#no one come after me for any mistakes about secondary characters sexualities i am just trying to prove a point here ksksksksk

[windybreeze12]

i love how no one, literally no one from the main/secondary cast is a straight white male in DBD.

Let's break it down:

Edwin: Straight White Male Charles: Straight(?) White Male Crystal: Straight(?) White Male Niko: Straight(?) White Male Esther: Straight(?) White Male Monty: Straight White Male(?) Jenny: Straight White Male Cat King: Straight White Male(?) Tragic Mick: Straight(?) White Male(?) Night Nurse: Straight(?) White Male

AND HALF OF THE MEN HERE ARE GENDER-AMBIGUOUS BECAUSE WTF WE GOT A CROW, A WALRUS AND A CAT OVER HERE. MEN???

They're all just a textbook about diversity and this is reason number #984342423429 why this show should be watched and loved and not cancelled. GO GO GO

[fineillsignup]

Hello! I hope this isn't intrusive, but I've been writing a Chinese OC & recently realized that I might've accidentally played into certain stereotypes e.g., parental expectations/strictness. It wasn't my intention to do this, but since I've realized that it could very well come off that way, I've been nervous about whether or not it's okay for me to write my OC as Chinese or if I should change it. I figured the best way to know for sure would be to ask someone else and see what they think.

Okay buckle up because I started typing this up on the train and it got long and meandering. (Yes I still have to take the train even in this time of plague. I don’t have a car and I have some places that I Must Go Because My People Need Me.)

I’m assuming you’re asking me this because of my guide to Chinese names, and I would say from how you’ve phrased the question that there’s a strong possibility that you’re assuming I’m of a Chinese ethnic background. I am not, not even a little bit. 

I am a North American-born multi-ethnic but all white person, that is, a blend of several different European heritages, mostly Germanic and Celtic. My parents spoke only English. I grew up in a mostly white suburban area. I was raised in a fairly permissive way, and they were always keen to encourage any academic interest I had, but I got to direct it, basically. Most significantly to my future, my parents said “yes” when I asked if I could take Mandarin Chinese lessons as a child and “yes” again when I asked if I could go to China at age 18 with another 18 year old girl (a Chinese girl who had lived in China most of her life and my good friend) to spend the summer doing ???? unspecified things ?????. My parents were like “ok sounds like a good experience.”

Anyway. All of that is just to say I’m not Chinese and I def didn’t have high pressure parents. So my answer to your question won’t come from either of those perspectives.

It’s good to be aware of potentially damaging stereotypes and to be sure not to let them limit your fiction. But I would urge you, above all else, not to let it stop you writing a character as Chinese.

The point of my guide post was not just to be a guide, but it was also an assertion: you don’t need to be of a Chinese ethnicity to choose a good Chinese name, or to write a Chinese character. You just have to put in the work, and the work is achievable! It really is! And if you’re my kind of nerd, it’s even fun!

And part of why I wrote it is the very reason that I think many well-meaning people are so terrified of getting something wrong, that, like you, they wonder if they should just not try. And the end result is less diversity!

Someone once told me that one difference about being appropriative or exploitative is about whether you are trying to tell a story of what it means to be X when you are not X. In that case the story is not yours to tell. Like if you sum up the story as “this is a story of what it means to be a Chinese teenager with parents who are very demanding”. That’s not a story to be told by someone who has no stake in the story.

In contrast, for example, I wrote a fanfiction novel called Queen’s Choice(s). It is about a woman who has a superpower that strengthens other superpowers, and is being hunted down by some bad guys. She joins forces with, and falls in love with, four men who also have superpowers, and in the end they live happily ever after as a fivesome.

Four of the five are Han Chinese, the story largely takes place in alternate universe Shanghai. Them being Chinese matters, the setting matters, even with my own experiences and expertises, I still had to do research, which included consulting with Chinese people. But the story is not anywhere “the story of what it means to be Chinese.”

A big risk in writing anything you aren’t intimately acquainted with—whether that’s a different gender, ethnicity, background, spaceship life, ninjutsu, needlework, royalty, criminal underworlds, 17th century sailing, wild horses, etc—is the unknown unknowns. The stuff you don’t know you don’t know. That’s why it’s important in research to be broad and inquisitive, to interact with a variety of primary and secondary sources that talk on a subject in a general way, rather than limit to a specific question-answer.

What I think you have to think about with regard to this character, is what is their role in the story, their parents role, what plot or character development function does the person play; if someone read your work and was asked “Who is OC? Why does OC matter to the story?” what would that reader answer? I agree that the “Tiger Mother, stressed out child” stereotype can be reductive. If that’s all your OC is, then I don’t think the answer is to make the OC not Chinese. It’s to make sure that the OC and their background is rounded. But that’s hard to guess either way based just on what you’ve written in your question. 

Child rearing is a very cultural thing, and in Chinese culture the emphasis on education is very high; there is also history about the Imperial Examinations and so on for why, for thousands of years, studying and particularly the concept of exams are perhaps more important in the Chinese culture than literally any other culture in the world. The concept of social mobility as being tied to one’s exam performance, and thus that one’s exam performance literally meant one’s entire future, and therefore that it was the most important thing that could possibly be. These are all historical realities. You can get objective numbers of stuff like how much Chinese parents spend on cram schools or educational materials and so on.

But fictional individuals are both individuals and fictional; you write them as individuals and you have choices for how you write them about how typical or atypical you want them to be. I think it can be a mistake to try to lean too hard on making someone atypical/unexpected. Someone having something “assumed true about them” actually be true about them doesn’t mean “aha, the stereotype is always true and is all that X people are!” I think if you ask any individual who is anything, “what is something about you that is stereotypical but true for your race/gender/sex/upbringing/sexuality/career/whatever?” they would have at least one thing about them that is a stereotype but is true. And they would have things about them that is a stereotype that is not true.

I’ve run out of time but I hope you are able to glean some kind of wisdom out of *gestures above vaguely* all that.

[vajranam]

Power Of Virtue

Results of Doing the Ten Non-Virtues

1. Killing any living being. It includes abortion, suicide (ruining a body that could have reached nirvana in this life), and participating in the military (even being a cook, it is as if you shot the gun yourself).

Personal Result: Your life is short; and you get sick easily, have little energy.

Environmental Result: Food, drink, medicine, crops, have very little effect, are always inferior, are not nutritious, are hard to digest, and cause disease in you. Most beings around you die before reaching the end of a full life.

2. Stealing anything of value: includes shady business deals, cheating on rent, taxes, or bills, underpaying what is due to local government or society, etc.

Personal Result: You do not have enough to live on or to make ends meet; and what you do have is all just common property with others.

Environmental Result: The crops are few and far between, they have no power to remove hunger, they spoil or never come up; dry spells stay on too long; it rains too much; the crops dry up or die off.

3. Sexual Misconduct. It mainly means adultery — cheating on your partner, a person to whom you are exclusively committed. It also includes some specific secondary behaviors.

Personal Result: The people who work around you are “inconsistent” (unreliable); and you find yourself having a lot of competition for your partner.

Environmental Result: You live in a place where there is urine and feces all around, and mud, dirt, filth; everything stinks and everywhere seems unpleasant and distasteful.

4. Lying, giving someone else a wrong impression about what you have seen, believe, or know; unless it would save someone’s life or prevent real suffering. If you lie and get something, the benefit comes from past good deeds, not from the lie.

Personal Result: No one believes what you say; even when you are speaking the truth, others are always deceiving you.

Environmental Result: Your work in cooperation with others fails to prosper and people around you do not work well together; everyone generally is cheating one another and is afraid, and there are many things to be afraid of.

5. Divisive Talk, splitting people up with your talk; saying things to alienate or separate two different people, (regardless of whether or not your words are true); causing one person to like another person less; it is usually subtle, like in your tone of voice.

Personal Result: You lose friends easily; people around you are always fighting one another; and people around you have an undesirable character.

Environmental Result: The ground you live in is split up, uneven, covered with crags and gullies, highs and lows, so travel is difficult and you are always afraid and there are many things to be afraid of.

6. Harsh Talk, with bad intent and effect; it includes sarcastic “nice” words and swearing.

Personal Result: You hear many unpleasant things, you hear things as bad sounds; and when others talk to you it always seems to you as if they want to start a fight.

Environmental Result: The ground where you live is covered with obstacles like fallen tree trunks, thorns, stones, sharp broken glass; it is rough, dreary, no streams or water springs; the ground is parched and poisoned, burning hot and threatening; there are many things to fear.

7. Idle Talk, meaningless chatter, criticism, disputes, useless joking, whining, complaining, speaking out of the motive of attachment or craving; gossiping about politics, sports, etc., or about people engaged in wrong livelihood; reciting prayers while not thinking about their meaning. Gossiping about others’ values or spiritual practice. Dharma is sacred and should be discussed in holy private whispers on special nights, not casually — talk in hushed tones, very beautiful sacred speech, talk about inspiring things. As an aspiring bodhisattva, you may need to discuss mundane topics with others for their benefit, but keep the ultimate goal in mind, and do not be drawn into worldly conversations.

Personal Result: No one listens to you; no one respects what you say — no one thinks that what you say has any particular value; and you are afflicted with a lack of confidence and self-esteem.

Environmental Result:Fruits refuse to grow, or grow at the wrong times, seem ripe when they are not, have frail roots; there are no leisure places around like parks, or pools of cool water; many things around make you afraid.

8. Craving/Coveting, is similar to coveting in the Ten Commandments. Wanting others’ possessions and personal qualities like their intelligence, health, fame, youth, or spiritual achievements. It comes in five stages: you are attached to your own possessions, desire to accumulate more than you have, discover another’s possessions, like to make them your own, and the desire becomes unmanageable and you “lose shame” (then you act).

Personal Result: Your personality is dominated by desire; and you are never satisfied with what you have.

Environmental Result: Every good thing you manage to find starts to get worse, decrease as days, months, and seasons pass.

9. Ill-Will, is to wish bad things upon others; being pleased when others fail or have misfortune; competitiveness, like “Oh, how did they mess up? Tell me more…” not feeling as bad for an unfortunate person as you would feel for yourself if you were them.

Personal Result: Your personality is dominated by anger; you are always finding yourself without help, or never find the help you need; and you are always hurting others, or always being hurt by others.

Environmental Result: You live in a world of chaos, diseases spread, evil is everywhere, plague, conflict, fear of harm from the military, dangerous animals, you are surrounded by harmful spirits, thieves or muggers, etc.

10. Wrong View, “Incorrect world view” means not regarding karma as being the direct cause of every microsecond of experience we have. This leads to doing misdeeds #1–9.

Personal Result: Your personality is dominated by stupidity; you are a person who keeps harmful views; and you are a deceitful person.

Environmental Result: You live in a world where the single highest source of happiness is steadily disappearing from the earth; where people think that unclean and suffering things are actually nice and happy; where there is no place to go, no one to help you, nothing to protect you.

THE TEN VIRTUES

Any actions we do that cause both oneself and others to experience happiness as a result are known as virtuous actions. The classification of virtuous actions is:

Not taking the life of living beings

Not taking what is not freely given

Abstaining from sexual misconduct

Speaking truthfully

Not engaging in divisive speech

Speaking gentle words

Not gossiping

Not coveting the wealth of others

Giving up holding ill-will towards others

Right view

Contrary at what we think virtues wasn't here before the Buddha teaching, we can find on vedic and pte hindu text the notion of virtues very similar, now when we come to Buddha teaching Shakyamuni stress on those virtues because he realised that without that nothing happened.

Virtues is rightous act made in selfless action, without thinking “ gonna get good karma doing this “ , virtues are made in selfless mind to.

How do we do virtues by practicing the Dharma ? So we do virtues because first we renounce to samsara, second we want to practice for sake of all sentient beings and last we generate bodhichitta. Without those we won’t make any virtues, now virtues applications so yes we will mess up in today world full of extreme yes we will do non vitues to cancel them we need to confess fault and hiden fault by the body, speach and mind.

There's a zen proverb that say that the zen master made more mistakes than the students. So making mistakes well it’s normal our day will be more grey tham pure with or dark. What we mistaken to be like Garchen Rinpoche for example that years of work, Garchen Rinpoche himself said himself if we look to his karma he didn't had much virtues but he didn't give up on Dharma not even for a day.

That same attitude we need to have, yes we will face hardship someday we will make just non virtues and that ok because we will regret transform and carry on its part of learning Dharma to the deep.

It’s very easy to see if we got virtues and on what we use those virtues, in past I was worried about money because I was very poor, till I notice well I am not so poor because I met Karmapa, Shamarpa, took refuge very high vows with Garchen Rinpoche, recived empowerments that Milarepa himself had, wasn't poor was extremely ritch I just noticed that virtues was in Dharma there for I focus on those and left the rest. So we maybe poor, ritch or whatever but we can see on what way go our virtues for example in our life there's an area that very grow that where is our virtues, after that area maybe not Dharma mean we actually burning virtues and if we want to practice we need to develop bodhi mind .

[msilwrites]

(A 3AM Short Story) - (SHORT 1/2) - The Dark Knight

A/N: Hi guys, I have a lot of drafts I've been editing inside the draft folder of my Tumblr page. Sorry that I have not published them, I'm aware I make a lot of grammar mistakes, therefore, just I want them to be written properly, for it to have a strong narrative voice and can be easily understood.

Nonetheless, here is one of them...

Let me add, I'm actually busy updating my other stories, so do standby for that!

Cast -

'Q' is an Original Character

'K' / Kieran Sorensen - Mads Mikkelsen

WARNING: SEXUAL TENSIONS.... you need cold water!

The Dark Knight

Even before Q was known as 'Q', she was first a trainee under 'K' or Kieran, her commanding officer. However, she didn't expect to work beside him after finishing her training and working for the MI6. Neither did she expect that he was preparing her to take over once he steps down. That he wanted her to succeed him.

It all started when she entered the training programme. He had interviewed her for the first time, whilst holding on to the piece of paper which contained information about her background.

A woman who spent her primary education in Dragon School, and a secondary education at top international school in Shanghai, before graduating tertiary in Cambridge. With these, she could've been considered a 'strong candidate'.

"Privileged..." was his reply, upon reading everything. He clearly wasn't impressed. "You're probably very intelligent, but do you have grit?"

She gulped nervously and was thankful enough that she didn't write anything about her grandfather being an admiral or her father being an officer.

She remembered what he had told her clearly the first time, which is why it was a surprise to her that he considered her as a 'successor'.

Her job was something classified, she was not a field agent, but her duty was akin to that of a chess player, a tactician, a strategist and her chess pieces, were the agents under her command. And the playground was the operations she led and handled. And after a long time, she became good at it.

Throughout the years, she slowly got the hang of it, and finally earned the respect of her colleagues and superiors, specially Keiron, who had eventually become fond of her.

Everything was fine until she received a piece of devastating news.

Q's mother had committed suicide and her sister had a breakdown. At first, she couldn’t believe it. She knew her mother would never do such a thing! Didn’t she just remarry a good man who also happens to be wealthy? and had told her that she is in love with her new husband? That didn’t sound like the jovial mother she had often talked to over the phone. But as the details and truth began to resurface, everything became clearer...

As Q dug deeper for the truth, receiving the suicide note, her mother’s diary, the Private Investigator’s report and her sister’s story, one thing became clear; the cause of her family’s ruin was her mother’s new husband; Vincenzo Rosello.

Much to the family’s dismay, the truth was something painful to learn. Q broke down and cried. She considered dropping everything, just to get to her sister.

Her sister Helene, according to the report given to her by the investigator, was locked up in a private mental institution/ rehab in Mallorca and was given medication that had kept her mind blank every day.

Her grandfather and father were willing to do anything to get Helene rescued. But Q knew that if both her grandfather and father made a move, it will cause a diplomatic problem for the country. It was enough pretext for them that they should not intervene or try anything. Besides, the fact that the information was classified and Vincenzo Rosello was no ordinary man, makes it no easy task for her grandfather and father who holds high positions in the government, compared to her, a 'small fly'. So Q talked her family out of it and took it upon herself to rescue her sister, whatever it took.

At first, Q leaks the story to BBC News and CNN through an agent contact in Madrid, believing that public sympathy and pressure would force the country to intervene. However, Kieron Sorensen had done something, causing the networks to retract the news as a hoax.

Q was angry of course, upon learning of what happened. But she couldn't show it, and couldn't let anyone know that it was her who had leaked the information.

She didn't know what was coming for her until Kieron summoned her to his office.

"Ah, Q, please take a seat," Kieron offers, as she closes the door behind her. She had a feeling he might try to pry something out of her, but whatever it was, she decided that she will not admit to anything.

"What did you call me for?"

"Straightforward as always! Well, do you remember the painting at the museum that we saw?" he starts.

She scratches her head and thought how random the question was. "Which painting?"

"In front of the painting where I first handed you your badge," he said.

She suddenly remembered the event years ago, when he had welcomed her officially to the agency, by giving her a gun and badge inside a box, at a gallery, right in front of a painting. It looked more like a transaction between two people instead of a 'welcome' due to its secret, unnoticeable nature.

"Yes... what about it?"

"What was the painting again?" he asked.

"A knight and a lady," was her answer.

"A yes! 'A knight and his lady'! remember what I told you that time?"

"That there is no knight in shining armour to the rescue, that you are your own knight..." she casually mentions.

"And?" asking her to continue.

"That we should not aspire to be white knight, but a 'dark knights'" she rolls her eyes, thinking that this was a waste of time. "If there is anything else, I would like to go. I have a lot more paperwork to do,"

Kieron smiled " I am glad you remember, what is this then?" he pushes a paper towards her, containing the report that was leaked to the networks.

" I do not know what is this about?" she feigns ignorance.

His handsome face twists into a cynical smile. "Oh Q, isn't that your sister in the news?"

"Yes, I can see that, but we have been estranged ever since our parents divorced..." she lied. In fact, she almost communicated with them every day.

"I see..." Kieron folds his hands and takes a long hard look at her, which made her uncomfortable, but she was not going to give anything away. "I just want to remind you not to play the 'Dark Knight' in this situation. I'm not saying it was you who did this but consider the position your family would be in."

"Is that a threat, Director?" she clenched her teeth.

"No, it's a warning..." was his response, followed by a handsome smile, that she had so wanted to punch.

"Duly noted..." was her resigned response.

"I'm glad you understand, we have to always choose and preserve the greater good..."

"Greater good? so you want me to abandon my sister?" her voice was strained, as anger began to rise within her.

"I never said that... What I'm saying is, incidents like this can be considered as something against the agency and the government "

"I am aware of that and don't need you to remind me..." was her curt reply.

"I will not tolerate insubordination, and I will not back you up or rescue you if you continue this," he adds.

"I did not break any rules..." was her firm response, bent on not admitting anything.

" If that is so, you are to take a two-week compassionate leave,"

"I don't need it, I have a lot of work to do," she says, brushing it off.

"It's not a request, it's an order..." was his stern reply. "You're not into step into the office within those two weeks,"

"You can't do that?! I have a lot of work to do, and people who depend on me," she insists. She knew the moment she leaves the office, she will be unable to access some resources needed to rescue her sister.

"That's all taken care of," he said nonchalantly.

She felt her plans fall apart. It was obvious why Kieron was doing this. And that is to prevent her from taking any action, and this made her extremely frustrated.

" You have 2 days to finish whatever you can. After that, surrender your access card and gun before you go..." he adds, which finally broke the camel's back.

In a fit of anger, Q bolts out of her seat and attacks Kieran, pulling his arm forward, and punches his face the moment she had close the distance, which caught him off guard.

But a seasoned combatant like Kieron had recovered quickly and caught her body, swung her into his back and slammed her hard on the table.

Q, flinched in pain, but was not one to give up, countered his attack by trying to lock his arm, forcing him into submission. However, he was able to free himself from it and back throws her, causing her to land on the nearby couch with a loud thud.

But before she could even recover, Kieron had already gone on top of her and held both her wrist above her head, pinning her down the couch in a compromising position.

He leans close to her face and whispers to her ears, "You do that again, I will not be as merciful..."

She felt goosebumps on her neck with what he did. It was no mistake, she was turned on. It was also not a big help that Kieron is a handsome man. She did not want to look at him in the eye, or the feelings that she had withheld inside her, for him, all these years, might just spill...

He drags her back up and buttons the top part of her shirt, which she had not noticed was open. Some of the buttons were gone due to the physical altercation that had happened between them earlier. Her face felt warm as she looked away, as the gesture felt sensual and intimate. A significant other is supposed to do these things, not your boss! And certainly not after a fight!

He stilled her and gently tilted her chin to meet up his gaze. For a moment she was lost in his citrine eyes.

"Don't cause trouble, I would hate to lose you..." he whispered, and it felt more of a warning. "Go..." he turns around and walks back to his table, waving her off.

"Damn him..." she muttered under her breath as she went back to her small office. She had only two days to do her work, in addition to getting whatever resources she needs to rescue her sister. If Kieron thought this setback will discourage her, then he is wrong.

**********

After two days of work, the moment she had reached home, she had finally decided to go off-grid. She knew the moment she had left the agency, Kieron would've probably put her under watch list.

Pushing a heavy bookshelf on the side, the self glided easily despite its weight, revealing a small secret room with a vault inside her apartment. On one part of the shelf, was two fake passports and identity cards she had procured over the years, on one part was a thick clipping of the currency 'Euros'. She takes them and throws packs into her bag, before coming back for the vault, and taking another handphone.

She leaves her handphone on the bedside table and didn't plan on taking it with her to Spain. Kieron surely would use it to track her and she couldn't risk anyone knowing her plans and ruin them.

But before leaving, she messages her father;

'Perseus is coming for Andromeda'

**********

Mallorca, Spain

Q was not surprised that it was raining hard the moment she arrived at Mallorca. It was after one of their coldest seasons.

She wasted no time and immediately embraced her new identity, Geórgia Santos, a woman from Terrassa who will work as the cleaner at the psychiatric hospital where her sister, Helene is confined.

She eventually took on her role well, and immediately gained the respect of the medical staff within a few days of working as a cleaner. She even gained information who are some of the patients, through gossip with the nurses.

By the end of the week, she learned that the forbidden room she wasn't allowed to enter was the same room Helene is solely confined in. Not only because it was guarded. Moreover, thrice a week, a man comes to visit the room and stays there for almost a whole day, and he would ask the staff about his 'prisoner' in the room.

Upon learning the whole truth, she had sneaked in one night into her sister's room and found her in a state any family member would not like to see. Her informer was right, Helene was kept mentally blank every day. She had eventually bribed the nurse and the doctor assigned in Helene's room for information and their silence. According to the nurse she had bribed for information, the ‘stepfather’ would often visit Helene and stay at her quarters for a ‘very long time'.

Flabbergasted, Q calls out the nurse for not doing anything. But the nurse reasons that the ‘stepfather’ is a powerful man and they themselves were afraid to go against him. When she made it known that she wanted to take Helene from the institution and bring her back to England, the nurse and the doctor, though feeling guilty, advised her not to, as Vicenzo Rosello will not allow it. It will put the whole staff in jeopardy.

When she promised a way out, and a way to cripple Vicenzo, so that he would not misdirect his anger. Both of them immediately agreed and cooperated.

"Saint George, has seen the dragon" she sends another cryptic message to her father. What it actually meant is that she had seen Vicenzo.

The messaging window indicated 'typing' for a long time. She knew her father was holding back the anger, he was surely thinking of giving an order to kill. But no, he seems to have thought it through.

"Saint George should not slay the dragon," was his response followed by "Yet...".

