#fully aware that it's mid march

[forever--darling]

the princess of bakura

summary: you are faced with reality finally catching up with you as you are at risk of falling with your planet amidst the clone wars, yet your father the king of bakura refuses to let you stay within the burning city, thus contacting his old-time friend and jedi he was in training with to come and take you from the city.

pairings: anakin skywalker x princess!reader

word count: 2.2k

warnings/notes: mention of war, of death, mention of clone of wars, the start and beginning or rather where it all ended for the princess of bakura but not for y/n.

series masterlist | 00

The fires appeared, reflected from the great towers in waves of orange and red. The very sound of buildings collapsing into fines of dust and ash was the only attention-holder you had from the high floors of the capital. Locked away within a side room, the gold dress pooled in heaps at your feet, as the handmaiden undid the clasps from the tops of your shoulders. The raging sounds of gunfire no longer had the ability to make you react in the form of a jump or to shiver out of fear — it was too normal, too accustomed to this life that had become Bakura. As if there could be any room for it — for the fear, that surely the evil would succumb to and never let go of. 

“Princess we must hurry,” your handmaiden Sora cried, tears welling up within her innocent green pupils. She wasn’t much older than you, in fact maybe no more than a year or two, and yet her life was sealed, sure to never escape the ruin that would become. 

“Why? They’re coming. I’m sure my escape won’t be deemed successful,” you could barely recognize your own voice, so void of hope, of a greater good but rather defeat.  

“We must not say things such as that.” 

“And why not?” you asked, turning to find a pair of tight black pants hanging in her arms, sure to not get caught on anything as if your father was expecting you to run, “It’s not as if they aren’t true.” 

She gave you the piece of garment, and you took it, aware almost as if you could sense that there was something she wasn’t telling you. Rather, was withholding as the intruders marched to the gates of the capital, their sabers and guns fully loaded. Hesitantly, you pulled the garment on just as she offered a long black tunic that was tight around the chest and shoulders, with short sleeves and bracings where the belts would go. She bit down on her lip, and you knew it then. There was something she wasn’t telling you.

“What is it?” 

“It is nothing to be concerned with. We just must hurry, to ensure your safety.” 

“My safety?” You repeated brows furrowed as her innocent face refused to meet yours. “Tell me what it is you know. I ask of it. No, I demand of it. Sora, this is perhaps our last moment in the same room together so please.”

She tried to offer a smile, one of encouragement, as the tunic slipped over your frame and tightened at the back, just like the rest of the corsets you had been wearing since you were no older than thirteen. But it was only sad, her face painted in dried tears as the corners of her lips barely managed to lift.

“The Jedis have come.” 

Hurriedly, the belts were wrapped around your mid-drift and tightened as you waited impatiently, with the sounds of soldiers’ large boots echoing off the floors outside of your room like a steed of chariots. “Go on.” 

“The king will ensure your survival, princess. One of the greatest and his padawan has been sent to ensure your departure will be successful.” 

“Departure? He wishes for me to leave?” you asked, almost in disbelief as her hands dropped from your back. 

The war only got louder, the walls seeming to shake as the fires only grew outside, catching your gaze once again. The screams were inescapable as Bakura burned to the ground. 

“He wishes for you to survive,” she said, tone firm. 

Your fists loosened, falling to your sides in the devastation that you were expected to flee to survive while the rest of your people burned and were killed… their existence sure to mean nothing by the end of the war. The Clone Wars had claimed far too many planets and innocence at that point. An anger, a sense of guilt squelched at your possibility of living while your father, the king, went down with his people, his empire. 

You didn’t wish to be a coward. You didn’t wish to flee, even if with it was the promise of survival. 

It was not fair, yet exactly how the ex-Jedi would deem to have it. 

They had too much hope for their own good, you thought with a permanent furrow in your brow, tucking the long strands of hair back behind your ears and out of the way. Lips pulled into a fine line, you felt the energy and the particles align as if the force itself was speaking to you, to the Jedi blood coarsing within your pulse. 

A Jedi must not have any attachments. 

A Jedi must put others needs before his own. 

A Jedi must not partake in anger, in fear, or aggression. 

You bowed your head then, a series of guilt appearing at the mere thought of the Jedi code that still no doubt laced upon the king of Bakura’s back. 

In that moment, you hated him for that. 

With anger suddenly reverberating within your veins and a huff along your parted lips, you took the long black cloak from Sora and wrapped it around your shoulders, slipping your arms in each sleeve. Taking the hood within your nimble fingers, you pulled it up and onto your head, concealing what you could in case the halls had been invaded already. 

Turning, you shared one last longing glance with the handmaiden, one who had devoted her young life to being a caretaker as well as your source of company. You nodded solemnly, “I thank you for your service to the royal family.”

At that point far aware of the glassiness in her eyes and the loss that had already been stained upon history, you felt the chokeful dread that had a hold of you at that moment. With so much uncertainty, you turned away, fingers grasping the cloak tightly, and left the room. Chambers that once had been yours, but now never would be again.

The brick-tiled floors of the capital’s hallways were flooded with soldiers of Bakura, the most trusted, all dressed in armor, grey and blue helmets concealing their faces, their identities. A simple nod was sent their way as you turned down the spiraling hallway, feeling as if doom was upon you, a slow march to death though you had been told otherwise. The building shook, the walls quaking with despair as you followed the army up and into the main corridors of the capital, separate from the royal family’s chambers. The brick turned to grey stone, white towering walls made of metal, and the windows were all concealed behind large doors of steal. 

You came upon the war room, the place of perpetual decisions, the place you knew he would be the most protected in the capital’s final moments. Pulse quickening, eyes dazed, you felt it again — the frustration, the immense anger — a type you didn’t realize you could ever feel. With narrowed eyes, your hands released around the cloak and up into the air. Waving in the direction of the doors, the doors flung open, slamming loudly. It was almost as if the force was apologetic, leaning into your feelings. 

Sure enough, as you stepped through the threshold, the king stood near the table, a shield of dark grey armor covering every part of him but his face. A face wrinkled in nothing but despair. Silence overcame the bustle of protectors, and suddenly, you found the eyes of the man at his side. 

There he was as if like a savior. 

The Jedi — one of the greatest, and the very man who happened to be your father’s closest confidant. 

Obi-Wan Kenobi. 

A savior with long hair and pale eyes, dressed in tan tunics of his own, his saber held securely at his waist. 

You hadn’t seen the man since you were a mere child, a man who could’ve very well been an uncle to you and a protector at the headway of your mother’s death only a few years before, and yet he stood there a bewildered look on his face as if he had felt it. Felt your anger from a few rooms away. 

The king faced you, a look of grief evident, and regret as he noticed the betrayal upon yours. He didn’t look away from you as he leaned over and spoke to Obi-Wan. “My dear friend, I ask of you to take my daughter. You haven’t much time as the rebels have just managed to break through the front gates. Time can only be in our favor for so long.” 

