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zvaigzdelasas · 9 months

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WaPo - In China’s shadow, U.S. rushes back to neglected Indian Ocean island (3 Sep 23)

[WaPo is Private US Media]

At the height of the Cold War, the U.S. Air Force tracking station that monitored Soviet satellites from this island’s soaring tropical forests was a focus of Seychelles life.[...] Then, the Cold War ended, the Soviet Union collapsed and in 1996 the Americans left, dismantling the tracking station and shutting down their embassy — citing budgetary reasons for abandoning what had seemingly become an irrelevant corner of the world.

Today, the compound where Americans and Seychellois partied is home to the Seychelles Tourism Academy, where young islanders training to be tour guides, hoteliers and masseuses take classes, among other subjects, in Chinese[...] In June, Seychelles became the latest in a string of small nations around the world in which the United States has established, restored or is planning to open an embassy[...]

Seychelles offers an example of the ways America’s absence opened the door to Chinese influence. In the 27 years since the United States pulled out, China has built schools, hospitals, houses for low-income families and public amenities, winning sympathy among Seychellois who felt abandoned by the U.S. departure. “They do the little things that America doesn’t do. This is where the Americans are weak. There is nothing we can say America built,” said Seychelles President Wavel Ramkalawan in an interview. “This is why countries like China have come in, because there was a vacuum.”

Seychelles officials say they are delighted to have the Americans back but also recognize that China is likely the main reason for the return, potentially pulling Seychelles into the big power rivalry.

“We cannot say we are naive. We do understand the competition going on. In the Cold War we had the United States and the Soviet Union and now it is the United States and China,” Seychelles Foreign Minister Sylvestre Radegonde said in an interview. “Someone woke up and realized how important it is to counter the Chinese influence.” The United States now has ground to make up, he said. “When you are late at a party, the party starts without you, so you have to make up time. It’s a fact that China has been a long time here. They have a lot of sympathy.”[...]

China is also the only country to have maintained diplomatic missions in all six of the Indian Ocean island nations that until recently were represented by three U.S. embassies, noted Darshana Baruah, who heads Carnegie’s Indian Ocean Initiative.[...]

Top Chinese officials regularly visit — China’s President Hu Jintao called Seychelles “a shining pearl” during a stop in 2007, and Foreign Minister Wang Yi was here in 2021, describing Seychelles as “an important member of the big family of China-Africa solidarity and cooperation.” When the new U.S. Embassy in Seychelles was launched in June, Richard Verma, the deputy secretary of state for management and resources, became the most senior U.S. government official to visit the nation since the 1990s.[...]

“Our foreign policy is to treat every country, big or small, as an equal,” said Mu Jianfeng, China’s charge d’affaires in Seychelles. “I don’t know why they closed and I don’t know why they opened,” he said of the Americans. “But if they think Seychelles is important they will have an embassy here.”[...]

Seychelles does not count China among its top trading partners. Most of its goods are imported from the United Arab Emirates, South Africa and the European Union.[...]

China built the stately white-pillared National Assembly building where the democratically elected parliament meets, and the adjoining Supreme Court, both important symbols of the country’s identity as a nation. It’s in the process of completing a new headquarters for the state broadcasting company, which will more than double the network’s space. Thousands of Seychellois live in housing built by China and made available at subsidized prices — a shortage of housing for the least well-off is identified by Seychelles officials as one of the country’s biggest social needs.

The Chinese [sic] have invited hundreds of Seychellois on visits and scholarships to China, and China’s Confucius Institute teaches Chinese classes in primary schools, the university, which China built in the 1980s, an adult education center in the capital and at the Seychelles Tourism Academy.[...]

U.S. officials say that countering China’s presence is not the only reason for the return.[...] Although Seychelles has been a multiparty democracy for the past two decades, elections in 2020 brought an opposition party to power for the first time[...]

the U.S. Embassy in Mauritius has been responsible for Seychelles diplomacy since the pullout in 1996.[...]

Radegonde, the [Seychellois] foreign minister, said there is little doubt China is a key motive. “The U.S. coming back cannot be because we are lovely people,” he said, adding “we are.”[...]

In 2011, the United States established a secret drone base at Seychelles airport to assist with counterterrorism operations in Somalia and Yemen. [...]

The abrupt departure in 1996 once the nation no longer served U.S. interests left Seychellois feeling they had been used, and their return now, at a time of heightened competition with a different rival, gives rise to suspicions they are being used again, many Seychellois say.[...]

“The sole reason the Americans are here is because it’s seen as an opportunity to outmaneuver the Chinese,” said Ralph Volcere, who publishes the Seychelles Independent newsletter and says he’s glad the Americans are coming back. But he’s wary too, and suspicious of American motives. Closing the embassy damaged perceptions of the United States, and Washington will have to work hard to convince Seychellois that their motives are genuine, he said. “The Chinese came to build schools and houses, and the Americans are coming for naval operations,” he said. “The Americans can’t just come here and put warships in the port and people will be happy.”[...]

And what will happen if the rivalry with China is resolved? Will the Americans leave again? wondered Danny Faure, the former president who lost the 2020 elections to Ramkalawan. “With the United States it’s always based on how they respond to geopolitical concerns,” he said. “This shouldn’t be a flash in the pan. If you do value the relationship, the cost shouldn’t matter.” His government had good relations with the Chinese, and he visited Beijing in 2018. He says China never asked anything in return for its largesse or sought to extract any concessions from Seychelles. “Genuinely over 40 years we have become great friends,” he said. “This won’t change whether the United States comes or goes.”

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orangepeelshortbreadcookies · 1 year

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Oceans Away

She lifts her head up to look at him, directly into his grey, lunar eyes. There is something so dear about him, so ancient and intimate to her, yet at the same time, he feels oceans away. Untouchable. The sensation makes her heart ache.

He is dying to shed her veil away to claim her lips with his own. It would not be proper, he halts, reminding himself that he is a gentleman. He must settle for admiring her through the sheer and in the half-light, letting his imagination fill in the details.

‘Who are you?’ She asks him, her voice barely above a whisper.

A chance encounter between an incomplete Elf and a Fairy who doesn’t remember.

When the prompts of the day are so perfect my brain vomited 5k of glitter.

Benophie Week 2023.

Day 3.

A fairycore!Bridgerton fanfic.

@sophiamariabeckett senpai please notice me.

@inksuvich Thank you for this amazing collage of Sophie Baek. Your amazing work has inspired this. This story could not exist without you!

There are five million nine hundred seventy eight thousand magical realms in the known universe. Oftentimes, the realms float peacefully about, separately in their respective dimensions, quite static, stewarded by their own celestials, enlivened by their own solars. Occasionally, beings of certain means and fortunes traverse from one realm to another, seeking out companies or knowledge. These events are quite rare.

Even rarer still are when the realms themselves collide. Every five hundred years, two neighbouring realms would drift ever so close, that the silken fabric of their respective realities would touch and meld into one another, if only briefly. The pitch-black veil of their barriers would lift, revealing truths and wonders. Cosmic sparks then fly like two lovers’ kiss, open-mouthed. The Secrets were privy to a few, but the spectacle alone was one to behold. And so across realms, every star reader, Sterndeuter, jyotishee and zhanxing jia or mnajimu awaits a Collision with bated breaths. When it happens, well, what could be more worthwhile a cause for celebration?

That was how the newly crowned Queen of the Gumiho Foxes finds herself in the court of the High Fae Queen Charlotte. A great ball is held on the Eve of Collision in honour of the union between Lord Bridgerton of The House of Fae and Kathani Sharma of The Merfolk of Indian Ocean. The Fox Queen and her delegation are participants in this event.

From the edge of the ballroom, the young Queen admires the scene with satisfaction. Her first diplomatic mission has gone off without a hitch. Despite her self-perceived inexperience, she has handled the delicate game of politics with grace and dignity. The bond between realms were established, and now that the hard part is over, she watches gleefully as immortals of different shades and ages glide about across the ballroom, either mingling, dancing or drinking. Starlight swirls in the dome above them. Around the room, little pixies hold their own celebration, in the windows, behind the silk lanterns, in the vines and among the branches. Their little voices and the featherlight sound of their wings are only audible to The Fox Queen’s sensitive hearing and she giggles at their silly conversations. Occasionally, they would turn around and gasp in astonishment at the affairs of the bigger folk underneath, as if seeing them for the first time. In a sense, they are, for there is only so much space for memories in their little bodies.

In the middle of the dancefloor, the happy couple, beautiful and in love, bedecked in wedding jewels, gaze adoringly at one another. The groom’s elven glow emits a light blue hue, while the bride’s oceanic scales gleam in rich golden flickers. Sitar, shehnai, cello and piano honour their matrimony. On the highest seat, The High Fae Queen Charlotte holds court, seeming pleased with her subjects. Her ladies-in-waiting kneel in rows at her feet, dutifully braiding her endless curls. No one is paying attention to The Fox Queen, not even her own delegation. Now is the time for her to slip away.

