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creatingblackcharacters · 4 days ago

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“The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth” - Violence, Violent Imagery & Black Horror

TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of death, violence, blood, hate crimes, antiblackness, police violence, rape

Note! I am going to be speaking from a Black American point of view, as my identity informs my experience. That said, antiblackness itself is international. The idea of my Blackness as a threat, as a source of fear and violence to repress and to destroy, is something every Black person in the world that has ever dealt with white supremacy has experienced.

There are two things, I think, that are important to note as we start this conversation.

One: there is a long history of violence towards Black bodies that is due to our dehumanization. People do not care for the killing of a mouse in the way they care about a human. But if you think the people you are dealing with are not people, but animals- more particularly, pests, something distasteful- then you will be able to rationalize treating them as such.

Two: even though we live in a time period where that overt belief of Blackness as inhuman is less likely, we must recognize that there are centuries of belief behind this concept; centuries of arguments and actions that cement in our minds that a certain amount of violence towards Blackness is normal. That subconscious belief you may hold is steeped in centuries of effort to convince you of it without even questioning it. And because of this very real re-enforcement of desensitization, naturally another place this will manifest itself is in how we tell and comprehend stories.

There are also three points I'm about to make first- not the only three that can ever be made, but the ones that stand out the most to me when we talk about violence with Black characters:

One: Your Black readers may experience that scene you wrote differently than you meant anyone to, just because our history may change our perspective on what’s happening.

Two: The idea that Black characters and people deserve the pain they are experiencing.

Three: The disbelief or dismissal of the pain of Black characters and people.

You Better Start Believing In Ghost Stories- You’re In One

I don’t need to tell Black viewers scary fairytales of sadists, body snatchers and noncoincidental disappearances, cannibals, monsters appearing in the night, and dystopian, unjust systems that bury people alive- real life suffices! We recognize the symbolism because we’ve seen real demons.

Some real examples of familiar, terrifying stories that feel like drama, but are real experiences:

12 Years a Slave: “This is no fiction, no exaggeration. If I have failed in anything, it has been in presenting to the reader too prominently the bright side of the picture. I doubt not hundreds have been as unfortunate as myself; that hundreds of free citizens have been kidnapped and sold into slavery, and are at this moment wearing out their lives on plantations in Texas and Louisiana.” – Solomon Northup

When They See Us: I can’t get myself to watch When They See Us, because I learned about the actual trial of the Central Park Five- now the Exonerated Five- in my undergrad program. Five teen Black and brown boys, subjected to racist and cruel policing and vilification in the media- from Donald Trump calling for their deaths in the newspaper, to being imprisoned under what the Clintons deemed a generation of “superpredators” during a “tough on crime” administration. And as audacious as it is to say, as Solomon Northup explained, they were fortunate. The average Black person funneled into the prison system doesn’t get the opportunity to make it back out redeemed or exonerated, because the system is designed to capture and keep them there regardless of their innocence or guilt. Their lives are irreparably changed; they are forever trapped.

Jasper, Texas: Learning about the vicious, gruesome murder of James Byrd Jr, was horrific- and that was just the movie. No matter how “community comes together” everyone tells that story, the reality is that there are people who will beat you, drag you chained down a gravel road for three miles as your body shreds away until you are decapitated, and leave your mangled body in front of a Black church to send a message… Because you’re Black and they hate you. To date I am scared when I’m walking and I see trucks passing me, and don’t let them have the American or the Confederate flag on them. Even Ahmaud Arbery, all he was doing was jogging in his hometown, and white men from out of town decided he should be murdered for that.

Do you want to know what all of these men and boys, from 1841 to 2020, had in common? What they did to warrant what happened to them? Being outside while Black. Some might call it “wrong place wrong time”, but the reality is that there is no “right place”. Sonya Massey, Breonna Taylor- murdered inside their home. Where else can you be, if the danger has every right to barge inside? There is no “safe”.

It is already Frightening to live while Black- not because being Black is inherently frightening, but because our society has made it horrific to do so. But that leads into my next point:

“They Shouldn’t Have Resisted”

Think of all the videos of assaulted and murdered Black people from police violence. If you can stomach going into the comments- which I don’t, anymore- you’ll see this classic comment of hate in the thousands, twisting your stomach into knots:

“if they obeyed the officer, if they didn’t resist, this wouldn’t have happened”

Another way our punitive society normalizes itself is via the idea of respectability politics; the idea that “if you are Good, if you do what you are Supposed to do, you will not be hurt- I will not have to hurt you”. Therefore, if my people are always suffering violence, it must be because we are Bad. And in a society that is already less gracious to Black people, that is more likely to think we are less human, that we are innately bad and must earn the right to be exceptional… the use of excessive violence towards me must be the natural outcome. “If your people weren’t more likely to be criminals, there wouldn’t be the need to be suspicious of you”- that is the way our society has taught us to frame these interactions, placing the blame for our own victimization on us.

Sidebar: I would highly suggest reading The New Jim Crow, written in 2010 by Michelle Alexander, to see how this mentality helps tie into large scale criminalization and mass incarceration, and how the cycle is purposely perpetuated.

You have to constantly be aware of how you look, walk and talk- and even then, that won’t be enough to save you if the time comes. The turning point for me, personally, was the murder of Sandra Bland. If she could be educated, beautiful, a beacon of her community, be everything a “Good” Black person is supposed to be… and still be murdered via police violence, they can kill any of us. And that’s a very terrifying thought- that anything at any point can be the reason for your death, and it will be validated because someone thinks you shouldn’t have “been that way”. And that way has far less to do with what you did, than it does who you are. Being “that way” is Black.

My point is, if this belief is so normalized in real life about violence on Black bodies- that somehow, we must have done something to deserve this- what makes you think that this belief does not affect how you comprehend Black people suffering in stories?

Hippocratic Oath

Human experimentation? Vivisection? Organ stealing? Begging for medicine? Dramatically bleeding out? Not trusting just anyone to see that you are hurt, because they might take advantage? All very real fears. The idea that pain is normal for Black people is especially rampant in the healthcare field, where ideas like our melanin making our skin thick enough to feel less pain (no), an overblown fear of ‘drug misuse’, and believing we are overexaggerating our pain makes many Black people being unwilling to trust the healthcare system. And it comes down to this thought:

If you think that I feel less pain, you will allow me to suffer long before you believe that I am in pain.

I was psychologically spiraling I was in so much pain after my wisdom teeth removal, and my surgeon was more concerned about “addiction to the medication”. Only because Hot Chocolate’s mom is a nurse, did I get an effective medicine schedule. My mother ended up with jaw rot because her surgeon outright claimed that she didn’t believe that she was in more than the ‘healing’ pain after her wisdom teeth were removed. She also has a gigantic, macabre (and awesome fr) scar on her stomach from a c-section she received after four days of labor attempting to have me… all because she was too poor and too Black to afford better doctors who wouldn’t have dismissed her struggles to push.

As a major example of dismissed Black pain: let’s discuss the mortality rate of Black women during childbirth, as well as the likelihood of our children to die. When we say “they will let you bleed to death”, we mean it.

“Black women have the highest maternal mortality rate in the United States — 69.9 per 100,000 live births for 2021, almost three times the rate for white women, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Black babies are more likely to die, and also far more likely to be born prematurely, setting the stage for health issues that could follow them through their lives.”

Even gynecology roots in dismissal (and taking brutal advantage of) Black women's pain:

“The history of this particular medical branch … it begins on a slave farm in Alabama,” Owens said. “The advancement of obstetrics and gynecology had such an intimate relationship with slavery, and was literally built on the wounds of Black women.” Reproductive surgeries that were experimental at the time, like cesarean sections, were commonly performed on enslaved Black women. Physicians like the once-heralded J. Marion Sims, an Alabama doctor many call the “father of gynecology,” performed torturous surgical experiments on enslaved Black women in the 1840s without anesthesia. And well after the abolition of slavery, hospitals performed unnecessary hysterectomies on Black women, and eugenics programs sterilized them.”

If you think Black characters are not in pain, or that they’re overexaggerating, you’re more likely to be okay with them suffering more in comparison to those whose pain you take more seriously- to those you believe.

What’s My Point?

My point is that whatever terrifying scene you think you’re writing, whatever violent whump scenario you think you’re about to put your Black characters through, there’s a chance it has probably happened and was treated as nonimportant (damn shame, right?) And when those terrifying scenes are both written and read, the way their suffering will be felt depends on how much you as a reader care, how much you believe they are suffering.

There’s a joke amongst readers of color that many dystopian tales are tales of “what happened if white people experienced things that the rest of us have already been put through?” Think concepts like alien invasion and mass eradication of the existing population- you may think of that as an action flick, meanwhile peoples globally have suffered colonization for centuries. The Handmaid’s Tale- forced birthing and raising of “someone else’s” children, always subject to sexual harassment by the Master while subject to hate from the Mistress- that’s just being a Mammy.

There’s nothing wrong with having Black characters be violent or deal with violence, especially in a story where every character is going through shit. That is not the problem! What I am trying to tell you, though, is to be aware that certain violent imagery is going to evoke familiarity in Black viewers. And if I as a Black viewer see my very real traumas treated as entertainment fodder- or worse, dismissed- by the narrative and other viewers, I will probably not want to consume that piece of media anymore. I will also question the intentions and the beliefs of the people who treat said traumas so callously. Now, if that’s not something you care about, that’s on you! But for people who do care, it is something we need to make sure we are catching before we do it.

“So I just can’t write anything?!”

Stop that. There are plenty of examples of stories containing horror and violence with Black characters. There’s an entire genre of us telling our own stories, using the same violence as symbolism. I’m not telling you “no” (least not always). I’m telling you to take some consideration when you write the things that you do. There’s nothing wrong about writing your Black characters being violent or experiencing violence. But there is a difference between making it narratively relevant, and thoughtlessly using them as a “spook”, a stereotypical scary Black person, or a punching bag, especially in a way that may invoke certain trauma.

The Black Guy Dies First

The joke is that we never survive these horror movies because we either wouldn’t be there to begin with, or because we would make better decisions and the narrative can’t have that. But the reality is just that a lot of writers find Black characters- Black people- expendable in comparison to their white counterparts, and it shows. More of a “here, damn” sort of character, not worth investment and easy to shrug off. The book itself I haven’t read, just because it’s pretty new, but I’m looking forward to doing so. But from the summaries, it goes into horror media history and how Black characters have fared in these stories, as well as how that connects to the society those characters were written in. I.e., a thorough version of this lesson.

Instead, I wrote an entire list of questions you could possibly ask yourself involving violence or villainy involving a Black character. Feel free to print it and put it on your wall where you write if you have to! I cannot stress enough that asking yourself questions like these are good both for your creation and just… being less antiblack in general when you consume media.

Black Horror/Black Thriller

We, too, have turned our violent experiences into stories. I continue to highly suggest watching our films and reading our stories to see how we convey our fear, our terror, our violence and our pain. There are plenty of stories that work- Get Out, The Angry Black Girl and her Monster, Candyman, Lovecraft Country, and Nanny are some examples. There’s even a blog by the co-writer of The Black Guy Dies First who runs BlackHorrorMovies where he reviews horror movies from throughout the decades.

Desiree Evans has a great essay, We Need Black Horror More Than Ever, that gets into why this genre is so creative and effective, that I think says what I have to say better than I could.

“Even before Peele, Black horror had a rich literary lineage going back to the folklore of Africa and its Diaspora. Stories of haints, witches, curses, and magic of all kinds can be found in the folktales collected by author and anthropologist Zora Neale Hurston and in the folktales retold by acclaimed children’s book author Virginia Hamilton. One of my earliest childhood literary memories is being entranced by Hamilton’s The House of Dies Drear and Patricia McKissack’s children’s book classic The Dark-Thirty: Southern Tales of the Supernatural, both examples of the ways Black authors have tapped into Black history along with our rich ghostlore.” “Black horror can be clever and subversive, allowing Black writers to move against racist tropes, to reconfigure who stands at the center of a story, and to shift the focus from the dominant narrative to that which is hidden, submerged. To ask: what happens when the group that was Othered, gets to tell their side of the story?”

For on the nose simplicity, I’m going to use hood classic Tales From The Hood (1994) as an example of how violence can be integrated into Black horror tales. Tales From The Hood is like… The Twilight Zone by Black people. Messages discussing issues in our community, done through a mystical twist. Free on Tubi! If you want to stop here before some spoilers, it’s an hour and a half. A great time!

In the first story, a Black political activist is murdered by the cops. The scene is reflective of the real-world efforts to discredit and even murder activists speaking out against police violence, as well as the types of things done to criminalize Black citizens for capture. The song Strange Fruit plays in the background, to drive the point home that this is a lynching.