As Kenobi moved near you, his palm outstretched, you stood your ground, “No!”

“My sweet daughter—”

You shook your head, that tightened expression refusing to let up, “I will not just abandon my people, abandon you, my king.”

It was as if the look he gave you then was one of disappointment rather than pride. As if he had wished to raise you to be a coward. Jedis, don’t run, you thought. Queens don’t leave.  “Father, please.” 

“Y/N—” 

You interrupted again, “I cannot leave you to die.” 

His face fell, the great and powerful king deflating just at the single look on your face — from his greatest love. Sadness swirled within his irises, and though it could have very well been the very last time you would ever look your father in the face, you couldn’t move. You couldn’t grasp his hand or pull him in for one last embrace. You were far too stubborn. Far too angry, then. 

He stepped closer, but you only took a step back because this was a fight you wouldn’t be able to win as time was wading by each moment; it wasn’t something that was in your favor then. He sighed, “I can’t fail you too, my child. I failed your mother, and I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I lost you too.” 

Your mouth parted, a single tear falling from your cold steel eyes, just as a burst of static filled your ears. The com-system interlocked upon Kenobi’s waist began to illuminate, and loudly, drowning out everything else as a voice propelled through. 

“Master! They are invading. I repeat they are beginning to storm the capital. I don’t know how much longer we’ll be able to hold them off.” 

His padawan. 

Obi-Wan, held the side button of the com and lifted it to his face, unable to look away from the sad parting between father and daughter, “Hold your ground, my strong padawan. We’ll be to you in just a few short minutes.” 

As he clipped the com back into place he cleared his throat, “We must go. Time is falling away from our side. Princess…” 

“Father, don’t do this.” It was your final plea.

There was nothing left to say. 

His eyes tore away from yours, and you felt a small part of yourself break then and wither away beneath the confines of your walls. The emotion was gone from his face, weakness shoved away where you could no longer see it. He waved off some of the nearby soldiers to get into position — to be able to escort you and Obi safely to the main entrance. 

A small whimper fell from your parted lips as he looked then at Obi. “You must go now!” 

Obi nodded but hesitated, feet stopping after a few short steps. He turned, peering over his shoulder to share one last final look with the former Jedi. 

“I commend you, my dear friend,” your father wished farewell, his hand lifting up near his face and down as if in a form of respect, “May the force be with you.” 

“And you, my king,” he returned, before approaching you with fast steps, his hand taking a hold of your forearm firmly. 

“No, no, please,” you cried out, trying to fight Obi-Wan as he began to pull you from the room. You tried as the fleeting image of your father across the room is all you would have in departing, his glare somehow hard and cold, “Father!” 

The doors slammed shut in your face, echoing like a final coo of death. You collapsed in the Jedi’s arms, all exertion and passion gone from the confines of your chest. Nothing would remain. 

Peering up, slumped against his figure, the halls were bathed in darkness. The electricity had been cut, yet the alarms remained, loudly echoing, screaming in agony while the light the dark red reflected across your skin — somehow matching the anger and rage that pulsed within your body. A sense of resentment for the king, for this Jedi who pulled you through the halls, leading you away from your death, from your planet, from your former life. 

Bakura was destined to burn that night, to fall, to whither into ashes, and yet its future queen would not. All that remained was anger, frustration, and resentment.

[josefavomjaaga]

Hello, dear Josefa ✨

I hope you are doing well!

While Flower and myself were talking about our favourite couples of the napoleonic era, our conversation found its way to the Soults which we would love to group with couples like the Davouts or the Mortiers but can't because of the cheating on our monsieur le maréchal Soult's part.

With that in mind, we wondered: Do we know how madame Soult reacted to the cheating? How did her behaviour change through the first days, weeks, months after finding out? Did it even change?

We are aware that we don't know any details of the actual conversation where the couple discussed this matter but we still wanted to ask!

Thank you for your time and effort! c:

We do not really know, I fear. We do not even know when and how exactly she learned about Soult's little secondary Spanish family. It is quite possible that it did not come completely unexpected anymore, as people in Paris had been gossipping about Soult's alleged infidelities ever since 1810, and in one of his 1811 letters Soult kind of had admitted to a marital misstep.

If I remember correctly, Soult finally was granted permission to leave Spain by mid-February 1813, and could leave at the beginning of March. On his way through Southern France he took the occasion to go see his old mother in Saint-Amans, whom he originally had wanted to visit four years earlier, on his way into Spain. I do not remember (I'm not even sure if it is clear) if Louise and the kids already met with him in Saint-Amans or if they waited for him in Paris but I suspect they went to Saint-Amans and from there back to the capital that Soult reached at the beginning of April. He soon had to leave again, this time with Napoleon to Germany, on the 1813 campaign, and on 12 April he already gave full powers in all matters to his wife so she could handle affairs during his absence.

Did she at this point already know about the full extent of these affairs? It's likely, but we do not have any real clue.

She must have known by late June 1813, however (interestingly, that's the same time when, many miles away, Maria de la Paz Baylèn and her little baby son leave Spain and enter France). We know that because Soult in his letter fom 23 June at least vaguely hints at how hurt Louise must have been by his confessions. He invites her to come to meet with him at Dresden with their children, despite the fact that [...]

you will not be lodged very well, but you will be with me, your sorrows will cease, your cheerfulness will return, and you will be certain that, despite everything that has happened, you have never ceased to be tenderly loved [...]

"Despite everything that has happened" clearly means that by that point, Louise is fully aware of the existence of Maria de la Paz and her baby. And she had taken it badly, as was to be expected. Obviously, she doubted Soult's love for her, and she may have considered taking further steps, or at least that's something Soult feared:

I'm not talking about the other feelings, for nothing could add to their strength other than the step you're taking right now.

(All emphasis by me)

And then he continues to implore her to come and sit down with him and talk it all over.

So, obviously lots of trouble in honeymoon land. From the looks of it, I'd say Louise did not so much react with fury, but rather turned sad and depressed - which probably hit Soult far more. Her fury she apparently kept in stock for one French emperor to be used when she heard that her husband was about to be sent back to Spain again. But that's a different story 😁.

Thank you for the question, and I hope this kind of suffices, as it seems to be all information there is. (All quotes from N. Gotteri, "Le Maréchal Soult", as usual.)

[witch-and-her-witcher]

Morrill (Mor/Merrill) | T, mentions of war/death/trauma from sexual assault | First Meeting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort

ao3

*please mind triggers for SA trauma references

~*~*~

“You’re late.”

Mor hasn’t fully entered the office before the words land like the crack of a whip. 

This is going to be a treat, she thinks in annoyance. 

Before nearly stumbling over her own feet in the first case of gracelessness in … her entire life?

Sitting behind a desk piled high with documents and books propped open to pages for easy comparison, the singular most stunning female Mor has ever seen presides. And she’s leveling the iciest look at Mor from those twilight eyes. Frigid enough to freeze an Illyrian legion mid-march.

And all the more breathtaking for it.

