#best life settlement companies

[reasonsforhope]

The Klamath River’s salmon population has declined due to myriad factors, but the biggest culprit is believed to be a series of dams built along the river from 1918 to 1962, cutting off fish migration routes.

Now, after decades of Indigenous advocacy, four of the structures are being demolished as part of the largest dam removal project in United States history. In November, crews finished removing the first of the four dams as part of a push to restore 644 kilometres (400 miles) of fish habitat.

“Dam removal is the largest single step that we can take to restore the Klamath River ecosystem,” [Barry McCovey, a member of the Yurok Tribe and director of tribal fisheries,] told Al Jazeera. “We’re going to see benefits to the ecosystem and then, in turn, to the fishery for decades and decades to come.” ...

A ‘watershed moment’

Four years later, [after a catastrophic fish die-off in 2002,] in 2006, the licence for the hydroelectric dams expired. That created an opportunity, according to Mark Bransom, CEO of the Klamath River Renewal Corporation (KRRC), a nonprofit founded to oversee the dam removals.

Standards for protecting fisheries had increased since the initial license was issued, and the utility company responsible for the dams faced a choice. It could either upgrade the dams at an economic loss or enter into a settlement agreement that would allow it to operate the dams until they could be demolished.

“A big driver was the economics — knowing that they would have to modify these facilities to bring them up to modern environmental standards,” Bransom explained. “And the economics just didn’t pencil out.”

The utility company chose the settlement. In 2016, the KRRC was created to work with the state governments of California and Oregon to demolish the dams.

Final approval for the deal came in 2022, in what Bransom remembers as a “watershed moment”.

Regulators at the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission (FERC) voted unanimously to tear down the dams, citing the benefit to the environment as well as to Indigenous tribes...

Tears of joy

Destruction of the first dam — the smallest, known as Copco 2 — began in June, with heavy machinery like excavators tearing down its concrete walls.

[Amy Cordalis, a Yurok Tribe member, fisherwoman and lawyer for the tribe,] was present for the start of the destruction. Bransom had invited her and fellow KRRC board members to visit the bend in the Klamath River where Copco 2 was being removed. She remembers taking his hand as they walked along a gravel ridge towards the water, a vein of blue nestled amid rolling hills.

“And then, there it was,” Cordalis said. “Or there it wasn’t. The dam was gone.”

For the first time in a century, water flowed freely through that area of the river. Cordalis felt like she was seeing her homelands restored.

Tears of joy began to roll down her cheeks. “I just cried so hard because it was so beautiful.”

The experience was also “profound” for Bransom. “It really was literally a jolt of energy that flowed through us,” he said, calling the visit “perhaps one of the most touching, most moving moments in my entire life”.

Demolition on Copco 2 was completed in November, with work starting on the other three dams. The entire project is scheduled to wrap in late 2024.

[A resilient river]

But experts like McCovey say major hurdles remain to restoring the river’s historic salmon population.

Climate change is warming the water. Wildfires and flash floods are contaminating the river with debris. And tiny particles from rubber vehicle tires are washing off roadways and into waterways, where their chemicals can kill fish within hours.

McCovey, however, is optimistic that the dam demolitions will help the river become more resilient.

“Dam removal is one of the best things we can do to help the Klamath basin be ready to handle climate change,” McCovey explained. He added that the river’s uninterrupted flow will also help flush out sediment and improve water quality.

The removal project is not the solution to all the river’s woes, but McCovey believes it’s a start — a step towards rebuilding the reciprocal relationship between the waterway and the Indigenous people who rely on it.

“We do a little bit of work, and then we start to see more salmon, and then maybe we get to eat more salmon, and that starts to help our people heal a little bit,” McCovey said. “And once we start healing, then we’re in a place where we can start to help the ecosystem a little bit more.”"

-via Al Jazeera, December 4, 2023

[afeelgoodblog]

The Best News of Last Week - November 28, 2023

🐑 - Why did Fiona the sheep become a mountaineer? She was tired of the "baa-d" jokes at sea level!

1. Pope Francis dines with transgender women for Vatican luncheon

Pope Francis hosted a group of transgender women — many of whom are sex workers or migrants from Latin America — to a Vatican luncheon for the Catholic Church's "World Day of the Poor" last week.

The pontiff and the transgender women have formed a close relationship since the pope came to their aid during the COVID-19 pandemic, when they were unable to work. Now, they meet monthly for VIP visits with the pope and receive medicine, money and shampoo any day, according to The Associated Press.

2. New York just installed its first offshore wind turbine

The first wind turbine installation at South Fork Wind, New York State’s first offshore wind farm, is complete.

The 130-megawatt (MW) South Fork Wind will be the US’s first completed utility-scale wind farm in federal waters.

3. Anonymous businessman donates $800k to struggling food bank

But this Thanksgiving, a longtime prayer of food bank leaders was finally answered: an anonymous benefactor donated the full $800,000 they needed to move out of a facility they've long outgrown. That benefactor, however, preferred to stay anonymous.

"Very private company, really don't want attention," said Debbie Christian, executive director of the Auburn Food Bank. "It's a goodhearted person that just wants to see the work here continue, wants to see it expand."

4. Empowering woman saving hopes and mental health of suffering Ukrainian kids

Kenza Hadij-Brahim is at the forefront of promoting Circle of Toys

Hadj-Brahim is helping to launch the Circle of Toys initiative. A project that provides Ukrainian children in need of some normality with preloved toys. This new initiative connects people with old toys they might otherwise throw away, with Ukrainian families in need who want to provide some comfort to their children in this distressing time.

Find Refuge said : “The endeavour is driven by a sincere purpose: spark joy, foster play, and bring a hint of normalcy back to the young lives in Ukraine.”

5. TWO LOST CITIES HIDDEN FOR CENTURIES WERE JUST DISCOVERED IN BOLIVIA

Researchers have found these areas not only housed structures and pyramids but it has been uncovered that there were advanced irrigation systems, earthworks, large towns, causeways, and canals that cover miles.

Dr. Heiko Prümers from the German Archaeological Institute, who was also involved in the study comments that “this indicated a relatively dense settlement in pre-Hispanic times. Our goal was to conduct basic research and trace the settlements and life there. The research sheds light on the sheer magnitude and magnificence of the civic-ceremonial centers found buried in the forest”.

6. Sheep dubbed Fiona rescued from cliff in Scotland where she was stuck for more than 2 years

And at last, some positive climate news:

7. Three positive climate developments

Heating

When the Paris Agreement was adopted, the global reliance on fossil fuels placed the world on a path towards a 3.5C rise in temperature by 2100. Eight years on, country commitments to reduce their carbon footprints have pulled that down slightly, putting the world on a path for a 2.5C to 2.9C by the end of the century.

Peak emissions

Annual greenhouse gas emissions responsible for climate change have risen roughly nine percent since COP21, according to UN data. But the rate of the increase has slowed significantly. Recent estimates by the Climate Analytics institute find global emissions could peak by 2024

Rising renewables

Three technologies—solar, wind and electric vehicles—are largely behind the improved global warming estimates since 2015.

---

That's it for this week :)

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Buy me a coffee ❤️

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[lua-magic]

Astrology observations .

Vedic astrology, Natal chart only.

Best way to activate Venus in your chart is by activate the planets sitting with Venus.

Mercury conjunct Venus. Carry always book and pen with you.

Mars conjunct with Venus.

Carry small Copper metal with you.

Jupiter with Venus.

Carry any spiritual book with you always.

Saturn with Venus

Carry Rudraksh( seven mukhi) with you.

Sun with Venus.

Carry photo of your father or sun stone.

Moon with Venus.

Carry a small bottle of water with you or photo of your mother.

Venus with Rahu

Carry photo of your paternal grandparents or pet a cat.

Venus with ketu

Carry photo of maternal grandparents or pet a dog

Twelfth house is your expenses, foreign settlement, foreign travels, spirituality and hospitals as well

However, realm of twelfth house is very vast, it also includes, jail, mental asylum, isolation, yoga, meditation, connection with supernatural and intuition, and dreams as well

Twelfth Lord in first house.

Native will go to foreign travel or foreign settlement, it might give you health issues as well

Rahu in first house, also gives native foreign land settlement and gives you unique personality and disconnect you from your race and religion.

Twelfth Lord in second House

It might cause seperation from your family, and could give teeth and speech related issues.

It creates fluctuations in money 💰.

Twelfth Lord in third House 🏠

Makes you creative, intuive and great writer as well, you subconscious mind downloads information from another realm.

It might give foreign settlement to your younger siblings., or your younger sibling is from foreign culture.

Twelfth lord in fourth House

Could give you separation from your motherland, and mother or mother could be spiritual and meditation

It gives native isolation and intuition. You might spend lot of money on your mother as well.

Twelfth Lord in fifth House

It might give separation from your kids, or your studies and education or you will leave your education and work in other field not related to your education.

You might end up spending lot of money on your kids, or your kids might settle abroad.

It makes you intuive and give you interest in meditation and yoga

Twelfth Lord in sixth House

It is good, as you let go all your eniemies and your debt as well, so basically twelfth Lord will help you to solve problems related to debt, disease and eniemies.

Twelfth Lord in seventh House.

It might create problems in marriage, but it gives you foreign travel and foreign business partner.

Partner could be from different culture, race or religion, or partner could be spiritual or interested in yoga and meditation. You might get partner who is spendthrift or you spend on your partner alot.

Rahu in seventh House, also gives you partner from different race religion and culture.

Twelfth Lord in eighth House.

Could give you problem with your in-laws or you might spend lot on your in-laws.

It might cause you separation from your inheritance, and you have to let go alot of things in life, as both twelfth house and eighth house is of let go.

It might give you losses in life. It gives great Intuition, and intrest in spirituality and makes you great in occult.

Twelfth Lord in ninth house.

It might give you separation from your father, teacher or your guru, you might end up spending lot on your father.

You might leave your race and religion and settle to foreign country.

Twelfth Lord in tenth House.

You might end up leaving your work and change your area of work completely, it also gives you working foreign country, and foreign company.

Native can also work in hospitals, jails and mental asylums or in spirituality and meditation.

Twelfth Lord in eleventh House

Gives you obsession regarding to your desires, your relationship with elder brother or sister could effect negatively, gives you connection with foreign land or country.

Twelfth lord in twelfth House.

Is good, as the planet is in its own house, but as it is twelfth house Lord, it will give you, all the results of Twelfth house like, foreign travel, foreign settlement, isolation, and intrest in spirituality and meditation, if your ancendent is weak and afflicted could give you health issues and mental health issues.