As much as the festivities excite her, they are not what she came here for. No, she came for The Collision itself. When the two walls touch, when the heavens open one of their countless eyes and the sky thus becomes a mirror, there she would find her answers, this she believes with unshakeable conviction. ‘Few are lucky enough to gaze at the event and comprehend what it means. Most do not discover revelations,’ her professor had said, in a gentle and comforting tone. ‘Despair not, chance you find not what you seek, your Majesty.’ Yet the young Queen guarantees that the old scholar, with his boundless patience and wisdom, has worried for nothing. The Collision, this Collision in particular, is made for her. She knows this, deep in her heart, with divine certainty, as her excited steps carry her deeper into the forest, the earth warm and soft under her bare toes.

Someone is already there before her. In the middle of the lake, over on a little island, she can make out a masculine outline and scent with a mop of dark hair. He sits with his back to her, lounging lazily against pillows of moss. He seems to look up at the night sky, as the translucent shell of the other world approaches the one they are in ever so slowly. There is something about him that stops her in her tracks. Her entire body goes on high alert, as if a sudden course of lightning just runs through and charges every fibre of her being. And yet it is not out of fright that she reacts so.

‘Who goes there?’ He turns around. Their eyes meet.

He is the most beautiful being she has ever seen. He is Fae, perhaps an Elf by the shape of his ears. The ceremonial robe, that is customary of this realm, is haphazardly draped about him and deep blue in colour. Yet, he does not glow like the others of his kind. Perhaps that is what she finds strange about him. Defined, expressive features. The Fairy Fox wonders how he would look when he smiles. His pale grey eyes shine like the moon, and she finds in them a familiarity that makes her heart ache. Perhaps it was the veiled sadness in his eyes, a poetic melancholy that is characteristic to the allure of certain Fae folk, so she has been told.

For a brief moment, she considers giving in to her baser instincts. She can naturally shift into her fox form, sneaking away from his sight and go find a different location for her singular observation. None will be the wiser. It is not proper for two unattached beings to be alone together after all. She might have, however, had a few flutes during the fete, and the fermented fruit of the vines might inflate her boldness. ‘Why must I leave?’ she thinks stubbornly. She is a proud Queen of her own realm, and in her kingdom, where The Enchanted Foxes rule with freedom and wild independence, no one bothers with such frivolities. She wants to watch The Collision on that island over there, it is important to her, and whoever that Elf is can do well to respect that if he was a gentleman. And so, emboldened with the heat in her cheeks, her desire to see her plan through, the aristocratic pride that she recently has come to possess and her own curiosity regarding the mysterious Fae, she stands straight in her human form and faces him.

‘It is I.’ She answers. Secretly she is grateful for her veil, a delicate work of spider silk, morning dew and chrysanthemum. It shrouds her, from her head to her ankle, in a misty sheer, thus preventing the other from discovering her hesitation.

He leans against one hand, amused. A lazy grin creeps up his face, boyish and crooked, the corners of his eyes crinkle with mirth and she gasps, praying he doesn’t notice. He does have a beautiful smile. She knows he would.

‘And who might you be?’ He asks.

‘A lady.’ She says simply, gently reminding him of his courtesy and conceding very little about her identity.

He seems to understand her implication.

‘Good evening, my Lady.’ He tilts his head in her direction in greetings. ‘Happy Eve of Collision to you.’

She gives a small curtsey in response.

‘Perhaps you are lost. The wedding is that way.’ He points at the direction whence she comes helpfully. She can still hear the music swelling.

‘I assure you I am not lost.’ She feels her defences rising. How dare this Fae, or whatever he is, assume she does not know her way. Foxes are never lost. ‘I seek not the wedding.’

‘Pray tell, what seek you, my Lady?’

‘I believe it is not any of your concerns.’ She crosses her arms petulantly.

He narrows his eyes at her in contemplation. Then his grin grows even wider.

‘Naturally it is a concern of mine. You, my Lady, are standing in my territory. I am the Lord of this lake here, you see.’

‘That’s a lie!.’ She exclaims. She has done a thorough investigation on this realm prior to her mission. ‘There is no mention of a Lord of a tiny, nameless lake.’

‘Tiny?’ He looks around the place in mocked offence. ‘It is not tiny. Dwarfish, perhaps.’

If she were to reveal her tails this moment, all nine of them would bristle up in protest. ‘It is a lie and we both know so!’

‘Do we now?’ One of his eyebrows quirks up. ‘Yet this lake is not what you declared, my Lady. It is not tiny, merely little. Nameless, it is not either. Why, the name of it is written right there.’

‘Where, sir?’ She looks around herself. ‘I don’t see any-’

‘Right there.’

Suddenly, he is right in front of her on the shoreline. He is very tall, she notices. One of his fingertips glows like ember as he hastily scrawls something in the air right above her forehead. For a second she can feel his breath shifting through her veil and the spot where his finger almost touches her cheek burns at the near-contact. Then just as sudden as he appears, he is gone. Back to his little island in playful arrogance.

As her wits settle back into her body, The Fox Fairy looks up. Hung in the air, written in glimmering, pretty Elvish writing, are the words: ‘My Lake’.

‘Very clever, sir.’ She rolls her eyes, even when he can’t see it.

‘I thank you.’ He nods.

‘It is not a complement.’

‘Nevertheless, I have decided to receive it as such.’

‘From whence I come, one would say the skin on your face is rather thick.’ She exclaims.

‘Another complement! I thank you again.’ He seems destined to rile her up. ‘You flatter me, my Lady.’

She stomps her foot.

‘You, sir, are aggravating!’

‘Only in such pleasant company such as yourself, my Lady.’ He says, then turns his back to her.

In silence, the young Queen reflects on her own actions. Whatever has compelled her to behave so? Perfectly curt and unreasonable in front of this stranger. Like a thoughtless little cub snarling and bearing its teeth at perceived danger. There is no regal dignity to it. Her feet fiddle on the ground, embarrassed. She must admit that she is still in the process of reconciling the two versions of herself, the Queen and the Gumiho. The latter manages to manifest itself in new and at times, quite worrying ways to her still. A hundred years of a reign are still quite green for an immortal, after all, even when one is curiously prodigious at the job.

It is why witnessing The Collision is so important to her. Behaviours and knowledge in her possession that she cannot explain, she desperately wants to understand them. She knows she ought to view the event here, she was summoned to. And now perhaps she cannot anymore, all because she has proceeded, for no reason whatsoever, to antagonise this stranger. Like a fool.

Admittedly he has provoked her, but it is no warrant that she responds in such an unseemly manner.

‘You are not a babe anymore.’ She reprimands herself, before straightening up her back. She will resolve this conflict with grace and diplomacy.

‘Pardon me, sir.’ When he turns around again, she gives an apologetic bow. ‘I can see I have offended you. Please forgive my impertinence.’

She wills herself to not flinch under his gaze. It was her own wrongdoing. Even if he decides to mock her, as long as it does not cross the line, she will take it with dignity.

But he smiles at her. Earnestly.

‘Only if you forgive my insolence as well, my Lady. I am afraid I have overstepped your boundaries. I should have not teased you.’

Civility is an improvement.

‘Very well.’ She tilts her head. Her ear twitches the slightest bit in excitement. ‘You have my forgiveness.’

‘And you mine.’

It takes another minute before she gathers enough courage.

‘If it doesn’t bother you, sir, may I join you on your island? I imagine The Collision would look quite arresting from there.’

He agrees, and she thinks she might jump up and down with joy.

The Fae sensed her presence when she walked up to that shore.

It was the most peculiar feeling, as if his heart sped up and slowed down at the same time. As if he might perish if he did not see her. How strange, to feel so, so, so mortal. He has not felt that way in hundreds of years.

Yet as he almost touched her cheek and saw her eyes widen in surprise through her veil, he realised how much he has missed that sensation.

He watches in fascination as she gathers up her skirts and practically runs across the lake toward him, weightless above the surface, the water kisses her lovely feet. Her sleeves are so long and wide, she looks like she is sprouting wings as she runs. Her attire cuts an exotic silhouette, more layered and less meticulously tailored than the fashion of his court. The emphasis instead is put on the very fine weave of the silk itself, if the luxurious shine of her skirt is any indication. Embroidered lotus bloom about her in great detail, the artisanship so stellar and liberal, it would make any lady of Queen Charlotte’s court green with envy. She is a vision, even with the silky veil flowing down from her garland about her like a waterfall. It ripples as she moves, enveloping her in a silvery shimmer.