Mor recovers her footing against a burst of tempest.

“Do the members of our ruling court believe themselves above appointment times? Has the Night Court strayed so far from basic etiquette?”

Hair as white as dazzling Winter snow rustles in her own conjured wind. Strands catch on the priestess’s thin lips. The crackle of magic and the scent of ozone tickles Mor’s nose, dares her to poke her tongue out to lick her lips against the familiar tingle of awareness.

But she can’t remove her eyes from the female and she’d likely see the sight of her tongue as an instigation. 

“My sincerest apologies.” Mor smiles easily, practiced, as she sits, crosses one knee over the other in her flowy high-waisted trousers. “Would you prefer I reschedule?”

Merrill, Clotho’s second and the leading researcher for the Night Court who rivals even Helion’s scholars — through abrasive call-out articles in response to their studies in the scholarly circulars, nonetheless. A maelstrom of a female descended from one of the most formidable welders of wind, Lord Rabath. Mor has heard of her, tucked away in the Library, but has somehow never run into her.

Until today.

Today she’s here to strike an impossible bargain.

And she’s completely botched the start.

“So your lack of attention to detail can interrupt my calendar once more? I think not. But I may exercise a hard stop at our original end time, whether we’ve gotten to your portion of the meeting or not.”

“That would be amenable. Fair, for my tardiness and all.”

Merrill scrutinizes the lack of tension in Mor’s posture with the suspicion worthy of a shrew. A creature too used to being underground. 

Mor has to suppress the familiar righteous fury that fills her when considering the circumstances that have chased these females into this mountain sanctuary.

This place isn’t about her, isn’t about vengeance - it’s about healing, and her anger won’t help that. Not now, at least.

“I briefly described the purpose of my inquiry —” Mor highly doubts this female has an ounce of brevity in her body if she describes the lengthy scroll Mor received as ‘brief’ “ — so I assume you’re prepared for this undertaking. I will warn you now, thoroughness will not be compromised.”

“Unless you decide to impose the hard-stop of our appointment time?”

 Merrill’s lips pucker. Only centuries of surviving her Illyrians’ practical jokes keeps Mor’s expression carefully trained beyond a flicker of amusement.

“As I already said, yes.” Twilight depths don’t warm an inch, but a challenge not wholly hostile twinkle in them. “If you insist on asking repetitive questions, we certainly will not have time to discuss your matter.” 

Mor ducks her chin. “Understood. Please, Merrill, I’m ready when you are. I’m fully confident in my ability to follow your precise instructions as well as my stamina to withstand whatever you throw my way.”

Merrill scoffs, sizing up the Morrigan like she isn’t a renowned figure across continents. “We’ll see about that.”

They launch into a lengthy analysis of the firsthand accounts Merrill has collected on the Valkyrie. Asking Mor for confirmation from her own experiences with the warrior females. They’re interrupted briefly by one of Merrill’s assistants, a young Fae barely wet behind the ears, and the pure indignation that seeps from the priestess fills Mor like a kettle of familiarity.

The flippant tone the young female thinks is buried beneath her respectful words raises Mor’s hackles in the same way Nesta’s haughty attitude does.

When she asks if it’s just her or have all the Fae gotten younger and more precocious, she swears a hint of a smile threatens to break Merrill’s steely demeanor. 

After that, a careful truce is drawn. 

A recognition that they’ve both been around far too long for the mouthy, exhibitionist style of the youths these days — surely they never would have been so churlish, dared to speak out against their tutors, their masters in learning.

It’s impossible to tell if minutes or hours pass as they hunt out details in Merrill’s book. It’s more exhilarating than Mor had imagined a review of a comprehensive history could be. It stirs old feelings of wild, reckless times, poor decisions and moments of unbelievable courage; they feel like tales of someone else — not her own stories. But there’s also the somber, smothering reminder of Fae come and gone. 

A lengthy silence follows the passage pertaining to the Gollian Mountains.

Mor presses her hands between her thighs and squeezes them. 

Flesh, blood, above ground.

Or. Not quite so above ground. 

She studies the office, not so far in the depths of the mountain on the second level of the library, but there’s still a hint of cavernous moisture to the air, the faintest trickle of water moving through stone behind the walls. Seeks out the details to chase away the thrum of emotion welling in her throat. 

This isn’t one of the rooms with a window towards Velaris. As if Merrill has intentionally barricaded herself against the heart of the mountain.

They’re both living, but life feels so cut off this far from the surface.

“Don’t you miss it?” The words come out like a great exhale.

Merrill freezes in her diligent note taking. 

Focused, feeding her a steady supply of information, Mor has managed to nearly smooth things over from her social faux pas - but now those sharp eyes are narrowed on her with a promise of violence brimming beneath.

“The wind,” Mor continues. Truth sings in her blood, surges her forward. “It must be stifling to be down here, only catching drafts. Don’t you miss the wind?”

Mor expects a howling rage. A tantrum of papers and curses whipping around her in a tunnel of biting air.

But perhaps it's her earnest expression, or the vulnerability laid out between them in discussing her fallen comrades. Merrill forcefully sets her pen in her ink well, but the current around her is only a trickling stir. She crosses her arms over her chest, nearly tugging the fabric taut enough to reveal a shape of a body underneath.

Mor doesn’t look. 

Like a shuttering pull of blinds Merrill bites back her rage and honesty flickers through.

“Yes,” she grits out. “I miss it with every damned breath under this mountain. The wind cries to me like a forlorn lover, begging me to return.”

They barely know each other, but for some reason Mor’s chest is rising and falling rapidly with the confession. It feels sacred. Like a treasure to hold this female’s candle of truth close, needing to cup it gently with both hands, protect it, so it doesn’t wink out.

“So why don’t you answer Her?”

“Simple. I am a coward, Morrigan. I hide behind my books and research and anger. I punish myself for a crime I didn’t commit because I am so gods-awful afraid to face …”

“What?”

Merrill’s rigid jaw tightens. A storm brews in her twilight depths, the flash of lightning in fractals of shining silver.

“You know what.”

“What if you had help?” Mor breathes, possessed by an overwhelming need to reach across the distance between them —

She squeezes her hands tighter to suppress the urge.

The silver gives way to that icy rage. “You cannot expect to come down here and flaunt your lifestyle of adventure and peril to coax a centuries old hermit from her shell. I am a coward and that can’t be changed with, with — ” she throws a hand towards Mor, as if her entire presence is an affront “ — this pageantry. This beautiful life with the wind and sunlight and … The scent is all over you and it’s tempting like a freshly baked pie cooling on the sill, but … It’s not for me.”

Mor feels a knot forming in her throat. It feels like the number of Fae her age are dwindling. The first war and then the most recent conflicts. There’s been such abysmal loss. The tug of this kindred spirit, this cage of stone …

“I need your help,” she says, and there’s far too much emotion choking her words. Mor should be polished, should be the Queen of the Hewn City - but she’s utterly overwhelmed by the force of her power. Of the Truth that needs to be voiced. “In Valhallen, they dance circles while I try to pin them down. I need your help. No one else is as knowledgeable —”

“That’s why you came here?”

