#they insert themselves into politics for their own enjoyment

[wisteriasymphony]

frothing at the mouth i need to write more of tikki being manipulative and abusive towards previous holders i NEED to have her giggle at the way her next chosen victim trembles at the sight of her, i NEED her to lead them astray with promises of everything they've ever wanted so long as they put on the earrings.

i need her to coach a small child into piercing their ears with a wavering needle—"it won't hurt", she lies. "i need you to do this", she lies. the earrings are magic, they don't need piercing! but she makes the youngest ones do it anyways—and to gently comfort them as they hesitate to do it, until her comforts turn to cold commands.

i need her sweetness to be a facade, i need her to treat her holders like little dolls. the order was just the most recent little game she'd gotten attached to, really. they were foolish to think they held power over gods, but she found that foolishness amusing. ...still, she hopes to find another naive little farmhand to plague with visions again. the innocent are the best to feed off of.

[cannedpickledpeaches]

Insert Your Name: Side Story 1

Mafia!Jade Leech x Mafia!Reader

Link to series masterlist!

Notes and TW: First side story is Jade's perspective of when they first met. This one mentions extortion. Please enjoy!

Tags: @guava-enjoyer @itszzmoon @twstsandturns @myteacupisempty @rou-luxe @chikitasmol @night-shadowblood-writes2 @haveneulalie @owodi

Jade honestly didn’t think humans were all that. Certainly, they had a fascinating physiology and diverse cultures that were completely different from his own. Their behaviours were fun to observe from a good distance away, camouflaged among the blue-green waves. But his interest was like that of a researcher studying rats in a lab.

Stupid land-dwellers, he jeered at them in his head. They wouldn’t last a second in the sea. In the deep, they’d be rent from limb to limb, outsmarted and outmaneuvered by us merfolk in every way. No matter how his interest grew, it always stemmed from a place where he considered himself superior to them.

Even when the waves tossed him onto dry sand, he considered himself superior to the group of human boys that gathered in curiosity. So what if he couldn’t move? That was only because he didn’t have legs. If he had legs—no. Better yet, if they were all in the sea, he’d be the one laughing. He’d make them all beg.

When that human child came and chased them all away, he looked at you in contempt. So what if you made those human boys cry and bleed? So could he. If only they were in reach. You probably felt that he was indebted to you for that. As if! How could he be indebted to a human for doing something he was perfectly capable of accomplishing himself? You were just an inferior human. If he dragged you beneath the waves, even you’d fall under his claws and razor-sharp teeth. Or you’d asphyxiate in a slow stream of bubbles. Or you’d crumble up like the soda cans he’s seen littered on the beach under the weight of tonnes of water.

Bottom line was: he didn’t owe a weak, inferior human like you anything.

Despite that, he thanked you. Politeness was a mask and being underestimated was his armour. He only needed your help to return to the sea, and then he’d once again be superior to you in every single way.

But what was this? You had the arrogance to demand money from him. This was not a uniquely human trait—he’d seen merfolk pander to his parents as well—but the way you said those words utterly infuriated him. A measly human child looking down at him, physically and metaphorically, with indifferent eyes. He wouldn’t accept it.

Just as he made an excuse to refuse your demand, you snatched something from him. The sturgeon scales. The ones he won with his brother. Something like that—a physical representation of his bond with Floyd—the reward he gained from fighting alongside his twin—the symbol of good luck under the sea—

How dare you steal that from him.

“Give that back. You will regret it if you do not.”

He vaguely registered his claws digging into the sand, his teeth baring in the way he knew would intimidate the fish and merchildren back in the deep. If it could scare sea-dwellers, a human would cower at the sight. They don’t even have sharp spines to defend themselves.

Still, your eyes remained indifferent. As if he was barely even on your radar. Him! Jade Leech, known for his unsettling schemes and fearsome fighting skills! Future heir to the Leech Mafia! Clearly, you had no idea who he was on top of being an idiot. If you knew and had a modicum of sense, you would’ve been shaking in your shoes.

“What is this?”

You didn’t even know what sturgeon scales were. What a fool indeed. Anger surged through his body. But he didn’t throw a tantrum. That was Floyd’s way of expressing anger, and he isn’t Floyd. He’s Jade Leech, and Jade Leech hides behind a mask of politeness until the day he enacts revenge. Besides, he still needed your help getting back in the water.

Despite his praiseworthy restraint, you extorted him. You didn’t know your place. He decided, then. Without a shadow of a doubt, he’d make sure to ruin you.

His luck couldn’t be any worse. Floyd saw the whole thing transpire and teased him all the way home. He was already irritable, and now he had to put up with being mocked by his own mirror image. It was fine. He could bear it. His top priority wasn’t Floyd’s taunts, but rather what he’d tell his parents. One hundred thaumarks was hardly anything to bat an eye at for his family. For a middle-schooler, though, it was quite the sum. He’d need to fabricate an innocent, plausible story that would convince his parents to at least lend him the money—

“Mama! You wouldn’t believe what happened today. Jade got extorted by some human runt. Wasn’t even as tall as our tails are long!”

Floyd and his big mouth. Jade glared daggers as his twin cheerfully regaled their mother with the riveting tale of his blunder. He had to salvage this situation somehow.

“Hm, what are you talking about?” He consciously relaxed his shoulders and fixed his face into a pleasant smile. “There’s no need to lie to our mother. The two of us didn’t see a single human today—”

“Oooh, you’re embarrassed!” Floyd swam circles above his head. “Hah, look atcha pretendin’ nothin’ happened!”

In the end, he couldn’t fool his mother. He wasn’t sure how she’d react. Would she scold him? He was the victim in this situation. Following that logic, his mother should’ve been on his side and punished that human, right?

She did neither. Instead, she smiled and patted his hair.

“Jade, my sweet. We all get careless sometimes, and these things happen. It isn’t your fault.” Gentle eyes, smile as sweet as honey. For a split second, he thought she’d take care of it for him. He should’ve known better. “But it’s your responsibility to fix it for slipping up in the first place. Give it your best.”

She had no intention of helping him. His father would not step in, either. That was the way their household operated—losses of any kind were handled by the person who caused the loss, regardless of reasons or circumstances. Though young, he was not exempt from those rules. His parents spoiled him and Floyd, but there were certain areas where they were strict and refused to budge. He would have to learn to solve his own problems. Under the sea, waiting for help was not always an option—his parents made sure to make that clear to him.

Even so, Jade wasn’t worried. He had no shortage of blackmail against his peers. You weren’t the only person who knew how extortion worked. By that very evening, he had already collected the required amount. The only assistance he got from his parents was when he handed his father a bag full of coins and received a hundred-thaumark bill in return. As he anchored himself by twisting his tail around the leg of his father’s desk, he watched his father count the loose change and wondered how he’d make you cry. It would have to be a long operation. He’d first have to gain your trust, build it up for ages, then shatter it when you were as close as possible . . . .

“Good effort, Jade.” Mr. Leech patted his head and put the change away. “Passing marks for your quick solution.”

He blinked. “Only passing?”

“Yes. Why do you think that is?”

So his solution wasn’t perfect. He mulled it over, frowning into his hand. The goal was to accrue one hundred thaumarks, and he hit that goal without much trouble. What more was there to consider? Perhaps the issue was that he created a sense of animosity and resentment against him, which jeopardized his usual attempts at staying unnoticed. But that was easily solved by instilling fear into the ones he extorted. Besides, he didn’t mind if a few people hated him.

“I can’t think of a reason.”

“That’s alright. You’re still young, after all. I’ll tell you.” Mr. Leech’s eyes curved into a smile. “The problem with your method is that it isn’t sustainable.”

Those words bothered him all through the night until the next day, when he returned to that shore to meet you. Floyd tagged along, chattering away, but Jade only answered with absent hums and affirmations. Why would his method need to be sustainable? This was a one-time payment. Going forward, he’d someday put you in his debt. He didn’t have any intention of giving you anymore money, even if he’d earn it back.

That was, until he hoisted himself up on the rocks on the beach and the money exchanged hands. He wonders to this day if you remember the way you looked when you crouched by the shore. You must have tumbled into a bush or gotten into another fight, one that you’d long forgotten. Your socks had picked up burs, your sweater scuffed, a branch sticking out of a hole in the shoulder. Even surrounded by the early spring snow, the broken branch sported fresh budding leaves. The glimpse into foliage beyond what he could see from his usual haunt in the waves captivated him.

You stared at the bill in your hand and mumbled something about needing more money for your mother’s medication. At that moment, he understood why his father emphasized sustainability. He boldly suggested that he’d pay you to bring him interesting souvenirs from land. For that, he’d need a steady source of income. He’d think about that later. His ultimate goal for all this was to make you cry, after all, and get some fun items from land as a bonus.

What he didn’t expect was to grow so fond of you that he’d no longer mind being in your debt forever.

[readingtostaysane]

Do Not Say We Have Nothing by Madeleine Thien - Review

rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐ (3.75)

Do Not Say We Have Nothing is a story about two families who despite being physically separated, are intimately connected to each other. It’s a book about how the political climate of a country can break or make a person, but that, in the end, we come back to the things that have always given us comfort. It’s clear to me that the author appreciates music deeply, the way music is described in these pages is unreal. I had never seen music come alive this way before, music moves the narrative and mirrors our characters struggles not only within themselves but with the society they are inserted in. The novel is set in two different timelines, the 50’s-60’s and the 90’s-2000’s. I’ve found really interesting how China’s political stances are explored in both timelines.

“How easy it was to mistake your brother for a traitor or your beloved for an enemy, to fear that you yourself were born in the wrong moment of history.”

This is a historical novel that sets to explore how Chairman Mao’s government affected the people of China and later on why people started rioting. I wish I had more knowledge about this period in China, maybe the novel would have made more sense to me and perhaps the language would not have seemed so dull at times. The author goes into great detail in how the lives of simple people would have been during that time. The famine, the torture, the “distribution of wealth” is heavily explored in this book. It is an interesting topic however I think the language could’ve been more accessible and maybe less information would’ve led to a more cohesive story with less filler sentences. At times it felt as if I was rereading the book due to how repetitive it got because the two timelines the novel explores are so interconnected and it’s basically history repeating itself. One thing I think it was done well was how the characters were afraid to speak up, that seems the logical thing to do in an authoritarian regime. If the characters were suddenly speaking against the government freely it would’ve been incoherent given the time. However, the book addresses the issues without compromising the characters (the ones that aren’t tortured anyway) while still making a clear social commentary.

“I felt she saw into me, past every facade and flourish, and that the more she knew me, the more she loved me. I was too young, then, to know how lasting this kind of love is, how rarely it comes into one’s life, how difficult it is to accept oneself, let alone another. I carried this security—Ai-ming’s love, the love of an older sister—out of my childhood and into my adult life.”

One of the high points of the book is the relationships between the characters, the deep love they feel for each other, whether familiar, platonic or romantic. We see how these characters evolve in each other’s influence and how some people shape our lives. There are a lot of characters in this book and maybe some people can’t connect with most of them because of their multitude, but I’d argue that is the point. In a communist China you’d have to hide yourself a lot of the times, not speak aloud and follow what the Party said. In a way I feel as if the characters’ inner monologue is exactly that, them convincing themselves and the reader that they are loyal to their country, which translates to being loyal to the Party, even in thoughts.

“Why is it that we can’t choose our own jobs? What right does the government have to keep a private file on me? (…) What illegal thoughts. The ones who should die…But actually, why should anyone’s thoughts be illegal?”

I think this book would benefit from a reread, it feels to me that if I knew what was going to happen I would’ve enjoyed my reading experience a bit more. I love how literature and music are so interconnected in the story and although it has a bit of filler it’s an enjoyable read (especially the second part).

[onewomancitadel]

You know what, I only made one pithy post about this a year and a half or more ago so

I'll make a post breaking down my official position on that one H/bomberguy video criticising R/WBY:

Chiefly, I believe his style of narrative analysis (or lack thereof) is fundamentally broken. He doesn't really have any coherent drive except narrative literalism (and cynicism) and having forcibly sat through his videos he's never really been good at articulating why stories should work as they do, he just says so (and almost always in a way inappropriate to the story's setting). It's really effective for the platform he works on, because there's a false authority assigned to YouTubers and the positions they take on topics without due justification that a rando on Reddit or Tumblr couldn't get away with (particularly on fandom topics - where we're usually otherwise equal - what do you think of when you hear Alt Shift X? I think Alt Shift X can be pretty decent, but we know he has a certain credit in the A/SOIAF fandom that other fandom writers don't - and he always cites his sources and especially his Tumblr ones, so it's not something that the author can totally control). He just says that things don't make sense and I guess I have to believe him.

A corollary of what the platform engenders is that he's provocative. This can be effective for his political content but in my eyes he seems to enjoy dunking on other men more than actually substantially supporting a feminist cause, and I think his interest in criticising narrative comes from a similar dark place. I just don't buy his bullshit sorry. This is really more of a personal point but it's worth mentioning for my own bias against his criticism because I think he's an intellectual charlatan. I don't care how much money he donated to charity, I'm talking about his Internet personality (I don't know who he is as a person).

He claims in the R/WBY video that he's always respected Monty Oum (but character assassinates the writers) yet there are forum posts on SomethingAwful documenting his disgust for Monty and anime fans, and the fans who see themselves in Monty (who was self-made), implying that the enjoyment of R/WBY comes from a place self-insertion and wish fulfilment. I think it's important to establish that he could have changed his position on Monty in making the video, but he does specifically claim to always have had held an admiration and I think that's disingenuous at best. He clearly has a bone to pick with R/WBY and its ostensibly embarrassing and self-involved fanbase and it shows in his analysis. That's why he's interested in implying that the writers of the show are perverts sexually attracted to their female characters. Most damningly his classic move of pitting Monty and the writers against each other was pioneered by R/WBY fans who rejected the direction of the show after his passing and so grew the hatewatching fanbase which (similarly) gained traction on YouTube. To weaponise a glory of the auteur who had an untimely death in order to demonise a show you don't like is actually beyond pathetic.

I don't believe this was necessary to criticise R/WBY but this is why I feel he's ultimately disingenous in his analysis of R/WBY. I also think that if you believe a work to be a product of sexual perversion, you probably can't take the narrative all that seriously; it's two hours of thankless work, really. This is what I mean about lacking a sensible narrative lense, because he doesn't really have one. If the narrative is unserious, then you treat it unseriously; if you want to treat perversion seriously, then you don't beat-by-beat try to intuit magical fairytale worldbuilding according to your irresponsibly applied analysis. The tone of a work needs consideration.

The character assassination (because that's what it is) of the writers implicating them as sexual perverts, writing R/WBY from a place of sexual perversion, is enough for me to seriously question his intentions, particularly given the way he framed the information (with you to draw your own conclusions about, say, Miles saying Yang is the hot one, or dresses provocatively, when she is seventeen). I think it's seriously irresponsible to use supposed feminist ends to bolster your own poor argumentation and it's just too revealing of the frailty of his position and his overall channel aims. It's telling that he left out the fact that the writers have a definite position on sexist anime tropes, which is that of rejecting them, one example being they specifically eliminate any chance of your regular disgusting 'panty shot'. I don't know the writers myself, but I'm not trying to evaluate their personality, I'm trying to evaluate their work, which I feel successfully remixes regressive gender tropes in ways that work in the story and the 'male gaze' is largely absent. Let's not get into the Heroine's Journey. Nevertheless, precious little is eroticised in R/WBY (and even when it is, it tends to be subverted e.g. 'pervy uncle' Qrow who makes up his stories about women).

The paucity of this offense regarding R/WBY - something that is partly up to an individual to decide regarding the gender regression, or lack thereof - is quite telling about the rest of his argumentation. I couldn't tell you what H/bomberguy dislikes about R/WBY except that he thinks its fans are stupid and he doesn't like mythic storytelling or his favourite anime being referenced by the anime he doesn't like in a way he doesn't like either.

So if there's no cohesion to his analysis, how can I possibly address it? It seems that we simply have irreconcilable differences in approach to narrative. The fact that I've not seen his subsequent sequel (if he ever made it) about the rest of the show really limits the discussion too, since the first three volumes establish the foundation of the show (and to be honest my favourite volumes are V4-V8, which transform the setting).

I wrote this post out because I have mutuals who've never seen R/WBY but probably know H/bomberguy made a video on it, and for other R/WBY fans who wondered how I handled that criticism - since I am overall a relatively well-documented apologist for the show.

I get that H/bomberguy has a reputation as being a Lefty-ish YouTuber who was one of those who popularised the scathing, several-hour long critiques of popular media. I think that this is an embarrassing genre overall and done well by few, and is responsible for fandom discourse predicated upon ego, provocation, and clickbait; further, the length just implies an inability to convey an effective point overall, and makes it impossible to write a succinct rebuttal. I am thankfully saved by the fact H/bomberguy cannot narratively intuit his way out of a paperbag.

Finally, I think that those in Star Wars Prequel Trilogy glass houses shouldn't throw stones at geeky R/WBY fans. Unless you defend the PT from a monomythic perspective - which he does not do - I can't take your opinion on anything sincerely.

