#or was it more like just. a regime change. it was one family ruling and now it’s another—and they’re even related

[dunebrat]

PAST LOVERS ୨♡୧

Feyd Rautha x reader

Summary : you return to his planet years later to lay your mother to rest, only to find Feyd, once a boy now a man. You struggle to reconcile the memories of the boy you once loved and he is determined to take you back as his.

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As you step off the shuttle onto the dusty surface of Arrakis, memories flood back of your time here, memories filled with warmth and pain, all centered around him, Feyd Rautha. The boy you once knew, the one who captured your heart among the harsh sands of this his planet. Years have passed since you last saw him, since you made the painful decision to leave, to escape. Back then, he was just a boy but he was your first everything, love, kiss he even took your virginity but your family left Arrakis in search of a better life, a life free from the constant danger. As a child, you witnessed firsthand the brutality of life under the rule of the Harkonnens, the constant struggle for survival in their environment.

But it was more than just the oppressive regime that drove your family away. It was the violence. Despite their best efforts to carve out a life for themselves, they knew that staying meant risking everything they held dear. So when the opportunity arose to leave, to seek refuge on a distant planet far from the reach of the Harkonnens, they seized it without hesitation. It was a chance for a new beginning, a chance to leave behind the pain and suffering of their past and start afresh. And though it meant leaving behind everything you knew, everything you loved, you knew deep down that it was the right decision. For the safety and well-being of your family, you were willing to leave behind the only home you'd ever known, to venture into the unknown in search of a better future. But now here you are 7 years later back at your birth place to lay your mother to rest on her planet. She had fell sick a year ago sadly. Grief weighed heavy on your heart, with the bittersweet memories of your childhood on the desert planet.

But as you watch him now, standing tall and commanding, the years have transformed him into a man. His features are chiseled, he’s way taller now, and his aura is so dark. It's both intimidating and mesmerizing. You can't help but notice the change in him, how the years of training under his uncle has hardened him, turned him into someone you barely recognize. Gone is the carefree boy who you thought once loved you. In his place stands a man who is cold and distant. It was as if with each passing day, his uncle's influence seeped deeper into his soul, twisting him into someone unrecognizable.

Yet despite the bitterness that lingers in you, there's still a spark, a connection that refuses to die. As your eyes meet his across the crowded room, you were determined to ignore him, to shut out the memories of your past together and focus on the task at hand. Every time you felt his eyes on you, you forced yourself to look away, to steel yourself against the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm you. But you couldn't afford to dwell on the past, not when there were more pressing matters to attend to.

And as the days passed, you couldn't shake the feeling that he was watching you. Then, one evening, as you found yourself alone in the dimly lit corridors of the palace, his voice cut through the silence like a knife, sending a shiver down your spine. "I've been looking for you," he said, his tone low and husky.

You turned to face him, your heart pounding in your chest as you met his gaze. There was a hunger in his eyes, a fierce intensity that sent a thrill of anticipation coursing through your veins. You couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement at the sound of his voice after so long apart.

"Feyd," you breathed, your heart pounding in anticipation. He stepped closer to you, his eyes dark and intense as he studied your face. "I've missed you" His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn't help but feel the familiar pull of attraction. He leaned in close to whisper into your ear "I want you."

Seeing him so close you can see he had grown into his features. His body now more muscular and defined than before. He ran his hands down your back as you leaned in to kiss him passionately on the lips.

"No," you said firmly, stepping back to put some distance between you. "This... this isn't right." His expression darkened, a flicker of frustration crossing his features. "What do you mean?" he demanded, his voice tinged with anger.

"I mean," you replied, your voice trembling with emotion, "that I can't just forget everything that's happened between us. I can't pretend like nothing has changed." you say, your voice trembling. He stops in front of you, his eyes burning into yours. You can feel the heat radiating off him, the power and strength that he exudes.

It's almost overwhelming. His eyes darken

"After all the mercy I’ve shown you and your family" he growled

"What do you mean" you squinted confused

"When you left me, I could’ve had you’re whole family killed and you returned to me. But I knew somehow or something would bring you back" He reaches out, his hand wrapping around your throat in an instant. You gasp, the air being cut off from your lungs. He leans in close to you, his breath hot on your face as he whispers into your ear, "You're mine."

You can feel his grip tighten around your throat, cutting off the air to your lungs. You try to gasp for breath but it's no use as he holds you in place with a firm hand on your neck. You can feel your body starting to tremble as the lack of oxygen starts to take its toll. Your vision begins to blur and you start to see spots in front of your eyes, but still he holds on tight.

He lets go and you fall on the ground gasping for air

"He grabs your arm and pulls you up to a standing position, his eyes dark with desire." I'm going to have my way with you again and again until you learn that I own you now" You can feel his hot breath on your neck as he leans in close, and you know what's coming next. He bites down on your neck, his teeth sinking into the flesh. You cry out in pain and pleasure as he sucks hard at the wound, leaving a mark that will be there for days to come.

"I couldn't help but notice," he said, his voice barely a whisper, "how much you've grown, how... how beautiful you've become." his eyes trailing over your body with an intensity

His words caught you off guard, he sounded more calm. "I've missed you," he said softly, his voice laced with longing. "I've missed us. And I'm not willing to let you slip away again."He reaches down and grabs your hips, lifting you up off the ground. You can feel his cock pressing against your entrance as he positions himself to enter you from behind. He thrusts into you, his cock filling you up in one swift motion. You cry out as he starts to fuck you hard and fast, pounding away at your pussy with a fervor that's almost animalistic.

You can feel his cock hitting your cervix with each thrust, and you know that he's going to make you cum hard. He reaches around and grabs your tits, squeezing them hard as he continues to fuck you.

"I want you to have my child". You look up at him with wide eyes, your mouth still full of his cum. He grins down at you," You, little one. Are mine forever and ever."

He’d been thinking about breeding you the second he saw

Defeated you whispered "Im yours, Take me however you want to take me."Just please don't hurt my baby if we make one together" He grins down at you again.

"ll be gentle with you, little one." "I promise."

Taglist ⭐️

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[stephantom]

Becket could not care less about all the women they used to get—he just misses riding fancy horses.

If he’d done this in the movie, you know there’d be jokes about O’Toole chewing the scenery. (But I get it, Henry—Becket is inscrutable and beyond reason and it would be maddening to be in love with him.)

I am reading the play Becket now (of course I am) and it’s interesting how some lines are just slightly different. In the movie we have:

LOUIS: Why does he hate you so?

BECKET: He's never forgiven me for preferring God to him.

And in the play:

LOUIS: He really hates you, doesn’t he?

BECKET: (Simply) Sire, we loved each other and I think he cannot forgive me for preferring God to him.

Sire, we loved each other!! He also says that he’s been talking to Henry since he left him, I guess meaning imagined/one-sided conversations? :[

LOUIS: I shall try to persuade him to make his peace with you. Should he agree, will you be willing to talk with him?

BECKET: Sire, ever since we stopped seeing each other, I have never ceased to talk to him.

Also of note: there were canonical threesomes:

KING: Yet I know you well enough, God knows. Ten years spent together, little Saxon! At the hunt, at the whorehouse, at war; carousing all night long the two of us; in the same girl’s bed, sometimes… and at work in the Council Chamber’s room.

And this part at the end of their last meeting, on the beach. Becket asks for a kiss goodbye and Henry denies him because he’s too distraught?? (This comes almost immediately after Henry’s “whole body is shaken by a sob” and Becket, “moved”, tries to approach him but Henry tells him to stay away because he doesn’t want pity.)

BECKET: (Gravely) Farewell, my prince. Will you give me the kiss of peace?

KING: No! I can’t bear to come near you! I can’t bear to look at you! Later! Later! When it doesn’t hurt any more!

[the-californicationist]

Hello Cali ❤️. Por alguna razón no te había visto más en mi muro de tumblr y me preguntaba si no estabas aquí, por eso busqué tu perfil y me di cuenta que tumblr me estaba jugando una mala pasada.

How are you??? I'm so busy because I have a loooot of work, pero me tomaré el tiempo de leer todo lo que me perdí de ti ✨✨✨

YOU ARE THE BEST, OK? I LOVE YOU ❤️💍

Quisiera que escribieras un smut de John Price CEO/Mafia con un Reader inteligente y astuto, que queda cautivado cuando John comienza a seducirla, porfis ✨

Anything for you, my friend!! I love you so much <3 <3

Wonderland

John Price is a famous mob boss... but you don't know that. All you know is that you've got a crush on a mysterious, handsome man, and you're willing to go all the way to find out if his bite is as bad as his bark.

The parking garage was dark, and the concrete seemed to hold in the cold like a freezer. It felt like ice on his cheekbone, and not even the blood from his eye socket was enough to warm the skin. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, that odd whooshing sound, and in a distant memory he could recall the first time he had ever gotten a black eye. But, all that was gone now. He had ratted out the one man that no one had dared fuck with in the past five years: John Fucking Price.

Those fucking coppers had said they’d protect him. He even had his people outside his house every hour of every day. How could this happen? He had to admit, he wasn’t even scared, he was just pissed off. Fucking bastards. They’d get what was coming to them. Maybe he’d tell them so. Not like they'd give him any more chances.

“Fuck you, Price. I hope those pigs skin you alive,” he spit out the blood that had began to pool in his mouth, and hoped it hit those stupid boots John was always wearing.

John Price slid his shoe away from the red stain that had began to swell on the ground, keeping his kangaroo leather Berlutis from ruin. The fool beneath his feet had no idea what was about to happen to him, and John almost felt sorry about it, if only for a moment. He and Vinson had been friends once. Hell, he’d even stood up at his wedding. 

“Vince, what did I tell you about that bloody mouth of yours? Said it'd get you into trouble, didn't I? Wish there was something I could do for you now, cause you and me, we used to be mates. But, I can't afford friends like you. Not anymore," Price gave the rat a quick shove with his heel and watched as the stain smeared in a thin streak across the cement. He turned to his men,

"Well, lads, I've got a party to get to. You wouldn't mind cleaning things up here for me, would’ya?"

"No, boss," was their quiet reply.

"You'll be sorry, you goddamn pussy!" Vinson was screaming now, "I hope they hang you from the fuckin’-”

Bang! The loud gunshot echoed through the hollow space.

Vinson didn't say anything after that.

"Let's get outta here, Gaz."

"Right away, boss," Gaz opened the door to the limo and prepared to drive John back into the city. There was a big gala at the Genting Casino tonight, and Mr. John T. Price was never late.

He was never early either. In fact, he was perfection incarnate. When he was younger, that wasn't always the case, but after his father died, he had needed to change. No one was fit to rule Liverpool in his stead, and he was thankful that no one had been foolish enough to try. His father had made this town what it is. Liverpool was built by his family, and even though everyone thought the Price regime had grown tired of their reign on the old docks, they couldn't have been farther from the truth.

John had his cut from all of the major casinos, and he traded security in exchange. He owned two of them himself, along with four shopping malls, five bars, three neighborhoods, two apartment complexes, and a golf course - not to mention the property that wasn't in his name. He made sure to give his men plenty of reign over their own enterprises, even if most of them were strip clubs. But, he didn't care. As long as tribute came in every quarter, he never messed around in their business.

He thought Vinson was one he could trust. He'd even given him a car dealership just last month. 

"Don't run it into the ground, Vince," he had said.

But, no. What had the little bastard gone and done? Put a tracker on his car and dropped bugs in his office. After everything he'd done for him, that's how he was repaid? To tell the truth, John never liked violence. It was awkward. But, his father had given him fists and showed him how to use them, so there was really no going against it. Violence and fear were vital pieces of the only language that men like Vince could understand. Now, with another family coming to Liverpool, John had to be on his best behavior. Even if 'best' was a little more loosely defined.

As he lit the tip of his last cigar, he reminded Gaz to grab him another few sticks on the way home. Gaz would've never turned coat on him like Vince did. He'd give him the car lot.

"You want the dealership on Sefton street, Kyle?" He offered.

"Sure, boss. Thanks a lot," Gaz smiled, knowing exactly which business he was talking about, "You want me to pull around back?"

They had arrived at the main entrance. Throngs of people were craning around the limo, trying to see who was inside. John thought about it for a second, smushed his cigar tip into the ashtray, and adjusted his tie.

"Nah," he said, "We'll give them the show tonight."

"Sure thing, boss."

Gaz parked the car and leapt out of the cab. His hand was on the door before John could take another breath, and on either side of the door, some of Price’s own foot soldiers took up their posts as bodyguards. When he emerged from the muffled quiet of the limo, it shocked John for a moment to be in such a whirl of chaos.

"Mr. Price, can I get a photo?"

"Over here, please, Mr. Price," a cute reporter was frantic enough to step in front of his men. They picked her up and put her back in the crowd.

John made sure to smile and wave, shake hands with those he had seen before, but he knew it was safer inside. 

The manager greeted him warmly and, he noted, by first name,

"John! Good to see you again, mate. We've got just the table for you, tonight. Wait til you see the legs on these girls! It'll be a night to remember."

"I'm sure it will."

"Ah, sorry, but we don't allow weapons past the main floor," the manager's face fell. So did Kyle’s. 

Gaz cleared his throat,

"I'm sure you can make an exception for Mr. Price. We'll be very discreet."

It was more of a threat than a promise, and John smiled at his friend's heavy tone. Kyle was anything if not polite.

"Uh, yes, we can certainly make arrangements. Right this way, gentlemen," and now the manager was nothing if not nervous. Perfect.

The night continued as well as it could, but he had never really enjoyed gambling. Why make all this money if he was just going to throw it into the wind? But, he could mingle with the right people here. Except that these weren't his people. He had come as a favor to his long time friend, Alex Keller, but Alex was nowhere to be found. 

"Passed out on his missus’ tits, probably!" One of the strangers guffawed at the other end of the Blackjack table. 

"He’ll show, don't you worry," another replied.