Papers begin to shake. A distant power calls in kind as magic seeps from Merrill. 

“The High Lord would allow such a request when he knows what this retreat is meant for —”

“No, please, it was my idea and Rhys would have my title if he knew I would even try. Clotho, too, would likely string me up as bait for whatever still lurks in the bowels of this Library.” There’s a wobbling to her tone and Mor has no idea why until Merrill’s eyes flash with the release of her power — and the echoing howl answers mournfully. “Mother above, I shouldn’t … I shouldn’t … But the Wind misses you so dearly. I can hear Her now.”

A tear slips unbidden from her, rolls down her cheek. Merrill watches the track in stunned awe.

The papers settle.

“Don’t you miss the wind? The sky? Sunlight?” Mor says shakily and she fumbles her hands onto the desk as close to the priestess as she dares. “I can help. I will help, to face, to face …”

Merrill inhales sharply.

She looks away.

Her hands tremble as they slide across her desk of papers. The tips curl into Mor’s. Something shining and bright hums to life, but neither voices it.

Instead, Mor relishes in the delicate touch. The heavy weight of unwarranted trust — trust she’ll never squander, she’ll use her life to defend.

“Is the situation so dire?” Merrill whispers to the floor littered with thick tomes.

“I wouldn’t beg this of you otherwise.”

To hell with the cream color of her sweater, Mor uses her shoulder to wipe another tear away and swipes a line of black eye makeup with it.

“I - I can’t … Make any commitments yet.”

“It’s an immense ask, I wouldn’t expect a quick answer.”

They remain in gentle silence and Mor tries not to consider the gift it is to touch the magnificent whisperer of the West Winds. To see the truth of her formidable strength she thinks is lost and crumbled. With time, she thinks, with time.

And with some help.

A priestess makes a clatter in the hall just outside of Merrill’s office. As if snapping out of a trance, Merrill withdraws into herself and pulls her spine straight imperiously. 

“Send a formal request, Mor. It will need to go through Clotho considering the obligations I fulfill under her direction. I will write to you once we … I’ve made a decision.”

The lingering warmth of the female’s skin remains like a blush on Mor’s fingers.

“And … if I were to visit before your letter?”

Merrill meets her vulnerable, open gaze. Guarded, cold, but not icy enough to stop warriors dead in their tracks.

Mor’s heart leaps in her throat.

“Wait for my letter.”

She nods in understanding. “Time. Right.”

Mor collects herself from the chair her backside has molded to during their appointment that has bled well past the original hard-stop time. Her thoughts feel heavy, doused in the surge of her power and the thrill of emotion she hasn’t felt in … in her life. A kindred spirit, an answer to a question …

“Mor?”

The excuse to look back as her hand lands on the doorknob is a relief Mor didn’t know she needs. The jewel hanging at the center of her forehead pulses with energy as Merrill considers her next words.

“Seek out the employment of an Order trained scribe. Don't make me a laughingstock presenting your chicken scratch to Clotho."

Mor can’t stop the peel of laughter the same way she couldn’t stop the tears from falling. 

The wind that answers isn’t angry, but a soft whisper of a caress along her flushed cheeks.

[thelonesomequeen]

If i can just contribute to the pregnancy talk. We know that in early February she was posted by her friend drinking. So in Feb there was a very good chance that she wasn't pregnant. And a month later we saw her at the VF, so if she was pregnant then she either didn't even know, or she knew and obviously wasn't showing. But she disappeared after 20th march until now. Now if she was pregnant i think she would definitely be showing, but in late march and April, there was a good chance that she wasn't showing. So her disappearance frim march until mid April probably has nothing to do with the pregnancy because she most likely wasn't showing then. We could say the same thing about her disappearance until now (from mid April til end of may). But the only reason why we are speculating is because we haven't seen her. I'm not gonna assume my cousin is pregnant jusr because i haven't seen her in a few months, and the same thing applies here. But let's suppose she is pregnant, if we assume that the disappearance from late march until mid April had probably nothing to do with pregnant (because if we do the math she prob wouldn't be showing cuz women don't usually show until the 3rd month) we cab say the same thing now. Maybe her entire "disappearance" has nothing to do with pregnancy. We definitely won't know until we see but that's just how i thought about it. (sorry if my sentences were a little jumbled, English isn't my first language and i was trying my best to get my thought process in text)

Your English is perfect, I understood everything you were saying!

Here’s what I’m going to say…and this isn’t a direct response to you specifically, but to a few asks we’ve gotten over the last few days. It’a just easier to put it all in one spot sometimes.

We know that Chris and Alba want kids. They’ve both said it. They’re now married. The next thing that will happen in the natural progression of their relationship will most likely be a baby. I can say that over the last few days, yes, we have had people show up and claim Alba is pregnant. However, we haven’t gotten any proof that it’s true yet. But even if we had, this is going to be a situation much like the engagement/wedding. I don’t think people are going to believe any sort of rumor until they see actual proof. And with as reserved as Chris has gotten with fans, I’m not sure proof is something we’ll see directly from them in terms of children. We haven’t said much because we don’t like to post things of this nature without some form of evidence to base our own opinions around because it just causes chaos.

Do I think it’s outlandish to think she could be pregnant? Not really. We know it’s what they want for their future. But I’m also fully aware that this fandom is now full of trolls who are lurking around and love to instigate and stir fans up. So take all of this with a giant grain of salt until some form of evidence arrives. 🦎

[acrossthewavesoftime]

Apparently, the last Friday in January was designated in 2016 as "National Big Wig Day" here in the U.S. Given my enthusiasm for all things mid- to late-1700s, I'm choosing to interpret this as "National Eighteenth-Century Big Wig Day"!

Happy Big Wig Day! Go big, or go home! 🤣

Thank you, my friend, for giving me this important piece of information! Which reminds me of this accursed video... ;-)

Since I'm not in the US, I would not have known; it may also have been eclipsed a little on Tumblr and elswhere, as the whimsy and fun of putting on a silly hairstyle for a day may have been somewhat overshadowed account of coinciding with International Holocaust Rememberance Day this year.

Having read up on the origins of Big Wig Day, I was quite surprised to find that behind the fun, there is the serious goal of raising awareness and funds for charitable causes (particularly illnesses (or their treatments) that cause hair loss)! In a reverse-Big Wig way, Yours Truly is currently growing out her hair for donation for a charity providing wigs to children with cancer or alopecia. I don't know how much longer I'll keep growing it out as the length is getting cumbersome, but I currently could do a boat 'do using my own hair (and the underwires and padding used to create the shape of course).

It is, by the way, a shame that modern-day hair stylists don't offer the boat anymore, or else you would see me, a fellow enthusiast of the period, marching about town with a fully rigged first rate naval ship of the late 1700s on my head...

