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gameknigh · 1 year

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Anyways here is a list of about 200 things I am no longer allowed to do within the UNSC ONI or Spartan Operations, I do not regret any of these

My proper military title is ‘Spartan Sam’ not ‘Princess Anastasia’.

Not allowed to threaten anyone with black magic.

Not allowed to challenge anyone’s disbelief of black magic by asking for hair.

Not allowed to get silicone breast implants.

Not allowed to play ‘Pulp Fiction’ with a suction-cup dart pistol and any officer.

Not allowed to add ‘In accordance with the prophesy’ to the end of answers I give to a question an officer asks me.

Not allowed to add pictures of officers I don’t like to War Criminal posters.

Not allowed to title any product ‘Get Over it’.

Not allowed to purchase anyone’s soul on Government time.

Not allowed to join the communist party.

Not allowed to join any militia.

N ot allowed to form any militia.

Not allowed out of my office when the president visited Boston.

Not allowed to train adopted stray dogs to ‘Sic Brass!’

Must get a haircut even if it tampers with my ‘Sampson like powers’.

God may not contradict any of my orders.

May no longer perform my now (in)famous ‘Barbie Girl Dance’ while on duty.

May not call any officers immoral, untrustworthy, lying, slime, even if I’m right.

Must not taunt the Harvestians any more.

Must attempt to not antagonize ODSTs.

Must never call an ODST a ‘Wanker’.

Must never ask anyone who outranks me if they’ve been smoking crack.

Must not tell any officer that I am smarter than they are, especially if it’s true.

Never confuse a Revian soldier for a Martian one.

Never tell a German soldier that ‘We kicked your ass in World War 2!’

Don’t take the batteries out of the other Spartan’s alarm clocks (Even if they do hit snooze about forty times).

The Irish Spartans are not after ‘Me frosted lucky charms’.

Not allowed to wake an Non-Commissioned Officer by repeatedly banging on the head with a bag of trash.

Not allowed to let sock puppets take responsibility for any of my actions.

Not allowed to let sock puppets take command of my post.

Not allowed to chew gum at formation, unless I brought enough for everybody.

(Next day) Not allowed to chew gum at formation even if I *did* bring enough for everybody.

Not allowed to sing ‘High Speed Dirt’ by Megadeth during airborne operations. (‘See the earth below/Soon to make a crater/Blue sky, black death, I’m off to meet my maker’)

Can’t have flashbacks to wars I was not in. (The Interplanetary War isn’t over).

Our medic is called ‘Sgt Larwasa’, not ‘Dr. Feelgood’.

Our supply Sgt is ‘Sgt Watkins’ not ‘Sugar Daddy’.

Not allowed to ask for the day off due to religious purposes, on the basis that the world is going to end, more than once.

I do not have super-powers.

Camouflage body paint is not a uniform.

I am not the atheist chaplain.

I am not authorized to fire officers.

Not allowed to trade military equipment for ‘magic beans’.

Not allowed to sell magic beans during duty hours.

Not allowed to quote ‘Dr Seuss’ on military operations.

Not allowed to yell ‘Take that Cobra’ at the rifle range.

Not allowed to quote ‘Full Metal Jacket ‘ at the rifle range.

‘Napalm sticks to kids’ is *not* a motivational phrase.

An order to ‘Put Kiwi on my boots’ does *not* involve fruit.

An order to ‘Make my Boots black and shiny’ does not involve electrical tape.

The proper response to a lawful order is not ‘Why?’

The following words and phrases may not be used in a cadence- based, necrophilia, I hate everyone in this formation and wish they were dead, all Marines are latent homosexuals, Arcadian yoga, Gotterdammerung, or any references to squid.

May not make posters depicting the leadership failings of my chain of command.

‘The Giant Space Ants’ are not at the top of my chain of command.

It is better to beg forgiveness than to ask permission, no longer applies to Spartan Sam.

Command decisions do *not* need to be ratified by a 2/3 majority.

There are no evil clowns living under my bed.

There is no ‘Anti-Mime’ campaign on Harvest.

I am not the Spartan Ops Mascot.

I may not line my helmet with tin foil to ‘Block out the space mind control lasers’.

May not pretend to be a fascist stormtrooper on duty

I am not authorized to prescribe any form of medication.

May not conduct psychological experiments on my chain of command.

The MP checkpoint is not an Imperial Stormtrooper roadblock, so I should not tell them “You don’t need to see my identification, these are not the droids you are looking for.”

I may not call block my chain of command.

I am neither the king nor queen of cheese.

Not allowed to wear MJOLNIR to any army functions.

May not bring a drag queen to the battalion formal dance.

May not form any press gangs.

Must not start any SITREP (Situation Report) with “I recently had an experience I just had to write you about….”

Must not use military vehicles to ‘Squish’ things.

May not challenge anyone in my chain of command to the ‘field of honor’.

If the thought of something makes me giggle for longer than 15 seconds, I am to assume that I am not allowed to do it.

Must not refer to the Commander as ‘Dad’.

I am not authorized to initiate Jihad.

When asked to give a few words at a military ceremony ‘Romper Bomper Stomper Boo’ is probably not appropriate.

Nerve gas is not funny.

Crucifixes do not ward off ONI officers, and I should not test that.

I am not in need of a more suitable host body.

The proper response to a chemical weapon attack is not ‘Tell my chain of command what I really think about them, and then poke holes in their masks.’

A smiley face is not used to mark a minefield.

Claymore mines are not filled with yummy candy, and it is wrong to tell new soldiers that they are.

I am not allowed to mount a bayonet on a crew-served weapon.

Rodents are not entitled to burial with full military honors, even if they are “casualties of war”.

My commander is not old enough to have fought in the Second American Civil War, and I should stop implying that he did.

Vodka, green food coloring, and a ‘Cool Mint’ Listerine® bottle is not a good combination.

I am not allowed to bum cigarettes off of anyone under twelve.

I may not trade my rifle for any of the following: Cigarettes, booze, Unggoy, Kalishnikovs, Covenant Armored vehicles, small children, or bootleg CD’s.

Must not mock command decisions in front of the press.

Should not taunt members of the press, even if they are really fat, exceptionally stupid, and working for the UEG.

I am not authorized to change national policy in the Eastern Orion Arm.

Never, ever, attempt to correct a Spartan II about anything.

I am not qualified to operate any Covenant, UNSC, Banished, or Swords of Sanghelios Armored vehicles.

I cannot trade my CO to the Covies.

Crucifying mice – bad idea.

Burn pits for classified material are not revel fires – therefore it is wrong to dance naked around them.

I cannot arrest children for being rude.

An EO briefing is probably not the best place to unveil my newest off color joke.

Radioactive material should not be stored in the barracks.

I should not teach other soldiers to say offensive and crude things in Sangheli, under the guise of teaching them how to say potentially useful phrases.

Two drink limit does not mean first and last.

Two drink limit does not mean two kinds of drinks.

Two drink limit does not mean the drinks can be as large as I like.

‘No Drinking Of Alcoholic Beverages’ does not imply that a Jack Daniel’s ® IV is acceptable.

“Shpadoinkle” is not a real word.

The Microsoft ® ‘Dancing Paperclip’ is not authorized to countermand any orders.

‘I’m drunk’ is a bad answer to any question posed by my commander.

The loudspeaker system is not a forum to voice my ideas.

The loudspeaker system is not to be used to replace the radio.

The loudspeaker system is not to be used to broadcast the soundtrack to a porno movie.

Shouting ‘Let’s do the village! Let’s do the whole ****ing village!’ while out on a mission is bad.

Should not show up at the front gate wearing part of a Sangheli Combat Harness, messily drunk.

Even if my commander did it.

I am not authorized to sell mineral rights.

Not allowed to use a broadsword to disprove ‘The Pen is Mightier than the sword’.

I should not drink three quarts of blue food coloring before a urine test.

Nor should I drink three quarts of red food coloring, and scream during the same.

J should not threaten suicide with pop rocks and Coke ®.

Putting red ‘Mike and Ike’s’ ® into a prescription medicine bottle, and then eating them all in a formation is not funny.

Must not create new ONI forms, then insist they be filled out.

On Sports Day PT, a wedgie is not considered a legal tackle.

The proper way to report to my Commander is ‘Spartan Sam, reporting as ordered, Sir’ not ‘You can’t prove a thing!’

The following items do not exist: Keys to the Drop Zone, A box of grid squares, blinker fluid, winter air for tires, canopy lights, or MJOLNIR oil.

Shouldn’t treat ‘piss-bottles’ with extra-strength icy hot.

Teaching Sangheli children to taunt other soldiers is not nice.

I will no longer perform ‘lap-dances’ while in MJOLNIR.

The revolution is not now.

When detained by MP’s, I do not have a right to a strip search.

No part of the MJOLNIR armor is edible.

Bodychecking General officers is not a good idea.

Past lives have absolutely no effect on the chain of command.

Take that hat off.

There is no such thing as a were-virgin.

I do not get ‘that time of month’.

No, the pants are not optional.

Not allowed to operate a business out of the barracks.

Not allowed to ‘defect’ to Covenant during training missions.

On training missions, try not to shoot down the General’s helicopter.

‘A full magazine and some privacy’ is not the way to help a potential suicide.

I am not allowed to create new levels of security clearance.

Furby ® is not allowed into classified areas. (I swear to the gods, I did not make that up, it’s actually ONI policy).

We do not ‘charge into battle, naked, like the Celts’.

Any device that can crawl across the table on medium, does not need to be brought into the office.

I am not to refer to a formation as ‘the boxy rectangle thingie’.

I am not ‘A lesbian trapped in a man’s body’.

On Army documents, my race is not ‘Other’.

Nor is it ‘Secretariat, in the third’.

Pokémon® trainer is not an MOS.

There is no FM for ‘wall-to-wall counseling’.

My chain of command has neither the time, nor the inclination to hear about what I did with six boxes of Fruit Roll-Ups. ®

When operating a military vehicle I may *not* attempt something ‘I saw in a cartoon’.

My name is not a killing word.

I am not the Emperor of anything.

Must not taunt officers in the throes of nicotine withdrawal, with cigarettes.

May not challenge officers to ‘Meet me on the field of honor, at dawn’.

Must not make s’mores while on guard duty.

Our Warthogs cannot be assembled into a giant battle-robot.

The proper response to a briefing is not ‘That’s what you think’.

The Masons, and Gray Aliens are not in our chain of command.

Shouldn’t take incriminating photos of my chain of command.

Shouldn’t use Photoshop ® to create incriminating photos of my chain of command.

I am not allowed to give Spartan augmentations

Not allowed to lead a ‘Coup’ during training missions.

I should not confess to crimes that took place before I was born.

My chain of command is not interested in why I ‘just happen’ to have a kilt, an inflatable sheep, and a box of rubber bands in the back of my car.

Must not valiantly push officers onto hand grenades to save the squad.

Despite the confusing similarity in the names, the “Safety Dance” and the “Safety Briefing” are never to be combined.

“To conquer the earth with an army of flying monkeys” is a bad long term goal to give the re-enlistment NCO.

NEVER nail a stuffed bunny to a cross and put it up in front of the Battalion Headquarters sign as an “Easter Desecration.”

Don’t write up false gigs on a Warthog PMCS. (“Broken clutch pedal”, “Number three turbine has frequent flame-outs”, “flux capacitor emits loud whine when engaged”)

Not allowed to get shot.

Not allowed to play into the deluded fantasies of the civlians who are “hearing conversations” from the CMA, ONI, UNSC and SoS due to the microchip the aliens implanted in their brain.

Must not make T-shirts up depciting a Grunt with the writing “Breath Oxygen or Die” in Unggoy to bring as civilian attire when preparing to deploy to their homeworld.

Must not go on nine deployments in six years that require a security clearance that I don’t have, even if the ONI tells me repeatedly that I have one and I have no reason to question them.

Do not convince NCO’s that their razorbumps are the result of microscopic parasites.

Do not lick Spartan IIs

Do not change Smart AI’s avatars to “obscene” things or pictures of my Cat

Do not show up to the UNSC Infinity in a “Anime Bunnysuit and fishnets”

Do not use a 560 year old H&K XM8 because ‘it looks enough like a battle rifle’

Well, that concludes the list. I probably shouldn’t have done some of these, but I definitely don’t regret the second to last (I looked hot AF).

#halo #spartan #halo shitpost #oni #halo shitposts #halo infinite

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sofoulandfairaday · 1 year

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I need to hear the stories of how Bellatrix got her cursed Persian daggers

Okay :D

Part of Bella and Rod's honeymoon takes place in Venice. The amount of trouble they get themselves into is detailed in a story (chapter) that is almost complete. Amongst their various stops, however, is quite an infamous store. The owner is an acquaintance of her uncle Alphard (and the Dark Lord, before he was the Dark Lord -- how else would she know about the place?). Bella is there for a specific object. Unrelated. But then she sees them: glimmering under a burglar-proof spell: seven shiny Persian daggers, each sat beside its sheath, with curved handles encrusted with jewels.

