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thatbitchery · 12 days

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Everything I've done right in 2024 to transition from Uni Girl aesthetic to corporate baddie

Background info- as an immigrant & on scholarship, you have to maintain a certain image that I call the (struggling college kid) aka don't find reason to take away my scholarship because I seem too boujee) which is this system between the area I live in, the way I dress , the amount of money I can have in my bank account, etc. It's an art, like tax evading lol. BUTTTT I grad this year so I no longer feel the need to keep up with all that and step one is leveling up to fit into the circles I'm about to dominate, and these are the steps I'm taking so far.

Quitting my medium wage job. Just to make it clear, I really liked that job. The amount of vision boarding, manifesting, praying, people pleasing i did just to get it- and it's really really great, it is. I've built networks from it and the most invaluable of them all- experiences + I've learned most of my office politics there. But, but, it also takes 6 hours of my day, which I no longer have . It's been a smooth exit, hopefully very graceful and , I've already secured a position in a higher paying, more (influential) , better situated office that I like more AND has more potential. On today's episode of for God's sake learn to network , social climb and people please.

Speech coaching. First, who signed up for advanced English classes? Moi. Me. Complimented by learning apps. Who is also getting speech coaching? Me. My English is okay, if I was a high schooler, but I'm not. One, my accent gotta go. Two, I need to learn to project my voice, I'm really soft spoken and third, I need to properly articulate my words because me and my ADHD talk like someone is chasing us and we need to squeeze a novel of a story into three minutes. (Ps, when I feel confident, we WILL do that podcast thing, I promise)

Moving out to a more influential residence area. Given the rent & basically everything is just so so expensive this might not be the best financial decision I've made so far BUT as much as I love my little rooftop studio apartment , it just wasn't it. Your environment matters and although it wasn't in a ghetto type neighborhood it wasn't exactly somewhere I'd bring my mom to visit. I haven't moved into some kind of Beverly hills , just a, let's call it, middle middle class neighborhood. I managed to get a sweet deal on ANOTHER rooftop apartment (they're usually smaller & not really that attractive bc it rains X snows so much , but I love them. Make friends with people in real estate besties. Because of this though my budget just went so high, which leads me to my next point .

Did I actually get an actual personal finance coach? Yes ma'am I did. I've been doing pretty well with my personal finance, I'm proud of myself BUT for someone applying for citizenship I can FINNALY invest with the big bucks and buy property and and all these things I didn't feel the pressure for in uni- so having help from someone highly recommended might be helpful.lets see. I'm pretty money smart but you can't get too money smart now, can you.

When it comes to fashion and styling I'm milkkkkk. Tank top, jeans, goodies, tennis shoes ftw (mostly bc I'm quite the tomboy) but the big bucks need you to look like a billion bucks so fine I did book a style month with this fashion kid running a bootcamp in my uni. He's won multiple contests and award and is to the minimalist side, like I am, so I trust him to a point (plus so obviously old money) . That's all the way in July so no rush.

Will I share everything I've learned? Of course. Every last thing.

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adore-laur · 5 months

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FOXTAIL

— two lovers being blissfully domestic while living in the countryside of france 🪴

——

LOIRE VALLEY, FRANCE

The melodic humming of his wife faintly echoes throughout the greenhouse kitchen, her voice hidden under the more pronounced noises of glass jars clinking together and the faucet running.

As Harry hunches over the granite countertop and gingerly trims the miniature bonsai tree he proudly grew himself, his ears tune into Nadine's movements. He's acutely aware of the soft padding of her slippers against the tiles and the slight graze of her robe against his sweater vest whenever she passes by. It's as if she's some soundless angel who doesn't like to make her presence known yet can't help but enthrall everyone with her heavenly poise.

He will often glance up while snipping away with his garden shears and follow her figure as she gracefully floats around the kitchen and pickles various vegetables that will eventually be donated to the orphanage on the outskirts of town. The cucumber she's currently slicing is from one of his many gardens on the property. They are Harry's pride and joy. He plants abundant seeds every season, then tends to the soil and sprouts until he can harvest them. Their primary use is to be thrown into either jars or on dinner plates, resulting in whatever his wife wishes to cleverly concoct.

"Nadi, can you please fill this up for me?" Harry asks, fidgeting with the fragile pump of the plant mister in his hand.

In a second, she's by his side, carefully taking the empty glass bottle from his grasp. "Hot or cold water?"

He smiles dotingly at her lack of knowledge about succulent maintenance. She has more expertise relating to culinary uses for fruits, vegetables, herbs, and spices, while he takes care of the botanical aspect.

"Lukewarm since we've had sunny weather lately," he replies as he checks how dry the compacted soil in the pot is. "Thank you."

She nods and heads to the sink, turning the handle to the left. Harry pauses what he's doing and admires how her smooth, bronzed skin and silky black hair glimmer in the natural light pouring through the greenhouse panels. He often finds himself wanting to splay his hands on every part of her warm body and let his ceaseless love seep into her, sweet and absorbent like caramel drizzle on a dessert. Whenever she innately reacts to his touch, it melts him into a puddle of molasses the same color as the deep pools of her irises. And when the sun hits her brown eyes just right, he becomes entranced. She's his saccharine daydream.

Once Harry is satisfied with the trimming of his beloved bonsai, he moves on to the second task he planned to finish this morning. A woven basket sits beside him on the floor, holding a bundle of eucalyptus and myrtle leaves he broke off from the trees in the front yard. He had already cut a piece of gold wire to form the brittle blades around it, but he didn't know where to go from there. He wants to make a leaf crown for Nadine. However, he's never attempted a crown with leaves before, only with the lily of the valley and jasmine flowers he grows by the windowsill in their bedroom. The two white blossoms represent femininity and sensuality, a perfect blend of his wife's soul.

"You are standing so still, lover," Nadine says, setting down the filled plant mister. "What are you doing? What are those leaves for?"

"You ask too many questions," he teases with a prolonged kiss on her forehead.

She frowns halfheartedly. "Laisse-moi entrer dans ton jardin de secrets."

Harry's neck flushes from the way she effortlessly switched languages. "Seulement si tu me laisses entrer dans ton pot de secrets," he murmurs against her temple, jerking his chin toward her glass jars all neat in a row.

"I'm making pickled cucumber and carrot salad for lunch since I have leftover scraps," she says enthusiastically.

