#most powerful passport

[riftrustuae]

Essential Documents for Golden Visa Portugal: RIF Trust's Comprehensive Guide

Unlock your path to Portuguese residency with RIF Trust's expert guide on the essential documents required for the Golden Visa Portugal program. Ensure a smooth application process with our detailed checklist and professional insights.

[cumuluscrow]

MY PASSPORT WAS APPROVED

IN MY NEW NAME

[neoseotipsblogs]

List of Top world Most Powerful Passports in 2024

The Henley Passport Index for 2024 has recently been released, shedding light on the global landscape of passport strength and travel freedom. This index, which ranks 199 nations based on the strength of their passports, provides valuable insights into the evolving dynamics of global mobility and soft power.

[banglakhobor]

জাপানকে টপকে বিশ্বের সবচেয়ে শক্তিশালী পাসপোর্ট সিঙ্গাপুর, ভারত কত নম্বরে?

বিশ্বের সবচেয়ে শক্তিশালী পাসপোর্টের তালিকায় এতদিন শীর্ষে ছিল জাপান ৷ এবার তাতে বদল ৷ জাপানকে পিছনে ফেলে সেই তালিকায় প্রথম স্থান দখল করল সিঙ্গাপুর ৷ Source link

[yuri-alexseygaybitch]

Israeli settlers casually fleeing back to the US or Europe or wherever they want to go really thanks to passport privilege while Palestinians are literally trapped in a giant cage waiting for the Israeli military to bomb the shit out of them highlights another power asymmetry of the Palestinian occupation: the freedom of movement, or lack thereof. Palestinians are not free to move across their own land. Everything is controlled through the most elaborate and heavily militarized borders, security checkpoints, military blockades, minefields, etc. in the world. Even if those didn't exist you can bet a Palestinian wouldn't be able to just get on a plane and go wherever they please without so much as a visa (not to mention the likely thousands of Palestinians who have been put on no fly lists due to be pure racism). When conflict breaks out they simply have nowhere to go. An Israeli can hop on a jet and fuck off back to Long Island or wherever until it simmers down.

[travelling-bird]

The Henley Passport Index reveals the world’s most powerful passports for 2023. How strong is the , Indian passport? Check it out here.

[that-butch-archivist]

"Femme correspondents connected with me in a different way. Many were grateful for my past work and for the opportunity to announce their identities in their own voices. Their statements reflected one bitter irony: if, in the straight world, butches bear the brunt of the physical and verbal abuse for their difference, in the lesbian-feminist world, femmes have had to endure a deeper attack on their sense of self-worth. Leather and denim, flannels and vests--butch women could easily adapt these prevailing signs of feminist gender resistance into superficial passports to acceptance, but the femme woman, in her lace and silk, high heels, and lipstick, had no place to hide. Many learned to pass as a "dyke" in public while in their homes and in their beds, they flew their flags of color and sensuality. The femme voice is underrepresented in historical records, though markings of her presence abound. Often, she is the security behind the butch display, the one who makes the public bravado possible. Lady Una Troubridge's words to Radclyffe Hall, while spoken by a white, upper-class, Christian woman, capture some of the enduring aspects of femme power: "I told her to write what was in her heart, that so far as any effect upon myself was concerned, I was sick to death of ambiguities ..." Yet to others, the femme woman has been the most ambiguous figure in lesbian history; she is often described as the nonlesbian lesbian, the duped wife of the passing woman, the lesbian who marries. Because I am a femme myself, I know the complexity of our identity; I also know how important it is for all women to hear our voices. If the butch deconstructs gender, the femme constructs gender. She puts together her own special ingredients for what it is to be a "woman," an identity with which she can live and love."

- An excerpt from "Flamboyance and fortitude: An introduction," written by Joan Nestle, the introduction essay for The Persistent Desire: A Butch-Femme Reader. (Emphasis in bold my own.)

[mapsontheweb]

The World's Most Powerful Passports in 2024

[2smolbeans]

I just realised how terrifying a yan ceo can potentially be.