The second story deals with a Black little boy experiencing abuse in the home, drawing a green monster to show his teacher why he’s covered in wounds and is lashing out at school.

The fourth story is about a gangbanger who undergoes “behavioral modification” to be released from prison early. Think of the classic scene from A Clockwork Orange. He must watch as imagery of the Klan and of happy whites lynching Black bodies (real-life pictures and video, mind you!) play into his mind alongside gang violence.

Isn’t Violence Stereotypical or antiblack?

That last story from Tales From The Hood leads into a good point. It can be! But it does not have to be! Violence is a human experience. By suggesting we don’t experience it or commit it, you would be denying everything I’ve just spoken about. We don’t have to be racist to write our Black characters in violent situations. We also don’t have to comprehend those situations through a racist lens.

Even experiences that seem “stereotypical” do not have to be comprehended that way. I get a LOT of questions about if something is stereotypical, and my response is always that it depends on the writing!!! You could give me a harmless prompt and it becomes the most racist story ever once you leave my inbox. But you could give me a “stereotypical” prompt and it be genuine writing.

Let’s take the movie Juice for example. Juice in my honest to God opinion becomes a thriller about halfway in. On its surface, Juice looks like bad Black boys shooting and cursing and doing things they aren’t supposed to be doing! Incredibly stereotypical- violent young thugs. You might think, “you shouldn’t write something like this- you’re telling everyone this is what your community is like”. First- there’s that respectability politics again! Just because something is not a “respectable” story does not mean it doesn’t need to be told!

But if we’re actually paying attention, what we’re looking at is four young boys dealing with their environment in different ways. All four of them originally stick together to feel power amongst their brotherhood as they all act tough and discover their own identities. They are not perfect, but they are still kids. In this environment, to be tough, to be strong, you do the things that they are doing. You run from cops, you steal from stores, you mess with all the girls and talk shit and wave weapons. That’s what makes you “big”. That’s what gives you the “juice”- and the “juice” can make you untouchable.

I want to focus particularly on Bishop, yes, played by Tupac. Bishop, the antagonist of Juice, is particularly powerless, angry, and scared of the world around him. He puts on a big front of bravado, yelling, cursing, and talking big because he’s tired of being afraid, and he doesn’t know how to deal with it otherwise. So when he gets access to a gun- to power- he quickly spirals out of control. His response to his fear is to wave around a tool that makes him feel stronger, that stops the things that scare him from scaring him.

Now, that is not a unique tale! That is a tale that any race could write about, particularly young white men with gun violence! If you ever cared for Fairuza Balk’s character in The Craft, it is a similar fall from grace. But because it is on a young, Black man in the hood, audiences are less likely to empathize with Bishop. And granted, Bishop is unhinged! But many a white character has been, and is not shoved into a stereotype that white people cannot escape from!

Now would I be comfortable if a nonblack person attempted to write a narrative like Juice? Yes, because I’d worry about the tendency to lose the messaging and just fall into stereotype outright. But it can be done! The story can be told!

“But if Black violence bad, why rap?”

The short answer:

“In order for me to write poetry that isn’t political, I must listen to the birds, and in order to hear the birds, the warplanes must be silent.”

Marwhan Makhoul, Palestinian Poet

First, rap is not “only violence and misogyny”. Step your understanding of the genre up; there are plenty of options outside of the mainstream that don’t discuss those things. Second, every genre of music has mainstream popular songs about vice and sin. The idea that Black rappers have to be held to a higher standard is yet another example of how we are seen as inherently bad and must prove ourselves good. We could speak about nothing but drugs and alcohol and 1) there would still be white artists who do the very same and 2) we would still deserve to be treated like humans.

That said, many- not all- rappers rap about violence for the same reason Billy Joel wrote We Didn’t Start the Fire, the same reason Homer first spoke The Iliad- because they have something to say about it! They stand in a long tradition of people using poetry and rhythm to tell stories. Rap is an art of storytelling!

Rap is often used as an expression of frustration and righteous anger against a system built to keep us trapped within it. I’m not allowed to be angry? Why wouldn’t I be angry? Anger is a protective emotion, often when one feels helpless. Young Black people also began to reclaim and glorify the violence they lived in within their music, to take pride in their survival and in their success in a world that otherwise wanted them to fail. If I think the world fights against me no matter what I do, I’d rather live in pride than in shame with a bent head. Is it right? Maybe, maybe not. But if you don’t want them to rap about violence, why not alleviate the things leading to the violence in their environment?

Whether you choose to listen to their words, because the delivery scares you- and trust, angry Black men scared the music industry and society- doesn’t make the story any less valid!

Conclusion

I am going to drop a classic by Slick Rick called Children’s Story. I think listening to it- and I mean genuinely listening- summarizes what I’ve said here about how Black creators can tell stories, even violent ones, and how even the delivery through Blackness can change how you perceive them. Please take the time to listen before continuing.

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I’ve been alive for 28 years and have known this song my whole life, and it just hit me tonight: not once is the kid in this story identified as Black! My perception of this story was completely altered by my own experiences, who told the story, and how it was told.

That’s what I’m trying to tell you. You can tell stories of violence that involve Black characters. I love and adore a good hurt/comfort myself! But you need to be cognizant of your audience and how they’ll perceive the story you’re telling, and that includes the types of imagery you include. It’s not effective catharsis via hurt/comfort for the audience if your Black readers are being completely left out of the comfort. “I wrote this for myself” that’s cool, but… if you wrote racism for yourself, and you’re willing to admit that to yourself, that’s on you. I’d like to think that’s not your intention! You can write these stories of woe and pain without mistreating your Black characters- but that requires knowing and acknowledging when and how you’re doing that!

@afropiscesism makes a solid point in this post: our horror stories are not just fairytales full of amorphous boogiemen meant to teach lessons. Racial violence is very real, very alive, and we cannot act like the things we write can be dismissed outright as “oh well it’s not real”. Sure, those characters aren’t real. But the way you feel about Black bodies and violence is, and often it can slip into your writing as a pattern without you even realizing it. Be willing to get uncomfortable and check yourself on this as you write, as well as noticing it in other works!

If you’re constantly thinking “I would never do this”, you’ll never stop yourself when you inevitably do! If you know what violent imagery can be evoked, you can utilize it or avoid it altogether- but only if you’re willing to get honest about it. You might not intend to do any of this, but it doesn’t matter if you don’t change the pattern, because as always, it’s the thought that counts, but the action that delivers!

#creatingblackcharacters #long post #writing #writing black characters #black character design #black history #media history

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piratecaptainscaptainpirates · 1 year ago

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We all know OFMD has been tremendously healing to watch when you're queer, but it's honestly just amazing to see as a person of color, too. I am so, so used to characters of color being the only non-White cast member, or stereotypes, or being told that "hey, x Disney character is Black now, aren't you happy about that?"

And OFMD has so many characters of color that are allowed to be complex and nuanced. I'm almost never able to enjoy historical fiction because of how the genre often treats characters of color, but OFMDs characters of color feel like real people who I know in my family and community. Olu isn't a big scary Black man, he's so sweet and practical and a little bit awkward around his crush. Frenchie is comically superstitious and able to pull off an awesome con. Roach loves piratical violence but he also makes lovely assortments of tapas and is delightfully offended when Stede insults his cooking. Jim is allowed to be cool and mysterious and a little bit goofy. Fang is so precious I smile every time I think about him. And don't even get me started on how amazing it is to see an indigenous Jewish man as a romantic lead!

One of the worst things about historical fiction, for me at least, is how all the characters of color are almost always there just for trauma porn. It so often feels like Black characters especially are just there for White audiences to feel bad for. But in OFMD, anti-racism and anti-colonialism are baked into the narrative. Racism exists, but we always get the last laugh, whether that's by knifing a racist through the hand or setting a boat of rich racist assholes on fire.

It encourages me to feel like I can ask for more from other TV shows. I don't have to just roll my eyes and put up with yet another historical drama where the only Black character's arc revolves around the trauma of slavery. It's so refreshing to see. I can't wait for more of it in season two!

#ofmd #it's a good show guys

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grecoromanyaoi · 7 months ago

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helloo since we're on the topic: top historical fiction (or adjacent) ? can be any time period I just really love your taste in shows/games/etc and am always on the lookout for history inspired media !

thank you!!! im rly glad im like. inspiring other ppl to engage w things im insane abt hudofajsdfdassfsad. anyways. i will probably expand that list bc i literally forgot every single thing i ever read. also i havent watched that many movies so far

ancient times: i havent really watched a lot of movies/series set in ancient times so far :(

rome HBO (2005-2007) (tv series) - OF COURSE. i personally think its one of the best series ever made. they combine political, miliatry history with the lives of every day people in an incredible way. they never let you once engage with the series through modern lenses. according to my teacher (a historian, archeologist & self described 'romaphile') its incredibly historically accurate, mostly the clothing, set designs, characterization, military practices, etc. except for the things they straight up made up, of course.

i really enjoyed gladiator (2000), i think its a masterpiece.

prince of egypt (1998) i guess?

all the asterix movies of course, all the animated ones and most of the live actions. but i wouldnt really call it historical fiction

ok i havent actually finished watching it for now but sebastiane (1976) - an erotic, x rated, gay interpretation of the martyrdom of st sebastian. its in latin also.

wait i cant believe i forgor about assassin's creed odyssey - so far the only one ive played. its so fun and incredibly immersive visually. especially pour moi who cries into the pillow about how ill never experience the ancient world. also you can b a faggot which is always fun. i have things to say about their portrayal of same-sex sexuality and slavery in classical greece but i get why they did that considering its supposed to like. appeal to a lot of people, and a more "historically accurate" portrayal (for example of pederasty or how common slavery was etc.) would b v difficult for a lot of their target audience. alas.

medieval and early modern era:

the name of the rose (1986) - my medieval history teacher literally showed us bits of this movie to teach us about monasteries and monks fhdosiasdjasd.

the borgias (2011-2013) - incredibly messy, lots of political intrigue, and so so fun to watch. about the history of the borgia family. filled to the brim with drama.

the three musketeers (1993) - my favorite adaptation, also coincidentally the one i grew up on. casting tim curry as richelieu was genius. he slays so hard.

i also like bbc's the musketeers (2014-2016) - a neat little series. very fun and entertaining to watch.

outlaw king (2018) - like i dont think most ppl heard of this movie. its about robert the bruce's fight to reclaim the throne of scotland. starring chris pine

vikings (2013-2020) - its fun. i havent watched the entire series tho. dont expect anything resembling historical accuracy

the northman (2022) - you will see something resembling historical accuracy

mihai viteazul (michael the brave) (1971) - a fun movie. very much romanian propaganda tho.

1670 (2023-) - such a fun series!!! incredible cast, shows respect to the actual history and the lives of historical people. really cute and funny.

caravaggio (1986) - a biopic about caravaggio.

wait i also forgor about pentiment - an intriguing, immersive, and incredibly beautiful video game! it has a lot of 'the name of the rose' vibes, with it being a medieval murder mystery taking place in a monastery. its incredibly touching and made me cry, and in the last few years i very rarely cry. also im 99% sure its an indie game? go support the creators!

vaguely-medieval/early modern fantasy:

mirror mirror (2012) - a retelling of snow white. a very fun movie imo, with incredible costume design. julia roberts plays the evil queen and she SLAYS. armie hammer is unfortunately in that movie.

stardust (2007) - one of my fave movies growing up. more modern-inspired but still.

the green knight (2021) - controversial i know but i actually loved this movie! i liked it both as a standalone movie but moreso as a 21st century adaptation to sir gawain and the green knight.

galavant (2015-2016) - !!!!!!! one of the most series ever! they manage to tackle such difficult concepts and conversations with a hilarious wit. so fun to watch. i listen to a lot of the songs still, and rewatch every once in a while.

disenchantment (2018-2023) - very fun to watch, especially the first season.

i also really liked the novel uprooted by naomi novik. its a polish-inspired fantasy.

modern era:

killers of the flower moon (2023) - of course. a masterpiece

aferim! (2015) - a romanian movie set in 19th century wallachia, about two officers, a father and son, who were sent by a nobleman to retrieve an escaped enslaved romani man. a lot of the people in the comments were calling the movie humorous and funny, maybe im missing smth (as im watching with subtitles n dont understand the original language) but it was a very difficult watch for me??

the handmaiden (2016) - need i say more

black sails (2014-2017) - a prequel to the famous novel 'treasure island'. not an easy series to watch. incredibly good.

the favourite (2018) - need i say more pt 2

the rabbi's cat (le chat du rabbin) (2011) - animated movie set in early 20th century algeria. a rabbi's cat learns to talk overnight.

