#but it sure as hell is not in modern-day Spain

[rayveewrites]

there must be some confusion among researchers in the ancients sometimes using the word for moon to describe certain objects that caused large impact craters, despite having words for both asteroid and meteor.

The current working theory is that maybe whatever meteorite dropped on their heads was particularly moon-like, or maybe that the moon wasn't very visible at the time, so they thought the meteor was the moon.

Another theory is that only some areas had seperate names for 'moon' and 'meteor', while others just used the same, single word, or that the literal translation is something like 'giant space rock' and the words can be used relatively interchangably.

It's relatively a footnote, though. Most Ancient Language scholars are too busy tring to figure out how this one language is basically the same regardless of where on the planet it is.

Africa and Japan should not be speaking the same language in 107 BCE for god's sake.

[thatdebaterguy]

Astoundingly flawed logic

So riddle me this, if Israel is committing genocide with the intent to kill all Palestinians

And has one of the best global militaries, with a budget surpassing Palestine's entire gdp

And even has nuclear weapons

Then how is Palestine still here, how is Gaza still here, how are millions of Palestinians in one of the most densely packed areas of the entire world, all still here. It literally does not fit the definition. There isn't intention to kill. It's the opposite, they've warned Gazans before bombing.

Whether in some cases they haven't warned, or if the civilians just lied, it's a war, they have no obligation to warn for bombing, the Brits and Americans sure as hell didn't warn Dresden, a bombing that killed 20,000 in a single strike, which is very close to the Palestinian civilian death toll, and yet Dresden wasn't a genocide too. Wanna know why? We didn't want to kill every single German. One interesting thing though, when Israel was founded and invaded by the Arab nations around it, what were their intentions? To block the existence of Israel.

Most likely by eradicating all Israeli civilians and soldiers in the area, to remove any possible claim Israel had over the area. Speaking of claims, Jewish people who founded Israel had lived in the area long before some of the Arab settlers had. Some of the Islamic Caliphates are regarded as the most successful settler colonial efforts in history, spreading to Spain, Morocco, the Turkic Steppes, and settling the region of Palestine too, and this all happened after the Jewish people who had founded the city of Jerusalem. There were I think around 400,000 Jews living there before Israel was created, maybe a bit less but around there. It's not a colonial state, in fact it was freed after being a British colony, no different to the way other British colonies were freed. South Africa used to include modern Namibia, but those two states separated, yet I don't hear anyone bickering about Namibia's right to exist. I know it goes vastly deeper than that comparison, but it still somewhat works.

Anyway, let's say you're living in modern Afghanistan as a woman, where your rights are being actively crushed by a group who used to be designated as a terror group before ruling the country. Are you going to try live your life peacefully and avoid being executed over the simplest things, or going into the streets, protesting, then getting beheaded. I think 99% of people would rather keep living to fight another day, than die a martyr. That's why they're Martyrs, they're the rare 1%, people like the ones who helped hide Anne Frank, or hid Jewish people in their homes. I strongly oppose Hamas, but you don't see me flying over to Palestine protesting against them, same way you don't go over to Israel to protest the Israeli government, or go live with Palestinians to show solidarity. Knowing something is evil and wanting it to end without knowing how, and acting against that evil, are both being against it, one is just activism, the other is opposition. Not many people wanna be activists when the crime is death. Is that enough proof for you?

[cicerenella]

now i’m so curious, what are your thoughts on spaus, historically and in the modern day? what do you imagine romano thinks of them?

I'm jumping to answer this ask because I'm continuing the Austria train! And also because I have a lot of thoughts about this pairing that is (sadly) very overlooked in my opinion. Slight Spamano following.

OK SO I love SpAus. Great angst machine, I love their historical accuracy and a way to portray my view on Empires in Hetalia, since most of the time power gets into their head. Oh well, a marriage between two of the most powerful empires in europe, what's the worst that could happen?? a divorce that brought war to half of europe.

Spain and Austria's marriage was probably one of the longest and most powerful europe has seen, but that doesn't mean that it was good LMAO. I have an idea that for the first century or so of their union everything was...ok? Sure, it could be better, and it had it's ups and downs (I'm looking at Spain) but that doesn't mean that it was that bad. Except for like, the revolt of the Comuneros, that was a bad one.

I think their marriage started to go really south after the Netherlands' independence and the decline of the Spanish Empire, because after that things only started to spiral downwards. And I do not have a good and kind portrayal of "Empire Spain". He was awful both historically wise and also in his personal relationships and it SHOWED.

So, the war of Spanish Succession. A shitshow, Europe's messiest divorce, it did not end good, and Spain lost massive chunks of territories. The treaty of Utrecht/Peace of Rastatt was probably their divorce papers AHAHHA. In thirteen years more than eighty wars where fought.

And about Romano...I know many people make the love triangle between Roma/Spain/Austria and honestly? I like it. ALTHOUGH I have a very specific characterization that I am going to analyse through just now!

So, Naples was considered an "anomaly" in the Spanish Empire. It was the biggest and most populated city, and often times even overshadowed cities in Spain. Historically speaking, Antonio would admire the HELL out of Romano, even if he was one of his subordinates. I don't think he "loved" him yet, more than he considered him his favorite out of all his colonies.

Although I think the more his marriage with Austria deteriorated, the more his kindness to Romano turned into straight up obsession. The civil war twisting Spain's head in a lot of ways too.

That is to say, that while Spain was having his twisted villain arc, Romano would both hate and care about his superior. In a friendly way, of course, because it would be scandalous having an affair with his "master" that was married to another (plus not to mention Romano's internalised homophobia). So while my man was fighting to get independence, Spain was trying both to save his crumbling marriage and keeping his favorite colony with him (spoiler: he failed in both).

SO UHM YEAH. Romano probably wouldn't want to get into the SpAus business, and Spain obsession for Roma definitely irked Austria a bit. Can you imagine after all that crap that was the Spanish War of Succession going on a rampage in trying to reconquer South Italy?? From your ex husband?? Absolute madlad. I love SpAus. Spamano is my number one ship but this one is a guilty pleasure of mine.

[OH SHOOT, forgot about modern day SpAus. Uhhh, since I ship spamano it is a bit tricky. But most of the time I make them stay on friendly terms!! ex husbands that often nitpick at eachother yay. The venom of their divorce is long gone, and they're both old men that like to crack jokes and reminisce about their past adventures.]

[wrotelovelytears]

Sooo I was a thinking

in the shower nonetheless

I remember a conversation I held with @d4rkpluto and a couple of other folks about Planetary Rules in terms of different races. I'll be honest its not the first time I've heard of that concept, I just know different folks have different interpretations.

So I just wanted to expand on one I heard about Saturn ruling over Black people and my personal thoughts about it.

..........

If anyone knows Black people (pretty sure everyone on here should, its the internet), we struggle and prevail (and struggle yet again). That's been our history for literal centuries (millenniums depending on where you talking about). There's the Trans Atlantic slave trade, Jim Crow, the caste systems of Portugal, Spain, the Netherlands, France and America and much more in the Western hemisphere. There's the Arab slave trade (fun fact almost all of Asia is guilty of participating), colonization and neo colonization of Africa, Australia, the Philippines (and more, modern day slavery, xenophobia against Africans+ other Black folks, the displacement and systematic destruction of Melanesian societies and people in the Eastern hemisphere.

The story of struggle is not new to Black people on a global stance. What also is not new is the prevailing/ survival of Black folks either.

We have AAVE, Patios, Creole and various other Black dialects (languages if we'll be honest), Samba, Rap/Hip Hop, Hood culture (Favela etc also apply), Country, Rock, Story telling, and hairstyles in the West. The forming of the African Union, reconnection of Aboriginal people to their lands (we gotta talk about that more), the acknowledgment of Melanesian groups in South and Southeast Asia (as well as the Pacific), and new cultural revivals in the East.

All in all tragedies are used not as an end all be all but a method to spark change. Change of the things that are able to be controlled. It made something new out of something old with what was had.

What the hell does that have to do with Saturn???

Saturn is one of the strictest teachers there is. If you don't get a lesson, you'll just be faced with it again in a different form. You can try to avoid it and it will force you to adapt to circumstances you can't control by controlling what you can.

Saturn frankly can be seen as a hidden blessing because you learn to let go of what can't be controlled outside of you. To be a change that sparks change in others and not let what currently is stifling you end you.

I'll be honest Black people definitely fit that whole criteria. We as a global collective have gone through so much shit. We continue to go through so much shit, and yet we always come up on top.

I would also say some key themes of both Saturn and Capricorn can easily be pointed out in any Black person or culture.

What are those themes?

I'd like to start off with money since we all love talking about it.

From my perspective Black people do not hold generational wealth. Especially not in the same sense as other folks. You can point out any rich Black person and I promise you go back a generation or two they didn't have that same standing, go forward a generation or two the same applies.

Why is that?

There are (global) systematic things that prevent Black people from raising from the bottom of the socio-economic to even the middle or top. In all honesty every society has at least one thing in place that prevent it due to some "balance" wanting to be kept. In the US you have things like redlining/gentrification, in all the of Latin American countries you have the caste system (la casta) (its anti Black (and Indigenous), ask Black Latinos), in South Asia there's also the caste system (I don't even wanna get into this) West asia still holding on to stereotypes + slavery, Europe... Racism and xenophobia (also slavery), South East Asia also has a caste system and the Pacific Islands (+Australia) have anti Black policies and colonial rooted issues.

These things are all in place that limit the amount of land, money, food and even shelter Black folks can global have. If you are highly focused on survival you not going to be focused on saving money. Which is another reason why generational wealth doesn't exist, there's a need to spend money before its gone.

That's a very Capricornian trait. You understand that money equals respect (and for Black people more than just surviving), so the more you have to freely spend the more respected you are. So sometimes you spend it all in the need of respect rather than the need of security.

Since I mentioned security you already know that was about to be the next topic.

Are Black people safe anywhere?

No. Don't mention Africa or other predominantly Black countries either, neocolonialism is an issue.

Black people haven't had security for a very long time. We just make do with what we have and as my dad says "keep it pushin". There's an understanding that most things are out of our control (because everyone knows that antiBlackness would've been gone yesterday). We have to just understand what we have or do individually is what we can do. "It is what it is" pretty much.

Anytime you see a sense of security in a Black community, you will also see some new problem (complete out of our control) pop up. I'll use Jim Crow and sharecropping as an example:

When Black folks (African Americans) were freed from slavery, we didn't have much of anything to our names beside our culture. We were able to find certain jobs and once it was seen that we could thrive off of them, that was quickly replaced by sharecropping. For those who don't know what that is, its being "lended" some land to farm on, however the rent, type of land and prices you could sell your crops for was outrageously different. So Black people farmed, could starting gaining traction, a white (or NonBlack in general) landowner/shop owner/law maker etc wouldn't like that and pretty much screw the Black person over until they were indebted to them. Then the Black family eventually lost their farm (which ties into generational wealth) and had to seek out another source of income.

Some folks turned to railroad work, some went North, some left the US completely. All in all there was a huge factor uncontrollable by Black people that pushed them to adopt, change, and make do with current circumstances.

Saturn's lesson

Saturn has taught me, to never conform. Especially not my language(s) to make another comfortable. Its taught me that people will be uncomfortable with me, and that's okay as long as I'm comfortable with me. Its taught me that security (in a material sense) doesn't and never will last because something I can't control will change it, its how I cope with the change that happens.

That's a lesson all Black people are born knowing and die passing on. That we aren't meant to struggle, we are meant to adapt, thrive, fall and do it again.

Saturn isn't bullying anyone (especially Black folks), its showing us we are truly thrivers who can create out of seemingly nothing. That we will also overcome. That we are always blessed someway.

Plus I think its pretty cool or rains diamonds on some of Saturn's moons and has a ring around it (kinda like how various Black cultures popped from absolutely outrageous circumstances).

If you read this long ass post, thank you. If you would like me to talk about other groups and how I think certain planets rule them, ask below :)

And Black lives always will, and always have mattered

(If you learned something new or would just like to support me you can leave a wittle tip via the tip button or one of the links in my bio. Ko-fi: nymphdreams 🧸)

[alexissara]

Pokémon Scarlet And Violet Review - Layers Of Greed

On November 19th, 1493 Christopher Columbus claims Puerto Rico for the kingdom of Spain. The man would go on to start the North Atlantic Slave Trade by taking the Taino Natives and sending several back to Spain. He's terrible reign would be the foundation in which the Spanish would colonize South America along with many other nations.

November 18th, 2022 Japanese company Game Freak releases Pokémon Scarlet and Violet based on Spain, a country whose dark history can be felt across the world to this day, the scars deep across all of Latin America and Caribbean.

While Gamefreak could never capture the terror of one of the states nations to ever have existed, it appears they have tried in some ways to make this region as miserable as possible to spend time in, perhaps as a tribute to this history.

However, if it is not in reference to this historical context it is more likely that this game is simply a buggy, terrible, rushed messed which show the depths of The Pokémon companies greed and the horrors of capitalism manifested as a game with cute lil monsters I like.

The Terrible World Of Palada

The streets seem to be in broken time, nobody speaks, nobody sings, they tell you to express yourself but they accept so few bodies, they bind you to the coffin they call a uniform then they taunt you showing what you could have. This hell shows it is a puppet show, the world breaking, you can see the seems bursting and yet it draws you in further as if your a simple fly about to get eaten by a Venus Fly Trap.

This is to say the games a fucking mess. The game lacks most basic accessibility features including rolling back some previous features. The lack of Voice Acting is dreadful both for accessibility and for those who just want a game at modern standards. It's utterly dreadful and pathetic frankly given that it's the largest franchise in the world.

The bugs and glitches are unbearable. While they might be better for some in my over 90 hours of play I experienced 12 Hard Crashes. It's fair to say that a decent chunk of this play time was redoing content I had already done.

Most improvements to the game feel like downgrades to Pokémon Legends Arceus grom the soul crushing lack of clothing options giving you the 4 most ugly outfits in the whole series as your only options to the way movement flows to the way throwing a ball feels, there is some improvements but many more steps backwards.

Many will say this game is taking the right steps, that their on the right path and those people are wrong. There is no right path, why is open world even desirable, why are 3D models? This game makes steps sure but in every direction, this does not feel like what I want from Pokémon, I'd rather play a fan game but at any chance they get Gamefreak sends those people cease and desists meaning the more popular a fan game gets the more likely it is to vanish.

There is things I like, movements feels nice expect in the air or water or if you run into Pokémon or if you look too long at the wires of the world breaking around you as you run. Online co-op is nice but severally lacking in features, it's basically just you can exploit Systems together or like see where the other is. Still it feels legitimately like a step forward even if that step forward was matched by like Phantasy Star Online on the GameCube. I'll talk more about the characters soon but their cool.

The Fantastic Folks in The Freakish Land

The story of this game employees extremely common techniques to manipulate a players emotion into caring about the story. Legends focuses on sick animals and bad relationships to parents, Starfall focuses on Bullying and Found Family, Gym focuses on flattering the player making them feel like the most special person.

All these things are effective, I felt them but their also cheap. Literally get a sick dog trope, obviously I want to save the dog. Of course I like Pokémon's Goku flattering me and everyone saying I'm the most special girl. Of course I want the gang of misfits to get together. I liked the characters, laughed at a few bits, loved so many of the designs, had feelings but also like it isn't hard to make me feel those ways.

There is so little risk taken, Team Star's story leans into implying some queerness through design but never ever confirms it. There is a dead person in the game which ya know is not majorly risky given children read/watch stories where people die all the time but it's kinda new for Pokémon. There isn't a moment as emotionally striking as Lillie calling out her abusive move in Pokémon Sun And Moon.

What little politics this game engages in are always attempting to skirt a line. It gives empathy for outcast but the game rail roads you into fighting them into compliance. It degneders everything for trainers appearance but removes skirts as an option so that young kids don't really have the option to explore gender and presentation even in the limits of a school uniform. The game still uses binary genders locked to you by picking a random face when Animal Crossing removed gendering all together

While the story isn't brave isn't bold or particularly innovative I enjoyed it. Like I said it worked on me, I like the characters and would be tempted to buy a shiny full art card or roll on a gacha for several of these characters and the big end fight is probably the series best end boss fight in terms of presention even if the motive feels paper thin. If they say Professor Sada is gonna be in a DLC I'd be mega curious and wannna buy it or whatever. It's good, not great, and good being closer to ok then like above average.

Catch Um All

Terastlization adds one of the most deep and high level mechanics to competitive Pokémon, a shame the game has nothing close to high level Pokémon play inside of it. It's also a shame it's the ugliest and most boring conceptual mechanics since gen 6 started the annual gimmick.

I'd say the core roster of Pokémon this generation are some of the best in the series, really stunning designs. There is a ton of new favorites for me and tons of Pokémon that will be in my dream world of Pokémon. There is so many bangers which is why it's a shame a large chunk of the roster also sucks and is some of the series lowest points in design.

Ultimately there is very high highs and pretty low lows. Still I think in this case the high highs majorly outweigh the low lows since you can simply not use Pokémon you don't like. So ultimately this is the factor I think more than anything carries this game.

What I do find frustrating is that so many shiny Pokémon in this gen are such nothing shinnies and that is paired with the total downgrade in Shiny hunting in the game. Auto Battle shiny hunts could in theory maybe be fun but this game runs like ass, sometimes mass outbreaks straight up down spawn, sometimes they spawn in a way, sometimes they spawn but in areas you need to constantly climb up and jump down to access, it's not really fun and a huge step back from PLA.

Mechanically, this game brings a lot of good moves, neat abilities and fun type combinations to the table. There is a lot of really good stuff inside the roster even in Pokémon I don't particularly like, there is cool exclusive moves for so much of the roster and expanding on previous Pokémon's evolution line will always be welcome. While I don't play VGC I used to play high level singles and I do think there is a lot of cool stuff here even if it looks like there is several highly centralizing new Pokémon for that format.

The large roster of cut Pokémon is not something I will stan though. Would it be a lot of work to bring back every Pokémon, yes but do they use the same models and animations frequently so it shouldn't be much an issue, also yes. I wouldn't mind as much but seeing the list of transfer Pokémon it feels weird to have two games released months before this game, especially PLA be cut from the roster here. It feels cynical like a means to make sure to sub to Pokémon Home for more than one month, have to pay again when they add DLC to expand the roster.

Post Game

To Me, post game is one of my favorite parts of a Pokémon game. What I can do after I am done with the main story is normally where I'd spend most my time in a Pokémon game. The post game is your cozy home when your playing competitive you spend a lot of time breeding, EV training, farming items, shiny hunting, and generally having fun with the game.

There is side game content, versions of gym test challenges you can redo for rewards, all of those gym test challenge things are really badly done though, I didn't enjoy doing them the first time. Their all really basic and run really badly. None of these are like Pokémon contests or The pokeathlon where you had a more in depth little side game to play. It doesn't even reach the movie making side content of Black and White 2 but this kind of side game stuff has basically left the series since it's move to 3D made the idea of doing these things much harder.