Well, John didn't have all night to wait on a man to get to his own party. He needed a drink. When he rose to head to the bar, Gaz stopped him,

"I'll get it, boss. No need to bother yourself with it."

The table was silent. The strangers who had been so brassy before were now silent and transfixed on the pair of men at their table, one of whom was important enough to have his slightest whim catered to at a moment's notice.

"It's alright, Garrick. Play my hand, yeah? I'm headed out for a smoke."

"Yes, sir."

John retreated. The awkward stares and weird glances were too much for him to bear. Surely there was a patio around here, somewhere.

By the time he found one, he was disappointed to see it was occupied.

"Oh, beg your pardon. Thought I was alone out here," he said.

To his shock, it was a woman's voice that responded from the shadows. Your voice. 

"You're fine. You got a light? Fuckin’ matches are all wet..." You fumbled with the book, striking to no avail.

He smirked,

"I have the fire if you've got an extra smoke."

"Fair trade," you smiled back jokingly. 

You were dressed in a clean chef's coat, your hair was pulled up, and you might have been going without makeup, but it was almost too dark to tell. It certainly wasn't casino makeup, that was for sure. John watched as you tugged two cigarettes free from the box, put them to your soft lips, and covered his flame with your hand. Your fingernail paint was pink and chipped. You pulled in the fire of both cigarettes and offered one to him. He took it,

"Thanks."

You grunted in a minimal response.

"So, you're a chef?" He asked.

You raised an eyebrow at him, giving him the glare he deserved for such an obvious question.

He back pedaled, 

"I mean, you work here as a chef. I just thought, with the coat...I mean, where's your big bloody hat? You need the hat."

You laughed. It was wonderful to hear, and he liked the way your mouth moved when you started to speak,

"Yeah, I work here. Have for the past three years or so. Bill signed me on as head chef, and I've been slaving away for him ever since."

"Bill?"

"Oh, he's the culinary manager. Runs all the restaurants in the casino and the hotel. When the last guy disappeared into thin air, they had to scramble to find someone, I guess. What about you? Where's your fancy hat? Based on that Hermes tie, I'm gonna assume you're here with the party."

He mindlessly adjusted his tie, noticing its feel on his neck as she called it out,

"Well, I might be."

"Yeah? You some kind of big-shot?" You eyed him again, challenging him to answer with something more than a yes or a no. You had heard yes and no plenty of times.

"I might be," he wouldn't give in.

"If we keep going like this all night, you might end up being the Queen, for all I know."

You both laughed, but then, you sighed, 

"Oh well, Mr. Mystery. Keep your secrets then," you shrugged and turned away from him.

He couldn't have that.

"What's your name?" He asked.

"Sarah," you spun back around, "Rachel. Tiffany. Willamina. Might be anything."

You had the audacity to wink at him.

"Alright, you got me, love," he moved a little closer to you, "I'm John. John Price."

He extended his hand and waited for the bad news to sink in. No one who knew his name in this town would be dumb enough to be on a patio alone with him at night. He had dodged the media for a long time, but his trials always managed to get leaked. Twelve accounts of assault and battery, two separate accounts of theft, three murder charges - all acquitted of course. But, still, he was no stranger to ducking the law.

"John? Of all the names," you shook your head and smiled, taking his hand firmly, "Pleasure to meet you."

"You as well. You've never heard of me?"

"Oh, Jesus," you lamented, "Are you famous or something? Look, if I'm not in the kitchen, I'm at home asleep. Sorry. I don't even watch TV."

"No, nothing like that, I just - " He thought about it for a moment before you saw him decide to take a different trajectory, “Not famous.”

“Why is it that I feel a little bit like Alice tonight?” You took a long drag and let the smoke fall from your lips, “Like I’m following a white rabbit down a deep, dark hole.”

He chuckled, and you enjoyed seeing his eyes shine with his laughter,

“If you follow me down,” he sidled up to you, his face close enough to yours so you could smell the balsam in his aftershave, “I’ll show you just how deep the rabbit hole goes.”

A man’s voice cleared his throat behind you, and you both turned to look at who it was. 

“Garrick?” John asked, clearly annoyed. 

“Yes, sir. Johnny and Simon made it up. They said they know why Keller hasn’t shown.”

John didn’t answer. He simply turned back to look into your eyes, trying to divine some sort of future from them. He must’ve liked what he saw because the next thing you knew, you were being given a golden key card. Top floor. 

Not famous, my arse, you thought to yourself. 

“Why don’t you take the night off, love. Come see Wonderland, yeah? I’ll be right behind you.”

“My, my,” you said, palming the card from him, “No one ever tells you no.”

Another smile, a little colder than the first,

“No, they don’t.”

“Maybe I will,” you pulled the tiger’s tail.

“You won’t,” the tiger growled back.

As you watched him leave the small patio, his broad back stretching that expensive suit, his thick fingers flicking his half-smoked cigarette off the balcony’s edge, you were kicking yourself. You knew you were going up to his room, even though something inside of you really wanted to yank this guy’s chain. But, his dark, purring voice had made Wonderland sound so inviting… maybe just one little peek wouldn’t hurt?

You waited a whole five minutes before slinking off to the service elevator, cutting out for the night. No one was making dinner anyway; it was the bar that was slammed. You’d already cleaned and prepped your station, so no one would miss you. 

You ducked into the bathroom just before the top floor, getting off on the service side in an empty hallway, checking your face for stray flour or coffee stained teeth. You smelled like a pizza oven, but maybe you could sneak a shower before he showed up?.

What a slut, you heard the angel on your shoulder chastise you. 

So, what? The devil’s side replied, indignant. 

You peeled the chef’s coat off of your body. All you had underneath was a black tee. It was cropped a bit too high for work, but you wore it anyway. Your black work pants were covered in flour and dried food. You brushed them off as best you could. It would have to do. You shoved your coat into your bag and headed back to the hallway. 

Luckily, the main elevator was vacant, as was the hallway, so you wouldn’t run into any other guests on your way to Wonderland. 

The angel rolled his eyes. The devil glared at him. 

The elevator dinged, and you inserted the gold card, clicking the very topmost button to the penthouse. 

You’d been up here before. Sometimes, you picked up cleaning shifts on your off days for the extra cash, so you knew the layout. But, that had been in the cold, hygienic light of day. At night, this floor was a sparkling vision. When the elevator doors opened, huge clear windows reached all the way into the ceiling, framing Liverpool’s city center, looking more beautiful than it ever seemed from the ground. 

You took quiet, uncertain steps out of the lift, checking for any signs of life. There were none, so you made your way to the bathroom. Huge black marble monolith slabs were carved in a semicircle, a nautilus that curled around the four separate shower heads, all ready to pour their steaming water down your naked body. 

You stripped, stepping into the stream, letting yourself pretend that you lived in this sort of luxury for a moment. A soft lather of soap and a little shampoo later and you were clean. The single-use toothbrush and paste was in the hidden drawer that no guest would ever notice, so you stole an extra set, scrubbing yourself to a minty shine. 

A pair of black satin robes hung in the closet, so you stole one, tying it around your waist, fully aware that one stiff breeze and the loose-fitting garment would fly right off of you. The soft fabric lay against your skin in the most sensual way, barely touching you and yet making you feel touched. 

You explored the hotel room a bit, avoiding Mr. Price’s suitcase like it would bite you. The kitchen came stocked with ice buckets of champagne, so you helped yourself to one, pouring a glass and lounging by the window, wondering how long you’d have to wait for your date. 

Fortunately for you, only an hour had passed and you heard the elevator ding. Out from the dark lift came the man himself… bleeding from his lip.

“John! What happened?” You put down your wine and rushed over to him. 

He held you back, waving you off like it was nothing,

“Don’t worry, love. Just a bit of a scuffle, tha’s all.”

“But —”

“Seriously,” he grabbed you by your arms and looked you up and down, enjoying the wide opening of the robe as it revealed your body to him, “You should see the other bloke. Let me get cleaned up. Pour me one of those, would’ya?”

Before you could protest, he ducked into the bathroom, out of your reach. You were left standing there, worried and a little concerned for your own wellbeing. You didn’t actually know this man at all, and here you were, lamb to the slaughter, eager and bleating happily. 

While he was in the bath, you decided to do a little research. You searched up his name, and you were finding almost no hits, until you stumbled upon a mugshot.

There he was… the notorious mob boss, ruler of the English underground arms dealing circuit, enforcer and racketeering extraordinaire. And here you were, nearly naked in his room with not so much as a penknife within reach. This guy had been in the armed forces, special forces, black ops — the works. He retired and fell into the armed security world, making a name for himself by pushing out the competition by any means necessary. His father had maintained ties to the dark underground, and now John had taken over the family business, doing shady deals for the government and crime organizations alike. All of it was hearsay, of course, and none of the charges had ever landed a single hit… but you knew the truth. 

John Price was the most dangerous man in the world; Liverpool’s crime arena was just a quiet little hobby for a man like him. If he wanted to, he could make you disappear like a magician behind a mirror. Gone without a trace.

What would you do? Would you run? Where would you go? How would you explain your sudden exit? Food poisoning?

Before you could even begin to formulate a plan, John was out of the shower. He looked incredible. His hulking, heavy form was steaming from the hot water, and his hairy chest was uncovered. He’d slipped into a pair of running shorts and nothing else, so his brutal body was on display for you. He was covered in scars, and he was heavyset, but his largeness was from his strength. His core was bulky and strong, and when he moved, you could see the tight muscles rolling around beneath the skin like a snake ready to strike. 

He turned to you, but even though he wore a smile at first, the moment he made eye contact, his face fell. Somehow, he knew that you knew.

He sighed,

“What did you see?”

He rushed over to his suitcase but found it still locked, looking back to you quizzically. You didn’t move, you didn’t dare. John stepped over to you slowly, deliberately, almost as if he was ready for another fight. 

You turned your phone towards him and showed him his own mugshot.

“Thought you said you weren’t famous,” you whispered. Your voice sounded so small and far away, you almost felt like you hadn’t spoken the words. 

He smiled bitterly, tossing his towel on a nearby chair and sat beside you on the bed,

“Cat’s out of the bag, then?”

“Yeah,” you looked down at your phone, unable to look him in the eye. 

“Go on,” he waved his hand at you, motioning toward the door, “Get out.”

You didn’t move. You should have. Every fiber in your being was telling you to make a break for it. Now was your chance. And yet… you stayed. It was silent for a long while. You could feel his gaze raking over you, hot and heavy. His breaths rumbled in his chest. 

“Go!” He spat, “No one’s keeping you prisoner here, girl. That’s me, alright, and the newspapers don’t even know the bloody half of it. Just go.” 

You reacted to his volume, shirking back a bit, but you still didn’t stand. You looked at him then, searching for the kindness you thought you saw on the patio just hours before, checking to see if it was still there, if it was even real.

When you met his eyes, his fury was masking a very real pain. He was angry, sure, but the ache of being cast out was apparent, even though you were the one doing the leaving, and you just wanted that bit of brightness back again. 

John studied you, watching your every movement, trying to determine what you were thinking but coming up short. He stood right in front of you, his hips inches from your face, and he asked,

“What are you waitin’ on, love?”

A strong thumb lifted your chin, raising your jaw up to look at him again, and he used his enormous hand to grab your face, keeping you there under his will. 

“I know you’re afraid of me,” he commented softly, “I can feel it.”

“So?” You replied, trying to keep your tone steady. 

His voice was bitter and mocking, and as he leaned forward, you could smell his clean, warm skin, 

“You wanna play with the big bad wolf, hm? See if I bite?” 

He grabbed you a little too tightly, trying to scare you. It worked, but you tried not to show it. Instead, you decided to place both of your hands at his hips, your palms flat against his warm belly, feeling the dark hair that formed a faithful trail, guiding your eyes down to his waistband. 

It was his turn to be surprised. You felt his breathing catch as you moved your hands up along his ribcage, rubbing gentle circles into his skin, petting him like a skittish hound, expecting him to snap. 

Letting go of your face, he grabbed your wrist, and just as you thought he was going to stop you, he took your hand and placed it on his chest, stretching your arm all the way up from where you were sat, making you extend your spine as you reached up to him. Your fingers traced the fur that lay flat against his pectorals, and finally, you plucked at his nipples, not allowing there to be any question as to your intentions. 

The tip of his wide finger dipped into the silken collar of your robe, swirling around your neck and following it down to the swell of your breast. He didn’t find your peak, but he didn’t seem to care to. He was just exploring. 

Suddenly, John moved faster than you could even begin to understand what was happening. He had reached under you, lifting you, and then tossed you back down on the bed. You lay, sprawled, trying to catch your bearings, and then you were covered by his huge form, his wide body casting shadows over your vision, cloaking you in his own private darkness.

His mouth was on you like a hot flame, licking and burning and biting and sucking wherever he wanted to, eager to taste every inch of your skin, the imperfections of a wrinkle or a freckle seemed to go fully unnoticed as he devoured you, sucking you down like his last meal. 

You were overwhelmed by the pleasure he was stoking inside of you, and you let a small mewling sound escape from your lips that caught his attention. 

��Mm,” he climbed up your body so that you were face to face, “Enjoying your walk on the dark side, love? Think you’re tainted by me now? Or maybe that’s what you wanted, is it? Something naughty, just for a night?”

You didn’t understand his negativity, nor the self-deprecation, so you tried to protest, 

“No, I —”

“It’s alright. I’ll show you how to be a bad girl. I’ll teach you, love. C’mere.”

His voice was smoldering and sticky, clinging to your ears with some of that same bitterness from before. But, you didn’t have time to worry about that. He was standing by the bedside again, and he grabbed your arms, making your head and shoulders hang part way off of the mattress. You were left staring at his thick thighs and scarred knees, worried about what he was up to.

Then, all became clear. He had dropped his running shorts, and the fattest cock you’d ever seen hung down, shining with drool, ready to be fed into your mouth. 