the nice guys (2016) - a fun murder mystery set in the 1970s

o brother, where art thou (2000) - a retelling of the odyssey set in the southern us in the 1930s

victor/victoria (1982) - set in early 20th century paris. julie andrews pretends to be a man and takes on a job as a drag queen. extremely fun, extremely gay movie.

lady chatterley's lover (2022) - very much porn for moms but it was a nice watch imo

amulet (2020) - set in like. idk. sometime in the 20th century. this is a horror movie, deals a lot with misogyny, sa, and so on. i really like it, personally. a lot of people, mostly weird men, dont tho.

the great (2020-2023) - i have mixed feelings about this show. on the one hand, its really fun to watch. on the other hand, its basically ofmd for girls who have public mental breakdowns whenever someone claims corsets were oppressive. and theyre so weird about russians, jesus christ.

disses:

domina (2021-) - i just couldnt get into it, esp since i tried right after finishing rome hbo. it was kind of silly, and not in a good way. takes itself wayyyy to seriously.

i didnt like spartacus (2010-2013) - the dialogue was almost grotesque and the editing, especially the transitions, straight up killed me

damsel (2024) - holy fuck what a trainwreck of a movie. absolute waste of angela basset and robin wright. the only good thing were the costumes.

lancelot du lac (1974) - i just didnt like it at all. couldnt get into it. i guess it was way too french and artsy fartsy for me. a movie that was trying to say both too little and too much at the same time.

i didnt rly like bram stoker's dracula (1992) - i mean. it was a fine movie. it was definitely not the godfather. the movie itself was meh. the visuals tho? absolutely stunning

#asks #anon #mine*#slavery ment #sa ment

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olderthannetfic · 6 months ago

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https://www.tumblr.com/olderthannetfic/748370073567313920/i-think-for-me-one-of-the-big-stumbling-blocks-i

People in the replies are jumping to a lot of really obnoxious conclusions about anon that really just ultimately illustrate anon’s point.

There’s all this stuff that is *assuming* anon is pro censorship when they never say anything like that (and in fact, i thought they suggested the opposite). They’re talking about how sex positivity and anti-anti attitudes get weaponized or misused in some fandom spaces to make people feel like it’s wrong for them to be squeamish and want to *personally* avoid men who are really vocal about their love of lolicon and slavery isekai, because guys who are that vocal about it have in their experience, tended to have that reflect real world attitudes.

I think it’s good to point out that plenty of people like these things privately and you’ll never know, and it’s the being super vocal about it around uninterested people that’s the red flag here. But people just assuming that anon holds every attitude they associate with some stereotypical anti, and that their message indicates some thinking to BE CAREFUL! about… really just proves their point that a lot of people have a bad tendency to only see this in terms of how things work in their particular corner of fandom, and don’t recognize how what can mean one thing in one, primarily female and queer space, doesn’t necessarily translate well to a space with a lot of entitled cis dudes. Assuming that personal discomfort with certain kinds of fiction automatically translates into being pro censorship (what) when that person said nothing else to indicate that, is one such assumption.

(Also one person was trying to suggest it was racist of anon to “single out hentai”… maybe the reason they mentioned hentai is because they’re *specifically* talking about anime fandom?!?)

Idk, it doesn’t help proshippers if we can’t see anything except via the narrow lens of pro vs anti fights on Tumblr and AO3, be able to advocate our positions. We are aware of how fandom blinders can blinker people in the opposite direction—antis who don’t recognize that rhetoric that they think is just all about shipping is also used by right wing activists to advocate banning books and drag shows—but it’s true in both directions.

Being uncomfortable with a lot of “sex positivity” rhetoric because you’ve mostly seen it used to tell you you’re wrong to be uncomfortable with dudes who are super outspoken and pushy about their porn habits is a really common experience for lefty women IME, both outside of fandom and in fandom spaces with more cis dudes. Most women I’ve met like that are vocally anti censorship, it’s about being able to take charge of their personal boundaries and not have them shamed. Proshippers pushing them away by loading more unhelpful and inaccurate judgments on them aren’t helping them and are just shrinking their movement, making it more likely it’ll be dismissed as just “very online fandom drama” (and if you’re that clueless, are they wrong, really?)

Also it’s just helpful to better understand why some people might find your enemies’ arguments more initially compelling than they should be.

"Sexual liberation means sex with me specifically" was a plague in the 70s from what I hear, and I'm sure it has been a thing forever.

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wangxianficfinder · 1 year ago

Text

WangXian in space

~*~

won’t take the easy road by twigofwillow (T, 47k, wangxian, JC & WWX & JYL, WWX & WQ, space au, yearning, found family, complicated family feels, ghosts, food, teacher WWX)

💖 symmetry by bleuett (M, 44k, WangXian, Space, Science Fiction, Happy Ending, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Holding Hands, Blow Jobs, Hand Feeding, Cultivation in Space, Yearning, Reunions, Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, Minor Injuries, Grief/Mourning, Unconventional Time Travel, Burial Mounds)

circles by bleuett (M, 21k, WangXian, Space, Sunshot Campaign, Time Travel, kind of, Grief/Mourning, Getting Together, Angst with a Happy Ending, Intimacy, Reunions, Slight Body Modification, Canon-Typical Violence, Minor Injuries, Unconventional Time Travel)

fly me home by bleuett (M, 16k, WangXian, Space, Science Fiction, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Fluff and Humor, Light Angst, Pining, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Major Character Injury, but everyone’s okay!)

the best good thing by almostsophie1 (T, 12k, WangXian, Space, Post-Apocalypse, Touch-Starved, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Hurt/Comfort)

The Return Of the (Yiling) Sith by Zephyr (ZephyrAndTheSilverfish) (T, 23k, wangxian, SL/XXC, SL & A-Q & XXC, star wars au, hurt/comfort, the force, kidnapping, pining)

I will be chasing a starlight by feyburner, sundiscus (E, 71k, WangXian, Star Trek Fusion, Vulcan LWJ, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Eventual Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Pon Farr, Mind Meld, Fuck Or Die, Anal Sex, Hurt/Comfort)

Cut Him Out in Little Stars by ChaoticAndrogynous (E, 69k, WangXian, Canon-Typical Violence, Grief/Mourning, Existential Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Memory Loss, Dementia (referenced), Suicidal Thoughts, Battlefield Surgery, Blood and Injury, Immortality, Loneliness, Isolation, Explicit Sexual Content, Oral Sex, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Consensual Non-Consent, Bondage, Top/Bottom Versatile | Switch WangXian (mentioned))

Stars bring us apart (Stars pull us together) by Sixlayerhouse (sixlayerhouse) (E, 124k, WangXian, ChengSang, Hurt/Comfort, (Vaguely) Star Trek AU, Psychological Trauma, PTSD, Body modifications, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Recovery, married!wangxian)

it calls to those Series by Shializaro (T, 7k, WangXian, Time Travel, POV Outsider, POV Alternating, LWJ Has Feelings, Make LWJ Cry Agenda, Good Sibling JC, JC is So Done, Angst and Humor)

In Imitation of Life by travelingneuritis (E, 70k, wangxian, modern cultivation, scifi au, android WWX, tone: neon seedy, rich people are bored and terrible, post-apocalyptoc landscape, happy ending, smut, severe major characger injury, time loss)

there is no limited dimensions by Stratisphyre (M, 104k, WangXian, NieLan, MianQing, WN/Other(s), Star Trek Fusion, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Assumed Character Death, Minor Character Death, Tags on Each Chapter, references to non-con, references to canonical slavery, (The Orion Syndicate is just really bad okay?), bizarre space mpreg, Implied Future Pairings, Implied NHS/Others, POV Multiple, Accidental Child Acquisition, Found Family)

Waiting for the light (our tender sentiments, unfolding) by lamusadelils (T, 9k, wangxian, modern cultivation, space au, scifi au, engineer Lan Wangji, astrobotanist Wei Wuxian, Illnesses, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gardens & Gardening, but in SPACE!)

the wind on another star by Reverie (cl410) (M, 20k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Space, a space drama!, Post-Sunshot Campaign, Reunions, some murder, some sketchy science, Space Battles, Politics, Genius WWX, BAMF WWX)

the place where you are by BlackWiresOnHerHead (T, 34k, WangXian, Space, two found families for the price of one, food as a love language, Yearning, Science Fiction, prickly shipmates to friends to lovers, Cyborg WN, cisswapped juniors)

Captain of Questionable Starfleet Practices by warmporridge (G, 6k, WangXian, Star Trek Fusion, But you dont need knowledge of star trek to read this!!, Science Fiction, One Shot Collection, vulcan!lwj, Captain!WWX, Canonical Character Death, aka wwx dies for like 2 minutes, Tribbles (Star Trek))

I'm feeling very still by deliciousblizzardshark (M, 8k, WangXian, Science Fiction, Inspired by Passengers (2016), But much less problematic, granted it's a low bar, Isolation, Engineering, Cryostasis, mild stalking, mild obsession, Mental Health Issues, Cloud Recesses is now a spaceship)

The Betazoid Wedding Conversation by starandrea (T, 4k, WangXian, Star Trek Fusion, Vulcan LWJ, Love Confessions, First Kiss)

I need my space by deliciousblizzardshark (T, 6k, WangXian, Modern AU, Astronauts, Getting Together, First Kiss, Implied Sexual Content, trapped together, Roommates, kind of, They share a very small spacecraft so that counts right, Soft WangXian, No Angst)

Sailing the Endless Sea by Rainewritesfanfics (G, 1k, WangXian, Pre-Relationship, Space, Homesickness, Science Fiction, Mild Hurt/Comfort)

root your love a little deeper by DrPanda99 (T, 7k, WangXian, Space, mild body horror, Hanahaki Disease, but turning into a tree, Angst with a Happy Ending, Love Confessions, Curses)

dropped from the sky by awenswords (G, 5k, WangXian, Science Fiction, Farmer WWX, pilot lwj, Developing Relationship, Developing Friendships, Pre-Relationship, Space Opera, Farm/Ranch)

tell me your whole life by phnelt (T, 8k, WangXian, Noir, Robots & Androids, Space, it's a space noir!, robot wwx, hacker lwj, Brief Violence, Memory Loss)

& again tomorrow by bleuett (T, 1k, WangXian, Space, Yearning, Grief/Mourning, Hopeful Ending)

a well-intentioned proposition by bosbie (T, 1k, WangXian, Science Fiction, Space, Humor, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Android LWJ, Miscommunication, oblivious lwj)

water, and the open sky by el_em_en_oh_pee (T, 20k, WangXian, Future, Space, Science Fiction, Cultivation in Space, Science Fantasy, Lighthouses, Water, plankton is the new radish, Redemption, alien dinosaurs, split lip kisses)

back to your door by fruitys (M, 8k, WangXian, Space, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Reunions, Getting Back Together, Hand Jobs, yearning across time AND planets, gardener wei ying... gardener wei ying in space…, he is a plant scientist)

The Terminus of Gravity by feralhypertext (M, 28k, WangXian, Space, Canon-Typical Violence, Interplanetary Travel, Epistolary, (by way of transmissions instead of letters))

hurricane by gdgdbaby (E, 5k, WangXian, Star Trek Fusion, Pon Farr, Alien Biology, Porn with Feelings, Yuletide Treat)

That Time Wei Wuxian Fell In Love With His First Officer And Didn't Even Realize by seungchxn (E, 9k, WangXian, Star Trek Fusion, Captain WWX, First Officer LWJ, Vulcan Mind Melds, Vulcan Kisses, Fluff and Smut, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Hand Jobs, Hand & Finger Kink, Alien Biology, Mutual Pining, First Time, First Kiss, Falling In Love, True Love, Soulmates, Accidental Marriage, Unrequited Love, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Oblivious WWX, WWX is a Little Shit, WWX is Bad at Feelings, Possessive LWJ, LWJ is Whipped, LWJ is a Panicked Gay, The Inherent Eroticism of Holding Hands)

and i'll burn with the fire of ten million stars by Lirazel (M, 11k, WangXian, Star Trek Fusion, you do not have to be familiar with star trek to read this, Pon Farr, (of course), but it's induced by a rare microbe so really, it's Sex Pollen, Dubious Consent, half-vulcan science officer!lwj, chaotic engineering disaster gremlin!wwx, the inherent eroticism of vulcan finger-touching, vers!wangxian because that's the only thing i believe in)

the red dark shifting by typefortydeductions (E, 15k, WangXian, Star Trek Fusion, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Ambiguous/Open Ending, But it will be ok, PTSD, Nightmares, Getting Together, Mutual Pining, Mild Gore, Tarsus IV, mentions of medical procedures)