She must have them.

Shenanigans ensue. She knows the owner has something she wants, he doesn't want to sell it to her until she's helped him with a little something: "A dark witch as powerful as yourself, of your lineage. Surely you will have much higher chances than this poor old man."

But she is successful in her mission (arson and kidnapping and torture, god bless her no one does it like her) and when she returns, she has her shiny new husband in tow. Rodolphus, who is absolutely besotted with her, is desperate to show off and buy her absolutely whatever she wants. Anything.

"I don't want jewels," snapped Bellatrix. "I want those." Rodolphus followed her dutifully to the dagger stand. [...] "Persian, all dated between the sixteenth and eighteenth century," said the warlock, taking out his wand and unravelling the anti-theft spell protecting them. "I'd recommend not touching the blades: they're all cursed". "Cursed how?" "Wounds from these", he pointed to the first three on the display, "do not heal. While this", he gestured to the longest dagger, an absolute beauty with a jade green handle and a wavy blade, "is imbibed with a terrible Prometheus charm. Any inflicted wound will continue to heal and reopen, heal and reopen." "That one?" "If one delights in a dash of psychological torture, that makes the victim bleed according to the owner's wishes." The handle was shaped like a Nundu's head, with a sapphire in its eye. "Perfect for when your husband upsets you, Madame." Bellatrix glanced towards Rodolphus, who gave a polite smile, but she could have sworn she saw him swallow. "Which one would you like, darling?" asked Rodolphus. "Oh, I like them all," said Bellatrix airily, admiring them the way a child does Honeydukes shelves when seeing them for the first time. She didn't have the time to add: 'Let me think on it' that Rodolphus had already asked: "How much for all of them?"

Anyway, that's the story of how the Lestranges got banned from Venice :D

#answered #asks #bellatrix lestrange #rodolphus lestrange

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skylarstark4826 · 7 months

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Can you handle it?

"We Snarts. Always so full of snarks" Lisa smirked at Sara and her brother.

The four of them had been lounging at Leonard and Lisa's living room after having been out, going from bar to bar the whole night. Such nocturnal outings weren't really Cisco's thing, but Lisa ended up convincing him to accompany her. No matter how many nasty things he wished his then innocent eyes haven't witnessed or how many bar brawls made him almost panic and want to run for it, Lisa's excitement won him over. The Legends were back in 2019 for a short vacation and his girlfriend wanted to make the most out of it, not only with her brother and Mick, but also – and specially – with Sara, her adored sister-in-law.

"Well, lucky for you, you'll be a Ramon soon" Cisco gave her one of his nerdy grins from his spot on the floor.

Lisa threw her head back and just laughed though, as if she had heard the joke of the year. Taking a glance at the couple chilling on the couch next to her, Cisco felt a little embarrassed to find them looking just as amused.

"Oh baby, you got me wrong. I love every second of it"

"That means too bad for you, kid." Leonard drawled out while he played with Sara's hair.

Not wanting for them to see his bruised ego, at the same time knowing he failed miserably at it, Cisco tried some humor relief for good measure. "No Ramon for you then?"

"Sorry, baby. But if youwant…" she trailed off with a teasing smile.

"No. Thanks, I'm good"

One thing was to date Lisa and coming to terms with his feelings for her to the point where they even discussed - more like, joked about - marriage or to become used to these siblings and their codes and to be able to lounge in the company of one Captain Cold while still having a good time. Another was to be one of them.

Snart – both man and name – still gave him chills.

Now, looking at how the once Sara Lance stretched herself like a kitten while draped on her husband's lap, wearing only a t-shirt too huge to be hers, and her platinum locks sitting too wild to make them look subtle, Cisco still couldn't get over his perplexity at how easy this has come for her.

The former League assassin, now a vigilante in the light, still had room for a kind of duality he wasn't used in seeing in the heroes he walked with. Sure, Cisco knew Barry and Kara weren't up for comparison, being as pure and good as they were, but he believed even Queen himself still walked a reasonable straight line.

Sara Snart, on the other hand, known as the White Canary, didn't do straight it seemed. She did kick the asses of too many scary bad guys for him to count. Yet, she still revealed to own a much darker side where not only she could so easily come to terms with her husband's questionable anti-heroic mindset, but also actually look as pleased as a kitten with ball of wool whenever Snart gave into his past heist habits and came home with something shiny for her.

For someone who was a vigilante during the night and Captain Lance's daughter (who the serious man still called his "baby girl"), Sara was as ambiguous and complex as they come.

He, on the other hand, still struggled. One can't choose who they love and he knew that too well because, as luck would have it, Lisa was it for him.

Cisco did try to fight this feelings though. Among other failed attempts, he tried it with Caitlin, but it didn't feel right. They both soon realized that nothing would come out of it other than a special friendship – one he treasured a lot.

Looking at Sara now, all child-like grins and femme fatale's charm while laughing at something her husband has said, even he knew she was too much for his boat. And was relieved to have been wise enough to listen to his good senses where Sara then Lance now Snart was concerned, for the lastperson he wished to cross was Captain Cold.

So everything came back to Lisa again and that scared him. Enough to say Sara feeling so carefree andat ease in this scenario didn't help him. Whenever he pointed that out to Lisa though, she'd have her words at ready for him.

"'s thing called love, baby. She wants Lenny the way he is and is proud of it. She took me and Mick the way weare and we love her for who she is. Now, Ilove you, but can youhandle this?"

Despite her signature smirk and flirty eyes, Cisco could hear her hurt. Still, he couldn't find it in himself to feel any different. He didn't walk paths of greys like Sara Snart. He was a good guy, enthusiastic about saving the world and willing to do anything for his friends. He wasn't a survivor like the three of them, or like Mick or Oliver. He had it easy, obviously.

But where did that leave him where the Snarts were concerned? Where Lisa was concerned?

#Captain Canary #Leonard x Sara #Sara Lance #Leonard Snart

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blackhakumen · 8 months

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Mini Fanfic #1174: Mansion Date Night~ (King of Fighters)

9:13 p.m. at Antonov'a Mansion's Dining Room..........

Krohnen is completely awesome struck at what is sitting right front of him right now: his bubbly, level-headed girlfriend, Angel, in a short, crimson red dress that almost matches the color of the lipstick she has on her shiny, luscious lips.

In fact, this might the very first time that he has ever seen her wear a dress, let alone in their date night tonight and yet....he couldn't help but to be mesmerized by her irresistible beauty. Not to say she isn't already beautiful in Krohnen's mind, but-

?????: Krohnenyyyy~

Krohnen: (Immediately Comes Back to Reality) Hm! Yeah? What?

Angel: You're looking a little out of it there, Cookie. You having a slight fever? (Forms a Seductive Smirk on her Face) Or are you just excited to see me this evening?~

Krohnen: ('Scoffs') Please. I feel as normal as I've ever been every time I see your face....But you uhh...(Starts Rubbing The Back of his Head Back and Forth) Do look pretty good tonight. (Starts Blushing) Great even......

Angel: (Giggles Softly at her Cute her Boyfriend is Acting) D'awwww~ Gracias, papi!~ (Crosses her Arms With a Proud Smile) It seems my romantic charms is still as strong as ever, don'tcha think?~

Krohnen: (Sighs While Rolling his Eyes) Yeah, and I somehow always fell for it every date night we've been on so far. (Takes a Sip ofhis Drink) Speaking of which, sorry this isn't the most ideal place for romantic evening. I tried getting us reservations from every fancy restaurants this town has to offer, but all of them are either already full or to expensive.

Angel: (Softly Fling her Hand Down) Oh, it's fine, cariño. I'm having a great enough time here already. And besides, you know I don't care all that much about fancy stuff in general.

Krohnen: Yeah, same here. (Shrugs) But I wanted to at least try and do something nice for you given it's Valentine's Day or whatever. (Takes a Bite of a Well Cooked Steak Antonov Made) Hm. Well, I'll be damned. (Takes Another Bite of his Steak) This might just be the best steak I've ever tasted.

Angel: I know, right? (Take a Bite of her Own Steak and Delightfully Enjoying it Shortly After) Mmm~ Soooooo Deliciosa!~ I can't even imagine how dessert would taste like~

Antonov: (Kicks the Door Open and Walks into the Dining Room Two Plates of Sliced Pieces of Cake in Both his Hands) Did somebody say dessert?~

Angel happily squeals and claps her hands as Antonov put her plate down in front of her. She uses her spoon to swap up one part of the cake and eats it and before anyone knows it, her delightfulnsss meteor skyrocketed from their.

Angel: (Gleefully Enjoying her Cake While Mumbling in Spanish)

Krohnen: (Turns to Antonov woth an Impressed Smirk on his Face) I gotta say, pops. Your meal and cake aren't half bad.

Angel: (Smiles Brightly at her Wrestling Boss) We didn't know you have a knack for cooking, Anty,, you're so talented!~

Antonov: (Starts Rubbing The Back of his Head Back and Forth While Chuckling and Smiling Bashfully) Aww~ Thanks for the feedback, you guys. To tell you the truth, I've been taking an interest in culinary arts for some time now. I even got the chance to work alongside the legendary chef, Gordon Ramsey, in the past.

Angel: (Places her Fonger on the Side of Her Chin in Curiosity) Culinary?

Krohnen: Pretty sure that's a fancy word for cooking and junk. (Turns Back to Antonov) You seriously survived a whole day in the kitchen with Gordon Ramesy if all people? That could've been fun.

Antonov: Make that a month and two actually. After the 14th KOF Tournament ended, I took it upon myself to harness my cooking skills under his wing. And yeah. It was a........challenge to say the least.

Flashback

Ramsey: (Angrily Yelling at Antonov Behind Him) Fucking hell Antonov!! Can't you go any faster steering the bloody mashed potatoes!?

Antonov: (Quickly Steering the Pit of Mashed Potatoes, Under Pressure) Yes, chef! I am going as fast as humanly possible, chef!

Ramsey: Don't even start with that "Humanly Possible" crap! I've seen a literal toddler steer pots more quicker and efficient than you could ever hope to achieve and the fact that you're still doing this five minutes after the order's wait time is already finished shows how pathetic you are- (Suddenly Hears the Sound of Sniff) What the bloody hel- Are you crying?

Antonov: (Already Has Twars Falling From his Eyes) ('Sniff') No sir!

Ramsey: You were named the "King of All Fighters" and have the audacity to shed your own tears inside MY kitchen!?

Antonov: ('Sniff') Chef! I get stressed easily when getting yelled at, chef!

Ramsey: Well, tough shit, winker. You could either pick up the pace, cut the bullshit, and finish cooking like you're supposed to or GET OUT!!

Bavk to the Present

Antonov: (Puts on a Dark, Yet Determined Look on his Face) That man gave me no room to make excuses. And I asked none. All I ever did was slaved over that shoving cooking for paying customers until the day I gave up my jacket and walked out of that kitchen, with my head held high. (Went Back to Smiling) I should definitely give him a call someday. (Walks Himself Back to the Kitchen) Hope he's not too busy these days.

Krohnen: I don't think I could ever see myself working under a hothead like that Ramsey guy anytime soon. (Turns Back to his Girlfriend) What about you, A-

Angel: (Continues Eating her Slice of Cake Until the Plate was Completely Clean Before Looking Back Up at Krohnen) Hm?

Krohnen: Nevermind.

Angel: (Points at Krohnen's Cake) Hey, are you gonna finish that cake of yours, Cookie?

Krohnen: (Raises an Eyebrow) Don't you think you have enough sweets for one night?

Angel: (Raises an Eyebrow Back) Do you know who you're talking to right now? I'm the Toughest Woman in all of Mexico- (Suddenly Let's Out a Small Burp Before Quickly Covering her Mouth) Perdóneme.

Krohnen: (Snickers a Bit) More like the Burpiest Woman in all Mexico if you ask me.

Angel: (Pouts at Krohnen) HUUUUSH! I'm not burpy or gross! Take it back!!

Krohnen: (Chuckles Lightly) Alright, alright, I kid! You're none of those things. You're strong and cute, fun, reliable to an extent and....just amazing all around entirely. (Starts Rubbing The Back of his Head Back and Forth While Blushing Again) I know I don't tell you this as much as I should, but....Deep down.....(Gives Angel his Sliced Cake With a Genuine Smile on his Face) I'm pretty damn lucky to fall for someone like you.