Q chuckled upon receiving the message. Oh, the many ways they plan to hurt Vicenzo. After all, killing him immediately is an easy way out. They should torment him every chance they get, after what happened to her mother and Helene.

Unbeknownst to the agency, within her two last days before her compassionate leave. She had forged a directive signed by the agency's head to begin "Operation Persues" a rescue mission that is spearheaded by the SAS that she had developed within a short amount of time as 'Plan B" for her own attempt to rescue her sister.

On the night of the extraction, the moment the power was cut, Q hurriedly rushed to the floor where her sister was confined. The guards were out so she was able to easily enter her room.

When she entered Helene's room, she found her sleeping soundly in the dark, much to her relief. She checks her watch to see how much time she has. She could carry her sister to the nearby coastline herself where a boat is supposedly waiting for them, or wait for the soldiers she assigned to guide them there.

Her plan was to get Helene to Madrid and have her transported via car (as she was not mentally stable) to the south of France where their grandfather was waiting for them.

She felt her hands grow cold, as the clock ticks. The guards will be back any time now, and she has no gun to neutralize them if it comes into an altercation.

Suddenly, there was a sharp sound of a suppressor, followed by a loud thud on the floor. There was a knock on the door before it opened to reveal an imposing figure standing in the door frame, dressed in black night ops camouflage, with a large rifle. A normal person would probably be scared if they see him. After all, he looked like the stuff of 'nightmares' specially with his face covered, and his eyes were night-vision lenses that made him look like a multi-eyed monster.

"She's not stable," she whispers to the man. " I'm afraid of her waking up, and causing a commotion. "

The man nodded in understanding, before signalling another soldier outside of the room to come in.

The other soldier takes out a syringe containing a sedative to calm Helene down, in case she wakes up. In any other situation, Q would be fine, doing it to the target. She had carried out a lot of operation that needed this course of action. But now that they're doing it to her sister, she felt a little conflicted.

Another soldier enters the room and carries Helene out carefully. The first soldier, who first entered the room pulls out a gun from one of his armour's holsters and hands it to her.

"Thank you," she says softly, glad that he was considerate enough to give her a weapon to defend herself.

In a few minutes time, the power will come back, they needed to get to the nearby coastline by foot, as the sound of the car can attract attention this late at night, at a quiet place like this.

The smell of the incoming rain was obvious to her, the moment they stepped out of the hospital, they needed to get to the boat before the rain falls. There were 5 soldiers, and the boat can only carry 5 people, which meant two should stay ashore, and leave in another way.

"I will see you at Bordeaux, give her to the Admiral as instructed..." she says, referring to her grandfather, as she instructs the soldiers and they respond with a nod. She trusted them enough to carry their duty. Moreover, it wasn't the first time working with the SAS.

She watched as the boat left the shore, and turned away once she can no longer see them in the distance.

Turning her attention back to the soldier who stayed behind with her, she realized that it was the same person who first entered the room earlier and passed her a gun. Though she could not see his face like the rest of them, it was his aura that separates him from his team. He seemed like a very seasoned soldier and she wouldn't be surprised if he was, as her guest and observations were often right.

"Thank you for staying behind, I do not know if you have a plan B, but I'll take care of us here, from now on. And we'll be back in London before you know it!" she tries to convince him, but he did not respond and just stared at her. She sighed in resignation and asks him to follow her, as the rain began to fall.

Not far from the hospital was a small cabin she had rented as her temporary quarters.

"Come in..." She opens the door and holds it open for him.

The moment they entered the house, he was met with countless papers, photographs, stuck on a corkboard, and a few, small spy tech, including a laptop. The rest, was just a small kitchen, a small fireplace, bathroom, a queen-size bed, and a small couch, nothing more, nothing less. The small house looked like an operational briefing room, instead of living quarters.

"I'm sorry about the mess, I'll burn them once we leave, go make yourself at home. You must be tired so you can take my bed and I won't mind it, I'll sleep on the couch" she uttered mindlessly, as she started packing some of the equipment for more space. "Besides, I need to forge a few papers here and there to get us out of here, I'll buy you new clothes tomorrow too," she adds, turning towards him, still without a response.

"So, uhh... I don't plan on seeing you in the raw, so... just cover yourself up with a blanket" she sighed, though she meant well, not wanting him to stay in his damp clothes, she felt sorry for the guy. He probably thinks she's a weird pervert now for saying that carelessly. "Sorry, I came unprepared for this part. I didn't know it will rain..." she reasons.

The man finally sits down on the couch and makes himself comfortable, and began slowly dismantling his rifle.

She heaved another sigh, before remembering the gun he has handed her earlier on. "Ah yes, I almost forgot, here's your gun, I-" she paused for a moment and disarmed it, removing the silencer and the bullets and then she felt a certain texture on one side of the gun and saw an engraved quote;

'This is a tool, I am the weapon'

There was no mistake, this was her gun that the agency confiscated before she left for her 2 weeks leave. How did a special ops soldier end up having it?

She looked at him confused. "H-How did you?"

The man's answer was silence and then he took off his night visions goggles and his mask, only to reveal Kieran, underneath the camo.

"Shit..." she muttered under her breath, as alarms started ringing inside her head. This operation was unsanctioned, to begin with, and the only way she was able to carry it was by using her and her father's money, forging signatures for approval and unprofessionally using the companies resources to carry out the rest, which she knew she had distorted the evidence so that they will not find out.

"How... how did you-?" she was lost for words.

"You made a small blunder... that's how I found out..." he says sternly, as he slowly approached her, his expression was cold. She knew what was coming. He was going to kill her in cold blood. It didn't matter if she was his prodigy and that they've been colleagues for a decade, or that he was fond of her. Kieran was first and always a cold-blooded assassin/operative, even before he became the division head. She heard the stories, and she witnessed how cold and cruel he could be. Nor does he take betrayal well. And this unsanctioned operation is considered betrayal in the agency's eyes, and his. And what happens when one commits 'insubordination? if lucky they can get away with getting court-martialed if not, they are 'neutralized'.

Unfortunately, she will be getting the latter.

But she didn't want to die. She wanted to reunite with her family, to finally be there for Helene, after years apart. To finally mourn her mother properly. She didn't want her family to have another person to mourn for. She wants to live, and she will fight to live.

Wasting no time, she throws the gun at his face, as she didn't have enough time to re-assemble everything.

"Fuck..." Kieran cursed under his breath when the heavy metal hits his chests and was followed by the silencer before she made a run for it outside.

*****

The backwoods was dark, and she almost tumbled down, running. Especially now that it rained heavily, the place was slippery. This setback was certainly something she didn't expect. She needed to gather her thoughts and think of a plan C. She did remember that she had kept backup 'necessities' in a locker at the port. She just needed to get there safely and get Kieron off her trail.

However, before she could make her next move. A pair of strong arms wrap around her waist, swung her to his shoulders, and then throws her back down into the ground.

"That's for earlier..." Kieran mentions as he circled around her.

"This is not fair, I thought you were a gentleman!" she says, in spite of the situation.

"I am... I haven't injured you yet, haven't I?" was his playful remark. "Get up!"

She struggled to get up and glared at him. " You think this is a game?"

"And you thought I wasn't serious when I warned you? Remember, every action has a consequence and this is yours..."

She finally gets up and rushes forward to attack him. He immediately blocks her fist, but she kicks his knees, breaking his stance.

He quickly recovers and prepares for an attack, but she had jumped at him, wrapping her legs around his waist, and using the force of her momentum to throw him back down to the ground. She quickly grabs his back leg and twists it.

Quickly wrapping her legs around his, she cranks it the wrong way, pulling it forward, hyperextending it, in an attempt to dislocate and cripple him.

He screams in pain, as she put him into a kneebar submission. However, he quickly counters her move by kicking the back of her knee with his free leg and freeing his other leg out in the process.

Unable to continue the kneebar, Kieron immediately grapples with her once he was free. But she was too quick and got away quickly.

"Not bad..." he laughs.

She tried to catch her breath and glared back at him. She rather escapes than prolong this fight. Fighting against a veteran like Kieron is futile. However, before she could make a run for it, he moves forwards and quickly strikes her in the gut, causing her to lose air and then consciousness.

**********

It was 4 am according to her clock when she gained consciousness once again and found herself with her arms tied up to the bedpost.

The only thing that serves light in the room was the small fireplace, and Kieron was in front of it smoking a cigarette, with nothing but a blanket on, wrapped around his waist.

If this was any other situation, this was a wet dream come true. She had always been curious about the body underneath those sharp custom made, Saville-Row suits and smart apparel he wore to work. He was like those silver fox models that were displayed in GQ and not once did she see him undone and raw like this. Heck, he looked good even when doing violent interrogations.

His body was muscularly lean and well-toned, with scars here and there. In short words, he's damn hot.

She sighs and takes in the sight before her. It was probably the last thing she would see and remember him for before he ends her life.

"Like what you see?" he teased.

"Put a shirt on... you're ugly..." was her rude response.

He laughs out loud and stares at her.

"Just kill me..." she pleads. She was not willing to go through torture and interrogation, and she knew that was coming next.

He gets up and seats down on the side of the bed. "But I'm not done with you yet...." he whispers.

" We can be done in a minute, I will tell you everything. I admit to it. I forged all your signatures for approval, used the agencies resources to gather information and used my own savings to fund this operation. That is all... now... do what you have to do..." she says in resignation. "And do it quick, I don't want it to be painful" she adds.

He takes out a knife and she closes her eyes shut, preparing for what's next. However, to her surprise, Kieran cuts of the rope binding her arms instead, before walking away and sitting back down in front of the fireplace.

"Kieron..." she calls his name whilst rubbing the lacerations on her wrist.

"You're a fool, you know?... I've advised you many times to not do this..."

"The agency will..." she began but he quickly cut her off.

"They're not aware, I've cleaned it up for you..." was his simple response.

"Why-why? you said...-"

"I'm not that heartless that you and others make me out to be..." he says nonchalantly, waving it off. "You're not trained as a covert agent... do you know how worried I was when I found out?"

"Who are you to care? we're nothing but colleagues and your nothing but the heartless department director who wants results! I am well aware that I am just your pawn!" She shook her head. Kieron Sorenson was too cold to even care. " Please save me the pretence..."

He glares back at her and gets back up to approach her. Closing in the distance like a predatory animal and she was his prey.

"Kieron... I-" before she could say anything, he crushed his mouth against hers and much to his surprise, she did not protest or struggle and welcomed it wholeheartedly. Returning the kiss with equal intensity.

He tried in vain to slow down and pull away for them to catch their breath. Only to find her looking back at him with longing eyes.

"Since when?" she asked. Of course, she was confused by this sudden 'confession'. She may admit that she does have a secret crush on the cold-blooded director. But not once did she expect that he had affection for her too.

"The museum..." he whispers huskily, referring to the time he had welcomed her to the agency. She looked so beautiful that day, her head held high, upon proving how wrong he was about her, as she sat beside him in front of the painting. " I wanted to kiss that witty mouth of yours... but that's just unprofessional..."

"You're being unprofessional now..." she remarks.

"I don't give a damn..." he says and tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear.

A/N: I think I might have made some grammatical errors. So I'd do soft editing. I'll write Part 2 (SMUT!!!) next after this.

[ofhoneyblood]

BRYCE ATLAS WINSLOW

pronouns: HE , HIM , HIS

age: THIRTY - EIGHT

species: HUMAN

nationality: IRISH , ITALIAN , AMERICAN

sexuality: PANSEXUAL / DEMIROMANTIC

sign: AQUARIUS SUN , LIBRA MOON , VIRGO RISING

occupation: OWNER & BOUNCER @ RED HOT PUSSY LIQUORS

+ traits: INVITING. FAIR. FUNNY. OPEN-MINDED. TOLERANT.

-- traits: GUARDED. DETACHED. DESPERATE. SELF-DESTRUCTIVE. 

faceclaim: MILO VENTIMIGLIA

soundscapes: HERE

aesthetic: HERE

yo yo you yo , it’s lydia ( yes , that’s my real name ) here with my noble beast bryce winslow ! i have had bryce as a muse longer than any other and it’s been literal years since i’ve written him so i’m extremely excited. this is the first time he will be milo though and i’m super hype to get things going ! i have headcanon after headcanon for him , so hit me up if you want to do something bc i am ready to do some shit !! again , i’m lydia ( or nary , nettle , snottie , etc. ) and i love a good name change , twenty five years old , pansexual demigirl ( she / her & / or they / them ) residing in the central timezone.

this is THIRTY-EIGHT year old BRYCE WINSLOW , the OWNER OF & BOUNCER AT RED HOT PUSSY LIQUORS BURLESQUE AND BOOZE who uses HE / HIM pronouns. he grew up in DUBLIN , IRELAND but came to pleasance in JULY 2006 ON HAPPENSTANCE AND TO RUN AWAY FROM HIS PAST and now enjoys spending his time at FOR KEEPS AND RED HOT PUSSY LIQUORS. BRYCE is written by LYDIA.

PERSONALITY

element: air ruling planet: uranus — planet of originality body part: ankles good day: communicative , original , open-minded , fair , logical , inviting , tolerant , funny bad day: guarded , detached , self-destructive , out-of-touch , irrational , desperate , lonely favorite things: dancing , teaching , team sports , anything with a cause or mission , independent films , working out , baths , animals , preserving plant life / flowers , reading least favorite things: injustice , drama queens , feeling isolated , owing money or favors , having to choose just one thing , personal questions , gossip , cigarette smoke secret wish: to experience total freedom how to spot him: a cute smile lighting up a tired face , quirky movements , tired eyes , long legs , big hands , flannel , old beat up truck where you’ll find him: backpacking or hiking , protesting , coaching a team , revolutionizing the industry he works in , the gym , red hot pussy liquors , alone at home , working on a project , taking a walk by northwood lake keywords: friendliness , eccentricity , teamwork , humanitarianism , technology , groups , avant-garde

first thing to know about bryce winslow is that he’s a free-spirit that prizes individuality and plays well on a team. he has been known to do things his own way , moving on a path different from everyone else’s. some call him eccentric , others appreciate his cutting-edge originality and authentic style.

one of the many ways that the irishman is a paradox ? he’s highly individualistic , but also an amazing team player. he might look like the fresh-faced guy next door on the outside , but inside he marches to his own beat. naturally popular , as he’s vibrantly social and loves to be among people , telling jokes and introducing thought-provoking conversation topics.

people truly do make his world go round , and he can become friends with the most random strangers. can be a bit of an alien — a little “ out there ” in his approach to different things. not that he cares about offending anyone ! loves a good casual connection , bryce can disengage as quickly as he connects. in fact , platonic pals sometimes get better treatment than romantic partners. 

while he can be a bit unsentimental on a one-on-one level , he can be moved to tears by the plight of animals , the environment or other social justice issues. yes , this big irishman is a bohemian at heart in some ways , but he also gets the job done. as a tenacious aquarius , he can be quite hardworking when he devotes himself to a goal. 

a competitive ( and lesser-known ) type a streak can emerge when he really wants something. nothing turns him on like progress , especially in the name of his grander ideals ! playing hard to get REALLY works on him lol

philanthropic and objective , bryce is in a lot of ways innovative and avant-garde. from experimental electronic music to community-oriented living , there’s nothing that this man hasn’t or won’t explore. as someone who loves being a part of a good group or team , bringing people together is also one of his specialties. 

intense bryce energy is cutting-edge , “ out there ” and even a little strange at times. a total nerd for all things futuristic , science fiction and wacky inventions. no topic is too cutting-edge with this irishman: extraterrestrials , stem cells , cloning , robots taking over the earth…yup , bryce will go there. 

while he likes to influence rebellion and detaching from reality ( c’mon bryce , back to earth ! ) , he likes to help others see possibilities they wouldn’t otherwise. the essence of his true energy is: community-oriented , original , open-minded , fair , logical , humanitarian , connecting , and inviting. 

the negative expression of bryce’s energy can be: guarded , detached , destructive , out-of-touch , irrational , and desperate.  reluctant to express emotions — the irishman prefers rational reasoning and cool-headed logic to the messy tapestry of the human feelings. 

one of his favorite authors is ayn rand , founder of the objectivist movement , and that’s pretty much all you need to know. objectivism has been a major influence on the libertarian movement , which has a real bryce flavor. it’s an organized system that also preserves individual freedom and limits government intervention. it’s very “ fringe ” and mainstream all at once , a fascinating paradox and something that really intrigues him.

playful gusts and a social butterfly whirlwind combines into a gale force of humanitarianism for all. bryce is a visionary , dreaming up quirky utopias and alternative realities that can shake up the status quo.  emotional detachment , unpredictable energy and rebellion are major factors in the irishman’s personality. not going to lie , he can be “ type a “ and totally quirky all at the same time ??

a stabilizer — the one who sets up a solid goal or foundation then starts building. bryce can take the enthusiastic idea that someone else sparks and craft it into something real. he picks up the ball when another passes it , running the distance to the goal. 

the trustworthy type who likes “ to-do ” lists and fancy titles. if a friend says , “ let’s go on vacation ! ” he’s already calling the travel agency , booking the tickets and hotel , and sending everyone a list of what to pack.

true believer in friendship and teamwork , so bryce tends to be more focused on a group than an individual. freedom is important to him , which is why he likes to keep things light on an interpersonal level. that way , he won’t feel bad about running off to the opposite corner of the world at a moment’s notice. 

at times , this nomadic strategy backfires , leaving him lonely and disconnected. in truth , the irishman is uncomfortable with too much intimacy. this free spirit belongs to the world and feels off-balance giving his considerable energy to just one person. 

while bryce’s friends get first-class treatment , family and lovers see a different side of him: moody , brooding , anxious and neurotic. he may pick one ( and only one ) person to open up to , getting attached to the point of obsession. 

learning to accept and express his emotions would help him avoid the massive freak outs and anger flashes that come from pretending everything’s cool when it isn’t. bryce appreciates a quirky or eccentric twist , enjoying colorful characters and people with counter cultural personalities.

BIOGRAPHY

bryce atlas winslow was born into a very straight lace , play by the rules , catholic family.  his father , matteo winslow , was an italian military man and his mother , deirdre winslow , was a cold irish homemaker. matteo was every bit the ‘ man of the family ’  and bryce grew up only answering to his father. deirdre would only every answer a question with ‘ ask yer da ’ or  ‘ dija’ ask yer da ? ’

she was a mostly spineless , god fearing woman that was afraid of her own shadow and that’s what made her such a good puppet for matteo. bryce’s father was a stern , angry man that only grew angrier when drunk , no one dared put even a single toe out of line with him around. 

( TW: implied child abuse ) with bryce being the first born and only son he was expected to be perfect , from a very young age he felt the pressures of that. it was like walking on eggshells , always afraid of making a mistake or displeasing his father. he did not have the fun , happy-go-lucky innocence a child should expect of their early years ; instead for bryce winslow there was not much more than discipline , hard work , and punishment.

for the most part , bryce succeeded at being the perfect son his father expected him to be — a robot more than an actual living boy. nothing more than a machine , a machine being bred for war. 

it wasn’t until the beginning of his secondary school , when puberty and hormones began blossoming , that things became precarious. voice cracks , uneven patches of hair…. oh , and a sudden sexual desire for the same sex. 

( TW: suicide ment. ) now , the winslows were catholic - extremely devout catholics - and bryce grew very self-loathing and afraid in this confusing time. he contemplated suicide , all because ‘ homosexuality was wrong ‘ and ‘ you go straight to hell ‘ if you engage in anything associated with it. it didn’t matter how good of a son you were , because ‘ man shall not lie with man. ‘  he kept it hidden for years , he also managed not to act on it until well into the last year of secondary school. 

despite bryce’s fears and shame , when he was sixteen he fell in love for the first time. first loves can be explosive , dangerous even and this one was nothing short of just that. the boy kept his forbidden love a secret from everyone , his family and father above all others.

all good things must come to an end though or so they say , for the boys it came far sooner than later. matteo , bryce’s father , happened upon a note from the boy bryce was seeing , cian , and in said note was all sorts of information including a meeting spot. as you can imagine , matteo flew from the house in a drunken rage in search of his “ sinner “ of a son only to catch him red-handed. 

( TW: assault , child abuse ) bryce managed to save cian from his father’s wrath , taking the brunt of the attack. cian watched as bryce was beaten , begging and screaming for the man to stop , that he was killing him. the drunken bigot was turning on the younger boy when bryce told him to leave and never come back , so that is what he did. 

( TW: implied abuse ) to this day , he has never laid eyes on his young lover and that was probably for the best. after his father had tired himself out and satisfied his rage , he left his son there in the dirt and the beaten boy didn’t bother moving. 

( TW: suicidal thoughts , conversion therapy ment. ) will to live depleted , too tired to go on , pain too much to endure — he just slept there until the next morning. he was awoken with a kick of dirt in the face , his father telling him that he was being sent to a ‘’ special ’’ facility where they would get rid of his ‘’ ailment. ’’ 

( TW: conversion therapy / facility ) time melded in the facility , but he estimated nearly a year of his life was wasted away in there. resistant and defiant for most of his time there , it wasn’t until his father visited him , the one and only time . that things changed. 

( TW: suicide ment. , homophobia ) his father brought news that his mother had killed herself but this was a vicious lie , a last ditch effort to get bryce to change his ways and boy , did it work ! hardly a month later , the young man was discharged from the facility only to find his mother was indeed very much alive.

matteo up and moved his entire family to england after bryce got out of the facility. his father gave him nonsense about wanting to get away from the bad memories , starting over new , and ‘ lead not into temptation ‘ by sending him back to school with ‘ sinners ’ and ‘ sodomites. ‘ 

so , bryce finished out the remainder of his schooling in england and went straight into the forces as per his father’s wishes. sadly for him , he would never become what he so longed to be. he had just finished boot camp and life had just started to seem somewhat normal - if you can call anything the winslow’s had normal - when he lost it all.

( TW: eye injury ) the young man was honorably discharged after an accident that left him legally blind in one eye , when he returned home after his short stent in the defense forces there was no longer a place in the family for him. his father quite literally disowned him all for something he had no control over , a mere accident , but there was nothing more disappointing to matteo than a son that was ‘ kicked out ‘ of the forces.

( TW: gang ment. , human trafficking ) fast forward a year , bryce had found himself in a gang. this part of his background is the most unresolved seeing as it’s not part of his original backstory. long story short , he was involved with the gang until he was twenty three but it all became too much for him after his boss tried to involve him in human trafficking. 

( TW: gang ment. , suicide , death ) when you join a gang you don’t usually do it thinking someday you might one day retire or quit said gang , but then as you get older you realize you’re not as tough as you thought. bryce was twenty-three when his mother finally really did ‘ commit suicide ‘ , the first time his father spoke to him since he returned home from the forces was only to blame him for her death. 

( TW: death ment. , implied murder ) honestly , it was just the straw that broke the camels back. bryce wasn’t allowed at the funeral or anywhere near it , he’s almost certain his mother’s death wasn’t by her own hand or an accident but he’ll never truly know. after he was certain she was in the ground , bryce fled to america in the hopes of outrunning the gang and getting lost in the melting pot. 

once in the land of opportunity , he got his hands on the cheapest ride he could find first and just started driving. it was well after his twenty-fourth birthday , right smack in the middle of a hot ass summer in ‘06 ,  that he found himself in pleasance of all places. he never had any intention at all to grow roots there , it simply happened.  

other than that , the man busies himself with drying and preserving flowers , taking baths , working out , and playing with his dog.  he parades around like this big , tough hard ass when in reality he’s quite the domestic goofball type.