She leaps to his island and sits down, limbs folded neatly together until her silhouette resembles a soft, shapeless cloud. As endearing as it looks, she has decided to remain an appropriate distance from him, and the Elf tries to rein in his disappointment. There is a wildness to her that he finds both alien and intimate. She might be a forest-bound spirit, like him, surely from a different realm. Her movements are graceful, weightless, ethereal, with a hidden ferocity to them, almost feline-like. It has delighted him, drawing that ferocity out of her, when he has watched her huff and stomp her feet against his teasings. He chuckles to himself as he, in his mind, links the image of hers to that of a very crossed, very regal kitten.

Above them, the curve of the neighbouring world inches ever closer, its surface favours dark ocean waves.

He notices her gaze on him, even as she tries to be innocuous.

‘Are you entertained, my Lady?’ A smirk plays at the corner of his lips. Her head turns immediately away. He imagines she blushes. He knows she is curious. Everybody is. It is so very obvious.

‘Pardon me, sir. ‘It is just…’ She says, looking down at her feet. ‘I have never met an Elf like you before. One who…’ She stammers.

‘Without his light?’ He finishes her question.

‘My apologies.’ She says.

‘There is no need.’ His voice is casual and benevolent. Truly, he does not mind. He looks at the palm of his hand, and then the back. He supposes sometimes, he should miss being lit from within. ‘I am aware it is quite strange. I lost the light centuries past. The dimness has become natural to me.’ His brows draw together. ‘That is the reason I am here.’

‘Are you set out to regain it?’ At some point, they have forgotten the honorifics. ‘The light?’

‘No.’ He cuts her off. ‘It’s just,’ He pauses, trying his best to resurrect the memory. ‘I lost someone. A mortal. She brought my light with her. And this,’ he gestures at his unglowing being. ‘Is what is left. The Mark of Death.’

‘Does it hurt?’ she asks.

‘Not at all.’ He lies. It is agony. ‘I cannot bring myself to regret that loss.’ This is the truth.

Fae folk do not die. The dimness and pain from the Mark of Death is something they must carry for the rest of their endless existence. And the Elf bears it with pride. True to his words, he does not rue the loss of his gift. For whatever can be a more potent proof, a stronger testament to his love affair?

He continues with his tale, his heart opens like a flood gate.

‘I followed her in her incarnations. She never lived long, even for mortals. Her lives were rarely happy.’ He looks up at the sky. ‘We have lived for the briefest moments of joy. She would reincarnate, I would find her. Repeat. And now,’ He sighs. ‘I cannot find her anymore.’

‘Do you seek her? In The Collision?’ The question flows out of her mouth before she can stop it. She does not want to know the answer. As unwise as it is, The Fox Queen cannot help but feel a pang of jealousy against this mortal soul. Who was she, to be worth being loved by him, over and over again, even at the cost of losing her over and over again, as well as forsaking his own Elfhood?

He turns to look at her. At some point, they have drawn closer to one another. The curve of her cheek is made even softer, almost ghostly by the silver veil. Her eyes, the shape of elegant brush strokes, the ends slightly lift upwards like a comet’s tail. He feels them bore into his very soul, and suddenly it is harder to speak about his past love in the present. In her presence. His hand itches with the need to lift the material up and reveal the creature underneath. To make certain she is not a mirage.

‘She is free now.’ He has made sure of it. He looks up at the sky again. ‘Perhaps she has forgotten. Perhaps her soul has dissipated and become one with the universe.’

‘Then what are you doing here?’ Rings the melodic, soft voice of his companion.

He shrugs.

‘I miss her. Deeply. I do not suppose I can ever stop. However, as urgent and selfish as my desire to be reunited with her might be, I care more to see that she is content. Happy. In whatever form she takes. The Firmament knows she deserves it more than any.’

Silence dawns.

Then the Elf leans on his hand and regards The Fox Fairy.

‘How about you? What do you wish to find in The Collision?’

‘There are empty spaces in my memories.’ She traces her fingers along the lines of her lips in thoughtful contemplation, a little action he finds equal parts hypnotic and familiar. ‘Spaces I yearn to fill. I can’t recall my childhood. One day I just woke up, armed with all these knowledge and powers and I don’t know how they came to be. Only a fool would assume they are natural gifts. One does not simply navigate a political court without extensive training. And then I was crowned Queen by my people. I accepted the role. I am uncertain whence I have such confidence, or perhaps entitlement.’ Both of her hands draw up to cup her cheeks. ‘It is quite frustrating. I am haunted by dreams I cannot recall. Of twin moons. I wake up nightly in my chambers with tears on my face and I don’t understand why.’

‘Perhaps it was something quite painful.’ He suggests. ‘Perhaps it is your consciousness’s way of protecting you.’

‘I thought so at first.’ She says. ‘But if it were something I have decided of my own accord, I doubt I would have grown so restless over it.’ Her voice is steadfast. ‘Something was taken from me, I know it deep in my bones. You must think me quite mad, but these shadows in me, they leave footprints.’

‘Footprints?’

‘Yes!’ She exclaims, her eyes bright. ‘Emotional footprints. I cannot recollect the events, but the sensations are true. I remember heartaches. Pain. Death. But there is beauty too. Desires. And love. So much of it.’ Her eyes glisten with unshed tears as the emotions resurface. ‘If my memories are meant to be lost forever to protect me, why take away all the good things too? Why entrust me with all this wisdom without the means to understand it? Why lead me here at all?’ She gestures at the approaching Collision. ‘If not for answers?’

He studies her for a long moment.

‘I believe there is some wisdom to what you said.’ Truly. Certainly she does not sound madder than himself.

‘A part of my desire is fueled by my nature as well.’ She concedes. ‘Foxes cannot stand not knowing.’

‘You are of Fox-kind?’ he ponders the new information. It makes perfect sense, he supposes. Her initial shyness and wariness. Her unadulterated excitement.

‘I seek to understand more of myself. I must admit the relation between my nature and my role still remains somewhat… obscure.’ She shrinks into herself. ‘They come into conflict at most inopportune time. My behaviour earlier on the shoreline…’ She silences abruptly, realising what she has just let slip.

The Elf notices it. Interesting, he thinks.

‘I was wondering - what have I done to have incurred your animosity…’ He presses on, deciding to be ungenerous by not letting the matter rest. He is still Fae, after all. And now he is curious, too.

‘I… was so afraid to ask if I could accompany you on your island.’ She lets out an exasperated sigh. ‘This is most silly…’ He can hear her blushing, her voice is so expressive. ‘That I intended to scare you off. So you would go away.’

‘Scare me off?’ A humorous smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. ‘With what?’

She blushes even deeper.

‘I have no idea.’

He breaks into a fit of laughter.

‘It is not funny!’ She exclaims, both of her hands cover her flushed cheeks, shielding her face even further from him. Nine big, silver, fluffy fox tails sprout from her back, holding her small frame in their embrace, until she bears a striking resemblance to that of a great cotton ball. The sight is so adorable, it makes him laugh even harder.

As his laughter subsides, she feels him lift from his place and move to kneel in front of her. She imagines him reaching out his hand to touch her and she holds her breath. He decides against it, however, instead opting for calling out to her, in such a soft, gentle tone, it melts her bones into honey.

‘May I see you, please? My Lady?’

Her tails retreat, yielding under his voice. She lifts her head up to look at him, directly into his grey, lunar eyes. There is something so dear about him, so ancient and intimate to her, yet at the same time, he feels oceans away. Untouchable. The sensation makes her heart ache.

He is dying to shed her veil away to claim her lips with his own. It would not be proper, he halts, reminding himself that he is a gentleman and in the presence of a Queen. He must settle for admiring her through the sheer and in the half-light, letting his imagination fill in the details.

‘Who are you?’ She asks him, her voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckles nervously, feeling humbled under her gaze.

‘I am merely a younger brother of the groom, My Lady.’

‘I do not believe that is all that you are.’ she says kindly. ‘There is nothing ‘merely’ about you.’

He bows, still looking at her.

‘I thank you.’

The sky rumbles. The Collision is approaching. The Fox Queen and the lightless Elf break away from their eye contact, hurriedly settling back into sitting side by side, no longer looking at one another. She dries her palms on the mossy ground. He lays down, his hand rests easy on her sleeve.

She hears the music change. A familiar, more sombre melody of koto and free-reed flute, played by the Skylarks of her court. According to the tradition of her realm, they are playing The Reception of the Collision, aptly named. The Fox Queen brings out a gourd from her magic pouch. An intoxicating, floral scent permeates the air when she removes the small nub. She drinks the liquid inside, then harmonises with the distanced musicians, using the gourd itself as her instrument.

‘That is a lovely melody.’ He compliments her.

‘It is ceremonial.’ She explains. ‘The Universe brings its own music in The Collision after all. It is an echo from the callings of all those who walked before. Even the ashes have their own resonance. It is only fair to give something back. At least it is so to my people.’

‘That is very interesting.’ He says. ‘I do not believe to have heard any music during the occurrence. Nor knowing any of my kind who did, for that matter.’