[diaryofawhimsicalmaniac]

My return

I've been on Tumblr during its peak in the 2010's. As a sophomore in high school, I spent countless of hours scrolling thru tags for anime, photography and the incredible art that people created for their favorite Fandoms. Supernatural, Sherlock, Doctor Who, Harry Potter, Marvel was just some of the popular Fandoms that flooded my feed. Supernatural was my ride or die, and the fandom really did have a GIF for everything. Crossovers such as SuperWhoLock, were a big hit and I loved the creative fanfics that people created by using gifs from shows and inserting their own captions. My friends really polished their Photoshop skills by creating their edits and running their popular crack ship pages. Witness the endless shipping wars and the extreme measures people would go thru to defend their beloved show. Honestly it was terrifying and cringy...but damn what a moment to witness the cluster fuck of people on this site.

One the other side of Tumblr was dedicated to fashion and music. Of course, the fashion was at its peak with galaxy prints and inverted crosses on everything pastel. Glad to say I've never owned any of those prints. But I can't be too prideful because I did own a flower crown that was of course popularized by the infamous Lana Del Rey. I've indulged in the grunge indie revival and faithfully wore a denim jacket and studied vests to every college class. I took much inspiration from the plus size alternative fashionistas and just marveled at their style. I believe I even have a folder of those babes somewhere on an old hard drive...icons of the past that I'm not even sure are active on this site anymore...I even haven't been active on this account in close to 6 years.

This isn't even my original blog. I had accidently deleted my blog sometime in 2016 (maybe a little earlier). I had a couple of other blogs saved and was trying to delete those that I didn't use. You know the ones that I just used to save a cool username idea or potential photography blog that would maybe get attention....ended deleting eerything including my original blog.

It was a sad day. I lost of archive of photography ideas, movies, music and character art collective. A piece of my teenage years that documented my interests and passions. Resources that I tagged in means to go back to educate myself about feminist issues and political matters. Gotta say that I learned more from Tumblr about Life and activism than i ever have in real life at that time. I will forever remember about Mike Brown, will never forget that poor boy. May he and countless of others rest in peace.

As much as I learned about important issues, I learned about the guilt that comes with not speaking about issues. Even if it was issues that you cared about, if you didn't reblog the same post that everyone had on their page...it showed that you simply didn't care enough to hit that reblog button. There's an animated video that perfectly explains the dilemma of this site.

Regardless of the negativity I would come across, I found my time on this place enjoyable...and I want to do more with this page since shortly after creating this new account, I abandoned it. I want to use this page to document my adult life. An online diary of some sort...I feel a lot of people use their social media as way to express themselves however I never used my accounts to really express feelings, to be vulnerable with my emotions and simply post them. Didn't like the idea that strangers could witness my emotions.

I'm older now...my 30's are right around the corner for me and I want to return to the things that brought me joy from when I was younger. To remind me of a different time of my life and the world were at a different stage than it is now. I want to do what my younger self couldn't do.

I welcome my own Return

[deadendtracks]

@scoobiedu wrote: I still don't understand why they want to torture him like that

I think the answer to that is both simple and complex at the same time.

The simple answer is because it's fun for them. They get a rush out of it. They get a sexual satisfaction out of it. Because they can.

The more complex answer has to do with the fact of who they are -- upper class, aristocracy. And who Tommy is: born on a narrow boat to a minority they see as less than human. And most importantly, the fact that Tommy has proven he does not know his place -- he has made himself wealthy and inserts himself into upper class environments, he has inserted himself into Parliament. Even worse, he is intelligent and that intelligence is a threat to them.

They want to use his political popularity and working class roots to forward their cause, but at the same time, he cannot be allowed to be more popular than they are, lest he get ideas. He has proven to be a threat to them -- it's implied that Mosley probably found out he'd gone to Ben Younger to inform on him in s5, for example. The fact that he clandestinely opposes them both makes him a threat and makes it more fun for them to destroy him.

And what do they attempt to destroy him with? His best weapon, what has allowed him to upset the proper balance of things and lift himself and his family into wealth -- his mind.

They could, as Mosley said, just have had him killed (they wouldn't do it themselves, of course). But what would be the fun of that?

What you have to understand is that they get pleasure out of toying with him. They get pleasure out of the fact that he didn't want to sleep with Diana Mitford but would do it to prove his loyalty so he could keep spying on them. They get pleasure out of revealing this to his wife in their own house. This is a game to them.

My guess is they absolutely would have loved it if he'd shown up at their wedding in Berlin and found out about the doctor that way, because they'd have been able to see his face when he did.

This gets them off.

It's horrible, and it's not something Tommy himself understands so it's not something he could really see coming or protect himself from. Tommy just kills people. The closest he comes to this is getting some enjoyment out of making people afraid, and the fact that he does this does trouble him and add to his feeling that he belongs at the table with them, because it is related to what they do. But what they do is on a whole other level he can't conceive of.

It's my interpretation that their primary goal wasn't even necessarily to get him to kill himself, though they would have enjoyed it if he did. I think Tommy clings to this explanation because it's one he can understand and process. The explanation that they did this because they wanted to watch him be destroyed slowly, that they get off on it, is too horrible for him to face in that moment. Most likely they wanted to use it in a campaign to discredit him at a time of their choosing, when he was no longer of any use to them.

It's completely horrible, and if you can't understand why someone might do this to another person, that's probably a good sign.

The reason Tommy couldn't see something like this coming is that in some ways he's a little naive. Like I said, he just kills people if he wants to get rid of them. He'd never think to do anything this involved, and it wouldn't occur to him that anyone would get this kind of pleasure out of doing it. I think this is clear when he asks Tatiana in s3 why she plays games. And her answer is probably useful when it comes to Mitford and Mosley as well: boredom.

They're rich. They don't have to work a day in their lives. They have power and other people only exist to serve them and are objects to them. In other words, they're incredibly warped.

There's a great William Gibson quote that I think I'll end on:

And, for an instant, she stared directly into those soft blue eyes and knew, with an instinctive mammalian certainty, that the exceedingly rich were no longer even remotely human.

[peachsayshi]

Chapter 2 - Bare

Gojo Satoru x Female Reader

Tags: Friends with Benefits, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Nipple Play, Naked Female/Clothed Male, Foreplay on Kitchen Counter, Dirty Talk

Summary: Gojo is aware that you still aren't comfortable with the boundaries of your new arrangement but when you show up at his apartment wearing a skirt that he absolutely adores on you, the sorcerer finds it hard to resist his urges and does his best to persuade you into using him as much as he enjoys using you.

A/N: ~ in which Gojo is just a plain, old tease ~

- - - 

How can such a flimsy piece of fabric incapacitate the great sorcerer?

You showed up tonight wearing a black skirt that Gojo secretly adored on you. He loved the way it cinched around your waist and flared out delicately, cutting off just a few inches above your mid-thigh. He could not understand what it was about the skirt that turned him on so much but every time he saw you in this particular piece of clothing, the man found himself unable to stop his imagination from going. He had a hard time resisting his urges and usually would take care of himself on his own after seeing you. He would picture you on your knees, your skirt bunched up at the waist as he would thrust from behind…

Pay attention, he grumbled to himself.

He didn’t mean to ignore you but you’ve been a complete distraction since you walked through his door. He was trying his best to listen to you talk about your day as you sauntered around his kitchen but was busy staring at your hips swaying from side to side. Thankfully he was wearing his shades so you couldn’t tell that his mind was wandering.

Two weeks had passed since you came over to his place with your proposition but nothing went beyond heated make out sessions. Gojo knew you still weren’t quite used to this little arrangement. Which is why despite the two of you planning on seeing each other to "grab drinks", he would usually let you ramble about whatever was on your mind for thirty minutes before the two of you actually got down to any of the fun stuff.

“ Gojo , are  you listening to me? ”

Your question snapped him out of it. He angled his head down towards you, noticing that you were standing right in front of him.

“Of course I was listening!” he replied defensively.

You raised your brows, your face unamused by his response.

“Oh, really? Then what did I just ask you?”

He froze, realizing you caught him in his lie. Raising his arms up in defeat he scoffed before admitting, “okay, I wasn’t listening but it’s not my fault you talk so much.”

“ You are saying that I talk a lot? You ?”

“Yes I am”

“Well, I guess your bad habits are just rubbing off on me.”

“My bad habits?!”

“Seriously, that mouth of yours never stops running. You’re like a broken radio. The volume doesn’t work and no matter how hard you try, you can't switch over to another station to listen to something better,” you teased with a smile.

“Is that right?”

Gojo halted your little bantering session by abruptly reaching for your waist to pull you close to him. He spun you around so your back was pressed against his kitchen island before leaning down and bringing his lips to your ear.

“Is my voice really that annoying?” he whispered. “Because you didn’t seem to think so the other night when I was doing this…”

He sensed the shift in your body language, your heart skipping a beat at his question and the way you tensed up against his frame. He had to admit, he thoroughly enjoyed teasing you, this was different from the casual flirting he was used to because nothing is holding him back from having his way with you now.

He laughed against your ear, “not so chatty now are we?”

Picking you up by your legs, Gojo lifted you onto the countertop with ease.

“No blindfold today?” you asked, finally finding your words as your pretty eyes stared directly into his own while you both faced one another.

“These count,” he replied, referring to his sunglasses.

Gojo’s eyes trailed from your neck to naval until it reached the band of your skirt. His hands were gripping onto your waist, that hungry blue gaze filled with nothing but need. He noticed your stare fixated on his lips but he wasn’t going to give in by kissing you just yet, he wanted to continue figuring you out, surveying all the different places he could touch you just to hear you call out his name.

“Can I take this off?” he asked, his index finger tapping against your top.

You nodded your head politely and he smiled.

This side of you amused him. Despite your reservations, you’ve been quite bold about your needs and he couldn’t help but admire this newfound confidence you had, totally flattered that you were willing to show it off for him.

He tossed your top over his shoulder, his fingers trailing up your spine until it reached for the band of your bra.

“How about this?”

You bit your bottom lip, your hands dancing up his chest until it reached for the collar of his black tee.

“Maybe if you actually paid attention to what I was saying, I might be more willing…” You pushed him away, clearly having fun with him but inhaled when you felt his other hand move up across your stomach to cup your left breast.

“I didn’t invite you over to talk,” he answered calmly. “If that’s the case then we can reschedule this for another time...”

You pursed your lips, tempting him even further for a kiss but he saw that expression on your face that indicated you had no interest in stopping. You tugged at the clasp in front of your chest before telling him, “this is where the hook is.”

The smirk on his face spread into a wolfish grin as he eagerly unfastened your bra. He hummed with pleasure, dropping your undergarments to the side, tilting his head to get proper look at you and noticing the way he tightened against his pants soaking in the image before him.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!” he complimented. “Lay down for me...”

You lowered yourself on your forearms against the marble counter watching as Gojo adjusted his stance before hovering his long torso above yours.

“Get comfortable, I don’t plan on rushing anything.”

Your face was a little flushed and you hesitated underneath him, fully aware of him absorbing your half naked state. You allowed yourself to lay flat on your back against the countertop, lifting slightly when the cold surface touched your skin. Gojo planted a kiss on your neck, nipping at it before brushing down your collarbone. You shivered feeling his breath against you, his hands kneading your breasts as he placed another kiss between them. The pads of his thumbs began to rub your nipples, causing them to perk up at his touch. Your mouth parted with a sigh and you closed your eyes, finally allowing your body to relax. He lips replaced his thumb as he enclosed his mouth over your hardened nipple and he flicked his tongue earning a satisfied exhale in response.

Gojo’s senses worked differently as everything for him was heightened on another scale.The scent of your perfume intoxicated him, the sound of your heartbeat racing like music to his ears, the vibrations that ran up his arm every time he touched you was like a trigger to his system and you tasted so sweet . He truly appreciated his power for granting him the ability to experience the moment playing out before him.

“ Satoru…” you moaned, your back arching off the counter as you felt him gently bite your sensitive nub. Your hand reached for his hair, your fingers tangling themselves between his white locks.

He bit down a little harder a second time, alternating between his tongue and teeth and causing you to pant before finally releasing you from his mouth.

“Yes?” he purred, noticing the way your legs spread underneath him.

He guided himself to your mouth, finally satisfying your craving by kissing you softly.

Freeing his hair from your grasp, you trailed your fingers along his jaw as you parted your lips, allowing his tongue to slide into your mouth. Gojo continued roaming his hands along your body, gliding down your side before reaching for your leg. He stroked your inner thigh, caressing your soft skin before making his way up to your core, feeling the heat radiate off of you. He groaned into your mouth while palming your underwear with his hand, suddenly very conscious of just how wet you were for him.

Gojo broke free from your kiss, allowing you both to catch your breath for a second as he pressed his forehead against yours.

“Whatever time you wasted on small talk, I’m going to compensate for by getting you off so many times you’ll have no idea what to do with yourself when I’m through with you...”

You parted your lips to protest but whimpered instead as his fingers began working your wet cunt over the fabric of your underwear. He moved in slow circular motions, a light pressure at first but increasing with intensity as he gradually picked up the pace.

“ Fuck ,” you whined, catching your bottom lip between your teeth.

You were wriggling underneath him, your body rising and falling with every move he made. He returned to playfully suck on your nipples, pleasuring you with ease.

“ Touch me …” you begged, “ Please… ”

Your words were enough to convince him. The man tugged at the cotton fabric you were wearing before motioning his finger over your swollen clit. You were driving his patience with how wet you were getting but he was forcing himself to control his urges.

He dragged his middle finger along your slit before inserting it inside you. Naturally, your hips rolled with his movement and he slowly pulled out before pushing back in again with a little more force.

“ Ohhh , that feels good...”

Gojo couldn’t hide his own enjoyment. This was better than anything he had ever imagined about you. He was about to release years of pent up frustration on you. All those times you two spent alone together where he would draw his attention on your lips or think about what you were wearing underneath your clothes  and wonder how well you would take his dick if given the opportunity....

He had a revelation of how much he actually wanted you. His fantasies solely focused around you and regardless of who he was with, you were still the object of his desires.

The one person he was desperate to fuck.

Gojo pushed his finger all the way in, his thumb pressing down on your clit as he rubbed with speed. Your body shivered again, your moans growing louder as you clung onto his sleeve for support, feeling yourself coming undone beneath him. He felt you tense around him, your body contracting before finally releasing as the first wave of pleasure traveled through you.

He pulled his finger out, keeping your legs spread for him as he stood upright and watching you with approval. Your first orgasm illuminated your gorgeous face but he had no intention of giving you a break just yet. He proceeded to hook his fingers around your underwear, prompting you to lift your hips up as he stripped you of the fabric.

“That’s one…” he stated, ensuring you knew he was keeping his word.

He noticed you reach for the zipper of your skirt, ready to strip off the last article of clothing you had on.

He grabbed your wrists, pinning both your hands down by your sides before reaching for his glasses and dragging it down slightly along his nose so you only caught a glimpse of those blue eyes looking at you.

" The skirt stays on, ” he demanded before pushing back his frames and releasing you from his grip.

"As you wish...”

“Now then,” he continued, returning his attention onto your legs. He lifted your skirt higher until he granted himself a full view of your bare pussy. Licking his lips with anticipation, he lowered himself down before looking up at you with a teasing smile. “Let me show you exactly what this mouth of mine can do...”

- CHAPTER 3: CALL - 

[woman-loving]

I’m curious about “respectability politics” and how it applies to variations on the “born this way“ / “it’s not a choice” argument for toleration of homosexuality.

I’ve heard that “respectability politics” was theorized by Evelyn Brooks Higginbotham in Righteous Discontent: The Women's Movement in the Black Baptist Church 1880-1920, which I have not read yet. (Although this might be a good time to start it, cause I’m just about to finish my current book!) My impression was that it referred to appeals to middle-class norms of respectability as a basis for claims to citizenship and protection and nondiscrimination under the law.

I associate the “it’s not a choice” discourse (and I’m not entirely sure if that’s a bit different from the “born this way” discourse) mostly with a counterargument to conservative Christian pronouncements about homosexuality in the US. I had previously rejected the idea that this argument was a form of “respectability politics,” because I didn’t think that “not being able to choose your sexuality” was a typical marker of middle-class respectable citizenship. I had instead described this argument as “toleration politics,” where, rather than being seen as meeting moral (or citizenship) requirements just as well as everyone else, a special exemption from the standard requirement was being requested based on a (tragic) inability to fulfill it.

But I’m thinking about some things I’ve read and feel like variations of these arguments (which each have their own particularity, but also some commonalities imo) may have more to do with respectability than I originally thought.

But the other part of the equation is that they may involve appeals to religious patriarchal moral authorities. And I’m curious about the relationship between patriarchal religious morality--which I would basically describe like that, although I’m trying to work “religious” out of it--and class and citizenship dynamics. Because it seems like, at least in Christianity (and also in Islam from what I know about it), the acknowledged orthodox sexual morality is patriarchal and doesn’t authorize sex outside heterosexual marriage, even if it overlooks it. (But what variations might I be overlooking because they’re not considered orthodox by more institutionalized authorities?) Is there an automatic link between orthodox patriarchal sexual morality and “middle-class respectability,” just because the former is taken as a basis for the later? In the US, appeals to Christian patriarchal morality are also important to citizenship given the influence of Christian conservatives in politics, but is this also/only about middle-class ideals? (This has all got me thinking about the argument I heard Naomi Goldenberg make on The Religious Studies Project that religions can be understood as vestigial states.) I’m also thinking of religious authority here in terms of patriarchal authority: is this a good way to think about it and how is it incomplete?