Money, power, connections, it can be all used against you. For all you know, they could kidnap you in the most subtle way to the point that you won't even know when to be on your guard. They could hire men to come and grab you in a shabby van, alleyway, or even in your own home- in broad daylight too. They could disguise themselves as a regular Joe who happens to work in the same workplace as you as a way to get closer. They have all the time to do it, not like they need to work 24/7 unlike you.

And when they kidnap you, God knows where they can put you! For all you know, they could move you into a foreign country inside a locked up penthouse. Good luck getting back home, especially if you don't even speak the language! Or better yet, if you could even find your passport and any of your belongings.

Or if their feeling a little lazy, they could just trap you in a room with loads of security cameras and locks. They have money, and they can literally afford anything. A shock collar? Oh, don't mind if they do! Let's add an invisible gated fence while at it to keep you in place whenever their gone.

A rich person always has connections, and oh boy, can they abuse it with their wits and charm. You escaped (which will NEVER happen), and you accuse them of absolutely horrible crimes. Well, you're just a jealous ex with a history of drug use, fraud, and theft that just wants to collect their money. Better yet, where were you during the disappearance of a particular person? It's suspicious how your DNA is plastered all over the crime scene..

Or perhaps they have a 3rd party they work with. CEOs and rich people always gave different ways of earning money.. Sometimes, it can be tied to an illegal 3rd party. Man, what a shame if they were to just auction you off to the black market, sell one of your organs, or maybe try that new expiremental drug they've been curious about because you decided to lip off at them.

They could replace you anytime, but they choose not to.

Money can buy anything, and it probably bought your parents over. Sending money, gifts, and letters to your family, introducing them as your best friend or partner as a way to personally wiggle themselves into your life.

"(Y/n) they are so nice! Why didn't you tell us about them?"

"Oh, don't be like that! We need them. Please.. Don't be inconsiderate."

With all the gifts and life changing money they throw, they sometimes even win you over at some moments.. And that's what makes it even worse. You actually consider being with them the more you comply, the more they reward your submissiveness to their insanity, and well to simply put it- throw money at you.

I mean fuck it, why not? What's the harm in marrying them? Is what you would say if they weren't bat shit insane or cruel. The richest people don't become filthy rich from being good or kind after all..

Mistreating workers, black market connections, destroying peoples lives financially- fuck does it make you feel complicit. But you can't leave. Divorce them? Yeah, in your dreams. But okay, what if they humor you and let you leave?

Say goodbye to any property you have, your money, and your dignity. By the end of the court session, you'll have nothing, and I mean NOTHING. Try to get a job? It won't pay the debt you owe or restore your bank account after the legal divorce. I say legal because to them, they probably just see this as a minor inconvenience or couples quarrel. They could always just get another ring and throw another wedding, you're just being whiny and difficult.

You wanna buy a house, a car, or even pay rent? Yeah, no, you can't afford to divorce them.

They literally own you now.

[akajustmerry]

it shouldn't be controversial for non-usAmericans to point out how usAmericans, regardless of marginalisation, can be (and often are) agents of US imperialism because of US Cultural hegemony and usAmericans do have inherent privileges because of that. And that privilege exists alongside your marginalisation in your own nation. I wish so much that usAmericans would understand that the world is built for you. So much of the world is built with your passports, your government, your military, your culture, your accents, your technology, your worldview, your politics. Hell, most people grow up with YOUR movies and YOUR pop culture, as much as if not more than their own country's. It's not every individual usAmerican's fault, but it is your responsibility to understand that at a global level your nation and therefore its citizens are scaled so high in terms of power that even marginalised people within your nation are granted the ability and power to mass murder people in the global south. even other countries in the global North are politically contigent on usAmerican policy which means as usAmericans with the ability to vote have the power to impact the lives of people globally. usAmerica is not the only place this is true about, I can say the same for people in Canada and the UK too and many other colonial countries, but even those countries to a degree bow to and mirror US policy on so many issues. It shouldn't be a big deal for USAmericans, including those with disabilities and USAmericans of colour, to acknowledge their privileges on a global scale. It's no different to acknowledging any type of privilege.