Running his fingertips through her hair, he twirls the short strands and says, "I'm making a leaf crown for you."

"Why?"

"Why not? Are you worried it won't be as good as the ones the kids make you at the orphanage?"

Nadine doesn't answer and just stands on her tiptoes, wrapping her arms around his shoulders to pull him down for a slow kiss. Harry exhales blissfully and relaxes in her hold, placing his hands on her waist and moving his mouth against hers. He could kiss her lychee-colored lips for eternity if possible.

When she separates her lips from his with a wet pop, Harry begins swaying her to the mellifluous lullaby from the summer birds and wind chimes outside the greenhouse. He grabs her left hand and interlocks his fingers with hers, his other hand tenderly cupping her cheek. A sunrise dance happens frequently, whether it's in the kitchen, bedroom, or garden. Most of the time, they don't even involve music or the ambiance of nature, simply their hushed voices and synchronized heartbeats filling the space.

"Are you planting anything new today?" Nadine asks quietly.

Harry smears another kiss on her lips. "Just some arugula and parsley."

What she doesn't know is that yesterday while she took a trip down to the valley by herself, he planted her a bed of foxtail lilies in a concealed flower bed behind the tall grape trellises. He precisely calculated when they would bloom into tapered pink and yellow spikes so they could be her birthday surprise when late spring rolled around.

Nadine tilts her head to the side and smiles dreamily. "Can I watch you do it?"

"I'll let you if you smoke with me in the bath later."

She raises her thick eyebrows. "You want to get high before noon?"

"My body will be aching from crouching, and I want to relax before your family visits tomorrow."

"Of course, mon chéri."

Harry hums contently and strokes the pad of his thumb across her plump bottom lip. "Let me finish your crown, and then you can ogle at me in the garden, oui?"

——

"Sacré bleu, Nadi!" Harry shouts dramatically when she walks through the patio door completely nude.

Her curves and soft skin look ravishing under the European sky, and the sunbeams gloriously cast upon every stretch mark and blemish. He notices she's wearing his misshapen leaf crown from where he sits naked in the outdoor bathtub, reading yesterday's newspaper with a lit joint perched between his fingertips. Thankfully, no neighbors can see them in their vulnerable state since the backyard is closed off with a high wooden fence shaded by clustering chestnut and poplar trees.

Nadine gasps and kneels next to the tub, stealing the joint from him and taking a quick hit. She beautifully exhales two rings of smoke before saying, "You started without me."

"Pardonne-moi, ma reine," Harry says lowly as he flings the newspaper onto the grass and grabs her wrist to help her into the warm water. He plucked some red petals off the nearby rose bush to let float on the surface, and also brought out some bars of natural soaps Nadine handmade with excess fruit peels and herbs. She's craftier than him, but he thinks they make a good pair. He grows the plants, and she makes use of them.

Nadine's back meets his bare chest, and every muscle in his body instantly eases with the pure and healing touch of her skin. He spent hours in the sunlit garden planting autumn seeds and sneakily tending to the foxtail lilies, so the tendons in his shoulder blades feel inflamed, and his hands are decorated with new calluses. The dirt under his fingernails had been scrubbed clean while he waited for Nadine, yet there were still scrapes and aching muscles he wanted her to take care of. He's not embarrassed to admit that he likes to be babied by her.

"I brought your razor and shaving cream," Nadine tells him, setting the two objects on the edge of the tub.

Harry's lips downturn with confusion. "For you or for me?"

She turns in his arms to face him, bending her legs crisscross applesauce style. "You, miteux."

"Translation, please."

"Scruffy," she whispers like it's confidential.

A whiny laugh escapes his mouth. "Thought you liked it," he drawls, stroking circles onto her hips.

"Too itchy when you kiss me." She takes another hit before passing the joint over to him.

"Like this?" he asks before leaning forward to rub his cheek against hers and puckering multiple kisses against her skin, making a high-pitched laugh bless his ears.

"Oui, like that!" she expresses through giggles and a wide smile.

He lightly nips her jaw and murmurs, "What do I get in return for letting you shave my face?"

Nadine chews on the inside of her cheek, her dark eyes dancing over his entire body. "I think," she says while placing a wet rose petal on his collarbone, "you know exactly what I'll give you."

Harry swallows, his eyes fluttering shut. "Is that right, my darling?"

"That's right. You need to behave right now, though, or I might nick you."

"What a shame that would be, hmm?" His hands flex on her hips. "Can't go ruining my pretty face."

She cups water in her palms and pours it over the petal on his skin until it delicately falls off. "Your reflection in the bathwater is turning you into Narcissus."

"That's funny, considering your crown makes you look like Echo," he says, tucking a loose eucalyptus leaf under the wire. Are you going to start repeating everything I say?"

"No, but I'm obsessed with you like she was.

Who knew mythology could be so erotic? Harry feels his cock throb and harden as he softly kisses her neck and mumbles, "Such a sweet girl."

Nadine has an amount of self-control beyond comprehension because she suddenly scoots back and picks up the razor and container of shaving cream without another word. She begins applying a layer of the foamy cream on his scruff, spreading it on his neck and Adam's apple.

After inhaling from the joint, Harry blows the smoke toward the afternoon sky and casually rests his arms on the tub's edge as his wife shaves the stubble above his lips. She looks adorable with a concentrated furrow to her eyebrows and her tongue poking out slightly. Her body leans close to him, the curve of her breasts touching his chest and the tip of her nose grazing his own every so often. Her unoccupied hand tilts his chin to the side so she can work on his cheek. The soothing nature of her movements and the warm water engulfing his sore body feel more delightful than the weed that permeates his lungs and senses.

"Don't fall asleep on me, moonflower."

Harry's eyes blink open and blearily focus on her. He didn't realize he nodded off. A lazy smile makes its way onto his face when he sees her eyes rimmed with red from the joint she apparently took for herself while he wasn't paying attention.

"Tu me rends le bon genre de somnolent," he replies with a slur of impeding tiredness.

Nadine washes off the remnants of shaving cream on the right side of his freshly smoothed cheek. "You ramble such nonsense when you're high," she says, quickly finishing shaving the rest of his face. "Excusez moi. I'm not high… yet."

"You are. Know how I can tell?"

Harry settles his hands on her thighs. "Humor me, sunflower."

"I know because you are hard, and I haven't even done anything yet," Nadine whispers in his ear.

