#I did not include the women because they are so much more competent at sex that they're in a different league

[kcyars99]

This is Imane Khelif. She is a boxer from Algeria. 🇩🇿

You're probably going to be hearing a lot about her from your bigoted uncle this weekend, especially now that everyone's least-favorite bigoted aunt, J.K. Rowling, has offered her incredibly worthless opinion on today's fight between two cis (aka BiOLoGiCaL for y'all that need that) women.

Things worth noting: 🇮🇹 The boxer who quit today's fight--Angela Carini of Italy--said her quitting wasn't political and that she was not passing judgment on Khelif's eligibility. She said the shot to her nose did something different to her than most hits she's ever taken.

🇹🇼 Last year, Imane (along with Taiwan's Lin Yu-ting) faced a ruling by the International Boxing Association that they--despite being cis or 'BioLoGiCaL🥴' women--had "advantages" of a genetic nature, leading to a decision not to let them fight.

🇺🇸 U.S. swimmer Michael Phelps, celebrated as the greatest swimmer of all time, has a genetic condition where his body produces half of the lactic acid of a normal cis man. For this biological quirk (along with his hyper-mobility) he is lauded.

🇩🇿 Algerian sports officials and other Algerian athletes have spoken in Imane's defense, including national team soccer player ​​Ismaël Bennacer who said Khelif is "suffering a wave of unjustified hatred."

🥇 The Olympics do not recognize IBA or its rulings and carried out their own set of testing standards which every athlete you see competing had to pass.

🇯🇵 Imane also fought at the Tokyo Olympics in 2021, where she was beaten in the quarterfinals by Irish boxer Kellie Harrington--another 'BioLoGiCaL🥴' woman.

🥊 For the weirdos who obsess over genitals, this person was born with a vagina. Meaning that by y'all's weird rules where you want to check in kids' pants before they compete, Imane would be deemed "girl athlete."

🏊 Meanwhile, Katie Ledecky today became the most decorated women's swimmer ever by pulling in a silver medal, after yesterday continuing her long streak of dominating everyone in the world in the 1500, where she holds the top TWENTY best times. Ever. And people on the internet spent the day calling her a man.

🧨 This should be a nonissue, but JOANNE and Elon and your bigoted uncle are latching onto it because they want to continue to push the deadly narrative against trans folks via any possible means. Even in a case where the person they're demonizing isn't trans in the first damn place. If she as a cis woman has more testosterone than other cis women athletes, well, that's not all that uncommon. Y'all wanna tell women with PCOS that they're not really women?

🩺 I don't know how many times I've shared that Open Ocean Exploration thread, by a literal biologist, explaining how common it is that people have sex variations that they don't even know about. I'll share it again since it's just about the most concise look at X/Y diversity I've ever seen. It's really wild to watch folks who copied off of my in high school biology act like they know more than actual scientists and doctors every single time I post it. --Find that post here:

#ParisOlympics2024

#OlympiansMadeHere

#olympicsboxing

(This originally called Joanne a bigoted uncle while still using her correct pronouns which I think conveys that she's basically the living embodiment of everyone's metaphorical racist uncle, gender be damned, but a few people felt it was misgendering her which was very much not the point so I changed it just to stop infighting since there's already plenty enough fighting with actual bigots to be doing.)

[theriverbeyond]

re: love lies bleeding... i could be wrong but isn't there a difference between the type of steroids jackie was taking and testosterone? i assumed the increasing violence was due to steroid psychosis.

There mostly isn't! The main difference between "juicing"/bodybuilding steroid use and TRT or HRT is mostly just dose and frequency it is being taken. The brands might be different between medical vs recreational use, and some people take compounds that include things like growth hormone or other stuff, but "Anabolic steroid" doesn't mean "bad and used for bodybuilding", it means "hormone that mimics androgens". Link for WebMD overview of anabolic steroids

This is one of the reasons why trans men face issues when wanting to compete in "natural" strength/bodybuilding sports (not to mention, of course, the exclusion of trans women). USA Powerlifting does not specifically ban trans men from competing in the male division, but it bans any and all TRT, with no medical exemption available to anyone, which is effectively the same as banning both trans and cis men with medical conditions that require them to be taking testosterone.

Testosterone replacement therapy's (TRT) goal is to maintain the body's testosterone within a defined medical range. Cis and trans people of all kinds can be prescribed TRT for various medical reasons (post-menopause, being trans, erectile dysfunction, etc). People who use steroids for bodybuilding are blowing right past that defined medical range -- an example is you may see a cis man on TRT with a dose of maybe 0.25mg/week on the low end with the "average" being around 100mg/week. The dose is raised and lowered to maintain the body's T levels within the healthy medical range/the individual's transition goals.

A man using T for a higher performance in strength/bodybuilding sports is likely to be on way, way higher doses, 200-400mg/week or more, and may be taking T in "cycles" specifically intended to promote muscle growth, versus being on it consistently. There are material health risks associated with these high doses but it's not inherently the substance they are using, it is just the dose.

A woman like Jackie is probably going to be on significantly LOWER dose, even for recreational bodybuilding, because women who engage in steroids for muscle growth are usually not looking for the other masculinization side effects of T, so will necessarily want to stay below the TRT levels typically used by both cis and trans men. I mean, this movie takes place in the 80's so they were probably not using modern medical science because it was the 80's, but the reality that a "juiced" woman would probably want to avoid the normal effects of the average T dose remains true because most women body builders regardless of time period are not looking to transition to a T dominant hormone system. link to reddit thread i found

Steroid psycosis does exist, and "roid range" is a known side effect of any kind of steroids -- including non-sex-hormone steroids like dexamethazone. Just go into a children's cancer ward and you will see that steroids will absolutely impact a person's emotional stability on like, a temporary basis. Go on any r/ftm forum and you will see some people having increased irritability as a result of their bodies adjusting to a different hormone system, with much rarer cases of significant emotional challenges. But my critique isn't necessarily to say that it is like, beyond the imagination/too unrealistic, because it's a horror movie and those are rarely realistic. Exaggeration is the name of the game there. Like I said in my original post, it's not that I hate the movie, I'm just THINKING about the movie and how this aspect of the plot landed badly, for me. In this day& age did we have to make the big tall muscle woman w high T also be a crazy violent killer. We exist in the context of all that came b--(im taken out by another sniper)

Anyway. I hope that answers your question now where is that large hook. I need to be dragged off stage immediately before I write another 1000 words on

[foxymoxynoona]

To Kill A King (Chapter 10)

Banner and linebreaks by the talented @awrkives

Summary: What’s more charming than Prince Seokjin? Nothing, obviously. Except maybe the rotating palace guests who each smile and bow and charm in an attempt to hide their true motives. Fortunately Seokjin has a close circle of friends (well, servants) who watch his back and endure his humor and help him navigate the tumultuous seas of heartbreak, love, and an arranged marriage, not necessarily in that order. If only they had helped him keep a closer eye on his bride-to-be’s handmaiden, who arrives with her own agenda… or maybe it would have been better if he had noticed her less? One thing is certain as this royal drama of the heart plays out: there are many people competing to kill a king.

Main Pairing: Prince Seokjin x Female OC Genre: Historical Fantasy World, political conspiracy, romance Rating: 18+ Content Warnings & story tags: includes explicit sex (mxf, fxf), possibly graphic violence/injury later, love and sex triangles or uh quadrangles?, sort of e 2 l, sort of bodyguard trope, sort of arranged marriage, a lot of plotting murder (it’s literally in the title), maybe character death, grief, pining, angst, love, oral (f & m receiving), I don’t know everything yet as the story is long and still being written

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

NOTE: check out the Character & Setting Cheat Sheet for a refresher on who's who

His father hadn’t come to the ball at all. Seokjin felt simultaneously relieved and offended. He’d thought his father was just in the side rooms and gone in search of him, eager for a break from the young women vying for a turn with him on the dance floor. And also to let some of the alcohol settle in his blood after he’d nearly come to blows with Namjoon. It wouldn’t have gone that far. He’d thought about taking it that far, but it had only been a thought, because he had asked Mindeulle to dance and Namjoon had suggested he ought to dance with his own betrothed more and his sister less, obviously a jab that Nasimiyu had not dance with him again since the first two sets.

But suddenly Nasimiyu had swooped in like a phoenix, taken him for a dance, and then spun off again to be swallowed by a cloud of young women. His head spun from it, he was so relieved she’d asked him to dance. That had to mean he wasn’t fucking it up too badly, right? 

He wanted to let their dance linger and let the alcohol work its way out so he went in search of his father, as if that had ever once cooled his head. But he didn’t find him at any of the gambling tables like he had expected to, not in any of the lounges at all. A chance encounter with cousin Zselyke confirmed: he hasn’t made an appearance yet.

It was an insult. It was offensive. It could be taken as a slight against Nasimiyu if anyone noticed. It was offensive to him too. Zselyke was clearly offended. King Donggun loved a party, so why hadn’t he come to this one? Seokjin had half a mind to march up to his father’s wing and demand an answer. He’d never missed any of Seok-ho’s parties. Wasn’t Seokjin good enough?

He didn’t want an answer to that. 

Instead he stuck to the shadows as much as his shimmery white costume would allow and climbed all the way to the third floor in pursuit of sugar to soothe. He passed a brawl being broken up by guards on the way and couldn’t decide if it was better for things to start breaking down this late in the night –did that mean people were having fun and would talk about it for ages to come?-- or worse –were people bored and overly drunk? And the Nasimiyu element of course, did she like a proper party or a wild one? He would have guessed proper until she wore that… How was he to know either way though when frankly he hated all types of parties? 

He passed on the glass of sugar champagne, handing it over to Hoseok.

“Are you about done with the party? You’ve done well so far, I’m very impressed,” Hoseok praised. His current babysitter. Jimin had left his side earlier –to dance with Dulce, as a matter of fact. For some inexplicable reason. Taehyung had danced with her. Jungkook had danced with her. Yoongi was the one he wanted to have a dance with her, if that was the path to seduction! He knew the kind of fun Taehyung and Jimin got up to after these parties, Jungkook too. They didn’t need to drag sweet Dulce into that debaucherous filth. If she had wanted to go then… then that was a different matter but she didn’t. He felt sure of that after how shy she’d been in the porn closet. 

“Speak of a demon and a demon shall come,” he muttered with amusement. Or meant to mutter. Apparently he said it loudly enough to be heard because Dulce looked up from the table. Instead of her soft brown eyes he was met with that ghastly skeletal mask. Had Nasimiyu been afraid of competition? Did she have a dark humor? Did she find this sort of thing appealing and it was just a side of Nasimiyu that Seokjin hadn’t seen yet? Why had she dressed her handmaiden as this instead of a butterfly or a flower or a fluffy animal like most of the other women here?

Realizing she might think he meant she was a demon (all right, he’d meant that a little, but not sincerely), he hurried to correct, “You finally found the dessert table? You’ve been too busy dancing, I noticed. I didn’t know you danced at all.”

“I’m… adequate.”

“Do you enjoy it? Dancing?”

“Do you?”

“Not really,” he admitted with a grin as he grabbed a small silver plate to pile with treats. The table overflowed with them –cakes, cookies, pies, parfaits in little crystal glasses. Guests appeared to have been shattering them when they finished; glass shards sparkled on the floor like a sea of knives under the flickering glow of the dimmed chandeliers up here.

Catching himself, he added, “But my betrothed does, so now I do.” He habitually searched for the sparkle in her eyes that he had begun to suspect was amusement but again, nothing but that metal mask. “And so do you, even though you won’t admit it. You’ve danced too much to deny it.”

“I was asked.”

“You can tell my friends no.” He wasn’t sure if she’d danced with anyone other than his friends, actually. But he considered now how close Taehyung and Jimin had been standing to her, whispering something, as he followed Nasimiyu to the dance floor. How close to her Jungkook had stood when he’d asked for the dance. How close Taehyung had held her earlier for that first one. He felt compelled to add, “Please understand that you can. You are under no obligation for anything stupid they might suggest. You can say no to anything and if they bother you a single hair further, let me know and I will handle it.” She gave a slight bow of her head, a slight curtsy, and looked back to the table. 

Did that mean Jimn and Taehyung had not propositioned her for anything more? 

She looked up at a shout behind them, followed by a crash and the shatter of glass. Someone screamed fire! as a candleholder was knocked off the wall but before anything even caught, someone else had stomped it out. It was just a bit of drunken chaos and yet Seokjin stepped closer and in front of Dulce out of instinct. He looked around but didn’t see any guards within reach to throw the drunk revelers out. All he had to do was glance at Hoseok who nodded,

“I’ll handle it.”

To keep Dulce from worrying, he nodded towards the table, “It’s quite a spread, isn’t it?”

“Is your cook friend the one who planned this?”

Ah, asking about Yoongi? That was… good. Great!

“Not this part,” he admitted. “He doesn’t like sweets much.” He didn’t know why he’d said that, it wasn’t completely true. Yoongi didn’t like them as much as he did maybe but that was a different bar. “I think the food is the best part of a ball. What about you?”

“This is my first ball.”

“Oh. Right, of course… you just look the part, I forgot…” She lifted her glass of wine in her free hand from the table, and in turning profile he could see how long her dark hair reached, all the way to the small of her back. The ends curled starting around her shoulders without the braid, and her black dress made it more obvious there was a brown hue to her hair; it caught the candlelight like embers glowed in the strands.

“No wonder you braid your hair,” he mused. “It’s so long, it must get everywhere. Doesn’t it strangle you while you sleep?”

“Yes.”

“Then why let it grow so long?” She looked up at him, or her mask did, and he lamented, “Ah, it’s a real hassle not to be able to see your eyes to know whether you’re amused or angry. Don’t cut your hair, you don’t have to do what I say, it just seems impractical.”

“It is.”

“Yes but you’re beautiful. Not everything has to be practical. If you cut it now I’ll cry and shave my head in penance,” he corrected himself. He didn’t think that things had to be practical. Why had he said that to her? But she always seemed so efficient, so practical, no room for opinions or fun, not even a celebration of her own beauty –and yet she let her hair grow long. Braided and out of the way usually, but long. What did it mean? What did it tell him about her? He wanted to understand her. 

She was just looking at him –well unless her gaze was elsewhere, but her face was turned up to his. His inability to read her made him suddenly uncomfortable, and he grabbed a tiny tart from the table and shoved it into his mouth. It was more delicious than he had expected though and his amazement was sincere.

“Oh, by Royal Decree, you have to try this,” he said, holding one out to her. But her hands were full with the wine glass and a plate, and even he could see that if he set one single thing on the plate, it was going to overbalance. Which filled him with an instant and embarrassing warmth, to realize she had loaded the fuck up with desserts. It was like she thought she’d never get to taste one again. She loved sweets, it was so obvious, there wasn’t a single way she could deny it now. None of the delicate eating of the ladies either. It was endearing, he was so charmed, he was so happy to see her eating well.

So happy, in fact, that he forgot himself, and held the tart to her lips. He fed her. He fed his betrothed’s handmaiden a small tart. Probably surprised, she bit it from his fingers; the transferral left a glob of raspberry filling on his thumb which he quickly sucked away with his tongue. There was a drop on her lip as well and he was so flustered by this point that he reached out to wipe it away. Her tongue darted out to catch it first. His thumb brushed her tongue.

“Ha! I’m not a pastry, sweet as I am,” he blurted out in an attempt to smooth it over. He yanked his hands away and blindly grabbed something else from the table. A cream-filled puff pastry that he grabbed too strongly; his fingers sank in, popping cream all over his hand. “Ah, huh, I suppose this is more than I should lick off in decent company… um…” He stood there, helplessly with his hands covered in cream.

Dulce set her plate and glass down, lifted a napkin from the piles tucked in among the desserts, and wiped at his hands. Even dipped it in her glass –which he now realized was water, not wine. And he, like a lump of fool, just stood there and let her clean his hands, like he was a helpless toddler who’d never eaten a puff pastry in his life.

Then, without commenting on it at all, she folded the towel up and set it beside her glass on the table, and took another raspberry tart from the serving dish. As if none of that buffoonery had happened.

“These are very good.”

Instantly he crowed, “Ha! An opinion!”

“On tarts. Nothing more serious.”

“Why not?”

“Opinions in a maid are... impractical.”

“Ok, let’s agree, something doesn’t have to be practical to have value. Take, for instance, my face. Fierce on a battlefield? No. Feeding the poor? Only looks. Impressing my betrothed? Not even.” Ah, he shouldn’t have said those. His jokes were running away with him. But more than that, mentioning his betrothed felt awkward right now.

“You’re wearing a mask.”

“Hm?”

“You’re wearing a mask,” Dulce reminded him.

“Everyone is. Didn’t you notice?”

She didn’t say anything, just looked up at him. He smiled, not only because he’d made a funny joke, but because it was one of those jokes with depth. Everyone had masks. Not just at a masquerade. Every day. There were few who weren’t wearing masks, pursuing some agenda, concealing some motive, performing a role they hoped they could fool people into believing they were good enough for. It was a profound thought, and he wished someone like Namjoon was here for him to patronize with it.

“Yes.”  

He looked down at her bronze shield and considered too that masks could look like many things. He felt most himself wearing pajamas in his bedroom, or his glasses disguise into the city. When did Dulce feel most herself? With her hair braided or undone? She suited even this fancy performance. No wonder probably nobody suspected she was actually a maid. She didn’t look like a maid or act like a maid. She looked striking like this. Maybe she’d been born into the wrong life, and she should have been at balls like this all along. Maybe she was happier like this.

“I’m very observant.”

Her comment cracked through his thoughts and laughter bubbled out.

“You spoil me with your jokes,” he laughed. “What a treat. Will I get one for every tart I feed you?”

“Do not feed me more tarts.”

Oooops. Yeah. He should not be hand-feeding any woman anything, but especially not his betrothed’s handmaiden. Not that anyone would recognize her. He didn’t recognize her. He hated that mask. He wanted to rip it off and see what her expression actually showed, even when her reactions were so subtle you had to look close and doubt you saw anything. He had the sudden impulse to ban masks forever. Wouldn’t this party be better if he could actually see the response to his attempts at charming?

Not that he was trying to charm her! No, obviously not! And even if he had been, she wasn’t charmed by him, she was humoring the future husband of her lady. She was just standing there, gaze hidden behind the fingers of death. 

“You know, I have a pair just like that,” he said, suddenly reaching up to touch one of the hands. She flinched. He hadn’t seen her flinch before, she was always so unmoved. It  compelled him to hurry and clarify, “Skeleton hands I mean. Except mine aren’t bronze or gold or anything special. They’re just bones.”

“In your… hands?”

“Yes, exactly.”

He held his hands up as if to show her. And even though he couldn’t see her face, he could feel her confusion as she lifted her hands. Relaxed, fingers spread, palms up like a surrender, the pairing with the death mask and her captivating dress of shadow, she looked like a vision of beautiful death. She was going to haunt his dreams like this, he was sure of it. He couldn’t believe Nasimiyu had wanted her to wear something so low cut but she must have paid for and approved this costume.  

“Ah I see you have a pair just like it,” he joked, flustered by the stupid bumbling of his own dumb brain. “We are the same, you see. So much in common. So may I have a dance?” The words rolled off his tongue without thinking, or maybe thinking of the dance he hadn’t asked for in the city, the dance that really wasn’t appropriate for either of them to take now, the dance that ought to be allowed only here, only now, because this was a masquerade and nobody was themself. No one was a king or a prince or a princess. No one was a handmaiden. They were all just masked bones.

Still, he had not in his wildest dreams expected her to actually rest her hand in his, palm up like she’d never held a hand or accepted a dance before, and say, “All right.” 

He spent the entire walk to the dance floor expecting her to change her mind. Or for one of his friends to materialize and steal her away, but Hoseok was the only one he’d seen and Seokjin had thrust Dulce’s plate at him to hold so she wouldn’t lose her desserts. Or maybe he himself should have been the one to realize maybe this was not the best idea. It would bring attention to her that she didn’t want, and if she was recognized, the gossip would be a nuisance. They’d squash it. But Nasimiyu might be angry. But Nasimiyu had danced with so many people tonight, it wasn’t like Seokjin was keeping track. What did it matter? Surely if she had even an ounce of possessiveness in her, she’d prefer he dance safely with her unassuming handmaid than some noble woman actually out for interference. She was the one who had dressed Dulce like that and brought her here! He was duty-bound to look after Dulce.

“Lots of waltzes tonight,” he mused as they took up space on the dance floor. He hadn’t considered she was much smaller than many of the noblewomen he typically danced with –certainly shorter than Nasimiyu and Mindeulle. It meant a much more comfortable position for his arms as he lifted her hand in one and pressed the other to her back. Her hair tickled his fingers and palm and he didn’t know the proper thing to do about it. It felt overly intimate to touch her hair.

“It’s my favorite dance,” he added. And because he felt comfortable with it, added, “Because I can look good doing very simple things.” She didn’t smile but he didn’t expect her to. Her hand was light in his as he pulled her into motion, doing his best to be mindful of her skirt, which flared out much further than Nasimiyu’s.

He started with simple steps in case she wasn’t as practiced, because why would she be? She had looked elegant dancing with Taehyung and Jungkook but maybe they were just better leads than him. But she flowed easily through a spin he sent her alon, with the pleasant discovery that he didn’t have to worry as much about bashing in her face with his elbows because she was shorter and because those skewers were a sharp reminder to lift his arm high enough.

“You could kill someone with that mask.”

“Hm?” Her simple remark caught him off guard. He hadn’t expected a response, certainly not an airy one of confusion. Was the dancing difficult for her? Was she concentrating? He wished he could see her face to know for sure –or at least know if it was something that showed on her face. 

He fumbled the step, thinking too much. He quickly tried to recover, brace both of them for the impact of her running into him. But she didn’t. No collision occurred. Her step merely adjusted and continued as his had done, even though they were dancing backwards now. 

“Um.”

She must realize they were backwards as he awkwardly laughed and tried to figure out how to fix it.

“Ah…” He went for it and did another wrong step. She followed. She shouldn’t have been able to follow it, it wasn’t proper dancing, she couldn’t read his mind. …. Could she? No. But he was reminded of her climbing the rope ladder with so little effort.

“Are you sure you aren’t part cat?”

“Why do you ask that? I’m just following your lead.”

Yes, to a fault. She followed him so well he wasn’t even consciously thinking of leading anymore. He stopped worrying about mistakes as he realized that she just adapted to them anyway. It was unreal. He hoped Hoseok was seeing this because he’d be amazed, and also probably a little pissed because they were definitely doing a lot of wrong things.

He couldn’t help it, he began making mistakes on purpose. It didn’t make her stumble. When he spun her out and let go, she simply took a step forward like she fully expected he would tell her what to do next, and while that was what a dance partner should expect, it felt like an odd trust to him right now. When he started to turn her one way and instead shifted to the other, she shifted her weight and flowed right through it. He couldn’t stop grinning, it was so funny to dance badly with her like this.

“Are you trying to make me fail?” she asked. 

“You dance like no one I’ve ever seen.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” she admitted.

“You don’t know these steps? Ah, that’s because I’m making them up just for you.” He slid her to the right and to the left and then pulled her backwards by her waist. She even went like that, blinded to any danger he might trip her with but trusting he wouldn’t. Not even Nasimiyu had extended him that courtesy; she’d been easy to fall back into step with because she never wavered, but it did leave him flat-footed to catch up a few times and when he’d tried to pull her back like this she’d simply stayed in place. 

“And you match every one,” he grinned. “Isn’t it fun to make up our own steps, One Two? Ha. one two, turn,” he said, turning her. “One two, turn.”

“You’re making fun of me.”

“I think you like being spun,” he countered, taking a wild guess because her lips twitched every time he did it, her hair and skirt fanning out behind her. “Do you like the rush? I imagine it’s a rush but no one has ever spun me.”

She suddenly dropped her hand to his waist and planted her foot and swung him around her as the post. And it was a rush, both the speed of the swoop (not at all the proper time for the music) and the joy of how remarkably wrong it was. He laughed and spun her back, seizing the lead again and stepping her quickly through another pair so they wouldn’t get stuck in one place. He slid and she followed.

“Don’t make it harder for me. I already shouldn’t be here,” she complained. 

“Admit it, you’re having fun,” he teased. “Let’s see how fast we can go, if you trip just grab on and I’ll lift you.”

“Wait–”

But he took off with her in his arms and she didn’t hesitate as they bolted up the side of the floor in more of a foxtrot than slow waltz. It was chaotically wrong for the music. He felt like he was playing. It shouldn’t matter! They should be allowed to break the rules of dance at a masquerade, especially this late in the evening.  

They skidded to a stop, her skirt festooning around them both, and he laughed, “Admit it, you would have–”

“Ah, thank you, beautiful stranger,” Nasimiyu cut in, sliding right up to them. She glanced down at Dulce with an expression Seokjin missed because he was too shocked that Dulce’s blood red lips at curled up into a smile, he swore on his life that they had. It was instantly gone, so fast he almost doubted it, but he was sure. Nasimiyu’s smile felt like a sharp poke as she asked, “Mind if I cut in?”

Admit it, you would have enjoyed dancing at that wedding. We shouldn’t have been in such a rush to get back. We should have just followed the joy for as long as it would carry us. You would have smiled, wouldn’t you. You would have laughed. Maybe there was cake at the end of it.

“Yes, of course, Princess.” Seokjin knew he sounded clipped but it was only an awkward transition. It was just a dance. He didn’t need to feel guilty. He didn’t mean to sound annoyed. He was drunk, not disappointed. Dulce smoothed it over; she took one step back and evaporated, like she really was made of shadow and fluff. 

It was Lidmila who had actually trapped Namjoon, and probably she didn’t realize what she had done because it was awfully clever. But she’d stepped forward at just the right moment to block him in, and Nasimiyu took the opportunity she saw to lean in on his other side so that he bumped her when he stepped back. 

“Lord Namjoon,” she drawled, looking up and away, disinterested. “I wasn’t sure you’d grace us with your presence tonight.”

“I… I gave my word,” he pointed out.

“And that means something to you?”

“Of course it does.”

“Oh. I also thought you had given your word that you would take the ball seriously, but you don’t seem to be.”

“What are you talking about? I’ve been here for hours.”

“Yes.”

“Dancin, drinking, socializing, not even sneaking off to the lounges to–”

“Hide from the women?” she teased.

He was red-faced and sweaty but she didn’t assume it was a credit to her; he seemed slightly drunk, or maybe just winded from dancing.

“I’m not hiding from anyone.”

“And yet you come to a masquerade in my honor and you don’t even say hello, much less give me an opportunity to turn you down for a dance.”

“Oh. Well… hello.”

She leveled a look at him that earned a bashful grin as he lifted his hand to rub the back of his neck. If he was trying to avoid flirting with her, it was a bad move to rub his neck like that; he must know what a gesture like that signaled to a young woman. Not that she cared, but… Mindeulle said he didn’t know what he did but Nasimiyu thought he couldn’t be that stupid, her little sister just had too much faith in him.

He looked like he wanted to leave but Lidmila stepped to the side to set her empty glass down, accidentally blocking him in again. Bless her as an agent of fate! 