[lilislegacy]

has anyone seen that video of john krasinski talking about going through customs and when the passport dude found out he was married to emily blunt, he was all really? YOU?

does anyone else feel like that’s how some people would react to finding out annabeth is with percy lol? like obviously we all know percy is the most powerful, adorable, hilarious guy ever. everyone with a pulse is (rightfully) in love with him.

THAT SAID. percy acts like such an idiot. we know he’s intelligent, but strangers do not. he’s just so ridiculous all the time. and annabeth is so… well, not ridiculous. and especially if they’re someone who knows she’s the legendary demigod annabeth chase, one of the prophetic 7, wisest daughter of athena, she who found the athena parthenos.

like just imagine them at a bar or party or something

annabeth: that’s my boyfriend over there

person: oh the one with the light curly hair

annabeth: no that’s will. the one with the dark hair

person: oh the bulky guy?

annabeth: no thats frank. the one up there

person: the one… the one who’s wearing the finding nemo t-shirt and… is crowd surfing while… eating a churro…?

annabeth: that’s him!

person: …really?

person: THAT guy?

annabeth: yes 🥰

[mochinomnoms]

Malleus when someone tries to harm Yuu in a very deadly manner or tries to kidnap them.

https://youtube.com/shorts/IdiXgGPd4fk?si=K5xJT-bdAtmopMM4

lmaooooo I forget sometimes that Malleus is in fact one of the most powerful beings in all of TWST and not just some silly dragon man that stands outside the dorm with autism and a love of gargoyles.

To be quite honest, canon Yuu could probably stick around Malleus as like an attendant or something and be set for life if they get stuck in TWST. Maybe he can get them citizenship papers and stuff to Briar Valley, I think everyone kinda forgets sometimes that Yuu does not legally exist in TWST.

Does Crowley note down any monetary associations to the player and Grim as miscellaneous? Can Yuu technically travel around without papers as long it's within the context of NRC? Who cares! Just tell your big magic friend with horns about all your troubles and the next day you've officially become a citizen of Briar Valley complete with a new birth certificate, social security number (or the equivalent), and passport! All problems solved!

You don't need to know the details, just take the gift with graditude and accept your fate of never leaving your friend alone :). Never :). Ever :).

[johnwickb1tsch]

Sympathy for the Devil ~ Part 11

A Donaka Mark x housekeeper!Reader fic, based on @discoscoob 's concept & bot! Though this is where the c.ai help ended because I was breaking the bot's pea pickin' mind. 😆

Warnings: Donaka Mark is a bad man with a soft spot for you. dark romance, possessive behavior, nonconsensual voyeurism, red flag red flag girl!🔺, psychological games, power imbalance, eventual dubcon/nsfw. PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS!!!

one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. nine. ten.

Eleven. 十一

You wake with a start. 

You’re naked, and Donaka is sprawled out in his bed beside you. Your eyes roam over the long lines of his powerful body, taking in his angles and curves. His broad muscled back, and tapered waist.

A more bitable little ass was never created by God or man. 

That bit of sanity you’d been hoping for once the hormones subsided mercifully returns to you. No matter how gorgeous this man is–no matter how good he fucks, or how many times he made you cum the night before with his hands and his cock and his tongue (sweet Confucious, Buddha, and baby Jesus, his tongue)–you have got to get out of here. 

It’s early morning, the blue light of pre-dawn. You slip out of bed, nearly dying of a heart attack when he stirs beside you–but does not wake. Quickly you throw on the tatters of your dress, and on bare feet you race as quickly and quietly as possible out the door, and down the hall. 

With your heart thundering in your ears you start rummaging through your drawers for that most essential of travel documents: your passport. The servants were not given access to lockers or any way to secure their belongings, so you’d hidden it in the bottom of your suitcase, inside a slit in the lining. As you stick your hand in it, fishing around, your hopes drop like a stone.

It’s gone. 

You feel again, frantic this time, finding once more–it’s not there. 

 “Missing something?”