Anyway, there are some passages that have been fitting themselves together in my brain:

Karen, editor of Frauenliebe, used sexological concepts of congenital and acquired homosexuality to draw a strict boundary between the two. She argued that anyone seeking same-sex love out of enjoyment of transgression [acquired homosexuality] damaged society and should be "separated from the public." On the other hand, Karen continued, "Same-sex behavior, entered into voluntarily and clearly by both partners [congenital homosexuality], belongs, like every intimate heterosexual behavior, to the realm of things one accepts but does not talk about."[68] Karen also warned aspiring writers to avoid writing explicitly about sexual experience in their stories and essays.[69]

Categorical exclusion shaped a debate in Frauenliebe about bisexuality. Like prostitutes, bisexuals were excluded from homosexual community. Frauenliebe printed fifteen responses to a letter asking readers to express their view on women who had relationships with both sexes.[70] They saw homosexuality as moral and bisexuality as immoral. It was not only movement leaders who wanted to discipline sexual desire in their followers. Letters from readers grouped bisexual women with prostitutes and "sensual" heterosexual women, accusing all of seeking homosexual experiences out of curiosity or sensual desire rather than as an expression of inner character.[71] [...]

Vilification of bisexual women allowed women the opportunity to enter into the classification and definition work of sexology and to create a purified figure of the female homosexual suitable for political citizenship. The "sexual" in homosexual was tamed through strict denial that irresistible desire defined the category. Rejection of prostitutes and bisexuals allowed women to construct "female homosexuality" as materially and sexually pure. As a type, they argued, "true" homosexuals kept desire under the control of the individual will.

-- Marti M Lybeck, Desiring Emancipation: New Women and Homosexuality in Germany, 1890-1933, 2015 Fuller quote here. This one links sexual morality and citizenship most directly and perhaps in the most “respectable” way (the realm of things you don’t talk about).

To understand how MSM is read, it is important to examine how explicit and implicit boundaries are drawn around the category gay. Consider, for example, a passage from Paul Farmer in which he claims that, in recent years, there have been fewer HIV cases than predicted among gay men in the United States, a category he implicitly racializes as White via the contrast with “injection drug users, inner-city people of color, and persons originally from poor countries in sub-Saharan Africa or the Caribbean.”21(p47) He further excludes gay from poor and suggests that “males involved in prostitution are almost universally poor, and it may be their poverty, rather than their sexual preference, that puts them at risk of HIV infection. Many men involved in homosexual prostitution, particularly minority adolescents, do not necessarily identify as gay.”21(p47) With this juxtaposition, Farmer seems to suggest that same-gender behavior among poor men of color (especially youth) is sex work rather than sex for pleasure and is devoid of identity and community; same-gender behavior among White men is read as synonymous with gay identity.

Compare these assumptions with a recent ethnographic report on men at risk for HIV in Dakar, Senegal.22 While many of these “men who have sex with men” are poor and engage in sex work, the authors found that they have indigenous sexual-minority identities that are differentiated and socially meaningful. Senegalese sexual-minority identities serve as a basis for social organization, including, but not limited to, sexual roles. The authors describe ibbi as men who “tend to adopt feminine mannerism[s] and to be less dominant in sexual interactions,”22(p505) whereas yoos are men who “are generally the insertive partner.” They also stress that the categories have “more to do with social identity and status than with sexual practices.”22(p506) [...]

Is MSM a useful term for describing groups that eschew prominent LGB categories? Much has been made of the fact that men on the DL lead secret lives and do not consider themselves gay.25,26 But DL is not a behavioral category that can be conveyed as MSM. As Frank Leon Roberts has put it, “DL is . . . about performing a new identity and embracing a hip-hop sensibility [italics added].”27DL functions not as a nonidentity but as an alternative sexual identity and community denoting same-gender interest, masculine gender roles distinct from the feminized sissy or faggot, Black racial/ethnic identity, and a dissociation from both White and Black middle-class gay cultures.26–28

-- “The Trouble With “MSM” and “WSW”: Erasure of the Sexual-Minority Person in Public Health Discourse,“ by Rebecca M Young and Ilan H Meyer, published in American Journal of Public Health, July 2005. This one doesn’t deal with the “it’s not a choice" argument directly, but suggests who people might want to exclude and have actually excluded in practice from categories of “sexual orientation" and “born this way” gay identity.

Omar’s analysis of linguistic terms has direct impact upon the issue of interpretation of the Qur’an. This analysis, published in 1997, predated the El-Moumni Affair by four years, yet illustrates exactly the conflation of terms which the imam pronounced in that controversial interview. Omar writes, “Many words are used to express sexual relationships that take place between man-and-man or between woman-and-woman. . . . Whether in modern standard Arabic or local dialects, there are terms like sexual deviance (al-shudhudh al-jinsiyya) and sodomy (al-liwat) and also homosexuality (al-junusiyya). . . . The problem is that most people use these different terms as synonyms, creating a situation of naming experiences with names that do not really fit, thereby generating misunderstanding and confusion about the topic of sexual orientation. . . . I see the critical importance of writing about homosexuality as the attempt to remove these confusing mix-ups of terms and issues.”[15] In this crucial passage, Omar explains that his project is to differentiate between homosexuality and sodomy. In his understanding, the Qur’an condemns sodomy as the act of anal penetration rather than homosexuality as sexual orientation, while the Islamic legal tradition mistakenly conflates the two.[16]

The distinction between homosexuality and sodomy makes sense if one asserts that there is a psychological reality called sexual orientation, which is separate from and prior to any sexual act. He writes, “Sex is a phenomenon that happens by way of the body, whereas sexuality is a matter existing at the level of psyche and personality.”[17] In his analysis, only a person with a psychological identity of constant and exclusive same-sex desire should be called “homosexual” (junusi in his terminology, or mithli jinsiyya in the Arabic terminology of other contemporary writers). The person who performs same-sex acts without doing so within the framework of exclusively homosexual orientation can be described as sodomite (luti). It is this behavior that characterizes the Tribe of Lot, who wanted to perform same-sex acts for reasons other than as a genuine expression of their sexual identity and psychological persona.[18] Omar’s analysis challenges classical Islamic law. Jurists instituted practical norms forbidding same-sex acts such as sodomy (liwat), with the assumption that those performing them were, in their inmost character, actually heterosexual (or at least functionally bisexual).

--Living Out Islam: Voices of Gay, Lesbian, and Transgender Muslims, by Scott Siraj al-Haqq Kugle, 2014. I read this one yesterday. I can’t be sure whether bisexual people are considered at all, even as a footnote, in Omar’s analysis, and if they are, whether their pursuit of same-gender sex would be categorized with the acceptable homosexuals or unacceptable heterosexuals. I’m not sure here if Omar has in mind for sodomy rape specifically, or any anal penetration, or sexual activity (anal or not) between men that’s perceived as ‘voluntary’ rather than following the demands of exclusive sexual orientation.

But I think it’s interesting how intent/context/constraint of orientation is factored into ethical analysis here and in the first quote, in a way that accepts some forms of or reasons for having same-gender sex as unethical or socially disruptive. And in the first quote, these ‘voluntary’ expressions are imagined to be rooted in hypersexuality and sex work, distinctly un-middle-class. The last quote is engaging with Islamic legal traditions as well as theology, and I don’t know much about how this articulates with “citizenship,” although the author was writing in the Netherlands where LGBT rights were guaranteed by secular authorities.

Anyway, that’s what was bouncing around my head last night.

[thecandywrites]

Blood For Gold

So. I was SO INSPIRED by @kriskukko​ ‘s regency era orc art, please forgive me for taking it and putting it into the photo montage that I do for all my stories but I wanted everyone to see your amazing art and really get a visual sense of the story I want to tell. For more amazing orc and other fantasy beings in GORGEOUS period clothing- @kriskukko​ is where to go. They’re amazing. 

I’m a HUGE fan of Jane Austin in general and now with historical period dramas like Death Comes to Pemberley and Bridgerton, they need a fantasy twist with orcs, elves, trolls and of course mouras which are my own precious creation. Also because this is a fantasy period piece, I’m fudging and blurring the lines of historical accuracy just a wee bit. Regency Era- 1811-1820 ish. First Industrial Revolution- 1760-1840 and railways becoming a key transportation tool around this time as well. So we’re going with all three at the same time. 

Trains, Industrial Revolution, Regency, Nobility, Intrigue, Murder Mystery, Damsel in Distress, Mail Order Bride, Only One Bed but with a twist as Only One Train Cabin, all the clichés. ALL OF THEM. Enjoy. And I really hope @kriskukko​ enjoys this because this was written specifically for them. And it’s written as a reader insert. Hope that’s ok. If that’s annoying @kriskukko​, I can change that. Technically this will be female reader insert. 

Blood For Gold

Part 1

You were happily sitting on the train, in a private first class cabin suite, dressed in your mourning clothes, relieved that others took the hint and left you alone so you could travel in peace, reading one of your latest acquisitions from one of the more upscale and prominent bookstores in Kent since you were traveling from Kent back to London Towne. Normally you would never dream of traveling alone, but you did just give away your latest paid companion in marriage the day before to a man who would love her for the rest of her life so you found yourself feeling bittersweet at the loss of her company, both sad to lose such a close friend yet happy she would be happy. She was your third paid companion just this past year to do so. But you were far from begrudged. But now you would have to start the process all over again and have to take out an advertisement in the papers for a new paid companion and start anew. 

Then your thoughts were interrupted by the knock on the door by a station master since the train had stopped on its way into London, stopping in the industrial district. 

“Yes?” You asked as he came into your suite.   

“Begging your pardon Countess, but there are two first class gentlemen looking for a private cabin on their journey home and it’s a full train today and we’ve filled up all the other cabins, would it be a horrible inconvenience for them to share this one with you? We’d like to extend these certificates of first class cabins on future trips to you if you’d be willing to share yours with them.” He offered generously, holding them out to you hopefully. 

“Who are the gentlemen?” You asked curiously as you looked from his offering back to him. 

“Duke Damsey Voyambi and Count Javyn Jabire.” He answered. You didn’t know them personally but you knew of them. Men of both nobility and industry and supposedly of considerable wealth in this country. Although you did hear rumors of both gentlemen of being romantically attached to various debutants so you’d have to be careful to not let any rumors spring up. The last thing you needed was another scandal on your hands. 

“But of course, I would be happy to share my cabin with them.” You readily agreed before you took the ride certificates into your black laced gloved hand and put them away into your purse as the station master then happily left and returned with the gentlemen a moment later, they were exquisitely dressed but did smell like their factories, they must have been just checking in on their businesses. 

“Countess Morrigan, this is Duke Voyambi and this is Count Jabire.” The station master introduced as you stood to greet them formally. Duke Voyambi was orcish and the count was clearly troll, but you were moura, so it made little difference what they were. 

Mouras- ever since the moura plague over a hundred and fifty years ago that wiped out the heavenly moura population, leaving only the royal moura and mountain moura to live on since their own moura heritage was “diluted” by other races enough genetically to withstand the plague and live on- were now all born with golden yellow eyes, golden blonde hair and their moura collars and cloaks, instead of being actual objects containing magic and power were now reduced to looking like they were painted on the skin with gold glittering ink. It’s what made mouras stand out even more than they used to. Gone were the days of the real moura gifts but the breed’s legacy lived on. But you were of course in your mourning attire, mostly all black and covered up, the only moura trait giving you away were your gold eyes and little golden freckles on your cheeks and nose, otherwise you looked mostly human. 

“Pleasured to make your acquaintance Countess Morrigan. How do you do?” They bowed as you curtsied in kind. 

“Please, won’t you sit down gentlemen?” You invited as you gestured to the other bench before all three of you sat down again. 

“Thank you so much for having us Countess Morrigan, we’re much obliged.” Count Jabire thanked you earnestly. 

“Pleasure is all mine your graces, a journey is always more enjoyable when spent with amiable company.” You answered pleasantly. 

“So why are you travelling alone Young Countess?” Duke Voyambi asked curiously. 

“I believe you have me confused with the Young Countess Jane Morrigan, I am her late grandmother in law Audravienne Saharrazat Morrigan from Dorierra, I was married to the late Old Count Edward Morrigan.” You gently corrected, your r’s rolling while your moura accent flourished and furled with the pronunciation of your name, which both of them couldn’t help but raise their eyebrows at that revelation as they realized you were that Countess Morrigan. 

You were the reason every young man threw themselves into business if only to make enough money to afford a moura bride as beautiful and wonderful as you. To hear of the late Count Edward Morrigan’s death had many marking their calendars to mark when your mourning period would be over so they could pursue you themselves. Especially since after the death you weren’t immediately whisked away back to the moura stables of Dorierra but stayed in the country and it seemed to be in this moment that both actually took note of your mourning attire and seemed to connect the dots so to speak. 

“Oh, I do beg your pardon, again, so sorry for your loss, I believe the last time we were in the same room was actually your wedding to the Count only two years ago, forgive us for not recognizing you.” Count Jabire offered. 

“It’s alright, I did not recognize you either, that day was a bit of a blur for me and all the faces ran together having met so many people that day.” You admitted. 

Your wedding to the Count was attended by all of high society in this country, even the entire royal family attended, all of which you barely remembered because of the circumstances of your marrying the Count. It was all a blur for you and most of the first year of being married to him, you’d much prefer to forget and the circumstances of his passing had you feeling relieved you had only been married to him for a year. Much longer and it would have finished you for good. But you had settled into widowhood much easier than you had anticipated and it afforded for you to finally enjoy life again. Now that he was dead, you had a very charming and pleasant life, and one you would be loathed to lose. 

“Oh it’s perfectly alright, practically the whole country came for your wedding, it would be impossible for you to remember all of them, especially when all of them were practically strangers to you that day. And especially since you rarely come out into society since.” Duke Voyambi reasoned and all you could do was smile politely but it didn’t reach your eyes. 

Edward had been a widower, he was human and had married a human wife in his youth and used his family’s small and modest fortune and invested it into industry and investments, all of which paid off handsomely so that the Morrigans were one of the wealthiest nobles in all of England, if not most of Europe. Then Beatrice, Edward’s wife died, and in his old age, and now fully established wealth, Edward decided it was time for him to “buy” a moura bride, a tradition most kings partook in going back for a millennia since the moura stables were established specifically for that purpose. The moura estate of Doriera functioned like a racing horse stable. All brides were put on display and bought and sold or rented to the highest bidder, because since the plague, mouras were becoming even more rare and sought after and were the first to embrace the mail order bride system. Edward wanted a moura bride who was young and vibrant and entertaining to keep him company in his old age and give his last years a measure of happiness and pleasure. He had paid a fortune to the moura stable in Doriera for you since you had a pedigree that rivaled most ruling kings and gifts galore, not to mention were an outstanding beauty in your own right and Edward got what he paid for because you delivered on all accounts. 

Edward had been incredibly sweet, kind, thoughtful and generous as a husband when you first married him and treated you like the gem you were and in the beginning, you found much to appreciate and have affection for as he helped you to adjust to living in England, away from the moura stables and indulged you endlessly because he could afford to. He made sure you had a very generous allowance paid out weekly, wore splendid gowns and practically dripping in jewels at all times. You were his delight in his old age and he even had the good sense that it was all down in writing and was taken care of by his steward.

However six months into the marriage, he started to go completely senile, mistaking you for Beatrice and then getting so angry when you weren’t her and especially once the sun set every day, he became a different man, he grew incoherent, irritable and angry and even violent but then in the morning and during the day, he would come back to his senses and himself and would apologize and do everything he could to make amends and even hired special assistants to keep himself from hurting you further but even that only lasted a few months, the last three months of his life was spent having all sense leaving him and he became completely senile and deranged no matter the time of day and that’s when the abuses started happening, in his senility, he dismissed his helpers and Richard, his eldest son and heir, who was looking to save money, agreed with their dismissal, no matter your pleadings or theirs and even his steward plead with him but Richard and his family turned a blind eye to it since they viewed you as his paid caregiver and basically dumped him on you and left you all alone to deal with him and shut you and him up and away from society so they would not and could not see it for themselves while forbidding you from contacting the stables or anyone else about it to “preserve the family honor”. 

