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saradika · 11 months

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— the knight and her lady

knight!fennec shand x princess!reader

rated E - 3.7k

prompts - “can I kiss you?” & fairytale au

tags: medieval/fairytale au, soft sapphic romance, use of weapons in a competition, power dynamic (princess & knight), forbidden love, soft!dom Fen & inexperienced reader, kissing, fingering, implied squirting, oral sex

written for @flightlessangelwings’s Pride Challenge!

You shouldn’t know how to take her apart. It’s not proper, not at your station. If anyone found out, rumors would spread like wildfire. You’d surely be sent home - separated from her.

But your fingers move easily - plucking at buckles and straps. Piece by piece, as fluidly as she had put you together this morning.

(Or - You steal away to your knight, to celebrate a spectacularly-won archery tournament.)

You supposed you should be paying more attention to your host - but you can’t tear your eyes away from the knight in front of you.

The sun glinting off her forge-blackened armor, her movements still fluid even with the extra weight of the steel. Joining the long row of competitions, an ornate longbow slung across her back.

It’s been a long day. A good day - the tournament bringing in visitors for miles. Filling the wooden seats and air with laughter and music. With roasting meat and summery, fruity mead.

But still, you watch.

Fingers clasped, pressed on a knee that bounces with anticipation.

You don’t think he minds. The singularity of your attention, content to sit in near-silence next to you. A month ago you would’ve been ashamed at yourself - ignoring the King like this - but at the moment, you can’t bring yourself to care.

If he had minded, you think that he wouldn’t have taken the flower you had clutched so tightly to your chest. Plucked from the woven crown of greenery and flora around your head, handmade for today.

Telling you he’d “get this where it needed to go” in those few moments before the first event began.

It’s the last event of the afternoon, now - the morning filled with rounds of jousting, the clash of hand-to-hand combat.

You had worried she’d entered both - had felt the butterflies in your stomach when the quiet, silver knight she was seen with so often with took to the field.

But he had been alone. And had been victorious, in the end. A flurry of black slashes with his sword had seen to that.

Part of you wondered if she had attended, if that still would have been true.

The shrill sound of a whistle cuts through the air, as the participants line up. The wave of a green and gold banner as the first arrows fly.

There's the loosening of strings - arrowing flying in arcs towards the target mounds, with their painted red centers. Several falling short, the feathers quivering in the wind, most piercing through cloth and earth within the neat rings.

Scores called out as competitors are eliminated, the judges marking notes down on their scrolls. Those removed make their way to the border, to call out and heckle their friends with the rest of the crowd.

Ser Shand remains for this round, and then the next.

You watch with bated breath as her fingers crook around the string as each round passes. Thinking about last night and the ones before.

A slow, building boldness of wandering mouth and fingers. Stroking over silk and steel, soft sounds swallowed by the night.

Each release sends an arrow flying neatly down the field, landing in the red middle circle again and again. Again and again, until there were only two competitors left on the field.

The suspense was palpable, that teasing chatter dwindling down to nothing. The fabled ‘assassin-turned-knight’ competing with the up-and-coming Lord Calican - this would-be duel that would be spoken about for weeks after.

You had utmost faith in your knight, but you couldn't help the worry as the wind rustled your skirts, tugged at your crown of flowers. Fingers reaching up to pull it down a little tighter, just as the flag waves again.

The crowd holds their breath.

They fire at the same time.

There's an uproar, as the arrows hit. The judges racing to look, Lord Calican turning on Ser Shand. A pointing finger at the mounds, down at her feet. Even from here you can see the arch of her brow, rising in disbelief.

You don't even notice the way your hand drifted down, curling in the soft green velvet of the King's sleeve. Only when his gloved hand comes down to pat against yours, do you realize - letting go quickly and sheepishly.

The small smile he sends your way is kind. As is his answer, as he replies to the advisor next to him - asking if he should step in.

"My knight is not so easily bested." The King boasts, with a dismissive wave of his hand, "Here, just watch."

You can just make out the argument. It's clear that her arrow flew straight and true, hitting dead center. His off, just a hair lower on his own target.

Rounding on her to claim that she had taken a step closer while firing - had been out of bounds.

