#carries seen it i have fulfilled my carrie privilege obligations

[amesliu]

THE SUN AND THE STAR cover if it was by me and for a comic/graphic novel 🫶

[potteresque-ire]

Happy Pride! 🏳️‍🌈  (June is Pride Month where I am 😊) For the occasion, may I recommend this animated musical short, 秘密港 Safe Haven, by the Beijing Queer Chorus (北京酷兒合唱團)? Published on the International Day Against Homophobia, Transphobia and Biphobia (IDAHOBIT; May 17th, 2021),  the animation, with its lovely (and at times, heartbreaking) song, is about a queer person and their friend who tries to offer their support. The lyrics is English-subbed.

(Below the cut: a wish for the c-queer community; conception of Safe Haven, as explained by the Beijing Queer Chorus; CW/TW for homophobia, violence and forced abortion)

Background for my wish: with the recent Chinese government’s aggressive turnaround in its population control policy to combat its declining birth rate—on 2021/05/31, China further lifted the cap of number of children allowed per couple from 2 to 3 (the number was 1 for almost four decades, 1978-2015; the population control measure has therefore been colloquially called the “One Child Policy”), younger generations of Chinese are already feeling the pressure and fearing the consequences of non-compliance (for example, if the state levies heavy fines on non-child-bearers).   

While I have not yet read articles that directly connect the major policy shift with the c-queer community, I imagine it may bring both relief and additional challenges. The relief will likely take time to come; the challenges, meanwhile,  will likely be immediate. 

This has to do with the root of antagonism against homosexuality in Chinese societies. Unlike in their Western counterparts, Chinese queers have consistently reported that family, instead of societal, pressure as the greatest challenge they face (societal pressure includes that from religion, from government etc). C-queers are expected to abide to the heteronormative traditions of opposite-sex marriage and child-bearing, in a collectivistic, conformist environment still strongly influenced by the Confucian notion that continuing the bloodline is the primary responsibility of a filial child. Men, especially, are under heavy pressure to carry on their family surname. Those who fail to do so are seen as irresponsible at best, moral failures at worst. They suffer anything and everything from constant nagging from their relatives, to ostracisation, to disownment. 

A better known consequence of this cultural antagonism against homosexuality in the tragic Tongqi (同妻 “homo-wives”) phenomenon that is, perhaps, unique to China. 

Tongqi are straight women who unknowingly entered marriage with closeted gay man, who often learn about their spouse’s sexuality only after the filial obligation of having children has been fulfilled. It’s a form of marriage fraud; women who file for divorce, however, are likely to lose custody of their child(ren) under Chinese laws, and so many of them keep mum. The gay men involved are also victims in many cases; the lack of public, open education and discussion of queer topics in the country mean even the queers themselves may not have a full understanding of their own queerness, believe that “straightening” themselves is something they can do with sufficient willpower and love for their family. 

As one may expect, these marriages are mostly unsatisfying; psychiatric issues and intimate partner violence (IPV), which include verbal, emotional and physical abuse, have also been frequently reported. Just how prevalent are Tongqi’s in China that, in turn, reflect how many gay men in China are pressured to remain in the closet and get married? The following numbers may serve as comparison. In 2010, the percentage of gay men married to heterosexual women in the US was 15-25%. In China and in 2018, meanwhile, the reowned Chinese sexologist, sociologist and LGBT rights activist, Li Yinhe (李銀河), quoted an estimate of 80% of China’s ~ 20 million gay men were married to heterosexual wives; i.e. the Tongqi population amounted to ~16 million. Literature has reported a similar estimated size of the Tongqi population—at 13+ million, in 2016. 

(Reason for the numbers being estimates: the exact size of the c-queer community isn’t known. China’s decennial census questionnaire from late last year (2020) once again excluded questions about its own LGBT+ community. "Room mate” is how many c-queers have to refer to their partners).

While the Chinese government decriminalised homosexuality in 1997 and its current laws carry no clauses that target the queer community—the official stance of Chinese government on homosexuality is currently 不支持，不反對，不提倡 “not supporting, not opposing, not advocating”—what may seem to be its non-queer-related policies have indirectly but majorly impacted the lives of c-queers. In particular, the “One Child Policy” has been hypothesised to exacerbate the challenge faced by c-queers, as the only child becomes the sole “next generation” available for producing grandchildren and extending the family bloodline. 

Hence, my expectation / hope that the relaxation of "One Child Policy”, by lifting the cap on the number of children a couple can have, will bring relief to the LGBT+ population—even if the relief will only come years down the road, as the newer generations of c-queers will then have siblings to share their filial responsibilities. 

However, this also explains my worry for now, for the immediate months and years to come, for not only c-queers but the younger generations of Chinese in general. My worry is about how, exactly, the state intends to drive its birth rate upward, and the hardship the new policies may bring. 

The practices of China’s population control policies have historically been brutal. Forced, late-term abortions were common, for example. This is reflected in the country’s birth control propaganda banners, commonly seen in Chinese villages until late 2000s, which were infamous for their verbal violence:

“Beat it out! Abort it! Miscarry it! Just cannot give birth to it!”

Fines, which were levied on offenders of the One Child Policy, may seem like a better option but can place an unbearable burden on poorer families, of which there remain many in China. Premier Li Keqiang reported, in May 2020, that >40% of China’s population—600 million—are living with a monthly income of ~$140 USD or below, despite the glitz often seen in the country’s entertainment productions. Using One Child Policy era fines for reference, the famous Chinese director 張藝謀 Zhang Yimou was fined 7.48 million RMB (~$1.17 million USD) for his three children, in 2013. Defying the new population control policies may therefore be a privilege reserved for the very powerful and very rich. And the government is likely to be aggressive in enforcing its new policies—the social media accounts of > 20 feminist activists, who advocate for reproductive freedom among other women’s rights, have already been shut down in the recent weeks. 

Will the Chinese government find ways to penalise members of the queer community who do not contribute to the new baby count? Will it turn a blind(er) eye to the Tongqi 同妻 (and to a lesser extent, Tongfu 同夫 ~ heterosexual men married to lesbian women) tragedies happening every day? It’s impossible to say yet.

For this year, therefore, I wish the c-queer community this—I wish it to be safe from the reach of China’s population control policies, whatever they will be. 

Back to the animated short, Safe Haven, which is about coming out. In 2016, a 18,000 people survey by the United Nations Development Programme reported only 5% of Chinese queers had come out to people outside their families. Only 15% have come out to their families. A more recent survey reports a significant improvement in these percentages, with ~50% of gays, bisexuals and transgenders and 70% of lesbians having come out to their families (Table 2). Fully out queers remain rare (<10%).

There’s still, therefore, a long way to go. With queers often being out (if they’re out at all) only to their most immediate/intimate social circles, with the state’s censorship of LGBT+ presentation in visual media, many (especially older generations of) non-queers in China haven’t seen a living, breathing, outwardly queer person before. The process of coming out, by extension—what it means, what it takes for both the giver and receiver of the message—may have never entered the thoughts of these non-queers before.

What should they say? What should they do? What words and actions will convey support? What won’t?

Safe Haven is about these questions. I’ll end this post with a translation of the Weibo post in which the animated short was first published, in which Beijing Queer Chorus explained the project’s conception:

#517 IDAHOBIT# Do you remember how it was like, the first time you came out of the closet, or someone came out of the closet to you? Who was that person? What did you say at the time, and how did that person react?

The person who voluntarily exposes their heart requires courage. The person who receives the message may have their own heart filled with unease. 

Maybe, both are thinking: “What should I do?”

Coming out is such an important occasion. It can, perhaps, change a relationship forever.

Some will welcome warmth and hugs. Some others will get their first taste of homophobia. Yet some others will find neither.

After a queer person came out to their friend, they got, in return, “Don’t worry. I’ll still treat you as a friend.” It made them uncomfortable for a long time. But their straight family and friends didn’t understand. How could this be not a kind thing to say?

What is gay-friendly? What is homophobic? It appears that everyone has their own standards. The same words and behaviours transmit warmth to some, deep offence to others.

So, when we’re talking about “homophobia”, what are we talking about?

To commemorate this years #517 IDAHOBIT#, the Beijing Queer Chorus interviewed its tens of members and their relatives and friends, in hopes of investigating the difference in perspectives between homosexuals and straight people. How can this barrier be crossed, how can they work together to take care of the valuable relationships.

In the stories of all interviewees, a warmth like this can be felt: even with the risks, there remain those who are brave enough to display their true self; even with the misunderstandings, there remain those willing to keep the secrets of others, willing to learn to understand a whole new world.

We condensed these stories into an original, animated musical short, Safe Haven.

We hope every boat riding the winds and waves can find a harbour to unload their secrets. We also hope every person has enough gentle strength to be the safe haven for others. 

We offer our best wishes to every queer who lets their heart be seen ~ may your courage reap its rewards.

We thank every friend and family who have treated these hidden matters of the heart seriously. You make the world a better place.

[snapeaddict]

Hi, what do you say to the people who claim Regulus is the real Slytherin hero, and not Snape? To me RAB always seemed like a plot device and nothing more so I don't get why he's being worshipped... He's just another rich pureblood kid...

I say this is a very bad take, and it is disrespectful (that's a strong word for something that isn't really important but I cannot think of a softer version) of the actual people who enjoy his character. I'm going to write down some thoughts, but there's more to it than just what I would reply to them - allow me to ramble a little on the roots of this claim and on the thought process embraced by Snaters and Marauders apologists (I've seen that some people don't like this term, so I mean people who erase the Marauders' flaws and make them morally superior to Snape, justifying them being abusers and him being abused.)

The nonsense of comparing a plot device to a complex, layered character: Comparing Severus and Regulus is ludicrous. You are comparing one of the most (I would argue the most well-written and complex, but Dumbledore is quite something as well) well-written, accomplished character of the books to a plot device. It is indeed what Regulus is, no matter if his character could have been really interesting/seems to be interesting: we know very little of him, and he exists solely for the Slytherin locket plot. The very little we know of him certainly isn't enough to express any critical judgment of his character; he is mostly made out of white pages which are filled out by his fans, which is great, and by the people making this kind of argument, which is unfortunate.

The interest in the character only stems in his usefulness: I would argue that the vast majority of people making this claim do not care at all for the character himself, despite using him as a moral high ground. It is not his character which interests them, but how useful he can be to fuel their hate and biased claims. His personality? Having being sorted in Slytherin. His merits? Being a Slytherin. This is the only fact that matters, because it allows them to 'prove' that Snape wasn't a hero (being a hero does not mean being a good person, by the way) and diminishes Severus' merits. Using a character solely for the purpose of depreciating, downgrading another is not appreciating them: it's just completely hypocritical. This is often the kind of flat argument used by people opposed to social justice movements, if you will allow the broad comparison: using something you have never cared for before (often minority populations) in an attempt to depreciate something, even though the very fact you are using them for this purpose shows how little concerned you are with the actual people you are talking about. Well, it reminds me of this a bit. The true purpose is to try and impose your own views, and here they try to legitimise them by filling an almost inexistent character with their views to carry on with their agenda.