She's not Echo; she's the goddess of love. His Aphrodite, ironically surrounded by rose petals and wearing a crown adorned with myrtle leaves, sets the razor in a safe place under the tub and then straddles his thighs. She knows exactly how to make him weak putty in her hands.

Extinguishing the lit end of the joint in the water, Harry flips his palms up in invitation and says, "Do your worst, dove."

——

The euphoric high reaches Harry's fingertips as he touches the blades of grass he lies on. To the touch, they feel as soft as a cloud. To the eye, they are feathery and verdant.

The blue and white striped shirt he put on after the bath warps due to his spinning mind, the lines bending and blurring until they make his eyes cross. He and Nadine went through three joints each. Maybe four. Either way, the aftermath of sex while high and then proceeding to get higher has Harry feeling like he's levitating outside of his body. Although he can't complain when Nadine lies beside him, laughing infectiously over something he doesn't remember saying mere seconds ago.

"What did I do?" he asks, his speech slower and more drawled from the weed that passed his tongue.

"You were going on about" — she pauses for a moment to regain her breath — "about your dream that you had last night."

"Oh." He rubs his eyes and begins giggling over whatever is making her so happy. "Where did I… what part did I leave off at?"

"The part where, apparently, our thirty nonexistent children were blooming in the garden, and they were all wailing so much, but the only way to get them to stop was to water them."

"Shit, that's right. What a bizarre dream."

Nadine reaches over and pinches his stomach. "Could you imagine having to take care of thirty children? Oh, mon dieu!"

"We could do it," he says with faux confidence. "Babies are sort of like plants, right?"

She snorts and replies, "I would rethink that statement."

He's thinking ahead and can't stop the thought from crawling across the crevices of his brain like scandent stems. "One day, we'll have little snap peas running around the garden," he muses, the words sounding far away when he speaks them.

"Snap peas, like… bébés?" Nadine asks for clarity.

Harry looks over at her, his heart melting like candle wax at the innocence that laces her question. "Oui. Tant de bébés."

"Where is my say in this?" she asks with a prod to his sock-covered foot.

He smirks, rubbing his eyes again. "You have all the say in the world, dove. Just tell me when, and I'll drop everything for you."

"When what?"

"When you're ready for bébés."

He sees it. He wants it. He needs it. He feels a deep yearning for the possibility of them having Nadine's eyes of maple syrup and heart of sweet honey. If they'll laugh in three caught breaths like her and have her lustrous hair, or if they'll cackle obnoxiously like him and inherit his wild curls. He'd like either outcome. He'd like it a lot.

"I think I will be ready in the spring," Nadine says. "I do not want to be pregnant in the winter."

"How come?" Harry murmurs, dizzily rolling over and nuzzling his face into the velvety skin of her stomach, which is exposed below her cropped tank top.

"I don't thrive in the cold, so it would be a living nightmare for me," she says, tilting his face upwards. "And I wouldn't be able to show off my baby bump if it was cold all the time."

"Nadi baby," he says while letting her poke his dimples, "do you realize that if you get pregnant in the spring, you'll be ready to pop during wintertime?"

"I can't do math when I'm high. Too many months." She uses her strength to switch positions and lay on top of him, squishing his cheeks, her favorite thing to do. "But you have to promise me a bébé in the spring."

He hooks his right pinky with hers and says, "The foxtail lilies should be in full bloom by then. They'll be our good luck charm."

He didn't mean to say that out loud, and now he just utterly ruined the surprise. Damn those three or four joints.

"Hmm? Foxtail?" Nadine bemuses, tracing the slope of his nose with her pointer finger.

Sighing to himself, he knows there's no faultless way to dig himself out of the hole he created. "For you," Harry says shyly. "I planted a bed of foxtail lilies for you that will hopefully bloom in time for your birthday."

She goes silent, spreading her hand on his cheek and parting her lips. Harry wishes he could have kept the details of his romantic gesture locked away in his conscious mind, but the way she's looking at him right now makes the mistake worth it.

"My heart," she whispers sweetly, pressing a long and tender kiss to his lips. "My love. You did that for me?"

"It was supposed to be a surprise," he says with cheeks the color of the peonies by the patio.

"Hey, listen. Don't fret about it, all right?"

"Okay. Oui."

Nadine rests her head on his chest. "Oui."

"Oui oui oui," he repeats with a ticklish breath in her ear during each staccato syllable.

"T'es chiant," she grumbles, pushing his face away.

Harry cradles the back of her head, resting his chin on top of it and soaking in her presence she graciously allows him to cherish. What a wonder to be able to hold a daydream in his arms.

Idyllic paintings could be inspired by her ethereal face and figure, especially when accented by her smile in the sunshine. She could be sculpted and hidden at the back of the most grandiose museum, yet Harry would always find her under the spotlight. She bears fruits of devotion that are seductive and sweet between his teeth, seeds from pomegranates and nectarines coated in aphrodisiacs.

His goddess of love will soon be surrounded by a bountiful bed of foxtails, and if the spring season is kind to him, little snap peas will grow alongside it.

——

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles x oc #harry styles au #harry styles #adore-laur #foxtail

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frevandrest · 7 months

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On Hérault's Orgy Cave

@divinaaugusta I wrote about this in the past (my pet topic, guilty as charged), but I have trouble locating relevant info on my blog because Tumblr my beloved.

We learn about the sex/orgy cave from the book by his mistress Suzanne de Morency, "Illyrine ou l'Écueil de l'inexpérience". She describes their relationship, including how he bought her a lottery and rented a luxurious house for her near Champs-Élysées. In 18c, there was no avenue, but we know its approximate location, near the convent St Périne (now a hospital). Here is how the area looked in the 1730:

So, near rue de Chaillot in 18th century.