Donaka’s voice from the doorway makes you start; you lose your balance, tumbling over on the floor. 

Anything you might say turns to ash on your tongue, as you look up at him, forbidding in a pair of black lounge pants, and nothing else. Why oh why does he have to be such a beautiful bastard? 

You realize there’s no lying to him, so you stick out your chin. “Where is it?” you demand. 

“In a safe place,” he answers, his lips pursing as he tries not to smile. “You have to admit…that wasn’t exactly secure.” He nods at your suitcase, and you clench your fist, the desire to hit him burning real in your bones. He made sure you didn’t have a safe place to put it. 

“How dare you?” He just rolls his eyes, and crosses the floor to you in two strides, pulling you up off the floor. 

“Come back to bed, darling. I was sleeping so peacefully before you had to go skulking around.”

“You can’t do this.” 

You’re not sure who you’re trying to convince–him, or you?

He just lifts an eyebrow, sweeping one of those big hands across your cheek, into your hair. His hold on you is just this side of menacing.  “There’s not a place in the world you could hide from me, y/n. Remember that.” 

He tugs on your hand…and fuck you, if you’re not so flabbergasted, you don’t follow him like a starstruck idiot, absolutely flummoxed by his nerve. 

Fine, you think. No passport? You just have to make it to your embassy. Surely they would put you in protective custody or something?

“You’ll never make it that far,” he tells you conversationally, his arm around your waist as you walk together down the hall. 

“Where?”

“The Embassy, of course.” 

Motherfucker. 

He makes you pause at the window in the living room with him, the first rays of dawn beginning to shine through the massive windows. The forest looks like a gilded emerald; the water beyond it a blanket of diamonds. He follows your gaze, taking in the marvelous sight. Shouldn’t it be storming outside? Rain falling down, on this bleak day? 

“How can you live with such an awful view?” he asks wryly, turning your attention back up to him. Before you can answer he kisses you, claiming your mouth for his as he presses you back against the window. His hand makes its way beneath your skirt, unimpeded as you did not take the time to even pull on your panties before making your escape from his bedroom. 

“Donaka…” you protest, feeling utterly exposed like this, in the big open room, with nothing but glass behind you. The rest of the staff will be waking soon. The thought of one of your colleagues walking in on you like this makes you want to die all over again. “Please not here…someone will see.” 

He scoffs at you, of course. “No one will interrupt us. This is my house. You are the only one here who never knew your proper place. We’re fixing that now.” 

A small sound escapes you, something between a whine and a growl. All it earns you is a hushed, dark laughter, and this terrible man lowers himself to his knees before you, pinning you against the glass with one large hand spanning your torso. He smirks up at you, delighting in your self-righteous rage, your tears of frustration glittering in the corners of your eyes. 

“What’s wrong?” he taunts you. “Isn’t this what you wanted all along? The bad man on his knees for you?” His smile is like a baring of teeth, and you both know who holds the real power here, no matter who is on their knees. His other hand has made its way up your thigh again, cupping your ass, squeezing hard enough to make you squirm against him, almost hurting you. 

“No,” you whimper, fighting the urge to cry, your legs about to collapse out from under you. 

“No?” he demands. “That’s not what I read.” His long fingers reach to test your center, finding your treacherous little cunt has cast her own vote for him yet again, moist and willing. You try to shy away but he pins you with his superior strength, utterly and completely.

“You missed the subtext,” you choke out, your heart breaking all over again. You were so resolved to fight the night before. That fire seems to have suffocated under the wet blanket of hopelessness again. 

“Were there underlying themes in all that filth?” he asks incredulously. 

Feeling idiotic all over again, your words lodge in your throat. But Donaka has paused in his ministrations, looking up at you with that laser-sharp gaze. “This isn’t what you wanted?” he asks with a deceptive gentleness. “My hands?” He pops the last buttons at the bottom of your dress, the garment gaping to bare all of you to his possessive gaze. “My mouth?” He presses an open-mouthed kiss to the curve of your lower belly, those plush lips upon your flesh making you tremble, curling your toes. He strums at your slick center, his sultry voice dropping low. “You didn’t want my cock to fill that aching emptiness inside you?” 