The sudden leniency toward privileged characters: Making such a claim in fact once again proves that Snaters have an extremely biased, subjective and elitist vision of what being good means, an opinion on what is moral integrity (and superiority because they keep comparing people), which they also apply to James and Sirius. I think Regulus is loved because he is a Black, respected by the fandom because he comes from a pureblood, rich family. It is very easy to prove: look at how much love Draco and Lucius get, despite being supporters of blood supremacy, active members of a terrorist group, using discriminatory insults on a daily basis, being actively supportive of the murders of muggle borns/participating in these murders [do not misinterpret this - I'm pointing out double standards, not saying they should not be loved. One's interest in a character does not depend on the character's morals]. Look at how respected Snape was in the fandom before book 6, when people thought he was a rich pureblood from an ancient family. Social hierarchy has a great impact on how people view characters, and they tend to be much more lenient toward privileged characters, because prestige is attractive, even in fiction. Similarly - but it is more concealed - there is the usual refusal to acknowledge that social inequalities do impact one's life, choices, and opportunities to be or do good. The quote "You didn't make good choices! You had good choices" (Little Fires Everywhere) works quite well in this context, especially regarding James and Severus, but also regarding the Blacks versus Severus. Severus' survival was completely, utterly dependent on his adherence to blood supremacist values. This must be taken into account - but weirdly, this is an argument that is often used to prove Sirius' moral superiority, because his family required him to share their beliefs. This is ignoring that despite his difficulties, he still beneficiated from a support system and privileges that others did not have access to. Similarly, you cannot compare Regulus' and Severus' choices. And in my opinion, both are tragic; but if we had to take part in Snaters' silly arguments, then I would remind them that Regulus effectively had no obligation to join Voldemort, his parents were not death eaters. The pressure both characters experienced certainly wasn't of the same nature - even perhaps not of the same intensity. But does comparing them makes any sense, again...

The social biases: While Snape is blamed for his decision to join the death Eaters (rightly), Regulus is praised for his decision to leave them. While Regulus is pitied because he came from a family who brought him up with this ideology (just like Draco is), which apparently takes off all responsibility from him, Severus' background is never considered as a factor which pushed him right into extremists' opened arms. Regulus' privilege is used as an excuse; Snape's social disadvantage and familial issues are, at best, ignored, at worst, interpreted as proof of his inherently bad nature. Some people associate his upbringing with him being bad, whether they want to acknowledge it or not. While Regulus is headcanonned as handsome, Snape is constantly described as 'greasy' and 'ugly' by these same people, and you can see exactly how important appearances are to them. I'm even going to argue that worshipping a rich, handsome, privileged pureblood must sound better to them than being fond of the 'greasy git', and I am also saying these are mostly internalised biases. When you read these claims carefully, it sounds like in the mind of these people, Regulus is more legitimate as Slytherin's hero because he is better - inherently. And it is easy to see why.

The double-standards and their disturbing roots: This is also plainly ignoring the fact that Regulus and Snape defected for the same reasons, if we must make comparisons. Voldemort was targeting one of their loved ones, Kreatur for the former and Lily for the later, which made them realise, because they are humans and thus not selfless, how wrong his methods were when they turned against them. However, in Snape's case, turning against Voldemort in an attempt to save Lily is often held as proof of his selfishness/absence of morality: he wanted her for himself, he only deflected because someone he liked was in danger. In Regulus' case however, his gesture is seen as heroic and compassionate. Why? Well, there are a variety of reasons apart from Snaters' double standards, but I have noticed that most of them seem to think of Lily as 'belonging' to either James or Snape, and think Snape unworthy of having ever had Lily as a friend because of some kind of deep rooted flaws he had even as a child ('He tried to hurt Petunia with accidental magic when he was 11, he was always bad'. In fact I should make a post about how horrible this claim is.) In Regulus' case however, wanting to save Kreatur is seen as an act of compassion. Why? Not only because they want to make Regulus look better than Snape. I think it is also because Kreatur is a house-elf, an inferior being: Regulus' wish to protect him becomes praiseworthy, laudable, because house-elves do not really deserve consideration. So wanting to save him becomes an act of generosity. Even when you're not thinking of the double standards, this way of thinking is disturbing. Snape also turned against Voldemort at the age of 20, 21? Like Regulus did if I recall? They weren't death Eaters for very long. They both actively fought to bring Voldemort down. It would be tremendously hypocritical, wrong and plain bad faith to think of Regulus' action as superior to Snape's 20 years of hard work to bring Voldemort down.

So why can't Snape be a hero? I think this claim is a confession. To me it shows a very simplistic vision of heroism, of good and bad, of models, and a complete refusal to consider the grey, sometimes praise the grey- it's a failure to accept the complexity of the human functioning. Thinking that the people we praise for certain actions, or consider to be examples must be flawless is vain, simply because it is unrealistic, and we could not admire them/relate to them/like or dislike them/learn from them if they were not like us, layered and flawed - but this is exactly what this claim desperately wants us to believe. Or rather, what Snaters want to believe, while imposing their very biased views of good and bad, themselves rooted in prejudices. This is why they are using a character that is mostly inexistent: an empty, one dimensional character can fulfil this aim. This is also why so many people fail to appreciate characters such as James, Sirius and Remus without completely ripping off their flaws, and thus complexness - they cannot be loved if you can find fault in them.

[toflyandfall]

I just saw a photo of "What persona. Dick Grayson isn't a mask. Not like Bruce Wayne is" from Detective Comics #725 and I find it interesting that Dick and the rest of the bats, with the exception of Bruce, don't wear "masks" per se. They are who they are with or without the domino mask/helmet. The only time I can really think of Dick faking things is when he pretended to be an incompetent BPD cop. How was he able to avoid creating and living, half the time, through a "persona" like "Brucie"?

Oooh, this is a lovely, meaty question.  There’s a lot more analysis of Bruce than I planned because let’s be real, it’s kinda weirder for a guy to run around with half a dozen personas than for someone else to run around as himself.  I hope you still find it interesting, but if you want to skip straight to the more Dick-centric stuff, head under the readmore.

A simple but significant factor is that Dick thrives on the company of people in a way that Bruce does not.  I suspect if you talk honestly to many introverts, you will find they too have an extroverted ‘mask’ they put on to the larger world, though probably not quite so extreme.

Another factor is that the civilian social circles Dick and Bruce travel in are vastly different.  Though they each have a reason for being in those circles, that difference itself enables Dick to escape much of the scrutiny that Bruce’s public identity undergoes, because he doesn’t frequently associate with the much more media-hounded elite.

An interesting thing here is that the large difference in social circles between their civilian lives is actually caused by their own personal similarities: they are 100% committed work-a-holics.  It’s just that they have differing civilian approaches to their goals.

I want to start with Bruce because as you point out, his use of persona is distinct among the bats and his reasons for using them in part explain why Dick and the other bats do not.

Bruce is a child of privilege, he has always lived a lifestyle of privilege, regardless of the tragedies that have occurred during it, and his default view of the world, through no fault of his own, is natively that of the extreme upper class.  This drastically influences his perspective and approach to change, and changing the world is his perpetual goal, the reason he put on the suit in the first place.

Bruce works a top-down society approach toward systemic change, and he works it all the time.  This is actually my favorite but woefully under-emphasized part of him: he is not just someone who punches people on the street ‘for justice’, he uses his company, his money, and his social position toward substantial systemic change. This post does a wonderful job covering the ways he does this through his corporations and personal wealth, as does this one.  I cannot recommend either enough because I constantly want to push even the most casual Batman fans to understand: Bruce Wayne is not just a violent punchy puncher man.  He is a traumatized person genuinely trying to use all his resources including himself to make the world safer.

Detective Comics #725

Bruce has many personas he maintains, and he uses all of them according to what suits his need--Batman for places the law can’t go, Bruce Wayne the CEO pushing for systemic changes, Matches Malone for street information, and Brucie the society high roller for society information and social influencing.  He is rarely ever not in a persona and simply ‘Bruce’.

His top-down perspective of enacting change are what dictated the usage and necessity of these personas. He has the means and capacity to basically disappear from society if he so chose--he in fact does so to train during his younger years so successfully they don’t even know how long he was actually gone. 

The Batman Files

So he doesn’t need the personas.  Not Bruce Wayne, CEO, or Brucie, or any of them really, to protect his identity.  That tells us that Brucie is a deliberate choice he made at some point.  He could have been a recluse billionaire Batman indefinitely.  Even though he fully has the status and means to not maintain a job or a persona or, let’s be frank, a life outside the mask at all, it’s his own work-a-holicness that led to the creation of his public personas.  He’s an obsessive strategist, so if Brucie is a choice, that leads us to why?

Bruce does many philanthropic things with his money, but he isn’t the only rich person around, especially not in a city as old and corrupt as Gotham.   But he’s one of the very few ones doing good with it.

The comic you mentioned has a very beautiful moment where Bruce touches on that, and in full context you can feel how consumed he is by this goal of creating the Gotham his parents would have wanted.  Batman mentions he never sees himself in that place, and the morbid interpretation is that the city kills him before he reaches it, but the hopeful interpretation is that in that shining city, Bruce Wayne and Batman and Brucie and all his masks will no longer be needed.

Detective Comics #725

Back in the old days they’d call it noblesse oblige: the inferred responsibility of privileged people to act with generosity and nobility toward those less privileged. Thomas and Martha Wayne ingrained this feeling of responsibility into Bruce by example, and as all things related to them, he obsesses over it.  It urges him to fulfill expectations within segments of society he finds onorous for the betterment of society as a whole in order to carry out their unfinished works.

Enter Brucie.

Brucie serves a two-fold purpose.  Since Bruce has chosen to maintain personas among society, it becomes a false face to justify any oddities Batman might bring into the life of Bruce Wayne by setting himself up as a eccentric, popular social scion.  But that persona itself also allows him to manipulate the upper crust of society.

I have some insider perspective on the kind of society events Brucie attends.  They’re all about the who’s who of making connections, name-dropping and networking, and unspoken class-based elitism.  Charity events among the upper class have these things at the forefront and the cause is the background.  You don’t get your hands dirty, you don’t go out and make change yourself, you pay money to be socially seen and sometimes it happens to go towards a philanthropic cause.  If you want to raise money from the rich and keep people with deep pockets coming in the door, you have to have social currency yourself. This is where, and why, Brucie comes in.  I believe Brucie ws crafted to maintain Batman’s cover but still attempt to carry on his parents’ legacy to grease the wheels of the rich in the directions he chooses: one of generosity towards those less privileged. 

Superman/Batman #51

The inevitable flaw of Bruce’s approach to his personas and their philanthropy is that in a city rife with corruption, money distributed from the top has many opportunities to disappear well before it reaches the bottom.  As in many of ways they are complements to each other, Dick’s approach balances that out, because his approach to helping his fellow man starts out at the street level...literally.

Nightwing #153 (Nightwing: The Great Leap)

Dick, we know, does not come from privilege.  His mother was from a middle class family before she joined the circus, and despite being world famous athletes, most circus workers are lower to middle class.  The people he grew up with, was comfortable with, were all working folk who expected everyone to pull their weight right alongside each other.  He enacts this everyone-together approach in almost all aspects and phases of his life. 