ETC.

has a dog ,  it’s a beagle named shiloh literally 

a big hobby of his is preserving flowers in his spare time , he keeps a small book of pressed flowers and plant life on him a lot of the time in the chance he comes across something he wants to preserve

can play guitar and doesn’t have a bad singing voice either

legally blind in one eye , but doesn’t wear his glasses often

has a younger sister that he does keep in contact with , but not very well ( WC ? )

a guilty pleasure of his is taking baths ; he enjoys adding bath salts , flowers , and other so-called ‘ feminine ‘ products like bath bombs , etc. to them and honestly takes one nearly every day

he was born and raised mostly in dublin , ireland and has a thick accent that only gets thicker when intoxicated or angry. he does use a lot of uncommon terminology to american’s ( yes , i own the feckin’ book of everything irish. . . it’s that serious ) but i’ll lyk in the tags what it means unless i forget

@phqextras​

[john-cardoza]

Let’s talk about the prom!

As most of you know today the prom will close after 23 previews and 310 regular performances. They will have run for under a year after 4+ years of preparation. 

I personally found out about the prom in late 2017 when they were in between their run at the Alliance theater in Atlanta and opening on broadway. I fell in love, found what little content existed, followed their instagram account, and forgot about the show until things started being announced for broadway. 

A little background. I am a lesbian, I am also in high school, I’m lucky enough to live in a bigish city where gay people are common and relatively accepted in everyday life. When I first found out about the prom I did not know my sexuality, and it was causing me stress mostly due to the belief in our society that you should know exactly who you are when you are still young. Getting to see a musical that was centered around two teenage lesbian characters was so important, and helped me down the road of finding out who I was. Not only that getting to see a musical that normalized having multiple gay/lesbian characters and featuring multiple women in important roles with good character arcs? Even better.

When a broadway show opens they tend to do multiple performances on many different media sources to raise publicity. The first performance that prom did was at the Macy’s thanksgiving parade where they made history by having the first same-sex kiss in the parade’s history, not only that the performance was televised nationally, it is a program that is mostly watched by families and children. Who knows how many children who live in conservative homes got to see their first kiss between two women in a pure, prom like scenario when through their lives they have only been told that homosexual people are ‘wrong’. I can only hope that girls who are attracted to girls got to see an example of their sexuality being valid and that it will help them come to terms with it when they get older. The prom had many other performances on different television shows and such, and in all of them they went to lengths to show good lesbian representation while still advertising their show.

When it comes to the tony awards the prom had the honor of being nominated for seven different awards, one of which was best musical. Because of the number of awards they got they were also given the option to perform at the tony awards. It is not an overstatement to say that I cried when I saw their tony awards performance. It was yet another example of lesbian representation in theater which is something that is relatively uncommon. I do have opinions on the fact that they didn’t take home any of the tony awards that they were nominated for, but I will avoid sharing that here as I don’t want to talk about things the prom didn’t do. (I will mention that they won the drama desk award for best musical)

The two leads of the show who play Emma and her girlfriend Alyssa are Caitlin Kinnunen and Izzy McCalla. Caitlin Kinnunen who has been playing Emma since the first workshop for the show four years ago is my hero. There is probably another way I could phrase that, but I think that hero is accurate. It is rare to see an actress in a broadway production who is as open about their non-hetero sexuality as Kinnunen has been. A couple of months into the broadway run Kinnunen went to an interview where she talked about how she had recently started to realize her own sexuality thanks to in part, her role in The Prom. She also felt comfortable enough to share that she had just recently started dating a woman for the first time. Since then she has come out as bisexual, which I would consider a huge step forward as there are still many queer roles that are being played by heterosexual, cisgender people. Not only on broadway, but also in movies and television. Kinnunen is also very open about her own mental health issues. She has never shied away from talking about her anxiety and how it affects her day to day life as a broadway actor, like the fact that she usually cannot stagedoor and that she occasionally has to call out of shows to deal with her mental health. As a teenager with anxiety who has an interest in going into theater as a career (though I am more interested in the technical side), it’s inspirational to see someone as successful as Kinnunen be that open about her sexuality. The other lead who was mentioned above; Izzy McCalla, is also someone I look up to. A few weeks ago she went on a popular podcast titled “Thank you for coming out” there she talked about her struggles with her sexuality, due to the fact that she had never been in a real relationship with a woman. As of recently she has also come out as bisexual.

I was lucky enough to see the prom last month. I scheduled the trip when they announced closing, knowing that I would regret it if I never got to see the show live on broadway. Needless to say the show was amazing, but more specifically I was amazed by how good the show was quality wise. Right away it pulls you in, something that I feel many broadway shows struggle with, by the end of the first scene I felt completely invested in the plot and the characters. Not only that, but you stay invested, I find it hard to believe anyone could leave at intermission after the heartbreaking scene that closes out act one. Finally, near the end of act two there is a song called unruly heart that made me cry. It starts with Emma sitting alone on her bed with her computer and guitar, creating a song about her experiences with the prom. Near the end of the song ensemble members dressed in pajamas enter the stage behind her, representing the comments on the video. Something about that scene just hit me, it was amazing to hear people on stage voicing things that I have though in regards to my sexuality. I know that wasn’t the most eloquent explanation, but that is the only way I can think to put it.

Of the primary leads in the prom, three of the four of them are women. Of the secondary leads two of the four of them are women. Not only that but all of the women are fully fleshed out characters with emotions, and character arcs. It would be so easy to make Mrs. Greene nothing but a villain and a terrible person, but at the end of the show it is implied that she may be able to fix things with her daughter and become more accepting. Dee Dee Allen, the egotistical broadway star who starts the show as nothing but a narcissistic, selfish, asshole is also given the chance to learn from her mistakes, by the end of the show she is willing to make a huge sacrifice in order to help Emma. Having multiple female characters who all have flaws and make mistakes like a normal person is huge, especially on a broadway stage where many shows are reduced to “multiple men and a love interest”.

Lastly there are many amazing examples of representation that don’t necessarily apply to me so I won’t go super in depth about them. For one Izzy McCalla is Haitian and multiple actresses who understudy Emma and Alyssa are also not-white. Caitlin Kinnunen has diabetes and has been open about that, even wearing her medical bracelet during the tony performance.Overall the show has a lot of diversity among the ensemble actors which is uncommon in many shows. I will absolutely not say that it is perfect, but it is still amazing when compared to the more white shows.

Honestly I don’t know exactly what my intention is with making this post, but I can’t stand to let this beautiful show disappear without talking about it. I guess these are all my reasons as for why the prom shouldn’t be closing this early. Either way I will always love this show, and I hope that other people will too. Also make sure to go see the tour if you are able!

[thedreamsmith]

How (Not) to Seduce a Blueshirt (Chapter 5)

@atc74​ @arrowsandmixtapes​ @alleiradayne​ @captain-s-rogers​ for #OC appreciation day 2020

Warnings: swearing, innuendo

Pairing: Jim Kirk x OFC

Chapter summary: The morning after

Reyne smiled to herself as the door to her room swished shut, the lights automatically coming on as she entered the space. Although basic, the hotel room was far bigger than her quarters aboard the Enterprise. Despite the flagship’s size, it housed over a thousand crew members and space was very much limited.

The bubbly feeling in her chest hadn’t abated since Jim had first asked her to dinner – if anything it had gotten worse. With a shake of her head that dislodged several of the bobby pins in her hair, Reyne reached back to grab the zipper on her dress.

It took her several minutes and as many spins to grasp the tiny metal zip but the relief of being out of the tight dress was instant. As lovely as it looked – the garment had not been made for comfort. It had almost been as uncomfortable as the thigh holster that her legal-carry was tucked into.

Thankfully the strap hasn’t come loose during dinner. She felt that some of her mystery would’ve been lost if she’d had to hike the garter back up her leg in the middle of the restaurant. Classy.

Her feet ached as she climbed into her bed, but despite her exhaustion, Reyne’s mind whirled with memories and colours from the last few hours. The bubbly feeling from the other week hadn’t abated, in fact it had spread, fizzing in her chest as she replayed the kiss over in her head.

She hadn’t been on a date in a long time, not one she’d enjoyed half as much, There had always been the Academy, then work, and despite her friends’ urgings the years had just slipped by. But somehow James T Kirk had forced his way into her life; with a cocky grin and surprising depth of character. She was powerless to resist.

A soft sile remained on her lips as she drifted into sleep.

                                                              ***

Two pairs of hands grasped Reyne’s elbow as soon as the door swished shut. If it hadn’t been for the strength in the grip on her arm, she wouldn’t tripped over her own feet as her friend slipped into step beside her.

‘Were you waiting outside my room?’

‘Nah, lucky coincidence.’ Ensign Layla Scott (no relation to Montgomery Scott), grinned up at her, her dusky yellow skin glowing like the dawn even in the artificial lighting. Her right hands loosened their grip on Reyne as they continued along the hotel’s plush corridors. ‘So…’

‘My date with the captain?’ Reyne huffed in amusement.

‘Yes! Tell me everything.’ It wasn’t a long walk to the entrance, and before long the pair were blinking in the mid-morning light. Having known Layla since the Academy, she barely noted when her hair seemed to shimmer and change colour. Although it was an easy mistake to make, her ‘hair’ was actually make up of thousands of opaque fibrile filaments that refracted light and changed colours with her surroundings, much like the oceans of Earth.

Reyne had made her watch an old Terran movie called Avatar once and the Pertalian had laughed herself hoarse over the ‘hair sex.’ ‘I’m surprised you didn’t end up in his room. Did you two-‘ She made a sound in her swooping, bell-like language, accompanied by a gesture that involved three of her hands and a vulgar-looking tongue movement.

‘I don’t know what that means, and I don’t even think I want to.’ Reyne tried to arrange her face into something approaching unamused and failed miserably, shoulders shaking with laughter as she shook her head.

‘Humans.’ Layla sighed dramatically, tipping her head back as they continued towards the main plaza. ‘The way you reproduce is so boring. I bet I could show you a proper good time.’

‘This is harassment.’ Reyne commented mildly. ‘I am being sexually harassed.’

‘Whatever. You still hadn’t told me anything about your date.’ The Peraltian pouted, crossing her upper set of arms petulantly. The lower set remained behind her back, gloved hands loosely linked. It was a common posture for her species, to keep their second set of thoracic limbs away from accidental contact, even when wearing gloves. Their secondary hands contained billions of psychosensory nerve endings, and even the smallest of contacts could be overwhelming. Humans were such an emotional species, Layla had explained once, that touching them without years of training and experience was a sensory overload – like a million fireworks going off in your head at once.

‘It was nice. Really nice, actually.’ She smiled, remembering the previous night. ‘First base only, before you ask.’ Her friend only rolled her eyes. ‘We actually have a lot in common.’

‘Will he be getting a second date?’

‘If he wants one.’ Reyne laughed, adjusting the stack of PADDs under her arm.

‘Of course he does.’ Layla frowned as she finally noticed their trajectory. ‘Why are you going back to the ship? You do know we’re on shore leave, right?’

‘Animals are still on board.’ Reyne shrugged, ‘We’re only doing minimal checks, but I want to keep an eye on the leviathan.’

The creature in question was an aquatic reptilian species that they’d found on a K-class planet several months ago, affectionately named Noodle by the vet team. It was no longer than a foot in length, but so closely resembled the titanic sea creatures of ancient myth that they’d named the new species leviathan istum aquaticus. There had been some debate as to whether they should keep it aboard the Enterprise; several crew members weren’t convinced that the creature had reached its full size and they would wind up with a forty-tonne sea serpent aboard the ship.

However, Noodle had yet to grow any bigger, despite his voracious appetite for prawns, which he cooked using a peculiar ability to super-heat the water in his tank that had only ever been observed in rainbow mantis shrimp centuries ago on Earth.

Layla gave an exaggerated shudder. ‘That thing creeps me out.’

‘Aww but he’s so cute, look at his little whiskers.’ Reyne pulled out her comm, tapping away to bring up a picture.

‘And I’m off.’ She stepped away before she could show her the photo. ‘Enjoy your creepy fish-snake thing, and tell Murray I said hi.’

‘Will do, though I don’t think he’s coming in today.’ She mimed taking a draw of a blunt, making her friend snort through her nose.

‘Alright, see you around then. I’m off to see that see horror film at the holo-cine.’

Reyne waved good-bye as she watched her retreating figure head back towards the city. The checks wouldn’t take too long, and the film that Layla had mentioned did look good. Maybe she’d ask Jaylah if she wanted to go and see it. Although, she never had been able to break her of the habit of commenting loudly on the movie, much to the annoyance of the rest of the audience.

That was a problem for later.

[thecloserkin]

fic rec: we get dark, only to shine by anghraine

fandom: The Borgias (Showtime 2011)

pairing: Cesare Borgia/Lucrezia Borgia

word count: 168k, unfinished

Is it canon: Yes

Is it explicit: Yes

Is it endgame: Yes

Is it shippable: Yes

Bottom line: hi my name is asdfghhkl i’ve been in fandom half my life and this is without a doubt a top 5 fic for me. i mean i got to the end and i went right back to the beginning to reread it

This is a Season 1 AU where Cesare and Lucrezia are each other’s first loves, as they ought to have been. First of all I absorbed more Borgia history via this fic than three published biographies put together (Sarah Bradford, Lucrezia Borgia: Life Love and Death in Renaissance Italy; GJ Meyer, The Borgias: The Secret History; Christopher Hibbert, The Borgias and Their Enemies). I found myself looking forward to the end of every chapter so I could devour the footnotes. This is a meticulously researched, perfectly paced, ingeniously plotted gem of a story that made all the historical details relevant. It is also a very cerebral story, which is not to say it didn’t sucker-punch me in the gut, just that it isn’t rough around the edges — it is SHARP. Lucrezia and Cesare are whip-smart; all the secondary characters are smart; the author is obviously brill and you, dear reader, better bring both your brain cells if you want to keep up.

To set the scene, we are in Rome at the beginning of the papacy of Alexander VI aka Rodrigo Borgia, the first pope to openly acknowledge his children gotten out of wedlock. The primary thing to understand about the Borgias is they are FOREIGNERS. They are from Valencia and their native tongue is Catalan; and while Cesare, Juan, Lucrezia and Jofre may have been born in Rome, foreigners they will forever remain in the eyes of the xenophobic populace. Rome is a cesspit of backstabbing and the Borgias are an unusually close-knit, insular clan. Here is an overview of Cesare and Lucrezia’s codependent-from-the-cradle relationship, intensified ofc by the hostile environment of Rome:

At first, Lucrezia would scream whenever the nurse took her away, and sneak after him at all hours. Cesare scarcely spoke, except to her. They looked like kicked puppies.

Yet it had always been that way with them: Lucrècia a little queen reigning over their games, Cèsar devoted to her.

he never paid much attention to other women around Lucrezia, even when she was little more than a prattling child.

Cesare had woken with Lucrezia in his bed more times than he could count. At eight, twelve, a newly-returned sixteen, he often opened his eyes to his sister sprawled beside him or curled up under his blankets. On more anxious nights, when she had an unpleasant dream or felt particularly troubled, he would find her pressed against him

“When he left for Perugia, one might have believed him going to his gallows. Their letters must have stripped a forest.”

Ok not to be an incest junkie on main but shoutout to the Childhood Bedsharing Trope. “When he left for Perguia” is when he went away to university, leaving Lucrezia disconsolate. When he came home following this extended absence is when her feelings for him flowered into sexual desire. The fic opens on the eve of Lucrezia’s marriage to Giovanni Sforza. Her impending nuptials are causing her anxiety:

”But I am a Borgia. I should not be afraid of anything.” “Nonsense,” said Cesare, “I fear dozens of things, myself.” “You?”

So much to unpack here:

being a Borgia means never letting the world see your weakness

Lucrezia’s hero-worship!!! she obviously thinks he’s the bravest person she knows

Cesare confessing his vulnerability, his fears, chief of which is “I fear most of all for your happiness. I shall not be able to ensure it from so far.” i am y e l l i n g

To relieve her anxiety about pleasing her bridegroom, she convinces Cesare to give her KISSING LESSONS. That’s how it starts. Did someone say I Want My Brother to Be My First because I love this song.

“Is there no one else?” he demanded. She tilted her head inquisitively. “Is there a man you would rather instructed me? Really, is there another man you would permit to touch me? To even remain alone with me? Juan? Should I ask him instead?” “No!” Cesare scrambled to his feet.

She knows exactly how to push his buttons, doesn’t she? She baits him with the idea of another man touching her—specifically Juan, his archrival—an idea guaranteed to get his blood up, and Cesare instantly shoves his scruples aside. A kissing lesson ensues, Lucrezia is married shortly thereafter, and that’s how things stand when this fic diverges from canon: Cesare stops by Pesaro to visit Lucrezia.

Now we all know how Lucrezia’s first marriage went—her husband treated his horse a sight better than he treated her. And we see her struggle with telling Cesare the truth about the abuse, because the importance of the Sforza alliance must stay Cesare’s hand from his natural impulse to pulverize anyone who hurts Lucrezia. I like how this fic draws a distinction between the family’s reaction and Cesare’s reaction:

as soon as Cesare understood, he would be set on vengeance. Any brother would, even one less devoted than Cesare. Jofrè would probably cheer him on. Juan would have strung Sforza up already. And of course, Cesare was Cesare.

Juan and Jofre are her brothers too, and neither of them would have let Sforza’s behavior slide. Cesare, though, is on a whole other level. Cesare actually sees red. The most romantic thing he does in this entire story is play chess with Lucrezia all night to spare her the nightly ordeal of marital rape. That was the first night. The second day he has Micheletto loosen the girth of Sforza’s saddle to cause a nonfatal riding accident which—honestly it makes way more sense thematically for the brother who loves her more than life to do this, than for an untutored stableboy whom Lucrezia met 5 minutes ago to suddenly exhibit master assassin skills?!! Fuck canon, this is what happened. Also fuck insta-love, I’m so glad Cesare and Lucrezia are head over heels for each other rather than some randos.

His pulse quickened in his throat, yet it was nothing he had not seen before, when he read to her until she fell asleep, talked to her as she sulked in her room, sat at her bedside wiping cloths all over her feverish head.

I’m so soft for this!!! Tfw it’s not the physical proximity to your sibling—that part’s familiar—what’s new is your feelings shifting like tectonic plates?? Askjdfkdjfd.

The thing that really precipitates the affair is Lucrezia’s brute of a husband, obviously. This fic has one or two Giovanni Sforza POVS and it does such a great job of depicting that discomfort of being laughed at by people smarter than you. Sforza was strong-armed into this match and he feels slighted by the choice of bride—because she’s bastard-born, because she’s Spanish, he thinks he’s married down. This brings him into inevitable conflict with Cesare, who will brook no insult to Lucrezia on his watch:

“My sister, Lord Sforza, is a daughter of Rome. Roman-born, Roman-bred, Roman to her fingertips. Is it not so, Lucretia?”

The POWER of this line—remember when i said the Borgias are forever seen as outsiders despite being BORN IN ROME? i felt that.

Perhaps their mother was right, and she loved him too much. Too much, at any rate, to spare that kind of love for anyone else. Sforza was a monster, but if he had not been, she still would not have loved him.

Vanozza is very perceptive; she fears her children’s all-consuming love for each other leaves little room for other attachments AND SHE WAS RIGHT. To put it baldly:

They had spent their hearts on each other, all they had to give, with only scraps left for anyone else.

“I am your brother, Lucrezia … There is a word for this. I would not have anyone say it of you.” “A word for what? … For loving me more than the baronessa Ursula, or some other woman you only half-know?”

THERE IS A WORD, Cesare intimates. He won’t even say it aloud. But this black cloud of rumor and innuendo that hangs over their family is not going to dissipate just because they refrain from giving into their feelings. The first time Cesare heard someone call his sister a whore, she was literally four years old. They’ve had to guard their hearts their whole lives because there is no one they can trust outside the family — and yet the family itself is riven by strife and jealousy (Lucrezia has a good laugh when her maid mistakes “my brother is coming to dinner” for “the Duke of Gandia is coming to dinner”— as if Juan would ever visit her in Pesaro!):

“I am the only person in the world you love without qualification or resentment or confusion, aren’t I?” “Yes … Well. Some confusion.” “And yet you pull away from me. You have spent our lives pulling away from me, because--what? There is a word? You will not even say it. Why should we care if people who hate us, hate our blood and our language and our father, use one more insult? For heavens’ sake, Cesare, you yourself told me that this friar in Florence preaches against my hair.”

!!!! The dig at Savonarola I fell out of my chair looooool

“We have no real friends here, do we? We don’t even have allies beyond the Sforza. Everything depends on Papa. If anything happens, perhaps--perhaps it would be better to go home.” “We could run away to Valencia,” he murmured, eyes distant, almost wistful.

They never entertain this as a serious possibility because “anything is better than obscurity” and sry2say a modern AU is the only place these kids are going to get a happy ending. They’re too ambitious and fiercely protective of their family for aught else.

the affinity they’d always felt flaring to life, the certainty that he could depend on her abilities as well as her loyalties. Together they had outwitted Giovanni Sforza and all of Pesaro; now there was the Pope, their family, Rome, and then--all of Italy? The world? Why not?

I say again, HE COULD DEPEND ON HER ABILITIES AS WELL AS HER LOYALTIES. Because they’re a team. Picture Cesare and Lucrezia, weapons in hand, back to back holding off a horde of enemies—but like, metaphorically. That’s the kind of partnership they have, that’s the kind of trust they share.

he would put her before ambition and glory. Even their father had not … Cesare wasn’t like the Pope. He loved her more than anything.

Meaning there are things her father would put before her happiness, but there is absolutely NOTHING Cesare would not do for her. What woman could resist this utter unhesitating devotion when it is laid at her feet??

gazing at her with all the adoration he had never offered to God

He would never hurt me. If she knew nothing else, she knew that.

She resolves to consummate their relationship, despite all her knowledge of sex being bound up with pain. Like, she literally doesn’t know if sex can even be pleasurable for women, but she wants Cesare in the face of her fear, which is impressive and heartbreaking:

there were Roman courtesans who knew something of him that Lucrezia did not, and it was intolerable. She wanted everything.

Yessss she already has the rest of him, she just wants this one last piece of Cesare to belong to her too. And as for Cesare, this is the first & only time physical attraction and emotional connection have been united in the same partner:

he had never been one to stay in a woman’s bed, afterwards, but he felt no inclination to move.

She laid her hand against his face, rubbing her thumb over his cheekbone, gazing at him with her impossible mix of steady, companionable affection and rapture.

He had long known that he did not love anyone as he did Lucrezia; now he could not imagine desiring anyone as much, either.

What I love is that the romantic/sexual aspect is just another layer overlaid on what has always been the most important relationship in their respective lives; it doesn’t change the underlying dynamic:

“Have we been mauled by bears, do you think?” “Nothing so dramatic, I’m afraid. We would need scratches for that.”

This is them putting their clothes on after an assignation in the woods (they go riding a lot). What strikes me is the companionable tenor of their conspirational lies.

She relished each touch, yet there was something ordinary in it, familiar and commonplace. Your cross is crooked. Your cap is falling off. Let me adjust your sleeve. I can mend your tunic. They had always been peculiarly domestic together, a comfortable intimacy they never repeated with their brothers.

hello siblings being simultaneously incestuous & domestic is my kink byeeeee

“Cesare,” said Lucrezia, eyes widening, “am I your mistress now?” “You are Lucrezia Borgia. The Pope’s daughter and my beloved sister. The man who calls you anyone’s mistress will lose his tongue. As for you and I, we are what we are. I love you. We belong to each other. That is all.”