Your eyes went wide, and although you reached your hand out to try and brace against his legs, it was no use. He supported your head from underneath and bent himself over until the tip of his swollen cockhead touched your lips, the gleaming precome sticking to you like gloss. 

Unwilling to be frightened by his aggression, you opened your mouth for him, laving your tongue across his turgid flesh, allowing him to press himself inside of you. 

His cock was slick on the head but dry on his shaft, so you did your best to wet him, licking and sucking as he pumped himself in and out, already nearing the back of your throat and not even halfway sheathed. 

When he nudged your soft palate, making you gag a bit, you made a noise. You tried steadying him with your hand, and he grunted, grabbing both of your arms by the wrist, holding them above your face, clutched to his hip. Then, he continued to fuck your face, ignoring your writhing gasps for breath. 

Your throat tightened around him, but you tried to stay calm. You’d never taken anyone this deep before, but you stilled yourself, ignoring the urge to panic, and you made a point to swallow, feeling your throat squeeze around his head. You could taste him as he painted the back of your throat, salty and sweet at the same time. 

That made him moan, and you felt like you’d won some sort of battle. If he was trying to frighten you, it was going to take more than just a little rough sex. 

“Mm, fuck… Maybe you are a naughty little girl, aye?”

You hummed, making sure you could feel the vibrations travel through his girth. 

He removed himself fully, taking a trail of your own drool with him, gasping from the pleasure of your mouth. 

“Fuck, I need to taste you,” he muttered darkly, crawling over you and settling himself between your legs. 

You tried to lift yourself back onto the bed, but he kept you hanging there, pinning you down with his strong arm, pressing into your belly with his hand to prevent you from sitting up. Finally, after feeling him kiss and nip at your thighs, teasing you mercilessly, you felt the warm, wet slip of his tongue as it fell between your lips, tasting your throbbing pussy for the first time. 

The robe was half-off, and only the tie around your waist was even providing any coverage, and you realized that as he began to eat you, he was yanking off your clothes as well, ripping through the knot of the robe to free you from the fabric. 

Now, his mouth moved deeper, and you felt him seal his lips to your pussy, messily drinking you in. As he fucked you with his tongue, his mouth and jaw were strong enough to rock your body up and down on the soft bed, making it seem as if he were actually using his smooth wet muscle as a writhing cock, thrusting it up into you and reaching deep into your hole.

The scruff of his beard was enough to make you want to come, much less the power that he ate you with. Every deep, curling lick sent sparks into your core, making your pussy drip with eager stickiness. It was hungry for that fat, uncut cock, forcing you to imagine how delightful it would be when he popped his giant head into your pink flesh. 

You were keening for him. Well, it wasn’t exactly for him, per se. The noises you were making were coming from your throat against your will. If you didn’t scream, you’d pass the hell out, you were sure of it. 

“Fuck, that’s it, love. Get loud for me. Ungh… you taste… mmfh… so damn sweet,” he was ruthless, speaking between long suckles from his mouth, commanding you from below. 

You wished you could see him, but all you could see from your hanging position was the giant window, looking out across the sparkling city. So, you called out to him, your voice thick with want, with need,

“John…”

That was all it took. He tugged your hips down until he was above you again, prowling over you like some sort of beast, all snarling unbridled lust and appetite. As soon as he was in position — and your body knew he was in position — everything stopped. He stopped. 

John looked down at you and became… different. The flirty bloke from the patio was back, and he smiled at you. You smiled back, out of breath and already drunk with hunger, but that was all he needed. He kissed you deeply, making you taste your own musk, and as his soft lips slid over yours, you felt the pressure of his huge cock at your hole, pressing through your folds to reach your hot, soaked center. 

You gasped through his kiss, both of you moaning in the same timbre as you felt his heavy dick fit into you for the first time, a sparkling desire swirling within you as every delicious inch of him buried itself in you. He began to thrust himself up into your aching slit, fucking you on half of his length, and then using your own sticky fluid to slip himself the rest of the way in. 

“Bloody hell, this fuckin’ pussy… fuck me,” he groaned, wrenching his eyes shut from the pleasure. 

“Holy shit,” you breathed.

“Yeah?” He asked, seeking your praise. 

“You’re fucking huge,” you didn’t mean to sound so concerned, but there was a part of you that was. 

He sat back on his heels, taking some of the pressure away, staring down at your body lecherously, savoring your tits and fondling them in his hands,

“Alright, love?”

“You feel so good,” you insisted, wrapping your hands around his arms as he enjoyed your body. 

“Tell me again,” he said, grunting again as he fucked his cock deeper inside of you, reaching a new end before dragging himself all the way back out just so he could start the journey again. He upped his tempo, pounding into you with his weight, the loud smack of his body against yours beating into you like a drum. 

“Tell. Me. Again,” he growled his warning, snarling down at you, pinching your nipple to punish you for your silence. 

You were gasping for breath. He was so deep now, you could feel the pressure of it in your belly. Between sharp intakes of air, you hissed, 

“You… feel.. so… fucking… good…”

“That’s my girl,” he bent over you again and that familiar pressure returned. His cock was too big, and yet you took it anyway. Your body was panic and pleasure all at the same time, and he had you pinned down for the ride of your life. 

You weren’t sure how many hours passed that night. He seemed to have the stamina of a much younger man, and every time you dozed off, you’d wake up again to fingers or tongue or cock playing inside of your folds, coaxing you to open yourself up to him. You were happy to oblige, but you were properly fuck drunk. If someone asked you for the alphabet, you weren’t positive you trusted your answer. But, when John Price asked you to open your mouth or your legs for him, you were the top scholar. 

A golden, creamy dawn was rising up over the docks as you stared out the window. John’s hand was rubbing your bare back in long, relaxing strokes, and he was leaving soft, lazy kisses down your spine. You knew you were a mess. Your hair was tangled; you’d thrown it up into a messy bun on the second runthrough, done with trying to pretend to be a pristine hot girl. Your body was covered in his marks. Bruises from his teeth and red welts from a delightful slap on the ass or two were painted across you like little tattoos to commemorate your coupling. 

“You alright, love?” He checked in on you. 

He’d been checking in all night. For all his ruthlessness, he never crossed a line, and he never forgot to make sure you were safe. Sometime in the wee hours, he’d even made you drink a bottle of water and eat some fruit to hydrate, teasing you with grapes like some sort of earthly Baccus. 

“Yeah,” you nodded, “Looks like it’s time for me to get out of your hair. Not sure I should be seen by the public in my current state.”

“You have work, or…” John looked confused. 

You thought about lying to him for a moment. It would hurt so much less for you to just break it off now in the soft dawn glow rather than a painful goodbye over cold breakfast. But, you didn’t.

“No, just… don’t wanna fool myself into thinking this was something that it wasn’t.”

Your truth hung there in the air for a moment, but before he could open his mouth to reply, you heard the elevator ding.

You turned to look at it, but he didn’t. Instead, he pulled you off the bed and forced you to the floor. It was so fast that you didn’t even realize what he’d done until your nose was in the carpet. Then, you heard a sharp, snapping pop of something hitting the bed.

You watched in horror as John’s hand reached under the mattress and pulled out a small pistol. He held it like a professional, calm and trained, and shot twice. Then, it was quiet again. 

He helped you to your feet, and he was telling you something, but your brain wasn’t registering his words. What had happened? Why were there bullet holes in the mattress? Who had he shot?

Then, you saw it. A man’s body was laying across the door of the elevator. Wanting to descend, the elevator’s alarm wailed, beeping and beeping. 

John grabbed your jaw and made you listen to him,

“We have to go. Now. Get your clothes on. Now. Now.”

“Okay…” You couldn’t move. It was so hard to even lift your arms. They felt like solid lead. You just wanted to sink back to the floor. Maybe if you could just…

“Hey! Now!”

He shoved your clothes into your hands and you started to put them on, doing your best not to look at the elevator. John was packing a black bag, half-dressed himself, and checking the windows over and over, looking for something in the streets below. 

“There’s no time, c’mon, love.”

You felt his hand cover yours as he led you to the elevator. You watched him ruthlessly kick the body away from the doors and push you inside. Once you were in, the doors closed and you rode in silence with him. You could only hear your heart in your ears. 

“...to my car. Stay close to me.”

“Okay…” It was all you could say. No other words even dared to come to mind.

“Hey,” he held your face in his as the floor numbers dropped to the teens, “You’re alright. I’ll keep you safe.”

“Okay.”

The doors opened, and you found it extremely weird that the lobby was empty. There were no workers, no guests, not even a custodian. It was just a big, silent cavern in what was usually a lively casino. 

He was leading you out to the parking garage, and just as you stepped into the concrete enclave, you heard the screech of tires round the corner. John stood in front of you and gripped the gun in his hand, but he didn’t move away. 

The car stopped in front of you, and you braced yourself, hiding behind your lover as much as you could. 

“Get in, boss! They’re right bloody behind us. Soap, shove over,” a man’s voice came from the car. He was in the driver’s seat, and he was wearing a ballcap with the Union Jack emblazoned on the top. In his passenger seat was a man in a black balaclava, and in the back was a bright-eyed man with a mohawk who you guessed had to be Soap.

“C’mon, love,” John shoved you inside just as a black SUV rounded the same corner, the engine roaring when it saw Price’s car. 

Gunshots rang out, and you knew some of them had hit the car. You worried for John, but he stood straight up, aiming carefully for the driver, and fired his gun. As if you were in some sort of action movie, the SUV careened off-course and slammed into several parked cars. Men began to pour from it, armed to the teeth. 

John jumped in beside you and made you kneel in the floorboards, holding his body over yours protectively. 

“How’d they find out? Gaz!” John yelled at the driver, shouting his name when he saw another SUV approaching from the side. 

Gaz swerved, narrowly missing being rammed, and sped off down the highway, trying to run from his pursuers. 

“No idea, mate, but they think it was us who tore up the warf. Banno’s man must’ve turned snitch. Only explanation.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” the masked man sighed, rolling down his window to fire shots at the SUV chasing you down. 

“Who’s the bonnie hen, boss?” Soap peered down at you before turning his attention back on the car chase. 

“Uh… she’s…” John tried to explain, but you realized that you never even told him your real name, “I dunno.”

“You dinnae ken?” Soap’s brows knitted together.

“Soap! Shut up and shoot, mate,” Gaz turned his attention back on the fight.

“Well,” the masked man grumbled loudly, “She’s stuck with us all the way to Hadrian’s Wall. Heading to Katie’s house. No place else is safe.”

“Aye, good call,” John agreed. 

Finally, after leaving the city, your pursuers turned back around and left you to your escape. John helped you back into the seat and checked you for injuries. 

“John… I’m…” Your voice shook with fear, and you felt all of that stress tumbling down into your chest, turning into shock and tears. 

“Shh, it’s alright, love. I’ve gotcha. I’m… I’m sorry. Should’ve known better.”

“Better?” You whispered as he held you to his chest.

“Aye. Thought I could be a normal man for a night. Hit on the hot bird at the bar, go to a fuckin’ party. But, nothing’s normal right now. I’ve put you in this mess, and I’m sorry.”

You didn’t have a reply, not one that made any sense, and as he held you, you watched the English countryside come into view. Rolling green hills still wet with their dew made everything that had just happened to you seem so far away, but you could smell the gunpowder on his hands as he pet your cheek, and you knew that nothing could be further from the truth.

[baleriontheblackkitten]

Something I find intriguing about the books is how, the more you advance through the story, the more Targeryen there are in one way or another. You start with this picture of a realm that has gone through a regime change years ago, all the royal family killed except for two kids in exile, half a world away, with no remaining connections to the land their family used to rule. And the land the Targaryen used to rule seemingly has no more connections to the old regime, and yet - the bones of the dragons are still there, underneath the main halls, hidden but very much there. There's a Targaryen in Castle Black, assumed to be harmless - a disabled elderly man whose allegiance to both the Citadel and the Night's Watch excludes him from the line of succession, theoretically wiping away his family history. And yet he is a Targaryen, and he mentors a new generation of protagonists of Westerosi politics, and surely the fact that Sam heard his words about the prince/princess who was promised and Daenerys will have consequences. There's a secret Targeryen also in the North, although very few know. There are Targaryen loyalists who are planning to topple the new regime. There's a boy who is either another secret Targaryen or the descendant of a Targaryen cadet house, either way someone whose identity (real, imagined or both of them) matters so much to many. But there are also people with Targaryen ancestry who do not carry the name because they're not descended from the male line, or descended from someone born out of wedlock, like Bellegere Otherys and who even knows how many others. And of course Targaryen blood runs through the veins of many whose ancestors married Targaryen women - the Baratheons themselves use their Targeryen blood as a crutch for their ascent to the throne, we see from Quentyn Martell that his Targaryen blood is something he feels important to who he is (although it appears not to be as relevant as he hoped to, it's still something he's acutely aware of). And of course there's Bloodraven doing what he's doing, tapping into a power no one else even understands, and also mentoring a new generation.

House Targaryen is simultaneously a ghost haunting the Seven Kingdoms, and something very much alive. After all, in this world ghosts can be things that are very much alive. It's not a contradiction. There's dead dragons under the floor, but their eyes follow you. There's more living dragons that you knew.

Speaking of which. The way the lines between dragons and Starks/weirwood trees are blurred is obviously so important. A man of Targaryen blood tapping into the power of the weirwood network and teaching a Stark about it. The empty sockets of the dragon skulls underneath the Red Keep seemingly watching you like the faces on the trees... but also the statues of the dead Starks in the crypts underneath Winterfell! It's all about the meeting of ice and fire, of Stark and Targaryen, of the Old gods of the North and the gods of Old Valyria. Aegon the Conqueror knew, he did call his prophetic dream a song of ice and fire. Rhaegar tried to figure out what that meant, at some point probably assumed the prince that was promised was supposed to be born from a Stark and a Targaryen parent. But there's probably more than that.