The game features a little post game gym rematch story, it's fun to see the Gym leaders going all out but their going all out teams are mostly pathetic and all are under leveled compared to the last battle you did, in addition to being monotype. All of them were extremally easy click one button to win type battles with the exception of Iono who continued to have a team that actually did Monotype well. Still the little interactions were at least cute.

The proceeding Academy Ace Tournament also felt like it sat around the same level of what I had just done beating the Elite Four. Levels were slightly higher but it doesn't present a super fun replay experience. Redoing it gives some decent rewards and it is an improve to Elite Four grinding of the far past but I am not even sure it reaches Sword and Shields post game rematch grind.

The game has a big raid system much like Sword and Shield but it's not really an upgrade. It is a little bit faster but in exchange for that it's super buggy, it's a lot harder, and it pushes you to build highly competitive Pokémon, it's online stays just as bad as before but a little worse because they stopped people from RNGing shinnies. Playing this online with one of my girlfriends, I would see her enemy Pokemon's health and mine would be at different levels, we would see HP healing up, we would see Pokémon one shotted and then moving back up to half HP with a shield, Pokémon at 0 HP still sticking around, it's super buggy. Then sometimes when you lose a raid, you get greeted with a long white screen that lasts minutes to get out of. Going online with randos is still a frustrating afar of not getting into rooms, not finding raids you want to do, etc. It's maybe slightly more fun then Sword and Shields raids but it's still so far from where it should be.

The game lacks even the battle tower so the competitive Pokémon you might build for raids really only have use in two modes, online competitive battling and the raids themself. Everything else having the strong EV trained, max IV, great move set Pokémon just make everything else in the game more mindless and not in a fun way. I love a warriors game where I just mash buttons and see things get knocked out but there just isn't that satisfaction in a strategy battle when you know you could also win like 40 levels lower just clicking one button. The lack of The Battle Frontier has been felt in the series since X and Y and now there isn't even a Battle Tower so there just isn't a real solo way to play that doesn't require you to build stronger Pokémon. You can technically solo raids but that's it, you also miss out on raid events if you don't have online.

The post game feels like it's on par with base Sword and Shield just because of mass outbreaks and the higher narrative polish but my breath isn't taken away either. It does not reach the series high peaks of BW2 or HGSS or Platinum nor does it hit exciting loop of self direction of like PLA. If your into VGC you'll likely have a blast with the post game content but I personally don't see myself playing this game much anymore now that I have the shiny charm and beat all the things once.

Money, Money Money

I saved this for last but it is by no means the least important thing. This game is a peak of the pillar that shows the absolute greed of the Pokémon company. People often call Pokémon fans entitled but why shouldn't they be when the company makes over a billion dollars a year, that's all on offical merch, when you add the the tons and tons of money from fan merch, commissions, etc people spend sooo much on Pokémon a year it's ridiculous. The Pokémon Video games would be profitable if they were totally free to play with 0 DLC and Microtransactions. The games add new characters to their world and add new Pokémon to sell merch of, it gives them attention, will let them sell ads for the anime, sell cards, the core games are simply fuel to the fire that keeps this money train running.

The production model of this game series with TWO games released by Gamefreak this year is ridiculous and likely the reason this game is a big unfinished mess. Instead of doubling down on Hasui they basically decided it should be a minor footnote with like one set in the TCG and a special episode of the anime. While we don't know how it was for the workers it is likely made by crunch but then again Game Freak has a lot of support making these games and they now have a 4 day work week so we would need a testimony to say. What we can say is it seems like the games are coming out unfinished with cut content to sell back to people.

That is just one terrible thing they do for money. The two version model is unethical and increasingly I see people buying both versions. With nostalgic attachment and the long tail of the secondary market having shown how expensive it is to get a Pokémon game after they go out of print being driving factors. Even more sinister though is it is the only means for people with no internet to get everything and it this model prays on people who feel the need to complete things. Owning only one version of a game knowing their set is incomplete is torture for a lot of Neurodiverse people.

Yet, that is not everything attached to just this game. This game has of course, Pokémon Home attached to it, except it doesn't yet. Pokémon Home is not here during release. It won't be around for months, meaning there is months between then and now that people will have to pay to keep their Pokémon stored in the monthly service that may be able to be transferred to Scarlet and Violet but not any other game currently on switch. Also we all know a big draw for companies for monthly services are just using bad memory to make passive money with people who forget to unsub.

All of this is just talking about the stuff relevant to this game, I could go on about Masters EX, Pokémon Unite and and the trading card game all of which will use these characters and things in order to sell the bounds and attachments to these creatures and characters to sell gambling and other shady business' practice's to people and even children. This is all to say that Gamefreak is in fact, not our friend and there is no reason to stand, you a little piggy brank and they'll pull money out of you even if they gotta smash you.

Conclusion

Pokémon Scarlet and Violet are a failure in nearly every sense. While it does in fact manage to create some good Pokémon they kinda have to make good Pokémon and compelling character designs, that is where the money is. for mech and gachas. Everything else in the game is just batting below average. It's the minimum acceptable game. Everything seems just okay enough to have you not complain too much but baked in with the most buggy game I have ever played. I've played other open world games but I've never had so many crashed, I've never played another open world game with no voice acting, I've never played another open world game that gave me so many glitches. Like this is bad by the terrible standards of Open World games is what I am saying.

The game doesn't really match it's peers either without the weird but interesting new features of the recent Dragon Quest Monsters, the engaging more mature story of Digimon Cyber Sluthe nor the exciting spectacle of Monster Hunter Stories 2.

This game will likely improve with DLC and patches but frankly it shouldn't be legal for a game that is this much of a mess to sell additional content to us. I feel like we're all owed collectively the patches and DLC as free upgrades for the terrible experince of this game.

I think the question that a lot of people will have is, did you have fun? Ya, I did, sometimes but I think if I wasn't playing with my girlfriend I likely would have quit the game around the 5th hard crash. I'd have blazed through the game, thought, that was ok, and never played it again if somehow It didn't crash on me as much. It's tragic this game sold as much copies as it did because the highest hights are kinda mid.

4/10

This game is a below average experience, a bad one, this is a kind score for the game that runs so badly. It doesn't mean there isn't fun to be had, there is 4 points of fun out of 10 to be had. It's a midly game with an okay cast failing to hit the average of a series that is not at it's best reached some of the heights of other monster tamer games. I might play it some more, for like building a competitive set and going online but for me, that is something I could also do on Pokémon showdown with similar satisfaction. It's honestly, a tragic affair. This honestly feels like a kind score given the business model.

I probably won't write other reviews here, I have long ago left writing reviews in the past but I had such strong feelings about this game I had to exercise the demons. If I feel compelled to write another review I hope it's a positive one. I hope I love Fire Emblem Engage or Super Lesbian Animal RPG or something so much that I need to let people know about it and write all about but we'll see.

If you enjoyed this review you can follow me here and see my TTRPG chat and my work when it goes up. I also have a patreon https://www.patreon.com/AlexisSara where you could give me money and demand I review games more or like post videos of me dancing in little skirts or whatever you want, I just want money, please.

[itsthemysterykids]

Bruh I'm so invested in the mystery kids fairytales .

So King Henry and his ex wifes ?

Dipper: Alright, onto our next story- ‘King Henry’s Ex-Wives.’

Lili: That’s not a fairytale!

Mabel: Well I still wanna hear it.

Dipper: Once upon a time…

Royal Announcer: Her Majesty, Lili of Aragon!

*The trumpets go off as Lili of Aragon, a paragon of royalty whose loyalty is to the Vatican enters the throne room*

Raz: And just what are you doing out of bed? You should be praying that you bore a son! *To the readers* By the way, we're in like our early forties in this, just letting you know.

Lili: Your Majesty, I know you want a son. But must we discuss my womb in front of the entire court? *She gestures to the King's court, all laugh at her embarrassment*

Dib: As the royal physician, it is my learned opinion that her womb is filled with sea serpents. *Shows an old medieval diagram*

Lili: Well, we can't be sure. I mean, what if it's a girl?

Raz: Then you will bring about shame to this Kingdom! I can see it now. Fire everywhere, Protestants burning, she'll be bathing in their blood. *Shudders*

Lili: *Sighs* I could've married the King of France. He wasn't so preoccupied with procreation. But no, 'Raz the VIII is a good man, an honest to God man.' Thanks a lot, father.

*As Lili storms out of the throne room, Mabel Boleyn approaches*

Mabel: Oh, Sire, I apologize for your wife. Seems twenty-four years of so-called wedded bliss is one year too many.

Raz: Who would dare to flatter a King?

Mabel: *She curtsies* Mabel Boleyn, loyal subject, big fan. Modern Wench magazine dubbed me "Mabel of the Lovely Green Sleeves." *She flaunts the green sleeves of her dress*

Raz: Yes. Green sleeves indeed. I could make my songstress write hundreds of-

Lili: Enough! *She grabs Raz VIII's arm and drags him out of the throne room*

Raz: Hey, I thought you left! Where are you taking me?

Lili: Marriage counseling! *Raz screams*

Lili: We came here to talk about our problems... *Noticing Raz VIII is reading instead of paying attention, she punches his arm*

Raz: Fine! I want to marry Mabel Boleyn. But I can't chop my wife's head off because her father is the King of Spain!

Stan: Your Majesty, your feelings are valid, but I'm afraid marriage takes a lot of hard work. *Raz snaps his fingers and two knights hold their swords up to his neck* A-and who needs that? I say trade in that lemon and get busy!

Dipper: So they go to the Pastor of the Catholic Church.

Ford: Divorce?! Sire, there's no such thing in the Catholic Church. But it's the only church we've got, so what are you gonna do?

Raz: Then I'll start my own church.

Ford/Lili: What?!

Raz: Yes, my own church. Where divorce will be so easy, more than half of marriages will end in it.

Ford: Your Majesty, I work for the Pope, and I think a celibate Italian weirdo knows a lot more about marriage than you.

Raz: Mmm, I understand. And because you stuck to your principles, I'm going to canonize you... With an actual canon. *Ford gulps*

*Back in the throne room, Lili talks to her daughter, Winnie the 1st about the divorce between her and Raz*

Lili: Sweetie, sometimes a daddy and a mommy decide to live apart. It's not your fault... It's just that you came out as the wrong sex and ruined everything.

Raz: So, become a boy or get lost.

Winnie: But I can't. *Raz waves her off* But, why can't your heir be female? Or why can't we elect our leaders?

Raz: I wonder if I could canonize a child?

Winnie: Okay! Leaving! But just know, I'm going to resent you and your new wife for the rest of my life and commit some horrible deeds in the name of mother! *She leaves*

Lili: ... She'll be fine.

*Some time after King Raz's and Queen Lili's divorce, the King soon married Mabel Boleyn and he couldn't be happier... Until they had a daughter*

Mabel: Well how could I predict our heir would be a girl? Hell, why must it be a son? Why I bet she's going to grow up and become the Queen one day.

Raz: HER! Well, you might as well make Winnie the Queen!... Speaking of, take two steps to the right.

*Mabel Boleyn does so, and right before a flaming arrow could pierce through her*

Raz: No fire in the castle, sweetie!

Winnie: SHUT UP, YOU HEATHEN!

Raz: Oh, this day couldn't get worse.

*Suddenly, the royal messenger arrives*

Royal Messenger: A message for the Queen. 'Dearest Mabel Boleyn, I so enjoyed our date last weekend, and the jokes you told of the King were hysterical.'

Mabel: *Laughs nervously* I have no idea what he's talking about.

Royal Messenger: 'Inform me of when the King is being a complete arse again, and I shall comfort you, my love.'

Mabel: *Punches the messenger, knocking him out* Ha! Don't you just hate when these guys get mixed up, honey?

*Some time later*

Mabel: *With her head laid on a block* Well can you blame me? You're hardly ever around anymore!

Raz: *Rolls his eyes* If it makes you feel any better, I'll dip your head in gold and mount it on a pike in the castle. Do your thing, executioner.

*The executioner steps up to the Queen with an ax before bringing it down to her neck*

Dipper: Months Later, the King has found himself a new bride, Jane Seymour. Hopefully, she would be the one to produce a male heir.

*King Raz paces outside Coraline Seymour's room as she screams dozens of profanities every second*

Raz: *Crossing his fingers* Come on! Son! Son! Son! *Soon, the screams cease* ... Uh... Honey? You okay?... Is it a boy?... *He takes a peek inside before quickly shutting the door* ... Oh dear.

Dipper: Sad thing is he actually had some feelings for her. Then came his next bride, Anne of Cleves. Of course, though, he only fell for her after seeing her portrait. But then...

Royal Announcer: Presenting her Majesty, Queen Wyla of Cleves! *To the readers* Man, are we out of female characters already?

Raz: Alright, let's see what we're working with! *Checks out Wyla's portrait one last time* God, she is smoking!

*Wyla of Cleves enters the throne room, and immediately, Raz VIII screams at the sight of her*

Raz: OH, HOLY MARY! WHO LET A HORSE IN HERE?!

Wybie: What?!

Royal Announcer: Sire, that's Wyla of Cleves.

Raz: Wh... What the... WHAT?! Okay, either you got run over on your way here, or your painter is blind because the lady in this portrait looks nothing like you!

Royal Announcer: *Looks at the portrait then at Wyla of Cleves* Looks the same to me.

Raz: Look around the eyes! And the face shape! It is almost as if you have... Fish... Cat me. Yes! You are a fishcatter!

Wybie: *Scoffs* I'll have you know that in this century, I am considered to be quite attractive.

Raz: Not in England, buddy! Look, if I give you a few palaces will you get out of my sight?

Wybie: ... Fine! But I'm telling everyone how short you really are! And you have the gall to say my portrait is a lie! Auf Wiedersehen!

*Wyla of Cleves storms out of the throne room in a huff*

Dipper: After another divorce costing him three castles and tons of money, King Henry remarried again to a fine lady named Katherine Howard... Only to discover she had some... Uh... Other unsavory gents in the past.

*Norma Howard's head is placed on the same block where Mabel Boleyn was beheaded*

Norman: Would it have killed you to clean this thing? I swear you must have beheaded at least five people on this thing.

Raz: 70,000, but who's counting? Now, do you confess your sins or not?

Norman: Will that save me from getting beheaded?

Raz: Not on your life, sweetie. Get it over with!

*The executioner brings down his ax on Norma Howard's neck*

Dipper: Then finally, King Henry married his final wife. Catherine Parr, the one who saw him to the end of his life.

*King Raz laid weak and nearly lifeless in his bed with Delphinus Parr at his side*

Raz: Why on earth did I marry you again?

Dipper: My track record! I've had ten sons! I can't believe this, I leave a good man for a withered husk of a King?

Raz: *Sighs* My whole life, I was looking for that one woman whose execution could bring me happiness. Now I realize I was just beheading myself for divorcing the one woman who truly mattered.

Dipper: Didn't you force her into a nunnery?

Raz: ... Oh yeah. Delphinus, will you stay with an old head-chopping fool until his final breath?

Dipper: Oh, of course, Your Majesty. Let me just fluff your pillow for you, and- NOW!

*Wyla of Cleves comes out of nowhere with a pillow and shoves it over the King's face, smothering him until he stops kicking*

Dipper: See ya in hell, bastard!

Dipper: The end. Any other requests?

Neil: Oh! The Wizard of Oz!

Norman: Addams Family?

Lili: That's not a fairytale!... But I do like those movies.

Dipper: Well, I doubt it's even in- Oh, I stand corrected. Alright, which one?

[warsinmyhead]

omg - minho

x | meme status: accepting!

It's been a hell of a week with this one mission he was assigned to. Fury tasked him with tracking a high roller who possibly had technology from early S.H.I.E.L.D. days and it required him to use his old seduction techniques from his KGB days, mixed in with some modern adjustments to account for the target's taste. It was just him – no back-up or partner on this one. Felix had been sullen when he heard this and even tried to suggest to Fury that maybe it was better that two try their luck with the target, but the director quickly shut that down and placed Felix on a smaller mission in Spain.

Minho sent over the information he acquired to Fury and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes when he saw Redwing was sent over to retrieve any physical evidence for the mission.

"Sam, I'm not thanking your robot bird," Minho stated for what seemed like the 10th time. "Just make sure it gets back to HQ in one piece."

"Copy," Sam responded, deciding to give up on pushing the spy for a thank you. "Have a good one Min – take it easy."

********

"You know normal people just call or text the person they're trying to reach," Rick grumbled as he shot Felix a side eye as he turned the wheel of the vehicle sharply.

Felix returned the side eye and flatly responded that he had tried to reach Minho, but received no response. It's not like he didn't trust the spy to finish the mission and come back in one piece, but the hunter missed Minho and wished he could have bantered with his partner on his mission in Spain. He's sure that Minho would have snickered at some of the cliches Felix engaged during his time in city, but instead, he was paired with Elena who had a dry sense of humor.

Rick slowed as he neared the safe house that Fury had shared the address for and he put the vehicle in park. He turned to look at Felix and nodded at the building.

"Fury said Minho's on the 8th floor, 5th door on the left," Rick recalled. "We don't own the whole building – just a few floors. Next time, I suggest just calling, leaving a message, and Min will probably get back to you."

The hunter nodded and slung his bag over his shoulder as he stepped out of the vehicle, the door slamming shut a bit too forcefully. Minho was right about Rick – while the guy was good at procuring things you needed, he was a bit fussy if you gave him a short deadline or tight turnaround to get whatever it was you needed.

********

The target Minho had dealt with had a thing for listening to sounds of people having sex or experiencing orgasms through headphones or earbuds, all with a blindfold or eye mask covering her eyes. The idea was a little odd for him, but he was a bit curious to see if the trick actually could work. It's been a long time since he's even touched himself sexually, but the spy thought since he was alone, he could humor the idea and see if it was any good or not.

He tugged the eye mask he got from the flight attendant (for sleeping) over his eyes and slipped on his noise-canceling headphones, which were playing a playlist of sexual moans, gasps, and orgasms he stumbled across. He lay flat on his bed and let his head rest on the pillows as he slid a hand into his joggers and began stroking himself.

********

"Mmmmmph ohhh God therreeee!" a female voice choked out, followed by the heavy breathing and thrusting sounds of her male partner.

The spy was so caught up in focusing on the audio and letting his hand stroke his dick in sync with the sounds that he didn't hear the front door to the safe house being opened by Felix. The latter called out to him as he toed his boots off at the door per habit, and he wandered into the safehouse when the spy didn't answer him back.

Felix checked the living room and kitchen, then the bathroom for the spy, then he paused at the bedroom. He gingerly pushed it open and almost slammed the door shut in shock when he saw Minho lying on the bed, blindfolded, headphones on, and a hand in his joggers.