You writhe against the window, crying out as two of those clever fingers press up inside you, pleasuring you and pinning you as his tongue seeks out your needly little clit. You could murder him, for the way he makes you hate him and want him all in one breath.  

He stops as suddenly as he started, looking up at you expectantly. “Well?”  

You feel like the dumbest woman who ever walked the earth–but then, you suppose he already knew that about you. He’s had your measure from day one, and has simply been playing with you like a cat with a mouse ever since. Yet now, you would rather die than tell him what you’re really thinking. You shake your head tearfully, locking your heart up tight.

It doesn’t matter, because it seems this man can read your fucking mind. 

“Did you hope I would fall in love with you, y/n? You young, sweet thing.”

His words slide past your ribs and pierce your heart, deadly as a stiletto. You really were a fool. 

“Maybe I did want your love,” you admit, voice rough as you force it past the lump in your throat. “But all you want is submission.” 

He told you as much, over and over the night before. 

Yet he does not laugh at you, the way you expect him to. He looks up at you with such a weight in that dark gaze, you cannot breathe. “What is love, y/n? Do I not provide for you? Protect you? I let you talk to me with insouciance I would never tolerate from anyone else. I am not a tender man, but what little I have, I have given to you. Tell me, what is love, y/n?”

It’s almost as though he’s truly asking you.

Suddenly you feel as though the floor has dropped out from under you. Does he love you? Or is he just fucking with you, the way he has been the whole time you’ve been here? You need to make up your mind about this, because the whiplash of wondering is going to be the end of you. 

“Donaka…”

Then he narrows his eyes, that fire returned therein. “You are the one who taunted me with talk of leaving. Do you love me?”

“You scare me,” you finally answer, which should be a no…but isn’t exactly.  

“You knew all along what I am, deep down. You sensed it, even without proof. You could have fled, but you stayed. You know why, bunny?”

You make a keening sound as he curls his fingers inside you, tormenting you with another wet kiss to your clit. “Do you know why?” he demands again. 

You can hardly find your voice. “Why?”

“Because I fascinate you, the same way you fascinate me. I’m more than willing to try to fuck it out of our systems, but I suspect–” He presses your clit with his thumb, tearing a sob from your throat, stealing your ability to think, to breathe. Your head rocks back against the glass, hard enough to bruise.  “I’ll be keeping you for a long time.”

Then his tongue dips into your slit, lapping at your clit, and you forget everything for a long while.

[futureplayboibunnie]

i rewatched the godfather and listened to the entirety of honeymoon by lana del rey so here’s another mafia Miguel O’Hara drabble

-

Objectively, there were so many things wrong in the lifestyle that was gifted to you, but you didn’t feel any kind of way about it. You weren’t the type to fill the silence with empty words.

In this line of business, talking could get you killed.

Your husband wasn’t a good man and he often treated you well. He was the most powerful out of all the 5 families that ruled the underworld and he so happened to have a liking to you. You did love him once, that space where your love for him filled is now blank, a white space etched with a question mark. You didn’t know how to feel about all of it since you were his best kept secret, his secret weapon.

He used you to gain intel on his enemies, being a woman was one thing but being as cunning as you was another. You’d go undercover for him, he’d create an alias, a new passport, a new birth cerificate, a new drivers liscense. Your husband was nothing but thorough. And he needed to be thorough when the O’Hara brothers showed up out of nowhere.

The O'Hara brothers were very successful hitmen, but their business ventures were quiet, they moved in brooding silence in an effort to not draw public attention. Gabriel was more about the tech and was often out of town. Miguel, on the other hand, was dark, moody, he was the brawn, the muscle, the one that had to make all the hard choices all his life.

He couldn’t make heads or tales of who they were and how they so quickly got accepted into all of this and how the 5 families didn’t notice them on their radar. You had never seen your husband this anxious when it came to them, so he needed you to scope.