There's a knowing and condescending smile, as he turns red in the face with argumentative anger. Leaving him mid-rant to move a handful of meters back. Close to the edge of the field, before she stops.

Turning - taking barely a second to fit an arrow, aim, and fire.

It flies down the field in silence.

Striking where her first had landed, splintering it down the middle.

The crowd explodes. Shouting and cheering as they all decide the winner on their own. Your voice joins theirs as you find yourself leaping to your feet, leaning against the tall rail in front of you.

Excitement and joy and something else, something honey-sweet swirls in your stomach. Your heart thudding in your chest as you see her turn - finding your eyes in the crowd.

The small smile and wink sent your way.

Striking her target, one last time.

You sneak into the tents, after.

Scattered across the open field, gathered around small campfires. It would be easier to travel back the mile or so into the city, but it was a long-held tradition to stay on the grounds the night before a tournament.

Easier to group up, to celebrate. Less mess to clean when playful song and teasing turned into drunken brawls between sore-losing, mead-filled competitors.

Lifting the crimson flap of the tent emblazoned with her symbol. Large for its size - a nest of pillows and a bedroll tucked off to the side, upon the thick carpet of grass. A wide bench on the far wall, one edge littered with fletching supplies. Two chairs and a sturdy table standing on a coarsely-woven rug.

She's there - still clad in that dark armor. Plucking the archery gloves from her fingers in a way that has your eyes dropping down to her hands again. Watching as they appear from behind the leather, as you hover just inside.

Lingering, until her eyes are lifting. A smile coming then, a flash of pretty teeth between the curve of her lips.

You go to her, letting the flap fall behind you. The tent well-light in the afternoon sun, filtering in pretty shades of red and gold.

“You were incredible.” You tell her, almost shyly. The way you had been watching had felt almost vouyeristic, but maybe that was just the winding of your thoughts, the slow sweep of your eyes.

“I could not lose, with your favor.” Fennec’s fingers work at her armor. Loosening her chestplate enough to dip inside, draw out the rose from where it nestled between her breasts.

Plucked so carefully from your woven crown, the color tipping from pink towards purple. It spins between her fingertips, the hidden meaning not at all lost on her.

“You know…” Her head tilts, then - with the sly curl of a smile, “In some tournaments, the victor is awarded a prize.”

It still stuns you, even though she gives them to you freely.

But you’re familiar with the customs. A favor bestowed, a bag of coin awarded.

“What would you ask for?” You question with a little furrow of your brow - taking those few steps, until you’re reaching the edge of the rug.

“Perhaps a kiss from a fair maiden?” She taps her chin thoughtfully, though her eyes never leave your face. Asking it like a question, though you’re sure she’s been planning this.

Sending up a flutter in your stomach, your heart kicking up a beat.

“Is that all you desire?” You own question comes out breathless, as she steps closer.

Her smile is enigmatic - her rose set down carefully on the table. Your tongue peeking out to wet your lips, eyes dropping to the pretty curve of hers.

Your eyes start to drift shut, the anticipation curling sweetly in your stomach.

But it doesn’t come - the press of her lips. The swipe of a tongue. Instead, there’s the pressure of her fingers ghosting against your hips, her voice in your ear.

“Mm. I didn’t say where, sweetness.”

Her voice is low, throaty. It sends a little shiver up your spine, as her innuendo sinks in. It had your eyes opening, surprise lingering in the pretty part of your lips.

“Your face,” She laughs, but not unkindly. “You are too sweet, little bird.”

Her touch lifts then, fingers catching your chin and tilting it towards her face.

Lips pressing against your cheek, feather-light. Then your jaw, the soft spot under your ear as you melt against her.

“Can I kiss you, princess?” She husks, “Would you let me take what is mine?”

In your head, you answer. An eager affirmative that comes out as a soft whine, instead. Another low, rasping laugh before her mouth is pressing to yours, finally giving you what you need.

Your fingers clench around steel, the heavy leather of her belt. She swallows your sigh, a soft curl of her lips in a hidden smile before she’s tasting you, licking into your mouth.

There had been shock, before - you won’t deny that. Heat rising to your cheeks at her words, so very public.

She loved your sweetness, the arch of your brows, the little intake of air. So very different than the rough and tumble of the other knights and soldiers.

But it didn’t mean you didn’t know. That you didn’t want.