The hunter blinked and shook his head, before sticking his head in to see if his eyes were playing tricks on him. No, it was real.

Minho's breathing became heavier and labored as the audio began to build toward the couple reaching their orgasms. His dick had gotten hard from the stroking and the audio stimulation and he had a feeling he was getting close too. As the female voice shrieked as she reached her high, the spy felt a pair of lips pressing against his, accompanied by a gloved hand stroking his dick. Wait, he wasn't alone anymore!

The spy yanked the blindfold off his eyes with his free hand and he blinked, eyes adjusting to the lights again. Leaning over him with his face a few inches from his was none other than Felix.

"Hey Partner," Felix replied with a fake innocent smile. His gloved hand was still in Minho's joggers and the other removed the headphones from Minho's head. He lifted the headphones to his left ear and listened for a few seconds. "Wow, so this is your secret kink – listening to dirty sex sounds while blindfolded and jerking off?"

"What are you doing here?" Minho asked staring in disbelief.

"Why didn't you answer my phone call or texts?" Felix shot back. "Having fun without me? How could you forget about the paperwork?"

"It's not my kink – the lady I had to get information from was into this!" Minho protested. "She talked way too much about it and I was curious to know if it worked at all."

Felix put the headphones down on the nightstand and allowed his eyes to travel lower to Minho's joggers where his hand was. He chuckled lightly and wrapped his fingers around Minho's dick, giving it a quick tug. "Guess it was working, but I thought you enjoyed yourself with me."

"I'm not psychic Felix," Minho managed to get out as he tried to ignore the other's hand stroking him. "I was testing this out and thought it was a joke at first. I thought I was alone, but obviously Hill or Rick told you where I was staying."

Felix bit back a smirk as he tugged the eye mask down with his free hand and he settled next to Minho on the bed. "New experiment," he said in the spy's ear. "Let's see if my voice can make you cum, instead of a recording."

[jiejie-eonni-onee-sama]

Give us a chance

For the sweet @marilynmonroefanfics​ 🌷💖

Hope you’ll enjoy the story!

N.B: This story takes place in a modern universe, where the timeline is closer to our days.

"Listen, Charles: it can't go on like this! You have to get married," Queen Elizabeth said calmly.

The Prince of Wales sighed with annoyance: he was tired of hearing his parents forcing him to marry as soon as possible.

"Your mother is right, Charles: your bachelorhood cannot last forever! You'd think people are wondering why the heir to the throne is still not engaged," Philip grumbled.

Charles rolled his eyes: since he was twenty, his parents had been pressuring him to find a spouse worthy of his rank and the Crown of England. 

The problem was that he already had someone in his sights.

"Father, Mother, you know very well that I already have someone in my life!"

"AH, NO! NOT HER!" exclaimed the royal couple.

"There is no way you are marrying that unwelcomed Shand! Or should I say Parker-Bowles, since she is married!" fumed Philip.

"Your father is right, Charles: she is not suitable for you, and your romance has not gone down well with the public!" added Elizabeth.

Annoyed, the Crown Prince let out a long sigh before letting go:

"Can I go now?"

"You may go. But keep this conversation in mind!" said the Queen.

Without waiting, Charles turned and left the room, slamming the door behind him.

"What the hell is going through that kid's head? None of his siblings behaved like that!"

"Don't be too hard on him, Philip. I admit that finding the right spouse is quite complicated."

"For me, it's simple: anyone but Camilla Parker-Bowles!"

The Queen was silent for a long moment. Indeed, she was reluctant to find the right person for Charles herself. She had been discouraged from using the old methods, but now she felt she had little choice.

Suddenly, an idea came to her mind:

"Philip?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Can you give me a list of the various European monarchies or noble families who have children of marriageable age?"

"Let's see... Belgium?"

"Mmmh, I don't know: we already have several blood relations with them. We shouldn't fall into inbreeding!"

"You're right. In that case, let's drop Greece and Denmark!"

The Duke of Edinburgh remained silent for a few minutes before offering:

"Would the remaining Romanovs do?"

"Oh, I don't think so: we'd be in trouble with Russia!"

"Romania?" suggested Philip mischievously.

"Oh, certainly not! Michael Ist is an obnoxious character!"

"I was only joking, my Lilibeth."

Elizabeth laughed: her husband always had a way of making her feel better.

Then Philip remembered:

"Wait a minute, what if we were to look at the French side?"

"Why not? As long as you're not planning to marry our son to a Bonaparte offspring!"

"I don't intend to! Wait a minute: I have an idea!"

"What is it?"

"We could look at the Iberian Peninsula. We can choose between Spain and Portugal. Besides, Portugal restored the monarchy five years ago!"

"But that's true! I almost forgot about them! It's the House of Braganza Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, right?"

"Exactly! Remember: we received King Pedro VI and his wife, Queen Charlotte, last year!"

"But of course! Ah, how charming they were! I loved meeting them! They have children, right?"

"Exactly, they have three: Joao, the heir to the throne, Catarina, and Rafael!"

This news delighted Elizabeth II: it seemed that the solution lays in Lisbon.

"Well, at least we're making progress! But let's look at the details: we can't marry Joao and Charles. That would make things too complicated!"

"And forget Catarina: she is a beautiful girl with a lot of spirit and elegance, but she has a fiery temper! I'm not sure that's compatible with Charles' character!"

"So that leaves Rafael!"

"What do we know about him?"

"Well, according to the press, he's a rather handsome, charming, media-savvy, cultured, multilingual, polite, and very popular boy in Portugal!"

Elizabeth nodded.

"But, isn't it going to be a problem that he's a boy?"

"What do you want me to say? It's an emergency!"

"If you say so... And then, after all, there is still an alliance between our country and Portugal!"

"That's right! And I almost forgot to tell you that, if on his father's side, he has a good ancestry, he is also a descendant from a prestigious lineage on his mother's side!"

"Really?"

"Yes: she is a daughter of the House of Orleans!"

"Ah, that's interesting!"

"Well, shall we try with Rafael?"

"We can always try it. I hope it will put an end to our son's Don Giovanni habits!"

A few days later, in Portugal.

In Portugal, in the royal palace of Queluz, King Pedro VI and his wife, Charlotte of Orleans, discussed in their living room the conversation they had had with the Queen of England.

"I don't know what to think of this proposal: it is certainly an opportunity to renew our relationship with one of our oldest allies. But at what price!" muttered Charlotte.

"I understand your concern: it would be best to talk to Rafael when he arrives! After all, he's the one most concerned by this situation!" replied Pedro. 

At the same time, a butler arrived in the room and announced:

"Your Majesties, I wanted to warn you that Their Royal Highnesses Joao, Royal Prince of Portugal, Catarina, Duchess of Beja, and Rafael, Duke of Porto, have just arrived!"

"Perfect! Thank you, Alfonso! Bring them here, please!" ordered the king.

A few seconds later, the three royal children arrived in the living room.

"You asked to see us, why?" asked Joao.

"One thing at a time, my son. Sit down, please!"

Once their three children were seated, Charlotte began to explain:

"Two days ago, while you were on an official visit to Spain, your father and I received a call from Buckingham Palace."

"Did you? The Queen of England called you? And why?" asked Catarina, intrigued.

"I'm coming to that, sweetie. She phoned us about her plans to marry her eldest son, Charles."

"What about it? What does that have to do with us?" asked Joao suspiciously.

The royal couple of Portugal looked at each other before Pedro explained:

"Well, it turns out that the Queen and her husband felt that Rafael would be an ideal candidate as Prince Consort!"

At these words, Joao, Catarina, and Rafael cried out:

"WHAT? IS THIS A JOKE?"

"It's deadly serious: Queen Elizabeth II and Prince Philip are more than confident in their choices!"

Rafael thought he had received a hit on the head: he would become Prince Consort of Wales overnight!

But his siblings would not hear of it:

"Don't tell me you've accepted!" cried Joao.

"Well, I did. But of course, nothing is set in stone yet!" said Charlotte.

"How can you betroth our little brother to that pretentious womanizer?" offended Catarina.

"I agree with Catarina: my brother can marry whoever he wants, but not that jerk!"

Pedro calmed his two children before continuing:

"I hadn't finished explaining the situation! Before you prepare the potential assassination of Charles Windsor, let us explain: in our meeting with the Queen, we agreed on a two-year trial period!"

"THAT IS?" asked the three young people.

"That is to say your brother will spend two years within the English royal family to get better acquainted with Charles and to get used to the protocol of Buckingham Palace. The Queen has promised that if Rafael and Charles don't get along or your brother doesn't feel comfortable in England, he can always cancel the engagement and go home!" explained Charlotte.

She turned to Rafael and asked fondly:

"Is that all right with you, my darling?"

The young man shrugged his shoulders:

"I admit that this story is quite disturbing, but... I'm willing to give it a chance!"

"No, Rafa! Don't do it: that creep will break your heart!" his sister begged him.

"But Caty, if this turns out to be true, it will be fine. And like Mum said, I can always leave if I get fed up!"

"It's not that I doubt your talents, Rafa, but that Charles is an unbearably pretentious, self-righteous, brittle man! He'll despise you!"

Rafael nodded and replied:

"I understand that you are worried, and I know that I could always count on you. But if it will help Mum and Dad to maintain links between the UK and Portugal, then I accept!"

Joao and Catarina understood that there was no need to insist: their little brother was the one who could sacrifice his desires for the interest of the Portuguese Crown without flinching.

As for Pedro and Charlotte, the idea of betrothing their youngest son to Charles did not reassure them. But Elizabeth II had promised them that Rafael would be treated well during his stay in Britain.

In any case, if Rafael agreed to take part in this matrimonial project, there was nothing to do but wait for the result.

Two weeks later, at Buckingham Palace.

"Can anyone tell me where Charles is?" the Queen said impatiently.

"I telephoned him, Your Majesty: he said he'd be here in an hour!" replied a servant.

"I'm willing to bet he's gone to see his bitch!" quipped Andrew.

"Andrew, watch your language!" lectured his grandmother, the Queen Mum.

"I wonder what he sees in that woman," sighed Anne as she adjusted her necklace.

"I don't like Camilla Parker-Bowles: she's a bad influence on Charles! And she acts like she's part of the family!" sighed Edward.

"That little bitch had better remember her place in our society, or I'll be happy to remind her!" declared Margaret with disdain.

"Anyway, Charles had better be on time to receive our guest. He's a royal prince after all!" snapped Philip.

As the entire royal family prepared to receive Rafael of Portugal, Howard, Margaret's butler, oversaw the final preparations.

Suddenly, the sound of a car in the courtyard caught his attention. Walking outside, he saw Prince Charles getting out of his car and heading towards the entrance.

The butler, loyal to his duty, went to meet him and greeted him:

"Good morning, Your Highness."

"Good morning, Howard. Am I late?"

"No, sir. That being the case, your family has been wondering where you've been?"

The Crown Prince smiled.

"Let's just say I was visiting a very dear friend."

"I see. Follow me, please!"

The two men walked through the corridors of the royal palace. At one point, Howard asked:

"Your Highness, may I ask you a question?"

"Of course, what is it?"

"Is this dear friend you visited named Camilla Parker-Bowles, by any chance?"

This question surprised the Prince of Wales, who turned to the servant:

"Yes, so what?"

"With respect, sir, it is somewhat impolite to visit your mistress when you are entertaining your fiancé on the same day!"

"Howard, I like you very much, and I know you are an excellent butler. But that doesn't put you above others, and what concerns my private life is none of your business!"

As Howard was about to reply, Margaret opened the door and exclaimed:

"At last, here you are! Do you know that your fiancé will be here in half an hour?"

"Sorry for the wait, Aunt Margaret. The traffic in London is heavy!"

"I suppose so. Come in and get ready!"

As Charles joined the rest of the family, Margaret turned to Howard and asked:

"I suppose he was at that Parker-Bowles' house!"

"It's quite likely, ma'am. And he didn't like me pointing it out to him!"

"Don't worry about him: I will take care of it!"

She smiled at him.

"Don't worry, dear Howard. I could never replace the best butler in Britain!"

"Your confidence honours me, Madam!" the servant replied politely.

Meanwhile, Elizabeth gave her son some advice:

"Try to be kind to him. And be polite: he is a prince, just like you!"

"I know, Mum!" sighed Charles.

A few minutes later, Howard came down the steps of the palace to greet young Rafael.

"Welcome to Buckingham Palace, Your Highness!"

"Thank you, sir..."

"You may call me Howard, and I shall be at your service during your stay. If you follow me, I will take you to the Queen!"

Rafael followed the butler along the large corridors of the palace. Around him, the young prince contemplated the splendour of the British monarchy.

After a few minutes of walking, they arrived at the door of the living room.

"I will announce you to Her Majesty."

Howard knocked on the door, then opened it with an announcement:

"His Royal Highness Infante Rafael of Portugal, Duke of Porto!"

The servant moved aside, allowing Rafael to enter, and he walked towards the Queen before curtseying to her.

"Welcome to the United Kingdom, dear Rafael!" the Queen said to him with profound kindness.

"Your Majesty, I am honoured to meet you again!"

"It is we who are delighted by your presence, Sire Rafael!" declared the Queen Mum.

The young man greeted the other members of the royal family before finding himself facing Charles.

The latter, who was in a sour mood at the thought of being presented with a potential fiancé, was nevertheless struck by the young Portuguese prince's sunny beauty. There was something benevolent and sincere in Rafael's attitude that did not leave him indifferent.

As for Rafael, he was not disappointed: indeed, the young Portuguese prince had always found Charles quite pleasant and rather elegant. Let's hope he's not as awful as Joao and Catarina had told him!

Giving him his best smile, the young man said:

"I am glad to meet you, Charles. I hope we'll get on well together!"

Trying not to show his confusion, the Prince of Wales replied:

"I'm sure we'll get to know each other very well!"

"We all hope so!" giggled Margaret as she sipped her glass of champagne.

Everyone sat down to tea. While the servants served the various drinks and pastries, Anne asked Rafael:

"So, dear Rafael, how was your journey to London?"

"It went well: I didn't even notice the three hours of flight!"

"I'm glad to hear that!" politely smiled Elizabeth.

"Not too disappointed? Surely London is less sunny than Lisbon!" sneered Philip.

This remark earned him a disapproving look from the queen mother.

"I'll adjust. After all, one of my ancestors did become Queen of England."

"That's true. It seems to me that it was Catherine of Braganza when she married Charles II in 1661," remarked Charles.

"I see you've learned your history lessons well, big brother!" joked Edward.

"Come on, Edward, don't be such a tease!" his grandmother gently lectured him.

Rafael turned to Charles and said:

"I'm glad to meet another history enthusiast. My dad keeps telling me I'm a real chatterbox when it comes to talking about history!"

At these words, Charles felt almost embarrassed: in addition to being attractive, this imposed fiancé seemed to have some things in common with him. It's going to be hard to dislike him.

"Well, if you like, after tea, we could take a tour of the palace library. I'm sure you'll find some fascinating books." the Prince of Wales offered.

His sister began to smile.

"It's quite an original place for a first tête-à-tête."

"Anne..." sighed Charles, annoyed.

"What? Did I say something wrong?" she asked in a falsely innocent tone.

Her two little brothers laughed in turn.

"This, my dear Rafael, is a glimpse into our daily family life. Do you think you can survive all this?" asked Margaret mischievously.

The young Portuguese prince shrugged.

"I think we should be fine. A prince of the house of Braganza and Orleans has never given up, and I would respect the tradition!" 

"Now that's a spirit I like very much!" declared Philip.

An hour later, the Queen met the Prime Minister while the rest of the royal family went about their business. As agreed, Charles took Rafael to the Royal Library, where they read some books and talked about different topics. 

The conversation showed the young man's immense general knowledge, which impressed the heir to the throne. Let’s see what would happen during those two years...

A week later, at the Parker-Bowles house.

Sitting on the sofa, Charles and Camilla were in each other's arms, enjoying the quiet surrounding.

"You know I was going to start worrying?" the woman smiled.

"Did you? And why?" her lover asked.

She looked up at him and said:

"I didn't hear from you for two days. I thought that Portuguese guy had kidnapped you!"

"This Portuguese, as you say, is a prince. Even if I would not like to marry him, you have to show some respect!"

"If you say so..."

They remained silent for a few moments before Charles added:

"Even though I have sympathy for Rafael, he can never replace you, my love!"

"I know, I know. But your family will never want us to stay together!"

His lover ran a reassuring hand through his hair:

"Don't worry about them: they will eventually accept our story, even if they don't like it!"

"I can't wait to see the look on your aunt's face when I can walk around England on your arm!"

"It will be a huge triumph!"

But as Camilla snuggled up to him, Charles couldn't help but feel a little guilty: he felt like he was betraying his betrothed. Still, Rafael had to know about Camilla.

Meanwhile, near Windsor Castle.

This beautiful day was ideal for a horseback ride. It was at least what Elizabeth, Anne, and Rafael thought as they walked along the paths decorated with flowering trees.

The Queen complimented Rafael on his first official outing with the royal family during a visit to an engineering school in London, where the young Portuguese prince had quickly won the audience's hearts.

"For a first official outing, you did very well, my dear!" 

"Thank you very much, Your Majesty. Yet, I felt like I was stilted!"

"Not at all, you were very well!" reassured Anne.

The young man blushed shyly at these compliments. After all, he wanted to make a good impression on his future people if he married Charles.

Speaking of his potential husband, Rafael had a melancholy thought. Honestly, he didn't know how to handle the situation. Just about every night, Charles slipped out of his residence at Clarence House and didn't return until early morning. He would ask the servants where Charles was going, but they would say they didn't know.

Nevertheless, their shifty looks and hesitant voices said otherwise, and the young Portuguese was frustrated at not knowing what the English prince might do with his evenings.

"Is everything all right, Rafael? You seem troubled to me..." asked Elizabeth.

Rafael gasped, snapped out of his thoughts before turning to Elizabeth and Anne, who was looking at him with concern.

"Oh, it's nothing. I get lost in thought."

His future sister-in-law shook her head:

"Dear Rafael, please know that I know a lie when I see one. So, say what's on your mind."

The young Duke of Porto sighed and confessed:

"To tell you the truth, I have trouble with Charles..."

The two women looked at each other, horrified.

"Has my son been rude to you?"

"No, not at all. Charles is always polite and respectful to me. It's just that I feel like he's hiding something from me. And the servants seem to know his secrets."

"Have you tried to talk to him about it?" asked Anne.

"Yes, but I soon realized that it annoyed him, so I stopped. But I'd like to know what he does every night!"

Anne and Elizabeth exchanged a worried look. They knew where their brother and son was regularly going. If he continued like this, Rafael would discover the truth, and the consequences would be disastrous for the image of the British Crown.

The English princess tried to be reassuring:

"Don't worry, Rafael. It's just that Charles is a bit confused: after all, you're just getting to know each other. I'm sure things will work out in the end!"

Rafael nodded, a little convinced:

"That's probably it. It's just time to get to know each other better!"