On The Way To The Stars by kuro (T, 11k, WangXian, Star Trek Fusion, Science Fiction, Road Trips, Fake Marriage, Pining, Fluff, Separations, Wedding Rings, Modern AU)

My Home Is Your Body by phnelt (E, 15k, WangXian, Star Trek Voyager AU, vulcan lwj, betazoid wwx, Telepathy, imzadi is like t'hy'la except for betazoids, eventually explicit, first chapter is T rated, former borg drone wn, former maquis wwx, starfleet lwj)

first contact by AlfAlfAlfAlfAlf, tardigradeschool (T, 18k, WangXian, XiYao, hinted at NieYao, Star Trek Fusion, Science Fiction, Androids, Canon-Typical Violence, mild body horror, due to androids, Android LWJ, Android LXC, First Meetings, Pre-Relationship, Engineer WWX, Betazoid MY, Ambiguous/Open Ending)

spinning with the stars above by tardigradeschool (G, 7k, WangXian, Star Trek Fusion, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, PTSD, Tarsus IV, Pre-Relationship, Mutual Pining, Panic Attacks, Fluff, Friends to Lovers)

won't you let me know you now by tardigradeschool (T, 12k, WangXian, Star Trek Fusion, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Mutual Pining, Telepathy, Vulcan Mind Melds, Pre-Relationship, very background 3zun, Protective Siblings, Friends to Lovers)

and i knew that somehow, i could find my way back by daltoneering (E, 14k, WangXian, Science Fiction, Getting Together, Mutual Pining, Light Angst, Friends to Lovers, Spaceship captain LWJ, Emotional Sex, very light background nielan)

two colours for everything by kakikaeru (M, 8k, WangXian, Space, Off-screen Character Death, war-related injury, and subsequent rehabilitation, prisoner of war type mistreatment)

134340 by silverclaw (M, 18k, WangXian, Space, Space Opera, Heavy Angst, Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Closure, Parallel Universes, Coco the robot, LWJ accidentally adopting creatures as he goes, LWJ also has a nose ring, The following are SPOILER tags, there are two lwjs and one of them dies, wwx mourning lwj, Hopeful Ending, in terms of closure and healing, parallel!lwj and wwx form a bond, mentions of captivity, dystopian themes)

orbital decay by defractum (nyargles) (T, 14k, WangXian, Science Fiction, Space, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Happy Ending, Cultivation AU, Body Horror)

Duel of the Twins by Theladyofravenclaw (T, 71k, WIP, WangXian, XuanLi, JC & WWX, Star Wars Setting, Science Fiction, each chapter is intended to be a whole movie within a trilogy, Canon-Typical Violence, Mild Gore, mild body horror, Mentions of Suicide, But only in passing, please take that major character death warning seriously, Angst with a Happy Ending, Yúnmèng Siblings Feels, Twin Prides of Yúnmèng Angst, Dismemberment)

We Wish You A Logical Christmas by little_ogre (M, 9k, WangXian, Star Trek AU, Mutual Pining, Happy Ending, Going to Vulcan for Christmas, WWX is Vulcan, LWJ is human, what could go wrong, Pon Farr)

among the stars by plonk (E, 61k, WangXian, Space, Science Fiction, Firefly Setting, Courtesan WWX, Courtesan LWJ)

And I Think It's Gonna Be a Long, Long, Time by sketchyscribbles (M, 21k, WangXian, ChengSang, XuanLi, Science Fiction, the martian!au, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Mutual Pining, wwx attempting the impossible, Happy Ending, Minor Violence, minor 3zun, Minor Injuries, Outer Space)

change by antebunny (G, 16k, WangXian, WWX & JYL, LWJ & LXC, Star Wars Fusion, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Telepathy, because...the Force, Non-Graphic Violence, The Power of Love™, BAMF WWX, JYL is a queen, wwx is a little shit)

Circlet of Death by cinder1013 (E, 20k, WangXian, XiYao, MingYu, Star Wars Fusion, scum, Villainy, Pirates, I make up Jedi stuff, Gender Fluid Character, Genderfluid MXY, Misgendering, BAMF JYL, Tantric Sex, Badass QS, Sexual Violence, Anal Sex, Wedding Night)

Among Us by misbehavingvigilante (E, 50k, WangXian, Among Us (Video Game) Setting, Alien Sex, Breeding, Eggpreg, Tentacles, Consensual Non-Consent, Dubious Consent, They're both into it but yeah, Cannibalism, The dove is dead but in the Addams Family type of way)

one hundred, twenty thousand, thirty million Series by Mikkeneko (T/M, 160k, WIP, WangXian, Non-Linear Narrative, Space AU, Science Fiction, Cybernetics, WWX's memory issues, Politics, Xianxia IN SPACE!, stranded in space, in a broken spacesuit, Flashbacks)

~*~

I'd like to thank @the-marathon-continues-nip for letting us know about their space collection. We definitely wouldn't have as many fics on this comp otherwise. We really appreciate it! Thank you ~ - Mod C

~*~

#Wangxian Fic Rec #The Untamed #wangxian #MDZS #wangxianficfinder compilation post #long post #space au #space compilation

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witsserviceablesubstitute · 3 months ago

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If nothing else, Dragon Age 2 is a story being told by Varric Tethras (pulp novelist, businessman, and self professed liar), while being interrogated by the Chantry secret police, while also trying to exonerate himself and the best friend he loves...

It could be true, some of it could be true, none of it could be true. Likely it is only half of the picture and the story and its players are Varric's Cassandra friendly version. There's room for so many interpretations of DA2 that I wonder how anyone comes to a single truth about the story and its characters at all?

Anyway, I've been thinking about a post that said taking a side strictly for or against Anders misses the point and I agree. However, I think because DA2 is too structuralist in its approach to the characters, players clung more to a humanistic reading of them. Ideally a story balances both but it didn't in DA2 and so the characters feel puppeted by a thesis that could be alienating at times. I mean, Anders isn't 'right' but he is more right then the story and the general response to his character allows him to be and so anyone with a grasp on the metaphors the DA mages represent, from religious and political persecution of queerness to authoritarian imprisonment, are going to see any attempt to justify the continued abuse of them as awful. They'll also cling harder to the character who represents resistance to *gestures at all that narrative mess*. Same with Fenris. Who is the bluntest fictional embodying of slavery ever. Right to the heart, really. Of course people cling to Fenris. Especially in an American story. (And then they pitted them against each other...)

As for characterization, though, they're assholes. I love them. I get them. I'd like them even if they were worse (and the criticism does tend to exaggerate how bad they are). They are in pain and have a lot of room for growth but they are assholes. Yet they're also flawless to me and that there's my point. The story didn't utilise them as it should, didn't think about them as much beyond being a blunt tool for the plot and so the players who felt the metaphors, who identified with their pain, plucked them away, filled them in, and shielded them from a narrative and public they felt misused or misunderstood them and by extension the people and issues they represent.

We're always saying here that representation is important but this is the reason why. This is the power it has and the pain it can cause when fumbled. This is why there was such a strongly divisive response to Anders— you had one side gleefully feeling justified killing him and all he represents and the other side feeling horror at how all he represents was handled and wanting to save him. This is why there's still Anders vs. Fenris drama years later despite them being mirrors, the story reduced them to being a mouthpiece for and against mages when the plot itself is about the rights of mages. It's a bit impossible to talk about the narrative of DA2 without talking about Anders and Fenris.

So I get it but on the other hand DA2 is a story being told under duress by an unreliable narrator. All the characters could be the way they are because Varric needs them to be in order to satisfy the magic fearing religious government. I think that could be a really interesting conversation to have too.

#varric tethras #dragon age 2 #da2 #dragon age spoilers #dragon age #anders da2 #fenris da2 #navel gazing #storytelling in games #cassandra pentaghast

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elbiotipo · 7 months ago

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Someone in the notes on your post about food in fantasy mentioned connection between at least early modern production of sugar and colonialism and slavery, and while I 100% agree that it's something that should be known, I think that if you want to have lighthearted fantasy setting there are definitely ways to work around this.

Like sugar is also produced from sugar beet. I don't know could it be done without modern equipment (production started at the very end of 18th century so while industrial equipment was primitive it was), but like you may do something with it, like some wizards developing production technology.

In the same vein, crop exchange in the Old World was mostly peaceful, or at least it wasn't due to slavery. Like rice was already grown in Egypt in 1000 BCE and made its way to Spain by 7th century CE. Bananas were grown in Turkey by 15th century CE. And tons of agricultural goods come from West Asia both ways. What I am trying to say is that if your world has equivalent of Americas your Europeans* could have just acquired potatoes and corn without colonization (because they were more ethical than irl or because they didn't have resources for conquest or because American nations were strong enough to stop them). Like potatoes and such are just crops, sailors could have picked them as a supplies and then someone decided to grow them at home.

This is like a suggestion specifically if you want to have a world for costume drama without dealing with heavy themes. I would suggest describing it specifically to point that out, and I can't say that it's very politically aware but definitely not worse than "they just have it" or "yes there are overseas colonies but pay it no mind".

*Because that's usually the case in examples that are discussed, from what I heard East Asian fantasy set in East Asia also suffers from this for the same reason, but I didn't read enough of it to say

Let me say you make real good points and I broadly agree with you. I do think the history of colonialism and where our foods came from is important (I do research that so no doubt). And I also agree that sometimes, those themes are too difficult to board properly, especially in a lighthearted story.

However, in fiction, it's not so much that I want people to do more "clean" ways of getting those crops. Many people told me "well, what if they get it through trade, or what if they got it through magical portals and such" my point is not that you find a "colonialist free" way to have potatoes in your setting, my point is that every crop in real life has a history behind them, and when you place them in your setting, I think you should consider that. Not only because you will learn about real life and its history, but also because of the storytelling potential.

I mean, I do have "worldbuilding fundamentalist" in my bio, and I think even if you don't sketch the entire world, you should at least know where your heroes are. Much of modern fantasy loves to adopt the "medieval" aesthetic, while in fact presenting a world with widespread trade, urbanization, a growing artisan class, etc. (I've done a longer rant about it here). Those things aren't just aesthetic choices, they are different societies that have different dynamics and they do affect the kind of plots and characters you might make on them.

I don't think fantasy should shy away from exploring themes such as imperialism and colonialism, trade and politics, intercultural contact and social change. One reason why I'm so insistent with the theme of crops and trade is that it's because it's emblematic of those issues. Sure, you don't want to explain the potatoes or chocolate in your setting, whatever. Don't you WANT to, though? Don't you want to explore beyond the pseudo-medieval aesthetic, and explore what an American or African -inspired setting might look like? Of course, you could and should also make your own new settings, but exploring actual history, geography, biology (at the broadest term, natural history) will make you a better worldbuilder and a better writer, AND also let you learn more about the world.

Sorry if this rant is a bit unfocused, just woke up from a nap after some wine, but this is why I'm so insistent with the stories that can arise just by considering the crops in your setting. Imagine what else can you write.

#worldbuilding #fantasy #writing

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drjacquescoulardeau · 6 months ago

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THE INDO-EUROPEAN BIG BANG

Xavier Rouard searches and researches the linguistic world, scientific research of course, for the origin, the cradle, the homeland, or the motherland, of Indo-European. He is not the only one in the world, but he goes against practically all the others by positioning this linguistic nursery in Central Asia based on a Eurasian or trans-Eurasian language or languages. But precisely Eurasian languages only came into existence from the moment when syntactic-analytic Indo-Iranian languages left the Iranian plateau where they had stationed themselves when they arrived from Black Africa, some 40,000 years ago, or BCE, not much difference here. They had to go through the Ice Age first and finally get on the move after this climate event probably around 15,000 BCE, some east to the southern Asian continent, with Pakistan and India, others west down into Mesopotamia and from there to Europe. These people, on both side, encountered people who spoke other languages, Turkic agglutinative languages, and isolating Sino-Tibetan languages, mostly. These languages had integrated the Denisovans and their own language(s). Thes encountered people were hybrid Homo Sapiens with a varying proportion of Denisovan DNA in Central Asia, and the same in Mesopotamia with a varying proportion od Neanderthalensis DNA. When they reached Europe, the population was essentially of Turkic language and origin with a varying level of hybridization with European Homo Neanderthalensis. It is such encounters that generated or engendered the various Indo-European or Indo-Aryan languages

My approach is phylogenetic and thus it is absolutely impossible for me not to take into consideration the migrations and geographic, hence social, cultural and linguistic movements of these populations. That’s the basic principle of Joseph Greenberg who considered that all these migrations had only one matrix or melting pot that produced the emergence of human articulated language on the basis of what these emerging Homo Sapiens inherited from the other Hominins from which they were descending.