“Hello. And?”

“I’m afraid I cannot ask you for a dance however,” he admitted, “honored as I would be.”

She was both shocked and thrilled by his blunt dismissal. She said nothing, merely arched her eyebrow, curious if he would really stick with such a strong turn down when they had been sociable up until now.

“Because… I promised Miss Lidmila’s mother I would ask her for the next dance.”

“What?” Lidmila squawked, not the least bit ladylike. She turned a face of absolute horror to Nasimiyu, but Namjoon grabbed Lidmila’s arm and dragged her away. 

There was no way Lidmila didn’t actually want to dance with Namjoon, not after the longing looks Nasimiyu had seen all the girls toss his way. Which meant that look of horror must mean she feared she was interrupting something, interfering, she knew she was being used as an obstacle by Namjoon and didn’t want Nasimiyu to think so– which meant she was noticing Nasimiyu’s attention leveled at Namjoon, harmless or not. And if even Lidmila, pretty little bird-brain, noticed, then others must be. Certainly Mindeulle, who maybe had meant her earlier explanation as a warning.

Fuck.

Nasimiyu still wanted an explanation about that, or to see what else she could subtly glean from Mindeulle about this previous betrothal. But in turning to find her and not look at Namjoon pulling Lidmila onto the dance floor even though the previous song was still going, she noticed a very peculiar sight. 

Her little shadow of death handmaiden was dancing rather ridiculously with the royal prince of Yeonhalbi.

Nasimiyu didn’t feel the need to explain her thoughts or feelings. Namjoon had rejected a dance with her. Seokjin wasn’t trailing after her. And Dulce was dancing with a prince. She had dressed Dulce so beautifully to please herself, not anyone else. Certainly not the Prince, who was smiling too big, he looked like a fool. Or maybe she, Nasimiyu, looked most the fool of all, standing here beside the dance floor with no present partner.

It took only seconds to interrupt Dulce and Seokjin’s dance and claim him as her dance partner instead. She wondered if Dulce had hoped she was coming to claim her. But right now she needed to be seen on the arm of the royal prince, the man who was going to marry her, the man who already made clear he placed her above all else.

“Are you enjoying the ball?” she asked as the music changed to a quadrille. Boring! Such a boring dance! Why were the dances at this ball so fucking boring?! They settled into formation with three other couples. One of which was Namjoon and Lidmila. Even more boring!

“My only complaint is not to dance with you more often,” Seokjin answered quickly before she took a turn around the man next to her. They moved all the way around the circle and now she wondered if his answer had been a joke about this kind of dance, in which partners were traded. Namjoon said nothing as he handed her around to his other side. She turned her nose up, not wanting to speak with him either then, if he was such a brat he couldn’t have a single dance with her.

She found herself back at Seokjin’s side and he quickly asked, “Are you enjoying yourself?” She stepped into the circle, back near the other ladies, and swayed side to side with a hand in Seokjin’s and a hand in Namjoon’s. Which meant Namjoon had switched the order. Must have, because he and Lidmila should be a couple further.

“Very much so,” she assured Seokjin, pulled back to him for a turn in his arms. Anyone watching would have remarked on how she beamed at him, she was certain. 

She bit back her groan as she did the fancy footwork, the stupid hops, for everyone moving around in a circle. This was the stupidest dance. She was going to strike it out of fashion. If she’d realized it was a quadrille, she wouldn’t have agreed to it. Her tits bounced painfully with so little support as they pranced together into and out of the other couples. 

The figures changed and suddenly it wasn’t Seokjin’s arms around Nasimiyu, it was Namjoon’s. She tried to look nonplussed as he walked her through the same steps Seokjin just had. But when he pulled her close for the slow circles, he sighed,

“Please don’t be offended, Princess. I just want to remain respectful.”

“Dancing with me is disrespectful? Who, pray tell, are you disrespecting right now then?”

She didn’t get an answer; she was handed off to next in the circle. Stupid, stupid dance! It made her furious. Namjoon’s rejection made her furious. Seokjin’s delicate outfit made her furious. Dulce dancing with a royal prince like she had any right to made her furious. Mindeulle watching them from the side of the dance floor made her furious. Lidmila not putting her foot down and just telling Namjoon no if she wanted or telling Nasimiyu yes if she wanted made her furious!

She’d had too much to drink, she knew that to be true. She held her drink well, so she knew no one else suspected that such hot feelings were running through her veins with all the wine. She felt flaming right now, bright, and she needed something more than this boring ball to amuse her. The music was too slow. The dances were too slow. Time was moving too slowly, she was going to be stuck in this uncomfortable courtship with Seokjin forever at this rate.

The song ended but Nasimiyu threaded her fingers through Seokjin’s and leaned close to kiss him –not indecently, just a soft kiss like she adored him most in the world– and asked, 

“Can we go somewhere else? I’m tired of dancing.”

“Ah… yes? Yes, of course, where would you like to go? We can–”

“To my room,” she whispered in his ear, then pulled away and tried to look innocent. “Is it too soon?”

Even with his mask on, his slack look of surprise was obvious. He was gobsmacked. For a brief moment she thought he was going to lock his knees, clench his pearls, and run away. Instead he shook his head, dislodging a thought, and pressed his hand to her back.

“Yes, of course. Your wing will be much more private for a rest.”

That was not what she meant and she wondered if he misunderstood or was only pretending to, because Lidmila was hovering close and Namjoon was only just behind her. Nasimyu didn’t know where Dulce was but it didn’t matter. She could find her own entertainment tonight. It was time to move things along here.

At first people kept trying to intercept them. Nasimiyu was done with it. The further from the ballroom they walked, the more done with the whole thing she felt. At home she had enjoyed balls so much and this one felt like she’d been bounced around a cage with ony a few people she enjoyed. The attention wasn’t the right kind. The music was wrong, the food was wrong, the fights were stopped too quickly, the fun people tossed out. There was no entertainment! 

“Nasimiyu, are you all right? Are you ill?” Seokjin asked, working to keep up with her stride.

“I’m very well, thank you. It’s been a lovely ball.” Her heels clicked and she lifted her skirt to keep from tripping on it in her haste. 

“Would you like me to fetch your maid–”

“No I would not like you to do anything with my maid,” she snapped.

“I…” He nearly tripped on his feet. “If you– are you upset– I did not mean to insult you by dancing with– I thought you intended her to blend in and that you would feel better about her safety knowing–”

“I’m not upset about it,” she assured him after letting him ramble for a moment. He was indeed flustered and she didn’t know if it was the topic or the fast pace after a dance. If he had such bad stamina, this would be a quick night.

But a quick night still secured the image of them leaving together in everyone’s minds. A quick night still put him at ease about their engagement. A quick night could maybe still give her a relief she desperately wanted right now. He’d better!

They reached her wing but when Seokjin took a step towards her sitting room, she grabbed his arm and pulled him to her bedroom on the right. 

“Nasimiyu.”

She gestured and the guards pushed her door open. Good, more witnesses to Seokjin following her inside.

“Nasimiyu,” he said again, holding out his hand. She took it but only to pull him close to kiss. She crashed her mouth to his, only to laugh when their masks clashed.

His gentleness surprised her as he carefully worked her mask off, untying it by her ears and lifting it off the hooks along her hairline. She hadn’t expected him to know how to get it off. His calm was so heavy it slowed her down too. She undid the ties at the back of his head and tossed his mask to the side.

He looked so serious and concerned. She didn’t know what to make of that when she just wanted to fuck already while her blood was still hot. 

“We don’t have to rush anything,” he told her. “My dancing with anyone else is no reflection on my devotion to–”

“Don’t you want me? Or do you have some principle to wait until marriage?”

“Of course I want you,” he breathed. “And I… um– I don’t have any personal rule about waiting until marriage to–”

“You have experience, don’t you?” 

He hesitated before nodding, lips pinched. Clearly afraid of her response to this. Thank fuck. She had no desire to be pawed over by some virgin.

“Maybe your last betrothal?”

His eyebrows raised and he ventured carefully, “What do you know…”

“Next to nothing except that Namjoon had some hand in– Lord Namjoon had some hand in taking what was yours.”

“Ah, well…”

“He won’t this time.”

“I’m relieved to hear that,” he said with a crooked grin that affected her more than she had expected –more than not at all. “Ah… if you want to know more, I can–”

“I don’t. And I don’t want you to ask me about my experiences either, it’s private. But I’m not some wilting flower either, Seokjin. If you’re to be my husband and we’re as good as married, I don’t see why we have to wait until we’re actually married to seek each other out. Does that shock you?”

“N-no.”

“Then if you want me, I’m yours to take. Do it now.”

Only a brief hesitation preceded him reaching for her, crashing his mouth against hers. It was too much lip and not enough caress but Nasimiyu leaned into it anyway. He wasn’t so bad, was he? She didn’t love him but he wanted her and his hands were firm against her back. He had danced adequately. She could begrudgingly admit he was handsome and that he kissed better than she had anticipated. His lips were very soft. 

“You’re shedding,” he murmured, sliding his hands along her jaw. She didn’t want the touch, it was overly romantic, it felt too loving, and she leaned away anyway in shock at his words. “Diamonds,” he clarified. “Gold.”

“Let’s not make a fuss of undressing. You do yours, I’ll do mine, or we’ll never get out of these things.” 

She meant it to be serious, blunt, but he laughed.

“Don’t miss any of those things in your hair. I don’t want to die on our first night.”

“Poo, are you so easy to kill?”

“I’m weak to you.”

She turned away so he wouldn’t see her annoyance. She strode to her vanity and pulled off jewelry like water beaded to her skin. She worked the sun rays out of her hair and unfastened her shoes and let the cape fall carelessly to the floor..

“You’ll have to undo–” She broke off as she turned to call for help. He’d shed clothing much quicker, vest and shirt gone, boots gone, only his tight silk britches in place. Straining, she noticed. His broad shoulders were more toned than she had anticipated. More surprising were the outline of his abdominals. She had expected a thin, noodly prince, not lean muscles. 

His mouth hung open, eyes lidded as he carefully undid the catches on the back of her dress. She watched him in the mirror, bemused at his concentration, wanting to think something mean but it was hard to be unkind when someone looked so reverently at you as he did, pulling the sleeves off her shoulders and tugging the dress down to her feet. She had little on beneath so when she turned, it was nothing but panties and naked gold-flecked skin he looked up at.

“My god you’re beautiful,” he murmured, warm hand sliding up her leg as he stood. 

“You aren’t going to make a joke of it?”

“No.” He didn’t have to lift her chin much to kiss her. She felt the admiration in the embrace of his lips. He didn’t stop as her fingers worked at the front of his pants, undoing the hidden button and tugging them down his hips. She wondered if he was going to be shy about nudity, he seemed like the sort.

He stepped away and pulled his pants clean off, red-eared, red-cheeked, chest flushed, but not hiding his half-hard cock. She couldn’t remember ever finding a cock attractive but at least it was large and looked healthy.

“That will do.”

She meant it seriously, sexily, but he laughed and looked to the side, shy once again, “Ah, yes, well… I’m hoping so. You would say it like that…”

It annoyed her for him to be shy now. This didn’t have to be some sentimental thing just because it was their first time. If he was hard, he could just get on with it, and she waited for him to grab her and do so. He had no charm about it, no guile, there was nothing teasing in his look of admiration as she slid her hands up her chest to cup her own breasts.

“Well?”

“Right. Uh… do you want to, um… I don’t have a condom with me, you see, so we can–”

“I don’t care about a condom, Seokjin. You’re to be my husband in a few months anyway. If you get me with child before then, lucky for you.” It would stick, she’d see to it, but she could flatter him with empty words, sure.

“I…” He blinked at her. 

“Come on, then, aren’t you going to touch me at least?”

He drew close but looked like he wasn’t sure where to put his hands suddenly.

“I thought you said you’ve done this before.”

“I have but… ok, I’ll kiss you first…”

“Then do it. You’re going to make me think you don’t want this.”

“I do,” he assured her, sliding his arms around her. “I do, Nasimiyu, I want it very much.” He kissed her harder and stepped backwards with her towards the bed, his cock pressing between them impossible to ignore. Probably he wanted her to grip it but she didn’t yet. She didn’t feel like handling that right now; if he wanted release, he was going to have to earn it. 

He pressed her down into the bed with more kisses. It was all right when they were on her mouth but she was impatient with them anywhere else, which he seemed to quickly pick up on. She let her legs fall apart until he reached down to tug her panties off. He looked like he was moving through water, every action was so slow. At least he looked like he admired what he saw. He better!

“I can be a lot to take,” he said, giving her what ought to have been a smug look but was just sheepish. 

“I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“I want to make sure so I’ll warm you up first–”

“You don’t have to narrate to me, just do it.”

She assumed he meant with his fingers. Why not? Every man before him had only ever meant that. But after the next kiss, he ducked suddenly lower and the next kiss was between her legs.

“Oh!”

“Is that ok?” he asked, looking up at her through eyebrows, expression serious. He was never this serious. He was much more handsome when he was serious.

“Yes. I just didn’t think– it’s fine. Get me off that way and I’m sure I’ll be ready to take you.”

“I think so too,” he agreed, but now he did sound smug, which annoyed her. She wanted to snap at him but worried anything she could say would just sound stupid while he was licking her like that. His tongue wasn’t as good as Dulce’s . Neither were his fingers. But he seemed eager to please and when she closed her eyes and just let him do what he wanted with a few commands here and there, she found it carried her right up to the edge.

“Yes, there you are, there you are, just let go,” he murmured and she realized he was watching her face. Awful. 

“Shhh,” she complained, “You’ll ruin it–” She broke off as his mouth latched onto her again, sucking without any seeming break to breathe this time. His tongue flicked her clit finally one time too many and she orgasmed with a gasp, fingers digging into her own thighs.

“There you go, princess– ah, shh, sorry, I’ll shut up…” He interrupted his own talking. It was unnatural for him to be so quiet but it's’ what she wanted lest he make any of those ghastly jokes. Especially right now as she grasped at this first orgasm, trying to lose herself and the whole evening into it. Just all right, nothing shocking, but it was nice and she was just relieved it had happened. A part of her had worried she might not be able to orgasm with Seokjin with how much she generally disliked him. Thank fuck for alcohol and his adequate tongue and finger work.

His fingers worked her open further as he slid up to kiss her, expression still so serious, like eating her had been some religious experience for him. Quiet in the bedroom after all, hm? That was probably for the best with him, though she preferred Dulce’s energy and authority. 

“I’ll give you a minute to recover,” he told her. “Or… or that can be it.”

“That better not be it. And I don’t need a minute.”

“Ok–”

“You know how to actually use that or do you just get by because it’s big?”

“I’m sure you’ll let me know,” he chuckled.

“Shh –ohhh.” She hated her own voice. She hated her own moan. She hated how good and snug and filled she felt as he sank into her. She hated that this annoying man had such good dick and she hated that his stroke game proved much better than his dancing. Fuck, the stretch was delicious. 

“Is that ok?” he asked, eyebrows upturned.

“Don’t coddle me like that. Just…”

“Just?”

“Just fuck me.”

“As you wish.”

He curled over her and she closed her eyes and thought maybe we can make this work after all…

This evening was taking a strange turn. Dulce wandered the late hours of the ball, fuzzy with some strange mixture of confusion and anger and… and… whatever else. She was simultaneously too drunk and too sober. 

Seokjin asking Dulce to dance was strange.

Her agreeing was strange.

Her enjoying it was even more strange.

Nasimiyu interrupting their dance in an obvious pout that she was not being included was not surprising at all, but Nasimiyu kissing Seokjin the second the dance ended was strange.

Nasimiyu leaving with Seokjin was strange. She had that slant to her body. Dulce knew that slant well. But… could this really be the night? Probably Nasimiyu would part ways with him before she got to a bedroom. Or stop before it got too far. She despised the man! She had made it excruciatingly obvious tonight that her attention was trained on– 

Lord Namjoon. The very man who approached Dulce outside the lounges. Also strange. And bad timing. Dulce was not in the mood to deal with anyone right now. She wanted–

“Wine?” Namjoon offered, handing her a glass. She eyed him warily as she took it. This wasn’t the wine that had been served around earlier though; it made her eyes water as she lifted the glass. 

“What is this?”

“It’s wine. Eh, strong wine.” He knocked his glass back, then shuddered and shook his head. 

Lord Namjoon, whom she had never spoken to in her life, approaching to get drunk with her, strange. What bizarro world had Prince Seokjin spun Dulce into?

Maybe Lord Namjoon didn’t know who she was. That suddenly made the most sense. He thought she was just some mysterious cast-off stranger floating around the party, and that was why he gestured for her to join him in one of the lounge rooms. And Dulce went because why not? That’s all she was right now. 

“Do you like the music here?” he asked her as they settled on a sofa he had cleared with a gesture. The act made him feel predatory and while she wasn’t nervous in the slightest, she was suspicious. What was she going to learn about this mysterious man who Nasmiyu’s parents had been so concerned about?

Oh. Recalling that put her even more on her guard. She had not done a good job of distracting Nasimiyu from this man, that was true, but it was also impossible. To keep her away would only make him more alluring to Nasimiyu. She wanted things she couldn’t or shouldn’t have. She didn’t want the things thrust upon her, like a perfectly good prince, or a life of wealth and privilege, or– 

He was looking at her, waiting for an answer, so she answered vaguely, “I suppose.” She wasn’t listening to it much at all, some man on a piano. The room had dimmer lighting and the smell of sex on the air, burned by candles along the walls and copious alcohol flowing. People spoke low and close to each other. The young women had said people fucked at these parties and Dulce suspected it started in here. Was this the sort of man Lord Namjoon was? And did he know whom he had brought in here?

“I’d ask you to dance but I don’t think you enjoy it any more than I do,” he admitted. “Did your lady know you were here before she interrupted your dance? She must have paid for your costume.” Well so much for that theory then.

“Yes.”

“Hm. To what end?”

“Hm?” 

“Why did she dress you up and send you to a ball, but not at her side?” 

Dulce didn’t answer and thought he must be an idiot if he expected her to. Maybe he didn’t because he continued,

“She’s clever. Possibly one of the most clever women I’ve met and I’m sure she was up to something. Were you meant to distract the Prince so she could spend time with me?”

“Your ego must be a great pride to your–”

He let out a noisy sigh, “Fine, it’s not that, I’m reaching. I’m just worried. I don’t want to cause any complications for their engagement but I think by giving her space she views it as a challenge.” Dulce said nothing since that was precisely true. “But if I don’t give space, Jin thinks I’m a threat. It really wasn’t my fault what happened before.”

“I’m a maid. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“But you’re also close with her.” He tipped back the dredges of his wine. Not much a sip and savor sort, this Lord Namjoon. “And you’re right, they’ve left together, so maybe I was worried for nothing.” He sighed and looked around. “I hate these things. I don’t enjoy dancing. I don’t enjoy gambling. I can’t even dance with someone without it suddenly being a thing people are gossiping about, and after the whole debacle, that gossip will be enough to sink me… It feels like everyone’s always watching me.”

The man was either paranoid or an egomaniac. He was popular, that was true, but Dulce didn’t think it was in a negative way. Was he just trying to manipulate her sympathies right now? 

“Sorry,” he chuckled, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “I’m horny and lonely and spilling my thoughts to…” He looked at her and clearly rolled his eyes at himself. “A ladies’ maid.”

“No one knows who I am unless you keep announcing it,” she pointed out, emboldened by the masquerade and unconcerned right now if he thought she was rude or out of place. He was the one who’d pulled her into here.

“That’s true. No one in their right mind would look at you and think you’re a maid. Isn’t that funny? You’re easily one of the most beautiful women here and you spend most of your days, what, scrubbing the princess’ laundry? How many social levels are between us but anyone who sees us right now will just think I’m trying to win favor from a beautiful stranger and probably they’ll doubt I deserve the attention you’re giving me.”

She sipped her wine. “I’m not interested in flattery.”

“All right, then I’ll skip it. Do you want to fuck? If you’re so sure your lady has no feelings for me and won’t be bothered?”

It was slimy. It was well done. Dulce looked at him and genuinely couldn’t tell if he was manipulative, opportunistic, or just an asshole.

“And what of my own feelings?”

“Ah, is your heart taken by another?” he sighed dramatically. “Maybe by the prince’s valet? Or Taehyung, who he stupidly keeps around here?”

“Why is it stupid?”

“Nevermind. Tell me, who has your heart, mysterious lady? Which man? Or, not a man? Perhaps your very own lady?”

“I thought you were supposed to be intelligent.”

He gave a short huff, “Yeah yeah. Not right now. Right now I’m… bored. My sister already went to bed so I don’t even need to watch out for her but the night’s too early to go to bed since I dragged my ass all the way here and put this stupid costume on. Can’t go to the afterparties without besmirching the good Kim name.”

“There are many women here I’m sure you can seduce.”

“Yes, but none as beautiful as you. None as motivated to keep their mouths shut about it. I have a reputation to maintain too.”

“One that doesn’t fuck maids, I gather?”

“One that doesn’t fuck anyone. And I suspect you’re the sort who isn’t going to tell her lady who she fucked either, right?”

“I am conveniently close to power for you.”

He rolled his eyes, “Ah, it’s fine then. I guess you really are in her confidence if you think someone can use you to get to her.” Damn she hated people like this who twisted their words around you. Dulce was clever but she could also recognize when she was mentally outmatched.

“I don’t think she’ll be pleased with you for going after her maid.”

“Yes but I don’t need her to be pleased with me, you see? You’re discreet. Someone sees us together right now, tomorrow they won’t know who I was speaking with. But it’s good if people see me leave with someone. Ah, I may have gotten into a bit of trouble with a– nevermind.” Dulce couldn’t tell, did he just naturally want to share or was he stringing her along to manipulate? It wasn’t going to work. She wasn’t interested in him. Not that she was interested in anyone! But Namjoon, Taehyung, Jimin, they were all interchangeable to her. Any one of them might fuck her and it might be good or it might not, she didn’t care as long as it served some purpose. She didn’t have any purpose to fuck Namjoon other than relief, if she allowed it, which she wouldn’t.

“Forget I said anything,” he grinned at her, and settled back against the couch with his arm along the back of it. Close enough that if she tilted her head, she could stab his with her skewers. “Am I making you uncomfortable? I can leave.”

“No, it’s fine. You act as a good barrier to others.”

What purpose could fucking Namjoon serve? She doubted this opportunity would present itself again. She could still meet up with Jimin and Taehyung later, or just go down that path another day. They seemed casual about it; it was good to know she might have an easy time fucking information out of them without much preamble.

“Well. It’s good they’re getting closer anyway,” Namjoon said. “Isn’t it? Both our lives get easier once they’re married and in love.”

“Why does yours?” she asked. Then quickly added, “Mine is unchanging. I serve no differently.”

“Because I think she’s going to be an amazing queen. She’s… bright and inquisitive and curious. She hears out my ideas. You serve a remarkable woman.”

“Who is in bed with her betrothed right now.”

“Yeah, which one are you jealous of?” he laughed. The surge of rage blinded her for a moment and had she less control, she might have lashed out. Instead she remained still as he chuckled to himself and shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, I understand your position. Who you want doesn’t ever matter. Ideas are more important than some sexual gratification, right? The world can be better and those of us willing to take up that task have to stay true to it. Nothing I believe in is worth throwing over for an… entanglement. That was true before. That will always be true.”

He was rambling. Did he really want to fuck or was he just looking for someone to listen to him? That seemed in line with what she had seen of him so far. A devout scholar all the unmarried girls pined for who was in fact undersexed, what a trope.

“Sorry,” he laughed suddenly. “It’s just always running up here.” He tapped his head. “Hence the… proposition.”

“So you’re confident enough to believe you’ve caught a betrothed princess’ eye but in practice not above pursuing a maid–”

“That makes me sound sleazy, huh? Suppose I thought you might be in a similar state as me. Frustrated and– anyway, I’m not looking at a maid right now. Masquerade, right?”

Dulce eyed him from the side of her mask. He was a noble, likely to be selfish. Probably he thought he was getting something to blackmail her with out of this –but with who, Nasimiyu? Nasimiyu might be mad but hey, she’d encouraged Dulce to fuck for information. It was part of the job. It’s not like they were a couple, after all. Nasimiyu was a princess currently fucking her future husband. Dulce was just an assassin masquerading as a maid masquerading as a mysterious noblewoman for an evening. And if Nasimiyu did get a little jealous, well… so what? She had Seokjin to comfort her. She’d wanted that comfort so badly she couldn’t even let Dulce finish her dance. And why had the prince asked her to dance in the first place?! After feeding her a raspberry tart. He was as much an asshole as Nasimiyu was. Assholes. All nobles were selfish, arrogant, thoughtless, reckless assholes who occasionally threw a masquerade so they could fuck servants without being embarrassed about it.

“Noblemen are selfish lovers,” Dulce said, curious what response she’d get from Namjoon.

“How many noblemen have you been with?”

“How many maids have you been with?”

Namjoon leaned across her, one arm on the arm rest, and stared into her eyes. He could see them through the mesh mask, he was close enough that she knew the eye contact was genuine. 

“This one isn’t a selfish lover.” He lowered his mouth to hers, masks bumping. Her was tied on too tightly to budge but his did, lifting higher as he settled more heavily on her, arms sliding around her, kissing her right there in the lounge for anyone nosy enough to look over. Dulce didn’t need to feel anything from the kiss to know that he was very skilled and most women would melt beneath him. It was enjoyable, anyway. He was handsome and at least knew how to kiss well. 

She slid her hands up to grab his hair and bit his lip.

“Ah, ok,” he hummed. “It’s like that?” He tried to push her back on the couch but her spiked crown bumped and her skirt was too full.

“Don’t fuck me in the middle of the–”

“Right right, sorry,” he murmured. “Getting carried away… I’m a little out of practice…”

She found that hard to believe, but played along, exaggerating her flushed state as he pulled her to her feet and they walked quickly from the lounge.

“Do you have a room?” he asked her.

“No.” 

“Uh… I’m sharing a suite with my sister…”

“The garden?”

“You’ll let me–”

“Isn’t that what people do at a ball–”

He suddenly grabbed her and pulled her close in the hallway, mouth hungrier against hers by the minute, needy in a way she would not expect from a man she’d only really spoken to this once. But it made obvious one thing was true: he was desperate to fuck. 

He barely let go of her so she could lead the way out into the gardens, and down a few paths until they found a nook isolated enough for them both. Apparently Namjoon wasn’t as worried anymore about being seen though it was unlikely anyone would recognize them in the low light. He sat on the bench and unbuttoned his pants but she scoffed,

“I don’t do that, you’ll just leave after.”

“I won’t, you have my word, but it’s fine. Come sit in my lap, think you can take me already or do I need to warm you up?”

“See, selfish.”

He grabbed her roughly and yanked her down to the bench but then, forgetting his own unbuttoned pants, crawled under her skirt, lifted it right over his head in one move. 

Only to laugh, “You have a knife!”

“Oh–”

“How were you going to reach this if you needed to?” he demanded, unfastening the clip and tossing it to the side along with his own mask.