Then the “incident” happened and Edward unexpectedly passed. And it came as a relief to everyone else in the Morrigan family. Richard then fully inherited the estate and very quickly shipped you and all of your things off to live in London Towne as soon as you could be packed- to live in an exquisite and surprisingly luxurious townhouse in the fashionable side of town that was big enough to suit you just fine because you couldn’t return to the moura stables because ‘you were broken beyond repair’ by Edward’s and Richard’s treatment as judged by the stable masters who were beyond enraged at your treatment and thankfully Edward had written it into his will and specified the kind of living you would receive upon his death so that the rest of your life, until you chose to remarry someone of your choosing, would be in comfort and luxury and even accounted for inflation and unless Richard wanted to lose everything, he would be honoring his father’s wishes and pay out what you were definitely owed and had earned by enduring it, under the threat of the truth being discovered and him losing everything, including the family honor and estate and business to you, which the stable masters were more than ready and able to hire the best international lawyers who would make sure to hold the new Count Richard Morrigan to the very letter of the contract his father signed when he “bought” you from the stables which clearly stated, should you be damaged in any way, you would inherit all of Edward’s estate to “recoop” the damages inflicted on you personally which all moura contracts superseded all others in all courts worldwide. 

So that left Richard to pay for your silence and discretion on the matter, effectively doubling what his father had already set out in your material living agreement which you had the good sense to get down in writing and have the stable masters cosign it so that it accompanied the contract Edward signed which you kept a copy of in your possession and the stable masters also kept the original copy of and had it witnessed by the highest judges in the land, in private of course. Which for the price of your peace- and complete independent freedom from the Morrigan’s, you agreed to it since you could not return to the moura stables yourself. 

So you made peace with your circumstances and counted yourself fortunate to have the moura stables still backing you despite technically no longer being a part of them even though you knew that if this particular country were to ever become unsafe by either revolution or war, you were still welcome back to the stables under those conditions to simply preserve your bloodline, but little other circumstance garnered your return to them. 

Besides, you got to have the very same staff that served you at the Morrigan Estate named Broadcove follow you to your new townhouse- Mirador and they were ever so happy to follow you there because you were a good and fair mistress to them and took care of them exceedingly well and they made at least twice the money they would make at any other house and they were loyal to you to a fault. Even the steward followed you to Mirador because he knew his master had done you wrong. 

“How are you getting home to Broadcove?” Count Jabire asked curiously. 

“Oh since the Late Count Edward Morrigan passed and the New Count Richard Morrigan and his family has taken ownership of Broadcove, they thought it best I mourn in peace at a house of my own, so I have since moved to Mirador since the late Count’s passing.” You informed them. 

“Oh how kind and thoughtful of them.” Count Jabire noted and you fought not to snort a derisive laugh at that. It was never ‘thoughtful’ on their part. It was always just a business to them. 

“Yes, it’s been most helpful to me. It’s incredibly convenient to be in town and so close to so many amusements and diversions, it has helped me with my grief a great deal, especially since the living afforded to me by the late Count is generous enough for me to afford a paid companion so that I don’t get too lonely. My latest one was married only yesterday, Lady Bellum to Sir DeVaunce, you may have seen the announcement in the paper perhaps?” You readily agreed.

“Oh yes, yes of course.” Duke Voyambi readily agreed while Count Jabire nodded in agreement.  

“But now it seems I will have to take out another advertisement for another, since it’s obviously a little unseemly for a lady such as myself to travel alone, especially in this country.” You allowed as they nodded and gave each other a meaningful look. 

The rest of the ride was spent in pleasant conversation as all three of you got to become better acquainted. 

Duke Voyambi owned a soap company, making not just soap to wash the body, but laundry supplies as well which explained his own scent on his clothes smelled like he worked as a laundress. But he also employed a union of orcish workers. One of the few captains of industry that was for the union instead of against it, which you greatly respected because you could tell he was passionate about the betterment of orcs in general, from livelihood and wages, to education and living and working conditions and was incredibly safety conscious. 

Count Jabire on the other hand- he owned one of the many flour mills, using the river rushing through the feet of the bridge to run the giant wheels to make flour of various kinds. And it was why he smelled like a bakery and why the two of them together smelled- if anything- interesting. But they were clearly friends, and close ones at that and in conversation, they clearly played very well off each other and it was entertaining for you to sit and listen to them. You were almost saddened when your stop came and all three of you had to disembark. 

But at the same time, you were relieved to see Malcom, one of your manservants there to help you with your things and there with a carriage to take you home. 

“Till we see each other again gentlemen, may you both get home safely.” You offered the Duke and Count, curtseying again as they bowed and tipped their hats to you before you left to return to Mirador. 

“You have visitors waiting on you my Lady.” Malcolm informed you as he helped you into your carriage. 

“Who?” You asked. 

“Count and Countess Morrigan.” He answered before you groaned and made a whiney whimpering sound which brought a grin to Malcom’s face. 

“Why?” You asked. 

“Don’t know, but they came bearing gifts my Lady.” He answered. 

“Great, well, I suppose we shouldn’t keep them waiting any longer than they have to.” You urged him as he finished loading your things up and the driver drove the carriage home as you steeled yourself for whatever would find you once you came home. 

“Countess,” Richard and his wife Agnes greeted you as all three of you curtsied to each other respectfully. 

“Count, Countess.” You returned respectfully. 

“We trust your ride home from Kent was pleasant as always.” Richard urged with forced pleasantness. 

“It was,” you confirmed. 

“So what do I owe the pleasure of your presence your Graces?” You asked curiously. 

“Well since your mourning ends in a fortnight, we came to invite you to everything that will be happening shortly after, and since you will be out of mourning and even half mourning in a fortnight, you will need new clothes to stay with the fashions, we must get you out into society as soon as possible. Surely you long to see it and we brought all the invitations that we should all go to as a family.” Agnes insisted as cheerfully as she could muster as she presented you with a stack of invitations and you wanted to laugh scornfully in her face for her audacity. But decorum would not permit you to do so- so you simply smiled politely as you took them from her. 

“Of course.” You agreed as you started looking through them.  

“Well we must get you to the designer houses as soon as may be for they may need time to finish your gowns in time for all of these events. Take the next couple of days to rest and recoup from your journey from Kent, so on Wednesday perhaps, we should go, in the meantime, the stables have sent gifts to celebrate the event, and your servants have taken the trunks to your quarters for your inspection and we must inform you that you now have a dowry, should you chose to get remarried of fifty thousand pounds.” Agnes suggested. You were being paid thirty thousand pounds for your silence a year, since Edward afforded you fifteen thousand but Richard doubled it for your silance and discretion, but the Morrigan’s estate and business earned them hundreds of thousands of pounds a year which they were using to build an even bigger estate in the country along with a new townhouse in London that was going to rival any other as well, the new country estate was going to rival the Palace of Windsor or even Buckingham Palace. Which is how Edward could afford to give the stables two hundred a fifty thousand pounds to buy you outright from the stables but Edward, when he had not been senile insisted that you were worth every penny. But still, they always viewed you as a gold leech and they were obviously keen to get rid of you and have you ‘latch on’ to someone else. 

“Yes, Wednesday would be a good day for that, thank you.” You agreed, in a desperate attempt to get them out of your house so you wouldn’t have to put on this pretence any longer than you had to.

Mourning here lasted a year and a day for widows, the first six months were spent in deep or full mourning, where the widow would wear nothing but black, and the last six months were in half mourning where a little bit of subdued color was introduced back into the wardrobe, which seemed almost alien to you since mouras liked to dress in the brightest and most vibrant colors possible.

But you knew the sooner they could get you remarried after the mourning period- the better for them because they would no longer have to pay for your living arrangements and pay for your allowances. They were going to dump a fortune into getting your market ready and dump you on the first willing suitor who showed interest and they would try to induce you to remarry but you were determined that only the deepest and purist and most genuine love would ever induce you into matrimony now. 

If they only knew who you shared a train ride with- they would be going to the gentlemen directly to try to broker a deal behind your back as you wondered exactly what tricks they had up their sleeves to try to pawn you off. 

But you had tricks of your own. You just needed a little help...

[door]

CHRISTMAS EFFECTS

by Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick

from Tendencies (1993)

What’s “queer”? Here’s one tram of thought about it. The depressing thing about the Christmas season—isn’t it? —is that it’s the time when all the institutions are speaking with one voice. The Church says what the Church says. But the State says the same thing: maybe not (in some ways it hardly matters) in the language of theology, but in the language the State talks: legal holidays, long school hiatus, special postage stamps, and all. And the language of commerce more than chimes in, as consumer purchasing is organized ever more narrowly around the final weeks of the calendar year, the Dow Jones aquiver over Americans’ “holiday mood.” The media, in turn, fall in triumphally behind the Christmas phalanx: ad-swollen magazines have oozing turkeys on the cover, while for the news industry every question turns into the Christmas question—Will hostages be free for Christmas? What did that flash flood or mass murder (umpty-ump people killed and maimed) do to those families’ Christmas? And meanwhile, the pairing “families/Christmas” becomes increasingly tautological, as families more and more constitute themselves according to the schedule, and in the endlessly iterated image, of the holiday itself constituted in the image of “the” family.

The thing hasn’t, finally, so much to do with propaganda for Christianity as with propaganda for Christmas itself. They all—religion, state, capital, ideology, domesticity, the discourses of power and legitimacy—line up with each other so neatly once a year, and the monolith so created is a thing one can come to view with unhappy eyes. What if instead there were a practice of valuing the ways in which meanings and institutions can be at loose ends with each other? What if the richest junctures weren’t the ones where everything means the same thing? Think of that entity “the family,” an impacted social space in which all of the following are meant to line up perfectly with each other:

a surname a sexual dyad a legal unit based on state-regulated marriage a circuit of blood relationships a system of companionship and succor a building a proscenium between “private” and “public” an economic unit of earning and taxation the prime site of economic consumption the prime site of cultural consumption a mechanism to produce, care for, and acculturate children a mechanism for accumulating material goods over several generations a daily routine a unit in a community of worship a site of patriotic formation

and of course the list could go on. Looking at my own life, I see that— probably like most people—I have valued and pursued these various elements of family identity to quite differing degrees (e.g., no use at all for worship, much need of companionship). But what’s been consistent in this particular life is an interest in not letting very many of these dimensions line up directly with each other at one time. I see it’s been a ruling intuition for me that the most productive strategy (intellectually, emotionally) might be, whenever possible, to disarticulate them one from another, to disengage them—the bonds of blood, of law, of habitation, of privacy, of companionship and succor—from the lockstep of their unanimity in the system called “family.”

Or think of all the elements that are condensed in the notion of sexual identity, something that the common sense of our time presents as a unitary category. Yet, exerting any pressure at all on “sexual identity,” you see that its elements include

your biological (e.g., chromosomal) sex, male or female; your self-perceived gender assignment, male or female (supposed to be the same as your biological sex); the preponderance of your traits of personality and appearance, masculine or feminine (supposed to correspond to your sex and gender); the biological sex of your preferred partner; the gender assignment of your preferred partner (supposed to be the same as her/his biological sex); the masculinity or femininity of your preferred partner (supposed to be the opposite of your own); your self-perception as gay or straight (supposed to correspond to whether your preferred partner is your sex or the opposite); your preferred partner’s self-perception as gay or straight (supposed to be the same as yours); your procreative choice (supposed to be yes if straight, no if gay); your preferred sexual act(s) (supposed to be insertive if you are male or masculine, receptive if you are female or feminine); your most eroticized sexual organs (supposed to correspond to the procreative capabilities of your sex, and to your insertive/receptive assignment); your sexual fantasies (supposed to be highly congruent with your sexual practice, but stronger in intensity); your main locus of emotional bonds (supposed to reside in your preferred sexual partner); your enjoyment of power in sexual relations (supposed to be low if you are female or feminine, high if male or masculine); the people from whom you learn about your own gender and sex (supposed to correspond to yourself in both respects); your community of cultural and political identification (supposed to correspond to your own identity);

and—again—many more. Even this list is remarkable for the silent presumptions it has to make about a given person’s sexuality, presumptions that are true only to varying degrees, and for many people not true at all: that everyone “has a sexuality,” for instance, and that it is implicated with each person’s sense of overall identity in similar ways; that each person’s most characteristic erotic expression will be oriented toward another person and not autoerotic; that if it is alloerotic, it will be oriented toward a single partner or kind of partner at a time; that its orientation will not change over time. Normatively, as the parenthetical prescriptions in the list above suggest, it should be possible to deduce anybody’s entire set of specs from the initial datum of biological sex alone—if one adds only the normative assumption that “the biological sex of your preferred partner” will be the opposite of one’s own. With or without that heterosexist assumption, though, what’s striking is the number and difference of the dimensions that “sexual identity” is supposed to organize into a seamless and univocal whole.

And if it doesn’t?

That’s one of the things that “queer” can refer to: the open mesh of possibilities, gaps, overlaps, dissonances and resonances, lapses and excesses of meaning when the constituent elements of anyone’s gender, of anyone’s sexuality aren’t made (or can’t be made) to signify monolithically. The experimental linguistic, epistemological, representational, political adventures attaching to the very many of us who may at times be moved to describe ourselves as (among many other possibilities) pushy femmes, radical faeries, fantasists, drags, clones, leatherfolk, ladies in tuxedoes, feminist women or feminist men, masturbators, bulldaggers, divas, Snap! queens, butch bottoms, storytellers, transsexuals, aunties, wannabes, lesbian-identified men or lesbians who sleep with men, or…people able to relish, learn from, or identify with such.

Again, “queer” can mean something different: a lot of the way I have used it so far in this dossier is to denote, almost simply, same-sex sexual object choice, lesbian or gay, whether or not it is organized around multiple criss-crossings of definitional lines. And given the historical and contemporary force of the prohibitions against every same-sex sexual expression, for anyone to disavow those meanings, or to displace them from the term’s definitional center, would be to dematerialize any possibility of queerness itself.

At the same time, a lot of the most exciting recent work around “queer” spins the term outward along dimensions that can’t be subsumed under gender and sexuality at all: the ways that race, ethnicity, postcolonial nationality criss-cross with these and other identity-constituting, identityfracturing discourses, for example. Intellectuals and artists of color whose sexual self-definition includes “queer”—I think of an Isaac Julien, a Gloria Anzaldúa, a Richard Fung—are using the leverage of “queer” to do a new kind of justice to the fractal intricacies of language, skin, migration, state. Thereby, the gravity (I mean the gravitas, the meaning, but also the center of gravity) of the term “queer” itself deepens and shifts.

Another telling representational effect. A word so fraught as “queer” is— fraught with so many social and personal histories of exclusion, violence, defiance, excitement—never can only denote; nor even can it only connote; a part of its experimental force as a speech act is the way in which it dramatizes locutionary position itself. Anyone’s use of “queer” about themselves means differently from their use of it about someone else. This is true (as it might also be true of “lesbian” or “gay”) because of the violently different connotative evaluations that seem to cluster around the category. But “gay” and “lesbian” still present themselves (however delusively) as objective, empirical categories governed by empirical rules of evidence (however contested). “Queer” seems to hinge much more radically and explicitly on a person’s undertaking particular, performative acts of experimental self-perception and filiation. A hypothesis worth making explicit: that there are important senses in which “queer” can signify only when attached to the first person. One possible corollary: that what it takes —all it takes—to make the description “queer” a true one is the impulsion to use it in the first person.

[thefeastandthefast]

Finally done with this garbage.

*insert “IT’S DONE” Frodo gif here*

Of course it remains hot garbage all the way to the end. I’ll be honest, I skimmed through the last two episodes posted on YouTube because I just needed it to be over so I could reclaim brain space. So forgive me if I miss anything. 

WARNING, SUPER LONG RANT UNDER CUT.

Of course there’s no satisfactory closure for any of the relationships that were built in the first quarter of the show. Maoze and Danshu never get a final scene together. I didn’t expect there to be one, since her character development had long ossified into Song Dynasty Stepford Wife. Maoze, too, remains completely devoted to the emperor to the end. I’m actually surprised that I wasn't more upset about the lack of resolution for my Straw Hat babies. But then again, I lost interest in what they’d do with drama!Danshu twenty episodes ago. 

He’er seems to have forgiven the emperor for all the suffering he put her and her daughter through. The last thing she says is that she has finally succeeded in accompanying her 6th Prince for an entire long lifetime. Doesn’t matter that she was ready to kill herself to defend Huirou just a couple episodes ago. What is character development?

Huirou’s trauma is so great that she has permanently broken with reality and regressed back into her childhood memories. He’er is relieved of this, because it means Huirou can live in her head in a happier time. 

And before we’re shown all that, we get a scene where shitstain emperor gets to explain once more to Huirou why she’s at fault for everyone’s misery and why the stability of the empire is in danger because of her willfulness. She agrees to part from Huaiji forever, for the greater good. This is filmed and presented to us as a touching father-daughter heart to heart and not as the implicitly threatening psychological abuse that it is. Throughout the conversation, he defends Sima Guang as a true patriot who just cares about the people and their needs, though that asshole has been the megaphone of Neo-Confucian hyperconservatism this whole time, shouting for Huaiji’s head and for Huirou to be punished and thrown back into her torture chamber marriage. Yet another entry in the list of shitty powerful men who are absolved of the pain and suffering they cause without remorse, as long as they’ve got a platform and big mouths to spew enough words out to convince themselves and other powerful men of their moral superiority.

And the last we see of Huaiji, is him making an obeisance to the emperor’s memory. I’d wondered why the show added in the storyline of Huaiji’s brother, when Huaiji barely had any scenes or lines to express the pain of losing his family and future or his feelings about finding his roots again. There was only one scene, as far as I can remember. The purpose of writing Huaiji’s family backstory wasn’t to give more dimension to Huaiji’s character. No, It was actually to make the emperor more sympathetic and so that he could heroically be the instrument for the brothers’ eventual reunion in the end. 