Even though she was wearing her charming smile, Anne was ranting inside: her big brother acted like a real jerk, and she was going to make him regret it!

As for Elizabeth, she prayed inwardly that her son would miraculously stop going to his mistress. The future of the Windsor family depended on it.

A few hours later, at Clarence House.

When Charles arrived at his residence, he was surprised to see that the table was ready for dinner.

At the moment, Rafael arrived in the room, elegantly dressed:

"Good evening, Charles. Did you have a good day?"

"Good evening, Rafael. Yes, I had a pleasant day."

"I'm glad."

They sat down at the table, and the servants brought the dishes to the table. The Prince of Wales was surprised to see that the staff prepared his favourite meals.

He asked:

"Was this your idea?"

The Duke of Porto nodded with a slight smile on his face:

"I took the liberty of asking your grandmother what you like to eat, which helped me a great deal in developing the menu. That way, I figured it would be a nice way to end a good day or to cheer you up on a bad day."

"I must admit that it is a very delicate attention, and I thank you for it, Rafael."

They began their meal in a soothing silence, enjoying the delicious food concocted by the kitchen staff.

Then, the Portuguese prince asked:

"Are you going out tonight?"

This question surprised Charles, who put down his fork and replied:

"No, why do you ask?"

"No reason. It was just to see if we could spend the evening together."

"To tell you the truth, I'm a little tired, and I was planning to sleep early tonight. But I appreciate the gesture!"

When he saw the disappointment in his potential husband's eyes, the English prince felt sad. 

Even when the latter pretended to understand his decision and smiled at him anyway, the Prince of Wales couldn't help but mentally slap himself for being vile to the Duke of Porto.

His sister was right: he was the king of idiots, and he was proving it!

Charles hoped he would be able to make amends with Rafael before it would be too late.

A month later, in Scotland.

By decision of the Queen, Charles and Rafael travelled to Glasgow, Scotland, for an official visit. This visit would be a way to make the relationship between the Prince of Wales and the Duke of Porto official.

In the car, Charles asked his potential fiancé:

"Ready?"

"Yes, I think I'll be fine!"

"In that case, let's go!"

As the couple stepped out of the car, a cheering crowd greeted them with joy.

The two princes shook many hands and answered a few questions. Out of the corner of his eye, Charles noticed that Rafael was comfortable with this exercise. It seems that the people of Britain have accepted the young Portuguese prince. Within a month, Rafael had become the darling of the British press, who had dubbed him "The Sun Prince."

According to Andrew, who read newspapers extensively and watched television regularly, there were high hopes that Rafael would become the new member of the royal family. The people wanted to believe in this potential modern-day fairy tale that they observed every appearance of Charles and Rafael together.

In the meantime, the English prince tried to make more efforts towards the young Portuguese to prove that he was not a cad. The proof was that he spaced out his visits to Camilla's house, claiming that he had a busy schedule. But how long would she believe him? Good question.

For the moment, the Prince of Wales stayed focused on the visit, walking through the streets with Rafael.

While they visited Glasgow Castle, Rafael gently took Charles' arm, making sure they walked arm in arm, much to the surprise of the Crown Prince. But without understanding why, he felt more relaxed with the young Duke of Porto. Perhaps because Rafael was kind, patient, and no doubt in love with him.

The Crown Prince of Great Britain was beginning to think that Camilla Parker-Bowles no longer had a monopoly on his love life, even if she was still dear to his heart. 

Meanwhile, at Kensington Palace.

Comfortably seated in her sitting room, Margaret has lunch while watching Charles and Rafael's visit to Scotland on television. Not far from her, Howard, her faithful butler, was preparing the tea tray.

Suddenly the telephone rang. The servant picked it up:

"Kensington Palace, speaking. [...] Yes.[...] Very well, I'll put her on. Please wait."

He put down the receiver and walked over to his employee, who asked:

"Who is it, Howard?"

"It's the Portuguese Ambassador, Madam. Apparently the Infanta Catarina of Portugal and her maternal grandmother, the Countess Marie-Agnès d'Orléans, are in London."

At these words, Margaret turned pale: she knew Marie-Agnès d'Orléans, the matriarch of the House of Orléans, well. She was an elegant, dignified, warm-hearted woman, but she could be ruthless with anyone who harmed her family. As for Catarina, her fiery temper was to be feared. Let's hope Charles didn't do anything to hurt Rafael!

"And are the ladies planning to come here?"

"Most likely, madam."

"Well, it's better if I receive them: it will save Lilibeth a nervous breakdown."

She turned to her butler:

"Dear Howard, would you mind preparing these delicious little pastries for me? It will delight our guests!"

"I'll get right on it, ma'am."

"You are the best, Howard."

"I do my best, ma'am," Howard replied and headed for the telephone.

As Howard prepared for the arrival of the guests, Margaret sighed: this situation could not go on! Charles had to make a decision, or the British Crown would face disaster!

The Queen's sister ran a nervous hand through her hair. In her heart, she hoped that her nephew would leave this Parker-Bowles. She couldn't stand the frivolous, arrogant woman who reminded her too much of Wallis Simpson.

While she was thinking, Howard warned her:

"Madam, your guests have arrived!"

"Very well, Howard: you may let them in!"

A few minutes later, Marie-Agnès d'Orléans and Catarina of Portugal arrived in the salon.

Giving them her most charming smile, Margaret welcomed her visitors:

"Dear Marie-Agnès, dear Catarina, what a pleasure to receive you here!"

"Hello, Margaret. How nice of you to receive us for this impromptu visit!"

"Let us say no more about it. Sit down: you are in time for tea!"

The two women sat down in armchairs, and Howard began serving. 

"So, tell me: to what do I owe this delightful visit?"

Mary Agnes replied:

"We both came to visit Rafael. I'm sure he would be pleased!"

"What a touching idea! He will be delighted to see you again!

"Is he managing to adapt to the rules of the English court?" asked Catarina.

"He certainly is. He is a quick-witted boy with a good memory. He learns very quickly! And he's so charming: when he looks at you with his big black eyes, it's hard to resist him!"

"That's my grandson!" smiled the French countess.

"Speaking of charm, how is the relationship between my brother and Charles?" asked Catarina.

At this question, Margaret felt a chill run down her spine. Keeping a straight face, she answered:

"It's going well. You can't say it's love at first sight, but they get on well. Look: they're visiting Scotland at the moment!"

Marie-Agnès and Catarina looked at the television the images of the two princes' visit to Glasgow. Margaret could see that her interlocutors did not seem convinced. A reaction she feared.

"You can make a lot of things out of pictures. But you and I both know that it's just appearances," Catarina said briefly.

"I agree with my granddaughter, Margaret. And I am even more concerned because I have heard some very unpleasant things about your nephew."

"Rumours, no doubt. One must not worry too much about such gossip!"

"Perhaps, but when these rumours say the same thing, it becomes worrying."

Marie-Agnès stared at Margaret and asked:

"Do you know a woman called Camilla Parker-Bowles?"

"Yes, well, by far. Why?"

"I have several friends in London who tell me about this woman as Charles' mistress. Now, that's the kind of information I don't like very much. Your nephew's reputation is already not very bright, and you can imagine my daughter's reaction when she learns that her son is close to marrying a cheating prince."

Catarina added:

"I should point out that my elder brother Joao and my dear papa also know about this woman. Only my mother does not know, but the day she hears about Camilla Parker-Bowles, you better expect a state scandal!"

Margaret tried to reassure them while hiding her nervousness:

"Charles and Camilla were lovers some years ago. But now they are nothing more than good friends. My nephew spends most of his time on official trips or in Rafael's company."

Marie-Agnès nodded, unconvinced:

"I am certain of your good faith, Margaret. But I wanted to be clear on the subject: if my grandson is to become the next King Consort of Great Britain, I want his marriage based on trust, fidelity and love. Repeating the mistakes of the past is out of the question!"

"I quite agree with you, Marie-Agnès."

"Perfect. In that case, I'm looking forward to seeing how these two years turn out."

The three women spent the rest of the afternoon chatting, although Margaret couldn't help but worry. If only Charles could forget Camilla and fall in love with Rafael! It would make things so much better for everyone.

Three months later.

At the Royal Palace of Ribeira, in Lisbon, the telephone rang in Queen Charlotte's quarters. 

Queen Charlotte, who was reading the newspaper, was surprised by the ringing of the telephone.

She picked up the receiver:

"Hello?"

"Mum, it's me!"

"Rafael, darling! What a nice surprise! How are you?"

"Pretty good, and you?"

"I'm fine, thanks. So, how is your stay in the UK?"

"It's all right."

Her son's weary tone didn't fool Charlotte: she knew when her children weren't doing well.

"Darling, you don't have to lie to me. I know what's wrong, so tell me!"

She was heartbroken when she heard her youngest son's sobs on the other end of the phone.

"Mom, I don't know what to do anymore. I feel like I'm an intruder in this family!"

"What do you mean? Have they made any unkind remarks to you?"

"Not at all: Queen Elizabeth has always been maternal to me. Prince Philip is very nice too. I get on well with the Queen Mother, I have a good relationship with Anne, Andrew, and Edward, and I love spending time with Margaret."

"What's the problem, then?" her mother asked, even though she already knew the answer.

"The problem is Charles. He tries to spend as little time with me as possible. I think he has a mistress!"

"WHAT?" screamed the Queen of Portugal, alerting her husband, who moved towards her.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"It's Rafael: he can't seem to bond with Charles, and Charles isn't making any effort!" she whispered to him before resuming the conversation.

"Are you sure he has a lover?"

"I don't have the proof, but I don't see any other answer."

Charlotte bit her lip: she was beginning to regret having made this agreement with the British monarchy.

For now, the most important thing for her was to comfort her son.

"Listen, Rafael: don't get discouraged and try to get some rest. I'm sure you'll feel better afterwards."

"Okay."

"And remember that you can stop everything at any time. You don't have to feel obliged to marry Charles if you feel it won't do!"

"That's just it, Mum, there's a problem."

"What is it?" asked the Queen of Portugal.

There was a silence, and then Rafael murmured:

"The problem is that I'm falling in love with Charles!"

Pedro pinched the bridge of his nose: this engagement on probation seemed to be a bad idea.

As for his wife, she was trying to find the words to soothe her son's pain:

"Look, Rafa, here's what I suggest: if you feel that Charles' behaviour is not improving, talk to the Queen or Prince Philip. I'm sure they'll listen to you."

"I think so too."

Charlotte smiled sadly: how she wished she had time to see her son!

"Hang in there, Rafael: you're a brave boy. You'll know what to do..."

"Thanks, Mum. I love you."

"I love you too, darling."

No sooner had she hung up than the Queen of Portugal turned to her husband:

"My God, Pedro: what have we done? We are making our son suffer!"

"That's what I see, Charlotte: the more time Rafael spends in England, the more I think this was a bad idea!"

For his part, Rafael was crying his eyes out. He hadn't dared to tell his mother the whole truth. 

He had discovered that Charles had a lover, a woman called Camilla Parker-Bowles.

He kept wondering what Charles liked about Camilla. What more could he do to please him?

At the moment, he felt like he was lost and out of his depth.

What he didn't know was that behind the door, Charles had heard the whole conversation. The young Portuguese prince's distress was breaking his heart, and he knew it was his fault. 

The Prince of Wales was angry at himself for having returned to his mistress. And now his potential fiancé was aware of the situation. What could he do?

He heard a voice behind him:

"I see His Highness has understood the consequences of his actions."

Turning around, Charles saw Howard standing behind him, a reproachful look on his face.

The English prince sighed:

"I know, I made a mistake. A huge mistake!"

"It is not me who would contradict you on that point, Your Highness. Even though I recognize that you are trying to be courteous to Sire Rafael, let me tell you that I do not condone your double life!"

The English prince shook his head in shame. Then he asked:

"What can I do to repair my mistake?"

"First of all, the wisest thing would be for you to make a sincere apology to Sire Rafael. Secondly, make an effort to spend more time with him and less with Mrs Parker-Bowles. If you do all this properly, I think Rafael will forgive you this outrage!" replied Howard wisely.

"I see. Now I just have to hope that Rafael doesn't hold a grudge against me!"

Two months later, at Balmoral Castle.

From his bedroom window, Rafael gazed in admiration. Outside, the whiteness had spread its immaculate mantle over the Scottish countryside. Sure, it snowed from time to time in Portugal, but the snow never lasted long enough to have snowball fights or build a snowman.

In any case, winter made the Balmoral landscape look like a fairy tale.

Suddenly Rafael was jolted out of his reverie by a knock at the door.

"Your Highness, may I come in?" asked Howard's voice.

"Come in, please!" 

The butler entered the room:

"Sir, Prince Philip has instructed me to ask you if you would be interested in a carriage ride later."

"Why not? It's a good idea! Would you tell him I'm changing and will be there in ten minutes, please?"

"I'll be right there, sir," replied the butler as he prepared to leave the room.

"Howard!"

The servant stopped short and asked:

"Yes, Your Highness?"

"I wanted to say thank you for all you do for me. You are a good person, and I am delighted to know you!"

Touched by these words, Howard replied soberly:

"Sir, I am only doing my duty."

He added with a smile:

"But I should be dishonest not to confess that your words touch me very much and that I am flattered that you think so highly of me. And I must tell you that you, too, are a good person. "

"Thank you, Howard."

"Well, on that note, I'll let Prince Philip know. See you later!"

Once the butler left, the young Duke of Porto began to put on clothes for the outdoors. He wondered what was behind this invitation from his potential father-in-law. Did he want to have a private conversation with him? It was very likely.

Once ready, the young Portuguese went down the stairs and headed outside where Philip was waiting for him.

"Perfect, here you are! Come on up!"

Rafael sat down next to Philip, and they went for a walk in the snowy paths around the castle.

After half an hour's ride, Philip drove the carriage to a splendid viewpoint.

"So, what do you think of this view?"

"It's beautiful!"

"I couldn't agree more. It's my favourite place."

"Oh yeah?"

Philip nodded.

"I like to go for walks here, on foot or on horseback, to relax and forget the worries of public life!"

"We do the same thing when we go to Belém with my family. With my brother and sister, we go for long rides on horseback."

The Prince Consort smiled at the enthusiasm of the young Portuguese prince.

"You look close to your family to me."

"I am. You know, we grew up away from Portugal until I was six when the government of the day allowed my family to return to our country. During all that time, we stuck together because we had no one to rely on but ourselves."

Rafael smiled slightly:

"And then my parents always surrounded us with love. In our family, it's easy to say we love each other."

Philip smiled a bit sadly.

"You are lucky to grow up in such a loving family. At least you're leaving with a solid foundation."

Rafael bit his lip slightly: he had just remembered that Prince Philip had not had an easy youth. Let's hope he hasn't brought back any painful memories!

"I know your story. What you went through, no child should have to go through."

"You're right. But I don't care about that anymore: deep down, these ordeals have forged my character. Besides, I might never have met the love of my life!"

"The love of your life?"

The Prince Consort replied:

"It's as if it were yesterday. I still remember the first time we met. This girl was so charming, so funny. Hard to resist her!"

"She must have been an extraordinary girl!"

"You said it. We started writing to each other and dating. And little by little, a romance developed between us!"

"Oh, interesting! And what did you do next?"

"Simple: I married her!"

At these words, Rafael burst out laughing. He had just understood who Philip was talking about: his wife!

"Well done! I didn't see it coming!"

"And yet, the press likes to portray me as a grumpy old man!"

"They don't know you well enough, and that's a shame!"

"That's what I think when I see that Charles doesn't understand how lucky he is to have you!"

At these words, the young Duke of Porto was speechless.

"Ah... Is that so?"

"I mean it. You are a nice boy, always smiling, intelligent, kind, patient. I wonder why he stubbornly went to see that damned Parker-Bowles!"

Rafael shrugged.

"I don't know. And to tell the truth, I didn't dare ask Charles, even though I knew about him and Camilla!"

"What? You knew about it?" exclaimed Philip.

"I found out by chance. I admit that I wasn't happy about it, but at least I found out why the Windsor family needed my presence."

Philip bit his lip and sighed:

"I agree that none of us has been honest with you or your family. I sincerely regret it, believe me."

"I don't blame you. The only one who hurt my feelings was the one who is supposed to be my fiancé. Even if that word doesn't mean much to him."

The young prince of Portugal shrugged:

"But since I told him I knew about it, he's been doing everything to make it up to me. However, I don't think I could forgive him right away."

He smiled:

"Maybe I'm not... English enough for him!"

"I know what it's like to come into another family, especially when most of its members look at you as a stranger, or worse, as an intruder. I know because I've experienced it. And you know what helped me get through it?"

Rafael shook his head negatively.

"I kept being myself, no matter how much others disliked it. If you keep your character despite the obstacles, you gain the respect of others. That's the key to success!"

Philip laid a reassuring hand on the young man's shoulder.

"Anyway, we're delighted to have you with us. You're a fine boy, the kind of young man we'd like to have for a son-in-law. We would be happy to see you marry Charles. But if it doesn't work out, and you find your happiness elsewhere, no one would blame you!"

Rafael nodded, moved by Prince Consort's words.

"I am glad to see that I am accepted here. Now I have almost a year and a half to make my decision. We'll see what the future holds."

"I trust you to do the right thing."

Philip stretched and declared:

"Come on, let's go home! If you catch a cold, Lilibeth will make me pay!"

"In that case, let's not keep her waiting!"

They set off back to Balmoral Castle.

As they reached the courtyard, snowballs fell on Philip and Rafael 

"What the hell is going on here?" exclaimed the Prince Consort.

The laughter of his three children answered him.

"I see... Even you, Anne?" he asked with a grin.

"Sorry, Dad, but it was too tempting!"

Quietly, Rafael made a snowball and threw it at Andrew.

"I find it tempting too!"

And another snowball fight ensued, with Elizabeth, Margaret, the Queen Mother, and Charles looking on in amusement.

The latter fondly smiled as he saw the young Portuguese boy laughing and having fun with his family.

He thought he was so handsome when he had that bright smile on his face. If only Rafael could give him that kind of smile.

The Prince of Wales sighed as he thought about his relationship with his potential fiancé. Since Rafael discovered his affair with Camilla, Charles had noticed that the young man had put some distance between them. 

And yet, God knows if Charles hadn't tried to make amends! He no longer counted the number of gifts or small attentions he made to please Rafael. He had even stopped going to visit Camilla!

But it wasn't enough: even though Rafael thanked him kindly for these gifts, he was less affectionate than before.

The English prince hoped that the magic of Christmas would help him in his attempt at redemption.

Meanwhile, Margaret and Elizabeth watched their family enjoy themselves with tenderness.

"Your children love to fool around here!" laughed Countess Snowdon.

"We weren't bad either when we were their age!" her older sister reminded her mischievously.

"You were such little minxes!" smiled the Queen Mother.