But Joseph Greenberg and his disciples encountered a problem: in all language you should find a certain number of words whose “roots” are universal and stable in meaning. These are the roots coming from Black Africa before any migration out of Black Africa. The problem is then that it does not enable any topology of languages. So, they, Greenberg and his disciples, tried to introduce “grammatical” or “syntactic” words, but even so it does go that far.

To get somewhere you have to ask the question about the phylogeny of articulated language(s), and there you only find three articulations in a precise order: root-languages (by the way vastly ignored by Xavier Rouard), Isolating character languages, and agglutinative as well as synthetic-analytic languages according to the migrations out of Black Africa. If you do not consider this phylogeny, then you put all sorts of languages together in the melting pot and you let things happen all by themselves. In my approach, languages are in contact thanks to the contacts established among the various communities speaking different languages, with exchanges, borrowings and communication. But finding out that words are vastly common among the languages of this Central Asian area does not prove anything. It is just the proper way languages works at the level of words.

60% of English words are of French origin. That does not make English a Romance language because the syntax of English is definitely Germanic, and this makes English a Germanic language. That’s why a language can borrow words from another language because the syntax is not changed. Syntactic changes can only come from the phylogenic evolution of the concerned language, within the phylogeny of its linguistic family, within the phylogeny of language as a human competence.

Welcome and enter the debate.

Éditions La Dondaine, Medium.com, 2024

14 Pages

Languages and Linguistics, * Black/African Diaspora, * Indo-European Studies, * Human origins (Anthropology), * Phylogeny

#poetry #music #linguistics #science fiction #history #slavery #drama

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anxresi · 9 months ago

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Humor me for a moment, as I post about something other than Miraculous.

I've been REALLY looking forward to the Netflix live-action adaptation of Avatar: The Last Airbender. The original animated series is arguably one of the most narratively complex, imaginatively structured, ambitiously pioneering shows of it's era... as well as being hella entertaining and funny to boot. Surely, after the unmitigated disaster which was the 2010 movie, they couldn't screw this up...

Oh. Well, it's safe to say, they found a way.

Look. No-one LIKES sexism. Just like no decent person likes any kind of prejudice, whether it be against religion, race, sexuality etc.

But by IGNORING THE SUBJECT entirely in a fictional premise, you end up losing a lot of interesting story possibilities. Like, if Sokka isn't 'sexist' like he was in the first season of the show, what exactly is half his character arc? It was all about accepting women as equals and realising they were capable of doing anything men can do... heck, he even fell in love with a warrior woman!

How DARE they try to keep these 'difficult' topics out of shows be fear they might 'offend' anyone. Even if they're portrayed negatively now, apparently to show any character flaw along these kind of prejudicial lines is seen as a no-go area and the subjects aren't even broached. Even if they develop past these unsavory traits later! It's too much, guys.

To me, this is as bad as those modern historical dramas set in the 19th century or before where they pretend slavery was practically non-existent and women could do whatever they wanted to. WRONG. Insultingly so. You can have all the expensive costumes and period detail you like, but if your production is that anachronistic, than my interest level is 0%.

Basically, if they're not willing to take any risks with the material, this sounds like nothing more than a bland approximation of everything that made the cartoon good. I'll probably give it a miss now thanks, unless someone on here can convince me otherwise.

It's not that I'm DESPERATE to be Sokka be rude to the ladies, it's more what the decision to remove that key element of his personality represents and it's something I feel VERY strongly against as a form of patronising and cowardly bowdlerization.

This post on Reddit sums up my feelings nicely...

That's it. Thanks for reading!! :)

#avatar #avatar the last airbender #sokka #the last airbender #netflix

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autistichalsin · 10 months ago

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(Plastering an obligatory I AM A LESBIAN here.) (also, in retrospect this feels like soapboxing and if you feel uncomfortable in any way with me ranting about petty drama related to the harassment that you went through feel free to delete this ask)

Calling you lesbiphobic for not liking Minthara made me do a huge double take??

YES lesbiphobia is a problem, and people assigning lesbiphobia to not liking a character on the grounds that a lot of their friends who like her are lesbians only takes away from the actual severity of the word.

You can’t just wave words around. Is Minthara, as a character, a symbolization or statement about lesbianism in a way that critique or dislike of her character would imply some kind of inextricable problem with it?

Or has the way she’s seen or adopted in the fandom lead to her being inseparable from such subtext? And I don’t mean being liked by many lesbians simply because we think she’s neat or a cool character-

Is she known to be liked because we feel she represents something significant about lesbianism? Does the fact that many lesbians like her mean or present something notable about the lesbian experience, to the point where it’s a dialogue that can’t in good faith be ignored in discussions about her?

No. She’s openly sapphic, but she’s one of the many bisexual women companions, and while her queerness is an important facet of her character, the writing doesn’t linger on it- That is to say, it’s not a central theme to her character and story. She’s not seen as some grand statement or character symbolizing something about lesbianism in the fandom, either. A lot of us simply.. like her. (And that’s completely fine!!)

On top of that, she’s explicitly (EXPLICITLY) a EVIL character to boot. She’s a horrible person- she was THE evil route companion. (And, again, her evilness has nothing to do with her being a sapphic woman.) And that’s great! I like her because she’s an apologetically horrible woman who’s allowed to be unapologetically horrible And a woman without being punished specifically for that.

But somebody disliking her- as a character- as a fictional, made of pixels, not real character- BECAUSE of the numerous horrible evil things she does- isn’t lesbiphobia. And even if it was, that wouldn’t be grounds the harass them for it.

Thank you anon- and don't worry. I'm going to start taking things as discourse so those who don't want to see anymore don't have to because I feel like I've put enough sadness on their pages, but I definitely wanted to respond to this.

(The irony here is that I ALSO am a [nonbinary] lesbian, but they've made really gross implications that because of my thirsty posts about Halsin, I'm just lying...)

Yeah, it really is wild that not liking HER of all characters got me called that. But I guess, like... thanks for being so transparent, I guess??? Like it literally was never about any issue they pretended it was, it was literally that I didn't like their Drow Dommy Mommy.

Your point is totally correct, but I do have the feeling that if you asked them, they WOULD say that Minthara represents something "inherently lesbian" (I guess the lesbian quality of... being a terrible person who supports slavery? It's lesbiphobic to not support slavery I guess) such that rejecting her is rejecting lesbianism itself. And it's worth noting that this group of people are INCREDIBLY biphobic- they hate when you say Minthara is bi, as well as Shadowheart, and they say shipping SH with men is "icky." Which tells you all you need to know really.

They deny she's evil. Straight up. They literally ask what she did that was evil, feigning ignorance, or say it was sweet and romantic etc. The way they accuse others of not being able to tell fantasy from reality is because they themselves can't do it.

#discourse

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racefortheironthrone · 11 months ago

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I’m not too well versed in the comics history, Has there been clear progress made for mutant rights and acceptance in the marvel universe? Like , between the big events and Orchises of the marvel (and real world) setting things back, is there a big difference with how mutants are treated de facto and dejure across the decades since the 60s? Any particular mutant rights milestones?

Great question!

People's History of the Marvel Universe, Week 22: Anti-Mutant Prejudice and Mutant Rights In the Longue Durée

This is a difficult question to answer, because Chris Claremont was very much of the "torture your darlings" school of comics writing, believing that the way to wring endless drama out of your characters was to keep piling tragedy on tragedy on top of them before finally giving them a moment of catharsis. This was especially true for how he handled the mutant metaphor from as far back as X-Men #99, where even when the X-Men saved the day, it would only seem to further fan the flames of anti-mutant prejudice.

That being said, Claremont didn't present an unchanging portrait of anti-mutant prejudice constantly getting worse and worse - after all, the very beating heart of dramatic structure is variation, without which even the most grimdark tragedy becomes numbing and monotonous. So there are definitely key moments in the Claremont run where the X-Men are able to score a victory for mutantkind.

Perhaps the first and most famous instance of the mutants notching a win comes in the climax of God Loves, Man Kills - Claremont's first great Statement Comic about bigotry. After having foiled the Reverend Stryker's plans to exterminate mutantkind by kidnapping Charles Xavier and using a Cerebro-like device to project lethal strokes into mutant brains across the world, the X-Men confront Stryker on live T.V - again, part of Chris Claremont's endless fascination with the power of media to shape our minds that would recur in Fall of the Mutants - fighting him on the level of ideology and rhetoric. Kitty Pryde is able to bait Stryker into attempted murder in front of the television cameras, ending his crusade of hate:

(I'll do a full in-depth analysis of God Loves, Man Kills and how it both codifies and reveals Chris Claremont's approach to the mutant metaphor in a future issue of PHOMU.)

The next big moment of victory I've already written about in PHOMU Week 20, was Fall of the Mutants. In this storyline, the X-Men face off against Freedom Force and the Registration Act and ultimately sacrifice their lives to save the world in Dallas - once again, using the power of rhetoric and media to strike back against discrimination and oppression.

After that, Claremont's next (and arguably last) big victory for mutant rights came in the "Genoshan Saga." (I'll also be doing an in-depth analysis of Genosha in a future issue of PHOMU.) Beginning in UXM #235 and winding its way through Inferno and the X-Tinction Agenda, the fictional nation of Genosha was Chris Claremont's big Statement about apartheid South Africa. An island nation off the east coast of Africa, Genosha seems to be a utopia free of poverty, crime, and disease - but its entire society rests on a foundation of mutant slavery, where mutants are press-ganged, mind-controlled, and genetically-manipulated to serve the human ruling class.

After a series of clashes between the X-Men and the Genoshan Magistrates, the X-Men defeat Genosha's anti-mutant military and their cyborg ally Cameron Hodge. But whereas most superhero comics end with the heroes foiling the evil plan of the supervillain and restoring the status quo, this time Chris Claremont and Louise Simonson went a step beyond the norm and had the X-Men carry out a political revolution that brings lasting structural change - toppling the Genoshan government and abolishing apartheid.

Under the pen of later writers like Joe Pruett, Fabien Nicieza, and (most enduringly) Grant Morrison, the island of Genosha would be refashioned as a mutant homeland, a prosperous and advanced nation of sixteen million mutants ruled by Magneto. (Yet again, a topic for another issue of PHOMU.) Arguably ever since then, the story of the X-Men has been the story of the struggle to restore mutantkind to the position it was in before Cassandra Nova ended the first mutant nation-state, culminating in HOXPOX and the foundation of Krakoa. (A topic we'll be covering next year when FOTHOX/ROTPOX writes the final chapter in the Krakoan Era.)

#xmen #xmen meta #people's history of the marvel universe #the mutant metaphor #chris claremont #the claremont run #grant morrison #brian michael bendis #jonathan hickman #louise simonson

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merrivia · 2 years ago

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I don’t want to start drama and I don’t think Damen raped Laurent but like… Damens been raping sex slaves since he was thirteen lol like they were slaves and could not consent, ergo: rape. That Damen/Akielos didn’t think of it that way and that Damen would be horrified by such an accusation doesn’t mean we in the modern world shouldn’t recognize it as rape. I do love Damen as a character for what it’s worth but yeah. Def a rapist. As is Laurent, for that matter, who I also love.

Hmm are you sure you don't want to create drama lol.

Okay so this is touching on some very emotive topics.

All I'm going to say is yep, absolutely. Laurent and Damen are morally grey characters by today's legal standards and moral values. They inflict grievous bodily harm, and they kill. Both of them leave victims in their wake.

Readings of this text can be done in multiple ways, and the fact that it is basically original slash fiction that was meant to be 'slavefic' and explore that as a kink, meant once it moved to traditional publishing and came outside of that particular context, the content was always going to be problematic. I do think Pacat pulls off an extraordinary feat by turning something originally meant to be sexy and a kink exploration, into something with such meaningful, complex characterisation

I want to throw something out there, about legal definitions of crime, in terms of the rape in the novel. There are two aspects: 'actus reus' which translates as the act of committing the crime, and 'mens rea' which is the intention to commit the crime. You need both to convict someone. In the UK, where I was born and brought up, consent relates to both- so as soon as you commit the act of raping someone without consent, you also have the 'mens rea' of intention.

Now under that definition, yep, you would call Laurent and Damen rapists. No arguments from me there.

If you did want to delve a little deeper, this is what I would say:-

Essentially, both Laurent and Damen absolutely commit actus reus, in terms of rape, Damen by having sex with slaves and Laurent by what he does when he drugs Damen and tries to have Govart rape him in the ring, and when he forces Damen to undergo fellatio by Ancel (under UK law, 'causing someone to have sexual activity' is also a sexual offence, I'm actually not sure if it would be seen as rape, but in my eyes it is). Laurent most definitely also has the 'mens rea', he did those things with the intent that Damen be raped and sexually assaulted.