“In case any handsy nobles harassed me.”

“But how are you going to use it? Do you even know how?”

“I’d figure it out.”

“If you stab me, you won’t get to finish.”

“I’ll finish first.”

He laughed, clearly unbothered, and dove back beneath her skirt, pushing her legs apart. She leaned back and closed her eyes and choked on a sigh. 

It was bad. It was bad that she couldn’t see him as tongue and fingers unfurled her. It was bad that she couldn’t see him, could only feel that it was a man’s hands touching her right now, a man’s mouth sucking at her clit. It made it too easy for someone else’s image to sneak in. Seokjin crouched between her legs in the dark garden, moaning into her pussy about how sweet she tasted–

She abruptly pushed him away to confirm his face. He looked bewildered, face messy and hair disheveled. 

“Something wrong–”

She grabbed his vest and pulled him onto the bench and pulled his cock from his unbuttoned pants, hot and heavy in her palm. It seemed Lord Namjoon had many blessings in life. 

He practically snatched it from her hand and dug a condom from a hidden pocket, rolling it on as he ordered, “Take your mask off.”

“No.”

“It’s cutting me when I kiss you.”

“Then don’t kiss me.”

He unbuttoned the lace at her throat and kissed there instead, hands dragging at her dress to pull into his lap where he had to slot himself into place while she tried to press down the volume of her skirt crushed between them. See? So impractical for fucking!

Their coming together was fast, frantic, too drunk, but not drunk enough. She forgot who was beneath her , just grabbed his broad shoulders and bit back the moans at the thrust of him deep into her body. He felt good, she’d give him that. He didn’t just mindlessly rut into her the way she’d half expected. His hands and lips were busy trying to drag pleasure from her that she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing, though it was difficult to hold herself to that. He felt good, he moved well, he smelled nice even after an evening of dancing. His mouth tasted like wine and raspberry tarts when he kept forgetting not to kiss her–

No. No that was someone else, someone whose mouth she didn’t know, and didn’t want to know, and it wasn’t her fault if things blended together in her mind as she rode this broad-shouldered man. He managed to wrestle one of her tits from her bodice, his mouth dragging at her nipple in a way that felt so foreign, it made it easy not to think of Nasimiyu and what she was doing right now. Possibly this very same thing. With someone else beneath her, or above her, or behind her. He worshipped her. She despised him. And they were going to be married and he was going to die and Dulce was part of making that happen. And he’d fed her raspberry tart and spun her on the dancefloor over and over as she got drunker and dizzier, even though it was the wrong move, because he thought she enjoyed it. 

She did.

Seokjin shuddered beneath her and grunted against her neck, arms locked tight around her as he came, cock nudging her deep, deep, so deep, mouth hot on her skin– 

No, no! Not Seokjin, Namjoon. 

It was too late. Her orgasm shoved her from behind, leaving her no time to catch herself before she fell. Instead she leapt off his cock, making him cry out at the shock as she collapsed heavily beside him on the bench, cunt clenching around nothing as her orgasm fizzled into dust. Interrupted. A failure. A shame that left her gasping and twitching.

“What’s the hurry?” 

She didn’t say anything, just shook her head. He gave her a smug grin, “See? Not selfish.” He tugged the condom off his softening dick, knotted it and tucked it into his pocket. A cautious man. A proud man who saw her orgasm and thought it was his accomplishment. It was. It wasn’t. She wished she had just let herself enjoy it. She knew she couldn’t.  

Once everything was tucked away, he settled back against the bench and closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh. 

Dulce just sat there. She felt… strange. Weary. Simultaneously spent and unspent. 

After a few minutes, Namjoon reanimated. He leaned down to give her a kiss she hadn’t expected.

“That mask is almost as lethal as you are,” he complained, rubbing at his nose as he stood. “Thank you for that. Are you all right?”

“Yes.”

“Satisfied?”

“Yes.”

“Why don’t I walk you back inside?”

“No, I’m all right.”

“If you’re sure…”

She nodded and waved him off and he went. It let her sit on the bench for a moment and catch her breath as her stomach turned. She hadn’t wanted to cum with him. She was glad she’d interrupted it but it didn’t change that she had. She refused to think about why. She didn’t like the loss of control. She was slipping. This whole night had been nothing but slipping and she didn’t like it. It was Nasimiyu’s fault for making her come to this, for dressing her up, for acting like she was some silly little plaything. My little doll. She hated Nasimiyu right now. Everything was Nasimiyu’s fault. If not for Nasimiyu, she wouldn’t even be here.

And now, where to go? She was tired of the whole thing now. Orgasm had sobered her when she didn’t want either of those things. Honestly if she’d been less weary, she might have gone to find Jimin and Taehyung. Have a crazy end to her night, get further drunk, do the magical lix, have that threesome, embrace the chaos, ride off into the sunset in the morning, stop caring about anything–

Fuck. Fuck, was she starting to care? Better not be.

Maybe she should do that part in the morning, then. Disappear. Prove she didn’t care about anyone or anything. 

The other part of her considered just curling up here to sleep and let whoever find her in the morning and deal with it then. Her whole body felt sticky and numb and fuzzy and she was ferociously hungry. She’d never got her plate of desserts back from the tutor and the loss made her want to cry but she couldn’t go all the way back to the masquerade for them. She just couldn’t.

Her only hope was if there were any still in the kitchen. It was worth a shot. If she got some desserts, she’d feel better, and then she could figure out what to do because she felt like she ought to be doing something. Leaving. Getting away from this place. But she couldn’t get this dress off by herself, and she couldn’t go to Nasimiyu’s room for help because she might not be alone or she might not even be there. Would they have gone to her room or his? Dulce’s guess was Nasimiyu’s. Shit, if they went to his room, she’d see the animals and that would be the end of it. The thought almost made her smile.

The kitchens were still busy. She had been an idiot to come here. She entered through a side door and immediately backed out, but unfortunately not before detection.

“What are you doing here? Dressed like… that?” Yoongi asked. 

She hesitated. The last thing she wanted was another man involved in her evening, and yet there was no one else. She didn’t know Yoongi well, only in the context of kitchen visits, but he also seemed so nonplussed that it made him feel trustworthy in the way she could use right now.

“Can you help me get out of this?”

“Eh… you coming onto me?”

“No.”

“How did you get into it?”

“My lady. But she’s… occupied.”

His eyebrows raised. “Ah. By the prince, I hope.”

“Yes.”

“Well that’s great. Yeah, you need something to change into I guess. You want to sleep here too?” He stepped away from the kitchen and she followed, not sure where they were going. “I don’t have a private room but everyone’s working right now.”

“You have clothes that will fit me?”

“They’re kitchen scrubs but yeah.” The room around the corner was small and had two bunks in it. It reminded Dulce of her servant's room. She compared them both to Nasimiyu’s room and felt a spark of fiery rage of injustice catch and then fizzle. She was too tired right now.

“Hey, are you all right?”

“Yes.”

“Something happen?”

“No. A ball is just not the place for me.”

“Me fucking neither. You look right though. Nice, I mean.”

“I want this gone.”

He helped her out of the dress with only a slight twitching of his lips, didn’t even comment on her tits and lack of underwear but also didn’t exactly avert his eyes. The clothes were bland, beige, poorly fitting but they covered her. They shoved her dress into an empty sack along with the mask, grimacing at the way the spikes stuck out. He found a smaller bag for her jewelry. She’d have to sneak back barefoot tomorrow, the heels would look too suspicious with her clothes. She did her best to wipe the heavy eye makeup off with a wet towel.

“Quite a transformation,” he mused.

“Thank you.” 

He hadn’t asked further questions about why she’d dressed up, or how it had gone, or why she might look almost on the verge of tears. She wasn’t. She had no reason to cry. She’d danced. She’d gotten dick. She was a little drunk but not badly. The plans were progressing. 

He looked at her feet and sighed, “I don’t even have a second pair of shoes to offer you.”

“That’s ok. Thank you for your help.”

“I’ll extract payment in the kitchen, don’t thank me yet. But hey, if you would rather sleep here it’s fine with me as long as you don’t mind sharing a bed when I get a break in a couple hours.”

She considered it. The other option was to walk barefoot through the castle, avoid being seen by anyone while lugging her bag of dress and spikes, hide that under her own bed, and sleep listening to the complaints from the other maids. Her makeup was smeared but not gone, her hair was down, she smelled like alcohol and perfume and probably sex too. They’d know where she’d been. 

But she’d need to gather her things if she was going to light out in the morning. It was looking more alluring by the moment.

He touched her arm, a gentle nudge towards the bed. “Just sleep here. I promise I won’t pull anything.”

“It’s all right?”

“Yes, Dulce. It’s all right.”

She didn’t make him offer again.

Seokjin lay awake, gaze alternating between Nasimiyu sleeping beside him and the silk canopy above her bed. To say this was not how he had expected the night to end was an understatement. The whole night was a hazy mixture of moments and touches and music and skewers he couldn’t quite make sense of yet, though he wasn’t drunk. He felt drunk. Okay, he was a little drunk. Drunker than he would have liked to be his first time with Nasimiyu but maybe it was for the best because he thought the alcohol might have helped him not fuck it up. 

They’d really done it. He glanced at her again, at the cloud of her hair rising up from her pillow. Beautiful. Men had followed her every step tonight and yet he was the one she’d pulled close and kissed and brought to her bedroom. Yes, he was her betrothed but it still felt like an undeserved honor. She was as forthright with her wants as he had expected and he thought he hadn’t disappointed her. He just wished he could remember it a little more but maybe that wasn’t the alcohol, that was being drunk on Nasimiyu and the heat that came just from getting to touch her. He would have settled for a dance tonight. A kiss. Instead he felt like he’d got everything and he didn’t understand what he’d done to deserve it.

But he wouldn’t let her down now. He wouldn’t take for granted that she had allowed him this great leap forward in their relationship. If she could just not regret this tomorrow, and not slide back, everything could be ok. Dulce was right, Nasimiyu just needed time to warm up to him, was that it?

He glanced at the shadowy pile by the window of Dulce’s boots and clothes. She had dressed here before the ball obviously. It was an odd piece of her to see in his betrothed’s bedroom. He wondered again about their dynamic but more than that, he wondered what Dulce had done after he and Nasimiyu left. He didn’t know whether to hope his friends looked out for her so no one else bothered her, or hope they left her alone because they might be the bothersome ones. He felt a deep guilt to have left her before they’d even concluded their dance. He felt like he’d left something behind at the dance, an important task undone, a dangling thread that needed to be pulled. Something in the oven. 

He couldn’t fall asleep because he’d had sex with Nasimiyu and she was beautiful and incredible and going to be his wife, he was going to spend the rest of his life with this amazing woman. And he couldn’t fall asleep because he had this growing ball of dread in his stomach that he’d left Dulce in trouble. He didn’t know that. She was capable. It was just a ball. Her safety wasn’t his responsibility. Probably she had gone to get her dessert plate from Hoseok. Maybe she was sleeping in her own bed right now.

But she needed her boots, didn’t she? And she couldn’t come get them because he was in here. Lying naked in bed next to Nasimiyu. He felt very naked next to her. 

He needed to piss, that’s why he got out of bed. He tugged his underwear on afterwards, and fetched Dulce’s boots. He overbalanced and dropped one at first, and out fell a knife with a jeweled handle. A necklace with a locket was wrapped around the sheath, tangled up in the jewels, and for a moment he had the nosy impulse to open it. Who did Dulce wear in a locket down her dress everyday? Nasimiyu? Her family? A lover left behind in Marvono? Maybe she had followed that lover to Marvono in the first place?

He didn’t open the locket. Instead he carried the things to the door and stuck his head out to hail the attention of the nearest guard.

“I need you to take these to the room where her maids sleep.”

“I don’t know where they sleep.”

“Well figure it out, good man! Don’t spill the things inside. I know what’s there and if anything is missing, I’ll come for you.”

The guard rushed off and Seokjin scurried back to bed. He’d orgasmed hard earlier, the results leaving a wet spot he brushed against. Back out of bed, he got a towel to drape over the spot, then curled up again, and this time felt more at peace. She was probably already in bed and now she had her boots and locket and pretty little knife back. He felt better knowing she carried that. She was capable and probably she could carve up a man as well as she’d been cutting those beans in the kitchen. He hoped she’d never need to though.

Nasimiyu flipped in her sleep and a hand arced, slapping him in the face. He chuckled. 

“On the nose, Nasi dear,” he murmured and settled her arm gently by her side. He held her wrist for a moment, embracing the warmth of her skin against his. The sex was so good. It would only get better as they learned the things they each liked. They were going to be happy, weren’t they? Now that she was accepting him?

He drifted off, mind swirling with Nasimiyu’s moans and gold-flecked skin bouncing on top of him and raspberry tarts staining red lips that almost smiled and a beautiful storm cloud spinning around him and skeleton hands that wrapped around his throat until the music stopped.

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

[cyrusstarchaser]

Like most trans people, and queer people in general, my idea about 'being trans/queer' has changed a lot over the course of my life. I started transitioning in my late 20s/earlier 30s. I went through the "it's a medical thing" phase, I also said "I prefer 'transsexual' because I am only changing my sex not my gender". And those are all fine stances, but they sat ill with me cause I had always been so loud and proud queer. Why would I refuse a 'gay cure' and yet would want a 'trans cure'? Why was I, someone who beamed with pride when they called themselves a dyke, so afraid of being trans? Why would I wish to magically be cis? And why did it seem like transitioning would mean I was no longer queer? Why did I feel this feeling of 'Straight Man Doom"?...and why did it seem like so many other trans mascs though the same?

Meanwhile, I was also having to speed run working through my complicated thoughts on Men - especially if I was supposed to want to be one after all. Yeah I was 'jealous', ya know, "blah blah boyhood" and "being cis is free fuck you!" and all that, but why did I hate the idea of people seeing ME as a man? Ok yes I did double down a bit on being a 'man-hating' dyke - but WHY did it feel like I was losing something by transitioning?

Well turns out the short answer was that the first step to queer joy was overcoming my internalized toxic masculinity, because the thing I felt like I was losing was 'freedom'. All my life I have felt this overwhelming feeling of coming up short when measured to a man. This pressure to compete, to be the best. Cause if I lose then it was because I was a Girl. When I got my disability diagnosis, there was a sense of relief because surly THIS was why I was losing. Of course being a man would seem terrifying, now I would constantly have to compete in order to keep my gender. And of course I wouldn't want to be a man, I had heard from women EXACTLY what men were like! Of course I was going to have to stop being queer - I only liked women after all (LMAO) and if people knew I was trans/queer then I would seem more feminine and more "Really a Girl" to them. Of course I didn't want people to see me as a man, they were dangerous! Every woman I know has told me that! But if I was non-binary, then I was really just a girl right? And a disabled trans man is just a man that 's Losing, why would I want to be that? What if I transitioned and looked like a Creep?

At the end of the day being a dyke allowed more freedom then being a straight man - because at least when I was seen as a dyke I was never seen as dangerous to my allies, and I was still a dyke regardless of any "feminine hobbies or preferences". And look, of course some people have insinuated that I wasn't really a lesbian but it was far less frequent and way easier to wave off. It's one thing when once in a blue moon a guy who clearly wants to sleep with you goes "are you sure you're really a lesbian?" and it's another thing entirely when everyone around you INCLUDING YOURSELF starts holding you to the Male Norm and pointing out when you Lack.. And not for nothing but men were just straight up more vilified to me by everyone around me then dykes were.

Now obviously I came to an epiphany about this at some point, otherwise we wouldn't be 5 paragraphs deep into a blog post. Now I just Do What I Want Forever. I wish I could concisely describe the feeling to people. I wish I could meaningfully convey how much joy and freedom I gained when it felt like I could finally see my chains. But all I feel is frustration. How do I tell people that it's not just that will live in a sterile, white-centrist, binary obsessed gated community - it's that we live in a gender panopticon that everyone gleefully takes part in? It really is a bio-essentialist matrix: I can't point out that "Men have it bad" because they are in charge and have power, women can't be cruel to men because they are just fighting back against patriarchy. "They hate me because I'm a man" says the young white boy about to be recruited into the alt right. "I know what it's like to be a minority" says the white woman about to preach respectability politics. "You're less of a man if you are losing, you must always be working hard and earning! Don't talk about weakness or emotion, men are supposed to struggle and be hard!" says capitalism. "Yeah you're non-binary...but what are you really?" says someone who cares too deeply about 'gendered solicitation' - but not to fix it cause it's working as intended.

"There are just natural differences between men and women" says a system that has a vested interest in you believing that the people around you are inherently different from you in ways you can not comprehend - despite being your neighbor. When I say I'm trans what I mean is that I am a huddled mass yearning to be free, allowed dignity and agency. When I say I am a fag it is because I am a man that loves men radically, queer pride replacing patriarchal shame. And when I say I'm old it's because I'm exhausted from participating in this waking nightmare known as capitalism - despite having a note from my doctor saying I'm excused!

[olivereactsaboutgarbage]

One Piece Chapters 220-228

Hey... you know what rhymes with “two twenty-eight?” You denty fate!!!

Chapter 220 - A Walk on the Seafloor

Everyone is having fun destroying priceless antiques... <3

Wow, I guess Lufpy isn’t the only pirate captain who’s into that sort of thing. I guess it simply comes with the job.

Huh... I guess cameras DO exist in this setting, huh? I mean. I guess I HAVE seen photographs. I guess? Have I??? I can’t remember for sure anymore...

That’s what Lufpy needs for his crew next. A photographer. The musician will obviously be strong enough to kill the final boss in a single attack, so in the meantime a photographer would be great...

Hey wait. Does Nico Robin have a job yet? Everyone on the crew needs a job. Someone should give her a camera.

SANJI HAS A CELLPHONE

I can’t believe Sanji gets his own cellphone and Nico Robin doesn’t even get a camera. She’s the oldest, you know. If anyone’s mature enough to handle having a camera, it’s Nico Robin.

Masaru Kong arrives. Eaten By A Turtle

Chapter 221 - Monsters

hehe nipples

The sky goes dark... and everyone turns out to be fine... how foreboding...

me when those hippies at nintendo tried to give mario a newfangled villain to fight like the old one wasn’t good enough!!!! >:(

Masaru Kong is ready to be a new antagonist, but three huge silhouettes overshadow him... LITERALLY! LITERALLY!!!

Everyone leaves.

Everyone kicks Masaru Kong.

Chapter 222 - The Giant Novice

Nami tries to remind everyone of what the plot actually is. Instead of that happening successfully, Nico Robin hands her a plot device.

Hmm... they’re both Competent Women... they’ll have to battle for dominance... and on that day, Nami will surely lose... Haha! That’s sad! I guess that’s why people like Nico Robin so much though. It’s because she stole Nami’s soul (future tense).

Hmm... they’re going to “Jaya,” huh? Next they should go to “Jaava”. Hmm... come to think of it, One Piece is basically exactly like Wonderland Adventures: Planet of the Z-Bots! There’s islands instead of planets, and cops instead of Z-Bots, and instead of trying to save the world from Z-Bots, they’re trying to find the One Piece, I guess??? Is that what they’re doing??? And instead of being a sequel to something about pirates, it IS something about pirates. And instead of Jeeboos... uh... I dunno. I forget what I’m even talking about. This entire paragraph is Content for No One.

There’s a guy who kills birds because he thinks birds should be put out of their misery. Nami and Usopp both think he doesn’t exist. Nami and Usopp are friends in the strangest of ways. You wouldn’t think one character would be able to be part of both the Nami-Usopp friend group and the Lufpy-Usopp-Tony Tony Chopper friend group, but, well... I guess that’s just Usopp for you. Although I guess Lufpy also slots not only into the Lufpy-Usopp-Tony Tony Chopper group, but also into the Lufpy-Zoro-Sanji group. So I guess Lufpy is even more of a social butterfly than Usopp, because 3 + 3 is more than 2 + 3.

what the fuck am i reading here. this little text box gets increasingly baffling super fast

Anyway, Jaya is Bad People Town. There’s a gambler with white dreadlocks who murders anyone who’s better at gambling than he is. Kaiji should just do that. By extension, I guess that means Keiichi should just do that. Read my newly-started Higurashi posts for more details on why Keiichi should murder little girls. ...Actually I’ve barely included any details, but you can use your imagination to pretend I did.

Well, he gets murdered by someone even worse at gambling than he is. There are downsides to this kind of thing too, it seems... may the worst gambler be the last man left alive.

...OH MAN WAIT ARE WE GETTING A ONE PIECE GAMBLING ARC??? I WANNA SEE THAT!!!

Chapter 223 - I Promise Never to Fight in This Town

Lufpy and Zoro leave, so Nami leaves, so Sanji wants to leave, so Usopp and Tony Tony Chopper force Sanji not to leave. Nico Robin is using her “mysterious untouchable villain” aura to already have been gone before any of this even happened.

Nami makes Lufpy promise not to do anything violent while on Jaya. I see where this is going! They’re going to play The Floor Is Lava, except Fighting is going to be the Floor. I guess that means Troy is going to leave. If Nami is Abed, then that makes... hmm... Usopp... Troy? I can’t believe Usopp would leave the crew! I thought better of you, Usopp.

Anyway, the main trio meets the Pestilence Horseman of the Apocalypse. But Pestilence is a freaking fake one, so he’s actually Conquest. That’s bad!!! He’ll totally try to rip off Lufpy’s style later, in his quest for conquest. But Lufpy can’t fight him!!! That’s the rule of The Floor is Lava. That means Nami is going to have to kill this man.

The main trio is next accosted by a fast man and some sexy people. Lufpy hates sex and wants to commit murder. Why did Lufpy look at naked women earlier then!!! Plot hole!!!

Lufpy changes his mind about the sexy people when they give him money, but Nami doesn’t want Lufpy to have money. That’s fair. If Lufpy was rich enough to pay off his debt to Nami, then he wouldn’t work for Nami anymore. Then Lufpy would have to leave the cast of One Piece due to not working for her anymore. No one wants that!

Woah... there’s actually WAY MORE SEXY PEOPLE.

Nami decides that this arc will only be 50% of its maximum length.

Lufpy has a new rival who will oppose him in the Food Critic Lufpy Arc. That’s what this arc is I guess.

Chapter 224 - Do Not Dream

Lufpy’s head gets slammed into the counter, so he’s about to lose The Floor is Lava. Nami quickly prevents this by making the entire room erupt with laughter.

Woah... other pirates ALSO go around doing random spontaneous recruits. I wonder what kind of corporate merger will end up causing Lufpy’s whole crew to get absorbed...

Nami decides that The Floor is Lava is now canceled. Lufpy decides it’s not canceled. He has more authority, so everyone has to play it forever now.

Chapter 225 - People’s Dreams

Lufpy and Zoro do really well at The Floor is Lava!!! Lufpy’s Food Critic Rival congratulates them.

Woah... Usopp was friends with a GIR? Does that make Usopp Invader Zim?! But... Invader Zim tried to conquer the world through violent invasion, not to mention all those young children he disemboweled! I thought better of you, Usopp.

Chapter 226 - Shoujou, the Salvage King of the Seafloor?

Eh... this chapter is about Shoujou? Not Shoujo? So it’s not about young girls? I see... I see...

Oh man, you’re SO close, Tony Tony Chopper... I see that you know how to say “D”... and you know how to say “CALL A OCTOR”... c’mon, just put those two together... I know you can do it, buddy... I know you can form a coherent sentence... I believe in you :D

Nami arbitrarily genders superpowers XD XD XD

^funneiest jthing i’ve ever said on this blog^

Meanwhile, while everyone else was being useless on-panel, Nico Robin was being useful off-panel. I see why everyone loves her! She’s useful.

Ah... it’s Black Sperm... since Lufpy is Saitama, that means Lufpy is gonna be this guy’s friend...

Woah... Shoujou is the most fetishy pirate captain of all... and he’s NOT young girls!!!

Shoujou’s superpower is sound manipulation. Now THAT’S a superpower MEN are allowed to have!!! Also he’s Masaru Kong’s brother. So I guess that makes his full name Shoujou Kong.

Chapter 227 - Noland the Liar

A liar, huh? So we’re doing Usopp again...

The crew has reached the house of a strange guy. He has Sanji’s favorite book. It’s a children’s story: Some guy said there was money. Lots of people died. There wasn’t money. He said “I guess something happened to the money”. He died.

This book was a true story... that’s why it sucked. Unlike One Piece, which isn’t a true story. That’s why it’s good.

Nami reads the story: “Usopp died horribly and his character arc was cut off unsatisfyingly. The end.” Usopp doesn’t like that version of the story but I do. I guess Usopp just has worse taste in stories than I do! I thought better of you, Usopp.

Sanji is sick of saving-Lufpy-from-drowning duty, so he makes Usopp do it. Meanwhile, Major Armstrong attacks!

Major Armstrong is the sibling of Masaru Kong and Shoujou Kong... making his real name... you guessed it... Majorarmstr Kong! Hmm... now the question is, between Masaru and Shoujou, which one is the girlboss and which one is the dainty piano-wielding maiden who’ll get cut from Brotherhood for time?

Chapter 228 - Mont Blanc Cricket, the Last Boss of the Monkey Mountain Allied Force

...bro

Oh, maybe the other Kongs aren’t Majorarmstr Kong’s brothers. They call him boss. ...Well, you don’t need to be biologically related to be part of the DK Crew.

Hmm... seems like Noland Kong isn’t that similar to Lufpy then. Unless, of course... this is foreshadowing for when Lufpy dies with tears rolling down his cheeks.

Bah, Usopp and his toxic masculinity! He’s (secretly) even worse than Sanji when it comes to sexism! I thought better of you, Usopp. But I shouldn’t have. Because... you’ve been scum from the beginning, haven’t you? Die, Usopp.

wait i don’t think that’s the takeaway i’m supposed to have from this backstory reveal

So yeah anyways the backstory reveal was that Majorarmstr Kong is looking for money as a kind of psychological warfare against someone dead. And the other members of the DK Crew are people who think he’s cool.

Hmm... Tony Tony Chopper is a furry... and now they’re going to use a sky fish to get to a sky island? One Piece is rapidly becoming Pirate101.

[patriciavetinari]

Long personal post about sex, please scroll accordingly if not interested.

I believe I just realized a part of why I'm so frustrated about romance, including sexual relationships. Not just that I've always been interested, and I think part of the reason might be limited attention in my childhood? Me believeing I should be loved and supported and taken care of more than I did? Busy single mother, combined with absolute assholes for classmates who were treating me horribly, teachers ignoring the situation, no help from anyone? Family not being the safe haven I was always told it is?.. Being disappointed with family love, having never experienced comraderie and friends' love it seems like all of it accumulated into strong desire for romantic love and partnership built on romantic connection. I'm just speculating though, no time for a therapist.

But then as a marginalized person you grow up without proper socialization (I've never had a birthday party in my life), and romantic socialization and flirting being part of that, so you become an adult completely lacking social skill. Add on to it general unpleasantness fat people and fat women experience.

