huge swathes of population as the atmosphere and magnetic field collapsed. The water froze and the planet became a red wasteland again after tens of thousands of years of human habitation.

But the martian society didn't die with their world. Instead, the people who worked to keep the few working machines intact became revered by the surviving population. A cult of survival and machine dependence became a cult of machine supremacy as it became the literal only thing that kept the tiny Martian population alive. And during this age of strife, mars actually reached back into the stars despite the warp and unreality continually tearing the galaxy apart.

The Mechanicum was already a small but powerful interstellar society when the Emperor reunited Terra and began his crusade to form the Imperium. The Adeptus Mechanicus is technically not part of the Imperium, but subject to the ancient and holy Treaty of Olympus. The Imperium and Mechanicus are allies, two human factions united against a violent and dangerous galaxy. The Imperium recognizes the sovereignty of Mars and the forge worlds, while benefiting from Martian technology.

This is one reason why the Imperial Aquila has two heads. To recognize both pillars of humanity's development, and their alliance to conquer the galaxy.

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storiesfromgaza · 2 years ago

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You MUST READ and disseminate the resignation letter of the High Commissioner for Human Rights, which speaks of a comprehensive plan for annihilation/genocide.

This resignation letter and message were written three days before the Jabaliya Massacre, in which many children and women tragically lost their lives!

You can read it from the image, or I will provide you with the text below to make it easier for you to read.

28 October 2023 Dear High Commissioner, This will be my last official communication to you as Director of the New York Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights. I write at a moment of great anguish for the world, including for many of our colleagues. Once again, we are seeing a genocide unfolding before our eyes, and the Organization that we serve appears powerless to stop it. As someone who has investigated human rights in Palestine since the 1980s, lived in Gaza as a UN human rights advisor in the 1990s, and carried out several human rights missions to the country before and since, this is deeply personal to me. I also worked in these halls through the genocides against the Tutsis, Bosnian Muslims, the Yazidi, and the Rohingya. In each case, when the dust settled on the horrors that had been perpetrated against defenseless civilian populations, it became painfully clear that we had failed in our duty to meet the imperatives of prevention of mass atrocites, of protection of the vulnerable, and of accountability for perpetrators. And so it has been with successive waves of murder and persecution against the Palestinians throughout the entire life of the UN. High Commissioner, we are failing again. As a human rights lawyer with more than three decades of experience in the field, I know well that the concept of genocide has often been subject to political abuse. But the current wholesale slaughter of the Palestinian people, rooted in an ethno-nationalist settler colonial ideology, in continuation of decades of their systematic persecution and purging, based entirely upon their status as Arabs, and coupled with explicit statements of intent by leaders in the Israeli government and military, leaves no room for doubt or debate. In Gaza, civilian homes, schools, churches, mosques, and medical institutions are wantonly attacked as thousands of civilians are massacred. In the West Bank, including occupied Jerusalem, homes are seized and reassigned based entirely on race, and violent settler pogroms are accompanied by Israeli military units. Across the land, Apartheid rules. This is a text-book case of genocide. The European, ethno-nationalist, settler colonial project in Palestine has entered its final phase, toward the expedited destruction of the last remnants of indigenous Palestinian life in Palestine. What's more, the governments of the United States, the United Kingdom, and much of Europe, are wholly complicit in the horrific assault. Not only are these governments refusing to meet their treaty obligations to ensure respect" for the Geneva Conventions, but they are in fact actively arming the assault, providing economic and intelligence support, and giving political and diplomatic cover for Israel's atrocities. Volker Turk, High Commissioner for Human Rights Palais Wilson, Geneva

#gaza #palestine #gaza strip #free gaza #free palestine #storiesfromgaza #غزة #فلسطين #genocide #humanitarian crisis

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mingi-s-dimples · 3 months ago

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Thorn by Night - Hongjoong

~vampire hj x werewolf fem!reader + as a continuation or in relation with Blood Oath~ req by @justevthings

pairing: vampire!hongjoong x werewolf fem!reader

genre: 18+, filth, abo

summary: you're fated to be with him.. and he knows better than anyone that he should make you his before it's too late.

wc: 5.7k

warnings: vampire x werewolf au, biting, harsh possessiveness, blood drinking, neck sucking, neck marking, hair pulling, oral both m and f, multiple rounds, head pushing, deep throating, lots of cum, finger sucking, lots lots of teasing, it's too late for me to think of more please bare with me, think of anything that could happen with hj and that’s probbalt it lmao, completely consensual!, unprotected (boo use protection irl!!), for sureeee forgot something, will edit tomorrow ^^

Author's Note: I always love me the vampire ver of these men nsususj i love them. tysm for this request honeyyy ^^ the * are bc i wrote it on my phone at first in my notes & i can't use italic settings.. they don't get saved when i copyp0aste it here.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and foes not represent the reality of the member in any way.

The night air was thick with tension, the scent of damp earth and burning torches mingling in the cool breeze that swept across the grounds of the werewolves’ mansion. The towering structure stood proudly at the edge of the forest, its stone walls bathed in the pale light of the moon. Hongjoong stood with a confident posture, his crimson eyes gleaming in the darkness as he observed the gathered werewolf pack. They were rugged and powerful, their eyes flickering with distrust, their human forms standing tall, exuding the strength of centuries-old traditions.

But none of them captured his attention quite like you.

You were unlike any werewolf he had ever seen. Ethereal, almost otherworldly under the moon’s glow, your long white hair flowed like a silver river down your back, a striking contrast against the night. You stood with an elegance that commanded attention, but it wasn’t just your beauty that drew him in—it was the undeniable pull between you both, a magnetic force that whispered to him that you were his. Fate had intertwined your lives, an invisible bond that could not be ignored.

Yet, you would never be his. You couldn’t be.

Vampires and werewolves were enemies, bound by centuries of hatred and bloodshed. The treaty that had brought Hongjoong here was meant to keep the peace, to prevent war—not to ignite something far more dangerous. And yet, as your eyes locked with his, his pulse quickened, something stirring inside him that he hadn’t felt in ages.

You felt it too. He could see it in the way your breath hitched, the subtle way your fingers twitched as if resisting the urge to reach for him.

He smirked, intrigued by the connection.

His brother’s voice broke through his thoughts, cold and sharp. “Let’s finish this quickly.”

Seonghwa stood beside him, his presence a silent threat, as always. His sharp gaze never left the werewolves, daring anyone to challenge their authority. As the more imposing of the two, Seonghwa was the enforcer, the one who made sure their kind never strayed from the rules. Hongjoong could sense your unease, the way you stiffened slightly when Seonghwa’s gaze flicked toward you. It was the kind of fear that was not unfounded; Seonghwa had a way of making people feel small, even in their human form.

The werewolf leader, a tall figure with a gruff voice, spoke, his tone firm. “We will review the terms overnight. My pack will decide by sunrise.”

Hongjoong nodded slowly, his gaze returning to you. He couldn’t ignore the pull, the desire to know more about you, to have you.

As the meeting ended, the werewolves began to disperse, retreating into the mansion. But you lingered, just for a moment, your eyes meeting his again. Hongjoong stepped forward, closing the distance, letting his presence brush against yours. It was an unspoken challenge, an invitation.

You turned quickly, slipping into the mansion’s shadows, but Hongjoong knew. You weren’t running. You were waiting.

Later that night, Hongjoong found you standing at the edge of the mansion’s terrace, bathed in the soft light of the moon. The mansion behind you was quiet, and the sounds of distant footsteps had faded into the night. Your expression was guarded, but your body language gave you away—the way you subtly angled toward him, as if you couldn’t stay away.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you said, your voice soft but firm, a hint of warning.

“Neither should you,” he replied, his voice low, smooth, as he closed the distance between you both, watching as a shiver ran through you—not from the cold, but from the proximity of his presence.

Your lips parted, but you didn’t argue. You both knew the truth—there was something between you that couldn’t be denied, something neither of you could control.

“My leader will choose my mate at sunrise,” you confessed, your voice barely a whisper, “If they see me with you—”

“They won’t.” Hongjoong was standing before you now, his face mere inches from yours, his breath mingling with yours. “Because you’ll be gone before then.”

You tensed, the reality of his words sinking in. “What are you saying?”