Mercury in Twelfth house, give extra ordinary power to connect with spiritual realm and download datas, it could give anxiety and sleeplessness because now Mercury is getting connected to another realm, hence such natives are extremely creative in their ideas and even great writer.

Such natives have got great, imagination, some unique skill, visiualisation and creative writing abilities.

Venus is exalted, and shows devotion ro their partners.

Mars in twelfth house looses it's strength, hence native could face health related issues as well and also shows native will waste lot of his/her energy in sexual activities..

Jupiter is the house Lord shows native is good in counselling and teaching.

Saturn in twelfth house makes you lazy and you would procrastinate alot, however, it does makes you spiritual and good in meditation, if it is not afflicted then would give you opportunity in foreign land.

Sun in twelfth house looses their identity( Such natives have either two names or even if they get famous, they won't be known by their original name) and could give separation from their father and motherland.

Moon in twelfth House could give issues with your mother or separation from mother, and makes you spiritual and good Healer.

Mars retro, always get attracted sexually to someone younger than their age (huge age difference)

Your mind is now connected to spiritual realm and that could give msgs in dreams, Deja Vu, premonitions..

Rahu in twelfth house could make you obsessed with bed pleasure, but also makes you spiritual and good in meditation. Native could feel the presence of spirits or other worldly beings easily around themselves, and could give fear of death as well.

Person would connect to astral realm or suffer from sleep paralysis as well..

Venus retro are rarely satisfied in their sexual life.

Mercury retro can't express their feelings

Jupiter retro loves to advice people, and are great problem solver.

Saturn retro are hard working individuals and can has to do lot of work by themselves without any help from someone.

[starks-hero]

The Beauty of Chance

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield x Dúnedain!Reader

Summary: Whilst finding respite in Beorn's home, certain relevations are had. Or; you and Thorin do a little more than just talk things through.

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: feather-light smut, the reader smokes a pipe

a/n: Reader is Dúnedain because I'm physically incapable of writing a middle earth fic where the reader isn't Dúnedain. Once again I used Irish as a replacement for the Dúnedain's native tongue because trying to translate Númenórean Sindarin is a nightmare :)

Beorn's home offered a sense of comfort and safety of the likes you hadn't felt since leaving the Shire. The high walls eased your nerves and you found your hand no longer instinctively reached for your sword. It served as a quaint port amidst the storm, a chance to catch your breath. And it had come long overdue.

After a breakfast sweetened with berries and honey and made up of foods far finer than anything you'd seen since passing Bree, you decided on spending the morning exploring Beorn's home in all its subtle splendor.

Everything seemed to dwarf you in size, from the furniture to the settlement itself. It was an odd feeling, one that stirred up a strange sense of nostalgia; wandering into your father's forge as a child and toying with tools far too large for small hands. You supposed it also offered a glance into the life of your companions.

You reached to undo the lock to the back door, vowing to never poke fun at Bilbo's height again when the plank of wood fell snugly back into the lock despite your best efforts.

You passed through the stables instead, petting the manes of the mares that resided there as you did.

The gardens, just like the rest of the skin changer's dwellings, were evidently tended to with no shortage of care. A small warren of rabbits dozed comfortably in the ryegrass and blooming flowers brushed your knees. You simply stood among it all for a moment, feeling the soil beneath your feet and the sweetened air in your lungs.

The outskirts of the garden were bordered by two oak trees, mature and proud. Their canopy provided a small shadowed patch and you quickly found respite against its bark and beneath its leaves.

With the company out of sight, you breathed a pained sigh.

Your muscles ached and your body felt stiff. It was somewhat difficult to convince it to relax after so long spent prepared to fight at a moment's notice. Shifting against the tree bark, you undid your shirt enough to reveal the unpleasantly long gash that ran across your shoulder and coiled down your arm. The fine work of an orc blade. The bleeding had all but stopped now, but the wound's edges were jagged and an angry red. And the horrid stinging that accompanied such injuries was yet to go away.

You undid the bandages and bound the wound in fresh cloth. It was by no means your finest work but others in the company had sustained far worse wounds during the scuffle on the cliffside and Oín only had two hands and a very limited amount of supplies. You wouldn't seek out care when your friends needed it more.

Besides, the blade had caught your weaker arm. You could still hold your sword, still carry out your purpose.

You'd manage.

Relacing your shirt and silently vowing to put your stubbornness aside and seek help should a fever set in, you sat back against the bark, shifting until you found comfort.

It felt nice to finally rest. To close your eyes and not fear for your company's safety. You reveled in the quiet. For all of two minutes.

The sound of brambles snagging on leather and stones shifting beneath heavy boots had you up and alert and despite all logic, your hand still grasped at your empty sword belt.

You calmed when Thorin rounded the tree. He seemed startled at the sight of you.

“Forgive me, I did not mean to intrude,” the dwarf said, words genuine. He stepped back, as if ready to turn on his heel should you ask him to.

“Searching for some peace and quiet?” You asked instead. Such moments were few and far between. “It would seem we both had the same idea.”

The king's head fell forward in a nod and when still he made no move to leave you motioned to your side.

“Sit.”

His hesitation was brief. He settled beside you, then all was quiet again. A sudden breeze, warm and tinged with the scent of autumn, rushed through the leaves. Thorin took a deep breath before releasing it in an uneven sigh.

It was an odd sight, seeing him at ease. You'd go as far as to call it unnatural. His relaxed shoulders and gentle expression seemed foreign and uncanny. But you couldn't deny the youthfulness that seemed to soften his features now. It was not unlike the glimpses you'd caught of him during your shared night watches when both of you were too stubborn to let the other stay up alone.

A quaint stillness began to settle and when Thorin still said nothing, you decided neither would you. You were happy to sit in silence at his side.

From your pocket, you produced your pipe, old and worn around the rims but still trusty enough to serve its purpose. You ran your fingers along the polished wood, all the way down to its blackened base. Generously stuffing it full, you held a match to the green leaves until they kindled and began to smolder.

Bilbo, bless his heart, had offered you what was left of his pipe-weed. ‘The finest you'll find anywhere south of Bree,’ he'd promised as he handed it over without a second thought after discovering yours has been lost to the greedy hands of goblins.

The first exhale of smoke left lips that were turned up in a smile. The generosity of halflings would never cease to amaze you.

The taste of tobacco sat heavily on your tongue as you blew out wisps of grey smoke and watched as they were carried off on the afternoon breeze.

“I owe you thanks,” Thorin said suddenly, shifting beside you. “The courage you showed on the cliffside, your willingness to help this company, it's not something I take for granted. You have done a great deal for us and we- I am grateful.”

“You don't have to thank me, Thorin.” You exhaled another flurry of smoke.

“But I do. When I called on my own kin for help they turned away. But you, a soldier of Man, a ranger, you answered. You didn't have to, by all means of sanity you shouldn't have. But you did.”

You chewed anxiously on the tip of your pipe. “I know what it's like to be without a home,” you said simply. “And it is not a faith I would wish upon anyone.”

Thorin only nodded in response. His gaze shifted to the tree roots beneath his feet.

You hadn't spoken much of your past, although by the way you carried both yourself and your sword, Thorin knew that your life until this point had not been one without hardship. The race of men were as dependant on each other as a fawn to it's mother; venturing out on ones own was strange for your kind. Gandalf had not indulged him with your story, only what he needed to in order to convince him to accept you as one of the company.

But Thorin knew what a renegade looked like. He'd lived as one long enough to know what the dreariness in your eyes and your indifference to battle and death meant. Part of him wanted to tell you that, to form that middle ground and hope it offered some comfort.

“Regardless, I am glad to have you with us,” he said instead.

At your feet, a lone beetle made its way through the undergrowth. You watched in bemusement, shifting your boot to clear its path. You turned to Thorin and found his own eyes trained on the bug as it continued on its journey. In an odd moment of catharsis, you saw the dwarf beside you not as a king, but a friend and fellow soldier. You offered him your pipe.

When the dwarf noticed your extended hand he smiled almost fondly. The sight made the aches in your muscles ease. He took the pipe in gentle hands, pressing the mouthpiece to his bottom lip and filling his lungs with the finest pipeweed the Shire had to offer.

He pushed the grey cloud past his lips in one deep breath, the smoke taking the shape of a perfect ring before disappearing above the tree.

You raised an unamused brow. “I would not have offered had I known you'd take the opportunity to show off.”

“Lying is not becoming of you, master ranger,” the dwarf responded smoothly, his eyes closed and lips turned up in a satisfied smirk. His hair splayed out around his head like a darkened crown, white strands catching in the sun like silver.

For no reason other than to make watching him an easier task, you shifted against the tree so that you faced the king. The resulting pain that lashed up your arm in doing so had you hissing through your teeth. Thorin's eyes were on you in a moment.

“I'm alright,” you dismissed quickly.

The dwarf looked entirely unconvinced. He reached for the collar of your shirt and when you made no attempt to stop him, pulled the fabric down.

“Mahal,” he said the word like a curse, low and rough. “How long have you kept this hidden?” Struggling to fall somewhere between a convincing lie and an honest under exaggeration, you decided against answering altogether. With a grunt, Thorin pushed forward and onto his knees. He took the hem of his undershirt in one hand and tore off a strip with less than a second thought.

Just as you hadn't answered him earlier, you said nothing as Thorin began to tend to you.

The bandages, already tinged pink, fell away easily in his grasp. A single line of blood seeped from the open gash and trickled down the swell of your bicep. Thorin swiftly decided the best he could do was simply rebind the wound. Despite their broadness, his fingers worked nimbly, carefully gracing over your arm and masterfully retying the bandages.

“You're a fool,” he said eventually, finishing the bindings with an unnecessary tug. “I believed your selflessness to be honorable, now I'm more inclined to think it idiotic.”

You huffed a laugh and winced.

Thorin took up the torn strip of blue linen from his shirt and carefully looped it around your arm, tying it taunt against your shoulder.

“Where did you learn that?” you asked. With the added support, the aching throb in your arm had all but ceased.

“I learned many things during my time in the Blue Mountains and in the villages of Man. How to properly dress a wound was one. It would appear that was a skill you did not pick up during your time on the road.” He answered with a smirk.

“Healers usually work in silence,” you reminded him.

He smiled at your words despite himself. He looked younger when he smiled. His eyes brightened and shone silver. You found yourself wishing it was a sight you could see more often.

There was something about the way he tended to you that set a deep ache in your chest.

He finished his work with one more tight knot and a satisfied hum. “It will do for now. I'll have Oín treat it once he has a moment to spare.” His hand ran down the length of your arm before falling away at the bend of your elbow.