And it's not for a lack of trying that I'm single. I've done years and years of research, I've watched and read about being charming and making friends and finding partners, from reasonable coaches to absolutely insane stuff, and I've been dutiful and trying those methods – I have found none that have worked. I've been on dating apps, I've been forcing myself out of comfort zone, going out every day off, I've been dressing like a hoe, like a en elegant lady, like a big titty goth gf – none of this has worked. The only thing I haven't tried is speed dating, but I have a few of those bookmarked.

And yes, I've made the first step, multiple times, I've asked people out myself rather than expect them to approach. I've been told no or been stood up, I've literally had 0% success rate and revived my confidence from the pits of despair every time.

And at the same time, still, the person I want to be is the one that turns heads and has a string of competing lovers and people having duels over my attention and affections. Last one I'm willing to live without, but to have people find me desirable in a romantic way is still a strong desire of my own and even though I don't have that and I have to be able to go on alone... Idk, I still yearn. Badly. At the very least I want to try and reach that lifestyle and then figure out on my own that it's not for me. I think it goes back to feeling invisible and overshadowed and forgotten and unwanted, so now I really wish to experience the opposite. And yeah, if I can rake in some material benefits – even better. If I could be having sugar daddies and mommies, or have an onlyfans, I would do it.

I mean... When I say if I could – I can, probably, but that's the thing, the technical part is easy. Start an account, point a camera at yourself, click, but the next step is where I get stuck. Like, what do I do? How do I act sexy? What is the type of sexyness that fits me, that I can confortably perform, that doesn't feel like the most generic porn parody? What is it about me that turns people on? How should I act to maximise that?

And I once again come back to having no experience of feeling sexy, desired, beautiful to another person. I... Don't think it's exactly seeking validation. Because I'm generally fine with myself and I go out without makeup no problem, I value my comfort etc, and I know in my skull that I'm pretty. But I do want to be beautiful to other people. I do want the experience of being wanted and I've never had that. Not in a way that is acceptable, so a dudebro posting an eggplant emoji under my selfie is not what I'm looking for. I'm probably seeking attention but that is also respectful I guess? I'm aware my standards are high, but low standards brought me terrible experiences in the past.

Doesn't help that the 2 very poor sex experiences that I've had happened when I was anorexic, so much thinner, and both of those people were very bad at sex, not bothering with foreplay or making me feel desired, even though they clearly wanted to fuck. Like, as wild as it sounds, I felt like one of them is not really interested in my, and the other wanted to fuck me but did't fee the need for me to feel good. Both of them were really not nice to me. I'm not even talking about orgasms. One of them blatantly told me that me not orgasming or not much enjoying the shitty sex meant that I'm not 'built' to enjoy sex which fucking had me fuming for obvious reasons. I've been fascinated by sex since very early age and still am and that's the reason I don't think I'm ace (?). I've entertained a thought, but at the moment I genuinely don't know if it's me not experiencing sexual desire towards people or just not letting myself entertain the idea that a real person could want me because that has literally never happened (in my current body size, I honestly view my brief period of thinness almost as another person, I have nothing in common with her). So I don't let myself fantasize or desire someone or even have a crush because it's always painful and just seems unrealistic.

I think I had a crush at my old job, and mustered the courage to ask the person out twice and that's how I got stoop up and then found out they started dating someone else, and I literally cried, feeling like a high schooler (derogatory). So I don't let myself have crushes because what's the point. I try to find enjoyment if friendly hanging out nowadays.

And coming back to sex, without having experienced any genuine interaction, any expression of desire towards me as a person or even to my current body – again, in a way that is more human than eggplant emoji or like 'i wana fuck your bobs' – without any of it I don't know what is it that people find sexy about me, IF they find me desirable, which aspects of my look or attitude turn people on, what should I be highligting. I want to learn, I want to play into my strengths, but I don't know what they are. Yeah I do want to hear that someone is crazy about me, loves talking to me and wants to pleasure me and loves my mind as well as my body just the way it is. You know, the Gomez Addams approach.

My main problem is that my empirical evidence of being alive as a human shows me that I either don't provoke any desire or I provoke primitive disrespectful fetishization. That the only people willing to show their attraction to me or act up on it are very unpleasant predatory types. And all of them online too, no real life person has shown any interest or effort in trying to spend time with me for anythibg long term or even just get into my bed which I would be totally ok with.

Of cource it's disheartening and discourageing and concerning.

I'm always trying to find out what is people do that makes them have a partner after partner, or a string of fun sex encounters, or just adventurous personal life (of course I don't realky care what thin people have to say on the topic, they literally live in the world of their own especially when it comes to relationships). I want that. I want to learn, I'm willing to try stuff and muster courage, I wouldn't mind having an onlyfans, but I think my own research is not helping me enough in learning about my own sexuality, find the right ways to be sexy because I've bever made feel like I am sexy to anyone, I've never been told that (again, in human ways not in scum ways). I feel silly most of the time when attemting to flirt, and the old protective mechanism of being the clown, compensating fatness with being funny to ve accepted still looms its ugly head.

I don't know what to do. I want to have people ask for my phone number all the time, and compete for my attention, having 4849385 invites to do something after work or on the weekend, having my pick of people to spend time and have sex with as much as my heart desires. And yeah, being pampered and taken care of and showered with words and gifts and gestures as well. Years of loneliness have made me gluttonous for all that, and the sick irony of desiring all that while in a fat body in a world that hates fat people and makes sure we know we absolutely should 't be expecting any of that.

I don't know if I'll ever grow out of that. Or if I'll ever be touched by another human being. Seems quite hopeless at the moment.

[beauty-and-passion]

What Eurovision 2021 taught us

1. That a nice, enjoyable show was possible (even if 4 presenters are still too much)

Of course nothing can beat Love Love Peace Peace (even if Ja Ja Ding Dong does its best), but this year's intermissions were very enjoyable.

We expected something flashy and over the top because hey, The Netherlands. Sex, drugs, gays and all that jazz.

But instead Covid surprised us. And then The Netherlands surprised us even more, by making a very enjoyable show, despite the restrictions. My personal favourites were:

The water intermission of the first semi-final. I loved the mixed feelings, how water is both scary and respected, for being such a powerful, unstoppable force.

The rooftop concerts during the final. Social distancing? Sure, no problem, let's make the past winners sing on top of some roofs all over Rotterdam. That was pure genius, I loved it so much.

On the other hand, the presenters were basically all useless. We could've had just two of them instead of four. But hey, at least they weren't as cringy as the three scary ukranians from 2017 or the useless four ladies from Portugal. The true highlights of the show were the intermissions, the guests and especially the songs themselves and this is perfectly good for me.

________________________

2. That we can live in a world without boring ass ballads

I’ve never been so proud of the Eurovision public, especially during the second semifinal: that evening was PACKED with ballads. Boring ballad after boring ballad, with just a couple more funny songs in between.

The ballads were all left behind. Even the two Amen. And I love the irony we chose El Diablo and the finnish band for the final, but no Amen. No saints allowed, only the norwegian angel. As it always should be.

And so we had the best final I've seen since I started following Eurovision in 2014. Catchy songs, dance songs, upbeat songs. And power ballads. Yes, ballads can still have a place, but only if they're good.

Because yes, Switzerland and France were good. Very good. Just not as good as the ones the public wanted.

________________________

3. That we want Eurovision, not Englishvision

Every year, the same message blasts from all Europeans: send a song in your native language. This show is supposed to make other people from Europe (and the rest of the world) to know more about your own country, to enjoy its rhythm and to listen to something we don't usually hear. So why waste this huge opportunity, to bring a generic song in English?

Because the English song wins. Because we all understand English, so English has more chances.

Flash news: GUESS WHO WON THIS YEAR. No, it’s not the generic English song.

The public has been crystal clear, the final poll is even clearer: the top five includes an italian song, an ukraine song, two french songs and only one english song. We want different styles and rhythms, we want to listen to Europe.

So I want to give my full thank you to:

Albania: amazing song, great voice, wonderful language. Do it again.

Serbia: these ladies are fantastic, their song is great and they sang it in their language so I love them

Switzerland: thank you for leaving English to the side to give us some good french

Spain: the song wasn't as good as Universo, but it was in sexy spanish, so thank you for using it almost every year

Danemark: the song was terrible, but it was in your language and this alone deserves everything

France: I know we all make fun of you for being France, but your language is perfect for songs, so thank you for always using it

Ukraine: take note, Ukraine, because Europe is madly in love with your language and your rhythm

Italy: our language is beautiful, so thank you for delivering every year

While my biggest biases go to:

Greece: a generic pop song with no balkan rhythm and no greek either? An absolute shame, greek should always be used for songs.

Russia: russian language is very melodious and yes, we got something this year, but what about bringing a full russian song? We want it!

Germany: I may sound crazy, but I honestly think german language is good for songs. It's not like the mediterranean languages, but it still works. So please, do not be scared and show what you can do with it!

Scandinavian countries: why do you never want to bring your own language? Do it, don't be scared! Yes, Sweden, I'm talking with you: you still never tried to bring something in swedish, so do it.

________________________

4. That we don't want Americans to play with us

For reasons we still have to understand, Flo Rida was competing this year. And he was competing for San Marino, the smallest European country.

I'm pretty sure they took some time to explain to him what was going on, where he was, where San Marino is, wtf was happening, why there were sexy italians and ukranian witches and a norwegian angel and loads of beautiful women everywhere.

And I loved how we all send memes about this, about ahahah why is Flo Rida here, what if San Marino wins where would they host Eurovision, all while enjoying an actual catchy song.

And then, in the end, Flo Rida basically disappeared. Who remembers Flo Rida, when we got Ukraine, Italy, Finland, Iceland, and the UK? And Germany being wholesome? And the love story between Norway and Azerbaijan? We collectively forgot about him and I think it's very sexy from Europe to just say "nope" and push America away, even if for just one week.

And this isn't the first time: we basically showed Madonna in a corner in 2019, thanks to Mans, Eleni, Verka and Conchita. Once again, Europeans knows what they want: we don't want Americans. Australia can because they're like that little brother we took under our wing for no reason and now it's part of us. But not Americans.

The rest of the year is all yours, but one week is ours.

________________________

5. That we can lose like bosses

This year, the voting results have been absolutely insane and FOUR COUNTRIES got zero points from the public, while the UK got both zero points from the public AND the jury.

Don't get me wrong, the song was bad. And yes, Brexit played a role in this. And yes, hating England is Europe’s favourite sport.

But can we please all take a moment and appreciate how James Newman reacted? The public gave him a round of applause and he celebrated this achievement like a boss.

And he had all the reasons! He achieved something incredible, he unlocked something that this new voting system was supposed to never lead to. But he did it. So hats off to you, my boy: My Last Breath was better.

Germany is also used to the bottom of the chart, but this year I really thought Jendrik could have a chance to achieve a higher position. The song was funny, carefree, lively, the hand costume was the kind of trash we need and the message was nice as well. But he still got 3 points.

Despite that, Jendrik celebrated like a maniac and seeing his this happy made me happy as well. I really wish him the best.

________________________

6. That FUCK YOU JURY

Again, same message every year: the jury vote should be eliminated. It's a fucking farce and their votes have nothing to do with what the public want.

The jury focuses on the voices, except when they don't, and clearly giving points to your neighbours is because you like the song, not because they're your neighbours.

I usually make fun of Greece and Cyprus showing eternal love to each other, by giving 12 points to each other every year, but this time, it sounded even more stupid than usual. It really looked like a farce. Why should we see this farce? Why can't we just choose what the public wants? So at least we would blame ourselves for our shitty musical tastes.

Even if I'm pretty sure we all have great musical tastes. Let's not forget that in 2019 the public's winner was Norway, with a song that mixed english, a catchy rhythm and an amazing part in yoik language. Arcade is good as well, but we cannot deny the norwegian entry was a lot more interesting.

And this year, the public's taste was flawless:

Look at this beauty: italian glam rock, ukranian techno folk, french powerful ballad, finnish hard rock and whatever that thing was with Iceland.

There's variety, there's everything for everyone. And there are native languages. Italian, Ukranian, and French on top three, followed by English.

Moral of the story: the public is great and the jury should be abolished forever.

________________________

7. That Ukranian technofolk is all we needed in our lives

I didn’t see enough love for Go_A, so as italian, I think it's my sworn duty to give my appreciation to them and their amazing entry, because this band is awesome and Shum is currently on top of the Spotify top 50 - as it should be, because everyone should listen to it and join this slavic rave party.

I already liked their entry for 2020, Solovey. But I also liked My Last Breath from the UK and Universo from Spain. And this year they brought two of the worst songs. So I was very wary of Go_A.

But Shum is an absolute blast. Katerina Pavlenko's voice is unique and the song is even more, because based on ukranian folklore and traditional dances to summon the spirit of spring. They managed to teach something to all Europe in a three minute song and I think that’s incredibly sexy of them.

And so, I searched for other songs and OMG, I don’t know how it’s possible, but they are all great. Rano-Ranenko, Zhalmenina, Tanula, they all are perfect and I’m in love with this band.

And if all of this is not enough, THEY DID A COVER OF DANCING LASHA TUMBAI. The most iconic Eurovision song, sang by our god Verka. And this is the coolest, most badass cover ever in the whole universe. Please listen to it HERE everyone needs to hear this.

So thank you, Ukraine, for giving us Go_A. We all had a small empty place in our hearts and this place has ben perfectly filled by them.

And yif you think you don’t need ukranian technofolk, is only because you still haven’t listened to it. Please listen and enjoy Shum. You’re welcome.

________________________

8. That rock and roll never dies (and Italy’s well deserved victory)

The last time Italy won was in 19-fucking-90. 31 years ago. I was just born.

And now, they finally won again. And what a song! Despite being italian, I've never listened to Maneskin before, but oh damn, this song is good. Not all their songs are, but this one is. And also Morirò da re.

Their show was perfect as well. This post is really eye-opening about how well they put on their show. The use of the stage, the movements, everything has been part of a great performance, even their clothes. Damiano's voice never faltered, despite having an entire continent watching him. They handled the stage like bosses, despite being only in their twenties. And they gave us some good fucking rock.

And so the public said a loud "FUCK YOU" to the jury and chose its winners. The sassy, sexy italians.

And yes, I know that there has been a lot of petty polemics because those youngsters are having drugs!1!! as if they were a bunch of idiots who used drugs on international TV, with their manager sitting next to them.

Of course it was a pointless accusation and honestly I don't care if some people are sore losers. The drug results were negative anyway, what a shocker.

What we should truly think about is how strong the Maneskin's bladders are, because they spent the whole evening of the final drinking the entire alcohol supply of the Eurovision and, at the end, they were still happy and cool. Hats off to you, you sexy people.

This man is just iconic, why did I miss him before.

Also, have some more Maneskin. You know, as a treat.

________________________

9. That solidarity and wholesomeness are the biggest winners

It's just beautiful to see these nice people, from all over Europe, bonding, having fun, taking photos together and being friends.

The true winner of this, is probably Norway: Tix wanted to have a good time and he had a good time. The video of him vibing with Ukraine and Germany while listening Hard Rock Hallelujah is the best (HERE). His love story with Efendi from Azerbaijan is even better (please, check the video on his youtube channel, it's hilarious). I don't like his song, but he's a great guy and deserves everything.

The italian and finnish rock relationship is also great. Maneskin and Dark Sides found each other, considering they were the only two rock bands in the competition, so mutual appreciation was inevitable.

But Damiano is also a man of culture and he appreciates Ukraine's entry. And Ukraine appreciates both Finland and Italy. Is this what world peace looks like? Because I love it.

________________________

10. That Italians will be Europe's clowns again (and you're all allowed to make fun of us)

Beware, Europe: we Italians are messy and chaotic, our presenters don’t know a single word in English, we are homoerotic AND homophobic at the same time, our musical competitions are so fucking sloooow... let’s say next year’s Eurovision is going to be interesting.

And yes, you’re allowed to make fun of us. We don’t care, we won, so we deserve to be Europe’s clowns once again.

And I don’t know who the presenters will be (my bets are on everyone’s favourites: Fiorello, Amadeus and Malgioglio), I don’t know how we will ridicule ourselves once again, I don’t know where will we find the money to put on the show, I don’t know how ungodly long it will be... but I know that Mans Zelmerlow will be part of it. This man loves Eurovision just like all of us, so I can already see him packing his suitcase and planning his flight to Italy. Come to us, Mans, we will wait for you. We actually need an English presenter, so if you have nothing else to do...

[catboygretzky]

I don’t want to speak over trans women - it’s not my place as a trans man - but what’s happening with the National Women’s Hockey League (NWHL) and the Women’s Sports Policy Working Group is something that needs to be addressed. I experience transphobia, and transphobia in sports, but I’ll never experience transmisogyny, which is what this is. I’ll try my best just to explain the situation objectively, because I can’t see this through the same lens a trans girl or woman would.

I apologise if I start to ramble a bit - hopefully this will be slightly comprehensible.

For those who aren’t aware, there’s an association called Women’s Sports Policy Working Group that was created to “protect girls and women’s sports and accommodate transgender athletes.” [Website here]

You might think, an association for trans athletes? That sounds pretty great! And it does sound pretty great! But that’s not what this is.

Their mission statement is:

“to affirm the legal permissibility of separate girls’ and women’s competitive sport teams while including all trans girls and trans women under the girls’ and women’s sports umbrella.”

The first sentence sounds promising, right? Inclusivity is important!

They then go on to state that they:

“reject both the effort to exclude trans girls and trans women from girls’ and women’s sport and the effort to disadvantage females by forcing them to compete against some trans athletes with male sex-linked physical advantages. There is a middle way.” [Source]

For those who might not fully understand, this is pretty much them saying “trans girls and women have an advantage because they’re pretty much males, so we can only include a couple of them in sports or it will hurt actual female athletes because they’re automatically better because they have more testosterone”.

“We won’t exclude them outright, but we’ll only let in a few.” They’re saying outright that “just one or two trans girls who are decent athletes will displace a lot of females”. They’re outright saying that girls are weaker than boys.

Women’s sport is designed for girls and women, regardless of the gender they were assigned at birth. But, according to them, though, it was designed for men and boys, too. Or it would be, if they saw trans boys and men as boys and men, because according to them,

“Women’s sport is designed to provide a space where biological females – whatever their gender identity – can compete only against each other and not also against biological males—whatever their gender identity.” [Source] 

According to them, there are boys and men that have more of a right to play women’s sports than girls and women, simply because people that are assigned female at birth are “inherently weaker than those assigned male at birth”. They claim it’s all based in biology, while ignoring studies that prove that incorrect (one such study is here, note a content warning for cissexism).

Different body types need different types of exercise to strengthen and build muscle - that’s universal to every single body. Two cis men will have completely different training regimes to reach the same goal. Regardless of chromosomes, every body is different. Even ignoring the morality of it, they’re just - incorrect.

But that’s a whole other can of worms that I won’t get into right now.

So why did I bring up the NWHL instead of just the association itself?

Again, I have to reiterate that I don’t want to speak over trans girls and women that this affects directly. I can only speak of my own experiences as a trans man, and though what they’re saying does affect me, I don’t experience the transmisogyny rampant in professional (and amateur) sports.

So, the NWHL - well, unfortunately you only have to scroll through their supporters [here] for a few seconds to understand why the NWHL is a part of this conversation.

Digit Murphy, the President and Head Coach of the NWHL’s Toronto Six, is a supporter of this association. A supporter of transphobia, plain and simple. Her backing the Women’s Sports Policy Working Group is evidence enough that she is not welcoming of players that are trans women - even without Jessica Platt’s testimony [Link to Twitter thread].

For those who don’t know (which will be understandably many because when I write this the tweets were posted less than 24 hours ago), a trans woman named Jessica Platt reached out to the Toronto Six GM about playing for them before they had a full roster. She “had what [she] thought was a great chat and was told [her] info would be passed along to the Head Coach”. [Tweet source]. 

She’s said that “[she] heard nothing” and that “seeing this now all [she] can think is this is why [she] didn't get a call.”  [Tweet source]. 

She understands that she’ll never truly know if the reason she didn’t get a call was because of her skill as a hockey player, or if it was transphobia. [Tweet source] Unfortunately, unless Digit speaks openly about her views and actions, it’ll never be confirmed.

But what has been confirmed is one of the most influential and successful women in women’s pro hockey doesn’t believe that trans women are women, and, by the Women’s Sports Policy Working Group’s definition of gender, that girls and women are weaker than boys and men.

They can claim “Hockey Is For Everyone”, that it’s for girls and women just as much as it’s for boys and men, but until it’s for every single girl and woman, including trans girls women, it never will be.

Okay to reblog, and I encourage anyone that’s experienced transmisogyny in sports to add on if they’re comfortable, or even just tell me to shut up.

[coochiequeens]

Trans rights activism is about the rights of the individual to make women uncomfortable. These women are protesting to protect women’s sports for future generations.

ATLANTA – A group of feminists protesting outside the women's NCAA swimming championships told Fox News they have "walked away" from the Democratic Party and believe many others have as well.

"I was historically liberal. I would say I'm politically homeless now because I don't think the Democrats care about women and girls," one activist with the group Save Women’s Sports told Fox News.

The women’s advocacy group has been outside Georgia Tech’s athletic center protesting transgender swimmer Lia Thomas competing in the NCAA women’s swimming and diving championships since Wednesday.

"Feminism has become so muddied, much like the term Democrat has become so muddied. It's practically lost all meaning," Amy E. Sousa, one of the leaders of the group and a self-described "radical feminist," told Fox News.

"I am a lifelong registered Democrat who ultimately feels politically homeless," Sousa added. "With the whole Biden election, I began to feel more and more disenfranchised from Democrats as a party, and I began to feel more and more that they did not represent my beliefs or my views."

She went on to say Biden’s executive order to prevent discrimination on the basis of gender identity was "a slap in the face" and "from that moment I really haven't known how to categorize myself politically."

Another member of Save Women’s Sports said, "I always voted as a liberal, from 18 to 39. I registered Republican in 2020 after two politicians told me they did not want my vote because of my stance on the rights for women and girls."

The group believes in sex-based rights and doesn’t agree with many moves made by Democrats to include biological males into women’s activities.

"They wanted to put men in prisons and men on sports teams and in my daughter's school, so that's why I decided I cannot be a part of this party anymore — that doesn't even recognize my sex class," the woman continued.

Another woman said she believes many others will abandon the Democratic Party due to its positions on women’s issues.

"I know a lot of historically liberal people, especially parents, who have felt like they needed to walk away from the Democratic Party," she said. "I don't know who they're going to be voting for in the next elections. I think that we're going to have a lot of people walking away really."

[ashenpages]

Current Projects & Emoji Voting Key

Quick disclaimer: I’m a romance writer in all aspects of the term, so most of my works will contain mature content. Engage at your own risk, you know the rules, you’re responsible for curating your own experience of the internet, blah blah blah.

This post serves as a current mock up of fic ideas I’m either actively working on or considering working on next. You can drop me an ask about any of them, or just vote via the emoji combo I’ve assigned them.

Voting lets me know you’re excited about an idea and makes it more likely I’ll actually work on it. You can vote anytime, there’re no deadlines or winner announcements, just me gauging your interest by what I see in my ask box most often.

You can also ask me about the original stuff I’m working on currently. The current WIPs are Medusa centric and the emoji for them is: 🐍

Support my original work on Ko-fi and Patreon.

- Lupin: 🤑🤠💍  These are all oneshot ideas, between 5-15K each. If you want to vote for a specific idea, send me the emojis and the number of the idea.

Born from the idea that Goemon and Zenigata probably couldn’t be an item, my brain decided to come up with how I could write for them. Goemon’s teaching an ikebana class as part of his training, and Zenigata shows up as a student on forced recreational leave for his health from the ICPO. Zenigata wins the samurai’s heart through flowers. But what happens when Lupin and Jigen find out? (Only good sexy things, I promise. These beans are in a healthy polycule--be gay, do crimes) (WIP)

Jigen/Lupin, but it's Jigen deciding to seduce Lupin while wearing his own Lupin disguise. The thief is waaaaay too into it, and some artistry is taken with the sex so that they don't mess up the disguise too much during their encoutner.

Jigen/Zenigata/Lupin where Jigen has some fantasices about Zenigata, but is pretty sure they'll never happen. Tells Lupin about them. Suddenly the fantasies are coming true, in the middle of a heist, and Jigen doesn't what to do except get swept up in the moment and enjoy. Plot twist, it's Lupin dressed up as Zenigata granting all his gunman's dreams. Plot twist again, Zenigata catches them at it.

Zenigata/Lupin, where Lupin keeps doing good things in illegal ways and Pops has to find a way to punish him for it. Good thing for Pops Lupin's a masochist?

Trans!Lupin and Trans!Jigen premise: Jigen cares for Lupin after the master thief has top surgery, since Jigen has Been There and Done That. Caring, sweet, and a little sexy. Lupin is a much better patient than Jigen.

The one time Zenigata caught Lupin in an alley and kissed him and it was Jigen in disguise. Things get sexy anyway, and Zenigata has crushes on two thieves now. Lupin and Jigen "kidnap" him later for an evening of taking care of their inspector.

The background plot of Jigen's Gravestone where we see Jigen think he's done for and try to leave Lupin. Our thief has none of it, and we get to relish in the inherent eroticism of Lupin sitting in sniper fire, knowing Jigen's got his back. This is the moment I think Jigen finally believes he can be with Lupin forever.

I love the idea of something longer and more plot driven like a Lupin special where Lupin ends up in hot water and Jigen and Fujiko have to work together to save him. Jigen and Fujiko have such an interesting relationship. They're both partners of Lupin, they don't really like each other, they constantly screw the other over, but when it really matters they take care of each other. I'd like to see that highlighted a little more and also give them space to call each other out and bicker. Nothing sexy between them, but maybe a really interesting threesome with Lupin and Fujiko in a strap on once they save their boy.

- Sonic Vampire Novelist Coffee Shop AU: 📚☕💐

Shadow is an immortal vampire who has seen the world change for the worse too many times. These days it feels like he only lives for his coffee dates with Rouge, another immortal who loves each new era they encounter, warts and all. He has to admit that the book series she got him into speaks to him, at least. If someone in this era can understand him without meeting him, it can’t all be bad. But he hardly expected the goofy blue barista at the new coffee place to understand him the way those books do.

This is a novel length romcom romp with some big feelings about what it means to watch as things change, grow, and die. Expect lots of Big gothic feelings from this one, emotionally charged kissing, and overly-adoring sex. But also expect shenanigans from everyone in the coffee shop, which include Rouge, Amy, Tails, Knuckles, Cream, and more.

- Sonic Blazamy, "Like the Sun": 💖🌸💎

Amy Rose has been in love with Sonic for a while.

Or has she?

When the Sonic, Tails, Knuckles, Shadow, and Silver are trapped as the fuel sources for Doctor Eggman’s newest evil scheme, Amy teams up with Blaze, Rouge, and Cream to save them. With Sonic out of the picture and Amy fulfilling his role, was she ever really in love with him? Or did she just want to be like him?