Batman #615

Even once he had settled into being Robin and adapted to living at the manor, he didn’t feel belonging to a culture of privilege, materialism, or high society. He preferred shotgun in the limo to chat with the driver to riding fancy in the back.  Once he was able to start making his own decisions about where and how he lived, despite having both Bruce’s money and then later inheriting a substantial amount of his own, he chose mostly lower-class communal places.

Batman Black and White #6

Dick also doesn’t see the value of throwing money at a problem when there is an option to fix it with his own hands.  We see this frequently, from building his own car instead of buying a finished one or outsourcing the work, to deciding the best way to clean out the BPD was to start at the bottom and work his way up (literally), to quitting college because his classes never got prioritized over crimesolving.  Most of his day jobs ended for similar reasons. 

Nightwing #153 (Nightwing: The Great Leap)

Despite the showmanship training, he gravitates away from spotlight on the rich and wealthy, who are notoriously the kind of people who do not get their hands dirty or go out and take care of things themselves, and prefers to find or build communities around the kind of people who do.

Finally, Dick is an extrovert.  He doesn’t need to act extroverted as Brucie does because he is extroverted.  He likes people and likes being around people.  Whether by conscious choice or not, he tends to put himself in situations where he is surrounded by people in nearly all aspects of his life.  He chooses apartment buildings whose occupants frequently pass each other on the stairs; jobs that involve interacting with many co-workers, patrons, or students; and collects superhero teammates like Boy Scout badges.  And all of these behaviors come very naturally to him.  

He doesn’t need a mask or a role or a persona for those kind of interactions; his mask is pre-supplied as “neighbor” or “co-worker” or “teacher” by the situations he puts himself in.  It helps make him an exemplary leader, because just by acting authentically to himself, he automatically builds up little communities around him any time he arrives somewhere.

Bruce, on the other hand, is an introvert.  For him, interacting with people isn’t easy, automatic, or comfortable unless it has a purpose, but as a strategist, he knows the necessity of human interaction as a catalyst to achieving dynamic change. So he adapts personas to suit people’s expectations.  Extroverts have more social currency; the life of the party can generate more resources than a brooding wallflower.  

So, it boils down to just a few elements: Dick believes in living and interacting at the street level to accomplish the things that he wants to, and he is extroverted enough that the level of social interaction that entails is not a burden to him.  He surrounds himself with the types of people he is more familiar or perhaps more comfortable with, which happens to keep him further out from the media’s eye than associating with the upper crust does. The lower profile is more incidental than intentional, but it lessens his need to have a cover story for every single bruise and lets him get away with even less of a ‘persona’.

Bruce, on the other hand, is introverted and follows a more classist view that systemic change needs to be effected from the top down.   His personas are more of a self-assumed duty than a necessity, as a way of trying to carry out his parents’ legacy.  Any of his children could have chosen to follow his path in business or the high society limelight, but the sense of obligation toward it is something personal to him that most of them don’t share.

[hitbythunder]

Among the Gods of Asgard -6

A dark!Thor x Reader, minor Loki x Reader story with all the drama and angst you’re craving. Including Alexander Skarsgard as Balder. –> Read also on AO3

Summary: The gods are being loved and feared in equal parts by their subjects, more the latter by the thousands of slaves working for them. Ten feet tall, powerful and immortal are the rulers of all beings within the Nine Realms. You, the daughter of an Asgardian merchant, fancy the three handsome princes of Odin - like any woman does - and dream of actually meeting them instead of watching them at public events. That is until, as a consequence of Loki’s tricks, you are being forced into slavery at the royal court. Amidst this harsh new reality, you catch the attention of the god of Thunder who then seeks to make you his alone. You are nothing but a toy, a puppet, in the god’s eyes and he will use you as he pleases.

Do not hope for mercy.

**** WARNING: dark story, manipulative Thor, heavy rape/non-con elements, no happy ending in sight

____________________________xXx____________________________

"...And that is why the Lady Sif and I are not on good terms. Though the black hair suits her much better in my view!" the raven-haired god mused as he leaned back in his comfortable chair, the black queen being caught and turned in his slender pale fingers. A soft chuckle filled the air, its origin hidden behind the too large high back of the chair on the opposite of the chess field. "Could you turn it blonde again if the lady so demanded?" The lovely voice asked as Loki put the queen onto the field again, gently but determinedly as to win, before he looked up at the mortal girl snuggling up against the plush bolstering. "Back then, no, but I have learned a few more tricks over the past centuries!" the Trickster's eyes glinted mischievously but the girl held his gaze. She wasn't afraid of him, not like so many others, not like she should be. In fact, during the past two weeks she had become something far closer than a simple maid and Loki wondered how that had happened. Not that he would admit his growing fondness but he wasn't oblivious either.

At first, they met in the library a few times but soon their chess battles became a delightful daily routine for the both of them. The mortal proved to be a worthy opponent who could challenge the god anew every day - at least as long as Balder was away. Engulfed by the thrill of the game, both maid and master would stare for hours at the black and white chess field and choose their next move wisely. According to some research, it had been Harald Leifson who had discovered this joyous game on Midgard and his daughter had been the first one to learn its rules. Since then she had had a lot of practice and her skills were close to the Trickster's. Many times she almost beat the god - more often than he was willing to acknowledge – but she had enough wits not to boast with it. Loosing didn't go well with Loki's temper.

Instead the mortal remained polite and calm whenever the god relished in another triumphant victory because even that was better than having to (actually) work. At the beginning, the girl had been terribly nervous and her focus lay solely on the game itself, her gaze would rarely wander beyond the chess field. Also the god was quite reserved because usually he wouldn't seek the company of mortals, let alone spend his free-time with them. But as the hours of playing turned into days, the invisible ice-wall between them melted away and both couldn't remain silent for much longer. After some verbal incrementalism they began to chat rather vividly about various topics and Loki found himself sharing some anecdotes of past centuries. In turn, he learned some details of the mortal's background - but mainly he did the talking.

    xxx

Word spread, however, and once certain ears were reached, Loki and _________ had to move to his quarters. The library wasn't an appropriate place to display such unconventional manners - the queen had remarked once in private and, as a good son, Loki obliged. Actually, Frigga didn't mind at all that her youngest was socializing with a mortal slave - not the kind of friend she had hoped for but better than none - however many other gods, including the king, would be offended if this sessions were to continue. Thus the queen saw to it that no such unconventional behavior was to be seen outside of the prince's chambers. She didn't guarantee for what happened inside though.

The salon of the prince's chambers was better for playing anyways: no prying eyes and unwanted attention from other gods or slaves. Their envious gazes had felt like daggers piercing into _________'s flesh, thus she was thankful for the change of setting. In fact, she regarded the whole affair as a privilege. Although she felt rather out of place at first between all the gold, ebony and priceless luxuries decorating the room, the maid became rather comfortable being there - and around Loki too. He wasn't the most affable person but somehow he warmed up to her, treated her friendly and seemed to value her for her chess skills. After all the god himself chose to spend every afternoon with her, a maid.

Don't be smug about it! You're just a substitution while his brothers are away! _______ told herself many times so that the disappointment wouldn't be too great once Loki chose to drop her again. Which he surely would one day. Gods only use mortals for their benefit, remember?

So for now, the girl enjoyed the inexplicable honor she was granted. Maybe Loki's large wolf-dog Fenrir was to thank for this strange change in his spirits, because the beast who resided within the prince's chambers had immediately taken a liking into the girl. Upon entering, the cow-sized anthracite dog had suspiciously approached from the adjacent bedroom and had sniffed at the little mortal, who had been stiff as a column that very moment. Seconds later Fenrir had licked at her slender hand to show his trust and appreciation of the new visitor, much to his master's surprise.

Fenrir usually hates unfamiliar faces, he barely behaves around Thor or Balder...Loki had thought suspiciously, not recognizing his own pet.

xxx

Then came the fever. In the middle of the night, the prince was stricken in such a violent fashion that he wasn't able to call for help. Only Fenrir noted his master's indisposition, pressing a moist snout against the god's palm for comfort, and in his delirium Loki had managed to send one simple order to his beloved pet: Get help!

The magical creature and the god had spent so much time together that they literally shared thoughts - a quite useful fact that night – and so the dog dashed away to fulfill meet the order.

However, Fenrir didn't provide the kind of aid the prince had expected. Not Frigga, nor Eir the healer but a maid rode on the beast's back as it returned - as if the wolf knew what the god secretly needed right now. ________ tended to Loki as best as she could, with cataplasms and much kindness to ease the prince's illness. But there were clear limits as the fever wouldn't vanish. When she intended to leave in order to get a healer, Loki asked her, no begged her, not to leave him alone. In the dim-lit bedroom, she couldn't see the puppy eyes he shot at her, however the tight, beseeching grasp he had on her arm gave it all away. How could she have refused?

So she sat down at his side and watched over the god while the fever raged within him, occasionally holding his hand for comfort. _________ did so two other nights too.

xxx

During the day, Loki chose to avoid even brushing the topic and instead directed the conversation towards trivial matters, for example gossip, which he normally wouldn't discuss. Luckily, _______ played along and so neither of them spoke about those hours of disgusting misery, a terrible (shameful) state the prince would never show to anyone, not even to his brothers whom he shared most of his secrets with. Yet ________ had seen it all, the weak sickly side of the glorious god as he lay there bathed in his own sweat, the wet nightwear clinging to his lean pale flesh. A mess of all sorts, just like his mind due to the delirium during which he hadn't been able to formulate a whole consistent sentence.

How pathetic, how human...The god felt deeply abashed as he recalled it, yet then the train of his thoughts also carried him to a much sweeter memory: of a maid's soft small hands tenderly enclasping his; the comfort from sensing her presence on the mattress; her lovely scent flooding his nose whenever she leaned over closely to replace the cataplasm on his forehead. A strange warmth pooled inside the god which began to surface on his cheeks the longer he beheld the mortal across the chess field. “It's your turn, your highness!” The piece of ebony between his fingers had completely slipped his mind apparently. Then he noted how transfixed, almost mesmerized he was staring at her. Suddenly snapping out of trance Loki cleared his voice and quickly averted his gaze, suppressing the shade of pink on his high cheekbones.

“... Oh, oh yes... I just happened to be distracted by a spell...anyways...” Loki declared somewhat clumsily and put the bishop on a random position on the field.

[jovialyouthmusic]

Charlotte’s Choice

A Royal Romance AU fanfic

7 A Morning Ride

Drake and Charlotte meet at the stables

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This chapter contains explicit written sexual content, not suitable for under 18s

A Morning Ride

The next day Charlotte was due to go on her morning ride through the grounds. Drake was always at the stables before her, and sometimes he rode out with her, and sometimes her father did. She knew today Constantine would not be available, so she went down earlier than usual.  Drake was there already, grooming Sultan and Phoenix ready for their outing. He looked up in surprise.

‘Charlie? You’re very early. Is everything okay?’

‘Yes, everything’s fine, Drake. I just wanted to run something by you’ she paced up and down the straw strewn floor, tapping her lip with the tip of her finger. Drake knew the gesture and braced himself for trouble. He knew that she was approaching mid cycle, when she called on him for more intimate encounters.