A little fire that you’ve kindled in your belly, all day. The spark starting as she snuck up from the field to find you that morning - fingers brushing over your waist, the curves of your breasts as she helped you lace up the back of your dress.

“Such a pretty thing,” She had cooed, smoothing down the layers of fabric, the spray of stars embroidered across your skirts.

You had thought she meant the dress - until you caught her gaze in the mirror you were facing.

It was a pretty sight - her arms around you. You were sure your thoughts had reflected hers, in that moment.

How easy it would be to slip a hand beneath your skirts - to loosen the laces of your chemise. A thrill has thrummed in your veins, until a knock had sounded at the heavy wooden door.

Mourning the proximity, as she had stepped away.

It makes you want to take her little tease, twist it into something tangible. Pulling back from the warm press of her mouth to murmur a question against her neck.

“Can I kiss you, too?” Your lips brush her neck, that sliver of skin above the cold iron of her gorget.

You can feel the hum of her laugh, as her chin tips up to give you more room, “I’d say you are, princess.”

The way she sighs the title makes you not despise it. No simpering in her tone, nothing to remind you of your duties and promises that you want nothing more than to break.

It has your mouth moving. Pressing kisses to her armor, leaving the ghost of your breath against the cold, dark iron.

A hitch in her breath as you begin to lower yourself, reaching the curve were the metal is shaped at her chest. Gathering your skirts in one hand as you reach the bottom of her cuirass.

Her fingers are twisted in the fabric at your shoulders - eyes dark when you glance up. Unable to resist the pull of you on your knees for her, out in this field, stolen away in her tent.

A second, as she blinks - coming back to herself.

“Your dress, little bird-” She protests, knowing how much you had been looking forward to wearing it.

It feels like nothing now. Not even wrinkles or the threat of dirt could sway you.

Your face tips up as the want reflects in your own eyes, “Please. I want to. I’ve thought about it, I-”

You’ve dreamed about it. Tasting her more than just the slip of your fingers against your tongue. Not doing so before because she’s never asked, and you’ve been too shy to.

Wondering if it would be something she’d want - not knowing how to navigate this path with someone who’s bound to you in such a way that made desire and duty so confusing.

Your words are enough. A sharp exhale of breath as she takes a step backwards, the spread of her thighs as she lowers herself to that wooden bench.

It takes no time for you to fit between them. A small glance over your shoulder to make sure the tent flap is closed, before your fingers are slipping beneath her armor.

“I’ll keep watch, sweetness.” She husks, leaning back to let you work, “Don’t you worry.”

You shouldn’t know how to take her apart. It’s not proper, not at your station. If anyone found out, rumors would spread like wildfire. You’d surely be sent home - separated from her.

But your fingers move easily - plucking at buckles and straps. Piece by piece, as fluidly as she had put you together this morning.

Revealing the dyed linen of her surcoat - black and edged with red embroidery. Her cuirass set gently against the edge of the bench as her hips raise enough that you can tug down her trousers, letting them pool around her ankles.

She’s unashamed, thighs parted for you. Hands brace on the bench - watching you as your eyes drift down to where only your fingers have been, in the dark.

Thrilled at the way she glistens, that you did that yourself. Nerves and desire twisting and fluttering in your stomach like the fletching on the arrows, before.

Trying to thinking about when she’s kissed you, like this. How every touch and brush of her tongue brought pleasure you had never known. Thinking that you could do that, that you wanted to - for her.

She murmurs your name as you move. A soft kiss to her center, letting your tongue peek between your lips. Dragging against her slit, tasting the sweet tang of her cunt, unable to help groaning into her as your hand comes to wrap around her calf.

Getting more bold, with each of her shaky breaths. Listening and learning each little sound, determined to do well for her.

Finding the hard, sensitive bud beneath the dark curls - feeling the pinch of her fingers against your shoulder when your tongue flattens against it.

An eager shift forward, pressing yourself further against her. Eyes closing when a moan buzzes in her throat, hands brushing your cheeks, the hinge of your jaw. Closing around the crown, bruising the petals with the force of her fingers.

“Stars, sweet girl,” She sighs, a gentle buck of her hips as she urges you, “Look at you, on your knees. You look so pretty, you know that?”