So Zhao Zhen gets to die beloved by all the women he destroyed and lauded by all who once questioned and criticized him. He gets to die in Danshu’s arms as she sobs “take me with you”. The last words on the screen are ones that celebrate his legacy as a benevolent ruler, taken from the Yuan Dynasty-era History of Song.

Let’s be honest, this drama is Chinese history used as political propaganda the entire way through. Because there are splashes of period-accurate detail (like the “three white makeup” and all the Song literati cameos), it gives the entire drama an air of legitimacy and lures you into thinking that they took their research seriously. But really the period detail is just a nice, glossy coat obscuring the insidious bones of this revisionist monstrosity. And the last two episodes really peel away that coat to reveal the machinery underneath. 

If I’m generous, I’ll say that the accuracy of some characterizations in this drama is highly suspect, but I suppose still debatable. Writing an Empress Cao who steadfastly and quietly loved Zhao Zhen despite his historically well-documented, decades-long suspicion of her... like, FINE, even if I think it’s illogical, sexist, bad writing, one can argue it’s fair game for creative license, given the inherently uncertain task of knowing the true feelings and motivations of people living a thousand years ago. 

But then you have something like the fallout of Huirou’s marriage, Zhao Zhen’s role in that sad business, and Li Wei’s later actions, which just completely and merrily skips away from actual historical fact and leaves the most telling details of her tragic end untold. Because to depict the actual events would make Zhao Zhen and Li Wei indefensible. 

Given that China is currently in the midst of an extremely concerning rise in Han nationalism, where Chinese traditional culture (everything from philosophy to art to clothing to music) is being co-opted and reframed to entrench narratives of Han superiority, it’s a problem when this Song Dynasty alternate history is presented as truth. It used to be that anything to do with Chinese traditional culture was suspect and would be in danger of destruction, especially during the Cultural Revolution (1966-1976). But now this destruction is a little bit more subtle. Instead of just straight-up smashing Song Dynasty tombs, just dismantle and reconfigurate them piece by piece to create a little shrine for the current ruling party. To tell this story about the struggles of governance from the perspective of the head of the ruling elite during one of the wealthiest times of imperial Chinese history- I just don't believe that was a decision made purely for creative license.  

It’s a perfectly valid stance not to care how history is interpreted as long as it’s good entertainment. I’m certainly not one to let historical inaccuracy keep me from enjoying my period films and TV shows (to a degree, lol). But I also find my experience of historical fiction more illuminating and enjoyable when I try to parse out what’s supported by evidence and what isn’t. So I can try to understand the reasons behind a writer’s decisions for excluding stuff that’s supported and including stuff that isn’t. Because how and what elements of the past are used in popular fiction matter, and they shape our attitudes on so much more than just entertainment.  

So, to end my last long-ass rant about this horrible drama that’s eaten up so much of my time and energy, I’m gonna pour one out for the historical figures who got short shrifted: 

For the historical Empress Cao, who made it through Renzong’s reign without losing her throne, even though Renzong tried and failed several times to depose her. Who promoted highly Zhang Maoze soon after Renzong’s death despite the protests of Sima Guang and didn’t go down without a fight when they wanted her to retire as regent.   

For the historical Consort Miao, who plotted with Consort Yu to try to bring down Li Wei and begged Renzong to execute Li Wei with poisoned wine, all to get her daughter out of the marriage.

For the historical Princess Fukang, who was finally allowed a divorce in early 1062, after attempting suicide multiple times. Who was then forced by Renzong to remarry Li Wei less than a year later. Who died at the age of 33 in a household with people who hated and abused her. The extent of that abuse was discovered by her nephew Emperor Shenzong after she died when he showed up for the funeral. He wept in front of his ministers describing the treatment she had received from Li Wei for the last seven years of her life: she had not been given adequate food, clothing, or medical care. Her body and bedding was infested with lice and she had burn scars on her face from trying to light her own coals. I think it’s important to acknowledge just how much this benevolent father of hers failed her after everything, even after she probably thought she had escaped, even if the show won’t.   

[fuckyeahharryhart]

PART 5 FAN FIC

KINGSMAN III: REDACTED

Summary: Harry Hart reminisces about his own military past with the British Armed Forces. He recalls the tenent that enabled him to survive as a member of the22nd Special Air Service Regiment (SAS), a unit of United Kingdom Special Forces.

WORD COUNT: 3377

Notes: These later chapters have had less time to plan - kind of literally trying things on to see what fits... :)

-----

In person, Harry Hart was also a man who had to make impossible decisions under unrelenting pressure. He had done it many times, during his time in the British Armed Forces, not just Kingsman. Many thought him to be cold and unfeeling in these instances. But even within these circumstances, he was still Harry Hart. Brave, dependable, strong and honourable. He was an advocate, a protector, an anchor. A rock within the Kingsman agency. Everything a mentor and leader should be. If fellow agents found themselves more and more often at his side, they would catch themselves beginning to wonder about the man who wore the impeccably tailored suit. The man behind the smooth, deep, steady voice. About the man himself. The man whose code name was Galahad.

He was an agent that lived up to his handle.  It was a noble name. Courageous. A name for a figure renowned for his gallantry and purity. A name bestowed upon the most perfect of all knights. It befitted him.

Harry was a gentleman through and through. It was impossible for him to be anything else. He was not only a gentleman in traditional terms, an upholder of chivalry, civility, well-mannered and unerringly polite. He was also a gentle man. This would seem incongruous with his work. However, it was part of the reason he was exceedingly good at his job. As soon as the work was done, the target neutralised, the mission complete, he let it all go. Letting any hardness or indifference fall away. Completely. He consistently put his life and the lives of others on the line, many times in very unpleasant circumstances, to say the least. To maintain a sense of balance, to maintain his sanity, not to speak of his humanity, the moment he took off his glasses, he was no longer Agent Galahad, he was Harry Hart.

Deadly assassins were not typically regarded as gentle. But Harry was not by nature a violent man. Neither was he destructive or combative, unlike many of his contemporaries who were drawn to the work because of its brutal nature. Harry was a Kingsman agent because he believed strongly in their purpose to uphold the good and protect the innocent, but also because he was just exceptionally good at the work. The art of spy craft and engagement. Exceedingly good. Disconcertingly good. In the same way one might be a talented piano player, or dancer or an artist. Like Gwendolyn mentioned, it was part a part of him.

He never questioned these skills. He considered them as natural to his character as his height or his brown eyes. He lived them for the majority of his life. He applied them in a manner that would best serve himself and the greater good.

Though he never spoke of it, most of his experience prior to Kingsman, he received during his training and deployment in the British Armed Forces. When he left the military, he was an officer of the 22nd Special Air Service Regiment (SAS), a unit of United Kingdom Special Forces, a highly trained and specialised division of the British Army.

If Kingsman was the buffer that had honed and polished Harry Hart into the refined gentleman agent he was today, the SAS was chisel that first carved the man out of the potential stone. The SAS Special Forces had much in common with Kingsman.  Special operations were already a part of his lifestyle. Much like the agents of Kingsman, the men of SAS were especially designated, organised, selected, trained and equipped. They utilised unconventional techniques and modes of employment.

The 22nd Special Air Service Regiment was responsible for covert reconnaissance, counter-terrorism, direct action, unconventional warfare and hostage rescue. Much of the information and actions regarding the SAS were highly classified, and were never commented on by the British government nor the Ministry of Defence due to the sensitivity of their operations. For Harry, discretion was not just advised, it was demanded.

He operated behind enemy lines, avoiding direct combat and detection by the enemy. He led commando operations, highly mobile , highly intense surprise raids. His role frequently involved covert direction of air and missile attacks, in areas deep behind enemy lines, placement of remotely monitored sensors and guerrilla operations.

The similarities only went so far. SAS utilised more traditional weapons of combat and warfare, riffles, machine guns, flash bangs, grenades. Whereas Kingsman had the freedom to me more creative, or constraints that made it necessary for additional ingenuity with it’s artillery, often fashioning gentlemanly accessories into lethal weapons. The SAS formal dress khaki uniforms weren’t as stylish and well tailored as Kingsman’s suits, but he did note that as SAS, the cap badge on his sand coloured beret depicted a downward pointing Excalibur, a sword wreathed in flames. Perhaps the sword was a foreshadow of his future as one of the twelve Kingsman’s knights.

If any of his colleagues were to know of his history with the SAS, the would probably respond with confusion. It wasn’t that they didn’t believe Harry Hart to to have the necessary skills. It was that they couldn’t imagine, their stylish, debonair, perfectly appointed quintessential gentleman secret agent in any other role other than Galahad. They were much more familiar with Harry in a Kingsman suit, taking out thugs with his weaponised brolly, rather than the iconic black overalls and the S6 British Army respirator of the SAS, carrying a Heckler and Koch MP5A3, or a C8 Carbine assault rifle, as well as any other item or weapon he might need in battle.

For those agents that were employed long enough with Kingsman, or heard stories passed around the years, it was suspected that Harry was a part of the Counter Revolutionary Blue team for Operation Nimrod during the Iranian Embassy siege. In 1980, from April 30th for a period of 6 days, a band of six heavily armed men overtook the Iranian Embassy in London. 26 people were held hostage. On the last day, after days of unsuccessful negotiations, the gunmen executed a hostage and threw his dead body from the Embassy windows. On that day, the SAS, implemented Operation Nimrod by abseiling from the roof of the embassy and breaking the windows for entry. The raid was over in just over 15 minutes. They were able to rescue all but one hostage and killed all but one of the six hostage takers. No one could confirm whether he had been involved or not. No one had the nerve or balls to ask Harry directly.

The last time Harry was on a mission of similar nature, was the capture of Falcon, a terrorist in the Middle East. He, Merlin and their recruits at the time, James and Lee, fast roped into enemy territory.  Fast roping, also known as Fast Rope Insertion Extraction System (FRIES), was a technique for descending a thick rope to access difficult locations by air. It useful for Kingsman to deploy agents into enemy territories where their helicopter could not touch down. Unfortunately, that was the mission where Harry’s mistake cost Eggsy’s father’s life. That was the last time anyone ever saw the sight of Harry in a combat jumpsuit and respirator for a mission.

“Who Dares Wins.” It was the motto of the SAS unit of the British Army Special Forces. During his time in the service, this motto was the catalyst for many dangerous operations. In regards to Kingsman, he also found it appropriate as spies weren’t in the business of truth.

The selection for the Special Forces was as brutal as Kingsman recruitment, just in different ways.They would, however, fight for the title of the most dangerous job interview in the world. SAS selection was reported to be one of the most demanding military training courses in the world with a pass rate of less than 10%. It was a six-month test of strength, endurance, and resolve over the Brecon Beacons and Elan Valley in Wales, and in the jungle of Belize. With SERE Survive, Evade, Resist, Escape training to be the most psychologically challenging aspect. A Kingsman recruit had a one in 12 chance of securing said spot. It was also a test of strength, endurance and resolve mostly over the land and sky of London and the surrounding country side. It also included some fairly challenging psychological tests including one with a train tunnel with a false floor and another with a puppy and a gun. Many candidates failed out at this point. It took about the same amount of time.

In the field, he was indispensable. His experience in the military prepared him for life as a spy. He was exceptional at nearly every aspect of being an agent as he was as a soldier. Harry was able to fit seamlessly into Kingsman’s ranks because he already had specialised skills and experience. He was a highly-trained operative, specialised in sufficiency, stealth, speed, and tactical coordination. If there was a man designed to be a Kingsman agent, Harry Hart would be that man.

——

He did not get any enjoyment from destruction, violence or bloodshed. However, he was not opposed to participating or even instigating moments of sheer mayhem. During the course of his time at Kingsman, he had obliterated many targets and had amassed a shockingly high body count. He didn’t carry any guilt or blame, nor did he celebrate the bloodshed that resulted in their victory over a target. Harry simply accepted violence as part and parcel to the work of a Kingsman agent. To be limited, when possible, though, not altogether unavoidable.

Emotions played an important role in how he operated in life, in the greater world around him. Emotions were a path to a deeper understanding of one’s self and one’s relationships with others. They motivated one’s actions or inactions.  Feelings, along with survival instincts were key to one’s decision making processes. But when there was too much or when the emotion was overwhelming, as it could be in extreme cases of conflict or in the chaos of combat, it could make a soldier dysfunction. One of the tenets that had allowed him to not only survive, but to thrive in the military was “be smart now, feel later.”

Part of his success in the SAS was due to his ability to “switch off” his emotions on-demand in moments of chaos or conflict; combat, crises and other high stress activities, basically his entire time in service. He carried this over to his work at Kingsman. His ambivalence allowed him to remain cool, composed and collected in some very unnerving, seemingly impossible situations. In these instances, when other agents might panic, freeze, or be blinded by outrage, fall victim to their own anger and lose control, time would almost freeze for Harry. Allowing him very few precious moments to hyper focus on every minute detail of the circumstance they faced. His senses would sharpen, his mind would calm, his heart rate would slow and remain steady and even. His mind would become a blank slate where every piece of information crucial to their survival was at his fingertips. Irrelevant information fell by the wayside. Emotion was set aside. Sentimentality had no place. Feelings were insignificant.

Agents who accompanied Harry on the field and found themselves is one of these dire situations, would attest to this severe, drastic, unyielding and unfamiliar Agent Galahad. Someone who could evidently act without regard for their safety, well-being, or even survival. At times, even purposely placing them in even more danger or putting another agents lives on the line as if they were inconsequential to him. He would act as if it was nothing to leave behind an injured agent if it could protect the mission. It was as if they were as insignificant to him as an empty clip, a weapon that no longer had any use to him. To be discarded and tossed aside. During these times, Harry would be the cold, dispassionate, ruthless killer that was his reputation.

It was in these hard, stone-faced moments, where he fell into a meditative state or even hypnotised himself in the matter of seconds. Sometimes, only a split second was needed for him to see the solution, the way out, the answer that would get them out of what seemed like a “death and death” situation.

Emotions defined his humanity. But it also could get in the way when he needed to be operative. Thus, on occasion, he had to defer his humanity and be cold and analytical in the field, just as he had been in battle.

In these crucial moments, he needed to see all his available choices and not just what his state of emotions gravitated toward. The more severe an emotional response was expected from any given situation, the more likely it could negatively impact his ability to resolve a difficult task, complication or crisis.

Occasionally, that solution had to disregard his agents humanity, for that sentimentality would surely cloud his judgement, make him hesitate or doubt himself at the most critical moment. They could no longer be considered friends, or even colleagues. It was necessary to strip them of their identity, regard them without pity or remorse. As collateral damage. How hard would it be to achieve this state with family or loved ones, he thought. It was in these times that pure logic had to drive his actions and not be directed by his emotions.

Emotional detachment meant that he could focus and think clearly and act with precision in matters of life and death.

In these moments, there was space in his mind for nothing else except the situation at hand. And without fail, often past the point of all hope lost, no more options, no more cards to play, he would act in a manuever that was incomprehensible to them. Unthinkable. A tactic unfathomable and impossible for anyone else but Harry. Everyone, even the agent he seemingly had no problem disregarding, would come out alive. Often disbelieving, shell-shocked, nerves shot, not unscathed. Confused and outraged. But alive. Agents who experienced this side of Harry Hart, while they continued to admire and respect him, their esteem would now also carry a touch of reverence, incredulity, and awe.

Soldiers and agents not personally involved or had no emotional interest in their work, were able to perform their jobs better. It was a form of professional detachment.

It was not that he was unfeeling. Quite the opposite. It was as if he felt too much. His ability to remove and distance himself from situations was one of the main reasons he was so successful as an agent and continued to be so. Without this survival skill, the inevitable, at times, devastating losses he had faced, and would no doubt face in the future, would break even a better man. Though one would be hard pressed to find a man better than Harry.

What was seen as dispassionate, emotionless indifference was a preservation mechanism, designed to fiercely safeguard and defend a singularly compassionate soul, with a deep reverence for human life, and an immeasurable capacity to love.

But he had never been put in as difficult a position as Merlin.

———

There were not many stories that affected Harry on both a personal and professional level, but in terms of having a difficult past lead you down the path of becoming a spy, he found hers to be the most compelling. He was, not only impressed by her skills as an agent, he was moved by her emotional resilience, fortitude, courage, and most of all, like she said her mother had, her grit.

This was a young woman, whose odds were not just against her, they were set up for her to fail and fail hard. Who was able to overcome the most brutal experiences that anyone can face, let alone a child, and come out, not only adjusted, but stronger for her experience. The last time he had witnessed such strong will and raw, natural talent, was Eggsy.  And Eggsy’s father.

He sensed what she was going to ask. What would be the ramifications if she were to join Kingsman? They could certainly use the manpower. Their ranks had been severely depleted since the Golden Circle. Merlin’s expertise and guidance was missed almost as much as they missed the man himself. He understood why Merlin, Hamish, sent her away. A constant reminder of not only the lives he lost, but also the terrible way they were taken from him. A reminder of the life he had sacrificed so much for. The constant fear for her safety. Every time she was out in the field, wondering if he had to prepare for another situation like his wife. For Harry and Eggsy, she would always be a reminder of the friend they lost and the sacrifice he made.