You were his crown jewel, he knew you could handle yourself. So he created a new alias: you were his new suit tailor. It was supposed to be a two month operation but Miguel took longer than expected to try and get close to you. Probably because you forgot to take off your wedding ring and now you had to make that part of your story. A stupid mistake on your half and now you’re reaping the consequences.

But here you were now.

Waiting for him at dinner at the most regal restraunt you have ever been in, you felt a little intimidated that there were a few security gaurds looming over you slightly as you sat and waited. Jesus, they cleared the whole floor out just for the two of you.

This is the type of intel your husband wanted. Intimate.

-

Miguel saw you through the window before he walked in, there you were sitting so prettily, waiting for him. Pretty silk dress, showing off your legs with those heels that he was surprised you could even walk in.

You were married. He noticed the massive rock on your finger while you pressed down on the lapels of his suit when you first started

Miguel knew you were married and it took a lot of time to prented he cared about it, but he didn’t. Not one bit. He always wanted what he couldn’t have.

He watched as your eyes shot up to see his figure walking towards you, a twinge of nervousness struck at your chest and your fingers started twitching as you felt his gaze simmer into yours. He was wearing the all black suit you made him last week. The sight made your legs buckle but you immediately dismissed the action.

“Salir.” (Leave) Miguel waved his hand and dismissed the guards so that you could both be alone together, the thing he’s wanted to do since he first saw you but you were so…unreadable. So polite and nonchalant, it was galling.

He waited long enough for you, now he wanted to see what your mind held.

“I apologize for being late. Business as usual.” He said coolly as he pulled out his chair to sit down.

Oh? Business?

“Such as? Nothing too serious I hope.” Your replied simply, expertly not giving away that you were digging.

Miguel contemplated your purpose, you were sat there so graceful and poised, so…fucking polite. He almost hated it. “An arms deal, a few of my guns went missing.” He stated huskily, trying to get past this conversation.

You let out an appreciative hum, letting a beat of silence cover you as you retained that knowledge “My husband doesn’t like me playing with guns, we argue about it.” You find yourself explaining your real life issues before your brain could even check it. “I told him men have endless distractions…while we ladies only have shopping and tailoring.” You chuckly dryly, giving him a shy crooked half smile, playing into whatever role of femininity you needed: this time, traditionalist. You wanted to roll your eyes back into your skull. “At least it keeps me at home.”

Miguel couldn’t help but squint his eyes and keep himself locked on you. He thought you were so sweet…and definitely unhappy at home with your husband. He sat quietly for a moment, the tension already laying thick into the atmosphere.

“I hope I didn’t interrupt anything when I called today.”

“Oh…my husband’s away on a trip. So his friends came over to keep me company. More like keep an eye on me. Your call was the perfect excuse to leave.” You say whistfully, not giving too much away.

Fuck, that was just your knack. You never gave anything away, you were so….puzzling. Miguel traced his fingers over his lips as his stared at you.

Hm.

“Is that right?” He muttered but it definitely wasn’t a question.

“Mhm. It’s a beautiful night tonight, I didn’t want to be surrounded by men who don’t care but a glass of wine would be nice right about now.”

-

You and Miguel ate and talked into the night, the soft piano playing in the background only added to the tension Miguel could barely touch his food, all he could do was stare at you across the candlelit table, urging you, contemplating you. He hadn’t wanted a woman in so long, it was like you were placed in front of him by God himself.

You sipped at your wine as a slightly concerned and defeat look spread across your face. You told him that your husband is a broker with a fraying temper and you were surprised he believed you.

“He asked me about kids. A daughter. He’d always wanted a daughter.” Although you were playing into your character, you couldn’t stop yourself from telling him the issues that were plaguing you in your real life. You disguised it well but it just fell so naturally.

Miguel frowned when he heard the mention of children.

“And?” He tilted his head urging you to continue as he took a sip of his whiskey.

“Well,” You sighed. “With all due respect, she’d be his daughter. And that affords her a certain amount of protection I don’t enjoy.” You pursed your lips as the words strained heavily, seriousness etching at your features. “He’d never hurt a hair on her head. I can’t say the same thing for myself. I won’t leave her alone in the world with him.”