A teasing smirk curved his lips, but there was something darker beneath it. “Come with me. Run.”

You stared up at him, defiance in your eyes. “You really think I’m just going to follow you?”

Hongjoong’s smirk deepened. “I think you already are.”

You felt your pulse quicken as he took another step forward, crowding you with his presence. “You’re not going to win this. Your pack will never let you take me.”

He leaned in closer, voice low and teasing. “Your pack won’t matter when you’re with me.”

You tilted your head, trying to hold onto your resistance. “What’s stopping me from running? From telling them?”

He chuckled darkly, brushing a lock of hair from your face. “You’re not going anywhere, sweetie. You’ll follow me... and you’ll want to.”

Your breath hitched, your body betraying your defiance. You took a small step back but didn’t move away entirely. “You’re full of yourself.”

“Not full enough,” he said with a grin. “You’re drawn to me, same as I am to you. Don’t pretend you’re not.”

You hesitated, your defiance slipping as you felt that undeniable pull. “You’re impossible.”

Hongjoong’s grin widened as he reached out, cupping your chin gently. “And you’re already mine.”

For a moment, you stayed still, anger and desire fighting within you. But the desire won out. You let out a breath, and with one last, reluctant step forward, you muttered, “Fine. Let’s go.”

Hongjoong’s smirk softened, his voice filled with triumph. “That’s more like it, sweetie. I knew you couldn’t resist.”

—

Hongjoong led you through the grand halls of his and Seonghwa's mansion, his hand resting on your back, guiding you through the lavish space. The opulence of the place was overwhelming, dark wood, velvet drapes, and flickering candlelight filling every corner. As much as you tried to act unaffected, you could feel the weight of the tension building between you both.

Just as you reached the living room, the sound of footsteps echoed from behind. Seonghwa appeared in the doorway, his icy eyes flicking over to you for only a moment before landing on his brother. The calm, controlled presence of Seonghwa was a stark contrast to the energy crackling between you and Hongjoong.

“You’re not finished with your bullshit yet?” Seonghwa’s voice cut through the air, dripping with amusement. “You really are a lost cause, Hongjoong.”

Hongjoong didn’t even glance at his brother. His smirk remained, as confident as ever. “I can handle it from here.”

Seonghwa’s gaze lingered on you, his expression unreadable. He seemed to weigh something for a moment before giving a soft, almost indifferent sigh. “Fine,” he muttered. “I’ll leave you to it, then. You’re both impossible.”

With that, Seonghwa turned and retreated into the hallway, then ti his room, leaving you and Hongjoong alone in the quiet mansion.

Once the door clicked shut behind Seonghwa, Hongjoong’s attention was fully on you again. His smile stretched wider, a dangerous glint in his eyes as he stepped closer, crowding you against the wall. “You’re in my world now, sweetheart,” he whispered, his breath hot against your skin.

You glared up at him, trying to ignore the pull of desire settling between your legs. “I’m not scared of you.”

Hongjoong chuckled darkly, one hand brushing a lock of hair away from your face. “I think you’re already scared of what you’re feeling. Or maybe... you’re just scared of me.”

“You’re already testing my patience.. you're mine, sweetheart” he growled, voice thick with desire.

“I’m not yours,” you shot back, though your breath caught as his fingers brushed over your neck.

Hongjoong’s lips quirked into a smirk. “We’ll see.”

Before you could respond, he crushed his lips to yours, the kiss brutal, demanding. He pulled you close, his body hard against yours, and you couldn’t help but melt into him, your body betraying your words. His hands moved to your waist, pressing you against the wall, the kiss deepening.

“You think you can keep fighting me?” he murmured between kisses, his voice low and almost taunting.

You forced yourself to pull back, determined to maintain control. “I don’t-” but a muffled whine escaped your lips.

His smirk only deepened as he took your hand and walked you further into the room. “Don’t pretend,” he said, his voice rough as he closed the door behind him.

In his dimly lit bedroom, the air felt heavier, charged. Hongjoong’s eyes locked onto yours, pupils dilated with lust. Without hesitation, his hands moved to your shirt, pushing it up. You didn’t fight him as he undressed you, taking his time but with an urgency that made your heart race.

He paused, his eyes drinking you in. “God, you're beautiful,” he murmured, his lips brushing your neck before he kissed you again, this time harder, more possessive.

His hands gripped your neck, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp, your breath hitching. “You’ll be mine soon enough,” he growled.

You glared at him, but your body was already reacting, the tension between you undeniable. He was right. Your resistance was slipping.

“I’m not giving in,” you breathed, barely holding on.

Hongjoong smirked again, his fingers teasing your skin as he kissed down your neck, biting sharply and marking you. You moaned despite yourself, your body responding to him in ways you couldn’t deny. He pushed you on the bed, a gasp escaping your chest as he did.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he muttered, biting into your skin again, making you tremble as he drank from you. The sharp pain and pleasure mixed, and you couldn’t stop the desperate gasp that escaped your lips.

“Say it,” he demanded, his lips ghosting over yours. “Say you want this.”

You hesitated for only a moment, your breath ragged as your resistance shattered. “I-i… want this,” you finally whispered, and Hongjoong’s grin was all teeth.

“Fuck it.. you should’ve said that sooner,” he growled, pulling away long enough to undress himself. He hovered over you, eyes blazing with satisfaction.

You tried to hold onto your defiance, but with one last desperate kiss, you let go. His hands were everywhere, making you writhe beneath him, each touch igniting a fire inside you that you couldn’t extinguish.

“I knew it,” he said, voice dark and triumphant, as his hands moved to your thighs, pushing them apart.

Hongjoong’s grip on your thighs tightened, his nails digging in just enough to make you squirm. His smirk deepened at the sight of you beneath him, trembling but still trying to hold onto the last threads of defiance.

“Look at you,” he murmured, dragging his fingers slowly up your inner thigh. “Still pretending like you don’t want this.”

Your breath hitched as his touch got closer to where you needed him most. He took his time, tracing patterns over your skin, watching your reactions like he was studying you. You tried to close your legs, but his grip only tightened, keeping you wide open for him.

“Oh, no,” he chuckled, pressing a teasing kiss to your jaw before whispering against your lips. “You wanted to play hard to get, didn’t you? So let me take my time with you.”

You shuddered as he moved lower, his lips following the path his fingers had traced, leaving a trail of heat and need in their wake. His fangs scraped lightly over your skin, just enough to remind you exactly what he was. Exactly who had you pinned beneath him.

“You’re already soaked, aren’t you?” he mused, his voice dripping with satisfaction. His fingers finally brushed against your core, and you let out a soft, helpless whimper.

Hongjoong groaned at the sound, his patience wearing thin. “You should’ve just given in sooner,” he murmured, slipping a single finger against you, testing, teasing. “Would’ve saved us both some time.”

But he liked this—watching you crumble, watching you admit, without words, that you belonged to him.

And by the time he was finished with you, you’d never deny it again.

Hongjoong smirked at the way you trembled beneath him, your body betraying you with every little gasp and shudder. He pressed a final, lingering kiss to your inner thigh before pulling back just enough to meet your gaze.

"You gonna keep fighting me, little wolf?" he taunted, his voice dark with amusement. "Or are you finally ready to admit you need me?"

You scoffed, even as your breath hitched when he trailed his fingers through your slick folds. "I don't need you."

Hongjoong clicked his tongue, shaking his head like you had disappointed him. "Still lying," he murmured, and before you could throw out another stubborn remark, he leaned down and licked a slow, teasing stripe over your cunt.

Your back arched, a broken whimper slipping past your lips, and Hongjoong groaned at the taste of you. "Fuck," he muttered, his grip tightening on your thighs. "You say you don’t need me, but this—" he flicked his tongue over your clit, making you jolt "—says otherwise."

You clenched your fists, trying so hard not to moan, but then he sucked your clit into his mouth, and you couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped. Hongjoong chuckled against you, the vibrations sending another shiver up your spine.

"You were saying?" he mused, voice muffled against your heat.

"Shut up," you managed to breathe, your fingers tangling into his hair, as if you could push him away—when really, you just wanted to keep him there.

He hummed, lazily flicking his tongue over your sensitive bud before slipping two fingers inside you without warning. You choked on a moan, your thighs twitching against his hold.