Once I'll cut it off, I'll resort to the boat hat, as seen here on a picture from 2017 Nation of Gondwana Festival by user Nicor on Wikipedia:

Still has a marvellously 18th century vibe to it, no?

Funnily enough however, our friend John Graves Simcoe was not too much of a wig fan; at least the only portrait showing him in one depicts him at about 18 years old.

His godfather Samuel Graves stopped wearing wigs pretty early on, I'd say, too; those were big wigs without big wigs! ;-)

[mahayanapilgrim]

The many teaching techniques of the Buddha - 10

The Buddha was a great teacher with virtues as loving-kindness, compassion, patience, purity of character, being exemplary, possessing true knowledge of all subjects taught, highest level of wisdom, capacity to explain so that the pupils will understand thoroughly, having nothing that will arouse the slightest suspicion of pupils, not doing wrong even secretly, sympathy for others, and being devoid of such weaknesses as jealousy and hatred.

Kings came to this great Teacher, giving up their royal splendour, guild-masters sought Him, giving up their affluence, Ministers came to Him, giving up their Ministries, husbands came giving up their wives, wives came, giving up their husbands, parents came, giving up their children, children came, giving up their parents, householders came to Him, giving up their households.

They all came and became His pupils.

When the Buddha visited a town named Apana in Anguttarapa, a line of 1,250 pupils marched in single file behind Him. Seeing the line of monks headed by the Buddha, walking serenely, the whole of the market town was quite impressed. All the people left their homes and stood on either side of the road. A Brahmin called Keniya, pleased at the sight of this pageant, invited them to his house for next day's mid-day meal. The Buddha did not accept the invitation, saying,

"We are a very large group. It will be extremely difficult to prepare the mid-day meal the next day for such a large group"

The Buddha accepted it after he extended the invitation three times. Kenya assembled all the people in the village and put various people in charge of various tasks. Thus, he offered meals the next day to 1,250 monks headed by the Buddha. The Buddha was fully aware of the problems that will have to be faced by the donors when they had to prepare meals to such a large group as 1,250 persons.

The Buddha did not want to accept invitations that will entail difficulties to others. It is clear by His non-acceptance of the invitation three times. This great Teacher highly esteemed the deference to teachers.

On attaining Enlightenment the Buddha's first concern was to see whether He had a teacher who should be honoured, and to obtain advice from. When He searched, He found that He did not even have another person like Him, not to say anything about a person who could be recognized as His teacher.

"I do not have a teacher. Not even a person who is similar to me."

Therefore, the Buddha kept Dhamma (the Doctrine) as His teacher.

The Buddha is an example to all the teachers in the world. Teachers, when they educate their pupils, must consider quite carefully how the Buddha disciplined His pupils, how He taught them, how He subdued His pupils, how He directed His pupils along the right path, how He made the lives of His pupils successful, and how He fufilled the aims of His pupils.

(End of the chapter on the Buddha's qualities as a teacher)

[forensicated]

Smiffina Episodes - Episode 139

The morning after the night before - where Smithy faces the wrath of Gina after cheating on their drinking game and slipping her doubles where he was drinking singles.

At work, Smithy is suffering the mother of all hangovers and of course custody is incredibly loud and busy. "I really don't need this today...."

An unsuspecting Gina drives to work - late and hungover but believing she is fit to drive after sleep given what she believed she'd been drinking. Unfortunately for her she's in a minor car prang when she's cut up by a white van man, which means she has to get breathalysed by PC Gary Best of all people. Gina's not best pleased to see him arrive with Cameron - and Gary's crapping himself when he realises what he has to do. (I love Cam's literal "uh oh!") ".... had an accident ma'am?" "You know, you should be in CID with detective skills like that." Gina tries to get moving so she can get on into work... only for the breath test to fail - Gina's still over the legal limit. Gary flails but quickly covers and tells Cameron to go to the shout that has just come in and he'll 'grab a lift with the Inspector'. Cameron does... and Gary is terrified. He has to arrest the Inspector. Gina is very pragmatic about it and tells him its not his fault. Smithy however is not quite so understanding. "Sarge, I've got a problem." "What?" "I've arrested the inspector…." "……. You've done what?"

Smithy and Gina have a private chat in the custody Sgt's office where Gina reaffirms that she's drunk that much plenty of times and always been fine the next morning. Smithy tries to blame a faulty breathalyser but Gina won't hear of it. She's fully aware she could lose her job over it and just wants to get the official stuff done. As they leave the office more loud and rowdy customers appear in custody and Smithy is Not. Happy. "Calm yourself down!" he orders, grabbing one by the neck and marching him to the desk. "Today is not a good day!"

Smithy tries ordering Gary to blow into the machine. He tells Gary he has to do it because he was the one that brought her in "All you had to do was tell her it was negative and let her get back in the car! But you didn't do that did you? You messed up big time so you're the one that's going to have to get her out of it!" Nothing to do with the fact that Smithy is potentially likely still over the limit himself, obviously. Gary's terrified "Sarge, you're going red..." mid bollocking is adorable and hilarious. Gary is worried that it might get out that they covered it up and he'd lose his job to - as would Smithy - so Gary brings her in. Smithy tells Gina that Gary is going to take the test for her. Gina refuses, she is the Inspector of the nick and she is going to take the consequences - whatever they are.

Smithy is not prepared to let her go - nor admit the truth yet - so he tells Gina that she has blown just under the legal limit. Gina thanks God, Smithy and Gary and leaves to take an asprin, have a smoke and a very strong coffee. Gary is really relieved it's all over - but it's not... it's reading 42. The legal limit is 35 for breath tests. With Gina out the room Gary volunteers to take the test - without telling Gina. He's under the limit as he's reading 32. Both Smithy and Gary are thrilled - but Gary for another reason too... it could be his leaverage to get into SWAMP!

Smithy thinks things are all back to normal as Sheelagh returns from court to take over custody and he escapes to his office... only to see Gina on her way out. She doesn't know she's not fit to drive so he has to quickly grab his things to join her for a 'hangover hotdog' so he can do the driving. (Though if Gary was blowing 32 hours after a 'couple of beers' the night before and a nights sleep, what would Smithy be blowing considering the state he was in?! Shush, we're not to think like this! It's The Bill (PM Era!) throw away your logic!)

At the burger van, Smithy could not be LESS ready for a Hangover Hotdog.

"What's the matter? Lost your appetite?"

"Rules are rules. If I thought you were bending those rules for anyone, including me, I'd kick you from hell to breakfast."

As an aside, both Honey and Gary show some excellent restraint not petting or even acknowledging the worlds friendliest dog as they come out of a shop - I'd still be there now.