Now this really was getting intimate.

Miguel felt a surge of protectiveness wash over him, he really didn’t like the way you were describing the way he acts and talks to you. He would beat him bloody for the way he treats you. He shook the thought out of his head, he needed to get a grip.

“In my work, moral codes rarely exist but I have one. I don’t hurt women or children, they are absolutely off limits and my men know this and it’s one or the only rules I expect to be firmly stood by.” He said calmly, trying to calm his temper at what you just told him.

Now this is intel. The mental list was getting bigger and bigger.

You smiled shyly as you placed your elbows on the table, looking as whistful as ever. “I sometimes think I’d rather do things on my own. The things I like don’t interest him.” You hated the fact you were telling the truth.

Miguel watched you, his eyes scorching and heated yet cold and steely. A paradox of a man as he listened intently, his ears pricked up.

“What do you like?” His voice was as rich as blue velvet.

Your eyes shot up and blinked for a moment, stilling as you finally registered the words, Miguel felt you swallow thickly. “I like the movies.” You gave him a crooked smile. “He doesn’t go with me so I go by myself. He and his friends only talk business.” You chuckled lightly.

“I don’t like movies either.” Miguel replied gruffly as he downed the rest of his drink. The look on your face spread into contempt, he caught a glimpse of you under all that politeness. And then you snapped it back on like second instinct as you smiled.

“Mr O’Hara you’re too busy to go to the movies. Even this dinner took you about 3 months to schedule. Movies are for people who have far too much time on their hands.” You teased.

Damn.

Miguel just kept staring.

“No its not that….It’s too dark. I’m not a fan of too much darkness.”

Oh?

He doesn’t like the dark?

Your lips parted as a palpable silence settled between you, Miguel was eager to dismiss the situation.

“Would you like another drink?” He grabbed the wine bottle to top you up.

“To keep you company. Alcohol…” You tisked. “Such trivial things…” You muttered quitely.

“If you play close attention to it enough, nothing is too trivial.” Miguel was laser focused on you and all you could do was give him a blank and slightly rattled look.

It was making you feel….things. You can’t feel it, you’re not allowed to feel it.

Miguel watched you as you raised the glass to your lips and took a sip, his eyes travlled to the lipstick stain on the rim as you set it down.

Fuck. Blushed red, a little glossy.

You rotated your head around to still be surprised that no one was actually here.

��Cleared out huh?” You questioned knowingly.

“I value my privacy. And it’s a nice place to talk so no one disturbs us.” He replied back as sauve as ever and you hated the feeling swinging in your chest as they fell from his lips.

The gaze you shared felt like it could last a lifetime, you were both practically eyefucking each other, neither of you blinked until he spoke.

“Your husband works a great deal, eh?” Now he was the one that was prying.

“At what I have no idea. He won’t tell me. I’ve always said that having a man is fine as long as he’s far away from home, right?” You raised an eyebrow, a cunning look filled with hubris and quiet flirtation.

It was like you weren’t even trying to be this sensual.

Miguel’s lips parted as his mouth tugged upwards a little. “Your husband is a broker, yeah?” He wanted to know more about you, about your life.

“If you wanted to know more about him, I’ll bring him along next time. You men always have something to say to each other.”

Miguel hated the idea. Absolutely not. He stayed quiet

“But with women you just make small talk.” You breathed and it halted him in his tracks, the small smirk, the look in your eyes- he wanted what he couldn’t have.

The silences that surrounded you was beating with tension that you thought you once forgot.

You swallowed.

“Small talk like this to me….is a rare treat.”

-

The night went on. Talking. Slight flirting. An ache started to form between your legs and your cunning was also turning into a mix of that and attraction. Your fingers grazed your arm slowly, your lips were getting wettet and your eyelashes seemed to flutter as you watched Miguel talk.

“The men I work with are high ranking officials and lowlives. But they all have the same look in their eyes.”

Yes. This is exactly what you needed to hear.

“And what is that?” You reply simply.

“Fear.”

“Of course.”