Angel: (Stares at the Cake For a Brief Second Before Looking Back at Krohnen) .......You know. (Put the Plate Down and Move Aside) I think I'll pass on the cake for now. I want something else in mind to snack on.

Krohnen: (Raises an Eyebrow in Confusion) Really? Like what exactly?

Angel: Well~ (Starts Twirling The Front of Her Hair Around) Let's just say there's this slightly tall size treat that's all grumpy and rude on the outside, but ooooh so sweet on the inside~

Krohnen: Sweet, huh?

Angel: (Forms a Seductive Smirk on her Face) Yep~ And he's very yummy too. (Gets Herself Up From her Seat and Slowly Walk her Way Towards Krohnen) Like, the yummiest, sweetest thing I ever have the pleasure of falling head over heels for. (Sits Down on Krohnen's Lap) And his name is the one and only....(Gently Places her Habds Onto Krohnen's Cheeks) Coo-Kie~

Krohnen: It's Krohnen genius.

Angel: (Rolls her Eyes) Krohnen, Cookie, doesn't matter! Momma Angel wants her Valentine kisses right now!~

Krohnen: ('Sigh') Fine. C'mere.

And with that, the rebellious couple skip the rest of their meals and begin to make out with one another. As every since goes by, the session itself has eventually gotten more passionate and sensual enough to the point of Angel unbuttoning the top of Krohnen's shirt collar and start kissing the side of his neck until he gently pulls her away.

Krohnen: Wait, hang on a second. This is a clean dining room. We can't dirty it up by doing it here.

Angel: Right. Right....(Smiles Brightly as Sge Jumps off of Krohnen's Lap) Let's go to Anty's room!~

Krohnen: (Stops Angel by Grabbing Hd of her Arm) Yeah, no. We're not gonna mess up your boss' room again after he went to all the trouble to put this date night together for us. Also, ixnay on the KID being here.

Krohnen walks Angel to the dining room's doorway and shows her Misha sitting next to Ramon and an already sleeping King of Dinosaurs in the living room watching Wrestling on TV.

Angel: ('Sigh') Así es. He's still as wide awake as a cute baby gecko. But what are we supposed to do then? The holiday's is far from over and i am still very much horny tonight!

Krohnen: Don't get your hair in a twist. I got an idea.

Meanwhile at the Living Room.......

Misha: So, you've managed to win a lot of trophies in your Wrestling days, Mr. Ramon?

Ramon: (Smiles Brightly) Eso's correcto, my tiny friend. Most were pretty tough bouts to venture through and endure, but my papa always told me the "the Road to Victory is never easy in the world of Lucha Libré". (Pulls Up his Eyepatch, Showing Off the Scar in his Eye) And I have this scar to represent this crucial lesson.

Misha: (Struck in Awe at What He's Looking At Right Now) Woooooah......

'Door Kicked Open'

Krohnen: (Walks into the Living Room While Carrying Angel in his Arms) Welp, The night's still young, so we're about to head out. Don't wait up-

Ramon: Now, hold your horse there, lovebirds. You can't without give us some details on your little date night of yours.

Misha: Yeah and where are you going in this time of hour?

Krohnen: Date was fun, the steak and cake were both pretty good, and we're heading out to .....do stuff. In private.

Angel: (Happily Waves Goodbye as Krohnen Carries her Outside) See you all in the late morninnnnnng!~

'Door Close'

Ramon: ('Sigh') Leave to Valentine's Day to get them in the mood again?

Misha: (Raises an Eyebrow in Confusion) Mood?

Ramon: It's a romantic type of thing. You'll understand when you get other.

'Door Open'

Antonov: (Walks into the Living Room Carrying Two More Plates of Slices of Cake) Whooooo wants seconds!?~ (Starts Looking Around the Room Before Asking.....) Where the lovebirds go?

@thelexhex

@tampire

@theweebmaster31

@ma-lemons

#king of fighters #krohnen mcdougall #angel #antonov #ramon #misha #gordon ramsay #if john cena could co exist in the KOF Universe so could gordon ramsey lol #date night #cute romance #humor #krohnen x angel #Valentine's month

3 notes · View notes

potteresque-ire · 2 years

Text

The Big Politics Meta

0. Introduction; content notes and warning 1. The Boring Overview: 3rd Time is the Charm? 2. The Political Legacy of 2/27: A Hypothesis >> 3. Case Report of a Traffic Robbery, Committed October, 2020 4. Two Stories about a State-approved, Top Traffic Star 5. Afterthought: The Big Environment

(Below the Cut — 3. Case Report of a Traffic Robbery, Committed October, 2020)

Professor 沈逸 Shen Yi deserves an introduction.

He is a professor of internal relations and Director of the Centre of Cyberspace Governance at Fudan University, one of the most prestigious universities in China. Known as an expert on “the United States problem”, Prof S also holds the honour of being denied entry into the U.S. by the Trump administration in 2018, for suspicion of espionage. He is an influencer of the nationalistic persuasion, not only for netizens but also, supposedly, for President Xi. Rumour has it that Prof S is a 內参, i.e. he collections information and writes analyses for the President to read.

Prof S’s personality is also worth an introduction, and there is no better example than what happened in May, 2021, when India had a surge of COVID deaths. 長安網, the Weibo account of the Central Political and Legal Affairs Commission (which oversees all legal enforcement authorities in China including the police force), posted the following on its blog:

The text of this 2021/05/01 Weibo post by 長安網 said “China lighting a fire vs India lighting a fire”. The left photo showed the launching of the Chinese rocket LM-8; the right photo showed a mass cremation of COVID deaths in India. The tag was # INDIA’S NEW COVID CASE COUNT EXCEEDS 400,000. (Source)

It caused an outcry among a significant fraction of netizens, who thought the post went too far. No matter how much border conflict there was between China and India, they opined, deaths from causes like COVID shouldn’t be used for jokes, for propaganda. The post was deleted after it caught attention internationally, and it sparked a “debate” between Prof S, and the editor of the State Tabloid Global Times then, 胡錫進 Hu Xijin. The reason why the word debate was in quotation marks was because Prof S and Hu didn’t actually disagree on a critical point — India deserved the deaths, the suffering. The difference in opinion between them was whether the government should spell out that sentiment, and made it known to the world.

Hu believed the answer was no. Official blogs representing the state should exercise restraint, he believed, 高舉人道主義大旗，表達對印度的同情，將中國社會牢牢置於道義的高地上 “raise the flag of humanitarianism up high, show sympathy to India and put the Chinese society on the moral high ground (in the eyes of the international community).” To put it simply, Hu believed the government should pretend to care for show.

And here’s the even more ... enlightening opinion from Prof S:

“These photos are pretty good. Don’t get me wrong, humanitarianism, ‘community with a shared destiny’ (Pie note: a phrase from President Xi that means humankind shares the same future) are all needed. At the same time, (showing) temper against the kind of coquettish cheap goods like India is also needed. As to all the saint mother whores, if you want to get sentimental, please go to India to burn some wood.”

A tiny lesson on Chinese slangs: cheap goods 賤貨 is a derogatory term customarily used to degrade women, meaning roughly the same as “bitch”. Saint mother whore 聖母婊 is an equally derogatory term used to insult people who have expressed a more humanitarian world view, mocking them as being so overflowing with love that they don’t indiscriminate to whom they show affection, much like prostitutes. Prof S used the former slang to describe India, and the latter, the sympathising, outraged netizens.

I hope this paints a picture of how Prof S exudes charm (or just … exudes). For all his shiny titles and oration skills, however, Prof S is as well known among Chinese netizens for being something else.

Prof S is a famous Gg Anti.

To understand why that is, we turn back the clock another seven months, to October, 2020. There was an incident involving Gg’s birthday celebration that year, one that, if c-turtles have to refer to it, they call it 川美事件 The Incident of the Sichuan Fine Arts Institute. i-Turtles who have been around longer probably remember that incident as well. Essentially, KaiXiaoZao — you know, the rice box meal Gg endorses? — planned to have to a drone exhibition near the school to celebrate Gg’s birthday. However, it had to cancel the event at the last minute due to COVID and crowd control concerns. Gg fans were already in attendance, and they stayed for a short while, enjoyed a bit of fun.

But the gathering, the celebration was soon re-painted by antis as Gg fans disturbing the peace of the school and also, them defiling the space. In truth, Gg fans were in a public shopping area outside the premise of the school proper, and the graffiti of Gg’s name shown as evidence of the defiling was not only an hour’s distance away, but on a graffiti wall that welcomed anyone to write and draw on it.

Antis and fans fought, and given this was a few short months after 2 27, the inaccurate retelling of the event spread.

Luckily, a local Chongqing TV station stood up for their Chongqing son, investigated and cleared the name of Gg fans, and by extension, Gg. Weibo censored 28 accounts for spreading misinformation, silenced them for fifteen days. People’s Daily and several other state media reblogged the TV investigation, as well as the doled-out punishment online. In three weeks, the police would confirm that no illegal activities had occurred that evening.

That was the start and end of The Incident of the Sichuan Fine Arts Institute. But there was actually a side story, a subplot …

Enter Prof S. The day after the TV station and Weibo cleared the name of Gg’s fans, he commented on the post by Weibo that had announced the censoring, opined that Gg’s fandom needed to be 有效治理 effectively governed, or managed — joining the sentiment of Gg antis that Weibo had only stood by Gg’s side because Gg gave it money. (Which is, by the way, a garden-variety accusation in c-ent fandoms; almost every fan war in c-ent involved accusing stars of bribing or paying something, be it a platform, “Capital”, YXHs, water army etc)

(c-fans confrontations are often verbally violent, but rarely verbally innovative).

Then, he happened upon the following tweet on Twitter with a photo of Gg’s birthday gathering, and posted it on his Weibo with a comment:

“Interesting. Activities of fans of a certain star has been interpreted by foreign media as an illegal, Tibetan Independence activity. 😜 What’s going on?”

Please read the English text of the tweet as well. SCAFI stands for Sichuan Fine Arts Institute, the location of the birthday gathering.

Giving a tweet like this one any political weight defies common sense. If any form of assembly for the alleged cause had broken out within mainland China, every international news media would have been on it, not only a Twitter account that, by the way, had “gamer” in its profile that could be verified with mere minutes of scrolling. The tweet itself was buzz words galore, as if inserting more politically-sensitive words would boost its credibility, when the effect was exactly the opposite.

For one, the evidence it presented to support the claim that the gathering was for Tibetan Independence was … SCAFI being “not far from Tibet”. Even if we discount the obvious leap of logic, the distance between Chongqing and Lhasa, the capital of Tibet, is slightly longer than … from Berlin, Germany to Istanbul, Turkey.

Just saying. (Source: Google)

Umbrella revolution was even further, geographically and culturally: it was the name of the protest in Hong Kong in 2014.

This tweet might have been able to trick someone whose understandings of English and politics were both very limited — but an international relations professor like Prof S? Unless he was a fluke all the way, the chance of him truly believing in this tweet was infinitesimal.

Still, he posted it, and added more misinformation by calling the account “foreign media”.

The response Prof S evoked was predictable. Gg’s fans came to him, some tried to explain and others, in a manner customary of their fandom culture, scolded and insulted Prof S as if he had been just another fandom anti. Meanwhile, Prof S provoked Gg’s fans further, reminded his readers that “cyberspace governance” was his speciality (one of his official positions in Fudan University), and “performing risk assessment” for the kind of activities that could “possibly lead to Color Revolution” — with “the kind of activities” referring to Gg’s birthday gathering — was the focus of his academic research (Source):

In China, this is an awful thing to say about anyone without proof.

“Color Revolution”, which referred to the series of pro-democracy, street-level uprisings in the former Soviet bloc in the early 2000s, is a term heavily used in the Chinese political rhetoric. The rhetoric, which is shared by countries like Russia and Vietnam, is that Western countries — in particular, the United States — orchestrate these popular movements in attempts to overthrow the local governments. Hence, the propaganda surrounding the Hong Kong protests, for example, has involved the CIA secretly handing out money to millions of Hong Kongers to march; and the protests themselves have been referred to as Color Revolutions by the state media. President Xi himself is a frequent user of the term, and is thought to be obsessed with it.

An accusation of starting a Colour Revolution is, therefore, very serious. It’s the equivalent to saying whoever is starting the revolution is colluding with foreign powers, and attempting subversion. Overthrowing the Chinese government.

The defence from Gg fans necessarily escalated. Some, being young, angry and worried and unfamiliar with the numerous political red lines in their country, said things that were, frankly, … much better left unsaid. Melon eaters gathered. “Prof S vs Gg fans” was on the verge of 出圈 Exiting the Circle — became a topic of popular interest, instead of fandom-limited interest. The question by Prof S, 你是什麼粉? “What fan are you?” — the question he eventually asked everyone who challenged him, whether they were fans, or passerbys concerned with such a serious allegation having being thrown at young fans, made it onto the hot search. Some Gg fans realised by then that this Prof S was no ordinary anti, that he was a well-known political influencer and asked fellow fans to immediately stop their defence, but it was too late.