"Shut up?" he repeated, his smirk evident even as he curled his fingers just right, pressing against the spot that made your vision blur. "That’s not what you meant to say."

His fingers fucked into you slow but deep, stretching you open while his tongue worked your clit with practiced precision. He alternated between soft, teasing flicks and rough, insistent strokes, each one making you arch further into his mouth.

When you whimpered, he groaned against you, the sound vibrating through your core. "So sensitive," he mused, his fingers pressing deeper, scissoring inside you just to feel you clench around him. "You’re dripping, little wolf. Just from my tongue."

His lips closed around your clit again, sucking it hard before flattening his tongue and dragging it down, licking you up like he was savoring every drop. He was relentless, messy—his saliva mixing with your slick as he buried himself between your thighs. His jaw flexed, his tongue moving with obscene, wet sounds, his fingers curling with every stroke.

"Look at you," he groaned, pulling back just enough to watch the way his fingers disappeared inside you. "Fucking perfect."

You barely had time to process the praise before he was back on you, licking, sucking, devouring. His tongue worked you over with expert precision, alternating between deep, long strokes and rapid flicks over your swollen clit. When he moaned against you, the vibration sent you spiraling, pleasure coiling tighter, tighter—

"Cum for me," he growled, his fingers pressing deep, his mouth latching onto you again.

And when you did—when you shattered beneath him, crying out his name—he groaned, drinking in every last drop as if he’d never get enough of you.

With one final, lingering kiss against your trembling cunt, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes burning into yours.

"You can fight me all you want, little wolf," he murmured darkly, sliding his fingers out of you only to press them to your lips, making you taste yourself. "But in the end—" he smirked, his voice full of possession "—you’ll always be mine."

Hongjoong pulled away from between your thighs, his mouth and chin glistening, his gaze locked onto your dazed expression as you struggled to breathe. But he wasn’t done. Not even close.

“Up,” he ordered, gripping your wrist and dragging you to the edge of the bed. Your legs wobbled, your body weak from how he had devoured you, but he didn’t give you a chance to recover.

He tugged you down until your knees hit the floor, your body positioned perfectly in front of him. His cock was already hard, the tip flushed and leaking, standing tall right before your lips.

“Open,” he murmured, thumb swiping over your bottom lip. “You’ve got work to do.”

You shot him a glare, but when he tapped the tip of his cock against your lips, smearing precum along them, you opened without another word.

Hongjoong groaned as he pushed in, slow at first, watching as inch by inch disappeared past your lips. Your mouth stretched around him, saliva pooling on your tongue, and then—he didn’t wait.

His hands tangled in your hair, gripping tight as he *fucked* your mouth, hips snapping forward without restraint. Wet, filthy sounds filled the room, each thrust pushing deeper, making your throat convulse around him.

“Fuck, look at you,” he groaned, glancing down at the way you took him so beautifully, the way your lips were stretched wide, drool dripping down your chin. “You act so fucking defiant, but your mouth? Your mouth is obedient.”

You moaned around him, your hands gripping his thighs, nails digging into his skin as he fucked into your throat like he owned it.

But then—he stopped.

He pulled out suddenly, watching as you gasped, strings of saliva still connecting you to him. You barely had time to recover before his hands were on you again.

He *flipped* you effortlessly, keeping you right at the edge of the bed, your back now against the mattress. Your head hung off the side, your vision spinning for just a moment before you realized—he was still standing in the same place.

Still towering over you.

Still gripping his cock.

Your stomach clenched as he stroked himself, watching you from above with that same hungry expression. His fingers trailed down your throat, pressing lightly before he smirked.

“Let’s see if you can take me even deeper like this.”

Then he pushed in.

Your lips parted instantly, his cock sliding past them and *down*, deeper than before, the angle forcing you to take all of him. Your throat tightened, a muffled whimper escaping as he bottomed out, his groan loud and guttural as he rolled his hips forward.

“Fuck,” he hissed, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other pressing against your throat. His thumb traced over the bulge forming there, his cock so deep you swore you could feel him everywhere. “Feel that? That’s me inside you, baby.”

Your body twitched, your thighs pressing together as he started moving, fucking into your mouth with long, deliberate thrusts. Each time he bottomed out, his palm pressed against your throat, feeling himself there, groaning at the sensation.

“So fucking good,” he rasped, his movements growing rougher. “I could fuck your mouth all night like this.”

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, your hands gripping onto his thighs for support as he used you. Your body was on fire, your core throbbing, every single touch of his making you crave more, *more*, *more*.

“God, you were made for this,” he groaned, thrusting deep one final time, holding himself there, savoring the way you gagged around him. “Made for *me*.”

And you couldn’t even argue.

Hongjoong’s thrusts became rougher, more erratic, his cock pushing deeper into your throat with every snap of his hips. His groans were raw, almost desperate, his fingers tightening against your throat as he felt himself moving inside you.

“Fuck—just like that,” he rasped, watching you, the way your lips stretched around him, the way your throat convulsed as you struggled to take him. But you *did*, like you were made for this, like you existed just to be used by him like this.

His head tipped back, a deep growl escaping his lips as his pace stuttered, his cock twitching inside you. “Fuck, baby—” he exhaled sharply, slamming deep one final time before spilling himself down your throat.

Warm, thick, he held you there, watching with hooded eyes as you swallowed everything, as your throat clenched around him while you took every last drop. His cock pulsed in your mouth, his groan low and drawn out as he rode out his high.

Slowly, he pulled out, a filthy string of saliva connecting you to him before he swiped his thumb over your lips, gathering the last bit of cum before pressing it against your tongue.

“That’s more like it,” he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction. He traced his thumb down your throat, like he could still *feel* himself there. His smirk deepened when you let out a breathless whimper. “So fucking good for me.”

Before you could recover, he was *lifting* you, arms wrapping around you effortlessly. Your legs curled around his waist on instinct, your body still weak, your mind still spinning.

But Hongjoong didn’t hesitate.

He turned, pushing you back against the nearest wall, pinning you there as his fingers dug into your thighs. The heat between you was unbearable, his cock still hard, pressed right against your soaked core. But—he didn’t move.

His lips were parted, his breathing heavy, his eyes wild with something darker, something deeper than just lust.

Impatience. Eagerness. *Restraint.*

For the first time tonight, *he* was the one waiting.

His grip on you tightened, his body trembling with the effort it took to hold back. His lips ghosted over yours, his breath warm as he murmured, “Say it.”

You swallowed, your arms tightening around his shoulders as you felt his cock twitch against you, his entire body *begging* for you.

And god, you wanted him just as much.

“Yes,” you breathed.

That was all it took.

Hongjoong *snapped.*

His lips crashed onto yours, his hands gripping your thighs tighter as he *thrust* into you in one deep, aching motion. You gasped into his mouth, nails digging into his back as he stretched you, filled you completely.

A low groan rumbled from his chest as he pulled back slightly, resting his forehead against yours, his breath ragged.

“Fuck, you feel perfect,” he muttered, his tone softer now, reverent even.

His hips rolled into you, slow and deep, savoring every inch, every pulse, every twitch of your walls around him. His pace wasn’t brutal—it was *deliberate*. Passionate. Worshiping.

It wasn’t just fucking.

He was making love to you.

His lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw, then down your neck, leaving slow, lingering kisses between sharp, needy breaths. His hands roamed over your body, memorizing every curve, every tremble, every reaction to him.

And god, he was *everywhere*.

You moaned his name, and he groaned in response, his thrusts growing just a little deeper, a little more desperate, his composure slipping even as he tried to hold on.

“You’re mine,” he whispered against your skin, his words possessive but tender. “*Mine.*”

And as your body tightened around him, as pleasure coiled so tight you thought you’d break, you realized—you never wanted to be anything else.

Hongjoong was barely holding on, his body trembling against yours, his breath hot and ragged as he pressed desperate kisses against your neck. His hips rolled into you in slow, deep strokes, dragging pleasure through your veins like liquid fire. But his grip—*his grip*—was too tight, his fingers digging into your thighs like he was restraining himself, like he was *fighting* the very instinct clawing at him.

And then, his voice—low, guttural, edged with something dangerous.