It shoots through you, as you clench around nothing. Unable to help squirming as your fingers trace along her thigh, up and then up.

A look up when she’s silent, only to see the clench of her jaw as she holds her sounds back. Trying to keep quiet, in this open field.

Then you hear it, muffled behind a hand, as your finger sink in. This part you know - eyes closing again as your fingers crook and curl.

Her thighs closing sharply around your shoulders when your lips return to her, a soft suck against her clit.

Tightening around you as her hips start to move, as she tugs you against her. Unable to help the panting, groaning praise.

“Right there, gods - just like that. Yes, my love, yes-”

Your eyes open just in time to watch her fall apart. Tongue pressed against the pulse of her clit as she grips your fingers, coating them with her release.

A moan pulled from her throat, high before she catches it. Her chest heaving as your fingers ease from her when she relaxes, slipping into your mouth before your tongue dips inside her.

Tasting the salty musk of your triumph, thinking you understand in this moment the way she enjoys having you beneath her.

Knowing that you’ll never want to stop, now that you’ve had a taste.

Blinking up at her as she smiles, a small shake of her head.

“Just look at you, pretty girl.”

Her thumb swipes over the slick that’s smeared across your lips, your chin. Pressing it against your bottom lip until they part - cleaning her from her fingers.

Disheveled and eyes blown wide with lust, tasting like her as she stands - swiftly tugging up her trousers before her hand is tucking under your elbow.

Pulling you to your feet as you frown, before she’s whisking you over to her bedroll. Kissing you, her tongue delving into your mouth as she lowers you down onto the pile of pillows.

“Can’t wait to touch you, sweetness.” Her voice is syrupy smooth, low in your ear, “You get so wet from me looking just at you. I bet you are soaked from eating my cunt.”

It makes you tremble, a heat rising in your cheeks at her crude words. A little laugh as she does just like you had dreamed about before.

A hand tucks behind your head as she kisses you. Stroking your tongue as her fingers work at your bodice. Breaking the kiss, only to wrap her lips around a tight nipple, flicking her tongue against it.

Your moan is loud, wanton. Unable to hold yourself back, as she had. She shoot you a look of warning, shushes you before kissing across your chest.

Grateful for her touches, as your desire thuds between your thighs. Completely eclipsing that feeling from before, making it feel no more than a flutter.

Unable to compare to the way you need her, now.

There’s a sweet satisfaction that slices through you, when she dips beneath your smallclothes. The moan into your shoulder as she hovers over you, when she realizes just how right she was.

How the soft cotton is soaked through. How her fingers meet slick skin beneath, no resistance as she immediately sinks two fingers inside.

You gasp at the stretch, teeth biting down on a whine. Unable to see anything other than the bare curves of your breaths, your skirts piled high.

But she leans down to look, a soft purr to her voice, “Oh princess. My needy little thing.”

Telling you how pretty you look with her fingers in you, as her thumb presses against your clit. Your eyes fixed on the teeth that sink into her lip, as she tugs down the cotton to bare you fully.

Watching the shine of her fingers as they pump into you. You’d be embarrassed at how wet you are, how swiftly she builds you up and up, if you hadn’t been waiting for her touch for so long.

A soft cry when her mouth returns to your breasts, the ache as she makes a mark that will be hidden by your bodice. Something just for her - later, before she’s tasting herself on your tongue again.

Swallowing your gasps as you squirm, her fingers pounding and crooking against a place that steals your breath. Pinning you down with a thigh that straddles yours.

Her own soft growls as she sees you start to come undone - the glazed look in your eyes. Remembering how sweet and eager you were for her - wanting to return that feeling a million times over.

“Want to make you come, princess.” Her mouth is against your ear, as your hands fist in her surcoat, “Let me feel you, sweet thing.”

Fennec’s elbow presses into the bedroll as she leans over you. Her fingers keeping their pace as your vision grows hazy. Your senses filled with her and only her, as she presses kiss after kiss to your trembling lips.

Humming low in her throat as your fingers pinch harder into the cloth. A tiny, wrung-out gasp of her name, as something builds and builds - pushing you past a point you didn’t know you had.

And then, it snaps. Pleasure and relief pounds in your veins, the thud of your heart drowning out the sounds of your cries as she catches them with her mouth.