Also - the Starks are also assumed to be mostly dead! At some point, the general consensus (at least among those who know that the fake Arya is fake) is that only Sansa remains alive, just like the general consensus about the Targaryen is that only Dany remains alive after Viserys dies. But more Stark children are alive than most people know - there's Stark loyalists planning on putting Rickon back in Winterfell, even.

The post ended up taking a life of its own and I don't actually remember what point I was going to make initially, but hey.

[weredoingeverythingwrong]

Project 2025 is Terrifyingly Real

Project 2025 is Real!

Fear.

I have always had an undying love for the dystopian fiction novels that have long littered the YA genre and as I've gotten older, this has not changed. Books like Hunger Games, Divergent, The Uglies, Birthmarked, etc ruled the imagination of my adolescence as I pictured a world of such obvious dysfunction. The world in these books were always resolved by disruptive heroes working against the status quo. I stayed in suspense as I read the hero of my stories challenge their world order, fear made me grip my books as I read of the capture of my hero, and an uneasy relief as I finished the final chapter of the destruction of another morally bankrupt society so a new one could be built. This is what I lived for.

What I did not sign up for... is feeling the same fear and suspense and NONE of the relief, in my own reality. I have questioned the morals of society on several occasions, but never have I ever felt such an inescapable fear of the world as I do now. I know I am not the only one still carrying the anxiety that gripped the world in 2020 that never really went away, even when the masks and the social distance masks began to disappear.

**The lockdown changed the world. Here in the U.S, the change was obvious. Covid put the world on pause for really the first time in a long time, in a way society really hadn't endured in a long time, if ever. When the distractions of work, your social life, and the hustle and bustle of your existence are halted, you have no choice but to take an overview in a way it isn't practical to do when life is lifing. Many were fighting for their lives or watching family fight for their lives. What do I mean? I mean there were no distractions. There was nothing to do, but take stock of the life we live. It's no surprise that in the void of the well-placed distractions and propaganda, social justice issues and protests reached the level they did. This is also why I believe there was a need to return the American people back to their lives because they were paying too much attention. Black lives matter, the #metoo movement, and the rise of cancel culture began to become popular and movements that focused on action-based policies took ahold of Americans (I'll discuss this more thoroughly in another post.)

Four years later, we have learned so much. The misinformation age has reached fever pitch and the country has never been more divided. The division across race, gender, and class has never been stronger and internal biases reconfirmed by persuasive algorithms have brought us here. Here is the genocide of the Palestinian people, the attempted re-colonization of Ayiti, and the rise of the fascist regime of the United States. I am scared. Never has this life felt to unreal, and so much like the fictional worlds of my favorite books, but there is no chapter close or hero to await. It's just us.

Project 2025 is real. The rise of the white supremacist, christian regime and the crack down on democracy. If you have been paying attention, the agenda has been made clear.

The 1% will reap the rewards of their greed and the work force must oblige. There can be no dissent. Unions and protests are not acceptable and will be crushed with force. You will not be protected. You have no right to your body, your privacy, or your image. Your democratically-elected leader has no laws or consequences for their actions (If you haven't check out Sotomayer's dissent letter, here.)

We have long outgrown the needs of 17th century politics and the constitution has been exploited to fit the needs of the 21st century oligarchs.

The children of the future are being made illiterate, pushed away from formal education, and they are being taught even less. Laws are being repealed and allowing children more access to becoming part of the labor force. These are the future voters and citizens of this country will not be educated enough to organize, learn, or properly create community against a new status quo.

Come November even if we vote blue, we will just be pausing an inevitable coup of democracy.

This post may be a gasp of despair, but I still have hope for the people around me. I still believe we can prevail. I believe we can create a world that generations will learn about and can thrive.

We are doing everything wrong.

We can still make it right.

** Covid-19 is still very much a thing that was mishandled and was the very real plight of many. I have edited the post to reflect lock down instead of covid-19, for clarity and to not reduce covid-19 to a simple pause in life, when it was very real fatal pandemic for many.

[tcfactory]

I've been thinking about why my QQQ in In Tune is Like That and it sort of all ties back to how I made her background - as in, growing up in an emperor's harem. Part of this is an answer I made to someone's comment, but it basically sums things up:

Like, in her mind she's using this unexpected turn of misfortune to eke out more independence for her peak, so if things turn even worse (which she fully expects. After all, YQY is really quite a good man, the exception to the rule if you will, and she knows that slaves can be reliable workers - the emperors have eunuchs in high management positions after all - but straight up leadership positions? No, nobody important would stand for that, this will bring the sect low for sure) she can swoop in and use her connections to save him from doom and then YQY will be happy that she didn't let his impulsiveness to kill a man over a personal slight drag her down with them all!

Perfect plan and she's certain she can find allies who will back her, the person encouraging this madness the most is SQQ after all and ugh, nobody likes that guy. She's sure that freeing the slaves after they became lords was also his idea to see how much power he has over YQY - why else would have YQY cared to do something so wasteful? He's not a slave anymore, so really he had no reason to do something so opening controversial, if not as yet another futile attempt to please that horrible SQQ.

...basically she lives in a rear-palace drama and playing the role of the ambitious consort and she isolated herself so much from the other peaks that she's not realizing that she's the only one thinking like this, actually.

Plus maintaining a spy network in the imperial courts, representing CQMS in that social sphere and preparing her disciples for leaving the sect and marrying men in high positions, thus returning to the politics of the palace environment, is such a big part of her duties that she doesn't step out into the world of commoners like ever. Sometimes she is forced to attend cultivator events, like the IAC, but even those are rare occasions.

She's the only one in the sect in this particular social sphere (LQG is from a noble family, but he left early and lives almost exclusively in the world of cultivators, WQW is the son of a general but his family was caught up in a regime change and executed) and she's stuck. She was born into and lives in a world of politics the others (YQY, SQQ, sometimes SQH) only reluctantly step into and never for long and it isolates her even more, in a way that's actually a little sad. She's living in a world that's almost as cruel as SQQ's, but in completely different way and by trying to do right by YQY and her disciples in her world, she's just further antagonizing her martial siblings.

[wrenhavenriver]

Okay I’m not done talking about this actually. Re: the Dishonored series’ attempts to reconcile its critical views of imperialism with keeping the characters who sit at the very top of the Empire likable, I think DH1 is considerably less obvious/glaring about this internal conflict than DH2 because: 1) it’s, duh, the first in the series, and suspension of disbelief comes a lot more naturally the first time you’re told “things will be better now, for real” than the second; and 2) Jessamine’s rule sees so little screentime it’s much easier to portray the miseries of the game as entirely attributable to Burrows’ rule (and the actions of other assorted Bad People™) without directly confronting the imperial system that put them all in a position to seize and promptly abuse power in the first place. Under a read more because I can't shut up, sorry.

Like, say you play DH1 for the first time on low chaos: you get the happy ending epilogue speech, and even if it seems to smooth everything over a little too optimistically for a game that otherwise shows a collapsing society and the corruption that brought it to that state in grim, unflinching detail, well, that’s mostly okay—you maintained low chaos, after all, in essence proving the Outsider’s “Perhaps that’s just the nature of man” theory wrong, and the good effects just rippled outward to a much a larger scale, which was pretty much the point of the chaos system in the first place. If it all sounds a little bit like the happy ending to a parable not particularly grounded in the realities of systems of power that the rest of the game was critiquing, maybe that’s just what happens when an entity as long-lived and far-sighted as the Outsider summarizes a period that is little more than a miniscule blip in time to him. Stand far enough back from something and all the rough edges blur out to nothing.

(Plus it’s a video game after all, so maybe you can suspend your disbelief/any personal political beliefs about real world empires you may have brought with you. Maybe it's nice to imagine that things can change meaningfully for the better for Dunwall and the other Isles simply by plopping a Kaldwin back onto the throne.)

The existence of DH2 makes it clear, though, that the ending monologue to DH1 really is more fairytale than reality (or, you know, what happens when a game gets greenlit for a sequel the devs of three years ago didn't know they'd get). A Kaldwin takes the throne—under the watchful eye and protection of her witchcraft-using Serkonan father, at that, a man with viscerally personal history with the Abbey, the City Watch, and the deeply xenophobic nobility—and despite all those very real family connections and personal reasons to want to reform things for the better, we step into Emily’s rule to see the people of Serkonos being trampled on and worked to death in the silver mines, the Abbey still freely hunting down and torturing or otherwise “disappearing” people suspected of witchcraft, and the Guard casually beating and murdering citizens—in one notable case, by throwing one directly into the same brutal Wall of Light technology mobilized to great effect by Burrows’ corrupt regime and that is still in wide use around Emily’s Empire fifteen years later.

Some of this chaos was instigated by Delilah and her inner circle (especially the Duke) leading up to the coup, but much of it is preexisting corruption that can’t be blamed on her—she and the coven certainly had no reason to prop up the Abbey, for one, and she didn’t have to create the aristocratic bitterness motivating turncoats like Ramsey, only give them an outlet for what was already simmering. Meagan, Sokolov, and Lucia Pastor all make it abundantly clear that this was not a momentary slip-up—Dunwall Tower had been looking the other way while violence and unrest grew for some time, because the human cost of keeping silver flowing was out of sight and out of mind, a function basically built into the system of Imperial rule. Not a bug, but a feature. A tendency toward retaining corrupt institutions, an erosion of empathy, because that’s what keeps the wheels turning and wealth being funneled upward.

So when low chaos Emily professes in mission nine that she’s learned her lesson and that from now on she’ll Pay Attention, really! to the four nation Empire she’s the head of, and the happy epilogue plays and we get another Outsider monologue about the golden age ahead, it just seems…vaguely absurd? Like, we already saw this! Burrows, Campbell, and the Bastard Trio™ of the loyalists were deposed or otherwise gotten rid of, making room for Good People™ with Good Intentions™ to take their place in charge and fix things—you’ve got Emily on the throne with Corvo to guide her; Yul Khulan, a “kind” man and eventual close personal ally of Emily’s, becomes High Overseer; Curnow, widely reputed as a Reasonable Authority Figure and rare man of principle in the Guard, has survived (and presumably still has some years of service as a Captain before the retirement mentioned in The Corroded Man).

And then we fast forward fifteen years and all these groups...still suck? The Empress hates her job and is eating off plates made of silver mined by Karnacan laborers dying hideously of terrible respiratory ailments, the Overseers we see in Karnaca are ransacking homes and torturing Outsider worshippers (a group including such dangerous people as *checks notes* newspaper artists), half the City Guard is on the payroll of the shitty aristocrats supporting Delilah’s coup, and the Grand Guard is passing the time by throwing people into Walls of Light. Emily’s reign began with a veritable A-team of Certified Good People and fifteen years later it's barely made a dent, because the system of imperial rule is built from the ground up to shelter corruption and complacency, to resist change, no matter who’s in charge and whether that person is “paying attention” or not. It’s beyond the power of one sufficiently motivated Empress and a team of well-intentioned people in positions of authority below her.

It’s tempting to say “no, it really was just an issue of Emily not taking her duties seriously, look at Jessamine’s rule, or Euhorn’s before her!” but the thing is Obvious Disasters like Violent Coups Aside we really don’t have much evidence that their rules were all that much better, or at the very least any less prone to corruption? DH1 again has the advantage over DH2 here, mostly by way of omission. We don’t get to actually see what life in the Empire is like under Jessamine, just that tiny sliver of time in the Prologue returning as Corvo to Dunwall Tower, where despite the player being told there’s a deadly plague about to bring the city to a “breaking point,” the scenery is beautiful and calm and the staff are polite and affable. It makes for very compelling contrast when the game fast forwards six months to the dank misery of Coldridge Prison, and then later the grim state of the streets filling up with corpses and weepers.

Mission six completes the comparison with a return to Dunwall Tower, where the courtyard is now brimming with hostile guards and surveillance towers and tallboys, and one lone maid who openly laments Jessamine’s passing. Life under the authoritarian despot who purposely instigated a plague for the purpose of wiping out the lower classes is, obviously, much worse than life under the benevolent Empress who is introduced to us passionately advocating for saving the lives of all of her citizens. But, in the same way Emily and her inner circle of Well-Intentioned People weren’t enough to dislodge the entrenched corruption and brutality—or prevent a new wave of it—Jessamine’s kindness can’t paint over the miseries of the imperial system she presides over. We the players see Coldridge Prison for the first time in the six-months-later flashback of Burrows’ rule, but it existed during Jessamine’s time—guards state explicitly in the DLC that she and Corvo used to come inspect it, in fact. Jessamine wholly loves Corvo, a native of Serkonos, but anti-Serkonan prejudice runs rampant in her court and city. Corvo and Emily wholly love Jessamine too, but the people of Dunwall are somewhat divided on the matter (“Long live the Empress!” “She was a WENCH!” / “Not everyone did, but I really liked the Empress…”). Burrows deceived Jessamine and took advantage of her trusting nature, but he only had the resources to do so in the first place because of the system that promoted him to Royal Spymaster, a position of incredible power and very little accountability.

Euhorn we know the least about, but we are told he enjoyed a “prosperous age”—a sentiment that falls somewhat flat when we learn that he had an affair with a chamber maid (the power differential of which is highly questionable at best), strung along the resulting illegitimate daughter with promises of elevating her to a princess that he never intended to keep, then took his chance when said daughter was blamed for breaking a vase to throw her and her mother out onto the streets, where the mother is brutalized by a prison guard and eventually dies in agony in debtor’s prison, leaving the daughter to fend for herself alone in the world. All of which shows us that the Empire is, in this age of “prosperity,” still a place of extreme power imbalances where the Emperor takes advantage of women in his employ, debtor’s prisons exist, guards can cause fatal injuries to civilians on a whim and face no consequences, and children are thrown with disdain onto the streets to die. Which, on many levels, is not all that different from the ages of other rulers who follow.

tl;dr these games show us over and over again that the Empire is built on a fundamentally broken system that perpetuates corruption and then try to append “but it’s okay so long as the people in charge are good people who are paying attention to their jobs” to the end of them for the sake of keeping those characters likable, and while the first game can get away with this by virtue of being the first game and using Jessamine’s rule primarily as a way to showcase how bad Burrows’ rule sucks by comparison, this falls flat when the very existence of the second game provides ample evidence that the Good Intentions of Generally Good People are not enough to counteract the entrenched cruelties of the institutions that keep imperialism afloat. Okay I'm going to go get another hobby now bye.