“*Let me go rougher.*”

His lips ghosted over the shell of your ear, his teeth grazing your skin. “Say I can,” he muttered, his voice strained, *pleading*, even through all his dominance. “Because if you don’t, I *swear* I’ll lose my fucking mind—”

You swallowed hard, shuddering at the raw desperation in his tone, the way his cock twitched inside you as if it was physically painful for him to hold back any longer.

“Hongjoong—” Your voice came out breathless, trembling. “Yes. *Yes.*”

*That* was all it took.

A guttural growl tore from his throat as he *snapped*, his hands tightening around your thighs as he *slammed* into you. The shift was instant, his pace brutal, his cock stretching you over and over as he drove himself deeper with every powerful thrust.

The air *cracked* with the sound of skin meeting skin, your moans mixing with his curses, your head falling back against the wall as he *wrecked* you.

“*Fucking finally,*” he groaned, his teeth scraping against your throat, his grip unrelenting. His fingers dug into your flesh hard enough to bruise, as if he was trying to mold you into him, to *claim* you in every possible way.

And then—his fangs.

You barely had time to process the sharp *sting* before a blinding wave of heat washed over you, the pain melting into pleasure so intense it left you gasping. Hongjoong *sucked* at your pulse greedily, drinking from you while still fucking into you with wild, reckless abandon.

“*God, you taste so fucking good,*” he rasped against your skin, his voice wrecked, half-mad with lust. “So fucking *perfect.*”

Your body *burned* for him, every thrust sending shocks of pleasure coursing through you, every pull of his mouth making your head spin. He was devouring you in *every* way, drinking you in, *ruining* you, his cock slamming into you so deep you swore you could feel him in your stomach.

The pleasure was dizzying, overwhelming. You clawed at his shoulders, desperate to ground yourself, but he wasn’t slowing down. *If anything*, he was fucking you even *harder*, his hands gripping your ass now, angling your hips so he could bury himself deeper, *deeper—*

“Taking me so fucking well,” he growled, his lips brushing against the mark he left on your throat. His voice was rough, dark, dripping with satisfaction. “You love this, don’t you? *Being mine.*”

You barely managed a strangled moan, your nails raking down his back, but it only spurred him on. His thrusts became erratic, desperate, his need clawing at the surface, his groans mixing with your breathless cries.

His forehead pressed against yours, his lips brushing against yours as he whispered, voice raw and shaking, “I’m gonna keep fucking you until you can’t *breathe.*”

And god, you wanted that.

You *needed* that.

And he *wasn’t stopping.

Hongjoong was unraveling, his body trembling with need, but it wasn’t enough. *It would never be enough.* Not until he had you *completely*. Not until you were ruined, marked, and utterly his.

His lips, still stained with your blood, curled into a dark smirk. He lifted you effortlessly, his strength undeniable, before carrying you to the bed and dropping you onto the soft sheets.

“Face down,” he murmured, his voice a deep, velvety command. “Ass up.”

You obeyed, barely able to think, still dazed from the pleasure and blood loss, but he wasn’t gentle when he *dragged* you into position. His hands roamed down your back, fingers teasing, tracing along your spine before pressing between your shoulder blades, arching you just how he wanted.

“*Look at you,*” he groaned, his fingers kneading the flesh of your ass before gripping your hips, positioning you exactly how he wanted. “A fucking *dream.*”

His hand slid into your hair, fisting it gently before yanking your head back slightly. His lips ghosted against your ear, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Do you know what this means for a vampire?” he rasped, his breath hot against your skin. “Taking you like this—*marking* you like this?” His fangs dragged along your shoulder, teasing, threatening. “It means you’re mine. *Forever.*”

You whimpered, your body betraying you completely, but you knew he could *hear* the way your heartbeat stuttered, how your arousal only grew at his words.

He chuckled darkly. “That’s right, *love*.”

Then, without another word, he *thrust* into you again, knocking the breath from your lungs as he filled you completely, the stretch making your back arch even *deeper*. His fingers dug into your waist as he set a brutal, unrelenting pace, each movement deliberate, *possessive*.

“*Mine,*” he growled, snapping his hips into yours, his cock hitting *so* deep you swore you could feel him in your soul.

He *owned* you in every possible way. And there was no escaping him.

Hongjoong didn’t even *pretend* to be satisfied. Even after he had you trembling beneath him, after he had claimed you in every possible way, he wasn’t done. Not yet.

He pulled out slowly, watching the way you clenched around nothing, the obscene sight making his cock twitch with renewed hunger. His hands trailed up your back, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the brutality he had just unleashed on you.

But you weren’t going anywhere. Not when he *still* needed more.

“You can take one more, can’t you?” he murmured, his voice velvety smooth, dark, tempting. His fingers slipped between your thighs, gathering the dripping mess between them before teasing your clit, sending a sharp jolt through your overstimulated body. “*Look at you,* already shaking.”

You whimpered, but your body betrayed you, your back arching as you leaned into his touch.

“Such a good girl for me,” he cooed, though there was a sharp edge to it—something almost mocking. “So fucking *greedy* for my cock.”

Before you could protest, he flipped you onto your back, his strength effortless as he manhandled you into the perfect position—your legs tossed over his shoulders, folded nearly in half beneath him.

“Fuck, *that’s it*,” he groaned, gripping the backs of your thighs as he lined himself up again. He didn’t wait, didn’t hesitate—he *slammed* into you in one deep thrust, forcing the air from your lungs. Your back arched off the mattress, your nails digging into his arms as he *wrecked* you all over again, his pace fast, *ruthless*.

His hand wrapped around your throat, tilting your head back just enough for him to bare his fangs. He licked a slow, teasing stripe over the mark he had already left on your skin, before sinking his teeth in *again*.

The pain, the pleasure—it was too much, your entire body tightening as you let out a choked sob.

“That’s right, *take it*,” he growled against your throat, his hips snapping against yours mercilessly. “Fucking *mine.*”

You were already so close—too close. Your entire body felt like it was on fire, pleasure building to unbearable heights as his pace became *filthy*, deep and rough, hitting that devastating spot inside you over and over until you were nothing more than a shaking mess beneath him.

“H-Hongjoong—”

“Oh, I know, *love*,” he cooed, his grip tightening as he *pounded* into you. “You’re gonna cum for me again, aren’t you? Gonna make a *fucking mess* all over me?”

You *tried* to hold on, but it was useless. The moment his fingers found your clit again, circling it with cruel precision, your body *snapped*.

The orgasm tore through you like fire, your vision going white as you *screamed*, your entire body shaking as waves of pleasure crashed over you. You barely even realized what happened until Hongjoong let out a low, dark chuckle, his thrusts slowing just enough for you to catch your breath.

“*Fuck,*” he groaned, voice thick with amusement. “You *really* couldn’t hold back, huh?”

You barely had the energy to glare at him, your body still trembling as he pulled back slightly, glancing down between you.

“Look at this fucking *mess,*” he purred, his fingers dragging through the wetness that had soaked the sheets. He lifted them to your lips, tapping them against your tongue. “Didn’t know you could do that, love.”

Before you could respond, he thrust into you one last time, his own release finally hitting him. He groaned against your skin, his body tensing as he spilled deep inside you, claiming you fully. His fangs scraped against your shoulder one final time before he collapsed against you, his breath heavy, satisfied.

For a long moment, the only sound in the room was your ragged breathing, the heat between you still unbearable. Then, Hongjoong lifted his head, his lips brushing against your temple as he chuckled.

“Messy little thing,” he murmured. “I *love* it.”

Hongjoong exhaled deeply, his weight pressing into you as he slowly came down from his high. His lips brushed against your temple, his fangs barely grazing your skin now, no longer filled with hunger but with something softer. His hands roamed over your body, rubbing slow, soothing circles into your trembling thighs, your hips, your stomach—anywhere he had been rough with.

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice low, intimate.

You let out a breathy hum, still dazed, still floating. He smirked, pressing a lingering kiss against your jaw before pulling out slowly, making you shudder. His eyes darkened again as he glanced down at the mess between your thighs, but he only chuckled, shaking his head.

“Look at you,” he mused, swiping a thumb over your swollen lips. “So fucked out.”

You rolled your eyes, too tired to sass him back, and he only grinned, kissing you again, this time slow, lazy—filled with a tenderness that contradicted everything he had just done to you.