Gg anti’s from 2 27 flocked to Prof S’s social media spaces to be his followers, excited that they had gained someone so important on their side. While this was all happening, Chongqing police formally cleared Gg fans from any wrongdoings during the birthday gathering on October 21st. Five days later, on October 26th, Prof S made a faux-pas in the eyes of the fraction of antis who had joined 2 27 as protest to the fic reporting. He pointed to the same fic associated with 2 27, tagged CCTV, Chongqing cyberpolice and claimed that that was the characterisation (referring to M/M CPs) that made Gg famous.

To put it differently: Prof S reported.

This is of note, because it raised a question — had Prof S been even truly familiar with 2 27 before, and along that, the supposed ”dangers” of Gg’s fandom that he was claiming required “effective governance”? Joining the reporting of the fic in October 2020 — wasn’t that a little ... late?

In all cases, this reporting post was, of course, incendiary to both the fans and antis. They came to his blog again, another big argument was about to begin, and …

Prof S deleted everything related to Gg in his blog. In fact, he went so far as to make his blog private for a week. He was tired of it, he explained, and the deletion was his own decision (ie, he wasn’t censored by Weibo). The graphic he used tor the explanation post included the phrase 說正事專用 — a popular phrase meaning “for serious business”, implying that talking about Gg and his fandom wasn’t serious enough to worth his time and effort anymore:

And this marked the end of the side story of the Incident of the Sichuan Fine Arts Institute, the 2020 birthday gathering.

Gg fans, per their custom of not talking about politics, never mention it again. The antis, meanwhile, continue to follow Prof S as their spiritual leader, joining the ranks of nationalistic “Little Pinks” that were originally his audience. After the mass cancellation of celebrities via the Clear & Bright Campaign in summer 2021, they went to him, dismayed that the only “casualty” associated with Gg was the temporary silencing of one of Gg’s Big Fans. In the ensuing conversations between Prof S and the antis, Prof S pointed out that as far as he could tell, GG didn’t have any background — ie., Gg didn’t have any connections in the upper echelons of the government, and/or the business moguls. And the issue at hand — the continued survival of Gg and his fandom — was the consequence of “(Gg’s) monopoly on the platforms”, “tens of millions of PR money”, “a MCN (multichannel network) ecosystem that has remained unregulated” (MCNs in China, more often associated with net influencers and their e-commerce live-streaming, are also involved in short video production — including short videos that spread rumours and false content), “a fandom with basic, self-organisational ability”, “active Big Fan(s) (whose existence and activities are) based on profits”,”a purely symbolised star image” (ie, Gg being viewed as a symbol, an image, instead of a real person), and “a completely new, inexperienced management”:

The thing is, there is truth in what Prof S said, in that the listed elements: PR, MCN, the heavy profits associated with fandom and everything associated with stardom, really, have been widely considered as important building blocks of the c-ent we know today, and the causes of much of its woes. C-fans are aware of that. Most of us overseas fans, too, have heard of YXHs and water armies, for example, which is part of PR, and the havoc they can raise. While PR has, indeed, been used for (excessive) hyping and initiating fan wars, however, it has also become increasily necessary because of the existence of antis — ie, of people precisely like Prof S and his audience. Stars are also far from the only people who hire and pay for PR. Investors and production companies who have hired the stars for to-be-aired projects have equal, if not greater concerns about the stars’ reputation, and in the power balance between them and the stars who have yet to get famous or have just got famous (like Gg in early 2020), they have a clear upper hand — hence, they are more likely to be controlling the PR message than the stars themselves.

In all cases, the involvement of these elements is by no means restricted to a star or two, or the top traffic stars.

So, why make Gg’s fandom the target? Here was Prof S’s response:

(Underlined in red) “Gg fans are the most archetypical of the complete loss-of-control of fan economy. It is also the most difficult to put to order, and so, the effects of bringing it to order will have the most significance as a benchmark.”

Prof S wanted to make an example of Gg and his fandom, and he wasn’t shy to say it.

Not that this statement really mattered, but here are some questions I have about it, from a simple logical standpoint: If Gg’s top traffic status was purely the outcome of a fan economy run amok, surely there has got to be an assembly line of top traffic stars by now, hasn’t it? And a galaxy full of them taking over Gg’s place? After all, according to this theory, all it takes for the next Gg is happen is to invest a lot of money. Gg has no background — Prof S said so himself. Gg’s rise to stardom also happened after 2018, after Fan Bing Bing’s tax evasion case and the draining of c-ent capital resulting from the government’s aggressive, retrospect tax collection; Gg’s income has therefore been far less compared to stars of equivalent popularity from several years ago. 2 27 also happened a mere six months after Gg’s rise, i.e. Gg had yet to accumulate significant wealth then. This means, especially in 2020, Gg was far from being the most affluent by c-ent’s standards. There are certainly people, and companies, with much more to spend on star making, and top traffic maintenance. Why haven’t they built the next top traffic star?

More importantly, if the elements listed above, the PR and MCN etc, are truly the ingredients of top traffic-dom and the evils associated with it, then why not put these elements to order first? Why did Prof S, an expert on cyberspace governance, choose to target their consequence, a fandom, instead?

A piece of news from March, 2022, published by 新華網 Xinhuanet, may offer a glimpse to the reason why. Xinhuanet is the online arm of 新華通訊社 Xinhua News Agency, the official state news agency and China’s highest-ranking state media organ, and is traditionally responsible for much of the country’s propaganda. In the news, Xinhuanet announced its collaboration with a media company, Hai Xi Chuan Mei 海西傳媒, which would focus on the website’s 內容資源強化、品牌價值提升、渠道流量拓展, content fortification, brand value enhancement, and channel traffic expansion.

What is brand value enhancement but PR? As it turned out, too, even a website with Xinhua in its name needed, and wanted, traffic. Who had it sought expertise from for this important collaboration then? Who was the very lucky one chosen by Xinhua to polish its image?

Here’s the description of Hai Xi Chuan Mei (Source):

海西傳媒 … 是一家集經紀、演出、製作、合作、投資運營於一體的綜合性文化傳媒公司。公司成立至今，形成了以藝人經紀為主體，綜藝製作為新骨幹的產業鏈，同時與業內影視製作、發行集團聯手打造經紀聯盟平台。

Hai Xi Chuan Mei is a comprehensive cultural media company integrating management, performance, production, investment and operation. Since its founding, it has formed an industry value chain that has star management as its focus and variety show production, its backbone. At the same time, it has formed a management alliance with film and TV production and distribution (business) groups.

Yes, Xinhua had sought expertise from c-ent, and from a star management company, no less. This Baidu (Chinese Wiki) page about Hai Xi includes a list of the stars managed by Hai Xi; look carefully at the photos at the bottom of the page, and one may find a familiar face or two.

Xinhua, at the very least, didn’t appear to even mind sharing the same image polisher with traffic stars.

Prof S’s statement rings a little differently with this piece of info, doesn’t it? The government may not actually mind a loss-of-control of fan economy, if the benefactor, the idol built by the fan economy is itself. Companies like Hai Xi are pretty much the embodiment of the elements Prof S have listed; rather than "effectively governing” them, however, the government is working with them, learning the ropes of image and traffic boosting from them. As such, there is little indication that the government actually intends for these elements to be “put to order” — instead, with 去流量化 “removal of traffic” from c-ent since last year, the intention is far more likely to be for these elements to work for the government instead.

For reasons that would be clear in a bit, Prof S was likely aware of this — not about the Xinhua - Hai Xi collaboration that had yet to be publicised, but the thirst of those who spoke for the government for image, and for traffic. Hence, his shifting the target to the consequence of these elements, the c-ent fandom, which the government had already been clear in its intention to “put to order”, to weaken.

Between possibly offending the government, and definitely offending someone without background, Prof S knew the smart thing to do.

As to pinpointing Gg’s fandom as the archetype that should be put to order — 10 days after this conversation, Gg would be performing as the Asian Games Ambassador.

Gg singing at the Asian Games Countdown Concert, 2020/09/10. At the shot of the audience in attendance (bottom photo), netizens commented that they were already nervous at the sight of it. The high-back chairs, the white covers, the placards, the suited, stiff postures were all visual clues that the seated officials were Very Important People. (Source)

Contrary to Prof S’s statement, there has been little indication that the government has anything personal against Gg, or that it plans to persecute him specifically in any way. The antis did get an idea right: if the government wanted to cancel Gg, it could have done so easily in the summer of 2021. After all, the list of crimes for 趙薇 Zhao Wei, whose name was removed from her filmography at the time, traced all the way back to an incident that had happened 20 years ago, in 2001, when Zhao had worn a skirt printed with the Japanese military flag.

Time is never an issue when the Chinese government has its mind set on handing out a punishment.

So, why did Prof S said what he did? I’m not him (thankfully), and so, I shall not speak for him. All I can say is this — what he said was music to the anti’s ears. It kept them in Prof S’s fandom for another day.

Yeah, fandom.

端傳媒 Initium media, a Chinese-language news site based in Singapore, is a relatively rare find in the Sinosphere in that its political leaning has been difficult to pin down, having been alternatively accused as pro- and anti-CCP. Equally rare is the attention it has given to 2 27: it reported on the incident not only while it was happening, but also, a year later. In its 2 27 anniversary review — the only one I know of from overseas (uncensored) websites, and written following journalistic standards — the reporter traced the incident’s evolution from its earliest, politically-charged focus on censorship and freedom of creative expression, to, finally, a fight between pro- vs anti-Gg fans that had little significance outside fandom, and the attitudes that had led to this change.

This is a news site with an understanding of Chinese fandom culture.

The same media, two months after 2 27’s anniversary and shortly after the Rocket-and-Cremation post, published a scathing analysis on Prof S, and the roster of nationalistic political influencers similar to him (there are a lot). What was scathing wasn’t any particular word choice, but rather, the angle it chose to portray Prof S and his rise to fame — as a traffic star. This is a long article, and I’m only translating a few relevant parts:

而觀察者網內部，沈逸是流量大咖之一。在觀察者網的bilibili頻道，他關於美國政治史的付費課程（價值108元）「白宮裏的主角們」，在本文寫作時，已獲得愈1100萬累計播放量，完全付費部分的單集播放量超過35萬；而他個人帳號的微博粉絲則達到119萬。沈逸的明星效應，固然是因為他具有其他觀察者網主播所不具有的學者身份 ...

And inside Guancha Net (Pie note: one of the most prominent nationalistic news sites in China right now), Prof S is one of the traffic stars. In Guancha Net’s Bilibili channel, his paid course on American politics (priced at RMB 108), “The Main Characters in the White House”, has already achieved a view count of 11 million at the time of this article’s writing, with 0.35 million being the episodes that are paid only, and his Weibo follower count has reached 1.19 million. Prof S’s celebrity effect has been contributed by his identity as a scholar, which isn’t shared by other vloggers on Guancha Net …

... 至於美國國內的政治結構、權力機構、選舉等方面，沈逸很少涉及，分析也淺嘗輒止，無非是「旋轉門」等入門理論，加上「政客短期利益vs國家長期戰略」之類的陳詞濫調，最後還都要回到「遏制中國」、「顏色革命」的落腳點上。可以說，沈逸在美國政治領域的專業素養，並不顯著強於他在觀察者網的非學者同行。

… As to the domestic political structure of the United States, its corridors of power and elections etc, Prof S rarely mentions them, and his analyses of them are also very shadow, nothing more than the basic theories such as the “revolving door”, plus cliché concepts such as “short-term gains for the politicians vs long-term strategy for the country” that, inevitably, conclude with “containment of China” and “Color Revolution”. One can say, Prof S’s professional knowledge in American politics is not evidently better than his non-scholarly colleagues on Guancha Net.

在2020年，沈逸「下場」與肖戰粉進行對罵，就獲得了巨大的關注度。無論他是否有意為之，參與流行文化中的脣槍舌劍，對於社交媒體時代的「網紅」而言，都是必不可少的。而同時，「學者」稱號卻是一個光彩照人的「人設」，讓他能夠區別於其他流量型主播，並給自己的欄目披上「理性客觀」的外皮，從而產生持久的吸引力。與娛樂明星不同，明星學者所需要的出位不是緋聞或者組CP賣腐，而是通過不斷極端化的民族主義、煽動性的排外主張、對國際局勢危言聳聽，把新老觀眾吸引到自己的節目中來。

可以說，沈逸既是「流量型學者」的代表，也是「學者型明星」中的佼佼者。其首要身份是流量明星，而學者��是明星的人設。

In 2020, Prof S “entered the game” and held a scolding match with Gg fans, and attracted an immense amount of attention for that. Whether he did so deliberately or not, to participate in the verbal sparring associated with popular culture is a necessity for an online influencer in the social media age. At the same time, “scholar” is a shining “characterisation” that distinguishes him from other traffic star vloggers, and it covers his programmes with a “logical and objective” skin that renders them attractive. Unlike entertainment stars, star scholars achieve the required provocation not via romantic rumours or M/M CPs, but via increasingly extreme nationalism, inflammatory xenophobic theories, and alarmist perspectives on international politics, to attract audiences old and new to his programmes.