Damen, I do feel is more complicated, because I think it can be successfully argued that he had the 'actus reus' but not the 'mens rea'. You can feel free to disagree with me on this. Your reading of the text is your own. This is fiction and not real life. The world of the books is not our world.

Damen has had 'kinghood' hammered into him since a child. Think of what Akielon thinking is like around that: Be the perfect warrior. Be the perfect man. Be virile. Take slaves as it is a source of 'extreme pride' to your people. Slaves are trained to be submissive, they crave a master, they submit and you treat them perfectly. That is the trade off, and it is honourable.

Damen didn't actually see slaves as people, in the same way that he would literally anyone else in society. It's horrific, no doubt about that. But Damen has never ever questioned or critiqued his culture, as slavery is ingrained into every part of it. That would also go against what his father Theomedes believed in too, and Damen was raised to be obedient to him, and lived his life striving to please his father completely. Damen treated his slaves perfectly, so he thought, and he thought of that as part of his moral duty. You can see that Damen literally risks so much to ensure the safety of the consignment of slaves at Arles. He also sees what Govart did to Erasmus as rape (which it was), and is filled with righteous anger and outrage over it. This all tells us a lot about his world view.

Remember that Damen as a prince is literally 'exalted', considered on a higher level to normal people, so much so that his body servants in KR cannot dress him without extreme nervousness as the intimacy of touching his body is too disrespectful ('death to lay hands on the son of the king'). Slaves can do it, as they are literally so submissive that they will do anything they are ordered to. It angers and displeases the Akielons in KR, that Damen refuses slaves, and he still soldiers on regardless. I would wager, in terms of his upbringing Damen would be pretty touch-starved if it weren't for slaves (and wrestling!) because he literally is not supposed to be touched! Imagine the head-fuck of having that as your normal way of being (it's also why, alongside notions of Akeilon masculinity, I don't think he was hugged for most of his life, until Laurent in ch 12 of KR). To sum up: Damen has no conception in terms of his world view that what he's doing to slaves is rape, therefore his 'mens rea' is, arguably, actually not there. When Laurent accuses him of being a rapist, he visibly recoils in horror, as that's simply not something he thinks he would ever do.

As soon as Damen experiences the true horrors of slavery for himself, he understands slaves are human beings, something he didn't really get before, and he becomes an abolitionist. He refuses to have sex with them, as now he knows it’s rape, and won't even be served by them. It isn't just that Damen is in love with Laurent, and doesn't want to have sex with anyone but him. He has changed his own world view, by being on the other side of the fence, in a country that was not his own, but also of his own volition and now has the ability to make the right choices.

So, whether you see him as a rapist or not, is entirely up to you. But people are going to read his actions differently when it comes to his 'mens rea', and I think that's something that has to be accepted as part of fandom discourse. I also find it interesting, that for some reason, Laurent's actions which so much more clearly had the intent of inflicting sexual acts by force, are seen as secondary to Damen's apparently. Make of that what you will 🌚

#captive prince #damen of akielos #laurent of vere #ask

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sarahowritesostucky · 6 months ago

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📖The Captain and the Rake

Rated: Mature

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 7338

Tags: historical romance, regency time period, slavery, racism (not from Steve of Bucky tho), period-typical attitudes, prejudice, mermaids, curses, internalized homophobia, historical fantasy drama, prostitution, period typical race relations and terminology ("colored," "mixed," and "black" are used)

Summary: After receiving a large inheritance, Steve must travel to the West Indies to figure out the origins of a mysterious letter.

(Regency manips made by @amarriageoftrueminds)

A.N. This fic was originally for the Stucky historical fiction event in 2023. I never was able to finish due to injury, but thought I'd brush it off for Mermay this year. This fic contains subject matter to do with the trans-Atlantic slave trade, so please heed the tags as they are updated each chapter. Racial descriptors used in this fic include: colored, black, and a couple instances of negro. I did my best to balance historical realism without getting too offensive to the reader.\ The name "Alva" was chosen before I knew about Alba, I swear to God 😂

Chapter 1. A Great and Grievous Rumbling

Steve emerged from his stateroom when a knock came at the door and a gruff voice called out, “We’ll be makin’ port within the hour now, Capt’n!”

Thank goodness.

He’d been queasy the entire trip, ever since they’d first sailed from Charleston and the rocking of the boat set into his bones. Storms had delayed their progress halfway through, and the closer they got to the equator, the more unbearable the underdecks of the ship had become. As a paying passenger, Steve was afforded small but tidy accommodations, and Captain Odinson had merrily invited him to explore the ship at his leisure, but Steve had been reticent to engage with the crew. They seemed … not distrustful of him, per se, but perhaps disdainful. In the way that men with hardened hands often disdained men with soft ones. One look at Steve, and they’d made up their minds about him being a spoilt “fancy man.”

Steve could concede that he was a comely fellow, with short, fair hair and uncommonly bright blue eyes. He sported a strong jaw and handsome nose, but his mouth had always struck him as a bit too feminine, and his eyelashes didn’t help the matter. He kept no beard, and was better groomed than the men on Odinson’s crew. Tack on the fact that he dressed in the fashion of his peers, and he supposed he might seem a bit foppish to a bunch of hard worn, seagoing men. But his body was tall and strong, towering over most other men back in New York by several inches at least.

That didn’t seem to make a difference to the crew, who’d readily laughed at a man whose constitution was weakened by seasickness. Steve had kept to his cabin, reading what little he could in between bouts of nausea. To be called up to set his eyes on land was a mercy. He was relieved that the journey was almost over.

Steve emerged above deck and squinted as his eyes adjusted to the light, the fresh air a tonic to his mood. It was late into the day now, the storms having swept away all traces of cloud cover. The tradewinds came in sharp and brisk, filling the ship’s sails and propelling them closer to the coast. Seeing the dark shapes of mountains swelling in the distance, Steve felt immense gratitude for land, and even greater excitement for the unknown. Nervousness, sure, it wasn’t all pleasant business that brought him halfway across the world. But he’d been going crazy back in New York. The pleasantries and mundanalities of society life having been twice as stifling after coming back from the war—and thrice as much since his inheritance. It’d been time for a change.

“Got yer sea legs now, Capt’n Rosewater?” one of the younger cabin boys snickered as he passed by.

Steve waved him off with a gamely scowl and continued towards the port bow. He held firm to the banister and looked out at the churning waters below, then up to the land ahead. It was still too far away to make out all the details, but as the next few moments brought them closer, he could see more and more of the island: masses of trees and distant green hills, mountains beyond that, the white tops of breaking surf at the edges of the inlet, and then increasingly jewel blue tones of water that bled from pure azul, to aqua, to sparkling green in the shallows. It shocked Steve, how beautifully colorful it all was in comparison to the dull, muddy waters they’d left behind in Charleston.

They sailed past a bar of land on the starboard. It jutted out far into the ocean, curling in like an arm, as if to cradle the ships come into harbor. Steve caught sight of stone ruins poking out of the water and strained to try and see more. Captain Odinson and his quartermaster—an imposing and impressive man named Heimdall—had spent their second evening at sea consoling Steve over his embarrassing queasiness, offering him drink and telling him fairy stories of the sunken pirate city of Port Royal. Standing in the just-setting sun, Steve had to squint to see. There appeared to be something left of the old town out on the sandbar, but not very much. Most of it must be underwater, Steve thought with disappointment. Earthquakes tended to do that. It sure didn’t live up to any of Odinson’s stories.

The sun was close to setting as they drew in, other ships in the harbor floating nearby with increasing frequency. There was one particularly massive frigate on the portside as they sailed, perhaps fifty yards away, and Steve noticed some of the crew shooting it dirty looks. He turned to watch as they passed. The other vessel was moored in place. It had thick, old rails with weathered paint up top and a pitch-blackened hull below, barnacles creeping far up the sides. No sails were rigged and no crew was visible, yet as he stood there, Steve began to hear something faint.

At first he thought he’d only imagined it, or that perhaps some of Odinson’s men were below deck, hauling heavy things about in their preparations for docking. But the sound came again, and Steve felt a chill on his skin as the sound grew unnaturally, filling his ears and consuming his senses to the exclusion of all else. Louder and louder it became, until he could feel it reverberating in his head, like the inside of a conch, like a pulse. Leaning harder against the rail, his fingers gripped the wood as he listened to the sound.

It was coming from the other ship, not theirs.

Steve glanced about, but none of the crew were paying attention. It was as though they couldn’t hear it. He couldn’t understand how that was possible, as the sound swelled to a grievous rumble that made his heart beat faster in fear. It sounded like a … like a machine, like some great and groaning monster was inside the belly of the other ship, producing a deep and steady pounding. Steve hadn’t a clue what on earth could make such a noise. They’d already passed the ship by, so the sound should be fading, not growing louder. It didn’t make any sense. Steve stood there, aghast and locked in place.

Until a hand clapped down on his shoulder from behind, and he all but jumped out of his skin. The roaring was sucked clean out of his ears, immediately replaced by the usual cadence of wind and boat deck chatter as Steve whipped around and blustered over the embarrassing yelp he’d given. “Oh! Quartermaster!” He straightened himself. “Um, forgive me. I didn’t hear you approach.”

The quartermaster’s eye twinkled as he stepped up to join him. His name was Heimdall. He’d seen where Steve was watching the other ship. Together they stood at the rail and observed the island that lay ahead of them. “That, back there,” he said, referencing the frigate.

“Yes,” Steve said, not quite wanting to look over his shoulder at it anymore. “What was that?” He meant the monstrous sound of it, but had an odd and chilling suspicion that he’d been the only one who’d heard the noise. “The ship,” he said. “Didn’t you … didn’t you hear it?”

“Hear what?” Heimdall peered at him strangely. “The Hannibal. A Guineaman, godforsaken craft.” When he could see that Steve didn’t understand the scorn in his voice, he told him, “That’d be one of the old slave ships, Captain.”

Steve felt his stomach drop out. “O-Oh?” Heimdall nodded. All of a sudden it seemed that he was doubly as black—and Steve doubly as aware of it. He bit the inside of his cheek as he wondered if Heimdall knew his business on the island. Steve had mentioned his inheritance to Captain Odinson, but no one else on the ship. He wasn’t exactly proud of it, and he hadn’t wanted word to get ‘round that he was a slaveholder. Assumptions might be made. No one here knew his character or his intentions, after all. Nobody knew about Sam, or Hamilton House back home in Brooklyn, or that Steve’s aunt in Utica often mailed him back issues from her subscription to the Emancipator. Steve frowned at the distant shoreline, resisting the urge to twist his fingers into his ears. They still held the echo of that phantom sound. “Ships like that still sail?” he asked. “How?”

“Sugar, molasses, rum.” Heimdall shrugged. “For less profit.”

Steve wasn’t an idiot. He knew how all three of those things were produced: sugarcane. He now owned a large plantation of the stuff. “I see,” he said stiffly. “Do you know what’s brought me out here, then?”

Heimdall looked over at him, and for a tense moment, Steve thought he’d say yes, but then the quartermaster’s mouth twitched up in a smirk of gentle disdain. “You’re from New York,” he drawled. “Only two things’ll bring a gentleman American out to this edge of the world: money, or a powerful need to run away from something.”

“Run away,” Steve murmured, thoughts instantly veering to the genteel form of Miss Alva Barclay. He fought not to wince. He wasn’t running, and certainly not from her. “Yes,” he said, wetting his lips as he realized that he could relax once again, because Heimdall had no ill opinion of him. The man obviously didn’t know. So, Steve joined him in staring ahead peaceably, watching as the edge of the world drew into clearer relief.

“Jamaica at last!” Captain Odinson arrived happily at Steve’s side and threw his hand out at the town and the docks below. “Isn’t it beautiful? Just as I said!”

No matter the topic, Odinson always seemed to say everything with a boom, his enthusiasm infectious. Steve nodded in agreement. “Indeed.” Even in the day’s waning light, everything seemed brighter here. Steve had never once seen an entire building painted egg yolk yellow. “I knew it would be warmer here, but not like this. I’m afraid my trunk won’t be suitable for such a climate.” When they’d departed Charleston, it had only just turned November. Now all he could see were palm trees and folks dressed in light cotton clothes or even with no shirts on at all. “Incredible.”

“Indeed. You may find your New York winters more difficult to bear, once you return.”