‘I - okay, what is it?’ he said warily. She turned and looked him straight in the eye and he knew he had been right, as her pupils were dilated.

‘We didn’t dance last night’

‘You know I don’t dance’ he pointed out ‘I’ve got two left feet. Plus it gave you extra time with Brad.’

‘I’d like to carry out a little experiment’ she said. Drake looked at her warily

‘An experiment? What have you got in mind, Princess?’

‘I’d like to slow dance with you’ His eyes widened

‘Why? Where did that come from?’

‘I wanted to thank you for giving me that time – and I want to see if it feels the same with someone else, or whether it was – special’

‘Someone else? I didn’t see you slow dance with anyone’ She looked guilty

‘I met Brad in the maze afterwards’ Drake was conflicted – he didn’t know whether to be pleased that she had taken the opportunity, or angry that Brad had asked her. It showed her wilfulness, her resourceful nature, and he wondered if the Englishman was staying with the plan or getting sidetracked.

‘And you slow danced with him?’ She bit her lip, not looking at him, and nodded. She sighed

‘I’m sorry Drake, you know what a sheltered life I have. I simply don’t know what’s normal. I’m nearly twenty one and I’m a virgin’ Drake stepped closer to her and held her shoulders

‘Look at me, Charlie’ he commanded, and she dragged her eyes to his reluctantly ‘You may be a virgin, but we’ve done damn near everything else together. I promise you, if you your Father insists you enter into a loveless marriage, I won’t leave you. If your new husband is less than what you want, you won’t be a virgin when you marry. I’ll be your first’ Tears welled up in Charlotte’s eyes

‘Drake, why are you helping Olivia and Brad? If I marry Brad, what will happen to us?’ Drake dropped his gaze for a moment, then let his breath out all at once before looking at her again.

‘If you marry Brad, it will be because he’s right for you. You deserve to be happy, Princess’ He had noticed her referring to the to of them as ‘us’, and that pleased him.  Maybe there was a chance...

‘Then slow dance with me. You need to have a chance too, you’re on the list of suitors and you missed out last night’ she said softly. 

‘You know I can never say no to you’ he grumbled. ‘Go ahead’ Charlotte smiled

‘May I have the pleasure of this dance?’ She asked and took hold of his waist and hand. ‘you have to imagine the music – unless you want to hum’

‘I may enjoy music, but I can’t sing – or hum – in tune’ he chuckled. They started to sway

‘As long as you don’t step on my feet it will be fine’ After a while, Charlotte pulled him closer. Drake closed his eyes – he was starting to enjoy himself. It wasn’t like he’d never enjoyed a slow dance, just not with the Princess as he’d never had the privilege. Slow dancing usually led to other things in his experience.  They often stopped along the way on their ride when it was just the two of them, when all innocence was discarded, so there was still time for that.

Meanwhile, Charlotte drew closer again. So far, so good – it felt good, they seemed to fit together as they held each other close, and she inhaled his scent. That at least, was different; smoky and earthy with a whiff of whiskey. He was a similar build and height to Brad but a little slighter. She loved his shape – broad at the shoulder and slim at the hips, a glorious triangle of flesh, bone and muscle. His hair tickled her a little – it was dark and shaggy, whilst Brad’s was fair, short and well groomed. She felt his heartbeat as she rested her cheek on his shoulder. It was faster and stronger than Brad’s. The big difference was that although she felt safe, there was an electric undercurrent to holding him close. Maybe that was because of their long standing connection, she wasn’t sure. She was no wiser than before about whether she and Brad were something special.

‘Hey’ he said, interrupting her reverie ‘How long does this experiment last? We don’t want to be seen – and Sultan and Phoenix need to be exercised.’ He was also aware that the longer they stayed close, the more aroused he got, and the more uncomfortable riding would be. Charlotte sighed and let him go. With a silent sigh of relief he made his way over to the stalls to saddle up the horses. ‘So what’s the verdict?’ he asked as he worked, and she wandered over to help him.

‘It was – similar, but different’ she replied, ‘no big revelation’ Drake felt a little disappointment at not being judged ‘better’, but at least he hadn’t been found wanting. He was shaking a little, but he pulled himself together, stroking Sultan’s flank to ground himself.

‘My frail masculine ego thanks you’ he said with a sardonic smile as he turned to tighten the saddle on Phoenix ‘What is it they say, damning with faint praise? Will you be repeating the experiment with the other suitors? How about Neville?’ Charlotte made a face.

‘He’s repulsive, I hope father doesn’t expect me to take him seriously. Maxwell, bless him, is too young, Rashad is quite presentable but boring. Tariq is a peacock, Madeleine’s brother Milo is as icy as she is, and Anton is prim and proper, if charming. So no, no more slow dances’ Drake smiled - he had the opportunity to point her in the right direction.

‘So that leaves Brad and myself.  Constantine will be more than a little pissed if he finds out who your two front runners are, neither of us are established nobility’ he said as he led Phoenix out for her and turned his attention back to Sultan.

‘It seriously, seriously sucks being a Princess with an over protective father’ she sighed, taking the reins. Drake tested the stirrups and they led the two horses out into the yard. She had not taken the bait - but there was still time.

‘In the light of that, do you want to stop off anywhere today, or just keep riding?’ He asked. He saw her pupils dilate and knew her answer before she spoke.

‘The gardener’s hut’ she half whispered, her voice husky. He swallowed, knowing that she had needs that he would be expected to fulfil – and he was more than willing to oblige. She may well go for Brad in the months to come or be forced to pick someone of her Father’s choosing, but he was still going to go along with anything she wanted for as long as she wanted him.  She was a hard habit to break. He nodded in assent and they mounted the two horses.

It was about fifteen minutes later when they reached the gardener’s hut, lying disused for now as it was in a corner of the Palace gardens that was only nominally maintained, the grass kept neat to discourage any scrub growing. They dismounted, and Drake tethered the horses before following Charlotte into the hut. As soon as he had closed the door, she was on him, grabbing him and kissing him passionately. She was frantic, needing a release, the stimulation of bouncing in the saddle having brought her so far already. She often found it so, and when Drake wasn’t with her, she found herself running back to her room after her ride to see to things for herself. Thank goodness for Olivia smuggling in sex toys for her…

Drake pressed her back onto the potting bench, lifting her up slightly so she sat on the edge. She parted her thighs and clamped her knees around his hips. She pushed her groin against him, feeling him hard under his jeans. She pressed herself against him slowly and rhythmically as their lips locked and tongues explored each other’s mouths. He pulled back, so he could undo her trouser waistband and zip, then pulled her forward sliding his hand down the front of her panties. She slipped off the bench, legs trembling as his fingers delved into the soft velvety wetness between her legs, her arms around his neck, clinging tightly and kissing him roughly. He quickly found the hard nub of her clitoris and circled it. She gasped and trembled as he held her on the edge. He leaned forward and spoke softly in her ear.

‘Say my name, Princess’ he said huskily, feeling her shiver at the sound of his voice.

‘Drake, please’ she moaned as he slipped a finger inside her, keeping his thumb circling her clitoris

‘Who do you belong to, Princess?’ he growled and slipped another finger inside. She threw her head back with a groan. She let her head drop again to look him in the eye with bare lust.

‘You, Drake – I’m yours. Please Drake, help me come’ She rolled her hips, trying to get more pressure from his fingers, but he softened his touch and she moaned in frustration.

‘You’re mine, Princess, all mine.’ He murmured close to her ear, her hair ticking him ‘Right here, right now. Come for me, my sweet insatiable Princess’ and he pressed just that little bit harder, finding that little nub and circling in, fingers curling inside her and feeling the unbelievable wetness and warmth increase. Gratefully she pressed against him and shuddered, walls starting to pulse around his fingers, a guttural noise escaping her throat. Her hips bucked and trembled as she rode her orgasm.

Slowly her body settled, and her breath slowed, and he held her, relishing the warmth of her body against his, the scent of her hair sweeping him away, his heart thumping, knees weak with desire. After a while she pulled away to adjust her clothing. He was hard as a rock, and she had not forgotten him. He felt her soft hand unfastening the top button of his jeans, and she knelt in front of him. Her eyes were still dark with desire as she looked up at him, unzipping him and he felt the pressure release. He breathed out, and put his hand gently on her head.

‘You don’t have to’ he said, hoping she wouldn’t say no. Her smile was devilish.

‘Yes I do’ She eased his jeans and boxer shorts down to his thighs and he pivoted to lean back against the potting bench. Visions of sitting on it with her straddling him filled his head as she surveyed his manhood, stroking it and leaning forward to trace its length with her tongue. ‘He’s very interested’ she remarked, cupping his balls with her palm. He groaned, his thighs trembling

‘Of course he fucking is Princess, any man would be a fool not to be aroused by you’ His fingers tangled in her hair, but he was gentle despite wanting to pull her head to him and assuage his need. Her tongue continued to tease, wetting his entire length before she repositioned herself to take the tip between her lips. He leaned hard into the bench, gripping the edge tightly as she slowly worked him into her wet warm mouth, bit by bit. He flinched as her teeth scraped him slightly and she hummed an apology, pulling her lips over between her teeth and his flesh.

He hit the back of her throat and she eased him out slightly, wrapping her hand around the base of his cock to add more length to her reach and slowly started to bob her head, so he slid in and out. He knew he was not going to last long this time and his breath came in ragged gasps. Her other hand cupped his balls and gently massaged, and he gritted his teeth, fearful that the sound he wanted to make would carry all the way back to the palace. His hips pumped, heedless of her comfort but she kept with him, a chuckle from deep in her chest adding an extra stimulus.

‘Fuck, Princess’ he gasped ‘Here he comes…’ and he saw stars as he exploded into her mouth, groaning and slowing his bucking hips to a stop, gasping with the intensity. Her warm lips sucked, and he felt her swallow. She took her time slowly sliding him out of her mouth, licking her lips as she came to standing. She nuzzled her head into his neck, avoiding pressing into the front of his semi naked body, and he put one arm around her shoulders and stroked her cheek with the other hand. She lifted her face to his for a tender kiss, and after a while he released her and leant down to pull his clothes back up again.

She wasn’t his only partner and she knew it, but they had been experimenting together for a long time. He was her only outlet, whereas he had many, but almost no repeat performances. That was not for want of asking, but he did not dare risk the emotional attachment. That belonged to the Princess, come what may. He very well might be in for a hard fall, but he was committed.

The two of them took a slow ride back to the stables, where the other staff had now turned up and were tending to the other horses. Charlotte turned to Drake before dismounting

‘Thank-you for your company, Duke Walker. The King will be riding with me tomorrow, and I hope to see you later at the races’ She patted her horse, speaking softly to it ‘I’ll give you a good grooming tomorrow girl, I promise’ The staff did not see Drake’s pupils dilate as she walked away toward the palace.

[rileysroleplayingephemera]

Soooo... in the RP I’m currently in, all the PCs have fallen for this one (awesome) NPC, to a greater or lesser extent. Also, I would totally be on board for him to have a side romance with another NPC (not a specific one, just, I’d be down for that. Mohammed is eminently shipable).