This is a novel length epic romance with lots of competent women and lots of romantic Blazamy content. Expect flowery hopes and dreams, badass self-actualization, and glancing hand touches that give way to cuddly and sweet sex.

- Persona 5: 🗡🍛☕

After bringing down the Metaverse twice, Ryuji didn’t think graduating high school and figuring out what to do with his life would be so hard. Akira’s back in town, and the gang’s more-or-less all in Tokyo, but everyone else seems to have a plan while Ryuji just floats. How’s he supposed to change the world when he’s not a phantom thief anymore?

This is a novel length fic that addresses how powerless one can feel being just one person in the face of all the corrupted systems and bigotry the world has to offer. It’s about holding on to what you believe in, working through the doubt, and fighting your way to a better tomorrow with the power you do have. The whole gang is queer, featured relationships being Mako x Ann, Ryuji x Akira, Futaba & Yusuke as platonic life partners. Akira is polyamorous and omnisexual, Futaba’s asexual and aromantic while Yusuke is demisexual and very romantic, Makoto’s a lesbian, Ann and Ryuji are bi, and Haru’s pansexual, demisexual, and aromantic. They’re one giant band of queer Phantom Thieves, and even if they’re not really doing the Metaverse thing anymore, they’re still gonna save the world!

Also, I’m gonna make Makoto not a cop. That super didn’t age well. Zenkichi and his boss can work on making them better/abolishing them for other better organizations.

- Hades Game: ❤️‍🔥💀

Oneshot. I just really need to elaborate on the threesome you can have with them in-game, okay? Healthy and canon poly relationships are so few and far between, so often I have to do a ton of groundwork to explain why it’s working in the fic, but NOT WITH THESE KIDS!

Get ready for Meg helping Zag and Than be better at expressing their feelings, lots of kissing, and probably pegging.

- Castlevania Animation Trevor/Sypha/Alucard: 🧛🏰🛌

Castlevania gave Alucard a threesome last season, and I just really need S4 to give me him being taken care of by his partners. They’re probably not going to give it to me, so I’ll need to do it myself. This is just an everybody loves Alucard oneshot, with the gang’s signature banter (to an extent), Sypha being sexy, and Trever being remarkably sincere. This fic is gonna feel like that Ann Hathaway picture with Trevor kissing Alucard and Sypha holding the end of Trevor’s whip while she leans her head on Alucard’s shoulder adoringly.

- Devil May Cry Nico/Lady/Trish: 💋✨😈

Nico’s gay, okay? Like really, really gay. And Lady’s bi and not into men who make her pay bills, but very into women who make amazing guns for her and demonesses with hearts who fight by her side. Trish is ace, but loves people and is pretty attached to Lady at this point. Plus it’s cute when Lady blushes and says nice things like they’re insults. I don’t have super solid ideas for them yet, and I envision these more like a polycule where Lady’s with Nico and with Trish but they’re not with each other more than seeing it as a threesome, but who knows what might happen. This is probably 1-2 oneshots depending on ideas, but might turn into a series of oneshots if people are interested (or I can’t control myself and inspiration strikes).

- Post FMA:B Blind Roy & No Alchemy Ed: 👀👑🙏

This is actually an old novel-length fic I wrote ages ago and didn’t post that didn’t turn out well because I was new to writing sex when I first wrote it. The plot is good, and is all about Roy learning to work with his blindness to reclaim his ambition of being Fuhrer and changing the system to something that actually cares for its people. He and Ed reconnect, fall into bed, and both set about working through their respective traumas about being “useless” having lost their sight/alchemy. They go to Xing as an ambassadorial party to offer Amestris’s collaboration on Al and May’s Alkahestry experiments--and uncover a plot that might threaten both kingdoms.

- Age of Calamity continuity Mipha x Revali: 🦚🐟💘

The first time Revali noticed Mipha, it was in the heat of battle. She stole his mark, taking them down with a flurry of quick blows from her spear. Violence rained from her like water--and then she healed him on her way to her next battle. No questions, no conditions, just pure kindness. The usual need to measure himself against those around him was quiet in her wake. And Revali couldn’t understand it. But how to get to know more about her? A fish and bird may fall in love, but where would they live?

This fic could be a oneshot or novel length depending on how far down the hole I fall. I need it to cover time, but it could be done in linked vignettes or with actually covering events in detail. I may elect to do a oneshot just to get it done and out of my system faster. So much fic to write, so little time.

Expect trans!Revali, polyamorous Zoras, scary competent Mipha, songbird Revali, love confessions that are made up entirely of berating Link for not loving Mipha the way she wants him to, and breaking these characters a little outside of their assigned roles in BotW and Age of Calamity. Background Link x Zelda, and Urbosa x Zelda’s Mom.

- Epic desert romance about Urbosa and Zelda’s mom: 🏜🏝⚡

I just think Urbosa should kiss women and Zelda’s mom should get more development and maybe a name or something. Also, lightning imagery/metaphors/play.

It also went way over my head that Riju wasn’t Urbosa’s daughter the first time I played BotW, so now I want to write about the Gerudo queen who refused to produce an heir. The Gerudo are fascinating and have a very interesting cutlure, but I think it could be examined from a nonbinary perspective that rejected pregnancy and wanting to find a husband. Not in like a hateful way, but in a way that examines if that’s really right for everyone. There’s that shop in town that sells Voe armor, after all. Maybe finding a husband and having children isn’t something you have to do if you don’t want to. And Urbosa really doesn’t want to.

[rein-ette]

Hi~

Can I have your hcs for kinks and general unsuitable behavior for our tumblr sexyman Lord Kirkland? (bonus points for any time specific nsfw hcs)

Alrighty *cracks knuckles* this'll serve nicely as my entrance ticket to hell

[clearly this is Not Appropriate do you need a warning]

Positions and Locations

1. Incidentally I also think Arthur prefers to bottom, but in engport's particular case I don't think it matters because even if Arthur ends up topping more with Port, he gets his needs met by others (mainly Francis because Francis definitely prefers to top)

1a. technically speaking arthur has no preference when it comes to physically being on top or bottom, he just prefers prostate orgasms so if he does top he'll sometimes wear a plug or wait to come

2. From the 15th-18th centuries (give or take) he liked doing it in all sorts of thrilling places: ships, crows nests, prison cells, important people's offices, libraries, battlefields, random historical buildings. But nowadays he appreciates the material comforts more and likes a nice soft bed -- though he still has sex way more than is probably moral in his office/his partner's office

3. Bonus non-nsfw hc (i'll just sprinkle these in): I love the idea that Arthur dozes off really easily when he feels comfortable, like a cat. He might not even know he's comfortable, but he'll often fall asleep curled on Port's bedspread or on Francis' couch cuz it just feels floofy and familiar and his cat brain is like, ok naptime! In terms of sleeping arrangements he also feels safest when there's someone (he trusts) between him and the door -- Port is the only one to whom he's verbally confessed this (because he thinks it's embarrassing that he needs to be "protected") and Gabi has made it a point to remember this preference for centuries.

Sexual Orientation/Preferred Types

4. He's more into men than women, and tries to avoid women entirely when it comes to casual sex. He will sleep with nations he knows well like Belgium, Hungary, or some of the German states, but if it's picking someone up at a bar (which he did way more often in the 60s and 70s than now) it's definitely a guy.

4a. he usually goes for guys broader/stronger/taller than him so he can be held down and fucked silly. Not really into twinks (Kiku is an exception but that is cuz no one can match Arthur kink for kink like Japan)

5. I've already said this to you cake but it bears repeating: Arthur almost exclusively fucks drama queens. Never mind that he bitches about France's mercurial moods or Port's spontaneous "leave me alone" rants, guys like Norway or Germany just don't do it for him. Nor do the constantly cheerful ones like Italy or the constantly annoyed ones like Romano. He loves that melancholy aura, that "I'm not sulking I'm thinking" attitude, that maudlin je ne sais quoi at 4 AM. He wants them moody and slightly salty about everything, that's what he wants.

Kinks

6. Spanking, caning, flogging. Scot (or was it wales?) once described Arthur's sexual preferences in a fic as "alarmingly public-school for someone who's only attended university" and it doesn't get clearer than that. He loves being manhandled in general and while he will keep an eye open when he's with strangers or nations he doesn't know as well, when his frequent lovers indulge him he's down for anything that doesn't draw (too much) blood.

7. He likes bondage; both giving and receiving. Gags, spreader bars, the whole lot. He has a collection, right next to his riding crops ;)

8. Collars. COLLARS. He's not into actual pet play but he LOVES collars and if he's feeling especially freaky, leashes. It turns him on so bad whether he's the one wearing it or the one holding the leash.

9. Praise and humiliation both do it for him. He's one of the best when it comes to dishing it out (he's got the spewing filth while sounding prim and proper thing down to an art).

10. He appreciates toys and makes good use of Francis' extensive collection if he does not already own something himself. He often uses vibrators or dildos when he masturbates and brings them (always shamefully) with him when he travels, just in case. Port, who otherwise meticulously collects other knickknacks, does not actually possess that many toys because Arthur always brings them with him and Port's often too lazy to use toys with other lovers anyways.

11. He also has a profound competence kink. He expects the worst from everyone while keeping his own standards high, so when someone excels at something that blows his expectations out of the fucking water? He's all over that. Notable historical examples include when Francis is especially impassioned about a particular political cause and rinses someone in a debate, when a nation absolutely wipes the floor with another nation's army in a war (this was almost the exclusive reason he had sex with Gilbert in the 18th century), when Port teaches him new languages (their "lessons" are always longer than expected).

Other Unsuitable Behaviour For a Gentleman That Don't Classify as Kinks (Speed Round)

12. He has a very high libido but won't admit it

13. He loves it when Port wears lingerie

14. He wears tight, high waisted pants when he goes out at night bc he knows it makes his legs look good (but won't admit it)

15. When he's relaxed he's quite good at making conversation -- people often find him witty and pleasantly flirtatious

16. He loves riling Port up so he can get pounded the way he wants it

17. He likes large hands

18. Hairpulling is also a kink

19. I realized i titled this section not kinks but here we are

20. he used to have sleeve tats and tattoos all over his back and my god Francis and Gabriel worshipped him. He's too lazy (and stingy) to get so many nowadays though, especially cuz they fade so fast.

21. in threesomes he likes DP and spitroasting, especially if he's the one taking it

22. that was the filthiest sentence I've ever written so I'm gonna end this by saying he likes cuddles after sex but -- guess what? -- he won't admit it.

[qqueenofhades]

You once said the Renaissance was a uniquely bad time for women. Would you mind going into moreso why? Thanks in advance.

Aha. I have indeed said this before, most recently-ish in this ask about the witch trials. I say this especially because the common (wildly erroneous) narrative of Western history goes essentially like this:

Rome good. Fall of Rome bad.

Blargle blarge Dark Ages. Bad!

Yay! Renaissance! People suddenly became smrt! (Note: by this they only ever mean the Italian Renaissance, when there were many eras of “renaissance” across the medieval world, including the Carolingian Renaissance and the Twelfth-Century Renaissance, but we don’t talk about those because Dark Ages.)

Columbus Discovered America! (tm)

Enlightenment! Yay science! Boo religion! Make Europe Smart Again!

We are now Modern. The End.

Aside from the witch trials, which were a early modern phenomenon rather than a medieval one, the cultural climate of the Renaissance involved, to put it bluntly, a lot of rich and pretentious dudebros deciding that the crises of the late medieval world had been caused by the fact that society insufficiently resembled that of Greco-Roman antiquity (which was considered to be the most perfect form of society). This involved, similarly to the backlash against women currently taking place as a result of the crises of the 21st century, attacks on the fact that medieval women enjoyed quite a bit more latitude in public life than women in antiquity ever had, and the belief that it was clearly a Bad Thing that they were now well outside those social roles. As Joan Kelly-Gadol puts it in “Did Women Have a Renaissance?”:

The Renaissance is a good case in point.  Italy was well in advance of the rest of Europe from roughly 1350 to 1530 because of its early consolidation of genuine states, the mercantile and manufacturing economy that supported them and its working out of post-feudal and post-guild social relations. These developments reorganized Italian society along modern lines and opened the possibilities for the social and cultural expression for which the age is known. Yet precisely these developments affected women adversely, so much, so that there was no “renaissance” for women, at least not during the Renaissance. The state, early capitalism, and the social relations formed by them impinged on the lives of Renaissance women in different ways according to their different positions in society. But the starting fact is that women as a group, especially among the classes that dominated Italian urban elite, experienced a contraction of social and personal options that the men of their classes did not experience as markedly, as was the case with the bourgeoisie and the nobility.

I talked in this ask about how over the course of the late medieval era, women (who had heretofore been relatively present in universities and medical schools) were subject to increased and formal efforts to exclude them, under the guise of ensuring licensing requirements, standard curriculum, and individual competence. (This post also debunked some myths about premodern women’s healthcare and updated some of the arguments in that first ask.) The fact that Henry V felt it necessary to ban women from England’s universities and medical schools in 1421 demonstrates a) that they were there in the first place and b) they hadn’t been formally excluded beforehand. (This followed similar legislation in France.) Renaissance women faced sustained cultural and social pressure from this new ideal to restrict them back to “appropriate” domestic spaces. The average fertility and child-bearing rate for Renaissance women went sharply upward, especially for rich women expected to bear multiple heirs, and pregnancy and childbirth (but not necessarily child-rearing) became their overriding function. Girls began to suffer more systematically from more overt and institutionalized misogyny, both in cultural attitudes and social institutions, and it became still more of the case that daughters were regarded as less valuable than sons. These attitudes had obviously existed to some degree in the medieval era, but were refined, gained more currency and prevalence, were spread by the increasing popularity of printed literature, and began to be crystallized more explicitly.

We do have women writers of the Renaissance, Renaissance networks of intellectual exchange centered around women, and women who participated in the creation of Renaissance text and drama, whether as patrons or authors. It was sometimes the case that wealthy daughters were educated alongside sons, but dare we remark, the fact that they had recently been banned from going to university makes that a distinctly backhanded compliment; “hey, no college for you, but at least you get to learn with your brother at home!” Certain women like Margaret Roper, daughter of Sir Thomas More, were renowned for their learning, and Elizabeth I (who was obviously a princess) received an outstanding education in the Renaissance model. But nonetheless, this was a cultural sphere intensely designed by, for the needs for, and around the interests of (wealthy, educated) men, and this had both implicit and explicit misogynistic consequences. Once more from Kelly-Gadol:

In sum, a new division between personal and public life made itself fit as the state came to organize Renaissance society, and with that division the modern relation of the sexes made its appearance, even among the Renaissance nobility. Noblewomen, too, were increasingly removed from public concerns—economic, political, and cultural—and although they did not disappear into a private realm of family and domestic concerns as fully as their sisters in the patrician bourgeoisie, their loads of public power made itself fit in new constraints placed upon their personal as well as their social lives. Renaissance ideas on love and manners, more classical than medieval, and almost exclusively a male product, expressed this new subordination of women to the interests of husbands and male-dominated kin groups and served to justify the removal of women from an "unladylike" position of power and erotic independence. All the advances of Renaissance Italy, its pro-capitalist economy, its states, and its humanistic culture, worked to mold the noblewoman into an aesthetic object decorous, chaste, and doubly dependent—on her husband as well as the prince.

In other words, the Renaissance was a great time for a certain subset of elite male society, and not necessarily for everyone else. It was certainly no movement toward proto-equality, often represented an active drawback for women vis-a-vis their status in the medieval world, and laid the foundations for many of the misogynistic attitudes and assumptions that still enjoy widespread currency in the modern world. We are taught that it was some moment of “awakening” for humanity due to the deeply elite, Eurocentric, and androcentric nature of the canon of Western history, and while its ideals certainly did transform Europe at the end of the late medieval period, these were not always for the best. Once again, we can see some parallels in our own time, and while women have always served as a useful scapegoat during moments of social and economic upheaval, it would be helpful if we could at least realize how much, and what form that has taken before, even (especially) in things we are otherwise supposed to celebrate.

[foxymoxynoona]

To Kill A King (Ch. Two)

Banner and linebreaks by the talented @awrkives

Summary: What’s more charming than Prince Seokjin? Nothing, obviously. Except maybe the rotating palace guests who each smile and bow and charm in an attempt to hide their true motives. Fortunately Seokjin has a close circle of friends (well, servants) who watch his back and endure his humor and help him navigate the tumultuous seas of heartbreak, love, and an arranged marriage, not necessarily in that order. If only they had helped him keep a closer eye on his bride-to-be’s handmaiden, who arrives with her own agenda… or maybe it would have been better if he had noticed her less? One thing is certain as this royal drama of the heart plays out: there are many people competing to kill a king.

Main Pairing: Prince Seokjin x Female OC

Genre: Historical Fantasy World, political conspiracy, romance

Rating: 18+

Content Warnings & story tags: includes explicit sex (mxf, fxf), possibly graphic violence/injury later, love and sex triangles or uh quadrangles?, sort of e 2 l, sort of bodyguard trope, sort of arranged marriage, a lot of plotting murder (it’s literally in the title), maybe character death, grief, pining, angst, love, oral (f receiving), I don’t know everything yet as the story is long and still being written

Ch. 2 Wordcount: 15k

PREVIOUS | MASTER | NEXT

Dulce had always been a morning person. Well, not as a small child, but her grandparents had forced the habit on her early and she’d soon learned to appreciate the early part of the day. Things were so different in cities, where there actually was a real divide between morning people and not-morning people. In the country, everyone had to be a morning person, unless you were a drunk. Dulce was not.

Nasimiyu would definitely sleep in today but Dulce was up before the sun. She shared a room with the three other women who waited on Nasimiyu in a servants' wing directly beneath the guest rooms of those they served. The other three had gotten a bit drunk last night, relieved to finally be in Priva and unlikely to be in a wagon or on a pack mule again anytime soon. 

She tidied her bed and things, sliding her bag beneath the cot. Desperately she wished she could have a bath but she’d be at Nasimiyu’s mercy on that front; servants bathed in rotations. Her rotation was low on the roster, no doubt thanks to Nasimiyu’s favor she had enjoyed on the journey down. While the other servants earned their saddle sores, Dulce had typically been requested as a companion in Nasimiyu’s carriage and had not cared when Dulce pointed out that her purpose was poorly served if Nasimiyu brought the ire of the other servants on her. It was hard to learn much if everyone hated and suspected you.

Still, she had always gone when called, and her mouth now twitched with amusement recalling how obnoxiously bored Nasimiyu had been for the duration of the journey. She was not someone born to sit idle for so long, no matter the privilege her title brought her. It was one of the things that had earned Dulce’s respect. She was otherwise hard-pressed to respect a royal, but the Marvono royals were different. She’d known that from her first meeting with Nasimiyu.

A memory to recall another time. Right now she had work to do. She laced her simple gray dress and braided her hair so it hung like a rope down her back and dropped her necklace down her bodice where the locket and chain could nestle between her breasts and the simple cotton chemise pressed to her skin by a simple breast band. The ladies and maids of Priva wore corsets but women in Marvono did not, especially servants. Dulce only wore the breast band because she was unfortunately rather endowed in the chest, a real hindrance when she needed to move, but she’d learned to deal with it. 

There were no exciting movements right now though. She assigned herself tasks so there would be purpose and a quick answer if someone asked what she was doing, and off she set after listening at Nasimiyu’s door to confirm she could hear the quiet grind of her snore. And the princess swore she didn’t snore.

Dulce saw the world differently than the people around her did. She’d learned this at an early age, when she noticed tracks and tears and subtle changes in the fabric of her life that others so easily overlooked. In time, she learned to predict the story behind these changes as well. The heel of her sister’s right boot was more worn because she’d been out dancing with the other young women again when she was supposed to be on the back porch studying by candlelight. The flour on the counter blew towards the edge of the table because Abuela opened the window while she baked, even though it was closed now because of the rain. It was Papa who had hidden the little bag of caramels from the children because it was on top of the bureau where Mama couldn’t reach but a corner of the bag was visible because he had to stretch, whereas Manu was taller than Papa now and could have hidden them completely. Besides, Manu hid his important things beneath his undergarments in his top drawer because he thought no one would peak there but Dulce knew Adela was the one who’d stolen his candies last time because she’d left a hair –it had to be hers because of the tight curl– and since she always refused to help with the wash, there was no way the hair had been brought in on the laundry. The dog tracks in the muddy yard leading to the chicken coop were too shallow to have been made by hefty Poda, so he was not the one to free or kill Old Rojo.

Now, much older and no longer focused on the mundane routines of her family, those same skills served her for more important matters. That’s what she was here for, after all. Her mission was clear and actually very straightforward: learn all the habits and weaknesses of King Dong-gun and Prince Seokjin, with an eye trained on opportunities for fatal accidents. 

Dulce knew more about the law of succession than she had ever wanted to know. That knowledge wasn’t necessary for her to do her job but Nasimiyu had explained it to her anyway: how once she married she would become third in line for the throne for as long as she remained married to Prince Seokjin, and that as long as both the King and Prince died in that order before she had a child, she would inherit the throne as Queen. If she had a child by Seokjin before she became Queen, she would only ever be Regent until the child came of age. If Prince Seokjin died before King Dong-gun and there was no baby yet, the line of succession would fall to King Dong-gun’s younger brother, an unapologetic militaristic asshole. Well-founded rumor had it he’d committed atrocious war crimes during the Therepin border skirmishes.

So things had to be done in a certain order. And before too long so that Nasimiyu wasn’t pregnant. And also because Nasimiyu didn’t want to be married to Prince Seokjin any longer than she had to be. 

But they also had to be done in a certain way, because of course when a King is killed, you look first to who benefits most by his death. It was true that the King’s death might not raise too many eyebrows because it was no secret, if you listened closely enough, that many were unhappy with the allegedly selfish, extravagant, heartless and unsympathetic ruler who refused to curb his younger brother’s sadistic tendencies. But the Prince also dying afterwards, landing Nasimiyu solely on the throne, would turn all suspicions to the ruling family of Marvono, if those deaths were done sloppy. Regicide was still a crime, and Marvonese grab for power would be an affront to the other principalities in Yeonhalbi. A good assasination done the right way could manage all of this. One death a tragic but clear accident. The other death a nicely done framing of someone else, just the right blend of obvious but not too obvious, like the framed had really tried but botched the cover.

It was probably not going to be Dulce’s job to do the actual assassinations, though she wasn’t so naive not to have considered that it might come down to her. It was first and foremost her job to create the map the royal family and their assassin would use to pull it off. If she didn’t want to be the one to do it, she needed to paint a pretty clear map. If she did want to be the one to deliver justice and free Nasimiyu and change the world… 

Dulce wiped the expression off her face. It wasn’t useful to think about why she was doing this right now. None of this was actually out of the ordinary for her, even if the target had shifted higher than she’d ever imagined. She was just a nobody from Paloma, and yet here she was now, walking through the halls of the palace in Priva with an empty tray so it would look like she’d been sent to fetch breakfast.

The thing about spying that led to so many failures was that people assumed they were invisible. Ye, every spy worth their ass knew the tricks of the trade to make yourself forgettable: wear clothing similar to those around you, look like you have an unimportant job to do, be neutrally attractive. Some tried more advanced techniques of making themselves memorable in a way that wasn’t the truth, so that later you would be remembered but not in a way that could be used to find you. 

Dulce took a middle approach. She wasn’t a stunning beauty but people noticed her sometimes. She thought disguising your appearance was for idiots. She thought trying to blend in when she didn’t look much like the people around this place would be a fool’s errand. So instead she took her old approach of just looking unimportant. Unsuspicious. Innocent. Someone might notice her wandering into the wrong area, but even a clever person would have to admit that the Princess’ idiot maid seemed to have a terrible sense of direction. Her big brown eyes and deep dimples worked well for her in seeming like a stupid little maid. 

Of course, lots of people were terrible at playing stupid. They tried too hard which made them seem more suspicious. Dulce, she was proud to say, had the ‘playing stupid’ down perfect. She credited it to a childhood spent getting her brothers and sisters in trouble for the things she’d actually done or hadn’t done when she was supposed to. Her own family didn’t even know what she was up to these days… 

She wouldn’t think about that right now. There wasn’t space for anything in her head but the job at hand. The biggest, most important job she’d ever done. Instead she pulled charm out from somewhere deep, emptied knowledge from her gaze, and stopped short in front of the guards stationed on either side of the door in front of her.

“Oh! What happened?” she gasped. “Why are there Privan guards outside of my Princess’ room!?”

“Eh?” one asked, face furrowing in confusion.

“This isn’t any Princess’ room,” the other guard scowled at her. “It’s the Prince’s.” Prince’s room, confirming what she had guessed based on the location and the guards.

“What?!” She stopped and turned a slow circle, as if only now realizing she was in the wrong place. “But… I’m sure I’m in the right place…”

The first guard still looked confused and insisted, “This hall looks nothing like any of the guest halls.” Unique floor plan, unsurprising.

“Privan decor is confusing, it all looks the same,” she insisted. “Where’s the right way for me to go? We’re in the rooms um… that look at the big ocean!”

“That way,” they both pointed, directly where she’d come from. She did not feel like she had charmed them, which meant the guards around the Prince were serious and not bothered by at least her mediocre appearance. 

She thanked them and walked quickly in that direction. If they were outside of the room, it probably meant Prince Seokjin was still inside, since she didn’t see any reason they would guard an empty room. That would be boring and extravagant, though not impossible. She would get lost again later in the day to see if guards were still in position, but knowing which was the Prince’s room was a convenient start to the day. 

She took a long way round a side hall she quickly realized was a servant’s passage due to a long completely stoned up wall; stepping back into a main half confirmed to her it should have windows out into a small garden and beyond that the sea. But it didn’t, which seemed both cruel to servants who might like a breath of fresh air when moving to and fro to serve the Prince, but also meant he likely had a private garden connected to his room. 

With that added to her mental map, it was easy to find King Dong-gun’s wing, though she couldn’t get close enough to determine where his bedroom was. Only one room had its doors open and visible from where she could pass by in the main passageways: a study, and King Dong-gun already sat inside, hunched over something on the desk where he wrote with a long feathered quill. Interesting for several reasons: first, it meant he either didn’t take breakfast, ate very early, or worked before he ate; second, it meant he was an early riser and tended to matters first thing in the morning; third, a ballpoint pen would have been much more efficient. His study had two guards outside but they didn’t chase her away or seem all that bothered, so people must come and go past his study frequently without causing alarm. 

She wouldn’t test it today. This was just initial. She wasn’t supposed to do anything rash, just observe. Nothing could happen until Nasimiyu and Prince Seokjin were married, and though Nasimiyu was going to try to bring the date of that forward to move things along, even that could only happen if it seemed natural. It couldn’t look like a bride rushing towards widowhood. Nasimiyu was going to really have to put on a better performance than she had yesterday. Nasimiyu was good at many things, but pretending to like something she didn’t wasn’t one of them. 

Servants were busier in the guest wings as the morning progressed. The casual cafeteria they’d seen on the tour wasn’t very busy in the morning compared to how busy the kitchens were; probably a combination of room dining and late sleepers. 