Steve grimaced, remembering the past two winters and how exceptionally harsh they had been. When he’d departed for Charleston, there’d already been snow on the ground in New York. One of the crew members called out to the Captain, and he excused himself from Steve’s company. Steve decided to remain where he was until the work of unloading the ship died down a bit, as he didn’t want to be in the way. He spent the time watching the docks below, fascinated by the scenery.

Despite the unsavory nature of his inheritance, Steve was still very excited to be in Jamaica. Already it seemed amazing, and he’d only stood there on the ship looking at the ruddy docks, not even yet ventured into the town! He took in all the action of the street: carts and chickens and sailors cursing at one another. There was so much green. The forest beyond seemed lush and dense, the wilderness of it curling in at the edges of the town and creeping to fill up empty spaces. And oh, with the sunset just beginning to cast its colors, Steve’s fingers itched to find a paintbrush. The people bustling about were of such variety and comport that he instantly knew a day in Kingston could never be dull.

There were far more people of color than Steve had ever seen in one place. The ship captains and many of the crewmen were white, but not all, and out on the street there were many colored merchants and dockworkers. Groups of black and mixed-race children loitered about, looking hopeful for either mischief or play. Steve inhaled deeply, figuring that he’d continue to feel odd and out of place no matter what he did, but certain that he’d feel better once he’d visited his solicitor.

Mr. Coulson was due to arrive on the island within the week. Steve had corresponded with him before he’d departed from New York. Coulson had been to the West Indies many times, and had suggested they arrange for their travel schedules to align. He was the one who knew the most about Steve’s property in Jamaica, as he’d worked for and been closely acquainted with Steve’s late uncle, back in England. Steve hoped that Coulson would be there soon, as this was far from a leisure trip for him.

Coulson had warned Steve that there would be numerous steps to take, both legal and practical, before his end goal for the estate could be achieved. Nothing would be done in a day, little in a fortnight. It would take time, and both men had agreed to make themselves available on the island for not less than two months—and more, if need be. Steve himself had half a mind to winter over here and not return to New York until the spring.

It took a while before the ship was fully unloaded. Steve disembarked and stood by his trunks as he waited for his ride. He was to be picked up by a man from the estate, so he kept an eye out for anyone who might be looking for him, and in the meantime bought a sweet bread from a street vendor and sat eating it next to his luggage. Wiping his hands clean, he reached into his breast pocket and retrieved the letter which he’d received in the post several months ago—the letter that had started this whole journey. He unfolded the paper and read the words that he all but knew by heart, at this point:

꘏ Mister Steven Rogers, I hope this letter finds you well, and I send my condolences for the loss of your uncle. We are not acquainted, and indeed I’m sure you’ve never so much as heard my name spoken in conversation, as I have not spent time in New York in many years. I am writing in regards to what is going on at your property here. As I am sure you are aware, since the passing of your relation, Mr. Charles Cleland, the house of Shield Hall and all of its materials, peoples, and lands have come into your possession. As a fellow landowner on the island, I feel it is my duty to inform you that the operation which your uncle upkept in his lifetime has quickly deteriorated into a state of chaos and disrepair. The property is currently being mismanaged by several hired men, none of whom are keeping care of their charges, the land, or the profits that the land is meant to yield. Since this property is part of your estate, and your estate pays these very men’s wages, I felt I should write you. There is a great manor house which sits functionally abandoned, with hardly a single man watching over it day and night. Vagrants have had to be chased away more than once. Your working men and women number close to two hundred, and they all have been treated harshly and unfairly by the overseers, often deprived of suitable conditions. The harvests of this past year were summarily affected by these happenings. Word of the disorganization and abuse has reached many in the community already, and rumors abound of the great discontent brewing amongst your slaves. I have received only general description of you from my aunt in New York, but am sure that you are a fine man and will agree with me that it is our Christian duty to treat all of God’s children with dignity and fairness, including the negro man in bondage. I urge you to come at once and see for yourself, for only then can things be put right. Your respectful neighbor, J. Buchanan ꘏

Steve blinked down at the page, looking once more at that elegantly scrawled name: J. Buchanan. Only an educated and moneyed man would have such excellent penmanship, lending credence to the writer’s claims of who he was. But the letter was signed only with “J. Buchanan,” with no other identifying information given. It had arrived several months ago, posted from Kingston, Jamaica, but with no return address. Its author claimed to be a fellow landowner and wrote “neighbor” as his salutation, but when Steve had looked at records of land holdings on the island, he’d found no history of a Buchanan family.

Still, the stranger had thought the situation serious enough to contact Steve, and so whether the letter’s claims were true or not, Steve felt he should investigate. That was the only respectable thing to do, since it was his property now. The very land that made him rich.

That in itself was still novel. Steve had never owned much of anything, other than his house in Brooklyn which he’d inherited from his mother. He’d grown up privileged but not overly so, within the bounds of New York Society but never pursued the way that more moneyed gentlemen were. That had all changed once his uncle had passed and word got out that Steve now owned a large sugar plantation and all of the wealth that came with it. He’d spent the past twenty months fending off eager mothers and their daughters. Two seasons’ worth of balls, courtships, and fripperies had been useful in warding off the loneliness, but they were exhausting at the end of the day.

And then there was Miss Barclay, who was one of the many ladies being continually foisted upon him. Though she was the most agreeable, Steve still felt that his lungs could take in twice the amount of oxygen now that he knew he was a thousand miles away from her—an ungenerous sentiment, perhaps, but nonetheless true.

Steve hadn’t yet spent much of his newfound fortune, the habits of a widowed spendthrift mother having been ingrained in him since boyhood; but the one thing he had indulged in, was the singular luxury of a private box at the opera house. A veritable bidding war had commenced when the next box over came up for sale not long after. That was how Steve had gotten to know Alva over the arias of Fidelio and Silvana, her mother always looming nearby like a hawk searching out prey.

Though Steve enjoyed Miss Barclay’s company as well as any other lady’s, it’d been months of these not so subtle overtures, and he feared he would soon wind up engaged if things continued on the way they were. Traveling to Jamaica now, he’d narrowly avoided the crux of this year’s winter season. It was his hope that this sojourn would send the message of his disinterest without him having to actually turn the poor girl down. Steve was only twenty-eight, after all. He wasn’t ready for all of that.

Both his solicitor in New York and Mr. Coulson in London had told him not to worry about the details of his inheritance and the running of the estate in Jamaica, insisting that others were handling it and his bank account would remain well-padded without any direct interference. “Nasty business, sugar,” Coulson advised, pointing out that Steve’s late uncle hadn’t visited the island himself in decades. It was a common arrangement that absentee landlords would hire competent men to manage the operations of their plantations. The hired men at Shield Hall would continue to do so, Coulson had assured, whilst Steve continued to reap the benefits. Steve had believed it for a time, and had been sufficiently distracted by the demands and complications of his sudden shift in New York Society. But as soon as the letter from J. Buchanan had arrived, everything had changed.

Steve couldn’t ignore “the slave problem” anymore, and he had the exact excuse he needed to make a quick escape from the burgeoning weight of high society and all its expectations of him. He was grateful to J. Buchanan, whoever he was.

Carefully, he refolded the letter and tucked it back into his breast pocket. J claimed that conditions at Shield Hall were abusive. Steve couldn’t fathom a reason for a stranger to fabricate such a story. So here he was to see for himself. He was absolutely dreading it.

“There you are. Ha, I’d thought we’d lost you!” Steve looked up and saw Odinson approaching from across the cobblestone in long strides. “We’re nearly finished,” he said, eyeing up Steve’s luggage approvingly. “You pack light for a gentleman. You must have a sense of adventure!”

Steve gave a good-natured grimace. “I’d have said not, nineteen days ago, and yet here I stand.” He illustrated his meaning by looking about the wharf. Not even away from the docks yet, and already he’d seen a parrot with more colors in its feathers than any single living thing in Brooklyn. He scratched behind his ear. Life had been in color before, hadn’t it? Surely, New York wasn’t as dull and gray as his memory was now painting it. He said as much to Odinson, who agreed and noted the closest building’s bright coral stucco. That was when Steve caught sight of a crewmember lugging out his crate of painting supplies. “Oh! Over here! You can put that one just here. Thank you.” When Odinson raised an eyebrow, Steve explained, “Well, my easel and things. I paint. A bit.”

“An artist! Good for you.”

Steve blushed, but he could tell that Odinson meant no harm. Other men in Steve’s life had contrived plenty more obvious ways of telling him that it seemed foppish and silly for a man of his status to spend so much time on such a frivolous hobby. “Yes,” he agreed. “Subjects will be in no short supply, in this place.”

Captain Odinson bid him farewell once Steve’s helper arrived and made himself known. A large and competent man named M'baku had come from the estate with a carriage. Steve shook his hand and M'baku looked at him sternly and then announced that he would be Steve’s man whilst in town. (Steve feared that he might also be his property, but hadn’t yet gotten up the courage to ask.) “Erm … shall we be off?” he asked.

M'baku took the lead and indicated the carriage. He gruffly refused Steve’s help with the luggage, and sat up front on the bench while Steve rode as lone passenger. Since Shield Hall was located a ways outside of the city, and evening was nearly upon them, they sought out local accommodations. M'baku asked Steve what sort of place he wanted to go to. “Do you want a big room? Company?” he asked, a distinctive island accent clinging to his vowels. “There are a couple of places to choose from. Different.”

“Eh, anywhere will do,” Steve hemmed, adding offhandedly that he wouldn’t mind the company of others.

So M'baku drove them to the Royal Naval Hotel. It seemed a handsome establishment, lively even, with quite a few people loitering about the downstairs. Steve checked himself in and had his luggage sent up, then he walked to the lounge with M’baku by his side. There were many fine couches and tables for the hotel’s patrons to use. Steve and M'baku spoke together for a moment, discussing their plans for the next day, when they would meet again and depart for Shield Hall.

With that settled, M'baku seemed eager to leave, and Steve could see a fancily dressed woman standing in the doorway leading into the next parlor, hiding behind a partially tied back velvet drape. She was peeking out at M'baku and Steve with narrowed eyes, looking none too pleased.

Steve turned back to M'baku and thanked him again for his help, eager to not have the prim hotel ladies complaining to management about him so soon. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he said in parting, and M'baku left as sternly as he’d arrived. Steve chanced a glance towards the draped doorway again, but the lady had turned away to converse with a gentleman. The backside of her gown faced Steve; a fine India silk and muslin, as was the fashion, but it was the amount of skin permitted to show which stood out. She wore no gloves, and Steve couldn’t keep his eyes from honing in at the low dip of the neckline which was nearly below the lady’s shoulder blades in the back.

That tantalizing stretch of skin continued up her back and slim neck, to the mass of dark curls piled atop her head. Steve hadn’t realized it when she was peering out from the shadows before, but she wasn’t white. His own gaze narrowed at her in distaste, finding it odd that she of all people would take issue with a colored manservant being briefly inside the room.

Not that it was any different in New York. Indeed, Steve had tried—and failed—on an occasion or two to get Sam in with him to a certain place or another. Sometimes, if enough money was being spent and the proprietors were the right sort and employed discretion, there wouldn’t be much of a fuss made over who Steve wanted to have with him. But in many places, other patrons would eventually complain. However it was normally white people doing the complaining and looking down their noses.

The lady in the fine gown reacted to something her companion said, drawing Steve’s attention to the sound of her laughter that was like a little, tinkling bell. His eyes flicked up, and over her shoulder he caught the gaze of the gentleman with whom she was speaking. The man was easing off from the grin of a joke he’d told, and his still-laughing eyes locked intently on Steve. For a split second, it was electric, something in the man’s glittering eyes stealing the breath from Steve’s lungs.

Steve hurriedly looked away, feeling caught out. He thought he’d seen the man’s mouth twitch up there at the end, but he hadn’t the courage to turn back and check. The man was very good looking, in a rakish sort of way, with an unshaven jaw and murky blue eyes set in a handsome face. He kept his hair longer than was the fashion, but pulled back in a way that suited his features. He looked older than Steve’s own twenty-eight years, perhaps a man of twenty and fifteen or more, and he moved with the loose sort of confidence that a man did when he knew himself to be attractive. He was the exact type of fellow whom Steve avoided looking at or being around any more than was strictly necessary, lest he look or linger too long.

He turned away and ambled over into the next parlor, where he leant against the bar top and found his reprieve. He told the barkeep he’d have some good sort of rum, and took his drink off to another of the downstairs parlors, planting himself on a velvet settee where he could be out of the way and still observe the room at large. The place grew more crowded as evening drew in, and Steve saw enough to become convinced that the Royal Naval Hotel was not just a hotel: It was a bawdyhouse.