NO LABELS WE JUST BELONG TO EACH OTHER. Favorite favorite favorite line forever

His sister, his — lover? How could he give up either? What have I done?

Please picture me shoveling popcorn into my mouth as I type this. This is the pinnacle of everything I love about incest ships. You don’t fuck your sister unless you fucking mean it. It’s like you’re married from the first kiss. As Lucrezia explains later to someone who has ferreted out their secret: “He is not some lover to be mourned and forgotten. If I lose him over this, I lose him in everything.”

You can’t date your brother casually, the stakes are HIGH.

A lover is invented in order to explain Lucrezia’s love bites and torn clothing to her maid. Micheletto accepts this explanation as well, until one day he realizes the true state of affairs, and it’s such an innocuous little moment, it’s not like Micheletto wALks iN On tHEM or anything similarly dramatic, oh no. He is watching them—he is always watching—and he must have picked up on some subtle cue of body language or something bc all of a sudden it hits him they’re in love:

Valentino bent his head down; Lucrezia was saying something, Catalan, scarcely comprehensible through her heavy accent and giggles--Micheletto thought it had to do with the Duke of Gandía and a race. Whatever it was, Valentino whispered back to her, mouth against her ear, and they burst out laughing. There was no lover. He could not say, exactly, how he knew for certain then, with no proof, and not before or after. But he knew it. There were no others for them, no room for others: only Valentino and Lucrezia, and Micheletto watching over them.

The perfect encapsulation of this show tbh!!!

They are recalled to Rome to attend Joffre’s wedding to Sancia d’Aragon. They leave Lucrezia’s recuperating husband behind in Pesaro.

“If this all depends upon the impression that Juan makes--” “God help us,” said Cesare.

first of all, FINISHING EACH OTHER’S SENTENCES. but also, this is a delicate mission Juan’s been dispatched on—sent to Naples to woo Jofre’s bride—and i am l i v i n g as I watch Cesare & Lucrezia bond over their low opinion of Juan’s diplomatic mettle. it reminds me of that scene in S2E1 during the masquerade ball when Lucrezia asks Cesare if he can make her laugh, and IMMEDIATELY he causes Juan (who is dancing) to take a humiliating stumble and then Lucrezia & Cesare choke back giggles behind their masks. What’s great about returning to Rome is we get to see them interact with the rest of their family. The Pope is wroth with Cesare for staying so long away and for ignoring his summonses, but Cesare tells him the truth—that Lucrezia needed him:

“Your daughter, Holy Father, could wring concessions out of a saint, and I am anything but that.”

The audacity!! Cesare straight up confessed to fucking the Pope’s daughter but he said it flippantly, so Alexander heard what he wanted to hear.

Then there’s Giulia, who takes one look at Lucrezia and detects the glow of first love. Lucrezia fobs her off with the same story of a clandestine lover, assignations in the woods, etc.:

“Swear to me that you will not repeat what I have said.” “To your father? I already promised that.” “To anyone! … Father would separate us. Juan would kill him. If my husband discovered it …” Lucrezia shuddered. “That would indeed be a disaster,” Giulia said, “but I think you have forgotten someone, Lucrezia.” “What do you mean?” She touched Lucrezia's face. “Your brother Cesare.” Lucrezia absolutely froze.

BWAHAHAHA and then Lucrezia scrambles to convince Giulia that her secret is that Cesare is discreetly facilitating her affair, rather than the far more salacious secret that Cesare is her affair.

“Men,” Giulia said carefully, “say many things, Lucrezia.” “Other men,” said Lucrezia …. The very idea that Cesare might not love her!

And of course Lucrezia is in a v unique situation here but it is the lot of highborn girls in Renaissance Europe to be bartered off to seal an alliance; Lucrezia was raised to expect it. She did no more than her duty. She also recognizes the balance of power is never going to be in her favor when it comes to matters of the heart. With one notable exception, of course:

But Lucrezia had never shown the slightest inclination to guard herself from him. I love you, she’d said as soon as she could babble out the words, clambering into his lap, wrapping her arms about his neck, toddling after him, I love you best, I love you most. And now she declared herself dozens of times a day, in word or deed: whispering into his ear, laughing at his side, crawling into his arms when she could and watching him with a greedy, possessive look when she could not.

Cesare is the only one she trusts to never hurt her, whose interests are always aligned with hers, are never opposed to her family’s since Cesare is her family. The only wrinkle is, he can’t protect her adequately as he promised to. Cesare reflects that if the truth about the incest ever came out “he would be lucky to escape with excommunication, while Giovanni Sforza could violate her nightly and nobody would say a word.” The unjustness of this, the way patriarchy arrays itself in Sforza’s defense, galls Cesare to no end.

Another person who comes into their orbit in Rome is Jofre’s new bride, Sancia of Aragon. It’s historical canon that she slept with both Juan and Cesare; in this fic of course Cesare/Lucrezia are exclusive. Lucrezia can’t decide whether Sancia is predatory (she wants to bang Cesare) or suspicious (she has a hunch Cesare is banging Lucrezia). Either way:

Lucrezia wanted Sancia dead, or disfigured, or shamed--and she wanted her to leave happily with Jofrè--and she wanted Juan to take her away, to satisfy her with some kind of discretion--and for one mad moment, Lucrezia wanted everyone to know what Cesare was to her.

Sancia and Juan, by the way, conduct an outrageously indiscreet affair where their lovemaking is so obnoxious it keeps Lucrezia up at night. She does what she always does when she seeks solace: she crawls into Cesare’s bed. They’re young, they’re honry, they’re in love … but the sound of Juan pounding away at Sancia definitively kills the mood. Lmao. The next morning at breakfast Cesare & Lucrezia lay their complaints before Alexander, who gives Cesare a cardinal’s palace to live in and bids him take Lucrezia with him. So now the two of them move out of the papal palace into their very own palace. I mean, the possibilities are endless! Here is a gem from Sancia and Juan’s pillowtalk, where Juan’s assessment is simultaneously hilariously off base and 100% accurate:

“Cesare has always been a sanctimonious prude, if you ask me. At any rate, Lucrezia says he's having a fit of celibacy.” “Lucrezia?” Sancia said, nearly laughing. “What, he tells her about his—?” Juan snorted. “They probably tell each other about their bowel movements.”

Some of my favorite moments from this “Cesare + Lucrezia keeping house together” idyll: She visits him in the confessional, they hold a lengthy strategy conference about Sancia’s divided loyalties, and he wraps up with:

“Have you any other sins to confess?” “No … Well, I am guilty of the sin of lust, but you knew that already.”

LOOOOOL and how could I forget this:

She always wanted him: when he approached her, when he touched her, looked at her, when she thought of him, when someone mentioned his name.

I give you my main bitch Lucrezia Borgia, who fantasizes about being rawed by her brother WHENEVER SOMEONE MENTIONS HIS NAME. We stan a bona fide legend.

Ok so among the people they encounter in Rome are their cousins Isabel and Bernardo, who are also Borgias, and who independently unravel the truth re: Cesare & Lucrezia, which means that we get not one but two Outsider POVs which means I have probably died and gone to heaven. My friends TONIGHT WE FEAST IN VALHALLA. Ain’t nothing I love more than an Outsider POV angle on an incestuous romance, and in this case we are truly blessed because we get two. This is Bernardo as he listens to Cesare wax lyrical about his new paramour:

Yet Bernardo heard none of the wild passion or simpering folly of men in the throes of infatuation; Cesare looked and sounded less like a newly enthralled lover, and more like a man speaking of someone he knew well and liked a great deal. Bernardo felt a flicker of alarm.

Bruh you’re supposed to talk about your mistress’s tits not her personality clearly Cesare did not get the memo?? And this is Bernardo when the pieces finally click into place for him—he walks in on Lucrezia dyeing her hair:

A Spaniard, very fair? By nature? No, Cesare had said, half-laughing, and even then Bernardo caught the odd shift in his tone, from the adoration of a lover to an easy, familiar affection. And he remembered Cesare, indignant even for a young man in the throes of infatuation. She is not my mistress!

It’s the vehemence with which he denies it, the “not my mistress” part, that gives Cesare away. Because she’s not; she’s his everything. Bernardo cannot seem to wrap his head around how they can be both siblings and soulmates, since for him there is just no overlap between those categories:

Cesare certainly looked and sounded more brother than forbidden paramour. That, in itself, troubled him; if they had rejected the fact of their blood relationship in pursuit of their lusts, convinced themselves that they did not truly feel themselves family, pretended to be something other than what they were—well, that would have been bad enough. But they did not pretend. They acted less as if they willfully transgressed the boundary between siblings and lovers, and more as if they utterly failed to notice its existence.

Cesare and Lucrezia glanced at each other, their conspiratorial smiles alarmingly familiar. He’d seen those exact expressions on their faces before, dozens if not hundreds of times. They’d always had secrets, their little schemes and confidences, childish mischief. And now—what? Deeper secrets, more convoluted schemes, more dangerous mischief. Was that it? Did they lie together and think it little different from the rest?—altered in degree, but not kind? Did they … when had catapulting oranges at the unwary become a hidden incestuous affair?

This is Bernardo watching Cesare & Lucrezia argue about who “made the first move” as far as initiating their relationship:

he knew not whether he was witnessing a lovers’ quarrel or a sibling one. He felt uncomfortably that, subject aside, it sounded very much more like the latter.

I think part of Bernardo’s difficulty is the way patriarchy teaches men to think about women, and treat them as means to an end:

There were, after all, other ways to avoid a pregnancy—though in his experience of eighteen-year-old boys, they did not bother with such things, and rarely thought that far in the first place. But then, in his experience of eighteen-year-old boys, they did not fuck their sisters, either.

Because eighteen-year-old boys are typically in lust whereas Cesare Borgia has found the love of his life. Can we also take a moment to appreciate that Cesare and Lucrezia are eighteen and fourteen respectively?? This must be their canon ages. They’re not even fetuses they’re like, homunculi. I won’t bother to look it up since this author clearly has forgotten more details about the Borgias than I ever knew—as God is my witness I would take her footnotes with me to a desert island over 80% of the other fics in existence. Holliday Grainger was 22 when The Borgias started filming, and Isolde Dychauk was 17 in S1 of Borgia, and of course we’re used to Hollywood giving us thirty-year-olds playing high schoolers so it’s not as if Lucrezia’s been aged up an unconscionable amount, but wow, fourteen is young.

Isabel and Bernardo have another sister, Jeromina, whose husband’s neglect is indirectly responsible for her death in childbed. Lucrezia holds up poor Jeromina’s fate as a cautionary tale of what can happen to any woman who lacks a male protector in her corner:

”We are not speaking of Jeromina.” “Indeed not. Her brother never came for her.”

Shots fired!!! This is Lucrezia’s implied rebuke to Bernardo: that he wasn’t there for Jeromina, that Lucrezia’s own brother would never have let her down as Bernardo let Jeromina down. Later on Lucrezia even locates the origins of her incestuous passion in the same system that killed Jeromina—she describes loving Cesare thusly:

“Something I chose, for myself,” said Lucrezia. “Everything else has been chosen for me”

Excuse me while I emit a series of high-pitched pterodactyl noises. It’s a subject the fic touches on very lightly, but the topic of aristocratic girls falling in love with their brothers as a big middle finger to The Patriarchy? This is a topic NEAR AND DEAR to my heart.

Isabel is a woman and sees more clearly than Bernardo does that Cesare & Lucrezia’s attachment is not mere puppy love:

Nor did she believe that a passion built on lifelong intimacy would be easily broken.

Damn straight, this is the real deal. Isabel then takes a different tack—she suggests that Lucrezia is at an age where girls itch to exercise their power over men. Lucrezia grants her the justice of this observation but counters that she’d never use Cesare so ill:

“Do you mean to say that your distress was such that you would have seduced any man who cared for you? You chose your brother because … he was there?” ”I could not have seduced a satyr. Cesare desired me as I did him.”

I COULD NOT HAVE SEDUCED A SATYR lmao. But it’s true, she was bruised body and soul, and Cesare rode up like a white knight and the dam burst. It wasn’t inevitable, but a confluence of events forced them to reckon with their feelings. And once they crossed that Rubicon there was of course no going back. Because they fit and they’re perfect for each other obvs. Just look at my babies reminiscing about childhood hijinks:

“The night that Juan switched your glass with Mother’s,” said Cesare, “You were what, nine?” Lucrezia stared at him, then laughed. “Ten. I spent a wretched night, and morning too. What made you think of it?” “Only that we have shared every part of our lives,” he said. “There is nothing to hide or pretend. We already know everything there is to know.”

otpotpotpotpotpotpotpotpotp

I need to quote a few more Bernardo POV passages because that’s where Cesare gives us some declarations of love worthy of the ages:

”I cannot remember a time when I did not love her above all else. Above the family, the world, God. I remember nothing of any time when I have not lived for her, when I would not die for her.”

“Some degree of remorse would not go amiss.” “I regret nothing,” said Cesare. “And your—” Bernardo shook his head. “What do I even call her now?” “My sister,” Cesare replied.

tl;dr Cesare: I HAVE ZERO REGRETS NONE

“Tell me that somewhere in Italy, or Spain, or any other nation, exists a woman I could love as I have loved Lucrezia. Tell me that there is a woman who could understand me half as well as she does. A woman who would know me as I am, and not as the world or my father or anyone would shape me. A woman who would see my true nature without fear—see the mark on it—share it. Look me in the eye, Bernardo, and tell me there is any woman who is so much my own soul.”

If you don’t ship them after that speech then your mom’s a hoe, I don’t make the rules.

Cesare: I am sanctified in her.

Bernardo:

Narrator: Bernardo hardly knew where to look.

Me: ascends to a higher plane

Bernardo eventually comes around. He’s had longer than Isabel to adjust to the incest revelation, so he tries to soften the blow for her. This is the two of them comparing notes:

”The last time I saw them together, Cesare had his hand on his dagger half the time, and then they started arguing about which one of them was the more responsible, as if they’d stolen a pastry. He laughs about her hair. Outside of themselves, they treat the whole matter as a … a lark.” This aligned so exactly with Cesare and Lucrezia as Isabel knew them that she winced. Nevertheless, her dry voice didn’t alter. “How uncivil. They might at least have the courtesy to pretend that they regard the change as a matter of gravity.” “They don’t think they have changed,” he replied.

THEY DON’T THINK THEY HAVE CHANGED— winner winner chicken dinner. Finally he gets it.

So there is this ring. A family heirloom which belonged to their grandfather, which Lucrezia inherits from poor died-in-childbed Jeromina, and recklessly bestows upon Cesare. This is the visible token of her affection, this is her way of letting the whole world know what he means to her. The problem is that Isabel is the one who disbursed Jeromina’s effects, so she knows full well the provenance of the ring in question, and what it signifies that Lucrezia gave it to Cesare. Subtlety, these kids do not have it. Cesare openly wearing the ring clues Isabel in on the incest, which is maybe not the worst result ever because family is still family but damn kids you gotta be more careful. What happens next, though, is a scene that absolutely wrecked me. We get a a scene where they EXCHANGE RINGS:

“Isabel gave it to me.” Lucrezia clasped her fingers in her lap. “For my husband.” “Do you remember what I studied at Pisa?” “Civil and canon law.” “Yes.” His voice was hoarse. “Did you know that if a man and a woman consent together, the ring and vows alone bind them in marriage? The Church does not wish for unblessed marriages, but by precedent and decree, they are marriages nonetheless.” His cardinal ring rested still in her palm. Cesare closed her fingers over it. “Alexander III declared that if the parties concerned say I receive you as mine to one another, they are married as solemnly as if blessed by a priest.”

So he gives her his cardinal’s ring to wear. And when his father notes its absence on his finger he straight up admits Lucrezia made off with it, you know how i can’t deny her anything, and the dinner table conversation turns to another topic. Because Cesare & Lucrezia are apparently just Like That and everyone who knows them is used to it. For pete’s sake they are supposed to be the well-adjusted ones among the Pope’s children. Every other member of this family is further along the disaster spectrum than these two, according to Isabel’s internal monologue:

Cesare and Lucrezia, those oases of sense and proper feeling among Alexander’s children, committing incest. Adultery too, now that she thought of it. Perhaps. It depended on the particulars.

Adultery is almost an afterthought lol

Parenthetically I do wanna draw y’all’s attention to this passage:

“I will kill him. I swear to you, Lucrezia, I shall carve his heart out of his body and give it to you on a platter.” Lucrezia put a hand over his chest. “I don’t want his heart,” she said. “I want yours.”

The above passage has the same energy as this passage:

One night she had Jaime follow him, to confirm her suspicions. When her brother returned he asked her if she wanted Robert dead. "No," she had replied, "I want him horned." She liked to think that was the night when Joffrey was conceived.

That’s a Cersei POV and the thing about looking at Cesare/Lucrezia and Cersei/Jaime parallels is I feel like the former is usually more sinned against than sinning, and the latter is the opposite. Cersei doesn’t want Jaime, she wants Robert cuckolded, she wants to Show Them that she’s Lord Tywin’s daughter and nobody gets away with disrespecting her. Idk maybe it would have read differently if we’d had the same events from Jaime’s POV?

I realize that you guys don’t need any more reasons to love this fic but I want to end with the scene where Cesare’s gearing up to challenge Count What’s-His-Face, Ursula’s dumbass husband, for the insupportable insult he gave Vanozza at Lucrezia’s wedding. One thing I appreciate about Showtime!The Borgias over Canal+!Borgia is this Cesare’s relationship with his mom is much closer than his counterpart’s. His willingness to fight a duel for his mother’s honor demonstrates (1) that his sister isn’t the only woman he cares about and (2) that he puts his family first. Lucrezia’s “Return to me victorious” still slaps more than any line in actual canon, don’t @ me. In that moment, he could have slain Mars. “I will,” he promises her.

 If I don’t burn

                      if you don’t burn

                                                if we don’t burn

how will the light 

                             vanquish the darkness?

That’s Turkish poet Nazim Hikmet writing about a folk hero who spontaneously combusted of love. In conclusion no one burns brighter than Cesare & Lucrezia, the actual loves of my life.

[mimzy-writing-online]

A Witch’s Memory, an interview with the author, Mimzy Reiner

What is the premise of the novel?

A Witch’s Memory is a contemporary fantasy novel in the young adult age category. The story has three main characters. Ulric is a werewolf who lost his vision eight months before the start of the novel and is now legally blind. At the start of the novel he is returning to school after missing a full semester. Nobody at his school knows he went blind, not even his best friend Mason. All his classmates know is that he got sick and had to be pulled out of school. Mason is the only one who knows he’s coming back. The only person he’s ever told about his blindness is Anna, a fellow blogger he’s befriended online.

Two months ago Anna and her mismatched family of witches moved from the United Kingdom to the States so that her uncle could get a new job after being fired from his previous job as a university professor teaching Magical History. Anna and her brother Felix both suffer from partial amnesia due to a memory curse. They remember most of their lives but there are holes in their memories, memories of friendships and school subjects and special events that were erased. Neither of them is too thrilled about having to finish secondary school in America, but both want a fresh start away from reminders of their missing memories or the night they were both cursed.

On the first day of school Ulric realizes that the new student in his grade is Anna, his online friend. Anna realizes that Ulric closely resembles a friend she used to have in the U.K. and that the similarities are too eerie to be a coincidence.

And then there’s the matter that Ulric was blinded in an accident within a week of the night Anna and Felix were cursed.

Felix thinks their theory is ridiculous, absurd, and downright idiotic.

Who was deceived more?

More Below: how magic works in this world, the boarding school the novel is set in, the themes of the novel, inspiration, and many (many) pictures/visuals.

Tell us about the world of your novel, about the magic

In this world magic is as normalized as technology and science. There’s no big secret kept away from the humans. Everyone is out in the open with who they are. Witches, fairies, werewolves, and even vampires have a place in the world with no need to hide who they are. The novel focuses on two witches and a werewolf but humans and vampires and fairies have their place in the story. Ulric’s best friend Mason is a vampire. Anna’s roommate at boarding school is a fairy. Felix’s crush is human.

One of my favorite things to do in my writing is to turn the expected trope on its head. Vampires don’t kill when they drink blood because vampires only drink about a pint at a time and the human body can lose as much as two liters and still survive. Werewolves don’t need to transform during the full moon, but refusing to shift is beyond uncomfortable for them. Rather than losing control and blacking out when they transform, werewolves are completely aware and in control of their bodies. A familiar is the soul of a witch who died and was partially preserved in the form of a cat. No witch wants a familiar.

At the same time I also love playing with the stereotypes of magic. Witches do ride brooms in this world. Werewolves howl to find their fellow werewolves in the forest. Some vampires are immortal, but not all. Fairies are every bit as colorful as you see in cartoons, with interesting hair and skin colors.

Mixing the familiar and the unexpected is one of my favorite things.

What themes are present in your novel?

LGBTQA+

Anna, Ulric, and Felix are bisexual, and are at different levels of acceptance/understanding of their sexuality. Ulric’s known he was bi since he was 13. Anna realized it less than a year ago. Felix is only just starting to understand his sexuality. There are also several secondary characters who are LGBT. By my count there are eight characters who identify as queer in some way, whether in gender identity or in sexuality. 

I am bi/pansexual and I am gender fluid, and being able to write queer characters means a lot to me.

Disability

Ulric is legally blind and a huge part of the novel is his acceptance of his disability and trying to get as much of his old life back as possible. Going back to school, getting back into athletics (like his school’s running group) and being with his friends is all part of that. I am blind myself and a lot my personal experience went into this novel, both from the technical perspective of how you navigate life with blindness and the emotional perspective of living with a disability.

There are a few secondary characters with disabilities and chronic illnesses.

Mental Health

I have a hard focus on recovery and healthy coping mechanisms. Anna and Ulric both live with PTSD and experience it differently. Felix has some self esteem problems he needs to work on. All three characters have varying levels of anxiety but directed at different things. It’s never used as a gimmick or a plot filler. Their mental health is a result of the traumas and influences they’ve experienced in their sixteen years of life.

Family

There is a lot of focus on parental figures and how they are flawed. Parents make mistakes, even when all they want is what’s best for you. This story sees the good and the bad in parents.

Other

There’s a lot of humor and whimsy woven into all the drama. I want magic to be whimsical and have an every day presence. There are some downright ridiculous moments of humor in the story.

What is the setting of the novel?

The novel is set at a boarding school in Pennsylvania called Silverstone Academy, where our three characters attend. There are also moments and scenes taking place in the local, sleepy town of Aberdeen.

Are there any favorite settings for your scenes?

Some of my favorite scenes take place in the library of the school. There’s something about it that makes for a perfect setting for a serious conversation. Inside the library is a reading room with an illusion spell cast on it that turns the walls and ceiling into a sky of stars.

In general I’m a fan of using seemingly average parts of the school campus.

A dark, mostly empty drama theater makes for a perfect place to talk with your friend about all your past crushes.

A pretty courtyard cast in warm afternoon sun is perfect for getting to know someone.

An quiet hallway in the science building is perfect for an argument.

What was the first moment of inspiration for this novel?

This story began some seven years ago but was for a long time left untouched. Then last January I had a dream of Anna trying to get away from danger on a broom she only barely knew how to ride. The memory of Anna on the broom calling out to Ulric stuck with me and I began writing it again, but from scratch. This story has taken a completely different direction from its first draft seven years ago.