Her fingers unrelenting, dripping with you as she fucks you through the tight pulses of pleasure. Her palm slapping against slick skin as she draws it out, until your fingers untwine. Reaching down to catch her hand, unable to take it any longer.

Thoroughly worn out, overcome with your pleasure. Unable to do more than press a hand against your face as she leans over to look at the mess you made.

Another soft groan at her cat-like smile - fingers tracing against your damp thighs as she revels in this new discovery.

“Gods. I can’t wait to watch you do that again tonight.”

Kissing away your embarrassment, with soft encouragement peppered between each press of her lips. How it slowly fades as she wraps herself up with you, curled together on her bedroll.

Grateful for the way she had pulled your skirts up and out of the way - always looking out for you. Watching over you as you doze, the red and gold speckles of sunlight warm against your face.

It’s easy to forget then, about your worries. Wondering how this story between you would end. How this love that had blossomed between you could ever fully flourish in the sun.

Instead, it’s just a glorious day. An evening to bask in, and celebrate.

Staying sleepy and content until her name is called, and she’s throwing you a look - quickly helping you lace your bodice up. Smoothing down her own clothes while she steps outside.

Coming back with her arms laden with gifts - a sack of gold, a basket of fresh fruit. A heavy bottle of spotchka, tucked under her arm.

“My winnings,” She smiles, with a happy lilt to her voice, “And here I thought I’d already had them.”

You know that right now, your smile mirrors hers.

As she leans down to kiss you, once again.

purple roses can symbolize love at first sight! it can also mean adoration and fascination with someone (& used the term ser in a very ‘ser brienne of tarth’ sort of way)

and lastly - thank you Jey, for hosting this challenge! Such an awesome idea, I was excited for the chance to contribute a fic. 💖

#fawpride2023 #fennec shand x reader #fennec shand x you #fennec shand x f!reader #fennec shand

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thesilicontribesman · 2 years

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Prehistoric Recreated Roundhouse, Flag Fen Archaeology Park, Peterborough

#ice age #stone age #bronze age #copper age #iron age #neolithic #mesolithic #calcholithic #paleolithic #prehistoric #prehistory #megalithic #roundhouse #enclosure #relic #settlement #flag fen #peterborough

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littlemoosephotography · 4 months

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Now my favourite overall photo from Flag Fen is very silly and taken after hours so I would rather ask permission before posting, however that means I get to share my other favourite picture from the show! Guy loves his water (Flag Fen 2023)

#photography #viking reenactment #my photos #photographers on tumblr #flag fen #flag fen 2023

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o-craven-canto · 2 months

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Evolution Langdon Smith (1858-1908)