“I'll manage,” you said. The words were almost second nature now.

“You always do.” Thorin's voice was soft. He regarded you in a manner so gentle the ache in your chest flared, a pounding against your ribs. But when his eyes caught your own, the look vanished and he stood. “I've intruded long enough, I'll take my leave.”

“Why not stay?” You were embarrassed by how quickly the words jumped from your throat.

“Because if I do I fear I'll do something rash.”

“Thorin–” you rose to your knees, reaching out and grasping his forearms. The action surprised you both.

You failed to find any words to confront him with, anything that would translate the fierce fire he set in you. How he regarded you not just as an equal but as someone to be respected, admired. How he tore the very clothes on his back to stop your bleeding. How the action was almost instinctive. Even the simplest things. Like how he hadn't complained once about how the earth dug into his knees as he tended to you. How he still hadn't pulled away from you now...

Gravity seemed to give way beneath you and you pushed yourself up on your knees further till your lips brushed his. Thorin was still for a fleeting, terrifying moment; before he returned your affection with a fierce passion.

The earth bit into your knees and you rocked forward. Thorin's hands grasped your waist and anchored you against him. The feel of his palms against your side was grounding. You swore the world had faded into the great void at the end of time and this moment was all that was left.

When you parted, a shaking breath passed Thorin's lips. “You are far braver than I.” His voice was quiet, hoarse.

“Brave?” you grinned. “I thought you'd settled on idiotic.”

The dwarf laughed, full and hearty, and gods what you wouldn't do to hear it every day for the rest of your life.

“I think, perhaps, both can be true,” he said, and his lips were on yours again.

His advance was softer this time, fixed on feeling you against him, marveling at your touch. He kissed your neck, just above the beating of your pulse. His lips turned up in a smile.

You watched him in absolute awe; a descendant of Durin touching you as if you were carved from gold, a king willingly on his knees for an outcast.

The ache in your chest seized your heart.

Your hand rushed up his arm, fingers running past the swell of his shoulders and gently catching in his hair. Thorin gasped sharply, the bridge of his nose pressing tautly against the curve of your jaw. In a single grounding moment, you recalled the significance of hair in dwarven culture as well as the boundary you'd just overstepped.

You rightened yourself against the tree, forcing Thorin to pull away in turn.

“Forgive me, I didn't mean–” you swallowed. “Thorin if you want this to end you need only say so. I won't take offense.”

The silence that followed was uncomfortably thick. You sat unmoving as the dwarf regarded you with something you couldn't quite place. It left you feeling uncertain whether he was going to reach for you again or stand and leave.

“Why do you do that?” he asked instead. “Doubt yourself. Ask for forgiveness as if you have done something wrong. Do you truly find the thought of me wanting to touch you, to be touched by you, so difficult to accept?” He caught your chin with gentle fingers and raised your head. “I can think of nothing I want more.”

His touch ghosted your neck and you shuddered. Words could not tell him how much he meant to you, but you hoped your lips against his own and your heart beating frantically against his chest would.

Thorins knees began to ache, straining and giving way. You pressed a steady hand to his back and guided him forward until his legs slot over your own and your height balanced out. He surged closer, you could feel the tree bark biting into your back. You ignored it with ease.

The kings hand ran along the underside of your arm and the feel of it drew from you a soft breath. Your hand brushed over his braid, gently thumbing at the strands. You combed your fingers through the knotted locks behind his ear; the knowledge of what the act meant to Thorin, the intimacy of it all, made your head light.

Then, your fingers tapped almost unnoticeably against the base of his neck, right above his pulse where the dwarf's blood rushed so fast he was almost certain you could hear it. Your mouth parted in an unasked question and Thorin grunted a low ‘yes’.

Your lips traced his neck, kissing down his collarbone and ensuring to leave each of your marks below the collar of his shirt. Thorin steadied himself against you, breathing a sigh against your temple.

“Tá tú go hálainn, a grá,” the words were so raw, came from somewhere so primal within you, you hadn't noticed they'd left you in your mother tongue. “Tá m'chroí agat.”

Thorin managed a shuddering breath, a weak sound that caught in his throat. “I assume you will not be telling me the meaning of your words.” His hands shook as they moved against your back.

“Consider it reparations for each time you have spoken to me in Khuzdul with no intention of telling me what it is you'd said,” you smirked against his throat, recalling each time he'd addressed you in his native tongue. How the words always seemed natural and unmistakably genuine. He didn't feel the need to tell you the meaning behind those words now. He felt you already knew.

Thorin chuckled, boyish and light, and it set fire to your heart.

The sun had sunk behind the mountains and turned the air cold. But with Thorin laying by your side and a bed of grass at your back you swore you had enough warmth to last you the night.

The dwarf's arm rested beneath your head, hand tracing patterns you didn't recognize against your bandaged shoulder. Even now, his lips still brushed your head.

His other hand rested against your stomach and you bid your time tracing his palm, slowly and with purpose.

Thorin shifted beside you. You could hear the careful workings of his mind as he forged his next words on his tongue. “Should we succeed in taking back Erebor, where will you go?” He asked. His words were heavy.

“I don't know,” you answered honestly. “South? Towards Rohan and then wherever the road leads.”

It took the dwarf a moment to respond. Your words hollowed out his chest and set an ill feeling in his stomach. The thought of you alone stirred up a deep sadness Thorin had not felt in an age. You, with your spark for storytelling and devotion to others and your incomprehensible ability to simply make a difference. To bring light to whatever situation you found yourself in, to join a company that was all the better to have you. To stumble into the life of a downtrodden king and singlehandedly remind him he deserved his throne.

“If we take back the Mountain, I want you to know that you are welcome to stay, should that be something you wish.”

You took a deep breath, holding it till you were certain Thorin's words had not caused your heart to cease beating. As the true weight of the offer set in, you released Thorin's hand.

“I would not think I'd be wanted. I have no right-”

“You have every right,” Thorin said, his words instant and forceful, convincingly so. “As much right as any dwarf that refused to help us in our hour of need.”

You huffed a sigh that fell somewhere between disbelief and amusement.

“Someone like me staying in the sacred halls of Durin's folk. A lowly ranger...”

“You are so much more than that.” He said the words slowly, as if they were the most honest thing he'd ever spoken. “You are a descendant of the Men of the West, a member of this company.” He paused. “You are Amralimê. My love.”

You shifted to look at him. A dwarf who by all means of faith and sense you should never have crossed paths with. But by the beauty of chance, he'd entered your life and reminded you, in all his subtle ways, that it was worth living. That you were worthy.

You dared to retake his hand in yours. “You'd have me?”

Thorin simply smiled.

“Above all else.”

Thank you for reading! <3

authors notes:

Irish translation: tá tú go hálainn, a grá - you are beautiful my love. Tá m'chroí agat - you have my heart. Phonetic pronunciation for those interested - taw two guh haul-in, ah graw. Taw muh-kree a-gut.

[fatehbaz]

Most books on the Bengal delta begin by describing it as “riverine,” [...] the land is the product of fluvial action [...]. [I]n thinking about Bengal, one tends to imagine the ricepaddy fields [...]. It was not so all the time; Bengal was never really a land of farming [...]. Traveling through Bengal in the eighteenth century, the French traveler Orme saw a highly sophisticated water-based economy - the blessing of rivers - irrigated [...] by the monsoon rains and annual flooding. [...] The rivers were not just channels of water; they carried a thriving trade, transporting people and goods from one part of the delta to another. Today, Bengal is generally seen as comprising lush green rice paddies [...]. Rivers are often presented as causing immense grief [through seasonal flooding] [...]. Clearly, there is a mismatch here. [...] How (and when) did Bengal’s social milieu transform from water-based to land-based? [...] Bengal’s essential character as a fluid landscape was changed during the colonial times through legal interventions that were aimed at stabilizing lands and waters, at creating permanent boundaries between them, and at privileging land over water, in a land of shifting river courses, inundated irrigation, and river-based life.

Such a separation of land and water was made possible not just by physical constructions but first and foremost by engineering a legal framework that gradually entered the popular vocabulary. [...] BADA, which stands for the Bengal Alluvion and Diluvion Act, [was] a law passed by the colonial British rulers in 1825, following the Permanent Settlement of 1793. [...] The environment of Bengal can be described as hybrid, where the demarcation between land and water is neither well-defined nor permanent. Nature here represents a borderless world, or at best one in which borders are not fixed lines on the ground demarcating a territory, but are negotiated spaces or zones. Such “[...] spaces” comprise “not [only] lines of separation but zones of interaction…transformation, transgression, and possibility” (Howitt 2001, 240).

---

Current boundaries of land and water are as much products of history as nature and the colonial rule of Bengal played a key role in changing the ideas and valuations of both. [...] The debate on what constituted productive and unproductive uses of land preceded the application of English property law not only to establish permanent zamindari (a common term for the system of landlordism) settlement of land tenure in India, but also to valorize land in what had essentially been a land-water hybrid environment. The colonial land revenue system, by seeing land as more productive (being able to yield revenue) and useful, began the long historical process of branding the rivers of Bengal as uncivil and in need of control. [...] The problem with deltaic land is its non-permanent nature, as silt is stored by rivers: rivers do not always flow along a certain route [...] The laws that the colonial British brought to Bengal, however, were founded upon the thinking of land as being fixed in place. [...]

---

Experiments to fine-tune the land-based economy began in 1760 when Bengal, and its ceded territories, came under the East India Company rule. [...] To entrench the system, the Permanent Settlement of 1793 created zamindars (or landlords) “in perpetuity” - meaning for good. The system was aimed at reducing the complexities of revenue collection due to erratically shifting lands and unpredictable harvests in a monsoon-dependent area [...]. Alarmed at the possibility of dismemberment of their estates, the zamindars decided to bind tenants to the same conditions to which they themselves were bound by the colonial government, and one of their actions was to create patni tenures or perpetual leases. [...]

It also meant that the right to collect rent from the tenants, often through the use of force, devolved to the lower layers, making the upper-layer zamindars more of a juridical rather than a real social entity in the eyes of the peasants. The patnidars, finding how much trouble this arrangement took off their own back, created dar-patnis or patnis of the second degree [...]. The dar-patnis created se-patnis or patnis of the third degree. The East India Company, therefore, had to legalize, through Regulation VIII of 1819, the creation of such formations, thus giving a de jure recognition post facto [...].