As I understand, in 1790s that was a nationalized property that Hérault rented for Suzanne. As part of the complex, there was a garden with an artificial grotto. These grottos were all the rage in the 18th century. Here is one belonging to Frederick the Great: Neptune Grotto (although no idea if this one - or grottos in general - were used for the same purpose as how Hérault used it). Apparently, Hérault's grotto/cave included a little brook, flowers, and comfortable furniture (including a chandelier). She describes:

Chérubin [Hérault] me prie d'ôter mes bas , parce qu'il faisait chaud , et il se désha billalui-même, passa seulement une grande lévite de bazin doublée de taffetas bleu : il me prend la main , me fait traverser le parterre ; j'apperçois un petit portique du quel il m'avait toujours soigneusement écartée ; et il avait un grand soin de ne pas me perdre de vue depuis notre arrivée. Enfin , ouvrant la porte de ce portique , il me présente à l'amour , qui m'offre une guirlande de roses fraîches ; puis il me dit : Adèle ; vois son inscription. Je le regarde en souriant; il me donne un baiser , dé noue ma ceinture , marobe , et à l'instant je n'ai plus de vêtement que la guirlande que l'amour m'a donné : mon amant a la même parure : il ouvre la porte sacrée ; nos pieds foulent le gazon. Il me conduit à un lit de jonc dont le ciel était un grand myrthe. Mon amant s'était ménagé toute la soirée pour ce lieu enchanteur…. Je ne puis te peindre tous les plaisirs que nous goûtâmes : je ne trouverais pas de pinceau assez habile ; ils sont plus faciles à imaginer qu'à peindre. Mais Séchelles est plus qu'un homme si j'ai quelquefois dit que mon mari et Q…..te étaient autant au- dessus du vulgaire qu'étaient les anges au- dessus de l'humanité, je dirai maintenant qu'Hérault de Séchelles est autant au - dessus de mon mari et de Q…..te que la divinité est au dessus des anges. Nous nous restaurâmes par des glaces et des liqueurs ; tu en connais l'effet …. De nouveau nous nous épuisâmes : nous passâmes la nuit dans ce charmant réduit.

Illyrine ou l'Écueil de l'inexpérience, tome 3 , pages 273-274.

(If anyone would like to translate, that would be great! My French sucks for that, but even Google translate gives you the vibe).

The description starts on page 270, with the description of the house, and then the garden and the portico and the inscription "Fuyez loin d'ici , profanes , si vous n'êtes purs et nuds comme moi" ("Flee far from here, profane people, if you are not pure and naked like me"), to which Hérault - obviously - suggests them to undress. And they did. (Sadly, she doesn't describe the encounter, except that it was amazing and that he served drinks and ice-cream after).

Suzanne says that they visited the cave more than once, sometimes with another couple (so, not just sex cave but also an orgy cave). Again, she doesn't go into details, but she makes it clear what kind of activities went there.

So... that's the story of this particular 18th century spot! :)

About Hérault's Mistresses in another post, because it will be long (as one might imagine).

#fun #frev #hérault

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lecalendrierrepublicain · 1 month

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Duodi 22 Ventôse an CCXXXII

(lundi 11 mars 2024 / Monday March 11th, 2024)

Pendant la Révolution française, l'objectif était de créer une nouvelle société basée sur les idéaux de liberté, d'égalité et de fraternité. Le calendrier républicain était une manifestation de cette volonté de rupture avec l'ancien régime. Chaque jour de ce calendrier était dédié à une plante, un animal ou un outil, symbolisant ainsi les valeurs républicaines et l'importance de la nature dans la vie quotidienne.

Le mois de Ventôse dans le calendrier républicain français, correspondant généralement à la période entre le 20 février et le 20 mars, symbolisait le début de la transition vers le printemps. Associé au vent, ce mois était marqué par les premiers signes de renouveau et d'activités agricoles, préparant le terrain pour la saison à venir.

Le 22 Ventôse dans le calendrier républicain est appelé "journée du persil".

Cette journée était dédiée à la mise en avant du persil, une plante herbacée largement utilisée en cuisine pour sa saveur aromatique et ses propriétés médicinales. Pour comprendre l'importance de cette journée, il est nécessaire de connaître le contexte historique et culturel de l'époque.

Le persil, choisi pour être célébré le 22 Ventôse, était considéré comme une plante humble mais essentielle. Utilisé depuis l'Antiquité pour ses vertus médicinales et culinaires, le persil incarnait la simplicité et la vitalité. Sa présence dans de nombreux plats de la cuisine française en faisait un ingrédient familier pour le peuple.

La journée du persil était l'occasion de mettre en lumière l'importance des plantes aromatiques dans l'alimentation et la santé. Les républicains encourageaient la culture du persil dans les jardins potagers pour assurer une alimentation saine et diversifiée pour tous.

La journée du persil nous rappelle l'importance de valoriser les ressources naturelles et de promouvoir une alimentation équilibrée. Elle nous invite également à nous souvenir des idéaux de la Révolution française et de l'aspiration à une société plus juste et solidaire.

***

During the French Revolution, the objective was to create a new society based on the ideals of liberty, equality, and fraternity. The Republican calendar was a manifestation of this desire to break away from the old regime. Each day of this calendar was dedicated to a plant, an animal, or a tool, symbolizing republican values and the importance of nature in daily life.

The month of Ventôse in the French Republican calendar, generally corresponding to the period between February 20th and March 20th, symbolized the beginning of the transition to spring. Associated with the wind, this month was marked by the first signs of renewal and agricultural activities, preparing the ground for the upcoming season.

In the Republican calendar, the 22nd day of Ventôse is called "day of parsley".

This day was dedicated to highlighting parsley, an herb widely used in cooking for its aromatic flavor and medicinal properties. To understand the importance of this day, it is necessary to know the historical and cultural context of the time.

Parsley, chosen to be celebrated on the 22nd day of Ventôse, was considered a humble yet essential plant. Used since antiquity for its medicinal and culinary virtues, parsley embodied simplicity and vitality. Its presence in many French dishes made it a familiar ingredient for the people.

The parsley day was an opportunity to highlight the importance of aromatic plants in food and health. Republicans encouraged the cultivation of parsley in kitchen gardens to ensure healthy and diverse nutrition for all.

The parsley day reminds us of the importance of valuing natural resources and promoting a balanced diet. It also invites us to remember the ideals of the French Revolution and the aspiration for a fairer and more fraternal society.

#calendrier #calendrier républicain #calendrier républicain français #calendrier révolutionnaire #calendrier révolutionnaire français #france #français #révolution #ventôse #plante #french calendar #french #french revolution #french republic

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beardedmrbean · 13 days

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It was the most spectacular trial ever held in Vietnam, befitting one of the greatest bank frauds the world has ever seen.

Behind the stately yellow portico of the colonial-era courthouse in Ho Chi Minh City, a 67-year-old Vietnamese property developer was sentenced to death on Thursday for looting one of the country's largest banks over a period of 11 years.