Smithy and Gina go to a call where they find a man who has been harassed by a White Van Man who smashed his windscreen with a wheeljack after cutting him up. He managed to get the registration which is familiar to Gina - it's the same one who cut her up that morning. The van has been involved in another disturbance closeby but Smithy doesn't know where the street is. Gina marches off to go and deal with it and shouts for the keys. Smithy's in a bit of a bind... he can't let her drive! Gina's well aware of what is going on and forces (some of!) the truth from Smithy. He admits he doesn't know what he/they'd do if she had gotten into the car, driven and hit someone but he couldn't let her throw her career and pension away [for something he'd done.] She still doesn't know he cheated the drinking game yet. She does corner him in an interview room at the end however and point out how if she was over the limit - how wasn't he? (but not for the reasons you'd think. Also ignoring the genetic differences, age and metabolism but concentrating on them having had the 'same' drinks) and he confessed he cheated and got her doubles to his singles.

"You are like a puppy! Stupid, loyal, leaving a mess everywhere for someone else to clear up!"

Gary's ontop of the world and pinches some food from Smithy's plate in the canteen. Gabriel is curious what 'take risks' means when Gary adds it in as a reason he should be in SWAMP. Smithy dismisses it but comes up with an initiation challenge for Gary - he has to streak around the station.

"I seem to have been a bit premature, can you just forget everything I said, Ma'am?" "Whatever you say, but my door is always open if you change your mind-"

"........" "... can you close the door on your way out, please?"

Gary returns to Gabriel and Smithy, pleased as punch that he's done it and passed his initiation... only to be told he'd failed for actually doing it!

"And by the way, Gary... I've had to deal with enough knobs today. I'm sure it's very impressive but keep it in your pants."

[texeoghea]

btw i dont feel like making a whole art vs artist collage or a page showing my art across the year (thats what my monthly tags are for) but like i dont think my art style has necessarily changed very much

Like . comparing the roadtrip image from March with the rough draft of Wolf's design and the AU concept from mid-November, i don't see an actual change in STYLE (technique, linework) so much as simple improvement. I've started coloring almost all of the lines, I've been recently experimenting with actual color palettes to help with balancing and using unique palettes for each character on the page. in the roadtrip image, i experimented with using pre-existing images as assets in my work, which I have done multiple times since, including in the second image's background. I also played with expressing lighting by adding a soft brush in a lighter tone to the otherwise monotonous linework, which i don't do often (because i don't do lighting often), but i think it looks very lovely and works well. but when it comes to raw style I feel like it's almost exactly the same between pieces.

Which isn't a bad thing! I love how my art has looked this year, it's so smooth and elegant, I've been very proud of most of my works. It's just interesting to notice. I feel like last year, I was very indecisive with my style, so this is a nice change of pace.

also, I don't feel like posting a selfie. not that i'm not absolutely gorgeous (I am), but I'm fully aware that the way my body looks best and the way my art tends to look is usually pretty different. I'm very handsome, and my art tends to be more on the soft, cute side. Which I also like. I contain multitudes. Also, I'm typically nearly bald, and I've been drawing a lot of full-haired anime boys lately, which would look pretty silly side by side

[vestigesdesempires]

June 20, 2022 The body at play A brief history of performance P.3

International Klein Blue, does it ring a bell? Three trends that mark European performances of the 20th century: mythologisation of the artists by themselves, politicisation of art, and sanctification of a human body in the world where two devastating world wars left nothing sacred. This post will cover the contribution of the French artist Yves Klein (told you, our lecturer managed to cover A LOT). 

Yves Klein Sitting at a beach with his friends, Yves Klein claimed the sky to be his own - which later will turn out to be a life-long obsession. He created his own colour  - the International Klein Blue (IKB) - that he would later use to draw his monochrome paintings. He also used gold and pink for his monochromes like in his Ex-Voto dedicated to Saint Rita de Cascia (1961) where blue symbolises God, gold symbolises the Father, and pink symbolises the Holy Spirit (see below).

He used naked models as brushes to create the Anthropometries - engaging the models with the work in a process of co-creation. The Anthropometries signigy both the paintings and the processes of creation - the most famous one that took place in the  Galérie International d'Art Contemporain in 1960.

On a clear night in March at ten pm sharp a crowd of one hundred people, all dressed in black tie attire, came to the Galerie International d'Art Contemporain in Paris. The event was the first conceptual piece to be shown at this gallery by their new artist Mr. Yves Klein. The gallery was one of the finest in Paris.      Mr. Klein in a black dinner jacket proceeded to conduct a ten piece orchestra in his personal composition of The Monotone Symphony, which he had written in 1949. This symphony consisted of one note.       Three models appeared, all with very beautiful naked bodies. They were then conducted as was the full orchestra by Mr. Klein. The music began. The models then rolled themselves in the blue paint that had been placed on giant pieces of artist paper - the paper had been carefully placed on one side of the galleries' wall and floor area - opposite the full orchestra. Everything was composed so breathtakingly beautifully. The spectacle was surely a metaphysical and spiritual event for all. This went on for twenty minutes. When the symphony stopped it was followed by a strict twenty minutes of silence, in which everyone in the room willingly froze themselves in their own private meditation space.       At the end of Yves' piece everyone in the audience was fully aware they had been in the presence of a genius at work, the piece was a huge success! Mr. Klein triumphed. It would be his greatest moment in art history, a total success.       The spectacle had unquestionable poetic beauty, and Mr. Kleins' last words that night were, "THE MYTH IS IN ART".

Source: http://www.yvesklein.de/symphony.html

“Le saut dans le vide” is a performance of a ‘leap into the void’ captured in a picture. Thanks to photo manipulations it looks as if the artist was about to take off from the wall and pursue the immaterial.

The “saut dans le vide”, a now iconic performance, was executed on October 19 on Rue Gentil-Bernard in Fontenay-aux-Roses, a suburb south-west of Paris where the artist regularly trained in judo. Yves Klein leaps from a pillar at the entrance of a pavilion, his face turned towards the sky, his arms crossed. Far from falling, the artist takes off. The street is empty, except for a cyclist passing by in the bottom right of the photograph. The fact that a man is hanging mid-air does not cause him to stop or even turn his head.

Source: https://www.sothebys.com/en/articles/learning-to-fly-with-yves-kleins-le-saut-dans-le-vide

Some interesting videos: Interview with Rotraut Klein-Moquay, an artist herself and a widow of Yves Klein talking about his works and her experience as a ‘human paintbrush’ -  Rotraut Interview: Yves Klein's Living Paintbrushes A short video showing Klein directing the creation of a painting - Yves Klein Anthropométries A video by Christie’s -  What Inspired Yves Klein? A short articles listing 10 facts about Yves Klein https://blog.artsper.com/en/a-closer-look/10-things-to-know-about-yves-klein/

[kumarumang5566]

California, Arnold’s Climate: What to Expect Throughout the Year.

Arnold, California, located in the Sierra Nevada mountain range, is known for its picturesque landscapes and diverse climate. This small town experiences distinct seasonal changes, offering a variety of weather conditions throughout the year. Understanding the Climate in Arnold, California can help residents and visitors prepare for and enjoy what each season has to offer.