He softened. How would it be, to have everyone send you away because your presence would only be a painful reminder of loss?

Eggsy turned to face him, looking absurdly forlorn as well. Like she was a lost puppy that he wanted to keep.

She smoothed her hair away from her face, brushing the length of it behind her while she squared up her shoulders.

She spoke frankly. “You are the last link that I have to my father. I want to take his place.”

When neither of them replied. She added plainly.

“You clearly have some issued that need to be addressed.” Referring to the car with the shooters and that someone was actively trying to kill them.

“It looks like you could use the help.”

Harry, in his most grave and serious voice, a voice that made even Eggsy straighten up.

“This decision on your part, should not be taken easily or lightly.” He watched her intently. He leaned forward to emphasis his point. “Do you understand all of the ramifications of your choice? You could find yourself in the exact same situation you were in when you were a child. Is that a possibility you can handle?”

Also leaning forward, she matched the seriousness of his tone.

“I have no family, no connections, no ties. I have nothing of value that can be used against me. I’m a trained and experienced agent. I was raised Kingsman and there is nothing of your organization that has been hidden from me. I understand very well.”

Not anything of value now, Harry thought. But considering the future? Yet Harry himself was of the same mentality as Merlin and his wife. Nothing came out of acting now for an eventuality that may never materialise.

There was silence from the two men. She certainly wasn’t going to plead or beg. She had done her part. She told her story. If they couldn’t recognise her value, she would leave right then and there.

She tried to hide her sarcasm, but she wasn’t sure if she succeeded. She leaned back into her booth, crossed her arms over her chest. With a bit of added confrontation.

“I’ve just saved your lives. What else do I have to do to prove myself?”

Harry contemplated. Eggsy contemplated the same. Even though they didn’t know what the other was thinking, they were both thinking the same. We are agreed. For Merlin.

Harry faced her again and with all of nobility, chivalry and honour that was based on centuries of tradition. “Welcome to Kingsman.”

Gwendolyn, in equal measures of dignity and respect. “Thank you.”

Now that was done, she thought, with a little more drama than she expected, but it had all been manageable.

“So it seems we have a problem. How can I help?”

And with that simple question, Gwendolyn found herself within the ranks of Kingsman.

----

Notes:

Thanks for reading! Comments, suggestions feedback always welcome and appreciated. Even if it's just to say Hi!

[panharmonium]

hey guys, semi-rhetorical question,

what exactly do i have to do in order to stop total strangers from leaving their unsolicited opinions on posts that i wrote for myself, on my own blog, behind a cut, not under the merlin tag, with a disclaimer saying “it’s cool if we have different opinions, feel free to scroll on by if this isn’t your jam”?

how many more steps do i have to take to remind strangers on the internet that i am not soliciting commentary and that not everything is an invitation for debate?  it’s frustrating enough that i feel like i have to take these steps at all - basic etiquette should be enough for people to understand that when you see a take you don’t agree with, you can just go ahead and scroll past it.  

i am going to try to muse about this in the gentlest way possible, because it’s hard to know on the internet whether people are maybe just too young to realize these things, or maybe they just weren’t thinking in that particular moment (like - the way i would talk about this with a young person is not the same way i would talk to a fandom veteran who ought to know better, for instance), but this is definitely a recurring thing on tumblr that i have experienced numerous times, and which i do think is aggravated by the structure of the platform.  and, given that tumblr does not have the old LJ-style functionality of friends-only or anything like that, the truth is that this site can make it kind of a challenging to establish a comfortable space for yourself, which is something that has bothered me for a long time.

this is why i started putting disclaimers on meta in the first place.  i know it’s hard to remember, given the structure of this website, but not everything on the internet is written in the spirit of “prove me wrong.”  that’s why i started writing preludes saying “this is how *I* engage with the show.  it is fine if *YOU* engage with the show a different way.  i am just writing in my own space for my own personal enjoyment, please feel free to continue enjoying the show in your own way.”

as an example - this is the disclaimer i put on a piece of meta that recently earned itself some unsolicited commentary (boldings added now, for emphasis [and yes, the commentary has been removed already, to protect that user’s anonymity; i’m not interested in pointing fingers at specific people, just in discussing the dynamics of a wider phenomenon that i encounter sometimes on this website]):

just some meandering thoughts on where the thematic center of merlin bbc lies for me, and how it weaves itself in and out of my fandom experience.

under a cut because this is a) sort of long and b) not really directed anywhere but my own brain, as i keep thinking about and creating for this show.

[as always, before i get rolling, a reminder: when i write about how i engage with this show, it’s just me talking about what gives me, personally, the most satisfaction or enjoyment, not the way i think everybody should do things.  if this isn’t your particular read, please feel free to scroll past.  i am not ever going to bother anybody for engaging with this show in their own way, so please don’t worry about it if we are not on the same page.]

when i look at that, i’m not sure how much clearer i can be.  i’m not sure what part of this says, “send me a six-paragraph screed about how vehemently you disagree with me, as if i personally placed this analysis in your inbox and forced you to read it.”

do you know how often in a day i see fandom posts that i disagree with?  every time i see a merthur post, for instance, i think to myself “ugh, this is not remotely accurate.”  but i have never, in my life, left a reply on someone’s post telling them how wrong i think their take is.  that’s just not polite, and it’s just not necessary.  what do i care if someone has a different opinion than me?  they are just having fun in their own area.  it doesn’t make sense for me to enter their space and tell them what i, personally, think of their take.  they aren’t asking me for a debate.  they are hanging out on their own blog, having a good time in their own way.  i am glad they are enjoying themselves!  i am happy to let them keep having fun!  i do not need to insert myself into that conversation and rain on their parade.

i know this is something tumblr culture isn’t always good about understanding (and i know the structure of this website makes it almost impossible to remember, too; i do get that), but just, as a gentle reminder: me posting an analysis on my own blog, in my own space, is not equivalent to me saying “you, a stranger on the internet, must agree with this!”  me posting on my own blog is not directed at you at all.  it has nothing to do with you.  i did not send you that post.  i did not ask you to read it.  i did not put it in your inbox.  i did not insert myself into your space.  i did not ask for your attention.  i did not come anywhere NEAR you.  i don’t even know who you are.  i don’t mind if you engage with this show in a different way.  it does not affect me.  i have never and will never leave contentious replies on posts that i disagree with in order to try to convince people they’re wrong.  i have never in my life sent somebody a message to change their mind about a fandom opinion of theirs that i believe to be ill-conceived.

i see posts that i disagree with every day, and every single time, i scroll past them.  i leave them alone.  i let people have their fun.

i understand that the knee-jerk reaction on this platform is for us to react to everything as if it’s being shouted at us, personally, through a megaphone, and a lot of this is a structural problem on this website, i know.  i know that.  it’s bothered me for years.  the reblog function creates a system where posts leave their homes quickly, so it’s all too easy for people to feel like an OP is seeking them out and forcing them to read something, or soliciting contributions from the wider internet.  but we HAVE to remember the structure of the forum we’re in - any particular post you stumble across was written on an individual blog, and the individual who wrote it did not ask you to look at it.  they had no control over whether you saw it or not.  it wasn’t directed at you personally, and it isn’t an automatic invitation for caustic debate with strangers, either.  

people are allowed to write about their own fandom thoughts on their own blogs.  the act of writing about one’s own fandom thoughts on one’s own blog is not equivalent to canceling someone else’s fun, or stopping other people from liking/disliking things in whatever way they please.  i am allowed to write about my own opinions, in my own space, without worrying about other people who might wander by, catch a glimpse of my house through the window, and get upset because i’m “telling them” something they didn’t agree with.  i didn’t “tell you” anything!  you came here yourself.  i did not send this post to you.  i did not visit your blog and tell you ‘you’re doing fandom wrong.’  i don’t even know who you are.  we have never spoken to each other in our lives.  you don’t follow me, we’re not friends, and my post (in this particular instance) has zero reblogs - the only place you could have read it was on my own blog, which you chose to visit.

i’ve met tons of great people on here, and we’ve had lots of fun conversations.  and sometimes our takes are not even the same!  but i don’t mind that, because we’ve introduced ourselves to each other and have already developed a friendly relationship.  like, just today, i was having a fantastic convo about hunith where myself and the other participant weren’t 100% on the same page, but we were still having a great time with the discussion.  i don’t mind talking to people who have different opinions than me - to be honest, most of the topics about which i recently received a bunch of unsolicited commentary were actually things that i have written about previously, and that i would’ve loved to have talked about more, under different circumstances.  but i do mind strangers barreling into my house uninvited and then lecturing me, via a series of long, combative messages (devoid of any background context that could have been gleaned from the rest of my writing), about how the ultimate message of merlin bbc is that “the only correct way to fight oppression is to suck your oppressors dick.”

like.  was that necessary?

if we were friends, or even acquaintances, you would know that i do in fact talk about this theme a lot.  but we’re not, and i am not interested in having a conversation with someone whose first message to me was a) an unsolicited argument and b) a reference to metaphorically sucking someone off.  i have literally never met you before in my life.  you did not say hello, you did not introduce yourself.  and you jumped right into that?  

it’s just not polite.  i wouldn’t approach a stranger like that in real life.  it’s not cool to do it on the internet, either.

and just to be clear - i don’t have anything personally against any of the people who have ever sent me messages like this.  i’m not mad about it, and i really do think that for the most part it’s not intended to be malicious in any way; i just think people legitimately don’t register that this isn’t an okay way to approach someone.  so just - in the spirit of maybe helping people pause before they interact with somebody else like this, because i’m pretty chill myself, but other people might be more rankled by it - please, next time, just stop and think for a second.  if it helps to ask yourself “would i interact with this person like this if we were off the internet,” then definitely consider that.  entering someone else’s space for the sole purpose of leaving them negative commentary, when you have never met them before, and when they did not come anywhere near you or ask for your attention or approach you in any way, is not a good way to start a conversation with a stranger, especially when that person’s work specifically states “these are my own thoughts, not a directive for how others should do things/if you have a different take, no worries; feel free to just scroll past.” 

*deep breath* ...anyhow.  

there is no “friends-only” option on tumblr, so i don’t really know what else i can do to make it clear that i am only writing about my own thoughts and my own experiences, and if your thoughts and experiences are different, cool!  go have fun!  i don’t need you to agree with me about everything.  i will never, ever come to your blog and leave you notes about all the ways i think your analysis is flawed, especially when i’ve never met you and haven’t read your other work, plenty of which address the “disagreements” i have.  i just don’t think it’s a polite or fun thing to do to others, and i would love it if people could extend me the same courtesy.

[flvcr]

— ( harry styles, twenty-five, cismale, he/him ) did you see ETIENNE FLUOR walking down main street earlier? you know who i’m talking about, they’re a POTTER / HOCKEY PLAYER. everybody in town says that they’re IDEALISTIC & INTUITIVE, but have a tendency to be UNPREDICTABLE & DESTRUCTIVE too. ETIENNE has been in town for THREE years. c'mon, they’re always requesting RUNNIN’ WITH THE DEVIL BY VAN HALEN at karaoke nights. well, i’m sure you’ll see them soon! @westmerestarters​

hiya! i am kt &+ underneath the read more is a LOT of info about my bb, etienne. ** insert clown emoji but make ‘em yee-haw ** if you’d like to plot you can reach me on here or at space cowboy#8536 on discord !! <33 v excited to interact with y’all and your bbs !!

𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖈𝖘

name: etienne ‘ marcel ‘ fluor. 

nicknames: goes by marcel, only allowing very few people to call him etienne.

gender / pronouns : cismale / he, him.

age: twenty-five.

birthday: june 27th.

zodiac: cancer !!

orientation: pansexual / panromantic.

occupation: hockey player ( currently injured ) // potter ( for fun ) !!

languages spoken: french, english & italian.

𝖎𝖓𝖘𝖕𝖎𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

- PINTEREST - featuring his wardrobe, his home, his aesthetic, some character inspo and olive, his german shepard pup !!

- SPOTIFY PLAYLIST - what he is currently listening to !!

personality type: INFJ-T / THE ADVOCATE

moral alignment: chaotic good

style-wise: etienne is v stylish, but isn’t overly flashy by any means. he’s intuitive in the sense of what works and what doesn’t. willing to explore the latest wardrobe craze, but also just likes what he likes and likely won’t venture out unless pressed by another to do so. post coming soon for his wardrobe !!! they say that the cancer man’s clothing is selected to reflect “ sophistication over flash “ but kdgjn i’ll let ya’ll be the judge of that. he’s v much harry inspired clothing wardrobe, but also tones it down with some casual looks, especially when it comes to getting his hands dirty in creative aspects !! but can be a bit on the flashier side as well, especially w/ hockey press and what not !!

𝖇𝖆𝖈𝖐𝖌𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉

   etienne ‘ marcel ’ fluor was born in montpellier, france to two lovely parents, theodore and estelle fluor ( both born in england themselves ) . he is the youngest of his siblings, having one older brother and an older sister, all of them being roughly two years apart. at the age of eight, his family relocated to montreal, canada as a result of a promotion his mother received, which at such a young age, etienne had no qualms with, despite his siblings’ uneasiness.  upon moving to a new country at a young age, etienne truly found himself via escaping into various books and movies. often attempting to write his own and would force encourage his siblings to act his skits/plays out for his parents enjoyment. he continues to be very close with his parents and siblings - recently he taught his parents how to use facetime, so catch him face timing his family on sunday nights. 

   growing up, etienne also enjoyed playing all types of sports ( his parents signing him up hoping that he’d make friends as a result, which he did ). when it came down to it, athletic abilities-wise, there truly wasn’t anything that he wasn’t ‘ good ’ at, and that’s simply because he’s always been such a competitive individual / as well as a perfectionist. that competitive/perfectionist energy caused him to go home and practice a skill or trick for hours in order to be able to come back the next day and whoop everyone’s asses. overall, he’s very athletic, found alternating between various sports offered not only at school, but as well as through local clubs. ultimately, his love and appreciation for hockey swayed him and soon enough it became his sole focus. due to his perfectionist tendencies, etienne is very dedicated to his craft, he will spend hours practicing specific tricks and skills in order to be the best at what he does, which transcends past hockey and into, really, every aspect of his life. 

   throughout highschool ; etienne was a v dedicated student. although he’s a bit reckless and loved to goof off, he was always acing classes and applying himself. he genuinely cares for others, you could’ve seen his ass volunteering at a soup kitchen with his mom on sundays and what not, as well as take part in various clubs and sports ! just SOFT and sporty things. during this time, he joined the ontario hockey league and from there was eventually scouted out and recruited to the pittsburgh penguins as a defenseman at the age of eighteen - forgoing his parents desire for him to attend a university. although he enjoyed his time with pittsburgh, he was excited when the idea of being traded came up - eager to explore a new city and immerse himself in a new area. 

      trigger warning - injury, dislocation ( just in case !!!! ) however, he really didn’t enjoy new york ( hehe ), so he relocated to westmere soon after his initial arrival to nyc - finding a lot of comfort in living in a less populated area. he would commute during the hockey season to nyc, which to him wasn’t very far away, so this is where he’s been residing for the last three years !! however, in the last couple of weeks while training for the upcoming season my lil bb injured himself - not to get into tooooo much detail, i’ll just leave it at shoulder dislocation / joint separation due to a hard hit !! basically he’s out for this upcoming season, already having surgery completed, he’s currently healing for the next couple of months, allowing himself to fully experience that westmere fall !!!

   overall, etienne can come off as a bit reserved, and distant whether that be a result of his untrusting nature of others, or simply unfamiliarity. it takes a bit of time before he feels comfortable to share his true opinion / commentary / only doing so when he feels secure to do so. he’s not necessarily unfriendly, just a bit distant / lost in his thoughts. which varies, as with most ppl ofc, upon person to person and his level of comfortability among them. despite his often lack of conversation, he abhors an uncomfortable silence to settle and will fill it with nonsense to simply avoid the feeling altogether. so, if you ever want to catch him rambling, just making him uncomfortable dkjfngdf. he definitely approaches most things with a bit of ‘ tough love ‘ . he doesn’t mind getting into a quarrel or two if he knows its worth the outcome he’s envisioned. etienne will tell others when they are fucking up, and if they are throwing a punch as a result - catch him leaning into it, which explains his bout of reckless antics. he can come off as a know it all, when it comes to advice giving, but more so because he thinks he’s really good at analyzing others and situations they are in, not necessarily because he’s lived through them himself, he’s just rather intuitive and able to empathize quite easily with others despite his verbal admittance of it. when it comes down to this binches reckless bits, he just feels so intensely that he ends up numbing himself in the aftermath of it all ( especially bc he’s definitely not sharing those feelings with the people around him ), therefore he’s willing to put himself into harms way in order to get a bit of that - happiness / pain, it doesn’t matter to him as long as he no longer feels overwhelmed by numbness. so, if ya see him with some scrapes and stitches ~ mind ya business. but he’ll likely try to drag somebody else into it, and make it seem like it was their idea. but if he is truly comfortable with somebody, he walks a fine line of won’t stop talking, especially if it’s an interest of his, and comfortable silence.