It's a rare verdict - she is one of very few women in Vietnam to be sentenced to death for a white collar crime.

The decision is a reflection of the dizzying scale of the fraud. Truong My Lan was convicted of taking out $44bn (£35bn) in loans from the Saigon Commercial Bank. The verdict requires her to return $27bn, a sum prosecutors said may never be recovered. Some believe the death penalty is the court's way of trying to encourage her to return some of the missing billions.

The habitually secretive communist authorities were uncharacteristically forthright about this case, going into minute detail for the media. They said 2,700 people were summoned to testify, while 10 state prosecutors and around 200 lawyers were involved.

The evidence was in 104 boxes weighing a total of six tonnes. Eighty-five others were tried with Truong My Lan, who denied the charges and can appeal.

All of the defendants were found guilty. Four received life in jail. The rest were given prison terms ranging from 20 years to three years suspended. Truong My Lan's husband and niece received jail terms of nine and 17 years respectively.

"There has never been a show trial like this, I think, in the communist era," says David Brown, a retired US state department official with long experience in Vietnam. "There has certainly been nothing on this scale."

The trial was the most dramatic chapter so far in the "Blazing Furnaces" anti-corruption campaign led by the Communist Party Secretary-General, Nguyen Phu Trong.

A conservative ideologue steeped in Marxist theory, Nguyen Phu Trong believes that popular anger over untamed corruption poses an existential threat to the Communist Party's monopoly on power. He began the campaign in earnest in 2016 after out-manoeuvring the then pro-business prime minister to retain the top job in the party.

The campaign has seen two presidents and two deputy prime ministers forced to resign, and hundreds of officials disciplined or jailed. Now one of the country's richest women has joined their ranks.

Truong My Lan comes from a Sino-Vietnamese family in Ho Chi Minh City, formerly Saigon. It has long been the commercial engine of the Vietnamese economy, dating well back to its days as the anti-communist capital of South Vietnam, with a large, ethnic Chinese community.

She started as a market stall vendor, selling cosmetics with her mother, but began buying land and property after the Communist Party ushered in a period of economic reform, known as Doi Moi, in 1986. By the 1990s, she owned a large portfolio of hotels and restaurants.

Although Vietnam is best known outside the country for its fast-growing manufacturing sector, as an alternative supply chain to China, most wealthy Vietnamese made their money developing and speculating in property.

All land is officially state-owned. Getting access to it often relies on personal relationships with state officials. Corruption escalated as the economy grew, and became endemic.

By 2011, Truong My Lan was a well-known business figure in Ho Chi Minh City, and she was allowed to arrange the merger of three smaller, cash-strapped banks into a larger entity: Saigon Commercial Bank.

Vietnamese law prohibits any individual from holding more than 5% of the shares in any bank. But prosecutors say that through hundreds of shell companies and people acting as her proxies, Truong My Lan actually owned more than 90% of Saigon Commercial.

They accused her of using that power to appoint her own people as managers, and then ordering them to approve hundreds of loans to the network of shell companies she controlled.

The amounts taken out are staggering. Her loans made up 93% of all the bank's lending.

Vietnam secret document warns of 'hostile forces'

US denies Cold War with China in historic Vietnam visit

The country where Kissinger left a legacy of death and chaos

According to prosecutors, over a period of three years from February 2019, she ordered her driver to withdraw 108 trillion Vietnamese dong, more than $4bn (£2.3bn) in cash from the bank, and store it in her basement.

That much cash, even if all of it was in Vietnam's largest denomination banknotes, would weigh two tonnes.

She was also accused of bribing generously to ensure her loans were never scrutinised. A former chief inspector at the central bank was given a life sentence for accepting a $5m bribe.

The mass of officially sanctioned publicity about the case channelled public anger over corruption against Truong My Lan, whose fatigued, unmade-up appearance in court was in stark contrast to the glamorous publicity photos people had seen of her in the past.

But questions are also being asked about why she was able to keep on with the alleged fraud for so long.

"I am puzzled," says Le Hong Hiep who runs the Vietnam Studies Programme at the ISEAS - Yusof Ishak Institute in Singapore.

"Because it wasn't a secret. It was well known in the market that Truong My Lan and her Van Thinh Phat group were using SCB as their own piggy bank to fund the mass acquisition of real estate in the most prime locations.

"It was obvious that she had to get the money from somewhere. But then it is such a common practice. SCB is not the only bank that is used like this. So perhaps the government lost sight because there are so many similar cases in the market."

David Brown believes she was protected by powerful figures who have dominated business and politics in Ho Chi Minh City for decades. And he sees a bigger factor in play in the way this trial is being run: a bid to reassert the authority of the Communist Party over the free-wheeling business culture of the south.

"What Nguyen Phu Trong and his allies in the party are trying to do is to regain control of Saigon, or at least stop it from slipping away.

"Up until 2016 the party in Hanoi pretty much let this Sino-Vietnamese mafia run the place. They would make all the right noises that local communist leaders are supposed to make, but at the same time they were milking the city for a substantial cut of the money that was being made down there."

At 79 years old, party chief Nguyen Phu Trong is in shaky health, and will almost certainly have to retire at the next Communist Party Congress in 2026, when new leaders will be chosen.

He has been one of the longest-serving and most consequential secretary-generals, restoring the authority of the party's conservative wing to a level not seen since the reforms of the 1980s. He clearly does not want to risk permitting enough openness to undermine the party's hold on political power.

But he is trapped in a contradiction. Under his leadership the party has set an ambitious goal of reaching rich country status by 2045, with a technology and knowledge-based economy. This is what is driving the ever-closer partnership with the United States.

Yet faster growth in Vietnam almost inevitably means more corruption. Fight corruption too much, and you risk extinguishing a lot of economic activity. Already there are complaints that bureaucracy has slowed down, as officials shy away from decisions which might implicate them in a corruption case.

"That's the paradox," says Le Hong Hiep. "Their growth model has been reliant on corrupt practices for so long. Corruption has been the grease that that kept the machinery working. If they stop the grease, things may not work any more."

#nunyas news #gaslight gatekeep girlboss #just girlboss things

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readerinsertsaremyguiltypleasure · 2 years

Text

An Unexpected Taste of Love: Chapter One

Pairing: Darkling x Female Reader

Rating: Teen and Up

Summary: You are a servant at the Grand Palace, but when a threat to the Second Army’s General leads to the King assigning him a taster, you are forced into a new role that just may be the starting point for a whole new journey.