‘How do you Fae folk see the event then?’ She asks.

He ponders over her question.

‘Lightning would strike from the contact. Over there,’ he points at the steadily unfolding skyline. ‘Imagine a light that does not cast any shadows. A Fae sees all the colours in existence in that light, be it a High Elf or a simple pixie. All the stars in the sky would gather about it, and one would experience the sight of a tree growing backwards, all the leaves and flowers would return to the embrace of the branches from divinity. We elves believe we are allowed a glimpse into the Garden of The Firmament.’

‘It sounds very beautiful.’ She says.

‘It is truly a fascinating sight. There is no music however. Purely a visual sensation.’ He turns and smiles gently at her. ‘I do wonder how you experience it.’

She pretends to contemplate the offer.

‘Well, you must not play the tune.’ She says, her tone cheeky. ‘It is quite hard to master, and Fae folk tend to be… unsubtle with aerophones.’ She smiles back at him. He rolls his eyes at her small jab.

‘But you can drink the wine.’ She offers him the gourd, her voice grows beguiling.

He takes the gourd from her, his touch setting little fires to her skin as though his fingertips are still glowing. He brings it to his lips, tasting distilled peaches, cherry blossoms and winds shifting through wild grasses. She watches him intently, attempting her best to minimise the significance of their actions: how in her realm, only betrotheds and spouses drink wine from the same container. ‘It must not mean anything here.’ She thinks to herself, tearing her eyes from him, failing to vanquish the irrational spark of hope in her chest.

The Collision commences.

The skyline splits open to welcome the foreign dimension. Every star in the sky is stretched and distorted in the new celestial lens. They are renewed, rejuvenated in front of his eyes and he watches The Tree drawing its children home. She hears cosmic music. Transcendental beings of the past, present and future, all glowing in light-made bodies, all join in a magnificent orchestra. She sees into others and into herself, her lives, in centuries before, as the sky opens one of its many eyes and becomes a mirror. Soon enough, they realise they are both observing the same story:

It was a tale of a poor cub, an anomaly, born to a Fairy Fox Queen and a mortal man. Her nine magical tails, the source of her powers, were cruelly sheared. Thus was she exiled from her kingdom, accursed to die many mortal deaths, trading a hundred years of sufferings for each of her tails.

And so for eight hundred years, her spirit walked the earths under ephemeral identities, all of them ending in tragedies. Yet, during her journey, she was not alone. A beautiful, ageless man with chestnut hair and moonlit eyes was her shadow. Be she a maid or a princess, a blue blood or a bastard, a scholar or a general, a king or a pauper, he loved her. All of her incarnations, identities, material sexes, he loved them all. They were friends, confidants, spouses. The times they had together, of which he referred to as ‘brief moments of joy’ as they spanned but a fraction of the long eight hundred years, were lifetimes of bliss to her mortal minds.

His last sacrifice disrupted and completed her cultivation, and as a result, the dusty cloak of her mortal experience was stripped away from her. She passed the turbulent threshold into her realm, returning one century earlier to her people as the rightful heiress, seemingly unburdened with the thought of him.

Yet the memories only laid dormant, never were to be erased. She is always meant to seek them out. She is always meant to find him.

They look at each other now, without fears or reservations. She remembers him, everything about him. He has haunted her dreams. He is so close to her, so close she can feel his breaths on her cheeks, smelling of sandalwood and the wine she has given him. Her featherlight veil suddenly becomes too dark and heavy.

‘May I?’ He whispers, his hand tracing the fabric.

Instinctively, she clutches the veil tighter to herself. One feeble attempt at maintaining the last shred of their current, fading reality, before embracing the change. His large hand covers hers and her fingers uncurl from their grip, pliant under his touch.

She consents to his request with the smallest of nods.

He lifts up the veil over her face, slowly, and she takes him in, now with clear vision. His face. His eyes. His mischievous elven smile. The sound of his voice. She misses him so much she can cry.

She is as marvellous as he imagines she would be. As he remembers she was. He brings his hand to her cheek and the part of him that is still tense with anxiety breathes a sigh of relief as he comes into contact with soft, warm flesh. His love. Of past and present.

Before bridging the final gap between them and once again tasting heaven on her lips, he searches her beautiful eyes. He imagines a star has landed there. Or perhaps he seeks not a star in their watery depths, but his own light, the beam that she has not so much stolen, but he has willingly parted with.

Bathed in the light of The Collision, the copulation of The Universe, two ethereal lovers, both marked by mortality, uncover the mask of time between them and recognise the soul they have spent centuries seeking. Their joy is insurmountable, and they call one another by their true names as their happiness is, at last, eternal.

‘Benedict’.

‘Sophie’.

Author’s Note: *reverse UNO card* surprise it’s also a Reunited fic.

#benophie week 2023 #benophieweek23 #benedict bridgerton #sophie beckett #benophie #benedict x sophie #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #My writing #benophie week #also kate is a mermaid okay?#i don't make the rules #disney did it first

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bridenore · 2 years

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HD Mostly set outside the UK fic recs - Others

Here are a few drarry recs that are mostly set in outside of the UK, North America or the EU. Listed in alphabetical order.

Aeternus Solem by @onbeinganangel [36k]

On December 1st, Harry Potter gets sent halfway across the world to attempt to break a possibly fatal curse on an unnamed British Unspeakable — except said Unspeakable is not unnamed at all and Harry has been in love with him for over four years.

Ai by talkplaylove [18k]

Harry Potter wanders into a bar.

Call Me by Your Name (And I’ll Call You by Mine) by @acupforslytherin [35k]

My dearest Harry, because no matter how far we are, even two different worlds apart, I can never tell where you end and I start.

Draco never expected Potter to find his way back to his life, especially after seven years of no contact, but here he was. With Potter’s will in his hands, his own name written in that untidy scribble he recognized anywhere, Draco had to accept this was his time to reopen an old wound, revisit painful memories, and relearn everything he thought he knew about his past.

Connecting Lines, Connecting Crimes by sleepstxtic [15k]

Magic is going haywire after ley lines all over the world are mysteriously failing. A cross-border Task Force is set up by the League of Wixen Nations with Expert Cartologist Draco Malfoy and Ley Line Specialist Pansy Parkinson being called in from Britain to work with Magi-Geographers Harry Potter and Parvati Patil in India. But can they get to the root of the issue before it’s too late? Featuring: an excessive use of holograms, numerous references to food, and lots and lots (and lots!) of travel.

Forged through flowing water by @tedahfromtayla [40k]

When Hermione sets up a diplomatic mission to begin repairing the damage British colonisation did to Indian magical communities Harry isn’t going to pass on the opportunity to visit and help his family’s home country. Maybe he should have asked a few more questions about the personnel she had recruited for it before signing on because Malfoy surely has an ulterior motive to be there.

Harry goes back to India to rediscover some of his lost roots. He meets Malfoy there. Hijinks ensue!

The Great Magic Sex Mushroom Fiasco by Magnolia822 [6k]

Lost in the Siberian wilderness without food, Aurors Potter and Malfoy are forced to improvise, with unexpected consequences …

Grounds for Divorce by Tepre [122k]

Malfoy finds a coin. Harry finds a letter.

A story about histories, a story about families. A story about a lemon tree somewhere in Upper Egypt.

Potential Gravity by @lol-zeitgeistic [32k]

Draco is not good at Cards Against Humanity, but Harry’s not good at being human, so it all works out. Except for the explosions. And Harry’s inability to live when Draco’s not around.

Sæglópur by @femmequixotic [34k]

After a difficult breakup, Draco finds himself dragged to the land of magic, law, and natural wonders where, of course, nothing goes as planned.

The Spider and the Moth by marguerite_26 [10k]

Young Auror Harry Potter is sent to Morocco to investigate a potion smuggling ring. He quickly realises he’s in over his head with both the assignment and the primary suspect.

Survival of the Species by @romaine2424 [46k]

Draco approaches Harry on the 9 ¾ platform, after their sons have boarded the Hogwarts Express, and invites him over for tea. The discussion they have leads them on an adventure that neither could have expected. There be dragons! HPDH compliant.

Ticking Time by calrissian18 [5k]

Draco moves to Egypt to escape his past. Of course Potter has to come along and be a tangible representation of it.

Through Worlds by @rain-beee [42k]

Harry is looking for a new start, and he’s travelled the world to find it. Now in Japan, a chance encounter with someone from his past threatens to distract him from his goal, but when he runs into them again and again, he begins to wonder if maybe he’s found what he was searching for all along.

The Unspeakable by @the-sinking-ship [24k]

Healer Draco Malfoy took the job at the International Department of Mysteries for the paycheck and the prestige.

But what he got was Unspeakable Harry Potter and the most fascinating curse he’d ever seen.

I hope you enjoy these stories as much as I did!