In the span of an hour, he witnessed no less than five different girls, interacting indecently amorous with seven different men, before taking said men’s hands and leading the grinning dopes away. Steve couldn’t see where they went once out of the room, but he could make an educated guess. None of these ladies wore gloves, either.

Incredible, he thought, as he watched one of them returning to approach her second gentleman within the span of forty minutes. The game began all over again, and Steve felt shocked and yet fascinated by her practiced movements and speech. It was like watching a ballet: scandalous and still elegant, the girl comporting herself with grace and impropriety all at once. Steve felt his cheeks heat as she left the room with her newest suiter, and he went back to the bar to get himself another pour.

A piano took up in one of the rooms, heard throughout the place, and more men came in. The number of women multiplied as well, but at a ratio which substantially favored the men. There were a number of British naval officers present, and Steve felt even more uncomfortable about that than he had been being led around by M'baku. He’d never hurt a negro man before, after all. He had killed English soldiers, and quite recently at that.

The last time Steve had fought had been in Canada, less than two full years ago. Niagara, dead Indians just as plentiful as all the uniformed red-and-whites, bodies bleeding into the snow. Steve suddenly remembered that he’d resolved to not make his nationality overly apparent whilst visiting Jamaica—a very British colony. And he certainly wasn’t planning on letting anyone know about his recent military service. He hadn’t a clue what the English soldiers’ attitudes towards Americans were, but back in New York, no known Brit was yet tolerated in polite company, even these twenty long months after the war had ended. Steve was certain that he’d be treated poorly at best, pickpocketed or accosted in the street at worst.

Unsurprisingly, about half of the men who filled The Royal Naval Hotel’s downstairs parlors wore the royal naval uniform. Some of them sat in groups and drank together and laughed, others played cards, their behavior for the most part unremarkable. But the ones who were there for other services made their interest plainly known as the evening wore on, and the ladies of the room would respond and float over like swans bobbing to breadcrumbs on a pond. It was not possible to miss that all of the crumbs were white, and all of the swans were black.

They were black, and less black, light skinned, and very dark indeed; as exotic and varied as any man could want. Much like the very first lady whom Steve had observed, they all wore luxurious clothes in the current fashions, with their hair piled high and woven through with decoration, sweet silk shawls draped about their arms, necks left bare of any jewelry, bosoms powdered and presented. It really was a bit like watching the ballet, and as the evening wore on and Steve sat there drinking a second and then a third round of what the barkeep called “grog,” he found he couldn’t tear his eyes away from their dance.

They spoke and whispered into the men’s ears with cultured English and sometimes French, and they moved and walked like true ladies of society (at least when they weren’t sneakily sliding their hands into places they oughtn't be). Many of the men seemed respectful at best and besotted at worst, but Steve did catch a few dark glances that they would share amongst themselves when they thought the women weren’t looking. The way they looked made Steve uncomfortable—less so for the impropriety of it all, and more so for how it made him recognize his own lack of such interest.

For a moment, he thought again of Alva, back in New York. She was a pretty and tolerable girl, well-mannered and quick-witted even, with an interest in the theater and the arts that, while not matching Steve’s own, was robust enough to hold a conversation. He had no real objections to her other than that he didn’t love her, which in itself wasn’t uncommon between couples courting engagements. The thing was though: Steve had never loved any girl at all. He’d never felt the real and pressing temptation that other men seemed to harbor deep within themselves. He lacked that natural inclination which made men’s eyes linger and their gazes go dark behind ladies’ backs.

Steve squirmed in his seat, agitated when he tried and failed to view the various prostitutes as the other men saw them: alluring, desirable, lustful. He thought they were very pretty and graceful, of course, but in the way that birds were pretty and that cats were graceful. He felt nothing more towards them. Certainly not the things that the British naval officers clearly felt. … Certainly not the things which Steve had been known to feel about certain men.

He felt his cheeks go hot as his mind strayed to the unbidden memory of a crowded house: Bleecker street, dark rooms filled with smoke and drink and chatter, people in less and less clothing the further in one went. A broad back, two men pulling off shirts, their squared jaws kissing against a couch. Steve had nearly dropped his brandy glass when he’d walked in on it. He’d always fraternized with the bohemian types through his interests in the arts, and parties in the Village were undoubtedly of a different ilk, but he’d never imagined that any man could just … would just …

And right there in the middle of an unlocked room, no less! With others not even ten paces away who might look, might see—who had seen, and had simply looked the other way.

The drapes in that Molly house had all been heavy and drawn.

Steve squinched his eyes shut to try and knock the memory from his mind. Perhaps he should choose a woman, he thought. Try and pretend for a night, maybe even awaken the desire inside himself that he was supposed to have. Steve had never been with a woman, so perhaps his perversion was only due to inexperience. Perhaps he could change, if only he put in some effort and sought out a beautiful, soft body.

He drank the last of his rum and kept hold of the glass, keen on going to the bar for another pour. Three miserable weeks at sea and not a drop had passed his lips. He was overdue to indulge in one way or another. And since he wasn’t likely to work up the nerve to actually pay a woman for her company, he thought he might as well drink. The rum was sweet, after all.

Just as he was about to stand, a dress’ hem appeared in his field of vision, the tiny white points of a lady’s satin slippers peeking out from the bottom. Slowly, Steve let his eyes trail up. Oh. It was the same girl as before, the one who’d observed Steve and M'baku with meanly narrowed eyes. She didn’t look quite so peevish now. Her dark hair was curled and styled to frame her face, her cream-in-coffee skin on prominent display in the shelf of her bosom against the dress. Her features were graceful and classically feminine, but she had a prominent forehead and a dimple in her chin that elevated her from simply pretty, to handsomely striking. Really, she seemed a girl of hardly twenty, but her perceptive eyes hinted that she might be older.

“Hello,” she said, stepping even closer, until Steve could smell her perfume. “I saw you alone over here and thought I’d come to say hello. Maybe even cheer you up.”

“Cheer me up?” Steve breathed, then sat there like a dummy, speechless for long seconds. He hadn’t entertained the possibility that any of the working women would focus their attentions on him. Not when there were so many other eager breadcrumbs fellows in the middle of the room. “Well, I’m uh, I don’t need … cheer,” is what he eventually said, the words coming out weaker than intended. He watched as the girl’s features pinched in a polite sort of titter at his expense. Steve could hardly blame her. He sounded like a regular moron.

She perched herself daintily on the cushion beside him. “Don’t be silly. Everyone needs company.” Her voice, Steve noted, was fluid and viscous, like warmed honey. She lacked the island twang and in its place there was a hint of French. “I’m Rebecca,” she introduced, holding out her hand.

Steve took it, grazing lips to the backs of her scandalously bare fingers. He let it go, and she placed it on his shoulder rather than back in her own lap. Steve gulped. Now he felt less like a breadcrumb and more like a worm on a hook. “I … I’m only just arrived,” he rasped, feeling the need to excuse his antisocial behavior. “Not staying long. I was about to go to my, um, room—to sleep, that is! Go to my room to sleep.” He coughed. “I, erm, have some business in the morning.”

Rebecca tilted her head, eyes glittering. “Don’t we all. But you must tell me your name, Sir. I’d remember if I’d seen someone who looks like you at the Royal Naval before.” She touched her finger to her chin, as if putting great effort into guessing. “Mm. You’re American?”

Steve hemmed, overly conscious of where she was still touching his shoulder. Never in his life had he experienced such forward attentions from a woman, not even from Miss Barclay and her mother. “Um, yes,” he bumbled. “American. I’m … am.” She giggled at him and Steve shook his head. “I’m not planning on making any public announcements about that, you know. I don’t want trouble. I'm only here because I’ve inherited land.” An American veteran in British territory, not even two full years since the war? Yes, discretion would be prudent. “I’m Steven Rogers,” he hastily added, realizing that he hadn’t returned the introduction. “Of New York.”

“Steven,” she cooed. “Oh, how lovely. Steven from New York. May I call you Steve?”

“Um,”

Her lashes lowered demurely. “I’m Rebecca. Rebecca Beauchêne Proctor-Polgreen.”

“That's a mouthful.”

She laughed and winked. “Oh, I don’t mind a mouthful.”

Steve felt his cheeks flame at the double entendre. He cleared his throat and looked down at his lap. Her hand was still on his shoulder, and he hadn’t a clue as to how he should politely inform her that he had no intention of paying for her services. Suddenly, he thought of how M'baku had phrased his question earlier: if Steve would like to stay in a place where he could find “company.”

Oh. Steve realized that he was an utter dolt. “Um, well. I appreciate your welcome, Miss, um …”

“Just Rebecca,” she teased.

“Right. Miss Rebecca. You’ve been most kind, but my travels have left me tired and I wasn’t particularly seeking the … the company of a lady this evening.” He waited, and sure enough, her hand was soon removed from his shoulder. He nearly sagged in relief.

“Oh,” Rebecca said. “Oh yes, well you wouldn’t know, being new to town and all. I ought to have said. I serve in a managerial capacity here, Steve.” She grinned. “I take care of the girls, you understand? I’m afraid it is the rare gentleman whom I invite up to my private quarters, these days.” As Steve’s face continued to reach new levels of heat, she stood again and went to take his empty glass from the table. “A welcome is all I had on offer for you, handsome as you are. That, and any of my flock whom you might fancy.” Her eyes skimmed brazenly up and down Steve’s form. “I daresay they’ll fight each other for a chance at you.”

“Pardon,” Steve spluttered. “I shouldn’t have assumed.” He could see it now: how much more expensive her dress was than the other girls’, how fine the combs in her hair, the gold dangling from her ears. “Madam,” he said, “You have my apologies, please.” She waved him off, obviously unoffended and perhaps even amused. Steve realized that he was wasting his good manners, blundering and blushing the way he was.

Rebecca gestured at him with his empty cup in hand. “Don’t stress, Steve from New York. You’re on Caribbean time now. ‘Eaze and breeze’.” Her voice picked up the lilt of the island accent there at the end, and she sauntered back across the parlor to hand Steve’s glass over to the barkeep to be refilled.

Steve felt glued in place until she returned with yet another helping of rum, which he was sure he didn’t need. “Thank you,” he managed, sipping it only to be polite. Between his previous three rounds and the thinly-veiled obscenity of the atmosphere, he felt drunk already. Luckily, Miss Rebecca seemed to understand his discomfort and soon left him alone, though not without giving him one last wink and a pointed nod in the direction of her company of girls.

Steve wilted, watching as she went about that parlor and the next, stopping to chat with different groups of gentlemen—some with girls in their laps, and some without—never staying in one place for long. Steve felt foolish for not having realized her as the madame that she clearly was. It was so obvious now, as he watched her in the dance of the room and its ladies. She was the prima ballerina in a sea of coryphées.

After some time had passed, Steve felt himself quite literally falling asleep in his chair. Dear lord, he needed to go to bed. He abandoned his cup and stood, heading back out towards the main lobby. Tomorrow would be a productive day, he resolved as he went up to his room. He could start on what he’d come out here to do in the first place, not sit around bawdyhouse parlors making a fool of himself.

He’d just turned at the top of the stair when he caught sight of Rebecca again. It was dark and she didn’t see him, facing the other way. But the gentleman with her did. It was that same man with whom she’d been speaking before, downstairs when Steve first arrived with M'baku.

Steve gulped and stood very still, not wanting to be noticed and drawn into conversation. The man seemed to know this, as he smirked secretively in Steve’s direction but continued on in his murmured conversation with Rebecca. The two of them stood just outside one of the doors of the long upstairs hallway, and Steve pressed himself back against the wall in an attempt to be unobtrusive.

If the fellow was going to pay to spend the night with her, why didn’t he just get on with it already? They remained there speaking for long enough that Steve had ample time to appreciate the man’s features all over again. He was as tall as Steve, which was in itself uncommon, with a straight nose and shapely lips, not to mention a strong, unshaven jaw that all but had Steve’s mouth watering in a way that he was loath to admit. He held his breath as he was shot another leer from over Rebecca’s shoulder. If Steve didn’t know any better, he’dve said the man seemed almost amused at him.

The man bent to kiss Rebecca on her cheek. He took her hand and opened the door to the room, leading her through before himself. And when he turned to close it from the other side, he paused and stared long enough to make Steve’s blood stir, before shutting himself away behind the wood.

Steve was left feeling unsettled, and not sure that he’d entirely imagined the heated look in the other man’s eye. This fellow, he surmised, must be one of the ‘rare gentlemen’ who merited invitation into Miss Rebecca’s private quarters.

Steve put himself to bed hastily that night, aroused and frustrated as to the cause of it. And despite his long-held resolve to never touch himself to the thought of another man, he was soon reminded that even he couldn’t control what things crept into his dreams.

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