Suddenly Howard arrived and announced:

"Ladies and gentlemen, dinner is served!"

"Saved by the bell! Thank you, Howard!" laughed Philip.

The whole royal family went into the dining room, where they found a table impeccably laid and covered with delicious food.

"I can't wait to see what our cooks have prepared for us!" exclaimed Andrew.

"You'll find out in a few minutes," joked Charles.

A few minutes later, they were sitting at the table and happily chatting while enjoying the delicious food prepared by the servants.

Throughout the meal, Charles tried to get Rafael's attention and acted tenderly at every opportunity. But he was unsuccessful at every attempt, which did not escape Howard's notice. 

The butler, ready to help Charles, suggested to him at dessert time:

"After the meal, Sire Rafael will want to stretch his legs. You might be welcome to join him."

The Prince of Wales thanked Howard for his valuable advice and waited patiently until the end of the meal. Then, he got up and followed Rafael, who had gone for a walk in the garden behind the house.

Once outside, Charles came up to Rafael's level:

"Rafael, wait!"

The Duke of Porto turned around, surprised:

"Charles? What are you doing here?

"I thought you could use some company!" smiled the English prince.

Rafael shrugged his shoulders and answered coldly:

"That's surprising: since when do you care about what I think?"

This reply had the effect of a slap in the face for Charles. He stammered:

"But it's normal that I care about your well-being! After all, we are engaged!"

"Now you remember that we are engaged. Well, that's what everyone hopes. But since you weren't honest with me from the start, it doesn't look good!"

"I know, and I'm sorry!"

Rafael glared at him:

"Don't make me think you're sorry! I tried to understand you, to be interested in your passions, to support you, to love you..."

He sighed:

"I let you imagine my pain when I saw that my efforts were useless. And as if that wasn't enough, the man I love doesn't want to make any effort and prefers to spend quality time with a woman who dared to disrespect me! Just because my family went back on the throne of Portugal doesn't mean it's any less valuable than yours!"

Charles was speechless.

"I didn't know Camilla had spoken to you."

"She didn't have to: it was a friend of your aunt's who told me everything. She heard Camilla making fun of me, telling her friends that I was a nobody, a cheap prince. As if she had any idea of what my family went through! And she even wondered how you could agree to be bound to me!"

The Prince of Wales was sheepish: he had forgotten how cruel Camilla could be to those she despised. Although, with him, she knew how to be petty.

"I am truly sorry that she has hurt you. If I had known..."

"What would you have done, eh? You told her it wasn't good manners, maybe? Anyway, all she has to do is make eyes at you, and you'll bend to her will."

"Rafael..."

"What now?"

"I wanted to tell you that it's been almost two months since I've been to see Camilla."

"So what? Is it that hard? Since it's so painful, I'll allow you to visit her after the holidays. There, are you happy? Now, if you will allow me, I should like to be alone."

The young Portuguese prince turned and continued his walk, leaving Charles lost in thought. It was at this moment that the English prince understood that he had fallen in love with Rafael. 

However, he felt that his future in love was at stake in the Scottish countryside. He had to make a decision as soon as possible!

Thanks for reading: I hope you enjoyed this story!

Don’t worry, it is not the end!

Indeed, I give you the choice between two potential ends:

-> If you want a happy ending for Charles and Rafael, click here (X)

-> If you prefer a sad ending for them, click here (X)

[sapnxps]

(WTL) Chapter One: Greg the Neighbor- Georgenotfound x Reader

If I knew that when I moved to London, I'd have two weird neighbors, I'd laugh in your face. Now I'm friends with an old cat lady. Now I'm enemies with my cute neighbor that's definitely not single, who also screams too much.

Even though he's a dick, why can't I stop thinking about him?

My parents told me I’d regret moving to London from the state before I left because I’d miss them and the US too much.

They were half right.

I’m sitting on a box messily labeled ‘kitchen’ in the hallway of my new apartment complex. I huff, wiping the sticky sweat from my forehead. The moving bill is almost 4 thousand dollars. If I knew moving would be this expensive, I wouldn’t have moved out from my parent’s house until I was 40. Sure, I moved a lot of my belongings across the Atlantic ocean, but 4 thousand dollars? Who do I look like, Jeff Bezos?

Today has been hectic, to say the least. Three of my boxes somehow drifted away to Spain. Don’t ask me how that happened, I don’t even know. I’ve been unpacking by myself all day. A box of my kitchenware got shattered upon arrival. I should’ve listened to my Mom on that one, she told me to just buy plates and glasses here instead of shipping them here. Big mistake I’m never making again. Finally, the biggest chunk of my problems: My apartment is full of boxes and I don’t feel like unpacking. Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve been sleeping on an air mattress for two days, maybe not, but I woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. If one more thing goes wrong, I think I might lose it.

Begrudgingly, I lift myself up from the box I was sitting on. It’s a bit dented now, but the way it felt on my ass, it’s just pots and pans. I open the door, pulling this box into my apartment. I weakly push it into the kitchen. It collides with one of the boxes filled with shattered plates. The sound of the broken glass sliding across the box sounded like nails on a chalkboard. I need to make a note to properly dispose of that. Turning my head to look around my new home, I feel my brain's short circuit. All these boxes unpacked, I’ve barely made a dent. This is going to take for-fucking-ever. Moving is modern-day torture. Oh, that’s funny. Remember to tweet that later.

The next three hours of my life are taken up by filling up my kitchen cabinets and drawers with cutlery and various kitchen utensils. The counter was now less bare, housing my toaster and breadbox. My Tupperware containers sat in a special place in the far-right cabinet by the sink. It looked like this home was lived in, as long as you didn’t glance anywhere else besides the kitchen.

I soon after tackled the bathroom, which was the less intimidating room compared to the living room and bedroom. I got the shower curtain hung up, which made it look nice. The rug found its way to the floor, protecting my feet from the cold, cream tile. The shelves were now stocked with a few fluffy peach towels and soaps. Underneath the sink had cleaning supplies as well as spare toilet paper. Living alone meant having nobody to give you another roll if you finish the other one. Kinda sucks. I had a boyfriend during high school, and two years into college. I dreamed of living with him, we planned it all out. I’d finish college, we’d move to a city and rent out the tiniest apartment we could find. We’d live it out until eventually we made ends meet and the rest would be. Dreams cut short though, he cheated. It’s part of why I left in the first place. Needed a change of scenery, new people.

That’s where I am now. New people. Stuck on that part. Haven’t gotten a chance to meet any, which is oh so tragic. I can’t decide if I want to introduce myself to the neighbors or let them come to me? I’m stuck pondering on the thought until I hear a knock at the door. I wonder if my lost boxes have mysteriously arrived.

Opening the door, I’m greeted with an older woman, holding out a small cake into my space.

“Hi dear, I’m your neighbor to the right. Heard all the commotion, saw all the boxes. I had to see for myself the fresh meat in the complex,” She paused before lightly tapping my arm with her free hand. “Just teasing! It’s great to have another lady on this level. The young man to your left, handsome fella, never comes out much though. Hopefully, we can have a girl posse or something,” Her posh accent made her much different than me. Is it wrong to already feel isolated?

I grin at her, moving out of the way to invite her in. “Nice to meet you, feel free to come in. I apologize for all the boxes scattered around, moving has been proven to not be quite my talent,”

The woman smiles brightly at me, shock plastered on her face. “You’re American!”

“That I am,” I chuckle. She hands me the cake, which I gladly accept. My diet has consisted of soggy hash browns from the complex lobby. She makes her way to what is settled in the living room, politely setting herself on my suede blue couch across from the large wall in the room. I place the cake on my counter by the stove, making a mental note to grab a slice once the woman leaves.

The shock never leaves her aged face, “Oh goodness! How amazing. I have a foreigner as my neighbor. You’ll find London quite lovely. I know how it feels to be isolated and removed from what you’re used to, but I promise you’ll fit right in,” She says as I settle myself on the loveseat a bit away from the couch.

“Where are you from?” I ask. She obviously isn’t American.

She smiles, “Just a bit east of Surrey. South of London. Beautiful area, grew up on a small cottage,” The woman was glowing as she spoke of her hometown. She was obviously proud of where she grew up. Compared to my southern Arizona town, this place seemed like heaven. A cottage? Sign me up.

“Sounds lovely,” I speak truthfully.

“Welp,” The woman slaps her laps, a way of signaling it’s time to end the conversation. Despite only speaking for a small amount of time, she seems like someone I can come to if I ever have questions about London or the terminology that I hear around the city. I’ll need to remember that she’s the neighbor to the right. As she began to see herself out, I remembered the other neighbor she mentioned. The young man to the left. I believe she used the term ‘handsome fella’ to describe him. Once she was out in the hall, I felt the need to find out more information.

“Oh!” I shout, hanging myself out into the hallway. She pauses her steps, turning back to me. “By the way, who’s my other neighbor? The guy you were telling me about. Does he have a name?” I ask.

“Greg,” She nods, resuming her short walk back to her apartment.

Greg. Ugly name.

I completely forgot about the conversation by dinner time. As I was munching down on my cake, delicious by the way, I heard loud yelling from my right side. I wouldn’t even call it yelling, more like high-pitched screaming. Who was my neighbor over there again? Greg? Greg. He was causing a ruckus and a mere heart attack at that. He was screaming so loud I nearly jumped out of my skin the first time I heard it. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he’s facing a very, very gruesome murder right now. Well, I guess I don’t know any better. I’m just wishing for the very best.

Another hour passes. The yelling never stops. It’s only 8, but my body is as awake as ever. I still have yet to get used to the new time zone. At times it was difficult, but I’m using it to my advantage now. I have some extra time to unpack and get my actual bed ready. My bed frame was put together professionally during lunch, so that was one thing checked off my list. The mattress I ordered was delivered yesterday. Now it was just the matter of putting the sheets on and preparing my duvet.

Fitted sheets fucking suck to put on a bed. I was currently struggling to put it on my nice mattress. It was edging close to 10 pm. The sky was dark, and I was stuck in some odd mixture of a starfish and the downward dog position. If this moment was a picture, it could be used for blackmail. The closer I got to finally getting the top right corner on my bed, the more stretched out I became. I was like one of those sticky hands you’d get in those toy dispensers at the grocery store. I was just about to get it, when another loud shriek could be heard. In shock, I slammed my head on the bed frame and lost grip of all four corners of the sheet.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I mumbled underneath my breath.

Whatever. He probably has a greater reason to be screaming like this, right? Justified shouting, whatever you want to call it. My bedroom is closer to his apartment than the kitchen was. Is it nosey to try to figure out what he’s saying? I don’t want to be that type of neighbor. I’ll continue minding my business because I don’t want to find out some weird shit about Greg that I don’t want to know.

The screaming never stopped.

In fact, if anything, it got louder. And louder. And louder. Is it okay to call the cops here?

It’s midnight now. The next fucking day. And Greg is still screaming at the top of his lungs as if everyone else isn’t asleep. If I saw some normal citizen just trying to get some rest, I’d be fed up. Well, I’m still fed up. I’m also running on a messed-up sleep schedule, so it’s not like I was trying to sleep anyways. My bed is made now, and comfy as hell. I built a shelf to house some of my small decorations, with the entertainment of my noisy neighbor’s yells to accompany me. For some odd reason, it made me feel less lonely.

At about 2, I began to reject the company. I felt irritation grow in my chest as I heard the same high-pitched shrieks that I heard at 8. The annoyance that bubbled in me overtook my politeness. Before I knew it, I was up and in the hallway banging on his door. I didn’t have the time to care about my Daffy Duck pajamas sticking to my legs due to the heatwave hitting England right now. Before I even realize it, my fist is slamming on his door. I never knew I had the power to knock that hard, but my anger and blossoming resentment overpowered me. I continued banging until the door pulled away from its frame. Now I’m face to face with Greg.

Boy was he handsome.

I was met with a man, about 5 foot 9. His dark brown hair was disheveled. Strands of hair laid across his forehead messily. If he wasn’t screaming, I would’ve thought he was sleeping. He was wearing a fluorescent green hoodie with an odd smile plastered on the front. It was a bit large for his skinny frame, that’s unimportant though. His grey sweatpants were twisted on his legs. What the fuck was he doing? His face was delicately shaped. This jawline looks sharp yet fragile like it was constructed of the most fragile rose crystal I’d ever seen. His brown eyes reminded me of caramel, thick and way too easy to get lost in.

“Hi, uh Greg-” I start. I’m just realizing now how close I am to him. The scent of his spearmint gum floods my nostrils. It’s a bit powerful, crinkling my nose at the smell. It wasn’t gross, just very shocking.

“George,” He spat. That’s fucking embarrassing. I’m meeting him for the first time and I got his name wrong. I’m not taken aback for long though, because his attitude oozing from his simple correction was enough to disgust me. I’ve done nothing wrong to him, except maybe get his name wrong. Was my moving too much of a nuisance to him? Poor little British thing, he can deal with it.

I cringe, “Oh, um, sorry.”

He leans into the door frame, sweatshirt adjusting to the movement. Forget a tiny bit large, he was swimming in this thing. “Yeah, no problem. Can I help you or are you selling girl scout cookies at,” George checks his watch. “2 in the morning. If you are, I’m not interested, sorry ‘bout that,” His outfit makes me feel a lot less aware of mine. Despite his face being rather attractive, the outfit makes him look like he just rolled out of bed.

“Oh, yeah. I was wondering if you could lower the volume a bit, please. Or just stop screaming entirely, if possible. I don’t know if you have some weird shouting fetish, but I certainly don’t,” I chuckle. George, however, doesn’t chuckle. Actually, he looks rather unamused. If a human was an art museum, it would be George. Curling into a ball and falling into an endless void doesn’t sound too awful right now. I think I’ll add that to my itinerary. I’ll do it in my bed so I’m at least comfortable while I’m drowning in my own self-pity.

He grimaces, “Yeah. Sure.”

He’s blunt. Got it.

The second I turn my back to the door, it slams. Wow. What a cunt. Shaking the interaction off, I begin to feel the wear and tear of the day beginning to hit me. Moving all those boxes made my muscles ache. The solution to all my problems today seems to be going to bed. Not that I’m not okay with that, just funny. The day before I left for London, you’d think I was shocked by lightning. The electricity that was running through my veins was no match for any ADHD medicine the FDA had ever approved. Now, my body is beginning to fall victim to the earlier time zone. Not that it was a big deal, it was going to happen eventually. These next few days would just entail a difficult sleeping schedule. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.

I quickly find my way back to my own bedroom. The yelling was quieter, but I could still hear George through the thin walls. He was murmuring to someone softly. This apartment complex was all 1 bedroom apartments. He didn’t live alone. How lovely! I made a fool of myself to him, and he was most definitely telling his partner right now. Talk about dignity, am I right?

I scrolled through my phone for an hour, before the screaming returned to its original volume. Would it be overdramatic to say I felt my face go red with anger? I don’t think so. I think I handled the situation as politely as I could. Hell, I even cracked a joke so he could know I wasn’t that upset over the situation! If I knew he was going to resume his disruptive noises, I wouldn’t have been so nice or absolutely hilarious. Nobody that douchey gets my amazing humor. He didn’t even laugh! I hear another shout followed by a slam to a desk. What the fuck is wrong with this guy?

Welp. Welcome to London!

[crossdressingdeath]

Uhhh but like.. wands and broomsticks that fly is very normal magic? Idk I might be missing something here but that's like the stuff from stories in (I'd say like maybe the majority?) of Europe, together with potions? It fits very well into European's magic myths? Aksjdj but I may have misunderstood you here idk. But yeah, I always found it weird that the UK had it's own school while the rest of Europe shared two schools?? But then again, I'm pretty sure it was said the students are French and uh Bulgarian? I think? So what's up with the rest of the continent? Hell, what's with Asia? Imagine if they had only one school! That would be hell! Tbh it would make a lot more sense if like... every country has their own school? Like a) not every eleven year old kid is able to speak perfect English (aka the language they most likely would converse in, but this goes for any second language probably) and is probably unable to follow the lessons because of that. b) it's just.... too many students for two schools? like we're talking about how many countries? 40-something if you exclude the UK? with lots of different cultures and lots of students probably? I think Germany, or Spain, alone would need their own school, with some Austrian or Swiss students because these are smaller countries and they share a language. (Well, half-half in Switzerland and both countries have their specific dialects etc. but they would still be able to communicate without much struggle). You would probably need multiple schools in the US, too!

There are probably some families that teach their kids magic on their own, but as far as I remember that stuff was never actually established so this is just a wild guess. But most of Europe to do this? Unlikely.

I was more thinking about the one or two word Latin incantations than the wands and broomsticks and potions, although wands and broomsticks are part of a specific image of magic and as far as I’m aware have very little in common with actual historical practices. But definitely the Latin is a bigger issue; if nothing else, why are modern spells written in Latin and not... I don’t know, the actual language the inventor speaks? Also apparently some of the spells are actually based in ancient Greek, so clearly it’s not tied to one language; why would it be majority Latin? What about people who can’t pronounce Latin words? Not everyone can pronounce certain sounds! Also if they’re using classical Latin they pronounce spells wrong in the movie, can’t speak to ecclesiastical but if magic is as old as it’s supposed to be I’d say it would probably be classical anyway ...Also I’m now wondering why the fuck there isn’t a Latin class at Hogwarts, you’d think that would be useful.

The thing with the number of schools is... talking about North America, Toronto alone has over a hundred high schools? One city has more high schools than the wizarding world has schools in total across all of Europe. I know Canada’s big, but it’s not that big. If wizards are that rare then intermarrying with muggles or no they should be so extinct by now! Even with one school per country and keeping in mind that most European countries have much smaller populations than Canada, that would still be an insanely small population. Also there’s travel time to keep in mind; yes, some students will live farther from the school than others and that’s inevitable, but... well. Let’s start with Hogwarts, because it’s the smallest area: Belfast to London? Assuming Ireland doesn’t have its own route to Hogwarts? Nine and a half hours by car. By train, twelve hours. That is a long time for a bunch of kids to travel to get to another train, a lot of it in the wrong direction! Hell, according to the internet London to Fort William (in the Scottish Highlands, although I don’t know how close it would be to Hogwarts’s location) is thirteen hours! And that’s the smallest area we know of that a magical school covers! Let’s talk Ilvermorney, in Massachusets; I hope they use floo powder or something, because to get there from Alaska that is a 73 hour drive. Even flying it’s still eight and a half hours at a minimum! And I feel really bad for the Hawaiian students, because a flight to Massachusetts from there is over eleven hours! These travel times are insane and I strongly suspect JKR didn’t bother looking at a map before placing these schools. Also if the various schools do use floo powder or portkeys or something (which I can only assume they do because holy shit) why the fuck doesn’t Hogwarts? Again, unless the Hogwarts Express is insanely fast that’s still half a day, plus however long it takes people to get to London! Why doesn’t the train at least set off from a more central location or have multiple stops this is so stupid-

Basically yeah, the placement and numbers of the schools makes no sense and I hate it, also I have just spent far too much time looking up travel times.