#my recs #drarry #drarry recs #theme rec

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scotianostra · 18 days

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May 16th 1805 saw the birth of Scottish explorer, military officer, and diplomat Alexander Burnes.

Burnes was the poet Robert Burns cousin, note the spelling, Rabbies father, William also bore the name Burnes, Rabbie himself favoured dropping the “E”.

Now I don’t like delving into the history and politics of other countries, but this to me is a reminder that the problems in the middle east are long standing and interference in the region is long standing.

Alexander was the epitome of a nineteenth century adventurer cum dandy – dashing, intelligent and courageous.

In 1831, the British government in Delhi ordered a survey of the Indus River, unchartered since the time of Alexander the Great. The man they entrusted this mission to was Alexander Burnes. A journey of over 1,000 miles, Burnes, a natural linguist, charmed the usually antagonistic tribal leaders he came upon, and eventually reached Lahore, his reputation greatly enhanced.

His next adventure took him to Afghanistan, dressed as a native having discarded, in his words, ‘the useless paraphernalia of civilisation; we threw away all our European clothes" So he looked the part.

Burnes returned to England in 1833, where he was granted an audience with the king, William IV, and the Prime Minister. The daring young bachelor was the toast of London. His account of his adventures, Travels into Bokhara, being an Account of a Journey from India to Cabool, Tartary and Persia, sold a thousand copies on its first day of publication and made Burnes a tidy sum.

Meanwhile, the British government was making plans to dispose Dost Mohammed, the Afghan ruler, and replace him with Shah Shuja, an unpopular, former Amir, but one they considered had the advantage of being pro-British. Burnes had met Dost Mohammed in Cabool (sic) and liked him. He tried to persuade Lord Palmerston, Britain’s foreign secretary, that Shah Shuja, now living at Britain’s expense in India, was disliked by the Afghan people and lacked ‘sufficient energy’ and tact to rule Afghanistan effectively. But Palmerston dismissed Burnes’s concerns and gave the proposal his full backing. In late 1838, 10,000 British soldiers, 6,000 soldiers loyal to Shah Shuja, 38,000 camp followers and 30,000 camels marched into Afghanistan. Alongside them, the pretender to the throne and the disgruntled Scot.

As the convoy approached Kabul, Dost Mohammed fled. The British entered the city unopposed, placed Shah Shuja on the throne and congratulated themselves on a job well done. Having sent most of the army back to India, the remainder settled down to a life of indolence and luxury, living in a fortified compound just outside the city.

Alexander Burnes, now Sir Alexander Burnes, took up residence in Kabul and, despite his reservations about the new Amir, enjoyed life, indulging in a campaign of womanizing that infuriated the local men.

The Afghans’ growing resentment of Shah Shuja and Britain’s occupation finally erupted three years later. A crowd descended on Burnes’s residence, many of them husbands and fathers of Burnes’s numerous conquests. His servants urged him to leave but Burnes, in the words of his servant, was ‘quite sure the Afghans would never injure him’.

But they did. They set fire to Burnes’s house while the Scot shouted abuse at them. Finally realizing this was no idle protest, Burnes donned his turban and gown and tried to make his exit, accompanied by his brother. But both men were soon caught and, along with a number of servants, were hacked to death in a frenzied attack.

Two months later, the British garrison, having lost control of Kabul, attempted an evacuation to Jalalabad, ninety miles to the east. 16,000 British and Indian soldiers and camp followers embarked on the ‘Retreat from Kabul’. Only one Briton plus a handful of others survived the ordeal. The rest were all slaughtered by marauding Afghan tribes.

The tragedy was of Britain’s making but it caused profound shock in Victorian Britain.

If only they had listened to the dandy Scot in the turban.

The last pic is interesting, it is a drawing by our subject, of The Buddhas of Bamiyan, the one on the left was some 55 metres tall. Sadly, on orders from Taliban founder Mullah Omar, the statues were destroyed in March 2001, after the Taliban government declared that they were idols. International and local opinion strongly condemned the destruction of the Buddhas.

Read a report of his death on Craig Murrays web page here

#scotland #scottish #history #explorer #diplomat #spy?#afghanistan

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washingtonscontinentalarmy · 1 year

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Washington’s 1753 Winter

When it came to winter weather, the beloved General did not have the best of luck. The winters in Morristown and Valley Forge were not kind to Washington or his army as historians have famously reported. The winter of 1799 is also arguably what killed him. Of course, not every winter was completely awful with the Delaware Crossing in 1776 being very successful for Washington. However, did you know that the Delaware was not Washington’s only river crossing? That is what I am going to talk about today.

In 1753, tensions between the French and British armies were rapidly rising about who would control the Ohio Valley Territory. George Washington, then 21, was selected by the British army to carry out the diplomatic mission of ordering the French army to vacate the Ohio Valley. On December 11th 1753, Washington and his traveling companion Christopher Gist would deliver the demand to the French commander Jacques Le Gardeur, who politely refused, forcing Washington and Gist to quickly start the journey a second time, back through the wintery wilderness and their home of Virginia.

It was 18 days later, on December 29th 1753 that the two men reached the Allegheny River, which like the Delaware River would be 23 years later, was filled with large chunks of floating ice. The two men had originally assumed the river would be frozen over to the point where they would be able to walk across, and were therefore ill prepared for the crossing, forcing them to build a wooden raft and paddle across.

About halfway across the river, George Washington was tossed into the river when their raft crashed into a large ice pack on the river. Washington was nearly hypothermic due to the icy waters, and had Gist not been there to assist in pulling George from the water, it is possible that the mixture of woolen clothing dragging the man, and hypothermia impacting his ability to move properly Washington would have drowned in the Allegheny River at just age 21.

Due to the struggle, the two men were too exhausted to free themselves from the ice pack, making it impossible to reach the opposite shore or return the way they had come. Luckily, they were able to wade through the freezing water and stay a night (though miserable) on an island. By the next morning, the river had luckily frozen over allowing Washington and Gist to successfully return to Virginia, where Washington would go on to become the man we all know, while Gist who remained a friend of Washington’s went on to hold successful commands during the French and Indian War died of Smallpox in 1759.

One final interesting thing that can be observed about Washington’s 1753 trip across the Allegheny River is that it overlaps quite heavily with the Turn: Washington’s Spies scene, which shows Benjamin Tallmadge taking a plunge into the Delaware River during the 1776 crossing, leaving one to wonder if his experience may have been based off of Washington’s real world experience.

Source: “Washington's Winters.” George Washington's Mount Vernon, https://www.mountvernon.org/george-washington/so-hard-a-winter/.

#george washington #french and indian war #allegheny river #turn washington's spies #historical facts

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head-post · 8 months

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Sikh community protests against India over leader’s killing

A week after Prime Minister Justin Trudeau announced a possible link between New Delhi and the killing of a Sikh separatist supporter in British Columbia, Canadian Sikhs organised protests outside Indian diplomatic missions.

A week ago at a speech in Parliament, Trudeau said domestic intelligence agencies were actively working on credible allegations linking New Delhi agents to the murder of 45-year-old Canadian citizen Hardeep Singh Nijjar in June this year.

About 200 protesters gathered outside the consulate in Vancouver. In Toronto, more than 100 protesters burned an Indian flag and kicked a cardboard cutout of Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi with a shoe.

Learn more HERE

#world news #world politics #news #canadaindia #canada news #canada politics #canada #indiacanadarelations #india politics #india news #india #sikh #sikhcommunity #sikhism

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raidedtombs · 9 months

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❛❛ you can hold yourself back from 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝖿𝖿𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 of the world, this is something you are free to do and is in according with 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗇𝖺𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾, but perhaps 𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗶𝘀𝗲𝗹𝘆 this holding back is the only suffering that you might be able to 𝗮𝘃𝗼𝗶𝗱. ❜❜

— 𝗳𝗿𝗮𝗻𝘇 𝗸𝗮𝗳𝗸𝗮, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗓𝗎𝗋𝖺𝗎 𝖺𝗉𝗁𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗌𝗆𝗌.