One can say, Prof S is representative of the “Traffic Scholar”, and an outstanding “scholarly-style star”. His first identity is a traffic star, and scholar is only his star characterization.

(May I say … Ouch? 😂😂😂)

The take-home messages from this article are:

- Prof S is a traffic star, and precisely the kind of traffic star the government wants to remove from c-ent: all traffic, but with questionable actual skills.

- Prof S not only called Gg’s birthday gathering a Color Revolution, he called many other things a Color Revolution.

- Prof S seeks attention to attract new fans and traffic for himself and Guancha Net, where he rose to his (political) traffic stardom; he has done so by 1) engaging in popular culture, in particular, provoking Gg fans and antis in 2020, and 2) making incendiary political statements.

My reason for including in this meta this story, this “conflict” between Prof S and Gg’s fandom, is because I see it as another case of traffic robbery. By evoking Gg’s name and catching the attention of his fans and antis, Prof S profited, and the nationalistic news site that hosted him, that was so beloved by the “Little Pink”s who tended to support President Xi’s ideology, also profited. The antis, to show their support for Prof S, had purchased Prof S’s online courses, much like fans in c-ent buy their favourite stars’ endorsements. I mentioned before, that Prof S was likely aware of the thirst of those who speak for the government for image, and for traffic — he was likely aware because he was one of them.

And Prof S the political traffic star returned the love of his supportive fans by keeping the fantasies of his supportive fans alive — among these fantasies, the fantasy of Gg’s downfall. Hence, the statement about Gg’s fandom being the archetype; hence, the promise of putting it to order.

This is so ridiculous, isn’t it? But this is the thing we cannot forget — as much as Prof S is … Prof S — he * is * influential, he is still a professor (which comes with a halo of respect in Chinese societies), and he still may have President Xi’s ear. This case of traffic robbery, also, once again shows how little control the star and his fans have in these situations. If the articles from Procuratorate Daily controlled the timing of 2 27, then, Prof S controlled the timing of this story — he started it when he decided to post about the birthday gathering, he ended it when he deleted everything because he got tired of it. One may argue that Gg’s fans, at least, set the scene for 2 27; the same thing can’t even be said about what happened here. The fans didn’t do anything, until they found themselves and their idol being smeared by potentially serious political allegations, and reacted.

I hope this story lends a little more weight to the hypothesis that, in the post 2 27 government-fans relations, stars and their fans are becoming the passive, reactive parties. While people like Prof S aren’t strictly the government, they are also not not-government — nationalistic political influencers, whether they are prominent media sites like Global Times or Guancha Net, or individuals like Prof S, or gangs like the anonymous Little Pinks everywhere online, they wouldn’t have achieved the prominence they have in the Xi era without implicit government approval. And there’s no way to tell when these people may wish to “borrow” a little traffic for their own use, especially in politically sensitive times such as now.

And when such borrowing happens, it is difficult for any star and their team to stop their fans from reacting — Chinese fandoms are incredibly reactive, that’s the culture and no one can change it overnight, or singlehandedly. If politics is involved, the hands of the star and their team are even more tied — they can’t say aloud, please don’t touch this subject matter, or please stay away from this person — because to do so means they know what is sensitive, or where a political red line is, and often, that creates another issue on its own (I talked about the Paradox of Li Jiaqi here).

One may notice too, I’d like to add, how cavalier, how ... careless Prof S was through the entire story. His choices of emojis, for example; his exiting the scene because he got bored, because this wasn’t serious business for him — when he could be destroying the serious business, the career, of someone else. For him, those he had robbed the traffic from was collateral damage, he didn’t care.

Note that he used the fan cheer emoji when talking about India. Why the demeaning slangs? Because they were attention-catching, traffic boosting. He wasn’t above using even COVID deaths for his own gains.

People without empathy are especially tricky, if not dangerous, to deal with. If some of you are wondering: why are people like him in such prominent positions of influence? The only answer I can think of is ... dictators love sycophants.

And this is why, with traffic robbers like Prof S around, like Prof S who had political influence and his own fandom and his shiny “scholar” image, and with Gg’s birthday having already had a history of being “controversial” before, I can understand why October 5th, 2022 was a quiet day in our fandom. This case of traffic robbery lasted approximately 3 weeks, and the 7th Plenary Session was starting on the 9th this year. It would be cutting a little too close.

There will be more birthdays to come.

#pie metas

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ilikereadingactually · 1 year

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Gender Queer

Gender Queer: a Memoir by Maia Kobabe

now seemed like a great time to finally pick up this graphic memoir: it's Pride month, and Gender Queer is the most challenged book in the country amid so many efforts to curb freedom of access to information and a terrifying increase in anti-trans legislation. also, the latest ep of @fansplaining is a delightful interview with Maia Kobabe (check out that shiny transcript <3)! so the stars aligned for me.

i knew i was going to love this book, and i did! everything about it delights me: the art, the emotional and physical frankness of it, the narrative of shifting labels and feelings and confusion that i think is relatable to a lot of queers, myself included! this book gave me, among other things, some new angles to consider my own identifiers, how they've shifted over time, and why they feel right.

and it's always just such a pleasure for me to read about how fandom intersects with and helps form identity, for other fannish people. it makes me feel in community and makes me feel unbearably fond, like putting on someone else's glasses as if that will reveal to you the way that person sees the world. Kobabe's piles of books, eir questions about what appeals and why, the ways in which fannish life and "real" life converge into just life, it's all so wonderful.

also? i know i already said the art is great but really, it's great!! an extremely charming style, emotive and clear, sort of...soothing to look at? i don't know how to describe it except that it makes my eyes and my brain very happy.

the deets

how i read it: i read the paperback, from the college library consortium where i work! i definitely want to add it to my home library though, so it's going on the list for my next bookstore trip.

try this if you: have given a lot of thought to your gender and sexuality, have never given a lot of thought to your gender and sexuality, were a bookish/fannish/nerdy kid, cry when you listen to Dar Williams sing "When I Was a Boy," or just are nosy and love a peek into someone else's life.

a panel i really liked: What Would Taako Wear is also a way i pick outfits

#books and reading #book recs #book reviews #bookblr #graphic memoir #happy pride #gender queer #maia kobabe

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smolvenger · 2 years

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Stella of Essex or The Vicar's Wife Betrayed- Chapter Three: Red Roses

Chapter Word Count: 7K (Pretty Thick, prepare yourselves, get some water)

Paring: Some Stella/William (but focusing on the tragedy of his infidelity)and eventually Stella/Male OC

Series Summary: The Essex Serpent is reimagined and told from the perspective of Stella Ransome. And with a new ending. A portrait of a woman who became The Ideal Lady her time and marriage required her to be. A picture of a marriage of love and bliss torn apart by a husband's infidelity. And Stella herself in the center of it all, torn between a wife's duty and her own quiet but present rage. Where in the midst of devastating heartbreak she gains her strength, finds her voice, and dares to seek freedom, hope...and even revenge.

Chapter Summary: The Courtship, Betrothal, and Early Marriage of Miss Stella by her admirer, the Curate and later Vicar William Ransome. A sinister omen appears in her garden.

Warnings: Eventual Major Character Death, Mentions of sex but no actual smut. Slow Burn to the Drama (tm), Lots of very bittersweet with the foregone conclusion from the prologue fluff, and foreshadowing. Religion, victorian era attitudes, marriage. Eventually being Anti-W*lliam and Anti-C*ra so if you like them or that pairing I wouldn't recommend this fic.

A03 Link

Prologue//Chapter One//Chapter Two

Link to my Ko-Fi

REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE APPRECIATED!!!!

Her, the most excellent of all, The best half of creation’s best, Its heart to feel, its eye to see, The crown and complex of the rest, Its aim and its epitome. Nay, might I utter my conceit, 'Twere after all a vulgar song, For she's so simply, subtly sweet, My deepest rapture does her wrong. Yet is it now my chosen task To sing her worth as Maid and Wife; Nor happier post than this I ask, To live her laureate all my life.

— Part I, Book I, Canto II: I.25–I.44 The Angel in The House by Coventry Patmore

"[The perfect wife] was intensely sympathetic. She was immensely charming. She was utterly unselfish. She excelled in the difficult arts of family life. She sacrificed daily. [...] Above all, she was pure." — Virginia Woolf, "Professions for Women"

“Pinkerton:...Either in love or insane,

It may be just an infatuation,

She's enchanted me with her innocent charms,

Delicate and fragile as blown glass...

With a sudden movement,

she frees herself like a butterfly,

She flutters and settles

with such quiet grace

that a madness seizes me to pursue her,

even though I might tear off her wings"- Madama Butterfly, English Translation

As we returned home, life carried on as usual. My brothers- two elder, Elliott, Brian, and one younger, Dante- went out to work while my little sister- another light-haired Harris girl christened Edith, and I stayed home, doing chores. It never seemed to end. There was always laundry to do, things to cook, things to clean, and the occasional guest to attend to. Not that I minded that too much. It seemed a better option than laboring with scythes for hours under a brutal sun. I would much rather water the beanstalks and tend to my flowers under that same sun. I would also venture to say there is something oddly beautiful about seeing a dirty floor made shiny with soap and water or bread rising to fullness.

There was one evening when I was tasked with baking the bread for dinner. However, when I pulled it out of the oven and cut it to see the result, I saw that although it was baked thoroughly, part of it was burned black. Dinner was arriving soon with no extra time to bake another. My father insisted bread be served at every meal. I had no choice but to set it on the table.

Everyone piled into the dining room, and I took my usual seat next to my brother, Elliott. Dinner began with my father’s prayer for a blessing. Then silverware clicked as we began to eat. Dante began passing the bread plate across and each member took their slices, opting for the bread that was a lighter shade. It went through my parents, past Edith, and Brian, before it arrived to me.

The only sides left were one slice of the properly done and the other of the burnt side. As I reached a hand for the lighter half, my mother’s voice interjected. “Stella! Why are you reaching for that part?”

“Because that is the bread I would like to eat, Mama.”

“But look at your brother’s face, he clearly wants it…”

Glancing, I could see my brother’s small eyes flicker hungrily toward that half.

“He’s been working hard in the field all day, he’s so hungry! The farmers worked him for six hours without a bite! Shouldn’t you feel some pity for him? Why should he get the burnt half?”

“But I made this bread, and I don’t want to eat the burnt half…” I replied quietly.

I heard a deep exhale from my mother. Eyes were turning towards us in tension.

“Give the lighter half to your bother, Stella, please…”

I gave in and passed the plate to him. He took the lighter bread that I coveted.

“That is a good girl, how kind of you Stella…” my mother praised, her shoulders relaxing.

Elliott took the slice of bread and slathered it with butter before wolfing it down. He was sunburnt, his forehead still sweaty. Perhaps he did deserve it. Perhaps I made his life a little easier.

He passed the plate back to me. There was only black bread. And the little pink butter plate was completely empty. I ate it- though the charring felt bitter on my tongue.

“Stella, you did something very sweet for your brother…” my father began.

“Once you are a married woman, Stella, once you are a mother…Edith, you too- listen this is important,”

Edith took the last bite of pickled beef to listen.

“You must learn to leave behind anything you may want for yourself. You must sacrifice yourself for your children, and most especially for your husband.”

“How come?” my sister asked.

I washed down the aftertaste of the burnt bread with my water.

“There is something sweet about sacrifice, love, no matter how small. You must learn to put others before yourself- how else will they feel loved after everything they give you?”

“It’s the Christian thing to do, girls” my father pointed out.

“Your father works very, very hard at the mill to keep a roof over our head and bread on our table so we all may have a comfortable life and for that, I have always made sure I was an obedient, faithful, and devoted wife. I made sure that food was cooked, and the house was clean, and that all of you would be in line…and in turn, you both will have a happy marriage and a fulfilling life…”

Edith blinked and I saw a slight frown. My mother turned to me.

“Stella, as you are the elder sister, you must make sure your sister follows your example! Do you understand?”

“Yes, I do.”