The regulation, although innocuous and simple, was of great historical potency: it became the key that unlocked the door to environmental and socio-economic changes of unparalleled magnitude. From a riverine community, within a hundred years, Bengal was transformed into a land-based community. [...]

---

The meaning of property also changed as a result of this law: the cultivators began to lose the right to occupy the land that they had enjoyed since ancient times because the colonial British had enumerated the characteristics of the zamindari property as an absolute right of proprietorship in the soil [...].

[T]he Company then began to contemplate the problematic issue of legalizing the fictional entities of chars [...]. The law that was created for this purpose -- and still rules the rights of ownership of charlands -- is the Bengal Alluvion and Diluvion Regulation Act (BADA) of 1825. [...] BADA was meant to establish a set of rules to guide the courts to determine the claims to land “gained by alluvion” or accretion, and the resurfaced land previously lost by diluvion or erosion. Even if one takes it for granted that chars are technically non-land in the sense that they exist within river banks, the difficulty remains that when a piece of land is lost to bank erosion, it may not arise in exactly the same location or arise at all within the foreseeable future. This means the owner has no certainty that they will get it back when it resurfaces or when another char rises nearby. [...] Thus, the key to establishing land rights in the court of law remained the payment of rent, even on diluviated land. [...] Such a rule will, however, not be applicable if a river suddenly changes its course and separates a considerable piece of land from one to join it with another farm, but without destroying the identity of the land so removed -- thus preventing legal recognition. New accretions in large navigable rivers would be the property of the state [...].

---

All text above by: Kuntala Lahiri-Dutt. “Commodified Land, Dangerous Water: Colonial Perceptions of Riverine Bengal.” In: “Asian Environments: Connections across Borders, Landscapes, and Times.” Edited by Ursula Munster, Shiho Satsuka, and Gunnel Cederlof. RCC Perspectives, no. 3, 17-22. 2014. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me.]

[houseofmarcella]

Obligatory Philip/History Essay for my friends (pt1)

Recently I have been seeing various memes and art pieces (that are all lovely and beautiful) and some weird twitter discourse about Philip, the show's lore, real-life historical tragedies, and a complete misinterpretation of 17th-century christianty. I was hoping to clarify some things and put out some of my pet theories.

Obligatory: I am but a humble fan and history enthusiast, and this is all written in good fun and with the understanding that any children's cartoon depicting historical figures (even fictional ones) is not always going to portray things accurately to the finest details. To begin,

THEY'RE DUTCH (ethnically?)

'Witte' is a Dutch surname meaning white or blond. Combining it into Wittebane gives us 'the white bane', and the rather obvious allusion to the European colonization (and Christianization) of the Americas. Contrary to the common belief that the continent was only colonized by the Spanish/French/English, the Dutch were the first Europeans in the area. I have always had the pet theory that the brothers were Dutch orphans who were forced to join an English settlement.

The whole "tryed to fit in with the town by becoming witchhunters" thing could easily be interpreted as them doing their best to acclimate to their new town.

I really like how this could parallel Luz and Camilla too. Caleb 'taking care of Philip by pushing witchhunting as a way to protect him from townsfolk with hawkeyes for anything weird/of the devil. This can also feed into the 'betrayal' aspect of their relationship, where Philip feels that Caleb left him, but Caleb was older and just trying to keep them safe. (Flapjack choosing Hunter when he expresses the desire to "choose his own future" in HP feels... relevant)

Earlier in the fandom, it was a general impression that the brothers were the town founders, and not just some orphan kids from an ethnicity the townsfolk didn't like. I wonder if this was a change from the shortening of s3, but the nature of the statue seems to imply they were literate and probably did something important enough to be remembered besides disappearing mysteriously into the night.

Timeline for quick reference

1613 somehow, the Wittebanes arrive in Gravesfield, a town that should not yet exist (from TtT).

1614 Adriaen Block (dutch) sails up the Connecticut River and opens the door for the Dutch West India Company to trade for furs with local Mohegan and Pequot tribes. THIS IS THE FIRST EUROPEAN SURVEY IN THE AREA, let alone a settlement!

1634 Wethersfield, the first English/Puritan town in Connecticut, is founded, this is the town that has a historic district called 'Old Wethersfield' and was the location of the conneticut witch trials (sound familiar?).

1636-37 The Pequot War

1647-70 The Connecticut Witch Trials Occur

1664 The English take over New Amsterdam and rename it New York

Wethersfield... Gravesfield...

The town Wiki page cites Wethersfield as Dana Terrace's hometown, and though her official birth location is actually a town nearby, the parallels here are so overt I will simply summarise.

Wethersfield has a historic district called "Old Wethersfield" and just LOOK AT THIS CEMETARY! A few of the town's founders were pretty damn important to the Pequot War as well.

Most importantly, Wethersfield was the site of most of the major executions in the Connecticut Witch Trials.

The Witch 'Hunter' General & Hopkins

Matthew Hopkins (obv. the inspiration for Jacob Hopkins in show) was an English (this is in England btw) puritan who hunted women and poor people on a religious zealot murder spree from 1644-1647. He killed at least over 100 people and could arguably be held as the person who started this frenzy.

He published The Discovery of Witches and called himself the "Witch-Finder General". The change from finder to hunter in the show is probably just for clarity, but the reference is there.

Pt2, with a discussion about puritanism/calvinism, how Belos probs used his view of catholicism to build the government and religion of the modern BI, and how the grimwalkers relate to the Calvinist idea of predestination and salvation... will come soon.

Thank you @ter-claw-thorne, @theawkwardarchaeologist, @triple--a--threat--a--threat, and @died-of-ligma, for dealing with my rambling.

I apologize if there are any spelling errors in this essay, it's 2 am and I had a real history essay due two hours ago.

[haggishlyhagging]

In the history of empire, women were always there because, quite simply, the men could not manage without them. Worldwide, secure and long-term settlement was virtually impossible without female workers; the first governor of the Cape Colony, the Dutch colonel Van Riebeck, was horrified at his men's inability to tend cattle, make butter and cheese, or to do anything for themselves. An immediate draft of girls from orphanages in Amsterdam and Rotterdam had to be ordered to supply the deficiency. England, alerted by Bacon, recognized the problem from the outset—the London Company responsible for the successful foundation of the Jamestown settlement in Virginia systematically dispatched to the New World "young women to make wives," to be "planted" alongside the men. These had to be "handsome and honestly educated maids," and "specially recommended into the colony for their good bringing-up." But neither their looks, education nor upbringing were to save them from being treated like the merchandise they were, and on arrival in Virginia they were "sold" for 120 pounds of best tobacco, the equivalent of $500 apiece, and thereafter committed to the colonists who took them, as servants or wives, for life.

-Rosalind Miles, Who Cooked the Last Supper?

[mosneakers]

[🔉]

Dear Darling Agnes,

I hope this letter finds you in the best of spirits. It has indeed been too long since our last exchange, and I hold our correspondence close to my heart. Your letters have a remarkable way of brightening even the darkest of days.

Though our paths differ in many ways, there's a particular story you shared, of weeping on the floor of your unfinished nursery after Erik's passing, that resonated with me deeply. As you know, Thornton and I have grappled with the heartache of infertility for quite some time, and your tale ignited a glimmer of hope within me. You mentioned your trip to Sunset Valley last Harvestfest, and it warmed my heart to hear you mention that you let little Mortimer be your babysitter of choice for a little while. Even if he did have help from his faithful playmate Bella, it appears that he's blossoming into a fine young man, and I'm sure he adores spending time with his Aunt Agnes and your darling daughters.

I was surprised to hear that Pauline Wan convinced you to accompany her to the Sunset Valley Country Club during your visit here. Had I known, I would've joined. Gossip indeed travels swiftly in such places, and you must have caught wind of the rumors surrounding my marriage. Sadly, they hold true; Thornton's fidelity has been compromised. We attempted to mend the first indiscretion, when a young woman (much too young for him, I dare say!) followed him home after one of his Saturday Afternoon whiskey escapades. Regrettably, it happened once more, this time with a blonde. I stood by the door, concealed in the shadows, and witnessed the entire heart-wrenching act. In that moment, I knew it was the final straw. While I may have retained ownership of this grand mansion as part of our divorce settlement, it feels like a hollow victory. What use is this opulent house when the one thing I've yearned for remains elusive?

But perhaps, dear Agnes, fortune may be favoring me at last. One melancholic afternoon, as I sought solace in painting by the lake, fate led me to an unexpected encounter with a pair of brothers, the Frios. Jared had noticed me first, and asked Connor, a man of few words and a preference for solitude, to strike up a conversation on his behalf. Little did we all anticipate that in the course of our conversation, Connor and I would discover a deep connection, and we began seeing each other shortly after.

He was reluctant at first, but Connor has warmed up to the idea and agreed to move into this vast estate with me, accompanied by his brother Jared. I realize it might seem hasty, Agnes, but my biological clock seems to be ticking ever louder, and I can't afford to let time slip through my fingers. Besides, this sprawling estate can be quite lonely and isolating, so it's comforting to have their company to fill its echoing halls.

I do love him, Agnes. He's a good, faithful man, and an exceptional and rather generous lover, I must admit. He'll make an excellent father too. With this grandiose labyrinth of a home at our disposal, we have all the resources to comfortably raise a child. I must confess, however, I often fantasize of escaping this life of opulence, and living a more modest life and living freely in a simpler town. Maybe one day a house next to yours will go up for sale and I'll leave this all behind. Wouldn't that be a dream?

In any case, Agnes, I long for your presence in my life and sincerely hope you'll visit when you're in town. I do miss you fiercely. How are the darling daughters? Is Gwendolyn making strides in potty-training? Has Persephone said her first word? I treasure our friendship and your inspiring stories. Your resilience and love for Erik and your two daughters give me hope, even in the darkest of times. Please write back soon, my dearest friend, and tell me how your life unfolds. -With all my love, Morgana Wolff

< Previous Next >

[pinkflipphonez]

NEED 2 hear more abt indigenous!amerus….

[AAHHHH oh my goodness, I love this QUESSSTIOONN!! I think--]

to begin, Russia and America have more than 300+ indigenous cultures and languages within their regions. I do not aim to represent them as a monolith nor do my hcs aim to define a solitary native culture as their respective identities. seeing as they are a personification of their countries, I see them as an amalgamation of each culture's traditions.

working off the last post where I reference them speaking Diné and Koryak:

they began speaking these languages to each other in the early 1800s because of how close they were growing as friends. seriously, Fort Ross (aka Metini as named by the Pomo indigenous people of the region) was a Russian settlement established in California that existed to trade only with Americans. Alfred and Ivan used this settlement to get to know each other better and truly appreciate their indigenous identity over the revered status of their caucasian colonial overseers (Fort Ross was actually funded by an imperialist company so pls assume cultural diffusion is the only good thing they did; I only ref it as a point in history that connects their indigeneity as Siberian, Alaskan, and American natives all passed through this fort). It started off as a means to better interact with each other's people but then they began communicating exclusively with each other,,, and then it became more intimate,, y'know.

they would often hunt together (and al absolutely knocked it outta the park) but ivan would help him with preparing fur pelts (as koryaki or aleut/inuk culture exceeded at making coats and it was the largest trade in FR).