Dulce set her tray down in the kitchen after saying she was there to collect for Princess Nasimiyu. The focused response surprised her, as the lower staff called over higher staff and a more senior cook made a point of chasing down some special dishes. 

“Will she eat this porridge?” the man asked her, setting a steaming bowl of familiar looking and smelling food on the tray.

“Yes, but she prefers fruit and bread for breakfast. It’s fine for today though.”

“Hm. We have fruit, wait.”

That was added, and a big pot of boiling water, and a small chest of tea. Such pains taken to create a breakfast Nasimiyu would only pick at; she’d never been very interested in food first thing in the morning. 

Dulce turned with the tray and left the busy kitchen. People in the hallways veered around her. She found the challenge of balancing the heavy tray actually enjoyable, though it did decrease her ability to focus on anything else. Which meant when she rounded a corner, she nearly ran into someone.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” the man gasped, grabbing onto the edge of the tray to keep it from crashing. Some of the water spilled but that was it. Dulce caught her balance and gave him a terse frown. His crooked grin was clearly meant to be charming. He smelled like horse shit. “Ah… ok, you’re ok?”

“Are you a house servant or a stable hand?” The answer was already obvious from his trousers and simple shirt and high brown work boots

The question was the right one to make him sweat; he removed his hands from the tray and admitted, “Stable hand, pretend you didn’t see me… you’re the Princess’ maid, right? If you cut through that hall there and take the stairs, you’ll get back to your wing faster.”

“Oh.” She glanced at the hallway, which was narrow and she had not been down it yet. “Very well. Thank you.” She waited to see what he would do, but he just waved at her with both hands, or held them up like he was innocent, perhaps to show her he hadn’t stolen anything? So he knew it was suspicious and weird for a stablehand to be inside the royal palace nowhere near the stables. 

Dulce would need to keep an eye on him.

He strolled off in one direction and she took another, following the hallway he’d pointed out because she might as well learn right off the bat if he’d just lied to her to set a trap or something.

If there was a trap, Dulce didn’t see it, just well-worn stones in two lines down the narrow passage, generations of servants coming and going. Even more useful though, was that this pass had a window right by the stairwell and that window looked right down into the Prince’s private garden.

Dulce froze at the unexpected confirmation of her earlier assumption, because there was the prince, just sitting right there on a cushioned wicker sofa in the most outrageous purple and green pajamas she had ever seen in her life. His hair flopped everywhere and he had on glasses. He sat curled up against the arm rest with a book propped on his knees, the remains of his breakfast on the low table beside him. 

He was an earlier riser than Nasimiyu then, but not as industrious as his father. She wondered what he was reading but in only a moment he swiped at his face, clearly laughing. Unlikely to be an impressive book then.

She shouldn’t linger here any longer, but still scanned the garden quickly to see if he was alone. It was easy to spot the same bodyguard from yesterday sitting at a small table in the corner with the valet. Which was pretty weird, as far as servant behavior went. They were eating something too and didn’t seem concerned about the prince or worried about safety. So the prince felt very safe in his garden. Even though there were windows looking down on it from secret servants’ hallways.

A movement along the ground caught her attention, a ball rolling across the stone tiles. Who had kicked the ball though? She looked around but no one else was in the courtyard. Just as surprisingly, the ball suddenly stopped, then started rolling again, like there was something inside. Prince Seokjin glanced over at it but did not seem concerned. He picked something up from the plate and lifted it to his shoulder where a bundle Dulce had mistaken for a pillow scrambled around his neck and then grasped it with two little paws. A squirrel ! Although a weird looking one, with tufted ears and a brighter red fur color than any squirrel Dulce had ever seen.

The Prince had a pet squirrel? Even an odd looking squirrel though was so… mundane! And there must be something alive in the little ball, that seemed obvious now as it began to spin the direction it had come from. 

Dulce stepped away from the window and descended the stairs, suddenly worried she had lingered too long. She’d forgotten the cardinal rule: always assume someone else is watching you. The stablehand knew she had come down this hallway and probably knew about the window. The bodyguard or butler could have seen someone in the window, watching. She prepared to look giggly and shy about how handsome the Prince was if someone found her, but no one did. 

She knew the window was here. That was a useful start. She knew what the Prince’s garden looked like, that it was overgrown compared to how rich people usually kept their gardens, and very floral, with stone walkways and some furniture and a shaded area with a small table. She knew he read something funny in the morning and wore ridiculous garish pajamas and apparently kept small things as pets.

He was an eccentric. That was clear to her now. All his strange little jokes yesterday supported it. It made sense he was eccentric, the only living child of an incredibly wealthy, selfish, lofty king. He was either going to be eccentric or cruel, right? Or both. He could still be both. Feeding squirrels, slashing down orphans who blocked the path with their sad games. 

If you make a snap judgment, make damn sure you’re right . 

Well, there was no denying he was eccentric. Who kept rats as pets like that? Rats carried diseases and stole your food and bit you when you slept. Rats would literally eat people if you couldn’t get away. And a squirrel was just a tree rat and maybe what was in that ball was another kind of rat. Insanity.. 

Nasimiyu was going to hate it.

Dulce sighed, torn between giving Nasimiyu a heads up before she might be confronted with the Prince’s companions and not giving her any more reason to dislike him before it was necessary. Not that Nasimiyu needed to love the prince or anything, but she needed to appear very fond of him. Rats were going to be a tough sell…

As the stablehand had said, the hallway took her down to a second that then deposited her right in the proper guest wing. No guards stood at the doors here, but palace guards patrolled the corridor and stood down the hall within sight. Dulce motioned to one to open the door for her, impatiently waiting as he took his damn time drawing closer and pulling the tall wooden door open. She slipped inside with the tray and crossed the dark room, lit only by the faintest light coming around the closed curtains. 

Once the tray was down, she took it upon herself to open the curtains, though the windows were still closed to the sea. It was beautiful out there. Her room had no view like that, nor like the one behind her. Turning, she saw Nasimiyu stretched across the bed on top of the covers, unbothered by the morning light, entirely nude. Very much the opposite of the Prince’s garish pajamas; it came close to making Dulce smile, that comparison. 

Dulce moved quietly to the bed and hesitated. It was objectively true that Nasimiyu was one of the most beautiful women in the world, and Dulce could understand why that might have been disorienting for Prince Jin. The way people fluttered around him, maybe he was used to being the handsomest one in the room. How tragic for him.

Dulce touched Nasimiyu’s shoulder until the woman cracked an eye.

“It’s late.”

“Mmmmm, a little longer.”

“Everyone else is already awake. I brought you breakfast. They seem to be trying to make Marvonese food.”

Nasimiyu rolled onto her stomach and turned her face away, complaining, “Lay down too and let me sleep longer.”

“I need to do my exercises.”

“Do them here.”

“No, your other maids will be in soon to help you dress. Unless you want my help?”

Nasimiyu chuckled despite her refusal to sit up and admitted, “You’re terrible at that kind of thing. They’ll want to know why I keep you around.”

“It wouldn’t do us any good to raise suspicions,” Dulce agreed, standing. Answered as expected, which was fine. It was fascinating watching Nasimiyu prepare for the day, but it was true, Dulce was no real help for it, and since she’d need to stick close to the princess for most of her waking hours in these first few days, it made sense for her to take the break. 

“Your food is over there. I’ll tell the other girls you’re awake.”

“No, don’t,” Nasimiyu pleaded, but groaned because she knew Dulce would anyway. She had just pushed from the bed to dig out her own robe from the blankets crumbled at the foot of it as Dulce cracked open the door again to slip out. The silk robe clung to her tall, athletic figure like a kiss.

The other two handmaidens and the laundress they’d brought to tend to Nasimiyu’s clothing were finishing their own breakfasts in the staff dining room and moved at once when Dulce informed them that Nasimiyu was awake. Instead of finding it an annoyance to walk back and forth around the place, Dulce saw it as an opportunity to further cement the palace map in her mind and also warm up her muscles.

By the time she got back to her room, where she was now guaranteed to be alone for at least an hour, she closed the door and pushed her cot to the side and crouched down for morning push ups and crunches. Unlike Prince Jin’s bodyguard, she would never be caught unprepared.

Seokjin snickered as he turned to the next page of the latest Kalamouche graphic novel. He glanced over at Jungkook and Jimin, who were bored and restless with his lazy morning. They had wanted him to be up and about early –not just them, but Hobi and Master Jung because it was a good look for the Prince to be industrious. His father didn’t give a shit, just laughed don’t bother the boy, he’s never been industrious, no reason to start suddenly and fool his wife.  

The funniest part of that though was that Seokjin had always been an early riser. He sometimes was up and doing things so early that then he had taken a mid-morning nap by the time his father was up. Seokjin loved mornings. He didn’t want to have to do anything in them, but he liked going to bed at the same time every night and waking up early and spending those early precious hours watching the sunrise and reading books and savoring his breakfast in his pajamas. Why should he behave any differently just because Princess Nasimiyu was here? It didn’t even occur to him.

Besides, the Princess was still asleep too; he’d sent Jimin to make sure. 

Jungkook sulked in the corner of the garden; he usually wasn’t around for morning guarding duties because he was not an early riser but he’d traded shifts with one of the other guards so he could have the evening off. Seokjin assumed it was about a girl. 

Jimin and Jungkook could at least enjoy the nicer breakfast Seokjin had brought for them than what they’d eat if dining with the other servants. He preferred to be alone in his private garden mostly but never minded either of them. They let him read his novel in peace. Every few minutes, one of them would get up to unstick Kalamouche if he lodged his ball as he wandered around.

Yes, Kalamouche like the very graphic novel he poured over right now. He’d already read this one, obviously, but there were rumors a new one would debut soon and he liked to reread the whole series each time a new one launched. He was almost caught up once again with the tale of the dashing, daring, charming hamster hero. 

Well, by day Kalamouche was a noble, wealthy and well-connected but distant and bored. But in between his duties as the younger son of a large and powerful family, Kalamouche ran around fighting crime, wooing ladies, and righting wrongs. Because of this, he took a nap every morning, one of many things Seokjin greatly admired about this little fluffy hamster, so adorable in the drawings. Not to mention Kalamouche had a fantastic wit. He was funny and charming and honestly if Seokjin and Kalamouche were to have dinner together, the jokes would run like water and be appreciated equally in both directions. Seokjin loved a good joke, no matter how cheesy.

Yes, Seokjin found a fictional hamster in a graphic novel admirable. Aspirational. So enjoyable he’d adopted multiple hamsters over the years into his menagerie, though the current Kalamouche was the first to look like the hamster in the drawings enough to bear the moniker. He also had the strange habit of being up and about in the mornings, very unusual for a nocturnal creature! 

What would Nasimiyu think of his babies? It made him pause, which Lord Sciurus took to mean food. He’d settled down in the crook of Jin’s neck for a nap but immediately sat up and snuffled, so Seokjin grabbed a nut from the breakfast plate and held it up. His little nails tickled as he crawled around Seokjin’s neck to reach it, then perched on his shoulder, bushy tail tickling behind Seokjin’s ear. 

She had to love them. At least in time. As of now, Seokjin had three hamsters, four guinea pigs, a rabbit, two sugar gliders, and Lord Sciurus. His beloved pair of ferrets, the oldest of his pets, had recently passed, so in a way he was grateful for the life-changing distraction of Nasimiyu arriving right now. King Dong-gun didn’t understand at all why he would grieve two furballs. Seokjin had already lost a mother and a brother, so how could he have any grief left for a pet? He was not an animal-person, King Dong-gun. Seokjin had those ferrets for almost ten years though and the loss of them was still a sharp grief in his heart, nestled right there alongside the loss of his mother and his brother.

At least he had other babies to comfort him through the loss. Seokjin smiled down at her as Lettie hopped by, on a mission for something he couldn’t see. Probably circling back to the bowl of food he’d set by the table. She had a particular fondness for Jungkook, which Seokjin insisted was because Jungkook looked a bit like a rabbit, which had offended Jungkook, so now Seokjin and Jimin just agreed about it in private. He thought Yoongi looked like a sleepy cat a lot, and Hoseok looked quite like Lord Sciurus when he was angry. He wasn’t sure about Jimin yet. King Dong-gun looked like an angry bull most of the time, even when he was laughing.

Seokjin did not much agree with Jungkook’s take that he looked like a hamster, though he didn’t find it offensive. He had been known to puff his cheeks out like one when trying to make a small child laugh, or when he ate freely without worrying about how he looked. And obviously he loved Kalamouche, so actually that was rather flattering.

Thinking about people compared to animals couldn’t be helped; so many of the graphic novels he enjoyed did exactly that. It made him briefly pause and consider whether there was a reason for this; he’d never thought about it before. Maybe animals were easier and more fun to draw? Maybe they let you parody people without offending anyone too much? He had definitely raised his eyes a few times at the Hamster King in Kalamouche , but the elderly, secretly senile hamster didn’t seem to have much similarity to his father. King Dong-gun certainly didn’t spend all his time in a secret wing of the palace trying to navigate a maze he’d never been able to figure out. It was all the Hamster King did. It was pretty sad, actually.

In the latest novel, Kalamouche’s parents had informed him that even though he was the youngest, it was time he get married and bring forth hamster babies. Considering the timing of this novel launch had been right as news began to circle that Seokjin’s betrothed was finally coming to Priva to marry him, he’d found himself wondering if he could be some inspiration for Kalamouche. He didn’t think it likely Kalamouche was a direct parody of him, considering he was more than a noble, and he didn’t fight crime, and didn’t have nearly the same luck with women. More likely the author just drew on current events to capture the audience, and Prince Jin’s upcoming nuptials were definitely a hot topic around town.

Kalamouche wasn’t interested in his parents’ wishes. He claimed not to be interested in committing to any one woman, though Seokjin thought it was pretty obvious he still had his heart broken by a commoner he had rescued several books before. She’d married someone else, and was far below his rank anyway, though he’d seemed to consider abandoning everything for her at the time. It had been a heartbreaking book. He’d understood deeply what it felt like to have everything in the world to offer except whatever the mysterious thing was to actually win a lady’s heart. 

Thinking about it now was almost enough to derail his morning with thoughts of Nasimiyu. No. He didn’t want to think about the failure of yesterday yet. Today was a new day. He’d do better. She’d like him more. 

But right now was his time to just relax with his animals and Kalamouche , who never failed to make him laugh. He always had the perfect line in a time of crisis. Maybe that one mouse woman hadn’t married him but other ladies in the story found him charming and worthy, whether he was in disguise as a fishermouse or a priest or a bandit or whatever, even as the disdainful noble he’d been born into. Kalamouche had so many identities, Seokjin didn’t understand how he could keep them all straight. 

What about the true Kalamouche? There were these pages in between the action, when Kalamouche was sometimes alone, just laying under a raspberry bush in the forest, his head cushioned on a berry, in which Seokjin thought Kalamouche was actually himself . Not that all the other things weren’t also himself, but that that Kalamouche, alone and unbothered, was the truest center kernel of Kalamouche. He understood that too. Even though he tried to be so honestly himself in every day, his life still felt like a performance. Everything was a performance. Seokjin wasn’t sure he knew what the true kernel of himself was, unless it was this right now, reading his manga, snuggling with his fur babies.

Lettie came back and lifted onto her hind legs to sniff at him. When Seokjin sat up to pull her into his lap, Lord Sciurus leapt off, taking a turn around the garden to chase the piggies, who had clustered with fresh veggies under one of the little wooden awnings he’d bought for them, one of many houses and playgrounds and gazebos for them around the space. He might have very little power to do anything for the people beyond these walls right now, but dammit if his pets weren’t living their best lives!

“Are you ready to dress?” Jimin called, misunderstanding Seojin’s movement.

“I’m only halfway through my book.”

“You can’t hide in here all day.”

“Hiding? The sun is up! I’m outside! That’s not hiding!”

“Don’t you have arms training this morning?” Jungkook added.

Seokjin glared, “You don’t know that, you’re just hoping.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook grinned. “Want to spar?”

“Is that why you wanted to take this morning? I can’t spar with you. You’re the only one who hits me and you’ll give me a bruise on my face and it’ll look bad for the Princess,” Seokjin huffed. He lay back on the bench, scratching gently around the base of Lettie’s ears as she snuffled at his pajama top, scrounging for breakfast crumbs. 

“Ya, it will make you look tough!”

Jimin’s voice was low as he hissed, “You can’t hit his face! Or anything right now!”

“You know he doesn’t learn anything from the other nobles he spars with pulling their attacks.”

“Well you’re supposed to make sure he’s never in a position where he needs to be good at it.”

“I want to be good at it,” Seokjin sighed, closing his eyes briefly. “I look good with a sword.” That was true. And he was competent. He’d certainly trained hard. Seok-ho had been a natural and Seokjin never could have kept up with him but King Dong-gun had always made sure he understood what a laughingstock a prince who couldn’t properly hold a sword would be. 

Suddenly Jungkook changed the subject and answered the earlier question, “But no, I’m stuck on the morning shift because Eddie needed to go see his sick mother.”

A beat before Jimin and Seokjin both started, “That can’t be true–”

“Fine, I’m supposed to meet someone… you don’t know her and I’m not telling you.”

“Just don’t fall in love and leave me,” Seokjin grumbled. “Not yet! At least wait until I’ve impressed the Princess.”

“I’m not going to fall in love. Love is for princes and nobles.”

“Kalamouche would say–”

“Kalamouche is a rat in a comic book,” Jungkook scoffed.

Seokjin gave him a playful, teasing sigh, “If you want me to teach you to read, just say–”

“I need to spar with Your Highness this morning. I have a few things to help you learn with the blunt side of a sword. Like that I can read…” Jungkook gave him an equally teasing grin.

“Jungkook,” Jimin sighed.

“First problem, you don’t use a sword to read,” Seokjin corrected.

“Maybe he’ll be a fast learner and he won’t get very bruised.”

“Hoseok will have your head if you spar with him in public. It’s… improper.”

“What’s improper,” Seokjin called, “Is that you’re ignoring Mercedes trapped under your chair. Free her at once!” Jimin rolled his eyes but reached down to pull Mercedes’ ball out and turn it loose. The balls were one of the coolest things Seokjin felt like he owned, an invention out of Sartia. The perfectly rounded strips of alternating wood and glass gave hamsters security and visibility and they made such a cute little rumbling noise as they roamed about. Seokjin had been very happy with his patronage of the inventor, who’d also designed some of the playgrounds and Lord Sciurus’ multi platformed tree house.

Seokjin set Lettie back on the ground, who suddenly took off at a dash to leap over the piggies. Used to this behavior, Daffodil and Nutmeg let Lettie know what they thought of it before shuffling back against the wall with Petunia and Oregano. Now Lettie chased them out though and all four of them took off, racing along the paths, clearly enjoying the game despite their noisy squeaks. If Lettie stopped, one of them would turn around and jump at her and squeak until she started going again.

Seokjin ignored Jungkook’s and Jimin’s restlesness and returned to his book.

Nasimiyu looked at herself in the mirror but then briefly closed her eyes. This was her least favorite part of being a princess. No, not the dresses and jewelry, that part was fine even though she recognized it was hypocritical to enjoy those things while also fighting for the rights of the commoners and wanting to shrink the wealth disparity. Honestly, if bringing down the monarchy would do it, she would –but Dulce had once mused, in response to that idea, that a new power would just step up in its place, and also that a single power would always fail to address the needs of such a diverse kingdom of people, and Nasimiyu had seen the wisdom in that. Dulce was incredibly wise despite her upbringing and Nasimiyu was wise enough to know she herself led a relatively sheltered life and didn’t know everything about the people of Yeonhalbi. Not the way Dulce, who had traveled all over, did. Maybe Nasimiyu couldn’t fix the world entirely but she could make it better . That’s what Dulce helped her see: practical solutions. Otherwise she’d dream too big and it would be her literal downfall. How many revolutionaries before her had been swallowed by the flames they themselves had kindled? So Nasimiyu would not tear down the aristocracy. She would become queen and force change. Granted, there was one major aspect of it all that she and Dulce disagreed on, but for all her wisdom, it wasn’t like Dulce actually knew everything that was best. Nasimiyu had education and political training and her family with its network of connections to help her see what the best future looked like when she became queen.

And the first thing she would stop doing were these stupid awful luncheons. 

“Nasi?” her mother called from the doorway. Nasimiyu turned and put on her best smile, but wasn’t surprised when Princess Simisola sighed. “You’ll have to do better than that.” 

“I just needed a moment.”

Princess Similsola grinned and pressed her hands to Nasimiyu’s face, “I know, my darling. Your honesty is a beautiful piece of you, but as a leader, you must learn to control your face. Not everything in life can be to your pleasure.”

This was such a grossly wrong statement for how Nasimiyu viewed herself that it was nearly impossible not to jerk out of her mother’s grasp. Instead she argued,

“It’s not about pleasing me, Mama. It’s that these ladies will be tripping over themselves to please me rather than letting me know a single intelligent thought they have bouncing around their own skulls.”

“Oh, you think they’ll want your favor?” Princess Simisola laughed. Nasimiyu hated when her mother took that patronizing tone, smiling and laughing like she had all the problems of the world solved. If her parents had solved all the problems of the world, she wouldn’t be in the position she was now, would she? They’d left it to her to save. She was the one who had to play this farce to such a personal degree and it would be her name and face and legacy that had to fix the mess while they got to enjoy the benefits of being parents of the Queen with none of the work.

It was almost enough to make her hate her mother in the moment, which wasn’t fair, because Princess Simisola was a good one. Nasimiyu was just stressed. She reminded herself of that and gave a forced smile, which her mother recognized and laughed at.

“Yes, they’ll crave your favor,” her mother agreed. “Today is when you begin your very own network. The ladies you meet today, and how they think of you, could make all of the difference in the future,” Princess Simisola reminded her. “The future is female. Make them believe it before they hear anyone utter the words so that they’ll be ready to repeat them from the heart when the day comes.”

“Yes, Mama,” Nasimiyu nodded, soothed. Her mother pressed her nose to her forehead in embrace, then stepped back and gestured for Nasimiyu to lead the way. 

Nasimiyu glanced to the side to make sure Dulce was one of the two maids following her. Dulce hadn’t wanted to come to this, but when Nasimiyu pointed out that it was almost important for her to understand the noble women in the palace, Dulce had been won over. Nasimiyu couldn’t imagine what would make her so reluctant anyway because as a maid all she had to do was stand at the edge of the room and bring Nasimiyu things if she called for them. Easy. Nasimiyu was the one who had to actually charm the women!

One unknown about this luncheon was who exactly had planned it. The Queen normally would, though in this case was not alive to do so. In the absence of a Queen, the King’s daughter or sister might take over, but he had neither of those. Perhaps that was why the luncheon had been planned for the day after their arrival –cruelly soon, as if intentionally to catch Nasimiyu while still tired and antisocial from her journey. 

As soon as she and her mother and their entourage walked through the door, a pack of women descended on them. Nasimiyu held her head high at the introductions by a woman who was younger than she expected and introduced herself as,

“His Majesty’s cousin, Lady Zselyke Kim.” She must be around Princess Simisola’s age but had a deceptively youthful energy to her mannerisms as she clutched Nasimiyu’s hand and assured her, “We shall be close friends. Let me introduce you. Of course you are most welcome here.”

It was disarming. Nasimiyu didn’t believe it for a second, but she smiled gracefully as she was led past nearly thirty women and fed their names and a brief explanation of who and what they were. Privan nobility, most of them, and mostly surnames Nasimiyu was familiar with. It struck her that despite her dismissal, her mother and Dulce were both correct: it was important for her to get to know these women, the wives and mothers and daughters behind the men who ran the country. The wives and mothers and daughters who might someday be interested in helping her run the country better without the men in the way.

“It is wonderful to meet you all,” Nasimiyu said once she’d made it through the line, careful to commit each name to memory. “I appreciate the welcome and I look forward to getting to know you all.”

“I’m so sorry that we’re so small in numbers right now. At this time of year we lose many to the more tranquil beaches of Sartia, but once word of your arrival spreads, they will flock here to greet you.”

“Yes, we have a very active society here, you will never want for fine company here,” Lady Hường Arzt assured her. 

“Is society very good in Marvono? I’ve never been,” Miss Lidmila Aukem asked, looking to her mother, Sukhdeep Aukem, who appeared to shake her head no .

Nasimiyu waited for her mother to answer first as the two of them sat together on a velvet chaise. The room had large fans with wide blades slowly turning overhead, not too different from home except they didn’t actually create any breeze, only drew in the salty, smelly, fishy air from the large open windows. Dulce stood next to one of them, she noticed, next to some of the other handmaids. It amused Nasimiyu that anyone would look at Dulce and think her an ordinary handmaiden, but she thought Dulce was probably right, that people saw what they expected to see. She knew Dulce intentionally tried to look doughty so as to appear unremarkable but she had too pretty a face to ever be truly forgettable. She didn’t like to be told so and didn’t believe you if you said it anyway.

“What did you and Prince Seokjin talk about at the dinner table last night?” asked Miss Çiğdem Quincy, followed by Lady Brigitte Van Aarle lightly slapping her hand and gasping, “You can’t ask her that?”

“What do you think of him?”

“He seems very charming,” Nasimiyu said diplomatically. “I’m afraid I have not yet spent much time in his company though. This is all a bit… overwhelming, to be honest.” She hadn’t decided until just that moment to play it that way, and regretted it only because it was what her mother suggested. Be confident, but a little vulnerable, a little needy. It would make obvious which women leaned in to assist, which women leaned back to study weakness, and which seemed just as lost. 

“You poor dear, it is!” the elderly Lady Anne Lapointe lamented. “Honestly, I can’t imagine. Priva must be so different than what you’re used to. So much more advanced, isn’t it?”

Princess Simisola quickly answered, “It is different, yes. We have much to learn about the charms of Priva.” Because they aren’t immediately obvious , Nasimiyu thought. 

“And of the Prince,” Nasimiyu added. “Is he really as dashing as he seems? I wasn’t expecting him to be so…” She waited to see how they would fill it in, her gaze leaping from face to face to watch the thought process, to see whether women were thinking positive or critical things.

“Handsome?” was the first blurted out response, followed by giggles. Nasimiyu’s eyes went wide with surprise. Even Lady Anne Lapointe giggled .

“Oh, Prince Seokjin, he’s so charming!”

“He’s very thoughtful. He’ll remember everything you ever tell him about yourself,” another insisted.

Miss Afua Trevis, daughter of a very stern-looking Pola Trevis, leaned in and assured her, “It’s not true what they say either about–”

“Afua!”

“About him breaking hearts!” Miss Afua Trevia cried to defend herself. “I only meant, it’s not true! Any lady would lose her head for him but I think his heart has been saved for you and you alone… it’s so romantic…”

“He must look very different from the men in Marvono. Is that true?” Lady Muirgen Butler asked, eyebrow arched. 

Nasimiyu clenched her teeth and insisted, “We have men who look very like the Prince in Marvono and men who look very different. We are not that distant from here, no more distant than Therepin or Rinsk or Sartia.” 

“It’s true. It’s true, what she says. Only we don’t get many Marvonese travelers here, not even as many as Paloman which is further!”