Winter (December to February)

Winters in Arnold are typically cold and snowy. Temperatures during this season often range from the low 20s to mid-40s Fahrenheit. Snowfall is common, with the town receiving an average of around 50 inches of snow per year. This makes Arnold a popular destination for winter sports enthusiasts, including skiers and snowboarders who flock to nearby Bear Valley. However, the heavy snowfall can also lead to road closures and travel delays, so it is essential to check weather forecasts and road conditions before planning a trip.

Spring (March to May)

Spring in Arnold is a season of transition. Temperatures gradually rise, ranging from the mid-30s to the mid-60s Fahrenheit. The snow begins to melt, leading to an increase in river and stream levels. Wildflowers bloom, adding vibrant colors to the landscape. While early spring can still be chilly and occasionally snowy, late spring brings more pleasant and mild weather. This season is ideal for outdoor activities such as hiking and fishing, as the trails become more accessible and the rivers are well-stocked with fish.

Summer (June to August)

Summers in Arnold are warm and dry, with temperatures typically ranging from the mid-50s to the mid-80s Fahrenheit. The low humidity and clear skies make it a perfect time for camping, hiking, and other outdoor adventures. Lake Alpine and other nearby lakes offer opportunities for swimming, boating, and fishing. Despite the generally pleasant weather, it is important to stay hydrated and protect yourself from the sun, as temperatures can occasionally reach the low 90s. Wildfires are also a concern during the dry summer months, so it is crucial to stay informed about fire safety regulations and alerts.

Fall (September to November)

Fall in Arnold is characterized by cooler temperatures and beautiful foliage. Temperatures during this season range from the mid-30s to the mid-70s Fahrenheit. The crisp air and colorful leaves make it a popular time for scenic drives and hikes. Fall is also the beginning of the hunting season in the area. As the season progresses, temperatures drop, and the first snowfall often occurs in late November, signaling the transition into winter.

Conclusion

Arnold, California, offers a unique and varied climate that changes significantly with each season. From snowy winters perfect for skiing to warm, dry summers ideal for camping, each time of year provides its own set of activities and challenges. Whether you are a resident or a visitor, being aware of the seasonal weather patterns can help you make the most of your time in this beautiful mountain town. Always check the local forecasts and prepare accordingly to fully enjoy the natural beauty and outdoor opportunities that Arnold has to offer year-round.

[theautibrainproject]

My autism story pt. 01

I got diagnosed, officially on March 9th. I was being tested mid to late December the year before and finally got my diagnosis report on March 9th. A few days later, on March 15th, I turned 26.

Ever since that day, I am taking medication to make my life easier. Because not only did I get diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder but I also got diagnosed with Generalised Anxiety Disorder and ADHD.

However... Over time, I started to realise there were cracks in my friendships. Most of my friends are located across the globe and I talk to them on Discord. But over time, I noticed I was being left out.

I'm not someone people trust with their troubles. I'm not included in certain events like a movie night or a game. Because, I'm not in a private voice call channel in Discord with my friends. While others are, and they're mutual friends most of the time.

It has come to a point that... in late 2023 and early 2024, a friend took an emotional break from me. Which meant... we weren't talking. We didn't socialize together and we didn't talk in the same voice call channels. It probably doesn't shock you or surprise you, that I felt like I got my heart broken. While this friend missed me, they didn't make a decision to reach out to me after 2 weeks. It took them a month.

In that month, of no communication whatsoever between us, I felt utterly depressed. I felt like I got broken up with. That's the pain I experienced. I laughed and smiled, one moment. The next, I wanted to cry. I wanted to sob and bawl my eyes out because no one knew what was going on. I told a few friends. When I reached out to them for support. But, my family didn't know. They weren't aware of the fact their daughter, their 27 year old daughter cried herself to sleep at night because her friendships were falling apart.

Even now, not a month ago, I got told by another friend (who is on the spectrum) that I emotionally drain my friends. To the point I push them away unintentionally.

The friend also told me that my platonic attachments or the way I get attached to people is unhealthy.

Yes, when I become comfortable around you and view you as a friend, I'm texting you a lot.

Yes, you'll receive 100 messages from me throughout a month. More so if you expressed you were in a bad mood. Because I'll reach out and make sure you're okay.

Yes, I'm now aware it is overwhelming for the other person.

I'm also fully aware that this could be connected to my diagnosis.

But tell me this. Would you keep fighting for a friendship when all your friends do is tell you, you drain them emotionally? That you overwhelm them. That you unintentionally push them away because you're love language is texting the friend(s) in question every day?

I wouldn't. It's tiring me out. Especially if you put in all the effort and they don't. They don't reach out to you. At all.

I tried to save a friendship. I really did. But it seems pointless. Reading about the fact that people on the Spectrum have a hard time maintaining friendships was tough. Because I thought: "that isn't me. My friendships are fine."

They aren't. They aren't doing fine. At all. Two people have told me, basically, that I exhaust them emotionally. That makes 2/5 close friends.

Offline, in the real world, I don't have friends. At all.

I tried to be extroverted at times. But it's exhausting being what you're not. I always disappear into the background. People don't talk to me. They naturally gravitate towards the people that are more open, more talkative. More social.

I'm never noticed. Because I just sit there in a voice call or sit my 3D avatar on IMVU down on a couch and don't say a word. I try to worm my way into an interesting conversation. But I get ignored.

Honestly? Ever since that break with that friend, I have been less myself. I have suffered more than I usually do. We all have a bad day. Who doesn't? But my bad days keep stacking up. And there seems to be no end to them.

All I want is to have friends who understand me. Who don't hurt me by saying I drain them and end up pushing me away. Because the moment you tell me that I need to be less emotionally draining or be in your messages less, I will result to not talking to you at all. Because I would just be bothering you.

So why would I even message you? It's not like people will miss me when I go offline all week.

It's not like people will blow up my phone, asking me if I'm okay.

To me? Autism sucks. Because my life is painful. I can handle a bad day. But not this.

But I also know that true friends will stick around. Fake ones wil be filtered out. That much I know. If these friends are fake? I will have new ones in no time.