“As women, we cannot be ungrateful for what our husbands provide us, so we must sacrifice ourselves daily for them. Or how else will we fulfill our duties as wives? How will they know we love them or show any gratitude? That is what love is for a woman to a man, sacrifice and devotion to his happiness above all else. That is the secret to a fulfilling marriage and to being a wife,” she said.

I nodded.

“I’ll make sure to do that mama,” I replied, quietly cutting my meat into slices before eating it.

Edith tilted her head in thought.

After dinner, we gathered around the fire to sew, drink tea, and hear a book. We even had a piano and Dante, the musician of the family would often play something. That night I began to press a dandelion I found that afternoon into my book as my father opened a collection of mythologies.

“A little pagan, I know, but the stories are most entertaining, dears…here…let me read of the myth of Theseus and the princess Ariadne…”

He began to read it in his sonorous voice. I felt a nudge on my elbow.

It was Elliott, he leaned close to me over his tea and whispered, “Thank you for the bread, Stella, I was actually very, very hungry and it was a hard day for me….”

“I’m glad I could help…” I voiced.

The next month, over breakfast, my parents made a startling announcement. The owner of the mill was so impressed with our father’s work, that he was being promoted. There was another, growing mill in Aldwinter. The very town Elizabeth and Fanny lived! The very place I visited earlier! The job there would pay far more than it did here, and there was already a house for us. The family was going to move to Aldwinter for good.

Packing was all in an excited and tearful rush. Wishing our neighbors goodbye and promises to write seemed to happen hourly. I had to go and have a last tea with Miss Greene, thanking her for teaching me so young about flower pressing. But despite such tears for the change and separation, my mother was joyful. She was going to be near Elizabeth with her grey-streaked hair, dark eyes, joyful laugh, and affinity for card games and picnics, as well as Fanny. We would not be strangers in a strange land.

When the day arrived, we gathered all our things in our boxes onto the first of two carriages. Then we hopped onto another one, squishing in seven people, and set off for a day’s ride to our new home. It was late nightfall by the time we arrived. Edith and I lay on our new bed in our new shared room and slept in until noon. I jumped at the time, dressed, and immediately set to unpacking as she followed my suit, albeit more leisurely in pace.

But my sister and I barely had our clothes out of our boxes and into our chests when there was a knock and then a creak at the door. There were some hearty male voices from downstairs- one sounded familiar, and another was my father's.

My mother rushed inside our room in excitement.

“Girls- we have guests! It’s the parish vicar and his curate! They’ve come to welcome us!”

My heart skipped a hundred beats despite the slowness I had as I walked down the stairs.

Was it? Was it him? I wondered.

It was. There stood the Vicar, and his curate was still Mister Ransome in their black with white collars to greet us. A cake was in the vicar’s hand, claiming his wife was the most excellent baker. Mister Ransome greeted the other five family members but there was a softening of familiarity with my mother. And at me as well.

This was the first of several visits. There was only one church in Aldwinter and only one parish. Now that we were new members, it was the Vicar’s duty to greet us and make us feel like old friends of the congregation. His wife herself would sometimes visit us as well. And as his apprentice, William had to be there every time. And what were we to do? Refuse them and turn them away?

There was one evening, where among our plates, heads turned away from the current vicar’s grey head to the handsome, reddish blonde head of William. Even my sister seemed charmed by him, batting her thick eyelashes when he looked her way.

Edith asked him “Where do you get ideas for sermons so much? I think it must be so hard!”

He gave a half laugh and a smile.

“Well, he’s not the one who has to speak most Sundays!” the current Vicar pointed out. His wife smiled and held his hand.

“You find ideas for sermons everywhere- in nature especially. I go on so many walks. I like metaphors I find in nature- such as the ocean tide by the stony beach on a cloudy day. The sun through the clouds after a storm. One sermon I hope to give someday is about a field of sunflowers I saw here…”

“Sunflowers?” I asked.

He looked at me with a smile that made my stomach drop.

“How they turn always to the sun no matter where it is.”

“Where did you find Sunflowers?” I questioned, batting my mouth with the napkin before returning it to my lap.

‘They grow in a field by Mr. Morrison’s pasture…” he explained. “It’s quite a sight.”

I turned around to my parents.

“Mama…sometimes soon, may you accompany us to the field soon? And Mister Ransome, where is this Mr. Morrison? I must ask his permission to collect one, please.”

“Collect? You collect flowers?” he repeated, eyebrows raised in interest.

“I…I like to press flowers into a book. I grow them and then press them inside, so they are preserved forever. It is my hobby.”

My mother reached over closer to Mr. Ransome, “our Stella has developed quite a collection of books full of her flowers and a gift for gardening too,” she boasted.

“I want to see the sunflowers too!” Edith protested.

“Then… then with your permission, Mrs. Harris, we will accompany your daughters to see the sunflowers next Friday…especially if it’s for Miss Harris’s book,” he offered.

My mother looked between him and me. There was a flash in her eye that made me drop my head back down to her napkin.

“Then we shall have to do that.”

We went on that trip. Notably, my mother looped her arm around Edith’s and walked her a further distance away giving me time to walk by Mister Ransome’s side and speak about the weather with him. And indeed, I was given permission to pluck a smaller sunflower to press into one of my beloved books.

Secretly, I was grateful for my mother. I found myself in private admiring Mister Ransome. I am sure I was far from the only one, being a handsome, charismatic, single man with a stable occupation. And especially since he was required to be at the church, he would not be single for long. Especially in that small Essex village with limited options for ladies.

But…who was I, I wondered? He was so intelligent and good. Was I really worthy of him?

The first time my sister and I went to the town hall for dances with all the other young people, I and William danced only one together. Then we partnered with others.

He wouldn’t like me like that, I convinced myself. I was counting myself lucky with the sunflower trip and one dance.

I would toss and turn at night, thinking of him as my sister snored next to me. There were other, more confident, bold, beautiful women, and then there was me. I had to content myself with the odd visit to that village, the church, the occasional event in the church, and only speaking with him there before he moved on to the next ambitious pair of mother and daughter.

Besides, as I recalled our first meeting and the conversations, I had with Elizabeth that day, I had to repeat it like a prayer in my head-Minsters. Aren’t. Romantic. Perhaps I could do better and would meet another man in the town.

Sometime later, there was a parish picnic. It was warm and sunny, a September giving its last farewell to summer before the slow wilt of Autumn. People gathered to sit on their blankets and bring baskets. Children played while laughing as their mothers yelled after them. Men laid down to smoke their pipes. Cakes slowly melted into the plates beneath the sunshine. Sighs accompanied breezes from overindulging in pies baked by the mothers and grandmothers.

I sat with my family on our red and white picnic blanket. The basket was empty of sweetmeats, and everyone was mingling. My brothers and sister were helping to participate in cricket. My parents only sat idly chatting with each other about the new mill.

I was only watching the sky from beneath my blue parasol. How dreamily the clouds shifted- they changed shapes, gathered, and divided from the wind. How eternal it looked and how beautiful. Thank goodness for the shade or else the blare of the sun, despite its warmth, would have blocked such a vision.

I was in such admiration of it I didn’t hear footsteps in the grass towards me.

“Miss Harris, I hoped you would be here.”

I blinked and jumped a little, but the sight of Mister Ransome was welcome.

“It is nice to see you too. It’s a pleasant day for a picnic...and look up! Look at the clouds in the sky. That one seems like an evergreen- and that one a whisp of wheat. I always found it beautiful…” I began.

“Picnic days should be beautiful.”

There was a pause. When I looked back down at him, I saw one hand behind his back.

“I am here because I have a gift for you…” he announced, leaning down on his knees so his eyes would meet mine.

“For me. Why?”

“Because I thought you would like it. I found it and saved it just for you.

From behind his back, he pulled out something long and thin, wrapped in brown tissue paper. He gave it to me. I opened it to be a beautiful white gardenia. It still even smelt fresh.

“It’s for your books, so you may press it.” He said it.

My parents halted in their conversations to watch as if we were a play and they were the audience.

“Mister Ransome…thank you. Thank you very much. It will…remind me of you and how…how good you have been to our family in your parish and how kind your gift was,” I thanked.

We spent that time talking about things other than the weather. Discussing what we thought of God as clouds moved by us in white, fluffy droves. I held the gardenia gently, never letting the flower go or letting it out of my sight. I pressed it once I got home.

We spoke every Sunday from then on and even on the street. And visit us at meals and tea far more frequently.

And the times when we danced increased to two per party.

It was late winter when the snow was melting. I was mending a stocking when my mother walked into the room. She was smiling.

“Stella…you have a letter…” she began.

“Oh, from home? I bet it’s Miss Greene.” I suggested.

She shook her pale head.

“It’s from Mister Ransome,” she explained.

Edith practically threw away her sewing in excitement.

“I knew it, oh I knew it!!” she cheered.

“What do you mean?” I asked sternly.

“Isn’t it obvious?!” she squealed, leaning closer.

I slowly opened the letter and read its contents silently. I heard the sharp exhale and giggles of Edith next to me. My own breath stopped in my body once the contents had registered. I had to reread it again to make sure I was not dreaming.

“Miss Harris, I must confess between the time of our first meeting and when you arrived in Aldwinter to now, I have grown fond of you. Very, very fond. And I confess these feelings have grown to where I can no longer deny it. I cannot deny why I walked with you to the sunflowers or gave you that gift. I cannot deny the real reason I gave you the flower. I love and admire you…”

“He certainly knows how to write a good letter! How romantic!!” my sister exclaimed.

I looked up at my mother’s face. She held out a hand and I gave her the letter for her to read as well.

Edith ran over to the end of the steps to yell out the news at Father and our brothers.

“Mister Ransome loves Stella! Mister Ransome loves Stella!” Edith cried.

I hushed her, practically dragging her back to the parlor.

“Why can’t that happen to me, yet Mama??” she complained.

“Edith, you’re only seventeen…you have so much time before you! I’m twenty-four…. just sixty years ago some would have called me a spinster,” I advised.

“I just want someone to love me, now!” she protested.

“Mama, papa, your brothers, and I love you…” I tried to reason.

“But Stella, it’s just not the same!”

“Well…you’re right, it’s not…but someday, you’ll have your turn,” I playfully pinched her cheek “you’re too pretty to be a spinster, anyway!”

She laughed and nursed the spot I pinched her.

“Oh, I must tell Fanny! This is too exciting!” She rushed out to happily gossip to anyone within her ear’s reach.

My mother handed back the letter. “It is a lovely letter. You should feel very, very fortunate a man like him has taken interest in you, my dear.”

I felt dizzy with joy. He loved me! He loved me!

“May I… may I please have the writing desk?” I asked. “I…I would like to write a response.”

“Of course,” my mother replied, beaming.

Immediately I wrote down my response, saying that I felt the same. Once the contents had my mother’s consent, we sent it. I could hardly wait the hours until Sunday morning in my giddiness. It was everything I could to distract myself from my excited impatience.

Once that Sunday morning arrived, I made sure my hair was done as neat as it could be and picked my nicest dress. Any stray strand of hair was tucked and pinned away. When I saw him, we made our glances all throughout the service. Our confirmations of love had to be accompanied by my family in the far corner of that church to give us the illusion of privacy.

“So, you do feel the same, Miss Harris?” he asked. "Truly?"

“You read my letter. I do…and I feel the same to you…would you join us for tea today?” I asked.

“Yes, I shall.”

Finally, the next afternoon as My mother and I were ironing an apron, Mister Ransome knocked on the door and announced himself. But the vicar was not with him for a typical tea.

“Mrs. Harris and Miss Harris, good day…”

“Good day…” we repeated.

His eyes were large and bright with urgency.

“Mrs. Harris, where is your husband? Is he working right now?”

We froze. Only the ticking of the clock in our parlor could be heard.

“He is home now. He’s upstairs in his study, I think,’ my mother answered.

“I would like to speak to him alone, with your permission.”

Another tick, tick, tick from the clock. I nearly dropped the iron in my hand.

My mother accompanied him upstairs as I stayed put. Then she returned to me.

“Come Stella …we need to check on the laundry drying.” She spoke. “And we need to make some tea for our guest…”

She placed a kettle on the stove as a welcome distraction from the voices upstairs. We walked outside to feel the rush of the cold air as we pulled shirts from the line out in our backyard.

I saw a glimpse of his curly head in the window. And he was speaking with my father. They were smiling. I forced my eyes away to the straw basket on the ground.

“What are they discussing?” I asked nervously.

I was no fool, I only wanted confirmation. To get out of my racing mind and feel the earth on my feet and the words from another person and not my imagination. That it all was real.

My mother neatly folded the bedsheet on top of the blanket. Then she approached me and cupped my face gently.

“Mister Ransome is a man of stability for the parish that picks him. And yes, he is handsome and charming but…. If this Is what I think it is…whatever happens, whoever he… decides on is lucky but…there will much responsibility. But you have always been a good, responsible girl. Stella. What matters most now is do you like him?” she asked.