“Is it further? I’m not so sure…”

“It’s further,” Nasimiyu confirmed, smiling harder. Was education really so bad here among the nobles that they didn’t know basic geography? Did none of them travel except to the white sand beaches of Sartia?!

“Is it very different here? You must tell us what your home is like!”

“No, first we must help her understand what Priva is like,” Lady Sukhdeep Aukem argued. “She will live here now as our Princess and then our Queen. It’s very important she learn our ways so the people will love her.”

“Why would the people not love her? She will do well. It has been a long time since we had a woman in the palace.”

Lady Zselyke Kim looked highly offended by this and argued, “We get on as best we can.”

Nasimiyu didn’t think she could stomach explaining Marvono –which was a part of their own kingdom!-- to these women and so quickly begged, “Please tell me more about Priva, and anything you can about society here. I have so much to learn even just about my husband and to learn the city on top of it so I may rule well–”

“Assist with ruling well,” Lady Zselyke Kim corrected, with a raised eyebrow.

Princess Simisola began to speak but Nasimiyu quickly corrected her own mistake, “Yes, of course. I was not sure what I would find but it’s obvious King Dong-gun and Prince Seokjin are fine rulers and that if you’ve been running the palace for them, you’ve done a wonderful job. I just want to understand what women see around this place,” she smiled. “I want to know everything that concerns me so I may learn this beautiful city and my place in it quickly.”

“Yes, my daughter is eager to be as useful here as she was in our home,” Princess Simisola agreed with a nod. Nasimiyu breathed a sigh of relief; her mother thought she’d handled it well. Without knowledge of their future plans, a slip like that might mean nothing, just a foolish girl choosing her words improperly. But when a king dies and then a prince dies, a lady may remember the new princess who had mentioned her desire to rule. Especially a pushy cousin. Nasimiyu glanced at Lady Zselyke Kim and gave her a supplicating smile. No one had ever mentioned Lady Zselyke Kim to her, but she did realize now the woman had been in the background of their greetings yesterday, though not formally introduced. Was King Dong-gun bad at decorum like that? Sexist? Or did it mean Lady Zselyke Kim was not as important in this place as she wanted to convince Nasimiyu?

Misses Çiğdem Quincy and Afua Trevis seemed eager to gossip –good to know— and the latter leaned as close as her mother would let her to say, “Prince Seokjin is so good at so many things. Have you already seen him dance?”

“No, I’m not sure dancing is what he’s best at.”

“He sings very well but he’s shy about it.”

“You’ve heard him sing?” came a scandalized gasp from Miss Lidmila Aukem.

“Yes! Yes? It wasn’t indecent –”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t say that in front of–”

“It was at a dinner party! That’s all! I’m sorry you weren’t invited but–”

“I’m invited to every dinner party and I’ve never heard him sing.”

“He sings to himself all the time.”

“Oh well I don’t skulk about in his path.”

Nasimiyu was going cross-eyed. It became very clear that the tension here was that many wanted to talk very much about Prince Seokjin and their mamas very much wanted them to not. It seemed like a potentially useful thing, if she could carve out some tea times or walks with just some of the younger women. Perhaps it wasn’t surprising they all had stars in their eyes when they talked about him. He was decently handsome, if you didn’t mind the annoying humor and clumsy demeanor.

“What has been your impression so far?” Lady Anne Lapointe asked right over the titters of the younger women.

“The city seemed lively,” Nasimiyu offered, “But we haven’t seen much yet.”

Princess Simisola quickly added, “It’s a beautiful palace but my daughter is right. We are very much new here and have not formed an impression yet, except that we look forward to knowing this beautiful city more.”

“How long will you stay with us, Princess Simisola?”

“Perhaps not long,” her mother admitted. “We will visit some of the other princes further south since we have traveled all this way. But of course I will be here frequently, to help with wedding planning and to visit with my daughter and grandchildren afterwards.”

“Grandchildren,” Lady Miuren Bridger repeated. “You are optimistic, are you? Does your family make offspring so well? You only have the one.”

“That’s incorrect, we have three girls. Nasimiyu is our youngest,” Princess Simisola said. “Our elder two would not travel just yet as they have both recently had babies.”

“Ahhhhh.” This seemed allowable to those present. Nasimiyu found herself surprised it wasn’t known that she had elder sisters. Did these women not really know much about her at all? It seemed strange. She’d been engaged to Prince Seokjin for several years now. 

Maybe they hadn’t bothered learning about her because they didn’t think she’d get this far. She’d heard a rumor before that Prince Seokjin had at least one failed betrothal, possibly more. Of course such gossip would be closely guarded and squashed by the palace. Her father was not convinced it was true but also wasn’t sure King Dong-gun would be honest with him about it if he asked. It made Nasimiyu wonder if actually they really ought to find out whether he had been betrothed, and what exactly had made it fall through. That might be a clue to what sort of man Prince Seokjin really was. 

Not that it mattered, of course. In the end, things had to be the way they had to be. The Kim dynasty was not best for Yeonhalbi any longer. Maybe it never really had been, but people made reckless choices when they were desperate or desperately grateful.

“Do you have balls in Marvono?” Miss Çiğdem Quincy asked. “The balls here are wonderful.”

“There’s going to be one soon!”

“Yes, to welcome the Princesses,” Lady Brigitte Van Aarle scoffed, as if the girls were stupid to have forgotten this. “Honestly, you aren’t showing our best.”

“We were talking about what Prince Seokjin likes–”

“The Princess will be better versed in what the Prince likes than any of us,” Lady Hường Arzt interrupted. “We should learn what things the Princess likes to see how we may be useful to her.”

“Well there are thirty something odd of us so that’s a bit rich to expect from a luncheon!” Lady Zselyke Kim argued. “Don’t try so hard. Invite her to your homes. Princess Simisola and Princess Nasimiyu are with us now and we have plenty of time to get to know each other. Let’s talk to her about things going on around Priva which might amuse her, like the Sunflower Festival.”

“Oh, you grow sunflowers in Priva?” Nasimiyu asked with surprise.

“No, Princess, but we bring them in! Lady Kim is right, it’s such a beautiful time. A little treat for those of us who don’t abandon the city for the summer months.”

“I bet it’s not nearly as hot and humid here as it is in Marvono, isn’t that right?”

“I’ve heard Marvono is a dry heat.”

“Yes, it’s a dry heat,” Nasimiyu agreed, sensitive to what they meant by that. But it was true, it was much more pleasant than this humid, smelly place. The air was sharp but clean.

“We love sunflowers,” Princess Simisola offered to the conversation.

“Yes, lovely, they’re one of Prince Seokjin’s favorite flowers,” Lady Comfort Láska insisted. 

“Ah, the Prince does love his flowers!”

“He’s just like his mother in that way. The gardens were never more beautiful than when she was with us.”

“He’s done his best but it’s so much work and he only lets the gardeners do so much. He wants to stay true to her vision, of course.”

“He needs a partner,” Pola Trevis suggested. She gave Nasimiyu a pointed look. “Do you garden?”

Nasimiyu stopped the sandwich halfway to her mouth, the first bite she would have had at this small plate luncheon, and answered, “I love flowers. As for growing them, I look forward to all the things my husband can teach me.”

Titters around the room let her know this was an acceptable answer. They were traditional here, she thought. She worried what that meant for her plans. They might not accept her bold ideas. 

When at last the luncheon had dragged on long enough, Nasimiyu was ever so grateful to the ladies for dispersing and setting her free. She had to endure an onslaught of invitations to tea and supper but accepted the cards with grace and thanked everyone for their welcome and did everything as correctly as she possibly could. 

This was confirmed when she and Princess Simisola could finally collapse alone in their private parlor situated between their bedrooms. Nasimiyu flopped on the chaise lounge while Princess Simisola heaved a deep sigh and sat in an overstuffed chair.

“I did all right,” Nasimiyu announced.

Princess Simisola gave her a warm grin, “Yes, my darling, you did wonderful. We have many people to familiarize ourselves with. It will be a busy few months.”

“It takes a lot of energy. I should be focused on–”

“You have your maids to focus on other things,” her mother said pointedly. Dulce had not yet joined them in the sitting room, disappearing who knew where. That annoyed Nasimiyu, because she wanted to know what she thought, not listen as her mother began walking through the entire list of ladies they’d just met, sharing her observations of each. It felt like studying and Nasimiyu was tired enough as it was. Couldn’t they rehash the luncheon later?

Fortunately, several maids at once came in and the disruption saved her; the King was asking for tea with Princess Simisola and Prince Hamisi. Nasimiyu gave her mother a teasing grin, as it was obvious her mother would rather rest than go change into something suitable for tea with a king. But she rose, and tapped Nasimiyu’s forehead affectionately as she passed.

Nasimiyu demanded to be left alone with a wave of her hand, and slid her slippers off and stretched out. She must have dozed off for a time, under the rhythmic clicks of the ceiling fan. When she awoke, Dulce was in the room, opening the windows.

“No, don’t open them,” Nasimiyu frowned. “You’ll let the sea air in.”

“You need to acclimate to the sea air,” Dulce pointed out. Nasimiyu glared. Of course Dulce was right; no matter what, she’d be here in Priva for several years. Probably she would try to change the capital to Marvono eventually but a kingdom could only endure so much change at once, so it would take time. And no one would support a queen who grimaced at sea air in her own palace.

Nasimiyu sighed, “Fine, but not by opening the windows yet. Let’s go for a stroll on our own. Do you think you can shield me from having to talk to anyone?”

“You want to walk into the city?”

“No, around the gardens is fine. I’m sure you remember how to get us to them. I had to sit for so long, my legs are aching for a stretch. Let’s go.”

“Yes, all right.”

“What did you think about it all though? Boring, right? You see now why I was always escaping.”

Dulce tilted her head and just said, “You can learn a lot by what women in those rooms say or don’t say and how they say it. It was useful to observe. You were right about that.”

“What’s your take? Do you think they’d support me?”

“Some of them maybe,” Dulce said. “I don’t know politics like you do, Princess. I know it was a room full of women eager to please and eager to get a sense of you. That doesn’t mean anyone was honest. Time will tell.”

“You mean you’ll have to keep going to luncheons with me.”

“Wait, no–”

But now Nasimiyu laughed at Dulce’s grimace and laughed, “Yes, that’s what you’ve agreed! All right, let’s walk. Maybe we can swing by the weapon yard too so you can feel superior watching the little boys hack at each other with wooden swords.”

“You’re so considerate.”

“I am . Let’s go. If anyone looks like they want to talk to me, stab them.”

“I’m not going to do that.”

“Fine, but think of something.”

“Tell your guard–”

“No, I’m not taking a bodyguard for a stroll. I’m safer with you than with them anyway. Now stop dragging your feet and lead me back to the flowers. You don’t think these gardens are the only flowers grown in Priva, do you? Honestly, to have a festival for a flower you have to import !!”

“Is that something you want to change?” Dulce asked.

Nasimiyu appreciated the question and sighed, “It is, but I suspect I will need to focus on bigger things. I don’t know. My head hurts, let’s just walk.”

Seokjin’s chest and shoulders heaved with the effort of breathing; sweat ran down his neck, sticking the ends of his hair to his ears and forehead. Master Drin didn’t wait though; Seokjin had to leap backwards and parry Drin’s blade away from his hip. Granted the wooden training swords didn’t do much damage except for bruising and blistering. Occasionally they sparred with actual weapons and armor, because Prince Seokjin could technically be challenged to a duel at any time and while he had the privilege of always invoking a stand-in, it was still a matter of appearances. Once upon a time he had thought the stand-in rule was stupid; why should some other bloke get carved up because someone took issue with him? But as he grew, he realized that challenging a Prince to a duel was a sport for many noble lads looking to impress a girl or air a family grievance, and he grew well versed in rolling through a short roster of champions who could take care of matters for him, which was often faster than actually getting to the bottom of the accusation. Besides, Jungkook enjoyed the action; he and the other bodyguards had a running competition about who could end their duels the quickest.

But no real blades today, just wooden short swords for a while, and then as soon as Seokjin started to look tired, those were traded for the heavier wooden rapiers. Short swords were more in fashion now, and Seokjin often had one on his hip as ceremony called for, but rapiers weren’t gone and it would be foolish not to still know how to use or defend against one. Using the heavier sword after the first was just a cruel stamina-building exercise Master Drin delighted in.

“Tired?” Drin asked with a devilish grin. The answer was obviously yes , but Drin was the only one Seokjin wouldn’t sass because then he’d just drive him harder. 

“Never,” Seokjin lied, and feigned a step to the right only to leap to the left and try to press Drin on his right because it was too obvious of a move. He struck but was parried; instead of being repelled though he pushed forward, aiming high outside at Drin’s left shoulder. The cross-body attack wasn’t good; Seokjin knew that as soon as he did it. He had no choice but to retreat under Drin’s riposte, parrying it hard to the side so he could step back.

“You don’t think quickly enough,” Drin said. “You tried to surprise me and it didn’t work, so trying to surprise me again won’t work.”

“It might eventually,” Seokjin argued. 

“You’re too predictable. Make sure you don’t train with someone you’re going to fight. You need variety in your moves.”

“I have… variety,” Seokjin grumbled. He wanted to defend that he was just tired; they’d been at it for over an hour now. But he knew Drin wasn’t entirely wrong. He was excellent at defense; even Master Drin struggled to actually touch him when he focused. But on the attack, he had no mind for noticing the weak points in his opponent. He couldn’t figure out their style quickly enough to find a hole. He couldn’t plan his attack with alternatives out far and quickly enough to be of use. If his first attack worked, as if often did with anyone who wasn’t Master Drin or Jungkook, then he was golden, but if the first attack failed, he often floundered to catch his footing again. It was infuriating. And how was he supposed to get better if only Master Drin or Jungkook would actually spar with him to win? 

“Use nothing that you’ve used today,” Master Drin told him, walking a circle and then tipping his blade in the sand to signal focus. Seokjin got into a proper lowered stance even though his thighs were burning.

“I don’t remember what I’ve used today,” he mumbled, humor fading. He understood the command, even though there were only so many moves; Master Drin only meant he should not make it appear he was doing the same thing predictably over and over.

“Make yourself remember.”

Seokjin wanted to crack a joke and was just racking his brain for one as he lifted his blade, but a figure on the far side of the yard made him freeze. He was completely unprepared for Master Drin’s blade to whip forward and smack him on the waist.

“Your Highness!” Master Drin scolded.

“My apologies,” Seokjin quickly corrected, bowing, and blushing, because he did not know how long Princess Nasimiyu had been standing there, but it was obvious she watched him. 

Shit.

Seokjin almost pointed out to his training master that the Princess was there, but he worried his master would do the opposite of making him look good and instead try to use it to his advantage. Of course he wanted to look like an impressive swordsman in front of Princess Nasimiyu. He was impressive! Maybe he wasn’t a natural with a blade in his hand, but what he lacked in talent, he had made up for with nearly two decades of unending hard work, originally at the behest of his father but later because he thought that training would make him more graceful and tougher. And maybe because of that attempt on his life that had scared him so badly, but they didn’t talk about that anymore.

“Ah, now you are serious!” Master Drin mused. “I see it in your face!” Probably he was comfortable taunting Seokjin because he’d known him so long, and seen him breakdown from training –something Seokjin usually kept completely private–, and also because he was about the only person allowed to strike Seokjin so he took liberties with his protected place. He was much more formal when King Dong-gun was around but Seokjin didn’t mind the taunting.

Except right now. He had a Princess to impress.

“Yes, you are talking, you don’t want to go through with this?” Seokjin joked. “The pen is mightier than the sword, not the tongue.”

“In the bedroom–”

Seokjin knew the older man couldn’t help making the joke, and he paid the consequences for it as Seokjn dove in for the attack. It was parried, as he expected, but he parried the riposte and went inside low. The clank of wooden weapons created an enjoyable rhythm; Seokjin liked the sound of it, maybe another thing that drove him towards the yard. He was in a good groove of giving and blocking and returning. 

But then disaster. Seokjin’s long legs reached too far; he lunged past Master Drin and tried to catch him on the turn, but his stride was too long and it made him over balance. Not only did Master Drin easily knock him over and take the touch, but Seokjin actually fell right onto his ass. 

Right in front of the Princess.

He leapt to his feet as Princess Nasimiyu reached them; he quickly bowed, “Ah, welcome Princess. You’ve caught me during my weapons practice. Master Drin Donellson is a world-famous weapons master. Master Drin, this is Princess Nasimiyu of Marvono… my betrothed.” He’d stumbled over whether to call her my betrothed or my bride or my future wife. As soon as he said betrothed, he wished he’d said future wife. It sounded more romantic and personal. Betrothed sounded formal. An arrangement. It was an arrangement but he didn’t want his marriage to remain that way. 

Nasimiyu gave a small curtsy as Master Drin bowed politely low and greeted, “A pleasure to meet you, Princess. You are marrying a fine, hard-working swordsman. I know because I’ve trained him myself since he was a boy!”

“How admirable,” Nasimiyu smiled, and it was the closest to praise Seokjin had seen so far. Granted, he didn’t know if she meant his hard work or Master Drin’s.

He decided to assume the best and agreed, “Yes, I take my training very seriously.”

“You have no real combat experience, yes?” Nasimiyu asked. She still had that pleasant smile but Seokjin found himself confused by her question.

“There has been no recent campaign for me to participate in. The kingdom is at peace,” he pointed out. He decided not to mention his brother had died ending the last border skirmishes to guard Therepin and protect the wholeness of the kingdom. 

“Yes, he is well trained should the need arise, but hopefully peace will remain,” Master Drin agreed. Even though Seokjin knew he itched for actual combat sometimes. Sometimes he got drunk in the kitchens and groused about it and Seokjin made sure he got back to his room safe before King Dong-gun saw and fired him for such behavior.

“In the absence of war, at least I will always be by your side to keep you safe,” Seokjin assured Nasimiyu, tilting his head and smiling softly at her. 

Nasimiyu lowered her face and gave him a smile that was shockingly attractive and not at all gentle like her previous smiles had been.

“That’s kind of you, Your Highness, however I am well trained with a knife and know how to defend myself as well. I would never be comfortable relying only on someone else’s protection.”

“You’re trained in… defense?” Seokjin clarified. “Combat?”

“Yes. Is that troubling to you?” Her handmaid coughed and Nasimiyu glanced sharply at her before turning to Seokjin for his answer.

“No. No, it’s not… trouble. I’m just surprised. I didn’t not realize… don’t you have adequate guards in Marvono?”

“Yes, of course, but surely self reliance isn’t a bad thing? You yourself are trained, and why should a Prince ever need to defend himself or fight his own duels or even lead a charge?”

Seokjin blinked and swallowed at the phrasing. It felt like a reference to his brother but couldn’t be. It would be in poor taste to taunt him about a death and he would never expect that from a woman like Nasimiyu. 

He tried to answer her question, “Ah, well… you know, often a Prince does lead a military campaign… I could fight my duels and likely win them only– well those are a formality for bored nobles anyway. It’s just something a prince ought to know.”

“But not a princess?”

“I… suppose so… if that’s a thing you’re interested in! But Princess you don’t need to think you’ll ever be in danger here. You will always be safe with me and in my home.”

“That is reassuring to hear.”

“But… uh…” He looked at Master Drin. He looked at Jungkook sparring over to the side with some of the other trainees, after he’d enjoyed a couple rounds with Seokjin and then been chased off by Master Drin. “If it’s a hobby of yours… do you want to join me? We can spar sometime!” 

It was an odd suggestion. He knew that. He didn’t think any prince in the history of the Kim dynasty had offered to spar with their betrothed or wife. It wasn’t that women never took to arms but certainly not noble ones. Even admitting she was trained in it was a shock, and both increased his admiration for her and his fear of her because Nasimiyu just seemed more incredible and competent and capable with every discovery. Sparring with his betrothed would certainly raise eyebrows, but he felt like Nasimiyu was going to raise eyebrows here no matter what, and he’d rather support his wife in that way from the beginning. If she wanted to spar, all right! He just hoped she wasn’t better than him…

“I don’t think that would be wise,” Nasimiyu said, instantly leaving him feeling like an idiot to have suggested it.

“Ah, of course… my apologies, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable…”

“My defense is best served if no one knows what I’m capable of.”

“I just wished to show my support for any way you want to spend your time.”

“Thank you.”

For a moment they stood there and Seokjin wished desperately he could tell by her face what she thought of him. In the absence of any fondness yet, he assumed the worst. She did not seem at all impressed with his swordsmanship, nor interested in his flushed, sweaty appearance. Some women liked that! 

But not Nasimiyu.

Maybe instead he should wish for a hole in the ground to open up and swallow him?

The maid touched her arm and Nasimiyu sprang into motion again, asking, “I shall see you at dinner, Your Highness?”

“My time can be yours at any time,” he quickly offered. “Ah, well, I’ll wash first…”

“See you at dinner,” she smiled, that beautiful smile, and even though she’d basically just rejected him, it still warmed the hope in his heart. Yes, all right. They would sit next to each other at supper. A lifelong love like his parents had was not made in a single day, or even two. He would be glad of small steps.

Turning back to Master Drin, he sighed, “Ah, I don’t think she was very impressed.”

“She must be. You’ve become very good.”

“You don’t have to flatter me. I will continue to work hard. Thank you for your help,” Seokjin said, bowing to the older man.

“I was not flattering you. If you lose confidence, it will be a step backwards for you. Women say things to tease men, especially when they are impressed. Do not assume she looked poorly on you.”

Seokjin felt self-conscious now though and insisted, “Both you and Jungkook can beat me and I don’t believe anyone else fights properly with me.”

“Jungkook is naturally gifted at these things, that’s true, but hard work can defeat talent in the end,” Drin insisted. “I had no natural gift, only steely determination. Let that motivate you. Another round now, push a little more and then I’ll release you.”

I’m tired , Seokjin wanted to complain. But he wanted to impress Nasimiyu more. Maybe she was better than him. So he swallowed the complaint and got back into position, sword hand trembling with exhausted determination.

“He wasn’t very good, was he?” Nasimiyu asked later that night as Dulce helped her step out of the gown she’d worn to dinner. There were so many ties and secret catches to undo, plus the risk of tangling it in her bracelets or earrings or necklace. One catch would ruin the delicate fabric. It was incredibly fussy and also one of the silkiest things Dulce had ever touched in her life. The fabric pooled like water on the floor; Dulce lifted it to hang while Nasimiyu undid her own underthings. 

“At supper?”

“No, when we saw him sparring,” Nasimiyu clarified.

Dulce slid the fabric onto the wooden hanger as she answered, “He’s very well trained.” Dulce was slightly disappointed Nasimiyu hadn’t been able to tell that just by watching him. It might lead her to do something reckless if she misjudged an opponent.

“Yes? So?”

“I’ve heard of his training master. He had a very famous military career when he was younger. The exercises they were doing may have looked simple but it was actually quite advanced.”

“So… you think he’s good with a blade,” Nasimiyu said. She let the gauzy bra band fall away from her chest without a care, but her expression didn’t look pleased.

“You wish him to be bad?” Dulce didn’t understand why it mattered at all.

Nasimiyu shrugged, “He doesn’t seem like the type to be competent at anything. His brother was apparently the one skilled at combat.”

“Being good with a blade doesn’t mean you’re good at anything else.”

Dulce obviously hadn’t meant it any which way. But Nasimiyu got a knowing smile on her face as she sauntered over, nude except for her silky red panties. She caught Dulce by the chin and smiled down at her.

“You’re good at things besides a blade.”

Dulce didn’t have to see her other hand to sense the second it moved. She blocked it easily, hand closing around her knuckles, diverting the blade easily to the side.

Nasimiyu left out a laughing sigh, “But damn you’re good with a blade. Did you see it in the back of my panties?”

“You walked funny so it wouldn’t drop,” Dulce admitted.

“You notice everything.”

“I have to.”

Nasimiyu looked down at the small blade she kept hidden on her. Dulce had one just like it, actually, a gift Nasimiyu had bought for them, one of many tactics to win Dulce’s assistance with this mission. They were small but sharp, well-made steel but embellished with unnecessarily shiny gold and rubies in the handle. Dulce didn’t like the way the blade felt in her hand; she preferred her worn old familiar one. But she carried it anyway, of course. It was a gift from Nasimiyu. There were only two in the world. She didn’t want to appear ungrateful.

“Do you think he’s better with a blade than I am?” Nasimiyu asked, tapping Dulce’s chin to get her attention. There was a long beautiful body for Dulce’s gaze to trail up from blade in hand to Nasimiyu’s face but she was a woman of strong self restraint. “You can tell me.”

“Yes,” Dulce admitted. “You shouldn’t spar with him.”

“You said I’m good.”

“I said you’re good enough to get yourself killed by thinking you’re better than you are,” Dulce clarified, stepping away to get space. “Don’t pick fights, especially here.”

“I know…”

“It’s important you know that. I don’t think you should have even told him you know how to fight,” Dulce admitted. 

Nasimiyu’s eyes narrowed at the scolding; she took a step closer again, peering down at Dulce as she taunted, “Oh? You want to tell me how to behave too?”

“I want you to not get yourself killed just because you want to show off.”

“I’m not showing off.”

“You want him to be impressed by you too?”

“Who else is impressed by me?” Nasimiyu asked, arching her eyebrow. When Dulce didn’t answer, she asked, “Can you beat him?”

“Of course I could beat him.”

“And his bodyguard?”

“Two of his bodyguards are young and reckless and frustrated,” Dulce scoffed, “The other is bored.”

“But not you. You aren’t any of those things.” Nasimiyu was teasing her. Dulce took a step back again. She was not one of those stupid people who thought a step backwards was a surrender. Sometimes it was important to put space between yourself and a threat, even this kind of threat, the threat of a beautiful naked woman teasing you.

Besides, it gave her space to yank the dagger from the secret pocket at her waistband before Nasimiyu’s next attack reached her. The blades struck each other and slid like a pair of scissors. That usually surprised people, and Dulce tried to grab Nasimiyu’s wrist in the moment, but she’d taught the princess too well. Nasimiyu flicked her blade, freeing Dulce’s but trying to nick Dulce’s exposed wrist at the same time. Instead Dulce circled her hand around so that Nasimiyu had to chase her, and slashed with the other. Nasimiyu had to shift her attention to Dulce’s blade as it sliced towards her upper arm –though slowly, as Dulce often was when she wasn’t confident Nasimiyu would predict and block her. She’d cut her before and regretted it, and doubted “training scars” would be welcome while she was so closely watched here as the important betrothed.

Nasimiyu blocked the attack and grabbed Dulce’s other wrist –beautifully predicting what Dulce had been going to do next, but not quite fast enough. It had given Dulce time to lift her ankle and grab the blade from her shoe in one fluid motion. Focused instead on that, Nasimiyu lost track of the other hand, but at the last second blocked Dulce’s forearm with her own.