Author’s note: I haven’t read the books but there may be a couple of small references to them that I have picked up from other sources (other fics, the grishaverse wiki, etc). Other than that, this fic is solely based on the TV show version of the Darkling.

Warnings: Near death experience, The Darkling is his own warning

———————————————————

Masterlist | Chapter Two >

You were in the kitchen polishing the silverware when you were summoned. It was not uncommon for you to be pulled away from various tasks throughout the day, there was always something else to do in the Grand Palace - Lords or Ladies who could not wait another second for you to cater to their every need - but a direct audience with the King and Queen was a rarity.

Not rare enough, you thought to yourself as you bowed to the two royals sitting at their thrones.

‘How may I be of service, moi tsar?’ you asked, polite and professional and not at all betraying the growing sense of dread you were feeling.

‘There has been talk amongst our enemies,’ said the King in his usual pompous tone that made sure everybody else knew he was more important than them. ‘A plot that threatens our Second Army. More specifically, their General.’

You frowned, confused. What did this have to do with you?

‘Serious as such a threat is,’ you said, choosing your words carefully, ‘General Kirigan is a very capable man. I’m not sure how I can be of use.’

The Queen tsked disapprovingly but did not comment.

‘The General is our most powerful Grisha and one of our greatest assets in the war,’ said the King. You fought back your grimace at hearing him refer to a person as an “asset”, as if they were property and nothing more. ‘We can take no chances. Which is why you will be reassigned to the Little Palace as his personal taster to ensure that even a threat from within would fail.’

A cold shiver of fear washed over you at the announcement. There had been enough attempts on the King’s life throughout the years for you to know that poison was a favoured method of assassination… and a very nasty one. You didn’t want to die that way.

But you also knew you didn’t have a choice in this. To refuse the assignment would be akin to treason.

‘Of course, moi tsar,’ you said with another bow. The movement made you feel nauseous. ‘When do I start?’

‘Straight away, so you had better pack your things quickly. You are to taste every meal until this threat has been discovered. No exceptions.’

You recognised the dismissal for what it was and gave one final bow before leaving the room with as much dignity as your nerves would allow. What you were nervous about most, you weren’t sure. Not only did your new role carry the possibility of a painful death, but it would also bring you in direct contact with the most powerful man in all Ravka. Sure, the King had a higher status, but General Kirigan’s power was of his own making and could not be stripped as easily as a title. Even from just the few times you had been in the same room, you could tell that he had intelligence and patience way beyond that of the royals.

And it didn’t help that he was incredibly handsome as well.

It was sure to be an interesting assignment, even if it ended up being your last.

----

It did not take long for you to pack up your things, and soon you were being shown to a new room in a new palace. ‘The General very rarely eats with the other Grisha,’ said your escort, Mina, a fellow servant. ‘He mainly has his meals in his rooms, and they can be at irregular times.’

You nodded along, trying not to get distracted by your new surroundings. The Little Palace was not as glamourous as the Grand Palace, but new environments were few and far between for you. Serving the royal house did not leave you with much free time.

‘Here we are,’ said Mina, opening a nondescript wooden door. The room beyond was much the same as your one at the Grand Palace, and you felt silly for thinking it would be different; a modest bed, one chair, a small table, a chest of drawers, and a clock. It had no character whatsoever, but it was warm and dry, so you counted yourself lucky.

‘Dinner is in three hours,’ said Mina. ‘But it’s best to be early. Especially tonight.’

‘What’s tonight?’ you asked.

‘They are celebrating the union of two Grisha. It’s not a big party, but a party nonetheless.’

You nodded, nerves rapidly returning. You always hated serving at parties, but at least the servers blended into the background as they did their tasks. Tasters were watched.

‘Thank you for your help,’ you said, putting on a polite smile even as your stomach tied itself in knots. ‘I won’t keep you any longer. I’m sure you have lots to do.’

Mina nodded gratefully before scurrying out of the room, no doubt off to help prepare for the night’s festivities. It was only once she had left that you realised that you didn’t actually know how to get to the dining hall.

----

The dining hall, as it happened, was not hard to find. People were already starting to converge there and all you really had to do was follow the crowd. Once inside, you stood at the back of the room with the other people dressed in white and waited for the food to arrive.

While waiting, your eyes scanned the room, looking for black amongst all the reds, blues and purples. It didn’t take long to find your target. General Kirigan was already sitting at his designated seat, looking over the festivities without joining them. Even while comfortable and content, he looked imposing, leaving no doubt that he was the one in charge. He would have reminded you of the King if it hadn’t been for the fondness in his eyes as he watched his people celebrate.

There was a scurry of movement beside you, bringing you out of your thoughts with a start, and you tensed as the servers began fetching refreshments from the kitchen.

Showtime.

You closed your eyes and took a moment to will your heartrate to go down, reminding yourself that your job was a precaution and that it was unlikely that the food was actually poisoned. Once you had managed to convince yourself that you were not going to die that night, you opened your eyes and made your way to the General’s table, grabbing a spare stool as you went.

‘General,’ you bowed before placing the stool opposite him and sitting down. He raised a questioning eyebrow at you, but a second later, the food arrived and he seemed to realise why you were there.

‘I did try and tell the King that this was unnecessary,’ he sighed, irritated.

You tried your best to ignore the looks you were getting from those seated around you and kept your focus on the General. ‘The King is a hard man to sway,’ you said, making sure to keep your expression neutral.

The General made a noise of annoyed agreement before picking up his fork. ‘Well, I am quite capable of eating my own food, so you are free to leave. I will tell the King that you are doing your duty.’

‘With all due respect, General,’ you said, making him pause. He raised his eyebrow at you again, but you continued anyway. ‘If you are poisoned, the King will have my head. If he even found out that I had not been doing as he ordered, I would most likely be locked up for treason. I’d rather not take that chance.’

For a few agonising seconds, General Kirigan said nothing, and you fisted the fabric of your dress at your lap, hating that your fate was in this man’s hands. You couldn’t force him to let you be his taster, and if he refused, it was only a matter of time before the King found out.