Native American and Siberian and Inuit/Inuk peoples in early history were IN LOVE with astronomy (and i'd say the pioneers of astronomy as a science)! this is where both Ame and Rus acquired their appreciation for space, and of course, the number one thing they geek tf out about together. space is not simply their hyper-fixation, but a part of everything they do. they plan ceremonies in kamchatka by the arrangement of the stars (specifically the Pleiades, or aka sakiattiak (Inuit) or coyote's daughters (Paiute)) because it is the origin of indigenous life. they camp out in chaco canyon at every equinox to stargaze.

they don't stay 'I love you' to each other. however, they do cook each other the most elaborate and appreciative meals: venison with cowberry sauce, smoked omul, cajun salmon, frybread (NAVAJO TACOS 4EVER) w all sorts of toppings, and BEEF JERKY! they prepare the best beef jerky in the whole darn tootin world!!!

Ivan is the singer in this boy band and Alfred is the dancer (and drummer tbh). Ivan is downright gifted in throat singing and could perform the dance of the seagulls with one stoli bottle and half a bar of alenka chocolate in his system. alfred can belt out while drumming, there's no doubt-- but I can tell you right now that he is DEADLY with his men's traditional dance. tbh, he wins 1000+ seduction points with Ivan when he dances lol

THEY CREATE FOR EACH OTHER. when they hunt, they use every bone in that sacred creature's body to make each other charms, knives, bracelets, rings, little beads for beaded jewelry--

AND BOY DO THEY BEAD!! ivan's regalia is comprised of reindeer skin and beads, and al will go 40 hrs straight sewing them on for him as well as making his headbands and jingle bells (he's a pattern whizz). al is more of a boujee native, so Ivan freaking obliges him so much that he will bead the most beautiful earrings, chains and medallions you have ever seen (he is a design whizz-- also alfred begged him for one with the vegas knights to brag to his bro about cause STANLEY CUP RAAAAH!!)

[randomwriteronline]

In the time before time, a Toa of Iron arrived to a Nynrah village.

"Arrived" perhaps paints too pretty a picture.

None knew how he got there, nor how he survived long enough to do so; it remained that he dragged himself to the quiet huts upon his arms, clawing at the harsh terrain as what was left of his lower half trailed across the ground, fighting with his failing body to stay alive and clutching in his hand, desperately, a Toa Stone.

The Matoran answered to his feeble call as he begged them to greet him, for that is what Matoran do, and poured out into the wide barren streets. But the stone's sight struck them with horror and omens of unspeakable disasters.

He'd come to doom them, then? To send them all to Karzahni, to be split open and rearranged? To join their lost siblings, whose homes had been collapsed upon them leaving naught but bones and silence? He who was meant to protect them - he'd come to drag one of their own into his destiny of death?

They shivered as the being pleaded them for a successor with what little breath he still had; but every time he offered the Stone to them they all recoiled as though struck harshly, and pulled themselves back in terror.

Except for the Toolmaker.

In that village of steel and rock, he was a quiet Po-Matoran. He carved, sometimes, as Po-Matoran do; he made simple tools for his brothers to use, the kind they were too busy to make themselves. He was ordinary, despite it all: withdrawn and silent as all Nynrah Ghosts are.

He remained still for it was in his nature - a passive soul, like a cliff overlooking the lowlands. There was no courage in his immobility, no apparent thought, no apparent will.

Slowly, in the suffocating quiet, his Fe- and Po-brothers grouped behind him.

He allowed them to push him forward, knowing well that a Toa of Iron would bring too much attention, and that no simple carver wanted to lose their armor in battle; he took the Stone in hand when the dying warrior offered it once more, pleadingly, for there simply was no other option.

The Toa clamped his palms around the Matoran's.

"Toolmaker," he spoke with struggling, heaving breaths, shaking lightly, overwhelmed by the cold feeling snaking into his limbs and yet resigned, for he too once had been a Ghost. "For your brothers' sake - I must disappear."

The Toolmaker did not respond, for there was no point in it.

His arms slid beneath the warrior's: he lifted him as best as he could, unaided, for all others had already fled away from sight - as though the still living half of a body was so cursed that a mere touch could have tainted them - and dragged him into his small hut.

There was a long quiet; then a sudden deafening whisper, like crystal shattered beneath a hammer; and then, the song of the forge.

The Toolmaker emerged after hours of silent work. Toa Stone in hand, a clawed mortar worthy of a Toa as his only company, he left the small funerary settlement with not a breath to follow him inside the small temple in which Mata Nui himself refused to speak.

He never came back from it.

A Toa of Stone - a beautiful being - arrived to a Nynrah village.

None came to greet him, and he did not ask them to; he moved through its few streets knowing well the path to follow as though he'd lived there his whole life, looking for a toolmaker's hut.

He did not find it.

What he found were pieces of rubble that might have once been walls or a roof, and no trace of anything else peeking through the wreckage - all stolen, all scavenged, reused, claimed by someone else, for that is how death and ascension look in Nynrah: a lack of existence to begin with.

The Toa of Stone kneeled on the ground, collected what pieces of what once had been home he could find, and placed them into an orderly pile.

Then, with his clawed mortar, he flattened them, and flattened them, and flattened them, until they were naught but a fine sheet of rock. And he grasped it with both hands, and waved it in the still air, watching it fold and flap like fabric as it slowly stretched into a rectangle; he wrapped himself in it, a little clumsily maybe (as he'd never gotten much chance to do so), and as invisible eyes spied him he departed from the village of ghosts never to return again.

A Toa of Stone - a beautiful being - arrived to a Toa fortress.

None had to wonder where he'd come from: his name alone, with its peculiar pronunciation, his distant quiet nature, his craftsman's mind still anchored to thoughts and rhythms and habits of a life he had passively allowed himself to be torn from, betrayed the truth of his spectral heritage.

None knew what to make of him, for he seldom spoke and simply followed orders, and only repaired all that they brought him without a word, and fixed the walls and roof when they asked him; so they left him be within the fortress, stagnating once more as a mason and repairman, and so for thousands of years lived Toa Pyea, the beautiful, who sat alone like a prized statue not allowed to be scratched even by the winds in the mortuary company of Odahiti, the clawed mortar.

(None knew why the tool was named, nor why with a Toa's name; none ever wondered, so none ever asked.)

And so for thousands of years he lived, in a long, still, lifeless life.

And then, a Kanohi Dragon attacked Metru Nui.

[anabolicbombers]

F4 thougts: Minuteman

The Minuteman are the faction than most of the players of fallout 4 encounter firs. Ignoring the infamous memes about Preston Garvey, they are often considered the best fraction of fallout 4, or at least, the most morally clean and overall good for the Commonwealth. Part of it stems from the lackluster game design of their main questline which mostly consist of the repeatable radiant quests, and also them being "Yes man" faction, meaning that in the base game it was impossible to fail their questline. They are also nicely slide into any of the other faction ending, without contributing anything to their questlines (they are involved in one Institute quest, the game "villian option" for faction ending).

But when talking about the Minuteman people rarely discuss the fact that the faction is based on a real existing organization, which played a great role in the creation of the United States. And the function of the Minuteman in the game is quiet similar to their real life historical counterparts. So let me take you to a improvised history lesson:

Real life Minuteman were best known for their contribution to the American war for independence and were main part of the Boston militia. The game call attention to this part of Minuteman history quet often, with their starting location being the museam of freedom, the main location the player retake is fort Independence, it's not wery subtle.

But the history of the Minuteman goes way further back, to the times of the last wars for colonies in America. Created by the colonial government, Minuteman were rapid-deployment units of the Massachusetts Bay militia, a "first response" to any threat that might befall settlements. The "treats" the Minuteman were deployed against were the military units of other colonial powers, gangs or, most often, indigenous tribes. The first offensive deployment of Minuteman was in Pequot war, when in august 1636 fourth companies were deployed under orders of Jong Endecott with the task of killing Pequot Indians. Despite the first failures of the raids conducted by the Minuteman, the war itself ended with complete destruction of the Pequot tribe, with remaining survivors being sold into slavery or given as captives to the other tribes that were then loyal to the British colonies. After that the Minuteman were involved with the subjugation of Narragansett and Wampanoag tribes, with the practice of issueing bounties for scalps of Indians during the Second indian war. tactical advancements of Minuteman during the war for independence were the direct result of their role as force of the colonial expansion. After the war of independence they were absorbed into the future national guardguard, becoming key parts in iconography of American imperialism. Both anti-communism organization during Cold War and modern anti-immigration groups name themselves after organization.

Taken all this in consideration, I find it wery disturbing that the majority of the Minuteman quests in game consist of you helping settlements or even securing a place for new ones by the following process:

Find settlement.

Talk about their request for help.

They mark an area on the map that either troubles them, or could be used as a new settlement.

You go there and kill everyone you meet.

Inform the settlers about accompanying mission.

Rince and repeat.

The game of course justify suck tasks with the fact that locals you exterminating are all universally hostile feral ghouls, super mutants or gangs of generic raiders, the groups you could kill on sight without any moral reprocussions. The aesthetic of the faction as "freedom fighters" clashes greatly with the gameplay that is more remiscent of their role as imperialist tool, but fallout 4 never calls attention to that fact. Which I find especially glaring considering the fact that the faction is portrayed as a force of universal good. For the series that supposedly satirize American emperialism and it's nostalgia cult, fallout 4 sure does a lot to whitewash Minuteman of the role they played in said emperialis.

[bunny--manders]

Some photos of Appalachia for @kjzx to set the mood as you listen to the podcast!

This is what the mountains look like. The range is so old that they've actually eroded a bit over time, so they look softer and more rounded than the dramatic ranges out west like the Rockies, Cascades, Olympics, etc.

Child coal miners in Gary, West Virginia in 1908. The coal mining industry could be incredibly inhumane to its workers, and some of the most brutal suppression of labor movements in American history happened when workers tried to fight for better conditions. The podcast goes into real life mining disasters.