I blinked, a few tears coming out of my eyes despite myself.

“If I didn’t, I’d reject his letter. I like him. More than I can say….” I found myself confessing.

She smiled and kissed my forehead. Saying no other word.

It wasn’t long until Mister Ransome walked out from the back door and approached us.

“Mrs. Harris…will you give me permission to speak in private to Miss Harris in the parlor? It won’t be very long.”

My heart leaped to my throat. I stayed still and yet the world was spinning.

“You may. The tea needs finishing,” She spoke. We were led inside. She briefly squeezed my arm and retreated to the kitchen.

He approached me. He opened his hand for mine. I trembled as I placed mine in his.

“Miss Harris… the current vicar is going to retire in a month. And it is his wish for me to take his place as Vicar for the Aldwinter parish. If I am going to do so…It will be expected of me to marry. Stella I…I would like you to be my wife.”

Before I could answer, he carried on.

“I think of all the women here, you would be the best suited to be a minister’s wife. You’re everything I could ever want my wife to be, what a wife should be. Your father agrees with this and has granted me permission, should you say yes. You will make the most incredible example of a good woman for Aldwinter and…and if that’s not enough, I love you too…”

“Did you forget? I love you too, Mister Ransome…” I was able to voice.

“Could you please call me William, from now on?”

“Alright, then William, I accept you!”

Two rings were pulled from his pocket, and one slipped onto my finger perfectly. He gave me our first kiss then and there. Albeit quickly and chastely- my mother was no doubt listening from the door. We held hands as we walked into the kitchen to confirm the news to my mother and each family member who would return.

Three afternoons later, the current vicar and his wife called. They brought earl grey tea, fresh walnut cake, and a lecture.

“Now, Miss Harris…you are about the become wife to the next vicar of the Aldwinter parish. Are there any ministers in your family at all?” the husband asked, hardly touching the drink.

“There aren’t, really” my father answered.

“Marriage to a head of the church is not to be taken lightly, Miss Harris…” the vicar said.

They went on to explain that marrying William meant marrying the church and the parish. The day he wrote that letter it had been in my mind constantly. He had even discussed this and the decision to make me his wife was not a choice given lightly.

“Miss Harris…” the current vicar’s wife voiced. She was tall and slender. Her brown hair had not greyed much. She held herself straight and looked down on me as a queen might from her throne.

“I shall make it easy for you…I shall give you a list of everything you will need to know as a vicar’s wife, and everything you must do in addition to any wife’s duties…here, I have written them down. And I must see you read each aloud and copy it down as well…”

She handed me a small journal bound in red. I opened it to read the list. Then I fetched my own pen and paper and in front of them, read them aloud and copied them down from her clear, beautiful handwriting.

1. No matter what, you must overall support your husband in his ministry, friendship, and partner with him for a loving home atmosphere.

2. You are to maintain daily prayer with God

(Which I already had since childhood)

3. Support him in his emotions without complaint

4. Encourage his advancements while maintaining the balance of his home and family.

It struck me and I paused, a small blot of ink spilling. Did they think I was unable to do so? Would they force the engagement off? Were they testing me? If I failed these, would they find another far more worthy? And would William replace me with another woman, worst of all?? Oh God, God help me! I would prove to them I was worthy to be his wife no matter what, I resolved!

5. Visit members of the congregation as able.

6. Build relationships with women in the church to support, encourage and model Godliness to them.

“That one is especially important, Miss Harris”, she warned “Every woman in Aldwinter will look to you as an example of a Godly woman. It is not that you aren’t Godly, but this will increase. Their eyes will all be watching you as to what to do with their own lives, homes, and marriages. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I do,” I replied.

7. Reach out to those on the outside and facilitate relationships with all women or men in the congregation or otherwise.

8. Pray intently for your husband’s strength to withstand opposition, temptation, and arrogance

“William is a good, Christian man- that will not be hard, you won’t suffer any grave sin from him” the vicar assured me.

I went down to carefully copy the last ones.

9. Attend Sunday services regularly and sit visibly so your husband always knows he has at least one ally in the congregation.

10. Stay after service to allow people to get to know you.

11. Be consistently humble; appreciating everything while demanding very little.

12. Be a blessing to the women in the church; encourage others to do the same.

14. Raise healthy, well-balanced children and be present for them.

15. Stay married.

Once I wrote the “d” of married, I looked up to them, almost pleading, but staying as calm as I could.

“I will be happy to. For William, it will be my joy to do all these things!”

The vicar’s wife placed a hand under my chin and tipped it to face her in her large blue eyes.

“And still with that loving, sweet spirit of yours, Miss Harris?” she asked kindly.

“Yes, I promise.” And that list I always kept in the pocket of my reticule and read each night before I slept.

In a way her apprentice as her husband and William were. She showed me everywhere around the church and introduced me to the various married women of the congregation. I was now no longer a child or an actress for their private romantic melodramas of local courtship. She let me sit beside her at church in the front row and take note of everything she did.

It felt daunting, but I found comfort in prayer. At last, at long last, my prayer for love and romance was answered! And now that was what I had to do. It was longer than what I initially thought, but so be it. William would know every day that I loved him and would give my life for him, even if it meant staying a little longer in the church. And even after he performed the duties of a curate during the service, he would walk down to that row. We were permitted to hold hands during the service. It was a blissful five months. William alone, no Vicar at his tail, was present for tea and every meal and promenade after, leaving his final, and sweetest goodbye to me. By then the sun cracked the ice so that the rivers, lakes, and ocean would flow again. He was permitted to be in a rowboat with me on lakeside picnics. We would walk by the beach during visits to the sea.

Despite the gossip-hungry eyes of the parish noting our every breath, we were in our own world, smiling. Of course, we exchanged numerous letters. Each one he wrote me was more beautiful and romantic than the last. Of course, these were still checked by my mother for anything inappropriate and then returned to me. Of all the men in that town, he was expected the least to stray from anything improper. And of all the women, I was the one least allowed to be out of line now. Not that one word of his letters during our engagement implied anything at all. They didn’t need to. If he did become a writer, I was convinced, he would make the world fall in love with the power he held in his pen.

He gave me small gifts such as flowers, new books, new journals to press my blooms, gloves, and such. We exchanged our photographs and locks of our hair. I kept his photograph and that reddish-blonde curl on the same page with the gardenia. Now when there was a local dance, we could have three.

That is as well as usual wedding planning. Invitations. Shopping. Recipes and ribbons and the like.

The final two months before the wedding the current vicar retired. Now it was William who was weekly on the pulpit. He immediately won over the parish. His words could move the hardest of hearts and he was immediately beloved. And I was there, on the front row, smiling with his ring on my finger. Counting down until that day of all days. Four weeks. Three weeks.

“I must say, I’m so used to performing weddings I must restrain myself from the speech!” he would whisper with excitement to me at dinner.

Two weeks. One week. Five days. Two. One.

Finally, the wedding arrived. I recall my white dress had a high collar and long sleeves for modesty for the other women to take note of. Modest, but still pretty. My father seemed to glow as he walked me down the aisle of the stone church. I felt genuine that I was beautiful. Beautiful enough that William smiled ear to ear when he turned to see me.

The regional bishop cleared his throat before he began to recite the wedding ceremony, prayers, hymns, and all.

Finally, came the vows. We stood to face each other

I heard the bishop intone:

“William, wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife to live in God’s ordinance of the Holy State of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, honor her, keep her in sickness and in health, forsaking all others keep only her if you both shall live?”

He inhaled deeply and replied, “I will.”

The bishop turned to me.

“Stella, wilt thou have this man to be they wedded husband to live in God’s ordinance of the Holy State of Matrimony? Wilt thou love him, obey him, keep him in sickness and in health, forsaking all others keep only him as long as you both shall live?”

“I will” I said without a second’s hesitation.

More was said. It seemed that I blinked and then rings were exchanged, and he signaled to the congregation.

“I now present to you, under God and this congregation, man and wife, William, and Stella Ransome. William, you may kiss your bride.”

As simple as that. I was married.

There was much jaunty celebration in the town hall afterwards, fitting the marriage of a minster of a small town. Thankfully, there seemed to be no open ill will from the local female admirers of my husbands. In fact, I got more invitations to tea than I ever thought I would get in my lifetime. I must have shaken hands and been congratulated by every person in England on that day.

Dante cheerfully offered to be one of the musicians for my day for free. As William reached to hold my hand as we greeted his side of the family, Dante began to play one sweet tune with descending notes full of joy. They sparkled and giggled it seemed.

My mother walked over to him, and I overheard their conversation, “what is that song?”

“I got it from a music book in London- it’s an aria called Caro Nome by some Verdi chap, it’s from his opera about a hunchbacked jester, mother!”

She shot him a bemused look.

“The song’s about love! It seemed fitting for today!”

“Well, it is charming…” she said.

After the last line, a violin picked up. Dante played something even faster.

“Oh, we must at our wedding- Dance with me, Stella! Please!” William begged.

As I nodded, he pulled me onto the floor with the other couples.

I can tell you now that I was his most experienced of partners, he wasn’t the best of dancers, but a passionate one, pouring his all as he swayed and swirled me around. The music was the most beautiful I had ever heard. Smiles upon all of us watching how much he loved me despite his feet landing mere centimeters from my toes.

But I felt like I could fly. I never felt more loved from him than in that moment. We danced so much and talked and greeted and celebrated so much we even nearly forgot to eat our own cake.

Now I must recall this. Please do not think I am a certain kind of woman or forward or crude. You know how I began my story. The Marital act and my experience joining William Ransome’s bed must be recalled. But I will refrain from specifics out of politeness. You will understand why I even write at all about our bed later, I hope.

When it came to that evening, the guests were starting to leave. My mother walked up to me.

“Do you have…any last questions before…before tonight?” She asked.

I looked around. No one was listening in. William was splitting a congratulatory pipe with my brothers.

“I don’t mama…I know everything I need for now…” I confirmed.

The sky was black, and the last guest waved goodbye.

He led me to his house. I had never been inside, propriety forbidding of course. It was a tall white house in the middle of a field. Inside was cozy and brown- wooden floors, walls, and steps with not a bit of paint or wallpaper. A small, tight kitchen. A living room with two chairs. And stairs leading to the second floor.

He offered his hand to help me upstairs. Then placed his hand on the knob of a brown door.

“Here, this will be our room from now on.”

It was a bare room. There was a desk, windows, bookshelves, and Knick knacks like that. In the center was a large, blue bed.

I sat on the bed in my wedding gown, yet to undo a button as he knelt to start a kindle in the fireplace for warmth. My heart was starting to race with nerves.

Once he sat down next to me, he turned to me and offered his hand. I accepted it. Then he leaned forward, and I closed my eyes.

He began to kiss me but…differently. It was passionate. Forward. I was surprised a holy man could even kiss like that. He hands wandered down to my waist. He had never done that before and it shot me with electricity. He practically grabbing my dress to pull me onto him as he continued kissing. All my life, I was told to stay away from such desires. The risk of being alone with a man of bad character. The risk of ruin. Now it was no longer a sin, but a required ceremony between a husband and wife.

And that was one of many tests I had to pass for him to be happy. Every bit as much as the list saying to pray for him.

He stopped. His hands landed on my skirt.

He looked at me and said “we…we can wait, Stella, it doesn’t have to be tonight.” I could tell he wished for it to be tonight, but said nothing.

My heart was picking up. We turned away to watch the fire.

It struck me.

I wasn’t afraid of lovemaking. Not at all now. In fact, I wanted it. And I wanted it from him.

I raised my skirt and led his hand to be on my leg. I began to unbutton my dress quickly and his eyes grew into large, blue saucers.

“William, I’d like it to be tonight…” I spoke.

And that was all he needed.

I was delightfully surprised how much I loved it. We fell soundly asleep and the next night we did it again.

I recall that second night he gathered my hair as I laid in bed and played with it, propping the strands on top of my head in a kind of messy bun.

“You are a saint, an angel, Stella, and even your hair is a halo…” he said lovingly.

The following night after that we did it twice.

It was an odd contrast. In the mornings I would help to plan and run the events in the church. I followed the list to the letter. I would attend and even often lead the Bible study of the local women and visit their teas for well-behaved conversations. But once I returned, William and I were anything but well-behaved. But we were married now! How could that be sinful?

I understand many who might read this admire and lust for my husband. Especially for his handsomeness and good character. I will let you imagine privately what it was like in that bed if it pleases you- and I ask your sympathy, for you to understand how much I loved and desired him as a wife. Anything you might imagine was possibly done and correct.