When you were a tadpole and I was a fish In the Paleozoic time, And side by side on the ebbing tide We sprawled through the ooze and slime, Or skittered with many a caudal flip Through the depths of the Cambrian fen, My heart was rife with the joy of life, For I loved you even then. Mindless we lived and mindless we loved And mindless at last we died; And deep in the rift of the Caradoc drift We slumbered side by side. The world turned on in the lathe of time, The hot lands heaved amain, Till we caught our breath from the womb of death And crept into life again. We were amphibians, scaled and tailed, And drab as a dead man's hand; We coiled at ease 'neath the dripping trees Or trailed through the mud and sand. Croaking and blind, with our three-clawed feet Writing a language dumb, With never a spark in the empty dark To hint at a life to come. Yet happy we lived and happy we loved, And happy we died once more; Our forms were rolled in the clinging mold Of a Neocomian shore. The eons came and the eons fled And the sleep that wrapped us fast Was riven away in a newer day And the night of death was passed. Then light and swift through the jungle trees We swung in our airy flights, Or breathed in the balms of the fronded palms In the hush of the moonless nights; And oh! what beautiful years were there When our hearts clung each to each; When life was filled and our senses thrilled In the first faint dawn of speech. Thus life by life and love by love We passed through the cycles strange, And breath by breath and death by death We followed the chain of change. Till there came a time in the law of life When over the nursing sod The shadows broke and the soul awoke In a strange, dim dream of God. I was thewed like an Auroch bull And tusked like the great cave bear; And you, my sweet, from head to feet Were gowned in your glorious hair. Deep in the gloom of a fireless cave, When the night fell o'er the plain And the moon hung red o'er the river bed We mumbled the bones of the slain. I flaked a flint to a cutting edge And shaped it with brutish craft; I broke a shank from the woodland lank And fitted it, head and haft; Than I hid me close to the reedy tarn, Where the mammoth came to drink; Through the brawn and bone I drove the stone And slew him upon the brink. Loud I howled through the moonlit wastes, Loud answered our kith and kin; From west to east to the crimson feast The clan came tramping in. O'er joint and gristle and padded hoof We fought and clawed and tore, And cheek by jowl with many a growl We talked the marvel o'er. I carved that fight on a reindeer bone With rude and hairy hand; I pictured his fall on the cavern wall That men might understand. For we lived by blood and the right of might Ere human laws were drawn, And the age of sin did not begin Til our brutal tusks were gone. And that was a million years ago In a time that no man knows; Yet here tonight in the mellow light We sit at Delmonico's. Your eyes are deep as the Devon springs, Your hair is dark as jet, Your years are few, your life is new, Your soul untried, and yet -- Our trail is on the Kimmeridge clay And the scarp of the Purbeck flags; We have left our bones in the Bagshot stones And deep in the Coralline crags; Our love is old, our lives are old, And death shall come amain; Should it come today, what man may say We shall not live again? God wrought our souls from the Tremadoc beds And furnish’d them wings to fly; He sowed our spawn in the world's dim dawn, And I know that it shall not die, Though cities have sprung above the graves Where the crook-bone men made war And the ox-wain creaks o'er the buried caves Where the mummied mammoths are. Then as we linger at luncheon here O'er many a dainty dish, Let us drink anew to the time when you Were a tadpole and I was a fish.

#poetry #quotes #evolution #prehistory #stuff I like

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vague-humanoid · 9 months

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Since the Smithsonian Asian Pacific American Center’s abrupt cancellation of the annual Asian American Literature Festival last month, organizers and community supporters have sought to hold APAC and the Smithsonian at large accountable for its unilateral decision to cancel the festival, which caused tens of thousands of dollars in financial losses for partner organizations and invitees.

Beyond monetary loss, Asian-American writers involved in this year’s festival programming are also dealing with the emotional toll the situation has wrought. Some organizers have voiced suspicion that specific portions of this year’s programming—most notably a Trans and Nonbinary Reading Room—could be part of why the festival was canceled.

On July 5, an email from APAC’s Acting Director Yao-Fen You notified organizers that the festival would no longer continue due to “unforeseen circumstances.” According to The Washington Post, You sent the email after staffers submitted a report flagging “potentially sensitive” issues in the festival’s programming. The report, which Festival Director Lawrence-Minh Bùi Davis submitted at You’s request, cited a handful of events, including the Trans and Nonbinary Reading Room. That event was described as “potentially the most sensitive of the festival’s offerings” due to the growing book bans targeting transgender and nonbinary authors. You sent out the email formally canceling the festival hours after Davis submitted the report.

Ching-In Chen, the Trans and Nonbinary Reading Room’s curator, was among the curators who learned about the cancellation from other community partners after the email’s distribution, which did not reach Chen directly.

“I think everyone was confused,” said Chen. “I was upset because I’d spent a lot of time making the [reading] list, talking to the bookstore, talking to River [Ying Dandelion], talking to everyone else who was going to be at the festival.” Chen lost more than $2,000 in curation fees and travel and accommodation expenses covered by APAC as a result of the festival’s cancellation. Another $500 that was committed to purchasing works from the trans and nonbinary writers featured in the reading room was lost too.

Transgender poet Yanyi, a regular festival contributor and a curator for this year’s programming, said the cancellation felt “out of the blue” since he was still in regular contact with other coordinators and APAC staff as of late June. Like other attendees, Yanyi planned his August schedule around the AALF with a separate trip to connect with his publishing team in New York. He lost his honorarium for curating the event, but more importantly, Yanyi said, he lost a chance to commune with his literary peers.

“[During the pandemic] I did writing sessions for Asian diaspora writers; I ran a poetry manuscript workshop,” Yanyi said. “You can imagine the wonder of how much an entire group of us can create for our community. And to have that taken away from the public really so suddenly is, it’s just the worst.” (The Smithsonian is the festival’s largest sponsor but does not own the rights to the events.)