[ ✦ ] 𝗅𝗈𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 . . . . 𝖻𝖺𝗌𝗂𝖼𝗌.

basic information.

full name: chloe frazer.

nickname(s): chlo

age: thirty6

date of birth: october 6

place of birth: sydney, australia

ethnicity: south indian

nationality: australian-indian

gender: cis woman

pronouns: she, her

orientation: bisexual

language(s) spoken: ( listed from most to least fluent ) english / hindi / arabic / konkani / telugu / spanish / french

accent: australian

family ties.

mother: aishwarya frazer

father: harry frazer

siblings: none

spouse / partner: none

children: none

pets: none

occupational information.

codename: eris

meaning behind codename: eris: greek goddess of discord.

position: phantom

skillset: firearms / marksmanship / heavy weapons / unarmed combatant / driving / high intellgence / stealth / aerobatics / optimal finesse

weapon of choice: point forty-five defender

physical appearance.

face claim: deepika padukone

hair color: brown

eye color: blue

height: five foot eleven

weight: -

build: slim / gymnast build

tattoos: none

piercings: four left lobe, two right lobe

clothing style: indo-western, standard climbing gear when on missions.

distinguishing characteristics: blue eyes, unique accent

personality.

mbti: estp — the entrepreneur: entrepreneurs always have an impact on their immediate surroundings – the best way to spot them at a party is to look for the whirling eddy of people flitting about them as they move from group to group. laughing and entertaining with a blunt and earthy humor, entrepreneur personalities love to be the center of attention. if an audience member is asked to come on stage, entrepreneurs volunteer – or volunteer a shy friend. ( taken from 16personalities )

element: fire

western zodiac: libra

chinese zodiac: fire rabbit

positive traits: idealistic / easy-going / expressive / diplomatic / thoughtful

negative traits: flightily / self- indulgent / unpredictable / temperamental

hobbies: archaeology / ancient language / cars

[ ✦ ] 𝗅𝗈𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 . . . . 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗒.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: chloe is a canon character from the uncharted franchise. my interpretation of the character has been slightly altered to fit the group and my own personal understanding of the character.

chloe was born in sydney, australia to loving parents, and her childhood was enriched by her father's captivating tales of history and adventure. although her father's affection for her was unquestionable, his presence in her life suggested otherwise. his interest in archaeology evolved from a humble occupation into an all-consuming obsession. eventually, the frazer family relocated from australia to her mother's homeland, india.

the transition proved challenging for chloe. she went from attending public school to an all-girls convent school, struggling to find her place among her peers. ostracized due to her foreign status and missing her father more than ever, chloe and her mother decided to part ways with the frazer patriarch and return to australia. little did chloe know that this would be the last time she would see her father, leaving behind a tarnished legacy as a disgraced archaeologist and a golden ganesh statue for his only daughter.

from that moment on, chloe's curiosity about her father's legacy deepened. she left her mother behind to embark on a life of thievery and treasure hunting, amassing considerable wealth and status as a contract thief. if the payout was sufficient, she accepted the job, regardless of the chaos she left in her wake. chloe continued running, uncertain of what she was fleeing from.

her path intersected with the professor while on a quest to find marco polo's lost fleet. he hired chloe to join his team in the pursuit of henry avery's lost treasure. like many other thieves, chloe preferred working alone; however, the promise of unlimited resources and a significant share of the profit from avery's treasure sweetened the deal.

chloe became a member of the libertalia less than a year ago, and her loyalty is questionable. despite receiving missions from the professor, it seems that chloe prioritizes her own quests over libertalia's, even accepting contracts from other employers offering higher payouts. chloe's primary interest lies in multiplying her wealth as an individual rather than benefiting libertalia as a collective group.

PERSONALITY & MORALITY & EVERYTHING IN BETWEEN.

chloe possesses both remarkable beauty and exceptional toughness, making her a well-regarded figure in the professor's realm. her reputation as a highly skilled and versatile treasure hunter, with numerous impressive achievements to her credit, precedes her. whether confronted with a gunfight or a hand-to-hand brawl, she handles any situation with ease, making her a highly sought-after choice for missions that even the most hesitant treasure hunters would decline. with her quick wit and pragmatic approach, chloe is a valuable asset to the team, often earning the title of "the top driver in the industry."

chloe possesses a dry sense of humor and a complex personality. while she may appear to prioritize her own well-being, she does harbor a considerable amount of empathy for those in her inner circle. however, she is highly selective about whom she shares this empathy with. it's crucial to understand that chloe's foremost instinct is survival. she readily walks away from situations she deems excessively perilous and doesn't hold human life other than her own in high regard. without question, chloe will abandon others during a mission if she believes their lives aren't worth saving. this sentiment stems from the tragic death of her father, who was unwavering in his pursuit of a grand discovery, ultimately leading to his demise and the subsequent unraveling of her family.

nevertheless, chloe is willing to risk her life for those she genuinely cares about. she acts swiftly, guided by intelligence and awareness of her own limitations. to her, risking one's life without tangible gain serves no purpose.

[ ✦ ] 𝗅𝗈𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 . . . . 𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗇𝖺𝗂𝗋𝖾.

001. the professor provides every member of libertalia a unique codename that reflects their personality. each codename is derived from various forms of mythology, folklore, or literature. why do you think the professor chose that name for you? do you agree or disagree with his decision?

eris, the greek goddess representing strife, discord, rivalry, and chaos, is hardly a name chloe considers a compliment; rather, it seems more like an insult. her codename reflects her relationship with the professor and libertalia, rather than encapsulating her true personality. chloe finds the notion of codenames frivolous and much prefers using her own name and addressing others by theirs.

002. gaining an invitation into libertalia isn’t an easy feat. what do you think made you special enough to get handpicked by the professor?

being a highly accomplished treasure hunter and a “thief for hire,“ it would be unwise for the professor to disregard chloe's skills. their paths crossed during chloe's mission to locate marco polo's fleet. it's worth noting that chloe doesn't hold the libertalia or the professor in high regard; it's the promise of avery's treasure that motivates her. she continues to operate independently outside of what libertalia has to offer.

003. the captain’s crew is the highest position at libertalia. do you desire to graduate to this level? if you’re already a member of the captain’s crew what motivated you to change your position?

chloe has come to terms with the fact that she may never become a member of the captain's crew, though she isn't opposed to the idea. she tends to be somewhat of a control freak and dislikes taking orders.

004. although many members of libertalia don’t know each other’s personal lives, it’s rumored that many members came from suspicious backgrounds. who were you before joining and what was your life like prior?

chloe has never known a life outside of treasure hunting and thievery. living a dual life would be challenging for her, as she's always on the move and avoids staying in one place for too long. with no family, friends, or romantic ties to anchor her, she is as free as the wind.

005. what was your primary motivation for joining libertalia? was it for the riches or for the thrill of adventure? or is there something else motivating you to continue working for the group? what do you hope to achieve?

what keeps chloe interested in libertalia is the abundance of resources it offers and the protection the professor provides to shield her from potential arrests.

006. how would the other members describe you? would you consider yourself to be a team-player or do you prefer to work independently?

annoying, a nuisance. and causes more harm than good. chloe's self-serving but in tender moments she's someone you can rely on.

007. libertalia is anonymous, therefore necessitates secrecy outside of the group. how do you balance your personal life outside of this, granted you have one? is there a clear separation between libertalia and your personal life?

refer to question four.

008. henry avery’s treasure has been lost since 1695. even with the brightest minds on the case, all leads to find the treasure haven’t turned up. avery’s treasure is the professor’s white whale and after several years of searching, many believe the treasure ceases to exist. do you believe the treasure exists?

responsible for finding lost artifacts and cities, chloe is hopeful that the treasure exists.

009. do you trust the professor? do you trust the libertalia?

chloe doesn't trust her own shadow.

#at:intro #this is so long read more is like a jump scare sorry

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allthecanadianpolitics · 8 months

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Foreign Secretary Syrus Qazi has said that Pakistan was not “surprised” by Canada’s revelations that the Indian government was involved in the killing of Sikh leader Hardeep Singh Nijjar in British Columbia in June this year.

Qazi, who is accompanying caretaker Prime Minister Anwaar-ul-Haq Kakar on a five-day visit to the US to attend the 78th UNGA session, stated this during a media briefing at the Pakistan mission in UN on Wednesday.

“India's terrorism in Canada is not a matter of surprise for Pakistan,” the top diplomat remarked.

The foreign secretary said Pakistan did not find anything unusual in the Canadian PM's allegations as Pakistan had arrested a serving Indian naval officer Kulbhushan Yadav — an operative of the Indian Research and Analysis Wing (RAW) from Balochistan in March 2016.

The Indian spy was later sentenced to death after he was found guilty of espionage and terror activities to destabilise Pakistan. [...]

Tagging: @politicsofcanada

#cdnpoli #Foreign Policy #India #Pakistan #sectarian violence #fascism #murder #assassination

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ikesenhell · 1 year

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A Sun Long Gone

You can find all masterlists at the top of my page (AO3, Genshin Impact, Ikemen Sengoku, and Ikemen Vampire).

MASSIVE FOREWARNING: THIS WORK INVOLVES GRIEF AND MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH. While I personally consider it worth it (particularly the epilogue), if you're incredibly averse to sad themes, consider that it may not be the work for you. It also has adult sexual themes and should be considered 18+. Links in the masterpost will bring you to my AO3 as priority, but the Tumblr links do exist on it now! See the end of this chapter for further notes on this chapter/work.