_________________________

𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖔𝖓𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖙𝖞 & 𝖍𝖆𝖇𝖎𝖙𝖘

he is a CANCER, therefore in this essay i will..... kidding but here’s some fun cancer info i saw that applies to my bb !! at first he appears to be wistful, sarcastic ( maybe a lil crabby ) , shy, distant and mysterious. this personality remains if he isn’t completely comfortable around somebody. but overall, that’s just his facade, his ‘smokescreen’ of sorts to scare off the world from his outwards persona. underneath that layer ( makes me think of shrek metaphor with onions // don’t mind me ), BUT he’s gentle, kind and affectionate ( if you manage to make it to that level * bell dings * ) !!! overall, etienne is a sensitive soul, a bit emotional although he’d rather d*e than show that to others. likely will internalize anything that can hurt his feelings / a low blow and will do something chaotic as a result later on bc of it. very polite, and a little worldly, he is truly the epitome of old-school gentlemanly manners. chivalry coming as a second nature to him !!

that was getting ramble-y, so continuing HERE. but when it comes to romance, as per the cancer man, the concept of love is a mystery, one that etienne is trying to attain. however, his shyness and innate distrust of others make it difficult for him to allow himself to fall in love. his guard is always up when it comes to his emotions, and it’ll take a bit of prodding before he’s willing to speak up on what’s desired from him. he’s v picky when it comes to finding the “ partner of his dreams “ - but he’s def willing to throw himself into the romance of the situation, i.e. buying flowers, riding white horses, and slaying metaphorical dragons. the traditional side means that he will shower his partner with thoughtful gifts, wine and dine them in the best restaurants, and try to grant their every wish. he will take the garbage out, fix that wobbly shelf, navigate on road trips, and kill more so trap and release bugs for his partner, and most important of all he will do it all without being asked. his loyalty and keen attention to the needs and wants of his potential partner. so basically, more so willing to showcase through actions than speak on it. it’s the little things, right ??!?!?! he def cherishes not just the act of being in a relationship, but what it means to become one with another person in mind, body, and soul.

prides himself on being able to make a mean cup of coffee, likely the worst person to watch a movie with bc he knows exactly how it’s going to end after only watching five minutes of it, he has a godawful sense of direction, will walk in circles for fifteen minutes before even raising a question about it/noticing ( but he refuses to acknowledge it. )

his house, car, workspace, junk drawer, closet….you name it - it’s organized, practically sparkling. often times arranged by color, and / or style. nothing is ever out of place, and if it is - there’s trouble brewing. but, more than anything, if he’s visiting somebody’s place and it’s messy, he will spend a solid thirty minutes picking everything up before doing whatever it is that was intended.

likes : reading, flowers, handwritten notes/letters, deep cleaning, baking, working on his pottery, watching the history channel and true crime docs and playing / watching hockey !!

dislikes : artichoke, clutter, sandals ( fkjgh ), unrealistic plotlines in movies &+ burnt coffee.

habits :  likely has a severe caffeine addiction, although he’s now normalized having six cups of coffee throughout his day. he’s an early riser, no matter how little the amount of sleep he’s received, he’s always the first to rise - for his early morning runs !!

strengths: creative, insightful, inspiring, convincing, determined and passionate, decisive, altruistic, intuitive !!

weaknesses: sensitive, extremely private, perfectionist, low-key always needs to have a cause / purpose, can burn out easily !!

overall : etienne truly strives to be kind, and genuinely wants for everyone to get along. treat people with kindness and the like. he has the best of intentions, but often times that can get a bit muddled with the way he goes about things due to his bit of chaotic energy / as well as his often points of getting lost in his thoughts. he won’t realize he’s been quiet for the last three hours unless it’s mentioned to him. he will do anything to lighten a dark mood, and will sacrifice / throw himself under the bus if its needed. however, he also is the type to cause the dark mood depending on the day. wahoo! his more reckless antics increase when he’s feeling a bit emotional !! but he’ll likely try and convince somebody to propose the idea so it’s not on him.

𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖔𝖒 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖉 𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖓𝖘

he lives with sebastian !! with his commuting to nyc for the hockey season, he wanted somebody to be able to take care of his house / garden and what not, and thus, seb arrived.

he’s v into making ceramics, cups / bowls / vases / etc !! what began as a fun hobby to distract himself in the offseason became something that he truly enjoys. ( laughing about that scene in ghost BUT DKJFNG OKAY ) although he’s pretty low-key about it, you can catch him at the farmers market selling his creations !! some pictures of his work can be found on his pinterest board !!

he is a vegetarian ! he has been since his freshman year of high school and has no plans on eating seafood/meat ever again.

he loves fancy wine ~ he’s cultured. 

he can play the drums !!

he collects vintage matchbooks and the stickers off of various fruits ( he puts them in a little notebook - can be found on his bookshelf ).

saves handwritten notes and letters from pals.

he loves to garden !!!! he has a specified rose shearing hat.

HE WANTS TO JOIN A BOOKCLUB PLEASE !!!!!!!! or at least have some casual moments of silence with another reading. plz and tysm.

to make things a bit simple, he has all of harry’s tattoos !!  might add more along the way !! stay tuned, folks !!

𝖜𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖓𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘

i am so up for anything!! please accept this ramble of ideas thrown below.  if you have any other ideas, lmk !!!! <3333 :’-) down to start from scratch and PLOT PLOT PLOT !

( 2 / 2 ) - BFFZ : the z for an added emphasis dkfjgnd. somebody who likely has a key to etienne’s house, they can enjoy one anothers company as well as the bouts of comfortable silence. you know how best friends are but kdjfngd still !! whether they are likeminded or polar opposites that just flow ~~ down for anything !! even a trio of sorts ?!

( 1 / 1 ) - RIDE OR DIE / CHAOTIC COMPANION : it would be wrong to say one is the more likely the bad influence over the other, although etienne may just be. these two find themselves bounding into, well hell, ( i guess??? ) together. playing on one anothers impulsiveness and if one ends up in the back of a police car, the other is handcuffed to them. and yet despite the length of their potential injuries, they find themselves thinking of something crazier to subject them to the next time around.

( 1 / 1 ) - GUARDIAN ANGEL / GOOD INFLUENCE : with etienne being a bit chaotic in nature, he needs somebody that is likely going to steer him clear from all the ideas that’ll bring him to the brink of disaster. he’s impulsive and in that desperate attempt to feel again, he’s very likely to bring a bit of mayhem upon himself. so while they may be worrying and attempting to talk his ideas down, he’s trying to get them to go along with his plan. it may be rare that he actually takes their advice, but when he does it seems to be for the best.

( 1 / 1 ) - PARTY FRIEND : these two know how to have a good time together. despite the amount of alcohol they are throwing back and the shenanigans they find themselves in as a result, this is a time where they also find themselves confiding in one another. if you look at their camera rolls, it’s likely they have tons of embarrassing and unflattering videos and pics of one another, in between their sob-worthy confessionals and venting/rants. these two trust one another, and although they love getting wreckT together, they find themselves discussing very raw and personal details. likely the only person etienne confides in, simply bc he’s completely plastered.

( 1 / 1 ) - SIBLING-LIKE RELATIONSHIP : these two have a love/hate relationship, very sibling like filled with pranks, competition, teasing and playful banter. however, when it comes down to it they have so much love and respect for one another. they know that no matter what happens they will always have one anothers back and be supportive of the other. truly a pure content filled relationship.

okay quick mention, ENEMY PLOTS ?!?!?!?!?!? i would live for one. i can’t imagine etienne being hardcore nasty, but i’d like to see whatever version comes out for this. so let’s get it djfngjakdfg maybe they just hold different viewpoints on the world and what not and clash, anything really !!! v open !!

( 1 / 1 ) - MENTOR - etienne needs a bit of structured or unstructured guidance, all depending on what their deemed mentor is wanting to impart on him, a bit of wisdom or slight chaos. kdjfgn he’ll take anything !! 

RANDOM LITTLE IDEAS : maybe they’ve heard of one another in town, but haven’t quite met yet! or maybe they see each other around all the time, but have yet to introduce themselves to one another but low-key maybe in some online forum for the town together ?! who knows some fun things kdjnfg i AM OPEN !

ooh maybe a slowburn of sorts ?! something spicy to wreck HIS and my life with.  dkfjgn we can base this off of chemistry !!! :’-)

[belladonnabear]

Tomura Shigaraki X Reader: Recruiting (LEMON)

Scenario: Tomura tries to find some new members for the League of Villains since Dabi isn't doing a good job and he ends up meeting a very attractive girl. That girl is you.

The tall man started scratching at neck irritably. Dabi wasn’t finding any new members for the League of Villains like he was supposed to. Kept talking about how none of them worthy. Shigaraki believed him at first but over time Shigaraki was getting fed up with no results. How hard could it be to find someone to join the League of Villains that wasn’t a total idiot?

He was going to go searching for some new members himself but he had one quick stop first. He found himself at a video game store to just browse around and look for something enjoyable. Not wanting to attract attention, he strolled through the very back of the store. His eyes however drifted to a very seductive girl who was also searching the shelves for a game. 

His eyes examined her figure closely, taking in every detail of her body. From the top of her head to the bottom of her feet. She was reading the back of a video game case with a bright smile on her face. He felt his body become heated all of a sudden and his head felt like it was spinning around.

What is this? Why was he reacting this way? Why did she look so good in that jacket? That skirt, why is it so high up? What kind of underwear did she have on underneath? Did she have some sort of special quirk that made him feel like this? 

However, he noticed he wasn’t the only one eyeing at her. Two perverted scumbags sauntering over to her. One of them wrapped his arm around her shoulders and he greeted. “Hey there gorgeous! Whatcha got there?”

Shigaraki didn’t know what this feeling was burning deep inside of him. It felt something similar to rage. A fire erupted inside of him and he was glaring at them with a burning hatred. He hated them.

“She’s got herself a Pokemon game! That’s cute!” the other guy snickered.

You however didn’t think it was cute at all. You smacked the guys arm off of you and frowned. “Could you not?”

“Not what?” the guy who had his arm wrapped around her asked.

“Look at me like I’m a piece of meat.” you rolled your eyes.

“Can’t help it hot stuff, maybe you should be more careful about what you wear.” the other man said from behind her.

While she turned around to glance at him, his friend flipped her skirt up revealing her panties underneath it. Shigaraki was about ready to turn them to dust when something unexpected happened.

The pretty female had whipped around and gave a good roundhouse kick to the man. He slammed against the shelves, the back of his neck hitting the bracket of the shelf. The other man tried to swing at her but she blocked his arm with her own and kneed him in the crotch. He sunk to his knees, tears beading out of his eyes while he whined.

The other man got back up and brought out a pocket knife he ran at her trying to slash at her but she maneuvered herself out of the way and jabbed his throat. He dropped the knife while she quickly took it. Hovering it above his eyeball, he froze in fear as he stared at the glistening blade. Afraid to move in case he would accidentally cut himself.

“People like you are trash. You don’t aspire to do anything with your lives. Instead, you want to make other people miserable because you’re miserable. There’s nothing worse is this world than a person with no aspirations or motives. You’re just a waste of air.” you darkly whispered.

Shigaraki was enamoured in this moment. A strong beautiful woman with a mind of her own. Not at all content to just let others push you around. 

The other man ran away while the guy pinned down was frozen in fright. What were you going to do? Were you going to kill him? Would you stab him in the eye? Shigaraki couldn’t get enough of it and watched the show in awe. Loving every second of you teaching this guy a lesson.

“If you’re afraid, then never appear before me again.” you threatened.

She got off of him as the man stumbled to get up before running away. You casually put your blade away and stretched your arms above your head yawning.

“Man, that was a thrill. But I didn’t even see the game I wanted! What a total waste!” you complained.

The way you handled yourself against that total idiot spiked a huge sensation through Shigaraki. One that led him to become very aroused when he saw your slim beautiful legs that looked so soft to touch. He wanted more. He wanted you.

As if on cue, you glanced over at him with a carefree smile. “Wanna take this back to my place? It would be a shame to let this night go to waste.”

A shame indeed.

~~

The two of you barely made it back to your place. Shigaraki wanted to take you on the side of the building but you managed to get him to hold back until you two made it into your apartment complex. Once you made it there though, all bets were off and he was touching you liked a starved man. You were laying on the bed while he started taking off his hoodie.

Your legs wind around each other, and Shigaraki’s weight drives you down into your bed, and his hot lips consume against your lips. He kisses his way down to your collarbone, and it sends, pleasurable strikes each time his lips contact your skin. You could feel the wetness gathering between your legs, and there was a growing bulge in the mans pants. The man with wild red eyes that gleamed at you mischievously. You could tell from the way he was watching you, that he was no ordinary man. And that's why the idea of sleeping with him made you giddy.

Without a word, Shigaraki silently moved his hands to the waistband of your panties, delicately placing all five fingers on it as it disintegrated. Seeing his quirk in action caused you lick your lips in satisfaction. The things those fingers could do to you...

His touch was increasingly soft now, his voice wheezed tenderly as he disclosed to you how wonderful you looked, emphasizing his words with light strokes on your exposed clit. And after that his fingers were pushing themselves against your wet cunt, two long digits rubbing your clit and all of a sudden you knew nothing else, it was all this stranger and his fingers. It didn't take him long to get you directly on to the edge and after that he pulled his fingers from your warmth. You could hear him licking them clean, tasting you, and that prepared you much more for what was to come.

Then the man removed pants and you saw as he threw his trousers across the room. He didn’t have anything on underneath and it excites you more to see him bare. He moaned as he stroked himself multiple times. And after that you let out a cry of joy when he at long last, entered you. It wasn't delicate, it wasn't making love, this was pure unfiltered fucking. Carnal, crude and obsessive. His hands were snatching your hips, fingers delving into your soft hips as you gripped the sheets of your bed tightly. He was huge and filled you to your very center in only one push, yet it felt tremendously satisfying. He gradually pushed out and did likewise again however this time increasingly slow trembled with joy as you felt him inch into you and fill you gradually.

“F-F-Faster!” you moaned.

“Keep begging!” he ordered.

You wanted to just take the reins and ride him but you were too lost in the moment to really care.

“Pl-Please! I want it! Make me c-cum!” you begged.

“Scream my name! Shigaraki! Call me by my name!” he demanded.

And without hesitation you did.

“S-Shigaraki!!”

All you heard was his satisfied laugh and rugged breath as he pushed into you a couple of more times, hitting your g-spot again and again. His hips snapped into you and you yelled out his name. Your back angled off the bed as you shouted; his finger is pushing against your clit as he pushes into you, his gleaming red eyes fixed all over your body. Loving every sound that was coming out of your pretty mouth. 

“That’s my pretty little pet,” he groaned above you. “Oh, fuck!” 

A silent scream was torn from you as he mercilessly thrusted into you, making you shake through your climax, joy wracking your body. You were both falling into the profundities of your sweat-soaked, foul, messy however very pleasurable climax. He laid his head on your chest chuckling maniacally. He was so glad he left the bar and found perfect entertainment.

“Was it good?” he smugly asked.

“Hell yes.” you responded with a grin. “Wanna try this again?”

“Oh absolutely. But first, I want to talk to you about joining the League of Villains...”

~~ Author's Note: Time's have been tough lately. If you want to give me a donation, please visit my Ko-fi page. Remember, if you have any suggestions for what to write here's the rules to submit a writing prompt.

(I am allowed to decline writing prompts if I don’t have inspiration to write) 1. No OC’s pretty please. Reader inserts only. I have had a bad experience on Deviantart trying to write someone’s OC for a request and they ended up harassing me for months because I didn’t get it right. 2. Don’t submit multiple posts. Try to limit to one so I don’t get overwhelmed. 3. Please be polite to everyone you see here.

Ko-Fi Account: https://ko-fi.com/P5P515Y3Z?action=setcovercompletion

Thank you everyone! Have a fantastic day!

[kinsbin]

Self Care and Sunsets [Xena/James]

Title: Self Care and Sunsets Ship: Xena/James [Self Insert/OC] Word Count: 4,096

Summary: Xena asks James to stay home with her for a day and spend some time working on self  care for the both of them. James agrees and the two learn just what they find wonderful about the home they built together.

A/N: I REMEMBERED MY INTENSE AND UNDYING LOVE FOR @nadineselfships‘s oc James Sinclair and I accidentally went a bit ham writing a fic for me and him. I just want the man to hold me and love me and make it so its only us okay....

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It was warm at The Ranch. Undeniably a result of the oncoming summer weather that settled itself within the rolling hills of Montana in the oncoming months. It brought with it a slight stickiness with humidity and the beginnings of thunderstorms brewing far in the distance that always made the horses uneasy when they caught a whiff of the scent of its waters. Sometimes, even in his bedroom, James could hear the soft and uneasy whinnies of the steeds somewhere far in the corral, prompting him to stand and check on the beasts in hopes that he could calm then down with oats and a few extra blankets within their stables for the nights. Right now though? All was quiet and safe, a comforting warmth simply edging its way into the old wood of the home as he breathed in the scent of pen ink and paper as he continued his letter to Mother on the recent acquisitions of land from the Seed’s rebellion forces along his territory. He wrote away on his bed, papers across his lap and books at his side with maps of Hope County open in scribbled notes of highlights. It was a comfortable way to work, though it did a number on his back, and he was almost finished enough for him not to bother with moving to his desk. 