After an initial backlash, the Smithsonian released a statement saying that the festival was postponed to a later date and that it was due to logistical shortcomings which “did not meet Smithsonian expectations for hosting a successful in-person event.” Those claims have been disputed by organizers involved in the festival’s coordination.

“I think it’s a complete abuse of power for [APAC’s] acting director to have unilaterally suddenly canceled the Asian American Literature Festival in this manner,” said Cathy Linh Che, the executive director of the literary nonprofit Kundiman, a longtime festival partner. “To claim A/V issues when we had run this twice before, including once at the Eaton hotel, and the Eaton had already been long booked, is also outrageous.”

Since its dismantling, festival partners like Kundiman have launched an accountability campaign against APAC and the Smithsonian under the AALF Collective. The collective’s open letter addressed to APAC and the Smithsonian leadership has gathered more than 2,300 signatories so far. It features a list of demands to repair the working relationship between the institutions and festival partners, among them calls for the Smithsonian to pay organizers and performers the full funding that was agreed upon and demands for You’s resignation. (You did not respond to a request for comment from Prism.)

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stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale · 7 months

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so.... I just finished my first read through of Clementine Book Two and... spoilers below the cut, but what the hell did I just read?

I don't even know what rating I'd give this honestly?? It was certainly more enjoyable than Book One but probably not for the reasons intended..... 2/5 stars for now?? I think?

I guess my feelings about this second installment are... it feels like a very big missed opportunity.

The art style is significantly improved though the characters do still sometimes look like potatoes, but the environments? Lovely. Really makes me wish this was done in color but alas, the walking dead is allergic to color.

The story goes that Clementine, Ricca, Olivia, and their pet cat Dr Barnaby ended up crashing the plane in Canada... because if you'll recall from Book One, they all escaped in a plane after Georgia decided to be evil and murder Amos, then tried to murder everyone else.

So they're in Canada, and Clementine's leg got so infected due to lack of proper cleaning that she goes into a coma for a month... no really, she goes into a coma. But it's okay, because Ricca and Olivia manage to flag down a boat to help them. Clementine wakes up on this island, we're introduced to a whole new cast of characters, we see how the island works, all that.

I like the Island group. They're not as likable as the Ericson crew, or any of the groups from the games. But we've got:

Miss Morro: the "doctor" of the island

Emi: She saved them and brought them to the island.

John: Miss Morro's son

Amir: A kid who lost his arm because his father didn't believe him when he said a dog bit him and he was too little to fight getting it cut off. Also one of my favorites.

Shu-Fen: she's probably the most interesting of the new cast. She and her family were on vacation here on the island when the outbreak occurred, and since she's originally from Taiwan, she's slowly trying to piece together a map to see if it's possible to ever make it back home.

Ginette and Giles: elderly couple who only speak French.

Mercy: a little girl that Ginette and Giles take care of.

There's a lot more focus on emotional drama and trauma, which I don't mind, especially since we're not given any real antagonist... well, I guess the closet person to an antagonist is Miss Morro, but she's just kind of... an asshole? She's verbally and physically abusive with her son. She's petty. After Clementine and Ricca have a big fight, Miss Morro says things clearly meant to hurt Clementine, and imply that Clem's incapable of love.

Miss Morro used to be a pathologist who performed autopsies, and her whole thing is she spends all of her time in her little hut doing these autopsies on every walker the group kills, she documents everything, and then buries them. She prioritizes this over the living people of the group in a way that feels like she's trying to convince herself that she's a good person?

Honestly, I was waiting for the big reveal that she was actually doing science experiments on the walkers... but alas, that's what I mean when I say this book feels like a wasted opportunity.

But don't worry, we have more drama because guess what. No, really, take a guess at what was revealed part way through this book. Do it. Guess.

That's right, Olivia's pregnant.

Yep. Apparently she and Amos had sex in Book One, and now Olivia's pregnant.

But why, though?

Can I share my conspiracy? Imma share my conspiracy, I think Tillie's fucking with us now. I know I've said time and time again, "When you review the comic, leave Tillie out of it," but my tinfoil hat says she's getting the last laugh and honestly? .....I'm here for it, ngl. I don't have the fucks to care anymore.