[sarroora]

Hey sorry to bug you but uhhh things aren't looking too hot in the good ol US of A right now because Mr. Overcooked Rump Roast is expected to win and basically has already

In my current situation I should be safe for a while but a lot of the people I know won't be

I'm hoping that whatever dumpster bonfire is going on over here doesn't affect Egypt too bad but shit damn I also thought that Kamala would win but look how that turned out, heh.

(You don't have to respond I just wanted to give you an update and some prayers ❤️🙏)

Hey dear ❤️ - no, please do, I too NEED to reach out and talk to people.

Like I only have a surface level understanding of how elections in the US work, but I know that the system is bullcrap. And yes, Trump’s a psycho so please protect yourself. The very idea that not every vote has the same weight at the end of the day is steeped in racism and classism but nothing surprises me anymore.

Really, if there’s anything the Zionist-American genocide against Palestine confirmed in clear light is how evil of a lie ‘western democracy and morality’ is. Like - the rest of the world already knew it for centuries (most of us endured long histories of abuse and settler colonialism since the Romans, after all) but now even people living in the west have their eyes open and no longer fall for the lies and propaganda. But it feels awful to be associated with what our govs are doing when we had NO choice in the matter.

GOD don’t get me started on Egypt - did you know that our complacent ‘leadership’ has allowed a ship carrying weapons to IsnotReal through our waters? People went nuts. Everyone is in a rage and feels humiliated that this happened.

Like here’s a short vid taken by a woman that went viral and even made it to foreign news channels. You may not understand what’s being said in the vid, but the people are aghast, and you can hear rage and panic and profanity all around. The lady recording could only keep repeating in utter disbelief, “you sons of bitches.” (Referring to our president and posse)

Yeah. Things are going to hell here overall. We as civilians are literally held hostage by a draconian military regime that’s throwing everybody in prison on one hand - including minors - and robbing people blind with unexplained ‘taxes’ and insane inflation on the other. The middle class is crushed. No economical reform and no jobs. And people go to prison for objecting - kidnapped by the police in the middle of the night and thrown in secret prisons across the country where their own families can’t find them.

The currency rate to the USD right now here is 1 USD to 50 Egyptian Pounds. FIFTY.

And it’s projected to reach 80 by the end of the 2024. EIGHTY. In less than 2 months. Shifting the blame onto anything else but the consequences of their own decision-making. All while the president and ruling class (military generals) are becoming wealthy and sit above the law. The justice system is in their pockets.

And guess what, Trump loves our guy. Why wouldn’t he, I wouldn’t put it past him that he do anything - even sell his own country and its people and the people next door in Palestine if Trump asked him to. And I’m sure Trump’s gonna push for Palestinians to be expelled from their land and settle in Egypt (which is another country Isnotreal is VERY interested in occupying next, btw) thus helping the Zionists fully take over what remains of Palestine and expand into Greater Isnotreal.

These freaks are insane, istG.

Correct me if I’m wrong, but from what I heard of Harris, it’s not like she was gonna be much better than Trump. Just perhaps a little sneakier. US has treated Isnotreal as its 51st state for decades, it’s not like the politics of the country will change with her. Congress deals with Isnotreal as if it’s more important than America itself. Who’s given the title of ‘president’ doesn’t matter.

Until the US political system is completely changed and the settler colony that is Insnotreal is wiped off the map, we’re all gonna do what’s right in whatever small ways we can and be each other’s backs, even if we live on different continents ❤️.

[vodika-vibes]

Once Upon A December

Summary: 20 years ago a coup in a neighboring nation led to the entire royal family getting executed. Captain Keeli of the ARC Knights of Mandalore has been tasked with investigating the rumors of the survival of the youngest Princess.

Pairing: Captain Keeli x Reader

Word Count: 3164

Warnings: Mentions of child death, but nothing detailed

A/N: This is an Anastasia twist. The title explicitly stated from the movie.

Tagging: @trixie2023

Divider by Saradika

Once there was a small kingdom that bordered Mandalore. It was a small, landlocked, kingdom that was very wealthy due to the abundance of natural minerals and ore that were found there.

And, for a time, the wealth was shared. Miners were treated with all of the respect that they were due, treated with the same reverence as the King himself. 

But slowly, over time, things changed.

Safety measures were cut, paychecks were cut, more mines were opened, and the miners were less trained…and all of that money flowed up to the ruling class.

The Kingdom still looked wealthy, but the people suffered. There was not enough food or houses for everyone to thrive. Schools were shut down, and businesses were handed over to the government, and then one of the mines collapsed, killing over 2 dozen people.

It really was only a matter of time before there was a coup.

The people, led by disenfranchised soldiers, broke into the palace. They killed indiscriminately. Men, women, children…it didn’t matter, all members of nobility fell to the blade.

And the following morning, the sun rose over blood-soaked halls, and a people who dreamed of freedom. It became known as the Night of the Bloody Banquet.

Of course, that’s not exactly what happened. And slowly the people who supported the coup, realized that things aren't getting better. In fact, things started getting worse. And, eventually, Mandalore was forced to intercede, absorbing the kingdom into its borders.

And though the kingdom no longer exists, one rumor from the old kingdom persists. The rumor is a simple one, that the youngest princess of the Old Regime survived the massacre somehow, and is just waiting for the day she can return to retake her throne.

Of course, the rumors had been investigated time and time again, and the results were always the same. The Crowned Princess died with her family on the Night of the Bloody Banquet. 

That had been almost twenty years ago, and still the rumors persist, in spite of everything the Royal Family of Mandalore has done to put the rumors to rest.

***********

“So, have you heard?”

You glance away from your textbook, your pen halfway to your mouth, as your best friend leans over the table and into your personal space, “Have I heard what?” You ask.

“King Jango is assigning a group of his sons to investigate the Lost Princess.” 

“The Lost Princess? The one who died twenty years ago with her family?” You ask with an arched brow, “Come on, Pansy. We both know that she died with the rest of her family that night.”

“They never found her body,” Pansy counters.

“They never found a lot of bodies, Pans. It doesn’t mean that they’re all alive.” You reply, “Come on, Pans. That coup orphaned both of us, shouldn’t you be hoping that one of your parents survived instead of a Princess?”

“Ooh.” Pansy sweeps her hand through her hair, ignoring your words, “Maybe I’m the lost princess,” She poses dramatically, “I’m ready for my close up!”

You let out a laugh, and lean across your desk, and hold your pen out like a microphone, “Tell me, princess, how do you plan to end the war with Serrano?”

“Oh, ew…responsibility.” Pansy replies with a scrunched up nose, and you dissolve into laughter, and Pansy grins at you, “Come on. Be real now, what little orphan girl doesn’t dream of being a princess?”

“Uh, this little orphan girl.” You reply easily, “It sounds a lot like work.”

“Says the lady studying for vet school,” Pansy says with a laugh, “But, seriously babe, you never once dreamt about a family member coming to adopt you? I mean, I did.”

You shrug, “I mean, sure. Who doesn’t? But…no one was ever going to come.”

Pansy sighs deeply, “How is it that you open your mouth and Sister Matilda pops out.”

“It’s my super power.”

Your best friend grins, “That’s a dumb super power.” She throws a ball of paper at you, “Now, go back to your studying, and stop chewing on your pen! You’re going to ruin my portfolio!”

“That’s my other super power,” You quip, and then you yelp when Pansy pushes you out of your chair.

Later, much later, after Pansy has left to go on a date with her girlfriend, you’re still at the cafe, with your nose buried in your textbook. You like studying at the cafe, it’s not quite so deafeningly quiet as it is in your apartment. 

Surrounded by people, yet totally alone. Story of your life.

You look up when there’s a knock on the table, “Room for one more?” You smile up at the familiar figure of Captain Keeli, who’s favoring you with a small grin.

“What are you doing here, Keeli?”

He drops a kiss to the top of your head and then pulls out the chair next to you, “I am a Captain in the Mandalorian Army, I can go where I want.” Keeli replies.

“I mean, I thought you had a meeting with your dad today,” You counter.

“Oh. That.” He pauses and swipes your mug, which was just refilled, and he folds his hands around it, “I did, it was a very interesting meeting.” He takes a sip of your caf, “Mm…hazelnut?”

“Yeah. It’s my favorite.” You reply, “So, what did you guys talk about? Are…uh…are you being deployed?”

He flashes a soft smile, “No. No deployment, you don’t have to worry about that.”

“...wasn’t worried.” You mutter.

He laughs and reaches out to tap your nose twice, and then the spot between your eyes once, “Were too. It’s okay, it’s cute.”

You duck your head and shake it once, “You always say that.”

“That’s because you’re always cute. It should be illegal how cute you are.” He rests his elbow on the table and then rests his chin on the palm of his hand and just stares at you.

You flush and slide down in your seat a little, “Keeli, you’re staring.”

“Yup.”

You flush a little deeper, “So,” you say, “So if you’re not being deployed, then what job do you have?” 

Keeli doesn’t take his gaze off your face, “I was asked to look into the Lost Princess of Zoist.”

“Oh not you too,” You lean back in your chair, “You have to know that she must have died with her family, right?”

“I know that. And you know that. And literally everyone else knows that, but some people don’t, so I have to investigate it.” Keeli replies with a shrug, “It’s a pretty easy job, all things considered. Easy enough that I’m going on my own.”

You frown thoughtfully, “well…good luck then.”

He grins, “I’m not leaving until tomorrow, cyare. How about we get this cleaned up and you cook me dinner.”

“Why do I have to cook dinner for you?”

He grins, “Because you love me.”

You narrow your eyes at him, “Fine.” You sniff, “But only because you’re leaving tomorrow.”

Keeli grins and quickly cleans up the table, “And maybe a kiss? For luck.”

“You don’t need luck, Keeli.”

“Okay, then a kiss because I love you and you love me?” He shoves all your books into your bag, and swings it over his shoulder, all the while pinning you with a hopeful look.

“You know, Keeli. One day you’re going to say stuff like that and I’m going to believe you, and then what are you going to do?”

“Uh…take you out on a week-long date, and kiss you until you’re breathless.” Keeli replies promptly.

You shake your head with a laugh, and get to your feet, “Come on, Keeli. I need to buy some food if I’m going to feed you.”

He sighs and his shoulders slump slightly, “How much more obvious do I need to be?” He grumbles under his breath, before he chases after you, “Hey, wait for me!”

“Keep up, Captain!” You call from the door, a bright grin on your face.

He falters, and a curse falls from his lips, unheard, “Stars, I love you so much-” He says quietly, before he shakes his head and chases after you. “I want to choose what we’re having for dinner.”

“Ugh, bossy!”

Keeli just laughs and falls into step next to you, “My going away dinner, my choice, cyare.”

*************

Three weeks later, Keeli decides that he hates this investigation.

Actually, he just hates the Capital City of Ziost in general. It’s nestled right up against a mountain range, and it’s miserable. All of the precipitation must fall on the other side of the mountain range, as Ziost is largely desert. 

Which means hot and miserable…or cold and miserable. With no inbetween.

“I can’t believe King Jango is still humoring those madmen,”

Keeli smiles politely at the stern older woman he’s following through the orphanage, “Well, he’s just doing what he has to to keep people happy.” He replies, “And we do appreciate your assistance in this matter.”

“Yes, yes.” She waves her hand, and side steps a child, “What do you need to know?”

“You were the Matron here twenty years ago? The night of the coup?”

“Indeed I was,” The woman replies, “A horrifying night, we saw the fires from here.”

“Did any young girls show up the following morning?” Keeli asks.

The woman hums thoughtfully, “We had a bunch of children delivered over the following days, so many people died…but…hm…” She casts a thoughtful gaze out the window, looking at an old swing set, “However, two days after the coup, a guardsmen brought a young girl, around the right age, here.”

“What was her name?” Keeli asks.

“She didn’t remember. She had no memory of her name or her parents or what happened.” The Matron replies, “Mouthy little thing. I regretted taking her in within days of accepting her-”

“Did you ever name her?” Keeli interrupts.

The matron blinks, and then rolls her eyes, and offers him a name. And Keeli blinks in surprise. He knew, of course, that his cyare was an orphan. That was never a secret, but he hadn’t known that she was an orphan of Ziost.

“Thank you,” Keeli says, distracted, as he turns and leaves the orphanage. He pulls his comm mirror out of his pocket and he automatically finds the link that allows him to call his cyare.

There’s no response for a moment, and then the screen blinks to life, and a grin crosses his face when he sees your sleepy face on the screen, “Mm….Keeli?”

“Did I wake you, cyare?” Keeli asks warmly.

“S’early, Keel-” You yawn, and bury your face in your pillow, “How’s Ziost?”

“Hot and miserable. I hate it.” Keeli says with a grin, “I’m about to check out the palace and then I’ll be coming home.”

“Did you find anything?” You ask as you slowly wake up.

“Mm…I met Sister Matilda at the Orphanage you grew up in.” Keeli says, “Charming woman. She called you mouthy.” He pauses, “Didn’t know you were from Ziost, cyare.”

You sit up slightly, “Didn’t seem important.” You yawn again, and Keeli smiles softly.

“I’ll let you get some rest, cyare.”

“Mm, I’m awake now.” You sit up fully and stretch your arms over your head, and then you grab your mirror and smile at him, “Happy hunting, Keeli. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Yeah, have a good day.” You beam at him and the connection cuts, and Keeli sighs as he stares at your name, “I love you.” He pockets the mirror, and turns to his guide, “Alright. All I need to do is see the palace.”

The guide beams, “Perfect! I love exploring the palace. Most everything of value has been removed, but the paintings of the royal family remain.”