Also, we found out in the last session that he’s literally a millionaire doctor with huge emotional issues (well, we knew some of that already) which makes him a literal Harlequin Presents hero.

Anyway, I have no chill, so I made THESE.

Bonus: My character with his husband

Yes, they’re all supposed to be this horrible.

Fake romance novel summaries under the cut, because I am steadily losing the ~negative 50 chill I have.

Sheikh’s Desert Duty

A fake mistress... in a very real predicament!

Pamela Martel is used to changing her identity to suit herself and keep the authorities off her trail, but high society is not a place she’s comfortable. High heels and evening gowns don’t exactly scream ‘rebel, rebel’. But she’s not sending another man she loves into the lion’s den alone.

Mohammed Bashir might not be at ease in this world, but he’s a lot more familiar with it than she is. His father’s reputation can get them in - but it can’t keep their enemies’ watchful eyes off Mohammed. He knows Pam is the only way to get the information they need... but he also knows they can’t afford any distractions.

But as the situation grows steadily more precarious, and Pam and Mohammed are forced to depend on each other for more than backup, it becomes clear that one thing neither of planned for was their hearts.

“...immensely satisfying...” - theringer.com

Desert Affair

She’s far from home... and trapped in Paradise!

Kaelyn Howard never planned to get swept up in world events - but now she’s targeted by terrorists and on the run from the law, trying desperately to stay alive, get out of the country... and reconnect with the daughter she never knew.

With fellow fugitive Mohammed Bashir, Kit is forced to flee the United States - running straight to his father’s luxurious empire. But there’s more to reckon with than their enemies - there’s her painful history, her complicated feelings, and Mohammed’s dark and mysterious past - which may put them all in even more danger...

“...pretty adorable.” - @theserpentsadvocate​

The Sheikh Doctor’s Bride (First Edition)

Never back down...

Pam Martel is stranded.

After everything she’s done in the last few years, the United States finally has a valid excuse to throw her in jail. She can’t even go home to Canada without being extradited. Given everything she’s done to stop a terrorist cult - and the fact that her friends are going back to their old lives while she’s trapped in the Emirates - the rest of her life looks both bitter and bleak.

Mohammed Bashir is the one bright spot in her awful situation, but he’s not without his own troubles. Without a wife, he’s in danger of losing his father’s comprehensive business empire. After all he’s been through, Mohammed is on the point of giving up and going back to the one thing he can still fall back on - medicine. But there’s no way Pam is going to let that happen to the one person who hasn’t abandoned her.

Maybe she should have thought before she made the offer, but there are worse things than being married to stunningly handsome millionaire doctor. If only she wasn’t in love with him...

“OMG.” - @natalie-is-my-name​

Be Loved

The only way forward... is together

In the years since they’ve last seen each other, things have changed a lot for Reuven Svobodya and Mohammed Bashir... but some things are still far too similar.

Mohammed has done a lot of soul-searching in the interim, and it’s pretty certain now that he’s not as straight as he once thought, but coming face to face with the man who prompted that realization still isn’t something he would have chosen. Some friendships are better left unrevived, especially when one of you can’t be honest. And then there’s the fact Mohammed is sure that Reuven still blames him for the loss of his family - after all, he blames himself.

It’s been a long time since Reuven decided to cut everyone important out of his life - any more hurt would have been impossible to take. Making a completely new life for himself was the only way to survive the crushing weight of what happened. But being near someone he once cared about is making him question that for the first time. And if he can forgive Mohammed, maybe he can finally forgive himself...

“[W]hen I've... started questioning my use of my limited time on this planet... this is what I'll remember.” - actual professional musician Luke Maynard

Christmas Bride for the Sheikh

Under the mistletoe... for two weeks!

Pam Martel was hoping to dodge the tiresome Christmas season and say hello to an old friend - she didn’t anticipate becoming his fake wife!

When Mohammed told a business associate he was engaged, the white lie was supposed to fend off the man’s overly amorous daughter; he never anticipated this! While being told his wife had arrived for the Christmas celebrations was a shock, Pam is the one person who might be able to pull off the deception - a good thing, since being caught out could ruin an important political connection for him.

Pam’s usually willing to roll with anything, but this is different. She’s carried a torch for Mohammed for years, and if there was ever a right time to make a play for him, this is it. She’ll be Mrs. Bashir, all right - and the act will be so realistic her ‘husband’ won’t know what hit him!

“Friends-to-lovers has never been more fun.” - soyouthinkyoucanwrite.com

The Harlot and the Sheikh

He gave her everything she wanted... except his heart.

Samar Naaji has been forced to do some awful things to survive. So has Mohammed Bashir. The difference is that while Samar is condemned by society, Mohammed is condemned only by himself.

In a chance encounter, Samar once saved Mohammed at great risk to herself, and while she doesn’t expect a hero to remember someone like her, she’s willing to try anything to get her sister the medical care she so desperately needs.

The last thing she expects is to be whisked into a world of luxury while all her worries disappear. More comfortable scrubbing a floor than being waited on, Samar devotes herself to understanding her rescuer, and quickly finds that underneath his wealth and privilege is a deeply broken man.

All Samar wants is to make him understand how good he is... but by that time, will she be too captivated to survive without him?

“[You] should... lead with [this].” - @theserpentsadvocate​

Every Move He Makes

To stay alive, they will have to learn to lean on each other.

Reuven Harel doesn’t have the slightest idea what’s going on, but he knows it isn’t good. Counting on someone else to get him through this is galling, but at the very least he’s sure Mohammed is more trustworthy than the multitudes of people shooting at them. The truth is, the other man is the only thing keeping them both alive.

Mohammed Bashir knows exactly what’s going on, but he’s pretty sure he’s starting to fracture around the edges. The man he’s chosen to protect might be utterly in the dark, but Mohammed envies him his rock-solid sense of self. In fact, he’s starting to think that Reuven might be the only thing keeping him sane.

As their enemies grow and the body count rises, the two men must turn to each other for what they can’t find anywhere else: safety, surety... and maybe even love.

“What is even happening right now?” - @whimzhbeeaffairs​ (Also Reuven, probably.)

The Sheikh Doctor’s Bride (Second Edition)

One condemned by her crimes, the other by his past... but can they save each other?

After breaking the law to stay alive, Kit Howard is facing extradition back to the United States. The only way to stay free is to remain in Saudi Arabia... married to a citizen. After the wreckage of her first horrific marriage, she balks at the restrictions that come with it.

The tumultuous events that brought them together have left their mark on Mohammed Bashir. Before he goes back to his old life, he’s willing to make one final sacrifice to keep Kit safe - but after the loss of his father and brothers, getting attached seems almost fatally foolish.

Neither Kit nor Mohammed wants anything more out of this marriage than necessary... but somehow that’s all too easy to forget when they’re together. At least, as good friends and nothing more, nobody’s heart will get broken...

“OMG.” - @whimzhbeeaffairs​

Dancing With the Tide

The greatest risk... is love

Mohammed Bashir’s purpose is to protect people more important than himself, people who can make a difference. Right now, that person is Reuven Harel. As the illegitimate son of an influential American politician, he might have leverage; as one of the prophesied Lightbringers, he has an unknown amount of power - but even if it’s all a myth, his simply staying alive is vital to Mohammed’s cause. He’s also a genuinely good person - not the worst man in the world to take a bullet for, if it comes down to it.

Reuven doesn’t believe in a bunch of supernatural bullshit, but he does believe in fulfilling his obligations. As far as he’s concerned, Mohammed is an innocent civilian being targeted by terrorists - and the American government - and it’s Reuven’s responsibility as a police officer to keep him safe. That he’s kind, handsome, and unfairly charming is irrelevant.

At first, the only thing the two men can agree on is that they want the other safe - but when things take a dark turn, they find common ground in other ways. When they’re forced to take refuge in a part of the world where their growing feelings could be punished by death, things threaten to burn out of control. If they want to avoid losing each other, they’re going to have to risk their hearts...

“My word.” - Luke Maynard, literal published author

Be True

They’ve been friends for years, but who knows what’s hiding beneath the surface…

Reuven Harel has always known who he is and what he wanted.

Sure, he’s gone from being the loud, angry, openly gay teenager at marriage equality rallies to an equally out RCMP officer, but he’s still loud, still proud, and still determined to change the world for the better. Unfortunately, being between serious relationships brings it home that he’s also still hung up on a too-good-to-be-true college friend. It’s not worth jeopardizing their friendship – but now he knows Paul’s not straight, it’s even harder to let those feelings die.

Paul Svobodya lost the blueprint for his life a long time ago.

He likes teaching history, likes living in Halifax, and frankly he loves being a single dad. It’s a long way from teaching English in Alberta with a wife and 2.5 kids, but he wouldn’t trade it for anything. He never intended to be single at twenty-seven, newly out as bisexual, and supporting a mortgage and a five-year-old, but that’s how things shook down. Rocking the boat at this point seems like a bad idea, but with his last serious relationship over and one or two casual dates with men under his belt, it’s hard to keep on denying what he really wants…

“This is the purest and wholest thing.” - Luke Maynard

*

(All novel write-ups are technically and theoretically canon-compliant as of this writing, although I used Reuven’s birth name in EBHT and DWtT because using his married name felt squicky. Yes, I killed his husband in the other one. I literally murdered my own OTP. Jesus fuck. I don’t believe it either. And let’s not even think about Nat.)

Stay tuned for the harem anime and maybe a mockup of the more serious AU/novella idea I have where Paul sells Christmas trees.

Why am I like this.

[pavlagomba]

Do things happen for a reason? A small monk’s long journey to Prague…

„Sorry, Pavla, but we cannot shoot here. The monastery is too small, too dark. The construction works next door too noisy. Simply an impossible place for a TV shooting.“ These few words of our cameraman created a lot of embarrassment for my Bhutanese colleagues. Months of preparations, negotiations, several visits to identify the right place where the Czech national television can produce a documentary about the children living in the Bhutanese monasteries… and everything had been wasted on the very first day on the spot!

Lopen Passang, the WASH coordinator and UNICEF counterpart at the Dratshang Lhentshog then, kept a cool head. „There is a big, recently renovated monastic school only an hour away. Lam Sonam, the principal, is very considerate, thoughtful and always ready to give a helping hand. Let me give him a call.“  

This is how I met Dorji Gyeltshen, a shy but cheerful 12-year old monk.

And how I learned that sometimes things go wrong for a reason. The reasons usually become apparent only later – five years to be precise in this case.

“As a disabled person, I face a lot of problems physically. It’s impossible for me to compete with my friends and peers. When I was five years old, my parents asked me what I wanted to be in future. I told them that I want to be a devoted monk because I think it would be very difficult to grow in another environment or to go to a school,“ Dorji explained when asked by the TV how he became a monk, pointing to his distorted feet.

Clubfoot is one of the most common birth defects which can be treated relatively easily – but unfortunately, the surgery that Dorji undertook at the age of one was not successful. He was happy at the monastery, never missing an opportunity to return a smile. But always lagging behind the crowd, always the last one to arrive in a classroom, slow and clumsy to climb up the steep wooden staircase in the temple. And when on the weekends the other boys put on their football jerseys, Dorji could only sit and watch from the side, never sensing the fresh wind on his face, never experiencing the pride of turning a lost match to a victory and the small, innocent pleasures of being a valued part the team.