“Wait here,” he said, reluctantly pulling himself up. “I’ll get us cleaned up.”

You barely registered him slipping on his pants before he tiptoed out of the room, padding down the hall in search of some towels. He knew Seonghwa had them stocked in his room, but what he *didn’t* expect was the very *obvious* panting on the other side of the door.

Hongjoong froze, lips curling in amusement. He heard Seonghwa’s voice, low and breathless.

“Let’s take a shower,” he murmured, his tone laced with exhaustion—and something else.

Hongjoong smirked. *So that divine woman got to him, too, huh?*

Unable to help himself, he knocked lightly on the door before calling out with a teasing lilt, “*Only* a shower?”

There was a beat of silence. Then, all at once, laughter erupted from both rooms—yours, Seonghwa’s, and *hers.*

Hongjoong just shook his head, chuckling as he grabbed a few towels. “What a night,” he muttered to himself, grinning as he made his way back to you.

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httpsoftbunni · 2 months ago

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🖼 art by @odlnus

The Leper King's Personal Struggles

Baldwin IV of Jerusalem, remembered by history as the Leper King, ruled from 1174 to 1185 AD. His reign was defined not only by external threats from the Muslim world but by an internal war, one that ravaged his flesh and sought to break his spirit. Diagnosed with leprosy at a young age, Baldwin's journey to the throne and beyond is a study in endurance, dignity, and the kind of strength the world cannot always see.

Baldwin's Early Life

Born in 1161 to King Amalric I and Queen Agnes of Courtenay, Baldwin was raised with the expectations of nobility and the education befitting a future leader. His tutor, the archbishop and chronicler William of Tyre, soon noticed something strange about the young prince. During play, Baldwin would laugh when the other boys pinched or struck him—“he seemed not to feel pain like the others,” William noted. This lack of sensation, particularly in his right arm, led to the realization that Baldwin had contracted leprosy.

Though the disease was still in its early stages, the implications were clear: Baldwin would be disfigured, disabled, and in the eyes of many, unfit to rule. And yet, “his mind remained bright, his wit untouched, and his strength of will surpassed that of many healthy men,” William wrote. This diagnosis, rather than ending his royal prospects, became the crucible in which his reign was forged.

The Physical Toll

Leprosy in the medieval period was viewed not merely as a medical illness, but as a moral and spiritual sentence. Those afflicted were often shunned, forced to live in isolation, considered cursed or unclean. And yet Baldwin, rather than being hidden away, was crowned king at just thirteen years old following his father’s death. He took the throne not with the confidence of youth, but with the weight of suffering already pressing on his shoulders.

As the years passed, the disease took its toll. His fingers curled in, his limbs grew weak, and his face became marked by the scars of decay. By the end of his reign, he could no longer walk, ride, or even sit upright without assistance. Despite these limitations, Baldwin continued to lead. “He was carried on a litter to council meetings, eyes clear, voice firm,” one chronicler wrote. The body failed, but the king remained.

In 1177, at the Battle of Montgisard, Baldwin led his outnumbered forces against Saladin’s army. He had to be physically tied to his horse to remain mounted. Even so, he inspired his knights to victory in one of the most astonishing triumphs of the Crusader states. His mere presence rallied the troops. “They looked upon him and saw not disease, but valor.”

Political Challenges

Baldwin’s reign was far from peaceful. The nobility of Jerusalem was rife with factionalism, competing interests, and disloyalty. His illness only added to the political instability, as nobles speculated over the succession, fearing a power vacuum. Baldwin understood this well and worked tirelessly to manage the crisis.

Rather than cling desperately to his title, he acted with wisdom and selflessness. When he could no longer manage the full responsibilities of the crown, he appointed his young nephew Baldwin V as co-king and established a regency to preserve order. He disapproved of Guy of Lusignan, his sister’s husband, fearing his arrogance and ambition. Though pressured to accept him as heir, Baldwin’s discernment proved prophetic—after Baldwin’s death, Guy’s poor leadership led to the fall of Jerusalem.

Even while bound to his bed, Baldwin negotiated truces, approved treaties, and issued laws. His mind, though enclosed in a failing shell, remained sovereign. He was no puppet king, but the true helm of the realm. His leadership wasn’t defined by pomp or spectacle—it was measured by perseverance, prudence, and the willingness to sacrifice his comfort for the sake of his people.

Suffering and the Christian Soul

To understand Baldwin’s reign is to enter into a deeper contemplation of Christian kingship and sanctified suffering. Leprosy, which was terrifying to those around him, became for Baldwin not only a physical affliction but a means of spiritual refinement. While many rulers gloried in their strength and health, Baldwin ruled through brokenness. He bore his disease publicly, not hiding it, not shrinking from its humiliation. This act alone took more courage than many battlefield charges.

He bore what Orthodox theology calls podvig—a spiritual struggle, a voluntary carrying of one’s cross. “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” Baldwin lived this reality. His kingship, far from being diminished by his condition, was made noble through it. The humility, patience, and quiet strength he displayed served as a witness to what true leadership looks like in the eyes of Heaven.

Unlike the crowned tyrants of later history, Baldwin ruled not for glory, but for duty. He served until his last breath, dying in 1185 at the age of twenty-four. His death left a void that no man filled. Within two years, Jerusalem fell to Saladin, and the fragile Christian kingdom began to dissolve.

Yet Baldwin’s legacy endures. His reign was not defined by conquest, but by constancy. Not by wealth, but by wisdom. Not by power, but by pain willingly borne.

Supported Readings and Sources

William of Tyre – A History of Deeds Done Beyond the Sea

Bernard Hamilton – The Leper King and His Heirs

Steven Runciman – A History of the Crusades

Ernoul and Bernard the Treasurer – Chronicle of the Crusades

Malcolm Barber – The Crusader States

Christopher Tyerman – God’s War: A New History of the Crusades

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robot-roadtrip-rants · 8 months ago

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I posted an analysis of a section from Dark Imperium on Reddit that I'm quite proud of, so I'm reposting it here:

‘Some of the worlds dispute the proof. They are more than glad to welcome our warriors, but the Imperial governors in two dozen systems quibble over reaffirming their oaths of loyalty. In one case, we have had an outbreak of intra-system civil war over the issue, where one lord has declared for you and three against. Some lie outright, telling us they were never part of Ultramar. Perhaps some of them sincerely believe it. A few are braver and insist the ancient treaties cannot be revoked, even by you, my lord, and are determined to retain their independence.’ ‘They are wrong,’ said Guilliman. […] 'They are… disquieted by the fate of some of their peers.’ ‘Only those who rule poorly have anything to fear,’ said Guilliman. ‘It is, naturally, the more autocratic rulers who oppose your rescinding of their independence.’ ‘Then they only delay the inevitable,’ said Guilliman. ‘They will fall into line and ask politely for mercy, or they will be executed.’ […] ‘I should never have set the Five Hundred free,’ he said. ‘My lord?’ said Ventris. ‘I should not have done it,’ repeated Guilliman. ‘I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was following the Emperor’s wishes, letting men rule the affairs of men.’

A lot of people look at this passage and think they’re seeing Guilliman clean up corruption in the 500 Worlds. I’m sure he will, but that’s not what’s happening here. This is an autocrat ruthlessly crushing resistance.

Why are these worlds resisting? Ventris claims that “naturally” the more autocratic rulers are the most resistant. Perhaps that’s true, but we also have to take into account that he is an Ultramarine talking to his genesire; he will be heavily biased in thought and word against Guilliman’s enemies. Look closer at how he describes the resisters. They invoke ancient treaties to justify their independence. They’re afraid of what will happen if they surrender. Using that information, let’s flip the chessboard and try to imagine what these demands feel like from their perspective:

You’re a human ruler. For the past ten thousand years, your planet has existed free of transhuman rule. You might even have the original treaty that granted your planet’s independence. You almost certainly regard yourself as an obedient subject of the Imperium.