“Why’s that?” Keeli asks as he climbs into the carriage next to the older man.

“Felt wrong after the massacre. Removing the paintings was like…pretending they never existed.” The older man shook his head, “I know people like to think that the Princess survived,” He adds, after a moment of silence, “but I hope she didn’t.”

“Oh? You’re the first person I met with that thought.”

“Yeah…she was a good kid. Kind, peaceful. She loved animals and plants and that’s about it.” The old man says with a laugh.

“You knew her?”

“Oh, aye.” The old man smiles wistfully, “My wife was her nanny. She used to bring her out of the palace and we’d pretend, for an afternoon, that she was our daughter.”

“Can I ask…?”

“My wife? She died in the massacre. Her and the other nannies tried to shield the children when the soldiers came.” The old man shakes his head, “The kids didn’t deserve that.”

“None of them did,” Keeli replies.

“True enough,” The old man nodded, “But that little girl…she was so sensitive. The idea that she lived that last twenty years knowing that she was the only survivor of the massacre…it would kill her as surely as a blade.”

“I see…” Keeli murmurs thoughtfully.

Several minutes later, the old man comes to a stop, “Here we are.” He nods at the worn gate, “I’ll let you explore on your own.” He pauses, “But the most recent painting of the royal family is at the top of the grand staircase.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it, lad.” The old man pauses once more, and then he shakes his head, “I’ll be waiting here for you.”

Keeli watches him, curiously, for a moment and then he nods, “Alright. Thanks.” He hops off the carriage and walks up the overgrown driveway.

The palace doors swing open effortlessly, and in spite of the passage of time, everything seems to be in good working order. Mostly in the sense that he doesn’t have to worry about falling through the floor.

He activates his light orb and directs it to float over his shoulder, and he heads for the staircase. Keeli hurries up the stairs, and his gaze is immediately drawn to the massive painting covering a whole wall.

The King and his Queen, and their seven children.

Keeli searches the faces in the picture for a moment, before his gaze lowers to the youngest daughter. And his breath catches in his throat. Slowly, automatically, he pulls a photo out of his pocket, unfolds it, and holds it up to compare to the painting.

He didn’t need the picture to confirm what he knew as soon as he saw the painting though. Keeli would recognize his cyare even as a formless infant. 

His cyare. His clever, beautiful cyare is the lost princess of Ziost.

Fuck.

Keeli’s eyes squeeze shut. He should tell his father what he discovered. His cyare would be moved to the palace of Mandalore. She would get the training she should have gotten as a child. She would be given a place in court-

Her life would stop being her own. She’d have to drop out of vet school.

She’d stop smiling. She’d hate him.

And it’s that last thought that stops Keeli in his tracks. He had the power, right here and now, to completely ruin her life. And she’d hate him for it.

He stares at the painting, and something in his gaze hardens. He pulls a lighter out of one of his pouches and he steps towards the painting…and he lights it on fire.

He watches the painting burn for ten minutes, and then he turns and walks away.

The Lost Princess of Ziost died when she was 6 years old. Let her stay that way.

***************

You’re bored. You’re also supposed to be studying, but for some reason, you’re not able to focus. Instead you tap your pen against your books and stare out the window.

You know why you’re distracted. You’ve not heard from Keeli since that one call when he was in Ziost, and you’re worried.

Oh, you’re sure he can take care of himself. He’s very competent, but you still worry about him. Ziost has a long and bloody history after all-

You jump when your doorbell rings. 

Though you aren’t expecting any company, so you’re careful about opening the door, though a bright grin crosses your face when you see who’s on the other side.

“Keeli!” You open the door more and allow him into your home, “Welcome back! I was worried-”

Your words are cut off, as he drops his bag at your feet, and then pulls you into a deep kiss. His arm slides firmly around your waist, and his free hand tangles in your hair, holding you tightly against him. Your hands press against his chest, your fingers curling into his shirt.

“Keel-” You aren’t even able to finish saying his name when he breaks the kiss for breath, before his lips are back against yours. This time he walks you backwards into your home, and you’re vaguely aware of him kicking the door shut behind him.

Your back bumps against the wall, and his grip tightens around you, and you whine, low in the back of your throat. Your hands move from his chest to cup his face.

Your touch, and the noises escaping from you, seem to snap him out of whatever daze he’s in, because he breaks the kiss, and presses his forehead heavily against yours, “Keeli?”

His gaze locks with yours, “Cyare.”

“What-?”

“I love you.” He murmurs, his lips just barely brush against your own, “But you never seemed to believe me, so I decided to show you instead.”

“I thought you were just teasing me,” You breathe out as you try to lean into his lips, but his firm grip around you keeps you from moving.

“Not about this.” Keeli says, like it’s a promise. His gaze is serious, “Stars, you have no idea how much I love you.”

“I think I’m beginning to,” You whisper.

He grins and kisses you again and again, “I love you,” Keeli murmurs.

You smile shyly at him, “I love you too.” You try to lean into him again, and release a huff of air when you realize that you still can’t move.

His grin is mischievous, “I’m not done just yet.”

“W-what about,” His lips steal your words again, “your-” and again, “Investigation?” You manage to gasp out.

Keeli pauses, something serious flickering through his eyes, “You were right. The Lost Princess is dead, she died with her family.” He says quietly, he tilts your head back, “My cyare. My beautiful princess,” His lips quirk into a small smile, “I love you.”

You smile up at him, lovingly, and he chuckles and slowly scoops you into his arms, slowly enough that you could stop him if you wanted. But you have no desire to stop him.

He kisses you again, and carries you through your home until he gets to your bedroom. You still have no desire to stop him.

As it happens, Keeli doesn’t leave until the following morning. And soon after, he’s essentially living with you.

[matchbet-allofthetime]

Okay here's some of my personal RE HCs because no one is stopping me.

These are in no way like the be-all-end-all for hcs (everyone has their own ofc and i have so many overlapping concepts, so feel free to share!!) but I wanted to post these anyways

This is really long, so...

Enjoy under the cut!

Wesker

───✦ He/They ───✦ Pansexual, demiromantic ───✦ Agender (gender is meaningless for him personally) ───✦ Built like a god damn refrigerator. Just a fucking rectangle of a man. ───✦ Ik this is canon but I love it, so I'm adding it anyways- he originally covered his eyes with his glasses to hide the emotions he deemed his greatest weakness and later did it to hide irritation and his eyes ───✦ I think part of the reason he did it was because Chris came to him looking like a kicked puppy one day after Wesker scolded him and Wesker got the softest look on his face for Chris, so he always wore glasses from then on ───✦ He's super proud of Chris and wishes, despite everything, that they could be like old friends again. He misses how carefree and nonchalant Chris used to be before all the outbreaks hardened him into more of a machine than a man ───✦ Actually really hates Umbrella, but tolerated them and used their resources for his own experimentation and ideals ───✦ I know that in canon, he's about 6' 3" or 190 cm, but I think he towers over everyone at somewhere around 6' 5-6' 9". He isn't built like a boulder like Chris is (pun intended) but he IS taller and I like making height differences more dramatic ───✦ He really loves rain and fog. ───✦ His AW Model Samurai Edge has his initials carved right under the short barrel of the gun, right where you attach a silencer- and he has Chris' initials carved right in front of the trigger. He thinks of it as a way for Chris to 'keep him doing things in the right direction'

Chris

───✦ He/Him ───✦ Bisexual ───✦ AKFHSKFNEJ THIS MAN IS MASSIVE. He is super huge. Fuck canon he's 6' 5" because LOOK AT HIM IN RE8, PLEASE- ───✦ Asian-american (his facial features in vendetta? pfft, please, this man is asian. I think Korean personally.) The name Redfield is of Scottish origin, but I think his american family fled from scotland to escape the British regime similarly to what my family did ───✦ Canonically can't read during a flashback, which is probably referring to him being unable to read sheet music specifically, since he's trying to read the sheet music at the grand piano- but this just makes me think he's a slow reader and has dyslexia ───✦ I think he's super flirty but also is oblivious ───✦ Adhd all the way ───✦ Super messy handwriting because his mind moves faster than his hands, so it's just the messiest half-cursive scrawl ───✦ Looks like a grinning felon on his license and has since he got his learner's at like 15. He just keeps looking more like "yeah I committed that crime and I'll do it again" every time he goes in for a renewal ───✦ Really loves cars and armoured vehicles in the same way Leon loves motorcycles ───✦ Hates Leon's drinking habit while Leon hates Chris' smoking habit ───✦ They come together eventually to help the other stop their addictions and it mostly involves lots of snuggles and pancakes ───✦ Really loves that Ethan is Canadian because Ethan can and will special order authentic maple syrup solely so Chris is happy and he loves authentic syrup so much he can damn near drink it straight from the bottle

Krauser

───✦ He/They or He/Him ───✦ Bisexual ───✦ German-american (as a German-american myself, it makes sense based on his name and his need to do busy work (his off-days merc work) just to feel like he's doing something worthwhile. In German culture, being able-bodied and able to work is a super big societal standpoint that is thankfully changing some) ───✦ He's actually an incredibly anxious individual. He finds the cut-and-dry rules, schedules, and regulations of the army and the relative-freedoms of his mercenary work are good for him regulating himself ───✦ He really likes Leon. Thinks he's a good kid (even though they're so close in age) and wishes him well in life. ───✦ Loves snakes. So much. It's on his blade and he hated killing that snake to protect Leon during the Darkside Chronicles cutscene, but Leon mattered more ───✦ Part of the reason he's such an ass and so cold is because he doesn't like many people and has difficulty interacting outside of yelling at them to train them or smart-mouthing people who deem themselves his 'superior' ───✦ Actually really doesn't like the government for a lot of reasons ───✦ Had a second blade custom-made for Leon so they could match ───✦ Really likes cuddles and is a human heater

Merchant

───✦ He/They/It (sometimes refers to himself as 'we', sort of in the local-english dialect kinda of way, as in a singular 'we' but I also have a theory regarding the blue/purple flamed lamp you always see with him, but that's a whole can of worms) ───✦ Pansexual, panromantic ───✦ Nonbinary. Can be amab or trans afab, but prefers being deemed more masculine ───✦ British-english; just likes to travel the world ───✦ Older than he lets on and joins the Duke for dinner a few times a year. They bond over shared experiences and intriguing customers ───✦ Long dark brown/straight hair, tied into a ponytail down the base of his head. ───✦ I think he's either really scrawny or he's fluffier and stockier under his coat than he appears ───✦ He has facial scars, mostly consisting of a few slashes from knives or similar and a scar that curls across the left side of his face ───✦ This particular scar ruined part of his lips and shows some of his teeth even when his mouth is shut, which is one of many reasons he wears his mask. Can't go around scaring his customers, can he? Bad for business! ───✦ His eyes ARE blue, but in fact glow under low-light conditions and glow when he's under intense emotions (ex. stress, anger, extreme happiness, etc) ───✦ They flash this sort of red-orange similar to Wesker's eyes when he's irritated too or when he gets impatient, but it's easy to miss ───✦ He also has a weirdly long split tongue and the further up it you go, you start to see these soft little barb-like features. They curl and stretch whenever your fingers brush over a particularly flavour-sensitive spot or press too hard ───✦ Really good at cooking ───✦ Has a special interest in weaponry of all kinds and enjoys working with his hands ───✦ Incredibly fond of Leon and makes sure he's well taken care of whenever he gets the chance ───✦ Autistic

Ethan

───✦ He/They ───✦ Cisn't (amab or afab, but I lean toward amab) ───✦ Canadian/american ───✦ The shadow thing on his face is actually caused by his 'death' in Louisiana. He's not sure why it happens and can kinda turn it off, but it follows his face regardless of light conditions. In darker/fully dark environments, all you have a chance of seeing is the glint or even sometimes glow of his eyes. You only see the ring of colour of his eyes during these moments. ───✦can and will scare people with what remains of the megamycete- ie making himself look a little too cryptid-like ───✦ Similarly to the Lords (primarily Salvatore Moreau) he has these tentacle-like appendages that can sprout from his back that he uses to freak people out. The Lords still aren't so used to it ───✦ Has adhd and autism ───✦ IT tech genius, computers are his special interest ───✦ He is a sarcastic ass when he wants to be and gets even more feral and angry now thanks to the megamycete ───✦ He is super tired and has insomnia issues half-thanks to Louisiana and the Village and half-thanks to his natural insomnia problems (mood my guy) ───✦ Like smart-assing Heisenberg frequently, but also enjoys having long philosophical or tech-related convos with him ───✦ Surprisingly close to Chris and later Leon ───✦ Finds the Merchant hilarious

Leon

───✦ He/him or he/they. I sometimes write him a cis amab sometimes trans. Often trans. Nonbinary?? Idk, but I like him being a gnc type guy. ───✦ Bi or pan, but demiromantic and demisexual too ───✦ Struggles with his own touch-starvation and even now, loud noises scare him a lot when he's not on the job. He's always worried about another unprepared breakout like the events of RE2 ───✦ Romanian/american (a thought I've had since RE4 2005 back when I played the game in like,,, 2014. I find it funny now that his remake model is Romanian from what I understand lol) ───✦ Still has remnants of Las Plagas running through him, but his blood kinda neutralized it to make a 'perfect monster'-type effect. ───✦ As a result of this, he can essentially 'shift' his body in weird ways and create the equivalent of the arms on the Los Iluminados insignia (yanno, with the four arms kinda like a mantis or facehugger has? yeah, that) ───✦ He doesn't like that it happens but he finds the older he gets, the more used to it he becomes and the more he uses them in sticky situations ───✦ Adhd and autism; really oblivious to social cues which is part of why he jumps into everything headfirst and why he doesn't flirt well. But he tries ───✦ Very soft and can sleep through a nuclear explosion

[luminalunii97]

The reason I post on Tumblr is that I'm trying to spread the news about the Iran revolution and my targeted audience is non-iranians around the world. It's a fact that people of different nations mostly know each other by nationalities and not subgroups and ethnicities. For example, I know people from China or Russia or Argentina as Chinese and Russians and Argentines, but I have very limited knowledge about the cultural and linguistic diversity within different countries. I know about some ethnic groups through media or documentary programs, and I know more about the people of neighboring countries because of proximity and common grounds, but you can't expect me to know the demographics of every country around the world, and in return, I don't expect citizens of other countries to know the details of existing ethnicities in Iran, a country that has been isolated and pushed out of pictures for decades. With all these said I like to give very basic information about the ethnic structure of Iran's population.