Other Posts and Content for A Witch’s Memory

Including Excerpts and tag games about the characters

Anna:

Excerpt of Anna’s 1st Chapter

15 Question Interview with Anna

Felix:

Excerpt of Felix’s 1st Chapter Part One

Excerpt of Felix’s 1st Chapter Part Two

15 Question Interview with Felix

Felix meets Hayden

Ulric:

Excerpt of Ulric’s 1st Chapter

15 Question Interview with Ulric

Mimzy’s parting words:

If you’ve made it this far and have read the whole thing, I don’t know what to say. Thank you for listening. If this story of mine interests you, please follow this blog where I post/reblog writing advice, share progress updates on my novel, and sometimes include excepts of my favorite parts.

If you want to be added to the tag list, just comment on this post.

You can also find me on twitter (link: https://twitter.com/MimzyReiner)

If you want to support this production of this book, you can like and reblog this post and the links above.

I also have a ko-fi and the donations go to a savings account to manage the self publishing costs of A Witch’s Memory, including the audio-book (because if I’m going to write a blind character, I should make the story accessible to the blind).

https://ko-fi.com/mimzyreiner

Thank you and good night :)

[ladyinasong]

Sansa and romance in season 8

Disclaimer: Dare I write jonsa speculation... I’ll admit I can’t fully commit to it, but here’s my best effort. Spoilers for season eight of Game of Thrones up to episode four.

The many suitors of Sansa

Episode four of season eight is now the third episode in a row in which Sansa shares a scene with a past suitor or potential love interest. To list them:

1. Theon, 8x02

Their soup eating scene was framed romantically as it featured in a montage that only showed other couples. As many people have brought up, it was also a callback to Jon and Sansa’s own post-reunion scene, down to the nearby fire, the soup, and the tender and slightly uncertain glances at each other.

To be fair, Sansa and Theon’s scenes had a thematic relevance to Theon’s personal arc (his identity as a Stark) which was proven beyond a doubt when Sansa puts her Stark pin on his body before they set the pyres on fire. But yet again this ties in with Jon as well and his own struggle with his identity and his place within the Stark family. To these two men, Sansa says both aloud and symbolically you are a Stark to me.

2. Tyrion, 8x03

Down in the crypts, Tyrion brings up their past marriage by offhandedly suggesting he and Sansa should have stayed married. While it first almost started as a jape, when Sansa’s reply is that it could have never worked between them, she ends up elaborating at his urging and her answer essentially boils down to because of D/aenerys. Oh the jonsa of it all.

3. The Hound, 8x04

I might be wrong, but I thought Sansa was looking on with envy at the displays of romantic/sexual attraction just before the scene shifted to her joining the Hound at the table. To be clear, I do NOT think she was envious of the girl expressing an interest in the Hound. What she was envious of was the free expression of desire and the reciprocity as seen with Tormund and his own eager partner. Sansa wants romance too. Earlier during the feast, she could also be seen looking at Jon with an openly loving expression and reacting to D/aenerys’s own gazing with annoyance. Dare we say it was jealousy? (Personally I dare not commit to the statement, but I would encourage you to have more faith than me.)

During their discussion, the Hound answers to one of her questions with “that’s my fucking business” and while I don’t believe in political!Jon (more on that later), I do think it could easily be interpreted as an allusion to the fact Jon keeps acting like a lone wolf instead of confiding and leaning on his family.

The conversation (and yes, it was terrible) also namechecks both Littlefinger and Ramsay. Sansa ends it by reiterating that leaving King’s Landing with the Hound would have been a mistake.

I find it interesting that out of them all, Theon is the one Sansa responds the warmest to or with any warmth at all. She welcomes him back with open arms, in sharp contrast to her interactions with Tyrion and the Hound. We will never know what would have happened between them had Theon survived the Battle of Winterfell, but the reality is this: Sansa closes that chapter by claiming him as part of the pack.

To the others however, Sansa firmly says no.

Additionally and for what it’s worth, last season we had scenes of Jon negatively reacting to half these men when they mentioned Sansa and their relation to her: Theon and their shared trauma, Tyrion and their past marriage, LF and his self-declared obsession and sexual interest in Sansa.

Now it’s Sansa’s turn to have a chance of reacting to them and she does so by closing the door on them, relegating them to something of the past that has no place in her future. The story forces her hand with Theon, but she freely makes that choice with the rest.

Follow the trail

What is the point of bringing up all these men who at one point have (or could have in Theon’s case) expressed romantic/sexual interest in her? And moreover, why is it worth spending screentime on if Sansa is going to turn them all down?

Is there someone that Sansa won’t turn down, but instead welcome and claim as her family not in death, but in life?

I find it very hard to draw a conclusion from all of this that doesn’t end in a romance between Jon and Sansa. There is however one major thing stopping me from fully committing to it, which I am sure you’ve heard of already:

The writing on this show is bad and D&D are dumb as rocks and don’t know how to tell a cohesive story with symbolism and themes. It’s impossible for me to ever be confidant about anything because I cannot tell what’s intentional and what is merely accidental.

When you listen to their interviews and if you’ve read the scripts too, notably these pages, it becomes clear that while D&D can’t adequately sell the j*nerys romance to the audience (among other things), their failure is only secondary to their intent. And their intent is loud and clear in my opinion.

So for argument’s sake, could Jon be playing D/any as the political!Jon theory suggests? My personal answer would be no. I have read your lovely metas about it though and know I love you for it.

A better plausible option in my opinion might be that Jon is truly in love with D/aenerys now, but it won’t last.

Taking into account what the show has already given us of j*nerys and both Jon and D/any’s characterization in these first four episodes only, it is clear that any romance between them is doomed and D/any is on her way to becoming another antagonist, if not the final one.

I also want to say that while I have no faith in D&D’s writing abilities, there has been a long trail of jonsa subtext by now and dismissing it altogether as purely coincidental seems silly at this point. Yes, I’m swinging between despair one minute and hope the next... Do you see my dilemma?

The blood of Winterfell

There have been plenty of metas about the Starks ultimate importance to the story and the decisive roles they will play in rebuilding the North/Westeros after the wars.

Sansa’s personal story has been intricately tied to Winterfell. While she might not be able to pass down the Stark name to any future children seeing as she lives in a patriarchy and they will take on the last name of their father, it is undeniable that she is the one through whom the Stark line will continue.

In an episode named ‘The Last of the Starks’, Arya turned down her lover’s marriage proposal and reaffirmed that being a noble lady and settling down in a castle are not things she is interested in. Poor Bran has ceased being a character altogether since season 7, once again proved by his statement: “I don’t really want anything,” and just like Arya he seems an unlikely candidate to have children of his own.

That leaves Sansa and Jon. Sansa, who as I’ve mentioned earlier could easily be interpreted as craving romance. As for Jon, well it’s harder to discuss him as we’ve been deprived of his POV all season, but I will say this:

The idea of a marriage between Jon and D/any was yet again brought up in this episode, but that doesn’t worry me for reasons I will expand on in a different post.

There have also been some interesting camera angles and framing all season long (you can read some of @athimbleful‘s analysis here and here) and a notable one in this episode, when Jon gives the eulogy honoring the fallen of the Battle of Winterfell:

“It is our duty and our honor to keep them alive in memory for those who come after us and those who come after them, for as long as men draw breath. They were the shields that guarded the realms of men.”

And who do we see other than Jon as he says those lines? Sansa.

In an episode where Sansa once again effortlessly validated Jon as a Stark and as Ned’s son, and where her first action post-RLJ reveal was motivated in part by a desire to protect and keep Jon safe... what could the future hold for these two?

To rephrase: might Jon be the man that Sansa won’t turn down, but instead welcome and claim as her family, as hers?

[masterserris]

FUNERAL FOR A MAGICIAN     Pt. 10 Shivering Soldier

Read now the last will and testament... of MYSTERIO!

Characters: Neo Mysterio (Quentin Beck), Doc Ock (Otto Octavius), Spider-Man (Peter Parker), Alexandria Beck (Alex), Maria Beck, Sandman (Flint Marko), Chameleon, Electro, Rhino

THE WARNINGS APPLY TO THIS CHAPTER.

Warnings: Explicit gore and death, violence, mentions of past abuse, mental illness, physical illness, alcoholism, child abuse, sexual abuse, rape mention, cancer mention

^These warnings are here for the story as a whole. If you get invested by reading a less graphic chapter, then be prepared for the warnings above in other parts!!

Flashback one week. Beck has been found dead. The recording leaked for the world to see. The Avengers issued their official pardon. The funeral date was set, his body under heavy guard in Avengers tower.

One thing was left. Read the will.

Doc Ock had sent the Avengers a copy, so that they knew what to do to entomb him properly. He was surprised that the Earth’s Mightiest Heroes would even receive his messages. Spider-Man must have talked and swayed them into listening for once. Regardless, the Avengers were only the secondary concern, for at this moment... He was on a flight for the Midwest.

He was lucky that his tench coat covered his harness well enough, and that the TSA agents were easily fooled by his genius. Disrupting the metal detectors was child’s play for him, as well as having a fake passport under another name.

Soon enough, he found himself in the suburbs, standing at the door to one Alexandria Beck, the sister that Quentin rarely but enthusiastically talked so fondly of. Apparently, they had endured much together. Otto could empathize with Beck, for they both had abusive fathers. 

The only difference was, Otto was completely alone. His own mother was too protective and drove away what he believed his only chance at honest love. Perhaps later he could try again, but alas the life of a super villain was no place for lasting partnerships, or so he thought to himself. He should stay focused on his goals. He stood by the door, lingering on pushing that doorbell. What was holding him back?

Beck’s mother died long ago, leaving him and his sister with what soon became a raging alcoholic. Quentin said that he understood the pain his father was enduring. Every last bit of his being filled with utter anguish. He could not help himself. He no longer was their father. Every bit of money his father got his hands on he spent on their mountains of debt and booze. With little to live on for food, clothes, and general supplies, it made their father fly into a rage if they ever asked for anything more. No birthdays were ever celebrated. No friends made. Just rags and misery. Alex had gotten a job way too young of an age, faking how old she was to get paid under the table in cash. Quentin was still in elementary school, there was nothing he could do. 

Otto pressed the doorbell at last and waited, envelope in hand.

It had even gotten so bad that Alex was forced to sell their mother’s necklace. Her dad wasn’t happy about it, even though he was the reason it happened. He had slapped her for it, leaving a bruise she couldn’t tell her teachers about. She dropped out of high school, trying to take on a full time job. This only made her father more angry, taking it out on Quentin when she wasn’t around. Quentin always wore long sleeve sweaters to hide his bruises from where his dad had gripped his forearms out of fury.

Quiet footsteps approached and Doc tried to compose himself the best he could. Normally, he had a rather stony face. He always looked ticked off or lost in thought, but these past few days... Haven’t been easy. The frown had become something far more miserable.

Finally, they couldn’t take it anymore. Alex had enough money saved up in cash to get them both out of their tiny apartment. It wasn’t hard picking up everything and leaving when they had very little to begin with. A busted up old camera, some clothes, some necessities, a photograph. They went to a shelter, for the time being. Quentin held the cash in his over sized hoodie and sweaters. He had gotten good with sewing up their clothes, since they couldn’t afford new ones. He added hidden pockets to everything if he got the chance to do so. Finally, they had gotten away from their awful home life, but... things hardly got better. They almost wished for the screaming matches and bruises once they found out the kind of hell they had gotten themselves into.

After a moment of the lock clicking and the door slowly opening, Otto beheld Alex, who had clearly been crying for far too long. She was stunned at first, but welcomed him in with a quiet murmur. He accepted her invitation with a quiet “Thank you,” and sat at the dining room table.

A New York minor homeless shelter was not the nicest of places at the time, even if it was separated from the adults. All of the people there had their own stories. Their own mistakes or misfortunes. Their own horror stories. Some were victims of their own choices, some like Alex and Quentin, were victims of others. No one wanted to be there. But not all tried to leave. There was little either Beck could do when Alex was cornered for sexual favors, under threats of violence or at the chance for some food and money. She caved. Anything to keep her brother out of their greedy hands. The people they had befriended at their time in the shelter did nothing to stop it. They kept their heads down. The authorities? Who cared about them. No one cared about them but each other. Quentin was furious with how his sister had been manhandled. Abused, forced into sex even. She was too. If she could scream and fight she would. She could tear apart anyone who crossed her, but that wasn’t the point. She felt trapped. The real victory was survival. 

Alexandria offered Otto some coffee, to which he gratefully accepted. It had been a long journey, and truthfully, he hadn’t slept in days. Alex nodded. She hasn’t slept well either.

Quentin had to hide himself when ever the abusers came around. Grungy boys with nothing good to their name. Some of them weren’t even poor, but rather made friends with some of the youth who were, treating them to things they could never afford. Buying friendship. And with friendship comes the favors. With access to the most vulnerable people in society, these scumbags took advantage of them. They could corner and harass any woman they pleased at the shelter when the workers weren’t looking, and no one would bat an eye. That all had to stop. He was sick of hiding. To prevent him from sexual abuse, he had to bind. He had been doing it for years. He hated the way he looked. He could not afford hormones or surgery; to the world he was a weak, feminine man, who had to keep cutting his hair back. The over sized clothes helped to hide his frame, but no one too him seriously or saw him as a threat. That was about to change.

Otto: “I... am not sure where to start. You of course know why I am here.”

Alex nodded silently as she handed him the coffee and sat down across from Otto with her own. Luckily, this was one of her few days off. She had wanted to give her brother the good news that her cancer was in remission and that her operation to remove the tumor was scheduled soon. Alas, he would never see the day now...

Quentin was now done with high school. He had partially planned on dropping out so that he could work like Alex, but she denied him. She wanted him to have a future. He couldn’t say no to her. He was an adult, 18 and ready to soon go to college. His scores were astonishing in engineering and chemistry, if he did well enough, he could have his masters finished at MIT at a breakneck pace. This was his chance. He had also gotten a part time job at a local rundown theater company. Quentin had also found Alex an apartment that she could move into, one that was within her price range and was far away from their past. But first thing was first. A down payment. That night, Quentin was ready. He had fashioned a false officer uniform from a stolen badge and a costume he had taken from work. In the back alley, a few blocks away from the shelter, he cornered his sister’s abusers and beat them within an inch of their lives with a baton and steel toed boots. It was dark. There were no cameras nor witnesses. His face was covered by his hat and a latex mask. He burned the bloodstained clothes afterwards. His sister was left blissfully alone until they left the shelter a short time later. He had relieved their abusers of all of their cash and valuables, pawning them shortly afterwards, all so that she could get that apartment and he could get swift, sweet justice that no one else could provide. That night, Mysterio was born in a dirty alleyway, taking revenge on the scum of the Earth who had dared harm his only family. Super heroes had failed them at every turn. No one had ever bothered to rescue them from their nightmare. He had to take matters into his own hands. No one could be trusted.

Otto sighed and placed the envelope upon the table. She looked at it, recognizing her brother’s handwriting.

Otto: “He wanted me to give this to you, in the event... he...”

Otto trailed off, not needing to complete his sentence at all. They all knew what it was.

Beck progressed quickly through school. He had some debt to pay back to the state, but overall his scholarship took care of the brunt of his tuition and housing. He managed to get top surgery, even, at a cost to his clothing and food for a good while. His sister had gotten married. Beck was happy for her and attended the wedding. Quentin hardly met his new brother-in-law, but trusted his sister’s judgement. He soon turned out to be almost as abusive as their father. Demanding money from her for his toxic habits. She divorced him immediately after she gave birth to their daughter and moved out of state. Quentin was devastated, but gave her his best wishes, only wanting her to find some peace. He vowed revenge on the man who broke her heart so callously, but he was gone. Quentin would just have to move on with his life. At least he had gotten his masters in engineering, with a minor in chemistry. The world was his oyster. This absolutely wasn’t the case. 

She pulled the envelope over to her side of the table and gently picked it up. She paused at the handwriting, but flipped it over and quietly pulled at the seal.

No one wanted to hire him. A college education was great in getting work, but it wasn’t enough. This job needed 5+ years of experience, while this other job was supposedly entry level, but required an outside referral from sources that were not entry level. Internships were available, but most were unpaid, full time, soul crushers who only sank you further backwards in life. He was stuck. With debts to pay and the theater finally going under, he was more than desperate. He wasn’t proud of it, but as Mysterio, he could get those large stacks of cash just by claiming he was a hero and faking a few crime fighting scenes. It was pitifully easy to hide behind the mask and fool the world again and again. Until it couldn’t be fooled any longer. Beck knew this day would come, that someone would finally poke through his mists and discover the truth. He had only hoped that it was a non-super human and only after he had gotten enough money to walk away from his crimes. Unfortunately, he got Spider-Man.

She opened the letter, and quietly read it to herself. It wasn’t terribly long, but it said what it needed to.

In Rykers, Quentin easily could escape. He was a master of illusion with a degree in engineering, this was not the issue. He simply just did not know when, nor if he had the will to continue onward. His future that his sister so desperately fought for was shattered. Oh, what she must have thought of him now. The people running Rykers did not have the prisoners’ best interests in mind. They were secretly run by Hydra, and often used prisoners as test subjects. Beck was one of these, being the subject for a super soldier serum prototype. Unfortunately, their test was a success, the only thing being that the results took a few weeks to manifest. By that time, the Sinister Six had located their newest member, after Vulture retired to finish his chemotherapy in peace. Doc Ock had taken a keen interest in the story of Quentin Beck. Here was a genius being squandered by ill-fate and imprisonment. Mysterio then after became Neo Mysterio. He had the tools and resources to build a superior suit, making him able to tackle even the mightiest of foes, and defeat Spider-Man, the one who caused his facade to be ruined. Daredevil was also a cause of pain for Beck, but perhaps that’s a tale for another day. His future may have been over, but his sister’s wasn’t. She was trying to re-earn her education and raise her daughter after years of hell. She was always working, but Quentin would send her money and occasionally visit when he could. He loved seeing his niece, and Maria took a quick liking to her uncle. Otto understood Quentin better than anyone. He was a true friend.

“To my dearest sister,

Forgive me. If you are reading this, then it is obvious what has happened. This was always the plan. After that night, in the alley, after I was caught by Spider-Man, I knew that my life was over. You gave up everything for me. Your schooling, your food, your money, your innocence, your own childhood. I could never repay the love you have given me. I have squandered my chances. I leave everything to you, which unfortunately isn’t much in material sense. After going down this path, all I can offer is ill-gotten monetary amounts, to which you already know about. The last of my actual belongings are already in your house. The box in the basement that I had you promise to keep, but never open. It’s yours. You know how much you and Maria meant to me. Words cannot do my feelings justice. Whatever end I met, I would take it a thousand times over if it meant keeping you from harm. I’m not quite sure what to say anymore. All I wish is for your happiness. The combination to the box are as follows XX-XX-XX.

As for my dear friend Otto, and the rest of the Sinister Six, with whom I have been staying for the past few short years. Thank you. I may not have gotten to know you all as well as I should have, but in the time we have spent together, it has been the closest I’ve had to family and friends outside of my sister and her daughter. All I ask is that you let my sister and her family be at peace once I’m gone. Anything I have left within the base is yours to divide which ever way you desire.

Otto. You have gotten to know me. You have gotten me to open up about my past unlike any other in my entire life. I trust you with delivering this letter as my will to my sister in person. You have met before, so I have no worries over it. Keep my book. It’s always been for you. 

As for anyone else reading this, I have nothing to offer. The life of a villain leaves little once we are gone, as I have found out. Bury me in my armor. Let my body rot within it, no matter the damage that has befallen me. Bury me deep and let no one disturb me. I just want to rest, after all of these fitful years. 

Let me sleep.

-Quentin Beck”

She set the letter down and went to the basement. Otto waited patiently for her to return. In her arms was a moderately sized metal box. Gently, she set it on the table and removed the lid after undoing the lock. Inside was the photograph from their old home; a family photo, one of the very few that had their mother still alive in it. Along with it were two cameras. One was Quentin’s original, the other was one that he had gotten from Alex as a gift.* The box was filled with little things that were not worth much to anyone else but her and Quentin. Regardless, she could not help but sob silently at the sight of her brother’s love. The necklace that had been taken from her so long ago now hung around her neck thanks to him. After all of these years he had found it for her. 

Otto did not have much to say. This was a family affair and he was only the messenger. Regardless, Alex considered Otto an honorary member of the family. No matter if he was a villain, he had been there for her brother unlike any other. She did not approve of Quentin’s choices in becoming a villain, nor Otto’s but she could not blame them either. 

Shortly after, Otto bid her farewell. They would meet again later at the funeral in New York, along with Maria Beck. Some stories end only in tears, but the future had so much more in store for the Beck family. 

*This is in reference to the events of Family Reunion, a short story that takes place months to a year before this one linked here.

(The beginning of said story is not exactly cannon. All that needs to be known truly is that Quenin unexpectedly shows up to Alex’s house, with Spider-Man lingering in the shadows.)

[belzinone]

[old] guidelines

// these are my original rules. though they are still generally relevant, my newer, shorter, more concise rules post is here

A love letter from me to you! Please take it to heart.

The Lowdown: mod is an artist & supportive af｜selective｜primarily plot-motivated｜operates on mutual respect｜your friendly rpc fairy godbitch; gimme your wishlists｜zero tolerance for OC negativity & bigotry｜triggers present｜18+ content present｜consistent but occasionally capricious activity｜OOC communication appreciated｜lots of love abound ♡

Mod Sal (they/them/theirs; 24; PST)

     I study medicine and social justice with emphasis on emergency medicine and sex work, respectively. In addition to being a writer I’m also an activist, artist, and scholar. I’ve been writing Bel since 2015. She’s a very intricate and highly dynamic character who has gone through many changes over the years via her interactions. I look forward to developing her even more with your muse(s)!

     Before I talk about the kind of conduct I’d like on my blog, this is the type of roleplayer and friend I aspire to be. I’ll strive to be as attentive and supportive as I can about your muse, ideas, as well as ooc presence. If we’re mutuals, you can expect plenty of inboxes, tag games, headcanons, relationship tags, to be tagged in & sent posts relating to our muses, general interaction, and emotional support proportional to the depth of our interactions when I’m online. I’m an unapologetic 1-person hype squad at heart and will do my best to spread the love and return the love I get.

     If I’m not around here, you can find me on my snk blog and/or discord by request. I muse Eren and Levi as secondary muses, but they won’t be nearly as active as Bel and are only available to established mutuals. I also have untagged resource & nsfw musing side blogs.

Interactions

  When it comes to interactions, nothing motivates me more than an eagerness to develop our muses’ relationship. Depending on what works best for you, we can work on this via inbox submissions, plotting, or simply interacting. I have a tendency to write para/novella-length replies, but will strive to match you in length and style. Please include something I can actively respond to in your reply, because neutral replies can be very difficult to build upon, and please do not godmod her based on assumptions and/or stereotypes about her character/profession.

  With regards to ask responses, please feel free to turn them into threads by tagging me in a new post and cutting your replies. I’ll turn asks into threads if they inspire me, but you’re under no obligation to continue them if you’re not as motivated. When cutting, please don’t cut me out. Also, please don’t reblog asks with your reply or reblog replies with my tag if I don’t reply quickly enough. I track of all my threads to the best of my ability, so please check there first if you want to know the status of our thread. If I’ve missed a thread of ours, please help me out by sending it to me in a message so I can add it to the tracker. If you lose muse for a thread, please don’t feel pressured to continue it. We can always take a break or start something new. I don’t cap my threads and am always open to new interactions.

Selectivity

    Though I run a selective blog, I am not very selective in nature. I do have a preference for original and SnK/AoT characters, especially those that inspire me and challenge me. I’ll primarily look for interactions by checking blog rules for oc-friendliness, reblogging promos, asking to be mutuals in the tags, then follow back after that initial follow is granted. If you don’t want me to follow you, please block me completely because otherwise I’ll think it’s a mistake/glitch and follow you again. On the topic of glitches, they do happen so I apologize ahead of time if that happens above or below my radar.