All of a sudden, one of the legendary demigods of yore shows up on your doorstep and demands you to bend the knee. He doesn’t care about your treaties (which he probably signed!) or historic independence or anything. Ugly things happen to people who go against him. Oh sure, he claims that you’ll be fine, so long as you haven’t done anything wrong, but do you really believe that? You’re a ruler in the fucking Imperium. You know just how potential claimants are handled; you know how often misdeeds get dug out of the closets of inconvenient politicians. Shit, you've probably done that yourself to your political rivals. Do you really think that you’ll be okay? And if you actually care about your planet, can you really trust him to give a damn about the lives of your people? Transhumans do tend to be aloof creatures convinced in their own superiority…

Guilliman doesn’t consider any of these possibilities, not even for the purposes of negotiation. Guilliman doesn’t care. He’s right, you’re wrong, and therefore he’s justified in doing whatever it takes to make you comply. This is 40k. “Whatever it takes” includes cyclonic torpedoes.

The most damning part IMO are Guilliman’s words at the end. He didn’t grant these worlds their liberty because he trusted humans to look after themselves. He granted them liberty in obedience to Dad. Humans’ thoughts, beliefs, and opinions never entered the equation. And now, coming back to the Imperium at its lowest point, he concludes that it was a mistake to give humans the benefit of the doubt.

The Imperium lasted ten thousand years under human rule. It survived the Great Beast, twelve Black Crusades, the Nova Terra civil war, the False Primarch, the Age of Apostasy, three Tyranid Wars, and Throne knows what else—not just survived, but even thrived in many cases. Under transhuman rule, the Imperium lasted six fucking years before it exploded into civil war that nearly destroyed the whole empire and even the galaxy itself. But it was a mistake to let humans rule themselves. Riiiiiiiiight.

#warhammer 40k #roboute guilliman

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dandelionsresilience · 22 days ago

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Dandelion News - May 8-14

Like these weekly compilations? Tip me at $kaybarr1735 or check out my Dandelion Doodles!

1. An ink that boosts coral settlement by 20 times could help rebuild reefs worldwide

“Biologists have recently discovered that certain rocky pink algae, called crustose coralline algae (CCA), play an important role in attracting coral larvae and encouraging them to settle on the reef. [… Scientists] developed a transparent ink material infused with metabolites derived from CCA[, d]ubbed SNAP-X[….] By applying SNAP-X to rocks or other surfaces, researchers can create an inviting microhabitat that helps coral larvae settle and grow.”

2. New Legislation Offers Vital Support for Habitat Conservation in Cities and Towns

“The bill establishes a new dedicated investment of $1 million annually for the Urban Bird Treaty program[….] In addition to supporting birds, the program supports efforts that can deliver tangible benefits to people and businesses, from increasing green space and enhancing outdoor recreation to improving resilience to flooding and minimizing urban heat islands.”

3. Has Maine learned how to make heat pumps lower electricity costs for all?

“Over the next three years, the incentives in the plan are forecast to support 38,000 new whole-home residential heat pump systems — including 6,500 in low-income households — and weatherization for 9,900 houses. […] This strategy should decrease annual heating costs by more than $1,000 each for homes that switch to heat pumps [… and] suppress electricity rates by more than $490 million over the long term.”

4. Montana court strikes down ban on gender-affirming care for trans minors

“[Because t]he ban violates the rights to privacy and free speech guaranteed by the Montana Constitution, and it amounts to discrimination based on viewpoint, [… the court] issued a permanent injunction against its enforcement. […] Since the ruling is based on the Montana Constitution, not the U.S. Constitution, trans youth, their families, and health care providers are protected from any potential negative outcome at the U.S. Supreme Court[….]”

5. Solar, batteries and an EV charger win funding for energy resilience scheme

“[… T]he fund provides grants for projects across AusNet’s electricity distribution network […] that help build long-term community energy resilience and provide support to communities during severe weather events. [… Recipients include] nearly $50,000 for the Taggerty Community Progress Group to create a solar hybrid microgrid at its Community Hub which will act as an emergency hub for the local community.”

May 1-7 news here | (all credit for images and written material can be found at the source linked; I don’t claim credit for anything but curating.)

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gingersnaptaff · 5 months ago

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Y Mab Darogan 1

(Stained glass window depicting Cadwaladr and his flag in Llandaff Cathedral, Charles Powell, 1919)

(King Arthur (top left), St Tewdrig, and St Cadwaladr, stained glass window in Llandaff Cathedral. Situated in the North Aisle, Charles Powell, 1919)

'The awen predicts they will make haste;

We shall have treasures, possessions, and peace

And broader leadership and lively leaders;

And after war, dwellings in every area;

Men fierce in fight-clamour, furious warriors,

Swift in attack, slow to leave defence-

Fighters that scatter foreigners as far as Caer Wair'

- the opening first lines of Armes Prydain

Something a bit different today but I thought I'd yell about ‘Y Mab Darogan’ or The Prophesied Son, who was seen as a messianic figure in Welsh literature and was appellated to four* (!) different lads (including King Arthur). This will be a long one so please have a snack and a drink at hand. You're gonna need ‘em.

Now, Y Mab Darogan as a concept first crops up in the 10th Century poem ‘Armes Prydain’ (The Prophecy of Britain) from the Book of Taliesin. Andrew Breeze postulated that the poem was written in about ‘940 AD.’ Taliesin’s status as ‘a seer’ write Gwyneth Lewis and Rowan Williams in their introduction to The Book of Taliesin: Poems of Warfare and Praise in an Enchanted Britain means that ‘it is not at all surprising’ to find a collection of Prophetic poems alongside the others within Llyfr Taliesin. ‘Its themes,’ Lewis and Williams further write, ‘are recycled in several later poems looking forward to a reunification of the British - usually Under the leadership of Gwynedd - and the advent of a heroic deliverer.’

It's a call for all Celtic nations (Welsh, Scots, Irish, Cornish, Britons, Manx) to come to arms against the Anglo-Saxon invaders - as can be seen in the lines 'long-haired champions, masters of war/ Will come from Ireland to drive out the Saxons.', 'Both loyal men will come from Alt Clud, / A resplendent army to drive them from Britain' 'A powerful host will come from Llydaw (Brittany),' 'Let the Cymry rise up, a war-like company' and 'On all sides shame will be the Saxons destiny' and, although it doesn't feature King Arthur proper it's writing kinda alludes to his death.

To zoom through some background, Hywel Dda (yes, he of Law fame) was seen as very much toeing the line to the Angles - who y'know were (and kinda still are) Wales’ traditional enemies. Now, for ol’ Hywel, this had meant that when Edward the Elder ruled over Wessex had had to cleave to him to ensure that Wales didn't get battered within an inch of its life as had all other Celtic nations in Britain (so the Gaels, the Picts, etc, etc). However, once he was out of the picture and his son, Athelstan, had taken over, an alliance of the kingdoms of the Strathclyde*, Dublin, and Scotland had all risen against him. In a break from tradition - y'know, the whole Men of the North business where it was acknowledged and expected that the Welsh would aid their compatriots - Hywel vehemently denied the three kingdoms’ aid leading to their defeat at the Battle of Brunanburh in 937.

Obviously, this pissed A LOT of Welsh lads off.

I mean, yeah, it'd piss me off too. if I expected a battle only to find out we weren't getting one cuz some lawmaker lad had to keep his neighbours happy I'd be LIVID. So this poem was written! No word if Hywel read it, but I imagine his Goodreads review would've been a firm one star.

In it, it refers to ‘Thus they'll avenge Garmon's* friends with force/ Four hundred and forty years on' and, according to the Annales Cambriae (my absolute beloved) in 537AD there was: ‘The Strife of Camlann, in which Arthur and Medraut perished; and there was plague in Britain and Ireland.’ which means ‘404 years’ after that is 941. Therefore, the poem is very much looking forward to the annihilation of the Saxons in 941 which kinda happened because Edmund had to accept a humiliating treaty at Leicester in 941, giving the north-east of England to the Viking leader Olaf Guthfrithson.

Also, the poem invokes two famous leaders - Conan of Brittany, and Cadwaladr ap Cadwallon of Gwynedd - in the line: 'Cynan and Cadwaladr, warlords in the armies' Cadwaladr is seen as hot shit - basically on par with Arthur as a ‘Great Deliver’ figure for the Welsh - and, somehow, the Welsh Dragon has become known as Cadwaladr's flag. Cadwaladr is also important because Henry VII (yeah, HIM) claimed descent from him. The hoped-for leader is seen as returning from exile - just as Cadwaladr is said to have done and Henry VII would later do once he'd hot-footed it to France to get aid - or arriving from over the sea - as Owain Lawgoch would later unsuccessfully attempt to do in the 1300’s - and ‘on their return they … overthrow corrupt or alien rulers within Wales, and rally other Welsh kingdoms to resistance and ultimate victory over the English.’