Eventually, however, he held his fork out to you, a silent invitation for you to proceed. You let out a breath of relief and took the utensil, your fingers accidentally brushing his as you did so. You quickly looked down at the food in front of you, hiding your blush.

Saints, you were already messing this up.

More people were watching you now and you tried not squirm under their gaze as you stabbed at a random vegetable. The food was better than what you knew was usually served – most likely due to the celebratory nature of the event – and you did your best not to seem like you were savouring the crisp taste.

Remembering that it could very well be poisoned helped with that.

The minute long wait to see if you’d drop dead seemed to take hours, and by the end of it, you were so fidgety, you were sure the whole room was judging you.

When you were sure that the food was safe, you put the fork down and pushed the one that had been allocated to you towards the General, seeing as he had given you his. ‘Should be safe,’ you said, finally meeting his gaze. He was watching you with an amused smirk. You didn’t know if that was good or bad, but it did remind you of just how attractive the man in front of you was, and you looked away again, this time blushing for a completely different reason. Thankfully, you only had one more thing to do before you could escape until the next course.

You reached for the goblet next to the General’s plate to test the wine that had just been poured, but suddenly a hand was around your wrist, stopping you. Your eyes followed the black sleeve up to meet the General’s gaze. He no longer looked amused.

‘The wine was opened at the table,’ he reminded you, stern but not angry like you had expected him to be. ‘It is no more poison than any other wine.’

If people weren’t judging you before, they certainly were now.

‘But what of the goblet?’ you asked, forcing yourself to hold the General’s stare.

His eyes bored into yours for a few moments, assessing you, before he looked to his goblet and then back to you. His lips twitched as he released your wrist and sat back in his seat. It almost looked like he was impressed.

You let out the breath you had been holding and finally allowed yourself to break eye contact. You couldn’t believe that you had just stared down the Darkling and won, even if it was over something as small as a sip of wine.

The wine, naturally, was not poisoned, but you didn’t allow that to sway your opinion that you had been right to test it. Thankfully, the General did not berate you for any “unnecessary” actions; he simply dismissed you so he could carry on with his meal in peace.

You happily left him to it, returning to your place at the back of the room and hoping it would be a while until the next course. Every now and then, the General would glance over to where you were standing, and if it wasn’t for the fact that you were just a servant, you would have said that he looked intrigued by you.

But you were just a servant, and you were hardly interesting enough to garner any attention from noblemen or generals

No, you doubted you would make much of an impression on anyone at all.

#darkling x reader #the darkling x reader #the darkling #darkling x female reader #general kirigan x reader #general kirigan #aleksander morozova x reader #I still haven't quite finished #but I've made a lot of progress the last few days #and it's given me the boost of overconfidence I needed to start posting

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novaqueenofmadness · 1 year

Text

We just got a letter, wonder who it’s from ♪

summary: A letter for the Darkling is hand delivered to him and it comes with a guest. nice

warnings: i was sleep deprived, mentioned character death, he’s a bit sad

a/n: i’m sleepy, also supposedly “dushen’ka” means darling. if it doesn’t and i’ve been duped pls lmk

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･' ★'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

The Darkling didn’t always get much free time to walk the halls in Little Palace and just admire the walls he’d helped build and decorate. Or well to be honest he didn’t let himself get that free time, not as of recently at least. He’d been making sure to drown himself in work, plans, schemes, reports, kvas, training regiments. The likes you know. Currently, he’d wandered into the training grounds, not there to judge or assess the Grisha training, simply looking nowhere in particular, his thoughts clouding his mind but not allowing himself to think about one thing for too long before thinking of something else. Lost in his head, and with the background noise of the Grisha training,The Darkling didn’t notice Fedyor approach him.

“Moi Soverenyi, you’ve a guest that says they need to meet with you urgently.” He seemed a bit jumpy, distracted, almost lost in thought himself.

Not wanting his few moments of welcomed relaxation to be interrupted, The Darkling paid Fedyor’s seemingly unsettled mien no mind.

“I’ve no meetings scheduled for today, and have no desire for any, much less spontaneous ones.” With the matter over and done with, The Darkling was already walking away, ready to continue his walk to nowhere.

Quickly following and attempting to keep up with his General’s long but now seemingly quick strides Fedyor caught up and quickly but firmly advised, “General, forgive me if I'm overstepping, but I truly believe you should see to this guest.” Why, he was making this supposedly urgent meeting seem…urgent.

Sighing, his first peaceful walk in months completely ruined and a mysterious guest he now may have to deal with at hand, The Darkling stopped and promptly assessed Fedyor’s distracted self just barely lifting a brow at him.

“Who is it?”

“Wh- I’m not sure General”

“You’re not sure?” Chin slightly dipping down and head tilting the smallest degree now that the irritation The Darkling had been beginning to feel was being accompanied by some confusion.

“I- Well...” quickly composing himself, clearing his throat and straightening out, Fedyor continued,” a person showed up at the front gates and asked the oprichnik stationed there to let them in, that they just had to see you-“

“and they just let them through?”

“They’d begun making a commotion, Ivan who was passing by intervened, they-“ as if just remembering, Fedyor began fumbling with the inside pocket on his kefta, pulling a sealed letter from within, ” gave him this letter, insisting on meeting with you General.” His volume getting softer while handing said envelope to the Darkling.

Looking at the letter the seal stamped on the flap wasn’t anything remarkable or of any prominence , just a ring with no crest. Turning the letter over however, one could see a word written on it.

Dushen’ka

The Darkling felt his heart skip a couple beats, the letter in his hand barely visibly shaking. “Did they say anything more? Where’d the letter come from who gave it to them? Anything?”

He felt breathless. He’d spent days, weeks, months just trying to continue living, continue moving forwards. He couldn’t lose himself, he’d lost you, but not the goal the two of you had been working for. A future for Grisha, no longer with you, but one he would make sure remembered you. You’d been attached to Aleksander’s side since he became General Kirigan for King Pyotr, known him for longer. No, you weren’t there for the beginning of the Fold, that was Luda, you came much later when he was just some nobleman, laying low waiting for his last death to become old news. You were Grisha, a Durast with a good understanding of your Small Science, but not a very good one on private property. Aleksander had found you sneaking about his estate looking for things to steal and resell in order to make money. He’d caught you red handed. The rest was history. You’d known each other since, through many names, and outliving many kings. Aleksander, enjoying your company, made sure you had amplifiers, knowledge and training that would ensure you continued to exist with him. You’d fallen in love with him, maybe two kings before the current one. Aleksander can’t recall when he fell for you but he knows it was long before you had. And just like that…he lost you.