By days, I had my own duties to fulfill. Meals had to be cooked (though legally it was his, he wasn't the cook-my own kitchen! With any recipe William or I wanted!), the house had to be kept tidy (yes it was his but it felt like my own house!), gardening (legally his, but my own garden!), laundry (only mine and Williams!) as well as daily attendance of prayer, scripture reading, as well as visiting and attending all events, ceremonies, and services of the church while keeping visits from the women of town- Mrs. Taylor, Mrs. Rogers, Mrs. Finch. Mrs. Bennett, Mrs. Franklin, Mrs. Gray, Mrs. Elliott, and so many other names that it made my head spin. However, nights were a different matter.

Anything that could be done in that bed in our marriage that could be done was done. Especially any act that pleased him. I wanted badly to please him. I did please him in any way he wanted. Then in turn, he wanted to please me. And his desire for me was not unwelcomed. He could not finish a sermon on that desk as soon as I was in that room undoing a button of my dress.

Before we slept each night, we did it. After I visited some of the local women and the afternoon was free, we did it. When we were returning home from visits and errands, we did it. We did it before dinner, after dinner, and rainy days, snowy days, sunny days, and even right before church in the early Sunday mornings. Often resulting in secret smiles during the service right after between us two. William had an appetite that could never be quenched.

I was convinced that was for me and me alone, especially as his wife.

One warm night, he kissed the top of my head after the bliss had spiraled down. He then put on his robe and gave me a blanket to cover myself. He walked to the window, gesturing me to follow. He opened the curtains to show the clear night sky. Not one cloud was in sight and there were stars in the thousands.

“Do you see that, all of those stars up there?” he asked, pointing up.

I gasped in awe. He leaned down and whispered in my ear.

“Those are for you, Stella. Your name is Star…they’re for you tonight.”

We embraced, watching the sky. He then turned to me.

“Tomorrow, since my meeting with the choir boys were canceled, there’s a spot I’d like to take you…” he offered.

“Take me there, Will, please!” I replied.

The next afternoon, he led me by his hand as we walked through the woods. We ducked under branches and leaves crunched beneath my shoes. He showed me a trail he had marked and then turned a corner. There was a pond, clear as a mirror right in front of us.

“This is my own spot…I’ve never shown it or discussed it to anyone…except now you,” he said.

“It’s beautiful!” I cried.

He began shedding off his shirt and pants. And he was not stopping at his undergarments.

“Wh…what are you doing?” I asked nervously.

“I’m going swimming…” he answered simply.

“Here!? Without any of your clothes?”

“You can’t swim with clothes on!” he protested.

“But…”

“No one will see us or find us, Stella!” he assured.

He disrobed until not a thing was on him. By then I was used to his attractive nakedness. But it was the sight of his bare torso among the leaves, unroofed sky, and the chatter of birds that shocked me.

“How long have you done this?” I asked.

“As long as I’ve been curate!” He walked down into the water.

“And no one caught you?” I asked.

“None!”

He began to glide through as effortlessly as a dolphin.

“Come Stella! Swim!”

“I…I just…”

I stared down at how the ground was wet with water beneath my shoes.

“Can you swim?”

“I can swim…only…I never have been…not like this!”

“Try it, Stella! Please! The water’s amazing!”

I sighed and nodded.

He got out of the pond and with wet hands helped me out of my dress, stockings, shoes, petticoats, and corset. God forbid a member of our parish pick the place to picnic now, I thought. But I insisted that at least I would be in my shift rather than completely bare, like him. So, help me, should someone see and recognize us, they would think at least I was decent.

He led me into the waters, at a certain depth I slipped and let him catch me as he laughed. We waded and swam joyfully. He was right, it felt amazing. He even placed his arms above my waist, wading up above the depths, he twirled me around. Our wet hair was clinging to our faces as we held each other and kissed as we waded. And no, no one caught us. It was much worth redressing with a wet shift beneath me. Such experiences were two of his many gifts.

Oh yes, He was generous and that expanded in our marriage. Since he knew through our letters and conversations that my favorite color was blue, our room was made to be blue. It was striking considering the rest of that plain house, but it was beautiful. It felt, in a way, like I had my own touch. That it was my room as much as his.

After his payment, he would spare some of it to buy me flower seeds. He gave me flower seeds to plant and water and tend to. Flowers that would bloom into those colorful blooms I adored so much and wished to press in my collection.

One unique flower seed he gave me was that for a Star Lily (“A star for the lady whose name is star!” he said). I planted it and in time it grew into one beautiful, full, white blossom. It was the pride and joy of my flower garden at the time.

One summer day, after watering the vegetables, I turned to my section with flowers to water them. Every rose, peony, and daisy were as normal. I looked everywhere for the Star Lily and could not find it.

Once my head ducked down, I realized why.

There was green Garden Snake right twisting around the Star Lily with its long body. Its weight bent down and broke the stem. It squeezed the flower, like one wringing a cloth. Then it was opening its mouth, eating, and tearing at the petals.

I gave a horrified shriek and retreated a few steps. The creature terrified me so much I could not even as much as find a stick and poke it away. Uselessly, I stood there and watched. William was away, unable to help or hear me.

It slithered further over the flower. The hearty stem grew weak and shriveled. It continued to bite and tear and squeeze the life out of the Star Lily. The tramped petals fell on the brown dirt. The petals beauty was now only memory.

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kinfeelings · 2 years

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30-day fictionkind challenge...all in 1 go!

My kintype is a (psychological? spiritual?) vaporeon pokémon whose sex I don't even know yet. Equal chances of being male or female. I'm trying to figure out if I'm in fact a feral one, likely abandoned someplace wild by an irresponsible human ex-owner as an eevee? Maybe?

My dysphoria is pretty light tbh. I used to absolutely despise being human when I was younger and full of debilitating self-hatred. I've gotten much better and healed since then, and I accept that I live in a human body; it's really not so bad. Hence why I call myself "alterhuman" instead of just "nonhuman" entirely. Still can't avoid nor ignore my otherness though, and I don't want to.

I am exclusively open with only some of my online circles about being alterhuman. Nobody I know IRL would understand at all. I'm okay with keeping certain things to myself.

I participate in the Pokémon fandom regularly! I play the games, occasionally watch the anime, and make my own AUs and fanfics and fanart. It's fun.

I often fictionflicker! Mostly for two particular (and very AU) protagonists (Randy Cunningham from RC9GN, and Jack Spicer from Xiaolin Showdown) of my biggest fanfiction/crossover project Retoldverse which I have a blog for here: @retoldverse-crossover-au. It's not a sideblog, I made my own separate new email/account for it to be its own mainblog. Not extremely active but ok I'm done self-plugging...as for other flickers, do other pokémon species count lol?

When I was a teen on Tumblr I gradually began hearing about "otherkin" and after while the mentions became so frequent on my dash, not always in a good light, that I decided to look into 'em and I at first was leery because it seemed very mockable but at the same time the notion seemed familiar to me in a strange way. I must've been...16 maybe? Maybe a little younger. I've been here ever since.

My introduction to fictionkin was basically what I said in #6 lol.

I am similar to vaporeon in that I like being in pools, rivers, and beaches. I can't fuckin' swim though...I sink like a rock whenever I try.

I don't look anything like a vaporeon whatsoever.

@aestherians

I know/have seen a bunch of fictionkin of all kinds.

Never had a canonmate. It would be nice to have at least one.

I doubt it's possible for there to be a double of my kintype because I am just a random vaporeon, not canon to any existing media at all.

Shifts are nice. I get them most often when I'm in or near a body of moving freshwater, less so but still noticeably when I'm in a manmade pool, or when I'm watching environment ambience videos about lakes/river sounds/visuals on YouTube. It can also happen randomly, just springing up on me suddenly.

I don't like KFF, especially not the ones who actually know and understand what they're doing and still do it anyway.

I like symbols/flags/etc. They're neat.

I used to think my kintype was spiritual but now I'm not so sure. More likely psychological and parallel-lifey?

It definitely has something to do with my neurodivergence yeah. I'm autistic.

Nobody's ever pointed out to me that I'm "like a vaporeon" in any sense.

I would like to buy more vaporeon merch one day, probably stuff from Etsy. I have an art charm of a normal vaporeon and a shiny one on the opposite side attached to my wallet currently, I bought it from the Etsy store LoafiDoodles. Totally recommend!

I can't really think of anything I'd change about the fictionkin community tbh.

I appreciate the open-mindedness of the fictionkin community in general, and also in the entire otherkin umbrella.

I can get pretty obsessive over Pokémon in all honesty lol.

The worst anti-fictionkin take I've seen is one we're probably all familiar with: "You're delusional, you're schizophrenic, you're trying and wanting to be something you're not." I hate hearing it.

Haven't seen any "best" anti-fictionkin arguments, imo.

I like listening to environmental ambience of running freshwater like I said before. Not really music except for abstractly.

Sea lions!

I have a favorites folder on DeviantArt just for vaporeon fanart that I really love.

I love fish tacos and I like to float in swimming pools and wade in rivers whenever I get the chance to and the weather is right.

It's pretty cool being a vaporeon, overall. I wouldn't change it.

Link to the blank challenge.

Did it all in a single post because I'd most certainly forget to complete it day-by-day if I did it the normal way.

#challenge #vaporeon #ansel speaks #old

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thesassyjewels11 · 5 months

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Maintaining the Charm of Your Oxidized Jewelry: Essential Tips and Mistakes to Avoid

Welcome to The Sassy Jewels, your go-to destination for the best oxidized Indian jewelry online! Oxidized jewelry, with its distinctive antique look, adds a touch of rustic elegance to any outfit. However, keeping it in pristine condition requires some know-how. Here, we'll guide you through the essential do's and don'ts of caring for your oxidized treasures to ensure they remain as captivating as the day you bought them.

Do's for Caring for Oxidized Jewelry

1. Keep It Dry The key to preserving the luster and finish of your oxidized jewelry is to keep it dry. Moisture is the enemy of the lovely dark patina that gives oxidized jewelry its unique character. Always remove your jewelry before washing hands, showering, or engaging in activities that cause sweating.

2. Store Properly Proper storage is crucial to extend the life of your oxidized pieces. Store your oxidized jewelry in a cool, dry place away from direct sunlight. Use anti-tarnish bags or a jewelry box with compartments to prevent pieces from rubbing against each other and causing scratches.

3. Clean Gently When your oxidized jewelry needs cleaning, do it gently. Use a soft, dry cloth to wipe the surface. Avoid using water, chemical cleaners, or polishing cloths designed for shiny metals, as these can strip away the oxidized finish and diminish the intricate designs typical of the best oxidized Indian jewelry online.

4. Wear with Care Be mindful of when and how you wear your oxidized jewelry. It's best worn on occasions where it's less likely to come into contact with harsh chemicals. Sprays, perfumes, and lotions can alter its appearance, so always adorn yourself with your jewelry last, after applying cosmetics.

Don'ts for Caring for Oxidized Jewelry

1. Avoid Harsh Chemicals Harsh chemicals can accelerate the degradation of the oxidized layer on your jewelry. Ensure you remove your oxidized pieces before using cleaning products or chlorine and saltwater pools, which can be particularly damaging.

2. Don't Over Polish While it might be tempting to polish your oxidized jewelry to restore its gleam, overdoing it can actually wear away the oxidized surface. If polishing is necessary, use a very light touch with a cloth specifically meant for oxidized silver, and only polish the parts that are meant to shine.

3. Avoid Frequent Handling The oils in your skin can affect the oxidization of the metal, leading to changes in color and texture. Handle your oxidized jewelry sparingly and ensure your hands are clean and dry before touching it.

4. Don't Stack Them While stacking jewelry is a popular trend, oxidized pieces are best stored and worn separately. Contact with other metals can cause friction that wears down the oxidized finish. If you do choose to stack, be sure to pair your oxidized jewelry with similar or softer materials.

Conclusion

Owning a piece from the best oxidized Indian jewelry online collection at The Sassy Jewels means embracing the unique beauty and craftsmanship of these intricate designs. By following these simple do's and don'ts, you can ensure that your oxidized jewelry stays as stunning as the diverse and rich culture they emanate. Remember, the best care for your oxidized jewelry is preventative care—handle with love, store with care, and keep them away from harsh conditions. With these tips, your pieces will continue to add a touch of antique charm to your jewelry collection for years to come.

#oxidized Indian jewelry

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plywoodsinchennai · 8 months

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Transform Your Home with Budget-Friendly Luxury Laminates in Chennai

Luxury laminates have become a game-changer in the world of interior design. These versatile materials offer an affordable way to transform your home into a haven of style and sophistication. In this article, we'll delve into the rise of luxury laminates, explore the advantages they bring, and guide you through the process of choosing the right options for your home, specifically focusing on the vibrant city of Chennai.

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