Now, as I previously alluded to, King Arthur is pretty much absent from the early corpus which makes up the ‘Mab Darogan’ legend. The ‘fierce resentment’ of the Armes Prydain makes no mention of him, and, therefore, we must look elsewhere.

We find it in the Gwyddelian composed Historia Brittonum. He's specifically indicated as fighting the Saxons (ons of the main tenets of the job, I think we'll all agree) and doing… okay. T. Charles Edwards states, ‘The victories of a Gwrthefyr, or an Arthur, might be glorious but they had no future,’ and, I think, it is this utter glory and utter ineffectualness that highlights the two main tenets of what makes you mab darogan, well, y mab darogan.

Arthur ‘echoes the achievements of Gwrthefyr’ in his chapter and so brings with it another key building block of y mab darogan. He is an echo of what has coms before and what will - hopefully, futilely - come again. A warrior will rise and lead through Britons - the Welsh, the natives of the land - to a brief taste of freedom before slipping away in a haze.

Furthermore, T. Charles Edwards states, ‘Perhaps the main concern of the author of Historia Brittonum is to encourage the Britons to come to terms with defeat of loss and territory.’ Arthur, like Macsen Wledig before him, is a rallying point for the Welsh. A flashpoint. Arthur is the ‘British Dux’ or warlord, the rebellious leader at will bring the Saxons to heel.

The legend of him being Y Mab Darogan amongst the Welsh is thought to have taken widespread hold after this. He's seen as a rallying cry for various rebellions and poets made use of his stature to advance various other disaffected Welshmen's causes. The Anglo-Norman text ‘The Description of England’ states that ‘openly they [the Welsh] go about saying,... / that in the end, they will have it all; / by means of Arthur, they will have it back... / They will call it Britain again’ So this would firmly put him in the bracket of The Welsh Lord and Saviour, kiss fuckin kiss. Furthermore, Daniel Helbert in his essay, ‘The Prophetic Hope in Twelfth Century Britain,’ states ‘at the close of the twelfth-century, the idea that King Arthur would return from the grave and lead his people to victory was not a new one,’ for the power and popularity of this legend both within Britain and on the continent as a whole (i.e. in Brittany where Arthur - and, later, Owain Lawgoch - is also seen as a somewhat Messianic figure in his own right) had an ‘allure’ to it. This suggests that, to me, the ‘Breton/Briton Hope’ was always a powerful sticking point in people's heads. Arthur had already left an indelible mark on culture, be it Welsh, Anglo-Norman, or otherwise, and people would use it in whatever ways suited them.

But I also must caution against believing this outright. *sigh* Arthur is Welsh*, yes. The building blocks of his myth are Welsh. I do not dispute that. However, O.J. Padel says that no contemporary Welsh source of a prophecy concerning Arthur's return to Britain has been found, and Charles T. Edwards further states: ‘Although the use of a Welsh battle-poem has been suspected, perhaps rightly no such source is likely … And if there was such a poem celebrating Arthur's battles, its date remains entirely uncertain.’ While there exists plenty of poetry on Arthur's ‘descendants’ as it were, Owain Lawgoch and Owain Glyndŵr, there is nothing particularly concrete for Artie and, furthermore, we must both rely on non-Welsh texts AND Henry VII's propaganda during the Wars of the Roses when he was challenging the Plantagenets for the English throne.

(Personally, Arthur just likes to be a tricksy bastard and I wish he'd CEASE AND DESIST. Bro, I went to ur fuckin Grotto in Corwen* when I was a kid. You OWE me.)

Conversely, Arthur has been used to legitimise the English’s rule over the native Britons. Edward I, after his conquest of Wales, used ‘Round Tables’ to celebrate and justify his conquest of Wales - one of many Big Kicks in the Teeth for us, ngl, other than letting the Prince of Wales be a baby because he only babbled*, and having the true last Princess of Wales, Gwenllian, be shut up in a monastery when she was a baby - and the consequent ‘reunification’ of Arthurian Britain. The Galfridian texts also were even used to justify Edward's claim over the Scottish throne - after the House of Dunkeld came to an untimely end with Margaret, the Maid of Norway's, death at sea when she was only 7 - as Arthur conquered Scotland. Geoffrey of Monmouth, I'm hitting your ghost over the head with a boot. One with iron toe caps. And smeared in dung. Arthur's use as a colonial tool by both the Normans’ and the Plantagenet dynasty cannot be overstated. To do so is a great disservice that doesn't do anybody - least of all the Celtic countries who had their great mythological king beaten into this oppressive tool to try and bring them to heel - any favours.

Aled Llion Jones writes in Darogan: Prophecy, Lament, and Absent Heroes in Medieval Literature that the imagined victory of y mab darogan represents a ‘return to a united, unified legendary state of organicism’ which was once conjured in a long-lost son called ‘Unbennaeth Prydain or ‘The Sovereignty of Britain. Furthermore, Brud and Brut (that's Prophecy and History for all you non-Welsh speakers out there) were near-homonyms in medieval Welsh and the Brut y Brenhinedd - ‘Chronicles of the King's,’ which are an adaptation of Geoffrey of Monmouth's Historia Regum Britanniae - was framed as being the story of how British lordship over Ynys Prydain had been gained, flourished, and lost to the Saxons. Prophecy, therefore, provided how it would ultimately be won back by those who would come after Arthur.

But, I mean, Wales would have to wait to find out who their next Mab Darogan would be. Next week: Owain Lawgoch's Hot Shit Tour of France: How he Became Y Mab Darogan, Fucked About in Guernsey and Got Assassinated When He Was Cutting His Hair.

Some notes!

*Garmon is St. Garmon the Gaulish Bishop who visited Britain in the first half of the fifth century

*You could make the case that Owain Gwynedd could be seen as Y Mab Darogan considering his various run-ins with the Normans. However, you could say that about The Lord Rhys also and, if we’re getting into the meat of it, neither of those two lads are even seen as having faulty alarm clocks. Or chillaxing beneath a mountain.

*Strathclyde wasn't incorporated into Scotland until the 11th Century when it was annexed into the Kingdom of Alba. It would still be known as Ystrad Clud at this time.)

*Technically, Brythonic which is the forerunner to the Britons but, like, the language of the texts he is primarily featured in is Old Welsh. I know he's seen as an English figure but that's wrapped up on years and years of colonialism.

*That baby was later known as King Edward II whose reign was less than impressive, but extremely gay. Nice to see him committing to the Remarkable cosplay ngl. (Idk if he ever did that. I just think it's fun to imagine he did. Bet he was Lance.)

*The Grotto was so fuckin fun. If I can dredge up a photo of the Red and White Dragon fighting then I'll fuckin slap it up because ooooh, baby, it was SO COOL. Also, they had an animatronic Arthur asleep under a mountain. ANYWAY.

*Myrddin/Merlin was also associated with prophecy in the early Welsh texts particularly those about the mab darogan.

Background Reading and Sources:

Land of My Father's by Gwynfor Evans

The History of Wales by J. Graham Jones

Wales: England's Colony? by Martin Johnes (A Banger.)

The Book of Taliesin by Gwyneth Lewis and Rowan Williams

The Arthur of the Welsh by Rachel Bromwich (T. Charles Edwards is included in it. Strongly recommend it.)

The Earliest Welsh Poems by Joseph Clancy

Arthur in Medieval Welsh Literature by O. J Padel

The Welsh Triads by Rachel Bromwich

Lastly a quick aside: this is my theory but it is entirely possible that Arthur disinterring Bendigeidfran's head in Branch 2 of the Mabinogi could be seen as him taking up the 'heroic deliverer' role from an earlier Celtic hero. Certainly, while his head remained buried at Gwynfryn (White Hill, speculated to be Tower Hill in London) 'no oppression would ever come from across the sea to this island while that head was in its hiding place.' Bendigeidfran, like Arthur, was seen as the High King of Britain, and there is certainly an echo of Arthur about him. Arthur, in a fit of hubris, disclosed the head of Bendigeidfran from its resting place because 'it did not seem right to him that this Island should be defended by the strength of anyone, but his own.' And this 'was known as one of the Three Unfortunate disclosures,' so the Mabinogion says.