    I don’t tolerate oc-negativity or ooc bigotry and will handle my blog accordingly. If you align yourself in any way with TERF, SWERF, homophobic, ace-exclusionary, racist, and/or xenophobic rhetoric, please do not interact. It’s important for me to surround myself with enriching content and community. I have boundaries and will be setting them for my own comfort as well as respect yours because mutual respect between muns is key to a healthy rpc.

Sourcing

    Please don’t do it. This goes for starters, ask memes, wishlist posts, and wanted connections. I understand we might not be the muse/mod duo you have in mind and that we don’t fit every situation, but please don’t fill my notifications with this sentiment, especially if we don’t have any established interactions yet. If our blogs have that much in common, there’s so much we could be musing about. If this happens excessively without us having any interactions, I’ll unfollow and/or block because I am a roleplay blog, not a resource hub. If you’re interested in my musing/resource posts, please show interest in muse interactions as well. The latter is why I’m here and there’s nothing more disheartening and discouraging to my creativity than being used and/or ignored when I present things.

Original Character Disclaimer

    It pains me that something like this needs to be said, but Bel wasn’t created to force ship with your muse and/or overpower our threads. I will absolutely under no circumstances tolerate any form of OC negativity. I don’t care if you think they’re “cringey”, “underdeveloped”, “overpowered”, or any other iteration of not meeting your personal criteria of a good character. Opinions are valid but unsolicited bullying is not. It is important to realize that canon characters are still original characters bar their capitalistic franchise. The mods of original characters are a goldmine of free and original content and deserve to be judged by conduct, not content.

    If you’d like to support OCs, I invite you to scroll through and reblog a thing or two from my OC positivity tag, as well as follow and engage in meaningful interactions with the OCs in your orbit. Your encouragement could be what makes a content creator’s breakthrough, so please be kind and supportive. Saying you’re OC-friendly while providing an extensive grocery list of double standards OCs must abide by to be considered acceptable isn’t OC-friendliness. Likewise, musing an OC doesn’t automatically make you incapable of being exclusive (unintentional or not) so please be cognizant as well  and lets support each other.

Shipping

    That being said, I’m just like every other mun. I enjoy shipping and the occasional smut scene given the chemistry is right and both muns are equally invested in the relationship as well as comfortable with it. The more we develop our muses, the more complicated their relationship will be and the more likely I’ll personally gift you with fanart. Above all, your comfort is paramount to our interactions so please communicate with me. Likewise, please respect my comforts when I speak of them. I am much more likely to be enthusiastic about shipping than Bel is, however, so please be patient with us and respect her boundaries as well.

# FREE THE FPN . SFW // ONLY IT’S NOT

    This is the tag I will use to mark sexually explicit content. Bel is somewhere on the ace spectrum, but is nonetheless a sensual character and has a couple verses that engage in sex work. Bel’s struggles with her identities are a very big part of her personal characterization, so please be patient with her. [Marilyn Monroe’s hinted asexuality] Likewise, if she’s not into your muse, please don’t push such interactions unless we discuss them as a plot element.

Trigger Warnings

    The SnK universe is rampant with violence, gore, psychological trauma, profanity, and grey morality. Furthermore, I enjoy writing dark themes and will provide the disclaimer now that this may be a rather trigger-heavy blog. However, that doesn’t mean you have to be subject to all these themes. If you’d like me to tag things in a certain way, please don’t hesitate to let me know because your comfort is important to me. I’ll gladly create a new tag for you to blacklist/filter and add it to my tag list. Furthermore, this blog will have the occasional explicit content so please don’t interact if you’re under 21.

Activity

   I’m finishing up my bachelor’s so classes and coursework will keep me from here sometimes. Furthermore, I struggle with mental illness and domestic abuse in my home environment, so bouts of these may also pull me from activity. I’ll be doing my damndest to keep my issues off the dash but if things are especially severe and I feel the need to post about it and/or reach out, I’ll use a semicolon tag (#;).  Nonetheless, musing, roleplaying, and plotting helps keep my spirits up so please keep me updated with your muse and share your discord with me, if you’d like. I’d love it so much if we could continue developing our muses as I slip off of and find my way back to tumblr, and I’d appreciate you very much as a writing partner and friend. ♡

Accessibility

    I’m not very savvy with code, but I do try my best to keep my blogging accessible as I tinker and learn. If you struggle with accessing any part of my blog, let it be font size, style, or anything else, please let me know and I’ll do my best to accommodate because I don’t want to perpetuate elitism or ableism in the rpc. As far as reply formatting goes, I’ll usually stick to once small text (particularly in novella length replies via ctrl shift -) and spare use of italics, bolding, and strikethrough text. I may use unicode and/or zalgo for art captions, personal musing posts, crack threads, and other posts that call for it. Every once in awhile, I will blog from mobile and as a result post text in default size, but I’ll still cut my posts and at worst, separate our replies with a symbol or icon if I can’t blockquote text through html.

Permissions

     One of my favorite things about roleplaying is sharing content and playing tag games. If you come across anything that reminds you of Bel and/or our interactions/plotting, please show me! Even more so, if you’re a content creator, you have complete and total freedom to use her and her inspirations in your work. I only ask to see it! Likewise, if I ever create any art for you, please acknowledge it at the very least. If you send in an art request and I deliver, please reblog it. Failure to do this kills my creativity as well as generosity so... please.

   Exclusive to this blog are my own art and edits as well as those gifted by friends. Please don’t ransack our labors of love and re-purpose them as your own. Bel’s Iva & Marie icons were collected by yours truly with a beautiful frame made by Shane. Other people who have contributed their talents throughout the years include madcapraccoon, L, desertbl00m, Eris, Justice, sangre-rebelde, emptyolivejar, desimouse, and the many rp blogs that have interacted with her. I’d also like to give a special shout-out to sjokohama for the boundless enthusiasm given to her development as well as the readers who have enjoyed and left amazing comments on her original fanfiction. She wouldn’t be out here if it weren’t for Y’all ~ ♡

If you feel like something should be added to or clarified in these guidelines, please let me know. I realize I have a lot to say as a consequence of being here for so long, but I still want to keep my conduct as transparent and accessible as possible. 

Thank you for reading! Please feel free to like this post and interact ~ ♡

[diamondcitydarlin]

so, most of the time when I go into a new ep of a show (and esp in this case) I turn on monkey brain and just enjoy whatever happens in a very superficial sort of way. also because I usually watch shows in the evening when I’m absolutely braindead and have no critical thought whatsoever lmao. well, morning has come and with it, ultimate disappointment. I’m just going to be honest and say that this season, so far, has really in no way lived up to the years and years of tension and storytelling that GoT has crafted. everything feels rushed, hackneyed, and half-assed like everyone in the creative stages just wanted to get it over with already and don’t give a fuck. this critical case of senioritis is perhaps best symbolized by the STARBUCKS CUP LEFT OUT IN PLAIN VIEW ON DANY’S TABLE AT WINTERFELL. having worked on sets before this absolutely throws me. I have never been on a set or worked with a crew that wouldn’t have noticed and struck that cup right away but whatever. Not what I’m here to talk about lol.

- the clean up at Winterfell went shockingly fast for how much carnage was left over after that battle. there were literal waves of bodies, yall. for that matter, I am SHOCKED at how many survivors are left. the last ep seemed to suggest there might have been 15? 20 people at best that got out of that alive? again, whatever, I just think that clean up should’ve taken waaay more time. 

- brienne/jaimie has always been sort of my secondary ship. there’s always been a part of me that kind of wanted it to happen but always felt in the back of my mind that he ultimately didn’t deserve her. I DIDN’T WANT TO BE RIGHT ABOUT THAT. I also don’t want to be right in my assumption that he’s not just lying to her so he can go kill Cersei but having read leaks that have so far been accurate that doesn’t seem to be the case. he legit fucked her, gave her false hope, then peaced out for the person he knows to be a toxic sludge monster.  i guess someone could argue there was selflessness in him realizing he didn’t deserve her and leaving but at that point he might as well man up and rise to the fucking occasion. idk, just gross. not at all what i wanted to see of briennexjamie, but given how inconsistent they’ve been with his writing in the past (having him rape cersei despite it not being that way in the books, despite having tried to redeem and build him up as a sympathetic character to that point) I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. as for brienne’s part in it all...idk. I guess I’m divided. It was a disappointing turn for her character and I think it could be argued that after having been heartbroken by Renly she might not have jumped into bed with Jaime so quick. Just all around a bad move for everyone, I will maintain that Brienne/Tormund would’ve been the better option and still is, though at this point I think Tormund could do better. sigh. I feel Brienne should’ve known better and I’m real disappointed to see her falling back on the same mistakes and being reduced to sobbing rejected love interest. Not the way I wanted that to go by a mile. 

- way to ruin the Sansa/Sandor reunion by having her basically throw out that she’s grateful to Littlefinger for selling her into a sex slave situation, Ramsey for imprisoning and repeatedly raping and beating her because it ‘made her the woman she is today’ or whatever. i get that that isn’t wrong necessarily, but for me, as survivor of sexual abuse myself, there’s something real icky in having a female character describe the situation that way. idk. i mean i get it, I know that my own experience shaped me and made me strong, but I don’t know that I’d ever describe it as ‘yea I’m totally glad that happened and wouldn’t take it back even still’. I guess one could argue there’s strength in that, I just wouldn’t have written the dialogue that way. 

- Tyrion’s certainly not the clever strategist he once was. They literally had him approach Cersei with the same tactic, the same exact appeal as before, you know, the one in which she ended up lying to him and not supplying any armies. why in seven hells did he think the whole ‘BUT WHAT ABOUT YOUR CHILD’ thing would work this time? I guess it could be argued he’s consumed with his own emotions and love for both queens but come on, my dude, wake the fuck up. I ultimately think it was too much and too OOC for him to fall back on that again, emotions or no.

- Rheagal’s death was rushed, improbable and dumb. Jon should’ve at least given Ghost head scratches or smth. 

-just throwing this out there, I think the pacing of the overall arc for this season was fucked. The Night King and the undead armies should’ve been left for either the last or second to last episode, as the ultimate villain and obstacle that comes after everyone in the middle of their feuding, house politics bullshit. Killing off that threat so quickly was a mistake. 

Ultimately I think there should’ve been two seasons and more episodes dedicated to bringing this show to a close. I don’t have high hopes that the last two episodes are going to do anything in the way of giving this show the closure it deserves but I will watch and enjoy them for what they are, I guess. In the end, there’s always fanfic and headcanons. 

[pcnnydime]

I’m Leaving Tumblr.

  Dramatic? Probably, but it’s come to my attention (again, and again, and again) that a great number of people feel uncomfortable in my presence, so I’d rather the title sum up the post. You can read this and try to see things from my point of view, or you can move on with your lives. Either way, I hope this doesn’t cause much drama for anyone not involved, and I hope everyone regardless of involvement has a good day/night.

First, I apologize if this post seems robotic, but after countless anxiety attacks , multiple lost friends, and a few instances of self harm due to everything that’s been happening around me, I find myself lacking the emotional energy to put more ‘pep’ or ‘enthusiasm’ into this post. I’ve been on Tumblr since Red Thread was at its peak, however many years that may have been, and roleplaying, meeting people here, and developing characters that mean the world to me has helped me grow as a person. It brought me out of a near 2 year long depression that included an extremely abusive relationship, being left behind by all my close local friends, and a failed suicide attempt. Writing on tumblr introduced me to my best friend, many dear friends, and my current romantic partner. It’s seen me through a really tough job, two cross-country moves, and some of my worst and lowest points. But with the word ‘racist’ following me at every turn, I no longer feel welcome or supported by what was once my favorite hobby and best coping mechanism.

The reason being labelled a racist has effected me so deeply is because I come from a multi-racial home. I am half Puerto Rican, one quarter African American, and one quarter white. I have tan skin, very hispanic features, and very curly, thick hair with dark brown eyes. I don’t look white. I grew up in a rural area where I was one of very few people of color in BOTH of the schools I attended, and I’ve never lived in very diverse areas in all my 21 years. I don’t believe I was treated any differently because of it, I never had any race-specific issues in my childhood, and I’m very lucky because of that. Sure, I’ve had a few ‘playful nicknames’ but nothing that ever hurt me as much as being bullied about my height, weight, or chest size.

My Grandmother is white and my Grandfather is black - they got together in the 60′s and dealt with a great deal of prejudice and hardship due to being an interracial couple. They and my mother raised me to look past what people look like on the outside - weight, height, gender, age, race, religion - they believe, and I believe that it shouldn’t matter. People should be judged and valued or ignored based upon their personalities. In a near-perfect society, that’s how everyone would feel, but ours is far from perfect. People of color are faced with violence, hate, and even murder on a daily basis all over the world - not just in America - and by no means has it ever been my intent to diminish that, I simply am deterred by conflict because it hurts me to see. 

Now that I’ve described myself, the way I’ve been affected, and my views on race and in/equality, I will explain my experience as a “racist”. For months, I’ve been blocked, shunned, and ignored due to this. I spent MONTHS not knowing why people were blocking me, why all of a sudden people I had been writing with and even admired for their graphic and literary skill were suddenly ignoring me and treating me like I was less than a stranger.

Because no one told me.

Not until sometime around perhaps September or October, when someone was finally kind and considerate enough to step out of their comfort zone and inform me that I’d made a comment about Black Panther without thinking about my wording. On Twitter, I said something to the effect of ‘Black Panther has too much black power for me’, something along those lines. What I should have said was: Black Panther was a good movie, and I liked Killmonger as an antagonist until he began building a highly advanced army of thousands of near-superpowered warriors and devastating militaristic technology to declare war on what was clearly intended to be Caucasians as a race. At that point, I became uncomfortable because racial war of any kind isn’t something I would have paid money to see in a theatre, had I known it was going to be included. But I didn’t say that because twitter has a character limit, and I didn’t think anyone wanted to read an entire thread of my review of what was, all in all, an excellent movie.

Another individual recently followed suit and gave me a few more examples of why people believe I’m racist and discriminatory.

1. I’ve used the “n” word on multiple occasions.          This is not true. I am incredibly uncomfortable around the use of that word, in any form, even it’s reclaimed version. I don’t like it. I don’t know where or when I would have used it before, but even as someone who is African-American and has multiple African-American family members who say it ‘affectionately’ to refer to each other, I have not EVER said that word. Not as a joke, and certainly not as an insult.

2. I hold people who speak English as a secondary, third, or otherwise language to a higher standard than those who do not.

       No. If anything, it’s the opposite. I strongly admire and respect anyone who speaks more than one language, as someone who only speaks English and very broken Spanish. I formerly had an RP partner whose first language is Spanish, and is very proud of their heritage. My father, who I’m no longer in contact with due to estrangement and abandonment, primarily speaks Spanish and I had no quarrel with him because of that.      Some contradictory things you may have read can be found here and here. These are screenshots from the rules page on an old blog of mine that I would rather not explicitly name, for the sake of privacy for people who used to interact with me. In these screenshots, I say “[Does] Understand that English is not everyone’s first language. It’s okay if you have some errors with grammar or spelling, as long as you’re making the best effort that you can.” perhaps that can come off as me saying ‘you have to try really hard if you want to write with me’, but in fact, it just meant that I wanted some manner of effort to be present. I.E., if I write 2 paragraphs, at least write one in response, rather than a single sentence. Could I have worded that better? Absolutely. But since realizing that can be perceived incorrectly, I removed it from my rules page entirely to avoid offending anyone.

        In the other screenshot, I mention not tolerating anyone who is ‘cis or heterophobic’. This ties back into my ideal of not seeing people for who they are on the outside, but rather, who they are on the inside. I’ve had great friendships with people who were either cisgendered, heterosexual, or both, and it upsets me to see all the jokes about ‘down with cishets’ and the hate that the LGBT+ community sends their way. I understand that being a ‘cishet’ doesn’t put them in any ‘legitimate’ danger like being LGBT+ does, but it doesn’t feel good to be judged for being LGBT+, so it doesn’t seem right to judge ANYONE based on sexuality or gender without personal experience. If someone has been repeatedly hurt, offended, or otherwise wronged by individuals of those designation, I understand, but mob mentalities frighten me. 

I’ve apologized for these accusations, and explained my reasoning and my ‘side’ behind them, and there’s one last thing I’d like to address. My being perceived as acting like a victim. This, I can’t contest. Perhaps I have been overly dramatic over this hole thing. Roleplay is a hobby, at the end of the day, and while it may not be a great one, I do have a life outside of Tumblr and Twitter. What I don’t have, however, is friends. My only friends are miles and miles away, and they’re few and far between. The ones I did have began telling me I was a racist, to me, seemingly out of nowhere. I had no clue when these things began to spread because again, I wasn’t confronted. I’ve lost two people I consider to be good friends, and I’ve been doing my best to keep to myself ever since. I stopped reaching out, out of fear that people would find me obnoxious or abrasive, not knowing how far my reputation had spread. The absolute last thing I wanted was to hurt anyone, so when I vented to my friends I asked them not to make a big deal out of it. I didn’t want them with the label as well. I didn’t want to see them ostracized, or to be the reason they lost a hobby they enjoyed. When one of them went against my wishes and said something on their blog, it was deemed ‘public drama that didn’t belong on the dash’ and I was TERRIFIED that they would end up losing the chance to interact with others. Thankfully they didn’t, but that’s the example I have. No, something like that didn’t necessarily belong on the dash, but they were simply trying to look out for me while watching me have an anxiety attack and contemplate dropping all of my muses and completely deleting all social media. I’ve moved twitters multiple times due to trust issues this whole ordeal has caused for my own mental health. I’ve hidden behind locked accounts because the thought of people who are triggered by public drama having to see something of this scale was at the forefront of my mind. In short, if it seemed as though I was playing the part of a victim, it’s because I have, for months, been confused and hurt without understanding what was going on. When I tried to move past it and remedy my mistakes, I was pushed away and hurt even more by people I called friends.

To sum the entirety of this long post up, I’m upset. Far more upset than perhaps I’ve conveyed here, because I’m doing my best to remain logical and fair. I understand why anyone who has heard these things about me would block me and would want to avoid contact - I wouldn’t want to interact with a racist either. But I’m not a racist. I’m not judgemental. I’m open-minded to a fault, it seems, and my ideal of perfect equality is unrealistic in the world we live in full of murder and segregation. If anyone would like to talk to me in more detail about anything they’ve read here, they may do so at my open twitter which is solely for responding to inquiries about my reputation, my tumblr blog here, which will no longer be active, or my personal discord, which is mad dog!#6346 .

There are likely many issues I forgot to address, or simply don’t know about, but I’d like to thank anyone who read this far. Your attention means more to me than I can express.

[were-cheetah-stiles]

The Recruit (Chapter 35) - Mitch Rapp

Author: @were-cheetah-stiles

Title: “Day 152″

Characters: Mitch Rapp, Irene Kennedy, Elliot Polansky, Alexander Derzhavin & Reader/OFC

Warning: Smut. I don’t know how to write the rest of these warnings. Some uncomfortable shit happens in this. We’ll call it pretend consensual sexual contact? and mild violence. 

Author’s Note: I like this chapter. People may not. I think this is a testament to the reader’s professionalism and brutality and willingness to do what she has to do to get the job done, but also just how difficult it can be to be a woman in this line of work. I also love Mitch in this chapter. He’s such a good boy. 

Additional Note: Man’s Search For Meaning is literally one of the best books I have ever read. It’s also one of the hardest. It is a memoir of a Jewish Holocaust survivor. If you ever see it in a bookstore, buy it, read it, and understand why knowing the history of anti-semitism and hatred is important and that people should generally be treated with basic decency.

Y/f/i = your first initial

Song: If you read The Mistake, this may seem like I don’t know any new songs. Technically, I wrote this scene well over two months ago so that’s how we have Al Green all over again. Here’s the song in case you want that.

Summary: Irene calls in a favor from Mitch and Y/n, which sends them on assignment up to Montreal.

Chapter Thirty-Four //-// Chapter Thirty-Five - Chapter Thirty-Six

Mitch laid on the couch in the living room, his feet propped up on a mountain of pillows, with Viktor Frankl's Man's Search For Meaning dangling over his face. He grimaced over the graphic depictions of terror and mistreatment of innocent humans that he was reading about in the book. After your conversation about revenge versus retribution, and what Mitch would fight for after Mansur was slain, you had suggested he read the book. You said that it always reminded you of why you got involved, and stay involved in your line of work. He understood why that was as soon as he began reading it.

He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and he smiled softly, as he saw you come out of your father's office. "What do you have there?" He asked, staring at the item in your hands. 

You simply smiled and leaned over the table against the wall where the record player sat. Static was followed by the sounds of brass horns filling the room. You sauntered over to Mitch, with a massive grin on your face, and left your hand out for him to take. Mitch shook his head and chuckled, but put down his book on the back of the couch and placed his hand in yours anyway. You hoisted him off of the couch and walked over to an open space in the living room.

"Cause you make me feel so brand new. I want to spend my life with you. The same things, baby, since we've been together, loving you forever..."

Al Green's classic song, "Let's Stay Together", began playing and Mitch smiled down at the woman he loved. He wrapped your hands up around his neck, then wrapped his arms around your waist, and the two of you began swaying in unison around the living room. Mitch lifted you off of the hardwood floors and placed your feet on the tops of his, and began to dance around the room with you on top of him. You laughed and smiled and left occasional kisses on his lips, and Mitch understood that this was the purest kind of bliss.

"Let's, we ought to stay together. Loving you whether, whether times are good or bad, happy or sad." You whisper-sung to Mitch and Mitch joined in.

"Let's, LET'S STAY TOGETHER!" Mitch scream-sung to you, and you suddenly crumbled into a fit of hysterical laughter, as the song neared its end. He chuckled and then waited for you to calm down before he spoke again. "I could listen to you sing to me or laugh at me for the rest of my damn life." Mitch smiled down at you.

"So... let's stay together then?" You joked with a smirk on your face.

"Yea, okay, but not because of that joke." Mitch snickered and shook his head, then leaned down for a kiss. You pressed your lips against his and the your bodies swayed to the fading music, until a loud ringing from your cellphone overtook the sound of the music playing. The two of you tried to ignore it, until Mitch's phone began ringing as well. Mitch sighed and watched as you stepped off of his feet to run towards the counter where your phones sat. You tossed Mitch his, which he caught as he walked towards you.

"Yea, I'll hold." Mitch shook his head and huffed.

"Yes, Ma'am, he's here with me." You said into your phone, looking at Mitch, and grabbing him by the front of his shirt, pulling him towards you. You pressed your body against his and slid your fingers up against his abdomen under the soft cotton of his t-shirt. "Yes, Ma'am." You said, pulling the phone from your ear, pressing the button for the speakerphone and placing it on the counter in front of you. 

You turned to lean against the cold countertop, and Mitch positioned himself behind you, wrapping his free hand around your stomach, and pressing his body hard against yours. He kissed softly and quietly down the side of your neck, and you rolled your head to the side, closing your eyes and enjoying the intimate and dangerous moment.

"You can hang up, Mitch. They're keeping you on hold for me in case you two weren't together."

"Yes, Ma'am." Mitch said, resting his bearded chin against your shoulder, and pressing the 'end call' button on his phone before tossing it on the counter. "What's going on, Director?" Mitch asked, rubbing his hands under your shirt and feeling you wiggle against his touch.

"I know I said that the two of you had time off until we could secure your in with the Bahji terror group, but I am calling for a favor that you don't owe me." Irene said into the secure line.