That was when the door swung open.

It was rare for Xena not to knock. He had always insisted that, if she really needed something, knocking wasn’t necessary and she could simply come into his room whenever she wanted. She rarely allowed herself that pleasure though, preferring a polite tap onto his door and a call of his name as she waited for the permission of his voice to let her inside. James paused and looked up from his work, realizing that whatever had happened must have somehow been enough to get Xena to forego that rule in favor of simply entering in an effort to garner his attention.

With the look on her face, he realized, it probably wasn’t good.

No sooner had he thought it before she had flung herself across him. James had barely any time to move the papers he was working on and, even then, some still managed to crumple themselves under her as she lay her chest across his legs and simply sat there, face in the sheets and piles of books he had out, hanging half off the bed as a deep sigh echoed from between her lips. James blinked once. Twice. The slow process of his mind began to click into gears together as he reached out and ruffled his smaller girlfriend’s hair with a slow gentility. His large hands wove between the short ruby strands with tender, loving care as he leaned forward and kissed the back of her head, making her shiver.

“Something wrong, sweetheart?”

The nickname flowed from his lips naturally and it made Xena’s heart flutter to hear it from his lips as she shut her eyes tighter for a moment and then rolled her body over so that she was looking up at James rather than down on the sheets. James let himself smile slightly at the sight of her glasses, crooked on her face as she pouted upwards with something between boredom and anxiety written in her expression. His hand continued to pet at her hair, twirling each strand as she reached up with one of her hands and found his free one, entwining her fingers with his as she took a long, deep breath and bit her lip.

He waited for her to speak as he always did. Sometimes Xena simply took a long time to form words with her mouth, a process she was better at putting on paper than vocally as everyone seemed to want her to do. Her letters to Nadine and The Mother were always so eloquent and carefully put together, masterpieces of words strung in coherent tapestries who painted themselves into near moving pictures with the fluidity of her statements. Xena had told him one, offhandedly, that she had been studying in University to be an author before settling down in Hope County with him. He could believe it.

“I...” Xena’s voice was soft as she spoke, “I want to... I want to be selfish today, James.”

“Selfish?” His eyebrow raised in a questioning look at her, “How so?”

“I...” Xena groaned and covered her face with one hand, the other that still held his own squeezing nervously, “I don’t know it’s just that! Everything going on out there... The world and the Seeds an the fighting and the choosing sides I... It’s too much today. It’s just too much and I don’t want to listen to it or handle any of it! And I just-! It’s too much!”

She paused in her ranting to look up at him, her heart tightening at his face as tears welled in her eyes and the beginnings of a pout formed on her lips. Frowning, James reached out and slowly wiped away the tears from under her glasses, the calloused texture of his hands bringing nothing but comfort to the girl beneath him as she nuzzled into his touch and side up, gaze bright like a does as she continued to pout despite herself. The movement of her lips combined with the red flush of her cheeks as she stressed painted her in such a beautifully cute picture that James could feel his heart tighten in adoration even before her next request:

“So I-I want to be selfish today... Don’t go out today, okay? Can you just... stay in here... with me?”

The phrase and the face that added to it all but winded James as he let his breath exhale in a shaky sound of awe. His hand gripped on hers tighter for a moment as he considered her request, well, as he pretended to consider it. In reality his mind was made up. From the moment that red faced, near teary pout perched itself on her gaze he knew that she would get him to agree to whatever the selfish request was. This was no exception as he finally leaned forward and capture her lips in a long, languid kiss.

“I can do that,” James agreed with a smile breaking on his mouth, making one form on hers as she gazed up at him in excitement, “Let me finish this last letter and I’m all yours for the day, okay doll?”

“O-Okay!”

Xena sat up quickly, pausing in her movements to shuffle around and then throw herself at him into a hug, embracing around his neck and nuzzling herself into the side of his face as she sighed with relief, the ghosting of her breath sending a shiver down James’ spine as he smiled and hugged her back. His hand rested nicely in the small of her spine as she tightened her grip on him, as though afraid that he might slip from her arms like sand. He placed a kiss on her forehead in return, smiling into it and listening to her laugh at how the stubble of his jaw tickled her forehead. Their bodies pressing so close together only helped to remind James even more of why he loved her.

Once Xena had left the room and the letter to Mother was completely finished, sealed and signed off in accordance to their system, James exited his room and searched around for his girlfriend.

Sure enough he found her in the kitchen, sitting on one of the counters as she idly flipped through a cook book that he had gotten her for a present. The holiday escaped him (christmas or her birthday, he assumed) but his heart still swelled to see her so attentively reading something he had gotten for her. Her love of cooking shone in every dish she made out of the book, an unforgettable and enjoyable taste testing always open for him when she decided to experiment with her food. 

He approached her and kissed her again, hugging her close as he tilted his head down at her. Xena smiled and pushed the book away in favor of wrapping her legs around James’ waist and hugging him close, inhaling the scent of his cologne and natural musk as she exhaled out with a comforting noise. He was a perfect combination of both scents. He was a perfect scent of home. 

“Well,” He smiled down, “You have me for the day, don’t you? What did you want to do?”

Xena bit her lip, her hands twirling the hair on the back of his neck as she spoke out her desires:

“I... wanted you to shave my head.”

“I- really?”

James blinked, looking up at the strands of ruby red that decorated Xena’s head and touching at them curiously.

“Like down to the scalp?”

“Nah, maybe with like... an inch of hair or something?” Xena bit her lip and smiled, “I’ve wanted to do it for a while and, I figured, us being inside all day together maybe It’d be a good chance to have someone do it for me and... we can see how we like it?”

Her eyes glowed with worry. Worry that he would say no. Worry that he would scoff at her and tell her just how bad it would look if they did so. All the fear of rejection painted itself so vulnerably on Xena’s face all at once that James’ heart hurt just looking at the expression. Reaching out, he took one of her hands and planted a kiss in its palm, smiling into it as he gave a nod and squeezed her tightly against him in a reaffirming gesture of togetherness.

“Alright,” He agreed with little hesitation, “I’ll do it.”

Xena’s eyes shone with excitement and disbelief. He would? Her heart leapt at the thought and her scalp itched in itself to be free. Xena moved to unwrap herself eagerly from her boyfriend and make her way to the bathroom, but James’ hands kept her on his hips and steady as her legs were forced to wrap tighter around his waist. Blinking, the confusion only lasted for a split second before James moved and Xena was heaved upwards with him, making her yell through a laugh as her arms flung themselves around his neck for balance. James’ grinned with a mischievous laugh before kissing her again and walking with her, carefully, to the master bathroom.

The wide marble space smelled of delicious soaps and tea tree oil, surrounding the two in a warmth they loved as Xena was set on the counter again, her back to the mirror as James unwound her from his form in favor of searching for the clippers that he used on his own hair and beard whenever he felt they grew too unkempt. 

“Are you sure?” James asked again, not about shaving her head but about him doing it as he swallowed, “I’ve only ever done my own hair... I tried to do Nadine’s once but they weren’t exactly happy with how short I cut it and-”

“I trust you.” Xena’s words were final as she nodded, taking off her glasses and putting them to the side as she smiled, her lips parted so perfectly that James’ felt his breath catch as he nodded. Taking a deep and shaky breath, the man flipped the clippers on. The sound of their whirring echoed as the only noise in the otherwise quiet bathroom and, with careful hands, he brought them down to Xena’s head.

Her locks fell like red snow against the bright tiled floor. Pieces of her locks tickled at his fingertips as he ran the edge of the clippers carefully along the shape of her scalp, feeling the softness that replaced the tangle of hair atop her head as she lost it inch by inch. She was pliable in his arms though, easily moving when he needed her to tilt her head or look a certain direction. The entire time her eyes were closed, her lips parted into a near purr of enjoyment as the feeling of the machine running against her scalp gave her a sense of comfort through the anxiety and exhaustion she had been feeling for nearly a week. 

He spent a few moments more cleaning up edges and feeling her hair to make sure it was even before turning the clippers off, looking on at the expanse of her smooth head and the thin layer of hair that now covered it, short and neat as he reached a hand out to gently pat the scalp. It felt like a dog with a short coat, he mused with a smile.

“There,” James finally declared, “What do you think?”

Xena took a moment to shake her head free of any extra small hairs before putting her glasses back on and turning her head to the mirror with a slow movement.

Her breath hitched and her eyes widened, her face flushing in awe as she reached up to touch at the soft buzzcut she now sported. Gaping at it for so long, it began to make James slightly nervous as he furrowed his brow.

“It’ll grow back, I mean, if you don’t like it and-”

“No!” Xena interrupted him with a gasp, “No, James, I... I love it! I wanted this for so long and now I just-” She grinned, all teeth and excitement as she held his hand, “It’s perfect, thank-you!”

She looked so... happy. Over something so small... He couldn’t help but smile back and laugh as he touched the smoothness of her cut again in awe.

“It suits you,” James declared appreciatively, “You look cute~.”

“Stop it,” Xena blushed and nudged him lightly with a foot, “We’re covered in my hair now though... We should probably take a bath or something.”

“Right,” James laughed, “If you want to go first I can-”

“No.”

“Huh?”

“I wanted to... I mean we could just-” Xena blushed as she gestured between them, “Take one together?”

James felt his ears go red as the two of them stared at one another for the longest of moments, the echoes of nothingness heavy between them as slowly, surely, James found himself nodding dumbly at the thought. His heart beat faster with every second they didn’t say anything and Xena’s smile was so shy and soft in its shape that he had to stop himself from punching a wall in order to regain some semblance of his composure. Instead he watched her move to the large porcelain tub that sat itself neatly on the side of the bathroom and turn the golden lacquered handles on, listening as the straining pipes fed steaming water into the container. 

It wasn’t until Xena tested the halfway filled tub and began taking off her clothes that James jumped into action, his own movements twisting and fumbling as he scrambled for his own shirt, making Xena laugh somewhere in front of him as she searched around the bathroom, now shirtless, for some bath salts to slip into their shared experience.

Soon enough she found some and the water shortly smelled of lavender and eucalyptus, a heady and rich scent that made James reel in its presence as the fog of the hot water began to condense along the mirror. Both stripped of their clothing, James got in first and Xena followed shortly after, her back pressing to his front as the two of them leaned together in the warmth of the tub. 

Xena exhaled as the warm water soothed her aching, tense bones. She felt her back slowly relax, the knots that had formed in it fading with ever second the salts soaked into her body. Small strips of hair from the shave washed themselves down their forms as they soaked together, James’ hands finding her hips and rubbing gently on the bare skin there as his head rested atop her own. Xena smiled, feeling the beating of her lover’s heart as she leaned into him and pet at one of his knees, admiring his form for a long moment as they sat in comfortable silence, letting the echo of the faucet dripping fill the void.

James let his hands ghost across his lover, finding spots on the back of her neck and shoulders to place slow, loving kisses in patterns he didn’t pay attention to. She tasted like the bath salts and the feeling of his mouth made her shiver against him, making James smile into her skin as he let his hands roam up and down her body with a gentility that made Xena melt into his touch. He always touched her like this, she half realized as she shut her eyes, like she was something precious. Like she was a delicate being made to be worshipped and admired before anything else. It made her feel... loved. Accepted. Needed.

Something she hadn’t experienced before.

The thought made her wince and she looked down at the visible parts of her bare body, noting the various scars that dribbled themselves across her tanned skin like unwelcome flecks of snow. Bright white scars from picking at her skin in an aimless compulsion shone all along her arms and stomach, matching alongside the deep gashes of cuts from times in the past that she didn’t feel as loved as she was now. Decorated callouses of her hands along with childhood scars of accidentally stapling fingers and slamming thumbs into car doors. Of burning herself with hot oil and getting scratched by a cat, all labeled so precisely on her body that it made her frown tighten on her lips the more she thought about it. Could he really love someone like that? Did he really kiss her like she was made to be worshipped if she had all of these scars.

“Hey.”

James spoke as though he could sense her worry, her head tilting upwards to make eye contact with the man behind her. He looked down at her, his brows furrowed with a serious look she had only ever seen when he was concentrating on something important. It made her blush under its scrutiny as his hands touched at her collar bone and his lips found hers in a slow, awkward kiss that tasted like soap and mint and oils but was full of such a passion that she couldn’t help but shiver.

“You’re beautiful,” He whispered with his lips still against her own, “I won’t ever let you forget that.”

“Hah,” She smiled weakly, “You sure about something like that? I’m not.”

James leaned down to kiss her again, trailing his lips to her cheek and down her neck, kissing spots on her shoulder and down her arms, paying attention to spots that were particularly marked up with her habitual scarification. Xena shivered with each and ever scraggly kiss pressed into herself, her body leaning further into James as he continued to worship her with every movement. 

Each kiss was fire on Xena’s body, sending shockwaves up her torso and into her stomach as she whimpered and twisted both with worry and enjoyment all at once, feeling his mouth so far against her made her feel so vulnerable... It was beautiful and warm and scary all at once. Eventually James made it to her ear, his breath hot in the shell of it as he kissed there as well and smiled so wide she could feel it against her skin.

“You’re beautiful to me, that’s something isn’t it?”

Xena laughed and could only nod.

“I suppose so.”

The bath ended and the two of them climbed out, helping one another dry off and remove the stray pieces of hair that still vaguely lingered against their skin before returning to the bedroom to slip on some clothes. Xena had made it a point to steal one of James’ large sweaters, slipping it on alongside a pair of his boxers in the defense that her clothes were always so uncomfortable and, when she was trying to relax, his scent and his softer articles had always helped her in one way or another. He couldn’t find enough refusal to protest, of course, as seeing his girlfriend in nothing but a sweater far too big for her and a pair of hiked up boxers was a delightful treat to his eyes and ego. 

He couldn’t stop watching as the collar of the large sweater slid off of her shoulder, revealing the expanse of skin to him in all of its glory and James had the indescribably urge to kiss it yet again as he leaned forward and did just that, his warm breath ghosting as Xena laughed and gently ruffled at his hair. 

“You’re worse than the dog,” Xena laughed as she raised an eyebrow.

“At least I don’t smell like him, yeah?” James teased.

“Well SOMETIMES-”

“Hey!”

They nuzzled one another through their laughs, James pressing another kiss to her lips before they stood up and looked out one of the windows, Xena’s eyes widening with delight.

“Oh wow,” She whispered, “Sunset already... Can we go watch it?”

James smiled and nodded, allowing her to grab him by the hand and gently lead him towards the front porch of their home, facing the way of the sun as it slowly sunk in the skyline in the distance.

Xena sat on the porch, her legs dangling lightly on the wood as she watched the sky paint itself hues of brilliant blues and pinks and yellows and oranges all at once. The clouds turned a rich flamingo pink as they moved across the lazy skyline of the mountainside, some peaking behind the shadows of dense trees and the others overcoming them completely. James found himself at her side, an arm around Xena’s shoulder as he pulled her close to him. Xena complied, leaning on his shoulder and sighing with awe as the two of them gazed out at the expanse of wilderness they owned. That they lived in.

Xena vaguely remembered the hustle of the city life she had once lead. The business of traffic and the running for busses she might not even catch. Everything in her life had always moved so fast and for so long that she could never remember how to stop moving. How to slow herself down enough to enjoy even the smallest thing. That was one of the reasons that brought her out on a road trip to Montanna. It was something that lead her here, to James and the Sinclairs and all the beauty that Hope County had to offer as the sun continued to fade in the distance, bit by bit, and James’ arms became more of a home than the city ever was.

“Enjoy your day?” James wondered as he kissed her forehead. Xena purred and nuzzled into him, a leg flying around one of his as she tangled herself as close as possible to her boyfriend.

“I did,” She admitted as she kissed his jaw, feeling the stubble on her lips and the way he tensed with surprise at the contact, only to melt into it when she pressed another one a little higher up on his jawline, “Everything was... perfect, James I... Thanks for staying with me. I appreciate it and... I’m sorry if I took you away from anything important or-”

“You didn’t,” James interrupted before she could fumble out more sorries, “Sweetheart, any time I get to spend with you is better than any work I have to do, bar none. Trust me when I say I’d rather be here with you any day.”

“Sounds a bit much.”

“Well it’s the truth,” James nuzzled her again, “I can prove it to you if you want.”

“Oh you can?”

Her smile was playful. As was his. The two came together again in a long, languid kiss that engulfed them both as much as the sunset seemed to. 

And it was in that moment she felt loved. She felt wanted by all the forces of nature that surrounded her. By the lips that consumed her own in the most vehement of ways as they, too, showed their appreciation for her existence. It was as though all the stars in the sky aligned to point her there, in the direction of a sunset atop a beautiful ranch with a handsome man on a patio made of redwood and warmth beyond all else.

Yes. Beyond all else, Xena decided as she kissed James deeper, this was where she belonged.

This was home.