The TV documentary that we shot at Chorten Nyingpo in 2014 mobilized funds as well as the public awareness in the Czech Republic. In the last decade, the Czech Committee for UNICEF has supported programs in Bhutan with a total of $1.5 million, concentrating mainly on the newborn health, water and sanitation and protection of children living in the monastic institutions.

The contributions that we provide to UNICEF Bhutan, in partnership with the Royal Government and local partners, have helped to train instructors covering more than 70 monasteries and nunneries, supply water filters and water heating geysers to tens of monasteries and build new toilets with bathing facilities in several monastic schools, most recently in Weringla Monastic School in Mongar and Jarogang Monastic School in Wangdue. Only this year, more than 2,115 child monks (1,435 boy and 680 girls) benefited from these interventions.

Since my first trip to Bhutan in 2003, I have been privileged to witness remarkable positive changes and the expected graduation to the LMIC by 2023 is an important recognition of the visionary leadership and impressive socio-economic progress that the country has invested to.

But what does all this mean for Dorji Gyeltshen?

Helping our TV documentary hero was a moral obligation, yet UNICEF programs provide support on the systemic, institutional level. But where there is a will, there is always a way and as an individual with necessary networks and capacities, I was faced with a question how to do the right thing which I knew that I was able to do. Well, it was easier said than done.

It took five years, five very long years in a life of a 12-year old, to reach the right constellation of a legal set-up, funding, availability of medical facility and surgeons, Dorji´s family arrangements, necessary consents and approvals.

The process was so unexpectedly challenging and cumbersome that at one point, a friend of mine came with a logical question: There are a lot of things that can go wrong and no guarantee that Dorji´s situation would improve. Don´t you think that this might be a signal that you should let it go and let him live the life that he was born to?

She was right. I also doubted about what was the right thing to do. The only thing which gave me the inspiration and courage to carry on was Dorji himself and the conversation that we had in March when I explained him all the risks and in his own way, quiet, polite, respectful but firm, Dorji insisted that he wants to give it a try and have his chance to a healthy future.

Dorji was operated in September and spent three months immobile with his both feet in a cast. Now he is undergoing an intense physiotherapy.

My job at UNICEF is very special: I have been to war zones and areas affected by the biggest natural disasters, survived an armed attack, seen extreme poverty and human suffering. I am not a cry-baby. But when I saw Dorji walking again, I could hardly hold my tears.

He made it. Dorji made it!

Each of us, wittingly or unwittingly, plays many roles in the lives of others. People that we work with, different people that we meet on our life path. Some encounters are fleeting like a morning mist, some are to last. I´ve been blessed to know Dorji Gyeltshen. 

With each bone in the feet fractured and re-assembled, Dorji has experienced extreme pain. And yet he never complained, never had „a bad day“. How could I ever again complain of a headache, backache and those minor troubles that we all sometimes experience?

I could also experience the limitations of living with a disability. All those small but critical matters that have to be considered for any activity. So many places that we didn´t go and didn´t see because it would simply be too difficult to get there. From considering the size of a parking lot when going shopping to the logistical nightmare of going to a football match, disability brings hundreds of challenges day by day…

On a very natural human level, seeing someone with a disability reminds us of the comfort and possibilities that we have - and usually take for granted, don’t value, don’t use to our fullest. But it should not stop there. The dividing line between ability and disability is very thin. After all, disability is a unique opportunity to do the right things. An opportunity that we should cherish and not let go away.

Dorji taught me that we should never give up doing what we know is the right thing. Are the challenges that we necessarily experience on the way a signal to give up? Or rather a test of our determination and resilience? Unless we arrive in the destination and are able to tell, we should not take the easy path.

And finally, Dorji´s story is also a great motivation to continue supporting the programs that enhance the local capacities in health care, education and child protection. Every child has the right to a healthy, happy and safe childhood. Every child. Children from the remote areas too. As well as children with disabilities. Solutions to their needs have to be available as near as possible, in Bhutan, in their districts and home towns.

Dorji will soon return to Bhutan and continue his education at the Chorten Nyingpo Lhakhang. Actually, he is counting the days to see the steeply hills around and breathe in fresh, crispy air of the Punakha valley. His homesickness has given him a great motivation to recover quickly. I believe that he will soon be able to score a goal under the twisted branches of the ancient tree that grows at the entrance of the monastery and his friends will pat his shoulder with recognition.

Is this the end? Not at all! It is a beginning of the story written by Dorji himself.

I believe a very fulfilling, long and happy story.   Please join me in wishing the best for Mr. Dorji Gyeltshen!

Many, many thanks to all those who have given their helping hands: lam Sonam Tshering, Kinga Wangmo, Kelzang Phuntsho, Deki Doma, Wangdi, MUDr. Alena Šteflová, Petra Korf Dickerson,  prof. MUDr. Tomáš Trč, CSc., doc. MUDr. Alena Schejbalová, Ph.D and the whole medical team from the Motol Hospital.

Photos courtesy of Dagmar Vyhnálková, Vít Bělohradský and Kelzang Phuntsho.

[thesixthstar]

You always have amazing Sorting Meta, any thoughts on the Check, Please! Sorting stuff on twitter right now?

hoooooo man this is the first time someone has actively sought out my opinion on sorting stuff so thank you i feel really fucking honored rn bc i’ve been so full of opinions for so long and someones asking about them now!!

I haven’t actually seen the stuff on twitter bc 1) im not a Twitter User (like i have an account but i never go on or do anything with it) and 2) my mind has been 1000000% full of Critical Role and the emotional roller coaster that this week has been with that show but i’m reading it now and like:

Bittle: Hufflepuff. He’s also got Gryffindor characteristics but put the sorting hat on his head and dont let him give the hat a preference and it’d put him in Hufflepuff. He would probably ask the hat for Gryffindor though and there’s enough Gryffindor in him that the hat would oblige. Like he’s brave, and sticks to his guns morality wise but so much of that is to Hufflepuff ends. He lives his life by those around him, for better and for worse. Its a flaw and a feature at the same time. When those around him are all shitbags it leads to a lot of self doubt and isolation but when he’s got a team thats like a family he thrives on their support by reflecting it back at them.

Jack: Ok he’s a bit of someone to figure out. A part of me honestly wants to say Ravenclaw but thats not the house that defines him at all theres just a notable amount of that in him. I think with Jack, to get a decent read you need to look at the 2 phases of his life, which is not divided here as pre and post OD, but pre and post coming out of his shell at samwell. Its tempting obvs to put his pre-shell-leaving behavior into Slytherin, which ya know there might be some there but i think that undervalues Slytherin and doesn’t take into account the nuance of how a house sorting can present differently. Early Jack was motivated by the pressure of living up to the expectations of the people around him, and current Jack still carries that motivation, just in a much healthier way. Instead of trying to live his life to please others, he’s finding joy in supporting a team and has learned a balance of how much of himself and his life he gives away vs keeping for himself. Re: the things he keeps for himself, part of that is just the joy of relating to other people and part of that is his legitimate interest in academics, so once again a little bit of Ravenclaw, but ultimately a Hufflepuff.

Shitty: He’s a Slytherin my pals. I’m hard pressed to call a split sorting but if pushed I might call him a SlytherDor. Like. Guy would tell the Hat a la Harry Potter “anything but Slytherin” and much like Harry before him the hat would huff and go “..... fine Gryffindor I suppose” but Shitty is a lot of Slytherin. He’s like Harry Potter meets Sirius Black bc he’d partially be in Gryffindor bc Fuck Slytherin and partially bc Fuck his Rich Family. But like. my guy is 1) gonna go be a lawyer of the Save The World variety which is EXACTLY how a Slytherin would try to Save The World, and 2) he’s extremely motivated to protect “me and mine” though he wouldn’t think so because he doesn’t realize that throwing oneself in with the less privileged and calling that “me and mine” and protecting that doesn’t make it Less Slytherin. The fact that he sticks to his guns on morality to a fault a la Hermione with SPEW is a very Gryffindor thing to do tho, and one could argue that his Slytherin traits are in support of an overall Gryffindor motivation.

 Lardo is a Ravenclaw. There’s. not a whole lot of musing to go through but like. Explorations of concepts through art is one thing, managing a hockey team as a way to get close to the culture you’re observing is another. Or from another angle, appreciating hockey bro culture for its weird dynamics is one thing, immersing oneself in it and then exploring it through art is another. Also like managerial positions in general like. she’s in a managerial position because its a fulfilling experience to her. Ravenclaw.

aaaaaand at this point i’ve gotten a little too burnt out to go through the full analyses for the rest of SMH bc I think of each and all i get is “well they have traits from several houses” and i can’t make proper judgements as to which one of those wins out on the level of overall personality so i’m gonna end this post here. 

For anyone interested in my sorting meta about specific characters or just about how i sort in general browse me /tagged/soting+meta/chrono (the /chrono makes the pages in reverse the order so you read oldest to newest which i suggest for that particular tag)

[fromthedeskofelizabeththird]

Can you do Beauty!MC x TheBeast!Jumin? I know this idea has been around for a while but I've honestly never seen any work about it.

I got super into this request, actually! I said a while ago that his route was a lot like BaTB and I’ve always thought it was interesting that the original BaTB was mostly about marriage, more specifically addressing the fear young women had of being married to strange men…especially when taking into account that Jumin’s route (thematically) is also about marriage. I tried to mesh the best of both into this story. Jumin and MC are not a literal beast and a young woman trapped in a cursed castle. MC is a new bride in a new marriage and she and Jumin are very unsure of one another. Also I took a lot of inspiration from the original Villeneuve version of the story. I’ll shut up now. I just really love fairy tales I did one of my degrees on fairy tale adaptation

3358 words

She came from a good family. A simple fact that prefaced herexistence, for whenever she bought a new dress, the salesfolk would bring out theirfinest fabrics. Whenever she visited friends, their parents would speak only oftheir good fortunes. It made sense that when she married, it was not for love.

She had four sisters and three brothers, though of them all,she was probably the favourite. Her father would return home from court withstories of the nobles that made her giggle and beg that he tell her more, ofsome other lord and his silly manners.

Originally she was to marry the son of some magistrate,which she felt was a good match. The son had an easy smile and gentle hands andshe knew that above all other things he would be kind. However, one day herfather returned home from court really quite exhausted, eager to speak to allfive of his daughters.

The Han family were looking for a bride for an unnamedmember of their clan and while her sisters immediately argued betweenthemselves over who should have the honour of meeting him, She refused. She washappy to marry the son of the magistrate, who had such a beautiful garden andhad promised to show her their aviary when next they met.

“We have pretty birds of all kinds. It cost us a smallfortune to have it installed,” he had said to the girl. “All different coloursand names and they sing so sweetly all day long.”

“Are they not sad?” She asked and he laughed at herinnocence.

“They are but birds, my dear,” he said. “The only life theyknow is the one in their cage.”