"What's the mission, Irene?" You asked, trying to focus on your boss's voice and not Mitch's touch.

"It's one night. I have an operative already up there that has done all of the leg work for you. But Y/n, I need you to be the honeypot. This guy is a pig and since you are a woman, you are just his type."

You turned and glanced at Mitch. He raised his eyebrows briefly and nodded unconvincingly. "Where?"

"Montreal, tonight. There will be two tickets for you at JFK in three hours. Pack for a high class fundraiser."

"What's the event?" You asked.

"The Russian ballet is in town. You will go to the opening night, and then the after party back at your hotel."

"What's the code?" Mitch asked, inquiring as to who he should check in as at the hotel, in order to meet the operative.

"The limo at the airport and conceirge will be looking for a ‘Mr. and Mrs. Mortimor’, and the ground op will be ‘Morgan’."

"Alright, Irene. We'll be there." You said as you disconnected the call. "Red or black?" You cocked your head to the side and asked Mitch.

Mitch licked the bottom of his left canine and shook his head. "Red."

Mitch knocked on the door to the room next to his and waited. "Mr. Morgan?" Mitch asked and the man nodded, then stepped out of the way, allowing Mitch to enter his hotel room. Mitch walked right past him and went to open the adjoining door for the two of yours’ room. The ground operative followed Mitch into your room and saw you wearing a royal blue wrap dress with a high slit up the front and a plunging neckline. You stopped combing out the bright auburn colored wig in your hand and set it on the desk.

"Agent Hurley, nice to meet you." You stuck your hand out to shake his and he accepted, trying very hard not to stare at your purposefully ample cleavage. Mitch snickered in the corner, garnering the ground operatives attention.

"Rapp." Mitch barely introduced himself, before pursing his lips and nodding his head once.

"Good to meet you both, I'm Special Technical Agent Elliot Polansky, and I am really grateful for the help. This guy has been evading us for months. They were going to bring in a whole team for this, as soon as we got the confirmation that he'd be here, but the Director recommended the two of you instead." The ground operative finally made his own introduction.

"Who's the target?" Mitch asked, as Elliot invited you and your partner into his hotel room.

Agent Polansky pulled up a picture of an Eastern European looking man, who's poorly taken care of teeth and huge ears made him quite unmistakable. "His name is Alexander Derzhavin. He's a Ukrainian, who has profited off of a booming human sex trafficking industry in the old Soviet states. He's finally opened up shop in Canada and we need to nab this guy before he spreads his shit to the U.S." Elliot explained.

"This kind of sounds like something that Interpol could accomplish with a simple arrest warrant, why is the CIA involved?" You questioned, your vexation obvious on your face.

"We are pretty sure that a lot of the money from his business is being sent to Russia to fund the invasion and occupation of Crimea, and because of that, he has gotten quite close to President Putin. Russia has been meddling in our affairs, and the chatter has been that they are targeting the next U.S. presidential election. We need someone close to him."

"You want to flip this guy?" You finally understood what the CIA's involvement was.

“Yes, we need him on our side because of his potential intel, but we can't do that without access to him, and frankly, that has been impossible to get so far." Elliot explained.

"Ah, so that's where I come in, huh?" You asked rhetorically.

Elliot nodded, trying with all of his might not to stare at your legs either. He turned and began rummaging through his bags, searching for something. "All we need is for you to get him alone enough to stick him with this." Elliot pulled a long syringe out of his briefcase and left it out in his hand for you to take. "Then Agent Rapp and I will get him back up here to this room, and I'll call in the team and we'll move him to the secondary location to flip him."

"Yea, she won't need that." Mitch smirked, one arm crossed in front of his chest, while the other rested on top and his fingers pressed into his mouth and chin.

"Uh, but.. uh.." Elliot was flustered.

"He's right. It'll ruin the lines of my dress. I can get him back up here without knocking him out with drugs." You smirked, and walked back into yours and Mitch's room.

"Are you sure you don't want the knife, baby?" Mitch whispered into your ear on the elevator, as he held a small blade concealed by the sleeve of his jacket.

You glanced up at the camera in the corner and lightly hummed. "Mhmm." Mitch dumped the dagger into a potted plant as he exited the elevator and watched you saunter into the ballroom. He leaned the right side of his body against the far end of the bar and surveyed the room as he waited for the bartender to finish serving you. "Extra olives, extra dirty." You requested, while batting your long and curled eyelashes at the hotel employee.

"Can you both get in better view of the security cameras? I can only see the back of your head, Agent Hurley. Do you guys see him? He's in the corner by the deejay with all of those ballerinas. You should try to get in there, Agent Hurley." Elliot spoke into Mitch and yours earpieces from his room upstairs.

You rolled your eyes and glanced down the bar at Mitch, in annoyance. Elliot clearly had been in the field by himself for a little too long and he was really beginning to grate your nerves with his incessant chatter. "Excuse me, can you throw this out for me?" You caught the bartenders attention and handed him a balled up napkin. He nodded and tossed it in the trash behind the counter. "Thanks, handsome." You pushed your breasts together with your arms and leaned over the counter. The bartender blushed hard, as he finished making your drink.

"Why isn't Agent Hurley replying, Rapp?" Elliot questioned.

Mitch leaned his head down and pretended to check his watch. "Pretty sure she just threw her earpiece away, Polansky. Pretty sure she wanted you to shut the fuck up." Mitch critiqued the young man. 

He watched as you picked up your drink and moved to the end of the bar, in view of Derzhavin. You sat down on one of the barstools, ignoring the stares of the men around you. You crossed your legs and leaned back against the wooden counter. The slit of your dress parted dangerously high on your thigh, as you sipped on your gin martini and stirred your pick full of olives around your drink. 

He spotted you. It was hard not to. You were all legs, cleavage and firey red hair. In a room full of stunning, skinny, and tall ballerinas, you still managed to command the attention of anyone with a pulse.

Mitch chatted with a French business man across the room, always keeping a watchful eye on his partner. He couldn't help but scowl as he watched you seductively sucking the gin soaked olives off of the wooden pick from your martini, while making eye contact with your mark from across the room. He wasn't fond of the honeypot trick. Frankly, he liked it better when you were brutally torturing and murdering people. 

His breath hitched in the back of his throat as he watched you uncross and then recross your legs for Derzhavin. Mitch knew that the man couldn't get a good look at anything underneath your dress with how quickly you moved, but he knew that it would leave Derzhavin wanting to see more. Mitch continued his conversation, bullshitting the man about the Greek debt crisis, thanking god that you read the news every morning and always updated him on what you thought was most interesting.

You turned in your stool to face the bar again, and downed your drink. This was a delicate situation since two strong drinks, like a gin martini, were about all you could handle before there was a slight decline in your reaction timing and defensive skills. You wished Mitch could be the honeypot. He looked just as sexy in his tight fitting black suit, and he could handle his liquor better than you. That was when you felt a hand on the small of your back.

"May I buy you another drink, Miss?"

"Gauthier." You offered a fake last name.

Derzhavin placed his vodka on the rocks on the counter, and picked up your hand to kiss the back. "Enchanté, Mademoiselle Gauthier. Français, oui?"

You feigned delight and nodded, putting on the best 'French speaking English' accent that you could. "Oui. But you are not from France, I think?"

"The accent gave me away." Derzhavin smiled a horribly toothy smile, and you fought to not cringe at his poor dentistry. "Another drink?"

"S'il vous plaît." You swiveled the chair so that your knee would brush against his thigh, and he grinned devilishly at you before grabbing the bartenders attention and ordering you another drink with a simple swirl of his fingers. He wanted to show off to you that he was someone important in a room full of important people. "I don't think I ever got your name, le bel homme."

"Alexander Derzhavin." He introduced himself and you caught the vision of Mitch circling through the reflection of the glass covering a painting behind the mark's head. You let out a deep breath; always at ease knowing he had your back.

"So, what did you think of ‘Giselle’?" You asked about the ballet that the guests of the party, and you, Mitch and Alexander, had all just returned from, as you picked up your drink from the counter and clinked it gently against Derzhavin's vodka.

"Beautiful and tragic, but a true masterpiece. What about you, mademoiselle? Did you enjoy the ballet?"

You rubbed your knee against his leg with a bit more zeal and watched as a smirk developed on his mouth. "I thought it was romantic." You took a sip of your drink and maintained your eye contact with him.

Derzhavin licked at the stubble on his top lip and made no effort to hide that he had just adjusted his growing erection in his pants. "Would you like to come sit with me and my friends, Mademoiselle Gauthier?" Derzhavin gestured to the couch full of lanky women in low cut dresses, glaring at the attention that he was feeding you.

"Catherine." You offered the French pronunciation of your fake first name.

"Ah, Yekaterina. My mother's name."

You smiled outwardly, but winced internally. How could this man think that invoking his mother would be an effective flirting tactic? No wonder he had to resort to human sex trafficking to get his rocks off, you thought to yourself. You ran your hand up his sleeve and shook your head, leaning in so that he could get an even better look at your breasts. 

"I don't want to sit. Je veux danser." You whispered before switching back to English. "I was hoping that there would be more dancing at this party. We did just see the ballet, after all."

Derzhavin smirked. "We were going to leave to go to a club downtown later, but I can make that happen sooner if you promise to come and dance with me there?" You had him.

You pressed your hand against his chest, dragging it down his torso slowly and gently, as you answered him. "I can't go to a club in this. Would you like to come up to my room and help me pick out something a bit more," You hooked your fingers around his belt and he downed his drink. "appropriate?"

"Après toi, belle." Derzhavin helped you off of your high stool and followed you to the elevator. 

You pulled the key to your room out of your bra and he held on to the long silver chain necklace that hugged your throat and draped down your back, as if it were a leash. All you could think about doing was snapping his neck. You walked towards the elevators, Derzhavin to your left, and two of his bodyguards flanking you. You quickly surveilled the ballroom for Mitch, but he was no where to be found. You assumed he was laying in wait upstairs.

"So, who are your friends?" You asked, glancing at the two men facing the doors of the elevator, as Derzhavin buried his lips into the crook of your neck, and hooked his hand under the back of your thigh.

"Don't worry about them, chéri. They keep an eye out for me is all." Derzhavin mumbled against your skin, as he moved his hand up to your ass, dipping his fingers under the delicate lace of your underwear.

"You are an important man, aren't you?" You crooned, trying to butter him up even more.

Derzhavin could never ignore a beautiful woman, stroking his ego. "A very big man in my industry." He confirmed with a smug grin, as he rubbed his fingers against the outside of your panties, hoping to find whether or not you were wet for him. You weren't.

You licked your lips and leaned in even closer. "A very big man, indeed." You whispered, as you slid your hand down his torso and pressed it against his erection. He moaned quietly as you began to rub and he grew harder. "They don't have to come inside, do they?" You asked, a faux innocence in your tone, as the elevator rang out indicating that it had reached your floor.

"Is that a dealbreaker?" He asked, grabbing your ass, as he followed you out of the elevator and down the hall. You nodded. "They'll wait outside of the door, until we are ready to go to the club then." Derzhavin said, telling his bodyguards, more than you, as you dipped your key into the lock mechanism on your door.

"Would you like a drink?" You asked, as soon as the door clicked closed behind him.

"No." Derzhavin glanced around the room, blatantly adjusting himself outside of his pants.

You rolled your eyes and walked towards the closet, pulling two short and tight dresses out to hold up for Derzhavin. "Which do you want to see me in, Alexander?"

"The red."

You placed the silver back into the closet and draped the red dress over the dresser. You turned to make eye contact with your mark, and sauntered over to him. You were perpetrating a silent seduction, as his eyes dropped from yours, down to your hands to watch you slowly untie your dress. You unbuttoned the wrap from the inside and let the dress pool at your feet. You stood before him in a lacy black bra and panties set, and he licked his chops as if you were a piece of meat. You were waiting to hear the single knock on the adjoining door, indicating that Mitch had taken out the two bodyguards outside. 

You wondered what was taking him so long.

Mitch opened the front door to Elliot's hotel room, pretending to leave, barely eliciting a glance from the closer bodyguard, but paused before walking away.

"Uh, shit, do you have the time?" Mitch asked the men, who contorted their faces in confusion at him.

"Fuck off." The further one scolded Mitch.

Mitch approached the man. "I just want to know the time, man."

"Buy a watch." The man tucked his suit jacket back behind his hip for a moment, flashing Mitch a pistol with a silencer screwed on, and Mitch smiled.

"I just wanted to know the time." Mitch repeated, before he wrapped his hands around the aggressive bodyguard's jaw and slammed his head against the doorframe.

"What was that?" You asked, knowing fully what the noise most likely finally was.

"I didn't hear anything." Derzhavin mumbled before returning back to kissing your stomach and pawing at your breasts.

Mitch tore the blade out of the second man's hand, struggling to fight him off, as the first body guard clung to Mitch's back, trying to strangle him from behind. In one swift and calculated motion, Mitch flipped the first man onto the ground, and twirled the knife around in his hand so that the handle was gripped against his palm. He slipped the knife under the second man's left armpit, in between his ribs, and felt the blade tear tissue. A trick that Hurley had taught him back at The Barn; simply slip a knife in at the right angle, and it would pop a man's heart like it was a balloon. The man gurgled up blood then dropped to the floor.

The second man, still laying on the ground, reached for his gun, and Mitch kicked him in the face with the heel of his dress shoe. He got on top of the man, his knee on his wrist, disabling the man from using his firearm, and he wrapped his hands around the bodyguard's neck. The man clawed and fought against Mitch with his available hand, scratching Mitch on the cheek and neck, until he passed out from lack of oxygen.

Mitch finally stood, bringing his hand to his face and seeing blood on his fingertips. He quirked his eyebrows up, and looked at the blood pouring out of the dead man's mouth, ears and nose. He sighed, knowing he'd have to clean it up. He grabbed the dead man's ankles and dragged him into Polansky's room, then went back for the unconscious bodyguard.

Derzhavin sucked on your nipples, yanking the fabric of your bra down with his hand, and you fake moaned. Your stomach churned when you thought about all of the women he had done this to before selling them into sexual slavery for the rest of their inevitably short lives. You breathed out heavily, shaking and squirming under his touch. He took it for pleasure, instead, it was pure rage. His fingers took the place of his mouth on your breast, as he began kissing down your stomach again. He hooked his fingers around your underwear, when you finally spoke up.

"No, please, let me take care of you first." You begged, wriggling out from underneath him, and climbing on to your knees, next to him on the bed.

"Oui." Derzhavin agreed, still speaking his poor man's French in order to impress you, as he began unbuckling his pants. He pulled them down around his ankles, and you pulled them off all of the way. You were praying for the knock on the door. You glanced up at him; average, wrinkly, and a forest of black hair. You cringed on the inside, but began kissing up his hairy thighs.

"Do you want me?" You asked, as you skipped over his hardening erection, and went to kiss his stomach and chest.

"Da." Derzhavin moaned in his native language, before his hand suddenly made its way into your short, auburn wig. He curled his fingers and felt it move. He looked down at you and you paused. "What the fuck is this?" He pulled at your wig, yanking some of your real hair in the process, and ripped it off of your head. "WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS, YOU BITCH?" Derzhavin sat up and grabbed at you, catching the delicate chain of the necklace that Mitch had given you in Iceland for your birthday and subsequently ripping it from your neck.

"You fucking..." You lurched at the man, your soft brown braid falling over your shoulder as you wrapped your hands around his throat.

Derzhavin kicked you off. You hit the wall with some force and fell beside the bed. He scrambled to get away from you, and get to his pants, which held a knife in his pocket, but you repositioned back onto your feet quickly. You pulled the long, strong silver chain necklace that had been gracefully cascading down your back all night, from around your neck and wrapped it around your hands. Derzhavin grabbed his knife and lunged at your vulnerable flesh. 

You wrapped his wrist in the strong chain and spun, pushing your back against his chest, helping to give you the momentum and power that you needed to toss the man onto his back below you. He flew through the air and landed on the ground with a heavy thud. 

You stepped on his hand with your sharp heel, causing the knife to fall to the rug, you then kicked it under the bed. You were flushed red with rage, as you dropped to hover over him. You elbowed him in the face twice and pressed your knee against his balls.

He coughed and clawed at you and managed to push you off of him once again. He crawled to get the knife from under the bed, and you seized upon his compromising position. You rewrapped the chain around your hands quickly, pulling it taught in front of you, and then yanked it around Derzhavin's throat. You pushed your knee against his spine and pulled backward, wrapping the length of the necklace around your wrist and elbow, ensuring that it was shortened, and it was tight. Derzhavin sputtered and choked, and it made you only pull tighter. You barely heard a knock at the adjoining door, but either way, you didn't stop. You wanted this man dead.  

You pulled again harder, as you heard the door open. "Y/f/i! Y/f/i, stop. Y/f/i, enough!" Mitch pulled you off of Derzhavin, who dropped to the floor, gasping for air, his face a brighter red than the ripest strawberry in the middle of summer. "Y/n...." Mitch used your real name, an attempt to try to snap you out of your rage, but you panted, twitched, and fought against his hold.

"He broke my fucking necklace." You snarled, as you glared at the choking Ukrainian in the corner, cowering in fear of Polansky's gun.

Mitch smirked and then snickered, glancing over at Derzhavin, then down to the bloody chain that had dug deep into your palms, drawing blood. "Y/f/i, I think your necklace almost broke his neck, it looks fine."

You broke from Mitch's hold, turned and began crawling on the floor. "No, he broke my necklace. Your necklace." You searched for the chain and found it, snapped in half, with the diamond missing.

"I found it, Y/f/i." Mitch held the diamond in between his thumb and pointer finger, and sent you a lopsided smile. "I'll get you a new chain, it's not a big deal."

"What took you so long?" You sniped at the two men, as you rose to your feet.

Mitch raised his eyebrows in surprise, but Elliot spoke first, somewhat out of fear of you. "I was wiping the security cameras in the building and cleaning the blood out in the hall, and Rapp was eliminating the bodyguards."

"Took your sweet fucking time, huh?" You sneered, catching Polansky staring at your nearly naked body a bit too long.

You walked towards the bathrobe on the chair in the corner and wrapped it around you, before Mitch finally pulled you aside, away from Polansky, who was finally tying Derzhavin to the desk chair. "Are you okay? Were you seriously about to kill this guy over the necklace?"

"It wasn't over the necklace, although that certainly didn't help." You muttered, staring behind Mitch at Polansky and Derzhavin.

"Did he touch you?" Mitch asked, finally garnering your full attention.

"I'm fine."

Mitch shook his head, still holding your arm in his hand. That didn't answer his question. "No, you're shaking."

"I'm fine." You hissed, your nostrils flaring and your eyes narrowing on his.

Polansky slipped into the other room to call for the exfil team, and Mitch took advantage of the almost empty room, ignoring Derzhavin's presence as if he didn't even exist. "Baby, sit.... please." He guided you onto the side of the bed and stood in front of you, blocking your view of the Ukrainian scumbag behind him. "How late was I?" He couldn't help but ask.

Your eyes, angry and still, glanced up at him from under your long black lashes. "I'm fine." You repeated unconvincingly.

Mitch crouched in front of you. He was angry that he decided not to use his gun to just kill both of the men in the hall, speeding up the process of helping you by double. He didn't want the blood splatter or extra cleanup. He was angry that he agreed to letting you put yourself in this position in the first place. He was angry with Irene for asking you to do this. She knew what you had been through just a few short months before. 

His heart beat rapidly as he gently and hesitantly rested his hands on your knees. "Talk to me."

Polansky came back in to your room, interrupting your conversation, as he began to speak, failing to hide the panic in his voice. "His security team is searching the hotel looking for him. I heard it over the walkie-talkies on the bodyguards. The exfil team can't retrieve him until they can get in and out of the hotel unnoticed. We have to hold him."

"Fine." Mitch huffed, standing finally. "Go make sure he's secure. I have extra zipties in my bag." He pointed to his duffel on the floor by the lounge chair in the corner.

Polansky walked off and you looked up at Mitch, continuing your conversation. "He touched me." You scowled and swallowed hard. "All over."

Mitch felt his short fingernails dig into his palms as his rage swelled. Anger, anger, anger. It always came easiest. He turned, unsure of what he was even about to do to Derzhavin, but you caught his wrist, and kept him in front of you. "I'm going to kill him, Y/n/n."

"I know." You whispered, suddenly placing your free hand on his stomach. Mitch narrowed his eyes at you, and furrowed his brow. He was confused by your actions.

"Y/n/n, what are y-"

"I just need to feel in control of something right now." You admitted in an almost inaudible whisper. 

Mitch's heart beat hard against his ribs, and he remained silent. This didn't feel right. There were other people in the room. You had just been groped and kissed and fondled by another man, but it was also your hands on him, pulling his black shirt out from under the waist of his pants. It was your hands that were unbuckling his black leather belt, and trying to unhook the fastener on the waist of his pants.

"Polansky."

"Yea?"

"Is he secured?" Mitch asked, and Polansky assured him that he was. "Go check the cameras to see where his bodyguards are in the building, and make sure that the security cameras were completely wiped clean of any trace of you, me, Hurley and that piece of shit." Polansky nodded and went back into his room. Mitch followed him and closed and locked the adjoining door. He ignored Polansky banging and yelling on the other side. Derzhavin shifted uncomfortably in the corner, unsure of what was about to happen.

"M." You spoke low, regaining his attention, and drawing him back to you. 

You watched his Adam's Apple bob up and down, as he swallowed thickly. He stood in front of you again, cupping his hands around your cheeks and scrunching his forehead. Your hands reached up for his neck, and he leaned down to kiss you. He sighed into your connection, as your hands pulled the bathrobe off of your body, then worked your way down to his zipper. He was at half mast, at best.

"Just moving from one man to the next, huh? A regular shlyukha." Derzhavin spit from the corner of the room.

You paused in your movements, but Mitch knew what to do. He pulled his suit jacket off, and tossed it gently on the bed next to you, then pulled his fully loaded Beretta with a muzzle on the barrel out of the back of his now loose pants. He held it out to the side, and pulled back the spring-loaded safety. The weapon was hot, and Derzhavin grew quiet, as Mitch placed the gun on the mattress. He turned back to you and shook his head.

"Y/n/n..." He whispered, a sadness lurking in the corners of his eyes. You wrapped the robe back around you and pushed Mitch away. You swiped the gun off the bed, and walked towards the bathroom. "Y/f/i..." Mitch spoke loudly after you. You didn't close or lock the door, so he followed you.

The gun was on the counter, the safety locked back into it's dead position, and you were leaning against the sink, your hands braced against the edge. You caught Mitch's reflection in the mirror. He sent you a sympathetic smile, but you remained hardened. You turned on the faucet, grabbed your toothbrush, ran it under the water, and stuck it in your mouth. You bit against the bristles as you unscrewed the cap on the toothpaste. You squirted a healthy dollop of toothpaste into your mouth and began brushing vigorously.

"Did he, um... stick... anything..." There was no good way to ask just how violated you had been.

"No." You mumbled before spitting some of the toothpaste into the sink.

"He's half naked though, an-"

"Nothing was stuck anywhere." You said, muffled by the contents in your mouth.

"Okay." Mitch whispered, before stepping fully into the bathroom with you, and hesitantly laying his hands on the back of your fluffy white robe.

"You're bleeding." You muttered before spitting in the sink again.

"I think it stopped." Mitch brought his fingers up to the crusting blood on the scratches on his face.

You spit the last of the toothpaste out, cupped your hand under the faucet, and slurped the water into your mouth, spitting one last time before tossing your toothbrush next to the gun. You shut off the water and braced yourself back against the sink once more. 