[2024inwords]

I have heard about global warming since school, and with the growing talks on sustainability in recent years, it’s something I know in the back of my mind. But truthfully, I never fully grasped how it impacts our daily lives until last month. On February 1st, I felt the heat, which was unusual because usually, we have “cool” weather until mid-March. I remember this time last year, I was in Ortigas, enjoying a warm bowl of Korean jjampong because the weather was cool and windy. Around the 4th week of January, my friends and I “recreated” that experience from last year because we thought, once March enters, we won’t be able to enjoy a warm bowl of jjamppong anymore because it just wouldn’t be a nice experience with the summer heat. So I was extremely surprised when February entered, and I was already sweating. Then when I go outside at around 11am, the striking sun was so bad, it was literally hurting my eyes. This experience made me realize that this is the clearest example of the deteriorating health of our earth – summer becoming earlier and earlier in the year. And this increasing heat is consistent across the globe – my family and I usually spend Holy Week in a “cool” country where it is spring season because we want to take advantage of the weather during this one time in the year we can all travel together. Previous years, even though we’d travel end March or early April, it was still cold. Literally just this morning, my sister sent me our family photo from our March 26, 2016 trip to Taiwan. In the photo, we were bundled up in jackets and scarves to keep ourselves warm in 13-degree weather. Next week, we’re going back to the same country and based on forecasts, the temperature will be 18-31 degrees. What a difference! These realizations are what’s making me more aware how much of an issue global warming is becoming because the impact is getting closer and closer to our daily lives. Maybe it’s also because I have a niece now, but these experiences are making me worried about what’s going to happen years from now. It also made me realize why small acts like bringing a water bottle instead of buying outside, foregoing the use of plastic straw, and bringing our own eco bag while doing our groceries really matter. A lot of us think, “it’s just 1 plastic bottle or sachet – it won’t hurt” and admittedly, I used to think like that too. However, there is a growing concern to make more and more people realize that even though zero waste may not be achievable in our lifetime, it’s not a reason for us to not take action. It’s not about “sacrificing” today because living in this world on borrowed time is a privilege that we should be grateful for. We have an obligation to preserve this earth and leave it in the same beauty we found it, if not better, so the future generations that will come after us can also enjoy it because they have every right to. Realizing the interconnection on how living sustainably affects the world my niece, Emma, will be living in, made me more mindful about my daily actions. And truthfully, when I think about how the world will be 20 years from now, it scares me – the possibility of wearing oxygen masks to protect ourselves from bad air quality and most especially the heat. As it is, 3 months of summer is already a challenge – what more if it’s going to be prolonged. I am making a personal commitment to doing my best to contribute to preserving the earth for future generations to come, and I also hope that more initiatives and regulations will be in place for all of us to achieve our sustainability goals because sustainability will only be possible if we all work together. It cannot be done by one person alone.

[homeispdx]

Opposing opinions

Political figures like Eric Adams, the mayor of New York City, lament the situation of the homeless and pledge to provide bigger, better shelters as well as long-term homes. However, the city's first reaction was the all-too-common dependence on police strategies, such clearing up camps and using the subway system. Massive sweeps via subways and underpasses under highways began in mid-March, eliminating 239 out of the 244 encampments that city officials were aware of. Just five of the people who were roused consented to visit a shelter, which suggests the risks and discomfort associated with crowded shelters. Cities all around the nation act out this scenario. The Covid-19 pandemic struck at a time when American homelessness was on the rise, particularly in Los Angeles and New York City. Strangely enough, thousands of homeless people were relocated from overcrowded shelters and encampments to vacant hotel rooms in an effort to combat "superspreader" living circumstances, which allowed for a significant change in the provision of homeless services. There is evidence that those who are homeless are not seen as fully human, even though they are thought to be in need of support and compassion and to be struggling. According to research, those who are homeless collectively are viewed as "the lowest of the low" since they are neither warm nor competent. This can reduce humans to the status of inanimate objects and inspire the worst type of bias, which is revulsion and disdain. This weakens a person's capacity to tolerate discrimination by strengthening the perception of legitimacy for unfavorable treatment of the homeless. Third, those who are homeless frequently experience discrimination for other reasons in addition to their housing situation. Specifically, these people frequently suffer from mental illness and/or drug addiction, which are highly stigmatized disorders in our society.

[derschwarzeengel]

Anonymous asked: REFLECT

send REFLECT for me to explain a traumatic event in my muse’s past and talk about their perception of events, which parts have stayed with them longest and how it affects them now. || Accepting

TRIGGER WARNING FOR DISCUSSIONS OF DATE RAPE AND REPRODUCTIVE COERCION.

Damon had no idea that his sister-in-law Anja was lusting after him until she approached him one night after she’d already been married to his brother Christian for a little less than five years. (They married 21. April 1822.) He was pre-occupied with his own studies in witchcraft and helping his mother with her business to pay much attention to his brother’s wife, especially not since there were already rumors swirling around about him among the duchy’s female population.

So as a result, he was completely taken aback when Anja came onto him that night in his house, touched him, pushed him down onto the sofa and straddled him, said that she wanted his child inside her as Christian couldn’t give her what she wanted... and she didn’t give Damon a choice in the matter. If he refused her, she would simply go to her husband and spin it so that Damon had forced her instead of the other way around. It would have been easy enough for Christian to believe, given his animosity toward his younger brother. Trapped, knowing no one would believe his version of events, Damon had no choice but to reluctantly give in to her advances, her demands.

On Walpurgisnacht 1827, three months later, Anja finally had her wish granted: she conceived a son with Damon, whom she named Paul. Four months after Paul was born, Anja again went to Damon and this time conceived a daughter, Marie, born 5. March 1828. She passed both children off as her husband’s, never telling them or Christian that Damon was their biological father. After Marie was born, Damon quietly told Anja in no uncertain terms that if she ever used him like that again to have another child, he would kill her, consequences be damned.

In his years after, both as a mortal and a Darklighter, Damon is still definitely affected by what happened to him with Anja. She’s the one responsible for starting his breeding kink, and she also made it clear to him that she only wanted him because he was physically highly attractive and into dark magic: viewing him not as an individual person, but a walking sex object. Damon still enjoys sex and what he does as his kind of Darklighter (seducing and impregnating human women), but his past with Anja has definitely fucked with his self-esteem and has him sexualizing himself, viewing himself only as a walking sperm donor for the underworld. He doesn’t see that there’s anything in him for someone to genuinely love and care for. Not to mention his occupation in the mortal world as a rock singer, so he’s had to deal with overzealous groupies who make no secret of the fact they want to have sex with him and/or claim he’s their baby daddy (never mind that he doesn’t sleep with them if they’re not Future Whitelighters he hasn’t already been assigned to). There’s also the whole “Darklighters are incapable of love” rhetoric he’s been exposed to by the other side ever since he became a Darklighter.

Nowadays, it’s been so long that he’s not entirely sure if he did fully consent to Anja’s advances or not. And considering the time period and attitudes around sex, he wasn’t even fully aware that what Anja had done to him would be considered rape until sometime in the mid-21st century. He doesn’t particularly need sleep, but when he does, he’ll occasionally have flashbacks, nightmares and won’t want anyone else to touch him until he’s calmed down.

[quiet--menace]

“And I’m expected to believe a sellsword is good with children?” Tanda asked. Lollys flushed with embarrassment or sun. Still her posture implied that Bronn’s answer was important. “I’m sure you have siblings,” Tanda laughed to herself, “Fleabottom seems to have more brats than it does rats.” As the serving girl poured apple-wine, Bronn imagined all the ways an old woman could die. “Aye,” he confirmed, “One of eight rats . Half raised the litter born after me.” Not worth mentioning how three never made it past infancy. and of the five left Bronn was the last alive.

A Lamb To The Slaughter by Birdie Lo Green

February Ficlet day 20  prompt: awkward first meeting (Bronn/Lollys Stokeworth)

[depths-of-escapism-archive]

rawr