This work mostly takes place before the Cataclysm and should NOT be considered spoiler free!! I cannot even think to list all the things that might be spoiled in this, but chief among them: the ending of the Sumeru Archon Quest (iykyk), Caribert allusions, potentially details about Khaenri'ah and its fall, etc. I am actively choosing to ignore the canon Rukkhadevata appearance in favor of making her more Indian. ---

Further on in life–much, much later, past the Cataclysm and the fall of all he’d ever known, when his memory lay in tatters and all but faded–Dainsleif still remembered that one strange fall. Even in Khaenri’ah, the air was warm and still. The stone surrounding them usually chilled this time of year, bonfires everywhere in the city warming their frigid bones.

Dainsleif still remembered in perfect detail when he got the missive. He stood panting in the training yard, wiping sweat from his brow. The royal messenger was smiling.

“Me?” Dainsleif repeated. “Why me?”

The messenger paused. Not many dared to question King Irmin, nor the orders relayed on his behalf. “You were specifically requested. Since this is a long journey and Lord Alberich himself is going to meet with the Dendro Archon, His Highness felt it only made sense for you to attend to him with all pomp. Sumeru is a large and wild land. Your capabilities merited the honor.”

Dainsleif wanted to ask who is being left in charge of the troops, exactly? ‘Capabilities meriting the honor’, his ass. He was the Twilight Sword of Khaenri’ah, not a bodyguard, and certainly no diplomat’s muscle or showpony. Besides, he had precious little respect for Archons. The idea of dressing in full regalia (for three months!) just to bend the knee before another nation's God? He couldn’t stop a quiet, derisive laugh.

Blinking, the messenger said, “Sir?”

“Nothing,” Dainsleif replied. An order was an order. He had no real grounds to argue. “Tell his Highness I’ll be prepared when the delegation is ready to leave for the surface.”

The messenger bowed and scrabbled away, all but fleeing the training grounds. Mood thoroughly soured, Dainsleif turned back toward the training dummies and drew his sword once more. If he had any luck at all, this Sumeru mission would be quick and without incident.

—

Khaenri’ah’s unseasonable warmth was nothing compared to Sumeru. If it weren’t for the weather, he might’ve even liked the country. Green, green, green stretched out as far as he could see. Flowers exploded in shades of red and yellow and purple and pink and blue. Massive leaves rustled overhead like a song. Dazzlingly plumed birds called between trees larger than he’d ever imagined.

But the weather? He’d rather go eight rounds against their largest Field Tiller than deal with another hour of this.

Dainsleif knew adjusting to the sunlight would be unpleasant. They’d scheduled that into their itinerary–a moment to stop and allow them all to rest in the shade, eyes shut, blinking against the unnatural bright. It always gave him a headache. And, yes, to an extent, he’d been warned about how much warmer it would be.

But no one told him about the humidity . Within an hour, the entire diplomatic caravan had stripped to the last layer of clothing. Breathing in felt like swimming. He tied back his hair and pinned up his bangs and even then, everything stuck to his face. Damned Archons. Damned heat. Damned sunlight. He would’ve taken the dry heat of a desert over this a thousand times. The guide Sumeru provided–a ranger with golden hair and golden, long ears, and a long, golden tail–struggled openly against laughter.

“Don’t forget to drink water,” the guide coaxed. “You’ll need the hydration.”

He couldn’t be too mad at the reminder. Dainsleif uncorked his water bottle for the thousandth time and sighed, “You seem used to dealing with clueless people, miss…?”

She grinned. A fox-like row of razor sharp teeth greeted him. “Takama. The name’s Takama. The Valuka Shuna, my people, have had to adapt rapidly to the rainforest. Our subsequent knowledge makes us well-suited to helping… visitors.”

“Idiots,” Dainsleif corrected. “You mean idiots like us.”

Takama leaned back her head and laughed, a skip in her step. “I’d never say that! Our Lady is the Archon of Wisdom, after all. Learning is a gift at any stage.”

It took all his strength not to snap. Archon of Wisdom? Khaenri’ah had done just fine without one of those. Learning was hardly the property of a random god. But he liked Takama. She was fun, and full of knowledge and laughter, and he didn’t feel like offending someone who’d done him no wrong. He just sighed and picked at his damp, sweaty shirt.

“It’s only a little bit to the city,” she offered, sensing his thoughts. “And don’t worry. We’ll let you all have a rest, a bath, and an opportunity to change before you get before Her Lordship.”

—

In spite of the miserable air, Sumeru City was a marvel.

Where did he look first? There were hundreds of stalls with a rainbow of goods; the heady scent of spices and delicious food was thick on the wind; throngs of people in every color imaginable pressed through the market, bartering and bargaining and yelling their greetings. Half a dozen people shouted good tidings to Takama alone. Stained glass cast patterns on the paved streets. Khaenri’ah had technology, certainly, but Dainsleif couldn’t help but gawk at the beauty.

Their quarters were no less beautiful. Rich wood paneled walls smelled like the forest. Lord Alberich took the larger quarters, but Dainsleif was more than pleased with his. There was a window that overlooked a vast swath of the forest. Gigantic, blue mushrooms glowed in the distance. He could see the peak of Dragonspine and the peaks of Jueyun Karst, tiny in the faraway. Dainsleif took a moment just to stand in the cool air and stare.

But he wasn’t here to sightsee. He had a duty to perform. Groaning at his uniform (it would be insufferably warm, but there were no alternatives), Dainsleif dressed himself to greet the Archon and exited his room.

Lord Alberich was already in the hallway. Dainsleif had seen him in the throne room or beside the king, but they’d never spoken. He was an undeniably regal figure. With long, tied back blue hair and icy eyes, Lord Alberich always looked like he was hunting for some invisible quality, evaluating you against some unknown measurement. Now was no exception. He gave Dainsleif a once-over.

“Have you evaluated the rest of our guards yet?”

“I will once all are assembled. It was only right that I give them a few minutes to wash up.”

The other man nodded. Takama appeared in the hallway, too, a smile on her face. “That’s a lot of layers you’re both wearing.”

Lord Alberich blinked in surprise, unaccustomed to such open critique. Dainsleif just sighed and shrugged, fixing where his cloak lay. “I’ll be sure to go back in time and tell the designers to evaluate our clothes against a different nation’s climate.”

Taking the half-joke in stride, Takama shrugged right back at him, imitating his mannerisms. He nearly laughed. “It looks like the rest of your men gathered outside. Ready to meet the archon?”

Damnable archons , he thought to himself, and said nothing. Lord Alberich nodded.

“Take us before Lord Rukkhadevata,” he said. “We are more than ready.”

—

For the rest of his life, Dainsleif would never free himself of this moment.

The Sanctuary of Surasthana was darker than he expected. Green and blue light pulsed gently, ghostly illusions of trees and leaves and vines filling the interior. Ornate glasswork glimmered. And as the Khaenri’ahn delegation entered, Dainsleif behind Lord Alberich’s right shoulder, he had a perfect view of the woman in the center, flanked by a half dozen others in colorful garments.

He didn’t need to hear who she was. He knew . The aura that surrounded her was unmistakable. Bright green eyes nearly glowed against her dark skin and the white hair that ran in wild torrents to her ankles. Henna decorated every bit of her hands and forearms, her feet and even her fingernails. Gold and emerald jewelry adorned her hair and nose and ears and fingers and wrists and legs. She jingled when she moved. Flowers trailed along the hem of her wrapped dress.

“Lord Alberich,” Lord Rukkhadevata called. Her voice was a song, and the scent of her perfume–a blend of what he later knew as oud and jasmine–surrounded them. “My deepest greetings. Please, come forward to me. I hope your journey from Khaenri’ah was tolerable?”

“Of course,” Lord Alberich replied, granting her a bow. To her credit, Lord Rukkhadevata smiled and bowed right back, matching his depth. “Your city is beautiful, and the guide provided was very knowledgeable.”

“Ah, Takama! She’s lovely.” As if to underscore the point, Lord Rukkhadevata smiled and waved at Takama. “I am pleased you find it so amenable. And as for the rest of your visit…”

The pleasantries buzzed away into white noise. Dainsleif tried to focus, to drag his mind back to a place he knew. But her eyes . Every now and then, the Archon’s eyes would flit over to his and his brain would fizzle into silence. Her whole being was a riot of color and flowers and artwork. One of her palms was decorated with a detailed imitation of the tree Sumeru City sat on; the other, an immaculately detailed pyramid. He tried to focus on that and not the way she kept looking at him.

“I understand you’ll be visiting my ministers tomorrow to discuss trade.”

“Yes. We have a few action items to evaluate. Will you not be joining us, Lord Rukkhadevata?”

“Unfortunately, no. Tomorrow is the Sabzeruz Festival. My people would be very unhappy with me if I didn’t attend.” She laughed, a rich, full sound. “It’s a celebration of my birthday, as it happens.”

“Ah! Well, what a wonderful occasion.”