To drüskelle, too close to the fold. You were unaccompanied, on a secret mission to retrieve information from a spy that was to meet you in Ulensk, a settlement relatively close to the Fjerda border. But they were followed and the two of you alone weren’t enough to fight them. Instead of taking you to the Ice Court, and dragging you all the way to Fjerda they opted to incapacitate you and throw you into the edge of the Fold, let you take your chances with the Volcra. You’d been murdered, Aleksander was devastatingly aware of it. It had been months since then, nearly a year now, the Darkling just managing keeping himself together.

This letter, the simple endearment written on the face of it made him want to drop on his knees and cry his dark little shrivelled up heart out. It was your writing, the one you’d write documents alongside him with, the one on your endless lists of all sorts of things, the one on the love letters you’d leave for him to find. Your sharp d rounded u, squiggly s, cursive h connected to your e and n, your sharp k and rounded a with the small spacing between the en and ‘ ka that made the space seem slightly off but just right, the whole word just barely slanted. He hadn’t couldn’t look at a piece of your writing without wanting to lay in your room covered with a mountain of all your clothes and just cry. Everything that was yours rested behind the locked doors of the room you’d only use for hobbies as you’d mostly just be in Aleksander’s own. The only thing of yours not behind those doors was the soft satin robe you’d taken off that morning and absentmindedly rested on the side of a bookcase in his room. He couldn’t bear to move it. It's the one you’d wear every night and hated when he moved it around because then you’d have to take extra time finding it before bed.

Swallowing heavily, feeling as if a snake had contracted itself around his throat, the Darkling blinked rapidly bringing himself out of his rushed thoughts. He hadn’t heard what Fedyor had answered but it didn’t matter he’d get the answers himself.

“Where’s the guest?”

“Ah, right, yes, in the war room. Ivan is standing guard right outside the door.” Fedyor nearly stumbled with his words. He’d known you, was good friends with you, helped you make your nonsensical lists, and time and time again come across your love letters to the Darkling which he’d left alone because everyone knew you’d left them at random places for the Darkling to find himself. He knew it was your handwriting when he saw it.

“Very well, I’ll see to the guest.” Just barely choking his words out, the Darkling set off to the war room, Fedyor quiet but almost just as anxious following. “Did they say anything else?”

“No, just came in and sat down once Ivan let them through, I was passing by when they’d sat down and Ivan was closing the door asking me to get you moi soverenyi” His tone was soft and a little out of breath, trying to catch up with his General. The two quickly made it to the door of the war room where one confused looking Ivan stood. He was staring at the ground, his hands in front of him and his face twisted in concentration.

“Ivan”

Jumping, hands now to his side and looking up, Ivan greeted the General. “Moi soverenyi”

“The guest waiting inside hasn’t said anything else?” The Darkling was mostly asking as a formality and to buy time preparing himself before going in, who knows what this person could tell him.

“No sir, they’ve just been waiting, quietly…very quietly. Haven’t said anything else and don’t really answer any other questions I’ve asked” Ivan looked to concentrate again for a second on nothing but then shook his head and looked back at the General.

“Anything else before I begin my meeting?” The Darkling had a feeling Ivan was thinking much about something besides the handwriting on the letter and was attempting to figure something out.

Taking a moment to consider it Ivan took a small breath in, “they’re very quiet…too quiet.I- well I can’t seem to feel them sir.” Yes it sounded silly but Ivan had been trying to feel them out in case they ran or were snooping around the room. However he just felt nothing, like they weren’t even there. Ivan had to look into the room multiple times to make sure they were still sitting in the same chair they’d been on since they came in.

Thinking for an explanation at this moment was the last thing on the Darkling’s mind, so he settled for the simple excuse, “you’re probably just tired Ivan, you had a mission last night and haven’t properly rested since you came back.” Dismissively pretty unfocused on his response. It was a plausible explanation that the three men were willing to accept. With a nod, Ivan opened the door for the General and closed it behind him after he entered.

Sitting on a chair at the end of the room by his desk that was covered with maps and documents was his guest. A figure wrapped in a cloak that seemed to swallow them whole. Their hands tucked on their lap covered by said cloak, their face also hidden beneath the shadows of it. They’d barely turned from their leant forward position, perhaps looking at one of the maps before them.

“Who gave you this letter?” Our General, always straight to the point when it matters.

The figure’s shoulder shook a bit, it looked like they chuckled but no sound was made besides a small exhale. “Have you read it?” Their voice quiet but raspy seemed to echo in the quiet room. There was a faint familiar something about the voice but the General couldn’t put his finger on it, and he had more pressing things to focus on.

“No, I have not” the Darkling was making his way towards the figure in quick paces, “I want to know how it came to be in your possession” he was feeling frustrated, upset, sad, devastated.

Had you known you were going to die on that mission and wrote to him before you’d gone and left a letter for someone to give him? Was the letter even yours and he was just deluding himself into believing the handwriting was yours? Who was this person? Did they know you? Did they help murder you and got this letter off your body before it was thrown into the Fold? Aleksander, as strong willed and patient as he is, was at his wits’ end right now. Anything that had to do with you these last couple of months would send him off. Many others could attest to that.

Not giving his guest a second to answer Aleksander continued to get closer and increasingly more frustrated, “Did they give it to you? Did you know them? How long have you had this with you?” Finally in front of the hooded figure Aleksander grabbed them by their upper arms and harshly shook them “Who are you?” his voice choked and his eyes misty.

The hood fell and again, the Darkling felt like he could stop breathing, drop to his knees and just weep. “Have you read my letter dushen’ka?” Your voice was raspy but it was soft and to Aleksander it sounded like the sweetest melody he’d heard in all his life. A songbird in the sunrise of a rainy morning, gently waking up those around it with a soft tune that felt like honey to your ears.

“Milaya moya” Now very much choked up, and very much falling to his knees Aleksander felt he wouldn’t ever be able to let go of your cold cold hands.

// bonne nuit

#the darkling #aleksander morovoza #general kirigan #shadow and bone #the darkling x reader #aleksander x reader #aleksander morozova #black heretic #ben barnes #the darkling x y/n #the darkling x you #the black heretic

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