I'm not an academic but it is perhaps something to think about.

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cece693 · 3 months ago

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I’d do anything for a part two of “A Crown Of Two Realms”… I have never been more intrigued in a fic and its absolutely killing me AAHHH!! If you have the time, or ideas, I’d be forever grateful. Your writing is absolutely spectacular!! It encapsulates emotion so well, drawing me in like a typhoon 😵‍💫 /GEN !!

Awwww, thank you! I didn't really plan to do a second part of this since I wanted readers to create their own ending (loveless marriage vs. following your heart), but what can I say? I hate a sad ending, even if you choose it. So, this part has you choosing loki, perhaps some spicy scene, supportive Thor and living your life.

A Crown Of Two Realms Pt. 2

pairing: loki laufeyson x małe reader pairing: reader is set on loki, spicy scene (basically revelation of feelings), I just loved Loki's face here, like he looks quite innocent and adorable, anyway, loki hates himself, you strive to show him he's worthy

In the days after your eavesdropping of Loki and Thor's argument, you tried to distance yourself from the younger prince, hoping that avoiding each other would curb the tempest in your heart. Instead, it only made the longing sharper, more irresistible. That was the cruel paradox of it all: the very man you swore you couldn’t see again was the one you couldn’t stop thinking about.

One late afternoon, you were alone in one of the palace’s many colonnades, gazing across Asgard’s gleaming city. A soft breeze teased the edges of your ceremonial robe. The endless swirl of court responsibilities had left you little time to think, and yet here you were, thoughts anchored to one person alone: Loki.

You sensed Thor’s approach before he spoke—a shifting in the air and the distant echo of his surefooted stride. When you turned, he was already there, bright blue eyes studying you with an uncharacteristically thoughtful expression. “Has Asgard bored you so thoroughly?” he asked with a hint of a smile, though concern etched his brow.

“I wouldn’t say bored��just overwhelmed.”

Thor leaned against the nearest pillar, crossing his arms. “I fear I may be part of that overwhelm.” He glanced toward the horizon. “Sometimes, I wish these marriage negotiations were less complicated. It weighs on me, too.”

You stared at him, heart twinging with guilt. “Thor, I—”

He silenced you with a gentle wave of his hand. “Let me speak first. I’ve been thinking much since your arrival, and I’m not so blind as most people assume.” There was a sad twist to his grin. “You’re handsome, powerful, and wise—anyone would be honored to marry you. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t also taken by you.”

Surprise fluttered in your chest. Of all the things you expected Thor to say, that wasn’t it. “I’m flattered,” you replied quietly.

“But,” he continued, “I’ve seen the way your eyes wander during feasts—like you’re searching for something or someone.” Thor cleared his throat. "Our union guarantees peace between our families, but I'm not naive enough to believe my father’s match is the one your heart truly wants. And I will not be the one forcing you into a joyless union. That’s not how I want to rule, nor how I wish to live.”

For a moment, you could only stare. Of all the outcomes you’d dreaded, you never thought Thor would willingly step aside. “But what of Odin? The treaty?”

Thor squared his shoulders, determination burning in his gaze. “Leave Father to me. If the alliance stands by a marriage with Asgard’s royal bloodline, then it need not be me. I won’t pretend this is easy, but I’d rather see you and Loki happy than see us three torn apart by a forced bond.”

Emotion welled up in you—gratitude, relief, and lingering guilt. “Thor, I—I don’t know what to say.”

He gave a sad, yet sincere smile. “Say you’ll follow your heart. Go to Loki. He may be a stubborn fool at times, but I suspect you’re the one person who can convince him he’s worth loving.”

The weight that had settled over your shoulders since your arrival lifted, if only by a fraction. You clasped Thor’s forearm in gratitude. “Thank you.”

Thor nodded. “Now go. Quickly, before someone else demands your time.”

Without hesitation, you set off through the grand corridors, heart pounding with renewed purpose. At first, you checked the corridors and library where you’d often crossed paths with Loki in quieter moments. He wasn’t there. The banquet hall was alive with courtiers, but there was no trace of the dark-haired prince. Finally, you ventured to a secluded section of the palace gardens—a space often overlooked, where a trickling fountain stood surrounded by tall hedges.

You found him there, leaning against a carved marble ledge, staring into the water’s rippling reflection. The setting sun cast a gold halo around him, accentuating the angles of his face. Anxiety churned in your chest, but Thor’s words echoed in your mind.

You cleared your throat softly, stepping into view. Loki stiffened but didn’t turn around. “I wondered when you might show up,” he said, his voice cool, almost brittle.

Your chest tightened. “We should talk—”

“Oh, should we?” Loki let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Let me guess: you’ve finally come to tell me everything is over, haven’t you? Perhaps the glorious Thor awaits, and you’re here to deliver my official dismissal.”

“That’s not—” You tried to interject, but Loki pressed on, eyes flashing with a raw, self-deprecating fury.

“Because that’s your duty, isn’t it?” he sneered. “To fulfill the alliance, marry my perfect brother, keep the Nine Realms content. And me? I’m the sideshow, the one you dallied with—”

“I didn’t—”

He cut you off again, voice cracking with hurt. “It’s cruel, you know, tempting me like that. Letting me believe—for a moment—that someone powerful and stunning as you could want the lesser prince. I was a fool to think otherwise.”

Blood pounded in your ears. “Loki, just listen—” But he wouldn’t. He hurled his pent-up anguish at you in a torrent of bitter words, each one slicing deeper than the last.

“Tell me, was it sport for you? Some fleeting interest in the ‘trickster,’ so you could see how far I’d chase after a dream?” His laughter was hollow, eyes shimmering with tears he wouldn’t let fall. “I almost let myself believe you saw more in me than everyone else does. But now, you’re here to confirm I was just deluding myself. Well, hurry up, then! Deliver your grand speech of sympathy, or pity, or whatever nonsense you’ve conjured—”

“Enough!” Your patience snapped, voice rising in a rare shout that echoed across the courtyard. Loki blinked in shock; you’d never raised your voice before.

Chest heaving, you advanced on him in three swift steps, your normally composed demeanor shattered. You seized Loki by the lapels of his cloak, yanking him closer. “You don’t know a damn thing about what I’m here to say,” you growled. His eyes widened, the tirade in his throat dying unspoken. Before he could counter, you closed the distance and pulled him into a bruising kiss.

At first, Loki stiffened in disbelief, a trembling exhale escaping against your lips. Then, as if gravity itself shifted, he melted into you, slender fingers clinging to your embroidered robes. Everything about him—his taste, the warmth of his skin—flooded your senses, drowning out the world.

Your heart thundered in your ears, and you pressed closer, the height difference letting you tilt his face up to deepen the kiss. He made a small, desperate sound, arms snaking around your waist as though afraid you might vanish.

When you finally tore your mouth away, your breathing was ragged. Loki’s chest rose and fell with equal intensity, his eyes brimming with confusion, longing, and a fragile hope.

“Why—” he rasped, voice unsteady, “why are you doing this?”

“Because I love you, you stubborn fool.” The words spilled out in an impassioned rush. You grasped his chin, forcing him to meet your gaze. “I spoke to Thor. He knows everything. He told me to come find you.”

Loki blinked rapidly, tears threatening to spill. “Thor—Thor knows?”

You nodded, thumbs brushing his cheeks. “He knows I never wanted this alliance with him. Not in the way Odin planned. He knows my heart belongs to you.”

His breath caught in his throat, tears threatening to spill over. “Do you realize what you’re risking?”

You answered by leaning down to kiss him again, gentler this time—an unspoken vow. “I know precisely what I’m risking. And for you, I’d risk more.”

Loki managed the faintest of smiles, a trembling little expression that held more hope than you’d ever seen on his face. Slowly, he looped his arms around your waist, resting his head against your chest. He was noticeably smaller under your protective hold, and it dawned on you how easily you could cocoon him from the rest of the world.

“You’re unbelievably stubborn,” he muttered, attempting a wry tone but failing to mask his emotion.

A relieved laugh rumbled low in your throat. “I could say the same about you, trickster.”

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