One of the most famous modern mining disasters--this coal mine caught on fire and couldn't be put out, and a whole town had to be abandoned because of it. The mine might continue burning for centuries.

I can't recall if the podcast mentions kudzu--it's an incredibly invasive plant that has been destroying Appalachian forests. Just driving by an infested forest is eerie because the vines will completely engulf trees and buildings.

A "holler" is a distinctive type of settlement in mountain hollows. They have their own unique culture and accent which people outside the area often stigmatize as uneducated. People living in these areas are often cut off from the best jobs, education, infrastructure, and healthcare and their state governments have done very little to help them for centuries.

I'm very interested in historical stories about bootlegging, and you'll hear a lot about people hiding stills for distilling liquor in the mountains so that they could make alcohol during Prohibition or during times of high taxes on liquor. It's very hard to police a whole lot of small, isolated towns in the mountains where the locals know the forest much better than federal agents coming in from out of town. My home state's official anthem, Rocky Top, actually has a verse implying that federal agents were murdered in the mountains while they were searching for an illegal moonshine still.

An example of music from the area. It's influenced by a combination of British immigrants, other European immigrants, and traditional African and African-American music.

A photo from the Appalachian Trail, a trail built in the 1920s that runs over 2,000 miles through the mountains. I'm biased because I love the forests where I live now so much, but I still think the Appalachians are some of the most beautiful parts of the country.

A storyteller talking about the very long history of Appalachian folk stories and repeating a story passed on through the oral tradition. Some of the stories still told in Appalachia are hundreds of years old and come from a blend of European and African folklore. I really love the way the podcast captures that beautiful style and cadence. It very much fits into the long history of ghost stories set in the mountains. I'm intrigued that you picked up on similarities to Russian storytelling traditions. I bet there are a lot of similarities with the way working-class families living in remote mountainous areas pass stories from generation to generation.

That's just a little taste of Appalachian history and culture! Basically: It's one of the most beautiful parts of America, but also one of the most badly treated by companies that exploited its people and natural resources and state governments that didn't do much to help people living in the area. I grew up in a city near but not in Appalachia, one that made a lot of money selling its culture to tourists but ultimately didn't give as much back as it should to the people living there. Parts of Appalachian culture have definitely become folksy novelties.

(BTW, if you've ever heard of Dolly Parton, she's probably the most famous modern celebrity from Appalachia and she's done a TON of work helping the communities she came from, which is part of why people love her so much!)

[scotianostra]

On 17th October 1821 Alexander Gardner, renowned photographer of the American Civil War was born in Paisley.

Gardner became an apprentice jeweller at the age of 14, lasting seven years. He had a Church of Scotland upbringing and was influenced by the work of Robert Owen, Welsh socialist and father of the cooperative movement. By the time he reached adulthood he and his brother James had the idea to create a cooperative in the United States that would incorporate socialist values, they travelled to Iowa with this in mind in 1850, Alexander returned to Scotland to raise money for the project and purchased the Glasgow Sentinel, quickly turning it into the second largest newspaper in the city.

On his return to the United States in 1851, Gardner paid a visit to the Great Exhibition in Hyde Park, New York, where he saw the photographs of Mathew Brady for the first time. Shortly afterward, Gardner began reviewing exhibitions of photographs in the Glasgow Sentinel, as well as experimenting with photography on his own.

In 1856, Gardner decided to over permanently to America, eventually settling in New York. He soon found employment with Mathew Brady as a photographer. At first, Gardner specialized in making large photographic prints, called Imperial photographs, but as Brady’s eyesight began to fail, Gardner took on more and more responsibilities. In 1858, Brady put him in charge of the entire gallery.

Two years later, Gardner opened a portrait studio for Brady in Washington, D.C. It was so successful that it helped to support Brady’s more extravagant New York studio.

When the American Civil War erupted in 1861, Gardner assisted Brady in his effort to make a complete photographic record of the conflict. Brady, however, refused to give Gardner public credit for his work. Gardner therefore left Brady in 1863, opened a portrait gallery in Washington, and continued to photograph the hostilities on his own. His photographs President Lincoln on the Battlefield of Antietam as seen in the photos and other portraits of Lincoln are among the best-known photographs of the war period.

Gardner’s Photographic Sketch Book of the Civil War, a two-volume collection of 100 original prints, was published in 1866. When Brady petitioned Congress to buy his photographs of the war, Gardner presented a rival petition, claiming that it was he, not Brady, who had originated the idea of providing the nation with a photographic history of the conflict. Congress eventually bought both collections.

In 1867 Gardner became the official photographer for the Union Pacific Railroad. Primarily active in Kansas, he photographed the building of the railroad and the new settlements that grew up near it. He also compiled valuable photographic documentation of the Plains Indians of North America.

Returning to Washington, he gradually lost interest in photography and devoted the rest of his life to philanthropy.

In 1871, Gardner gave up photography entirely to start an insurance company. He lived in Washington until his death in 1882. Regarding his work he said, “It is designed to speak for itself. As mementos of the fearful struggle through which the country has just passed, it is confidently hoped that it will possess an enduring interest.”

The first pic is of Alexander Gardner, next is Ta-Tan-Kah-Sa-Pah (Black Bull) of the Brule-Sioux tribe, North Dakota, President Lincoln on Battle-Field of Antietam and Abraham Lincoln and his son Thomas, then Lewis Payne, one of the men involved in the assassination of Abraham Lincoln and finally the Leavenworth, Lawrence, and Galveston Railroad Bridge across the Kaw River at Lawrence, Kansas, in 1867

[animalstamp]

Melli knew that his best friend was anxious. How couldn’t he be after hearing that his trainer pretty much died the one time that you didn’t come with him somewhere. He decides to distract them both with foraging. They had to stock up for Melli’s departure.

Skuntank was starting to lag behind. Just like Melli thought his partner wasn’t as recovered as he was trying to act. Melli knew it would probably be time yet before his Pokémon was as good as he was before. Just more proof that Melli wasn’t taking him with him. The other two weren’t even under consideration.

It was easy work, made even easier when whatever Pokémon that might be in the trees would rather make a quick escape than fight. Even at night none of the Pokémon were emboldened enough to approach. The benefits of being a monster.

Melli filled his mane with as much as he could. Which was more than any backpack that he had ever owned. Crunchy Salts for the lord. Plump Beans, Pecha Berries, and as many Medicinal Leeks as he could see.

“Melli…I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you like I should have been.”

Melli sighs. So, the dam finally breaks.

“There is nothing to be sorry about. Even if I had known that I would die I still would have gone.”

“Melli!” Skuntank rushes in front of him. “Don’t you think that I feel the same! I would have rather you be here, and I be dead! I am your Pokémon. That is my job!”

“Your job isn’t to die, it’s to do what I say!” Melli snaps. “It's my responsibility to take care of you! It was my choice to go down to the settlement! It was me who waited around for Adaman all night when I should have been rushing back to you!”

Skuntank puffed and snarled. “Oh, so it's Adaman who’s at fault here. You give that man too much of your love.”

Sinnoh gives him strength. Melli had noticed that his Skuntank, seemingly out of nowhere, had grown to dislike the Diamond Clan leader. The smell he would give off while Adaman was near was a clear sign of the Pokémon’s disdain. He, for the life of him, couldn’t figure out why his Skuntank had started acting like that around his childhood friend. So, this conversation was going to be enlightening.

“What do you mean?” Melli growls in warning.

Skuntank growls back, “What do you think I mean? Stop bending over backward for people who don’t care about you!”

Melli couldn’t even keep the outrage out of his voice. “Adaman does care about me! I’m not so needy that he has to constantly be under me to know that!”

“What are you getting so defensive if you are so confident? When was the last time that Adaman has done anything for you?”

“Friendships aren’t just made of favors! You know Adaman has been busy. Leaders aren’t made of free time!”

Skuntank grumbles, “Right, right. Sure. How much more do think that you can give him Melli?”

You are already dead, was left unsaid.

“As much as he needs to, for everything that he has done for me.”

Skuntank didn’t continue to argue and the silence was even more sour.

Melli gathered as much as he could before the sun started peeking over the horizon. Time was up for the night and now he could enjoy being confined to a small tent with Skuntank after their fight. It wouldn’t be the first time he had been trapped with less than enthusiastic company. He didn’t like adding Skuntank to that crowd.

The Zoroark felt all wrung out. Physically and emotionally, he felt like he had more in common with a Wurmple. Weak and squishy.

Melli plops down on his bed roll and lets the rest of his body hang out. Skorupi, ever the oblivious one, walked over to him and chittered and bit at his ears. He tucked her under his chin to keep her out of trouble and she squeaked at the treatment. Her incessant wiggling was enough that Melli mindlessly started licking the bug’s back to get her to stop.

The Zoroark continues to groom the Pokémon for a minute before realizing what he is doing. Deciding that he was going to pretend that he hadn’t been using his tongue like it was a brush, he rolled over and tucked the bug into his chest fur.

He will give himself one more night. For Skuntank and his sake. This would be so much easier if the other Zoroarks lived closer or if he could figure out how to make illusions by himself. However, Melli knew that he couldn’t ask for easy. When things were bad for him it poured.

Another day and night passed and now Melli had to leave. Even with the bitter words exchanged between the two, Skuntank still spends the night with him trying to get him to get the handle of the fire move. The best Melli could manage was a short but steady flame. It wouldn’t do much good as an attack, but he should be able to keep himself warm and cook food with it. And maybe scare some of the ice types if they come close.

Melli leaves his Pokémon with as much food that would keep and his lord a supply of his favorites and hopes that he doesn’t eat through them all before he gets back. The Zoroark had half a mind to try sneaking off but thought better of it. His Pokémon needed to see him off and honestly, Melli needed to see them too. All of Hisui was dangerous. Just as likely that something else was to happen to Melli, it could happen to any one of the Pokémon that stood before him.

“Remember your manners, Melli. Make sure to let Lord Avalugg know of your presence on his land and for the love of Sinnoh be polite son,” Lord Electrode gently chides.

“Melli stay safe, okay? Come back in one piece.” Skuntank gave him the saddest little face.

“Do you have to go?” Zubat sounded a second from crying.

“Melli! Food!” Skorupi adds, managing to say something coherent and irrelevant but still otherly heartbreaking.

Just hearing the Pokémon saying his name in her cute little voice was almost enough to make Melli stay. He had to make his farewell short as he tore himself away from his family.  

Normally the route to head for the Icelands from here was to go back down into Wayward Cave. There was a more direct route down the other side of the mountain, but the years have not been kind to it. As a human, it wouldn’t be worth the possibility of a broken leg but as a Pokémon, it should be fine enough. It should also be a lot faster too.