“But you’re different, aren’t you? You’re not afraid.” Miguel couldn’t help but comment on you, in this business a woman as polite as you should be on the chopping block but no, there was something about you.

“How about you?” You shot back and as always you disarmed him immediately but he didn’t like to give anyone that sort of power.

No one can catch him off guard.

“You’re smart but not smart enough to know how to catch me out.” Miguel smiled wickedly as he reached for his pack of smokes and pulled out a tab.

Your lips parted as you scanned his face up and down as he put it inbetween his lips. He noticed your mindless yet intent gawk and raised his eyebrows, he took another one out and extended his arm out as his fingers brushed your skin. You stilled and blinked up at him dumbly as his thumb brushed your lips and opened your mouth wider for him to put the cigarette.

His touch was like liquid fire.

You finally caught it and then he took his lighter and lit his and yours up, watching the way your lipstick stained the butt. When you fingers held it, he caught a full view of your wedding ring, it was massive diamond rock held together by golden pearls. His face grew embittered by the sight, his frustration fanned into anger and now his sentiments remained the same.

He always wanted what he couldn’t have.

[elancholia]

In Early Modern China's nearest attempt at writing a Rick and Morty episode, the lads visit an all-female kingdom and get boypreggers by guzzling from the wrong stream. Luckily,

I see we're leaving nothing to chance here.

Pilgrim Sun suggests that the births, if unaverted, will take place via a painful tearing-open of the armpit, of all places. Journey to the West Research compares the chapter to an episode from the Mahabharata (in which a king mistakenly drinks holy water intended to give his wife a son) and the choice of birth canal to stories of the legendary sages tearing open their mothers on the way out. Compare and contrast.

Oddly, it's sort of unclear why Western Liang is like this. It doesn't seem like a matter of policy, they're not Amazons and they're practically exhilarated to lay eyes upon our boys. Yes, it's a "male-undoing mountain", but there's no other indication that either the stream itself or the women are sex-selective.

As far as I can tell, this place exists so that Tripitaka can refuse to have sex with the most desperate queen alive — certainly a betrayal of his cicada namesake, but a chance to demonstrate his extreme commitment to virtuous celibacy and family-renunciation while playing his general meekness for laughs.

All that notwithstanding, I think the kingdom and its inhabitants are treated with remarkable respect. Yes, yes, they're desperate for the yang, clearly, but it's also a normal, functioning kingdom of impressive wealth. It has women officials who fulfill all the usual functions of a Sinosphere state, and their capacity to do so is not really commented upon or made ridiculous, at least not in any way that's legible to me. It's just that their entire society temporarily reorganizes itself around getting their superlatively beautiful queen into bed with a shy, celibate monk who needs and wants nothing more than to have his passport* stamped. They want him to stay, marry, and be king. He is defined by compulsive journeying and rejection of his role as paterfamilias. Classic comedy. Compared to the Amazon mythos or Lysistrata, the whole thing actually comes across as less pathological.

*Really, it's a travel rescript — a letter presented to the local government and signed to guarantee safe passage. Securing the travel rescript is a convenient device to force the characters to interact with the weird politics of the kingdoms they pass through.

Note also that abortion is presented as an uncomplicated and uncontroversial good, but that's probably the non-Abrahamic default.

Obvious commentary on the ongoing FDA abortifacient controversy.

Fruit baskets!

Always the bloody Daoists

Fruit baskets

After their plan to get the passport signed and leave the bride at the altar flubs, Tripitaka is promptly and perhaps serendipitous kidnapped by an unrelated scorpion, but his commitment to semen retention is, once again, simply too powerful, though she tempts him with remarkable persistence and buns filled with human meat. (She ties him up at one point; I'm sure there's fanfic of these two.) Ms. Scorpion does, however, accomplish the nigh-unprecedented feat of landing blows on both Sun Wukong and Zhu Bajie in a fair fight, #feminism, before being destroyed by the Chinese equivalent of the constellation Orion (here appearing as a very large chicken).

I'm not sure what we learned from this one and I certainly don't have anything intelligent to add, but damned if it isn't funny.