So it was that she prepared her sisters in immaculatedresses and lit their hall ready for a meeting with the representative of HouseHan. She expected a branch, a cousin twice removed or a bastard son whoretained most privileges in exchange for staying out of the line of succession,so it was a shock when the current head of the family crossed her threshold.Later she learned that he had been engaged before to a woman in years past andhe had broken every rule to ensure the marriage did not go ahead. Hisexpression was grave over dinner as he explained that duty bound him to providebloodline heirs to the line of succession. He intended to do the right thing inhis second engagement, even if it meant putting his own feelings aside.

She came from a good family, which meant that she put herfeelings aside too. She was intended to marry another man entirely, so it waseasy enough to spark up a pleasant conversation with Jumin while her sistersstumbled over their words for fear of saying the wrong thing.

“There are twins in your family?” He asked as they strolledthe grounds of her family’s estate.

“Yes,” she said. “Three sets, in fact. We have been veryfortunate. Father says that he meant to even the score and have a few moresons, but Mama’s health was not so good.”

“If you don’t mind me asking…your Mother, how did she…”

“She passed away of a winter flu.”

The same flu, in fact, that killed his own Mother.

When a letter arrived from the Han estate some weeks later,She did not bother to rush to read it. She carried on nibbling at breakfastwith her Father, only to be disturbed moments later by the horrified faces ofeach one of her sisters. Jumin and the elders of his family had written backwith an offer of marriage. The bride they had chosen, however, was none of hersisters. It was the only girl with an existing engagement.

Naturally her sisters believed it to be deliberate. Theyscowled at her over dinner in an accusatory manner, sometimes outwardly sayingwhat they felt.

“You did this on purpose!”

“You knew he would love you the best!”

“It’s not fair that you get everything!”

Truthfully, she had not known a thing and she had wonderedif she really ought to accept, but ultimately her family needed the benefit ofsuch an alliance and she did not have the luxury of refusing. She smiledgenuinely at the lavish courtship gifts that arrived at her home, even if itoccurred to her that they were formalities and little more.

She became the wife of Jumin Han beneath a forest of blossomtrees, the petals falling into everyone’s drinks and music playing long intothe afternoon.

As evening fell, however, the merriment of the wedding partycould not distract her from what was to come. She knew she probably lookedquite distracted, for she kept gazing through the windows at the evening sky,dreading the moment that her family or his would decide that enough was enoughand they should retire from the party to consummate what the vows had only halfachieved. In truth, they were not truly married until the moment she and Jumin’sbodies joined as one. Everyone knew that the ceremony was just an elaboratetheatrical performance to sugarcoat the doubt that would follow her until shegave birth to a healthy Han heir. Until a son or a daughter with its father’sbearing was born (it was not enough for it to look like her) then she wouldhave failed in the only expectation of her.

She had never been completely alone with a man that wasn’t arelative and the moment she stepped out of the hall, she forgot how to breathe.The maidservants, soon to be her personal servants, escorted her to the roomthat would be hers and she lingered in the doorway, wondering if it was toolate to run. The room was enormous; with silk bed sheets and golden mosaics onthe wall. The bed was large enough for at least six people and she observedthat it resembled an enormous mouth, ready to swallow her whole.

She had heard stories of what happened on wedding nights andit did not calm her nerves at all. As a matter of fact, she eyed the windows ofher bedroom, considering the possibility of climbing from the balcony andescaping into a life of ill repute. Perhaps if she changed her name andpretended to be some obscure cousin, she could still marry the son of the magistrate.

She was from a good family. She had heard stories of the greathouses to whom everyone ought to aspire, and her heart thudded in her rib cageas she positioned herself on the balcony, feet carefully straddling the edges.Oh, what onlookers might have thought if they were to peer up from themerriment of the garden and see the bride, clad all in white, on the edge ofthe balcony in such a fashion. No guest saw her, however. Instead she clawed atthe frame as her husband entered the room. She tried to jump back over, to smoothher skirts and hide her indecision, though if he had seen her, he did notacknowledge it.

“This was once my mother’s room,” he said quietly, withoutonce looking in her direction. “These walls…those artworks… all for her.”

She remained silent, heart racing as her husband reachedinto his robes and unsheathed a dagger. Suddenly she wondered if he meant toslay her there and then, but instead he reached one hand across the bed andsliced open the palm, squeezing blood onto the bright bedclothes.

“As my wife,” he said, returning the dagger, “these roomsare yours, as is my protection.”

And like that he left her, alone with the bloodstained bedsheets.

Come morning, it was common belief that they had fulfilledtheir obligations and consummated the marriage. All who might have doubted wereappeased by the sight of fresh blood. She, however, knew the truth of thematter and it cast a dark shadow across her heart. She half wondered if sherepulsed her new husband so, but the more she wondered about it, the more sheconsidered that she had meant to climb from the window. Had she not rejectedhim too?

Her husband spent most of his days out on business,returning home only occasionally and rarely crossing paths with Her. It wasusually a matter of spontaneity, with Her stepping into the breakfast hall tofind him already there. He was plainly used to having the house to himself, forthe first few times she stepped out of his mother’s room, he almost dropped histea.

He never asked to come to her bed whenever he returned home,which only reinforced her belief that he found her ugly and repulsive. Intruth, She became miserable very quickly. She would hum as she walked throughthe corridors, only to be shushed by the staff.

“The Master is reading in the library, my Lady,” they wouldtell her. “He doesn’t like to be disturbed.”

She removed the paintings on her walls that were not to hertaste, only to find them back in place the moment she returned.

“Master’s orders, Ma’am!” The servants would say.

She wandered out into the gardens, by then empty of guests,searching for a patch to tend. There was one, withered and bare, in which sheplanted sweet pea flowers, much like the ones in the garden in her family’sestate. The scent reminded her of the home she missed dearly and she waited inanticipation for the flowers to bloom.

The next time she saw her husband, however, he seemed to bereproaching a couple of servants.

“Forgive me, sir,” was the first thing she heard. “But ithonestly wasn’t us!”

“What’s going on?” She asked, though soon wished she hadn’t.

She was not the first woman to tend to Jumin’s garden in hisabsence. His mother too had had a love for flowers, begging to be taken outinto the garden when she was too weak to walk on her own.

“I’m sorry,” said the Bride. “I did not know.”

And without another word, she left them to wither.

She came from a good family. She wept silently in her roomand drafted letter after letter full of elaborate lies for her father to readat the breakfast table, all while considering a kind, gentle husband that might yet whisk her away.

We are renovating theestate… She wrote, surrounded by line drawings of her siblings that shepinned to the wall at dusk and pulled down before daybreak. The gardens shall soon be in full bloom!

She was sure that she would think of some way to cover upall of her lies when her father finally wrote back, only he never did. Daysturned to weeks and weeks turned into months and She began to grow concernedthat not even her sisters had bothered to write.

Soon her family was all she could think of, so much so thather husband took note the next time he saw her at the breakfast table.

“Is there something on your mind?” He asked, causing her toblush a very bright red indeed.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I am just very worried about myfamily. They have not responded to any of my letters and I’ve heard nothingfrom them since the wedding. It’s very unusual.”

He seemed to consider it.

“I often worry about my friend when I have not heard fromhim,” he said. “Although that is usually because when I do hear from him, it isbecause he has gotten himself into one mess or another.”

It was strange to hear him speak so plainly, a fact that didnot seem to be lost on him either, for he cleared his throat and rose from thetable.

“I will send you to your father,” he said.

The Han estate was not nearly so dark and foreboding whenShe knew she was to leave it. She packed two sets of clothes and saddled up afine courser with a lively song in her heart. Three men were to be her escortsand together they crossed several districts. In her time at the Han estate, Shehad forgotten what an incredible honour her marriage truly was. Strangersstopped in their tracks to watch as she passed on her fine horse, some outrightpointing the moment they saw her.

She arrived home to find her sisters squabbling over theirMother’s wedding gown and their Father feverish and pale in the master bedroom.

“It is good to see you, my dear,” he said, reaching for herhand. “I was beginning to think you had forgotten us.”

“Forgotten you?” She said. “I wrote many letters to you, butreceived no replies.”

Over the next few days, she walked the gardens of herchildhood home, rediscovering her love for each and every inch of the estate.Her sisters, in their jealousy at her marriage, had hastily organised husbandsof their own. In her absence, her youngest sister had been engaged to the sonof the magistrate and taken up much of the running of the estate, includingreceiving all letters.

Every evening, she would sit in the garden with a cup ofhoneyed tea and attempt to persuade herself to leave on the morrow. She had ahusband, she told herself, a life to go back to, but the sun would be warmagainst her back and shoulders and the tea would be sweet against her tongueand she would remember the emptiness of the house she returned to and persuadeherself to stay for one more night.

After two weeks away from home, she was in the middle ofsetting the breakfast table, when she overheard a conversation in the nextroom. Another of her sisters was really quite upset and lamented the woes ofher recent marriage to another.

“I am never so happy as when he leaves,” she sobbed.

At that, She entered the room, meaning to join in theconversation, but none of her sisters were at all sympathetic at the notionthat she was miserable in her marriage.

“What do you have to sad about?” They demanded.

“My husband,” She said, “he is distant…he does not care forme…”

Each of them laughed as if there were far more seriousissues to be considered.

She wrote a letter to her husband that evening, explainingher father’s illness and apologising that she would have to stay for a few moredays. He truly did have a fever and she doubted that Jumin would care torespond.

She was slightly wrong in that regard. Two days later, astern physician arrived at their door proclaiming that he was the familyphysician of the noble House Han and had been ordered by Jumin to take a lookat her father. He seemed surprised that She had not expected him.

“You are the Lady of the house,” he said. “My Lord insistedI come at once.”

That evening, she sat as she always did with her honeyedtea, considering recent events. If her husband did not care for her, why had hesent his physician to tend for her father? He could have demanded she return tothe estate, but he had not done so.

She remembered her wedding night and the moment she stood onthe balcony, considering that she had been running from her husband since thebeginning of their marriage. If she was unhappy with her distant husband, thefault was as much hers as it was his.

So it was that in the middle of the afternoon, as thephysician tended her father, she rushed to the stables and gathered theremaining Han men, demanding they escort her back to the house.

But not without a slight diversion.

The magistrate’s son had always seemed so kind inconversation and She had been so eager to marry him before fate intervened. Heryoungest sister, however, spoke of a different man to the one who had taken herhand, one who spoke to her as if she was a child and insulted her before therest of his family for his own amusement.

He told her once that he would show her their aviary; theprized possession of their family for the variety of birds they had collectedover the years. Once upon a time, she would have loved nothing more than tolisten to their song, to admire their cages. She could never have imagined thereality: sprinting through the place, chased by the very man she once hoped tomarry and throwing open each of the cages.

There were so many feathers of so many shapes and coloursthat she and the magistrate’s son both stopped and stared at the sight before carryingon in their squabble.

“Why have you done this?” He demanded, grabbing her by hershoulders, only for her guardsmen to intervene. “Why?”

He looked so pitiful standing there with each of herguardsmen’s swords at his throat that she could do little more than smilesadly.

“They are birds, my dear,” she said as he had once said toher. “If you had allowed them their freedom, they might have chosen to comeback to you.”