[yespolkadotkitty]

Fighting Blind, pt 19

Masterlist here ~ thank you @heatherbel​ for the beta!!

Warnings: shameless angst.

I sleepwalked back to my apartment. The noises of London made me jump at first, my movements jerky. Had I locked up the storeroom? The museum staff entrance? I didn’t know.

I didn’t much care.

I had lain on the floor of the storeroom for some time, clutching the axe. Sobbing my throat raw. Willing it to send me back to before. Willing it to let me look into Pero’s eyes just one more time.

Willing whatever magic that it had before to let me hold him, just for a moment, feel his heart beat, bury my face in his neck. Hear his voice.

Just one more time.

I didn’t remember taking off my filthy robes and changing into the spare outfit I kept in my locker for nights out. The nylon fabric felt incongruous; I’d become used to thick, soft robes. My bra chafed.

I let myself into my apartment. Everything was where I’d left it. 

My phone chirped in my bag and I pulled it out to see a text from Emma: Don’t stay too late! Reality TV beckons.

It was our little joke since she had introduced me to Ru Paul’s Drag Race, six months ago.

It felt like five lifetimes ago.

I put the phone to sleep, dropped my bag in the kitchen, and dragged myself to my bed, looking ahead of me but not seeing.

I lay down, fully clothed. The date on my bedside clock showed that here, almost no time had passed. I’d been deposited back to almost the exact moment I'd left.

My gaze was unfocused as I stared at the ceiling. My eyes reported back a view of the plain plaster, but in my mind I saw Pero’s last moments. The length of thick red ribbon around my wrist felt unreasonably heavy. I twisted the fraying ends with my right thumb and forefinger.

If I could have cried some more, I would have. 

I felt wrung out, a cloth squeezed too hard and then left out on the line until it sagged, dry as bone, moving only at the whims of the wind.

Eventually, I slept, and when I did, I dreamed of my husband’s big, soulful brown eyes, his scarred hands on my skin, the whisper of his melodic Spanish accent in my ear.

*****

I woke up in the middle of the night, shaking. My arm spread out across the cool, crisp sheets, reaching for the warmth of a broad Spaniard who had been killed in battle thousands of years ago.

I clutched desperately at a pillow that did not smell of him, and I waited for dawn to come, silent and dry-eyed, a husk of myself.

The next day, I called in sick. 

Emma left me six texts and three voicemails. Marco tried to call all afternoon. I ignored them both, and I stayed curled up on the bed, staring at nothing, hardly moving except for water and bathroom trips. 

Eventually, I slept. 

No dreams came.

*****

I wasn’t sure how much time had passed when a sharp rapping on the door jerked me from my half-sleep, half-grief stricken stupor.

“Fuck off,” I moaned to the empty room, my voice paper-dry, cracking. “You’re not Pero. He’s gone.”

The clock showed a whole day had passed. It was just after ten a.m.

The pounding got louder.

I scrubbed my hands over my face, got up wearing yesterday’s clothes. Walking felt like dragging my feet through a carpet of molasses.

I yanked open the door without checking to see who it was.

Emma stood on the other side, and she took me in with wide eyes, her lips parting.

“Um, oh my God,” she breathed, taking in my wrinkled clothes. I probably stank. “What happened? Flu?”

I gazed at her, my very best friend, trying to summon joy at seeing her face again, when I never thought I would. Instead, I just shrugged.

And then she moved forward and wrapped her arms around me, and I let my face fall into the familiar feel of her shoulder, and I cried.

Two cups of tea later, I had unloaded the entire story to Emma, who had listened without interruption, various expressions parading across her elfin face, but, who now almost certainly thought I had experienced some sort of intense mental break.

I wasn’t entirely sure I hadn’t.

“Well,” she said finally, with the tone of someone speaking to a very infirm person or a  baby; “You can’t go back to work in this state, can you?”

I gaped at her. “You want me to go back to work now?”

She tugged my hand until I reluctantly stood up from the sofa. “You’ve not got a lot of choice. There’s a man in the staff waiting area and he says he won’t leave until he sees you. Came all the way from America.”

My heart sank further still. I just heard America, not Spain.

Emma herded me into the bathroom, stripped me off as I stared sightlessly at the wall, turned on the water, shoved me under it.

I watched, unfeeling, until the spray hit the red ribbon around my left wrist, and then a cry raked up my throat, and I slid down the tiled wall, curling in on myself, pressing the damp wedding bracelet to my lips, wishing myself back in China. Back in Pero’s arms.

Wishing I could hold him just one more time.

Just one more time.

*****

Emma didn’t say much on the way to the Armouries. What could she say? From her point of view, her colleague had called in sick one day and  appeared to have suffered an intense psychotic episode.

I half sleep-walked off the tube, up to the museum. People passing probably thought I was taking very strong drugs.

Emma made me a very strong cup of tea, so strong that perhaps the spoon could have stood up by itself, and steered me to my desk chair. “Sit. I’ll bring the visitor.”

I stared into the mug. “Do I have to? Please don’t make me.”

Emma set her hands on her hips, her face creased in sympathy,  brow pinched with worry. “You can go home right after. I swear. Okay? You get one more day of whatever... this is, and then I’m taking you out on the town. London at our feet. Or, you know, twelve hours on the sofa, with popcorn and Ru Paul. Okay?”

I nodded, just to get her to leave.

Time passed; I wasn’t sure how much. I stared at my PC’s Welcome to the London Armouries screensaver, and wondered how much trouble I would get in if I hurled my computer out of the window.

Then I remembered I didn’t even have a window in this office. 

I smiled without humour.

A soft knock at the door made me look up. “Come in,” I called, with zero enthusiasm.

The handle turned, and I expected to see Emma, but I didn’t. What I saw made me topple off my chair.

A man with Pero’s face stood in the open doorway. His hair was lighter, cream caramel kissed with autumn, tousled. Scruff adorned his upper lip and the same strong jaw as Pero’s.

The same soulful, deep brown eyes.

The same striking profile, same nose I’d loved the hook of.

I stared at him as all the noise was sucked from the room. My ears rang.

He hurried over to me. “What the- Are you okay?” he asked in a husky-edged, drawling baritone, California with just a lick of Texas.

I stared at him wordlessly. My mouth opened and closed, until I finally squeaked out, “is this some kind of joke?”

The man stepped back, brows furrowed. “Funny. I’m pretty sure that's my line.” He rubbed a hand over his scruffy jaw, and that was when I saw it.

The circular mark on the root of his thumb. The depiction of infinity; the spiral, the serpent eating its own tail. Not black, like ink, but the colour of melanin.

My heart lurched into my throat.

This time when he offered me his hand, I took it. 

Our palms touched, and something electric chased down my arm. The stranger jerked as if I’d struck him, slapping his hands over his face as he reeled back, hitting the wall and sliding down it. I rocked back on my heels, staying on the floor.

He held his hands over his eyes for a moment that stretched, shaking, his shoulders hunched in.

When he finally looked at me, his eyes had changed. Darker, somehow. His mouth just a little scowly.

My heart jumped like it had been supercharged, because there was my Pero. I was frozen to my spot.

“The dreams,” the man said, very slowly. “I’ve been having these crazy dreams. But they’re.. memories, aren’t they?”

Unable to speak, I nodded.

“They’re my memories. But also… not mine.” He stared into the distance for a long moment, his face pale, wonder sketched on his features. “And this.” He ran the index finger of his right hand over the birthmark on his left thumb. “You did this.” His eyes sparked hazel fire, accusing me of this insanity.

And he was right. I had done this to him.

I held his gaze, my heart in my throat, heavy. “I gave it to you. Before.”

The stranger’s hand eased over his abdomen, resting where Pero had been gored open by Tao Tei teeth. “It feels… fuck, it feels real.”

I swallowed, my eyes burning, stomach bottoming out.  Tears streaked down my face and I let them come, my stomach cramping, and for an agonising moment, it was like losing him all over again. In my mind’s eye I saw the blood pulse from him, his life slipping away and me crouched over him, helpless to stop it. “It was real.”

We sat together in silence for, I don’t know how long. I both ached to touch him and feared it. Feared the modern texture of his open-flannel shirt over a white t-shirt. Feared the rough denim of his jeans.

And how would he smell? Not of lemon oil, leathers or woodsmoke. How could he?

“I’m Zach,” he said into the dragging silence. “Zachary Pero Wellison.”

My mouth dropped open.

Zach smiled lopsidedly, pushing a hand over his face. The face that was Pero’s, and yet, not. “So… I guess with the addition of…” He waved his hand between us. “...this, I’m sort of…. Both of us? I’m Zach, but I somehow have the memories of….. Pero.” He pressed a fist to his head and then popped his fingers in a “head exploding” reference. “Is this really happening, do you think?”

I laughed, without humour. “At this point, I don’t think I know.”

Zach huffed out what might have been a laugh. “The shrink sure as hell didn’t cover this in PTSD counselling.”

His deadpan delivery made me smile for the first time since I’d woken up back in 2019.

Footsteps sounded outside, followed by voices that lingered and then, after a minute, moved on. My gaze flicked over Zach, my stomach heartsick. Pero, my Pero, was in there, and yet, he wasn’t.

This was impossible. Everything I had ever learned told me what Zach and I were experiencing just did not happen.

But.

“You’re military?”

He nodded, shrugging off the shoulder of his flannel shirt and pulling up the right sleeve of his t-shirt to show me the bottom half of an intricate tattoo on his shoulder. “Semper Fi. Marines. Buzz cut grew out.”

I ate up the extra view of his body, greedy to know where he would be the same, and where he might be different.

“Glad I never saw anything like… the Tao Tei in Afghanistan,” he said shakily, a self-deprecating laugh escaping his lips.

I held his gaze. “It was an experience. Are you.. I take it you don’t still serve?”

“Nope. Three tours and an honorable discharge, two years on the street, but for the past five I’ve had a steady job. A roof over my head.” He summed up his life so flippantly; his delivery really reminded me of Pero’s nonchalance about death.

I sell my sword for coin, I sleep when fighting has exhausted me, and one day I will die and return to the earth. Simple, don’t you think?”

“Um, so... can I get you a coffee?” I asked, swiping my hands over my eyes. It felt like a monumentally banal thing to say seeing as this man now seemed to hold every memory my dead husband had ever clocked up, but I didn’t have anything else.

“Got any whiskey?” he half-laughed.

“I wish I did.”

“I’m good. Drank about a gallon of it at the hotel. Nerves. I, um…” He lifted those cocoa eyes to mine, and for a second, a heartrending second, it was Pero looking at me. My pulse tripped. “This is... fuck, this is a lot. I really…” He clenched his hands into fists, drawing my attention to that birthmark, the same lines, lines I had drawn, only in that brown shade of skin pigment. “I wanna touch you. Or he does. I don’t know. But… can I? Is that okay? I can’t think about anything else.”

Twin zings of excitement and fear skidded up my spine. “Um… okay.”

Neither of us moved.

Zach laughed nervously, standing. He towered above me as I sat in the corner next to my computer chair. I let my gaze travel up his body, long legs in faded blue jeans, a flat stomach under that white t-shirt, the lines of his torso delineated by the open plaid shirt.

His eyes were soft as he offered his hand again, palm out flat.

This time, when I took it, no lightning. Just a warm touch. His fingers sure and confident around mine.

He tugged me gently to a standing position, until we were only a foot apart, then he let our joined hands fall to our sides. We stood together like that for goodness knew how long, looking into each other’s eyes; his so familiar and yet so new.

Zach lifted his free hand to gently skim his thumb along my jaw, and just like that, the air changed. Each breath I took seemed supercharged as I gazed into his big, soulful eyes. “Zach,” I whispered, and it didn’t feel wrong.

He slowly lowered his head to mine, his eyes constantly flicking to meet mine, checking it was okay. Checking I was okay.

And then just before our lips met, a shudder went through him, and he whispered, “Cielo,” with just a hint of Spanish melody, and there was no way in hell he could have known that word unless-

And I yanked him down to me and kissed him with all the love and yearning and grief in my heart, and he kissed me back. His hands came up to spread over my back, and the warm, solid wall of his chest felt divine. 

Perfect. 

Bliss.

I opened for him, and he licked into my mouth, his teeth scraping just a little, and I welcomed the tiny hurt, pressing closer into his body. His lips were Pero’s lips, his little shaky inhale the way Pero would sometimes suck in a breath when we kissed. I shoved my hands beneath his open plaid shirt, felt the play of muscle on his back, under the soft t-shirt, and it was like holding Pero. I sobbed into Zach’s mouth and he drew back, frowning.

“Sorry,” I choked out. “I’m sorry. I -”

“I know,” Zach whispered, stroking my hair back. “I was there. He - I - loved you … He loved you. More than anything.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing my lips together to stop them from trembling. “This isn’t happening. I would give anything to have him back. Anything. But this is… it can’t be real.”

Zach cupped my cheek, his eyes dark, stormy, and for a moment it was my husband looking at me. “Ask me something only he would know.”

I opened my eyes again. This was like living in an alternate reality of the film Ghost. But real. I felt the floor under my feet. I felt Zach’s palm against my skin, gun-callused, the same way Pero’s had been sword-callused.

“What did he say to me, when we... when I…” The words dried up on my tongue. Suddenly I didn’t want to share, which made no sense. “The first time,” I finished lamely.

Zach dropped his gaze from mine, a flush stealing over his cheeks. “Cielo. Heaven. I will not last,” he murmured, that Spanish melody sneaking, incrementally, into his tone.

My pulse spiked. 

No one could know that.

He met my eyes again. “Fuck. I know. This can’t be happening. But it is. Unless we’re both suffering the same delusion.”

I half-laughed. “Unless. God, Zach. I’m sorry. I’m sorry about…. all this.”

“I’m not. I wanted answers to these insane dreams, to the burning feeling on my birthmark, and however absolutely batshit those answers are... I had so many moments over in Afghanistan, wondering what I was fighting for... where my life was going. Always thought - it’s so stupid, but always thought I was just waiting for something. And maybe that something is you.”

My stomach dropped. “Oh, Zach.”

He smiled lopsidedly. “Whatever this is, it doesn’t feel like just my twisted little secret anymore.”

“I-” My heart pounded. “Secret. Oh my God, secret. The axe.”

Zach’s gaze shot to mine, wonder sketched on his handsome features. “I know how to open it.”

*****

I’d never run so fast before. I skidded out of the office, Zach on my heels, past some very surprised visitors and down to the artefact storeroom. I could only hope that no one had been there since the day before yesterday.

Zach stood silently by, but I saw his hands clenched into fists by his side as I swiped my keycard.

It was still there.

The door slammed behind us as I lurched on to the floor, picking it up, uncaring about being without cotton gloves.

Zach held out his hands, and I passed it to him. He gazed at it in wordless awe, his eyes poring over it, fingers stroking reverently.

Then he turned it over, pressed his thumbnail into the slice representing Pero’s scar in the carving on the bottom, and the handle turned, loosening.

I gasped in shock, surprise, joy.

Zach gently pulled the haft loose to reveal a shallow compartment in the metal handle, two pieces of parchment and a loop of crimson lying inside, like the finest of treasures.

With hands that shook, I took out Pero’s handfasting bracelet. The edges were frayed, the fabric so old it had discoloured, but it was his. I lifted it to my lips, felt my heart wrench from my body.

Zach had set the axe down and held the pieces of parchment in his palms. His eyes were wide as he breathed, “I wrote this. I mean, he did. But I remember writing it.”

I paused, the dusty, faded bracelet pressed to my cheek. “What?”

He showed me the yellowed parchment, the writing faded beyond recognition. “The words are almost gone. But I was there. I - he - wrote it while you slept. On the handfasting night.”

The world spun. I braced myself up on one arm. “Would you read it? Please.”

Clearing his throat, Zach closed his eyes, and to my amazement and joy, to my sadness and gratitude, Pero’s voice left his lips.

Querida

You sleep as I write this. My wife, in our bed. Your body and soul more beautiful than I could ever have wished for, in this life certainly. I am not good with words, mi vida, but you must know that you hold my old, scarred heart in your hands.

I think perhaps, you always have. 

If you are reading this then I have gone with God, but whatever He may have planned for my old bones, I will carry you with me always.

Until we meet again,

Yours,

Pero 

When he’d finished, tears streamed unashamed down my face, wetting my jeans. I couldn’t have cared less.

Zach’s face was drawn, too. He set the two pieces of paper aside and opened his arms, and without a second thought, I crawled into them. He rocked me gently, and I pressed my face into his neck, breathing him in; he didn’t smell of Pero, he smelled of rosemary and sandalwood and coffee, but it wasn’t wrong.

“Thankyou,” I whispered into his shirt. “Thank you, for letting my hear his voice, just one more time.”

Zach said nothing, just nodded. He understood. He always would.

We sat that way for I didn’t know how long. Eventually I roused myself. “Zach?”

A soft chuckle rumbled from his chest. “It’s still me. I think,” he drawled, American again, but that husky-edged voice curled its way into my heart.

“What’s the other piece of paper?”

He lifted one arm to pluck it from the floor. “It’s… what is this language?”

I recognised the penmanship. “Oh my God, it’s Gaelic.” I scrambled off his lap, reaching for my phone. This piece of parchment had been wrapped inside the other, and the words had been mostly preserved. I took a picture of the text, uploaded it to the translation app a colleague at the British Museum had developed. While still in beta, it nevertheless contained many ancient languages.

Within a few moments, a translation appeared, and Zach and I gazed down at the screen as I read aloud:

Jade

The thought that this message may find you in a future many, thousands of years from now gives me pause, I must admit, but since fighting those… Monsters, I find nothing surprises me.

We gave your husband a warrior’s wake. That I swear to you. Lin saw to many of the details personally. After your rooms were cleared I found a note in his hand and I enclose it here.

We captured a Tao Tei in the days following Tovar’s death. We fed Ballard to it. A fitting end for such a waste of air, I think you’ll agree.

And after that, the strategists found the Queen. We think we’re halfway to learning how to be rid of them. Once and for all, I pray.

A year has passed since you and Tovar left me. As I write this, Lin sits beside me with our twins, Jade and Pero, named for the man who saved Lin’s life, and the woman he loved beyond the boundaries of time.

I don’t know what will happen when we die, but we will keep Tovar’s axe in our family as best we can. Lin says she trusts the spirits to take care of it, and after all I’ve seen here, I can’t disagree with her. 

She wouldn’t listen even if I did.

We miss you.

With love,

William Garin

*****

A/N: One more chapter to go on this journey. Thank you, thankyou, thankyou for all your love, comments, messages, reaction gifs, theories, THANKYOU x 1000000000. Thank you for indulging my insanity.