Because c'mon. Another side character from Clementine's group having a baby that she'll have to help raise? If Olivia dies next book and Clem and Ricca have to raise that baby, I'm gonna laugh.

Oh my god, what if they name the baby Amos Junior...... AJ 2.0

do it, Tillie, doooo iiiiiit

what, no I'm not losing my mind shut up I am so normal about this

Anyway... Clementine even has this line of dialogue: "I've seen a baby born before, but it was so scary I blocked it out." You blocked it out??? Are we talking about Christa? or Rebecca?? If it's Rebecca, that means Clementine blocked out AJ's birth.

It's absurd, right? And Olivia is soooo uneducated about it! Clementine finds her in the lighthouse and Olivia tells her she got bit *because she felt something move inside of her*..... and then Olivia asked why it matters when she last had her period.... How the hell did she and Amos even figure out what to do, honestly.

Speaking of Amos, my hopes and dreams were crushed. He did not come back as a twist villain, he only came back as the voice of the dream sequences.

No Lee in this book, btw. Or AJ. Amos served that purpose this time and I am disappointed. I still refuse to believe he's actually dead, you gotta show me his dead body or his walker form. We still have one more book, I'm just saying. He could come back. I won't lose hope. It wouldn't be the most ridiculous thing to happen.

And I guess I should talk about Clementine and Ricca... y'know, I kept an open mind. I really did. I went into this wanting to ship it because it's pointless to go into this mad, y'know? I can't change it, there's nothing I can do about it. So I had high hopes that we would get more development on their romance and we did... it just wasn't good.

Clemricca isn't a very healthy relationship, nor is it entertaining. Clementine's fickle, Ricca's demanding. She tells Clementine that she's willing to wait for her since Clem's still hesitant about these feelings. But then they get into an argument and I just... here's the dialogue. I would show the actual pages but from what I've found, no one has actually uploaded the book yet and I don't have a means to do it myself but:

Clementine: I don't want you to think that anything is more important to me than you. Ricca: That's kind of how you made it sound. Clementine: What I meant to say was that I… I want this island to be safe for us. We can't do anything if we're dead. Ricca: What do you mean "do"? Kiss? Date? Talk about how we actually feel? The dead decide when that can happen? Clementine: … Ricca: I love you. And I'm pretty sure you love me too. But you're not making me feel loved. You're making me feel you just want to protect me or… Clementine: But I do want to protect you. It's all I ever think about. Every minute of every day. Ricca: I don't need saving, Clem. I need you to love me. And I need it to be always. It can't start and stop. Clementine: …I… Ricca, turning to leave: Oh my god, maybe this has all been in my head- Clementine: Ricca- Ricca: I get it, okay? Clementine: If I let… If I let myself… Ricca: Forget this. Clementine: You said you would wait for me! Ricca: That's not fair. You want me to wait for the impossible!? Clementine: No, I- Ricca: I'm done, Clem. Clementine: Ricca, don't go in yet, please, we can talk more- Ricca: What else is there to say?

I dunno, Ricca, what else is there to say? Because I'm speechless.

By the way, at this point they haven't even had their first kiss. They don't have that kiss until the very end of the book...... and then they have sex. I think?

Again... but why, though?

It's not explicit, nothing is shown, it's not really anything, it's just implied that it happens through dialogue and a "fade to black." I don't even know how to talk about it, and I keep questioning myself like, "IS that what's happening??" but again, it's not explicit or sexualized in any way, it just is and I don't know how I feel about it. Hopefully I can collect myself for the big review and properly discuss it because... I think I get what the story's going for with it, but I don't love that direction, y'know?

So much happens in this book that I haven't covered, like... so much happens, it's longer than Book One and there are more characters. There's a lot of bullshit, but it was honestly enjoyable for what it was until the ending... which the ending was a problem in Book One, too.

I haven't covered that big tragic ending yet, I'm saving that for my in-depth review. I don't know when that will be out, I want to read this a few more times and be thorough. If y'all have read it let me know your thoughts. I'm very interested to know what you thought of that ending, just... all of it, Chapter Seven onward.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go read a palate cleanser and to collect my thoughts.

#twdg #clementine book two #twdg clementine #y'all these comics are so far removed from the games #i'm laughing

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