Ethnic map of Iran

Iran has always been a multi-ethnic, multi-racial, multi-culture, and multi-lingual nation. Iranian is the nationality and not an ethnical or racial identity. Persians, Kurds, different branches of Turks, Balochs, Lurs, Arabs, Gilaks, Mazanis, etc, etc, are the racial or ethnic identities that have made Iran's body. These ethnic groups have their own language or dialect, their own culture and food, costumes and urban legends, and in some cases particular religion. This makes Iran a very colorful country, which obviously can be a place of wonder but also trouble.

Some of the Folk Costumes in Iran

The relations among these ethnicities and their relation with the capital and the ruling system through history is complicated and differs from region to region, dynasty to dynasty. As you might know, the country you know as Iran today is the remains of an old empire that has gone through many uprises and downfalls, wars and invasions, and rebordering. Here's a quick video of how Iran's borders have changed through history; got bigger, shrank in size, and moved east and west.

The trouble with having so much variety within a country is the unpleasant manifestation of racism, favoritism, and discrimination. This problem has gotten a lot worse under the islamic republic regime. Even though favoritism and racism by the government have existed to different degrees in previous dynasties, the Islamic Republic took it to another level and since it's a theocracy, they added the element of religion stronger than ever to the discrimination mix.

Currently, in Iran, the uneven distribution of wealth and resources, and the government's neglect in many provinces and cities have made a huge gap between prosperity levels in crucial cities like tha capital, Tehran, and everywhere else. Tehran currently is the most populated city in western Asia. It's actually overpopulated, and this overpopulation is causing many environmental problems like air pollution in the city. The main reason is immigration because of the concentration of facilities and opportunities in the capital in contrast with non-existent facilities in other areas. Many people, including my family, have moved to Tehran, temporarily or permanently, to get a better chance at education or finding a job.

Apart from financial fairness, the islamic republic has been dead set on destroying ethnic identities in Iran. Banning the writing, reading, and learning of native languages at schools is one example. In many cities around the country, Persian is not the first language of daily communication. Persian as the official language is the mediator language that makes it possible for people from different regions to communicate. Different accents of Persian are the main and only language in many cities. Some cities are bilingual, but in others, Persian is like English in European countries, just a mediator, not the main native language. Almost everyone can understand and speak Persian, but native languages are the preferred language of daily life in cities with the majority of that ethnic population.

Another example is the restriction on wearing native clothes. In this one, the Islamic Republic hasn't been completely achieved, but they've been able to pale the usage or change the original form of most ethnic styles. For example, to make all the Iranian women uniformly dressed, they successfully changed the colorful veiling of Baloch women to a Black chador.

The original colorful clothing of Baloch women vs the black chador Islamic Republic has forced on them

Last but not least, based on religious beliefs, cities with the majority of non-shia muslim populations face discrimination times and times worse. Lots of Kurdish and Baloch cities have a majority of sunni muslim people. In the recent protests, the level of oppressing violence these cities have faced is far worse than in other states. Where in Tehran they shoot us mostly with shotguns, they only use battle rifles in Kurdistan and Zahedan. In only one day, Bloody Friday of Zahedan, they killed at least 96 Baloch people. Baloch people are also the first group of arrested protesters the regime has started executing. They're being murdered by the regime everyday now. These were only discriminations they're faced during the protests. A region with many metal mines like gold, and various industries is in so much poverty you'd think it's a war-struck place. Poverty, lack of clean drinking water, and identity paper restrictions are some of the examples of problems in Sistan and Baluchestan province.

In Kurdish cities the regime brought Tanks and DShK to suppress people, as if a foreign army has striked. People of Kurd never accepted the Islamic Republic regime and have been fighting its authority for decades now. Mahsa Amini, as you probably know by now, was from a Kurdish city named Saqez. The protests started in front of the hospital she passed away in, in Tehran, but it turned into full on revolution at her funeral, in her homeland, where Kurd women took their headscarves off and chanted "jîn, jîyan, azadî".

Fighting regional and racial discrimination in the free democratic future of Iran will be another obstacle our nation should deal with alongside women's rights, children's rights, LGBT rights, and working group rights.

[randomficrecss]

dramione pls <3

hi anon! I’ve actually just started reading dramione so i only have a few bookmarked but i’ll give u some i have in my marked for later too :)

Wait and Hope by mightbewriting

M | 94.9K | 12/12 | Memory Loss, Slowburn

“Harry,” Hermione began, voice very controlled, but she could feel the blade of panic slicing at her vocal cords. “Why was Draco Malfoy just screaming bloody murder about his,” and the word almost strangled her as she said it, “wife?”

Harry's green eyes blew wide. Healer Lucas pinched the bridge of her nose, clearly displeased with the recent series of events.

“He was referring to you, my dear,” she said. “That was the other question you got wrong. Your name is Hermione Jean Granger-Malfoy.”

Hermione had to be sedated again.

[In which Hermione loses the last six year's worth of her memories, including the entirety of her relationship and marriage to Draco.]

unexpected by ambpersand

E | 66.8K | 13/13 | Unplanned pregnancy, unexpectedly soft draco malfoy, fluff and angst, sexual content

Hand drifting down to her abdomen, she knew. When she was younger, she’d known that there was something different about her. About her abilities. Her certainty had been palpable, and was only confirmed when Professor McGonagall had shown up on her doorstep with that fateful letter in hand. And now, just over ten years later, she felt that same sense of certainty again.

She was pregnant.

And it all because she’d gone and had a one night stand with the worst person in the world… Draco Malfoy.

Tremble & Depart by DarkoftheMoon

E | 139.6K | 30/30 | Slowburn, Ministry of Magic Employee Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger, cursebreaker hermione, Investigations, hurt/comfort, sexual content

Draco Lucius Malfoy. Death Eater. Disposable.

Life on probation at the Ministry meant keeping his head down and his mouth shut. On his first field assignment he’s tasked with investigating an abandoned Death Eater manor hiding more than a few secrets in its walls.

Stuck with the only witch who agreed to work with him.

False Pretenses by tasteoftheforbidden

M | 273.5K | 31/31 | PTSD, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Post-War, character development

(TW references self harm, child abuse)

The solicitor was convinced that the only way to salvage the Malfoy family name was marriage to a certain muggle-born witch.

"Granger is one of the people who has witnessed every single negative aspect of my personality. The moment she sees me act decent, her defenses will shoot up. She'll know from her gut that something is wrong." Draco paused, twirling the glass of firewhiskey in his hand.

"So… you're going to offer it to her? Like a deal?" Blaise was positively sure that the Malfoy heir had gone mental. What could he possibly present to his longtime mortal enemy to get her to agree?

*A story that uses the most common tropes in Dramione fanfiction... Then changes how it's done.

Bending Light by scullymurphy

M | 146.8K | 29/29 | Redeemed Draco Malfoy, slowburn, eventual smut, Post- Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Teen Angst

Draco Malfoy was in exile, though they called it protection. It was the summer after sixth year and he'd taken Dumbledore's offer, defected to the other side and been sent away to a small town in Italy for his troubles.

No magic, few rules, and not a lot to do -- until Hermione Granger arrived.

What do you do when you're thrown into exile with the last person you wanted? You live like there's no tomorrow...

Dragon in the Dark by GracefulLioness

E | 164.7K | 31/31 | Voldemort is dead, eventual smut, espionage, murder, Assassin Draco, Healer Hermione

The battle is won, Voldemort is dead, but the war is far from over. In the new Death Eater regime, Draco Malfoy does what he must to survive and keep his mother safe. Now a highly trained assassin, Draco has learned to think of his targets as inhuman beings, but when he is tasked with killing someone from his past, he can no longer hide from the horrors of the world around him.

Apple Pies and Other Amends by ToEatAPeach

M | 76.7K | 29/29 | PTSD, Stress Baking, BAMF Hermione Granger, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, post-hogwarts

(TW alcohol abuse)

It’s not until she’s brought a basil and strawberry sponge cake to Neville Longbottom and his new girlfriend, Hannah Abbott, a dozen rhubarb hand-pies to Luna and Xenophilius Lovegood, and another basket of ganache-covered muffins to Dean and Seamus, that Hermione admits to herself what she’s actually doing: she’s making a thing of this. It’s a veritable PTSD tour. With pastries. And hand-skimmed clotted cream. And she has no idea why she’s doing it, but it’s becoming very apparent that she is.

Sometimes you're sad. Sometimes you need dessert. And sometimes, it's a little of both.

Remain Nameless by HeyJude19

E | 312.2K | 51/51 | Post-Hogwarts, Slowburn, friends to lovers, PTSD, sexual content

(TW past drug addiction, suicidal thoughts)

How did it feel? It felt like he was barely holding it together. She, of all people, should shun him. Or yell at him. Curse him. Spit at him. Take out her wand and blast him off the face of the earth. It was crushing guilt and relief and confusion all at once when he looked at Hermione Granger.

The monotony of Draco’s daily routine had become both a lifeline and a noose. But this new habit of grabbing coffee with Hermione Granger is quickly becoming a reason to get out of bed and is unfortunately forcing him to re-evaluate his inconsequential existence.

Hermione is living her life in fragments, separate pieces scattered about, and she can’t find a way to step back and let the full picture form. Why are morning meetings with Draco Malfoy the only thing that make sense anymore?

sorry if you’ve read all of these! i have more so just let me know<3

[barbwritesstuff]

Possibly dumb question, that probably isn't super important, but since it was brought up in an ask a couple days ago, it's been stuck in my head. How exactly does inheriting Blackwell's name even work. I can think of like 3 options, but they all seem kinda weird.

Is it just like, since he turned you he's like the vampire equivalent of your dad, so you take on the family name (which if it is, it's a bit weird you can't change it)?

Is it that the title you inherited is "The Lord/Lady Blackwell" in the same way that you have like, "The Duke of York"? (which seems weird cause normally when titles do that, it's to show what you have domain over. Is the are of the city you rule called Blackwell?)

Or is it literally that, by inheriting his stuff, as far as the Night Court is concerned, your characters actual, full, proper name is Lord/Lady Blackwell, and anything else you go by is just a nickname? (Which is just weird because, just, that seems, to me at least, like a very weird tradition to start)

Or is it that I'm just way overthinking this and missing the obvious real answer?

There are a few reasons why vampires in the Night Court tend to lean into using titles instead of names. Apart from the obvious (tradition, heritage, prestige... and just being too lazy to change the maps), it's also safer.

Hunters (and other vampires that would do you harm) are going to have a harder time tracking you down if you don't tell them your real name. Even older vampires are going to be buying houses etc under different names than the ones they're using at court.

In many ways, the names, and titles, are just another mask.

Reusing titles also keeps the illusion of an undying regime. The domain you control has been in 'Blackwell's' hands for hundreds of years... and it still is. Most people, even hunters, don't know there has been a transfer of power. They'll be chasing a spectre for years. And, from a politics point of view, it makes the court seem more powerful, more imposing, more set in iron.

But, all that said, I totally understand why some players don't like this move. I was excited about the idea of totally flipping the script, of being Blackwell, and a vampire, and seeing everything from the other side of the coin. But, I can also understand why other people don't like that. I'm sorry if it's ruined you immersion or if it's just an element of the game you don't enjoy.

[the-archlich]

Do you think you've about exhausted things to talk about with respect to the 3 Kingdoms era?

Not at all.

This got very out of hand but I'm going to leave it as is.

Oh, sure, some subjects have been beaten to death. There's only so much you can say about the particular events that have been told and retold in folktales, opera, novels, and (in the modern age) movies, TV shows, and video games for the last 1800 years. There isn't a lot left to say about the most famous battles and individuals that hasn't been said already.

There's also a lot that is still relatively overlooked, outside of very specific circles. People who didn't get prominent roles in fictionalizations of the period are still pretty obscure. Events that aren't depicted in stories and adaptations don't get much discussion. That's the sort of thing I try to write about, like with my articles on the Crown Prince Affair (Part I | Part II) or my series on Yuan Shao and Gongsun Zan.

But the things I write about are just one very limited facet of the period's history. There's so much more to be said. The stuff I write about is probably the least meaningful. Ultimately it doesn't make much difference who won what battle or what faction took over a government. Individuals varied but all the governments of the time were fundamentally the same. No matter who took power in what region, it was going to be a Han style government, dominated by Han culture. Nothing meaningful was going to change, no matter which of our well-known warlords won. Their battles were largely irrelevant. There's a reason nothing meaningful changed in Shu when it was conquered by Wei, or Wu when conquered by Jin. There's a reason the Sima regime was only superficially different from that of the Cao, and why it really doesn't matter if, say, the Quan family had seized the throne of Wu. Despite individual differences they were all fundamentally the same.

To see what I mean, we don't have to look very far into the future. The collapse of western Jin meant the rise of non-Han polities in significant areas of the former Han/Jin empire. The governments of the Xiongnu, the Xianbei, and and other groups from outside of the Han culture were meaningfully different. Prolonged chaos in the northern portions of the empire resulted in mass movement to the south, into areas previously claimed by the Han people only in name but not in fact. The efforts of Wu and Shu (largely due to He Qi and Ma Zhong) to establish firm control over these regions laid the groundwork for the "sinicization" of southern China, but it was really only with the collapse of Western Jin that the new status quo was established. At the same time, we can also observe the so-called "barbarians" adopting many elements of Han culture to help them rule their new empires.