Tagging: @babybelou​ @theravenreads​ @vanillabeanlattes @alienprincesspoop​ @knittingqueen13​ @lackofhonor​ @holographic-carmen​ @thewayofthemandalorian @buckstaposition​ @thegreenkid @agirllovespasta​ @chews-erotically​ @apples-of-february​ @mstgsmy​ @songsformonkeys​ @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​ @buckysalefty​ @readsalot73​ @restingnurseface​ @opheliaelysia​ @emmy-dandiliom918​ @prdsdjarin​ @a-seeker-of-imagination​ @havenforafrazzledmind​ @badassbaker​ @thewaythisis​ @kindablackenedsuperhero @keeper0fthestars​ @starlight-starwrites​ @agentpike​ @alldatalost​ @littlemissthistle​ @cryptkeepersoul​ @stylelovechild​ @maryan028​ @seawhisperer​ @emesispo​ @beccaplaying​ @hdlynn​ @jaime1110​ @marydjarin​ @ahopelessromanticwritersworld​ @mrsparknuts​ @pinkzsugar​ @cutepurplehedgehog​ @ksgeekgirl​ @skdubbs​ @roxypeanut​ @usernameistooshort @tortles​

[personasintro]

My Tiny Secret | 07; Choice

𝑴𝒚 𝑻𝒊𝒏𝒚 𝑺𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕 𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒃𝒃𝒍𝒆 | 07; Choice

⏤𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔; Pretty face doesn’t make it up for an ugly personality. And Kim Seokjin is the perfect proof of that.

⏤𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: seokjin x reader

⏤𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: angst, smut

⏤𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: toxic relationship, mistress au, strong language

⏤> 𝒇𝒊𝒄 𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒙

buy me a coffee?♡

“Explain this,” he hears as soon as he steps into the kitchen, a stack of papers hitting the marble counter of their kitchen island. Papers he knows very well because they were well hidden in his nightstand this morning. “Are you moving out?”

He watches her cross her arms over her chest, pushing her breasts up in her white dress. The kitchen is clean without any trace of an actual food, which isn't shocking for him. And by the notification of the app which blinks on her phone screen, he knows she ordered food. She never cooks. Not that she doesn't want to, she just can't cook. Why should she? She can always order something.

“No, I am not moving out.” Seokjin answers her with a grumble, brushing through his dark hair with a tiring movement.

He is tired. After being stuck in a meeting for four hours, which got prolonged way more than he expected, he wants nothing more than just to eat. He never expected her to greet him with a good dinner, other than take-out she usually choose when they're not eating in a restaurant. The last food he ate was just a breakfast his secretary got him. He was never so thankful for a food in his mouth as that right moment.

It was his fault. He shouldn't have overslept the alarm beeping at six in the morning. It's not like he planned it. He never plans to overslept. He was just extremely exhausted when he came home from your place.

“So, what the hell is this?” she snarls, frowning at her husband who doesn't give her much reaction.

“I'm buying a new apartment. What's the big deal?” he sighs, walking to their huge fridge before he opens it just to find it almost empty.

There are a few bottles of milk and wine, and some juice. There was nothing he could eat right now, so he closes it with a loud thud before reaching for an apple in the bowl which sits right in front of his wife.

“What's the big deal?” she asks dumbfounded, relaxing her shoulders. “You never mentioned something about buying a new property.”

And? It's not like they share everything from their life.

He keeps his thoughts to himself, tired to let out any snarky remark. “It's just a two bedroom apartment.” he shrugs, making it seem like it's not a big deal.

What– it's just a small apartment considering all the other properties he owns. This one is nothing. Nothing that special, even though it's in a new building, completely furnished with modern furniture. It's useless to both of them.

“I know, I've seen the photos.” she tells him, shamelessly admitting the fact she scurried through the files without no permission.

It's not like he really cares. Yeah, he feels bothered that she went through his stuff, his nightstand but he's not scared of her.

“Of course you did.” Seokjin hums, biting into a fruit which doesn't satisfy his hunger but it'll have to do for now.

She ignores his remark, arching her perfect eyebrow at him as she watches him. “What are you planning to do with it?”

He chews, looking away from her sharp prying eyes.

She's not only beautiful and successful woman, but she's smart as well. She knows where he's been spending his free time, knowing his son was born just a few weeks ago without him actually telling her about his visits. He told her himself that Yoojin was born, but that's it. That was way before he made an agreement with you. He never actually told her he's been spending some time with him.  

She puts two and two together very easily. The two bedroom apartment is spacious but still modest considering their huge house they don't really need. The apartment building is just a few streets away from their house in quiet and safe neighbourhood. There is a private day care and school around the corner, suitable with someone with kids.

“You're buying her apartment?” she exclaims, her eyes huge before they glare at her husband who doesn't deny it. “Are you for real?!”

An angered tone can be heard in her usually soft voice, but not only that, but it's visible as her face is reddened with realization and anger. “So, what? You're a father now?” she scoffs.

“I've been a father ever since she became pregnant, Ara.” he remarks, knowing she won't like that face and his suspicion is right, when she glares at him.

She hates the fact that he impregnate other woman who is not her. She hates that she couldn't give him a child and now that he has it, she fears she'll loose him.

“It's your fault you knocked up some slut.”

He glares at her, not appreciating the venom in her voice because she has no right to be upset with him. It wasn't his idea to have an open relationship but he can't be angry, he agreed with it.

“I could've knocked you up, if you were actually fertile.” he snaps at her, biting into his lower lip right after once he sees her eyes widen.

A hurt washes over her features while she doesn't hide it, but it's only for a few seconds before she looks with so much anger at her husband. He scoffs, throwing the apple into the bin avoiding the daggers she's sending his way.

“That's not fair,” she says through gritted teeth, eyes not leaving his figure. “You should've be careful where you stick your dick!” she reproaches him loudly and for once, he likes the fact his house is huge and there's no way their neighbors could hear them.

“Don’t forget you started fucking different men first.” he points out.

He vaguely remembers how the whole ‘open relationship’ plan took its place into their conversation and that night when it came their new settlement.

“Seokjiiin,” A whine comes from her lips, her nails scratching Seokjin's thighs while her eyes linger on his covered crotch. He slightly moves the phone which is held in front of his face, before he arches a brow at his needy wife. “We haven't had sex for a month!”

He goes back to reading an email his assistant sent him, reading the same sentence for the past five minutes. He's getting distracted by his wife's touches and her attempt of making his dick hard is just annoying him.

“I'm busy.” he mutters, scrolling through his phone as she keeps scratching his naked thighs. He should've worn that pajamas pants.

“You've been busy the whole month!” she whines again and waits for him to say something, but ends up to be met with silence. She glances up, seeing his forehead since the phone is covering his whole face but she can make out the light illuminating his face.

But she doesn't give up that easily, despite of her husband not paying any attention to her. She smirks, a smirk which Seokjin fails to  notice, before she scoots back her face right in front of the bulge hidden in his boxer briefs. Licking her lips, before she dives down and her tongue drawls against the material of the boxer briefs. However, Seokjin has a different reaction to it than she expected and almost kicks her in the process.

“What the fuck?” he can't help but exclaim, the phone fallen on the mattress of their bed as he looks at her with widened eyes before he glares at her. “What part of 'I'm not in the mood' you didn't understand?”

He didn't pay any attention to her and her sneaky moves to notice her cunning motives, and he's just glad he didn't kick her head off.

“Seriously, Seokjin. You're useless as a husband.” she scoffs, covering her set of lingerie she specially picked for tonight's occasion with her robe.

“Go fuck someone else then.” he snaps, snatching his phone before putting it not so gently on his nightstand.

“Y'know what? I will,” she snaps back, standing up from the bed. “I will, Seokjin. I was thinking about it and I think... I want to fuck someone else.” she admits, her voice calming down.

He looks up, covering his naked legs with silk black sheet his wife got from Spain. “Okay, good.” he shrugs and her jaw drops on the floor.

She expected everything, or at least something. Everyone knowing Seokjin, a very tiny group of people knows, how barely affected he gets about anything. He's careless and unbothered, a perfect definition of phlegmatic you could say.

“Are you for real?” she gasps. “You wanna have an opened relationship?”

“You suggested it.” he shrugs nonchalantly, putting a toner he keeps stuffed in his nightstand, finishing his nighttime routine.

“But you're not against it.” she points out, a shock evident on her face.

She thought he would want her for herself, he would show some jealousy or something saying he doesn't like that idea.

“No.” he agrees, lightly slapping his face to get the toner into his skin more.

She stands at the end of the bed completely dumbfounded, blinking a few times. “I never cheated on you.”

“I never cheated on you too.” he tells her mindlessly.

He never had reason to. She's beautiful, anything man would want in a woman. And sex is great too, he can't complain about that. But he's been extremely busy these past few weeks and not really caring about sex that much. Yeah, it's great to blow some steam after a long time. But he doesn't like to feel pressured and he just keeps getting irritated by her attempts of having sex with him. She is becoming too needy.

“So, you wouldn't mind me fucking someone else?” she asks with opened mouth.

“No, if that's what you want.”

It's quiet for a moment, an awkward silence looming in the bedroom but she's the only one who notices it.

“So, you're going to fuck someone else as well?” she asks, suddenly not really liking the whole idea of sharing her husband with someone. But she's the one who proposed this.

He thinks about it for a moment, not sure what his answer should be. He definitely thought about fucking someone else, especially these past few weeks since she starts to becoming somehow annoying. He almost feels bad for thinking about his own wife like that, almost. But he never cheated on her, no matter how many times those kinds of thoughts occurred his filthy mind.

“Probably.” he says in the end, laying down onto his soft pillow turning off his night lamp.

“Okay, cool.” she gulps, joining him in their bed turning her night lamp off as well, enveloping their bedroom in darkness.

It only took a week for her to come home with red marks all over her collarbones and Seokjin knew. She already started and weirdly enough, he didn't care.

“She's only using you for your money,” she cuts off his thoughts and faint memory of their deal they made an year ago. “And you're stupid enough to give her what she wants. An apartment? Who is she anyway? She probably can't even afford to take care of the baby!”

He wonders if she purposely changed the subject, avoiding the fact she indeed started to see other men first. She's using you to get the frustration out of her, but she barely knows anything about you. She probably feels a huge hatred against you, simply because you're having a child with her husband. You've a one thing she always wanted and you wouldn't give it to her. The image of her holding a small baby, not minding the fact she wouldn't be a biological mother to him, is breaking her facade of a mean woman.

“It's not any of your business really.” Seokjin simply says, waving his hand at her to prove his words.

“We're married, Seokjin!” she yells suddenly.

Yes, they agreed on opened relationship. They've both slept with other people while being married, but they're still husband and wife.

“Not by a choice.” he tells her with a glare before he turns on his heel, not minding the doorbell which means delivery came. But he can't seem to be hungry anymore, simply walking up the stairs with an empty stomach.

[csnews]

'I've never seen or heard of attacks': scientists baffled by orcas harassing boats

Susan Smillie - September 13, 2020

Reports of orcas striking sailing boats in the Straits of Gibraltar have left sailors and scientists confused. Just what is causing such unusually aggressive behaviour?  

When nine killer whales surrounded the 46ft boat that Victoria Morris was crewing in Spain on the afternoon of 29 July, she was elated. The biology graduate taught sailing in New Zealand and is used to friendly orca encounters. But the atmosphere quickly changed when they started ramming the hull, spinning the boat 180 degrees, disabling the autohelm and engine. The 23-year-old watched broken bits of the rudder float off, leaving the four-person crew without steering, drifting into the Gibraltar Straits shipping lane between Cape Trafalgar and the small town of Barbate.

The pod rammed the boat for more than an hour, during which time the crew were too busy getting the sails in, readying the life raft and radioing a mayday – “Orca attack!” – to feel fear. The moment fear kicked in, Morris says, was when she went below deck to prepare a grab bag – the stuff you take when abandoning ship. “The noise was really scary. They were ramming the keel, there was this horrible echo, I thought they could capsize the boat. And this deafening noise as they communicated, whistling to each other. It was so loud that we had to shout.” It felt, she says, “totally orchestrated”.

The crew waited a tense hour and a half for rescue – perhaps understandably, the coastguard took time to comprehend (“You are saying you are under attack from orca?”). To say this is unusual is to massively understate it. By the time help arrived, the orcas were gone. The boat was towed to Barbate, where it was lifted to reveal the rudder missing its bottom third and outer layer, and teeth marks along the underside.

Rocío Espada works with the marine biology laboratory at the University of Seville and has observed this migratory population of orca in the Gibraltar Straits for years. She was astonished. “For killer whales to take out a piece of a fibreglass rudder is crazy,” she says. “I’ve seen these orcas grow from babies, I know their life stories, I’ve never seen or heard of attacks.”

Highly intelligent, social mammals, orcas are the largest of the dolphin family, and behave in a similar way. It is normal, she says, that orcas will follow close to the propeller. Even holding the rudder is not unheard of: “Sometimes they will bite the rudder, get dragged behind as a game.” But never with enough force to break it. This ramming, Espada says, indicates stress. The Straits is full of nets and long lines; perhaps a calf got caught.

But Morris’s was only one of several encounters between late July and August. Six days earlier, Alfonso Gomez-Jordana Martin, a 31-year-old from Alicante, was crewing a delivery boat near Barbate for the same company, Reliance Yacht Management. They were proceeding under engine when a pod of four orcas brought their 40ft Beneteau to a halt. He filmed them – it looks more like excitement and curiosity than aggression – but even this bumping damaged the rudder. And the force increased, he says, over 50 minutes. “Once we were stopped, they came in faster: 10-15 knots, from a distance of about 25m,” he remembers. “The impact tipped the boat sideways.”

The skipper’s report to the port authority said the force “nearly dislocated the helmsman’s shoulder and spun the whole yacht through 120 degrees”.

At 11.30pm the previous night, 22 July, Beverly Harris, a retired nurse from Derbyshire, and her partner, Kevin Large, were motor-sailing their 50ft boat, Kailani, just off Barbate at eight knots, when they came to a sudden standstill. It was flat calm, pitch black. They thought they’d hit a net. “I scrambled for a torch and was like, ‘Bloody hell, they’re orcas,’” says Harris. The couple checked their position and found the boat pointing the opposite way. They tried to correct several times, but the orcas kept spinning them back. “I had this weird sensation,” Harris says, “like they were trying to lift the boat.” It lasted about 20 minutes, but felt longer. “We thought, ‘We’ve sailed across the Atlantic, surely we’re not going to sink now!’” Their rudder was damaged but got them to La Línea. It was a long night. “Kevin said I should get some sleep. I said, ‘Are you joking? I’m having a gin and tonic,’” recalls Harris.

While enjoying her drink, Harris could have spared a thought for Nick Giles, having a sleepless night alone after an almost identical encounter off Barbate just two and a half hours earlier. He was motor-sailing, and playing music when he heard a sudden bang “like a sledgehammer”. The wheel was “turning with incredible force” as the vessel spun 180 degrees, dislodging the autohelm and steering cables. “The boat lifted up half a foot and I was pushed by a second whale from behind,” he says. While resetting the cables, the orca hit again, “nearly chopping off my fingers in the mechanism”. He was pushed around without steering for about 15 minutes before they left him.

Catastrophic encounters between whales and boats are not unknown – the best-known events all took place in the Pacific. In 1972 the Robertson family from Staffordshire were shipwrecked off the Galapagos Islands after an orca strike (their book, Survive the Savage Sea became a classic). The following year, also on the way to those islands, Maurice and Maralyn Bailey’s 31ft boat was holed by a sperm whale. In 1989 William and Simone Butler lost their boat as a huge pod of pilot whales rammed them. In these and all other known cases, the mammals ignored the humans who took to life rafts; it was the boats that attracted their ire. More usually in encounters, the whale is left dead or injured. The International Whaling Commission records these strikes – more collisions are occurring with private boats as technological advances increase performance speeds.

The encounters described around Barbate were certainly frightening for the crew, who understandably felt targeted, but it’s unlikely they were meant as aggressive attacks. At least two other boats had harmless encounters. On 20 July Martin Chambers, a yacht master for Allabroad Sailing Academy, was unconcerned when they were joined by a pod near Barbate. One individual “had hold of the rudder and stopped us moving the boat”, he says. “That’s the first time I’ve seen them do that.” It seems the encounters increased in intensity, but it’s also worth considering that different boat constructions can suffer different outcomes – rudders on some modern boats can be quite fragile.

“These are very strange events,” says Ezequiel Andréu Cazalla, a cetacean researcher who talked to Morris. “But I don’t think they’re attacks.” Orca specialists around the world are equally surprised, agreeing the behaviour is “highly unusual”, but are cautious, given that the accounts are not from trained researchers. Most agree that something is stressing the orcas. And when it comes to sources of stress, there are plenty to choose from.

“The lack of tuna has led these orca to the very edge with only 30 adults left”

The Gibraltar orcas are endangered – there are fewer than 50 individuals left, with a continuing decline projected – adults and juveniles are sustaining injuries, suffering food scarcity and pollution. Their calves rarely survive. The Gibraltar Straits is, Cazalla points out, “the worst place for orcas to live”. This narrow stretch of water is a major shipping route. And the presence of orcas attracts more marine traffic – highly profitable whale-watching. Theoretically, it is regulated, but some operators flout rules about speed and distance to chase the animals. Constant harassment by boats affects the orcas’ ability to hunt. Which brings us to the biggest stress of all: fishing.

The orcas return to this noisy, polluted stretch of water for one reason – to feed. They specialise in hunting bluefin tuna, also highly prized by humans. The near collapse of bluefin tuna between 2005 and 2010 “has led this orca population to the very edge, with about 30 adults left”, says Pauline Gauffier, who has studied them.

The Straits is an important migratory route for the tuna. It has been economically crucial to this region for thousands of years – the Romans produced coins in Cadiz depicting the once bountiful fish. Local fisheries still use an ancient technique – almadraba, a complex system of trap nets. Each spring, the bluefin arrive to spawn in the Med; many find their way into the nets instead. In July and August, as the tuna leave for the Atlantic, the fishermen switch to drop lines – baited with fish and lowered with rocks. These artisanal techniques are far less harmful than trawling, purse seining or driftnets – and than the reckless sport-fishing boats speeding at 10 knots, trailing long lines.

“They target the orca, because they think there must be tuna under the pods,” says Jörn Selling, a marine biologist for Firmm whale watching and research foundation with 17 years’ experience in the Straits. “They go right through the pods, their hooks cutting the dorsal fins”.

In the past, the orca chased the bluefin to exhaustion, but with fewer and smaller fish available, and the pressures from human activity, some have adapted. As a result, there now exists what biologists call “depradation” – a complex balance between the orca, tuna, and humans – and what the fishermen call “stealing”.