The journey down was uneventful. No need to worry about man or Pokémon on this side. The steepness of the Mountain made it so the only Pokémon that would make their homes were rock-types and a few nesting flying-types. Even with that knowledge, Melli could have sworn that he kept seeing something out of the corner of his eye. Was he being followed? No, that would be crazy.

His moment of distraction almost cost him as the patch that he thought was snow turned out to be ice. He yelped as his foot slipped and almost sent him falling to his second death. Yet another advantage of having claws and a naturally quadrupedal stance. He still had three points of contact on the rockface. He caught himself and managed a controlled slide until he hit another outcropping. A Geodude was also here but considering how hard it was trying to be a rock it didn’t want anything to do with him.

A hard blast of wind pushed Melli back and then another almost yanked the Zoroark off his perch. Digging his claws in he looked out to see where he was headed. Alabaster Icelands didn’t believe in spring, he could see as there wasn’t a hint of green to be found anywhere.

The warden looked down to see how far he had to go. It didn’t look that far. He thinks that it was about the same distance down as the jump into Fabled Spring. Melli debated with himself for a second before what he was starting to call his feral nature took him by the back of his neck.

He jumps.

He regretted it the moment that he let that wild Buneary run up his ass. He forgot a critical detail about his jump into Fabled Spring. He landed in water before…There wasn’t any water here.

Melli didn’t meet his second death. The deep dredges of snow broke his fall without him breaking his bones. Ha... Melli really needed to get a grip, or it wouldn’t be the wilds that were going to kill him but himself.

The man flipped himself over and pulled himself from the snow mound. The nearby Aipom scattered as Melli reoriented himself.

Another problem with this hellish land was the fact that it lacks any notable landmarks. The ones they did have were so far apart that it could be days before you came across one. Of course, the Pearl Clan makes their home here. They boast about all the space that they had but have they given any thought to whether it was any good?

Regardless Melli wasn’t going to find where he needed to go by just standing around.

If Melli did have to give one merit to the vast space of the Alabaster Icelands was that it made for a great place to run. Zoroark were truly made for the cold. His paws didn’t even sink in the snow! He had to remind himself, yet again, that he needed to slow down and watch where he was going.

Like right now!

Melli had to jump to avoid mowing down the Pokémon that suddenly blinked into existence in front of him.

“Watch it!” Melli snarled, figuring that the Pokémon would be too scared to even register his rudeness.

“You watch it mutt! You are the one that almost ran into me,” The other Pokémon returns in kind.

Surprised at the other Pokémon’s boldness, Melli whirls around expecting her to change her tone at his face. “Who are you calling a mutt?”

“You! You Mamoswine-sized cur!”

Melli glared at the other Pokémon. It was a Froslass that was giving him all that sass. Looks like the young man finally found a Pokémon that didn’t go fleeing at just the sight of him. Too bad she was a smart-mouthed bitch, he might have been able to ask her for directions.

Melli, the petty creature that he was, grabbed a handful of snow and tossed it at her. It hit her square in her oversized head. She didn’t take that kindly.

Quicker than Melli could get ready for the ice Pokémon powered up a Shadow Ball and launched it. Melli flinched and braced for impact only to gasp as the attack passed through him. The Zoroark couldn’t enjoy the Froslass’ surprise because he was so caught up in his own. He knew that dark moves were a Zoroark’s weakness, but no one has ever talked about them not being affected by ghost moves!

So caught on the back foot Melli almost let the other Pokémon escape. It would seem that having one of her best moves completely fail was enough to change her attitude. Too late to be scared now, Melli thought as he pounced. It was hard to get a grip on the other ghost type but a blast of fire inches from her head convinced her to stop struggling.

“H-hi come on, you don’t want to eat me! Don’t you beastly types like meaty things? I’m anything but meaty! I was just joking earlier! You are soooo pretty-like I was just jealous-“

“SHUT UP!” Melli only felt a little bad when the Froslass broke out in icy tears. “Take me to Lord Avalugg and I’ll let you keep your afterlife.”

Her tears dried up pretty fast at that demand. “Wha? Really? That’s it?”

Melli wasn’t sure what was so confusing for her. “Yes?”

“You don’t want to force me to catch other Pokémon to feed you? Or take out one of your rivals? Or make me help you terrorize humans?”

Melli lifts an elegant brow. “Would I even be forcing you to terrorize humans? Doesn’t your kind literally feed on terror?”

The Froslass doesn’t respond immediately. “…Are you flirting with me?”

Nevermind. Melli might be better off just trying to find the giant Pokémon himself. It couldn’t be that hard if Lord Avalugg was as humongous as everyone says that he is. He releases the other Pokémon and starts to walk away.

“Wa-wait a minute! I was just kidding! Lord Avalanche is this way. It going to be quite the walk for you.”

Melli was really suspicious now. This friendly attitude was quite a change from before. He decided that he would just keep walking and ignoring the tail that he suddenly had grown. It wasn’t easy, he could feel her eyes on him, and it was starting to make his fur itch.

“Thank you,” Melli looks over his shoulder. “I can get there from here.”

“What do you want to talk to the lord about? ‘Avalanche’ likes humans,” Froslass finishes without explaining what she means.

Melli could guess why the noble Pokémon liking humans was a mark of importance considering what they both were, but he had a more pressing question, “Why do you keep calling Lord Avalugg, Avalanche?”

“He is the father of all snow slides… You’re not from here, are you?”

“Did asking for directions give me away?” Melli mocks.

“Um, yes. Also, I’ve never seen a single Pokémon in all of these lands make fire like that. What-what are you?”

“I’m a Zoroark.” Saying it out loud left a bitter taste in Melli’s mouth.

“Oh!” The ice Pokémon floats ahead of him to get a closer look at his face. “So that’s what a Zoroark really looks like! I thought you were an emaciated Lucario.”

Maybe Melli should practice his Flamethrower some more. He had the perfect target right in front of him. With a pop of fire, the Froslass finally darts away into the snow and Melli was alone again…

The Froslass hadn’t been kidding about it being far. Melli could see the Arena’s Approach and the planform of ice that made the lord’s home, but it was still a ways away. Now with his destination in sight, Melli breaks out into a sprint. Lord Sinnoh didn’t favor people that were not mindful of their time after all.

Melli had never met the Lord of the Tundra. Why would he? He didn’t live in the Icelands, and before now had made no plans of ever coming up here. All he knew was that Lord Avalugg was the oldest noble Pokémon, with Lord Electrode being the next closest in age. However, people would say that it was comparing the age of ice to the age of a tree. Melli felt that it might be a bit of an exaggeration but he was biased of course.

Other than that, Melli knew just about nothing. Lady Cresselia seemed to know of him enough that she was confident she could ask favors. The young man could only hope that the lord was as kind as Lord Electrode if a little less prone to his temper than his own lord.

The reborn Zoroark spent so much time worrying about the lord of the Icelands that he forgot all about the bare-chested lunatic that was the noble’s warden.

“What the- Hey!” Shouted the voice of an unfortunately familiar man.

Melli skids to a stop, cussing under his breath. Gaeric. He couldn’t believe that he had forgotten all about the warden. This was the first time that he had seen the man in his natural environment. He really did walk about in snow and ice with his whole tits out.

Right now, the Iceland warden's eyes were even bigger than his muscles. Melli couldn’t blame the man. He wouldn’t have been making a different expression if a whole Zoroark walked up to Moonview Arena like it was going to have tea with his lord.

They both freeze as if believing that if they stayed still for long enough the other might disappear. Maybe if Melli backed up, they could pretend that they didn’t see each other.

Melli took a tentative step back and seeing that Gaeric didn’t immediately attack him when he moved, he continued to backpedal until he was all the way back down the steps to the arena. The Zoroark decided it would be best to wait for nightfall to try again.

Gaeric was only taking a small break from his exercise to check up on his lord when the scariest thing happened to him! Great Sinnoh, no one was going to believe him on this one. Sneaking up behind him had been the single most colossal Zoroark that he had ever seen!

As the warden of the Icelands, Gaeric wasn’t unfamiliar with the tricky fox Pokémon. He would usually be the first sentinel against the beasts. He made himself infamous enough among the Pokémon that they would often break their disguise and flee at the sight of him. His combo team of Glalie and Froslass was made specially to repel the tricky beasts. Froslass would outs them with her ghostly insight and Glalie send them packing with a powerful Crunch. So Gaeric was pretty confident in his ability to recognize a Zoroark in or out of its disguise.

This one that was in front of him now was a beast like no other. It towered over him, and its fur was tipped a purplish color as if dipped in poison. Its eyes had the signature hellish glow of an Alpha. It was so bold that it didn’t even don a disguise to make itself look more inconspicuous before coming close. It was a Zoroark unlike any other that he had seen before.

Gaeric would cringe in later recollection of how his heart dropped and how he froze with not a single word falling from his lips. He prided himself on having a hard and impenetrable mind and body, but he cracked under pressure. His Pokémon were not nearby, and he had no weapons at hand besides his own body. So, he only stood there.

If the Zoroark was more like the ones that he was used to it would have taken that chance to jump him but the Pokémon across from him just stared, just as frozen as he was. Ice froze his veins as he waited for the killing strike.

Then, what might be the craziest part, the monster of a Pokémon slowly backed away. Not once did it break its gaze from his as it left the arena.

Only when the Pokémon was gone did Gaeric’s breath finally return to him. For once the warden could feel the biting cold against his skin and he shivered. A part of him didn’t want to tell his clanmates about his moment of weakness but the better part of him knew that this encounter needed to be reported.

Would his lord be fine while he goes alert the others? Gaeric has to shake his head at his thoughts. Of course, the lord would be fine. Just because Gaeric had been scared didn’t mean that his lord would. As big as the Zoroark was compared to himself, his lord could crush the Pokémon under foot like it was nothing. No, the ones in danger were his clanmates.

Gaeric whistled for his Pokémon who quickly came to his side having missed all the fun. His Froslass, seeing that her tamer was shaken by something, fussed over him. Looks like Gaeric wouldn’t have to worry about his two Pokémon running off to have little liaisons without him for a while.

[idkyetxoxo]

Seven | Vagabond | The Last Kingdom

"The day you showed up and placed your sword in my hand to confront Sverri, it felt as if an angel had descended just for me. It was like I'd found hope again,"

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─── ✦⋅ ☆⋅✦ ───

Uhtred swiftly reverted to his old ways after the successful rescue of Gisela, culminating in the demise of a menacing priest. With Kjartan defeated and Uhtred's sister Thyra liberated from captivity, she found solace in a quieter life alongside Father Beocca, who seemed to provide her with a form of modern-day therapy.