“It is. I have no doubt the Sages you’ll meet with will bring you to our traditional Haft-Mewa feast once you’re done, and I will certainly be there. But if I could entice some of your retinue you could spare to join me for the tiger’s share of the festival, I’d be more than pleased to be their guide.”

Lord Alberich nodded. “And we would be honored. This is Sir Dainsleif, our Twilight Sword. Dainsleif?”

It was only well-entrenched soldier’s instincts that overrode his inclination to say no . “Sir?”

“Would you mind attending to Lord Rukkhadevata for the Sab… Sub…”

The Archon didn’t laugh. She simply prompted gently, “Sabzeruz.”

“The Sabzeruz Festival,” Lord Alberich finally managed. “I think Khaenri’ah would be honored to represent ourselves during such an important event, and since I will be indisposed…”

It wasn’t a question. Dainsleif knew that. He wasn’t being offered an opportunity to volunteer, he was being volun-told. And as much as he hated every part of this–attending to an archon , being separated from the subject he was supposed to guard, being thrust into a position where he was now unnecessarily close to someone he found unnecessarily beautiful–he had no options. Instead, he supplied the traditional salute: heels together, fist to his chest. “Of course, sir.”

Lord Rukkhadevata shot him a blinding smile. “I’m looking forward to it. Also, Lord Alberich, if you don’t mind terribly, I’d like to provide you all a gift of new clothing. I suspect that our climate will be intolerable to you. Would you mind wearing it tomorrow? I won’t be offended if you say no.”

“We will be honored.”

Dainsleif said nothing. The whole affair irritated him. They were now agreeing to get rid of their clothes, covered in the iconography of their homeland? Sent us here to bend a knee to an archon , he repeated in his head, and even when he was back in the supplied room, tucking into a delicious meal a chef dropped off for them, all he could think of was those bright green eyes and that pretty smile.

It annoyed him to his core.

—

Takama all but barged into his room at daybreak, new clothes slung over her arms. Dainsleif was already up, mercifully, doing his morning exercises. That didn’t stop him from drawing a sword on her out of reflex.

“Ooh! That was quick!” She said, tapping it away from her. “Your training pays off.”

“Don’t barge into people’s rooms and you won’t get a weapon pointed at you,” Dainsleif retorted. Damn woman. He was going to miss her; she was fun. “Don’t do that to Lord Alberich.”

“I’m an asshole, not stupid. I handed his clothes to an attendant. I chose to bother you.” Takama offered him that pointy grin and unfurled a navy and bright blue coat, motioning to him. “Come on. I’m here to help you get changed.”

“I can dress myself.”

“Sure, sure, and I can operate one of your big machines.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That I’m sure you could , but it’ll be faster if I help. I’ll show you.”

The long coat was called a sherwani , Takama said. There were thin, comfortable pants to wear with it, a lightweight shirt, and a long, yellow, stole-type-thing she called a dupatta and flung over his left shoulder. It was so finely embroidered that it seemed to float in thin air. Dainsleif marveled at all the details: the Khaenri’ahn star, prominent in the center. Tiny Field Tillers walked along the edges. Geometric patterns delicately wove through the negative space, invoking parts of his homeland he’d never thought too deeply about.

“Who made these?” He asked, running a thumb along the edges. “They’re beautiful, but it seems like whoever made them–”

“We sent a weaver with our last diplomat to Khaenri’ah,” Takama explained, patting him on the shoulder. “And they were very inspired. It was exciting for him to hear you all were coming; he really wanted to make something you all would like.”

Dainsleif couldn’t help but smile. “I do like it. Thank you. But I hope you realize I’m still bringing my sword–”

She held up a leather strap and snapped it. “Lo and behold, you Lummox. One step ahead of you. We assumed you’d want that. Now turn around and hold up your arms.”

At the end of Takama’s attention, Dainsleif blinked in the mirror. His hair had been tamed back into a sleek ponytail, rings on his fingers. They’d even supplied him with a necklace forged in the symbol of the Khaenri’ahn star. It even complimented his half mask. Takama fixed him with a smug, distinctly foxlike, smile.

“And you’ll be just on time. Come on. I’m here to take you to Her Lordship. You’ll be spending the day with her.”

Ugh. Damn Archons. Dainsleif took a split second to wish that he’d gotten to enjoy the festival alone, just another person in the streets of Sumeru. But there was nothing for it. He was here as an extension of King Irmin and Lord Alberich, and he needed to behave accordingly. He shoved down his complaints and followed Takama outside.

The streets of Sumeru City were choked full of people. Flowers and banners hung from every surface. Someone shoved a sack of toasted, spiced nuts into his hands; another person thrust a tall glass of sweet-smelling liquid toward him. Takama laughed when he accepted both. He nearly spilled it on his dupatta twice when they ascended the slopes up to the Akademiya.

Lord Rukkhadevata was waiting in front of the double doors, barely visible in the rush of well-wishers and civilians clamoring for a glimpse. What a different world. Dainsleif shoved his irritation aside (why did all these good people have to show an archon so much to-do over their birthday?) and followed Takama into the crowd. Come to think of it… the part of him that recognized this was someone’s birthday kicked in. He didn’t have a gift. Did people in Sumeru exchange gifts? Did someone bother giving a gift to an archon? Surely archons had no need for things like that.

“Our Lordship!” Takama shouted, and shoved someone aside to gain access. “I brought your guest.”

As lovely as she’d been yesterday, she was twice so today. Dainsleif choked back a reverent ‘ oh ’. Her hair was immaculately braided and pinned up. Her jewels had been exchanged for another set, dripping from her wrists and neck and updo. Her white dress–a sari , he learned later–was meticulously embroidered with every flower and tree Sumeru boasted. Her hooked nose and gold skin and bright green eyes and everything, everything about her was needlessly beautiful. Lord Rukkhadevata turned her head and shot him a smile, and Dainsleif shivered in the unnatural warmth.

“Sir Dainsleif!” She called. “Wonderful to see you here. Happy Sabzeruz Festival. Are the clothes to your liking?”

“Happy Sabzeruz Festival,” he replied. He’d practiced it under his breath three times beforehand and would die before admitting it. “Yes, they’re wonderful. Thank you. Err, do people in Sumeru exchange gifts on birthdays?”

The Archon paused, tilting her head at him. “Why do you ask?”

“Because we do in Khaenri’ah, and it is your birthday, so…” Dainsleif offered her the cup and nuts he’d been handed. “I realized I didn’t come with a gift. So it isn’t much, but hopefully you like these.”

And Lord Rukkhadevata smiled. Taking the offered items, she cracked open the bag and popped some of the snack between her lips. She then leaned her nose into glass, inhaling deeply. “This is Mahua alcohol. Have you ever had it?”

“No, I can’t say I have.”

“Well then. I’d love to share it with you, my guest. Would you mind splitting a glass with me?”

“If it’s amenable to me, sure. I’d never say no to a good liquor.”

He’d never invoked the Archons for strength before, but the way she laughed had him consider it. “Of course, only if it’s amenable.”

—

Years later, Dainsleif couldn’t say he remembered the entirety of the day. Truthfully it became a blur of color and food and sound and celebration and flower petals. He’d never seen such a crowd and such a lively festival. It was as if the entire country rose up with their Archon. The only parts he remembered clearly–so clearly that he could still lie back and feel it–were the moments when he and Rukkhadevata passed that single glass back and forth, fingers brushing under the canopy litter they rode in. When he arrived back at his room that night, exhausted and full, thoughts of those beautiful eyes followed him into dreamland.

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Postscript: While Rukkhadevata does technically have a canon design, I am choosing to ignore it! I am a white author myself and I am far from an expert on anything related to India/ME/SWANA or Desi fashion particularly, and since Sumeru is based off a mix of a bunch of different countries and is a fantasy version besides all that, I've tried to take (non offensive) liberties based off my non-exhaustive research. Please let me know if I need to correct something. Many thanks to my friend Naga for directing me toward even more resources and providing feedback.

Additionally: I'm having a lot of fun envisioning Takama as an ancestor of Tighnari's! That feels very correct. Re: Takama's design choices. I did a lot of googling about Amazigh people (because I'd admittedly forgotten that Tighnari is based off them, RIP ME) and did a little bit of alteration to the way Tamaka dresses! A lot of the references involved coin-like objects on the forehead band, but since Mora seems to be the only global currency, I wasn't sure how that would pan out. I swapped the detail to beads because I saw some of the Amazigh forehead bands utilized those, too. Please let me know if this is objectionable.

#Genshin impact #genshin dainsleif #genshin rukkhadevata #genshin impact fanfic #dainsleif x rukkhadevata #my writing #a sun long gone #ASLG #ASLG now sounds like ASLUG in my head so I apologize for everyone now forced to use it as an abbreviation #dainsleif fanfic #greater lord rukkhadevata #rukkhadevata fanfic

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