The back and forth was quick. None of the elaborate hacking and slashing the men had demonstrated in the yard earlier. This was close combat, close combat, hands hitting and blades clicking so quickly it looked choreographed. In a way, it was; this was barely sparring, more like running through exercises Dulce had trained her in. Nasimiyu could feel comfortable, like she’d figured out Dulce’s movements, like she could participate in the back and forth. Dulce could lead the princess’ skill development this way and that, proudly watch her improve, hope that she could defend herself if the moment was needed, but also know that her own fighting style remained unknown. 

“You’re rusty,” Nasimiyu teased as they shuffled back and forth. She giggled and wriggled her chest, “Distracted?”

“Distract me that way and you’ll lose a nipple.”

“You wouldn’t dare–” Nasimiyu let out a yip as Dulce pressed the blunt side of her blade against the soft flesh just beneath one dark round nipple. She held it there, watching as Nasimiyu’s nipple hardened in response to the cold metal blade, or maybe at the threat. 

She was proud of the way Nasimiyu tried to use the distraction to her advantage. While Dulce stared, Nasimiyu reached for the other wrist. But Dulce was never only looking at one thing, and flipped the other blade to tap Nasimiyu’s hand.

“You’re so fucking fast,” Nasimiyu complained, leaping back. Her arms and legs were longer than Dulce’s. Her own traditional instructor had taught her to use that to her advantage. But a long reach was a slow one; she still had to dart forward and try to get past Dulce’s defenses –impossible if Dulce was truly fighting, difficult while she played like this. The blade went in and Dulce simply ducked under her hand and pressed her two blades around behind Nasimiyu, pressing the points she would have stabbed to her ribs and lower back.

“I’ve got you too,” Nasimiyu said, breathing heavily right beside Dulce’s forehead, bare chest pressed to her clothed one. “Right where I want you.”

“Is that–”

She grabbed Dulce’s jaw with one hand and jerked it upwards for the kiss, already moaning onto Dulce’s tongue. Dulce flipped her blades so she wouldn’t accidentally cut Nasimiyu; it had happened before, and she had been less amused by the blood that dripped along Nasimiyu’s skin as they fucked. Nasimiyu had thought it was amusing. Nasimiyu was a one in a million kind of woman.

She must be remembering it too, because Dulce felt the smile in the kiss seconds before Nasimiyu’s blade slid between them and caught on the laces of her gown.

“Damn,” Nasimiyu huffed when it didn’t just slice through the laces and fall away.

“That doesn’t work.”

“It does if you’re wearing a nice gown.”

“I’m a maid now. Maids don’t wear nice gowns.”

“Yes, you’re a maid, so come be good to your lady. And take this damned dress off! It makes your tits look small.” Nasimiyu pushed her away just enough to grab hold of the laces and begin to wrench them apart. She tossed her blade onto the rug, foolish. Dulce put hers back in her pocket before helping her lady with her own laces. Once her fingers were on the job, Nasimiyu grabbed her face again instead and kissed her hard, hungry, as if making up for her exhaustion and disinterest last night. 

“Too many clothes,” Nasimiyu complained. “I want you to touch me.” The second Dulce’s clothes were on the ground, Nasimiyu grabbed her hands and pressed them to her chest, as if Dulce needed the encouragement. 

She did not. She squeezed and kissed until they reached the bed and crashed down together, a tangle of limbs and hair. Nasimiyu predictably grabbed her braid, but just to hold her in place as she crawled higher and settled her pussy over Dulce’s mouth. The panties were gone.  

“You didn’t win the spar,” Dulce pointed out. Resisting the urge to just give in and devour as she was being wordlessly commanded. 

“Close enough.”

“Not close enough,” Dulce said. Even though Nasimiyu was taller, it took very little effort to grab her thighs, drag her to Dulce’s chest, and then flip her. “Not close enough,” she said again, Nasimiyu now trapped beneath her , knees up, pretty pussy uneaten. Nasimiyu wrapped her arms around her neck and tried to flip her back, but Dulce was hard to move if she didn’t want to be moved. Now her mouth started to curl into a rare smile. “You’ll have to try harder than that.”

“Dulcie.”

“Simi.”

“You know how I feel when you call me that,” she murmured, her noble lady mouth stretching to reach Dulce’s for a kiss, which was given. Nasimiyu grabbed her wrist and Dulce thought to let her try and flip her that way, knowing it wouldn’t work. But instead Nasimiyu dragged her hand down, pressing Dulce’s fingers to her pussy and grinding against them. Warm, wet, coarse curls damp with need; Dulce found it even harder not to give in yet. She would have, maybe, if she didn’t know how much Nasimiyu enjoyed the fight. How much Nasimiyu enjoyed winning. How willing Nasimiyu was to play dirty.

“Dulce…”

“Yes?” Dulce asked, letting Nasimiyu use her hand but not helping.

“Have pity on me.”

“You don’t like pity.”

“You’re playing too hard to get,” Nasimiyu insisted. This was an unusual tactic for her and Dulce tilted her head, looking down into Nasimiyu’s pretty dark eyes. “I’m desperate right now.”

“It’s my problem?”

“It’s your fault,” Nasimiyu complained and craned her neck to kiss her again. Dulce could taste that the food was all wrong here; Nasimiyu’s tongue had lost some of its spice. At least she still smelled the same, that same warm perfume that smelled like sunshine and warm breezes and fresh laundry and oranges. Dulce sank into the kiss, letting her skin press against Nasimiyu’s, stroking her fingers lightly along said desperate cunt. “Be with me, Dulce.”

“I think you have someone new to help you with this now.”

“No,” Nasimiyu murmured, arms sliding around Dulce and pulling her harder against her. A hand slid impatiently down Dulce’s backside, fingers brushing her own warm, desperate space. She spread her knees, pressing Nasimiyu’s legs apart too, and pressed her own fingers deeper. “No,” Nasimiyu said again. “It’s only you here. It’s only you I want.”

That was the thing about Nasimiyu. It was dangerous if you forgot who she was, because who she was was a princess, a princess who knew exactly what to say to get what she wanted. A princess who would fight dirty to get what she wanted.  

Prince Seokjin didn’t stand a chance. Dulce had no doubt Nasimiyu would pull off the whole scheme and be queen and change the world. What she didn’t know was what her own future looked like, only what it didn’t look like.

But for right now, she was here, so when Nasimiyu tugged on her braid again, she kissed her way down this warm, soft, beautiful body and let her princess win.

PREVIOUS | MASTER | NEXT

[introvertguide]

The Life of Roman Polanski

The director of our current movie under review, Roman Polanski, is a man that has been surrounded by sadness and controversy. I think that he is a great director and an amazing creator of the visual arts, but he has a major flaw that makes me very glad he is nowhere near me. I think a statement like that deserves some explanation, but know that a lot of my take is based on opinion. I was not alive when a lot of his issues occurred so I base my opinion on news and official record statements. I will try and rely on recorded facts as much as possible and make a point to mention if something is not proven. I also encourage anyone who is interested to find out more because it is a fascinating story.

Polanski started off the in a pretty bad way as he was born in 1933 in Paris during the height of Nazi reign in Europe. He was moved to Krakow in 1937 right before the German invasion and his parents were taken in raids. He was kept alive in foster homes under an assumed identity and was lucky to survive. His mother died in Auschwitz, but he was reunited with his father after the war in 1946. Roman had quite the artistic eye and used it for both photography and filming. He attended the National Film School in Lodz, Poland and started directing short films that gained recognition. One film in particular was called Bicycle. It was a true story of a thief that tricked Polanski out of his money when purchasing a bicycle and instead beat Polanski around the head with the butt of a gun. The thief was found and eventually executed for past crimes including 3 murders. 

After graduating in 1959, Polanski went to France and continued to make short films. He reported that there was a problem with xenophobia at the time since so many Polish people had dispersed around Europe after the war. He went to England and made three movies between 1965 and 1968 that gained recognition in America: Repulsion, Cul-de-sac, and Dance of the Vampires. A young woman named Sharon Tate played a role in Dance of the Vampires and Polanski fell in love. He married her in 1968 in England, and they moved to the U.S. so he could make movies in Hollywood. His first film in the states was a horror film entitled Rosemary’s Baby, one of the highest rated horror films of all time. Polanski had a beautiful young wife, a son on the way, a hit movie with more work coming, and great prospects for life in the United States.

As horrific as his formative years were, I am surprised to find myself writing that this is when Polanski’s life really went out of control. On August 9th, 1969, cult members who followed a man named Charles Manson broke into the Polanski home in Los Angeles and murdered the 8 month pregnant Sharon Tate and four friends that were at the home. Polanski had been working in London on a new film and wasn’t there that night. He says to this day that it is by far the greatest regret of his life. Remember this. It seems that some wires got crossed as far as Roman’s thinking process because his behavior really took a turn.

His films had been dark and violent in the past, but they started to have sexual undertones with more graphic nudity. His first movie back after the loss of his wife was Macbeth, a movie that was rated X at the time for graphic nudity and violence. Polanski later said that he was in a dark place, but the media would find things in his movies always looking for a story. He hated the media after the sensationalism and lack of privacy involved with the loss of his wife and son. Next came an extremely odd road trip sex comedy that was appropriately called What?. And then came his last work filmed in the United States and the film he was probably best known for, Chinatown. I don’t want to go over the film too much since it is the film currently under review for the group, but it is very dark and has an extremely down beat ending. 

And then another crime was committed in Polanski’s life that would haunt while simultaneously erasing any good will the American public had for him. He was charged for drugging and raping a 13-year-old girl who modeled for him during a Vogue photoshoot. It was recorded as occurring at the Bel Air estate of Jack Nicholson. There is no question about this encounter as Polanski was arrested and confessed to the charges. He thought he was going to receive probation and timed served for a guilty plea, but the judge was reported to have changed his mind and was planning to reject the plea and give Polanski prison time for all charges. This would result in up to 50 years in jail and what amounted to life in prison. Polanski would not serve this sentence so he fled the country to France where he would not be extradited. 

The charges are still pending and there is no statute of limitations on rape in the United States, so Polanski is on a list of people that if found outside of certain countries will be immediately sent back to the U.S. to face charges. He has dual citizenship in France and Poland; both countries do not extradite citizens. He went on to make one of his best works, a film called Tess, while in Europe. It was a great success and Polanski was nominated for Best Director. The film ended up winning three Academy Awards (none for Polanski). So it seemed that this acclaimed director would live in France and hope that things would blow over. He settled a civil suit in court with the girl and she went on to marry and says she forgives Polanski. But it didn’t end...

Because the woman was in the U.S. and Polanski was not, she was harassed by the press to speak out and tell her story. She reported that the media did much more harm to her and her family than Polanski did. That is a very strong statement considering the charges. Things finally cooled down somewhat when Polanski married an actress from one of his films, Emmanuelle Seignor in 1989. The couple have two kids together and things were apparently going fine in France. 

Things remained well through the 90s although nothing Polanski did got much attention. It seemed he would simply live out his life quietly in France. Then in 1999, he came out with a film called The Ninth Gate that garnered attention since it starred the very popular Johnny Depp. Polanski was back on his game and he directed and produced a film called The Pianist. It stars Adrian Brody and told the story of a Polish-Jewish composer who survived the concentration camps because of goodwill received from German officers that appreciated his work. It is a masterpiece and earned Polanski the award for Best Director. He could not accept the award in person because he would be arrested, so Harrison Ford accepted it on his behalf and took it to him in France. A strange little detail about this is that The Pianist was also up for best picture, but stirrings about Polanski’s past were brought up by a competing producer to throw the award. There is no real proof of this, but the man said to have done this was quite powerful in Hollywood at the time. Ironically, that man who was said to remind people of old rape charges was none other than Harvey Weinstein. I don’t have proof of this, but it is an interesting story. One of those “I heard it is said that” kind of things from TMZ. 

Anyway, these reminders had people trying to interview Polanski and his wife about the past and he basically said that people needed to move past it. This does not tend to go over very well with the American public or the legal system and Polanski was arrested while in Switzerland and held in Zurich. Public sentiment in America, France, and Poland leaned towards Polanski being sent to America to face trial. The Swiss judge denied extradition and Polanski was sent back to France. There were requests in 2014 by US courts that Poland send Polanski to stand trial since there was question concerning the conduct of the original judge in Polanski’s case. It was believed that Polanski would be given some form of probation, but it also meant he could travel. Polish courts ruled that Polanski had served his punishment and should not have to face U.S. courts again. In 2016, it was presented by Polish officials that no amount of time could account for the crime of rape, but the decision of the lower court was held. 

In 2018, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences removed Polanski as a member. Strangely, that same year, they offered a membership to his wife (who loudly said no).

So the final say about how to feel about Polanski and his works lies firmly on the individual. Here is all the information about the trial that can keep it nice and ambiguous for you. The judge, the lead prosecutor, and the LA County Deputy DA at the time all admitted bias against Polanski. He would not have gotten a fair trial and would likely have ended up in prison for life. The prosecutor said later in an interview for a documentary that he was not surprised at all that Polanski left and it would have been a media circus. Polanski paid the victim almost a million dollars in civil settlement money and she said she doesn’t want to see any further prosecution. Okay. In 2017, a website run by Matan Uziel was sued by Polanski for libel when it was posted that 5 other women had come forward and accused Polanski of sexual assault. Polanski did not show up in court so Uziel was dismissed of charges. Uziel requested specifically that the cases not be dropped so that Polanski could not try and sue him at a future date. It is true that, in 2010, an English actress accused Polanski of “forcing himself” on her during filming of the movie Pirates. In 2017, a Swiss woman accused Polanski of raping her in the 70s when she was only 15. The same month, another woman accused him of assaulting her in 1975 when she was only 10. Finally, in 2019, a former actress model from France said that Polanski violently raped her at a Swiss chalet in 1975.

So what can you say about the man? His early life was tragedy and misery. The loss of his wife and child was horrific. He seemed like he was in a very bad place in the 70s. I don’t want to give credence to accusation without proof, but it can be sure that he committed at least one sexual assault of an under aged girl. He ran from his trial because he knew it would not be fair, but he was still never held accountable in a court of law for what he did. He has been forced to stay in Poland and France, but he is wealthy with a wife and kids, never seeing the jail time for what he did. And if it is true that he has committed other crimes like this, then he needs to be in jail. But could he ever get a fair day in court at this point? The man is 87 and will likely die soon, likely before any sentencing could occur. Also, how reliable is testimony from any parties about things that happened between 40-50 years ago? Everything he is accused of seems to have happened after the death of Sharon Tate and before his marriage to his current wife, so it seems like his behavior was linked to his state of mind and he is no longer in that state. That may explain things but it does not forgive them.

I don’t know. This is probably why I chose psychology instead of law enforcement or criminal justice. Trying to decide if someone has adequately paid for crimes they have committed is not my specialty. It will be a moot point soon enough because he will be dead. So what do we do with the guy? He has encountered both great suffering and great joy in his life. He as also caused great suffering and great joy. I guess it is more about how he will be remembered at this point. I would be curious to hear what others think. 

[funnuraba]

A Rough Moral Overview of Archie Comics: Teen Propaganda Machine

Part 1: The 1940s

1941: Archie first appears in a small feature near the end of PEP Comics #22. His popularity builds rapidly, with the audience apparently writing in to express immense interest in the short monthly Archie comic.

At first the Archie story isn’t even mentioned on the cover, but Archie himself slowly starts appearing on the cover, always with PEP’s big star at the time, The Shield. The Shield on the cover is at first much larger than Archie, but he shrinks over time, and after Veronica’s introduction, she and Betty start to feature on covers as well. The Shield continues shrinking...

And by issue #49, the magazine is PEP Comics: Starring Archie Andrews! Archie quickly becomes its own imprint, and the only one of PEP’s lineup that survives into the present day. Ads in the magazine advertise an Archie radio show that was spurred by what was a apparently a massive outpouring of interest from PEP’s teenage subscribers. The concept of teenagerhood itself was a new invention dating from 1944. Archie’s reality included things like school, dating, and modern teen problems like trying to maintain a car and deal with wartime rationing.

Also, sending your dog to fight Nazis. (Note: the above are two separate stories; no Nazis ever actually invaded Riverdale. Oscar, Archie’s dog, gave birth on at least two occasions, including during her army tour, and eventually faded from existence.)

At this stage, minstrel-style caricatures of black men appear on occasion in Riverdale (as train attendants and no-account bums who steal clothing out of the trash), and Yellow Peril-style caricatures of Japanese people are a regular fixture in other PEP features like “Captain Commando and the Boy Soldiers”. As a side note, Chinese people are depicted quite differently in Captain Commando. At this point in US history, they were seen as important potential allies in the war against the Japanese. In Captain Commando, they’re drawn like actual humans in comparison to Japanese soldiers. One story shows a Chinese warrior who’s been bamboozled by foolish Buddhist ideals of peace, but finally snaps out of it and gets his followers to join up with US forces in resisting Japanese occupiers. Chinese-Americans were depicted less frequently, but also running in PEP for a time was a rather remarkable depiction (for the time) of a Chinese-American hero: Fu Chang, International Detective. Chinese people would later be collapsed into the Yellow Peril phenomenon in US pop culture and there were some very racist depictions within Archie Comics, but in the 40s there was a different perspective on display for a while.

(Captain Commando and his Boy Soldiers have since lapsed into the public domain; evidently the heroic quality of child soldiers lost its gleam after WWII and reviving the property was never deemed profitable.)

Also in the 40s, many, many stories end with a quite literal punchline in which Archie gets taken out to the woodshed and beaten by his father for causing trouble. This was PEP’s light-hearted humorous fare that apparently spoke quite deeply to a teenage audience of this era. The depiction of corporal punishment is neither “pro” nor “anti”, it’s simply an unavoidable consequence handed down from on high. Archie’s misadventures lead inevitably to physical punishment from an authority figure, no matter how much or how little he’s to blame for things going wrong. Mr. Andrews himself is sometimes a figure of fun during this period, but the 40s and 50s are the time when he most often feels like a self-insert for the writers and artists, who would have been closer to his position in life than Archie’s.

Archie’s position, though, isn’t entirely as the object of abuse. It’s pretty safe to assume that the writers and artists also grew up with corporal punishment and can sympathize with the experience--though they’ve now entered the stage of life where they understand that it was done only for their own good. Archie at the end of these stories is both resentful and rueful; he wishes it hadn’t happened, but there’s no room in the pages of PEP to contemplate a world where it doesn’t have to.

Violence was much more accepted in the 40s, including against the girls themselves--for their own good, in this case, but it’s still jarring to see a man give Betty and Veronica black eyes. Their crime in this case was, of course, being so silly and man-crazy that they nearly drowned him and themselves.

Often the violence was more cartoonish in nature, but it was only in the 40s that you’d see Betty showing up at Veronica’s door with Moe Szyslak’s weapon of choice.

The porter in this panel is one of the kindest portrayals of a black man in this period; the others (and the one depiction of a black woman that I noticed) are frankly unreproducible without heavy content warnings. Also in the 40s, fat and/or ugly women exist only as an object of fun or outright cruelty.

Vague “reducing plans” were advertised in the pages of Archie in the 1940s. This particular method was, as the name suggests, seaweed pills that were also marketed as chewing gum.

You may notice in some stories that the “ugly” and undesirable woman has very nearly the same face as Archie himself; the irony here is very likely unintentional. It’s rarely (seriously) suggested that there’s anything morally wrong with Archie aspiring to a girl much prettier than he is, but an ugly girl expressing interest in any boy is a figure of fun right up into... well, the present day. The Gabby pictured in the panel above her was a semi-recurring character, one of the only plus-size recurring characters ever depicted in Archie. As her name suggests, she was a gossip and one of the undesirable girls, but she was sometimes allowed to be friendly with Veronica or Betty without immediate karmic punishment. She’s also notable because she’s not only one of the only plus-size characters, she’s one of the very few plus-size female or teenage characters. Mr. Andrews, Mr. Weatherbee and Pop Tate all survived the 40s, but Gabby didn’t.

Betty at the inception of “Archie” (the comic) was just Girl. She rather liked Archie and he liked her, and he would try to impress/date her but end up having his monthly funny adventure. But only once Veronica was introduced did she start to gain more dimension, this time as Other Girl. Veronica was rather nice to begin with and it took a short while for them to start getting played off each other as “characters”. There was still little difference. Veronica was always rich and as a result became snooty fairly quickly, but her flaws were the flaws of an object. They existed to create difficulties for Archie, in his struggle to impress her, and Betty was differentiated only by not being snooty.

When Betty and Veronica were allies, it was because Archie had blown it somehow, and they were naturally compelled to be allies by virtue of both being girls. (When they didn’t like each other, it was also because they were both girls, and such was the natural state of being girls.) The panel above--both in the same pose, their identical faces lifted in scorn towards all men--would be echoed in other later stories, whether by chance or by accident.

Their posing in the 40s was frankly pretty ludicrous and transparent in its intentions.

Sexual attraction wasn’t explicitly commented on in the 40s comics in the way we understand “explicit” today, but it’s allowed to exist more openly than in later years. The va-va-voom effect highlighting the breasts would have to become more euphemistic as the decades passed.

In general, there was very little pretense in the 40s.

Artists had no qualms about showing the girls nearly in the nude (I cropped out a panel of Veronica in the bath above), nor about showing adult men leering at them. Even Mr. Weatherbee was occasionally moved by their charms. Generally adult men were “punished” for showing visible attraction, but only in humorous ways. It was more common for the teenage boys to drool over the girls, but the only disapproval shown when grown men did it came from women their own age, playing the role of scold or prudish spinster. There was also the occasional gag in which an adult man was misunderstood as a “masher” or peeper and received undeserved punishment from the supposed target.

There were various write-ups of celebrity activity in the 40s and 50s, and there too the attitudes towards women were pretty much what you’d expect, but even in the late 1940s the realities of life were not entirely veiled from teenage eyes. There was room for what would now be considered adult jokes.

Also in the 40s, Archie cross-dressed, like, a lot, in a way that noticeably vanished once the 50s rolls around. It’s always as a gag, and it’s usually noted that he makes an ugly girl, but in this era it seems to have been an idea that could be poked fun at without threatening the moral fiber of all America by the mere suggestion.

In fact, one semi-famous 1948 story, “The Battle of the Jitterbugs” (reproduced more fully elsewhere) revolves entirely around the girls and the boys competing in a “fair contest’ to see which sex is better at dancing--since boys only lead and girls only follow, it’s impossible to determine who can dance better overall. The obvious solution is for two girls to dance with each other and two boys to dance with each other.

Crucially, the idea is suggested by Reggie, the prankster of the group, framing it as a joke from its inception. Archie, the main character, follows through with it as a means of asserting male superiority. There’s also no possibility that two boys could dance, or two girls could dance, without the conceit of one performing the role of the opposite gender. But in practice, the whole thing does involve a lengthy depiction of two boys dancing together, and indeed, jokingly flirting with each other.

Again, the joke-flirting comes in the form of mocking from Reggie, both en femme and en homme. Archie, the protagonist and everyman, is uncomfortable throughout and finally throws Reggie right out Pop Tate’s door after Reggie goes too far in impugning his masculinity.

At this stage, the usual band of crones step in to punish him for imagined crimes against women, and he finishes the story sitting in bed with a broken leg, making a pronouncement that stands out rather sharply to the modern eye: “Confidentially, Jug! I’m no longer interested in women... or dancing!”

Veronica and Betty are significantly more comfortable with each other. In fact, it’s a rare 1940s story where they don’t quarrel with each other at all! Veronica’s femininity is seemingly unthreatened by the hat and pants, even though Archie Comics would continue issuing dire warnings against women in pants up through the mid-1970s.

It’s hard to imagine they lost after this! The tone of this page is downright celebratory, a rare occasion of early Betty and Veronica working together and coming out the victors of the story, not by one of them winning Archie, but by both of them showing their own skill at something without trying to show the other up. “Battle of the Jitterbugs” is a true rarity in these early years, a depiction of female triumph that doesn’t exactly defy the era’s pop culture as a whole--women were creating their own art even in the 1940s--but it does defy nearly every other Archie story up to the mid-1970s.

[coochiequeens]

Katie and her daughter, Maddie Jenifer, live in North Carolina – one of 37 US states that have put forward anti-trans bills that would bar trans women and girls from playing on female sports teams.

A Guardian feature describes how Maddie, 13, has always been one of a gang of girls, dressing up in her Sunday school teacher’s high heels as a toddler and dressing how she want to at home. But her parents made her present as male outside the house, and she was miserable and withdrawn.

“I think God messed up,” the toddler reportedly told her mother once. “I think I’m the girl and Grace [Maddie’s sister] is the boy.”

One day when she was five, Maddie told her mum she wanted to hurt herself. “She saw parts of her body that didn’t align with how she felt, so she said she wanted to cut it off,” Katie told the Guardian. “That really scared me. I hadn’t heard her speak like that before. I hadn’t known she was thinking of those kinds of things.”

That’s when Maddie’s parents took her to a therapist, who evaluated her and pointed out that she’d never wavered in her belief that she was a girl. That summer, between kindergarten and first grade, Maddie’s parents let her socially transition – letting her dress how she wanted wherever she was, and using female pronouns for her.

She immediately changed from a very withdrawn, depressed little kid to a very happy, vibrant, and outgoing kid – literally overnight,” Katie told the outlet.

But although she had her parents’ support, Maddie didn’t always have an easy time of it when it came to being trans. The “Mommy and Me” tumbling class for girls that Katie tried to register them at turned her away. On her first day of first grade, the local TV news station sent reporters to the school to interview parents and children about the trans kid.

“It set off a firestorm,” said Katie. “That was the first moment where I asked myself if we’d need a lawyer.” When Maddie was eight, Katie got a call from the parks and recreation department, telling her that Maddie couldn’t compete on her girls softball team because of a policy that meant participants had to have a female birth certificate.

“Nobody came to enforce it” on that occasion, Katie explained. She knew it was only a matter of time. But instead of hiring a lawyer, Katie went one step further – she went to law school.

HB2 – North Carolina’s notorious “bathroom bill” – was “the last straw” for Katie. She lived apart from her family for a time to go to law school.

Maddie continued to be challenged, but she also continued to play sports. She was co-captaining her school’s cheerleading squad and soon to play her first softball game of the season when the pandemic struck.

This April, she was one of scores of trans kids around the US who went to their state legislatures to protest bills attacking trans kids, their healthcare and their places on sports teams.

“I’m glad I was there and I could hear what they were saying and trying to argue – that they were right and we were wrong,” the Guardian heard from Maddie, whose newly graduated lawyer mother did most of the talking. “It was difficult to hear them say trans kids aren’t real boys or girls. It’s hard to hear them contemplating my existence.”

“It may sound just like a small thing – participating in a sport, but it’s so much more than that,” Katie reportedly told lawmakers. “It’s about being on a team just like any other girl. It’s about feeling included and accepted just for who she is.”

Women had to fight to get into law school because they used to be seen as taking the place of a man who would one day be supporting a family. Not this mom wants to go to law school to remove the sex based protections of girls for the sake of her son. Her son who could play sports just not his first choice of team.

And the quote about how the kid was trying to say his sister was also trans.....I can only imagine what kind of crap that girl has to watch and go through on account of her brothers gender feels and her moms dedication to her sons feels.