You could spend your whole career studying something like that.

You could analyze the literature of the period and compare different style and composition across different years and regions. You could dig deep into the economics and study things like government monopolies on key industries, and contrast the different approaches taken by the various rulers of the era. You could study all the material left by civilians who had no part in the "great affairs" of the time. You could study how infrastructure projects meant to support warfare (like the many canals Wei dug) impacted trade and travel for others. You could study the visual arts; paintings, sculptures, miniatures, etc. And all of that gets much more complicated and interesting when you reach beyond the Han culture, into the areas and eras where non-Han influences achieved supremacy and influenced the existing culture.

The era produced some of China's most influential figures whose contributions are far more meaningful than the battles fought by its various generals. Zhong Yao's calligraphy was so influential that we still imitate his writing today. Pei Xiu was one of the most important cartographers in China's extensive history. Hua Tuo's scientific approach to medicine was revolutionary in its time. Du Kui and Xun Xu made extraordinary contributions to music. There are so many others to speak of.

Sociology. Visual arts. Performing arts. Economics. Mathematics. Literature. Technology. The list goes on and on and on. There is absolutely no shortage of new things to study and talk about. A very accessible example is the deep dive @discourseofthethreekingdoms did on the theology of the Yellow Turbans. I don't think I've ever heard that much said about them anywhere. It was a significant and meaningful look at the actual beliefs and ideology of a group usually just dismissed as rebellious malcontents deceived by charismatic opportunists.

Now, none of that is what I generally write about. A big part of that is because that's serious academic work. It's hard, it's complicated, and it requires both resources and training I don't have to get it right. I'm not any kind of real academic. There are people doing this work, and because it doesn't have mass appeal they don't get the kind of credit they deserve, but that's the kind of work that actually matters. People like to read about wars and battles and politics and don't give the same attention to these much more serious and meaningful subjects. It's a damn shame, really, and I can only hope that the ones doing the important work at least receive the respect of their peers.

And if I'm being fully honest, even if I did have the training and resources it takes to do the important work, that's not where my passion is.

I'm a storyteller.

I'm fascinated by these people and their lives. When I get invested in a particular historical era, it's because I find it to be filled with a wide variety of very interesting individuals whose stories I love, and whose stories I want to try to share with others. I like to tell the stories I think don't get told enough; or that get so obscured by fictionalization that the real people involved become unrecognizable. That does end up with me writing about a lot of battles and politicking, because that's where we get a lot of these stories from. When I believe a story is left untold (like with the Crown Prince Affair) I want to tell it. When I believe that a story is being misrepresented, I want to try and correct it. The reason I get so passionate about "history vs. fiction" is because these people were real. Their accomplishments and failures were real. Their triumphs and tragedies were real. Every single name you see was a full human being exactly as complex as you are; and so is every single anonymous soldier and civilian killed in their pointless wars.

Some of these stories have been told and retold so many times that there's nothing interesting left to say. But there are so many others that remain in relative obscurity, and ones where the truth has become obscured over time. That's mostly what I spend my time writing about now.

[beardedmrbean]

Namibian Michelle Nehoya has spent nearly $500 (£390) on the application process for a visa to visit Canada - but almost two years later it has yet to materialise.

The 38-year-old, who lives in Namibia's capital, Windhoek, is desperate to get to Quebec to see her aunt and cousins whom she has not seen for almost a decade.

The visa application has involved filling in multiple forms - and among other requirements, she has also had to provide six months of bank statements, an invitation letter plus a detailed travel history.

There is no way to apply in Namibia, so this has also meant travelling to South Africa to submit her biometric data, which involves giving her fingerprints and having a photo taken.

Her experience is not uncommon for Africans travelling to Western countries.

In 2022, seven of the top 10 countries with the highest visa rejection rates in the bloc of European countries known as the Schengen area were African, according to consultancy firm Henley and Partners.

“It has been lengthy and frustrating. I haven’t been given any reason why it’s taken so long," Ms Nehoya tells the BBC.

However, if her family in Quebec decide to travel to Namibia on Canadian passports, they will not face anything like the challenges and costs she encountered. Canadian citizens can currently enter Namibia without a visa.

But this will change in eight months’ time.

From next April, Canadian nationals, along with those from Germany, the US, the UK and 29 other countries, will require a visa for entry.

These include all “non-reciprocating countries” - meaning the new visa rules will affect citizens from all countries that require Namibian passport holders to have visas.

“Namibia has extended gestures of goodwill and favourable treatment to nationals of various countries. However, despite these efforts, certain nations have not reciprocated,” Namibia’s immigration ministry said in May.

“In light of this disparity, the government has deemed it necessary to implement a visa requirement to ensure parity and fairness in diplomatic interactions.”

But these visitors will be able to buy their 90-day visa, costing $90, on arrival in Namibia - unlike the onerous requirements placed on African passport holders who need to get their visas beforehand.

The British High Commissioner to Namibia, Charles Moore, said he respected the right of Namibia to impose new regulations.

“[The UK] unfortunately imposed a visa regime on Namibia last year due to the number of asylum seekers we were receiving. That was impacting on our relationship with Namibia,” he said.

A statement from the UK government further explained there had been a sustained and significant increase in the number of asylum applications from Namibians at the UK border since 2016.

“This constitutes an abuse of the provision to visit the UK for a limited period as non-visa nationals,” it said.

For Ms Nehoya, Namibia’s visa announcement is long overdue: “I think it is fair. It feels like Namibia is standing up for itself.”

The reactions on social media to the news echo her sentiments.

“Finally. I hope they also require them to submit a bible of documents, take medical tests, [and] Namibian language tests,” wrote one commenter.

Another said: “If I need to bring bank statements… and all sort of documents and still buy visa just to gain entry to a country, that country should also do the same to gain entry to my country.”

And visas for the Schengen area, the US and Canada do not come cheap for African passport holders.

The European Union made more than €53m ($58m; £45m) on rejected visa applications from African countries in 2023, according to a recent report by the Lago Collective, a think-tank that focuses on migration.

Visas can be rejected for multiple reasons. The report says most rejections are based on “reasonable doubt about the visa applicant’s intention to return home”.

In June 2024, the price of Schengen short-term visas went up from €80 to €90 for adults, and in October 2023, the UK visa fee rose from £100 to £115.

The report also showed that nearly a third of Africans applying for a visa to the Schengen area were rejected, higher than the global average.

Even when visas are approved, African travellers say their experiences at border security make them feel uncomfortable and unwanted.

Winnie Byanyima, the head of UNAids and who is herself Ugandan, drew attention to this when she tweeted in 2022: “I’m at Geneva airport, I’m almost refused to board, all documents scrutinised over and over again, calls made… I board last.”

Despite Namibia’s visa initiative receiving praise on social media, the tourism industry is less enthusiastic.

The Hospitality Association of Namibia said it was “very concerned” about the message it “sends to the global travel trade”.

In 2022, the tourism sector accounted for 7% of GDP, making it the third largest contributor to the economy - with most tourists coming countries such as Germany and the US.

Though Soni Nrupesh, a tourism expert based in Windhoek, believes the visa move will not deter visitors: “It will not change much; you can still get on a plane without a visa.

“It’s just when you get to the airport you will fill a form pay the fees and enter.”

Prospective travellers like Ms Nehoya hope this kind reciprocity will be the future for everyone.

“People come to Namibia, and they love it. But we also want to see what is happening on the other side,” she says.

“It would be nice to go to Canada, the US or the UK and just get a visa on arrival. But right now, we must plan everything so far in advance.”

[stolencrownsofplenty]

Verses

When Five to One Becomes Everything (Post game, MAIN VERSE; will not be tagged) - All that's been described in their bio, you will find the Lamb holding ownership over all the five crowns they had claimed after the defeat of the bishops (Narinder's being taken after his usurp, the bishops after being dragged out of purgatory). Their rule goes as fair as stretching over the entire Old Faith island, taking claim over the five biomes that once belong to the bishops, and they are doing active changes to make sure along with their influence that the island is being fixed for the better. The Bishops had left the island in disarray even before their fated downfall, and the Emperor is doing what they can to fix the main fives' fatal mistakes. Has also made a deal with the fresh four crowns in letting the godly tools give them some mortal instincts again in exchange for letting the inky creatures think for themselves in the shadows. Will need to eat and sleep occasional due to this deal, but has been given back the ability to reproduce with other different species of creatures; and currently has a giant family made of lamb hybrids that's being made to help repopulate their sheep species as whole.

When Five Have Yet to Fall (Prepost game) - Precanon where Narinder is still their Deathly master, their memories are still fresh over their execution, and they've only just defeated Leshy in their conquest of revenge to take the bishops down for their own gain. Their cult is super small and has yet to grow to a vast colony, but completely manageable for the infant vessel that swore to take those down that have wronged them and the mortals that had been hurt in their rage to take the Lamb down. They've yet to lose most of their features and most of their eyesight, with only holding the Red Crown as their only source of power and tool for destruction. More soft spoken than their future counterpart and less experienced when it comes to taking another life in their cult, yet will only kill those that have wronged them (via heretics) in order to protect their original flock. The Lamb is more likely to make mistakes in this verse too while only being recognized as a Prince.

To be Crowned is to Serve Thy Death (Post Future, Bishop: Good Verse) - Taking place 2,000 years or so into the future, the Lamb has grown more into their godhood with a giant growth spurt as a result. They've yet to lose their individuality just yet to the crowns (yet their insanity still peaks with the Red Crown still holding itself dominant in their personality), and their cult has grown quite a ton since its small 300+ person headcount. Their holy regime has taken itself across the entire island and their family has grown as a result since then. Mortals live more in harmony under the Lamb's rule than they did under the Bishops' rule, yet newer generations have yet to remember the main fives' names after the ex-bishops themselves have since started mortal lives for themselves, and Gods have started to sprout again under the new imperial's rule.

The Crowns have taken to reproducing more crowns within the Lamb's body, reproducing as a near literal fungus that has taken to slowly take over the Lamb's body asexually. For surviving for so long, they wanted to give something back, the crowns wanted to see more generations of their kind again roam the island to take care of the mortals once again. Yet wanting to honor their Lamb's wishes, for the sheep to chose heirs to take after them if they were to perish, The Emperor had gone to give many of their children titles to work alongside them; gifting them a singular crown each, to those of their heirs that have deemed themselves worthy to their parent's cause. The Lamb doesn't rule as one anymore, and has grown a family to take care of their flock alongside them for eons to come. A good ending that wouldn't lead to them dying to their own suffering.

Let Their Minds be Our Immortality (Post Future, Bishop: Bad Verse) - Taking place 2,000 years or so into the future, the Lamb has been molded into their godhood and has grown into a giant that serves in reflection of their religion. Their influence has far outstretched its reach outside of the island, going world wide where they had since broke out of the First Gods banishment that had once cut the island from the rest of the world. Yet to rule the world as the only singular God, the Emperor does slowly succumbs to the five crowns' influence where its corruption does start to set into taking over the vessel's body. It comes for the worst, while the Emperor's hybrid family has then started to take up residence across the entire island, the Emperor hogs the new crowns that grow within their body for themselves; wanting to keep the power for themselves as a way to keep another mortal from going to power, and to make sure no one else makes the same mistakes the Bishops had done to hurt the Lamb and their kind. The Crowns have since grown more sentient, and have started to use their influence over their vessel as a way to reproduce more of themselves to grow more power for themselves to use, yet it comes at a cost.

For more power, corruption sets in when they can't seem to keep their vessel's corpse from rotting into their next death permanently. To work around this, and to prolong their own death until the Lamb's soul and Crowns find themselves another body to take over to continue their rule, much of those corruption is set to quickly take over all of the Lamb's inner circle, to turn them into black husks where most of their memories are gone to act as only puppets and mouthpieces for their God. The Hivemind turns more literal; wherever there is a Lamb's disciple, the Lamb sees through them and uses them to speak through them whenever they may wish. The corrupted Inner Circle are also used as weapons, for as long you bow to the Lamb their Inner Circle shall protect you from harm. The Corrupt shall keep spreading as long the Lamb lure more to join them, and in Death there is no true escape either.

Going way over budget (FNAF:SB Verse) - They're a sheep, they're a bot whom was made a bit late when everything in the pizzaplex was built in made without their latest addition in mind. This bot being the first of their kind to not only be made on a self-powered battery, with some artificial intelligence that's probably made on some third-party software, and with some synthetic fake wool to hide all of their shiny bits and gears, Emmy is the advertised on the go fable storyteller for kids to get a kick out of! But that's not the only thing they can do! They can sing, party with the band, be that bodyguard you don't have to pay, socialize with your co-workers so you don't have to, maybe even be better at your job than you, and so much more... This bot's made with the latest technology, but the lot of their parts were recycled from old failed projects that never made it to the public sadly.

So let's just hope you can ignore them having the purr of a lion and the bite of a gator! (They do make up for it being 6'0" lmao)

Yet A God Yet Not A Mortal Either (TADC Verse) - In here, at its most basic concept rn, The Lamb is not a legit Player nor an NPC, they are someone who intentionally hacked themselves into the digital world as a freelance hacker. The Lamb cult leader design is still prominent, but they have NPC’s code clinging to their avatar that gives them the legwork to mess around with the code like an unofficial dev. They’d be somewhere in the middle, they have the player means to interact with their environment but they’ve had to code their way into an old discarded NPC bot to get themselves some way to mess with the code as they need to.

The reason the cotl world had been discarded from Caine’s realm, it wasn’t family friendly and it was sort of a game IP he wasn’t allowed to use anymore because of some coder dispute. A crossover deal fell through and the people that made it discarded it but kept it somewhere in their servers to keep it in case they had to reuse the code for a later date that never came to be. Yet because there was a backup left to collect dust? The coders had incidentally left a backdoor unplugged that was just inviting for someone outside of the company to sneak inside. The portals for the world that go direct towards the circus are still in use, but it did take some coding to get them working again just for our hacker lamb to get through without being detected.