The last time she ever saw him, he was on his knees,surrounded by broken cages and discarded feathers, little more than a ghost ofthe man he was before. Perhaps he held her ill will or swore revenge. She didnot care. She was a girl from a good family, married into an even better oneand no one would believe him if he tried to tarnish her reputation.

Her Lord Husband waited for her in the library and sheapproached him slowly, considering how best to say that she was ready to be aproper wife and attend to her duties.

“Forgive me,” he said, before she could. “I have been aninconsiderate husband.”

She had not expected such a sentiment from him and watchedas he set aside whichever book he had been reading to approach her.

“You know that I was engaged once,” he said. “In my previousengagement, I made many demands of my family. Demands I promised I would nevermake again.”

His features softened as he glanced upon her.

“But I have placed many demands upon you, have I not?” Hesaid. “You were engaged to another when I requested you be my wife. I broughtyou here knowing little more than my name.”

“I…” She began, meaning to insist that he was wrong eventhough she knew otherwise, when she noticed a change in the room. Previously,the library had been decorated by all portraits of the Han clan, with thecurrent heads of household in prominent positions above the fireplace. Theprevious Mrs Han’s portrait had been moved to a different wall and the gap leftvacant.

“These past few days…” He said quietly. “I have been mostlonely at breakfast. There has been no humming as I read. I went out into thegarden only yesterday and found the patch my mother once tended blooming withsweet smelling flowers.”

He pointed to the empty space.

“You are the lady of this house,” he said. “If you will it,I shall commission your portrait for this room as has been the tradition forcenturies.”

“I should like that very much,” she said, scarcely able tobreathe.

“Good,” said Jumin and he turned towards the door.

“I must say,” he said, serious in tone, but half smiling. “Iam quite curious about why there are feathers in your hair.”

She blushed furiously and reached up to drag each of themout, though noticed a short while afterwards that he still stood in the samespot as before. Not only that, but he offered his arm, a silent invitation forher to go with him. She stared at him, grateful that she already blushed.

“Let us walk around the gardens, husband,” she said, takinghis arm. “I’ll tell you the whole story.”

[thecyclingscouse]

London to Paris

So, seven sleeps until departure for me and my red (naturally!) bike. I have been persuaded to complete a blog (whatever that is) on Tumblr (which apparently is an App and not a glass), so this is my first paragraph. The fact I am rubbish with technology, probably means that I will end up accidentally deleting this post before it is actually posted. In fact, riding my red (naturally!) bike from London to Paris will probably prove somewhat easier than me figuring out how to post things into a glass that isn’t actually a glass! Anyway, let’s see how this goes and I will reconvene when there are only six sleeps until departure. Au revoir (I am multilingual you know) for now.

Six more sleeps for me and the red bike. We spent 26 miles together at 5.10am this morning. It was cold. It was wet. It was miserable. I was cold. I was wet. I was miserable. Then I remembered something that made me snap out of that miserable mind set. I remembered that this time last year I could barely walk up the stairs without being physically exhausted and having to lie down to recover. Why was that I can hear you ask?! The reason for it is the reason why me and the red bike are embarking upon our quest to cycle 480 kilometres together. You see I was diagnosed with cancer in my tonsil and lymph nodes in December 2015. I spent the bulk of 2016 having radiotherapy, having chemotherapy, having 11 teeth removed, being fed through a tube, being unable to eat and drink properly, losing the ability to talk for a while and losing all my dignity and self esteem. It was without doubt the toughest challenge I have ever faced. I came through it though, and now I want to give something back to help thank the amazing people who treated me with such kindness and care. Who helped me recover and who help countless other people through much worse than I encountered. I am attempting to raise £10,000 for Macmillan in order to make some form of contribution to aid the magnificent and selfless care this brilliant organisation offers every single day. So, dragging my arse out of bed at 5.00am to then plonk it on the red bikes’ ridiculously uncomfortable saddle, is actually an absolute joy. To cycle through the early morning mist in the peaceful countryside whilst dawn breaks, is something that reminds me how fortunate and privileged I am to be alive. Now that you are aware of my motivation, I can now concentrate future posts on being charming and witty!! It’s now time to sign off and sleep. I have a hot date with the red bike at 5.15am….

I suspect you have all been wondering how my hot date went this morning?! Well, as with all dates, there was a heady mixture of anticipation, intrigue, mystery, attraction (hopefully), interaction, excitement, satisfaction and fulfilment (hopefully!!). Let’s look at these individually. The anticipation gave me a sporadic and fitful sleep, mainly due to the fact that is unseasonably cold and I didn’t fancy getting up for my date at 5.00am. The red bike seemed pretty non plussed by this and appeared to have slept just fine. I was intrigued to find out if I could manage to get my bike shoes into the cleats (for those of you not familiar with cleats, try www.cleatsareannoying.com) first time. There are many ‘date’ connotations here, but that would be too tacky a road to go down. This is something I have not yet accomplished first time and this morning was no exception. The red bike was not impressed with this attempt. I tried to be mysterious and surprise both me and the red bike with a new route. After getting to the first roundabout I forgot about this plan, carried straight on and then couldn’t be bothered to go back. Hence we did the usual route. The red bike seemed happy to go in whatever direction I steered it. The attraction element centred around the fact that assorted insects and bugs seem to be attracted to my mouth (it has been said on occasion that I do in fact have an attractive mouth). However, assorted insects and bugs flying into my mouth is not particularly pleasant. The red bike squashed the assorted bugs and insects under its sexy wheels. The interaction between me and the red bike was a mixture of joy and despair. One moment we combined perfectly in joint satisfaction and the next we were erratic and fumbling through the gears (pause for comic effect). There was plenty of excitement! These early morning rides are like an episode of Spring Watch. I saw rabbits, a deer, a fox, stoats, an owl and a variety of cattle. For a city boy this is like being on an African Safari, and as such was mildly exciting. The red bike took a passing interest in two dead hedgehogs and a squashed rabbit. Like every good date, there had to be satisfaction. I was very satisfied that we completed the 28 miles without being forced off the road by passing motorists, being beeped at by passing motorists, being verbally abused by passing motorists or having objects of litter thrown at us by passing motorists. All of which we have experienced on other dates. Finally there was the fulfilment part of the date. Did we get what we both wanted? Well, I took the red bike back home and as I climbed off I could have sworn I heard a groan of pleasure from her, or perhaps that was just my aching and aging body relieved that the date was over! The red bike seemed ready for more. Maybe a few years ago I may have been able to oblige. So, was it a successful date? The fact we are doing it all again tomorrow would suggest it was. Practice makes perfect and I want to get better. The red bike has seen it all before and I get the impression that she was relieved it was over. Five more sleeps…. #macmillancancersupport #JFT96 At 6.00am this morning, whilst me and the red bike were meandering through the country lanes of such famous places as Marholm, Ufford and Barnack, I was thinking of the magnitude of what lies ahead. I am actually doing a sponsored bike ride from London to Paris!! That’s Paris in France! I have been to Paris on many occasions, but my mode of travel has never included a red bike, or any bike for that matter. I do recall trying to get to Paris without spending any money for a dare. I bunked on a train from Liverpool to London, hitchhiked to Dover and bunked on a ferry to Calais, before arriving in Ostend because I bunked on the wrong boat! I was then casting my memory back to other sponsored activities I have done over the years. One that immediately sprung to mind was a ‘sponsored silence’ when I was at school. What the hell was that all about? I remember knocking on my neighbours’ doors with a tatty piece of A4 paper and asking them to sponsor me to sit quietly for an hour and give me 20p. Most of them told me to get lost and by the time I had pestered a variety of relatives I think I probably raised about £2.10 (one stingy relative only gave me 10p) to give to Doctor Barnardos. Is Doctor Barnardos still actually in existence?? Should Doctor Barnardo be 'on the list’? Well life has moved on and we now have 'Just Giving’ and questions about tax and gift aid and do I want to share it on Facebook or Twitter blah blah blah….. I guess it’s progress and instead of raising £2.10, I am aiming for an ambitious £10,000!! I was riding along feeling quite pleased with myself about that, until I remembered that Jimmy Saville raised millions!! Whatever became of Jim?? I recall sitting in the radiotherapy waiting area at Adenbrookes Hospital, quietly observing some of my fellow patients. One particular elderly gentleman had a Macmillan nurse accompanying him for his treatment. He was clearly terribly ill and to compound his misfortune he was also blind. I remember thinking two things. Firstly, that life can be massively cruel. How much misfortune can one poor man be faced with? Secondly, as I listened and watched the interaction between nurse and patient, I was quite overwhelmed at the care and compassion displayed by the nurse, alongside the reliance and gratitude from her patient. It made me consider my own relatively minor predicament in a whole different light. That is one of many moments I will be thinking of during the hard miles that lie ahead. How can I not do this…. four more sleeps. So that's the end of the training!! With three days until departure, me and the red bike completed 48 miles and that's it until Wednesday. Since falling for the irresistible charms of the red bike back in late February, we have battled the elements, the terrain, the rude motorists and my confusion over how to choose the correct gear (I still shift up or down at the wrong time). The clever App (see how I embrace technology!) I have which 'Maps My Ride' (I like something that is named after precisely what it does - take note Tumblr!!) tells me that me and the red bike (should that in fact be the red bike and I?) have now completed a grand total of 2,067 miles together!!! Apparently that is pretty much the distance from Liverpool to Istanbul (2,118.3 miles to save you Googling it!!). For those football fans amongst you, the connection between those two cities is legendary. I spent two brilliant days and probably one of the best nights of my life in that amazing city in May 2005. Whilst I was ill, I spent many dark hours reliving the 25th May 2005 and recalling how miserable and utterly dejected I felt at half time when we were losing 3 0 to AC. Milan. The rest as they say, is history. Visualising Steven Gerrard holding the European Cup high into the Istanbul night, gave me such positivity and determination through the dark and uncertain times of 2016. So now it's time to rest my tired legs. The red bike is going for the equivalent of a spa day on Tuesday, in order to be fully prepared for what lies ahead. I am jealous, because after being introduced to the wonders and delights of spa days by a special person several years ago, I have to say that they are quite magnificent! I continually get mocked by mates who consider such pastimes as girly!! How wrong they are! I fully intend to treat myself to one upon my return from Paris. I spent about an hour watching 'Le Tour' today. Something I never thought likely. I watched transfixed, as lycra clad super humans whizzed along the streets of Germany and Belgium at breathtaking speed in the pouring rain. It did puzzle me though, as I can't quite understand how it can be the 'Tour de France' and go through Germany and Belgium. Misrepresentation of contract me thinks. Emotional distress. Where there's blame there's a claim. Is this another PPI?? Anyway, I digress. Three sleeps to go. Training finished. It's now time to eat copious amounts of pasta and jelly babies!! It's amazing what you can do if you try. I have cycled to Istanbul (kind of!!). The venue of one of the most emotional nights of my life. Just over 12 years ago, if someone had told me I would be diagnosed with cancer and cycle over 2,000 miles in four months, I'm not sure which of those things I would believe the least. You never know what's coming your way.... #macmillancancersupport #YNWA