Since 1999, two of the Straits’ five pods have learned to take tuna from the drop lines, leaving the fishermen pulling up the tuna head alone. It’s infuriating for the fishermen, but for the orca, this is high risk. Several have sustained serious injuries. “We see marks caused by fishing lines,” says Selling. “We hear about young orca getting hooked.” There are two females with severed flippers – “Lucia”, Selling says “lost her baby together with her flipper, due to the interaction with tuna fishermen”. Gauffier points out that “there is little the fishermen can do to avoid line or hook injuries” when orca interact; and it’s not known what caused the injuries. But many conservationists suspect some fishermen retaliate violently.

“The fishermen hate the killer whales,” says Selling. The orca are protected, but “unobserved, the fishermen do what they want. They see them as competitors.”

Stories persist of fishermen stunning orca with electric prods, throwing lit petrol cans, cutting dorsal fins. Cazalla has seen two orca with recent injuries (Morris thinks there was an injured individual at her boat). “One has a significant scar – you can see white tissue so it’s deep.” This, he thinks, is unlikely to be from a propeller, which would cause multiple scars.

Selling points out that the orca interact with the almadraba as well as drop-line fishing, and talks of a male which worked out how to navigate the labyrinth of submarine nets to take tuna in Barbate years ago. This orca was later observed with serious injury to its dorsal fin. It hasn’t been seen since.

But the orca have endured harassment for decades. What explains the new behaviour? Was there reduced noise during the Covid lockdown? Selling says yes. “No big game fishing, no whale watching or sailing boats, no fast ferries, fewer merchant ships.” He’s intrigued by the idea that the orca had two months with reduced noise – “Something most of them probably never experienced before” – and considers the possibility they felt angry as the noise restarted (Gauffier thinks this unlikely, but notes that the Barbate pod still actively chases tuna, “for which they need a quieter environment”).

There is one very unscientific phrase I hear repeatedly from several researchers: “Pissed off”. Some speculate that the multitude of stresses these highly sentient cetaceans have endured – years of grieving lost calves, injuries, competition for fish, coupled with a pause and reintroduction of human activity, could have affected their behaviour. There is a great deal we don’t yet know about orca, which, like us, have evolved complex cultures and different languages around the world. A couple of years ago Ken Balcomb from the Center for Whale Research talked about endangered orca being dependent on scarce chinook salmon in the Pacific Northwest. “I’ve seen them look at boats hauling fish. I think they know that humans are somehow related to the scarcity of food. And I think they know that the scarcity of food is causing them physical distress, and also causing them to lose babies.”

Sounds like anthropomorphising? Lori Marino, neuroscientist and president of the Whale Sanctuary Project found in orca brains an astounding capacity for intelligence. “If we are talking about whether killer whales have the wherewithal and the cognitive capacity to intentionally strike out at someone, or to be angry, or to really know what they are doing, I would have to say the answer is yes. They are likely defending a territory or resources.”

Meanwhile, Nick Irving from Reliance is wondering if he should send clients’ boats out after the last three sustained damage: “Is it reckless?” Neither of us say it, but we’re both thinking he doesn’t want to be the mayor in Jaws – the obvious, if lazy stereotype that comes to mind. Word is starting to get out, frustrating Espada. Friends call, asking about the “attacks”, if it’s safe to swim. “Are you mad?” she asks. “Of course it’s safe!” As shark conservationists know all too well, it’s difficult to protect endangered animals with a bad image.

This tiny population’s presence is of huge importance, and if human activity is affecting their behaviour, human activity must be regulated. Gauffier has presented the Spanish Environment Agency with a conservation plan proposing that in the Barbate area, “activities producing underwater noise should be reduced to a minimum”. This is the very least that should happen. Each sailor I spoke to was concerned that their activities had stressed the orca. Victoria Morris, who has been searching for a specialist subject when she returns to study marine biology in autumn has found her topic. The Gibraltar orca has one more ally – which is good because these majestic, beleaguered mammals need all the help they can get.

[erhiem]

From left: Photo by Gi Naps/Getty Images; Photo by Rose Hartman/Archive Photos/Getty Images; Photo by Victor Virgil/Gamma-Rafo via Getty Images

Today, the House of Jean Paul Gaultier is relaunching its ready-to-wear line after a hiatus of six years. It comes 16 months after fashion’s “Maestro of Mehmed”, as journalist Georgina Howell dubbed her in the early ’90s, took her final bow as the brand’s designer, implying that this iteration of its namesake. will not be designed. Instead, the reins are taken over by a dedicated team from their atelier, with help crafted from the rotating doors of some of the most independent designers working today – Palomo Spain, Ottolinger, Nix Lecourt Mansion, Alan Crosetti and Marvin M’Tumo .

Since starting his own label in 1976, Jean Paul has been instrumental in turning underwear into acceptable outerwear, making sailor fashion sexy and, more generally, paving the way for designers to experiment with diverse and unexpected castings on the runway. have been responsible for. He also dedicated an entire collection – AW97 – to the fight against racism. The collection, titled ‘Fight Racism’, featured graphic prints of young anti-fascists with slogans printed on their chests.

In fact, with such a rich history behind it, and vintage JPGs becoming increasingly collectible since the recent renaissance—partly stemming from the Kardashians’ love of all things net—more thanks to the label’s revival. Couldn’t be the right time- the line to wear from now. Although it is a well-known fact that Jean Paul himself decided to step back from the category in 2014 after a somewhat tumultuous feud with Florence Tetier (graphic designer and co-founder). November MagazineNow serving as the brand’s creative and brand director, Ghar is poised to enter the field again. in an interview with WWDJPG’s general manager, Antón Gégy, described the relaunch as an opportunity to “celebrate Jean Paul Gaultier, its values, its archives and its history”. And what better way to raise the glass to the core of fashion? Horrible Instead look at seven of the most show-stopping moments from its most iconic era, the ’90s. Long live Gaultier!

Photo by Gie Knaeps/Getty Images

Madonna’s Conical Corset from the Blonde Ambition Tour, 1990

Back in 1989, when Jean-Paul Gaultier was told by an assistant that Madonna had told the audience, she was convinced that he was playing a trick with her. They knew how obsessed he was with her, just could not do be true But she soon found herself on the phone to the original queen of pop, making a match in ’90s fashion heaven. Naturally, Madonna already knew what she wanted: to create something for her that surrounded Jean Paul’s signature masculine-feminine crossover. Inspired by his love of the late ‘queen of Paris punk’ Edwij Belmore, Jean Paul conceived a pinstripe suit – the top of ’80s manhood – and a corset with the now famous conical bra, which he designed six years ago on AW84 had started for. /85.

Photo by Victor Virgil/Gamma-Rafo via Getty Images

Eva Herzigova’s cut-out dress, 1992

Thought harnesses were a new thing on the runway? Wrong! After all, you’re not known as a fashionista Horrible Without a sprinkling of kinks here and there, as this look proves well. Presented on JPG’s AW92 runway, this dress, so slick in its fit that clothes can even put on Eva’s body, exemplifies the powerful-yet-playful take on sexuality that serves as a throughline throughout the French designer’s body of work. runs as. Styled with bicep-clad opera gloves and proudly crafting the Czech-Italian supermodel’s bust, there’s a distinctive dome-y tone at play here, though no compromise on the beauty of the silhouette or the quality of the make. It speaks to an ideological throughline that runs through Jean Paul’s work – that no matter who a woman is or wants to be, she always has the right to be chic!

Photo by Pierre Guillaud/AFP via Getty Images

Houndstooth bodysuit inspired by Leigh Bowery, 1991

In an interview with iD in 2018, Jean Paul declared his love for the “London Way”, which means “just creating your own style, your own creativity and being free to do what you want to do”. When he took the idea back to Paris, it wasn’t very popular, but that didn’t stop him from creating his own trademark approach to design. He spent his youth in the 80s at famous London nightclubs such as Blitz and Heaven, where he met performance artist Leigh Bowery. In a nod to Bowery’s influence on fashion, Jean Paul sent down his interpretation of the Leigh Bowery Houndstooth bodysuit—which would later inspire Alexander McQueen for AW09 and Gareth Pugh for SS07.

Photo by Pierre Guillaud/AFP via Getty Images

‘Chic Rabbi’ Collection, 1993

For AW93/94, Jean Paul presented the ‘Chic Rabbi’ collection, inspired by the traditional dress of Hasidic Jews. Models in streamels and black suits danced to the sounds of a violinist who played live on the catwalk. The usual circle of supermodels was there, but Jean Paul also decided to cast someone who visually embodied the cultural context: a man with a big beard. During the ’80s and ’90s, designers were known for their casting choices, pioneering their diversity. “I’m fascinated by strong personalities, people who capture my imagination because they walk well down the street,” Gaultier explained in a 2014 interview. “Showing just one type of girl is a flaw,” he adds, “something I’ve always fought with. One kind of beauty – no. If I show a bigger girl, I’ll always show a younger girl.” will show.” It is now legend that Gaultier once posted an advertisement in a French daily newspaper release Looking for “atypical” models, saying that “facial distortions should not be avoided in application”.

Photo by Arnal/Garcia/Gama-Rafo via Getty Images

Mesh Tattoo Top, 1993

Back in 1993, the trend Declared this prestigious collection as “a startling vision of cross-cultural harmony”. While we’d be inclined to cringe at the somewhat reasonable look now that Jean Paul drove down the runway for the SS94 (which can actually be read as another nod to Leigh Bowery) it certainly Historical perspective. It also marked the debut of Jean Paul’s iconic mesh tops, which were inspired by a tattoo convention he once found himself spinning around – today, they are some of his most sought-after designs. The collection also includes heavy notes of punk, grunge, and 18th century men’s frock coats made in Jodhpur and denim in the typical JPG style. How did he ever find the place for all this?!

Photo by Pierre Vuthe/Sigma/Sigma via Getty Images

Björk!, 1994

Jean Paul’s celebrity friends don’t start and end with Madonna. A year after Björk’s properly titled debut solo album, First entry, Taking the music and fashion worlds by storm, she appeared on the designer’s AW94/95 show, about a magical train that stopped in a small village somewhere high in some mountains. And what, duh?! As you’d expect from JPG, the show was a mish-mash this time in terms of different styles of traditional arctic costume. The models trotted down the snow-covered runway (which almost tripped Kate Moss), decked out in a hell of a lot of fur, silk, wool, and leather.

Photo by Pierre Verdi / AFP via Getty Images

Op-Art Inspired Catsuit, 1995

Two women riding a motorcycle hit them. One of them descends and climbs onto a loft at a DJ booth. Jean Paul’s AW95 ‘Mad Max’ Show Has Started. As he was in the middle of designing the costumes for Luc Besson’s famous film fifth element In which Bruce Willis and Milla Jovovich fight a mysterious cosmic force, they had science-fiction in mind, which means it was technology and cyber-heavy. The bodysuit inspired by Viktor Vasarelli’s op-art paintings became the show’s most memorable aspect—now made super collectible by Kim K and Cardi B and partly responsible for the JPG-madness we’re seeing on Depop these days. Also on the show was Carmen Dell’Orefice, who walked with a live falcon on her arm and sported ornate football armor that lit up like a circuit board. Really prestigious.

Photo by Victor Virgil/Gamma-Rafo via Getty Images

trompe l’oeil torso top, 1995

The next season, Jean Paul took his quest for sci-fi polka dots further, this time translating it into menswear. This time, however, he brought his knack for trompe l’oeil print placement to the table—skills he had previously flexed in the aforementioned Les Tautouzes, and even as early as 1992, when he sculpted the enviable Presented Printed Mesh Top with Toros. The look sported here by Tanel Bedrossiantz is perhaps a little more figurative in its approach, though no less direct is its infrared-style suggestion of what might lie beneath the longtime house muse’s button-down shirt.

Photo by Danielle Simon/Gamma-Rafo via Getty Images

JPG Set Sale, 1998

In a promo video for JPG’s new ready-to-wear line, Bella Hadid is wearing a big red ship on her head. In case you didn’t already know, it debuted at the Haute Couture SS98 show, where it takes us back to the Age of Enlightenment. It was a time of scientific progress, the advent of modern capitalism and of course colonialism. The ‘explorers’ were sailing around the world from Europe, ‘discovering’ new lands for them – a ship serving as a nod to the continent’s shameful past. Some say, however, that it was during the Enlightenment that the fashion we know today – as a form of self-expression that can be accessed by the public – first began to emerge, making the historical period a fashion show. became an ideal subject. .

Photo by Rose Hartman / Archive Photos / Getty Images

Man Himself!, 1992

Sure enough, to write a list of Jean Paul Gaultier’s most iconic looks from his most iconic decade, and not for the man himself. Indeed, as Florence Tetier spoke to her before the label’s launch, “Everybody knows who she is!” whether it’s his striped Whether paired with a pleated black skirt or, as seen here, a denim vest and a punkish tartan kilt, JPG’s personal style has made her one of the most instantly recognizable designers of our time. Plus, there’s a direct connection between what she wore and what we then saw on the runway. While we may have never seen a proper, French Navy-standard Sailor From the designer, “he’s done a lot of stripes and nautical-inspired pieces,” notes Florence. “It’s really nice to see the link between the way he dresses and the way he designs.” we love you, Jean Paul! Follow iD on Instagram and TikTok for more fashion.

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[thestraightrazor]

Yeah about that Columbus dude.

Jaclyn FosterOtc1St1opgobenr7 60118 7aft2t 7412:7e106 AM  · I know this is a controversial position to take, but I believe Columbus should be judged by the standards of his time. As a student of history, I am keenly aware of the presentist distortions that can come from imposing our own modern-day values on historical figures without considering the context in which they lived. So how was Columbus judged in his time? A Catholic priest, Bartolomé de las Casas, was horrified by Columbus’ invasion of Hispaniola, which included rape, murder, slavery, torture, sex trafficking prepubescent girls, and feeding babies to dogs in front of their parents. He wrote to Spain condemning Columbus’ actions in the strongest possible terms. When word of Columbus’ actions reached a Spanish court official, Francisco de Bobadilla, he had Columbus arrested and shipped back to Spain in irons. While de Bobadilla’s reaction was based on part on his own ambitions, the Crown of Ferdinand and Isabella found cause to strip Columbus of his governorship based on the reports of his cruelty.None of Columbus’ contemporary critics were unusually good people. De Las Casas was a proponent of African slavery; de Bobadilla colonized Hispaniola after Columbus was deposed; Ferdinand and Isabella instituted the Spanish Inquisition. They, like Columbus, were products of their time — and each of them felt he had crossed a line, in one way or another, during his time in the Americas. That’s how Columbus was judged according to the standards of his time. I don’t know what the equivalent of “shipped off in irons and ignominiously demoted” is in today’s world, but I’m sure as hell it isn’t “celebrate a holiday named after him.”Image: a 19th century depiction of Francisco de Bobadilla arresting Christopher Columbus on Hispaniola.

And if you doubt the eye witness’s Christopher bragged about all these crimes in his journals. 

[moviemunchies]

You know it’s a darn shame that there hasn’t been a big budget Zorro film in the past decade. Zorro is one of the archetypical Hollywood heroes: one of the iconic swashbucklers, one of the precursors to the modern superhero. We wouldn’t have Tony Stark or Batman if it weren’t for the success of Zorro stories. So why hasn’t there been a Zorro movie hitting theaters in years?

Maybe because it’s really, really hard to top this one.

 [To be fair, there was a sequel to this one but it’s… not as good. Goofy and fun, but not as good and everyone quickly forgot about it.]

Our movie goes like this: Diego de la Vega (Anthony Hopkins) is ZORRO, the hero of the people of California in the days right before it gets taken from Spain by Mexico. He fights against the evil governor, Rafael Montero (Stuart Wilson), because that guy is a dick who oppresses the people. He stops his latest evil plot with the help of the two young boys, the Murrieta brothers, Joaquin and Alejandro. But as Montero’s about to flee to Spain to avoid Santana’s invading armies, he discovers Zorro’s secret identity, burns down his house, (accidentally) kills his wife, and kidnaps his infant daughter to be raised as his own. As revenge, he sends Diego to live in a hell hole prison for the rest of his days.

Twenty years later, Don Rafael returns to California with his “daughter” Elena (Catherine Zeta-Jones), while Diego escapes from prison. The Murrieta brothers are now outlaws, but when Joaquin is killed by Captain Harrison Love (Matt Letscher), the head of Montero’s troops, his brother Alejandro (Antonio Banderas) swears vengeance. He’s found by Diego, who decides to teach him to become the new Zorro so that he’ll have the skillz he needs to defeat Captain Love but also free the people of California from Don Rafael’s latest plot.

So let’s start with this: The Mask of Zorro is pretty much everything you’d want from a Zorro movie. It has awesome sword fights, it has likable characters, it has great action sequences, it has romance and it even has dancing. This was a movie made for people who like watching action movies, while paying tribute to one of the original action heroes. Topping it all off is a fantastic score composed by James Horner, a guy who’s got the original The Magnificent Seven’s score on his composing resume.

This is emphasized by the story itself: it is one generation passing on to the next. This movie has two Zorros: the original and the successor. By making the film about a man passing the torch to his younger counterpart, the film is illustrating that this story, no matter how old it is, can still be adapted to a new audience with new storytelling tropes. It’s a bit like Into the Spider-Verse in that sense.

That being said, although it’s a movie that works well as a popcorn flick, there are some things in it that only work because it’s in a movie. And that’s okay! A movie’s meant to be entertaining. But several times you’ll probably wonder why the villains don’t just… shoot Zorro when they have the chance, or other choices that would seem obvious if you’d read the Evil Overlord List. At one point the villain haphazardly captures Diego and throws him not into a dungeon cell (though admittedly, why would he have one of those in his house?), but into the wine cellar, a place with lots of glass bottles that could easily be used as improvised weapons. I’m not saying this is a dumb movie; it’s not, but maybe as a result of being an action movie made in the late 90’s it isn’t as genre-savvy as some other films in the past two decades might have been.

Still, this movie has better action scenes than most movies of the past decade, so that makes up for it. There haven’t been that many swashbucklers in years, and certainly not that many good ones that come to mind--the fifth Pirates of the Caribbean makes me ache with how bad it was. So watching a movie here in which there is skillful, if unrealistically showy, fencing is a relief. Wide steady shots where we can see what’s happening! Fancy sword work! It’s great and I can watch some of these scenes ten times over and not get bored with them.

Also, fun fact: while the majority of the cast are fictional characters, there are three who aren’t? Joaquin Murrieta was a real-life outlaw in California around the time this story is set, who really did work with another real outlaw called Three-Fingered Jack, and was in fact killed by the real Captain Love and his head and Jack’s hand were preserved in jars to make sure that Love could prove that he killed them, and thus claim the bounty on their heads. Joaquin Murrieta also achieved something of folk hero status, to the point that some claim he’s the original inspiration behind the Zorro stories to begin with, making him a fitting inclusion in a Zorro movie (although the man who becomes Zorro is his brother).

So by all means: check out this movie. If you’re new to Zorro, this isn’t a bad introduction to the character. If you’re an old fan, this is a movie that pays tribute to the character in a memorable and affectionate way.