Uhtred now commanded a steadfast group of followers, including the skilled warrior Finan who stuck by him, the loyal Sihtric who continued proving his worth daily, and the baby monk Osferth, Alfred's bastard who was still settling in and finding his footing. 

True to my promise, I stood by Uhtred's side through thick and thin. 

Surprisingly, the company of this random selection of men proved to be something I relished, each of us fitting together like pieces in a puzzle.

Our journey progressed at a sluggish pace, prompting me to lament, "This would be so much quicker if we had a car," my words muttered under my breath. The mention of 'car' piqued the interest of Finan and Sihtric, their ears tuning in to catch every word.

"Car?" Sihtric echoed slowly, his curiosity evident. I nodded, offering a brief explanation, "It's a vehicle powered by an engine, ten times faster than horseback." Their expressions lit up with amazement at the concept.

"Tell us more," Finan urged, his interest piqued, but I shook my head, relishing the chance to tease them. "No," I replied, knowing it would irk them, a mischievous grin dancing across my lips. "We're almost there anyway," I added, riding alongside Uhtred as the destination drew nearer.

As we rode on, I overheard Finan mutter under his breath, "How would you, of all people, know that?" His scepticism only fueled my amusement, knowing that the mysteries of my knowledge were best left unsaid for the time being.

Alfred's orders directed us to Lundun, a city now under the control of two brothers, Erik and Sigefrid. The mention of Lundun prompted a small gasp to escape me as Alfred spoke its name, and my mind flooded with memories. Uhtred's warning glance snapped me back to the present, and I quickly composed myself, reining in my thoughts.

Frowning, I offered Uhtred an apologetic look, acknowledging his silent caution, as the focus shifted back to our mission at hand. The prospect of returning to the city I once called home stirred a whirlwind of emotions within me, a mix of nostalgia and apprehension.

As we ventured through the town, Finan made a light-hearted comment about the notorious reputation of certain areas "Lord they say this part of town is where women end up in rivers" earning a sharp glare from me in response.

Sihtric added his observation about the vibrant spectacle of the local brothels, prompting a disapproving tut from me. Surrounded by men constantly, I had resigned myself to the reality of their comments.

Aethelred, harbouring a clear distaste for my outspoken opposition to his mistreatment of his wife, couldn't resist hurling a spiteful comment in my direction. "Seems like your female warrior would fit right in those brothels," he jeered.

Unfazed by his jibe, I retorted with a cutting remark of my own. "They may mistake you for the female I'd be more careful if I were you" I quipped, a sly smile playing on my lips, earning laughter from Clapa and Finan as Aethelred scowled in response.

I dismounted my horse, growing more adept at the manoeuvre, and stood by Uhtred's side as we delved deeper into the settlement. Unavoidably, men's eyes lingered on me, making me uneasy. My hand instinctively found the hilt of my sword, but Uhtred's comforting glance reassured me. Finan, sensing my discomfort, moved closer, standing protectively by my side.

As the brothers and Uhtred engaged in conversation, my focus shifted to ensuring I didn't become a victim of the ominous reputation of this part of town. Finan, noticing my constant unease, offered reassurance. 

"You need not worry so much," he said, prompting a small smile from me.

Sigefrid, diverting his attention from Uhtred, turned his gaze towards me and inquired "Are you spoken for lady?" Feeling a sense of vulnerability, I hesitated before admitting "No." 

His menacing smirk suggested otherwise, hinting at the perceived vulnerability of an unmarried woman in such times "You just haven't met the right man, perhaps a Dane would suit you well," he suggested, running his hand up the side of my arm.

Finan, protective as ever, stepped forward and asserted, "Look at the woman again and tell me, do you really think she'd be with a Dane?" he nudged me back slightly, leaving me uncertain about the intended meaning or implication, but I chose to let it pass for the moment.

If we were in modern times, I would have handled Sigefrid myself. A swift kick to the groin might have sufficed. However, here, I faced the risk of retaliation that could result in losing my life.

"I think once she understands what it feels to be humped by a true warrior she will come to her senses" Sigefrid taunted, his brother joining in laughter at his side. "Right ,so I can contract an STD, no thank you" I murmured to myself.

Uhtred finally intervened, proclaiming, "That is enough," and I exhaled in relief.

"If I chop off his other hand how much trouble will I be in" I whispered eliciting quiet laughter from Finan in front of me.

── ✦⋅ ☆⋅✦ ──

Nestled in a secluded corner of the grand hall, we observed the brothers engaging with their kin. Restlessness crept over me as numerous eyes seemed to scrutinize every inch of my being, my face, my body, every contour. In response, I instinctively drew my cloak tighter around me.

"Are you ok?" Osferth's concerned inquiry broke the tension, to which I offered a faint nod.

"Would you not consider it a compliment, lady?" Aethelred's tone dripped with disdain as he emphasized the word 'lady', as though it left a bitter taste in his mouth. I couldn't help but roll my eyes at his foolish words. 

"Would I consider men eyeing me like a piece of meat a compliment?" I challenged him, to which he merely smirked in response. "Aldhlem tame your dog before I am compelled to do something I don't want to" I retorted sharply, preempting Aethelred's forthcoming rebuttal, yet Aldhelm swiftly intervened.

Turning my attention to the assembled company, I addressed them with a satisfied smirk. "When a woman regards you with desire, it elicits excitement," I remarked, observing their silent consensus.

"Yet, when a man regards a woman in such a manner, she must immediately brace herself for the worst, hoping desperately to avoid a vulnerable situation" I continued, fixing Aethelred with an unwavering gaze. 

"So you would have to be an imbecile of a man to assume a woman enjoys being eyed like that" I stated as Aethelred avoided looking in my direction.

"Rest assured, however, any man who dares to lay unwanted hands upon me will either find himself in the halls of Valhalla or confronting the gates of heaven," I declared, the steel in my tone unmistakable. 

"We wouldn't expect anything less," Finan remarked, a glimmer of pride dancing in his eyes as he clinked his cup against mine.

── ✦⋅ ☆⋅✦ ──

The situation had taken a dire turn. Aethelflaed, once free, now found herself captive in the clutches of the brothers, a mere pawn in their twisted game of power. The weight of her imprisonment fell heavily upon our shoulders, the responsibility to rescue her resting solely on us.

Standing before the cage that confined her, Aethelflaed's figure appeared haggard and worn. Yet, despite the bleakness of our circumstances, I offered her words of comfort, hoping to alleviate some of the fear and uncertainty that plagued her.

Life within this tumultuous world moved at a relentless pace, each moment fraught with danger and betrayal. One minute, Erik was alive and poised to flee with Aethelflaed, and the next, his lifeless body lay sprawled on the ground, the victim of his own brother's treachery.

In a swift and calculated act of vengeance, Aethelflaed ensured that Sigefrid tasted the bitter sting of her retribution.

Resuming our journey towards Winchester, the atmosphere was heavy with exhaustion and the weight of our injuries. 

Clapa had given his life for ours, and that familiar wave of grief and sadness churned within my stomach. I detested acknowledging it, but loss was becoming a recurring theme in my life.

Yet, amidst the silence that enveloped us, I couldn't ignore the subdued demeanour of Osferth, his troubled thoughts palpable even in the dim light of our makeshift camp.

Leaning in beside him on the cool forest floor, I addressed him in a gentle whisper "Baby monk", seeking to unravel the burden that weighed heavily upon his shoulders. "Is something troubling you?" I inquired softly, my hand resting reassuringly on his arm.

His response came as a heavy sigh, his gaze averted as if grappling with the turmoil within. "I don't know if I'm cut out for this," he confessed, his voice laced with uncertainty.

Taking a deep breath, I sought to reassure him, drawing from my own experiences of doubt and despair. "I believe you are," I affirmed, my voice unwavering. "Like me, you may have your doubts, your moments of fear and uncertainty but within you lies a resilience, a strength waiting to be unleashed."

As the words hung in the air, Osferth's gaze met mine, a flicker of hope igniting within his eyes.

"What I'm saying is that even now, I'm haunted by the memories of the horrors I've witnessed, the faces of the men I've been compelled to kill. This world can be ruthless and unforgiving. Yet, despite the darkness that surrounds us, I have faith that you will find the resilience to carve out your own path," I concluded, met with a faint smile from him.

"Rest now," I urged gently, rising to my feet and brushing the dirt from my weary limbs. Making my way towards a nearby stream, I paused to wash the weariness from my face, the chill of the water serving as a jolt to my senses.

"Nice speech," a familiar voice remarked, its playful tone cutting through the solemnity of the night.

Turning to face Finan, I felt a surge of frustration rise within me. "Not now, Finan," I replied tersely, my emotions raw and unguarded. It wasn't him it was the situation I found myself in.

Sensing the tension in my voice, Finan raised his hands in surrender, his expression shifting to one of genuine concern. "I'm sorry," he offered sincerely, his voice softening. "I didn't mean to upset you."

With a heavy sigh, I relented, allowing the walls around my heart to crumble in his presence. "It's not you," I admitted, the weight of my confession hanging heavily in the air.

As he drew closer, his touch was gentle and reassuring. "I want my life back," I confessed quietly, the words laden with longing and regret "but no matter what I do, no matter who I reassure, it won't change the fact that I always feel like I'll never belong here."

Lately, I'd found myself grappling with self-doubt internally, and finally opening up about it to someone felt like a significant relief. Despite projecting a strong and composed outward appearance, the inner battle within me was becoming overwhelming with every passing day.

In the warmth of Finan's embrace, his words became a balm to soothe the ache within my soul. "You've done more than you realize," he reassured me, his voice unwavering in its conviction.

As he held me close, his words s forth like a gentle stream, washing away the doubts that clouded my mind. "The day you showed up and placed your sword in my hand to confront Sverri, it felt as if an angel had descended just for me. It was like I'd found hope again," he admitted, his tone filled with sincerity. "Do not ever doubt that you haven't left a mark."

In that fleeting moment, amidst the uncertainty and chaos that surrounded us, I found comfort in his words, comfort in him that I hadn't felt before.

─── ✦⋅ ☆⋅✦ ───

chapters are getting longer and I feel like I had to just include that little bit at the end cause coming to terms with something like this would genuinely take a while AND that little snippet of Aethelred hate cause he's kinda silly iwl 🫶🏼

Tag list - @jasontoddorjasongrace