I agree with 99% of anti ai use especially in fandom- I must however confess to using ai for let’s say, the worst rp situations for which there exists none to satisfy the specific situations of which I want to enact. And I would not want to make an actual person be on the other side of said rp, because I am not evil.
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Another Loth Cat drop happened, and they're already sold out!
The Shelldon plush is still available tho, over here on my Etsy
But also (*drumroll please*) the long-awaited Loth Cat Pattern!
Now available to make all your Loth cat dreams come true!
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Bought stuff for a little mental health sewing project in summer 2021 and abandoned it after two days of pattern cutting because it made me so mad. Anyway I picked it up again this weekend and finished it in two days of sewing and it was pretty easy lol
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' I am your servant. ' ( to catherine the great )
Strictly speaking, it's not true. Thomas Cromwell is here because of some great, international exchange between two proud nations that are not Roman Catholic. For the English, it represented possible trade and support from the oh-so-recently culturally relevant Russian people. And for her? Well, there's this pesky idea in the mainland that she's somewhat barbarous, that she killed her husband, the king, and ascended quite unjustly.
England and Russia both stood to gain something from this, reputationally. Allyship for England, or acclaim for Russia. All hinged on this little man's subservience to her. She wondered what had made him fit for it. She wondered what he thought of her - his eyes were like wells. He must be either fanatically loyal to this King, or he must be a relief to remove from Court. Are you here for punishment or providence?, she'd like to ask. But, she is still assessing.
Her reputation will shape his perception, and his will shape hers. Two shadows, stretched out and distorted by the white nights of Russia, the ever-sunned summers and the black winters.
"And I am Russia's Ruler." It is a satisfactory answer. His denotes submission, and hers dominance - but he must show a deferent bond to her. She need not show him anything. Her piercing eyes assess him. A man who came from nothing, her courtiers tell her. A man who spun his power like a spider, her advisors tell her. He's got hair like candle-smoke, and a quiet, pensive voice. How does her long hall of painted-faced, French-inspired courtiers compare to his little England? She wonders. There is so much to be learned, and all the time in the world to needle at his mind. It's exciting.
A soft, smug smile, very practiced and well-worn, splits on her face, one eyebrow still arched. "Rise, Cromwell, and be no stranger to your Empress. I remember what it was like to speak no Russian. You'll learn quickly." He's taller than her, because everyone is, but she is stouter than him. They both are older - lucky, too, that their minds are still dazzling. Lucky also, that they both speak French.
"Have you tried our vodka, our darling water? It is the pride of Russia. At our Imperial Court meal, you'll try many kinds - and zakuski. You never will have lived so well." Russia outshines England, and you'd better tell all those little European swamp-squatters as much, this means. All of her generosity is also a demonstration of power, but she likes to think this is not duplicitous: it comes as naturally to her as breathing.
Like that, their first meeting is nearly over. Her mind is constrained by time, always - it is true, after all, that she would spend long hours in the night reading, and had her court time narrowed into five-minute slots for adjudication. Only afternoons and evenings and this show of generous force remained as wild time, for her to explore the courts and people there. She'd like the man, she reckoned, if he remained clever.
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