Your adrenaline and anger was still coursing through your body. Mitch stepped forward slowly, and you felt him behind you. The smallest amount of comfort came from his presence. More comfort came when you felt him pull at the hair tie keeping your braid together. 

He ran his long fingers through your soft, matted tresses, massaging your scalp and watching as your hair splayed across the white robe. He leaned forward and pulled the fabric off of your shoulders, letting it pool at your feet. You closed your eyes and attempted to steady your breathing as he pressed up against you, but leaned past you to turn the hot water faucet on. You watched him in the reflection of the mirror, as his hands cupped your wrists and pulled your palms under the warm water. You winced as the bloody water circled the drain.

Mitch shut the water off and grabbed at the clean hand towels on the side of the counter. He pressed them against your hands, and then stepped away to grab the first aid kid on the back of the toilet. He pulled out the gauze and tape and bandaged your palms. You smiled softly at him. He knew how to bring you back every time. He left a long, hard kiss against your forehead and you sighed and shut your eyes once more. 

"Tell me what you want." He whispered between short kisses on your neck and jaw.

You leaned your head away from Mitch, allowing him more access to your skin. "I want you to keep doing that."

"Okay." He mumbled, as he kept kissing you.

"I want to feel your lips on me."

"What else?" Mitch asked, moving your hair over your left shoulder so that he could kiss your chest.

"I want some control." You admitted quietly.

"Tell me what you want, and I'll do it." He told you, looking you dead in your y/e/c eyes. You reached up and began unbuttoning Mitch's black dress shirt. He watched your fingers make quick work of his clothing. You paused, forcing back flashbacks of having to kiss Derzhavin's chest. "Can I?" Mitch asked, fully requiring your permission before really touching you. You nodded, and sighed, being brought back into the moment with him, as soon as his familiar and strong hands connected with your sides.

"What ar-" You stopped speaking as you saw Mitch drop to his knees in front of you.

"You're in control." He submitted to you fully and the tiniest twitch at the corner of your mouth occurred. "Tell me what I am allowed to do."

You peeled your underwear off of yourself, stepping out of it once it pooled around your ankles. You towered over him in your stiletto heels, so you leaned your butt against the edge of the sink, and quirked an eyebrow up at him. A sinful smile spread across Mitch's face, as he licked his lips and leaned forward. You spread your legs slightly and cooed when Mitch bumped your clit with the tip of his upturned nose. He brought a finger up but stopped when he heard your voice.

"Just your mouth."

He nodded. "Can I ask you to please turn around and bend over the sink?"

You smiled and did as he graciously requested, your elbows connecting with the cold marble counter. You sighed loudly when you felt his muscular and hard hands spread your ass cheeks apart gently. His beard tickled the inside of your thighs, as the tip of his tongue suddenly connected with your opening. Mitch paused for a moment to pull the hair that had gotten tousled, during his fight, off his forehead, and admire your perfectly plump, pink lips peeking out between your legs. He let out a deep, hot breath, and you shuddered involuntarily when it connected with your skin.

"Mitch." You said his name firmly, and Mitch grinned.

"Sorry, baby."

"Shut up and stick your tongue inside of me." You demanded.

He grinned wider and felt his cock twitch in his pants. He hoped you would let him fuck you later. Mitch pulled your cheeks up and apart again, gaining greater access to you, and he circled your opening with his pointed tongue, before plunging the muscle inside of you. You purred quietly and squirmed against the counter.

"Suck on my clit." Another command fell from your lips, and Mitch obliged.

He moved his mouth down to the engorged nub, just waiting for some attention, and you jolted forward when his lips suctioned around it. A punched moan fell from your lips as Mitch sucked you in between his teeth and gently nibbled at you. You felt your eyes roll back in your head, and let your forehead fall against the cool surface below.

"Oh god. Just like that. Don't fucking stop." Mitch wouldn't dare. "Hold it with your teeth and flick it with your tongue." Mitch loved knowing exactly what you wanted from him, and he loved that you felt confident enough, in that moment, to demand it. He did exactly as you wished, and heard the hard metal of one of your rings smack against the glass of the mirror above you. "Go back to sucking..." You paused for just a moment. "Don't stop. I'm gonna cum."

Mitch's enthusiasm jumped into overdrive and he sucked as hard as he could. The moans and whimpers coming from your throat spurred him on even more, until he felt you begin to shake. He tried to keep his mouth attached through your spasms for as long as he could, until you told him to get off. He separated from your clit, and wiped his mouth and beard of your juices, licking his lips to happily taste you still. He remained on his knees, not wanting you to feel like you weren't still in control of the situation and him.

"Baby?" Your voice was a little bit lighter, but he could still hear the authoritarian underneath.

"Yes?"

"Stand up." You told him, finally lifting yourself away from the counter. "Can you check on the scumbag?"

Mitch stood, grabbed the gun off the counter, and popped his head out of the open door. Derzhavin ceased his useless struggles as soon as he saw Mitch's face and gun. Mitch turned back to you, who had turned around to face him. "He's still tied up."

You nodded once, pulled the gun out of his hand and put it back on the end of the counter. "Help me up." Mitch smirked and helped to hoist you up on the counter. He hoped that his assumptions as to where this was going were correct. "Take your shirt off."

Mitch smirked, licking his mouth out of lust, and happily still tasting you on the hairs of his beard, that curled towards his pink lips. His shirt fell to the floor and your hands immediately connected with his rippling muscles. You loved the lines of his body. 

His defined ribs and how they pointed down to his bulging abdomen and the thick trail of dark hair that led from his navel to below his boxer briefs. Your hands traced the hair on his body, a serious look on your face, as you breathed heavily and pressed your fingers against his skin.

"I love you." You whispered, glancing up to connect with his darkened and lustful eyes.

He softened for a moment because you did. "I love you, too." He felt your hand squeeze at his bulging biceps and his impish tendencies came back. "What do you want me to do next?"

"Speak when you're spoken to, first of all." You half teased, and a toothy grin spread across Mitch's face. He nodded once and pressed his lips together, waiting for your next command. "Take your pants off." You stared down at his erection, and Mitch moved torturously slow. "Mitch." You warned, narrowing your eyes and tilting your head at him. He grinned and quickly pulled them down to his ankles, finally standing in front of you in all his naked glory. 

"Do you want me still?" A modicum of self-doubt crept into your tone, as you asked the question of him.

"I always want you." Mitch reassured you. "Can I kiss you?" You nodded softly and Mitch leaned in, wrapping his arms around your back, while pressing his lips firmly against yours. He pulled away, his hands resting under the fabric hooked across your back. "Can I take this off please?" You nodded again, and he pulled apart your bra and dropped it to the floor with his clothes. "Can I kiss your neck?" You quirked an eyebrow up and tilted your head to the side, a serious look on your face. "Please?" Mitch corrected himself, and you smirked and nodded.

Mitch was gentle in his kisses on your neck and shoulders, softly tracing his tongue across your skin, and then going back over the trail with his lips. Your soft sighs and fingers pressing against his ribs let him know that you were okay and enjoying yourself. 

"I want you inside of me." You whispered into the air, and Mitch felt his head spin a little. Besides 'I love you', those were his favorite words to hear in your voice.

Mitch left a final few kisses on your shoulder and looked up at you, his thumbs rubbing back and forth against your hipbones. "How do you want it?"

You looked down at your position, your legs were loosely wrapped around his muscular ass, and your hands were still gripped around his ribcage. "This is fine."

He nodded once in agreement. "Can you please scoot to the edge of the counter?" You began to move, but Mitch pulled you towards him to speed up the process. "Are you ready?" He asked, fully aware of how incredibly hard he'd been for the last several minutes. 

You nodded and looked down, watching as Mitch gripped his veiny shaft and pressed it against your tight entrance. He pushed in just enough that only his tip made it's way inside of you. Your hands moved up to the back of his muscular neck and bicep, and you squeezed, still watching him slowly disappear in you. He bottomed out, his hips meeting your ass, and you clenched your jaw and closed your eyes. 

"Can I move?" He asked your permission.

"Yes.... Slowly." You warned. 

Mitch began to thrust slowly in and out of your tight pussy. 

Your heavy breaths matched one another and Mitch adored the sight of your mouth slightly open, head tilted back, eyes shut, brow furrowed, completely lost in connection you shared with him. He picked up his pace slightly, not really even realizing it himself, but you didn't mind. You wanted more anyway.

"Does it feel good?" He asked, falling out of his role of quiet submission, in order to check in on your uncharacteristically quiet nature.

You opened your eyes, and saw the worry in his. You smiled, leaned forward and kissed him on his beautiful pink lips. "You feel incredible. I just don't want him to hear." You told him, and Mitch understood. He returned your smile, and kissed you once more. "Can you speed up a little?" You asked, somewhat forgetting about the little game the two of you were playing.

Mitch felt it necessary to remind you who was dominant that night. "Whatever you want, baby. You're in control.."

You grinned, then moaned, louder than you wanted, throwing your head forward to lean on Mitch's shoulder as he picked up his pace. "Harder." 

Mitch loved when you mumbled that specific request. Soft and gentle was something he loved doing with you, but hard and aggressive and deep was what his body always craved. He thrust up into you with force, over and over and over again. You began to crumble slightly and he realized that this angle was giving him perfect access to your g-spot. 

"More... more.." You demanded, and Mitch pressed his hands against the tops of your thighs, keeping you in place on the counter, and continued his assault on your sensitive spot.

"Baby..." Mitch whined, his eyes shut and forehead covered in deep wrinkles.

You understood. "Just a little more.." 

He thought about anything but coming, and kept thrusting hard up into you. He was so close, but for you, he would try his hardest not to until you told him he was allowed. 

"Oh god." You exhaled. 

Mitch was pushed to his edge the moment he felt your walls tighten around him. Your head dug into his shoulder and your legs spasmed under his hold, and he suffered, trying to hold off while still thrusting up into you. You heard a small whimper escape from between his lips, and you grinned, pulling your head up to look at him. 

"Let it go, baby. You can-" 

Before you could even fully give him permission, Mitch moaned and lurched forward, pressing his head against your shoulder. You smiled and rubbed his back and the nape of his neck, up into his hair, calming him as his body pushed up into you more gently a few more times, trying to rid itself of the final spurts of his seed. His breath shuddered and his chest shook. He was unsure if he had ever cum that hard before. You stroked the hair on the back of his head and he breathed against your chest. 

"Are you okay, my love?" You whispered into his ear.

Mitch nodded against your shoulder quietly, then finally lifted his head to look at you. "Are you?" He was met with a calm smile, and nod.

"Yea. I'll be fine. Thank you for... that." You mumbled, a slight blush finally rising to your cheeks.

Mitch picked up his hands to cup your face, and he pressed his lips against your pillowy pair. He pulled back after a moment and smiled at you, shrugging gently. "I just did what you asked."

You stared at him adoringly, and rubbed your thumb against his bearded cheek. "Should we let Polansky back in?"

Mitch squinted and bobbed his head back and forth. "I was thinking..." You tilted your head to the side, curious as to what crazy shit might come out of your lover's mouth. "This guy is the scum of the earth-"

"Agreed."

"And he's stuck with us, probably until the morning, right?"

"Until the exfil team can find a way to extract him from the hotel." You answered, not knowing when that would be.

"It'd be silly to just sit around here, watching TV or something."

"You wanna torture him?" You surmised what Mitch was getting at.

He smirked. "I thought it might make you feel better, it might scare him a little extra from thinking about doing his business in America ever, and who knows, maybe we can get him to agree to a lower price in selling his secrets about Russia."

You grinned, and shook your head. "We shouldn't."

"Does that mean we won't?" He countered, playfully.

"I love when you talk torture while you're still inside of me." You teased, a massive beam spread across your face.

Mitch pushed his softening cock against you and you laughed. He leaned forward and connected your lips once more, then massaged his thumb against your cheekbone. "Why don't you take a shower or bath or something, get him off of you..." You nodded, wanting that as well, as Mitch finally pulled out, and turned to get the water warmed up. "And I'll get him ready for you."

"You should let Elliot back in." You said, as you hopped off the counter.

"I guess. He won't like this though."

You shrugged, as you placed your fingers under the running water, checking the temperature. "What's he gonna do about it?" You snarked, and Mitch simply chuckled as he pulled his boxer briefs and pants back up around his waist. "Try not to break any fingers until I get out there, okay?" You asked, stepping into the shower.

"No promises." Mitch replied with a smirk, as he buttoned his shirt back up and tucked his gun in the back of his trousers, leaving you to let the water wash over you and allow you to feel like yourself again.

Thirty-Four <- -> 36

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[pebblesandjamjam]

JAM’s Top 8 for 2017

I retired the concept of publication years in 2016 and that tradition holds this year.  When you meet a book matters more than when the book met the world. You’re a certain sort of person when the text comes into your life and if you read it at a different time, you’d likely see it in a different way. What’s more: there’s just too much in the world for me to focus on what was published when–so this list represents the best of what I experienced in 2017, independent of its publication date. It represents me, my year, where I started, and where I ended. Hope you enjoy the ride.

8. Jackass // Scarlet Beriko (2015, tr. 2017)

Scarlet Beriko is one of the best cartoonists in the game and their chosen field is: BL. Lucky, I think. I have always admired their variety and control of line weight, wielding it carefully to allow the tone to turn on a dime. (Their comics, including this one, are hilarious.) But with Jackass in particular,I think what I admire most is how much affection each character--even the secondary ones, the nameless ones--seems to show.

The main pairing is two high school students and best friends, Keisuke and Masayuki. Their relationship ends up in a strangely sexual place when Keisuke accidentally puts on his older sister’s pantyhose--and Masayuki discovers a kink he never knew he had. The comic is impressive enough in that the accidental putting on of pantyhose is actually believable in context, but the true mastery is how protective the boys and their friends are of one another. A secondary romance is built between Keisuke’s childhood friend, Katsumi, and the school doctor, but even this romance is less about the two characters and more a vehicle for emphasizing Keisuke and Katsumi’s friendship--which is a relief, as I generally frown upon even fictional student-teacher relationships for reasons that should be obvious. All of these boys (and, notably, Keisuke’s sister) love each other, take care of each other, treat each other preciously--the way I wish all the precious men in my life would treat each other.

The major flaw of the book comes with the character Miyoshi, another student. Even he becomes part of the flow of affection, but the character uses the word ‘queer’ pejoratively quite a few times, which is to be understood as a sort of defense mechanism given the completion of his arc--but of course, does not undo the violence of either the nature of the word’s use or its larger participation in queerphobic narratives. I very much enjoy the deep love this book shows, which is why it’s frustrating (to say that absolute least) to see it casually undermined by queerphobic language and themes.

It was one of the best books I read this year, but that enjoyment was tempered by the sharpness of that experience. If you do decide to enjoy the book yourself: please do so carefully.

7. Mix-Plate // Emily Forster (2017)

BL brought me other gifts this year, but this time from a surprising source: the West. In 2017, seven Western cartoonists put together Boy, I Love You: a BL comics anthology, a work collecting pieces inspired by and celebrating the genre. The anthology itself was enjoyable on the whole, but Emily Forster’s piece, “Mix-Plate”, was an impressive standout.

Not unlike Jackass, affection looms large throughout the story, though this one is much more familial. Jordan is a teenager whose parents don’t quite support him as they should. One day, he meets another boy named Eli who has a different relationship with his family. Jordan eats with Eli’s family on the beach several times and the family’s affection for one another is arguably the true primary relationship of the story.

The imbuing of culture and setting is also key to the story. Though it is never said directly, the comic is ostensibly set in Hawaii given Eli’s family uses Pidgin with significant frequency. This element may be the part that I liked most of all--if anything because I don’t get to read many comics that invoke elements of Hawaiian culture and daily life by cartoonists from Hawaii. The authenticity shines through as much, if not, moreso, than the romance itself.

The comic feels warm and, ultimately, welcoming. Just as a love story should.

6. Akira, vol 1 // Katsuhiro Otomo (1982, re-translated 2017)

I’ve read volume 1 of Akira three times in my life, across about five years. I’ve seen the film several times. And now, I think, Otomo and I are beginning to understand one another. Part of it is certainly that this go round I’ve been reading editions with higher production quality and significantly better translations--but I think I needed to sit with the book for a few (or several) years before it began to resonate.

Finally, after Time Number Three, I understood Kaneda’s cool, Kaneda’s foolishness, and the quiet implication of Kaneda’s tragedy--maybe because they’re all the epitome of youth, or perhaps more accurately, the epitome of lacking control. Ultimately, Akira is really a story about attempts at either control or the illusion of control. What’s cool about Kaneda is that he gets thrown into the center of a government conspiracy and simply rolls with the punches. He’s cool; he’s in control. But what’s foolish about him is even the thought that he’s in control, that he knows it all, that he’s got it figured out. You can’t have one without the other. And the tragedy is what robs him of the control in the first place, what seems to control him, what he has to settle for instead of control--which are things Otomo carefully intimates but never says outright, because..well, tragedy, isn’t cool. Kaneda is at the edge of everything because his youth and his edge are all he has. And you roll with it, just as he does, not just because that edge is cool but because you too are lacking control. You too want to roar in defiance, to make someone or something remember you, even if you can’t. It took some time, but, I got there.

I’m glad I did.

5. Navigating Trauma // Shan Murphy (2017)

Navigating Trauma is a 2017 mood if I’ve ever seen one. I saw it go by on Twitter and was immediately staggered. I looked it several times that day. I’ve looked at it several times since. It depicts the feelings with immediately recognizable truth and honesty. It lets you know where you’ve been. It lets you know where you’ll eventually be. Though this is my first time coming across their work, Murphy’s work here is reminiscent of Tove Jansson’s Moomin strips--in both style and tone, I think. There’s a sweetness and a sharpness. Something gentle that will not lie to you about the difficult portions of life. But also something that will comfort you through them. A fantastic piece.

4. Stages of Rot // Linnea Sterte (2017)

I’ve been thinking for a while about how to describe what’s good about Stages of Rot and I keep coming back to the notion of it representing the quietest, stillest, and most undisturbed parts of my heart. It’s the art, mainly. The narrative relies much less on words and much more on “vibe,” as my friend and colleague Shea Hennum is wont to put it. The story doesn’t even matter to me, all that much. I have trouble keeping it together, though the description on the back helps:

“An alien desert comes to life around the body of a dying whale. Animals, insects and ancient peoples scramble for her remains and make their homes among her bones, struggling through a millenia-long process of decay.”

As I said, though, it’s the art. The lines and colors are both, at once, soft but definitive. Any more words would ruin it because it’s the feeling--the feeling of being in tune with something across time and space. A kind of purpose and significance to the movements of the earth, and you. It’s something holy. A pure experience.

3. Shinobeba Koi // Yukue Moegi (2014)

Well, it’s BL again. Sorry, not sorry. And even worse, it’s a title that hasn’t been translated to English (yet). I know, I know, but I’m even less sorry than I was previously. I’m speaking it into the universe such that some intrepid young licenser will come across this post and think, yes, today I will, because honestly, I’ve read this comic about 6 times this year and I am moved each time.

Shinobeba Koi is a two-volume comic that is actually a spin-off from a different comic, Nirameba Koi. It follows the older brother of the main character from Nirameba, but that doesn’t matter because Shinobeba is entirely enjoyable without that context (and is a definitively superior comic.) It tells the tale of a long love between Tora (the older brother) and Tetsuya. The story starts when they’re older, working at a hair salon together, but readers learn that they knew each other from before, when the two were teenagers. Tetsuya was 18, the leader of a bike gang and Tora, 16, admired him deeply, desperate to join his gang.

The depth of their feelings is apparent and holds throughout the narrative, gently but firmly. There are a number of opportunities for Moegi to overdo it, but she never does. The story is always told with restraint and deep sensitivity, which is particularly fitting against the setting of an extremely masculine bike gang. I’m continually swept away by the gentleness and the certainty of affection between the two leads, even at troublesome intersections. I love a story of a long, patient love--perhaps because patient love is the sort that I feel that I need--so this one is among my very favorite.

2. On A Sunbeam // Tillie Walden (2016-7)

I almost put On A Sunbeam on last year’s list, but it hadn’t finished yet, and I have been burned by the floppy endings of too many otherwise brilliant works to make similar mistakes again. With that in mind, I should note how I felt reading the end of this comic.

It had been finished for a few weeks, but I was already three or four chapters behind--and I was also a bit depressed. I wasn’t interested in much, couldn’t do much, didn’t want to do much beyond feeling bad about not being able to do or wanting to do much. My friend Mark suggested that I read the final chapters of the comic, in hopes of improving my mood, but I told him I didn’t want to, since the weight of those final chapters possibly being bad (or worse, middling) seemed like too much additional sadness. And then I would never know if the comic was bad or if I was bad. And that too seemed too much.

So I waited. I waited for a day that I felt, at a minimum, okay, and then I read it. And, of course, once I did, I was ready to spin-kick the sun out of the sky. (I say that a lot for things I like, because it’s the only thing that really adequately describes how it feels when I experience something I love, so you may have heard me use the phrase before.)

I could write about the sheer industriousness of Walden’s work on this webcomic--she was putting out 20-30 pages...a week, never mind a month--or I could write about it in context of how much I love her other work, but really, I just want to say that On A Sunbeam is chockful of artfully restrained and fine feelings--of love, of fury, of warmth.

It’s a space comic that, in one timeline, follows Mia, a girl working as a part of a ship’s crew that restores various buildings for money, but then also follows her at a different time, when she’s at a new boarding school after some troubles at her old one. The work emphasizes the forced closeness of spaceships in the vast distances of space, how crews live together and become families. Use of space and architecture are probably my favorite things about Walden’s comics and On A Sunbeam is no exception. My experience of the comic was always relief, gratefulness, and joy at having such quality work available to me on a regular basis.

It’s going to be published in print in 2018, if webcomics aren’t your thing. I hope it brings you as much relief, gratitude, and joy as it brought me.

1. Finder, vol 1 // Carla Speed McNeill (1997-present, collected in 2011)

Finder is a miracle comic, I think. It behaves as though it’s real, which a lot of fictional works strive for, but rarely actually achieve. I was immediately engrossed after the first few pages and the huge library volumes collected by Dark Horse in 2011 are massive--664 pages, precisely. But it’s likely the casualness of it all, the evidence of the world building without explanation, and the compelling character (protagonist is the wrong word, in the context of Finder) we have in Jaeger, an Ascian sin-eater. If you haven’t read Finder, you don’t know what either of those words mean, but that’s fine, don’t worry--whatever I tell you about it won’t be as good as if you just pick up the book and let McNeill tell you herself. Or, I don’t know, let Finder tell you itself, as it almost seems to function on its own.

That’s part of it too. McNeill’s work is impressive such that the seams, the hand of the creator is almost, oddly, invisible (even though it could in no way happen without her, dare I say, genius.) There are many comics that I can imagine working on myself, even several of the ones by the greats (I admit, audaciously) but Finder is its own separate, brilliant thing that I could never either conceive of or create, even knowing about it after the fact.

I imagine I’m frustrating you because you’ve arrived at #1 and I haven’t even told you what the comic is about but, to be honest, I don’t know! I can’t say. Anything I’d say would be incomplete and a disservice to an undefinable truth. I can tell you that some of it is about Jaeger, but much of it isn’t. My favorite parts are about him, but there’s plenty I love that’s hardly related.

It’s a comic I can’t define with all my words and critical prowess, can’t create with all of my imagination and sense of structure, but absolutely love. It’s a world. It’s several. It’s a life, a series of lives.

And how on earth could I adequately tell you about that?